#he is so perfectly eccentric and i can never guess what he's thinking

[ghostchems]

infernal - terzo x f!reader - part five

art by the incredibly talented @piaart!

author’s note: finally have this finished but man is it hard to be satisfied. i keep wanting to work on it and work on it but i also really wanted to get this out! also don't even know if this is good teehee. lots of awkward here. 4.9k words. part one/two/three/four. ao3 linky.

The date is going surprisingly well. You chose an Italian spot (ha!) and have had your fill of lobster ravioli and Cabernet Sauvignon all while you learned more about Dylan since he graduated high school. Went to a state school in the middle of bumblefuck, drank and drank some more, got overly into the college culture (emphasis on cult) and tipped a few cows in his time. It aligns perfectly with the slivers of information Catherine gave you through the years, though he’s mentioned nothing of the steady college girlfriend he supposedly had. Interesting. You laugh at his dumb jokes. You’re smiley. But it does feel like an act that’s partially fueled by alcohol and having someone’s attention on you.

He’s still talking but you’re admiring his small, button nose, how his brunette locks shape his face and his bright smile. You can’t help but think his face is a little too smooth, though. Has this boy been through anything meaningful? Has he suffered at all in his shiny little life? Your mind drifts back to Terzo’s rough hands and how they felt on you earlier that day. He forced you to your knees and it was clear that it wasn’t the first time he’s done so. You can still taste him on your tongue.

“You haven’t told me about your job! Aren’t you like an assistant?” Dylan snaps you out of it and you offer a shy smile.

“Yeah! I had to get out of that call center, man. It was like draining my life force. Not that this isn’t difficult but it’s nice to not be yelled at by some rando on the phone for hours a day.” You toy with your glass of wine.

“So, like what do you assist in? Is it just you?”

Huh. You’ve never really explained exactly what you do to anyone. Not even Catherine or Erica — you only really focused on Him. That won’t go over too well in this situation, will it?

“It’s just me and it’s mainly house maintenance right now. My boss’ place was a disaster when I started.” Perhaps the most watered down description of your job.

“So you’re like… you’ve cleaned it up?” There’s judgment in his voice that’s immediately sobering. He stares at you blankly.

“I guess I meant more like projects. The last big one was fixing up his yard. I had to manage the budget and scheduling of the landscapers and stuff.” Your voice is flat.

“Oh, okay gotcha.” Dylan nods and he is back to smiling. You’re seething on the inside. Was your answer acceptable to him? “What’s your boss like? Is he a guy?”

What the.

“Yeah, he’s a guy. He’s a little weird. Definitely eccentric. I’ve tried not to pry too much into his personal life, you know. Boundaries and all that, but when I first started he had me sort out some of his things and it looked like he used to be the lead singer in a band.” Another oddly phrased question. At least now you’ve been prompted to bring up the man you haven’t been able to stop thinking about.

“Oh, shit! That sounds awesome! What band?”

Oh, do you hesitate. A long silence stretches between you two.

“I’m… I’m not sure I should say. I don’t want to blow up his spot or anything.” You’re sheepish suddenly and Dylan notices.

“Aw, come on. Who am I gonna tell?” A good question. You drum your fingers on the table, thinking about how you’ve never really told anyone who your boss actually is.

“Catherine will tell me if she finds out.” A warning, last one until the big reveal. Dylan nods enthusiastically, some of his hairs falling into his forehead. For a split second you think that maybe if you were younger with much less life experience perhaps he would be perfect for you. But you know too much and you know that he wouldn’t be able to give you what you want. “It was Ghost.”

“Oh.” He makes a face and leans back in his chair.

“Oh? Sorry, is that not impressive enough?”

“No, no. It’s still cool. They’re just… I don’t know.”

Do you continue this conversation? Do you care what he thinks? You don’t…but your curiosity gets the better of you.

“What is it, Dylan? Are they lame? I’ve tried to… you know, not dig too deep into it because I feel like that would affect my professionalism.” That and you didn’t want to completely pry into the man’s life.

“Oh, I get that. Uhhh, I mean they’re not REALLY metal. They say they’re metal but they’re not so it’s just a little weird.” He shrugs and crosses his arms. You knit your brows together because you have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about.

“Right. Okay.”

“Yeah, I mean, they are basically like pop. Not metal, not at all.” He sounds so impassioned and you nod along but it feels inappropriate. Why is he so pressed? It turns you off even more and you do everything in your power to get this date wrapped up. You are done drinking and you’re too full for dessert. Responses shorten and eventually you’re out front on the sidewalk waiting for an Uber. Dylan has insisted on waiting with you and hovers just a bit too closely by your side. He seems a little oblivious to how this date has gone, bless his heart.

“Well, this is me.” Awkward, so awkward. You move to get into the car but Dylan stops you by your arm and leans in for a kiss. It’s truly over before it starts, a quick peck before he pulls away with a smirk. You are dying on the inside.

“We’ll hang out again soon, yeah?”

“Sure. Yes.” You lie and hurry into the Uber, wanting nothing more than this wretched day to finally end.

Terzo blinks awake. The cool air of the night pricks his cheeks. Leaves crunch beneath his soggy socks. He coughs, blood spilling from his mouth and splattering on his thick chest hair. A robe hangs loosely from his shoulders. Terzo’s eyes drift down to his hand to see he’s wearing his black gloves with sharp, golden nails. He squints and there’s something black stuck to one of the points. Gaze drifts to where he is. His driveway. A breeze rolls by that sends shivers down his spine as his eyes focus on your car.

He’s slashed one of your tires.

Terzo cackles wildly upon this realization. This is new even for him and his weird, otherworldly tendencies. Could be straight up mental illness. He takes a few lumbering steps forward before crouching to eye the tire, surveying the damage. Completely shredded with the rim touching the ground. There’s a familiar buzzing in his skull, a buzz that he used to get while performing. How far he had fallen. Still, he’s delighted with himself. A fitting punishment for the way you crushed him earlier. What hubris you had for leaving your car on his property. Rage shoots through him for a quick moment, the thought of you spending the night with your date crossing his mind. Would this boy drop you off in the morning? He could plan for that.

In his fits of unsatisfying sleep, ideas for being cruel sprang to his mind. He’s settled on ignoring you for most of tomorrow, to have you toil away waiting for any kind of attention but to no avail. Terzo would be watching you the whole day, of course, hidden away in dark corners and peering down from atop the grand staircase. He has always been the best at sneaking around undetected out of all of his brothers, having avoided so many moments where his father could have reamed him out due to this expertise. Primo and Secondo weren’t so lucky.

Sharp pang in his chest from thinking about them.

No, no. He must focus on you. He pushes the thoughts back to the void. You’ll be trapped here at the end of your workday because of this, wouldn’t you? That’s when he’ll reveal himself. He’ll torture you. Tease the information of your date out of you.

How well could it have gone when you are so devoted to him?

The house is cold without him, a shiver running down your spine every time you found yourself in a dark corridor. You try to keep your thoughts to a minimum and are somewhat thankful that the contractor was able to come today. He’s a quiet man but seems to enjoy your cheerfulness which breathes life into an otherwise miserable day. Between directions and answering questions, you would wander the first floor and hover by the stairs, listening for any signs of life only to hear silence. The last time you saw him flits through your mind — the pressure of the hand on your neck that forced you to the ground seconds after he angrily spat in your face seconds after he kissed you. What the hell. You should be furious at him for treating you that way, for leaping over the carefully placed boundaries the two of you have been dancing around for weeks.

But instead you sigh dreamily. You burn for him. Cheeks grow hot just from thinking about his rough hands on you. You hope he’s okay. And you’re sure he is, he’s a big boy.

The fact that you’re more worried about his feelings than you are about potentially losing your job over this is not lost on you. You’ve lived in constant fear of getting fired over the smallest mistakes since the start of this job but you are oddly calm about this situation. This feels like a natural progression. There was going to be a time where you had to confront this strange connection and you would rather it happen sooner rather than later with the way things have been going. As painful as it would be (emotionally AND financially) to say goodbye to him maybe it would be best for it be sooner rather than later.

The day goes by at a painfully slow pace with no sign of him. Anxiety builds and builds as you watch your clock tick down on your phone. You’ve taken to painstakingly wiping down every single mirror on the first floor (there is an absurd amount of them) because it takes up time and gives you something to focus one. After a while interacting with the contractor becomes painful for you, too heightened to be able to function in a normal social setting. You send him home early with a smile, being Friday and all, and you continue carrying out your mirror mission. This takes you to around 4:30 at which point you say “fuck it” and decide it’s time for bed! What is the point of even being here anymore when you could be under your comforter with a pint of chocolate chip ice cream as you ponder your existence?

It was an easy decision.

You meander out the front door, making sure not to slam it shut but have it at least be somewhat loud to announce your exit. Yes, you are stooping that low. A quick wave of relief washes over you because you made it. The day is over and while the issue looms you are at least out of his domain. Car keys jingle in your pocket. You make quick work of the walk from the porch to your car until the state of your tire stops you in your tracks.

“Oh my god!” You’re in disbelief. It’s like an animal chewed through the rubber. Your rim is on the ground. Tears start to well up in your eyes. This is it. This is the thing that’s pushed you over the edge today. A frustrated screech bubbles up your chest.

“Come back inside.”

You freeze as soon as you hear his voice. Spinning on heel, you turn to face him. He’s standing with his arms crossed, leaning against a column on the porch. His dress shirt is the darkest black you’ve ever seen, partially unbuttoned to show off thick chest hair and cut slacks show off his strong thighs. Did he get dressed up for you? His paint is crisp and hair is slicked back neatly. Fuck, he looks good*.*

“I can get an Uber?” A question as if you’re asking him permission, taking a few tentative steps towards him.

“Hmmm. No. I’ll call you a driver.” A rough response but you can’t help but feel warmth blossom in the pit of your stomach. “Get back inside.” Terzo growls, his gaze stern and pointed. He leaves you alone in his front yard. You feel silly by how hard your heart hammers in your chest but this is what you’ve been wanting all day. A moment passes by and you work up your courage to go inside and take your punishment. Thoughts of your shredded tire fade.

You walk inside the foyer and follow the sound of clinking glasses, finding him at the bar in the den. Terzo’s gaze falls to you then he directs you to the couch with his eyes. You silently follow the order and sit on one of the couch cushions furthest away from him. There’s a lump in your throat, fidgeting with your hands as you wait for him to join you. Eventually he turns around to face you with two drinks in his hand, one a red martini with a lime green umbrella and the other a pint full of something gross looking - not beer but still brown? His face is blank and you try to match his energy but it’s hard to keep your blush at bay. You reach out to take the martini from him but he pulls it back out of your grasp and instead presses the pint into your hand. The smell fills your nostrils: whiskey. Yuck. He runs a hand through his hair as he takes a seat on the other side of the couch, allowing for plenty of space between you two.

“You’ve called the driver already, right?”

“Yes.” He rolls his eyes but you’re still not sure you believe him.

Terzo’s arm stretches across the back of the couch, gloves just brushing your shoulder. Your grip on your whiskey tightens. This isn’t his usual charming aloofness, there’s something cold and cruel bubbling beneath the surface. Still, you want nothing more than to speak to him, even if he’s obviously pissed at you. He lifts his other hand up to his face, admiring the sharp golden nails adorned to his leather gloves. Eyes slowly drag from them to settle on you, gaze so piercing and yet uninterested in you.

“So, you had him pick you up here, si?”

“Yeah, but—“

“Drink.” He points at your glass and narrows his eyes. Not playing around. You do as he says and take a sip. “Keep drinking.” Lip twitches in a faint show of satisfaction as you bring the glass up back to your lips and take a deep gulp. There’s delight in his eyes and you’re more than happy to play the game just to see more of it. Your eyes twitch and you cough once you set the glass, the whiskey burns your throat.

“It was convenient for him.” Words are rough from the sting of alcohol.

“Ohh, was it now?” Terzo growls and digs his nails into the couch, tearing into the fabric. The sound gives you goosebumps. You open your mouth but he’s too quick. “Finish your drink.” He snaps, daggers for eyes that sends a chill down your spine. You swallow thickly and toy with your glass with the tips of your fingers before bringing it back up to your lips. Head tips back, the room swirls and you swallow down the rest of the liquid.

“Gross. Ugh.” Grimacing as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “It’s less of a drive for him and I’m a pushover, okay?” You sigh, only partially joking. His eyes noticeably soften. You sink deeper into the cushion. “I said yes to this date because it was with my best friend’s older brother who I’ve known forever and I’ve always had a crush on him.” Terzo’s fingers shift from the couch to your shoulder, his nails just short of tearing through your shirt, his anger coming back up to a simmer just below the surface, but you continue on unafraid.

“I had to see what would happen. You have to understand… you build the thing up in your head as something perfect and special but then when you actually actually experience it…” You deflate and you eyes wander away from him, wanting to look anywhere else. “It’s never as good as you imagined it. Plus, he was a garbage kisser.” You immediately regret the words as soon as you say them. They hang heavy in the air and the air catches in your lungs. You feel him shift on the couch but you can’t bring yourself to look until his his hand curls around by back of your neck and forces you to look at him. Eyes sharp like knives.

“You let him kiss you.” A statement, not a question. Terzo makes you watch as he slinks closer to you. There’s like a current coming off of him right now that has you paralyzed even though you so badly want to protest. You whimper, words getting caught in your throat as he reaches for you. He grabs you by your waist with the tips of his claws poking against your skin, that delicious danger teasing you as always. “How did it compare?” Terzo trills, a charming smile with vicious edge. Hoo boy. Blood rushes to your cheeks.

“It didn’t compare at all.” You whisper as you try to sink as far into the couch as possible. Not because you don’t want to be close to him but you’re confused. Everything about this feels like a trap, like one wrong answer could set him alight but you’re not exactly fighting it. Instincts are telling you to run but you stay exactly where you are. Terzo’s hand drift up your sides, suggestively squeezing you in all the right places until he’s holding you by your shoulders. He’s smiling wider than before and there’s glee in his eyes — he’s pleased with you. A torrent of heat shoots through your core. He doesn’t say anything, merely taking in your reactions to his touches. His finger tips glide across your top, nearly clipping right through it until his hands settle around your throat. He squeezes just enough to make you gasp for air, then leans in to you, pressing his forehead against yours. You can feel his hot breath on your lips.

Tease.

“I could hurt you.” Terzo muses against your lips, lashes fluttering and eyes wide. There’s a slight tug at the corner of his mouth. Silence passes comfortably between the both of you as you take in each other’s breaths and warmth.

“I know. I’m… afraid of that. But it’s why I’m here.” You feel drunk, the words just tumbling out of you but you don’t care anymore. He is so close to kissing you that you can nearly taste him but instead he pulls away with a wry smile.

“Your glass is empty.” Terzo snickers and then jumps up in a way that can only be described as cat-like, snatching the glass from your hands. You’re left hot and bothered as he turns his back to you to saunter over to the bar. Alone with your thoughts while you watch him pour you another generous whiskey. Oh no. Oh no. You can still taste it on your tongue and it is not for you. But when he turns around with the warmth and charm you’ve been wanting all doubts are gone. You’re going to be messy tonight and that’s just that. When he turns back to face you he’s at least given you half of what he did the first time, walking slowly over to where you’re sitting on the couch.

He looms over you as your eyes drift up to meet his gaze and he audibly growls. You suck in a sharp breath, your nails digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. Terzo lifts a hand up and brushes his thumb along your jaw before tilting your chin up. He brings the glass to your lips and tips it back. You part your lips, the whiskey burning as it spills down your throat. He continues to pour until you can’t keep up with it and it leaks out of your mouth and down your cheeks. You gasp and he flings the glass down onto the side table as he crushes his mouth against yours, unable to keep away from you any longer.

And you certainly don’t care that he all but purrs into your mouth, soft lips moving against yours. He cups your face with his gloved hands, leather thumbs caressing your cheekbones as he slips onto the couch beside you without breaking the kiss. Fingers curl around his wrist and you press in close to him, losing yourself in how he tastes. His velvety tongue probes your mouth as the kiss grows in intensity. Deep pants try to keep your feet on the ground but you’re off in space, exhaustion and comfort mixing in a way that has you floating. Terzo pulls away from the kiss and you can hardly open your eyes. He gently guides your head to his chest, stroking his fingers through your hair.

“You never called me a driver did you?”

“Oh no. Never considered it.” Terzo squeezes you in his arms.

Oh, he’s so warm. A rumbling groan falls from your lips as his wraps his arms around you, just holding you there. Your limbs relax and you sink deeper into his chest as he starts to rubs up and down your back. In that moment you know you’re a goner. A deep, sleepy sigh falls from your lips and in a matter of minutes you are out cold.

Terzo almost feels guilty for being such an ass. Almost. He feels for you, he can relate to realizing that something isn’t all it was cracked out to be. At least for you it was a childhood crush and not being raised for one person. But still, he was a tad mean wasn’t he? It was necessary and the tension… the tension had been so delicious. Watching you squirm under his intense stare. And you just did what he said, unquestioningly, even when had you drink and drink and drink. Adrenaline is pumping through him and he struggles to contain himself— he must not go any further, despite how tempted he is. He could get away with it. You’re so soft, so pliable and so wanting. Terzo can feel the heat radiating off of you, no doubt from the alcohol and your closeness. He could slip his hand between your thighs and give you exactly what you want.

But it wouldn’t be fair to you. Terzo wants you coherent and focused when he takes you. Plus you’re adorably snuggled against him right now, your soft breaths against his chest. He’s longed for this and you did not disappoint. Wait a minute. Are you sleeping? He is about to fall apart, his arms wrapping so much tighter around you. The urge to keep you safe, to keep you here and never let you leave overcomes him*.* He squeezes your hand that is clutched to his chest and then gingerly picks it up and places it back in your lap.

“Sleepy?”

You lift your heavy head to look at him and good god do you want to be asleep right now. A tender smiles breaks out across his face as he swipes some of your hair from your eyes. A stark contrast from how close he had just been to strangling you.

“Take the guest room tonight, puffetta. I will bring you some clothes.” Terzo pulls himself to his feet. “Meet you up there.” He’s so soft, so different than how torturous he was of you earlier. You’re sure he’s heard what he’s wanted to hear from you but he’s unpredictable. Something you liked about him. There’s an unknown darkness that lies beneath his charm and good looks and it calls out to you. You’ve never felt this way about anyone. How could you ever get away now?

You blink and realize that you’re alone. You’ve been alone. Oh shit. Scrambling off of the couch, you trip over your own feet with the effects of the whiskey hitting you hard.

Ah, the guest room. A cramped space with antique furniture that could use some time and attention. The overall theme of the room is… dust. You’ve brought up having the dresser refinished or even repainted and replacing the peeling wallpaper but it’s low on the list of priorities. You push the door shut and give a soft sigh of relief. Shoes come off. A lamp on the bedside table barely illuminates the room and a folded pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt are waiting for you on the bed. Eyes scan over the remainder of the comforter and pillows, wondering if anyone had ever slept here. You can’t help the feeling that you’re being watched but maybe the fact that you’re about to wear your boss’ clothes isn’t meshing well with the practically decaying room.

“Whatever.” You huff to yourself and undress with the grace of a toddler, kicking your pants off and throwing your removed clothes into a pile on the ground. Sitting down on the bed, you pull up the sweatpants and they are loose as they settle around your waist. The shirt slips over your head and swallows up your upper body. Did he purposely give you his largest clothing to make you feel small? It is so cozy, though. You wrap your arms around your body and flop back onto the bed, sinking into the softness of the blankets. Comfortable heat spreads across your skin from buzz of the alcohol. Limbs go limp and your eyelids grow heavy, a deep sigh falling from your lips. Fading fast.

The piercing ring of the rotary phone cracks through the air and you jolt upright and wide awake. What the? You don’t remember seeing it when you came in and it’s not like it blends in — it’s bright red with intricate black etchings along the base and the handle of the receiver. Not a speck of dust on it. The phone rings again, somehow louder and more harmful to your ears than before. You blink and suddenly you’re standing directly in front of the dresser with one hand curled around the receiver. Heart is pounding in your chest and ears. Something is calling out to you. Answer it. Answer it. Answerit. answeritansweritansweritanswerit.

You pick up the phone to silence. Then chittering. The receiver is hot on your cheek. Something pricks your ear but you can’t pull away. There’s a squelch. A screech. More screaming. It only gets louder and louder, needles in your ears, pain shooting through your brain. You can’t breathe. You twirl the phone cord around your fingers and shuffle your bare feet against the cold floor, the only thing you’re able to get your body to do other than press the phone so hard against your head. The closer you listen to the screams the more familiar they get, growing in intensity, pain and volume. Burning, the receiver is burning now and yet you can’t move, you can’t get any relief. The phone cord is nearly completely tangled around your wrist and you’re sweating, gasping for breath, and crying without even realizing it. The screams finally subside, replaced by a cold, dead silence.

You hang up the phone.

Suddenly, an overwhelming wave of exhaustion washes over you and you collapse onto the bed. The world spins as you sink into the soft mattress, the dial tone still echoing in your ears.

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

chaggie vs alastor being a nosy gossip when it comes to potential past break up drama and possible current relationship drama (alastor loses)

Charlie: "Not that I MIND seeing you around, Alastor-"

Vaggie: "I do."

Charlie: "-the hotel is your home too after all-"

Vaggie: "A home. Not a radio exhibit."

Charlie: "-maaaaaybe there's something we can help you with though? Since you've kinda been, errrr, hanging around?"

Vaggie: "Leering."

Charlie: "I get the feeling you wanna ask us something, basically!"

Alastor: "Oh I DO indeed! But you know, you two were just being such a CHARMING little couple, just the PICTURE of young love, I couldn't BEAR to interrupt you~!"

Vaggie: "Great, so fuck off."

Charlie: "We could use some time sitting together without you- or anyone!- staring at us the whole time."

Vaggie: "You can donate that time for free or over your dead body."

Alastor: "Well WELL then! What a CHARMING little offer from a CHARMING little lady!

Vaggie: "You have until three. Two."

Alastor: "I'll just make my inquiries about THIS picture and be on my way!"

Charlie: "What picture- ohhhh THAT picture...."

Alastor: "Familiar, no~?"

Charlie: "Yyyyyyeesssss...."

Vaggie: "Who's the guy that looks like boyband fell in a vat of comic book chemicals? You two look. Close."

Charlie: "Thhhat'ssss my ex boyfriend."

Vaggie: "You're ex?"

Alastor: "Oh REALLY! Do tell~"

Vaggie: "She doesn't have to tell you SHIT, asshole."

Charlie: "No it's okay, it wasn't that bad!"

Charlie: "I mean."

Charlie: "The relationship wasn't great and I didn't even cry after it ended which might be a sign of something maybe although I DID cry about being alone again if that counts.... and, we haven't really talked since breaking up but-"

Vaggie: "I won't kill him, sweetie, but I can stab him for you."

Charlie: "He wouldn't deserve it."

Vaggie: "Ask me if I care."

Charlie: "Heh. It's fine, Vaggie, really. He was perfectly nice to me! We just, didn't make a good pair..."

Alastor: "Pray tell the reason for this apparently INCONSOLABLE mis-match?"

Vaggie: "Alastor I swear-"

Charlie: "I guess it really boils down to him wanting a girlfriend and me wanting a, well, a partner."

Vaggie: "Isn't that what a girlfriend is?"

Charlie: "Mmeh? Not always, I guess?"

Alastor: "Oh will you LOOK at THAT! I have a fresh box of tissues here, and popcorn, and HOURS until my next broadcast~!"

Vaggie: "If you giggle even once over this I'll broadcast my spear right up your-"

Charlie: (laughs) "No you won't, Vaggie."

Vaggie: (whispering) "We don't have to let HIM know that."

Charlie: "Pretty sure he already does? Everyone else in the hotel knows you'd never really shish kabab them or anything."

Vaggie: "Everyone knows?" (drooping) "Are you sure?"

Charlie: "Yep! Niffty was crying about it last week!"

Vaggie: "Well FINE but your ex doesn't live in the hotel, I could at least threaten him."

Charlie: "Empty threat... I think that's why..."

Alastor: (leaning in) "HMMM~?"

Vaggie: (shoving him back) "Why what, babe?"

Charlie: "Why it's different, with you."

Vaggie: "Different?"

Alastor: "SOMEHOW the LESBIANISM isn't different enough already?"

Charlie: "We're partners."

Vaggie: "Yeah?"

Charlie: "Vaggie, we're actually partners."

Vaggie: "I know??"

Charlie: "You listened to the 'Redeem Sinners!' rants and didn't laugh, or doze off, or start messing with your phone half way through my first two-hour long presentation-"

Vaggie: "How could I be messing with my phone when we were recording your practice run?"

Charlie: "-EXACTLY! It was, is, a serious thing for you!"

Vaggie: "Charlie you've seriously been working on this for decades."

Charlie: "And my friends were FINE with that! My friend? Friend singular if we don't count Razzle and Dazzle- my former friend. Whatever! It was okay if I had weird pipe dreams to nowhere, that was totally fine! And when I started dating her brother, he was fine with it to! I was quirky! Silly! Eccentric! Naïve! DUMB!"

Vaggie: "You are not d-"

Charlie: "I know I know! It was FINE!"

Vaggie: "You sound less than fine about it?"

Alastor: "Here it comes~!"

Charlie: "Because 'just fine' sucked ASS."

Vaggie: "Oh..."

Alastor: "OH HO HO!"

Charlie: "It was always just Charlie's dumb little daydream or Charlie wasting her time! Charlie with her dumb head in the heavenly clouds!"

Vaggie: "Oh sweetie, hey-"

Charlie: "It was a quirk he was OKAY WITH. It wasn't that bit a deal! It was a big deal to ME but that was FINE if I didn't waste too much of my time on it, or our time, or his time-

Charlie: "And sure he wasn't laughing in a mean way, I think, probably, but I still HATED when he'd do the amused little oh Charlie's being silly again chuckle!"

Vaggie: "Did you tell him? Did he stop?"

Charlie: "Tell him what? He wasn't doing anything wrong!"

Vaggie: "But Charlie, that's not the point-"

Charlie: "No the point is- HE didn't think he was doing anything wrong treating sinners like immortal chew toys! Everyone else does it! THEY do it to THEMSELVES! And they're damned anyway, Charlie, they're all gonna get killed horribly someday for the shit they did, so what the HELL does it matter!?"

Vaggie: "It matters. You've shown people how much it matters."

Charlie: "No I haven't."

Vaggie: "Yes you have, sweetie. People know better now-"

Charlie: "No they DON'T!"

Charlie: "But you do."

Charlie: "And we're... our hotel is starting to maybe help some people kinda take us a little seriously...."

Charlie: "It's..."

Alastor: "Quite a lot of WE and OUR and US in that last sentence, my dear!"

Vaggie: "No shit, dumbass. We run the damn hotel together."

Charlie: "Yeah. We do."

Alastor: "A fact made while staring at DEAR Vaggie in the most REVOLTINGLY lovesick way, I might add!!"

Charlie: (laughs) "Sorry Alastor- I can't help it."

Charlie: "She's my partner, after all."

Vaggie: (smiles) "It's on my resume."

Alastor: "SICKENING HA HA!"

Vaggie: "Right above girlfriend and hotel manager."

Charlie: (BEAMS)

Vaggie: "I have no idea how anyone could miss out on that chance, honestly."

Charlie: "I'VE no idea how anyone else could ever even come CLOSE to being you, Vaggie."

Vaggie: "Well... the guy in the picture is way too tall for starters."

Charlie: (snorts)

Alastor: "FACINATING. You'll both have to excuse me! My stomach is too DELICATE for this PUTRID display of emotional bliss~"

Vaggie: "You eat rotting deer carcasses, Alastor."

Charlie: "EW he WHAT-?"

Charlie: "Ah um! Oh that's....! ERRRRR interesting-?"

Vaggie: "It's gross."

Alastor: "Aue contraire my dears, YOU TWO are the ones who are GROSS~"

Alastor: (fades back into shadows)

Vaggie: "If I told him that trick was getting tacky, think he'd stop?"

Vaggie: "... babe?"

Charlie: "I think...he took the picture?"

Vaggie: "He what."

Charlie: "The picture of my ex, I think he kinda, borrowed it?"

Vaggie: (groans) "WHY is our friend such a creep."

Charlie: (sing-songs) "Be-cause you ha-ven't killed him yyyyet!!!!"

Vaggie: "Maybe tomorrow I will."

Charlie: (smirks)

Vaggie: "...."

Vaggie: "Look, I can't at least still daydream about it, alright?"

Charlie: "Sure you can." (hugs) "Softie."

Vaggie: "RRgh." (hugs back) "I'm literally only soft with you."

Charlie: "And with our friends."

Vaggie: "Am not."

Charlie: "You are! In your own, special Vaggie way~"

Vaggie: "...."

Charlie: "....which admittedly is mostly about not killing them all in frustration several times a day, but that's a pretty big thing in Hell!!!"

Vaggie: (groans again) (snuggles her)

[jujutsubaby]

omggg your follower event is sooo cutie ahaha

cafe heaven and earth + iced matcha latte with oatmilk (bc i know that's what y/n orders in after hours 😉) + rose milk cake

a/n: omgggg~ first anon thank u sm for participating 🙈 hope you enjoy!!!

✨ WELCOME TO CAFE HEAVEN & EARTH ! ✨

🤍 PAIRING. nanami

🤍 WORD COUNT. 755

this isn’t your first time here at cafe heaven & earth. you’ve been a regular here for as long as you can remember, from drafting your novel to pitching ideas for the local newspaper.

you and haibara, the regular barista, have had an easy rapport from when you first started frequenting heaven & earth so you were sad when you walked in and remembered he was off this week. like, you were happy for him, of course, but also, who was gonna remember your usual order and make it just the way you liked it?

to your surprise, you see a vaguely familiar blonde man behind the cash register. you think he’s the owner, maybe, if you recall correctly. and thank god the line isn’t long today, so perhaps you can keep your interactions with everyone to a minimum and just focus on finishing your article.

the first thing you notice about him when you get to the front of the line is his soft features: light smile lines and gentle eyes greet you with a quick “hello, miss, what can i get for you today? iced oat matcha and rose milk cake as usual?”

before you can process how he even knows your usual order (something only reserved for haibara), a loud bang in the large wall-to-wall cafe window startles you both. you turn to see an eccentric, gangly man with wild white hair pounding on the glass, trying to get nanami’s attention. he keeps on pointing at the flyer in his hand (upon closer inspection, you see it’s one of those job flyers with tabs you can rip off, except there’s no job description on it, and the tabs each just have poorly drawn penises on them).

quickly glancing back at the blond man, you see him wincing in embarrassment. you can’t help your curiosity, so you ask, “do you know that guy?” the blonde man (“nanami”, you see on a perfectly aligned badge pinned to a perfectly pressed apron) just says “unfortunately. you can just ignore him.” you decide to take pity on him and change the subject.

“wait, how do you know my order?” the weirdo’s actions outside the cafe momentarily made you forget this man just recited your order seamlessly. you swear you see him blush slightly. “ah, well, haibara, he…uh…well…” he’s looking everywhere but your eyes, and you find it a bit adorable.

“all right, i’ll admit i’ve heard you order before and just think it’s the perfect order. it’s what i’d order, too.” now it’s your turn to blush. the perfect order? “oh, uh, thanks, but honestly, it’s all thanks to whoever supplies your rose milk cakes. i’ve never had anything quite like it.” god, your hands are feeling clammy and it feels so hot in here. don’t they have any AC?!

“well, the baker accepts your compliment, miss.” nanami says humbly, his smile growing even softer after hearing your praise. you’re in shock. nanami bakes the cakes himself?! “i had no idea…they always taste so freshly made whenever i have them. i should have expected the owner of my favorite cafe to be such a good baker, i guess.”

nanami seems to be opening up at your sincere compliments. “i’m glad to hear it, opening a bakery has always been my dream. the feedback means a lot coming from one of our best customers.” best customer?! your heart does a little flip. nanami suddenly looks shy again. “actually, i’ve been meaning to ask you…”

just then, probably tired of being ignored, the white-haired man bursts into the cafe, his loud demeanor at odds with the soothing ambience. “nanaminnnnn~” he whines. “what, i don’t exist anymore as soon as that cutie you’re obsessed with finally gives you the time of day?!” you and nanami both go red at that; of course, all the cafe patrons are staring at you now.

“gojo, now’s not the time,” nanami tries to say in his best no-drama customer service voice. the interloper doesn’t seem to take the hint. “well? ask her for her number already!”

neither of the men noticed that you had already scrawled it on a spare bit of paper from your trusty legal pad. “text me when your shift’s over?” you ask, feeling emboldened by the indirect confession. truth be told, he’s always caught your eye whenever he’s down at the cafe, but you were far too engrossed in your drafts to do anything about it.

nanami smiles, actually fully smiles with his teeth, at you. “y-yeah, of course.”

[starchaseriseverything]

It was finally time for Valentines Day, and Marlene has been waiting forever for it. She's planned the most spectacular day for her and Dorcas, but first, she needs to check up on her friends.

James picks up after the first ring.

'Hello? Marls? I'm freaking out. I don't think I can do this.'

'Yes, you can, James. You'll be fine. He's going to love it. I promise. Sirius even said so.'

'I can't do this, Marls. He's going to hate me.'

'No, he won't. Just do it, and you'll thank me later.'

Marlene hears James sigh over the phone. 'If he doesn't like it, I'm blaming you.'

'And if he does, you'll be thanking me. Now go. Goodbye, James. I love you.'

'I love you, too, Marls.'

Now it's time for Sirius. He's going to be much harder since she isn't his most trusted friend. That's James. But she's going to try.

She clicks on Sirius' contact, and he picks up after five rings. 'Hello?'

'Sirius, you doing ok?'

'Yep. I'm perfectly fine.'

'James told me to call you.'

'Fucking cunt. No, Marls. I'm not doing ok. I'm freaking out. Help?'

'Just like I told James, he's going to love it. I promise.'

Sirius sighs over the phone. 'Yeah, you're probably right. Thank you, Marls.'

'Your welcome, Sirius. Goodbye.'

'Bye.'

Let's see, Lily' capable. Peter doesn't have a valentine. Mary. I should probably call Mary and maybe Lily. Let's start with Mary.

'Marls? What if Emmeline doesn't like it? What if I mess up?'

'Mar, I promise she'll love it. You'll thank me later, ok? I love you.'

'I love you, too.'

Ok, maybe I should try Lily. Sometimes, she's not as strong as people think she is.

She picks up after the second ring. 'Marls, I'm freaking out. I know you probably already talked to everyone else, but I need it, too.'

'I know, that's why I called. Now, what's wrong?'

'What if she says no? What if -'

'She won't. I promise. I love you and want the best for you, so just do it.'

'Fine. But if she says no, it's your fault.'

'Yeah, yeah. I love you.'

'I love you, too.'

Marlene might be the bravest, but sometimes she gets scared, too. Like right now, her fiancé is in the other room on her phone. She doesn't even know Marlene planned anything. So, I guess now is the time before she figures it out.

Marlene planned to propose to her today, but a few months ago, Dorcas, Marlene, and all their friends, went on a little hike, and James decided to pack Marlene' ring she got for Dorcas, and whipped it out, so she had no other choice but to do it.

So, James helped plan something else today and Marlene added her own little thing at the end of the day that James doesn't need to know about, but will probably do the same thing with Regulus.

Yesterday, Marlene went out and bought Dorcas some chocolates, flowers, and a bear. She gave them to her this morning.

Marlene wanted to take Dorcas to her favorite restaurant, but James said to take her to a fancier one called Eccentric Eating. James had said that he went there once with his parents but never went back after their deaths.

So, that's exactly what Marlene' going to do. She's going to take her fiancé to a fancy ass restaurant that her best friend recommended and hope that Dorcas likes it.

She did, in fact, like it very much. So much, in fact, Marlene' 'suprise' happened earlier than she thought it would. Marlene was surprised they even made it to their bed.

-

James had just hung up with Marlene, and he's still freaking out. I mean, much less, but still. Maybe, no. No. I need to do this. I'm gonna do this. Ok. I think I'm ready.

Regulus is out with Pandora right now and should be back in an hour. That gives James at least some time to man up. He needs to give his fiancé the best Valentines of his life.

Surprisingly, Marlene let James propose to Regulus at the same time she proposed to Dorcas. Usually, she likes to have that kind of stuff to herself, but since they've known each other so long, they got close enough where if they could, they would share clothes. And Marlene does take James' shirts even if their big.

So, James has decided that Regulus doesn't want a fancy ass fucking diner. He just wants James all to himself. Plus, Pandora and Regulus are out having a fancy ass lunch right now, anyway.

James has decided that he should just get Regulus some flowers and a meal. Since Regulus' favorite flowers are Arctic Willows, James decided to go with Lillies. Which - in James' opinion - is the closest anyone could possibly get.

Regulus' favorite meal is the chocolate soufflé, and that's exactly what he tried to make. But he doesn't think it turned out very well. It doesn't look as pretty as it's supposed to be, but his mum only taught him Spanish recipes, not French. It tastes okay, though. So, let's hope that's enough.

It was, in fact, enough. So much so that Regulus didn't even notice the lillies and was just staring at James the whole time. And they did, in fact, do the same thing as Marlene and Dorcas.

-

Sirius has planned everything out on how this day is going to go. But what he wasn't planning on was Remus not going to the library today. He goes every single day. Nothing stops him. Except for today. Something stopped him today, and Sirius has no idea what.

"Hey, Moons. Whatcha doin' here?" Sirius asks his husband.

"Reading." Remus replies without looking up from his book.

"You're usually at the library."

"I figured I could stay here today."

"Right, right. Of course you can."

He finally looks up from his book. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Somehow Sirius did figure out how to get Remus out of the house for an hour and he made the most of the time he had.

When it comes to parties, Sirius goes all out, but this is not a party. It's Valentines Day. A day just for him and Remus.

Sirius did think about setting up streamers at some point, but Marlene talked him out of it. Instead, he went for roses on the bed in the shape of a heart and some champagne.

Remus came back an hour later - just as promised - and wasn't as surprised as Sirius thought he'd be. Maybe it's because Sirius practically kicked him out of the house or he just didn't like it. But one thing Sirius is for sure about, he liked the last present of the day.

-

Barty wasn't one for Valentines Day. Evan knew that, but he still tried.

First, he tried taking Barty out for breakfast. He didn't want to. He even tried buying him some chocolates, flowers, and a bear. He didn't like that either. He ran out of ideas before they even got to lunch.

Then, he decided to call Regulus. He picked up on the final ring.

'What do you want?'

'I need help.'

'Help with what?' Pandora' voice comes from the other end of the line.

'Panda? What are you doing there?'

'Lils kicked me out.'

'Fair enough. Anyway, I don't know what to do. Barty doesn't like anything I give him.'

'Ev,' Regulus starts. 'You know he doesn't like Valentines Day. Just have sex with him.'

'I don't want to know what happens with my brother, thank you.'

'Sorry. But, Ev, that's the best thing you're going to give him. He doesn't like anything else. Just try it, ok?'

'Yeah, ok. So, we just do it all day?'

'You do it anyway!' Pandora says.

'Yeah, you're right. Thanks, I love you both. Bye.'

So, that's exactly what Evan did. They had sex until they couldn't anymore.

-

Mary wasn't one for sentimental shit until Emmeline. Emmeline is the best thing that has happened to her in a long time - besides her friends. She doesn't know what she would do without her girlfriend.

Mary and Lily made a plan. Mary was going to take her out to brunch - since they both sleep in - and then go sightseeing in Paris. Oh, yeah. They're in Paris - of all places - spending Valentines Day together. Then, they would go back to their hotel and spend the rest of the night having mind-blowing sex.

And that's exactly what they did. They slept until noon, went to brunch, went sightseeing, and then had sex.

Mary was surprised she didn't propose today like everyone was going to. And honestly, she wouldn't be against it. She loves Emmeline so much that she would very much love to marry her. But, unfortunately, that's not what happened. Maybe next year.

-

Lily isn't sure if she should do this. I mean, sure, she loves Pandora so much, but she isn't sure if she's going to say yes. Maybe she should call Dorcas, too. Not just Marlene. No, I just need to do this. She's going to say yes. Marlene is sure of it.

So, she did. They went to Pandora' favorite place in England, New Forest. Where there are a bunch of plants and flowers.

When Lily saw Pandora' face light up after she realized where they were going, she knew she wanted to be with her forever.

"Lils, this is amazing." She was looking at all the flowers and plants. "I love you."

"Pandora Artemis Rosier," Pandora looks back at Lily, "the very first time I set my eyes on you, I knew you would be my forever. Even when we first started dating three years ago, I still knew you would be my forever. So, I'm asking you now, will you be my forever? Make me the happiest woman alive and make me your wife?"

Pandora smiles. "Yes, Lily, yes. Of course I'll marry you."

[inspector-montoya-fox]

Let's talk character design for a bit. I love our villains' designs, because SP incorporated so much into them. Personality, motive, and the fact that this is our own universe completely inhabited by animals are all aspects which are folded into the baddies' appearances like a stubby calzone. Just imagine a stubby calzone for a second. What a cutie.

Consider Arpeggio's design, for instance. The beret, bow tie, monocle and itty bitty mustache suggest he's sophisticated, classy, has accumulated a bunch of wealth; throw in there the fact that he's the game's final boss as well as his voice which we briefly heard in He Who Tames the Iron Horse and you already know we're facing an eccentric millionaire genius in the last episode without even meeting him yet. The haircut, beret and cape also hint at him being inspired by Renaissance artists, the designs in his intro cutscene referencing Da Vinci. If he's reserved as the final villain in the game and just such a huge threat, then why is he so little? He seems like a brainiac but could never be as menacing as Rajan. And there you have it: just a perfectly rounded character solely presented through his design.

It's all also reflected in the choice of species for each character. Black widows mate and kill: the Contessa. Roosters have a sense of abrasive moxie and eagerness to mate: Tsao. Bulldogs have an attitude with a mug similar to a gangster's: Muggshot (also the term underdog here, his bullies never considered him a threat and in the end he... um... murdered them? idk). It all goes hand-in-hand, it's just so effortlessly perfect, even when it doesn't have to be.

So, despite its initial trajectory, this post was always intended to be, and you guessed it, anti-Thieves in Time rhetoric. Because I was just thinking today about its villains and like, the choices are just so underwhelming. In the cutscenes, El Jefe wears a military uniform because he works in the military; the Grizz wears a tracksuit because... he's a rapper ?? I know I've addressed this like 89319821092 times already but what's with the choice of species too? We've done tiger already, next. They could have gone with anything else, even another cat animal like a puma would make more sense, just to push the design to its limits. Like it's nothing groundbreaking but it would make more sense for a cheetah to wear his sports tracksuit and have his skill set because it's a really fast animal. Where. Are. The. Ideas. I wanted new, exciting animals we never saw prior. Ant-eater, octopus, zebra, eagle, platypus. Give me an otter at this point, I'll take it. Why not utilise an animal's characteristics to come up with some innovative ideas instead of yet another tiger, or an elephant who is, guess what, fat, or a skunk who, and i can not stress this enough for the love of fuck, stinks. *Sigh*

So anyway, yet another post idea brought about by Thieves in Time slander. Will it ever end?

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

ok its me again hi AAAHHHH this is so nice i feel so warm im lying on my bed kickin my lil legs i cant believe this thank you for being nice omgggg now im on a roll im gonna say things about julian hkdhjgdgjf

only one song really that i scanned the whole tag looking for to see if anyone said it before and i was so surprised that i didnt find it and i went to check the official playlists on spotify cause maybe its on there already and thERE ISNT ONE WHAT???? i had the muriel one liked on here and id never checked any other ones out lmao but like i swear there had to be one?? like maybe they made it first and its somewhere separately??? julian is like the most popular one how the hell does he not get a spotify list is that how this tag was created?? *gasp* am i discovering the ~fandom lore~

(just gonna say you dont actually need to answer any of that in detail dont waste your time gksgkydgjf im just screaming into the void cause i was so flabbergasted after those 3 whole minutes of research i put into this)

ANYWAY the actual song would be House of Wolves by our lord and saviour MCR! its so good for him with his whole Woe is Me drama king vibe lol and the plaguey thematicssss mmmm delicious TELL ME im a BAD BAD BAD BAAD MAAAAN aight you lil masochist i see u and the "you better run like the devil cause they never gonna leave you alone" you get it caUSE HES A FUGITIVE DO YOU GET THE DEEP UNRAVELABLE METAPHORS DO YOU GET IT DO YOU G aight shut up hkhfjtdy anyway

ok i lied jystfhte heres another one i just remembered i really wanted to put here its not new but just in case somebody hasnt seen it yet lmao its such a masterpiece ill do anything to give it its due here ya go

https://youtu.be/61HltPN_k3g

and the other thing im really glad to have seen people mention here is musical songs cause thats one of the things i love about him the most like yass we love a thespian king slay grl so then anytime im binging a musical there always come the intrusive thoughts of "aw hed love this one" and "oh hed be great for this role" like i went to see f-ing swan lake with my f-ing grandpa and one of the major takeaways i got from the experience was (UH IM GONNA PUT A SPOILER WARNING HERE? I GUESS? IN CASE ANYONE CARES HELLO JULIAN BAD ENDING SPOILERS AHEAD DO MOVE ALONG NOW IF YOU DONT LIKE THAT AVERT YOUR GAZE CITIZENS LMAO LIKE YOU HAVENT SEEN FANARTS N ADS ALREADY ALRIGHT ALRIGHT) "omg jules would be so perfect as that bird guy villain IN HIS BIRD GUY SHAPE TOO OMG WITH THE WINGS ON STAGE THIS IS AWESOME WHY CANT I DRAW GOOD GODDA-"

anyway hed love hadestown (hed at least try to cast muriel as hades cause hes perfectly intimidating for it but theres way too many lines which okay Maybe but AND he has to sing???? nah hes out bkgdhkdt) i dont know what hed think of pierre natasha & the great comet cause its maybe a little eccentric i suppose but i think hed appreciate the cultural roots of the vibe with him being fantasy ruso-slav-ukrainian-whatnot heritage i reckon and hed definitely have a blast at a live performance and hed ABsolutely join in with the actors in between the rows at some point and theyd ABSOlutely let him cause hes that good and game recognize game cmon hes gonna show you amateurs what a real kazotski looks like

i can also see him enjoying sweeney todd, for its delightful edgyness, maybe even some themes relatable for him, and his sappy ass would SO memorise Pretty women to whip it out at an opportune serenading moment khgdturshc im so cringe and loving it

well i cant think of any more shows to throw him together with so thus ends my soliloquy wow i cant believe thats how you spell that anyway i hope anybody who knew what the hell im talking about enjoyed all that jgfztits see you in another 20 minutes when i come back like "AND ANOTHER thing-

Yay, it's the character song essays anon!! :D

I'm glad to see you back, and I will once again be re-linking the song you shared below and adding your suggestions to the tag ^.^

And frankly, I'm 76% certain that one of Julian's love languages is theatre, especially musical theatre. That could be tickets, that could memorizing the lines from one of this favorite scenes and reciting it back to him, it could be showing up to every single performance he's involved in :)

I'm glad to see you back in my inbox, friend, feel free to message me if you ever want to obsess over the characters together! Cheers -

brainrot

[queen-of-the-avengers]

The Avengers: Part Three

Pairing: Loki x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.4k

Warnings: canon violence and angst

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

You and Steve take this party back to his apartment that's in Brooklyn, where he's from. His place is close to the city so he can get a train there, but he doesn't like going out. He tries to stay in as much as he possibly can these days.

"Sorry, I don't have a lot of things with me. Fury helped me out with this."

His place looks like someone else lives here. Steve had a certain way he liked his apartment back then, and this isn't it. He's usually very neat but Fury made this place seem like someone eccentric lives here.

"No, it's fine. Don't worry, you'll make this place your own in no time."

It's as if seventy years haven't passed by because when you talk with Steve, it's like you're back in 1940. Steve has a spare bedroom with a perfectly good bed that you can use, but you find yourself in his bed. He is one of your best friends, so nothing will happen between you two.

"So, you've been in the ice for seventy years?" you ask.

"I guess so. I woke up when they... thawed me out. I woke up in a room they made to look like back then. They had fake walls of what the city used to look like, and someone came in wearing the typical 40s nurse uniform. At first, I thought it was real until I heard over the radio about a ball game I attended in 1941. I guess I'm still trying to wrap my head around this."

"Yeah, I can imagine it must have been confusing for you."

"Yeah. Everyone I knew died... or so I thought."

"Yeah, there were times I wish I died. Things might have been easier if I did."

"What happened?"

"After we crashed into the ice, I felt lost. I didn't have you, Bucky died, and I felt alone. I left Earth and ended up a prisoner on a ship by a race called the Kree. I was there for twenty years before I was saved by my cellmate where I joined a group of thieves for another twenty-four years. I got recaptured by the Kree where I met my ex-girlfriend, and I stayed with her for another five years until we had to break up because she was too good for this Earth. I met Tony Stark and for the next twenty years, I was here on Earth."

"Wow, sounds eventful."

"Yeah, that's one way to put it."

You look into his eyes that sparkle from the moonlight seeping in between the curtains. The past and the present blend together until you're stuck with what you knew before.

"I think you'd like Xenia. I'd take you if I could."

You're lying next to Loki on the bed in his room. The sun is just starting to rise but he's drawn the curtains almost closed. Sunlight peeks through the crack and onto his face, making his blue eyes sparkle even more. He doesn't seem to mind the sunlight in his eyes because all he's focused on is yours.

"Tell me what it's like. Tell me about your life there."

"Xenia is absolutely gorgeous. My favorite part is the ocean. They're always calm, and I often find myself walking along the shore just to hear the water wash up onto the sand. I was a quiet kid. I never really was one for being in crowds. The library became my best friend. I guess that all changed when I met Markus."

"He won't ever hurt you again," Loki promises.

In this moment, you believe him. You roll closer to him and he pulls you in by your waist. This is how you two lay until your responsibilities call for you.

A couple of days pass with you and Steve living together, learning how to be around each other again, and enjoying each other's company. Steve is trying to learn everything he can about the world from the time he went under to the time he woke up. He's still new to the internet so he found an old shop that sells old newspapers. It's not going to cover everything but it's a start.

You're both sitting on the couch snuggled up next to each other. He has his arm around you while you're leaning into his side. He is reading a newspaper while you have a fiction book in your hands. Since there is so much history between you and Steve, it's comfortable to be sitting like this and not have it mean anything. To Steve, he likes that sense of comfort that he can't get anywhere else. You're the only person he knows from that time, so he's clinging to that comfort in any way he can get.

Steve's touch is very different from Loki's but your mind still reverts back to a time you thought was lost. The words on the page blend together as your past collides with the present.

The library is normally pretty empty because Loki is the only one who goes in there, but he's made you a permanent resident. He likes to escape here just to get away from his overbearing family or Princely duties. Since coming to Asgard, you've been glued to his side so if he's in the library, so are you.

He loves to read poetry books while you're more of a fiction girl. There is a spot in the library that Loki likes to sit in because it faces the city down below. The sun doesn't set or rise in the direction of the window, but it does give off enough light so Loki can sit there and read for all hours of the day.

You're both sitting on the bench snuggled up next to each other. He has his arm around you while you're sitting in between his legs and leaning against his body. If Loki wanted to, he could read your book but allows that to be for your eyes only. His arms feel so good around you that you could probably stay here forever. It should scare you how quickly you fell for him but it doesn't. He is passion, dangerous, and it consumes you, everything you didn't think you'd want or need.

"Loki?" He only gives a slight 'hmm' to let you know he's listening. "Do you trust me?"

He sets down his book so you look up at him to see what he's thinking. This is a touchy subject for Loki but it's only the two of you in here. He feels different when he's with you like he can tell you exactly how he's feeling without judgement.

"Do you trust me?"

"I do," you say without hesitation.

"Even with your life?"

"Yes. Do you feel the same?"

"Darling, I could give you my whole heart and know you'd take care of it."

"Do I have your heart?"

"Yes," he whispers.

He leans down and kisses you passionately, your book long forgotten.

Steve's apartment has a pool in the community that you often use. After living with him for a couple of weeks, you two have created a good dynamic. The pool isn't supposed to be used after ten p.m. but you often sneak in there to have some peace and quiet. You think the rule is put in place for the kids that live in the building. They don't want rowdy children when people are trying to sleep.

Steve is doing laps while you lie flat on your back on the surface of the water. There aren't many stars on display since there are clouds in the sky covering them. You blow softly and let your air powers move the clouds for you, allowing you to see more stars than before. Some of them are hidden behind the light pollution the city brings, but you'll take what you can get.

"What are you thinking?" Steve asks when he takes a break from swimming.

"How different Asgardian skies are from Earth."

All these memories you're having of Loki are overwhelming you. The love you had for him comes rushing back stronger than ever. The man you know is still in there. Is he able to be saved? Are you the only one who can bring that side of him out? Despite only being with him for a year, you fell for him hard. His love is passionate while your love with Bucky is intimate.

Two men. Different sides of the same coin. Two men you have loved deeply. How can you ever choose between them?

"Loki is Asgardian, right?"

You stop floating and allow your body to sink into the water so that only your head is above the surface.

"Yes."

"What happened between you two?"

"I think he stole my memories."

"Why?"

"I don't know," you sigh and turn away from him.

Talking about Loki is a painful subject because your love for him was so raw. To see him now breaks your heart because you know the man he truly is.

It takes another week before you hear something from Fury about what he plans on doing to regain control of the Tesseract again. You and Steve are in the kitchen making breakfast together when you get a call on your phone from Phil.

"Is it safe to assume you're calling about work?" you answer.

"We're bringing you two in for a briefing. First, we need you to talk to the big guy."

"Phil, I don't think Tony will listen to me. Not after everything that happened."

"No, I've got Stark. You get the big guy."

You curse in your native tongue as you hang up the phone. Phil sends you an address to go to halfway around the world. The Big Guy must be residing in Pakistan with an address like that. Pakistan is a little over seven thousand miles away from New York, and a commercial plane would take sixteen hours to travel something like that. You can do it in an hour, and that's only if you're traveling at Mach 10.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I have been summoned. I have to go to Pakistan to meet a friend. I'll be back in time for dinner."

"You say that like you're going around the corner. You do know where Pakistan is, right?"

"You do know I can fly ten times faster than ten times the speed of sound, right?"

"Right," Steve chuckles. "You can fly."

"I'll be back."

"Do you need me to come?"

"No, I have to do this one alone."

You're proud of yourself because you made it in fifty minutes instead of an hour. You haven't seen Bruce in five years so you hope he remembers you. You know the Big Guy will. You made more of an impression on him than you ever did on Bruce even though you two are still friendly.

"You gotta help me. I have no idea what the hell I'm doing here," Bruce begs.

"If you were able to find me and know I'd be a person of interest for your... big problem, then you know I'm no scientist."

"No, but there has to be something you can do. You were there in the 1940s when Steve was given the serum. You know how it works."

"I wasn't on the 'inventing' committee for that one."

"Please, Y/N. All I'm asking is for you to try," Bruce begs.

"Fine," you sigh.

You couldn't help him counteract the effects of the serum he created but you could help him deal with the mess he got himself into. If you had known he was going to go all Hulk on you, then you'd have steered clear of him. You can't be too mad at him since underneath all that green is a man who just wanted to impress the woman he loved. News reports of Steve's heroics made all the papers, and Bruce got jealous when the woman he loved crushed over him.

"Bruce, you can't hide from her forever," you chuckle and lean against the wall.

Bruce looks around the corner at the woman he loves who is walking down the sidewalk with her friend. She tips her head back and laughs at something her friend said, and Bruce becomes sad he's not with her right now.

"How can I ever face her knowing what I am? I just get so angry at everything and I'll only end up hurting her. How can I ever ensure her safety when he can pop out at any time?"

You push off the wall and approach your friend delicately.

"Listen to me. You can't spend your entire life in fear. That's no way to live. Think of it this way. If she doesn't know and you keep it from her, are you putting her in more danger than if she knows? At least she'll be better prepared on how to handle him, and you two can come up with a game plan for when he does. Don't let the fear of striking out stop you from playing the game."

"That's corny as hell," he chuckles.

"It works, though, right?"

It took a lot of convincing on his part to pursue the woman he loves. Whether or not he's still with her is unknown to you but at least you know he went for it with her. The biggest thing he was scared of was turning back into himself after turning into the Hulk. Managing his anger is doable albeit hard, but calming down after raging out is even harder. 

It took a lot on your part to figure out a way to bring him back once he crossed that line.

It didn't take you long to find Bruce once he ran out on you. All you had to look for was where the rumbling and smashing was coming from. Luckily Hulk knew not to smash near where people could get hurt, so he went to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. He's smashing some metal landings when you arrive.

"Bruce!" He doesn't respond to you. "Hulk!" Hulk stops and turns to you with an angry face but it softens a bit when he sees it's you. "You need to stop this right now. I'm not messing around."

He growls and crushes a broken-down forklift with his big fist.

"Sun's getting real low."

You walk closer to him and hold out your hand flat so that your palm faces the ceiling. Hulk looks at it and grunts stubbornly. You don't back down from him and keep your hand out until he does what he's supposed to do. You've only done this routine once so you hope he's willing to do it again.

Hulk gives in and lays the back of his extremely large hand on top of your palm. You move your hand from his and touch his palm as delicately as you can. You slide your hand to his wrist and slide your fingers down the vein to his palm. He stumbles back as he struggles between his human form and his current form. Bruce fights to be in control until he is, and you walk over to his naked form. You toss the pair of pants you stole from Tony's closet.

"Thanks," he whispers.

"Glad to have you back," you smile. "You're getting better at that."

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[setsugekka]

i’m back 🤗

first of all, yeosang 🤬🤬

is he not using his brain? how tf is he gonna get mad that she don’t want a baby?? you’re hardly ever around and then get mad even at the thought of your own wife preparing to nicely ask you to be around more and you want a baby?? someone that would need even more than your full attention????? he didn’t think that through at all wtf

“‘…You're thirty now, I'm not saying that you're running out of time but—‘"

oh go tew hell. actually go past hell 🥊🥊

and then hongjoong omg. 

“I’m sure your girlfriend loves that,” you joke in response. Both of your eyes meet after, Hongjoong sets the sketchbook down onto the floor and slowly makes his way back to his work at the dress form as you continue to fumble over your words. “Or boyfriend, or whatever.”

“Don’t have one,” Hongjoong says, sticking a pin between his teeth to hold onto. His eyes narrow then in a way that you’ve become bizarrely accustomed to in such a short amount of time spent with him—devilish, something lightheartedly coy and almost flirtatious in delivery. “What about you? Betrothed to anyone or just this place?”

mc, look at me: STAND UP 

“Rather, there’s probably a part of me that’s absolutely terrified of the commitment of moving onto another chapter of my life.”

“Change is scary, unless it’s temporary enough that the only thing that results from it is blowing up some major facet of my life.”

get out of my head melty 😡

(even tho im the exact opposite now oof- long story)

“A baby? He’s never even here, what’s he want to have a baby for?”

EXACTLY

“College was a long time ago,” Seonghwa replies, knowingly perfectly well the implications of your past together with him that you are alluding to.

oh? 👀

(does… yeosang know about this or is seonghwa just “my wife’s best friend from college?” if I had to, i’d guess no considering how we’ve seen him react to things so far…)

so far hongjoong is keeping me on my toes, yeosang can stay gone on his business trip and seonghwa is oddly becoming a favorite of mine for some reason. and as for mc, so far i’d say I actually don’t have a good read on her yet so we shall see 😃🪑

also I am curious as to what hongjoong’s designs or art style look like? do you have any references or photos for what they possibly look like?

oh, you and your impeccable reads, as always 💗

the yeosang+wanting a baby thing is precisely why i wanted to write that storyline into this. i've heard it so, so many times about how men in heterosexual relationships will try to throw their money OR EVEN A BABY at a problem thinking that it's going to fix it, but even worse than that, is that even if it doesn't fix it, it doesn't even really matter that much because they're never around to deal with the aftermath anyway 😃

this hongjoong makes me wanna gnaw my arm off let's just pretend nothing happened here!!! ✋🏻✋🏻✋🏻👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻 nomnomnom.

seonghwa is funny. i think there's a comment somewhere in the fic that alludes(?) to the fact that yeosang does know about their past together and doesn't think it's a big deal, which i feel like is kind of typical of his arrogance that we've seen thus far! he's a good character though, i'm glad you like him 😘 i finally gave seonghwa the Good Character Arc...

also I am curious as to what hongjoong’s designs or art style look like?

i don't have anything on hand, i don't typically use a lot of visual mediums when writing outside of places. BUT! i imagine colorful stuff, a little eccentric, whimsical? those are kind of the first words that come to mind hehe

[deceitful-darlings]

Wait oh my god. Imagine mc in the Narnia au meeting Floyd first at the lake and over the months before the portal opens they fall in love with him.

When the portal does finally open up who better then to ask the eccentric merman boyfriend who lives in the lake if he knows anyone about the wardrobe? Of course he does shrimpy! In fact why don’t you take a visit through after he stretches his legs a bit!

Now did you know he could become human? Properly not but it doesn’t stop your excitement from building as you watch Floyd bounce around more giddy then you’d ever seen him as you make your way back home, up the stairs, and into the room where the wardrobe still sat hanging open as a cold breeze blows from it. I doubt it would take long for you to be dragged through and ultimately stuck with a hellish pair of twins, both determined to never let you leave.

Meeting Floyd is...unexpected. I mean, who would expect to meet a mermaid in their local lake?! Not you, that’s for sure! Yet here you are, face to face with the sharp toothed smile of the fish man in the lake.

“Eh? A new Shrimpy came to play?”

It takes a while for your brain to stop short circuiting, staring into his heterochromatic eyes for a solid few minutes before you finally stutter out a deeply thought out and introspective sentence...

“What the ever loving fuck?”

And that’s how your friendship started with him. How could you not go back to keep meeting him? Not only was he a freaking mermaid, but you couldn’t help but worry that he might be lonely, you’re the only person who visits him at the lake, the locals all steering clear calling it ‘dangerous’. Sure, Floyd could be a bit temperamental and maybe a little violent but he’d never gone out his way to hurt you, any nicks must’ve been accidents and the tugging you underwater when you get to close seems to be a game of his with the way he laughs when you surface.

Months go by and your feelings soon evolve for the merman, and you decide to bite the bullet and tell him, and to your surprise he seems to know what you’re talking about when you tell him you’re in love with him, giving you a wide grin as he props himself on the edge of the lake.

“That means you have to come and visit me every day, Shrimpy! I’ll be mad at you if you forget, and then I’d have to squeeze you!”

Time continues on and you keep your promise to Floyd, even on the day where there was literal snow pouring out of the wardrobe in your spare room, something you can’t help but ponder as you sit with him.

“Shrimpppppyyyy, I’m boooooored.”

“Huh?” You snapped out of your thoughts, staring down at your boyfriend, his cheeks pressed into his hands and he leant on the lakeside, only to consider something. Floyd was supernatural, right? And snow coming out of a perfectly function wardrobe is also abnormal, right? It might be a long shot, but what would it hurt to check with the merman to see if he knew anything about it? So you do, and to your surprise, his bored expression shifting to one of pure excitement.

He knows about it, he knows all about it! In fact, he can even show you what it is himself, and before you can ask, he hauls himself onto the lakeside, and with some painful sounding cracks, he soon doesn’t look much the Floyd you knew. His long tail split into legs, his once teal tones now very human...and he’s very, very naked. He tries to immediately set out for your house, but you’re able to keep him sat for a moment, you’ll be back soon, you promise! You dash off to grab some clothes from the local store, you can only guess his size, getting the first ones you think might fit him before taking them back to the lakeside to find Floyd there looking bored.

He pulls the clothes on with a groan, and it’s only when he stands you realise exactly how tall this human Floyd is, he towers over you, teeth still sharp, and it suddenly feels a little bit more threatening to know that he could always come on land. But you don’t get long to think, Floyd grabs you by the hand, dragging you off in the direction of your house, you don’t even think to ask how he knows where you live. You just about unlock the door before he punches through it, and by the time you’re in your spare room your mind is so frazzled by the events of the past few hours that it takes you a while to realise that Floyd is trying to pull you into the wardrobe. His brother will be so happy to meet you!

[tnystrk-exe]

Estocolmo

Hannibal x Reader

Masterpost

Warnings: Smut 18+ thigh riding, fingering, oral, daddy kink, plot to make up for my first attempt at writing smut.

Word count: 6.8k

Chapter One

“Fucking hell.” You sighed as you looked at the still tall stack of essays that needed grading. “I’m never getting through this.”

Your stomach grumbled, signaling it was time for a break. Stretching, the quiet was interrupted by the sound of your bone’s protest from sitting in one position for hours. It was nights like these you had regretted your choices. Sure you had known Professor Jacob loved to torture his students with too much work, but when you took the job as his assistant you assumed that he’d shoulder some of the weight. A ridiculous thought now that you’ve experienced working with him. Why should he even think of grading an assignment when he had a perfect little lackey doing it for him? That was a non question. He had been strict about the work not leaving his office, which meant you had accidentally fallen asleep in his office more than often than you would have liked. The pile of work never seemed to diminish. 

Walking out the office, you thought briefly of the joy you would feel when you’d never have to see it again. These long corridors would be a thing of the past in just a few, short months. Then you’d probably go to the city and struggle for a while but at least you would be free from here. As much as you prided yourself for getting through the first round of college, the walls of the building gave you more of an annoyed feeling than anything. 

Pushing open the door to the teachers lounge, you made a beeline for the fridge. The leftover pizza already seemed like a feast until you noticed it was nowhere to be seen. “Hannibal,” you whined to the empty room as you closed the fridge. 

“Yes, darling?” 

You startled, immediately turning around to face him, a mischievous smile was plastered on his lips. Usually your missing dinner meant to head over to his office. It wasn’t typical, but the two of you had managed a comfortable friendship between the shared late nights. Though, you suspected he’d stay longer than necessary to accompany you in the empty building. “Would you mind telling me where my dinner went, handsome?” You asked, raising a brow at him.

“Old pizza can hardly be considered dinner. Come,” he motioned to sit next to him at the table, “I’ve got a better meal prepared for you nonetheless.”

“Or maybe you just need to learn to appreciate the simple things,” you quipped as you took your seat.

“And you, the finer.”

You gave him an obvious look over, “I’d say I appreciate you plenty enough.” 

Being so forward wasn’t usually in your cards. However Hannibal had always been a gentleman and it had been fun to tease at him a bit. He never complained, often just acknowledging what you said with a raised brow or chuckle. Still there was always some truth in jokes and you’d be lying to say that he was anything less than tempting. Especially in the dark grey suit and dried blood red shirt of his. ‘No’ wouldn’t come to mind if he ever offered.

“Naughty, Miss LN,” he chided you, “What shall we do with you?”

“What do you want to do with me?”

“Eat your dinner,” he said, humor in his voice as he shook his head.

You choked back a comment about him just wanting to see your mouth stuffed, deciding it was too much of a push. Instead you just opened the lunchbox he placed in front of you. Hannibal watched you expectantly as you took a bite of the meat.

Closing your eyes, you savored the bite. It had been a while since you had something home cooked. “Han... I’m going to miss you most. I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you. Delicious, as always.”

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine.” He went back to work on his own stack of papers as you ate. “Though, I’m not sure I’m ready to allow you to live off street food once we part.”

“Guess we’re gonna have to find me another man that insists on throwing away my perfectly good food to serve me home cooked meals.”

Hannibal left some remarks on a paper before pushing it to the side. “You could always come learn a few things. Maybe I’ll rest better knowing you know how to make yourself a couple of decent meals. Any guesses for the meat?”

It was a strange guessing game, but you indulged him, he was just eccentric. “Oh, definitely human,” you teased, making sure to pick up some spinach and artichoke in the next bite, “Probably had a boring name like David.”

“Close. It was Richard,” he corrected. 

“Beef, it was the Rolex of all farm animals hand picked by you and I’m very grateful you shared some with me,” you smiled at him, “So how are things going with Baltimore?”

“I’ve found a beautiful home. The office, however, seems to be harder to find.”

“I’m sure you’ll find the perfect one.” Your phone started ringing. Grabbing it from your pocket, you looked at the screen. Mom. “They’re making this unnecessarily difficult,” you sighed to yourself. 

Hannibal looked at you with peaked interest as you shut off your phone and pushed it away. “Is something troubling you?”

“My parents aren’t taking too kindly to the no contact rule. It’s the tenth call today.”

“You’ve cut them off?”

“I thought about what you had said,” you shrugged, “I’m tired of always having to get them out of troubles and be their ATM when I don’t have enough for myself. It’s just too much on me right now. Between school assignments, Jacob’s work pile, and my other part time, it’s all just suffocating. They keep trying to use my grandfather’s death as a leverage to make me feel bad about not talking to them now, but they just want some money. I don’t want to feel guilty about this but I can’t help it.”

“Don’t,” he placed his hand over yours, “You deserve to feel taken care of and appreciated. They aren’t providing you with that now. Especially now when they use the death of the person who raised you as leverage,” he shook his head, making a disgusted sound, “It’s for your own well-being that you take some time to breathe and be young. They provide too much stress…” Hannibal fell silent. “I’ve suggested this before but i-“

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze before pulling away. “I’m not taking your money. We’re friends. Money complicates things. Muddies the waters.”

“Friends help each other,” he reminded you, “I’ve already told you I wouldn’t want any payment.”

“But I’d still feel like I owe you.” You shook your head, “It wouldn’t feel right to me. I’m fine. I promise. Though, if you’re so willing to help me with something, I wouldn’t say no to those cooking lessons. They could be fun.”

He spared you a smile, “It would be my pleasure to teach you what I know.”

“And I’d never deny your pleasure,” your mouth spoke before you could think about it, “Sorry.”

“I don’t deny myself pleasure either,” he said, amused. “You’re fine. Now, how about we meet on Sunday? I’ll have time to figure out a full meal and gather all of the ingredients.”

“Great!” You ignored the heat that still lingered on your face, “I- um, do you need me to bring anything?”

“Nothing at all, I’ll make sure to take care of everything. All you need to do, sweet girl, is bring yourself and an appetite.”

You stifled a pleased smile at the term of affection. “I’ll make sure to do that,” sparing a glance to the clock, you frowned, “I should probably get back to work on those essays.”

“Why don’t we work on them together?” He suggested. “My colleague is notorious for drowning you in his work. I can help you sort through it all and you can have a restful Saturday without Micheal’s added stress.”

“I really can’t ask that of you. You already have enough work as it is.”

“We’ll work together. First your work, then mine. What happened to never denying my pleasure?” 

Your eyes widened, but you laughed all the same. Maybe a while more in his company wouldn’t be so bad. “Fine. Hold me to my words, but it’s only going to cause you a headache. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. These new kids are… something else.”

“They’re nothing,” he stood, grabbing his papers in one hand, “Meet me in my office. We can be more comfortable there and I may have stowed away a bottle of wine.”

“What would I do without you Doctor Lecter?”

-

“You have arrived at your destination,” the robotic voice informed you as you parked.

You took in the mansion of a home. It was too big for someone that lived alone. The thought made you shiver. Homes should be filled with life, not empty space. Then again, he was a fan of dinner parties, extravagant ones at that, so you supposed there was life in those walls on occasion. The home itself reminded you of the houses in old movies. Ones where the lightning would strike at just the right moment as a warning to stay away. But this was real life and there was no lightning, just a sun setting on a near perfect day. 

Without a warning telling you to keep away, you grabbed the gift bag and stepped out of your car. He had said to bring nothing, but you couldn’t resist a simple gift. The ties in the bag had taken out a decent chunk from your pocket, but he deserved them. Between agreeing to give you cooking lessons and helping you out with grading every so often, the simple pieces of fabric meant nothing. Besides, it was a two way gift, he’d get more of the patterned ties he was fond of and you’d get to see him in the darker colors you liked on him, knowing he’d feel compelled to wear them to show you his gratitude.

Knocking on the door, you waited a couple of minutes before he emerged. “YN, just in time. Please, come in,” he stepped to the side, “I’ve looked forward to this all day.”

You smiled and stepped past him. “I have too. Entertained myself a bit today by finding you a gift.” 

“Darling, you shouldn’t have.”

Nervousness bit at you slightly, a bit self conscious they’d be too cheap for his taste. Too late to back out of it, you handed over the bag. “You’ve always been so kind and I really appreciate everything. Let me do something for you.”

He set the bag on the nearby table, laying out the ties to get a better look at them.  “They’re all lovely,” he ran a finger across the fabric of a maroon one, “Fond of me in darker colors, YN?”

“What can I say?” You shrugged, “We catch ourselves spending a lot of time together. Why not make you a decent piece of eye candy?”

“Inappropriate,” he chided you, before signaling you to follow after him.

“You just wear them so well, Doctor Lecter.”

Shrugging off his navy suit coat, he draped it over a chair, making quick work of rolling up his sleeves. “Ready to get your hands dirty, my little sous-chef?”

“What are we making?” You asked, looking at his kitchen wide eyed. It was definitely bigger than your measly studio apartment. 

“Frisee aux lardons, duck with a pomegranate-citrus glaze. I took the liberty of preparing a blood orange sorbet for dessert.”

“I have a proposal.”

“Yes?”

“We don’t do any of that and just have dessert for dinner.”

“No,” he gave you an amused glance, “There’s more pleasure in waiting for things. Why don’t you start washing up the vegetables and I’ll start preparing the duck?”

You stuck your tongue out at his back but set to your work. “This is what I get for befriending a charming old guy.”

“Keep going the way you are and our next meal together will be langue d’Agneau en papillote.”

“That can’t be a threat if I don’t know what that means,” you quipped, setting aside an endive. 

“It means, darling,” he pointed his knife at you, “The fondness I feel for you is an inconvenience. Nonetheless, it’s welcomed.”

You smiled at him brightly, as you brought the washed vegetables over to him. “I’m fond of you too, but you gotta stop flirting and teach me how we’re gonna cook Daffy here.”

He motioned for you to grab a cutting board and a knife of your own. The two of you worked in quiet harmony, occasionally he’d tell you exactly why he was doing something a certain way or just give you simple instructions and let you have a hands on feel of exactly how to prepare something. It was nice to see him in his element. Hannibal seemed much more content in his kitchen than any where you had seen him at the college. Eventually he set his work to the side and washed his hands. 

“You’re cutting them too thick. Thinner is better for this dish.” He stepped behind you, “Do you mind?”

“Go ahead.” You attempted to move to the side, but Hannibal had already caged you in between himself and the counter. His cologne was different from the one you were accustomed to him wearing, but the subtle spice of it gave a more homey feeling to him. 

Hannibal grabbed your hand that had yet to  let go of the knife. He made sure to show you how to cut them the right thickness. “See? A little thing can unbalance everything.”

“Hm,” you hummed, catching yourself relaxed against the man, his frame strong against yours, “I don’t see much of a difference. Pretty sure this is just your variation of a putter.”

“You assume I have hidden motives,” He acknowledged, looking down at you, “And if there were any?”

Taking the bait, you pressed a kiss to the side of his jaw. “I wouldn’t be too upset.”

His head dipped into your shoulder, taking in a breath. “What happened to not wanting to bring on complications in our friendship?”

“We only have weeks left with each other,” you shrugged, “There wouldn’t be any complications. Not really.”

“We really should get back to making our dinner, darling,” he sighed, almost seeming reluctant to pull away, “What else did you did you do today?””

It took you a second to respond, still shaking off the embarrassment. You weren’t sure what had compelled you to do that. When you looked up at him you grimaced. Grabbing a napkin, you carefully wiped away the lingering lipstick. “The ties were the more interesting part of the day, I didn’t plan anything eventful. Honestly most of my day was taken with trying to recall the shop you mentioned that carried the ones you liked.”

He hummed in appreciation, “You also managed to pick out two I have had my eye on. I’ve got new suits coming in soon that will pair perfectly.”

You beamed at that, happy he did actually like what you had chosen. “Lucky guess. It was difficult remembering the ones I had seen you wear.”

Hannibal made to grab some ingredients and set them on the counter near the stove. “Have your parents tried calling you this weekend?”

You sighed, sure you didn’t have to tell him the truth but you wanted to, he had a compelling thing to him that made it easy to just speak. “I sent them money for rent. Which was honestly the dumbest thing I’ve done in a while.”

“It wasn’t idiotic,” he stated, setting to work on making the pomegranate sauce as you watched, “They’re you’re parents. It’s only natural you worry about them. Though, I do worry they’ll think of you as a person that doesn’t stick to her word.”

“I know, I really meant to, but the thought of them out on the street. It’s not my responsibility, but I’m just so used to being their adult.”

“It’s difficult to detransition. You worry for them as they should worry for you.”  He checked over a pan he had been heating, “That’s perfect. If you could please..” Grabbing the plate with the duck you set them on the pan. “With duck it’s important to render off the fat. A low heat is necessary.”

You nodded, “Low and slow, got it... You know, I’m not sure they worry about me at all. I mean- I know they don’t. It should hurt, but it’s just a fact of life.”

“They didn’t give you an opportunity to be a child. When you were supposed to be in the most carefree moments of your life, they burdened you with the responsibilities of an adult.” He held out a spoon with some of the pomegranate sauce for you to taste. “Any pain the notion inflicted on you has been killed with time.”

“There are still moments though. Suppose that’s common enough, isn’t it Doc?” You leaned in, allowing him to feed you, “That tastes amazing. I really should have paid attention.”

“It’s simple, I’ll write it out for you later.” Casting the sauce aside, he set a pot of water to boil. “Very common. We aren’t too dissimilar when it comes to how quickly we had to grow up. Very different reasons, but the fall out isn’t much different. Our paths left us in places where we’re very much alone.”

“What happened?” You asked, realizing that he had known a great deal of your family and you had known nothing more past how his day had gone or his preference of coffee. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t.” Hannibal went to fill two glasses with wine. “I was very young when my parents died. My father had implemented in me that, if anything were to happen, I was to take care of my mother and sister. Which meant I had grown fiercely protective of Mischa when the time came. Soon I was acting more as her father than a brother.”

“Where’s Mischa now?” You asked, knowing at the very least she had to be in her late twenties.

His lips set into a frown, he took a quick drink. “Lost her sometime after. There was a lapse of judgement on my part and she suffered because of it. My days have often been shrouded by the thought that I could have done better by her. The ways I failed burdens me significantly.”

You rubbed his arm sympathetically. “I couldn’t even begin to imagine that pain.”

“It’s something I never wish to experience again. Losing someone you love so dearly, it changes a person.”

“I’m sure you tried your best. You’re a good man. I’m sorry you had to go through all of that when you were so young.”

“You think too highly of me,” he patted your hand on his arm, “Far better than I deserve. Still if my childhood had taught me anything, it’s to value those I hold dear. Such as yourself.” 

“I’m glad we found each other. Even if it is for a short while.” You watched as he stepped back into the rhythm of cooking. Maybe you weren’t any help to him but watching him work was comforting. 

He raised a brow, “Just because the amount of time we physically see each other will diminish, doesn’t mean we need to completely break apart. I’d like to have you at my dinner table later in life.”

“I’d like it if we kept in touch,” you replied, looking at a small box on the counter. The small black beads glimmered in the light, calling at you to take a peek. A neat row of recipe cards in his impeccable penmanship, numbered as high as 120 but there could have been more. “That’s sweet,” you mused, looking at the back of a card, noticing a couple had business cards on them, “You keep track of your friends’ favorites like this?”

“Friends, acquaintances, business partners. It’s difficult remembering everyone’s preferences. When I have dinner parties I like to make sure there’s a bit of something for everyone.”

“Hm, well I’m sorry I don’t have a card for you to have.”

When everything was said and done, you helped Hannibal set up the plates to have dinner. The conversation became light as you laughed along to the better memories of Mischa. From his smile it was easy to see he adored the usually shy girl. You never pressed on to find out how she died, simply choosing to bask in his soft smiles and laughter instead of entertaining curiosity. It was easy to see he rarely talked about her and you were grateful that he found that much comfort in you.

Some time later he was sitting at his harpsichord, playing a self composed melody as you browsed his shelves. There was an almost familiar calm in the air, like this was a usual happening and it would simply just happen again. A naturally reoccurring moment. You found comfort in his presence too. 

You looked up from the shelves when you heard his sigh. “I can’t seem to master this melody,” he stated, “The ending never sounds right.” The annoyed demeanor contradicted his lax look. At least lax for him. His vest and suit jacket had been discarded a while ago leaving him with a popped button, loosened tie, and rolled up sleeves. “I may just leave this one in the air.”

“Sounds perfect to me,” you said, walking over to him, “Though we can be our own worst critics. I know I’m mine.”

“It sounds… forced. Almost as if it’s reluctant to work with me.”

“Forced things just need time.” You placed your hand on his shoulders, digging in your thumbs to relieve the tension you felt. A soft groan as he let his head lull back to rest against your stomach. “Time is all you need sometimes. I thought you would have learned that already, old man.”

He opened his eyes, raising a brow at you. “Always with that mouth.”

You smiled down on him fondly, something- probably the wine in your system -thought about pressing a kiss to his forehead right then. “What can I say? It has a mind of its own.”

“I do prefer when it’s otherwise occupied,” he stated, closing his eyes again.

Your fingers dug a little deeper at that, caught off guard. “And yet.”

Hannibal played a couple soft notes, seemingly testing the waters for his next attempt at getting it to sound right. “And yet.” The first melody seemed almost innocent, but was followed by a second seemingly stalking after it. “Would you mind putting on a record? It seemed I’ve grown bored with music of my own.”

“Sure thing, Han.” Giving his shoulders one final squeeze you pulled away from him. At the record table you browsed through his selection. Hannibal was still composing as you decided to go with a record that looked more worn than the others, figuring something well loved would help him out of his frustrated state. Setting it on the platter, you gave it a brief once over with the anti static brush, knowing he’d probably be attentive to that type of thing, and dropped the needle. The music filled the air as you took in the melody. “Very you.”

He let out a soft chuckle, abandoning the harpsichord, in favor walking over to you. “Very me, indeed.” Hannibal took the record sleeve out of your hand, setting it down on the table. The music’s build up reached. “Would you give me the honor?” His hand was stretched out toward you.

You gave him a sheepish smile, “Afraid I’m going to have to disappoint. I’m not much of a dancer.”

“I’ve been told I’m a wonderful teacher,” he pressed, a charming smile on his lips, “We all start somewhere. Let me be yours.”

A soft laugh bubbled from you as you took in his look of boyish excitement. “You’re not allowed to complain when I step on your toes.” You placed your hand in his. 

He gave a gentle squeeze to your hand. “If you’re too terrible, I’ll show you the way I taught Mischa. You can stand on my toes as I try to help you commit the movements into muscle memory.”

“Handsome and a comedian.”

“I try my best.” Hannibal gave you a gentle spin as he pulled you closer. A kiss was pressed to your hand before he placed it on his shoulder. “Now, just follow after me,” he instructed, placing his hand on your hip.

The moment could have made you fall for the man as you danced with him throughout the room. Toothy smiles and teasing winks were sent your way the couple of times you stepped on his toe. Soon enough, you figured out the pace and learned how to follow through with his unspoken plans. Still, ever the novice, you managed to place your foot in a way that sent you both stumbling to the floor.

Hannibal held you close to his chest, ensuring you didn’t get hurt in the fall. “Oh my sweet girl,” he laughed, “we are going to need more practice.”

You hid your face against his neck, ignoring the fact that he could feel how hot your face was getting. “You want more of that?”

“You were doing perfect, YN,” he stroked your hair sympathetically, “One misstep isn’t something to be embarrassed about.”

Taking a deep breath, you shifted off of the older man, opting to sit beside him on the floor. Hannibal followed suit, leaning back on his elbows. “I really am going to miss seeing you regularly,” you admitted, reaching out your hand to push back the hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. 

“We spend much of our time together,” he acknowledged as he looked at you curiously. “In the kitchen-“

Your eyes widened slightly, “We don’t need to talk about that i-it’s fine. No hard feelings.”

“Romantically or physically?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you see me as a romantic or physical conquest?”

“I, um,” you opted to look at your fumbling hands, “I’m honestly not sure about romance… especially considering… everything and my experience when it comes to romance. Never really thought past- I’m talking too much.”

Hannibal’s hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to look him in the eye. “Oh? What happened to the confident girl in the kitchen? Don’t go shy on me now.”

“I was high on your cologne, you can hardly blame me,” you rambled, “It pairs with mine nicely I think.”

His thumb stroked absentmindedly at your jaw. “Such a sweet little thing you are… Now, tell me, YN, what couldn’t you think past?”

“You,” you offered lamely, “Mostly nights when I needed to relax. You’d cross my mind. I’d wonder how you felt. How’d you do things. Maybe you’d like to leave bruises only you’d ever know about…”

“There’s something special in knowing what others don’t,” Hannibal acknowledged, “I do enjoy my lovers wearing my marks, hidden from others view and only acknowledged by myself. As it should be, I’m certain you agree.”

You swallowed thickly at the implication of being marked as his solely. The idea of having normal conversations with him at the college with evidence of him knowing you well burned against your skin. Maybe you’d see if you could convince him into one particular fantasy Friday night had conjured. 

He rested his thumb against your bottom lip, bringing you back to him. “I’ve had thoughts of my own… I wonder… Have you ever wrapped a hand around your own neck?” Hannibal smirked at the way your lips parted in surprise as he felt the heat rise to your face, caught in a way you hadn’t expected. “Sweet girl, were you desperate for me?”

You went to lick your bottom lip out of habit, instead finding the pad of his thumb. “Yes, sir.”

“Darling,” he sighed out softly, almost disappointed, “we could have sorted you out this entire time, if you’d only ask politely. There would have been no need for you to imagine, creative as you might have been. You always put everyone’s needs before yours, but where does that leave you?” Hannibal his thumb pressed against your lips lightly, humming in satisfaction when you let him in, already so compliant. “All you have to do is ask. What would you have me do tonight?” A soft pop sounded in the room as he pulled his thumb back, smearing your spit onto your lips and chin. 

“Just tonight?” The words rolled out of your mouth thoughtlessly. 

A soft laugh. “Maybe more, if you behave.”

Hannibal threaded his hand into your hair, pulling your head back slightly. Leaning closer he took a deep breath, taking you in, before leaving a simple kiss against your neck. His warm breath fanned across your face as he kept you in anticipation. Finally he graced you with a feather light kiss, so quick you weren’t sure you even noticed. You didn’t have time to feel ashamed of the whine that had escaped when he started to move away. Following after him, you caught him in an urgent kiss, threading your own hands in his hair to make sure he’d stay close. Hannibal bit at your bottom lip, his tongue sliding in the second you gasped. You ignored the sting and slight coppery taste. 

Sure you had had your fair share of ventures. It was only natural to crave the attention for the night or a couple hours. However, Hannibal didn’t feel like any of your past partners. His kiss was unrelenting and passionate. Quickly he learned exactly how to kiss you to ensure you’d moan into his mouth. You weren’t sure how long had been spent like this. Lips on lips. Someone’s wandering hand trailing down the other’s body. The growing need. Every movement slowly became bolder. Hannibal took the time to pull you onto his thigh, closing the distance between you even more. He kissed along your neck until he found a spot that made you buck against him. 

“Please,” you sighed out, not really knowing exactly what you wanted, but having faith that he’d give you just what you needed. 

Hannibal leaned his forehead against yours, “Are you sure about this, darling?” 

It wasn’t time for contemplation though, everything was already set into motion. He had just asked out of politeness. His hands moved to your hips, he dragged you against himself in a way that clouded your mind. “You’re very convincing,” you said with a shuddered breath. Leaning your head against his shoulder, you matched his rhythm. At the moment everything in the world was him and you couldn’t find it in you to mind. 

“You came to me,” he pointed out. His hand tugged at your shirt and you allowed him to pull it off. Fingers raised goose bumps along your skin as he followed the fabric of your bra to unclasp the material.  

“Could you blame me?” You kissed the side of his jaw for the second time this night. The lipstick mark left behind wasn’t as embarrassing when you were half undressed on his lap. A blush blossomed in your chest as you watched his darken eyes take you in.

Hannibal kissed along your chest. His hand made its way into your pants, drawing slow circles on your clit. Your soft moan and jut of your hips urged him for more. Before you could ask, he thrusted two fingers inside of you, the pace changing every so often as he took in your reactions. You leaned your head against his shoulder as you grinded against his hand. Soft whimpers were muffled by the fabric of his shirt. 

“Come on sweet girl,” he used his free hand to pull you off of his shoulder by the hair, “you shouldn’t be hiding. Look at me when I’m touching you. Don’t you want to be my good toy?”

You nodded meekly, unable to make a smart comment when you saw a smirk settle on his lips as a too loud moan took its place. 

“That’s it, no one can hear you,” he teased as he worked at the spot harder, his thumb rubbed at your clit. “You seem very close, what if I…”

As he went to move his hand, you grabbed his wrist to stop him. “No, no, no. Please, I’ll be good for you.”

He chuckled, but didn’t say a word as he brought his pace back up. Instead he chose to revel in your soft sounds and the way you had to focus to keep your eyes on him. Finally, he decided keeping you on the edge was enough and allowed you to cum on his fingers. 

“Clean up your mess,” he said as he thrusted his cum coated fingers into your mouth, “There you go, good girl.”

You watched him as you sucked his fingers clean. Bringing a hand down you palmed cock through his pants, fully intending on returning the favor. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

“I’m afraid that status isn’t going to change anytime soon.” Hannibal kissed your pouted lip. “Don’t worry, I fully intend on taking care of you. Come, let’s make you more comfortable.”

As he stood, Hannibal offered you his hand to help you up. You followed him through the home to his bedroom, a place you didn’t think you’d end up but were more than pleased to see. Still you weren’t exactly taking in the sights when you were pulled into a rougher kiss as he led you toward his bed. A not too gentle push to your chest landed you on top of it. Leaning back on your elbows, you watched as Hannibal took his time undressing you fully. 

“You don’t play fair,” you complained, shifting yourself higher on the bed, away from him, “I like a pretty view too you know.”

He smiled, looking down at you fondly, “Very well, but only as a reward for earlier. I know you struggled.”

You smiled at that, shaking your head, “Come here won’t you?”

There wasn’t any time wasted when he settled on top of you, you didn’t have his patience. Your hands worked on his tie and buttons as his lips and teeth trailed across your chest. A subtle grind against your pussy had your thighs squeeze his waist. Pushing his shirt off, you felt down his chest, still surprised by how muscular he seemed to be underneath it all. You wondered if he’d stop you as you reached for his belt.

“That’s enough. I don’t think you’ve earned it just yet.”

An annoyed huff was all you could manage. 

“All in its time, darling.” A surprisingly gentle kiss was dropped on your cheek. “Can you manage waiting a while longer for me?”

You resisted the urge to nuzzle against him, unused to such soft displays from past partners. “Yes, sir...”

“Always such a sweet, polite thing.” 

Hannibal kissed and bit his way down your body, ensuring there would be evidence of him the next time you saw yourself in the mirror. He allowed you to thread your fingers in his hair, giving him a soft push down when he took too long marking you in one spot. It wasn’t much longer until Hannibal was level with your thighs, he pushed them further apart. A moment passed without anything before you remembered his rule. Willing yourself up you looked down at him, catching a wink before you were rewarded with a broad lick. Hannibal sucked your clit, pressing your hips down when you grinded against him. 

A helpless noise was the most you could do.

He bit your thigh, his fingers immediately making their way back inside of you, targeting the spot he had quickly learned turned you to putty. 

“You really are beautiful like this,” Hannibal acknowledged, “Completely at my mercy. Desperate for anything I’m willing to give you.”

There wasn’t any time to think up something to say as Hannibal’s mouth replaced his fingers, silencing any words that weren’t his breathy attempts of his name and pleas. Teeth grazed against your clit and a soft moan of his own was enough to pull you closer. 

“Please, daddy,” you begged, too far gone to be embarrassed by your slip, “I’m close…”

Hannibal was merciful, helping you finish as quickly as you had asked. Maybe at another time he would have teased and made you hold on longer but there was only so much patience he had. Especially when there was such an eager lover begging him. You watched him, dazed, as he came back up, his hand gripping at your jaw.

“Open.”

Doing as he wanted, you opened your mouth, instantly receiving a mix of the still lingering wine he had drank at dinner and you. He watched as you swallowed.

He let out an almost dreamy sigh. “So pliant.” 

Hannibal kissed you, finally allowing you to get your way as you pushed off the last clothes. You pumped him in your hand, working up the courage as you shook off the daze he had left you in. He was definitely the most talented partner you had had.

“We don’t have to go any further,” Hannibal reassured you, kissing the side of your mouth, “I’m perfectly sedated watching you.”

You shook your head immediately, not wanting him to think you were hesitant. “I want to, college guys aren’t so giving, just needed some time to clear my head.” As if to prove your point you gave him a squeeze, that made him thrust into your hand on instinct. “I just feel bad you’re doing all the work.”

“I prefer it,” he groaned quietly, as you thumbed at the slit. Hannibal rolled so that you could be on top of him, “But if you insist…”

A soft laugh. “That was hardly the fight I was expecting,” you muttered teasingly, kissing his jaw. 

“My patience is running thin.”

At that you straddled him, your hand lining him up with you. His hands held you steady as you sunk onto him. The both of you moaned softly when he was fully inside. Hannibal slowly grinded you against himself as you adjusted to his size. Hands against his chest, you started riding him in earnest. 

“That’s my good girl,” he praised you, his fingernails digging harder into your hips. 

“Yours,” you whimpered, too enthralled in the feel of him to pay any attention to the weight of what you were saying. His groans underneath you encouraged you more than anything. “All yours.”

Hannibal sat up, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you firm against him. His soft kiss was a contrast to how roughly he was working himself into you. You couldn’t find it in you to care that he had taken control again. Instead you wrapped your arms around his neck, letting him do as he pleased, just enjoying the way his hands and lips would travel across your body. Teasing, pinching, biting everywhere he could reach.  Your chest alone would be covered in marks left behind by Hannibal. That would be a problem for the future you to deal with at the moment you were too preoccupied with begging him for more. He’d slow his thrust whenever he felt you close to the end, chuckling lowly at the whining sounds you had made.

“Give daddy one more sweet girl. I know you can.”

You moaned loudly, giving Hannibal exactly what he wanted. When he wanted. Drained, you fell limp against his shoulder. Every small sound you made broadcast directly to him as he used you for all your worth. His arms tightened around you when you tried to pull away from the over stimulation. 

“Daddy’s close,” he promised, his accent thicker than usual, “I’ve taken such good care of my girl. Be good for me.”

Nodding, you dug your nails into his shoulders. You could be good. He had been so good to you after all. Still your vision blurred and it had taken a while longer for him to finally go still inside of you. 

Hannibal kissed the side of your head, before pulling you to lay down against him. His thumb wiped away the stray tear that had managed to fall. “You did so well for me. Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

You sighed sleepily, curling into his side more comfortably, “I’m alright. Just want you.”

“We’ll take care of you later,” he promised, seeing how tired you were, “You should rest, darling. I’ll be right here.” His hand rested on your hip, thumbing at forming bruise gently. Between the soft touch and his quiet humming, it didn’t take long for you to find sleep. 

NextChapter

[syllvane]

longing- matthias helvar x reader

a/n: for someone who claims not to like angst, i sure write it a lot!

You will never have a life with Matthias Helvar.

You are both child soldiers and the two of you will never have a life beyond the one that you have in the Barrel.

There will be no honest jobs for either of you, no dancing in the refrigerator light, no bringing home flowers, no picturesque wedding.

Neither of you will ever quite be able to wash off the blood that stains your hands, marking you as the murderers that you both are.

Still though, it’s nice to pretend.

It’s nighttime in Ketterdam and although it’s not quiet, it’s not as loud as it was earlier in the evening.

You’re sitting on the rooftop of the building adjacent to the Slat and Matthias is right besides you, gazing out over the city.

“If we got a house here, where would you want to live?”

“Not in the Barrel,” He said immediately and you laughed quietly, almost imperceptibly. “I don’t know. I guess I never… never really thought about it.”

Of course he hadn’t.

You don’t blame him; you’d never thought about it either.

“Can we afford the financial district?” He asked after an extended period of silence and you smiled in the darkness.

Not in a million years.

“We can afford the Grand Palace for all I care.”

Although you couldn’t see him in the darkness, you were willing to bet a million kruge that he had just raised his eyebrows.

“Tempting, but I think I’ll settle for the financial district. Could we… could we paint it light blue?” You remembered the colorful assortment of houses that you had seen in Fjerda, the eccentrically colored houses and the colorful roofs that they sported. He missed his home more than he let on. Before you could open your mouth, he spoke again. “It’s stupid, it’d probably get dirty the second we finish painting it.”

“Then we’ll clean it. Every day, if we have to.”

He hummed.

“What about you? I picked the color of the house, what do you want?”

I want you. I want a life with you.

“Flower boxes on every windowsill. Flower boxes filled with spring starflowers.”

“Why those?” He asked, the tiniest bit of curiosity making its way into his voice.

“It’s stupid.”

“I don’t believe you.”

You glared at him though there was no malice in the look.

“We had some in the garden, when I was growing up. They just remind me of home.”

“I told you it wasn’t stupid,” He said matter-of-factly and you rolled your eyes.

“If Kaz had heard me say any of that, he would’ve whacked me over the head with his cane for being so sentimental,” You grumbled and you felt Matthias stiffen, as if there was a real threat to you in that moment.

“I would have him on the ground before he hurt you.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” You said, leaning your head against his shoulder. “What else do you want?”

Before he could answer, gunfire rang through the city, only lasting a couple of seconds.

But just like that, you had been pulled out of this life that the two of you were creating and back into the Barrel, back into reality.

Matthias held you a little tighter than before and you weren’t sure if he had even realized it.

And although you were perfectly capable of defending yourself, it was nice to be held, even if only for a little bit.

“I want to grow old with you. Whether it be in the Slat or in the Grand Palace of Ravka, I want to grow old with you.”

The sentiment made your heart ache.

“I’m not going to be the one telling King Nikolai that he has to move out.”

Matthias let out a small laugh and you relished in the sound.

“I’ll do it, only because I love you so much.”

There is a comfortable silence for a little bit, the two of you simply watching the various going ons of the drunk patrons stumbling around.

“Would you be happy? With a normal life.”

He doesn’t respond immediately and his silence betrays him.

“Would you?”

You don’t answer either because that is the truth of the matter: being gentle and loving and domestic isn’t in his nature and it surely isn’t in yours.

You are not humans, you are instruments of war, forged in fire.

You are not meant for gentle touches and longing stares and yet here you are next to him, tucked safely into his arm.

It would be nice to stay here, even just for a little while longer.

You don’t remember going back to the Slat or falling asleep for that matter, but when you wake up, you are tucked safely in bed, a fresh bouquet of spring starflowers on your dresser.

They are right next to a note you scribbled last night, reminding yourself to look for blue paint to surprise Matthias with.

(You will not have a life with Matthias Helvar. But it is not for lack of wanting.)

[thesolferino]

Blood Red

⤷ knight!dream x assassin!fem!reader.

— summary: technoblade hires you to kill sir dream at king george’s ball while he’s off duty; sir dream wants a dance with the peculiar lady wearing a peculiar gown.

A red gown flashes past the sea of white and baby pink ones in a dazzling fashion, one of a Duchess or a Countess, surely not of a simple lady, but it flies by quick, so quick that you simply don’t get to catch the face that matches it. Quick enough that it leaves you stunned, slow enough for a knight’s eagle eye to spot.

The red is dark, darker than the simple scarlet red that the women wore on top of their buns or at the ends of their braids in the form of carefully tied bows. It’s dark, a dark maroon red, walking the line between uncomfortably red and obviously brown finely, careful not to cross each side. It’s an unsettling red, which makes it even more intriguing, especially to a knight - a knight who dances, off-duty, but fails to keep his eyes on the Dame in front of him, and he’s sure it might’ve gotten him in trouble if the porcelain mask hadn’t stayed stapled on his face, shielding his eyes from betraying him.

The red is outstanding, eccentric amongst all the pale, and the knight isn’t the only one who steals a look - the red was noteworthy, among the rest, and wasn’t that what a killer like yourself was made to avoid? Getting seen, getting noticed? Being the center of attention was for the masterminds, after all, not the ones who get their hands dirty; somebody might catch them staining.

It was a bad idea, the ones in charge had said many times before, but you always wore red to the job. They always dumbly ask why, you always repeat the answer. The blood would become invisible, you said. It was as if nothing had happened, at all.

That’s why your maroon flashed amongst the sea of ivory and lavender unapologetically, beautifully shining against the blush pink tiles, matching red heels clacking in obedience with your footsteps, feet moving lightly, gracefully, as if made for such a setting.

And when the song decrescendoed into silence and the violins started moving in a different pattern, the knight callously let go of the Dame’s hand and his feet carried him to where his eyes remained fastened on for hours, pale hand outstretching to your own, finally getting to see your face for the first time in the evening.

The red was too much for a Lady, and that’s why he knew exactly who you were. Maybe not by name, or by age, but profession and motivation were a strong guess. He’d been waiting for this moment - might as well make the most of it.

“May I have this dance, miss?” He spoke, hand still hovering in the air calmly, as she stared dead into the mask, right where she could imagine his eyes were. The stare gave him the answer to an already solved question - your gaze gave away absolutely nothing, and that’s what made him sure of it all. You’re good at your job, he supposes.

Beats of silence pass as couples sway behind you, some more gracefully so than others. You set your hand in his, lightly, carefully, so timidly it almost made him rethink it all. How could such a hand commit such vile things?

“Alright.” You spoke in return, placing your hand behind his shoulder, touch still as soft as before before slipping your other hand in his, not letting your fingers intertwine the way he may have wanted them to. He placed his arm on your back, just below your armpit, beginning to dance and move towards the center of the ballroom.

“From what I’ve observed, you seem to be a good dancer.” He mused, stretching his hand to let you spin, gown flapping around as you did, and he could’ve sworn it might’ve left trails of stardust on the floor everywhere you stepped. You smiled, in a way that screamed at him to escape, but his hand stayed glued to yours, moving further.

“I know a couple of things here and there.”

“How come? Excuse me if I am being intrusive, but I have not seen you at many balls. At least not the ones I attend.” He knew exactly why this specific ball was the one she attended, and the whole conversation inevitably leads to the answer he’s already aware of - he just wants to see how good of a liar you are, though.

“This is my first time here. I’m not a woman of some importance.” You replied, charm beaming off you like rays of light off the sun, and Dream could almost feel his legs tripping after the very hem of your dress. He’s playing with fire, and he knows it, but he just can’t help himself and pour heaps of gasoline. He’s always been like that, and perhaps George hates him for it, but George doesn’t matter anymore - he doesn’t exist as long as he doesn’t look at him. He’s off duty, and if he wants to play with the fire that lights just to burn him, then he shall do exactly that.

“Oh, believe me, you are of utmost importance if I’ve ever seen some.” He says, and you reply with nothing, simply spinning another time under his arm that holds yours firmly. He takes it as an invitation to spark some panic in you.

“Besides, the color of your dress would suggest otherwise. How come a simple lady’s wearing such kitsch cloth?” Dream points out when the two of you move a bit farther back, led by you, and he’s just about impressed at how well you are at suppressing all of this, especially when you let out a perfectly timed, airy chuckle in response, not a single flash of fear or danger in your eyes. It’s the first time that night that he’s actually felt like prey. Techno taught you well, didn’t he?

“I don’t think you’re one to speak on that, Sir Dream.” you respond, eyes flashing from the collar of his basil green suit to the nicely paired olive points of his shoes, back to the hollow eyes of the mask with a mischievous glint in your eye. He exhales a laugh.

“The color is pretty, isn’t it? Aren’t simple ladies allowed to feel like Duchesses every once in a while?” you continue, pulling the two of you mere centimeters closer, enough for any of the passing guests not to spare a single look, and enough for him to notice what you’re doing. He can almost feel a bead of sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. Maybe he’s more scared of death than he thought.

“I don’t think you’re a simple lady.” He professed, following your lead. You were pulling him dangerously close to the south side, where the balcony stood. You were impressingly good at this. “Simple ladies don’t have knives strapped to their thigh.”

He waited for a slip up, and he got none. Not a single hitch in your breathing, a stutter of your tongue - your lips, marked with a red lipstick that suddenly looked a lot like smeared blood even though it wasn’t, simply stretched into another coy smile. You say nothing, simply keep dancing, feet moving in a little bit of a different direction now, as to delay the operation, and he likes to think that’s enough of a slip up.

“Are you scared of death, Sir Dream?” Violins stammer in staccatos behind him, an awful representation of the tension he knows both of you feel, yet not a single other soul in the room can behold. The back of his neck grows warmer, and maybe it’s fondness, maybe lust, or maybe danger and that known feeling of being the prey in this situation, that he taps in with one foot, the other safely yet artificially placed on predator territory, because he refuses to admit he’s no longer the one with the upper hand, and his leg has lifted off predator land long, long ago.

“My death will be nothing more than a false victory to you.” He offers instead of an answer, hips swaying to the music and steals a glance at the rest of the couples dancing. It’s such an airy atmosphere, so calm, casual yet fancy, elegant. Gowns fly around and snake around naked ankles, but none of them are as pretty as yours. Dream refuses to think about the way his blood would look soaking it, and that’s when it clicks. You’re not so dumb, after all.

“I suppose it will, but your murder will be a true one.” you say, and your feet are tapping on the tiles a few feet too close to the balcony. Dream feels crazy, still dancing like this. He feels crazy, and maybe he should ask for help, scream, but he doesn’t. He dances on, dancing until either the stars or you take him.

“Will you feel alive if I take it off? Will he be more satisfied?” His head moves comically, just to bring attention to the mask that feels so unbelievably tight and suffocating, the strings pressing to the back of his head, threatening to snap. He wants them to snap so badly.

“It’s too late for me to feel alive now. I’ve been dead for years, and I’ll stay that way. Whatever you want, though, honey.” Your voice feels more like music than the actual musing of the fuse of piano and strings in his ears, and he still feels crazy. He feels high on something he’s never known. You haven’t killed him yet - maybe you’re high as well.

“I can bring people back to life.” He replies simply, six simple words that are nothing more than conversation fuel, but they hold so much meaning that he can’t miss the glint in your eyes. Your step falters for a second, but the knight’s eagle eye never misses.

“You don’t want me alive, you want yourself alive.” You whisper, heels clacking louder and louder now. Dream is convinced he’s going insane, but his feet move at their own accord, of their own body and soul.

“I want both of us.”

“Only one gets to stay.” You say, and it doesn’t make his blood go cold like he expects it to. It’s sort of depressing to know that his heart accepted his morality so quickly, much quicker than his stubborn brain.

“I don’t think you want me to go, though.” It’s one hell of a ballsy move, but when you press your lips together, he knows he’s done it. Unsure how, but happy he did, nonetheless.

“I’m quite unsure of what I want, I must say. Sir Technoblade does, though.” You spit his name out, and it forces an unwilling laugh out of Dream.

“Be careful, it’s death you’re dancing with.” You say, gaze as fiery as ever, reflecting the blood of your dress and the blinding lights of the chandelier that light your eyes on fire. He returns the gaze just the same.

“May I get one last dance with Death, then, before she makes up her mind?” The knight cheekily smiles, even though you can’t see it, but he’s sure you feel it. Your hand manages to go warmer in his own when you grip it tighter, and he thinks he’s got his answer.

“You know what? Death’s a pretty good dancer, but so are you. She’ll allow it.”

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Phantom Children Ch. 8

What's this? An update! Massive thanks to my betas for helping me get through this chapter <3

In Which: A few answers are given to the family and Danny is rudely awoken

[Side note: If you wanna know the general ages of the batfam, its listed in the AO3 version. I also talk about katanas in the end notes ^-^]

AO3 | Prologue | 7 | [ 8 ] | 9 DAMIAN INFORMED TODD—and Drake when he arrived on his bike sometime later on—that the boy whose face is plastered across the monitor was neither a picture of himself nor of Father.

Drake took one glance at the monitor and sighed, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “Just when I thought this day was getting better.”

“What, did that café on 5th finally let customers supersize their drink?”

“God that would be the dream, wouldn’t it?” Drake sighed wistfully. “Nah, but I did get a lead on where some of that stolen Cadmus tech might’ve ended up. I was gonna spend the night following up on it, but I guess we have to deal with,” he gestured to the monitor, “whatever this is.”

Todd leaned against the edge of the computer, arms crossed over the red bat insignia on his chest. “What are we dealing with this time, brat? A clone? An alternate universe counterpart? Magic shenanigans?”

Maybe. Perhaps. All of those were perfectly valid conclusions for the enigma that was Daniel James Fenton. (Why Fenton and not al Ghul? Or even Wayne?)

Damian, too, was a genetic experiment; a ‘test tube baby’ as Drake put it at times. Damian was born for greatness, created to be perfect. The perfect soldier. The perfect assassin. The perfect heir. Was this boy—Daniel—like him as well?

A failed one, then. Perhaps the precursor to Damian’s own existence. But that would not explain why the boy was allowed to exist for so long. His grandfather demanded perfection, especially from those of his own blood. If the boy was a failure, he would have been eliminated immediately, not sent to live with some eccentric scientists in the Midwest.

Damian was not naïve enough to think that his mother and grandfather did not keep secrets from him. On the contrary, he expected it. The League of Shadows dealt in secrets as often as it did in death. Certain information was worth its weight in gold, whether it was given or buried away.

But he could not help the sharp pang in his chest. A lightning strike, quick and electrifying at the notion that they kept secrets about their family from him.

His father’s face flashed in his mind. The shock turned into a slow, dawning horror. That flicker of light, of recognition, as he scrutinized the contents of the flash drive and cross-referenced it with a public database.

And grief.

Damian recognized the grief.

Alfred, too, nearly dropped his tray of fresh-baked cookies when he stepped in front of the monitor. His usual unflappable demeanor was momentarily broken at his father’s whispered “Sixteen years. Alfred— he’s sixteen years old.”

His father knew of the boy. He was allowed to know of Daniel when he was not allowed to know about Damian.

------

Grayson returned to the cave with a distinct lack of energy in his step. His mask dangled off the tips of his fingers, chin angled downwards and covered largely by his hand. For a split second, their eyes met. Grayson shifted his gaze away, scratching the back of his neck. Father told him, then. Damian wondered how much Father revealed to his favorite son.

Damian clucked his tongue and buried himself deeper into the chair, arms crossed and pointedly looking away. If it was not for his accursed ankle, he’d have headed out to the training ring to take his frustrations out on the dummies.

“Oh, thank god you’re here, Dickface. Damian’s completely out of it.”

Damian shot him a look. “Shut up, Todd.”

“Leave him alone, Jay. Is Tim back yet?”

Drake emerged from the changing room in a dark green shirt, a fresh cup of coffee in hand. He took one long sip before exhaling. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“O-kay…” He pressed his hands together, mouth thinned into a grim line. “Uh, hey Tim, glad to see you back safe. Bruce is coming down soon to explain some things.” He let out a deep sigh, carding a hand through his hair. “This kind of thing would probably be better with the girls around, but I—god, I don’t know.”

Todd raised an eyebrow. “Don’t know whether to call Steph and Cass in Hong Kong, or don’t know what’s going on?”

“Yes.”

------

When Father arrived, Pennyworth following dutifully behind him, it was with an aching slowness in his gait. His steps measured and precise, preternaturally quiet as he made his way to stand by Damian’s chair. Damian sat up straighter, shoulders squared and back an inch away from the backrest. The rest, even Todd, stood at attention; an ingrained habit among Robins and an amusing instinct even among the senior heroes of the Justice League when it came to facing the Batman.

His father kept a steady hand on Damian’s shoulder, and Damian, shamefully, leaned into the touch; his head inclined towards his father’s hand so much so that he could feel the ends of his hair being pushed up slightly as he brushed against his father’s forearm.

He spoke with his usual monotone, as if he was heading a Justice League meeting as opposed to unveiling the secrets surrounding that boy. He brought forward the few photos they obtained from the flash drive. “A few weeks ago, we were alerted of suspicious movement from the League of Shadows in Amity Park, Illinois. Their objectives are, as of now, unclear, though it appears to be tied to the death of Amity Park resident, Daniel Fenton.”

One photo was a standard ID picture people get for their driver’s license, the lighting deliberately horrible so that any attempt to look decent would always end in failure. Another photo was a little better; a candid scene of him chatting with two others his age, a Caucasian girl in gothic-style clothes and an African-American holding a sleek, but still very outdated PDA. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners, hand reaching up to his face to stifle a laugh. There were other photos like this, some candid, others posed. At the forefront of each, a boy that looked too much like his father, too much like Damian.

His father glanced at the photos. He shut his eyes and when he opened them again, he fixed them on some distant stalactite in the Cave. “Around six months ago, Daniel was pronounced dead in a vehicular accident. A body was present, but according to police reports, he was identified via his driver’s license as opposed to any kind of DNA profiling.” He leaned over Damian’s chair to pull up a profile of Masters. “Our source—Vladimir Masters, mayor of Amity and a friend of the Fenton family—indicated his belief that Daniel is actually alive. I am inclined to agree.”

“He’s your son, isn’t he,” Drake said, more of a statement than a question.

Father gave a curt nod. “I cannot say for certain until I can perform a DNA test, but I highly suspect that to be the case.”

“First the demon spawn, now this. Great.” Todd made a hand motion towards the screen. “You know, Bruce, not knowing you have a kid once might be a coincidence, but twice? How do you do that?”

“As of three hours ago, I was still under the impression that my son never made it to term.”

“What?”

“Over sixteen years ago I was involved in a mission that put Ra’s and I on the same side. During that time, Talia and I entered a relationship that resulted in a pregnancy. Though initially ecstatic, she eventually led me to believe she miscarried the child and pushed me away. For what ends, I do not know, but trust me Jason, if I knew—” He paused, the hand that was not on Damian’s shoulder curled into a tight fist.

Father pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why she hid it from me then doesn’t matter. Why Talia wants him back now is important. Judging from Daniel’s records, he was adopted into the Fenton family as an infant and has since lived a seemingly normal life as a civilian. His adoptive parents, Jack and Maddie Fenton, are brilliant scientists and engineers focused on the field of paranormal studies. Eccentricities aside, they have zero connections to the League of Assassins or any other concerning parties.”

“So why now?” Dick asked, shifting his concerned gaze from Bruce to the static picture of Danny’s tired smile. “Why, after all this time, decide that now would be the best time to recover him?”

------

Danny’s experienced plenty of rude awakenings before, but waking up at the ass-crack of dawn to avoid his kidnapper-slash-assassin-slash-biological-mom launching a surprise attack takes the fucking cake. He can’t believe he’s saying this, but thank god for all those late night ghost attacks that conditioned him to be a light sleeper. And, of course, the League’s insistence that everyone be in optimal condition regardless of how little sleep you actually got.

Danny kicked Talia off of him, ripping his blanket away before scrambling to his feet. Seriously, if the universe decided to spontaneously give him powers again, he’d really like an upgrade to his ghost senses, please and thank you. Something that works on humans and not just ghosts. Like spidey-senses. He’d really, really like some spidey-senses.

“Your reaction times have improved considerably,” Talia said.

He eyed the katana sheathed beside his bedroll. “Thanks. Who could have guessed that constantly challenging someone to a spar in the unholy hours of morning would make them paranoid to sleep too much? Really, how am I supposed to grow taller at this rate? ” If he could just get it--

She smiled, taking a step forward. “Prepare yourself.”

“Heh.” Danny stepped further away from Talia, keeping his back to the mouth of the cave. One hand stretched in front of him and the other, coated in a green light, was kept hidden behind his back. “Am I actually gonna get some answers today?”

“Let us make it interesting. Last 10 minutes against me and I shall tell you more about your brother.” Talia twirled her blade. “If you happen to draw blood, you may ask any one thing of me.”

“Anything?”

“Within reason.”

His face caught between a grimace and a smile. He’d rather be sleeping right now, but if he had to be awake, then he’d better make the most of it. “Deal.”

Talia’s smile dropped. She veered her body to the right, barely dodging the streak of bright green that whizzed from behind her. The ectoplasmic energy that surrounded the katana bled away as the handle connected with Danny’s outstretched hand.

She quickly glanced back at Danny’s bedding. Beside it lay an empty sheath. “You have telekinesis?”

He shrugged. “It comes and goes.” Yeah, no way was Danny gonna admit that seven-out-of-ten-times he forgot that he had telekinesis. Besides, that shit was hard to do when he wasn’t Phantom.

“A surprise attack from behind is a sound strategy, Daniel. Though it’ll take a lot more than that to harm me.”

Danny pointed to the side of his cheek. “Are you sure about that?”

Talia frowned. She reached up to her face. Her fingers brushed against her cheek and came away with a thin streak of blood.

Danny grinned, pointing his blade at his opponent. “First blood goes to me.”

------

Fact: most fights don’t last long. An average street fight could last anywhere between 25 to 40 seconds, and sword fights rarely last over a minute. Like Talia said, the goal of a fight was to end it with as few injuries to oneself as possible. Humans, even the most skilled ones, can rarely last long in a fight. Prolonged combat is suicide; it makes you tired, makes your muscles heavy. It’s nothing like what Hollywood would have you believe.

Even with Danny’s own enhanced stamina and Talia holding back, he couldn’t last a full ten-minute spar. If Talia didn’t finish him within twenty-five seconds, then he’d fall by his own human limitations.

But the goal wasn’t to spar continuously for ten minutes.

He only had to last that long.

Danny sprinted out of the cave. The sun barely peeked out of the horizon, a thin line of deep orange breaking apart the wide expanse of blue-black sky above. He couldn’t see shit; great news since that meant there’s a good chance Talia couldn’t either, but that doesn’t fix the fact that he can’t see.

Nearly stumbling on the ice, Danny veered to the left. The edges of the lake stopped at towering rocks twice Danny’s height, leaving little room for cover. Though if he remembered correctly, there should be a few crevices here and there to hide in.

“You’ll have to be faster than that, Daniel.”

Shit—

Danny stopped. He brought his sword up to parry Talia’s strike and twisted away, putting distance between them.

Well, so much for just avoiding her for 10 minutes.

He adjusted his grip, keeping his sword steady and eyes trained on Talia as they circled each other. Danny lunged with an overhead strike. Talia used one hand to block the downswing by gripping his wrists. She thrust her sword forward, the tip harshly poking Danny’s abdomen.

“Less than three minutes.” Talia let his wrist go, Danny’s arms slumping to his sides.

He sighed as he sheathed his sword. “Damn, I thought I’d last longer than that.”

“You made a good effort,” Talia assured him. “Putting as much distance between us at the beginning was a good strategy. You recognized the win conditions immediately and attempted a battle of attrition.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I am very proud of you habibi, especially as you managed to draw first blood.”

A warmth grew in Danny’s stomach at the words, heating his cheeks. Sheepishly, he scratched the back of his head. “I wasn’t entirely sure that would work, honestly.”

“It was clever; half a second later and you might have even killed me. You are an al Ghul through and through” She brushed his hair out of his face. “What would you like as your prize, then?”

Danny’s heart clenched. He frowned, dropping his arm to his side. If I was such an al Ghul, then why didn’t you keep me? The question lodged itself in his throat, stifling his thoughts. It was something he’d been wondering for a while, actually, in the moments of solitude he had at the compound. Talia, during their training, would always remark at his potential. How talented he was, how adaptable he was, how much greater he would have been if he had been trained at a younger age.

Well then, why wasn’t he? Why did she give him up?

But each time he tried to ask, his tongue would turn to lead and the moment would pass, the question still left unsaid and simmering at the back of his mind. A Pandora’s Box that held none of the world’s evil but all of Danny’s possible shortcomings.

He could ask the question now.

He could.

He didn’t.

“Why did you take me?”

Talia tilted her head. “It is because you’re my son.”

“No. Not that. It has to be something more than that. You had sixteen years to come back for me—or, hell, you could have just never left me.” His breath hitched, fingers mussing his hair and hiding his eyes. “Why else did you take me?”

“It is true that there was more than one reason why we decided to retrieve you from Amity Park. One of which is because you are my son and an heir of the Demon’s Head.” Talia stilled. The dark skies of dawn made it impossible for him to read her. “The second reason was to protect you.”

“You kidnapped me…to protect me?”

“Knowledge of the ghosts of Amity have spread through the more insidious parts of the world. There are many out there who would pay exorbitant fees to study one of you or to use you.”

Use him? What did she mean by—

Oh.

Ghosts—Amity Park’s brand of ghosts—were a new element that the world had to contend with. Amity Park might have a crime rate of zero but that wasn’t the case everywhere else. Theft, assault, murder; the world was rampant with crimes and criminals clawing their way to the very top. Having ghosts, even ones with the most basic powerset, would be a huge advantage.

“There’s no way that would work,” Danny insisted. “Most ghosts just want to be left alone, and the ones that want to wreak havoc would never work with humans. The only reason they even work with halfas like me at times is because they still consider us as ghosts.”

“If my sources are to be believed, ghosts might not even get a choice.”

Danny’s blood curdled in his veins.

No.

Someone’s found a way to control ghosts.

[cyoc49]

HIMBO Magazine: The New Hire

23 year-old Barry Allen looked across the street at the office building of HIMBO, a lifestyle & fashion magazine targeted at gay men, and the site of his job interview. After graduating last May, Barry has tried for months to find a communications job with no luck, until he saw HIMBO’s advertisement for an entry-level social media position. The pay was unbelievably good, and they reached out to him about applying which made the whole situation seem very promising. He was a little uncomfortable about the idea of working at a gay magazine. I don’t have any issue with gay people, Barry thought, I just don’t understand a lot of the culture and I’m not really trying to. Still, the job was too good to pass up without at least interviewing.

Barry walked into the lobby of the building and was directed on how to reach the HIMBO’s offices. Stepping into the elevator, Barry thought about how sharply dressed everyone in the building was. It made him feel a little unprofessional, in his blazer, checkered shirt, and jeans. But the email had told him to dress “Appropriately for his position,” so he dressed the way he knew modern social media teams did.

As the elevator opened, Barry was greeted by the bright offices of HIMBO. The personnel working there (all male, he noticed) were dressed in a mixture of ridiculously eccentric business wear, speedos and harnesses, club outfits, other other bizarre fashions. “I’m guessing those are models?” Barry wondered, before walking over to a desk attended by a swishy receptionist.

The twinkish secretary looked up at Barry, and his eyes widened in excitement. “You must be the new applicant!” He exclaimed, jumping up out of his seat. “Oh, you’re perfect! He always knows the right people to pick. Well knock on wood, but I’m excited to work with you!” Then in a swift motion, the man darted around the desk and grabbed Barry by the hand. “Here, I can take you to him! He’s been waiting for you. I’m James, by the way! I work the desk!” And with that, Barry found himself being dragged along through the HIMBO offices.

“Uh, I have a question. Who is ‘he’?” Barry called along as he tried to keep pace with the fast-paced James.

“Christian Le Maître, the Editor in Chief! He’s brilliant. He does all the interviews and hiring himself. He’s the one who reached out to you.”

Wow, he picked me out himself, Barry thought, I must really be promising.

Barry spoke up “That’s pretty cool, to have a boss that cares that much.”

James nodded enthusiastically “Oh yes, he cares for us all so much! We’re all his boys here.”

Looking past the odd use of “boys”, Barry continued “I’m, uh, applying for a social media position.”

“Oh okay, interesting,” James said with less enthusiasm than usual, “He’ll sometimes try to figure out a different position for you during the interview. Just go along with what he says. I promise he has your best interests at heart.”

Before Barry could ask what that meant, James came to a sudden stop in front of a large heavy door. He knocked on it several times, before a deep muffled voice called out “Send him in” from behind the door.

James turned around, grinning ear to ear “Okay, best of luck! Remember: you’re gonna fit in here.” With that, he pranced back down the hallway, leaving Barry alone in front of the door.

He took a deep breath. “Well, here goes nothing,” he thought, and opened the door.

Walking into the office, Barry looked behind the desk and saw one of the most beautiful men he had ever seen.

His face was rugged and handsome, with insatiably curious eyes, perfect white teeth, and a beard that was just the right amount of stubble. His hair was parted with gel into a professional, clean, and gorgeous haircut. His toned muscles perfectly filled out his expensive looking business clothes: a light blue silk dress shirt, grey pinstripe pants, suspenders hung over his shoulders and pressed out by his chest, gorgeous-smelling black leather dress shoes, and a sterling silver watch. He was an absolute alpha male, so perfectly handsome and successful that Barry couldn’t help but feel awe, jealousy, and a hint of... lust?

The man looked at Barry and smiled a perfect smile. “Barry, is it? I’m Christian La Maître, but everyone around here just calls me Mr. M.” The man stood up, revealing his daunting 6’4 frame, and extended a muscular hand to Barry

Jesus, his voice is intoxicating, Barry swooned. It was so smoothly deep and inviting. With just the few words Barry already felt like he could listen to the man for hours. He reached out and took hold of Mr. M’s hand for an extremely firm handshake. As their hand touched, Barry felt a jolt, and found himself unable to take his eyes off the powerful man before him. And more importantly, he had no desire to move his eyes away.

Mr. M sat back down again. “So Barry, tell me about yourself. College graduate?”

“Uh, yes. Digital Communications maj-“

“Have you ever read HIMBO before?” Mr. M cut Barry off.

“No, sir” Barry said, neither objecting to being interrupted, nor noticing the “sir” he just said.

“Are you gay?” Mr. M examined Barry’s body up and down, never making eye contact.

“No, sir. I’m straight.” He paused “Is that okay?”

Mr. M let out a hearty laugh, and Barry found himself laughing along with the man too. It just felt right. This brilliant, perfect businessman that Barry was lucky enough to be in the presence of, anything he did had to be right.

“Ahhh, Barry. You’re a fun kid. Now unfortunately, that social media position was filled earlier this morning by another applicant. But I would be a fool not to bring you into the HIMBO team, Barry!” This filled Barry with joy. The approval of Mr. M felt so good.

“Now if I think about it...” Mr. M paused for a few moments, giving Barry another thorough looking over, “I think we have an opening in the accounting department.”

“Yes! I accept!” Barry shouted out. He didn’t even care that it was a totally different position than he had come here for, nor did he care that he had zero accounting experience. If Mr. M said he would be a good accountant, then Barry had to be the best accountant for his boss.

The man chuckled again. “There’s just a little on boarding we’d have to do to get you ready for the position. Beginning with dress code, for starters.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes, sir?” Barry asked eagerly. He would do anything for this man, who was offering him a coveted job at HIMBO magazine. Barry would change anything about himself.

“Well, you just dress so... cool. I mean look at that outfit! You are a hip young man who is ready for a good night out. And I love that for you, but I think a good accountant would dress a bit... sharper.”

The “sharper” bounced around in Barry’s head. Visions of men in suits and ties flooded his mind. He began to feel attracted to the idea of being a finely dressed man. In fact, he couldn’t imagine ever dressing down, not even in his free time. As Barry listened to Mr. M’s words, his plaid shirt rippled into a crisp white dress shirt. It tucked itself into his jeans.

“A good smart accountant would look his best at all times.”

Barry’s jeans turned into tight fitting grey dress pants, and a brown leather belt cinched itself firmly around his waist. His casual wool blazer morphed into a clean grey suit jacket matching his pants. Underneath, a gray sweater materialized and hugged itself to Barry’s slimming build.

“A good, clean-cut accountant.”

Barry felt his feet shift as his shoes changed into well-polished brown leather dress shoes, with wing tips. His socked changed to clean white socks, and inside his pants he felt briefs take form around his shrinking manhood.

“A good, nerdy accountant.”

A red bow tie wrapped itself around Barry’s neck and tied itself into a perfect knot. Large round glasses popped up on Barry’s face, which he knew he needed to wear every day. Barry’s hair ruffled as if wind was blowing through it, before settling in a clean side part, well-combed and maintained.

Barry stood before the incredibly powerful man before him looking totally different. Just 10 minutes ago Barry had dressed like any college graduate, but now looked as if he wore a suit every day of the week. But as for Barry himself, he had never felt better. As his clothes changed, Barry’s thoughts realized how right this felt. Barry now perfectly remembered his 2 hour morning dress routine. He knew exactly how much pomade to use to achieve the perfect side part, he remembered tying bow ties for six years now. His home wardrobe, all of it, had been replaced with suits, sweaters, shirts, dress shoes, and bow ties of every material, pattern, and color imagineable. This was the way he had dressed ever since he got to college and felt he could express himself truly. The truth was Barry loved the feel of a suit. The cleanness and dignity were an intoxicating feeling, and he couldn’t imagine himself in anything else.

Mr. M smiled a big smile. “There we go, an absolute perfect fit for our accountant opening. Welcome to the HIMBO team, Barry. Or should I say Bartholomew.”

That was right. Bartholomew Pippin, and he couldn’t be happier. He was a timid, nerdy kind of guy, sure, but he felt on top of the world. Bartholomew was an avid HIMBO reader for its good guides on men’s formalwear (and also so he could jerk off to the photos of shirtless guys), so to work at the magazine he loved, doing the job he loved (accounting) was a dream come true.

Mr. M stood up and walked over to Bartholomew, getting extremely close to him. “There’s just one last step in the hiring process...”

Barty shook a bit as he looked up at the domineering man before him. Mr. M was a tall man to begin with, but at his new height Bartholomew was 5’9, and the taller man encompassed him.

“I seal all my contracts... with a kiss.”

Barry’s knees quivered. He had realized he was gay at a young age, but aside from a few “almosts” in college, he had never gone farther than holding hands. Bartholomew had always reasoned that he would meet the right one eventually... and looking up at this man, Barty knew he had found it. Mr. M was all Barty would ever need. This man would control his work life and his sex life, dictating when Barty could pleasure himself, when he could come, and when he got the ultimate privilege of spending the night with Mr. M.

Bartholomew wrinkled his note and nodded eagerly “Of course, sir. I would be honored to kiss you.

As Barty stood on his tip toes to kiss his new boss - god, his lips were smooth and perfect - Barty felt all his changes lock into place. This is who he was. Bartholomew Pippin, mild-mannered accountant of HIMBO magazine, and one of Christian La Maître’s very good boys.

The two parted, and Mr. M gave Bartholomew another killer smile. “Bartholomew, I can already tell you’re gonna fit in here perfectly. And as a signing bonus, how about you stop by my place tonight. 7 PM sharp.”

“Oh thank you so much, Mr. M! I’ll be there at 6:45, I promise.”

“That’s a good boy, Barty. Now get settled in, your desk is at the end of the hall.” He gave Barty a spank on his bubble butt, and sent him on his way, to his new job and new life.

[quiteshocking]

You know what I’ve realize? The most weirdest monsters are probably the skeletons and ghosts in undertale aka the type of monsters that associated with death? Like Naptsablook just ignored being absorbed by Flowey or whatever is up with Papyrus such as how he’s capable of floating upward just by walking

Ah, another intellectual, I see! Someone who acknowledges that Papyrus also breaks the laws of physics on a whim, not just Sans. He's just already such an eccentric character that people forget to notice how weird his movements can be!

(I can't find gifs for the other ones, argh >_>)

That is definitely a curiosity, that both ghosts and skeletons seem to be unique. Another connection I never made myself. They do seem to be the only undead-themed monsters (iirc), and they also happen to be the most unusual...

Either you're on to something big here, or it might be another coincidence. Ghosts didn't really get much of a highlight in Undertale and Deltarune isn't yet long enough for us to know if they will be important (beyond the little reference in Spamton NEO).

If you asked me, judging by the skeletons' central part in Undertale and their vague connections to Gaster, as well as their habit of featuring prominently in outside-of-game stuff like trailers and tumblr and the q&a, the skeletons are unique for very specific and special reasons. On the other hand, we haven't seen much of the ghosts, and honestly, I think the only reasons the ghosts are so confusing is simply because Toby built his own concept of ghosts in his head and we just can't see into his brain to figure out exactly how it all fits together.

As for Napstablook not getting absorbed... this is just guessing, but perhaps it was a combination of incorporeality and the fact that they were inside and saw the light coming, considering they specifically mentioned shutting the light outside. Maybe being outside Undyne's house meant Mad Dummy didn't see it coming and couldn't resist in time. Technically, Mad Dummy might have even found out about everything from outside sources like Napstablook, or fused with the dummy sometime behind the scenes. (I'd check if the dummy in the ruins, who's an unbonded ghost, has any notable dialogue after the Asriel fight, but the text project I'm using doesn't seem to have that recorded and my computer with Undertale installed is kinda bricked rn haha.)

Being perfectly honest, I think it was just a gag about Napstablook getting excluded and Mad Dummy not being excluded was an oversight, haha.

You might be onto something, though! We'll just have to wait and see if ghosts end up playing a more prominent role/having weird connections/implications in Deltarune.

[echo-of-sounds]

not much of a birthday

Headcanons and a smut drabble for Aizawa’s birthday! I struggled to think of as many headcanons as I did for the other characters. Hopefully the smut makes up for it!

Warnings: it’s nowhere near as rough as the last one, but the smut does include a Daddy kink

Aizawa’s birthday is difficult. It’s not that he hates it. He’s just kinda… whatever about it. It makes planning a birthday party, or any celebration really, and buying presents a challenge.

Large gatherings aren’t his favorite. If you truly want to throw a birthday party, don’t make it a surprise party and only invite his closest friends (seven people max). Too many people mean he’s going to sulk in his room the entire time, not wanting to deal with the large, noisy crowd. He wants his birthday to be quiet and relaxing.

Buying presents is so damn difficult. He doesn’t really have hobbies or interests outside of being a teacher and a Hero. Well, he likes cats but you can’t buy a cat every single year. The best option is clothing. Everyone could always use new pairs of socks and underwear.

A leather wallet, beard softener, a simple, handsome sweater, and maybe a new type of coffee are also some options. He’s a laidback guy with laidback interests. Keep the presents to things he needs and will definitely use. If they’re too elaborate or eccentric, he’ll never get around to using it.

“I hope you like them,” you said with the best smile you could muster as you sat the presents on the coffee table. The wrapping was beautiful but the content wasn’t particularly intriguing. 

Shouta unwrapped the first one: a package of socks. The next was a package of boxer briefs. Then two nice, simple T-shirts. Then a gift bag with a new brush, hair ties, reparative shampoo, and protein conditioner to prevent hair breakage from all the shit he puts it through.

He thanked you for each one.

“You’re welcome. But there’s one more.” You nodded to the last, most specialized one. It took a few weeks to finally think of and find something that wasn’t as plain as underwear.

He grabbed the flat present off the table and unwrapped it. The tape ripped easily, letting him see the dark brown leather padfolio. It fit his laptop, notebook, and had plenty of smaller pockets. It’d hopefully help him be just a little more organized in his commutes. 

After looking through all of it, he gave a rare smile and kissed you, mumbling as he pulled away, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Happy birthday, Sho.” He narrowed his eyes when you stroked his cheek. “What?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“What is it?”

You sighed at his too-intense gaze, knowing he wasn’t going to let it go. “I’m glad you like the presents. I really am. I just… I guess I wish I could buy you something exciting and unique. I want to make you feel special.” You rubbed the back of his neck, massaging the strained muscles.

“You don’t need to buy me expensive things to make me feel special.”

“I know. I know that. But… I want to spoil you for at least one day and you make doing that incredibly difficult. I feel like you deserve something more for all that you do. I just want to spoil you,” you lightly laughed and kissed his temple. “For once.” 

“You don’t need to-”

“I want to,” you whispered against his skin.

Shouta grabbed your hand and met your eyes. “These past few days have been more than I needed.” He kissed your nose then your mouth. “After weeks of screaming teenagers, a weekend with you is all I want,” he confided.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive.” He drew you close and swung your leg over his lap. He lifted your shirt off, connecting a deep kiss after. His tongue wandered over yours. You sighed, casually grinding, pressing your breasts against him. 

His hands drifted to your front and unbuttoned your pants. Without breaking the kiss, you stood. Rough hands slipped in the sides and yanked them and your underwear down. Fingers frisked you, not afraid of being brusque as they circled your clit, making you widen your stance, giving him more room to fondle. 

Two fingers slipped in. They crudely waved as his palm grazed your clit. Your legs tensed and your spine curved towards him, wanting to be closer. But his clothes were still on. Leaving his lips for only one second, you removed his shirt. Pulling his sweatpants down was next and was awkward with his hand unabashedly prodding you. 

A flick jolted your clit, stopping your actions. You gasped around his tongue, trying to moan his name. Another thwack jostled you. Shouta’s bitter rasp provoked you awfully, “You know what to call me.”

“Daddy,” you softly cried. 

“Good girl,” he praised and tugged you into his lap. You couldn’t ask what he wanted you to do because his fingers reentered, just as crude, just as grazing. When you reached for him, he warned, “Don’t touch me.”

You didn’t object. Your head dropped to his shoulder through his fondling. The two fingers inside folded, growing rougher by the second. His other hand played with your thigh and ass, scratching and kneaded and nailing your skin raw.

Your hips jerked on their own. You tightened for the spank and reprimand, but it never came. Which was weird. You gently whispered, “Daddy?”

“Hmm?”

You didn’t know how to ask why he didn’t scold you like he normally does. Thankfully, you didn’t need to figure it out. Lips lined over your neck and shoulders. Hands rubbed along your sides and back, keeping you warmly close. He spoke hushedly, “I don’t want to punish you today. Just listen to me, okay?”

You sat up to see his smile and nodded. His thumb pulled your bottom lip down. “You’re a good girl. You can ride me now,” he granted with a deep kiss.

Lining him up, you lowered, sighing happily into his mouth. His heat and heft fit comfortably, perfectly inside. You wasted no time and hugged his shoulders as you began grinding. Arms embraced you. Lips and tongue skimmed your skin. Muscled thighs tensed and swayed with your hips.

He sped up. It excited you to do the same, craving to hear him groan. You wanted to give him the pleasure he always gave you. It was his birthday after all.

Raising on your knees, you bounced, stirring a hint of sound from him. It also motivated his hips to hump up. They met yours in the middle, nudging him nicely and loudly against your front wall. Your breasts bobbed with the faster motion. Heat encircled one. His first groan rippled over your nipple, sucking, damn near gnawing on it. 

Black hair tangled around your fingers. You clung tight, keeping his mouth suckling. Your thighs hastened, hips hustled on, working up a thin sweat, tightening your body, almost there.

But he pulled away, halting your hips. You whimpered shamelessly, “Daddy, don’t.”

“Are you going to make me cum as well or should I do that myself?”

“No, it’s your birthday,” you panted, gripping his arm, jerking in his hands.

“I don’t think you can.”

You tucked into his neck. Hands grasped and arms lifted you up as he moved, laying you down on the couch, making sure your head rested on the pillows. He gutturally purred into your ear, “My birthday present is you. Let Daddy do it.”

Without waiting, he quickly snapped his hips. You scratched his back and moaned. His shoulder blades wavered with his humping. His thighs spread you bare. His back bowed beautifully.

The thrusts stopped. Your whine came out louder than expected. His heat deserted you when he sat up and pulled out, leering between your legs. Thumbs felt up and down your outer lips, petting with pressure. They bore heavily over your clit before caressing again, stretching you open, smoothing you closed, toying with all the delicate nerves. A particularly brutal sweep on your clit induced a high-pitched gasp. You clutched his forearm but his fingers continued. Your hips and thighs fidgeted, struggling to get away under his weight. His smirk did not go unnoticed.

You pawed his chest, fussing, “Please.”

Spit dripped from his mouth, slowly dribbling onto you. Thumbs persisted their patterns, now wetter, harsher.

“Please…” 

“Please what?”

“Please, Daddy, please, fuck me, please. I want you.”

“There you go.” He lifted your thigh to rest on his chest, lowered to kiss you, and resumed his thrusting. Your leg bobbed with his sinks. “Is this want you wanted?”

You nodded with a smile, scratching his sides. He paused mid-thrust and chided in a cautionary tone, “I may not punish you but you still need to be grateful.”

“Thank you, Daddy. Thank you.”

“That’s a good girl.”

“Really?”

“I promise.” Hot air puffed as his lips returned, so wet and so warm, heating more with his sweeping tongue. Hips slowly swayed. His scarred abs and hair-dusted chest fluttered under your fingers. Small flattery and honeyed words voiced into your mouth. 

“I love you,” you breathed.

“I love you too.”

The softness faded. Thrusts steadily built up. Teeth pinched and pulled your bottom lip, taxing the sensitive skin. They moved to your neck next. Pinches turned to full-mouthed bites, running all over as he clamped hard, trying to mark you as much as possible.

“Daddy,” you choked out through the heightening breaths, seeking his permission.

His husky utter heated your skin, “You can cum. You don’t need to wait for me.”

“Thank you, Daddy. Thank you, thank you, thank-” 

“Shhh,” he hushed into your neck.

Your nails rooted in his sides, signaling your looming release. Lips covered yours and swallowed your peaking moans. Wetly and weakly, you mumbled into his mouth, around his tongue, “More.”

He lifted until his tip remained inside then buried in with a heavy, strong thrust. His pace maintained heavy and strong too. His groans matched the intensity. Your hips and thigh hurt so wonderfully under his mass. Moans trapped in your throat, leaving you huffing, hot, and hanging.

Dry, jugular groans tipped you over, “Cum for me. I know you want to. Cum for Daddy.”

Your body went rigid with clamped muscles. Shallow breaths ceased. Heat flooded but no moans sounded. The internal pleasure kept you gasping for air through your release- gasping for his finish- gasping for your Daddy, who kissed and caressed your trembling frame.

When you slouched, he stood and kneeled over your shoulders, holding himself for you. He entered the second your lips opened, salty and throbbing. Using the armrest to support himself, his thrusts started anew. You gagged as he hit the back of your throat. But his hips didn’t slow. 

Looking up, you could tell he was close. He glared at you. A blush painted his cheeks and chest. You snagged his ass, holding him in your mouth.

“Fuck.” He bucked further. Though it caused another gag, you still grappled at him, letting him fuck your throat. His grunts grated too low to understand, but you didn’t need to. Hair pressed to your nose as he drove fully inside. Joints locked. Fingers fastened in your hair. Liquid salt spurt, trickling, choking.

You sucked him as long and deep as you could until breath became your priority. You eventually tapped his thigh, needing air. Your mouth was emptied. Saliva and cum connected you to his depleted erection. The string split, driveling, messing your chin and breasts.

Before you could so much as move, Shouta nabbed his shirt and cleaned you, careful of your swollen lips and bruises. His scowl at his concentration was cute, slightly puffing his bottom lip out. He noticed and raised an eyebrow. 

You waved it off, “Nothing. Happy birthday, Daddy.”

“Thank you. And thank you for the presents.” He finished his wiping and tenderly kissed you, lovingly brushing his tongue along your lips. “Tomorrow you can take me to a movie.”

You exhaled a dry laugh, “That’s not exactly exciting or unique but it’s a start, I guess. But right now, can you get me some ibuprofen? My neck’s sore.”

“And a heating pad?”

“Please and thank you.”

Shouta kissed you once more and went to get the items. You patiently waited, wanting to cuddle him for the rest of the night.