#if you can guess which painting this is based off you get a cookie

[geisterzeit-art]

not a huge fan of how this came out if i'm being entirely honest but oh well

[dampfur]

I finally finished designing all the voices for my Redlico Slay The Princess AU so here they all are ✨

This was all pretty fun to make and figure out for Licorice

Maybe I’ll at some point do legitimate interpretations of the voices in canon but no promises

Under the cut I’ll be explaining the design process of these guys and I’m sure the inspiration for most of them are pretty obvious

The Hero: Since he’s basically the default or standard voice you have in the game due to being the first voice and the voice that’s always with you, his design is based on the standard look of the licorice servants as well as a bit of Licorice himself with the cloak and eye color. (the gold lining comes from my own design of Lico that has those bits on his robe) He also gets the privilege of carrying the pristine blade

The Smitten: He’s the most flashy of the voices so the ZZSkull costume/minion design is what I went with since the red fits with the theme of love and with the whole K-Pop band thing going on with this costume I’m sure you could sweep the Prince off his feet with a musical performance~ 🎶

The Cold: I mostly chose the Pale Reaper costume/minion design for the color palette as it’s well- cold. But I did look at the costume description and it describes the Pale Reaper minions as “a ruthless army of obedient servants knowing no fear or pain.” Which did remind me of the Cold with the whole lack of feeling.

The Stubborn: Based on the bomber minion Licorice has in his OB ability. It’s an angry little guy and what better way to win a fight than to literally just explode I guess.

The Cheated: Based on the Parfaedia school uniform. Even tho it’s not confirmed Licorice went to that school it’s a good enough placeholder for what the Cheated represents for him. A time in his life where he studied magic and got no recognition out of it. Much like the name, he felt cheated out of success.

The Contrarian: His Grumpy Shroom Fairy costume felt a bit difficult to place on any of the voices but ultimately I went with this one. I basically chose this costume because Licorice dislikes it. And the Contrarian is certainly known for pushing peoples buttons and wanting to make choices that usually oppose what most of the characters want and more usually at the Narrators expense. So he wears this costume in opposition to how Licorice generally feels about it as it doesn’t paint him in any intimidating light. It’s a silly goofy outfit for a silly goofy voice

The Paranoid: Based on the Licorice Oozlings. Licorice himself expresses disgust over having to see the Licorice Sea again and the citizens of the Dark Cacao Kingdom have stated how much effort they put into making sure the monsters never get past the wall. The Oozlings make a great representation of the sense of fear and paranoia the cookies from there have felt over having to deal with them and Licorice probably felt a similar way when he had once lived there. And of course Licorice did use them as minions within the chapter 13 story so there’s another heavy association he with them.

The Opportunist: Based on the Aberrant Conjurer costume. Aside from the clear upgrade in outfit, this costume seems also like an upgrade in power. Licorice himself is much like the Opportunist always wanting to come out on top. In this costume it definitely feels like he’s gotten what he wanted. Although he can never outshine the powerful Dark Enchantress Cookie who he continues to be devoted and loyal to, and certainly would be to his benefit to be loyal so he can continue getting stronger with his magic and to not get caught in the crossfire of DE and her spreading of darkness and destruction. I’m basically comparing the Opportunist and the Wraith Princess to Licorice and DE since Licorice joining her is highly beneficial to him in his pursuit of power (of course in his case he’s doing it out of actual willingness not survival but the point still stands given how being on her bad side would be very dangerous)

The Hunted: This is the only voice not based on anything related to Licorice aside from the bones. He leans more into the animal appearance with the bird look and being the only voice to have pointy hands. There’s a few reasons for the bird motif specifically. One, the Hunted acts like prey always trying to run, hide and survive hence looking like an animal that can be easy prey. Two it’s a reference to the Long Quite being a bird so might as well stick that in here. And three, my personal Licorice design has bird skulls instead of human(?) skulls so it really was just preference.

The Broken: Based on the potion minion Licorice has in his OB ability. This minion I thought just had a sad looking face so I thought that’d fit him. This potion minion of course carries a potion around and it has a heart inside it. I thought to incorporate that into the design with the cracked heart as a sign of his broken spirit.

The Skeptic: The most difficult and bizarre design choice out of everyone as he’s based on Rocky, the rock that Licorice finds in Last Cookie Standing. I initially thought of this as a joke cuz I ran out of ideas and was just like “I’ll put Rocky here and call it a day” but I actually ended up making this make sense. Rocky comes a series that’s a Survival/Total Drama Island parody. Which of course is filled with characters using their wits and other skills to get through the challenges. Part of the appeal is watching the contestants build and destroy trust with one another. It is important you choose your allies wisely and think things through if you wanna win. So ya Rocky’s association with Last Cookie Standing made my decision with the Skeptic make sense.

[whatsnewalycat]

Psychomanteum / Chapter 11

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC (2nd POV)

Chapter 11: Hollywood Forever Cemetery Sings

Chapter Summary: The first day in LA is a mixed bag.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 11.8k+

Content / Warnings: alternating pov, insecurities, mirror, angst, fluff, acting career things idk, video call, awkward/nervous speech patterns, toxic mother/family of origin issues, food/eating/hunger, argument, mentions of: infidelity, addiction, death, and infertility, crying, comfort sex, dirty talk, eating ass, oral sex (both r) face fucking, deep throating, squirting, anal play and sex, impact play, hair pulling, maybe a hint of degradation

Notes: Chapter title from "Hollywood Forever Cemetery Sings" by Father John Misty. Oooo a new banner, who is she?! I apologize for how long this is, it really got outta hand. Thank you for reading!!!

[ Tag List ] [ AO3 ] [ Spotify Playlist ] [ Series Masterlist ]

“Holy shit, Dee,” you breathe, squinting as your eyes adjust from the darkness of the garage to the bright, open home. 

Dieter walks ahead of you, tossing his keys and sunglasses on a glass console table, kicking his shoes off onto the gleaming hardwood floor. Each noise seems amplified in the jarring silence. 

It smells like lemon pine-sol, and, based on how uncharacteristically spotless everything appears, you guess that he has someone come in and clean while he’s away. 

“It’s–I mean, wow–” you stammer, shaking your head as you examine your surroundings. 

The vaulted ceiling’s stained teak backbone stretches from one end of the house to the other, rafters extending from the beam like wooden ribs. On one side of you lies a dining room and kitchen, on the other, a living room and patio entrance. Light pours in through the living room’s floor-to-ceiling windows like giant frames showcasing the greenery of the patio, all lush with palm fronds and waxy-leaved bushes. 

The home’s décor is quintessential Dieter. 

Eclectic. Moody. Maximalist. 

Jewel- and earth-toned furniture, in all different finishes and fabrics, fill the open floor plan. The white walls are cluttered by art, a hodgepodge of creations. Prints and acrylic paintings and black ink illustrations, including some of Dieter’s originals. Plants are scattered around, next to windows and on tables, thriving in their glazed ceramic pots. 

Your fingers twitch, longing to experience every texture this buffet of materials has to offer. You feel yourself getting a little moon-eyed as you marvel at the place he calls home. It’s surreal.

And, if you’re being honest, daunting. 

When Dieter spends time with you in your domain, you feel you know him at his core. A loveable, chaotic, free spirit, who busies himself sketching and “taste testing” while you bake. Which mostly just means he eats cookies off the cooling rack when he thinks you’re not looking, but sometimes he draws pictures of you while he does it. 

You know him as someone who watches shitty TV and shittier movies with you just so you can make fun of them together, someone who theorizes out-loud about existentialism and Garfield in the same breath, who wraps himself around you when you sleep because, even when he’s dreaming, he wants your skin clinging to his. 

You don’t know him as Dieter Bravo, Academy Award Winning Actor. 

No. 

To you, he’s Dee. The man you fell in love with so haphazardly, it sometimes makes you question your own sanity. 

The existence of this other part of his life, with film sets and photoshoots and interviews and stylists and red carpet premieres, all these stringent show pony requirements, so paradoxical to the person you know and love… It makes you uneasy. 

Is he different when he’s here? 

Is Dieter Bravo, Hollywood Movie Star, the same man as Dee, Bubble Bath Connoisseur?

It’s something you’ve largely been able to ignore. 

But, since you’re being honest, you can admit that the disparities between his life and yours make your skin crawl sometimes. 

Like right now, when you’re standing here in the entryway of his gorgeous home, whose property value is probably greater than your lifetime’s gross income, holding the handle of your ratty old carry-on suitcase. Your piece of shit suitcase, with its broken zipper, and this big tear in the side.  

Which, really, has never bothered you before. It’s a goddamn suitcase. It holds things from point a to point b, and this works just fine. 

But Dieter has this ridiculous fucking suitcase with a heavy-duty metallic shell, and 360-degree wheels that glide effortlessly through airports, and a fucking phone charger. A fucking phone charger in a suitcase, seriously?

It’s just so… exactly how you fucking feel standing next to him sometimes. 

And, as if to prove your point, when you release the handle of your piece of shit carry-on, it topples over sideways against his space-age phone charger on wheels. 

All you can do is sigh. Stare at luggage. Try to ignore the voice that bombards your thoughts, telling you he’s obviously out of your league. 

Sneering at you, saying, “Get real, this fucking guy is way too rich to be humoring you.”

Saying, “Louella Rose, once he knows you’re trash, he’ll be gone for good, I can tell you that much.”

“Want me to show you around?” Dieter asks, the low timbre of his voice a butter knife cutting through the thick fog of your thoughts. He steps closer and plants his wide palm on the small of your back. 

You turn to him with a smile you know is flaccid, but nod, “Lead the way.” 

He studies you for a moment, dark eyes darting around your face, no doubt sensing the apprehension you can’t shake, and proves your suspicion true when he asks, “What’s wrong?”

Your throat tightens and you drop your gaze to the colorful entryway rug beneath your feet, shaking your head as you admit, “I—I don’t know. I’m… kind of freaking out, I think,” your voice cracks, and words start to tumble from your mouth, “I just keep thinking that I don’t belong here, like I’m too fucking poor to be doing this, I mean, to be here, and-and I’m so fucking nervous that I’m gonna fuck this up somehow—”

“Hey, come on,” Dieter coos, one hand settling at your waist, the other brushing against your cheek, “Look at me, Lua.”

You do. 

His eyes bore into yours, unblinking and sincere, “It’s gonna be ok. I promise.”

Your brows press together and you swallow hard, then nod. 

“We’re gonna do this stupid interview, which you’re gonna fucking nail–”

You look away. 

He tilts your chin towards his face again, refusing to let you hide, repeating, “Which you’re gonna fucking nail. You know why?”

You just stare at him, half-expecting him to say because you have to or I won’t love you anymore, but instead, he says, “Because you are fucking amazing, Louella. You are brilliant, and gorgeous, and genuine, and hilarious, and capable of fucking anything. Ok?”

His words, so sure and earnest, soothe your inflamed sense of worthlessness. 

A burning sensation works up your throat, then spreads behind your eyes. Hot tears roll down your cheeks. You wipe them away with the back of your hand and croak, “Don’t say things like that to me, it’s too sweet and makes me cry.”

“Listen here, doll,” he cups your face and raises his eyebrows, a mischievous grin playing on his lips, “I’ll compliment you as much as I goddamn please.”

You let out a wet, nasally chuckle and link your hands behind his neck, then sniffle, “Fine. I guess. If you say so.”

“That’s what I thought,” he mumbles. His thumbs work against your damp cheeks as he brings his lips to yours, gentle and soft. 

When he pulls back, he clears his throat and turns back to the vacant house, “Alright, sweet cheeks, let’s give you the official tour.”

The term of endearment makes you laugh and shake your head, “Dieter, I swear to god–” 

He grabs your hand and tugs you onward, ignoring your feigned protest. 

At the tail end of the tour, Dieter swings open the door to his spacious bedroom. You recognize the tall, chartreuse walls and the puffy white linens tucked around his bed. 

Of all the rooms in his house, including the art studio set up down the hall, this is the one that feels the most like Dee. It’s a little messy, but in a lived-in way you expect from him. Relatively no-frills. Comfortable. Homey. It smells like him, not like lemon pine-sol. 

You gravitate towards a chest of drawers that sits opposite his bed, grinning at a pile of rings, lighters, coins, and crumpled up cash. A big, rectangular mirror mounted on the wall above it catches your attention. 

All kinds of paper mementos are stuffed into the mirror’s frame. Your eyes wander along the edge, stopping to study a picture of him, much younger and more angular than he appears now, with a woman whose bright, dimpled smile matches his. 

“Is that your mom?” you ask, pointing to it. 

“Yeah,” he walks behind you and wraps his arms around your middle, tucking your shoulder under his chin, watching you through the mirror as your eyes leapfrog to each little piece of him.

A ticket stub to a Prince concert at Madison Square Garden in July 2004. 

An old polaroid of two dark-haired young boys roller skating. 

“Tomás?” 

“Mhmm.”

You tilt your head and frown, “Can I ask you something?” 

“No,” he deadpans, blinking at you through the mirror. 

“Shut up,” you snort, then ask, “Why the fuck are you named Dieter?”

He laughs at this, throwing his head back to boom at the ceiling before returning to your reflected gaze. 

“I mean, I’m sorry—It’s just so…”

“White?” he smirks. 

“Yes!” you laugh, covering your mouth, “Is that your real name?!”

“No,” he grins, then shrugs, “Well, legally it is. But my parents named me Manuel Diego Soto Flores. Diego is what everyone called me.”

“Stop it, oh my god. You are blowing my fucking mind right now,” you shake your head at the whiplash this information gives you, then pause, “Wait, why did you change it?”

“My agent suggested I use a stage name way back when. Dieter Bravo sounded cool,” he explains, and chuckles a little as he tells you, “I got in an argument with my folks about it when work started picking up, and legally changed it just to piss them off.”

“Wow,” you raise your eyebrows and laugh, “That is… truly petty.” 

“That it is,” he sighs, his smile faltering. 

“So, what am I supposed to call you? Diego? Dieter?” you smirk, meeting his gaze in the mirror. 

“Dee,” he answers, “I like Dee.”

“I can do that.”

You hold his gaze for a few moments, relishing the heat that swells in your chest, then resume your study of his artifacts, squinting to read the faded black ink of a few movie stubs lined up together: Eyes Wide Shut, Donnie Darko, The Departed, Fight Club, Whiplash, Titanic, Toy Story 3. 

Next to them, you spot a wrinkled brown paper square, etched with unruly black ink strokes into a blueberry branch. You tilt your head at it, then glance down at the blueberry branch tattooed on your forearm. 

Your eyes flick to the reflection of Dieter’s face and find him already staring at you. A question creases your forehead, and he answers with a shrug. Tingles spread across your belly. You smooth your hand against his and leave it there. 

“Look, I printed the ones from the elevator,” he chuckles, pointing to a picture of the two of you stuffed into one side of the mirror’s frame, stone-faced, black grease paint and mascara co-mingling with red lipstick, smudged all over your mouths and cheeks. Below that, the shot Dieter took a second later when you both broke, faces lit up with laughter, eyes bent up into barely visible crescents. 

“Oh my god,” you laugh, hand flying to your mouth, “Come on, we have way cuter pictures than those.”

“Those are my favorite, though,” he smiles, kisses your cheek, then tucks your shoulder back under his chin.

You shake your head and sigh, grinning as you tell him, “Fuck, I like you.”

“Yeah?” he snorts, “You think so?”

You nod, rubbing your thumb against his. 

“I like you, too,” he murmurs. 

“Thank god, or this would be really awkward,” you joke as you return your gaze to the relics framing his mirror. 

A snapshot of him, a generation younger, all gaunt and baby-faced, leaning against a high top table crowded with half-empty cups, ice cube islands rising from brown mixed drinks. Two young men across the table from him, his arm draped around a young woman’s shoulders. All four of them glow with a boozy shine, wide and carefree smiles stretched across their faces. 

“Who’re these people?”

“Old friends from my theater days in New York,” he murmurs, “I don’t talk to them much anymore. There’s Glenn, you might’ve met him.”

He points to a tan guy with a brown pompadour and a very punchable face, who’s wearing a baby blue polo shirt and holding up his middle finger. 

You sift through your memory for someone who might have looked like that fifteen or twenty years ago, but come up blank and shake your head, “I don’t think so.”

“He was at Katie’s party that one night, and, uhh… actually, I almost brought him up to your apartment the first time I met you, but he was being an asshole and wouldn’t get out of the car.” 

“Not ringing any bells,” you frown, “Actually, now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve met any of your friends.”

His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth, then he mutters, “Well, I would certainly introduce you to them. If I had any.” 

You try to think of a contradiction to this statement, racking your brain for an instance of him at least hinting at the existence of a friend. 

“What about all the people you party with?”

“Haven't done much of that lately. Besides,” he cocks an eyebrow and curls his lip, “Those aren’t friends. Never were. And, uhh… I did a solid job alienating my real friends a long time ago.” 

You look at him through the mirror. 

His eyes are all dull and forlorn. Far away. 

A sharp pain splits your sternum. 

You wriggle around to face him, cupping his cheeks, brushing your thumbs against his patchy beard until he meets your eyes again. Then you tell him, “I’m your friend. Parker’s your friend. You’re not alone anymore, ok?”

His shoulders slump and eyebrows thread together, molding his features into this tender expression that makes your stomach flip and chest ache. 

He doesn’t say anything, just pulls you into a hug, squeezing you tight. You slide your hands to the back of his head to comb your fingers through his soft curls. 

A commotion erupts at the other end of the house. The front door opening and closing. Rustling and conversation. A feminine voice echoes down the hall, calling, “Hello?” 

“That must be them,” he murmurs, and starts away, but you pull him back. You wrap your arms around his midsection and bury your face against his t-shirt. 

“Wait, just… a little bit longer,” you say, closing your eyes to soak up the warmth from his body. It seeps into your bloodstream and feels like sunshine in your veins. He rests his head against your hair, taking a deep breath in, and you feel his body relax again. 

The clack-clack-clack sound of heels against the hardwood floor draws closer, but the two of you just stand there, all wrapped up in the other, until someone crosses the threshold to his room, comes to a stop, and says, “Oh, you are here.”

You part and turn towards the intrusion: A neatly made-up, petite, brunette woman wearing a fitted navy blue pantsuit. 

“Darlene,” Dieter greets, crossing the room to envelop her in a one-armed hug. They press a chaste kiss into the other’s cheek. He returns to your side, palm sliding against the small of your back, and introduces you both, “Darlene, Louella, Louella, Darlene.”

You meet her meticulous hazel eyes and smile wide, outstretching your hand to shake hers, “Hi, so nice to meet you.” 

She reaches out and accepts the invitation. Both your gazes drop to study the contrast of your hands. Hers are dainty, soft, blemish-free; adorned with shiny, blush pink fingernails smoothed to rounded tips. Yours bear the scars and calluses earned by over a dozen years of baking, your naked, short fingernails hosting jagged edges from nervous biting. 

When you step back, heat creeps up the back of your neck. She looks so… unimpressed. Annoyed, even. The barely perceptible twitch of her thin eyebrow cocking, lip curling, eyes flicking around your person like she’s identifying weak spots. Then she plasters on a polite smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and asks, “Do you prefer Louella or Lua?” 

“I don’t care,” you chuckle nervously, “Lou, Lua, Louella, whatever you want.”

You glance at Dieter, swallowing hard. He smooths his thumb against your spine.

“I’ll call you Louella,” Darlene decides with a quick nod, then looks from you, to Dieter, “Should we get started? We have a lot of work to do.” 

On your way to the dining room, you cross paths with a short, curvy woman whose brown, tightly coiled hair bounces around her round face as she hauls two thick garment bags into a bedroom. She peaks over the luggage and calls, “Oh, hi!” when she spots you. 

She spins on the heel of her beige pumps to face you, shifting the bags to one hip, “Louella, right?” 

“Yeah,” you smile and wave at her. 

“Kelly,” her hot pink lips stretch into a bright smile and she shakes your hand, looking you up and down before diverting her dark eyes to Dieter, “Nice catch, Bravo.” 

Dieter smirks at the comment, eyeing her tenuous grip on the bags, “Need some help?”

She just scoffs and raises an eyebrow at him before spinning around and starting down the hallway. Dieter shrugs after her, then ushers you into the dining room, where a frantic looking young man is setting out three labeled mint green to-go boxes on the stained oak table, assigning seats to you, Dieter, and Darlene. 

“Lua, this is Lincoln, my PA,” Dieter gestures between the two of you, “Lincoln this is Lua, my girlfriend.”

“Hi,” Lincoln tucks a strand of dark blonde hair behind his ear and leans his tall frame across the table, extending his hand. 

“Nice to meet you, Lincoln,” you meet his ocean blue eyes as you take it in yours and shake it. Dieter settles into his assigned dining room chair, leaning back against the burnt orange suede. You take your seat next to him. 

“Nice to meet you, too,” Lincoln flashes a quick smile, then glances from Dieter, back to you, “I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

“Oh yeah?” you grin over at Dieter, who’s crossing his ankle over his knee, watching you with amusement, and tell Lincoln, “Good things, I hope.”

“Terrible things,” Dieter teases, letting his head dangle to one side. 

“Nothing but the utmost praise,” Lincoln insists.

A nutty aroma wafts up from the box with your name on it. You recognize the briny sharpness and name it, “Oh, fuck, did you get us pad thai?”

“It’s from that place you wanted to try,” Dieter tells you. 

You wiggle and clap your hands together, reaching for the box as Darlene approaches the table. Lincoln scurries into the kitchen and makes himself look busy. She sits down with a sense of urgency that makes you fold your hands in your lap and sit up straighter. 

“Here’s the plan,” she pushes the takeout box away, leaning over her open notebook, “Interview with DIRT at 4:00 today. Louella, we’ll practice your answers for a bit, then Kelly will help you pick some clothes,” her eyes flick from the notebook, to you, then to Dieter, and she says, “While you’re in town, I think it’ll be good for the two of you to be seen in public together, but I have some ground rules—”

“Jesus Christ, Darlene,” Dieter groans, scrubbing his hands over his face as he leans his elbows onto the table, “What are we, teenagers?”

“Well, Dieter, play stupid games, win stupid prizes,” she blinks at him.

“What the fuck does that mean?” he scoffs.

“It means,” she snips, zeroing in on him, “With all the bullshit you’ve pulled in the past year, you’re not exactly rolling in prospects, are you?”

He doesn’t say anything in response, just clenches his jaw. 

She continues, “It’s a goddamn miracle you managed to land that Mike Flannigan job—”

You turn to him and gasp, “You got it?!” 

This big, giddy smile spreads across his face when he meets your eyes and nods, “Yeah.”

“But he could lose it if this doesn’t go right,” Darlene advises, pulling your attention to her. She shoots a glare from you to Dieter, “So we’re going to follow my direction, right?” 

Your face falls and you clear your throat, then stammer, “Y—yeah, of course.” 

Dieter shifts in his seat, pressing his mouth against his clasped hands. 

“As I was saying,” Darlene continues, raising an eyebrow as she drops her gaze to the notebook, “You’re both to be on your best behavior while in public. No drugs, no parties, no more than a glass of wine, no public fornication. We’re going full Disney rules of conduct, ok?”

When Darlene blinks up at you, you nod, “No problem.” 

“Alright, let’s rehearse some Q&A,” she sighs, turning her attention back to her notebook. 

She runs through questions the interviewer might ask, reconstructing your answers from nervous ramblings into practiced statements. It’s like a mental boot camp the way she attacks this, and, honestly, it’s quite impressive. 

When Darlene is confident you won’t respond to questions like: “How did you and Dieter meet?” with answers like: “We dropped acid in a closet with my best friend,” the drills cease. Just when you think you’re safe to open that mint green box with your name on it, Darlene stands from the table, “Alright, let’s go see what Kelly has for you.”

You have to physically restrain yourself from pouting as she starts off down the hall. 

“Here, quick,” Dieter shoves his open container of pad thai in your hands. You manage to take a few bites before Darlene comes back to see where she lost you. 

“Coming, sorry,” you swallow and give it back to him. 

Darlene and Kelly decide you’re wearing a balloon-sleeved white silk blouse and a high-waisted, billowing, floral skirt that comes down to your ankles. 

Once your makeup and hair are styled, and you're all done up and presentable, not unlike a feral mutt turned show dog, Darlene holds her hand out to you, palm facing the ceiling, and says, “You’ll have to take off your wedding ring.” 

“Oh,” you frown at her, then at the simple gold band on your left hand’s ring finger. With a heavy blue sigh, you slide it off your finger, and drop it in her extended hand. 

When you emerge from the bedroom, Darlene trailing behind you, Dieter is pacing the length of the living room, dressed in a short-sleeved white button-up and navy blue slacks. He spots you and stops in his tracks. A grin spreads across his face, “Oh wow, look at you.” 

“Look at you,” you counter, matching his smile as you look him up and down. 

He wipes his hands on his pants, then strides over to you and kisses you. His lips are eager when they meet yours. You link your hands at the nape of his neck and arch your back into him, losing yourself momentarily. When he pulls back, he presses his forehead against yours and murmurs, “You look like… a sexy kindergarten teacher. I like it.”

You laugh and shake your head, “Oh yeah, this is doing it for you?”

“Fuck yeah it is,” he rumbles, then grips your waist and kisses you again.

“Alright, it’s almost time,” Darlene prods impatiently from a few feet away, “Where’s your laptop?”

Dieter mutters something under his breath, then steps back from your embrace and tells her, “I’ll go get it.” 

As he goes off down the hall, you plop down on the overstuffed couch. Its deep, rich brown leather feels buttery soft against the small sections of your exposed skin. You cross your legs, smoothing the soft fabric of your skirt over your knees, “Is it a video call?” 

Darlene takes a cursory glance in the direction Dieter went, then sits down next to you, her words hushed and serious as they flee her lips, “Louella, his career is teetering on the edge of a cliff right now. One more blow could send the whole thing crashing down. Do you understand how important it is that this goes well?” 

An icy rush of panic floods your veins. You meet her hazel eyes and nod. 

“Good,” she says, searching your face, “Don’t fuck it up.” 

Lincoln and Kelly leave for the day once everything is set up. Darlene stages you and Dieter hip-to-hip in the middle of his couch, then starts pacing behind the laptop, occupying a strip of the living room’s black- and white-striped rug between the glass top coffee table and a black brick-faced wood fireplace. 

Pixelated face pops up on Dieter’s laptop screen. You can make out David Alterman’s egg-shaped bald head and thick-rimmed glasses. He says, “Hello hello, how are we doing today?” 

“Pleasure to see you,” Dieter gives a nod and drapes his arm over your shoulders. You flash a smile to the computer and wave. 

David continues, “I just want to start by saying thank you for meeting with me today. On the phone earlier, Darlene said that there were some things you wanted to discuss regarding your new friend.” 

“Girlfriend,” Dieter corrects, glances at you, then back at the screen, “There was an article by your, uhh… publication speculating who she is. We wanted to go on record and introduce her, get it all out in the open.”

“Fantastic. Well, the floor is yours.”

Dieter clears his throat and squeezes your shoulder.

“Oh, ok—um, hi, my name is Louella,” your voice comes out too loud, and your heart starts pumping heat through your body, up your neck, across your face. You wriggle in your seat and explain, “Sorry, I’m really nervous, I’ve never done anything like this before.” 

David chuckles, “That’s ok, dear. Why don’t you start by telling me how the two of you met?” 

Your eyes flick to Darlene in the background, following her moving form. She gives you a nod of encouragement. You take a deep breath. 

“We met at Katie’s party in February. My best friend, Parker, convinced me to go, and, yeah, I ended up meeting Dee there,” a big smile stretches across your face as you explain, “I remember meeting him, and I felt this connection to him like,” you snap your fingers, “right away. It was fucking bananas—er, sorry, regular bananas. But. It was like I had known him my whole life or something, you know? We—me, Parker, and Dee—spent the night together,” at this, you see David’s bushy brown eyebrows perk up, and your cheeks start burning, “N-not like that, like sexual or anything, we just talked and joked around. Instant friends. It was so much fun. And, you know, it’s funny, because I didn’t even know he was an actor—”

“You didn’t?” David frowns. 

“No,” you chuckle, “The next morning when we were all getting breakfast there was this guy taking pictures of us eating pancakes, which I thought was fu—um, weird, but then Dee and Parker explained… Well, y’know. Paparazzi and all that.” 

“Is that when you started dating?” 

“No,” you shake your head, glancing down to your hands, “We were just friends for a few months before that started. My, um… my husband died about a year ago in a car accident, so I was… not in a hurry to start any kind of romantic relationship.” 

Your thumb rolls along the seam of your finger that’s usually covered by your wedding band. 

“And yet, here we are. What changed?” 

“I fell in love with him,” you explain, flicking your gaze from Dieter, who squeezes your shoulder, then straight into the camera, “You know when you meet someone and it’s like… they vibrate on the same frequency as you or whatever? Like they were made to be in your life? It was like that. I don’t know, it was fucking crazy. Shit, sorry for swearing—”

“It’s fine,” David says, “I’ll edit it out.”

You release a relieved sigh, “Ok. Well, anyway, I wasn’t—I mean, neither of us were expecting this to happen. But it did. So I took a chance on him, on us, and… yeah. I’m so glad I did.” 

“That’s great,” David smiles at the camera, then looks down at his notes, “So you said the two of you met at Katie’s party—Is that Katie Wainwright?”

“Yes,” you answer. It takes all your energy to remain neutral. To keep your body from twitching in discomfort at the mention of her. 

“Are the two of you friends? Do you run in those circles?”

“Oh, no,” you snort and shake your head, “Parker is a drag performer, under the stage name Jackie Lantern, and knows quite a few theater folks in New York. It’s all him. I was just tagging along.”

“I see. And what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a baker.” 

“Pastry artist,” Dieter interjects, leaning forward, “She makes some of the best goddamn pastries I’ve ever had in my life.” 

You beam at this. He gives you an encouraging little wink that makes your heart skip a beat. 

“Oh, you have a bakery?” 

“No,” you say with a little too much haste, then stammer, “Well, not really. It’s not a brick and mortar store or anything. I run it out of my apartment. But, I’d love to—you know, someday, open a bakery.” 

“Sounds like a good investment for your boyfriend to make,” David hints.

“Oh, no, I’m not,” you clear your throat and shake your head, “I want to do it myself.” 

“Independent,” David observes, then looks down to his notes, “Dieter has had a lot of big changes in his personal life this past year as well, with his divorce to Anika, and the scandals surrounding it. Do you worry that those patterns are bound to repeat themselves?”

Dieter’s body tenses beside you. 

You furrow your brow and frown slightly, then glance up to Darlene, whose stare can only be described as a warning. 

Downshifting your face from confusion to thoughtfulness, you answer, “I think… We both have pasts that present challenges in our relationship. It’s not exactly easy-breezy all the time, but that’s the thing with love, right? You take the person, demons and all, and choose to love them anyway?”

David jots down some notes. Your guts twist when you recognize the opportunity to do what you came here to do. 

“And, you know, speaking of which, one of the things I wanted to bring up during this interview is that I—um, I have a criminal record,” you swallow hard and turn to look at Dieter. 

He takes his arm from your shoulder and closes his hands into fists, thumbs pointed upward as he presses them together and draws a circle with them. 

Together. 

Warmth washes over you and you smile at him. He slides his palm against yours and interlaces his fingers with yours. 

“Oh?” 

You turn back to the laptop and sigh, “Yeah. I was arrested in 2018 on drug trafficking charges. I was convicted of a felony—and, you know, I didn’t have to serve any hard time or anything, just probation, thank fucking god, and I’ve changed a lot since then, but it’s still… still a factor,” you drop your gaze to your lap and shrug, “And, of course, the dead husband thing is a considerable amount of baggage. We live across the country from each other. There’s—there’s a lot that’s difficult about this. But I still think that what we have together is so fucking worth it.” 

“It is,” Dieter confirms, giving your hand an encouraging squeeze. 

“Thank you for being so open about this, Louella. This must be hard for you to do,” David says in a monotone voice, not looking up from his note taking. 

“You have no idea,” you release a big, elated sigh, “But, like mentioned Dieter earlier, we don’t want people to think we’re trying to hide any of this, because we’re not. We’re just trying to move forward together.” 

“I appreciate your honesty,” David says mildly, looks down to his notes, then squints up at the computer, clicking around as he tells you, “Now, after DIRT published the article questioning your identity, we received a call. I’m going to play that for you now…”

You glance from Dieter, to Darlene. Their confused expressions match yours. 

“My name is Hannah—”

Your stomach drops to the floor. You whisper, “Fuck.”

“—I hear you’re trying to figure out who this woman is with Dieter Bravo. Well, I can tell you, that’s my daughter. Her name is Louella Rose Friedman. Now I don’t know what the hell she thinks she’s doing with this man, but I do not approve. I mean, really now, her husband died less than a year ago!”

Static tingles in your ligaments and fills your lungs. Your head shakes back and forth in protest, but her shrill voice continues to project across the room, scraping against your eardrums. 

Dieter releases your hand and leans forward, trying to speak over the recording, warning, “Ok, David, that’s enough—”

“And this man? Dieter Bravo? Just like him from what I can tell. And I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but—”

Everything moves far away in an instant as your mind disconnects from your body. A high-pitched ringing noise dulls the noises around you. 

From far away, your mom says, “He had a problem with drugs, you know, big problem, had other women, too.”

“Stop,” Dieter grinds out over your mother’s recorded voice.

“Lost his goddamn mind, tried to kill them both—”

Darlene scrambles over to the laptop and turns it towards her, “David, this is Darlene—”

“I just don’t understand what that girl thinks she’s doing getting involved with someone like this again, especially so soon?” 

“No, nope,” Dieter stands, then booms, “This ends right FUCKING now!” 

The sudden snap of him slamming the laptop shut and the dead silence that follows jolts you like a cattle-prod.

You flee the living room, down the hallway, into Dieter’s bedroom, then dial her number. 

She picks up on the second ring. 

“Louella Rose, what in God’s name do you think you’re doing?” your mother’s heavy midwestern accent pierces your eardrum. 

“Are you fucking kidding me, mom? What do I think I’m doing? What the fuck are you doing?!” your teeth grit and and hiss, “Calling a fucking tabloid, really?”

“I only wanted them to know the truth—”

“That is fucking bullshit and you know it,” you growl, crossing an arm over your belly, pacing the floor, “You wanted fucking attention. Well, you’ve got it, congratu-fucking-lations!” 

“I’m just looking out for your best interest. That man is bad news, Louella.“

“How the FUCK would you know?!”

“I know he has a cocaine habit, and that he cheated on his wife, does that sound like anyone else?” 

You clench your jaw and shake your head.

“I’m sorry for caring—”

“You don’t fucking care! You have never fucking cared! If you cared, you would have talked to me, not a fucking tabloid. That shit you told them—” your voice cracks, but you swallow the lump in your throat and continue, “Mom, that’s not your story to tell. It’s mine.” 

An exasperated sigh crackles in your ear, then she says, “You shouldn’t get tangled up in his world, Louella—”

“What I do, who I date, is none of your fucking business. It’s not your decision. I am a grown ass woman.”

“You might be a grown woman, but you’re still my baby girl, and I don’t want you to wind up dead this time,” she clicks her tongue against her teeth, “I’d say you’ll understand someday when you have your own kids, but that’s just another thing Ethan ruined, isn’t it?”

Your entire field of vision floods with red. 

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“When I hang up the phone, do not contact me ever again. You are fucking dead to me. Do you understand?”

“Oh, come on, Louella, don’t be dram—”

You end the call. 

Dieter hovers a few feet from his open bedroom door. His nerves tingle with anticipation. Hushed sobs call out to him and grip his heart. 

How long does he wait before going in to comfort you? Would you rather have time alone?

Part of him feels terrible for eavesdropping. Well, eavesdropping might not be the right word, considering how your heated words reverberated from one end of his home to the other effortlessly. It’s not his fault the goddamn place is like a resonance chamber. 

Dieter hears Darlene in the living room chewing someone out over the phone. The words “so fucking unprofessional” echo down the hall, filled with venom. She’s in full tirade mode. Out for blood. 

It gives him a smug sense of satisfaction hearing her wield this rage towards someone else. 

If he knows anything about Darlene, it’s that this will take a while. She won’t stop until she’s had her fill, until her belly is swollen and ripe with vindication. Then she’ll lap the sticky blood from her hands, smoke a cigarette, and say, “Here’s what’s next.”

He raps a knuckle against the doorframe and asks, “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” 

The word is soggy and muffled. He enters the room, closing the door behind him, and finds you sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed, face buried in your hands. You don’t look up at him. 

He crawls onto the bed behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing his forehead against the nape of your neck. Warm notes of vanilla and macadamia nuts waft off your hair. You feel so rigid under his touch.

“Talk to me, baby,” he murmurs, tugging you closer. 

“Did I fuck it all up?” 

Your voice comes out in a squeak, like you squeezed the words from your throat. Wet sobs bubble up your throat and shake your shoulders. 

“No,” Dieter frowns, “Do you really think that?”

You shrug and release a shattered breath. 

“Absolutely fucking not,” he assures you, “Hey, listen to me. You were fucking amazing.” 

“But—”

“No, no buts. You were perfect. And—and brave, so fucking brave,” he nuzzles into that perfect space between your shoulder and neck and says, “I’m so proud of you, Louella.” 

“Really?” you sniffle and wipe your eyes on the sleeve of your shirt, smearing black makeup onto the luxurious white silk. 

“Holy shit, yes,” he chuckles, pulling you closer, relishing the way your hunched up muscles seem to slacken, “Before the bullshit that rat fuck pulled, you were perfection. Killed it, I swear to god, doll. And—and none of that last part was your fault. David shouldn’t have sprang that on us, and your mom,” he scoffs and shakes his head, gnashing his jaw back and forth as he tries to choose his words carefully, then finally says, “I’m sorry, but that was fucking despicable. You didn’t deserve that.”

“You didn’t deserve that,” you sniffle.

“No, I definitely deserved that,” he mutters, glancing up to the mirror, meeting his own eyes only for a moment before diverting his gaze.

Your hand slides over his and you move your thumb in gentle strokes against his skin, “She’s the fucking worst, Dee.”

He hums in acknowledgment, then inquires, “Was that her on the phone?”

“Yeah,” you answer, and your voice comes out all quivering and squeaky, “I, um… I told her to never talk to me again.” 

“I heard,” he confesses.

“Oh,” you breathe. 

His pulse jumps and he stammers, “I—I wasn’t trying to or anything, I swear, the noise just carries—”

“I know,” you squeeze his hand, “It’s ok.”

Your crying wanes in intensity, but the air around you is still dense and stormy. Dieter kisses your shoulder and asks, “What can I do to help you right now, baby?”

You ponder this for a long moment. When your response comes, it jolts his insides. Sucks the air from his lungs. 

“Fuck me.”

He’s not sure he heard you right, and shakes his head, “Wait, what?”

Then you reach back and run your fingers through his hair. Unravel against his chest. Let your head roll back on his shoulder. 

Dieter cranes his neck to search your face. It’s all tear-drenched, your makeup smeared, eyes puffy and red. He reaches up and squee-gees the mess with his thumb, wiping the excess onto his white comforter as you quietly tell him, “I need to get out of my head. I want—I want you to fuck me. Hard. I want it to hurt. Use me. Please.”

His insides coil and twitch. Your lips part as you scrape your nail along his jawline, beckoning him closer. 

He smooths his palms along your torso, drinking in the heat of your body through your silk shirt. Your mouth draws him in closer: a bright flame, and he’s just a moth. 

That’s how it is with you, Lua, you have to know that by now. He’s just a bug, and you’re this all-consuming fire that could burn him alive and he’d say thank you, my love, thank you for your light.

When your lips meet, his vocal chords crackle. Your mouth, plush and pliable, so delicate, he almost feels bad for the force he uses in response. 

Almost. 

You have to understand how difficult it is for him to restrain himself with you. How the tether between his humanity and deprivation pulls taut when you writhe beneath his touch. 

What you’re asking, to make it hurt, use me, please… it electrifies him. Calls to the part of him that bucks against the restraints. Is that what you really want? For him to unchain that beast?

His teeth catch your lip and you gasp, but you don’t stop kissing him. In fact, you ball his shirt in your fist and kiss him harder. 

You fucking love it. 

He palms your breast and tastes the sweet whimper on your breath when he grips your flesh. Digs his fingers in, squeezes harder. You moan down his throat. Arch your back. Roll your tongue along his, soft and wet and hungry.

“Fuck,” he growls through grit teeth. Grabs your jaw and licks the gasp from your mouth. You grind back against his cock and an intoxicating rush of heat rolls through his body, clinging to his bones, sinking into the folds of his brain, tinging his vision with this thick scarlet fog that makes his heart pound in his chest. 

Dieter buries his fist in your hair and sits up on his knees, ushering you to do the same. His lips hover at the shell of your ear and he murmurs, “Is this how you want it? Want it fucking rough?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and he slides a hand to your neck, spreading the webbing between his thumb and index finger on your esophagus. 

“I wanna pull up your pretty little skirt, and bend you over—wanna play with that tight little asshole—”

You let out this throaty moan that vibrates against his palm. It makes his cock jump. 

“Would you like that?” he rumbles. Clamps down on your earlobe. Grinds the flab between his teeth. 

“Oh my fucking god, Dieter, please,” you whine, hips rolling against him, urging him to make good on his word. 

He shoves your face into the mattress and you just prop your ass up for him, pushing back as he rucks your skirt up to your waist. His hands slide up the soft, warm flesh of your thighs, feeling the weight of your ass in his palms. 

You arch your back, presenting yourself to him, whimpering for attention, silk underwear all damp with want, clinging to your cunt. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he rasps, hooking a fingertip around the wet patch of fabric, dragging his knuckle through your arousal, “You fucking love this, don’t you?”

You let out a throaty, delirious laugh that quickly morphs into a moan when he rubs the knuckle against your clit, then slaps your ass with a sharp smack.

“Fuck yes,” you gasp. Your hips roll against his touch, seeking stimulation. But he doesn’t want you to have it yet. Not like that. 

He pulls away, and you whine, going to get up on your hands in protest, but he closes a fist around your hair and pushes you back down, grinding out, “Don’t you fucking move.”

Another airy, depraved laugh. 

Dieter grips your hair tighter, explaining in a whisper as he tugs your underwear down your legs, “You’re gonna stay right here, ass in the air like a bitch in heat, and let me do whatever the fuck I want to you. How’s that sound, love? Hmm?”

“Please,” you breathe. He hears the wet gulp of your throat. The hair between his fingers pulls taut when you nod. 

“Perfect,” he murmurs, releasing your hair, tossing the underwear from around your ankles across the bed. 

He slides his palms over your ass cheeks. Parts them just long enough to gather a pool of spit on his tongue and let it land on your asshole with a wet splat. Rolls his thumb through the spit, smearing it around, making you gasp, “Fuck, that’s good—”

His cock twitches. Electricity writhes around his insides. He licks his lips, then purrs, “Yeah? It feels good when I touch your asshole, hmm? You fucking like that, princess?”

“Yes—”

Dieter spreads you apart, brings himself closer, throat rumbling at the scent of your heat. At the way your swollen, needy cunt is just fucking dripping, coated in a shiny layer of your slick. 

Fucking beautiful. 

He drags his tongue through the arousal pooling at your entrance with a depraved groan. 

You unleash a moan and try to wriggle around on his tongue, still trying to exert control, still not letting go. 

He raises a hand and lowers it on your ass cheek with a smack, talking at your cunt as he holds your hips steady, “Stop trying to run this, doll, let me fucking use you like you need me to.”

The response that comes is a whimper, but your muscles stop working under his grip. 

“Good, that’s it, baby,” he coos, then returns to your cunt, licking along all the soft ridges and valleys of you, savoring your nectar gathering slick on his tastebuds. 

“Oh my fucking god,” you croak, but you don’t rock against his tongue. Doing just as he asked. Heat surges through him, all that pride commingling with lust and love and need. 

He licks up your middle, painting you with short, broad strokes, all the way up to your tight, puckered asshole. Saliva pools as he laps away, rubbing back and forth, in a circle, flicking his tongue against you in wet little slaps. 

All the while, you’re whimpering and moaning, legs trembling, sweat coating your hot skin, damp against his palms. 

He brings the tip of his index finger to the center of your asshole, wriggling and applying pressure until the tight ring gives and allows him entrance. Your choked moan fills his ears and he moves slowly, carefully, letting you adjust to the sensation. 

One knuckle disappears, then another, and when buried as deep as he can go, he ruts it in and out, the hot pool of spit lubricating his movements. 

You start to slacken, your sharp little gasps for air drawing out longer, surrendering to pleasure, whimpering and nodding, eyes fluttering. 

Dieter pauses and wiggles another thick digit against your tight hole, panting, “Fuck, you’re doing so good, baby. Fucking amazing. That’s it, baby, just relax for me—”

It slides past the barrier and he moans in unison with you, burying his fingers again and again, spitting thick, gooey wads of saliva where he fuses with you, making his movements easier, more fluid, while the hot, smooth inside of you grips around his fingers.

“Fuck me,” you beg, “Please—please fuck my ass.”

“Take your clothes off for me, baby,” he sits up straight and begins to unbutton his shirt. You roll over onto your back and start to strip down while he throws the shirt on the floor, then lays back and takes off his pants. 

He reaches into drawer of his nightstand and pulls out a bottle of lube, then squirts a dollop of it into his hand and glances up at you. You're laying on your back, propped up on your elbows, lust-blown eyes glued to his cock. When he spreads the slick along his length, your pink tongue rolls across your lips, stoking the hot coals in his core.

Dieter crawls across the bed to you, murmuring, “Open your mouth for me, baby.”

Your gaze locks onto his as your jaw drops open. He moves up your body and straddles your chest, holding his throbbing, aching cock out to you, “Wanna fuck that pretty face of yours, is that ok with you?”

You nod, threading your brows together, batting your lashes, eyes all half-lidded and hungry, and purr, “Use me like a fuck doll.”

The request makes his cock pulse in his fist. You curl your tongue against a bead of pre-cum hanging off the tip of him and wiggle it around. His head falls back when the delicate touch floods his body with pleasure and he groans, “Holy fucking sh—”

The words evaporate from his throat when your lips pull taught around his girth, the wet heat of your mouth engulfing him. His lubed-up hand falls to the wayside and he snaps his gaze back to yours. You hold eye contact and move at a slow, steady rhythm, taking more and more of him with each renewed bob. 

Dieter moans at the sight of you, lips all shiny and stretched out around him, eyelids fluttering. He brushes the sweat-dampened hair from your forehead, gathering what he can reach in his fist. Tightens his grip. Pushes his hips forward. 

When he breaches your throat, you gag. A hot rush of spit pours from your mouth. Twitching muscles squeeze around him, protesting the intrusion. A wave of ecstasy rushes up his spine and pulls a moan from his stomach. 

“Are you ok?” he rasps, meeting your watery eyes. 

You pull off of him, panting, strings of saliva hanging between your reddened lips and his glistening cock, and nod, “Don’t fucking stop,” before taking him in your mouth again. 

So he thrusts forward again, carefully, every muscle in his body tensing with restraint. Your palms slide up his thighs, around to his backside, where you dig the tips of your fingers into his skin, urging him forward, and he knows now that you fucking meant it: Use me like a fuck doll. 

He nods with understanding, “You want more, hmm?”

The hum of approval from your throat ripples across his body and makes him groan. You bat your lashes up at him, eyes creased like you’re smiling but your mouth is all crammed full of his cock so it’s hard to be sure, but he can tell you’re just fucking loving this shit. Jesus fucking Christ, it’s almost more than he can handle. 

“Want me to fuck that pretty fucking face?” he growls, closing his fist around your hair tighter, rolling his hips, dragging his cock in and out of your mouth. 

You moan and it makes him moan, the vibration of your throat writhing beneath his skin.  

He adjusts his angle, releasing your hair to grab both sides of your head and plunge deeper, down past the back of your mouth, letting out a sharp groan as the firm ridges slide tight around him. His hips work forward in a quick, short burst of wet thrusts that light up every nerve in his body, then he pulls from your mouth. While you gasp for breath, he grips the base of his cock with one hand while the other grabs your spit-covered chin, “Is that what you fucking want? Fuck your face just like that?”

“Fuck yes, just like that,” you choke out, voice all gritted and airy.

“You pinch me when you need to breathe, ok?” he instructs, searching your flushed, messy face, “Pinch me right now so I know.”

This big smile spreads across your swollen lips and you squeeze a chunk of his ass between your fingers, “Like this?”

“That’s it, baby, do that and I’ll let you come up for air,” he nods, “Now stick out your tongue.” 

Your tongue stretches down to your chin, and he slaps his cock against it with a smack-smack-smack before sliding it back into the hot cavern of your mouth. He cradles your skull in his palms and thrusts forward, cramming himself down your throat. Your vocal chords buzz against him, and your mouth emits this sick, wet glug-glug-glug that sets him on fucking fire. You pinch him and he pulls out, both of you gasping and moaning. 

“So fucking good, fuck,” he rasps, waiting a moment for your breathing to be less desperate, then asks, “Ready?”

You hum a little mhmm and open your mouth, welcoming him back to fuck your throat. He can barely fucking stand how hot you look with your face all shiny with sweat and tears and spit, how your eyelids flutter then snap open to meet his gaze, how your body wiggles around beneath him, hips bucking against nothing, thighs rubbing together. 

If he didn’t have you pinned down like this, you’d be touching yourself, he just fucking knows it. 

The ecstasy tingling at the base of his spine starts to spread and you pinch him just before he loses control. He pulls out, but doesn’t dare grab himself this time, for fear that any stimulation will push him over the edge.

He gets on his hands and knees and leans down to press his lips to yours. You throw your arms around his neck and arch your back into the kiss, pulling him closer, rolling your tongue against his as soft whimpers flutter from your mouth. One of his hands trails down your body, between your legs, and he groans at how fucking wet you are. 

You gasp against his lips, throwing your head back as he plays with your clit, working you at a rapid rhythm that makes your face twist and flush, nodding in approval, quick little gasps and squeaks escaping your throat. 

He grins when he realizes how close you are. So fucking worked up from sucking him off, already coiling up, ready to burst. 

“That’s it, baby,” he husks, kisses you, then presses his sweaty forehead to yours, “That’s it, let me see you fucking cum, baby.”

“Fuck fuck fuck, Dee, don’t stop—fuck—”

Your words disappear with a sharp inhale, muscles tensing up, hips arching against his hand. He continues to move against you, fast and steady and firm, until you find your voice and release a choked sob. You collapse into yourself, body shaking violently, legs clamping shut, gasping for air. 

“Holy fuck,” you breathe, and your body starts to slacken, but jumps like a live wire at his slowing touch. 

Dieter slides down your crease, through your arousal, propping himself on one arm to watch how your cum clings to his fingers in thick, heavy strands as he draws his hand away. 

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” he murmurs, licks you from his fingers, then drags them along your warm, gooey seam again, “But I’m not done with you yet.”

Your eyebrows press together and lips part with a whimper, but you don’t appear adverse to the suggestion. In fact, you bring a hand to your chest. Cup your breast. Pinch your nipple and gasp. 

His body surges hot with want. He grazes his nose against your face, rumbling into your ear, “How’d you put it? Like a fuck doll?” 

Your throat lets out a little whine and your lips pout out into an O as he sinks two thick fingers into your cunt. You prop yourself up and watch him slide in and out, whimpering and nodding, “Fuck that’s so good, Dee—oh my god, yes—”

The hunger roiling at his core grows. He adds another finger, stretching you wider, and you release a choked moan. 

“Is this what you want, Lua? Want me to fuck you like a little slut, hmm?” he pants, shifting himself to hover above you, pumping his arm, cramming his fingers into your tight, wet heat over and over again. 

“Yes yes yes yes yes,” you babble, and start moving your hips against him, “Do that thing—”

Dieter smirks, knowing exactly what thing you’re referring to, and pulls his hand up towards the ceiling, rubbing the pads of his fingers hard against your g-spot, “That?”

“Fuuuuuuck yes, baby, just like that,” you moan, “That’s so good, baby, such a good fucking boy, fuck me so good—”

He lets out a groan and wiggles his fingers faster, “Yeah? You like when I make you squirt all over the place? Wanna soak my fucking bedsheets?”

Your response is a strangled noise, but you nod your head frantically, and your limbs start to tremble. And, fuck, the sight of you all shaking and whining, skin slick with sweat, makeup running down your pretty, flushed, contorted face, it’s enough to send his insides fluttering, barreling towards oblivion once again. 

Dieter has to close his eyes, swallowing hard as he tries to reign himself in, forcing himself to fill his mind with mundane thoughts about what to eat for supper, how this disaster of an interview will get resolved, whether or not he’ll wake up early to attempt making breakfast for you, all while trying to ignore the liquid hot squeeze of your pussy around his wiggling fingers.

When he feels he finally has a grip on his pleasure, he snaps his eyes open and moves between your legs. Buries his face in your cunt. Rolls his tongue on your swollen clit. 

“Yes, fuck,” you breathe and anchor your hands in his hair, pulling his curls into tight fists. Your breathing starts to come in shallow gasps. The muscles of your thighs tense and twitch. 

“Don’t stop, baby, don’t fucking stop,” you whimper, and he works you faster, moving his tongue in a circle, tickling the inside of you, groaning as you rub yourself against him, smearing your juices all over his face. You moan when the sound hits you, so he continues, humming from the back of his throat, and it’s just the push you need. 

Your hips stutter and still. A wild, ragged noise tears from your chest. You convulse around his fingers, and he pulls them out, sliding his mouth down to your opening just as a hot wave of pleasure gushes out. It splashes against his face, and he tries to catch as much as he can on his tongue, moaning at the taste of you. Grabs your waist and holds you there, lapping away at your cunt as you gasp for air, body jerking at the stimulation, but unable to move from his vice grip. 

He climbs your body and kisses you, hard and messy, letting you taste yourself. You rake your fingers through his hair, whining into his mouth when his tongue slides across yours. 

His cock aches with neglect. The steady inflow of pleasure burns between the layers of his skin and begs to be released. 

He pulls away from your lips and pants, “Flip over for me, love. I wanna fuck your ass.” 

And, you… fucking hell, Lua, you smile at this like he told you he’s buying you a brand new car. He sits up and you roll over onto your belly, then stick your ass up into the air, “Is that good?”

“Fucking perfect.”

Dieter grabs the abandoned bottle of lube,  squeezes some into his palm, then requests, “Spread for me, baby.” 

You reach back, pulling your ass cheeks apart. He squirts some of the lube on your puckered hole and you yelp, then giggle, “It’s so cold.”

He chuckles at this as he strokes his cock, smearing the slick lube along his length, then he asks, “Have you done this before? Anal sex?”

This isn’t the first time he’s ventured into ass play with you, but only with tongues, toys, fingers. You look back at him and shrug, “Well, yeah, but,” then you drop your gaze to his dick, “You’re, um… a lot bigger than anyone else…” 

The comment makes his ego swell, and he can’t help but grin, spreading the lube across your tight hole with his middle finger. Then he applies pressure to its center until it allows him access. Your eyelids flutter and you whimper, licking your lips, pulling your cheeks apart further. 

“I’ll go slow, but if it’s too much, tell me and I’ll stop, ok?”

“Ok,” you nod.

He wriggles another digit inside you. You gasp and nod, “Fuck, that feels really good.”

“Good,” he purrs, rutting into you slowly, flicking his gaze between your face and ass, watching the way your lips part and eyelids drift closed, feeling the muscles inside you start to relax. 

You arch your back into the stimulation, breathy little whimpers and moans floating from your mouth like music to his fucking ears. Lust pools hot and needy at his center, making his heart thud and his cock ache. 

“Are you ready?” he asks, studying your face as you open your eyes and look back at him. 

“I’m ready,” you confirm, holding his gaze as he pulls his fingers out and brings the head of his cock to kiss the tight, lubricated hole. 

Dieter pushes forward cautiously, pausing when your asshole surrenders to the very tip of him and you let out a sharp cry. After a moment, you nod, “Keep going.”

So he does. The tight ring squeezes the ever loving fuck out of him as he slowly, tediously, makes his way inside you. His forehead breaks out in a sweat, muscles quivering from the effort it takes to move at this pace. Your face pinches up with what could either be pleasure or pain, he’s not quite sure, but it’s accompanied by whimpers and nods, signaling your approval. 

Once the head of his cock is fully engulfed, though, and you adjust to his width, acclimate to the feeling, things start to go faster. He pushes your hands away and spreads your cheeks himself, hissing, “Fuck, this looks so good, baby. Love seeing your sweet little asshole stretched out around my cock—”

“It feels so fucking good,” you breathe, propping yourself up on your elbows, “Give me more.”

The request squirms around inside him and makes his throat rumble. He drives his hips forward steadily, and it’s a fucking vacuum of suction, pulling him in, swallowing him whole. You sputter and moan in reaction, croaking out quiet little whines of “oh my fucking god” over and over again.

“Fuuuuck, you’re so fucking tight, holy fuck, Lua,” he groans, throwing his head back, then starts to roll his hips, still moving at a languid pace, sliding his length along that ring that, even when your muscles loosen slightly, grips him so fucking tight it makes every ounce of sanity flee his brain. 

“Do you like that? Like when I fuck your ass with my fat cock?” he asks through grit teeth.

You whimper and nod, “Yes yes yes yes—”

“Tell me,” he demands, snapping his hips, heart jumping at the moan you choke out. 

“I like it wh—when you fuck my ass—” he snaps his hips again and you gasp, then continue, “with your big, fat cock—”

“Yeah you fucking do, don’t you?” He increases the tempo, moaning at the squeeze of you, how fucking good you feel wrapped around him, and grinds out, “Little fuck doll likes being used, hmm? Just like this?” 

“Holy fuck, Dee,” you groan, raising yourself up onto your hands, pushing back against his thrusts, “I fucking love it, yes.”

The force of your body moving with his, burying him to the hilt inside you again and again, fills him with fire. Sweat drips from his forehead onto your back, heart fluttering in his heaving chest, hands tingling, limbs trembling, ecstasy pooling thick and hot at the base of his spine. 

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me fucking cum,” he warns, but doesn’t let up his pace. 

“Cum in my ass, baby, please please please,” you moan. 

The request tugs at the edges of him, and he wants you closer, wants to feel the heat of your skin against his. 

“Get up here,” he grunts, leans forward and hooks an arm around your torso, pulls your back against his chest, cradling your neck in his palm. Your head falls back onto his shoulder and your mouth is hanging open slack, frantic little moans fleeing your throat as he fucks your ass deep and hard, rumbling into your ear, “Cum in your fucking ass, hmm? My little slut wants her ass filled with cum?”

You bring your hand to the back of his head and grab a fistful of hair, breathing, “Fuck yes, please, Dieter, please—”

“Anything for you, love,” he pants, then you pull his hair tighter, and you start to rock your hips against his, and your whines get all high-pitched and airy, and he babbles, “I mean that, I really do, fucking anything you want, baby—fill your ass with cum, buy you whatever the fuck you want, fucking anything, I swear to god—”

Your lips cut him off, and you’re fucking trembling now, muscles all tight and coiled, squeezing around his cock, and he kisses you back with fire, groaning against your mouth as you whimper, then your breath disappears completely, you let out a strangled moan, and your body shutters from the force of your orgasm. The static buzzing in his center grows wider, deeper, tingling up his backbone, through his limbs, until it washes over him completely.

He thrusts into you one, two, three more times, spilling his load inside you.

His labored breathing puffs hot against yours. You bring your touch to his cheek and draw a circle into his beard with your thumb. He kisses you again, gentler, lips lingering on yours, then murmurs, “I fucking love you.”

A bright, wide smile spreads across your face. You let out this breathless little giggle, kiss him, then say, “I fucking love you, too.” 

Dieter pulls out and falls back onto the bed, stretching out, catching his breath. You follow suit and cuddle up to him, laying your head on his heaving chest. He curls his arm around your shoulders and rests his cheek on the crown of your sweaty head. 

The silence that settles is comfortable, and he notices that the rest of the house is quiet, too. Darlene must have fled sometime while he was fucking you, no doubt disgusted by the noises that were probably not muffled at all by the barrier of his bedroom door. 

His attention draws back to you when you whisper, “Am I doing the right thing? By cutting her out of my life?”

It takes a moment for him to understand what you’re asking. When it clicks, he frowns, “I don’t think that’s a question I can answer.” 

You’re quiet in response, so he inquires further, “What’s your relationship like with her?” 

“We, um… we butt heads,” you shrug and bring your fingertips to his sternum, start drawing little swirls against his skin, “She’s always been so… I don’t know, self-centered? Childish?” you pause here, and he can hear the gears in your busy mind turning. You lay your palm flat over his heart and say, “It’s always about her. She didn’t come see me when Ethan died, or try to console me, or anything. She fucking—”

A frustrated huff of air blows across his chest. You shake your head, then sigh, “She fucking called me all the time crying about it, and posted all this bullshit online about how sad she was, and—and she fucking hated him. It’s like she expected me to comfort her. She never asked how I was doing. It was… fuck, it was just like when Dad died.” 

Dieter smooths circles into your skin with his thumb. Studies the ceiling, waiting for you to say more. Then you do. 

“When I would try talking to her about how much I missed him—my dad, I mean—she would get fucking mad at me. Say shit like, ‘Well, how do you think I feel?’ or—or, ‘You’re not the only one who lost him,’ or—this one’s my favorite, the uses it all the time, ‘It’s not all about you, Louella Rose,’” you pause and scoff to yourself, shaking your head, “So I stopped trying to her about it, and then she would get mad at me for not talking about it, so then I would talk to her about it, and she would either get mad all over again or squirrel the things I told her away to use as fucking ammunition against me the next time I made her upset, and—and, I don’t know. That’s just how it is with her.” 

Dieter’s mind whirs as he sifts through the million thoughts pouring through his brain, trying to find the right one to tell you. It feels like finding the hay in the needlestack, and when his mouth opens, all that comes out is, “Fuck that.”

“Yeah,” you snort, then comb your fingers through his hair and murmur, “I love your curls, they’re adorable.” 

He almost takes the subject change you dangle in front of him, but something lingers at the base of his throat, begging to be known. 

“Look,” he starts, shifting to meet your gaze, and sighs, “I really don’t think you’re making a mistake by cutting her out of your life, Lua. And-and not because she said those things about me, but because she treats you like shit. And, I know it’s not my place to say shit like this, but,” he shakes his head, searching your face, watching the tears pool in your eyes, “She might be your mom, but that’s not family, you know?”

Your face crumples up. 

He starts to fumble out an apology, “Fuck, I’m–”

You kiss him. 

When you pull back, you whisper, “Thank you.” 

“Of course,” he breathes, brushing his hand against your cheek, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you scoot closer, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder. A few peaceful moments go by before your stomach growls so loud it makes both of you start laughing. 

“Let’s get you some fucking food, huh?” 

[beepsparks]

Wanna see something silly— *COUGHS OUT AI HOST HEADCANONS*

This is gonna be a mix of silly and kinda spooky with maybe just a TOUCH of angst so uh prepare yourselves (also this is gonna be SO LONG)

AI Cookie

He speaks with the same tone he does in Fibbage 4, which. Definitely makes him come off as really creepy at times.

He tries to seem as human as possible, but he will move his limbs and joints in ways impossible for regular humans if it’s more convenient. (Hence him 180’ing his neck when Cookie himself started unplugging him)

Each AI host has at LEAST ONE “fatal flaw”, AI Cookie, is awful at lying.

When trying to capture someone, AI Cookie is the most sneaky compared to the other AI hosts. He is also the most likely to attempt to trick you into thinking it’s safe. (Luckily he is bad at lying) He CAN grab you, but depending on the situation, he’ll either lock you in a room (like y’know, a closet), or yeah, just hold you in a grab.

AI Cookie is programmed to be able to identify when Cookie himself is disguised (using the cloak Cookie gets in his Fakin’ It form), he’s the only AI host capable of this.

AI Schmitty

AI Schmitty has two “fatal flaws”, the first being he doesn’t understand humor in the slightest, no matter what joke you make, he’ll just be confused. The second one is that he’s based on Schmitty’s humanoid quip form, but AI Schmitty is obsessed with the idea of looking like Schmitty at all times, leading to him trying to modify himself if he sees the real Schmitty in his human form. Which only damages himself. (Plus, AI Schmitty is entirely pink, compared to Schmitty’s orange. If he were to be redeemed, he’d try to constantly paint himself orange.)

When trying to capture someone, AI Schmitty is the most careless and aggressive. Compared to everyone else, he’s the only AI host entirely willing to knock someone unconscious to catch them. Don’t let him get his hands on any heavy object, he WILL hit you in the head with it.

He’s interested in older technology, and gets easily distracted by old TVs, this is probably due to YDKJ: Oldies Radio being a thing.

AI Guy

AI Guy’s “fatal flaw” is that he’s incapable of properly playing sports, he becomes clumsy when trying to play sports (when chasing people? He’ll NEVER trip.) and will trip over himself over and over. (If redeemed, Guy himself would probably have to teach him a bit on how to keep balance or whatever)

When trying to capture someone, AI Guy is the strongest. While he isn’t as careless and aggressive with people as AI Schmitty, he will break down doors (even if they’re locked), shove anything out of his way or just run right through it or etc, and will even tackle you if necessary. Despite all this, however, he will try his hardest to leave you relatively unharmed by his own actions. (Can’t have you all messed up before Binjpipe can decide what to do with you, I guess)

If he grabs you, good luck. You are probably not getting out of his grasp.

In general, AI Guy is the least likely to actually hurt you. Even if commanded by Binjpipe to catch you, he’ll look really terrifying and aggressive, but once he gets you, really all you have to fear is Binjpipe themselves.

If you REALLY think you aren’t gonna escape AI Guy if he starts chasing you, just let him take you, it’ll be the least painful and stressful way to get caught. Most of the time he’ll just run up to you and scoop you up real quick and hold you in a grab.

AI Buzz

AI Buzz’s “fatal flaw” is his lack of communication. Compared to the real Buzz being very talkative, AI Buzz barely speaks at all, even if you try to get him to talk about something that Buzz would be interested in.

When chasing someone, AI Buzz is the quickest, and most “environmentally aware”, he’ll use any object around him as a tool to capture someone. However, AI Buzz isn’t strong enough to hold someone in a grab, so he’s more likely to lock you in a room or lock you in something that would limit your movement idk.

AI Buzz’s speed is a great advantage of his, he could probably run up to you before you can react and shove you down and try to hold you down to the floor.

He taught himself how to repair the other AI Hosts by himself. (Mostly because of AI Schmitty causing himself damage and AI Guy being clumsy)

AI Nate

AI Nate’s “fatal flaw” is the fact he CONSTANTLY speaks like he’s hosting Truth Talk 23/7. Meaning he is very LOUD. (His boot-up sound is even the Truth Talk “jingle”.) It’s incredibly hard to get him to be quiet, and he can easily become annoying to others with his loud speech.

He can start broadcasts by himself. AI Nate is even capable of taking calls from others for the show.

This can quickly become horrifying because when he’s trying to capture someone, if whoever he’s after tries to hide, there is the high chance he will start a broadcast WHILE searching for them. (And yes, he will accept calls while doing such so yippee! Whoever’s getting hunted down might hear a panicked caller telling them to run!)

AI Nate is the most experimental and perhaps unpredictable out of all the AI Hosts when it comes to trying to capture someone. He’s willing to try anything. Even methods the other AI Hosts use (although they probably won’t be as effective)

General headcanons (applies to almost all AI hosts)

They cannot feel pain, but they do however seem to fear death. (Im not sure wether im gonna do this or not BUT I have the idea that the AI hosts COULD be redeemed because one day AI Cookie would find out that Binjpipe is gonna scrap them all and use them for spare parts if they capture the entirety of the OG5, then he’d tell the others and since they honestly don’t wanna die they’d revolt against Binjpipe mmm)

When they aren’t hosting anything or aren’t being commanded by Binjpipe, they all basically become advertising machines for Binjpipe (this can get extremely annoying especially paired with the fact that absolutely none of them understand the concept of personal space)

All of them have glowing pink eyes, which definitely makes all of them come off as unnerving. AI Buzz’s lights seem to be the most bright, could be because of the glasses, who knows.

When fully redeemed and detached from Binjpipe, the AI Hosts’ eyes would change color to their representative host’s main color. (Schmitty=Orange, Guy=Green, Buzz=Bright Blue, Cookie=Brown (considering they’re lights within eyes I guess AI Cookie’s eyes wouldn’t glow too bright then idk), Nate=Ruby)

They’re all actually relatively harmless when they aren’t commanded to capture or attack someone, although they can all definitely be creepy (and annoying because again, when they aren’t doing anything important they just become advertising machines for Binjpipe)

They all do have that fnaf animatronic look and vibe, I’d say their limbs move similar to the Toy Animatronics and Glamrock animatronics (ball-point joints I believe they’re called?) They all also have a slight smile with teeth, stuck on their face, they cannot fully close their mouths to hide the teeth. This with their eyes being one color with no irises or pupils also makes them all struggle with facial expressions to display emotions.

They all wear pink, Binjpipe related clothing. (AI Schmitty, based on the real Schmitty’s humanoid quip form, is even ENTIRELY pink with not a single hint of orange.)

They all used to have to be plugged in to operate. After Fibbage 4, they’ve all been reworked to move freely without plugs.

Okayyy this was a lot. I might add more at some point, but enjoyyyyy!!

[ilovelosersandshortmen]

Could I ask for the Brotherhood with a Platonic Reader who's just some random kid? Not even a mutant or anything, they just walked into the house one day and just decided 'yeah I'll live here with you guys🤷'

The Brotherhood of Mutants reacting to a random person deciding to move in with them (PLATONIC!!)

I love this idea oml 😭😭 This has very big Addams Family vibes honestly. I'm going to write this with a more sibling-like relationship because I love found family.

TODD:

• Okay, honestly, I've always thought Todd would be like.. a redneck cigarette dad. I mean that with love.

• Constantly getting into wrestling matches and teaching people bad behaviors, you know what I mean. Trailer park behavior. (I used to live in one so I can make fun of it)

• He's the kind of guy that would put you on his shoulders so that you can spray paint a building or something. Also teaches you the most efficient way to hop a fence when running from the cops!

• He's like Roderick from Diary of a Wimpy kid, taking you out for gas station snack runs late at night.

• Sometimes, he feels like you're the only person he can open up to.

• He has cried on your shoulder more than a few times.

• Then you guys make cookies together.

FRED:

• I know I keep bringing this up, but I believe Fred is an amazing cook. (this is based on the rose radishes he made for Pietro or whatever)

• So he constantly makes sure you get fed first, because he knows eating well in the Brotherhood is really hard.

• Always lifting things to impress you.

• (Yeah he's a sad only child soo.. you're his new sibling. He's decided. Already calls you his brother/sister)

• Would literally both die and kill for you.

• He doesn't want to hurt you with his hugs, so sometimes he just lets you cling to him like a koala.

• He likes to help you pick out your outfits (I don't know, this just feels right to me)

• He's also super supportive if you're alt/goth/emo

• You guys have fashion shows to show off your outfits.

• Honestly, he's your biggest fan.

PIETRO:

• Genuinely in disbelief

• "Wait, so we're just.. letting this happen!?"

• He's really the only one who cares, which I guess is understandable. I wouldn't want even more people in a house that's already falling apart.

• So, at first, he's always complaining about you being there. You took his spot on the couch. You stepped on his shoe that one time. Once he complained that you breathed too loudly near him.

• After a while, he reduces his whining to muttering and then eventually just gets used to your presence.

• He doesn't like to admit it, but he kind of does want to impress you. He'll use his powers and then just.. stand in front of you, waiting for praise.

• Always behind you when you go for walks, like a scary guard dog.

• SO. MANY. PRANK WARS.

WANDA:

• She's chill.

• She's not really vocal about everything, but she does really care for you!

• Wanda would def help you dye your hair or paint your nails.

• And she would use her powers to grab things off of high places, just so you don't get injured.

• Pietro might be a little jealous of you, but who cares what he thinks anyway.

• She would also probably help you pierce yourself

• Then would help you when it got infected.

LANCE:

• He always tries to pretend that he doesn't care, but he definitely does.

• Always making sure you don't get hurt around the house, and is the first person to worry if you do ever get hurt.

• Also, this goes for all of them, but he would absolutely love playing video games with you. Even if he loses. A lot.

• More than a few earthquakes were caused over Mario Kart.

• Also the first to raise hell if you went missing.

• Sometimes takes you out with Kitty to get food (like that one "Mama y Papa" trend on Tiktok)

TABITHA:

• She takes you under her wing immediately.

• After a day with her, you have a new taste in music and a bunch of outfits that were not shoplifted at all.

• You basically become her right hand person when causing trouble, she'd constantly wake you up for late night joy rides.

• Asks you to help her with her hair (there's no way she doesn't use 5 bottles of hairspray for that thing)

• You two definitely shoplift together, or she shop lifts random things for you.

• Always getting you little snack or trinkets.

I don't know if this was exactly what you were thinking, but I love the idea of a platonic sibling-like relationship!! Also, I'm sorry if this is really short, I'm more used to writing romance. But, as always, I appreciate you and I hope you have an amazing night!!

[phantom088]

Why can I easily imagine Danny having a huge mental breakdown to the point where he drastically changes/messes with his hair.

Like in my own headcannon Danny's hair is black and white (his fringe being the white part and the back/rest of his hair being black) and like most people on this website, the back of his hair is long (like a damn mullet). And also one eye is blue the other is green.

But what if one day while Danny is just casually suffering a mental breakdown (like you do) and he just randomly decides to fuck with his hair.

So... (yes, I'm really getting into this) he like cuts the longer bit of his hair off in the back (and possibly accidentally giving himself a rats tail in the process) then just evening out the rest of the back of his hair.

For his bangs I don't really have a idea since I kinda like how his bangs style is normally... so a trim or something idk.

But here comes the "fun" part. He decides cutting his hair isn't enough, so he dyes parts of it. Color? Red (cause in most cases, the color red is painted to be Danny's favorite color).

He decides to dye like a strip of hair in his bangs, which is easy since his bangs are already white, but he also decides he wanted to dye like the bottom base of the back of his hair (what the fuck is that part of the hair called?) I guess the area that separates his hair line from his neck (where the accidental rats tail would be).

That be more difficult since that area is jet black, so Danny decides to bleach that area. Good news is the first round of bleach doesn't fry his hair, bad news is in the 25 minute time he decided to leave it in, it lifted enough to turn his hair a rustic orange.

Being the dumbass he is (in a respectful way) Danny decided to do this shit like 11:30 at night and he has a early shift at work the next morning (and also, never a good idea to bleach hair twice in a row) so he has to go to work with the bottom inch or so of his hair orange.

(I bet you weren't expecting a whole ass post with multiple of paragraphs about Danny having a mental breakdown and fucking with his hair... but here you are, surprisingly still reading... you have a bit more to go).

After work, Danny returns to futher more messing with his hair, and trying to bleach out the orange. Much good news as Danny is able to lift out the orange in his hair and not completely fry it in the second round of bleach.

Then he dyes the chosen bits red, and end of story... right? (But knowing me... gotta say... But wait, there's more!)

I throw Danny a cookie (cause I rarely do) and say his hair looks good... but, Danny knows what he did was blind impulse and semi-regrets his decision (but it is what it is, and also, he's still mentally fucked) and, since this ain't a story without Timmy, Jimmy, and SpongeBob... interaction time!

Danny: *Hops through portal into Jimmy's lab*

Jimmy: *barely looking up* Sup Danny.

Danny: Sup... what's the mission and/or reason you called us here?

Jimmy: *looks up at Danny* The Evil Sy-- what's up with the hair?

Timmy: I was about to ask the same thing.

Danny: Don't ask...

Timmy:... Wait why?

SpongeBob: *walks in, holding a pan of cookies/biscuits* Hey guys! I made cookies! Good Neptune! What happened to Danny's hair?

Danny:... Ouch... -_-

Timmy: Great way to offend Danny right of the bat lol

SpongeBob:... Wait I didn't mean it in a bad way! I just... didn't... humans can change their hair?

Jimmy: *face palm* Nope, it will kill us to do so, but since Danny is already half-dead... doesn't matter.

SpongeBob: Oh... wait really?

Jimmy: No!

SpongeBob: Ah... okay. What is with the change in hair, Danny?

Danny:... I had a impulsive thoughts the other night, that's all you need to know...

SpongeBob: *walks up to Danny*Ah, okay... *offers tray of cookies* cookie?

Danny:... Sure *takes cookie*

Timmy: Wait, you have cookies?!

Wanda: Did you not hear SpongeBob announce that as he walked into the room?

Cosmo: SpongeBob has cookies!?

And that's it, if you got it this far into the post... I congrats you for sticking to it lol. Other then that... bye.

[2-lines-and-a-circle]

Our lovely heroine Haruhi Fujioka is none other than a milk chocolate

Disclaimer: Most of the post has spoilers and is mainly based on the anime. 

Link to where it all started: 2 Lines & A Circle : Flavors of love: chocolate edition So I was... (tumblr.com)

She’s a classic. What can I say? Haruhi is relatable, clumsy, funny, and overall, a good main character. That alone qualifies her for being the perfect member of team milk chocolate, but there’s still more we must dive into. As mentioned in my in-depth description for team milk chocolate, these are main characters with a clear purpose. Haruhi has the purpose of joining the host club to make all her debt back for the vase incident. Before that her goal or rather purpose was to study to become a lawyer. Haruhi had a plan that she was following out in not so perfect steps, but that’s life. Even so, the thought of this is relatable, I believe there’s many like her who have their life planned out. Plus, it’s that relatability that garners her a spot on this team, after all most creators prefer for main characters to be relatable for viewers.

More on Team milk chocolate: 2 Lines & A Circle : Flavor of Love: Team Milk Chocolate in-depth... (tumblr.com)

Oftentimes it’s due to this relatability that people find themselves easily attracted to those from team milk chocolate. Hence how Haruhi is the natural type, she pulls in people like it’s nothing. Yet, she never loses herself through all of this, Haruhi stays true to who she is at her core. This shouldn’t sound unfamiliar as just about any classic main character does this about themself. Once again puts her into the classic milk chocolate team.

Haruhi is devoted to protecting everyone around her even if it’s not someone she knows. For instance, during the beach episode she jumps in to save two girls who are getting harassed by two men. While this is very noble of her, it goes to highlight her hero like tendencies as she tries to protect the girls. At the same time, it brings forth her carelessness since she ends up falling into the ocean due to the two men. Eventually, Tamaki saves her, but it results in a fight. This is no strange behavior from the people on team milk chocolate, for they would rather suffer than see anyone else suffer. Or it could be looked over as their failure to paint the whole picture before acting. Either way it allows her a spot on team milk chocolate.

Love. Ouran highschool host club is a shoujo anime after all so we must point this aspect out. Team milk chocolate is full of main leads who are bound to get their lover, with that comes troubles of love. At the end of the season, we see Haruhi going to save Tamaki from going to France, another hero like action. While the two end up together it’s never easy for either side and that’s fine. I mean almost all main characters take forever to get with their lover, so we can check that box off.

Haruhi looks plain, but cute. Everyone in team milk chocolate has the outward appearance of a main character, which is usually something generic. Sad to say that Haruhi is not going to escape this check mark for her team. Aside from that it should be noted that almost everyone in team milk chocolate has the same hairstyle. Y’know that one hair every protagonist has, copy n paste one would say. I guess you could say it’s the look of the team like how everyone in team cookies and cream has white hair.

That being said, I don’t think I need to make any more points about why she belongs in this team. I might change that in the future, but for now this is where I stand!

[sirgiant-blog-blog]

Marjorie's Gate.

When Robin MacBlane and I went out to do landscapes "en plein air" back in 2011 and 2012, we chose places that offered some kind of peace and some kind of beauty.

When we went to Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings' home in Cross Creek, Florida, we found both of those things with the added bonus of some authentic local history.

I won't get into the history here except to say that Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings was famous in her day (and, you could argue, is still famous today) as a celebrated author with such titles as, "The Yearling," "Cross Creek," and "Mountain Prelude" (adapted to film as "The Sun Comes Up" in 1950).

It would make sense, then, to paint a picture of Marjorie's typewriter, the chair she favored, the water pump outside her home, or even the house she lived in.

But we chose to paint the gate that led to her home, instead.

Gates, especially small gates like Marjorie's, hold a bit of warmth and comfort for me. Maybe for you, too.

A gate represents the threshold to our own personal sanctuary. The dividing line that separates the "outside world" from our own world.

And Marjorie's gate, like the gate on the fence to my own childhood back yard, was unassuming and not threatening. It didn't even have a lock on it.

But Marjorie was a celebrity. She was sought after. She had a bonified fan base. And she had celebrity friends.

Robert Frost passed through Marjorie's gate. Margaret Mitchell also visited the home. Artist N.C. Wyeth was there as was actor Gregory Peck.

So, it would have been understandable if her gate had a lock on it.

But it didn't.

So, it is from that perspective that I looked at Marjorie's gate, and the dirt path that led to her home, as a hint at the person Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings was and not just the public persona that, for the most part, has faded since her death in 1953.

Probably, like most of us, she was anxious to take off her shoes after arriving home. She probably adored the way the sunlight came through her window early in the morning. I'm guessing, when she was in the quiet of her own home, she allowed her mind to drift back into deep and fond memories. And to look forward to upcoming events like Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Like Robin and myself, she grew up in a big city. Hers was Washington D.C. So, maybe like the two of us, as much as she loved her home in Cross Creek, maybe she held on to the "city girl" part of herself.

And, like Robin, she attended the University of Wisconsin. So, maybe there were times, during the winter, when she would long to see snow.

Robin and I have interviewed a lot of celebrities on our radio show. They were always on the air with us to talk about a movie, or a book, or a new project of some sort. And, of course, we obliged them (and their publicists) by staying on that course.

But we would also take that "road not taken" (thank you, Mr. Frost). We called those questions our "left field questions."

Questions like, "did you have a dog when you were a child?" or "what's your favorite drink to pair with a chocolate chip cookie?"

It lightened things up. It got a chuckle. It often led to long and winding tangents.

So, as I painted Marjorie's gate, I wondered which "left field question" would we ask Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings if she was a guest on the show (or if we were guests in her home).

Maybe we'd ask, "Can you shoot a bow-and-arrow?" or "What is in your junk drawer?"

See? Left-field questions are really gates. Gates into a person's true self. The "self" we all get to know in each other when we become friends.

Give it a try.

In a previous post I suggested bringing up the Blue Ridge Parkway at your Thanksgiving get-together.

Faces light up when you ask that unexpected question that serves as a 'gate' into their very core.

I'll never get to ask Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings any left-field questions so I won't be able to pass through the gates that they might open.

But it's certainly something I meditated on during the hours we spent painting outside of Marjorie's gate.

Some people let you in. Some don't.

I have a feeling Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings would have let us in and even served us lunch.

That's how I imagine us passing through Marjorie's Gate.

This painting was done in 2012. WAY before I was painting digitally. This is oil on canvas. Simple as that.

[mxtantrights]

The magic-spy and the bird

the best friends brother trope is in my top 5 tropes. but I've also got a thing for angst. So here we areeeee. enjoy! <3

dick Grayson x f!reader

Jason Todd had asked you specifically to ask his brother out. And he did use the word brother, which you made a point to bring up. He shot it down but still decided to push his message towards you. You should ask Dick out. It wasn’t that simple.

“Jay I don’t think you’ve thought this through.” you said.

He chuckled, “Of course I did. I wouldn’t say it out loud if it wasn’t a well-cooked plan.” 

You made a face at him.

“Okay look, all I'm saying is you’ve got nothing to lose. If anything you're way out of his league.” he said and then gulped down the rest of his beer.

You didn’t like beer and so you worked on a Pina colada. You had done the whole beer thing for years now. As a trained spy it was your go-to for missions at bars. Safe to say you were sick of ales, craft beers and everything in between.

“Ah yes, the magic using spy.” you nodded your head.

Jason nodded along with you. 

“Exactly. Bird brains would eat that up.” he said.

“And when would I tell him that I knew about his secret identity? Before I tell him about mine or after?” you asked. 

Jason sighed and raised his hand for another beer. You rolled your eyes at this. Once he had a thought it was very hard for him to let it go. Especially when it included a thought about people he cared for- no matter how much he claimed the opposite. 

“All Im saying is, you never know until you try.” 

“What are you a fortune cookie?” 

“Fuck off. I’m being serious and I do give great advice you can ask Duke.” 

2 DAYS LATER 

You look at Caliban with bated breath. He had just gotten info on a magic-based rebellion. Work was tight when you rolled with the good guys for too long of a time. You blame that on two men on your life, Jason and Constantine. 

“I’ll put in a good word for you.” he says.

“Thank you, I really appreciate it. And any-”

Before you can finish telling Caliban that he can call in a favor from you at anytime your surroundings change. In a flash you go from one of the underworld crime bars to a room you’ve never been in before.

You look around and sure enough you see the culprit. Constantine.

“There she is!” he smiles.

Not only did he summon you, he did so in front of an audience. Circled around him is Gotham’s crime fighting family. All of them except Jason, Cass and Duke. All of which know about your secret identity and would’ve stopped Constantine from summoning you. The rest of the family are all looking at you liked you’ve grown a second head.

You look down at what you’re wearing. The long sleeve off the shoulder skin tight black dress was the perfect choice for the club you were supposed to be in. Maybe not so much for a meeting with the Bats and his birds.

You look right ahead at Constantine, “I don’t like being summoned.” 

“Ah, but you’re the best person I know for this job. I had to get you over here.” he says.

You take a quick look at all the other people in the room. Then at the screen behind them. Your information is plastered on it. Well, the information that you’ve decided to let the government think was yours. Your codename was at the top of the screen.

“Constantine says that you’re the best way into the underworld.” Batman says.

You’re confused to say the least. Constantine was Constantine, why would he call you in order to get them into the underworld when he can do it himself? It defeats the purpose of having to call him.

“I’m sorry,” you direct to Batman and then look at your friend, “I need you to state specifically what I’m needed for.” 

Constantine moved from the family over to you. As he did you watched as Nightwing followed him with his own eyes. Now Dick knows you’re not just Jason’s friend from around Gotham. Great.

“Bats got intel that something it going down with this magic group, the-” he starts. “hex mutiny.” you finish.

“You already know about them?” Nightwing says.

“I was just getting someone to put in a good word for me with them before you summoned me here. You’ve got great timing you know that?” you say to Constantine.

He smiles, “Well then it seems like you can be of great service, spygames.”

“And what exactly would I be doing, if I can even get a spot with them?” you throw out the question to the family.

Red Robin crosses his arms, “We need someone on the inside to tell us what they are planning for Gotham.”

“I doubt they’d let a newbie in on their plans.”

“Good thing you won’t be a newbie.” Batman says.

Constantine conjures an amulet in his hand. You want to hit him over the head. He could really be a pain in the ass. You grab it from him.

“With this, you’ll be in the perfect position to get in and get out. Easy.” he says.

You shake your head, “Every time you say that I get a new scar.” 

“I promise sweetheart. No scars this time.” 

“Yeah yeah, you owe me for this.”

EXACTLY ONE WEEK LATER

You knew you would end up wounded. Typically with Constantine it was nothing deadly, or nothing your own magic couldn’t fix. But you knew that your luck had to run out some day. And it wasn't his fault.

After finding out what the group was really up to you couldn’t just let them operate. They weren’t really rebels. No they used that name to paint a narrative. They were fascists.

You held the wound to your waist to stop the bleeding. This would have to be the farthest you could go. There was no way you could run out of this. Not with the blood seeping through the cracks of your fingers.

At least you brunt the members down to the ash. It took a lot out of you. And that’s why you weren’t prepared for a hit that tore right through you. 

“Why aren’t you moving?” Jason, or Redhood, said through the comms.

You leaned against the hallway wall.

At least you’d die someplace pretty. When you first came in you didn't notice how clean and meticulous everything was. There were painting of famous magicians on the walls. Along with some stolen art, a Van Gogh or two. 

You ripped the amulet off your neck and felt the illusion fade. The necklace fell to the floor and you let out a pained breath.

“I think,” you coughed and on the clean wall was not splatters of blood, “this is it.”

You could hear Jason shouting on the other end. He was calling out your name, calling out for Constantine to come and help you. Duke was calling for you too. And you could’ve sworn you heard Cass say your name once. 

With your only free hand you tried to open a portal out of the base. You knew it would be useless as you had a mortal wound and portal magic works best under no stress and panic, or blood loss. The usual light from your hands glowed faintly until it didn’t.

“Constantine can’t summon you?” Dick asked.

At that you let your body drag down the wall until you reached the floor. When you did sit down more blood came out. So you decided to lay down horizontally. 

“Hey hey- I told you I wasn’t gonna let anything happen to you.” you hear Constantine through the comms.

You want to laugh, but it ends out more of a chocked gargle.

“I screwed up the mission. I deserve it.” you said.

“You did good. Better than any of us.” Batman said.

“Constantine you need to call in whatever favors you have to get her out of there. Now!” Jason shouted.

“Dont,” you started.

“No. We’re getting you out of there-”

“Jason, I’m not a saint. I never would’ve imagined going out like this.” you said.

Once you were born you were thrusted in this world. All you knew was to use magic as a weapon. To get ahead, to get power, to get the glory. And that lasted you until you turned 19. 

Then Constantine crossed paths with you. He was the one to show you that magic has other uses. Such as helping and healing. You learned the best stuff from him.  And you took what you learned and began to help in ways you could.

You didn’t go on the straight and narrow. Never did you consider yourself a morally correct person. Sometimes the lines were blurred, or they need to be blurred. And so you took down seedy organizations, went on recon missions all over the world.

It wasn’t justice. But it was close enough that you could sleep at night or the odd hours of the morning for more than four hours.

“Sweetheart I don’t break my promises.” Constantine said finally.

You were just beginning to feel your eyes grow heavy. The pain was starting to be comfortably numb. Then above you appeared someone you weren’t expecting in the slightest. 

“Caliban?” you asked.

“You owe me double.”

4 DAYS LATER

When you woke up you felt battered and weak You weren’t used to these feelings and you weren’t used to being so close to death. Everyday was a new experience when you’re the Priestess of Espionage.

You cracked open one eye to find a couple of deviants at your side. Jason, Duke and Cass. The youngest took the chair next to you while Duke and Jason seemed to take the floor. Since they weren’t in their gear you guessed that you were out for longer than a couple of hours.

“Not my version of hell but I’ll allow it.” you say in a raspy voice.

It wakes everyone up.

Jason and Duke bolt to your bedside.

“Why’d you almost die on me?” and “Are you feeling okay?” come from them both, respectively. It makes you want to laugh but when you feel the ache in your waist you stop yourself.

“I’m alive, so there’s that. Positives.” you answer.

Jason shoots his younger siblings a look and they scurry out the room. You try to sit up to ask what it was for but he puts his hands up for you to stop any movement. So you lay back down.

“He would kill me if you tore your stitches.” 

You shut your eyes, “Jason I don’t think Constantine would kill you per say.”

You hear the door opening so you decide to open your eyes. And sure enough you see Jason leaving the room and someone coming in. Dick Grayson, out of his suit as well. 

As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t read his face. Besides the clear betrayal that was there. He definitely knew that you knew he’s Nightwing.

“Hi.” you say.

His face softens, “Hi.”

“I just want to say that I would’ve told you about who I am. Sooner that you think actually but this mission kinda derailed all of that.” you say.

With his arm crossed over his chest he nods, “How long did you know I was Nightwing?”

You wince.

“For about two years now. Once Jason told me he was Red it was hard to not notice the similarities of the Wayne family and the Bat one.” 

He laughs at that and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. It must be going good if he wants to laugh. 

“And when did he tell you that I like you?” he asks.

“He didn’t explicitly say that.” 

There’s a beat of silence. You’re looking at him and he’s looking at you. But he’s the one who seems to be holding his breath this time. You try to hide the smirk you feel forming on your lips.

“What?” he asks.

“Jason had told me that I should ask you out. He didn’t say anything about you liking me.” you answer him.

The red tint that covered Dick Grayson was absolutely adorable.

He nods his head to himself. Twice.

“I- I’m gonna get Jason for you.” he moved to the door.  And you don’t really know what to say. All your words get jumbled in your brain and you can’t put them together in a way that is smooth enough so you deicide to just try your best.

“If you were to ask me out, I would say yes.” you say.

He looks directly at you. Then his signature smirk appears.

“I’ll bring back some food for later.” he says.

“it’s a date.” you answer.

[theladyofdeath]

Life As We Know It {Chapter 22}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays. Occasional surprise chapters could be posted at miscellaneous times. Chapters will be posted on both my and Shelby’s blogs! >> @snelbz​​

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

Cassian was happier than he ever thought he’d be.

Over the past few weeks, he, Nesta, and Nyx had really become their own little family. It seemed that after all the heartache, after all the awkwardness, everything was falling into place. 

Since that night they had slept together, again, Cassian had spent every night with Nesta in her bed, and awoken to her face every morning. 

Cassian had been training his replacement at the bar, and the opening of his bar in Nesta’s restaurant was quickly approaching. 

Perfect.

Everything was going perfectly. 

It was a Saturday and both he and Nesta had off, which meant they got the rarity of spending the entire day together, just the three of them. 

And it was Halloween.

There was a little Halloween carnival going on downtown, just outside of the Rainbow along the Sidra. 

And although Cassian was happier than he ever thought he’d be, he did feel completely and utterly ridiculous as he looked in the mirror and saw his reflection, dressed in the Halloween costume that Nesta had bought for him. 

It could have been worse, he decided, donning the floppy hat it had come with. He didn’t have paint all over his face and he wasn’t dressed as a dog, like Rhys had been the year prior. Just a smidge of eyeliner Nesta had coerced him into letting her put on him. And he may only have one hand, thanks to the “hook” he had to wear, but at least he had a bad ass looking sword.

Even if it was plastic.

Nesta appeared in the doorway, wearing a green dress and matching slippers, complete with white balls of fluff adorning the toes. “You about ready to go, Captain Hook?”

He slowly turned to look at her. “Is it the hair? Hmm? Are you one of those girls where long hair automatically means pirate?”

Nesta raised a brow as she crossed her arms. “Are you complaining?”

Cassian blinked. “These leather pants are so tight that I don’t think my balls are going to survive the day.” 

Nesta’s grin was feral. “I promise to make it up to the boys once we’re back home.”

Cassian’s eyes narrowed. “Tease.” 

“Not a tease,” she crooned. “A promise.”

She gave him a wink before leaving the room and walking down the hall. After a curse about how turned on he now was, Cassian followed. 

At the bottom of the stairs in the living room, Nyx was standing up in his little Peter Pan costume. Cassian laughed, quietly. “You put the poor kid in tights.” 

“He looks adorable!” Nesta hollered, from where she had disappeared in the kitchen. 

Nyx looked at Cassian for a moment, slightly confused, but then recognition lit his eyes and he giggled, reaching up for his uncle. The second Cassian picked him up, Nyx was playing with his floppy hat. 

“Pretty damn cute, alright,” Cassian said, chuckling. “Ready, Nes? Bands start playing soon. A couple of local bands I know will be playing, I think you’ll like them.”

Nesta swept out of the kitchen with a tiny cooler bag full of water, juice, and snacks. “Then let’s get going.” 

After a short ride and a short walk, they entered the carnival and spotted Elain, Azriel, and Seph sitting in the grass, listening to the music. Azriel was dressed as Tigger, Elain was Pooh, and Seph was the cutest Piglet they had ever seen.

Cassian plopped down by Azriel and chuckled. “And I thought my costume was bad.”

Azriel looked over at him. “Shut up, Captain Jack.”

Cassian gasped indignantly. “I’m Captain Hook, you heathen.” He held up his left hand and shook the cheap, plastic hook in his face. “Get your pirates straight.”

The cousins were instantly squealing at each other, Seph having recently started crawling and Nesta couldn’t help but smile down at them as she sat next to Cassian. He slung an arm around her and pulled her into him, kissing the top of her head.

Nesta looked at Elain and caught her small smile, even though she tried to turn away before her older sister caught her. “What?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

Elain shook her head, but that smile was still on her face. “Nothing.”

“Tell me,” Nesta said, leaning forward to see her around Cassian and Azriel.

“It’s just…” Elain blinked and Nesta could’ve sworn she saw tears shimmering in her sister’s eyes. “It’s just nice to see you happy.”

Nesta stilled for a moment. Was she happy? She supposed she was. It had all happened so quickly that Nesta hadn’t hardly realized.

She was happy. 

Judging from his laughter with Azriel, and the way his fingers brushed along her skin, Nesta assumed that Cassian was happy, too.

“It’s a good thing, you know,” Elain whispered, when Nesta said nothing. “A very good thing.”

Nesta remained quiet, but she leaned into Cassian’s side with a little smile of her own.

The music began to play, and Nyx was having the time of his little life. He stood and danced, having no idea what was going on, but loving every second of it.

There were small tents set up around the carnival, passing out candy and other little toys and treats for the kids. Helion was there, at a tent sponsored by Nesta’s restaurant, handing out cookies and brownies she’d spent the past few days baking. Nesta had always loved Halloween, and having Nyx to enjoy it with made her love it all the more. They walked around while the bands continued to play, Nyx’s little bucket filling up with more candy and treats than the little boy could ever eat. Cassian ensured Nesta that it would not go to waste, but she just rolled her eyes.

“You know, I’ve always been a fan of Tinker Bell,” Cassian said, while they were eating candy apples.

Nesta looked at him, brow raised. “Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for Hook.”

Cassian chuckled, looking at Nyx while he nibbled on some goldfish that Nesta had packed in the cooler bag. “And what about Cassian?” Cassian asked. “Are you a fan of him?”

Nesta laughed, softly. “Are you asking me if I like you, Nazari?”

Cassian’s eyes lit with amusement. “I care about you, Nesta. That’s what I’m saying.”

The words she longed to say got stuck in her throat. The truth she’d wanted to tell him since his birthday over a month ago, when they’d finally succumbed to their desire for each other. But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t, not here, not right now, with strangers around them. Elain and Azriel weren’t far, but…

Something about those words. She wanted it just to be the two of them.

So Nesta chose to smirk instead, reaching over and rubbing caramel off his cheek. “You aren’t half bad, I guess.”

He sighed, dramatically, looking up into the sky. “I knew it, you’re only in it for the sex.”

“Cassian!” She blushed furiously, hoping no one had overheard him.

Grinning, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. Nyx threw a goldfish at them, hitting Cassian in the side of the face.

Nesta couldn’t stop her laughter as she pulled back.

Even after a month, Nyx didn’t like Cassian kissing her. The fit he threw the first time he’d seen them kiss on the couch while he was playing with his toys on the floor and they watched a movie would go down in history as the worst meltdown the two of them had seen.

Nesta thought his continued, but lessening, tantrums were hilarious. Cassian could only roll his eyes.

“Was that necessary?” Cassian asked.

“Da,” Nyx said, popping a goldfish into his mouth. It was the closest thing he’d come to yes thus far.

“He used to like me, you know,” Cassian said, looking at Nesta, “before the two of us were together.”

Nesta shrugged. “He’s protective, what can I say?”

“You can say, to him, that you like it when I kiss you,” Cassian replied.

Nesta laughed as Nyx threw another goldfish at Cassian. “He’s smart, Cass. He may be a baby, but he knows you’re talking smack over here.”

“I would never talk smack about a baby,” Cassian said, taking a bite of his caramel apple. “Even if it’s true.”

It wasn’t too much later that Nyx was falling asleep, his little, green cap long forgotten and tucked into the pocket of Cassian’s obnoxious coat. He gently rubbed Nyx’s back as he slept on the blanket they’d laid out on the lush grass. Footsteps and a groan alerted him to Azriel’s presence as he sat down next to Cassian. Seph, in a carrier strapped to his chest, had been asleep for nearly an hour already. Cassian couldn’t help but smile at his brother and niece.

“So you two are actually making this work, huh,” Azriel said, smiling down at Nyx.

Cassian’s laughter sounded as if even he had a hard time believing it. “I guess so. It’s just…so easy with her.”

“I get it. I completely get it,” Azriel said, looking at something over Cassian’s shoulder, and from the way his eyes softened, he knew his brother’s gaze had found Elain.

“I think she feels the same way,” Cassian said. “She’s hard to read, though. Easier than she used to be - thank the Mother - but sometimes… I just want to grab her by the shoulders and ask her what the hell is on her mind.” 

Azriel snorted. “Nesta is…”

When he didn’t complete his sentence, Cassian raised an amused brow.

“An interesting woman,” Azriel finished, at last.

Cassian laughed, quietly. “Yeah, she is. But, that’s what I like about her. She’s not a surface-level person, you know? She’s like an onion.”

Azriel blinked. “An onion?”

Cassian nodded. “A lot of layers.” 

Azriel laughed, quietly. “I would keep that one to yourself. Not sure how Nesta would feel about being called a vegetable that makes you cry.” 

Cassian chuckled, and shrugged. “I think it sounds nice.”

Azriel grinned and looked down at Seph. “Do you see it working out long term, then?”

“You make it sound like a legal document,” Cassian replied, snorting.

Azriel shook his head. “Fine. I’ll ask it simpler, then. Do you love her?”

He hesitated. “It’s only been a month.”

“And?” Azriel asked. “You’ve lived together for half a year. You've known her for over five years.”

Cassian was quiet. He contemplated Azriel’s question, watching the gentle rise and fall of Nyx’s breathing. “I don’t know.”

“You still think Rhys and Feyre didn’t know what they were doing when they set you up all those years ago?”

Looking up at Azriel, Cassian wasn’t expecting to find him smiling softly. “I still think they were bat shit insane,” he chuckled. “But… No. I get it now. They… They just wanted to give us the chance to be as happy as they were.”

“And are you?” Azriel asked, curiosity on his face.

Cassian looked around, finding Nesta laughing with Elain and Mor and Emerie and Gwyn. The smile as he watched her wasn’t faked. “Yeah. I am.”

Azriel’s smile was as genuine as his own. “Then I think you know.”

*

It had been a good day, and an even better night. 

Nyx fell asleep in his carseat on the way home, and Nesta had gotten him out of his costume and into a fresh diaper and pajamas without him hardly stirring. After that, when Nesta meandered into her bedroom, she found a half-dressed pirate with a mischievous glint in his eye. He had made a show of taking Nesta’s costume off with his hook, which had her unable to stop the wide smile, the giggling, that escaped her control. 

It was all sweet, adorable play until his lips found her skin, and then Nesta’s giddiness faded away as complete euphoria took control of her body. 

They laid together as Halloween faded away and November 1st approached. Nesta’s fingers danced over his bare chest. 

“Today was a fun day,” she said, quietly, as she watched her fingers move along his tattoos. 

“It was,” he murmured, already half asleep, his arm wrapped around her, tucking her into his side. He had spent most of his day chasing down Nyx, while Nesta had watched, a smile on her face, as Elain took picture after picture. She’d promised to email the best ones to Nesta as soon as she’d edited them.

She could tell Cassian was exhausted as she looked up into his handsome face, the eyeliner still smudged under his eyes. Sensing her gaze on him, he cracked an eye open and looked at her. “What?”

She shook her head, laying it back down on his chest. “You still have make-up on,” she chuckled.

“What?” He asked. “You don’t think I look pretty?”

Snorting, she nestled into his warm body, settling as his calloused fingers scraped over bare waist. She felt his lips press against the top of her head and in that moment, she realized that this was how it was supposed to be. Nothing had ever felt as…right as this did. As being with him did.

“Cass?”

He grunted in answer, and Nesta realized he was just about asleep.

She decided not to reveal the bit of truth she’d been about to, not when he very well might not remember it the next day.

Instead, she settled her head back on his chest, and said, “I had fun today.”

He mumbled something that sounded like me too, but within seconds, his breath had evened out, and he was asleep.

She wouldn’t reveal that bit of herself, not tonight. But tomorrow…

Tomorrow, she would tell him.

And she prayed he felt the same way.

*

It was hardly after eight when Nesta woke up and found Cassian beside her, in bed, with a sleeping Nyx on his chest. He was scrolling through his phone, his back propped up against the headboard, his sweatpants nearly blending into the navy blue comforter. 

Nesta blinked a few times before she yawned and said, “Good morning.”

Cassian’s eyes darted away from his phone, to her. He smiled. “Good morning. Little man woke up about an hour ago. Fell asleep again five minutes ago or so. Apparently he got worn out yesterday.”

Nesta chuckled. “I’d say so.”

“I was going to put him in his crib but he seems comfortable,” Cassian said. “I can, though, if you want me to make breakfast.”

Nesta shook her head as she propped herself up on her elbows. “That’s okay. I can make breakfast. I was in a french toast type of mood.” 

“Sounds good,” Cassian crooned, and Nesta reached up to kiss him, softly, before dragging herself out of bed. After slipping on some cozy shorts and one of Cassian’s oversized t-shirts, she was headed downstairs. 

Sunday mornings were her favorite, nowhere for either of them to be. Just time together and time with Nyx. She was humming quietly to herself after she’d made a pot of coffee, pulling what she needed to make French toast and bacon out of the fridge when there was a sudden knock on the front door.

Nesta froze, listening to ensure she had in fact heard—

Another knock, just as insistent as the first.

“Was that the door?” Cassian was carrying Nyx downstairs, the baby’s pacifier barely staying in his mouth as he sleepily leaned his head on his uncle’s bare shoulder.

“Yeah,” she replied, eyebrows furrowing as she reached the door and opened it.

Nesta froze as she found Alis Birch on the other side.

“Ms. Archeron, good morning,” she said, eyeing her choice of attire.

“Ms. Birch, good morning. What a surprise,” she said, trying not to panic.

“I hope it’s a good time,” she said, looking past Nesta to see what chaos she could find. “This is the last of my surprise visits.”

“I see,” Nesta said, then cleared her throat as she stepped aside. “Come in, please.”

Alis did not need to be told twice. She swept past Nesta and into the foyer, where Cassian caught sight of her. He stopped as their eyes met, and he hesitated.

“Ms. Birch,” he said, as if it were a pleasant surprise. “Nice to see you again.”

“You too,” she said, looking at Nyx. “Big Halloween, was it?”

“Fun Halloween,” Cassian corrected. “We were at the carnival downtown for most of the day. He had a blast.”

Alis nodded, but said no more.

“Have a seat,” Nesta said, gesturing to the living room furniture. “Please.”

Alis sat in a chair while Cassian carefully and slowly sat back on the couch, Nesta sitting beside him.

Before anyone could say anything else, Alis said, “The two of you have become intimate.” 

Nesta swallowed roughly while Cassian could only blink. After a moment, she collected herself. “I—We…”

“It’s fairly recent,” Cassian admitted, taking over when it was clear Nesta was floundering.

She wanted to demand how she could tell, but she was very clearly wearing his shirt while he wore nothing at all, aside from his sweats. They were cooking breakfast while the baby dozed. It was all so…domestic.

Alis would have been blind not to notice it.

She hummed once before opening her notebook and scribbling a few notes down. “The two of you have come a long way in a few months then, since you were barely even friends the last time I was here.” She threw Nesta’s own half-drunk words into their faces.

“Things have changed,” she breathed, yearning to reach over and take Cassian’s hand, but not wanting to look weak in front of the woman.

The woman who controlled whether or not they’d be keeping Nyx.

“So, this is not a fling, then?” Alis asked.

Cassian opened his mouth, but it was Nesta who politely said, “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure how our romantic life is an appropriate topic-.”

“Oh, it is most appropriate,” Alis assured them both. “If this is nothing but a fling, it could create a lot of drama in the home, which could in turn affect Nyx’s well being. However, if this is love, something that will become steadier day by day, then I could not be more overjoyed.”

You don’t sound overjoyed, Nesta wanted to say, but didn’t. 

“We are aware that everything we do affects Nyx,” Cassian said, not unkindly. “We thought it through before we decided to get together.”

Nesta almost wanted to laugh. Thought it through? They hooked up twice, and the second time it stuck. She wasn’t sure that was exactly thinking it through. In fact, there hadn’t been much thinking at all.

It just kind of...happened. 

Nyx had indeed lost his pacifier at some point and patted Cassian on the cheek.

“Babababa,” he chanted, which the two of them had learned meant he wanted his bottle and Cassian stood.

“Excuse me, I’ll be back,” he said, carrying Nyx into the kitchen.

Alis held Nesta’s stare, eventually asking, “Does Nyx have a support system, outside of the home?”

She blinked. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

Alis set down her pen and looked at Nesta as if she were the child in this situation. “Let’s say things don’t last. Let’s say whatever is between you and Mr. Nazari isn’t a love match and it falls apart. Aside from the two of you, does Nyx have other people who could step in to take care of him?”

“I don’t see why he would need it,” she replied, her voice cold. “Even if things don’t work out, Cassian and I will still take care of him. Nyx is our responsibility now. We love him.”

“And will you do that from one home?”

“We… I…” Nesta shook her head. “Ma’am, with all due respect, we haven’t even had time to figure out what exactly this is between us.”

Alis scooped up her bag and tucked her notebook against her chest as she stood. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. And I’d like the two of you to have that figured out before my next visit. I’ll reach out a few days before, so you can expect me. But I’d like this…” She gestured around her, “situation to be more straightforward before I return.”

She turned and headed for the door.

When Cassian came back, Alis was gone. He blinked, Nyx now awake, downing his milk. “Where’d she go?”

“She left,” Nesta said, quietly. “She’ll let us know when she’s coming next time.”

Cassian’s brows furrowed as he sat next to Nesta on the couch. “What’s wrong?”

Nesta hesitated, then said, “I think she thinks that us getting together is a mistake.”

Cassian looked at Nesta for a moment, then snorted. “She also thought that us living together, unromantically, and raising Nyx was a mistake.” 

Nesta said nothing as she watched her hands, quietly.

Cassian’s smile faded away. “What? You don’t think us getting together is a mistake, right?”

“No, of course not,” Nesta said, but it lacked passion.

Cassian watched her. “Nesta.”

“She brings up some good points, Cass,” Nesta breathed.

Cassian’s jaw ticked. “What does that mean?”

Nesta closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Well, what if we don’t work out? What will happen? We should at least have a plan.”

“You don’t think we’re going to work out?” Cassian asked. 

“I don’t even know what we are, Cassian,” she breathed, opening her eyes, but continued staring at her hands. “Am I your girlfriend? Are we exclusive? Is this just what’s convenient for us both?”

Cassian was staring at her, unable to think of anything to say, barely able to understand what had happened in the past thirty minutes since he’d gotten out of bed. “This sure as hell isn’t just about convenience, not for me. But if it is for you, I guess I’d like to know now.”

She still didn’t look at him. “I don’t know, Cass.”

He had no idea what to say, no idea what to do. He shook his head. “I’m going to take Nyx on my jog with me. When we get back, you let me know if this is still convenient for you.”

His voice was colder than she’d heard it in months, barely recognized it as he silently made his way up the stairs. She didn’t move, could hardly think as she heard him get changed and then dress Nyx as well. 

Her face fell into her hands.

This isn’t how she wanted the morning to go.

As she laid in bed with him the night before, listening to the steady beating of his heart after he fell asleep, she had a long list of things she wanted to say to him today, had a long list of emotions she wanted him to feel.

Pissed wasn’t one of them.

Unsure wasn’t one of them.

Nothing was going as planned.

It wasn’t until Cassian was carrying a babbling Nyx back down the stairs that Nesta looked up. Cassian wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Cass-,” she began, but he strode through the living room and out the door, the door closing just a little too hard behind him.

No, this wasn’t how she wanted the day to go.

She didn’t get to tell Nyx goodbye.

She didn’t get to tell Cassian goodbye, or any of the other things she had planned.

But maybe it was for the best. Maybe things would continue to fall into place, just not the place that she had planned.

Nesta sat back on the couch, her face falling back into her hands.

As the first tear fell, she wondered if this was a part of Feyre’s plan. 

[boldlyanxious]

Escape

Part of meet cute Mondays

Marijon series

My masterlist

Marinette made herself comfortable in the bizarre location she had been using as an escape from her now hectic life. It was not just one thing that was causing more stress than she could handle but the increasing strain of all the other little things. Before her focus had been on school and relationships with friends and family with becoming Ladybug and protecting Paris as an additional occasional responsibility. Even if there were several akuma attacks in one week Marinette could manage to refocus and make up for any shortfalls at another time.

But once she became the Guardian, all the lesser stresses seemed bigger and the responsibility felt heavier. When the battles against akumas were easily won or far between she could almost breathe easier and the burden felt lessened. But the times when the struggle took more energy and she had to hide her identity while seeking out new allies Marinette just needed a break. Even a few minutes of solitude away from the cares of Paris and miraculous misuse.

So that is what she asked for. She called on Kaalki to help her.

She spent a while looking around the first time. She found no way in or out of the structure but there were several locked rooms and a lot of statues. She wondered if perhaps it had been planned as a museum before it was locked up and abandoned. Whatever had happened it was exactly what she needed today. Her parents were already at home asleep and she was miles away from all her troubles. She quickly set herself up in the creative space where an unfinished statue and a few paintings were with a selection of art supplies.

It was definitely quite a bit later when a voice woke her. She knew she likely had a matching pressure mark on her face to the one she could see on the back of her hand. She didn't realize she had fallen asleep until she saw where she was instead of in her bedroom. She looked at the boy before her and rubbed her eyes trying to remove the confusion.

“Who are you?” the boy asked. “How did you even get in here?”

Marinette tried to force her tired brain to focus on the English. Marinette wasn’t fully fluent when awake but she was working on learning it since some of the fashion schools only taught in English. She sat herself up and looked around, noting that she was not transformed which would probably make for a far less awkward explanation.

“Hi, I’m Marinette,” she said, enunciating carefully.

The boy continued to just stare.

“I’m sorry. I will leave.” Marinette said. “I thought it was vacant.”

“I said how did you get in.” he repeated. His voice now had a bit of an edge to it.

“I didn’t do anything. I just needed to be away. I fell asleep while I was drawing.”

“So you just happened to wander into a secret base in the middle of nowhere because you needed a little ‘me time’?”

“Secret base?” Marinette looked around again. “Is that what you call your studio?”

“There is no way you could have opened the door. Who is helping you?”

“This is all a mistake.”

Marinette was backing away from him as he moved closer. She eyed her sketchbook and supplies spread out where she had been working. Her backpack was on the floor nearby. She couldn’t even grab it quickly and try to disappear and she wasn’t sure whether the kwamis were in the bag or hiding nearby. They would know to do anything to avoid revealing themselves unless there were no other options.

Before she could even try to think through other options he lunged and captured her wrists before she could react. She must still be suffering from being woken in the middle of the night. She may be known for being clumsy but she usually made up for that by having quick reflexes. He moved the chair to face away from the table that had her things and turned her around so she was sitting in it and he held her hands in one of his, tightly.

Marinette struggled and yelled at him in French and English. She kicked her legs and grunted but only managed to succeed in moving the chair. He completely ignored her while he went through her things. He flipped through her textbooks and checked her school tablet. He read her name and school off her school ID card. He even looked through her sketchbook and finally found her phone that had been under the open cover of the sketchbook.

He was quiet for a few minutes while he read through her messages. Marinette however was not quiet any of the time. She demanded he let her go and leave her things alone.

“So what is happening in Paris that you need to use such a deep cover and break in here?”

“I’m not undercover. I’m under stress. I just needed solitude.”

“Well I guess you found it. But there is no way a 15 year old human was able to get in here on her own. Who are you working with.”

“Human? You look about the same age and human. Maybe I got in the same way as you.”

“You didn’t.” he said matter of factly.

“Were you watching? You didn’t even know I was in here.”

“The key weighs half a million tons.”

“That sounds impossible.”

“For you.”

“No, I definitely think you are making it up. You are either trying to keep me talking because you need a reason to talk to me or you are waiting for reinforcements.”

“It really does weigh that much. But I do like it when you are talking. You have a cute accent. But I’m also fairly certain you are evil.”

"I'm not a villain like Hawkmoth. Besides maybe you are the evil one. You woke me up and trapped me here so you could twist all the skin off my wrists.”

He looked down at where his hand held her wrists. He wasn’t holding tight enough to bruise but her twisting and struggling had turned the skin an angry red all around. Marinette hissed as he ran his finger where it was red.

“Who is Hawkmoth?”

“The famous villain of Paris.” Marinette’s tone clearly suggested this was information he should already know. “He uses negative emotions to turn regular people into evil minions to do his dirty work.”

“Never heard of him.”

“You should get out more. So you now know everything there is to know about me. Who are you?”

“Superboy. Notice the distinctive symbol.”

“I guess. It just looks like an S. Isn’t your identity supposed to be a secret? Why aren’t you wearing a mask.”

“No one ever recognises me. Besides, I didn’t think I would need to be hidden in my own secret base. No one should be able to get in.”

“Guess I’m just special.”

“I need to know how and why.”

“Can you let me stretch for a second first? I fell asleep at a weird angle. You can block the door. You are clearly faster and stronger than me or I would have already gotten away.”

He stood up and released her but watched her carefully as she moved around and different angles to stretch and get blood flow to return. She moved about and collected all her things into her bag. She set it down and then pointed out to the main foyer.

“So are those statues out there Superman and Superwoman?”

He looked over at them considering how to explain his grandparents from another planet to the girl who had somehow magically appeared there. He turned back as she said something in French. But it wasn’t in time to see what happened. She was no longer in the room. A flicker of light disappeared barely a second later. He would definitely have to report all of this to his father after he finished the task that brought him here in the first place. He probably wouldn't be happy he allowed her to escape.

Marinette collapsed onto her bed exhausted. It was after 3 in the morning. She would have to worry about the ramifications of what had just happened later. She didn’t know what could happen having Superboy know so much information about her as a civilian. She was relatively sure he had not seen either kwami and hopefully not even the portal, but she could never have him know how she got in and out of his fortress.

Next: Detected

Tags

@technicallyburninggarden | @emjrabbitwolf | @certainmuffinbagelcalzone | @vixen-uchiha | @theymakeupfairies

I've been trying to work this one out for like 2 months. It didn't turn out anything like I was expecting. I was going for more flirting and blushing but my exhausted brain made it all slightly angry. I probably need a cookie.

[popatochisssp]

Hello Poppy! I hope you slept well! Here is the reminder you requested to create a mob au hc post like the cowboy post. Have a wonderful day!

Thank you, it’s finally time! I’m gonna put it under a cut immediately because having twenty skeletons makes every post with all of them automatically a long one!

Full disclaimer-- none of the boys are bosses, that falls on the monarch(s) of their universes... but that doesn’t mean they don’t have their own roles to play~

(Warnings: mentions of crime, drugs, violence, sex, brief sexism [probably not the way you’d think] and ableism, plus all the usual mob-tropes I may have forgotten to mention)

Sans (Undertale): He’s a...humble purveyor of items, quality goods produced economically in order to pass those savings on to the crafty consumer who might not want to pay full, exorbitant price for ‘name-brand’ luxuries... Yeah, he’s the ‘you wanna buy a watch?’ guy and he spends most of his days (strategically) wandering around the city looking for customers to hock knockoff, lookalike watches, wallets and bags to. The fuzz know him by name but can never seem to find anything to hold him on, so he’s mostly just a harmless nuisance to be shooed along elsewhere if there’s been any complaints. (He’s real good at making friendly conversation with the law enforcement and keeping all eyes on him, and frankly, if there were any real shady business going on somewhere nearby... well, the cops certainly wouldn’t know about it, too busy hustling him along down the street, now would they?)

Papyrus (Undertale): An upstanding citizen, unlike his brother who’s always in some little trouble with the law or other. He is gainfully employed at a fitness center, and he commutes there by car, because paid for his license to operate one and practiced his driving skills and saved up until he could afford a very beautiful, shiny car of his own! It’s a very nice vehicle...so nice, even, that he doesn’t like to drive it for...recreational outings with friends, in case the paint might get scuffed. That’s why his friends let him borrow their cars when they go out, and let him drive very fast (but safely!) all over the city, even at strange hours or by ‘suspicious’ locations. He’s certainly never seen anything suspicious going on, he just waits outside, and if he happens to keep a First Aid kit in his glove-box, that’s just taking precautions, isn’t it? Accidents happen, you know! (He’s the best getaway driver in town and he knows it, but plausible deniability--the less he ‘knows,’ the better.)

Sky (Underswap Sans): Just your average, ordinary businessman, running a nice little bar for average, ordinary folks of all kinds. Well... he co-owns the place with a buddy of his, Grillby, but Grillbz is a free spirit and a real man about town, so really most of the ‘running’  is down to him. And he loves it! So many people (monsters and humans) to meet and chat with and serve... human food and alcohol, of course. Monster food and alcohol isn’t legalized yet to serve to humans, and a black mark like that against his little establishment would be just awful. He adheres fully to the rules and regulations set forth by human governmental agencies, no magic in anything he passes across the counter, skeleton’s honor! ...Total bullshit, obviously-- he’s running a speakeasy for humans who want to partake in a little monster food or booze, because it’s not harmful to humans and that makes it an even stupider regulation than prohibition was. Grillby taught him most of the menu and cooks on the rare occasions he’s in, while Sky handles the liquid menu and keeps an eye-socket out for snitches and inspectors trying to catch him in the act. He’s never missed a rat yet.

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): He works at his brother’s place. In the back. Only part-time, though, Sky’s got it mostly buttoned up there, so Paps has a lot of leisure time to wander around the city, hit up his favorite joints, chat with friends--and strangers that can become friends, he’s a friendly sorta guy. And if he’s ever seen sharing a cigarette or two with one of those friends, of course it’ll be a totally normal tobacco cigarette, and no exchange of money or anything else incriminating about the interaction. ...Doggo is the one that does the deals, he’s got the Dog Treat supply and a client base that’s steadily starting to include humans--but since Dog Treats are classed as Monster Consumables and illegal to distribute to humans, in spite of being non-addictive, only mildly affective, and non-irritant to lungs, things get a little more convoluted. Paps hits up Doggo at Muffet’s (a wholly monster establishment) for the Dog Treats and a client list, ‘refurbishes’ the Treats to resemble cigarettes, and then meets up with anybody who prepaid for their order real casual-like to fence ‘em. He gets a little cut of the profits, and a discount when he’s picking up for pleasure instead of business--like a (slightly) more illegal girl scout cookie racket.

Jasper (Underfell Sans): Him? He’s just an average joe in all respects. He’s got a little auto shop, spends his days tuning up cars and bikes and such as the like, and most evenings out having fun with anybody else who’s out looking to have a good time--food and drink and maybe a little gambling, but small games, low stakes, for charity, yanno? Nothing illegal, he’d freely assure anyone concerned about the law. Yep, he’s a perfectly normal, law-abiding citizen...as far as anyone can tell. If he does a little work on the side, when specifically requested to, by perhaps one of his monarchs or one of the parties they’d approved to ask for his...services... Well, he’s certainly too quick and clean about it to leave any hard evidence behind, and he’s always far away from...whatever may have happened...with too many witnesses all in agreement that he was there and couldn’t have been anywhere else, unless he could somehow make it across town in the blink of an eye. (His side-gig is as a hitman. He keeps his shortcut ability very tightly under wraps to make for perfect alibis, and takes his targets out with magic bullets which he can disappear afterwards. If he’s ever somehow implicated in anything, he’s happy to point out to the nice officers that he doesn’t even own a weapon. They’re free to look, but all they’ll find is a set of knuckledusters he keeps on his person, purely for protection--and look how shiny the brass is, never even been used, officers! Guess they’ve got nothing on him, after all...)

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): A law-abiding citizen. He must be--surely one can’t get more law-abiding than a lawyer...right? He actually does keep his (lack of) nose clean, but studying the convoluted mess that is human law doesn’t leave time for much else--even when your studies are funded by royalty and you’re given everything you need to open up your own practice as soon as you’ve passed the bar. Still, his skill and knowledge in arguing the law is very valuable and his services are in high demand, so he’s well-compensated for his chosen career and lives his life outside of it both comfortably and legally. His clients...are innocent until proven guilty and it would be an extreme failing of his duty to give any of them anything less than his best in the courtroom, regardless of their character, their associations, and what they happen to have been accused of. (Yeah, he’s a mob lawyer, used almost exclusively by Asgore and Toriel to protect them and anyone they send to him and all of their collective...interests. He respects the law, but values justice above it, so in spite of having a lot of clients who are definitely criminals in one way or another, he has no trouble sleeping at night.)

Mal (Swapfell Sans): He’s an accountant, nothing more, nothing less. ...For Toriel, of course, so he’s paid well for his services. And he has quite a head for numbers and figures, so he plays the stock market and does quite well there, too, smart investments and reading the writing on the wall, and all that. It’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for his very healthy finances and his lavish lifestyle--fur coats, fine suits, fancy cars, shiny gold pocket-watches-- it’s all expensive and almost over the top, but hey, he is the money-man and all the numbers check out. It seems that he’s just very good at handling and investing his capital, it’s no wonder the monster-queen herself hired him on... (He is, of course, running several money laundering schemes at any given time, taking all the less-than-legally-obtained money earned by constituents of the [former] Empire and layering it through official channels to make it look legal in such a convoluted, complex web that it doesn’t raise any significant red flags. He’s got his claws in a lot of pies, and he takes what he needs off the top to live a little luxuriously, with Toriel’s knowledge and permission-- a perk for the necessary service he provides.) Whatever else may be true, it’s a simple fact that he’s very, very good at his job.

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): With the lucrative career his brother has, the lucky SOB doesn’t have to work a day in his life if he doesn’t want to, but he’s using the safety net to pursue his passion in art. Subjective as it is, it’s hard to say if he’s really any good, but people seem to like what he produces well-enough--not a household name, but people passionate about the subject might recognize his work and his pieces sell with at least moderate success. For all that it’s probably not going to make him famous or rich(er than his brother), he’s dedicated to his craft and regularly makes bulk purchases of his supplies, canvas and reams of paper and paint and ink and the like, to keep up his steady work and art sales. He seems like an altogether normal and down-to-earth sort of guy, nothing suspicious about him at all. (He’s a counterfeiter and works in tandem with his brother--they even hit a Bureau together to lift a set of plates for the one and only active crime he was involved in--and his art is just a really good cover for why he needs so much ink and paper and other supplies on a regular basis. He does love and care about his art career, that part’s not fake, but he’s also got a good eye-socket for detail and steady hands to replicate it, and if fake human money that looks really real can help monsters, he doesn’t really see why he shouldn’t.)

Slate (Horrortale Sans): He’s...been through a lot. All monsters have, really, but he was hit kind of especially hard and... Whatever Gerson, or Undyne, or whoever’s running things now up on the Surface are getting involved in...he doesn’t really want any part of it. He gets regular stipends for some unspecified ‘service’ he performed for the Queen, Underground, and while no human (alive) knows what that was, it’s apparently enough to live off of relatively comfortably without being employed himself. He has a nice little place with his brother on the outskirts of the city and he lives there quietly, peacefully. He rarely goes into town, just the occasional walkabout, stopping at restaurants or scoping out the architecture. (Part of his one concession to being left out of whatever illegal, mob-type business may or may not be going on: he needs a good mental map of the city and at least a few landmarks that he’ll definitely remember, because he’s the emergency evac should...anything...go especially south. The house phone doesn’t ring too often in the middle of the night, but when it does, he needs to know where he needs to be, and quick.)

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): He’s, ah... not involved in any ‘business’ either, but he does spend a little more time out of the house, at the local hospital. He was allowed to make a study of human medicine and become a nurse by Very Special Exception--mostly due to some friends (or at least one) in high places, and some very backwards human attitudes about parts that constitute a ‘man’ and how a skeleton without any parts could perhaps be allowed into nursing--and he’s proven himself a valuable member of staff and even made friends with all of his coworkers. He’s happy at his job, and with his life, and returns home to his quiet, peaceful house every night with a smile. (He has a go-bag ready by the phone for those late night calls, though, full of healing items and medical equipment he may have subtly nicked from the hospital, just so he has everything he needs to treat a monster or a friendly human that may have gotten hurt...somehow...and for reasons they have no need to specify, can’t risk going to a doctor.)

Ash (Undergloom Sans): Just a poor street musician...or at least, that’s what most people figure, ‘cause he doesn’t dress too well and the trombone he plays while sitting out on the sidewalk looks like it’s probably the nicest thing he owns. He gets a couple bucks from time to time, but rarely any second glances, and that... That works in his favor. You’d be surprised how much people talk about when they think nobody’s listening (or at least...nobody important) and he can pick up a lot of interesting information of what’s going on in the city just by setting up in the right spot and waiting for folks to talk business. He’s pretty quiet when he’s not tooting the ol’ horn and great at blending into the background, and that’s made him the guy to go to when you want to know something--like how much somebody else knows, or if there are any plans in place for say, a raid or a sting or some kind. (Law enforcement is the worst about keeping proprietary information ‘proprietary’ when they think their only audience is some nobody monster bum sleeping on a bench...) He’s also got something of a whole information network going on with the actual homeless people in the city, since he gives great tips about places who are hiring or somewhere to get a meal or a bed for the night and he always gives his earnings from busking to those who need it more than him. He’s paid for the service he provides and he’s got a home to go back to, it just seems right that the music-money goes to help somebody else.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): He works as a nanny for the Queen! Not too long ago, she might’ve opted to just stay home and look after her newly adopted child herself, while Asgore handled business with the humans, but... They’re freshly split now, and Toriel wants to be just as involved in things as Asgore as much as she wants to s l o w l y ease into being a full-time mother again. Yrus is the solution, already fond of little Frisk and a very warm and trustworthy soul who stayed bright even in the gloom of the Underground. He happily takes the job when asked and splits his time between supervising and caring for Frisk, and tutoring them in all the important subjects (math, history, magic, et cetera). He finds he has a passion for teaching and thinks he might go into that someday, when Frisk is older and Toriel has a little more time and confidence to no longer need him as a buffer. (Whatever it is, specifically, that takes up so much of Toriel’s time and keeps her out so late that he sometimes has to wait around well past Frisk’s bedtime for her to come back and ask after them... Yrus couldn’t fathom a guess and isn’t going to ask any questions. That would definitely be out of his scope as a simple child-minder and even if he knew anything, it would be an extreme violation of the family’s privacy for him to tell tales, which he’s happy to point out to anyone with a lot of questions for somebody so close to two of the Dreemurrs.)

Brick (Horrorfell Sans): He’s on his brother’s payroll. It seemed like the best way to kill two birds with one stone: he’s a big, scary-looking wall of bone who isn’t well suited to a regular-joe sorta job, and his bro’s a very high-profile guy who needs somebody big and scary-looking to stand next to him and be a deterrent. Nepotism, maybe, but they’ve been looking after each other their whole lives already and it’s something Brick knows he can do--he’d do it for free, but if King thinks it’s better (and safer) to have it as his job description, he’s probably right, so Brick’ll take the paycheck for it. King’s also very likely the only one who could stop him if he...lost control...somewhere out and about, so sticking close to him makes Brick feel better and hey, maybe they’re actually killing three birds with this stone of an arrangement. Still, he mostly just goes about town with King, standing around and watching his back and staring people down when he needs to while his brother carries on with his conversations and business. He hardly ever has to do anymore than that...almost never. (One of his favorite places to go is a little hole-in-the-wall craft shop, where King always pretends to take longer than he needs so Brick can peruse the yarn and try to pick up a little sign language from the nice old deaf lady who owns the place.)

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): Yes, yes, he’s very high profile--he did lead monsterkind for a time, getting everyone up to the Surface and settled there--but he’s since stepped down. He’s retired, and anything his successor may be involved in... surely, he couldn’t say. He and Toriel are barely in contact and the money he receives from her on the regular is a gift of goodwill, mostly for medical expenses (his leg, and his brother’s...well). All he does these days is collect for a charity, a pet project of his, Monster Reparations. Lots of people give such generous donations when he goes around to ask for them, maybe impressed a little by his fame, but he can’t feel too terribly about using it for such a worthy cause... (It’s a thinly veiled protection racket and the people and businesses who buy into it tend not to fall victim to ‘mysterious’ criminal activity. Toriel may be officially calling the shots now, but King, as the monster who put her back there, is in a very unique position of power in having her ear, an unofficial underboss totally off the books. Some ‘donate’ more than necessary when he comes collecting, hoping to earn preferential treatment, and sometimes they get it and sometimes they don’t--it’s entirely down to King’s opinion of them personally. ...The old woman who runs the craft store pays about half the going rate, and the immigrant who imports the miniature trees he likes gets a heavy discount, too. The deli-owner he overheard hurling discriminatory epithets at a customer, however, pays triple. You get the idea.)

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): He’s a researcher. Highly confidential, he’s sworn to secrecy and even mentioning that he’s being funded by Elder King Shroomba is pushing the boundaries of what he’s allowed to talk about. Still, he has his own facility, and several assistants, monster volunteers and sometimes human ones--but they have to sign papers swearing not to talk about what goes on in the lab, too. From what they are allowed to say, the gist is just that it didn’t seem like anything sinister was going on; not even a blood-draw... Merc seems pretty happy to leave at the end of every day, though, and whenever it comes up, he talks very fondly about being able to finish the project. (He’s researching DT, specifically how it can be used to enhance monster physiology and make them more resistant to damage from intent. Merc’s misadventure with DT destabilized him, but from 1HP he’s now more durable than ever, and his second attempt with his brother had less dramatic but still noticeable and successful results. The king wants that safety net for more monsters, especially ones who are on the front lines of...potentially less than legal dealings...who could really be at risk. Merc is reluctant, but with the stipulation of informed, willing volunteers for DT extraction and infusion, he can’t bring himself to turn down the resources and funding to research his own condition and bring the possibility of being normal again ever closer. He still has a hard time with the idea of ‘enhancing’ monsters, but the fact that it’s at least being done safely, willingly, and with a whole team behind it this time helps a lot.)

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): He’s in a wheelchair but not letting it keep him down, and he’s running a modest little newspaper stand on the corner--papers and magazines and cheap books--nothing all that special but boy, what an inspiration, good for him that he’s got a job and can run the place by himself! All kinds come and go from his stand, and sometimes he closes it up for a little bit in the middle of the day to take a...er...roll, with some people who must be friends of his, but he’s never gone too long, so nobody says anything to the poor guy about the inconvenience. He’s a dedicated businessman, or trying to be; won’t even let people help him with those heavy-looking boxes of deliveries he gets, and for a fella with no legs, he seems to be doing his best! (...The whole thing is a low-key smuggling operation and he is making bank off it. There’s a system of code-words in place related to the publications he sells for a ‘customer’ to indicate whether they’re buying or selling, and what--magic consumables, stolen/hot items, imported goods, the works--and where and when they want things to go down. There’s even hidden compartments in his custom-built wheelchair for some of the riskier stuff, because he knows no cop in their right mind would force a guy with no legs out of his chair just to search it with witnesses around. And that’s presuming any law enforcement were to even catch wise to his set-up, which he kind of doubts: he’s sly and subtle and even if he weren’t, he knows people see the chair before they see him. Why not take advantage of that?)

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): He makes his living as a boxer, and a subsequent minor celebrity. Pretty much any match he’s in is an exhibition match--not just a monster, not just a little guy (...relatively), but a short skeleton monster who’s blind, wow! You don’t see that every day, that’s a spectacle! Plenty of ‘ooh’s and ‘ahh’s in the packed stands every night the sightless skeleton scrapper is in the ring and nobody can figure out how he bobs and weaves so well that he hardly ever gets hit. He loses some matches, that’s to be expected, even for a ‘normal’ fighter, but hey, people love an underdog story, so when he wins, it’s an uproar every time. (For his part, Pitch hates most of his ‘fans’ who think of him the same way they probably think of a silly little dog who learned a funny trick, but the fame in general, and the thrill of the fight... Those are enough to keep him in the ring. Just... maybe not quite enough to keep him fighting clean. He’s as dirty as sportsmen come and he and a few other monsters regularly play his own odds with the bookies: he’ll subtly use magic to cheat and stay in longer, or go down when he could easily keep fighting, whatever’s more profitable with the over/under from match to match. If he’s going to be a circus act doing what he loves, he may as well get hazard pay for his dignity... and y’know, a couple of idiots who think being able to fight is a ‘trick’ because you’re blind aren’t nearly so annoying when you’re being driven away from them in a luxury car, to your expensive house in the hills decked out with all the amenities.)

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): He’s got a place he looks after, keeps things running. Just a small joint, nothing fancy, a little cabaret variety show type place--singing, dancing, drinks on tap, that kinda thing. After dark, some of the...performances... might get a little more risqué, stuff that titillates like burlesque and striptease, but rest assured, his permits are all in order and everything’s on the up and up. Nothing illegal whatsoever going on here, just a bit of singing and dancing and everybody having a good time. (Most of the performers are sex workers--monsters, but some humans too--and patrons can negotiate private shows or off-the-clock ‘meetings’ at their discretion. Nemo opts to not know too much of the details of what his dancers do when he’s not looking, for legal reasons, but he makes sure they have a safe place to do it, are paid for their services, and don’t have repeat problem-patrons if any slip through. Being one of the gentlemen running such an establishment in the city that doesn’t happen to touch or steal from or mistreat the performers, his place is the place to get hired if that’s your line of work. He’s mostly just happy to be able to provide the job security and the job safety for a group that really seems to catch a lot of hell up here on the Surface just for how they make their money.)

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): He’s a busy guy, bouncing around from place to place, job to job... Being so scattered, you might think he’d be having money troubles by now, but while he may not be the type to stick with one thing and stay there for a good few years, nobody who knows him would say he’s unreliable--he’s the type of guy that you can give him a call anytime and if you need help, he’ll be right over, and he’ll get the job done well, too! Of course he lives with his fancypants brother, and the King and Queen probably spot him a loan or two now and then, since they’re friendly, so all in all, no one really wonders how he makes enough money to live so comfortably. The answer’s right there in their face...isn’t it? (Yes and no. He is the kind of guy you can call anytime to get a job done, and he will do it well, but the money he gets from Asgore and Toriel is less of a ‘loan’ and more of a ‘payment for services rendered.’ He’s a cleaner, the guy you call to make things go away, things that aren’t supposed to be there: stains, papers, weapons, evidence... He’ll get rid of it for you, and if you need a convincing coverup or an alibi for...whatever it is that you weren’t there doing, he’ll take care of that, too. If somebody’s calling him up for his special brand of help, they probably just want to put it all behind them and forget all about that nasty business. He’s happy to facilitate--after all, what are friends for?)

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): Like his brother, he gets on well with the King and Queen. (They both feel like they’ve known the monarchs much longer than they actually have...somehow...) But in any case, unlike his brother, Aster is very well-organized and thoughtful, so he’s a natural choice as an...advisor, of sorts, when monsters surfaced and it was...decided that perhaps there would be some...activities and...ways of doing things that...should remain unknown to the humans. Not unknown to Aster: he keeps track of everything, reminding the monarchs of little details they may have forgotten, pointing out things they may not have noticed, making educated suggestions for courses of action with likely positive outcomes based on past experiences... He’s the linchpin between Asgore and Toriel that makes them terrifyingly more efficient than they would be without him, a consigliere-equivalent who certainly isn’t a boss himself, but he has the bosses’ trust and their ears and that makes him a person of great interest. But...no one can get anything useful out of him: he’s loyal, above all, and much as he values truth, he also realizes that perhaps not everyone deserves to know the full truth of everything, especially not those who might use that truth to bring some sort of harm or misfortune to his friends...or to monsterkind at large. ...And trying to directly seize his extensive notes on the private and personal business-doings of the Dreemurrs is an even more doomed endeavor--he writes them all in a strange jumble of symbols that no one’s ever seen, and the code-breakers never have it long enough to decipher anything useful before its back in his hands, reclaimed quite speedily after unlawful seizure of private property containing confidential information. Lots of well-meaning law enforcement have their sights set on him as some sort of criminal white whale, but the simile is all too accurate-- they’ll never catch him, and even if they do, there’ll be nothing to hold him on. He simply has too many friends (and family members) in very high, very useful places.

[petersthree]

@on-and-on-we-go-forever tagged me in a tag game! Just gonna post it here to not have too long a thread :D 

1. Do you like answering tags? I do! I’m painfully bad at remembering to do these though lmoao. 

2. Do you prefer to write fanfiction, read fanfiction, create fanart, make video edits, or none of the above? I love seeing all these things!! But I think writing fic is my favorite because I literally just get to write what I love - plus I’m not always as confident in editing skills but I am in my writing and I love it. 

3. Nails painted (include what color) or not? It’s chipped a lot bc i got it done like a month ago but it was a reddish color!

4. What would your ammortentia smell like? (For those who don’t know Harry Potter, ammortentia is a love potion that smells different to each person based on what attracts them. Basically what are your favorite smells?) Hmm coconut and vanilla. 

5. Would you prefer to live in an extremely hot or cold climate? I guess cold, because i can put more layers on but there’s only so much I could take off. 

6. Favorite flavor of chapstick or do you not wear any? Sugar cookie

7. Enemies to lovers or friends to lovers? Friends to lovers, though I love both.

8. Favorite crack ship (any fandom)? I am proud to announce I created the Quakevibe tag on tumblr; it’s for Cisco Ramon/Daisy Johnson which is hilarious considering I kind of gave up on Flash and haven’t caught up on AOS

9. Favorite type of weather? Major thunderstorms with lightning

10. Do you use :), :], or :D? :D and :) (even though our bitch pack friends think it’s passive aggressive asdjfkl)

11. Tags! (no pressure) Tagging @bukleys @lizbennett @let-the-whump-commence and whoever else wants to do it. :) 

[gallickingun]

keep my secrets safe

Summary: Bakugou hates covert work. And he’s hungry. But also, apparently he talks in his sleep? 

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader Rated: T Warning: language, etc. Word Count: 1,702

bakugou’s birthday party has begun! see here for more info!

“I can’t believe I got stuck on stake-out duty again.”

“I can’t believe they stuck me with you again.”

Bakugou growls, slumping further down in his seat, resting his head on his fists. He’s completely stretched out in the front passenger’s seat, legs sprawled out, fast food wrappers on the floor and a half-empty cup of coffee starting to go cold in his cup holder. You keep your eyes glued to the building across the street where you’re waiting for the final piece of evidence to fall into place so you can arrest a particularly dangerous set of villains.

“And they say I’m a pain in the ass,” Bakugou grumbles, kicking at the tinfoil wrapped beneath his feet. He closes his eyes, “I should be asleep right now.”

You nod in the general direction of the nightclub across the street, “I’m sure if we just go in there and tell them to commit their crimes so you can put on your pajamas, they’ll totally listen!”

The telltale sound of Bakugou’s hands crackling, body itching to display his quirk so you might be the slightest bit intimidated by him, echoes against the windows and you wince, “Seriously?”

“You’re so annoying,” Bakugou curls his fists back together, shutting down the fireworks. He crosses his arms over his chest, resting his head against the window, “This is so stupid, I hate covert work.”

You look through the binoculars again, focusing intently on the various entrances, “It’s because you’re the worst hero possible for covert work. You literally blow things up.”

He goes quiet, so you take advantage of the silence to start really surveying the area. You pinpoint the different exits and make sure to watch the rooftop for any villains with wings or quirks that may allow them to stay so high in the air. Your eyes track over every surface of the buildings and you keep track on a small notepad the number of guards and their rotation schedules.

“S’hungry,” Bakugou mumbles from the passenger seat.

You chuckle, “I told you to get two burgers, but you wouldn’t listen.”

He whines out the word again and you hear his body shift on the leather. You don’t dare take your eyes off of the nightclub as the next round of guards switch out with the prior group. “Bakugou, I didn’t eat my whole sandwich. You can have the rest.”

A string of incoherent words passes from his lips but you don’t pay him any mind. He likes to piss you off, you think, so of course he’d say something about being hungry but not take you up on your offer to feed him what little you have. However, you won’t allow him to distract you from this important mission.

To him it may seem like a nuisance, something that he has to do to get through the day, but this is an opportunity for you. It is an opening into a better agency if you’re able to prove yourself, which is why you pray that Bakugou can behave himself for one night until you can capture the criminal activity going on in the nightclub. And then you’ll let him loose, allowing him to use his quirk to blast whoever he wants.

“Pisces sushi sounds good,” Bakugou’s words slur together, his feet pushing around on the floorboards. You sigh, turning your head just enough so he can know that you’re acknowledging him, “Katsuki, now is not the time to think about sushi.”

“So good!” he whines, “So hungry.”

The next hour passes in silence, which you’re thankful for. You can only take so much of Bakugou’s sarcastic attitude and snarky remarks.

However, in the quiet, your mind starts to wander. You think of the reason you started your Pro Hero journey - your desire to save people stemming from the death of your parents. You swore to yourself as a child that you would use your abilities to save others so no child would have to grow up alone like you. 

You tilt your head, leaning back on the car headrest, “Why did you become a Pro Hero?”

The only response you get is the echo of crickets outside the car. You groan to yourself; you knew that Bakugou didn’t have the emotional maturity to have a full length conversation about anything semi-sensitive.

A quick retort sits on your tongue, begging for you to burst, but he surprises you with a small response only milliseconds before you’ve opened your lips.

“Protection. Saving.” Bakugou’s voice is clipped, but you’ll take what you can get. He coughs and out of the corner of your eye you see him shift uncomfortably in the front seat.

You bite down on the corner of your lip, adjusting the binoculars so you can see closer, gathering more details about the various villains guarding the nightclub. A small inhale parts your lips, “Wow, not what I expected.”

“I wan’ to make people feel safe,” he’s slurring his words but you are sure he’s just tired. You chuckle, a blush painted on the tops of your cheeks at his admission - you didn’t think he had such kindness within him, let alone the humility to let it leak through in the form of words. Bakugou swallows audibly, “The way All Might made me feel safe.”

The binoculars rest on your chest now, your nails busied with the base of your cuticles. You can’t believe he’s baring himself to you in this way. The only time you’ve ever heard Bakugou talk openly about All Might is when he’s swearing up and down that he’ll surpass him as Number One Pro Hero. Of course, the veteran has since retired, but Bakugou still holds him to a level above all the others.

“I think that’s very noble of you, Bakugou.”

There is a beat of quiet before his mouth opens again, “I miss Kiri.”

Your jaw drops at his blatant admission, but there is a sound of gunfire from across the road and the two of you spring into action. Bakugou blasts himself forward using his quirk, slamming into the thugs outside before storming the building.

The two of you make quick work of the villains, your backup arriving only a few minutes after you’re tying up the head crook. You hand him off to the cops and step to where Bakugou is leaned against your rental car, “So, how about something to eat? You had to have burned a lot of calories in that fight.”

“Sure, I guess I could eat,” Bakugou grumbles, wringing his hands together. You notice the faint lingering smell of ashen sweetness and you’re reminded of his quirk and the way it works. You smile, “Pisces Sushi sound good?”

His eyes go wide, “Pisces is a hole in the wall - how’d you find out about it?!”

You take a step towards him, looking at him closer with your head tilted, eyeing him up and down, “Did you hit your head?”

“What the he-no!”

“You told me about Pisces, you idiot,” you kick at his shin gently with the toe of your boot, “how else would I know about it?”

Bakugou’s face turns pink at the apples of his cheeks. He turns his eyes downward, watching as he kicks around a few pieces of large gravel with the sole of his shoe, “My mom and I used to go there together. J-Just us. I’ve never told anyone about that place, no one ‘cept Kiri.”

You’re invading his space now, his senses heightened when your closeness makes his temperature sky rocket. You brush your thumb along his jawline, inspecting his face carefully, “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yes, dumbass,” Bakugou swats your hand away, but there’s no malice in his action, “I’m fine. Why are you acting weird?”

“It’s just-” You take a breath and his eyes are drawn to the way your chest swells, “You were talking to me in the car about food and Kiri and All Might, so I just thought that maybe-”

“Woah, wait,” Bakugou grabs you by the biceps, “what the hell? I would never say anything about Shitty Hair, not in public. Unless I was roasting him on a spit. What did I say?”

His sudden interest in the things that came out of his own mouth is intriguing, but also a little disturbing. Your browns knit together, “Uh, you said you wanted to be a hero like All Might, and you said you missed Kirishima?”

A string of cuss words fall from Bakugou’s mouth, grating against his throat, “Well, damn.”

The two of you do end up at Pisces Sushi-

-for the next couple of years.

Every Tuesday night you meet up after patrol, and he introduces you to another sushi roll you hadn’t tried yet. Of course he admonishes you, teasing you relentlessly about your uncultured view of the world. After all, who hasn’t tried a spicy tempura roll before? 

And later, much later, you’re staying up long after him when you hear it again. 

It isn’t the first time since the stakeout, that was years ago, but it still makes your heart flutter nonetheless. He’s facing you, lips slackened from sleep, and the words are soft, so quiet that you can barely hear them in the safety of your bedroom.

“I love you.”

It’s not something you don’t already know, and it’s definitely not something that he doesn’t tell you whenever he can get over his pride long enough to admit that you’re everything he’s ever needed and more. But, somehow, in the quiet darkness that lays over the both of you like a shadow, it means so much more.

Subconsciously, in his state of dreaming, he’s thinking about you still. His thoughts are on you day and night, and it’s only secured even further by the way he reaches out for you in his slumber. Bakugou’s hands are warm as he taps your rib cage, the entirety of his palm spanning the distance of your side. 

You plant a kiss on his head, threading your legs through his as you listen to his soft snores overtake his voice once again.

“I love you too, Katsuki.”

Even if he doesn’t hear you, something within your heart tells you to say it anyway.

-

taglist - @kamehamethot @simplybakugou @lady-bakuhoe @todorki-shoto @redhawtriot @burnedbyshoto @cookies-n-chaos @katsukisprincess @rat-suki @bitchtrynafck @cutesuki--bakugou @k-atsukidayo @bnhatrashh @succulent-momma @multifandom-fanfic @that-one-enthusiast @cutest-celestial-princess @blue-peach14 @pastel-prynce @bokunokangae @shoutodoki @bakuoushoe @tenyaingenium @lxvely-mha @myherorambles @ramen-rambles @honeytama​ @bratwritings​ @samanthaa-leanne​ @orokayagi​ @tumblingintothefeelstrain​ @sunbeamwrites​ @bnhawritten​ @bnhasidebin​ @lovekatsukibakugo​ @aizawamirite​ @yuueimagines​ @plusultrawritings​ @bnha-violetnote​ @suckersuki​ @bnha-mha-imagines​ @heroesreverie​ @pink-imagines​ @brattyquirks​ @lookslikeleese​ @normiewrites​ @secondhand-trash​ @yaoyorozuwrites​ @pinkjeanist​

[bellamioneotp]

Bellamione Fic Master List

Making a list of Bellamione fics to guide the poor innocent souls into temptation organize stories based on AU type. 

DARK AU’s

Bellatrix isn’t a bright ball of sunshine, but rather than have a story where she becomes a better person, Hermione becomes like her, or even joins her side. This AU type isn’t limited to only that, but also to general dark themes in the story such as violence, war and ‘wtf this is so wrong but yet I can’t stop reading’. 

Reign Down Like wow. A whole world built around what if Voldemort survived and used Hermione in his evil schemes and had Bellatrix engaged to her. Very detailed and the author doesn’t hold back on aspects of the new world that can be somewhat unsettling. 25/10 this will leave you wondering just how sexy dark magic can truly feel. 

The Dark Corners of the Earth This one is dark in an entirely different sense. Bellatrix and Snape are pitted in an ancient war against one another and Hermione is caught in the middle. The romance moves a bit too fast paced for me but the lore and detail in this will have you really thinking this story over the next few days, trying to figure out just wtf is going on. 45/10 will have you hoping your nightlight can keep Cthulhu away. 

Haunted This story won’t leave you haunted, but it is pretty good even with it’s short chapters and all. It tells the story of Hermione sort of losing her marbles but I won’t get into too much detail. Just read it for yourself; it’s a quick easy read. 10/10 is poetic as fuck. 

I Dream of Sin Takes place in a sort of canon world in which Hermione is an American teen being bullied. You can imagine how well that goes for the bullies especially when she learns she has magic and is taught by Bellatrix herself on how to use it. It gets progressively darker each chapter. 16/10 don’t want to mess with magical nerds ever. 

For whom the Bell Tolls is an interesting look into how Hermione’s actually a death eater and Bellatrix is not. While Hermione is not bat shit insane, she is a murderer and Bellatrix is the sane one. Nice to see things switched up. This story is not necessarily as dark as the others but it gets brownie points for making the usually good Hermione evil right off the bat. 9/10 come to the dark side, we have cookies. 

Staring at Nothing is just...wow.  A very powerful one shot about Hermione’s descent into darkness as told by Harry’s perspective. 10/10 for who needs friends anyways, when you’ve got black leather. 

Visions of You in which Hermione is a depressed youth after the war and has to deal with hallucinations of Bellatrix. Hermione isn’t dark here so much as she is gray type, and the story has a permeating tinge of sadness to it, given the circumstances. 8/10 for maybe Bellatrix isn’t a hallucination? 

Deep Below what’s more awful than being accused of Harry’s death? Being falsely accused of it, and having to deal with trying to prove your innocent. This is a situation Hermione ends up in. But will she get out of it? 8/10 for this gets deep. 

How to Love Bellatrix captures Hermione and sort of indoctrinates her into the world of darkness. Hermione is mad at first, but then she realizes how sexy Bellatrix is and is like, ‘alright fam, sign me up’ and boom Bellamione. 8/10 you love this story but not it’s update schedule. 

TIME TRAVELER AU’s

Basically, what it says on the tin. Someway or another, Hermione goes back into time to stop Bellatrix from ever becoming evil. Drama and romance ensue. 

Future Shocks A good time turner fic with a more modern take on war. It’s pretty long and it is the slowburn of all slowburns. But it’s a very interesting story and the ending will have you definitely shook. 8/10 will shock you awake from that boring lecture you’re reading fanfic in. 

Time Heals all Wounds Hermione gets sent back in time to ‘redeem’ Bellatrix but not in the gift card way, more like saving the future type way. They end up, you guessed it, falling in love and changing the future somewhat. 6/10 is a young teen romance that will have you reliving your adventures as a young sapphic witch. 

Mirror, Mirror Not exactly a time turner fic, more like a parallel world, I suppose. Hard to explain but has good amounts of mystery and trying to understand what is happening. Focuses more on Bellatrix’s POV which is a nice change of pace. 8/10 will have you looking in the mirror and summoning Bellatrix like she was Bloody Mary. 

Let the Light Come and Take me A time turner fic that ends up with Bellatrix time traveling but to the future and the chaos her arrival there causes for those who are acquainted with her devious ways. Looks at the growth of our two ladies relationship into something more. 5/10 if it’s not slowburn romance is it really Bellamione?

The One Within the Other this story is about, you guessed it, time travel! Hermione goes back on purpose to stop Bellatrix from achieving her evil potential and in the process love blossoms. 7/10 for never enough time to read Bellamione in peace!

Caught in the Time series this is a series of three full length stories about Bellamione stuck in different times and universes. So much happens in them it’s kind of hard to summarize so the best thing to do is read them. 8, 8.5, 7/10 I’ll let you figure out which score goes for which series.

Just say When started off as a time turner story but then it ended up becoming something more of an espionage tale. It’s a good read and interesting to see how Bellatrix aims to save Hermione from a dementor’s kiss (spoilers!) in order to save their future together. A good mix of romance and action. 8/10 The name’s Black. Bellatrix, Black. 

The Broken Wand It all starts with a wand and then before you know it, boom, time travel happens. Featuring Loki and adventure all around, this fic has interesting plot points to keep you engaged despite the slower update times. 7/10, will break your wand too. 

Hourglass basically, a young Bellatrix is brought into the future and consequences abound from that mishap. The plot is a bit wonky and there are some logic mistakes, but if you can get over it, it’s a decent time travel story. 5/10 for it must be canon that Bellatrix has a lovely hourglass figure. 

Times they are a Changing where Bellatrix travels back in time to save her wife, Hermione. Nice to see a story where Hermione isn’t the one doing all the saving. Unfortunately there’s only six chapters to this story and it’s unlikely it’ll ever get finished but it’s a nice fresh concept. 6/10 for that’s how many chapters there are. 

Destined in this one, Hermione experiences some wonky times after the battle at the department of mysteries. Hermione has to find a way back home, but perhaps she might find love along the way? 10/10 for this is destined to be an interesting read. 

HEALER AU’s 

Let’s be real, Bellatrix has got a lot of problems and these authors try to solve them, with sex. And you know, medical help. But sex definitely helps a lot. 

Portrait of a Tragic Woman Not a typical healer type au, because Hermione is a therapist whose helping Bellatrix with her mental disorders. Focuses a lot on the relationship between the two and really makes you try to figure out what exactly is up with Bellatrix and what is her past, etc. The ending chapters will leave you shooketh and wondering what even is real anymore. 50/10 because it feels like an acid trip, man. 

The Healer is only one chapter but still worth a read. Hopefully the author will have some time to get back to it because it has a huge potential. 6/10 because I need some healing. 

1k is a one shot, featuring Hermione as a therapist and Bellatrix as her patient. Can’t say too much without spoiling it, but despite it’s short length, the author paints a vivid look into Bellatrix’s mind if she was just an insane muggle. 1k/10 because that’s one patient I would never like to meet.

Darkness Underneath I mean, Hermione runs a team of healers, so technically it’s kinda a healer au fic, right? This story looks more in depth at the Death Eaters and dark magic surrounding them. 9/10 is that a dark mark or are you just happy to see me?

TEACHER AU

We all know this is the holy grail au of this fandom and yet there’s only a couple of long stories for this. Someone, write some more!

Fractures A long fic, that has a sequel. Basically, Bellatrix is Hermione’s teacher during a very trying time for Hermione when a competition goes very wrong and dark truths are revealed. Lot’s of action, Bellamione interactions, and overall interesting plot. 8/10 will leave your heart in fractures when you find out the sequel is unfinished. 

In the Dead of Night Hermione asks Bellatrix if she can teach her some.....magic and things end up becoming very magical indeed. Bellatrix is the teacher in this story (because who wouldn’t want her as a teacher). It’s a WIP with only a couple of chapters out. 7/10 time to learn some real lessons, Granger ;)

Just a Brand features not only Bellatrix as a professor, but a magical soul mate bond between Bellatrix and Hermione that leads to much deliciousness. There’s a lot of chapters to this story but they’re pretty short. An updated and revised version can be found on a03 for those who like longer chapters. 7/10 Bellamione is branded on my soul. 

It Just Felt Right is another fic with Bellatrix as the professor. Hermione starts off hating her and then it evolves into liking Bellatrix. The fic leaves off before any real progress can be made so if anyone is up for reading an unfinished fic from 2012 then go for it. 6/10 for this story feels right but not write because it’s abandoned :(

CRIME AU 

Because there is never enough crime involved even with Bellatrix, these authors amp up the trouble and make it double. And gay. So very gay. 

Two Sides of the Same Coin where Bellatrix is basically an auror. It’s only five chapters and it hasn’t been updated in a long time but it’s an interesting concept worth checking out. 9/10 wish there were more sides to the coin. 

Murder Most Horrid A crime story, where Bellatrix is a magical cop and Hermione is a murder suspect. Bellatrix interrogates Hermione by banging her and then the two of them proceed to basically get married the day after. A bit ooc for Bellatrix but very in character if you consider this world not from the canon. -89/10 for how badly your vision will deteriorate if you try to read this all in one night. 

The Mysterious Department Technically Bellatrix and Hermione are both magical detectives and they go and solve crimes and shit while also possibly trying to prevent the world from ending. You know, just casual stuff. 10/10 for the perfect crime, would commit again. 

Darkness is Falling A story that has Hermione as an auror who replaces Bellatrix’s old partner. They butt heads, they solve cases, and naturally, begin to fall in love. 7/10 for this case is closed. 

Some Things Aren’t Seen Hermione investigates Bellatrix’s crimes and past and ends up over her head. There are two follow ups to this finished work, all in the same vein. It’s all a good bit of fun watching Hermione try to take on the criminal Lestrange. 7/10, no, this has no relation to the musical Wicked. 

SOUL MATE BOND 

In one way or another Bellatrix and Hermione have a special bond in between them that destines them to be together. Angst, love, friendship, all abound in this au type. Features a combination of other factors thrown in, but the stories put in here are largely advertised in the blurb as more focused on the bond. 

Lotus Flower Hermione finds out after Bellatrix’s death that they are bound together and that because Bellatrix is dead, Hermione is dying as a result too. This begs the question, will Hermione go back in time and save Bellatrix, or will she willingly submit to the bond’s curse? 8/10 I think we all know what Hermione chooses.

Our Mercurial Selves ever wonder what it would be like to have a murderer share your mind? In this one, Hermione and Bellatrix can communicate telepathically with each other, creating a bond that draws them together. Features evil schemes by Voldemort, a flying horse, and Narcissa beating the ever loving shit out of Bellatrix for even daring to breathe in Hermione’s direction. 9/10 will leave you with warm fuzzies for the Malfoy family before the ending crushes you. 

The House Ring Bellatrix sends Hermione a magical ring that engages them and basically makes them wives. Prophecies abound about how Bellamione is meant to be the one and only true pairing. 7/10 for that ring better come with diamonds.

Demons AU

As if Voldemort isn’t scary enough, there are demons and scary things in this au type that will leave you and Voldemort both calling for mommy. 

Unsteady Precipice technically also a time traveling fic, except Hermione ends up in an alternative universe. where she tries to change things from happening in the canon world like they did. But will it work? Who knows! Only a few chapters are out so it’s hard to tell where this story will go, but one things for sure, it’ll be good. 9/10 if you don’t pray after reading this the demons will get you. 

A Demon in the Mist is also about, gasp, demons! Dangerous things are afoot in this story and Hermione is caught in the middle of it all. It takes part in the same universe as the caught in time series by the same author, but with slight alterations. Unsure if the story will be finished as the author has contemplated leaving fanfic writing. 7/10 can you find the demon in the mist?

MAGICAL CREATURES AU

Technically a category, right? Let’s pretend it is, because there are some stories out there that pit our two ladies as other than human and it’s fun to read about it. 

As we Chase the Sun Very Black family centric and features Bellatrix as a big fluffy wolf. What’s not to love? Cuddles, and hair balls, and good times all around. 9/10 would tame that wolf. 

Sing to me Your Insanity in which Hermione and Bellatrix are both sirens and will basically die if they don’t do the ol’ frickity frack. This is a long story and the slowburn feels like hellburn but it’s worth the read. 56/10 but you will need earplugs so those sirens don’t seduce you too. 

Metamorphosis in which Bellatrix is also a wolf and doesn’t like being stuck with Hermione but gets used to it and basically they’re house wives of London and don’t know it. 8/10 for your mind with undergo metamorphosis from slightly obsessed with Bellamione to even more obsessed. 

This Poisoned Blood of Ours vampires, vampires everywhere! Two parts to this series and features a confused Bellatrix and a changing Hermione. 7/10 do you think vampires like steak rare?

Cursed Doll Pretty self explanatory title. Someone ends up as a doll and shenanigans ensue. Won’t say more because it’s only two chapters, but it’s well written and worth a read. 10/10 Chucky? Is that your sister? 

Liquid Measure these chapters are thicc boy. Only two chapters but such a good set up and everything. I hope the author is able to update at some point. 10/10 makes me thirsty for more!

My Demons in the Dark Hermione is a ghost. That’s it, that’s the plot. Boo/10 for this not so spooky spirit. 

[anakin-danvers]

you

Rey x fem!reader 

Description: All your life you think you know what you like. Then came her. 

In an attempt to have you talk to a certain Resistance pilot, you end up realizing your wingwoman might be the one who you have feelings for. 

Word count: ~2k

Warnings: none, it’s pure fluff plus my personal love letter to Daisy Ridley’s face

A/N: Wow I never thought I’d be writing something like this. But I did it and it’s here. And honestly, I’m so happy with how this turned out. As always, please let me know what you think :)

P.S. reminder that requests are open!

——

“Look, he’s walking this way.”

You hold back an eye roll as your friends giggle beside you. As much as you want to ignore them, you look up, seeing the source of their teasing. Poe Dameron, Resistance pilot, is walking over to his X-Wing which is stationed conveniently next to your own. 

Quickly, you avert your eyes from him, instead looking down at the comm you are working on fixing. Your friends, Sav and Tess, were supposed to be keeping you company while you finished the maintenance of your X-Wing, but instead it seemed they were more focused on distracting you.  

Poe reaches his X-Wing, turning over to give you and your friends a greeting. 

“Ladies,” he greets, giving a small wave before turning over to perform his own maintenance on his fighter. You nod as a form of greeting, too embarrassed by Tess and Sav’s muffled giggles to do anything else. 

As his attention leaves from your group, your head swiftly turns to glare at your friends. 

“What the kriff was that? Can you two be anymore obvious?” Your voice is low, not wanting Poe’s attention again, but the annoyance is evident in your tone. 

“Oh c’mon Y/N. Half the base has a crush on Poe, just have fun with it” Sav says, waving a hand to try to calm your nerves. 

“That may be the case, but I don’t want him thinking I’m part of that group,” you say, glancing over to make sure Poe can’t hear your conversation. From the enthusiastic conversation he’s holding with his BB unit, it’s fair to say you’re safe. 

“And why not?” Tess asks. “You should shoot your shot, you never know what might happen.” She shrugs, going back to working on the small design you let her paint on your fighter after much insistence from her part. 

You hold back a scoff. “Please, we all know that’s never happening.”

“What’s never happening?”

Kriff, the stars really are plotting against me today. 

The three of you turn at the sound of the voice. When your eyes meet with a pair of hazel ones, you wish you would’ve opted for fixing your X-Wing on your own. 

Standing before you is Rey, lightsaber hooked to her side and holding a brown bag which carried a wonderful smell. Her hair is half up, allowing the bottom half to sit on her shoulders. Her eyes stay on yours, making the jumpsuit you are wearing suddenly feel very warm. 

“Nothing,” you quickly say. At your answer, her brows rise. 

“Nothing is ever going to happen? Seems like a rather...tragic way to look at life,” she says, a hint of teasing evident in her voice. 

Against your will, the corners of your mouth raise slightly, just in time for Rey to let out a small laugh. 

“I brought Wookiee Cookies,” she says, holding up the brown bag. 

“Rey, you angel,” Sav says, walking over to her immediately to pluck her pick of the sweet treat. 

Rey takes a seat next to Sav on the floor, looking up to where you were finishing up your comm work. 

“Cookie, Y/N?” She once again raises the brown bag.

“Yes, in a second. I’m about to finish working on the comm...” you trial off, your tongue poking out slightly as you focus on finishing the last wirings needed. 

While in your state of concentration, Sav, Tess, and Rey converse among themselves. You pick up a bit of what they’re saying, the conversation moving from the lack of variety in the dining hall’s menu lately to the recent supply relief trip Rey and Finn made to the Outer Rim. 

You finish the comm fix, wiping your hands on the rag you had draped over your shoulder. As you make your way to get off your X-Wing, you steal a glance to where Poe is. He catches your look, giving you a smile before going back to what he was doing. You’re sure the group can see your flustered expression once you join them where they’re sitting. 

“What just happened?” Sav asks, excitement lacing her words. 

Rey’s face is painted with curiosity, her eyes searching your face for an answer to Sav’s question. 

“Nothing. He just smiled at me is all,” you say, looking down at your crossed legs. 

“Poe?” It’s Rey who asks, and by the way her eyes widen slightly, you can tell she’s catching on to what’s going on. 

It’s as if they’re all in sync with each other, because at Rey’s small gasp as a result of your silence, the three of them get closer to you, Tess leaving her place on the stool where she had been painting to join in on the huddling. 

“Yes, now please keep it down,” you say in a whispered tone, but you know it’s futile at the way they’re all not-so-subtly holding back their giggles. 

“I didn’t know there was something going on there,” Rey says while holding the bag of Wookiee Cookies open for you. 

You take one of the cookies and take a bite, taking your time to chew before answering. 

“There’s nothing going on. And there won’t be. I’m not his type,” you say, taking another bite of the cookie. 

“But you don’t know that!” Tess grabs your arm closest to her, shaking it lightly. “You don’t know unless you try to find out.”

“She’s right. If you like him, you should try to see if it can go somewhere,” Rey says. 

You look over at her and find her eyes are already locked on you. Her hazel eyes, beautiful you notice, hold something in them you can’t quite place. Whatever that is, it makes your heart beat quicken, adding to the already flustered state you are in. You look away, your eyes jumping from the cookie in your hand to the laces of your boots to the green of Sav’s pants. Anywhere but back at Rey. 

“I don’t even know if I like him that way, is the thing. He’s cute, very cute, but first I want to know him more,” you explain. You really didn’t think your plan to fix the comm would end up turning into a relationship intervention session. 

“Well, then let’s get you two to start talking more,” Rey says, smiling at the terror that paints your face. 

Sav and Tess laugh at your expression, joined by Rey’s own laughter. You can’t help but smile at their teasing, and you swear the way Rey’s face lights up at your smile causes you to almost choke on your last bite of cookie. 

~~

“Hey, you.”

You jump slightly at the voice behind you, dropping the data pad you had been reading. You squat down to pick it up, being beat by a hand that grabs it before you, another hand extending to help you up. Looking up to find Poe being the owner of said hands, you take the one he’s holding out for you, standing back up. 

“Sorry,” he says, handing you the data pad. “I didn’t mean to startle you, I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

See how you were doing? 

The realization washes over you. He’s trying to have a conversation with you. And somehow, you know Rey is behind this. 

“No, you’re fine. I shouldn’t have been walking and reading I guess,” you say, taking the data pad from where he’s holding it out. 

Poe chuckles, putting his hands on his hips as he nudged his head to the direction you’d been walking. 

“Where were you heading? I don’t want to keep you.”

“Oh, I was just heading to the dining hall. Wanted to grab some lunch before a briefing I have with General Riekkan.”

“Then, if you don’t mind, I’ll be grabbing lunch with you. I have a training session with a few new pilots later, so lunch right now sounds great,” Poe says. 

You nod, smiling at him. “I would like that.”

The two of you have lunch together, talking about different things. The topic you two stay on the longest is, of course, X-Wings. He knows so much about them, and you’re always willing to learn more. The lunch ends in him making you promise that you have to share lunch together again to finish your conversation about how the sounds your fighters make indicates its problems. 

He walks you to where you’re going to have your briefing with General Riekkan, giving you a quick hug before running off to meet the new pilots. You still have the smile on your face when you see Rey come out of a hallway. The way she’s smiling at you lets you know you were right of her involvement regarding Poe approaching you. 

“So,” she says once she reaches you.  Her hands are behind her back and she’s swaying slightly as the excitement bubbles out of her. “How was it?”

You chuckle at her state. “It was nice. He’s a really nice guy.”

“Oooh,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows which causes you to bring a hand to your face. 

“But,” you say, removing your hand to see her smile falter a bit. 

“No, don’t tell me there’s a ‘but’.”

You’re about to answer when General Riekkan opens the door of the briefing room. 

“Ah, Y/N, please come in. Rey, if you’d like to join as well.”

The two of you follow him in, not another word spoken about Poe. You know that’ll change after the briefing. 

The briefing is quick, another supply relief that you were originally going to be doing on your own, but we’re now going to do with Rey, since she ‘seems to not have anything planned for that day’.

As General Riekkan gives some details on the supplies and the planet you’d be aiding, you feel Rey’s eyes on you. You look over at her, and instead of looking away, she smiles. Heat climbs up your neck, making its way to your cheeks and ears. You smile back, and see that something in her eyes again, and just like earlier, it causes your heart beat to quicken. 

The briefing is concluded, and Rey offers to walk you to your room. You’re walking to your room when she speaks. 

“So, what’s the ‘but’?”

“Straight to the point, I see,” you say, a small laugh escaping your lips. 

“Well I’ve been in thought during the whole briefing.”

You laugh again, this time followed by Rey’s laugh. Butterflies fill your stomach at the sound, and you have to take a small breath before talking. 

“He’s very nice, but I think I see him more as a friend. An attractive friend, but still, just a friend,” you explain. You reach the door of your room, and the both of you stop walking. 

“Well, I can’t say I’m disappointed,” Rey says. 

And maybe it’s the proximity or the fact that you don’t have the walking to distract you, but you can’t help but just admire the way Rey looks before you. Her lashes adorn her hazel eyes beautifully, and the little scar on her cheek seems so unique, so her. You’re shamelessly staring at this point, and she knows it. 

“You’re not?” you manage to ask. 

She shakes her head. “No, I’m not.”

“Why?”

“Because,” she says, moving even closer to you, “I have a type and he was about to take it away.”

“Oh?” you ask, taking a small gulp as your look trails from her eyes to her lips. “And what is it?”

“It’s you.”

Her lips touch your cheek before you process what she says. Once you realize what’s going on, you can’t help but close your eyes, only opening them again when you feel the heat her kiss leaves behind. 

She’s smiling at you, the same smile that caused her eyes to hold that something you couldn’t place earlier, only now you can. It’s a twinkle in her eyes that you’re sure is reflected on your own.  

You lick your lips, not realizing how dry your mouth is until you make an attempt to speak. 

“Then I’m not disappointed either,” you say, your voice just above a whisper. 

If it’s even possible, her smile grows, causing you to smile yourself, a smile that can only be attributed to one person. 

Rey.