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#odds project list
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ok if I remember to swing by the library after work I will pick up Emily Wilde
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timeisacephalopod · 2 months
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I am so tired of all new media being sequels and remakes and threequels and remakes and reboots and remakes and prequels and remakes and the lack of any creativity in nearly any creative field right now is absurd. I know Hollywood is allergic to change because that might not make a gagillion dollars for them but if you're that obsessed with money and also a vacuous black hole when it comes to creativity you should have been an econ major and gotten a job writing Business Insider articles and left creativity to people who know what they're doing.
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beelas-bees · 2 years
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Cheeteh z, answer honestly, do you hate women
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moniquill · 1 month
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Here is a brief summary of what is happening in Wikipedia right now:
In the last few years (3-4 years) the WikiProject Indigenous peoples of North America, which was originally created to improve the quality and coverage of native issues and native articles on wikipedia, has been hijacked by a small number of users with an extremist agenda. They have been working diligently over the last few years to change the definition of both what it means to be an Indigenous American and even what it means to be state and federally recognized.
The four or five key players (Mainly Editor Yuchitown, Bohemian Baltimore, ARoseWolf, (now retired editor CorbieVreccan, Netherzone and Oncamera) who are part of the “Native American Articles Improvement Project” started implementing these changes slowly, but they started pursuing their goals aggressively after November 2023, when state-recognized tribes retained their voting rights in NCAI. Essentially, after the movement to delegitimize state-recognized tribes failed officially, the key players doubled down on altering and controlling the flow of information about Native Americans through Wikipedia.
The talk page of Lily Gladstone’s article has a relevant discussion here. Initially, the leaders of the WikiProject removed any reference to her being a “Native American Actress” and instead had her as “Self-identifying as Blackfoot” and “Self-identifying as Nez Perce” because her blood quantum was too low to be enrolled in either tribe.
You can see some of the discussion here:
 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Talk:Lily_Gladstone
Eventually they relented and changed her category to being “Of Nez Perce Descent” but you can see in the discussion that they are referring to an article that these editors (Yuchitown, Bohemian Baltimore, and CorbieVreccan) themselves appeared to have mostly written and revised:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Native_American_identity_in_the_United_States
This statement is very much at odds with even the government’s description, as seen below;
The DOJ Office of Tribal Justice Office on their webpage “Frequently Asked Questions About Native American”, question “Who is an American Indian or Alaskan Native” states:
“As a general principle, an Indian is a person who is of some degree Indian blood and is recognized as an Indian by a Tribe and/or the United States. No single federal or tribal criterion establishes a person's identity as an Indian. Government agencies use differing criteria to determine eligibility for programs and services. Tribes also have varying eligibility criteria for membership.”
In addition, “List” pages have been created on Wikipedia for federally and state recognized tribes. The Wikipedia “List” page for state-recognized tribes is inaccurate in its interpretation of state recognition and not supported by expert reliable sources--(1) Cohen’s Handbook of Federal Indian Law 2012 edition, (2) NCSL.org current stand on state recognition (not the archived list from 2017 which NCSL no longer supports), (3) Koenig & Stein’s paper “Federalism and the State Recognition of Native American Tribes: a survey of state-recognized tribes and state recognition processes across the United States” (both 2008 & updated 2013 in book “ Recognition, sovereignty struggles, and indigenous rights in the United States: A sourcebook”)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/State-recognized_tribes_in_the_United_States
State-recognized tribes who have received recognition through less formal but acceptable means have been moved from the Wikipedia list page on state-recognized tribes to the Wikipedia list page of unrecognized or self-identifying organizations.
The Wiki page "List of organizations that self-identify as Native American tribes", in particular, is being used to purposely defame legitimate Native American individuals who are members of the tribes/Native communities that are on this list. 
By the parameters set up on Wikipedia, only the colonizer’s governments can acknowledge who is Native American through either federal recognition or state recognition. If an individual is not a member of a federally or state-recognized tribe, then it is determined that they cannot be Native American and are, instead, considered “self-identifying” or only “a descendant of ...” (example Lily Gladstone). As a result, Native individuals are currently being tagged as “self-identifying” and their names are put on “list” pages that strongly imply they are “pretend” Indians.
These editors have indicated that they would like “self-identification” to be the default setting for any people who they deem do not fit within the parameters that they themselves created within Wikipedia.
Moreof, these editors are admin and senior editors within the Wikiproject Indigenous Peoples of North America, and are being called in specifically to weigh on Native Identity, and any project involving any Indigenous Group.
Any attempt to correct misinformation, add information, or change any of these articles is often met with being blocked, reported for various offenses, or reported for having a Conflict of Interest, whether or not that is actually applicable. They have use this strategically in many different pages for many different individuals and groups within the scope of their Wikiprojects.
While changing things in Wikipedia does not change the truth, it is a way to control how most people take in information, and thus they hope to manipulate the narrative to better suit their goals.
This is quick and messy but:
Here is a link to the google document with the other state recognized tribes (Including yours) that were edited by these editors. This is an incomplete list so far that only goes back to September 2023 but I am going to add to it. If you can add to your own part of this list, and send your complaints and information to the arbitrator committee (the email is below) with the involved editors, this will help our case.
The  more tribes who complain, and the more Wikipedia editors complain, the better our case will be. 
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1YNDEjLTrrZ_mMIRCVxtvt69FwCYpJWKs71lBhWa5a9M/edit?usp=sharing
The place to make complaints on Wikipedia is oversight-en-wpwikipedia.org , and
arbcom-enwikimedia.org . It is most helpful to have an editing account on Wikipedia, because Yuchitown and the others will try to defend themselves using Wikipedia methodology and make anyone who confronts them look like the aggressor (see the other tribes who tried to fight back on Wikipedia I found).
The more people and tribes make complaints the more likely it is that this will work and we can rid ourselves of these monsters.
Some of the tribes I have spoken to are taking legal action against these editors. Any groups affected by their policies should also reach out to the news to make knowledge of this more widespread.
Thank you
- quoted with permission from an email sent by an associate of my tribe. Message me for their email address if you'd like to reach out to them.
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moongreenlight · 5 months
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Have you ever seen that corny ass skit where it’s the girl talking to her husband asking him to fix things and he says “I’m not a plumber” “I’m not a carpenter” bla bla bla and then one day he comes home and the girl’s like “oh yeah I had the neighbor come over to fix the things you wouldn’t” and the neighbor says she can either bake him a cake or sleep with him as payment so the husband asks “so what kind of cake did you bake him?” And the girl says “I’m not a baker?”
Very much Neighbor!Price x stay-at-home-mom!reader coded :)
Mdni. Nsfw below cut.
Neighbor!Price who’s found a quiet little cul-de-sac to settle in when he’s got some time off. It’s a little neighborhood, mostly older people who’re thrilled to have a man like him around to help bring out bins and offer to mow their lawns or rake their leaves or shovel their drives when he’s around.
But somehow he’s found the only other younger family in the area living directly next to him. Parents are a few years his junior, and they’ve got two young kids. He assumes the boy, the older one, is early elementary age- sees you herding him into the car in the morning with a pack lunch and a backpack that’s nearly the same size as he is to and from the house in the morning and afternoon. And the girl, the younger, must be in pre-k, because she’s only out for half the day and doesn’t get the same pack lunch her brother gets.
He’s gotten to know you pretty well. When he’s around, the two of you will chat while you’re tending your garden and he’s working in his garage carrying out some odd project or another. He thinks you’re sweet. Likes the way you wear overalls with a little top when you’re planting flowers in the beds out front. How when you bend over or stand at the right angle he can imagine you’re not wearing a top at all.
He hates your husband. He’s crass and rude and never waves hello to any of the neighbors- odd for such a friendly little community. Leaves for work early and comes home late and leaves you to fend for yourself all day. Doesn’t know how to interact with you or your kids. And Price is almost certain he doesn’t fuck you the way you deserve to be fucked because his bedroom window looks over your living room and he’s caught you on the couch with your hand down your pants more times than could have been coincidence.
He’s known to be the neighborhood handyman. Got a little workshop set up in his garage and a general knowledge about nearly everything, so it’s not uncommon that he gets a knock on the door a few times a week. Usually it’s some of the older neighbors popping over to see if he can fix their TVs or help their grandkids connect to the Wi-Fi, but it’s a pleasant surprise when you turn up on his porch mid-morning.
You’re scrunching the ends of your soaking wet hair in a towel. Apologizing as soon as you hear him turn the deadbolt. Feverishly going on about how you must have blown a circuit in the bathroom trying to dry your hair and you’d usually be able to manage but your husband shoved a bookshelf in front of the breaker and you can’t get through to it.
He’s sweet about it. Always is, but especially for you. Follows you over to your place and promises you no less than ten times that it’s really no trouble. He’s happy to help. It’s a quick fix, but he drags it out as long as he can. Insists on following you up and down the stairs from the basement to the top floor twice to make sure everything’s working properly.
He notices that the bathroom door sticks and that the fire alarm in the hallway is chirping from a low battery. You apologize for the toys in the living room and the clean laundry pile on the couch and the state of your house. Say that your husband is racking up a hefty to-do list with a small laugh that’s just a bit too forced.
He’s thrilled to tell you that he’s got some free time later in the week and says he’ll come over if only to help out your husband. Makes some backhanded remark about how your husband is clearly a busy lad. You refuse- of course- sweet thing that you are, but he turns up the next day after you’ve taken your kids to school anyway.
He tails you up the drive so there’s no way you can shut him out. Shushes you when you try to apologize for one reason or another and takes off to fix not only the sticky bathroom door and the fire alarm batteries, but also the dripping kitchen faucet and the garbage disposal that’s been broken for months.
You try to stay clear of whatever room he’s working in, chirping short responses to whatever nonsense question he asked in an attempt to lure you over. It was only when he was about to head out and he saw you leaning on the dryer to keep it shut that he saw his golden opportunity.
You were clearly trying to hide it, but even with a small load of clothes in, it sounded like you’d thrown a pair of boots into a tin garbage pail and shook it hard as you could. You tried to shoo him off, but he wasn’t having any of it.
There’s enough skirting around the subject to give you chance to turn down his advances, but when he realizes you’re not outright telling him to go fuck himself, he’s essentially taking it as a challenge to see if he can’t push you to that point.
Hoists you up on the still clanging machine and pushes between your legs on the weak pretense of needing you there to keep the door shut while he works. The machine shook the straps of your top down off your shoulders and made him acutely aware of the fact that you hadn’t had the time to put on a bra yet. It made his pants near painfully tight on the crotch.
He’d try and make idle chat. Your kids and plans for the day, but it’s entirely too hard for him to focus on anything other than the way your thighs are pressing together as the dry cycle started to bang the machine around more. He makes a light comment about how he’s not sure how you get anything done around the house with the dryer in this state. Your laugh is breathy.
And when he leans over you to reach to the back of the machine, he can feel the way your soft panting breaths fan his neck. Confirms his suspicions.
“Alright?”
You’re chewing the inside of your lip while you nod. Clearly starved for stimulation if all it takes is a dry cycle to get you off. Poor thing.
It’s stuffy in the laundry room. Adds to the appeal. Makes your shorts ride up and stick to your legs. Your thighs are dewy and glide together when you shift under his gaze.
“You sure, doll?”
The two of you are almost nose-to-nose. You’re leaned back, caged in by his big arms that look even bigger in his almost obscenely tight shirt. He’s smiling. Letting his eyes wander to your collarbones. The way your throat bobbed when you swallowed.
Before you could choke out your answer, the dryer stopped. Chimed the alert and slowly stilled. You took a shaky breath and nodded once more, looking like you couldn’t decide whether to be disappointed or relieved. He backed off, stretched out his hand to help you down.
You lead him to the kitchen. Ask if you can get him anything. Tea or food. He declines. You say something about stopping to get cash when you’re out picking up your daughter in a couple hours. He declines again.
“John, really, I appreciate your help. You have to let me get you back.”
You’re filling the kettle with water anyway, leaned just slightly over the sink. He knows it’s impolite to stare, but he’s never had very good manners when it came to things like that.
“Bake me a cake or somethin’, then. Sleep with me. Won’t take your money, though.”
You whirl around and end up sloshing some water down your front. Doesn’t seem to phase you. Your eyebrows are damn near at your hairline.
“I don’t know if that’s appropriate, considering…”
He snorts a soft laugh. It’s kind- not at all suggestive. Like he’s playing off a clever joke.
“What? Baking me a cake?”
You purse your lips and set the kettle on the stove.
“Never been a very good baker.”
He about hurdles the kitchen island like he’s running track.
“That right?”
You make a thoughtful sound before clicking on the burner. He can see you biting back a smile. You finally turn to face him. Leaned back on your hands with your head cocked slightly to the side.
“I just don’t know that it would be appropriate given our- my- situation.”
It’s his turn to hum and nod. Take a few steps forward, slow and slinky like a predator stalking toward its prey.
“Sure.”
You chew your bottom lip. Try to find some resolve in fussing with your wedding ring. It’s horrible. Small. He can’t help but think about how he’d be able to get you a much better one. He takes a few more steps forward.
“It’s complicated, John.”
Your voice is mousy now.
“I know.”
A few more steps forward and he’s back nose-to-nose with you. Pinning you against the counter.
“I just-“
“Then tell me to go home.”
The button of his jeans grazes your groin and sends sparks up your spine. You recoil slightly, but he’s got his massive hands on your wrists to keep you in place.
“My husb-“
“Don’t. S’not what I said. Tell me to go home. Tell me to go home, and I’ll leave. S’easy as that.”
The coarse hair of his beard brushes along your jaw. Visible goosebumps rise all the way up your neck and down your arms.
“John, he-“
A throaty growl from him.
“He’s not getting a lick of you.”
And then somehow he’s got you on your back on the couch. Shoved off the pile of laundry and pushed you down. His eyes are near pitch black and hungry. Ravenous. He tears off your shorts. Doesn’t wait for you to hoist your hips, just yanks so hard that you’re a little worried you’ll get thrown off the couch with them.
He is wretched. Planting wet kisses from the inside of your knee all the way up to your sex frustratingly slow. Big hands splayed over your hips to keep you from bucking up into his mouth. He’s got this maddeningly smug smile on his face like he’s waiting for the perfect moment to say I told you so. Like he knew this was going to happen from the start, you were just too stupid to see.
Your underwear is embarrassingly wet from your little go on the dryer. Your pussy puffy and sensitive underneath. You whine when he kisses over the damp spot. Laves his tongue over your folds without pulling them to the side. He makes some comment about the state of you that borders on snarky, but you choose to ignore it.
When he finally does rid you of your panties, there’s a moment of clarity where you realize what you’re doing. You push up on your elbows and try to roll out from under him, but he gives your clit a mean slap that forces you back onto the couch and ends your protest. Sends you to that liminal, clouded headspace where all you can focus on is how desperately you need to come.
It’s clear he’s savoring the moment. Running the point of his tongue through your folds. Teasing at your hole. Artfully swirling around your clit, but never close enough to give you the friction you’re so desperately craving. Planting hot, wet kisses on your inner thighs. Leaves a few love bites in his wake like he’s boasting; so certain your husband wouldn’t get close enough to notice that he had no problem decorating you as he pleased.
You’re a mess. Being taken apart stitch by stitch. Panting and whining and begging for more. Your orgasm is coiling tight under your belly without him having to do much. Any other time you’d have felt a little pathetic, but you were too preoccupied to care now.
He finally brings his hands up and you think he’s about to stuff you full, but he only lets his fingers drag slowly along your sensitive sex. Collects some of your arousal and pulls it up toward your naval. Watches the goosebumps form under his touch.
He rucks your shirt up with his free hand and immediately wraps his lips around your pebbled nipples. Tongues at them. Lets his teeth graze teasingly over them. And whatever one he’s not got currently in his mouth, he’s working his fingers over. Pinching and flicking until you’re teary eyed and squirming under him.
And then finally, fucking finally, he ducks back down and fixes his mouth on your clit. Sucks gently on the swollen bud for just a moment and then companies his mouth with two fingers bullying their way inside you.
The stretch is almost uncomfortable in its suddenness, but you quickly get used to it. The pleasure is blinding. Forces you to throw your head back against the cushion and screw your eyes tightly shut. A string of high, needy moans float through your gaped lips.
He’s sweet, Jesus, is he. Hums and groans with his mouth still on your bundle of nerves. Pulls away just enough to tell you how pretty your pussy is taking him before going back to work on your sensitive clit. You want to scream. You think you may actually come entirely undone on this couch if he doesn’t stop.
And then your orgasm coils so tightly within you that it explodes outward. Tears through you and leaves every square inch of your skin sizzling. He doesn’t let up. Pins you down by the stomach with his forearm and continues down his warpath. The sounds his fingers make when they sink into you are so pornographic that it makes your face hot.
You eventually find it in you to warble out something that sounded like please, too much. And he pulled off, still with that smug grin pulling his lips now surrounded by glistening slick caught in the hair of his beard.
He gives you one last kiss. Lewd and wet and so searing hot you’re worried it will actually blister the sensitive flesh of your cunt. He’ll sit back on his haunches and fuss with the button and zipper of his jeans before saying something horrible and cheeky like
“C’mon, doll. Thought you were set on payin’ me back.”
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emo-batboy · 5 months
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Things Battinson Totally Did During His First Year of University
Using Unhinged or Odd Things I Also Did as a College Freshman :D
Note: for this list, let’s believe Bruce was living in an (admittedly expensive and swanky) dorm because it is required for first-years, especially those entering at a young age, and Alfred told him he needed to make friends. Also yes I did every single thing on this list. I never claimed to be a role model
Bruce, to his TA: I’m so sorry I’m late to class. I gave blood a few hours ago and almost fainted on the way here, but it won’t happen again.
Signs up for a class called “Age of Dinosaurs” despite it not being required whatsoever and proceeds to work his entire schedule around it
Bruce: Your mental health is super important. If you think you should see the on-campus therapist, go see them. Friend: Fine. I’ll sign up for therapy if you sign up for therapy too. Bruce: Hold on-
Finds a loophole in his housing contract that allows him to get a pet frog, calls him kermit :)
Gets a second frog because Kermit was lonely, names it Constantine after Muppets Most Wanted, then realizes that they’re gay for each other. Wonders if the rainbow-colored rocks he got them triggered anything
Swings dramatically between calling Alfred every single day and ghosting him for weeks, cries when he realizes what he did
“Accidentally” joins the student body council, doesn’t know what he’s doing, gets re-elected anyway
Molds a dragon out of Laffy Taffy instead of doing his work
Bruce: *joins Honors, gets all A’s, takes the max amount of classes, has several minors, overachieves* Also Bruce: I’m a failure.
Breaks into a building after hours to study because NO ONE KNOWS HOW TO SHUT THE FUCK UP AT THE LIBRARY
Bruce: I will not get seasonal depression this year. Bruce: *gets real and seasonal depression that year*
Meticulously schedules his day with a color-coded planner because if he sits down for too long, the thoughts will consume him
Gives a presentation to his rhetoric class on how much he likes Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse (it is 20 minutes long)
Successfully allocates funding from the student body council to pay for free feminine products in the dorms OUT OF SPITE because someone said it couldn't be done. fuck you, Andrew
Bruce: It is not an all-nighter if I go to sleep before my first class. Friend: It is 7:30am, the sun is in the sky, and your first class is at 12:30. Bruce: But I am getting sleep.
Refuses to go anywhere without his backpack because what if he needs three notebooks at once
Loses over 20 pounds because ✨stress✨ and scares the shit out of Alfred when he comes home for Thanksgiving
Argues with his TA over the one (1) question he got wrong on his Dinosaur exam
Bruce, calling Alfred: Hello father figure. How do I do taxes? Do I have to do them myself? Also, I think I’m having a panic attack.
Joins in on a charity arts-and-crafts project that gives kids books with matching activities made by volunteers, proceeds to commandeer the project because “it’s not color-blind friendly” and rewrites the instructions for everyone
Makes a murder wall
Goes to one (1) sports game and proceeds to leave in the first ten minutes because it’s way too loud wtf is wrong with people
Professor, addressing the lecture hall: I dare you to write an essay about these two sentences. Bruce: *writes an essay about six words, gets a 100, never even read the book*
Crawls into the ceiling for some alone time
Ghosts someone after a date because he’s too scared to tell them he didn’t know it was a date in the first place and now he feels bad
Classmate: How tf does he walk across campus that fast? I go in the same direction he does on my bike, and he’s always ahead of me. Bruce: *is gay sprinting to Dinosaur class*
Refuses to let others use his Favorite Pen TM
Constantly gets mistaken for a Grad Student because he is “so wise and mature” (bestie, that’s the autism)
Alfred: *casually mentions he got into a car accident through text* Bruce: *replies with a meme while hyperventilating because he doesn’t know what to do with that information??!*
Wears a suit to one of his finals
Regularly eats non-organic food for the first time in his life, proceeds to learn about several allergies Alfred forgot to mention he has
Writes “What is a Hot Pocket?” in calligraphy and proceeds to laugh his ass off alone in his dorm because he is so exhausted he’s reached the point of delusion
Locks himself out of his dorm right before class, frantically asks the floor group chat if someone can help, proceeds to tell the nice gay man on the floor who saved him “I love you” because his social skills have hit rock bottom
Makes a little music album display next to his desk for his favorite band (Nirvana) His friends call it a shrine, and they are technically correct
Has a blacklist of people he refuses to interact with because Reasons
Counselor: What do you want to do when you graduate? Bruce: *gestures vaguely*
Refuses to take the bus because there are people in there and he doesn’t like those
Loses one of his frogs, how tf did he do that, they’re fully aquatic, oh fuck, this is probably why they got rid of that loophole a year later because unbeknownst to Bruce, he accidentally started a frog revolution in the dorms, btw he SWEARS he did not mean to do that
Has two trash cans in his room: one for the Good Garbage, and one for the Bad Garbage. Only Bruce knows which is which
Bruce: *writes a creative piece about a ship’s final thoughts as it sinks, bringing its passengers down with it* TA: Absolutely lovely, Bruce, but are you okay?
Goes on Night Walks, keeps himself safe by maintaining a level 12 resting bitch face at all times
Earns the nickname “8th floor cryptid” after pacing the halls at 3am when it’s too cold for Night Walks (honestly tho how tf didn’t he get the nickname earlier?)
Bruce: Do you think a depressed person could do this? Bruce: *has a manic episode*
Okay that's all love you BYE
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nekkotheodd · 1 year
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31 Days of Halloween - Grab Bag Edition: Day 14 - Project Zomboid
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Today we venture into a land filled with the dead, fueled by the tears of those who swear into the void as some zombie bullshit crushes their soul. For me, that moment was my fastest death. I spawned into a jail with 4 zombies between me and the door. I regretted so much in that moment. So. Much. Project Zomboid has been around a very very long time. It hit Steam in early access in the year of our destroyer, 2013. Mind you it's still in early development but the world of indie game development is a strange terrifying wasteland of non release/releases and as long as the game is good I care not what it's official title of finished is. Trust me, I've played triple a titles that are less polished than this game is and the dev is very active in advancing the game along. I personally came into Zomboid this year, and by this year I mean this week. I bought it over the summer and finally got around to playing it. The game is simple. You are a survivor in the zombie end times in the 90s. This is how you, that survivor, died. And oooo boy, you WILL die. Often and painfully. Honestly between this game and Elden Ring I'ver learned a lot about myself...and my masochism. But that's not the important bit. The important bit is the game is addictive and fairly creepy. The zombies are going to eat you, it's just a matter of when. I find it a bit relaxing but i am so apparently a very strange person. Anway, try it out. the price isn't high and it's often on sale. Also has multiplayer, for those of you that like having other people taint your lives.
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chronicbeans · 2 months
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Platonic Alastor x Maladaptive Daydreamer Reader
Hehe not me self-projecting again! Anyways, these are kinda based on my own experiences, but I'm trying to make them more generalized.
TW: Maladaptive daydreaming, escapism, dissociation, mentions of depression and anxiety, brief mentions of compulsive behavior/OCD, invasion of privacy, manipulation, peer pressure, yandere-ish behavior (I believe he defaults to those behaviors, no matter the type of relationship), mention of cannibalism (this is Alastor we're talking about...), Alastor is a shitty toxic friend in this
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• He's absolutely fascinated by the way your mind works. Even before he knows what is going on, or begins to get close to you, he can tell you are an interesting person. The way you look so distant, like your mind is checked out and flying to far off places without you, is something he hasn't seen before. He wants to pick and prod at your brain to see what's going on.
• He doesn't want to do so the easy way, though. No. Instead, he wants to drag out this process for as long as possible, and make sure you twist and squirm all the while. He loves to make people uncomfortable, after all! That's his specialty, in his opinion, besides his radio show.
• He'll start off with introductions, of course, which is probably when he first got interested in you. That dreamy look isn't so easy to see from a distance, after all. The second he looked into your eyes while shaking your hand, though, it became obvious. How hadn't he seen it before? If he saw this look when he first entered, he would've talked to you first out of the crew at the Hazbin Hotel. Well, besides Charlie... But, that's just because she owns the place.
•The uncomfortable prodding starts in an instant. One of his first questions after getting your name is not "What made you want to come to the hotel?" or "What can you provide to help the hotel?" It's more like "How did you die?", "What are your major vices?", and "What sin have you committed to be brought to Hell?" He wants to test the waters. See what he can get away with without completely scaring you off. If you run away and avoid him, it'd be harder to learn what he wants, and make you uncomfortable while doing so.
• Regardless of whether or not you answer, you are probably a little put off from him. Not enough to completely avoid him, since you can see how some of those questions might help him help the hotel, but enough to be uncomfortable... Which, in his opinion, is perfect!
• He's great at hiding, so if you start noticing him mentioning things you thought were private, you really shouldn't be surprised. He can, quite literally, hide in the shadows at times. He quickly takes notes of your little habits, including ones you might be embarrassed about.
• He may watch you pacing around your room, mumbling to yourself as if you are playing pretend all alone. Or, maybe, he's hiding over your shoulder while you're writing down some elaborate storyline. Perhaps he's watching you in plain sight, seeing you make a bunch of odd facial expressions at seemingly nothing. He may not know why you do this, but he wants to. He would've suspected some sort of substance use, considering it's Hell. Lots of people do so. However, he's never seen you near anything that would cause such behavior. So, that's off his list, for now.
• So, step 2 of his plan begins! As his good ol' pals Husk and Niffty to try befriending you! Or, at the very least, get information from you that you aren't comfortable telling him. Then, have them report back to him with their findings. Of course, Husk seems agitated by the request, but obliges. Niffty seems more than happy to do as he asks, though. A happy worker is a good worker, so he has more hope in Niffty getting the big story than Husk.
• Surprisingly, though, he's proven wrong. The most Niffty got was your fashion sense, favorite types of stories, and that you are very "quiet". Yes, the fashion and types of stories were new to him... But what he seems important, the reason you act so oddly, isn't there. Husk, however, was able to get a lot more out of you, somehow.
• Husk mentions you talking to him, one night, after he saw you skipping oddly down the hall and pass the bar where he was cleaning the glasses before closing it for the night. You seemed extremely embarrassed to have been seen, mentioning that you thought he was asleep already. He then just, politely asked a few questions...? And got answers? How?
• Alastor immediately demands answers, only for Husk to reply "I don't know how to describe it like they did! Most I understood is that they daydream too much. Seems like it's a constant thing going on. They like to pace and prance while doing so, sometimes, but don't like getting caught."
• Now it begins to make more sense... the writing, the talks about stories with Niffty, the prancing and pacing... and most importantly, that dreamy, distant look you have. He can even see why you'd make odd expressions. You're reacting to your own thoughts... He doesn't understand it. He's never heard of anything like this before, especially during his time as a human, but he can tell one thing for certain: You must be his friend, now. Whether you like it or not.
• You are so different from everyone else he's met, you see, and he loves things that go against the norm. Now, while you may or may not be considered normal or not too different by others, you're different and abnormal to him. You somehow succeed in both being polite, smart, and funny to mess around with, while also barely being able to pay attention to the world around you. He's always thought that those two things were mutually exclusive. How can you learn when you can't stop being in your own head? How can someone be polite and not listen? The funny part, though... He can kind of see that. He finds surprising you be sneaking up behind you and tapping your shoulder funny every now and again. Nevertheless, you are going to be his friend.
• Soon enough, you notice his behavior changing, a bit. Less following you around, less vaguely threatening words, and more... quiet. It's eerie, coming from him. However, you also notice him trying to talk to you about stories and books he's heard and read. Even things he's heard during his human life, such as Creole folktales and other stories he's heard in New Orleans, Louisiana back in the 1920s-1930s. It's a bit like a completely different side to him you never expected to see, and never really wanted to, but you aren't really complaining. It's better than him deciding to terrorize you for fun and him asking invasive questions...
• A little more time passes and he decides to ask about small habits, disguising them as him just now noticing those habits, when he's probably noticed them while spying on you months prior. Nothing too extreme. Mostly just your expressions, how it seems like your attention is somewhere else... Nothing like your pacing, prancing, or acting. He wants to establish that he knows about these tiny little things, and now that you're more comfortable with him, you're much more likely to answer. That way, once he moves onto the bigger, more personal questions, you'll already have been eased into feeling comfortable with it.
• Eventually, you get to the point where you feel comfortable calling him a friend. He's already considered you one since that conversation with Husk, but it's a start. Now, he's gotten the lovely privilege of being able to know more about what's going on in that lovely little brain of yours... well, "little" brain is definitely an understatement. From how you describe your imagination, he'd be led to believe your mind must be as vast as the Library of Alexandria.
• Vast worlds, complicated plotlines, complex characters... you talk of odd tales you've created, all in your brain. Ones you've had in your mind for years, some you came up with on a whim, and others, still, that are still being developed. Stories that have been being created over the span of real life years, ones you started then dropped... All of which are being held in your head, with only a miniscule fraction of it being written onto paper. He's truly impressed, genuinely respecting your odd talent, as he sees it. You've perfected the craft of creativity, while he's perfected the art of talking to an audience. Even better, is that he got to learn whether or not his theory of you taking inspiration from stories you've heard was right. Which explains his sudden mentions of stories he's heard in life.
• Now... if only you'd let him tell some of your stories on his radio show! If you wouldn't like that, then he'd probably ask you to write something for his show. That way, it isn't as personal to you, and you wouldn't even need to be credited if you're embarrassed by it! He could just say a random listener sent it in, and he thought it'd be great to read, to show his appreciation for his adoring fans. The world simply must hear the greatness of your mind, dear, and he is not going to stop annoying politely asking you to write something until you do.
• Another thing he might try is to see if he can figure out why you partake in this little habit of yours. He's never heard of it, though he has asked some sinners and demons if they have. Be it Charlie, Angel Dust, some of the other overlords, or a friend of his we haven't seen or heard of, before. More modern sinners keep mentioning a thing called Maladaptive Daydreaming, describing it as a symptom of other mental health diagnoses... but that's the problem. That fits you, you've mentioned that you know of that and it fits you... but that's also just a symptom. Well, a few argue that it may be its own thing, but it is not an official diagnosis yet. So, for now, he wants to figure out why you do it.
• Is it depression? Anxiety? Do you really want to escape from something, and you're doing so by hopping into that little dream land of yours? Is it some sort of compulsion? You seem to not really be able to control it that well, after all, and others have mentioned links to OCD, as well as other disorders that can cause compulsions. Is it sheer, absolute, chronic boredom? Speak to him, dear! What is it? Do you even know? If not, he'll assume it's the boredom option... for now.
• He's obsessed with you, really. You're his friend, and he's very obsessive over them, in his own way. He is as far away from normal when it comes to showing real affection for others, which wouldn't be bad, if it weren't for the fact that a main part of it is him being absolutely suffocating when he's around. That, and he can be terrifying... He's the Radio Demon, after all! It's just worse for you than his other friends, though, because you are different. Being different is a really important thing for him, really, alongside being polite, smart, and funny. Not required, unlike the last three traits, but it makes you more likely to be his friend. You hit the lottery by achieving being all four, but it must be the worst lottery prize in the world.
• He holds the thought that you should just be friends with him. Now, you don't have to be... but, he'd prefer it. If you really want outside friends, sure! You just can't be friends with his other friends. He claims they'd "taint" you with how violent they can be. Plus, since he's friends with other cannibals, some of which do serve sinner and demon meat to others without telling them, he genuinely does worry about your safety and wellbeing if you met those specific friends of his. For your friends, he wants to meet them. He needs to in order to deem them worthy of being your friend, and to make sure it's not someone he knows and is friends with. You deserve perfection, and who knows perfection better than Alastor, yes? After all, he can see that you're perfect. That is more than enough evidence, dear.
• You're one of the few people who he doesn't mind having your attention not on him. Part of your charm, in his opinion, is your lack of attention. All he asks is that you tell him about a story of yours. What is going on in your head that's so important? Oh, a great war between this and that? A psychological horror? Cities beneath the sea? Tell him about it. He finds it fun! Especially if he can see any possible inspiration from events or other stories. He likes to hear your voice almost as much as he likes to hear his own, which you'll realize is more of a compliment than it might sound like, once you truly get to know him.
567 notes · View notes
peaches-creek · 3 months
Text
“That looks disgusting.” John grimaces.
“Your babies likes it.”
You were currently 5 months pregnant and eating cold broccoli with mayonnaise. These odd cravings just keep getting grosser and grosser to John but you know what they say, happy wife happy life.
“Are you sure that even tastes good?” He genuinely asks.
“I’m honestly not sure, it just itches the scratch.” You state.
He chuckles at that and gets back to doing the dishes. In the 5 long months that you have been pregnant, you have done close to nothing, especially when John’s home. You thought you would have the comfort of keeping up with busy work, but John has asked his mother to come over twice a week to “help out.” By helping out he means she comes early in the morning helps do laundry, cooks breakfast, chats with you for an hour, cleans with you, then leaves. Even when he’s gone it feels like he’s home. Usually because before he leaves he makes sure everything is taken care of, including house projects and groceries, he doesn’t want you getting any ideas.
“Alright, it’s time to go.”
“You still haven’t told me where we are going.”
“And I told you it’s a surprise.”
He helps you get your coat and then your shoes, your ankles have been so swollen and sore. No matter how long you sit with them up, they still hurt. You were pregnant with twins, so you were bigger than a person pregnant with one baby. And boy did it feel like it. You were always tired, always feeling like shit. But in the end it will be so worth it.
He helps you get into his truck and begins driving.
“We should really start to think about names.” You say.
“We don’t know the genders though, makes it a bit harder.”
“We could just make a good old fashioned list.”
“Yea, what are you thinking?”
“Maybe Tobias, if it’s a boy.”
“I think Josephine’s a good girl name.”
“I agree.”
He turns into a plaza, one that you frequent, it has the best shops in town, and the best hair salon, and the best nail salon. You wonder what he’s up to. He pull up to a parking space, right in front of the nail salon.
“I know your ankles and feet have been hurting, so I thought that maybe a professional would do better than I could.” He admits.your eyes start to well up with big fat tears.
“I’m gonna cry John, that’s so sweet.” You weep.
“You are already crying.” he laughs.
You reach over to give him a hug, though it’s awkward because of the middle console.
“I just love you so much.” You cry.
“And I love you.” He wipes your tears.
“Now let’s get you inside, we have to pick colors.” He says.
672 notes · View notes
Text
And They Were Best Friends
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Pairing: Draken x F!Reader x Mitsuya
CW/TW: Hurt/Comfort, Situation-ship without the benefits, Oral F (face sitting) and M receiving/giving, vaginal sex, rough-ish sex (It's Draken, what're we gonna do), swearing, pet names (baby, princess, sweetheart, beautiful), nipple play.
Summary: Six years is a long time to dance around your feelings for your two best friends. When you are forced to move out of your apartment, Draken suggests you move in with him and Mitsuya, where things become even more complicated.
Word count: 8.6k
tag list: @awkwardchick87
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At some point in the last five years, Draken and Mitsuya had become permanent fixtures in your life. You couldn’t even pinpoint the moment when people started asking where any of the other sides of your triangle were when you showed up alone or if they showed up somewhere without you. It was to be expected at this point. 
You three simply were.
You can’t remember the last time at least one of them wasn’t crowded into your too-small one-bedroom apartment with you, silently sitting with you while you worked or helping you cook whatever the three of you would be having for dinner that night. 
If it wasn’t your place, you were at the shop when Draken would have to work late, you and Mitsuya keeping him company as the streetlights came on, illuminating the streets in a crimson, orange glow while he pushed to finish up his project. 
Or it was Mitsuya's place when his mom needed someone to watch the girls. Laughter and unbridled joy filtered in and out as the three of you wrangled them in for the night. Others, it was Mitsuya’s loft design studio, you and Draken curled up on the small sofa together, having fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning while the third part of your lives sketched and pinned, needing to get his designs out but still needing you nearby. 
It was somehow domestic.
Outside looking in, people thought it was an odd dynamic—an overly complicated situation of feelings that would eventually lead to heartbreak. 
But to the three of you, it just was. 
In the five years, it had always been simple. Crushes had come and gone, packed down into boxes that couldn’t be opened out of fear of ruining what had become your lives. Mitsuya never missed how Drakens lips turned into a small smile when you entered a room, instantly lighting up the room, even on the darkest days. Draken never failed to recognize the longing in Mitsuya’s when you would push the hair from his eyes as he poured over sketches like Mitsuya wished those touches would linger just a little longer so he could soak in your warmth for just a little longer. 
The two had some unspoken agreement not to push, too wrapped up in the comfort that you all brought to the others, even at the cost of their own fulfillment if that’s what it took. 
They never saw how your eyes would linger on one or the other, wishing that the moments of happiness and friendship they offered could turn into more. They didn’t know that when they would eventually leave you at night, with a hug that lingered a little too long or a look in their eyes like they wished they could stay, you hoped for the same thing, to spend every night in the comfort of their presence, waking up to another day with them. So instead, you listened as their motorcycles would rumble to life and count as the noise slowly turned into the stillness of night once more. 
But just like them, you knew that pushing those lines was out of the question. That one day, you would have to let them go so they could find what they needed outside of you. You would never ask them to choose between you and them. They were the twin dragons, two sides of the same coin, never to be separated, bonded through life and blood. 
Never once did any of you stray from the others. Year after year, settling into a routine that revolved around your complicated situation.
“They’re upping my rent at the beginning of the month,” you groaned one night as you leaned against Draken on the couch in the studio. He had a leg folded up, ankle sitting on top of his knee as he thumbed through an old motorcycle manual you had picked up for him at a thrift store. His other arm slung over the back of the couch, unknowingly drawing little shapes into the bare skin of your shoulder. 
Mitsuya stuck his drawing pen behind his ear and turned on the stool. “Too much?”
You hummed a confirmation. You’d have to move. You rented that place initially because it had been a steal, but recently, it seemed like your rent kept increasing, and your pay kept getting thinner.
“You talk to Peh and Pah?” Draken shut the manual after dog-earing a worn-out, oil-stained page. 
You shook your head, “Not yet. I was going to give them a call in the morning. But from what I could find, I’m probably going to have to move further out of the city.” 
Both men stiffened almost imperceptibly, locking eyes across the room. 
Leaving the city meant you’d be gone from them longer than they’d like, keeping you just out of reach of their protection. Draken felt his stomach sink at the thought of not having you close. Not being able to show up where you are and watch as your eyes lit up, how you’d wrap your much smaller frame into his own as you pressed against him before wrapping you in his arms, hugging you close. 
“I’ll pick you up in the morning,” Mitsuya said softly, lost in his thoughts. “I’ll take you down there and talk to them with you.” The unspoken “we’re not letting you go” passed between the two men. Draken nodded in agreement with the plan and Mitsuya’s resolve. 
Draken sighed heavily and dropped his head back, staring out the skylight in the ceiling, watching as one star in the sky slowly blinked out of existence. “We’ll figure this out, sweetheart.”
You had been out the door the following morning before Mitsuya had even finished pulling up to your apartment, having heard him coming. You knew the sound of their bikes like the back of your hands at this point. It was chilly, the tepid days of fall slowly filtering into the early brisk of winter, and you shivered as Mitsuya kicked down the stand before getting off, leaving the bike running. His face was pinched, his eyebrows scrunched together as he took you in; something was bothering him that he wasn’t ready to voice. 
You raised a hand and wordlessly smoothed your thumb between his brows, relaxing his face. He smiled gently as he reached for the helmet on his bike and placed it on your head, pulling the braid you had secured your hair into over your shoulder before fastening the buckle under your chin. When he was done, he tilted your chin up with a finger, staring into your eyes with a softness you weren’t ready to acknowledge. Something shifted last night when you said you would need to move. Like a leg had been kicked out from the stool, you all sat on precariously, waiting to tumble into the unknown. You felt the pull to Mitsuya now, just as you had felt last night with Draken when he had dropped you off, unable to meet your gaze as he left you at your front door with a lingering hold on your hand, afraid that if he let go, it might be the last time he got to do something that had become part of his ritual for far too long. 
You had almost asked him to stay. 
Mitsuya climbed back on the bike and held out a hand to help you on as he steadied it. You would miss this. He would pull your arms around his waist to secure you to his back before shifting into first and slowly easing out onto the main street. This time felt different. Mitsuya needed to feel your arm around him. Needed to feel you pressed against him where you belonged. 
He and Draken had decided long ago to put their feelings aside for your sake. But the thought of you being gone had tipped something in them both last night. The stupidity of their lack of trust in your relationship coming back to haunt them in their sleepless night and late exchange of texts discussing how they could keep you with them. Mitsuya felt that sting now more than he ever had. 
“So, I’m screwed?” You said thirty minutes later in Peh and Pah’s office as they explained your options. 
There wasn’t much to rent, and buying wasn’t an option. You’d either need roommates to afford rent or, as you thought, you’d have to move further away from the area you had grown to love over the past five years. Your home. The sanctuary that you had built. 
“Basically,” Peh grumbled. 
The other original members of Toman knew what you meant to their brothers but, like everyone else, never mentioned it. However, they all respected what had been built between you, knowing that you were what was needed after their lives of turmoil. Even Pah was up to date after some much-needed explanations from Peh. 
Draken had been silent the whole meeting, leaning up against the wall behind you and Mitsuya with his hands balled into fists, shoved into his pockets. He watched as your shoulders deflated at the realization that your one Hail Mary had failed. 
“What if,” Draken spoke quietly into the somber room, “we all found a place? Together.” 
You whirled in your seat, shock written across your face at the suggestion.
Mitsuya hummed in fake contemplation. He and Draken had filtered the idea around last night, only wanting to offer it to you if needed. They knew your independence—how you liked having your own space. 
“I do need a bigger studio. I keep running out of room, but I’m not ready to move to a whole building yet,” Mitsuya said as if he was thinking aloud. It wasn’t necessarily a lie. Simply a slightly grandiose version of the truth.
You whirled on Mitsuya next, blindsided by their offer. 
“But Inui,” you started as you turned back to Draken. He shrugged.
“The shop is doing well enough that he doesn’t need me to split the cost anymore. Plus, getting away from the guy a little more would be nice. Love him, but….” Draken trailed off with another nonchalant shrug. 
They had already discussed this with Pah and Peh, the possibility of moving the three of you into one place. You could afford it, even if they tried to pick up more of the cost. You loved your job— it was your passion. Even if the compensation wasn’t the best at times, you always made it work, and that was one of the things the Twin Dragons admired about you so much. 
Your mind was reeling. You could… you all could. But would that complicate things? How would you all navigate such tight quarters with the feelings you all had been avoiding? The sealed lid you kept on your feelings for both men slowly unraveled, the stitches fraying from years of being overstuffed with everything you felt. 
Mitsuya looked at Pah and Peh. “Give us a minute?”
Both men quickly exited the room, mumbling something about needing to look at other paperwork anyways.
Draken approached you both, hands still in his pockets. He loomed over you, looking down at you with his eyes bouncing between your face and Mitsuya’s.
“This’ll keep you here, sweetheart,” he said uncharacteristically gently. He walks around the chair you sit in and crouches before you, his hands finally coming from his pockets to rest on your knees. The veins in his hands were more prominent than usual from their clenching.
“Stay with us,” he whispered, a soft plea in the words that cracked your heart. Mitsuya looked on, his turn to stay silent. The words coming from Draken would mean more than his own. No jealousy came with that thought— it was just fact. Draken expressing his need for you in the only way he knew how to would be more powerful than Mitsuya saying the exact same thing. You looked at Mitsuya, and that brilliant smile spread across his face, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 
The part of you that feared what this would mean was won out by your need to keep things the same. The knife slowly tipped sideways as you took your phone from your pocket and emailed your landlord.
This is my 30-day notice to vacate.
Draken and Mitsuya deposited your boxes and bed in the primary room, saying something about how you needed the room with the bathroom connected for your privacy against your insistence that Mitsuya needed the space for his work. Mitsuya waved you off, stating he would claim the office as his own, and that was the end of the discussion. 
Somehow, Pah and Peh had found you a three-bedroom, two-bath with an office and spacious living room a perfect distance from D&D Motors, Mitsuya’s mom's home, and the rest of the prior Toman members. Almost like it was “fate.” By now, you knew better. Mikey had “accidentally” let it slip that they had all been searching for something perfect for you three during the whole debacle. No one in your circle seemed keen on the idea that you would have had to leave them. 
You spent the first night in your new home, settled on the floor together, eating takeout. 
Weeks passed. Then months. That unspoken tension continued to build, swirling around you, waiting for one of you to fall into the torrent of unspoken feelings. Maybe it was just you reading too much into the situation, hoping for something that couldn’t possibly be true. Perhaps it was just them making sure you didn’t have to leave and nothing more. Why would it be, after so long together and the moments you had shared? For everything to change now, to shift into something that had stopped crossing your mind for so long, could be nothing more than the pipedream of your unrequited feelings. What was the possibility of being with them and asking them to share you? 
But you couldn’t deny the attraction to them. You couldn’t resist how Draken would pull you into him after a long day, securing you against his side as you watched a movie. You never stopped Mitsuya from tucking you into him, resting his chin on the crown of your head while he basked in all the things that were you. They didn’t stop you when you crawled into their beds, seeking comfort from a sleepless night, falling into a dreamless, fitless sleep as either one unconsciously wrapped an arm around your waist and held you to their warmth. Nothing stopped any of you from the lingering touches on each other’s bodies as you went about your days, passing each other, seeing Draken off to work in the morning, or bidding Mitsuya good luck as he shut himself in his office for another day.
Soon, hugs turned into cupped cheeks with kisses pressed to your forehead. Fitting sessions turned into long gazes and unspoken words as Mitsuya used your body for his latest design. Trips to D&D became bringing dinner and riding home on the back of Drakens bike instead of with Mitsuya because you missed him a little extra that day. Soon, the muddied waters of what had been the shut box had become black with the things none of you would admit. 
Still, it didn’t stop.
“Are you dating them both?” 
You choked on your drink. Hina had called you earlier, asking if you wanted to meet at the little café near her and Takemitchi’s house. She wasted no time in asking the question that had been on everyone’s mind. She had seen the sly kiss Mitsuya had placed against your temple before he left after waving at Hina.
“I…” you said after you could breathe again. “I don’t really have an answer to that.” Although you probably should at this point.
Neither man pressed you for answers. Nor did you to them. Nothing ever went further than what it had all become. However, you knew at times when either would kindly excuse themselves from the room after being close to you for a little too long, gently putting space between your bodies to hide their need for you. They had discussed it in private when you weren’t home, what this all meant, and how to navigate it. Neither one had answers. All they knew was that you belonged with them, no matter what it looked like. If they spent the rest of their lives pining for you, then that’s what they would do; they had agreed. 
“No one would care if that’s what you’re worried about. You all have been dancing around your feelings for years,” Hina said. She was always straightforward with you. It was her job as your best friend. “We all just want to see you happy.”
Happy. But you were happy. Weren’t you? You chewed on your bottom lip. Thoughts raced through your mind about what could happen if you let go. If you let yourself feel the frightening and unending extent of what Draken and Mitsuya meant to you. It was an abyss with no end, and you never wanted it to.
“They both care for you a lot.” 
You knew that, and you said as much out loud.
“That’s not what worries me. What if it all goes to hell if I let myself go with them?”
Hina placed her chin in her hand and leaned across the table slightly. “Do you want them to be with someone else? It’s been almost six years now. I haven’t seen either one so much as look at another woman the way they look at you. I haven’t seen Draken so content to be around someone since we were teenagers. Mitsuya gravitates to you like you’re the sun in his universe. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve caught him looking for you in a crowded room, and he relaxes as soon as he sees you. Love never looks the same for everyone.”
Love.
A stitch on the box buried within you snapped.
You couldn’t think of them with someone else. The thought churned your insides, making you feel sick. It had never crossed your mind that they might eventually seek someone else out, ready to move into a new phase of their lives. It wasn’t jealousy at the possibility, just an unbridled sadness that sank claws into your heart and refused to let go. 
“What do I do?” You whispered the question, knowing the answer. You were afraid to admit it. Afraid to let it all loose and have it come crashing down around you in a torrent of pain and rejection. You knew logically that their actions spoke the opposite of what you were feeling. They could be feeling the effects of whatever this was just as much as you were and were too afraid to bring it up. But what if it was just a comfort to them?
“What if I’m just a placeholder, Hina?”
She giggled, and you cocked an eyebrow at the fit she had. 
“Six years is a long time to be a placeholder. I think you know what you need to do. We all support you guys. Take a chance. You never know what will happen.” 
The phone only rang once before Mitsuya picked up, and he was back with you before you could buy his and Draken's favorite pastries from the tiny café. 
You nervously pushed at your food that night, churned up by your conversation with Hina. If you didn’t do it now, you were worried that you would lose all resolve and never come back to it, content with how things were—intimidated by the unknown. 
Mitsuya cleared his throat, and your eyes snapped to his. He tilted his head to the side slightly, his way of wordlessly asking if something was wrong. You sighed heavily and placed your utensils down. Draken peeked up at you, alerted to the shift by the heavy puff of your breath, his dark hair falling into his face, still wet from the quick shower he had taken upon arriving home.
“I think we all need to talk.” 
Draken and Mitsuya exchanged a look, knowing what was about to happen.
“I’ll clean up,” Mitsuya said as he rose from the table, reaching for your plate. “Meet you in the living room, ‘kay?” 
You swallowed the lump in your throat before standing. Draken held out one of his hands, quickly lacing your fingers together and engulfing your smaller hand in his. His palms were sweaty as he led you to the couch, where you plopped down. He sat in front of you on the floor between your legs and craned his neck back to look at you. You knew what he wanted. 
Your hand carded through his hair, and his eyes fluttered shut as he felt your fingers drag against his skin. He always loved when you’d play with his hair when it was down. Something about the movements felt intimate to him. 
“Everything is going to change. Isn’t it?” You asked softly, breaking the stillness in the room.
“Not if you don’t want it to, but on some level, if this is going where Draken and I think it is, yes. On some level, it will,” Mitsuya answered as he entered the room, taking a spot next to you on the couch, leaning his back against the armrest, and crossing his arms across his chest. He was tense. Eyes full of something that resembled worry. 
“I feel like you guys have been waiting for this conversation to happen for a while.”
“Not so much waiting as hopin’ maybe one day it would happen,” Draken supplied, eyes still shut. He used the excuse of your hands in his hair to avoid looking at you. He knew if he did, any resolve he had built would crumble. His walls he had spent so long refusing to scale, seemed crumbling moment by moment. He had waited so long for this to potentially happen that it felt like a dream. He anticipated waking up at any moment, once again disappointed that he would have to go another day without calling you his. 
“What are we doing here, guys?” You forced the question out after a pregnant pause, hoping one of them would be the one to break it. Your hand glided through Drakens hair that was as dark as the ocean you found yourself in. 
“We’re simply three people living a very complex life together. None of us want to disrupt the peace we have managed to find. I’m gonna be honest with you, though, Princess,” Mitsuya said, leaning forward. “I don’t want to live like this anymore.”
Your heart sank at the words. You didn’t think your heart would instantly shatter at the words you had dreaded. Had you let things go for too long? Had you spent so long denying the way you felt that any chance of saving your relationships was about to go out the window?
Draken opened his eyes as your hands stilled in his hair. Your eyes were lined with tears as your brain went to the darkest place it could find quicker than either could rip you back from falling into it.
“We don’t want to keep dancin’ around how we feel, sweetheart,” Drakens low timber reverberated around the room. 
You looked down at him; it was the first time Draken truly let his walls shatter. You saw it in his eyes, how he felt for you, and the words he couldn’t quite find a way to say. It was all there, hidden in the depths of the swirling blackness that you recognized all too well, as if the depthless abyss you found yourself in at times was him surrounding you. The trickles of light that poked through being Mitsuya. You looked to the other man, and a sad smile worked its way across his delicate features. 
They took your breath away, these men. Each time you looked at them, it was a reminder of how beautiful they both were, from soul to body. Years they had spent by your side, supporting you, fighting for you. Watching and cheering you on as you chase your goals. They had held your hand through the most challenging times and walked beside you, always present. And they knew you had done the same, a steady constant in their lives that they could reach for when they needed you. 
“We know you feel the same, beautiful,” Draken admitted. “Six years is a long time to keep your feelings pushed down.” Your hand carded through his hair once more, a quiet answer to his confession as much as it was one. Because if they knew the depth of what you felt for them, for them both, then that was Drakens way of admitting he understood.
“What does it look like? How can I ask you to share me and be with you both? And what do we tell other people when they ask? At least now an easy “it’s complicated” seems to be enough to stop people from prying,” The questions spilled out of your mouth too quickly, and Mitsuya reached for one of your hands, gripping it tightly.
“Nothing about what we call ourselves or how to respond to people matters. If someone has a way they feel about it, they can keep it to themselves. So we are the only three that matter. And as far as sharing you goes,” a mirthless smirk crept across Mitsuya’s face, and you felt your cheeks flush. “Draken and I are brothers. We’ve been through too much together to let jealousy break us apart. But there would be none if that’s what you’re fear. I’ve watched as he held you for years, and it’s always settled something in me, knowing that you both were happy with each other.”
“Every time Takashi kisses your head, do you know how you sigh and lean into his touch?” Draken asks as he turns between your legs, kneeling before you. Something about the image of Draken knelt between your legs stirred something in you—the stoic, strong, unrelenting man, putting himself in front of you, offering up himself. “I’ve watched it hundreds of times. Each time it puts a tiny smile on your face. Belongin’ to both of us doesn’t mean anything other than that we are both yours.”
You sucked in a shaky breath as a tear slipped from your eyes. Draken caught it before it could fall from your cheek, and you leaned into the touch. A warmth bloomed in his chest at the motion, little sparks of electricity shooting up his arm at the contact. 
“I’ve spent so long keeping it all in check. Refusing to get between you two out of fear. I would never be the reason something comes between you.”
“You’d be the best thing to come between us,” Mitsuya responded quickly. It was something he had thought for years after concluding that he would be okay with sharing you with Draken. No other man was good enough to touch you. None other would be worthy enough to run his hands down your soft skin and hear your bubbling laugh. 
“Lemme kiss you,” Draken whispered, his dark eyes darting between your lips and your eyes. Even if it was once and you realized you couldn’t do it. He would be content for the rest of his life knowing he could taste your lips for a fleeting moment if that were all he was granted. Your tongue poked out between your lips, running along them before you gently bit your lower one. Draken watched each movement, suppressing a groan at the innocent motion. You glanced at Mitsuya, and he nodded. You nodded, and Draken slowly rose onto his knees, placing his hands beside your thighs on the couch before invading your space. The air between you grew thick with each slow movement, giving you time to reconsider and turn away. 
But you didn’t.
With each inch he closed between you, your resolve grew. You wanted to feel his lips against yours. Would they be soft? Would he taste sweet? Or would they be brash and overwhelming like the rest of him in an oh-so-good way? The first touch of his lips to yours was gentle, testing, and teasing—a ghost of a kiss that had you chasing him as he pulled away to gauge your reaction. You reached up and cupped his cheek, pulling him back to you. The kiss was unhurried as he pressed his lips against yours, and you lost yourself in the feeling. 
It was as if the gates you had sealed yourself behind unlocked at the sensation. He was the key that allowed you to let go and be free. You slotted your lips further against his, darting your tongue out between you and running it along his bottom lip, requesting permission. Draken groaned into the kiss, one calloused hand slipping to your thigh, dragging against your bare skin. His skin against yours set you on fire. 
The kiss deepened quickly—tongue dancing with tongue. Teeth bumping as you couldn’t get enough of each other. A fog in your brain promptly settled nothing but the man in front of you breaking through until you felt a hand on your cheek, breaking you away from Draken, and a different set of lips was pressed against yours. Mitsuya was different from Draken. Where Draken took Mitsuya gave. Where Draken devoured, Mitsuya allowed you to lead. He was sweet when Draken tasted of spice. The contrast between the two truly showed just how much they completed each other. 
Your body became aware, every nerve firing simultaneously as Drakens lips met the sensitive skin of your throat, kissing and biting before sucking little marks, marking you as his. He pulled back to look at the marks before pressing closer to you for more, unable to get enough of you now that he could finally touch you the way he had been aching. You didn’t know how you wound up in Mitsuya’s lap with Draken pressed against your back, still kneeling on the floor. 
You were turned once more, Drakens hand cupping your jaw as he pulled your lips back to his, eager to taste you again. He pushed closer against your back, trying to get as much contact with you as possible, and you gasped slightly into the kiss as you felt his erection push against you.
“Ignore it,” he said in between kisses. 
Mitsuya leaned forward to place kisses against your collarbones and neck, leaving his marks against your overly hot flesh. You were overwhelmed by them. They were everywhere. Their hands roamed over your body, leaving nothing untouched as they began to learn you in different ways. 
You didn’t want to ignore it. Mistuya had kept you low enough on his lap that if he was feeling the same as Draken, you couldn’t tell. You wanted to give in to the urges you had for years, fingering yourself in the shower or bed, biting down on anything you could to keep your moans from spilling into the hallway and alerting them to what you were doing. You needed to feel their flesh against your own with no clothes between you.
You reached your hand behind you and gently rubbed it over Draken’s hard cock, and his hips instantly bucked into your hand.
“Fuck,” he let out a strangled moan at the feeling. How often had he dreamt of this? Your hand pressed against him, stroking him to completion, letting his cum spill into your hand that he knew wouldn’t wrap entirely around his girth. 
“Want us to make you feel good, princess?” Mitsuya spoke against the hollow of your ear before nipping your lobe. Your whine against Draken’s lip was the only answer you could provide as he deepened your kiss. Everything they did had you pulsing with need. So long of ignoring how they would send your body into overdrive with a simple touch culminating into this moment when you could finally let go. This feeling was the one you had been missing for so long. And it felt right. To be with them. To have them against you like this. It was the feeling of being so touch-starved for something so magnetic being fulfilled in the way it needed.
You broke from the kiss, sucking down desperate gulps of air. Taking a chance, you pushed your hips against Mitsuya, moaning as the pressure building between your thighs was relieved for a split second, causing the man under you to groan at the sweet sound and friction. He was going to lose himself in you. He did everything he could to keep himself from cumming at the slightest touch. You probably wouldn’t believe it if he told you, but neither man had touched another woman since you came into their lives. Mitsuya gripped your hips tightly, pushing and pulling you along his clothed cock, your foreheads pressed together, breathing mingling as you both panted. Even like this, with the delicious drag of your cunt against him, your orgasm was building. You whimpered as Mitsuya stopped and pulled you off his lap suddenly, having noticed Draken pull away and motion for him to stand you up. 
“What?” You said breathlessly and were quickly answered by Draken pulling off your shorts and panties, tapping you lightly on the thigh to encourage you to step out of them. Your arousal dripped down your thighs, unrestricted by the lack of clothing. He ran a finger through your folds, and your hips twitched as his long, thick finger eagerly sunk into your pussy. 
“So fuckin’ wet,” Draken watched from behind as his finger sunk in and out of your sloppy cunt. Your moans filled the room, and you ground yourself against his hand, looking for more, more, more. 
Draken’s finger pulled from your core, and you grunted in frustration, once again denied of your pleasure. You should have known they would both be teases. Draken laid on his back under you, quickly pulling you down to your knees and positioning you over his mouth, encouraging you to sit. The first swipe of his tongue against you had you seeing stars. Mitsuya lurched forward, once again capturing your lips and swallowing your moans. 
“You taste so fuckin’ good, princess,” Draken’s voice was muffled between your thighs. 
Mitsuya sat back again, a string of saliva connecting you both before it broke, and he wiped it off your chin with a swipe of his thumb. Your eyes were already glossy, lust-blown pupils joining with his own. The lavender of his iris’ was engulfed in darkness as he watched your face contort, and your mouth dropped over at the pleasure Draken was wringing from your body. You reached forward and pulled at his sweats, eager to taste him and feel him heavy against your tongue. 
That smirk returned as he lifted his hips and pushed his sweats and boxers down enough to free his aching cock. The tip was leaking precum, and you instantly leaned forward, licking it from his slit before wrapping your lips around his head and taking him into the hot cavern of your mouth.
“Oh, fuck,” Mitsuya bucked up into your mouth. “Slow— fuck, fuck— slow down, beautiful. You’re gonna make me cum if you keep going like that. God damn, you’re so fucking good.” Mitsuya swept your hair from your face, watching as you looked up at him through your lashes, moaning each time his cock disappeared between your lips. Your moans were muffled around him, and each vibration rocketed him towards the edge quicker and quicker.
Draken’s tongue dipped in and out of your pussy before he locked his lips around your clit and sucked, pulling the bud into his mouth, his tongue flicking over it before he would let go and repeat the process. Your hips ground against his face shamelessly, chasing your high, and Draken was more than willing to get you there. Your taste was sweet. Sweeter than he could have ever imagined—he wanted more. He wanted to feel more of your cunt pulsing around his tongue and hear more of your sweet moans. He wanted to hear you scream as you came on his face, riding out your high, bucking your hips as you came down. It was a sound he was growing addicted to quickly. He dipped his tongue back into you, moving his face side to side as his nose bumped against your clit, giving you the stimulation you craved. Your muffled moans grew around Mitsuya’s cock as Draken worked your pussy like an expert. 
Your hand wrapped around Mitsuya’s cock as you popped him from your lips, the sloppy way you were sucking his cock giving you more than enough to stroke him from base to tip as you focused on chasing your orgasm, too overwhelmed to keep sucking him. Which he wasn’t against. He didn’t want to cum down your throat. He wanted to feel your pussy around him when you made him cum with your body for the first time. He had been dangerously close, panting and throwing his head back as his eyes rolled, losing focus as he felt you bob on his cock. It was the best he had ever felt, the years of knowing each other somehow translating into the knowledge of knowing what he liked. 
“Ken, fuck. Ken, don’t stop. Please, please, please,” your begging was sobbed and broken. So close to your orgasm that you could feel it teetering on edge; one final flick of his tongue against your clit, and you were gone. Your orgasm exploded from your body with a loud scream of the man's name who brought you to it leaving your lips, and he drank down every ounce of your release, groaning at the taste and bucking his hips into the air. He almost came from the sound of his name leaving your mouth. Your legs shook on either side of his head, constricting tightly until he tapped your thigh again, and you shakingly forced them open, allowing him to shimmy out from under you and sit up. 
“You did so fuckin’ good for me, baby,” Draken kissed at your neck before starting to pull your shirt, one he realized was his with a little bit of pride, over your head, quickly unhooking your bra. You smiled at the praise, slowly coming down from the earth-shattering orgasm. Mitsuya’s tongue poked out between his lips as he saw your tits, perfect in every way. He reached up and cupped one, loving how it fits in his hand. He rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pulling it to a taught peak before letting go. You moaned, the slight motion building into overstimulation. 
They rubbed their hands over your body, exploring your curves as your breathing returned to normal. Mitsuya grabbed your sides when your eyes opened and locked with his. He needed you. He needed to feel you wrapped around him. He had managed to calm down enough, determined to get you to cum before he did. He quickly lifted you and placed you back in his lap before wrapping his hand around the base of his cock and rubbing it through your soaked folds. His tip caught on your clit as he did, collecting the wetness before slowly pulling you down on him. 
He looked down to where you were connected, mouth agape as he took in the sight of his cock disappearing into your drenched pussy. His cock was big, longer than girth, but he knew the sting of the stretch was there as he glanced back up at your face, and your eyebrows were pinched together. You both moaned when you were fully seated on him. 
“Oh my god, Taka,” your voice was breathy as you spoke. “You feel so good.” 
He was curved enough that as he gave gentle thrusts into you, you could feel him drag against the sensitive spot tucked against your walls. Each time he did, you relaxed until he could move more freely. Mitsuya angled his hips just enough so that each time he pulled you up and down, the head of his cock would bully that spot over and over. 
“More, Takashi.” His name was a prayer on your lips. His eyes slid shut as he thrust into you, matching each drop of your hips. Your thumb pulled on his chin, forcing him to look at you again. 
“Don’t close ‘em. Wanna see as you fuck me.”
“Holy shit,” Mitsuya breathed, his hips stuttering at your words. 
The couch sank as Draken took up Mitsuya’s original spot, slowly stroking his now-freed cock as he watched. He was mesmerized by the way your tits bounced with each pound Mitsuya pushed into your body. The sound of skin-on-skin mixes with the collective grunts and moans filling the room.
“Play with her tits, Mitsuya.”
Mitsuya instantly complied, returning to his earlier motions of pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers. His mouth latched onto the other, biting gently and sucking it into a taught peak before letting go to blow cold air over it. Mitsuya could feel your pussy pulsing as he pushed you to another orgasm, gripping and tightening around his cock as he bullied his way in.
“You’re so tight,” he said, pulling your breast back into his mouth, moaning against the skin. “Gonna make me cum. Fuck, I’m gonna cum. C’mon, baby. C’mon. C’mon.” 
Mitsuya’s hand snaked between your bodies, pushing his thumb to your clit and rubbing tight circles into it. Your legs trembled as he did. You felt the fiery building sensation as you neared another high, uncaring as your moans grew in volume, too lost in how you felt. Everything Mitsuya did to your body was rushing you towards the edge, every kiss and snap of his hips enough to clear your mind and fuck you until all that was left was him. The twitch of his cock and the falter in the rhythm of his hips were the signs of his impending release. 
“Gonna cum, Takashi. Cum in me, please, please. Wanna feel your cum.”
“Fuuuck,” the word was drawn out from Draken, and he gripped the base of his cock, fending off the orgasm that threatened to spurt from him at your words. 
Mitsuya’s hips stuttered once more, and his eyes met your glazed-over ones as he pulled you down once, twice, three times more, and your pussy pulsed hard, wrapping him in a vice as you came, sending him over the edge as you milked him for all he was worth. Each spurt of cum was pushed into you with a twitching thrust of his hips, forcing it deep into you. Each time a moan was ripped from the back of his throat, guttural and deep. 
You collapsed against him, chest to chest, while you both panted. Not pulling in oxygen quickly enough to replace what you were losing. Mitsuya cupped your cheek, pressing gentle kisses against your lips, and you moaned gently into him. He slowly pulled you off his softening cock with a whimpering moan, unashamed of the sound that left him. He watched his cum leak from your abused cunt and down your thigh. Your body was like jelly as he handed you to Draken, who was waiting, cock rock hard and begging to be buried in you. 
You hummed gently, lifting a hand and carding it through your next new lover's hair. His eyes were soft as he assessed you, looking for any signs of discomfort. 
“Hey, handsome.” 
“Think you can go one more, baby?” Draken gently kissed your jaw, continuing down your neck and back up before slowly locking his lips with yours. He knew your body was worked over. He had waited this long. But, if he needed to wait longer, he gladly would. You reached between you and gripped his cock, pumping once before running your finger over the tip, collecting the precum, and stroking him again. Draken hissed at the contact between his teeth, a sharp intake of air.
Mitsuya chuckled from behind you. “Think that means she’s ready.”
Draken let you line his cock up with your entrance, and you slowly sank down, whimpering at the feel of him, at the stretch that knocked the breath from your lungs. He was bigger than Mitsuya, and you were thankful for the two orgasms they coaxed you to. 
“Take it slow, baby,” Draken said through gritted teeth. “So fucking tight.”
Mitsuya hummed in agreement. Watching as you sank yourself down. Watching your back muscles flex and twitch as you took Draken into your core was intoxicating. Your arms wrapped around the corded muscles of his neck, and you leaned forward, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. It was art, the way he observed you. If he could draw this moment, capture how you looked now, pressed against Draken’s body as his hands flexed on your hips, grounding himself to this universe, he would. 
Draken resisted every urge to thrust himself up into you or pin you to the couch and push your legs to your chest to pound into your tight cunt relentlessly. He wanted you to have this moment. To let you give yourself to him in your way and your time. It was a level of control he could offer you as you bared yourself to him. Draken wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you impossibly close. He gave a testing thrust of his hips upwards, and you met the motion with a roll of your hips. You pushed up on your knees, and Draken planted his feet on the couch, allowing himself the leverage to thrust up into your gushing pussy. Each time the sloppy sounds of your slick mixed with Mitsuya’s cum spurred him on more.
You could tell he was holding back. His arms trembled with restraint, and each grunt against the skin of your neck was strained, rumbling from deep within his chest. Your hand tangled in the hair at the base of his neck, and you gripped tightly, pulling back with a yank. He gasped, his eyes turning feral. 
“Stop holding back, Draken.” 
A growl burst from his chest, and Mitsuya was moving before either of you, anticipating Draken's movement as he slammed your back onto the couch, capturing your hand between one of his and pinning them above your head. Draken slotted himself back between your thighs, slamming his cock back into you, going deeper than you had ever anticipated. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he started roughly pulling back and sinking into you with a sharp slap of his hips. You hooked a leg around his lower back, angling your hips to allow him to bump up against your g-spot. Tears gathered on your lash line with each thrust. Each choked moan only spurred Draken on as he drank in the sight of you below him, utterly pliant in his hands. 
“Such a good fuckin’ girl. Taking our cocks so well,” Drakens words fell from his lips mindlessly, unable to hold them back any longer. “Want me to fill you up, baby? Wanna feel my cum in there with Takashi’s and watch it drip outta your pretty cunt. Our pretty cunt.” 
His words were music to your ears, bouncing around in your empty head and filling it with the image of what he described. You never wanted anything more. To be marked by these two men, pumped full of their cum, staking the claim on you that they had spent so many years imagining. 
Mitsuya’s eyes were glued to your face, and he resisted the urge to stroke his cock as it twitched to life once more. He watched as your moans grew into silent screams, unable to let out anything more than gasps of air each time Drakens hips slammed against yours. He watched as your eyes rolled back once more and your chest arched off the couch, and your legs shook, quickly realizing these were the signs that you were about to cum. The sharp intake of breath from Draken confirmed as your pussy gripped him tighter, sucking him in deeper, begging for more, more, more, just as your vision whited out and you came with a muted cry. 
“Fuck. That’s it, sweetheart. So. Fucking. Tight.” Every word was accentuated with a thrust, coaxing you through your high until he finally stilled, body shaking as he let go, letting his orgasm ripple up his back. Spurt after spurt of hot cum emptied into you, stuffing you impossibly full. Draken pushed his forehead to yours, rubbing at your wrists where he held them as he panted, eyes shut and hair sticking to his face. He gently eased out of you once his cock had softened, and the mixture of your, his, and Mitsuya’s cum leaked from your abused hole. He ran two fingers through it, pushing it back in, smirking as you whimpered at the touch.
“That’s so fucking hot,” Mitsuya lamented beside you as he tapped Draken’s shoulder with a cold water bottle. You didn’t know when he had disappeared and returned just as quickly. His sweats were back in their place, and his shirt was gone. You took a moment to soak in the sight while Draken pulled you up and into his lap, holding you close against his sweat-slick body. Mitsuya opened the top of your water bottle and handed it to you. The cold liquid was a balm to your horde throat, raw and overused from the screams and moans. 
“You did so well, Princess,” Mitsuya said against the crown of your head as he pressed his lips to it. 
Draken grunted in agreement, tucking his head into the crook of your neck. Your scent was a mix of your own and theirs now. In a primal way, some part of him preened at the smell. 
You were finally theirs. 
Draken had never been so sure of something in his life that this was how it was meant to be. 
Mitsuya held your hand tightly as you walked down the street, heading toward D&D Motors. Mikey had called your boyfriend earlier, a giggle in his voice as he asked you to meet him at the shop. Mitsuya had rolled his eyes when the call ended, unphased by Mikey’s antics and dreading what he could be planning. Draken had also gotten the call, annoyed that he would be going into the shop on his day off. 
You glanced down at your phone as it buzzed in your freehand.
“Oh, Draken just got there. He said he’s going to wait for us out front.”
You turned the corner a few moments later and skipped a little as you saw Draken standing there, hands tucked tightly into his pockets. Mitsuya let your hand slip from his as you rushed forward, flinging yourself into the bigger man's arms, and he oofed as he steadied himself with a step back at your force. 
“Hey, baby. Miss me?” 
You pressed a kiss to his lips as you nodded. He had been out running errands all morning, picking up parts for customers, and visiting other shops in the area. 
“What does Mikey have planned?”
Draken rolled his eyes and wrapped an arm around your shoulders as Mitsuya finally closed the distance between you at his leisure pace. “Hell only knows with him.”
The bell over the door jingled as Draken pushed it open. The shop was dark as you entered and looked around. You did see anyone.
“Yo! Mikey!” Draken called into the shop.
“Back here, Ken-chin!” His best friend yelled back from where all the parks were parked. Mitsuya cocked an eyebrow at you both before leading the way. 
You all pulled to a stop when you saw all your friends crowded into the area and a banned over their heads that read, “It’s About Damn Time!” 
2K notes · View notes
doublekanble · 1 month
Text
deer (in a head light)
Alastor/reader (gnc)
platonic-romantic. (almost everyone thinks you two are in love or is extremely baffled by the fact, a bit more romantic for me but can be seen as anything actually i just like writing people being sort of stupid)
word count: 5.6k.
or, collectively, everyone's reaction to the fact. Nifty is there👍. no real warning this is a normal fic part two to this.
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Husk have never gone through this level of raw mental torture, while Angel thinks it’s absolutely hilarious how hard is it for Husker to accept that one of the most feared Overlord of all Pride Ring is vying for a cute lil fella like you. What started out as a small remark over the rim of a particularly strong cup of gin about how Alastor have been seemingly hovering around you, making small talks that you try to keep up with confused enthusiasm - soon turn into listing off every growing instances of odd affections that no one ever thought he’s capable of, but it’s yours in abundance.
You’re standing up with the intention of going outside? Unless he’s actively in a conversation (and several time, even during one) Alastor will find a convenient excuses to walk with you. You’re cold? Everyone else better be cold too, either that or hope to God he have anything to give you to wear. Hungry? Thirsty? Almost like a caretaker, he’s always making sure you have little bites of food and drink here or there, reminding you like clockwork. Staying in your room for the day? Your room is close to Angel, and the first time he come out of his room, fresh from a hangover, only to catch the tail end of a red coat and a greeting disappearing behind your door, it takes everything in him to try and rationalizing not breaking the door down.
(Husk thinks he was being overprotective. Angel brushed it off with a nervous chuckle. It’s a good thing, he remarks, if only Angel kept that attitude.)
The idea of Alastor actually taken interest in anyone, even positively, send shivers down his spine. Husk have been one of the older soul that fell into the hand of the sadistic Overlord, one that did just enough to keep his earn and do what he want when Alastor would’ve gotten busy with a new project or two. He knows he’s useful enough to Alastor, even with the occasional slipped up, learning quickly where to tread and where to back down. The Radio demon is insane, but he is surprisingly much more lenient with people than he often let on, but not as much as he is with you.
Which quickly became a thorn that Angel uses to dug into his side. Old battle-worn Husk cannot wrap his head around the fact that you, of all people in Hell, somehow get back on Alastor good side and stays there for longer than anyone thought you could.
You are more than bearable, don’t get him wrong. Good at reading and picking up on certain cues to pleased people (more particularly, the fact Husk likes to be alone most of the time), and in spite of being just a tad bit too stubborn at times, is generally a polite and entertaining thing to have around. It would’ve made sense for Alastor to wants to keep you for fun, if not for how you two started out.
Having missing out on your first introduction, all he have to go off of is your debrief of it on the one day you want to try whiskey. You’d damn near spat it out, opting to just sit with some soda instead (he didn’t try to poke too much, you’re almost like a pop-up pirate at time). Husk figured you would earn the ire of the most egotistical man he’d ever known, considering how you loudly asked Charlie for Alastor's resume as a way to try and barred him from working here.
Of course, that didn’t work, both you and Vaggie are long-time victims of Charlie convincing puppy gaze, and Alastor secured him and Nifty a spot at the hotel. But Husk was extremely adamant it would put you on a black book with Alastor, still remembering how Alastor grip on his cane would tighten just a bit whenever you spoke up on the first day. And yet, you get to laugh about it.
-
“Yer just bein superstitious kitten. At this point ‘m pretty sure dude just got the hots for them, nothing big.”  Angel fiddles with his phone on one set of hand, the other propping himself on the bar counter, holding a popsicle to his mouth. He wants to tell the spider that’s absolutely not how the word superstitious should be use, but he digressed. “We’ve been at this for days, if he gonna do something, we would’ve known.”
Husk scoffed, throwing the piece of cloth he’s been using to furiously wiping down a stain someone left on the counter over his shoulder.
“Yeah right, as if you can get your head out of your ass enough to see that.” He ignores Angel smirk, already knew where this can go if he let it, almost like a whisper, he spat. “I’m just saying, he ain’t the Radio demon for show. You lots know nothing about whatever he got planned in his shitty fucked up head.”
Forced contractor be damn, this bar is his pride and joy, or whatever’s left of it anyway.
At that, Angel sends his attitude right back, hand(s) flickering, “And I’m saying he’s head over heels. What? Ya wanna explain the fucker just- casually waltz up to them and kissin' their fucking hand as a morning greeting? Cus’ I’m calling bullshit. Nobody even doing that fucking thing anymore, and he’s doin’ it every chance he gets! Like, have you even seen them?!” Almost like a comedy setup, they both look over to the chattering at the top of the stairs.
Over the railing, you’re rushing off from Alastor’s side to catch up to Nifty, who’s desperately nagging you to come and help her with a spot she can’t dust off with a ladder, having long depleting the fun of falling off from it. And almost like instinct, he took your hand and planted a gentle peck, along with a well wish for your day.
You, with your other hand occupied and being dragged away too fast after the fact for you to formulate a real respond, simply perks up and laugh, waving at him before you fully give into the little bug-like demon and let her rushed the both of you to the other side of the hotel – Alastor stands and watch you fully disappearing behind a corner before turning his head and look directly at the pair. His mic sounding nothing except for a low drones of static.
Husk expertise kicking in, he looks straight ahead instead, wiping down the counter again just to be safe. Angel’s years of acting led him to immediately start talking about the latest project he’s involved in, popsicles stick held from his face. Husk can’t be too bothered by it this time, at least he’s reading the room. But even with their combined effort, it still doesn’t stop Alastor from manifested himself right by the bar, smiles almost pull taut, a too jolly “How is it going gentlemen?” and a request for a cup of moonshine, with a tune contorting just to sound much too whimsical for anyone else except him echoes from his microphone, and he’s off again.
“…y’know, you can just say you’re sorry for being wrong Whiskers~”
“Go fuck yourself.”
-----
Vaggie knows that no matter how much she tries to warn Charlie about the cannibal murderer in their own cozy hotel, her partner can and have constantly willed it away with loving words and cute beady eyes that she can’t fight against. Her loving and trusting nature always been the tried-and-true counter to Vaggie’s much more doubtful and skeptical side. Recalling the way you refer to it (two people working in harmony, balancing out each other’s nature, like a tango, a secret rhythm unknown to anyone but them), she smiles.
It dropped the moment she remembers the matter at hand, specifically, you, a friend that have grown dear to her heart, and the cannibal murderer she very much hated guts - growing close to yours. She’s not sure whether this qualifies for a tango when she’s dragging her feet and Charlie’s tap dancing.
Vaggie would’ve been glad you have virtually zero comment on the fact Alastor is getting close to you, and with her luck, purposefully ignoring it (what’s with you and dive bombing out of the conversation the moment the topic came up), if not for the fact Charlie is very insistent on letting you know all about it (=> conversation you have to dive out of). You and Vaggie traded favors all the time, exclusively about Charlie, who always try to bite off a bit more than she can chew.
Usually, you did a much better job on keeping Charlie from trouble than Vaggie actually can, having the heart she lacks to guilt her partner into keeping still or stop her from running into red light traffic. Yet a pattern emerges soon after this deal started that you three all pick up on, much to Charlie’s delight.
Somehow, some way, Charlie aged old puppy dog eyes are much, much more effective when the both of you are right next to each other. Alone, while Vaggie can’t turn her down, you can and have consistently do so. But together, you both would turn to each other, and you either would give into Charlie first, or wash your hand completely from the whole situation altogether, both decisions are equally awful, and often left Vaggie alone on the line of defense.
Like that time you asked for the Radio demon resume, being extremely firm on his demeanor being horrible for customer service and how unfit it would be for a hotel to house someone who clearly doesn’t want to help or be help. Vaggie remember the chills running up her spine as you stand firmly in the face of the greatest mystery to Hell even after all this time and not even batting an eye to his straining words or the implications of it. Even going so far as to point out that he’s a liability and can’t keep himself straight for anything worth the hotel’s effort.
Only for Charlie to held onto your (and Vaggie’s) hand and tell you both she can do this. She remembers it took you not even 5 second to turn towards her with a wistful gaze, a smile pulls on your lips, and put a hand on her shoulder.
Aside from her first real injuries, it was the biggest betrayal she’d ever gone through.
Vaggie like to think it doesn’t sting so badly that her partner and her friend are now growing more used to the giant red flag stalking their halls. If not also for the fact she have to be in on your effort of stopping Charlie from bringing up a weird line of conversation while you still - albeit not fully of your own volition - feeding into her girlfriend delusion of being a matchmaker. It wouldn’t be so hard if you just, try to at least calm Charlie down yourself, but your tendencies to avoid particularly specific conversation makes her boomerang from appreciation to pure exasperation.
Especially when she would be fighting her love for Charlie to keep your dignity intact.
“But Vaggiee…!” clinging onto her left arm, Charlie tries her best to bring her girlfriend’s eyes back to her. “Just look at them! They’ve never looked at anyone like that!”
She would love to argued otherwise, you have a habit of looking at everyone like that, something with making people feel more welcome to talk to you. But all thought vanished from her head when she turns to try and make an argument, and for a brief moment she forgot what they were talking about. Charlie’s good at distracting her, but she steeled herself and stop Charlie from jumping off into this and making it so much harder on you than it already is.
(God, the things Vaggie’d do for love.)
“I know you really want to, hun, but - I’m just, not sure about this. It’s Alastor we’re talking about. I get them being into him or whatever, but you’d really set them up with the Radio demon? You know…”
Charlie was slowly wilting a bit, but picks herself up at the hesitation, thinking it’s her chance, she races over her words. “A thoughtful, charming and-“
But still can’t finish fast enough, and Vaggie have to advert her eyes, she can’t handle a sad Charlie that well. “and a horrible cannibalistic freak, Charlie. He’s not a good person.” At that, her girlfriend really clings onto her.
“Vaggie…this is a hotel for redemption! We've got to believe that people can change…” Charlie’s not addressing her point, there’s no real way to denying the fact Alastor is really just who he is. A rotten, rancid piece of meat. Redemption be dammed when he doesn’t even believe in it. “And! I have proof that Alastor likes them~” Pulling out little drawn post-it-notes from her front pocket, Charlie nearly doubled over while trying to put all of them onto the table in front of Vaggie, and you.
“I’m going to go back to my room.” You abruptly stand up, nervously grinning while shuffling out of their office. Having sat completely stilled while hoping that you can somehow divert the topic ever since the start of the conversation, you gave up. Completely disregarding Charlie’s attempt at making you stay. “It’s late, and I should’ve been in bed some hours ago…”
“Wait! I swear that this time I-“ Charlie tries to reach for you again, but Vaggie held strong. Nodding towards the exit, you mouthed her a quick thank you as you walked out, wishing them both good night while gently pushing the doors close. “I have the proof…”
“C’mon babe…” visibly deflating, Charlie sat herself back into Vaggie’s arms with a pout. She doesn’t have the heart to press this too deeply, so she pushed back her hair and give her a small peck on her eyelid, she always did have pretty eyes. “You know they’re not going to listen to you if you keep ambushing them like this.”
“I know, but I just- really love them both…” Vaggie raised an eyebrow at that. “And they seem so, nice together. Alastor always makes sure to greet them every day, they always wished him goodnight-“ she scoffed.
“They do that for everyone hun, and I’m pretty sure that bastard just do it because…well, who knows? He’s weird, who knows what he’s thinking…maybe he’s just trying to- toot his own horns playing nice. He does that a lot.”
When Charlie stays still, Vaggie really thought she could end this tonight, for both your sake and her’s. But then, as if was given water from the spring of life, with her back straight, she sat right up and held firmly onto Vaggie shoulders.
“But he’s trying so hard for them! Don’t you see how he’s spending so much time just hanging around them? Oh, and don’t forget that he asked them, specifically them, what they think of his radio show! He doesn’t do that for anyone else Vaggie! He brings them food when they forgot to eat. They told him about stuff they would’ve ever tell us without prompting! And you have to see the way he looks at them when they’re just, sit together and, and-“
“Woah. Slow down Char. Through your nose.” Even like this, she’s endearing. She held Charlie’s arm and bring her closer.
“You have to see Vaggie, he looks at them like…how you look at me!” Vaggie pauses. Charlie is getting to her, she have to stop her from talking or she’ll give in. She thinks about how miserable you would be sitting through an actual talk about this, it doesn’t help.
“And, you’re one of the most wonderful things that happens to me, Vaggie. I love everyone in the hotel, and I would give my everything for them,” knowing her, she would “but you.” She breathes, and Vaggie feels her breath stuck in her throat. “You are my everything. We’re perfect together. And I really love them, and I just thought…”
Charlie looked at her with such a soft and gentle look, her eyebrows slightly drawn together, lips jutting out just a little bit. “I thought he’s perfect for them, that they’ll be perfect together too. I know he’s not the best person, and you don’t trust him. You don't have to. But I think he’s doing his best for them, and they’re doing so much for him too...” their hands, held tightly together “So please, trust me. I genuinely think this can work out. They deserve to be love like I did too.”
Vaggie tries so hard to held strong, opting to stay silent instead of replying and stoking the growing flame, but Charlie looks at her with her big shiny eyes, and she caved.
“…Alright… I guess he haven’t really…done anything to them yet…” before Charlie could jump up in joy, Vaggie tries to get her focus back “But if he touches a single hair on them- woah!”
Wrapped in her arms, Vaggie barely able to get out the full sentence as Charlie rambles on. “Oooh, thank you thank you thankyouthankyou I knew you’d understand! Oh there is so much I want to do too-“
“Charlie, bit too tight…”
“Oops! Sorry!”
Coming down from her high, she stares into her lover’s eye with the brightest grin possible. It takes everything in Vaggie to think about how disappointed you’ll be, so she closed her eye and takes a breath. “We have to let them sort it out themselves, though. No matchmaker.”
“But-”
“You know how closed off they can be. Give them time Charlie. They can find their own way home.” Like that, Charlie smiles a smile so bright and gentle, reserve only for Vaggie. “Like you and me?”
And all she can think is that this might not be that bad after all.
“Like you and me.”
----
“So...thissss is what the youth are…into?”
“Arguably, it’s somewhat better than what I have as a kid.”
Pentious squinted at the device in his hand, clawed hands carefully swipe through your ‘carefully curated feed’, whatever that means. You sat next to him on your balcony, various knick knacks on the side table he insisted you need, hands considerably less clawed holding a book you’ve never managed to get through past the 10th page, as you only ever try to read it when the moon is blue and you always ended up forgetting the previous pages, something he learned while he was helping with cleanups.
He’s flustered when you laugh at a joke without needing to look at the captions in the video, wanting to pretend he completely understood what just happened. It takes you a bit to calm down and explain to him what was so funny, it only serves to confused him further. You grin and handed your book over to Frank without putting a bookmark in first (who then immediately turns the page and started narrating half-way through to the other eggs), reaching for the phone.
“I’ll put on something a bit easier to get used to, is that ok with you?”
“But, aren’t we learning how to be ‘hip’?” you cackle, he tries not to shrink into himself.
“We can leave that for some other day i think, you don’t need to be hip or anything right now. And besides,” handing him your phone, he minded his claws, “I think you’re cool on your own.” You hum and turn to an open sketchbook on the table, picking up a pencil, you start to sketch one of the egg boiz running about your room.
Pentious nearly burst into tears, he should’ve known his friends (or, you) would’ve never made fun of him. Turning to your device again, his attention is immediately captured by a cat video.
You two stayed like that for what must’ve been an hour or two, occasionally checking up on what the other’s is doing. (he would show you the cutest video, you showed him your barely intelligible sketch. He feels like you’re sketching his nightmare he said, you’re flattered). With almost all of his eggies already tiring themselves out some time ago and gathered around both of your feet (and his tail), bundled up in your duvet and pillows. Except for egg boiz number 3, who’s in his lap as both are captured by a video of a dog getting a haircut (a mini-American shepherd, you chimed in happily that it’s one of your favorite video).
Then, the calm afternoon was broken by a singular knock to your door. You and your still cognizant companion(s) look up from your respective entertainment at hand and stare at each other. You glance over to him, head nodding towards the door, he shrugs, growing restless, you pat his shoulder as you stand up and walk away.
Pentious really did try to turn back and focus on the groomers narrating a particularly endearing moment in the nine minutes long video, but he can’t help but be on edge when a familiar voice sing a greeting too loud for him to ignore, and he realized just who is at the door, your door, his new best friend's door (verdict still out on whether you consider him as one).
Taking a peek, assuring to himself it’s to keep you safe, he locks eyes with red and half of his soul descend into the ring below, the other half turns him right back to your phone when the red starts to raise his eyebrows at him. He can keep you safe from a safe distance surely, but when he tries to hug the egg in his lap to comfort himself and feels nothing, he freezes. Horror-struck, he turns and look at you, specifically your back, the other half of his soul joins the first.
Without him realizing, number 3 already slipped out of his grasp and is now climbing on your shoulder and interjecting your conversation with the gentleman, who is now full-on glaring at him whenever your head slightly turn away. He gulped, but he still put your phone back onto the table and stand up, forget to mind his still sleeping minions at his tail. Thank Lucifer they decided to stay silent for once.
“I was just going to stay in tomorrow too… maybe- oh, Sir Pentious? What’s up?” You stare at him, easy-going as always. Almost like you’re unaware of the way Alastor is smiling at him. Pentious can only thank whoever is in charge of fate for the fact you slotted yourself right between them, and cursed them all the same for the fact you can’t covered up the demon’s face.
Clearing his throat, he tries to steered his nerves and curb his stuttering. “I see that someone have rudely interrupt our study session. May I have your permission to…”
At the sounds of radio static grows, his words in turns wilted as he stares into bright, glowing red and yellow growing in volume. Luckily, you manage to pick this up and covered for him. “Oh no don’t worry, Al was just asking when I’m free to hang out with.” As you turn to that same terrifying shade of red, it immediately transformed into a charming smile.
“Why, hangout is such a casual term dear. I prefer to call it a trip! Much more exciting that way.” With his usual theatrics delivery and a backing of voices coming from the microphone staff he uses to give you a gentle knock on the head, clashing with your much more casual tone brushing him off, Pentious wishes he can see this as endearing.
“Oh you’re trying to goat me into going back there again.” That wasn’t a question on your end. Alastor smiles in amusement, but it strained when number 3 chimes in and tries to asked you where is back there. He’s extremely grateful the demon chooses to ignore it, letting you entertain the egg instead.
“I do not know what you’re referring to at all.” Closing his eyes and leaning a bit to the side, the demon bounces a bit on the tip of his shoes and sings. “Otherwise, it seems my presence is making our welcomed guest uncomfortable.” Pentious tries to stand tall for you and number 3, but Alastor preference for getting up close and personal is mincing his confidence to bits. “I guess I will settle for an extra visit by tonight to talk a bit more about your hectic schedule, if that’s alright with you Ma chère?”
You laugh a bit and agrees with him, saying a quick sorry while he brushed it off with a smile, adjusting his coat’s flawless lapel with one hand, the other reaching for yours. Lifted up to his lips, he planted there a kiss with a look that can passed off as soft. Pentious looks away the moment their eyes lock again, whistling like he hasn’t been blanching at the two of you.
As you turn to close the door, he could’ve sworn red dials were looking at him in the seconds you look back to him, completely in contrast with the life-threatening aura now stand outside the door.
“Haha, sorry about that. I didn’t have time earlier and he was busy, so…” you trailed off, explanation offering him nothing but more questions. “I’ll try to be a bit more mindful about this next time, yeah? Didn’t know he still held something against you.”
You want to keep doing study sessions with him? He perks up a bit at the implication, while choosing to ignore the second part, until his egg started speaking.
“Uh, boss number two, why does Alastor kiss your hand so much?” Number 3 raises his hand, still sitting snugly in your arms. Pentious makes a note to make him sleep on the edge of the bed tonight. It doesn’t help that you’re leading them back to the others, who also started to chime in with their own questions. He can tell this time you’re getting a bit miffed, smiles growing a bit taut and looking off somewhere, unable to let them somehow ruin your goodwill towards him, he cracked. “SILENCE! Cease with your silly questions right now!”
You look at him, and he would’ve shrink into himself if not for how you seem more surprised than angry, as your brows relax and you smile a bit, he let himself breathe. “It’s alright, they’re cute, they can get away with a little questioning I think. And hm…” you bounce on your feet in a slightly familiar manner, he sweats a bit. “-I mean, it’s normal for friends to be close, so I don’t see any problem with it.”
“Oh…friends can kiss each other on the hand?” number 1 jump up. You laugh.
“Of course they can. Alastor loves getting into people’s space too, so I wouldn’t put it past him.”
He would’ve tried to say something and help you out with the questioning, but it hit him that at least in his time, the specific to the gesture was more of a formal greeting. But he takes into account the fact it's Alastor, and how whenever he sees you two together, the Radio demon always seemingly follows after your heels like a shadow tie too tightly, and he shivers. Anxiety fills his heart as he tries to navigate this thought.
“I do have to say, why is it that he tends to get so…closssse…to you?” You visibly stiffen at this, but as he takes your hand in his, trying his best to be tactful, still minding the claws, you stare. “Could it be…he’s trying to threaten you, dear friend?” he tries to recall how you comforts him in time of distress, and did his best to echoes the same sentiment to you.
“Whatever it is, you can share it to me! I will, uh- “
“You’ll duel him, right boss?”
his eggs chimes in where he falters, he follows their lead.
“Duel! Yesss! A duel to the death! That Radio bastard will regrets the day he-“ You squeeze his hand, and he drop his false bravado and let you seated him back on the balcony, letting number 3 dropped from his spot in your arms to the duvet covering the floor.
(with much less grace compared to you, but all the heart. he takes the fact you’re still around that he’s doing great.)
“We don’t need any of that silly. He’s my friend, I think.”
You fall back onto your seat, number 1 climb up to your lap with a question. “You two are friends? Like with boss?” sitting up, you sing an enthusiastic agreement while reaching for your notebook again. Pentious swore the sketch is looking more and more familiar by the line.
“Yeah, like with Sir Pentious! Al’s intimidating but he’s fun to hang around.” Hunching over while minding number 1 watching in your lap, your grin drops to something a bit kinder. He feels like he’s overstepping, despite the fact the room is void of anyone else. “He nice to talk with, I’ve never seen him shutting up on anyone else’s terms. That’s a good thing.” He wanted to say that’s a bit too barebone, even for himself, but then, turning to him with a smirk, you added. “Don’t tell him i said this, but he’s ssssuch a bitch sometimes. It’s fun though.”
Nodding with a much more serious look, Pentious takes your word as a command. “Not a word to my grave!”
“Hehe, that’s why you’re my favorite.”
Refocused on your sketch, you trust Pentious to be able to work your phone a bit better than before. He thinks he would’ve work it better if not for the tears gathering in his eyes, he takes the tissue paper you handed him without looking and wiped it away, only to panic about the long scratch he left on your screen. You laugh and assured him it’s fine, you can change the screen.
(verdict be dammed, you’re HIS best friend.)
(he took a peek at your sketch before you turn the page, and it hit him why it looks so off-putting. Antlers sprouting from two end on a figured too lanky to make out the physique of, but familiar enough all the same. He’d much prefer you go back to sketching his eggies, he said, you happily complied and he leave your room after with 5 torn note full of egg sketches and another schedule study session he pray you'll relay to Mister Alastor.)
---
“There you are darling! I was looking everywhere for you.” Calling out with joy, then stopping to take in the sight. He steadied you with one hand while you stop to catch your breath, nearly doubled into him. “I can see that you’re quite busy, seems like Nifty is giving you quite the run for your money huh!”
“Please…shut up…” you don’t need to look at him to know he’s enjoying this way more than you do, laughing at your utterly exhausted state. “I didn’t know there’s this much bugs in here… How can she even keep tracks of them??”
“Don’t feel too bad now, that one mind and health both are simply wonders to behold! Even I can’t keep up with her at times.” Trying to dust off your shoulders, he looked offended when you just swatted his hands away, waiting for an explanation.
“We’re not done yet, she’s just in the kitchen for a bit.” You pulled out your phone to check the time, Alastor squinting his eyes besides you, leaning over to keep watch and raising an eyebrow at the long scratch on the glass. “One hour before I’m free…”
“Thinking of giving up then~?”
“Yeah.”
Laughing at your tone, he takes your hand and twirl you, but not too much! Just enough daze you a bit. “Well darling, I would love to whisk you off with me for a trip downtown! I’m running low on good meat, and simply can’t afford to stained my coat while the tailor’s out of commission. But knowing you…” he’d look down-right sad if you let him. He can tell you try to keep your expression neutral, but your smile is growing to match his.
“No Al, an hour is-“
“An hour is an hour. Yes I know dear but it’s dreadfully boring without you.” Holding on still, he brings his face close to you, taking delight in the growing red on your face and you acting like nothing is out of the sort.
“You’ll survive Alastor. Nifty however…” As the sound of tiny footstep calling your name quickly approaching, he can’t help but letting a long, drawn-out sigh, backing off from you. A lost for him. You smile.
“Over here Nifty!” calling out to the little woman, you step away from Alastor to meet her half way, her stopping just before she hit your leg.
“You! I’ve been looking for you where have you been! I saw SOOOO many of them but they’re on the ceiling and I can’t reach them at all you've got to come help me – oh hiii Alastor!”
Nifty stops pulling you down the hall again just to give him a violent wave, dancing from one foot to the other and giving him time to catch up to you two, fully aware of your tradition from the moment it first started. Alastor smiles border on self-pleasing, gracious of Nifty’s effort to not drag you away just yet, less so the fact she would stares with such a wide grin. Nevertheless, he takes your hand again and bring it up, speaking all the while.
“Nifty, dearie, won’t you work our dear friend here a little less? I need them to-“ he pauses as you suddenly grip his hand and bring it up to your lips, too quick for him to stop you. And before he knew it, you both disappeared behind the corner yet again. Nifty voices and your cackle echoing down the empty hall way.
When he came back, aware of how the light flickering above his head now finally stabilizing itself, he laughs. Steadying himself, Alastor brushed off his coat and fix his monocle. Humming along with a love song slowly trickling from the microphone while walking the same way you and Nifty ran off to before. He have time to spare while waiting for you.
337 notes · View notes
bonchobrick · 8 months
Text
Duke and Danny bestie fic im co-authoring with some cool people for Patrol Partners! :D
A fic where Duke knows a lot about Gotham’s new problem, ghosts. The Waynes think the worst and assume he’s had some terrible experience with ghosts in the past (in reality is just very happy to talk about his best friends culture and doesnt realize how odd it is that he knows all this stuff)
Or
Duke is pretty much just vibing, the bats are having a meltdown, and Danny is having a blast!
—-
Then Duke pops the question
“So, what are you guys researching?” He asks raising a brow to the papers littered all over the room
Collectively the entire room groans as Duke absentmindedly picks up a paper on the table with the failed, static over-run image.
“We don't know!” Steph bemoans frustrated
Tim starts, “There are new entities–”
“Creatures.” Bruce corrects
Tim casts a piercing glance at his father, “I am pretty sure those are entities. Eye witness reports state that they look fairly human-like–”
Bruce challenges him right back, “Eye witness reports were also very likely to be unfactual, they seemed partially intoxicated. It’s more likely they are some kind of mutated animal.”
His son’s teeth grit, “Even so we still can’t rule out–”
“Oh right, the ghosts are back in town,” Duke's comments, gaze absorbed in the static image
Silence drowns the room as their weary eyes blink at Duke, processing what he had just said.
Then it clicks
“R-repeat that?” Tim stares intensely at Duke
“Um, the ghosts are back? That's what these are.” Duke nervously replies confused, “It’s been a bit since they visited Gotham
Tim opens and closes his mouth, immensely struggling to find any words to say. It seems like the rest of his family is fairing no better, some of them letting out noises of surprise and shock with others trying to hear if they heard that sentence right.
“There used to be ghosts in Gotham?” Bruce says incredulously
“Yeah?” Duke tilts his head, “I mean they don’t like living here with the corrupt ectoplasm but I’m friends with a few ghosts?”
Jason springs on him with wide eyes, “What are ghosts like, personality-wise?”
Duke thinks and responds with the first thought that comes to mind, “Fickle, they can be super friendly or super destructive. They do whatever they’re in the mood to.”
“Are they aggressive?”
“Sure? Sometimes?” Duke blinks at them bewildered before a petty smile crosses his lips, “They can be, hmm, commanding.”
Dicks eyes turn cold and protective, “What–”
“Listen guys,” Duke backs away from the discussion going with his internal task list in mind, “I gotta go wrap up putting together all my documents for my topic on my science fair project so uh, see-ya!”
The second youngest bounces out of the cave and the rest of the family stare dumbstruck at him.
New entities (ghosts?) pop up in Gotham + Duke describes them as fickle and commanding =
Duke is being made to do things for Ghosts who can be kind and cruel which =
= Duke is being bullied by Ghosts?!
Not on their Bat-watch!
Damian is already sharpening his ‘not murder tools’, Tim has sprung into research on the bat computer and the rest of the family have already dipped into Gotham ready to search for these perps!
Paranoid Family #1 will help Duke’s ghost problem starting now!
( pssst heres the fic :)
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kiss-me-cill-me · 3 months
Text
Devour
Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader
Word Count: 5k
Summary: When you accept a ride home from your colleague, Dr. Crane, the last thing you expect is for him to drug you. Crane is surprised as well, however, as his fear toxin has a very... unusual effect on you.
Warnings: NON-CON smut, non-consensual use of fear toxin, sex pollen-esque situations, kidnapping, S&M themes, dacryphilia, fear play, breath play
***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***
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You were having an extremely bad day.
There was really no use mincing words about it. From the moment you’d woken up this morning, it had felt like the universe was conspiring against you. A cold shower, thanks to the hot water breaking yet again; facing what should be a criminal amount of traffic on your commute to work; and overall just a miserable shift full of difficult patients and unfriendly coworkers. It seemed like everyone had woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.
And now, as this long day was finally coming to an end, there was one more problem to face.
“Crap, crap, crap, where did I park?” you muttered.
The parking lot was dark. It was raining - of course it was raining. And the result was that you had been unable to find your car for the last ten minutes, and were now soaked through to the bone.
You raised an arm to shield your eyes from the relentless downpour of water, and scanned over the cars in front of you, again. You could have sworn you’d parked in your usual spot, but you had been in such a rush from being late because of the traffic that you must have carelessly parked somewhere else and forgotten.
Just as you were about to give up and go back inside to call a cab, you spotted the silhouette of a familiar make and model. Well, somewhat familiar - it looked like the car was listing to one side, at an odd angle to the pavement. As you approached, you instantly saw why.
Two of your tires had been slashed. The front and rear left wheels were completely deflated, causing the car to lean down and scrape its metal rims on the asphalt. There was no way you could drive this home.
“You have got to be kidding me!” you yelled, frustration crumbling into the beginnings of a sob.
It had been hard to hold it together at work, but you were always careful to project a certain sense of stability in front of the patients, and you had done so today as well. But now, in the privacy of a parking lot crowded with cars but devoid of people, you allowed your walls to come down and a tear to escape the corner of your eye.
“Everything okay over here?” asked a voice behind you.
You spun around, suddenly self conscious, to find one of your colleagues, Dr. Jonathan Crane, standing a few feet away from you. It was hard to see the expression his eyes might have held, behind the glare of his glasses and the sheeting rain between you - but you imagined it must be pity. You probably looked like a soaked rat, standing here clutching your briefcase, clothes plastered against you from the rain. Meanwhile, Crane was perfectly dry under an umbrella, his suit crisp and well-fitting as usual.
“I… no,” you admitted. “Some asshole slashed my tires.”
Crane had taken a few steps toward you, and now was holding out the umbrella to you. It wouldn't do much good at this point; you were already completely drenched and shivering. But you appreciated the gesture. You took the handle he offered, freezing cold fingers brushing against his for just a moment.
“Let me take a look,” Crane offered.
You wanted to tell him to not bother. That the damage was done, and there was no reason for him to get soaked, too, when at this point all that could remedy the situation was to call a cab. But before you had the chance to say anything, Crane was already stepping out from under the umbrella and leaning down to examine your front tire.
He kicked it with the toe of his fancy leather shoe a few times. Seemed to consider something with his hand to his chin for a moment. And then turned back to you and held his hand out for the umbrella. You gave it to him.
“Doesn't look like you'll be able to patch that up,” he confirmed.
You had already known that, but resisted the urge to tell him so. He was just trying to be helpful; you weren’t going to snap at him.
“Do you have any other way to get home?”
You shook your head.
“The bus line that goes by my apartment has been out of service for weeks. Something about an investigation,” you told him. “They found chemicals or a potential bomb or something. I don't even know. Just my luck, I guess.”
Crane’s voice had a soft lilt of amusement as he responded, or maybe it was just in your imagination.
“Sounds like Gotham for you,” he said.
For the first time, you looked up at his face. Crane wasn't particularly tall, but he had an imposing presence all the same. It was his intelligence - obvious from the moment you stepped in the same room as him - and his eyes - a hollow, piercing blue even behind his glasses - that gave him an air of authority. You were familiar with him as a colleague, but hadn't spent much time actually working with him. He was the Head of Psychiatry at Arkham, and you were one of the general physicians on staff. There wasn't a great amount of overlap in what you did. Crane made policies and studied the patients’ minds. You just tried, desperately at times, to keep them from succumbing to outbreaks of lice and flu.
As he looked back down at you now, you felt oddly comforted by Crane’s presence. He was intimidating, yes, but he also seemed to hold real interest in your predicament. Like he was concerned about what would happen to you, a coworker he barely knew and probably hadn't said more than a dozen words to before this. You recalled something - just an aimless piece of gossip - that you had heard from one of your nurses a few weeks ago.
“Crane is such an unbelievable creep,” she’d said.
He didn't seem creepy to you. A little awkward, maybe, coming to play the white knight and offer his opinions on a car tire that you could clearly tell needed to be replaced. But friendly; kind. It felt like he was your first piece of good luck all day.
“Tell you what,” Crane said, lowering his head to yours just a bit so as to be heard over the rain. “My apartment isn't too far from here. Why don't I drive you there, and you can dry off and change into some clean clothes while I call a tow?”
Gratitude flowed through you. Okay, you decided, he could play the white knight if he wanted to. If pretending that chivalry wasn't dead meant you could get out of this awful rain, you would take it. Still, part of you felt bad for making him go out of his way.
“Are you sure?” you asked. “I wouldn't want to trouble you.”
“It's really no trouble at all,” Crane assured you.
He motioned for you to walk with him, and set off toward a dark corner of the parking lot. You trailed alongside him, eager to stay under the shelter of his umbrella.
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Crane’s apartment felt strangely secluded. It was quiet; with none of the usual bustle of other people coming and going, having arguments over dinner, smoking on the patios. No neighbors, Crane explained to you. He had the fourth floor all to himself, for the time being, due to renovations in the other two apartments. You weren't sure what they could possibly be renovating. The whole apartment building was spotless and modern; expensive-looking in a way that told you Crane had a lot of money. More money than anyone who worked at Arkham Asylum should have, considering the paltry wages they paid. But, you weren't about to judge; maybe he just came from a wealthy family.
“Would you like some tea?” Crane asked, shrugging out of his damp suit jacket and running a hand through his hair.
“Sure. Thank you.”
Crane filled a kettle with water, took two mugs out of a cupboard, and dropped two tea bags into them.
“Hope chamomile is okay,” he said, as he set the kettle to boil. Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “Let me get you some dry clothes. Wait right there.”
And with that, he disappeared into one of the rooms. 
You took a quick survey of the space around you. It was bright in the kitchen, but in a strangely clinical way that reminded you more of an operating room than a place drenched in sunlight. Maybe that's what they were renovating in the other apartments. For all the expensive amenities this place seemed to offer, harsh white fluorescents seemed an odd choice. 
Crane reappeared with a few items in his hands.
“Nothing fancy,” he explained, “but these should fit you. And here’s a towel if you need it.”
He offered what he was holding, and you took it. The logo on the t-shirt was for the Gotham PD. Strange. As far as you knew, Crane wasn’t connected with the police. It seemed a bit odd for him to have this shirt, but you didn’t question it too much. You didn’t really know him well at all, you reminded yourself. Who could say what he got up to in his free time?
“Guest room is down the hall and on the left,” he told you.
You thanked him and shuffled away to get cleaned up. You were dripping onto the linoleum of his kitchen floor, and you felt bad, again, for all the trouble you were causing. Crane surely had his own errands and hobbies to get to after a long day at work, and they almost certainly didn’t include looking after his errant coworkers. You smiled to yourself. Maybe after all this was over, you could do something nice to thank him. 
Crane’s shirt was only a little bit too big on you. He’d given you a pair of lounge pants as well. It was hard to imagine Crane wearing anything like this, even in his free time. He was always so well put-together in his suits and ties. Even though you mostly only passed him in the hallways, it was hard not to notice someone who so clearly took pride in appearances.
As you reentered the kitchen, Crane snapped his phone shut. He looked up from where he was sitting at the table, one mug of steaming tea in front of him and the other at the chair perpendicular to his. He smiled, and you took your seat.
“Tow truck is on its way,” Crane told you. “It’s all taken care of. Drink your tea and then I can drive you home.”
“Thank you… again,” you said. “I really feel bad that you’re doing all this. What do I owe you for the tow?”
“Don’t worry about it. Nothing.” 
Crane waved a hand. He was still in his dress shirt, but had rolled up the sleeves. You noticed for the first time how muscular his arms were. Not absurdly so, but more like the tense, lean muscle of a jungle cat. He still wore his tie, but reached up to loosen it a bit. 
“Drink up,” Crane continued. “It was cold out there. You’re shaking like a leaf.”
You raised the mug to your lips. Crane watched you, maybe just a little too intently, and you suddenly understood the nurse’s comment about him. He did have a disconcerting quality, just below his carefully curated surface. But still, he had been nothing but nice, and so what if he was a little socially awkward? The tea passed smoothly over your lips; the perfect temperature, but still hot enough to warm your throat.
“Delicious,” you commented. It felt like the warm tea was snaking its way through your body, mending aching joints that you hadn’t even realized were tense until now. “What did you put in this?”
Crane’s expression didn’t waver as he answered you. 
“Just tea… some sugar…”
It almost seemed like he was about to say more, but didn’t.
“Just sugar?” you asked.
You took another sip. The flavor was unlike any tea you’d had before; there was a complexity to it that you couldn’t put your finger on. A sweetness that somehow tasted different than usual.
Crane smiled, and said nothing. He took a sip of his own tea, carefully replacing the mug when he was finished.
A rumble of thunder shook through the apartment, and you jumped in your seat.
“Afraid of storms?” Crane asked. Casually, but with a glimmer of interest.
“Not really,” you replied, embarrassed. “Just a little jumpy, I guess.”
You took another long gulp of your tea. The mug was already half empty, and you could still feel the warm liquid soothing you. You were getting more relaxed by the minute. Strangely so. And something else was happening, too. A flutter in the very bottom of your stomach; like you were back in middle school at your first co-ed dance, building up the trembling courage to talk to a boy you liked. You looked up from your mug at Crane, to see that he was staring intensely at you.
“Um, I’m sorry,” you began, not quite sure where you were going with the sentence. “I’m just…” “Feeling okay?” Crane asked. 
There was concern in his voice, but his tone didn’t match the expression on his face. He was rapt; observing you like a rat in a maze. Like he was trying to read what was going on behind your eyes, which now felt like they were bugging out of your head.
“I…”
A new sensation rippled through your body, ending in a sharp pang right between your legs. You gasped, and your eyes went even wider. With shaking fingers, you reached out toward the mug in front of you.
“What the hell did you put in this?” you whispered.
Crane ignored your question. Your heart was pounding as he dragged his chair closer to you, leaning in so that his blue eyes were level with yours.
“What are you seeing?” Crane asked. “Rats, spiders? Does the room look normal to you?”
“What??”
He wasn’t making sense. You didn’t understand his words - and yet, you did, because as you looked around the room, it did seem to swirl in front of you. The bright fluorescent lighting took on an impossibly harsh tone, making shadows appear in all of the far-off corners. They started creeping closer to you, darkening the sides of your vision.
“Snakes are a pretty popular one,” Crane continued, his voice now clinical. “Do you see snakes?”
What was he talking about? Rats, spiders, snakes? Either this apartment needed way more renovations than you’d thought, or Crane had lost his mind. 
“I don’t know what you’re- ah!”
You were cut off mid sentence as another wave of something moved through you. Horrified, you finally recognized what it was. Desire.
Crane seemed to realize it at the same moment, watching you miserably cross and squeeze your legs. 
“Fascinating…”
His eyes trailed over you almost lazily as he took in your whole, writhing body. You weren’t sure how you had managed to stay in your chair this long. As whatever had been in the tea took hold of you, your heart raced faster and faster, and you felt an ever-building need to be touched. By yourself, by anyone. Even… The idea of it repulsed you, but that didn’t stop the want.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Crane observed. “Tell me: do you have a fear of intimacy, or does being afraid just turn you on?”
You wanted to spit insults at him and tell him to fuck off. But you were immobilized by a pressure that seemed to squeeze all the air out of your lungs. You had never felt such pure terror before. Your body was too hot; a weightless, flaming heat pulsed through your every limb. And woven through all of it was that gnawing, primal hunger that started deep inside of you and seemed to try and claw its way out. 
Crane sat calmly across from you. He took off his glasses and folded them neatly in front of him on the table. His eyes shined with something that looked like lunacy; ten times brighter now, without the thin pane of glass obscuring them.
“Based on the way that you don’t seem to be bothered by anything else… I’m going to assume it’s the first one,” he said.
It infuriated you that he was right. You’d had bad experiences with intimacy, and they had shaped you into a woman who was fearful of her own sexuality. You had no idea what Crane had spiked your drink with. But whatever it was, it was bringing those fears to the forefront of your mind; forcing you to face them instead of pushing them down deep - where they belonged, you thought bitterly. You couldn't ignore the arousal that creeped through you, clouding your mind even as it terrified you. And the worst part of all of this was that Crane was here to watch. There was, ironically, no greater intimacy than fear. Your fear was the most personal, private part of you.
You took a deep breath, and pushed up from your chair, hands still shaking as you braced them against the table. You were going to get out of here, you promised, even if you had to do it through clenched teeth.
“Impressive,” Crane remarked. “You’re actually trying to fight through it.”
He stood up, easily, and hovered next to your hunched form. You looked up at him, trying to force as much hatred into your eyes as you could, despite the intense pain and arousal that wracked your body. With great difficulty, you stood up straight to face him. It felt like you were about to pass out, but you stood your ground.
“I really don’t know where you think you’re going, though,” Crane said calmly. “I’m not even close to being done with you yet.”
Just as you were wondering what he could possibly mean by that, Crane's lips came crashing into yours. You let out a muffled cry - half of shock, but half, to your ever-growing horror, of need. You mewled against his mouth, disgusted with yourself, but unable to stop. Your eyes were blown wide. Crane’s were closed, his brows furrowed almost in concentration, as he wrapped his arms around you.
When Crane finally broke the kiss, you could feel your lips starting to bruise. He smiled wickedly down at you.
“I’m going to have a lot of fun with you,” he growled. “Does that bother you?” The drug - whatever it was - still had a powerful hold on you. But you could feel yourself slowly regaining control of some of your faculties. Probably, you could have answered him. Still, you refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that, yes , what he'd said had terrified you.
“Well, it should,” Crane replied to your silence. His tone was still clinical, almost detached, as he continued. “You’re going to do whatever I want you to, or else this is going to get a lot worse for you. Do you understand?”
You didn’t want to answer him, but something within you was starting to slip. You were losing the fight to stave off your own submission. You nodded.
“Good.” Crane kept smiling at you, his eyes now blazing. “You know, I think you like it when I’m mean to you.”
You hated the way that your thighs clenched around his words. The way you could feel the blood rush to your clit. You were practically throbbing. 
“That’s good for me to know,” Crane continued. “But maybe not so good for you.”
You yelped as he lifted you up, forcing you to straddle his waist. Crane was a lot stronger than he looked. Outside, the storm continued to rage; you could hear the rain roaring against the windows.
“I have to say, I really didn’t expect things to go like this,” Crane said as he carried you through the apartment. You were heading down the hallway, but not into the guest room you had been in earlier. “I’m usually not the type to put out on a first date,” he joked. Suddenly, you were thrown down, landing roughly on what felt like a bed. “And I doubt you are either. You know… considering…”
As you lay on the bed looking up at him, Crane pulled at his tie and took it off, throwing it down next to you. Next came his belt. He untucked his shirt and started to work on the buttons, his hands moving nimbly down the front of his body. He wore no undershirt, and you hated yourself for staring at the way his bare chest peeked out from behind the fabric. Leaving his white shirt on but unbuttoned, he climbed onto the bed to hover over you.
“But I think we can make an exception just this once - don’t you?” His lips hovered inches away from your ear, and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice.
The rage that you felt momentarily pushed aside the fear that was still swirling inside of you. Scrambling to grab at the moment, you pushed his body with all of your might, trying to throw him off you.
You might as well have been pushing against a brick wall. Crane stayed exactly where he was, chuckling as he shrugged your hand off.
“Oh, honey,” he said, his voice full of pity. “I like it when you fight.”
He kissed you again, even more roughly than before. His teeth scraped against your bottom lip, and you swore you could taste blood. You thrashed below him, trying to kick out but unable to because of how tightly his body was pressed to yours. You scratched at his back, but that only made him moan greedily. Out of other options, you tried to bring your hands to his throat.
“Oh.” Crane broke away from you, just slightly, enough to snatch your hands away and slam them against the bed. “So that’s what you’re into. You can just use your words, you know; I want this to be good for you, too.”
With one hand keeping both of yours pinned, Crane brought his other hand down to your neck. Your eyes widened with fear, and he seemed to drink in your desperation. Frozen, you willed yourself to fight back, but couldn’t. Crane’s fingers ghosted over the soft skin of your neck for a moment as he looked at you.
With a wicked smile, his hand clamped down on your throat. Your vision was already clouded from whatever drug he had slipped to you, and now the sides of it seemed to close in, trapping you in your own body as his hand tightened. It wasn’t enough to actually hurt you, but the panic it caused made your heart rate spike more than you would have thought possible. You felt your pulse thump against his fingers. You squeezed your eyes shut and started to breathe quickly, in short, desperate gasps. Crane’s hand that was holding your wrists in place came down to tug at the hem of your pants.
“Shhh,” he soothed. “Breathe through it and focus on me.” His voice, gentle but commanding, was in stark contrast to the way his hands hungrily moved over you. You opened your eyes to see his cool blue ones staring back at you. He had somehow wrestled you out of your pants - the ones he had given you less than twenty minutes ago - dragging your underwear down along with them, and you lay beneath him in nothing but your borrowed shirt, tears streaming down the sides of your face.
“You’re so pretty like this,” Crane said, one hand still on your neck. The fingers of his other hand started to trace small patterns on your hip. “Scared, such a mess, crying for me. Sorry if I cum too quick; it’s just hard not to get riled up when you’re like this.”
Crane unzipped his pants and pushed them down to his thighs. You didn’t want to look at him, but you could feel him pressing against the inside of your leg. He was clearly enjoying this.
You let out a choked sob, and Crane’s smile grew. He was pressing against your entrance, threatening to take you at any moment he wanted.
“You’re wet,” he commented. “You’re actually turned on by this.”
No, you told yourself. No, you weren’t; it was just the drug he had given you. Some kind of fucked up aphrodisiac that was making your body function independently from your mind. You didn’t want this. But then, why did you feel such a rush every time his hands brushed against you?
“Fear is exhilarating, isn’t it?” Crane said quietly, still hovering just on the edge of penetrating you. “Some people find it addictive. Seems like you might be one of them.” He let out a short laugh as he pressed just a bit more into you, inch by devastating inch. “It makes the mind so malleable,” he continued. “Just think: less than an hour ago, you were so afraid and alone that you agreed to come with me - a man you barely know - back to my apartment, alone. That was a bad choice. I’m sure you realize that now. But in that moment, you were so pathetic and vulnerable, I think I probably could have gotten you to do anything.”
You tried not to listen to him; to block his words out. This wasn’t your fault. He was your coworker - a senior member of the staff, for fuck’s sake. You should have been able to trust him. But you had, and look where it had gotten you.
“Now here you are,” Crane continued. You realized with a gasp that he was fully inside of you. “Still just a scared little girl, shaking in my bed. Crying her eyes out.”
“No,” you said weakly, tears still streaming down your face. “No, no, no…”
Crane removed his hand from your neck, and placed his elbows on either side of you, caging you within his arms.
“Don’t pretend you don’t like this,” he spat. “I feel you clenching around me. Maybe I was wrong; maybe it is just being scared that gets you off.”
Now that your hands were free, you brought them to grip at his shirt collar, trying again desperately to push him off. You tried to wriggle away from him, but all that did was make Crane moan at the friction and laugh at your struggling. 
“Slow down, honey,” he warned you, his voice thick with sex. “I already warned you how fast you’re gonna make me cum.”
One of his hands found your hip, stopping you and holding you in place. Once he had you submissive again, Crane started to move his hips in slow circles, relishing the feel of you. Despite yourself, you arched your back and grabbed at the sheets with your fingers. He felt good. A fresh round of tears sprang to your eyes as you moaned loudly.
“That’s it,” Crane praised. “Cry for me. Beg me to stop, hit me, scratch me - it doesn’t matter. None of it changes the fact that you’re enjoying this.”
Again, you hated him for being right. Even through the fear - even knowing how horrible what he was doing to you was - somehow, you only wanted more. The room swirled around you, shadows creeping in on your vision again. 
You gasped as Crane’s thumb found your clit. You had been on the edge of an orgasm practically since Crane’s drug had entered your system, and it took everything in you to fight the feeling that was building as he pressed on your most sensitive spot. 
“Don’t be shy,” Crane pushed. “You can rub yourself against me; pull my hair if you want. Whatever you need to get off. I want to feel you cum on my cock.”
You hated Crane. You hated him so much - for what he was doing to you, for how he was enjoying it, and most of all for how he was making you powerless to fight against the pleasure. Making your own body a traitor against you. It was obscene and embarrassing and terrifying. With a flash of passion, you reached up and slapped him across the face.
“Ohhhhh, fuck,” he growled.
It was the first time you’d heard him swear, and the realization sent a new heat pooling between your legs. Crane, usually so organized and meticulous, was starting to come apart.
“You have no idea how good you’re making this for me,” Crane teased. A few strands of hair, slick with sweat, were sticking against his forehead. “You’d better be careful, or I’m not gonna be able to pull out of you in time.”
You cried out, half in frustration and half because of the way his thumb was still brushing against you with every shallow thrust of his hips. Everything you tried to do to him only spurred him on more. Your face contorted in anguish, eyes staring up at the ceiling as an orgasm finally ripped through you.
Crane was babbling in your ear - god, he never shut up. You weren’t even paying attention; too focused on your own private nightmare that was unfolding but never seeming to end. You bucked against his hand, involuntarily pushing his cock deeper, and heard him utter a breathless curse.
“Shit.”
When you were conscious of your body again, the first thing you noticed were the wet ropes of cum squirting across your breasts. You still wore Crane’s t-shirt, and the damp fabric pressed against your skin as Crane rutted into his hand above you. Disgusting. He was so depraved. So unbelievably fucking creepy. So hot.
You shook your head. That was just the drug talking. Crane flopped down on the bed next to you, smiling. Pleased with himself. It made you shudder. He let out a satisfied breath.
“Well, again, not what I was expecting,” Crane grunted, sitting up to balance on one elbow as he looked at you. “But I’m certainly not complaining.”
His blue eyes looked at you, making you squirm under the intensity. Without warning, he pinched your chin between his fingers and held you in place for a long, horrifically sensuous kiss.
“I think you and I are going to have a lot of fun together.”
Outside, thunder crashed again, and you jumped.
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cillianmesoftlyyy · 4 months
Text
Like A Good Neighbor... | Cillian Murphy x fem!Reader
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Summary| She grew up next-door to Cillian Murphy and he was her first sexual awakening. When her dad hosts a promiscuous book club meeting, she decides she's waited long enough.
Warnings| Mentions of Lolita and plays heavily on Lolita-core and daddy-kinks. Large age-gap, dubious consent, p in v sex, stalking, smut. Please read with caution!
It Probably Matters- Interpol 🎶
Born Too Late- The Poni-Tails 🎵
The Perfect Girl- Mareux 🎶
word count: 3082k
Minors do not interact! Does not reflect Cillian Murphy as an actual person- this is pure imagination and projection. Don’t interact if you find mentions of “Lolita” upsetting.
She could see through the parted curtains in his kitchen window that he was home. He was at the sink washing dishes with a towel thrown over one shoulder. His tight black shirt showed the curve of muscles in his upper arms as he scrubbed the pan. She was the girl-next-door type, helplessly petite and needy. She was nineteen and finally getting the stereotypical sex-drive that teenagers were criticized for. She was always horny now, and it felt like an unwavering flaw or weakness that placed her at odds wherever she went. 
Her daddy issues obviously didn’t help the matter… or maybe it was because she was a scorpio.  
She lived alone with her delusional father, who was an Irish author and playwright. He taught literature at the local university and loved expensive liquor. She was going to university for free because her father worked there, but she also stayed at home, trapped in her sexually repressed childhood bedroom. She stayed out of her father’s way when he was home but whenever he hosted “book-club” at their house, she found herself sneaking down the stairs to chat (flirt) with her father’s friends. The “book-club” was for the men in the neighborhood, to give them a social circle of their own, keep them from joining scary alt-right reddit pages by establishing connections with the men around them, something like that she imagined. 
Cillian Murphy was part of this “book-club” that met once a month in her father’s house. He was a middle-aged actor with an A-list repertoire, and yet, he still socialized with the regular neighborhood men, as if he wasn’t acting out some of the books they read each month. 
He was also a bachelor and hideously attractive. She met him when she was much younger, still in highschool and convinced that she would be an actress but discovered quickly that she was more of an artist. He’d given her short acting lessons, reading recommendations, and advice whenever she asked. He was like a second father, a better father than her actual father ever could be. He was the first person she masturbated about. She learned at an early age that she could spy on him from her bedroom window. She watched him read at night on his sofa, she watched him take home other women and fuck them on the couch when he was too horny to take them to bed, and she’d watched him masturbate to porn he projected on his small flatscreen tv. His taste in porn was pretty vanilla and it bored her, but she liked watching him touch himself, indulge himself. It was a serious turn-on. 
And the cherry on top was the book they’d read for that month: Lo-fucking-lita. 
She imagined that he got off to reading about a girl and an older man, that he fisted himself after he read at night, and that he thought of her when he did it. She was his Lo-fucking-lita. She had purposefully avoided the meeting that night, staying upstairs in her bedroom while the men discussed “literature” (Lolita). She wanted them to worry that she would come downstairs any minute while they were discussing such a nasty, disturbing topic. She wanted them to speak haltingly and glance up at her bedroom, she wanted Cillian to think about her and how dirty it was that they had read such a book, all the while she was upstairs. She took a long shower and washed her hair with fragrant shampoo. She moisturized her legs and dabbed her neck with perfume. She changed into her pajamas (underwear, a big t-shirt she’d swiped from Cillian’s house during a neighborhood get-together and she’d ruined her dress with salsa). She let her hair air-dry and rolled on her socks. She heard the men begin to leave, somewhat intoxicated, and watched as Cillian cleaned up his dishes left in his sink. 
When he went back into his bedroom, she flew into action. She put on her slippers and sneaked down the staircase to the first floor. Her father was in the recliner, asleep, so she crept past and closed the side door behind her as she left. She walked the few feet separating the two houses and knocked lightly on Cillian’s door. She knocked again. And eventually, Cillian emerged from his bedroom in boxers and the same tight black shirt. He raised his eyebrow as he opened the door and let her in. 
“What’s wrong?” He asked, worried. He glanced over at her house. 
“Nothing, I just need some advice and my dad’s asleep.” She rolled her eyes and he nodded. 
“Yeah, yeah. Come in.” He waved her inside and locked the door behind them. She dragged a finger along the fabric of the couch, searching its surface for evidence of what she’d seen from her bedroom window. 
“This place has changed so much since I was a kid.” She observed (lying of course). 
“Yeh, I’ve tried to update everything, some remodeling.” He nodded. “So, what kind of advice do you need?” He sighed and leaned against the kitchen counter beside her. 
“Mmhm. Fatherly advice.” She shrugged. 
“Oh, so is this about a boy then?” He laughed and rubbed his eyes. 
“I don’t know how much help I can be. Boy’s your age are so much different than how I was.” He shook his head and rested it against his palm. 
“I know, that’s the problem.”
“Mhm?” 
“I don’t know. It’s embarrassing.” She laughed and crossed her arms across her breasts. He looked down at her shirt and pointed. 
“Hey, isn’t that my shirt?” 
“Mmhm no, it's mine.” She lied and pulled down the front hem to inspect the words “Yoko Ono” on the front. 
“I swear I have one just like that.” He walked off to his bedroom and she followed, a skip in her step. He opened his dresser and rummaged through the stack of neatly folded shirts. His clothes smelled like fabric softener and men’s deodorant. He didn’t find it and she gasped. 
“Oh my god, you’re right. I just remembered that you lent this to me when I was here years ago and spilled salsa or something on my dress!” She slapped a hand across her forehead and he nodded slowly. 
“Wow, that was so long ago. I’d completely forgotten.” 
“Here, you can have it back.” She said slowly and watched his eyes widen as she slipped it over her head and handed it to him. Her bare breasts shook from the movement and she smiled. ���What?” She asked innocently. He looked away but it was too late, he’d already taken her in, his eyes lingering on her full breasts, waist, and wide hips. 
“What are you doing?” He hissed as if someone could hear and turned away from her. 
“Returning your shirt.” She answered nonchalantly and fixed her wedgie, letting the material snap back against her butt. 
“You can’t do that, Y/N. It isn’t appropriate.” His face reddened as he clutched the shirt in his fist. 
“You don’t like this?” She pouted. 
“Of course not. You’re young enough to be my daughter, I-” He spoke quickly. 
“I think you like it, Cillian.” She interrupted him and trailed a finger down his clothed back. 
“Why?” He sputtered innocently. 
“Because… you’re still holding my shirt.” She pointed to the shirt still in his hands. 
“Christ!” He covered his eyes and tossed the shirt onto the bed. She crawled onto the duvet, her knees sinking into the plush material. 
“If I put on the shirt, will you still give me the advice I needed?” She sat down on her knees and licked her lips. He sighed and nodded into his hands. 
“Yeh, yeh I guess so. Just put the shirt on.” 
When she had the shirt back on, she leaned up against the headboard. “Ok, you’re good.” 
He opened his eyes and exhaled loudly. “Alright, what is it?” His eyes were wildly dark and hungry but he used his acting talent to hide it. She saw right through his performance, namely because his erection grew inside his boxers. 
“It's more of a question than advice, really,” she started. 
“Ok.” He nodded, exhaling again. 
“What did you think of Lolita?” She shifted back into a sitting pose in front of him. “I wasn’t able to stop by during the meeting, so, I want to know.” 
“Fuck, Y/N. Why do I have the feeling that this isn’t what you’re really asking me?” He shook his head. 
“No, you’re right. What I really want to know, I guess, is did you masturbate while you read it? Did it turn you on when you thought about her? Did you touch yourself and think of fucking a younger girl like her,.... Or like me?” She rose onto her knees and breathed against his wide lips. “Would you be Humbert Humbert mhm?” She reached down and played gently with his erection. He withheld his moan, closing his eyes to show how they rolled to the back of his head. 
“Y/N, you can’t ask me things like that.” He protested, but didn’t push her away. 
“I’m sorry. Let me rephrase: Have you ever thought about fucking me?” She traced her tongue around his lips, her hands prodding his erection. 
“No.” He whispered unconfidently and she smiled.
“What’s this then?” She reached down into his boxers and took out his penis, running her hands along the length. He said nothing, fighting his internal desire to stay and come as she stroked him. 
“We-we can’t.” He opened his eyes abruptly and stepped away, still very much hard. 
“Yes, we can.” She reached for him and he reluctantly stepped forward again. “I’ve been thinking about you. I can’t stop thinking about you, Cillian. I get so wet when I think of you and my pussy throbs, I have to touch myself.” She whined softly.
He looked down at her lips and breathed shakily.  
“I think that you think about me too, don’t you?” She rose slowly on her knees and kissed him softly, her lips barely resting on his. She reached down to the hem of his shirt and pulled it up and over his head. 
“Touch me, please.” She whimpered and he looked down at her shirt, his hands shaking as they snaked up her chest. 
“If your father found out…” 
“I’m 19. I can make my own decisions.” She kissed him and sucked on his top lip. He moaned against her. 
“Fuck…” He grunted and gave in, abandoning his pitiful battle to deny her. He tugged off her shirt and pushed her back on the bed. 
“Do you want me to say that I’m a virgin? Does it turn you on to think that I’m a virgin?” She smiled and licked her lips seductively. 
“No, don’t say that, Y/N.” He pushed her farther onto the bed and climbed on top of her. 
“Well what do you want me to say, old man?” She laughed and wiggled beneath his weight. 
“Tell me that you want me.” His voice came out as a growl, as he held her down on the bed, his hands stretched out against her’s over her head. 
“Ooooo,” she purred against his lips, “I want you sooo bad, Cillian! Is that what you want?” She licked his lips childishly and rubbed the inside of her thigh up his leg. 
“Fuck, don’t do this, love. I don’t like it when you tease me.” He exhaled against her cheek, his nose running over her soft, plump cheekbones. His erection pressed against the seam of his boxers and he rubbed his crotch against her panties. He could feel how wet she was through the two layers of fabric. 
“I’m sorry, Cilian.” She pouted, her breasts bounced briefly against her open ribcage and he lowered his mouth to swirl his tongue around her nipple. She hummed in pleasure, squeezing her thighs around Cillian to keep him between her. He chuckled. 
“See, I don’t need you to tell me that you want me, I can already tell, but what I want is for you to beg me, practically fuck me by yourself because you so desperately need to feel me inside you.” He kneeled above her and placed his hand on her navel, his thumb teasing the fabric of her waistband. She blushed and wiggled again, her clit throbbing. His thigh was positioned right up against her sex, he looked down and chuckled. 
“I can feel your heartbeat through your cunt, darling.” His hand slid further down into her panties, brushing against the hair at her entrance. “It’s beating so fast, darling. Are you scared?” He pouted and cupped her cunt in his hand, gently. “Are you scared of me fucking you?” He rubbed her clit in small circles, his erection grew harder and she bit her lip. 
“No, I want you to make me feel good.” She raised her chin defiantly and he smiled. 
“Good girl.” He leaned over her and whispered in her ear, “call me daddy.” 
“Mhmm, please daddy.” She started to shake with need as he rubbed her clit. She sat up and forced him down on the bed, straddling him on her knees. He ran his hands up her warm thighs as she moved her hips back and forth against his erection. 
“Have you thought about me as much as I’ve thought about you?” She asked him between kisses.
“God, yes.” He groaned back and moved his hands up to the soft flesh of her stomach beneath her ribcage. 
“I’ve been so fucking horny, daddy.” She moaned dramatically and smiled when he closed his eyes and groaned, thrusting up into her underwear. “I see you when you fuck those women on your couch. I know they aren’t pleasing you like I could, daddy. I touch myself when you fuck them, it gets me so wet thinking of you inside me. I want to make you cum, daddy.” She slithered down his chest and licked the outside of his boxer shorts. He watched her, his pupils shot. 
“You have, eh?” He asked with a raised eyebrow. 
“Uh huh.” She mewed and pulled down the waistband of his underwear, exposing his large dick. She spat on it, a long string of drool dripping from her mouth. “I think you’re gonna be too big for me, daddy.” She licked the tip of his cock and he threw his head back, his mouth agape.
“Fucking hell. Look at what you’re doing to me and I haven’t even felt your fucking pussy yet.” He groaned and grabbed a fistfull of her hair, twirling it around his knuckles. She smiled and took him in her mouth, swirling her tongue around his shaft before pushing him down her throat. He moaned breathlessly and panted. She cupped his balls and hummed against his cock, drooling all over him. He pulled on her hair and his panting got quicker as he closed his eyes.
“Fuck, baby. Fuck… ah FUCK!” He cried as she went faster and squeezed at the base of his cock. “You’re such a good fucking girl. Come here.” He ordered and opened his arms to take her. She released him from her mouth and sat on his lap, facing him. 
“Sit on it.” He whispered and twirled a strand of her hair between his fingers. She gasped quietly as his other hand pulled her underwear to the side and directed her to sit on his erect cock. She raised herself up slightly before going back down on him. He slid roughly into her, his girth a little too large. 
“Fuck, daddy!” She cried and her hands steadied herself on his navel. 
“I know, I know, baby. You’re just so tight, yeh?” He pouted and moaned as she wiggled on him. “Take you time, darling. I love being inside you.” He whispered and kissed her roughly, surrounding her in his arms. He pulled her closer to his chest and pushed himself up further inside her and she squealed. She cried out as he started to move in and out of her. 
“Ahh yeah! Oh, please fuck me!” She moaned against his shoulder. 
“Fuck, I love it when you plead me like that. You’re so fucking desperate.” He groaned and sped up, hitting the base of her uterus each time. Her walls swallowed him and squeezed him. It felt so good she couldn’t speak, she could only cry out with each hard thrust. He held her on his lap and he flipped them over and hovered above her. He pulled out and pulled down her panties impatiently and tossed them to the foot of his bed. He took one of her legs and put it over his freckled shoulder. 
“You’re going to take me like a good girl, understand?” He stayed inside her but didn’t move as he looked down at her red face. She nodded eagerly. 
“Yes, daddy.”
“Good girl.” He smiled and started thrusting deeply and quickly but with experienced skill. He looked up as he chased his orgasm, his brows furrowed as he moaned. She gripped his throat gently, encouraging him to fuck her faster. 
“Are you going to come, daddy?” She cried and he nodded. 
“Yeah, fuck yeah. I’m gonna fill you up. You and your little pussy.” He panted and looked down as his cock went in and out harshly against her cunt. He removed the leg from his shoulder and took a pillow from the bed. 
“Lift up your ass.” He ordered and she did as he asked, moaning against the pressure of his stiff cock. He put the pillow under her ass and pulled her hips right against his. He barely pulled out as he fucked her fast and hard. His balls slapped her loudly and she covered her mouth to keep from screaming. 
“That’s it, that’s it. Fuck yes!” He yelled as his movements spasmed. She felt him cum inside her, his hot cum spilling between his cock and her walls. She cried out as she organsmed and shook with each wave of lingering pleasure. Cillian slowly took out his cock and looked down at the cum spilling out of her. 
“That was so good, daddy.” She smiled breathlessly and he chucked. 
“You were so good, love. You were such a good girl for me. So grown up.” He teased her and kissed her, his hands finding the handles of her hips. “You’re such a fucking pillow princess.” He laughed and went back to kissing her. 
808 notes · View notes
chanandlersstuff · 11 months
Text
Little Miss Director and Starboy.
Pairing: Hayden Christensen x Reader.
Summary: The timeline of how Hayden gradually fell in love with her until he was madly in love, to the point of no returning.
Word count: 8.457
Warnings: Not much actually, age-gap and a slow burn.
Author’s note: It’s the first time I write something about Hayden so I hope you like it. I have nothing against his private life nor his love ones, this is just for fun. With that been said, I had this idea in my head for a long time and it will have two more parts.
gif credits @haydenchristensengifs
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May 2019, first meetings.
When he was offered the role of Anakin again for Obi-Wan’s series, he jumped in without thinking twice and that’s how he met her. He saw her face for the first time on a tiny screen on his phone. The first few things he noticed about her were that she used glasses, her voice was sweet, that she smiled pretty much all the time and that she was young, several years younger than him.
She was very polite and enthusiastic, telling him all about the ideas for the series and explaining everything about the project. Maybe revealing a few things she shouldn’t but he didn’t care. She kept it professional but light, which he thanked because acting formally in the comfort of his house while wearing joggers and slippers was a no can do.
A few weeks after that he hopped in a plane and flew all the way to the studios, where she worked, to meet with her and talk about the project. He was directed to her office, where she was supposed to be expecting him but she wasn’t. “I’m sorry Mr. Christensen, but she will arrive in a few minutes.” The boy behind the desk said with a polite smile. “Please follow me.” He got up and walked towards an office at the end of the hallway. “You can wait for her in her office.” He opened the door. “Feel free to get comfortable.” The boy smiled. “Would you like something to drink?”
Hayden looked around the room, it was big; but not too big, painted white with big windows that let all the light enter and a little sofa with a desk in the middle. “No, thank you.” But the main thing he noticed was the lack of personal things in it. No photos on the desk, instead, little drawings stuck to the computer and an old video camera from the ‘90s in one of the shelfs, which he found odd. 
He stood watching the window and how the sun illuminated everything around. A couple of minutes passed by when he heard voices outside the office. “Hi, Charlie, how are you?” The same sweet voice reached his ears. Some muffled words and the sound of boots against the floor. "What? He's in there?” She whispered-shouted. “He's early!” It was true, Hayden was early. A trait he picked up from his father. "I know!" The boy at the reception whispered-shouted too. "He’s cute.” Hayden smiled a little at the words. “Charlie! Unprofessional.” It wasn’t as if he was eavesdropping, they just happened to be speaking not so quiet. “I’m not ready.”  He heard her say. “Yes, you are.” The boy encouraged her. More muffled sound reached his ear. “Fake it, till you make it.” He smiled at the phrase and moments later the door was opened.
He turned around and she was there with a nervous smile on her lips, not like the ones he saw in the facetime. “Hi.” She said, blushing a little.
The brunette walked closer to greet her properly. “Hello.”
“Wow, you are tall.” She said rapidly under her breath, but he heard it, making him laugh.
“I got that a lot.” He extended his hand and she shook it. To the list of things he noticed about her, he added that her hands were cold, despite warm weather outside, and full of small classy silver rings. She apologised about it but he was focused on looking at her. She was small, a little smaller than average, barely reaching his chin. Dressed in black doc martens, light colour jeans, a fitted black t-shirt and a red leather coat. Long straight hair and no glasses on. 
She hung her bag and coat and smiled at him, a more natural one. “Can I offer you something? Tea? Coffee? Orange Juice?”
“A tea would be nice, thank you.” She nodded and ordered Charlie, the boy behind the desk at the front, a tea and a coffee.
“Shall we?” She gestured to the sofa for them to sit down.
He tilted his head to the side. “By all means, it’s your office.” He let her walk in front of him, as the gentleman he was tough to be.
She looked around with a tiny smile on her lips. “Yeah, I still don’t believe it.” 
“You have a beautiful view.” He added.
“Yeah, doesn't it?” She asked happily and looked around. “First of all," he was object of her gaze again. "thank you for coming all the way here just to chat about this.” 
“Not at all, it’s a pleasure. And far easier than talking on the phone.” He sat more comfortably.
She laughed and nodded. “I like this kind of human contact, I feel like there’s nothing left to guess, or misunderstood, and I also believe it is more personal.” He agreed, noticing she moved her leg nervously. Another thing to add to his list about her. “I will try to not occupy much of your time and don’t bore you.” She joked.
But he shook his head “No, nothing of that.” trying to reassure her. 
A knock on the door interrupted him. “Sorry.” She got up and opened the door. Charlie entered with the two cups and left them on the desk. “Thank you very much Charlie.” The boy smiled and walked away. “Sugar? Sweetener?” She offered him.
“Sugar, it's fine.” She passed him the little packets while she poured a little one of sweetener on her cup. The pleased smile on her lips when she took the first sip would always be tattooed on his mind.
Hayden asked the normal things about the project and she told him everything she could about it. Slowly, bit by bit, he saw how she was more nervous-free and how excited she was for all the things she was telling him about. “But it’s still in diapers, we are still figuring things out. I’m still figuring things out.” She played with her hands. “The writers started putting everything on paper and I’m working with the executive producers about the cast.” She ended with a smile.
“It’s your first big project?” He asked, taking a sip of his tea. She laughed a little, moving her head side to side, it wasn’t a yes but neither a no. “How old are you?” That was a question he had in mind for a while and hoped it didn't sound rude.
“Twenty-seven.” He raised his eyebrows, surprised. “I know, too young and very big, immense, shoes to fill.” She said with a bored tone, like she got that too much. 
Hayden shook his head. “I was 19 when I took the role as Anakin and felt the same way. Everything is going to be fine.” She looked at him a little unsure. “If they choose you to be here, it’s because you are the best. Don’t let them intimidate you, otherwise they will eat you alive.”
She smiled at him, big and brightly. “Thank you, Hayden, truly.” Her eyes accompanied the smile, kind and truthful.
All of the sudden, he turned shy by being under her gaze- What? Shy? Come on man. -so he shrugged and changed the subject. Trying for his life to not blush at how sincere and kind her eyes looked at him moments prior.
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October 2019, surprise surprise.
By the second time they met in person, they had been talking a few by the phone, she asked a few things about what he felt about Anakin, what were his thoughts about him and things like that.
Hayden was walking towards her office, for some reason he wanted to see her before going to meet with the writers, executives and a few of the characters for the first reading of the script, which was going to take a few days, to see if everything was going according to plan, smoothly. 
He entered the office and Charlie was there, sitting behind the desk, just like all those months before. They made small talk while the boy accompanied him to her office. When he opened the door, she was looking down at some papers in the desk and her hair was up supported by a pen. “Perfect, Charlie, sorry to bother you, but I-'' Who apologised to his assistant for asking something? Always so polite.
When she looked up, her eyes opened big in surprise at seeing him. Hayden realised she was wearing the glasses she wore when they first met and that with the light entering the room her eyes shined. Maybe it was my presence? No, it couldn’t be. It was 100% the light, for sure. “Hello.” He said with a kind smile on his lips.
“Hi.” She smiled brightly, just like she usually did. Usually as in the two times he saw her, one in person and the other by a screen. “You are early.” She looked at the watch on her right wrist.
“Again.” He joked earning a laugh from her.
“Please, make yourself comfortable.” She pointed at the sofa where he sat months ago, a vase with white jasmines in the little table there. “Tea?” He nodded and when she was about to ask Charlie the boy nodded before she opened his mouth and walked away with a tiny smile on his lips.
He, for sure, made himself comfortable and started walking around the office. It didn’t seem empty as it did before, now it had books on the shelves; a few more drawings, it was more cosy, and the same video camera was still there in one of the shelves. He traced it with his finger, slowly, trying to not damage it. “That camera was the thing that started everything, it was my father’s but I made it mine.” Her sweet voice became sweeter.
“It was your first camera?” He turned around to look at her and she nodded with a smile on her lips. Was she always smiling?
“I used to record everything around me with it.” The papers in her desk were long forgotten. “Everything that made me happy, to never forget it.”
He smiled at her way of seeing things. “You still do?”
She hummed. “From time to time, when I’m utterly, incandescently, happy.” He was about to comment on that but she interrupted him. “Besides, vintage makes everything look good.” She laughed and he did too.
Charlie entered right when their laughs were in sync and their eyes shined. “Your tea, Mr. Christensen.” The boy left the drink on the small table there and walked away with a smirk on his lips.
“Are you ready for today?” With a few strikes he sat on the sofa facing her. She nodded, biting her lips, while arranging the stacks of papers on her desk. He was about to comment on something about her nervous behaviour, but chose against it. Afraid of making her more nervous. “Did you eat something?” She shook her head. “You want me to grab you a coffee or something?”
She looked up to him. The same kind eyes of all those months back were looking at him “No, thank you.” and shook her head. “If I drink coffee now I’m afraid I will not be able to sit still on the reading table.” A little laugh escaped his lips and the same shyness, and blush, from months ago, appeared again making him clear his throat. Get it together.
With small talk, his attempt to take her mind out of what was about to happen, the time had passed and they had to go to meet the rest to do the first reading table. They excited the office and, as the gentleman he was, he offered to carry all the papers in her hands, but she refused it. Claiming that she was more than capable of doing it herself.
For the first time since he saw her in that day, he paid attention to her whole outfit and it was much more formal than the one she used the first day they met. Little heels that made her reach his mouth, black tights, a skirt with a little cut on the side that fitted quite well and a black shirt with the first two buttons undone. And she smelled like jasmine, like the ones in her office.
They reached the room where everything was going to unfold and she stopped a few meters from the door. “You okay?” Hayden asked her and she nodded. “You need a minute?” She nodded again and he gave it to her, even took a step back and let her gather her strength.
The brunette watched her take a few deep breaths and moved her head side to side. “Okay, you got this.” He heard her mumble and a smile appeared on his lips. After a few seconds she turned around and looked at him. “Ready when you are.” She joked.
He got closer to her laughing. “Ready.” She nodded and he held the door for her to enter first, he walked after her.
Ewan was already there, the executives and the three writers too. The two long time friends hugged each other and caught up for a few minutes. “Have you already met our amazing, incredible, director?” The Scottish man asked.
“Yes, I had the pleasure.” Hayden said, looking around for her. She was standing by his side moments ago and now she wasn’t.
“She’s amazing, I had been working with her since the beginning and I promise you are going to be blown away by her.” Ewan was more excited by all that was happening than any of them. 
“I have not a single doubt.” His eyes found her in the mess of people and a smile appeared on his lips.
It was the last day of the reading table and truth be told, the script was garbage. It was the same thing as the series that were already being streamed. All those days, hours spent were futile, the ones he had to be seated at that table, not the ones he was seated on the sofa in her office. They all tried to bring something to the table for the script to work, but it was useless. Everyone knew it and someone had to rip the bandaid off. 
Four days of the same routine, Hayden would arrive every day a little earlier than the prior just to sit in her office and talk to her. Some days Charlie would have a tea already in the making for him and others he would carry a coffee with a chocolate muffin in hand for her, because she tended to not eat.
And his list of things he notice about her would keep getting longer. Her favourite colour was red, she had a sweet tooth, jasmines and yellow daffodils were her favourite flowers, she used normal glasses when her eyes got irritated after using lenses all the time; plus according to her they add dramatic effect when she was stressed, she was left handed, that she scrunched her nose, but her brows didn’t frowned, when she didn’t like something and that she truly, and naturally, was a smiley person. All the things he noticed weren’t personal stuff, she was pretty reserved and he could, totally, resemble her about that.
“Well.” The executive producer began. “Thoughts?” And they all looked at her.
As if she could feel all the gazes on her, she looked up. “Sincerely?” And they nodded. She looked around the room, Hayden could see her demeanour changed, as if she had built a wall inside her and was ready for anything. “It’s the same thing we saw billions of times.” She was straight forward. “If we keep this way, the critic is going to smash us.” She voiced what all of them were thinking.
“Excuse me?” One of the writers said.
She frowned. “We are making a series about an icon of the cinematography universe, whose story is tightly intertwined with one of the biggest villains of history, about a universe that changed lives and the way of seeing cinema and this script-” she picked it up “does not reflect that.” The nervous girl Hayden saw before was left at the door and seated with him was a decisive woman, with her work pants well put on and a clear idea in mind. "This script is too small for a production as big as this one, as awaited as this one."
“And what would you know about making a script for a production this big?” The writer looked at her up and down. “You are just a child, you are too small a director for a production like this.” All the people in the room were surprised at such harsh, disrespectful, words. “Little Miss Director.” He added with a derogatory tone.
Ewan and Hayden were ready to chim in, along with a few other people of the crew, but she beat them to it. “First of all, you are excused.” She raised her chin and sat straight. “Second, I formed myself, I studied and improved after every project I made, it didn't matter how little it was.” Long was gone the sweet tone she carried. “I'm worthy of being here, believe me, I am the best out there and I have the skills to direct this project.” She had a cold look on her eyes. “If this is your script, which I guess it is, by how offended you are getting at hearing my honest opinion, maybe it’s you who does not know about big productions.” 
The silence that fell upon the room was a sepulchral one, not even a fly flew around. She kept her gaze on the writer until he strom off the room, followed by a bang from the door. They all looked that way, but Hayden kept his eyes on her and caught the moment when she let go of a shaky breath and played with one of the many rings on her fingers. Their eyes connected and he frowned, asking a silent question, but she just gave him a small smile, reassuring him she was fine. 
After apologies from the executive producers and the writers on behalf of the rude partner, they all agreed with her that the script was awful and that she was right. Ideas came and went but nothing seemed to fit, and be worthy of, the concept they had in mind. “You worked as a writer too for the projects you were on, didn't you?" Ewan asked, looking at her. "Besides, directing them.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Yes…” 
“They were very good, award worthy.” He added making her open her eyes big, Hayden frowned. But when she was going to answer, the Scottish talked again. “Why don’t you write something?”
She seemed caught off guard, Hayden watched how her lips parted a little and her eyes scanned the room, while Ewan had a kind smile on his lips. After all he was one of the producers and he had that kind of power at the table. “Yeah, we will meet in a couple of months and we will discuss it again.” The executive producer said.
She looked even more surprised, her brows a little more raised than before. “We can work with you, discuss ideas and build the story together.” One of the writers said while the other nodded eagerly. “We will help each other and it would be an honor for us.”
A smile appeared on her lips, but Hayden realised it was a nervous one; not like the ones he saw her make when she took a sip of her coffee, or when she talked about the video camera in her office. “Yeah, okay.” The confident woman who put the idiot writer in his place was gone and the same nervous girl who was left outside the room appeared again. “We can do that. There are a few ideas in here that we can use as base and build upon them.” She nodded looking at the script as if it was going grow a mouth and eat her alive
The meeting finished after a few minutes where they talked about schedules for the future, which was uncertain until the scripts were ready. When Hayden got up to talk to her she was already on her way to walk away from the room, like her life depended on it, and was left to talk with Ewan, not that he didn’t like catching up with his friend, but if he was honest, he was a little worried about her.
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January 2020, first vestiges of emotions.
The last time the pair saw each other they couldn't even have the chance to say goodbye because when Hayden went to her office to talk to her, Charlie told him she was already gone for the day and he was flying back to Canada in a few hours. He weighed the options of calling her, sending her a text, to ask if everything was fine but at the end he desisted, to not come up as dense. 
To his surprise she texted him a few weeks after their last encounter, a simple hello, sorry to bother you, and presenting herself, as if he didn’t know who she was. All that to talk about work, about the script she, and the other writers, were working on.
Finally it was time to see them, the team, in person. To see her in person. Their routine was picked up where they left it, him taking her a coffee and muffin and a hot tea waiting for him at her desk, and, of course, he arrived early. 
“Hello, Charlie.” Hayden said as soon as he passed the door from his office floor. 
“Hello Mr. Christensen.” The boy said, despite the multiple times he told him to call him by his name and not that formal title. “She will arrive shortly, you can come in.” Charlie said with a smile on his lips. “You already know the way.” 
Laughing a little, he walked towards her office. There were new drawings on the shelves, still no photos, the video camera was still in place and the smell of jasmine was still there. The sticky posts on the computer were there and despite all his mother's teachings that what he was going to do was impolite, he did it. Slowly he walked to the other side of her desk and readed them. 'Most Ardently’ was writing in one of them with a little heart and a clear handwriting, ‘Shine on, you crazy diamond. Love, the kids and I’  that one made him frown. She was married with kids? The kids would explain all the drawings, but she never mentioned anything about kids when he talked about his daughter, and the married thing was hard to guess with all the rings she had on her fingers. She never said anything about being taken, nor had any photos in her office with someone, and she was a very closed person, so he was not going to pray into her private life if she didn’t let anything on. 
And like months ago, when they first met, he heard her sweet voice in the hallway talking with Charlie and it went almost the same way it did the first time, him being cute wasn’t said that time. 
“Hi, Hayden.” She said as soon as she opened the door. When he looked at her he had to suppress a laugh that was about to escape his lips. “What?” She was frowning at him.
His eyes trailed her up and down. “You are under all that?” She was small, that much was a fact, but she looked so much smaller under the, almost, total black outfit she was wearing. A big ass long coat, loose high dress pants, a fitted t-shirt that covered her up to her neck and white converse, that looked like they were from his daughter from how small they seemed.
“Well yeah.” She took the sunglasses off her head and a few rebel hairs fell to her face making her blow them away. Her silver rings and silver necklace with her initial made a contrast with her clothes. “I’m cold.”
“I can see that.” He laughed, while walking to greet her. It came naturally to him to kiss her cheek followed by a little. “Hello.” The smell of jasmine invaded him and his voice sounded deeper for some reason. When he moved away, the brunette took notice of how her cheeks and nose were red from the cold. Was it from the cold though? “Are you that cold?”
“Huh?” She frowned, like she didn’t understand. “Ah, yeah.” She nodded, a nervous laugh escaped her lips. 
Charlie interrupted them carrying his tea while she hung her coat and got comfortable. The little interaction was forgotten by the time the boy walked out the office with a frown on his face, looking at his boss. “I brought you breakfast.” Hayden said pointing at the cup next to her keyboard.
She smiled kindly at him, but that smile changed when she took a sip of the hot-drink. It wasn’t a bad change, it was a good one. The way her lips curved give him flashbacks of the memory tattoo on his brain about the first time he met her in person. He wasn’t afraid of messing up her coffee order, he knew it was the right one because he had picked it up on the few times they had been together.
She seemed less nervous this time around, there weren’t stacks of papers on her desk like the last time, nor she wasn’t running around. She seemed grounded, confident even. He tried to get information out of her about the new scripts but it was impossible, she gave him vague answers with a polite smile on her face, which made him laugh. “You are getting better at this.” He took a sip of his tea, looking at her.
“I know.” She smiled smugly. “I've been taking notes on how not to spill everything about a new project.” The brunette noticed how proud she looked about that. “I wouldn’t want them to fire me for speaking too much.” Her tone was a playful one.
He laughed. “They would never.” His eyebrows were frowned and he shook his head. “Not after all the work you’ve done.” He reassured her.
Between sips of hot drinks Hayden told her about his farm in Canada, about Briar Rose and small things here and there about his life while she listened attentively to all his words. The morning sun entering  from the window behind her, seated at his side, added some kind of soft, cosy, effect to the office. Intimate. While they were laughing about something he said, a knock on the door behind him interrupted them. “Come in.” She called, still laughing.
“Hello there.” An accent Hayden recognized very well reached his ears and she started laughing again.
The brunette turned around and standing there was Ewan with a smile on his face. “Obi-Wan.” The pair said, making the Scottish laugh too.
“Good to see you two here.” They all hugged each other. “I was coming to pick our beloved director up but you beat me to it.” He joked looking at him.
Immediately she blushed. “We are having breakfast, would you like something?” She asked in her sweet tone.
“No, no. Nothing darling, thank you.” The trio stood in the middle of the office. “Are you ready?” Ewan asked and Hayden looked at her too.
She nodded. “Yeah, everything’s ready. The scripts are already arrange in the room where we are going to meet, the seats are designated.”
“You are well prepared then.” Ewan said surprised. “Yeah, you seemed more ready than last time when you were running around like crazy until the last minutes.” Hayden added. If his eyes weren’t on her, he would have seen the look on his dear friends eyes.
“Well, I've had everything ready for like a week or so.” She shrugged but the pair looked at her surprised. “What? I like having things in order.” She defended herself.
It was time for them to meet with the rest of the crew so they walked out the office, her first, and made their way there. The two men told her about the funny things they remember while they filmed the first two movies and the technology they had to do it. 
Hayden noticed that she seemed much more carefree this time around than the first time they did the table reading, she didn’t stop at the door to take a deep breath, nor to give herself a little pep talk. She just entered the room like she owned it, like she deserved to be there, which she did, and that made him smile.
Just as she said, the table already had the scripts on it, tags in front of the chairs, it was a completely different room than the one they were months ago. There were different people inside, who were supposed to be the cast, the writers, the executive producers and them. “Ready boys?” She asked with a smile on her lips making them looked at each other with their eyebrows raised and they laughed, but followed her nonetheless. 
They all sat around the big circular table, the writers at her sides, while he and Ewan, and the rest of the team, dispersed around the table. The crew was also there, seated surrounding them. The reading started but her sweet voice didn’t chim in at any moment, Hayden watched her make notes here and there on her script and whispered with the writers beside her.
They connected eyes more than a few times, she always caught him looking at her for some reason, only a couple of times it was the other way around, like they could feel their gaze on eachother. Her reaction was always the same, a sweet smile on her lips. Her hair was held by a pen, again, and at some point she put her glasses on. This time around she didn’t play much with her rings, but she did it with the silver delicate watch on her wrist. 
He looked around the table to watch the crew's reaction and they all had mixed emotions, but they were the exact opposite from what that rubbish script generated. By the time the reading ended, everyone was silent with unreadable looks on their faces. But she was in her own world, still making notes. Almost three minutes passed when someone decided to speak. “Well,” Ewan broke the silence, from his tone he could guess, because he had his blue eyes fixed on her, that he was smiling. “Little Miss Director did it again.” She raised her head looking at him.
She looked around the table confused, suspiciously. “Meaning?” Her tone was so unsure, he found it cute.
“It’s brilliant, this is excellent.” One of the producers said.
Everyone chimed in to praise the script, the cast; the crew; every single person in the room. Hayden watched at how her face broke into a beautiful big grin, eyes shining and cheeks blushed. Her eyes connected with his and he grinned too, that was the effect of her smile. 
The session was over and everybody stood up to leave and this time she didn’t run away, she stood chatting with whoever approached her. “Didn't I tell you she was brilliant?” Ewan said, clapping his shoulder.
“Yeah you did.” He nodded and his friend looked pleased. “It’s one of the best scripts I have ever read, well written; well articulated; balanced. It's amazing.” Hayden was speechless at how creative she was, at how amazing she was.
Ewan nodded proudly. “I knew from the moment I watched one of her films that she was perfect for the series, that’s why I recommended her for the position.” He raised his eyebrows, surprised. “Plus, her resume is impeccable. She's something else.” The brunette nodded with his eyes fixed on her. “Totally worthy of being showrunner.” Hayden looked at him surprised. “She didn’t tell you?”
He shook his head. “She doesn't talk much when we are together, I do most of it, plus she’s very private.”
“Yeah she is, it took me a while for her to trust me but she would eventually open up.” His friend tried to reassure him. “If she trusts you.” He added, clapping his back laughing. 
Hayden shook his head. “Thanks man.” Ewan laughed harder.
“She reminds me of you a little bit when we first met.” The scottish said and he looked at him frowning. “Incredibly passionate young soul, keen and very creative." 
Hayden smiled at the kind words of his dear friend and found it more special that he found such touching words related to her. He was about to respond when she walked towards them.
"Good job, Little Miss Director." Ewan joked when he saw her.
She laughed tilting her head back but did a little bow, Hayden smiled. "Thank you, Ewan." He bowed his head. "Truly for your trust and help in this process."
He smiled. "It was my pleasure darling." And they hugged.
When they parted, she looked at Hayden with a big smile too. He felt shy under her gaze, but enjoyed it too. "Thank you too, Hayden." He shook his head. "For being patient with me and all my questions, helping me and your encouraging words."
Sweetly, as her voice, she hugged him. Engulfed him with her arms around his neck, she was on her tiptoes and he had to bend down a little to put his arms around her back, not her waist because he was respectful. The jasmine scent, her scent, reached his nose making him dizzy. His mouth was so close to her neck, to her pulse point, that if he moved his head a little to the right he would graced it with his lips and he felt her hot breath in his pulse point, making him weak on the knees.
The hug ended far too quickly for his liking. What? When they pulled apart he had to clear his throat and blinked a couple of times. Fucks sake, Hayden, get a hold of yourself. You are 38 and she’s 11 years younger than you, think straight.
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February 2020, special day.
It had been a couple of months since he last saw her, which he was thankful about because the hug she gave him was too much for him. Too much for his brain. Too much for his heart. Too fucking much.
He thought that maybe the peace of his farm would give him the clarity he needed but it didn't happen. Not a single clear thought about whatever he was feeling came his way. About work? Yes. About what he was going to eat for dinner? Lots. About feelings, which were a mess? Not a single one.
Ewan and him were talking on the phone about life, making a habit of staying in contact and not like the last decade and couple of years. They were talking about projects and life, while all Hayden’s brain was screaming was Ask him about her. ASK HIM! but he tried to not let that part of him win. 
Obviously was futile because he ended up talking about work, which of course ended up on her name being said. “You know anything about her?” He shut his eyes and frowned, with his free hand he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Yeah, I talked on the phone with her a couple of days ago. Something about the script.” His friend said and he nodded.
“How was she?” The words blurted out his mouth before he had the time to process them. He was seconds away from smashing his head through the wall if that made him stop thinking about her. Teenage behaviour, right there Hayden. The laughter on the other side of the phone made him shake his head, regretting asking. 
“Fascinated by our Little Miss Director I see.” Ewan teased and he had to hummed, because if he opened his mouth the teasing would meet no end. “I get it, she’s pretty awesome.”
“Yes she is.” Well, fuck it, he would embarresed himself for shits and giggles.
The days after his chat with Ewan, where he mentioned her resume, he could have Googled her, to know what his friend meant, but he decided against it. The opportunity, the privilege, of hearing about her life from her own mouth would be more rewarding, more special, than hearing it about some gossip page.
Ewan laughed again. “It’s her birthday in a couple of days.” His ears perked when his friend told him the exact date when it was. “Did you know it?” 
“No, no. I didn’t know it.” Mentally the date was already marked. 
The Scottish laughed again. “Well now you know, thank me later.” The brunette thanked God that the teasing stopped because otherwise he was going to mentally kick himself. They kept talking for twenty minutes and the conversation ended with “Send her something pretty!” from Ewan’s part before he hung up.
The date of her birthday came and Hayden kept looking at the phone on his counter, Briar Rose having breakfast next to him. “Are you okay daddy?” She asked in her sweet voice.
“Yes, sweetie.” He caressed her face. “Just thinking.”
“ ‘bout?” Her big blue eyes looked at him.
He deliberated on telling her about his doubts or brushing them off. “It’s one of my friend’s-” Friend? Was she a friend? Or a colleague maybe? What was she? “birthday and I don’t know what to get her.” Maybe she would help him decide what to give her.
“What she likes?” She asked, taking a sip from her princess cup.
He racked his brain trying to think about something she told him she likes, but a single thing came up. “Flowers.” Unconsciously he could scent jasmine, even though there wasn't a single one of them in his house. "Jasmine."
“They’re nice and pretty.” That was answer enough for him.
Smiling, he leant and kissed the crown of her head. “You are right, sweetie.” She smiled. “Thank you.”
Giving her a last look, he took his phone and walked to the living room. First tone. You got this. Second tone. Nothing to stress about. Third tone. They're just flowers. Fourth tone and they answered. Too late to back down.
Twenty minutes he was on the phone with the flower shop, twenty minutes where he felt like a teenage boy with a massive crush, a little pathetic if he was honest with himself, and then he went on with his day like normal.
He and Briar were making lunch when his phone rang, whipping his hands on a towel he grabbed his phone and as fast as he picked up he almost let it fall. Her name appeared on his screen, she was calling. She was calling him.
After coming out of his astonishment, he answered it before she hung up. "Hello."
"Hayden, hi." Her sweet voice reached his ear. "How are you? I hope I'm not interrupting your day." He could hear her walking around her office.
He chuckled. "I'm fine, how are you?" He turned the burner down. "And you are not interrupting, we were making lunch." 
"We?" She cleared her throat. "Sorry. What were you making?" 
"Briar Rose wanted pasta for lunch, so I'm obliging." The little girl walked past him and he caressed her head.
"Nice, it goes great with the cold." The picture of her with her nose and cheeks red popped up on his brain. "I will not take much of your time with her." He shook his head as if she could see him. "I called you to thank you for the beautiful bouquet, I love it." 
He smiled, big and brightly. "I'm glad you liked it." Was she smiling too?
"The note is very beautiful too. My favourite part may I say." The teenage boy with a crush feeling was worthy then.
"I'm pleased to hear, Little Miss Director." He joked, hoping to hear her laugh and he did. 
"How did you know?" She asked curiously.
"A little chatty bird called Ewan maybe, possibly, most certainly, slipped that your birthday was coming up while we talked a few weeks ago.” Hayden knew that wasn't the entire truth, not even close, but just this time he was going to throw his friend under the bus for sure.
She laughed, and possibly she was shaking her head. "Who else if not him?" He laughed too and the background noise became louder. "I'm sorry to cut his short, Hayden, but I got to go." Her kind tone reached his ears.
"No no, please. Duty calls."  He thought that she would send him a quick message so hearing her voice was a surprise, although it was for a couple of minutes.
"Bye, I hope your lunch is good. See you later, Starboy." And before he could answer, she hung up.
As if his life was taken from a cheesy rom-com, like the ones he acted in, Hayden stood in the middle of his kitchen looking at his phone as her name disappeared from the screen, but not the feelings from the centre of his chest.
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April 2020, Unexpected delight.
His birthday was a special day for him, surrounded by the ones he loved the most. Spending the whole day with his daughter, eating with his family and having a fun time with a few friends. As the private person he was, he couldn't ask for more.
Soon he would have to start training for Anakin's role, so he was enjoying the time off. Briar Rose surprised him with breakfast in bed, helped by his mother, who came around to greet him and helped her beloved granddaughter. 
They were seated in the living room talking about small things and his plans for the day, when the doorbell of his front gate rang. “Did you invite someone?” He asked his mother while walking towards the phone he had by the door, but she shook her head. “Yes?”
“Is Mr. Christensen at home?” A male voice said.
He looked at the little screen there and it was a grown man dressed in a FedEx uniform. “Yes, he is.”
“We have a package for him, we need his signature to confirm that he received it.” The man showed the papers in hand and at the box below his arm.
“Okay, I’m coming.” Grabbing his jacket and keys, “It’s a package, I’ll be right back.” he said over his shoulder.
The walk towards the front gate was chilly, he had his hands in his pockets and nose buried in the neck of his jacked. When he saw the guy on the door, the package he had in his arms was a normal size. “Hello.”
“Hello.” They nodded at each other. “You know what it is?” The brunette asked.
The guy shrugged. “No idea, man. It just says fragile and it’s from the US.” Hayden opened the gate and the guy passed him the pen and paper for him to sign. 
He did it, but frowning. It couldn’t be the script, because she would have told him, or Ewan. His friends would have told him if they would be sending him a present, so that wasn’t an option. He tried to think what could possibly it be but nothing came to mind. He handed the pen and paper back and the guy gave him the box. “There you go, have a nice day.”
His blue eyes were fixed on the box. “Yeah you too, man.” As quickly as he could he made his way back to the house.
Shaking the box to see what was inside wasn’t an option because it said fragile and whatever it was it could break. His curiosity was getting the best of him when he entered his house. Briar and his mom were still seated on the couch talking but raised their heads to look at him. “What is it, dear?” His mom asked but he shrugged. “From who is it?” He shrugged again. “You know something?” She asked, teasing.
He rolled his eyes. “It’s from the US and it’s fragile.” Her mom frowned. But he walked towards the kitchen and put the box on the counter while he looked for scissors. 
“Can I see it, daddy?” Briar Rose asked from the couch. 
He opened the top drawer. “As soon as I open it, I’m going to show it to you sweetie.” His voice raised for her to hear him.
The box had a simple black box inside and nothing on it, he frowned again but kept opening. When he lifted the lid the inside was colourful and smelled amazing. It smelled like jasmine and he smiled. Large pieces of papers, of all colours, surrounded a black cup and a couple of tea bags next to it. He picked the box and walked towards the living room. “Look, sweetie.”
The little girl opened her eyes big and made space, even though there was plenty, next to her for him to sit. “What is it?”
“A gift.” He said putting the box on the mini table there. The little girl picked a few of the papers there and started playing with them.
His mother looked at it and smiled. “It’s nice. Who sent it?”
Hayden knew who sent it by the mere smell that came from it, the tea was another clue for all the times they had breakfast together. “A friend.” Two simple words that had nothing simple, describe nothing simple and meant nothing simple to his feelings. His big hand engulfed the cup and lifted up, a laugh came out of him when he saw what’s engraved on the side.
Briar Rose and his mom looked at it and the little girl found it hilarious, even though she didn’t quite understand the reference, while her mom laughed a little too. “Storm Pooper.” The girl said between giggles and Hayden laughed at hearing her giggling. 
His mother passed him a white paper folded in half. “There’s a note.” 
Quickly he exchanged the cup for the paper with her and stood up. His name was written in a clean neat handwriting and inside were a few simple words. 
Happy Birthday Starboy, enjoy your day surrounded with the people that are glad and cherish your presence in this world.
Love, Little Miss Director.
“Someone special?” His mom’s voice brought him back to the real world. He looked at her frowning for a couple of seconds before his eyes fell back to her words. “You are smiling quite big right now.”
Why deny the obvious? “I have to make a phone call, can you keep an eye on Bri?” But he didn’t wait for an answer and walked to the kitchen with his phone.
Last time they talked on the phone was on march for something related to the script, a few questions she had about when he filmed the movies and Ewan was also on the call because the question was directed at him too, so it wasn’t like they talked to each other and it was completely professional. First ring. Keep it simple. Second tone. Casual, relax. Third ring. You are just colleagues, nothing more. Fourth ring. Nothing more because she’s 11 years younger than me. Fifth t- “Hi.” Her sweet voice reached him, a little out of breath as if she was running.
“Hello.” And again, for some reason, his voice went deeper. More than what already was.
Music could be heard in the background. “Did you receive it?” She sounded excited. “Please tell me it arrived whole, please.”
He laughed. “Yes it did.” She exhaled. “Thank you very much.” He smiled and hoped that she was smiling too. “You didn’t have too.”
“Nonsense.” He could imagine her shaking her head. “Did you like it?” She sounded unsure and he tilted his head to the side. “Because if you don’t it’s okay.” She didn’t let him answer. “I have the sense of humour of a twelve year old and I will not apologise for it, but I will understand if you found it hideous.” She used, what he remembered was, her mocking tone and took him back to one of the times he was in her office and they were just chilling. 
“I love it.” He said truthfully and heard her make some victorious sound that made him laugh, which made her laugh. “Briar Rose found it hilarious too.” 
“She did?” She sounded excited again. “Oh that’s amazing.” He nodded. “When we saw it, I thought that it was hilarious and had to buy it for your birthday.”
He was touched at the sentiment and the gesture. She saw something and thought about me. But the plural pronoun made him frown, it didn’t sit right with him. “We?”
“Yeah, my niece, nephew and me.” She was sharing something private about her. She trusts me. “They are a little older than Briar Rose.”
“Oh.” So the drawings must be from them. But was she married? “Well, you have great taste and as soon as I use it, I will let you know.”
She laughed. “Thank you and I hope you like the tea too.”
“So, what’s up with the nickname?” Since she started calling him like that after her birthday the question has been on his mind.
She laughed. “It seems only fair since I’m Little Miss Director that you are Starboy.” and said in an obvious tone. “Does it bother you? Cause if it does I will stop calling you that.” She was quick to say.
But he shook his head. “Not at all, I’m okay with it.” He heard her hum and, a little afraid, of the conversation finishing there he scratched the back of his head thinking about what he could say to keep her on the phone. “I called in at a bad time?” Hayden wanted to keep talking to her, keep hearing her voice.
“No no, I was cleaning my house, that’s why I was late to answer.” He nodded even though she couldn't see him. 
“On Sunday?” She would notice that you don’t want to hang up, Hayden.
“It’s my only free day.” She laughed. “What about you? Big plans for today?”
They talked for a little while longer, about noncenses, but Briar started calling for him and he didn’t want to take too much of her time, bullshit, so the call was cut short. But the smile he carried for the day was notorious to his mum, to his daughter, to his friends, to everyone that saw him that day, and all because of a phone call with his director.
Next Part →
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thyme-in-a-bubble · 6 months
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a list of some autumnal movies/series 🍂
i am nothing if not an organised little goblin who can not stop themself from making a good list. this is just in case you want something with that fall vibe but can't think of any. just close your eyes and point somewhere on this little list, or even put the numbers in a generator and go with whatever the result is ♡
winter | spring | summer
🥧 ‧₊˚ ⋅ movies ⋅˚₊‧
nosferatu (1922) 
rosemary’s baby (1968)
halloween franchise (1978-)
friday the 13th franchise (1980-)
an american werewolf in london (1981)
a nightmare on elm street (1984)
ronja rövardotter (1984)
clue (1985)
princess bride (1987)
dead poets society (1989)
when harry met sally (1989)
hocus pocus (1993)
addams family values (1993)
interview with a vampie (1994)
the craft (1996)
the first wifes club (1996)
the scream franchise (1996-)
halloweentown (1998)
practical magic (1998)
you’ve got mail (1998)
the blair witch project (1999)
sleepy hollow (1999)
chocolat (2000)
amelie (2001)
the lord of the rings franchise (2001-2003)
scooby doo (2002)
pirates of the caribbean franchise (2003-2017)
north & south (2004)
pride and prejudice (2005)
the descent (2005)
the devil wears prada (2006)
el orfanato (2007)
the edge of love (2008)
twilight (2008)
julie & julia (2009)
jennifer’s body (2009)
dorian gray (2009)
coraline (2009)
true grit (2010)
the cabin in the woods (2011)
the odd life of timothy green (2012)
the conjuring franchise (2013-)
what we do in the shadows (2014)
the riot club (2014)
as above so below (2014)
the age of adaline (2015)
the witch (2015)
mary shelly (2017)
murder on the orient express (2017)
get out (2017)
a quiet place (2018 + 2020)
the guernsey literary and potato peel pie society (2018)
on the basis of sex (2018)
knives out (2019)
little women (2019)
the gentlemen (2019)
emma (2020)
ammonite (2020)
the dig (2021)
the batman (2022)
🧦 ‧₊˚ ⋅ series ⋅˚₊‧
gilmore girls (2000-2007)
outlander (2014-)
anne with on e (2017-2019)
queens gambit (2020)
moomin (1990-1992)
a discovery of witches (2018-2022)
virgin river (2019-)
supernatural (2005-2020)
shadow and bone (2021-)
vampire diaries (2009-2017)
stranger things (2016-)
the chilling adventures of sabrina (2018-2020)
once upon a time (2011-2018)
vikings valhalla (2022-)
peaky blinders (2013-2022)
downton abbey (2010-2015)
poldark (2015-2019)
dickinson (2019-2021)
killing eve (2018-2022)
ghost files/buzzfeed unsolved (2016-)
critical role (2015-)
lucifer (2016-2021)
the walking dead (2010-2022)
criminal minds (2005-2020, 2022-)
i’ll be gone in the dark (2020)
buffy the vampire slayer (1997-2003)
how to get away with murder (2014-2020)
the good fight (2017-2022)
american horror story (2011-)
teen wolf (2011-2017)
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