#there are two larger tasks to complete for me

[lured-into-wonderland]

We are understaffed at the moment, and with one more person calling in sick leave early this morning, it will be a difficult week ahead. A colleague is back from holidays on Friday, so I guess there will be little from me this week.

I hope you are all having a lovely week!

[reasonsforhope]

I know this happened last year, but Illinois has its first reservation! The Department of the Interior placed 130 acres of land in DeKalb County near Shabbona State Park into trust for the Prairie Band Potawatomi.

!!! That's huge! I had no idea!! Congratulations to be Prairie Band Potawatomi!!!

"Nearly 200 years after Native Americans were forced out of Illinois, the Prairie Band Potawatomi Nation has become the first federally recognized tribal nation in the state after a decision from the U.S. Department of the Interior last week.

The move represents the first victory in the tribe’s larger effort to regain the approximately 1,280 acres of its ancestral land in Illinois via legislation in both the General Assembly and Congress.

But the tribe first had to spend $10 million over the last 20 years to repurchase the first 130 acres of the Shab-eh-nay Reservation, located in what is now DeKalb County, that the federal government illegally sold out from under Chief Shab-eh-nay around 1850.

Nearly two centuries later, Prairie Band Chairman Joseph “Zeke” Rupnick – a fourth-great grandson of Chief Shab-eh-nay – signed paperwork on Friday that allows the Department of the Interior to place those 130 acres into a trust, which gives the tribe sovereignty over the land.

Rupnick said he’d heard the story of his ancestral land in Illinois “ever since I was a child” from his grandparents, and said his mother started the push to reclaim the Prairie Band’s land three decades ago when she was the tribe’s chairperson.

“For me to actually get it accomplished and signed, honestly, words couldn't describe the feeling that I had that, you know, when I actually completed that task,” he told Capitol News Illinois on Monday, adding that the credit should be shared with his entire counsel and tribal membership more broadly. “And now the real work begins.”"

-via NPR Illinois, April 30, 2024

[meownotgood]

a few anons asked me about an arcane!viktor and league!viktor fic. here it is. the machine herald and the herald of the arcane sandwich.

18+, arcane season 2 spoilers

════════════════════

The recent influx of arcane anomalies is responsible for many, many things; the dysfunction of the Hexgates, the instability in several Hextech devices. And additionally, apparently, messing with anomalies often results in rifts, capable of bridging one universe with the next. 

You're assuming, anyway. It's the only option to logically explain why you're currently sandwiched between two Viktors.

"Are they always this… obedient?" Viktor — the menacing, Hexcore-infused, arcane-touched version of Viktor — hums, his voice deep and distinctive. It rumbles through you, threatening to displace your shaky legs with its boom alone, echoing several times before it settles in your eardrums. 

You take in a sharp breath, one you're sure the both of them can hear. The lack of space within the anomaly's pocket of unreality forces you to fall back against his chest. True to his assumption, when Viktor's hands find your waist, your limbs go limp. You pliantly allow him to lift you, until you're settled on his thigh. 

"It is difficult to tell." Viktor — the other Viktor, all metal edges and mechanical thrums — finds your jaw. With a firm, steel index finger, he guides it, carefully bringing your wandering gaze back to him. His mask is expressionless, glowing orange pools of light examining you blankly. 

But you swear, the thickness to the edges of his muffled accent, the way he grabs your chin hard, keeping you in place when your head threatens to fall back, as his counterpart's fingertips analytically skim your side — It screams jealous. 

Your eyes flicker all over his figure, unsure what to focus on. Unsure what to make of this. And Viktor laughs, maniacal and amused. His third arm, his Hexclaw-hand, reaches down towards your much smaller figure, settles on your head, and ruffles your hair in something of a playful, infantilizing gesture. Or, it would be playful, if his third hand wasn't capable of producing a dangerous, one-thousand temperature Death Ray. 

"I believe," Machine-Viktor starts, "We are intimidating them." 

Arcane-Viktor glides his palm over your chest, approving. His touch is foreign, neither rough, nor smooth. "Precisely." 

So much for trying to hide it. In this situation, how could you not be intimidated? 

Both of them are insanely intelligent, to the point it nearly scares you. They're larger, taller; you have to crane your neck up to continue looking at Machine-Viktor, gaze steady on him like he's instructed. 

And Arcane-Viktor is somehow even taller than his copy. It makes you feel helpless in his arms, with the way his figure dwarfs yours completely. You can practically feel the persistent glow of his eyes, boring into you. Examining you with a sixth sense of perception, that could only be defined as inhuman. 

The Machine Herald and the Herald of the Arcane are inscrutable. They're both impossible to read, you couldn't hope to determine what they're planning if you had a million timelines to do so. There's a strange sense of understanding between them. A form of matched intuition, perhaps, that comes with being one in the same. 

Truthfully, they've been arguing, bickering over every topic to be brought up since you got stuck here. Cosmological theories, conflicting assumptions, defining the line between the mechanical and the arcane — It's all flown over your head, honestly. Literally and figuratively. This is the first time they've focused on you since the moment you became pressed in between them. 

Yet, when you are involved, they seem to be on the exact same page. The Machine Herald gives a single nod towards the Arcane Herald, and without the need for words, they're switching tasks. 

Machine-Viktor takes your thighs, holds them instead, palms splayed underneath them to brace the weight. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, locked at the ankles, his metal armor smooth yet firm against your skin — and Arcane-Viktor steps in closer. Your back presses entirely against his chest, helping to support you. 

His outline digs into your shoulder blades, golden and rib-like. And his hands, purple-hued, rich with power, grasp your face to tilt your head back. To make you look at him, instead. You aren't sure which set of eyes to focus on. The claw jutting out from his back twitches, seemingly regarding you with its own element of sentience. The other Viktor stiffens, for a moment. 

But the position you've been placed in is deliberate; it leaves you wide-open. So, he takes advantage of the opportunity his counterpart has graced him with. His third arm hums mechanically as he moves it. He brings its hand to your mouth, and your lips part to let him press his thumb inside. 

It's more analytical than anything else. 

Arcane-Viktor watches, transfixed, as your tongue swirls around the faux metal digit. It's a curious lesson in mortal instinct. You whimper, your gaze grows misty as you try your hardest to focus on him, but you barely falter. You aren't giving up. Weak and desperate, your whole body shudders, enough to be felt on his palms as a tremble rushes through you. 

Oh, you want to be made to shudder, he realizes. This is a wealth of emotion and excitement and desire for you, an addicting amalgamation of new sensations to experience. Humans love to chase this high. They cannot be distracted by fear, when raw, depraved need clouds their judgement. His machine-equivalent understands this concept, surely. 

Your plush lips meet the artificial joints: welded with clean, steel pivots. Viktor would recognize his own handiwork anywhere. But the intricate assembly around each linkage — the other Viktor has improved the design, he's made each subdivision double-jointed. 

Intriguing. Perhaps he should teach his opposite self about the arcane, as reimbursement. 

Your tongue licks a hot, slow stripe onto the end of the Machine Herald's thumb, and he breathes a half-sigh, half-huff, causing smoke to pour from the sides of his mask. 

There's warmth, coming from both of their figures. Just two different kinds of warmth. For the Arcane Herald, it's electric, like stars and static, racing across your skin. For the Machine Herald, it's more stifling, artificial. Like standing over a hot stove. It's the heat of countless individual parts of machinery, internal and external, all working in unison to support his processes. 

And you're starting to sweat. 

"Marvellous," Arcane-Viktor murmurs, oddly inquisitive. "Are they not?" 

Removing his thumb from your mouth, the metal slick with your saliva, the Machine Herald gives a rumbling hum of approval. 

"Yes. They are." 

Your throat tightens, suddenly dry. From above you, the all-powerful Herald of the Arcane tilts his head ever-so slightly, adjacent to an interested cat. He taps his thumb against your puffy bottom lip, as though he's considering repeating the display himself. Lingering residuals of magic thread through you faintly, tingling on your lips with each idle tap. 

When he decides against it, finally letting go of your face, Machine-Viktor is quick to grasp your chin with his Hexarm. Roughly guiding your gaze back in his direction. Selfishly recapturing your attention. 

Unfortunately, your attention is everywhere. It shifts, placed between the budding heat in your body, the weightlessness of your limbs as you're held in place, the press of metal armor to your thighs, the tracing of confident fingertips up your stomach. Your vision blurs around the edges, you can barely focus when you're this overwhelmed. 

Arcane-Viktor's palm is beginning to trace up your chest, and you wonder if he can feel your heart pounding, if either of them know how much you're enjoying this. Surely, they're well-acquainted. They fucking tower over you, and you're bare, you are pliant. For either version of them, for Viktor, you will always be just as they hypothesized. 

Obedient. 

"They are trembling. How curious," The Herald of the Arcane continues, but the deep, confident vibrato to his voice makes you believe your reaction is far from unexpected. "Theoretically, I could imagine this being too much for them." 

"No," The Machine Herald counters, "It is not." 

The Arcane Herald appears to express as much aversion as an unchanging expression is able to. His palm begins to trace back down, this time. With the same slow, methodical movements; possessive, in a way. Down to your stomach, stopping just above your pelvis. 

"You would truly place confidence in their ability to take us?" 

Hands suddenly grasping your thighs tighter, you're pulled closer, unintentionally grinding you against the ridges of his metal plating — you breathe a quick, pleasured noise, your thighs tremor hard, but you know his iron grip wouldn't let them fall — and the Machine Herald practically scoffs. 

"They will take all we give to them. Such is the essence of their potential." 

The Arcane Herald pauses, before he answers, "I believe in your own lingering sentimentality, Machine Herald, you may be vastly overestimating their limits." 

"It is not sentiment." The Machine Herald's voice is level. His thick accent curls around the words, tone rich with a downright ruthless sense of certainty. "Receptors in my central system have been allocated to measure their breathing. The pattern is not one of discomfort. They are rife with… eagerness." 

His Hexarm reaches for your neck, and your head tilts back submissively. As confirmation, your heart skips, your breath catches. Your gaze is heavy and pleading. He squeezes methodically, until your eyes are rolling back, and your arms are falling limp. 

Precise fingertips find your forehead, they muddle your every thought and function as their prying touch seeks to enter your mind. Your thoughts converge into a singular, tightly knit thread, pounding in echoes of pleasure. A hand brushes between your spread legs, finds where you are slick and aching — 

"Viktor-" 

Your voice is weak, desperate, shuddery from the lack of use. 

And to your delight, both of your overseers react. Machine-Viktor gives your thighs a firm squeeze, he caresses your throat fondly. Arcane-Viktor teases you. His fingertips purposefully prod your waiting entrance, and Gods, they feel like magic incarnate. 

They vibrate from the intensity of their own existence. You can feel every thrum, and each lush wave of the arcane, vibrating mercilessly against your sweetest spot. Then, just as you're beginning to believe you could come apart merely from this, his hand is delicately shifting away, and you're left to quiver around nothing. 

"Fuck," You're swearing, "Please- don't stop…" 

The Herald of the Arcane, as though he wasn't just mere moments away from sinking his fingers inside you, replies in a distinctly composed tone. "Humans can be such demanding creatures." 

The Machine Herald nearly sounds annoyed. "You have forgotten our initial objective. We may switch places, if you are convinced you cannot satisfy them." 

"Whatever occurred in your timeline, it is clear you never learned patience. We have time. Our research will prove most accurate when it is fleshed out to its fullest, not when it is rushed. Unless, perhaps you have discerned a solution to getting us out of this anomaly. Do share, Machine Herald." 

Machine-Viktor remains still. Utterly unreadable, as always. 

"Hold them." 

Everything happens so quickly, so flawlessly, you'd almost swear they planned this — Arcane-Viktor takes hold of your thighs, he keeps them spread while he leans your body against his chest. And Machine-Viktor grasps your face, squeezes your cheeks, his leather glove rough against your chin. He's so close, all you can see is the orange of his makeshift eyes. Bright and intimidating, clouding your view with polychrome shapes, like if you were to glance at the sun for too long. 

His touch is distinctly different, it is steady, resolute, determined. A single thick, metal finger drags through your arousal to first get the steel slick, and then he is pressing it inside; you can feel every small joint and deliberate ridge as he fills you. One of his manufactured digits is essentially the equivalent to three of yours. 

You're left to weakly slump against his copy, completely at his mercy as he fucks you open, completely at their mercy as the two of them watch you attentively. Focused on the way his digit disappears within you, how your chest heaves as you gasp and whine. 

"This is not enough stimulus," Arcane-Viktor ascertains. Matter-of-fact, his echoing voice perfectly stable. "Their thoughts are still clouded. Preferably, we would want them- their mind, and their body- to think only of us." 

"Not enough? I thought you believed they could not handle us both." Machine-Viktor scoffs. 

It's a challenge. An analytical assumption, and if his copy is anything like him, he knows it's a notion they'll enjoy deciphering. Together. With you as the subject. 

"Well?" The Machine Herald hums, "Are you willing to put your hypothesis to the test?" 

[hardlyinteresting]

Stop in the middle

Jake Seresin x reader

Two sides of the same coin; they were joined at the hip; partners in every way but the romantic. The words “I love you,” had passed between them many times, but neither of them had been brave enough to say, “I’m in love with you”.

So much wine by Phoebe Bridgers  Somewhere else by Indians Abbey by  Mitski

Warnings: The reader is referred to as she/her, (call sign Angel), with no physical description, crash landing, wilderness survival, major injuries (non-graphic description), discussions of death, happy ending though (I promise!), hurt/comfort, idiots in love, possible Navy inaccuracies, (please let me know if you'd like me to add anything else)

Word Count: 4.7K Masterlist | talk to me about Jake and Tyler

This is as good a place to die as any, she thinks.

 Laying in the snow she watches the sun rise inch by inch over the tree line. The sky bathed in a soft orange glow that warms her skin for what she can only assume will be the last time. He’ll hate her for leaving him without saying goodbye, but her voice has already left her and her arms are too weak to shake him from his slumber. 

In the distance the cotton fluff clouds rest on the peaks of the mountains; tremendous contrast so perfectly balanced. She feels each of Hangman's breaths expanding the firm plane of his chest as her breathing grows slower. Two days ago she never would have imagined dying in the arms of Lt. Jake “Hangman” Seresin. 

---

They had taken off at the barest crack of dawn breaking. 0600 hours. It was supposed to be a simple recon mission. Take off from the carrier. Fly over. Survey the valley below—report anomalies. Continue the flight path, and land at a nearby ally airbase. Refuel. Return to the carrier. They'd been tasked with flying similar paths for the last two weeks as part of a larger peacekeeping and security effort. As far as deployments go, they were lucky to have been selected to be the joint task force; and more fortunate to not be engaged in active combat. 

Though Hangman would loathe to admit it with his two confirmed air combat kills, she knows herself that no pilot wants to be under enemy fire or in a position to take a life; it's an unfortunate consequence and frequent reality of the job. 

In the time they’ve known each other, she’s heard Jake speak frequently about his mother and her homemade pie waiting for him in Texas. He tells stories about the boys he used to play football with in high school, and family reunions with little nieces and nephews running about barefoot. She’s heard him making plans to buy a home and settle down. He dreams of a future. Anyone paying attention knows that beneath the outwardly cocky exterior, and adrenaline rushes, he's afraid of dying. 

It wasn't enemy fire that took them down two days ago, but rather sudden major malfunctions that left them without any navigation system, defective coms, and an aircraft almost completely unresponsive to pilot commands. Their saving grace had been Hangman's quick thinking to point them towards a clearing in the tree line, and her decision to dump their fuel as they descended rapidly toward the ground. Flying too low to eject safely they braced themselves for impact, an apology for something he could not have stopped on Jake's lips. 

The sounds of alarms and rapid beeping tones woke them. The smell of burning jet fuel startled them into action again. Jake's head stayed lulled forward his eyes slipping shut again before his limbs burst into action with a level of urgency that forced her to react with equal fervour. She watched wide-eyed as Hangman pushed open the canopy pulling himself up and out of his seat, rolling sideways out the opening. Only in watching his exit did she notice the awkward angle the jet had landed at. The nose crumpled by the force of the impact, their wings clipped and lost somewhere in the trees or across the clearing; the body had slid half on its side, a couple hundred feet through revealing mud beneath and leaving a wake of burning grass melting through the powder white snow. A sharp pain threatened to make her lose her breakfast as she clambered from her seat and the tangle of buckles and straps that had saved her life. She tumbled with purpose but little grace out into the frozen valley. 

“Alright?” Hangman asked standing with his back straight as she doubled over trying hard to catch her breath. She nodded but he didn't make any effort to speak or move giving her a moment to collect herself. 

Sucking in the ice-cold air she ignored the searing pain tearing through her rib cage. Her attention drifted from herself back to Jake who swayed on his feet, the soft crunch of snow sounding beneath his feet as he tried to find a place to stand steady. Watching him pale she only grew more convinced Jake was concussed. 

“Are you alright?” She asked.

“Dizzy for sure”. 

“Well, we'll thank our lucky stars we crashed in allied territory. Once we find shelter, I'll run a concussion protocol for you.” 

Their non-functioning radios had left them no way to communicate their mayday calls. They had tried in vain to transmit their approximate coordinates as their headsets filled with static. Their navigation system ran haywire, the coordinates too impossible to be accurate in any case. 

His brows furrowed as he turned to survey their crash sight. His usually bright smile had been pulled into a firm line that confirmed to her they'd be stranded for a while. 

A gust of wind reminded them of how exposed they were in the clearing. While enemy scouts wouldn't be an issue, the potential for hypothermia would be. 

“Map. Compass. Let's grab the chutes from the seats as well,” she suggested. Hangman was uncharacteristically quiet in his agreement, giving her a nod of affirmation as they collected what they could from the jet. 

The sun was still high in the sky above them providing decent light though filtered through bare branches and evergreen limbs. Somewhat guarded from the biting wind they allowed themselves to settle for a moment hoping to find their bearings and build a solid plan for their survival. 

Before they began to plummet they had been about a quarter of an hour's flight from the air base on the other side of the valley. Plotting their estimated crash site on the paper map they found themselves nearly 250 miles away from their destination, walking sun up to sun down would still mean a 2-and-a-half day walk. 

“Look alive sunshine,” she teased as Jake's eyes began to droop. He'd let out a laugh his smile surprisingly bright as he tilted his head back to look at her. “You're so bossy,” he complained. 

“I'm about to get bossier, I've got to make sure you don't have a concussion”. 

“Yes ma’am,” he saluted. 

“Don't sass me Seresin,” she warned, though she tried to keep the tone playful. 

For years they'd played this game; pushing each other's buttons skirting around the edges of flirtation and toeing the line of verbal bullying. Ribbing him was how she had learned to be affectionate towards him. Giving him a hard time made him flustered, or it made him laugh, and either reaction was a well-welcomed sight that had left a fluttering in her chest. The lighthearted back and forth they'd learned to communicate through made it easier to ignore the sidelong glances, and yearning that had begun to take shape beneath the surface. 

“Alright,” she sighed, pulling the tiny flashlight out of her belt, “eyes on me”.

“They usually are,” he smirked. 

With the light, she checked his eyes and got promising results: no abnormal dilation. Both pupils were even and responsive to light. “Today's date?” She asked him. 

“February twelfth”.

“Your date of birth?” 

“October twenty-first. Nineteen ninety”.

“Any headache, nausea, persistent dizziness?” 

He responded no to all the symptoms and she allowed some relief to fill her knowing the initial symptoms had dissipated and not worsened. Finally, she held one finger up waiting for his eyes to focus. “Follow me,” she said her hand moving to the left, his eyes followed. 

“I'll follow you anywhere,” he said as her hand moved to the right. 

“Don't flirt with me, Hangman”. 

“Wouldn't it be stranger if I didn't? I’m just proving I’m not concussed”. His point was somewhat valid but she didn't let him know she thought so, continuing her evaluation in silence.

He's like this with everyone. She'd been telling herself the same thing for years. You're not special. He'll flirt with anyone. A painful truth that's helped her ignore his beautiful green eyes and warm countenance. 

---

Laying on her back in the snow drawing her last breaths now she wishes she could see those eyes one more time as her vision begins to blur. The blue sky swirls into the emerald pines, the colours lightened by the soft sunlight. The colours like sea glass make her think of him and tears begin to gather behind her eyes. “I'm sorry,” she wants to say but only a pathetic whimper leaves her. She wonders if she would have been kinder to him if she had known she was going to die. Would she have been more honest with her feelings? Or pushed them down deeper in some foolish attempt to protect him? The sun continues to rise and she knows he will wake soon. Selfishly, she hopes she’s drifted off before then, unwilling to see him hurting on her behalf. 

---

“Not concussed, but still a pain in my ass,” she had teased him, pushing his hair off his forehead, double-checking for any wounds. He took her words as permission to keep moving. Each of them threw a parachute pack over their shoulders and continued their walk northeast through the woods. 

By 1900 hours the sun had begun to dip beneath the horizon, and the sky above turned a deep blue dotted by tiny spangling stars. Breathtaking and brilliant it had been easy to forget, just for a moment, where they were. She slung the chute of her shoulders towards the ground hissing at the movement. She hadn't had the time to check herself over. Best case her ribs were bruised, at worst she'd find out they were broken, and there would be nothing to help her until they had access to a medical bay anyway. 

“Are you sure you're okay, Angel?” Hangman asked, using her call sign letting her know he meant business. He was not asking as a friend, he was asking as her teammate. 

“Yes,” she lied. The pain was tolerable, only worsening with sharp or sudden movement. Nothing she couldn't handle, and nothing she would force Jake to worry about. 

“Are you sure? I wouldn't be opposed to stripping you down to check for injuries,” his flirtations softened the conversation in an attempt to get her to tell him the truth. 

“In your dreams,” she responded instead, moving along the base of a nearby tree in hopes of gathering some firewood and kindling.

“Quite frequently, actually,” the wink he shot her way repeats in her head even now piercing through the fourth wall of the masquerade they had built, an honest and boyish confirmation that their feelings for each other were something beyond friendship. 

The plethora of fresh fallen snow meant finding water wasn't an issue of concern. Finding food would be more difficult and that first night under the stars they sat watching the flickering flames of the fire they had built, their empty stomachs rumbling with nothing to fill them. 

Stretched between two trees, one of the parachutes they liberated from their wreck was used as a windscreen, protecting them from the cold. The second one lay draped around their shoulders as an extra layer. 

Proximity wasn't an issue for them. They had spent enough time in cramped cockpits together to be familiar with the sounds of each other breathing. They had sat shoulder to shoulder in briefings enough time that she had memorized the smell of his cologne. And yet, when he put his arm around her to pull her closer in their makeshift cocoon her heart stuttered. How could his hands be so strong when her own wouldn't stop shaking? How could a simple touch warm her from the inside out? His fingers brushed along her side with no real pressure, but still prompted a gasp to escape her. Tears left glass trails on her cheeks in the firelight. 

She tried to turn away from him, to feign sleep but he wouldn't have it. “Hey,” Jake caught her attention, waiting for her to look at him before he continued, “We're going to be okay”. 

She believed him. 

---

Everything about their uniforms has been painstakingly designed to keep them safe. 100% cotton undershirts and pants because the material won't melt to their skin in the event of a cockpit fire. But the surprisingly soft base layers have never stopped the blaze burning inside her. From the moment she laid eyes on Jake Seresin she knew he'd be the beginning and the end of everything. He pushed people away with his cocky attitude, somehow convinced that his refusal to be vulnerable would keep him safe from forming meaningful bonds; that he might get further ahead if he had fewer people to let down. But, he'd let her in. He'd let her break down his walls and climb over the fences he'd tried to put up. She'd held him when he got the news his father had died. On a ship thousands of miles from his home he'd told her about his brother dying when he was a child, and growing up in his shadow. He told her how badly he wanted to make his parents proud and how lonely he had made himself in the process. He'd kissed her forehead as they parted that night, and her world changed forever. 

What had been an embarrassing schoolgirl crush she couldn’t shake had become a push-and-pull relationship neither of them could do without. She knew how to put him in his place when he took a joke too far. He knew how to goad her into showing everyone what she was capable of, refusing to let her slip into the background when he knew she deserved more. 

Two sides of the same coin, they were joined a the hip; partners in every way but the romantic. The words “I love you,” had passed between them many times, but neither of them had been brave enough to say, “I’m in love with you”. She wishes she would have said it. Lying at death’s door she remembers being told that you often regret the things you haven’t done more than you regret the things you did. “I’m in love with you, Jake Seresin,” she whispers to the wind. 

---

Their second day of walking was far more painful than the first. Jake had startled himself awake, his eyes wild as he fought to remember where it was they had ended up. The acceptance of their reality hadn't seemed to comfort him and he grew uncharacteristically quiet as they packed up their makeshift camp. The pine trees towering above them had been kind enough to shed some of their cones while they had lay sleeping in shifts. Though they hadn't offered many, they were able to harvest a handful of pine nuts between the two of them for breakfast. It was nowhere near a meal, but the snack had managed to quiet their angry stomachs for a few minutes.

The ache in her side had grown to become a constant agony. What had started as a negligible strain was now a torment that threatened to collapse her with each footfall. Despite the subzero temperatures, a sweat had broken out across her brow, and the heat spreading up the back of her neck left her wanting to strip off her cold weather jacket and flight suit. 

“Have you ever had rabbit?” Jake asked around noon. His footsteps had slowed enough for her to catch up with him. His voice had startled her after all the silence. 

“I can't say that I have,” she answered. A gunshot pulled her from her thoughts and she realized she hadn't ever answered out loud. Jake stood a few feet ahead of her, his service pistol in his hand. The world around her was spinning. The trees blurring together as a sudden wave of nausea filled her. She could hear her name being called; muffled and distorted. Jake. His face soon filled her line of vision. 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” he told her, but her mind still struggled to put the pieces together. For a moment it felt like she was underwater, all her breath gone from her lungs and all she could feel was the scalding pain burning from the inside out. Momentarily she entertained the idea that it was her who had been shot until she spotted the rabbit lying lifeless in the snow. 

“We need to eat,” Jake spoke again, “you're going quiet on me and I don't like that-- we’ll get some energy in you again before we keep moving”.

The very idea of eating anything threatened to leave her dry-heaving, but she took advantage of the moment to rest. He didn't mention her lack of assistance building a fire or preparing the rabbit, but she watched with incredible focus his hands moving with precision and surprising gentleness for the task at hand. 

She can recall him telling her stories about his childhood, standing on step stools to reach the countertop in his mother's kitchen rolling out pie crusts and later on slicing apples. He once told her that it was his mother who had taught him patience and gratitude while they baked together; two traits he had neglected to exhibit far too often in his adult life. 

She listened to him thank the rabbit for its life as he cut away pieces to feed to her. There was an unmistakable love in the way he moved, his eyes cast over his shoulder to check on her. Slowly, she realized that she was not doing a good job hiding her suffering. In a fleeting thought, she imagined Jake having to carry her lifeless body for the rest of their journey. In their line of work, it had never been considered morbid to have funeral plans from a young age. Flying with him for years she had learned to trust him implicitly, despite the call sign he'd earned and worked tirelessly to recover from she knew early on that he'd do right by her. Challenging authority, but always following the rules; complete and unwavering dedication to whatever task he had at hand; precision and perfection in the execution of his duties be it laundry or taking down a fighter jet midair. As her energy continued to leave her she took comfort in knowing her life would be in Hangman's hands. 

“I'm not hungry,” she said to him. 

“You need to eat,” he insisted again but didn't push any farther. With a longanimity he forgot he possessed, and a magnanimity he couldn't credit himself for carrying he cared for her; making the executive decision to make camp early as her seemingly catatonic state worsened. She managed to chew and swallow bites of the gamey meat, her body grateful for the nutrition.  

Night fell too soon after and the sound of the wind in the trees and the rustle of creatures that may have been lurking left both of them far more on edge than they had been the night before. 

“Scoot closer,” she whispered to him, and he complied without complaint. Neither of them was warm, but their proximity to the fire helped them imagine they could be. His shoulder bumped hers and she leaned her head against him. “Put your arm around me?” She asked. He complied again this time with more hesitation. 

“You know if you wanted to snuggle with me you could've just said so,” he teased though she could tell his heart wasn't in it. 

“I'm scared,” she confessed, a half-truth. She was terrified, feeling her heart rate starting to slow by the minute, her vision slipping in and out of focus. 

“We're going to make it home,” he whispered, both arms wrapped around her now, his lips pressed to her hairline. Tears blurred in her eyes and she gave up fighting back a sob, body shaking and heartbreaking. “I won't let anything happen to you,” he said so sincerely. She cried harder knowing she had already broken that promise for him. 

She had realized she'd lost feeling in her fingers and toes when he'd begun to trace shapes on her back. Her digits buzzed with needles and pins and her limbs had began to feel heavy. Bile rose in her throat choking her as she scrambled to get her distance before dinner made a reappearance. Jake didn't make a fuss, or make his worry known, but she could tell that her perturbation had begun to seep beneath his calm, cool, mien. His hand shook as he rubbed her back hoping her coughing fit might free her off the anxiety and discomfort that had overtaken her. 

She can remember almost every time Jake Seresin has touched her. The memories float suspended in golden warmth, kept safe from the things theyve done, and the things they’ve seen. She holds those moments of fleeting, passing goodness, near to her heart. The smallest reminders that Hangman has a heart; and it’s full of love to give, and on some occasions, she has allowed herself to believe she could be worthy of that love. 

He used to sit beside her in the mess hall no matter how many seats were available; his broad shoulders bumping her own, his elbow knocking at her ribs, their hands brushing as he slid his mashed potatoes onto her plate and she slid her green beans onto his. Silent and symbiotic in their bond, determined to look out for one another. 

The first New Year's Eve they were able to spend together off base was spent with as many friends as possible and too much liquor to handle. Neither of them got a midnight kiss because she was spilling her guts in the alleyway behind the bar, Jake by her side saying “I told you not to do shots after drinking a glass of wine”.  But his satisfied smirk was overshadowed by the genuine concern in his eyes and the steady warm hand he'd placed on her back. “There you go, you'll feel better once you get it all out”. He was drunk himself, his words half slurred but no less encouraging. She had thought then that he was seeing her at her worst. She knows now that she was wrong. 

By some miracle they had been deployed together more often than not. At first it was pure coincidence, but over time it became clear that together they were a dynamic duo with a combined force and efficiency they're commanding officers could not deny, and were often interested in capitalizing on. They had become two halves of a whole, a packaged pair anyone would be disinclined to separate. Still, they had not been permitted to bunk together, and neither of them had ever been interested in breaking the rules of the institution so they never pushed it. But on nights when the creaks and groans of the 900,000 pound ship kept her awake, and the rocking of the waves around them was too much to ignore she knew she'd be able to find him lurking around the corridors as well.

 “I couldn't sleep,” she'd say. “Me neither,” he'd respond. Sometimes, when the world felt too heavy on his shoulders and they'd been away from home for too long they'd find their way to the floor together, his back pressed to hers, their arms circling their knees, and he'd sync his breathing to hers convincing himself that so long as she was their he had some piece of his real life with him. A part of Jake Seresin that wasn't just a pawn in battles bigger than him, he was a man with thoughts and feelings, and dreams outside of his role worth achieving. 

---

This is as good a place to die as any, she thinks.

The parachute that isn't being used to block the wind is still draped over the two of them and she hopes it keeps Jake warm until he wakes. His walk to the base will take him longer now dragging her weight behind him, he'll need his sleep. 

She lets the sound of the wind lull her and she finds that she's not afraid anymore. Just sad; angry even; but not afraid. Her pain is excruciating, and she’s honestly welcoming the relief of a permanent slumber. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. The wind gusts come steadily, growing louder and ever closer. 

Jake stirs beneath her, sitting up her head falling to his lap. “Well would you look at that! No more walking for us,” he grins. Her eyes have shut but she can hear it in his voice, the boy like wonder bursting  the surface. “Angel, wake up,” he shakes her shoulder. The joy that had filled him moments ago has been replaced with a more serious tone, “they sent a chopper for us, honey,” he says, shaking her again, “you've gotta get up,” he pleads with her, but she cannot answer him. His hand is surprisingly warm on the side of her face, and the world goes dark and silent. 

Death is softer than she expected. It's dark still, but her head is resting on something plush, and there's a feel of woven fabric at her fingertips, it reminds her of the blanket Jake's mom had sent to her last Christmas. Her back and her legs feel stiff and she makes no attempt to move them uninterested in exploring this darken world she's found herself in. Her ribs ache but far less than they did back in the snow, the pinch she feels with each breath is like an echoed sound, a pallid reminder of her last moments. 

There's a humming; a mellifluous tune. It drifts in and out, bookended by murmuring she cannot decipher. Come back to me. The words become clear. Angel. Guilt fills her, petulant and helpless as emotion overwhelms her. She wants to move towards the voice, to apologize for leaving but she's not sure she can. I need you honey. 

Jake. Oh, it's so clear now. Jake. 

“Hey, hey, you're okay,” Jake's hands brace her shoulder, and just above her knee willing her to stop flailing her panicked limbs. Her eyes shoot open to meet his; golden green and brimming with tears she wishes she had the strength to stop. The insistent beeping that had filled the room quiets as she relaxes back into the pillows. 

The Navy infirmary isn't anything fancy, but it's far more comfortable than the nights she spent with her back up against the bark of a tree. She has so many questions but they fade out of her mind as quickly as they spark in. Blips of clarity overriden by the need to speak to Jake who is looking at her with more wonder than she's even seen. The man has seen the world from 40,000 feet but he's looking at her like she hung his stars in the sky. 

“Jake,” she manages. 

“Yeah, Angel”. 

Her throat feels like sandpaper, her voice scratchy and raw with disuse, but she fights through it, 

“I'm in love with you,” she says, sucking in a breath that makes her cough. Her lungs feel like they're on fire and she works desperately to inhale and exhale as the ache in her side is reawaken. 

Jake offers her water that manages to swallow down, and when she takes a few shaky breaths without wincing, he sets the paper cup aside. 

She gives him a gentle nod, refusing to meet his gaze. He doesn't let it slide, his forefinger tilting her chin up so she can't hide from him. She envies his confidence, his ability to simplify a scenario. 

“I'm in love with you,” he tells her too. 

[irisintheafterglow]

touya todoroki completes community service hours at an aquarium.

your supervisors, understandably, were adamantly against having the convicted criminal anywhere near the facility, its staff, and its animals. however, after being reassured time and time again that he wouldn't be working in public areas, you were assigned to be his unofficial parole officer (or off-fish-er you called it) because of your hydrokinetic quirk. not only were you responsible for watching a criminal, you were also the first line of defense in case he decided to make the facility into a seafood boil.

you'd better be getting a stellar letter of recommendation after all this.

as luck would have it, word spread quickly among aquarium staff about the new volunteer and his...messy...history. you received many texts wishing you good luck and stating that you're in many people's prayers as if working with him would be a death sentence. but, to your surprise, your first day with touya is actually...not terrible.

"you're doing a nice job. you can cut them into larger chunks if you want," you recommend kindly as he slices pieces of shrimp and fish for the penguins and drops them into the gray bucket.

"don't want them to choke," he mumbles almost imperceptibly. from what you've heard about him, touya was physically incapable of shutting up and always had some snarky insult to mutter under his breath. the man you were working with, however, kept his thoughts to himself and only engaged you with curt acknowledgments of tasks. "these got bones in 'em still?"

"digestible ones, yeah," you confirm, a little confused about why he's so curious. he struck you as the type of guy to just work and finish his assignments with as little energy exertion as possible. but here he was, concerned for the animals' safety even when he hadn't even seen them yet. "we just need to cut them up because some of them try to swallow the big ones whole, and we don't need them blocking their throats."

"how many are there?"

"the penguins?" he hums in assent, never taking his eyes off the precise cuts on the food. "i think our colony is a few dozen, maybe twenty-two?"

"do they get along well?"

"some of them are a little feistier than others," you admit with a fond smile. "but the majority of them are really sweet. you'll see when you meet them."

"meet them?"

"you're not walking out with me, of course," you quickly correct. "my shift lead's gonna have my head on a stake if you so much as show a finger to the public." he nods, an odd sort of quiet falling between you two that was more awkward than the previous silence. if you knew any better, you would interpret his expression for disappointment. "there's one recovering from an illness backstage named peach. she gets fed on her own, but if there's some left over i can take you over there to feed her."

"it's fine. don't wanna bother your routine," he mutters with a shrug, but you catch the renewed glint in his eyes at the prospect of meeting one of the animals personally. after feeding the main colony and not-so-accidentally leaving a few treats at the bottom of the bucket, touya follows you through the back halls of the vet center to peach's holding area.

"be warned, she's one of the feisty ones," you caution him, carefully stepping into the plexiglass-enclosed space. he copies your motions exactly and you're surprised, again, from the great care he seems to take when interacting with the small penguin. "so, all you need to do is hand out the fish to her and let her take it in her beak."

"does she dislike new people?" he asks as peach aggressively inspects his shins, prodding them with her beak when touya tries to step away. "i don't think she likes me."

"it's the opposite, believe it or not; you're making her angry when you try to give her space like that," you reply with a stifled laugh.

"oh. i see." peach continues to slap touya with her fins and poke him until he gives her what she wants, a large chunk of fish straight from his hand. you kneel down next to him when he has a seat on the floor, his eyes curiously observing the spunky bird. "she always this sassy with you?"

"only when she gets jealous," you smile, running your hand over the top of her head. her eyes close in contentment before returning to touya's outstretched food offering. "what do you think?"

"about what?"

"do you think this arrangement is gonna be a nightmare for you?" he pauses and, for the millionth time that day, surprises you with how much thought he put into his actions.

"if everyone i meet is as easy as you and her," he says, gesturing to peach but speaking soft enough to make your cheeks heat, "i think i'll get by."

---

"peach duty today?"

"schedule got mixed around, so we'll be giving her dinner instead of lunch today," you reply and touya hums at your side, an answer that could be considered rude if you didn't already know he was a man of few words.

few words, that is, if he was speaking to anyone other than the animals. after a month of touya shadowing you, you could pick up on the little conversations he had with the different animals he took care of: asking the cownose rays to calm down during feeding time, warning the reef sharks that they might need braces if they keep losing so many teeth (he kept forgetting it was normal for them to lose that many teeth), quietly cheering on the day octopus as he breaks into a jar full of crabs.

"who've we got today?"

"took a hell of a lotta convincing, but my boss is letting you meet my best friend today," you inform him. touya walks in step beside you like he'd memorized the fishy-smelling back halls of the aquarium, barely sparing passing wary staff so much as a glance. you'd be intimidated, too, if he wasn't your partner; he was formidable in his favorite blue windbreaker with his hands stuffed casually in its pockets that subtly accented the lean muscle in his arms. not that you were paying much attention to his body, anyway.

"and who would that be?"

"her name is donna, but i call her mama donna." he follows you down a corridor he'd never taken before, toward the very back of the medical wing. "take that hall on the right and change into a wetsuit; i'll meet you back over here, okay?"

"why do i need to change?"

"well, because you're getting in the water with me."

shit.

it's the first time touya hesitates in a long time when you beckon him to join you in the shallow pool. you'd already summoned donna, who was much larger of an animal than he expected. you said she was an adult zebra shark, but all he could register is the tiny tank of brown sacks the size of his hand just outside the walls of the pool.

"i don't think it's the best--"

"get in the water, touya, or i'm gonna report you for insubordination," you interrupt, waist-deep in the water. you don't mean it, of course, but you did need a hand with donna if you were going to check on the status of her eggs.

"i shouldn't be in the water with her, 'specially if she's a mother."

"what, you got something against moms?" he flinches and you suddenly regret speaking so brashly, something about his reaction indicating that you'd hit a nerve. "sorry, that was insensitive--"

"i don't wanna hurt her if i..." his voice trails off and he looks down at his scarred hands, the tissue dark enough to almost match the color of his wetsuit. "it's better for everyone if i don't get close to her if she's vulnerable." you wait for him to look you dead in the eyes before answering.

"i wouldn't bring you to meet her if i didn't think you were ready, touya," you begin gently. "i don't think of you the same way as the rest of the staff because you've proven that you're different from the gossip."

"but what if i--"

"did you forget why i'm paired with you in the first place?" donna swims around you impatiently, nudging you with her nose while you continue to convince touya to get in the water. "i'm the only one on staff that can neutralize you, but i know i won't need to."

"how are you so sure?"

"because i hear you talk to them," you state simply, rubbing your hand on donna's nose as her tail splashes your upper body. "your little conversations tell me you care, even if i'm not allowed to be a part of them." you shoot him a wry smile and he finally scoffs, partly a chuckle and partly an exhale; he didn't realize he'd been holding his breath. "i'll drown you if you heat this water by even half a degree, so help me with donna and then we can go visit peach, yeah?"

---

you'd fallen into an unexpectedly fond partnership over the course of your six months of touya-duty. he was a pretty damn good listener, letting you boss him this way and that and only retaliating with a lighthearted eyeroll. on certain occasions, he would open up about his history, and you followed along intently. he insisted on doing the heavy lifting and opening every door for you, even if you weren't carrying anything. he remembered every animal by name and could tell apart the most similar looking creatures, pointing out their differences with an expression that screamed 'is it not obvious?' towards the end of his assignment, you both faced an unexpected surprise.

his family came to visit.

well, not all of his family, only the ones touya maintained somewhat of a relationship with. in the times he'd opened up, he briefly mentioned his now-graduated little brother, shoto, and the work he'd done to mend the tears between him, his mother, and his other siblings. you consider it a blessing that only his mother and siblings appear when you round the corner to the 'vip only' waiting area (from your talks, you'd also learned it'd be on sight if touya's retired father stepped on the property). he freezes when he sees his family as the guests who would be shadowing him, becoming uncharacteristically stiff as petrified wood.

"welcome, todoroki family. i'm so glad you could join us today," you greet with a polite smile. only when your hand gently settles on touya's shoulder, the reminder of your presence melting the chill in his veins, does the tension in his body dissipate. "touya? d'you wanna introduce me to your family?" he glances at you, your unwavering trust in him, and his eyes soften as he nods.

"yeah," he affirms quietly. "yeah, i can do that."

"doing great, partner," you whisper once you're acquainted with the family and on the move, heading toward the back halls of the tropical gallery. "i'll only talk if you need me to, today, because i want this to be about you and them."

"but you're not gonna leave me, right?"

"wouldn't dream of it," you reassure him, something in your heart stumbling when he gives you an easy smile. as the day goes on and touya guides his family through the back corridors of the facility, he's able to ramble about all the knowledge he'd acquired while working with you. at each exhibit, he points out every species with total accuracy and shares his favorite quirks about certain animals. you have a front-row seat for the way his eyes, usually so molten and intense, have a star-like quality to them when he talks about his new friends, the abalone and the otters and the sea bass. his family observes him in awe, and you catch his mother watching you watch him several times. touya ends the day by introducing peach, his self-proclaimed 'number one girl,' and helping his family with her nightly feeding. though all the todoroki siblings struck you as reserved when you first met them, their conversations were full of life as they walked ahead and you trailed behind with his mother.

"this suits him," rei states with a thoughtful smile.

"i'm biased, but i agree," you reply. she fixes you again with that curious stare, analyzing you. "do i have fish scales on my face?" she laughs and shakes her head.

"no, i'm just indebted to you for getting through to him." you blink, taken aback by her genuine response. "being with you makes him happy. i haven't seen him like this in a long while." she turns back to her children, walking in one raucous group and making plans to get dinner after his shift. "he doesn't talk with them like this often."

"i imagine it's all a mother would want after everything they've been through, if i may," you add and she hums in agreement.

"it is. it's also why, i hope you wouldn't mind," she trails off and her eyebrows pinch slightly, like she's thinking of something worrisome. "if he could stay here."

"of course. i've noticed that he has a knack for husbandry, so--"

"he wants to stay with you," she cuts in, her voice soft as powdered snow. "and i'd like him to stay with you, if it means we can see him more like--"

"this," you finish for her, gesturing to the pile of adult men wrestling each other just ahead, their sister shaking her head from afar. rei sighs, her smile turning sad.

"exactly." before you can give her your reply, touya has escaped his brothers and approached to steal you from his mother.

"if you take those double doors and turn left, you'll end up in the gift shop. wait there and we can get dinner once i'm off," he tells rei, taking her hand and squeezing it once. "i won't be long." she nods and joins her other children, leaving you alone with touya in front of the staff-only window of the sea lion pool. the fading afternoon light catches in the water's rippling and sends a soft beam of light across the cavern. the largest of the lions, boris, floats from below to observe you and touya standing in front of his tank.

"he moves like a slinky," touya states and you can't help but laugh.

"he does move like a slinky, you're right." you turn to him and find he's already looking back at you, not boris. "i loved meeting your family today," you offer in the silence that makes the heartbeat in your ears sound so much louder. "they're very sweet, especially your mother."

"what were you two talking about while we were away?"

"she wanted to show me baby photos," you tease and he gives his signature eyeroll. "but really," you inhale and steady yourself, "she was saying how much this suits you."

"i'd have to agree," he murmurs, his eyes glowing like dying embers. you're close enough to smell him, smoky and rich and only the slightest bit like fish. the proximity feels comforting, like home. "if...if you'd let me--"

"stay with me," you blurt. he blinks at you, the rosy color on the tips of his ears standing out against the bright white. "i-i want you to stay with me." you wait and the quiet stews, nothing moving except slinky-like boris in the water beside you. touya's reply is barely above a whisper.

"i want to stay with you." you release a shaky exhale and let your head fall forward against his chest, steadied by his arms securing themselves around your waist. your hands slide over his shoulders and rest at the nape of his neck, fiddling with the tuft of hair at its base. "please let me stay with you," he breathes in your ear. his arms flex as his grip tightens, like you'd turn to water if he held you too loosely. touya feels like his heart is rattling in his ribcage, bouncing around uncontrollably the longer he has you in his arms. he hasn't felt his chest ache like this before.

"yes, i want you to stay with me," you confirm and he melts into you, breathing you in like fresh oxygen.

"for how long?"

"as long as you'd let me," you answer honestly. the corner of his mouth turns upward in a teasing smirk.

"and if i said forever?"

"then i guess i'd have to oblige," you beam. your hands cup his face, tracing the seam of his scars, and your eyes flutter shut as his lips meet yours. it's careful, the first time he kisses you, and he's terrified you'd slip from his fingers. but you don't disappear, so he lets himself lace your fingers with his and drag you out to the rest of his loved ones, hand-in-hand and finally feeling like he can do something good.

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[buckyalpine]

Thinking about the cutest little beefy babie Bucky who just needs cuddles and kisses and to feel small. He’s spent so much of his life forced into the complete opposite, the large killing machine who was hosed down with ice cold water, fed through tubes, his mind wiped a thousand times over. He knows he wants to be babied but he has no idea how to put it into words and he’s too embarrassed to ever bring it up. That's all he wants. A safe space all just for him.

The mission takes forever, mental and physical exhausting competing against each other to wear the soldier down. He sits at the able after mustering a quick shower; your heart hurts seeing him look so defeated, not touching his food, too tried to even lift the spoon.

“Here, let me feed you” you smiled, taking his plate from him and feeding him little bites of pasta. You notice the way his eyes light up, sitting up a little straighter for you while you carefully make sure not to spill anything. Your thumb wipes away a tiny smidge of sauce from the corner of his mouth and Bucky feels warm and fuzzy on the inside.

“Thank you” he whispered, cheeks tinted pink

“What else do you need, Bub?” You caress his scruffy cheek and you swear you hear him whimper. He's in a headspace he can't quite place his finger on, desperately craving more of your affection. He contemplates keeping his mouth shut and just going to his room, not wanting to push his luck but you touch him so softly and he needs it so badly.

“Cuddles please?” He manages, immediately nuzzling into your side.

"Of course" You take his hand and lead him to your room, leaving the lamp on so Bucky isn't plunged into total darkness. He shuffles at the edge of your bed while you pull back the sheets, tugging him to lay on top of you. He’s physically much larger than you but on the inside he’s so little. He curls him self up into a ball, loving the way you wrap him up, holding him close to your body. His head rests against your chest and for the first time ever, he falls asleep to the sound of your heartbeat without a single nightmare plaguing him.

Bucky managed to keep it between to two of you, those puppy eyes always a sign that he needed his safe space. Around others he'd hold himself together, going through the motions and as soon as he sees you, he simply melts. He only lets his inhibitions' down when there is no on else around.

There are some days where he's so lost in himself, so tired, so drained, he struggles with the most basic tasks. Tears well in his eyes, his head hurting as he tries to comb through his hair, some how making it worse. You hear a sniffle as you pass by his room, gently knocking before entering and seeing his fallen face.

“Mama?” He doesn't always realize when he calls you that but he can't help it. You're the safest person on the planet for him, so soft and pretty and oh so loving.

“What it is, bear” you coo, taking his hand away from tugging with the brush, seeing his frustrations grow. He whimpered at the knot in his hair that hurts to detangle, looking at you with glassy eyes. You lead him to sit down at the edge of his bed while you work through his chestnut lock. He lets out a content sigh when he feels your gentle nimble fingers work through his hair without hurting him. You graze and massage his scalp as you detangle and your small ministrations make it hard for him to keep his eyes open.

“Sleepy” he mumbled, pushing his face into your tummy and hugging you close like his favorite stuffy. He lets out a precious yawn and pulls you to bed to cuddle.

“Go to sleep, bear" You whisper, kissing his forehead, rubbing his back in soothing circles. He nods against your skin before descending into soft snores.

Such a cute beefy baby.

[fantasyinallforms]

Here we go again, good Bagginshield people. I need NEED to talk about this beauty of a scene. Now I will admit BOTFA can be hard to watch but it gives us the most obvious Bagginshild moments. I want to make you aware of some of the more subtle moments within those larger scenes. Let's dive in.

The absolute speed at which this dwarf whips around the moment he hears Bilbo's voice makes his hair spin. His eyes go wide, and his mouth pulls into a surprised smile. All this is combined with the sheer palpable relief in his voice when he breathes out Bilbo's name. He doesn't hesitate to walk toward Bilbo. He moves like it's natural. Like he's being pulled to Bilbo. There is intention in those steps because he stops abruptly when Bilbo moves. I completely think he meant to embrace him. Here is the slow-mo of Thorin's face. Look how happy he looks! His eyes, compared to the 15 seconds before this scene, might as well have stars in them.

Now, don't neglect Bilbo's reaction in this scene. He anticipates Thorin coming towards him, and he's walking too, stopping just as abruptly. His mind is, of course, more on delivering his crucial information.

Now, this part is interesting because, incredibly quickly, Thorin takes the defensive. His first act after getting the news is to pull his nephews back, a task you would think he would take on himself, but he sends Dwalin instead. The moment Bilbo walked into the picture, he was hesitant to leave him alone and wants to stay by his side. He had every intention of leaving with Bilbo, likely to be able to protect him. That is made crystal clear by the following gif.

They are on an active battlefield, but look at the easy way they look at each other and wordlessly convey their thoughts.

It's even more clear in slow motion that looks of relief and trust. With Thorin's look clearly saying will you follow me? Knowing what, not long ago, he was ready to dangle his hobbit over the rampart. There is an almost sheepish way Thorin looks at him. His face softens, and his eyes become kinder. Alternatively, Bilbo's responding nod and smile are permeated with its own relief. He likely suspected the gold sickness was broken, but Thorin's look proved it. His shoulders visibly relax when Thorin looks at him.

After everything that has happened between them, they snap back into this easy rapport as if it were second nature. But it is. The moment they met, everything about them became tangled together. Every scene that contains the two of them is just a treasure trove of these moments. I've made it my mission to ensure no one misses a single one.

~~

More deep dives like this can be found by searching the pinned tag #deep dive on my page ❤️

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

would love to request a "friends to lovers" story between Hiccup and the reader.

They could have been friends since childhood, but I’m not sure what you think about the idea where, as they grow up, it becomes completely normal for them to hold hands or even share more intimate moments, like a kiss. (Don’t let it show how much I love this dynamic).

I’d love to see how you would develop this story (only if you feel like it, of course). I seriously ADORE your writing! Blessings and kisses, MUAK! ❤💗

One of These Days

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader

Words: 3,740

You didn’t know when it started; maybe it had been when he’d smiled at you for the first time, or he’d held your hand, or leaned his head over yours. 

Tags:  httyd 1, httyd 2, friends to lovers

It was growing darker outside. 

Frigid air licked at the frame of your back, slithering and scraping past cracks in the walls and shutters. It tasted just as cool as it smelt.

You didn’t know when it started, nor were you sure how to feel about it, what with that odd thing sitting between the two of you. You could tell he expected something, what with the way he often shuffled closer than was necessary and fumbled over his own words in an effort to impress.

“Pass me the hammer?” He asked you without looking, lanky shoulders square, hands pressed against parchment, fingers sliding absentmindedly over scrawled-out charcoal and past thick-handled tools.

You snuffled, blinking from where you sat just beside him.

It was just to the right of you on one slightly uneven workbench, closer to the forge’s main window than away. You grabbed at it with slightly wobbly fingers, grimacing as it nearly fell from your hands.

At twelve winters, you still had some time left before you’d really be expected to bloody your hands, and by bloody your hands, you meant to be able to take down a full-grown dragon on your own.’ Of course, most children by now had done their fair share of slaughtering, both animals and otherwise, but none had been able to make it during a raid without help. While you hadn’t done any of it, putting you sorely behind, you were still fine.

For Hiccup, son of Stoick the Vast, feared dragon-killer, the deadlines were a little bit tighter.

You placed the hammer firmly, determinedly into Hiccup’s open palm, the tips of your fingers dragging against slightly sweaty skin.

Gobber had been generous enough to let you in. He didn’t often or ever stop the two of you from doing things. Even still, this was the first time you’d been invited into the forge, and he hadn’t said anything.

Hiccup had also been generous enough to invite you in. You hadn’t quite recognized the invitation for what it was, nor did you think Hiccup did, either. Really, the experience was proving to be rather close. It was the first time you’d ever seen him so enraptured in his work, though, to be fair, you hadn’t known him for long. He’d hardly talked about it.

You doubted he’d told anyone else- it was going to be a larger machine. He definitely didn’t have everything he needed to make it. Not the wood, which would make up a frame large enough to swarf half your body, or all the metals and ores he’d need to make all the levers and rods.

He wasn’t wearing any fur coat, just an apron and his green tunic. He scribbled notes down like the world might be swallowed if he didn’t. You could tell he’d never done that before- made such detailed instructions, thought up such an elaborate contraction.

You liked him happy. You’d seen him frustrated and you thought that was alright too, puzzling over his own work, tongue peeking out slightly from between two teeth, not comically. It was more a subtle, awkward thing.

With his back to you, he worked with a dedicated, single-minded focus, almost tireless. He worked from the moment he sat down to the moment he finished his task with a passion usually only meant for the battlefield, spotted in the eyes of the hungry past floating ashes and spraying gore. It was a passion that said that nothing had ever come natural to him.

He taught himself how to try.

You thought that he must be daring, more than any Viking warrior.

Maybe he wasn’t yet a man, but you could see the shadow of the man he would be-mature, confident, skilled, focused. The way he worked in the forge- his need to shoot down a dragon paled in comparison.

You wondered if anyone else would ever get to see him the way you did, red-and-orange firelight warming his cheeks.

He caught you looking and he smiled, something almost half-toothless and completely crooked, revealing brown-auburn hair made to glow in the light of the fires, spotted gaps in rows of teeth, freckles dusting over a nose’s bridge like speckles on bird’s feathers.

He spoke almost hesitantly, confusedly, as if he’d just realized he’d forgotten to respond, and hadn’t realized it was that important, or that you would have been expecting it, though that didn’t matter to you, because he’d hardly needed to, “Thanks.”

Even unsure, he was much more at home here than out in the open world.

You felt your head perk, shoulders dropping as a soft, gawky thing curled and writhed bashfully in your stomach, not unlike the way a worm reveled in soft, blooming dirt.

Wow.

It hadn’t occurred to you that during all of a fortnight, you hadn’t seen him smile. Now that you’d seen it, you weren’t sure how you’d ever lived without it. 

You thought you could feel the heat radiating from his body as you shuffled closer to him, your fingers curling around his bicep, slightly damp through thick cloth. Your legs were nearly brushing then, leather smock teasing against cloth trouser as you pondered what it might feel like to be handed back soft, honeyed flowers by those very same sooted hands.

You shifted, the grass beneath you wet, dew clinging to the sides of your skirt like a few shiny glass beads. You felt the warm sun against your face, tickling against small hairs and soft skin. Your journal was to your front, scratched up leather cover pressed to your hands, a charcoal stick laying abandoned across empty parchment.

Nearby was a trickling stream, water weaving past water, spraying hollowly against rocks and moss- you could have likened it to yourself and the feeling in your soul, knotting up your chest and mixing up all kinds of squishy insides.

The last you’d seen, Hiccup had been walking. Now, he was nearly falling over himself, legs jerking as his saddle’s straps and reins restricted the movement of his ankles. His shouts echoed around the whole cove, sound bouncing off cold, stone-basin walls.

His dragon slunk off in the distance, still apprehensive and avoidant. It hadn’t quite gotten used to you yet, which was fine, because you were alright with keeping your distance.

Even after you’d had your hand on its slightly-sticky snout, whenever you saw it, you thought of wide, razor-sharp maws and torsos torn from small bodies. A dragon was always going to be a dragon and they were very much deadly creatures- his reassurances of the fact that the Night Fury was just as harmless as any man did you no favors. After all, the only creatures as deadly as a dragon were, in fact, bears… and men. It made you nervous.

It had large, slitted serpent’s eyes, though its scales were flatter and its skin more leathery than warted or slimy as you’d expected from such a fearsome beast. Its face was oddly symmetrical and squat in an abhorrently off-putting way, its horns or fins or whatever else that came sproutings from its skull sort of floppy and bashful and sort of too-big and not-grown-into-yet, just like it’s bulky, soft-looking paws, sort of like Hiccup.

“T-Toothless!” Hiccup practically yowled, distressed and scolding as he fell over, face-planting into dirt and short grass, half helped-along by the wet nose of his dragon. The difference- you felt almost enraptured by it.

He was awful and very often sort of standoffish and sarcastic though not often crude. He was picky and sort of insensitive and he often trampled over boundaries like he was dancing hand-in-hand with trouble, except he didn’t know how to dance, and the hall’s fires hadn’t been lit in a while- not for a celebration, at the very least. 

In that moment, though, you remembered the way it felt to have his folded knuckle digging slightly into your shoulders as he nudged against you distractedly,  just out of view behind the wooden barricade as he was scolded by Gobber. There was something about it that you thought might be either meaningful or accidental that turned over something in your stomach, most particularly because -and not in spite of- the fact that it had come from such a scrawny, lanky, often very, very clumsy-footed boy. 

The way he’d seemed, looking off reminded you of his father a little bit. You saw it, really- all the good and awful parts of the Chief that he’d most definitely inherited, even when most others couldn’t see it. You were scared of it somewhat; of how confident it made him, how distracted and sort of brave-like he could be, even if it only ever ended up making things work for the worst.

Past all your yearning, aching, wanting, and needing-to-have-ings, it scared you just as much as you thought you could watch forever. Did he ever feel the same way about you?

You hadn’t noticed as Hiccup had untangled himself from his trappings. He must have though, and quickly, as during the time you’d spent thinking, he’d walked up close enough to you to cast a long shadow over your face, pulling you out of your own reverie. 

You blinked aimlessly as he settled down next to you. You spoke hesitantly, “So, uhm, how did the saddle…?”

“He didn’t let me put it on.” Hiccup grumbled petulantly. While nothing more or less than sort of scrawny, with the way you were slumping and the way he was sitting with his back straight, he looked sort of tall. It did nothing to erase the pout from his face or the nasal from his voice.

You started, squeaking as his dragon -for the dragon was most definitely his, now- stepped out from the shadows, melded to its back like a fresh set of armor as it stalked its way around the clearing, eternally predatory. 

Hiccup seemed to relax some as you leaned against him, sort of using his shoulder as a shield, scooting behind it as the Night Fury grew closer. You felt particularly offended, even as he let you drape his arm over your middle, leaving his hand dangling awkwardly in the air. Protect me!

“Wow. What did I do?” Hiccup asked, half-smiling, shifting where he sat, unintentionally pressing your shoulder into slightly jagged rock as he got comfortable.

Sometimes you caught him looking, eyes agonizingly blank though the rest of his expression looked to be somewhat soft, the corners of his mouth pressing into a sweeter-looking half-smile. 

You grumbled incomprehensibly as you felt yourself once again eclipsed by shadow, much bigger this time. 

You leaned harder against his shoulder, one hand coming to tangle in his sleeve. You eyed it apprehensively, feeling thin twine catch against the place nail met skin. He didn’t get it.

“Don’t leave me behind.” You said suddenly, abruptly. “Ever.”

Hiccup rubbed the back of his head with his free hand, freckles and thin fingers easily losing themselves under the mop of your hair.

“I-ah, yeah, okay.” Hiccup said, brows crinkled, slight confusion evident in his voice, though it didn’t seem any less calm or comfortable for it. He especially didn’t seem to mind as you clung closer to him, something in his face glowing a blotchy, raw pink. “Alright.”

You were in danger. Really, if enjoyment was all he could bother to feel for your predicament, then you took back all of your praises.

You scoffed miffed-ly at a brown, quirked, knowing brow. The devil- He was such a boy. 

It didn’t matter what configuration of the face you had or your height or size of hair color. That wasn’t what he thought of when he thought of you, at least not at first. 

He looked back at you, sitting in the grass, leaning behind him and he couldn’t help but to think about how pretty your smile was, the way the sun lay over the side of your face and made you look as if you were glowing. Something in his neck twinged as he did, probably sprung or pulled earlier while he was trying to wrestle the saddle onto Toothless.

You were smart- a lot smarter than him on a lot of fronts, though he was pretty ingenious on his own, something anyone, even you, was hard-pressed to match.

Now, he realized, you were just as squirrely as you were cynical.

He’d never really thought of you as someone that needed shielding. You were just as capable and incapable as him in equal measure… mostly. But  in that moment, the realization came to him that maybe you… wanted to be?

He looked at you as you muttered something foul under your breath, feeling the same way he did trying to figure out a puzzle and the same way he felt piecing axles, barrels, ropes and wheels together to make up something interesting.

There really wasn’t much else to it, was there?

Really, if that was what you wanted, Hiccup was anyone but the right man for the job, but, well, if you wanted him… Hiccup winced as you dug your nails into his arm, leaving what was probably a deep set of crescent-shaped imprints in his arm, even through his tunic.

Yeah, he still wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

“It’s cold,” You mumbled absentmindedly, eyes shutting some as a breeze brushed over your cheeks and past your ears. 

You were right. It was chilly, of course, so high up in the watchtower. It was only your second time up there.

“Yeah…” Hiccup said, leaning closer to the fire.

The two of you bumped shoulders, using a spare piece of kindling like a chair. Your ankles were hooked together, tied like a knot in a rope. The sides of your legs were so closely pressed together that they were nearly flush, despite the fact that no one else was there besides the two of you, everyone else having long since packed up their things and left. He wasn’t sure what they’d talked about. He couldn’t remember.

Hiccup kept his eyes exactly where he shouldn’t, watching you.

Your eyes were half-lidded. You leaned over your knees more than not as you turned over a small, split spit, a chunk of lamb speared over one end, his fur coat draped over your shoulders, one hand clutching at the opposite, empty sleeve. You looked very pretty like that, contented.

“They’ve got to add some walls up here, you know,” You said, your head tilting upwards as you examined a particularly soft bit of meat, thumb sliding up your skewer as you tilted it slightly downwards. 

Wow. Hiccup’s eyes were half-lidded, even as he poked at the fires with a stick, nudging the ends of charred logs closer to the fire half-heartedly.

He could hold you by the waist and sway with you and touch your foreheads together and you could play-wrestle and fight in the grass but he couldn’t kiss you and tug his hands through your hair unless he was braiding it and it was driving him crazy. He didn’t want to or have to but now that he knew he could, he thought about it pretty often. He was a teenage boy and you were a teenage girl and he’d always been curious, so of course he’d considered it.

He needed to. He had for years with all the force of a child who’d just learned how to dream. It was- It was… The feeling was surprisingly moral, but no less impassioned.

“One of these days…” HIccup mumbled distractedly. 

One of these days. He thought that every morning, now.

Hiccup blinked, the two of you standing in front of each other, curling your fingers around each other, with your fingers still relaxed. It was comfortable, warm… easy. He turned it over in his head, again and again. 

The cheering of the arena was nearly deafening to his back, the sound of metal weapons crashing against cage bars grating to his ears. They wanted him, blood, the Nightmare… Astrid was waiting behind you, eyes burning holes into him with all the conflicted feelings of a lost warrior. Even past all that, it wasn’t hard, he found, to focus on you; the lines of your face, the soft and hard curves, each and every blemish and soft patch of skin.

Huh. He thought.

He leaned forward and pressed his face against your bowed head, your forehead touching his shoulder dully past thick brown furs. He felt the split of your hairline against the tip of his nose. His eyes were closed tightly shut.

He reveled in the feeling for the moment, taking in the way your hair felt against his cheeks and the way the leftover grasses and burnt wood and juniper left a scent that laid thick over your scalp, both dusty and spiced, a lot like pine.

Ultimately, he was doing this for Toothless, but now, today, he thought that he might be doing it a little for you, too.

The whistling of Toothless' -no, the Fury’s- wings nearly stunned him, loud enough to make it more difficult to think.

Hiccup nearly choked on wind as he gripped onto the handles he’d built into Toothless’ saddle. For a moment, he thought they wouldn’t hold. After all, one small strap of leather was nearly nothing against the full force of the Gods’ cursed offspring.

They had never gone this fast before, his body felt hollow, both as if he was being nailed to the back of his dragon and as if he might just float off at any moment. The feeling It made him cautious just as much as he was focused.

Even past all of that, the space to his back felt abhorrently empty, and not just because of the way they pierced through the sky. Your tears staining the back of his shirt as he and Toothless dived and shot… He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen you cry before. He still hadn’t- it was silent for the most part, and he’d just felt it, really. If he ever had, it hadn’t been like this.

He couldn’t bring you up with him. He couldn’t. Just as he’d almost died in the ring, you had too.

It wasn’t merely a roar, more of a phenomenon, something that shook even the air around him. It was all-consuming and nearly inescapable. The Queen had followed.

Hiccup furrowed his brows and kept urging his dragon upwards.

Rain beat heavily against the roof of the Chief’s hut, making the world around you feel even more cold, weak and hollow. Thunder roared violently outside as the storm raged on.

“Hiccup,” You choked on air and spit and half a sob as you stared down at a sickly, freckled face, sweat running down both too-pale and blotchy red cheeks, staining his shirt dark. Freshly-changed bandages bled a deep crimson, changing with the color of hot blood and foul puss as his knees, one foot-less and the other not, jerked reflexively against the sheets of his blanket.

He’d been consistently out between long bouts of delirium and fever, his eyes rolling beneath his lids, just barely visible under the flickering light of a single, dying candle, twitching viciously. You clutched at Hiccup’s slick palm with both hands as he fitfully fought his way past conscious dreams.

You’d stayed- you’d stayed all night and day.

If dedication had ever really meant anything, if worship and hope and work had ever really meant a damn, if the Gods had ever been real and if their decree had ever meant anything, you hoped your will reached the heavens.

“Lass,” The Chief rumbled deeply from behind you, his heavy weight causing old floorboards to creak deeply as he shifted. 

You didn’t even have the energy to shake off the nearly unbearable heat of his father’s palm on your shoulder as you cried yourself nearly sick with tears and snot and spit gathering at every orifice. It was an ugly cry, an undignified, ungainly one, followed with all your fears and hopes and despairs.

You had your own injuries to tend to, yet you felt as if you couldn’t, not in that moment, not even if it meant that you’d have to be fighting off your own pains and fevers later, if you hadn’t already fallen under their grasp. The only thing you could do was watch and feel a need for Hiccup to be okay so deep it rendered you helpless. Ultimately, though, you knew his recovery had nothing to do with you.  

Hiccup’s dragon had left to cauterwal outside, to wail and wreak havoc and feast on the latest fisherman’s catch. He seemed less worried than you and the Chief but more worried than everyone else, and rightly so.

Suddenly, you started.

With a voice both intensely raspy and wet, Hiccup mumbled your name. It hadn’t been anything special, more a simple expression of his recognition, yet you sniveled as Hiccup clutched back at your hand, his grip weak compared to yours, his eyes dull with the force of his fever. For a very long moment, he held it.

“Hiccup.” You tried again.

The Chief’s hand tightened over your shoulder, squeezing already stiff and sore muscles.

The last time you’d seen his eyes, he’d been staring you in the face, mouth opening and closing pointedly and yet no words had come out. He’d dropped you then, right before rushing up into the sky on Toothless’ back.

Parts of you had been pinned by the rubble after and you had nearly been left behind. You could barely think past the pain, yet you still remembered how it felt to be left on the ground, hands clutched to your chest, mind completely fogged with pain and fear, hoping and hoping and hoping, cringing and in pain as the sky flashed. The terrifying outline of the dragon queen in the sky, smoke and fog larger than life, everyone certain Hiccup was going to die, himself most certainly… It seared a painful picture into your mind.

Part of you had been in danger, then. You weren’t anymore. Now, you really loved Hiccup Haddock, and you needed him to be okay.

He hoped you were safe. He didn’t know what he would do otherwise.

He couldn’t ever let you go. Never. Not until- Not unless he died, even if it hurt and his forehead felt weighted with the pressure of all the world’s fires.

[vivisextion]

MEGATHREAD OF KIM MENTIONS BY ALL SKILLS

While doing my max stats run, I noticed Rhetoric called Kim 'Kim'. I thought this was a little unusual, as I assumed blue skills would address him in a more formal fashion. This led me down a rabbit hole of how they all refer to Kim, so here you go.

DISCLAIMER: These are all mined from fayde.co.uk (big shoutout, this post would not have been possible without it). I have removed all duplicates and interactions with variants ("Replaced with:"). It is also possible despite my best efforts my dyscalculia may have fked up with the larger figures but I did go over it multiple times, so it's unlikely. OK LET'S GO

BLUE SKILLS

LOGIC

All 3 mentions of 'Kim' are late-game. Otherwise, Logic defaults to 'the lieutenant'. Only 1 mention of 'Kim Kitsuragi' and that's only when talking about the case file number sequence for The Hanged Man.

ENCYCLOPEDIA

The full name usage is related to when you discover his past with pinball - even the one mention of 'Kim' is in reference to how Seolite people love pinball. Otherwise, the most common address is also 'the lieutenant'.

RHETORIC

Seems like the use of 'Kim' is an outlier and like I suspected, the default tends to be 'the lieutenant'. It wasn't a late vs. early game thing either because I got the 'Kim' mention on Day 1 of the game.

DRAMA

Interestingly, no 'Kim' at all. Drama prefers more bombastic and less personal terms, I guess.

CONCEPTUALIZATION

No use of 'Kim' or 'Kitsuragi'. The only direct address was the line "Dammit lieutenant, have you no intellectual curiosity?"

Otherwise, like most of the other blue skills, Conceptualization doesn't mention Kim that much.

VISUAL CALCULUS

Mentions Kim (in all forms) the least, which is not surprising.

Like all other blue skills, 'the lieutenant' is the most common used. They tend to be more on the less personal side.

PURPLE SKILLS

VOLITION

Only 1 direct address of 'lieutenant'. The line mentioning Pinball/Kimball is 'Any plan to call him Pinball or Kimball is immediately wiped from your neocortex, as if with some sort of mind altering device. It is simply not going to happen.'

Still more of a formal address preference.

INLAND EMPIRE

The only time IE uses 'Kim' is "If you can't trust your own eyes, who can you trust? Certainly not Kim. He's so… suspicious." in regards to finding a key card in Evrart's office.

Also prefers 'the lieutenant', like the blue skills.

EMPATHY

Also seems to refer to Kim in a more respectful way. The only mention of 'Kimball' is about footprints in the dust in the back of the Whirling: "This is so good it makes him forget the whole Kimball memory."

Also note the increased frequency in Kim mentions.

AUTHORITY

Of course 'Lieutenant Eyebrow' occurs during the famous showdown. One mention of 'Kim' is earlier game and one is late game. Makes sense Authority would be professional most of the time and use 'the lieutenant'.

ESPRIT DE CORPS

Will not shut up about Kim (101!!). Most mentions advise you not to complete important tasks without him. 1 repeat of 'Lieutenant Kitsuragi' mentions the black bomber jacket you get from hardcore mode. The last one is when Harry climbs the horse statue during the moralist run.

SUGGESTION

Much less quiet in comparison, but still polite.

Purple skills mention Kim a lot more, in general, than blue ones, which makes sense as they concern external affairs and people moreso. Out of all the skills, they refer to Kim the most, actually, as we will see.

RED SKILLS

ENDURANCE

The two instances of 'Lieutenant Kitsuragi' are during the confrontation with Ruby: "The torment Lieutenant Kitsuragi is experiencing is worse than your own."

PAIN THRESHOLD

Doesn't care about anyone but Harry, probably. Only mention is talking to Klaasje about the body hanging behind the Whirling: "A bitter cringe. It hurts. You look to the lieutenant…"

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT

The most disrespectful. Refers to Kim as a binoclard the most out of all the skills.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY

The only mention of 'binoclard' is when you try to teach Lilienne's twins to say 'fuck'. EC cheers you on. Volition is disappointed, as is Kim ("deeply unimpressed").

"Why does he have to be such a binoclard? It's just a funny word!"

SHIVERS

Doesn't have much to say about the lieutenant. 2 of the 4 are variations of each other during the Moralist quest. Duplicates are due to the Noid vs. Soona version of the quest.

HALF LIGHT

One mention is during the game of Suzerainty, when Kim has the upper hand, which is a funny time for a fight-or-flight response to kick in.

In general, the red skills don't concern themselves much with Kim, since they largely are focused on Harry.

YELLOW SKILLS

HAND/EYE COORDINATION

Second least mentions of Kim in the yellow skills.

PERCEPTION

Both 'Kim' mentions are Sight. Mentions of 'the lieutenant' by category: 2 Smell, 6 Hearing, 2 Sight. (No Taste… sadly).

REACTION SPEED

Gets a little more fancy with it 'the good lieutenant' and also addresses Kim directly the most out of all the skills (2 mentions of 'lieutenant'): "Too late, lieutenant." and "Impressive note-keeping, lieutenant."

SAVOIR FAIRE

The duplicates have to do with a line during the Ultraliberal quest: "The lieutenant speaks as if you're rich -- a common misconception -- especially if you count the tax. No, we've got a long way to go before we can feel financially comfortable. The hustle never stops!"

INTERFACING

Least reference to Kim of all yellow skills, which is surprising considering the Kineema interaction.

COMPOSURE

The chattiest of the yellow skills about Kim, though yellow skills still have the second lowest mentions of the lieutenant.

STATS RUNDOWN

Total Kim mentions by colour

Blue: 82

Purple: 245 (thanks, EDC)

Red: 31

Yellow: 62

Top 3 mentions

EDC: 128

Empathy: 43

Rhetoric: 30

Bottom 3 mentions

Pain Threshold: 1

Interfacing, Shivers, VisCal: 4

H/E Coordination, Endurance, Half Light: 5

Most common address

the lieutenant: 335

Kim: 32

Lieutenant Kitsuragi: 26

So, overwhelmingly, most of the skills seem to default to 'the lieutenant'. Not just the blue ones. Hopefully, that helps someone, although how I have no idea.

BONUS: YOU!

What about Harry, you ask (or not)? I GOT YOU.

Harry calls Kim a binoclard more than Physical Instrument, though one time he says it as an apology.

Both times he uses Kim's full name and title is during radio comms.

Harry calls him 'Kim' to his face (457) more than 'lieutenant' (89) (spread over early to late game).

To others, Harry refers to Kim as 'Kim' 39 times, compared to 4 uses of 'the lieutenant'.

The only time Agent Kim is used is discussing the Seolite conspiracy.

That's it! One last parting gift: Kim refers to Harry as 'Harry' 15 times. :)

[airybcby]

Hi! Here for the More than a married couple (but not lovers) event. That's such a GREAT IDEA!! So sweet😭💖

The character I chose is Michael 🍓🍦

Also kudos to you for starting another event even though you're still writing asks! you're really spoiling us💕

i really enjoyed doing the last event, tysm!!

A Michael Kaiser Strawberry Sundae...

જ⁀♡⊹｡° every version of yourself

♡ a/n — for my more than a married couple event :)

♡ content — michael kaiser x gn! reader, gn! reader, set in a high school so no funny buisness, supposed to be kinda unrequited love?, kaiser's own insecurities, takes you through the length of the simulation, kaiser still plays soccer, kaiser in HS if he wasn't traumatized :))), still cocky though, an little flirty, nickname like 'spouse' used, popular! kaiser, quiet! shy! reader

♡ synopsis — being paired with michael kaiser may be the worst thing to ever happen to you...or so you think

The classroom buzzed with anticipation as the names were called out. Each pair announced felt like a small shockwave in the room, but the real chaos came when your name was read.

“And finally... Michael Kaiser and Y/N.”

The gasps, whispers, and sharp glares that followed made you shrink in your seat. Everyone’s eyes darted between you and the blonde at the back of the room, who leaned lazily against his chair, unfazed.

Kaiser didn’t even look your way. Typical. Why would he? Michael Kaiser wasn’t just a soccer prodigy; he was the center of attention everywhere he went. The school’s golden boy. The one every girl wanted to be paired with. And somehow... you, the average nobody, ended up in the simulation with him.

“Well,” Kaiser said finally, standing and giving a theatrical stretch. He smirked as if this was all a game, his piercing blue eyes sweeping over the room like he’d already won something. “Guess I’ll be seeing a lot more of you.”

Your cheeks burned as laughter rippled through the room. His tone was light, teasing, but it only made the pit in your stomach grow. How were you supposed to survive an entire month living with Michael Kaiser?

The simulation began with a flurry of paperwork and rules. You were handed a key to a mock apartment and a thick packet outlining tasks you’d need to complete as a "couple" to pass. Cooking meals together, managing a budget, planning dates—it all felt bizarre. But the strangest part? Being tied to Michael Kaiser for every waking moment.

The apartment itself was small but cozy. Two bedrooms flanked a shared living space, and the kitchenette barely fit two people at a time. You stood awkwardly by the door as Kaiser strolled in like he owned the place. He dropped his duffel bag on the couch and turned to you with that signature smirk.

“Well, spouse, welcome home,” he drawled, tossing his duffel onto the larger bedroom’s bed without hesitation. “Don’t worry, I won’t invade your room. You’ll have all the space you need to miss me.”

Your brow furrowed. “Pretty confident about claiming the bigger room.”

He shrugged with a grin. “Call it a perk of being me.”

Typical Kaiser. You rolled your eyes but didn’t push it further. How were you supposed to survive an entire month living with someone so… larger than life?

The first week was… manageable, mostly because Kaiser didn’t seem to take the simulation seriously. He’d breeze through tasks with minimal effort, brushing off your attempts at cooperation.

“Budgeting? Just write whatever, I don’t care,” he’d said with a shrug one afternoon.

“Kaiser, we lose points if we don’t do it properly,” you insisted, tapping the form with your pen.

He rolled his eyes but leaned over anyway, closer than necessary, close enough to where his musky cologne made it hard to think. He hummed as he glanced at the page. “Fine. Put down ‘caviar’ and ‘gold-encrusted steak.’ That’ll impress the evaluators.”

You glared at him, but he just laughed. It was infuriating, how easy everything seemed to him.

Still, there were glimpses of something more.

Like the time you cooked dinner together. It was one of the mandatory tasks, and Kaiser insisted on doing as little as possible—until you nearly sliced your hand while chopping vegetables.

“Careful!” He grabbed your wrist, his touch surprisingly gentle. For a moment, his usual bravado disappeared, replaced by something softer.

You were shocked, but not by his sudden loudness or his worry. No, you were shocked by watching the point value on your living room wall go up.

Oh so being a decent person and taking care of someone got you points? How silly...kind of.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, pulling away.

“Yeah, well, try not to bleed all over the food. I’m not eating anything with extra seasoning,” he teased, smirking as he handed you a safer task.

And just like that, the moment was gone.

By the second week, you started to notice cracks in his perfect façade.

It happened late one night when you couldn’t sleep. You wandered into the living room to grab some water, only to find Kaiser sitting by the window, staring out at the city lights. His usual confident posture was gone, replaced by something almost… scared, like a child that's been missing their mother just a little too long.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” you asked hesitantly.

What were you doing? Yes, this project required interacting with each other, but you could have ignored him.

What was it about Michael Kaiser that made you act so...unlike yourself?

He didn’t answer right away, his profile illuminated by the faint glow of the streetlamps. Finally, he spoke. “Do you ever feel like people only see what they want to see?”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

He glanced at you then, his blue eyes unreadable. “Forget it. Go back to bed.”

But you couldn’t forget it. The question lingered, and for the first time, you wondered if Michael Kaiser—the golden boy everyone adored—might be lonelier than he let on.

Things began to shift in the third week.

It was subtle at first. The way Kaiser’s teasing softened, the way he started helping more with the tasks instead of leaving everything to you. He even started calling you by your name instead of “spouse” or other mocking nicknames.

And then there were the moments where he’d look at you—not with the cocky smirk he wore like armor, but with something quieter, almost vulnerable.

You didn’t know what to make of it. You’d spent so long nursing your one-sided crush, convinced he’d never see you the way you saw him. And maybe he didn’t. Maybe you were imagining things.

But then came the final task: planning a “date night.”

You went all out, wanting to ace the simulation. You planned a picnic under the stars, complete with fairy lights and a playlist of soft, dreamy songs. Kaiser didn’t seem particularly invested at first, but when he saw the setup, his eyes lit up with genuine surprise.

“You did all this?” he asked, looking almost impressed.

You shrugged, trying to play it cool, but probably just looking like a dork who took this a little too seriously, “It’s for the grade.”

“Right,” he said, though his tone was softer than usual. And for a moment, Michael Kaiser looked truly upset by what you said...but why?

The night was quiet and peaceful, the two of you sitting side by side on the blanket. For once, Kaiser wasn’t filling the silence with jokes or teasing remarks. Instead, he turned to you, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said suddenly.

You blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I thought this whole thing would be a waste of time,” he admitted. “But… you’re different. You’re real.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Michael…”

He smirked then, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that. You’ll give me the wrong idea.”

But maybe, just maybe, the idea wasn’t so wrong after all.

The final week of the simulation was a blur of evaluations and last-minute tasks, but something had shifted irrevocably between you and Kaiser. He wasn’t just the golden boy anymore. He was Michael—arrogant, infuriating, but also thoughtful and surprisingly kind in his own way.

On the last night in the apartment, you found yourself standing in the kitchen, packing up your things. Kaiser leaned against the counter, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“So, this is it, huh?” he said, his voice unusually quiet as he stared into the almost empty cabinet, only filled with the stupid matching couples cups he got after an argument that lost you two points in the first week.

“Yeah,” you said, not trusting yourself to say more. What else could you say? 'Oh Michael, I love you and expect you to marry me!'

You'd rather die than be shot down like that.

He hesitated, then reached out to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You know,” he said softly, “you’re kind of impossible to forget.”

Your breath hitched. “Michael—”

“Don’t,” he said, his smirk returning, though his eyes betrayed something deeper. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

And just like that, he was gone.

Leaving those stupid cups behind.

Graduation loomed over you like a terrifying monster. It'd been a week since you'd spoken to Kaiser, both of you being too absorbed in your own lives. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been left unsaid. Until one day, days later, you found a note slipped into your locker. It was short, written in Kaiser’s unmistakable scrawl:

"I wasn’t joking when I said you were impossible to forget. Let me prove it. Dinner?"

Your heart raced as you read the words. Maybe, just maybe, the idea wasn’t so wrong after all.

this was the first one i wrote for this event so i hope this layout is okay!

i hope you liked it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[penny00dreadful]

Santa Baby

Word count: 1.2k Rating: G Tags: Christmas fluff, getting together, Modern Setting, Santa Steve @steddieholidaydrabbles Day 25: Christmas

AO3

Let it be known that Eddie had never been one to make good decisions. Or consistent ones.

Which led him here, he guessed. Sitting at his computer at two in the morning, on what was technically Christmas Day now because he had sworn to himself he would go to bed at a reasonable time, he was just going to play a few more minutes of his game.

So when he heard something go bump in the night in the dark of his shitty little apartment, he had probably been a little too overtired and not exactly thinking straight.

He had poked his head out into his living room/dining room/kitchen, a small, tiny space with barely enough room to fit a small Christmas tree, but fit a Christmas tree it did, and the sight that met him had him wondering if he needed a carbon monoxide alarm or if he was just straight up hallucinating.

The colourful lights lit up a gentle glow against thick strong arms dusted with hair and moles, the polo shirt pulling tight against his muscles. Large thighs and an even larger ass wrapped up tight in light wash jeans, a hip popped out as this Adonis before him checked off a clipboard with a slightly bored expression over his face.

The entire vision was topped off with a Santa hat sitting perfectly upon a glorious head of hair, falling gently over his forehead, looking like every dashing leading man in every romantic Christmas movie Eddie had ever seen in his entire life. 

He will blame his tiredness for what fell out of his mouth, almost in a whisper.

“Is it my birthday?”

The guy checking off a clipboard in front of his dinky little Christmas tree glanced up at the sound, completely unsurprised to see Eddie there. Giving him the once over with an appreciative smirk pulling at those tempting full pink lips, taking in the pyjama pants slung low on his hips and his cropped sleep top, the guys eyes trailed back up to Eddie’s face just before he turned back to the task at hand.

The only lasted for a second though, before the guy whipped back around in shock, staring Eddie straight in the eye.

Eddie just raised his hand and gave him a dumbfounded little wave.

The guy blinked at him.

“You can see me?”

Eddie blinked back.

“Am I not supposed to be able to? You’re not exactly the most cat of cat burglars, dude.”

“Cat burglar?” The guy turned fully to him and Eddie was able to see the polo was pulled tight over a strong chest, a thick thatch of hair poking out over the top and his mouth began to water. “I’m not a fucking cat burglar, man I’m-”

The guy hesitated.

“You’re what?” Eddie grinned to himself, unable to stop the smile coming over his face or the step forward he took, remembering the appreciative look the guy gave him. “My own little Christmas present?”

The guy shook his head, his eyes taking in Eddie’s body all over again.

“What then?” Eddie asked. “Christmas elf?” He followed suit, taking in the full, thick muscled form of the guy in front of him shamelessly. “Shouldn’t you be wearing tights?”

“Not an elf, no. More of the big guy.”

“Big guy is right.” Eddie muttered appreciatively. “Wait… what then, like… You’re Santa?”

The guy shrugged, clipboard all but forgotten now, resting in the hand that was propped casually on that popped hip.

“It’s a family business. I’m taking over from my grandfather.”

Eddie nodded, well aware he should be freaking out more for a variety of reasons but not being able to find it within himself to care much as he stepped closer, the guy tracking him with bright eyes.

“Usually people take over from their parents, or so I’m told.”

“Yeah well, my dad never really had the heart for it.”

Eddie hummed to himself, telegraphing his movements in the hope he didn’t startle the man in front of him. He reached a hand out and when the guy didn’t flinch or back away, Eddie brushed his fingers lightly through the coarse hair peeking out over his polo.

“And how about you, sweetheart? Do you have the heart?”

“Steve.”

“Eddie.”

“I know.” Steve gave his clipboard a little shake, the green foiled holly and red berries bordering the pages, glittering against the lights of the tree and he happily let Eddie fondle his chest hair.

“This might be a little forward, Steve,” Eddie grinned again, tightening his fingers into the chest hair. “But I don’t suppose you need a Mrs. Clause tonight?”

Steve smirked back, his eyebrow cocking up. “I already have a Mrs. Clause-”

“Oh.” Eddie’s grin dropped along with his heart, and he pulled his fingers away but he was stopped by Steve’s hand wrapping around his.

“She’s a lesbian, though.”

“Oh?” Eddie could tell his confusion was radiating off of him. This was not like any Christmas story he’d ever heard before.

Steve shrugged.

“There was a clause in the Santa contract. I was told I’d need a Mrs. Clause in order to take up the position. Marrying my best friend seemed like the best option.”

Eddie tightened his fingers around Steve’s while Steve continued to watch him, biting his lip.

“While I would love to take you up on your offer, Eddie,” Steve had a regretful look in his puppy dog eyes. “I’m on the clock right now and ethically I don’t know if it would be a good idea to fool around with you tonight.”

Eddie shrugged to himself, almost accepting this was some kind of insane fever dream and he was going to wake up with the shape of his keyboard indented into his cheek.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying, right?”

Steve opened his mouth to answer, a sad smile dancing on his face but was interrupted by an insistent buzzing and overly cheerful jingle coming from his pocket.

“Shit, I have to go.”

Eddie brought Steve’s hand to his mouth, placing a kiss along the back.

“That’s alright, sweetheart, you go and bring joy to all the little kiddos.”

Steve smiled at him again.

“It was nice meeting you, Eddie.”

Eddie blinked his eyes open, somehow inexplicably bundled up in his own bed, the bright winter morning sunlight nearly blinding him through the crack in his blinds as he rolled over.

That had been one of the weirdest sober dreams he had ever had in his life.

Maybe this dry spell was getting to be too dry if he was dreaming up hot men appearing in his apartment and calling themselves Santa.

Though if it had been a dry spell dream, surely he would have actually gotten to at least kiss Steve rather than just-

Eddie paused as his hand brushed a piece of paper on the side of his bed.

He picked it up, unfolding it and knew his eyes were almost comically wide as he saw the same foiled holly and berries bordering the paper.

The grin that split over Eddie’s face and the disbelieving laugh that tore out of his throat did nothing to stop his own scrambling for his phone to punch in the number as fast as humanly possible.

AO3

As always, my biggest thanks and much love to @hbyrde36 for the beta work with this and to the @strangerthingswritersguild for their motivation!

[cheralith]

— reroutes. feat. oliver aiku || wc: 2.1k contains: gn!reader, no pronouns used, teacher!reader, dilf!oliver, single parent!oliver, miscommunication, fluff, alcohol consumption a/n: people keep saying that oliver is dilf material usually based off his looks so sure what the hell . let me entertain the thought and feed the masses also a reupload since the og wasn't allowing me to edit for some reason

trying to butter up the president of the parent-teacher association over a candlelit dinner to gain his approval and vote for you as a a worthy candidate incoming principal isn't exactly the easiest task in the world, nor is it your vision of spending a friday evening. but with adult life comes sacrifices, even if it means you'll be missing out on the season premiere of your sitcom.

you've heard rumors about him from other teachers in passing—quite the charmer with a natural flair for leadership, hence why he's been on the board for a few years now, even longer than you've been teaching the second grade at this school. many people on the association look up to him, his approval being worth more than some of the district's, a smile and nod at a suggestion being made being worth more than gold itself.

hence why his vote is the one you need to gain the most—if oliver aiku is in favor of something, then surely it must be good.

the single father to one of your shyer students, he's the complete opposite of her. where rena is quiet, soft-spoken, and spares her words, oliver seems to exude this calm confidence—a calculated rationale weaving into every sentence he says with that baritone, caramel-rich voice of his.

you smile tightly as he rests his cheek on his fist, bright and attentive hues of malachite and amethyst daggering into your stiff figure, that typical smile on his lips that you've seen he gives everyone.

"you know," he starts, tone smooth and sweet. "it's rare that rena has a favorite teacher. but she seems to talk about you a lot these days."

"oh does she?" you laugh, trying to filter out the nervous edge as best as possible. "i'll admit, she's one of my more creative students. she seems to really love arts & crafts."

oliver shares his chuckle with you. "oh i bet. she's always asking me to put up any art she takes home on the fridge. trying to get into it is almost impossible these days with how much stuff is on there—you should see it, really."

he takes a slow sip of his wine, his eyes scanning you for a reaction at his last few words and his eyes lid attentively when you fidget in your spot. oliver uses the swirling ruby in the glass to hide his growing grin.

"ah well," you flicker your gaze toward anything that isn't him, his stare piercing every possible fiber of apprehension within you. "i'm glad. y-you know, for students like rena, they'd really benefit from art walks! i visited one of the charter schools nearby that does them every few months to help cultivate—"

"oh yes, we've been looking to dabble in those as well," oliver says dismissively, ceasing your words in a gentle, clean cut. "maybe one day... if the district increases our budget."

a sharp inhale ensures your composure doesn't falter at the lack of concern. there's many projects you have in mind if you were ever the principal of the school, but you need his approval if they were to ever go through. the voice of the parents mattered just as much as the district's after all.

you fold your hands affirmingly. "well, i've also noticed that we don't have an actual sci—"

"are you doing anything after this?" oliver cuts in again, a smile that's a bit larger now still on his face intently.

you pause, breath hitching. your eyes lift from the food on your table to him. your eyes narrow.

"excuse me?" you ask.

oliver leans back in his seat almost a little too casually. it's only then you notice two of his shirt buttons are undone, exposing a hint of his plated chest. "rena's at her mom's this weekend. i was just wondering if you had any plans after. because if you aren't... i'd love to spend more time with you. somewhere a little more private, perhaps?"

he sends you a knowing wink, a twinkle in his eye that flashes intimately at you. at first, you're confused, trying to understand what he's implying—until...

oh. oh.

"oh—" you choke out. "—my god. excuse me?!"

oliver blinks, smile faltering at your dropped jaw. "what?"

"you thought this was a date?" you rasp.

perplexity takes over his handsome features, oliver tilting his head and sitting up. "sorry, i'm confused. was this dinner not about that?"

"no?!" you're trying your absolute hardest to stay professional, but it's hard to do see when you runover his interactions toward you in your head. the kiss to your knuckles when you met him at the door, the intense eye contact, the unbuttoned shirt... oh, how could you be so stupid?!

you stiffen. "i'm terribly sorry that i gave you the wrong impression. but i only invited you over for dinner so i can discuss what my future plans would be as principal."

oliver is quick to interject himself. "oh. well. i apologize then. i'd be happy to talk more about that matter if you'd like."

the audacity of him to bypass it so casually, as though he wasn't lusting over you for nearly an entire hour when you were trying your absolute best to woo him with your ideas, with both of you ending with nothing but dust in your hands at the end of it all.

you shake your head and start packing your things up, which alerts him.

"no, i'd rather not," you mutter, taking out some wads of cash and pushing it over to him to cover your cost of the food. "i don't think we should proceed this conversation further. at least not for now."

he grabs your hand before you can proceed any further—strong and firm. maybe even desperate, dare you say? "hey, hold on. i swear, i'm really intrigued by your plans. especially the art walk. how 'bout we just finish this dinner and talk things over?"

"i've been trying to do that since we came!" you exasperate loudly, your sharp tone making him flinch a little, especially as you gather some onlookers who glance your way. "i'm sorry, but i'd rather not dabble in a one-sided conversation for another hour."

you plop your phone in your purse and quickly shuffle on your coat, offering him only a disappointed look before you leave, one that pinches an unknown twinge in his chest.

"have a nice evening, mr. aiku," you mutter solemnly, leaving him in the dust.

the next time you see him is the following monday, when he picks up his daughter with the rest of parents.

you're working with another one of your students, introducing him to another book that you think he may like, until you feel a tap on your arm. you excuse yourself from the boy and come face-to-face with rena, who holds up a collaged butterfly she was working on made from spare magazine parts from the crafting table proudly. her eyes that match a familiar two-toned hue sparkle at you.

"look!" she exclaims, her normally-soft voice now replaced with a more voluminous one—a self-curated confidence that you helped bring to life. "i even made it your favorite color. do you like it?"

she lets you hold the collage up to the light, the colors glistening. "oh, it's beautiful, rena!" you praise, your smile being mirrored by hers. "you should put it somewhere you can see it in your house."

she shakes her head, noir pigtails bouncing as she giggles. "it's not for meee..." she sings and then points to her left, where the door is. "daddy said i should give it to you instead!"

your voice suddenly falters, the mention of her father making you look up and suddenly catch the gaze of oliver, who stands idly at your classroom's door. he scratches the back of his neck when you stare at him.

you turn back to her, your eye twitching a bit. "are you sure, sweetheart? i'm sure your father would love to have this instead of me. i think you should keep it somewhere safe."

rena frowns. she seems almost unimpressed.

"he said it himself!" she protests, "it's yours! i'm gonna get my stuff from my cubby now."

abruptly, rena shuffles away without the art piece and to her designated shelf, leaving you. you sigh, standing up and making your way to oliver, who has yet to move his earnest eyes away from you.

"i think this is yours," you murmur and offer rena's piece to him.

oliver shakes his head and pushes your hand back, his larger hand enveloping yours for a slight moment, the leftover desperation from saturday still ghosting his skin.

"she really wants you to have it," he says quietly. "it'd make her happy. really."

you open your mouth to try and reply, but when nothing comes out, you nod and take the piece back, planning to display it somewhere for the children to see. before you can turn on your heel and return your attention back to the boy from before, oliver catches your wrist and shuffles something in your hand.

you turn back and open your palm, seeing the bills you left for him on friday night back into your hand and look up at him.

oliver chews his cheek. "i've got friday's dinner covered. think of it as an apology for um..." he flickers his eyes toward the other parents that wait for their children to finish packing up, not wanting anything to conspire if he said the wrong thing. he leans toward you, his hand shielding his words. "... getting the wrong idea."

he lets out a shaky laugh, trying to break the tension between you and him, though it does so to no avail when you only react with a thick silence. "i mean, i was gonna pay for our dinner regardless, but—"

you hold your hand up, the shake of your head making him stiffen. "it's fine. really. i apologize myself for not making my own intentions clearer."

oliver swallows dryly. he then moves himself out of the classroom and motions you to follow suit to hold a more private conversation, away from the eyes of the children and parents.

"listen," he mutters lowly to you. "again, i'm really sorry for sending mixed signals. i mean this when i say it, but i really do want to talk over your plans as principal one day more sincerely. i should've done it earlier, but..." he lets out a loose laugh, scratching his cheek.

he lifts his gaze to you, the familiarity of eye contact making you squirm.

"... you were just so pretty, i really couldn't help myself," he continues, forcing you to inhale sharply, even though you can detect the sincerity. "rena praises you a lot at home, so when i finally got to meet her favorite teacher formally, i didn't expect you to be so beautiful. and the fact you had asked me to dinner just made me go over my own head."

his buttery words attempt to make you melt, but all they really do is just make your nerves go rigid, your consciousness telling you not to trust them.

you stay quiet, letting him finish.

"i think you'd make a great principal," he says. "and compared to the other contenders, you've definitely got my vote. i'm sure you'd have no problem wooing the others on the board."

your toy with your fingers, pushing the brief spark of happiness over his approval away, not sure if you trust his words as you suspect with a gut-feeling they've been recycled for you.

"i'm glad to hear that. but i'd rather you vote for me because of my mission, not because i'm just another pretty face," you state with a hard look in your eye.

oliver shakes his head, a slight grin lifting on his lips. "that's just another bonus added. i mean it when i said i'm intrigued by your ideas, and i really would love to discuss them over another dinner... if you'd let me?"

he blinks slowly at you, almost fondly, with a slight desperation in his gaze.

your jaw tightens, doubt inking your tongue as you try to find the right words. you merely take a step back when you can't find them, teeth biting your lip. rumors spread fast, and the last thing you need is for people to gossip about the fact you may be privately conspiring with the president of the pta when all you initially wanted to do was just simply persuade him with a presentation of your ideas.

"i don't know," you hesitate. "i'll think about it..."

you try to escape back into your classroom, but oliver grabs your wrist again tenderly and makes you look back at him.

there's that earnestness again in his eyes, the one that really tests your guard and makes you put it down for the moment you capture it.

"you still have my number, right?" he asks quietly. your lips tighten, but you nod, making him sigh out in relief at the fact he hasn't been blocked yet. "okay, good. if you make up your mind, i'm just a text away."

a blank look is his only reply from you, with the mercy of a soft nod, right before you enter back into the classroom and tend back to the leftover children who still wait for their parents to pick them up.

her backpack jangling behind her, rena says a happy goodbye to you as she clutches her father's hand, chiming that she'll see you tomorrow and waving excitedly back at you.

you return it back with an affection on your face, a softness in your eyes at her drastic social improvement as you follow her figure out—all the while not noticing the way that oliver looks at you in the same tender manner.

[lunarw0rks]

Hi! I hope your day has been well :]. If you don't mind, could you do some headcannons on Task 141 + konig or just 141 reacting to their s/o having boobs that just never fit in a button up?

Like the button up will just pop open after a long time of trying to close it. So their s/o just wears it halfway open and is completely oblivious to the "seductive/hot" look it gives her.

Thank you ^^

You're Killing Me // 141 Drabbles

Warning(s): suggestive language/content, brief mention of harassment, established relationship, fem!reader, no use of y/n Word Count: 1.4k ꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ 141 MASTERLIST // have a request? ˗ˏˋ ASK BOX ˎˊ˗

SYNOPSIS; you had spent nearly twenty minutes unbuttoning and re-buttoning the top. You twirled around, bent down, spread your arms—sometimes just breathed and they popped right out. It was a hopeless battle, and you had lost all your patience fighting the size of your chest. In return, you kept the shirt buttoned down about halfway. There was more cleavage showing than you were used to, but it was only you and him there, so why not leave the neckline free? They needed to breathe, anyhow.

Price

John was somewhere in the house, but nowhere in sight. Most days the clearing of his throat or an earth-shattering sneeze are the only things that let you know he’s even home.

Today was no different. He was probably somewhere in his office if you had a guess. You walked down the stairs and went to the kitchen, deciding to cook some brunch for the two of you. You brewed some coffee for him, easy enough because he liked it black. Then, began cooking some eggs and toast to go with the caffeine.

When finished, you carefully picked up the plate you arranged, then the mug. Before you could turn, you heard the familiar clearing of a throat.

❝What are you doing, sweetheart?❞ He asked, but his words began to quiet when he saw your shirt only buttoned halfway. His eyes bulged slightly, very slightly, but he was eerily good at maintaining a poker face. John sipped on the mug you handed him, but his eyes didn’t flutter shut like they normally did as he drank.

❝I made brunch for you,❞ you reply, an ever-innocent smile on your face. It was clear you really didn’t have any idea how seductive you looked. It wasn’t just some cleavage, the collar was open so much he didn’t need to use much of his imagination.

❝I see that.❞ John rasped, that cheeky smile appearing on his face. The one that usually followed a snarky remark—but he couldn’t spoil this now. Not with a day of work ahead of him, though he had an almost remarkable amount of self-restraint.

To sneak another look, he approached from the side, kissing your head. One where he allowed himself to ogle down your shirt. ❝You look gorgeous today.❞ He mumbled against your hair, then retreated from the kitchen.

Sure, it had a double meaning for later. But right now? He would have something to look forward to as he got through his stacks of paperwork.

Simon

❝I’m headed out.❞ You said from the entrance hall, scooping up your bag and keys. You were going out with a friend, perhaps to get dinner or do some shopping. After that heated dressing session this morning, how you’ve left your shirt, you’re definitely buying a larger one.

Simon’s back was visible as he sat on the sofa, barely turning his head when you announced your departure. You swore you could hear him mutter an “mhm” but other than that, he only nodded his head.

Then, you remembered. You walked towards the living room, close enough for your outfit to be in sight. You thought nothing of the way you looked. In fact, you just thought it was a slightly revealing outfit, nothing else. ❝Don’t forget, your uniform is in the laundry room.❞

Though it was impossible to see on your end, Simon’s eyes were scanning the way you’d dressed yourself. He shifted in his seat a bit, nodding at your reminder—though it had flown right past him upon seeing your protruding chest.

You walked away, no other words exchanged. To you, it was just an average conversation with him; dry and reserved, despite how strong your relationship had gotten. You just learned to accept it, because a man like Simon wouldn’t stick around if he didn’t want to.

—

Lunch with friends had just finished, as well as about an hour of shopping. Unbeknownst to you, Simon had tailed you the whole time, sneakily and with laser focus. Yes, he had your location on his phone. Yes, he trusted you not to get yourself into trouble. But his paranoia got the better of him, especially seeing you dressed so revealingly.

He lacked trust with strangers, not you—his fear of you finding someone better took years to get over.

You walked out to the parking lot of the mall, a few shopping bags in hand. Then, you spotted him leaning against your car, balaclava rolled up and a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. ❝You stalking me now, babe?❞ You approached him, never sure what to expect from him.

When he saw you, his position blocking your car door didn’t change, his eyes did. He stared down at your chest again, then met your eyes. ❝Did you enjoy yourself? How about the mocha latte?❞

His words made your eyes widen slightly. The bastard was even behind you in line at Starbucks, and you hadn’t noticed? His stealth was both impressive and bone-chilling. Your silence made his brows furrow under his mask, urging him to step a bit closer. ❝Relax. I’m not bein’ a prick. Was just worried about you being out.❞

Simon would never say why, or the awful scenarios he’d convinced himself of. He would’ve done it with or without you wearing the revealing outfit. All your clueless self needed to know was that you were protected.

Soap

God, what was taking you so long?

❝Film starts at 4:30, lass. It’s 4:15.❞ He said through the door, tapping his foot against the floor. Soap looked down at his watch, waiting outside the bathroom for you to finish getting dressed. You were taking longer than usual, though he hadn’t imagined it was because your boobs kept popping out of your shirt.

Upon hearing your gasps and groans of frustration, then the sound of clothing fabric shuffling, he furrowed a brow in concern. ❝Everything alright?❞

You swung open the door, slightly out of breath from your struggle with the button-up. ❝Yeah, let’s get going.❞ Let’s just say the beam on your face, it was the second thing he noticed. Your cleavage was on full display, only half the buttons fastened. Soap’s eyes glossed over a bit, expecting some sort of tease from your lips, but you were oblivious.

He had to take a few steps back, his expression dropping into a sneer. ❝You have the slightest clue what you’re doin’, bonnie? Those are gonna catch some stares…❞ As possessive as his words sounded, they weren’t preventing you from going out like that. What creeper in their right mind would try anything with him at your side? Next to none.

❝I couldn’t get the shirt buttoned,❞ your lips tightened into a pout, expecting him to ask you to change, or something to that effect—though he wasn’t the type.

However, he just smirked, lips pursing cockily. ❝Might even try to touch you. That’s before they lose their hands, though.❞ Soap winked, draping an arm around your shoulders as he led you to the front door.

As he snaked his arm around your shoulder, he snuck in a grope, one that was followed by a flushed expression on both your faces. He chuckled at the coy look on your face as if you weren’t dating the biggest flirt. ❝What? These are mine, lass. I’m allowed to touch.❞

Gaz

The heat was sweltering and unforgiving—especially in the prime of the afternoon.

You opened up all the curtains, allowing yourself to sunbathe as you moved about the house, but without leaving the comfort of the AC. The natural light gave your shared living room a warm, homey feel. The front door shut—he had gotten back from his daily run. 

❝Felt like a bloody melting ice pop out there,❞ Kyle grunted as he went straight to the kitchen, pressing a chilled bottled water to his sweating head. When his eyes opened, he saw the shirt you had on for the first time that day.

Kyle not-so-subtly checked you out as you fanned yourself with a magazine. The shirt, already tight enough, was even tighter as the heat made you pant. And the dribble of sweat running down your exposed cleavage? What a sight to him. ❝Is there something on my face?❞ You questioned with a senseless giggle.

He had traveled across the kitchen at the speed of light, a hungry kiss on your lips. He pulled away for air, ❝you’ll be the death of me before the Sun is, love.❞ One hand pushed a sweaty strand of hair away, while the other tugged at the opening of the shirt playfully.

You knitted your brows while biting down on your now saliva-soaked lips, ❝aren’t you tired from your run?❞ Besides, he typically wasn’t that forward. You wondered if the heat really got to him, having no clue how aroused your chest made him.

❝Not anymore.❞

[pretzel-box]

Sebastian trolling on intercoms, he has this one line where he says he’s stuffing urbanshade’s operatives in the drawers. My req is walking in on Seb stuffing them in the drawers and going, “dude wtff” and then proceeds to help out just because. Then it’s his turn to go “dude. wtf”

u can ignore this if u like, take care, toodles :3

Tags: Mention of dead bodies, gn!reader, can be read as established relationship, bonding over weird activities

Words: 1k

Being constantly on your own meant learning the art of multitasking, managing both the mundane and the ridiculous without complaint or backup. That's one of the first things Sebastian had perfected. No matter how brutal the mission or how complicated the intel, it always came down to doing the dirty work solo. He had a particular distaste for asking for help, especially from the expendables sent by Urbanshade. Not that they could be much help anyway—Sebastian had long suspected that most of them lacked the basic smarts to handle even the simplest tasks.

He once likened them to dogs: you throw them a bone, and instead of catching it, they'd get hit in the face. That mental image gave him an odd sort of satisfaction as he worked.

But today was testing even his limits.

He was crouched over a body, struggling to cram a fully massacred Urbanshade operative into a drawer not designed to hold anything larger than some spare parts and tools. The operative was limp and heavy, their arms and legs flopping uselessly as Sebastian tried, for the third time, to fold them in enough to close the drawer.

He let out an exasperated sigh, rolling his eyes as he shoved a leg into place. “Another day, another operative stuffed in the drawers,” he muttered sarcastically to himself. “I swear, Urbanshade should just invest in bigger cabinets if they want to keep sending these guys.”

He gave the drawer another forceful push, but it stubbornly resisted.

Suddenly, a voice echoed down the corridor. “Sebastian, what the actual—” You appeared in the doorway, your expression a mix of shock and disbelief as you took in the bizarre scene. “What the hell are you doing?”

Sebastian didn’t even look up, his voice steady and dry. “They ran out of closets. And I ran out of patience.” He gave the drawer a final shove, managing to stuff half the operative’s body inside, though one arm still dangled precariously from the side. “You’d think Urbanshade would plan for this, but here we are.”

For a moment, you just stood there, trying to process the absurdity of what you were witnessing. The operative, the drawer, Sebastian’s complete lack of concern—it was all too ridiculous.

“Well…” you sighed after a moment, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I guess I’ll help.”

Sebastian finally looked up, one eyebrow raised in mild surprise. “You’re seriously going to help me?”

“Clearly, you need it,” you replied, stepping forward and rolling up your sleeves. “There’s no way this guy’s fitting without some… creativity.”

Without another word, the two of you got to work. The silence between you was punctuated only by the occasional grunt as you both maneuvered the operative’s limbs into the most unnatural positions possible, trying to make him fit into the narrow space. You had to bend the legs awkwardly, twist the arms into near-impossible angles—it felt like playing a weird game of human Tetris, but the stakes were somehow more absurd.

At one point, the operative’s foot got stuck between the drawer and the frame, and you had to push down hard on his leg while Sebastian yanked at the drawer to create enough space.

“This is not what I signed up for,” you muttered under your breath, gritting your teeth as you pushed with all your strength.

Sebastian grunted in agreement, though there was a faint smirk on his lips. “Welcome to my world.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of bending, twisting, and shoving, the drawer slide shut with a satisfying click. Both of you stood back, breathing heavily from the effort, staring at the now-closed drawer that held the awkwardly folded operative.

You wiped the sweat from your forehead and turned to Sebastian, crossing your arms with a smirk. “Dude, what the actual hell.”

Sebastian chuckled, leaning against the drawer with his arms crossed, the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes. “I could say the same to you. You just helped me shove a guy into a drawer.”

“Hey, I wasn’t going to leave you struggling,” you shot back with a shrug. “Besides, if we’re going to survive in this hellhole, we’ve gotta get a little creative, right?”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening slightly. “Fair enough. But I didn’t expect you to jump in so willingly.”

You couldn’t help but grin as you leaned against the wall, crossing your arms. “Well, if I’m being honest, I wasn’t going to pass up on something this ridiculous. I mean, it’s not every day you get to help someone stuff an Urbanshade goon into a drawer.”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he glanced at the now-closed drawer. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”

The two of you stood in companionable silence for a moment, the absurdity of the situation sinking in. It wasn’t the first bizarre thing you’d encountered down here, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but at least you had someone to share the insanity with.

“Well,” you said eventually, pushing off the wall, “since we’ve finished this little project, what’s next? Filing cabinets? Maybe the supply closet?”

Sebastian snorted, straightening up as he stretched his arms. “I think we’ll save that for tomorrow’s entertainment. But hey, if you’re free, I might call you in for backup.”

You rolled your eyes, but the grin on your face remained. “Sure, because I definitely have nothing better to do than help you play hide-the-body with Urbanshade’s finest.”

He shrugged, smirking as he headed toward the door. “It’s either that or sit around waiting for the next crystal hunt. Your choice.”

You followed him out, the tension easing with every step. In a place like this, where the line between sanity and chaos blurred more with each passing day, it was a relief to know that, at the very least, you weren’t facing the madness alone.

“Who knew stuffing people in drawers would be a bonding experience,” you quipped, shooting him a playful look as you walked down the corridor.

Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head. “You’d be surprised what counts as bonding in this place.”

And with that, the two of you disappeared into the shadows of the facility, ready to fill some more furniture with unnatural stuff.

[mimi-cee-genshin]

Straight Shooter - Tighnari x f!reader

Summary: First impressions aren't easy to overcome, but for someone like Tighnari, they're a piece of cake.

Additional info: cute and wholesome fluff, meet cute, enemies to lovers (for, like, two seconds lol), 1.1k words

(Thanks to @paimonial-rage and @andromeda-nova-writing for beta reading!)

*****

Sand got between your toes and rubbed against the soles of your feet as you hurried down the dirt road. Gandharva Ville was in sight – thirty minutes later than planned.

Collei waved at you in the distance with both arms stretched out wide. As you came near, someone else was beside her waiting at the entrance of a house. His ears were his most prominent feature, but his arms were crossed as he tapped his foot. He was irritated.

You stopped in front of Collei, out of breath and panting for air.

“You're finally here!” said Collei. “I was worried something horrible happened to you.”

“I'm so sorry. I–” You cut your own words short because you didn't have an acceptable explanation. You simply slept in and that was a weak excuse for the first day on the job.

The guy scoffs at you. “Seems like you're following in your father's footsteps, huh?”

At first, you blinked a couple of times, stunned at his words. A growing portion of both anger and embarrassment burned inside you. You gripped your bag, hands already sweating from the run to Gandharva Ville. This was an awful start to your day and this guy made it worse.

“I'll be around the back if you need anything,” he said to Collei. With that, he left the two of you alone.

“Collei, who was that?” you asked. You were somehow able to conceal the irritation in your voice.

“That was Master Tighnari. He can be a little harsh at times,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck, “but he's a really great guy.”

Her words didn't exactly quell the sensation in your gut. This Tighnari guy criticized both you and your dad in a single shot when he didn't even know you.

You put those thoughts aside to refocus on the job ahead. Once inside the house, you took out a textbook and a few sheets of paper and placed them on Collei’s desk. You instructed Collei to work through exercises to evaluate her current language skills. With excitement, she picked up her pencil and went straight to work. Fortunately, you could tell right away she'd be a good student. 

Despite your earlier encounter with Tighnari, you were glad your father had told you about this job. Your previous one was getting tiring and you could schedule tutoring around other tasks and errands more easily. If only you could forget what your dad added.

"Who knows? Maybe you can even find a guy you like at this job," he told you.

"And how old exactly are your coworkers?" you asked, rolling your eyes.

You scoffed at the thought. You knew your dad was just teasing but you were content with being single. However, if a good guy came along, you wouldn't complain.

“I think I'm done now,” said Collei as she handed you the sheet with a bashful smile.

“You don't need to be so nervous around me, Collei,” you said. “I'm not that much older than you.”

Her smile grew larger. “I'm just really glad I was able to find someone like you. Master Tighnari has been teaching me this whole time and it was taking a toll on him.”

“Really?” you said, raising a brow.

“Mmhmm. He has a lot of work as the lead forest watcher so I wanted to help him out by hiring a dedicated tutor,” she explained.

So this guy would go out of his way to help someone like Collei. Maybe he wasn't as bad as you initially thought, but you still had some reservations.

After completing the lesson for the day, you packed up your belongings and Collei thanked you for your work. She was even eager for your return tomorrow, bright-eyed and ready to learn.

You stretched and yawned as you exited the house, and at the edge of the trail, you saw Tighnari standing there as if he were waiting for the two of you to finish. 

You clutched your bag close to your chest as you walked towards the trail. You put some distance between yourself and Tighnari as you walked past him. Just as you thought you were about to successfully avoid him, he called out to you.

“Could I talk to you for a moment?” he asked.

You took a breath. “What is it?” you said, turning to him. 

“There's something I want to clear up, if that's alright with you.” 

You loosen the grip on your bag slightly.

“It seems that my comment earlier has caused some… undesirable effects. It wasn't my intention to be rude to you like that.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, raising a brow.

“You see, I'm quite sarcastic around your father. As my senior, he often pokes fun at me and I, in return, have my own way of responding to him. It's simply how we behave as coworkers.”

So that was what it was. You had thrown your own retorts to your father’s silly quips as well.

“I mistakenly assumed the two of you would have a similar temperament,” he continued, “which is why I behaved in that manner. When I realized there was a chance you might be more like Collei, I decided it would be best to clear this up with you. I didn't want to leave you with a bad impression of me. And so, I wanted to apologize to you.”

You relaxed your shoulders, and for the first time today, took a good look at him. An ear was slightly bent, showing that he was a bit ashamed of his assumptions of you, yet his eyes looked directly at you, sympathetic yet focused.

This was Tighnari. A straight shooter.

“Thank you,” you told him. “For clearing that up, I mean. Not just anyone would take the time to do that.”

“It's not a problem. It's the sensible solution. I'd do it for anyone,” he told you. He lifted his satchel and slung it over his shoulder. “Anyway, are you heading home now? I hope it's not too far of a journey for you.”

“I'm actually headed to the city to meet up with some friends.”

“I see,” he said with a hand on his chin. “In that case, I'll leave you to it. I'm heading to Pardis Dhyai in a bit. I'll see you tomorrow then.”

You lifted your hand to give a subtle wave as he walked back to the house. Collei left the building after hearing his call, and she retold her day to him with a skip in her step as the two of them went to look for a fellow forest watcher.

You spun on your heel and made your way to the city. Your feet were clear of dirt and sand. Perhaps your dad was right. The guys here didn't seem so bad after all.

*****

I hope you liked it! I might add a part two some day, but for now, it'll remain as a one-shot. :) (You can also check out my other fics as well.)

[bonesxbows]

Once Upon a Dream - Chapter 7 (Lucifer X Reader) (Alastor X Reader)

My Masterlist

In a sleeping beauty-inspired AU, a curse is placed over you when you strike up a deal with Heaven to protect baby Charlie, causing you to lose your memory. You remember nothing once the curse takes over; not your marriage with Lucifer, not the family you had with the two of them, nothing. So when a strange smiling demon offers you a place to stay when you can't remember where 'home' is, you take him up on his offer. 

(WARNINGS)

Gendered terms used (mom, good girl, wife) but otherwise gender neutral pronouns used

Heavy depressing themes

Loss of a parent (temporary)

(CHAPTER WARNINGS)

Relationship coercion/manipulation

Possessiveness and jealousy in relationships

BUCKLE UP THIS ONE'S A DOOZY. I would apologize for it being so long, but I'm so not sorry lol. The angst will be rectified in the next chapters I prommy :)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7 (You are here), Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14

Banners by @strangergraphics

He was humming a tune under his breath, his larger-than-life shadow following ominously behind him, pressed against the floor. His mind was clear, controlled. Pieces were falling into place before him, a chess game he was meticulously calculating every move for. Two steps ahead of everyone else. A dance where he owned the dancefloor. Everyone else mere pawns pulled by his strings. And them? Well…they were making things far more…complicated, but he was nothing if not patient and persistent. He just needed to gain more control.

He continued walking the halls of his little 3-D chess game, his smile growing sinister as he passed their old room. Now a vacant shell, as it had been before they had ever arrived. All of their personal things had now found their way to his room, bit by bit they were slowly taking over his space. “Making it ours,” They had said. Adorable. 

Suddenly he stopped mid-step, face twisting in concentration and mild irritation. His shadow traveled up the wall next to him as his ears began to twitch aggressively. 

“Just listen to me, dad!” She was on the verge of yelling, a scream bubbling up on the back of her words. He moved closer, melding into the shadows against the walls. “I don’t care what led up to this, just…help me fix it. Something’s really wrong here.” She continued. He was now right outside the doorframe to her room, back pressed up against the wall. “Come see what’s happened to them. You’ll change your mind. I know you want mom back just as much as I do.” Her voice turned melancholy, as if she were reminiscing about the past. His smile split into a scowl. “I’ll see you soon then. And…and thanks, dad.” She let out a sigh. 

“See you soon?” He bit his tongue, sucking on the metallic crimson that filled his mouth as he narrowed his eyes; infuriated. He slammed the bottom of his cane against the floor in aggravation before stalking off down the hallway. With you aimed in his crosshairs. He would have to move his plan along quicker if he was bound to show up. His hand was being forced. He would have to act fast. 

He needed you thoroughly captivated.

“Well, we have an hour until he gets here.” She stammered out to the group. Nervousness coated her words. She had been jittery all morning; you still couldn’t figure out why. 

“Okay, people! Lucifer is on his way. So we are going to get this place presentable and we are all going to make an amazing impression. Vámonos!” Vaggie shouted, startling half of the gathered residents into motion. Husk ended up spilling the majority of his coffee onto himself from the shock and you rushed to grab a nearby rag to help him clean up while everyone else busied themselves around the two of you. They were constantly running back and forth around you, scurrying around to complete the tasks Vaggie wanted done in time. But you stayed calm in the middle of the madness, helping your friend with the now-forming stubborn stains in his fur and clothes. 

“Unnecessary, but I appreciate it, dollface.” He mumbled out as you dabbed at his bowtie. 

“Don’t mention it.” You merely said as you continued, not even looking up from your work. Despite the intensifying fuzzy static causing a painful ringing in your ears. 

“Darling! Be a dear and come help me with this, would you? I’m afraid it requires your delicate touch.” You heard him before you felt him, an overwhelming staticky buzz blaring right next to your face as he spoke. A rough hand grabbed your forearm, claws digging into your skin as it yanked you away from Husk. You dropped the rag to the floor in the process. 

“Alastor! Wha-“ Annoyance was on the tip of your tongue, but the words never made it out. Your back was slammed against a wall, the air being forced out of your lungs from the impact. He cut your forced exhale off short as he crashed his lips into yours, greedily swallowing your puffs of air as if it could fill his own set of lungs. 

He had pulled you into the shadows, a secluded corner far away from the main portion of the hotel’s lobby tucked behind the grand staircase. A darkened area that hid the two of you from the view of everyone else, giving himself enough privacy to let his usual nonchalant façade down. 

He was done indulging in these games you seemed to insist on playing with him. Not when there was so much on the line now, with Lucifer arriving any minute. 

His hands found the sides of your face, cradling your head within his grasp as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing into yours as he pushed you further against the wall. You became caged in between the plaster behind you and the demon currently towering over you. You clutched at his coat as his tongue pushed its way into your mouth. The pointed tip of it just barely flicking past your teeth; teasing you, causing a meager muffled whine to eek out of the back of your throat. You couldn’t help it. This outburst had been unexpected, yes, but he left you craving more. He always left you craving for more. Your sounds set his lips twisting upwards into a satisfied smirk. When he tried to pull away you unconsciously followed him, leaning towards him in an attempt to halt his retreat. Your back was halfway off the wall, the majority of your weight now shifted onto him, before he stopped you with a quick nip on your bottom lip. The sudden sting of pain made you squeak as you finally pulled away. Though you stayed clinging on to his shoulders. 

His arms snaked their way to around your waist, not letting you go far as he pulled you in impossibly closer to his chest. “You are mine, ma chérie. Don’t ever forget that.” He was looking down his nose at you, the shadows around the two of you making his eyes glow with a dangerous shade of red. 

A look of confusion flashed across your face but you quickly squashed it down. He was starting to act so…different, recently. “I haven’t, Al. Promise. You really think I would replace you? With who? No one else here can even compete with you.”

He hummed, internally mulling over your response. You stared up at him as his eyes roamed over your face, searching for any hint of dishonesty. When he found none, both relieved and satisfied, he leaned down again, this time gently pressing his lips to yours. You sighed contently into the kiss. His forehead found yours once he pulled away, your eyes so close you swore you could see your own reflection in his. But there was a hint of something else lingering behind those constricted black irises. Tiny slivers that gleamed with an unholy green fog, only visible if you dared to look close enough. A warning shined back at you, despite his loving smile. 

“You may make as many friends as you’d like here, darling, but do take note that I am a very selfish man. And you, my dear,” One of his hands crawled up your body to the base of your neck, slotting itself around your throat gently as he began to drag the tip of one of his clawed fingers down the side of your jaw. “Are my precious little doe. No one else’s.”

He had given himself the ability to cut off your breathing with but one small flex of his fingers. A motion that would require little to no effort. He had the capacity to kill you in a second’s notice. Snap your neck like a toothpick. Feast on what was left of your carcass like a midday snack. But yet he was being as gentle as a fawn. Caressing you as if you were made of glass; as if he were afraid of shattering you within his fingers. This demon, the one whom all seemed to fear the very sight of. Truly his words had to have been true, you really did have to be special to him in some way or another, for him to give you such favoritism. He made you feel things you didn’t know how to describe; his odd, yet loving, actions stirred up your emotions. Your heart swelled, your insides churned, and there was an ache forming in your soul that it seemed only he could fill. 

You felt wanted. Seen. Adored. In his own, strange, way. 

It made you recall something. A memory of these feelings. No name or face to put them to, those were unfortunately still lost to the unrelenting fog of your broken mind, but there was a descriptor; these emotions were familiar territory. You had felt this way before. 

Love.

It seemed to fit almost perfectly. An overconfident smile crept its way onto your lips. Alastor raised a brow at your sudden change of demeanor, his own smile faltering ever so slightly. You had caught him off guard. But he was quick to recover his self-control. 

“I’ll always be yours, my Deer.” You whispered up to him, smile still stuck on your face. You dragged one of your hands down his chest, slowly, trailing your nails against the fabric of his coat along the way, until your palm came to rest on top of his dead heart. His eyes followed your movements with precision, flicking back to meet your gaze with a questioning stare once your hand came to a stop. “There’s no place else I’d rather be.” You continued, giving the left side of his chest a little pat with your fingertips for emphasis. 

His smile exploded at your words. It stretched his face inhumanly, a vivid green glow echoing around the corners of his mouth as his eyes lit up with a flare of red light. He released your neck from his hold, shifted your body weight in his arms so that he could dip you down slightly, and dove for your lips in such quick succession that it had you dizzy. You instinctively yelped and clutched onto the lapels of his coat as he tilted you backwards. His face had come to an abrupt stop mere centimeters in front of yours, in the motion of giving you a kiss but halting just before he made contact. The way you clung onto him, so precariously unbalanced over the ground, made a smirk crawl over his face. He would never let you fall, never even think about dropping you, but that didn't mean he couldn’t revel in the amusement of letting you assume that he could. 

Once your initial shock passed and your gaze shifted back to him he finished out his original intent, gently pressing his lips to yours in a soft and sweet kiss. A featherlight touch that allowed you to truly savor the way his morning coffee seemed to always stick with him. 

His breath tickled your face as he placed another barely-there kiss on the very tip of your nose. 

“Good girl.”

The minutes ticked down. Charlie was getting worse by the second. She was currently pacing by the front door, waiting, while everyone else sat around and watched. There was not a speck of patience to be found inside the whole hotel at that moment. 

Alastor had insisted you sit with him, practically pulling you into his lap when you tried to merely sit next to him. You didn’t mind, easily getting comfortable leaning against his chest as his arms wrapped around your hips. You were getting used to ignoring the strange looks from the others by now, anyway. 

Exactly an hour from since Charlie had announced he would be visiting, a knock rang out against the wood of the front door. When she opened it he nearly barreled inside. 

“Charlie!” He exclaimed with extra excitement, charging right into the poor girl as he wrapped his arms around her with enough force to squeeze the air out of her. 

“It’s, uh, good to see you too, dad.” She sputtered out with what little breath she had left in between his death-grip hug. 

A small smile emerged onto your face at the sight of the little family reunion. He seemed so happy to see his daughter again, you couldn’t help but feel his overwhelming joy seep vicariously through you. It somehow felt normal, sharing this blissful moment with a devil you had just met. 

A dull stinging pain, however, stole your attention away from the family duo. You winced, trying to ignore it, but the longer you focused on Lucifer and Charlie the more intense it became. When the low growling static began to ring in your ears you knew simply trying to ignore it had been the wrong choice. 

His claws dug more aggressively into your hips as he gave them a tight squeeze, forcing a high-pitched squeak to squirm its way out of your throat. You swiftly cast a warning gaze back towards the demon behind you, but he had cracked the most innocent smile he could muster. All eyes in the room were now on the two of you. A deep crimson flushed through your face. 

You cleared your throat. “Sorry, I…thought I saw something.” You smiled sheepishly, hoping the group’s knowledge of your fragile mental state would pass for a good enough excuse for your outburst. 

“Anyyyway…Dad! Look at this lovely parlor!” Charlie seemed to brush the incident off, redirecting the attention off of you. You were abundantly grateful, letting out a small sigh as everyone was now focused on Charlie and her father again. Though you swore you could still catch one set of eyes occasionally staring at you. One pair of yellow snake eyes, flicking to you with a concerned look every now and then between conversations. 

But you had little time to dwell on who or who wasn’t still worried about you after your little scene. Once Charlie and the rest of the group had turned their backs to the two of you, your smile began to sour into a scowl. You twisted at your waist to face Alastor, who still held a look of pure innocence, though his eyes weren’t even focused on you. When you followed his malice-filled gaze you saw that it led right to the king, and when you caught Lucifer's eyes flickering back to you once more, you felt the familiar sting impale your hips yet again. His hands had latched on with a vice-like death grip, puncturing your skin with his claws, but you didn’t yelp this time; instead lightly thwacking Alastor on the chest to get him to let go, or at the very least to loosen his hold. 

Lucifer had caught your little display of mild annoyance, his eyes widening as he watched you raise a hand to the Radio Demon himself. Without any consequence. He had merely let it happen. Alastor delighted in the way the king’s face dropped into shock, all while you were none the wiser to their little stare-off. 

If Lucifer didn’t know that you were something to him before, he sure as hell did now. Alastor’s face twisted in pure sastitic pride, a layer of possessive anger hidden beneath his face-splitting smile, a taunt to anyone around to just dare to challenge what was his. 

Your brow furrowed in confusion at his sudden darkening, but yet elated, mood. 

Was he…jealous?

When introductions started, they inadvertently began with Charlie’s pet cat and goats. 

You immediately tuned out your surroundings, your eyes going to focus on the devil in front of you as he followed Charlie around, despite Alastor’s obvious dejections to him. You couldn’t seem to help it, his presence stirred something inside of you; deep inside of you. Like a long-forgotten box buried in the back of the attic space of your mind. Locked and covered in a layer of immovable dust. 

The sight of him made your insides itch. And you had no idea how to even begin to scratch it. 

But you were forcibly removed from your contemplations when you saw Charlie point at you, the family duo standing right in front of you. “…and this, dad, is…Ducki.” She choked on your name, crinkling her nose as if the word felt wrong in her mouth. He was staring at you. Practically through you. Big yellow snake eyes blown wide, but void of all emotion. So different than the looks he had been giving you when he had first arrived. 

Your skin began to crawl underneath his petrifying gaze. 

“Um…hi there, your majesty.” Your whole body was turning shy. Nervous beyond anything you had felt since waking up in that strange palace. 

“Ducki, was it?” He asked coldly, the warmth that had flowed through him as he had talked with Charlie now gone. Completely vanished. You simply nodded in response. He seemed to want to end the conversation there, words failing him as he continued to pierce you with his stare. But Charlie was quick to nudge him in the shoulder, breaking him from whatever trance he seemed to be stuck in. He reached out a gloved hand towards you, timidly, not quite sure if you would take it. But you did, despite the warning of growling static that resounded from behind you. Lucifer’s hand felt warm in your own. Oddly familiar, comforting in a way that you couldn’t entirely figure out why. He shook yours gently, pulling away far sooner than you honestly cared for. The sudden absence of his touch left a burning sensation on your skin and a growing headache in the back of your skull. “Nice to be meeting you.” He merely said before walking away with Charlie to continue her little tour. Though he had to forcibly tear his eyes away from yours as he did so. 

“Yeah.” Was all you managed to whisper under your breath. You had known him for less than thirteen minutes and he had already managed to set your skin alight and stir your mind around like a ship lost in a storm. He felt so…familiar. You hated the fact that you just couldn’t remember why. What piece of the puzzle were you missing?

“Dear.” You heard him whisper into your ear, his voice scratchy with a heavy overlay of feedback crackling. It sent a shiver down your spine. 

“Yes, Alastor?” 

“Do remember our little conversation from earlier. I trust this new addition of our rather insignificantly small king does not change our agreements, hm?” He leaned forward, encircling his arms around your torso and clasping his hands together as he rested his chin on top of your shoulder; effectively trapping you in his hold. 

Your recently electric thoughts about Lucifer had made you forget about earlier, but that didn’t make what you had said then any less true now. You scoffed. “Of course not, Al. It’s just someone new to talk to, that’s all. I’m just intrigued by making a new friend here. We talked about that too, don’t forget.” You relaxed back into his chest, melding your two bodies together. His hold tightened around you as you did so. 

He hummed in response, satisfied enough with your answer. But his smile became tight-lipped. You had hesitated.

You had only excused yourself for a moment, needing a break from Lucifer’s constant stares, but apparently it was just enough time for Alastor and Lucifer to get into a very heated fight. You weren’t sure who had started it, it was too hard to tell by this point, but they were quite literally at each others’ throats by the time you walked in. 

“Well, sadly for you, there appear to be times a husband simply turns out to be a dud, no matter the strength of his angelic prowess. Perhaps you simply couldn’t satisfy, so she chose better.” Alastor was sitting at Husk’s bar, legs crossed one over the other and head resting in his palm as his elbow propped it up against the bar’s tabletop. He was fuming, angry shadows looming threateningly behind him, but it seemed you were the only one who could tell. His smug smile gave away no hints of his concealed rage otherwise. 

Lucifer was standing in front of him, still a few feet shorter than Alastor even when the demon was sitting down. He, on the other hand, was not attempting to hide his growing fury whatsoever. Flames practically poured from his mouth as he spoke. His eyes had filled with red, leaving nothing but yellow irises and his black snake-like pupils. “Oh, please. Like anyone would choose a mere busboy over the chef!” He threw his arms outward towards Alastor’s direction for emphasis, his nose scrunching up in disgust. You recoiled at the sight of the two of them arguing. It felt…wrong, to see the two of them upset. Especially Lucifer. It didn’t scare you, he didn’t scare you, neither of them did. But it made your heart hurt in ways you couldn’t recognize.

“Butt out of something that isn’t yours anymore.” Alastor leaned forward, maliciously grinning from ear to ear. 

Lucifer’s face dropped for a split second, but his initial shock was quickly replaced with twice as much anger as there had been before. He pointed an accusing finger at Alastor. “Not yours? I started this! You tacky piece of-!”

But his act of aggression, along with the argument as a whole, was abruptly brought to a grinding halt as the front door of the hotel flew open. 

“I’m here!” A shrill voice called out in a singsong voice. “It’s me! Alastor! It’s me, Mimzy! I’m finally here!” Everyone’s eyes went wide at the sudden intrusion. You looked to Alastor once you heard his name being called out, but he was just as surprised as everyone else. It wasn’t long before a short and chubby little demon came bouncing into the foyer, her blonde bob swaying along with her layered fringe dress. 

“Mimzy!” Alastor was the first to regain his composure, hopping up off of the barstool to greet the new guest. Any remnants of the argument were wiped off of his face within seconds, his usual charming smile now adorning his features. 

“Aw, how nice! So you two know each other?” Charlie chimed in, also trying to defuse the aftermath of the situation between her father and Alastor. 

“Oh yeah, we go way back. Ran in the same circles when we were alive. You know this one used to frequent the club where I used ta perform!” Mimzy answered, clicking her heels in a dance as she mentioned her performances. “He’s the only one I knew who could pound whiskey like a sailor then keep up with me on the dance floor!”

Despite the images of the fight still fresh in your mind, you couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of Alastor at a club. Somehow it just didn’t seem right. Though you had to admit, it did sound rather nice. Being able to see him let loose and relax, enjoy the freedom and carefreeness of an open dancefloor. 

“Oh, quite a talent this gal, ha ha. You should have seen her in her hay-day.” He responded, a fond smile creeping onto his face. Perhaps your imagination had been right. From what you had learned, he missed the human world quite a bit. Maybe this was another part of those cherished memories he had. 

Mimzy took offense to that, immediately claiming that she still possessed her best moves from her human life. Though she didn’t seem to care much about Alastor’s comment after she finally spotted Lucifer from across the room. Her attention instantly shifted to the king, causing a small panic to visibly stir through him. She was making him uncomfortable. And for some reason or another, it made you bristle with animosity. An instinct inside of you screamed to protect him. Him? Odd. Why would you feel the need to protect the king of Hell himself? 

Charlie sensed your sudden hostility and butted into the conversation, redirecting her father away from the group for a tour of her hotel. Unfortunately, Alastor also suggested that he tag along; not wanting to let Lucifer leave his sight for even a second. Not when he was so…unpredictable. Maybe if he provoked him just enough he’d leave and never come back. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about this insufferable *fool* ruining everything.

“I’m sure Charlie can handle showing me arou-“ Lucifer tried to argue, tugging his daughter along by the wrist, trying to outrun the demon hot on their tails. 

His height was his enemy when competing with Alastor’s lanky legs. He caught up with them within an instant. “Nonsense! We started the hotel together, and we’ll show it off together. Right, Charlie?” He proclaimed cheerily. 

She had no choice but to agree.

“Wait, you’re leaving?” You called out to Alastor as the three of them started off down the hallway. He had never left your side willingly before. 

“I’ll be back before you know it, ma chérie.” He nodded towards you as he flashed his sharp teeth, giving you a look that told you this was not a time to argue. But his face softened when he saw how pathetically sad you looked. Like a kicked puppy. Which he considered usually amusing, but not when it was you, and not when it had been him making you feel that way. It tore at his chest in a way he didn’t like. So he quickly switched on his charming smile and threw you a wink before turning to walk away. He hoped it was enough to soothe your hurt feelings. For now, at least. He could fix the rest later. And deal with these exasperating emotions that you were coaxing out of him like rising bile. 

You were left in the parlor with the rest of the residents. And Mimzy. Whom you were starting to dislike. 

“Husker, dear pussy cat, pour a girl another, would ya?”

Scratch that, you definitely disliked her. 

The bartender grumbled under his breath but did as he was asked. Though he gave her a stern “fuck you” when she tried to thank him. Perhaps you weren’t the only one who had bothersome feelings towards this narcissistic dancer. Nevertheless, you were civil, and so was Husk. For the most part. 

“So uh, you an’ Alastor, are like…what? Friends?” Angel spoke up, breaking the silence that overlaid the occasional sip and clink of glass. Your skin bristled at the question. Honestly you were as curious as Angel, but you were worried to learn about the truth. You couldn’t remember ever being worried about a man before, but the way Alastor made you feel safe after what had happened to you, and the way Mimzy had seemed to cozy up to him due to their past…was being around Alastor so much starting to rub off on you?

“Well that’s your word, not mine,” She giggled. You scoffed angrily. No one apparently noticed. “But I think it fits. Why? Surprised?” 

“I just didn’ think he had any of those, ya know, ‘sides the thing he’s got goin’ with Ducki. He’s been here a while an’ is still a big creepy mystery. What’s his deal? I don’t think Ducki’s been able to get any dirt on him, have ya, sugar?” Angel continued, gesturing wildly with all four of his arms as he spoke. 

Your mind was boiling with smoking hot coals of jealousy with the way Mimzy was talking about Alastor, but you smothered them for the time being. This was more important. Angel was right. What did you really know about the demon whose bed you had been sleeping in for the last few weeks? Whose arms you snuggled into every night? 

Mimzy had known him since before he had died. She had inside information you just couldn’t pass up on, no matter how much you wanted to throw her out of the hotel and never see her cooing around your Alastor again. 

“No, Angie…” You turned to Mimzy, letting out a sigh as you asked the burning question on the tip of your tongue. “What’s he like? Before he arrived here, I mean.”

“Well…” She started, setting her glass down. Her face twisted with maniacal glee as she started to recount what she knew. “You probably heard the stories…”

You burst into his room, slamming open the door so hard it reverberated off of the wall and swung back in your face before you stuck out a hand and smacked the offending piece of wood so that it banged against the wall a second time and stayed there for good as you held it in place. 

“How many?!” You screamed. 

You had caught him off guard. He was sitting on his bed, one of the books he had bought for you in his lap. His ears jumped up at your sudden intrusion and his eyes went wide with surprise. 

You hadn’t seen him since before Mimzy had showed up earlier. Before you had learned the truth from the little club dancer. You had avoided him the entire rest of the day, despite his attempts at trying to follow you around the hotel. You refused to speak to him, to even look at him, until you could get your thoughts straight and your emotions under control. 

Your feelings were far from under control, but your thoughts were as straight as a line. You knew what you wanted to say to that goddamn smiling face and he was going to listen whether he wanted to or not. 

He recovered from his surprise fairly quickly, setting your book down and developing a cold exterior, his smile a threatening crescent across his face. The room began to buzz with a low staticky hum around your feet. “How many what, my dear?”

You stomped into his room and threw the door shut behind you. It thudded into the doorframe so hard that his mounted antlers resting against the wall began to shake and teeter in its spot. Angry tears pricked at the corners of your eyes before you could even get the words out. “How many souls are in your possession, Al?!” You spat at him. 

He cocked his head to the side at an awkward angle, his neck cracking loudly as he did so. His eyes narrowed as his smile stretched across his face. “My, what a strange question.”

He was staring at you like a predator; trying to imitate you. But he had stopped scaring you a long time ago. You scoffed at his statement, throwing your hands up into the air in exasperation. “Do you take me for a fucking fool?!” You cried and screamed out. “How long did you plan on keeping the fact that you’re a goddamn overlord from me?!” You were almost in his face now, standing in front of him by the bed. Blocking his only exit from this conversation. His unbroken casualness was doing nothing but pissing you off even more. Your heart was shattering in front of him and he was acting as if you were merely talking about the weather. 

He apparently had enough, though, when you took another demanding step closer to him. He disappeared for a split second, leaving nothing but a mass of inky black shadows in the space he had once occupied on his bed, before he reappeared and forced himself into what little space there was between you and the edge of the bed. The sudden appearance of his body sent you stumbling backwards in order to make room for him where there had been none. But you caught your balance before you ended up on the floor. 

“Oh come now, you’re better than that.” He said amusingly, a dark chuckle hiding under his breath. He was mere inches from you, a snarl set twisting into his smile. “We’re in Hell, you fool.” He gestured with a hand as the room darkened with suffocating blackness. The static vibration around your body grew volatile as wispy shadow creatures started to swirl around the walls behind him; his eyes gleaming with a wicked red glow. “Power survives, while the rest end up in the slaughter.” 

Your jaw fell slack as you watched the sight unfold in front of you. Tears streamed down your face now with earnestness. You did little to stop them. 

Mimzy had been right. He was heartless. Satan, how you had been fooled. 

A choked sob wracked your body as the realization hit you. He recoiled at the sound. Though he tried to hide it. His menacing smile wavered ever so slightly, but he was quick to catch it before it fell completely. 

“I thought I loved you, you smiling freak.”

The shadows behind him vanished at your words. Like your one sentence had chased them away. The static buzz around your feet gave way to silence as his face fell flat; besides his ever-present smile. Gone was the threatening glare and the terrifying presence. In what little time he had known you he had never heard you so soft-spoken. And so…heartbroken. Love? Is that what this nauseous emotion was that you were making him feel? Lord, he hadn’t heard that word in decades. 

But you didn’t notice, or just didn’t care, that his demeanor had suddenly changed after your statement. You took the opportunity to turn around and flee for the door out of his room, hand covering your mouth the entire way to stifle the many more cries that wanted to escape. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you defeated. 

You barely had your hand on the door handle when you felt his clawed fingers on your shoulder. It was the most gentle grip you had ever felt him use; like he was scared to touch you. As if you were a frightened animal that would flee at a moment’s notice if the predator got too close. 

“Wait, chérie, where do you think you’re going?” His voice was flit with worry. Something new you had never heard from him. You stopped and turned your head only because he had spoken without his radio filter overlaying his words. Was this that serious to him? Or was it just another trick? Either way, it made your heart ache. You wanted to stay, ask him to talk to you more with that voice, the way it sounded so crisp and clean, his accent no longer lost underneath the usual static. But you couldn’t. Everything hurt too much to be around him. It hurt to even look at him. 

You whipped your head back to face the door, fresh tears stinging your eyes as you squeezed them shut. “Anywhere but here. Preferably as far away from you as possible.” You flung the door open and walked out as swiftly as you could, only stopping for a second once you were sure you were out of his reach. “And don’t try to come find me, Alastor.” You spat. Then you sped off down the hallway, arms hugging yourself as you silently cried new tears. 

He did as he was told; left standing alone in the doorway of his room. Watching as you disappeared down the hall. His brilliant plans, and this newfound feeling of love you had taught him about, crumbling around his feet and slipping right through his fingers. 

“...fuck.”

To be continued in Chapter 8...

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