#these people are jackasses and they cannot keep treating us like this

[pvnsie]

y’all…

[zerokissingbooth]

rant under cut ab dr ratio

i know we don't know much about his actual personal life just yet, but it feels less like earning nous' gaze is earned by intelligence but rather drive to your field. your passion willing to push the boundaries of what's known- ruan mei as an example.

until ratio does something worthwhile like idk, preventing the mass extinction of sentient inorganic life in hopes of stopping an egopowered supercomputer (screwllum vs emperor rupert i) or continued to actively reject the genius society despite MULTIPLE INVITATIONS (ruan mei) or having mass intellect, developing the simulated universe from an OUTSIDE LOCATION and being acknowledged as insanely smart but refusing to actually use it (stephen lloyd) he won't ever be acknowledged by nous.

it isn't a matter of humanity, empathy, or anything like that- hell there's still genius members we haven't met because they're all various levels of too invested in their work, introverted/anti-social, or something else that has nothing to do with morality.

dr ratio's prime drive outside of spreading knowledge is spreading himself outwards. he has ego, he actually put an entire space station in danger just to try and prove a point. like why hasn't anyone talked about that? dr ratio putting the station in crisis just to stick his nose up at a small group of people-- two of them not actually caring at all, by the way. the entire conflict of the space station issue with dr ratio's introduction was entirely focused on ratio and screwllum.

and you cannot say ratio has empathy-- he makes his students cry without care, his class has an insanely low graduation rate, he's quick to insult first due to his own admitted bias before actually listening to someone (see: ratio actively insulting aventurine's race and lack of intelligence first). he refuses to debate people because he automatically declares himself a winner. his entire philosophy of 'spreading knowledge and curing ignorance' is counteracting his own actions with how harsh and refusing he is to accommodate to students. even if students that do graduate out of the 3% become experts... that is an insanely low number for a guy who taught 52 courses.

and we know why some of the geniuses are the way they are or why they seem less empathetic. like ruan mei's trauma with the death of her parents and the failure to keep family promises (seen in chara stories 1 and 2) caused her to spiral hardcore into trying to bring them back and nearly broke the biology of the abundance on her planet. she didn't eat until needed, didn't sleep, she was literally in a daze working.

or screwllum! while we don't know much we know that not only does he hate any mechanical constructs that follow rupert i's orders (which are to destroy organic life) he is utterly fascinated and enchanted by life. his own invitation by nous to join the society actively prevented the IPC from wiping out all mechanical lifeforms, further prevented due to his own intervention.

ratio is insanely fascinating, but he is not as empathetic as it seems. he's rational, logical and a jackass; knowledge and being able to carry a title is first to him, with how narrow of a birth he has within education. many degrees he has, but they're ranging from philosophy, mathematics, biology, and whatever- nothing within the realm of history, the arts, languages or literature. an argument could be made here that ratio specifically values mathematics and sciences above other aspects of knowledge, leaning into his bias, but that's just me.

"but his note to aventurine!" was a note explaining how he had an answer to aventurine's previous question. acheron had more of an impact on aventurine's almost-death in the dreamscape which makes sense, seeing as her entire thing is with nihility and death. it doesn't surprise me he figured it out, as he is a philosopher.

"what is death in a dream?" is a great philosophy question and would've been a treat for him to pick at and solve.

[lilyandthegenshinbrainrot]

We're gonna talk about two things here, what's said and what isn't.

First thing, what Al-Haitham is saying is that the Akademiya only works if people are benefited, when knowledge is gained from harming others or crossing any boundaries that Humans aren't meant to cross, then that's where trouble falls. Trouble follows because this is where the line is drawn between man and god, a line that Sumeru has intentionally blurred in their impassioned search for understanding. Alhaitham simplifies this egregious act by likening it to a typo in a book. I can't decide if it's more likely for Alhaitham to believe this level of violation to require a simple correction or if he simply does not think the Akademiya's corruption is something as wide-spread as it was. After all, we found this information from one group in one place that was used years before canon. Honestly, he reminds me greatly of Lisa Minci in his mentality regarding work and the way they treat knowledge. But anyways,

Second thing, the traveler’s preferred type of ally. The most trustworthy people are the ones with a personal code of conduct that you understand, this is seen specifically with Venti, Diluc, Xiao, Beidou, and Shenhe. Characters that they can "let their hair down" with, and trust with a little more of their bleeding heart than others. These are characters who have promised to show up and be there whenever needed or wanted, and then proved it.

Venti is shown to be the Traveler's favorite person to learn what's happening in Mondstadt and personal confident whenever things are stressful, Diluc has frequently made a space for them to rest in his tavern and home, Xiao quite literally promises to stop everything at their call and to kill if they cannot for emotional or physical reasons, Beidou offers them a place in her crew and help if they ever need it, and the Traveler also tells her more about their journey than they normally would with companions, and Shenhe values the Traveler immensely as her first human friend to the point that she literally goes to bat for them against Beshet and then continues to offer against any inconvenience. Bless her.

Basically, the traveler honors people who are honest with themselves and keep their word by holding them a little closer than their other company. Overall, I would say they value allies that are not aligned exactly with the government, that are influential in some capacity, have integrity, and are kind-hearted.

This isn't to say they don't value their other friends, but there is a reason certain characters get to hear about their past experience and current stressors.

Anyways I'm bringing this post back out of the drafts in honor of his first banner ending and his character quest being released <3 I'm sure this jackass is gonna be one of the fan favorites but also a treasured companion for the Traveler themselves going forward.

[mydemonsdrivealimo]

I'll always want to hear your opinions. Tell us. Anything. All of it. Whatever. Just have at it 🙃

i am taking this head on as "i get to complain about ethan as much as i want"

i genuinely dislike him. maybe even hate him. i dont care what pb did to him for rn, im just gonna talk about him as a character

i generally despise any boss/employee relationships (and trust me, ive seen it irl; its never cute its actually obnoxious as hell), but this one will forever and always make me uncomfortable when i really think about it. even playing without picking any extra diamond scenes for ethan, i knew way more about him than i ever wanted to. i know for a fact that he wouldve made jensen genuinely uncomfortable on multiple occasions. the way he treats people who arent patients is genuinely inexcusable. hes put up against people like declan and bloom so he doesnt seem that bad, but, especially in the beginning, he barely regarded the interns as real people with real feelings. there is a difference between tough love and being a complete jackass, and he was most certainly the latter

the only reason he softens up is because of mc, and its bullshit. its not mcs job to like him or correct his behavior. he is a whole adult who should be able to keep his temper tantrums to his damn self in his own home. the excuse that hes passionate is complete garbage; he can be passionate without being mean and intolerable. im not saying he should be a nice person and completely change his demeanor (i actually dislike when this happens in fandom pairings because he barely seems like the same person), but, in his current state, he should not have been overseeing interns

oh and dont even get me started on his trauma card. okay, his mom left. okay, he grew up lonely. okay okay okay to all these things. that is still no reason for him to get away with being a dick. the way he treated mc during the reset times and before that cannot and should not be okay because he has "unresolved issues." then he needs to resolve them!!! no, people are not perfect and good characters shouldnt be either, but there also shouldnt be any way to excuse away all the bad things he did

i think one of the only reasons i really have a problem with all of that is because he is painted like a genius, a dedicated professional, a righteous doctor who is the best of the best, enough so to be a teacher. but, hes not. he was never acknowledged in a bad light beside the occasional throwaway remark about him being stubborn or an asshole. if he was ever regarded as a messed up person with actual issues, then i think id be more okay with it, but hes seriously always shown to be a great person when hes not

[jraker4]

I have to ask? Why do you bother with some of these? And how can I learn your ways when you argue with some of these creeps?

Heh, it seems he's blocked me. And it really is what I claim it is. In descending order of motivation, to me: 1. It is interesting and amusing to me to poke at these folks. Interesting, because you cannot predict what they will say in defense of their ridiculous ideas. This is true of fanatics generally, but because of my own politics, I usually tilt against reactionaries. Tied to the interest, it can be amusing. It was funny that that jackass descended to 'religion has nothing to do with it'.

2. A small expression of support for the folks they attack. In this case, that reactionary fundemantalist asshole decided to clog up a post by a Jew lamenting antisemitism, and that irritated me. I believe there is some small measure of comfort-and I mean small even by social media standards-to stick up for such people, as a way of showing them that other people recognize how they're being treated badly.

3. I think there's some small measure of social usefulness in pushing back against this sort of thing when it's encountered. As for how to deal with `em, you flatter me, but there isn't any secret, really. One is to never assume they're behaving in good faith, because usually they're not. Another is to not make the mistake of speaking in absolutes and generalities like they do. A third is to keep reminding them of provable lies they've told or evasions they've committed.

[the-firebird69]

https://www.jacarandaplace.com

So we got their story done quite a few times but here's another portion of it this is why he's saying it he wants us to know he wants more people to know that he's in trouble they want to stuff him into this building complex which is a holocaust building that's where they help people before they stuck them into the furnace or ovens actually they called them and to cook them off and that's what Billy z was up to and he was a major proponent for this treatment he's the one who was causing all this and disrupting Macs riegn and yes all of them and he keeps talking about it and talking about it now he's talking about out loud what they said is it's a bit much you're a huge a****** and keep blabbing and they hear something you don't have one of his shifts not one so we're doing maintenance I said yeah but you don't have one of his shifts he's like a little bit of a right to be arrogant I'm not dealing with you in a fair way but you won't allow us to I'm sitting there dreaming about it too cuz it's funny that you're pushing and surround all the time I woke up to him pushing you around and you stated him on the radio don't let him do that and you're borrowing him like it's a little kid and you're like making him do it and he's got the ability to stop you and you're not aware of it and we're able to stop he was an occasion now I'm going to tell you that you're not going to keep doing this to people that you're wrong and that you're young and that you're not going to mature and as the people you never really do there's not much you can do about it and yeah it was planned it's fully out of control and a lot of people say it is because it is so we have to stop you are you going to destroy what's left of humanity either version and he said it too he cannot have these people including them at the wheel of a car and they want to pull something out of Earth it's like the size of the Moon times two and it really hit me this is wrong and none of these ships have been investigated and he says his people built most of them and built big ones and you just started clamping what they're doing so you don't know if they're done right in the first place well because they do stuff like that

He says they do and they're very tricky and he says he checked but I have zero confidence that you can check we have an emergency they were not treating it like that these idiots won't stop they're a big huge problem now Max we need to get on this and he's saying foreigners you need to get in shape and you can't with these jackasses on you and I'm inundated and it shouldn't be happening these people are completely wrong they don't do anything all day long to help him and back to me and they don't do anything to help me and they don't help him get by I'm doing it and he's doing it somehow and foreigners you have to know this they're completely useless both bunches they're very evil to us and they know that we don't like them at all we have a war now let's act accordingly

Mac daddy

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

I think Khonshu's nice to Jake because unlike Marc where he has leverage, or Steven where he has nothing, Khonshu's relationship with Jake is straightforward business. Jake wants the suit, Khonshu wants an Avatar. They each get something out of it, and it's all out on the table. There's no unspoken resentment or reluctance. Just a simple transaction, and the ability on both sides to pull out whenever.

While it is absolutely hilarious to me to picture Khonshu like he was in a few comic runs begging and pleading and doing anything he can to get Jake's attention "My good friend. My best buddy. My all time favorite avatar Jake Lockley.".... I will acknowledge that Jake does want a suit and a means to protect the system.

So now that you've tricked me into a Meta post, let's do this! I'm going to refer to a few things I've come across, though I cannot remember the posts or users that first brought them up. So thank you to my terrible sleep deprived memory for making me feel like a jackass and thank you to all the people that laid the groundwork for me!

O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

So there's a quote any Shakespeare casual reader should recognize. But there is an interesting thought. The moon is so variable. It pulls and pushes the tides. It eclipses the sun and is in turn eclipsed by the earth. It is ever changing and in turn, often romanticized to dance with the earth. It is also consistent and predictable in its cycle.

But Khonshu isn't just the moon. He reminds Steven that he is the god of the sky. Which is even more ever changing in mood and beauty.

Khonshu who could not let go of humanity and abandon it, but also does not know how to treat humanity once he is in direct contact with it.

He wants to love but only manipulates and abuses. He wants to protect and care for but only threatens and bullies.

He is decayed and weakened but he still has power.

He handles Marc roughly. He cares for Marc and trusts him immensely, but he also found Marc dying in a dumpster with a gun to his own head. He has seen inside and knows that Marc sees no self worth for himself. Marc has no reason to want to be protected. He has stated multiple times that he hoped the people he fought would win and kill him. So how does Khonshu protect and keep someone so utterly self destructive?

Give them something worth fighting for. Or in Khonshu's warped sense of how to handle things, scare him into compliance. If Marc fails a mission and dies, then Layla is obviously going to be his replacement.

When it comes to Steven, Khonshu straight up torments him. Steven is a threat to controlling Marc. So from Marc's early perspective, Khonshu threatens Steven and tries to scare him away. When Steven proves that isn't going to work, he switches gear from tormenting him and scaring him to going back to Marc and blaming Marc for not keeping Steven under control.

But why go after Steven at all? Why not strike a deal with Steven? Again, we have to go back to the more useful avatar in Khonshu's mind: Marc. While Steven is incredibly smart and learns to fight and even improves how Moon Knight functions as a system, Steven encourages Marc to start taking value of himself. He also encourages Marc to be less murder happy.

Over all, Khonshu has a better hold over Marc is Steven is not in the picture or being held as a threat over Marc.

If Marc is out of the picture, Khonshu lightens up and treats Steven with more respect. If given enough time alone with Steven, Khonshu would have entered into his nurturing phase for the first time in who knows how many years. (See amazing and long series of posts by other people about the phases of Khonshu of protector, nurture, and so on because damn that was good stuff).

But this isn't what Khonshu needs or wants right now. Ammit is a threat and so is Harrow. Khonshu thinks he needs Marc's brutality so he doesn't even try to find a way to keep Steven happy. He has nothing to hold over him at that time. If desperate enough, he would have found a way to hold Marc over him. Marc's vulnerability and Marc's tendency to self destruct. He could have offered Steven a hero position without the murder and Steven would have considered.

But why barter with a problem child like Steven when Jake is so much simpler? Steven is not yet aware of how destructive Marc is. He has only scratched the surface. JAKE on the other hand, who makes his life out of saving Marc and stopping the melt downs and attempted death by fight gimmicks Marc keep trying, knows exactly what the healing armor and protection is worth.

So once again, while Marc is and always will be Khonshu's main love, he will settle for Jake until the time is right to somehow get Marc back. Jake is just as valuable, after all.

But cleaver Khonshu also knows that Jake could be a bigger problem than Steven ever was. One wrong word or request and Jake isn't just out to drop him like a bad ex, Jake could turn around and straight up come for his decayed bird ass. He has to treat Jake right. Jake knows this. So they are at a mutual understanding right now. Honestly, I think Jake watched it all go down, including Steven's bargaining strategy. There's a good chance Jake is using Khonshu and they are both playing nice. It's a thin line.

BUT. Cleaver Khonshu has forgotten something about himself. He's been stuck in one phase for so long. Dealing with one Avatar for so long. Decaying and stuck in one frame of mind.

In the event that Marc, Jake, and Steven ever come to an understanding and learn to co-exist, AND still decide to be Moon Knight, Khonshu would be a full lunar cycle. HE COULD GET HIS FULL POWER BACK.

Now, this is just a personal theory of mine. But if Moon Knight was co-piloted by all three of them they would be more powerful of a force than any avatar he's ever had before. He may still resent Steven for how easily it would be for Steven to pull Marc out of their agreement and walk, and he may still treat Jake with kid gloves because Jake could turn the whole system on him...

ON ANOTHER SMALLER AND SIMILAR TANGENT:

Khonshu has family problems. Specifically father problems. Jake also has unresolved family problems that we don't yet know about. Khonshu was banished. Jake also has been self banished from interacting with the system in order to protect them.

If Ammut is representative of Marc's mother, Season two: Jake deals with his own problems with his banishment and father problems while Khonshu also deals with his banishment problems from his own family....

Khonshu inadvertently found his own connection with Jake. Season two please. Khonshu and Jake's wild ride into family resolutions.

WOW. I don't know where I went just there or if I even remotely answered any part of a question that absolutely wasn't asked... But here we are! ...Ta-dah!

[supernatural-love14]

Worth More Dead than Alive Prologue

Series Summary: Dean and the Reader do not get along well together, let's just say that putting them in a room alone with each other would be a bad idea where being dead would probably be more fun than being alive. But what if they end up facing the worst thing they ever come across bringing them closer than ever.

Word Count: 807

Warnings: Angst (Lots), future SMUT (18+), Heat, Rut, Dean being a jackass, stupidity, Amnesia, Fake Date, Enemies to Lovers,

Pairings: Alpha!Dean x Omega!F!Reader

Other Characters: Beta!Sam, other people (I still have a lot to write and decide and edit.)

Square Filled: A/B/O AU

Written/Created for @spnaubingo

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist |

A/N: Don't know how happy I am with this prologue but it will get better later on, I'm still kind of working out bits and pieces of the story.

Prologue

Dean and Y/n did not get along, whatsoever. It didn’t matter that she had been Dean and Sam’s hunting partner for years. Dean and Y/n just did not get on, forever arguing amongst each other. Dean being an Alpha made him feel like the leader of the trio. Sam being a beta and Y/n an omega. Which was quite unusual to see an omega hunter, not that she cared much. But by working with the boys she had more protection against other alpha’s that might use their alpha status in a controlling and abusive way.

Dean was the opposite of that, to which was the only thing that Y/n was glad about. The only thing she could stand about Dean was that if he wasn’t a douchebag, he would probably be one of the nicest alpha’s she had ever come across. Treating omega’s like actual people instead of second class citizens. She couldn’t be more thankful for that, except that ever since Y/n has joined the boys, Dean has not been aggressive in any way but more just moody around her. Like her presence and scent almost disgusts him.

Dean refuses to be alone in the same room as her, not that she is that bothered by it much. She just doesn’t understand his hatred for her. Y/n cannot be more grateful for Sam. He at least keeps the peace as much as possible between Dean and her. Although sometimes it cannot be stopped. When the two get into a screaming match with each other, Sam doesn’t even attempt to intervene. The beta in him can not stop an Alpha like Dean. Although the omega in Y/n tries so very hard to anger him.

The only time that the Alpha and Omega of the group get along is during hunts. Over the last few months Dean has become a bit more protective of Y/n. Although her stubborn ass hates it, hates that he tries to protect her like she’s some submissive weak Omega - like most Alpha’s think. Dean just doesn’t see it that way, sometimes telling her that she can’t go on the hunt, well more like ordered her not to. Thankfully Sam steps in immediately agreeing with Y/n, which leads to Dean’s sulking ass in the five hour car journey to some little town in the middle of nowhere.

“Dean. Dean. Dean! Are you serious right now? This is childish.” Sam yelled, as Dean pulled the silent treatment, angrily looking at the road. “This isn’t going to change anything. Y/n?” Silence, staring out at the open road Y/n never looked at the boys in fear she would say something she’d regret. “You’re joking right. Both of you. We have a case, in case you didn’t realise why we are driving all the way to Missouri.”

Dean gave Sam a look, tilting his head to the side, before looking back to the road glancing quickly in the rearview mirror at Y/n. With a huff, Dean turned on the radio, blasting the music loud with Led Zeppelin.

The journey was awkward to say the least, and everytime they stopped anywhere, Y/n immediately got out heading to the restroom or just wandering round the aisles of the gas station just to avoid smelling the pheromones that were coming off Dean. The smell of anger and annoyance laid within that man, one she did not want to anger more.

After leaving the restroom, Y/n headed back to the beautiful black impala, where Dean was leaning against Baby, waiting for Sam to pay inside. Slowing to a stop, Y/n lingered his gaze before quietly entering the car. I guess this is what they both do now, avoid each other like the plague. Y/n can’t decide what's worse. Constant arguing or deafening silence.

Once Sam got back to the car and the trio got back on the road in the eerily silent car, it only took them a couple more hours before they reached Rocheport, Missouri.

“Right, I’ll go book the rooms. Y/n you want your own?”

“Yea-”

“No, she stays with us.” This was the first thing Dean had said since they left the bunker.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s what i said, you’ll stay in our room. I didn’t want you on this hunt but you got your wish, now you get mine. You’ll be bunking with us, no objection.” The glare set on his stone faced, with Y/n glaring right back at him ready to make a snarky comment, Sam stepped between them.

“Ok fine, she can share a bed with me. If that’s alright Y/n.” Sam asked, a kind smile forming on his face.

“Fine. Get the room.”

“Right, once we get settled, let’s take a look into this hunt.” Great.

If you would like to be tagged in the series - leave a comment or send in an ask!!

Forever Tags:

@peachyafshawn ​ @vicmc624​ @deanswaywardgirl​ @hobby27 @sexyvixen7

Dean Winchester Tags:

@foreverasouldreamer​ @ellewritesfix05​ @flamencodiva​ @lyarr24​ @waywardbeanie @tuataracda123 @deanswaywardgirl @akshi8278

Worth More Dead Than Alive Series Tags:

@winchest09 @treat-winchesterswith-kindness @allonsy-yesiwill​ @gia-25 @impalaspixie @woodworthti666

[evacado3]

His princess ❣︎

joongooxreader pt1 pt2 pt3/3

Word count: 1393

When the chairman asked to see you personally, the first thought was definitely, I'm getting promoted.

This is it, after working full-time with that dimwit, I'm getting promoted~ And I might finally get a chance to work with Gun! You squealed at the thought, skipping through the hallways in delight, faintly humming a song.

In front of his door, you smoothed out your suit, a brand new one just for this exact event. Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the door. But what awaited you was a little, no, a lot different to what you expected. A smug-looking man, manspreading on the couch, and the chairman sitting straightly.

"Princess, I missed you!" Goo exclaimed, not too surprised when you shot him a glare. Ngl, after working with him for nearly two weeks, it's shocking how much he grew onto you. Is this his manipulative side everyone talks about?

Maybe the gut feelings were mistaken, maybe the butterflies that erupted in your stomach when the nickname 'princess' was used, were simply all an illusion.

Oh, but he noticed, how that glare was far softer than before. How your eyes would linger on him a bit longer every time he treats you after work. How you wouldn't protest about his sickly sweet nicknames anymore, how you'd enjoy his company.

The chairman snapped you out of your trance, "Take a seat." You plopped down on the place besides Goo where his hands patted. Honestly a little confused as to why you complied without complaint. You might not catch it, but his smirk widened more seeing you so obedient.

"I don't think you've heard, but you've made quite a name for yourself, miss y/n."

You tilted your head in perplex, and why on earth was Goo gawking at you like that. Creep.

"Goo's princess."

"Pardon me?" your neck snapped towards the strict man. you couldn't find an ounce of insincerity on his emotionless face. Dead silence rang through the room till Goo's laughter burst out in amusement.

Oh lord how you were wrong, let's never underestimate your gut feeling. The butterflies are going insane upon his laughter, wait, why are my cheeks burning?

"Princess! This is unexpected, but what we're trying to say is ..."

The sentence echoed throughout the room.

"What did you say?"

"I said, what we're trying to say is, you'll stay working with me, sweet pea!"

Hold on, haha I'm so tired I'm hallucinating. Right?

Your face was blank, well more like restrained.

All you were thinking about was should you risk it by yelling in the chairman's face. Though in the end, you'd rather not lose your job. So you took a big breath, "What's the meaning of this?" you said exasperated.

Goo brushed his hair back, standing up with hands behind his back. "Well, I suggested to the chairman, since more people will be targeting you now, there's no need to change and put other people into danger! Right? Miss y/n." he announced proudly.

The first use of your name to ever fall out of his lips.

"Do you have a fever princess? You're a bit red." Goo mentioned. This man needs to stop examining you like that, with those tempting eyes. You didn't even notice he took off his glasses until you finally looked him in the eye.

"I-I'm fine, just recovering from the shock." you blurted out. "But president, does that mean I have to stick with this moro- I meant Goo, until the rumors are resolved? And without increasing my salary?" you sulked.

The man cut off Goo before he could speak, "If a raise is what you're looking for, that's already done. But about the rumors, they won't go out after a day."

To be honest, your face is more green than red. Hold on, didn't I come here just to work with my beloved jonggun, time out, what's going on.

"Please just tell me what's gonna happen." sighing loudly, you lean forwards, massaging your forehead with one hand.

"I'm going to make you collect debts with joongoo instead of jonggun."

Ok, that's it. You blew up. "Wait! Chairman please, you cannot be serious about this!" Man did your dreams just wash down the drain in front of you, yeah it did.

"Buttercup, you don't have to worry about working with me! I'm reliable you know?" Goo grinned, seeing you speechless gave him another level of refreshment.

A fly might have gotten into your mouth, but that's all nothing compared to the bullshit you've just heard. Your mouth wide open, trying to digest the info you were given.

"Hold on, so you're telling me, to work every day plus night, full-time, no rest while dealing with a fool AND putting my life on the line?"

"You're pay is increased by 50 percent."

"Deal."

----------------------------------------------⌫

"Hey boss, it's them! Goo and his woman!"

You rolled your eyes hearing those words, crossing your arms, "Gosh could people stop saying that?"

Goo turned around to smirk at you, "I could get used to this, in fact, I think this is fantastic!" He turned back only to meet the eyes of the gang's boss. Oh how he terrified him with his menacing smile, a signature one of course.

"Jackass," you muttered under your breath.

"Hey, you give me a new nickname every time don't ya. What about hubby, or even prince char-"

"No way! There's no charming thing about you, I'll stick with my nicknames thank you. But anyway, why is the leader quivering like that?"

Something's not right.

"You've got to be kidding me.” you groaned.

The head only chuckled tensely, “M-mister Goo, you certainly are early, would you like something to drink? Or..." he scratched the back of his head. I wish I could tell him to drop that fake ass smile.

Goo checks his watch with a grimaced face, "No, we're just on time. Now if you would kindly show us what you've prepared?" he leaned towards the boss.

The leader avoided eye contact with the towering man, mumbling a few words. "Huh? I can't hear you man, hold on, you do have the money right? My schedule was delayed and I've given you guys three extra days!" he made a pissed-off face, "I was gonna grab dinner after this, so let's clear up this misunderstanding. Fast."

This doesn't usually happen frequently, the sum isn't even that difficult to make. Unless if you're not good with money, but then why would you make a gang?

Do I just have bad luck, still I'm glad I'm not wearing anything too expensive. The crew didn't look too pleased with Goo's statement, one by one they begin taking out their weapons.

"Princess, behind you~"

You sighed while murmuring some curses, lifting your arm and slamming back your clenched fist, whacking the guy's nose. Why am I always the option for a hostage? Sighing even more, you asked, "You want help?"

"Yes please cutie, but if you keep sighing like that, you'll get shorter!" The audacity of this man to insult you while fighting off people like it's such a daily thing.

Upon his mockery, you decided to just not help, walking away from the scene and ignoring his whining apologies. Instead, approaching the boss on the side, flinching when he felt your firm grip on his shoulders. What a pussy, you thought, is he shorter than me?

"Don't come near me! Guards, hey!" he shrieks, earning a loud snicker from you. "You call yourself the boss? Hey, look at me. Your guards aren't coming ok? You'll have to deal with me."

You grinned, one that sends chills down his spine, making him back off into a corner. Goo should be done soon, even if he isn't, he's gonna rush. Just to see the daunting expression on your face when you finished your job.

Then at the end of the day, he'll award you for your hard work. Even taking a nice short stroll with you, treating you some ice cream. Things like this are what makes work tolerable, it's not far-fetched to even say enjoyable. Though you'd never admit.

And he won't stop spoiling you, not until he loses interest. But maybe, just maybe those little butterflies are also fluttering in his tummy. Somethings telling him this isn't just about interest, it's a lot more.

After all, you are his princess.

[7fckingidiots]

I have never played Obey Me... but due to my friends obsession over it it made me obsessed over it and it has lead me to your works.xD if I can make a request for everyone (or those of your choice) How would they react to MC being all sweet and motherly/big sister like to Luke?

HELL YEAH I ADORE LUKE HES MY SON!!!! LITTLE BOY!!! Also I used gn pronouns for MC! hope you don’t mind!

Brothers React To MC Being Parental To Luke

Lucifer

acts like he doesn’t care, but he cares A LOT

part of him is happy to see the exchange program going so well! the other part is...slightly jealous

he doesn’t want to be treated like a child but the way you speak to luke is so soft and he wants that

i am begging y’all pls...treat him softly

that being said he loves seeing the two of you hangout together! you look like a little family together

he thinks about how he can’t wait to have kids with you

and then panics because HE WANTS TO HAVE KIDS??? WITH YOU??????

Mammon

whines like he isn’t a GROWN MAN and he’s gonna die if you don’t give him your undivided attention

he will not, please continue baking with luke

manages to sneak his way into baking with the two of you and only complains once because after the first time he does it you give him a stare that would petrify lucifer

thinks it’s actually very sweet of you to be so doting on him but will NOT ever say that outloud

his heart fully melts for you two when he walks into your room and sees you and luke asleep together

he tucks you both in and leaves with the idea that maybe luke isn’t so bad

Levi

oh god...he’s not the biggest fan of kids

especially kids that take up his time with you

he needs reassurance that you aren’t gonna leave him but also won’t keep you from doting on luke

though he may sneak in while you two are baking and just sit there! it makes him feel less lonely and he also trusts you two

if luke wants to play video games he’s definitely gonna have TONS of options to choose from! they’re all PG-13 because it’s what you insist on

will compare your relationship to this one manga he read about and go off on a complete tangent until luke passes out next to you

you both tuck him into levi’s bed and continue playing video games together all while levi begins to think maybe kids aren’t terrible

Satan

finds it very cute and makes sure to comment on how luke is seemingly always stuck to your side just to tease him

he’ll lessen his teasing of the boy the more you two hangout together but he’ll give a regular backhanded comment here or there...jackass

his heart softens whenever you come into his room to read to luke and if you ask him and if luke uses his puppy eyes he’ll even read for you

if you two fall asleep on the couch with him he’ll make sure to wrap a blanket around you both and read there until he falls asleep as well

big softie and won’t admit it ever but luke definitely knows it and trusts him! or as much as luke trusts demons

Asmo

CRIES......you guys are a little family now sorry luke

he posts pictures of you guys on devilgram all the time gushing over how adorable you are

he really loves the soft tone you use with luke and will ask you to use it on him too and when you do he just...heart eyes and proposes to you on the spot

will buy luke his own little skin care routine so you all can do it together!

movie nights were luke is snuggled between you two definitely happen and it’s the only time asmo considers skipping his skin care routine

hears luke call you mom/dad one day and immediately!!!! he wants to be called dad!!! please help luke escape

Beel

the only brother that luke is on relatively good terms with at the start so luke is happiest to hang out with him

will DEFINITELY be in the kitchen when you two are cooking! he’s there to make sure nothing is poisoned obviously! he wouldn’t steal food you two were cooking!! never!

likes lifting the two of you up and waking around the house with you two and also likes using you two as his weights

if he sees you two carrying your books together walking down the halls he’s going over to carry both your books you Cannot stop him

he really loves the two of you together and the moment he sees you tuck luke into bed and kiss his forehead is the moment he decides he would do anything for you two

Belphie

LUKE HATES HIM HE LITERALLY HATES HIM SO MUCH YIKES

you swear you’ve heard luke growl at him before...how in the hell-

it’s fine because belphie also hates luke...rude ass

he doesn’t understand why you want to spend time with some kid when the two of you could just go take a nap together

just, keep them apart from each other

he does feel his chest get tight with adoration when he sees you two together and he thinks it sweet of you to have so much patience with the boy

belphie won’t go out of his way for luke but seeing how much you like him has softened his heart a bit and when he sees you two sleeping together he makes sure to tuck his pillow underneath your heads

Bonus! Luke

he loves you so much! you and simeon are literally his favorite people(and barb but he can’t come to terms with the fact he sees a demon as a friend)

whenever he bakes something? he shows it to you first! when he aces a test? shows it to you! has a good day? tells you all about it!

will hold your hand in the hallways when you two walk together! so no demons touch you of course! he’s actually just very small and afraid of getting lost hold him

hug him!!! kiss his forehead! tell him he’s doing a good job! it means the absolute world to him that you think so highly of him

highkey pouts that he can’t switch you out for solomon

if you buy him a plush toy he sleeps with it every night and keeps it in top condition! satan was nice enough to help him enchant it so it wouldn’t tear(he didn’t trust solomon not to ruin it)

calls you familial names all the time he can’t STOP and he gets so embarrassed when he realizes what he’s done

just reassure him you love him and he’ll stop being so embarrassed :)

let me adopt him SWD....let me have a son

[just-here-for-the-moment]

Paloma, Part II

Series Masterlist - Part I - Part II

Word count: 8900+

Rating: explicit, 18+ only

Outline: Statesman!Frankie "Catfish" Morales, Agent Jack “Whiskey” Daniels, and "You" (OC cis/het female reader, Statesman research analyst, code name “Paloma”; age 26; reader is “blank canvas”/no physical description/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: “plot bloat” (trying to get Paloma where she needs to go); fully legal age gap; curse words; alcohol; Whiskey acting like a bastard; a little sprinkling of angst; open-mouth kissing; protected P/V sex; some extra-soft!Frankie

On your third Monday at Statesman New York you led a planning meeting that should have been easy. Jack Daniels made it anything but.

The worst part was that you hadn't even been properly introduced yet. Where Champ had rolled out the red carpet for you at Louisville HQ, Whiskey was a phantom, too busy to meet with you during your first couple of weeks. That made what happened in the meeting even more humiliating.

You started by outlining the research that your team had gathered, the analysis that they had carefully done, and presented the options and outcomes. When you were done, Whiskey threw his copy of your report down on the table and said, "That's horseshit."

You felt your face heat with embarrassment, but you tried to hold your ground. "Excuse me?"

Jack waved his fingers dismissively, "That's alright, I'll excuse you. This isn't the kind of work I expected from our new 'hotshot' team lead. Why isn't there information about the facilities we'll be targeting?"

"There are no 'facilities' at this location, Agent. It's a one-and-done for a drop and extract. There's nothing to raid, nothing to seize, and nothing to see."

"Really?" He arched one eyebrow at you and rubbed his thumb over his lower lip. The sheer cockiness of it made you burn with irritation. "So how come the information we got last Friday tells us that there's a production facility the next block over? You really gonna send our agents halfway around the world without botherin' to target the facility next door?"

You froze. Was he correct? That didn't seem possible. How had your team missed that? You held his gaze with as much assertiveness as you could muster, trying to match his attitude so that you wouldn't appear to be weak. "I don't have information about any facilities."

He cracked a smirk, "Well then, you're not very good at your job, are you darlin'?"

You swallowed hard and tried not to let tears rise. How dare he talk down to you? What the hell was his problem? Another agent spoke up, saying that if new information had come in recently, then you could review it and reconvene later to discuss its impact. The meeting disbanded.

You felt like you had been sucker-punched, and you weren't sure if you wanted to flee to your office, or sit gripping the edge of the table and glare Whiskey down. You opted to stay, waiting for everyone else to file out. Finally it was just you and Whiskey left, sitting at the big conference table and having some kind of a stubborn staring contest. This was not how you wanted to start your new job.

"What the fuck is your problem with me?" You gritted the question out and held his gaze. You knew that cursing at a senior agent, not to mention the one who was the face of Statesman Whiskey and de facto head of the New York office, probably wasn't the wisest way to start your tenure... but neither was backing down and letting him roll right over you.

"Nothin' personal, darlin', but I can't let you give my agents incorrect or missing information. Your team should have known about the facilities at this location."

"It sure felt personal, Agent Whiskey. If you have a problem with my work, you take it up with me privately. I don't mind admitting when I've made a mistake, but it's shitty to treat people like that in front of others." You glared at him, trying to look as fierce as you could.

He finally looked away from you, and muttered something that might have been an apology.

"What's that, Agent Whiskey? I didn't quite hear you."

"I said, 'I'm sorry.' You're right. That was unfair of me."

Before you could stop yourself, you found acid on your tongue. "Well, well, the great Agent Whiskey lowers himself to apologize. No wonder you flash that charm at everything on two legs. Your manners can't stand on their own, can they?"

If you hadn't been so focused on gathering up your paperwork, you would have seen a flicker of hurt cross his face. Instead you stomped out of the conference room and thanked the stars that you hadn't cried. By the time you got back to your office, a cold ball of regret was starting to form just below your ribs. You prided yourself on being able to work effectively with everyone, and you were extremely proud of your track record at Statesman so far. Why hadn't you been less confrontational, or tried to smooth things over? Why had you jumped straight to a pissing contest?

---

"God, what an asshole!"

"I told you, he's kind of a lot to take." Ginger's voice on the other end of the phone came through calm and sweet, as she always was.

You spun your chair to lean back and stare up at the ceiling of your office, trying to keep tears from forming. "Ugh, he's such a colossal jackass. I cannot believe he tried to undermine me like that in the meeting. I could have strangled him!"

"Just stay out of his way as much as you can. I'm sure he'll calm down once he sees what kind of work your team produces. You're doing great."

"Yeah, well... not so great actually. It turns out he was right. There was a report on a facility that came through very late on Friday, and one of my analysts went home sick, so I didn't get it in time for the meeting. That's the worst part: he was right, the bastard."

"Oh, Paloma. I'm so sorry. I'm sure that stung."

You let out a deep sigh. "I'll be okay. I just hope I get the chance to catch him making a mistake, and then I'll shove it in his stupid face. Make him lap it up with that ridiculous mustache of his."

Ginger giggled. "As much as I'd like to imagine that with you, I gotta run. Call me later? I miss you!"

"I miss you, too. 'Bye."

You hung up and spun your chair around, coming face to face with the sight of Agent Whiskey leaning in your office doorway. His arms were crossed casually, one foot propped over the other, looking like he could stand there all day. Your stomach leapt into your throat and then dropped down to your shoes. How much had he heard?

"Oh, kill me now," you breathed.

"Not just yet, darlin’. We have work to do." He popped up from his perch in the doorway and took a seat in one of your visitors chairs.

"How can I help you?" You kept your tone respectful, although it verged on frosty.

"Well, we need to revise the mission plan to include the new intelligence. Then we need to have a talk about civility."

You arched an eyebrow. "Oh, civility? I see. What kind of ‘civility’ did you have in mind, Agent Whiskey?"

"Well, for one, you can call me Jack. And for two, I was comin’ down here to apologize again, but apparently there's something you'd like to shove in my face and have me lap up with my ridiculous mustache?" He twitched one eyebrow up, looking smug and amused by the double entendre.

You closed your eyes and suppressed a groan. Maybe this was a hallucination and you were still in bed at home. Or maybe you hadn't actually left Louisville. You cracked one eyelid open, finding Whiskey’s deep brown eyes still on you. You decided to try to be the bigger person and smooth things over.

"I'm sorry. I was venting to a friend, and obviously that wasn't intended for your ears."

"Well now, I’m a big boy. I've heard worse and survived."

"I apologize. I let myself get irritated by your behavior in the meeting. It wasn't professional, and it won't happen again."

"Well, for my part, if I think you've made an error, I'll be sure to talk with you privately instead of calling you out in front of the team. Deal?" He stuck one broad, well-manicured hand out to shake.

You reached your own out somewhat reluctantly, then warmed to it, feeling how large and soft his hand was when it wrapped around your fingers. "Deal."

He gave your hand one final squeeze. An involuntary tingle ran up your arm, and you found yourself wondering whether he was as talented with his hands as he was smart with his mouth. Oh god, what was wrong with you?

You cleared your throat and pulled your hand away, trying not to jerk it back like he’d burned you.

“I’ll, um, I’ll have my team revise the mission plan to include the new intelligence, and then we’ll reconvene tomorrow. Sound good?”

“Sounds fine, darlin’.” He winked at you and you felt something flutter just below your navel.

---

Despite the conciliatory conversation with Whiskey, you still felt awkward and hurt, not to mention confused by some of the warmer feelings that had popped up uninvited. You spent the next six weeks trying to fly low and avoid Whiskey. You sent your senior analyst as your replacement for every meeting that you possibly could, and when you did have to attend them you timed your entrances and exits so that you wouldn't be in the conference room any longer than necessary. You transferred reports to Whiskey's office electronically, and when a hand-delivery was required you sent whoever happened to be closest to you. It worked great. You hadn't said more than "hello" and "goodbye" to Whiskey in so long, you were starting to feel like maybe you had escaped the awkwardness, the horrific start to your time in New York. It felt like a bad dream from another era.

One late Thursday afternoon, your plan fell apart. You got a request from Whiskey's assistant for a hard-copy file, and the entire office suite was empty. Each of your team members was off doing other things or had left early. You avoided it as long as you could, running to the ladies room to pee and then lingering in the hallway outside your office, just in case someone from your staff came back. After 10 long minutes you realized that you were "it" and that nobody was going to come save you. You sighed and trudged to the elevator. It seemed to move too quickly, depositing you at Whiskey's floor in no time flat.

As you rounded the corner you saw that Whiskey's assistant was gathering her things to leave for the day. After one too many disasters with "pretty young things," Champ had put his foot down and assigned someone to Whiskey who would keep him on the straight and narrow. Mary was what you called a "motherly hard-ass," while Ginger called her a “saint.” Mary had worked for Statesman almost as long as Champ, and she knew her stuff inside and out. Most importantly, she was completely immune to Whiskey's flirtations. He had tried once or twice to charm her, but after finding that her warm exterior concealed a brick wall of professionalism and a razor-sharp wit, he had relented.

"Hi Mary!" You kept your voice cheerful and light, trying to hide the twisting in your gut. "Here's the file he requested."

"Hi Paloma, you can go on in." Mary smiled wryly, "He actually asked to see you if you showed up. Sorry, kiddo, you're a lamb to the slaughter." She patted your back in sympathy.

Your shoulders slumped, "Ugh." Just as you were about to air your disgust in stronger words, Whiskey's door opened.

"Paloma! Glad to see you, darlin'. Come on in."

You shot Mary one last look, pleading for reprieve. She patted your shoulder and bid Whiskey a good night.

You forced your legs to move, and when you got inside Whiskey's office you perched on the edge of the sofa in the visitors area. Whiskey preferred to entertain visitors away from his desk, so he had a cozy corner of the office set up with two large chairs, a coffee table, and a black leather sofa that seemed to take up half the room.

You tossed the file on the table and spoke in a monotone that bordered on rude. "Brought you the file. Need anything else?"

Whiskey gestured to the bar cart. "Can I get you a drink, darlin'?"

"No." You shook your head. "But thank you."

Whiskey shrugged and poured himself something amber in a small glass. You couldn't take your eyes off his hands as they deftly maneuvered around the glassware and ice bucket. They reminded you a little of Frankie's hands: strong and thick, sure and precise in their movements. But where Frankie's hands were warm, work-worn and calloused, Whiskey's were primped and clean, just as manicured as his sharply tailored suits and slick mustache. You bit the inside of your lip to bring yourself back to reality before your brain could wander any farther down the path of what Whiskey's hands could do.

You focused your gaze on the file on the coffee table and waited. Whiskey settled himself into the big chair closest to your end of the couch.

"Paloma, darlin'. Thanks for coming up."

You cringed internally and tried to screw up the courage to ask him to just call you Paloma. The nickname of "darlin'" was starting to grate. For a moment you weren't sure if it was because you found it unprofessional or because you wanted to hear it more. Shit. What was wrong with you?

"What can I do for you, Agent Whiskey?"

"Please, call me Jack."

"What can I do for you?" You refused to give in, drawing your mental line in the sand. You could have a whole conversation with him without calling him Jack, couldn't you?

"Well now, I was hoping we could finally chat a bit - outside of a meeting, that is. You've been here almost two months and I'm sorry that I haven't taken the time to get to know you better." He winked.

You suppressed an eye roll and pursed your lips. "What would you like to know?"

You weren't going to make this easy for him, you decided. If he wanted information beyond your resume, or even a friendly conversation, he would have to work for it. You weren't simply going to open up like a flower under the sunshine of his charm.

"Well, I understand you're from Louisville. Beautiful place." He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, trying to close the space between you.

"Yes." You scooted all the way to the back of the sofa and crossed your arms, somewhat amused at the difficulty you were giving him. He hadn't expressed any displeasure yet, but you were certain that he was going to get frustrated sooner or later.

"Well, darlin' I had no idea that we were growin' them so smart down there, not to mention so pretty. If I'd known, I would have lured you up here to the big city a lot sooner." He looked like he was about to wink again, or try to devour you.

"Is that so?" God, he was really buttering you up, wasn't he? You crossed one leg over the other, keeping your arms crossed over your chest for good measure.

"Yes, it is. I was awfully impressed by your analysis on the Rex Smith case ‘bout a year ago. I had no clue there were that many shell companies in the mix. I would've thought three, maybe four, tops. But you found thirteen!"

Your jaw dropped a little at that. Not only had he seen your work on your first case as Assistant Director in Louisville, but he had reviewed the case file thoroughly, remembered such a tiny detail, and was also giving you credit? You were starting to think that you had underestimated Agent Whiskey. His charm and sass were legendary, but you now realized that those traits didn’t indicate anything missing in the brains department.

He smirked at your reaction and teased you gently. "Better watch that mouth, darlin'. You're liable to catch a few flies if you don't close it."

Goddamn him. You closed your mouth and tried not to sulk. You didn't like making mistakes, especially not such idiotic ones. If you weren't careful, he was going to knock you on your ass.

"Can I get you that drink now, darlin'?"

"No, thank you. I need to get going." You uncrossed your legs and stood up. Whiskey stood at the same time, and you found yourself entirely too close to him, your bodies just inches apart as you tried to negotiate your exit from the seating area. Something warm that smelled like cedar and smoky bourbon was emanating off of him, and you were certain it was from the expensive side of the cologne department. His coffee-brown eyes held yours, and you caught yourself staring at him while your brain sent you panicky messages to, “Move! Speak! Leave!”

Whiskey let the moment hang, seeming to enjoy every second that passed like torture for you. His eyes were twinkling so hard you thought you saw sparks. You heard yourself exhale a breath that was far more shaky than you would have preferred. He put his hand out to shake yours, and you found yourself imagining what would happen if you bypassed the polite gesture and wrapped your arms and legs around him, knocked him to the floor and kissed that stupid mustache right off his face.

Instead, you reached out to shake his hand and accidentally brushed the front of his hip, just an inch from his crotch.

"Oh my GOD! That was an accident. I'm so sorry, I'm sorry!" You scrunched your eyes closed and buried your face in your hands. Mortification consumed you as you heard Whiskey guffaw. You felt like you were going to die of embarrassment, and you were pissed off that it wasn't a real possibility. Death would have been extremely welcome.

Whiskey put his hands on your shoulders and squeezed. His laughter died down to a soft wheeze. "Hey, look at me."

You dared a glance through your fingers. His eyes twinkled and his white teeth still showed in a wide smile. "I'm sorry I laughed, I know it was an accident. You weren't trying to take advantage."

You moaned and Whiskey chuckled again. "It's alright, darlin'. You didn't break anything."

“Argh! I’m so sorry. That’s the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done.”

“It’s okay, I didn’t think anything of it.” He pulled you gently toward him, and you did something you never imagined possible: you let him wrap you into a hug.

“I’ll forget it if you will, darlin’.” His deep voice rumbled against your body and you felt yourself melting a little. Tears of embarrassment pricked at your eyes.

You sniffed and pulled back. Whiskey let you go, but kept one hand on your elbow. He looked at you warmly and smiled. “Really, darlin’. Don’t think anything of it.”

You found yourself staring into his dark brown eyes, warm and shiny with humor. The mood shifted almost imperceptibly, turning him magnetic. Something in you snapped and you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him.

Whiskey hummed a surprised noise against your lips for a moment, then opened his mouth to let you in. His mustache was softer than it looked, and hardly tickled at all as you wrestled each other for satisfaction. You found yourself tumbling down to the couch. Whiskey lay over you with one strong arm wrapped around your lower back, keeping you pressed close against him. His lips and tongue were eager and searching, and you responded in kind, nibbling his plush lower lip and flicking your tongue across the back of his top teeth. The taste of his liquor intermingled with the scent of his cologne, and it sent your senses reeling. He tasted and smelled and felt so good, and you wanted to stay there and drink him in forever.

Your lips parted from Whiskey’s and you took a gulp of air, looking into his brown-black eyes above you. The inrush of oxygen kicked your brain into gear and you felt cold; both from the absence of Whiskey's mouth on yours and from the dose of harsh reality that washed over you. This was wrong... wasn't it? As good as it felt, it wasn't right to make out with the boss in his office, after hours, on a couch for God's sake. What the hell were you thinking?

"Oh, shit!" You shoved Whiskey's shoulders up and away, rolling him toward the back of the couch as you slithered out from underneath him. You landed on the floor, then crouched and stood up. Whiskey shifted on the sofa, turning to lay face up on the plush leather and folding his arms behind his head. His grin hovered somewhere between 'Cheshire cat' and 'kid let loose in a candy store.' You groaned at the sight while irritation and the desire to flop back down on top of him fought equally within you.

"Well now, darlin'. You need to be off somewhere?"

"Yes. This was not a good idea." You waved your hands in front of you as if you were trying to erase a blackboard. "I think I need to leave."

"Feel free to come back anytime, darlin'. I'll be right here."

You took three swift steps toward the door and then spun to face him. "I need you to stop calling me 'darlin''. My name here is Paloma."

He cocked one eyebrow at you as you continued. "And another thing, Agent Whiskey: this never happened."

Before he could respond you yanked his office door open and jogged to the elevator. What the hell was wrong with you?

---

"Ginger, you have got to help me. I don't know what's wrong with me." You shuddered out a breath as you kicked your shoes off and sat down at your kitchen table. At your elbow was the biggest drink you could pour without causing a hangover.

"Are you okay? What happened?"

You gulped. "I kissed him."

"What?! Why?"

"I don't know! I just... I was in his office and he was standing really close to me and then I went to go shake his hand but I accidentally touched his crotch and..." you trailed off as Ginger laughed. "It's not funny, it's embarrassing!"

She giggled at you. "That sounds kind of funny. You'll laugh about it later."

"I won't. I wanted to die of embarrassment, but then he was so nice about it and he was looking at me softly and I just- I kissed him! What the hell is wrong with me?"

"Try not to worry too much. You're not the first lady to make that mistake and you won't be the last. He'll forget about you as soon as someone else catches his eye.”

"Yeah, I know." You weren't sure if being one in a long string of women made you feel better or worse.

"… although it does seem like you have a ‘type’ now.”

“What?!”

“Well he is tall, dark, and handsome. If he weren’t such a jackass I’d say he reminds me of Frankie.”

“Oh, hell no. That is not a fair comparison. They’re nothing alike.”

“You’re right, Frankie was a gem. Listen, just avoid Whiskey and keep your eyes on your work. He'll forget about you and it'll be like it never happened. And as irritating as he is, I know he's not a gossip. Don't worry, this won't get around."

You threw back your head and let out a long breath. "Okay. You're right. All I have to do is my job."

"That's right. And you're really good at your job, Pal. Don't let this derail you, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Gin. I appreciate it."

"No problem. Listen, I have to go, but I wanted to tell you that I’ll be coming to New York next week. I have to do some training with, uh, a consultant. And when I’m done we can have a girl’s dinner out, okay? Just try to have a good weekend."

"Thanks, I will. You too."

You sighed and finished your drink. The idea of calling in sick tomorrow floated up, and you seriously considered it. But you had already spent six weeks avoiding Whiskey, and your integrity wouldn’t let you call out without a good reason. You could make it one day until the weekend, right?

---

You awoke Friday morning with a pounding headache and a cotton-dry mouth. You were dreading going to work, but duty called. You showered and dressed as slow as you dared, and found yourself dragging into the office only 15 minutes late. Fortunately, there was enough work to keep you distracted, and at your 10:00 department heads meeting you found out that Whiskey was out of the office for the day. Relief washed over you, and you suddenly felt lighter. You could survive until the weekend without worrying.

The rest of your day was uneventful until around 4:00, when an assistant brought you a vase of fresh flowers that had been delivered to reception. You frowned and looked for a card. The arrangement was beautiful, featuring dark yellow daisy-shaped flowers with fuzzy chocolate brown centers, and pinky-purple blooms shaped like bottle brushes. Both types looked oddly familiar. You leaned closer to examine them as your brain twisted in confusion. Were those...? No way... orange coneflowers and dense blazing stars? Who the heck would send you an arrangement of Kentucky wildflowers? Mom? It wasn't your birthday yet.

You felt an icy ball of lead punch you in the stomach as you opened the notecard: "Even though nothing happened, I had a hell of a time. Hope to see you again. -Jack"

That motherfucker.

Just as you were about to sweep the flowers into the trash, there was a heavy knock on your doorway. You looked up, and your emotions spun from anger to elation so fast you almost threw up. Frankie stood in your doorway, looking soft and rumpled in a plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his sweet curls escaping the same well-loved baseball cap he always wore.

"Frankie!?" You leapt out of your chair and practically ran to him. He swept you up in a bear hug and pulled you six inches off the ground. "Oh my God, Frankie, I'm so glad to see you!"

"Hey, Paloma. I missed you. How's the big promotion? They make you head of the New York office yet?" His deep voice rumbled into your ear softly, and you laughed with joy. You never wanted to let go.

Frankie set you down and broke the embrace, and you immediately grabbed his hand and guided him to one of your visitors chairs. You took a seat in the chair next to him, turning it to face him and get as close as you dared without looking too desperate.

"Oh my gosh, what are you doing here?"

"I'm doing a quick consulting job for Statesman, helping Ginger train a few folks for an extraction. I have to work on the project Monday and Tuesday, and then I'll be in town until Saturday as a tourist. I took the whole week off, so I don't need to be back in Florida until next Sunday." He smiled broadly at you.

You felt your own face split into a wide grin. "Do you need a tour guide? I've been here two whole months. I can show you my favorite coffee shop and we could go to a few museums."

He smiled warmly back at you, and you felt like you had been wrapped in the world's softest blanket. "I'd like that. Statesman gave me an apartment for the week. Should be close by, if you don't mind showing me where it is?" He pulled a slip of paper out of his wallet and read the address.

You threw your head back and cackled.

"What's so funny?"

"That's my apartment! Statesman owns a few units in the same building." You grabbed the piece of paper from his hand to read the apartment number. "You're literally one floor below me for the week."

He grinned. "Well, shit. If I'd known that, I would’ve just told them to let me bunk with you."

You frowned and handed the paper back. "Wouldn't your girlfriend be upset with that?"

Frankie looked down at his shoes. "She's, uh, not my girlfriend anymore. We broke up."

"Oh, Catfish. I'm so sorry." You reached out to squeeze his forearm, and the feel of his warm skin over ropey muscles made you tingle. You vividly remembered how much you used to love grabbing those forearms as he pounded into you, how good they felt wrapped around you in the shower, how strong and safe Frankie felt at all times. You pulled your hand back and cleared your throat.

Frankie stood. "Listen, I gotta take care of a few things this afternoon, but can we go to dinner later? Nothing fancy, if you know anyplace I can go dressed like this," he gestured to his worn jeans and work boots.

"Unless, uh,” he pointed to the flowers on your desk. “Is there a boyfriend who would be mad if I took you out?"

You stood and smiled, biting your lip. "No. There’s no boyfriend, and I'd love to go to dinner. I'll come down to your apartment and pick you up at 7:00? 7:30?"

"Seven is perfect." He hugged you, and the smell of him spun you right back to Louisville. Frankie smelled like clean cotton and hard work, with a faint whiff of mechanic's grease just under the scent of his laundry soap and Old Spice deodorant. You used to tease Frankie about his habit of buying the same deodorant that he’d been using since junior high, but he always swatted you away with a, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” Now the scent of it made you want to buy every package in the world and always have the smell around you.

When you broke the embrace it was so hard to let go, to not lean in for a kiss like you used to. He seemed to feel it, too, lingering just a moment longer with his arms wrapped around you and smiling wistfully as you finally pulled apart. You wanted to stay in his arms for hours, maybe even stow away on his flight back to Florida.

“I’ll see you at seven, Paloma.”

You felt your goofy grin reappear. “Okay. I’m so glad you’re here, Catfish.”

---

The hours until dinner crawled, and you spent more time than you thought wise trying to get ready. You showered and put on your nicest outfit, which was really just the all-black, most-recently-purchased version of your normal work clothes. Your job at Statesman didn’t call for anything very dressy, so you hadn’t expanded your wardrobe beyond work staples. Still, you spent entirely too long arranging your hair, sweeping it one way and then the other, trying to figure out what jewelry to wear, and then changing your hair again for the third time. You were contemplating another shoe change when your phone alarm went off, warning you that it was five minutes to 7:00. Oh, well, too late to change anything now. You brushed your teeth frantically and hoped Frankie wouldn’t care.

You floated down the stairwell and found yourself grinning idiotically as you rapped at Frankie’s door. He opened it looking exactly the same as he had at 4:00 that afternoon, and you chastised yourself internally for trying to dress up. Your irritation turned to pride, however, when Frankie looked you up and down with a low whistle.

“Jeez, Paloma, you look fantastic. Should I change?” He looked worried.

“No, you look fine! We’re not going anywhere fancy, I promise. I don’t know why I changed clothes, it was silly.”

“No, you look amazing.” He opened his arms for a hug. You felt warmth rush to your face as you leaned in. Frankie was always so eager to please and to compliment you, to make you feel good. You had missed him so much.

The walk to dinner was easy, conversation bouncing between the two of you as you made your way to the restaurant. Frankie filled you in on everything going on in Florida, about his friends and his parents and his job. You spoke enthusiastically about your new position and how much you loved New York. You decided not to share information about either one of your run-ins with Agent Whiskey.

Dinner passed in a swirl of giggles and wine and good food. Frankie made you laugh so hard you almost choked twice, and before you knew it, nearly three hours had passed.

“Frankie, I think the restaurant is going to kick us out if we don’t scoot soon. Do you want to go walk around a little bit?”

He drained his water glass and nodded. “Yeah, where to?”

“We can window shop down the street, and there’s a cute little park nearby.” You arched one eyebrow at him, “Wanna go play on the swings?”

He laughed and nodded. “Yes, let’s do that.”

You fought Frankie for the bill before letting him win. “Okay, but the next one is on me, Catfish.”

When you emerged into the summer night, you both took a deep breath, trying to clear your heads of the alcohol haze. You weren’t drunk, just pleasantly buzzed and a little silly. Without thinking, you tucked your arm into Frankie’s and snuggled yourself against him as you wandered along. Store windows were lit up against the dark, and you stopped here and there to look and giggle at displays.

You paused in front of an antique store. The window behind the bars was lined in red velvet, and on each of the little red display pillows sat a piece of vintage jewelry.

You were quietly gazing at an enamel bracelet and a sparkly tiara when Frankie’s voice broke the silence.

“You ever want one of those?”

“A tiara? No. I mean, it might be fun for a hot bubble bath, but I can’t exactly wear it to work.”

“No,” he nudged your arm and tilted his chin toward the far left side of the store window. “An engagement ring.”

You froze and suddenly couldn’t breathe. Your eyes shifted to a sparkly, square-cut sapphire ring sitting on the smallest pillow. You couldn’t form rational thoughts, and you weren’t sure exactly what kind of answer Frankie was expecting.

“I mean- uh, I guess I never thought about it. I haven’t seen anyone since we-” you swallowed hard. “I’ve been single since we broke up.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, and when he didn’t respond right away you found yourself filling the silence with nervous chatter. “I mean, I tried dating but it never went past a second date, and I don’t know anyone who would propose that early, and anyway I just- I mean I didn’t think- and you left so I didn’t…” you trailed off, realizing that you weren’t making any sense.

Frankie’s voice was low and serious. “I thought about it.”

That broke the spell and you turned to face him. “You thought about it? About me?”

He looked at you, almost shy. “Yeah, I thought about it a couple of months after we started dating. But with your job and my work, and… Well, you know what happened. You were there, same as I was.” He reached out a hand to cup your chin. “I was sorry it didn’t work out for us.”

You sighed and melted into him, “Oh, Frankie.”

He wrapped both arms around your shoulders as you gripped his waist. Your mouths found each other in the dark as if your last kiss had been yesterday. Frankie was warm and solid and familiar, and you found yourself aching to hang on to him, to keep him there with you for as long as you could.

You stood on the sidewalk together for what seemed like hours, exploring each other and passing silent messages back and forth with your lips and tongues and teeth. Slow swirls of the tip of his tongue around yours told you he missed you, and the tiny nips you bit against his bottom lip conveyed an urgency, a need that you couldn't express in words. You found your fingers entwined in his belt loops, pulling him as close as you could, mimicking the kind of connection that really required nakedness and absolute vulnerability together.

You turned sideways to loop your arm around his waist and walk unsteadily back to your apartment building, stealing kisses again and again as you strolled, then paused, then continued on your way. The trip took twice as long as it should have, but neither you nor Frankie was willing to break apart for longer than it took to step down off a curb or glance at a walk signal. You just kept kissing, drunk on each other and wanting more and more; silently cursing the fact that the apartment was still so far away, but reveling in the moments that you could seize right now to embrace each other as you walked.

When you reached your block, you murmured against Frankie’s mouth. “Do you have anything? I don’t have any protection at home.”

He cursed softly, “Shit. No, I didn’t bring…” He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as you kissed him again.

“Don’t worry, that’s why I asked. There’s a drugstore right here.”

“I always knew-” he kissed you softly, “... that you were smarter than me.”

You giggled against his mouth and wrapped your arms around his neck. “You’re the one who can fly helicopters. I just stare at data reports all day.”

You walked into the pharmacy holding hands and made it through the checkout line in record time, urgently kissing again when you reached the sidewalk, navigating the final dozen or so yards to your building.

The elevator ride consisted of one long kiss, broken only by Frankie’s urgent, “Mine or yours?” You murmured, “Mine,” and pressed the button for your floor, folding yourself back into his arms. You unlocked your front door while Frankie held you from behind and peppered kisses down your ear and cheek and jaw, distracting you as you fumbled with your keys. When you finally got the door open, you tumbled inside together and slammed the door shut.

Now that you were someplace private, you could undress, fumbling against one another as you struggled to open buttons and zippers and bra clasps in between kisses; to continue your soft caresses while you kicked shoes and pants off and away. Finally you were both standing, wearing only underwear while you continued to embrace. You pulled away from Frankie and picked up the box of condoms where it had dropped, then you took his hand and led him to your bedroom.

You tumbled onto the bed together and continued the makeout session that had started miles away and what seemed like an eternity ago in front of the antique store window. Frankie’s strokes along your ribcage and thighs were light and almost ticklish, so familiar that you wanted to cry. You had no expectations of getting back together and attempting a long-distance relationship, but he was here right now. And that was good, right? It was familiar and lovely and sweet.

Frankie hadn’t changed a bit since you parted 10 months ago, except for a few more grays in his beard and one or two more crinkles when he smiled. You ached and ached for him, even though he was right on top of you, kissing you and touching you and murmuring your name. Your brain kept raising the idea of what would happen in a week when he had to leave, or what might have happened a year ago if Statesman hadn’t demanded so much from both of you. The knowledge that you had missed becoming Frankie’s wife because of shitty circumstances, combined with the threat of losing him again in just a few days time punched you in the throat, and a sob escaped your lips as tears sprang to your eyes.

“What’s wrong, babe? Did I hurt you?” Frankie looked you over, rolling to one side to examine your face with a worried scowl. He propped himself up on one elbow and hovered over you.

“No, I’m just-” You sniffed back another sob. “I just wasn’t expecting to see you, and I’m so glad you’re here. It’s just a lot, that’s all.”

He brushed a tear from your cheek. “We don’t have to do this right now; not if you don’t want to. I didn’t come here with the expectation that you would jump back into bed with me.”

Your heart leapt at that. Same old sweet Frankie, doing everything he could to treat you tenderly, to care for you. You knew that if you tried to explain everything you were feeling, he would probably take it personally. Frankie hated to see you hurting, and doubly so if he thought he was the one who had caused it.

“I might just need a minute. I’m okay, I promise. It’s just been a weird week.”

You decided to joke, to lighten the mood and try to ease Frankie’s worry. “My old boyfriend is back in town, and I just found out that I missed out on him being my husband, and I also kind of kissed my boss yesterday, so I’m not in a real ‘steady’ place right now.”

Frankie frowned at that. “You kissed Bill?”

“Oh, no! No, not my boss-boss.” You paused, unsure of whether or not Frankie would hate you for your next words. “I kissed Agent Whiskey.”

Frankie’s eyebrows nearly leapt off his forehead, but he didn’t sit up or let go of you. He didn’t run out of the room screaming. “Is there something I should know?”

“It was a mistake. I was in his office and I accidentally touched his crotch-” Frankie’s eyebrows raised another impossible inch as you continued, “Truly an accident, a horrible, embarrassing accident. And then I think I just felt really vulnerable and lonely and I kissed him.”

Frankie nodded. “It happens, I guess.” He looked at you tenderly. “Although I’ve never kissed my boss. He always has food in his beard.” You erupted in giggles and tucked your face against Frankie’s chest. He stroked your arm and shoulder, laughing against your hair.

Your giggles subsided, and you rolled away from Frankie, laying on your stomach and folding your arms under your chin. You sighed and turned your face to him. “I am glad you’re here, though. I really missed you.” You paused, trying to formulate your next words.

“It took me a long time to get over you, and I’m honestly not sure I ever did. If we hadn’t both had so much work and conflicting schedules, if things had been different-” Frankie leaned over and cut you off with a soft kiss.

“You don’t have to tell me how things could have been different.” He stroked your temple. “After we broke up I just couldn’t handle working around you. I didn’t hate you, I just had to leave. It hurt too much to stay.”

“I’m sorry, Frankie.”

“No, don’t apologize. It wasn’t you, it wasn’t me, it was just life.” Frankie leaned over and kissed your cheek, stroking your back with feather-light touches, raising goosebumps as silence settled over the both of you.

His touch felt amazing, conjuring electricity where his fingers met your skin. Tingles started to form in your pelvis and you found your breath shuddering in time with Frankie’s caresses. You sat up and moved to straddle him, entwining your fingers with his and pinning his hands to the bed next to his ears.

Neither one of you spoke as you rolled your hips gently on his and stole kiss after kiss, feeling his erection grow and press harder against your vulva, still separated by the fabric of both your underwear and his. Finally you broke your grip on his hands and Frankie reached up to cup your breasts. You arched your back to press yourself into his palms, and your nipples stiffened with the friction and the heat of his touch. You grabbed the backs of his hands and pressed them harder against you, as if you could multiply the sensations that were zipping through your body.

You leaned down for another kiss and then swung your leg off and over him. You stood next to the bed and pulled your panties off, then reached over Frankie to grip his waistband. He lifted his hips to assist you, and when his cock sprung free you nearly gasped at how much you missed him and missed this, the intimacy and the raw electricity and the closeness. You reached out to stroke his length a few times, running the pad of your thumb gently up the underside and over his slit. He was damp there, but not leaking yet, and you let go only to grab the box of condoms and rip it open.

“Here,” you handed him a foil packet and let him put it on. When he was covered you gripped him again and gave him three firm, slow pumps, pulling a moan out of the deepest part of his chest. You straddled him again and hovered over him, making eye contact as you lined up to insert him, taking him into the most intimate part of you. He stroked one large hand from your knee to your ass, then cupped both cheeks and pulled you slightly apart to help guide him in. You closed your eyes and let out a soft hiss as he entered. Everything felt so good and familiar, like no time had passed at all, like he had never left.

When you were fully seated on him, you placed your palms on his shoulders for leverage, watching with delight as the tendons in his neck flexed and his Adam’s apple bobbed, veins throbbing on either side of his beautiful throat as you rode him. He reached one hand down to thumb your clit, pressing and petting it and drawing whimpers from you as the pleasure swelled within you. Neither one of you spoke as you gazed into each other, moving together in a practiced rhythm, increasing the pace and the tempo and the force until you were shaking the whole bed. Then your head spun and you found yourself crying out his name as you climaxed around him. You slumped over him and buried your face in his neck, that gorgeous soft crook between his throat and his shoulder. He braced his feet and thrust up into you. Chills wracked your body as you squeezed and fluttered around his cock. He grunted and clenched his jaw, “I’m coming.” And then he pulled you closer and froze, holding you there as he filled the condom. When he relaxed his thighs and arms, you reached down and gripped the base of the condom to keep it on him as you rolled sideways and off.

You both lay staring at the ceiling, recovering your breath, trying to remember where you were and why anything outside of your shared pleasure mattered.

---

Frankie stayed at your apartment all weekend. The two of you kissed and caressed, showered and fucked, made breakfasts and dinners, watched movies and slept curled together, until you almost forgot how much you had missed each other, almost forgot the fact that he would have to leave.

On Monday you and Frankie walked to the office together and kissed at the front desk, parting ways for the day. You ran into Ginger in the hallway and squealed and gave her a hug. She smiled at you and wiggled her eyebrows. “Did you see who our consultant is for this project?”

“Yes! He came by my office on Friday and we went to dinner.” You leaned over to lower your voice and murmur, “And we spent all weekend together.”

Ginger laughed and you grinned and rolled your eyes. “It’s nice. I don’t know if we’re ‘back together’ or anything, but I’ll have fun hanging out with him while he’s here.”

Ginger bit her lip, “I’m glad. I know you guys really missed each other, but I’m happy you can see him while he’s here.”

“Me, too.”

You and Ginger made plans to have lunch together that afternoon, and your mood was light as you entered your office. It dampened a bit when you saw the flowers from Whiskey that were still sitting there. And it dropped further when you saw a note from one of your staff saying that Whiskey had requested that you come see him when you arrived this morning. You decided that you would just have to treat him like nothing had happened, and keep your head up. After all, you were on cloud nine with Frankie in town, so what’s the worst that could happen?

You found Mary’s desk empty, so you squared your shoulders and knocked on Whiskey’s door. He could try to irritate you all he wanted, but you were going to be cool as a cucumber.

When he opened the door, Whiskey grinned at you and motioned you in. You opted to stand next to his desk with your arms crossed. If this was business, you would keep it businesslike. He walked up to you and raised an eyebrow, still grinning like a fool.

You looked at him and frowned. What was his deal?

He started the conversation cryptically, “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Did you get my flowers?”

You opted for the driest tone you could, “Yes. Thank you.”

He nodded, “Good. Listen, darlin’-”

You interrupted him. “Paloma.”

“Right, Paloma. I’d love to take you out to dinner sometime and apologize again for behaving like a jackass in that meeting a few weeks back.” He placed both of his large, warm hands on your arms and squeezed. “If we could see our way clear to some kind of understanding, I think I’d like it very much if we could-” a knock on his door cut him off.

Mary opened it and stuck her head in. “Agent Whiskey? I have the consultant here for your 9:00 meeting.”

Whiskey hissed out a breath and sounded disappointed. “Right.”

You pounced on the opportunity to escape. “I’ll just get going.”

Mary opened the door all the way and Frankie walked halfway in, freezing at the sight of you and Whiskey standing so close together. Guilt creeped up, even though you had no reason to feel that way, and you fought the urge to apologize to Frankie.

You and Agent Whiskey spoke at the same time, words jumbling together as Frankie approached to shake hands with Whiskey.

“Hi, Agent Whiskey. You can call me Ja-”

“Frankie, hi. I was just-”

“Oh, do you two already know-”

“We used to-”

You found yourself standing next to them as they shook hands and sized each other up. Your own discomfort was so strong that you almost didn’t notice that they were jostling each other as if they were fighting for dominance. A strange energy settled over the three of you as they stared at each other. If you didn’t know any better, you would have said it felt like they were fighting over you.

“Whiskey, this is Frankie Morales. He and I used to work-” Frankie cut you off, something he normally would never do, and his next words mortified you.

“Paloma and I used to date when we worked together in Louisville.”

You groaned. You weren’t embarrassed that you had dated Frankie, but the less information Whiskey had about your personal life, the better.

“Is that so? Well, I didn’t know that.” Whiskey’s voice was as smooth as the leather on his couch, and he cocked an eyebrow at you. Instead of irritating you, it had the effect of sending a flutter to your crotch. You gulped, hard.

Whiskey turned back to Frankie. “Any big plans while you’re here in New York?”

“Paloma and I are going out.”

“We’re what?” Your voice was louder than you had meant it to be and both men turned to look at you. You felt stunned by the double gaze, the two pairs of dark brown eyes, the strong noses and lovely mouths; features so similar to one another now that you saw them together. Maybe Ginger was right, maybe you did have a “type.”

Your brain did a somersault, throwing up the most shocking and simultaneously wonderful idea, and you wished you could banish the thought back to whatever delicious hellhole it had sprung from. You almost burst into tears, thinking that the stress of your job had finally broken your brain. Under normal circumstances, the idea and all of its implications would have been curious, but under the current circumstances it was absolutely ridiculous. The absurd, impossible word had popped into your head entirely uninvited: “Threesome.”

Frankie and Whiskey stared at you for three long, agonizing seconds, then they both spoke the same word at the same time.

“WHAT?”

“Oh, shit. Did I say that out loud?” ---

"Paloma" Series Masterlist Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

Tag list: (Please message me if you're on here and don't want to be!)

@honeymandos @driedgreentomatoes @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @honestly-shite @anaaaispunk @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @nicolethered @dihra-vesa @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul @anxiousandboujee

[jiejie-eonni-onee-sama]

Maneater...

For the charming @multific​ 🎐💌​

Hope you’ll enjoy the story!

I eat boys up, breakfast and lunch.

Then when I'm thirsty, I drink their blood

Carnivore, animal, I am a cannibal

I eat boys up, you better run

I am cannibal (cannibal, cannibal, I am)

I am cannibal (cannibal) (I'll eat you up) (I am)

I am cannibal (cannibal, cannibal, I am)

I am cannibal (cannibal) (I'll eat you up)

Ke$ha - Cannibal

"Are you going to speak?"

(Y/N) smirked as he saw the F.B.I agent in front of him losing his temper.

He loved playing with their nerves since he started his "career."

His killing spree would be the more appropriate term for what he did. Officially, (Y/N) claimed the lives of forty people. But deep inside, the F.B.I investigators feared that the body count was higher than expected.

He shrugged:

"Why would I speak? It is not in my interest."

"Quite the contrary, it is in your interest to speak? Either you spill the beans, either..." threatened the F.B.I agent.

His colleague calmed him down.

"Chill out, Bob. There is no need to waste your energy with him like that."

(Y/N) grinned with arrogance: it looked like one of the two men was more clever than his colleague.

"Damn it, Josh! We lose our time trying to make him speak when we can be outside, looking for his lunatic boyfriend!"

The prisoner hissed:

"Don't ever talk about him like this again!"

"Or what? You will tear my head off?"

"Shut up, Bob."

"So what? Can't I have some fun with our guest?"

Josh pinched the bridge of his nose. Well, he cannot blame Bob for picking up on their prisoner. After all, (Y/N) killed his best friend, Phil, by slitting his throat.

But, on the other hand, they needed the unsub to give pieces of information about his lover. And antagonizing him would not be helpful for their investigation... 

Sighing, Josh sat in front of (Y/N) and said:

"Listen, (Y/N): we can always negotiate!"

"Negotiate? About what?"

The F.B.I agent shrugged:

"I don't know... For example, I can give you a reduction of years in prison. Instead of ending up in a state penitentiary, you can spend your prison sentence in one of the best mental health units in the country. You can have everything you want, but one condition..."

"And it is?"

"You have to tell me everything you know about where Hannibal Lecter is!"

The prisoner snarled:

"Really? Who do you take me for, uh? A snitch?"

"I would say that I take you for a reasonable person, but it looks like that you're more stubborn than expected!"

(Y/N) sighed: they can go to hell! He would never tell them where Hannibal is! 

The young man resisted the urge to smirk as he thought about his lover, the infamous cannibal Hannibal Lecter. Both men were different: while Hannibal was an elegant and cultivated man, (Y/N) was more a rebel and provocative young man. However, it did not prevent them from being attracted to one another. After all, they shared this hidden violence and lust for blood.

(Y/N) threw his head back and closed his eyes as he remembered the feeling of Hannibal's hands on his body. He smirked while thinking of the sound of his deep voice in his ear. A sigh of pleasure escaped as he cherished the taste of his lips against his.

Suddenly, a slap across his face woke him up from his daydreaming.

"Hey, wake up, you crazy!"

"BOBBY, NO! What are you doing?"

"Gaining time! This jackass needs to remember that I can make his life a living hell if he does not cooperate!"

"Oh, and you think that your method will help us?"

"Don't tell me you have sympathy for this psycho!"

"First of all, no, and secondly, if I were you, I would not treat him harshly. If Lecter heard about it..."

Bob jeered.

"Come on, don't be such a chicken! We're going to catch this sadistic before he could reach us!"

Josh rolled his eyes: his colleague was not only stubborn but also oblivious.

"Bob, all policemen or federal agents dream of catching Hannibal Lecter. Those who dared to chase him down like an animal ended up dead. It is what Phil did and what he got? A slit throat!"

"All because of him!" 

Suddenly, they heard a phone ringing. Checking his pocket, Josh noticed that his boss was calling him.

"Alright, that's the boss!"

"What does he want?"

"I'll answer. Keep an eye on him... and don't do anything stupid?"

"Who do you think I am? A rookie?"

"No, but I know what you're capable of when you're pissed!" grumbled Josh as he exited the room to answer the call.

Once his colleague left the room, Bob stepped closer to (Y/N) and said with a smirk:

"So, you want to play the tough guy?"

"Look who is talking!" taunted (Y/N).

Fed up, Bob pinned the young man on the table and growled:

"I am tired of your little game, you punk! Either you spit it out, or I'll make you regret it for the rest of your life!"

(Y/N) laughed.

"Oh, I am so scared! Seriously, do you think you're the only person who threatened me like that?"

The grip around his neck tightened.

"Don't forget that if you die, no one would care. And you can be sure that once I am done with you, I will personally take care of your psychopathic boyfriend!"

The young man struggled, trying to get out of this grip. It was out of the question to let this redneck lay a hand on Hannibal. Over his dead body!

Suddenly, he saw a pair of hands grabbing Bob's shoulders and throwing him away. The federal agent hit the wall and fell unconscious. Surprised, (Y/N) slowly got up and realized that Hannibal was here.

"Hello, darling," smirked the cannibal.

"Hi, babe!" replied the young man with a grin.

The psychiatrist unhandcuffed his lover before kissing his wrists.

"Sorry for being late, but I had to deal with some F.B.I agents. I hope you did not wait too much."

"No, I'm alright. I knew you would come here for me!"

Hannibal gently smiled: he never doubted his lover's resilience. After all, the cannibal appreciated the strong temper of (Y/N), as it complemented his calm character. 

Taking (Y/N)'s hand, he declared:

"Shall we go, now?"

"And what about him?" asked (Y/N) as he pointed towards the F.B.I agent who laid down on the floor, knocked out.

The psychiatrist smirked with a hungry smile:

"Well, we could have him for dinner!"

"Brilliant idea, baby. Let's go!"

The two serial killers ran away, taking Bob with them. They stole a car and drove down the road to their hideout.

(Y/N) lightened a cigarette and started to smoke. As he blew a puff of smoke, he muttered:

"I am sorry..."

"About what, my dear?" inquired Hannibal.

"Being caught by those jackasses. I should have been more careful."

"Don't blame yourself, (Y/N). They caught you by surprise, and you tried your best..."

"They wanted me to sell you out to Jack Crawford. I'd rather die than spilling the beans..."

Hannibal noticed the bruises on (Y/N)'s cheek and neck. It did not take him too long to understand:

"Is that our guest who caused this?"

"Nothing gets past you, uh? Indeed, it was him!"

"I see..." muttered Lecter.

It would be hard to find an appropriate recipe for the F.B.I agent. Oh, he could deal with it later. Now, all he wanted to do was celebrating his reunion with his lover.

A few minutes later, they arrived at their hideout. 

Hannibal and (Y/N) put the unconscious Bob into the turned-off freezer and locked him inside before going to their boudoir.

Once they did it, (Y/N) put his arms around Hannibal's neck and muttered with a grin:

"I am hungry, dear."

"Well, give me an hour, and I will prepare you a dinner worthy of the name!"

Grinning, his lover brought his face closer and replied:

"Darling, I did not talk about eating!"

The cannibal smirked:

"I am glad that we are on the same wavelength, my love."

Then, they feverishly kissed each other as they laid down on the sofa. The two lovers quickly got rid of their clothes and pursued their lovemaking.

Usually, (Y/N) preferred being in control. However, he always let Hannibal taking control during their sex session. After all, the cannibal always knew how to make him scream of pleasure.

As they made love, the young man thought of how they would eat the F.B.I agent in the freezer. (Y/N) knew Hannibal: he would be creative. He drooled over the upcoming dinner: that would be delicious!

Once they reached the seventh heaven, the two killers took a break and held each other...

When Bob opened his eyes, he understood that he would not get away this time. Trying to get off his binds, he felt a chill down his spine as he saw Hannibal and (Y/N) facing him with a grin on their faces.

"Greetings, dear guest. I'm glad you're finally awake!"

The federal agent tried to scream, but the gag on his mouth prevented him from doing so.

"Don't worry, Bob: there is nothing to worry about it. After all, you're here for dinner. Oh, wait: I should say that you are here because YOU are the dinner!" smirked (Y/N).

Poor Bob! He wanted so much to catch Hannibal Lecter and (Y/N) that he walked into the lion's den. And if the curiosity kills the cat, the ambition would be his demise.

And tonight, he would be the dinner of two maneaters...

Thank you very much for the reading: I hope you enjoyed the story!

Don’t hesitate to leave comments and requests: it will be a pleasure!

See you later and take care of you! 😘🥰😍

[duhragonball]

Frieza for the character ask, please. I want to know if there's something you like!

Give me a character and I will answer:

Why I like them: I tend to divide all of Dragon Ball canon into two sections: the part that’s about Dragon Balls, and the part that’s about Super Saiyans, with DBZ Episode 66 as the dividing line.   And Frieza’s original run as the main villain (Episodes 44-120) straddles that line.  

He’s basically a bridge between those two themes.    He starts off as a villain gathering the Dragon Balls to extend his rule, much like Emperor Pilaf or Commander Red, but he’s so insanely powerful that it almost doesn’t matter if he makes his wish or not.    The only thing that gives him pause is the possibility of a Saiyan uprising, except there’s only a handful of them left in the universe, which means the only way they could threaten him would be if one of them suddenly became the strongest Saiyan in a millennium.

My favorite aspect of Dragon Ball is that it keeps raising the stakes.   Vegeta was presented as the ultimate threat, and then it turned out that his boss is the strongest guy in the universe.   And he’s treated accordingly.    It takes forever to defeat him, mostly because it’s a lot safer to sneak around and avoid the guy, and when a final confrontation happens, no one has the necessary power to finish him off.  

Somewhat understandably, a lot of fans think of him as the Final Boss of the Dragon Ball mythos.  Goku becomes a legendary warrior to defeat the strongest guy in the universe.   How do you top that?    A lot of fans think that it was a mistake to try, and I’m pretty sure that’s where a lot of this “Toiryama wanted to quit after the Frieza Saga” mythology came from.  What they’re really saying is: “I think Toriyama should have quit after the Frieza Saga, and I assume he agrees with me, because I respect him so much, which must mean someone forced him to continue.”

But I think that’s bunk, because Toriyama’s best work was built on Frieza’s vaporized corpse.    How can you keep a martial arts epic going when the hero is stronger than the strongest person in the universe?   Toriyama took that as a challenge.    The androids could be stronger than Frieza because they hadn’t been built yet when Frieza was riding high.   Cell and Trunks could be stronger than Frieza because they’re from the future.  The Supreme Kai and Dabura were stronger than Frieza, but they don’t count because they’re from other realms beyond the “normal” universe.   Majin Buu could be stronger than Frieza because he’s from the distant past.   He’s been hidden away in storage for so long that no one remembers him.    Same deal with Beerus literally sleeping through all of Dragon Ball and DBZ.    And guys like Jiren and Hit are from whole separate universes.   All Toriyama had to do was avoid introducing some ultra-powerful character who had been active during Frieza’s lifetime.     The only one that springs to mind if Cooler, although he admits in Movie 5 that Frieza had an edge over him throughout their rivalry.   

So I like Frieza for being that big milestone character.   Guys like Cell and Majin Buu wouldn’t work as well without a Frieza to set them up as extraordinary challengers.  

Why I don’t: The problem with Frieza is that his importance to the franchise has led to him becoming overrated.  He’s got this 70-episode run as the main villain, but he spends most of it sitting in that goofy chair and literally refusing to do anything, even while his soldiers keep messing up.   When he finally does take matters into his own hands, he holds back, apparently because he wants to torture his opponents as much as possible before finishing them.  

People give Goku a lot of shit for showing mercy to his enemies, but no one ever seems to notice how Frieza could have wiped out Goku a hundred times over and just... didn’t.    At least when Goku does it, you can say it’s because he’s too nice, but what’s Frieza’s excuse?  There’s a lot of big long chunks of the Frieza Saga where literally nothing happens because the good guys are too weak and Frieza’s in no particular hurry to end it.  

By contrast, you have villains like Buu, who really don’t waste time like that.    He started killing people and while he wasn’t in any particular hurry, he didn’t drag it out either.   In less than 48 hours, he destroyed the whole planet.   That’s service.   

I cannot stress enough how Cell is the superior villain compared to Frieza.  The only lull in his run was when he declared a truce to allow his enemies to prepare for the Cell Games, and they were free to attack him during that time if they wanted.    And there was a point to that.   Cell had no particular agenda, so he decided to arrange a rematch with the Earth’s fighters.  

But when Frieza wastes time, it’s for plot reasons.   He’s just really lazy and unmotivated, or maybe he’s just incompetent.    But the wider fandom sees this jackass and goes “RARRR BEST VILLIN 5EVAR!”  Nah, he sucks. 

Favorite episode (scene if movie):   For my money, the coolest thing Frieza did was when he came back as a cyborg.    He kept trying to declare victory in his fight with Goku on Namek, even after cutting himself in half, and then Namek explodes on him and he still won’t let it go.   His dad finds him and after a long convalescence he decides to go to Earth and fight Goku all over again.   

What makes it so awesome is that the cyborg parts are a silent testament to how monumentally stupid that idea is.   All this guy had going for him was his top spot on all the power level charts, and now he’s lost that and he has no idea how to get along without it.  

And this is why I hate the idea of bringing him back from the dead, because there’s nowhere left to take this character.    He lost on Namek, and Episode 119-120 was just his last-ditch effort to defy reality.    He doesn’t know how to survive in a world where he’s not the top dog, and he doesn’t survive, that’s the end of that story.    Bringing him back just repeats the lesson, only without the cool cyborg parts to remind us that this never works.

Favorite season/movie: I guess Frieza Saga by default.  It’s got some great moments in it, but it gets really thin in places. 

Favorite line: “Peace?  I... will... never... know peaaaace!”  Or words to that effect.   Whatever bluster he shouted at Goku when he tried to take that last shot at him before Namek exploded.

Favorite outfit: The cyborg look.

OTP: I guess he has the hots for Yamcha, so let’s go with that.

Brotp: Yeah, right.

Head Canon: Between the lore in the Bardock TV special and “Dragon Ball Minus”, I get the impression that Frieza is concerned with legends in general, not just the one about the Super Saiyan.    I say this because in “Father of Goku”, he sent Bardock’s crew to conquer Kanassa, and the only apparent reason for this was because of the rumors of their psychic abilities.   Frieza was likewise intrigued by the Namekian regeneration ability.    I think in at least one translation he expresses some envy of Nail’s power, implying that he would want to find some way to acquire it for himself. 

What I’m getting at is that Frieza’s so powerful that the only things he has to worry about are things that may not even exist.    The Kanassans were probably no threat to him, but he may have considered that they could be, so he wiped them out before it could come to that.   Or maybe his staff discovered a tale of the Kanassan planet being the source of their powers, so he decided he needed to control that planet before his enemies could use it against him.   

Same deal with the Saiyans.   in DB Minus, I got the impression that he’s got a whole team of researchers who check up on local folklore.   Maybe they do this everywhere he goes, and he uses this intel to decide which planets live or die.  

Unpopular opinion: Frieza’s main contribution to the Dragon Ball franchise was to provide useful genetic material for the creation of Cell, the true best villain.  

A wish:  Hit and Majin Buu kill his ass and Grand Zeno, Great Priest, and Shaggy Blanco all hold a press conference announcing that he’s dead forever and can never come back, no matter what.    He gets sent to the same turbo super hell they have in Supernatural.   

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen:  Please don’t do any team ups with old villains and have Cell take orders from Frieza.   That sucks and it shouldn’t happen.  

5 words to best describe them: Final form is a corpse.

My nickname for them: LOWARD FUREEZA.

[hazbincalifornia]

Check-In

Chapter 8: Stolas checks in on Blitzo.

Likes, replies, and reblogs are all appreciated, both here and on ao3!

Warnings: Mpreg

Ao3 link

Blitzo startled awake in his chair at a knock on the door, nearly falling off from the strange angle as he’d draped himself over it and almost tipped it over when he jolted up. “Fuck!”

“Oh, good, you’re awake.” Loona held up the phone. “It’s for you.”

He gave a long, sustained groan as he dragged himself across the office to take the call. “Heeeeeeeeeello?”

“Blitzy! Good, there you are!” Stolas sounded chipper enough that Blitzo briefly imagined stuffing him through a leaf mulcher. Oddly enough, it didn’t really help. “Change of plans. Instead of our usual call, I’ve tried out that smartphone Via had me get, I’m right outside your office!”

“Wha- shit, really?” Blitzo looked over at the clock, then down at himself. He was dressed- well, pretty much the same as he always did, so it wasn’t like Stolas was going to judge, but it was all wrinkled from his nap. This was just what he’d get for springing this on him. “Uh, we might have a-”

“Your Loona said that there was nothing on the schedule for today.”

She gave a half-grin at Blitzo. “Have fun.”

He set a hand over the bottom of the phone. “Seriously?”

Loona shrugged. “He promised to get you lunch.”

“Slightly more acceptable, then.” Blitzo took a breath. “Alright, you can come-”

Stolas opened the door before Blitzo even finished his sentence, and Blitzo fumbled the phone back into place before trying to straighten his suit a little.

“Oooh, it’s so cute!” Stolas gushed, getting down on one knee to admire the bump. Blitzo could already feel his eye twitching as the owl began running his hands over it in full view of Loona, who, when he looked over, had already buried her face in a magazine.

“Soooo... Loona said you promised lunch?”

Stolas looked up. “Yes, I’m taking you out of here for a few hours. I’d rather get a face-to-face update today, see how things are going.” He paused. “And Stella is out with her parents, so we have the house to ourselves until tomorrow.”

Ah, right. “What about… Olivia?”

“Octavia.”

“Yeah, her.”

“She’ll be in today, but she’ll likely be in her room.”

“Alright.” She didn’t seem that bad from what Blitzo had seen, at least. Maybe she could even distract her dad a little if she showed up. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Aw, don’t you want to spend time with me, Blitzy?” Stolas fluttered his eyes, and Blitzo couldn’t hold back a snort, ruffling at the top of Stolas’s head.

“I’m not about to turn down free lunch and we needed to talk anyway, let’s leave it at that, got it?”

“Good enough for me.” Stolas stood back up- even having shrunk himself a little to fit into the office, he towered over Blitzo. He reached for Blitzo’s wrist, leading him towards the door, and when Blitzo looked back, Loona waggled her fingers in farewell without looking up. Traitor.

_______________________

The ride to the palace was mostly filled with Stolas talking about how the last week or so had been. Via had introduced him to some new band that he wasn’t particularly fond of but did enjoy the instrumentals on, and he’d had to go to some mega boring dinner party. On and on, including some political bullfuckery in fancy words that Blitzo couldn’t really understand or bring himself to care about. (Especially not when he was sweating like a pig even though the limo had AC on when he put his hand up to the vent.)

“But on the plus side, the mawplants in the back of the greenhouse had been blooming wonderfully! And speaking of blooming…” Stolas grinned, cupping Blitzo’s cheek. “How have you been, Blitzy?”

“Fine.”

“Fine isn’t saying much, you know.”

“I’m alive, that’s something, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Stolas’s grin shrunk a little, but it was becoming more of a soft smile instead as they pulled up to the front doors. “Is the child giving you much trouble?”

“I want some grub in me before I start talking about this.” The leather seat creaked as Blitzo stood up. He stretched, rolling his shoulders before Stolas took the lead.

“I suppose I cannot begrudge you that.” The owl folded his hands behind his back, falling quiet until they made it to the dining room. Or some version of it, anyway- the table looked pretty small, so it was probably the tea room or something? Blitzo couldn’t imagine any really big feasts in here. It was kind of cozy, though.

The imp servants that were talking to each other when the two of them entered shut themselves up and side-eyed him. He flipped the nearest one off, making them take a half-step back.

“Relax, dipshits. Not here to take your jobs.”

One had an expression that Blitzo couldn’t quite parse out, kinda like she’d just swallowed pickle brine but then also was trying to offer sympathy at a funeral. She hurried out when Stolas waved her towards the door.

“Go collect the lunch things.”

“Yessir!” They cleared out, and Blitzo settled himself down at one of the seats. He ended up having to just get into a kneeling position and settle down on his calves in order to reach the damn table.

“Ah, I’ll have them bring you a cushion,” Stolas said as he sat down himself. “Are you alright with fish?”

“Yeah, fish’s fine. I like fish.” Blitzo looked around- he usually didn’t see much of the palace outside of the hallways and Stolas’s bedroom. There were paintings and pictures all over- several of Stolas himself. “Interesting decorations.”

“Thank you!” Stolas seemed to take it as a compliment. “Now, how have you been the past week?”

“I told you-”

“It doesn’t have to be about the child. I want to hear about you.” Stolas’s elbows were on the table as his chin settled on his hands, head tilting slightly as he watched Blitzo with all four eyes half-lidded. Even kneeling, Blitzo was still getting looked down at, and he groaned, resigning himself to standing up on the chair until the servants came back with something tall enough to make him not feel like a fucking baby. His armpits felt like swamps and he hoped he didn’t smell like an acrobat’s ass-crack.

“Pretty typical week. We had a few jobs, I killed some random jackass who he tried to mug me because he was drunk as shit and tried to tear my clothes off.”

“Oh! Are you alright?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t much of a fight. Like I said, he was drunk, and it was enough he was super clumsy. That kinda shit happens a lot,” Blitzo said, leaning against the table. Dammit, Stolas was still taller, but sitting on the table itself was gonna be way too demeaning. “He had a lot in his wallet, though.”

“Ah. Resourceful!” Stolas’s smile widened a bit as one of the imp servants brought in a silver tray with two plates on it, kicking a small stepstool out from under the table in order to set the tray on the table and push the plates towards the two of them. “Now, a high cushion for Blitzy here, so he doesn’t have to stand.”

The imp turned to look over at Blitzo, but the narrowed eyes he met were enough to send him hurrying out of the room as Stolas picked up a little fork.

“Don’t worry if there’s any left over. The portion sizes are typically for Hellborns more my size.” He grinned. “Of course, I know you much you can swallow, don’t I?”

“Wow, you managed to make it a while. I’m actually impressed.” Blitzo picked up the fork and started to pick at the fish before taking a bite. It was- okay, it was delicious. Rich people had good food, he already knew that. He stabbed the fork into the plate as he scooped up another decent-sized chunk before stuffing it into his mouth.

“Mmm, and you haven’t decided to come over just for fun yet, I’ve noticed.” Stolas used his fork to cut the fish in half horizontally before dropping the top half into his beak, the two halves making a ‘click’ as they snapped shut and the whole thing moving down his throat in a huge lump. Blitzo lost at least half of his appetite, but the fish that was still in his mouth tasted good enough to swallow.

“It’s only been a week, I’ve been busy.” He paused for half a second. “Hey, besides, the deal was I come over if I want to now.” Blitzo pointed the end of his fork at him. “I thought you couldn’t go back on the handshake ones.”

“I can’t, I was merely curious.” Stolas licked at the side of his mouth. “I still expect updates, of course, but yes, it’s up to you now. I think that makes it more exciting, don’t you?” His voice practically dropped to a purr. “After all, it will be when you can’t resist staying away.”

Blitzo’s stomach turned as he plastered a smile on his face. “Uh… huh.” He looked down at his plate, then back up at Stolas. “Might as well get this over with. I need a new gun.”

“Done, but what happened to your old one?” Stolas didn’t seem angry, just curious, which was… well, pretty much what Blitzo had been expecting.

“....Puked my guts on it and it turns out pregnancy puke melts shit,” Blitzo grumbled.

“Would you like me to order it, or just give you the funds to-”

“Funds,” Blitzo said, just as the servant came back with a stack of cushions. He looked up at Stolas who nodded over to Blitzo, and then the cushions were passed up to Blitzo.

“Alright, I got them, you can go.” Blitzo made a shooing motion before sitting down, and the imp’s eye twitched before he hurried out. “What, was he expecting a tip?”

“He probably isn’t used to seeing imps get special treatment around here is all,” Stolas said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Anywho. You were saying something about sickness- I believe that’s a good segue into asking you how the pregnancy in general has treated you.”

“Fucking terribly,” Blitzo snapped. “There’s the acid puke thing, which luckily hasn’t come back yet but definitely will, I have to basically cut out any coffee stronger than piss, Moxxie and Millie got all bitchy at me for trying to use coke-”

“Cocaine coke?” Stolas leaned over the table, alarmed.

“I didn’t get to actually use it, keep your feathers on.”

“I should have included a clause about keeping yourself safe as well in our deal!” Stolas slid off the chair and crossed around the table in a few strides, cupping Blitzo’s face. “I know how good you are at your job so I wasn’t too worried about the baby’s health before, but-”

Blitzo pulled back, pushing Stolas’s hand away. “-But I’m a grown-ass man, I can handle myself, alright? You asked me how it was going, I said it sucked, I’m not sugarcoating this.”

“You should have contacted me.” Stolas clicked his tongue. “I could make some tea for nausea, and at least given you some advice from when Stella was with Via.”

Blitzo slumped back on the chair and felt the cushion pile shift under him, not quite steady. “So. Do you have any advice?”

“Well, I would advise relaxing, but you don’t seem very fond of slowing down, isn’t that right?” Stolas pinched Blitzo’s cheek, getting a grumble out of the imp. “I suppose you should be on the lookout for odd cravings- they might be more raptor-esque, depending on how owl the child leans.”

“If I have to eat mice or something-”

“I could give you some!” Stolas interrupted, grabbing Blitzo’s shoulder. “You never know what’s in street rats.” He shuddered. “Via had a phase when she liked eating fresh-caught rats instead of respectably home-raised mice. She’s lucky she didn’t get sick.”

“...I don’t wanna eat rats,” Blitzo muttered, feeling sticky in his suit as he shifted around again.

“You may not have a choice- Stella was a right beast sometimes when it came to getting certain foods as she wanted them! It was more than worth it in the end to have Via, though, of course.” Stolas’s hand drifted down from Blitzo’s shoulder to his stomach.

“It hasn’t gotten any bigger in like a week.”

“I know that, but it’s still wonderful,” Stolas said, a big dopey grin on his face with his eyes plastered on Blitzo’s middle. “You’re really carrying our child.”

“Yeah. That was the deal.” Blitzo wasn’t really sure why his skin had ants scurrying underneath it at the touch. Stolas casually undid the lower button on Blitzo’s suit, pushing the fabric aside to see the fabric of the turtleneck underneath. “Hey, no gropey.”

“I’m just making sure that the child is still alright, if you’re being such a reckless little imp,” Stolas hummed, his hand glowing red. Blitzo’s stomach glowed underneath it, and Stolas let out a soft sigh of relief. “Good, they’re still fine.”

“And me?” Blitzo raised an eyebrow, and Stolas’s hand moved up to rest on his chest, still pulsing a gentle, warm red.

“Of course I’m worried about you too, but you can take care of yourself.” He paused, tilting his head. “Or at least I thought you could, but you might need some help, hmmm? Perhaps I should contract one of your employees to keep an eye on you.”

“Moxxie’s already halfway up my ass on a daily basis, you don’t have to do that.”

“Calls twice a week, then,” Stolas countered. “I can’t have you breaking what’s mine, can I?”

“I’m not going to fuck this up.” Blitzo crossed his arms. “Five months. I’ve been through worse than this, I don’t need a fucking babysitter.”

Stolas sighed. “Perhaps not, but I have both of your safety in mind.” He turned to return to his seat when a new owl stuck her head into the room.

“Dad, when are we going to-” Her eyes widened before narrowing into pink slits. “What are you doing here?”

Blitzo just waved with a strained grin as Stolas swept over to Octavia and pulled her into the room.

“We have some exciting news!”

“You’re turning him into the butler or something so you don’t even have to call first?" Her fingers twitched towards fists, and Blitzo held his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Hey, now-”

Stolas waved his arm towards Blitzo, as if he was a prized attraction. “We’re going to be having a child!”

Her tone dropped like a rock. “You’re what?”

[bygosscarmine]

A PERILOUS ENGAGEMENT

Man from UNCLE - Wife or Knife AU

9/12

Looking over, his first thought was, Oh, I haven't seen that friend in a while!

His second thought was, Oh, that girl is absolutely provoking.

He quashed the third thought trying to emerge, while he stalked over mostly to prevent more people looking to see who was calling for whom.

"Hello, Hettisham," he said with some emphasis.

"Hallo, parson," she said, as he discovered with some surprise that she had a dimple. He had not apparently thought this worth noting when she was just a lad.

"Did you put Solo up to this?"

"Solo? Is he about?" At his no-doubt darkening expression, she hastily admitted, "Yes. I'm sorry. I just wanted to see you once in a way that made it easier to talk. See, you're angry and that means it's not as hard to say something."

"How did you get here, you little fool? Are you totally unaccompanied?"

Gabrielle's eyes dropped, and the part of him that had been silenced earlier tried to draw his notice again to what it had to say, but was overwhelmed by his sense of outrage.

"I came with Maria, in a carriage," she said softly. "I will go back to her and we'll return directly to the house, never fear. I do not mean to make a scene, but I just wanted to see you once. Without…"

She did not finish her sentence, and turned. Elias also pivoted on his heel and went back how he'd come, only to be caught by Solo at the gate.

"You," Elias said bitterly, "need to stop being a help to that reckless girl!"

"What? Were you challenged to a duel again? Sorry to have missed that."

"No, she was…in costume."

"I am also sorry to have missed that," Solo admitted, "though it seems to have made you furious. Is she provoking you on purpose, do you think?"

"She said she wanted to talk with me angry rather than…I don't know what."

"Ah, yes. No, I know what she means. Easier for you to at least see each other first while you're being a self-righteous jackass and not a pillar of salt or something."

As if asking a perhaps sensitive question, Solo added, "Was she…still lovely?"

Elias swore and walked away from his friend, who followed with an annoying chuckle. The thought he had been suppressing broke free with this jab, however, and aired itself in what could have been verbalized most closely as, He's got the right of it.

Maria was very patient with Gabrielle's first quarter hour or so of restless pacing and muttering of self-condemnations, but then said, "You knew he would hate it. Why did you do it?"

"Because, it seemed important to remind him. I can tell from his recent letters that…well, he is quite kind in them. He's forgotten what I'm like."

"You're not always like that," Maria protested.

"I can't bear it," Gabrielle burst out. "I can't bear to love him still. If he had gone cold or gone offended, then it would have ended things, and it would all be easy. We would all have what…what we want."

"Except that you want to be with him," Maria said softly. "You cannot forget that."

"No," said Gabrielle, close to tears. "He shouldn't have answered my letters so well. He shouldn't have seen me and looked glad at first!"

"Well, all this blaming is not helping. What are you going to do about it now?"

What she did was send him a note with their address and the invitation to call.

Then she went and reread the letters she had from him to try and make herself see a resentment, a distaste, anything that could rescue her from feeling so drawn to him. But neither his letters nor her heart were so obliging.

Dear Miss Teller,

Your letter reached me in good time, as I was just about to quit my apartments in Cheapside for ones nearer the school where I am going to be teaching. You may use this new direction for any further letters.

My trip was uneventful once I reached the stage coach successfully. Bandits have disappointed me in all prior trips and I hope continue to do so despite my boyhood keenness for an encounter.

You may, if you see him to speak to, give Solo my regards. We are not much for letters between us unless it is to arrange a visit.

His hand is neat when it comes to ledgers and copying but if you ever have a chance to view a sample of his personal writing you will understand there is pain for his correspondents to endure. Luckily, he is not much of a letter-writer.

Nor am I, if this is an example.

Your servant,

Etc. Elias Carrick

Dear Miss Teller,

I did appreciate the gifts toward my recovery, and I believe they all reached me well.

The proper amount of items ascribed to the appropriate senders arrived, though if Ms. Parson sent any new potatoes they were compassionately removed before I received the parcel.

I am a bit abashed to admit that I was nearly all recovered by the time they came, but the tea and throat-warmer soothed the last dregs of the headcold and the rest cheered me from the doldrums of being abed with no one to nurse me but the cross landlady.

Once my head had cleared up most of the way but I was still not comfortable out in the cold I was able to do some reading in the volume you recommended…

Carrick stopped pacing long enough to realize he'd clenched the short invitation until it was rumpled like a day's worn cravat. He set it on the small desk in his apartments and smoothed it out with irritation. He was mentally dictating how he would respond, when Solo came up from the street, whistling an unseasonable carol.

"Is that the fair Miss Teller's hand?" he inquired as he entered.

"Do you know it so well, then?" Elias demanded.

"No, I merely hazarded a feminine writer must be she. You are still cross about yesterday, I see."

"Cross?" Carrick was amazed. "The young woman who is openly proclaiming to be my betrothed accosted me in a public park wearing the clothes of a man, and you think I am merely cross?"

"She is not actually openly proclaiming it. The family wished her to keep it private for the time being, so she has obliged."

Solo's wry expression indicated the convenience of this. Why did that not make him feel better?

"She has sent her formal invitation for me to call on her at home."

Solo scrutinized him. Then he said, "I see why I like her for you now. As a friend, I have pulled you into the world as you would not go on your own. She has the same audacity. It's good for you to be put off-balance every now and then."

"I was about to reply that she ought to cry off from the engagement soon, now that her plan has succeeded."

"Only if she merely wished for a trip to London--which I think we both know is not the case. Anyhow, you will not. You may compose such a note, but I don't think you would actually stoop to sending it, even if I didn't say so. You must see her, you know. For all the foolishness, you don't want to make her appear poorly in front of her so-worthy family. Besides, you haven't really gotten to have a real conversation. You should call on the family, and go with me to take her and Maria to the park on Thursday."

"Why should I?"

"Because you are a man of honor, and you implicitly gave your word that you would treat her well when you let her say you are engaged."

"I take it as personal affront when you are right about respectability matters," Elias said, but without rancor.

"I am calculating, so I am usually a good judge of what the proper thing to do is, even if I choose not to do it. You go by your conscience, which is less reliable in results."

Alas, Elias' conscience confirmed what Solo's cunning said about the right thing to do. He went the next day to wait on Miss Teller. He sat for half an hour with her and her cousin Mrs. Hettisham, alongside the newlywed couple from Middleton's whirl of festivities. It occurred to him, during this very ordinary visit, that Mrs. Hettisham was as ill-suited to her kin as was her cousin. Clever, imaginative, a bit of a daring reader if he guessed right. Their chaperoning wedded couple spent most of the time asking him questions about his connections, his hometown, and telling uninspired anecdotes about their own. Since he had spent a few weeks in Middleton, he had already been told most of these tales at least once.

He promised to come walk with the ladies to the library in the future as well as to accompany Solo the next day, and took his leave. He shared only a few words with Miss Teller herself, and he wasn't sure what to think of that. Perhaps it was for the best.

Link to all posted chapters here.

[kpopfanfictrash]

A Moment of Weakness

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Creative Content Contributor: @baebae-goodnight (hey ily)

Pairing: You / Jimin

Rating: PG-13 [ fluff + enemies to lovers!AU + Hogwarts!AU ]

Word Count: 2,557

Summary:  A series of drabbles about Slytherin!Jimin and Hufflepuff!Y/N, the sister of his self-declared mortal enemy.

A/N: These drabbles are non-sequential.

It has been several weeks since the Yule Ball.

After your confrontation with Jimin, you did not stay at the party for long. Taehyung realized something was off as soon as you returned to him; although to be fair, it would have been hard not to notice. There was obviously something on your mind and that something was clearly not Taehyung. He was sweet about it, even if you did not feel you deserved it.

He laughed when you said as much to him. “Y/N,” he grinned, pulling you into a hug. This was while you were still at the ball and you stiffened, unsure who else had seen. “I didn’t ask you here to get lucky, or anything. I asked you here because I thought it would be fun, okay?”

“Yeah,” you sniffed, pulling away. “Okay.”

Taehyung shrugged. “I’d like to be friends, if you do.”

You did, and you said this to him, but you knew Taehyung was disappointed – no matter how well he hid it. There were reasons he asked you to the dance and you knew those reasons were not entirely platonic. The thought made your heart hurt, but not as much as those three tiny words from Park Jimin’s lips. I don’t care.

Ironic, that it took Jimin telling you he did not care for you to admit that you did. Because you do; you care for Jimin. Fuck, it would be impossible not to. Maybe you did not at first. Maybe you did not when this all began and maybe you didn’t even somewhere in the middle. Except – maybe even that is a lie.

In your first year at Hogwarts, you remember feeling lost. Lucas and you had been close growing up, but a twelve-year-old boy wants little to do with his eleven-year-old sister. Before you made friends in Hufflepuff, you were lonely – plain and simple.

Even then, you remember Jimin. Your brother hated him for reasons which were never fully revealed to you. There were rumors of a girl they both liked, Jimin hexing Lucas once on a dare, Lucas beating Jimin the first Quidditch game they played. You did not know what the true reason was – only that it existed, and that the only time Lucas ever spoke to you was to shield you from Jimin.

Whenever you found yourself near the blonde Slytherin boy, Lucas would barrel out of nowhere and frantically shoo you away. It was uncanny, as though he had a sixth sense for your proximity. You never understood why, even back then. Jimin seemed harmless enough. Indeed, you saw much of yourself in the quiet, Slytherin boy.

As time passed and the years went on, Jimin ceased to be lonely and so did you. Instead, he became insufferable, just as he was to Lucas – always hanging around you, smirking and teasing with a big grin on his face. Despite this, you never hated him. Jimin was never malicious in his presence, never mean and in your mind, you always saw him as that quiet, smaller boy your brother liked to pick on.

This was around the time Lucas stopped being a jackass. He hung out with you more, welcomed you into his friend group. You found your own friends in Hufflepuff and stopped paying attention to Jimin. Indeed, you nearly forgot all about him – until that day on the lawn with the Novifusilli spell.

With a deep sort of sigh, you lower your chin to your hands to stare at the door. The toilet you sit upon is dark, far removed from the main hall – which is why you chose this particular location. You do not need to use the bathroom, just need a space to breathe and reflect before joining the others for lunch.

Since the Yule Ball, you have not been able to stop thinking about Jimin. Little memories keep coming back to you, unbidden and it is becoming harder and harder to deny what you had.

You keep remembering random moments. The day Jimin helped you to ride a broomstick for the first time. The night he taught you forbidden spells in the back of the library – you accidentally punched him in the nose with an overeager flick of your wand and, rather than fume, Jimin cracked up to tackle you down to the floor. He kissed you like that, pinning your hands overhead and you were half-laughing, half-moaning when he thrust deeply inside you.

Hissing, you squeeze your eyes shut and attempt to dislodge the memory. It is hopeless to think about because, even if it weren’t for Lucas, you still royally fucked up. You were the one who told Jimin what you were, over and over again. You were the one who pushed him away, told him it was just sex and when he walked away from you at the ball, you felt it was for good.

Biting down on your lip, you try not to cry – as the bathroom door slams open, hitting the wall. You jerk upright, drawing your legs closer and wishing you could melt into the floor. Fuck, how embarrassing would it be to be caught crying in the stall.

“Honestly!” a shrill voice laughs. You recognize it to be Susie Larkin, a Gryffindor you cannot stand. “What do they all see in her, anyways? For the life of me, I’ll never understand how she got Taehyung to take her to the Yule Ball.”

Stomach sinking like lead, you realize she is talking about you. Sitting up straighter, you stare at the door.

“Do you really not know, Suze?” teases an unfamiliar voice. Probably one of Susie’s friends. “It rhymes with snow job. I hear Y/N gives out a lot of them.”

Susie cracks up, snorting in between laughs while your cheeks start to burn.

“Oh, sure,” Susie gasps. You hear the clatter of makeup dropped on the counter. “Honestly, was Jimin not enough for her? Weren’t they fucking?”

“Were they?” the other girl muses. “Seriuosly, I can’t keep track.”

“I think that they were,” responds Susie conspiratorially, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Molly Jordan says she saw Y/N coming out of the exact same classroom minutes after Jimin did, a few months back. It was pre-tty obvious what they were doing in there.”

“Really?” Her friend sounds shocked. “Doesn’t her brother hate Jimin, though?”

“Beats me. Girl can’t close her legs to save her life, I guess.”

At this, you stand up and bang open the door.

Susie’s mouth drops, comical in her shock. Her skin turns an ugly shade of puce, recognizing you in the mirror while her lipstick clatters into the sink. Her friend – definitely unfamiliar – stands equally startled, her mouth dropped open in a small, perfect o.

“Shut your mouth, you look like a fish,” you snap at her. Striding forward, you stop when you stand toe-to-toe against Susie. “And you,” you seethe, glowering. “Go and fuck yourself. Stop blaming me for the fact that no one else wants to!”

With a huff, you turn around and stride fast from the room. The crush of students outside is unnerving, deafening after being alone for so long. Blinking several times, you feel your eyes start to burn. Turning abruptly, you plunge into the sea of people and let yourself be pulled along. Barely do you know what you are doing, nor where your two feet are headed. All you know is that you need to be as far away from that bathroom – and Susie – as possible.

You are moving so quickly; you do not look up when you round the next corner and barrel straight into the chest of someone wearing black and green robes.

“Oof!” gasps Jimin, stumbling into you. Righting himself, he freezes in place with both hands on your arms. The two of you have not spoken since the ball. “I – hey, uh. Oh,” Jimin fumbles, squinting to get a better look at your face. “Wait. Y/N? What’s wrong?”

“I – nothing,” you breathe, moving to duck past but Jimin does not move. His grip on you tightens, forcing you to look up at his face. Now, the tears start to fall free, running down your cheeks in hot, embarrassing waves.

He takes one look and shakes his head, grabbing your wrist to tug you backwards. “Come on,” he exhales, shoving into the crowd. Jimin moves easily, glaring at anyone in his way until they back down.

You allow yourself to be pulled until you arrive at a plain, wooden door. Jimin opens this quickly, ushering you forward and you find yourself in an empty classroom, reminiscent of the ones you two used to hook up in. The thought makes your cheeks heat, remembering the words Susie said about you in the bathroom.

Before you can stop yourself, the tears are spilling over and now you are standing before Jimin, crying your eyes out. You know that you shouldn’t. He is not the comforting type and besides, you do not deserve to be comforted by him, anyways.

“Hey,” he murmurs, leaving his stance to quickly cross over the room. For a moment, Jimin hovers, uncertain before he gives in. “Come here,” Jimin exhales, taking your arms.

He pulls you foward, wrapping both arms around you as you bury your face in his chest. Breathing him in, you lose yourself in his familiar scent. It is hard to reign it in, now that you have started. You cannot help but think about how badly you needed this. Needed him.

No – what you need to do is calm down, you tell yourself. You need to stop crying.

It does not matter what someone like Susie thinks about you, after all. It matters what Jimin thinks, though. You do not want him to think about you like that – like he meant less to you than he did to you. Although, you have not even told him the truth of what he means to you.

Tightening your arms about his waist, you let Jimin hold you like that. Again, you should not – for a variety of reasons. First and foremost, is how shitty you treated Jimin at the ball. You do not deserve to be comforted by him after that. Still, Jimin’s chest is so warm, his breathing so steady that you keep trying to match his in order to calm yourself down. Jimin’s hand slides up and down your back, rubbing your body and keeping you close.

As your eyes drift shut, you allow yourself one final moment of weakness. Once the tears have stopped though, once they have all dried against the black of his robe, you pry your eyes open. Jimin does not pull away yet and so, finally, you force yourself to.

He simply looks down, assessing you. “What happened?” he asks, referring to the scene in the hall.

There is steel to his tone; it laces his words, as though the thought of someone hurting you is unpardonable. The sentiment makes your heart twist. “Nothing,” you respond, quickly extracting yourself. “I’m – I’m sorry. Nothing I can’t handle, anyways. I know you aren’t…”

Jimin arches a brow, watching you trail off into silence. “Yes?” he prompts. “I’m not what, exactly?”

Heart pounding, it echoes the pulse in your head. There is so much you should say to him, but now that you are here, all you can think about is one thing. 

“What did you mean at the ball?” you blurt.

Jimin stares back at you, utterly thrown. “Huh?”

“What did you mean?” you repeat, taking a step closer. Jimin is not much taller than you are; his nose is only inches away. “At the ball – you said that if I had to ask, you didn’t care. What did you mean by that?”

Jimin stares at you for a long moment, clearly warring with some inner conflict. Eventually, a side wins out and he sighs. “I meant…” Jimin pauses, weighing his next words. “I meant that if you had to ask who should’ve taken you to the ball, I shouldn’t... care about you.”

Before you can respond, he slips his hand into yours. You glance down, staring when he raises them both to his lips. Gently, Jimin brushes a kiss to your palm. Although you have been intimate with him before, although you have been naked, moaning and felt him inside you – never have you felt more vulnerable than you do right now.

“Who,” you whisper, unable to tear your gaze away from his lips. “Who should have been the one taking me, then?”

Jimin gives a small, bitter smile. “Me.”

The word hangs between you, stark and simple – much like Jimin himself. When you first began hooking up, you remember liking that about him. You still like that about him. God, you more than like that about him and now, you are realizing it all too late.

Jimin wanted to be your date to the Yule Ball and instead, you took Taehyung. You did not even give Jimin a chance to ask you. Everything seems twenty-twenty in hindsight and now, you are all too aware of how foolish you were.

You should correct Jimin, you think. You should tell him that even if you did not ask him, you were thinking about him the whole night. That you have been thinking about him ever since but, as you move to utter the worlds, Jimin interrupts.

“I like you, Y/N,” he insists, still holding your hand. As though emboldened by this, Jimin straightens. “I know that’s not what you want. You were pretty clear about that from the start,” he observes, smiling weakly. “I’m sorry that I dragged my feelings into this. I don’t… I guess what I’m saying is I don’t think we should hook up anymore,” he finishes, firm.

The light in the classroom is dimming. Outside, the sun has just begun to set over the horizon. It casts Jimin in a radiant light; your heart aches just to look at him.

“I – you don’t?” you respond, uncertain. If Jimin does not want to see you anymore, then perhaps your original thought was right – it is too late to confess.

Jimin inhales, glancing down. “I can’t keep on pretending,” he mutters, hoarse. “I don’t want to keep on pretending. I think we should end this now. Besides,” he pauses, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “What would your brother think if he saw us, like this?”

The silence which greets him while you fumble for a response seems to be all the confirmation Jimin needs.

“You see?” he exhales, arching a brow.

“But,” you start to protest, as Jimin shakes his head.

Gently, he slides both hands up your arms. “I,” Jimin exhales, closing his eyes. “Thank you for… everything, Y/N.”

Bending forward, he kisses you. The gesture is sweet, achingly so. Barley is there time for you to wrap your mind around it before his lips part yours in the gentlest of touches. It makes your head spin, hands reaching out for his robe, but he is already withdrawing, pulling away.

Jimin stares blankly at you, chest rising and falling. He swallows hard at your expression, forcing himself to respond, “You’re okay… right?”

For a moment, you are tempted to say no. For a moment, you are tempted to ask how – without Jimin, how can you be okay? Then, you realize he means from before. Jimin is referring to the crying, sodden mess he ran into in the hallway.

“I – yeah,” you exhale, licking your lips. They remain stubbornly dry. “I’ll be fine.”

Jimin stares at you a moment longer before he nods, turning around to walk out the door.

The room feels empty, near-suffocating without him.

A/N: [ Master List ]

© kpopfanfictrash, 2019. Do not copy or repost without permission.