#v nonchalantly. like this is normal and not horrifying.

[quietwingsinthesky]

im too tired to expand on this fully but consider: s10-11 au constructed around chuck not showing up late in s11 but instead joining up with the winchesters after Fan Fiction. specifically as chuck, not as god, though he is still that and not only a prophet anymore. but sam and dean don’t need to know that. they just know there’s a prophet-shaped hole at the bunker.

chuck being a reoccuring character in the background of s10. talking about the mark with sam, getting badgered by charlie about the books, helping to translate the book of the damned. as it becomes more and more clear that sam’s really going to destroy the mark, he. doesn’t do anything to stop sam. but there’s more and more times where chuck just looks uncomfortable. an emotion that’s a mixture of nausea and fear, that the winchesters can write off as ‘nervous weird prophet dude having an episode’.

watching sam and dean a lot, too. in a voyeuristic way, obviously, this is his whole deal, he set them up to be interesting to him, but there’s something else there. grief, maybe. jealousy, definitely.

i just think the whole ‘oh yeah he’s actually god for real btw’ set-up would be better if he was actually around for a bit more recently not being god. or pretending not to be god.

[flamingredanon]

Right arrived on Dr V's boat, needing a routine checkup on his cybernetics. But something wasn't..... right. She was acting very strange, and her glasses were obscuring her eyes more than usual. After Right's cybernetics were mostly deactivated for the check up like they normally are, Dr. V takes off her glasses and reveals horrifying yellow eyes with slits for pupils like a snake's. An otherworldly laugh is heard, which was most definitely not Dr. V's voice. Right panicked, not being able to get away as whoever was controlling Dr. V introduced themself as Bill Cipher.

Right demanded the intruder inside Dr V to leave, with Bill only laughing before explaining what was going on.

Bill had gotten bored of his current universe and hopped over to this world, where he tricked the good doctor here to help him return home. But Bill had forgotten how squishy humans were, and didn't think to look around before possessing Dr V, finding himself stuck on a boat and having no fucking way to drive it.

Right figured out pretty quickly what this Bill was trying to do, he needed a new body to possess and Right himself was the perfect target.

Bill had went on a monologue about how humans were flawed creatures, with Right trying to figure out how to save Dr V. And then he decided to take a page out of Henry's book and do something crazy.

Right interrupted Bill and told him that he could possess him, as long as he left Dr V alone. Bill had an evil smile grow on his face, offering Right to shake his hand, well Dr V's hand, and sealing the deal.

Right shakily got his cybernetic right arm to shake Bill's hand, and then Right felt himself get hit with a blinding searing pain, blacking out and hoping his plan would work.

---

Bill found himself in a swirl of metal and numbers floating around, not understanding what the hell was going on. A digital chuckle got Bill's attention, turning to see a floating cybernetic being that looked like that Right fellow, but something was wrong.

The cybernetic being introduced itself as Right Hand Cyborg, or Cy for short, and it was pissed that some nacho chip looking bitch was in it's territory.

Bill demanded that Cy take him to the part of Right's brain that let him steer the man, with Cy mentioning that he is here, that Right is a cyborg and that includes most of the brain being cybernetic.

Bill was getting pissed off even more, while Cy nonchalantly mentioned that there was going to be trouble. Bill asked Cy what they meant, with Cy pointing out that the squishy human doctor was going for a memory wipe, mumbling about it being better then a chair to the back of the metal skull.

Bill then realized he got screwed again, deciding that running off to another universe was the safest bet.

Bill left just in time, exhausting what little powers he had to go to any other universe then this crazy universe.

Cy just mumbled about just being glad to be back alone, knowing the squishy human lady had a backup memory probably ready.

---

Right fluttered his human eye open, slightly confused on what was going on or why he felt like there was a gap in his memory.

Dr V explained the best she could that she was possessed by something, with Right somehow able to free her by getting possessed himself. But the possessor didn't take into account of Right being a cyborg and Dr V decided that the best course of action was a memory wipe to murder the thing.

Right was just glad Dr V was ok, with the doctor continuing her checkup on Right like a freaky triangle bitch didn't try to ruin everyone's day.

---

Bill stumbled into some dark cave, not quite knowing where he was. But soon he found himself surrounded by strange cat like creatures wearing shirts and communicating with hOis.

[marril96]

Pretty in Pink

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: Rowena has had it with your disorganization and blatant lack of respect for witchcraft.

A/N: Based on this post by @gayarsonist

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian​

*****

It was the third time it happened this week.

Third bloody time!

Rowena was furious, fuming, face burning red as her hair — or it would be, if her hair weren't neon pink, glowing even in the bright fluorescent light of the bathroom.

"Y/N!" she shrieked like a banshee — worse, even — as soon as she got a glimpse of the monstrosity on her head in the mirror.

She didn't bother slipping on a robe or throwing on a towel — she ran out, arse-naked, blood boiling. Pissed off enough to take a life with a single glare.

She'd told you multiple times to take better care of your shite. Begged you, even, and she didn't beg. Not just anyone. But no matter how many times she asked and pleaded and shouted, you never seemed to get it in your pretty wee head.

"Wha—" Your mouth fell as she emerged from the hallway, jaw hanging in a big, long O. Your eyes bore into hers, swiped down to her body — her pale, bare body, still dripping from the shower, glistening in the light — and finally landed on her hair. A snort tore from your throat, undignified, filthy as that of a pig. "Oh, my god!"

Your laughter rang in Rowena's ears, a seemingly endless echo. She grit her teeth to hold back a growl more animal than human that threatened to break free. Squeezed her hands into fists so tight her knuckles flushed white as sheets. "This is not funny, Y/N!"

Your face grew serious for a moment, for a measly second before another fit of laughter took you over. "I think it's hilarious," you said, doubling over, tears sliding down the corners of your eyes. You couldn't help it — the more you looked at her, at her impossibly pink hair, the harder it was to control yourself. "I'm sorry."

You were not sorry.

"How many times have I told you to stop leaving your potions in the bathroom?" Rowena snapped.

Too many times. More than she could count. She would understand if magic were a novelty to you. But you were a natural-born witch. You'd always had magic. Rowena had been your mentor for five years, and your girlfriend for four — proper storage had been one of the first things she'd taught you.

And yet.

And yet.

You straight up refused to listen. Sometimes it felt as if she were speaking to a wall, though, at this point, Rowena was certain a wall would have retained the knowledge sooner.

It was easier to store potions in old shampoo and soap bottles, you always said. Why waste money on vials when you had perfectly good ones at home? Leaving them at random places around the house was just practical. Keeping them in a cupboard, as Rowena insisted, was old-fashioned. The bathroom, the living room, the bedroom — they all needed a potion or two, to liven them up. To make it clear to anyone who visited (though no one ever did) that there were witches living in this house.

It had never even occurred to you that you were messy.

It had occurred to Rowena. Multiple times over the years.

You shrugged.

Rowena stomped her foot angrily, fed up with your nonsense. Fed up with years — bloody years! — of it. What kind of witch lived like this, in this mess, in complete and utter disorganization, and saw no issue with it? What in hell was wrong with you?

What in hell was wrong with her for putting up with it?

Right.

She loved you. As reluctant as Rowena was to admit it, you had your good sides. You were kind to her — always had been, even back when she deserved not a sliver of it. You were there when she needed you. Held her without her having to utter a single word, without her having to plead for comfort. Showered her with love every single day.

Rowena couldn't have asked for anything — anyone — better, but still…

Why was it so hard for you to be a normal witch?

"It's not my fault," you said, trying — and failing, miserably so — to retain a serious face. "Maybe you should stop using the shampoo."

Rowena scowled. Wished she could find it in her to kill you for anyone else would surely be dead by now. "It's my bloody shampoo!"

"Oh."

Oh?

Oh?!

"Maybe you should stop reusing the bottles!" she snarled.

"It's much less wasteful this way," you said. "Besides, it's kinda cool."

"It is not 'cool' in any way, shape, or form. You are making a mockery of witchcraft."

You blinked. Snorted like a pig. "You're taking this way too seriously." Under your breath, you added, "For someone with bright pink hair."

"I'm taki—Are you joking?" Rowena said, outraged. Trying to ignore that last comment despite wanting to curse you out for the nerve alone. "Us witches have spent centuries rebuilding our reputation after our numbers dwindled during the trials, and this is what we get from witches today? Potions in shampoo bottles? Elixirs in bloody moisturizer containers?"

"I don't use moisturizer containers for—"

"That's besides the point!" She pointed a finger at you, nail bright red as her face. "You are a disgrace!"

Rowena wasn't sure what she expected. A sliver of self-reflection. A long, hard look at what you were doing. A promise you wouldn't do it anymore. Hell, even a simple nod in acknowledgment would have sufficed.

Out of everything, the last thing she thought you would do was burst into another fit of laughter.

Yet here you were, laughing as if you'd just heard the funniest joke in your entire life. Face buried in your hands to hide it, to hide yourself from Rowena's murderous glare. To protect yourself from judgment you knew would come your way.

"You know," you said, barely containing yourself to let the words out, "this would be a lot more epic if you had clothes on." An undignified snort. "And if your hair wasn't pink."

Rowena gaped. Fixed her stare on you, cold and deadly. Some audacity you had to talk to her like that. People revered her. Feared her. Thought twice before pissing her off. And here you were, mocking her to her face.

She'd given you too much freedom. From the moment you'd met, she'd never enforced her unspoken rules. Had never set boundaries and demanded respect. She supposed she always knew you were more than just another young witch tagging along, begging to learn her tricks. There was something different about you. Something — gods, she hated to admit it — special.

You fell in love with her, and had, in turn, taught her to love you back. Had shown her that it was okay, that it didn't have to hurt. That it was a strength rather than a weakness.

And now, when she was in deep, you laughed at her.

Rowena sighed. The things we allowed for love…

"There is no talking to you, is there?" she asked, completely and utterly defeated. She could teach you magic. She could teach you complicated spells and incantations, but she couldn't teach you how to properly store your potions. She could never make a proper, dignified witch out if you.

"I just don't get why you're making this an issue," you said.

Rowena could tell you didn't. You truly understood nothing. Had no respect for tradition. Witches today, honestly… "I'm—" She stopped herself before falling into another monologue you clearly didn't care for. Cleared her throat. Lowered her voice before saying, "Forget it. It's fine."

What point was there for arguing, for telling you — again — when you were clearly intent on not listening? You'd set your mind on doing things your way, and there was no changing it.

My stubborn wee lamb, Rowena thought, to her surprise, affectionately, cursing herself for being unable to stay mad at you. You were too stubborn for your own good. Too bloody strong-willed. A trait she admired, but, gods, it was frustrating to argue with you.

Maybe that was what she needed. Someone who wouldn't bow down to her. Someone who would stay strong and fight back against her silly demands, who would keep her feet firmly on the ground. Rowena couldn't deny she'd learned a lot from you. You'd helped her change. Helped her grow. Helped her become a better, kinder person. She would forever be grateful for that.

Just…

Why did you have to be such a bloody child?

"Could you at least put labels on your… creations?" she asked. Hoped with everything she had at least this one tradition you would be willing to obey.

What kind of a witch sorted her potions by bottles instead of names?

"Sure," you said.

Rowena breathed out in relief. "Now you are going to fix this." She pointed to her hair.

You chuckled. She was beginning to hate that sound. "Why me?"

"Because you did it."

"You're the one who took the wrong bottle."

"And you are the one who used the old bottle of my shampoo and left it in the bathroom."

"Fine," you conceded. A sly smirk bloomed on your mouth. "Can I take a picture first?"

"You cannot!" Rowena exclaimed, angry, offended at the mere thought. It was horrifying enough to have hair that glowed in the dark. But to have a picture of it? She shuddered. Who would want to remember this monstrosity?

You would. Your laugh said as much, and so did your hands as they reached for your phone and snapped a quick picture.

Rowena was fuming. "I am going to hex you!"

"No, you're not," you said nonchalantly.

She grunted like a trapped animal. You were right. She would not hex you. She would not do anything but glare and pout, and once you wrapped her up in your embrace, that would cease, as well.

Because she loved you. She was a fool in love, and she hated and loved it at the same time.

Some scary witch she was.

.....

Tags: @werewolfbarbie​ @oswinthestrange​ @songofthecagedmoose​ @apurdyfulmind​ @getthesalt-sam​ @metallihca​ @salembitchtrials​ @jay-eris​ @hellsmother​ @elizabeth-effie​ @shadowgirl-vsb​ @rowenaswife​ @wonderifshelikesroses​ @xfireandsin​ @liddell-alien​ @hotdiggitydammit​ @lae-lae​ @darkhumorsblog​ @angel7376​ @cherrypierowena​ @evil-regal-vampiress​ @hellbentredhead​ @angel-e-v-a​ @a-queen-and-her-throne​ @carryon-doctor-lock​ @fangirlxwritesx67​ @theeasterbilby​ @midnight-lestrange​ @osterhagen​ @impala-1979​ @gracib16​ @feelsandotps​

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 19: Informative

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Nineteen: Informative 

Note: Sorry for any lingering mistakes. I wrote this entirely on my phone during a road trip with a friend so that it would be done on time. It’s just been one of those busy weeks, you know? Anyway, sorry for any mistakes. I tried my best to spell-check it, but still.

(-~-)

Deciding to leave when they did had been perhaps the smartest thing they could have done, given the circumstances. As if on cue, the weather had taken an abrupt turn for the worst, a thick fog rolling in from the north that threatened to obscure their vision and keep them trapped where they were. The chilly air that it brought with it wasn't so much unpleasant as it was unexpected as the day had been warm for the season up until then.

Leaving their father and uncle to sort out things on their own was a no-brainer this time around. Normally they would take steps to make sure that their father didn't murder Dante, but this time they just couldn't be bothered. Someone had to convince Lucia and Sirrus that they were not a family of savage idiots that only moved to harm one another. Though in Lucia's case, she had probably come to some conclusion in regards to that long before they had met her. She and Dante we're old friends after all.

As they opened the front door to the office and headed towards the van, V stopped for a moment. Despite its abnormal timing, the cool air was a welcome respite from the weather in Lucia's homeland this time of year. It had been humid and got there, quite literally the polar opposite of the kind of weather that he tended to gravitate towards. No, he liked it just like this. A cool breeze and some optional rain or fog. He'll, even some snow was preferable to the humid nightmare that was the more tropical corner of the world that they had just vacated. He didn't even have the right type of clothes for that sort of place, and much like his younger sibling, he didn't exactly tan. That was entirely enough for him.

Just as he stepped towards the lower part of the stairs, a hand reached out and tapped him in the shoulder, taking him entirely off guard. Turning to face whoever had just touched him, he couldn't help but allow his confusion to become evident on his face. It was rare that other members of the team touched him, and it was even rarer that his father so much as came near another person at all, let alone made physical contact with them. And no, using Yamato to impale or otherwise harm them didn't count. What strange Lovecraftian nightmare was this?

Turning to face him fully, V gave him a perplexed look, unsure as to what this could be about. He'd never really seen Vergil make… whatever the face was that he was making at the moment. He seemed almost amused, and that wasn't an emotion that he could honestly say he'd ever really been able to associate with his father. While he was aware that he did, in fact, possess a sense of humor, he couldn’t say that he fully understood it or was able to accurately guess what he might actually find entertaining. But he'd clearly done something that the older devil slayer found at least somewhat amusing, so that was a place to start.

"Did you need something?" V asked calmly, unsure as to how to take this sudden shift in his father's generally calm and somewhat cold persona. He was used to Vergil being more… predictable. And right now, he was anything but that. Despite the fact that he knew this didn’t pose a threat of any sort to him, he just couldn’t shake the strange, insidious feeling that he felt brewing in the very pit of his stomach. It was as if a knot that he couldn’t untangle had manifested within the very depths of his core, and he couldn’t place its location any more than he could understand its underlying cause.

Giving him an almost knowing look, Vergil glanced momentarily in Lucia's general direction, his eyes lingering on her for a moment as he seemed to quietly consider something. V had to turn in her direction to see that his father was even looking at her in the first place since his back was to the van and he was facing the large office doors that Vergil had decided to lean against. After a moment, the Darkslayer crossed his arms, looking at his son with a slightly more serious look than he had possessed a moment ago. It seemed that whatever he’d been thinking, he was about to actually express in words.

"... I've noticed that you seem to have feelings for that girl. Dante's friend. Were you planning to act upon them, or simply pine fruitlessly from a safe distance." Vergil inquired calmly, his slightly humored demeanor resurfacing slightly as he seemed to make a consorted effort to actually hide it. He clearly found something about this very entertaining, but he wasn't going to say as much. At least not at the moment. 

V's entire mental process instantly stalled like an overheating car engine. He genuinely regretted the fact that he had not just taken the opportunity to leave and head to the van with the others when he had the chance. Were they actually having this conversation right now? Because it sure as hell seemed like they were. And did this even count as a conversation? Normally it required at least two people for a conversation to take place, and he couldn't will himself to speak a single word. Vergil took that opportunity to continue.

"Because if that was indeed your plan of action, I feel somewhat inclined to point out that it would get you nowhere. Inaction normally has that effect. I would be remiss to not take the opportunity to remind you of that, regardless of the fact that you are intelligent enough to have figured that out for yourself by now." He continued nonchalantly, either not noticing the slightly wide eyes, pupal dilated, utterly flabbergasted expression, or shear and unadulterated horror on his eldest son's normally neutral face or genuinely not caring. Either way, that wasn’t going to stop him from making his opinion on the matter known, regardless of how much he was sure his son probably wanted it to.

The young white-haired summoner attempted to force his brain to conjure up some meaningful response to what would otherwise be a simple inquire for his father, but the mixture of confusion and horror that he found himself in was entirely too strong to allow for that level of cognitive function. How had his father even noticed that? Was it that obvious? Was he actually that bad at hiding his thoughts? In truth, he wasn't entirely sure as to whether or not his absentminded meandering in regards to Lucia was the result of the fact that he found her undeniably lovely, or something more than that, but the fact that Vergil could tell that he felt anything towards her at all was admittedly startling to him. What if Lucia had noticed as well. He didn't want her getting any sort of incorrect notions as to his intentions, especially when he didn't fully understand what his intentions were in the first place.

"Wh… why would you ask me something like that?" V asked breathlessly, unsure as to what else he could even say about the matter. This entire situation was highly irregular. Or was it? Did fathers normally question their sons about matters that pertained to their love life, especially when those sons were adults? Truthfully, V didn't have any prior knowledge as to the legitimacy of that fact. He'd never had any friends to ask or even see this happen to, and it had never been a thought that had crossed his mind. But one thing that he did know was that this was an exceedingly uncomfortable topic of conversation, and every second that he took part in it, willing or unwilling (and it was most certainly unwilling), he could feel himself die inside, aging little by little until he lost all cognitive function and simply ceased to exist any longer.

Seemingly slightly confused as to his son's reaction, Vergil folded his arms and blinked slowly for a moment. Yes, it seemed that V absolutely had no idea what he was getting at, did he? The eldest Son of Sparda liked to think that he had a pretty good line in gauging others’ reactions and body language in regards to trying to find out if they were being truthful or deceptive, and he couldn’t say that he thought that his son was lying. If anything, he seemed genuinely shocked that he had asked him a question of this sort, and Vergil was both further amused and slightly confused by his son's intense mental backpedaling. Was this topic of conversation really that horrifying to him? Because that would explain quite a bit about V's overall reaction to it.

"Perhaps because I noticed that you invited her to your home. And your total inability to stop looking at her with that lost expression or your face or so much as form a complete sentence in her presence. There are several factors at play here. Do not insult my intelligence. I am not blind." Vergil paused for a moment, noticing the fact that V seemed both physically and mentally exhausted by the very concept of having this conversation. Was his oldest child absorbing even a monochrome of the wisdom that he was trying to impart upon him? "And I am willing to imagine that she is not blind, either. It would be a miracle if she hadn't at least clued into your affections for her by this point. It might be best to simply tell her. If you can get your brain to function in her presence for that long, that is. And I have my doubts."

If he had been a slight bit less physically sick from the conversation that he was taking part in at that moment, he probably would have been somewhat insulted by that comment. But instead, he just nodded involuntarily, his subconscious eager to produce some sort of meaningful reaction to his father's advice. He wasn't really sure if it had achieved the desired result, or simply served to make him look even less intelligent than he was willing to assume he probably looked at the moment, but he couldn't make himself dwell on that long enough to care, even though he knew that he should.

"Thank you?" V said in an unsure tone, entirely unsure as to what he was supposed to say in this situation. All he knew was that he wanted to get out of this situation as quickly as possible, and that the others were waiting for him in the van. His absence was probably starting to seem slightly suspicious, and the last thing he wanted to do was have to explain why his father had held him up for this long. "We are absolutely not having this conversation right now, father. We have to go, and I am holding up the others. I must go before they began to question what is taking me so long."

As he glanced towards the van, he felt the need to add something before. "By the way… please don't say anything to her on my behalf until I figure out how to produce. I beag of you. I need time to think, and I would probably die from pure mortification alone."

Vergil looked somewhat frustrated by that statement. "That is not biologically possible. Dying from embarrassment isn't something that you can physically do. And you tend to take longer than they do to arrive at a destination as it currently stands regardless, V. But very well." Vergil cringed internally as he saw the somewhat questioning look on V's face. Sometimes his eloquent thoughts did not translate well to actual spoken dialogue, especially in regards to situations where he wasn't actually trying to sound like a petulant unfeeling cold bastard. And yet, here he was, doing just that yet again. Was this an involuntary action on his part?

The younger man stared at him for a momnet, almost physically combing through his thoughts as he tried to come up with a satisfactory reassessment of himself. Did he actually walk that slow? He liked to think that he didn't. While he was aware that he did in fact walk at a speed that was lacking when compared to the rest of his compartiots, he didn't think that it was that slow. Did the others notice and simply not point it out to him out of a sense of politeness, and his father was the only one who actually had the never to point it out to him? Because now that he thought about it, that was entirely possible. They were all generally quite kind to him, even when making fun of him as Nico liked to do from time to time. But Vergil didn't possess such qualms.

"Disregard my former statement. It was not entirely factual." Vergil sighed, turning to look back through the door that he was behind before looking forwards again. "I would advise you to seek Nero's consol in regards to these sorts of matters. You’re clearly not going to take in anything meaningful that I am trying to imprint upon you, and he has at least made it a bit farther in that regard than you have at present. I may simply be out of touch. According to Dante, I'm "old."

For a moment, V stared at his father. A sympathetic look crossed his face as he considered the ramifications of that statement, and the strange sorrow in his father's tone of voice as he spoke those words. He couldn't be entirely sure as to why, but it seemed that his father genuinely didn't like being considered older. Perhaps it was simply a result of the narrative that he might be out of touch, or something as profound as being a personification of the deep regret that he probably felt in regards to the things that he could no longer experience. His youth was indeed gone, along with the opportunities unique to it, but somehow he knew that this wasn't about that. The younger man had literally no way to know for sure without asking his father, and that was off the table at the moment. But what he did know was that he might be able to say or do something, anything to help.

Reaching out with a mixture of reluctance and uncertainty, V placed his hand on Vergil's shoulder. He admittedly expected him to pull away it react in anger in some way, but he decided to take the risk regardless. After all, he was unlikely to physically harm him over the gesture, and he was used to being rejected in regards to this sort of thing. But to his surprise, all his father did was give him a curious look, allowing his gaze to wander up to his arm, following the thin limb up to his fingers until he seemed to mentally register that V had indeed just voluntarily touched him. He then looked back at V quietly, seemingly unsure of what to really say about the matter at hand.

"... You’re not old. At least I don't think so. I'd like to imagine you still have quite a bit of life left in you. It’s a mindset more than it is a physical condition, at least as far as I am concend. But it’s not my place to say that. You can believe whatever it is that you want to believe. You've earned that right a few times over by this point." He turned back towards the van, taking a reluctant step down the first step as he released his father’s shoulder and allowed the limp appendage to fall back toward his side. "I have to leave now. If you are both still alive come morning, please make your way over. It may be easier to make whatever preparation you wish to make in a place with power. And running water, for that matter. Something tells me that you might not have that, either. Dante seems to fail to pay his utility bills in batches. But until then, have a good night. And please… never bring this topic of conversation up again."

While he understood why his father had done so, he was somewhat sure that he rather die than allow his father to give him "the talk". It was a horrifying concept that literally aged him to the point where he lost years of his life, and he never wanted to revisit it again. He had no idea what had possessed his normally quiet father to make him even r=bring this up instead of watching in the background like he would like to assume he did, but he hoped that whatever that force of nature was, it left and never returned. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy speaking to his father, it was that this was far from the topics of conversation that he felt comfortable discussing with literally anyone else aside from the person they were directed towards, and even the, that was a stretch.

Vergil nodded in regards to his son's words. While he was not sure yet if he would humor his request or press the issue, he would leave it alone. He allowed his hand to drift almost absentmindedly to the place where his son's hand had been only a minute ago, letting it linger there momentarily as he watched the van pull off down the street and around the corner, disappearing from sight. He was now starting to wonder if he had been somewhat mistaken in regards to which of his sons was actually the intelligent one. Or perhaps they were just equally unintelligent in regards to romance. But he had to assume that there was a certain charm to that, even it if was somewhat pathetic in nature. But that was enough of that for now. He had tried. 

Now to see to maters with Dante. And he had a feeling that there would be a reckoning store for him.

(-~-)

Do you hear that sound? That’s the sound of V dying inside because his dad just tried to bring up his love life in a conversation with him. Poor thing! And we thought that Dante not having power was bad… see you all next week on Wednesday! I hope you liked this chapter! Bye bye!

[mchutchmendes]

Island Records

Hi everyone. So I wrote a thing. A Shawn Mendes thing. My first Shawn pic so please be kind and let me know what you think.

BIGGEST of thank you’s to my girl, @shawnase for encouraging me to write and for editing and your feedback and love! I appreciate it! 

Warnings? Idk how to do these...swearing? Just super awkward fluff? 

Reader's POV

“So all you have to do when the phone rings is answer and say ‘Thank you for calling Island Records how may I help you?’ If they want to be transferred to someone, check to make sure whomever they are looking to speak to isn’t in a meeting or on their ‘do not transfer to me list’. If you aren’t sure what they are asking for just put them on hold and ask someone for help.”

“Uhh what do I do if the person is on their ‘do not transfer list’?” you asked nervously, tucking a piece of hair behind ear and out of our face. You were only minutes into your new job as a secretary for Island Records. You were trying to keep your ‘first day jitters’ under wraps but Chelsea, who was training you, was running through everything so fast you couldn’t keep up. You could feel the nervous sweat start to glisten on your brow and hoping you weren’t sweating through the white blouse you wore. You were already regretting wearing your somewhat tight pencil skirt on your first day, making it hard to breathe where it hugged your waist. But you wanted to go for the classic secretary and okay you'll admit it, cliché, look on your first day as a secretary.

“You just tell them they are out of the office right now or in a meeting and send them right to voicemail. Look you can see everyone’s extensions and schedules right here,” Chelsea points nonchalantly to the calendar on the desktop in front of you as you try to scribble down notes of everything she is saying furiously.

“You’ll be fine. This job is easy as pie. I will be in meetings all day but if you need me come find me.” Chelsea waved a hand so casually in the air as she floated off down one of the many hallways of this maze of an office building.

Great. Yeah I will be sure to interrupt your meetings if I need help transferring a call. You took in a heavy sigh and started sifting through the papers on your new desk trying to mask the panic that was surely written on your face.

Grabbing the travel mug of coffee you brought with you, the cup being the size of your face, which thankfully was not accidentally left on the counter at home on your bolt out the door, you closed your eyes and took a sip trying to calm your nerves. Setting the mug down on the desk you grabbed the stack of papers next to you, the ones Chelsea left you for instructions with “what to do if” scenarios. You heard the front door chime as someone entered the lobby of the building and you immediately started to sweat, more than you already were. At that same moment the phone started ringing off the hook, making you jump out of your own skin and accidentally knock your coffee over spilling it all over your brand new desk’s contents and computer. Immediately leaping out of your chair, you grab the phone and in a panicked rushed voice saying “Island Records y/n speaking, please hold,” putting the call on hold and slamming it back down into the receiver.

“Fuck me!” you moan falling back into your chair as you frantically grab Kleenex to try to soak up the coffee dripping everywhere, trying to salvage anything you can.

Pulling you out of your own misery comes a mans voice, “I’m sorry?” You had forgotten you were not alone in the lobby of the office, adding a whole new rush of nerves and you could feel the heat rise to your cheeks.

Still dabbing up spilled coffee from your desk, your face turning 500 shades of red from embarrassment, you slowly look up to see the man in front of you. Your eyes glance up his toned body finally reaching his face that had a small smirk settled on his lips. He was a thin man but broad and muscular with the most beautiful head of dark brown curly locks you had ever seen. But what your eyes settled on past his deliciously rosy cheeks were his soft honey-like hazel eyes.

“Oh god! I am so sorry you heard me say that,” you mentally scold yourself for swearing so loud in your first hour on the job, “How can I help you?” you sincerely ask the strangely familiar face, stopping mid dab of the coffee pooling on your desk.

A sweet chuckle escaped his full lips “I think I should be asking you that!” As he lurched forward towards the Kleenex box to help you attempt to salvage what is left on your desk. Missing the tissue box by mere centimeters, his tattooed hand bumps into your already half empty coffee mug, spilling it all down the front of your white blouse and into your lap. Your eyes snapped shut as you felt whatever remained of the burning hot liquid pour out all over your body, you reached your hand down to pick up the problematic mug and set it back onto your desk hopefully once and for all.

With the most horrified look on his face your eyes both lock for a moment both of you unsure what to do next. Time stood still, a few seconds felt like hours, just the two of you alone in this agonizing moment. This excruciating embarrassing moment, but a moment nonetheless.

Feeling the coffee seep further into your clothes, your white v-neck blouse starting to stick to your chest and surely making it look like you were the newest contestant in a wet T-shirt contest. You notice his eyes dip down to take in your now more well defined curves and see his tongue dart out to wet his bottom lip ever so slightly.

Your brain tried to quickly assess what the hell had just happened in quite possibly the worst minute of your life. Trying to hold back tears over the fact that you now have to spend the rest of your first day on your new job with your newly tan, no longer white top smelling like a Starbucks barista.

“Oh shit. I am so sorry about that!” the beautiful stranger said pulling you out of your thoughts. His cheeks seemed to fill with even more color now than before. “I only meant to help stop the damage on your desk and now I ruined your clothes too,” he finished with a sad look in his eyes as he looked you up and down. Something about his eyes on you made your body temperature rise and you knew it had nothing to do with the hot coffee spilled all over you.

“Oh pfft that’s okay its no big deal, honestly” you brushed him off trying to play it cool going back to cleaning your desk you picked up papers to try to see what you could save if air-dried. Remembering your actual job in this building you shook your head to clear your mind of the past few moments “oh shoot I am sorry how can I help you again?”

“Oh right” he chuckled running his fingers through his long dark curls pushing them up and out of his face, “I have a meeting at 9:30. My name is Shawn,” as he stuck out a hand to shake yours looking at you expectantly waiting for you to return the exchange.

Hesitating to return the gesture, you assumed most of the people you interacted with in this job would not bat an eyelash at who you were, let alone introduce themselves you. Finally you returned the greeting taking his outstretched hand in yours, “Y/N”.

The most delicious smile curled on his lips as he repeated “Y/N” quietly to himself and it felt like electricity coursing through your body as you felt his warm soft touch in your hand. Getting lost in his gaze you shake your head, breaking yourself free of his trance, dropping his hand immediately missing the warmth of his touch on your skin.

“Right okay…. 9:30 meeting. Let me just take a look here” as you rifle through the papers on your desk, “I am sorry I am a such mess – besides the spilled coffee I mean- today is my first day so I don’t really know where anything is…” you trail off trying to fill the air while you frantically search your desk for the calendar.

Shawn leans on your desk, arms crossed and a smirk playing on his lips, watching you struggle to find something that will help give you a clue as to what the day’s meetings were.

“A-ha! Got it!” finally with a triumphant smile you pulled out the schedule calendar already open to today’s events you run your finger down the day looking for a Shawn, “hmm oh okay here it is 9:30 meeting for Mr. Turner with……Shawn Mendes” you say as his name slowly rolls off your tongue. Shawn. Mendes. Fuck. That’s why he looked so familiar!

“Yep, you’ve got me, Y/N” as he leans back and stands up straight, hearing your name again come from his full lips sounding like sweet honey.

Surely a new color of red was just invented for the shade your cheeks had turned as you replayed the last few minutes you’d spent with him. Wondering how you could be so dumb, how you were unable to piece together who he was – you are a secretary at a record label for cryin’ out loud.

“Okay….cool. Shawn Mendes, yeah great….um please take a seat and I will let someone know you are here,” you wave over to the empty couches to your right, offering him a seat. Not believing the sentence that just came out of your mouth. Totally normal, we got this y/n act cool. Shawn Mendes standing in front of you just like any other Monday morning.

Shawn smiles politely at you, bringing a hand up through his curls, starting towards the couches before turning back to you. “Listen I feel really bad about spilling coffee all over you. Is there something I can do to make it up to you, Y/N?” He asks with the softest eyes and biggest puppy dog look on his face.

“Oh no. I’ll be fine, thank you though.”

Walking back over to your desk closing the space between you, “Are you sure? Your white shirt is a mess… oh I know here take my shirt” he says as he starts to lift his shirt over his head, you can see just the start of his six pack abs and the start of his V taking your gaze lower on his body.

Stopping yourself from drooling and from having Shawn Mendes stripping in the lobby of your building – not that you really wanted to stop him- you rush to reach your hands out to stop his arms from lifting his shirt any further up his body. “Really! I am sure! Thank you though, I really appreciate the gesture.”

Creating space between the two of you, you hastily walk back over to your desk trying to get this conversation back onto a professional level, “I will let someone know you are here Mr. Mendes. Someone will be down shorty to take you to your meeting.” Clicking on the schedule on your desktop to check Shawn into the building, notifying Mr. Turner that Shawn was here for their meeting

“Mr. Mendes?” Shawn looked taken aback, hand on his chest acting as if you had offended him, “Don’t get formal on me now y/n, please just call me Shawn,” he said as he took a seat on one of the couches, staring at you intently from across the room with a smirk plastered on his lips.

“Right, sorry Shawn. They will be down to get you shortly,” you said with a polite tight smile. Trying to remain professional and keep whatever poise you had left after what had transpired before.

You busied yourself with your desk trying to finish cleaning up the mess that had been made. Avoiding looking in his general direction felt like a forced game that you didn’t want to be playing, wanting nothing more than to just eye him from your desk. Any time you felt brave enough to glance in his direction his gaze was burning into you and immediately made you look away. Feeling goosebumps arise on your skin just from the way his eyes bore into you.

The minutes that it took for Chelsea to come grab Shawn to escort him to his meeting felt like an eternity.

As he got up from the couch to go with Chelsea to his meeting, he strode over to you one last time.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, y/n,” the word ‘pleasure’ rolling off his tongue in a sinful way, “sorry again about your coffee. Oh and by the way, you still have someone on hold.”

“Oh shit!” You squealed reaching for the phone receiver, completely forgetting about the person you put on hold from coffee spill number one. He chuckled devilishly as he walked away enjoying getting one last panicked rise out of you.

——————————————

Shawn’s POV

Concentration was at an all time low during this meeting about a few of your upcoming shows and some PR that was planned. Your mind traveling back down to the main lobby to the secretary that had just run your emotions through the ringer.

Sinful thoughts crossed your mind during your meeting and there was little you could do about it. The way that when you had regretfully, but in a way thankfully, spilled coffee all down her front seeing the way her shirt clung to her chest, leaving little to the imagination. Trying to keep yourself calm at the thought of getting to see her hopefully without her shirt on as she lay underneath you.

The way her skin glistened as the coffee dipped down her front. Wondering if her skin would shine just the same if you had her in your shower.

The way her cheeks became flushed and rosy anytime you came within close proximity to her, wondering to yourself if those sweet full cheeks would could go a shade redder as you get her to scream your name for the first time.

The way her skin felt so soft to the touch just by a mere handshake. Almost salivating at the thought of running your hands over every possible inch of her body.

Even just the shape of her body perfectly formed in her pencil skirt showing off her well-defined curves.  You could feel the blood rushing down south and yourself hardening at the fantasy of one day getting to push that skirt up her thighs and taking her right on her desk.

The way that her- “Shawn? Does that sound good to you?”

Snapping you out of your fantasy and the blood rush to your face in slight embarrassment, “Hmm? Sorry- yeah that all sounds great.”

As you tried to stay focused for the remainder of your meeting, your thoughts drifted back to Y/N every so often, trying to keep your thoughts more innocent to avoid walking out of your meeting with a hard on. You wracked your brain on how to talk to her again.

Once your meeting was finally complete, feeling like every minute in there was an hour, you made your way down on the elevator and tried your best to linger in the lobby without being too obvious. Finding new interest in whatever three month old magazine was left near the waiting area, you were carefully watching Y/N out of the corner of your eye, waiting for your moment to approach her. But it seemed like today was this was the place to be. Y/N was answering the phone that seemed to ring once every 30 seconds or directing guests once checked in to the waiting area couches, where you were patiently waiting for her.  You'd never know it was her first day with how well she seemed to handle herself after this mornings coffee catastrophe. You had caught her eye a few times and exchanged flirtatious smiles back and forth. Watching her work was a show in of its own, giving your thoughts some extra fuel for later when you were home alone. Taking a break from oogling the secretary, looking at the numerous messages you'd missed from Andrew, you realized you had been meandering around the lobby of your record label for a half hour longer than you should have been just to try to talk to her. You had been so caught up in her that you were now running late for another meeting and bolted for the front door.

----------------------------------------------

Reader's POV

Shawn had been sitting in the lobby like a patient puppy waiting his turn, eagerly returning your smile any time you were able to steal a glance over at him.

You had been so busy that morning with learning the ropes of your new job and handling the steady stream of traffic that seemed to endlessly flow in and out of your front doors that you barely had a chance to offer another thought to this morning’s mishap. So Shawn reappearing and trying to nonchalantly linger in the lobby came as a surprise. At first you wondered if he was waiting for someone but as he sat there and made small talk with random guests, making no move to leave for the better part of twenty minutes you were a little dumbfounded. He cannot possibly be waiting here for me... he is Shawn Freakin' Mendes and I am no one! Shaking the thought from your mind you answered the never ending ringing phone, "Island Records, this is Y/N , how can I help you?"

A few more minutes passed and you seemed to have caught a lull in the chaos. You expectantly look up from your desk hoping to see chocolate curls waiting for you but the smile on your face drops as your eyes scan the room, realizing that he's no longer there. Ha. See. I knew it, it was all in your head. No way in hell he was waiting here for me.

Chalking this morning's events up to being an embarrassing freak accident on your first day, one story I am sure your friends will beg you to tell over and over to get a good laugh, you went about surviving the rest of your day. To be fair, you thought the day went pretty well. You only hung up a few calls, on accident of course and only managed to transfer one person that was on a 'do not transfer list', so all in all it could have gone worse.

Watching patiently as the clock hit 5pm, the most beautiful hour of the day meaning you were home free, you grabbed your bags and tried your best non-sprint but really was a sprint for the front door. Walking out the door with your attention drawn to your bag as you searched for your cell phone and headphones, your body comes to a screeching halt as it bumps into something. The something that you clumsily ran into made an "oof" sound. Immediately apologizing to whoever you just bodychecked, "Fuck my bad. Shit! I am so sorry that was totally my fault! I wasn't paying attention" you finished as you finally looked up at who you just hit, who was now emitting the most beautiful chuckle at your expense.

Shawn. Mendes. This guy again? What the actual hell. Confusion visibly running all over your face, you try to cut to the chase as to why he was reappearing in your day for the third time. "Oh, uh, hey Shawn, you probably don't remember me...Y/N, we met earlier, you might recognize me from the coffee stained look I was going for this morning," you rambled on as you gestured to your tanned outfit. Forgetting what you were trying to get at as he had put his hand on your forearm to steady you from your head on collision, feeling the warmth of his hand spread through your body like wildfire. "Did...did you forget something inside? I can try to call someone to unlock the door to get it fo-"

"No, no no," he cut you off thankfully, to save yourself from spewing nonsense for the next minute. "I actually came back to try to catch you leaving. I waited to see you before but forgot about another meeting I had."

He barely finished his sentence before you countered, "Wait. What? Why?" Taking the bewildered expression written on your face to a whole new level.

"Well I still feel bad about earlier and wanted to see if I could make it up to you.....so are you free tonight?"

"Oh, Shawn, I'm sorry," you say taken aback by his request, "I actually have dinner plans tonight, I'm going out to celebrate surviving my first day."

Watching the smile drop from his face causing a pang to strike your chest, "Right! Of course, I am sure your boyfrie-"

"Nope. No. Single. No boyfriend here," you cut him off before he can even think about finishing the word. Smooth. Fucking smooth. If ever there was a face palm moment, this was it, wishing you could rewind the past 30 seconds to avoid sounding so desperate. "But I am free tomorrow," you recover your misstep.

The smile that beamed from his beautifully full lips caused butterflies to race through your body, "I was thinking I could take you out to grab some coffee?" he smirked.

Causing a snort to involuntarily escape your mouth, "How about we stick to water since it seems coffee is too much for either of us to handle."

[okietokiee]

Fic: Hjönk, Hjönk

Pairing: Skwisgaar Skwigelf/Toki Wartooth

Rating: M

I was really inspired by @picklespunchedme @bittebecca @sonderrbeee ‘s various fan art of clown!Skwisgaar 😳 thanks so much for letting me write a fic based on your gorgeous art!! 💕 

Summary: 

Skwisgaar makes some especially harsh remarks which cause Toki to start avoiding him, and the lack of contact is really starting to make the Swede’s sex drive go absolutely haywire. 

Fortunately, Skwisgaar comes up with a genius (albeit horrifyingly embarrassing) plan to make it up to his hot-tempered boyfriend lover. 

And Toki positively loves it. Perhaps a little too much. 

——————

Skwisgaar knew he had fucked up. 

After countless years of brutally harsh, biting criticisms and demeaning insults, Toki had finally had it. Normally he was able to take Skwisgaar’s comments, admittedly not always in a stride, but with minimal bloodshed (most of the time). And he wasn’t even completely sure what was different about today, about the disparaging remarks he’d grown used to throwing out daily. 

Maybe it was the stress of having to record a whole knew album from scratch? The stress of the rising tensions becoming so goddamn obvious lately? He knows he’s not the smartest person around, but you’d have to be blind to not see the cracks forming in their band’s already fragile dynamics. He knows it’s not just affecting Nathan and Pickles.

But whatever the underlying causes were, all it took was an offhand, “That’s was fuckins dildos, dos it agains idiots,” during a slow-moving rehearsal to get Toki raging like a spoiled five-year-old kid told that no, he could not have candy for dinner. 

After screeching and using his flying-V to destroy a fair amount of their studio and sound equipment, Toki had tired himself out and retired to his bedroom. 

He’d also taken to avoiding him for the past week. And maybe the Skwisgaar from a few years ago wouldn’t have (outwardly) cared so much, but ever since they’d shared an earth-shattering, momentous night together just months before, they’d both been inhabiting the same bed for a majority of nights. 

And, though Skwisgaar would rather die a painful death by firing squad than admit it to anyone, Toki had been the only person he’d been sleeping with ever since that night. He loathed to label it as anything serious, but that didn’t change the fact that he was painfully reluctant to break this surprising streak of faithfulness, his longest one yet. 

However, regardless of how much he didn’t want to sleep with anyone that wasn’t a dopey Norwegian guitar player with a penchant for tantrums and hissy fits, that didn’t change the fact that his sex drive was going fucking haywire. 

Storming into the Mordhaus living room, he irritably asked, “Has anyones seens our dildos rhythm guitarist?”

“Eh, I think he went out drinkin’ with thet clown again,” a stoned out Pickles mumbled from the couch. 

“Whats!? I thoughts we puts a restrainings orders on dat creep!”

Nathan sighed from a nearby desk, putting down his book. “Yeah, we did. But you know that kid. He just loves those fucking clowns.”

That unfortunate string of words made an idea pop up in Skwisgaar’s head. 

“…coulds you repeats dat?”

“I said he loves those goddamn clowns.”

“Nos, de odder words!”

Nathan glared, confused. “Those fucking clowns?” 

Skwisgaar grinned manically. “Ja! Dat weirdos loves fucking clowns!”

Pickles could be heard potentially dying of laughter a few feet away. 

Nathan narrowed his eyes, a disgusted grimace on his mouth. “I know you suck at English Skwisgaar, but ugh. That’s some brutal imagery.” 

Skwisgaar, ever the trooper, did not let the revolting thoughts affect him, as his plan was coming to fruition in his mind. Yes, Toki was annoyingly fond of childish gimmicks, clowns included. Toki could never even stay mad at Dr. Rockso, an old drugged-up, strung-out rock-and-roll clown, no matter what shit that creepy asshole put him through.

Yes, he knew what he had to do. He didn’t like it one bit, and it could potentially ruin his reputation completely if word ever got out that he even considered this.

But… 

Skwisgaar bit his lip, his thoughts suddenly full of brown whiskers and childish giggles. 

It would be worth it.

——————

Hours later, Skwisgaar was regretting every single choice he’d ever made in life that had led up to this point. He felt like a fool and looked like one too.

His only solace was that the random klokateer he’d ordered to find him this costume was no longer capable of ever blabbing his secret to anyone, at least in any way that involved a functional mouth. Or hands. 

And now he found himself pacing around Toki’s small room, waiting for the little dildo to get back home. The sound of his baggy blue and yellow pants swishing and the stomping of his large red shoes did nothing to alleviate his growing anxiety. 

Skwisgaar scratched at his neck, careful not to smudge any of the meticulously applied clown make-up he’d taken an hour to perfect. He was vaguely grateful that his experience with corpse paint made this endeavor slightly easier, but also horrified at exactly how naturally circus make-up came to him. 

As he was pondering his deteriorating mental state, he heard the door creak open and a surprised, ear-shattering, absolutely delighted squeal. 

Toki crashed face-first into his chest, holding tighter than a newborn koala to its mother. 

“Oh Odin! Yous a real cool clowns Skwisgaar!” Toki gleefully said, nuzzling the red ruffles around his neck. 

Skwisgaar was glad his red cheeks were camouflaged by the blindingly white paint. 

“Eugh… Ja, I guess I ams,” the Swede nonchalantly agreed, not meeting his lover’s eyes. 

Toki paused from his snuggling, and gazed adoringly up at Skwisgaar’s embarrassed face. 

“Skwisgaar… Dids you do dis because you know Tokis been mads at yous?”

Skwisgaar coughed awkwardly and avoided his gaze. “Maybes if a dumb dildos hadn’t beens avoidins me for sos long, it woulds not haves come to dis…”

Toki smirked. “Yous just proving Toki needs to do dat more often.” 

“Fucks you-!”

“Okej,” Toki cut him off with a contented sigh, cuddling into Skwisgaar’s colorful, silky costume even more.

This was the closest they’d been in a week, and Skwisgaar’s body was responding rather excitedly to their close proximity. 

Toki giggled, feeling the growing hardness coming from Skwisgaar’s loose trousers, and he pulled the Swede over to the bed and pushed him down, crawling right on top of him and going in for a deep, fervent kiss. With the right angle, Toki was able to avoid dislodging the bright red clown nose on his lover’s face. 

With a few well-practiced maneuvers Skwisgaar was able to bring Toki down to only his underwear, but when he made movements to remove his own ridiculous clothes he was stopped by a firm hold. 

“Nos, keeps it on.” Toki’s flushed, erotic expression was very convincing. 

“Ja, fines…” Skwisgaar groaned, canting his hips up, desperate for any kind of friction. 

Toki smiled, reaching for the lube that has been ever-present at his bedside table for the past few months. He took a moment to take in Skwisgaar’s smudged clown make-up and gorgeous, smoldering expression. The juxtaposition was disorienting. 

“Skwisgaar…?” 

“Ja Tokis?” 

“Do yous maybe… I knows we havent’s dones it likes dis yet, but,” Toki mumbled, his face red and expression coquettish, “I think I wants to tries to take it.”

Skwisgaar was at a loss for words, his mind (and body) already overheating. So far Toki had been the only one topping, citing his lack of experience with men and dislike of being dominated as his main reasons for wanting to avoid switching positions. And Skwisgaar hardly cared, always being very satisfied by Toki’s eager enthusiasm.

But the thought of finally being able to become so wholly one with Toki had Skwisgaar’s head spinning and heart racing. 

“Of course älskling, as long as yous ready,” Skwisgaar said, rubbing circles on Toki’s naked hips. 

Toki’s eager nodding was answer enough and then he wiggled out of his underwear. 

Skwisgaar leaned forward to get a hold of the lube, but Toki pushed him back down. 

“Yous just watch for nows,” Toki murmured with a sweet smile, opening the lube to prepare himself. 

Skwisgaar couldn’t handle watching a mewling, trembling Toki Wartooth preparing himself for long without feeling like he was going to literally explode into a cloud of confetti. The Swede pushed his own baggy pants down, not fully taking it off but exposing his painfully erect manhood. He moaned, giving himself a few strokes as he continued watching his lover teasing him. 

Finally, after what felt like eternity, Toki stopped and got another generous dollop of lube for Skwisgaar Jr. before lining himself up on the Swede’s lap. 

Skwisgaar watched enraptured as Toki slowly lowered himself down with a seductive whine and several sensuous movements of his hips. 

“Ah, fuckins hell Toki,” Skwisgaar cried, thrusting up desperately. 

Toki reciprocated in kind with more moans and wet, raunchy kisses, ruining a good portion of Skwisgaar’s make-up. 

As it was getting especially intense, their movements both in sync and frantic, Toki leaned down and did something incredibly peculiar and, honestly, kind of hot, at least to Skwisgaar’s current fucked-out-of-his-mind state. 

“Hjönk, hjönk,” Toki murmured with a smile as he squeezed the large, squeaky clown nose on Skwisgaar’s face with something akin to reverence. All without once pausing his fast, unmerciful pace. 

Skwisgaar was too goddamn horny and in love to question this, and he just responded by increasing his thrusts as well as his volume. 

“Ah, for the loves of Odins, Toki I’ms gonna-” he punctuated with a shout, feeling Toki tighten around him. 

After a long moment of blissful euphoria for both of them, Toki collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily and sneaking a few affectionate kisses along his neck. 

“So ams guessings you not mads anymore?” Skwisgaar snickered, running his fingers through Toki’s now tangled, sexily-ruffled hair. 

Toki giggled and playfully gave Skwisgaar’s big red nose, which surprisingly hadn’t fallen off at all during their vigorous lovemaking, a few more squeezes, filling the small room with obnoxiously loud honking noises. 

“Nah, buts if you does something like dis every time I gets mad at yous then I gonnas make sure to be angry evens more oftens.” Toki chuckled, snuggling up to Skwisgaar’s now cum and sweat stained clown costume. 

Skwisgaar sighed, equal parts hopelessly exasperated and desperately fond. 

“Wells enjoys it while yous cans you dildo, dis ams not likelys to ever, ever happens again,” Skwisgaar said firmly. 

Toki grinned mischievously and lifted himself up.

“I thinks Toki cans change yous mind abouts dat,” he declared proudly, slipping out of bed to walk over to his nearby work desk. He leaned over it enticingly, ass up, giving Skwisgaar the most pornographic come-hither look the Swede had ever seen. 

“Comes over heres and let’s me convince yous,” Toki murmured suggestively, giving his cute butt a little shake. 

And that night was the first of many that the halls of Mordhaus were filled with the echos of passionate Scandinavian honking and lovemaking. 

——————

I don’t think Hjönk actually translates to anything but god I love that word LOL 

Also, sorry for any weird mistakes I didn’t catch! I’ll edit it and maybe add some extra stuff soon and then post it on ao3 :D