#TWO STICKS of butter are you for real!!!!! are you for real right now!!!! for EIGHT SERVINGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[gayabeilles]

trying to make a roux with gluten free flour and I got scared when I saw black flecks bc I thought I’d burned it but no.

worse.

I melted the goddamn whisk.

[notjustjavierpena]

The Making of Ellie - Part I: Baby-Making

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: This DILF!Joel piece has rotted my brain for 24 hours straight. I have had absolutely no break from thinking about this, and it’s never been easier to write something.

Summary: A look into how you and Joel’s relationship is going two years in. Joel’s POV on his never-ending love for you and his extreme baby fever.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 Smut (MDNI!), Joel’s POV, domesticated Joel Miller, Sarah makes an appearance!!!, tooth-rotting love and fluff, they’re crazy about each other, talk about birth control and ovulation, pussy eating (joel is a cunning linguist), fingering, bit of praise kink, dirty talk, bit of body worship, breeding kink, daddy kink (if you squint real hard), slow and sensual piv sex, intense orgasms, creampie, God they are in love

Word count: 4k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49183051

Song inspiration(!!!): Too Lost In You by Sugababes

Baby-Making

Joel comes home from work around the same time each day now — and it’s never after dinner time. He has made it his mission to make time for Sarah and you, cut down work since you moved in, because two working adults living in the house means that he can slow things down. 

His health has improved, his mood too, his fatigue has practically gone and Sarah has had more time to just be a kid, started playing soccer again, and has even taken up coaching the little league team now that she’s 16. It’s good for him. You are good for him. For both of them. 

He loves it. He takes the afternoon post-work ritual very seriously. Always texts if he should pick something up from the grocery store. Sometimes brings you flowers too, remembering that one time you’d said that you didn’t actually mind the cheap cellophane-wrapped bouquets. 

It’s interesting to him how natural it feels for him to slip right into domestic bliss with you because he never thought that he would get there again after Sarah’s mother. On top of it, he never considered himself a gentle thing, but after you, it’s like you kiss the calluses of him away. He is nothing but gentle now, even in his roughness. 

He throws the keys onto the side table by the front door after arriving home, shrugs off his jacket, and bends down to take off his boots. The sound makes you appear in the doorway. Joel notices that you’ve changed into gray sweatpants and a tank top with a strawberry on it since arriving home, basically removed anything from you that is professional and uncomfortable. Joel loves you like this because he is the only one who gets to enjoy you like this; relaxed and beautiful, hair in a messy bun on top of your head and fuzzy socks on your always-cold feet. He smiles at your radiance, then pads across the floor to kiss you hello. 

There’s something in your eyes; a flicker of mischief as you grab his wrist to look at his watch. With a grin that nearly sets his heart into overdrive, you hold his hand up so he can look at the time too. 

“It’s five minutes past,” you tut.

“Right, but I got ya something,” he says, reluctantly turning away from you to rummage through his jacket pocket. He fishes out a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup and you immediately snatch it from his hands, holding it close to your chest.

“Gremlin,” he teases and you stick out your tongue at him, “No needa hide it. ‘S too sweet for me anyway.” 

“I shall save it for later then,” you walk to the kitchen and open the top cabinet that holds the mugs. You stand on your toes to reach into the very back, shirt riding up just a little, and stash the chocolate cup for later consumption.  

“Hidden from Sa-rah, the candy thief,” you purposely pronounce her name wrong for dramatic purposes. Then you lower yourself onto the soles of your feet again, not bothering to pull your top down again. Joel watches the slight reveal of the dimples on your back.

“Right,” he chuckles. 

Dear Lord, he loves you so much that it is ridiculous. In a way that makes the future look better than it ever has because it’s no longer filled with uncertainty. He knows what’s going to happen; he’ll build a house for the three of you, he’ll marry you in the Texan spring and he’ll give you as many babies as you want. He’d do it all today if he could. 

“How was work?” You interrupt his thoughts by wrapping your soft hands around the nape of his neck, resting them there. You have rosy cheeks, feel warm against his skin, with love radiating from your fingertips. 

“Good, told Tommy to handle the next few clients. Some hotshot guy comin’ into the office tomorrow,” Joel tells you, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you closer. He thinks that you don’t actually care about any of this, but there’s no indication of boredom on your face.

“He building a castle or something?” You ask. 

“Somethin’ like that. Guy’s filthy rich but not from his own doin’, looking at blueprints at the end of the week. Should be interesting,” he continues, “Not that you care about that.”

“I do actually like hearing about your job,” you kiss him on the lips, peck them repeatedly until he cannot help himself and lifts you up to hug you tight. His arms rest along your back and his hands on your sides, fingers sprawled out underneath where your bra had been in the morning. You must’ve taken it off too. He loves you comfortable. 

“You just love my hands,” he retorts, nose against your cheek, “Don’t deny it. I see right through ya.”

“It’s definitely not completely wrong,” you admit when he sets you down again.

You walk back to the kitchen, too tempted by the knowledge of what is in your kitchen cabinet. You only take half, proclaiming some bullshit that you have to watch out for your blood sugar since one can never know when it’s going to get you.

Joel rolls his eyes, following you, “I can give ya some sugar.”

“Joel Miller!” You pretend to look shocked. He tastes the peanut butter in your mouth, pushes you against the counter. 

“Gross,” a teenage girl’s voice says.

“Oh right, Sarah’s home,” you announce sheepishly.

Joel pulls away to look at his daughter, “Hey kiddo. How was school?”

“You don’t care about that,” she smirks, “But if you must know, it was fine. No homework.” 

“That don’t sound like Mrs. uhhh…”

“Green, it’s Ms. Green, Dad,” Sarah says dramatically as she moves across the floor to put on shoes. Her tone turns taunting, “Go ahead and make out with your girlfriend. I’m going to soccer practice.”

“Have fun, Sarah! We’ll have dinner ready,” you chime in. 

“See ya, honey.”

The door closes behind her. The house grows quiet for a moment, but then the mischief is back in your eyes, “She’s seeing a boy.”

Joel nearly gets whiplash, not sure why his pulse spikes. He trusts his daughter to make good decisions and has taught her how since she was just a baby, “Nah, she ain’t. Just said she’s going to soccer practice.”

“Joel,” you sigh loudly, “It’s Tuesday.”

“So?”

“She has practice on Thursdays.” 

“Christ,” he runs a hand over his stubble, tries to keep his composure, and ignores the urge to send her a text. 

“But you know what?” You’re back in his personal space, tugging at his arms to make him hold you close again, “Such a fun coincidence. I’m also seeing a boy.”

Joel can feel the tension seeping out of him in an instant.

“Really? ‘Cause I’m seein’ a girl. She’s real pretty,” he wishes that he could show his past self how tooth-rottingly sweet he is being with you because he’d hate it. Though if past-Joel found out who he was treating like this, he’d instantly become a goner just like present-Joel is now. 

“‘S her sweet tooth, unhinged behavior that I love the most though,” he continues. 

You whine in his arms, lean your head back and it earns you a kiss on your neck, “Don’t be like that. Not when I’m ovulating. I’ll climb you like a tree.”

Oh.

Oh.

It may seem innocent but Joel knows this is how you play dirty. It suddenly explains a lot. The sweatpants, the rosy cheeks, the way you glow, no bra, the cravings, why Joel wants you so bad.

Joel wouldn’t say that he is controlled by biology, and he hates the men trying to argue their way out of acting like cavemen. But looking at you right now in your stupid strawberry tank top, knowing that you’re horny and ready because your body wants to make him a daddy... Joel’s head swims. 

Something shifts in the air. You can see it on him, but Joel assumes that you wait for him to act on whatever is bubbling up in his chest and below his belt.

And act, he does. He distracts you with deep, long kisses until he can snatch you up from the ground and carry you upstairs. You squeak out a giggle but don’t fight back, enjoying the freedom of being alone with him.

“That’s why you’re so fucking sexy,” Joel says after placing you on your shared bed. He is already shedding himself of his shirt, undressing hurriedly to get close to your skin with his own as quickly as possible.

You crawl back on the bed, untying the strings of your sweatpants and yanking them down your legs. You match his urgency, but still decide to tease him, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Shut your mouth,” he yanks the rest of your pants off as soon as he is naked in front of you. He throws them in the pile of his own clothes, “You know exactly what I’m talking about, dirty girl.”

You’re just about to take your top off before Joel stops you with a hand curled around the hem. He knows you’re sensitive at this point in your cycle, but it’s not why he wants to keep it on, “I love how cute you are in this shirt. Keep it on like this.” 

He crawls properly onto the bed to demonstrate and tugs the shirt up over your tits so he can still see the stupid animated fruit on the front. Afterward, he tugs your panties down your legs and off your feet. He will swear to a higher power that he can even smell it on you, sweet like strawberries and honey between your legs and it makes him feel like an animal. 

He has had baby fever for a while now, even told you his plans on giving you a whole bunch of babies and you’ve merely giggled at him, especially when he told you that twins don’t run in his family, but he is sure that nature will give him a whole litter with you. 

“Want me to eat you out?” He asks to which you whimper and nod. He doesn’t give you what you want right then and there, instead climbs up to cradle your head in his hands and gives you a long, slow kiss. He sucks on your tongue, hums into your mouth, and gets you worked up and wet before he’ll treat you right. 

“Tell me,” he says when he breaks the kiss, nosing along the bunched-up fabric of his new favorite top of yours. He sucks at the skin between your breasts, places open-mouthed kisses along the swell of the left whilst cupping the right. 

“I want you to eat my pussy,” you moan softly, running a hand over his hair as he licks a nipple. You slide your fingers into it, but you don’t tug at it unless you feel like you need to hold onto it for dear life. 

“God, you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he growls before going further down your body, his spit leaving a shine where his mouth has been, “Can’t believe I own these tits.”

He goes further down, lets out a satisfied noise when he can see between your legs, “—and this pussy.” 

“Yes, it’s yours, fuck, baby,” you sound delirious already, happy and eager to be touched, on the verge of a giggle even, “Joel, need your mou—“

You gasp loudly into the quiet bedroom. Joel has covered you with his mouth, eyes almost rolling back into his skull at the taste of your ripe cunt. He is too lost in you, a complete idiot with how head over heels he is for you, and he shows it by devouring you like he is starved. 

“Baby!” You cry out, sensitive, “Fuuuck— just like that!”

He watches your thighs twitch in his peripheral, holds you down by placing a strong hand just below your belly button, and uses his thumb on said hand to pull the hood of your clit back. He sucks the little now-hard nub into his mouth, sending you into a state where he is unsure if you can even sense the sheets underneath you. If you had superpowers, he surely would’ve made you lift off the bed as if you were possessed. 

He bobs his head a little, probably looking obscene as he hums against your clit and wiggles his head too. He looks up at you through his lashes, sees the red flush on your chest, and knows that you are close. Christ, he hasn’t been this into someone before. 

“I’m gonna— you’re gonna make me—“ you say like always, announcing your departure from reality. He keeps going, feeling your stomach jump in a stuttering manner underneath his palm with how uneven your breathing has become. 

“Fuck, I’m coming!” You sob with a yank of Joel’s hair and suddenly your thighs are shaking violently without your control. Joel can feel you coming before you announce it, your cunt clenching rapidly against his lips and your clit pulsing in his mouth as he sucks your folds into his mouth. You taste so good as a gush on slick smears his lips and chin even more. He laps it up.

You push him away when he gets too much, and he turns his head to kiss your inner thigh. You finally release the giggle that you’ve been suppressing, drunk on dopamine and Joel falls in love with you a bit more. 

“You’re fucking incredible,” you say. The hand in his hair slides down so you can affectionately run your knuckles over his cheek. He responds by gently rubbing your thighs, soothing you on top of putting such strain on your heart and your breath. You hum, “I love you so much.”

Without warning, he smacks your thigh and you sit up straight. He grins, “Love ya too, sweetheart. Think you can give me one more before I fuck ya?”

“Jesus, what’s gotten into you?” You ask genuinely as you lower onto your back again. 

“Wanna fuck a baby into you,” he replies, voice an octave lower than normal. He senses your shiver without having to look at your face, “Please. Wanna get her red and puffy so it fucking sticks.” 

You let out an involuntary moan at the idea. You want this as much as him, he hopes, and he slides two fingers into your neglected pussy whilst he waits for the green light to fill you up. He crooks them upwards, fingers the spongy spot that only seems to have been discovered by him, “Lemme in. Lemme come in you.”

You’ve been off the pill for a while with the reasoning that it wasn’t doing any good for your body. Joel had stocked up on condoms since then, actually filled the top drawer of his nightstand to the brim because honey, we’re young and healthy, red-blooded Americans. But it had planted the idea in his mind that he could potentially knock you up, and suddenly the stash of condoms was being used rapidly. 

“Okay,” you say with a half-moan, “Fuck, okay.”

Joel immediately sits up on his knees, still fucking you open on his hand. You squirm underneath his touch, trying to get a hold of your breathing this time, holding eye contact with him as he drags another orgasm from you. 

It is much less hurried and a lot more intense, muscles clamping down on his digits rhythmically as you bite your lip and close your eyes with a soft gasp. He can’t decide if he finds this more sexy. 

“Did you mean it?” He asks as he trails kisses up your belly. He kneels between your legs and places an elbow on either side of your chest so he can hold both your breasts in his hands. He squeezes them together, sucks on a nipple until you sigh deeply, and then watches them bounce back into place. 

“Yes,” you say and your voice doesn’t sound unsure at all, “Fuck yes, I want your babies. Wanted them since I saw you. Want you to make me a mommy.”

“The prettiest momma out there,” he says, euphoria evident on his face. He slides his arms underneath you, rests his head on your breasts, and hugs you close to his chest, “Wanna fuck ya.”

“Please,” you say softly, spreading your legs open for him but he has other plans. He releases you from his arms to sit up again, spreading his knees a little. His hands wrap around your ankles to lift your legs up onto his shoulders, your feet behind his ears. He leans over you afterward and bends your flexible legs backward until the front of his thighs are against the back of yours. He can go deep like this, fill you up with his come how he has wanted to for months.

He takes hold of his cock, eases it inside of your spent and warm cunt inch by inch. You feel incredible around his dick without a piece of rubber separating the two of you. He can feel the head of his dick nudge at your cervix, moaning quietly as he is engulfed by your wet, pulsating heat. 

“How are you still so fucking tight?” He groans, resting his forehead against your calf as he gives you a moment to adjust to the stretch. He knows he is big, gets a thrill out of how well you take him each time as if you were made specifically for him. There had been one time where he’d called you a trooper, and you had laughed so hard with his dick inside you that it had made him come. 

“You feel so big like this,” you say as you look down between the two of you, already sounding out of breath. Joel kisses your calf repeatedly and softly, trying to soothe your overwhelmed body. 

“Goddamn. You’re so sexy,” he praises, placing both hands on the sides of your head so he is hovering above you. He finds your hazy eyes, “Look at you.” 

He gives an experimental roll of his hips that makes you whimper, both hands reaching for the backs of his knees. You hold onto him, staring up into his eyes with that siren-like look in them, and then you moan softly.

Joel starts fucking you desperately at that. He doesn’t hurry though, keeps his hips’ movements slow and sensual to have you moaning and gasping ever so slightly at the intensity. He knows he could just give in and fuck you rough and fast, but the heavy-lidded gaze that you are giving him with your mouth hanging open is too good to spoil. 

“Joel,” you cry but it’s barely audible compared to what he sometimes drags from you. He can feel your nails dig into the flexing muscles of his thighs, creating half-moon shapes in the flesh. He switches to a rocking motion, and it sends your eyes rolling into the back of your head. You moan with your bottom lip between your teeth, “Mhm—“

“I know, baby, let it out,” he can see your pulse jumping wildly underneath the sensitive skin of your neck, feeling the heat of his orgasm pool at the base of his spine. He needs to be closer to you. 

“Lift your legs down to the sides,” he tells you gently, thrusts coming to a halt and him realizing that you’ve heard absolutely nothing. He repeats himself, waits for you to follow his instructions, and then hooks his arms underneath your knees. 

Joel gets closer to you by resting his weight on his elbows, his own body on top of your slightly contorted one. You reach for him, grabby hands in the air until he allows himself to be pulled in for a kiss. You cradle his face, make him feel safe in your arms. 

“I love you, baby,” he breathes deeply. The new position gives him an opportunity to reach deeper inside of you, and it’s accompanied by each upward snap of his pelvis causing his cockhead to push into your g-spot. It makes it difficult for you to continue kissing him, eventually simply breathing into his mouth as he has you speared on his dick. Never once do you let go of his face, thumbs on his cheekbones, and tip of your nose against his. 

“I love you,” you whisper, unable to catch your breath. Joel can feel your walls flutter around his dick, threatening to pull his own climax from him too soon. You pant, eyes burning, “You— baby, shit… you’re gonna make me come.”

“Yeah?” He speeds up a little, carding a hand through your hair and gently tugging on the bun. He coaxes you, “Gonna milk my cock into you? Make me a daddy?”

“Yeah,” you whimper wantonly, tightening your legs into his sides as you try moving with him, “Yeah, baby. Gonna make you a daddy! Fuckfuckfuck. Ah— I’m, I—“

Joel doesn’t know if he’s ever made you come like this; without all the muscle and rough touches, without the fast-paced snaps of his hips and the foul taunting from his mouth of how dirty you are. But come you do, with your brows furrowed, gaze on his and a controlled breathing that suddenly becomes erratic and uneven after you let out a high-pitched cry. 

“That’s it,” he admires you, “So good f’me.”

You clamp down on his cock so hard that he sees stars, fucks you through each convulsion of your cunt. His mouth drips with filth as he works himself toward his own pleasure, “You make me so fucking horny, baby. Wanna knock— ngh, wanna knock this pretty pussy up all the time. Give ya a whole fuckin’ litter.”

He tips over the edge not long after, heart pounding in his chest and the sensation in his balls tightening. He releases with a groan, settles deep inside of you to make sure he doesn’t waste a single drop. His orgasm pulses through his cock, swirls in his belly, and warms the small of his back. 

“Fuuuck,” he pants. He carefully removes his arms from underneath your legs before he collapses, allowing you to stretch out underneath him. You look completely fucked out, gasping feebly as he teasingly gives you another thrust before pulling out. 

You wrap your arms around him as he falls onto you, nose against the shell of his ear. He can barely lift his head when you speak, humming into your neck that vibrates as you talk, “You think other people have sex this good?”

“Nah, ‘s why everyone is so fuckin’ miserable, why they gotta build mansions with their parents’ money,” he murmurs. 

“Stop thinking about the hotshot client in bed,” you tease as you cradle his head in your arms, lifting your legs to wrap them around his waist. It seems you cannot get close enough, “You should only think about sticky, sweaty me.”

Joel finds that he doesn’t care about sticky, sweaty skin and you feeling like a furnace after three orgasms. He lays with you like this for a while, sure that you’ve drifted off to sleep at one point, until you push at his shoulder, voice back to your normal pitch as the post-orgasmic bliss has faded slowly, “Gotta pee.” 

“Sure,” he rolls off of you. The sight of your waddle to the bathroom makes him smile, eyes following the way the fleshiest part of your ass and thighs jiggle with each step. 

When you’ve closed the door behind you, Joel finds the strength to rid the bed of the dirty sheets and start dressing again. He’ll have a shower before bed, he decides, ignoring the sensitivity of sliding on boxers and jeans again. 

Hurriedly, he bounces down the stairs to the kitchen. He gets the rest of your peanut butter cup, places it on the nightstand with your clothes right beside it. 

He checks the time. There’s no point in trying to cook something up for dinner if Sarah is home from ‘practice’ soon, so he goes down into the kitchen to order pizza, heart thrumming in his chest as he hears you shout a thank you from upstairs at the discovery of the other half of your favorite snack. He is happy. So so happy.

Especially as he writes ‘pregnancy test’ into his Notes app shopping list.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[menlove]

any introductory beatles (just mclennon tbh) fics? 🤲

LORD OKAYYYYY i'll try not to go too crazy and just stick to my alltime faves.....

first of all anything @forthlin (milaway on ao3) has written literally ever. i am going to eat them one day. they are the yin to my yang and also the best writer this fandom has ever seeeeen. um. anyway! like i said, all their fics. but i'd Particularly rec your lucky break which is an au where john is a 30 something rockstar and paul is an up and coming musician in the 70s. and well! what can i say about this fic except it's sooo in character, hot, and also the reason i started talking to the best person on this earth so whatever

also completelyyyyy selfish but hey i only wrote half so i'm counting it but we also have an ongoing series: i want you, i need you, i love you where they're writing john's povs and i'm writing paul's! it's just basically our take on their timeline & relationship, but the third installment's going to be a fix-it

now onto me not being gay or selfish here's some of my favorites that i think are Must Reads.

Boy, You've Been A Naughty Girl

explicit. 49k. John makes Paul a bet. Paul takes him up on it. Crossdressing shenanigans and angst ensue, and ~feelings come out in the wash. 1961. rec notes: okay look. this one is just a classic. it's great. esp love it bc it's right up my alley with its "paul isn't an oblivious moron" takes. also.... hot.

I Still Miss Someone/I Know That I Miss You but I Don't Know Where I Stand

explicit. 64k. It's 1976 and Paul keeps showing up on John's doorstep with a guitar. Eventually John turns him away and Paul goes off to sulk in his hotel room the night before his flight from New York. Based on real events. rec notes: aaaaugh this one haunts me there's one scene i think of literally every time "i still miss someone" by johnny cash comes on, which is one of my fave songs. it's not a fix-it, but it's so so so good for the Vibes of their 70s relationship :(

Like Love, The Archers Are Blind

explicit. 22k. He wants to push Stuart out of the way, not even with a violent yank of his collar like he sometimes imagines. Just to melt into his place like butter sliding in a pan. Have it be an effortless breath of fresh air when John looks up at him and sees it all reflected back in his eyes. It’s you. rec notes: this one is just... soft. and so good for a snapshot of the hamburg vibe.

i was a younger man then (now) (post hoc)

mature. 27k. John’s twelve when a bloke appears from a flaming pie and says, “From this day forward you are Beatles with an ‘a.’” The bloke is Paul. Or: paul and john meet at all ages and eras and john is the time-traveler’s wife the way only john lennon can be rec notes: literally my favorite mclennon fic everrrrrr ever ever. other than your lucky break. this is everything. this is it. like it nails their dynamic even though it's a magical au. it explores their relationship sooooo fucking well. i think about it like weekly.

John My Beloved

explicit. 33k. They've always loved each other, in their own way… rec notes: OTHER FAVORITE EVER it broke my heart it changed my fucking lifeeeee it changed my world. major character death warning but fuck man. i think about this literally constantly. this fic haunts me. i think it changed me. i had to stare at a wall for like 30 minutes after finishing it. i got choked up.

two of us (burning matches)

explicit. 6k. It won't stop raining. Paul doesn't know what his feelings are doing. John's practising his right swing. Somewhere along the way, they fuse together. rec notes: this one is just cuuuute and perfect for the Early Days Vibes.

Grow Old With Me

explicit. 8k. fix-it. Paul breaks his arm, and John panics. rec notes: SOOOO FUCKING SWEET. this is what they deserved and i like to live here in my mind when the reality of what actually happened gets to be too much.

1967

mature. 11k. canon-divergent au. In 1961, John Lennon and Paul McCartney left abruptly on a trip to Spain, via France. In 1967, they finally come home to face the consequences. rec notes: the style of this one is INSANE. it's so unique and i love it sososososo much. also the plot? is super unique???? basically it's an au where they never came home from paris and it's.... so fucking good. i love the way it looks at their dynamic like fuck. it's just perfect.

Way Up Top

explicit. 12k. Falling out of the sky, together. | Snapshots of the Beatles in Greece, July 1967 rec notes: LOVE this one for its portrayal of all non-mclennon parties. it fleshes everyone out, especially jane and cyn, in ways a lot of fics just skip. just sooo well written and melancholic in a great way i think.

When You Are Young They Assume You Know Nothing

mature. 26k. But Paul knows John. There’s something about Paris, though... rec notes: THE paris fic to me. this is soooo good and so fucking soft and it just. augh. it killed me.

a brief interruption, a slight malfunction

explicit. 12k. During the rooftop concert, John remembers why he used to find Paul so irresistible after a show. One more time won't hurt, right? rec notes: perfect breakup era fic. my rec notes on ao3 were "this was devastating :)" so. god. this fucked me up.

aaand honorary mentions to the two non-mclennon fics i've read but !

Knocking at Your Door

george/paul. explicit. 6k. It's easy enough, this time, to lean in and touch their lips together. A firm press of his mouth to Paul's; first at the corner, then right on the centre of his yielding, expressive lower lip. Paul and George: a few meetings over thirty-six years. rec notes: the opening sentence to this made me sick to my stomach and then the rest of the fic destroyed me permanently

Where The Sailors Go

ringo/paul. explicit. 5k. A drunken German mistakes Paul, alone in Hamburg's red light district, for a rentboy. Ringo, the Hurricanes' terrifyingly adult drummer, intervenes. Things happen, but Paul can't stop thinking about John. rec notes: PRINGOOOOO. with background mclennon. this was so real to me. also in the same universe as this fic is (It's Just) Another Day which is a transfem paul mclennon fic that rooocked my world. it's still a wip but holy fuck. made me rearrange the way i see paul tbh.

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — GUARDIAN ANGEL! GOJO x FEM READER 

Kneeling by your bed, rosary wrapped around your knuckles, lips pressed to the burnished rosewood, you pray. 

God, please send me another guardian angel. 

A blast of static from the TV behind you. 

The one you sent me- 

“Hey, how does the thing work?” Gojo says, accompanied by loud thumps. You cringe in silence. 

He’s strange. 

wc — 3.7k

tags — religion, Gojo has to reckon with the consequences of being the strongest, domesticity, attempted (failed) mugging/attack, Gojo kills a man for you (non graphic), Shoko’s a good friend, bs angel lore, I think of this like a prequel to reader’s villain arc lol,  title from closer by nine inch nails 

You wake up to a man standing over your bed. Understandably, you scramble backwards, hands over knees over legs over feet, all your limbs tangled together, until you bump into your headboard. 

“Hi!” He says cheerily. “Wow, haven’t gotten that reaction in a while, not since- Anyways. I’m Gojo Satoru, your guardian angel. Please make breakfast, it’s 12 pm already and I’m starving. Your sleep habits are terrible.” 

You shake, terrified. Nothing he said has gone through your brain.

“Um, hello? Deep breaths now. It’s really not that serious, can you stop that? Hellooooo,” he’s snapping his fingers in front of your face, trying to get through to you. 

You panic and bat his hand away, but if you can touch him, that means he’s real. You’re not dreaming. There’s a strange man in your house calling himself your guardian angel. You try to pull yourself together enough to make a coherent sentence. What comes out is: 

“Um. Guardian angel. What?” 

“You don’t believe me,” he says. 

You’ve heard it can be dangerous for people suffering from delusions to be forcefully brought out of their dreams. “No,” you say carefully. “I’m sure this is all a big understanding.” 

“No, that’s okay,” he laughs. “I love getting to do this.” 

Massive wings unfurl from his back. It’s a strange sight. The air seems to ripple around them, iridescent ebbs and flows of the universe to make space for the impossible. They seem to sprout right out of his shoulder blades. 

It’s undeniable, irrefutable proof. Your brain can’t process this. It goes back to sleep. 

You wake up to the smell of bacon burning in the kitchen. 

Gojo hums as he cooks, his wings out. You’re almost worried they’ll get caught in the flames when suddenly you have something much more real to worry about. 

“Ow!” He’s about to stick his finger into his mouth when you intervene, scolding him without even thinking about it. 

“That’s dangerous! Don’t put your hands in your mouth, especially not if you’ve been cooking. Come here,” you tug him over to run his hands under the faucet. 

“Who's the guardian angel again?” He teases, amused. 

You answer him with another question. “Why are you cooking, anyways?” 

“You’re starving me! It’s so late and you haven’t made breakfast yet - you know I could report you to the authorities for angel abuse, right?” 

Somehow, you don’t believe him. There may very well be a division in heaven’s bureaucracy dedicated to looking after angels, but something about Gojo is just on the edge of unbelievable, like if you blink too hard, it might disappear without a trace. It’s the wings, probably. 

You’re good at compartmentalizing, so you ignore all of the normal reactions someone would have to an angel randomly appearing in your apartment to instead make breakfast. Gojo already burned your favorite pan, so you stick it in the sink to soak while you rummage around for your second best set. Then you check the fridge. You’re out of butter and eggs. There are just two pieces of bacon left. Is it presumptuous to ask your angel to run errands with you? 

You poke your head out of the fridge to look at Gojo, staring remorsefully at the burnt remains of his once-was-an-egg. He’s nursing the cut on his finger. 

“Do you want to go grocery shopping?”

He smiles at you, slow and syrupy and- 

He can’t do that. He’s beautiful as it is, as if God took extra time crafting him. Smiling only makes his beauty all the more painful, tugging at the strings of your heart. His snow white hair curls against the nape of his neck, a ruthlessly cute detail you notice when he tilts his head at you. 

“I would love to. What’s grocery shopping?” 

Introducing Gojo to the modern world is an exercise in both patience and childish wonder. There’s so much he doesn’t know. He tells you the last time he’s been on Earth was somewhere back in the 90’s.

“Like 1990? That’s pretty recent,” you remark. 

“Like 90 CE.” 

He’s delighted by everything, even the simplest of snacks, and begs you to add them to your cart. Ramune impresses him to no end. He’s enthralled by the taste of ice cream after the nice worker gives him a sample. You might really be reported to the Bureau of Angel Abuse at this point - all he’s interested in is junk food. It takes a while to finally wrangle him away from everything. In a way, it’s your fault because you hesitate to refuse an angel anything, and Gojo wants it all. You only manage to get him to agree to go home once you’ve tired him out. 

There was a sense of reverence, at first. 

There’s an angel living in your home. It’s hard to imagine getting used to that. Walking into the bathroom to the sight of Gojo brushing his teeth shirtless, his wings out, is a sight that will never get old. He manages to transform even the mundane into the divine. The sunlight strikes his hair at just the right angle to glow, giving him a faux-halo. 

“Good morning,” he smiles. “I think I used up all your toothpaste.” 

By day seven, you’ve wised up to Gojo’s tactics. If you don’t say no to anything, he’ll steamroll right over you, so you have to grow a backbone. 

“Oh, Christ? Yeah, we’re old pals. We go wayyyyy back.” 

“Please be quiet while I’m trying to pray.” 

“We’re in the same therapy group, actually. He texts me all the time for advice-“ 

“Gojo. Shut. Up.” 

He’s silent for all of a minute before he pipes up again. “I don’t think capital G up there would appreciate that.” 

You have never missed a day of prayer in your life. No temptation has been able to sway you from your duties. Hunger, thirst, and pain all were swept away in the face of your faith. Were you seriously about to start now, being annoyed to death by a particularly useless angel? 

The best solution to Gojo is always to ignore him. He needs attention like flowers need water. 

Without it, he stalks off to sulk. 

It’s night by the time he returns. He’s flying, which you usually don’t allow him to do, but you’ve driven out to a more remote, private church to pray. It’s owned by an old family friend, who handed you the keys without question. Half of this is for you, to experience god in the sanctity of nature, and half is for Gojo. You hate seeing him cooped up. Part of you feels like you’ve chained him down. You’re a trap in the form of a human, made to keep him grounded. 

He touches down next to you, hair slicked to his forehead in sweat. When he stretches his arms, his wings move simultaneously. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look more alive. He loves nothing like he loves flying, and you’re inclined to agree. 

Maybe you’ll let him take you for another ride tonight. You love the feeling of the wind against your face, the sight of the landscape beneath you when he takes you up, the feeling in your stomach when he tucks his wings in and free-falls for fun. You’re not scared. Gojo would never let anything happen to you. 

You might ask, later. Now, you send him off to the car ahead of you while you lock up. He’s cheerful as he heads off, whistling merrily. You’re glad flying has improved his mood. It’s equally painful for you whenever he’s upset with you. Perhaps it's simply a side effect of being a guardian angel .

The key is in the door when you feel the first hint of danger. 

“All the money in your pockets, ma’am.” 

Polite, for a thief. 

“You’re not from around these parts.” He says as you spin around. “Should’ve known better than to go wandering around these woods alone. Whatever happens next is on you, sweetheart. If only you’d been a little more careful.” 

He has a knife. 

“What do you want? Money? You can have it.” It doesn’t matter much to you. As long as he leaves before Gojo comes back. 

“Sometimes, ma’am, men don’t want anything but a thrill.” 

Then he lunges at you, presses you against the wall, and pins you with a knife to your throat. 

“Don’t scream now. No one would hear you anyways.”

He’s wrong about that part. 

You hear him coming up the path before you see him. 

“What’s taking you so long?” Gojo whines. “I wanna go home and watch Love Island already-oh.” 

“Run!” Gojo might be an angel, but you’ve seen him cut himself making toast. He can bleed like any other man, gold ichor, yes, but blood still. You don’t want to see him hurt. 

Instead, he sizes up your assailant, unfurls those beautiful wings - they always take your breath away - and in one swift move, simply tears you from his grasp. It’s faster than you can blink. 

The man makes a muffled sound of fear and shock as Gojo seems to blink back into existence. You know he’s only moving too fast for your brains to comprehend. 

“Stay here,” he deposits you on the grass behind him. It’s scorched, burned black from the temperature of his wings. 

He turns up the heat. You didn’t think it was possible, but he was clearly holding back. The air seems to melt around him, heat waves shimmering off his skin, his white feathers. They glow with an otherworldly light, radiating heat. 

You didn’t know true glory until this moment, and it frightens you. All other versions of blue fade in favor of Gojo’s eyes - a single, unyielding truth. He is a piece of heaven on earth, burning up. His anger is righteous. Holy. His true nature melts away his human appearance. 

He’s a seraph, one of the highest order of angels.  

You’ve never seen him fight before, don’t know how he gets his weapons or where he puts them. It just appears out of thin air. He carries a flaming sword in one hand, its pommel is white marble, its blade glass. Contrary to common belief, his voice doesn’t boom. In fact it’s all the more threatening because it is soft, a whisper so clearly heard it defies the laws of the world just because it can. 

He raises the sword like an executioner and judge all in one. 

You barely have time to close your eyes in horror when you realize what he’s about to do. 

Real angels are not like the watered down, commercialized ones you can find today in any young adult TV show. Real angels are bloody. Real angels are the hand of God, ruthless and violent.

Real angels have no mercy. 

You open your eyes again when you feel the now familiar heat on your skin. 

He’s standing before you, beaming. It’s clear he expects praise. In heaven, it might’ve been given to him. 

You can only stare at him in fear, not awe.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He steps closer, his burning wings flapping. “It’s okay. I got rid of him. You’re safe now.” 

You’re ashamed a split second after it happens because it’s so pathetic, but you can’t help it. Your animal instincts react instinctively to the threat, sending you skittering back on your palms and ass away from him. 

He freezes. His wings remain moving. Perhaps, like a shark and its gills, he simply can’t stop. 

“You’re afraid of me,” he says, stunned. “Why are you afraid of me?” 

The heat from his wings is baking your face. You’re afraid if you speak, your skin will crack. Still, Gojo shows no signs of leaving you alone. If anything, he’s about to get closer. 

“Stop,” you squeak. You throw out your hands in front of you like the world’s most useless shield. Your eyes are watering from looking into his radiance. 

Helpless, Gojo does something he hasn’t done since he was just a newborn angel. 

He asks for help. 

Shoko Ieri looks nothing like him, so that answers one question you’ve always had. Gojo tells you she’s another angel, although you don’t see her wings past the first minute you’ve met. After Gojo summons her to the scene and she catches the way you look at him, she keeps them carefully folded in. 

She helps you into the passenger seat when you can’t make your legs move to walk back to your car. You won’t let Gojo touch you, feeling torn at the look on his face when you flinch back from him. 

He’s sitting on a stool at the island while Shoko checks you over for injuries in the kitchen. There’s no major damage, just the after effects of shock and adrenaline working through your system. 

“You know I’d never hurt you, right?” He says, hurt and confused. 

“You fucking idiot. You colossal blockhead. You-“ Shoko pauses, not because she’s run out of things to say, but because she has too many. “It’s not about you, right now, okay? I know it’s hard for you to get your head out of your ass, but can you at least try to be supportive?” 

Gojo makes a noise like he wants to protest, but you shift your weight and that draws his attention back to you. The look on your face makes him fall silent.

Shoko leaves after she’s completed her examination, though she doesn’t leave you helpless. 

“Do you want to come with me?” She says, carefully. “I understand if you don’t want to be left alone with him right now.” 

You shake your head. 

“Listen, I know Gojo scared you. I’m sorry. He shouldn’t have. He’s always been too reckless - ugh. The stories I could tell you. But I promise you, he will never hurt you - not just because he cares about you, but because he’s literally not allowed to. He’s your guardian angel.” 

“I know,” you say, and that’s the end of that. 

There’s an uncomfortable silence after Shoko leaves. You’re not sure how to navigate the once easy relationship between you and Gojo now. Always unable to keep still, he breaks the silence first. 

“Do you want to talk about it now?” He says softly. Everything about him is dulled, even the gleam of his brilliant hair. He’s back within his human skin, even more modestly than before, as if he has taken care to seal up every crack that his true nature could spill out of. 

You choose your first question carefully. “Why has the lord sent a seraph to watch over me?” 

Seraphs are the highest level of the hierarchy of angels. They maintain the order of the world, fulfilling God’s will. For one to have come to you- 

True horror is sinking in. You love your saints. You worship them devoutly, knowing each story by heart. You could trace a path through the church library of all the books you’ve read on them, giving the history of each spine. 

You do not want to be one of your saints. 

Joan of Arc died at 19. Saint Agatha was canonized for being tortured violently.

By sending you such a strong protector, your lord may be condemning you to die young, but that’s not why you cry. You cry because you are too weak to fulfill his command. 

Life is sweet. You don’t want to give up the taste of tart oranges on your tongue, the feeling of the babbling creek over your feet, the songs of the birds in the morning. You don’t want to give up Gojo’s wake up calls, or the feeling of flying. 

All these selfish, worldly pleasures should mean nothing to you when faced with the lord’s call, and yet- 

You resent it still. 

You’re so confused by it all. Why were you given such a burden and told nothing about it? What does any of it mean? 

“I don’t know. I’m sorry. We don’t get told anything but who we were assigned to.” 

“Okay,” you say. 

“That’s it? Okay? I scare the shit out of you, and all you have to say is okay?” 

“Gojo, I don’t want to fight anymore. Let me just go to bed, please.” 

You’re woken up not by the light of Gojo’s halo, as you’ve gotten used to when he comes to your room demanding breakfast, but by the sun. The curtains are open, and sunbeams stream in over your pillow. 

Gojo is in the kitchen making - not burning - breakfast. He doesn’t turn when you pad into the kitchen on slippered feet, but you know he knows you’re there. You’re feeling much better. Sleep has refreshed you from the major shock to your system last night, and now you feel almost half bad for your reaction to him. He only wanted to help you, after all. 

It’s not his fault he’s strong. At the end of the day, he’s just another gear in the universe, like you. Neither of you are important enough to be privy to the greater, divine plan, not even a seraph. You shouldn’t have snapped at him. You’re in this together. 

You stand on tiptoe behind him to peer over his shoulder into the pan. 

“I’m making you breakfast,” he says. Is it just you, or does he seem almost shy? 

What an impact you’ve had on him. Your heart breaks. You’ve only known him to be bold and uncaring of human customs like politeness. You didn’t think it would upset you to see him learn manners, and yet- 

It’s a consequence of your rejection last night, as if he’s worried you’ll pull away again. This isn’t what you wanted, ever. 

“We should talk,” you say. 

“Yeah. We should.” He still won’t turn around, avoiding eye contact. 

Before you can speak, he blurts out, “ Do you not want me to be your angel anymore?”

“Of course not,” you say, reaching out for him. He’s hesitant to let you pull him closer, take his hands in yours. “Gojo, why would you think that?” 

“You’re scared of me,” he says, almost petulantly, like a sulking child. “You don’t like me anymore.” 

“Gojo,” you can think of nothing to say but his name. Sweet Gojo. Selfish Gojo. Gojo, who you’ve gotten used to having around. Gojo, who has infiltrated your life and now thinks to leave like you can kick him out like that. Like you would. Gojo, who you’re fond of in a way you can’t articulate, despite the way he takes and takes from you. Gojo, who you’re willing to keep, despite everything. 

Gojo, who you care about, enough to want him to stay. 

Gojo, who cares about you, enough to want to leave. 

He takes this like a rebuff and wrenches his hands out of yours. 

You grab his face and forcefully drag his attention back to you. His eyes are wild like a trapped animal, but there’s no sign of fire. He’s carefully dampened any kind of godliness in him.

“Oh, Gojo. Please don’t. I want you with me, I promise. I would never ask you to leave.”

“You don’t have to,” he says grimly. A soldier to the end. He knows how to do the hard things. Sometimes, you have to cut the rot out before the wound festers. 

“I am scared of you - please don’t make that face. You’re breaking my heart.”

“Your heart? What about mine?” He bristles. 

“I trust you. Let me prove it. Take your wings out again. Show me your true self.” 

“After seeing how you reacted?” He scoffs, turning defensive. You’ve exhausted his goodness, and now his emotions are getting the better of him, making the situation ugly. But you knew this would happen. 

You know him. 

And you know how to deal with him. 

“Come on,” you say.  “Think of it like exposure therapy.” 

“I don’t want to see you look at me like that again,” he admits.

“I know you won’t hurt me,” you say. “Please. Do you trust me?” 

He ends up on the ground cross legged, his wings spread, back to you. His wings are fiery, but carefully controlled. He won’t burn you. 

You start small, running your hands all over his wings. They rustle underneath your touch like startled animals. When you tug gently at the ends, extending them to their full length, you realize how monstrous his wingspan truly is. From tip to tip, they’re larger than a grown man is tall. Your fingers creep along the thin ridge of his radius, deceptively thin beneath your fingers. If you didn’t know better, it would snap easily with just the barest hint of pressure. 

He makes a small noise. You jerk back, worried you’ve actually bent the bone, but he’s fine. He pushes his wings back under your hands like a puppy seeking attention. 

From the radius, you trail along the top edge to his metacarpus, then down to his feathers, all the way back to his scapula. From there, it’s only a few inches over to his actual shoulder blades. He shudders when you touch him there, your fingertips lightly grazing over the bone. You press down gently. His muscles flex under your skin, tense and wound up. 

You realize that he's been suspiciously quiet for a while. He’s too still, as if he’s purposely holding himself in place. Have you hurt him without knowing? Would he tell you if you had?

“Gojo?” You pull your hands away from his wings and he shudders as if he’s been burned. “Look at me.” 

He won’t turn, so you grab him by the chin and force his head up so you can look him in the face. Even down on the floor like this, he’s tall. His face is pink, his eyes wide like he’s been stunned. He looks almost like he’s in pain.

“What’s wrong? Why didn’t you say anything? Does it hurt?” You fret over him. 

“Doesn’t,” he says hoarsely. “Feels too good.” 

You freeze. It’s this sight of an angel in all his celestial grace wrecked by your touch, brought down by just the brush of your fingers, that makes you realize it. 

It feels good to have an angel at your feet. 

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Television

Self-Aware! Bram Stoker x GN! Reader x Self-Aware! Platonic! Aya Koda

Description: Life is full of small moments. You share this moments with your new friends and family. Today, you have a tea with Aya and Bram.

Fluff.

Sequel to Nightmares and Cuddles

Warning: OOC. English is my second language.

Based on this moment from Soviet cartoon about Karlson. English version here. (11:31 - 12:38).

________________

You are in your kitchen, cooking something. From time to time you are looking in the living room.

Aya Koda, ten-year-old girl and one of your new friends, is sitting on the couch, waiting for you.

You don't see him, but you know, that Bram (with your permission) are looking at the books that were laying on the table in your bedroom.

You still can't believe, that Bram and Aya (and the rest of BSD Characters) were real.

Just four days ago, you were a normal person with simple interests.

Now you are a person who are living with Bungou Stray Dogs Characters. And said characters want to be your friends.

Or, and last night you spent cuddling with Dazai and Oda.

It was a lot to take in, but, you have a feeling, that all of you will face any challenge together.

Today you decide to make a first step in building your friendship with others. By having tea with Aya and Bram.

Right now, you are making sandwiches.

The bread was fresh, large and flavorful. You easily cut it with a knife. There were not any crumbs left on the cutting board.

You carefully take slices of bread and spread butter on them with the greatest care.

The stick of butter looked like a small gold bar. The slightly melted butter was tender and smelled pleasantly of cream.

After butter, you add ivory cheese on few slices. On other slices, you add flavorful strawberry jam.

Soon you had two plates with sandwiches. You carefully take them in both hands and bring them to the living room. You put both plates on the coffee table.

On the coffee table there already were three cups and a pot with fresh tea. Tea was made by Goncharov, so it will be good, you were sure of it.

Aya perks up, looking at sandwiches.

"Looks great! Bra-chan! Sandwiches are ready!"

You heard Beam's voice coming from your room.

"I will be in a minute"

You start pouring tea in cups. The aroma of herbs was nice and strong.

After all three cups were full, you sit on the couch, next to Aya. Bram still wasn't there.

The silence starting to became awkward. At least, you thought so.

You always have troubles with making friends. You were afraid, that people will find you boring or annoying. That people secretly think that you aren't worth spending time with. That people secretly hates you.

You won't call yourself a 'social butterfly', you were fine with having one or two friends only... But, the problem was that you don't have anyone you can call best friend. Or good friend. There was one of your old classmates, who was calling you from time to time, but, she was friendly towards everyone. So, her friendship doesn't make your worries disappear. Your fear of been a burden or laughingstock made you even more closed off.

And now, with having BSD Cast in your life you felt, that you hit gold and fall into the abyss at the same time.

BSD Cast were nothing but kind towards you. Yet, still, you were afraid that you will accidentally mess this up and as soon, as they realized that you aren't that interesting, as soon as they learn more about you, they will leave you.

You looked at Aya with the corner of your eye. Girl doesn't seem to be bothered by your silence. She was simply sitting on the couch, and waiting for Bram to finally join you two, so you can start your little 'tea party'. You licked your lips. Maybe, you should say something.

"Um... Aya... Is it okay if I turn TV on? I... want to check last news... Or, maybe... Something interesting is on?"

'Great, [Y/N], it wasn't awkward at all. Not even for a bit' you mentally scolded yourself.

You didn't notice Aya's soft gaze. Girl smiled brightly.

"Of course, [Y/N]! Do, as you want. Having TV on will be a good ambulance. Besides," Aya giggles. "As a newcomer to this world and future Defender of Justice of this world, I need to learn as much as I can about the new world!"

You smile nervously. It seems, right now, everything is doing great. You turned the TV on. After switching a couple of channels, you stopped at the news broadcast.

The volume wasn't high. To tell the truth, worlds were recognizable, but quiet. Bram still wasn't there.

Aya turned her head towards you and asked

"Hey, [Y/N], can I ask you something?"

You nodded, taking a quick glance at Aya.

"What do you want to know?"

Aya looked at you with an adoring look.

"Was it scary to demand that Fukuchi take away Holy Sword from Bram?"

You shook your head.

"Not really. He looked calm and not scary. Besides, It's not like my demand wasn't unnecessary."

_______

Two days after BSD Cast arrival.

______

You were having a chat with... Almost everyone at that point.

Everyone from BSD Cast want to talk to you.

'Yes, Naomi, I remember, that I promised to have a tea and snacks with you and Haruno'

'Yes, Kyouka, we will have Boiled Tofu later'

'No, Fitzgerald, I don't know if someone are selling a house big enough for all of us to live in.'

On the background, Fukuchi was giving last instructions to Teruko and Tachihara about protecting you today. You didn't pay too to him. You feel, like you forgot something.

You take a quick glance around.

Right, Bram!

You immediately stand up from the couch and hurry to Fukuchi.

"Um... Sorry for interrupting, but, Fukuchi, can I ask you something?"

Fukuchi grinned and looked at you.

"Of course, Little Guiding Light. What is it?"

You point at Bram. He and Aya were sitting on one chair.

"Can you, please, take away Holy Sword from Bram. I could explain, why I have a BSD Characters in my house. But in no way I could explain a talking head. No offense, Bram."

Fukuchi nodded and, after picking up Bram, left the room.

You heard Karma's voice.

"Um... How would you explain us being in your apartment?"

You cast a quick glance at him.

"I would say that I finally became sick of society norms. But, because I like Internet, books and snacks, instead of running away and becoming a forest goblin, I decided to live among cosplayers. Not very common by society standards."

The silence raised above all of you. Then Adam raised his hand.

"You... Made up that explanation on the spot, right?"

You nodded.

"Yes. But talking head, still, is unexplainable."

____________

Aya laughed.

"Well, your explanation were funny."

"Well, it was the first explanation I could think about."

Finally, you two heard sounds of steps.

Bram finally joined you two.

"[Y/N], I found books from your world truly magnificent. I..."

Bram froze in one place and stared at your TV.

"[Y/N]. You have a talking head at your house. Here. It is looking at us."

You and Aya glance at each other. Then at TV. A news reporter was talking about something. Only his head and shoulders were on the screen.

You asked.

"Bram... Has anyone told you about television?"

Bram nodded, still looking at the news reporter.

"Aya mentioned something. I did not understand her explanations fully. We only had the Screen to look at things from your world. Television... It is some kind of new technology, right?"

Without waiting for your answer, Bram came closer to the TV and start checking it.

Aya took one sandwich and take a bite.

"I don't think that Bra-chan will leave your TV alone for the next few minutes. And here we are, planning to have a tea party, only three of us. And the third person isn't even interested."

Bram ignored her.

You and Aya start drinking tea and eating sandwiches.

Meanwhile, Bram tried to look under your TV.

"Where are his legs? I will get to the bottom of this."

It was... Is some sense funny to look at. Bram, vampire lord, was trying to understand, how TV worked.

You decide to let Bram do his thing. You moved slightly, trying to sit more comfortably. And you accidentally push the button on the remote.

Channel changed.

Now, there was a model on the screen. She was advertising something.

Bram finally looked at the screen again.

Immediately, Bram stand still and slightly bow his head.

"Please, forgive me for not noticing you earlier, Madam."

Aya tried not to laugh. You try to hide a smile behind the teacup.

Bram was still talking.

"I would be honored, if you joined us for our tea party, but, I am afraid, we should ask the Host, if you can join."

Suddenly, Bram moved slightly. His leg drag TV's cable. TV got turned off. Bram's eyes were closed, so he didn't notice, that his 'Madam' wasn't here anymore.

"Let me introduce myself, Count Bram Stoker. And that is my young friend Aya and our wonderful host [Y/N]... Where did she go?"

Bram turned the TV on the side, trying to find the missing girl.

Aya and you were howling with laughter.

Bram grumbled.

"Well, it was very rude. And you two are not doing a better job, than her. Stop laughing so loud."

You two try to calm down. With no avail.

Bram mumbles something and walked closer to you two. He put his hands on your and Aya's heads and roughly ruffled your hair.

"I said stop. Both of you."

It worked. You and Aya stopped, laughing like two hyenas.

Aya coughs.

"Sorry, Bra-chan. Just... You will also find it funny, we explain, what TV is. Right, [Y/N]?"

You nodded. It should be interesting.

Bram sat near you and took one of the sandwiches.

"I am listening."

_________

Nothing too wild happened today.

You had a tea party. You explained what TV is to Bram.

No conflict, no problems.

Just a little silly moment and a begging of new friendship.

[idiot-cheesehead-archenemy]

Fancy Meeting You Here

Word count: 4629

Warnings: implied parental abuse

Prompt: Danny sneaks into a fancy party that happens to be attended by one Vlad Masters

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

The evening had been going pretty well. 

Danny had noticed the mansion while flying in the area a few days ago. He'd come back tonight to see what he could lift - nothing that would be badly missed, of course, maybe some food and cash - and had been pleasantly surprised to find a lawn party in progress. Parties always had the best food, and though he knew he was risking getting caught, he also knew that he was capable of pretending to be a rich socialite for at least a few minutes when necessary. That should get him far enough. 

He flew back to the city, taking an appropriately sized suit from a store he knew - it would be returned by the time they opened in the morning - and again to the mansion to scope out the scene.

The lawn itself was not massive, a rectangle about the size of a football field. Still, it gave the few hundred guests plenty of space to mill about without getting in each other’s way. The mansion was probably half a football field in total area, spread across several irregularly shaped wings. Danny didn’t see many people inside; it seemed the guests only went in to use the restrooms. The building made up one edge of the lawn, another edge ran along the parking area and driveway, and the other two butted against the thick forest that covered most of this region. The entire property was surrounded by a barbed-wire fence, no doubt lined with cameras, but Danny had barely given that a thought as he flew invisibly overhead. 

He did note the black-clothed security guards walking the perimeter and roving through the sparse crowd. They might be an issue, but there were so many people here that it would take some time before they noticed him. Enough time to grab a few handfuls of hors d'oeuvres, at least.

After walking casually out of a restroom, Danny made a beeline for one of the food tables, smiling and nodding at people as he passed. He found an assortment of tiny sandwiches, fruits, and vegetables. All of it had been artfully arranged at some point, but the effect was less impressive after about half the food was gone. 

He picked through the sandwiches, finding various nut butters and thinly-sliced meats with strong scents that didn’t quite appeal to him. He did grab a couple of carrot sticks, though; he had to be the adult and remind himself to eat healthy, now that there was no one else doing it for him. 

The next food table was more interesting - a mixture of cooked and raw fish and other seafoods, with a rainbow of toppings and side dishes that reminded Danny, probably intentionally, of a coral reef. This table, too, was at least half-empty, but there was plenty left to choose from. 

“I’d pass on the caviar,” said an older woman on the other side of the table. Danny had not been reaching for the caviar, but he pulled his hand back and gave her a grateful look. “Far too salty,” she continued. “But that bluefin -” she nodded toward a plate of pink cubes coated in black sesame seeds - “is perfection.” 

“I appreciate the advice, thank you.” 

“Waters, Kindra,” she said, as if Danny had been asking for her name. He wasn’t quite sure which name was supposed to be first. “And you are?”

“Andy Benson.” It was his preferred alias; something close enough to his real name that he would turn his head automatically when he heard it. 

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Andy.”

“Likewise.” 

“May I ask whom you’re here with?”

“Oh, he’s …” Danny looked around, as if surprised that his responsible adult wasn’t right next to him. “Actually, if you’ll excuse me,” he said, still turned away. He didn’t really have anywhere to go, though, with the whole party being in a single open space. Maybe he should go back inside and turn invisible so he could continue browsing the food without risking any more awkward conversations. 

He got about halfway back to the house before feeling a tap on one shoulder.

A broad man wearing all black and an obvious earpiece stood behind him. His shirt didn’t actually say “security” in a bold white font, but it may as well have.

Well, crap. Danny probably should have given them more credit. He quickly scanned the crowd, wondering what had given him away. Maybe his age; he didn't see any other teenagers in the immediate vicinity.

Turning fully to face the guard, Danny channelled his inner rich asshole. “Do you need something?” he sneered.

“What’s your name?” The security guard’s tone suggested that he had already decided Danny wasn’t supposed to be here, but protocol didn’t allow him to drag the teen away just yet. 

“Benson, first name Andrew. I’m on the list.” Danny crossed his arms impatiently.

“Andrew Benson,” the guard said into his earpiece. After a few moments of silence, he said, “You sure the Hell aren’t.” 

“Oh, that’s ridiculous. Who is in charge of this list? I want their first and last name. And for that matter -” 

“There you are!”

Danny and the security guard both turned toward the voice. A tall man with long silver hair was striding purposefully in their direction.

“Mr. Masters?” The security guard sounded slightly cowed, now that he was faced with an actual rich asshole. “You know this boy?”

“I was just telling them,” Danny started quickly, hoping he’d read the man’s intentions correctly, “they said there’s no Andrew Benson on the list, and I was just saying -” The man, Mr. Masters, held up a hand to silence him. 

“What’s this about Andrew not being on the guest list? He’s my plus-one.”

The guard spoke into his earpiece again, looking apologetic. “Does Masters have a plus-one?” After another few moments he said, “I’m sorry sir, you don’t have a plus-one listed. And, if I may be so bold -” Mr. Master’s glare suggested that the guard did not, in fact, have his permission to be so bold, but he continued regardless, “- I checked everyone in personally. I don’t remember seeing this young man with you, or at all.” 

“That’s ridiculous. Are you implying that I not only failed to inform Mr. Marra about my guest, but also somehow lost track of said guest before we even got through the gates?”

“I don’t mean to imply anything, sir, I’m just -”

“Just doing your job, I’m sure. Well, then, how about you run and tell your boss that you think a teenager got past your security team, and I can tell him that you were harassing one of his guests, and then he can decide which story he likes better and what to do about it. Does that sound reasonable?” 

The guard looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t back down. Danny had to respect that, even if it was inconvenient for him. “I will have to make a report, Mr. Masters.”

“Please do. If more accurate reports had been kept in the first place, we wouldn’t even be having this discussion. In the meantime, however, I’d ask that you leave myself and young Andrew to enjoy the party in peace, hm?” 

The security guard looked to Danny, then Mr. Masters, and finally nodded. “Of course sir; I apologise for the disruption.”

Before walking away, he threw one last narrow-eyed look at Danny, leaving no doubt in Danny’s mind that, whatever this random rich guy had to say about it, security would be keeping a close eye on him from now on. Annoying, but not a disaster. He’d gotten away clean from worse situations than this. 

Running through possible escape scenarios, Danny allowed Mr. Masters to lead him to the edge of the treeline. A handful of people followed the duo with their eyes, no doubt having been eavesdropping on their encounter with security. 

“I trust you understand what just happened,” Mr. Masters said when they stopped, his voice low but stern. “I’ve vouched for you, which means, from this point forward, your actions reflect on me. Behave yourself, or you will regret it. Is that clear?”

Danny wondered if this guy was a dad. If so, he felt bad for his kids. 

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes or do a mock-salute, Danny simply said “Yes, sir.” He figured someone like this probably wouldn’t accept being called much less than “sir” by the likes of him, and now probably wasn’t the best moment to offend him. Later, maybe … 

“Good.” He straightened his already-straight, perfectly-pressed suit and scanned the crowd. Idly, almost as if to himself, he asked, “What do you enjoy?”

“... I’m sorry?” 

“Enjoy,” he repeated, eyes still on the other guests. “What interests you? Art, mathematics, technology, … video games, I don’t know.” When Danny still didn’t answer after a few seconds, he added, “These sorts of events are about networking as much as anything; everyone will expect me to introduce you to people, especially people who work in fields you may be interested in. I’m trying to figure out who you can talk to without making an ass of yourself.” 

“Oh. Uhm …” He could lie, but why bother? It wasn’t like his desire to be an astronaut was some kind of identifying characteristic. And anyway, it would be a lot easier to keep up his cover if he wasn’t also trying to improvise his way through conversations about subjects he didn’t know anything about. 

Of course, it would be even easier to just say he had to go to the bathroom and then disappear … But he’d barely even tasted the food, and it could be fun to talk to people who worked in astronautics, assuming anyone here actually did. 

“Space travel, and astrophysics, that kind of thing.” 

Mr. Masters looked at him then, maybe trying to figure out if he was lying, or maybe just surprised by the answer. His expression was hard to read.

Danny suddenly wondered whether the expensive suit he was wearing was expensive enough, or maybe too expensive. Could rich people tell how much a suit cost just by looking at it? Did Mr. Masters suspect that it was stolen? Come to think of it, why hadn’t he asked any questions? And, for that matter, why hadn’t Danny?

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful … sir. But why are you covering for me at all?” 

Mr. Masters’ gaze had returned to the people milling about the yard - some of whom, Danny noted, were still throwing occasional glances their way. He didn’t turn or otherwise acknowledge Danny’s question, though Danny didn’t doubt he’d heard. He spoke after a moment, still looking away. That seemed to be a habit of his.

“Our host’s name is Edward Marra. He owns the parent company of many of the big names in cobalt mining and processing. This party is to celebrate his recent acquisition of what was previously his biggest rival company in the Asian market. I’ll point him out when I see him. You won’t really be expected to know who anyone else is, but you will be expected to act duly impressed whenever they mention what they do, and to remember names. Can you handle that?”

Acting impressed, probably. Remembering names, probably not. 

“Sure.” 

“Good. And do wipe the cream cheese off your sleeve.” 

Danny frowned as he inspected both sleeves. There was a tiny bit of something white on one of the hems; it must have been from when he was reaching across the table of tiny sandwiches. Danny wiped it off with his finger and then tasted it, confirming that it was, in fact, cream cheese. How had Mr. Masters known that? 

The man was already walking away, and Danny hurried to catch up. 

No one did work in astronautics, it turned out, but Danny met several people who’s companies had contracts with NASA, and others who simply had a personal interest in space exploration. One woman who couldn’t have been older than thirty spoke with passion about the need to create human-livable environments off-planet, before Earth itself became inhospitable. A man who couldn’t have been older than twenty-five spoke with passion about the vast potential for resource-extraction in asteroids. 

Mr. Masters always introduced Danny as Andrew Benson, the son of some old college friends of his. Danny always corrected this with a polite “my friends call me Andy.” 

It took what felt like an hour at least, and probably more than fifty introductions, for Danny to learn that Mr. Masters’ first name was Vlad. Though he always addressed people by first name, it seemed few were willing to be so informal in return. Was he much richer than most of the people here then? Or more powerful in some other way? A politician, maybe?

Vlad Masters. It sounded vaguely familiar. Then again, Danny had heard so many names in the last hour that they were all starting to sound alike. 

Vlad had just exchanged a few pleasantries with a husband-and-wife duo of scientists - two of the few people in attendance who seemed to have gotten rich off their own work, rather than collecting salaries as executives of profitable companies - when something caught his eye. “Ah, there’s Edward. I wondered where he’d gotten to. If you’ll excuse us …” 

Danny was glad for the distraction. Though the two scientists bore no physical resemblance to his parents, they reminded him of them in spirit, and it was not a welcome reminder. 

Following Vlad, he tried to remember if he was supposed to know who ‘Edward’ was. Oh, right - the host. He worked in … mining? Diamond mining? No, that wasn’t it. And what was his last name? 

The man they were approaching was distinctly middle-aged, but wearing it well. His shortish hair was a mix of blond and grey, and his face bore deep laugh lines. He noticed the pair coming and grinned, throwing his arms out by way of greeting. Danny wondered if he was a hugger. 

“Vlad Masters,” he called while they were still several yards away. His voice was loud, projected like an actor’s, and seemed to fill the space despite them being outside. “They told me you were around here somewhere.” When they were close enough, Edward reached out both hands to shake Vlad’s enthusiastically. 

“Edward,” Vlad said with a warm smile, “a pleasure as always. And may I be the, oh, three-hundredth, I’m sure, to congratulate you on your masterful acquisition.” 

Edward grinned, somehow, even wider. “It means more coming from you than from the other three hundred combined.” Was that because Vlad was a good friend? Danny wondered, or because he was so much more successful than all the others? He kicked himself again for not asking more questions while they had some privacy. Who was this stranger he was following? 

Then Edward looked down at Danny and shook his hand with just as much energy. His grip was firm but not hard, and his smile seemed genuine - but you could never be sure with these types. 

“And this is our ghost, I presume.”

Danny froze.

He couldn't have guessed, could he? Would he be smiling like that if he had? Would he have taken Danny's hand so carelessly if he thought Danny was a dangerous monster? Surely not. Probably, this man didn't even believe in ghosts. Most people didn't.

But some people did.

Unpleasant memories prickled at the back of Danny's neck, and he worked to keep his attention in the present moment. 

“Edward, this is Andrew Benson, the son of some old college friends. Andrew, this is our gracious host, Edward Marra.”

“My friends call me Andy,” Danny recited, not quite managing the smile and friendly laugh that were supposed to accompany the line. 

“Andy,” Edward said warmly, like they really were friends. Danny did not think about his parents. “There's no need to be nervous; you're not in trouble. I'm just fascinated that no one seems to remember you coming in, or even have any record of your RSVP. And yet, here you are. Like you've appeared out of thin air.”

“Like a ghost.” Danny managed a small smile at that. Of course he'd meant it metaphorically. Danny dropped his shoulders and noted, pleasantly surprised, that his hands weren’t clenched into fists. He was fine. 

“Spooky, isn't it?”

“But no real harm done, in the end,” Vlad added, possibly as a way to get away from the topic. Would Vlad face any consequences if someone found out he was covering for a party crasher? A few whispers and odd looks, maybe. Danny doubted someone like him had much experience with real consequences.

“No, heaven's no, of course not.” Edward waved a hand dismissively. “The important thing is that you're here now and enjoying the party.”

“Very much so, sir.” 

“Then I've done my job. So tell me, Andy, what is it you want to do after school?”

“I want to be an astronaut.”

“An astronaut!” Again, Edward’s voice boomed out, probably audible even at the far end of the yard. “Well, there's a lofty goal, eh?” It took Danny a second to realise Edward was making a pun, so his laugh was late. Edward seemed to take no notice of this as he continued without missing a beat. “Shoot for the moon, that's what I always say. It's rare for someone to take that advice so literally.” He laughed at his own joke, and his laughter boomed too. Maybe this was why the party was held outside.

Despite himself, Danny was put at ease by Edward's joyful demeanour. It reminded him - no. It was just nice to talk to someone so unreservedly happy. 

“To be completely honest, sir," Danny said with a wry smile, "I think the moon is a bit played out. I'm actually aiming for the stars.”

Edward boomed out another laugh, as Danny had expected he would. 

“I think you’ve got a little disrupter on your hands, Vlad.” Edward winked conspiratorially at Danny. “That’s a compliment.” 

Danny wasn’t quite sure what to say next, so he was relieved when Vlad took the attention off him again. Vlad and Edward made small talk about stock prices or something for a few minutes before Vlad pulled a “I don’t want to take up too much of your time” to end the conversation.  

“Of course, of course, I have plenty more hands to shake. You two enjoy the rest of your evening. But keep an eye on this one, eh?” Edward gestured to Danny. “You never know when he might disappear again.” 

“I’ll be sure to do that.” Though Vlad said this with a laugh, Danny sensed a conviction behind the words. It sounded a little like walking into a room and then hearing the door lock behind you.

This time when they walked away, Vlad didn’t lead Danny to yet another group of people, but instead was heading toward a nearly-empty food table with no one around it. 

“He seemed pleasant,” Danny volunteered, keeping his tone light. He'd just ask to go to the restroom now. Vlad couldn't exactly say no to that, could he?

Vlad responded, predictably, without looking at him. “He would destroy you and everyone you’ve ever loved to save himself a penny.” He said it casually, like this fact was as interesting as the man’s birthday or shoe size. “And, just in case it wasn't clear, he absolutely knows you aren’t supposed to be here.”

What Danny heard was, ‘I am currently the only thing standing between you and the man you’ve slighted who has no qualms with murder.’

Though it sounded like a figure of speech, Danny suspected the description of Edward's character was more or less accurate. Danny remembered one of Sam’s rants about the diamond industry, and then reminded himself not to think about Sam. The point was, if Edward Marra ran a diamond mine or something close to that, he probably had, indeed, sacrificed lives for his fortune. 

Was Vlad threatening him, then? Implying that, if Danny didn’t behave as he wished, he’d turn him over to Edward? Or suggesting that Danny owed him something now, since he had stepped in and put himself at risk to protect Danny?

Except, of course, Vlad didn’t seem remotely concerned for himself. All evidence suggested that, whatever Edward Marra might be capable of, Vlad Masters had nothing to fear from him. 

“Who are you?”

Vlad finally turned toward Danny, wearing a hurt expression. “You mean you haven’t heard of me? Vlad Masters? Owner of Mastersoft?” 

Danny couldn’t keep the dawning realisation off his face, though he schooled his expression as soon as he saw Vlad’s satisfied smile. 

Vlad wasn’t just a rich guy. He wasn't even just a billionaire. He was one of the richest people in the world.

“What are you doing here?” Danny wasn’t exactly knowledgeable about the financial elite, but he didn’t think anyone else at this party was a multi-billionaire. 

“Networking, as I said.” 

“Why would you need to network?” 

“Everyone needs to network,” Vlad said with a solemnity that suggested either a deeply-held belief or a very dry joke. 

“Right,” Danny muttered. “Well … Thank you for helping me tonight. I think I’m pretty much partied-out, so I’ll probably just hit the restroom and then take off.” 

Vlad nodded. “Indeed, I think I’ve had about all the small talk I can handle for the month. Shall we peruse the dessert table before we go?”

Vlad turned so they were side-by-side and simultaneously reached a hand behind Danny's back, like he was going to physically push him in his intended direction. Danny stepped away and turned so he was facing Vlad again. Unfazed, Vlad smoothly moved his hands behind his own back, striking a pose that should have seemed silly but looked natural for him.

“I didn’t mean that you had to leave just because I am,” Danny clarified. 

“What, am I to stay and mingle without you? What would people say? ‘Where’s that charming young man that was with you earlier? Lost track of him again, have you?’ I’d have no answer.” 

No, Danny supposed that would be kind of a bad look. Not that that was his problem. “Okay. I’ll go to the restroom while you say your goodbyes, then we’ll meet at the gate.”

“So you can disappear on me? I think not.”

Well, he wasn't stupid; Danny had to give him that.

“Where would I go? There are security guards and a huge fence.”

“Just as there were when you came in.”

Danny huffed, slightly frustrated with himself. It would have been simpler to leave as soon as security had clocked him. 

 “Fine. We walk out together, then go our own ways. If you think I’m getting in a car with you, you’re nuttier than a can of snakes.” Vlad raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask. 

“It will be a bit difficult to explain why I’m getting into the car without you.”

“I leave it to your vastly superior intellect to think of something.” 

Vlad inclined his head, allowing that. 

They did, in fact, hit the dessert table before they left. It was hard for Danny to limit himself to one plate, but without a more stable container, and knowing he’d be flying soon, he didn’t have much choice. He did, however, stack and interlock as much as he possibly could, grateful that the plates were sturdy ceramic instead of paper. He didn’t expect anyone to stop him from walking out with one of the plates - though he certainly wasn’t supposed to, he was also with Vlad Masters - and no one did. 

When Vlad’s driver arrived in a twelve-foot long limo, Vlad explained that he’d decided to enjoy the night air for a little bit longer, telling the driver to wait a mile or so up the road. 

“Very good sir,” the driver said, like he was trying to sound like every stereotypical butler in every movie, except that his accent was less British and more New Jersey. Vlad didn't acknowledge the random teenager beside him, and the driver followed suit. 

“I see you went with one of your more modest limos,” Danny deadpanned as they started down the long driveway. 

“Naturally, I didn't want to upstage the host.” 

They walked along the side of the road that bordered the Marra property, marked by the tall fence that ran as far as Danny could see from his current vantage. The other side of the road was the edge of the forest. Danny only needed to go a few yards in to be confident he was hidden, and then he’d be free to go ghost and fly back to his temporary home. 

“You know,” Vlad began, interrupting Danny considering whether to split off now or wait until Vlad and his driver were gone, “I’m not actually planning to kidnap you. If there’s somewhere you’d like a ride to …” 

“Thanks, but no thanks. I found my way here; I can find my way back.”

“And how did you find your way here? You obviously didn't drive. We’re really not within walking distance of anything, or even reasonable cycling distance." 

Shoot, had he given away too much? No, Vlad would have been wondering that anyway; at worst Danny had called attention to what was already a suspicious detail. And anyway, there were plenty of non-ghost-related possibilities. 

He shrugged. “I have my ways.” 

Vlad smiled slightly and nodded, probably having expected a response like that. Why would Danny answer honestly, after all? Most likely, Vlad had only asked to let Danny know that he was suspicious. Maybe it was another subtle threat, implying that he was curious about Danny and would be looking for answers. Or maybe Danny was being paranoid. Or maybe one of the most powerful people in the world - someone who could probably get some security camera footage and access to a police database if he really wanted to - had taken an undue interest in Danny, and Danny should get as far away from him as he could as soon as possible. 

“I’m going to leave now,” Danny said, not seeing much point in tact. “I’m going to cross the street and walk into the forest and you’re not going to see me again after that.”

“Watch out for wolves,” was all Vlad said in reply. So Danny crossed the street, glancing behind him constantly. Vlad never broke his stride and showed no sign of even remembering that Danny was there. 

What had the past hour and a half been to him? A brief distraction from the monotony of yet another boring “party”? A good deed for a clearly troubled youth? Or the beginnings of a puzzle he intended to solve? 

A few times in his life, Danny had been truly lost, with no idea how to even begin searching for familiar territory. When it happened, he never felt himself becoming lost; he firmly believed that the way back was clear, until he tried to take it. Then he would realise that he had, in fact, been going the wrong way for hours. 

Danny had a sense like that now - looking back on the evening, trying to figure out exactly where he had turned right when he should have turned left. Should he have run from the security guard? Should he have just stayed invisible from the start? At what point had this outcome become inevitable?

Granted, Vlad had given no real sign that he cared one way or another where Danny had come from or where he was going. Maybe there really was nothing to worry about. Still, as he watched Vlad Masters stroll casually away, Danny couldn't shake the feeling that he hadn't seen the last of him.  

[notsogothgf]

You're Gonna Kill For Me Or Die For Me

Johnny Slaughter X AFAB Reader⭐18+ MDI⭐

CW: Blood, Gore, kidnapping

CHPT: 1 Escaping Basement

Oh god things couldn’t have possibly gotten any worse. Every corner I turned the rooms looked the same, filled with blood and bones. I was never going to make it out of here. To think I actually listened to Leland. I just wanted to help Ana look for her sister, but of course this lug head wanted to check out the man with the beat up truck coated in blood. How they never got pulled over for questioning is beyond me. We went poking our noses where we shouldn’t have. Now I’m stuck in a stupid basement full of god knows what. I especially didn’t want to know who or what these bones came from. It was freaking me out the longer I was around them.I tried my best to avoid touching the bones in between the doors. Trying even harder to distance myself from the maniac with a chainsaw. While peering down the dark tunnel ahead I failed to hear the footsteps behind me.Two hands quickly grabbed at me one keeping me quiet and the other holding me still. Gasping and grabbing the hand around my mouth the assailant spoke.

“Sh sh shhh. It’s just me sweetheart.” It was Leland.

I quickly turned around punching him in the chest, “Jesus Christ you oaf you scared the shit outta me!” He smiled, wrapping his arms around me. 

Overcome with so many emotions: fear, anger, sadness, maybe even a little bit of guilt. I held him tightly, shedding a few tears not knowing if this would be our last hug alive.

“Hey now it’s gonna be okay we’re going to make it out of here. Okay?” He held my face wiping my tears with his thumbs.

I nodded, leaning into his palms.

“Now, I’ve made up a couple bone shanks to keep us safe. We just need to stick together and find a way out.” Leland gave my face one last squeeze before letting go.

I let him lead the way as I felt like I was only going round in circles. Before moving too far he handed me one of those bone shanks. I didn’t pay much attention where we were going, opting instead to watch and listen for that rattling chainsaw. The smell of decay and mildew was overwhelming. Made me miss the smell of home real bad, hell I just missed home in general. Bet Ma is worried sick. Leland stopped quickly shooting an arm out to grab me pulling me in a closet. About to open my mouth and question him, the look he shot me told me I needed to be quiet. Holding my breath and looking out of the little slit I saw the owner of the pick up truck slinking by. 

“M’ on yer tail I know y'all ‘r round here somewhere..”

Looking at Leland with wide eyes he just put a finger to his lips. The heavy thuds of his boots circled behind us heading down the rest of the hall. Leland peaked his head out first, slowly stepping out and offering me a hand. Taking it and following him back down the hall opposite of that psycho path. We ended up in what seemed to be the room.

“You see that tin thing? I need ya to open that for me. You know how butter fingered I am” He nodded towards what looked like a pigpen door.

I slowly opened the pen crawling through into the red lit room. I gasped as I saw all the different skulls littering the walls. He crawled out right beside me letting out a small ‘oh god.’ He quickly turned my head and led me to the large metal door.

“Do not turn around, understand me.” He stated as he started fiddling around with the lock on the door.

Everything in me wanted to turn around. “Why?” I whispered. 

He sighed, shaking his head, “ It’s- It’s Ana. Now please don’t look darlin’.”

I needed to know what he meant by the way he sounded. It couldn't have been good. What if I just did a quick look no longer than two seconds? I did and I wish I wouldn’t have. Grabbing Leland’s shoulder and letting out a sob. Ana was sat on some kind of meat hook. Limp. There was blood all around her. Leland sniffled, still picking the lock as he knew I looked and couldn’t spare the time to stop. This was no longer just some scary prank but a fight for our lives. Once the lock popped open he hugged me tightly. He pulled away, grabbing my face lightly.

“We’re gonna make it out of here and we’re gonna go get help. Whatever happens I love you and ‘m sorry I dragged you into this mess.” He kissed me softly.

He was always so gentle with me.” I love you too. Nothings gonna happen. Ya hear?”

Nodding he gave me one last squeeze before letting go. “Now I’m gonna open this door and we’re gonna book it. Do. Not. Stop. Running.”

I wasn’t ready but I had to be if we were going to make it out of here. Leland counted on his fingers as soon as it hit three he flung the door open and started sprinting. I fell behind not being able to keep up with his long strides. I had no idea where we were headed. I just knew I didn’t want to lose sight of him. Playing football really paid off for him though he was fast and agile. He ran through the maze of doors and bones until we stopped at what we thought was the front door. Grabbing the door knob twisting and pulling. It was locked.

“Shit, I don’t have a lock pick.” He whispered.

“I don’t either.” I looked around closely trying to find anything worth using, but not leaving the room. I fear if I did I’d get lost.

“Leland the stairs.” I point to a staircase leading to the second floor. “Maybe we kind find somethin there.”

[nyoomfruits]

can I ask what the next fic you're working on is ? <3

ALWAYS but also. as always. i need you to bear with me here aldskjfa

THE VISION THE VIBE is like. a cozy little street somewhere in england that solely consists of small business. there's a café. a bridal store. TWO cheese shops (owned by pierre and esteban respecitively) and also a patisserie owned by oscar and a yoga studio owned by lando

it's landoscar btw idk if i said that yet lmao

ANYWAY it's just a lot of shenanigans? there's a monthly community meeting helmed by george (who owns the aforementioned bridal store) which goes exactly the way you expect it to go and a BUNCH of events. there's also lando and oscar being very obviously in love with each other but not doing anything about it to the great annoyance of. everyone really.

its kind of hard to explain so!!! here's a snippet to kind of illustrate what i'm talking about lmao

“I believe it when I see it,” Oscar says, a little skeptically. “So, what can I get you today?” Lando smiles at him. Bats his eyelashes. Oscar deflates a little. “Lando, no, come on.” “Aw, please?” Lando pleads, leaning his head on his hands and sticking out his bottom lip in a pout. “It’s not my fault you make ‘em so good. Just one.” Oscar’s frowning now. “Lando, no. You can’t just have a croissant every morning. It’s not healthy.” Lando pouts harder. “The French do it, and they’re fine,” he says, petulantly. “Yeah, but the French are-“ Oscar starts, cuts off mid-sentence to glance through the windows to the end of the street, where two identical artisanal cheese shops sit right across from each other, owned by Pierre and Esteban respectively. Like they can hear him and will stop their bickering long enough to wage war on Oscar and his opinions on their homeland. “The French,” he finishes, diplomatically.

“Sure,” Lando says, unwilling to give up. “What if I tell you I’m French.” “You’re British and Belgian,” Oscar says, without hesitation. “And before you tell me that’s practically the same, no it’s not.” “The Belgians eat croissants too, you know,” Lando grouses. “And so do the Dutch, and the Germans. Order something else,” Oscar says, unflappable. “I’m a paying customer-“ Lando starts. “You’re a pain in my ass,” Oscar says, rather deadpan. “What about a spinach puff. That way you get your greasy butter dough and a vegetable. Win-win.” “Spinach,” Lando despairs, sliding down the counter so he’s laying on his arms. “Do you want me dead.” Oscar raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Fine,” Lando relents. “I will have one of those raspberry tarts. That has a fruit in it, that counts, right?” “Wonderful choice,” Oscar says, grabbing the thongs and a paper bag. “I’ll throw in an apricot tart as well.” “You’re an apricot tart,” Lando mutters darkly, but without any real heat behind it.

[kanekisfavoritegf]

Pathetic

@nymphoheretic - Poppin’ Cherries Collab

warnings: degradidation, virginity loss(obviously), mentions of bullying, fingering, mean girl!reader, nerd!Armin, Perv!Armin, public sex

DISCLAIMER!!! THE STUFF I WRITE IS NOT REAL. SMUT ON HERE IS ENTIRELY FICTIONAL AND THE ACTUALITY IF HAVING SOMEONE SIMPLY RAM INTO A VIRGIN IS VERY VERY VERY UNREALISTIC. BUT THAT IS WHY IT IS CALLED FICTION. DO NOT. AND I MEAN DO NOT. BASE YOUR SEXUAL EXPERIENCES OFF OF THE FICTITIOUS EVENTS THAT GET WRITTEN ON ANY SMUTTY STORY. THIS IS FOR FUN NOT FOR EDUCATION!!!!

Armin was fed up with you and your sweet smiles laced with venom. The verbal venom you’d spit out at him while keeping such a sweet smile on your face. You were considered to be one of the golden girls of your campus, smart, beautiful, and kind.

Bullshit.

It was all bullshit.

Armin saw the way you used your pretty smiles as a mask for your rotten personality.

And he hated it. Hated how you never called him by his name. Only ever referring to him as a “virgin loser”.

So today, after your usual late-night tutor session at the always empty library, Armin stood up and announced that this would be his last time tutoring you.

“What?” you exclaimed to him.

“I didn't think it was this hard to understand. I'm done dealing with you.” Though Armin tried to make his voice rougher than usual, it wavered a little as you stood upright to his face. The sudden attitude had thrown you for a loop, making you raise your eyebrow at the boy as you stood in his face.

“What, am I a bad student? Do I not retain the information well enough for you?” You scoffed at him.

“No, it's not that.” He said, rolling his eyes a little.

“Then what is it? God, I wish you could get straight to the point. Wasting my time like the virgin you are. Probably want me to stick around longer so you can stare at my tits again.

“See, that's why. I'm done with the names and the assumptions. I can't teach someone who doesn't respect me. You don't even call me by my name.”

“You aren’t a very respectable person, Armin.” You said his name smoothly as if you had said it a thousand times before. Armin let out a small gasp-like whine, hearing you finally call his name. “You don’t think I can’t see you staring like you want to fuck me every time you tutor me. You think, what?That I can't see you fix your pants whenever I lean into you. I call you a virgin loser 'cause you are one.”

Your hands, now, grasped onto Armin's collar shirt, pulling him in closer. Your lips were inches from touching, you watched as Armin’s eyes drifted from yours to your gloss-covered lips.

The proximity was driving him wild. The scent of your perfume mixed with your coco butter lotion filled his nose and made him step back. You were dangerous. He hated how you got him so worked up with your words. Causing you to smirk, and Armin cursed at himself. Proving everything you said right.

Well almost everything…

“I'm not a virgin.” The blond boy spat out. Ears and cheeks becoming a little bit red from anger. If you weren't so pissed off, you'd find him a little cute.

“Sure you're not, Min.” You spoke back in a mocking tone. “The hard on you're getting from me calling you a loser is great proof.”

Instead of stepping away, against Armin’s better judgment, he closed the distance between the two of you. Pressing his weight into you and trapping your body in between his and the desk covered in your books.

“Armin, what are you doing?” You let out a gasp as you felt his semi-hard dick press against your thigh.

“What? Nervous?” Armin’s head was bent into your neck. Mouth hovering right next to your ear. His words were quiet. But still held a mocking tone. He sounded much different from the timid Armin that never once tried to speak out before.

“Of you? Never.” You chuckled, trying to mask your nervousness. Armin’s eyebrow raised in surprise.

“Don’t tell me. You're a virgin.”

“N-no. I'm not. Shut up, Amrin.”He let out a small chuckle. The irony of it all.

Armin's hands were now at your thighs, grazing up and down your skin. His mouth latched onto your neck, giving it a bite before pulling away.

“You talk big shit, but you’re still a virgin.” He scoffed while ripping your panties. This action caused you to let out a loud pornographic moan. “Pathetic. You are pathetic.”

His finger now rubbed at your cunt up and down, slipping into your hole “accidentally” every so now and then. Each time he did, you found yourself becoming better and wetter.

“Min, please.” You whimpered out.

“Please what? Use your words.” He smirked down at you.

You hated how much he was enjoying this. His power over you. He knew you didn’t have a clue what to do, and he was taking advantage of that. Making you beg him to do something, anything.

“Make me cum.” His usually sweet smile looked so much more intimidating now that he held all the cards.

You gasped a little at the intrusion of Armin's long and delicate finger pushing its way into your untouched cunt.

“Oh fuck, you are so tight.” Armin groaned at how you clamped down on his singular digit. He felt himself harden even more, thinking about how you’d squeeze down on his dick.

All you could do was moan out in response as he added another, stretching and plunging into you deeper and deeper.

“I think I’m going to cum Armin.” You panted out into his ear. But before you could hit your climax, you felt it dissipate into nothing as Armin pulled his finger away from you. Making you whine in frustration.

“Don’t be a brat.” Armin spat at you while undoing his belt and pants buttons.

“I thought you liked me being a brat?” You giggled a little as his ears flared red again. “You are blushing like a high schooler.” You said, laughing at his rushed way of pulling his pants down. Your laughs would be cut short, a result of Armin ramming into your pussy without a single care for you.

“You make my life hell, calling me a virgin and a loser, but you’ve never even been fucked.” His eyes rolled back as he degraded you. Keeping his thrusts erratic and hard as if he was just using you as a vessel for his cum.

“You’ll make the prettiest cum dump, won’t you?” He asked tauntingly, but when you didn’t respond, it caused him to slap at your clit, making your whole body convulse.

“Mhm, Armin. The prettiest” You slurred out, choking on your moans and salvia. You were slipping in and out of consciousness as you gave in to the feeling of your incoming climax. You saw white as your orgasm hit. Your nails clawed at Armin's shirt as he bit your neck, muffling the moans he released as he came shortly after you.

You tried to wrap your mind around the fact that you had just lost your virginity.

In a library….

To Armin…

Once he had pulled out, he held you in place. Watching as his cum seeped out of you. Before you could get up and fix yourself, Armin turned your body around, bending you over the desk.“What? Did you think we were done?”

[steviewashere]

Nineteen and Learning How to Live

(also on ao3, rated M for below content warnings)

CW: Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Referenced Suicide Attempt, Please Read With Caution (Nothing Graphic, But Still)

wc: 1,996, Steddie and Platonic Stobin Tags: Post Vecna, Post Canon, Post Season 4, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, A bit Dialogue Heavy, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, and so are Eddie and Robin, Steve Harrington-Centric

(This is entirely indulgent for myself. Based on a real experience, so please be kind. But I wanted to share this anyway because it feels important, y'know?)

-------- It’s the week before the 23rd of December, 1986. And both Robin and Eddie have noticed an odd shift in Steve’s demeanor. He’s gone from happy-go-lucky to sort of shut-in and quiet. Hushed behind his own hands. Dimmer and more tired in the eyes. Pallor, now that the winter weather has finally reached Indiana. Snowed in and bundled up. Barely answering the phone. Picking at his food or overeating, there’s no good in between for him. 

And, the real kicker, there’s no way for them to truly understand what’s happening.

They aren’t sure if this is all some everlasting effect from the Upside Down. From venturing into Vecna’s lair. Or the residuals of his high school days. There’s no rhyme or reason to it at all. And he won’t talk. Dodges questions. Sighing or huffing or—sometimes—growling. Like the words get stuck in his throat, begrudging his conversation, all together silencing whatever he wanted to say.

So they’ve learned to stop asking about it. They’ve learned to let him have his space. To let him shroud himself in the darkness of his bedroom, underneath a blanket that hasn’t been washed in a couple months, with a rat’s nest on his head, and cold to the touch skin that is always dotted in meticulous goosebumps—but he refuses to grow warmer.

They thought it was seasonal. At first, they thought it was seasonal.

Because people grow withdrawn when the sun disappears. Or when the sun sets earlier than you’re anticipating. That’s just a reasonable response. Robin and Eddie are able to understand that.

But they grow to realize that it’s not. It’s in waves. It’s during the summer and under a pollen filled spring sky and under the browning leaves of oak trees. It happens when they make jokes about touching death, intimately and cautiously. Or if they suggest hanging out at the quarry, sitting at the edge, looking out across the water, watching as the stars twinkle above them. Or when they look down at the water…Steve instinctively reaches out to stop them from bending forward. And he never lets them use his car to take them out there.

And he refuses to talk about it.

And so a week passes. And they’re two days away from Christmas. And he is getting stir crazy. Becoming restless. Growing uncomfortable.

He asks to go on multiple drives. He asks for the window to be rolled down so that the cold breeze brushes back his hair and tickles his face. He asks for them to be honest with him, “Am I a better person? I’m okay, right?”

They think it’s silly and it’s foolish and off putting. But they answer, truthfully, down to the very core of their souls as beings, “Yes, Steve. Yes, you are.” And he breathes out something like relief, growing lighter, brighter, easier.

But he keeps asking. And it’s every hour. And they’re all growing restless.

However, right before 11PM on the 23rd, Steve asks that they go out to the quarry. With no alcohol or weed or cigarettes. With a couple baggies of pretzel sticks and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. To look at the stars and see what the water is doing.

Eddie drives because Robin hasn’t learned yet and Steve is still hesitant about taking his own car. They wear big puffer jackets and mittens and heavy-duty snow boots and beanies that threaten to swallow their face. He’s the first one out. The last one to sit. And the first to break the silence.

Steve dangles his legs over the edge. His hands pressed tightly together between his thighs. Heaves a breath. And darts his eyes over the horizon line. Quietly, “Tonight’s important.” He’s sitting between Eddie and Robin. Looks at them for a mere second. “An anniversary, I guess.”

They hum.

Eddie chuckles. “I didn’t forget our anniversary, did I? Is it six months already?”

He shakes his head. “No,” he breathes, “but it’s important.”

“What’s important about tonight?” Robin asks.

“Just wait a bit,” Steve ominously says. “I don’t want to talk for a while.”

So they go back to silence. Not comfortable. Not uncomfortable. Somewhere between stagnant and anxious. With the weight of patient waiting and impatient questions. A taste of something solemn, yet something lively and meaningful.

They hold hands now. Robin’s mittens are blue with snowflakes dotted across the wool, tightened at her wrist. Eddie’s are black with red stripes, a hole at the tip of his left thumb. And Steve’s are a neutral grey—they’re still starchy and stiff, apparently new and never worn. His thumbs rub circles over the backs of Eddie and Robin’s hands. And he sighs reverently amongst them. And he’s smiling softly, almost proud, not far away, but rather present in the moment.

It’s silent. Though, the water ripples below them like a leaky faucet dripping into the still fill of a bathtub. Trees rustling around and overhead. Wind clipping at their cheeks, tinting their noses a dull and subtle pink. 

Eventually, Steve lets go. He lays his left hand over his thigh. The other hand digging around for something in one of the deep pockets of his jacket. And what he does produce is a small pocket knife. It glints in the minuscule amount of light surrounding them. The handle worn down from being held so many times. He’s looking down at it. Bouncing it in his grip, testing the weight, they assume. And his eyes dim the slightest, but not fading completely. His teeth chew at his bottom lip.

Robin wants to ask why he has that. Eddie wants to reach out and take it from him. They both move to do so, their hands creeping hesitantly towards Steve’s. But he shakes his head, minutely and trembling. His breath leaves him in a small, quaking huff. He swallows as if consuming a baseball.

“I used to—“ His voice cracks. Clears his throat. “I used to use this when I shotgunned beers back in high school,” he admits quietly. “When life was normal. And my parents constantly argued and I needed something to help me silence it all.”

Steve pulls his legs up, bending them so that his chin rests on his knees. Arms wrapping around them, the knife still in his grip, but not unfolded. “And then, 1983 happened. 1984. And I graduated in 1985.” His lips rub against his jeans. Closes his eyes. “Met you, Robin.” He turns his head towards her, but doesn’t stare. Doesn’t look. Doesn’t let her own eyes acknowledge him. “Thought that maybe my life was just going to be food service and people who couldn’t stand me. Which, I’d get, y’know?

“But the bad shit kept happening. And then we were working at Family Video. And I was losing my parents approval at an even faster rate, especially since college season was finally starting up. I was getting sidelined. Couldn’t find anybody to date me. I shouldn’t have felt so dejected about that, since I had just turned nineteen and the world doesn’t end when you’re nineteen, but.” His next sigh is forlorn. “But my world was small. And nothing was changing. And I was just…I was just the same person I’d always been.”

They scoot closer to him. The air is heavier. This is it, Robin thinks. The answer, Eddie knows.

“I wanted to be different. I wanted to be better. Good. Whatever,” Steve says. “But it just wasn’t happening. I couldn’t figure out why. I couldn’t understand why I was bothersome to my own family or why I was getting shoved off by Dustin or why nobody wanted me, romantically, platonically. It just didn’t make sense. And the confusion kept growing. Until I was—Until I could only be bitter and hateful and…sad about it.

“I just grew sad.”

He opens his eyes and looks out at the water again. His legs falling away so that he’s sitting criss-cross. And both of his hands hold the knife. Still folded.

“December of 1985 came. My parents weren’t coming home for Christmas. Everybody was busy. I was alone.” Steve sniffs. “I was alone in my house. With nowhere to go or anybody to really talk to. And I was alone with my thoughts. And I was going crazy with the need to do something. So I grabbed some essentials.

“Wallet. Keys. Light jacket. Beanie. This knife.” He holds it up. Staring. “Drove until I grew tired of being on the road. Led me out here.” He exhales a large breath. “I was alone. So I—I began to think about doing stupid things. Stupid selfish things, that’s what it felt like. One moment I was sitting in the driver’s seat of my car. The next, I was standing right where I’m sitting, knife unfolded, no mittens on my hands. Praying. Hoping that it would be quick and I wouldn’t be found.”

Robin knows she gasps something. Not a word. Not a breath. Some wrecked, terrible sound. Something like surprise and complete understanding. Something like hideous sympathy. Eddie holds his breath.

“But when I had it angled to…y’know…I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t know why. I still barely know. Yet, when I listened in on the silence around me, I realized it wasn’t quiet. There was a weird sound coming from my car. Like a—a static? I thought it was my radio. It began to annoy me,” he iterates. “I stomped over, bent down, and leaned my head into the driver’s side. And that’s when I saw it. One of the walkie-talkies. It was…It was Max asking for somebody to listen to her talk, she had a nightmare, she was scared, she was alone. 

“And…I may not be a good person. I may not be a better person. But I know I’m some weird fucking babysitter. And I knew that I would do anything for any of them. That’s when I thought, too, what if it had been Robin? What if it was Dustin or Nancy or even Jonathan that I was speaking to? I couldn’t…There’s no way I’d be settled leaving everybody the way I wanted to, knowing what I know and hearing what I heard in Max’s terrified voice.” He shakes his head, swallows again, and looks over at Eddie.

“And what if I couldn’t be there during Vecna? Who would’ve gone under the water? Who would’ve pulled you out of the mess of dead bats? Who would’ve held Dustin during the hours of surgery you had to go through? Who would’ve been there to tell Max she did a good job or that you did a good job? To listen to your music and your campaigns? Who would've agreed with you when Dustin is being a little shit?” He looks back at Robin now. “Who would’ve been there to hear about your crushes and your terrible double VHS tapes and your rambles about god knows what day to day? Who would’ve loved the both of you the way I love you?”

He tightens his grip on that tiny knife. Gazes at the water.

“I know that I don’t make a lot of good choices. I know that I say things that sound too bitchy to be teasing sometimes. I know that there’s still a lot inside of me that I need to make up for. But I’m alive and I’ve survived and I have some of the best people in my corner. I’d be a fool to give all of this up. So…that’s why tonight is special.

“Because I’m alive.”

Steve raises his arm, the knife over his shoulder, and chucks it down over the side of the quarry. He fills his palms with Eddie’s and Robin’s. And he relaxes.

“And you’ve got so much life to live,” Eddie says.

And Robin can’t help but think that he’s right because, The world didn’t end when you were nineteen.

-------- <3

[texas-gothic]

Dracula Daily - May 3: Chicken Paprikash!

Welcome boils and ghouls to another year of Dracula Daily. It is the 3rd of May, and as our dear friend Jonathan treks his way across Central Europe, bound for ominous castle of Count Dracula, we encounter the first real star of this most foundational gothic novel: a spicy chicken dish fixed up with paprika. That's right, everyone! It's time for Chicken Paprikash!

Earlier this week, most of you (or at least I'm assuming most of you, because holy cow did a lot of y'all pile in after I posted it) will recall my guide to gathering the ingredients for this most essential of Dracula Daily Dinners. Tonight, we will discuss it's preparation, and whether or not the deviations I have made from the previous cycles rendition will pay off or not. So, if you've got those pots and pans ready, let's go!

Lets begin with the equipment you'll need for preparing Chicken Paprikash.

All the usual suspects are here. Knives, cutting board, some whisks and woodem spoons, a couple of bowls for ingredients. But the real stars of this show are going to be a large dutch oven, and a large building pot. Examples of these can be see in the photo above.

Once you have all your equipment ready, it's time to move on to the most annoying part of every dinner. It's time for...

Part One: Mise En Place

Cooking can be hard, or cooking can be easy. It all depends on how well prepared you are. If you have everything you need ready beforehand, actually cooking the meal can be a breeze. Sadly, this process will usually take up most of the time you spend making dinner. Is it worth the peace of mind later on? Probably, but I've never passed up a chance to gripe.

So, what all must we prepare for our Chicken Paprikash. Let's make a list:

Roughly 2 Pounds of Chicken Thights (salted preferably 1-4 hours beforehand)

2 Cups of Chicken Broth (or Stock)

2 Medium Yellow Onions (Chopped or Diced, to your preference)

2 Roma Tomatoes (Diced this time, with their seeds removed)

2 Hungarian Wax Peppers (Diced as well, be sure to remove those seeds unless you want to go for a ride like dear Jonathan)

2 Cloves of Garlic (Minced) (Don't let your desire to protect yourself from the undead lead you to add more, garlic is one of those flavors that can radically alter a dish in only small quantities)

About half a stick of butter (Though for this task you could substitute with some kind of oil or lard. Lard will make this dish even more rich, but butter is the easier option.)

3/4 Cup of Full Fat Sour Cream

1/4 Cup of Heavy Whipping Cream (make sure to shake your carton beforehand, this stuff gets clumpy if it's left undisturbed)

3 Tablespoons of All Purpose Flour

4 Tablespoons of Sweet Hungarian Paprika + 1 Tablespoon of Hot Hungarian Paprika (Stirred together for ease later on)

Salt + Pepper (To your liking)

1 Bag of Spaetzle

With all this completed, it's time to get started in earnest

Part Two - Get Cooking

Alright, with all our ingredients in hand, its finally time to start cooking.

The very first thing we're going to do is brown our chicken thighs. Set your dutch oven over a large burner, and get the heat up high. When ready, turn the heat down to medium or medium-high. This change is important, unless you want to smoke out your kitchen. Remember, smoky paprika is great, but nobody likes smoky dry wall.

Once you've prepared your pot, and lightly brushed your thighs with a high heat cooking oil (I prefer avocado) begin to brown them. Lay your thighs skin-side down for 45 seconds to 1 minute. Any longer than this risks burning the skin. Repeat in batches until all your chicken thighs have a nice crispy exterior.

(Sadly, this is where the demonstration photos stop. Turns out, a breezier cooking schedule doesn't leave much time for snappy pictures.)

Once you've brown your thighs, remove them and set them aside. Now, it's time for the real corner stones of this dish. Take that half a stick of butter you have sitting around, and give it a good swirl around the bottom of the Dutch oven. As the butter melts (this will be very quick, so you must act accordingly) do everything you can to scrape up the delicious fond left over from browning your chicken. This residue will add flavor to our dish.

The moment your butter has fully liquified, and coated the whole bottom of your dutch oven, add in your onions. These we will stur around and fry until they are a nice golden brown. You can use this time as well to keep scraping up that fond on the bottom of the pot. Make sure to keep the heat on medium throughout.

Once your onions are nice golden brown, add your tomatoes and hungarian wax peppers. Stir these around with the onions and allow to cook for 2-3 minutes. When you begin to approach the last 45-30 seconds, add in your garlic, and cook until fragrant, but not a moment longer.

This next step is crucial. Remove your dutch oven from the heated burner, and allow to cool for roughly 3 minutes. Paprika is something of a tender spice, and it scorches very easily when heat is applied to it. Once the pot is no longer smoking hot, stir in the combined Paprika, and give it a good mix around all the ingredients in the pot. When you have finished, return the dutch oven to the heated burner.

Return your chicken thighs to the pot, and pour in the 2 cups of chicken broth. The thighs should not be entirely covered, but mostly. Bring the pot to a boil, and once boiling, cover, reduce the heat to medium-low, and allow to simmer for a little under an hour, about 40 minutes.

Now, while this is happening, we will prepare our dairy thickener. In a bowl, mix the sour cream, heavy whipping cream, and flower. I prefer to use a tiny whisk for this task, as it does a very good job of moving through every part of the mixture, and combating any clumps from forming. A normal whisk should still work.

While you wait, you're going to pour about a quart of water into that steel pot, and bring to a boil. About 28 minutes from the completion of the paprikash, stir in your spaetzle to the boiling water. Allow to sit, undisturbed for roughly half an hour.

Once the 40 minutes are up, once again remove your chicken from the pot, and remove the dutch oven from the heat. Allow to cool once more, which will prevent your dairy mixture from curdling. Once cool, mix in the cream. Return the chicken to the Dutch oven, place the cover back on, and allow to heat through. About another 5-10 minutes.

And just like that, we're done! Now, let's find out how we did, shall we?

Part Three - Paprikash

This is how mine turned out. And I'm happy to report that my experimentation payed off! The heat really comes through this time, creating that good warming feeling you should get from chicken paprikash. The paprika is warm and smoky, and the chicken is tender and delicious. I'd never had spaetzel before, but I really liked it. It's still not as spicy as our good friend Jonathan described, but I think it's time that I stop differing to the opinions of a 22 year-old English orphan when it comes to any kind of cuisine.

The August Kessler Spatburgunder (Pinot Noir) proved to be an excellent pairing. The wine possesses a splendid earthiness, and it makes a beautiful partner for that smoky paprika flavor.

Well, that about does it for this year's Chicken Paprikash. Did you make Paprikash this year? How did it turn out? Anyway, I'll be making a dedicated effort to make more conversational posts with the program this year, and I cannot wait to discover what rocks we'll turn over this time around.

Join me on Sunday when we'll be diving into Tokaji, the Hungarian desert wine Dracula serves to Jonathan Harker at the end of his, if I may, strange journey.

Happy Dracula Daily, Everyone!

[posttexasstressdisorder]

Comfort food time...

Since the barrage of bullshit seems like it isn't gonna let up anytime soon, it got me craving a baked mac and cheese like i haven't in a long time, so I threw one together and just pulled it outa the oven. Gotta let it sit for a few before digging in. Still bubbly.

Just right...enough cheesy sauce, the chicken, onions and garlic, and the crunchy butter-and-garlic homemade breadcrumbs baked on top.

Recipe? Melt about 1/2 stick butter in cast iron skillet. Add 1 chopped onion, mix until coated. Meanwhile bash and chop 1 pod's worth of garlic. Like 6-8 big cloves. Throw that in when the onions are starting to get clear. Salt/Pepper.

Sprinkle in 1/4 cup flour, stir the onions and garlic and free butter into it and cook for about three minutes. Pour in 2 cups whole milk, stir to mix the roux-laden onions with the fresh milk. It will start to thicken within just a few minutes.

Toss in 1/2-cup grated parmesan, and 3 big handfuls of grated white cheddar, mix until cheese is melted in. Add another 1/2-3/4 cup milk if sauce is too thick. Mix until uniform consistency.

Now toss in that quart baggie of chicken thigh meat you conveniently have in the freezer. This was meat from some thighs I'd baked off and deboned last week. Just nice dark chicken meat.

Add that into your cheezy mixture and then toss in the pasta you just cooked "ALMOST" al-dente...these are little curlicues, forget the italian name for 'em. Stir things together until blended. Pour into your deep baking dish.

Melt the other half of that stick of butter real quick and toss in the 1 1/2 cups of breadcrumbs (these were from two big slices of San Luis Sourdough I left out over night), and then sprinkle with about 1 teaspoon of PENZEY's ROASTED GARLIC POWDER! Stir until thoroughly coated and then sprinkle EVENLY atop the assembled mac and cheese.

Toss it in the oven at 350 for 20-25 minutes, when your breadcrumbs start to brown nicely and your sauce is bubbly!

Y'all enjoy...I got eatin' to do.

Give yourself permission to trust your instincts and wing it.

[panjakes]

I wanna doyoung smut! BACK STORY: you think he’s not attracted to your body in “that”way because of stretch marks on you hips. i love ur work!

I’m not really good at writing smut so if it’s bad I do apologize😭Minors DNI

Its been weird. You felt weird. As of late you felt as though your boyfriend of three years was no longer attracted to your body. It might have been in your head but it was just weird.

One day you were in the kitchen wearing a shirt and tight blue silk night gown. It hugged your curves in all the right places. Doyoung had been busy and you missed him and thought you two could have some fun when he arrived at your apartment.

Seeing as blue was his favorite color you thought you had him until when he stepped foot in front of you with a tired look on his face. He looked you up and down before kissing your forehead walking to your bedroom.

You stood there in confusion before shaking it off and blaming the fact that he was tired. The next day you tried the same thing and actually made progress.

You straddled him as you two made out. His hands light ran across your curves before he pulled away.

“What’s wrong? You okay?” You ask making him nod as his hands and arms fall on the side of him on the couch

“I’m fine Yn, just tired” he expresses

“Oh okay, uh well you should get some sleep then” you say climbing off him

“Nah let’s watch a movie until we fall asleep” he says making you nod.

He picks up the remote missing the way you clutch the throw blanket over your body as if you were hiding it from him.

A few days later you stopped you attempts and just blamed it on stress and insomnia. You had just came back from a jog and Doyoung was in kitchen cooking dinner

“Cooking? Don’t burn my house down” you joke making him laugh

“I won’t, I’m paying close attention “he says making you nod

You head over to the fridge to get water, bending over you looking over at Doyoung from your peripheral and he doesn’t even glitch like he’d usually do.

You wore a pair of black Nike spandex and a black sports bra to match.

“Hey babe hand me the butter please” he asks still not looking your way. You sigh handing him the stick of butter

He whispers a thank you as he continues with his task. You stood back lost in your thoughts.

This was really unusual for Doyoung. He always was touching you rather it was sexual or not. His hands were always touching you. Yet you hadn’t felt it in what felt like months.

Doyoung went to freshen up and you made plates. Soon enough Doyoung took a seat at your table and patiently waited on his plate.

You walk over to the table putting the plate in front of him making sure to push your breast in his face. He thanks you before digging in.

You sigh going to your bathroom to wash away all the dirt and sweat. As you washed your body you were in deep thought about the same thing. Maybe it was all in your head.

You boiled everything down to Doyoung being stressed and tired from working so much. You push every doubt to the back of your mind and got out. As you tried to dry off your body you accidentally drop your towel

As soon as it hit the floor Doyoung opened the door with a surprised expression. He gasp and rushes out the door causing you to frown.

Did he just run from you?

You pick up the towel walking out the bathroom with tears in your eyes. You were met with Doyoung’s back

“Kim Doyoung!” You say causing him to turn around

“Yes? What’s wrong?” He asks

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?! Am I real that unattractive to you?!” You ask, the tears now cascading down your face

“What?! What’re you taking about?!” He asks

“You literally just ran away from me! You won’t touch me you won’t even look at me!” You say causing him to stand from the bed

“Yn baby what are you talking about?” He asks reaching out to touch you

“Don’t try and touch me now! You haven’t touched me in months and everytime I try and get you to touch me your to tired or your too stressed!” You say causing him to sigh

“Yn, babe listen to me” he says with a sigh

“What is there to say to make any of this better Doyoung?” You ask

He sighs again before pulling you over to the ceiling to floor mirror in the corner of your room. You looked at hun through the mirror in confusion

“Your beautiful yn. I am literally attracted to your very being. Everything about you is beautiful. I didn’t mean to make you think or even feel as if I wasn’t attracted to you because believe me I am. I mean how could I not? I’d be a fool if I wasn’t” he says slowly sliding the towel off your body

The moment it hit the floor you covered your body causing him to sadly sigh. He turns you around so that you were facing him

He runs his hands up and down your arms

“Your covering yourself and it shouldn’t have ever came to this. I’m sorry” he says making you frown

“How come you won’t touch or look at me?” You ask

“Yn truth is…I’m embarrassed” he mumbles

“Embarrassed? About what?” You asks

“The last time we had sex…I-I came way to fast and I didn’t want to say anything to you because it was hurting my pride as a man. I’m sorry I made you feel this way” he says cupping your chubby cheeks

“You could have talked to me” you say

“I know…can I please show you how attracted to you I am?” He asks

Before you could answer he softly pushed you over onto the bed. He squats down running his hands over your knees and then your thighs.

He grabbed your leg placing your foot on his shoulder before placing kissing on the fat of your thigh

“I’m sorry how I made you feel Yn, I’ll never do that to you again” he says, his kisses now leading down to your calf

He stands back up softly pushing you down onto the soft mattress.

“The whole time I’m down here I want you to look at yourself in the mirror understand?” He says looking up at you

You nod as he goes in a long stripe up your Cunt humming at your taste. He sloppily kisses on your clit making you moan out. He groans as you run your fingers through his hair locking your legs around his head

He scoots up on his stomach pinning your legs to the mattress before sticking his tongue into your hole

"Ah Doyoung! I'm cumming" You say. He chuckle as your legs start to shake

“You better be looking at yourself” He says swiping his thumb over your clit

"I want you Doyoung" you whisper into the air

"I want you to" He say grabbing your soft plush brown thighs pulling you closer to him

"You look beautiful" he say leaning down to kiss your lips and then down your neck. You moan tilting your head to the side. He slowly slides into you groaning at how warm and tight you were

"Shit" he whisper to more to himself. Slowly, he thrust inside of you making You moan out

"D-doyoung!" You let out a breathy moan. He grabs your thighs pinning them back to the mattress. He leans down close to your lips never kissing them though

“Your so beautiful baby. I love everything about you. I’m sorry I made you feel that way” he says speeding up his pace just a little bit

“F-fuck doyoung” you say clawing at his shoulders

"I love you Yn. So much" He says

“I-I love you too” Yn says as he leans down connecting your lips for a sweet passionate kiss wrapping her hand around my arm. Doyoung smirks slamming into her making her jaw drop

"Sshit! I'm finna cum" You moans out

"Cum in me" Yn says as she starts to fuck herself onto Doyoung making him groan

"Fuck Yn" He says throwing his head back. You lock your legs around his waist as he watches as his dick disappears into your walls. He hisses as your walls clamp around him.

"Fuckk! I'm Cumming" You say

He grabs your face turning it in the direction of the mirror. Keep his hand on your chin to make sure you keep looking

"Me to. Keep looking at your beautiful ass. Your so beautiful " He says fucking into you.

His thrust get sloppy As he was about to release.  After a few sloppy strokes you both were cumming together.

You both breathe heavily as Doyoung pulls out collapsing next to you.

You both side before looking over at each other. Doyoung grabs your face placing a kiss on your forehead, then your nose, then finally your lips

“Your gorgeous baby. I’ll never make you feel like that again. I love you” Doyoung whispers on your lips

“I love you too” you say before closing your eyes.

[sabraeal]

at home with the glass half empty, Part 1

[Read on AO3]

It’s not that Nanami expected fanfare when he returned to the realm of curses and sorcerers; they hardly have time to mourn their dead, let alone celebrate the living. It’s only…

There should be more to it than this. More than Gojo-senpai’s crooned, ‘Nanami-kun’ crackling over the speaker of his phone, rousing him before even the sun's bothered to heave itself over the horizon. More than the mission brief being a location and time couched in a stream of that idiot's nonsense, more than showing up at to the rendezvous as the sole adult not wearing his high school uniform--

More than the situation going pear-shaped at the moment of contact. At least, that's what he'd thought there'd be when he still trained under these people. Last minute texts seemed normal when he was just some shitty teenager; when he was just some student called in as an afterthought once instructors had deemed the situation safe enough to stand in for a lesson. He'd assumed that when he was an adult, when he finally became a peer rather than a pupil, he'd finally be privy to all the secret strategies the other sorcerers seemed to know down to their bones

Now he'd just settle for a plan before they turned a children’s park into a battleground.

Cursed energy drips off his knuckles, liquid in a way real fire never could be. It flickers with the same frantic rhythm as his breath, a flare of flame before it extinguishes itself on the concrete. That had been the reason he’d left, wasn’t it? That there never had been a plan. That their only way of fighting the creeping tide of humanity’s apathy was to throw more bodies at the problem until it was solved.

Even if those bodies were children.

“Threat neutralized,” he pants, quenching the cursed energy licking over his shoulders. They tense in its wake, braced for a fight long over. “…Gojo-san.”

“As expected from my reliable kouhai!” A lanky arms slings itself over his shoulders, drawing him far too close to that smug smile. “Tell me, was it fun? Is it just like old times?”

“I’ve been doing this for a year.” And Gojo-senpai— intolerable, as always— never changes his script. Unbelievable that they gave this man dominion over children. “It’s shit.”

He nods, sagely. “Just like old times.”

Isn’t that the truth. Nanami plucks his blazer off the carousel's rail, slinging it over his shoulders. “If there’s nothing else…?”

“What? You’re not going to stick around? Reminisce about old times?” Gojo’s lip juts out, wounded. “Come on, Nanami-kun—”

“I told you not to call me that.” They’re work colleagues, not classmates.

“You were a salaryman, weren’t you? You know about post-work drinks. Happy Hour?”

He hadn’t gone to those either, not once it was clear he would make more money on overtime than schmoozing for a promotion. “It’s two in the afternoon.”

“Lunch, then,” Gojo-senpai decides far too quickly. As if he’d already planned— “I made bento!”

Ah, there it is. The metal teeth snapping shut on this trap. “All right,” he sighs, slumping under his senpai’s weight. “Show me this…bento.”

*

The paper bag should have been his warning. It’s rumpled, like it’d been pulled out of the bin, the top not even neatly rolled down but merely clenched shut in Gojo-senpai’s fist, like a cartoon bank robber making his getaway.

“I made your favorite,” he says, so saccharine Nanami’s teeth ache. “What is it you always get now? The casse-croute.”

The casse-croûte is a light meal— a snack, really, though a substantial one— an idea that includes but is not exclusive to sandwiches. What he prefers is the jambon-buerre, the parisien, a baguette slathered in butter and layered with Paris ham— or more often, prosciutto— lettuce and brie. But the konbini around here don’t make a distinction between the two, and by the terrible mockery Gojo-senpai’s mouth makes of a French accent, neither will he.

He takes the bag anyway, top pinched between two of his fingers. Between the grit of his teeth, Nanami manages, “Thank you for the meal.”

What he finds inside is…unspeakable.

“Is this…?” His mouth works, at a loss. “Mozzarella?”

“Nice, isn’t it?” Gojo-senpai’s nose wrinkles above his own egg salad, pressed sloppily between two slices of white bread. “Better than that stinky stuff they usually put on. You know it has a rind?”

The bread squishes beneath his fingers— not a baguette at all, not even a French loaf, but some sort of mass-produced bread-like product. A...sandwich roll, shoved into a plastic bag with a half dozen other of its ilk, sold for cheap and then bought by this absolute fool to be split in twain and abet this blasphemy trying to pass as a sandwich. The lettuce is soggy and— he’s pretty sure— shredded. Maybe even iceburg.

Even still, his mouth salivates. Not for this abomination, but the superior sandwich it apes; the same way cursed spirits shuffle, mere shadows of the human fears that birth them. One sitting behind a glass case, wrapped in crinkling film, crusty bread glimmering enticingly beneath the bakery’s lights. He can taste it, the funk of the cheese and the crispness of the lettuce, the baguette shedding sesame as it yielded to his teeth. And the girl behind the counter—

It’s much better than the konbini’s, isn’t it? The curse coiled on her shoulder cocked its fly-head to match hers, as if it had a share in her pride. As if it were anything more than a leech, sucking the life out of her sip by sip, until only a hollowed-out shell remained. He’d gotten rid of it; his last gift to the world he’d left behind. To the girl who made the perfect jambon-buerre.

A year ago now. His mouth twists. A lot can happen in a year. Do her shoulders still sit so proud? So easy? If he went back, would he find her still smiling, or would there be another one of those worms wrapped around her neck, squeezing tighter every night. Killing her day by day, unchecked, no sorcerer to—

Nanami balls up the bag, sandwich and all, and throws it into the nearest bin. That has nothing to do with him now.

“What’s the matter, Nanami-kun?” Gojo sing-songs, impossibly long limbs sprawled over the bench, taking up as much space as his smile. “Don’t like the sandwich? What’s wrong, too much mayo?”

Mayo. He pinches his nose, adjusting the way his glasses straddle it. “I don’t like anything about this.”

The sandwich, the job. The growing amount of cursed spirits spawning around the city. The strange way Gojo-senpai smiles when he asks about it. Gojo-senpai in general.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. Gojo's must as well; he slips his out from his trousers, brows knitted as his eyes scan over the message.

“Lucky us,” he drawls, smirk stiff as a carcass across the spread of his lips. “Another cursed spirit, and only a few streets over.”

Nanami frowns as the man unfurls from the bench, casual as a cat on its way to batter yet another mouse. “There’s more now, aren’t there? That’s why you were all so happy to have me back.”

“Whatever do you mean, my dear kouhai?” Gojo swings close— too close, his mouth all teeth. “Clearly we missed your scintillating personality.”

“It’s gotten worse.” He doesn’t need to see the man’s eyes to know how tightly he’s holding them, not when the rest of him is strung as taut as piano wire. “You think they’re going to overrun us, the way they did when Geto-san—”

“See? There he is.” One of those long hands reach out, patting him on the cheek. Slapping, really. “That’s the kouhai I missed so much. Nanami-kun, always so positive.”

“Don’t call me that,” he grunts, shrugging him off. A tug fixes the sit of his blazer of his shoulders. “Come on, let’s get going. I’m not about to put in overtime for you.”

Gojo rocks back on his heels as he walks away, taking in a deep breath. Despite the clear skies, a thunder rumbles through the city.

“It’s a lovely day for walk, isn’t it?” he hums, the words dogging Nanami’s heels. “How lucky for us.”

*

The cursed spirit might only have been lingering only a few streets away, but it’s a slippery one, leading them on what Gojo calls a ‘merry chase’ to the other side of town. By the time they corner it, writhing and helpless now that senpai's patience has run out, his stomach is empty enough that even that war crime of a sandwich seems appetizing.

A good thing that he’d put it in the garbage, then. Nanami would never be able to live with himself if he ate mayonnaise with brie. He had never been to France, but he would one day— if only for the food— and they certainly wouldn’t let him in after that.

Gojo-senpai doesn’t stick around to offer another; he’s got to go back to his class, to the children he’s teaching to sacrifice themselves before they even know who they might be. That’s what they’d wanted him to do when he’d first come back. Even had a promising crop of scouted talent, still wide-eyed from having the veil thrown back, the way he had been when he’d first enrolled, but—

But he’d just laughed. Told them to leave all that to Gojo, a man who tasted death and liked the flavor. They had his number; he’d come when they called.

So there’s no reason for him to be here. No reason for him to be idling next to this awning as rain pours down, pelting umbrella he’d bought from the konbini a street over. His old one; the shortest jaunt from his last apartment, closer still to the building where he used to work. One that still didn’t have casse-croute in the case.

But she would.

It’s busy now— the dinner rush, now that the salarymen have been turned out from their offices, ravenous and eager to avoid their empty apartments. Or worse yet, the filled ones— the kind with the children their parents wanted and the wife that begrudges their existence just as much as they begrudge hers.

A red beret blazes behind the counter, but even through the plate glass, it’s outshone by the smile beneath it. She’s been doing well, it seems— it had only even been her at the till before, but there’s two other employees working behind her now. They’re laughing as she tallies up an order, one of them wiping tears from his eyes.

It’s…nice. Good even. More camaraderie than he’d ever seen on the front lines of the stock market. More than he sees now, despite how close these missions fly to death. And that should be enough for him, to see proof of her success, but—

But that fly-head cocks its head, its unblinking stare settling on him through the glass. A larger one than the last. Makes sense; it’s had a whole year to siphon off its sustenance.

Nanami heaves a sigh, and with a nudge of his shoulders, opens the door.

The bell rings, the same bright chime he remembers, but the shop is so full, so lively, that no one bothers to look at the man stepping off to the side, letting another glut of customers through. He collapses his umbrella, careful to keep the extra water from dripping all over her floor. Even from here, he can hear that damn thing chittering on her shoulder, teeth clicking at every twitch of his fingers.

There’s nothing to be done about the thing from back here— he’s not Gojo-senpai, he can’t simply exorcise a spirit from annoyance alone— but he can’t bring himself to join the crowd. To hop in line and simply be yet another customer, not when she could look up and know—

But she wouldn’t. Couldn’t. He’d been a regular for only a few months more than a year ago. There’s no reason for her to remember his face, at least not enough to see past the new set of glasses on his face.

It’s better that way.

One of her employees passes behind her, leaning down to murmur in her ear, and her eyes jerk up, scanning the back of the shop. Not casual, no— that gaze is sharp, focused. Searching. It skims over him— once, twice— then catches, the tense lines collected at the corners of her eyes easing.

Oh.

She does remember him.

Her mouth opens, a hand lifting to a wave— only to flounder in empty air as the next customer shoulders his way to the counter, spitting out his order. She blinks, attention dragged back to the mundane, to the only reality she knows, and—

He should have never come. What difference did it make if he rid her of that curse? Oh, he can pretend it’s altruism, that all he cares about is gaining one small foothold in this war of attrition, but this isn’t about her. No, all this— it’s about him. About his pride. About proving to himself that these small victories meant something-- that even if he fell protecting this world from the horrors they’d never see, he’d leave a mark. That he'd have done something to make is better.

And now Nanami has his answer: he can push these boulders up this hill all he wants, but they’ll always fall back down. It’s only a matter of time.

He should leave.

The rain is still coming down outside, hard enough it bounces off the awning, splattering his already half-soaked blazer. A cluck catches between his teeth, trapped tight as he wrangles his umbrella open. An unremarkable black, one that will disappear into the sea of identical canopies; one more body in the surging tide, and—

And the bell rings. “Wait!”

He’s too close to feign ignorance, to pretend that he can’t hear her as easily as the heart pounding in his chest. That he can’t see her panting where she leans against the glass, rain dripping onto her chef whites. “This is for you!”

It’s the second time today that a paper bag has been foisted on him, but unlike the last, this one is crisp, a clean white with a neat fold at the top. And when he unfurls it, glancing into its pristine depths—

It’s his usual. The jambon-buerre. It’s a miracle his stomach doesn’t growl. “I didn’t…”

Order anything. He shouldn’t even be here.

“I know!” If he’d thought her smile was bright behind the counter, it is blinding this close. He squints into it, half-surprised it hasn’t burned the clouds away. “I keep one in stock, just in case you stop by. As a thank you!”

He blinks down at the bag. It’s been a year, he doesn’t say.

“Your neck,” he manages instead. “Does it still bother you?”

“Ah…!” Her eyes pulse wide. “Yes! How did you know?”

The fly-head chitters on her shoulder, and if it were possible for it to know what danger it was in, Nanami might have called that beady gaze a glare.

“Could you step closer?” His request isn’t breathless, but it is soft; softer than he’s ever spoken. She follows before he’s even finished, quick enough to leave his mouth strangely dry.

His movements are not practiced like he’d thought they’d be. Before he’d been relying on memory, on the feel of how cursed energy collected in his palms, but now he’s used to the way it sits there, to the way it tingles against his skin. He brings up his hand too fast, expecting the weight of the cleaver, but it doesn’t matter— the cut is same with an edge or without, his fingers honed just as sharp when it comes to little pissant curses like this one. It explodes over her shoulder, like a fly beneath a swatter.

When she breathes in, it’s with noticeably more ease, the tense line of her shoulders softened to a more natural curve. Funny how such a little thing could carry so much weight.

“Ohhh,” she sighs, eyes fluttering shut. Her hand raises, rubbing at where it sat, and he— he has to look away. “That’s so much better.”

“Thank you.” The words are foreign on his lips. “For the sandwich.”

For remembering. He turns, umbrella resting on his shoulder. It’s time.

“Wait!”

Fingers tangle in the sleeve of his blazer. Small, insignificant things, grip so weak a hard breath might break it. But it’s enough. This time, he turns back.

“How…?” Her face scrunches, head shaking. “No, wait. I asked last time, but I don’t think you heard me.”

She plucks her phone from an apron pocket, waving it with a smile. Not a shy one, but hopeful. “Can we exchange contacts?”

He stares. Not…forbidding. Simply…blindsided.

“No pressure,” she tells him brightly, despite the pink flush across her cheeks. “If you drop me a line the next time you’re around, I’ll make your sandwich fresh. No charge.”

That, if anything, tempts him. But still— he should go. It’s not good to make connections among the mundane. It only hurts them when they get caught up in his world.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He smiles to ease the sting. “Thank you, though.”

This time when he leaves, she doesn’t call after him.

*

Nanami waits to eat until he’s home, setting the bag on the counter, right beside his keys. There’s a part of him that’s reluctant to eat it, to take advantage of her kindness when the best he can do is walk away. But the famished part wins out, salivating at the very memory of its taste, of how the butter and brie meld into the most decadent expression of flavor, and—

And he might get a plate, at least. A luxury; he’d always eaten it on the run, trying to finish before he went back to the office, putting more hours in on the clock. Watching his life tick away through rows of a spreadsheet.

He sits down too— ah, what a dream this would have been back then, to sit and savor each bite. To not just cram as much into his mouth as he could before the elevator finish twenty-four flight climb, spitting him out into yet another soulless lobby. He unfurls the bag, extracting the sandwich with exquisite care. There’s a napkin wrapped around it; it flutters to the plate first, and he nearly leaves it there, but—

Sayo, it reads, followed by a string of numbers. Ten of them, to be exact, grouped two, four and four.

Ah. Heat flares where his collar rests at his neck. A phone number. That’s…persistent.

He stands up, skin tingling the same way it does in battle, but there's no curse energy to blame. Only the strange beat of his heart, and the even more foreign sensation of heat beneath his collar. He paces the kitchen, once, twice, trying to expend the tremble in his muscles, to still the half-formed thoughts racing in her head, and--

And with a delicate swipe of his hand, he guide the paper into the bin. Sayo, it still reads, and a number after it. Right there, on top of all his rubbish.

Nanami turns away, taking the plate with him. He’ll eat on the couch tonight.

[felice-jaganshi]

Strawberry Scented Love

Radiodust Strawberry Pimp AU

Chapter 8 - Open the Door, Please

The whole night, Angel sat in his chair staring at his contract on the table of his vanity. He couldn't understand why, but Alastor had given him an “out”. At any time he could tear up this contract and be free of him, of the studio, all of it…

“Th- there's no way it's real, right?” He spoke to himself, “Why would Al give me my own contract, why would he let me go? Unless, he doesn't want me around anymore? Maybe… maybe that's it. Maybe he's just bored of me. Well fuck him, I'm sticking around whether he wants me to or not!” He stood up from the chair, “I'm gonna protect the others, I'm not gonna let him turn into another Valentino and hurt them.”

 ~~~~

After hiding his contract, Angel made his way downstairs for breakfast. Husker was in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, bitching and grumbling about something or another when he looked up and saw Angel. 

“Ah, and there he is. You sure as shit made our lives harder. The fuck did ya do to the boss?” He didn't sound any more upset than usual, but his words still confused Angel. 

“‘Scuse you? What's that supposed to mean? I didn't do shit to him.” He went to the coffee pot and got himself a mug.

“Yeah? Then why is it after the ‘big date’ you two had, he suddenly told Nifty and me he's taking another fuckin’ break? Said he's leaving you fully in charge of the studio while he takes care of ‘other business’, and not to bother him unless the hotel was in danger.”

 

Angel let the words sink in. “He… he left? What the fuck?! What do you mean he left?! Just because I- no, no that fucking prick was probably already planning on leaving. He was just trying to butter me up to take the whole damn job off his hands. That's gotta be it.” He chugged his cup of coffee. And started to march out of the room. 

“Are you really that stupid?!”

Husk called after him, only for Angel to keep walking, “Not now Husk, I got a club to run now, and actors to care for.” If this was his life now, so be it. At least he was in control now.

 

~~~~~~

Angel approached the workers in the studio, they were all confused why Alastor wasn't there for the usual “top of the week meeting” they had all gotten used to, where he would select a volunteer to be on his radio show to advertise for their performances. 

“Hey everyone, the Big Boss is going to be away for a bit on important business. While he's gone, I'm gonna be in charge. Nothing's really changed, other than I now have to pick up his slack and do double duty watching over everyone as well. You all already got my number, so if something goes wrong text or call, and I'll be there. Got it? Now let's get back to business as usual.” He smiled and tried to act like Al was just on a business trip, or a vacation. 

As he walked away, Anna grabbed his hand, “Angie, what's really going on? Al left me a letter.” She held it out to him.

Angel took it and looked over the note.

 

‘My darling daughter, if you are reading this, something important didn't go as planned, and I regret to inform you I will be leaving for an unknown period of time. Angel will keep you safe in my stead, and if anything happens, go to the hazbin hotel. The princess will gladly give you sanctuary under my name. If you need to reach out to me, you can send a letter through Nifty. Stay well, and stay happy in my absence.

Remember, you're never fully dressed without a smile! -Alastor’

 

Angel's hands began to shake. “F-fuck… I really fucked up, didn't I?” He dropped to his knees.

Anna frowned, taking back her letter, holding it close to her chest. “Angie, what'd you do? Why isn't Al coming back? He… he was going to finally tell you he loves you. It took me months to convince him to! That you'd… that you'd love him back… was I wrong?” She looked horrified, her long ears drooped at her sides. “Is… this my fault?”

Angel looked at her in shock, “You knew? Months?! How- how long has he-” his eyes flooded with tears as he realized what an idiot he was being!

“Since… Before our first show, he said he loved you. That he's never loved anyone before, so he was scared to say anything.”

Angel quickly wiped at his eyes to stop the tears, but it was in vain as the wouldn't stop coming.

“F-fuck! I- I thought. I pushed him away! I let myself ruin something good, because I'm a fucking coward!” He shook his head, and spoke through gritted teeth, “No! No, it's not gonna end like this. I'ma find his scrawny ass, and I'm gonna kiss him so hard his stupid grin will fall off!” He stood up and looked down at Anna, hands balled into fists as he steeled his resolve, “I'm gonna bring him back. I promise. Just give me some time.”

 ~~~

That night when Angel returned to the hotel, he called out to Nifty. “Hey Nif! I need a favor!” 

She looked over at him, then ran off full speed! “Wh- hey, Nifty!” He groaned and chased after her. 

It took a solid hour to corner her, “Nif, please. I need you to tell me where Al is.” 

“Oh, Is at all? I thought we were playing tag! I don't know where he is~.” She giggled.

“Oh bullshit, I know you've been told to send him letters for Anna!” He frowned at her, “Nifty, please. I fucked up, and I gotta apologize to him. It's my fault he ran off.”

“I can send him letters, yeah. But I just put them in the fire and they go where he is! I don't actually know where that place is. You can try to go through the fire if you think you'll survive the trip.” She giggled maniacally. 

 

Angel groaned in frustration, “Fuuuuuck! Okay… okay.” He took a deep breath. “Nif, I'm gonna write a letter that I need you to send to him immediately, okay?”

“Okay! I hope you're able to get him to come back. I miss him already…” She sighed. 

 

And with that, Angel went to write a letter.

 

‘Dear smiles’... okay no, that sounds wrong.

‘Al, I-’  

“Fuck, what do I wanna say? How do I…” He groaned in frustration and balled up the paper. He pulled at his hair for a minute before taking a breath, and trying again.

And again…

And again…

 ~~~~~~~~

After a week of trying to write the letter, he finally had something he thought would properly convey to Alastor how he felt. He smiled at it and got up from the office chair to go give it to Nifty. 

 

As his hand touches the knob of the office door, he smells smoke. Familiar smoke.

Angel turned the lock and backed away slowly, keeping quiet. The handle jiggled like someone was trying to open it, and pink smoke seeped under the door.

“Angel~ Amorcito, open up~.” The voice was honey sweet, “I've missed you baby, don't you miss me? I'm sorry all that power went to my head. I see now how much I hurt you. I promise, it won't happen again. I'll treat you exactly how you deserve~.”  

Angel leaned on the desk and knocked over the lamp, causing it to clatter to the ground. “F-fuck…” He felt his blood run cold, as that laugh sounded on the other side of the door.

“Anthony, open the door~. Anthony~~” he whined, and his claws scraped on the door.

Angel looked around, not sure how long the door would hold. He didn't have any weapons on him. He ran around to the other side of the desk and dug through the drawers frantically! Al had to have left some kind of weapon he could use, right?!

“Angel, let's not fight anymore. I know you're scared, but I can set you free! I can get your contract from him and rip it up for you.”

A letter opener! Better than nothing. Angel took the letter opener into his hands, and crawled under the desk. Maybe he could get a shot at his heart under his ribs from this angle if he was fast enough… it'd be a small target though.

 ~~~~~~~~~

Outside the door Valentino growled, frustrated that even after all these months, Angel still had his built up tolerance to his smoke. “Anthony, don't make me come in there.” He growled, and banged his fist on the door. “I'm gonna count to three! And you better open this door, or you're in for the worst spanking of your life!” He didn't notice the shadows pooling and swarming behind him.

“One!” 

“TWO!”

A static filled voice whispered in his ear, “three.”

 ~~~~~~~~~

Angel heard several loud bangs and the sound of wood shattering. He shut his eyes tight! He heard the confident slow stride of shoes on the wood floor. Getting closer…

At the last moment, he lunged forward with a yell, his eyes screwed tight. He heard a grunt as the person he hit absorbed the impact and wrapped an arm around Angel's waist. The scent of strawberries and blood overwhelmed him.

“The letter opener? Well, certainly not the worst improvised weapon.” 

Angel's eyes snapped open, it wasn't Valentino he stabbed! He looked down, and breathed a sigh of relief. Alastor's hand had the knife in it, not his chest.

Wait, it was in his palm! Oh fuck!

“Shit! Al, oh fuck I- I thought, I didn't think you'd…” He let go of the letter opener and grabbed Al's waist with his lower hands, placing his shaking upper hands on his face. Al had such a soft and loving look in his eyes, his face and suit were covered in blood. 

“I didn't think you'd come…” 

“You needed me, of course I'd come.” He leaned into one of Angel's hands, “He's gone now. You won't have to be afraid anymore, my beloved. I'll take my leave now, if you wish.” 

Angel felt like his blood was going to boil, “If I wish?! Are you fucking insane?! ” He slapped Alastor's cheek, not too hard, just enough to startle the deer.

“You know, if you weren't so stupid, I could love you. But you're pretty fucking stupid.” 

Alastor looked shocked, and confused, “I… pardon?” 

“Did I not make myself clear? Here, I wrote a fucking letter. i was gonna make Nifty send it wherever the fuck you were, where the hell were you hiding anyways?!”

“I… was with Rosie, she's like a sister to me… so she always has a guest room open for me…”

Angel sighed, and let go of him, “Don't. You. Dare , move a muscle. You stay right there while i read this fucking letter to you.”

He took a step back and reached for the letter on the table without taking his eyes off Al, who stayed put. He looked so nervous, his brows knitted tight together and his ears pinned back, but still twitching a bit. He pulled the letter opener from his hand, the wound healing quickly. 

 

Angel took a deep breath, “You said before you were proud of me for being courageous… but when you were vulnerable with me, I let fear control my reaction. You didn't deserve that. I'm sorry that I hurt you… I- I really…am.” Angel's vision blurred as tears fell onto the letter. He lowered it and looked into Alastor's eyes, giving up on the paper, “I do love you, Al. I have for a long time now. I just… I was so scared, and I still am! But I- I want to be with you, even if I'm scared of this… I want to trust you. Please Al, don't leave. I need you. I can't do this alone…”

 

Alastor stepped slowly towards him, he placed his unbloodied hand on Angel's cheek. “My love… You can absolutely run this business without me. You're a brilliant demon. But I won't go anywhere. If you want me, I'm yours. I promise you. I love you, and if I'm being completely honest with you, I'm scared too.” He wiped away Angel's tears, allowing him to see that Alastor had tears in his eyes too.

Angel saw the quivering smile and decided to make good on his promise to Anna. Angel surged forward and kissed Alastor with everything he had to give! Alastor gasped, and Angel slipped his tongue into his mouth and Alastor kissed back with a whimper, holding Angel with a shaky grip.

When he was satisfied, Angel pulled back, leaving Alastor panting, his smile missing for once, lost behind an awed and dazed expression. 

 

“Damn Smiles, you never been kissed before?” Angel teased with a smirk. Alastor shook his head softly, slowly regaining his sense of self.

“Not with that degree of skill, darling… that… good lord, no wonder people pay you for such things.” He was actually blushing!

Angel chuckled, “Yeah, well maybe I should show you what else people pay me for… after a fancy dinner, of course. A proper gentleman like yourself should take me out on a date, before getting the goods.” He caressed Alastor's face and he heard a soft squeak come from him. Like the sound a baby animal would make. Angel's eyes went wide, “Holy fuck, that… make that sound again. That was the cutest shit I've ever heard.”

Alastor blushed even redder, his smile back on his face as he turned to look away, “I have no control over that! It's embarrassing, bleating like a fawn over some sweet words…”

Angel leaned forward and whispered into Al's ear directly, “Oh? How about you be a good little fawn for me, and make that sweet noise again? Amore mio.” 

The noise happened again, multiple times as his eyes went wide and his ears twitched rapidly, causing Angel to laugh as the one he was whispering in flicked against his face a few times!

 

“Angel, please! I'm not used to… this sort of thing! Have mercy on an old sinner.”

“Yer only twenty years older than me, pops. But alright, I'll go easy on ya for now… Anna's gonna be happy you're back by the way. Everyone will be. So let's go say Hi, Big Boss.”

[archersxartxblog]

Home for the Holidays part 3

Part 2

thought this stopped at part two. wrong, here's part three. Caleb does some baking with his mom.

---

“Cream together the butter and Sugar until light and fluffy. Beat in the egg yolk and vanilla. Combine the flour and salt before adding to the creamed mixture alternately with the milk.” 

Caleb rotated his shoulder, trying to get rid of the ache that was starting to form as he read off the directions from the book. His arms were starting to kill him.

To think the jocks at school had laughed at him saying baking was not a work out. Clearly they were the kind of people who thought buying premade cookie dough from the store and sticking them in the oven counted as baking. Caleb was sure that if he did this all year then he’d be able to shot-put a snorlax.

Currently Caleb had four different batches of cookies on the going, and he still had peppermint patties and almond bark he had to make. 

He was half tempted to go and grab Fjord so that he could help with some of the mixing, just so his arms got a break.

But it would all be worth it to have some fresh baked goods for the holidays. And boy was it so much easier to bake in a real kitchen, rather than the small kitchenette that was in his and Fjord's dorm room. 

At least here, if the smoke detector went off it didn't set off the sprinkler system for half the building.

Just as he leaned in to read once more from the book, he heard the door open behind him but he paid it no mind, thinking it was just his dad or uncle or one of their pokemon looking for a snack. “let's see, next we need to-”

“Hey Caleb!” 

“Mom!” Caleb yelled, swinging around to face the door, almost dropping the bowl he was mixing.

“Hey, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you” She spoke softly, raising her hands in a calming motion. “Just come to see if you need any help, that's all.”

Within seconds, Caleb felt his eyes start to water and actively fought the urge to run over and embrace her…if only because he was covered in flour and he didn't want to get any on her. 

Quickly he set down the bowl and spoon to quickly wipe his eyes, not wanting tears to get into the mix.

It was just really good to see her again, to see her the way he remembered her. But at the same time it stirred up a lot of thoughts and feelings that easily overwhelmed him.

A gentle hand suddenly took his face away from his face, and he looked up to see his mom standing there smiling at him. “You're getting flour all over your face.” she laughed, pulling his hands down to his sides before taking some paper towel. “Here let me.” she added as she started to carefully wipe the white powder away from his face. 

and still more tears fell until his mother wiped those away too. Only for new ones to quickly replace them.

“Okay, now take a deep breath” his mother said, placing her hands on his shoulders, and Caleb did just that. “Now hold it…now let it out” they repeated the process several times until Caleb felt sure he wasn't going to burst into tears again. “Do you want me to get your phone?”

He thought about it for a second, before shaking his head. No, he didn't need the anxiety sticker on the back of his phone, right now.

“Okay, just let me know if you change your mind.” she smiled, giving his shoulders one last squeeze before standing up. “Now, do you need some help in here or do you want me to get out of your hair?”

“Don't go!” He winced as the words came far louder and more desperate than he meant them to. Taking another deep breath, he took a moment to think things through. “Yeah, I could use a hand, if you don't mind.”

“Wouldn't have asked if I minded”

Right. He quickly looked around and grabbed the bowl he had before, holding it out to his mom. “Could you finish mixing this for me? The moo moo milk hasn't quite blended into the dough yet, and I still have to melt the chocolate for it.”

“Sure. so I just keep stirring until it's all one thing?” She asked, taking the spoon from his hand and slowly stirring the ingredients.

“Yep! Just gotta keep stirring until it's all combined.” Caleb explained, pouring the chocolate melts in a bowl and popping them in the microwave. He needed that to be hot enough to melt but not scalding. “It needs to be a workable dough for the next part.”

“What are we making anyway?”

“They're called Icebox Pinwheel cookies.” Caleb answered, turning his back to his mom as he checked the Starchies in the oven, trying to hide the stupid smile on his face. He was actually baking cookies with his mom. “They’re one of the few cookies that both Dad and Uncle Emmet will eat.”

“OH the swirly ones! I always wondered how you made those. I’m normally at work with you Uncle and Dad when you bake em.”

Setting the Starchies aside on the cooling rack, Caleb quickly checked on how his mother was doing with the dough, grinning when he saw that it was done. “Okay, that’s enough. Now we need to slit it in half.”

He left his mom to divide the dough to get the chocolate. “Then we mix this into one half until it’s one uniform colour.”

“I can do that.”

As his mom worked the chocolate into one half of the dough, and Caleb started to set up for his next baking project, the two fell into easy conversation. Just simple ‘how’s school?’ ‘are you enjoying your classes?’ ‘have any good battles?’ ‘how was your trip to Hoenn?’ ‘what Pokemon did you catch?’ ‘Where are you guys planning to go next?’. Things that most mothers probably asked their kids everyday, and Caleb was enjoying every bit of it.

It had been really hard not having his mom in his life for the longest time, made only slightly harder by the fact that he had to keep her a secret. He couldn’t exactly tell the other kids at school that his mom was captain Zisu of the Galaxy team’s security corps and one of the founders of the Sinnoh league. Even if they did believe him there would be questions, and the last thing he wanted was the whole Hisui incident to be dragged back up. His dad had already been through enough.

It helped a bit in finding out that his Mom had been his dad’s Chandelure, knowing that she was always around to protect and comfort him. But at the same time it brought to light a horrible reality that his mom had in fact died, and not just that but died a long time ago. A hard truth to swallow, only helped by the fact that there was a ghostly ball of flames and metal he could hug tight.

But now he had his mom back, in the flesh, and it was probably only for a limited time, but Caleb planned to make the most of it.

“Mom,”

“Yes sweety?”

“What’s your favorite baked good?”