#and so he does what he always does and runs

[taintandviolent]

sin creeps in ; Nosferatu x Reader

summary: You're plagued by heinous nightmares of a mysterious monster, but you can't help but feel drawn to he who plagues you.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 1.5K | female reader, monster fucking, vampires, vampire sex, bloodplay, biting, drinking blood / blood loss, mentions of death, making out, smut, unprotected sex, mentions of accents, shadow play (fingering)????.

a/n: MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR NOSFERATU 2024! this is just.... listen, I'm not even going to try to justisfy myself. rack up yet another hear me out moment for me. you either understand or you don't. shorter than I wanted it to be, but I needed to get this out and sate my hunger. banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / playlist here / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

You awake with a strangled gasp, your hands flying to your throat as your breath gradually returns. The nightmares had roused you, as they had every night, but this time, something lingered. Your room was frigid; the gauzy curtains fluttered in front of the open window like misplaced ghosts, allowing the chill of the night to penetrate your quarters. Everything looks terrifying at night; familiar shapes are transformed into horrible spectres, and your very room feels unknown. Unsafe. 

He is here. For the first time in several nights, you weren’t dreaming – he has come for you.

“I know that you are here with me,” you bravely whisper into the emptiness of your own bedroom. The wind whistled, a familiar sound, but something growled – growled in a language you didn’t speak, but understood. The voice was low, gravelly, and heavily accented. 

Hurriedly, you kick the sheets from your legs. The moonlight pales your skin, washing you in its blanch, bluish tone. Gripping your gown with both hands, you gather it up your thighs, exposing them to the cold. The chill of the wind hits your center, and you hiss through your teeth. Your head drops to your chest, and so does your gaze, watching patiently. At the edge of your bed, a large, slender shadow manifests. Him. 

You dare not look up. The feeling of his presence petrifies you, but also arouses you – letting a slick warmth pool deeply between your legs. 

The shadows continue to creep further up your bed, until they reach your feet, which twitch in response. Up, up, up… along your shins. Your skin prickles, and you shiver, doing your best to remain calm. Though he doesn’t touch you, you feel him. You feel every pass of his large hand as it makes its way up your body. His shadow glides over your hip, to your stomach and finally between your plump breasts, coming to a stop over your beating heart. It thumps away like a rabbit’s heart underneath the blackness of his form, and you hear a ragged, strained groan.

Then, with no warning, it moves down, leaving a cold, lifeless chill in its path like a gust of winter wind. You pant, desperately clinging to what breath you have. All at once, the shadow envelopes the soft, warm mound between your legs and your hands fall to the bed, bracing yourself. You have felt his ghostly touches for countless nights, tasting your body as a lover would, but each time your body climbed the peak, the sensations disappeared.  He comes to you in dreams, always leaving you unsatisfied. Your chest heaves in the night, cold droplets of sweat peppering your decollete and breasts. Your hands claw the sheets while you dream, but never reach euphoria.

Tonight, there are new sensations. The phantom wisp of his middle finger runs along the length of your slit. Grazing it. Somehow, you feel his finger part your wet folds, toying with your most sensitive areas. The nonexistent pads of his fingers sweep back and forth over your swelling clit, bringing a spasmodic twitch from each of your muscles. Wanting. Craving. While the sensation lacks the familiar warmth of a living man, it is bountiful with pleasurable feelings – your body responds embarrassingly; your shoulders shudder violently. 

He inhales, a deeply hollow sound. “You desire this… thine own body craves it….” 

The accent seems to fill his entire mouth, rumbling in his throat as he speaks slowly, drawing out each word like an incantation. You let out a plaintive moan, throwing your head back against the pillows, the down feathers crackling underneath you. As though he’s still pleasuring you, your hips writhe back and forth, practically convulsing with need. The shadow of his hand is gone from your body, replaced by the looming darkness of his physical form. After a moment of trepidation, you finally lift your head, and stare into the dark, terrifying eyes that watch you. 

You swallow hard. “I do.” 

A moment passes before you continue. “Take me as you will, for I am yours.” You consent again, desperate to convey your own insatiable hunger, your unimaginable need. 

Another intake of breath from him – it almost sounds labored, painful. His footsteps are dreadful as he moves around to the side of your bed. He’s tall, his form stretching towards the ceilings and towering over you, consuming your atmosphere as he had in your nightmares. His silhouette is large; enhanced by the countless furs he has on.

Weightlessly, his lithe, ghastly fingers reach for you and make contact with your form. They are cold, and the icy feeling of them penetrate the thin fabric of your nightgown. He moves gradually, but hungrily, feeling the curves of your body beneath the cotton. As he moves southward, his fingers skim over the peak of your breast, a nail catching on the swollen nipple. It hurts, but your chest jerks forward still, craving more of his touch. 

Pulling a breathy moan from deep within your throat, his long, sharp nails rake across the tender flesh of your thigh. It’s bathed in the silvery moonlight, which casts horrible, elongated shadows of his fingers down towards your center. He scrapes downward, his middle finger digging into the flesh enough to leave a reddened streak behind, but not so much to break the skin.

“P-please…” you mewl, looking up into his horrifying visage. The sight of him fills you with dread and disgust, but like a single drop of blood in water, it’s tainted with something else, something else that has been lingering in your system for days. 

He’s above you now, though you don’t remember seeing him move atop of you. Still, he’s there. The bed creaks as you push yourself into the mattress, whimpering underneath him. He lowers himself down onto you, the brush of his mustache tickles your face as he lingers above you. A second passes and his waiting mouth envelops yours. He tastes damp and cold, faintly of ash and earth. His tongue slips out and it too is cold, slipping wetly along your own and along your bottom lip. His kiss is dreadful, but possessive, and he inhales each time you exhale, as though he’s trying to suck the very warmth out of you. No man has kissed you the way Count Orlok kisses you, and the chill of the room disappears, snuffed out by the fire that rages in your lower abdomen. 

Your tongues collide with each other; you tasting his lifelessness, and him tasting your utterly intoxicating, vibrant liveliness. For a moment, the two of you stay intertwined at the mouth until he separates himself, smearing his mouth over the warmth of your neck. He hovers, pausing over your pulse. It thrums under his lips, and his hips urge into yours, indicating his hunger.

There is a shuffle, a rustling of clothing. You try to lift your head up to gaze between your bodies, but his hand holds you fast, pressing you against the pillow. The size of his hand is staggering; his palm underneath your chin, while the fingertips extend past your hairline, into the strands. You shudder again and whisper his name. He inhales as though he plans to speak, but doesn’t. 

The front of your nightgown falls apart, revealing your chest to him. With one hand covetously clutching your breast, his mouth opens between your breasts, the slithery coolness of his tongue gliding down along the length of your sternum. As the teeth puncture your flesh, your hands make fists on either side of your body, pulling the sheets into the confines of your palms. He enters you, in more ways than one, and you feel the steady tug of his mouth as he sucks the blood from your veins. Warmth pools in the cave of your stomach.

The fingers of his other hand crawl up your shoulder, and like a quill in ink, he dips the pads of his fingers into the hollow of your chest, coating them in your crimson essence. He smears the blood along your decollete, along the hem of your nightgown, tugging it harshly over your shoulder. The blood coats you in a flash of warmth, and then chill as it meets the cold air. 

His hips rut against yours as he drinks, the pulse of your blood matching the thrust of his hips. An ache starts in your neck, a slow pulling sensation that has your eyelids fluttering. He moves within you, his length penetrating as deeply as his sharpened teeth have. Your release is found amongst blood and groans and that same language which you understand, but do not speak. His tongue scrubs at your soft skin, lapping up the blood as it comes… as you do. 

The darkness is ever-looming, and as your aching cunt ebbs its throbbing, it settles down upon you. You let yourself fall backwards into the abyss, freely. It takes you, wrapping its arms around your tiny frame which is dwarfed by his stature. His mouth breaks free of your bloodied skin with a slick pop.  Into the softness of your skin, you hear him growl, ‘Mine.’ The feeling vibrates against your neck, and your lids flutter shut.

[maybanksprincess]

make it quick.

warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected sex, hair pulling, scratching, tongue kissing, use of "papa j", size kink!!, squirting, creampie, mature themes. minors, you are responsible for your own social media consumption, you have been warned.

summary: jj and reader are in a secret relationship, when they finally get the chateau to themselves, they use it to their advantage.

pairings: routledge!reader x jj maybank

lias note — not proofread, wrote this while high so it sucksss. requested by this ask, thank you for the request baby!

"Alright you two, no funny business while I'm gone, okay?" john b says to JJ in a stern manner, half joking and half serious. The rest of the Pogue's were outside in the twinkie, waiting for him impatiently as he finishes up his conversation with you two.

The Pogue's put you and JJ up to cleaning the house and keeping a lookout for cops for the day. Easy enough, right?

"Alright, alright, we got it. Go do your thing, John b." JJ says patting john b on the back dismissively.

You had been faintly listening in from the kitchen, not paying a lot of mind to john b's protective words. You had quickly gotten used to him being overprotective as you all got older, since everything does change.

You were faintly humming to yourself as you'd gotten a head start on cleaning in the kitchen since it was the filthiest of the whole house. You were wiping the counter with surface cleaner, paying more attention to certain areas than others. You were completely immersed in what you were doing, then you feel a familiar pair of warm arms wrap around your waist from behind.

you giggle softly, "jay, were supposed to be cleaning, not now." you say, trying to peel his arms off your waist with your free hand, going back to wiping the counter.

he groans softly from behind you. "c'mon baby, we haven't been able to do nothing in days, it's killin' me." he says, pressing wet kisses to the crook of your neck, his arms persistently wrapping around you tighter.

You can feel the slight bulge pressing up against your backside that's becoming more prominent as he rubs up against you. "I know you feel that mama..." he starts, "c'mon, you tellin' me this pussy isn't soaking wet thinking about me right now?"

you can feel his lips twitch up into a smirk against your neck, his hands starting to roam lower and lower with each passing moment.

and he wasnt wrong, you missed having him buried deep inside you so badly. he always knew just what spots to hit.

you could feel your panties get wetter by the second, biting your lip to suppress a moan from the feeling of him sucking on the sweet spot of your neck.

he grins as he feels the slight whimper escape from your throat, he moves one hand to pull the rag out of yours, tossing it onto the counter you were previously scrubbing.

the wetness in your panties was becoming more prominent and getting harder to ignore. "Okay fine jj. but make it quick" you say, sternly, but your voice betrays a hint of excitement.

he chuckles wickedly, sweeping you off your feet, carrying you bridal style to the makeshift bed made on the couch. "Knew you couldn't resist me, sweetheart." he smirks, his hands already pulling down both your shorts and panties.

he spreads your thighs wide open, pressing teasing kisses to your inner thighs, running his index finger along your pussy lips, coating his finger in your arousal. he pulls his finger out, his manhood twitching at the sight of your juices on his finger.

"fuck, mama. look at how wet she is for papa j. she's so needy isn't she?" he groans, moving one hand down to free himself from his boxer briefs.

he crawls up on the couch on top of you, his body hovering over yours. he immediately attaches his lips onto yours, both of your lips moving languidly over each other's. one hand roaming over your body, grasping the flesh of your thighs.

you pull away to pull his shirt off, both of your breaths coming out in short pants.

"baby, we gotta hurry. the pogues said they're just going down to get some beers."

a pang of realization washes over him, "oh shit, your right." he says, "guess im gonna have to fuck you fast then, hm?"

he unclasps your bra, throwing it onto the pile of clothes made on the floor. he hovers above you once more, lining his leaking tip with your entrance. he pushes in with ease thanks to your arousal, he starts to rock his hips back and forth, his cock hitting that spongy spot inside of you.

"oh fuck, jay" you moan out, throwing your head back against the couch cushion behind you. "fuck mama, this pussy's so tight." he groans, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

he starts to thrust faster, his hands grab your legs to wrap them around his waist so he can angle himself deeper.

he rubs your clit, his other hand moving down to push on your lower stomach. "fuck, look at that mama" he breathes out a chuckle, feeling his cock make a prominent bulge in your tummy under his palm every time he hits that spot inside you.

he groans in your ear, continuing to rub your swollen bud, coaxing you to orgasm.

"jj im gonna cum-" you moan out, squirming slightly at the feeling of his cock deep inside you, and his thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit.

"yeah, baby? you gonna cum on my cock?" he asks, purposely slamming his hips rougher against yours, his tip brushing against your cervix with every harsh thrust.

the pleasure becomes too much, the strong pressure in your lower stomach abruptly snaps, jj's eyes widen, and he stares down at your squirting pussy with pure lust.

"o-oh fuck, mama" he groans, shooting his warm, creamy cum inside your cunt, his cock twitching from the intense orgasm. as he comes down from his high, he peels open his eyes, and through the blinds, he can see the twinkie pulling up outside.

oh shit...

[sanguineterrain]

holiday spirit | jason todd

Summary: Stuck at a shitty office party for your shitty job on Christmas Eve Eve, you’re at your wit’s end. The last thing you expect is to play vigilante for a night with the Red Hood.

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!reader 

Word count: 7.2k

Warnings/tags: panic attacks, reader has anxiety, creepy coworkers, office party shenanigans, canon-typical violence, jason being both a menace and a sweetheart, attempts at humor, fake relationship, silliness!

the divider

You’re grateful for a reason to escape. Someone announces that the lights on the obnoxious eleven-foot Christmas tree are burned out and you’re already on the elevator, volunteering to find spare lights. 

You hate these office parties. They’re just a way to play politics, show off fiancés, and reaffirm cliques. You wanted to skip it all together. But Mr. Emerson, your boss, had insisted that attending tonight’s party was mandatory.

Alma had told you about a hundred times to skip tonight, but Alma’s worked here since the Reagan administration and has too much pull to be fired. You, conversely, have been here eight months, and if you get fired, your next job is going to be as a henchman for a B-list Gotham villain. 

Being painfully ordinary and anxious is a toxic mix. Your doctor still thinks all your worrying is because of your menstrual cycle. He doesn’t believe in work-related stress.

So anyway. You’re just trying to get through tonight. And find some tree lights that work. 

You unlock the spare office where all the holiday junk is stored and turn on the light. 

The motherfucking Red Hood looks at you, one leg dangling outside of the window and one leg inside the office. He unclicks his harness. 

"Oh my God,” you say, hand frozen on the light switch.

Red Hood pulls his leg in from the window and steps into the office. He puts the harness in a duffel bag and roughly zips it, then tosses it unceremoniously onto the floor. 

"Oh my God.”

He glances at you, helmet eyes glowing. "No God here, just me.”

"Oh my God," you say again, near hysterics. "Oh my God, Red Hood."

"Always nice to meet a fan," he says irritably, brushing snow off of his jacket, flashing his holsters. Oh, fuck. That's a lot of guns.

"What, um—" You close your eyes, lick your lips, try to find your sanity. "To what do I—why—are you gonna kill me?”

"The fuck? You think I'd sneak into an office and kill someone in cold blood? What kinda operation you think I'm running?"

Your mouth opens and closes in horror. "Wh–I... I don't—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, Mr. Hood."

"Please, Mr. Hood was my father."

He laughs. You taste bile in your throat. 

Hood sobers. "Damn. Tough crowd. Look, sorry to freak you out, but I got shit to do. If you'll just point me to Hershel Emerson's office, I'll be on my merry way."

"That's m-my boss. Are you gonna kill him?" You can’t handle murder tonight. You’ll have a breakdown for sure. 

"Literally, what did I just say?" Hood throws his hands up. "Not one minute ago. I'm not killing anyone!"

"Yet?" you ask weakly, mind inundated with too many mob movies to watch your manners. You know what the Red Hood is all about. Everyone does. 

"No. I'm not killing Emerson. But he is a bad dude, so I gotta take care of business. Actually, I should kill him. He deserves it."

You squeak in horror. He raises a hand.

"But I'm not!" he says gruffly. "Respectfully, get a grip. You live in Gotham."

You swallow. "What're you gonna do to my boss if not kill him?"

Hood shrugs. "Eh, maybe scare him a bit. Mostly get intel to take him down. He's currently sitting on five million dollars of stolen life savings from clients."

You blink. "What?"

"Yup. What I really wanna know is which of his employees are in on it. He didn't do this alone."

Hood takes out a small roll-up pouch of what looks like lockpicking tools. You release your sweaty death grip on the doorknob, causing it to squeak. Hood doesn't look up.

five million dollars is ringing in your head. That happened here. Where you work. Your boss is even scummier than you thought.

“Is that a lockpicking kit?” you ask.

“Yup. Good eye.”

"This seems... illegal.”

"Well, I won't lie to you, most of what I do is. You won't be implicated though.”

He looks at you. You flinch. Even with the lights on, the Red Hood is scary as shit. 

"Yeah..." he says, shaking his head. "You wouldn’t do well in prison. I can tell."

Your chest hurts. "I don't think anyone does well in prison," you say, eyebrows scrunching. "Have... you been to prison?"

"Only to break out a friend. You ask a lot of questions."

"Sorry. Um, Mr. Red Hood—"

"Ah-ah. Call me Red. Or Hood. No Mister-ing."

"Okay.” You lick your lips, hoping he doesn't go back on his temporary no-kill policy. “Hood, do you think you could come later? After the Christmas party?”

He tilts his head at you. You keep talking. 

“Not that I don't admire what you're doing! Because I think taking down my boss for stealing money is great, eat the rich and all that, but, um, I came up here to get lights to replace the ones that burned out downstairs because that's a normal thing that happens and now you're here, at my job, and I'm freaking out. Oh God, oh my God—”

You grab the wall for stability, feeling like you've been rocking on a boat for hours. Sweat beads on your forehead. This time, you really do feel like you’ll throw up. Throwing up in front of the Red Hood would be humiliating. 

“Look, I got shit to do, okay? I'm sorry you're freaking out but your boss is gonna cash out in a few days and then I lose him and that five million. It's now or never."

You should've just stayed home and baked cookies. Fuck being social! This is what happens when you're social: you meet morally gray vigilantes who force you to be complicit with their crimes.

Your cheeks feel wet. Are you crying? Maybe it’s sweat. 

Hood points to the hallway. "Is there a camera outside?"

"Y-yeah.” Your voice is weak. “I think I’m having a heart attack. Can you call security on your way out?"

“Does your left arm hurt?”

“No, but—”

“Are your limbs stiffening?”

“No, but—”

“You’re not having a heart attack. Your speech is fine.”

Hood takes out a few more things from the duffel, then kicks it under a desk with his foot. You wheeze and grab onto the doorknob again. 

It’s quiet for a second. Then— 

“Shit. You're having a panic attack,” Hood says.

"Mm, probably," you say, hunched over like an armadillo. Fuck your stupid doctor. 

There's silence as you wheeze quietly. Then something small hits your head. You flinch and squeal.

"You don't need to throw things at me!" you say, beyond defeated, near tears.

"No, I wasn't—sorry. It's a Warhead. I have one when I'm feeling… not my best. They're s’posed to help occupy your other senses so the panic disappears."

You stare at the candy, confused and suspicious at once. "Is it spiked?"

"Again, what sorta operation do you think I'm running? It's not drugs. Look." Hood unwraps a Warhead and sticks it in his mouth underneath his helmet. You hear him suck on it. "Eesh, that's sour. Okay? No drugs."

So you take the candy from the floor, unwrap it, and pop it into your mouth. The sour taste immediately overwhelms you. It's like your brain resets. You pant through the sour.

"Ough," you say, face scrunching from the taste.

"Yeah, right? Life changing hack."

You suck on the candy desperately and close your eyes, trying to find your breath. 

“It’s okay,” Hood says, stilted and awkward. “Just, uh, focus on your breathing. Exhale longer than you inhale. Breathe through your nose.”

It takes another few minutes, but the feeling passes. Your chest lightens. It’s the quickest you’ve ever recovered from a panic attack. 

“I was just kidding about the prison thing,” Hood says. “You’re not gonna go to jail ‘cause of this, I promise.”

Yeah, but what if you lose your job?

You spit the Warhead into a trash can and smack your tongue a bit. “Are you sure you can’t come back tomorrow night?”

“No can do,” Hood says. “Your boss will be gone by then.”

“It's just that I'm really bad with keeping secrets and according to Google, that's how ulcers form and I really can't afford any sick days off, so—"

You yelp as the door suddenly swings open, hitting your shoulder. You spin around.

"Hey," Bill says, squinting at you. "Where have you been?”

"No!" you yell, and turn off the light. 

Bill stares at you, illuminated by the hallway light. “Uh…”

You clear your throat. "Ahem. I'm fine. It's just taking me a moment to sift through all these decorations. Please return to the party.”

You hate Bill. He’s a sleaze and doesn’t do any work. More than once, he’s trapped you by the water cooler in a conversation about his “smokin’” imaginary lawyer girlfriend.

“If you wanted me to come help you, you could've just said so," he says, reaching for the light, way too close. You don’t like his tone either.

"No!" you yell, blocking the light switch with your hands.

"What the hell? Why not?"

"Because—"

There's a creak from the back. You wince. 

Bill immediately whips his head toward the sound. "Is someone here? Hello?"

He reaches for the light. Again, you block him, swatting his hands away.

"Would you stop—is someone here?"

"My boyfriend!" you blurt.

Bill stops, looking at you. "Your boyfriend? You've never mentioned a boyfriend."

"Well, I have one and he's here."

"Okay. Why can't I turn on the light and see him?"

"Because he's... um..."

You spot the red Santa suit out of the corner of your eye. 

Oh, this is a terrible idea.

"He's changing! He's our Santa for the party. Surprise!" You make weak jazz hands.

Bill looks into the dark where you're pretty sure Hood is hiding. You hope, anyway. Otherwise Bill is going to tell everyone that you're making up boyfriends. "Really?"

"Yeah, really," comes Hood's unmodulated, deadpan reply, and you jump. "Don't turn on the light. I'm naked."

"Oh..." Bill looks queasy for a moment. "Uh—" He looks at you and suddenly grins. "Oh, I get it. You two were having fun before going to the party, huh? Didn't know you were such a wildcat."

"That’s disgusting,” you say. “I would never do that in the office.”

Bill wiggles his eyebrows. "Me-ow. Does the Santa thing turn you on?"

"I'm right here, Bill, and naked or not, I'll kick your ass," Hood says.

Bill pales and quickly backs out of the room. "Right. Sorry. Uh, carry on."

He closes the door. You push your back against it and exhale, heart racing.

"Bill is a shithead," Hood says. 

“How… do you know his name?”

“Employee background check,” Hood says mildly. 

"Oh… yeah, he's been written up a bunch of times for inappropriate behavior, but he's close with Emerson, so he never gets fired."

"Want me to kill him for you? Free of charge."

"What? No! Hood—"

"Oh, relax. I was kidding."

"Uh-huh." You turn on the light. Hood has his helmet on, and his voice is modulated again. "What're we gonna do?"

"Well, I'm gonna go make sure Hershel doesn’t fuck off to Bermuda. The lights you wanted are here, by the way."

Hood tosses you a box of multi-colored tree lights. Then he walks toward you. You plaster yourself across the door.

"Wait! You can't leave. I said that my boyfriend is going to be Santa. Bill will tell everyone. They’ll expect you.”

"I appreciate your quick thinking, but that's a hard pass,” Hood says.

"You can't leave now! Bill's gonna tell everyone I'm a liar and they'll think I was up to something worse in here, like snorting coke."

"I mean this gently: I think you should look into anti-anxiety meds. My brother swears by Xanax.”

“My doctor won’t prescribe it to me,” you say glumly. “He thinks my anxiety is made up.”

“Huh. Want me to kill him? I know a better doctor.”

"Well…” You hesitate, then shake your head. “No! No. Hood, please. They’re all gonna expect a Santa. And when I don’t show up with Santa, they’ll remember that I didn’t participate in White Elephant or any of that other office nonsense that I don’t want to waste my money on. I need this job!”

“They’re not gonna fire you for not doing White Elephant,” Hood says. 

“You don’t know them! It’s a popularity contest.”

But Hood is indeed disinterested in the fact that you'll be the office pariah. Probably because he’s never worked in an office. 

Instead, he ushers you aside without a struggle. Then he turns the doorknob.

"Wait! Wait, listen. If you dress as Santa, you'll have access to the party and offices. You won't have to sneak around. And people get really drunk at these. They'll talk. You can figure out who's helping Emerson steal money."

His hand pauses. He looks at you. You look back, wringing your hands.

"You're pretty crafty," he says. 

"...Thanks?”

Hood releases the doorknob. "Alright, fine. I'll do the Santa shtick.”

“You will?”

He tilts his head. “Should I not?”

“No! No, you should. It’ll be a good disguise.”

He hums. “Sure. But we're in this together now, got it? You blow my cover and we both go down."

"Y-yeah, got it."

Hood heaves a gusty sigh. "Next time, I'm sending Roy in to do this shit."

"Who's Roy?"

"Ah." He holds up a finger. "Too many questions."

He makes a beeline for the Santa costume and then looks at you expectantly.

"Yo. Boyfriend or not, you're not watching me change. Guard the door, Mrs. Claus."

"Oh, right. Sorry."

You turn off the light and go into the hall, shutting the door behind you. It's empty, luckily. You rap your fingers on the box of lights, leg jiggling. 

This is insane. You should just tell Hood you can't do this and let him figure out his own plan.

But then... this would make it easier to find Emerson's crime partner. And you're really sick of Bill being a jerk. You don’t want to be called a liar, or get iced out for the rest of your time here because you didn’t bring Santa. Maybe having Hood be your Santa-boyfriend would make people leave you alone. Which is a crazy reason to stick to this plan, but still. You're trying to find the bright side.

And all those people that Emerson stole from... surely, you have a responsibility to help get their money back and bring him to justice, don't you?

The door swings open. You turn around.

“You wear a mask under your helmet?” 

“As a precaution.” He sounds defensive. “Lots of people in my profession do it.” 

You doubt that. “Don’t you think it’ll be weird if Santa has a mask on?” 

He hesitates, evidently debating between protecting his identity and arousing suspicion.

“Fine.” He carefully peels off the mask and tucks it into his pocket. The surrounding skin is slightly pink from irritation. His nose and cheeks are dotted with freckles. 

And wow. The Red Hood has beautiful eyes. So vibrant and clear, like seafoam. And young! How old is he, anyway? He doesn’t look much older than you, if at all. 

His eyes are framed by thick, dark lashes, and it makes sense, Hood being a brunet.

“What?” he snaps, glaring.

“Nice eyes,” you blurt.

His brows furrow. You remember the guns.

“Um, anyway. Should we go?” you squeak out, backing away.

Hood huffs through the beard. It flutters. "We need to have some ground rules."

"Okay."

"First, you should know that I will shoot if there's a physical threat at this party. Two, you're gonna call me Todd at the party. Three, if you try to tell anyone that I'm Red Hood or that I'm taking down Emerson, I will make your life hell. And if you're his partner, you'd better tell me now or I'm gonna be a lot less jolly."

"I'm not!" you say. "I would never do that. And I won't tell anyone you're Red Hood."

"Good. Let's go. Keep your ears open for hints about Emerson's partner."

He takes off in long strides. You hurry to keep up. The Santa costume doesn't slow him down.

"So how did you find out that Emerson's stealing?" you ask.

"Got a tip. You really didn't know he was stealing?"

“I don’t have access to the finances. I work in user interface. Website design.”

"Yeah? That's pretty cool. I got a brother who's into that stuff," Hood says.

"The same one who takes Xanax?”

“Would you believe it?”

You try to picture Red Hood with a regular family. With a brother or a sister or a father. It's hard to imagine.

“How come you don’t take anti-anxiety medication?” you ask. 

“I have Pit Madness Syndrome, and it has a weird chemical reaction with that stuff.”

“Oh.” Subject change. Quickly! "Do you celebrate Christmas?" 

"Not really. I'm not a believer or celebrator of much. You can see what my plans are two days before Christmas."

"Your family doesn't celebrate?"

Hood just grunts, eyes suddenly stormy. You take the hint and stop talking.

The room where the party is isn't particularly special. It's big enough to fit about a hundred people. For all the money the company makes, you'd thought that they could afford to splurge a little and rent an actual hall. Now you know what the profits have been going toward. But the decorations are decently lavish.

"Oh, wait." Hood leans in to speak in your ear. Lightning shoots down your spine. "I don't know your name."

You give it. He repeats it, and you shiver, like your boyfriend just said your name.

"'Kay. Stay in this room. We don't know how much Emerson or his partner knows, but assume they’re willing to do anything to get away with the money."

You nod. “Got it.”

“Hey, it’s Santa!” Bill shouts from across the room. “He made it!”

You smile tightly. “As promised.”

A few people wave. Others cheer. 

“These people really like Christmas, huh?” Hood asks.

“You have no idea,” you say, hyperaware of his hand brushing your back.

“Don’t think I got your name, man,” Bill says as he approaches. He sticks a hand out. “Bill.”

“Todd,” Hood says, taking his hand and shaking. Bill winces at the handshake. You hide a smile.

“Ah, Todd. Right.” Bill looks at you, trying to subtly soothe his hand. “You’ve never mentioned him.”

You shrug. “Never came up.”

“I’m pretty private,” Hood says, putting an arm around your shoulders. “But we’re very much in love. Ain’t that right, baby?”

“Th-that’s right… honey,” you say, face going hot.

“So what do you do for work?” Bill asks. “My girlfriend’s a lawyer.”

You roll your eyes. Hood snorts.

“There’s no way you’re dating anyone. You look like you got dressed in the dark, Billy.”

You cough your laugh into your arm. Bill’s eye twitches.

“Enjoy the party,” he says icily. He glares at you, then stomps away.

“That was amazing, but I think Bill might retaliate,” you say. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout him,” Hood says. “I’ll take care of it.”

You look at him with big eyes. “Hood—”

“Not like that. Just… it’ll be handled. Okay?”

You nod. Maybe it’s insane, but you trust him. “Okay. Want some punch?”

Hood hums. “No alcohol. Thanks.”

You go to the punch bowl, a little relieved to escape Hood’s piercing ocean-eyed stare. He’s intense. Whoever dates him for real is in for a ride. 

Then again, you can’t imagine Hood meeting someone for coffee or dinner. You giggle at the image of him showing up with his guns and helmet. 

“Hey, IT.” A woman in a white sweater you’ve seen maybe once waves at you. “Cool idea, bringing a Santa.”

“Yeah, Emerson’s too cheap to,” the man next to her says. They laugh.

You smile. “Glad you like it.”

You serve yourself two cups of the alcohol-free punch. Then you turn. 

Your smile falls. Across the room is Hood and Tanya Donaldson, resident shit-stirrer. She’s trying to cozy up to him. You sigh and walk over, bracing yourself.

“Hey, baby,” Hood says, practically dragging you into his side. He takes a cup of punch. “Just met Tanya.”

You can guess exactly how he feels about that.

"Oh, is he your boyfriend?" Tanya asks, eyeing Hood like he's a slab of steak. “I had no idea!”

"Uh-huh," you say. "This is Todd."

She wiggles her fingers, grinning. “So how often do you go to the gym, Todd?” She rests a hand on Hood's arm. "I didn't know Santa was so big and broad."

Your gaze drifts to where you're pretty sure Hood has a gun strapped to his ankle, and the temptation does appear, you won't deny.

But you need this job and it's going to be really hard to explain why Santa's armed and dangerous, so you just grit your teeth. Tanya's the worst for this kind of behavior and she doesn't respect you, so bringing your hunky boyfriend is like dangling a bunch of carrots in her face. 

And it’s not like Todd is actually your boyfriend. 

"Are you flirting with me in front of my girlfriend?" Hood asks, prying her hand off of his arm.

"Flirting?" She claps a hand over her mouth, the movement slightly delayed from all the wine. "No, oh my God! I was just saying—"

"That's really pathetic," Hood says. "Don't do that."

He walks away and you follow, leaving a wobbly Tanya on her own. You smile to yourself.

"Thank you for that," you say.

Hood gives you a thumbs up. "I can plant evidence on her and get her fired if you want."

"No, I don't want to feel damned for eternity. Thanks anyway."

"You have a lot of assholes at your job," Hood says. "But you're not one. I admire that.”

You sigh. "They're not all bad. Alma is cool. She keeps me from quitting.”

"And where is she?"

"At home. She's a sixty-two year old accountant who doesn't care about these parties. Her hip aches when it's cold."

"Mm. Maybe you should follow her lead," Hood says.

"But then who would help you with your spycraft, Hood?"

He allows himself a tiny laugh at that. You wonder how often he laughs. If ever.

“Well, suffering Tanya wasn’t in vain. She said this whole party cost twenty grand.”

“So?”

He gestures grandly. “Does this look like it cost twenty grand to put this together?” 

It's true. The alcohol is the most expensive thing here. No food, except for some people that participated in the potluck, but you don't trust anybody's food here. The decorations are old. Not to mention the Red Hood as your Santa. Your boss might have spared a thousand for tonight. No more. 

“So where did all that money go?” you ask. 

Hood snaps his fingers. “Bingo.” 

“That is so shitty. I got a chocolate-covered pretzel as my Christmas bonus,” you say. 

“A bag of ‘em?” He shakes his head. “Pretty cheap.”

“Ha, no. No, I got one big pretzel. In a box. The box cost more than the pretzel, I think.”

His eyes widen. “Jesus. Even I give more than that to my guys.”

“Got any openings?” you ask, half-joking. 

Hood snorts. “Don't think you'd like what we do. Why d’you stay?” 

You shrug. “Nowhere else to go. I have to eat somehow.” 

“Crappy boss, crappy coworkers, no Christmas bonus. Hell, I feel sorry for ya.”

The Red Hood feels sorry for you. Perhaps you've reached a new low. 

He drinks the punch and coughs. “Ahem, wow. Did you make the punch?”

“No, some people mixed it here.”

“Oh, then I'll be honest. Tastes like a flavor that's not found in nature.” He throws his cup away. You trust him and set your still-full cup on a table.

“I won't even mention the potluck,” you say. 

“Yeesh. Can't eat at everyone's house.” 

“That's what I say!” 

He winks at you. You look away, flustered. 

The crazy thing is, you could get used to this. Well, not specifically Red Hood, but having a boyfriend to bring to these functions, who’ll warn you against gross punch and defend you against Tanya. 

And Hood is surprisingly good at this. If you forget the past hour, you can almost pretend that this is just another office party that you happen to be spending with your new boyfriend. 

"Hey, look! It's Santa! Dude, check me out with Santa!"

One of the finance guys who's very drunk—you want to say that his name is Matt—bounds up to you and Hood. Hood tenses, reaching for his hip (gun!) and you touch his elbow, reminding him to relax. He drops his arm. 

Matt reeks of alcohol, the front of his shirt stained with bourbon. He laughs, forehead shiny with sweat.

"Santaaa, hey, Saint Nick, take a pic with me, man!"

Matt throws his arms around Hood. Hood does not like that and shoves him off accordingly. But Matt doesn't seem to notice and holds up his phone, camera facing front. Hood slaps the phone out of his hand.

"No pictures," he says.

You wince. The guy stares and blinks, taking three to five business days to process what just happened.

"What the fuck, man? That was my phone!"

"Sorry. I'm drunk." Hood sighs like he's physically in pain, then leans back and makes drinking motions with his fingers. "Fuckin' wasted! Did you try those rum shots? Lit, dude!"

The guy cheers up, forgetting all about the phone. "Oh, yeah, for sure! I'm gonna go get one right now! Thanks, Santa!"

"You do that!" Hood says cheerily.

As soon as the guy leaves, Hood returns to his resting scary face.

"Wow," you say.

"I know. I threw up in my mouth a little."

You laugh. Hood grins. Then it fades.

"Damn it. We're getting no closer to finding Emerson's partner. I should just interrogate Emerson until he tells me."

Interrogate makes you feel woozy. You're pretty sure you know what Hood's idea of an interrogation is.

"Wait! We just need to lure them out. If they think their money might be in jeopardy, they'll sneak out of the party to go check on it, right?" you ask.

"Potentially, yes. But how do we lure 'em?"

"There's an alert if someone withdraws more than ten thousand dollars from the company. But I don't have access to the accounts," you say.

Hood smiles slowly. "You don't need it. Remember I mentioned my computer whiz brother?"

"Yeah…” You grimace. “This sounds illegal again.”

"Hell yeah it is. He owes me a favor too. Lemme call him."

You two go off to the side while Hood dials.

"Yeah?" comes a voice on the other end. He doesn’t sound at all like Hood, more like a one percenter from the Diamond District. This is Hood’s brother?

"Aliases only. I need you to withdraw fifty grand from Emerson Corp,” Hood says. 

"Why?”

“‘Cause you owe me a favor. Just do it.”

“Zombie breath.”

“Shortass,” Hood says, voice taking on a distinct older brother tone. 

“You’re such an asshole,” the voice says. He yawns. “B’s wondering if you’re coming tomorrow.”

“I’d rather die again,” Hood says. “And you can tell him I said that.”

“The broody emo bullshit is getting old, dude,” the voice says.

You giggle. Hood looks at you sharply. You press your lips together, properly chastened. Sorry, you mouth.

"Who's that?" the voice asks.

"No one," Hood says. "Did you do it?"

"Chill out. I'm getting past their firewall. So who is that?”

“It’s the TV,” Hood says.

“No, it’s not. That was a lady's laugh, IRL. And you wouldn’t lie if it was someone we know…”

“Mind your damn—”

“I’m helping him with a case,” you blurt. 

Hood throws his hand up, glaring at you. It’s silent on the other end of the phone for a solid ten seconds. Then…

“Holy shit,” Hood’s brother says. “You do have a girlfriend. Wait. Hold on. This is wild. You don’t even have a social security number.”

“I do not have a girlfriend!” Hood snaps, drawing the attention of some coworkers. You nudge him. He exhales through his nose.

“I don’t have a girlfriend, you little fucker,” he says, quieter. “She’s telling the truth.”

“Can I ask your girlfriend a question? Respectfully, what were you thinking? You can do so much b—”

“Text me when it’s done,” Hood growls and hangs up.

You look at each other for a moment. 

“You didn't hear any of that,” Hood says. “Got it?”

“Got it.” 

“Good. Let's see who gets scared. He should do it right about…” 

His phone beeps. You look around the room. 

Soon, your culprit reveals himself. Matt!

Holy shit. 

"He didn't want a picture," Hood says slowly. "He was frisking me! Motherfucker."

"But isn't he drunk?" you ask.

"No." Hood sighs in disgust. "How did I miss that? Br—someone I know does that all the time, spilling alcohol on himself so he smells like he's been drinking. God. Oldest trick in the book!"

"Do you think he knows you're the Red Hood?"

"No. But he might suspect something. Let's go.” 

You follow Matt out of the party. He's walking fast. Yeah. Definitely your guy. 

Down the hallway, Matt turns around and makes direct eye contact with you. You panic. 

“Hood!” you whisper. 

“I know,” he says. “Follow my lead.” 

Loudly, he laughs and puts an arm around your waist. “C’mon, baby, no one’ll know.”

And then you're being herded into a janitor’s closet. 

You stumble in, confused and reeling from how easily Hood plays the affectionate boyfriend role. He follows you in, shuts the door, and pulls the chain dangling from the ceiling. The single light bulb turns on. 

You take care to not knock over any cleaning supplies. You don't see the mop on the floor, however, and you trip backwards on the handle. 

Hood's reaction time is impeccable. He jerks forward to catch you, tugging you back on your feet with his hands on your arms. 

“Y’alright?” he asks. 

“Uh-huh,” you say, mildly mortified. “Thanks.”

He lets go. You shift on your feet. 

“How long are we gonna stay here?” you ask. 

Hood checks his phone. “Well, he should've moved on by now. Let's—”

The doorknob jiggles. You look at Hood in fear. His expression is similar. 

“Pretend!” you whisper, and that's all he needs to understand and move. 

You're expecting your arms around Hood, maybe exaggeratedly feeling him up. You are not expecting Hood to hoist you up by the backs of your thighs and press you against the wall. You squeal, arms shooting out to hold onto his neck. Hood's beard ends up in your mouth and you spit it out. 

The door swings open, revealing a very tipsy couple. 

“Oops!” the woman says, grinning. “Sorry. Carry on.”

The guy gives a thumbs-up. “True love.”

You smile awkwardly. Something is pressing into your hip.

“True love,” Hood deadpans. “Rock on.”

As soon as the door closes, you're squirming. 

“What is that?” you hiss. 

“My gun! Oh my God, it's my gun,” Hood says, quickly setting you down. “It's not…”

He trails off and backs away. You stand there, processing what just happened. 

“That wasn’t—”

“I didn’t—”

You both stop. Hood adjusts his beard. 

“You're really strong,” you say, wringing your hands. 

Hood nods. “Sorry about the, uh…”

“Yeah, let's just not talk about this.”

“Yup. Find Matt?” 

“Absolutely.” 

You open the door and peek out. The hallway is empty. Glory be.

“All clear,” you say, and Hood is on your heels as you sneak out. 

“Any ideas on where he'd go?” Hood asks. 

“Matt works in a cubicle like the rest of us. Emerson’s office is on the twelfth floor.” 

“Fine. We'll hit Emerson's office first. More privacy, and maybe they'll both be there. Two birds.”

“Emerson's office is protected by a password lock. He changes it every night,” you say, scurrying to keep up with Hood. 

“That's fine. I got a key right here,” he says, patting his holster.

“Wait! If the lock is tampered with, it sets off an alarm and security will come. You can't shoot it, Hood.”

He stops and sighs. “Why is everything so goddamn complicated? Alright, new plan. I'm gonna get my stuff from where we were and I'll break in the old-fashioned way.” 

Fifteen Minutes Later.

“This seems really unsafe!” you say, watching Hood dangle outside a three story window on a wire. He's attached to a grappling hook but still. Still! 

“Eh, I died once. Didn't stick. Hold the hook.” 

“I am!” As if you'd do anything but. You don't want the Red Hood to become Red Goo. 

Chilly December wind makes your eyes water and your nose cold. Still, you hold on. 

“Almost there!” he says. 

“Hey! What're you doing?” 

You whirl around and close your eyes due to the flashlight shining at them. Even though the lights are on. 

An elderly security guard glares at you. It's a good thing you're not an actual criminal… though after tonight, you're not so sure. 

“Um.” You try to hold onto the hook while hiding it behind your back. “Bird watching?”

The guard turns off the flashlight and tucks it into his belt. He slowly walks to you. 

“If you're doing something illegal, Miss, you're in big trouble.”

Well, this is fantastic. Of course it would be you that gets caught. 

The guard is getting closer. Your grip is sweaty. He peers over your shoulder. You let go of the hook, praying to every spirit out there that Hood is as good as everyone says he is. 

The guard looks around and scratches his head. You shrug, heart in your throat. 

“See?” you say. “Bird watching.”

He frowns at you. “I've got my eye on you.”

“And I commend you for that.” 

“Are you sassing me?” 

Are you? You might be. You've been spending too much time with Hood. 

Hood! You turn and look out the window. You don't see any red goo below, but it's also cold and foggy. Shit. You hurry to the elevators. 

“Okay, happy holidays, bye!”

The elevator doors open. You press twelve and close the door before the guard can consider getting on with you and shooting you a hairy eyeball all the way down. 

You hurry out and run down to Emerson's office. The door has been left ajar, which is good, right?

Bang!

You throw yourself against the wall. Shit. Maybe not. 

Ugh, you told Hood no shooting! Son of a bitch. 

“We're doing this tonight!” That's Emerson's voice. “I don't care if I have to shoot my way out.” 

Shoot? Oh no.

You carefully peek through the crack. Hood is standing with his hands behind his head. His beard has blood in it. Emerson is in front of him, gun to his head. 

Hood catches your eye. He gives you the tiniest head shake. You swallow. 

You can't just leave him there. 

Okay. Think. Emerson's back is to you. You can't see Matt, but you figure he's far enough away to not immediately shoot you. Hopefully. 

Anyway, what's your other option? The feisty relic upstairs? You can't risk any civilians getting hurt. 

Technically you're also a civilian but not tonight. Tonight you might as well be Batman. 

You slowly pull the door open further. You sneak in, then hide behind the secretary's desk.

“Is it done?” Emerson snaps.

That's when you see Matt in the corner on a laptop. 

“It takes time,” Matt says, obviously stressed too. 

“Well, hurry up!” Emerson looks at Hood. “Then we'll dispose of Santa here.”

Hood shrugs. “You can certainly try. Many have. ‘M still here.”

“Lots of bravado for a man in a costume,” Emerson sneers. “What are you, police?”

Hood groans. “As fucking if! I'm not a cop.” 

He hums. “Perhaps not. Otherwise this place would be crawling with them already. But you're alone.”

“How d'you know I'm alone?” Hood asks. 

You're glad he's calm because you're feeling the beginnings of another panic attack. But you can't panic, not now. The adrenaline pulsing through you is the only thing keeping you from going catatonic. 

You have no weapon, no plan. How the hell are you supposed to help Hood?

“You're bluffing,” Emerson says. 

“He has a girlfriend,” Matt says. “Some IT girl. She might come looking for him.”

“Then we'll take care of her too.”

Matt looks uncomfortable but he doesn't say anything. Hood is still cool as a cucumber. 

“She won't look for me. We had a fight. I forgot to buy the candy she likes.”

Candy? Why would—oh!

On the secretary's desk is a glass bowl filled with mini candy canes. You wrap your hands around it. 

“She knows my favorite,” Hood says, locking eyes with you.

You throw the bowl with all your might. Emerson is too slow—Hood grabs the bowl one-handed and swings it, knocking the gun from Emerson's hand. The candy explodes into pieces. Hood swings again, this time into Emerson's head. The bowl cracks. Emerson crumples to the floor. 

“Are you o—”

Bang! Bang! Bang!

In a blink, Hood wraps one arm around your waist and yanks you to the floor, covering your body. You curl into him on instinct. 

“I got you, I got you,” he says, patting your shoulder. “You okay?”

You nod, words not coming right now. You squeeze his hand. Hood seems to understand and he scoots you both behind Emerson’s desk. Then he loads his gun and cocks it.

“Stay here,” he says, then fires six shots. 

“Goddamnit!” Matt yells across the room. “This wasn't the plan! You're not supposed to be here!”  

Hood laughs, which is absolutely terrifying. “Don't talk to me about ruined plans, buddy. I've been waiting all night for an excuse to shoot somebody. Please make my night.” 

Matt fires four more shots. 

“Fuck you, cop!” 

“What the fuck? Fuck you more! I'm not a fucking cop!”

“Maybe it's the way you stand,” you say, teeth chattering from anxiety. 

Hood squeezes your shoulder comfortingly. “I stand like a cop? Gross. I gotta work on that.” 

“You're somebody!” Matt yells. “You're not just some guy, Todd, don't lie to me. You and that chick from IT are in cahoots.”

You huff. “He knows your name but not mine?”

“I’d take it as a compliment.”

Matt fires again. Hood tucks you behind him. 

“He won’t kill anybody,” he says, with way too much confidence, in your opinion. 

“Oh, is that why he's peacefully shooting at us?”

“He's scared, sure. But he can’t kill. Trust me, I know. Hey, Matt!” 

“What?”

Hood stands up. Your eyes bug out of your head. 

“Hood!” you hiss. “Hood!”

He ignores you, of course. 

“You won’t hurt anyone,” Hood says. He starts walking toward Matt. “You're not a killer, Matt.”

And all this time you thought Hood was sort of sane. Nope. 

“I will shoot you!” Matt warns. 

“Aw. You wouldn't shoot Santy Claus, would you?” 

Matt pulls the trigger. You gasp. It clicks. The magazine is empty. 

Hood closes the distance between them and grabs the gun, then elbows Matt in the face. Matt sprawls onto the floor. 

“Yeah, I don't risk my life on human emotion,” Hood says, loud enough so you can hear. “People can be so unpredictable. I will take a chance on a gun that only fires seven rounds, though. For a guy in finance, you're not very good with numbers, Matty.” 

You sigh in relief, slumping against the desk. After tonight, you're retiring. 

“Y'okay over there?” Hood asks. 

“Yeah.”

It's quiet for a bit. Then Hood returns and offers you a hand to help you stand. You do so on shaky limbs. 

He's got a cut on his eyebrow and a bruise on his cheek. You frown. 

“I'm sorry I let go of the hook. I thought—”

“You let go of the hook?”

You stop. “Um. No?” 

Hood squints at you. “Choosing to forgive you for that.” 

“I knew you were inside the office!”

“Yeah, sure.” 

“I'm not the only one taking risks,” you say. “Matt still fired at you.”

“Eh.” Hood shrugs. “He’s a crap shot. And I counted the rounds. I maintain my point. Factually, he could not shoot me.”

“You could've told me the gun was empty,” you say. 

“I wanted you to think I was cool and brave.” 

You laugh. “I already think that.”

Hood looks at you for a moment, like he’s trying to see right down into your soul. Intense. You cross your arms.

“So, um, ready to ditch this party?” you ask. 

“With pleasure.”

“What about them?” you ask, pointing to Matt.

“I have backup arriving soon. Let's get your coat.” 

You get your things while Hood changes back into his usual garb. He meets you at the back exit, the one that leads to an alleyway, Santa suit gone. The party's winding down and most are getting into their cars. You're grateful no one stops to ask where you disappeared to. 

There's police outside, but they're not here for Emerson. It's Bill that's being questioned by Commissioner Gordon. You stop short at the sight. 

“Hood… what did you do?” 

“Hm? Oh! There might have been some discrepancies in Bill's finances and he might have committed fraud to pay off his gambling debts. All circumstantial, though.”

“Please don't tell me you framed my coworker because he's a jerk,” you say. 

“No, but I'm not above that, for the record. I recognized Bill from when I was casing the Iceberg Lounge. That's where he racked up all that debt.”

You nod slowly. “That's how you knew his name.”

“Yup. He was a nobody, so I didn't bother with him. Had I known he was such a menace at work, well…”

You grin. “It's okay. I appreciate it now.” 

Hood nods. The silence is awkward for a few seconds. 

“So—”

“You don't have to keep working here,” he says. “You can leave if you wanna.”

“Hood…”

He puts up a hand. “Hear me out. I have a contact at Wayne Enterprises. I can get you an interview. Hell, I can get you the job.”

“And what would I owe you?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. Think of it as a thank you for tonight. You didn't have to help me but you did.”

You open and close your mouth. “I don't… I don't know what to say.”

“Don't gotta say a thing,” Hood says quietly. “If anyone deserves a new year, it's you.”

“Oh.” Your throat feels tight suddenly. “Oh, Hood, that's really—that's nice of you.”

“It's been known to happen. Don't spread it around though.”

“But I don't want the job without interviewing!” you say. “I want to get it on my own.”

Hood nods. “Deal.”

You want to hug him but that seems like too much, even with all you’ve done tonight. So you take out a candy cane instead.

“I salvaged one from the bowl,” you say. “Merry Christmas, Hood.”

He takes it, tucking it into his pocket. “Merry Christmas. Need a ride?”

You shake your head. “I'm fine. See you around?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Stay safe, alright?”

“Oh, I will. Will you?”

He laughs. “No promises.” 

Then you blink and he's gone. You shove your hands into your coat pockets. 

In each pocket, there's a handful of Warheads. You smile.

[writingwordsgayly]

if you had told me when I leveled buildings I'd be living in a small village helping rebuild after a calamity I would have killed you, but once I opened my eyes I had to start fresh, no more fearful glances, just Jim behind the bar sliding my drinks to me while I shit talk the dart game going on to my left, they try to pull me into playing, but I'd rather keep competition out of my life, I've chosen the slow life and I will be sticking with it, besides, I'd hate to bruise there egos, because my biggest trick was throwing knives once upon a time. the bell jingles as a group walks in the sound of their laughter fills the air, I glance up, expecting one of the other builders to join me, but my blood runs cold as see him, the one who foiled so many plans, the one who believes me to be dead, he had no part in my retirement, in fact I had already taken him down for my monologue when it all changed, trailing behind him is his party, the warlock sees me first and does her best to draw attention from my side of the bar, she witnessed my shift, played a part of it even, I stand up to shuffle out the back when the party is drawn into the warlocks story, but the dart players can't take a hint and get louder thinking I'll be joining them, I dodge tables as I run for the door, but I hear many foot steps following me, I do not look back, Jim calls out that I better pay my tab later and I throw a few coins over my shoulder, just incase in unable to pay once they catch me.

fresh night air hits my face but I dare not stop, the sounds of the heroes follow me as I run where none in the town will overhear what's to come, I dodge a few crossbow bolts, I bless the empty roads as I make it home, still faster then the team that swore to end me. I turn at my door, ready to accept what is to come, the warlock is first, looking terrified, you see we had the same patron, that is what shifted my perspective, I notice her emblem first, the foe of that patron, gorturth who had offered me freedom of what my patron had twisted me to become, he had manufactured my life to for his narrative, to be the God of a champion, gorturth offered me wisdom,and a quiet place to think, and reflect on what would follow the truth, I see the warlock paladin also turned to her.she smiles slightly seeing my symbol of the same god once again, her friends gather in the clearing, weapons drawn and spells ready, I hold empty hands to the sky, accepting my karma, but a loud shout echos around us, the woodcutter stands in front of me axe in hand

"why are heros menacing a charity worker?" he starts,calmly he was the first to meet the new me, he saw the scars and fear, the brokenness of a fractured truth. the heroes start talking over each other, but he points at the paladin and they quiet down.

"I reckon you have a good head about you" she starts stuttering as she tries to figure out how to explain our mutual betrayal.

"hoath manufactured him into being a villain, he shaped him to be as he was, I was never a true paladin just a misguided warlock..." she quiets down, looking at unimpressed faces. "he saved you!" she points at the head hero, telling a truth I never would have, he pulls the arrow back, aiming it straight at my heart.

"how dare you mind control susan you fiend! I bet you have this whole town under your control. you will never change, once a villain always a villain" he shouts, the party goes quiet as he looses the arrow at me, ignoring the civilian standing in front of me, luckily always quicker then the hero's I push him out of the way, the arrow meets its mark, in my shoulder, never one to go for a kill shot, the cleric is the next to speak

"stop! he would have never tried to protect someone, will you just listen you? he can't escape and he's not fighting back!"

I swallow and begin to speak, the truths tumbel out, the woodcutter takes my hand halfway through,to stabilize me as I speak until I am hoarse, never one for many words, the shortest monologues imaginable is how I worked, I tell them of being abandoned and taught how to to kill, rewarded for it, and how we realized on that night it was all a gods plot, incentive to build fancier temples.

the party stands quiet, as do we all, no clue what follows the truth, the cleric walks towards me slowly, my husband goes to stand in front of me again but he understands these are my consequences to face, the cleric meets my eyes, her eyes are searching, trying to find my hidden motive, see my eyes darting to the clue that will give her the edge, but her eyes soften after a minute, glancing between me an my love, he knows the truth, it's one of the first things I shared once I Decided my new start would be here. she begins to pull the arrow out of my shoulder, and heals it with her magic, my husband invites them in, it seems his secret motive is to gush about my kind Deeds to embarrass me.

You, the villain, faked your death and started over years ago. But you never expected the hero to stumble into your new favorite bar, laughing with their friends.

[frostbitten-writer]

Bathtub nights

Pairing: Ekko x gn!Firefly!reader

Tags: established relationship; no description of R; nakedness??? I don’t know how to name it, but no smut or suggestiveness; FLUFF

A/n: just a simple, cute one-shot that I thought about while daydreaming, so yeah, enjoy 🫶🏻

The rustling sound of leaves and the creaking of wood were the only things that could be heard in the slow night. The hideout was full and peaceful, the little ones kind of helping with the feeling of pure chaos. You were usually stuck with them during the day, but not that you were complaining, it’s just the fact that you saw Ekko even less. He was always so stiff and serious, never eating or caring for himself. The wrinkles and lines on his forehead were giving him a few more years than he had, making his young face look older. So that’s why you’re here, balancing the tray with his favourite dish in your hands while walking up the steps to his workshop, which, unfortunately for you, was at the top of the tree. 

The wooden door creaked open and you slipped your head into the room, only to see an even more slumped version of Ekko sitting at his desk. To the sound of your steps, he turned around, and you could see his stiff face softening ever so lightly from your presence. The workplace was untidy and yet cozy, just like Ekko. The whole atmosphere was just screaming him. The room was illuminated by a small, warm lamp that made Ekkos eyes seem even warmer, the little specks of gold shining so bright, you almost felt your body melt. 

Carefully setting the plate of food and bread down in the mess of his desk, you sat on his lap and wrapped your arms loosely around his neck while looking down at him with a tender smile.

“Hey..” He rasped out, voice groggy from several hours of silence, his callused and dirty from metal hands snaking up to your hips.

“Hi, tree boy, already studied everything about trees and their existence, or is there something more?” You joked, lips forming into a lazy grin, one hand coming up to one of his dreadlocks.

“Not yet, but I’m close to it..” He smiled, clearing his throat a bit before giggling quietly to you tickling him with his hair. 

He looked at your face with a certain softness that only he could give to you, the expression of love no one else got to see. If you stared a bit longer into his eyes, you could promise you saw his pupils forming into hearts. 

“What’s that that you brought..?” He mumbled, peeking at the plate with a mysterious meal.

“A bit of food, your favourite.. hazelnut soup~” You hooked his chin between your fingers, tugging his head back straight to face you, his big doe eyes looking at you with interest. 

“Really..? You’re so good to me.. how did I get with you..” He mumbled and rested his forehead against your shoulder, his eyes drooping closed. 

“Well, I have to feed you with something if you don’t eat yourself..” You teased, your hands sliding to his shoulders, kneading the lumps and muscles.

He whined a bit at the sensation, head lolling to the side.

“I just- I didn’t have time to do so.. I feel like time’s running away from my grasp..” He whispered sincerely, looking at you with puppy dog eyes.

“It’s okay, you just need some rest.. how about we take a warm bubble bath?” You suggested, doing your best to persuade him.

“You just want a reason to get me out of clothes..” He mumbled, his voice still tired but playful.

“Maybe~” You giggled quietly, jumping out of his grasp and then taking hold of his wrist. “Let’s go, space boy!” 

He only chuckled, the steamy soup long forgotten while you two ran down the spiral steps. 

Many Firelights stopped in their tracks at the sound of something or someone running down the stairs like a madman, their surprised expression growing back to neutral as they saw you two giggling and laughing. They all knew the effect you had on Ekko, they saw it by the way he would smile. Not the smirk he’d do when a plan worked, but a genuine one, an ecstatic grin.

When you reached your shared apartment, you slipped into the room, going straight to the bathroom, hands still clasped together. 

The steam was rising smoothly from the tub, the mirror already fully fogged, making the room humid and warm. He was about to ask how you managed to get it full, if you had already thought about it before asking him at the workshop, but he quickly shut himself up to the smell of the new oil or soap you borrowed.

“I found a new lavender and vanilla oil at the topside, smells amazing, right~?” You purred out with a grin, his expression confused and yet happy.

“Of course you did, found it.” He rolled his eyes affectionately, tugging at the hem of his shirt and pulling it off.

 

-

 

You both were now settled down in the bathtub, foam and bubbles flying around in the mist. He held you against his bare chest, your back rubbing against his skin, his long legs enveloping you from both of your sides. His dreadlocks were wet, his muscles finally getting their rest.

“Now that's a way to end the day, right..?” He whispered and pressed some lazy pecks to your shoulder. You only hummed in response, shifting sideways to face him, your damp hand wiping his face paint off.

“You always do that..” He giggled quietly, closing his eyes affectionately to let you get to his nose and forehead.

“And you love it..” You watched the drops of white colour roll down his cheeks. The smile on your face grew intimate, the chaos temporarily fading away.

“I do..” He whispered back, kissing the inside of your palm before tackling you and pressing gentle and chaste pecks all over your face…

[hyukascampfire]

𝓖INGER & 𝓢NAP ` ꕀ. k.th

you were the last person taehyun expected to appear on his doorstep. sweet and fluffy and oh-so-proper; he never thought he’d see you again. but... there you stand. and, much to his own chagrin, he fears that nobody else could get him more bothered. ׄ ⋆ ִ

་༘ ՚՚ ꒰ 🪵 ꒱ ･ 7.9k

ρairings gingerbread!taehyun x frosty puff!reader

𝒢 ‧̥ smut, fantasy, strawberry shortcake au

⍵arnings brat taming, brat tamer!taehyun & brat!reader, his cum is frosting, creampie, ofc no sex ed in strawberryland, thigh riding, oral m!receiving, cumming into mouth, cum eating, corruption of innocence & innocent!reader, banter, chubby!reader and buff!taehyun, manhandling, he throws her around a bit and she's so into it, they don't like each other but also def do, he likes to teach her manners, reader is also spoiled & rich and taehyun is not, hair pulling, he gets mean, no protectiom, let me know if i missed some!

✎୭ ashlynn's note this collab has been seriously so fun. writing fics is fun, but there's something about talking your friends and scheming all the yummy ways you can incorporate certain things into your fic. @thetxtdevil mae baby, thank you so much for being the best and even coming up with this idea. your mind amazes me... like actually. everybody did so unbelievably good, and i'm blessed to have been a part of it. now... let's get foody and smutty lol. some of this was written in a benadryl haze, but that's the fun part. i'm sorry mine came out a lil later than everybody else's, but hopefully it's still fun!

... back to the masterlist ⌇ back to strawberryland

Raising your fist to the door, your knuckles rap against it with a few thick knocks. The door is frosted around the edges in little swirling white puffs of icing, framing the gingerbread door. It’s the same all around his house: gumdrops and candy canes and the like, all twinkling with sugar crystals.

It’s all so sweet—unbelievably so. The man that calls it home is the very antithesis of sweet. He does not take after the gumdrop, nor the sweetness of the icing, and most definitely not the brown sugar and molasses of the gingerbread. Taehyun is the quick snapping of a leg, or the sharpness on your tongue when you get to the cinnamon and nutmeg. 

You loathe it. Even being stood here, knocking at his door, you hate. He is everything uncouth and abrasive—he is everything you should not entertain. 

Here you are, entertaining it. The door swings open. Your fingers and toes have begun to slow with the cold, like frosty-whip in the fridge. Through the forest, stepping over sugar bushes and cocoa streams, you had fought the bite. Why did he have to live all the way out here? Secluded, as though the rest of Strawberryland were beneath his meddling. You know why: it’s that he believes it. He is exactly as your parents told you he’d be, all those years ago. Of course, they were right. They always are.

When he catches sight of you at his door, his distant eyes morph, and his lip tugs into a scowl. The rise of his brows ruffles your feathers with an infuriating ease. “Is there something you want?” he asks. His tone is infuriating, too. It’s the kind of question that means much more beyond the words said. You catch exactly what he means—how he intends to get under your skin.

Hidden behind the door, he has one hand on the handle. It's an unspoken thing, too. He wants you to remember that he could close it. You can’t let him, or else you’ll have drug your pretty new furry winter boots through the powdered snow for him to slam a door in your face. “Yeah, actually. There is.” You run preening fingers through the ends of your hair. “We’re partners for the bake-off.”

“I don’t do the bake-off,” he says. His eyes would be chocolate and smooth if it weren’t for the way he wields them sharp. “Sorry. You’re gonna have to find somebody more your speed for that.”

Barking an incredulous, perhaps even snobby, laugh, you look around. Snow comes down on the ground, sweet and creamy. It’d been enough of a battle to come here. If you were going to give up so easily, you would’ve turned your little bottom around perhaps two hours ago. Does he think you hadn’t considered that? It was a long walk; you had plenty of time to mull over the many things he might do. Sometimes, you imagined him diplomatic and affable. You stomped those wispy thoughts out. Perhaps it’s been years since you’ve spoken with him, and perhaps what happened between the two of you is dusted over, but you know better. Here he stands in front of you: bitter as ever. 

“You’re just gonna leave me without a partner?” you say. Your jaw trembles, seized finally by the cold. “Everybody is already paired up. Literally everybody.”

Shrugging, he says, “I don’t see how that’s my problem. I didn’t sign up for it.”

Your brows knit. That means somebody else had signed him up. You have a sneaking suspicion who might’ve—Blueberry Kai always tells you that he just feels excluded. It’s hard not to laugh when he does. Taehyun? Excluded?  He is exactly where he wants to be. Where most are sweet in Strawberryland, the snappy gingerbread finds it easier to justify his bitterness when he lives off in his little gingerbread home, out and away in his own neck of the forest only to be found by a winding gumdrop road, where he can pretend he’s above it all.

It’s entirely ironic. Him, better than you? Gingerbread, and all his ruggedness? His unpolished edges? Once, you’d believed that the two of you weren’t so different. That you could be friends, even. Seeing what he’s grown to be, you think you understand why your parents stepped in. Back then, though, as just that soft little girl who followed the charismatic boy around with crystal stars in your eyes, it had been the worst thing to ever happen to you. He had been so gravity-defying, moving through the soft, marshmallow edges and the sugar-whipped reality of Strawberryland as something different.

No. Not gravity-defying. Rather, in the powdery and sweet sweet Strawberryland, you think that he is the only thing with gravity.

“That’s not fair.”

“Not fair?” he echoes, letting a little patronizing laugh out along with it. “That’s sweet.”

It’s hard not to shift or cross your arms over your chest, abraded by the dripping sneer.

“What? It’s not. It’s not fair that, just because you don’t want to at least give it a try, I can’t participate,” you say. Really, you should just crawl back home and beg to join somebody’s duo, but you can’t lose like that. You can’t lose to him. If you leave it like this, then he’ll have gotten the better of you. 

“Can’t get everything we want, huh?” he says, straightening up and taking the door in his hand once more. “Just because everybody else has bent backward to give you what you want doesn’t mean that I will.”

“Wait,” you say, sighing in a white swirl. “Don’t close the door. Don’t you know your manners? It’s rude. You’re just going to let me freeze out here? I walked all the way out here, and even got snow all over my new boots, just for this, just for you to slam a door in my face? I mean, a gentleman would at least invite me in to warm me up.”

Lips twitching into a laugh and his eyes suddenly alight, he says, “A gentleman, huh?” He pulls the door open a little further. The warmth from his home, warm and spiced and oh-so-inviting like oven-warmed gingerbread, brushes over your twinkling skin. “Sure. Show me your manners, then. I want you to ask me nicely.”

Your jaw tightens. Sending him a once over, sharpening your eyes, you decide to just do it. His tone is nasty, but you don’t want to be disqualified for not having a partner. Even if he’s the worst you could’ve been paired with in all of Strawberryland. Or maybe the best, because it’s a gingerbread house competition this year. “Will you just do it?”

“I said ask nicely. Say please.” 

He wears a mean smile—he’s having fun watching you squirm. So, you make a conscious effort to straighten up. “Will you please be my partner for the competition?” you say, making your voice sugary and batting your eyelashes in an overdone way. He thinks he’s funny.

Stepping out of the doorway, he motions you inside. It might look gentlemanly if it weren't for the sting in his eyes. You swallow down petty words and push through, your arms full with supplies. Arms aching, you finally let them clatter down over the countertop. The inside of his home is fresh-baked and spiced, aromatic like a true gingerbread cookie straight from the oven. You’re sure the glowing fire helps carry the smell in warm air. It wraps your cold bones up and smooths over some of the frayed edges. You’d been out there for so long… Nobody else had to walk that far for their partner.

Better just to get this done as quickly as you can. You just have to put up with him today, and you’ll be done, and then you can have fun with the competition. He won’t even show up for it; you’re sure. 

“I’ll do it all if it’s that big of a deal,” you tell him, laying out the walls and warming the icing between your palms. “You can put the peppermint on, I guess. So then we can say we both worked on it.”

Hair the fluffy brown of true gingerbread and dusted with snowflakes like powdered sugar. Taehyun shakes his head, and it moves with him. “No,” he says, the corners of his lips still turned up as though he knows something you don’t. He rolls the sleeves of his gaudy, knitted Christmas sweater up to his elbows. The corded muscle there, flickering with movement, catches you off guard. Gingerbread, built like that? Tearing your eyes off him with the effort of metal tearing itself from a magnet, you watch him approach the kitchen counters. “I’ll help. We’re partners, right?”

No matter what he says, there’s a twist of something sparkling in those sharp eyes that has you watching him closer—has you trying to gauge exactly what he’s playing at. “Uh… Yeah. Sure. If you want to, I guess.” You gesture at the walls. “Two for us, and ten for display. Can you start the walls?”

“Ten?” he says. “We’re making twelve gingerbread houses?”

With your lips pulled taut, you say, “Yeah… Twelve. Is that too much? I didn’t think any amount of gingerbread houses would be too much for you. That’s a little ironic.” Everything is warm in his home—even when you look down at your own hands to tug off your white woolen gloves, your skin that usually sparkles like frost rests just beneath the surface is tinged with the warmth.

“I can handle it just fine,” he says, taking the wall and base sections of one. “Just wouldn’t want you to ruin your pretty outfit. Twelve is a lot of icing.” He spits the word pretty out like it tastes bad. On his tongue, you’re sure it does. He never cared for pretty things the way you do. Your mommy always said that he was just jealous, but when the both of you were little, before your parents’ meddling, you learned that it was just a different lifestyle. One that you don’t understand, perhaps. Who doesn’t enjoy dressing themselves in lush furs and sugar crystals over their necks? 

“I’ll be fine,” you say, snipping the tip of the piping bag open. “I wore these knowing they’d get dirty. They’re my baking clothes. My boots already got all messed up…” 

“Oh,” he says. “You put on cashmere knowing you’ll get it dirty. Mommy and daddy paid a pretty penny for that, huh? And it’s your throwaway outfit?”

“Look. If you like it so much, I’ll let you have it when we’re done, yeah? Maybe you’ll make a pretty penny off selling it.” You ice a warm white line down the length of a wall. “Can you hurry? I’m already icing. I don’t want to be here all day.”

There’s  a few long, thrumming moments of quiet, where only the sound of your piping back crackling fills his home. Finishing a wall, you tear yourself away from your work to spare a glance his way.

Taehyun’s jaw is tight, a muscle flickering where he grits his jaw in the low light that washes over him. There’s a fire blazing in his eyes, and though he doesn’t turn them on you, the smoke rolling from them is enough to make your skin warm. You’d successfully gotten under his skin. Why stop here, when seeing that look on his face is so fun? He looks as sour as an apple; as spiced as cinnamon. “Wall?” you say, sharp and haughty as you offer your hand out to him in an impatient demand.

Snapping his head up, he hands you a wall with the heat of a thousand ovens in his face. You feel the scald he intends for you with it, and you revel in it.

You bark commands at him, watching his shoulders grow tense and his lips twitch with each. Crush the candy canes, you tell him. Melt the icing. Sprinkle these over that. Soon enough, you’re sitting back and watching him work more than anything.

He doesn’t say a word. You see them brimming in his eyes, but he doesn’t let them burst out all venomous like you know he wants to. It’s quite the show. 

“Would you at least help me hold this up?” he says, holding the walls of a house together with one hand. His hands are a mess of runny sugar and powdered sugar for snow, and yours are perfectly clean. You can at least help a little bit if you want to claim any part in the competition. 

You reach for the piping bag, fat with the sweet sweet icing, and straighten a wall up. You trace the seams with it, thick and like glue. With a bit too much pressure, the side of the bag bursts. White rivulets of slow icing run down your fingers and over the table. You curse, dropping it to the counter. That’s all of your icing, flopped down and deflating over the surface all sad-like. It’d been so much, that you thought it would last you each house and then some. Of course, you hadn’t brought extra.

Bringing your sticky fingers up to your mouth, you suckle the mess off. It’s so very sweet—warm and weeping, nutty and spiced with something like nutmeg. It’s Taehyun: the smell of it, the way it spreads over your tongue… You stick your tongue out to catch it where some drips down your forearm. “Mmm,” you say, sticky-armed. “Tastes good.” That’ll be good on the gingerbread houses; maybe the two of you do have a chance at winning. 

When you look up to Taehyun, he stands frozen in place, his hands still holding up a half-constructed gingerbread house. His eyes are different. It’s a look you don’t recognize—a look you’ve never seen before. Rather than deep and warm, his eyes are blackish and heavy. A swallow goes down his throat; a tense, barely contained thing.

 You frown, your lips still a sugary mess. “I didn’t mean to make a mess. Sorry. I’ll clean it up…”

Clearing his throat, Taehyun says, “Yeah…”

He watches you clean the counters, where the icing had pooled, and now the bag is empty, with the same intensity. You can feel it on your skin in a foreign, itching way. You swipe and scoop and work at the spill, and still, he watches. He does not speak. 

You survey the houses you’ve managed to finish. They’re pretty, and absolutely competition ready: looping swirls of icing like shingles on the roofs, peppermint chunks all red and white catching light where you’d sprinkled them into the frosting, gumdrops lining the paths true to Taehyun’s own home, and powdered sugar sifted over the entirety of it like snowfall. It’s all great, but there are only four.  “What are we supposed to do now?” you say, lips pouty. “That’s all the icing I brought. We literally can’t make any more.” You wipe at a smear on your cheek. How’d that get there? “I think I’m gonna have to come back tomorrow… Can you hold on to the houses for me?”

“Yeah—yeah, sure. Tomorrow,” he says, blinking something away. He straightens. “It’s a long walk. I think you should get going.”

You want to say something snarky or ask him why he wants you out of the house so fast, but it’s true. Night’s creeping over Strawberryland, and you have no icing, and tomorrow’s the last day before the bake-off. If the two of you don’t work harder tomorrow than you did today, then you won’t even make qualifications. You’ll lose before even starting.

You never lose. Not like this, and certainly not to the man standing before you. 

ꕀ

“C’mon. You can do better than that, can’t you?” Taehyun says, drooping icing from rooftops like icicles as you sprinkle crushed candies over the top. 

You grit your teeth. If he’d been snappy yesterday, he’s made it his mission to be your worst nightmare today. You think it’s his sort of revenge for ordering him around how you did. “What would you like, then?” you say. Maybe it’s feeding right into what he wants, but your life has lent you a short fuse. “You don’t even care about winning. Why does it matter? Let me do it how I want.”

He’s in another sweater. The sleeves are bunched up to the elbow just like yesterday, but you think he’s making a point with it this time. The shifting of his muscles is a bit too intense for piping icing. You’d made it through three more houses, wrangling your inner demons with each passing snide remark or nasty smile the whole time. It doesn’t help that he keeps his home terribly toasty, and you run cold down to the core. You melt and melt until all that is left of your temper is a puddle on the floor beneath you. Gone. 

“We’re partners, remember?” he says. He doesn’t even look at you as he says it. “I don’t do things half-assed, Frosty.” 

You’re sent reeling with the old nickname. It’d been sweet then, back when it was just the two of you against the world, but now it’s gone sour like milk. It even comes from his mouth soured. It’s something that you thought you’d left a million lifetimes ago, never to hear again. With Taehyun, though, it’s hard to pretend that you are no longer that. 

He will not let you forget that, at one point, the two of you were friends. An unlikely pair, especially looking at you now. You thought it was all nothing to you, but seeing him has kicked up dust. 

“You don’t?” you say, shooting him a quick glare from the side of your eye. “That’s funny.”

Strong brows shooting up, Taehyun quits mid-piping to look at you. “Funny? What’s funny about it to you?”

You can’t settle the obnoxious smile that curls at the edges of your mouth, mean and taunting and falsely sweet. “Oh, nothing.” You shake a sifter full of powder against your palm. It falls like true snow down over the house. 

“No, tell me,” he says, his eyes trained and heavy on your dismissive shrug. “Tell me what you think of me. I wanna hear it.”

Oh, this will be good.

“It’s just that,” you say, “you’re not really known for doing things the best way, you know? Living all the way out here, an ass when anybody tries to talk to you… Well, really, it’s just that nobody likes you. But, don’t worry! I’m sure there’s at least somebody that does.”

His face falls, the twinkle of delight at taunting you that he’d been holding in his eyes gone away. All that’s left is the peaking of something deeper and roiling from out of the cracks. You get the funny feeling that maybe you’ve taken it a step too far.

But, you never lose.

“Is that what it is?” he says. “I work for my shit. You? Everything you’ve ever had has been handed to you.” He measures his words delicately. Like a measuring cup full over the top, he cuts the excess words and coarseness off. He doesn’t say all that he thinks, but you see all he leaves unsaid toiling furiously behind his eyes. 

His eyes. They’re clear and, sharp as they are, they pin you. It’s a reflection of that look he gave you yesterday: deep and swirling and wild. It’s more than that, this time, though. It’s laced with anger and bursting at the seams of him. You’re not sure he’ll be able to hold back whatever it is that storms just beneath his skin, this time.

“It is,” you say, punctuation your words concisely. “It’s exactly why my parents said I shouldn’t hang out with you. They said that I’m above… all this.”

Oh, you’ve absolutely taken it too far now. You don’t really mean it. Sure, that’s what they told you, but you don’t really believe it. For some time, you did, but not now. It’s too late for sorries, though. Taehyun’s jaw goes tense.

For a long, awful moment, you just stand there and burn in his silence. It’s worse than any words he might spit. It’s hot—hot, hot, hot, and you turn liquid in it.

In a blink, nothing more, you collide against his countertop. Something clatters and thuds behind you. The gingerbread houses? That doesn’t matter right now—all that your dizzy mind can manage is his body crushing you and his fingers biting into the plush of your cheeks.

Where he had fractured, like true gingerbread, he snaps. You can see it in his eyes; even you know when you’ve pushed too far. Perhaps you ought to have seen this coming.

His knuckles curl white around the edge of the counter beside you, and his fingers dig deeper into your face. He’s oh-so-hot up against you. “I’m sick of your fucking mouth,” he snarls. His breath is hot as it fans over your face, too. “Someone needs to put you in your place. Where are your goddamn manners?”

Your heart thrums in your chest, and your pulse goes wild in your neck. You can’t form the words to answer him.

“Quiet now, huh?” he says. The husk in it makes the place between your thighs feel weird. You don’t know what’s wrong with you.

He shut you up real quick. You’ll give him that.

That funny feeling does flips, roaring to life when his fingers hook under the waistband of your bottoms. “That’s your problem.” His eyes send a chill up and down your spine. “You’ve never been told no. You’ve always gotten what you wanted.” Peeling down all the layers, he tugs your knitted stockings and your little fur skirt, and your sweet frosty panties, too. They bunch at your feet. Between your thighs, right where those foreign, throbbing waves reign, cool air laps at a wetness there. The hair all over your body rises. You’ve never felt anything like it. “Not with me. I'll set you straight. I don’t put up with spoiled brats.”

“I’m not a brat,” you say. “You’re just an ass.” They’re the first words that come to you. Damn your temper.

With the same hand he’d been holding your face in place with, he curls his fingers right into your scalp and yanks hard, baring your neck to him. You lose a strained squeak, tears pricking the corners of your eyes at the sting. If your heart had been racing before, it runs wild, now. You strain your eyes to look at him and his curled lips. Painted with a sneer, he says, “Watch your mouth.”

A swallow goes down your throat hard. It’s all unfamiliar: the aching between your thighs, the burning in your blood, and the dazing of your thoughts. “Taehyun, I… I feel weird. It feels weird.”

Something knowing passes over him. “Yeah?” he says. “Show me where. I can help.”

Show him? You hesitate, searching his eyes for an ounce of joke or aversion. You find none, and that pounding is syrupy-sweet, and he says he can help. That’s all you want; all you need. Taking a trembling hand, you bring it down your body, running the palm down the planes of your belly and resting it just over the spot where the lower bit gives way to the apex of your thighs. Going any further—the thought tightens your throat and pinkens your cheeks the color of strawberry frosting. “There. It feels weird there.”

Taehyun smiles a snappy, spiced smile. He likes that. “Want me to make it feel better?”

Your thoughts feel replaced by something powdery and weightless. You give him a dumb nod.

“Say please.”

Something bratty crawls up your throat, but you want help, and he’s the one who will give it to you. He’d meant that: teaching you a lesson. Melted around the edges already, you say, “Please, help make it feel better.” Your voice wavers.

“There we go. That’s how good girls talk. That’s how you ask to get what you want.” He nudges your thighs apart with a knee and slots it between them, pressed right up against that coolness. Right up against that need. “Grind down on it.”

Neck aching at the angle, you say, “Grind?”

He brushes his clothed thigh right up against you. The friction is delicious—sweet and melty and just what you need. It shoots yellow sparks throughout you.

It feels so good. Your mouth waters in anticipation.

“Grind,” he says. It’s harder, this time. Not a sweet suggestion.

You bring yourself back down on it, gasping at the contact, and you do. You grind, tummy tightening at every brush of the fabric hard and delicious. Your chest constricts, one hand flying up to dig your fingers into his shoulder and the other fighting the hand he has still in your hair. It aches and hurts, and so does the friction as you grow more gaspy and frantic. 

It feels so, so good. You want more—you want him to touch you there and everywhere else. He smells just right all over you, nutty and musky like a gingerbread twist. “Taeh—hyun,” you mewl. It burns, but something slick eases the burn a little bit. Just enough for you to enjoy that burn.

“That’s it,” he coos. It’s not a sweet coo; it’s the type of sound one might make when you play right into their mean game. It’s mean. “Make yourself a mess on my thigh. I don’t even have to touch you. What would mommy and daddy think of you now, huh? What would they think if they saw their precious princess fucking herself on my thigh?”

No. That would be the end of you. You whine, thighs twitching. Something twists in your center, scary and foreboding, and still you chase it. None of your thoughts are solid enough to stop. Each time he flexes a muscled thigh or presses it harder into you, you shudder and curl your fingers into his shirt harder. 

“Don’t like that, huh?” he laughs. “Then you haven’t learned your lesson. You’re no better than me; I mean, look at you.”

You want to cry when he pins your hips back to the counter, stilling your wild bucking. Squeezing your eyes shut, you claw and reach for that wave, even as it recedes from you. “Why?” you say, voice thin. It’d been so yummy—the sweetness still rests on your tongue. Your heart thumps hard, longing for it.

“I said, look at yourself,” he growls, taking his hold on your hair to crank your head down.

Right where you’d been on his thigh, there’s a sticky, marshmallowy mess. Your mess. 

Taehyun releasing his grip on your hair is almost a relief, but he doesn’t even give you time to relish it. The walls of his house blur around you. All that you register in between the motions is his shoulder in your belly and your limbs dangling from you. You dig your hands into his back to balance yourself, but he’s got you.

He has you slung over his shoulder. He’s carrying you like you weigh nothing at all. That place between your thighs flutters anew. In all your life, you never worried too much about the plushness of your belly or your thighs. It is who you are; all mallow and soft around the edges and starkly sweet. But you did get nervous when somebody tried picking you up. Usually, you protest and giggle it off. Watching somebody strain to pick you up when they lift other girls like sacks of flour is just something that makes you feel a little strange.

But, Taehyun does not strain. He doesn’t huff; he carries you right down the hallway and into his room, and he even manhandles you down onto the bed with a bounce without so much as a sound. He is a solid pillar beneath you, and then he is a solid, muscled chest above you. With strong fingers, he pins your hands to the mattress above you. With the other, he leads your shirt up.

He’s so warm against your cold skin. His breath like waves from the oven over your mouth, he says, “You think you’re so much better than me because you have all this?” Curling his fingers around a necklace circling your throat, he tears it off with a clattering of a few snow-drop beads.

 You gasp, glaring right into his eyes. “What the hell?” you hiss, arching your chest to wiggle beneath him. Your necklace. Who does he think he is, breaking your stuff? That was one of your favorite necklaces, and now it lies all over his floor. Still, your center pounds and longs for the return of his touch. Everything about him just calls for more from you. You don’t know how you went so long without him, or how you made yourself forget just how drawn you are to his magnetism. Maybe he is just what your parents turn their nose up at, and you too, but that does not make him any less a powerful personality. 

He knows exactly who he is and what he wants, as solid as the gingerbread cookie. And you, plush and impressionable as whipped marshmallows, take to him just right. It’s something you once knew, but the sneered words of adults obscured that memory.

“Don’t whine,” he says. “I want to see your pretty neck without all that shit. That’s your problem: you’re spoiled.” He reaches down to mess with his pants.

His length springs free. Cheeks flushing, you take it in. You can’t look away, even as embarrassment crawls spindly legs over your skin at the interest you take in the sight. You’ve never seen anything like it—long and hot and weeping something thick and white from the slit at the pinkish tip. A pearl of it dribbles down, landing on your belly in a string where he holds it.

Taehyun collects that wetness and then urges more from the tip with a few drags down the length of it. Wrapping his fingers around it, he begins to slowly work his fist up and down it. It’s nothing short of impossible to tear your sights off it—it’s another thing that inexplicably fans the flames of something roaring in your center. “Do you want to touch it?” he says, watching your tongue dart out to wet your lips. 

The sight of him growing restless over his pumping fist is enough to get you nodding. 

“Fuck,” he says, sharp and under his breath. He lets his hand off it. “Go ahead. Touch it. I won’t tell anybody you did.”

When he frees your pinned wrists, you reach out a slow hand. You curl your fingers around it the way he had. Your fingers don’t even touch around jt. The weight and warmth of him in your palm makes your blood tingle. Looking up, you search for guidance in those intelligent, swirling eyes. His bangs hang over his eyes as he watches.

Placing his hand over yours, he drags it up and down his rigid length the way he had been doing a few beats ago. “Like that,” he says. “Just like that.”

You pump your closed fist up and down him, encouraged to squeeze harder and flick your wrist faster with each tight breath he lets slip. The skin of your palm gets stickier and stickier, the slick sounds sending your ears and core burning just the same. You like that it makes him feel good—that he’s making those noises just for you. 

He twitches under your fingers. “Feels just like I thought your pretty hands would…” he says, stomach tight. “See—what happens when you give up that bratty fucking act? Shit… harder—give it to me harder, Frosty…” Shivering at the name, you oblige him. You reach your thumb up and collect more of that beaded liquid from the slit, and you work your arm harder. Faster. Your forearm begins to burn, but you don’t let it slow you. All you want is more of this; more of him. Finally, he lets sounds out from his chest freely. He grunts and hisses through his teeth, letting his head fall back. “Holy shit. I’m gonna—gonna ice your face, okay?” he says. “You said you liked the taste, huh? Wanna taste it again? Give me your tongue…”

Whatever that means, you push yourself up and situate your face in front of his length, your tongue out. Taehyun’s sounds tighten, and his hips begin to stutter and chase your hand. He picks his head back up to look down at you half-lidded—to watch. With only a few last runs of your palm down his length, skin so slick that your hand just slips and slides up him, he growls through gritted teeth. The weight of him in your working hand twitches once more, and from that weeping tip he shoots dancing ribbons of white. It lands on your tongue hot and sweet, melting out all spiced and snappy.

Snappy like gingerbread. Like gingerbread icing. Swallowing it down, you meet his gaze. He pants, chest rising and falling, but there’s something clear and knowing in his heavy eyes when you do. You think you know now, why he’d been so dazed as you made a show of licking that same sticky icing off your hands and said how good it tasted. 

When you release him from your palm, it glistens with his sweet essence. He softens in front of your eyes just the littlest bit.

Eyes just as hungry and still catching his breath, Taehyun says, “Open your mouth. I wanna see your tongue.”

Belly doing wicked twists, you do. You stick your tongue out for him, still laden with the headiness of his taste. He does taste good. 

“Swallowed it all down?” he says, eating the sight of you with your mouth dropped open up. “You really are so nasty. They all think you’re so sweet—you think you’ve got them all wrapped around your finger.” He pushes you back down to the bed with a palm. “Well, not me. I know that you’re just as filthy as you are spoiled. Somebody had to deal with you.”

Like always, snarky words swirl in your mouth. All it would take is letting them fall off your tongue. But you don’t—not with the feeling between your thighs, and not with the way your blood, frost turned to snowmelt, begs for him to fix it. Not when you know that all it will get you is more of Taehyun’s wrath. 

It’s not like what he says is true, or anything. That’s what you tell yourself anyway.

“Taehyun, please. I need it…” He takes a marshmallow thigh of yours, pressing it up so that it melds with your belly. Cool air reminds you once more of that strange wetness between them.

Dark, blown eyes catching the sight of it, his lips quirk into a scoff. “Need what?” he says, reaching a hand down. At the contact of his fingers, just as they had against his thigh, your hips jolt and an explosion like the breaking of sugar glass shoots down the muscles of your thighs. He scoops that stickiness up from its source, bringing the soft cream up to his mouth. Tongue darting out, he has a taste of you just as you had tasted him. “Shit—you taste good too, frosty. You’re so sweet, how’d you turn out like this? That’s okay. I’ll deal with you, and then you’ll be just as sweet as you taste.” That fat tip of him presses flush to the source of all your want. “I’ll straighten you out.”

You don’t know what that means, and you are absolutely sure that you don’t deserve it, but any sass is staunched with the utter sweetness of the stretch in your center. Taehyun presses his hips up into you, slowly and internalizing the dropping open of your mouth, the pinching of your brows into a worrying line, and the press of your palms to his broad chest. He takes it and metabolizes it down like cream cake or the plumpest fruits, and he gives you more. More, all the way up until there is no length of him left to give, and nowhere else for him to go.

You feel so, so full. No amount of twinkling jewels or new skirts hold a candle to this. You don’t know what it is, and you don’t know why Taehyun knows, but whatever. Who cares? Breathing out a shudder, you squirm beneath him to search for that dazzling feeling he’d made you feel earlier.

“Stay still,” he barks, steadying himself beside your head with a sturdy, powerful arm. When had he lost his sweater? You don’t know. You might drool over the definition and warm skin there if he didn’t pull the length of him out until just the tip of him threatens to pop out, and then drive right back in before you could. A gaspy breath falls from your mouth, devolving into mewls and whimpers when he does the same over and over and over again, quick with snapping hips and the smacking of his skin against the soft skin of your bottom. Your thigh quivers in his hold, his fingers digging into the fluff of your thigh as he holds you into it. 

Each and every time he slides up against something inside you that makes you feel different. Different from what you felt when you were on his thigh, and different from anything else you’ve felt in the entirety of your life. It’s deeper, right at the very bottom of your belly, sending your veins lazy and your hips twitchy. You want to chase it as much as you want to hide from its power, so all you do is stay in a hazy limbo of sharp gasps and long, drawn out mewls for more.

“No,” he says, his face right in yours. The smell of him, manly and so very sweet like oven-warmed gingerbread, settles over your bones and wiggles its way through your thoughts. It does something to your melted mind, planting a need to cling to him right in the center. Your hands perch all over him: the hair at the back of his head, his working waist, his biceps that flex and strain with his effort, and finally around him so that you can push your cheek to his chest and feel his heart racing there. “You’ll take exactly what I give, and thank me for it. You don’t get to ask for more; not with your mouth.”

“Why?” you say, whining. “I want it—so bad. Please? I’ll be so… so good…” Your voice bounces with each collision of your bodies, and your toes flex and curl at the twisting in your core. Nonetheless, you want more. Whatever this is—this syrupy, pure goodness—Taehyun has shown you something that you will never be whole without again. He has bloomed a flower right in the chest of you, something hungry that will want and want this, and you fear that he will be the only one able to satiate it. 

The thought of the smile he’ll wear, should you come crawling back to his doorstep just for this… 

Taehyun stops, pushing off you with a curled lip. “What will it take to get you to fucking listen?” he says. He pulls himself from you, leaving you to whine and long for that feeling once more. You want to complain and pull him back over you, but with the fire churning in his dark gaze and the sight of his length, covered in that same white, whipped stuff you’d left all over his thigh. 

You’d made a sticky, frosty, frothed mess all over him once again. Really, what would people think of you now? Your mom? Your dad? 

Manhandling you again, he flips you onto your hands and knees and shoves your face into the bed. Any yelp or gasp that tears from your chest is muffled into the sheets. Taking the swell of your hips, his fingers like bites against the powdery, soft skin there, his voice comes from behind you. “Won’t you just listen to me? If you’re gonna be mine, you’re gonna have to start learning how to hear no.” Curling your hair up and pulling it like a handle, he snaps your head back into another stinging, awful tug. It turns the arch of your back into something that you can imagine is a sight to be seen. If the burning where you feel his eyes raking down the curve of it has something to speak of it, that is. You squeeze your eyes shut as if that’ll help you any. “You don’t get everything you want. That’s not how this works.”

You don’t say anything. You have nothing good or sweet left to say.

“Say thank you, and I’ll give it to you good, okay?” he says, running a flattened hand down your spine. “That’s all I want to hear. Show me you can be good.”

The last thing you want to do is to thank him. That would mean admitting that you’ve lost, and that ruffles your preening feathers. But you want that goodness back, you want his hips snapping into you and that tight knot back in your belly. You’d do anything for it; even forget your ego.

Your mind is gone, anyway. Whatever your rational self would do, it doesn’t matter. There’s one thing that you want right now, and getting it is so easy. “Thank you, Taehyun. Thank you so much… I’m sorry I’ve been a brat, and I’m sorry about what I said to you. Please, just… help me. Please, I need you so bad.”

You? Sorry? It’s absurd, and yet, you entirely mean it. Maybe it’s your lazy brain talking, or maybe he really has won.

“See? So sweet when you act right,” he says. “Let me show you what happens when you do.”

You could cry real tears when he sets that same pace, his hands bracing on your hips to pull you deeper into each thrust and the front of your body bouncing against the sheets with each. Your cries grow hoarse and beyond needy, and your insides twist and turn even more dangerously.

You are on the brink of something divine. Something that will melt down so well, good on the tongue and as smooth as chocolate, but as sharp as the snapping of gingerbread.

And, snap, he has.

“Yes!” you cry, straining your shoulders as you reach behind you and curl your fingers around the place where he meets your skin. “S..So good! Right there—thank you, Taehyun!”

He doubles down on you. His length hits a spongy spot in your core, pounding up against the walls there and turning your insides against you. It’s almost too good. “There we go,” he says, voice shaking with a growl. The delivery of his thrusts grows sloppy. You think he feels just as good as you do. “That’s what—” Falling over you, he supports himself with each strong arm dug into the mattress beside your head, his solid front melded to your soft back. “That’s what I like to hear. Here you go—fuck, I’m gonna give you what good girls get, okay?”

You hope it’s more of that melty icing he shot from his length earlier. The knot in your belly tightens, just on the brink of a glittery, bright explosion. “Mhm!” you say, your voice cracking. You want it—you want it so bad. The intensity of it, turning over in your veins and rendering your thighs jelly, sings in your ears. It’s a frightening greatness, but you rage against the urge to drop your hips into the mattress and run from it. You need to finally taste what you’ve been chasing. “Taehyun! Right there—please, don’t stop!”

You were demanding more from him again, but Taehyun didn’t stop this time. Not when his growls and whines against your shoulder tell you enough about how he’s feeling. He tongues and nips at your shoulders, the only sounds echoing off the walls of his room, the hollow smack of his hips against your bottom, and the only smell of the sweet mingling of his gingerbread sharpness against your heady marshmallow. It’s good enough to eat.

Crying out with a frantic whine, the feeling deep in your belly changes once more, and you’re writhing and squirming against him. Your hips buck and chase and run, wild and just as explosively as the tightness shooting down your thighs and up through your lower back.

Everywhere. You feel it everywhere. It’s in the continued bouncing of your body, in each nudge of his tip to a sweet, spongecake spot deep inside you, in his breathless pants into your skin, and in the curling of his fingers into your hair when he releases a hip to do so, and in your pleads when he chases his own delicious release. Your throat tightens, and suddenly the sheets are all too warm around you, and you realize with blistering intensity that another one of those knots builds up in your belly. It’s quicker, short, and bright. You’ve barely even made it through the last, but still, it comes.

“Holy shit,” he growls, hips stuttering and then stilling. He reaches a hand down between your thighs and finds a very sweet button. The breath in your throat catches, and in nothing more than a blink of an eye, you crash again, and then your bodies are two twitching, elated things. He presses himself impossibly deeper into you before shooting that same hotness, sweet ropes of sugary icing right into you, and your fluttering insides hold him tight and eat it up. Your heart pounds in your chest, running amok in your ears and your neck, and you try to catch running breaths to no avail.

Occasionally grinding up into you, though there is hardly any space between your joined bodies to do so, Taehyun shoots more lazy spurts for a few long moments. His breaths slow against your skin, and yours do in your chest. Slowly, you recover as two entangled bodies, all clammy and melted like left in the oven for a bit too long.

Pressing hot, wet kisses to the back of your neck, and then down your spine when he pushes off you and pulls himself out, his tongue darting out against your skin for some, he says, “Taste so good… So sweet, even on your skin…” He brushes the wild tangles of hair from your face and adds, “I wonder if you’ve gone all sweet inside, too? You look like it…” The mess of you, your thick creaminess staining your thighs and his runny load pooling from your hole, is all over. It even makes the sheets beneath you dirty with dribbles of his release as it drips. “I told you I’d get you sweet.”

If that sluggish, sugary thing moving through your veins is sweetness taking over you from the inside, perhaps you have gone sweet. Or, perhaps you now have every reason to become his worst nightmare—just if it gets you this.

You’ll play sweet for now. The softer kisses he seasons your skin with are no less enthralling than the delightful goodness still ebbing away between your thighs. You think that, for the first time, you have lost. 

And, to your very own dismay, it tastes so very sweet. 

... back to the masterlist ⌇ back to strawberryland

✎୭ ashlynn's note BRAT TAMER TAEHUN, amirite?

﹙📋﹚ @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @hyucktapes , @bewitchless , @prince-jjae , @blankliving , @yaoizee , @stormy1408 , @missychief1404 , @izzyy-stuff , @miukuui , @lunesdesire , @304files , @sunoolver , @cherricola-star , @lickingan0rchid , @xylatox , @hmusunoo , @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @joycelyjjj , @sunoolver , @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @apeachty , @fandomtrashsblog , @bewitchless , @yezzns2 , @hhoneyhan , @ethystclove , @darkdayelixer , @calumcxke , @biteyoubiteme , @bamgeutsz , @soobabby , @little-shiny-starr , @bambammtori , @bunniebun-posted , @heeambi , @bunnisoobin , @hwanghyunjinismybae if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

[gd-dollopole]

Oh, my, I approve of this message, BUT THE MORGANA’S ONE WAS DIABOLICAL!

“I’m hiding under my scars” IS SO MERLIN. Him hiding beneath all his trauma and pain just to protect not only himself, but also Arthur (not realising that this is going to break him apart):

Arthur tries to cheer up Merlin:

because that’s what he wants to do, and he believes no one is doing it:

Arthur tries to heal him in order to heal himself, because he loves Merlin and he can’t explain why the desire to see Merlin happy is stronger than his own.

Gwen:

Since becoming queen she has lost her brother, her husband and her most trusted friends. She’s lonely.

This is Arthur trying to tell Merlin is not worth it. He’s not worth the risk, the hurt, the pain: he may be a king, but he feels he’s nothing compared to what his father was. A father who had never showed him love and told him he was fine to be vulnerable and open to trust others, so Arthur doesn’t trust anyone, not even himself (or he trusts too fast and gets heartbroken later) and so he says to Merlin to not care for him, like a warning:

Gaius, who thinks is safe, if he keeps doing what he always does: pretending. He THINKS he’s safe, faking to be comfortable when his future wife runs away to not be killed, because he watches his friends die, because he believes that if he’ll follow the system and hide, he won’t be hurt:

Arthur, Morgana, Merlin and Guinevere during the first seasons:

Arthur, Morgana, Merlin and Gwen during the last ones:

Glen Martin Taylor, “but i am safe in here.”

[revelboo]

Sending you the blokees update, in a fascinating twist somehow starscream beat the order of Megatron and shockwave??? My dude what foul play did this boy pull to manipulate the mail deliveries?

(He stole a crown too it seems)

Murder, most likely

True Romance Pt 13

Seeker Trine x Reader

• Stretching your arms over your head, you watch Thundercracker fussing with your blankets. That tension you’d felt that afternoon outside is still pulling at you. Feeling it in the way Thundercracker glances at you and catches your eye, feeling like there’s something unsaid right there. And then his wings flick and he resumes adding pillows and blankets to what’s essentially a nest on the edge of Star’s berth. Though, you never sleep there anymore. Every night, they alternate and you sleep sprawled on one of them, a massive hand draped against you so you don’t roll off in your sleep.

• Wings flaring slightly knowing you’re watching him, he keeps adjusting your nest. Perfecting it so you have a soft spot to rest when they’re out on patrol. And preening for you as silly as it is. Liking that you’re looking at him, wanting to pick you up and run his servos over you. Reaching, he gently hooks a servo around you and tugs you to the nest. Bracing a hand on the berth as he lifts you and carefully drops you in the middle to make you suck in a sharp breath in surprise and startling a laugh out of you. Leaning over you as you smile up at him, sprawled in the space he’s made for you, he wants to brush his mouth against you. To mass displace and pin you under him. Maybe just hold you. Instead he runs a servo over your hair. “This good?”

• “It’s great. Thank you,” you say and Skywarp glances over, frowning as Thundercracker leans over you, big frame blocking you from view. Realizing he’s jealous of his brother. That he wants to be the one providing for you and it’s crazy, but he wants it. Sliding off his berth, he shoulders up against Thundercracker, feeling his brother stiffen as he brushes his wings with his own. Leaning his arms on the berth, he grins down at you. Thinking he likes the way you look like that, hair spread out around your head, limbs spread out. “Hi?” You whisper and he lowers his chin into your nest, nearly touching you. Aware of Thundercracker growling softly beside him.

• Now they’re both looming over you, their shadows falling across you as those red optics stare at you. Making you strangely self conscious as you try to sit up and Skywarp drapes a servo over you to pin you flat on your back. There’s something almost predatory in his expression when Skywarp grins at you and Thundercracker rumbles. Knowing he’s just picking at you like he always does to irritate you and Thundercracker both. “You belong to us, don’t you? To our Trine,” he says, and he’s grinning like he’s teasing, but there’s an edge to the words. A hunger that makes you squirm under his servo. “You’re ours. We take good care of you, don’t we?”

• “Stop it,” Thundercracker growls, grabbing his brother’s wrist. Even if those low, possessive words ring through him and spread warm in his spark. Because you are theirs and they’re yours. Something he’s been sure of for some time now, but afraid to voice. Not wanting to be shut down by you or his brothers. But watching your movies, seeing those love stories? He wants that so much it hurts. Wants a soft, warm mate who’ll be happy to see him, who’ll reach for him and welcome him into your arms. “He’s not trying to scare you,” he reassures you, getting lost in those eyes looking up at him. “You just- we care for you.” Hating those words and how inaccurate they are.

• Why does that dark, hungry claim of Skywarp’s make your skin prickle all over? It’s all possessive, but not the way you want it to be. That thought shocking through you, realizing you do want that. When had that happened? When had you started thinking of them as yours? Your Trine. Even if it’s only going to hurt you in the end. Lips parting as Thundercracker glares at Skywarp, his knuckles brushing your leg and Skywarp’s servo still splayed against you to keep you from moving. “I know you do,” you say, reaching to touch them both. And you care about them, even though you know they see you as some sort of exotic pet to pamper and spoil, not a person. Certainly not an equal. Knowing that you can never be more than that. Their pet.

Previous

I'm a screw up of epic proportions

A walking hand grenade

Hyper-manic, a dime store dramatic

A conduit for pain

She said, "Don't speak, don't think

Just take it off, take it off"

I said, "Don't speak, don't blink

Just mess me up, mess me up"

Humming a slightly varied tune

Opposite angles of the moon

Buried in layers of ourselves

Leaves room for no one else

I believe it's true

Cause nothing matters when I'm all wrapped up in you

[sirhamburrger]

ᯤ feat. yoichi isagi, meguru bachira, hyoma chigiri, rin itoshi, seishiro nagi, kenyu yukimiya, ryusei shidou and oliver aiku ᯤ tags/cw: all characters are aged up, bit suggestive (shidou you freak), petnames ('sweetheart' in isagi's, 'love' in rin's, 'babe' in shidou's), rin is mean (affectionately), shidou being a freak in the minecraft bedsheets, but also really sweet, hopefully not that ooc, i have a semi-serious, semi-casual relationship with minecraft ᯤ a/n: no reason for this whatsoever no prompt no nothing just take this love child between me and my insomnia *shoves this into your arms and runs away* || divider by @sister-lucifer part 2 [rocket league ver with kuni, reo, karasu, sae]

yoichi isagi:

ᯤ is just kinda average at it. like he truly is just okay at it. ᯤ he’s so competitive though (he would ‘race you to that tree over there’ 😭 but he doesn’t know how to sprint so he always loses to you) ᯤ he likes the little sounds the eyes of ender make when you place them in the end portal frame ᯤ defeats the ender dragon with your help but makes you go ahead of him when exploring the nether ᯤ “hey uh sweetheart? why’s that green thing flashing white and making a noise” ᯤ favourite mob: chickens (they’re funny)

meguru bachira:

ᯤ he l o v e s minecraft so much it’s unbelievable (he was probably one of those kids who grew up playing it) ᯤ he loves trying out different hacks he sees on youtube. he knows that 99 percent of the time they don’t even work, but “there’s a 1 percent chance it will, and i’m feeling lucky today!” ᯤ lets you practice your shooting skills using his avatar as a dummy ᯤ cannot wire redstone for shit ᯤ tries to get the rarest (dumbest) in-game death messages ᯤ baabaabaachira experienced mid-life crisis while being attacked by tropical fish ᯤ favourite mob: cave spiders (they look scary in a cool way)

hyoma chigiri:

ᯤ plays for the mobs. will protect his lovelies with all his heart. ᯤ when he got his first minecraft dog, he built a little kennel made of cherry wood for it, only for it to fall into a pit of lava deep in the caves on day 5 ᯤ he cried for five hours ᯤ once you dyed all his sheep pink and he started to tear up just from looking at them ᯤ “hear me out, okay? i think we should get a pet axolotl.” and it’s legal in japan, so you do! (her name is hyoma jr) ᯤ has a huge minecraft zoo ᯤ favourite mob: parrots (they can sit)

rin itoshi:

ᯤ is mean to you at first. he’ll be like “why do you suck at this” and “i could do that too” ᯤ then he gets his hands on the controller and can’t figure out the controls for half an hour ᯤ “… love?” ᯤ “… yes, rin?” (you, amused) ᯤ “… how do you jump…” ᯤ its subtle charm does grow on him after a while. he plays on creative mode and just explores the server on a horse he named sugarcube ᯤ it’s cute watching him play (you send photos to sae) ᯤ favourite mob: sheep (all they do is eat grass and don’t bother you)

seishiro nagi:

ᯤ i will subvert expectations here and say that nagi doesn’t even play minecraft that much because he doesn’t like it ᯤ “such a hassle to play this game… there isn’t even any storyline you can just do whatever you want… and i don’t want to have to decide what to do” ᯤ he ends up finding a passion for building elaborate traps for you to walk into ᯤ absolute beast at parkour. he performs triple neos to perfection ᯤ if he’s a streamer he plays on twitch for the fans but he complains as he does it ᯤ favourite mob: bees (they’re just cute)

kenyu yukimiya:

ᯤ he doesn’t really play video games so understandably he gets off to a slow start ᯤ but once he gets the hang of things? he’s unstoppable. breezing through achievements like nobody’s business ᯤ he’s really excited about it too like “did you see that?? i just killed a zombie!” ᯤ it’s truly the culmination of 18 years of not touching a single game as a child/teen and now playing a sandbox game ᯤ feeling confident, he starts a hardcore world. (he dies from hunger.) ᯤ he's the kind to look up the most beautiful minecraft seed numbers, key them in meticulously and just take in how amazing they are ᯤ favourite mob: foxes, specifically the orange ones (he loves all things forest biome)

ryusei shidou:

ᯤ we all know he’s a very artistic kind of guy so he’d be geeking out over the textures and which colours would go best with each other ᯤ he doesn’t shower for a day because he’s playing creative (my lil stinky 🫶) ᯤ he builds the most beautiful multi storey houses!! and he’s like “if it were real we could live in there together 🥺“ ᯤ “why is the bedroom huge with like twenty beds…” (you, concerned) ᯤ “oh we’re gonna need space babe. for activities.” ᯤ but he doesn’t stop there; he learns how to make entire cities and landscapes and frankly they are masterpieces - think shovel241 (i freaking LOVE his videos they’re so satisfying) ᯤ favourite mob: endermen (he thinks they look badass)

oliver aiku: 

ᯤ meh he’s pretty good ᯤ raged when he first found out fall damage was a thing and again when he discovered hunger and drowning as death messages ᯤ is obsessed with speed runs and parkour for some reason (he’s really bad at both though) ᯤ is the guy who makes “100 MINECRAFT FACTS YOU DIDN’T KNOW” videos with his friends sendo and lorenzo ᯤ you once saw him set up an experiment to see how many blocks a llama can spit and died laughing ᯤ would absolutely kill you in-game just for the fun of it ᯤ favourite mob: cats (especially the black ones)

say hi to hyoma jr. it is not optional.

bllk masterlist || general masterlist

© sirhamburrger 2024

[freshbakedbreadstick]

Small NSFW Viktor Blurb... because i'm thinking too much about him

Arcane Viktor x F!Reader

The way Viktor fucks is so... scientific.

The way he speaks to you, so softly yet so calculatingly is addictive. It's embarrassing how wet it makes you when he speaks this way. It's not at all that he's talking down to you as he dirty talks, he speaks in the manner that a scientist testing his hypothesis would. He has no condescending tone, no hint of sarcasm, and certainly not trying to degrade you. The opposite really.

"Interesting..." he would murmur as he notices you twitch particularly hard, sitting back against the pillows as he watched you feed his thick cock into your throbbing core, watching the way your slickness coated him with every miniscule movement.

He adjusts himself with his arms, eyes piercing your pussy as his shifting makes you gasp out, pushing more of his length into your tight heat. His voice is strangled as he speaks,"You really seem to like it when I move like this..."

If it were his way, he would have a notebook out to jot down everything he notices as you two fuck. You're pretty sure you caught him writing in a small black notebook one time after a particularly good romp too, but you've never been able to find that little notebook and have never been able to figure out what it contains.

Between his gasps and clutching of the bedsheets underneath him, he stays trained on the way your pussy takes his thickness, stretching around him and leaving a creamy ring around the base as you rode him.

"Hm," he would murmur, hands reaching to shift your hips forward a bit, shifting them back when he notices your brow furrowed more when you were positioned that way on his cock.

He would spread your legs carefully, with shaky hands, adjusting your position to one that he hypothesized and tested before as to being much more comfortable for you. He knew you wouldn't get as tired in this position and that he had easier access to that throbbing clit of yours, nimble and long fingers trailing from the soft mound of your right breast, thumbing your pebbled nipple, down the softness of your torso to where you ached for him the most.

He bit back smirks as he moved his fingers in the exact motion he knew made your eyes screw shut and mouth drop open, drool running down your plump bottom lip before hitting and running over your chest. Of course, he tried and tested it before.

"Like that, yes? I know, I know my sweet, I know you like it this way... prefer to have my fingers move like this, yes? Feels good when you move your hips like that?" He would coo, free hand moving to your hip, digging his fingertips in.

He knew this amount of pressure would leave small finger shaped bruises on your skin, the very kind he loved to see when you two would retire to bed in the lateness of night, fingers tracing over the skin under the glittering moonlight. 

His amber eyes would rake over your form, listening to you gasp out. He would be mentally taking in the tell tale signs that you were close to cumming, getting closer and closer with every gasp. He would take note the way your eyes would glaze over before shutting, how your head settled, brows furrowed. Between his own pleasure he would note the way your clenched, milking him so sweetly that he couldn’t help but jerk his hips up, using his arms to move. 

It made the mattress creak, the frame hit the wall, the pillows go tumbling down. It made his mental notes, ones he made sure to write down once he had a chance as any researcher does, go blurry in his mind. But his eyes never fell from your body, watching his most perfect work bring you to that peak of absolute pleasure, crying out his name as he did everything he knew was tried and true to make it feel so overwhelming. 

Viktor was a scientist at heart, always has been and always will be, but that doesn’t make him a boring academic when it comes to intimacy. If anything, that makes him a lot more mindful, as any good scientist in his field is. 

[stardustandash]

How many fics have you worked on since January?

Worked on about 55? I think? Its hard to calculate as I posted whumptober and febuwhump as individual stories but they exist in one doc each on my computer. I've worked on 6 fics that are either as of yet unposted, unprinted in a zine, or just lost unfinished limbo (I need to work on my merrin-focused post nur fic omg)

2. What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year?

I guess I've tried to play more with present vs past tense, and finishing multichapter fics before posting. Did try out a time loop for the first time during whumptober and had fun with that!

3. What piece of media inspired you the most? (This can be the fandom you wrote the most for, the one that spawned the most ideas, the one you thought about the most, etc.)

I feel like Star Wars is the pretty obvious answer, though right at the end of the year here comes Dragon Age with a steel chair after 4 years of not really being involved in the fandom

4. How many fandoms did you write for this year?

Seven, I think! Jedi Fallen Order & Survivor, The Bad Batch, Dragon Age Inquisition & Veilguard, FFXV, FFXVI, Horizon Zero Dawn & Forbidden West, and Twisted Wonderland

5. What ships captured your heart?

As a gen writer its rare for ships to catch me, but thank you Veilguard for giving me Rook x Harding, and M!Rook x Emmrich. (Not a fan of F!Rook x Emmrich sorry yall)

7. What characters captured your heart?

As always Cal remains number 1 in my heart. I love him so much, along with the whole Mantis crew <3 For new this year, I am bewitched body and soul by the Veilguard crew. The writers were cooking with all of them, they're all amazing!!

8. Did you write for any new fandoms or ships this year?

...Does Veilguard count lol? For new fandoms I wrote one FFXVI fic early in the year.

I've got two fics for Rook x Harding and one wip for Rook x Emmrich as new ships!

9. What fic meant the most to you to write?

That's a hard question!! I think I poured a lot of my own personal emotional anguish into a lot of the fics I wrote this year. It's been a rough year for many reasons, and writing out all that angsty hurt/comfort helped a lot

10. What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

I think finishing 'what makes a family' was honestly one of the best feelings ever! And the fact that I still get comments on it from time to time about people binge-reading it.

11. What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing?

I guess I could go with the above, but actually completing whumptober was pretty satisfying.

12. What fic was the most difficult to write?

'i do not love the bright sword for its sharpness' is at the top of this pile. i think about it constantly but actually writing it is proving super difficult, and it remains unfinished...

13. What fic was the easiest to write?

The one for the Pabu Days zine!! I wrote the first draft in just over an hour, and it was about 1k too many words lol

14. What were your shortest and longest fics posted this year?

of the ones written entirely in this year, 'take a breath before the plunge' wins with its 11k words. If we count just completed this year, 'what makes a family' wins at just shy of 70k

The shortest was one of the whumptober fics, 'where flesh and metal meet'

15. What were your go-to writing songs?

The Horizon games' soundtracks! Less of a song list, but there's too many to put in here.

What was the hardest fic to title?

...all of them. Titling things is the hardest part of writing fics

16. What's your favorite title of the year?

Love and Blood Both Run Red, or maybe Cold But For Your Company

17. Share your favorite opening line

In some way, Tech thinks, it is poetic to die for his family.

From here, at the bottom

18. Share your favorite ending line

He turned, and came face to face with a skull staring back at him. There were holes through the skull, and though everything had been decayed by time, Cal could still see that the skeleton wore Jedi robes.

From then there was nothing

19. Share your favorite piece of dialogue

ooh i don't know! If its humorous then assume its one of my favourites

20. Share your funniest line

see above

21. What's something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story?

I think being able to slip back into old fandoms and characters for whumptober was a surprise. it didn't change the story but it was surprisingly quick to get back into things i hadn't touched in years

22. What writing programs did you use? Did you write by hand?

I use microsoft word for all my fics. which isn't great for longform fic and probably why i don't write too much of it

23. If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year?

Again, actually managing to complete whumptober felt really good!! I've never managed to finish a writing challenge like that so it was a really proud moment

24. Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

I don't think I've ever done anything?? Though I am thinking about starting a lil scrapbook of comments or smth like that

25. How did you recharge between fics?

what is this recharge you speak of? I am either possessed by ideas that demand attention or left in a drought of creativity

26. Did you create fanworks other than fic?

I do playlists for myself sometimes. I have ones for Cal, Crosshair, and Omega right now. I constantly wish i had the patience to improve my art skills to do fanart

27. How many events did you take part in? (bangs, exchanges, ship weeks, zines, prompt memes, they all count!)

4 if you count febuwhump and whumptober. I'm in a Bad Batch zine that's in preorders right now - Pabu Days, and participating in a fic/art exchange for new years for Twisted Wonderland

28. If this were an awards show, who would you thank?

firstly I'd like to thank my cat for being the one to hear me talk out plot points and details. I'd also like to thank @pennflinn and @breakfastteatime for being both supportive of all my j:fo fics as well as being inspirations themselves in that fandom! And the whole j:fo fandom at large for being awesome and supportive of each other's works. And I need to mention @fanfoolishness for joining me in not one, not two, but THREE! fandoms here!! As well, shoutout to @shadowcrow for yelling on my rook x harding fics! it's a small corner of the fandom but at least it's got you there!

29. What's left on your to-do list for 2024?

Finish this fic for the new years exchange, and get another chapter of Blood and Love Both Run Red up! Though it may only be one of those that happens...

30. What would you like to write next year?

I wanna finish bright sword and get that post nur Merrin fic postable! And since I'm currently consumed by Veilguard I wanna write more of that next year too!

A slightly revised version of last year's questions! Two ways to play: Reblog and have your followers send you numbers, or answer the whole list!

How many fics have you worked on since January?

What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year?

What piece of media inspired you the most? (This can be the fandom you wrote the most for, the one that spawned the most ideas, the one you thought about the most, etc.)

How many fandoms did you write for this year?

What ships captured your heart?

What characters captured your heart?

Did you write for any new fandoms or ships this year?

What fic meant the most to you to write?

What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing?

What fic was the most difficult to write?

What fic was the easiest to write?

What were your shortest and longest fics posted this year?

What were your go-to writing songs?

What was the hardest fic to title?

What's your favorite title of the year?

Share your favorite opening line

Share your favorite ending line

Share your favorite piece of dialogue

Share your funniest line

What's something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story?

What writing programs did you use? Did you write by hand?

If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year?

Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

How did you recharge between fics?

Did you create fanworks other than fic?

How many events did you take part in? (bangs, exchanges, ship weeks, zines, prompt memes, they all count!)

If this were an awards show, who would you thank?

What's left on your to-do list for 2024?

What would you like to write next year?

[ruggiesbiologicalfather]

What The NRC Boys Wanted To Be When They Grow Up (circa 4 years old)

Heartslabyul:

Riddle - obviously when you ask, he's going to tell you he wants to be a doctor. every christmas and birthday, he gets a doctor kit. and he likes them! but... if you ask him on a warm afternoon during his free time between the thousand things on his tiny shoulders... he'll tell you he wants to be a painter

Ace - astronaut. hands down. he 100% had those little glow in the dark star stickers on his ceiling and he didn't take them down until high school. on his fourth birthday, his parents got him an astronaut helmet and it was practically welded to his head by the time he turned five. little man yearned for the stars

Deuce - race car driver. he was born with the need to go fast. he would beg his mom to let him watch races on tv and stare with an open mouth as the drivers went around and around and around. he was a big fan of taking big cardboard boxes and running around the yard with them like they were race cars

Trey - dentist. he was an anomaly when he was little: a kid who wasn't afraid of the dentist. he loved going. as a matter of fact, he would often make his friends (mainly chenya) play dentist with them and not understand why they wouldn't let him put his pretend tools in their mouth.

Cater - he desperately wanted to be hannah montana. not like a singer or a dancer, no... hannah montana SPECIFICALLY. the wig, the microphone, everything. he had three hannah montana themed birthday parties in a row

Savanaclaw:

Leona: he could never give an answer when someone asked him what he wanted to be. he knew from a very young age that he couldn't really be whatever he wanted. not in a way that means anything. he wanted to be the king like his daddy, but it was always made clear to him that he could only dream of that. so he just played games and looked at the stars and didn't think of what he wanted to be, just who he was right then. and right then, he was the chess champion of the kingscholar bloodline

Ruggie - cowboy! honestly, he still kind of wants to be a cowboy. he wanted a horse and some cows and a big pasture - the whole nine yards. he never actually got to ride a horse, they were far too expensive, but he would still beg his mom for a cowboy hat and a pair of boots. he got them both when he turned nine and was so excited, he slept with them on. he didn't care that the hat squished his ears and the boots were a little scuffed. he wore them until the soles became more hole than rubber. he still has the hat tucked away in his closet. just in case...

Jack - classic firefighter kid. one day in preschool, a fire truck came to visit in the parking lot, and he was so shocked that he couldn't say a word. the firefighter let the kids sit in the truck and his teacher literally had to pry him out of the seat when they were done, and he cried all the way back to the classroom. the firefighters still made sure he got one of those flimsy plastic hats and a golden sticker of a badge. he thought firefighters were heroes. he still does

Octavinelle:

Azul - scientist. any kind of scientist. he wanted to have a big lab of his own where he could mix up all kinds of chemicals and just... see what happens. obviously at that age, he had very little idea of what scientists actually do but he knew it was the place for him

Jade - he managed to sneak a peek at the original karate kid movie and his life radically changed. from that moment on, he knew he was going to grow up to be a ninja. unfortunately for everyone else involved, this meant he was going to spend years coming up with elaborate plans to sneak up on and attack his brother. his parents quickly became used to the sound of loud, crashing scraps from all corners of the house. but they weren't worried. floyd could handle his own

Floyd - if you try to ask this kid what he wants to be when he grows up and he'll look you dead in the face, say "bagel" and return to his toys. whatever kid

Scarabia:

Kalim - he didn't want to be anything when he grew up, but he wanted to do everything. he didn't want to have a job. in fact, he was never actually told he could do that. instead, he wanted to experience all the joys of life. he wanted to paint and dance and sing and write poems and raise sheep and sail in the ocean and grow figs and play drums and everything

Jamil - this boy practically came out of the womb dancing. he wanted to dance every moment of every day. when there was no one around to play music or kalim was too busy to sing, he would hum little tunes to himself just to have something to move to. he wanted to be one of those dancers who performed all over the world and were applauded with showers of flower petals. he quickly learned that his dream was far from reality. but he kept tapping his toes while he worked

Pomfiore:

Vil - princess. there's no way this boy did not dream of growing up to be a princess. he was obsessed with all things gaudy and sparkly and would try on every single costume available to him. he rarely went to preschool without some sort of mismatched getup on. but his dad didn't care. you can only be this young for so long. so what if his boy wore a crown to school? no one would dare say anything about it, lest the wrath of the schoenheits. vil wouldn't accept any comments that weren't compliments. snide remarks were met with an impressive eyeroll and a flick of his sparkly cape. after all, a princess didn't care what commoners thought

Rook - garbage truck driver. his rich-ass parents were FLOORED when he said this the first time. "honey, don't you want to do something... bigger? like you could run the whole garbage company and make a whole lot of money!" "no! i wanna ride on the back of the truck!" no one could persuade him to dream of anything else. he is immune to your classist ideologies. viva la garbage man!

Epel - he wants to be a vet but SPECIFICALLY a horse vet. like if you mention him wanting to be a vet, he will correct you. the horses around his hometown captivated him and he wanted to be around them all the time. when he was tiny, he would weave around their legs in the pastures and give his family heart attacks. he just loved them so much and they loved him too

Ignihyde:

Idia - he saw sonic the hedgehog once and decided he was going to be dr robotnik. his parents could not decipher why, and they quickly stopped trying to

Ortho - even when he was really little, he wanted to be a teacher. he would line up all his toys and tell them about everything he was learning in preschool. sometimes, the lessons were wrong and idia would pop in to correct him. but that made him mad. he was the teacher not idia! after all, what did idia know that he didn't?

Diasomnia:

Sebek - a swordsmith. not a blacksmith who makes all sorts of things, specifically a swordsmith. he wanted to swing a great big hammer around and make huge, fancy swords. he was often shooed away from the forges and told to stop bothering the craftsmen. but he wasn't trying to bother them, he just wanted to get as close as he could and maybe they would let him hold one when they were done

Silver - he didn't have many ambitions he would admit to. he was a shy kid and didn't like feeling interrogated. but he liked to watch his father play the lyre especially when it was dark and the fire was warm and he was feeling sleepy. lilia always said when he was big enough to hold the instrument, he would teach him to play. maybe it would be fun...

Lilia - he wanted to be a witch. [i hear you saying, "but Ruggie's Biological Father, they're mages so he's already a witch" and i say to you... Wrong]. he didn't just want to cast spells. he wanted a pointy hat and a giant robe and a frog for a friend. once, his mom walked into his room to discover he had her largest cooking pot filled to the brim with no less than nine mystery substances. and it was somehow smoking...

Malleus - being a precocious little boy, he always told people he was going to be a geologist. but he didn't really know what that meant, only that it had to do with rocks which he liked. his dream job was actually wandering around and stuffing his pockets full of rocks. it became a nightly occurrence before bathtime for malleus to stand in front of the bathtub with both arms out to the side and let lilia empty all of his pockets and sleeves and boots. he would laugh loudly as the pile of random stones became a mountain at his feet. lilia would always chuckle, plunk him in the tub, and say "there, now you won't drown"

[clesired]

𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓 | 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘 !

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 ! “can i request a fred x slytherin!reader? someone who’s an introvert but opposites attract?” thank you to the lovely anon who requested this <3

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ! everyone knows opposites attract, how could you forget!?

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ! light!angst ( like really light, reader gets into her head a bit but nothing drastic ), fluff, introverted slytherin fem!reader, established relationship, second person pov, 1.3k words!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by the feeling of a warm hand rubbing your side.

You look down at your boyfriend, who’s already looking up at you with a small smile as he pulls you closer to his chest.

“You alright, love?” He asks quietly, his question only for you to hear, and you feel a wave of affection for your sweet boy wash over you.

He can get a bit rowdier when he’s with his friends. Louder—but he always lowers his voice when he’s checking in on you in group settings, knowing it would only make you feel bad if attention was brought to it.

It’s no secret that you tend to keep to yourself, but ever since you and Fred became official—you’ve made it a point to put yourself out there more.

Admittedly, you two are polar opposites personality wise. Where Fred thrives in groups and socializing, pulling out laughter and smiles with ease—you thrive in more quiet, solitary spaces with a decided lack of too many people.

Seeing as you always avoided your housemates—the other Slytherins just too nasty for you to tolerate for longer than necessary; your first real taste of being part of a friend group was with the Gryffindors.

And it’s been great—truly. You genuinely enjoy spending time with all of them. But sometimes, you still find yourself getting a bit overwhelmed.

It’s just not in your nature to be around lots of people for extended periods of time and when your social battery is low—it’s low.

Fred knows this, which is why he’s always checking in, and you swear you fall in love with him a little more each time he does it.

“I’m okay, Freddie.” You respond, your voice equally as quiet, as your left hand comes up to fiddle with the neck of his shirt.

Truthfully, you feel yourself running out of energy to keep up with the rambunctious group of lions, but you don’t want to be the reason Fred has to leave his friends. You know he’s having a good time.

George and Lee are locked in on an intense round of Wizard’s Chess, Alicia narrating the game flawlessly as Angelina whispers to George on where he should move his pieces. And upon realizing what the two are doing, Lee recruits Katie to help him, insisting that if George is going to cheat, then so is he.

As they continue to play—throwing playful jabs at each other all the while, Fred’s eyes fall down to where you’re fiddling with his shirt.

He knows what that means. Your hands can never stay still when you’re either nervous or overwhelmed, a habit he’s sure you don’t even realize you do most of the time.

He grabs your hand gently, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss before caressing the back of your hand with his thumb.

He looks over to his twin and his friends and smiles. “Alright mates, my lovely witch and I are gonna call it a night.” He announces as he gently pats your hip before picking you up and placing you on your feet in front of him.

The boys playfully boo while the girls laugh and wave at the two of you.

Katie focuses on you and winks. “Thanks for getting rid of one of the stooges for us, Y/N.”

Angelina nods in agreement, jumping in. “Real life saver, you.”

“Hopefully the other two follow suit.” Alicia smirks.

You four share a laugh while the boys look at you in mock outrage.

Fred stands up and wraps his arms around your waist from behind as he smirks at the girls. “Hopefully not.”

He just barely manages to shield both you and himself from the pillow that gets thrown at his head as George places a hand over his heart. “Betrayed by my own twin!”

“I see where I stand.” Lee huffs as he makes a show of turning away from Fred.

You smile at their antics, the guilt over taking Fred from them easing a little at their playful reactions.

“Goodnight, guys.” You bid them goodbye as Fred gently leads you up to his dorm, the last sound you hear from the common room being their loud choruses of goodnights in response back.

Moments later, you two curl up in his bed, curtains drawn closed and a silencio casted with a simple flick of the wrist as you two settle into the pillows and sheets.

He kisses the top of your head gently as he pulls you into his chest, hand moving to trace up and down your spine soothingly as he slips it beneath your top.

You sigh softly in content, already feeling better now that you’re not surrounded by all the loud chatter of the common room.

“You know you can always tell me when you want to leave, love. You don’t have to force yourself to stay with our friends any longer than you want to be.” He says softly.

His use of the word ‘our’ makes you feel all warm inside as you nuzzle into his neck. “I know you enjoy spending time with them. I don’t wanna get in the way of that.” You explain quietly.

He squeezes you tighter, then, as he kisses the top of your head once more. “I enjoy spending time with you.” He shoots back, his gentle ministrations on your back not letting up.

“I spend all day with my friends. Quidditch, classes, meals…but I don’t get you to myself nearly as often as I’d like.” He taps your nose gently, smiling when you only scrunch it in response.

His arm falls to your waist once more as he resumes tracing shapes into your back. “You could never ‘get in the way,’ silly girl.”

You blush softly, hands moving to fiddle with the neck of his shirt once more. “I guess I’m just a little afraid you’re gonna grow tired of it one day. You’re such a people’s person and I’m—you know…not.” Your voice turns a little deprecating as you speak.

He’s having none of that, as he uses his finger to tilt your chin up, forcing you to hold eye contact with him as he speaks.

“Now listen here, miss. I don’t care about any of that. If anything—I love you more because of it. You keep me balanced.” He says strongly, cupping your face gently.

“Haven’t you ever heard that saying? Opposites attract, love. That’s us. We make each other better. Nuanced, as your brilliant brain would say. Encourage each other to step out of our comfort zones and try new things.” He gently caresses your cheek with his thumb.

“Do you resent me for pushing you to hang out with our friends?” He asks, and the question is so absurd you can’t help but rear back a little.

“Exactly.” He says, and that brings you up short.

You breathe out a small laugh, dropping your head to his chest. You can’t argue with that and he knows it.

“Okay, okay, you make some good points.” You admit, pulling back to look down at his face as you smile.

He raises a brow, smirking cockily. “When do I not?”

Before you can respond, he quickly tacks on, “Don’t answer that.”

You laugh once more, a little louder this time, before you lean down and press a gentle kiss into his lips.

He kisses you back eagerly, tugging you even closer to his chest if possible, hands gripping at your waist tightly.

When you pull away, your smile is wide. “I love you so much.” You whisper softly, and he pecks your lips once more before nuzzling his face into your neck and inhaling your scent contentedly.

“And I love you.” He says equally as soft, eyes closing as he relaxes further into the bed, still holding you to his body.

You two are polar opposites personality wise, and you couldn’t be happier.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ! may this kind of love find me, honestly. i hope you lovelies enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

©clesired - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

xoxo,

mila! *: ･🐚༄🫧*ੈ✩

[vanillakook]

❥. 　⁓ art: objective or subjective? - j.j.k

you being jungkook’s snippy academic!rival is so funny to him because he knows you are definitely not like that. yes you were incredibly headstrong and worked hard on whatever was put in front of you. he couldn’t deny you were the best at what you did (he was better). that mouth you had on you though? all for show. that’s why he let you dog him out with insults and backhanded compliments in front of everyone during lectures. at the end of the day your classmates have never seen you how he does. a pretty, fucked out, desperate slut who lost all of her self proclaimed morals the moment he touched her.

so yeah, talk circles around him during debates, but wouldn’t let you get your words out later as he plunged his dick down your throat. score higher than him on that math exam, but be prepared to be sprawled out on his lap as he tested how many of his digits you could take. thats why he didn’t care when you ridiculed him in front of the entire class after he very confidently said an opinion you didn’t agree with. todays debate topic was on the idea of art being objective or subjective. as always, you and jungkook never saw eye to eye, always having opinions that counteracted one another.

he sat back in his seat, arms crossed and glaring at you sternly. “art is objective. it needs to be done with structure, have meaning. otherwise how will we pass it down to other generations for them to study? you can’t have an over saturated market of… nothing.” he argued.

you tilted your head. everyone knew this was about to get heated, all scooting to the edge of their seats. “you’re kidding… right? anything can be art. art is personal. it’s fun, its serious, it’s silly, its structured. art can be anything, why would you limit art to educational purposes?”

“to birth more art you have to study art, y/n. you have to learn from what came before you.”

“yes, but it can also be just a fun and creative outlet for people, not everyone wants to study art. some people just want to do it. you write music pieces, i expect you of all people to know what i’m trying to say.” you turned around in your seat, going back to copying the notes from the slides. you knew he hated that. it was a sign of disrespect, that you had no interest in what he had to say. you bit back a smile though, knowing he would make you pay for this later.

“which is why i do it with precision and expertise that i’ve studied and learned, so people can learn from me to continue creating great art.”

your pen stopped in the middle of your notebook. your head swiveled and you scrunched your nose. “who said you create art?” a roar of laughter swept through the students of the lecture, once again you had the upper hand.

“yikes jk, you’re gonna keep taking that?” one of your classmates said.

yes, and he did keep taking it. it was worth it because now look at you, back at his apartment, in his clothes, taking his dick. you tried to crawl up from his large desk and all he did was wrap your perfectly styled hair around his fist and pull you back into him. “wanna run away now huh? i know you’re not stupid enough to do that.” your arch sank deeper while he continued to rock you into his desk. studying materials scattered across the room, pencils, papers, and textbooks being sent flying.

“k-koo please–” you panted out. your hand pushed at his pelvis while he hiked your skirt farther up your waist so he could see your ass clap down on him more. your cunt was so creamy around him, spilling around his cock and creating a lewd scene for the man.

“come on sweetheart, give me all that mouth that you had in class. try saying that stupid little argument now.” he positioned himself at the perfect angle to where he would directly hit your g-spot. that was jungkook for you, precise and perfect, even when ruining his pretty fucktoy’s pussy. his hand shoved your head down into a pile of his notes, watching you squirm with a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. he bullied his cock up into that messy cunt of yours, heavy balls slapping against your clit and waiting to be emptied into your womb. for someone who had an argument for everything, all you had spilling out of that mouth now were drools and moans.

“y-you fuck me so good koo, your cock feels so good in me koo! yes! yes! yes! fuck me koo fuck my pussy!” your babbles were muffled by the math notes your head rested on. your pussy showed him just how good he fucking you, sopping and clenching down on him. he was turning that brain and cunt into pure mush. you were at a point of no return. he flipped you like a rag doll and lifted you up on the desk, swiping his papers on the ground with everything else. he had abruptly removed his dick, leaving you empty with a heaving pussy.

“debate me now baby, just us.”

you rolled your eyes and reached for him, yet he took a step back, cock in hand, stroking it slowly while he took in your state. your usual prim and put together appearance now looking like one of a porn stars. hair tossed, skirt hiked, knee high socks pooling low around your calves. “jungkook come on–” he smacked your hand away.

“nah you come on, said art is subjective huh?”

“yeah, because it is, art is personal and if you decide to limit it to just having to be perfect that quite literally challenges the idea of creativity as a whole and– jungkook.” he positioned himself at your entrance, drowning his tip into your wet folds. dragging it up down, circling it around your bud, and prodding at your tight hole.

“what? continue.”

“art is… it’s… fuck i really don’t care about what art is just fuck me koo, please.” your hips moved in circles, teeth sinking into your lip while you watched yourself grind on his tip. “mhm your turn. what’s art kookie?” you didn’t mean for that to come out in a slutty, lewd moan.

“objective. take this pussy for example,” he caught you off guard completely, stuffing you to the brim with dick and holding it up against your soft spot. “i made you baby– i studied you– my work of fucking art.” his hips picked up a violent pace and rocked into you until you were shaking and cumming around his shaft. and so he spilled into his pretty work of art, shooting his seed up inside of you and leaving your womb painted white. “final arguments?” his chest heaved while he was still buried inside of you.

“i-“ you sighed. “i guess art can be objective.”

masterlist

[emiko-matsui]

What I love about Dimension 20: Time Quangle is that it's advertised as a canon non-canon series of live shows where they don't have a set campaign but play with all their settings and characters, but the world building within these shows established that it does in fact take place in Dimension 20: Fantasy High. Hear me out.

The first time the Dimension 20 audience is introduced to the concept of a time quangle isn't when the cast announces their Time Quangle Tour, but rather in the beginning of Fantasy High's third season. In Junior Year Arthur Aguefort is absent on a trip with his daughter through history and leaves the school in the hands of Arcturus Grix and Jace Stardiamond. It is established that Aguefort has concurrently gotten himself involved in a so-called time quangle on this journey which is the reason why some canonical events in Spyre's timeline has been displaced (with Junior Year and The Seven supposedly taking place at the same time but entailing contradicting events). In every stop of the canon non-canon Time Quangle Tour it is Arthur Aguefort (and at times his daughter Ayda Aguefort, whom we know he's travelling with) that is the guiding force that helps the characters unquangle their universes, which lines up perfectly with the established canon of Fantasy High.

At first Aguefort believes that he accidentally created the quangle by travelling through time, but in the last stop of the Time Quangle Tour we see that Aguefort has begun to doubt this, because if the quangle was simply an unmotivated force he would've been able to sort it out much quicker, but now he realises that the quangle is actively evading him. In this last stop we find out that the one who created the time quangle was Chungledown Bim after failing his quest on hunting down Fabian. The person at the centre of the time quangle, that Aguefort is fighting with throughout Junior Year's run, is Chungledown Bim. Now this does also line up with Fantasy High canon. In Fantasy High's second season Fabian encounters Chungledown Bim for the first time who swears vengeance upon him and vows that he will stop at nothing to hunt him down. We see Chungledown Bim follow through on this vow at the end of the second season when he chases Fabian into the forest of The Nightmare King and during other liveshows in Spyre (AKA boys night). Mysteriously enough however, in Junior Year Chungledown Bim doesn't make a single appearance, something that I, personally, found very strange on my first time watching it, since we know he is enacting his vow to hunt down Fabian. With the revelation in Dimension 20: Time Quangle that it is Chungledown Bim that Aguefort fights throughout the quangle and throughout Junior Year, and the revelation that the quangle was created in the first place to bring Fabian into a place where he could not physically escape from Chungledown Bim, the entire thing slots perfectly into Fantasy High canon and even solves the problem of Chungledown Bim's missing presence in the third season.

In every intro of the Time Quangle Tour Brennan introduced the following story as "canon non-canon", which meant that the following events were somehow canon despite none of the events actually being canon. As well, Brennan refers to all these stories as "divergent timelines and universes." This solves the final piece ever-so neatly in the fact that with the final piece of lore we know that the non-canon part is the characters and settings, which are from divergent timelines, and not the ones shown on Dimension 20's various seasons. However, the canon part is still there. This is still all happening in at least one canon. Fantasy High. A lot of non-canon events from non-canon timelines are happening, but the quangle is still, and always was, canon in Fantasy High. Before the tour even started. This is the time quangle. It aligns with the canon of Fantasy High and even explains the canon of Fantasy High. Chungledown Bim is dead. He died hunting down Fabian, and Fabian doesn't even know about it.

Now, I'm not gonna claim the Time Quangle Tour was all planned as a Fantasy High tie-in by Brennan, that would be ludicrous of me. But... planned or simply inadvertently, Dimension 20: Time Quangle is a new Fantasy High season.

[myalgicpierrot]

Plain text: They run away from moose like girls. they think a sheet of glass is adequate protection from being shot in the face by gang bangers and their recipes include fresh urine. What the hell is up with New Jersey's finest punk metallers? roars: Cardinal Doran. Snapping fingers: Brother Naki. "The Spanish Inquisition: You ask, they squirm" My Chemical Romance.

Why are you guys soooooo cool?? - Thomas, via email

Gerard: "We can answer this question. (Massive pause.) Er, shit. Let me answer this with a question, "Why is Brody Dalle from The Distillers so hot?" (Another massive pause.) I guess we're cool because we're just like Thomas. Unless he's a serial killer or something. We're just the kids who didn't fit in at school and that's how we found each other. We were always on the outside looking in and it depends on whether you think that's cool or not." Hammer: Off stage though and outside of music, who is the coolest, the most goddamn suave when chatting to the ladies? All bar Mikey in unison: "Mikey." Hammer: Is it your uncanny Jarvis Cocker impersonation? Mikey: "Yeah dude, it gets them every time. No it's Bob; the ladies are suckers for his beard." Hammer: They suck his beard? He must have some good lines.

Gerard, have you any plans to do any more artwork for future albums and how much would it cost to get you to play in my front room? - Name taken, via Hammer message board

Gerard: "Yes and 20 bucks." Hammer: I suppose there may be people who don't know that you do all the artwork. Gerard: "I did the art for both of the records. The first one - '1 Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love' - because I didn't want photographic artwork, so we got the picture, photocopied it, put some Ajax on it and put some cellophane on that. It's not actually a digital image like most people think. Then the second album - 'Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge was all done in watercolours and paint. And, yes, I want to do all of our album covers. I don't get chance to do half as much artwork as I'd like." Hammer: Talking of front rooms, what's the smallest gig you've ever played since you've been releasing records? Ray: "We played a basement in Philly in front of five people, a major record label rep and a homeless person." Frank: "The homeless guy had a tape recorder tied on a string round his neck; he bootlegged the gig and then tried to sell it back to us afterwards. It was very enterprising of him."

Have you ever thought of doing a cover? - The Drifter, via Hammer message board

Gerard: "Well we did. We played 'Jack The Ripper', a Morrissey b-side, at the same time the first record was out because we just didn't have enough songs. We did that for years cos we only had five songs and our sets would have been over too quickly." Hammer: We tend to hate it when bands do either exact copies of songs or when they do really obvious songs; what rules do you think apply to cover versions? Ray: "The band you cover have got to be over and done with or at least on their 10th album or whatever." Frank: "Yeah, so like it doesn't matter if it's Aerosmith - not that you should try to do an Aerosmith cover anyway - but how are you going to improve that?" Mikey: "Johnny And Mary' by Placebo (originally by now deceased suave ladies man, Robert Palmer - OAP Ed) is an interesting cover." Ray: "Just don't do anything obvious. Not covering a hit should be another rule. Placebo also covered 'Where Is My Mind' by The Pixies (American rock heroes that influenced Nirvana) and you can't do that. How many bands do that song? Too many."

Gerard, how do you feel about the comment that you look like Drew Barrymore in ET? - Ant, Birmingham

Gerard: "Where does this come from?" Hammer: I think it was originally from a Hammer live review ages ago. Gerard: "I always get compared to some Hollywood starlet or other. Especially Christina Ricci." Hammer: I'm never going to be able to watch the bit where she does that really sexy tap dance, wearing that amazingly short skirt in Buffalo 66 ever again.

What do you feel about the claim that you are goths? - Ali, from Reading

Gerard (who is dressed entirely in black, has long black hair and loads of make up on to appear like he has the three day dead eyes of a ghoul): "It doesn't really bother us. I think it comes from our song 'Vampires Will Never Hurt You'. I mean, I always dress in black; the whole of the band always dress in black but that isn't really goth to me. Bauhaus were goth; the Sisters of Mercy are goth. I think it has more to do with the sound of the music and our sound is more punk rock. All that goth music is good stuff though; I just don't think we sound like that."

Why not play a show in Iceland? It's not a bad idea. - Icelandic name, Iceland

Gerard: "I would love to." Frank: "I've heard it's fucking beautiful." Gerard: "We're always up for doing stuff like that in different countries and what I always say is 'If you can find a promoter who is willing to bring us over then we'll do it."

Hey guys, sorry to ask the obvious but what happened to Matt (the band's dour and slightly older ex-drummer)? - Alexandra Rose, via Hammer message board

Gerard: "We'd rather not talk about this because we're not a shit-talking band." Frank: "It's just not anyone's business. We don't feel we need to talk about stuff like this." Hammer: Well, I'll turn the question around: Can you tell us about the background of your new member Bob, who's replaced him? (The entire band turn round to Bob, who is dozing in the corner with his hoody pulled up, and laugh.) All: "Bob, what's your background!" Bob (groggily): "I started playing drums when I was three and then after school, I worked my way into the music business, working in music stores and record shops. I started doing drum tech stuff and I always ended up hanging around with My Chemical Romance whenever I worked with them.”

(splash quote) "I just rolled the window up. I couldn't think of anything else to do. 'Phew. I'm safe from the .375 gun now that I've rolled the fucking window up.’”

What are MCR's favourite sandwich fillings? - Your biggest fan, Northern Ireland

Rae: "Turkey and Gruyere." Frank: "Eggplant (Aubergine – American Ed) and parmesan." Mikey: "Grilled cheese and tomato." Hammer: Ah, poor man's pizza. Bob: "Tuna mayonnaise." Hammer: While we're on the subject, who is the best cook in the band? Ray: "Well, I know that Bob can actually cook. Bob, how do you cook them steaks?" Bob: "I get some steak and some vinegar and some other shit. I could tell you but I'd have to kill you. Shit, I don't know, I can cook really good if I've got a book in front of me." Gerard: "Next time I'm over I'm going to cook all of Metal Hammer's readers a chick pea curry, It tastes really good." Frank: "If you are making a chicken Caesar salad you should put powdered onions into the dressing and it tastes really nice. Hammer: Onions? In powder form? Really? What kind of insanity is that? Frank: "You guys don't have powdered onions? You are so BC. Hammer: Goddamnit. You can't speak to a member of Her Majesty's Metal Press like that. But let me know where we can get this shit, we're thinking of launching a sister title Metal And Modern Cookery Hammer All: "Awesome!

To the guy with the big hair (Ray), do you actually Iron Maiden or are you just being cool? - Insane Angel, via Hammer message board Ray:… Gerard: "Woah!" Bob: "Ha! Ha! Ha! Ray:… (starts shaking) Frank: "Oh my God!" Ray:… (smoke starts pouring from his ears) Mikey: "What a fucking question" Ray (with barely controlled anger, through gritted teeth): "No. I hate them. They're fucking shit. That's a fucked up question you shit head!" Gerard: "To be fair it's a valid question. You do see a lot of young chicks wearing Maiden t-shirts who are just doing it because it is a fashion thing to do." Hammer: So we can safely assume you are all Maiden fans? All: "Dude! Of course!" Hammer: In that case can you all give me a surprising Bruce Dickinson fact? Mikey: "He was an Olympic fencer." Ray: "He wrote books on how to get on in the music biz." Gerard: "He is a trained pilot dude!" Frank: "Do you know how in the 70s Bowie started thinking he was Ziggy Stardust? Well, I think Bruce Dickinson is the same with Lord Iffy Boot Race (Main character from Dicko's comedy novels)."

How do you feel about the criticism you receive from the metal community? - Chris, via email

Gerard: "I'm not sure what he's talking about. If he means about the people who remember us from being in a hardcore band who call us faggots on the internet then we're not really bothered. We get called faggots a lot but, you know, so what? Generally we tend not to read about ourselves. Live reviews are handy because you can learn stuff from them but generally not."

(splash quote) "There were five people and a homeless guy at the gig. The homeless guy bootlegged the gig and tried to sell it to us afterwards." (close-up photo captioned "Gerard knows the Way. To wear makeup.")

Do you consider yourselves a metal band? - Grace, London Gerard: "Metal is a big influence. If you think about the power, the screaming, the guitars etc then it is quite metal but it sounds like punk to me." Mikey: "We're also metal in the sense that we've a lot of metal on our instruments and I have quite a lot on my belt buckle as well." Gerard: "If we're metal then we're very traditionally metal. Iron Maiden are an influence as are Helloween, don't ever forget Helloween!" Hammer: In that case, is your song 'Thank You For The Venom' an ABBA style tribute to the large haired black metal poodle rockers from Newcastle, England? Gerard: "Eh?" Hammer: It doesn't matter. Gerard: "That song is a sarcastic statement, a bit like saying 'Thanks for ruining my life'. It was something I had written on my t-shirt the first ever gig we played."

What would you do if you ever encountered a moose? Would you run like a girl or stand and face it like a man? - Goldfinger, via Hammer message board Frank: "Has Goldfinger ever seen any mooses?" Mikey: "That isn't the plural of moose. It's moosi." Gerard: "Fuck off, it's meese." Frank: "Has Goldfinger ever seen a flock of meese advancing on him? It's a terrifying sight. They aren't small creatures. You would just run off like a girl or a boy. What does running like a girl mean anyway?" Mikey: "I've seen one. I'd run like a girl for sure. They're massive. If you run over one you're fucked. They come in through your windscreen kicking." Bob: "People think that moose are really gentle and goofy but they aren't; they're fucking animals." Hammer: What is the most exotic piece of wildlife you've ever encountered on tour? Gerard: "I saw some grizzly bears in Canada." Ray: "I saw a coyote." Bob: "Ray saw this girl in Chicago. She was fucking exotic." Ray: "Oh shit. She pelted me with chicken-flavoured crackers. Do you remember the homeless lady as well? She was this really old lady with this faint voice that I found when I was getting on the tour bus one night. She said, 'Can I sleep here tonight?' and I was like, 'No way lady, get the hell off the bus.' And then I realised that she had wrenched the window off the side of the bus to get in." Hammer: You have more stories about homeless people than any other band that we've met. Gerard: "That's because they are our core audience." Mikey: "We're very attractive to them because we dress like homeless people." Hammer: I saw a moose once. It was bearing down on me with a semi-on and a heart full of hatred. Gerard: "You're making this up aren't you?" Hammer: Er, yes.

Do you like the French? - Paul, Kingston Upon Thames Gerard: "Oh. That is such a loaded question." Frank: "Well, I'm going to say no because when we've toured there they've never been anything but mean to us." Hammer: Well, you're in good company. I know Andrew Eldritch, from the Sisters Of Mercy, said if he had one wish he would make France sink into the sea except for all of the pretty girls aged between 18 and 26, who he would levitate to safety." All, cracking up: "Awesome!" Hammer: Yeah, they are an easy target. Wasn't it Donald Rumsfeld who said that going to war in Iraq without the French was like going hunting without an accordion? Frank: "Brilliant."

Can you clear this up for us once and for all; which one of the Village People was actually gay? - Iron Monkey, via Hammer message board Gerard (without pause): "The Construction Worker."

You guys rule live. What British band would you like to play with in the future? - Hollow Man, via Hammer message board Frank: "Muse." Mikey: "Muse." Ray: "Funeral For A Friend." Gerard: "Yeah, Funeral For A Friend again."

Have any of you ever been shot and/or stabbed? - Andy, Bristol Ray: "We nearly got shot recently. We were stuck in a traffic jam and our manager got into this argument with these Puerto Rican guys and told them to go fuck themselves. They pulled up next to us and got a gun out. Our manager was trying to grab the gun. I thought we were fucked for sure." Bob: "I just rolled the window up. I couldn't think of anything else to do. 'Phew. I'm safe from the .375 gun now that I've rolled the fucking window up.'" Hammer: Were you scared? Bob: "Nah, I'm full of piss and vinegar." Hammer: Ah ha! So that's what's in your secret steak marinade! Bob: "Shit yeah! I piss on my steak. Now I'm gonna have to kill you."

Rock journalists suck big dogs' cocks. And they smell. Really bad. Like burning ammonia. Take over by asking the questions that matter to you. See www.metalhammer.co.uk/spanish for who the Inquisition are gonna be quizzing in the coming months and how to ask your questions. Arriverderch.

MCR for Metal Hammer, Issue 133, December 2004 🩸 #Revenge20

📸 via Naki