#but it has to do with the other post I'm concocting about facing up to past failures

[strawberrymochin]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐚' 𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐬!

synopsis- dared by nobara, Yuji decides to pull a prank on their physics professor— gojo satoru, infamous for his wickedly handsome face and his notorious mouth. He spikes gojo’s coffee with a few pills of viagra, suppressing the jolts of illegal excitement bubbling up his veins— which soon dies when gojo offers the cup of coffee to you instead.

warnings- college!au, SMUT, physics professor gojo with huge d, you having a hopeless crush on gojo, nobamaki as your sidekick, age gap(6yrs), use of APHRODISIACS, oral male receiving, mutual masturbation, SQUIRTING, CHOKING, unprotected sex(sort of), VOYEURISM, I feel sorry for Yuji, cursing, dirty talk, some great latin words.

w.c- 4.8k

a/n's note- Yuji will always be remembered as my brave soldier! Next will be nanami in the series!! i hope you like it. comments and reblogs are much appreciated!! Taglist is open!

“Professor gojo is always a hot topic for the girls” nobara stated blandly to her senior maki, sitting opposite to her at their regular corner cafeteria table. 

Maki rolls her eyes at the statement, unable to pinpoint what exactly girls like about their professor. Even you— her best friend has an insatiable crush on him. She unwrapped her chicken cheese burger taking a huge bite before muffling “yeah, nothing new…”.

Gojo Satoru, your physics professor, has been a topic of constant gossip ever since he joined the university. He was surprisingly young, menacingly handsome and had a notorious way with his tongue. His carefree attitude and indelible impression caused students to mark him as the— infamous professor among the trio of young havocs. 

Girls swarmed around him sprawling new tattles each day. And another one that randomly popped out at the chatter page of your university was— professor gojo having an extremely high sex drive. 

An anon posted it in the forum and disappeared and it blew up overnight. People agreed over online, some simping, some getting disgusted or jealous(mainly boys), and some concocting new scandals having seen him going out with two different women in one day. 

Today was no different. The chatter forums have been buzzing with news and rumors and among them the trending one was professor gojo’s libido discussions. 

Nobara dragged her finger down the screen of her phone, refreshing the page hoping to see something new. “I can't believe they don't have any better discussions other than this.” Her disappointment was clearly visible as ‘gojolibido’ thingy still remained at its position on the top. 

she placed her phone down on the table, sipping up the last of her drink. 

Yuji leaned back in his armchair, his head resting against the cool metal frame, his body partially slouched. His crumpled paper wraps of sandwich sat messy on the table, “come to think of it, professor gojo never declines any of the stuff…” 

The college rumors spread like gasoline set ablaze. There was little to no chance of him not being aware of the sizzling situation. 

Maki dropped her half eaten burger, placing her elbows on the table top leaning in a bit. “He probably enjoys it.” 

And maybe he does. There are sure subtle hints. The slight curve of the corner of his lips when students gawk at him as he walks past them, hearing them fawning over him. Or the smug side eye he gives to his male students— almost satirical. Or the infamous way of his wicked tongue, it's as if he was mocking them. 

No one can say for sure. 

“If that's the case I'm sure he wouldn't mind some pranks too…” Yuji straightens up half joking. “What do you mean?” asks maki. 

“Like some pulling up a bold act…” he suggested, stretching his arms out before letting them fall on his thighs, rubbing his palms over the rough fabric.

“Woah!” Nobara almost jumped up in excitement, looking at Yuji as if he finally had some sense knocked in his head, “And here I thought Itadori never grew a brain,” she sprinted her head to maki who was gnawing on her burger. 

“How ‘bout we get y/n pull something on gojo sensei?” 

“Bruh—” maki leaned back in her seat, narrowing her eyes as a little smirk crawled up her face. 

You've had a crush on professor gojo. And this was no secret from your friend group. Plus they already had enough of you sighing dramatically at the mere sight of him. They can only wonder how you even manage to behave normal when you're assigned to help him sort out some paperwork after class. 

“This is gonna be awful. And fun to watch.” Maki turned her head to spot you in the cafeteria line, currently buying lunch for yuta and inumaki. 

They have a paper due the next day so they requested you to buy them lunch to save time. 

As you leave the cafeteria with lunch boxes in your hand, heading towards the classroom yuta and inumaki might be stressing over work, maki, nobara and Yuji join you. 

“Done buying the idiots lunch?” Maki came up wrapping a hand over your shoulder. “Woa— yeah! On my way delivering it as you can see…” 

“Sure thing.” Nobara said. 

“Well you know we're playing truth and dare.” Maki continues dragging out the ‘dare’ part. 

“Yeah lame shit…” 

“So, we’ve got a dare for you.” She announces outright. 

“Bitch i wasn't even playin—” 

“Yuji wants to pass his dare to you.” Yuji looked baffled at nobara, but decided to play along anyway. “Ah yeah y/n senior, can you please take the dare my stead.” 

Aww, you pitied the pink haired boy, one year junior than you. You nodded you head in sympathy, feeling sorry for what ridiculous of a dare maki and nobara might have imposed on him, not caring what they might impose on you. 

“It's really simple okay….” maki says comforting you with her grip on your shoulder. “You just need to go and pull up a bold act on professor gojo.” 

Your nodding halts as her word registers in your mind. You look up questionably at her with one eye twitching, face cringing.

“You want me to do what?” 

“Chill, I'm not asking you to get naked or edge play with him. Just a little flirting will do…” nobara nods aggressively at maki’s words, eyes sparkling to convince you. 

The lunch boxes stayed in your hand, before giving it away to the stressed duo who found it strange for maki, nobara and Yuji swarming around you, looking this excited considering your freaked out expression. You eventually agreed to them, unable to resist their sparkling eyes and it wouldn't be a lie to say you yourself were itching to try it out. 

You sort of had a head start when things came to professor gojo. Atleast that's what your friends thought, though you tried to convince yourself the opposite. You were just an average student. Not too good not too bad. 

It was a coincidence that he out of all the students ‘randomly’ chose you to sort out paperworks. 

You even wondered if he knew your name. Not once has he addressed you with your name from the previous two paperwork sessions. Not being able to ask, you decide for yourself that he doesn't. After all, why would he even try to remember you? Bet he doesn't even glance twice at your face. 

“Go!” Maki whispers at your ear, pushing you at your back, urging you. 

Professor Gojo was standing outside his office. A rare scene indeed, he seemed immersed in his phone screen typing something. 

You gulp once before looking back at your friends— whom you definitely cursed in your mind. Nobara pulled yuji’s collar down to her level, whispering something, which made him suppress his bubbling laugh. 

Your face twists bitterly, feeling a burn of anger, which soon dies as they push you off causing you to stumble mid corridor. 

Awkwardly you try regaining your balance as a string of curses slip past your mouth. You should have never agreed to this in the first place. Why did it matter anyway? You'd be graduating in a few months and will barely see the pink haired guy again. 

Gojo’s gaze shifts in your direction as you try to maintain a straight posture. Your best friend and the juniors hid themselves behind the small alcove, eavesdropping eagerly. 

“Yes?” Professor gojo stuffs his phone back in his pockets, one hand coming up to slide his rimmed sunglasses up his nose bridge. 

You suck in a sharp breath, suddenly aware of each hair in your body and every single sensation coursing through your body causing them to stand in attention. “Eh—”

Gojo eyes you up and down, a discreet smile tugging off his lips, as he comes forward closing the distance between you two. His towering body blocked the sun rays pooling over your body from the huge glass window. “Have a doubt about the previous lecture?” 

Maki and others sigh face palming themselves. Your frozen stance grows their doubt even stronger, questioning how you even manage to stay after class for the paper sorting sessions. 

“Yea— i mean I want to ask you something— ” you fiddled with your fingers, looking the other direction as gojo leans down to your level. A familiar embarrassing burn creeps up your cheeks, soon spreading up to your ears. 

“Um—” 

Gojo hums encouraging you to speak up, his sunglasses slipping down a bit as one sapphire eye peeks at you. 

You could feel maki and the other's gaze piercing through your back, suddenly wondering how come your professor hasn't noticed them gawking yet. 

Gojo looks at you expectantly. 

Okay, you've got this— you only need to pull a little bold stuff like flirting as nobara suggested. You can go with some pick up line, even related to physics for highlighting the pun intended, for example you can say ‘i know the spring constant of my mattress, wanna take some data?’

Okay, that was shit. What if you ask him to expand your polynomial? That's even more weird. 

“You oka—” 

“Cubitum eamus?” 

“ -what?” Gojo straightens up, scrunching his nose, resting one hand at his hip. 

Red spreads down to your collarbone, seemingly flushed yet relieved when gojo doesn't gets the hint. “Nothing.” You say before sprinting away downstairs, your friends following you down from the alcove. 

“Y/n wait-” maki huffs catching up to you, the juniors following behind huffed out. “What the heck did you say?” 

Her further inquiry made you even more flushed, eyes shutting as you take in another deep breath grabbing maki before shaking her by her shoulders. “I. Said. Nothing. You get it. NOTHING!!” 

Maki showed you a thumbs up, as Yuji halts your action, saving her spinning head from your ass. 

You calm yourself before making up and excuse and running away, still flustered, while the entire gang had no idea what the heck was wrong with you, coming to the conclusion that you were probably high. 

“Bruh what did she even say? A curse or something?” Nobara cracks up as Yuji was still trying to rescue maki from her brain shaken plight.

“I swear,” Yuji agrees holding a eye- spiralling maki from her arm, “i could have done better than her.”

“Better?” Nobara lends a hand to Yuji.

“Yeah…much better.” 

“Itadoriiii,” her eyes narrowed, a wicked grin blooming on her face, “I bet you're a man of your words.” 

And this is how Itadori Yuji, was dared-convinced that a he could ofcourse pull a better prank than his senior, such as spiking professor gojo’s coffee with aphrodisiacs. ‘i mean it wouldn't hurt to see him ache a bit.’— was what nobara had said yesterday. ‘We've got so many rumours about professor gojo atleast someone have to confirm them.’ she shrugged sliding the ziplock of crushed pills in his shirts pocket, before slamming on his back. 

Yuji checked once again at the front door of the office, his hands stirring the spoon on the hot coffee to let the powder dissolve. He somehow managed to sneak into gojo's office from the back door when professor geto called him out for a bit. The classes are over, and now would be the perfect time to get a look over the amusing scenario about to unfold. 

Yuji gets alert when he hears footsteps coming near, abandoning the cup before scurrying to the back door in order to slip out before anyone notices him. He intends to hide in the men's washroom before coming back near the back of the gojo’s office peeking from the small gap in the door he'd left open. 

As you enter professor gojo’s office with the bundle of written assignments the juniors had submitted, you see Yuji rushing out from the back door. 

Confused, you tilt your head. “What the heck was he doing here?” You mumble to yourself. The embarrassing moment of the last encounter you had with professor gojo flashed through your mind, face cringing red as you shook your head to forget those thoughts. 

Fortunately professor gojo didn't mention about the last encounter, he just asked you to collect the assignments from the juniors and bring it to his office. As usual he'd need your help evaluating the credits. 

You did feel a bit awkward after what you'd done but you tried to feign indifference, which didn't actually work, your palms were sweating wet. However you nodded as usual and went on with your work. 

You place the bundle of papers on his table, when your eyes travel to the cup of coffee, slow tendrils of warm stream rising upwards. However it was slightly displaced from its previous position, and— even the spoon in the coffee sat opposite from what you've seen before. There were slight sprinkles of white dust surrounding the saucer.

Your mouth forms a small astonished ‘o’, head turning back to look at the back door, with the small open gap. You weren't sure whoever you saw was Yuji or not, but you did spot a hint of pink. 

Your brows knitted together.

Did he spike the coffee? You thought.

But why would he do that? Yuji wouldn't go and do something like this. As you try to connect the dots with the situation, the creak of the door draws your attention back from it. 

Gojo entered back, his gaze briefly met yours, acknowledging you before turning back swiftly and sliding the door shut. 

He slipped back into his directorial chair, hand gesturing to the chair across his table. “Have a seat.”  

“—yes.” 

He ran a hand up his hair, getting hold of the first assignment among the bunch of papers, “take my laptop and register the credits.” He flipped through the pages, scrutinizing some parts longer than the others as you obeyed him. 

The excel sheet was already on screen as you opened his laptop, ready to type in the credits as he dictates. 

“Y/n,” you raise your head, eyes wide at him. This is the first time he said your name, even more shocked that he did remember it. 

“Yes.” 

“Have the coffee.” 

“—i'm sorry.” 

Minutes of silence pass, before gojo flips through the last page of the first assignment, separating it from the others. “I said. Have. The. Coffee.” 

You gulped at his persistent nature, did he spotted the white dust laying around? 

“I— I'm not very fond of it.” 

“Of coffee? Or of me?” you almost choked on your spit as he raised a cocky eyebrow, halting his hand midway from another assignment before picking up the metal spoon and stirring the lukewarm coffee once again. 

“Coffee. I m-mean.” 

“You seem nervous,” he placed both of his elbows on the table between you two, “I'm sure it will help you calm your nerves.” 

“T-thank you but I rea—” 

“You know you shouldn't reject your professor’s kindness.” your mouth felt dry, never have you ever seen professor gojo being this intimidating and hot, and if your brain already wasn't a freak, it was sort of turning you on. “Why are you adamant about it? Try it once.” he slid the saucer to you, as he let his face fall on the palm of his one hand, eyes watching your every movement with an orphic gleam. 

Unwillingly, you raised your hand, getting hold of the cup before bringing it to your lips. 

You gulped thickly not wanting to drink. You weren't sure if it was Yuji who spiked the drink or not, but it was sure spiked. You couldn't even bring yourself to tell gojo about it since you didn't want to blame Yuji for nothing but—

“drink.” 

You sip it. And— it tasted normal. Maybe you were just overthinking. 

Half an hour passed and you kept typing the credit scores on his laptop, as he continued checking the assignments. 

Everything was fine except you felt hot- like extremely hot. Your shirt stuck too tight to your skin and you wanted to take it off, your chest was heaving, sweat beads were forming on your temple even though the ac was on. 

“you okay?” gojo asks when you don't answer him. “Yes, I'm sorry, what was the score again?” 

“You seem to sweat awfully? Is something wrong?” Gojo rose from his seat, pushing the chair back slightly as he did so. He moved away from the table and approached you till he was in front of you. 

He extended one arm to you as his fingers touched your burning temple. You suck in a breath, his cold fingertips in contrast to your burning temple sent shivers down your spine. Heat pooled down your lower stomach as you felt the urge to clench around nothing. 

Was the coffee spiked with—

Gojo narrowed his gaze when you didn't answer him, retreating back to the almost finished cup of coffee, pouring out the rest of the remains into the saucer as the white powdery residue became visible. 

He swiped two fingers on it before rubbing and speculating it, sniffing it from his fingers. “tch, so you drugged it with aphrodisiacs.” 

“Huh?” you gawk at his accusation. 

“First you ask me to sleep with you, second you drug my coffee, do you really want me that bad?” 

You wanted to deny his accusations, you wanted to tell him that you didn't drugged his coffee but the way his words were laced with a hint of mockery, especially the fact the he knew what you said to him the last day, increased the dull ache of your core even more, thighs squeezing with each other to get some relief. 

You take a deep breath, calming your mind and open your mouth to deny him when he inserts his fingers in your mouth, the one with the white residue. 

“Suck.” your eyes widen once again, you shouldn't be doing this, you didn't drug his drink, so you should be telling him the truth. But what if you played along, what if you sucked his fingers as he said. 

What if—

Your tongue lapped the residue off his two fingers, sucking it clean, as he pulled his fingers out. He leaned down, hands on your arm rests caging you. 

“Such a good girl.” His breath tickled your burning skin, “I was going to wait till you graduate but since you're so impatient…strip.” 

It was an order. Unable to resist, you give in, if there was this mere possibility of him fucking you why not let it happen. You've had a crush on him since the very beginning and after all, this was the golden opportunity for you to confirm all the rumors about professor gojo you'd read in the forums. 

You let out a shaky breath, setting his laptop aside before hands come up to undo your shirt. Gojo straightens up, watching you shamelessly strip out of your shirt without blinking, gaze predatory even as if he wanted to devour you whole. 

You rise from your seat, letting your shirt fall on the chair you occupied before unzipping your skirt, its fabric pooling around your legs. 

You were now almost naked, only in your lace bras and your drenched panties. 

“Was the aphrodisiacs strong? You are pooling wet down there, it's almost dripping down your thighs.” And as if you weren't flushed enough, his mocking yet firm tone sent sparks dancing around your body. 

He didn't waste any more time before yanking you against his table and ripping off your panties. 

You hissed out a breath, which gojo swallowed with a bruising kiss. His one hand snaked his way to the hook of your bra while the other drifted down to your pulsating core. 

Oh god. He murmurs against your lips.

He barely even touched you and you're so achingly wet. Not that he expected any less with the uncertain amount of aphrodisiacs you swallowed. 

With one click, your bra loosened, before falling to the floor joining your torn laces. 

There you were completely naked, whimpering, withering mess under him as he kissed and suckled your lips. 

The infamous professor gojo satoru was kissing you, his hand down your pulsating core sent jolts circling the rough pad of his thumb on your red clit brutally.  

Gojo pulls away from the kiss, letting you feed chunks of oxygen to your lungs. A slim string of drool attaching both of your lips. “Open my shirt.” He says guiding your hand to his shirt, before latching onto your neck, marking you. 

You fumble with his shirt buttons hastily opening them before discarding his shirt on the floor. The way he was kissing his way down from your neck to your chest didn't allow you to take a look at his bare body, but you could feel it, muscles —defined, carved and chiseled. His hand reaches out, capturing yours, and he guides it across his chest, till it reaches the edge of his trousers. 

“Woa—” you gasp at his pent up fabric when gojo eased himself, grinding on your hands. 

A rumor confirmed: gojo had a big dick.

“Go on, do what you want with it.” He raised his head from your chest, now covered with red marks. He signals down with the corner of his lips curving sassily as he slips two of his fingers inside you. 

You suck in a breath. 

He draws back his free hand, cupping one of your breasts, caressing the neglected peaks of your arousal, while the other slowly fingers in and out of you, curling in so sweetly that it has your mind going dizzy. His fingers have you so full, that you feel you might just orgasm right now. The feeling of his rough fingers inside you was so different from yours, the way it pressed on different spots causing you to jolt of sensitivity, the way his thumb stimulated your clit, soothing the hot desire bubbling on your bunch of nerves, was otherworldly. You tried holding back your orgasm for this heaven to last longer, for him to lick on your nipples a little longer, for him to plunge his fingers in and out a little longer.

You heave out whimpers, trying to focus on something else other than your building hot white pleasure, unbuckling his belt as you unzip his trousers, letting it fall. 

His cock sprang out in full bloom as you pulled down his boxers, taking it in your grip causing him to hiss.

It was thick and angry, already leaking precum. Your breath came out in harsh raps as you started jerking him, trying to match his rhythm. “Mmhh fuck” he lets out a growl before withdrawing you of your pleasure, leaving you empty and dripping sticky. 

You suddenly regret holding back your orgasm. Will he stop? Will he say it's not right to do what you are doing now? Leave you unsatisfied, denied from your release, embarrassed and insulted. 

He pushed you down to your knees, as your grip on his cock loses which is soon replaced by his hand. Jerking rough and slow. 

“Open your mouth.” 

You couldn't react when his hand closed around your neck, squeezing it tighter and harder until darkness surrounds the edges of your vision and you gasp your mouth open barely managing to drag in a chunk of air when he shoved his cock in. 

“Yeah, now suck” he releases his hand from your neck only to tangle his fingers in your hair, forcing you down to gag on his thick cock. 

“Mphfh.” drool leaked from the corners of your lips and dripped down your chin.

Gojo tugged your head back until only the tip of his cock remained in your mouth as he looked down at your tear filled eyes. “isn’t this what you wanted?” He plunged back down your head again with a sharp thrust. His tip was touching the back of your throat that you could feel it twitching slowly in your mouth and if this wasn't too much, the urge to relieve your throbbing clit intensified. You slide a hand down to your core, rubbing circles as he pulls back your head again. “Tch. Tch. Y/n. You're so needy for me. Cubitum eamus?” he says gently wiping off a tear from your cheek.

Fuck. 

Before you could answer he starts fucking himself mercilessly into your mouth, his low grunts mixed with the obscene sound of your gagging caused another sensation of heat coiling down your stomach. This time he didn't even touch you yet you were this close to your orgasm. You were sure to release this time with his cock throbbing inside your mouth, fucking furiously, and tears clouding your gaze when he pulls out. 

“Mmhh—” your protests die down as quick as they arise when he pulls you up and lifts you to his table, jerking aside the bundle of papers you brought. 

He adjusted your hips, before spreading your legs wide open with his knees, yanking you closer, letting your back fall on his table, “so eager ain't ya’,” his voice was raspy with lust, as you pushed yourself up with your elbows to look at him when he thrusts himself in, nails digging on the plush of your hips. He slides in without much resistance as he grows a smile, “so horny that ya’ drugged ma’ coffee. Don't worry your professor’s gonna get you riling nuts.” He slides out before slamming in with one sharp thrust. Driving deep and hard with every single thrust. The table was shaking at the intensity of him pounding into you. 

You cried out, mind getting blank, unable to process any coherent thoughts other than the sensation of his skin sliding with yours. His veins became more prominent with each thrust, flush getting deeper and deeper as his cock buried into you inch by inch till it touched the hilt of your ecstasy, which came down so sudden and so erratic, spilling down his cock onto his table till it dripped down the floor. 

The table banged with each thrust yet you were too numb to even care for things to fall and shatter down on the floor as if the second wave of your ecstasy wasn't arriving, building up hot and raging along with the thrusts of your professor. 

You clamped hard around his cock taking it all in, being so good for him that he hissed out his moans, more ravenous than he'd ever been. Your pussy clenched and stretched so good that he felt his blood running erratic, thrust getting more sloppy as your second high crashed down, cunt rippling with juices over his cock drilling into you, incoherent chants of his name spilling out your mouth. His head fell back, mouth opening in a breathy moan, as his eyes roll back, he knew he was close and might cum inside you if he didn't suppress his clawing desire. 

With his muscles tensing each fucking second, he painfully let go of the warm sleeve of your cunt, the air feathering cool at his red cherry tip, before spurting out strings of cum on your stomach. 

You barely could get hold of your consciousness, fucked feral by gojo satoru, laying naked on his desk with your stream of orgasm dripping down and marks of his arousal sticky on your stomach. Your hair was messy, skin marked from his iron grip and you looked dumb, wincing from the sudden emptiness— yet you were the most beautiful sight to him.

Yuji stood behind the door peeking from the gap he left open, you— his senior lays fucked on the table, his grip over his aching cock had the white of his cum slicking down from his knuckles. Oh what a scene it was, to let you have the blame for his misconduct and see you getting bullied by their professor, and to jerk off watching the entire scene unfold. 

He felt bad for what he did, and yet he kept looking at the way you gagged around gojo’s cock, the way gojo sucked your nipples, and the way you squirted for him. He knows he shouldn't feel like this yet he was turned on, even though he came twice he was still turned on. 

You don't remember much of what happened later. You only heard the rustling of papers, fixing of chairs and the only blurry sight you can regain was papers collected next to you, the mess of both of your arousals clean and the slight press of his lips on your temple. 

Professor Gojo was fully dressed and calm. And you were in his car, wearing back your clothes except for your panties which were torn. You don't remember how you even got there. 

“Where are we going?” You manage to ask, your voice hoarse from all the shouting. 

“Home.”

Who knows you might be able to confirm the truth of the other rumors from the forums, however you were too spent to think any of that, slumping back into your slumber.

© strawberrymochin 24 | plagiarism won't be tolerated | taglist is open | tags: @secretfankoala @moonchhu

[simp4konig]

I'm so normal about Nikto rn

Mildly nsfw?? Idk just a heads up

But just

Nikto, gripping her hips, thinking to himself: She's just being friendly- she's just being friendly- think pure thoughts

Y/N, sitting on his lap and holding his face hostage between her titties, thinking to herself: I wonder when he's gonna make the first move... do I have to make it if he doesn't? Oh my god what if I've been reading him wrong all along and he doesn't even like me??

Nikto: Well, maybe I am obsessed with you

Y/N: Well, maybe I like that :lipbite:

Flirtatious Reader x ...Dense? Nikto

Fem! Reader coded, BUT it can be viewed as gender-neutral if you squint. 🩷💟💜

Word Count: 2237

🪼

Reader is addressed as "You". No Y/N used.

May be self-indulgent. May be a projection of my own feelings. Oops. 🙊

Please read the * at the end of the post for my clarification 💙🩵🤍.

Edit: Minor typos. I fucking hate EVERYTHING!!!

❗SUGGESTIVE CONTENT AND SOME DISTURBING IMAGERY BELOW THE CUT ❗ (No sex nor anything overly grotesque, but includes some descriptions of both). Readers are warned for suggestive content.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Well.

The title is perhaps a teeny, weeny little tiny bit misleading 🤏…

…

…Who am I kidding 💀,, it's as misleading as it gets LMAO

Because let's not kid ourselves here: Nikto is NOT "dense", NOT an "oblivious" man, NOR is he the type to be misinformed about someone's objective[s].

Nikto is a perceptive man — he's interrogated enough people to know what makes them tick, to distinguish lie from truth.

If somebody's intentions aren't innocent and they have ulterior motives, Nikto is always the first to know; it's his job to be informed, after all.

Hence, he notices the intonations of someone's voice growing or lowering, the imperceptible change in pitch, their nervous stutter as they unconvincingly concoct a lie, how their testimony does not align with the facts, and how they've suddenly become fidgety and shift from his scrutiny...

Hence, he recognises the subtle shifts in someone's facial expressions, can read between the lines of their non-verbal gestures, their change in behaviour, their overall unease expressed without them realising it, how they're giving themselves away no matter what they say…

Hence, he takes notices the way that someone fiddles agitatedly with something in their hands, how they pick at their nails in an almost panicked way or dig their fingernails into the skin of their palms, how they're biting their bottom lip or chewing on their cheek, how their smile is lopsided and doesn't quite reach their eyes, how they avert their gaze…

Nikto is anything but perceptive. He isn't oblivious — not "ignorant", not "unaware", and certainly not "stupid", or any other words synonymous with the previous — especially when it regards what people think of him.

How people think that he's disgusting.

How everyone avoids him like the Black Death, as if he's diseased and close proximity could kill you. As if his disfigurements were contagious, and the best bet would be to stay far, far away from the diseased.

Therefore, he's not oblivious that the words which you would whisper into the brocoli ears obscured by his mask are innuendo for something for more; he's not oblivious of the sexual nature of your hands absentmindedly caressing his lower abdomen, simply inches from his clothed crotch; he's not oblivious that your touches are quite risqué, that you would provoke him on purpose, that you would sit directly on his lap and feign innocence as you would flutter your eyelashes and smile ever so sweetly.

Nikto is perceptive. Very perceptive. And he's certainly not stupid...

...they just don't perceive your flirtatious actions as anything other than some joke.

So, he has rationalised your flirtatious behaviour as friendliness. As how you express your personal affection. Or, affectations.

Whatever it is that you're expressing, it must be a joke. Surely.

Since you're the Beauty, he's the Beast. But, unlike the Beast, he is a monster which cannot be redeemed. He's been cursed to suffer mortal purgatory, while immortal, demonic voices haunt him every hour, every minute, every second of every day. It's torture.

And you want to torture him some more by tormenting him with your unashamedly forward displays, your devilish seduction, tempting him into finally taking what he's been desiring ever since you arrived in his life.

How could you want him? Do you even want him?

No. You don't. There is no way that you do.

Because he's not talkative like some of the other operators, not hilarious like the colleagues who make you laugh, not affectionate like a lover could, not good company, not a good person as a whole.

He's introverted to a concerning amount, so silent that sometimes he appears deceased as he lies next to you on the nights you come over.

Maybe it all used to come naturally to him, but it's a struggle to feign his role as a functioning human being, so to actually be one? Sometimes he questions if he's more monster than man, as that role seems to be effortless.

Perhaps this is all some heartless idea of a practical joke, some sort of sick sense of satisfaction arising in you to toy with Nikto's emotions. And, like a child bored of that toy, discard it in favour of a newer, better, prettier one.

Why would you want to be around him? What is there to like? Is there even anything to like?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

Because what's there to like? Frankly, if he doesn't like himself — or selves — then how could he expect you to like him? All of him? Them?

This isn't affection, he would tell himself; either it's disingenuous and forced, or you're faking it for your own amusement.

Or... maybe it is genuine, and it isn't fake... but it's all an act of pity, since you feel sympathy for the lonely outcast and have some sort of strange moral obligation to a lunatic as fucked-up, ugly, and disfigured as him, whose been unable to have a meaningful relationship — platonic or otherwise — in years.

Especially right now, with you straddling his lap and cradling his masked face in between your breasts, he still can't wrap his head around it, and it's all incomprehensible.

At times, Nikto has considered that he's overthinking it, and that you have no ill intentions, and you're just innocent and clueless with how much you affect him.

And it would have been endearing if it wasn't so fucking frustrating.

With that in mind, for him to make the first move and jeopardise what he thought you thought was a strictly platonic friendship? He couldn't be more sorry, and would leave you alone forever and never speak to you again, even if it was physically painful and equivalent to ripping his own heart out and squeezing it until its contents popped — just for the pain and the heartache to go away forever.

...

Seriously. It's so fucking frustrating, and it's as if he's being wilfully ignorant or something, and doing it on fucking purpose.

He's delusional, yes, and you've always acknowledged the fact that more than a few screws were loose, but the entire mechanism, but it pisses you off that he continues to delude himself, rather than accept that your affection is genuine, and not some cruel joke.

You don't get bored of him, and won't. Ever.

Yes, he's not talkative, but you find solace in presence and relish the peace and quiet; yes, his sense of humour is nonexistent, but you don't need to be laughing when he still brings a loving smile to your lips; yes, he's introverted, but does that really matter? To you, you being the exception to his isolation is worth everything.

Do you care that he's not a good person? No. To some extent, neither are you — you're no saint yourself. Nikto's morals may not be grey, but smudged entirely, and his methods questionable…

…and? You don't have it in you to care. Because it has reached a point where Nikto genuinely cares for you, and you likewise for him, and his actions demonstrated what he could never convey through words; that he would never, ever hurt you. And that's enough.

As for him not being naturally affectionate?

Well. You've tried everything: guiding his hands onto your hips; sitting in his lap and straddling his lower half, arms around his neck; hell, even flashed your tits under the guise of the clasp of your unintentionally becoming undone, and, oh, could you please do it for me, Nikto? You aren't bothered by the nudity? Sorry. That was just a wardrobe mishap. You don't mind, right? You can touch all you like, because I don't mind.

But he doesn't respond. Doesn't fucking do anything. Just has his shoulders tense and arms loose by his sides, not reciprocating any touch, not touching you unless you give him permission, as if he's been lobotomised and can only take explicit orders.

You're exasperated. It's exhausting.

But how much more goddamn obvious can you be? What will it take for him to open his eyes and see that this isn't a game to you? That you're willingly giving yourself to him, because you want to? Because you want him?

And, yes, his hands twitch with the gnawing itch to touch you; his body shakes with anticipation, antsy; his shoulders are tense, back straight as a plank, muscles flexing with restraint; and, of course, he's so fucking hard that he's almost nauseous.

But will he dare misinterpret your suggestive behaviour as anything more than flirtation, teasing, and risk jeopardising his whole friendship with his one and only friend? No. Not a fucking chance.

One of these days, you swore, you were going to tear off his mask clean off his face and grab his jaw to roughly kiss him on his scarred, mishapen, and malnourished lips, only pulling away when neither of you can breathe, then look him dead in those steel blue eyes and confess that you don't give a shit what, who, or why he is, only that you want him, uncaring of the whats, the whos, and the whys — especially the "whos".

No amount of initiating physical contact could entice him to touch you. You were at wits' end.

One of those days came; and that day was today, as you two were lounging on the bed, with your arms wrapped around his neck and legs straddling his lap.

Sheepishly, you untangle your limbs from around his, and crawl to sit beside him, legs tucked up to your chest and arms wrapping themselves around your knees pitifully if it wasn't for the fire in your eyes.

"...Nikto."

Nikto's back straightens at the speed of light at your tone of voice.

...Oh. Oh God.

This is it, he thinks. This is the day where everything ends. Eventhough you're his everything and that without you he'll be nothing, you're going to tell him to go, to get off you, because you've realised that he isn't worthy of your time or your company. Or maybe you've discovered his obsession — you — and the shrine he keeps of your stolen "lost" possessions and prays to it as if by an altar, how he would worship the ground you work on if it wasn't so conspicuous, how you're the only reason he hasn't given up and put a bullet straight through his own skull so the voices shut up once and for all and—

"Do... you even like me?"

...What.

What.

What?!

Like you? Are you serious?!

He doesn't like you! He couldn't ever like you!

He adores you! Loves you! Worships you! But even then, no synonyms of these words would sufficiently convey his adoration, his unconditional love, his devotion. Would kneeling by your knees and ripping his beating heart out be enough? It still wouldn't. So he won't... mostly for your sake.

Struck dumb, dumbfounded, and utterly confused, he stares at you, his bloodshot steel blue eyes unblinking. Since he can see how your eyes are glistening, he's willing tears on your behalf, just so tears don't stain that pretty face.

Eventually, he says with complete certainty: "...Like would be putting it lightly."

"Then..."

You sniff, and Nikto flinches, but he otherwise remains stiff, not wanting to touch you and make your state worse.

"...then why won't you touch me? Don't you... find me attractive?"

Instantly, he states: "Because the touch of our hands would insult your body."

"You've... you've got to be fucking joking."

"No."

"Is... i-is this some— some kind of fucking joke?"

"...No."

Sadness dissipating, it transforms into incredulity, until you almost laugh. This is unbelievable. It would be endearing if it wasn't so fucking frustrating. You don't know if you want to punch him or kiss him.

"Nikto. Nikto Nikto Nikto. For crying out loud — I WANT you to touch me."

"We're… I'm fucked up. You should have... better."

"Haven't you ever considered that I like my man fucked up?"

Oh God.

Man. Not men. Man.

“You... still should have better.”

You snort in amusement. "What, someone more fucked up than you?"

You roll your eyes, almost out of boredom, but you don't miss how his fists clench, blood boiling as he's silently seething at the mere idea of someone else stealing you. Having you.

“Better is not an option. From my eyes, you're the best man for me out there.”

A wheeze leaves his broken vocal cords — a poor imitation of a human laugh.

But it wasn't a laugh. He isn't laughing. Miraculously, tears collect at the corners of his dehydrated eyes, and he thinks that he might cry.

His voice cracks as he asks uncertainly: “...Best?”

“The very best," you affirm with a smile.

He must be dreaming. This is all a dream. It's everything that he's been dreaming about. Maybe he's dreaming right now, and he'll wake up in a cold bed. Alone.

“Well… maybe I am obsessed with you."

"Maybe?"

"...I am obsessed with you."

"Okay."

"Maybe... we're so possessive that we'll never let you go. Never."

"Never?"

"Never."

“Well,” you begin, clucking your tongue, as if chastising him with the "tsk". “Maybe I like that. Maybe I like being wanted like that.”

"...You won't."

"I do. Otherwise, I wouldn't have even entertained the idea of being around you. If I was a rational person, I'd have ran for the hills. But? I'm not."

"..."

"Now touch me already," you say, unceremoniously snatching his idle hands and guiding them onto your body. "I'm yours. Don't wait for permission like some fucking dog."

You don't have to tell him twice.

"Yes."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

*imma b real w u guys, i had no fucking idea what to name this: ...Oblivious Nikto? ...Ignorant Nikto? ...Delusional Nikto? ...Unaware Nikto?... eventually I settled with "dense", tho i STILL don't know if that's suitable?????

Anyways... sorry for the sort of misleading title??? It was not intentional 🥲. The only reason that it's addressed at the beginning is because I didn't want any misconceptions about what I think of Nikto. No, he is not oblivious, as I gone above and beyond to clarify at the start. 😭

A/N:

To 🪼 anon sending me the asks: I love you. And I love you. Did I mention that I love you? Because I love you. 💫💖✨💖✨🧡🧡💫💖✨💖✨🧡🧡🧡💖✨💖✨💖🧡🧡✨✨✨ (im the monster under your bed, but instead of scaring you, i hold your hand at night 😈... I LOVE UUU/!!!!!!!! 🧡🧡🧡💖✨✨✨💫💖🧡🧡💫✨💫 DONT THINK THAT I DONT SEE YOU 👿👿👿!!!! ggRRGRHGKG FROM NOW ON ALL OF MY NIKTO WORKS ARE A PERSONAL TRIBUTE TO U IDONT EVEN CARE ANYMORE)

Random notes:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO NIKTO, THE UGLY UGLY UGLY MOTHERFUCKER!!!! 🎉���🎉🎊🎉🎊🎊🎊🎊🎁🎁🎁🎂🎁🎁🎉🎊🎊🎉🎊🎊🎊🎊🎉 (yes his bd is tomorrow but i dont CARE!!!!!!)

Nikto and I are both Libras... 😳 OMgogmgomg we are DESTINED to be together!!! 🫣🫣😫💦💦💦💦💧🌊1!1!1!1!!!!! GUys IT WAS FATE! 1!1!1!!!!1!!!!!!!! /j

Ok but /srs, got the Ghostrunner 2 Endless Moto DLC for my birthday and ive never been happier omg 🥹 (going to replay the whole game all over again lmao 💀)

Lastly? Um. I love you all!!! Thanks for 750+ followers???+@?! When did THAT happen? @?!@??????!?? 😭😭😭💫💫💫💫 THANK YOUUU 🫶🫶🫶🫶💖💖💖💖

[spotofimagines]

Dating George Weasley as a Ravenclaw would include...

A/N: This is the longest Would Include I've done, so long there's a read more! But I'm in a Weasley mood lately so here you go!

George Weasley x Ravenclaw reader

He sits and watches you study in the library every now and then.

Sometimes he just wants the company but is too tired to do anything but he doesn't want to interrupt you so he sits slumped in his chair, watching you write or holding your ink for you.

Other times, he will be scribbling doodles for a new sweet Fred wants to sell, heaps of parchment mixing with yours.

He always helps you put your books back when you're finished, traipsing behind you with heavy feet, but helping nonetheless.

You're the first person he comes to for help with pranks. He and Fred come up with the ideas, but you know whether the potion ingredients will work, how to say the spell properly and whether the creature they want to release in the Slytherin common room will destroy the whole school. They really would have been expelled by now if not for you.

You also helped them branch out their business by selling stuff in the Ravenclaw common room since they aren't allowed in there.

You become very popular amongst first-year troublemakers, and the small group of older Ravenclaws set up a space in the corner of the common room to buy the concoctions that will give them more time to finish their essays.

George makes sure none of his antics blow back on you. You work far too hard to have your post-school career knocked because you got too many detentions and failed your exams and he knows it.

Although you are on Filch's bad side for distracting him whilst the twins get their confiscated items from his office. And George's response to that? "Who isn't on his bad side?"

He absolutely rubs it in your face when Gryffindor beats Ravenclaw in a quidditch match, whether you really care or not, that's what he'll be spending an hour doing after he's won.

You have a running deal; you buy him a butterbeer for each match he wins and he buys you dinner each time he loses to Ravenclaw. So far George has had countless drinks. You are yet to have one meal.

He always gives you his things to wear; jumpers, hats, scarves, anything really.

But he will never, absolutely never, wear your Ravenclaw scarf; lord help him you'd think the thing was made of fire by the way he avoids it.

You don't know Oliver Wood very well, but he gave you one of the biggest scoldings you have ever received when George couldn't play a quidditch match because you'd been chasing him in the courtyard with your scarf and he fell over his own feet, landing weirdly on his elbow and hip.

After the stern lecture from Oliver and spending two days in the hospital wing with George and occasionally Fred, who found the whole ordeal hilarious, you didn't tease him with your Ravenclaw items again for a long time. He still avoids that scarf like the plague.

You're the only friend of the twins that Percy can tolerate.

Probably because when you visited The Burrow during Christmas breaks, you talked to him about his work and being head boy without ridiculing him. (And you smack George's arm when he makes rude jokes which Percy quite enjoys seeing).

George sits and listens to you rant when you need it.

He watches as you pace back and forth, words never stopping until you've gotten everything out. Then he just pulls you into a long tight hug before he tries to distract you from your problem.

About half of George's herbology work is written by you, and half his transfiguration work and probably half his care for magical creatures work too if he didn't manage to weasel Charlie into unknowingly writing him an essay every month in his letters.

George 100% tries making a million invisibility products and polyjuice potions to try and sneak into your common room at night, but Hogwarts is much too equipped to let him find success at it.

So you had to find a secret spot in the castle for your late-night rendezvous without teachers or prefects finding out.

At first, it was the girls' lavatories but Myrtle's snooping and laughter made it less than perfect. The ghost whispering in his ear halfway through a makeout session made George far too irritated to go there for a third time.

He leaves you little love notes all over the place, some telling you to keep smiling, some telling you a weird joke, some telling you how smoking you look (and now you definitely have to make sure no one can see these notes except you!).

When you have exams or projects due his love notes get more frequent since he knows you'll be stressed and seeing him less.

He always attempts to eat every meal with you in the great hall. This way you can catch up on what you've both been up to and how your classes have been while he makes sure you remember to take breaks from studying to eat properly.

If things get in the way (*cough* detention *cough*) he will take you out to The Three Broomsticks on the weekend, just the two of you, and maybe Fred, but he swears he told Fred not to come this time!

He told you about the marauders' map a day after finding it because he was certain there was something special about the spare roll of parchment in Filch's office they found under Fred's nose-biting teacups.

It was you nonchalantly guessing there's a spell keeping its contents secret before carrying on reading your book that gave him the best tool he could have wished for.

That's why you're the only other person who knows about the map. You've spent many hours sitting tucked into his side, munching on chocolate frogs and watching people walk around on the paper.

That's how you found out Fred and Angelina were dating but George's excitement to tease them about it more mischievously outweighed your want to learn the details from your friend.

Despite all of George's silliness and trouble, he might just be one of the smartest people you know outside of Ravenclaw.

Not that anyone else believes you when you say it, as his pranks are known to be foolish, but you've seen the way he and Fred create their products and plan their business throughout the years. No one else has the mix of academic and streets smarts to be that successful, you're sure of it.

[kissohee]

wonbin x fem!reader ☆ nsfw ; wc : 1.3k ☆ one-shot mdni! synopsis; after going to a party your friend begged you to go to, you take the opportunity to talk to a really cute boy, who offers you a blunt and his time. warnings; alchohol consumption, weed, unprotected sex, sex on living room couch at a party, sohee's your friend, exhibition, dry humping, crying, shotgunning, hickies, slight hair pulling. a/n; wasnt planning on posting this anytime soon but it was my cuties birthday sooooo consider this a small present, happy belated my melo❣️

You had a love-hate relationship with parties. You either had the time of your life, or you went home wishing you had just died instead. And Sohee knew this, but still proceeded to beg and beg for you to come with him. You had a love-hate relationship with Sohee too, he was always doing this to you.

But yet you still allowed him to drag you to another party, mainly due to the fact that he promised this time it will be good because it was hosted by some really rich kid named Anton. You didn't know Anton, nor did you care, but you've never been to a party in a house 5x the size of yours, and that made you curious. Your main concern was that you wouldn't fit in or make it too obvious that you didn't exactly belong at the party, but that doubt left you the second you entered the house. Almost all the girls were wearing something similar to you, small black dresses, and when no one even bothered to look at you or Sohee, you felt relief. Sohee seemed to know his way around the house, leading you to the kitchen where the island in the middle was covered in all kinds of bottles. When you mixed yourself up a concoction of whatever was still left on the island, you took the opportunity to observe your surroundings while drinking it. It was like every other basic party, just in a bigger house. There were two people making out on the counters across from you, but the sound was drowned out by the insanely loud music playing. After your first drink, you spotted a boy sitting by himself on one of the couches in the big living room. Smoke exiting his mouth every time he took a puff from either a blunt or a joint in his hand, your vision was too bad to see the exact thing he was smoking. He seemed uninterested in the party, very similarly to you. Thinking up ways to make an excuse to talk to him, you decide that even if you were to embarrass yourself, he was far too long into whatever he was smoking to probably care. So you left your spot in the kitchen and made your way over to him, avoiding people in the process. "Party too boring for you?" You looked down at him, a small smile appearing on your face to indicate you were joking.

He looked up at you before taking another puff, "You could say that." He eyed the empty seat next to him, you taking it as a sign to sit down. "My friend is hosting," he motioned outside to a tall boy standing by the pool, you couldn't see him that well but you assumed that was Anton. "You here alone?" "Oh no I'm here with my friend," It wasn't until you said it that you realized that said friend was no where to be seen. You must've lost him when you weren't paying attention. He holds out his hand, a blunt between his fingers. You take it without hesitating, putting the blunt your lips before inhaling the contents in it. "You go to parties often?" He watches you smoke the blunt before you hand it back to him. Thinking up a response, your brain draws blanks when you take a nice good look at him. He looked really good from afar, but even better up close. His dark hair falling over his eyes, and his lips soft. He was about to ask you the question again, but when he saw the way you were looking at him, he instead takes another puff before leaning in to kiss you. He exhaled the smoke directly into your mouth, sending into your lungs. You've never shotgunned weed with anyone before, you didn't quite understand it. But you swear that was the hottest thing anyone has ever done to you. When you go in to kiss him again, he hooks his arm around your legs, pulling you into his lap. In between a few exchanged kisses, he shotguns the last of his blunt into your mouth, putting it down when he realized he was barely getting anything out of it anymore. Your hands explore his neck as he holds your waist. You bite down on his bottom lip softly, and he let out a quiet groan. You take a look at him before kissing his neck, his lips swollen from the kissing, the dark lighting not able to hide the obvious flush that appeared on his cheeks. It wasn't often that you would do something like this at a party, especially not with a stranger, but there was just something about him that couldn't make you stop. Especially when he grinds his hips up into yours without warning, you found yourself letting out a moan against his neck. He took it as a sign to continue, and your focus left the marks on his neck, to grind down on him as well. The loud music slowly drowning out in an attempt to only hear the noises he was making. "Mm.. Could really use you inside of me." You boldly whisper into his ear sending shivers down his back. "You'd like that?" He holds eye contact while guiding your hips against his, softly biting his lip when you moan and nod. He moved his pants just enough to allow him to pull his cock out, and you wrapped your hand around him. Softly playing with his tip while his hands traveled under your dress, toying with the fabric of your panties.

Thankful for your choice of clothing, he was able to simply move your panties to the side, his fingers exploring your wet cunt. It was normal to have sex at parties sure, but you've never done it while also being surrounded by at least 100 other people. Your boldness to do so could easily be blamed on the marijuana and alcohol, and when you sat down on his cock, you felt like your brain was going to explode. Your vision cut out for a few seconds, and when it returned, your eyes had trouble adjusting to the horrible lighting. The boy's face in front of you becoming clear first, and your heart skipped a beat just by looking at him. You knew he was cute, but you might think this is the prettiest boy you've ever seen in your entire life. And not only that, he felt so good inside of you. He was whispering curse words under his breath, hands holding onto your hips but not making the effort to move them. "Oh- fuck.." You weren't sure if it was the weed or the insane pleasure you felt every time you moved against his cock, but you were sure you started crying. When you opened your eye's to look at him, you could also see small tears forming in the corners of his eyes. His hold on your hips tightened, and you found yourself unable to tell him how close you were. Your throat clogged with moans, hands coming up to run through his hair, softly tugging at it making him whimper. The sound heading straight to your core, the tension in the area getting tighter. Your orgasm hitting you before you could even process it, your cum covering his cock. He rides out your high before lifting you off of his cock and back onto his lap, jerking himself a few times before cumming all over your thighs. You don't even bother to clean it off before taking a seat next to him again. He rests his head against the back of the couch, and you mimic him, doing the same thing. "Thanks for that uh-" You hesitated, realizing you had never actually asked for his name. "Wonbin." And you really hope that when you wake up tomorrow, you'll remember it.

[bottombaron]

So after staring into the middle distance for a couple days I'm ready to start discussing some theories I have before the season finale destroys us. They are all very wide-ranging in absurdity but I'll start with the one that I think has the most substance and therefore I think is most likely to happen. Also, I haven’t caught up with the tag yet so if someone already posted these theories, sorry! 

So here is Theory #1, known otherwise as,

Why (I think) I know how Laszlo is going to unfuck Guillermo

The solution, I believe, was stated at the very end of The Roast by Laszlo himself: 

FIRST THOUGHT, BEST THOUGHT

Laszlo has spent weeks deeply committed to solving a problem. He's wasted precious time trying to outthink his first (and probably best) solution – and I'm not just talking about his book sorting. Neither was Laszlo, not entirely at least. I actually do think he was focused at least a little bit on his books because that's kind of what happens when you're stuck on a problem. Your brain wanders to other much less taxing ordeals. Usually, as you solve that smaller problem, you find the solution to the thing you really want to solve. 

So what was Laszlo’s first idea?

All along Laszlo had the answer but Guillermo told him that he didn't think it would work, so Laszlo just didn't pursue it further. (We don't even know if Laszlo knows the circumstances of the test and why it didn't work. Just that Guillermo didn't approve that idea.) So then Laszlo wasted valuable time and energy trying to ~Science~ this problem instead of using his true best skill that was showcased in episode one of the season: his charm. His powers of persuasion (the classical art of bullshitting, as it were) is his true super power. (Sadly, it’s not science. He doesn't really have the patience for science tbh).

But, no, rly, he should bullshit his way thru this. That's what he does best. He can outthink Nandor easily. (well….maybe. with the time spent on his experiments, Nandor could have the advantage of several weeks, if not months, to figure things out beforehand, as dense as he is) He should concoct a bullshit so impenetrable that it unfucks Guillermo from Derek and refucks him to Nandor. 

Further foreshadowing of this you ask?

(this whole season is dedicated to ‘plans’ it’s crazy how much A Plan pops up. maybe i’ll dedicate a separate post to collecting them all)

But alas! The test that The Baron did proved this wouldn’t work, right!?

Well here's some free additional theories to how Laszlo could solve that hiccup:

1. Laszlo figures out (and solves) the reason why The Baron/Neighbor test didn't work in the first place.

There could be any number of factors of why The Baron's neighbor blew up. It could be that The Baron is all that more powerful than the average vampire and so his bite gives an extraordinary fill of uh...vampire-ness? and Derek, being so young and weak, doesn't do much at all. Maybe it has something to do with The Sire. If The Baron was turned by the first being ever affected by vampirism, then maybe that vampirism is slowly depleted the further down the line you go. Derek is probably very far removed from The Sire which means he cannot transfer much of that affliction onwards. Nandor, if he was turned by The Baron (one removed from The Sire) or someone similar, explains how he is so powerful, hopefully tho he wouldn’t have too much power to possibly overwhelm Guillermo's half-a-virgin body (and yes I did like how kinky that sounded when I wrote it). It doesn't really matter the exact reason as long as Laszlo can convince Guillermo to try it and he has a relatively decent chance of surviving it. (convincing Guillermo to go thru with this plan overall is probably going to be the most trouble actually. you don't easily forget a guy exploding in your face)

2. Something to do with the experiments. (or the Nadja’s bait-and-switch tactic she used to catch The Baron/Guillermo from The Roast)

I have a larger theory on the experiments and why I think there's still one in the house, but that's for later. During The Roast, Nandor is pretty convinced that the mutant Guillermo is the real one (despite one pretty big glaring error: he has no glasses. none of the experiments need glasses...), Laszlo might have been testing this theory by having The Baron bring his body to Nandor in the first place in order to see how convinced Nandor would be by it. This might be enough for Laszlo to try to use a duplicate of Guillermo for Nandor to bite. The duplicate will not explode (probably?) due to only being a hybrid of Guillermo's blood and an animal…or something(one) else pretending to be Guillermo… (and if it does, maybe Laszlo plans to shoo Nandor out of the line of sight in order for him not to see. And then you get the angst and drama of Guillermo literally using a scapegoat to take his 'sin' despite his reluctance to hurt innocent creatures)

But will the fake Guillermo actually convince Nandor? It's hard to say, and I love that threat of Nandor realizing that it's not the true Guillermo he bit and feeling even more betrayed. Maybe Laszlo concocts a whole ambiance to the event in order to sell the lie. It has to be special right?

So there's dim lights and candles and (fake) Guillermo is laid out in Nandor's coffin and there's this whole presentation element to it that was left out of Guillermo's turn with Derek. It's more like the fantasy that Guillermo probably always had of being turned by Nandor. It plays out like a romantic love scene. But Guillermo is asleep or has his eyes closed and won't talk or maybe only makes small noises and Nandor's very upset abt this. Laszlo is probably hovering too and Nandor doesn't like that either but Laszlo insists he must be there and it's now it's all awkward and wrong, kind of like how Guillermo felt before he was bit by Derek. (now it’s like Nandor is the bull cucking Laszlo in front of him) Nandor goes thru with it and bites Guillermo and is rushed by Laszlo so he doesn't get to drink or drink too much of his blood and there's fumbling with trying to get his own blood into Guillermo's unresponsive mouth.

Or maybe Nandor finds out because Guillermo's blood is disgusting and he either knows or had hoped it would be good tasting*. or that Guillermo just lays there and there's no reciprocation of desire. But maybe he just doesn't find out and once it's over he expects to be able to lay with Guillermo or otherwise be there for his turning but Laszlo quickly rushes him out of his own room and closes the door behind him.

So now Nandor feels all the same despondency that Guillermo had felt with his turn with Derek. Like this big special moment he's built up for years was a complete dud. Like he missed out on something truly magical and he doesn't know why. And Guillermo will feel like shit too, for tricking Nandor. Laszlo isn't happy either. But it worked and they all just have to live with it. Meanwhile this act that was meant to make Nandor's and Guillermo's bond stronger, only serves to create even greater distance between them. 

Re*: evidence that Guillermo's blood might taste 'different':

3. ANYWAYS. that was theory two. lets talk about theory 3.

WITCHES.

I actually think there's good reason Laszlo has divorced Science and is now going to have an affair with Magic. It's exactly when Nadja says 'has this hex turned me into an uggo' that Laszlo comes to life and exclaims ‘that's it!’. If science wasn't the solution, maybe magic is. It's not like they don't know some witches, or that, at least to a degree, witches actually have some power. (specifically the power to look, vaguely, like someone else.) I'm not certain of the specifics but there's a chance Laszlo could be turning to magic to solve his problems. This would also bring Nadja's storyline more relevant and in focus for the season. The thing I like the most about this theory? Episode 9 describes being invited to a manor owned by someone named Morrigan. Morrigan is a Celtic goddess of war and fate that was probably the inspiration for Arthurian legendary sorceress, Morgan le Fay. (Laszlo's name may also be connected to Arthurian legend, Lancelot. but that probably doesn't mean anything.)

So! That's my three extra theories attached to this one big theory that Laszlo is going to go 'back to the beginning' and use his first thought to solve this. Go with his gut. His first solution was his best solution, all along.

…He simply needs to convince Nandor to turn Guillermo.

The, uh, details of this plan may be a lot more complicated than it suggests.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

"Sometimes it's better to be alone."

I was so hype to write these!! Family dramas are my favorite flavor of angst :3c They should attend group therapy together, I think it would be beneficial to everyone—

I would recommend reading this interaction beforehand, as that previous post leads into Rollo first meeting Ortho and gives more context for how these headcanons start off.

A Big Ignihyde Welcome to Rollo!

Unlike the other dorm leaders thus far, Idia has yet to extend Rollo an invitation to Ignihyde. It leaves Rollo with no choice but to confront the boy himself. (The sooner he gets these courtesy calls over with, the sooner he can be on his way out of this hellhole.)

Tracking Idia down proves to be a more difficult task than Rollo initially thought it would be. Idia’s rarely seen in public, nor does he allow others into his room. On those few occasions where Rollo makes a beeline for his floating tablet, Idia automatically mutes him and directs the tablet to retreat!!

It’s only through a chance encounter with Ortho that Rollo learns of loopholes in Idia’s schedule: he’s always physically present on exam days and Board Game Club meetings. This leads to Rollo insisting that he will join Ortho to “pick up” his brother from that day’s meeting. His real goal? To chew Idia out for all the trouble he has caused both him and his innocent little brother!

When Rollo shows up at the Board Game Club’s base, Idia stands up so abruptly that he sends a board and its pieces scattering across the floor. Thrusting a pale, shaking finger at the doorway, he manages to stutter out, "R-R-ROLLO-SHI?!?! Wh-What are you doing here?!"

"He told me he was looking forward to speaking with you, Nii-san! I brought him with me so you two could spend some quality time together," Ortho reports cheerily. He glances at their guest with a smile. "Hehe, so that’s your name?"

Their guest stiffens for a second--and Idia braces himself, expecting a tirade--but to his shock, Rollo instead gives a small smile. "That is correct. As you can see, your brother and I are already... acquainted with one another." Idia's eyes bulge, his jaw dropping. "Wh-Who are you and what have you done with the real Rollo-shi?! He’s way too introverted and rage-filled to want to associate with…”

Before Idia can finish his statement, Rollo yanks him (“Excuse us,” to Ortho) into an isolated corner of the emptying classroom. With a harsh glare, he launches into a lecture about “how dare he leave his brother unsupervised” and “isn’t he aware of the sorts of hooligans that run rampant around campus” and “what if he were to be hurt due to your negligence”.

Idia shrinks further and further into himself as Rollo'a anger builds. He passes a helpless look at Ortho in the doorway, who just smiles and waves back. W-Why is Ortho endorsing this?! Idia's gaze flickers back to Rollo, whose face is contorting as he continues to chide him. Ortho, Rollo, Ortho, Rollo...

A realization sinks in, and a grin slowly forms on Idia's mouth. His confidence returns to him. “Hihihihi! I get it now. You’re big mad and flying off the handle 'cuz you can with me. You can't do the same with Ortho. You don't want to show this side of yourself to him. That's it, isn't it? He reminds you of..."

Rollo's eyes are dark and filled with a silent sorrow. It mixes with his anger, creating a far deadlier concoction. "You have no right to speak of him!!" he hisses.

"Heh. I'm right," Idia says smugly. "... Don't blow a fuse. I don't care about your family affairs or your past or whatever. Just don't butt into mine. And if this is about doxxing you to Ortho, I haven't." Rollo's eyes narrow in skepticism. "LMAO, not for your sake," Idia clarifies, jerking his chin at Ortho. "For his. He'd never stop worrying about me if I dropped the bomb about your inner chunnibyou.”

"You're lucky you even still have a brother to…" Rollo's words catch in his throat, and he forces them back down. "You have no clue how lucky you truly are, Shroud-kun."

"Weird, cuz I don't feel very lucky with you breathing down my neck. What'd I do to earn your ire, huh?"

“Stop!” Ortho declares, suddenly popping up between the two older boys. He glances eagerly between Idia and Rollo. “Did you two have fun catching up? We should head back to Ignihyde to hang-out now~"

"Huh?!" The third years are not happy with this arrangement—but with Ortho grinning at them like that, shooting off all kinds of ideas for what they can do together, neither of them can say "no" either.

Entering Ignihyde, Rollo is automatically put off by the cold, sterile environment of it. Lights and screens blip everywhere, everything is straight and geometric, metal and circuits. They’ve embraced the technology of the modern era, he laments. No respect for tradition whatsoever.

They stop by Ortho’s room first upon his insistence (he wanted to pick up a game or two to bring along to his big bro’s place!). The young boy flings the doors open, revealing pristine living quarters. Rollo is very impressed, even going so far as to give Ortho a stiff pat on the head for his efforts at staying meticulous.

E-Eh? I’m not dreaming this, am I? Idia’s heads practically bulge out of his skull. Rollo-shi seriously smiled and showed some sort of affection to someone else?! What’s with this absurd gap moe? C-Could it be that… n-not even Rollo-shi can withstand Ortho’s cutness…? W2G Ortho!! Your power levels are unrivaled!!!

Out of the corner of his eye, Rollo spots a few wooden figurines lined up on a shelf. There’s no mistaking it; those are the souvenirs Idia brought back for Ortho from the City of Flowers. For some reason, seeing them makes his heart palpitate uncomfortably.

Even stranger, there are odd tubes and wires in plain sight. Rollo wonders what they’re for—and his thoughts go to Ortho and his strangely metallic body, the lights on him that flash. His strange way of talking, the inhuman nature of him. Why does he appear this way? Rollo wants to know, but he thinks it rude to ask directly of the boy, so he has to default to pouncing in a moment alone with Idia.

Ortho retrieves a copy of the game he wanted (though he hides it from Rollo’s view). Off to Idia’s room they go!! (Idia nervously bites his nails at the prospect of allowing Rollo inside his mancave; Rollo snippily reminds Idia to trim his nails like a normal person would.)

Idia nervously pushes the door to his room open (every second of it seems to drag on, only prolonging his suffering). Rollo stares at what unfolds before him: cardboard boxes with games spilling out, an unmade bed, books and cables littering the floor… His expression crumples as if to say, Damn, bitch. You live like this? but Rollo (generously) only presses his mouth into a thin line.

He instantly tries to go about cleaning Idia’s mess (while simultaneously chewing him out for it). Idia trails after Rollo while wailing about the disruption of his “organized chaos”. (“Noooo, not my mint condition signed copy of the Sled Over Heels manga anthology!!” and, “Don’t touch that!! It’s a super exclusive one-of-a-kind Premo! T-shirt I pulled in a lotto…!”)

Rollo finds a pair of headphones with… cat ears… on them. “What is the purpose of this?” he asks of Idia, who looks absolutely mortified. (“I-It’s for the kawaii aesthetic! You wouldn’t get it…” ) “I don’t see the point of it. Felines are vermin all the same.” Well, that sets Idia off. They get into an argument about the pros and cons of cats.

Idia rushes to grab his most obscene materials snd hurriedly shoves them under his bed. Rollo obviously notices, but makes no effort to tear them away from Idia (in case poor Ortho is exposed to a glimpse of those lascivious materials). Instead he settles for chastising Idia again for his “impure” tastes.

Once everything has been (sort of) tidied up, Idia is nudged to offer their guest food! … But all that’s available are candies, Doritos chips, Mountain Dew soda, and energy drinks. (There’s also instant ramen, but they’d have to boil water for it.) Rollo wrinkles his nose and starts to criticize Idia’s diet. “L-Like yours is any better!” Idia retorts. “All you do is inhale croissants and grapes like a madman! That’s hardly a balanced build!”

Rollo sits by kneeling on the floor, which makes Idia’s skin crawl. “It feels like you’re going to start praying for the power of God and anime to be on your side,” he grumbles.

They attempt to play various card and tabletop games, with Ortho as their audience (if he were to play, he says, it would be unfair to them both). As Idia keeps sweeping Rollo and (loudly) gloating about his wins, the tension in the room builds. Rollo doesn’t care about wins or losses, but Idia’s attitude is most certainly rubbing him the wrong way. Ortho cheers both of them on regardless!

Ortho pulls put the game he had retrieved from his room: it’s a copy of Star Rogue! “It’s a classic. Nii-san and I used to play it all the time. I think you’ll like it too.” He pops it in and hands the controller to Rollo, then the other to his brother. Enter the second round of Rollo being obliterated 💀

… Rollo begrudgingly finds that it feels therapeutic to button mash to shoot down the final boss. (He pictures it as his mortal enemy, Malleus Draconia, and relishes in its fiery end as the boss disappears into a starry void.)

When the games become old, Ortho suggests a movie! He happily shares about his experiences in the Film Research Club—how he provided the special effects for their last production, and how he played the part of the villain in the one before that. It’s been a great help with understanding the full scope of human emotion, so maybe watching a film together can help them all come together as friends!

There’s a bit of squabbling over what they’ll watch. Idia wants to check out the live action adaptation of Two Piece, a swashbuckling high-seas adventure based on a popular manga series—and if Rollo has to choose something to watch with Idia, it would be a documentary to hopefully instill some sense of culture in the heathen.

In the end, they let Ortho make the decision (since it’s clear they can’t agree to anything). He picks out a horror movie—because, according to him, his data says that humans easily confuse high adrenaline feelings with like fear and intimacy! It’s the most effective way to get his big bro and Rollo to be besties!

Idia tries to enjoy the movie but it keeps being undercut every five minutes with Rollo griping about how “unrealistic” certain details are or complaining about how they probably used magic (ick) to achieve some special effects. “You’re ruining the suspension of disbelief!!” Idia hisses at him.

Whenever there’s a terrifying moment, Idia has a habit of screaming and clinging to whatever’s closest to him. That, unfortunately, is Rollo today. He tries to counter by shoving Idia off, but the nerd’s grip is surprisingly iron clad when reinforced by fear.

When the movie is over with, Ortho excitedly asks what their thoughts on it were. (He loves leading the film analysis talks in Film Research Club!) Idia starts to mumble something, but Rollo speaks over him to express that he thinks it was “an affront to nature” for the mad scientist in the movie to have robbed graves to reanimate his son. “He just couldn’t let the dead rest in peace, could he…? No, he went and selfishly desecrated the memories of a boy long since passed. How despicable!!”

Idia falls suspiciously silent at the comment. “… M-Maybe… he just really missed him,” Idia tries. “and that’s the scientist’s way of grieving and coping with the circumstances. He did what he could to bring his son back.”

“He trifled with something he could not understand. A man so arrogant as to play God,” Rollo spat. “His son is dead. Gone forever. To attempt to revive him, to try and turn back the clock…! It is utterly futile, and it has resulted in an abomination walking upon the earth, trapped between life and death with no end in sight!”

“Th-That’s not…! Who are YOU to act all high and mighty? Missing a loved one so much you’d do anything in your power to bring them back… I-It’s no different than pulling some end-of-the-world level bullcrap in their name!”

“EXCUSE ME?! You take back those words this instant!!” (“Make me!!”) Both boys are shouting now, each fiercely defending their own stance. Neither of them even pay attention to Ortho, who’s trying desperately to calm them both down. Their feelings are far too hot, too frenzied.

Rollo has never seen Idia show this much gall—not since that night atop the bell tower, not since Idia had spouted off all those accusations, lamenting that they were one and the same. It’s almost as though…

“Say whatever you want about me, but leave Ortho out of this!!”

At Idia’s exclamation, everything clicks into place. A deceased younger brother, the sorrow Idia had shed, the claim of their similarities, Ortho’s robotic form… Oh, god. Horror seizes Rollo’s heart, and he feels sick to his stomach. “You…!! What have you done…?”

Hot anger erupts like a plume of lava. Rollo, shaking like a madman and his expression grave, clutches onto Idia’s shoulders and vigorously shakes him. If looks could kill, Idia would already be a corpse by now. He’s frozen with fear and terror, unable to so much as summon any magic to fend Rollo off. The other boy is shouting in his face, spit flecking Idia. “What have you done, Shroud-kun?!”

BZZZT!! A strange sound suddenly fires off, and the air is warm and filled with the smell of smoke. Rollo and Idia slowly turn their heads—there’s Ortho, looking none too pleased. In the wall just a little above both third years’ heads is a hole, courtesy of a certain robot’s laser beam.

“… That was a warning shot,” Ortho says, glaring intensely at their guest. The scornful look breaks Rollo’s heart—the look of a betrayed brother. The accusatory words Idia uttered to him on that fateful night resound like haunting bells in his kind: “Do you think your brother would want this? Do you think he would be happy knowing you’ve done all of this in his name?”

Rollo releases Idia, who scrambles over to his younger sibling with a squeak of relief. “O-Ortho, you’re my savior!!” he happily sobs. But the robot isn’t looking at Idia.

“Rollo Flamme-san,” Ortho says in a resolute tone, “I definitely won’t forgive you if you hurt my brother!”

“Your brother?” Rollo can’t help but scoff. “That man? Don’t make me laugh. He’s nothing of the sort. He is a usurper, having dredged you up from the Underworld and stuffed your soul into an unrecognizable body…!!”

“He is my brother, and I’m his brother. We know each other. We care for each other. That’s enough for us.” Rollo’s brow furrows at the response given to him, spoken as if it were so easily the truth. His will cracks, his shoulders slump. Again, he has lost to a NRC student. Again, he’s defeated. Again, he has nothing left.

A new heat rises up, this time to his eyes. He hangs his head, furiously swiping away at his traitorous sockets. How dare they—how dare they decide to have a moment of weakness now! “Rollo-shi…” Idia awkwardly starts, but Rollo snaps at him. “Shut up, shut up! I don’t want your pity!!” (Idia was actually going to say something trolly and insensitive, so maybe it was for the best that he didn’t continue.)

An uncomfortable silence falls upon the room. Silent tears dribble down Rollo’s face. He wipes them away, but new leaks spring up to replace them. So many emotions be has repressed are coming out in full force. He’s lost control of himself, bringing on a new wave of shame.

Rollo composes himself as best he can (which isn’t a lot) and forces out something resembling calm. “… I will see myself out now. I apologize for exposing you to my unseemly display.” He isn’t even able to take a single step before he is stopped.

“Rollo Flamme-san!” Ortho calls out. Rollo looks back at the boy who is no longer mad. “I think… I understand what you must be feeling. You’re scared and angry and full of guilt. I know because nii-san and I have felt the same before. We wanted to tear the world down and rebuild it into a new, shiny utopia. That was your dream too, wasn’t it? For us, a world where we can be heroes. For you, a world where you and your brother can be at peace. Grief can drive mourners to do unbelievable things. That’s why I exist—and that’s why it’s not too late for you to restart. I think your brother would agree with me.”

Rollo looks entirely taken aback by the young boy’s speech. Even Idia is flabbergasted by what he’s saying. “O-Ortho?! What are you saying… How do you know about all of that?!”

“Huh? I didn’t tell you? I heard about it from Deuce Spade-san, Epel Felmier-san, and Sebek Zigvolt-san!” (Of course it was from the blabbermouth first year normies! Idia cringes.) As it turns out, Ortho knew all along but made the conscious choice to not let on until now.

“But then why keep up the charade?” Rollo demands, confused. To that, Ortho replies, “I thought it would be more difficult to forgive and to give you a second chance if that information was at the forefront of my memory banks.”

“Second chance…? You would grant that to a person who has knowingly attempted to backstab your beloved brother multiple times? Feh, you’re naive, Ortho-kun. Far too naive. Your ‘brother’ should have built you with more skepticism in your programming. Some nasty misfit might come along and commit an atrocity right under your nose, then take advantage of your innocence to get away with the crime.”

The boy shakes his head. “… That’s not true. I’ve run the numbers. There is a non-zero chance that you can change, Rollo Flamme-san. Nii-san could turn his 0.01% to 100%. He returned from the brink of despair. I know you could too.”

Ortho’s words strike him. It’s as though Rollo himself is the body of a great bell, and Ortho, the clapper rattling against him, producing a great, full-bodied sound resonating within him. Hope chases away the darkness clouding his heart, drying his tears.

Idia, Rollo realizes, truly is very lucky to have someone like Ortho by his side. Rollo lets out a bitter chuckle. “… Hmph, what childish, comforting sentiments. It must be nice to see the world in such a way.”

He feels like he should be mad. He wants to be mad. But he can’t be, not at Ortho. Ortho, who now looks at Rollo with such sad eyes, so big and shiny they almost seem wet with tears—how can a robot have such a heart, such a very human soul?

“Shroud-kun!!” Rollo barks, making Idia jump. “You had better appreciate and cherish him. Do you understand me? The instant I catch wind of you mistreating Ortho-kun… There will be dire consequences in store for you.”

“H-Huh?! Where’s this protectiveness for Ortho suddenly coming from?! He’s MY little brother, so back off! Find your own party members!!”

“It only makes sense to remove a child in a toxic environment and replace them in a far better one. I’ve witnessed the perverse content and entertainment you consume. It’s no sort of example to be setting for the youth.”

“Dude, are you seriously shaming me for my interests? I won’t stand for it!! Hell hath no wrath like an otaku scorned! I’m so gonna defend my waifus to the bitter end!!”

“Hehe!l Ortho giggles to himself. “It looks like Rollo Flamme-san and nii-san are getting along after all.”

“WE ARE NOT!!”

[seb-reads31]

I absolutely loved the shy reader post, it's exactly what I was hoping for. Also implied fem! for Vaggie is perfectly fine and makes sense, Nifty was a good touch but it's so true I'm not mad😅 and g/n for the rest is a win for everyone, who wouldn't want them to experience these women confessing their feelings. I'd love to see part two with the women of heaven. Sadly no Carmilla pet names yet but I'll let you know if I think of any.

Cautions - SPOILERS, DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN'T WATCHED ALL OF SEASON ONE, if you are fine with spoilers or already know what's happening feel free to continue <33 ngl Sera was a bit tricky but we're cooking 🍳, cursing (duh), possibly ooc Lute, let me know if there are any others!

Genre - Fluff

Type - head canons

Comments - Hey hey! I'm so glad you loved them 🥹 From what I've seen online (I'm not active on Vivian's Twitter so I'm really just taking the word of others) that Vaggie is canonically lesbian and that Nifty is canonically straight, so that's why I did the respective genders. If I'm wrong, absolutely anyone correct me and show me what Viv has said otherwise 😭 But anyways, here are the heavenly women!~ (also, Lute might be a little ooc, I think it's okay though. Please give me some tips for characters with her personality 🙏🙏)

Sweet, shy thing~ Pt 2

Here's part one!

Emily

- You and Emily have been friends since you both came into existence

- Basically attached at the hip!

- Several times other angels had assumed you two were a couple, but Emily always corrected them that you were just friends. (You were always too flushed and shy to say anything)

- However, one day, when Emily was about to correct another angel, she hesitated

- She doesn't know why, but this time, she didn't want to correct them

- She thought about it long and hard that night, laying awake in her bed, wondering why she hesitated on telling the angel that you two were.. she can't even say it??

- That morning, she ever so groggily walked up to Sera, and asked her what was happening to her

- Sera chuckled, then explained that Emily might have a crush on you

- Neither you or Emily had ever been in a relationship before, you never really needed to. You always had each other, and that's all you both wanted

- Atleast.. that was all she wanted. Now she wants to be.. more to you than just your bestest friend

- She wants your little hangouts together to be romantic sometimes, for you two to hold hands

- The realization of her feelings for you has definitely brought out such cute and sappy thoughts Emily never thought would cross her mind

- She tells you around 4 months before the meeting with Charlie in heaven

- She had finally concocted the perfect plan to confess

- She brought you to a meadow outside of the more city parts of heaven. It was your little hiding space away from prying eyes (mostly.)

- When you arrived, she already had made a flower crown

- But the flowers she used weren't merely chosen at random, no no no. These flowers meant something, and that something was her feelings.

- You and her had studied the language of flowers together, just a passing hobby, and because it was so much fun!

- She used daisies, which means true love and new beginnings. Sun flowers, meaning adoration and loyalty, peace, love, and happiness. Some baby's breath, while used in bouquets for baby showers can also mean everlasting love and innocence. And finally, a daffodil, which means devotion.

- With all of these meanings in mind, you stared at the flower crown, practically screaming her feelings for you as she blushed, her hands shaking slightly as she looks away, silently waiting for your answer

- She doesn't look back up to you until you gently grab her shaking hands, steadying them

- Once they begin shaking less, you grab the crown, and place it on top of your head, a blush spreading across your face as your hands reach back down to hers, giving them a soft, reassuring squeeze

- No words were spoken, but that's all she needed. You returned her feelings, and you wanted to be with her, as her partner.

Seraphim

- She's a very reserved angel.

- She has to be, she ranks very highly in heaven. (Whether she earned her position or was created for it I have no idea but lets just say she had to work for it for my sake.) She worked too hard to get this position, any slips would ruin everything she's done.

- However, lately, she's been a bit more sleepy eyed, and yawning far too much. Michael, (I legit know nothing about the ranks in heaven, correct me 😭) her boss, has noticed and decided to assign her an assistant. That being you! Good job 👍

- As much as she appreciates Michael looking out for her, an angel of her ranking shouldn't need to depend on someone else, and while she does try to argue this with him, he isn't budging.

- She's a bit.. how do I say this, cold and bitchy to you? To begin with atleast

- She doesn't appreciate that she's being forced to have an assistant.

- So, she gives you harder tasks than you can probably handle. And she doesn't really bother to get to know you. Just that you're doing the work she assigned to you and returning it to her when she expects it

- After a while, she starts to warm up to you. And how long is that "while" you may be asking? Around.. 200-300 years....

- Y e a h, she doesn't warm up to you that quickly. But after those years, you can notice her warming up to you, and finally showing some decency of asking about your day

- Which starts your little conversations here and there. Mostly just talking about your days, funny stories, or talking about the work you both do, and some hobbies here and there

- You two grow closer, eventually starting to socialize outside of work, and you finally get to see Sera relax, no longer tense and stressed, but instead a less tense and much happier version of your boss

- The moment she realizes she fell for you was when one day she was looking forwards to seeing you at work.. but you didn't show up

- She was.. sad? She didn't fully understand why until she was reading later that day, a romance novel. It was one about lovers separated due to extreme weather, unable to see each other. The book described the longing both felt, and how sad they were being unable to contact each other.

- She immediately recognized those feelings as the ones she felt when you weren't at work.

- You returned to work a few days later, on top of your desk was a large bouquet of flowers, generally meaning good health and happiness as well as sprinkles of friendship here and there, as well as a note

- "My dear assistant, I thank you for taking care of me and assisting me with my paper work all these years. I have no words to thank you for everything you've done, despite how I treated you when you first began. In order to thank you, and try to apologize for my harshness, I wish to take you out to dinner. My treat, of course. Sincerely, Seraphim."

- And then you two loved happily ever after, the end <333

Lute

- She uh

- She doesn't like you

- I'm being so real

- Kinda like Nifty, she needs someone tough enough to match her or atleast get close

- ...is what she used to think

- HA I GOT YOUR ASSES-

- But because she's the way she is she doesn't like you at first

- Let's say you're a medic for the exterminators cause they get injured sometimes (just go with it)

- On occasion Lute would have to visit you because she got too carried away during the extermination or while training (do they train?? 😭)

- She didn't like going to you but she followed the rules as much as she could. This being one of them

- After so many visits to your office for various injuries she grew fond of you, her thoughts occasionally drifting to you, causing more injuries so she would have to see you again

- After several years of going in this cycle, she finally decided to ask if you two could hangout outside of your clinic

- You agreed, of course. And from then on you two became closer

- Now, to how Lute asks you out.. it's very blunt and straight forward

- It almost sounds like a demand

- "I like you, I want to go on a date with you at [this time] and at [this place]." With a bright red blush on her face 🤭

- Now, she immediately walked away after she said that because she was so embarrassed. So she didn't know if you actually accepted the date or not

- Lute only realized this after she got to the place she asked/told you to meet her at.

- So she was panicking severely, preparing herself to call Adam as a backup so she didn't look like she was lonely, and to blame it on Adam's careless attitude as to why she was waiting for so long.

- However, just as she was about to call him, you walked in, dressed nicely and a blush covering your face

- Lute.. was ecstatic. You actually came?? Even though you're so??? Shy??

- You both had fun talking over dinner, and after she walked you home, leaving a miss on your cheek before walking back to her place, only looking back once to see a deep blush spread across your face at the peck.

[caeli0306]

chapter 21 of castles crumbling (aka Tales from the Airport Bathroom extended version) now posted!

Chapter 21: Late Night Rendezvous is now up on AO3: READ HERE

I thought I couldn't write a chapter longer than the last VSGTSAS chapter and I was clearly wrong. I was staring at this so long that I'm not even sure that it makes sense anymore but hopefully it does! Anyways roll tide please enjoy this 23.5k word chapter/monstrosity that my imagination concocted.

Summary:

Violet should already be dead. People whispered about her weak body and how she would never live up to her family's martial accomplishments. Violet rose above them all, however, fighting and killing to survive the Navarrian Intelligence Agency's brutal BASGIATH training protocol. Now, people whisper about Violet's swift ascension through the NIA's ranks as one of its most valuable operatives and assassins. The whispers don't matter to Violet: She has her own agenda, and it's a dangerous one - finding out what happened to her father.

But one mission changes everything: Suddenly, Violet finds herself in the crosshairs when she stumbles on information Navarre wants buried, and the country she fought for begins to turn on her. Violet knows too much, but she's determined to do what she does best: Survive. Her only hope is the son of the man who they say killed her brother, but their partnership is far from assured. Some grudges run deep, and trust is a currency too valuable to give freely. Xaden realizes Violet may be the key to everything, but with enemies seen and unseen closing in on all sides, the consequences of failure are deadly.

===

I forget all about stealth and sneaking and take off in an all-out sprint. I palm another dagger in my empty hand. Low-lying branches scratch at my face as I run, but I pay them no mind. Faster. I have to move faster.

This entire year, I’ve managed to get away with only killing the people who try to kill me first. The old Violet hangs on by the tips of her fingers, screaming at me in the form of my irrational decision-making, even as I’ve become more comfortable with the bloodshed and death with every life I’ve taken. I shouldn’t be running towards this person, in the vain hope that I can save their life without having them turn on me the second it benefits them. I should be thinking about my own self-preservation. People die here every day – what’s one more?

But I can’t turn that part of me off. I can’t ignore the small voice in the back of my head that tells me it’s wrong to turn a blind eye. And that small voice is probably going to be what gets me killed, even if it’s not today.

The trees thin ahead, giving way to a cliff that drops hundreds of feet, the same one Devera trained me to climb. As I get closer to the tree line, I see two people, one standing over the other.

I skid to a stop as soon as I can make out their faces.

It's Jack. And the person he’s standing over is Nadine, one of my squad mates.

Fuck.

[lemon-russ]

-trips- ah fuck no I spilled character development juice all over him oh god oh no--

throwing out there this is pre-warped but post guilliman Cato, so I'm not using vanilla flavor character development I'm making my own bastardized concoction

Part 7/ ???

1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7 :: 7.5 :: 8 :: 9 :: 10

Cato Sicarius x F!Reader

(Cato POV 3rd person though)

CW: Vague alluding to sex and mild injuries, not much going on this time

Summary: Cato has to go talk to Dad about almost killing the family pet mortal Guilliman's favorite diplomat

word count: 2,041

He froze as she pressed her lips to his. This… was not like the other kiss. That one was frustration and need and honesty a little trying to make her stop talking. This was…. confusing.

He tentatively kisses her back, putting a hand on her hip. She tastes like salt from her tears, but also… sweet? And her lips are very soft. He didn't notice all this when he was just focused on getting inside her earlier.

By the throne, it is getting very hard to ignore the feelings strangling his dual hearts. He is above these distractions, he doesn't need to be doing this- not to mention he was directly going against the codex. So why isn't he stopping?

She pulls away and he follows her mouth for a second, leaning in before she gently puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him. He frowns. His face felt hot and strange, and his hearts felt like they started beating out of sync from each other. She was smiling at him, cheeks streaked with tears, and dirt and dust from the day.

The thunderhawk lurches a bit as it landed, and he held her steady- he was going to scold her about not buckling in but he remembered he was the one who unbuckled her. Whoops. He composes himself, standing and affixing his helmet quickly to hide whatever was happening to his face as the doors to the ship slid open to the hangar.

Guilliman stood there, looking concerned, face etched in a deep frown. “Ah, Captain, Ambassador- thank goodness you’re well,” he said, relief in his voice. The Ambassador looked a bit flustered, and he realized she’d forgotten they were landing soon. He almost forgot she was a little empty headed for a moment.

She smiles awkwardly, tugging his cape around her neck and shoulders a bit tighter. Emperor, she looked a mess. He grimaces at the bite marks he could see her trying to hide. Whoops again. He's not even sure how she could explain those, and hopes she can get into high collared uniform shirt quickly.

Guilliman reaches out a hand to help her down the ramp, leading her gently away. Cato follows a step behind, mind whirring and heart pounding. He still had the matter of having to make up for this mess to his father. He had only recently been returned to them, a miracle and savior to the Imperium. Cato was lucky enough to be an ultramarine and a legendary fighter, so he was often around him, and he dreaded disappointing his Primarch. He frowns nervously, watching his lord carefully lead the diplomat by a chivalrous hand, making sure she doesn't misstep in those ridiculous heels.

His father was particularly fond of the ambassador, hand-picking her for the role. When not off on a mission, she was usually somewhere near him, acting as an assistant- not like a serf, but like a secretary of sorts? He's not actually sure what she does outside of talking to people, he realizes. But she's always doing something, and orbiting Guilliman while she does it.

That's the whole reason he was sent to guard her, after all. As much as it was to force Cato to do something besides pestering him, Guilliman also wanted the renowned Cato Sicarius to guard his pet mortal.

And he'd failed. He supposes technically she did get home alive, but she was a bit battered, and she was taken prisoner and put in danger on his watch. He feels his stomach sink as he watches how his Primarch is fretting over the small woman, inspecting her injuries and looking like he was one stumble away from just picking her up and carrying her to the apothecary himself.

Fuck, he sighs to himself. On top of it all, he lost his mind and slept with her in a cave, while she was in mortal danger, and marked her up doing it. He prays to the Emperor that she covers for him about the bites and hickeys. She would, right? She likes him. He thinks. He thinks he might like her, maybe? He doesn't hate her as much as he thought he did.

He lets out a frustrated sigh, thankfully muffled by his helmet. This was the worst. All of this is why astartes aren't supposed to form relationships. Another rule he'd broken because of this stupid woman. And what did it get her? Pampered by his father, while he watches and dreads and feels like he might vomit with nerves.

They reach the apothecary and Guilliman leads her in, talking with the workers and then talking softly to her. She looks so tired. How long since she slept? He scowls at himself, he forgot baseline humans need sleep constantly. The apothecaries take her inside and Guilliman turns to him. “Sicarius. Shall we talk in my office?”

Cato lets out an anxious breath. “Of course, my lord.”

__________________________________

He stands in a clean uniform before his father's large desk, at attention. Guilliman stands behind the desk, frowning at him a bit. Emperor, he knew it, he knew he'd be punished for this-

“I'm sorry, Cato.” His father says softly. Cato blinks at him a few times. “M-my lord?” He asks, expression tightening in confusion.

The Primarch knits his brows and looks pained. “I put you in a situation alone that could have been very dangerous. Three men and a thunderhawk lost, and you had to handle it all alone. I should have sent backup, or sent her normal guards- I wasn't thinking and I endangered you. I'm sorry, son.” He said, walking to him and putting a large hand on his shoulder.

Cato's mind races. His father was… apologizing to him. That's so wrong- it almost feels blasphemous. “My lord, please, this was my fault-” he started, but Guilliman shook his head. “I won't hear it, Captain. You did well today, I'm impressed she only came back with superficial injuries. I'm thankful you both came back at all, after hearing the reports.”

He steps in front of Cato and holds his shoulders, smiling apologetically. “You have shown why you are the best the ultramarines have to offer today. Having you here gives me hope for this Imperium yet.” He smiles down at him warmly.

Cato is… well, flabbergasted. He swallows hard, blinking away something in his eyes- dust or dirt from that damned planet, of course- “Thank you, my lord. I… I live to serve.” He says nervously. Guilliman smiles and pats his shoulder, letting him go and walking back to the window. “You'll be allowed to spearhead the attack in the rebels, of course, and after that, I've decided to let you pick your next excursion yourself. No more babysitting, don't worry.” He chuckled, smiling back at him.

Cato smiled back, hearts feeling lighter with the dread lifted. Then it falters. No more guard duty. Which is of course what he wanted. Especially now that the ambassador made it weird. Then why did it make his chest tight that he wasn't going to see her more? He smiled a bit anxiously at the primarch. “Ah- it wasn't so bad. I got to play hero, and fight a lot, and bring your little diplomat back to you…” he says, shuffling a bit.

Guilliman chuckles, “You are a good sport, Sicarius. I appreciate you taking all your duties seriously, but don't worry, her normal guards will be back on duty. And for special occasions, I'll return to having Commander Titus accompany her.” He says with amusement.

Cato forces a smile. “Ah, Demetrian. An… interesting choice.” He says in a tight voice. Uhg. Demetrian Titus, one of his commanders. Always playing loose with the codex, but oh, everyone loves Titus. He grimaces internally. What does he care, it's not his problem now who watches her. Commander Titus is certainly capable enough of keeping her alive if he has help at least. Not that he cared. Ok, well, he did care a little, he'd already accepted that part. He swallowed, holding in a sigh.

Guilliman watches him and raises a brow, but as he opens his mouth to speak, Cato is spared by someone knocking on the office door. Guilliman smiles, “Ah, ambassador, come in.”

Cato tenses a bit. Should he just be professional around her still? Pretend everything is normal? Probably.

She smiles at the primarch, walking in and giving a small nod of respect. “My lord.” She greets, then glances at Cato, and her expression flashes with confliction too. She gives him a small smile though. “Captain.” She says softer. He nods back, keeping his expression professional. She's cleaned up, her hair fixed back into a neat style, unsurprisingly opting for a normal uniform and not a dress or some nonsense, as the collars hid the neck. Her face has some bandages and she's bruised, but she seems fine otherwise.

He sighs a bit, trying to focus on his father instead. Guilliman grins and walks up to her, patting her tiny shoulder. “I'm so glad you are safe. I am so, so sorry I put you in danger like that. Don't worry, from now on you're never leaving without at least 2 guards, preferably 3.” He says seriously. She smiles nervously up at him, “Ah- it's fine, really my lord, Captain Sicarius handled things, I was totally safe the whole time. Don't apologize…”

The primarch smiles warmly at her. “You are such a forgiving spirit, little one. Why don't you take the next few days off, get some rest and heal up a bit.” He offered gently.

She smiles, “I appreciate the offer, my lord, but I have appointments I can't reschedule. I'll be just fine.”

The primarch sighs, smiling and shaking his head. “Always dedicated to your work. Very well, but I don't want to see you lifting a finger while you're here otherwise.” He chuckles, patting her shoulder again and letting her go. “That's all I had to say, Captain Sicarius. Go, get some sleep and relax a bit.” He says kindly, taking his seat at his desk again.

Cato nods, turning to the ambassador once more before heading out. She gives him a tight, awkward smile. He returns it, then sighs and heads out.

She's going to be watched by Titus. He doesn't know why that bothers him so much. He dislikes him, sure, he's a pushover who bends rules for his benefit. But there's something else upsetting him. He feels that far too common lately knot in his stomach, frowning at himself. No, it's fine. He's better than these baseline human complications. He's Cato Sicarius. He doesn't care about who some mortal woman spends time around.

He takes all the swirling thoughts in his brain- a mess of complications that always haunt him when he's around his father- and shoves them all back into a mental box in his mind labeled WEAKNESS. He takes a deep breath, rolls his shoulders back, and walks straighter down the corridors. He's Cato Sicarius, he does not get jealous about women. He does not get anxious about disappointing his father. He does not dwell on issues of the heart, and he definitely does not picture how important state diplomats would look sprawled in his bed. Box, box, all of you, in the box.

He takes another deep breath and puts on a cocky smirk. He runs his hands over the Talassarian Tempest Blade, marching to the hangar, ordering a serf to prepare his power armor and another to alert his men that they are going planetside to wipe out those rebels, right now, they have 5 minutes to be here or they'll be disciplined.

He lets out a deep sigh, smiling a wide, relaxed grin to himself, posture prim and aura confident. He is The Cato Sicarius, and he is simply the best at everything he does.

[andromedastarrs]

Miguel O'Hara - Random Headcanons, All SFW! :)

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Y'all enjoyed the other post a lot so here-- have some more of my brain rot! All of these are just fun things lol, interactions and quirks!

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If he spots you and notices that you have bad posture, he'll point it out and tell you to straighten up. Even if others are around. "Unless you wanna live with back pain till the rest of your life..."

Clean cursive would probably be his preferred font to write in. When he prints his letters it's a total mess.

Definitely does not tolerate people who chew with their mouth open. He will glare at you, grab his plate, and move away.

Takes freezing cold showers. Headcanon because every health nut/gym person that I've met says it's the best for muscle recovery.

Doesn't like to watch TV in his free time, he's in front of screens all day. He spends it instead reading books, cleaning up his living area, putting on music and resting on his couch to let his mind relax.

Loud dad sneezes. Doesn't apologize for it.

Likes his coffee black. On his rest days though, he will add a little milk in there to treat himself.

Will order the biggest burger off the menu and successfully chomp at it with no issue. A part of me also thinks it would be in character for him to order a small meal and eat very... Well, he'd eat like a princess. LMFAO.

Is not religious but very respectful of every religion. I think if he were to have a spiritual S/O and they practiced a religion he didn't know much about he'd wanna learn about it by asking them questions.

I am TIRED of the racist Miguel allegations. I am a firm believer that because he is half Irish and half Mexican, if he were to be present in front of a racist, he wouldn't tolerate it. Also headcanon that he's not the arguing type. He'll just throw them out a window (exaggerating).

He loves cats and dogs, very gentle with both. Knows how to treat both correctly too. Doesn't own any pets though, he's scared of losing it one day.

Silently cries. Even when alone he's very quiet. His eyes get very red and so does his face, very quickly. No puffy eyes tho!

No time for skincare, but he's into biotech... Probably assuming too much, but if he could then why wouldn't he; he probably concocted some sort of "one in all" skin product.

On that note his hygiene is on point! He'd probably be so upset if he ever stunk.

Definitely dyes his hair. I do not believe that he doesn't have a single grey strand up there. If his S/O once said they liked the grey hairs, he'd probably chuckle... And then keep dying it anyways.

I think he'd choose to wear shorts over pants when given the chance to... Even jorts. It's ok, he looks good wearing them!

I think he'd like silver jewelry even though gold looks better on him. (He can pull off both *lip bite*.)

Doesn't like designer logos printed everywhere over his accessories/clothing.

Am i the only one that thinks he works out via Pilates AND weight training? Gotta stay flexible and stretched!

Likes to meditate, almost never has time to do so.

Sleep talker!

Very self aware of his size; hates accidentally coming into contact with other people.

Caught up with modern lingo in most places, doesn't participate in conversations surrounding it. "Have you heard what lingo the kids are using? It's absolutely bonkers--" "Yeah."

Try to talk to him in a silly language (think of that skibidi toilet shit), he'll respond instantly. Don't get the wrong idea, he won't be amused by your antics.

If he doesn't show interest in you then he's not interested in you. I'm a big believer that if you were crushing on him, you'd have to wait for HIM to show interest. Otherwise all your flirting will be rendered useless.

[stubblesandwich]

Slice Of Life

A Captain Swan & Captain Cobra fanfic, written for @pirateprincessofpizza for @cssecretsanta2020.

Rated: General

Words: 6,000+ (I knoowww, I'm sorry 🙈)

Author's Note: Merry Christmas, Pirate! I'm SO SORRY this is a few days late. 🙃 Forgive me. I hope the fact that it's so darn long helps soften the blow of its lateness. This is actually going to be part one of a series I'd like to do, completely inspired by your username/enduring admiration for pizza, as well as your desire for more "slice of life" scenes, surrounding different points in Emma and Killian's relationship as it grows through the seasons. Each story will feature pizza in some way or another, because pizza is great, despite what other pirates might think to the contrary. 👀

Anyway!! Merry (belated) Christmas, my dear! I loved getting to know you through our long messages, and I hope you find this fic to be at least semi heart warming. I had fun writing it, and I look forward to continuing it with a second chapter set in the 6-week era of peace in S4. 👀👀

This one is set during season 3B, with Emma trying to juggle having a good relationship with her son and make an attempt at normal in the times of the Wicked Witch--by having a shared dinner with Captain Hook, obviously. Set some evening post-Neal's death but before poor Killian has his lips cursed.

AO3 link here if that's easier ✌🏻

+++

Life is made up of moments, her father had once told her. Good ones. Bad ones. But they're all worth living. 

And this, right here? This is a good moment. 

The town, for once, is quiet. 

No new flying monkey bite victims. Nothing from the Wicked Witch. And while all nefarious villains are undoubtedly planning and plotting more nefarious deeds, tonight, Emma Swan does not care about any of that. (She doesn't even sort of care.) 

What she cares about is the black-clad, self-proclaimed scoundrel sitting across from her whose more nefarious days seem to be tucked away behind him for safe keeping. The black-clad scoundrel currently looking at her like a confused puppy, slight head tilt included. 

"And what, pray tell, is pizza?" he asks, as he reaches for his mug of beer. Granny's been trying out a few new brews on tap (that Emma is pretty sure some of the dwarves have been concocting illegally, but she doesn't have the mental capacity to check into that any further at present) and has roped Killian into taste testing one of them for her.  Killian, never one to see a lady in peril, needed no arm twisting and was happy to oblige. "I gather it's valuable in this realm, if you would stoop to homicide to attain a slice of it." 

Sometimes she truly can't tell if he's messing with her, when he talks like that. The internal lie detector she'd developed as a child to tell when another foster parent or sibling was bullshitting her, then honed as an adult to tell when even worse people were bullshitting her, sometimes gets a little fuzzy around this particular man. (Or she quite possibly gets distracted by his face and the way he tends to stand so close to her. Who’s to say, really.)  It's what she would blame, if pressed, for why she left him up on that beanstalk oh so long ago.

(Which is something she is very grateful he has never brought up again.) 

It's definitely not the fact that he stands so much farther into her personal bubble than literally anyone else on the planet, or the fact that he watches her with those insanely intense eyes of his, gaze fixed on her in that knowing way like he not only sees her, but he gets her, reads her like a book sitting out and open on a coffee table. It's incredibly unnerving. But what's even more unnerving is how she is finding that the longer she knows him, the less she really seems to mind. 

Sometimes, she feels like he stepped straight out of a Jane Austen novel, when he talks like that, and she can't tell if he's hamming it up on purpose. She's very well aware he's not from this time, or realm, or whatever. She never actually forgets that—how could she?—but she almost forgets, sometimes. Until moments like now, when he's staring at her like a quizzical puppy. A puppy who apparently doesn't know what pizza is. 

There's a little bit of beer foam on his upper lip, caught in his mustache, which she's always noticed is just a little darker, just a little more pronounced than the rest of the stubble dusting his jawline. She's wondered before if that's where the silly mustache comes from, on the cartoon version of Captain Hook from the Peter Pan cartoon. (Not that Emma has spent an inordinate amount of time admiring the artfulness of his facial hair, God no. And there's definitely no intrusive thoughts of licking said beer foam off his upper lip, no, definitely not. That's never happened to her before and it's definitely not happening now.)

All she'd said, grumbled beneath her breath as she stared at the menu she had memorized, was that she'd kill for a decent slice of pizza right about now. A perfectly normal bit of hyperbole. 

His bright eyes dance, trained on her as they so often are, but the hint of a smirk pushing at his lips is masked by his mug as he takes a sip of his beer. He licks his lip, and just like that, the foam is gone, and takes with it the distraction it was causing her. 

"Wait, hold on, back up,” she says, as if finally registering the words he’d actually said.  “You've seriously never had pizza before?" She's not sure why it surprises her, really. Nothing should surprise her by now. But pizza? Come on. Everybody’s had pizza. 

He just raises his eyebrows at her. "It's some form of food, I gather?"

She huffs a little laugh. "Yes, it's food." 

It's at that moment that Henry reappears from his trip to the bathroom and slides in next to her. Something in her heart clicks back into place as he tucks in next to her. "What's food? Did you order something yet? I'm starving." 

"You heard the lad," Hook says, and something in Emma's heart tugs like a bite on a fishing line at the way his eyes soften as he looks at her son. "What will it be, Swan? This pizza that has you so up in arms and calling for blood?" He says "pizza" like he's trying the word out, two distinct syllables that sound foreign to him. 

Henry just blinks up at him, and Emma explains, "He's never had pizza before." 

Her son's eyes bug out in unfiltered shock. "What?" 

"I know," Emma says, in a what-can-you-do sort of tone, as she reaches across and snags Hook's mug of beer from him. She can feel him watching her, and she pointedly does not look back at him as she takes a sip from it. The home brew is thick, and hoppy, and.... Emma smacks her lips a few times. "That's actually... not bad." 

Hook shrugs with one shoulder. "I've certainly had worse." 

"I've never seen you drink something that wasn't out of your flask," she comments wryly. 

With one fluid motion, he reaches across their table and steals his mug back from her, taking another sip. Kissing, her brain blurts out for thankfully only her to hear. Share a drink and it's like you're kissing was the old playground tease from her childhood. Eagerly and yet very unhelpfully, her brain then supplies her with an image of the first time she'd kissed this particular man, in a hot, sweaty, evil magic jungle, and something low in her stomach bursts open like a big, hot balloon. Get it together, Swan, she chides herself. 

Thankfully, Hook doesn't seem to notice that she's having an internal error of some kind, and simply says, "Contrary to popular opinion, Swan, I'm actually a fairly well traveled and well rounded individual with many refined tastes." 

"If you say so.” She finds herself leaning a little closer to him as his foot bumps hers beneath the table. 

"But you've never had pizza before?" Henry asks, still so very very confused about how on earth someone can just go about life never having eaten his favorite food before. Stumped, Killian just stares at the boy, frowning slightly. Emma comes in for the save. 

"Well, then, let's change that tonight, shall we?" she says, with a can-do attitude rivaling that of her mother. "That settles it. Let's order a pizza." Her flicks to Hook. "Unless you had other plans for dinner?" 

"I am at your beck and call tonight, my lady," he says, and though the innuendo in his tone is only mildly implied for the sake of her son sitting across from him, Emma still can't help but roll her eyes. 

"Can we get fries?" Henry asks hopefully, and Emma can't help but smile at him. 

"I was thinking onion rings. But sure, kid. Fries it is." 

"Get both," Hook suggests casually. "Dinner's on me." 

"No, it's fine," Emma insists, "I got it."

"It makes no difference to me, love." 

"Do you even have money?" She's never stopped to think about it before, how he's getting around, how he's been paying for a room here or what he's been using to buy food. It's such an obvious question, and yet she's never thought to ask him. 

"You have no idea what the exchange rate is for gold in this town," he says simply, as he takes another sip of his beer, and she raises her brows at him. 

"Okay, well, that's a question for later," she says. "Good to know." A better sheriff would look into that further, all the presumably stolen gold and other treasures he has in his possession, and the people in town so willing to turn a blind eye and take it as payment, but it's literally the least pressing problem in her life at this point. It's not even a problem; she has no way to prove he's stolen anything, and even if she did, she finds she just doesn't care. The fact that he has any number of gold pieces and random treasures on him at any given point in time with which to pay for goods and services is… oddly endearing. 

But, she probably should pay for her own dinner. Otherwise, he might get the wrong idea about what this dinner is. "I've got it," she says again, a finality in her voice with which he decides not to argue further. 

"If the lady insists." 

Henry, bored of their conversation, has been staring down  at the laminated menu in front of him. "What do you like on your pizza, Killian? Well, I guess you wouldn't know that. What do you think you'd like on it? Pepperoni, bacon, Canadian bacon–which is just ham–mushrooms, extra cheese--" he rattles on a list of all the available toppings, still staring at his menu, and completely misses the look that comes over Hook's face when Henry uses his given name. Emma, blessedly, had looked over at him at just the right moment, just when Henry had said "Killian", and beheld for herself the way Hook's whole face had softened. 

"Pardon?" Killian says, clearly confused. "I'm still not quite sure what it is we're ordering." 

"All right, Henry, help the poor guy out," Emma says. "Define pizza. Go.” 

Henry shakes his head, incredulous as he stares at Hook. "Wow. You're like, Amish or something." 

At that, Emma can't help the laugh that bursts out of her. Killian Jones could not possibly be further from an Amish person if he tried. For his part, Hook just frowns, mouths Amish? to himself.

"Okay," Henry goes on, "You have the crust, which is basically like bread." He holds out a hand horizontally, then stacks his other hand on top of it, alternating them with each layer he describes. "Then the sauce. Then a bunch of cheese, melted. Then whatever you want on top. Mom and I usually get the supreme, no green peppers, extra bacon, extra mushrooms. But we can get whatever you want. What do you like?" 

Killian just looks at him, flabbergasted. "Supreme is fine, I'm sure," he finally says. Emma would feel a little bad for him if this wasn't so damn funny. 

"Cool." Henry snaps his menu shut and sets it aside before turning back to his mother. "Can I get a milkshake?" 

"Definitely not," Emma says. "You had that donut at the station earlier, remember?" 

"Oh yeah," Henry mumbles, disappointed. 

It doesn't matter though, because when it comes to her son and sugar, no one in this town seems to listen to her. Ruby automatically brings out a hot chocolate with cinnamon on top and sets it in front of Henry without even asking permission. "Sorry," she says off Emma's look, sounding distinctly not sorry, "On the house. Granny insisted." 

"Thanks," Emma says wryly, sounding distinctly not thankful. 

"How's the beer?" Ruby asks Killian, who smiles up at her politely. 

"Very good. My hat's off to whichever dwarf concocted it." 

"That would be Bashful. Though he's too shy to take credit for it." 

"I imagine so," Killian says with a smirk. 

"Dwarf?" Henry asks, confused. 

Crap, Emma thinks, and tries to think on her feet, "Uh, the mining crew in town gave each other funny nicknames. Right, Ruby?" She shoots Killian a look, and he has the good sense to look abashed at his slip up. 

Ruby's eyes are wide, as if she also completely forgot they were supposed to be a completely normal town in front of Henry. "Right! They're funny that way. Anyway, I'll tell him you liked it. And I'll tell Granny to keep it on tap." She pulls out an order pad from the half apron at her waist. "What'll it be, folks?" 

"Well," Emma starts, "Killian's never tried pizza before..." 

"So we're going to change his life tonight," Henry finishes for her. 

Ruby, expectedly, shares in their shock. "Never had pizza?" She stares down at the pirate like he's suddenly grown an extra head. "What are you, lactose intolerant or something?"

"Excuse me?" Hook asks, as the mountain of his confusion just continues to grow ever taller. 

"He's just not from around here," Emma reminds Ruby pointedly, and a look of understanding washes over her. 

"Ah, right," Ruby says, "I forgot. Okay, yeah, let's change a life tonight! Pizza it is. What'll you have on it?" 

"Supreme is fine," Emma says, and Henry pipes up to add, "No green peppers, please. Extra mushrooms and bacon.” Ruby writes it down, along with the side orders, and promises to be back soon with a batch of fresh onion rings for the table. 

A comfortable silence befalls them. Killian seems relaxed, Emma notices, as he lounges against the wall, and she's surprised to find herself settling comfortably into the booth, as well. This is... nice. They haven't really had a chance to do this, her and Henry, and just hang out with someone else from her life. She's had to dance around so many things with her son, dodge so many questions, hide things and explain (read: lie) things away, with his memories gone. It's been exhausting, frankly. But, since he already knows Killian, spent an entire road trip from New York to Maine in a small car with him, this has felt fairly easy. And Henry seems to like Hook. A lot. 

But Emma should have known that this was going too well. 

"So, Killian," Henry says after a minute, having sampled his hot chocolate and found it satisfactory. "You're not from around here?" Emma's chest clenches in anxiety at whatever he's about to ask next. Please don't ask him how he lost his hand, Emma begs from behind the bars of her brain. She's not sure she can handle the amount of ducking and weaving THAT particular conversation would take. 

“That’s right,” Killian hedges, eying Henry closely, though he still looks completely at ease and prepared for whatever might possibly fall out of her son’s mouth next. 

“Are you from Great Britain? Like, England?” 

It’s almost imperceptible, the way Hook’s gaze darts to Emma before he takes another swig of his beer, and she steps in with an answer. 

“Uh, yeah,” Emma says, affecting a tone that makes her sound semi-sure but also looking to Killian for clarification, “London, right?” 

He takes the answer she hands him on a silver platter and nods easily. “That’s right. What gave me away?” 

Henry rolls his eyes, but any rudeness behind the gesture is dissipated with the smirk he attaches to it. “Uh, the accent, mostly.” 

“Ah,” Killian says with a wink. “Well, guilty as charged.” 

Emma’s not sure if they even have a version of London in the Enchanted Forest, or whatever part of that realm Killian is actually from. She vaguely remembers the Peter Pan film being set in London—probably?—but that’s about it. 

There’s a little wooden peg game hiding behind the napkin dispenser on their table, pressed up against the wall. One of those little pieces of wood with holes drilled into it, with little pegs you’re supposed to jump over each other until there is only one left. Emma knows for a fact that each of the booths has one, and that they were each hand carved by Marco. Henry watches as Hook toys with it, jumps a few pegs over each other, and Emma’s heart gives a little squeeze as Henry asks, “Do you know how to play that?”

Learning to play that simple, weirdly addictive little game was one of the staples of their Granny’s dates, in the first year she lived in Storybrooke. Every time they would sit and eat together, without fail, Henry would pull out the little piece of wood from behind the napkin dispenser and move the little pegs around. Emma caught herself doing it a few times, too, even when Henry wasn’t with her. Just stabbing the little golf tee picks into their tiny holes while she waited for her food. It was weirdly satisfying and oddly addicting. 

And now Henry has forgotten it. 

For all the memories they share of their “pretty good” life back in the big city, she knows there are a dozen more here, in this quiet, strange, terrifying little town. And while she wouldn’t trade that year she had with just her and Henry for anything in the world, she can’t help but grieve the loss of the memories she made with him here, in Storybrooke.

Hook’s voice pulls her out of her thoughts. “Aye. Want me to teach you?” 

Of course he knows how to play the silly little peg game. She watches as he explains, simply, the right strategy to win in the fewest moves. Hook slides the piece of wood over to Henry, who takes it and flips it around, eager to try for himself.

Perhaps emboldened by the fact that he doesn’t have to look at Hook when he asks, and can instead stare down at the little wooden pegs, Henry asks, as casually as possible, “So, how’d you lose your hand?” 

“Henry,” Emma starts. She can’t help the sound of a scold that wraps around her tone. 

“It’s fine,” Killian says easily, though this time he doesn’t look at Emma to give an answer for him. His left arm had been relaxing across his lap; he shifts, and brings his forearm up to rest on the table. For the most part, he had taken to wearing his prosthetic hand around Henry, in lieu of the hook. Emma and her son both can’t help but stare at it as Killian rests it on the table. 

If she’s honest, Emma misses the hook. If she’s honest, she never really actually thinks of Hook as an amputee. She’s seen him make a few creative alterations to movements more able-bodied people would traditionally use two hands for, sure. Using  his teeth to pull a cork from its bottle, or to sexily tie a scarf around her bleeding hand, for one. 

She knows he’s missing a hand. Logically, she knows this. She called him “Hook” 99.9% of the time, until she had to stop when Henry was around. It rolled off her tongue so easily, and several times, she’s had to stop herself from blurting it out in front of Henry. But it’s almost as if half the time it doesn’t even register in her brain that there are some things he can’t do as easily or as quickly as other people.

Now, as she stares down at the leather-wrapped prosthetic on the table in front of her, she finds herself missing the namesake to his more colorful moniker. To her utter horror, when she realizes she’s been very obviously staring, she glances up at Hook’s face, and she finds he’s been watching her for a while now. Emma feels heat pool in her cheeks instantly, and she leans back. But graciously, Killian only smiles softly at her, seeming, yet again, to read her thoughts easily. As if he knows she misses the hook. The bastard has the audacity to wink at her. 

Oblivious to the unspoken conversation happening right beside him between his mom and the strange man across from him, Henry pipes up, “If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to.” He sounds nervous, like he realizes the gravity of his social blunder and suddenly wants to give Killian an out. “Really. I… I’m sorry I asked.” He shoots an apologetic look to Emma, who tries her best to look stern. 

There’s a moment of silence that stretches out between them where Emma genuinely doesn’t know what Hook is going to say next. So many directions this conversation could go, so many versions of the truth, the unbelievable truth, that he could go with. Emma is very aware that she’s holding her breath, but she can’t seem to let it go until Killian says something. It’s the one thing in this moment she feels like she has control over. 

“Truth be told, lad,” Killian finally says on the end of a sigh, “It happened so long ago, I hardly remember what it’s like having two hands.” 

Emma releases the air she’d been holding captive in her lungs, and in place of the tightness in her airway comes a little pang in her heart. She knows this story, but she’s never asked him about this story. They’ve never talked about that moment, just the two of them, when Milah was murdered right in front of him, and then he had his hand cut off. It’s horrible, truly. She takes the horror of it for granted, and she suddenly very much does not want Henry to hear this story, even in whatever veiled shape Hook wants to tell it. It’s Killian’s story, his hand that was lost, and it’s his right to tell Henry whatever he wants about it. Emma’s heart grieves for this man before her and the tremendous losses that have shaped him. But she does not want her son to hear this story. She’s not even sure she wants to hear this story. 

Life has softened Emma too much, she fears, because while she imagines herself as being quite tough and immune to the awfulness of the world, she knows these feelings are showing quite clearly on her face and in her eyes, which are shining just a little brighter as she watches Hook. He looks up abruptly, meeting her gaze, and her heart leaps like she’s just been jump scared. 

“So you were just a kid when it happened?” Henry asks, and Hook huffs out a little laugh through his nose. 

“Not exactly, no.” 

Henry frowns. “I don’t understand.” 

Emma doesn’t envy either of them in this moment, but she especially does not envy Hook, whom she watches with nothing but sympathy. 

And in the end, Hook goes for the blunt, almost-truth of the matter. “Lost it to a Crocodile.” When he looks up at Henry, it’s with a smirk playing across his features. One that Emma sees right through. 

Henry’s mouth falls open in shock, like that was literally the last thing he was expecting Killian to say. “No way! Seriously? A crocodile bit your hand off?” 

Even Hook can’t disguise the smile—a genuine one, this time—that comes over his face at Henry’s utter, boyish exuberance at this answer. Emma’s heart swells an extra size, watching them. Of course Henry would think that was awesome, the idea of someone’s hand getting bitten off by what is essentially a modern-day dinosaur. “Aye,” Hook says, shooting Emma a knowing glance. “As I said, I lost my hand to a Crocodile.” 

“What, like in Australia or something?” Henry asks. 

“Something like that.” 

The beauty of this moment is that Hook doesn’t even really have to lie to Henry. He seemingly doesn’t have to do anything more than slightly bend the truth; Henry’s too amped up to even listen to the full answers to his questions, and Killian can continue to dole out the most vague answers on the planet. 

“Did you live there?” Henry asks. “When you were a kid?” 

“Lad, I’ve lived in and seen more places than I care to count,” Hook says, with a gleam in his eyes, “And none of them, I assure you, are more interesting and alluring than this very town.” 

Emma doesn’t imagine his gaze flitting over to her when he says the word “alluring”. She knows she doesn’t. And yet, he’s so quick about it, keeping his focus entirely on her son, that she can’t be sure. 

“Really?” Henry asks, dubious. “This town? Storybrooke?” 

“Aye,” Killian says, “I promise you, my boy. There’s more to this place than meets the eye. You just have to be willing to see, for yourself.” 

It’s the kind of answer an old, wizened Santa Claus would tell a kid in a Christmas movie about a town that was secretly the North Pole or something. It’s probably the corniest thing she’s ever heard him say that wasn’t a pickup line. And yet, Emma is surprised to find warmth prick her eyes at his attempt to make Henry feel more at home here, more interested in this town that her city boy son has written off entirely as Boringville, USA. And she gets that—she really does. She didn’t exactly think Storybrooke was hip-hop and happenin’ when she first rolled into town, either. 

Then again, she also didn’t think it was full of fairytale characters. Literal royalty from another realm. Evil queens with magic. Humanoid crickets, for God’s sake. Henry’s family is here. Whether he knows it or not, everyone in this town knows him, and so many of those people love him, would die for him in a heartbeat. And while she can’t pretend she isn’t ready to take him back to New York City the second this is all over, it hurts her heart that he doesn’t even remember those people. 

All talk of special towns and missing hands cease, however, as Ruby returns and sets a massive, loaded pizza in front of them. 

Emma has the satisfaction of watching Hook’s eyes go wide. And whatever she expected him to say, it isn’t the ineloquent, “Whoa,” that falls from his mouth. Emma and Ruby both can’t help but laugh at him. 

“Looks pretty great, huh?” Henry says, already grabbing himself a plate and eying the slice he wants. 

“One life-changing pizza, as ordered!” Ruby says with a grin. “Prepare to be dazzled, Captain.” 

Henry looks over at Emma, mouthing Captain?

“Navy,” Emma whispers, thinking quick on her feet. Henry shrugs and starts piling his plate up with pizza. He carefully positions his chosen slices to make room for the fries that Ruby sets in front of him. 

“There we go, folks,” Ruby says, leaning back with her hand on her hip to inspect the table. “Anything else we need? Refill on that beer, Killian?” 

Emma gives a mental tip of her hat to Ruby for how easily the name Killian rolls off her tongue, like she’s said it a thousand times. Hook, for his part, looks momentarily taken aback that she even knows his given name. “Uh, yes,” he says, “Sure, I’ll take another.” 

It’s a true delight, Emma finds, to see one of the most eloquent, loquacious people she knows (next to Gold, probably, which is a noticed similarity she will not be sharing with Hook) so continuously dumbfounded. It brings her great joy, actually, to keep seeing him rendered speechless by such average things.  

“Sure thing.” Ruby nods and reaches over to snatch up his empty mug. “Coming right up.” 

Ruby leaves, and Emma shakes her head at the absurdity of it all. A werewolf, giving a refill to a pirate of a beer that was illegally home brewed by a dwarf. What even is her life anymore? These are the things she didn’t even know she was missing in New York. Not for the first time, there’s a pang in her heart as she wishes she could share in the joke with Henry. She looks over at her son, watches him squirt ketchup over his fries like he’s trying to torture information out of them. Something of these thoughts must show on her face, because after a moment, she feels a little bump on the toe of her boot. When she looks up, Killian is looking at her, his expression soft, and he offers her a small smile. 

It’ll be all right, Swan, his eyes seem to say, and she feels herself relax a fraction. She smiles back at him, thankful. 

Whatever moment that’s happening between them is interrupted by Henry. “Killian,” he says, though the name is turned to absolute mush by the food in his mouth, “Pizza!” 

“Good Lord,” Emma says, shaking her head at him, “Who raised you, kid? Don’t talk with your mouth so full.” 

Henry takes a few gulps from his Sprite, swallowing it all down. “Ah, sorry. I said, ‘Killian, pizza.’”

Hook, for his part, looks thoroughly amused. “Yes, lad, I’d gathered that.” He looks down at their gigantic round entree with what can only be described as suspicion. “Do I just dig in then? No forks with you savages?” 

Emma huffs a laugh. “Only weirdos eat pizza with a fork.” Though, as she watches Henry hang onto a particularly large piece with two hands, she adds, “Unless that’s easier for you. Then be as weird as you want.” 

Killian waves off any concern on her part with a flick of his hand. “When in Storybrooke, eat as the Storybrookians do and all that.”  He slips a slice of pizza off the stand, letting it fall onto a plate with an audible plop, which he frowns down at. 

“Storybrookians?” Emma laughs. “No way. There’s got to be something better than that out there.” 

Hook shrugs, quirking a brow at her. “I’ll have to check with the mayor.” 

“She’s nice,” Henry pipes up, mouth blessedly less full this time. “She took me out for ice cream.” 

Emma and Hook, for what feels like the thousandth time this evening, swap glances. Henry, too engrossed in his pizza, doesn’t seem to notice. Moments later, when Ruby returns with Killian’s beer, being the spectacular mind reader she apparently is, she also comes bearing another Sprite for Henry and a second iced tea for Emma. 

“You’re amazing,” Emma tells her. 

“I know,” Ruby responds with a wink. “I’ll come check on you guys in a bit. If you need anything, just give a whistle.” She turns on her heel and heads back toward the kitchen, leaving them alone with their life-changing pizza. 

“All right,” Emma says, and her tone sings time’s up, buddy. “Eat up or shut up.” 

Killian chuckles, shaking his head at her. “That the saying, is it?” 

“Yup,” Emma says, popping the “P” on the end. “Sure is. Pizza time. Time to really become a man of the times.” Hook eyes the loaded slice of pizza on his plate skeptically, and Emma thinks of young Simba right before he tried a grub for the first time. “Hakuna matata, pal.” 

Henry, immediately getting the reference, laughs loudly at her side, and Emma beams. Hook looks between the two of them, once again a confused, eyeliner-wearing puppy. The poor man shakes his head, as if he’s just completely done trying to understand everything they say, and as they continue to snicker at his expense, he reaches down, scoops up his slice of pizza with his hand, and takes a bite of it. The thing is so loaded up with toppings that a few black olives abandon ship and fall back down to the plate with a soft tink. 

They both watch him expectantly. Hook, being the good sport he is, lets them stare at them while he eats. He swallows, then washes the rest of it down with a swig of beer. 

Emma and Henry give him a solid three seconds before they say, simultaneously, “Well?” 

“I’ve certainly had worse, by way of sustenance.” Hook says, shrugging, and they both groan. 

“Are you kidding me?” Emma says. “You try pizza for the first time and that’s all you have to say about it? You’ve had better?” 

“I believe what I said was that I’ve had worse food, Swan,” Hook clarifies, pointing at her with the prosthetic hand, “Which is a compliment.” 

“In what realm is that a compliment?” 

“He’s right,” comes Henry’s sigh. “This pizza is mid at best.” 

Mid? Killian mouths to Emma. She shrugs, for once just as lost as he is. 

“The pizza back in New York is way better,” Henry says, and Emma can’t argue with that. 

“He’s right. New York City does pizza like you wouldn’t believe.” 

“Yeah,” Henry says, “Remember the cart guy by our apartment that would sell it by the slice?” 

“Yes!” Emma cries. “Pizza Phil!” 

“You bought pizza from a man in a cart?” Killian asks, looking truly befuddled, clearly envisioning some kind of horse and buggy roadside pizza situation in the congested streets of New York City. 

“Not that kind of cart,” Emma clarifies with a smile. “Like a little… stand, I guess. He’d make it there, in this brick oven on wheels thing he had, and then he’d just sell it by the slice.” 

“It was awesome,” Henry says emphatically. “Best pizza in town. Sometimes Mom would let me have it for breakfast on our way to school.” 

“Yeah, well,” Emma says wryly, “Those weren’t exactly my best mothering moments. Sometimes we overslept, and pizza for breakfast it was.” 

“I disagree,” Henry says around his straw, as he finishes off the last of his second Sprite. Another not great mothering moment, Emma thinks to herself. But tonight is a special night. Henry goes on, “I think those were actually your best mothering moments.” 

“And this cart man’s pizza was better?” Hook asks, slowly, making a very valiant effort to keep up with them. “Back in New York City?” 

“New York pizza has a thinner crust,” Emma explains. “So you get more of the cheese and toppings. It’s pretty great.” 

“The best,” Henry asserts. “I wish we could have had you try it before we came here.” There’s something wistful in his tone that hurts Emma’s heart. She knows full well the bagels, pizza, and honestly food in general in Storybrooke leave much to be desired, and that her son misses the big city. She wants to make it up to him, somehow. He’s been so patient with her, through all this, and so trusting, and her heart swells with affection for him. 

“Alas,” Hook says, with a wry look to Emma, “My experience with New York City cuisine leaves much to be desired.” Vaguely, she remembers something about barbaric brigs and being force fed something called bologna. She shakes her head at him, though she doesn’t even bother trying to hide her laughter. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Emma says with a roll of her eyes. “All right, so we’re not as well-traveled as you are. Sue us. We’re simple folk. We like our pizza.” 

“And I will not begrudge you for that, Swan.” 

“Are there any other pizza places in town?” Henry pipes up.

“I don’t… actually know,” Emma says, glancing at Hook, who shrugs. 

“We should definitely find out,” Henry says. “We gotta try everything this town has to offer while we’re here, and compare it to back home.” 

Emma’s heart squeezes. She can feel Killian’s eyes on her, but she knows if she looks at him, she’s going to lose the battle against the tears suddenly pricking her eyes. Her voice is a little husky when she answers  with, “Yeah, kid. Sure thing.” 

“You’ll come with us?” Henry asks, looking to Hook. “Be brave again, try some more pizza?” 

Hook chuckles lowly, but nods and says, “I think I can be brave, Henry."

“Good,” Henry says, and the grin that lights up her son’s face makes Emma’s breath catch in her throat. He has the best smile, and she hasn’t seen it enough lately. 

They finish their pizza, or as much of it as they can eat, with Henry making the biggest dent. Hook, brave as he is, finishes his slice, and then dares to go for a second, which Emma counts as a win. She doesn’t keep Henry up too late, but they stay late into the evening, much later than Emma had originally intended when she took her son to Granny’s for a hot chocolate and offered to buy Hook a beer. 

And for the first time in a long time, with wicked green witches, curses, her son’s missing memories, and flying monkeys abounding, a peace settles into Emma’s heart. And for the first time in a long time, at least for this moment, she truly feels like everything really is going to be okay. 

[senka-mesecine]

What pet names or terms of endearment do the boys prefer?

---

― However badly Chris might want to step away from the mold and be different I do think that he's still partial to all the good, old classical nicknames; you know, the 'dears', the 'darlings', and the 'sweethearts' of this world --- primetime family Sitcom wholesomeness, irony of all ironies. Might even slip out the occasional 'princess' in there when he's in the mood (or even when he's being sarcastic, or dare I even say, threatening?), but fact stands, you can take the ex college boy out of the suburbia, but you can't take the suburbia out of the ex college boy. Somehow, chances are, part of him starts vividly resembling his parents and calling you things, say, his father might've called his mother eons ago, and whether he's aware he's doing it or not is entirely up for debate and analysis, but I feel he'd literally be the type of man who'd say 'Honey, I'm home!' when he, duh, comes home, and this goes for him pre-war and post-war, although, admittedly, post-war, there's a high chance pretty much everything Chris Taylor does and says might take on a dark, eerie, possessive edge. You might just get called cupcake as he corners you against the wall, pressed against it by his body or baby as he's pounding into you hard, scaring the living daylights out of you because sometimes it's hard to recognize him and the words he says don't match his actions. Who is this guy?

― For the world, O'Neill might have this tough-guy, macho front that he doesn't dabble in endearments at all because he's not whipped, he's nobody's footstool, he's not a domesticated slipper of a man and he isn't wrapped around anyone's fingers, not him, nah-uh, no siree, he's too perceptive and smart for that sort of deal, but the actual truth of the matter is that his particular preference in endearments proves the contrary seeing as how he has a penchant for the most saccharine sweet, honey-dipped, cheesy nicknames imaginable; the type that would make anyone roll their eyes in annoyance and the kind that are already thirty years out of date even in the 60's; the likes of honeybun, honeybunch, honeycake, sugar pie, sweetiepea, sweetcheeks and any randomly concocted combination of the most cutesy-patootsey nonsense you've ever heard in your life, which is hilarious, because Red makes a deliberate effort to prove to everyone he is in fact not like those other assholes who get with a broad and immediately become her doting lapdog overnight over the smallest bit of attention from her. Which is actually the case with him. It's all so disgustingly sugary it would make Cupid himself puke. Might just call you Mrs. O'Neill long before you ever actually become Mrs. O'Neill and he does it with the smarmiest, most slap-worthy grin ever.

― I get this impression Bunny likes weird, slightly bizarre nicknames; the type of nicknames nobody but him finds, well, cute, and to start it off, I live and breathe under the belief his main and prime endearment for you would be bunny, yes, after himself. He's Bunny and you're his bunny. What's there not to understand? Sure, it might have a major narcissistic and egoistic streak to it, but he doesn't think so, and even if it does, who cares? He likes it! And that's about the only person he takes feedback from; himself! Outside of that, you'll be hips, you'll be face, you'll be cheeks, you'll be lips, you'll be body parts Bunny finds hottest during that particular hour, which is all of them, coming off as a bit crude and juvenile, but he isn't about to hide that he likes you. You can just easily be a bug, you could be a flea, you could be his Vegas wife if he got hitched with you in Vegas or his Hawaii Wife if he did it with you one time on vacation; maybe Booberella if your chest is ample. Muffin-top if you're curvy. Twiggy if you ain't. Mama-san because he picked it up in some establishment of ill-repute and because he thinks none of those broads have got nothing on you and fact is, you'll be endowed with so many strange, spur-of-the-moment, stringed together nicknames almost nobody has a clue what you're actually called. People ultimately settle on calling you 'Oh, yeah, Bunny's girl.'

― Rhah relishes in his theatrical oratory and his endearments reflect that entirely, to the point one gets this feeling he enjoys making up ever more elaborate nicknames for you, passionately stacking epithet upon epithet like the tower of Babel, risking it collapsing atop of itself with how pompous it all is, because you get affectionately called anything ranging from goddess, minx, heartbreaker, seductress, succubus, the flower of Shangri-La, the dope of love, god's own angel, the devil's temptation, the pomegranate of paradise, the moon, the sun and all the stars; it's almost like poetry and it can be both used when he's cross with you, utilizing said nicknames sarcastically or when he's entirely adoring and head over heels in love with you, but either ways, sweettalking is his way of being and he's astoundingly good at it. Extremely creative to boot. In anyone else's mouth, said nicknames would almost come off as cheesy and disingenuous sounding or perhaps just plainly put 'too much', but when Vermucci says it, it is said with such a gravitas that there is no way to doubt a single syllable slipping out of his mouth, meaning that not everyone can pull off the endearments he pulls off. In fact, few people ever could. Which is exactly why he's proficient at it. He has this ingrained 'unf' factor that's hard to replicate. Man fully believes what he's uttering.

― Overlooked fact is that Wolfe is probably Jewish and doesn't have a chance to be Jewish often, or to be elaborate, doesn't have too many chances to embrace every part of himself openly without being ridiculed, alienated or made fun of even more than he usually is one way or another; so when he gets comfortable with you and I mean really comfortable, not the surface level, acted-out wannabe anxious banter comfort he tries with his men to fill up the empty vacuum where their lacking respect for him should've been --- no, when there's actually trust and true affection between you he could very well slip out something like zieskiet or bubbeleh for your ears only and said nicknames will be so profoundly meaningful, important and private that he'd only ever do it if he considers the person he's saying it to the person; meaning that Wolfe neither dabbles in endearments readily nor throws them around willy-nilly --- he comes off as too tongue-tied, pedantic and nervy to do that quite so casually on most days and on most other days, he just plainly wouldn't want to because he does have a bit of a (smug) complex to himself. But, if you do get called anything sweet by him? Hilariously, one could almost say you're halfway there to being engaged because why would he do it otherwise? For all his haphazard, schmultzy nature, Wolfe can still opportunistically let you know it's been decided. Oh, look; Wolfe's being a bit of a wolf after all.

― You're King's boo, his bae, his peach, his wifey, his baby-girl, his baby-momma, his lil' mamma and realistically, for someone who has the tendency to misspell gratuitously and has an apparent literacy problem (not that he minds it at all, in fact, he seems outright amused by it), encapsulating the scale of his feelings and putting them into words isn't always easy and he can't or won't slip into the grandiose pontificating of Rhah because he refuses describe you like you're frigging shampoo, thinking it's whack, won't go the route of 'darling' the way Taylor would because to King, that has some major uncanny valley, rich-white-folk-with-a-summer-home energy written all over it (something he might just say openly, to Taylor's own face) and he almost definitely won't go into childish bizarreness in the style of Bunny because he doesn't consider himself a little freak, but regardless, whatever King calls you oozes so much inherent honey-dipped charm with little to no effort on his part that almost anything he says sounds likeable. He could just downright go and call you hey, boo-boo and it'll come off like the warmest, most darling nickname ever because he delivers it with a full mega-watt smile that's just infectious as all heck. That being said, whatever he calls you probably reflects the nicknames he'd like you to call him back; if you're wifey, he's hubby, if you're bae, he's bae, if you're lil' mamma, he's big daddy, if you're peach, he's bear. So on and so forth. Somehow, there's a weird, effortless poetry and assonance to all of it that's just so gosh darn cute.

― Chances are Elias might have the most interestingly diverse array of endearments for you where languages and subcultures are concerned because he is an open minded, enlightened guy that seems infinitely wiser and more knowledgeable than his age would ever imply and his nicknames for you directly mirror that, almost as if he took every sweet name he knew in every language he picked up throughout life and gave it to you, not unlike someone who seemingly somehow lived several lives within the short span of just one, meaning that you might be teasingly called anything from Hoàng Hậu (Queen) or his Cục vàng (piece of gold) in Vietnamese simply because he picked up some of the language by osmosis of being deployed on various tours; he might say Chiholloli instead of saying 'I love you', drawing from Oklohoma Indian country languages and smirk with an air of mystery when you ask him to translate for you and on other days, his endearments for you could range anywhere from as simple and as contemporary of-the-times as Baby or anywhere as lofty and elevated as his Soulmate. His Twin Flame; You could just as easily be a star-child because hey, you clearly belong up there much rather down than here or flower-child or downright go as elaborate as summer-of-love because he's connecting you to a time of peace and all the good things surrounding it; my love downright being the mere tip of the iceberg with him.

― I mean, Barnes is from the deep South, but that doesn't necessarily mean every classically southern sounding endearment gets thrown at you; well, not unless he wants to tease and border on being extremely sarcastic about it, semi-satirizing himself with the straightest, coldest poker face imaginable to the point you're unsure if he's joking or not (and you not knowing is the whole point) --- but, that being said, his nicknames for you are clipped and straight to the point seeing as how he's less so for words and more so for actions; you're beaut, you're shug, you're ma'am, you're missy, you're toots. That's more or less it on a good day, give or take. The rest should all be doing and less so about the saying. Chances are, he can't stand people who are all silver tongued around each other, calling each other all sorts of incredulous, fanciful bullshit all day, all night and always but when it comes to the actual deeds part of it, they can't walk the walk and it turns out all those words were just an empty, showy sack of crap --- glitter sprinkled over excrement; he's the polar opposite of say, Rhah Vermucci in that regard. He doesn't feel he needs to refer to you as the petal of heavenly delights for this shit to be genuine; he needs to actually go and cement the idea with undertaking, effort and enterprise. Barnes is the prime one among the bunch to actually do something to show he cares than actually say something to show he does. He rather does all the things endearments describe at their core than actually utter it.

[palin-tropos]

#prom is such an american concept but it's one of the cute ones so i'm on board#hey where's my pun. i've got another. promrades#they have to have a romance moment where sixpence none the richer plays softly as steban descends a staircase in his prom dress#or suit or whatever. nah. prom dress.#in any case he looks dazzling and uli is like wooooow. and his glasses fog up

awww noo I’m so sorry I didn’t include the first pun. prommunists. (I do like promrades even more) also I bet prom is more something harry has seen in teen romance movies from mundi than anything he’s experienced in revachol. he just has decided that he has to be the middle aged champion of young love

and fuck yes prom dress steban. something flowy anyway. cape. ulixes is absolutely combusting at the sight of it

more songs for communist prom night this time it’s Waiting for a Star to Fall

[mysticalsoot]

This is it, this is what joy feels like, doesn't it?

A/N: this was meant as my gift to my valentine for Grey's Valentine's Exchange but since it has been cancelled I decided to quickly finish it up and dedicate it to not only grey because they need it with how rough the exchange ended up being but also my new found friend on here! I'm really proud of this and Im very surprised at how much I wrote in such little time (5k is a lot okay lol) I hope you all enjoy it and happy early Valentine's! (I'm still gonna post a special Valentine's blurb!)

Pronouns: they/them, uses of y/n

Pairings: Cc!Wilbur x Reader

Summary: Wilbur and Reader have known each other since their early teens, and despite having painfully obvious feelings for the other, they ignore them in the sake of saving their friendship. James concocts an outing for the two and maybe it goes according to plan?

Warnings: swearing, angst but with a ton of fluff at the end! also there is a kiss but not detailed bc I in fact have never been kissed so I'm going off gut feeling lmao. also mentions of alcohol and drinking (I've also never drunk alcohol so I don't know much about that either so another guessing game there too).

Words: 5.3k

Dedicated to: @grey-rambles @loverboy-soot

masterlist

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James had invited Wilbur, Ash, Tommy, Rue, and you over to his place to hang out. It was mostly Mario Kart and James fucking screaming the Wario sound, but it was fun. There was food and a few rounds of uno with Ash, Tommy, and Rue, but despite all the festivities, Wilbur hadn't joined in any of them. He sat in the farthest corner from you and the rest of the group, the corner of James' loveseat didn't seem very comfortable anyhow. But there he sat, hands folded and rested between his thighs, his eyes darted from the group to the wall, to the TV, and back to his lap. He seemed so dazed like he wasn't fully there in the moment like he was somewhere else.

The absence of his laugh and his smile...and his voice, concerned you. It wasn't like him to isolate himself like this, it was one thing to stop answering messages and hiding in his flat but straight out isolating himself at a social gathering was nothing like him. You wanted to find him in his corner, bring him away from the others and ask him what was wrong, what you did every time he found himself anxious and shutting down. But every time you tried someone would pull you away, ask questions or bring you into banter. Staring at him, contemplating doing something wasn't helpful so maybe engulfing yourself in the festivities around you would help. It was selfish, yes, but there wasn't much you could do. The chances of him brushing it off and saying he was fine and completely ignoring the subject at hand were much more probable than him stepping aside and delving into his anxieties with you. So you pushed it aside and focused on whatever shit James and Tommy were debating about at this point.

“James,” Tommy pauses for emphasis, his hands folded in front of his face and eyes closed, “You are one deaf fucking bastard.”

“I’m hearing you! I’m just saying your point is invalid and ill-informed!” James counters, despite the possible hostility of their bickering, it's known by everyone that it's just light-hearted poking and prodding at each other, nothing substantial to be worried about.

Something you could slip away from easily…

“Says the man who is convinced that the creeper is the elite hostile mob in Minecraft?? It blows shit up and is extremely difficult to kill at the start of the game! The true elite mob is the zombie, they are slow and easy to hit.” Tommy then stands up and his face plastered with a smug smile. He knows he's right even if the topic at hand is trivial and childish at best.

"You're an asshole, Thomas Simons. I'm right, you're wrong." James is quick to poke at him, and you catch a small, soft smile forming on Wilbur's features. He's gazing at the chaos in front of you, no longer on his jeans or the spots on the wall. It's on the people now. His friends.

The thought brings a glimpse of hope to you, maybe it's just a fluke and he's okay. Nothing to worry about, he's not being self-destructive right now. It's okay.

It wouldn't hurt to get him to join the conversation, would it? "What do you think, Wil? Who's the most elite hostile mob?" You pose the question with a smile on your face, eyes locked on his, gauging how he was feeling by the way his eyes went wide and his mouth opened to speak but nothing came out. Anxious, noted, not anything new and revolutionary but something to note when speaking to him.

"Um, Skeletons I guess?" His answer is unsure and it's probably because he wasn't really listening in the first place, just observing his friends having fun and bickering, doing anything he can to keep his mind off the anxiety dwelling in his head.

“Skeletons? That is the most basic bitch answer! Also, it’s invalid because they can shoot you from sixteen blocks away!” Tommy counters his answer and he gets riled up again, rushing to pull up some sort of resource list as if this was a school assignment.

Wilbur’s face drops again, but his eyes are still trained on the group as they begin bickering again. Rur and Ash decided to chime in this time, both with their own very opinionated thoughts on the matter. It began to get tenser, despite the laughs and smiles, the abrupt yells were enough to push anyone already on edge even further.

It was best to get him out of there, even if it was for a moment. So you stood from your spot at the sofa to walk over to where Wilbur placed himself. Pushed into the corner of the loveseat farthest from the group. Now that you're closer, you notice how straight he's sat, his whole body is tense and his face is flushed.

You put your hand out to him, an offering, “Come on, Wil,” It’s muttered as a mere whisper, but he hears it. His head tilts up to look at you, eyes still wide and overflowing with unease.

“Okay,” He whispers, taking your hand in his and standing up from his own spot. His shoulders slouch, making him seem slightly shorter --- he still towers over you, but it makes him seem vulnerable and small.

You tighten your grip on his hand, in a comforting way and lead him out of the living room, through the hall, and into the dark kitchen. No one seems to notice the absence of either of you, they're too busy arguing over a block game to think about much else. He lets your hand go after the door is closed and he goes to sit on the floor in the corner of the room against the kitchen cabinets. Wil pulls his knees up to meet his chin and he wraps his arms around his legs.

“Are you okay?” You slide down the cabinet to sit next to him, your hand resting on his knee drawing circles with your thumb.

“Mmm, ‘m fine.” He mumbles, his head between his knees and his face hidden.

“As your best friend, I do not believe that.” You try to lighten the mood, be playful in hopes he’ll at least crack a smile.

“I’m fine.” He lifts his head and looks to you, despite how hard he tries it's not convincing.

“Yeah, yeah, and the queen’s alive. Come on, Wil.” You laugh, moving to card through the curls atop his head.

"I'm okay." He tries to fake a smile to rid your concerns but it's not that easy anymore.

"You don't have to tell me, but you can admit when you're not okay, love." The pet name was merely a slip for you and when you noticed you used it, you wanted to crawl into yourself. Hideaway and forget everything you said. Surely to others, it's not a big deal but it's not like you can give any hint at your feelings for him, feelings you know aren't reciprocated.

He simply hums in response with his head back between his knees, and you take your hand away from his hair and drop it on your lap. You want to help him, make him feel better but this is making you feel so hopeless. You can't let him wallow but he's stubborn, it's not easy to get through his shell.

"Wanna tell me about the French Revolution?" The question was merely a suggestion, a bribe to get him to speak in more than two words per sentence.

And it worked, his head lifted up almost immediately and his eyes were wide with excitement, "Really? Are you sure?" His voice is soft but you can practically hear the joy in the way he spoke.

"Of course, tell me all about it." As you mutter the last bit, you lean your head against the cabinet and gaze up at him. His smile is wide and he's now let his knees fall to where his legs are stretched out in front of him. Stupid lanky bastard.

"Okay so, the revolution of 1789 had maaany different causes, primarily economical and political," And so he went on for what felt like hours, but you enjoyed the chatter. You liked seeing him so giddy and happy over something he loved like this. He's an absolute history buff and most people don't care to sit still long enough to listen, except for his brother, you, and sometimes Ash. So you let him talk your ear off, you asked questions, and let him tell you all the little details and factoids he's learned over the years.

After a while, your eyes began to droop and feel heavy, and you kept having to pull your head back up to keep yourself awake. So you settled with resting your head on Wilbur's shoulder as he continued telling you about one of the many corrupt French kings. You wrapped your left arm around his middle and your right hand rested on the shoulder you laid on. You were comfortable and he didn't seem to mind the contact.

"Sleepy?" He breaks his info dump and runs his hands through your hair. You were far too drowsy to think twice about the action or to get nervous about it as usual, so you just hummed and nuzzled further into him.

"Keep talking." Your words were muffled by his sweater but he understood, and so he did just that. He continued on about the revolution and everything that came after before he himself began to doze off. His head leaned against yours and before he knew it, he was passed out too.

----

"Hey, has anyone seen Wilbur?" James chimed in, the Lion King plays on the TV, and everyone groans, and Tommy pauses the movie.

"Dude, it was the best part!" Tommy exclaims and dramatically throws his head onto the back of the couch.

"Sorry! Wil just disappeared, so I was just wondering if anyone saw him." James reiterates, hands in the air in surrender before dropping them to the floor on either side of himself.

"I'm sure the guy's fine, he's probably somewhere with his best friend anyways," Rue reassures James, her arms crossing over her chest.

"Those two are inseparable," Ash adds.

"And they are so obvious too! It's annoying." Tommy grunts in that typical little sibling way.

James frowns, clearly not satisfied with how calm and not worried his friends are. Ash notices and pats his friend on the back, and James' shoulders slump.

"Dude if you're so worried about them, go find them." Rue leans against the back of the couch, crossing her ankles and resting them on the coffee table. James growls and shoves her feet off the table, Rue then rolls her eyes. "So mean.."

“Fine, I will.” James groans and lifts himself off the floor where he sat and he as well makes his way out of the living room. He heads through the hall, peaking into the dining room; nothing. He checks the guest bed next, also nothing; and then his office, still nothing. He checks every room before he settles on checking the kitchen- the last spot he expected to look. The moment he peaks his head through the door he catches a glimpse of both you and Wilbur cuddled against each other, sound asleep.

“Aww, cute,” Rue whispers behind James and he jumps, yelling a slew of curses at his friend. She simply laughs in response. James looks back to be sure the interaction didn't wake the two of you, and surely it didn't. He would have never been so thankful for how heavy of sleepers you two were.

James backs away from the door, being sure to close it as slowly and quietly as possible, and then he ushers Rue down the hall and back to the sitting room where the rest of their friends were. He then happily plops down onto his sofa, right next to Tommy.

“So, are they okay?” Ash’s expression is one of concern, but calm still.

“Oh they're fine,” James takes a swig of the drink he left on the coffee table, “But we have some matchmaking to do.”

----

“We’re meeting at the pub around the corner, that's right, James?” The entire situation is confusing and getting a confirmation out of James is the worst hell that you desperately want to crawl out of.

"Yes, yes, that pub. I told you like ten times already." James sighs in a loud obnoxious way and if it weren't for the fact you loved him, he would be dead on sight. Or on sight when you both got to the damn pub.

"It's not my fault you give shitty instructions and clarification!" You do your best to whisper yell through the phone, he may annoy the fuck out of you but you don't hate him, and if he lost his hearing because of you—you couldn't mess with him.

"Oh my god, stop whining and get your ass over here." You're about to snap back at him and then he hangs up just as quickly as the words roll off his tongue.

You groan and drag your feet on the sidewalk, desperate to make your trek longer so you can postpone seeing James a little more. I mean, you love him but fuck can he be an annoying little shit sometimes. He's really good at it too and you don't know how he manages it.

Unfortunately, you're in front of the pub way quicker than you thought you would be. You're quick to open the door, and rush in before you push through the crowd to find any inkling of where your friends have situated themselves. James didn't mention which table the rest of their friends sat at, so you assumed he didn't know either seeing as he was on his way here as well.

You're about to give up when you spot a familiar Pinterest hipster across the pub. Wilbur is sat alone at a booth, holding what seems to be a simple water as he himself eyes the tables and bar as well as the sea of people standing around the place.

You smile and wave your hand at him, signaling that you're there. He smiles too, waving back and then gesturing for you to sit with him. You're quick to shuffle through the people surrounding you, muttering excuse me and I'm sorry's whenever you bump into someone or get just a hair too close to them. By the time you reach the booth, you're out of breath from swimming through the crowd. You plop down on the spot next to Wil and you rest your head face first on the table.

"Why is James so annoying?" You pose the question, all muffled and not really meant to be answered, simply spoken into the void.

"Hell if I know, he told me the rest of the group was here but I couldn't find them." Wilbur speaks in such a nonchalant way that you would think he did this often, wait for his friends to be there and either be late or not come at all. But you know he doesn't do this often, I mean it was more common in middle school and high school, but now he's an adult and you know his current friends wouldn't do that. I mean you're his best friend after all, you notice way more about him than you would care to notice.

"So you think they've ditched us?" You move your head to face him, eyes looking up to him and his own looking down at you. You swear you could see a smile forming on his lips.

"Hah, maybe." He laughs and then switches to gaze at his hands resting in his lap.

You lift your head up, and lean against the back of the booth. You rest a hand on his shoulder and he looks to you, "You're my favorite anyway." You pat his shoulder before removing your hand only for it to find great interest in the sleeves of the jacket you wore out today. One of Wilbur's old jackets his arms were too long for. It's oversized but it's comfortable and a hundred percent smells like him, so it's comforting.

"Ash isn't even your favorite?" He's smirking now and you can tell he's almost completely forgotten about James and the clan.

"He's a close second." You throw a soft smile to him and you can feel your cheeks warm and turn red.

———

"Wow, France is fucking shitty." You let out a soft laugh, taking a sip of whatever alcoholic beverage was the special—you didn't care, it tasted good and didn't burn horribly so it did just fine for you.

"I know!" Wilbur slurs and then laughs, throwing his head back to lean against the back of the booth. He turns to face you, smile wide and face pink from being a bit too tipsy.

"You're smart, Wil. You know that?" You rest your chin in your hand and look in his eyes. You never really noticed how rich and…deep they were. It was endearing to look at.

"Not really, I just know a lot." He shrugs, gaze dropping and face draining from positivity.

"Isn't that the definition of smart?" You reach your hand out to rest against his arm. He doesn't move or flinch. It's like your touch is second nature.

There's a silence, he doesn't say anything, you don't say anything. Your friends still aren't here and it's been an hour and a few drinks in—you're beginning to wonder what James' intentions were.

"They ditched us didn't they?" You lean your own head against the backboard.

"Oh they sure as hell did." Wilbur lets out a soft chuckle and the sight makes your heart flutter.

"Wanna go back to mine?" The question is simple and you play with the idea of looking away from him, to dull the sting if he says no—or rejects you without even admitting anything to him—but you decide to turn your head and gaze upwards at him.

A soft smile, a breathy laugh, he turns his head to face you, "Of course,"

It takes a good twenty minutes to get back to your flat, which is only a ten minute walk from the pub James tricked the two of you to go into, but with both of your slighter drunken states, it was safe to say it took a lot longer. Stumbling, giggling, slurred speech, a hand on the small of your back, your arm around his torso. There was no such thing as a ten minute walk on your minds.

The walk down the cobble path to the door of your flat is a tricky one. Wilbur only had a few shots but he hadn't been drinking in a while so his ability to handle much alcohol was severely lacking at the moment—so he was stumbling a lot. He nearly fell in the bush a few times but you were able to keep your grip on him, keeping him steady. You yourself weren't in the best of shape either, but you managed. Surprisingly neither of you had felt the least bit nauseous yet, which was a tremendous thing.

You struggled a few moments with your keys before Wilbur got off the wall where he leaned and said, "Here, lemme try." He was quick to find the right key and turn it in the keyhole. The door clicked and Wilbur turned the door knob and pushed it open. He stepped aside and bowed, his right arm over his stomach and his left out stretched in a gentlemanly manner. "Royalty first, as always." You smile and are sure your laugh is heard by the man.

"Why, thank you kind sir!" You exclaim, folding your hands like a queen in a ball gown and dramatically walk in the door. He laughs and follows you in, closing the door and locking it behind him.

You lead him to the living room just to the left in the corridor and curl up on the couch and shove your shoes off your feet. Wilbur follows and does the same, his head next to yours and his legs curled up next to him.

"Hi," He whispers to you, smiling softly and gaze set up on you.

"Hi," you pause, readjusting your legs to be held against your chest. "I'll take the couch, you take the bed, that cool?" Your eyelids begin to feel heavy and so you rest them, unable to spot the reaction Wilbur gave you.

"No, not cool." He states plainly, your eyes shoot open. Did you upset him? What did you say wrong? Your mind runs wild and he seems to notice your anxiety bubbling. Your slightly tipsy self, not doing a great job at hiding it. "I take the couch, you take the bed."

"No, you take the bed, I take the couch."

"Darling," He warns and the pet name shocks you both, and it seems as though the alcohol has an effect on both of your filters, his and yours.

"I said what I said and I stand by it!" You cross your arms over your chest and playfully move to look away from him.

He groans in an artificial annoyance and you smile to yourself.

"How about this," He begins and you turn back to face him, he's sat up now, legs pulled up to his chest still. "We both take the bed? That way we both win."

"Mmm, as long as you're okay with it, I am."

Wilbur smiles and nods, "It was my brilliant idea, now wasn't it?" A smirk forms.

"Goddamn, you and your stupid ego." You roll your eyes and Wilbur huffs.

"Oh shut it." He snaps back, going to stand and walk out the door and across the hall to the bedroom. You follow him and quickly go to the cupboard on the left beside the door. Your bed is prepared to warm one person, not two, so you need extra blankets and maybe another pillow or two.

"Dude, when's the last time we shared a bed?" You break the silence, chuckling to yourself as you hear Wilbur shuffle around the bathroom—presumably to find his old toothbrush he left at your place that one time he stayed for a week six months ago.

"Like the last time I stumbled to your door drunk as fuck?" He sighs before exclaiming an Aha presumably because he found the toothbrush he was looking for.

"You really need to stop drinking that much, especially alone. I'm not always gonna be here to be a pick me up for your sorry ass." You throw the blankets you pulled out onto the bed and jumped in face first. "So comfy." It's meant as a whisper, but Wilbur manages to pick it up.

"Save some blankets for me, meanie." He turns on the faucet and he's then silent for a moment before the sound of brushing sounds from the bathroom.

"No, they're mine. I bought them with my money, dickwad." You grunt and turn over, wrapping yourself in a little blanket cacoon.

Wilbur lets out a laugh, and the faucet sounds again before the tapping of the toothbrush on the side of the sink. Before you know it, the other side of the bed dips and you feel a blanket being snatched from you. You don't have the energy to fight it, so you let it go.

"Wow, my best friend being generous to me? What world do we live in.." He mutters, laughing more to himself than anything.

"Too tired to care."

"Not because you love me? Oh my heart!" He dramatically clutches his heart and lets out a breathy chuckle.

"Only because tired." Your words become more slurred and they're muffled by the pillow you have your face in.

"Yeah, yeah." He sighs, and then tosses around a few times, getting comfortable. The bed creaks with his every move and you can hear him groan in annoyance at the sound.

The creaking stops, and Wilbur stops moving. He's situated now, but he's on his back staring at the ceiling.

Many thoughts run through his mind but one in particular stands out; Should I tell them?

The concept is foreign, expressing undiscussed emotion that could be detrimental information if provided at the wrong time—it's scary. What is he meant to do? Lye around and pretend he didn't get nervous at your touch, or your pet names or the way you willingly am letting him sleep next to you—and while the latter wasn't unusual in the past, it was now, given the two of you being in your early 20s and having been avoiding sleepovers since you turned 18. Although there was only so much you could do when Wilbur came stumbling to your door pissed out of his mind.

He bit the bullet. What's the worst that could happen? A Lot actually.

But he figured he should give context first, background.

"Do you know why I was sulking that day at James'?" He breaks the comforting silence that fell between you two. He doesn't mind it but he figured he must act now before he chickens out.

"I figured you were just having a bad day, and once I offered a France info dump you seemed pretty okay. Was there something I missed?" You turn your head back to face him, eyebrows knitted in genuine—sober—concern.

"I was upset," He pauses, beginning to place the pieces in his mind of what to say next and then after that and then after that and so on. "It's kind of stupid, I guess-"

You cut him off, "Nothing, and I mean nothing you say is stupid, Wil. I promise." You're sitting up now, crisscrossing applesauce on the bed, your body facing him but your eyes trained on his own eyes. "What was wrong?"

He closes his eyes, "I guess, I was getting sort of fed up with myself. See, I really really like this person—" He pauses to sit up himself, he gazes down at you as he leans his back against the wall. He reaches for your hand and draws circles on your palm with his thumb, his eyes painfully focused on the lines drawn in your skin. "They're wonderful, and one of my closest friends. I've liked them for a long while, love them even but a part of me knows they don't reciprocate my feelings—so I was feeling sorry for myself. It had been years and no moves had been made and so I felt hopeless. That person was so happy that day, and I was pissed I wasn't the reason for their smile." He sighs, letting go over your hand and leaning against the headboard, eyes closed shut.

Your voice is but a whisper, "Who is this mystery person?"

He hesitates for a moment, but he's this far already, there isn't any going back.

"You." The answer is simple, straightforward and blunt but it hits you hard nonetheless. Handfuls of emotion are thrown at you like confetti and you can't even begin to sift through and identify them all. You're in shock, that's for sure, but everything else? There's no telling.

You smack his shoulder, "William! You should have said sooner, you asshole!" Your tone is playful but your words would say otherwise. Elated.

"Ouch! What was that for?" He rubs the side of his arm, wincing for a split second before meeting your eyes.

"Not telling me." Frustration.

Silence, no more words slip from either of your tongues. It's simply quiet, the humming of the fan you set up hours ago, sirens sounding outside in the city —your breathing, his breathing. Fear.

"I like you too, you know." You look down, despite him already confessing to you, admitting this is still terrifying, and odd to you.

"Oh, I know." He smiles, and you mentally smack yourself for saying something you know would get some stupid snarky comment.

"You and your damn ego, Soot." You shake your head, smiling fondly at him.

"Oh but don't you love my ego, my dear?" The man is still tipsy.

"Hey, why don't you shut up?" He smirks, and you immediately regret your words, well, partially — he reaches his hand up to rest on your cheek, and he brings your face closer to his, lips millimeters apart and breath fanning on each other's faces.

"Can I?" It's a simple request but you nod, smiling whilst your heart warms. He leans in closer, your own lips meeting his in a soft loving exchange.

You smile into the kiss, giggling a few times throughout. You rest your hands on the back of his neck and his own hands fall to rest on your sides.

It's not as dramatic as you imagined, figuring if he felt the same he would have some grand confession —but you like this, you really do. It's calm, private—it's tremendously better than a heated confession in the rain, at least in your opinion.

You both break apart, smiles wide as ever and you're out of breath. You lurch forward, wrapping your arms around him and your head hitting his chest, settling into him. It takes him a moment to reciprocate but when he does, his own arms snake around you, pulling you closer to him.

Wilbur's head dips down to rest on top of yours and you hum happily. This is it, this is what joy feels like, doesn't it? Warm arms around you, the sound of his beating heart—he starts to hum, what sounds like one of his songs.

The night goes on like this, the two of you wrapped around each other, Wilbur humming songs he knows or wrote and the occasional comment on how long it took you two, followed by laughter.

This was joy, he was joy.

The next day, you awoke to your phone buzzing like no tomorrow. You were groggy and really didn't want to even bother looking, but the sound managed to send you into a slight panic. Your legs were still wrapped with Wilbur's, and his head was resting on your chest and his stupidly long arms were pulling you into him. You looked over at the end table on your left and snuck your phone into your grip.

You groaned as you pressed answer on the incoming call that created your woken state. It was James.

"What do you want, James? It's 2am." Your tone is that of a very annoyed person, and James winces over the call.

"I hadn't heard from you and Wilbur's not answering his phone or his door, so I figured you two ran off and died." His words all jumbled together and you laugh much to his distaste, "Be serious here!"

"We should've run off, honestly. Maybe we would have gotten some peace and quiet then." You set your gaze down at the man with his arms around you, and you smiles sweetly.

"You're a dick—are you two okay? Do I need to send like a police force or something?" James is still frantic with how he speaks but you can tell he's calming down by the second.

"We're fine James, okay? We're at my place. We drank a little last night and my apartment was the closest." You pause, but before he can get a word in, "Thank you for setting us up." There's a smirk on your face and James can hear it in the way you spoke.

"What—I, I didn't set you up!" He's quick to his defense and you laugh.

"Yeah, no you definitely did."

"Did it work?" He asks, ditching the defensive attitude from the moment prior.

"Yeah, yeah it did. Thank you." You lean your head back, phone still pressed to your ear and your free hand carding through Wilbur's mop of curls.

"Good."

[e-wills-afterhours]

Pretentious Coffee, Chapter 1

A/N: Yes, my friends. Behold! The return off my wildly popular Hiccstrid coffee shop/college modern AU. I am working on chapter 7 of Vetrnaetr as we speak. Since writing that take quite a bit of time and effort, I thought I would edit and post this oldie (but still a goody?) in the meantime. The fic also takes place around the Christmas season, so, well...why the hell not, amirite???

I also once saw someone say the characters' names should reflect modern names in a modern au. But...I don't care. You know who I'm writing about, and changing the names is cumbersome, so I've dropped the pretense. *jazz hands*

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Hiccstrid

---

Astrid’s head ached from the aftereffects of the previous night’s party. Between the deafening music, the pervasive smell of marijuana, beer, and vomit, and the morning’s brutal hangover, she vowed never to accompany her roommate to another “small get together” again. Ruffnut couldn’t be trusted. Astrid was unsure the other woman understood the concept of responsible, well-mannered entertainment. Like her twin brother, Ruffnut lived for the extreme, and Astrid had been their collateral damage more than once.

Hence her current state.

It was almost noon and she was standing in line for overpriced coffee in a tiny corner shop she never visited. It was cramped, but quiet; unlike the student café on campus.

Astrid was not one for caffeine, but she needed a pick-me-up to salvage the remainder of her weekend for studying. Unfortunately, her midterm exams would not pass themselves.

“Next,” the barista droned.

Astrid glanced up, scanning overhead chalkboard menu framed by poorly drawn snowflakes—to complement the abysmal weather outside, she supposed. Her eyes darted around, but settled on nothing in particular.

There were ten different kind of specialty coffees, an assortment of seasonal hot drinks, traditional coffee brews, and another half of the menu dedicated to blended concoctions.

Inexperienced in the ways of coffees and lattes, Astrid found it all a bit overwhelming.

“You know, this would be a whole lot easier on the both of us if you had—I don’t know…bothered to glance at the menu when you were waiting in line, nothing to do.”

Astrid blinked, staring at the barista who was leaning on the counter, propped up by his elbows. He quirked an eyebrow at her, and she was taken aback, torn between gaping at his rudeness and scowling back. She imagined her face did some odd sort of spasm between the two while she fumbled a response. 

“I’ve never been in here before!” she blurted in her defense.

“Neither has that guy, but he ordered in two seconds,” the barista sighed, nodding toward the gentleman waiting for his drink in the pick-up area. “Blissfully uncomplicated.”

Astrid folded her arms, feeling herself bristle under the layers of winter clothing. “I don’t drink coffee.”

He laughed, straightening up. His name badge caught the light and her gaze flickered down to read HICCUP.

“Yet…you’re in a coffee shop?” he asked, his otherwise bored tone punctuated with burgeoning amusement.

Astrid rolled her eyes, dropping her arms to the side. “I didn’t mean I never—“ She stopped abruptly, feeling her temper rise at the gap-tooth smirk across the counter. She tore off her gloves and stuffed them in her purse for something else to focus on. “Well, I guess there’s a first time for everything, huh?” she sassed back.

“And this is the place you chose. Lucky me.”

She glared at him, leaning in. “Working real hard for that tip, aren’t you?”

He genuinely grinned. “The whole twenty-five cents you weren’t going to pay me to begin with? I’m devastated.”

Astrid’s headache was getting worse she knew who to blame. She huffed, rubbing her forehead. Her eyes were scrunched closed, half with pain, and half with exasperation. If she wasn’t already miserable from excessive drinking, “Hiccup” would have made her so.

“Look,” she hissed. “I’ll take the…gingerbread latte, small. Can you put an extra shot of espresso in that?”  She shook her head as he opened his mouth to answer, disinterested in whatever snarky remark he had to share. “Oh, never mind. Just do it—and if it’s one of those girly coffees with whipped cream, you can just leave that off.”

Hiccup uncapped a sharpie and started scribbling on the side of an empty cup. “Extra-pretentious coffee with a generous dusting of privilege…”

“What?” she barked, wringing the strap of her purse like it was his neck.

If only.

Hiccup’s expression was neutral.

“A small gingerbread latte with an extra shot, hold the whipped cream. Why? What did you hear?” He passed the empty cup to the other barista working the espresso machine. “That’ll be three-fifty.”

Astrid rummaged around for her wallet, pulling out a crinkled five dollar bill and shoving it into his hand rather forcefully. He made change, and there was something about his even visage that was as infuriating as his snarky quips. Without a single word, Astrid still felt like he was making a mockery of things—his job; the coffee he served; her.

She tucked the change away, fingers cramming it down bitterly, all save for one quarter to hold over the tip jar. When Hiccup’s eyebrows arched in surprise, she withdrew it in spite. He just laughed, much to her increasing annoyance.

Apparently, along with his lack of professionalism, he did not have the capacity to take things seriously—but it wasn’t Astrid’s problem that he didn’t want to be tipped. For some reason, it bothered her all the same.

Hiccup splayed a hand over his chest, ruefully eyeing the quarter. “You’re breaking my heart.”

She scoffed and marched toward the back of the shop near the coffee pick-up. There was a small table by the window where she could watch the cathartic dance of the snowfall outside. It was something to gaze at with unfocused eyes as she ran through her flash cards for political science.

Of her upcoming exams, she feared that one the least, deciding it was the best content to review until her brain began firing on all cylinders again.

She shrugged off her jacket and her scarf, draping them over the back of the chair. She had been feeling heated, thinking it was her interaction with a certain intolerable barista, but as she sat down, she noticed just how warm the shop really was. With less layers, it was actually pleasant, and she pulled out ring of flash cards from her purse.

Not more than four cards in, her latte was delivered by a tall, gangling figure—fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how one looked at it—and her mood soured, until she saw the water bottle set down alongside her drink.

“For the hangover,” Hiccup explained, no attitude to spare. “Works better than espresso, anyway.”

Astrid stared up at him, puzzled.

It was in the daylight filtering through the window that she finally saw him properly, and that face, so unassuming and unimpressed by everything around him, rang a bell. Something about those eyes and that irritating carelessness lit a match in her memory—but it was only a tiny flame, incapable of illuminating the bigger picture. She did not know when or where, but she was sure she had seen him before. It was dim inside that little coffee shop, but closer to the window, Hiccup had eyes that were not easily forgotten.

He quirked his brow again and only then did she realize she had been staring.

“What makes you think I have a hangover?” she asked, wishing she had not noticed the familiarity in his tone.

Too suddenly, she was noticing other things—his jawline and stubble, and the flattering fit of his black work slacks. Objectively, he was easy on the eyes, and it was a great cosmic injustice that he did not have the corresponding personality.

“Maybe it’s the fact you’re in here studying in the middle of a Saturday, trudging through crappy weather, spending too much on coffee you never drink, and squinting excessively?” he replied. “Or maybe it’s just a barista’s intuition?”

Astrid snorted, but reached for the water. Her throat was becoming drier the longer he stood there.

“Your intuition is shit because I’m not squinting. I’m glaring, and you’re the reason.”

Hiccup rubbed the back of his neck, smirking. “Okay, Ms. Not-hungover. Consider it a midterm special—coffee and water.”

“And what do I owe you for this ‘midterm special?’”

With a straight face, he answered, “A quarter would suffice.”

Astrid sneered, reaching for her purse. “You’re such an idiot.”

She produced the quarter, holding out to him with a flat stare.

“Maybe I am, but I’m not the one hungover the weekend before midterms—ah! Excuse me. Not-hungover,” he said, walking away with his hands up.

“Jackass,” she muttered, raising her latte to her lips. She yelped and nearly dropped the cup, fanning herself furiously as the drink scalded her.

“Beginner’s tip: Coffee is usually hot,” Hiccup called from behind the counter.

Astrid continued to glare at him, even after he had looked away. She still held him in her sights, even after her expression softened a bit.

[toaarcan]

I mentioned in my Bold New Moebius post the other day that Miles is one of my favourite Archie Sonic characters, so I thought I'd elaborate a bit more on that.

Bear in mind that the more I talk here, the more likely I am to go into pure "I made it the fuck up" territory, because he was a very underutilised character in canon, and that means I'm going to be doing some heavy interpreting and stretching. This is how he appears to me, after all.

The obvious first point (one I even made in the previous post) is that he's a Starscream-type, and that's one of my favourite villainous archetypes. Some little shit of a bad guy who sits there going "I could do better" and often has kind of a point, because the main villains they're working for tend to be a bit... dim.

Miles usually working for Scourge is a prime example of this. He's a genius, and Scourge is... not. Remotely. They work in very different ways, Scourge being loud and explosive and prone to self-sabotage, while Miles is more sneaky and subtle.

But what gives Miles so much potential is actually something unexpected: His fear.

Miles is often regarded as a coward, and I used to hate this. After all, being afraid of Super Scourge is a fairly reasonable stance to take. At the same time, framing Miles as someone who talks a big game but is kind of a wimp when cornered does fit as an inversion of Tails' lacking confidence and braver centre.

But the main reason I think this is actually a fairly good trait for a villain is that it compounds with his intellect.

If Miles is a genius who really, really doesn't want to get punched in his smug face, then he should be very cautious in his schemes. He has the intelligence to make his plans in such a way that he's always safe. His plans have contingencies. His contingencies have contingencies. Even if you thwart and foil the first six layers, maybe the seventh will catch you out. Even if you stop him from achieving his objective, he's already escaped.

Miles isn't a villain who can show up every few weeks with another crazy scheme and get foiled. He's the sort of villain that only shows up rarely, but when he does, strap the fuck in, because even getting close to stopping him is going to be a challenge.

And despite the Sonic series' propensity for genius antagonists, none of them have ever really tried the "Master planner" angle. The most genius plan we've seen from other villains in Archie is Mogul going "I'm immortal and you're not, so I'm just gonna wait until you 80 and then win."

Finitevus is a genius, but while his plans are good, they're not hugely intricate. He tends to resolve his problems by way of overwhelming force, and his ultimate goal is worldwide genocide by way of burning the entire planet to the ground.

Eggman... look, as much as I dislike Ian Flynn's version of Eggman, whom I find an incredibly confused character, I do think he's got a good point about Eggman being a fuckup. The SEGA game version of Eggman is the guy who responded to one Gizoid going into murder-mode and nearly killing him by immediately building another one, which then proceeded to go into murder-mode and nearly kill him. He constantly unleashes other threats that he cannot control (Chaos, Shadow, Emerl, Gemerl, Dark Gaia, Zavok) and then acts surprised when it blows up in his face.

The guy is a scientific and mechanical genius with the foresight and planning skill of a cranefly. It's weirder when his plans don't backfire on him.

And that means there's a niche! There's a type of villain that Miles can fill, a character who uses his intelligence not for the creation of doomsday weapons, but to concoct a plan that will take every last scrap of Sonic and co.'s determination to overcome. Additionally, Miles has another trait that works in his favour: Who he's a counterpart to. After all, in Archie, Tails has a grand destiny and unmatched power that is simply... never used. For anything. Gallagher introduced the idea, and Penders waffled on about it and dragged it out and changed his mind about what it was meant to be, and then Flynn ended it in a really weaksauce way.

So basically, Tails had a big role to play, and ended up fulfilling his destiny about three times, and with the final one it was mostly done for him, by a machine, that he was being used to power, but he was mostly unconscious, and he had help from Shadow. And then Flynn said he lost all of his powers except flight off-screen, but it was never shown and that's intensely lame so I ignore that part and so should you.

But... Miles is an evil counterpart to Tails, and the antiverse appears to have just as many Emeralds (or Beryls) as the Prime one has. There's no reason Miles can't also be a Chosen One. In fact, it stands to reason that he is one. And while Tails briefly had all the power of all the Chaos Emeralds in the universe, and gave it up... what would a villain do with that kind of power? Certainly nothing good.

On Moebius, the Great Harmony is a doomsday prophecy, and Miles is at its centre. And that feeds into another one of my favourite villain tropes, "The Chosen One exists and it is explicitly a bad thing."

And we'll round this out with another villain trope example, because Miles is an absolutely amazing candidate for the Villainous Breakdown.

I love it when a bad guy reaches the end of their rope and just fucking loses it. Maybe they start begging for the mercy they never showed others, maybe they lose control and just start viciously attacking everything in sight, determined to take the hero down with them. Whatever form it takes, it can be immensely satisfying.

And Miles, a genius schemer who really, really does not want to get the crap kicked out of him, would play out this trope beautifully.

Now if only they'd actually done something with him in Archie. Or maybe it's a blessing in disguise that they didn't, given the standards most Archie villains were at by the end-stages of the preboot.