#doom x sugar cookies

[enlightenedrobot]

Aquapet shots in Progress

I'm making a music video to learn Godot and Capcut so I can finally cut After Effects out of my life. Honestly, limitations breed innovation. A lot of these shots were made in half the time it would've taken to make in AE, though that comes with the caveat the my new workflow is kinda sorta destructive. I've been prerendering my clips a lot.

Anyways, Aquapet is part of Doom x Sugar Cookies. Think Stranger Things in the early 2000s and starring a bunch of Cartoon Network Rejects. It's gonna be dark, surreal, and hopefully a lot of bloody fun. If your into cartoons that can get a little dark and a little, gay, maybe give me a follow.

[jorobotart]

Experimental Scanner Photography

I was experimenting with using a scanner for Stop Motion and then immediately decided to explore the aesthetic with a really fast photoshoot. All photos except the one in the center were taken using a Canon scanner on either a felted doll or my face. The dolls depict the characters Sam Datum and Newton Clementine from Doom x Sugar Cookies.

Each photo has been edited in Affinity Photo and do not represent the original raw photos taken by the scanner.

Shout out to @big-red-button-official for helping me with the concept and holding down some of the dolls.

[enlightenedrobotart]

Aquapet Progress Shots

Music Video utilizing experimental animation techniques. Original assets illustrated in Affinity Photo and animated using Godot. Final composite created in Capcut. Extra assets come courtesy of Archive.org.

Featuring characters from Doom x Sugar Cookies.

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: I Want to Retire - Idia Shroud x reader

You write a novel that reads like a dumpster fire and while trying to delete the draft, you accidentally get isekai’d into it. Now, as the villainess you have to get Idia Shroud on your side as well as survive high society. You have your work cut out for you.

Series Masterlist

You’ve lived a life. A noble life, full of honor, glory, and caffeine-fueled late-night writing sessions.

You're an aspiring author.

An aspiring author who, unfortunately, just created the most stupid novel plot of all time.

At least, that’s how it feels. You sit back, staring at your screen, utterly defeated as your latest creation flickers mockingly before you.

You’ve named it: "The Battle for Genius Prince Idia’s Hand" (working title, don’t judge). And wow, it’s a mess.

Here’s the breakdown of your disaster:

You’ve got your heroine—a girl so sweet she’s practically made of sugar, like one of those cookies that look good but crumble the second you bite into them. Naturally, she’s fighting for the affection of your male lead, Prince Idia, who is a socially awkward, genius mechanic prince (because you thought it’d be fun to make him hot and bad with people).

Then there’s the villainess. Ah, the villainess. She’s smart, sharp-tongued, and has enough sass to level a small city. Her entire personality? Sabotage. And she’s also after Idia—because apparently, that’s the only thing women in this story care about. (You regret this immensely.)

But oh no! Plot twist! Idia gets kidnapped by some unnamed evil force (you’ll figure it out later). The heroine? Well, instead of rescuing him, she falls for some Bland Prince. You don’t even know why. You think his name might be Greg. Or Gerald. Honestly, he’s that unremarkable.

Meanwhile, the villainess doesn’t even care anymore about Idia. Instead, she’s full-on dedicated to ruining the heroine’s new, bland romance because… well, that’s her whole schtick.

It’s… awful.

You sit back, hands in your hair, groaning aloud. “What is this? Who would even read this?”

You glance at your notes. They’re a chaotic mess of random scribbles: “Idia = genius, but hates people,” “Villainess needs more fire,” and “Heroine? Too boring. Spice her up. Maybe dragons?”

Yeah. This isn’t working.

You slump in your chair, utterly defeated. The characters are good, great even! But the plot? Oh, the plot is a dumpster fire. No, worse. It’s a flaming dumpster floating down a river of bad decisions. You can’t believe you spent hours writing this.

That’s it. You’re scrapping the entire thing. You’ll keep the characters, sure. But the story? Gone. Deleted. No one needs to suffer through this mess.

Determined, you crack your knuckles and reach for the keyboard, ready to hit the big red “DELETE” button on your disasterpiece.

“Say goodbye to this trash heap,” you mutter, “and hello to some actual good writing.”

But, alas, the universe has other plans.

Just as your finger hovers over the delete key, the worst possible thing happens. Your elbow, as if possessed by the forces of chaos itself, nudges the precariously balanced coffee cup on your desk. The liquid inside, which you had so carefully placed right next to your laptop like a ticking time bomb, tips. In slow motion, you watch the dark, caffeinated doom spill over the edge and land directly onto your keyboard.

“No, no, no, no, NO!” you shout, lunging forward, but it’s too late.

The coffee floods your keys like a tidal wave of misfortune. Your laptop makes a sickening little noise, a soft bzzt, and the screen flickers ominously. You sit there, frozen in horror, watching your computer sizzle as if it’s been cursed by the gods of terrible life choices.

And then—just when you think it couldn’t get worse—it gets worse.

There’s a small, but very real, spark. You flinch back, because nothing good ever comes from sparks. The screen flickers violently, the keys start to buzz, and then—before you can even process what’s happening—you feel it.

ZAP!

Electricity courses through your body. Your vision flashes white, your muscles seize, and in one horrifyingly comedic moment, you realize you’re being electrocuted by your own laptop.

You’d scream if you could, but all you manage is a high-pitched whimper before everything goes black.

Dead. You’re dead. Killed by your own coffee and a poorly thought-out novel. Fantastic.

You blink your eyes open, your head pounding like you’ve been hit with a ton of bricks—or, more likely, an electrical charge. Slowly, your vision clears, and you find yourself… staring at an unfamiliar, ornately decorated ceiling.

Where the hell are you?

You sit up with a groan, and that’s when it hits you: the bed. It’s massive, plush, and absurdly luxurious—definitely not your usual ratty mattress. Panic sets in, and you scramble out of bed, only to catch your reflection in a nearby mirror.

It’s not your reflection.

Oh.

Oh, Shit.

Staring back at you is her. The villainess. The sharp-tongued, drama-fueled antagonist of your novel. The one with a penchant for ruining lives and stealing the spotlight. The one you made up.

You gasp, gripping the sides of the mirror. “No. NO.” You stare at the dark hair cascading over your shoulders, the perfectly arched brows, and the terrifyingly intense smirk that seems to have a life of its own. “Why am I her? Why this of all characters?”

You step back from the mirror and slap your cheeks, half hoping that’ll wake you up from this fever dream. It doesn’t. You’re still stuck in the body of the villainess, and with each passing second, reality—or whatever twisted version of it this is—sinks in deeper.

“Of course,” you mutter, throwing your hands up in frustration. “Of course this is my life now. I write the dumbest novel in existence, and this is what I get.” You pace in front of the mirror, ranting to no one in particular. “Who even thinks it’s a good idea to make me the villainess? Me?! I didn’t sign up for this!”

After a few minutes of thoroughly berating yourself—and by extension, the cosmic forces that brought you here—you finally stop, resting your hands on your hips.

“Okay. Fine. FINE. I’ll play your stupid game, universe.” You throw one last glare at your reflection. “But I’m not tormenting the heroine. Nope. She can have her stupid one-sided rivalry for all I care. I want nothing to do with this mess.”

The decision made, you shake your head and take a deep breath. “Alright, what’s next?” You glance around the villainess’s extravagant room, trying to figure out your next move. And then, a lightbulb goes off in your head.

Prince Idia.

In your novel, he’s socially awkward, reclusive, and definitely doesn’t deserve to get caught up in this disaster. He’s just collateral damage in your sorry excuse for a plot, and honestly? You feel kinda bad about it.

You snap your fingers. “That’s it. I’ll find Prince Idia. Save him or something. Maybe I can even get a reward for rescuing a royal!” You’re feeling pretty good about this plan—much better than sticking around and causing drama with the heroine, at least.

With a dramatic flourish (you are still the villainess, after all), you head for the door, ready to track down Idia and redeem yourself in whatever twisted way you can manage. Who knows, maybe this whole situation won’t be as bad as you thought.

Or… maybe it’ll be even worse. But you’ll cross that bridge when you get to it.

After what feels like hours of arguing with your stubborn, uptight butler—who is absolutely convinced that your decision to head straight for the abandoned palace at the edge of town is the worst idea you’ve ever had—you finally break free.

“If anyone was kidnapped, that’s where they’d be!” you shout over your shoulder as you march toward your carriage, ignoring his protests about "safety" and "reckless behavior."

Butler or not, you’re on a mission. And after a bumpy ride to the palace, here you are, standing at the entrance, waiting for the traps or menacing guards to pounce.

...Nothing.

It’s strangely anticlimactic, actually. You push open the door, expecting maybe a cackle or some ominous fog. But no, just dust and an eerie silence. You frown, stepping cautiously inside.

“What kind of royal abduction is this? Budget cuts?”

Just as you’re about to chalk this whole thing up to a monumental waste of time, you hear it—a low curse, followed by the distinct sound of tinkering. You freeze, listening closer.

Definitely someone messing with something.

Your hand instinctively reaches for your trusty gun (bless past-you for deciding guns belonged in this novel), and with practiced ease, you pull it out and slam open the nearest door.

"Hands up!" you yell, pointing the barrel directly at—

A very, very scared Prince Idia, crouching beside what looks like a half-assembled mechanical gadget. His wide, shocked eyes meet yours, and he lets out a startled yelp, nearly knocking over the tools scattered around him.

"Wh-What the hell?!" you blurt, lowering the gun slightly. This was not the daring rescue scene you imagined.

Idia flinches, awkwardly raising his hands. “I—uh, I don’t know who you are, but how did you even find me?!” he stammers, looking at you like you just kicked his favorite gaming console.

"How did I—? Are you kidding me?" You gesture dramatically with the gun, still in shock. "I’m one of the people you were supposed to choose from! Remember? The whole ‘Battle for the Hand of Prince Idia’ thing?”

He blinks at you, deadpan. “Oh… Oh, no,” he mutters, more to himself than you. “Absolutely not. I’m not going back. I staged this whole thing for a reason.” He crosses his arms, stubborn. “I’ll just stay here with my gadgets. You can go back to… whatever you do.”

You stare at him, flabbergasted. “What do you mean you staged this?” You glance around the dusty, decrepit palace. “This is your brilliant escape plan? Hiding out in the palace equivalent of a haunted IKEA?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, it’s quiet, it’s out of the way, and no one bothers me here. I didn’t get kidnapped, okay? I just—didn’t want to deal with all the royal court nonsense.” He shrugs, as if staging a fake kidnapping is the most logical thing in the world.

“You do realize that Ortho is still at the palace, right? Your little brother? Alone? Without you?” You raise an eyebrow, watching the slow dawning horror creep across Idia’s face.

“Yeah, so?” He huffs. “He’s the Crown Prince now. I’m sure he’s fine—"

“Bro,” you interrupt, “have you seen high society? Ortho’s gonna get eaten alive. Not to mention the other princes aren’t just gonna let him waltz around with a crown on his head without making his life miserable.”

Idia’s eyes go wide, his brain clearly working overtime as the realization hits him like a ton of bricks. “Oh… Oh no. I didn’t think of that.”

You nod sagely. “Yeah. Big oops.”

He stares at the ground, looking like he’s physically shrinking under the weight of his own bad decisions. And then—something unthinkable happens.

“Help me,” he says, his voice desperate. He looks up at you with pleading eyes. “Please. I’ll—I’ll make you anything you want, build you gadgets, whatever you need! Just help me navigate high society while I… hide in the shadows or whatever.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Are you… Are you asking me to pose as your fake fiancée?”

Idia flushes crimson, his hands flailing. “N-No! Well, maybe? Yes. I mean, yeah, but it’s not like I want to—" He groans, burying his face in his hands. “Just… ugh. Yes. Please.”

You cross your arms, tapping your chin. “Hmm. Fake engagement, huh? Alright, but only if you give me a beach house when this farce is over and Ortho officially takes the crown.”

Idia looks up at you, blinking in surprise. “A beach house? That’s your condition?”

You smirk. “Hey, I know what I want. So, do we have a deal?”

He hesitates for a moment, but then sighs, defeated. “Fine. You get the beach house. Just… make sure no one talks to me. Or atleast, you have to handle almost all the talking.”

With a satisfied nod, you extend your hand. “Deal.”

Idia, still red-faced and awkward, shakes your hand. You can’t help but wonder what sort of chaos you’ve just agreed to—but at least you’re getting a beach house out of it.

Sneaking Idia back to your manor wasn’t the most glamorous affair. He insisted on wearing a cloak, “for dramatic effect,” even though the streets were practically empty.

"You know, for a guy who's supposed to be a genius, you're real bad at blending in," you deadpan as he stumbles over his own cloak.

"It’s supposed to make me inconspicuous," Idia mutters, pulling the hood down further. "People see a cloak, they assume you’re some weirdo and leave you alone. It’s basic stealth mechanics."

“Uh-huh. And tripping on it helps too?”

“Shut up.”

Once inside the manor, you sit him down to discuss the details of how you’re going to spin this whole ‘rescue’ thing. Idia, now a little more at ease, starts fiddling with some gadget he pulled from one of his cloak’s hidden pockets. You can't tell if he's actually paying attention, but you figure you’d better get started.

"Okay," you say, leaning in like you’re about to hatch the greatest scheme of your life. "We need a story. Something grand. Heroic. Full of intrigue, mystery—"

“Or we could just say I, uh, got lost?” Idia offers halfheartedly. “And you happened to find me by accident. That sounds more plausible.”

You shoot him a look. "Idia, this is high society. No one ‘just gets lost for 3 months.’ We need something more exciting. Like, I fought off a band of rogue kidnappers—"

“Did you now?”

“And there was this epic battle—"

“With what? Your sense of direction?”

You glare. “Focus. We need an alibi."

Idia sighs. “Fine, whatever. Make it sound cool, but not too cool. If it’s too impressive, people will start thinking I owe you something.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I already have an idea of what you owe me,” you say, smirking.

His eyes narrow in suspicion, but you move on.

"Alright, so I 'bravely' tracked you down to the abandoned palace—"

"Because obviously that's where I'd be hiding," Idia interrupts sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"—and I singlehandedly defeated a gang of ruthless kidnappers, saving you from a life of captivity. You, overwhelmed by my gallantry, are forever in my debt—"

Idia snorts. "Forever in your debt? Yeah, right. You're more likely to find me dead than in your debt."

“Just go with it. It’s a good story.”

Eventually, you both settle on a suitably ridiculous tale where you, after days of tireless investigation, heroically rescued him from an evil plot to overthrow the royal family. It's unnecessarily elaborate, full of conveniently absent witnesses and a dramatic escape from a non-existent dungeon. The whole thing’s so ridiculous, you almost feel bad for making anyone listen to it.

“Right,” you say, standing up. “Now we just need to sell this at court.”

When you arrive at the palace, Idia hangs back while you step forward, playing your part as the "heroic rescuer." Ortho’s the first one to spot you, and when his eyes land on Idia, they widen with shock and excitement.

“Brother!” Ortho shouts, practically flying over to tackle Idia in a hug. “I knew you’d come back!”

Idia, not really one for public displays of affection, awkwardly pats Ortho’s head. “Yeah, yeah, don’t make a big deal out of it,” he grumbles, though you can see the tiny smile tugging at his lips. “I was, uh, working on some top-secret stuff. Y’know, important genius-level projects.”

Ortho beams. “That sounds just like you!”

You have to hold back a snicker. Yeah, real “top-secret.” Like avoiding social interaction at all costs.

Soon, you’re ushered into the royal court. The king—who clearly knows something is up—doesn't look remotely surprised by the "revelation" that Idia was never actually kidnapped. But, because royal politics are weird, he plays along.

“So, Prince Idia,” the king says, raising an eyebrow, “I suppose you’ll want the Crown Prince title back now that you’ve returned?”

Idia freezes, panic flashing in his eyes. "Uh, absolutely not. Hard pass. Nope. Ortho’s got it handled, right? He can keep the whole… crown… thing.”

Ortho nods eagerly from behind him. “I’ve got it covered!”

The king sighs but nods. “Very well. And what about you?” He turns to you. “Surely, a brave soul such as yourself deserves a reward.”

Here it comes. You’ve rehearsed this with Idia, but now that you’re on the spot, you can’t help the dramatic flair in your voice as you clasp your hands together and say, “All I ask… is for Prince Idia’s hand.”

The king looks thoroughly amused, while Idia, beside you, is turning a very interesting shade of red.

“What?” Idia hisses under his breath. “That was not the line.”

You grin, leaning closer. “Yeah, but you have to admit, it’s funnier this way.”

To his credit, Idia doesn’t collapse on the spot, though he does look like he’s reconsidering his life choices.

Meanwhile, from across the room, you catch the third prince—your so-called "male lead"—glaring daggers at you. He looks like he's about to burst a blood vessel, while the heroine next to him is scandalized beyond belief.

“B-but Idia’s hand was supposed to be won!” she protests, clearly flustered.

You tilt your head innocently. “Oh? Not satisfied with the third Prince?” you ask, batting your lashes at her.

Her face goes red, and the Bland Prince—whoever he is—looks equally scandalized.

Next to you, Idia quietly high-fives you behind his back.

“Nice one,” he whispers.

As you both walk away from the court, Idia glances over at you, his usual sarcasm softened by relief. “You know, I really thought I’d end up hating this whole scheme, but you’re not bad at playing the part.”

You chuckle, nudging him. “Told you it’d be fun. And now I get a beach house, so it’s a win-win.”

Idia sighs but can’t hide the smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t make me go to any more parties, okay?”

“Deal.”

You’re sitting across from Idia in the study, supposedly "spending time together" to prove to the world how deeply smitten you both are. In reality, though, you’re plotting out your beach house retirement plan, while Idia is hunched over his latest gadget, muttering like a mad scientist.

"Okay, so if I tweak this—boom, self-repairing AI drone. Easy. The idiots at court would never get it," he whispers to himself, eyes glued to the wires and gears he's fiddling with.

You’re busy doodling floor plans of your dream beach house, adding an extra pool for fun. “Yeah, totally, sweetheart,” you mumble, pretending to listen. This fake relationship thing is going swimmingly.

That’s when the door flies open, and in waltzes the male lead—of course he doesn't knock. The guy practically drips entitlement as he saunters in, admiring himself in the reflection of a spoon he’s for some reason carrying.

Without missing a beat, you and Idia scramble to look like actual lovers. You slide closer to him, casually tossing an arm over his shoulders, and he—already flustered—just stiffens like he’s been caught in a trap.

“I see you two are enjoying each other’s company,” the male lead says, not even looking up from his spoon reflection. “I came to invite you to the tea party. You know, with all the nobles. The whole ‘Idia’s too traumatized to socialize’ excuse isn’t gonna fly anymore. It’s been three months.”

Idia’s eyes widen, and you can practically hear his soul leave his body. You give him a reassuring nudge.

“Don’t worry,” you whisper. “I’ll do all the talking. You just have to sit there, sip tea, maybe nibble on a pastry, and nod at Ortho. I’ve got the rest covered.”

Idia doesn’t look convinced, but he nods anyway. “Sure, sure, as long as I don’t have to, like, interact.”

The two of you arrive at the tea party, and the moment you step into the garden, you realize you're absolutely screwed. It’s not a tea party at all—it’s some weird medieval Olympics with archery targets set up, and a bunch of nobles are taking turns shooting arrows while their wives cheer them on.

“What… is this?” you whisper, horrified. “Why are there archery targets at a tea party? Is this... a misogyny power trip?”

Idia looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. He’s already backing away slowly, trying to make his great escape, but you grab him by the back of his cloak before he can bolt.

He shoots you a look like you’ve just committed the ultimate betrayal. “This... is not a tea party. You said tea and pastries. Where are the pastries?!”

“I didn’t know!” you hiss back. “I thought we’d just sip tea and gossip about whose cousin married whose horse!”

Before either of you can make another move, the heroine spots you and immediately latches onto your arm, dragging you to the tea table. At the same time, the male lead grabs Idia and hauls him over to the archery side.

"Wait—no—uh—" Idia stammers, but he’s already been thrown into the testosterone-fueled chaos of nobles trying to outdo each other.

Thinking fast, you impulsively declare, “I’ll be the one doing the archery! For my fiancé, of course. You know, because those thugs that kidnapped him? They had bows too!”

Idia, catching on, immediately puts on his best terrified expression. “Y-Yeah! Bows! I’m… I’m still traumatized! Please don’t make me relive it.”

The crowd collectively gasps, and you inwardly pat yourself on the back. Nailed it.

Somehow, despite knowing absolutely nothing about archery, you end up winning the whole thing. Turns out, none of the nobles have actually seen a bow before. You didn’t even hit the bullseye—you just got the arrow near the target, which was apparently enough to impress them.

The prize? A complex-looking mechanical device, something straight out of Idia’s dream workshop. You look at it, completely clueless, before handing it over to him.

“Uh, here. I have no idea what to do with this.”

Idia stares at the device, his eyes wide in disbelief. “You’re… giving it to me?” He looks touched but also suspicious. “You’re not gonna ask for some crazy favor in return?”

You shake your head. “Nah. It’s all yours. Consider it a thank-you for not leaving me to deal with this disaster alone.”

He blinks, clearly not used to receiving gifts without strings attached. “Well… uh, thanks. And… good job on the archery. You, uh, really sold the ‘traumatized fiancé’ bit.”

Before you can respond, the rest of the nobles start talking about "true love," and you can practically feel the heroine’s eyes boring holes into you. She’s fuming, glaring at the male lead—who, by the way, didn’t win—and looks like she’s about five seconds away from tearing out her hair.

You shoot her a smug grin, thoroughly enjoying her frustration. Idia, who’s been watching the whole thing with mild amusement, lightly bumps you with his elbow.

“Thanks for… you know, saving me from whatever that was. And for giving me this… thing,” he says, holding up the device.

“No problem,” you reply, smirking. “I think we’re pulling off this whole ‘smitten lovers’ thing pretty well.”

Idia snorts, trying to suppress a smile. “Yeah, well, if you keep dragging me to ‘tea parties’ like this, we’re gonna need to come up with a better plan. Preferably one where I don’t have to socialize with archery-obsessed nobles.”

“Deal,” you laugh. "Next time, I'll find a real tea party."

"Please don't."

You’re lounging on a comfy chair, lazily chatting with Ortho, who’s happily explaining some new contraption he and Idia worked on. You’re half-listening, more focused on sipping tea and enjoying the rare moment of peace in this chaotic castle.

That is, until Idia suddenly appears in front of you, looking unusually determined. He stands there, awkwardly shifting his weight, before thrusting his hand out in front of you.

Without thinking, you blink up at him and, in your confusion, place your chin on his outstretched palm. You give him a questioning look, waiting for further instruction.

Idia’s face immediately flushes a deep red. “W-What are you doing?! That’s not—I didn’t—gah!”

Ortho’s trying not to laugh, but it’s clear he’s barely holding it together.

“What?” you ask innocently. “You held out your hand, so I thought…”

Idia runs a hand through his hair, clearly flustered, before spluttering, “I—no, I was asking for your gun!”

“Oh. Right.” Without hesitation, you hand him the trusty weapon you always keep on hand, because at this point, you’ve learned to never question what Idia needs. It’s always better that way.

“Thanks,” he mutters, grabbing it like he’s on a mission and rushing off to whatever secret lair he retreats to.

You glance at Ortho, who’s giggling to himself. “Do you think I should be worried about that?”

“Nah,” Ortho says with a cheerful shrug. “He’s probably just making modifications. He’ll be fine!”

The next day, your luck runs out. Just when you were hoping for another peaceful afternoon, the heroine arrives for a surprise visit, dragging along her little posse of noble followers. You’re seated in a stiff parlor chair, forced to endure the barrage of small talk and fake smiles, feeling as if the universe is punishing you for all the nonsense you wrote in that novel.

One of the heroine’s cronies leans in with a sickeningly sweet voice, “Oh my, Lady Heroine, I just love your new gown. You look positively radiant. Unlike some people who seem to… dress for comfort, I suppose.”

You shoot her a withering glare, but it’s hard to focus when the heroine herself joins in, adding with a falsely sympathetic tone, “It must be so difficult for you, pretending to fit into high society. I can’t imagine how exhausting it must be, keeping up appearances.”

You’re just about to snap back when, suddenly, the door bursts open. In comes Idia, holding your gun, looking both determined and completely out of his element. For a brief, terrifying moment, you wonder what kind of chaos he’s about to unleash.

Before you can ask, he walks straight over to you and hands it to you, his expression serious. “Here. I finished the modifications.”

Your jaw drops as Idia starts rattling off a list of improvements. “So, I increased the firepower by 30%, added a cooling mechanism so it doesn’t overheat, and now it’s got an auto-targeting system that can scan multiple threats at once. Oh, and I swapped the trigger to be more responsive, so you won’t have any lag—”

You can’t help but notice how animated he looks. His usual deadpan expression is replaced by a lively spark in his eyes as he talks about all the intricate details. He’s completely in his element, and you find yourself enchanted by the way he speaks. It’s rare to see him so passionate, so alive.

The moment is shattered when he finally notices the others in the room. His face drains of color, and he gives a forced smile that screams I don't want to be here. Without another word, he turns on his heel and flees the room. But you notice something strange—he had been holding your hand the entire time. His grip, tight and warm, leaves a lingering sensation even after he’s gone.

You’re left holding your newly modified gun, your face heating up as you process what just happened. The heroine's entourage are all staring at you with wide eyes, as if they’ve just witnessed the most romantic moment of the century. Even the butler, who’s usually the epitome of professionalism, is grinning like he’s just uncovered the secret to eternal happiness. The maids nearby are giggling behind their hands, clearly entertained.

You glance down at the gun, then back to where Idia disappeared. Great, you think to yourself. How am I supposed to survive this?

As if reading your mind, the heroine gives you a smug smile. “It seems your fiancé is quite… attached. How charming.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the sudden rush of blood to your cheeks. “Yeah, he’s a real romantic,” you mutter sarcastically.

But even as you try to brush it off, your thoughts keep returning to that sparkle in Idia’s eyes, the way he had held your hand, and the way his enthusiasm had made your heart skip a beat. Maybe this royal con is going to be more complicated than you expected… but also, maybe not as bad as you feared.

Dragging Idia to get fitted for the imperial ball is like trying to drag a cat into a bathtub. He’s actively resisting, feet planted as you haul him toward the tailor with all the enthusiasm of a man being led to the gallows.

“Why do you keep doing this to me?” he groans, leaning back so far you think he might just throw himself on the floor in protest. “An angel loses its wings every time you make me do this. Do you want heaven to be wingless? Is that what you want? To singlehandedly destroy heaven?”

“I’m aiming to open a black market for wings, yes,” you say, deadpan, yanking him forward. “The profits will be incredible.”

“You’re a menace,” he mutters, shuffling along behind you, still resisting like a particularly stubborn mule. “Just put me in a broom closet with a bag of chips and leave me there. I don’t need to go to this ball. No one wants to see me.”

“I do,” you quip. “I’m dragging you into society, one unwilling step at a time.”

By the time you actually manage to get him dressed, you feel like you’ve aged five years. But when you take a step back to admire the result, it’s worth it. Idia looks stunning, even if he’s fidgeting like his clothes are secretly made of fire ants. He’s basically the human version of a rare collectible: usually hidden away, but absolutely jaw-dropping when you finally get to see him.

“Alright, Prince Drama,” you say, exhaling, “I’m going to get dressed. Try not to set anything on fire while I’m gone.”

When you return, you immediately notice something’s up. Ortho’s whispering something to Idia, and whatever it is, it’s causing a nuclear-level blush to spread across his face. He’s stiff as a board, and when he turns around and sees you in your ball attire, he goes straight from “mildly panicked” to “catastrophic system error.”

Without warning, he chucks a flower at you. Just full-on throws it like it’s a projectile weapon.

“Here,” he croaks out, his voice cracking halfway through.

You blink, catching the flower mid-air with one hand. “Uh, thanks? Were you... trying to plant this on me?”

Idia’s face somehow manages to get even redder. “No—I mean yes—I mean—” He looks around for help, but Ortho just gives him an unhelpful thumbs up from the corner.

You grin, deciding to help the poor guy out. “Why don’t you pin it in my hair instead?”

His hands shake as he fumbles with the pin, and you’re pretty sure he’s using every ounce of self-control not to stab you in the scalp. You bite your lip, trying not to laugh, but the whole situation is just too funny. Especially when Ortho gives you a conspiratorial wink from behind Idia’s back like he’s this close to winning a bet.

The ball itself is, as expected, a social hellscape. You and Idia survive by sticking together like conjoined twins, fending off the waves of nosy nobles and fake smiles. You can practically see the stress radiating off of Idia, his expression one of pure misery.

And then, the king makes his grand address, signaling the start of the first dance. You feel Idia stiffen beside you.

“Oh no,” he mutters, “Oh no. This is where it all goes downhill. I’ll trip, I’ll break my leg, and then they’ll throw me in the royal dungeon for embarrassing the family.”

“Relax,” you say, squeezing his hand. “It’s just one dance. I’ll lead, you follow. Easy.”

“I hate this,” he mumbles as you drag him onto the floor. “I hate everything about this. I should have just set myself on fire and gotten out of it that way.”

But despite his protests, you manage to lead him through the first few steps of the waltz. To your surprise, he’s not completely hopeless. He stumbles a little at first, but with you guiding him, he starts to get the hang of it.

“You’re doing great,” you say encouragingly.

“Stop lying,” he grumbles. “I’m one misstep away from taking us both out like a bowling ball hitting pins.”

The music continues, and with every turn and spin, you notice the room around you fading into the background. For a moment, it’s just you and Idia, navigating the intricate steps of the dance together. He’s still anxious, but he’s keeping up, and more importantly, you can tell he’s starting to trust you. He’s letting you take the lead, and for someone like Idia, that’s huge.

From Idia’s perspective, this entire ball is a waking nightmare. He’s completely out of his element, surrounded by people he’d normally go to great lengths to avoid. But then there’s you. You’re handling everything with this... ease, this grace that he can’t even begin to comprehend. You’re not just dancing with him, you’re actively navigating the minefield of court politics like it’s no big deal.

And you don’t need to do this. This isn’t your problem—it’s Ortho’s succession, not yours. But you’re here, by his side, going all out to make sure Ortho’s future is secure. Idia’s heart twists in his chest. He doesn’t get it. You’re way too cool for this. Too cool for him. You wink at him mid-spin, and he feels like his brain’s short-circuiting.

"Oh no. I like them. Like, really like them. And soon, they’ll be gone. This whole engagement is just for show. After Ortho’s investiture, we’ll go back to our separate lives, right?"

He swallows hard, trying not to freak out, but it’s too late. He’s in way too deep.

After the dance, you lead him off the floor and start mingling with the other nobles, making alliances and doing your whole “political mastermind” thing. Idia stands awkwardly to the side, trying to blend into the wallpaper, but his eyes keep following you. You don’t have to do all this for Ortho, but you are. And that’s... that’s really cool. He admires you, he can’t help it.

And then—oh no. The lower nobles. They spot him and beeline toward him like sharks smelling blood. Before he can make a break for it, they swarm around him, throwing party invitations at him like confetti.

“Prince Idia, you simply must attend our garden soirée next week,” one of them gushes, eyes sparkling.

“And our evening gala!” another pipes up. “You’ll be the guest of honor, of course!”

Idia’s face goes pale, and he shoots you a look that screams, HELP ME.

You swoop in like a knight in shining armor. “Ah, yes, well, unfortunately, Idia can’t attend. He’s... uh... allergic to sunlight.”

The nobles stare at you, blinking in confusion. Idia stares at you too, his expression a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“Allergic to... sunlight?” one noble repeats, frowning.

You facepalm. Smooth. “I mean... it’s a joke! Ha! Obviously! What I meant to say is... uh...” You scramble for an excuse. “I need a nap.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I—uh—can’t sleep without him,” you blurt out. “It’s, uh, a couple thing.”

The nobles blink at you again, thoroughly bewildered.

You grab Idia’s arm, muttering, “We’re leaving,” and make a quick exit, practically dragging him behind you.

As soon as you’re out of earshot, you let out a groan. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I said that. ‘Allergic to sunlight’? Really?”

Idia is doubled over laughing, completely losing it. “You what?!” he howls. “You need a nap? And you can’t sleep without me?!”

“Shut up!” you say, cheeks burning. “I was trying to save you!”

“You saved me? More like doomed me!” He wheezes between laughs, clutching his stomach. “Oh man, you are terrible at this. You make me look good, and that’s saying something.”

You glare at him, but his laughter is so infectious that you can’t stay mad. And honestly? He looks free. Unbridled, even. It’s the first time you’ve seen him laugh so openly, so without reservation, that it almost makes you forget how embarrassing the situation was.

Almost.

It's finally time for Ortho's investiture, and to say you feel unprepared would be an understatement. Not for any political reason—you've long since mastered the art of navigating court intrigue. No, the issue is far more personal, far more heart-wrenching. After today, once Ortho is declared Crown Prince, Idia will no longer have any excuse to stay in the spotlight. He'll retreat, back into the shadows, probably even fake his own kidnapping to get out of any future public events. And you?

You'll finally get that peaceful beach house you’ve been dreaming about.

But the thought doesn’t feel like a reward. It feels bitter. You don’t want that beach house—not if it means losing Idia. The man who’s wormed his way into your heart with his sarcasm, awkwardness, and hidden kindness.

But you know he’s not someone you can tie down. Idia doesn’t do well with permanence. And as much as your heart begged to hold on to him, you also know he’d likely slip through your fingers if you tried.

So you do what any self-respecting person would in this situation: put on a brave face, slip into your formal attire, and prepare to smile your way through heartbreak.

When you walk out to greet Idia, he’s already dressed in his formal robes, looking every bit the reluctant royal. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you, but he says nothing, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

You muster up the strength to smile and reach for his hand. “Ready?”

He nods, but neither of you can meet the other’s eyes.

From Idia’s perspective, today should feel like a victory. He’s been planning for Ortho’s investiture for months, and now that the day is finally here, he should be feeling nothing but relief. But no—he’s filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. It’s not about Ortho. His little brother is brilliant, and Idia knows the kingdom is in good hands.

No, what he’s not ready for is letting you go.

If someone had told him a year ago that he would care about someone—want someone—so desperately, he would’ve locked them up in a mental facility. But here he is, standing on the precipice of his worst nightmare.

You, who shine in every public setting, who effortlessly charm everyone around you, are going to move on. He knows he can’t tie you down with his reclusive lifestyle, his constant desire to escape from the world. How could he? You’re everything he’s not—bright, resplendent, beloved. He can’t ask you to give up your life for him.

But when you come out and take his hand, his heart skips a beat. Neither of you are able to look each other in the eye, but the gesture says more than any words could.

The investiture itself goes off without a hitch. Ortho’s speech is flawless, full of the hope and wisdom of a ruler who will no doubt lead the kingdom into a golden age. You’re so proud of him—of the boy who’s become like a little brother to you.

But even as you smile and clap with the rest of the court, you feel a heaviness in your chest that has nothing to do with the political spectacle unfolding before you.

A few tears slip down your cheeks, and you don’t even know if they’re from the overwhelming pride you feel for Ortho or the quiet heartbreak you’ve been trying to suppress all day.

Before you can wipe them away, Idia silently hands you his handkerchief. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at you, and that just makes the ache in your heart a little worse.

You take it with a quiet, “Thanks,” dabbing at your eyes, and you both stand there in tense silence, watching as the formalities continue around you.

Once the investiture concludes and the guests filter out, you and Idia retreat to a balcony to catch your breath. The sky is darkening, and the cool evening breeze does little to soothe the heaviness you feel in the pit of your stomach.

Idia breaks the silence first. "I've, uh... already arranged the beach house. It’s in your name now."

You blink, looking over at him. His voice cracks slightly, and when you finally turn to face him fully, you realize that he looks like the very picture of heartbreak. He’s not meeting your eyes, staring out into the distance as if it’ll keep him from falling apart.

You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Idia... do you want me to leave?”

He freezes, still not looking at you. "I... I want you to be happy. I mean, that's the whole point, right? The beach house, everything—you’ve been wanting that for ages."

“I didn’t ask if you wanted me to be happy,” you say quietly. “I asked if you want me to stay or go.”

The silence between you stretches, heavy and suffocating. You hold your breath, waiting for him to answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“I... I don’t know what I’m gonna do if you’re not here anymore.”

That’s all the confirmation you need. Before he can say anything else, you step forward, cupping his face and pulling him into a kiss. For a split second, he stiffens, shocked, but then he melts into it, his arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

It’s everything you needed and more—sweet, desperate, and filled with all the words neither of you have been able to say. When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his, both of you breathing heavily.

“Come with me,” you whisper. “To the beach house. We can... we can figure everything out from there.”

Idia lets out a watery laugh, one that’s half-disbelief, half-relief. “You really want a shut-in like me hanging around your dream house? You’re gonna get sick of me in a week.”

You smile, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “I don’t think I could ever get sick of you. So... what do you say?”

He hesitates for a moment, then gives a small nod, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Yeah... okay. I’ll come with you.”

And just like that, the weight that’s been pressing down on your chest all day lifts. It’s not the end—it’s a new beginning. One where you and Idia don’t have to part ways, where you can move forward together.

As you both stand there on the balcony, holding each other close, the world feels a little less daunting, and the future a little brighter.

The grand hall is slowly emptying out, nobles drifting away after offering their congratulations to Ortho. You and Idia maneuver through the lingering crowd, dodging overly-friendly dukes and avoiding eye contact with barons hoping to extend the festivities.

Idia clings to your arm like a cat being dragged to the vet, mumbling, “Please tell me we’re not about to be emotionally ambushed again.”

You smirk. “Relax. It’s just Ortho.”

“Yeah, that’s what you always say before things get sentimental and I have to deal with ‘feelings.’”

You spot Ortho standing near the dais, still wearing the ceremonial robes from his investiture. Despite the long night, he looks bright-eyed, waving cheerfully at some departing courtiers. When he catches sight of you two, his face breaks into the biggest grin, and he hurries over like an eager puppy.

“There you are!” Ortho beams, practically glowing with excitement. “I was worried you left without saying goodbye.”

“Us? Leave without saying goodbye?” you tease. “What kind of villains do you think we are?”

“Exactly the kind who would sneak away in the middle of a banquet,” Idia mutters under his breath. “And you know what? That plan still sounds great.”

Ortho rolls his eyes fondly. “You’re impossible, brother.”

“Only when I’m awake.”

“Anyway,” you cut in, shooting Idia a playful glare before turning back to Ortho, “we wanted to talk to you before we go.”

Ortho’s smile falters, just a bit. “You’re leaving already?”

You nod, squeezing Idia’s arm. “Yeah. We’re heading to the beach house.”

Ortho tilts his head, curious but not upset. “You’re moving there?”

“For a while, yeah,” you explain gently. “Idia and I need a break from all the court politics. But don’t worry. We’ll visit you. Often.”

Idia shifts beside you, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh... It’s not like I’m leaving forever or anything. Just... you know, temporarily escaping society.”

Ortho laughs, but there’s a softness in his gaze now. “I get it. I don’t blame you for wanting to leave all this behind for a bit.”

You take a step closer, voice lowering. “And hey... I know you’ve got a lot on your plate now. But we’re still family. If you need anything—anything—we’ll be here for you.”

Ortho’s grin returns, full force. “I know. I’m really glad you two have each other. Honestly, I was worried for a long time that Idia might never find someone willing to put up with him.”

“Gee, thanks,” Idia deadpans. “Glad my personal development arc has been so inspiring for you.”

“But seriously,” Ortho says, his expression softening again. “Thank you. You’ve done more for us than you had to. I know you could have just... gone back to your world or left things as they were. But you stayed. And you helped him.”

Oh no. Not this again. That suspicious prickle starts in your eyes, and you blink rapidly to fend off the tears. Not now. Not in public.

“You’re not... making me cry,” you insist, even as your voice wobbles. “This is just... allergy season.”

“Oh no, it’s happening,” Idia groans dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t cry. If you cry, Ortho’s gonna cry, and if Ortho cries, the nobles will definitely blame me.”

“Shut up, you big baby,” you sniffle, swatting his arm before pulling Ortho into a hug. “Come here, you. Group hug, now.”

Ortho barely has time to react before you’ve wrapped him up in your arms. He laughs, squeezing you back. You reach out blindly and grab Idia’s sleeve, yanking him into the fray.

“Wait—wait, what—!” Idia stumbles forward, sandwiched awkwardly between you and Ortho. “This is... I don’t...”

“Shhh,” you whisper, patting his back. “Feel the love.”

“This is emotional ambush!” Idia protests, voice muffled against your shoulder. “I want it on record that I was forced into this.”

“Noted,” Ortho says with a laugh, hugging both of you tighter. “But you’re not getting out of it.”

For a moment, the three of you just stand there, huddled together in a ridiculous knot of limbs, nobles glancing your way but tactfully avoiding comment.

Idia mutters into your ear, “This... this is basically treason against introverts.”

You grin. “Consider it penance for being emotionally stunted.”

“You’re both the worst,” he grumbles, but his arms stay wrapped around you.

Eventually, you pull back, wiping your eyes with the heel of your hand. “We’ll be back soon, Ortho. I promise.”

“I know.” Ortho smiles warmly, giving you one last squeeze. “And when you do, I’ll make sure you never have to attend another dull court event again.”

Idia perks up at that. “Oh. Now that’s what I call incentive.”

With one last shared laugh, the three of you break apart. Ortho steps back, standing tall and proud in his new role, though his smile still holds all the warmth of a little brother seeing his family off.

“Take care of him,” Ortho says quietly, glancing meaningfully at you.

“I plan to,” you reply, meeting his gaze with a small, reassuring smile.

“And you,” Ortho adds, looking at Idia. “Don’t screw this up.”

Idia gapes, indignant. “I—why does everyone assume I’m the one who’s going to screw it up?!”

You and Ortho exchange amused glances before both of you answer in perfect unison:

“Because you will.”

Idia groans. “Yeah, okay. Fair.”

With that, you bid Ortho one final goodbye, tugging Idia along before anyone else can rope you into small talk. As you leave the grand hall and step out into the cool night air, the weight on your shoulders feels a little lighter.

Idia sighs in relief. “Well, that’s over. Time to hibernate for the next decade.”

You chuckle, lacing your fingers through his. “Hibernation in the beach house?”

“Hell yeah.”

And with that, the two of you set off into the night, leaving the court behind—for now.

Oh, what happened to the heroine and the male lead, you ask? Let’s rewind a few months before Ortho’s investiture—back when they were still blissfully unaware of the elaborate downfall that awaited them.

You knew that the heroine and the male lead would try to make a spectacle of themselves during Ortho’s rise to power. The way they pranced around, flaunting their superficial charm and good looks like they owned the place—it was insufferable. And, of course, they were always scheming in the background, hoping to secure power and glory for themselves. You couldn’t stand it.

So, you set up the perfect trap.

It began at a lavish gala, one of those unnecessarily extravagant events where nobles gathered to network, gossip, and throw subtle insults at each other. You arrived fashionably late, as any proper duchess would, with Idia reluctantly in tow, mumbling under his breath about how every social event felt like “one of those long quests with zero rewards.”

“The rewards are emotional, Idia,” you whisper, linking arms with him.

“Yeah, emotional damage,” he mutters.

You suppress a smile, but your mind is elsewhere. Tonight is the night. You had planted the seeds weeks ago, a few well-placed rumors, some whispered insinuations, and a letter you’d accidentally left behind in a well-trafficked corridor. It was all coming together like a beautifully chaotic symphony, and now, the climax.

You spot the heroine first, her radiant smile masking the venom beneath. She’s making a grand entrance, arm-in-arm with the male lead, who, as always, looks like he’s stepped straight out of a romance novel. His hair is perfect, his jawline sharp enough to cut through glass. But you know better. They’re both so predictable.

“They’ve arrived,” you murmur to Idia.

He gives you a blank stare. “Yeah, cool, I’m just here to not die of social exhaustion. Whatever you’re planning... don’t tell me. I don’t wanna be involved.”

“Suit yourself,” you reply with a grin.

You watch them mingle, waiting for the right moment. And there it is—the heroine, attempting to cozy up to the king, laughing a little too loudly at one of his mediocre jokes. You slip through the crowd, making your way to where a certain nosy noblewoman is holding court. A noblewoman known for her love of gossip and her even greater love of ruining people’s lives with it.

Perfect.

You lean in, feigning concern. “Oh, My Lady... I probably shouldn’t say this, but I heard the strangest thing about the heroine. You won’t believe it.”

Her eyes gleam with curiosity. “Do tell, my dear.”

“Well,” you drop your voice to a whisper, “there’s talk that the heroine and the male lead are involved in some... unsavory business dealings. Something about embezzling funds from the royal coffers for their own gain? I don’t know how true it is, of course... but it would explain some things, wouldn’t it?”

You leave the rest unsaid, letting her imagination do the rest. The best part? It’s all technically true. You had orchestrated it so well, the heroine and the male lead had no idea that their “private” meetings and “innocent” financial maneuvers were anything but secret.

She gasps, her fan snapping shut. “I knew there was something off about them! Oh, the gall! I must inform the king immediately!”

And just like that, the gossip spreads like wildfire. Within minutes, the entire room is buzzing with scandalous whispers. The heroine and the male lead notice the shift, the way people start looking at them, and for the first time, they’re on the back foot. They try to smile, but their unease is palpable.

You sit back, watching the chaos unfold, sipping your wine as nobles begin to distance themselves from the pair, shooting them suspicious glances.

Idia sidles up next to you, looking around at the suddenly tense atmosphere. “What... what did you do?”

“Who, me?” You bat your eyelashes innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He gives you a side-eye. “You’re terrifying.”

“You knew that when you asked me to be your fake fiancée.”

The next day, official inquiries are launched into the heroine and the male lead’s finances, and though they try to clear their names, it’s no use. The damage is done. Their reputations are ruined beyond repair, and they’re forced to withdraw from court life entirely. A fitting end for their ambitions.

Which brings you to the present...

It’s a peaceful morning in your beach house, and you’re sitting on the veranda, enjoying your coffee while the sun rises over the horizon. The sound of waves crashing against the shore is your only company, and for once, there’s no looming political intrigue or royal drama to worry about.

That is, until Idia stumbles out of the bedroom, his hair a messy blue cloud, his eyes half-closed with sleep. He groans as he sees you, one hand on the wall to steady himself. “Why are you up so early? It’s like... the middle of the night.”

“It’s 10 AM,” you reply with a laugh.

“Exactly,” he grumbles, shuffling over to you. Without another word, he flops down beside you, his head immediately finding its way to your neck. He nuzzles into you, muttering something unintelligible, and you chuckle softly, patting him on the cheek.

“You’re such a big baby in the morning,” you tease, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

Despite being married for the past two years, Idia’s face turns tomato-red every time you do something affectionate. He blushes furiously now, burying his face in the crook of your neck to hide it.

“Y-You’re unfair,” he mumbles, voice muffled. “Saying stuff like that... it’s embarrassing.”

You grin. “But you’re so cute.”

“I’m not cute. I’m a grown man. And you’re a villain for making me get up before noon.”

You laugh, running your fingers through his messy hair. “Maybe, but I’m your villain. So deal with it.”

Idia groans dramatically but makes no effort to move away, too comfortable where he is. You continue sipping your coffee, enjoying the moment of peace, when he finally speaks again, a little softer this time.

“Y’know... you really did a number on the heroine and the male lead. They’re still laying low, huh?”

“Maybe the rumor I spread was truly a masterpiece,” you say with a smirk, remembering how perfectly everything had gone according to plan.

Idia snorts. “A masterpiece of destruction, maybe.”

You chuckle, pressing another kiss to his forehead. He sighs contentedly, the two of you basking in the quiet comfort of your shared life. It’s moments like this that remind you just how far you’ve come together, from court intrigue and scandal to peaceful mornings at your beach house.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

For the next part,

[redsrooftopprincess]

Damn it.

Okay, one last treat before I try really really hard to set my hyperfocus aside and get some actual work done. 😅

Raphael x Reader

No warnings, just fluff

Raphael leans up against the wall beside the bookcase, attempting to appear casual and failing miserably.

"So, uh, I got a question."

April doesn't look up from the papers spread out across the dining room table.

"Fire away."

The terrapin shifts his weight uncomfortably, "How to you - uh, humans I mean - how do you know... when you're in love?"

This does get April's full attention. She stops working and looks up, narrowing her eyes and scrutinizing her friend. This question seemingly came out of nowhere. Raph looks anywhere but at the very skilled investigative journalist.

Sometimes they asked questions about being human, moreso when they were younger, but this is one topic that had been avoided. No use knowing if it'll never happen, right?

So why now?

But, as she always does in these situations, she tries to answer him as honestly as she can.

"Well..." she starts, trying to think of the best way to describe the emotion, "I guess it feels..."

"All the songs start makin' sense," Casey calls over his shoulder from the couch while he watches a baseball game.

April shrugs and smirks, "I mean he's not wrong... When your in love things just... *matter* more. Especially the little things. That person sort of becomes *your* person. The first person you want to see every day, the first person you want to tell when something amazing happens, the first person you run to when it feels like you're drowning..." She looks fondly over at Casey, chuckling as he swears at the television. Her eyes soften after a moment and return to Raphael.

"And there's this... gravity. It's not even a conscious thing, you just keep coming back to them, no matter how far away you try and get. Once you're in love, you're pretty much doomed," she laughs. "Make sense?"

"Yeah, okay..." He replies. Satisfied, April returns to her work. Raphael glances over at you in the kitchen. You and Mikey were attempting to make cookies from memory, and you were both covered in flour and sugar and laughing your asses off. You've never looked more beautiful.

Raphael sighs quietly "I was afraid you were gonna say that."

"Huh?"

"Nothin'."

...

[sadly-in-active]

maybe yandere beast cookies? or just Shadow Milk if you cant do them all

Bet 😘

Yandere Beast Cookies x Reader hcs

Summary: My, my, my. The former five Cookies of Virtue, all fallen from grace are…attracted to you? Yes, and very attached. Almost to a point where it could just be considered unhealthy and unhinged. Well, good luck my dearest reader! Try to survive in this world of chaos and doom! ❤️

TW: The usual yandere stuff, stalking, murder, manipulation, gaslighting, threatening, and some other SUPER cool stuff :D

(Sorry if ooc 😭)

Eternal Sugar Cookie

Quite the clingy gal, that’s for sure. She knew you loved her from the start…but she loved you before you even knew her. She had her eyes on you this entire time, watching your every move with a giddy smile. It almost makes her giggle when she remembers the situation.

Eternal Sugar enjoys holding you close and wrapping her wings around you. She wants you to feel content and safe, but she also wants you to get attached to her as well. She knows that if she was going to try something more extreme, it would have to be when you’re becoming more vulnerable and soft towards her. Then she’d strike.

“Oh, sweetie…that unfortunate Cookie spoke to you too long. They looked like they were flirting with you, and I just couldn’t have that! I love you dearly, and I’m never letting my darling go again~!”

All in all, you’re probably too busy looking at how beautiful she was, how her sweet eyes were filled with care for you…and…then…

Were you getting sleepy just now?

Burning Spice Cookie

He’s not the type to really stalk you, but he’d demand to know where his little peppercorn is at all times, who you’re with and why you’re even there in the first place and not next to him. (yes he nicknamed you that and no I’m not talking about the canon Peppercorn Cookie don’t come at me)

Burning Spice probably gets really aggressive when you try to go somewhere without his permission, even trying to burn you once or twice to make you stay with him while he treats your wounds, love-bombing you afterwards and holding you close to his warm chest while he bear-hugs you. This tactic is usually done on your legs and especially your knees, giving you second degree burns and ending up with you being unable to walk for about a week or so.

“C’mon, toots! It’s just a few burns, no need to cry when you’re around me! This only happened because you aren’t being a good partner… Hey, look, maybe we could cuddle after if that’s what you want?”

How could you stay mad at a guy who looked so sure of himself? So warm and confident…

But the temperature was increasing more, you just didn’t realize until it was a bit too late.

Silent Salt Cookie

They’ve always been, well, silent. Even when around their peers, they’re known as the quiet one. Their situation with you is probably a lot like Eternal Sugar’s, watching you since the very beginning. They’re definitely light on their feet, a sound rarely coming out of their mouth as they watch you go about your day.

Watching you was something that made them feel a bit of hope in the quiet silence they’ve had during their time as a Beast.

They’ve never tried to hurt you, but they’ve hurt many cookies that have interacted with you. Haven’t you noticed all the missing posters? Well, Silent Salt is sure happy that you didn’t see the papers or notice anything off about the world. After all, how could you when you’re in their home, wandering the salt flats from time to time?

“…it’s not to hurt you.”

They had whispered in your ear while keeping you close on their lap, the two of you embracing each other and the silence that came with it.

The Beast of Silence had even felt some…guilt, being this attached to you.

They could kill armies and hundreds of innocent civilians…but never raise their sword at you.

Ever.

And it would be best to keep it that way.

Mystic Flour Cookie

So, I don’t really know what to write about her…because she’s basically a nihilist and the literal Beast of Apathy..

But she’d definitely try to guilt trip you into making you care about her and worship her by telling her story, wanting you to feel sympathy for her even if she doesn’t want to care for you. (She does, in a way.)

“Don’t stop the flow of life, dearest. Join me and become flour…”

Anyways, she’s probably going to turn you into flour in the end.

But watching you cough out flour as you collapse next to her was…a strange sight indeed. Not even she knew how to feel.

Shadow Milk Cookie

(Nightmare nightmare nightmare)

He’s certainly a flirt, ever since the two of you met. Shadow Milk has always been thinking of you as his little toy, someone that he could play around with and face little consequences.

Because how could you resist a face like his? With a pout on his lips as he tries to justify harming the ones who’ve wronged you a long time ago, whether it be a childhood bully or even your parents… Heck, he even swears that it was for your sake and not because he’s a sadistic piece of shit.

“But [name]! How could I rest well knowing that my sweet, sweet doll still has enemies all around them? It’s my duty to protect you and keep you safe. Besides, don’t you love me?! I know you’re not chickening out now, sweetheart!”

He’s definitely tried to control you, making you into a mindless puppet without your knowledge. It’s something he only does when he’s feeling particularly pissed off at you because you’re not listening to him.

Well, if you’re not listening to him, he’s not planning to listen to his little doll anytime soon!

And he swears he’ll change. Every promise he makes is another lie from the jester. Those kisses he gives you before he goes off doing who knows what? That’s just to keep you entertained.

It’s his duty to protect you, but it’s his job to keep everyone entertained— especially himself.

[xaytheloser]

The Sinner's and the Saint

The beast's relations with Bengin Butter Cookie (oc x canon lore, aka, doomed polyamory /silly)

Knowledge, Volition, Happiness, Change, Solidarity... and Benevolence, these virtues where imbued into the six ancient cookies, as the witches trusted them with the sacred virtues, in hopes of the dessert world would maintain a constant state of peace and prosperity... Benign Butter Cookie Remembers the good old days.. the times she laughed and watched Shadow Milk Cookie perform his iconic shows, as he takes pride in making her crack a smile even if she had an awful day. she remembers Mystic Flour Cookie, who showed just as much compassion as she did when aiding the common cookies of Earthbread, she was a passionate ancient through and through.. she remembers Eternal Sugar Cookie, and how she and her used to laugh and play in their free time, sitting calmly on her cloud, looking upon the glittering horizon.. she remember Burning Spice Cookie, as she took great joy watching him train to get stronger day by day, clapping and cheering for his growth as a virtue... and Silent Salt... while they spoke few words, their compassion for the cookies of Earthbread was clear, as they would show great care of the cookies of Earthbread, no matter the circumstance...

Oh, how power corrupts..

Shadow Milk, who now cackled in sinister glee as he used the innocent cookies of Earthbread as mere toys for his sick entertainment.. as he played gruesome shows to his comrades.. and Benign Butter Cookie.. whose face now showed horror instead of joy like she once had...

Mystic Flour could now care less for such insignificant speck of dough that weren't her comrades, as they now viewed herself as a godly figure, she was granted powers for far greater use than protecting the useless cookies of Earthbread.

Eternal Sugar Cookie, who was now to tired to put effort into anything but commute with her fellow ancients, and even then, she barely lifts her head up from her pillowy cloud.. as she smites anyone who disturbs her alone time..

Burning Spice to great joy in the suffering of the weak little cookies he terrorized... he viewed them as new targets to get stronger, just mere punching bags to play with..

and Silent Salt.. they saw no point in saving cookies anymore.. only cutting them down, crumbling them without hesitation as if they were no more than insignificant grains of flour... Bengin Butter Cookie could not stand watching her once beloved comrades fall under their own strength..

And so she helped her godly creators seal them away..

Shadow Milk pried at the bars at his cage, reaching out for Benign Butter as he yelled for her to save him... took look at him! there no actual way she would do this to him! ...right..?

Mystic Flour was surely shocked when her forked cage fell onto her.. thought she did not show surprise.. she knew that Benign Butter was still blinded by her faith in the gods that she might have had no choice but to trap her comrades if they so wished... Silent Salt could not bare to lift their sword at Benign Butter.. her expression looked.. so sad... and full of regret.. that they just couldn't do it..

Eternal Sugar was waken up by the sound of chains ratting against her newly established cage, as Benign Butter was on the other side of her cage.. her head lowered down as she ignored Eternal Sugar's pleas to let her out..

Burning Spice was full of rage... not at Benign Butter, oh no... at the witches... how DARE they make his sweet Benign Butter trap him like this! he saw her broken, crying face, theres no way she's doing this on her own volition! he swears to make the witches pay...

Benign Butter now resides in Beast Yeast... guarding the SIlver Tree along with Elder Faerie Cookie, preparing for the day she may have to put the beasts back into the seal if they ever do get out..

she will keep Earthbread safe at all costs... for the sake of Earthbread.. and her baby..

[denaliwrites]

It's Been a Long, Long Time

Alec Hardy x GN!Reader

Summary: The two of you danced around your feelings like two tango dancers... who don't know how to tango.

Soundtrack: It's Been a Long, Long Time by Harry James

Requests: Open!

Warnings: Abundant dumbassery.

You'd known Alec Hardy since he first moved to Broadchurch.

He'd stepped into the cafe where you worked on his very first day with the Broadchurch police and ordered a plain black coffee and a croissant. A bit basic, you'd thought at first, but then you'd reminded yourself that not everyone needed sugar bombs and heavy breakfasts to get going in the morning.

Given he was little more than a (rather grumpy) twig, you'd come to the conclusion that he'd probably die of a heart attack if he consumed anything more than his plain black coffee and croissant.

He came in nearly every day after that, and nearly every day it was the same order. Sometimes he picked up an extra drink for his partner, or he ordered a fruit pastry instead of his usual croissant. One time, he'd ordered tea instead of coffee. But for the most part, for the better part of a year, it was the same thing, over and over.

The first few visits, he'd refused to talk to you beyond what was strictly required -- he gave you his order and a thank you, and then he was gone. Over the months, though, he opened up more and more. He'd never needed to tell you his job -- that was easy enough to guess once the Danny Latimer case reached the public. But other details, like that he had a daughter, or that he was a cat person, or that his favorite color was green -- those came after months of only receiving "my usual, please."

Even with him opening up, though, he was hard to get to know, and even harder to fall in love with... yet you managed both. Unfortunately, Alec was an idiot.

Your boss, Alec's partner Ellie, pretty much anyone who saw the two of you interact could see that you were crushing rather hard on the detective. Anyone and everyone, except the man himself.

At first, it drove you up the wall how blind he was to your affections -- you weren't exactly making any effort to keep it concealed, and in fact thought you made it rather obvious -- too obvious, maybe, if all of Broadchurch excluding the idiot in question could tell.

But then it slowly became a game to you -- how clear could you be yet still be misunderstood? Every day you played chicken with yourself -- would today be the day? The answer was always no, even when you gave him a heart-shaped cookie on Valentine's. You'd even said "on me." Hell, before that you'd even given him a peck on the cheek under mistletoe sometime around Christmas.

You were pretty sure any chance you had at romance with him was doomed.

At least, until the Farthing Wood Club Incident.

You hadn't exactly meant to witness a crime. It just sort of happened. You were cleaning up after an event you'd catered when someone broke into the event hall and started tearing through the place.

Quietly, carefully, you ducked into a supply closet and dialed the only person you could think to call -- Alec. Of course. You heard him pick up but didn't dare answer him, even as he got louder and more annoyed, to the point where you had to mute him.

He hung up, and panic flooded your system. Desperately, you called him again, only to put him back on mute when he picked up.

You were relieved when he didn't hang up.

Any thoughts you may have had about why were lost as footsteps approached the closet. They got so close that you could hear the man breathing and, instinctively, you stopped. Several moments passed before he moved on, and it took every ounce of self-control you had to keep yourself from gasping for breath.

He passed by again a few minutes later, then again a few minutes after that.

This repeated a number of times, to the point that you were starting to get dizzy from keeping your breath held in so many random intervals.

"Oi! Anyone in here?" you heard Alec's voice call from somewhere in the building, just as the man who'd broken in passed the closet. You heard Alec call your name, and it filled you with dread as you realized that now the intruder probably knew someone else was here.

You could almost hear the man's head turn towards the closet, but before he could open the door and find you, Alec's footsteps echoed closer -- and the intruder's footsteps made the sound of a hasty retreat.

You didn't allow yourself to breathe until the voice of Alec calling your name got close -- practically right outside the door. Then, with no hesitance or shame, you threw yourself out of the closet and into Alec's arms.

Without thinking, and with nothing in your veins but pure, unfiltered adrenaline, you pulled him into a relieved kiss.

He was pretty predictably shocked at first, especially as mid-kiss your body started shaking with sobs, but rather than push you away or even break the kiss, he simply... held you. Let you ride out the emotions in the way you seemed to need.

Finally, you pulled away, wiping at your tears and panting as everything came crashing down. "G-God, I'm so -- I'm so sorry," you whimpered, looking anywhere but at him. "I don't know why I did that. I just..."

"Hey," he started, pulling your attention back to him. He looked so... calm, so reassuring. "Everyone deals with situations like this differently. Believe it or not, that's not even the strangest thing someone's done t'me in a moment of high stress."

You managed to chuckle a little, but it came out somewhat hollow. "Really? You're gonna try to tell me someone's done worse than kiss you unexpectedly?"

"It wasn't entirely unexpected."

You blanched. "What do you mean?"

"Well, like I said, I've gotten weirder reactions."

Oh. That was... a lot less anxiety-inducing than you were expecting.

"Yeah, well. This wasn't really the way I pictured our first kiss going," you admitted with a sigh.

"Oh? You were picturing us havin' a first kiss?"

Fuck.

And the way he sounded so pleasantly surprised, it threw you off but filled you immediately with delight.

"Well, yeah, I've only been crushing on you since the day we met."

"Oh, why didn't you say somethin'?" he asked.

That brought out a barking laugh. "Alec, I've been dropping hints for months. Some of them were... I dunno, nuclear level obvious."

"Oh... well," he said, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. "Y'ken, sometimes ye just gotta say it outright for us to get it."

"Yeah, I learned that early on. I guess I just hoped I was wrong or something, maybe."

"It does explain a few things," he said thoughtfully.

You thought it explained most things involving the relationship between you two, but you wondered what he was thinking of in particular. "Oh yeah?"

"Well, there was that mistletoe just before Christmas... and again on New Year... and the heart cookie..."

Leave it to Alec to miss all but the most obvious of clues. Of course.

"Oh, Alec," you sighed. "What am I gonna do with you?"

"Dunno. Grab dinner, maybe? After I file a report for this, of course."

[bearmgyu]

the devil said ha ha gimme, gimme more gimme, gimme more

Basic Information

Full Name: Choi Beom Gyu

Stage Name: Beomgyu (범규)

Nickname(s): Bamgyu, Cookie & Beomttomeok

Age: Twenty Three

Date of Birth: March 13th, 2001

Hometown: Daegu, South Korea

Current Location: Seoul, South Korea

Ethnicity: Korean

Nationality: Korean

Gender: Cis Male

Pronouns: He/Him/His

Orientation: Heteroromantic & Heterosexual (or is he idk maybe he's bi )

Occupation: Singer

Living Arrangements: Shares a dorm with Soobin

Language(s) Spoken: Korean, English, Japanese

Physical Appearance

Hair Colour: black

Eye Colour: dark brown

Height: 5'11

Weight: ~130

Tattoos: no

Piercings: no

Favorites'

Season: spring

Colour: pink & white

Movies: August Rush

Sport: -

Beverage: tea

Family, Relationships & More

Family: mother, father, two older brothers

Relationship Status: Single

Love Interest: tbd

Past Relationships:  tbd

Extra

Zodiac Sign: Pisces

Hogwarts House: Gryffindor

Discography

The Dream Chapter: STAR Mini Album March 4, 2019

Cat & Dog (English Ver.) English Digital Single May 3rd, 2019

Our Summer (Acoustic Mix) Digital Single May 21st, 2019

The Dream Chapter: MAGIC Full Album October 21, 2019

Magic Hour Japanese Single Album January 15, 2020

The Dream Chapter: ETERNITY Mini Album May 18, 2020

Drama Japanese Single Album August 19, 2020

Minisode 1: Blue Hour Mini Album October 26, 2020

Live On OST Part.1 OST Single November 24th, 2020

Still Dreaming Japanese Full Album January 20th, 2021

Doom At Your Service OST Part.2 OST Single May 24th, 2021

The Chaos Chapter: FREEZE Full Album May 31st, 2021

0X1=LOVESONG (I Know I Love You) ft. pH1, Woodie Goodchild, Seori Digital Single July 4th, 2021

The Chaos Chapter: FIGHT OR ESCAPE Repackage Album August 17th, 2021

0X1=LOVESONG (I Know I Love You) ft. MOD SUN Digital Single September 10th, 2021

Chaotic Wonderland Japanese Mini Album November 10, 2021

Minisode 2: Thursday’s Child Mini Album May 9, 2022

Valley of Lies English Digital Single July 22, 2022

君じゃない誰かの愛し方 (Ring) Japanese Digital Single August 24, 2022

Good boy Gone Bad Japanese Single August 31, 2022

Free Falling The Star Seekers OST September 19, 2022

The Name Chapter: TEMPTATION Mini Album January 27, 2023

Goodbye Now (Love Revolution x TXT) OST February 22, 2023

Sugar Rush Ride (Japanese Ver.) Pre-Release Single June 28, 2023

紫陽花のような恋 (Hydrangea Love) Pre-Release Single June 30, 2023

SWEET Japanese Album July 5, 2023

Do It Like That with Jonas Brothers English Collaboration Digital Single July 7, 2023

Back for More with Anita English Collaboration Digital Single September 15, 2023

Back for More (More Edition) English Collaboration Digital Single September 18, 2023

The Name Chapter: FREEFALL 3rd Full Album October 13, 2023

minisode 3: TOMORROW Mini Album April 1, 2024

minisode 3: TOMORROW Remixes April 5, 2024

誓い (CHIKAI) Japanese Single July 3, 2024

Open Always Win Collaboration Single (Samsung) July 17, 2024

Fun Facts

was the school president, class president, class vice president, hall monitor and school vice president when he was in school (in elementary and high school)

hates the texture of octopuses and gets grossed out and showed this when they played the guess what’s in the box game

calls himself a Tiger because ‘Beom’ means ‘Tiger’

is shy and quiet to people at first but when he warms up, he can’t stop talking

he has a parrot named Toto

he learned guitar from YouTube

he is an early bird

[logo-comics]

Pairing: Katarina x Maria Title: Chorus Aeternus

Anne watched tiredly as her employer was cornered. It seemed that Maria had planned ahead and had brought in a good deal of sugar and flour prior to setting sail to Termina.

Now that was a cunning ploy. While Anne loved Katarina like she was her own little sister, she knew that Katarina was doomed the moment that she first had one of Maria's fresh-baked cookies back at the Academy.

Some part of Anne couldn't help but wonder if that particular devious streak was the result of her father being a pirate, or simply something that the blonde had developed on her own.

In the end, she supposed it didn't matter.

The outcome would remain unchanged...

[enlightenedrobot]

Forgotten Shovelware

I did not use After Effects for this, just Affinity Photo and Capcut, and screen to gif

I actually used Nintendo's Mii Builder to make a reference Mii before going in and adding in my own elements.

I mostly kept the head, body, and mouth shape, while flipping the nose shape upside down. I was planning to heavily modify the eyes and hair, but I wound up just making them from scratch. The Ears, Goggles, and arms are also completely original.

The 3D effect is a combination of of gradients and bevel effects, because 3D modeling is annoying.

The character animation was created by moving the layers around by hand... er... mouse. Kinda sorta like digital stop motion.

The background was inspired by this:

As far as I can tell, Capcut doesn't let you make gradients, much less animate them, which is why the background is actually a screen recording. I'm dragging a hue slider in Affinity Photo just off screen. It's a really silly solution, but it works.

If the font looks familiar, its because it's Shin Go, a font used in a lot of Wii games.

All of the post processing effects are from Capcut except for the pixellation. In order to make the pixels look right and keep things from looking too silly, I applied the effect by hand to each of the layers. If I did a lazy version of the pixel effect on the entire image, it probably would've been to blurry to make out.

[jorobotart]

Newton Clementine Dirty Magazine Spread

Made for the Seduction of the Innocent zine. Zine will feature a short story, a comic, and a variety of mixed media illustrations.

There's a not-so-subtle shout out to @thisbelongsto-nohbodys and their character Leilana Gorlaxa on the cover. Alien pin-up models have to stick together after all.

Made in Affinity Photo

[corruptedconfessions]

Yandere!Brownie!Fatgum x reader

This is my piece for the Lovesick server Collab! There are tons of amazing fics posted and will be posted for this Collab so be sure to look into it!

This isn’t my favorite piece I’ve done, and it’s not proof read at all... but I hope it’s still a treat for today! Happy Halloween! 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You woke up feeling warm and comfortable, comforter tucked tight under your chin. Everything still felt a little fuzzy, your body warm and comfortable as the feeling slowly came back to you. You were almost tempted to close your eyes again, drift back off to sleep and just stay in this warm cozy feeling even longer.

But you had things to do today, and you couldn’t do them if you stayed in bed. So with a reluctant groan, you pulled yourself out of the comfy nest you had made, throwing the blankets to the side off of you. You frowned in displeasure when your bare feet hit the cold wooden floors, immediately heading to your dresser to pull on some socks to fight off the chill in your toes. Fall was just starting to settle in, it wasn’t cold enough for you to light the wood furnace in the living room, unfortunately, you hadn’t saved up enough to upgrade to central heating, so you figured fuzzy socks and thick sweaters would become a regular as the temperature continued to drop.

You hummed softly to yourself, scratching your head as you made your way down the stairs, heading directly to your kitchen to grab some food.

Much to your delight you came down to a spotless kitchen, the pile of dishes in your sink from your cooking excursion the night before completely clean and left on the drying rack. Counters that had flour and sugar spilled in small spots where you had been messy with the measuring were wiped clean and buffed, left polished and shiny. Even the floor was sparkling, you had left it clean when you went to bed but it was clearly freshly mopped and swept. They really did spoil you, didn’t they?

“Thank you!”

You called out into the empty room, knowing that thanks weren’t exactly necessary, if anything it was pointless. You had been warned when you had first moved in about the little…inhabitant of your house beforehand. A little trickster who had chased out all the previous owners and caused the house price to drop so harshly. The Realtor had told you that if you were to stay in the house you must leave offerings for them on the hearth unless you wanted to be chased out like everyone else had.

You had taken her words to heart, leaving bowls of milk or cream on the hearth every night. Every morning when you woke up the offering was gone and you were left be, never seeing head nor tail of whatever being you shared your home with. At least until one night, you decided to leave a little something extra, you had baked some cookies that night and had way too many leftovers. You had wondered if the creature would enjoy a little treat as well, so that night you had left a few cookies next to the milk you left out. Come morning both the cookies and milk were gone, not even a crumb left behind. This had started the tradition of leaving out sweets and baked goods for him, some cake you had leftover, brownies you had baked in your free time, anything that you made that was sweet was left on a plate on the hearth before you went to bed.

It wasn’t long after that that you noticed a change. Every morning when you came downstairs you would find chores done, the house left spotless. Any dishes left at the sink were cleaned, dried, and neatly put away. Any mess on the counters from your baking was cleaned up, not a spot left behind. Floors were mopped and sparkling, laundry was done and put away neatly. The only explanation was that whoever was here enjoyed your offerings so much that they decided to treat you as well. It had been months since you had last needed to do any form of housework, any free time was spent baking and perfecting recipes for your little helper that worked in the night.

Maybe it was strange but you couldn’t help but feel a sense of attachment to the little creature who helped you out so much. They always seemed to do so much for you for a small plate of treats…Maybe you should make them something special?

You hummed to yourself, musing over ideas of a special treat to bake next as you wondered about your kitchen, oblivious to the golden eyes watching you from the next room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.

Unfortunately, you wouldn’t have time to think about let alone start baking anything that night.

It was just meant to be a quick dinner date. Nothing special, food, a few hours of chatting, and you were done. It seemed fate had a different plan for you. It had all started with the meal you had spent hours on, slaving over and making everything taste perfect had somehow ended up with your saltshaker broken on top, leaving it covered in too much glass and salt to even begin to salvage. Then every single meal after that went horribly wrong, Ingredient you swore you had disappeared, bowls shattering when your back was turned, mixtures and food would fall over and spill when left unsupervised. After numerous attempts, you found yourself frazzled, on the brink of tears with barely an hour until your date was supposed to show up.

You almost wanted to call him and cancel the date then and there.

By some miracle, you had managed to hold your resolve to not call him and cancel. Thirty minutes, a phone call for delivery from your favorite restaurant, and a shower later you found yourself hovering anxiously by the front door, waiting.

You had been so excited when the knock at the door finally came, barely reminding yourself to wait a second before slowly walking over to open the door. The second you saw his face, smiling back at you with his coat wrapped tight around him, all your frustration from the earlier incidents had melted away. You felt…lighter. Excited for the night ahead. Like you could still make this work.

“Come on, You must be cold!”

You had stepped aside so he could come in, taking his coat from him, turning around for just a brief second to hang it up when he had yelled. You had spun around to find your date on the floor next to where he had kicked off his shoes, clutching his hand in agony.

“What happened?!”

You rushed to his side, gasping in horror when you saw his hand. He was shaking hard, his entire palm white with angry red edges around the side of his hand, burnt like he had shoved his entire hand onto a hot stovetop.

“Y-your doorknob!”

You blinked in confusion looking up at your normal-looking doorknob that you had touched only moments earlier to open the door. It almost seemed to stare innocently back at you, looking the exact same as it always does.

“It doesn’t matter, come on, let's get you a cold rag.”

That should have been your second warning, a warning that your date was doomed to fail. You should have listened to it, but you didn’t. You just brushed off the unsettling feeling of being watched, the heavy feeling of anger in the air. You had even stared in confusion with your date when you turned back from grabbing him a cold wet rag just to find his hand completely fine as if it had never been hurt at all. The illusion of pain was still etched into your date's face as you had carefully run your fingers over his palm, confused when you felt the unmarred flesh.

Both of you had chosen to laugh off the weird moment both of you had experienced, instead turning to busy yourself with getting the take out set onto plates. The idle awkward conversation quickly melted into something more warm and familiar as you bumped against each other while grabbing plates, the soft brushes against each other chasing off the freezing chill that settled into the air.

Once the table was set, covered in plates of food, the warm delicious aroma filling the air along with your laughter. You had offered him a seat as you moved to your own, gaze turned away when a loud snap grabbed your attention. You had spun around to find your date crumpled on the floor, chair completely broken and splintered beneath him. You had rushed to his side, helping him up, hands dragging across his body as you helped him brush off the splinters that covered his body.

It had just gotten worse from thereon. The happy atmosphere was gone, both of you left unable to talk for more than a few seconds as a heavy dark feeling settled down over the house, accompanied by more…incidents with your date. You had offered him another chair, only for him to discover it was covered in thumbtacks, something neither of you realized until he had sat down. Of course when you had rushed to his side, helping him pull the tacks out of his pants and brush them off the seat a bowl of hot soup had fallen over, spilling across his legs and burning him. You were left completely untouched, not even a drop got on you despite being only inches away from him.

The rest of the night continued like this; Every time you turned your back or even looked away from your date for a split second your attention would always be yanked back to him by a pained yell or expletive. Something always went wrong, and as your date grew more battered, he grew angrier as the night went on. 

Which was exactly how you found yourself here, your date practically towering over you, face flushed red in rage. Gone was the light-hearted and kind man you had been going on dates with, instead replaced with frustration and anger, all pointed at you.

“Do you think this is some kind of joke? What the hell is wrong with you?!”

You stared up at your date with wide frantic eyes, reaching out for him as you shook your head rapidly, only for him to pull away from you. Your gaze dragged down to the milk-soaked shoes on the floor, sopping wet and ruined. You could smell the scent of curdled milk from where you stood.

“What- No! Of course not! I didn’t do this- I was with you the whole time! I don’t understand what’s happening-”

You were cut off as he held his hand up, face pulled tight as he turned away from you, walking over to the door as he spoke to you in a cold tone.

“Forget it. I’m done. We’re over.”

You could feel tears blurring in your eyes as you watched him yank on his coat, picking up his milk-soaked shoes, holding them in one hand as he swung the door open, storming out into the cold night in his socks.

The slam of the door behind him followed by the deafening silence is what finally broke you. Tears streamed down your face freely, a soft choked sob breaking the deafening quiet that weighed down on you. You didn’t understand what was happening! You had…really liked this guy and now he was gone.

You had been looking forward to this night so much for so long…You had gotten so excited to finally get out of your lonely bubble of solitude. But as usual, you had fucked it all up…That’s what you get for holding so much hope. 

You cried harder, nearly tripping over yourself as you stumbled up the stairs to your bedroom, flinging yourself onto your bed as you sobbed into your pillow. All the frustration and anger from your fight and all the little tricks and little things that kept going wrong throughout the night flowing out of you onto your pillow.

You stayed like that, still in your nice outfit, hair perfectly done, sobbing into your pillow until you fell asleep.

The mantle place was left empty, no offering sitting atop the wood for the first time since you had moved in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.

It was still dark when you woke up, so dark that your groggy brain couldn’t tell if your eyes were open or closed. You contemplated that for a few minutes as your groggy brain wondered why you had woken up and considered rolling over and going back to sleep.

 But you couldn’t.

 Slowly you became more and more aware of the suffocating atmosphere that weighed down on you. The air felt thick and heavy…suffocating. So much so that you could hear your own heavy breathes, deep, raspy...angry.

 That wasn’t you breathing.

 Suddenly awake you felt your heart starting to pound as you peeked your eyes open, starting to tremble at what you saw. There, standing at the foot of your bed was a creature; golden eyes glowing in the dark, face twisted into a deeply angered snarl as he stood towering over you.

 “You forgot.”

 The voice vibrated hard through the air, weighing down on you as you lay frozen in your bed, unable to do much other than stare up at him in panic. Forgot? Forgot what-

 You gasped softly. The offering.

 “I-I’m sorry-! I-I can s-still-”

 “No!”

 You flinched back whimpering as he snarled down at you, eyes glowing brighter against the darkness as he stepped closer. The bed creaked harshly under his weight as he crawled atop you, golden eyes blazing with rage as you laid underneath him, unable to bring yourself to do anything but stare up at him in pure terror. Was he going to crush you?

 “You brought that…man into our home. You fed him, but not me. Selfish, silly little human. Is this some sort of tantrum? Did I not do enough for you? You had to go look to…someone else to fill your needs? Was I not satisfactory enough for you?”

 You whimpered pressing back hard against your pillow as he leaned in, holding himself up so he was nothing more than a warmth covering your entire body, but you were painfully aware of how easily he could crush you…suffocate you.

 “N-no-! I’m s-sorry I didn’t mean to forget it was just that my date-”

 Wrong thing to say. In an instant, the face that had slowly started melting into something softer, sweeter immediately hardened again. Rage sparked in his eyes as the air grew heavier around him, as did he. You gasped for air, jumping slightly when a hand moved to grip your chin, fingers splaying out across your skin. You squeezed your eyes shut as he tilted his head down at you, face slowly melting away from anger to something different, something…scarier. He completely disregarded your words as he inspected your face, his touch staying gentle despite the rage that poured off him so heavily you could almost taste it.

 “Or is that you forgot about me? Forgot what we had just because I did not mesh our lips together like he did, or touch your body in the ways he has.”

 You whimpered, tears starting to burn in your eyes as you curled in on yourself. You found yourself pitifully batting at his hands as he let go of your face, instead moving to slide his touch downwards, grabbing at your chest and brushing against your sides as he drank in your expressions.

 You found yourself helpless to do anything as he easily pulled your shirt off over your head, large hands immediately moving to touch you, rubbing and grabbing at everything he could reach as he slowly moved down. Your pants and underwear were quick to go too, leaving you bare and vulnerable against the cold night air. Not to worry, he will keep you warm all...night…long.

 He’ll make sure you will never forget him again

[jj-ktae]

Sucre D’orge (M)

Banner : Courtesy of the horniest of the horniest aka Jacqueline @jaebeomsmullet​ !! Thank you !!! 

Title : Sucre D’orge (Candy Cane) Pairing : Lim Jaebeom x Reader  Words : 1773 Genre : Crack, smut, oral (male receiving), creepy innuendos, overall it’s kinda weird but when is it not when I write smut. Do not read if you’re underage.

Summary : Jaebeom said he would take care of the Christmas dinner and he is a man of honour. That is, until he forgets to get the dessert. 

AN : I know I’m late but here is the Jaebeom smut involving Candy Cane I mentioned a few decades days ago. Don’t judge me.

---

Sucre D’orge

Jaebeom knew he felt lighter than he should have when he left the supermarket. Somewhere between the condiments and the vegetables, the thought of getting something sweet crossed his mind - very quickly but it did. 

He knew he should have rushed to the area especially made for Christmas delicacies but his eyes caught these amazing sausages on sale and all holiday thoughts left his mind. 

What can he do when he has the attention span of a goldfish.

So upon entering his place he knew he’d have to be creative. And creative he is, just not in the kitchen. He promised he would deal with it, that you wouldn’t have to worry about a single thing, that going to a restaurant was too bougie. 

Yet here he is, looking at the rotting box of cookies, all as hard as rocks all the while questioning his life choices.

You’re going to tell him that it doesn’t matter, but it does to him.

Jaebeom is a man of honour. If he says he can handle it, he has to handle it.

Rummaging through the pantry brings discoveries Jaebeom didn’t even know existed. None of these are useful enough to come up with a dessert and even if they were Jaebeom is quite doomed.

He has no idea how to bake. 

While preparing the food he thinks and thinks, eyes wandering the kitchen as he almost chop his fingers off. Time ticks and so are his nerves, not satisfied with the thought of messing up.

Maybe he should order a cake ? 

He has no idea what to do.

In one last attempt at finding something to do, his eyes fall on your baking box, the one containing all the decoration and useless things you buy online because it’s cheap. 

When he opens it, an idea comes up instantly. 

And Jaebeom is almost sure you’ll like it better than any other pastry out there.

--

It’s been a long day. A day of dealing with unhappy customers and people rushing to get some last minute presents to put under the Christmas tree. The cold is freezing your bones and numbing your toes, making you rush faster toward your warm home, where Jaebeom assured you he was done and is currently waiting for you.

He is in charge of the Christmas dinner.

Maybe you’re wrong, but the last time you checked Jaebeom had only three recipes in his portfolio, all involving fried rice and stew. When he insisted on making dinner for such a festive occasion, you couldn’t find it in yourself to tell him no, even though you were dying to try that new restaurant next to your workplace. 

You open the door and find nothing but silence, along with a neat table. The tablecloth is a deep red, along with golden decorations and it’s so unlike Jaebeom to be this delicate when it comes to anything food-related.

Your fingers scrape the soft material, amazed by the chandeliers and fairy lights adorning the plates and cutlery. 

He really did a good job. 

And by he you mean Jaebeom, who is nowhere to be seen. Knowing him, he’s supposed to be boasting right now, claiming he can do anything once he puts his mind to it.

But it’s silent, and if it wasn’t for the message you received less than ten minutes ago from him, you’d believe he was asleep.

Well, ten minutes are enough to knock him out anyways.

Carefully, you walk toward your bedroom, where the usually opened door it shut and you finally hear the soft tapping of the cats coming from the guest room.

He definitely locked them up in another room but for what?

You’re full of questions when you open the door, and while you’re expecting your boyfriend to be sleeping like a log after a full day of preparations, you find none of that.

Jaebeom is not asleep.

He is pretty much awake and lying on the bed, surrounded by candles and legs covered. Why is he not wearing a t-shirt ?

Most importantly, why is there a tiny tent under the thin sheet ? 

“I thought we’d have some dessert first.” Is all he says, ignoring your shocked face.

Jaebeom must be drunk.

It’s not like he isn’t into that sort of thing, but roleplaying and cringy talks are not part of his sex ritual. You understand he might feel the need to do something unusual as a Christmas gift.

You walk toward the bed, your hands busy as you’re removing your coat and when you sit on the bed he shifts, his lips red and cheeks not their usual colour. 

“Where do I start?” You try, eyeing him from head to toes, yet stopping on his middle part which is lifting the sheet so sweetly.

Jaebeom snorts, mildly offended. His hands find their way under his head “How about you kiss me first?”

You lift a brow at his request but still lean on the bed, lips now around his and he instantly becomes needy. His hands leave their spot to trap your head, holding you while his tongue licks your own.

Jaebeom lets you go when you moan into the kiss and leans back on bed, breathless.

“Before you lift the sheet, I’m extremely serious about this. So I swear if you laugh-”

“If I laugh? Why would I?”

When he doesn’t answer you grow curious and lift the said sheet, discovering something that makes you instantly freeze.

In front of you, what was lifting the sheet earlier is now out for your eyes to see. Jaebeom’s dick, unrecognisable, painted like a candy cane...

...with the tip wrapped around a red ribbon and leaking what surely is not sugar.

“Wh-ho-why...huh-” You stammer, head definitely not getting around what is going on.

Jaebeom makes a sound but is definitely too embarrassed to speak, so he just thrusts his hips in the air, signalling you to just go for it.

It’s shocking but not in a bad way. Jaebeom knows your bad taste when it comes to sex and even though he often allowed you to do whatever you wanted with him, he never went as far as transform his dick into a candy cane.

This is exactly what you’d call a Christmas miracle. You love it.

“That’s a cute candy cane…” You muse, kneeling on the floor while resting over the mattress. Your finger teases the ribbon just enough to add pressure around Jaebeom’s tip and he hisses, half-aroused and half-annoyed.

“I wonder what it tastes like. This is the dessert, right ?” You glance up at your boyfriend who is now gripping the bed with all his strength. 

Jaebeom nods, biting his lip yet not shy enough to look away despite his reddening cheeks. “How about you give it a lick and tell me?”

“I might just do that.” You conclude, fingers pulling on the ribbon to free his hard flesh. It left a mark but you’re quite sure Jaebeom didn’t hate it as much as he will tell you it did once this is over. “Look how thick…” You moan, grabbing his penis before rubbing it, smearing the edible paint and coating your hand with a mixture of sugar and pre-cum.

Jaebeom hisses when you suck on your fingers.

“Delicious. Where do they sell such awesome desserts…?”

“It’s a secret-” Jaebeom whispers, stopping when you rub him again. “don’t play with food, though…” He tries, making you smirk.

You nod, leaning more over the bed and until your lips are close enough to peck the hot flesh of his thigh, now trembling under your breath. He says nothing and lets you enjoy his skin, becoming obedient even when you spread his legs to move in between them. 

He almost hits his head against the wall when you open your mouth to suck on his balls. 

You’re taking that degustation theme a bit too far.

He is completely gone when you wrap your lips around his tip to give it a strong suck. He looks down only to find your lips painted in red and white and he feels himself leaking more strings of pre-cum into your mouth at the sight.

It has never been this hard to hold it in.

You rarely deal with such a submissive Jaebeom. He never lets you play for too long, his impatience enough to have him bend you over when he can’t take it anymore.

Today though he only moans and thrusts incredibly slowly. You love it, how he eases himself so sweetly, eyes stuck on the place where he disappears into your warmth and sighing at the feeling. 

You caress his skin to tickle his reflexes, nails dipping into the thin skin and scratching painted veins on his hard dick. Jaebeom takes the torture, making all sort of noises and inaudibly encouraging you. 

He is apparently praising you to have you unwind yourself on his dick once and for all. 

So when you finally decide to descend on him and swallow his dick wholly, he becomes a mess. 

You let him go with a smirk, your hand wiping the smeared paint mixed with saliva coating your chin. You look like the most gluttonous bitch out there.

“i’m such a sucker for sweets…” You say before dipping again. Jaebeom doesn’t have the time to answer before you lash out on him, ready to eat all that edible paint and everything else coming from him.

And he wouldn’t mind feeding you with his dick every time you’re hungry. 

You speed up and it suddenly is too much for him to handle. His penis is almost clean from the paint, which is now also all around his pubic hair and it’s going to be hell to clean but the orgasm is coming and Jaebeom doesn’t give a shit about anything else but the way he is going to fill your throat until you choke.

And cumming he does, thick ropes oozing out and landing on your chin and mouth while your hand is frantically milking him. Everything is blurry for Jaebeom but not your tongue, out of your mouth and collecting his semen.

It gets too sensitive when you don’t stop moving your hand and even after desperate whimpers, he finds you licking all the remains of his climax.

Jaebeom has no idea why he did this and you will probably make fun of his Christmas candy cane dick for the next decade but when he looks down he finds you, incredibly pleased.

You’re undressing yourself when you say what makes your boyfriend choke on air.

“How about the main course now ? I say stuffed turkey.”

[writtenfan]

Ah, The Joys of Parenthood, They’re your Whole Underworld ya know?

DisneyHades x Reader

Taking care of the little fire-crackers can be a lot, Hades sure feels that way...

Oh geez, s-settle down, kiddos… No, no. No! No!! I take a call for two seconds! -” he holds up two fingers and waves them in the air looking down at his kids, fussing and running around the room. 

“TWO. Itty bitty SECONDS!, and all of you go Lord of the Flies on me.”

You watch Hades breathing heavily, trying his very very best to keep himself calm tempered but his flames give away how angry he is by their frantic bursts of red between the blue. His internal de-fuming was interrupted by a loud-

 BAM! 

As one of the three kids, tripped over their father’s smoke and onto the rug which made him snap his head to them, grab them by their shoulders with the same smoke they tripped over and pulled them towards him.

They look up at him will a giddy smile and he scrunches up his nose and gives them a closed smile back, which looked absolutely phony.

“Cool it, you little pest, or DADDY’S going to, lose it. Capiche? You don’t like it when daddy goes Koo-Koo! Koo-Koo! Right?!” he hisses through his teeth and your child shakes their head with a worried frown and slowly walks off towards a bunch of books laying on the floor.

“Oy Vey, KIDS! Alright, ok, Calm down Hades. In and out, remember what Hera told you? Oh ho ho, ho…feeling dumb now aren’t ya? How you shoulda thought twice before-” he stops himself and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath in an exhaling hot smoke as he opens his eyes lazily.

His voice turning eerily sweeter, “Ahem. Daddy can only handle sooo MUCH~! Before he decides to take the late abortion, option...

... AND THROWS YOU IN THE STYX!!!”

Well. He Failed at Being Calm.

His fire sparks a dazzling red which causes all of your kids to halt and say their apologies to their father, significantly slowing down in the process, all except one kid. Who seemed to be completely running on adrenaline and just wouldn’t sit still.

“Thank you. You little brats… Geez, and watch your sibling eh? Oy, I shouldn’t have given them those cookies…but they kept bugging me and bugging me. Works for the dog, I give them a treat and badabing! They’re off my back for an hour or two. But this little smutch right here?! Sheesh!” He mocks a buzzer sound. “Wrong answer. Never again, you hear me?!” he points to your child who gives their father a sharp toothed grin.

You lean against the stone door frame and some of the stone crumbles off the wall and his attention shifts to you and the smirk on your face. He sizzles down automatically. 

The blue flames flicker once again on the top of his head. His face turns to this sentimental big-eyed and blushing grin. 

“y/n! sweetheart, the exquisite object of my affection…” he glides his way towards you, and you meet him in the middle of the room. 

Your kids turn their head and smile at you, with a few hi (mommy/daddy’s) but once again become preoccupied with the one child that just wouldn’t stop putting pieces of books into the fire. You tell them to stay away from the breakables with a laugh as you watch the youngest drop the books and run towards a statue while the middle child is just trying to pull the younger one way from it. 

This den had turned into the colosseum pits of Rome more than once and It didn’t help that it was filled with old irreplaceable books and rickety bookshelves crawling with Underworld bugs. (Which Hades uses as a light reading snack ugh). Along with a cluster of breakable glass containers and cylinders holding whatever the hell they held, littering the floor.

This place was a disaster zone. The few screaming statues that stood around the room sure didn’t make it peaceful either and right on cue you watched your oldest accidentally fall into one after tugging with the youngest and you leaped forward as you saw the statue jolt but were greeted with, “Aye aye, I got it, it got iiiit…” As a burst of smoke pushed against the other side of the statue stopping it from falling while picking back up the oldest on their feet and grabbing your youngest by the back of their collar and hovering them over the fireplace, (which had absolutely nothing to prevent a child from falling inside) plopping them down on the huge intricately woven rug made by The Fates. 

Unexpectedly Hades pulls you into him by the waist and spins you around in a circle. “Angel face, Baby. heh, do you think you could? Uh, handle them, for me? For a little bit, of course.”

  You give him a look.

“ Ay heheh...I just have to go to another business meeting, haha yeah. He rests his hands on your waist and isn’t afraid to hold them firmly, oh he knew how to make you soft.  

“You know Echidna right?! Right. Husband Typhon… the mountain guy… you know. 6 weeks ago at the pool party, best Feta Me Meli you ever had? Well. They’ve been impatient recently and I rather not get on her bad side…or have them on mine. So, watch little Cerberus Jr. for me until my meet up is over, cool? Cool.” He gestures to your three kids who have now restrained the youngest who was flickering little bursts of red around their hair. (He collectively calls them Cerberus Jr. Quite often.) Sweat is rolling down Hades’s forehead and sizzling off in steam just as it formed, his face still in complete pleading mode, lips pouted, eyes all big...

“Please?!” he clears his throat.

 “I mean, ha-ha-heh please dearest? I mean, I deserve it! I bet your liking this top-notch parenting your witnessing eh?” He blows hot air on his knuckles and rubs them on his chest as if shining it. “Well, I hope this turns you on… But I’m kinda running a bit low on steam, or should I say, smoke.” he grumbles. 

Your eldest yells from across the room as they're putting all the books on high shelves to stop the youngest from continuing to shred them into the fire. They then say something about how “Dad” gave the youngest some oatmeal cookies that had him bouncing off the walls. 

“You little snitch,” Hades mumbled under his mouth giving his child the eye which made them shudder and look away. You turn to Hades with an eyebrow raised, and he places a hand on your back and turns you around from the kids gilding you towards the door.

“But even though I’m ha top, repeating what you said last night, DILF. Of the Underworld and all-” He chuckled proudly and you laugh and turn your head to the kids, and you catch one rolling their eyes and you give them an ashamed little chortle “-I got to get some work done, that isn’t…this work.”

He grins sheepishly and you roll your eyes and smile. But remind him that you’re not going to be the typical stay at home (mom/dad) that he may want you to be. As you caught him slipping earlier with such an expectation from you. Which made you make him spend time with the kids in the first place.

“Oh YES! GODS. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!” 

He clasps both his hands around yours and shakes them frantically and you start laughing which makes him grin. “I promise boss, I won’t let you down. Overtime even and ill clock in early (ma’am/sir) I'll even stay in late…and help you, liquidate the debt …if you know what I mean…” he wiggles his eyebrows and you are bombarded with little kisses all over your face as he says “Muah” for each one, you try pushing him off you but he turns you around as you do so that his back is now towards the door. He pulls away from you laugh as he gives you a salute, but before slipping through the door he points to the kids.

“If you make your (mother/father) mad or sad or anything but glad! I’ll give you all a worthy punishment for your demi-dis“ass”ter’s got it?” He points to himself and then back at them and they reply in obvious dread and you wave him off but he just gives you few air kisses, “I’ll take ya on a little trip to doom-and-gloomingdales and get you something swanky, we’ll have Pain and Panic watch the kids.” He gives you a wink and clicks his tongue as he leaves and you walk over to your kids. 

Scooping up the youngest who was on a sugar high and watch their little flames of anger die down as you held them from their middle with ease and you smiled as they started laughing as you hoisted them up on your shoulders.

“How’re (mommas/daddy’s) favorite kids doing huh. Driving him mad eh?” you chuckle as you walk over to your other two scamps.

“We’re you only kids…”

“I’m the favorite!!”

“BOW DOWN TINY MORTALS FOR I AM HADES!!”

You smirk up at the one on your shoulders.

“Oh, please don’t copy your father there’s enough of him already.”

[justthehiddleswrites]

The Reluctants | Chapter 2 | The Reluctant Tenant

Pairing: Adam (OLLA) x OFC (Charlie Bock)

Summary:  Charlie can’t believe her luck when she lands an apartment all to herself in Quincy, Massachusetts in a decaying triple decker. But life gets more complicated when someone moves into the basement. Specifically her landlord, Adam, who also happens to be a vampire. As life collapses around Charlie, these two forge an uneasy and unlikely relationship. But is their relationship as doomed as the building they live in?

This Chapter:   Charlie discovered the true identity of the man living in the basement through unusual means.

Warnings: Violence, Smut, Frottage, Dry Humping, Teasing, Coming In Pants, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex. Couch Sex. Kidnapping. Stalking. Non-Graphic Violence, Character Death

-

Charlie bounded out of bed that morning a half an hour before her alarm was set to go off. She hurried to the kitchen and slapped the coffee maker before popping a cinnamon raisin bagel in the toaster.

“Call on me, Call on me…” Charlie sang into her knife as she waited for the bagel to pop up ready to slather it with a generous amount of cookie butter. That ridiculous Eric Prydz song had wormed its way into her brain last night during her research. Now she couldn’t stop singing it. Or thrusting her hips.

As the coffee dripped and her bagel breakfast toasted, Charlie headed to the second bedroom. Or the room of requirement, as she called. She meant it to be her home office but instead stored all the bits and pieces of her life that had yet to find a place in her apartment. Charlie sighed and took a deep breath, twisting the brass knob and pushing the door inward. It stopped short about a third of the way. She slithered her way into the room to discover her collection of hockey sticks tumbled over, blocking the path of the door.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” she cursed mostly at herself as she righted the tub that housed the sticks. She surveyed the room, gingerly stepping around stacks of books and old stuffed animals crammed into banker boxes.

“I should sell all this on eBay.” she muttered while moving back issues of Real Simple and Martha Stewart Living Magazine.

Her Christmas present from her mother every year. Even though she never read them and would sooner read Guns and Ammo over that drivel. And Charlie never owned a gun. Just another way for her mother to comment on her inadequacies as a woman and a daughter.

“There you are.” She unearthed a pair of Bose stereo speakers. “Come here, my beauties.” She lifted them from their hiding spot, cradling them under her arm.

It took about an hour and two cups of coffee for Charlie to find the optimal spot to set up and then hook the speaker up to her phone. She laid the speakers face down against the floor at where she expected for Mr. Shelley’s living area. She adjusted the volume and clicked open the playlist she prepared last night.

“Let’s smoke you out, Mr. Shelley.” She pressed play on her phone.

Oh baby, baby

Oh baby, baby

Oh baby, baby, how was I supposed to know

That something wasn’t right here?

The speakers vibrated the floorboards, causing decades of dust and debris to sift up from between the cracks. Charlie’s nose scrunched up in disgust.

“Oh man, I walk barefoot in here.”

Her head snapped to the door as Britney continued to sing, expecting a knock at the door. But as Britney faded out and *NSYNC’s Bye Bye Bye, there was no knock. Not even when the Macarena clicked on. Charlie resisted the urge to stomp on the floor or yell. Anything for a sign of life. She shrugged her shoulders and headed to the kitchen to grab her dustpan and broom. The least she could do was clean the floors.

By the time the sun set that day, Charlie knew all the words of the entire Christina Aguilera catalog and all her books were organized by color and then alphabetized by title.

KNOCK!

She yelped and jumped in place when a solid knock hit her front door.

“About fucking time.” She picked herself off the floor where her record collection laid strewn about mid-collation and answered the door.

She had never seen such a beautiful face look so pissed off. Mr. Shelley’s striking features marred by what she could only describe as malice and murder.

“You look like Syd Barrett got caught in a lawnmower.” Charlie commented without thinking. Her thoughts often dropped onto her tongue like gumballs when she was nervous, and Mr. Shelley made her very nervous.

“Can you turn that fucking shit down?” He growled, his lips a tight line. “I haven’t fucking slept all day.”

Charlie smirked. “I just have a few questions…” He rolled his eyes and turned to head back to the basement. “I hope you like Disney!” She called out. He snapped around and leaned against the doorjamb.

“I’ll report you for noise violations.” He smiled back.

“Actually… Quincy city ordinances indicate that between the hours of 9 a.m. and 5 p.m. on weekends and holidays the decibel level shall not exceed 75dBA and then 65dBA after 5 p.m. That is slightly louder than a conversation and since you and I are conversing with ease. I think I am in the clear. Perhaps you should have soundproofed the basement before you moved in.” Charlie smirked.

“What are you, some kind of lawyer Ms…?” Mr. Shelley rubbed his temple, failing to will away the headache this conversation was creating.

“Bock. Charlie Bock.” She extended her hand. “Yes I am. I work at Legal Aid, Downtown. What do you do? Besides, own this home.”

He ignored her question. “Listen Ms. Bach.”

“Bock.” she corrected.

“That’s what I said, Bach.”

“No, Bock.” She clicked her tongue on the last syllable. “Hard ‘k’. Common mistake.”

“Fucking zombies.” he muttered.

Charlie pushed forward, ignoring the zombie remark, but cataloging it in her mind for later. She was wearing him down. “Listen, I just have some questions, agree to talk to me and the music stops. Plain and simple.”

“No.” he drawled, turning on the well-worn heel of his boots.

“Please?” she begged. He responded by shooting her the bird.

“Rude.” Charlie thought out loud as she shut the door. “Fine, you want to play, let’s play.”

-

Adam groaned as the music continued for most of the night after his run-in with Ms. Bock. As promised she switched from the 90s teenybopper trash to Disney and show tunes. He wasn’t sure what was worse, show tunes or the prospect of stepping into the sunlight and burning up. A tan sounded excellent right now.

Adam curled the pillow around his head to muffle the sounds of Julie Andrews gleefully singing for people to rot their teeth by ingesting sugar on its own rather in something sensible like tea. It didn’t work.

Matters were not helped by the fact he was hungry. He needed to drink, but he couldn’t with the infernal racket going on upstairs. Charlie Bock, the name sounded like someone ripped it from the pages of a noir detective pulp novel. Charlie Bock, private eye. More like Charlie Bock, bloody fucking annoying girl.

And why was she wanting to talk to him? He pondered pulling the pillow off his face and sat up on the edge of the bed. He never understood the zombies’ need to socialize with neighbors. Proximity did not equate familiarity. As Julie faded out and some song sung by a girl reporting that the “cold never bothered her, anyway” came on, Adam resigned himself to the uncomfortable task before him.

-

Charlie was ready to settle in for another night of reruns when another knock rang out from the door. She shuffled to find a robe to throw over her pajamas, flinging clothes around the room. Another knock and then the doorbell. Repeatedly.

“Is he fucking leaning on it?” Charlie groused as she padded to the door without a robe.

“I’m here.” she spat out, swinging the door wide. He leaned against the side of the house. If possible, his hair was even more mussed than before. The corners of her mouth twitched in satisfaction. “Ready to admit defeat?”

Adam rolled his eyes, arms crossed in front of his chest. His eyes narrowed towards her, piercing through her green eyes. His gaze dropped for a moment and he caught his tongue darting out of his mouth while staring at his bosom heaving. Her quickened breath gave away her fear. It hung in the air like stale perfume. Fuck, he was hungry.

Charlie shuffled her feet and tugged at the low scoop neckline of her top, doing little in the way of covering her assets. Her discomfort almost brought the slightest smile to Adam’s face. Almost.

“Tomorrow 8 p.m. Your place. Two questions.” He turned to leave.

“Ten questions.” Charlie countered.

“Three.”

“Eight. Ever heard Baby Shark?” She poised her finger over the phone screen.

“Six. Final offer.” He leaned towards her. Charlie acutely aware of his height in this moment.

“Fine.”

“Fine.” he snarled heading back down the porch steps and to the basement entrance.

“Can I at least get your real name?”

He disappeared around the corner. “Adam. That’s one!” he shouted into the night air.

Charlie shut the door. “Adam.” She had trouble falling asleep that night.

-

That night’s activities exhausted Adam, so he slept through the commotion of Charlie straightening up the apartment. Had he woken up, he would have been welcomed to the sounds of her doing two loads of dishes and rearranging both her kitchen and living room furniture.

“Oh fuuuuccck…” Charlie cursed as she yanked the armchair into yet another seating arrangement. She realized she cared what Adam thought of her home. A lot. “No… no… no… SHIT!” Charlie flopped in the armchair in disgust. At herself. For falling for her landlord.

“I don’t even like musicians.” she lied to herself, conveniently forgetting Mark, Tyler, and that guy from college who insisted on calling himself “Mick” after Mick Jagger even though his real name was Simon.

Charlie pushed the thoughts away when she grabbed her coat, keys and purse, heading out to pick up some drinks and snacks for later tonight.

-

Adam overslept the date, no appointment, with Charlie. He hadn’t needed to be anywhere at an appointed time in a century at least. So he didn’t set an alarm. Not that he had an alarm. Although looking back, Adam was certain he could have fashioned a suitable alarm clock from the bits and bobs of machinery in the cramped basement given the proper time and motivation.

But now time was at a premium. He needed to feed before heading upstairs. A mistake yesterday. Staring at Charlie in that ridiculous low cut top sent his body into a tailspin. If the conversation had gone on much more, she would have likely seen one of his fangs, threatening to make an appearance. He hated how his body couldn’t tell the difference between hunger of the flesh and hunger for blood, causing him problems more times than he cared to remember.

In his haste and quick movements, Adam tripped on the upturned corner of an ancient Turkish rug, the canister fell from his hands. With the cap already loosened on the canister, the blood formed a dark puddle on the ornate geometric pattern. He’d never get that stain out.

“Shit. Fuck!” A nearly full canister of the good shit, O-negative wasted. And to top it off, his supplier was indisposed for some time. He would have to figure out a way to make due with his remaining stash.

He grabbed an old towel from the unused bathroom and sopped up the mess as best he could. Adam gathered the now bloody towel along with other debris from the living area, cramming it into a paper bag as he exited the basement to toss all of it into the communal garbage cans leaning against the decaying siding. He didn’t notice the bloody towel fallen at his threshold when he stepped over it to get cleaned up, his mind on other things.

-

At fifteen past eight, Charlie stomped her foot and rose from the sunken futon.

“This is bullshit!” She marched out the front door. Charlie was already formulating her rant in her mind when she pounded on Adam’s door. She glanced down to find a towel stained red. Blood red. She picked it up and sniffed. Metallic.

Adam opened the door as he adjusted the collar on a charcoal gray silk button down. Their eyes locked. His an unnatural blue, Charlie’s a deep emerald green. And then Adam saw what was in her hand.

“Where d’you find that?”

“At your door. I KNEW IT!” she did a little dance in place, pulling the towel close to her. “You’re the fucking Mob or something! Oh, shit. I need to call the cops! You murdered someone!”

Charlie twirled in place like a top. She realized she was pressing the towel against her chest and threw it in the air in disgust. Adam with his supernatural speed grabbed the towel mid-air. Charlie stopped in her tracks, mouth agape.

“How did yo—” Her words cut short as Adam jerked her into the basement by her wrist.

The door slammed behind her and Adam released her wrist, walking away, huffing. This was not how tonight was supposed to go. He was supposed to answer some questions to appease her curiosity and then go on living their separate lives. And now Charlie stood in his home, his sanctum, smelling all kinds of… FUCK! he still hadn’t eaten.

“Listen, if you are planning to kill me, there are people who will—”

“No there aren’t.” An edge to his voice.

“I beg your pardon?” Charlie blinked before trailing after him. “I happen to have lots of…” Her voice trailed off. “Wow…”

Every square inch of the walls was covered in instruments hanging from hooks. Acoustic and electric guitars of all shapes and kinds. Several violins and a viola. Plus other stringed instruments she didn’t recognize. There was an upright bass in the corner behind a drum set. And a makeshift recording station in another corner.

“How in the hell? Who or what are you?” Charlie breathed the stale air of the basement as she continued to turn, taking everything in. How the hell did he even get all this down here without her knowing?, she thought. Her face pinched into a scowl. She stopped spinning and planted her feet facing Adam. “I’m waiting for answers.”

She placed a hand on one hip while the other one jutted out in a snap, causing her breasts to bounce. God, he needed a drink!

“It’s better I show you.” He left the room at a brisk walk. Charlie stepped to get a closer look at all the instruments. “Don’t touch anything!” He called out just as Charlie reached out to smooth her fingertips over the polished wood.

Like a child in a museum, she folded her hands behind her back. She walked the perimeter of the room, getting close but not touching. She could spy a fine layer of dust and dirt on tops of some, some looked freshly cleaned. Charlie winced when she recognized her stunt was the likely cause of the dust.

“I said no touching.” His lips pulled tight across his teeth.

Charlie waved her hands from behind her back. “You can’t touch with your eyes.”

“You can if you try hard enough.”

He placed a small crystal glass next to a tall metallic canister akin to a thermos. “Sit.” He barked like Charlie was a dog in desperate need of obedience training. In Adam’s mind, it wasn’t far from the truth. His mind wandered to all the ways in which he could break her. Make her whimper. His fangs made their presence known. He poured a small amount of the blood into the goblet and downed it. He had company. His fangs tinged pink as he fell back onto the wine red velveteen couch and for a moment he forgot everything except bliss.

After several moments, Charlie cleared her throat. Adam popped open one eye to find her sitting there, hands folding in her lap, making herself as small as she could.

“So…” she started, Adam popped open his other eye. “… you’re a vampire.”

He didn’t respond, instead rolling his eyes. He waited for reality to sink in and Charlie to go screaming into the night. Adam sighed and huffed, contemplating the fact he would need to move again. Packing up the recording equipment would be a bitch.

“Zombies. Shit.” Adam muttered under his breath.

“You’ve used that term before. Like…” She held her arms and moaned. “Brains… zombies?” It surprised him she was still here, her hands once again neatly folded in her lap. Like at church.

Adam huffed again. “That is about how humans act these days.”

Charlie crossed her arms and leaned back. “That’s an awfully pejorative term.”

“That’s the entire point.” His words sharp.

“Shouldn’t you use a nicer term for a being which you need to survive?” Her green eyes blinked, and Charlie remained unmoved.

“Shouldn’t you be running out of here in terror or disgust?” Adam snapped back.

Her nose scrunched up, and she shifted to face him. It was adorable. Adam hated adorable. And cute. And fluffy. The change in angle allowed Adam a view down Charlie’s sweater. A dark violet sweater with a deep v. All the blood he drank moved to a different part of his body. He stood to disguise his condition from Charlie.

“Are you saying that because I should be afraid of you or because you expect me to be afraid of you?” Her brows knitted together, marring her face.

“Is there a difference?”

“Yes, or else I wouldn’t have said it that way.” Her gaze followed him about the room. His torso twisted as though he was recoiling or hiding from her. “Communication is not your strong suit, is it?”

“I prefer to communicate by means other than words.” His long pale finger plucked a violin string. He didn’t elaborate on his comment.

“You haven’t answered my question.” She prodded.

“You’re awfully persistent for a zombie.” She winced at the word and Adam twinged for a moment with guilt.

“I’m a lawyer that is literally part of the job description.” She stood and smoothed down the sweater which Adam was now actively averting gaze from hoping to ward off the already painful erection or making a mess in his jeans. “Let’s try another tactic. I’ll answer your question first. No, I’m not running in fear or disgust. You are what you are and there is no changing that. And you have shown nothing but… well, I wouldn’t say kindness or respect…” She rambled, Adam shot daggers. “… but the fact is you have never tried to physically harm me. So you are okay in my book. For now.” There go those nerves again. Gumballs left and right.

She stuck out her hand, trembling. Despite her bold words, inside she was a puddle. Adam raked his eyes over her, searching for any sign of malice or guile only to find none. He took her hand and shook it. It surprised Charlie to find his skin warm.

“Thank you. Now if you excuse me, I have a precious amount of time left until sunrise.” He gestured towards the door.

“Apologies!!” Charlie startled.

She rushed to the front door, with him close behind. Too close. Adam collided with her as she turned for a final farewell, their chests colliding. She reached and steadying herself against him, her fingers burned as they skimmed across his chest exposed by his unbuttoned shirt. And Adam’s erection which had subsided came raging back. Adam shuffled back to keep it from pressing against Charlie.

“I also want to say sorry for the mess I made on your instruments. I didn’t know. And I want to invite you to use the interior stairs to the kitchen whenever you need to.”

Adam smirked, his confidence and swagger returning, or that could just be his cock talking. “Haven’t you seen the movies? It’s an awfully dangerous thing to invite a vampire into your home.” His eyes heavy, charm in full force.

“I have, but how else can I get to fix my bathtub?” She continued, unfazed. “It’s been leaking for a week.” Adam’s mouth fell open and Charlie disappeared from view.

Once she rounded the corner, Charlie took the stairs two at a time, her heart racing as she shut the heavy wooden front door. She ached in a place she shouldn’t ache when talking to her landlord. Her undead, brooding musician, hot as hell, vampire landlord.

“Fuck.” Charlie cursed, walking away.

Adam stood rooted, staring at his door, his body regaining control of itself. Did that go well? He wasn’t sure.

“Shit.” Adam walked away as that fucking violet sweater haunted his mind for the rest of the evening and in his dreams.