#tw implied eating/drinking

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Azalea Moodboard

“aT a LaTeR dAtE,” lmao who was I kidding??

@sammys-magical-au

[mosspapi]

I truly do not understand how my parents expect me to just. Be totally chill and normal and have no rules or issues with food completely out of the blue, as if they didn't spend literally my entire childhood from ages 0 to 19 like. Fully banning 90% of "junk" food, not allowing anything other than water or juice more than once a month on special occasions, only letting us have fast food more than once a year (if we were lucky) when it was literally medically prescribed to me bcuz I was so underweight and deficient in shit I needed a neurologist to tell me if I didn't eat Pringles every day I would probably die, literally saying to my face that the blood sugar gummies I ate bcuz I was too sick to keep anything else down were "too high calorie", saying that even iceberg lettuce is unhealthy, and so much more. Like. You guys. Why are surprised that I'm not comfortable having two cups of iced tea in a single day. I unironically feel like I should be taken out back and shot for doing this. And that IS your fault. You cannot act surprised that I'm like this when you are the ones who raised me to be this way.

[instituteled]

@bonesfog | cont.

Aɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴ might be put off by the clear disinterest in the voice, the response, the whole body language. Not him. He doesn't see any of the hints that speak of the fact that at best, he's a distraction and an annoyance, and at worst, he's unwanted, both now and in general. What he sees is the fact that the other turns around to look at him (whether or not he actually sees him doesn't matter, though just in case the shirt is in his favorite color, the hair loose enough to frame his face - and be pulled, because even a painful touch is preferable to none, the fainted bruises and specks of crusted blood pooling in shallow cuts testament of it). What he sees is that he gets a response, and as usual, it's hardly any consequence that he's been taking before, that he's been lingering, waiting for permission to enter, come closer.

He wants to help. Genuinely. It doesn't matter if a lot of the things Barnabas says only somewhat make sense to him. It's not that he's too stupid to understand, it's just that there are different priorities on his mind and he finds it hard to extract himself long enough from the subject of his obsessions to do anything useful, and even then only in the hopes of being helpful, being appreciated even for a second, half a breath, the blink of an eye.

That, though, is forgotten for the moment, same as the book stuffed full with notes and letters and cross references clutched against his chest, more an excuse in the first place than anything else. How could such a thing be of any importance when he's addressed, acknowledged, heard? Breath hitches in his throat, and words are escaping. It's not that it was hard to admit now: if anything, the easiest thing ever. It sings through his skin and his gestures and the blood on his hands when someone gets in the way. But it's every time as if an angel deems him worthy of talking to him, and he has to keep his composure enough to make sure he doesn't overstep, gives the proper respect.

"Ah. Yes. Of course. I merely meant it's... too many things, to define just one. It's the amalgamation of everything. Each and every single bit more than enough on it's own, but all together — "

I'd kill for you. I'd die for you. I'd peel off my own skin and let you write your name in my heartblood.

[medusas-daughter]

When I was depressed, anorexic, wasn't ingesting anything besides coffee cigarettes and alcohol, and actively considering (and attempting) suicide, people were complimenting me about how "hot" I looked, asking me for weight loss tips, and telling me "to keep doing what I'm doing cause clearly i'm doing great".

When I finally quit smoking, reduced my drinking to almost none, started taking care of my body and mental health, and eating three varied meals a day, I naturally put on weight. And my natural weight, on three meals a day, is overweight by society's standards. People started berating me for letting myself go, sending me weight loss tips and diets, and asking me "what went wrong?"

This entire cycle happened twice in two years. The first time I tried getting healthier I put on weight received all those triggering comments started hating myself again and went right back to my anorexic self. Two years later I promised myself that no matter what anyone said or commented about me, I would put me first. I promised myself I would stop making society's standards a priority and start focusing on feeling healthy. I'm now 1 year smoke free, I'm eating when I'm hungry, I can actually move my body and exercice without feeling like I'm gonna pass out. It's still hard finding clothes that fit, I had to get used to that again. But my body and my mental health are more important than clothes so I made my peace with that. I am okay. I am healthy. I feel healthy. I have enough energy to take care of myself. I am okay and fat and extremely grateful.

My point is, don't comment on people's bodies. You might be complimenting an eating disorder, you might be complimenting a depressive episode, you might be hurting someone. Also, it's none of your fucking business.

Stop commenting on people's bodies.

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

IT'S FINALLY DONE. OH GOD THIS IS MY VERY FIRST CRACK-CROSSOVER I'M SCARED—

(Lol, don't worry, I'm kidding. . .well, actually half-kidding, let's say)

It's usually pretty damn hard for me to keep stuff short, but I suppose I gave it the ol' college try. . .I hope you enjoy this!

___

Terminal Case of the Ol' Switcheroo [Part 1]

(Disclaimer: only one of the EgoPats in this snippet belongs to me. For more information about Caliban, go here. And if you'd like to learn about the mob he works for, go here.)

(One more thing: I’ve actually written a full character analysis on the dynamic between Mad and Caliban. If you’re interested, please feel free to check it out here.)

(Trigger Warnings: blood/gore, knives/blades, implied kidnapping, implied violence, talk of murder/death, cannibalism, mentions of illegal business, eating/drinking, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Epilogue

___

“W-wait, hold on—” All the screaming inside Ness’ head seemed to fold in on itself, ever-so-slightly muffled as he squinted up at his captor. “Have. . .have we met before?”

“Possibly in Michigan,” Mr. Sharp Teeth mused, chuckling at the new confusion on Ness’ face; clearly this guy was the type who enjoyed really obscure stuff. He then gave pause, his sly grin fading away as he tilted his head and squinted right back. A couple seconds passed by before his eyes widened, before something flickered on his face. 

“Ah—no! No, we haven’t,” Mr. Sharp Teeth reiterated, clearing his throat and shaking his head in spite of the fact that it was obviously already too late for denial. “Definitely don’t remember you from anywhere. Nope, you’re not ringing any bells at all. Sorry about that.”

More alarm bells started ringing, but somehow they didn’t stop Ness from blurting, “Are you sure? I mean, I’ve been wrong before, but—you look familiar to me.”

The surprise on Mr. Sharp Teeth’s expression morphed into panic. But then, that panic didn’t last long before something much darker and more desperate chased it away.

“Alright, let me rephrase: I’d better not look familiar to you,”  he explained, pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes. “Being recognizable isn’t always a good thing in my line of work. And if you can somehow recognize me more than I can afford to let you, then things just won’t go well for either of us.” 

He leaned closer, knuckles turning white as he gripped Ness’ shoulder. “Get the picture?”

Ness’ instincts shrieked for him to back away. Actually, scratch that, his spine was trying its damnedest to break out of his skin and go somewhere less tense. But thanks to the bindings, all he could do was lower his head to show cautious, frightened respect. 

“Yes, I-I’ve got it,” Ness stammered. “I understand, I swear!”

“Good.” Mr. Sharp Teeth’s eyes drilled into him for a few more long, harsh seconds before he let out a little sigh and nodded, pulling away to resume pacing the concrete floor. 

A shiver raced up Ness’ spine with disrespectful speed. The cacophony in his mind hadn’t exactly tapered down at all, but it still seemed to partially give way to a sardonic little voice that chided him for playing all those horror games that revolved around retail workers having their night-shifts go from bad to worse. The fact that he’d perfectly fit the bill for one of those helpless protagonists even before this happened really didn’t do his mood any favors. 

After a long, uncomfortable few minutes, he decided to pipe up again. 

“. . .I’ve lived in a lot of rough places,” Ness coughed, his voice quiet and careful.

Mr. Sharp Teeth glanced at him. “So?”

“So, I–I know the score,” Ness reiterated. “I don’t know everything about your. . .your type of business, but I still know the basics. I know when and how to keep my mouth shut.”

“Sure you do,” Mr. Sharp Teeth hummed, though a teensy bit of stress seemed to vanish from his features. You’d have to squint, but Ness was pretty sure he’d caught it. He had to take that as a somewhat-decent sign. 

Mr. Sharp Teeth sighed again, folding his arms across his chest and drumming his fingers on his bicep. Obviously still deep in thought, he started chewing his lip, allowing the allowing the very thing that caused Ness to come up with that nickname in his mind to catch the light. 

That was the first thing Ness had seen when he’d come to a few minutes ago. 

Or, more accurately, when the burlap sack that now lay empty on the floor had been taken off his head a few minutes ago, he’d come face-to-face with that same set of of pearly-white teeth. 

. . .Well, except for one. The upper-left canine, to be exact. It had only taken a few seconds for Ness to see how that one technically wasn’t a tooth at all. It was just a silvery cap meant to look like a tooth. Apparently the real one was gone.

The silver tooth-cap shone in the light much more than its neighbors. It really wasn’t much of a stretch to compare it to a knife. In fact, the longer Ness looked at it, the more he thought it looked similar to a fang. 

Something meant to rip and tear into a meal that was still conscious and struggling rather than simply grind up a piece of food that was either already dead and processed or had never been alive in the first place because you just needed to add some water and pop it in the microwave. 

The fact that it, along with the rest, had been bared in a grin that looked too wide and too…well, sharp didn’t bode well. At all.

And it was because of that train of thought that Ness decided he really, really didn’t want to know how the original tooth had been lost. Natural curiosity be damned. 

Even so, there was no doubting just how familiar it was to Ness, along with the jagged little scar set in the skin right above Mr. Sharp Teeth’s upper lip. 

No, Ness knew he’d seen them before, seen their owner before. The more he thought, the more he could just barely remember making smalltalk with a man who had come in for dinner with a couple friends late one evening. 

The only difference between then and now was that Mr. Sharp Teeth was wearing a black apron over a dark blue button-down rather than a red-leather-jacket-black-hoodie-combo. 

. . .Plus, the fact that Ness was bound to a chair in the corner of a place he’d never seen before, rather than the kitchen at Sparky’s. That was a huge departure, too. 

“I guess you really have been through some crap,” Mr. Sharp Teeth finally announced. 

Ness offered a combination of nod and shrug, swallowing the lump in his throat. He really wasn’t sure if he was supposed to take that as a compliment. “How do you mean?”

Mr. Sharp Teeth shrugged back. “Well, you calmed down a lot faster than I expected.” 

“Trust me, I haven’t. It’s just all on the inside right now,” Ness let out a mirthless, sopping-wet laugh. 

“Ah.” Mr. Sharp Teeth nodded sagely. “That definitely makes more sense.” 

Ness felt a paw brush against his cheek, courtesy of the long-eared ball of pale fur that was currently sniffing at his shirt. “I mean, having a bunny this close makes things seem an iota less terrifying. No offense.”

Mr. Sharp Teeth snorted. “Snare’s not a bunny. He’s a hare. I thought that’d be obvious.” 

Ness squinted, examining the creature a little more closely. “. . .No, wait, I can see it now. I’ve just never really seen a white hare before.” 

“Most people haven’t,” Mr. Sharp Teeth replied. 

The ha–er, Snare seemed to puff up his little chest at the statement, his adorable Y-shaped nose twitching as if to say, Yeah, that’s right. I’m special.

Quiet smugness aside, Ness was kinda-sorta in the odd little creature’s debt.

After all, Snare had been the one to stop his owner from just going ahead with all the torture he’d apparently had planned for tonight. 

Snare had been the proof Ness so desperately needed that this really was some insane misunderstanding. 

When Ness had still been panicking, still trying to defend himself against Mr. Sharp Teeth’s claims that Ness already knew who he was and why he he’d been knocked out and subsequently dragged to wherever this was. . .Snare had taken the chance to hop up onto Ness’ lap, bracing his paws against the waiter’s chest to curiously inspect him. 

That had been the thing to make Mr. Sharp Teeth give pause. 

Because apparently, Snare couldn’t stand whoever Ness had been mistaken for. 

It hadn’t helped a lot, since Ness was still bound to a chair and forced to watch Mr. Sharp Teeth fidget with the very same meat cleaver he’d taunted him with earlier, but something was better than nothing. 

Thinking of which. . .

“Who was meant to be here?” Ness blurted. He didn’t know why, but if he had to be anywhere against his will, then damn it, he’d better get to ask at least a few questions. “Who are you after?” 

“Like that’s any of your business,” Mr. Sharp Teeth snickered. He came a little closer. “The real question is. . .what to do with you.”

Ness felt his heart sink. His mouth opened and closed with no words coming out. 

“On one hand, there wouldn’t be any point in killing you, since you’re not even a target,” Mr. Sharp Teeth mused. “On the other hand, you’ve definitely seen a bit too much for my liking, and I’m not sure I can really trust you to commit to keeping quiet, no matter how much you promise to.” 

He aimed a quizzical glare in his captive's direction. Ness couldn’t help but shrink a little. 

“On the right index finger,” Mr. Sharp Teeth continued, “if I keep you alive down here, there’s a chance we could find a way for you to be useful in the future. But on the left index finger, there’s also a chance that you might find a way to escape, even with all the precautions I’ve set up. And on the right middle finger, you’re guaranteed not to escape if I just kill you.”

“All valid points, all valid points,” Ness admitted, his vocal cords finally remembering how to work. “But on the left middle finger, I have friends who I know would try to track me down if I ever went missing; they’d just cause you more problems if they came looking for me.” 

He paused for a brief second, thinking frantically. 

“A-and on the right ring finger,” he added in a rush, “there’s still a chance I might know something about the guy you mistook me for. But if I’m dead, then you won’t be able to ask me any questions about him, right?”

Mr. Sharp Teeth raised his eyebrows at this. “. . .You know you just kind of copied one of the points I made.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ness gulped. “But. . .I think it still stands, don’t you?”

Mr. Sharp Teeth’s only reply was a vague hum. Even so, a small, strange smile graced his lips. Amusement seemed to flicker in his dark eyes, along with…something else. Ness couldn’t tell what it was—part of him got dangerously close to wondering if it was something similar to respect—but it didn’t seem bad. Not yet, at least. 

That smile died a quick-yet-brutal death as low, organic growl broke the relative silence. Ness recognized it by instinct; he himself heard it whenever he hadn’t gotten enough to eat during his breaks. 

Mr. Sharp Teeth shook his head a little, fishing a phone out of his pocket to glance at the clock on its screen. “Oh—oh, right, today’s the day—” 

With that, he turned away, quickly walking over to the other side of the room. 

While this place certainly didn’t look like Sparky’s kitchen (or even the kitchen in the apartment Ness had been sharing with Jack for the last few years), there was no denying how it'd been set up like one.

From where he sat, Ness could see a block-island in the center of everything. All manner of cooking equipment was positioned against the walls: a refrigerator, an oven, a utility sink, a chamber vacuum sealer not at all unlike the one he’d seen in the butchery department of his local grocery store. . .and a huge chest freezer that Mr. Sharp Teeth was now rummaging through. The appliance’s lid thudded shut as he fished out a rather large bundle of something wrapped up in layers of white paper. 

Ness watched as his captor set the bundle down on the block island before going through its drawers. He produced a leather roll and a stainless steel case; Ness felt even more cold sweat materialize on his forehead as the former was revealed to be holding a collection of chef’s knives, while the latter turned out to be full to bursting with surgical tools.

After setting what looked like a cast iron skillet on the stove, Mr. Sharp Teeth began peeling back all the paper that shrouded whatever he’d taken from the freezer.

The entree that was unveiled. . .well, Ness couldn’t tell what it was at first. He couldn’t get a good vantage point, and really, that wasn’t his fault. For the first few seconds, all he could see was a dull, pale-pink lump among the discarded wrapping. Then again, he’d cooked enough to recognize cuts of raw meat when he saw them. 

That particular thought took on a whole new, sinister meaning when Mr. Sharp Teeth turned it to the side in order to line up a knife against it: the way he moved it caused a set of five fingers to drape over the edge of the block-island. 

Time seemed to slow down. 

Ness felt a cluster of thorns manifest in his throat. He was forced to grit his teeth: if he let his jaw drop at the terrifying sight, then he risked something much more solid than panicked breath flowing out of his mouth.

The next few minutes felt like at least three hours apiece. 

With swift, fluid movements and experienced hands, Mr. Sharp Teeth sliced a generous portion of flesh out of the arm, guiding his knife from the wrist all the way to the elbow.

Once he was satisfied, he gathered up the leaking morsel in his hands and carried it over to the stove, where it landed against the pan’s metal embrace with a sizzling splat.

“. . .You’re a cannibal!” Ness cried. That was all there was to it. There really wasn’t much else he could say at that moment. 

Mr. Sharp Teeth glanced back at him. That same sharp, unhinged, hungry grin from earlier etched its way across his face.

“Sure I am! What’s your point?” He replied, lightly jabbing at the air with the bloody blade for emphasis. He then threw his head back, cackling in a way that made the sound seem to slither into Ness’ ears.

Under normal circumstances, Ness wouldn’t have been shy about calling people out for laughing at their own jokes. However, this was FAR PAST a normal circumstance, and cannibals were not people he could really afford to call out for the sake of his health. 

Snare suddenly perked up, long ears twitching as he leaned away from Ness. Then, fast as a bullet, he hopped down from the captive’s lap and scurried over to stand on his hind legs and paw at his owner’s apron. 

Mr. Sharp Teeth glanced down at his pet, raising an eyebrow. “Ohhhh, so now that I’ve brought out a treat, SUDDENLY you want to spend time with me again? Real convenient how that works, huh?” 

Snare, of course, didn’t exactly reply, but he still made a sound argument via leaning against the cannibal’s leg, looking up at him with bright, warm, excited amber eyes. 

“No, don’t give me that look—don’t give me that look, Snare!” Mr. Sharp Teeth argued, pointedly looking away. “You know what you did.”

Snare tilted his head, his fuzzy little face suddenly looking quite sad. His oval-shaped ears drooped almost like wilting flowers. With a now slightly-shaking paw, he reached up to scrub at his little muzzle.

Mr. Sharp Teeth gazed at the hare yet again, and his expression immediately softened. “. . .D’aww, fine! I can’t stay mad at you!”

He then reached down to scoop the pale hare up, cuddling him against his face. “Who’s my bad boy? Who’s my bad boy? Oh, you are! Yes, that’s you!”

Like a switch being flipped, Snare abandoned his dejected look and happily nuzzled his owner’s cheek, purring in a gravelly, odd-yet-cute way. 

Afterwards, Mr. Sharp Teeth set the hare back down before returning his focus to the arm. He took a thick pair of scissors from the leather roll. . .as well as a pair of tweezers from the steel case. He cut the fingers away from the hand in less than a minute. He plucked the grayish-blue nails out of the skin in even less time than that.

He then took one of the digits and lightly tossed it over to Snare, who jumped at just the right moment to catch it. He sat back on his haunches, holding the finger between his paws, crimson stains quickly spreading on his pale fur as his buck-teeth sheared away at the flesh. 

. . .Somehow, this display wasn’t the most horrific thing Ness had ever seen (remember, he worked at a roadside diner), but it was still pretty high-ranking. 

“Th-the guy you mixed me up with,” Ness choked out, his filter having taken a well-deserved vacation. “You—you were going to eat him?!”

“Oh, c’mon, What do people always say about making assumptions?” Mr. Sharp Teeth chided with a sly, insane smirk. “If you really need to know, I was just gonna rough him up a little. We’ve had a whole catch-and-release thing for a while now; I like my meat medium-rare, not char-grilled. Besides, he’s the type of guy you can’t not mess with, y’know?”

“NO!” Ness argued, frantically shaking his head. “No, I really don’t!” 

Mr. Sharp Teeth raised an unconvinced eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m not sure I believe that.”

He then waved a dismissive hand. “Look, I know what you’re thinking right now. But believe me: the guy who should’ve been in your place? He deserves all the stuff I specialize in.” 

“‘Believe you?!’” Ness echoed. “I can’t! I’ve never met anyone who deserves to be tortured by some hungry sadistic bastard and his pet!”

Mr. Sharp Teeth offered a long, thoughtful hum in response. “Sure you have. You’re still working that waiter job, right?”

Ness’ intended retort died on his tongue. Hell, he even briefly stopped trembling for the first time since he’d regained consciousness.

Memories from both the past and the present came flooding back. He’d been working in the food industry ever since he’d grown tall enough to take cups or plates from a counter without standing on his tip-toes. And ever since then, it’d been impossible for a week to go by without at least two customers acting. . .less than ideal. 

Ness usually wasn’t the type to hold grudges, but. . .every cruel word, every patronizing gesture, every occasional display of actual violence that he’d experienced. . .it’d all just stuck to his mind like a tumor.

And he knew deep down that it would never, never leave him alone. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Mr. Sharp Teeth’s voice was shockingly soft as he clearly read the emotions on his captive’s face like a book.

“My sister runs one of the best restaurants in this city; sometimes I’ll pop in to help her out. I’ve seen customers pull all sorts of petty BS with her staff for no goddamn reason. It’s infuriating, isn’t it?”

Against his instincts, Ness slowly nodded. 

“It’s pathetic, isn’t it?”

Ness nodded again. Then, somehow, he found his voice.

“Still,” he replied in a shaky whisper, “even if people deserve bad karma, bad karma doesn’t just automatically mean death!”

“You’d be surprised by how quickly that snowball can roll.” Mr. Sharp Teeth clicked his tongue. As he tended to his meal, he continued: “In any case, what I do has rules. I can only afford to eat the targets my friends and I are hired to get rid of.”

“. . .Really?” Ness asked, trying not to let hope flood through his chest too quickly. 

“Yeah, really,” Mr. Sharp Teeth huffed. He glanced at him over his shoulder, his eyes now completely unreadable. “There’s this new thing: it’s called Basic Self-Control. It’s not very popular among most people, but I’ve been able to manage with it so far.”

“I feel like a lot of self-control involves not chopping people up to snack on later,” Ness muttered. 

“Maybe for you,” Mr. Sharp Teeth shot back. 

A tense silence fell over the room.

The smell of blistering flesh was quick to seep into the air; it was all Ness could do to keep from gagging. 

Sooner or later, dinner was apparently ready.

Mr. Sharp Teeth transferred the slice of human-person from the pan to a plate. And for all his talk about self-control, he certainly didn’t wait long to tuck into his meal. Little droplets of blood splattered around his mouth as he ate with a gusto Ness hadn’t seen before and hoped to never see ever again. 

Ness’ stomach churned with horror. He lowered his head, trying to keep his gaze firmly planted on his shoes. Why the hell couldn’t he close his eyes. . ?!

Somehow, someway, thoughts were still able to reach him through the fog of fear.

Mr. Sharp Teeth had mentioned being paid to kill. That had to mean he was some kind of hitman, right? What kind of weird, unconventional laws existed in the underground business? (Ness actually had an idea, but he’d been wrong before.)

What’s more, it was unclear whether or not he’d been paid to go after the guy he’d mistaken Ness for. But either way, that obviously meant that he hadn’t been paid to go after Ness. . .

So, did that mean Ness still had a chance? Even just a small one? 

A sharp, sibilant chime cut through the air like a hot knife through butter.

Ness’s heart stopped: he knew that sound. He knew that sound very damn well.

He looked up, eyes frantically scanning the room. He saw Mr. Sharp Teeth hovering over a plate that was now empty, unless you counted a few streaks of red against the white finish, drinking a can of Diet Coke he’d apparently brought out from somewhere in Hammer Space. 

The ringtone went off again; this time, Ness could pinpoint it. 

A cellphone–his cellphone–was lying vacant on top of the refrigerator, along with all the other things that had apparently been taking up space in Ness’ pockets before he was kidnapped. 

Mr. Sharp Teeth put the soda can down, glancing at his captive before moving to grab the device.

“Who is it?” Ness asked, his voice weak. 

Mr. Sharp Teeth stayed quiet for a few more seconds before finally replying, “Someone called ‘Mikey-Bear Jinglehiemer Schidmt.’”

Ness felt his face burn. How the hell had he forgotten to change that contact name?!

He blinked, and Mr. Sharp Teeth’s thumbs were suddenly gliding about the screen, eliciting a chorus of little blip-blip-blips as he typed. 

“Hey!” Ness blurted. “What are you doing?!”

“It’d be rude to just leave him on Read, wouldn’t it?” Mr. Sharp Teeth grinned as he hit what was so obviously the Send button. 

“No, wait!” Ness cried. “You can’t drag him into this! Just—just let me talk to him for a minute! I’ll make sure he doesn’t find out about you, please—!”

Just like that, he was writhing like an animal in a trap all over again. Mike may have not have been his favorite person at the moment, but he didn’t deserve whatever scheme Mr. Sharp Teeth could come up with! 

Mr. Sharp Teeth could tell Mike anything if he played his cards right! He could convince him that Ness had fled the country, that Ness hated his guts, that Ness was running off with a new boyfriend! 

He could use Ness as a prop to extort Mike, or lure him down here to be tortured, or. . !

“He asked what you were doing,” Mr. Sharp Teeth announced. “So I just had to tell him that you’re tied up at the moment.” He winked, slightly manic giggles leaking through his red-tinged teeth. 

. . .Or he could just make puns. That was an option too, apparently. 

Ness’ phone chimed yet again, and Mr. Sharp Teeth squinted as he read the reply aloud. 

“‘Very funny, you’re literally in the next room over. Is everything okay?’”

Ness could practically feel the color drain from his face. “But. . .no. No, no, no! That isn’t possible! I was almost a mile away from him when you knocked me out!” 

Mr. Sharp Teeth raised an eyebrow at him. “Then who is he with right now?”

Ness wracked his brain, only to freeze in place. Tears gathered in his eyes. “My stalker. It has to be; h-he mentioned Mike in the last letter he left at Sparky’s!”

“‘Stalker?’” Mr. Sharp Teeth echoed. He set Ness’ phone down and started pacing. A few long seconds passed before he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, eyes widening in time with a snarl.

“How close did this guy ever manage to get to you? Did you ever see him? If so. . .did he happen to be wearing a bear costume, by chance?”

Ness could hardly believe his ears. “Yes! I mean, he never approached me directly, but I still got a few glimpses of him! How did you—” 

“That’s why I mixed you up!” Mr. Sharp Teeth shouted, seemingly to himself. “Of course you two were in the same place at the same time! Oh my God, that slippery sON OF A BITCH!” He pounded his fist against the block-island, prompting a dull thud! to ring through the room. 

Ness gaped like a fish. He’d witnessed plenty of disturbing coincidences before, but having a stalker who apparently had some kind of petty rivalry with a cannibalistic hitman was in a weight-class of its own. 

“I need to get back to Mike!” The tears were flowing freely now. Ness’ nerves felt like they’d been dipped in acid. “God knows what he’ll do to him—what if Abby is there when it happens?!”

Mr. Sharp Teeth went quiet again, turning his head to face Ness so violently that it looked like he was on the brink of a seizure. He furiously gestured for Ness to elaborate.

“Abby! Mike’s little sister!” Ness cried without thinking. “She—she’s already been through so much! She can’t be anywhere near that lunatic!”

Something new slithered onto Mr. Sharp Teeth’s features. It took some time for Ness to realize that it was. . .fear. Pure, genuine fear. 

“You’re damn right she can’t,” Mr. Sharp Teeth agreed, his voice now hollow. 

“What do you mean? How can you tell—” Ness tried to ask. 

Mr. Sharp Teeth cut him off. “That idiot’s got a price on his head for a lot of things. One of them being that. . .well. . .” His tone was grim as he took his apron off, crossing the room to don that same jacket-hoodie-combo Ness had seen so long ago. “He isn’t exactly known for picking on people his own size.” 

A terrified, strangled cry ripped its way through Ness’ throat. 

“Well, looks like it's your lucky day,” Mr. Sharp Teeth announced. “I can get you back to them in one piece. You just have to hold still—”

He rummaged through a bag that hung from the same rack that his jacket had been placed on, pulling out the long, slender, unmistakable shape of a syringe. “I used a higher dose than I should’ve earlier, but there should still be enough to keep you asleep until everything’s clear.” 

As his captor-turned-sort-of-ally(?) approached, Ness, furiously shook his head. “NO! You can’t just knock me out again!”

“I’m pretty sure I can,” Mr. Sharp Teeth snarked, spinning the syringe in his hand. 

“I need to be awake for this!" Ness protested, "I need to be able to help!”

Mr. Sharp Teeth raised an eyebrow. “Look, just be glad I’m not trying to use chloroform, okay? It’ll be better for everyone if I can just take care of this myself.”

“And how exactly is that going to work?!” Ness snapped back. “Think about it: I wasn’t anywhere near mine or Mike’s place when you took me! You have no idea where Mike lives! It doesn’t matter what kind of resources you may or may not have; if you don’t let me help, you’ll still be taking shots in the dark!”

For the first time all night, Mr. Sharp Teeth seemed more uncertain than Ness. His brow furrowed as he weighed the options. 

“I told you before: I know the score,” Ness tried. “I know how to keep my nose out of certain things. . .and that means I know how to keep other people away from those things, too! If this guy is as horrible as you’re implying, then I won’t have any problem with you hunting him down if it means keeping him away from the people I care about! But that can only happen as quick and efficient as you probably need it to if you have my help!”

Mr. Sharp Teeth stared at Ness for a long, uncomfortable moment. 

Ness tried desperately to read his expression, to see what else he had to do to convince him. But for the life of him, he just couldn’t. 

From its place on the block-island, Ness’ phone chimed once more. 

Mr. Sharp Teeth shut his eyes tight for a few seconds, heaving a harsh sigh as he re-opened them. 

“If you’re really insisting on this,” he finally proclaimed, “then you’re gonna follow my lead. You’re gonna do exactly as I say, and you’re gonna keep your damn mouth shut until I give you the all-clear. Understood?!” 

Ness only hesitated for about a millisecond. Then he nodded, hoping his eyes were just as fierce as his former captor’s. 

Mr. Sharp Teeth gave him another tense, searching look. He then stuffed the syringe into one of his jacket's pockets before moving to untie the bindings around his wrists. 

“You’d better not make me regret this,” he growled. 

Snare, who seemed very excited by all the new vibes in the room, didn’t waste any time in hopping onto his owner’s shoulders.

___

@sammys-magical-au @insane4fandoms @the-matpat-ever @lexusinsannus @b-is-in-the-closet @im-a-weird0 @lampsforsocks

A comic I made that happened pre-handless Madpat.

A little spinoff where Mike Schmidt being the sleepy Himbo that he is, confused a certain killer with his beloved Ness, and now Madpat is confused whether or not he should kill this guy, or play along as he never had any affection from anyone before, so he’s intrigued. @crazy-obsessed-enby @wouldntyou-liketoknow @iswmperson @lexusinsannus

Meanwhile with Ness:

Ness: WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!

Caliban: How rude, I might not eat you if you tell me where that dreadful Madpat it

[pearlywritings]

The scent of being mine

synopsis: lately your husband has been staying deep in his thoughts as if bothered by something. It's only natural you want to figure it out and help.

pairing and characters: Neuvillette x fem!reader

tw: established relationship (marriage), tiny hurt/comfort, draconian features (scenting, growling, implied sharp nails)

word count: 3k+ words

“Beloved, you are brooding. More than you usually are.”

Your comment snaps Neuvillette from his thoughts, long lashes fluttering in surprise. He blinks, primordially beautiful eyes finally focus on the document in front of him, and the man makes a frustrating discovery - he’s been staring at one single line of text for who knows how long.

“Beloved?” Your sweet voice soothes the momentary disappointment, and Iudex’s undivided attention is on you in a second. 

“Yes, my dear? My apologies, I didn’t quite catch what you said. Could you be so kind and repeat, please?”

You lower the book onto your lap, and the man can’t help but relish in the sight of you comfortably lounging on the sofa in his office at the Palais Mermonia, with your shoes neatly put near one of its legs and your legs hidden under the light embroidered plaid. Your back and side sink into multiple pillows, half of which he fetched for you previously from the second sofa, and you look pleasantly relaxed within the walls of his work space, knowing very well that he has no meetings scheduled for the day, and the only people who can enter his office are the melusines with document delivery. And who would be uncomfortable in the presence of their own ‘daughters’?

“I was saying that you are brooding. And It won't be superfluous to note your sour mood too,” you nod in the window’s direction, where the sky is cloudy and gloomy. It has been this way for a couple of days already. “I wasn’t bringing it up since I thought you were simply a bit stressed, but after observing you for some time, I am sure there’s something on your mind that’s been bothering you immensely.”

Neuvillette exhales deeply. How could he ever hide anything from the woman he’s been married to for so long? Not that he ever tried, but subconsciously he sometimes tends to push his own worries aside not to make you fret. Besides, usually it’s not something of a big deal…

Watching the thoughts overtaking his mind again, you grab the bookmark from the armrest and soon the closed book takes its place, at the same time as you push the plaid off. Not caring to put the shoes on, you make a quick way to the grand doors to turn the key left in the hole from the inside. But changing your mind a little, you take a hold of a handle instead and crack the door slightly open, enough for the melusine at the reception to hear you.

“Sedene, sweety, Monsieur Neuvillette is taking a small break.”

You can’t quite see her perking up in her booth, but you know she is aware of what that means.

“Thank you for informing me, Madame. Would you like anything to drink or eat? I could send someone to put an order in whatever restaurant you’d like.”

“Much appreciated, but we’ll be fine.”

You hear her hum in understanding and only then close the door and lock it, turning the key two times.

“Now…” glancing back at your husband, you slowly walk back to your previous place of resting, but making it past the sofa and then around the desk, stopping right at his side. Neuvillette lifts his head, looking at you, and immediately pushes the chair back to make room. Gloved hands take a hold of your waist when you step closer and help you settle down onto his lap. One stays gingerly on your hip, the other is placed upon your knees, as you adjust your position, turning half-around to face him. Mesmerizing eyes with slitted irises stare at you with hardly-veiled adoration, and for a moment it almost fools you into thinking that nothing is wrong. Until he inhales and white eyebrows furrow slightly.

“Neuvi, what’s going on? Is it something I can assist you with?”

The man leans forward, pressing his face to your neck, silky locks of his fringe tickling you when he releases a breath. Your fingers find the back of his head, softly scratching the scalp, making him groan in satisfaction. His own digits flex, and you think you feel the claws digging slightly into your flesh through the dark material of his gloves and the skirt of your own clothes, and you let the dragon be a tiny bit greedy in expressing his affections.

“It’s not something I thought would bother me,” you hear him murmur into your neck. Instead of rushing to ask him to elaborate, you encourage him to take his time with a soft touch, gently following the pointy shape of his ear with your fingertip. The man shivers, but quickly relaxes, leaning into your body a bit more.

“Why logically I understand I’m in the wrong, but on an instinct level it doesn’t give me rest. Remember the celebration Lady Furina threw three days ago?”

Ah, of course you remember. It was a nice little feast the Archon organized to mark another successful staging of hers, to which your husband and you were obviously invited. You can’t, however, recall anything particular that could upset Neuvillette. He wasn’t offered anything to taste he didn't enjoy - had his own supply of fresh water even; he had no cases to worry about, having finished everything rather important beforehand, and he was not engaged in any interactions he could potentially be uncomfortable with. Maybe it was something related to you? However, you can’t think of anything: most of the time you spent conversing with Furina, discussing her next outstanding and grand performance, or dancing with your beloved, happily twirling in his embrace. Sure, other people approached you too, but…oh. Wait, there was something.

“Do you mean the celebration during which that opera performer from Li Yue was flirting with me?”

Immediately his body tenses and a low sound, kind of sounding like a growl, escapes his strained throat. He quickly composes himself though, once you drop your hand from his head to his back, drawing circles there.

“...I apologize for that.”

“Please don’t, I don’t mind a bit of jealousy,” you assure him, and the man finally leans back, looking at you with those fairytale eyes.

“You think it was jealousy?”

“Well, maybe right now it was just a bit of frustration, but back then I think it was jealousy,” Neuvilette hums, lowering his gaze, processing the information. You meanwhile decide to ask more. “But what sparked it? You know I am yours and that no human will ever be able to steal me from you.”

“Ah, my love, I am fully aware of that,” gloved palm leaves your knee and cups your cheek instead. “I know all that, but…but what I felt is hard to explain in words.”

“Try,” you encourage, turning your head and kissing his palm, “I’ll get it.”

“Alright,” with a sigh he lets his fingertips outline the contour of your jaw and travel down the side of your neck, sending a pleasurable sensation down your back. “I suppose I should start with what happened before, when we were still back home. You looked so ravishing and regal - a true gem to an eye, - and I just couldn’t help but let some of my scent linger on you.”

Which is absolutely fine, you love doing the same for him.

“Keeping that in mind I felt all those strange emotions wringing my heart, as he was giving you compliments, especially about the scent, not realizing it’s mine. And then more and more.”

As he doesn’t find what more to say, you stare at him, trying to analyze the information. After a couple of minutes of silence, during which you absent-mindedly braided a little braid out of his straight lock, you decide to summarize.

“So… If I understood you correctly, it felt upsetting that, basically, he caught the whiff of you on me, yet didn’t stop his attempts to hit on me. Am I right?”

“Exactly,” a small smile graces his pale lips, and Iudex presses a delicate kiss to your shoulder. “I could not have worded it better.”

“Hmm… Now I see why you are torn. It is annoying for sure, but it’s not like an ordinary human could know of draconian peculiar properties.”

He nods, thumbing at the pulse point on your neck, staring a little bit past you. His state is saddening, really, even though a tiny slither of pride infiltrates your heart - knowing your husband wants the world to know you are his as much as you want to claim the same about him… Would’ve made you purr if you were a feline.

You shiver when Neuvillette brings his face close again, soft lips pressing to the side of your neck.

“You are so dear to me, my love…” he breathes in a way that makes your heart skip a beat, voice full of unbridled devotion, something not many can hear from this stoic man throughout their whole life. “There are days when I can’t bear the thought of you not being close to me, I overcome with desire to be in your presence, to hold you in my arms, to listen to your divine voice… When you call my name, I want to bring everything I have to your feet.”

“But you already do so,” you cup his cheeks, kissing his forehead. “You don’t have to say all of it - you sound like you are apologizing, like you are trying to excuse your natural behavior. Don’t do it, please. You are so precious to me, I’d be damned if I ever felt unnerved by something like this.”

“I apologize if it sounded like this,” he sighs, long lashes flattering close, when you proceed to kiss over his eyelids. “I just meant to express how thankful I am that you chose me.”

“Oh, Neuvi,” you chuckle, kissing the bridge of his nose and when the tip of it. “I adore when you are so affectionate in private. As for the public display, if we return to the topic of scent… I think I could figure something out for the both of us. If you trust my judgment, that is.”

“How can I not?” Those eyes are staring back at you, bottomless pools swirling with wonder and elation. “Only if you truly want this.”

“I do,” your lips hover dangerously close to his. “And I will find the way.”

Soft thuds rhythmically yet quite leisurely cut through the lofty noises of the Court of Fountaine, catching the attention of the passersby. One hit of an elegant cane against the pavement equals two steps of yours, as you and your husband walk through the main square of the city. Your appearance - no matter together or by yourself - always gathers attention, and you could bet that if Fontaine didn’t have a law prohibiting photography of executives without their permission, your picture would’ve adorned tomorrow’s copy of The Steambird.

And you are a sight to behold - your hand resting in the crook of his elbow, gloves matching perfectly his today’s cravat of choice, jewelry specifically picked to mirror the beauty of their wearer’s partner, clothes tailored to clearly be a ‘couple outfit’... It is pretty evident that this outing is planned, if the Iudex’s absence from the Palais Mermonia didn’t serve as a clue.

You hold no conversation, rather relishing in the warm rays of sunlight (you did though tease Neuvillette upon stepping outside that his mood seemed to improve). Despite looking like it’s you who is clutching onto the man and him leading you somewhere, it’s completely vice versa. Your beloved has absolutely no idea what kind of ‘surprise’ he is soon to experience, but your previous words keep his mind at rest - you found a solution for his concern.

As a result, his high spirits are pretty apparent to the people who know him well. Or the melusines, if one is being accurate, who approach you two along the way with warm words of greetings and cute waves of their hands, which brightens Neuvillette’s features more evidently.

“I think we should soon visit the Merusea Village,” you suggest after bidding goodbye to Tristane. “And do a little gathering for our girls who work here, in the city. I am sure they have many stories to share with us.”

“I would really like that,” Neuvillette's smile is a heart-warming sight. You can only hope that you’ll get to see it more after today. “How about we start planning tomorrow after work?”

“That would be wonderful! I can’t wait to write an invitation to every single one. And to the village too.”

“Then it’s on you as always,” he agrees without objection, leaning a little to subtly kiss your temple when you turn the corner. Letting out a soft chuckle, you give him a fond look, and then focusing back on the street.

It’s barely a couple of minutes later when your partner sees you perk up. Trying to pinpoint what caught your eye, the man scans the signboards of the shops and boutiques lining up at both sides of yours. Jewelry? No, he doesn’t think so - you adorn each other with fine gemstones regularly. Clothes? Doubtful, given you’ve just received a couple of new outfits a week before. Maybe it’s-

You disturb these wandering thoughts, tugging on his elbow to catch his attention. Looking at you and then following the direction of your raised hand, Neuvillette lifts his eyes to read the signboard above the shop you’ve stopped in front of.

“Palais des parfums”

“So,” you start when he gives you a questioning look, “it’s a perfumery, yes. And my suggestion is the following - let’s choose a scent we could wear together. Before you get concerned about it becoming too popular, because we will use it, this shop has an option of creating something personal. We can just pay a little more to make it exclusive.”

“The same…scent?” Your husband hums, touching his chin in thought. This actually sounds quite good - created by a human master, it is to be perceived by humans, and by utilizing one fragrance on you both it will be made clear that the two of you are spouses. Not to mention the newspaper that will spread the fact for others to know. “My dear, that’s a marvelous idea.”

“Really?” A wide smile lifts the corners of your lips.

“Really. I like it a lot,” he assures you with a smile of his own. “And I do favor the possibility of making perfume specifically for us. How did you know though, my love?”

“Have done my research. And already spoke to the vendor before. Furthermore, I think we can order the creation of two perfumes. One for every day, and one for grand events where our presence is required.”

“I see you’ve done your research indeed,” his words are soft and gaze is full of admiration. It’s so hard to resist and not kiss him right in the middle of the street, yet let your fingertips gently scratch his forearm.

“I promised my husband a solution, didn’t I? Couldn’t disappoint you.”

“You can never disappoint me, if anything you astonish me every single day of our lives. Shall we get inside?”

“We shall. Just please, beware, there are a lot of fragrances mixed in the air. I am afraid your nose will be assaulted just like mine was.”

“I can bear with it, beloved. I would be a coward of a husband, if I turned back after the amazing work my wife did,” your cheeks heat up at his praise and you lightly dig your covered nails into his arm.

“Oh, stop it, no need to be so sweet, I already understood your appreciation for this,” your eyes motion to his hand resting on the hilt of the cane and fingers joyfully tapping against the wood. With a barely audible chuckle, the man unhooks your arms, wrapping his around your waist, and steps forward, reaching for the handle.

A soft chime caresses his ears, as the maddening mix of scents hits him right in the nose. Glancing to the side to check on you, he notices how you instantly switch to breathing through your mouth and follows your example. It, thankfully, gets better.

The shop owner is not hard to find, a sweet lady in her late 50’s welcomes you with a glint in her eyes upon recognizing you, which soon is replaced by the look of surprise when she sees your companion.

“Good afternoon, Monsieur, Madame, how can I help you?”

“Good afternoon, Mrs Deschamps,” you greet her with a smile, “I came by two days ago, remember?”

“Yes, yes, how could I forget our dear Madame? You were curious about my perfumes and if I do personal orders.”

“Right! This is my husband,” you motion to the man still courteously holding your waist, who bows in greeting.

“Pleasure to be meeting you.”

“O-oh! How could I not know you and your husband? Your wedding was the event of the century!”

“Haha, you flatter us,” you chuckle merrily, covering your mouth. “We are here to put in an order. We’d love to buy a newly crafted perfume. However, we have a couple of conditions…”

It’s almost evening when the doorbells chime again, marking your departure. Once again walking side by side and with arms linked, Neuvillette feels an almost primordial satisfaction. These hours spent in that stuffy, smelly box of a shop will be absolutely worth it when your order is complete. While he does feel the inevitable approach of a runny nose after test-smelling way too many fragrances, and it doesn’t feel like he left work today at all, as he was handling legal documents relied to the exclusivity of the product, he doesn’t regret a single mora spent and to be spent in the future for this.

Soft thuds once again cut through the sounds of the city, and they are gently lulling your mind. Maybe your head hurts just a little bit, but it pales in comparison to the invested state of your husband and how much evident fun he had in meticulously choosing the right aromatic notes to your future shared scent.

You can’t wait to help him apply it every single morning to come and get the same treatment in return. This is going to be a new, hopefully a long-staying option to your usual scenting routine.

taglist: @meimeimeirin

[seredelgi]

Do they get jealous?/ AOT x fem!reader

featuring: Eren Jaeger, Armin Arlert, Jean Kirstein, Connie Springer, Reiner Braun, Erwin Smith, Levi Ackerman

tw: kissing, possessive behavior, jealousy, implied/referenced sex, implied/referenced oral, fem!receiving

Does Eren? Oh yeah, and childishly so, too. You know it the second you turn around from the counter, you could just feel Eren’s eyes on you when the tall cute barista flashed you a charming smile as he handed you your drinks. So of course you’re met with your boyfriend's cold green gaze, waiting patiently for you to hand him the drink and sit beside him on the chair of the pub you’re at. 

“ Were you having fun?” he utters, and you almost miss it amid the blasting music it’s playing in the background.

“ What?” you feign ignorance, prompting him to lean into your space, invading it with his fragrance as he whispers in your ear:

“ Does he know you’re mine?” a hand of his brushes down your bare back, covering it with goosebumps, and it rests at your hip, squeezing it tightly in his hold.

You roll your eyes and playfully retort “Well, he does now”

Armin does, but he would never tell. He masks it with concern and asks you casual questions. It’s honestly amusing, ‘cause you can sense it almost immediately by the way he sighs beforehand, and then exhales:

“So who’s that guy you were with? Was he bothering you?” he circles your shoulders and you walk beside him towards your apartment.

“ Who, Matt?” you laugh, immediately aware that he’s detected a menace of some sort “ He’s new at work and the boss asked me to let him shadow for a bit, he’s actually very funny”

As soon as he saddens you can’t take it, you have to clarify “And very gay, too”.

“ Oh” he suddenly reddens and squeezes you closer to him “ Well, thank God”

There’s no way around it, honestly. Jean is possessive. He has many great qualities: always treats you right, brings you flowers, takes you to the best restaurants, and loves to eat you out. But the man just can’t help it. To him, everyone is a menace. You often have to reassure him that it’s all in his head and that every man on the planet is certainly not out to take you away from him.

However, when they ogle you down the streets his temper gets a hold of him before you can, and you’ll find him spitting at them “ What’s up man? Wanna take a picture?”. It’s enough to scare them off, and it’s honestly hilarious.

Connie’s the type of man to take pride in the way other guys look at you. He basks contently in the knowledge that you’re his, and whoever wants to take a look certainly can, just as long as they keep their hands to themselves. It’s funny to him, and it brings a cheeky smile to his face whenever someone’s being very obvious while checking you out. That’s when he circles an arm of his around your shoulders and pulls you in, whispering on your lips.

“ Wanna give them a show?” 

You nod enthusiastically, honestly simply eager to get unwanted attention off of you. As soon as that’s accomplished, you will restore your no-kissing in public ban, maybe.

Reiner is a confident man. Confident in everything but you, that is. It’s not like he doesn’t feel loved by you, let’s be clear, but he’s too afraid of losing you, and he won’t take any chance. He won’t let anyone else be in your mind that way, not even for a second.

So if a guy talks to you flirtily or makes an appreciative comment to you in his presence, you can rest assured that Reiner will take it in his hands to remind you just how good he can make you feel. 

You have no time to rid yourself of heels or earrings that night, he will have you spread on his bed as soon as he wills it, and he will bury his face between your thighs before you can even begin to protest. By the time he starts to work his magic on you, he certainly won’t hear any more complaints.

Erwin gets jealous alright, but he just hates to admit it, and it’s honestly so entertaining. He won’t talk to you all night, giving you the silent treatment the whole ride back home. You’ve come to understand where his mind goes over the years, so you now don’t mind. You just sit back in your seat and enjoy the calm before the storm, because as soon as he’s got a hold of you he won’t let you go. He will address the issue shortly and then start his payback with his hand closed around your throat, with whispers of how much you’ll regret touching another man’s arm like that, because you know exactly what it does to him, because you love how he bends you over the kitchen counter and claims you back.

Levi’s not the type to get jealous, no. Worried, however, that he gets, and you do pity the men that have made the error of mistreating you over the years. He usually just sits back and watches amusingly whoever thirsts over you at the club, as you’re dancing and laughing it off with your friends. But as soon as so much as a hand dares to slap your ass, or even worse, if anyone tries to take hold of you, you merely have the time to try and wiggle away from them, before Levi’s hand comes to rest on their shoulder, and he doesn’t have to speak to let them know to piss off.

What names do they like being called in bed?

How do they take you?

What's their love language?

So what about the way they kiss you?

How do they take compliments, then?

What gets them going?

And what pet names do they use the most?

[ruth-odyssey]

༺✩༻ D is for Delightful (part 2)

mattheo riddle x fem!reader

wc. 1.9k words

summary: after pairing up with a slytherin for a potion project, you somehow find yourself unable to tear away from him  

tw. fem!reader, reader is implied to be a gryffindor, party, mention of minors drinking. Set in sixth year but everyone is 17

a/n. This is part 2 of D is for Dangerous. Mattheo is actually so hot I had to physically stop myself from turning this into smut 😔

Quidditch season has its way of bringing students of the same house together. No matter your opinion on your fellow housemates, quidditch is quidditch. Heading down to the great Hall for breakfast, you can feel the excitement of the first match of the season; Ravenclaw against Slytherin. You sit down at the Gryffindor table, serving yourself some porridge, fruits and a cup of coffee. As you start eating, you feel a light tap on your shoulder. You turn around, meet with Mattheo, smirking at you. “We’re hosting a party tonight after the match, wanna come?” You knit your brows. “Already planning a party? You didn't even win yet!??” Mattheo flashes you a confident smile. “Winning is guaranteed, Ravenclaw’s team isn't winning anytime soon.” You snort, teasing him. “Nah yall gonna lose.”

Mattheo gasps dramatically at your response, clutching his heart, pretending to be under some sort of great physical pain. “How dare you. Do you have no faith in me???” you laugh at his dramatic antics. “Are they even gonna let you play? You skipped detention the whole week.” Mattheo grins slyly at you, as if you had asked an absurd question. “Of course they’ll let me play, I'm the best chaser we’ve got” He says cockily, earning himself a glare from Blaise. “Besides, I’ve already got out of those detentions with a little help from Theo, no need to worry.” You roll your eyes, serving yourself another cup of coffee. “Please don't bring Theo into your shit…” You look around, trying to catch a glimpse of the boy. “Theo isn't even here, is he still asleep???” Draco pipes up. “He's up, probably still under the shower.” You nod. “Well you better catch the snitch quickly, it's cold as shit outside.” Draco rolls his eyes at your comment and scoffs. “Don't tell me what to do, I'll catch it at my own pace.” You sigh, already regretting not bringing something hotter against the cold November weather. Before anyone can add anything, Theodore arrives, greeting everyone with a nod. “Well well well, look who decided to join us…” At Theo’s arrival, you decide to take your plate and cup, sitting down at the Slytherin table. Blaise smiles, knocking your shoulder with his. “Finally decided to join us huh?” You salute him. “Yes sir.” He lets out a soft chuckle, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice. You glance to your right, Theo still standing up, still half asleep. You pat the spot next to you. “Sit down and eat. You have 10 minutes before you guys have to leave.” Theo’s eyes meet yours, he nods and takes the stop next to you, you serve him a cup of coffee and Lorenzo starts piling up food on his plate. Theo blinks a couple of times, trying to chase the fatigue. “How are you so… hyper this morning?” His voice is still laced with sleep, deeper than usual. You smile, hoping he can't tell how his voice alone is affecting you. “This is actually my fourth cup of coffee.” Theo shakes his head, mumbling Oh dio under his breath. He takes a bite of food. “If we win, will you come to the party?” Mattheo sends him a look “You mean WHEN we win.” You smile and glance at Mattheo who's already looking at you.

The next few minutes are spent by Draco, Mattheo and Blaise discussing the best way to beat ravenclaw – in the most humiliating way possible – Theo nodding along, playing with the food on his plate. They leave in a hurry to get changed in their quidditch robes. Lorenzo gets up and starts heading to the quidditch area, you and Pansy following. The three of you head out of the school, the freezing November breeze making you shiver. Tucking your face into your scarf you decide now is the perfect time to talk. “I am NOT lasting ‘til the end of the year, Riddle is gonna be the death of me.” Pansy laughs, as if she was expecting you to bring up Mattheo, Lorenzo on the other hand looks concerned considering how much you ramble about him. “May I ask why Riddle out of all people is gonna be the death of you?” He inquired, his voice tinged with playful judgment. You flash him an apologetic smile and start gushing about Mattheo. “Did you see how he looked at me earlier??? I thought I was gonna have a heart attack.” Pansy grabs your arm, a delighted laugh escaping her lips, as Lorenzo gives you a weirded out look – he's not quite sure what you mean by that. 

—————————————

The match finally came to an end, Slytherin completely obliterating Ravenclaw with a whooping 250 to 50. You meet up with the rest of the group in the Great Hall for lunch. “Mattheo that goal was something else, I mean throwing the quaffle all the way from the Slytherin goalpost and scoring? It was amazing.” Blaise nods in agreement, headlocking Mattheo, ruffling his hair. “You were insane out there mate, I didn't expect you to score like that.” Mattheo finally getting out of Blaise’s tight grip, he smirks at you. “Told ya we were gonna win. Now you better come to the party angel” You roll your eyes trying to ignore how your stomach seems to be doing cartwheels because of a simple pet name. Pansy smiles. “Bring your dress so you can get ready in my room.” “Okay!”

—————————————

“You look great.” You make eye contact with Pansy through the bathroom mirror, adding some mascara to your lower lashes. You’re wearing a black slip dress, with black high knee boots and your hair is down. You smile. “Thanks Pans, I love your dress by the way. It's so cute!” Pansy smiles, crouching down to put on her heels. You let out a yawn, feeling the lack of sleep of last night – as well as the caffeine crash – getting to you. You set the mascara tube down, giving yourself one last once over, before heading into the Slytherin common room with Pansy. As you both get down to the common room, pansy whispers “Go get your man.” in your ear. The party is in full swing, music blaring and people drinking and dancing everywhere. The room is dimly lit with Slytherin color, the atmosphere lively and electric. In the sea of partying students, you spot Mattheo, cigarette in one hand, drink in the other. He spots you too, greeting you with a hug. “Hey, nice dress” He speaks loudly, trying to make himself heard over the loud music. He hands you a drink. “Thanks! Pansy kinda left me. Do you know where she went?” Mattheo looks around, trying to find her. He taps your shoulder, giving you a shrug. “I can't see her sorry angel.” He pauses, taking a hit of his cigarette, blowing the smoke into rings. He smirks, eyes roaming around your body. “Seems like you’re stuck with me sweetheart.” You roll your eyes, unable to meet his – suddenly finding the content of the drink he had handed you interesting. You glance at him

You take a sip of your drink, face scrunching at the taste of alcohol burning your throat. You turn back to look at Mattheo, only to find him already looking at you. It's not the way he usually looks at you, with mischief because saying or doing something that would get him in trouble, there’s something different in those eyes and it seems whatever changed somehow makes you even more drawn to him. You can already feel your body loosening up, the alcohol making its way in your system. You grab the half burned cigarette from his grasp, taking a hit. There's a hint of surprise in Mattheo’s expression, that's quickly replaced by delight and something else you can't quite place your finger on. 

—————————————

You are not God's strongest soldier. Three drinks in and you somehow found yourself resting your head on Mattheo’s chest, arms around his waist, one of his hands on the small of your back, the other holding onto his – technically yours since he stole it – drink. The scent of his cologne – a citrus and musky scent– filling your nostrils. The party is still raging, people everywhere and it doesn't seem to stop anything soon. Mattheo gently whispers in your ear. “Hey sweetheart can't have you falling asleep on me, why don't you call it a night huh?” – you can practically see the small smirk that must be forming on his face – You distance yourself from him, just enough to see his face. His eyes find yours and he smiles. It's a smile you could get used to seeing – it's sweet and it makes you believe you might actually have a change with the boy – you nod, silently agreeing to call if for today. “Mkay… I'll go to sleep.” Maybe it was because of the smile he’d flashed or maybe it had only to do with the alcohol you had, but you get on your tiptoes, kissing him goodnight. “I think you missed darling, you must be very drunk if you don't know where my lips are” Its harmless teasing really, usually a simple eye roll to brush it off would have done the trick. But today, you decide that yes, maybe you should kiss him if it means he’ll finally realize you’d like to be the only one he flirts with, the only one he kisses. And so you roll your eyes, “You’re so demanding Riddle, you’re lucky I love you.” and kiss him. It’s sweet, you can taste the lingering taste of the alcohol on his lips. He pulls you closer, deepening the kiss, his lips moving against yours and you're suddenly aware of what you're doing. You break the kiss and mumble a quick “good night” before heading upstairs, crashing in Pansy’s room

—————————————

Drinking was not a good idea. At all. Whatever was in the drinks, it was strong, strong enough that you find yourself waking up the next morning having absolutely no recollection of why you were not in your bed. You can tell Pansy is in bed with you by the steady sound of breathing behind you. You try getting up an arm wrapping around your waist, someone snuggling into you. You freeze, turning your head slightly – to your surprise Mattheo is behind you, seemingly still asleep. “Hm Mattheo? Wake up.” You try shaking him awake. He makes a noise between a groan and moan but he opens his eyes, taking you in. “what?” You look at him bewildered, wondering how he could be so calm. “What??? What do you mean ‘what’??? The hell are you doing in Pansy’s room and why are you sleeping next to me???” Now it’s Mattheo’s turn to look confused. “Hey hey hey, calm down princess, I'll have you know last night you crashed in MY room, and i need my beauty sleep so I slept on my bed. I was sure you wouldn't mind… you know since you love me.” he adds teasingly. Oh the bastard. You can already feel your cheeks flustered and unfortunately for you, the memories of last night are finally becoming clearer. And you can clearly remember not only telling him you loved him but the feel of his lips against yours. You blink trying to chase the memory from your mind. “I- ok maybe I do. But so what?” He smiles as if he knew you would say something like that. “I was thinking about asking you out so that we could share our first kiss more… romantic setting but looks like you beat me to it angel.” “Oh shut up Riddle.” He smirks. “So, can I be your boyfriend?” “Yes”

[patchiko]

Hear me out

AK!Jason with a s/o whose love language is sharing food, but them being the one who gives him the biggest and tastiest slice, the one who pours a little more juice or soda on Jason's glass and the type of givin AK!Jason the cleanest spoon.

im making this angsty and comforty because. because. because.

tw; eating disorder, throw up/vomit, canon torture affects implied,

i want to hold him.

an s/o like this would be soooo lovely for him because, however. (this takes awhile)

listen you could give him the most amazing meal, and he’ll scarf it down but not because it's amazing. but it's because you gave it to him. he doesn’t want to make you feel any type of way; but the way his heart shudders when he scrambles out your window late at night, the way he can't stop himself from retching in a trash can makes him feel borderline unlovable.

hearing his mothers voice ring about how they ‘couldn’t afford to be wasteful’

he can’t stop wondering if this is his body rejecting purity after being indulged in hatred for so long. he can’t help but wonder if he’s even meant to be in your presence. he can’t help but wonder if he was even meant to eat in the first place.

hearing the lunatic who he believed to make more of a man out of him then his father say he was ‘being wasteful’

he can't stop wondering if you poisoned it. he can’t stop wondering if the meat wasn’t fully cooked. he can’t stop wondering if someone else poisoned it. he can’t stop wondering if something had gone rotten and you hadn’t noticed.

Jason was wondering the wrong thing, because he hadn’t expected to turn around and you staring down at him from your window.

Jason slurred out something about a ‘Stomach Issue’ and how the food was still amazing.

He didn’t know at the time that this random white lie would save his predicament.

Whenever he came over you paced him, giving him small portions at a time, having him pour his own drinks.

Purposely sitting on the couch and asking him if he could serve himself, watching how much he did to replicate.

Making a less food so he wouldn’t feel overwhelmed with the leftovers he saw in the pots.

Making lighter meals whenever he came over.

His problem didn’t go away like he was perfect, he would still vomit those small meals, gag after a half of a coke. Even when he was young and just began living with Bruce, he couldn’t always stomach those hefty boujee steaks.

But just one meal at a time, watching you cook, how sweet you were when you held his hair out of his eyes while he was throwing up in your toilet, the way you rubbed his shoulder when you noticed he was slowing down on the meal, letting him take home leftovers, just those baby steps mean a lot to him.

Jason figuring out that you give him the cleanest spoon to go with his freshly tossed salad and giving him prettiest peace of chicken you made, and the way you piece the cup before setting it down in front of him. It meant a lot to him.

ugh, he has heart eyes while watching you fuck up that salad.

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Just Another Night at Sparky's

(Disclaimer: Ness/WaiterPat and Jack/Cabbie!Cory are not my creations. I gave Jack his name because he wasn't given one in the movie. Now, one of the characters you'll be seeing here technically belongs to me, but I don't really consider him a full fanego.)

(I was already planning to write for Ness and Jack, but after I learned how Mark was originally intended to play the role of that first security guard who died, I decided to adopt that abandoned character. Go here for headcanons and a more thorough explanation.)

(Certain plot-points in this story were inspired by @flawlessstriker and @insane4fandoms! These two are very talented artists, and I'm not sure I would've thought of such clever/funny easter eggs if I hadn't seen some of their own work, so please go check out their blogs and show them some love!)

(Trigger Warnings: food and drink, eating/drinking, implied trauma, mentions of past violence, mentions of blood, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.) 

In Ness’ personal experience, the people who dined at Sparky’s could be divided into three sections on a metaphorical pie chart. 

Twenty-four percent of customers were. . .just a little off. Not like that was necessarily a bad thing, mind you. Working in the restaurant business meant having to interact with lots of people each and every day. At some point, you’d learn to pick up on certain things that were odd in the way you couldn’t quite put your finger on (or, perhaps you just knew deep down that you didn’t want to). 

Ness strolled out of the kitchen and into the seating area, expertly balancing a tray on one hand. He approached a couple of bespectacled young women in one corner of the diner. 

Their visits to Sparky’s were a bit sporadic, but they never failed to claim that one booth in the corner that no-one else ever sat at no matter how crowded the joint was. The backpacks they always hauled along were positioned further up the booth’s seat cushions, half-open and nearly overspilling with various books. 

They always used indoor voices, but he could still pick up bits and pieces of their conversation whenever he was near. 

Tonight was no different:

“—he’ll be hungrier than usual,” murmured the one on the left, who boasted short, wavy hair that had been dyed a dark shade of violet. It complimented her shirt, which read ADOPT A FAMILIAR at the top. Pictures of creepy-looking critters were displayed beneath the message, orange-eyed and outlined by blue against the black fabric. “And he’ll need a live one this time.”

“Ooh,” replied the one on the right, who sported a yellow shirt with the screen-printed likeness of some obscure, spikey-haired cartoon character near the collar. A blonde ponytail spilled out from the back of her ball cap. “Who’s it gonna be? The lady whose eyes were found in that jar last month?”

“Nah, she’ll be in some psych ward. Too far-gone to keep on the playing board, y’know?” A sly grin etched its way across Urban Fantasy Nerd’s features. “I was actually wondering if you’d like to choose. Your guy is making the delivery, after all.”

“Ah, that’s right!” Cartoon-Fan snickered in a way that was just a teensy bit unhinged. “I can already see him slipping on some of the blood."

“Third time’s a charm?” Ness asked as he halted, carefully setting this duo’s Usual on the table. 

(Two milkshakes: one chocolate, the other strawberry. Yeah, it was kind of basic, but he wasn’t too much of a judgemental guy. Besides, Sparky’s shakes were a much safer option than the lilac-colored drinks that chicken shack around the corner had started selling. And Ness didn’t just carry that opinion because of his employment. During one of his typical night-walks, he’d passed an alley just in time to see said purple beverage oozing through said chicken shack’s windows. The strong, sugary smell wafting off it had reminded him of prion disease.)

The girls both paused. Though they smiled up at him and offered quiet “Thank-yous,” as they moved their respective, sticker-covered laptops out of the way, visible confusion mixed itself into their gratitude. 

“For the university’s creative writing contest, I mean,” Ness elaborated. “There were articles in the paper about the last two, and I saw your pictures in the list of winners. Congratulations, by the way.”

“. . .Oh,” Urban Fantasy Nerd answered, exchanging careful glances with her friend. “Yeah. Writing. Let’s go with that.”

“If anyone asks, we were also writing here two months ago,” Cartoon-Fan added with a conspiratory wink. “On Friday, between five-thirty and nine o’clock.” 

Ness chuckled, raising one hand to pull an invisible zipper over his lips. “You’ve got it. Enjoy.”

As he retraced his steps to organize some stuff behind the coffee counter, a little voice in the back of his theater-trained head wondered if the girls’ tones had been joking enough. Unlike many times before, he pushed that voice aside.

On one hand, missing person cases did always seem to pop up on the news channels a few days after the two students stopped by to enjoy milkshakes while typing away and occasionally turning the screens of their laptops toward one another. 

On the other hand. . .well, those cases were always located states and states away, typically near more seaside areas. None of them had been anywhere close to Utah. (Not yet, at least.)

Besides, even if those girls were somehow connected to more sinister things than their coursework, they were still very nice. Good tippers, too. Nowhere near the worst patrons Ness had served in his time.

The strange customers almost always seemed to come in pairs.

Like the duo of twenty-somethings from last week. One sported ginger hair and a She/They button pinned to their  jacket. The soot-stains on said jacket had been very obvious, as were the burn scars on their palms, but she’d still been a delight to make smalltalk with.

The other, a pale young man, had been much more quiet, but still friendly. He’d kept peering through the window at (what was presumably) his or his friend’s car, shakily fidgeting with the headphones around his neck, so it’d taken some time for Ness to realize that his eyes were just as reflective as mirrors.

(For the duration of their stay, the jukebox over by the counter had spat out songs that most certainly weren’t on its index cards. Fine, that might’ve caught Ness a bit off-guard at first, but he still knew to appreciate variety.)

Or the two men who’d come in a few months ago, wearing battered navy-blue bomber jackets and thousand-yard-stares. The one with a dyed-red fauxhawk had screamed and practically leapt out of his skin when Ness came over with menus and his usual greeting, but he’d apologized soon enough. After giving Ness a thorough look-over, that is.

His companion, a similarly dark-eyed man with a larynx that could only be found on seasoned musicians, had muttered, “Don’t mind him. We’ve just. . .had a bit of a rough trip.” His voice hadn’t been unkind, but he’d kept glancing at Ness whenever he thought he wasn’t looking. 

Well, perhaps that particular pair had broken the trend a bit. Because a few hours after they’d paid for their food and left, a lone traveler had come in.

His bloodshot eyes—which Ness could’ve sworn were orange instead of brown—had never stopped bulging, never stopped darting this way and that above his rictus of a smile. When he wasn’t speaking, he’d hum or murmur things with a shakiness that was typically found in rabid dogs.

He’d asked for way more coffee refills than could ever be considered healthy, as well as if Ness had seen anyone fitting the descriptions of Red-Haired-Screamer and Wary-Possible-Musician. Ness, following his instincts, had said no, to which the loner started simply shaking his head and grinning with a mouthful of teeth that looked a smidge too sharp.

Or the scruffy man who'd started coming in for breakfast every other week with his young sister in tow. He was living proof that you could recognize someone without officially knowing them. After all, it was pretty damn easy for Ness to remember almost making eye-contact with him, barely moving out of reach of his flashlight’s beam in time, and then having the seconds feel like hours as he watched him shake his head and mutter to himself about seeing things. 

It wasn’t like that’d been Ness’ first little midnight rendezvous around Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzaria. Just like how that particular man wasn’t the first security guard who’d gotten dangerously close to spotting him during his unofficial, self-driven investigations.

For the record, Ness knew that said investigations weren’t legal—especially not if you counted some of the things he’d. . .borrowed from the old animatronic jamboree restaurant—but he’d made his peace with that.

He hadn’t been sneaking around there to deal drugs or partake in any himself.

He wasn’t exactly chasing the adrenaline that always came with an evening full of ducking around corners and trying to ignore how loud his shoes sounded against linoleum floors when he rushed to find anything he could feasibly hide behind, underneath, or inside of.

He never meant any harm when it came to snooping.

It was just a simple case of having a little too much curiosity.

Thankfully, Security Guard #13 still had yet to show up at Ness’ place with some accompanying cops, so it seemed he didn’t recognize Ness as anything other than a humble waiter. (Or, if he did actually recognize Ness from that night, then he was miraculously chill enough to not bring it up and get him in trouble.)

The very first time they’d paid Sparky’s a visit, it would’ve been impossible to ignore the distinct smell that had been wafting off of Security Guard #13. It’d had a bite to it; like machine oil mixed with something much more. . .organic.

From that bleak look Ness had seen in his eyes, Security Guard #13 was most certainly NOT what anyone could call unbothered, but he was still polite. Plus, Kid Sister was the type who just deserved all the crayons in the world, what with the little masterpieces she’d decorated the paper menus with.

So, yeah. There was a genuine difference between oddball customers and customers that made you lose some of your faith in humanity. 

People who asked for trout to be blended into their yogurt parfait or for their donuts to be topped with slices of pickles that had gathered fuzz from their mysterious journeys at the back of the refrigerator were still easier to handle than people who threw temper tantrums because they didn’t get a refill in under thirty seconds. 

Back to the pie-chart—another forty-six percent of customers were perfectly decent and standard.

Plenty of the locals had a soft spot for this joint; Ness had lost count of all the times he’d been told that the pancakes served here were some of the best on planet Earth. Yeah, praise like that technically wasn’t directed at him, but the cooks were great people to work with, so it still made him happy to relay said praise to them. 

He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t awkward for someone to confusedly ask if they’d already seen him working at the bar on the other side of town. Even so, that once-a-month occurrence always left him amused rather than annoyed. If anything, it attested to that particular customer’s observation skills. 

Sure, he and Sans were identical twins—the fact that their uncle had mixed them up on several different occasions when they were little was still a running joke in the family. But it’d been years since Sans had decided to remedy that via a skeleton face-mask and a dark blue leather jacket, and he’d made a habit to don both aforementioned garments each day ever since then. (Ness was still in partial disbelief that the manager at Grillby’s was cool enough to let Sans wear them over his uniform.)

Just as many of Sans’ customers apparently ended up mistaking him for Ness. Sans got a nice little kick out of that, of course. He hadn’t just been born with a comedic heart—it truly seemed every bone in his body was a funny one. Some people would argue that he just delivered puns upon more puns upon even more puns, but Ness knew his brother better than that. 

After all, Sans had been the one to train him to deal with the last category of customers: the thirty percent of entitled neanderthals who thought treating staff as less than human would somehow magically make their miserable lives more interesting. 

“Food work is all about balance,” Sans had explained sometime after he and Ness had grown tall enough to take plates and cups from a counter without having to stand on their tip-toes. “You’ve gotta be nice and still let people know that you won’t take their crap. If they’re civil, then you’re helpful. But if they’re rude. . .” Sans had paused, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “. . .then you have a little fun.” 

Ness had always been a pretty fast learner. It’d taken a week or so of practice, yeah, but with his twin’s help, he’d developed a tongue sharp enough to rival any butcher knife in the kitchen.

“You use a lot of big words for a waiter,” snorted a wannabe business bigshot with a wrinkled clip-on tie and a way, waaaaaay over-gelled hairdo that spoke volumes of desperation. 

Ness, who’d been explaining the differences between certain ingredients and flavor-enhancing chemicals because Hair Gel’s girlfriend had asked a fair question about the smoothies on the menu, barely batted an eyelid when he came back with, “And you smell a lot like hotdog water for someone who apparently doesn’t work with food.”

“This was the WORST thing I’ve ever put in my mouth!” Exclaimed a woman with an unidentifiable crust caked around the corners of her eyes and an ill-fitting shirt that was advertising some essential oil brand.

“I highly doubt that,” Ness mentioned, raising an eyebrow as he took the plate (which was suspiciously much emptier than when he’d first brought it out) from her table, “but whatever you say. . .”

“Oh! Thank you!” A tiny boy who couldn’t have been older than seven chirped, bouncing in his seat when Ness placed a sundae down in front of him.

Ness had been about to reply, but the boy’s mother—a lady who was trying very hard to look posh (but not succeeding very well due her asymmetrical haircut, as well as all the little green marks around the jewelry she was practically drowning in)—cut him off. 

“You don’t need to thank him, sweetheart,” she’d instructed, reaching across the table to corral her son. “That’s his job.”

That one had, admittedly, forced Ness to take a deep breath and appeal to his higher self for a few seconds.  Despite this, he’d still made sure to look that Karen dead in the eyes when he observed, “I’m not sure what your problem is, ma’am. But it must be hard for you to pronounce.”

(At least the boy didn’t seem to be too influenced; his bright eyes were nothing but apologetic when Ness came back with the check.)

The relative silence was shattered by the jingling call of that little bell suspended over the front entrance. Ness blinked, his train of thought screeching to a halt. He glanced over in the door’s direction, grinning at a familiar sight. 

Another regular; one that Ness got to have actual conversations with on nights like tonight. 

Mason glanced around at all the empty tables, brushing back his nearly shoulder-length raven hair and quickly getting the hint that he could just seat himself.

A golden retriever trotted beside him, connected to a leash in his hand via a pink vest that’d been fastened around her shoulders and belly. It was adorned by black velcro straps that read THERAPY DOG in a bold white font. The forest-green sherpa hoodie Mason always seemed to wear was only about half as fluffy as her fur.

Ness ducked into the kitchen. No more than three seconds had passed before the last cook on duty for tonight—a lanky blonde guy who was perhaps the most unapologetically flamboyant foodie you could ever have the honor of knowing—called, “Order Up! Your buddies’ Usuals, fresh from that babbling kiddie pool of oil.”

Dylan set a triad of dishes onto a waiting platter: the first held a stack of waffles (much like Sparky’s pancakes, their recipe was a secret that his very own grandmother had entrusted him with) and fried chicken tenders. The second supported a small mound of bacon. The third was adorned by a couple club sandwiches with a side of mozzarella sticks.  

“Thanks, man. Right on time,” Ness called back as he hefted the platter up, balancing it on the anterior region of his forearm like he'd been taught so long ago, and traipsed back out. The door swung to and fro behind him as he headed over to Booth Five. 

Though she wasn’t actually in the booth, Checkers was still right by her owner’s side, sitting in a way that could almost remind you of those lion statues guarding the entrance to a Chinese temple. She spotted Ness before Mason did. Her ears perked up, tail starting to wag. Her tongue lapped in and out of her mouth like a party favor as she smiled in that way only dogs could.

Mason, who’d been gazing through the window and fidgeting with his hoodie’s drawstrings, ever-so-slightly flinched as Ness began setting the plates down on the table with a chorus of small clunks. He blinked at the food, as if suddenly remembering the weekly tradition he’d made here.

“How do you always do that?” Mason asked as he turned his head toward Ness, a small smile etching its way across his features. 

“Magic,” Ness answered. “Careful, it’s hot.”

He carried the now empty tray back over to the counter. There, his hands became a blur as he snatched up the coffee pot and produced a trio of mugs. After stirring memorized amounts of cream and sugar into the fresh brew, he returned to the table, setting two of the beverages beside the plates.

Ness hovered, his own cup of smoldering caffeine in hand, and glanced around the restaurant. Aside from Mason and those two writers in the corner (who, as Ness had learned, took generous amounts of time with the shakes they always ordered), Sparky’s was empty tonight. 

With that in mind, Ness dragged a chair away from one of the other tables, positioning it at the end of the booth. Yeah, he could’ve just sat on the opposite side of Mason, but that part of the booth was typically reserved for another one of his friends.

Subtle relief washed over Ness’ knees as he took a seat; he’d been standing and walking pretty much all day.

Mason plucked a strip of bacon from one of the plates, checking to make sure that it was nice and warm without threatening to burn the palette. He then lightly tossed it over to Checkers, who snapped it out of the air almost like a frog catching flies. She lowered her head as the treat crunched between her teeth.

“How’ve things been?” Ness inquired, taking a sip of his coffee. “The theater’s gotten busy, yeah?”

Mason nodded as he took a fork and knife into his hands, cutting a piece off of one of the waffles and dipping it into the complimentary cup of syrup. “Yeah, it really has. Feels like whenever one movie runs its course and is taken off our roster, two more pop up in its place. Especially now that Scream 3 is finally on the market."

“. . .Oh, that’s right! It is!” Ness ever-so-slightly jumped in his seat. After enjoying the first two movies, he’d been meaning to give the latest installment a look. But so far, whether it was Sparky’s being slammed on the more favorable days or Royal Edgar’s Cinema being too crowded for his liking, things had just kept getting in the way.

Acting on instinct, Ness fished a pencil from one of his waist-apron’s pockets. At first, said pencil might not have seemed like anything special. But then you saw Fabio: a priceless treasure shaped like a rubber chicken’s head covering up the eraser. Ness started spinning the pencil between his fingers, causing Fabio to wiggle as though it was alive.

“Have you seen it already? Is it good? I have so many ideas about where the story could pick up from—”

“Hey, hey. Slow down," Mason remarked with some clear exasperation. “I haven't, but I am scheduled to project its last showing sometime next week. . .” He took a bite out of one of the chicken tenders, humming thoughtfully as he chewed. He must’ve seen the glint in Ness’ eyes, because he offered a sly smirk and lowered his voice as he continued.

“Tell you what: I’ll find a way to sneak you into the projection booth. That way, we can check it out together when the day comes.” 

“Really? You’d do that for me?” Ness asked, jokingly clutching his mug in both hands and bringing it close to his heart. 

“Sure. It’s really not too different from the customers smuggling their own snacks past the ticket desk,” Mason shrugged, though his mischievous demeanor briefly turned deadpan. “So long as you don’t play detective the entire time. My boss would rip me a new one if I just paused the movie every five minutes to let you brainstorm and talk.”

Ness scoffed, rolling his eyes. “It wouldn’t be every five minutes.”

Mason raised an eyebrow. “You’re right; it’d probably be every two minutes.” He forked up another bite of the waffles, firmly ignoring the offended waiter noises. 

“Oh, and don’t try to guilt-trip me out of my food, either. I’ve already got one moocher to deal with.” Mason scratched Checkers’ ears, to which she responded via tilting her head to the side, an undeniable trace of smugness in the warmth of her amber eyes.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Ness pronounced, his voice dripping with much more sarcasm than usual, “but fine. I can work with that.” 

“Uh-huh. You’d better,” Mason snorted, reaching over to shake hands with his friend as though the two of them were lawyers who’d just settled on some sleazy business arrangement. 

Mason was a complex person. Everyone had issues, and he was no exception to that. Not like he was at all open about said issues, but once you got to know him, you’d start to see them. (Plus, that just seemed a lot nicer than describing him as a swarm of issues shaped like a man.) He was the type to constantly shift in his seat, to give most people the side-eye, to get lost in his thoughts and grimace at nothing until he snapped himself out of it. 

At least he seemed content working at the theater. Even with the spark of horror that never seemed to leave his eyes, Mason was clearly a creative bastard. Sometimes he’d bring notebooks in and take breaks from his meal to fill their pages with paragraphs or sketches. He really did seem to have the potential for acting, maybe even directing. If his critiques and commentary on the movies he had to watch from the projection booth were anything to go by, then the projects he could possibly work on would be nothing short of awesome. 

He’d actually been one of Freddy’s past security guards. Ironically enough, he and Ness hadn’t met there. Not that Ness minded, since A. if that’d been the case, there probably would’ve been way more confused screaming than there usually was at Sparky’s, and B. considering the fact that Mason’s employment had apparently lasted a whopping one singular night. . . 

Ness still didn’t know the full story, and he could tell pressing Mason for info wouldn’t end well. But with the few snippets Jack had carefully enlightened him with. . .well—

Speak of the devil. 

The front door’s bell only had about half a second to chime yet again, almost drowned out by rapid footsteps.

“You’re late,” Ness jokingly chastised as he caught dark brown skin and black hair in his peripheral vision. He shifted in his chair, moving his legs to make some room under the table as another one of his regular-friends hurried over to claim Booth Five’s empty seat. 

“Yeah, yeah. Sue me,” Jack retorted, instantly propping his elbows on the table to knead at his forehead. It took a few long seconds for him to notice how one of his favorite dishes had apparently been waiting for him. He squinted at the food, then at Ness. “. . .I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to make it tonight?”

“And yet, here you are,” Ness replied, the definition of coy with how his shoulders popped up and down again. 

Jack might’ve wanted to ask more questions, but Mason cut him off. “Look, I don’t get it either. He doesn’t know, but he just knows.”

Jack considered this, then tilted his head to convey the type of acceptance that only came when you couldn’t really question things that probably should be questioned because you already had too many things to focus on. 

“Thanks, dude,” he murmured, nodding to Ness as he plucked one of the mozzarella sticks from his plate.

Ness nodded back, taking a few more gulps of coffee. “No problem.”

Jack paused mid-bite, eyes darting over to the brew that’d been poured for him. He scrutinized it, then raised the mug up and started chugging like a champ. 

The display made Ness glad that he’d taken the time to experiment with coffee so long ago. There was no doubting how he could now calculate exactly how much time it took for coffee to go cold. Yeah, this particular serving had been fresh out of the pot a few minutes ago, but by now it had to be at optimal temperature. Neither scalding nor tepid: just nice and warm. 

After about a moment, Jack pulled the now empty mug away from his face, taking a deep breath as he set it back down on the table.

“Rough day?” Ness inquired, specific parts of his brain starting to tick. 

Something seemed off. 

It wasn’t like he had any room to talk about slight bean juice addictions. And he certainly couldn’t blame Jack for a dependency (especially since he’d even shown some undeniable intrigue at Ness’ argument that coffee was a type of soup). Sure, Jack wasn’t narcoleptic, but when a day-and-night operating cabbie didn’t have access to some perks, things just wouldn’t go well for him or his passengers. 

But whenever Jack popped in for a bite and a chat, it was easy to assume that he’d be heading home and going to bed right after his meal. Right now, however, his demeanor was anything but tired. His shoulders were rigid. His eyes were more or less threatening to pop right out of their sockets. In fact, he almost seemed to be weighing the options of never sleeping again. 

Jack chewed his lip as he glanced in the waiter’s direction. He slowly nodded. “. . .You could say that.”

Ness exchanged glances with Mason, who had obviously seen the signs for himself. As did Checkers, since she quietly maneuvered around Ness’ chair to rest her head on Jack’s lap, peering up at him with an almost human-like air of understanding. Jack didn’t hesitate to pet the shiny fur along the dog’s neck, to which her tail started wagging but she otherwise remained still.

“What happened?” Mason asked, sitting up a little straighter. “If the vibes you’re giving off got her attention, then it must be something serious.”

Jack grimaced, closing his eyes with what seemed to be more force than necessary, taking a few long seconds to rub at their lids. 

“Did you see any rabbit-shaped things out by the dumpster? I think they only come around once a month or so, but I always feel strange if I look at them.” The words glided out of Ness’ mouth and into the air before he could think. 

Self-induced humiliation wrapped its awful, clammy hands around his ribcage as two confused glances were aimed in his direction.

“. . .What?” Jack and Mason blurted in near-perfect unison.

“What?” Ness echoed, blinking as his voice instantaneously grew a smidge louder than before. He rushed to plaster his typical, happy-go-lucky demeanor back onto his face, hoping that pretending he hadn’t spoken at all would convince his friends that he actually hadn’t. 

Not only did his latest sentence sound weird as all hell, but it’d also been downplayed as all hell. Because when Ness had said strange, what he’d really meant was the pounding, churning, pummeling agony that should only ever be present in your stomach after you’ve accidentally swallowed a few dozen live rats that just so happen to be whacked out on cocaine for whatever godforsaken reason. 

And while he wasn’t a perfect angel, Ness would never wish that particular pain on anyone else. So, the fewer people who knew about the floppy-eared cryptids (which Ness could’ve sworn looked like they’d been covered in mucus) that were apparently engrossed in  gang warfare with the local raccoons, the better. 

“Ah, did you get a bad passenger today?” Ness coughed. Jack had to deal with as many entitled idiots as Ness, if not even more. Hell, taking turns venting about that stuff was something they’d initially bonded over.

He peered through the window next to the booth—Jack’s cab was parked close enough to see that there wasn’t anything to indicate an accident. Not a life-threateningly serious one, at least. 

“Not exactly,” Jack replied, following his gaze. Where Ness’ eyes were curious, Jack’s were currently anxious and mistrusting. That was another red flag: Jack may not have treated his taxi like it was his baby, but he still took pretty good care of it. “Just a few more weirdos.” 

Mason hummed, tilting his head. “How weird specifically?” He’d heard plenty of Jack’s tales from the road; as he called on Jack for rides somewhat often, he’d even ended up being part of those tales. 

Jack knitted his brows, fidgeted in place. “You don't want to know."

“. . .Then why did you make it sound so damn vague?” Mason retorted, now dripping with incredulousness. “The less specific details are, then the more they’re gonna nag at someone’s brain.”

“He’s got a point,” Ness agreed, lightly tapping Fabio’s pencil against his mug. 

“Like that’s my fault,” Jack snorted. “Most people wouldn’t believe me if I told them.”

Ness offered an encouraging smile. “Good thing we’re not most people, then.”

Mason nodded. “Damn right. C’mon, Jack; are you really saying something could top the crackhead I had to share the backseat with last month?” 

“Yes, I am,” Jack whisper-shouted through gritted teeth, “because it was a bear!” 

Silence (save for the soft click-clack of keyboards from the corner of the diner, that is).

Jack pursed his lips, looking equal parts exasperated and worried. He sighed yet again, reaching up to press his fingers against his temples.

“. . .What kind of bear was it?” Ness eventually tried. 

Mason, who’d previously been squinting while his mouth opened and closed with no words coming out, turned his head to face Ness with such speed and force that he might’ve actually given himself whiplash. “That’s the first thing you focus on?!”

Ness made a shaky lame gesture. “It’s a fair question! What’re you focusing on?” (He wasn’t wrong. There was a lot of variety among bears, after all. And a bear that lived in the woods and had huge claws and could outeat, outrun, outswim, and probably even outdrink the average person would be a lot more to handle than one of the bears that had attended the latest local Pride parade.) 

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you,” Mason declared, returning his attention to Jack, “look significantly less mauled than most people who get close to bears! Seriously, how is your face still connected to your skull?!” 

“I didn’t mea—!” Jack was about to go on the defensive, but stopped short. “What, were you expecting me to get ripped to shreds tonight? So damn sorry if I didn’t get the memo!”

“No! Of course not!” Mason contended. “Look, you can’t just say you had a run-in with a bear and leave it at that!”

Jack threw his hands up. “Well, I told you you didn’t want to know!”

“How the hell can we not NEED to know now?” Ness pointed out. Though he was growing just as confused as Mason, he tried to keep his voice even.

Jack gave him an exhausted look before craning his neck to rest his head against the booth’s seat, staring at the ceiling. 

“It was a huge robot,” he finally clarified. “Looked like it’d been at the bottom of a scrap heap for years; I’d guess it was older than my dad. But its eye glowed blue like the machines inside it were still working. It made the car shake—I’m honestly surprised the back tires never gave out. And God damn, the smell. . .rust and blood and mucus, I swear!”

Now it was Mason’s turn to go rigid. A tidal wave of emotion seemed to sweep through his features; first surprise, then recognition, and then dread. He placed a hand on the nearest corner of the table as if to steady himself. 

“It was wearing a black top hat and bowtie, wasn’t it?” He murmured. It sounded much more like a statement than a question, and the way his tone had become so hollow didn’t help.

Jack lowered his head, clearly unsure whether or not to make eye-contact as he nodded. 

“Sounds like the way Freddy was designed. . .” Ness mused without quite meaning to. 

Memories of the huge sign that had been built to loom over the old pizzeria’s front entrance flooded into his head. The blinking lights that bordered the establishment’s title and seemed to chase each other around and around and around. The life-sized cutout of the one and only Freddy Fazbear himself, using one paw to adjust his bowtie and the other to wave, seemingly beckoning customers to wander inside. 

Those memories dissolved as Ness winced and glanced back at Mason, who was now reaching up with a shaking hand to grasp at his hoodie’s collar, tugging it to cover up the top of an old, deep scar that dragged along the skin of his neck. Ness shuffled in his seat, trying not to stare at how quickly the color drained from his friend’s face. 

Checkers was back by Mason’s side in an instant, bracing her paws against the seat as she licked at his face. Mason blinked, a huge shudder rippling through his chest as he hugged his pet.

A few minutes dragged by, feeling like an hour apiece and jeering at the trio as they went.

“So.” Mason finally announced, still keeping his gentle-yet-obviously-desperate hold on Checkers. “Let me get this straight: that. . .that thing got into your cab like it paid rent just a few hours ago?” 

Jack pursed his lips, nodding again. “There was a kid with it, too. A little girl. She didn’t even seem scared at all. The whole ride, she was smiling and hugging the bear’s arm—”

“Wait, you actually drove it somewhere?!” Mason demanded.

Jack sputtered. “What other choice did I have?!”

“I mean, that’s kind of literally his job,” Ness mentioned. 

True, he was grappling with the fact that he and his friends had apparently been transported into some cheap bizzarofiction novel. And yet, somehow, this wasn’t even the craziest story that’d been relayed to him from a customer. He peered down at Fabio as though it was about to start contributing to this conversation. “Where did you take them?”

Jack raised an eyebrow at Ness (which he guessed couldn’t be helped. Ness already had an idea, but it was rude to just assume, wasn’t it?). “Where else? That old pizza joint you’ve been trying to write an encyclopedia on.”

Mason was about to say something else, but stopped short in favor of turning his shock toward Ness.

Ness raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “Look, I know you don’t like that place, but just remember that I don’t question what you do with your free-time.”

“That’s right. And even if you did, you wouldn’t have to, because I don’t spend my free-time poking around the fourth Circle of Hell!” Mason snarked. 

“I won’t lie and say it’s not creepy,” Ness admitted, unable to stop a chill from racing down his spine at the memory of the restaurant’s grimy wall posters, the draft that always seemed to be in the air over there, the disturbingly sour tang of what he’d hoped was just ancient pizza sauce, “but that still seems pretty harsh.”

Mason gawked, fragments of words leaking through his teeth.

“If we’re looking at the bigger picture,” Jack coughed, probably attempting to steer Mason away from a potential stroke, “then nothing really happened tonight. The bear didn’t even make a peep the whole time. I didn’t get hurt, and that girl didn’t get hurt. She even left a handful of change when we got to the restaurant.”

Ness squinted and tilted his head at that. As far as he knew, the rules Jack applied to his cab were pretty lax and basic, but he’d always been firm on never taking money from lone child passengers.

Then again, if the child passenger in question was traveling with a huge robotic animal that apparently had enough sentience to use a taxi in the first place, it was probably best to just go along with whatever happened and leave the sanity-questioning session for later.

Jack fiddled with the zipper on his jacket. “. . .That actually wasn’t even the worst part of tonight’s shift.”

Mason leaned back against the leather seat, looking very much lightheaded. His eyes bulged from their sockets as he furiously motioned for his friend to elaborate. 

Jack hesitated before explaining, “Well, once the girl and the bear were out, I decided to just call it a day. After I got far enough away from the pizzeria, I parked by one of the downtown curbs and switched the car’s sign to Off Duty. I was trying to get a catnap in—”

“It’s a miracle you could even try to sleep after that damn bear basically held you hostage,” Mason interjected.

“—when someone knocked on the window. I told ‘em to read the sign and come find me later, but they opened up the door and got in anyway. So, I was about to kick them out and. . .” Jack trailed off, shaking his shoulders as though a few dozen cockroaches had spontaneously taken up nest in his jacket.  

“And. . .?” Ness echoed, the curiosity-concern cocktail in his mind getting stronger.

“And there was some tiny doll in my passenger seat,” Jack concluded. “Looked creepy as hell.”

Ness hummed in consideration. “Sounds like it could just be a weird prank? The teens in that area are always following strange trends.”

Jack nervously shook his head. “I couldn’t see anyone outside the cab. It only took a few seconds for me to look; there’s no way anyone could move fast enough to hide after they put the doll in.”

“A tiny doll. . ?” Mason’s brow furrowed in thought for a couple seconds, then promptly returned to its collision course for Mars. He leaned over the table. “Did it have bug-eyes and buck teeth? Was it wearing one of those stupid propeller hats and holding a red-and-yellow striped balloon?”

Jack’s face contorted in confusion as he nodded. “. . .That pretty much sums it up.”

Though his expression was still grim, Mason’s fear quickly metamorphosed into some good ol’ fashioned aggravation. “That’s the bastard,” he seethed, knuckles turning white. 

Jack blinked, perplexity slowly overtaking his latest case of heebie-jeebies. “Wait, you’ve seen that thing before?”

“I have, unfortunately.” Mason grimaced. An odd type of adrenaline etched its way across his face. “Is it still in the cab?”

Jack nodded again. “I didn’t want to risk touching it.”The words were barely out of his mouth when Mason rose from the booth and stalked outside through Sparky’s front entrance. Checkers trotted after him, the tiredness of an actual nurse flickering in her eyes.

Ness and Jack basically had frontrow seats to observe their friend approaching Jack’s cab, ripping the passenger-side door open and fishing something out before slamming it closed again.

With that, Mason raced to the edge of the parking lot and proceeded to dropkick what had to be the mysterious balloon-toting doll out of sight.

Despite his shock, part of Ness still felt relieved that Mason hadn’t simply deposited it into the dumpster. Just in case those awful rabbit-looking things happened to be paying a visit tonight. . .

@sammys-magical-au @that-bat @th3w00ds @bee-the-matpat-simp @touyubesposts @crazy-obsessed-enby @i-used-to-wear-the-fedora @holyawesomestitches @s-e-v-e-n-24 @sotogalmo @ciphershadow @deethedustyassdumbass @theechoingmadness @its-a-goddamn-ass-race @zam-witch @box-goat @redd-byrd @icantmakeupagoodname @pleasedontmind-the-emerald @transparentghosty @vegaslvrr @itzqueers-blog @wannabeavocaloidmystery @shivr0ygf @ciara-clycone @not-made-of-actual-rye @m0on-shro0m @imafruitbowl @azure-trash @il0v3mus1cals @v1r-x @kafkaisnotdead @junaslagoon @alicethemenace @ilovenikkisixx @m00nlight-mexican @w0rd3855 @head-without-a-fucking-brain. @unkn0wn-nys @not-made-of-actual-rye @101k-t101 @theonlykala @dividel @riff-is-on-a-fucking-crisis @roselily2006 @max-afton @abe-the-detective-blog @floating-above-sea-level @madhare051

[darby-rowe]

imagine being a pretty district 12 girl and peacekeeper!coryo just has to have you, he can’t bear the thought of not being able to have you, so when he sees you at the hob he gets you really drunk and then takes you to the alleyway. and of course you’re a virgin and you keep telling him to stop touching you but it feels so good at the same time, and he just has to have what’s his, or else. he wants to see you squirming as you try to take him, to watch as the tears trickle down your cheeks as you whimper and tell him he’s ‘too big’ and you can’t take it.

- a 🎀

i dont write enough peacekeeper!coryo (mainly bc im not a buzzcut girlie at all GASP) but damn there are so many good ideas for dark fics w him 🤤 and this ask is DELICIOUS

mayhaps i got....... a bit carried away..........

18+ | nsfw | mdni cw fem!reader, NONCON/DUBCON, dead dove do not eat, alcohol consumption, vaginal tearing, blood (coryo has an implied blood kink) tw emetophobia (but not graphic)

➽───────────────❥

you knew damn well that peacekeepers were forces to be reckoned with, but one night you let your better instincts slip away from you as you drank nearly a quarter of your body weight in moonshine.

and the pretty peacekeeper with the blonde buzz and piercing blue eyes had been eyeing you all night, getting you drink after drink after drink. even after you kept politely declining, he just kept insisting. you already struggled with standing up to authority, and you weren't going to start. especially since you were quickly losing your ability to make judgements.

somehow you made it to an alleyway with your front pressed against the cold, dank wall with the peacekeeper's fingers forcing their way into your panties. you whined as your body pathetically attempted to push him away, but your head was spinning, speech slurred and incoherent.

you whimpered as you felt his middle finger circle your clit, involuntarily rocking your hips into his touch. "nnno," you slurred, not even attempting to hide the moans threatening to escape your throat. "never... never... done this—"

the peacekeeper just chuckled in your ear as he continued to prod his fingers at your swollen clit. "shh, don't worry, little dove," he cooed mockingly. "gonna take this pussy right here and there's nothing you can do about it. fill you up with my cock. fuck, you're soaking wet,"

you were defenseless as the peacekeeper lifted up your dress and pulled down your cotton panties, making you yelp in a mixture of surprise and fear. you tried again to get out of his grasp, but he had the advantage of being sober and way stronger than you. all you could do was whimper softly as the tip of his cock tease your wet folds, making you shudder.

"can't wait to fuck you," he sighed, easing himself into your small, tight hole. you gasped as you were ripped open, raising yourself up on your tiptoes to try to squirm away from the pain. but once again you were trapped in between the peacekeeper and the dank wall.

tears sprang from your eyes and spilled down your cheeks, your cries coming out in weak croaks. it hurt so bad; a perpetual sting that rocked through your entire body. you prayed for something — anything — to come take away this unbearable pain.

"hurts," you choked, nearly gagging on your tears. "please, sir, hurts s'bad. too big. can't take it...!"

the peacekeeper continued to thrust his large cock into your abused cunt. he looked down, watching as blood began to slowly trickle out of your hole and cover the shaft of his cock. the sight only made him harder, the crimson liquid making it easier for him to slide in and out of you.

"perfect district pussy," he growled, unable to tear his eyes away from his blood-soaked cock. "doing so well taking me. covering my cock in your blood. fuck, baby, 'm gonna cum so fuckin' hard,"

it was a perplexing mixture of feelings; the pain of having your walls abused and ripped open colliding with an earth-shattering orgasm. you didn't even notice the peacekeeper shooting his load deep inside you until he pulled out to admire how your blood and his cum dripped out of your cunt.

you heard the sound of him fixing his clothes. and with a final tap to your hip, he left you alone to process the events that just transpired.

as the wave of nausea finally hit you, you hunched over and expelled whatever moonshine was left in your system.

[icarusredwings]

Thinking about Logan adjusting to this new timeline, becoming sober, and Wade somehow finding Logan's dog tags. ~4k words.

(Tw: Logan's a depressed recovering alcoholic with survivor guilt, unofficial proposal, canon usual implied sex jokes, Logan tries to flirt but fails)

To my wife. Who's halo lit up my dark life to see just how many doors were available to me when I couldn't see them myself<3

He offers him his to wear as a cutesie matching necklace type of thing but Logan is hesitant to take them, scared of what will come of it. He does it anyway though because he sees how happy Wade is wearing his.

What he refuses to tell him though is that just hearing the tags jingle makes him jump, flinch, his heart rate rises, and his mind floods with scenes he's worked so hard draining every bar he could find dry just so he could forget.

For me, I, too, am a man with deeply rooted animal instincts and was raised to behave like an obedient pet instead of the animal they made me.

An animal trained to take orders. A soldier without his post is miserable and constantly is either trying to find it again or defend himself from ever having to go back to a post to begin with.

You aren't good enough for them if you obey what they say and excel past the standards. But you aren't good enough if you question their authority and make choices for yourself either. Hoizer comes to mind.

Running with the bulls

Working my miracles

Holding my world together with a boot string

His night terrors are worse, more frequent, constantly a battle between wanting to protect and defend the less fortunate to saying, 'No, I'm done with that. It's none of my business, It’s someone else's problem now.'

He wakes up screaming, claws drawn, every possible sense he has to run activated, panting, gasping almost for air. He's panting, heaving deep but quick breaths, all of the hairs on his arms raised like a cat who just heard a dog barking after having gotten attacked as a kitten.

Living the dream

Benzos and gasoline

Coffee and blue light screens till the morning

He wakes to the sunlight in his face, gets up, stretches, takes his Valium. Eats some toast, calls it breakfast, gets dressed for his weekly AA meeting. The moment he steps inside it smells like Gasoline. Sweet honey scented lies that he hates to admit that he knew all too well. ‘It was only one’ ‘I asked for a virgin one but they brought me the wrong one’ ‘I'm trying, I really am..it's just.. hard’ He's heard them all before but the last one he could relate to the most.

Coming home at night, Logan puts his face into the back of his partner's neck, hugging him from behind as he offers to watch a cowboy movie marathon with him. He barely eats, only taking what Wade gives him or shoves in his mouth like the now spilled popcorn that was all over the ground, His boyfriend sprawled out on the couch while the “Dvd” bounces back and forth on the blue screen.

Wade never likes it but recently he's been drinking coffee at night, pacing back and forth as he searched online for a job. Kept himself far from the nightmares that were trying to catch up with him.

If I tell you this is drowning

You tell me I'm walking on water

I could bring fire from the mountain

You tell me it feels a little colder

Everyone was telling him how good he was doing, how well he was adjusting, how happy they were that he was here and yet.. He didn't feel like he deserved it. Any of it. Not the second chance, not the love and support of all his new family, not the affection from the man who whispered how proud of him he was each night..

It doesn't help his mental status when multiple jobs reject him either. Interviews don't exactly go that well when you have claws for hands and a reputation for having a temper.

“I'm sorry we're looking for someone with more… experience.. in this field. You need an entry level job.”

“Woah dude! You are WAY too qualified to be working here! you should try looking for something higher up, yeah?”

“I'm sorry. You're too much of a liability.”

“Oh my god- You're the Wolverine!”

“Yes.. but uhm.. No.. I'm just Logan now.”

“Wait, why are you applying here? This is a cashier position.”

“I'm aware..”

“Aren't you like… an X-men?”

“N-no… not anymore.”

“Oh… Did they fire you?”

“I quit.”

“Why?”

“Are.. these questions part of the interview?”

What kind of man was he if he couldn't even get a damn job at McDonald's? It felt useless. Like everybody wanted something different from him, but no one was happy either way. Never pleased with his resume or his reputation. You would think being an ex X-man would make it easy. Of course someone would want to hire a superhero? Right? Wrong.

I don't wanna

Choose between being a salesman or a soldier

Just let me look a little older

It seemed everyone wanted him to rejoin the X-men and as much as he missed that mansion upstate, it wasn't his. So many times he's been told stories about himself that he didn't even remember …well.. because it wasn't him. They wanted The Wolverine.

Their Wolverine.

Not Logan.

There was always that spot at the dealership with Peter. Now that Wade was back on his role with mercenary stuff and doing more “Favors” with Colossus, Negasonic and Yukio, that position was open. Part of him- No. Scratch that. All of him was happy for Wade. He seemed to be enjoying life so much more now that he felt he had purpose. But what was his purpose? Selling cars?? Definitely not. Even if it was, they were looking for something else anyway.

“It says here that you are 286 years old. Is that a typo?”

“Oh- uhm… No..”

“I see…Well we are currently looking for someone… younger.. to fill that spot. Sorry.”

But they were never actually sorry. He could smell it.

Coming home from the failed hunt, he felt like an older lion losing its pride to a younger male lion. Well- if lions could develop arthritis in their knees and hands. Once a day he'd pop out his claws, just to keep them ready though he felt like he hadn't used them in such a long time… Maybe he really was turning into an old house cat like wade said.

Sitting in their shared bedroom, he was grumbling to himself, grunting as he tried to get his claw unstuck. This wasn't the first time they locked up and he feared it wasn't the last either.

He snapped his head up at the sound of tags. Around the corner came who he expected, Wade, quickly hiding his hand under the blanket. Coming in, his eyes widened.

“Woah wolvie! Without me? Really? I would have gladly done it for you.”

At first Logan wanted to thank him for offering to help before quickly realizing that from how his hand was under the blanket, it did look suspiciously like adult alone time.

“T-that's not… no.”

“M'kaay. If you say sooo~”

“H-how uhm.. How was work?”

Watching as he began to grab shower clothes and take off his mask, He smiled.

“Oh you know! Watching the life drain from peoples eyes and what not as they beg for their life! The usual.”

“Oh.. that's.. fun?”

“Extremely liberating stuff.”

Watching as he began to strip, He swallowed, wishing he'd leave already so he could finish shoving the claw back into his skin.

Let me step a little bolder

I don't wanna

Choose between being a butcher or a pauper

“You wanna take a shower with me?” He asked, Beginning to walk around butt naked in nothing but his tags.

“U-uhm… No. No thanks, I had one this morning.”

“D'awwww what? Worried i'll see your peanuts? News flash baby, I've had those things down my throat! And I will say. They're better salty anyways~”

All this teasing changed his monotone face into a small goofy smile as he came close, crawling up into his lap, taking hold of his cheeks as he kissed his nose.

“What's wrong? Did you not get the job?”

He was so envious of how he could say such dirty things. Wade was so confident and yet so shy about his face. It made him think of when he was that confident in himself too. (Probably overly confident if we're being honest) Oh that was so many years ago… he'd never get that back. And honestly? He wasn't sure if he wanted to.

Logan said nothing but it was all the answer wade needed.

“I see. Well you'll get’em next time, Right?”

He looked away. Ashamed. Here Wade was, being overly supportive, giving him everything, and still he couldn't find a single happy bone in his body.

Shifting his leg to reassure him more, His knee was placed on the claw, yipping. “Ouch!”

“Sorry! I… I can't.. i-it won't..”

And on top of all that, he just hurt him. Man he sucked at this. All of it. Every little bit of it.

Pulling his hand away, Logan's eyes looked over Wade just as quick as it happened, Trying to see if he was bleeding only to jolt.

“Hey- shh.. Calm down. You're alright.” Grabbing his wrist, he carefully moved the tags that had gotten stuck on the claw.

“What's got you all riled up, Kitty? The interview couldn't have been that bad.”

But what he didn't know is that it WAS that bad.

Instantly Logan broke down, breaking heavily as he began to sob, gritting his teeth as he put his non-stuck hand on his face, wanting to hide. He felt pathetic. Useless. Weak. All of the things he fought not to be.

“Ooh, Honey come her-” Wade reached a hand out, trying to console him only to be shoved away.

“Don't!! I-.. I'm tired of hurting people! That's not who I want to be!”

“Baby cakes, it was an accident-”

“No!! Eveyone wants the Wolverine until the fucking wolverine is actually acting like the Wolverine!” He shouted, trying not to choke on his own tears.

Tilting his head, Wade blinked as if he wasn't aware of what he was talking about, but why would he? Logan hasn't told him anything negative for the past 2 weeks. Keeping it all bottled up, trying to push it deep down but that wasn't him. He couldn't handle it anymore.

“Everyone just keeps saying I should join the X-men again and i-” Wilson put his hands on his shoulders, looking at him with the most serious he has ever been in his entire life.

“Logan, If that's what you want we'll make it work. It's only an hour drive, and i'm sure I could visi-”

“Wade!! Shut. Up! I don't…” He trailed off, shaking his head as he began to apologize, whispering he was sorry for yelling at him.

“I-it's not your fault.. I.. I don't..”

Wade was patient, Nodding, encouraging him to open up with his words. He knew when it was time to zip it and let him talk. Now was one of those times. It was his turn to listen.

“I don't want to fight anymore. I didn't want to fight to begin with but… It's the only thing I'm good at. I'm not good at anything else.. My whole life I've just been jumping team after team and they all eventually die or I just get kicked out for not understanding the power of team work or whatever. Hell, I've been through three different wars and every single time I ran away! Like a damn dog with its tail between its legs! All except the times I was TOLD to run and I didn't. Fuck, Wade! 3 fucking wars and I can't even take orders right!!”

Honey, I'm taking no orders

Gonna be nobody’s soldier

It was now Wade's turn to try to stifle a laugh, snorting as he covered his mouth.

“What's so fucking funny?! That your boyfriend is a sad pathetic loser who can't even get his hands to listen to him!?”

Now he burst out laughing, starting to giggle.

“You're over here talking about not being able to take orders and not being good enough for a team while talking to the same guy who can't even GET on a team and was kicked out of Canadian special forces because I didn't listen to a single thing they said! And you think I care if you ‘can't take orders’ ??” He said this last part in a mocking tone, trying hard to be serious but couldn't.

Logan's eyebrows scrunched with a skeptical glare, tears still dripping down his face, feeling embarrassed and stupid.

Cupping his face again, Wade smiled ear to ear, their foreheads together. “You're much dumber than the comics make you out to be if you think I'd care about anything like that. You honestly think I'd care if you don't want to be anyone's soldier? Why do you think I'm my own boss? The world isn't built for guys like us, baby. And if you wanna open a coffee shop or- pursue your dreams of photography, or hell! Even bird watching for all I care, I will still love you. We will make it work. No matter what you choose to do. Even if you don't get a job at all. Do you understand?”

The man started into his eyes, seemingly frozen as he processed all that he said.

“Logan..”

“Hm?”

“You gotta nod hon, we've talked about this.”

Slowly nodding, indicating that he understood, the tears got thicker as he pulled himself into Wade's shoulder, sobbing more.

“Oooh There there… There's my big strong man..” Wrapping his arms around him, he was careful of the single knife still out. Sitting him up, he rubbed the side of his face as he kissed the other cheek, only to gasp.

“GAASSSPP!! Peanut!”

“What!?” His grip tightened around his waist as he looked around urgently, immediately sniffling and starting to wipe his eyes.

“You're getting greys!” He coed, reaching up to pluck a single gray hair from the beast, who flinched. “Ouch..”

Leaning back, Wade held the hair in front of his face, His smile still wider than ever.

“You're turning into A silver fox, wolvie!”

“W-what?”

“Ooh I bet you're gonna be so handsome! Eehh!” Hugging him again, tight around his neck.

Blushing, He wasn't sure what had just happened. How him venting and crying out of the rage he felt to Wade fangirling over one of his single hairs.. though.. I guess it made sense for your bald boyfriend to monitor yours. Wade has even made him start using a fancy shampoo that made his hair a lot softer, curlier, and Less greasy.

“.. you..You're excited that i'm getting old..??”

“Duh! I've always wanted to be a hot silver daddy's sugar baby!”

“What does that even mean?”

“Don't worry about it- Oh hey look! Your claw went back in.”

Looking at his hand, he made a fist and opened it a couple of times, blinking, oblivious. “...How did you do that?”

But what he didn't realize is that the stress was flowing out of him, and the relief that Wade seemed to be obsessed with him no matter what had calmed him down enough for it to slide back in itself.

“I didn't do anything, sweetheart. You opened up. Let it out. All that stress isn't good for you, you know. How do you think I ended up looking like this?” He joked, giggling.

For some reason, He laughed too, finding this a bit funny.

“Do you feel better? Hm?”

“Nngh..”

“I'll take that as a yes.” The naked man whispers, kissing him with his arms lazily on his shoulders, glad that he was able to cry in front of him. Twas a very manly thing to do and there was no one more manly than the Wolverine himself.

“Alright. I'm gonna go shower. I stink worse than you do after being out in the rain.” You know, wet dog and all. Pulling away, there was a clang and a tug at both of their necks, the tags becoming stuck together, making wade smirk more. “I think these tags don't want me to go.”

Quickly frowning, Logan swallowed, moving to take his off, pulling up his hand as he held it, putting the tag inside of it, closing his fingers.

“Wha..I-... what are you doing?”

“Wade.. I..” He sighs, looking away with a nervous pout, Grunting a bit from frustration. Why did words have to be so difficult?

“Are you breaking up with me?!”

“What!? No! I-.. I don't..”

See what Logan didn't know was that Wade had viewed these as promise rings, the equivalent of engagement even but he was okay with never actually getting married. As long as he got to wear the dress in his closet and dance with him he wouldn't mind if it was legal or not. He understood fully that not everyone wanted to marry the stage 4 cancer patient whose skin looked like turkey bacon that was somehow raw and burnt at the same time.

“You don't what? Do you.. want something else? We can get rings! Do you want rings?” shifting to sit closer to him, Wade was obviously becoming upset about this, untangling the tags and looking at him with those big brown puppy eyes.

“Rings…?”

He could see the gears in his head trying their best to turn as he thought what he meant.

“How would we make them into rings?” He finally asks and to Wade, this was basically a proposal.

Sitting up more he began clapping excitedly the same way he did when seeing puppins again about 8 months ago. “Eeh!! Yes!!”

His head turns, Giggling. “I would've taken it in front of the subway like Sanda Bullock but this works too!”

Logan, like a dumb ass, looked too, knowing full well he wouldn't see anyone but still always looked anyway. “Who??”

“Oh I'll show you later! What size are you?”

“In rings?”

“No, your cock, Of course in rings!”

“Hey now- I never agreed to a cock ring, Wade. No.”

The serious tone and the way he pointed his finger at him made him laugh more, taking his hand as he kissed it. “We'll figure it out. Okay so after my shower, I'll call a guy I know. I think Forge would do a much better job but I feel like he'd say no.” He began rambling about how cute they would be and how excited he was, climbing off of his lap (finally) and started to walk off.

“W-wade!” He called, swallowing again, nervous to ask him to listen.

“What? You wanna come shower?”

“No- well.. maybe but..”

Again he waited, rocking back and forth on his heels, trying his best to be patient but it was hard not talking for 0.5 seconds.

“It's not that.. I don't like them. It's just.. I got those a long long time ago.. and I don't want to be the man those belonged to. Not anymore. And it's not that I don't think about rejoining all the time, it's just.. I want to live my life the way I want too. Charles always said that at the end, we'd get to live how we deserve. That's my time. My time is now. I want to sit on a porch somewhere out west and watch the horses graze. I wanna sit around doing nothing with Puppins in my arms. I want… I want to be with.. with you.”

He admitted, and for once Wade was the one speechless.

“I don't want you to visit. I want to live with you. But not here. I want to go somewhere quieter. Somewhere I can just be.. Logan..”

Putting a hand on his chest as he explained, he didn't see his smile move, not a smidge, watching as he bit his lip and covered his mouth trying to stay quiet until he was done.

“Of course I still want to help people though! Protect them from other worse people… I'm just tired of being someone's toy soldier all the time. I want to do what I think is right but.. also have time to listen to you sing when cooking and take Puppins to the dog park. I want to protect..Us.” Yeah. That felt right. Us. Both of them, all of them. Together. His family.

“B-besides.. If I became an X-men again I don't think I could do it. I could barely sleep back then thinking about all the screams.. the people I couldn't help. I don't think I would be able to get over the fact that I can't save everyone… But I definitely want to try to at least save a few people. Take care of them… all of them. Even if they don't think they need help.” He smiled a bit, taking a huge breath as the stress was relieved from his shoulders.

“Alright you can talk now because I'm never doing that ever again, that was super embarrassing.” He muttered, flushed as he looked down at his lap.

The second he gave him permission to speak, Wade screamed, a scream that made Logan's eyes widen and look at him with a slow blink. “....what was tha-”

Immediately he was pulled up from the bed, picked up and squeezed tightly as he jumped around. Grunting some, he held on tight, feeling a little nauseous. Sometimes it was easy to forget how strong he was.

Still screaming, Wade was extremely excited about all that was just said, Logan admitting that he wanted a serious future with him was a lot better news than he could have ever wished for.

“Put me down!... Wade!... I'm gonna throw up!” He said, whining that he was given uppies non consensually. Even he couldn't help but laugh though in response to his giggles. God that laugh was so annoying and yet his world would feel pointless without it.

Putting him down, Wilson grabs his cheeks, petting his beard. “Ooh Logan.. I don't need protection.. because I can't get pregnant. But if I ever find out that I can, I'll definitely hire you.” He jokes, causing more blushes as his hand comes up to Wades, nuzzling into it for a moment.

“You know what I mean…”

“I do. And while I won't stop you, how about you be your own soldier for a bit? Tell yourself how to live. Not anyone else. And i'll be behind you, wearing a shirt with your ugly mug on it, supporting you the whole way. Got it?”

“Aye! I'm not ugly!”

“No you are not! I've barely been home for 20 minutes and am already so wet. I haven't even taken a shower yet “ he mumbles casually as he begins walking away.

“Heh.. Hey…erm Wade?”

“Yes, love?” Just about to leave the room, he turns, smiling gently at how talkative his fiancé was.

Logan blushes more. “I uhm.. If I'm nobody's soldier… can your name be nobody?”

Wade looks confused at first, now it's his turn to figure out what he was saying.

“Cause.. if your name is nobody then i'd be.. nevermind.” Waving A hand, he glanced at his shoes, stuffing his hands in his pocket having just fumbled that line completely.

Within seconds, Wade was back in that room, giving him the sloppiest, deepest kiss that was available, kissing him all over.

“Oh Logie! You're so sweet! But leave the flirting to me, mkay? I don't need you throwing your back out trying too hard.” He pats his chest, grabbing his hand as Wade drug him by the wrist.

They both laugh as they enter the bathroom, closing the door with a click.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Posting schedule: Friday Misdemeanor, and Wednesdays for one the occasional one shot. Tag lists are always open. 

Join us in the VoxTek Discord server for a Vox themed Hazbin place to hang and get teasers for upcoming chapters! 

my AO3 and Kofi

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart 

Cover done by @redvexillum

Human Alastor x married reader Rated Adult for adult themes,triggering content and sexual content. Potentially DD:DNE, mind the warnings Series Trigger Warnings: Adultery, stalking, Sexual assault, Rape, smut, Domestic Violence, Time period accurate views on women and domestic violence and skin color, murder

Summary: Fading away in an abusive marriage, each day passes just the same as the last. Painful monotony eats at you until a pair of warm brown eyes sparks the idea that you could have something more. When a business deal between men sparks a torrid affair, how long can you keep things going before the fire either leaves you a burnt out shell or burns up everything around you?

And what becomes of the radio host who thought he was above the fickle fires of the heart when the match he strikes burns his hand instead? Can he possess what rightfully belongs to another man without leaving everything he has fought for in ashes?

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59. 60

MisD Sidepieces: One shots or fics that take place in a MisD AU or are MisD canon but written by another.

Inappropriate Demeanor by @nyx-umbrakinesis (Canon placement, end of chapter 22)

Audio Chapters by Nyx Productions: Chapter 1: part 1 part 2, Chapter 2:  Part 1, part 2, part 3, chapter 3, Part 1, part 2, part 3, Chapter 4: Part 1, Part 2,  Chapter 5: Part 1, Part 2, Chapter 6: Part 1, Part 2

For Eternity (Completed)

Banner by @redvexillum

Alastor x Angel!Wife Oc (Isabel) Rated: Adult Warnings: This fic contains sexual content, explorations of consent within Angel Dust's contract in relation to sex work, Sexual assault, Possessive and obsessive behaviors, Power dynamics, Adam being an ass, kidnapping, Vox is in hell for a reason, Val is in hell for a reason, Vox has a weird thing for Alastor, Angel Dust is sweet as pie, murder, revenge, implied sexual assault and harassment, miscarriage and death.

Summary: Isabel died young, leaving behind her husband to pick up the pieces. Finding herself in Heaven, she waits for her husband to join her. And waits. And waits. Years and decades pass as she faces the realization that Alastor may not be joining her in Heaven, leaving her largely alone in a realm of double standards and fake smiles.

She must decide if she is going to move on from her marriage or do whatever it takes to reunite with her husband. Would he even still want her? Would she survive the dangers to find him? Would the cost be worth what could be gained?

Is Heaven really Heaven if the one you love isn't there with you?

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

Another day in Paradise (On hiatus)

Pairing: Eventually Alastor x OFC, later- light Alastor x ofc x Lucifer Rated: Adult for eventual smut Content warnings: It's Hazbin Hotel- this feels redundant. Sex, eventual smut, referenced implied suicide to be discussed in more detail later, drugs, drinking, poor coping, toxic behavior, controlling behavior, cannibalism, idk, it's fucking Hazbin Hotel, if it's worth a content warning it's probably going to come up at some point? Religious trauma. reader has a name/is a oc.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4

A Taste of Sugar

Alastor x reader Rated: Adult for smut TW: blood kink, bondage, reader with trauma from food insecurity Summary: As you work through the trauma of your life and starving to death, you dismantle your stash of snacks for what you hope will be the final time. Snack cakes, cookies and crackers are given to everyone around you, except one resident in the hotel whom you knew wouldn't enjoy or consume the treats. Then, as the flow of treats tricked to a stop, stash dismantled, small brown boxes containing treats began to appear at your door. Simple, delicious and seemingly homemade treats without so much as a note.

He watched and he waited, each week for your offer. Each week, no offer came and again he left his gift at your door. Why would you not think of him? Why would you not see him? What did he have to do for you to consider him?

Chapters: 1,  2 

Wild Flowers (One shot)

Alastor x readerRated: Adult, 18+ Content warnings: Sex pollen trope and related questionable consent due to intoxication, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, knotting, praise, dancing that shouldn't be that sexy, biting, a touch of blood drinking, female masterbation, some possessiveness, Alastor being a bit of an ass

Summary: You had always loved flowers, so when you found a patch of pretty purple wildflowers growing in the small forest behind the hotel, you didn't think twice about picking a small handful to bring back to your room. While they smelled lovely, you were wholly unprepared for the side effects of exposure or the repercussions of offering the terrifyingly handsome Radio Demon a smell on your way to your room.

With your body burning from the inside out with an overwhelming need and a displeased Radio Demon pushing his way into your room, you have no idea what you're in for.

All you wanted was to pick some flowers but you got so much more.

Audio version brought to you by @nyx-umbrakinesis,  Pt1, Pt2, Pt3, Pt4, Pt5, Pt6.

Steamy Situations 18+  (One shot)

Alastor x readerRated: Adults only Warnings: Smut. It's shower smut. Female bodied reader. Careful with your shower sex.

Summary: You're hot and bored and your husband is busy working. If only there was a way you could distract him, get some of his attention and cool off. Audio Fic credits: Read by the lovely @nyx-umbrakinesis (Audio fic part 1, part 2)

Read me to sleep? (One shot)

Alastor x readerRating: G Summary: After a long, shitty day out and about you drag yourself home to the hotel to seek shelter and comfort in the one place you knew you could find it.

Home is where the heart is (One shot fluff) 

Vox x Reader Rated: General Warnings: I accidently spilled a little angst on the fluff serving. Sorry?

Summary: You're cooking dinner when your secret boyfriend comes home. Caught up in the moment, confessions are made and hearts are put on the line.

A Bed of Electric FLowers (One Shot)

Header done in part by the wonderful, amazing, fantastical @redvexillum

Vox x ReaderRated: Adult CW: Sex pollen trope, sex toy use, female masterbation, Vox's glowstick dick, way too many tv details, Male receiving oral,

Summary: A unexpected floral arrangement is delivered to your door as you're trying to ignore the lingering absence of your flat faced boyfriend. When Vox returns home and finds you in a compromising position, he's eager to assist even without a clue as to what has you so worked up.

Sister Dearest (One shot)

Requested: Vox x Alastor’s!Sister!Reader rated: Adult

Summary: Sneaking out of the protection of the protection of your brother's district was dangerous. Not only did you risk Alastor's wrath, you risked catching the eye of some unsavory characters. While you could meet many friends upon the streets of the forbidden tech district, you find Vox and his alluring promises of a good time.He knew of your brother and seemed to hold no animosity, surely he was a friend to the Radio Demon, right? Surely you could trust his company, right?Right?

Power (One Shot)

Vox x Reader Rating: Explicit 18+ Warnings: Porn without plot, Power dynamics, Secretary reader, Choking on dick, Office blowjob. 

Summary: Vox is wound tight after his on air showdown with the newly returned Alastor. The show must go on though and you have just what he needs to get into the right headspace to move forward. 

(None, for now)

(None, for now)

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

BG3 Companions (& Halsin) Realizing That Their GN! Tav Might Have PMDD

Characters: GN! Reader! Tav; Astarion; Gale; Wyll; Shadowheart; Karlach; Lae’zel; Halsin

Pairing(s): None, but it’s written as All Companions x Tav so if you have a romanced companion you prefer, you can imagine they have most of Tav’s favor. 

A/N: This is a highly indulgent imagine that absolutely NO ONE asked for (besides me lol) but I felt compelled to write it because I’ve been really struggling lately with some extreme PMS symptoms for the last few months or so. I don’t have a PMDD diagnosis yet or anything, but in looking up my symptoms I read about it and wanted to write this comfort piece for it. I kept Tav as gender-neutral as possible in this, but they do have a very active and very angry uterus in this.

TW: Discussion of Menstruation (Bleeding, Cramps/ Abdominal Pain), PMS, and PMDD Symptoms (Including Depression & Thoughts of Suicide) [Note: No one actually says ‘PMDD’, or Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder but that is the syndrome implied]; Brief Mentions of Sex (also small text)

Word Count: 3.7k

“Have any of you seen Tav lately?” Astarion asked, coming to sit next to a handful of his fellow companions seated around their camp’s fire. 

“Why? Has something else gone wrong?” Shadowheart teased back from where she lay against a log, a goblet of half-drunk wine in her hand. “Or perhaps, you’re looking for a bite to eat?” 

“Ha-ha,” Astarion mock laughed. “‘Bite,’ because I’m a vampire, how hilarious Shadowheart.” 

“I don’t know Astarion,” Gale countered from where he was perched on the other side of the former Sharran devotee, “I’d wager you secretly found it rather punny.” 

“Ugh,” Astarion wrinkled his nose at Gale’s words, failing to hide the amused smile that graced his lips. “Honestly Gale, as if the orb isn’t enough.”

Astarion, having lost interest in sitting next to his companions, settled for standing, crossing his arms, and jutting out one hip in his signature semi-annoyed pose.

“Come now Astarion, you can’t say Gale’s love for language comes as a surprise,” Wyll joined the conversation, sheathing his blade after having used Lae’zel’s whetstone to sharpen it. “Why I’d wager even Lae’zel can attest that in the farthest reaches of the Githyanki galaxy, the repetition of a wizard’s sharpened tongue precedes them.” 

Lae’zel huffed affirmatively, taking the opportunity to sharpen her sword. “Tchk. The Blade is right. It is no secret that wizards cannot help but run their mouths.” 

Karlach, having been seated quite literally in the middle of the conversation, from where she lay next to the campfire flames, burst out laughing, sitting up with a start. 

Shadowheart and Astarion couldn’t help but chuckle as well. 

Lae’zel’s eyes glowered as she looked at her other companions. “I do not see the cause for such antics” 

“Yes! Thank you Lae’zel!” Gale spoke up, wagging a finger in protest at the display of his friends. “A wizard’s intellectual prowess is no laughing matter.” 

“That which you discuss has yet to be seen.” Lae’zel rebuffed Gale yet again. 

“Pfft!” Shadowheart nearly choked on her drink as Karlach resumed her boisterous laughter, Wyll joining in this time as well. 

“Enjoying a night of merriment, are we?” Halsin’s deep voice cut through the laughs, his large form coming into view as the Druid emerged from the tree line. Shirtless, and still dripping, his presence brought a warm air to the camp, despite the night’s chilled air. 

“We certainly are now,” Astarion purred, admiring the druid’s half-naked form. 

“Mhhm,” Shadowheart took another sip of her wine. “For once, Astarion,  I’d have to agree.” 

Completely comfortable in his nudity, and unintimidated by the other’s ogling, Halsin strutted confidently over to where his fellow companions had gathered around the fire. “I had just finished bathing when Tav came to the lakeside. Said they were going to take a bath to unwind before bed.” 

“I’m surprised they didn’t ask you to join them,” Astarion mused, eyes still raking up and down Halsin’s sculpted form. 

Halsin gave a half smirk at the compliment, but his mood remained subdued. “They seemed upset. I offered to stay with them, even just to chat, but they insisted they wished to be left alone.“ 

Frowning, Gale scanned the faces of his companions, looking for a negative reaction, finding a similar dower one had made its way across Wyll’s and Karlach’s features. 

Looking to Karlach for solidarity, Wyll spoke up first: “Has anyone noticed Tav to be much more despondent as of late?” 

Karlach nodded. “Yesterday as well. Hells, it’s so odd to see them so down in the dumps. They’re usually leading the charge in making sure the rest of us are happy.”

“Has something changed? Perhaps Raphael contacted them yet again?” Gale supposed. 

Shadowheart shook her head. “Not that I know of. Besides, even if he did, this feels too familiar to just be a coincidence.” 

Lae’zel resheathed her newly sharpened blade before stalking over to the Selunite priestess. “Tchk. If you have something to share ghustil, say it outright.” 

Shadowheart rolled her eyes at the quarrelsome nature of Lae’zel’s words but continued speaking nonetheless. “If I recall correctly, a similar thing happened a while back, a few weeks perhaps.” 

“Yes,” Wyll joined. “I remember Tav crying after one of our battles.” 

“Come now,” Gale countered. “That’s hardly a mystery. It’s completely understandable why they might break down every now and then. It’s been a hard few months, even for a leader as strong as Tav.” 

“Perhaps,” Wyll relented. “Although, I can’t recall Tav giving a specific reason for their meltdown.” 

“‘Reason’?” Asatrion scoffed. “How about the fact that we’re all infected with Mindflayer parasites which could hatch at any moment? On top of which we are expected to destroy this Absolute death cult, lest all of Baldur’s Gate be turned into a tentacle wasteland!” 

“It is enough to make one’s blood run cold.” Gale agreed. 

“I do think Shadowheart may have a point.” Halsin put his two cents in. “I do recall around two months ago, Tav coming to me for healing, relief for abdominal cramps.”

“Oh, well that settles it, doesn’t it? It’s merely that ‘time of the month’, rather unfortunate and annoying, but hardly devastating for our capable leader.” Astarion sounded unconvinced, as he looked down to admire his recently shaped fingernails. 

Halsin shook his head. “I sensed there was more they wished to request aid for. They were holding something back. What exactly and why, I am unsure.” 

“Maybe they’ve just got a tough go of it. I know my whole body was thrown entirely out of whack waking up in Avernus. It took years for me to feel like myself again.” Karlach gestured at her many scars as she did so. 

All the time, Lae’zel had been listening intensely, a curious look across her face. “What is this ‘time of the month’?” She repeated. “Is it another,” she paused, making sure to pronounce the following word right, “Tiefling trait?” 

Karlach shook her head. “We’re not exempt from it,” she replied honestly. “But no, it’s not just tieflings.” 

“You mean to tell me that female Githyanki don’t have periods?” Shadowheart asked, having thrown all her pretenses out along with the last of her wine. 

“As I have said before ghustil, we do not become parents through sex. When it is time, we are chosen by Vlaakith to lay the eggs of our young.” 

“And this, ‘egg-laying’, as you call it… it, isn’t um, gender specific?” Gale, ever the wizard, just had to know. 

“No. Sex is irrelevant. The only thing of importance is whether you are called by Vlaakith to bear that which houses her future children.” 

“... Right,” Gale answered, feeling rather queasy. “I think that’s all I’d like to know if you don’t mind.”  

“Can we please get back to the point?” Astarion interrupted, rather impatient. “Tav is spiraling or having a mental breakdown or something, and apparently, only the Cleric and Druid noticed, how cliche.” 

 “Alright, Astarion. What do you suggest?” Wyll asked. 

“Well, obviously we need to find out what’s wrong with them so we can fix it.” 

“If it is this ‘time-of-month’, then why not stop it before it comes? You know when it nears, why not strike it down before it starts?” Lae’zel suggested, still not fully understanding what a ‘period’ was for a human. 

“That may not solve all the difficulties Tav is experiencing.” Halsin finally pulled his shirt back over his head, much to the others' collective disappointment. “There is more, although I am uncertain if I should share it, as Tav shared it with me in confidence.” 

“If it could help us help Tav, perhaps it is best to share this once?” Gale suggested. “Normally, I’m not one for shifting loyalties, but I too, have some things I think it’s better I share with the group.” 

“Now that you mention it, I do recall Tav saying something off-color last night,” Astatrion added. 

“What did they say?” Karlach asked.

“They mentioned they had been feeling rather down. Really down. So down, that they, well…” Astarion gave an exasperated huff, clearly uneasy with the topic. “...Tav said that sometimes, they feel like giving up.” 

“What did you tell them?” Wyll asked, encouraging Astarion to go on. 

“I said of course they feel like that! I mean who wouldn't? Between the Mindflayer parasites, the constant goblin attacks, the thieves, and the looming threat of this Absolute Cult, who wouldn't want to lie down for a few hundred years or so?” 

“I must admit, Tav’s confession to me a few months back was similar in nature,” Gale attested. “They expressed how defeated they felt as if nothing they did mattered. All the battles, all the small victories, it didn’t change anything. The Absolute was still going strong, the threat of the world’s end still looming… They asked me if any of it was worth it.” 

Halsin nodded. “I fear I was told more of the same. Tav divulged that they sometimes wondered if I, if we, would fare better on our journey without them.”

A silence fell over the companions, a cerebral, unsettling kind of silence, the kind one could feel resonating, laden within one's bones. 

“Shit,” Karlch said, the first to speak. “I mean, I knew they were upset sometimes, but I just figured we all were.” 

“Halsin,” Shadowheart started, gently. “When Tav told you they thought we’d be better off without them, what did you say?” 

“I embraced them and told them that in no uncertain terms, we needed them to lead us. I reminded Tav how amazing they are, and how, even though they themselves cannot see it, they are truly a marvel to behold. I expressed gratitude for them saving The Grove, for making peace between the tieflings and the druids.”

Wyll nodded along to Halsin’s words, recalling all that he and Tav had managed to accomplish together in such a short time, despite all the odds stacked against them. 

Halsin cleared his throat, swallowing down an ardent wave of emotion that threatened to escalate before he continued: “Lastly, I told them how I felt about them, how we all felt about them, and that should they ever require reminding, they need only ask.” 

From where he stood, Astarion sulked, a guilty expression making its way across his face. “I, I didn’t know. Godsdammit! I should have seen…”

“You cannot blame yourself Astarion.” Halsin did his best to assure his pale elf friend. “Even with Tav’s confession, I fear I did not heed their words the way I should have. Perhaps if I connected the dots more quickly, if I recorded the dates of their depressive episodes, we could have come to this conclusion weeks ago.” 

“What conclusion is that exactly?” Lae’zel enquired. “You say it is not this ‘time-of-month’, and yet, you make no other claims. What cause do you reference?” 

“It’s rare, but sometimes it happens that a human’s reproductive organs seemingly conspire against them,” Gale answered. “Well, more than is to be expected, I should clarify.” 

“Ah. So it is inferior istik reproductive organs to blame for our dear leader’s shakiness. Then perhaps they need be cut out.” 

“Lae’zel!” Gale gasped. 

Lae’zel crossed her arms as if to say ‘what’? 

“It needn’t come to that,” Halsin cut in, diffusing the situation. “That is not to say it’s not a possibility, but only in the most dire and extreme cases.” 

“Yes,” Shadowheart agreed. “And despite my being a cleric and Halsin being a druid, neither one of us is qualified for such procedures.” 

Lae’zel took a moment to process their words. “Indeed, I see. In that case, it is wise that that scalpel-wielding bard is not currently accompanying us. Vlaakith knows his surgical skills are nothing more than mere talk, given his removal of Tav’s eye.” 

“... Is that a joke?” Astarion asked, dumbfounded at Lae’zel’s choice of deadpan delivery amid such a dire discussion.   

“Do not look so surprised shka'keth, I am considered most humorous amongst my people.” 

“You know what?” Wyll butt in, “That, I do believe.” 

 Astarion scoffed. “Well, perhaps, Lae’zel could use her humor to cheer Tav up. Unless any of you have any other ideas?” 

“I think perhaps it would be better for us to sit Tav down for a heart-to-heart. Remind them how much they mean to us.” The Blade of Frontiers did not beat around the bush. 

“I agree,” Halsin seconded. “Perhaps the message coming from us all would be better received than it was coming from me alone.” 

“It’s worth a try,” Karlach agreed. “Gods know we care about them. And there’s no way we would have gotten this far without them.” 

“The tiefling is right. Tav may be istik, but they are still our leader.” Lae’zel spoke up, roused by her companions' sudden ire. “We have a duty to them to finish this, to cleanse these parasites from our bodies and destroy The Absolute.”

Shadowheart sighed, before righting herself and walking over to Lae’zel’s side. “If Lae’zel’s in, then I might as well join. Wyll, what about you? Up for an intervention?” 

Wyll looked at Karlach, catching her eye. Following a triumphant smirk from Karlach, the duo nodded their respective affirmations before joining Halsin, Astarion, Lae’zel, and Shadowheart where they stood. 

And that just left…

“Gale? Care to join us? Or will you be too busy pinning over your ex-goddess girlfriend?” Astarion ribbed. 

Gale shook his head, Astarion’s antics not being a new experience for him at all. 

“I’m not pining, and, even if I were, Tav is much more important at the moment. Why, in fact,” Gale’s voice got quieter, more serious, “Some nights I fear I would give up The Weave, hells, even eternity if it meant Tav would be happy.” 

No one else said anything in response, they didn't need to. It was clear to all of them, that they all loved Tav deeply, even on the days, or weeks Tav couldn't find any love for themselves. 

“Do you think Tav would be done bathing by now? Not that I’d mind getting a little peak, though I’m not sure how they’d feel about that.” Astarion mused. 

“Astarion,” Wyll warned.

“I’m only kidding. Mostly.” 

“I’m sure they’ll be back shortly. Let us prepare what we wish to say so that when they do arrive-” Halsin started, but was cut off by a rustling coming from just beyond the treeline. 

“Wait,” Tav’s voice cut through the air, a welcome bit of color amidst an otherwise chilly night, “Who’s arriving?” 

“Tav!” The companions turned in shock, feeling sheepish, as if they had just been caught in the act. 

“We were hoping you’d return soon,” Shadowheart admitted. 

“There are some things we’d like to discuss,” Gale added. 

Tav pinched the bridge of their nose. “Dammit Astarion, did you go around trying to bite everyone again? We’ve talked about this.” They let out an exasperated sigh. 

“What? Why-?! How dare you accuse me of such a thing!” Astarion puffed his chest up, making himself appear larger. “I’ll have you know we were actually discussing-” 

“We’re worried about you soldier,” Karlach interrupted Astarion’s indignant outburst. “We see how hard this has been on you, on all of us.” 

“We want you to know,” Wyll continued the sentiment for her, “That we care about you. And whatever hardships you endure, we’ll endure them with you.” 

“Oh.” 

Their companion’s words stopped Tav dead in their tracks. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. And um, that’s really sweet of you. It’s just,” Tav frowned, “How do I put this? Um… As far as The Absolute and the Mindflayers are concerned, I’m grateful for your help, I am, really. But there are just some things that are-”

“Private,” Astarion finished for Tav. He walked over to Tav, before lowering his voice, speaking only to them. “I think you know,” he whispered, his expression suddenly melancholy, “Better than anyone, why each one of us knows how you feel.” 

And with that, the damn burst, Tav simply couldn't hold it in any longer. 

Their face contorted. They bit their lip before their mouth turned upside down, their nose wrinkled, and their eyes began to water. 

“It’s just been so hard!” Tav cried, their own voice barely more than a whisper. “And just when I think things are okay, that I’m finally better, it all just comes crashing down around me again!” Tav sobbed, their arms dropping to their sides in defeat. 

Moving to comfort them, Astarion placed a tentative hand on their shoulder, gently patting Tav with a ‘there-there’. His eyes darted back to his companions, a begging, uncomfortable look evident on his face. 

Karlach moved first, coming to Tav’s side opposite Astarion. Despite her engine being temporarily fixed, she knew her skin was still hot to the touch. Still, Karlach hoped her closeness would be its own comfort. 

“We’ve got you soldier.” Karlach wrapped the end of her tiefling tail around Tav’s calf. “Just let it all out, it’s okay.” 

Tav sobbed even harder at her words, pulling a rather flustered Astarion in for a tight embrace. 

“Ah. A little help over here!” Astarion whispered harshly past Tav’s ear, their face wedged between his arms and chest, and their tears and snot beginning to dampen his shoulder. 

Shadowheart chuckled, amused that despite him being such a flirt when he wanted, Astaron was still rather unfamiliar with the more platonic, or should she say, non-sexual forms of intimacy. “Step aside.”

Moving over to the huddle sandwich that was Astarion, Tav, and Karlach, Shadowheart wedged her way in between Astarion and Tav. “Just try not to drool too much on my top. It is leather after all.” 

“Tchck, Shadowheart.” Lae’zel chided. She walked over to the huddle, standing a safe six inches away, her arms crossed and brows furrowed. “Clothes are meaningless compared to a fellow soldier.” 

“I’m surprised I find myself agreeing, but Shadowheart, Lae’zel does have a point,” Gale concluded. “Tav’s emotional state is much more important than any item of clothing, or inanimate object.” 

“Says the wizard who eats shoes,” Astarion ribbed from under his breath. 

Gale clicked his tongue at the vampire spawn’s remark, but otherwise paid his pale companion no mind. 

“Besides,” Gale continued, undeterred. “I can always do another load of laundry. Should you ever need a shoulder to cry on, know that mine will always be available, tears or otherwise.” 

Tav nodded, enthusiastically grateful, switching from Shadowheart’s shoulder to Gale’s. 

Sighing, as the cool purple velvet rubbed against their cheek, Tav began to slow their breathing, gaining better control of the sobs that had previously uncontrollably wracked their body. 

“We may not know exactly what it is you’re going through, but that doesn’t make you any less of a leader worthy of our time and affection,” Wyll spoke up as he came to join the hug pile. “And sharing your fears and sadness does not make you a burden, it makes you strong.” 

Tav wailed once more, nodding emphatically as they did so. Deep down, they knew all that their friends had shared to be true, but they were not able to convince themselves of it on their own. 

“And if this sadness of yours comes at the same time every month, it may indicate a hormonal condition. Should that be the case, there are many treatments and spells we can cast to ease your pain.” 

“Really?” Tav asked through sniffles. 

“Indeed,” Halsin nodded, having walked over to also join his gathered companions. “Although there is something simpler, something I always have readily available.” 

“Don’t you dare—” Astarion started. 

At the same time Lae’zel spoke her own words of protest: “Do it druid, and you may very well live to regret it.” 

Tav ignored their outbursts and instead asked Halsin what he had in mind. 

“This,” he said, before outstretching his arms and encompassing everyone in a great big bear hug. 

Squished between their dear companions, their friends, their allies in this fight, and the next, Tav, for the first time in days, began to feel truly loved. 

The world may have looked bleak and hopeless, and with a raging uterus, it may have looked even more so, but as long as Tav had their friends, they would never know true defeat. 

…

Squashed between an equally irate Githyanki and a rather sentimental wizard, Astarion wriggled, trying to break free, but to no avail. Turning his head left to face his frog-esque friend, Astarion whispered threats under his breath.  

“I say the next time he wildshapes into a bear, we put a pretty pink collar around his neck and march him into town as punishment.”

“Chk. I find that offer rather agreeable.” 

“I dunno. I rather like this kind of medicinal approach.” Karlach said, feeling overjoyed to simply be touched. 

“You know he can hear you, right?” Wyll, ever the pragmatist, spoke from across the expanse of Halsin’s broad chest in order to address Astarion. 

Halsin nodded in the affirmative upon hearing Wyll’s words.

Astarion groaned. “Well, clearly he has now!” 

“And here I thought vampires were stealthy.” Shadowheart teased. 

“Oh, trust me, darling, all of your times shall come. Count on it!” 

“Astarion?” Tav‘s muffled voice asked from where their face was squished into Gale’s chest. 

Tav managed to pull their head away from Gale’s purple robe just long enough to give Astarion their best puppy-dog-eyed look. “Be nice? Pleaseeee?” They drew out the end of the ‘please,’ innocently batting their eyes as they did so. 

“... Fine. But don’t get used to it,” Astarion resigned before tossing his hair. “I have a reputation to uphold.” 

“Mhhm,” Tav agreed, putting their face back against Gale’s velvet-covered chest. 

They knew this moment couldn’t last forever, and it certainly wouldn’t solve all their problems— mind flayers, hormones, or otherwise. But they could at least stay put like that for just a minute longer. 

Or as a matter of fact? Make that two. 

A/N 2.0: So there it is! I hope you enjoyed. This is definitely something I needed to read like two weeks ago, and also a month ago, and then the month before that lol. 

After this, we are back to our regularly scheduled programming. I will make an upcoming ask list, just so everyone is clear as to what is up and coming.

As always Please Like, but most importantly, REBLOG!!!

(Reblogs mean more than Likes because they project my work to a larger audience.)

And If you like my work, Consider Buying Me A Coffee <3. 

[englandamericaitaly]

It wasn't often that Dash Baxter tried to succeed in his classes. Actually, it basically never happened unless he was snagging answers from the geeks or buying them off the less unfortunate nerds. But by the time Junior year rolls around, he officially had two options. He could either sign up for extracurricular classes he might enjoy but that he wouldn't be able to cheat easily in. Or he would have to sign up for the ones that he would hate and also wouldn't be able to easily cheat in. So naturally, with some persuasion to get Kwan to join him, he went for the first option. As it was, Tetslaff at least appreciated their athletic abilities and would probably let him get off easier because of it. Dash wasn't worried about Kwan- he was one of the smarter guys on the team- but his own grade would likely need the boost.

The thing Dash genuinely did not expect, despite anticipating he'd be alright with the class, was that he actually started to enjoy the content a couple weeks in. Tetslaff took things pretty slow and didn't make them use a textbook or anything. He was surprised at himself when he started getting almost excited about the contents of the nutrition and health class. About a month in, he found himself taking care to balance his meals out more (though they were already pretty balanced since it was football season) as well as looking at what sorts of things other people ate. There weren't patterns between the different cliques, necessarily, but as he and Kwan steadily took note of their classmates, they noticed most people were consistent at least.

It took about two or so months before either of them noticed something was remiss about the misfits table. Kwan recognized it first, admittedly, since neither of them had bothered to look at the small group always tucked into the corner of the room. Manson was a vegetarian- the whole school knew that since she never shut up about it- but still ate things like peanut butter to get proteins in her diet. Valerie got cafeteria food and seemed pretty balanced about it; while she'd had to stop playing sports their Freshman year after the whole ghost dog shit went down, it seemed like she was still keeping fit and healthy. Foley never had anything close to vegetables except for fries but seemed to practically inhale whatever meat-like substance the cafeteria was serving that day.

Before Dash could properly comment on the lack of greens, however, Kwan spoke up and directed his attention towards Fenton.

Fenton had a half-full bottle of Valley Mist that he would sip on regularly. And that was it. Lunch had barely started, so there was no way he'd already finished eating or anything. And he was always late to everything, so the chances that he'd eaten before Dash and Kwan had gotten there was laughable since it was doubtful he was even in the room until minutes ago.

It didn't. Well, it didn't really make any sense as to why Fenton wouldn't be eating. His parents weren't rich or anything, but they would definitely feed their kids. Like sure, they were crazy ghost hunters who didn't seem to ever actually catch any of the ghosts, but Dash had targeted Fenton enough to know that he always had lunch money. (He made sure to leave his victims with enough funds to eat for the day since he was more likely to get detention for it if he didn't.) But for that matter, he hadn't chased down or beat up Fenton in a good week or so and if he ever did lose his lunch money, Manson could more than afford to feed the whole loser crew if needed. When he and Kwan ran out of ideas on why Fenton didn't have lunch, they just figured they would keep an eye out to see if anything changed.

It didn't. The rest of the lunch period ticked by, and Fenton never got up to get food and didn't even take anything from anyone else's plate. He just. Didn't eat.

It wasn't usually Dash's prerogative to care about these sorts of things. But whether it was because of the class he was in or the fact Kwan seemed to care for some reason or even that he might feel kind of shitty if he started wailing on someone who wouldn't have the strength to think of fighting back because of hunger, he couldn't get it off his mind until later in the school day. Eventually, he figured that maybe something was just off that day. Hell, Valley Mist was one of those things most people drank when they had an upset stomach or something, usually. It was probably just that.

But he did start thinking about it again the following morning when he was listening to Tetslaff again. He couldn't ignore the gnawing feeling it was giving him. So when the bell rang and class let out, he told Kwan he was heading straight to lunch and would switch out his books at the end of the period instead.

Dash made it to the cafeteria quickly and easily; he got his food and claimed his usual seat in its prime placement of the room and waited.

While Kwan was still in line and Paulina and Star started their usual lunchtime gossip catch-up beside him, the trio of losers plus Valerie made their way into the cafeteria together and got in line.

Valerie got a tray and food. Foley got a tray and food. Manson got a drink but was carrying her lunch bag. Fenton already had a bottle in his hand- Mountain Fog this time which was decidedly not a drink for upset stomachs- but he once again just. Didn't get any food.

As soon as Kwan made it to the table, Dash got his attention and directed it over to the table in the corner for the day's update. "Something's up with that, right?" It took his friend a moment of looking to figure it out, but it was pretty obvious by the way his eyes widened when he did see it.

"He didn't already eat?"

"Nah, they just got here."

Well. At least he wasn't the only one conflicted about the situation, based on the concern on Kwan's face. Something wasn't right... right? It wasn't normal for someone to go and skip lunch two days in a row.

They waited a few more days, trying not to discuss what they had noticed deeper yet, but things didn't change. Fenton just. Didn't eat at school. Or at least, not that they could figure out. He would just drink a soda and that was it.

By the time Friday rolled around, Dash was almost desperate in a sense. He didn't like it. He didn't like the types of emotions this small detail about someone else was bringing out of him. So, he did what he felt necessary. After almost two weeks, he strolled up to Fenton's locker during the last class break of the day and snagged the back of his shirt. It wasn't hard to turn his frustration with the situation into something resembling his usual bullying stance, pushing down the bizarre level of guilt that tried to surge forward. He jerked Fenton around to face him and stared him down. Not that it was as easy as it used to be to do that. Somewhere along the line, Fenton had gotten to be just a few inches shorter than him despite his own height gained throughout the duration of the last couple years as well.

"What do you want, Dash?" Fenton's reaction seemed normal for him. Annoyed. Almost frustrated. Never scared anymore which was why Dash rarely tried to pick at him anymore. Not unless he wanted an easy target because despite the lack of fear, Fenton never fought back. He'd run his mouth off and run or dodge if given the chance and always got away when he did, but he didn't fight. He even seemed to prefer to take the hits sometimes, stepping in when someone else was about to take a blow.

But shit, he hadn't thought this far ahead. "Wh- uh. I. Uh..." It took him a minute, but Fenton was oddly patient usually. "Money. Yeah, I uh. Don't have enough for this thing this weekend. You've got some I could take off ya, right?" Geez, this was probably his most pathetic attempt at bullying in... ever, probably.

Fenton had the audacity to roll his eyes, but he didn't try making a break for it or anything. Probably because his locker was still open behind him. "Money? Really? It's been like a year since you've stooped that low. Go borrow some from your buddies or something, Dash. Not my fault you've gotta pay your way through class."

He should. Well, he should probably say or do something to that offense. Fenton was running his mouth like usual, but. For a rare instance, Dash just backed up and walked away without another word- ignoring the confused looks that followed him.

It still just didn't make any sense. If it truly was a money thing, Manson would've bought him something by now. Dash didn't consider himself to be particularly smart in most things and people was one of those areas. But dammit, if he was going to pick on one of his favorite targets, he was at least going to make sure he was the only thing causing damage.

Over the weekend, he asked Kwan over to his house and they tried to think of some sort of plan. The easiest was to just. Buy some food for Fenton and give it to him. It probably took a little too long for them to think of that simple plan, but once it came to Kwan, they were both pretty sure of it. So they settled on it and put it out of their brains until Monday afternoon rolled around.

They probably should've thought about it more, though.

"What did you do to it?" Fenton had immediately asked, staring at the well-rounded tray of food Dash had set on the table beside him and nudged it over with a simple "that's for you, Fenton." He'd fully intended to high-tail it back to his own table, but the question made him freeze and consider. That. Well, that was a fair question, really.

"I didn't do anything to it, Fen-toenail. It's just food. Eat it or I'll make you."

Well. Shit. That was pretty obviously not the right answer. Fenton just quirked a challenging eyebrow at him and made no move towards the food. If anything, he was leaning away from it.

Unsure of what else he could really do or try, Dash just grumbled and walked away. No one touched the tray until lunch period ended, and then it was unceremoniously dumped in the trash. Of course Fenton wouldn't trust it. Why should he?

He waited a couple more days before trying again, this time buying the food and setting it on the empty table as quick as he could manage before the losers even made it to the cafeteria.

But that didn't work any better. Instead, they just sat somewhere else- probably assuming their usual spot got taken by someone else.

So at the start of the following week, he had Kwan give it a go at taking a tray over to Fenton. It went no better. While Kwan was on pretty good terms with the four outcasts personally, he was still a football player and Dash's friend. And from there, they were both just. Lost. Nothing they did could make Fenton eat. But they couldn't just let it go. It was a point of pride, now. And Dash would never admit it aloud, but it as genuinely starting to scare him. Fenton hadn't eaten lunch in weeks, and they were the only ones who seemed to notice or care. Even Fenton's friends had laughed with him when Kwan left the table, dejectedly after his refusal.

Finally, after almost two more weeks of this, an opportunity presented itself. Instead of letting them make their own salads (which usually consisted of more cheese and dressing than vegetables), this year the school had switched to buying the side salads pre-packaged and portioned. So it was with a stroke of genius, Dash immediately picked up a second one next to his own with a new rush of determination. There could be no complaints about this food. He couldn't have done anything to it! As soon as he sat down at the table, Kwan right behind him, he kept his eyes out for Fenton.

The other three got there first, as per usual really, so Fenton just walked right over to the table when he finally arrived a good ten minutes late. He didn't even try to fake getting food!

With a quick nudge with his elbow, Dash had Kwan getting up right behind him. With how they were sat, Fenton could see them coming and was already suspicious. But at this point, Dash figured that he didn't actually care. He just. He wanted these feelings of worry and shit he'd been having to go away already. So he set down the sealed, plastic bowl of salad on the table and slid it over towards Fenton.

"Again, Dash? I'm not gonna-"

Thankfully, Kwan had his back. "Look, Fen- Look, Danny. Dash and I sort of noticed. Well, you never really eat anything. And that's really unhealthy and we weren't sure of what else to do besides buying you some lunch instead. So can you just. Eat something today? And maybe... maybe talk to a counselor or something?"

He never spent too much time paying attention to Fenton's expressions aside from the ones that he caused, so Dash didn't have much to compare the range Fenton's face went through before it settled onto being totally blank for a moment. "You. Want me to eat something. You," he turned his gaze and Dash had a deep urge to step away from the surge of anger that seemed to be there, "want me to eat something.. because what? You're worried about me all of a sudden?"

He. Didn't really have an answer. A hopeless glance at Kwan proved that his best friend lacked one, too. It felt like the whole cafeteria was hushed compared to usual. And colder, too. The kind of cold that bit straight to the bone through however many layers you tried to cover yourself up with.

Fenton met eyes with his friends individually until he reached Foley... and then started laughing.

He started laughing. All the usual noise and warmth seemed to rush back all at once as the loser squad collectively lost it.

Dash felt a wave of heat rush up to his face and couldn't help scowl. What the hell did they think was so funny? He opened his mouth to start in on them when Valerie, surprisingly, cut him off.

"Oh, man, that's a good one. Kwan, you're still sweet, y'know that? But don't worry about it. Danny eats just fine. He's got free period before lunch and he drinks a bunch of Fenton Shakes that have more health packed in them than anything this school can serve up. He's fine." As she said the last part, she picked up Fenton's soda bottle and held it up to show it was definitely not soda inside it but a thicker liquid of some sort.

Ignoring the fact that he hadn't been addressed in the first part... huh. That was. Well. To be fair...

There was no way out of this, even in his own head. With his scowl deepening and an irritated grumble for Kwan to go with him, Dash turned on his heel and stalked off towards his table. Weeks. He'd spent weeks worrying about Fenton. How utterly embarrassing.

Even still, though... despite the assurance, he couldn't help the continued pit in his stomach that something was off. But he did feel the tiniest bit better when, after calming down from their continued laughter and talking to Kwan a bit longer, Fenton did open the dumb salad and eat it. At least it was something.

danny phantom au where kwan and dash take a nutrition class as a requirement and are now determined for danny to eat a salad

[sleepiedahlia]

BEACH TRIP

FEATURING: LUCIFER,MAMMON,LEVITHAN,SATAN,ASMODEUS,BEELZEBUB,BELPHIE X (IMPLIED GIRLY!READER)

Tw: fluff! So much love:)

LUCIFER

-First of all, Lucifer does NOT I mean NOT like the beach.It takes him away from his work, it’s too loud, it’s too hot, not to mention all the stares he gets for wearing the wet suit,and if he ever took it off everyone would see his scars from the war.

-Lucifer would pack so much water for you and his brothers. He can’t have you and his brothers getting dehydrated! He would carry a whole cooler full of water bottles. You’d shove some snacks in there too, to feed your grumpy man and thank him for going to the beach with you and everyone else!

-Lucifer has to be almost dragged to get in the water. He was never much of a water person, He can’t watch his brothers if he’s playing mermaid with you! He would absolutely..not play mermaid,grown men don’t play mermaid! (He would he very much would if it was for you)

-After a Little Bit, Lucifer would demand you get out of the water for a water break. He’d make you drink a whole bottle before going back out to swim, plus adding a massive amount of sunscreen and the same goes of you were to tan.

-He keeps a good eye on you and his brother especially you in your cute pink bikini! He would definitely make sure none of your accessories or other things that fall or you drop he would immediately get back to you and he difficulty would tie your hair up with one of your cute pink bows!

-In all he doesn’t really like the beach or find it relaxing but for you, he would do it again and again if he had to but he would just say it for his brothers to have a small break but it really is for you, he loves you so much your really the sunshine to his darkness:)

MAMMON

-He likes the beach, but not as much as Levi and Beel do, and he it’s a chance to get away from Lucifer’s nagging so that’s why he (forces) you to get into the car because he has a amazing surprise for you! He also really wants to see you in that light pink swim suit he got you:)

-Every time you ask where you two are going say’s he ‘won’t say’ every time you ask where you guys are headed because you really can’t tell where you are because DevilDoms skies are always dark or dark sunset type of sky.

-as soon as you get there he’s taking you to the redish ocean waves the pretty sky above and the slight breeze but that is soon ruined by you getting your head dunked into the water!

-will absolutely engage in a water fight and will not win because he used all of his water to spray a bird, he also laughs if you fall or slip:( but he makes up for it with him buying you whatever you wanted:) but he definitely makes you put on your sunscreen and stay hydrated and if you don’t he will make you stay under the shade.

-he drives you in his car around beach and when he turns he’ll purposely try to get sand on neighboring people and drive off like nothing ever happened!

-after you guys are finished at the beach, he doesn’t care how tired you or him are, he’s going to convince you regardless to go to the movies or go somewhere out to eat.

-but none the less you and him would do it all over again:)

LEVIATHAN

-you most likely suggested it he thought it would be okay because he assumed it was a group thing so you know he got flustered and turned a tomato when he realised it’s just gonna be the two of you at the beach and none of his brothers.

-when you guys get there you basically have to drag that man to get into the water even though he loves it he’s way to shy because he won’t even take his shirt off and clings to the car door for safety.

-once you get him in he’s gonna act like he can’t swim (he can he’s very good at it) or a cat in water. probably making a pouty the whole time trying to convince you to let him get out.

-after an hour or so he starts to get more comfortable and swims around and grabbing shells off the ocean floor for you and making sure to find the prettiest and shiniest for his pretty girl! And please be happy it will get him more comfortable and be more relaxed and happy around you!

-in the end he had a pretty good time, and would love to do it again but the next time with a warning it’s only the two of you:)

SATAN

-Satan is always reading one book or another, so the idea that you two could get to spend the all day out together has him smiling to himself like an idiot the whole day he’s with you and plus time away from Lucifer? Bonus points!!

-He’ll actually help build a sandcastles with you if you want. He won’t think it’s childish! (He somewhat will but he loves you too much to say no) Sandcastles are cool! He’ll even dig a moat! He's still gonna get pissed and start raging if the ocean made it go away.

-if any seagulls try to take your food he will fry them into non-existence and get you new food for one the seagull touched.

-he will literally do anything even if it’s stupid, and he follows you around like a lost puppy but it’s really because he’s glaring at every single man who even thinks he can stare at you in your cute bikini! He did ended up fighting someone and breaking bones :)

-after that you two immediately left the beach and got dinner at a nearby restaurant and he orders the same thing as you just in case your still a little hungry!

-in all he would rather go somewhere else because of people staring at you, but if you wanted to go back he would go for you.

ASMODEUS

-will make you carry all of the 6 bags he bought for tanning and to keep his beautiful skin nice and healthy and he does make you tan with him because he doesn’t want to feel lonely.

-and he will ask you multiple times to put sunscreen on him because he wants you to admire his gorgeous body, He also insists that he puts it on you too because he wanted to admire your body as well and he loves your curves and everything about you:)

-The only reason he’ll willingly go in the water is if you ask (beg). But mostly likely, he’ll be watching you from his tanning spot on the shore enjoying the view~ (he sure does love looking at you in a swimsuit he bought you😏).

-If there’s food vendors or gift shops by the pier or beach he’ll totally get you something if you want it. Ice cream? Smoothie? A cool little souvenir? It’s yours, babe! Then you gotta go shopping with him (it’s mostly skincare) but he’ll by you even more things when he looks around because he’ll think you’ll like them!

-the end of the day you two watch the sunset, bags full of gifts and tanning stuff at your sides as the sky changes from its red and orange light to a darker black. You two are definitely coming back:)

BEELZEBUB

-Beach picnic baby! He’s bringing ALL the good snacks! Fruit, crackers, pop, water, juice, homemade sandwiches (one of them has a bite taken out of it)! He’s got everything you could need! but I would get them before he eats them all!

-he loves playing beach volleyball with you and you two go back and forth of who won the most (may or may of not been him) but he let you have it because he’s such a sweetie pie and then right after he ate some of the cherry pie he packed in the cooler.

-you guys had payed around for a little but taking in your surroundings before he had another surprise snack and cleared out one of the venders shops by the pier.

-after you guys are done playing in ocean and getting a lot of concerned stares from everyone around you (because he ate so much). he’ll take you to get ice cream but he ends up dropping his on the sidewalk but shamelessly picks it up and puts it back on the cone and eats it like it never happened.

-you two had an amazing time together and he asked to go back the next day to relive it again:)

BELPHIE

-you had to drag him out of bed if you even had a chance going, but it took two hours to get him out so now your beach time was limited but no worries night is just as beautiful as the day!

-He’ll come with you to scavenge for seashells too, even if he’s tired and doesn’t wanna be there in the first place, but he’ll literally cherish every single one you give him!

-he ends up sleeping on the cooler because he said it was more comfortable then the chair while you were playing around in the ocean.

-the most he really did was seashells and sleep but when it got to the time around sunset he took you on a long walk around the beach along the shore line the sounds of waves crashing against the the dark rocks and the way the water made the sand go from grey to black was actually quite pretty.

-even if it wasn’t an eventful day at the beach it was calming and relaxing and the walk was pretty nice, as the night ends he takes you to get food and go home to get a long needed sleep.

@SLEEPIEDAHLIA

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