Hatstache week is a seven-day event from December 11th to December 17th dedicated to celebrating the friendship between Hat Kid and Mustache Girl from the indie platformer, A Hat in Time, which each day dedicated to a prompt meant to inspire users to create fanart, fanfiction, or anything else in the medium they desire!
Both platonic and romantic interpretations of the ship are welcome as long as they are age-appropriate. NSFW content is strictly prohibited.
Please be sure to tag this blog (@hatstacheweek) and use the tags #hatstacheweek and #hatstacheweek2022 so that your posts will be seen!
December 11th, Day One:
Rebel Squad, Teammates, Partners in Crime
December 12th, Day Two:
A Rainy Day in Mafia Town, Cold, Cozy
December 13th, Day Three:
Dyes and Flairs, Matching, Swap
December 14th, Day Four:
Storybooks, Sleepovers, Stargazing
December 15th, Day Five:
Time's End, The Finale, Betrayal
December 16th, Day Six:
The Future, Time Travel, Timepieces
December 17th, Day Seven:
Your choice!
Use the tags #HatstacheWeek and #HatstacheWeek2022 as well as tag @HatstacheWeek on Tumblr!
I feel like it's been a while but I have some fun stuff lined up for the next few weeks. Closing out the year it's gonna mostly be requests (mostly some Az x Reader) so look out for that and if you sent me a request just know I have it in the queue.
In other exciting news, I'll be working on Falling at the beginning of the year and will hopefully be updating that fic more regularly!
I love you all and am so so so grateful for all your continuous support I only started writing a few months ago and the fact that so many of you interact with/like what I write absolutely makes it all worth it. I love this community so much and you have made me feel so welcome; so thank you <3
Mob Boss! Florian Munteanu x Stripper! Black Reader
Warnings: mentions of (filthy) sex (18+), unprotected sex, smut, drinking, mentions of violence, swearing, mentions of blood, mentions of killing/death, mafia aspects, stripper, sex work, female penetration, PIV sex, mentions of guns and gun violence, mentions of people getting shot
Summary: You’re a former ballerina turned exotic dancer at a strip club frequented by some of the city’s most ruthless mob families. When a new man enters the scene in hopes of taking the city for himself, will you be consumed by him or become another victim to his unstoppable ambitions.
Note: so yeah, after yet another 8+ months I’ve FINALLY been able to update this. Inspiration hasn’t been hitting me as much as it used to, but I really want to finish this series through. Until then, enjoy and let me know your thoughts
Song Inspo: Scared To Be Lonely
“Morning, fetiță ” A hushed whisper in your ear begins to slowly wake you up. “How about some food, coffee, or perhaps tea even?”
“What?” You pry open your eyelids and blink to clear the fog of sleep from your brain. You’re lying on your side, so you roll over onto your back and squint up at Florian—who’s standing next to the bed, already dressed and with what appears to be a steaming cup in his hand.
“Food,” he says. His hard mouth is curved into a smile. “I made some for you, or rather my personal chef made an assortment of things, I wasn’t sure what you like to eat. It’s downstairs, along with tea, coffee, and various juices.”
“Um…” Your brain is still not fully functioning, so you sit up, careful to bring the blanket up with you to shield your body and try to make sense of what’s happening. “You had food made for me?”
“Hmm.” Florian sits down on the edge of the bed and carefully blows on the steaming cup in his hands, the smell of some kind of dark roasted coffee filling the air before carefully taking a sip. “I wasn’t sure how much longer you wanted to sleep, but it’s already late in the morning and I didn’t want to throw off your sleep schedule.”
“Uh-huh.” You slowly raise your hand and wipe the sleep from your eyes, noticing a clock off in the distance reading it was already after eleven a.m., rather closer to noon. Florian keeps his eyes on you, never saying anything, a small uncomfortable silence fills the room. The few moments revive you, chasing away the cotton-candy fuzz in your mind. Slowly, in bits and pieces, it all starts coming back to you.
Florian and his meeting at the club. Being requested to be his dancer for the night. The sounds of gunfire. Dmitry trying to get to you. His body hitting the floor. Blood, so much blood.
The room feels like all the oxygen has suddenly been vacuumed out of it, the prickling at the base of your spine going up before you start to feel like you can’t breathe. A panic attack, you’ve had them before in the past, more so due to your accident, and although you’ve had them under control for a while, this one felt all consuming.
“Fuck. Y/N, are you okay?”
You stare at him, your skin growing cold despite the contrasting growing burning sensation you also feel. “You want to know if I’m okay?” You remember everything now. The way he took you in the club. How he brought you to his house and helped to wipe the blood away. The nightmare. Clinging to him in the darkness. The way he held you afterwards.
Asking—no, begging him to fuck you.
Florian’s face tightens. “What can I do?”
“Nothing.” The chill within you deepens, numbing the sick terror flowing through you veins. “I don’t need a damn thing from you.”
After a few collective breaths, turning away, you lifted the blanket, searching for the shirt he gave you to sleep in and somehow took off sometime in the middle of the night. It’s something to focus on, something to do. Besides, you need that shirt. It’s a buffer, and you need that.
You need to cling to something to stay sane because without it, who knows how you’d react in the moment.
How could you have reached for Florian after that awful dream, when just hours earlier he made it your reality? How could you have wanted a man who broke you in that manner? You feel like you blanked out about what he did, suppressed it all in your desperate need for comfort.
In your weak, selfish neediness, you embraced the man who’s going to destroy everybody and everything you’ve ever loved or cared about, your entire world devastated by the man standing in front of you.
“Y/N.” Florian reaches for you, but you twist away. Your eyes scan the expansive room, trying to locate the piece of clothing. Your eyes finally locate it before jumping off the bed on the other side of it. You know you have nowhere to go, but you can’t let him touch you yet.
You’ll shatter all over again.
“What are you doing?” he asks as fingers finally close around the shirt, you fumble with the large shirt trying to find the arm and neck holes. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Ah-hah, there. Ignoring his question, you finally succeed in placing your hands through the arm holes and bring it over your head. After you pull on the shirt and smooth it out, doing your best not to look at him.
That seems to irritate him. In a second, he crosses the room and stops in front of you, his fingers closing around your arm.
“What the fuck?” Florian grips your chin with his free hand and forces you to look at him. “What game are you playing?”
“Me?” As you meet his gaze, a tiny ember of anger flickers in the ashes of your despair. “You’re the game master, Munteanu. I’m just along for the ride—unwillingly at that.”
His eyebrows snap together. “So last night was what? You going along for the ride?”
“Last night was a moment of insanity.” That’s the only way you can explain it to yourself, at least. You try your hardest to make your voice as hard and bitter as you add, “Besides, what do you care? For all I know you could’ve just wanted one last fuck before you have one of your men kill me, wouldn’t want to ruin your expensive suits with my blood, now could you?”
His expression is unreadable. “I do love my suits.”
A swirl of nausea makes you want to throw up. You don’t know if Florian senses it, but he lets go of your chin and steps back.
“You’ll be fine and under my protection as long as you’re under my roof,” he says, his voice oddly strained. “I told you I’m not going to kill you or do anything to you, and my word is my law. There’s no reason for you to stress anymore. It’s done.”
You stare at him, struck by the fact that the idea of Florian stalling with wanting to kill you hadn’t stopped crossing your mind either last night or this morning. How could you not think about what’s going to happen to you at all? Somewhere along the way, you stupidly started believing that your captor didn’t want you dead, that maybe he really did want to protect and keep you safe like he promised.
“Look,” Florian says when you remain silent, “things are going to get better. Once I know things have calmed down with the other families then you can return home. Until then, I’ll give you more freedom. You’ll be able to walk around the estate on your own, go anywhere you please.”
“Really?” Despite your despair, you almost laugh out loud. “And what makes you think I won’t run?”
The corners of his lips pull up in a dark smile. “Because you wouldn’t get far if you tried. I’m going to put some of my best men as your security detail for you.”
Your heart falters for a beat. “Security detail?”
“What kind of security detail are you talking about?” you force yourself to ask as the two of you walk to the bathroom.
“My men are some of the best in the world, and would die for me and those under my protection..” Florian stops in front of the bathroom door and looks at you “Just a few to keep you safe.”
And ensure he’d always know where you are.
Florian nods as if somehow reading your mind. “For now, why don’t I give you a small taste of what your future will be like and take you outside? We’ll go for a walk, and then enjoy some breakfast, or rather brunch.”
A walk outside. At any other point, you would’ve been ecstatic, but now, it’s all you can do to interact with him in a semi-normal manner.
To act as if your whole world isn’t about to come crashing down.
“Perhaps food first, though,” Florian says when you remain frozen but your stomach rumbles. “Hurry up, the food is getting cold.”
Bathroom. Breakfast. You want to scream that he’s insane, that you can’t possibly eat, but you keep your mouth shut and do as he says. You need to figure out what to do.
“Who are you planning on putting as my glorified babysitters?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady. If his men are as good as he claims, then they’re going to be as difficult to evade as you suspect, escape will be all but impossible.
“Sandro for now, perhaps Siver too,” Florian says. You remember Sandro from last night at the club, but your ears perk up at the mention of the new name.
“I had a meeting with the heads of all of the families that was scheduled for tomorrow, but due to the events of last night that has been pushed back to five days, or who knows when. Until then I’ll have to leave soon and meet with some trusted police officials on my payroll to get a gauge on what happened last night.”
“You’re leaving?” Your heartbeat kicks up with sudden hope. If he’s going to be gone…
“Yes, but don’t worry.” He smiles, “They’ll make sure you’re safe and comfortable.”
And still here when he returns.
The unsaid words hang in the air as you step into the bathroom and quietly close the door behind you. Florian’s plan to keep you in his ivory tower to him should terrify you, but the nauseating fear you feel has nothing to do with your own fate.
If Florian’s ambitions come after everything like the way you think he does, the way they’ve probably gone after other enemies, nobody connected to them probably saw it coming to escape their wrath.
The entire families will be wiped out—and Anton, your friend who was practically like your brother, along with them. He plans to lay waste and devastation, and you’re literally stuck behind enemy lines.
“Hurry up and take a shower and get freshened up, we’ll discuss it more once we’ve eaten.” You nod and close the door.
You’re in and out of the shower quickly, putting the shirt you wore back on before heading back out to the bedroom. You find Florian sitting on the bed scrolling through his phone and when he sees you, he hands you a pair of boxers and sweats. You shimmy into them and realize you’re practically swimming in them, having to roll the sweats until they sit comfortably on your hips. You notice that Florian is looking at you with heat in his eyes and you realize that the clothes you’ve donned are his, and he apparently seems to like you wearing them.
Placing a hand on your lower back, he leads you out of the bedroom and into the hallway. The house is even more gorgeous than you remember, something always catching your eye as he leads you through the maze-like corridors. You try to take a mental note of the various combinations of twists and turns from one hallway to the next.
All too soon and you’re in the kitchen, as expansive and beautiful as everything else. A large island with bar stools dominate the middle and two chandeliers hang above them. The entire kitchen looks clean and pristine in white. If it were any other circumstances you could imagine cooking or baking one of your favorite dishes, or even attempting something like one of your favorite chefs you’ve seen on the local cooking channel.
You notice a man in a chef's coat standing off to the side, taking a few plates off of a warmer, he greets Florian cordially before the both of you take seats at the bar. The chef, Johann, starts to bring out the food and soon enough the entire island seems to be filled with so much of it you’re sure you feel like you’d be able to feed an entire army.
Johann and Florian begin to speak in German and suddenly you feel like some kind of afterthought as they converse in their native tongue. You look at the spread and try to decide what to eat. You hear your name come from one of the men and look in their direction only for you to look away and reach for the polenta, your hand shaking slightly.
“Here, let me help you with that.” He takes the plate from you, his fingers briefly brushing against yours. Before you can say anything, your plate is filled with a healthy portion of everything that’s on the table.
He puts the plate back in front of you, and stares at it in dismay. You’re too nervous to eat in front of him. Your stomach is all tied into knots.
When you look up, you see that he has no such problem. He’s eating with gusto, clearly enjoying Johann’s cooking.
“What’s the matter?” he asks between bites. “You’re not hungry?”
You shake your head, even though you were ravenous not too long beforehand.
He frowns, putting down his fork. “Why not?”
You shrug. “I’m okay.” You’re not about to tell him that he’s the cause of your lack of appetite.
His eyes narrow at you. “Are you playing games with me? Eat, Y/N.”
You gulp nervously and start to pick at the food. There’s something about him that makes you think it would be unwise to oppose him on this issue.
On any issue, really.
Your instincts are continuing to scream that this man is as dangerous as they come. He hasn’t really been cruel to you…yet, but there is cruelty within him. You can sense it.
“Good girl,” he says approvingly after you eat a few bites.
You continue eating, even though you don’t really taste the food and you have to force each bite past the restriction in your throat. You keep your eyes trained on your plate. You’ll have an easier time eating if you don’t see his piercing hazel gaze.
“I’ve been wondering, what is the story behind your stage name?” he asks after you’ve had a chance to eat about half of your portion.
It takes a couple of seconds to register what he asks before you look up to find him staring at you.
“Um…I’ve loved ballet ever since I was a little girl. One year I begged and begged my parents to take me into the city to see Swan Lake. They made me think they weren’t going to take me, but they surprised me. The moment the ballet started I was entranced and I knew that it was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life” you explain. You clear your throat and continue. “Odette is the name of the Swan Princess and Pearl is well, it’s an homage to my family. My dad was a MASSIVE Prince fan, so much so that I’m 100% convinced he would have named me Princess Apollonia if my mother didn’t keep a close eye on my birth certificate. Diamonds and Pearls was the song my parents always sang to one another.”
“What do you think of the estate?” he asks you randomly, as though genuinely interested in your opinion. He’s studying you with a thoughtful look on his face.
“It’s pretty from what I’ve seen so far,” you tell him honestly. Then, pausing for a second, you add, “But I don’t want to be here.”
“Of course.” He looks almost understanding. “But you’ll get used to it. This is your new home for now, Y/N. The sooner you come to terms with that, the better.”
Your stomach lurches, and you feel like the food that you just ate is in danger of coming up. You swallow convulsively, trying to control the sick feeling inside of you. “And my family? Anton, those who work at the club?” The words come out low and bitter. “How are they supposed to come to terms with it?”
Some emotion flickers briefly across his face. “What if they didn’t think you were dead?” he asks quietly, holding your gaze. “Would that make you feel better fetiță?”
“Of course it would!” You can hardly believe what you’re hearing. “Can you do that? Can you let them know I’m alive? Maybe I can just call them, or, or Anton and—”
He reaches out to cover your hand with his own, stopping your hopeful rambling. “No.” His tone leaves no room for arguments. “I will contact them myself.”
You swallow your disappointment. “What are you going to tell them?”
“That you are alive and well.” His large thumb is gently massaging the inside of your palm, his touch distracting you, turning your bones to jelly.
“But—” You almost moan when he presses on one particularly sensitive spot, “—but they wouldn’t believe you—”
“They would.” He withdraws his hand, leaving you feeling strangely sorrowful. “You can trust me on that.”
Trust him? Yeah, right. “Why are you doing this to me?” You ask in frustration.
Suddenly, a crazy and desperate idea occurs to you. He obviously wants you. He’s even willing to do things to make you happy—like letting your family know that you’re alive. What if you were to use that fact to your advantage? Could you do this? Could you somehow seduce Florian into letting you go?
You’re going to have to be careful about it. You can’t have a sudden about-face. You can’t act like you despise him one minute and love him the next. He needs to believe that he can take you off the estate and that you would willingly remain with him for as long as he wants you. Then you would do whatever you had to do to escape.
You’re going to have to take your time and convince Florian of your devotion.
I am not entirely sure what this year holds. I don’t think any of us do. I have been slowly getting back into writing. VERY SLOWLY. I am not committing to a set schedule. I just can’t. Which is why it is important to follow my writing blog @justthehiddleswrites for all of my stories. I am still doing taglists for everything, Tom Hiddleston, and Loki and my current series. For now.
I am also doing a 2022 reblog challenge. I will reblog fics on this blog (since it has the most exposure), but I have also created @just-the-hiddles-reads for all of my fic reblogs as well. So feel free to check out there too.
Now as for what sort of stories you will see from me. It is likely going to be a mixed bag. I am looking to post chapters of things I have been working on, which will not have a regular schedule, More of Ties That Bind, more Rocket and Loki, more things that make me happy. And if they make you happy too, please share and reblog. Tumblr is continuing to do things that make it harder and harder for creators to have their work seen. And while likes are great, they don’t get work seen. And comments are fantastic, they don’t get work seen.
It's been a few months since I last posted on this blog... I'm deeply sorry that it took me so long to publish all of the requests that were made for my 500 followers celebration, but schoolwork got in the way along with some other stuff and I couldn't get myself back into writing.
In the last few days, I started writing again as a way to relax a bit during the day. Therefore, I think I'm ready to start writing on this blogagain!
With this all said, I'm sending you all the warmest of hugs! I hope you still like my content, and will enjoy what I'll publish from now on!
— ✨🌻💛
I'm tagging a few mutuals under here (I hope this doesn't bother you!) :
how much brian david gilbert/griffin mcelroy/shane madej/chris flemming/amiel stanek/john mulaney content should i consume to reshape my personality after them
Blogs for: kink, NSFW (porn, gore, self-harm, pro-eating disorders, etc.), discourse if any kind (sideblogs are ok but plz don't interact from one of these blogs)
Anti-LGBTQ+, bigot, homophobe, transphobe, aphobe, biphobe, panphobe, etc.
Racist, xenophobe, sexist, misogynist, antisemetic, islamophobe, etc.
People who strip down all shipping discourse to "proship vs anti" discourse // Anti-anti/proshipper / comship/variants of comship / any form of "neutral" / push anti/anti-anti discourse into everything
Actively anti-"queer"
[Neo] pronoun non-supporter
Fans of: Harry Potter, Hazbin Hotel, Hetalia, Attack on Titan, DSMP
Doesn't wear a mask / thinks the COVID-19 Pandemic is a "scamdemic"
Thinks "Superstraight" or any variation is real and identifies with it (see: Nazis)
Supporter of crypto/NFTs in any way
NOTE:
I do not see everything on this list as equivalent (such as NSFW blogs and Nazis) but still want you to stay off of my blog(s) if you fit any of the criteria listed above. Thanks
