#ficlets

[sonicemp3]

a nice chill thought for this friday: the ot3 have the day off and parker wants cake so eliot is making cake because what parker wants parker gets. she’s requested his espresso chocolate chip cake; eliot did try to argue that she does Not need to be having a caffeinated dessert before bed, and parker argued back that she’d be fine, and eliot said i don’t think so punkin, remember last time i made this and you had a big ol slice and you didn’t fall asleep until 2am??? and at that parker just waved her hand and said please, it won’t happen again. and if you’re really gonna have a stick up your butt about i’ll just have it for breakfast. and that was the point at which eliot just sighed and started pulling out ingredients because clearly he was losing this battle. there was absolutely zero chance of him winning this one (which he expected, honestly, because parker is parker and as established what parker wants parker gets, but what kinda husband is he if he doesn’t at least try to protect his beloved’s sleep schedule?? he has to at least make the effort)

anyway he’s mixing batter now while parker sits on the counter next to him and kicks her heels gently against the cupboard while she watches him work and eats from her special parker bowl of spare frosting (he always has to make one for her any time he bakes cake). she says tell me again why everything has to be room temp before you mix it together, and eliot explains that it’s because cold ingredients don’t combine as well. if things aren’t at room temp you won’t have a smooth, light crumb. parker says ohhhhh and has another spoonful of frosting. at this point hardison wanders in and asks how things are going, and eliot says things are good, he’s just about to fill the pans and put ’em in the oven, and then he smacks at hardison’s hand when it tries to creep toward the bowl of cake batter because are you serious, alec?????? how many times does he have to say that— flour is a raw ingredient, yes, yes. he knows. but can’t he just have a tiiiiiiiiny taste??? no. not unless you want food poisoning. UGH fine. hardison slinks over to stand beside parker and pout. then the pout disappears when she offers him a huge spoon of buttercream because ok ok, fine—maybe things aren’t so bad after all.

goof and goofier are the absolute worst kinda pests about trying to get eliot to frost the cake as soon as it’s out of the oven, and he has to remind them over and over that the frosting’ll just slide right off the hot cake if he does, and do they want a messy goopy unfrosted cake???? sighhhhhhhh fine. no they don’t. while they wait eliot manages to distract them with a movie and some cuddles, and then when it’s finally time and he returns to the kitchen he barely has room to move his arms to frost because parker and hardison are Right In His Space watching him again while he works. he’d be annoyed if they weren’t so damn cute. but they are, so he’s not, and once the cake is finally done and frosted he cuts them each a big-ass slice and can’t help but grin as he watches them inhale it. another successful bake for chef spencer. of course parker and hardison both get the zoomies something awful afterward on account of the caffeine (what did he say??????), but that’s okay—maybe they can go to the park in a few and he can let them two run off the energy. or hardison could play one of his faster-paced video games while parker backseats. at least it’s only lunchtime right now. hopefully they’ll both still sleep like babies tonight. he might have to put the cake leftovers under lock and key to keep parker out of ’em though. you might think he’s kidding, but he’s not. he’s really, really not. but there’sworse problems to have. he’s glad parker likes his baking so much; as far as he’s concerned, he’ll make her whatever she wants forever. hardison too. anything to keep ’em full and fed<3

[sonicemp3]

been listening to naomi scott's recent album a lot and particularly been enjoying sweet nausea, and the line "i'm comin down with somethin, got sugar stuck in my throat" keeps making me think of eliot and like. how many times he might've had to hold himself back from calling parker or hardison something nice pre-ot3. pet names roll off his tongue equally easily whether he's grifting or just being flirtatious, but it's always with someone else, never with them two, because with them two it would mean something he feels like he's not ready for or something he feels like he can't have, or maybe both. probably both. he's lost count of the number of times he's wanted to say "no, sweetheart, d— parker get back here" when she just bounds ahead of the group when they're out and about because she's ready she's excited she wants to go go go, but hold on there, don't get too far, he needs to be able to keep an eye on everyone. he doesn't even know anymore how often he's caught himself just about to say "darlin' c'mon, you've gotta eat something" when he brings over a snack plate for hardison because the guy's been glued to his computer all damn afternoon and hasn't had anything more than pop the whole time. he wants to say "nuh-uh, punkin, not today" when parker tries to goad him into jumping off a roof with her and she's using all the sad wet kitten eyes and devastatingly trembly-lipped pouts she has at her disposal, and he wants to be able to murmur "hey, baby, it's alright, i'm all good" when he finally gets back to lucille after a long fight and hardison's mildly panicking because he hadn't had visuals and he thought he heard a gunshot (the other guy had terrible aim, and eliot relieved him of his weapon right quick after that). he wants to say "well hey there, pretty lady" when parker emerges from sophie's closet in a borrowed dress and gives him a twirl, and he wants to say "not bad, hot stuff," when hardison shows up for the grift in the evening in his suit and crisp bow tie. but he can't say any of that because not only are parker and hardison not his, they're each other's, and he can't get in the middle of that. he's the last thing they need. probably the last thing they want too. so he just swallows it all down and keeps his lips zipped and tries not to think too hard about how sick he feels every time he's with them from all the sweetness he keeps swallowing

(to end on a happy note, though, because i am simply incapable of ending on angst: once they're all together, he's unstoppable. it's absolutely all sweetheart this, darlin' that, angel, honey, baby, sugar, punkin, princess, etc. and one time hardison teases him that he doesn't even remember the last time he heard his own name, which makes eliot pink-cheeked and shy for all of five seconds before hardison catches on and says "you better not think i'm complaining, though!!!!!!!!! if you stop i'll kick your ass," and parker says "yeah me too," and eliot's still blushing but he's also smiling now and he half-shrugs one shoulder and says "alright, cupcakes, whatever you say," and yeah, he knows that one's a bit much, but parker and hardison don't care—they both just squeak with joy and jump on him to smother him with kisses. and eliot thinks to himself that he'll call them both all the corny cheesy goopy names in the world if this is what he'll get in return<3)

[stupidbitchmeowmeowchilton]

Sleeping Beauty

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83722396/chapters/234973531

It was dark now, as you flutter your eyes open. Except.. It wasn't. There were rays of sunlight in your peripheral vision, sneaking around the wall of whatever rested in front of you. Over you. It’s living.

You freeze, your vision still blurry as you hear a shaky exhale come from over you. You felt the tummy of the beast relax and the puffy fabric being worn squished against your cheek. It felt like multiple layers, maybe a suit, but your heart sinks as it or he readjusts over you to change his hand placement and the mattress sinks to your left with all his weight on his hand. His other hand cradles the side of your head, entangling his fingers into your messy hair. You hear him inhale slowly, his nose pressing into the crown of your head as he breathes the scent of your hair in. Your heart throbs frantically in your chest, unsure if to move and startle the monster you cannot see or to stay still and maybe go limp when it finally moves away. Your eyes glance around his body, spotting the silver head of a cane against the bedframe. You see that the suit appears to be a dark blue, but it’s hard to tell. You see sunlight reflecting off of a ring on the left hand he’s supporting himself with. It’s taking everything to keep your breathing slow, hoping he doesn’t notice you’re awake yet and keeping that decision in your control for once. There was no control since being admitted here to the hospital. It’s decrepit, haunting, and the director, your psychiatrist, is far too interested in you or “your case”. 

“You always smell so nicely. How do you do it while imprisoned? I certainly don’t give enough for this..”

You resist a flinch when he speaks and your eyes shut with recognition of his voice. Of course it’s him. Dr. Chilton is currently smelling your hair and you feel like death is a reasonable option now. Your flimsy bed blanket is bunched at your feet, you feel it when you shift. That movement did nothing to deter him. In fact, instead of just hovering over you, you hear the mattress creak and the bed sink as he crawls onto the bed with you. On top of you. You can’t resist the whimper the escapes your throat and Dr. Chilton stiffens for a few seconds, as if assessing if you’re still asleep, then comes to the conclusion you are. His head tilts to bury his nose in your hair and you feel his stomach move against your face and chest as he smells your hair. You feel something hard, don’t think about it, pressing into your belly. His legs spread their warmth to yours as he straddles you. You swear you even feel the cold metal of his tie pin against your lips, but it’s barely registering while you hold back a want to cry, thrash, anything. 

Dr. Chilton groans, “Fuck..”, then moves to rest your head back down. 

You keep your eyes shut, but relaxed enough as to not cause suspicion and you pray he can’t feel or see how distressed you are in any other way. His hand that supports your neck lays your head down on the flat pillows again and you feel his eyes staring over your “sleeping face”. It feels like eternity, but you feel his hot breath hit your face with a sigh before he gets up. You feel that rub against your tummy and you hear his choked gasp, but then it’s over and he’s back on your feet next to you. You hear his cane tap against the floor. You feel relief in your stomach until you realize you don’t hear his footsteps to leave or the door. He’s still there. Leave, please leave, don’t-

Dr. Chilton leans over, his body blocking the light from intruding your closed eyes once again. He stays like that, his breaths far more controlled, then his lips press against yours. They’re soft, not chapped or bitten. His beard scratches the corner of your mouth and your cheek and it takes everything to not react from the ticklish feeling. It would make you almost giggle if you were awake, consenting, for it. His lips move against yours as if unsure, experimenting, then he pulls away suddenly. His breathing is ragged and you hear his stumbling back to quickly leave the room, slamming the door behind him. You hope this is the first time..

[hanniballecterscanines]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 21/21 Fandom: Hannibal (TV) Rating: Refined Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter Characters: Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter, Abigail Hobbs Additional Tags: Tumblr Prompts, individual chapter notes have summaries/warnings as needed Series: Part 1 of Fluff and Nonsense N'at Summary:

Apparently I take Tumblr prompts now for short Hannibal ficlets. They'll be collected here. Tags/ratings subject to be updated depending on what I end up writing. Drop me a line over at my Tumblr if you want to chat about an idea.

[sonicemp3]

something about parker and thieving hands and sticky fingers and her always constantly forever perpetually unendingly stealing touches of the boys. hardison is so broad and firm and she loves stretching her palms as biiiiiiiig as she can and spanning as much of his warm skin as possible so she can feel the planes and spread of him beneath her, all those stroooooong strong muscles; eliot is solid but also squish and good for gripping handfuls of and poking her fingertips into, molding him and mushing him like he’s putty or play-doh. sometimes when they’re on the couch watching tv parker likes to take hardison’s forearm and idly squeeze up up up and down down down it, elbow to wrist and back again as she feels his tendons and his pulse and the way he’s all-over silky-smooth, soft with the lotion he’s always so diligent about putting on out of the shower, or she’ll grope the tops of eliot’s thighs and feel for the strength of them and run her fingers along the crease from groin to hip, not looking for anything or trying to rile him up, just wanting to feel. when hardison’s working at the kitchen table she drags over one of their breakfast bar stools and skim her palms down the sides of his neck and over his shoulders and along the lengths of his biceps and then back up; when eliot cooks she clings to his back with her chin over his shoulder and half watches him chop and stir and such, half idly feels up his belly and his chest, gripping at the places where he’s put on some weight in the years the three of them have been together and he’s been eating better than ever and spending more lazy nights and weekends on the couch than he ever did before. hardison’s put on weight too, both in those beefy biceps of his and also in his ass that parker likes to grab at when she hugs him or even sometimes if she just walks in on him laying on his stomach on the couch or the bed reading something or scrolling on his phone. occasionally she more or less makes biscuits on it like a kittycat, and hardison wonders if maybe he should find it weird but honestly it’s nice—he spends so much time sitting on the damn thing that it gets sore, yknow?? so the massage feels good. there’s afternoons where she’ll ask the boys to let her just touch them all over because she wants to feel all their dips and divots and lines and wrinkles, the backs of their knees and the arches of their feet and the valleys of their spines and their ribs. eliot teases sometimes that her hands must be covered in velcro because she just can’t keep away from the two of them, and parker’s not even offended because he’s just right: she can’t stop touching them. she can’t stop sticking out her hands—sometimes even without any real conscious thought—to put them on her boys. they’re not thin like money or cold like marble or sharp like gems—they’re solid and warm and soft, just begging for her to test the press and give of them. so she lets herself chase every impulse she gets to run her fingers through eliot’s hair and tickle his scalp, or to slip them under the hem of hardison’s shirt and trace the lines of his abs. there’s days where her hands are so hungry they actually physically ache, but in a way it’s okay because she knows there won’t ever come a time where the boys won’t let her plaster those same hands all over them. she can keep feeding and feeding and feeding her hands and failing to find fullness because the boys love her touch just as much as she loves touching. they’re just as starving and eager and they won’t ever tell her—or want her—to stop.

[sonicemp3]

what if hardison had to grift as a drag queen for a con (uhhhhh local long-standing club got bought by evil new management?? and the crew’s trying to oust them and reinstall the original owner), and more than eliot loves seeing hardison in the gorgeous evening gowns with the slits up the thigh and the mini skirts that barely cover his ass, more than he loves seeing hardison all dolled up in the silky-soft wigs and the colorful makeup that shimmers and pops against his dark skin, more than he loves smelling the fruity perfume that hardison’s started wearing and yeah yeah fine he likes the fake tits too, he fucking loves the fake nails because they feel so good combing through his hair and scratching his scalp. parker also loves to have hardison drag them up and down her back. for the whole length of the con as long as he’s got the manicure the three of them wind down every night by parking it on the couch with hardison in the middle and parker and eliot on either side, and hardison spends, like, a whole goddamn hour tickling parker’s back and eliot’s head. sometimes he says something like “i dunno, might get up for a snack” just to get a rise out of them, and when they moan “nooooOOOOOO” he says “is this all i am to you anymore??? just fake nails??????” and when they say yes he huffs and rolls his eyes but he’s also smiling. he loves seeing e&p all liquid and oozing into the couch, their brains practically drooling out of their ears (and—sometimes—real drool coming out of their mouths). they used to be soooo skittish years and years ago and now here he is with them wrapped allllll the way around his nicely manicured fingers. hey, yknow what?? he’s gonna start stocking up on press-ons. he can’t say he’s gonna keep up with the real nails once the job is over because they’re a bitch to type with, but he could glue some falsies on for a night and then just pick ’em off when he’s done. yeah, that’s an idea. because no way is this job gonna be the last time he does this for his loveys. no way no how. they are toooooo sweet like this. and they deserve the relaxation time too<3

[sonicemp3]

maybe even prince charming and friendliest man alive hardison gets kinda peopled out sometimes, and on those days parker and eliot get him nice and tucked on the couch after they get home from whatever job they’re on at the moment and they don’t make him say another word. eliot’s practical and just has hardison type on his phone or text him when he wants to say something; parker says that’s boring, and her and hardison have developed a complex language of purely facial expressions and hand gestures. both are equally effective/successful. they usually put something easy on the tv like reruns of the repair shop or lifestyle vlogs, and hardison alternates between faceplanting into eliot’s boobs while eliot massages the back of his neck and putting his head on parker’s shoulder while parker works her fingertips into his scalp (she says she’s giving his poor sleepy brain a deep-tissue massage, and honestly hardison feels like she’s genuinely accomplishing it). he almost never feels up for anything more than just snuggling but also he’ll never say no to eliot dotting achingly slow and soft kisses over his whole face or parker getting into a groove of pressing her lips to one-two-three-four-five fingertips on his right hand and one-two-three-four-five fingertips on his left hand and rinse and repeat. eventually, as always happens, they all end up crammed together stretched out on the long end of the couch, hardison sandwiched in the middle while eliot holds him to his chest and parker clings to his back. half the time he falls asleep just like that, until eliot ultimately wakes him up because it’s time for dinner. when they finally call it a night and go to bed they get all cuddled up exactly the same way they had been on the couch, and hardison’s still kinda emotionally exhausted but he’s definitely miles better than he was earlier. he hasn’t had to speak a damn thing since they got home hours ago, and ever since they walked through the door he’s had his lovies glued all over him. like, seriously—does it get any better than that?? no. no it absolutely does not.

[sonicemp3]

thinking quiet thoughts about eliot kinda sorta half-waking up in the middle of the night because hardison flops onto the mattress kinda hard when he comes back to bed, and he doesn’t even ask where hardison’s been—he just flings out an arm and hardison resumes the spot he’d had earlier, tucked into eliot’s left side. parker’s on his right with her head jammed under his chin and her face crammed against his chest, her mouth a little open as she snores and a tiny puddle of drool forming on eliot’s shirt at the corner of her mouth. hardison smooches parker’s forehead and the underside of eliot’s jaw before he rests his head on eliot’s chest too and lets out a big juicy sigh, already like 75% of the way to sleep again. eliot’s pretty much there too. the last thing he’s aware of is a sense of satisfaction that he’s got his people squished in next to him once again. he hadn’t even been aware that hardison was gone in the first place, but that doesn’t really matter. it’s just always good to have him back.