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juniorgman187 · 4 years

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Things We Know By Heart (Spencer Reid Fluff)

Summary: Reader teaches Spencer how to slow dance in preparation for his wedding. The only problem? Reader’s in love with Spencer, and she isn’t the bride.

A/N: S/O to Kyla who bullied me throughout all of elementary school. Ik you’ve probably changed since then, but you literally traumatized and tormented me for more than six years of my life. So I felt like including you in this story as, “Kayla,” Spencer’s fiancé. Tehe, I’m petty like that. Couple: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Category: Fluff Word Count: 6.5k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

I think we’d all like to believe that somewhere out there is our person. And somehow, someway, they’ll get to where they need to go, right where they belong.

With us.

That’s what I’d like to believe.

I’d like to think that no matter what happens along our journeys to each other, we’ll arrive at the same destination regardless.

But that isn’t necessarily true, is it?

Because maybe, my soulmate got lost along the way. They met somebody great, someone they think is their person, and they married that person. They had kids and eventually, grandkids with that person, even though, deep down - they knew it wasn’t right. They stayed with them anyway because their fear of being alone superseded their fear of being with the wrong person for life.

And what am I to do when that happens? When my person finds a different person.

Am I supposed to believe that the universe will be so kind as to give my soulmate the courage to leave their relationship behind and forge a new one with me?

Am I supposed to expect that the world will supply me with another person, the person I’m supposed to marry?

Or do I simply wait for my person to come to the conclusion that they’re meant to be with me after all and my naive entitlement to a soulmate is validated?

Is life really that magical?

This is the story of what happens when your person loves a different person.

∙•○⦾☉☼☉⦾○•∙

With his hand at the nape of my neck to support my head and his other hand flat against the small of my back, he dipped me backward, leaning with me as I arched my back and bent the leg closest to the crowd, pointing my foot to elongate my leg artistically. This was our ending position so I remained in it until the song ended. The two of us bowed to thank the audience and to conclude our performance. Roses fell at our feet while the sound of applause echoed in the room. I was never a fan of being the center of attention, but there was something about this overwhelming praise that was particularly blissful. It was intoxicating.

“I didn’t know you knew how to dance like that.” I gushed to my partner; my cheeks growing pink from the heat and the head rush I got.

He positioned his mouth right beside my ear so I could hear his words clearly over the rowdy cheering. “There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Princess.” said Morgan.

A gauntlet formed to clap for us both when we walked off the dance floor. Hand-in-hand, Morgan led me back to the table through the double file line of people. The team howled with excitement when they saw me and Morgan approaching.

“So this is what you two were keeping a secret from us? That you’re dance partners?” JJ had to ask.

“Yep. All those late nights and secret rendezvous.” Morgan said, shimmying his shoulders be suggestive of a sexual innuendo, which I was not a fan of. Out of mock offense, I chucked a small towel at him with a grouchy command to “Shut up!”

He took the towel to the face like a champ, laughing it off and dabbing his sweat away.

“I don’t know who was sexier up there - Princess or my Hubba Hubba!” Garcia squealed pretending to claw at Derek, reeling him over towards her.

“You looked like a natural up there, Y/N. Were you a dancer before?” Prentiss questioned while handing me a glass of water that I desperately gulped down.

“My mom sent me to dance classes as soon as I could walk.” I jokingly explained after gathering my hair into a makeshift ponytail and lifting it off of my neck, cocking my head to the side and fanning the back of my neck to cool down.

“Maybe you should teach Reid how to dance before the wedding. He’s got two left feet and I don’t think he wants Morgan to teach him how to waltz.” JJ quipped, making Derek throw his head back in laughter. The thought of Morgan and Reid slow dancing would truly be something - something hilarious. I laughed, too, until Reid’s voice interrupted me.

“Yeah, that’s actually a really good idea. Would you mind, Y/N? Kayla would be so happy.”

I thought he was joking, but his humorless expression told me otherwise.

“You want me to teach you how to dance?”

He pursed his lips and nodded, not understanding why I was so confused.

“Um . . . yeah. I can do that. Sure.” My tone wasn’t very convincing, but Reid’s optimism made him oblivious to my reluctance. He smiled and hugged me with one arm around my shoulder.

“I have to call Kay and tell her the good news.” Reid dashed away from the table, pulling out his phone to dial his fiancé.

I darted toward JJ with fury and grabbed her by the arm, dragging her into the bathroom for privacy.

“What the hell was that? ‘Oh, Y/N, you should teach him how to dance.’ You know how I feel about Reid!”

Rather than giving me hostility back, she broke into a smile. “Exactly! If you spend more time alone with him, maybe he’ll finally admit to himself that he shouldn’t be marrying Kayla,”

I rolled my eyes and turned my back away from her.

“We all know Spence would be happier with you.”

As JJ spoke, I trudged to the nearest sink, holding onto the sides for stability as the ground below me swayed. She followed me, rubbing up and down my back comfortingly.

“You know how he is. He keeps things to himself, until eventually they’re forced to come out. If you dance with him, maybe he’ll finally tell you he loves you without actually having to say it. Do this for him . . . and for you.” JJ gave me one last pat on the back before exiting the bathroom to leave me to my devices.

Normally, teaching a friend how to slow dance in preparation for his wedding would be sweet. It’d be a selfless gesture and an act of service for him that would show how much love there was in our friendship. In this case though, it was anything but.

For the six months that Spencer and Kayla had been engaged, the team was relentless in trying to end it. I tried to stay out of it in case all hell broke loose, but I couldn’t escape it. No - I was at the very center of it.

Before Reid even knew Kayla existed, he was head-over-heels in love with me. He’d ask me on coffee dates, wait by my desk for me, and he would always try to sit beside me at the round table or on the jet. It was sweet, really, but it could never go anywhere.

I was in a committed relationship with my high school sweetheart Patrick. (Maybe Spencer had a thing for unavailable girls).

I moved in with Patrick after graduating from college, and after years of working in the BAU (and years of Spencer loving me) Pat proposed. At first, being engaged brought me so much joy, but halfway into our engagement, something changed.

I was in Wisconsin, consoling a grieving widow. She was hysterical after I delivered the treacherous news of her husband’s gruesome murder. She eventually calmed down and proceeded to ask me about my engagement when she noticed my ring. I gave her the bare minimum, fabricated a couple things here and there, but then she asked me the million dollar question.

“Are you in love?” Her eyes glimmered with hope.

My immediate answer was a habitual “Yes, of course.” But after seeing how deeply this widow loved her late husband, I couldn’t say in good conscience that that answer was actually true.

That night I went to the hotel and lied on the bed, praying for clarity.

Perhaps I wasn’t actually in love with Patrick. Maybe we’d been together for so long that it just felt safe and comfortable and familiar. Maybe it was the fear of disrupting the arrangement of my life that stopped me from ending things sooner.

The fact of the matter was that I’d only ever known a life loving him, but that didn’t mean I was in love with him. Maybe I was settling for something with Pat, because I wasn’t sure if I could have a better relationship with anyone else. With all these doubts, I needed a sign.

A knock on the door interrupted my inner dialogue.

When I opened it, who else was standing there, but none other than Rossi.

“We need to talk.” He ordered.

He followed me back into the room and sat at the foot of the bed. He said he noticed something was off about me, and I admitted that there was. So that night, I took advice I probably shouldn’t have from the man with multiple failed marriages, but it was a sign - and it was good enough.

When we returned to Quantico, I asked Hotch for some personal time, which he was happy to permit. That same night I went home and broke off the engagement with Patrick.

I felt despicably cold when I watched him tear up and ask me, “Why are you doing this?”

There was truly no concrete moment in our relationship that incited my decision, but it was merely the realization that being with him wasn’t right, because how could I stand there watching him beg for a change of heart but still feel nothing?

Maybe I was much less than not in love. Maybe I didn’t feel a thing for him at all. Not hate. Not empathy. Not love. Just . . . nothing.

Completely indifferent.

Within the week of personal time I took, I spent most of it moving into Rossi’s guest house. After I came back from work, it took all of two hours before someone brought up the absence of the ring that I used to never take off, and I’d assumed they’d already noticed it the moment I walked in - they were just too afraid to ask.

“I ended things with Patrick.” I casually stated, not even looking up from my portfolio to give it the attention it probably deserved.

While the rest of the team’s jaws dropped on the floor, Rossi was fighting a smirk considering this wasn’t news to him and having seen everyone else’s reactions was a priceless moment for him.

There was a brief moment of awkward silence on the jet as the team processed my information, until finally Hotch cleared his throat and started debriefing again. In the seat next to me, Spencer was very poorly hiding his enthusiasm. Hearing I broke off the engagement was like a green light to make his move. And honestly, it was.

So I waited.

And I waited.

Then I waited some more for him to jump at the opportunity.

But he didn’t.

He never did.

Instead, he introduced Kayla into our lives, and eventually, they’d get engaged, too.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t developed feelings for Spencer while I expected him to act upon his palpable affection for me. And because of my newfangled feelings, I could never tell another soul that I sincerely believed Spencer got engaged just to spite me - to show me just how painful unrequited love was.

The strangest part of it all, though, was that there was never a moment following the ending of my engagement and the birth of his own that showed me that his feelings went away. He never treated me differently or stopped talking to me. Even in the early stages of his relationship with Kayla, he continued to act like I was the only girl in his life. He was so consistent with his actions that it confused me.

Did he love me or not? And was I in love with him or not?

Evidently, the team seemed to have my answer.

“He loves you and you love him. It’s as simple as that.” Prentiss explained curtly.

Agreeing nods came from JJ, Morgan, and Garcia, who’d abducted me as soon as I exited the elevator that morning and snuck me into Garcia’s Bat Cave for an intervention.

“We need to stop this wedding.” Garcia demanded.

And since that glorious intervention, the team (minus Rossi and Hotch because Rossi seemed genuinely happy for Reid, and Hotch would definitely tell us it wasn’t our place) began trying to put a wedge in the relationship. I, however, made the smart choice not to be involved.

If I was trying to get him to love me, why would I do something that would surely make him hate me like breaking up his engagement? Plus, the blind optimist in me believed that if I was actually meant to be with Spencer, it would happen regardless of Kayla.

So anytime Morgan, JJ, Prentiss, and Garcia suggested something, I refused to participate. I was able to steer clear of any wedding crasher shenanigans up until JJ’s “slow-dance” suggestion.

If Reid knew the true intentions behind these dance classes, he surely wouldn’t be pleased, but clearly - he didn’t. Because when I walked out of the restroom and back to the table, Reid still had a huge grin that took up half of his face, making his eyes look nearly shut.

“Thank you again for doing this.” Reid beamed.

“Of course! What are friends for?”

Morgan, Prentiss, JJ, and Garcia exchanged satirical glances at my choice of words.

What are friends for if not to purposefully set two people up in hopes of ending one person’s betrothal?

∙•○⦾☉☼☉⦾○•∙

Later that weekend . .

“Come in!” I called out, buckling the ankle strap of my heels.

The door opened partially and then all at once to reveal the one and only. I peeked my head out from behind a wall that was obstructing my view of him, immediately noticing a bouquet of lavender wrapped in twine.

“Oh my goodness, what is this?” I asked in pure delight as he handed me the pretty purple flowers.

“It’s a thank-you gift for agreeing to help me.” His lips formed a thin straight line, which was his version of a smile. A smile I appreciated whenever I was lucky enough to have caused it.

“They’re lovely, thank you.” I told him, hugging him briefly before fetching a vase from the kitchen to put them in.

“Oh, good, I’ll tell Kayla you liked them. She’s the one who picked them out.”

The glass vase nearly shattered the moment he said that, but luckily, my reflex skills spared the vessel.

How big of a fool was I for thinking that he gave me flowers out of the kindness of his heart because he knew lavender was my favorite? But then again I probably needed that brutal reminder of why he was here in the first place - for Kayla.

As I put the vase on the kitchen island, I spun around, brandishing a fake smile.

“So we should probably get started. I don’t wanna keep you here for too long.”

“There’s no rush. Kayla won’t be home until late at night.”

I tried not to think of the potential innuendo that lied within his statement, but Spencer wasn’t type to be disloyal, and I wasn’t going to be the woman to make him such a person.

“You look really nice, by the way.” I heard him say from behind me, catching a whiff of his cologne that was intoxicatingly sweet.

I did my best to not take the comment personally and let it get to my head, but I’d be lying if it didn’t elicit any response. I smiled to myself, which thankfully, he couldn’t see since my back was towards him as he followed me into my backyard.

“You smell different.” He added.

“Good different?”

“Yeah, absolutely. Is it a new perfume?”

I furrowed my brows. “No, it’s the same one I’ve been using for years.”

“Interesting,” I could feel him taking in this information, and I could hear the gears in his head turning at an even faster rate to spit out more information. “Did you know that you pick your soulmate by subconsciously reacting to pheromones that transmit their genetic compatibility? Yeah, there’s a relationship between attraction and scent, which dates back to our primal instinct. So if someone smells appealing to you, even if you don’t know it, it could relate to your attraction to them and vice versa.”

“Ah, then maybe I should consider changing my perfume to improve my love life.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I love the way you smell.”

In the back of my mind lied the unanswered question I neglected to voice, “But do you love me?”

When we reached the backyard, I heard him gasp in awe.

“It looks beautiful, Y/N. You did great.”

Nestled in my backyard was a dark wooden deck, surrounded by plentiful greenery. Lining the perimeter of the shiny wooden deck were asymmetrical rocks, while above us hung strands of fairy lights that cast a sheer golden glow on the entire scene. The ambiance was not for Spencer specifically, but I was happy that he appreciated it nonetheless.

“You ready?”

He signaled yes by putting his thumb up and so it began.

“Alright, so slow dancing can be broken into four easy steps, but first, you gotta know how to hold your partner correctly.”

Spencer and I took a step towards each other, and I could feel the nervous energy radiating off of him. I tried not to call attention to it, so I simply continued with my process. Outstretching my arms to form a T with my body, I guided him verbally.

“So I’m the follower. And you’re the leader. Got it?”

He nodded.

“Leader puts their right hand under the follower's left armpit and cups their hand around the follower's shoulder blade.”

He understood my instructions, and in the most awkward manner possible, he fumbled his way into the right position, albeit, not perfect.

“Now, hold my right hand as high as my eye level without raising my shoulder.”

Spencer was glaringly anxious, so I gave him a word of encouragement. “Hey, don’t be nervous. It’s just me, okay? And you’re doing great.”

I could see the nerves beginning to settle, translating into the conviction with which he took my hand, raising it at the perfect height.

“Great. Just like that.”

My praise brought out that smile in him that only ever came out on rare occasions. The kind where it’s brief, his teeth showing, a light chuckle escapes him, and he’s looking down as if he’s too shy to look at me.

“Okay, step two is basic footwork. Leader starts with their left foot and takes a step to the left. And then your right foot is going to meet your left foot and tap. The count is one-two.”

I watched as Spencer tried to process what I was saying.

“Do you want me to demonstrate first? And then you follow?”

He nodded rapidly as if saying yes wouldn’t be enough to communicate how much he needed me to lead. We broke apart so that I could turn my back towards him. I felt a cold draft blow under my dress as I spun on the ball of my feet, making my skirt flutter upwards majestically.

I felt him watching.

“Alright, so I’ll start and then you can catch on. It goes one-two.”

Left foot step. Right foot tap.

“Then three-four.”

Left foot step. Right foot tap.

“Then to the right this time. Five-six.”

Right foot step. Left foot tap.

“Seven-eight.”

Right foot step. Left foot tap.

“And back again. One-two. Three-four. Five-six. Seven-eight.”

My eight count continued until the click of my heels on the patio was joining by the sound of Spencer’s feet shuffling behind me. I knew if I turned around to check on him, it would only psych him out and make him more nervous, so I stayed facing forward so he wouldn’t feel that I was scrutinizing his technique.

After a minute or so of following me, I spun back around, catching his lingering stare in the region of my hips. He tried to play it off and pretend he wasn’t, but I felt it.

“You did really well tonight. I’m proud of you. I think that’s a good place to stop for today.”

He thanked me with another hug, the kind where we nuzzled his face in the crook of my neck.

God, I could feel him breathing on my shoulder.

I tried not to not to let myself indulge in it, reasoning that this was just a way for one friend to thank another, but I couldn’t help myself when the hug lasted longer than it should’ve. I tightened my embrace around him, drawing him in closer, and shutting my eyes as if taking my sense of sight away would heighten my sense of touch and magnify this feeling I never wanted to end.

“You take care, okay?” I said, rubbing my hand up and down his back to signal we should pull away, a signal he understood.

I was the first to walk away, merely because of the worry that I might sooner cry if I had to stay under these lights with him a moment longer.

I wasn’t sure I could do this again unless he was mine. Otherwise, I’d just be under the stars, dancing with the love of my life that I couldn’t have - feeling that feeling again, and not being able to act on it.

Is this what happens when your person loves somebody else?

∙•○⦾☉☼☉⦾○•∙

I know I said I couldn’t do it, but I did it anyway.

I guess that’s what love is. Doing things you don’t want to do because your care for the other person surpasses the discomfort. True love makes you do things like that, even if they aren’t in your best interest.

When he came over the next night, we danced again. Undoubtedly, he stumbled - even came close to falling - and yet, I fell in love all over again. After that, it got harder to separate dancing from my feelings.

The next day, we had a case. He came to my hotel room and we danced in the dim golden light of the hotel room’s chandelier. God, it was so ambient and romantic, I think I fell even harder for him - if that was even possible.

From then on, every time we were in the same place, he leapt at the opportunity to dance with me.

“Guys, look what I learned last night! Come, Y/N! Come on, come on.”

He waved me over eagerly with his hand, even helping me out of my seat in the round table just to speed up the process. All too excitedly, he assumed the leader’s position, and he danced me around the entire conference room in front of our coworkers. He spun me around the table, he dipped me in the doorway, he held me in his arms by the glass board.

Can you really blame me for falling in love?

“Wow, Y/N! I’m impressed. You really whipped him into shape.” JJ remarked with a clap.

I hid behind a faux smile, but Spencer was too elated to recognize the deceit. He was like that now. Maybe love made him more of a fool, more naive and blissfully unaware, whereas love made me more devoted and cognizant.

It went on like that for weeks. Practicing whenever and wherever we could.

He’d pull me into the hotel lobby at midnight to dance - not even batting an eye at the looming presence of the receptionist.

He’d ask me to come to his apartment and we’d dance in his living room or in the narrow hallway, just for fun.

When we were at Rossi’s, he’d drag me to the kitchen, with Rossi’s gentle music playing in the background, and we’d sway by the fireplace sometimes.

We danced once in the elevator when it got stuck. I never thought he’d be so fearless to do that, but he looked like he was genuinely enjoying himself, almost like he didn’t even notice we were stuck in an elevator.

While we waited for the jet, we’d danced on the tarmac, looking like a moving bundle of clothes, our movements stifled by our thick peacoats, layers of clothes, and scarfs.

After a dinner during cases, when we’d split a cab back to the hotel, he’d get me to dance on the sidewalk, even convincing me not to pay attention to the onlookers on the street, the honking cars, or the confused pedestrians. I was always embarrassed to be in the spotlight, but somehow with him, it was easy. It felt like it was just the two of us, dancing under that streetlight.

I never understood why people wanted to live in a moment forever, but for the first time that night, I did. That was a moment I wanted to freeze in time. I wish I could’ve stayed there forever. There in that moment, it really felt like it was our own little world. It was easy to believe we’d end up together, and we were the ones getting married, and we were in love.

But again, that was in that moment. In that singular, fleeting moment. And then life moved on, whether or not I was ready for it to.

The day of rehearsals inevitably came, and I wasn’t originally supposed to be at the wedding rehearsal since I wasn’t part of the ceremony, but Spencer asked me to be there, deliberately neglecting to tell me that the reason he wanted me to come was so that I could fill in for Kayla, which had I known that, I would’ve certainly declined.

When I walked in, the team was all there, sitting in the pews, with their heads turning to me where I was standing at the entrance of the church. It felt like an eerie nightmare that I was living out where I was Spencer’s bride walking down the aisle, and this was our wedding. I couldn’t tell you what was so nightmarish about it - probably because none of it felt right - but I was sick to my stomach when Spencer gestured for me to meet him at the altar.

“What’s going on?”

“Kayla had a last minute dress alteration in Norfolk and got stuck in traffic. She won’t make it for this rehearsal, but she’ll be there in time for the dinner rehearsal.”

“So why am I here?”

“I wanted to practice my vows on you, if that’s okay.”

I gulped hard, trying to swallow the lump in my throat to open up my suddenly-closing airway.

“Um, I don’t really know if -”

“Please, Y/N. I’m just nervous that I might mess up-”

How could I say no? True love makes you do crazy things, even if they aren’t in your best interest, right?

I reluctantly agreed.

Spencer’s hands were trembling and I could see it by the way his notecards were shaking, even from the fact that he brought notecards alone, and that he didn’t already memorize his vows. I wanted to put my hands around his and hold them to settle his unsteadiness, but I knew that wasn’t my place. I figured my words would do a better job at not crossing a boundary that was already crossed.

“Hey,” I comfortingly whispered. “It’s just me, okay?” Calling back those words from the first time we danced months ago. “You don’t need those notecards. Just speak from the heart.”

And sure enough, his heart spoke.

“When people used to tell me stories about what love felt like and what is what, they always said they fell in love with that person. Like it was sudden and all at once, but with you - I walked into love with you. With my eyes wide open, choosing to take each and every step along the way. I never believed in fate or destiny, but after I met you, I finally believed. I believed that we are only fated to do the things that we’d choose anyway. And I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality. I’d find you and I’d choose you.”

My breath hitched as I got lost in his eyes and how they were looking right at me, completely unmindful of the way everyone around us saw how he spoke to me.

I think he even got lost too, because what he said next, didn’t even seem to register in his mind before it came out of his mouth.

“I love you . . . Y/N.”

Gasps rang through the church, ricocheting off the high ceiling, and in that moment I knew, I knew he was going to kiss me.

He lunged forward in the heat of the moment. Clearly not thinking straight, he held my face in his hands, and I swear to God, I could’ve kissed him back.

I would’ve.

“Spencer?”

Every single head in the church turned toward the small voice, too distinct to misplace.

“Kayla, wait!’

And there I stood, alone at the front of the altar, watching him run after her.

∙•○⦾☉☼☉⦾○•∙

I sat by my phone the entire afternoon, waiting for someone - anyone - to update me. No one ever ended up texting or calling, so I figured the dinner rehearsal wasn’t cancelled. At least, in that case, my dress didn’t go to waste.

After spending an ungodly amount of time curling my hair and putting on my makeup, even achieving a smoky eye look, I finally slipped on my navy-blue, satin, floor length dress, donning nude heels and a dainty gold necklace with a single diamond pendant that laid right on my sternum.

It was a shame that this was a moment where I should’ve felt at my prettiest, and yet, I’d never felt so ugly.

I was riddled with the guilt of knowing I would’ve kissed Spencer if Kayla hadn’t walked in. I felt even worse that I was so consumed by his speech that I didn’t even hear her come in.

How long had she been standing there? Long enough to watch what I knew everyone else saw? These questions never left me. Not even when I pulled into the site of the dinner rehearsal.

Clutching the front of my dress to walk without resistance, I came to the entrance, and opened the door to reveal . . . nothing.

Staff was removing chairs and tables.

Waiters were collecting plates and utensils.

And Spencer was standing in the very middle of the empty room, watching it all happen silently, like he was just the shell of a man.

“Spencer!” I called out from the entrance, in no hurry to meet him at the middle of the room. He turned on his heels, with his hands sheepishly shoved into his pockets.

“Gosh, I’m sorry, Y/N. I should’ve called to let you know it got cancelled, but um, Kayla broke my phone.”

“Well, it’s time you got a new phone anyway.” I chuckled, which thankfully earned a chuckle from him, too.

“What happened, Spencer?” My voice was quiet, as if it was any decibel higher it would sound more like a scold than genuine concern.

“She, um, she told me she needed some time to think. And I, I told her to come to the rehearsal dinner if she still wanted to get married and,” He mirthlessly chuckled. “Well, you already know.” His words were chosen carefully to deliberately avoid what he hadn’t yet come to terms with.

She didn’t come.

I wasn’t yet sure whether or not to console him or to berate him for what he almost did, but I chose the former.

“I’m so sorry, Spence.”

He looked up from the ground, still managing to avoid my gaze, by looking up at the ceiling, and pretty much everywhere my face wasn’t.

“I understand if you want to leave right now. I just need to pay the owner and I’ll be out of here.”

I shook my head instantly. “No, I’ll be right here. If you want me to be.”

He bit his lip to stop a sob from escaping. “Yeah,” He nodded, cowering his head. “I’d like that a lot.”

As soon as I saw his cheeks get red, I took it as a cue to approach him and hug him. He was grateful for my compassionate touch, immediately opening up his arms to hug me back. His embrace around me was needy and desperate, and it felt like he was clawing at my dress, acting out of anger that the fabric was stopping us from being that much closer.

With his shoulder digging into the spot right underneath my chin, it was hard to utter the words, “You look really handsome, by the way.” I said, finally acknowledging his light beige suit and white button up shirt.

“Thanks.” I heard him mumble into my shoulder.

“Kayla doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

To my surprise, he didn’t recoil, flinch, or so much as react to her name. Instead, he simply pulled away, wiping the moisture under his nose, and straightening out his suit.

“We should . . . we should probably talk about what happened earlier, right?”

I sighed and shook my head. “Not if you don’t want to. We can save that conversation for another day.”

He looked appreciative of my avoidance, but I knew he wanted to talk about it.

“Hey, excuse me,” He stopped a staff member by clutching their arm gently. “Do you mind, actually? Leaving two seats behind.”

The staff member complied, doing as he said, and leaving two chairs behind, setting one right across from the other. I took my seat, and Spencer took his.

“I probably shouldn’t have spoken from the heart, huh?” He joked, finally seeing the humor in his situation.

“No, it was good that you did.”

“You think so?”

“Definitely. I think Kayla would’ve appreciated it.” All too quickly he responded with, “I wasn’t talking about Kayla.”

I was talking about you, his somber eyes said.

I looked away from his gaze immediately, trying to find a reprieve from the conversation that I was doing my best to avoid.

“It was a really good speech. It sounded so natural. Like something you knew by heart.”

“Something I knew by heart?” He didn’t seem to understand what I meant.

“Yeah, some things we just know by heart. Like the lyrics to our favorite song, or a recipe, how to dance,” We both chuckled at the reference. “Or . . . how to love.”

“Do you think we know who to love by heart or do you think we make that choice ourselves?”

“I think it’s both. I think we can’t control the person we’re meant to love. That, by some miracle, we’re handed this person that complements us better than anyone else. But I also think it’s our choice on whether or not we pick them. Maybe we aren’t willing to stand the test of time and wait for our person, so we don’t pick them and settle for someone else. Or maybe we do pick them and we live out the rest of our lives together. I think that’s what makes love so special. It’s a person choosing you over and over again.”

Isn’t that what we all want? To feel chosen?

“And what if we make the wrong decision? What if we’ve met who we’re supposed to love, but we chose to love another?” His eyes were searching within mine for the words that I wasn’t saying out loud. Out of fear that my eyes might expose me to Spencer, I looked away.

“I think -”

Spencer cut me off. “Look at me.”

My head didn’t move, but I shifted my gaze just as he wanted.

“When two people are meant to be, nothing and no one can end them. They may get lost a time or two on their journey, but true, real love will always conquer. Nothing can compete with them. Others can only attempt to fill a void. And eventually, the two will be reunited. That’s the beauty of true love; you always end up with the right person, at the right time, regardless of any other factor.”

Quiet fell upon us two after I said my piece. My breathing slowed down and the knot in my stomach came undone. The lump in my throat disappeared.

All my bodily barriers broke down. There were no more emotional walls up between the two of us anymore. I was completely vulnerable - nothing to hide me. Not even my eyelids could hide the windows of my soul. Spencer had already seen into them.

He saw my soul, my secrets.

“Dance with me.” He extended his hand in the air between us two. With no hesitation, I accepted his offer and followed his lead. He’d never danced so naturally before. Somehow, his stiffness had withered away. The thick tension that used to loom in the air above us two dissipated. Something new replaced the contents of the atmosphere.

Love.

Unbounded.

Unrestrained.

Unbridled.

Limitless love.

Spencer drew me in closer so my head could lay on his chest. Previously, I was looking at his face, but now the view was of our connected hands. My fingers were intertwined with his, and I didn’t even notice how his thumb was rubbing small circles on the back of my hand until I saw it with my own eyes.

Had he always done that, but I couldn’t feel it until I saw it for myself? If so, what else had he been doing that I couldn’t feel?

“Loving you.”

I removed my head from his shoulder after hearing him answer the question that I pondered silently, wondering if suddenly just acquired the superpower of telepathy.

“What?”

“Loving you. That’s all I know how to do by heart.”

A wave of relief came over me when I realized he hadn’t read my mind, he was just simply adding to our conversation from before.

“That’s not true,” I mirthlessly chuckled. “There’s lots you know how to do. You know thousands of chess permutations, you know how to geographically profile - you know how to dance now.” I countered playfully.

He shook his head. “I know how to do those things, but sometimes, none of it makes sense. I used to lose matches against Gideon, sometimes the comfort zone is inaccurate, and until today, I couldn’t dance very well,” He chortled. “But loving you. That always made sense. It never failed me or disappointed me and it’s so all-consuming that if I try to love anyone else - it just doesn’t make sense.”

Of all the words in my vocabulary, each of them were failing me. I was rendered speechless. Spencer cleared his throat and looked away for a moment, before finding the nerve to say it.

“I choose you.” He proclaimed.

So, I was right.

There are some things we know by heart.

Lyrics to our favorite song.

A recipe.

How to dance . . . how to love.

And who to choose.

“I choose you, too, Spencer.”

. . . So to answer my question from before, is life really that magical? . . .

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

1K notes · View notes

flightlessangelwings · 4 years

Text

Work of Art ~ Chapter 1/2

Marcus Pike x tattooed!fem!reader

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: fluff, pining, an asshole boss, Marcus being the bestest, reader dealing with misogynistic comments, kissing, insinuated spicy times

Notes: This idea was brought to me by @the-purity-pen and I got so carried away that I broke it into 2 parts lol. Thanks so much Leeann! And thank you to @we-can-be-himbos for beta reading! I loved writing this so much and I’m so excited to share this with y’all so I hope you like it! Moodboard made by me

This was not the ideal situation to walk into when you came in for work this morning. Your job as a receptionist and concierge at The Lustrio, an upscale and expensive hotel, had been fairly tame and quiet for the past five years you had been there. This was the first time there was an incident, and of course you were the one to run headfirst into it.

The Lustrio was very fancy with a rich, high-class clientele. The rooms were lavish and went for hundreds of dollars a night. Even the lobby was a sight in itself, and sometimes people walked through just to look at the exquisite art and ceramics on display. The architecture and design of the space was a work of art in and of itself. You and your coworkers were used to the usual flow of traffic throughout the day paired with people checking in and out.

While walking in to start your shift, you noticed broken glass everywhere, a priceless piece of art was gone, and the overnight security guard was unconscious on the floor. The sun hadn’t even risen yet and you immediately rushed to the bodyguard’s side as you dialed the emergency line. In no time, the lobby was filled with police, paramedics, and FBI agents. You felt like your world was turned upside down, even if it wasn’t your personal property that was stolen.

Luckily, the security guard was just knocked out, and you had gotten there just in time for him to be alright. As you watched them wheel him away, your boss, Rodderick White, approached you with his usual scowl on his face.

“Well this is just fantastic,” was the first thing he said to you during this whole debacle, “Fix your jacket too, you look disheveled.” You didn’t expect him to ask if you were alright or anything; he seemed to have a grudge against you for some time and you were used to his comments. If you weren’t so overwhelmed, you would have commented on the fact that he didn’t even seem bothered by the theft in the first place but you were too flustered to fully notice.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking Rod,” you snipped back. But you decided not to push your luck with him today and adjusted the collar of your shirt and lined your jacket to look more presentable. The uniform wasn’t horrible: a black blazer over a white button down shirt and black vest with your choice of black dress pants or skirt with black stockings. It just got warm at times with being covered up completely, and the tightness of the shirt collar sometimes felt suffocating.

“Rodderick,” he grumbled back before he cleared his throat and put his mask of friendliness on, “The FBI wants to talk to you.”

You sighed. You knew they would want to interview you since you were the first in that morning, but you weren't looking forward to it. “Yes sir, Mr. White,” you used your fake customer service voice as you followed where the various agents gestured for you to go.

The FBI unit had set themselves up in both the larger and smaller conference rooms that were just a short walk down the hallway from the lobby. In the large one, they had laptops and equipment set up. You noticed several agents were already busy trying to get a lead on the case. The smaller room that you were led in to was set up for interviews. Once you reached the doorway, you were met with a single agent who you assumed would conduct your interview.

“Nice to meet you,” he greeted you with a warm smile and an extended hand, “I’m Marcus Pike, the agent in charge here,” you took his hand and gave him your name, “I”m sorry this happened here. I hope you’re alright. Can I get you some water or anything?”

It was nice to know that a complete stranger showed you more kindness and concern than your boss who you had known for years. You brushed off the frustration you had with your boss, along with the lingering feeling of the warmth from the agent’s soft hand in yours. He was handsome for sure, and had big soft brown eyes and a smile that lit up the room. A sprinkle of scruff lined his jaw and framed his face perfectly.

“I’m fine, thank you,” your voice was genuine when you spoke to the agent and you followed him into the room where you sat down at the conference table.

Agent Pike closed the door behind him and the two of you were alone in the room.

Suddenly, you felt nervous, even though you hadn’t done anything wrong. He must have noticed the nerves on your face right away before he gave you another sweet smile and said your name in a calm voice, “You’re not in trouble or anything. We just need your account of what you saw.”

Just those few words from him instantly made you feel better. Normally, you wouldn’t fall for someone’s charm like this, but something about this agent just seemed so genuine. Genuine and kind were two qualities that were hard to find in a person.

You felt yourself heat up as you gave him a nervous chuckle, “Since it’s just us in here, would you mind if I took my jacket off? I’m a little warm,” you tried to play off your jitters. When he nodded you added, “Just don’t tell my boss. We’re not supposed to be out of uniform at all when we’re here.”

Marcus laughed and looked down at the table, “Your secret is safe with me.” He looked back up when he heard your laughter, and this time it was his turn to be nervous.

With your jacket off, you were left in your short sleeve white button down shirt and vest, and you undid the top couple buttons to give yourself more room to breathe. But it wasn’t just the exposed skin that caught Marcus’ attention. He saw for the first time that you were almost completely covered in tattoos, and he couldn’t help but stare.

Marcus was absolutely a fan of art; it was what drew him to work for the art theft department in the first place. He also liked to dabble in art himself in his free time. To see how much artwork you had on your body made him stare at you in admiration. Marcus had thought that the lobby was nice to look at, but you were a work of art on a whole other level.

“Sorry,” he focused his attention to the papers in front of him to tear his gaze away, “I like your tattoos,” he added in a softer tone.

You smiled at him and Marcus thought his heart would break out of his chest. “Thank you, Agent Pike,” again, your voice was genuine. Truthfully, you thought his reaction was cute. You were used to worse anyway, and you could always tell when people stared out of interest or admiration versus disgust. Agent Pike definitely liked what he saw; you could tell already that he was not a subtle man at all.

“Marcus, please,” he met your eyes again and you both shared a moment where time seemed to stop for both of you.

“Marcus,” you repeated in a whisper and he echoed with your name.

Marcus had to bring himself back to the task at hand. He redirected the situation back to what he originally was supposed to be talking to you about. He asked you a series of questions about your morning, what you saw, the time you arrived, if you noticed anything in the past few days, etc. You answered all of his questions honestly, and your story lined up with events perfectly. Not that Marcus was concerned it wouldn’t.

“We have an idea of who it might be,” Marcus told you as he slid you a sheet of paper with the suspect’s photo on it, “Does he look familiar?”

You took the photo and furrowed your brows as you studied it, “Yeah,” your voice dropped, “He checked in a couple days ago. I remember I was the one who checked him in. He had a weird energy about him that gave me the creeps, but he didn’t try anything. Haven’t seen him since.”

Marcus clenched his fists involuntarily and suddenly felt the need to protect you. He wasn’t sure why; the two of you were practically strangers. Yet, even in your first meeting, he felt like there was something there. Even with his past history of failed relationships, there was something about you that just called to Marcus. Something about you told him that you were worth taking a chance on.

“Well we’re following up on him. My team is the best so we should have him soon,” Marcus turned serious as he fixed his gaze on you again. He waited for your eyes to meet his before he added in a more concerned tone, “Just stay safe until then.”

Something about his tone made your heart skip a beat and you felt your chest tighten. You could tell from the look on his face that he meant it, and his worry for you was genuine. Normally, you wouldn’t be flirtatious with a stranger, let alone an FBI agent, but you responded in a sultry tone, “I’ll be safer when you catch the guy.”

Marcus’ breath caught in his throat as he clenched his fists again; he definitely did not expect that tone from you. All he did was nod as he composed himself and slid his card across the table, “My number is on the back. If you think of anything else or need anything,” he paused as the tension in the room suddenly felt thick, “Call me.”

It took Marcus Pike and his team less than a week to catch the art thief, and when they did, his first thought was of you. He was pleasantly surprised that you had actually texted him the day after he interviewed you and he used the opportunity to make sure again that you were ok. He wanted to ask about your boss too, since he saw the older man berate you for seemingly nothing before Marcus and his team left. But, he decided not to push that envelope yet.

“Welcome back, Agent Pike,” your voice greeted him when he walked into the lobby.

Marcus was thankful you were at work when he came by and he greeted you with a smile and your name, “Nice to see you again,” he looked around, “Looks like you all got everything cleaned up well.” A look around told him that Rodderick was either busy in his office or off for the day, and for that Marcus was grateful. He wanted to talk to you anyway.

You whispered something to your coworker beside you and stepped around the desk to be closer to Marcus, “Like nothing ever happened,” you tried to make a joke but your eyes told a different story.

He read the question in your eyes clearly and it gave him the biggest pleasure to tell you, “We got him.”

Your face lit up and the relief on your face was clear, “I’m glad to hear it,” you let out a heavy breath, “I can’t offer you a free night or anything… At least not without Rodderick’s approval,” you said your boss’s name with snark and disdain and Marcus couldn’t help but let out a short laugh.

“I’m ok,” he replied lightheartedly before he paused and stared at you for a moment, “Can I ask you out to dinner instead?”

For a moment, you thought you had passed out. He couldn’t have actually asked you out, could he? But when you finally caught up to yourself, you responded with a soft but enthusiastic, “Yes.”

You took a deep breath as you stepped out of your Uber in front of the restaurant. It was a nicer place than you usually went to, but Marcus picked the place and insisted on treating you. You picked out a nice outfit for the occasion, and made sure that it was sleeveless to show you tattoos since you remembered that he really liked them. A smile lit up your face as you thought about the look on his face when you shed your jacket the day you two met.

But Marcus’ voice shook you from your throughs, and you looked up to see him dressed nicely in front of you. In his hand, he had a single flower for you, and you wanted to tear up at the gesture. It was something small, but you could tell how meaningful it was. With a thanks, you took the flower and hooked your arm around his as he led you inside.

At dinner, conversation flowed so easily. Marcus told you all about his career and his interests, and you did the same. You even made the joke that this was much better than an interrogation, which made him laugh. Everything seemed perfect, and both you and Marcus felt happy and comfortable with each other.

“So I have to ask,” Marcus started, “Are there any stories about your tattoos?” when your face flashed a look of apprehension, he clarified, “I’m not criticizing at all. Actually, I think they’re exquisite. Really a work of art.”

You bit your lip as you grinned. No one had ever complimented your tattoos quite like that before, so you indulged his question. You told the story behind some of them, and picked out your personal favorites, “I wanted to be a tattoo artist at one point, but it just wasn’t in the cards for me,” you sighed, “Maybe in another life.”

“Maybe in that life I’ll run the flower shop across the street and admire you from there,” he quipped back and you couldn’t help but chuckle at the idea.

But, stares from a man at another table caught Marcus’ attention. Your back was to him, so you couldn’t see, but Marcus did not like the way the man eyed you. A soft frown came across his face as he met the man’s gaze before he turned away. Marcus couldn’t help but think how rude it was for the man to blatantly check you out while you were obviously on a date with him. Of course, he knew you were beautiful and attractive, but he didn’t like the way the man stared at you.

“Marcus?” you asked when you noticed his expression dropped, “You ok?”

Your voice brought his attention back to you, “Yeah,” he answered with a half smile, “Fine.”

Just as you were about to open your mouth again, a voice interrupted, “Hey,” a deep rumble called your attention and it was the man who stared at you. He hovered close to you as he stared disapprovingly, “Don’t you have enough tattoos for a woman? Disgusting.”

Before you could even react, Marcus jumped to his feet to face him head on, “Don’t you have anything better to do? What she does with her own body is none of your business,” the anger in his voice caught you off guard, “And she is beautiful the way she is,” he added in a lower voice as he grabbed onto the man’s collar, “She’s a damn work of art.”

It was the last thing you expected, but you appreciated how fast Marcus was to defend you. But, you noticed the man’s anger also flared so you got to your feet too, “Hey, Marcus it’s ok,” you put your arms out between the two men to try to break them up.

Marcus glanced over at you for a moment before he decided to let the man go. He knew from the look on your face that you didn’t want to cause a scene. Asmuch as he wanted to just punch the guy, he decided to let it go. The man scrambled away the second he could, and Marcus let out a heavy exhale to calm himself down as you looked at him with wide, pleading eyes.

The way he immediately defended you lit something up inside you, and you wanted to cry from the rush of emotions. If you weren’t in such a nice restaurant, you would have tackled him in the biggest hug, but you kept your cool for now, “Thank you, Marcus,” you spoke in a hushed tone. Your hand dropped down to take his and you gave him a tight squeeze. You hoped your emotions came through in your grip.

And the way he smiled at you made your heart stop for a moment. Instead of sitting back down, Marcus squeezed your hand back, “How about we get out of here?”

You nodded as he left enough money to cover your bill and tip on the table and led you outside. As much as Marcus wanted to pull out all the romantic stops for you, he decided to change his plan for the evening and led you down the street to a diner, “How about pancakes a la mode for dessert?”

“I’m good with anywhere, Marcus,” you replied with a smile, “As long as it’s with you.”

In no time, you were seated in a booth for part two of your date. Honestly, you felt much more comfortable in a more casual place, but you meant what you said: you were happy anywhere as long as you were with Marcus Pike. Conversation picked up right where you left off and things just felt so natural with him.

“Hey,” Marcus suddenly turned the conversation in a more serious direction, “I’m sorry about that guy at the restaurant. He shouldn’t have said that to you.”

A flutter in your chest rendered you speechless for a moment before you swallowed hard, “It’s alright, Marcus,” you shrugged it off, “I’ve gotten worse.” You were bothered by the guy’s insult, but over the years you’ve learned to shrug those people off. But the look of concern on Marcus’ face made your heart flip in your chest, “Thank you for what you did though,” you added with a soft smile of your own.

Marcus seemed satisfied with that and his face relaxed, “What kind of date would I be if I didn’t defend the most beautiful woman in there?” he chipped back with a wink.

When you stuttered in an attempt to find the right words, Marcus laughed at you. Clearly, it had been some time since someone treated you the way he thought you should be treated. But, Marcus was determined to never let you feel unwanted or alienated again. He took pity on you and steered the conversation back to something light and the two of you talked over a pot of coffee for hours until you both decided you should leave.

Marcus put his arm around you as he guided you outside again and you fiddled with your phone in your hand as the two of you stood on the curb, “I guess I should call an Uber,” you mumbled as you made no attempt to do so.

He just watched you in silence as he thought about how nice it felt to hold you close. And Marcus couldn’t help how badly he wanted to kiss you, but he didn’t want to cross a line so he held himself back.

However, your voice interrupted his thoughts as you turned to face him with a determined look on your face, “Listen Marcus, I don’t normally do this on a first date but,” you reached out to cup his face in your hands and slowly pulled him in close to you. You paused for a moment to give him a chance to pull away, and when he didn’t you pressed your lips together in a short, soft kiss. When you pulled back and caught his eye for a moment, you saw the fire in his eyes and you crashed your lips together again. This time, the kiss was more desperate and heated.

Marcus tightened his grip on you and held you as close as he possibly could as he deepened the kiss. The two of you let the rest of the world fall away as you got completely lost in each other. The kiss was sweet, yet fiery, and you both could feel the unspoken words in each other’s lips.

When he finally broke away, Marcus whispered breathlessly, “I don’t normally do this on a first date, but would you wanna come over to my place?”

With your forehead pressed against his, your voice was just as hushed, “Yes.”

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike #marcus pike imagine #marcus pike x you #Marcus pike fic #marcus pike x y/n #the mentalist fic #pedro pascal character fanfiction

179 notes · View notes

harrysweasleys · 4 years

Text

christmas lovin’ // d.m

Summary: Oh hi!! Idk if your requests are still open but if you could, could you write a hufflepuff reader x draco post war?? In which they think that the other one doesn’t love them (THE PINING! THE LONGING) and they bake, and read together? With feelings being confessed? If you can’t it’s totally okay!! love your fics btw!

Warnings: none. so soft.

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: sorry to those still waiting for their request to get written. my inbox is crazy and my request list is hella long so i’m trying my best. hope you enjoy this soft fic!! xoxo

————————————

“Oh, come in, it’s freezing outside!” you grasped Draco’s shivering figure lightly by the shoulder and ushered him into your apartment, dusting the snow off of his hair and his shoulders as he placed his hands over his nose to warm it up, “Sorry I made you wait so long in the cold, I couldn’t hear you knocking in the kitchen.”

“No worries,” he shrugged off his coat and hung it by the door as you locked it shut, “I’m indoors now and that’s what matters.”

He smiled at you, the fluttering in your heart already beginning at the gesture. He removed his gloves and placed them in his coat pockets, proceeding to remove his shoes, kicking the snow off of them and nearly placing them by the doorway, a proper habit of his. He never left anything scattered anywhere.

“Something smells good,” he stepped off the carpet with his emerald green wool socks and closer to the fireplace in the living room, placing his hands in front of it and warming them up, “What’re you making?”

You flushed, pointing to the kitchen counter, “Christmas cookies. They’re my mum’s recipe. It’s a family tradition. I kind of need that, especially this time of year.”

Draco senses the sadness in your tone, stepping away from the fireplace and pulling you into a hug, “I know. I’m sorry. I’m here for you, though.” You could feel the warmth on him from having stood by the fireplace seconds before, but it was comforting. Despite having the fire going, you were still cold.

In the aftermath of the Second Wizarding War, you felt like you had lost everything. You had spent all of your years in Hogwarts learning how to be the best possible witch you could be, but when faced with the actual dangers that lurk in the magical world, you struggled coming to terms with what happened.

You felt like you owed your life to Draco, in a way. Neither of you were overly close in school, but he had saved you from a curse when you found yourself otherwise distracted. After that, you couldn’t let him leave your life. After all; how are you supposed to forget someone who saved you?

His company was comforting, safe, and a reminder of how precious and important every moment in life was. He brought you happiness and you did the same for him — there was no doubt about that. Every time he was over, you would forget about the outside world and solely focus on him in that moment. Whether you were watching a film, making dinner, cleaning, it didn’t matter. When he was in your presence, he was all you could focus on.

He would stop by your place nearly five times a week. You both dealt with so many mental and emotional traumas post-war, and your found comfort in each other. To the point that you’d find yourself missing him mere seconds after he left. He’d leave in the evening after spending the day with you and you’d find yourself going to bed wishing he was closer to you.

Safe to say, you’re in love with him.

You pulled away from the hug and nudged your head in the direction of the kitchen, “Do you wanna make them with me?”

He tilted his head to the side, furrowing his eyebrows, “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose on a family tradition.”

“You’re not! I’m all alone, come with me,” you linked your hand in his and led him into the kitchen, where the dough was complete and the cookie cutters were messily thrown around the counter, “Put on an apron.”

He chuckled and looked over to where you kept the aprons hung, “Hm, I’ve got an option to wear one with little blue flowers, or one with yellow butterflies. Well, I think the blue flowers bring out my eyes.” He joked, pulling the one with the flowers off the hook and putting it on, twirling as if to model it. Somehow, even in a silly apron, he was the most breathtaking person you had ever seen.

“You look quite dashing,” you grinned, looking him up and down. He always had looked really good. Even when you were a young Hufflepuff, Draco’s natural charm and suave attitude had caught your attention.

“So do you,” he pointed to your apron, the giant red letters saying ‘kiss the chef’ written across it, “Very fashionable.”

The heat rose to your cheeks at his teasing smirk — you had forgotten about the childish words written on apron you were wearing. In hindsight, considering your feelings for Draco, this might not have been the best apron to wear.

“Just come help me bake,” you shook your head to sway from the playful conversation, moving over to give him some counter space next to you, “You do know how to bake the muggle way, right?”

He gazed off at the wall as if trying to remember before he nodded slowly, “Actually, yes, believe it or not. Made some with mum many years ago.” You noticed the sad smile he gave you, your beard aching for him. He had a falling out with his parents after the War and he hated talking about them. It was your ultimate goal to avoid mentioning them, so you took control of the conversation once more.

“Here,” you handed him a Christmas tree cookie cutter to bring him back to reality, “Make some trees.”

He chuckled, taking out a bit of the dough and rolling it in his hands, laying it out in the floury mess that was taking over the counter, “What shape do you have?”

You did the same, rolling a ball of dough and laying it out flat on the countertop, “Reindeer. Oh — and I have the best icing colours.”

“Well guess I’ll have to stuck around and you’ll have to show me these icing colours to prove your point,” he smirked, slowly beginning to produce some Christmas tree shaped cookies, placing them gently on the cooking tray you had placed in front of the both of you.

You flushed again, focusing your energy on cutting the cookies perfectly in attempts to not become too overwhelmed by the way he seemed to effortlessly flirt. Was he just always a natural flirt? You kind of hope he meant it, but you wouldn’t admit that out loud. Somehow, baking was becoming more of an intimate moment shared between you two and you never wanted it to end.

After filing up the tray, you placed it in the pre-heated oven and closed the door, marking the timer and grabbing another empty tray, “What shape do you want now? I’ve got snowmen, snowflakes, Santa hats... anything you can think of.”

You placed the tray down on the counter and pushed the box of cookie cutters in his direction, giggling slightly at the way his eyes widened.

“How many cookie cutters do you have? Bloody hell,” he chuckled, taking some of them out and analyzing them with a hint of amusement in his eyes, “Oh, wait. I like this one.”

“The cat shaped one? It’s not even Christmassy!” you laughed, rummaging through them as well and pulling out the Santa hat shaped one for yourself.

“I can make it Christmassy with your ever-so-colourful icing,” he winked at you, sending your heart into a frenzy. You momentarily forgot how to breathe.

He retuned to rolling the dough as of unaware of his affect on you. His usually tidy platinum hair was hanging in his forehead, lose stands dangling as he continued to cut the cat-shaped cookies, eyebrows furrowed in concentration in attempts not to mess up the shapes. You were worried he wasn’t enjoying himself, but every time he placed a new cat-shaped cookie on the tray, he’s grin proudly, telling you that he was in fact having a good time.

You were so distracted by his good looks that you almost forgot you were making cookies as well.

“Alright, done!” he clapped his hands, flour clouding off of them and into his hair and face. You stopped your cutting, clutching your stomach in laughter as he tried to wipe the flour off of him, coughing as it went up his nose, but making it way worse. Smears of white flour were now in his hair, cheeks, and nose.

“Priceless,” you struggled to catch your breath while laughing, lifting your hand to wipe even more flour across his nose, laughter not dying down when he turned to glared at you.

“How dare you,” he scowled, struggling to hide his own laughter, “That’s not fair. I have to retaliate.”

You stopped laughing, trying your best to give him a stern look, “How? I already did all the messy work. Can’t catch me off guard.” Placing your hands on your hips to emphasize your point, his eyes darted around your kitchen in search of something to do. You had thankfully put away the eggs and milk and other ingredients, so unless he went searching through your fridge and pantry, he wouldn’t find anything else to douse you with.

“Can’t catch you off guard?” he scoffed, stepping closer to you, “I beg to differ.”

You nearly choked on your breath from the immediate closeness, his body heat enveloping you to the point where you weren’t sure if you were warm because of him or because your nervous heart was thundering away.

You could smell him — the mixture of mint and cookie dough was intoxicating. He had always smelled good, but it took your breath away every time.

“How so?” your voice was soft, luckily covering the nervous tone. You wanted him to kiss you, to pull you close to his body and hold you forever. His hugs had always been unmatched, you could only imagine how good his kisses were.

Fortunately, your thoughts were confirmed as he leaned down and whispered, “Like this.”

His eyes fluttered shut and he placed his lips against yours, kissing you as if he had been waiting to do so for years. As if you were everything he ever needed. You kissed back immediately, melting into his touch and becoming weak in the knees. You felt like you were floating; the feeling of his lips against yours was unreal. He was loving, gentle, everything you thought he’d be.

You couldn’t help but feel as if everything you had been waiting for had come into play. You pined for him, longed for him, and you finally got to have the connection you had been waiting for. You’d never admit to him, but you had imagined what it would be like to kiss him. You’ve imagined the feeling of his lips moving in sync with yours, passion overcoming the two of you like a tidal wave. It was safe to say it was way better than you’d imagined.

His hands gripped your waist lightly as he broke the kiss, his flour-covered face smirking down at you, “Caught you off guard yet?”

You smiled, breathless, “Y—Yeah, I’d say.”

He kissed your nose lightly, shooting your a wink and turning back to continue the cookies you hadn’t cut due to your distractions. You felt frozen in your place, as if the events that just unfolded couldn’t register in your mind.

He had just kissed you. Kissed you.

“What’s wrong, love?” he chuckled, turning to face you with a knowing smirk after he cut the rest of the cookies, holding the pan in his hand to place in the oven.

“You kissed me,” you said, sounding exhilarated. You thought you sounded pathetic but your mind felt so distant and afar that you couldn’t mask a calm tone of voice.

He placed the cookie tray down, “That I did. I’ve been waiting to do that for a while, actually. Don’t laugh, but I’ve always fancied you. You’re so sweet, just incredible. And you’ve let me into your life, making me the luckiest person ever.” He had said it so casually, but his eyes held every bit of sincerity. He gazed down at you with a level of adoration you had never seen before.

“You have?” you gaped, heart still aflutter in your chest, “I—I’ve been waiting for you to do it too, actually. Almost did it myself a few times. I’ve fallen for you, and laugh if you want, but I’m so relieved you finally did that.”

He was now positively beaming. He placed his hands on either side of your face and leaned in to kiss you again.

——

Nearly an hour later, all the cookies were baked and you were comfortably nestled on the couch. The fireplace was warm, the blanket surrounding the two of you was soft, and the plate of cookies on the table in front of you was delicious.

You were reading a book silently, leaned up against Draco’s chest as he twirled a strand of your hair in his fingers, occasionally pressing a delicate kiss to your temple as you delved into the story in front of you. Each time he did it, your entire body got covered in goosebumps — it was a feeling you wanted to experience forever.

Draco wasn’t reading, but he was perfectly at bliss with you in his arms, head against his chest, and the warmth enveloping you two as the snow continued coming down outside.

You reached over, grabbing another cookie and taking a bite and being careful not to get crumbs all over your pages, decided to check the clock above the fireplace, “It’s late, Draco, I just realized.” You felt a little fluke noticing how late it was. You didn’t want him to leave. The evening had been the closest thing to perfect you had ever experienced.

He chuckled, placing another kiss to your forehead, “I know. I don’t want to leave though.”

Flushing, but agreeing, you closed your book and placed it on the table before turning around to face him, readjusting the blanket so you were both still cocooned, “Unless — I don’t know — do you want to stay the night? You don’t have to, but we could stay in bed and be warm and cozy and—,”

He cut you off by placing his lips on yours, rendering you speechless before pulling away and mumbling against your lips.

“Thought you’d never ask, love.”

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy one shots #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy fanfics #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy reader insert

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thetomorrowshow · 4 years

Text

Slower Than Words Ch. 20

First - Previous - Next

Been a busy week! I’ll let you know if I need to slow down updates! So how about we visit Virgil, see what’s up with him?

cw: a n g s t, panic attack

Virgil couldn't move. Roman had helped him into bed, then sat in the room for a while, trying to talk to him. When Virgil didn't respond, he eventually left, stating that he would be back later.

His world was crashing down around him.

Could he believe that just yesterday, he'd smiled? He'd laughed? Now it was all background noise, mindless buzzing that felt totally inconsequential. There was only one thing that mattered now. Patton.

Therapy had been rough, and Virgil had expected it to be. What he hadn't expected was to go over every meaningful interaction he had with Patton. The doctor had said she was “doing some tests”, so Virgil struggled to keep himself together as he talked about the one person he missed most in the world.

Then, she'd had the audacity—she'd dared to—

Virgil took a deep breath, blood boiling as he remembered that it was she who encouraged these breathing exercises. What if he didn't want to calm down? He deserved to feel, remember, Patton needed him to—

Virgil's legs started quaking, but he paid it no mind. He could not be wrong, admitting he was wrong would be abandoning Patton, he couldn't do that, he wasn't dead, he wasn't gone, he'd always been there and always would.

His breathing quickened, coming in short, shallow breaths. His entire body was shaking, and Virgil nearly puked when he realized he could smell rubbing alcohol. He hadn't had a flashback all week, he'd been doing so well!

As if summoned, there were gentle fingers on his wrist. Calm, the fingers traced. It's okay. I'm here.

“Patton,” Virgil croaked. “I—I knew it, you're here, you're here, I knew it—”

V breathe slow. Safe.

Virgil got his breathing under control after a dozen rounds of exercises. His legs were still quivering, but he knew where he was. He was in his room, in Roman's house, and he was going to be okay, and Patton—

Virgil choked.

His own hand gripped his wrist. His own hand was tracing soothing words.

“She was right,” Virgil whispered. His mind frantically grasped at straws, trying to explain what had just happened, as Virgil felt an overwhelming amount of despair.

“Virgil, you talk a lot about Patton. In every instance you told me about, however, you never hear him. You can't see him. Based on your time alone at the beginning of your imprisonment, it seems unlikely that they would suddenly decide to move you into a room with another person.”

Virgil's body had been completely out of energy, lax and unable to move, but now he was stiff as a board, locked in place. It couldn't be. It couldn't.

“We haven't been able to find out what that book was, based on your description of it.”

No. No no no no no.

“And I've seen you trace words onto yourself, in times when you need comfort. An interesting coping habit, one that might appear when a person is locked in a room with no outside stimulation.”

Virgil sobbed, full on weeping as his body couldn't move. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be real.

And that was exactly the problem, wasn't it?

“Virgil, I think Patton may have been a hallucination that your brain fabricated in order to keep you comfort during the year that you were alone. I may be wrong, but everything you've told me about Patton points to it. Virgil, can you be absolutely certain that Patton was real?”

He'd said yes, he'd said that there was no other option. He'd stormed out of the office five minutes later. He'd refused to talk to Roman in the car. He'd gone straight to his room and curled up on top of his blankets.

Patton had to be real, didn't he? He couldn't have made up a person so complex, so loving, so wonderful. And, more realistically, he couldn't have created something so solid it had washed his clothes on days he felt too ill. Unless he'd imagined it. Anything was possible if it came from his head, wasn't it?

One part of him was screaming, begging him to not abandon his best friend. The other part of him was mourning the loss of Patton. Virgil wasn't sure what to do, torn this way. He had to be real. He was real—but was he? Where was the evidence?

The world was crumbling. Virgil choked on his tears, crying for Patton, crying for himself, crying for the loss he'd just suffered. Patton wasn't real, Patton had to be real, Patton couldn't be real.

Roman knocked on the door, asking cautiously if Virgil wanted to come down for dinner. Virgil pretended to not hear him, feigned sleep when Roman opened the door to look in. He buried his eyes in his pillow as he heard the door quietly shut, then Roman's footsteps retreating. He was alone, isolated, and the one person he'd truly loved had probably never even existed.

What was Virgil supposed to do?

“Dude, what does it say?”

A long silence. Virgil groaned. Apparently he'd gotten an email as well as a letter, but Roman had insisted on reading it to him. Screen-readers were 'too impersonal' now. It wasn't like he was going to get his information any other way.

“Virgil, I . . . I'm sorry.”

Virgil's heart dropped. Roman sounded lost for words, his voice cracking in the middle of the sentence. There was no way whatever the letter said was good news.

“You . . . you got in!”

In a shot of adrenaline, Virgil smacked him. Probably on the arm.

“Ow! That was my face, you heathen!”

Oops.

“Roman! Don't—why—” Virgil could barely speak. He'd gotten in? He was certain he wouldn't get in the first time, let alone twice . He got in!

“It's my job, as your adopted older brother!” Roman said, the false hurt completely gone from his tone. “I have to bully you a bit! You should've seen the look on your face, it was priceless!”

Virgil frowned, his heart still racing. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it a bit. “I'm . . . older than you?”

“Doesn't matter! I am, by proxy, older!”

Virgil snorted. “That makes no sense, dude.”

“Doesn't have to!” Roman proclaimed. Virgil could practically see him doing some dramatic arm thing. “I'm the older brother, and therefore, I don't have to make sense!”

Virgil tilted his head back in an approximation of rolling his eyes. According to Roman, it looked pretty creepy when he actually rolled his eyes, and it stung a little. Still, he would probably roll his eyes once he was around people who weren't Roman's parents.

He was really going back.

He sniffed, his nose burning. It had been so, so long. Had the campus changed? Would he be in a different dorm? Would he and Roman still share, since they were in different grades now?

He knew everything about their accessibility and whatever, about how they would accommodate disabled people. The school had actually reached out to him, informing him that he could finish his degree no problem, they had four or five visually impaired students already and could easily make it possible for him to continue his education. Virgil had been in contact with various foundations in order to work things out with his university, and he'd gotten a few scholarships—not to mention, the handful of scholarships he'd already had had gladly reinstated themselves. In fact, Virgil had pretty much already known that he'd be going back. There'd been very little room to doubt, as his therapist had told him several times.

This was real, though. Right there, in Roman's hands, was proof. He was allowed back, and would see teachers and classmates he hadn't seen in over a year. He was starting spring semester, which was still a few months away—Roman, despite his protests, had also put off starting his junior year until spring semester.

“Virge? Are . . . you okay?”

Virgil sniffed again, wiping his cheek to find a few tears there. “Yeah, I'm fine,” he said, with an attempt at a laugh. “I just . . . didn't think this would ever happen, y'know?”

Roman also laughed, albeit much more nervously. “With the way admissions was basically begging you to come back? Of course it happened!”

Neither of them acknowledged what Virgil really meant.

“So, packing?” Roman said, after several seconds of silence. “I know it's a while away, but is there anything specific you want to bring?”

With a pang, Virgil thought back to his hand-stitched hoodie. Hopefully it was bringing Patton as much comfort as it had always brought him. He'd had it for years, made it in Home Ec in high school. Until recently, he'd never been without it. It was bittersweet, in a way. Sure, it was gone, but it was with Patton. Like . . . like a piece of his heart would always be with Patton.

Virgil shook himself. That's stupid. And cheesy, he told himself. Grow up. Move on. He doesn't exist.

There was an ASL club on campus, one that Virgil planned on becoming a part of. Roman wanted to as well, making up something about having always wanted to learn sign, but Virgil knew it was just protectiveness. Virgil was pretty sure Roman had been about to rearrange his entire schedule so that they could have the same classes, despite the fact that Roman was a year ahead and in a different program of study. After a long evening of Virgil sitting in his room anxiously while Roman talked to his parents in the living room downstairs, Roman had come to the conclusion that it was best for him to continue with his intended major. Virgil was relieved—he was a grown adult, after all. He didn't really want someone trailing after him everywhere, insisting on helping him with every little thing.

Did he?

“Am I ready for this?” he wondered aloud. Roman gripped his shoulder tightly.

“I think so.” The words were soft, but no less powerful than Roman's usual loud tone. “You're so strong, Virgil. You're the strongest person I know.”

Virgil couldn't help but cringe. He knew someone much stronger. Whether that person was real or not was up for debate.

His most recent therapy sessions had involved a lot of tears, but Virgil had agreed to acknowledge that Patton might not exist. In turn, the doctor agreed to not make a formal assessment on Patton for the time being. It was still devastating, of course. It was still as if his entire world was falling apart. But Virgil was finding it easier to smile, more natural to joke with Roman.

He was healing.

Did he want to heal?

Yes, of course Virgil wanted to heal. He wanted to move on. He wanted to lead a normal life, without hurt and flashbacks and hallucinations.

But not without Patton.

There was a fork in the road approaching, Virgil was sure of it. He was going to have to choose between waiting for, hoping for Patton, and moving on. He wasn't sure what would happen when he reached that point.

But it scared him that he would have to make that decision alone.

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @enragedbees @gotta-love-alejandra @bunny222 @basiic-emo @patt0n-sanders @rosiepupper @fangirlgeekandfreak @dn-fan21 @that2000skid @remy-the-lemon-berry @itsadastraperaspera @xionbean @sanderssides-angst @hell-yea-we-gay-tonight @maybedefinitely404 @broken-pencils @thewhimsicallibrarytech @doomllily @hereissananxiousmess @judyismydog @arodynamic-enby @at-that-one-nerd @therapysides

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maxwell-grant · 3 years

Note

You've talked quite a bit about Shiwan Khan, would be OK with talking about the other villains who show up more than once, Benedict Stark and The Voodoo Master?

The Voodoo Master tends to get overshadowed by Khan by virtue of being less prominent and because, in a lot of ways, Mocquino does feel a bit like a prototype for Khan. Like Gibson was testing the waters of what kind of major supervillain he wanted the Shadow to have, and was gradually figuring details like the hypnotic traps and unique henchmen and mystic background and a fraudulent dark magician figure with Mocquino, before Khan blew it all up to bigger proportions. Twice already we’ve had instances where Mocquino was set to appear in a Shadow adaptation after Khan, and said adaptations got canned before he could show up (and I don’t think it does either character a favor if Mocquino comes after Khan). And of course Mocquino has the problem of being an ethnic supervillain whose identity and name are tied up to grotesque prejudice that twists cultures and beliefs into Hollywood boogeymen, and the novels sadly treat vodou beliefs far less charitably than how the other novels approach tibetan/asian mysticism. It’s definitely a problem, but not without it’s solutions.

Putting that aside, The Voodoo Master trilogy is very fun, the first novel in particular was the number one rated Shadow novel in a fan poll back then. Personally, my favorite is City of Doom because of it’s blend of gothic, urban and industrial settings, great battles even for a Shadow novel, and a spectacular finale, but they all have very strong points. And I do like Mocquino himself as a character. He is historically significant as the first true supervillain of Shadow Magazine (if you don’t count other odd criminals like The Black Master or The Cobra). He is different from Khan personality-wise in the sense that he is more of an old-school supervillain, who likens his conflict with The Shadow to a “game” they play, who likes to boast and brag about his powers and whose goals largely revolve around extortion. He has a vendetta against industrial society (although he himself employs industrial tactics, because he is a hypocrite), and said vendetta being largely just him trying to destroy it so he thinks people will fall in line with his cult more easily. Unlike with Khan, there’s no delusions or aspirations of grandeur and greater purpose here, it always comes down to crime and profit with Mocquino and he barely bothers to pretend otherwise.

He is resourceful and insidious and racks up a bigger body count than Khan on City of Doom alone, and there’s a real creepiness to his zombie minions as they are regular people stripped of all identity and forced into becoming walking meat shields. I think one way to make him work better on his own could be by playing up his ruthlessness and charm, and focus on the mind control/cult leader aspect. Make him the Jim Jones of Shadow villains.

Justice Inc redesigned him to look like Boris Karloff, divorced him of racist trappings, played up his dark magician persona and ballooned up his abilities into outright superpowers, all of which worked quite well as the closest he's ever had to an update And interestingly, there’s some odd Joker-esque aspects to him in his final appearence in Voodoo Trail:

Though almost silent, the explosion was forcible. The tank disgorged a greenish gas that spread like an expanding monster, filling the entire room that the trio had just left.

There was something parched and withery in his face, particularly noticeable when The Shadow saw the Voodoo Master's profile. Mocquino bore the scars of flame, not only on his face, but upon the scrawny arm he extended from his robe. Those burns showed like livid brands: a fitting mark for a supercriminal.

That hissing sound in the zombi cave! It was gas, leaking from underground pipes that led into Manhattan. Filtering through the porous stone, it gathered other chemical elements. Mocquino must have discovered that leakage and noted its effects. He had put the discovery to his own use.

...lips formed a grin so jagged that it was difficult to note where his mouth ended and his scar began.

Mocquino's shrill laugh told that he expected his men to overwhelm The Shadow through force of numbers.

Honestly, “Doctor Mocquino” I think is a better name for him than Voodoo Master. A Rogues Gallery isn’t complete without a major Doctor in there, and divorcing Mocquino of “Voodoo Master” and all that implies could be the better way of making this character work again. Play up the fact that he’s exploiting Caribbean religions and citizens for personal gain and roping them into his crime ring, maybe even have him use similar theatrics as The Shadow to paint himself as this great master of voodoo, but in the end, he’s always just Doctor Mocquino, an evil, rotten shyster who puts his knowledge to use for evil and evil alone.

Responsible for the first and only cliffhanger of Shadow Magazine with the kidnapping of Rutledge Mann, Benedict Stark is easily the single worst scumbag out of all Shadow supervillains. Just this completely horrible, wretched monster who ends up being somewhat dissappointing and frustrating of a villain in my view. Despite having quite a bit going on for him, Stark is not really interesting enough to warrant the 4 novels he gets, and where as Khan and Mocquino usually escape The Shadow thanks to prior planning and last-minute escape and strokes of luck, Stark seems to get away with it only because the narrative says so, not nearly as impressive as the other two despite being far, far worse, which makes it you don’t want The Shadow to match wits with him, so much as you just want The Shadow to kill him as soon as possible. In fact, here’s what Stark gets away with in the first ten pages of The Prince of Evil alone:

He gaslights a man named John Harmon into thinking he was developing amnesia

Gets Harmon to sign away enough money to be bankrupted for life, and no one, not even his wife, believe him when he says he was conned

Causes Harmon to commit suicide.

Then, while Cranston's talking with a friend of Harmon named Jackson who wanted to help him, the two go to Jackson's house to find it completely destroyed, his priceless belongings acid-ruined.

Then, they find Jackson's dog dead, with it's throat slit, and a Bible scattered nearby with the story of the good Samaritan marked, making it clear that this all happened because Jackson tried to help Harmon.

And then, as Cranston tries to stop one of Stark's goons from brutally assaulting a boy who was just paid by Cranston to watch his car, he gets attacked and knocked unconscious.

And THEN, the henchman gives the kid a brain concussion and then hauls him in front of a coming truck, with Cranston just barely saving the kid in time as the henchman escapes.

This is just the first 10 pages. Not even Spider novels usually start with this many atrocities happening all at once. Whatever problems Tinsley has as a Shadow writer, I’ll give him this: He definitely knows how to go from 0 to 100 in ways Gibson never would. The book obviously doesn’t keep this up forever (thank goodness), but The Prince of Evil is really all about building up Stark’s presence as this new ultimate Shadow villain, and I think the build up is quite solid up to a point.

He’s established as possibly the richest man in America. Where as Cranston is a millionaire, Stark is a billionaire, who owns “ailways and steamships, factories and mills all over the United States". Nobody knows what he looks like, nobody’s ever seen a picture of him, and Cranston, who knows everyone and everything, has never once laid eyes on the man. We also know in advance that he uses drugs delivered by chewing gum to turn his thugs into bloodthirsty savages who desire only terror and torture and inflict those at his beck and call, and we get a passage where Clyde Burke ingests one of these gums, experiences it’s effects, and ends up chasing down a mouse and killing it, for no reason other than it was the only living being nearby, much to his horror. And it very nearly develops into something even worse:

He could hear the snoring of a man sleeping inside a cellar apartment. Clyde halted. His fingers tightened on his iron bar. He guessed that the man asleep inside was the building janitor. He fought against a hot impulse that flared anew in his blood.

He wanted to kill that janitor! He wanted to smash at him with the iron bar until the man was battered and dead! Murder seemed so exciting. And so easy! Clyde could picture the terror of his victim as he struck at him. It would be sheer delight to maim the fool before he killed him.

The thing that saved Clyde was the thought of the chewing gum. He knew that the savage whisper that urged him on to murder was not his own brain talking, but the voice of a powerful drug.

Laying the bar on the concrete floor, he ran for the cellar exit. He didn't glance back. He was afraid that if he did, he'd be tempted to pick up the bar and commit a senseless and brutal crime.

The cold bite of the breeze was like a draft of cooling water against his parched lips. He began to get a grip on himself. Once more he was Clyde Burke, a normal human being who would go out of his way to avoid hurting a fly.

Stark has weaponized and mass-produced a drug that creates an army of Mr Hydes at his beck and call, that can turn even one of the kindest and most heroic characters into the series into a sadistic maniac itching to main and murder anything that’s in front of him, and that alone is not just a much more viscerally horrifying kind of mind control than what Khan and Mocquino use, it’s also got a an edge to it more suited for gritty urban drama. It’s an idea I definitely would have liked to see used again even after Stark’s out of the picture.

And then we actually get to see Stark for this first time, and he’s described as a grotesquely deformed baboon man leering at his beautiful secretaries, who deliberately employs the most attractive people to make his own deformities stand out further, and who is cartoonishly vile everytime he opens his mouth. He never really displays exceptional cleverness, compared to other Shadow villains, except for the fact that he keeps suspecting Cranston is The Shadow, and sometimes just seems to get really lucky. Stark tends to get much, much less interesting as the build-up evaporates and he has to stand on his own feet as a character, I barely remember anything he did in the following books. At the time, I thought Stark’s characterization was weak, and I still do.

This text blurb here was used on a promo S&S did for Prince of Evil, and it starts by talking about incredibly well-liked people who are kind and how Stark is the opposite because he's evil. Of course, as we all know, evil and well-liked are not opposites.

Stark may have been a tad more interesting had they went with the angle of him being a horrible monster who's also incredibly popular and beloved and friendly. About 70% of The Shadow’s villains are already middle-aged to elder rich businessmen pretending to be good, so maybe Stark being young and attractive and initially sympathetic-looking, atop being the richest and cruelest of them all, could also help set him apart. Sort of an evil Harry Vincent maybe.

But instead he's so obviously and viscerally awful all the time he shows up, so incapable of restraining himself, that it's impossible to buy him as a deceiver who’s pulled the wool over society’s eyes. At the time, I thought to myself that he was just painfully obvious of a villain and too brutish and stupid for me to buy that he’s supposed to be the richest criminal genius in America.

But then again, nowadays I’m well aware that wealthy and respected figures of society, who are cartoonishly horrible even openly in public, is just what billionaires are like, so maybe Tinsley had a point here.

#replies tag #the shadow #pulp heroes #pulp fiction #shadow magazine #dr mocquino #the voodoo master #benedict stark #the prince of evil

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arthurflecc · 4 years

Text

Honeymoon

Summary: Arthur and you spend the first night of honeymoon together.

Genre: fluff

Word count: 2,094

A/N: It’s been 84 years...I finally managed to finish something. Thank you @life-or-something-like-lt for taking the time to read this and proofreading it for me.

Arthur was a hopeless romantic at heart but never really had the opportunity to express that side of himself outwardly. He constantly daydreamed of all the things he would do if he had a wife: waking up and going to sleep by her side, making her pancakes for breakfast, having late night drives after an evening at the cinema. Get a puppy or a kitten. Maybe both. Start a family tradition, order pizza every Saturday night.

There was so much he wanted to do, but he thought he would never get to do any of it...until he opened the hotel room door for you. He had a pleased smile on his face while you opened your mouth and eyes in wonder because of how beautiful the room was. The dim lights highlighted the intimate atmosphere of the bedroom. The scented candles smelled of cinnamon, clove and spiced apples. There were two red rose petals hearts linked to each other on a king size bed. There was also a trail of white, pink and red rose petals from the door to the bed.

Some would think all of that was cheesy and overdone, but you thought it was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for you. The fact he actually thought of that made you feel so appreciated and you wondered how you got so lucky.

"You like it?" Even though it was obvious in your face, Arthur needed to hear you say it.

"It’s...I’m not sure what to say." You could feel your eyes watering a little and it was difficult to find the right words to describe how you really felt. “It’s so beautiful.” The decoration was simple, actually. What you really found beautiful was Arthur and how he went far and beyond for you. Consumed by your feelings for him, you said “thank you” in a whisper, holding back tears on your way to the bathroom, leaving a slightly confused Arthur behind.

There, you changed from your second wedding dress to comfortable new pajamas, removing your make-up. Arthur knocked on the door, a little worried about your delay. You opened the door, assuring him that everything was ok, and he changed places with you so he could change too. You sat down on the bed to wait for him. For months, all you could think about was that moment right there. Lifting up your right hand, you examined your ring finger. You and Arthur shared a simple matching wedding band set. They were made of gold and had your initials engraved inside with a small heart between them on one side, and the phrase “my one and only” on the other. You kissed yours, remembering how hard both of you had to work to buy them and how Arthur never gave up, no matter how far that dream seemed to be.

When he returned, he was wearing a very fluffy bathrobe and his hair was slightly humid, curlier than ever. Some of those curls fell softly on his forehead, and you felt an incredible urge to run out of bed and hug him tightly. When you did, he smiled and hugged you back even tighter.

"You're suffocating me!" You said between giggles.

"Oh really? What about now?" He kissed you everywhere while squeezing you a little more, making you laugh. He let you go, and once you caught your breath and stopped laughing, you couldn't help but smile at him. A genuine smile, filled with love that came from a place in you didn’t know that existed in you before Arthur. His eyes looked at you hypnotized, for you had the most angelic smile he had ever seen.

In silence, he pulled you back into the hug and, this time, it was a serious one. You placed your face in the crook of his neck and took a deep breath as if his smell was the only air you needed to live. His embrace was firm and the feeling of his hands on your back made you feel safe.

You ran your fingers through his hair, comforted by how smooth and fluffy it felt against your hand. He loved the way your touch made him forget about the rest of the world and the sounds he made of approval were like music to your ears. The movement you did on his hair made its smell fly in the air, and you inhaled the woody, fresh and sweet tobacco-based scent deeply.

You moved your head so you could look at him, softly rubbing your cheeks against his in the process. He held you so tightly it was impossible to put any real distance between your faces and having his eyes so close to yours was disarming. The contact between them was so intense you couldn't look away. His eyes were the most beautiful thing you had ever seen and the darkness of the room made them look the deepest forest green, which you said was your favorite color to anyone who asked after you met him. Even though a lot of people had looked at you, Arthur’s eyes were the only ones that had really seen you. The only ones that had dared to travel to the depths of your soul and said “this is my home and I will come back to it every day for the rest of my life”, and you gladly handed him the keys.

Your hands were on his shoulders and your touch was light as a feather. He touched your nose with his own and it was enough to make you weak. You needed to feel his lips on yours, but there was no rush when you were with Arthur because you needed to savor every moment, every touch. He rubbed his nose on yours with utmost delicacy and you closed your eyes, enjoying the peace his presence brought.

You moved your left hand to Arthur’s neck, caressing his skin with such tenderness like it was the most precious thing you had ever touched. Because it was. You rubbed his jawline with your thumb, guarding your urge to kiss it for later. You kissed the scar between his nose and his lips with the same adoration a believer kneels down on sacred ground. You used to think making love to someone would involve all of your body, but with him you learned your lips alone were capable of already doing so.

He gently placed his lips on yours, the mere gesture making you feel weak again, overwhelmed by his existence. He took your lower lip between his, then you took his upper lip between yours. For minutes, you took the time to savor each other, your souls in harmony, delighted to have found their mate. You ran your hands up and down your lover’s arms in an attempt to offer him at least an ounce of the comfort and tenderness he so selflessly gave you day after day.

Even though that wasn’t the first kiss you shared, something about it felt new. Like he had contained that kiss inside himself for a very long time. It was funny how he didn’t need to move himself too much for it to be intense – because that intensity wasn’t about speed – it was about his burning passion for you. He had waited for you his whole life and now that you were his, he would allow himself to explore every part of you like someone who gets lost in a new book, curious to know how it ends but desperate to never get there.

Arthur started to sway, as he normally would when he was in a good mood, moving your body along with his to the song only him could ever hear in his mind before he met you and found out your mind played it too. You smiled between kisses because it made you so happy to know he felt good. That he had gotten himself to a point in his life where he felt safe, stable, understood. He had a family now, a real one. You.

You straightened your back and tilted your head to the right, grabbing the collar of his bathrobe and licking his bottom lip, asking his mouth passage with your tongue. You craved the warmth his mouth brought and he eagerly granted it you, as if the lucky one was him. The greatest gift you had ever gotten was free, priceless. He bent towards you a little, lowering his hand on your back to support your body. You slid your tongue into his mouth, hungry for a taste of him. You moved your tongue above and below his, slowly savoring and exploring the territory. Arthur tasted of mint and a distant trace of smoke. You also tasted of mint, but with a note of the sweet champagne you had drank at the wedding reception. Arthur seemed to enjoy the combination of yours and his aromas as he moaned into the kiss, enveloping your lower lip and your tongue with his thin and soft, now wet lips.

Your mouths found a harmonious rhythm to dance to, and you tilted your head to left, rubbing your nose on his on the way. Arthur kept the slow pace for a while, until he felt the need to go faster, the speed leaving you breathless. You smoothly broke away from the kiss, loosening your grip on his bathrobe. You kept your eyes closed, absorbing the taste Arthur had left on your tongue. He pressed his forehead on yours, reaching for one of your hands and holding it there between your chests. Then, he firmly kissed your forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. His mind was nothing but an echo of “I love you, I love you, I love you...” and he silently prayed it would reach you somehow, that the universe would understand and hold you for him, protect you when he couldn’t. He would give up his own peace of mind if it meant making you happy, still not realizing your happiness was him, even after you had said “I do” with so much pride and enthusiasm in your voice one would think being his girlfriend, his fiancé, his wife was your greatest accomplishment.

It had only been a few seconds, but your lips missed his. You needed to feel him inside you again. You pushed Arthur to the bed, gently making him sit down. You placed yourself between his legs, still standing. His eyes burned with desire for you, wide open in devotion. You looked at him with fascination, lost in his beauty. No matter how many times you saw him, it never failed to take your breath away. He placed his hands on your waist, and you placed yours on his shoulders. He kissed your neck with as much passion as he did your lips, electrifying your whole body. He went back to your lips and you kissed him more deeply this time. He loved how soft your now puffy lips felt against his, remembering the days before you even knew of his existence when the idea of kissing your beautiful lips seemed completely out of his reach. Your tongues intertwined themselves, moving on their own at that point. Sometimes you parted from each other for a split second to move your heads or change the speed of the kiss, not breaking away from it again for what it felt like an eternity. You knew he would be there again tomorrow, the day after that, and hopefully all the following days after that too. Still, you kissed him as if it were the last chance you had to show how much you loved him, needed him, craved him.

You stopped for a moment, your eyes rolling back because of how good his kiss felt. Trying to ground yourself, you grabbed his left hand and made him touch your cheek with its back, tenderly smiling at him. He smiled back and you kissed his ring. “My one and only”, you said in a special soft tone you only ever used for Arthur. “My only and only”, he said it like a promise, reassuring you he would never leave you. He grabbed your face, kissing your lips to seal that promise. You climbed onto him, and he rolled you on your back. The pressure of his whole weight on top of you always made your body relax, feel cozy and warm. You didn’t know where that night would lead you, but you knew it would be the first one of the rest of your lives together.

#joker #arthur fleck #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck imagine #arthur fleck x you #arthur fleck fluff #my fics #this is just me going on and on about kissing arthur #it would be a religious experience for sure

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delimeful · 5 years

Text

Repressed

warnings: fear, self loathing, treating a person like an object, captivity, takes place way pre-AA which is why things are. particularly bad between virgil and the others, dark sides mention

Virgil exhaled sharply in frustration, watching as Thomas considered the ongoing auditions despite his continued efforts. Couldn’t the idiot see that going up there would only end in humiliating failure?

Thomas took another hesitant step forward and Virgil groaned internally, pulling on the villain mask in a practiced motion. He pulled a handful of memories to the forefront of Thomas’ mind, all of them moments where he was unprepared on stage and forgot his lines, stumbling over words and making a fool of himself.

“You’ll only mess up and get laughed at. You’ll be a campus-wide joke and nobody in this department will ever let you audition for anything ever again. You haven’t even practiced properly.” He ranted, coating every syllable with conviction. He knew it would happen. He could see the potential for disaster after disaster like it was a movie montage in front of his eyes.

Thomas took a deep breath, counting the seconds as he inhaled and exhaled. Virgil swore loudly, but it didn’t stop him from feeling the dreaded and familiar sensation of ice in his veins, freezing him in place.

“No, no, no! You do not get to ignore me!” He chanted, but Thomas was already running through mental exercises to calm himself down, as though what he was planning to do wasn’t monumentally stupid-

Thomas put on a smile, reassured himself that he had prepared and messing up wouldn’t be the end of the world, and continued forwards, shuttering Virgil off from his consciousness completely. His vision blacked out, the icy sensation filling him until he was numb from head to toe. Ignored. Repressed. He bit down on the terror clogging his throat, yet another familiar feeling. He knew what came next, this time.

Sure enough, when his vision cleared, he was back in his room. He sat up slowly, grimacing at the wide bedspread laid out before him. His room was almost devoid of features, empty and dimly lit, nothing familiar or comforting in it. It made sleeping harder, of course, but he had to keep it this way anyhow. His role was the villain’s and he couldn’t afford to show weakness, couldn’t afford to give the other Sides any ammunition to not regard him with respect borne of fear.

Still, he hated it the most when he was stuck like this.

At five inches tall, the bed Virgil was on stretched out wider on all sides than his room would be if he was normal sized. He could barely even see into the dimly lit corners beyond the bed. He contemplated just laying back down, letting his body succumb to the exhaustion he felt until he regained the energy to be present in the mind again. A thought of one of the Light Sides finding him like this was enough to dispel the thought. He was too exposed on the bed, so up he got.

He trekked along the mattress, feeling the material barely give under his minuscule weight. He was really nothing like this. It just went to show how Thomas viewed him. A nuisance to get rid of, out of sight, out of mind.

Whatever. He realized pretty early on that that was how it was going to be after he got kicked out. He was barely able to do basic things like sinking out these days, cut off from the power he’d had as a Dark Side and still blatantly ignored once he’d been forced into the light. He had to carefully regulate every bit of energy he used in order to keep up his threatening persona.

He couldn’t stop doing what he had been created for, though, and he wouldn’t. Thomas’ safety depended on him, and if playing the villain was what worked, then it was what worked. His feelings didn’t factor into the equation.

Loud footsteps in the hall shook him out of his thoughts, and though he knew nobody was likely to venture into his room, he hurried his pace anyways, prompted by a growing sense of unease.

“Anxiety!” A loud voice called, and in the next moment, his door was swung open, banging into the wall behind it with a loud thud. Virgil yelped, diving for the small mound of pillows at the head of his bed. He twisted around, desperate to make sure he was hidden properly.

Roman stood in the doorway, hands on his hips as he surveyed the room with slight surprise. “I know you’re in here, Sweeney Odd. Hiding because you’re so ashamed of your latest failure?”

Virgil grit his teeth silently. Of course the Prince would come to rub it in. It was probably his arrogance that convinced Thomas to try out in the first place. At this point, he would normally jumpscare the other side and get into a heated argument about what was best for Thomas, inevitably ending with him threatening Roman away from the threshold of his room.

Of course, normally, Thomas didn’t shut him away this efficiently, and he had his perfectly normal human height to face Roman with. At this size… even looking at the creative side was slightly overwhelming.

“Hello-o? Earth to Anxiety, I’m trying to gloat, here.” Roman looked around and took a step into the room, breaking his usual rule of remaining firmly in the doorway, and Virgil flinched back despite himself. He froze as the slight rustling of fabric caught the Prince’s attention. His face curled into a sort of apprehensive disgust, and he strode to stand over the bed in a few steps.

“I swear on my sword, Anxiety, if you’re keeping feral rats in here-!”

His muttering cut off as he shoved a pillow aside with a massive hand, and Virgil bolted for the crack between the bed and the wall. A fall from there would hurt like hell in his weakened state, but it would also put a barrier between him and the hateful giant above him.

“Wh- Hey!” Roman thundered, voice sharp enough to sting his ears. A shadow fell over him, and he rolled to the side, barely missing Roman’s grab. “Hold still!”

As if. Virgil twisted around to continue running towards his goal, but in the next second, a hand appeared in front of him as a living wall. He ducked away, and realized too late that Roman had predicted the move.

His other hand came down on Virgil and knocked him flat, a smothering weight pressing him into the firm mattress despite his attempts to claw his way out. He wondered for a moment if Roman had even realized that he wasn’t a rat, or particularly cared. If the creative side was just going to increase the pressure until something irreparable snapped.

“Gotcha.” Roman muttered, and plucked him up from the bed with ease. Virgil writhed, but the fingers around him were firm, shifting him around until he was immobilized in a fist. Roman raised him up to eye level, inspecting his find, and Virgil stopped the pointless struggling. He scrambled for his jerk persona, trying to find the right words to regain the power in such a situation.

“...Anxiety? Is that really you?” Roman asked, opening his hand slightly to roll Virgil onto his back and poke at him, as though checking that he was real. He glowered, swatting ineffectively at the fingertip. He felt like a flipped turtle.

“Yeah, no shit it’s me.” He snapped back, grateful when his voice barely trembled. “Weren’t you ever taught not to barge in uninvited, Princey?”

Roman frowned, prodding Virgil sharp enough to make him exhale most of the air in his lungs in a pained whoosh. “That’s rich coming from you, Surly Temple. When have you ever been invited?”

Virgil mouthed out the beginnings of a retort, but it came out as just a wheeze, still winded from the harsh treatment. Roman’s lips twitched up, smug.

“You’re much easier to deal with like this, y’know.” The creative side informed him, a fingertip ruffling his hair hard enough to jostle his entire head. “Cuter, too.”

Virgil’s shoulders rose up to his ears to try and ward off the fingers in his space, face hot with humiliation and fury. Still, the words caught in his throat. He’d known that at five inches, the normal-sized Sides would be giant to him, but it was different to have to face that fact head-on. Roman was overwhelming in every sense of the word, and with the Side’s penchant for carelessness, he was wondering if it was even possible to get out of this unscathed.

Speaking of which, Roman’s grip was tightening slightly, and Virgil felt the heartbeat around him pick up its pace. His head jerked up to meet Roman’s eyes, noting the shadow that was forming under them, and the motion didn’t go unnoticed. Roman dragged his free hand over his face, inspecting his fingertips and finding the smeared dark eyeshadow on them. He rolled his eyes.

“Ugh, this place.” He shuddered dramatically, and then in four simple steps, he was out the open door. With Virgil still clasped in his hand.

He jerked as he felt the power of his room slip away from him, leaving him unable to regenerate the energy to return to his normal size. Now, he didn’t even have the power to get rid of the bruises forming on his torso. He twisted in Roman’s grip. “No, no! Put me back, right now!”

Roman snorted, closing the door behind him and then pulling Virgil’s hoodie roughly over his head to muffle his protests. “I don’t think so, Dark and Stormy. This is too priceless for the others to miss.”

Virgil’s heart seemed to stutter, blood roaring in his ears at the idea of all three of them seeing him like this. Weak. Helpless. He spoke again, words coming out fragmented and near-incoherent, but Roman didn’t even seem to be paying attention, a thumb pressing against Virgil’s side absently as he descended the stairs.

“Logan!” Roman said, gleeful, and cupped his hand over the parts of Virgil that were visible, enclosing him in sweaty darkness. Virgil felt nauseous with fear, pressing pointlessly against the gaps of his enclosure. Of course Roman would immediately run into the most intimidating Side of the Light Side lot, the one whispered about by Dark Sides. Logic.

“Roman.” Logan responded, voice dry. Roman remained undeterred.

“Is Patton around?” He asked, jumping the last few steps to the commons floor. Virgil felt a muted squeak squeeze out of his windpipe at the sudden, terrifying motion.

“Not at the moment. He’s helping Thomas, though he should reappear in his room if you’d like to wait there.” Logan’s tone seemed to imply his hope for that outcome.

“Nah, I’ll just show you first.” Roman responded, and before Virgil had a chance to prepare himself, the hands above him opened into cupped palms, Roman revealing him like a child showing off a prized insect to a parent. He certainly felt as insignificant as a bug at the moment.

Logan peered down, eyebrows raised slightly at the sight of him. “You have… animated a miniature version of Anxiety? Your dollwork has improved, though I’m sure Patton will disapprove if you use it for voodoo.”

Roman wrinkled his nose. “What? No, this is the actual Anxiety. I found him like this in his room.”

‘Found’ was one way to put it. Virgil rolled to his hands and knees, grateful when Roman didn’t attempt to nudge him back into that splayed position, and scowled at the hand beneath him. He struggled to speak, his voice giving a few false starts.

“Yeah, and I’d appreciate it if you’d put me back in my room, you clueless moron.” He finally managed to bite out, unable to keep from flinching when Roman’s fingers twitched in response.

However, when fingers suddenly pinched around his torso, lifting him up with a strangled yell, both of Roman’s hands were still cupped beneath him. He froze as he came face to face with Logan, the logical side holding him up with his legs curled between the pointer and thumb of one hand, and his chest and back held in place by the other. It was certainly a more secure hold than the loose fist Roman seemed to prefer, but Logan’s analyzing gaze made him break into a cold sweat.

“Fascinating.” Logan muttered, his fingers sliding to the side until he had one of Virgil’s arms pressed between his fingertips. Virgil felt his bravery crumbling, watching most of his arm be completely concealed by such a tiny part of Logan.

“Way to sound like a creepy mad scientist, Specs.” Roman said, settling onto the couch next to the chair Logan was sitting in. He was watching Virgil curiously, fingers drumming as though he wasn’t sure what to do with them anymore.

“How did you enter this state?” Logan asked, not refuting the mad scientist jab at all. Virgil wondered if what Remus had told him about Logic dissecting people had been true after all. “Anxiety?”

Virgil scowled, tugging lightly on his captured arm. “None of your business.”

Logan hummed, releasing the pinching hold on the tiny Side’s arm to loop his fingers around his chest once more. Before Virgil could feel relieved, he saw the lenses of Logan’s glasses flare with holographic displays, facts and figures running through them too fast for him to decipher.

“At the auditions this afternoon. You acted up, and Thomas utilized some of Lily’s tactics to suppress your influence and proceed normally.” Logan stated, and Virgil swallowed thickly, feeling as though he would begin to hyperventilate if this went on much longer. Roman perked up, listening in as Logan continued. “Can I extrapolate that this is the result of that suppression?”

Virgil bit the inside of his cheek for a long moment before acknowledging that lying was pointless. He jerked his head once. “Yeah. Congrats, mystery solved. Now will you put me down, already?”

Logan stared at him consideringly and then glanced to the side. “I suppose.”

In the next moment, he was moved quickly through the air and then deposited back into Roman’s hands.

“Not. What I meant.” He gritted out as the fingers curled up around him again.

Logan sighed. “I assumed you didn’t want to walk all the way back to your room yourself. Roman can take you.”

Virgil wanted to snap that he’d take a twenty-mile hike over being stuck in a pair of hands for another minute, but Roman responded first. “I can…”

He hesitated for a moment, and then nodded to himself once. “I can, but I don’t think I will.”

Terror chilled him all over again. To the side, Logan tilted his head, brow furrowed and simple curiosity in his eyes at the prospect. “Why not?”

Roman pinched the back of Virgil’s hoodie and lifted him up into the air in front of Logan, forcing the tiny Side to cross his arms to keep from slipping out of the article completely. “Hey!”

“Because,” Roman said, ignoring his kicking legs and complaints, “if this is what happens to him when Thomas calms himself down, then all we have to do... is keep him like this. He’s harmless. Boom, Anxiety can’t hinder Thomas anymore.”

“What?” Virgil asked, shocked, so soft the other two didn’t seem to even hear it. He stilled completely, still swinging precariously in the grip. Almost worse than the idea Roman had proposed was the fact that he had a front row seat to watch Logan actually consider it.

“That could have unforeseen side effects on Thomas.” He finally said, and Virgil got to take one short, choppy breath of relief before Roman yanked the rug out from under him.

“Oh, but that’s the best part! We can monitor Thomas, like… like an experiment! And if it seems like for whatever reason, this is hurting Thomas? We can simply put him back to normal.” Roman offered, genuine excitement coloring his tone.

Logan hummed, eyes alight. “I suppose that does make sense. An experiment…”

“What?” Virgil said, this time almost shouting the word, as though it was his last possible appeal for freedom. Maybe it was. “You can’t be serious- You can’t just leave me stuck like this!”

“I’m always serious.” Logan responded with an automatic gesture to his tie, mind elsewhere. Roman turned Virgil to face him, rolling his eyes as though Virgil was being ridiculous.

“Oh, relax, Count Woe-laf. We won’t leave you stuck all alone to fend for yourself. After all, I certainly don’t want to have to watch where I step every moment of every day.” Roman said, joking tone contrasting heavily with the sickening feeling in Virgil’s gut.

“In order to keep him from making his way back to his room and returning to normal, we’ll likely have to keep an eye on him.” Logan added, hand lifted to his chin in consideration. “A secure temporary living space would be best. We can inform Patton about it once we see how things go during the initial weeks.”

Roman grimaced. “Yeah... I love the little puffball, but he’s too easily swayed by emotion, even for Dark Sides.” He punctuated the phrase by tossing Virgil up slightly in order to catch him in a fist again. Virgil yelped, felt bile in the back of his throat, static in his ears and panic swelling in his chest.

“In that case, I can take him.” Logan said, holding a hand out. Roman drew back, cradling Virgil against his chest as though he was safeguarding the last jar of Crofters. As though Virgil was a rare prize rather than a person.

“What? No, I want to take him. He’s much more fun like this, you’ll bore him to death.”

Logan’s eyebrow twitched, and he exhaled mutedly. “Why don’t we just ask Anxiety who he wants to stay with, then?”

Roman groaned, opening his hand a bit. “Ugh, no fair! It’s obvious who he’d choose.”

“That’s no fault of mine.” Logan sniffed, looking down at Virgil expectantly. “Well?”

He gaped for a moment, speechless. In the span of under five minutes, they’d decided that he was better for Thomas like this, and that they would ‘look after’ him as though he was nothing more than some… some mindless pet. Fury blazed in him suddenly, hot and reckless.

“You’re seriously asking me which one of you I’d rather have as my fucking captor?” He yelled, incredulity and anger intertwining in his voice. “Neither, idiots! Let me GO.”

Roman scoffed, jostling him, but Logan was the one to speak. “Maybe we could afford to do so, if you’d make an oath to cease working against us and making Thomas’ life so difficult.”

Virgil recoiled, glaring despite the hot pressure behind his eyes. He was scared, he was so fucking scared, but he couldn’t leave Thomas alone. Couldn’t be bound by such an oath to be a bystander, not when Thomas’s happiness or life could be put in danger as a result. Even if it meant being stuck like this.

“Or if you’re so opposed to the idea, just go back to the Subconscious with the rest of the Dark Sides, already.” Roman suggested, frowning down at him. “Thomas clearly doesn’t want you here.” We don’t want you here, went unsaid.

Nobody wanted him anywhere. He was locked out of the Subconscious for daring to affect Thomas in such a direct, straightforward way. He was distrusted by the conscious aspects of Thomas for affecting Thomas at all. There was no winning.

“I can’t go back.” He managed to choke out harshly, as though what he said would make a difference. Roman sighed loudly, and Logan nodded, as though he expected as much from Anxiety.

“In that case, we can simply trade off who watches him.” He suggested, gaining a reluctant agreement from the creative side.

“Fine, but I get first watch!”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, and Roman took it as the concession it was. He stood, dusting himself off and then making his way back to his own room.

In his hand, Virgil exhaled shakily, trying to calm himself down. He couldn’t afford to freak out. He just had to wait until Roman let his guard down, and then get out, no matter what it took.

It was that easy. It had to be that easy.

#sanders sides #g/t #giant/tiny #ts virgil #ts roman #ts logan #haha uh oh #repressed #repressed anxiety au #raa for short #writing #my writing #blug. oh god the general taglist

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i-write-and-therefore-i-am · 5 years

Text

One Monstrous Miracle (Part Three)

Wazzup? I have been hit with the inspiration bug and I felt drawn to work on this story while I have all this fun isolation time. I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this before but I have this story all mapped out, so don’t be afraid of it being abandoned. I’m gonna finish this baby if it’s the last thing I do! As always, I’m self-conscious of this chapter, especially with characterization but please do let me know how you feel about it! I had fun writing it, and I hope you have fun reading it! (Forgive any mistakes you see, I am only babey).

Previous-Next-First

Pairing: Aziraphale/Human

Summary: More barging in, some tenderness, some threatening. All in a day’s work.

Warnings: This got SIGNIFICANTLY longer than other parts, so forgive me. There’s more cursing, but I think I’m just gonna have to resign myself to the fact that this is who I am now.

Word Count: 2,889

Men are stupid. It is a lesson that every person that considered themselves attracted to men learns at some point in their life, and it was a lesson that you had apparently forgotten. You had let yourself get pulled in by the promise of exquisite, centuries-old books and now you were paying for it.

You had assumed post-breakup position: laying across your sofa in your old, but still very fluffy pyjamas, a carton of ice cream on your lap with the sound of crap telly playing in the background. You weren’t even paying attention to what was happening on screen, but you knew that the alternative was to sit in silence until it was time for work, and you didn’t know how much of that you could take.

You couldn’t understand what exactly your problem was. Aziraphale hadn’t really done anything wrong, had he? He had been the perfect gentleman from the moment you had met him and yet something in you felt…betrayed. The thought of how angry Aziraphale had gotten, the crashing sound that had come from his sitting room window, the memory of the rage in his eyes frightened you. This man who had lovingly repaired priceless works of literature, who had patiently sat and enthusiastically listened to you rant about all the things that had happened to you over the course of the day, who had somehow remembered every single one of your favourite dishes and had cooked them all himself just because he had wanted to had transformed in front of your eyes. He’d become something terrible and dangerous, and that was your problem. The switch had been too much for you, and your fear had turned into hurt.

It was ridiculous, really. You knew that it was, but that didn’t stop you from avoiding the familiar little bookshop from then on. Partly out of residual confusion and dismay at what had happened, but mostly out of an overwhelming sense shame at how poorly you had dealt with the situation. You’d run away sobbing as though Aziraphale had hit you, when all he had done was defend you fiercely to someone who seemed to be an important figure in his life. No, you wouldn’t be stepping foot near the shop anytime soon if you had anything to do about it.

Unfortunately for you, you had a great less “anything” to do with it than you thought you had.

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It had been another long day. You enjoyed your new promotion and you were eternally grateful that you had gotten it in the first place, but it came with a truckload of new responsibilities that left you singularly exhausted on the bus ride home that evening. In your efforts to avoid Aziraphale at all costs, you had recently taken to riding the bus again, much to your wallet’s chagrin. Again, the foolishness of your actions was not lost on you, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to grow up.

The bus came to a stop and you followed the stream of tourists out onto the pavement. You felt almost like you were in a daze, mechanically turning and walking towards your apartment. Your eyes seemed to see through everything, out of focus and not really paying attention to what was going on around you. Distantly, you noticed that the air had begun to smell faintly of vanilla, like the nearby bakery was baking a wedding cake. In your tired state, you had forgotten that that particular bakery would have been closed long before you had even stepped foot on the bus earlier. Your neighbourhood was not a particularly dangerous one, but it was never smart for a young person to be out so close to dark without being at least somewhat aware of their surroundings. Though you couldn’t have known this, every potential mugger, or killer, or other type of criminal suddenly remembered something urgent that needed tending to on the other side of the city. Speeding motorists found their gas petals to be a tad bit wonky, keeping their vehicles moving along at well under the speed limits. Streetlamps that had long been neglected by the council clicked on, lighting your way home. Just for shits and giggles, for no reason at all (except for one very good reason that you were not at all privy to and were unlikely to be in your lifetime), you lifted your head and turned to look across the street.

Your heart skipped a beat. It was him! It had to be. He was standing in the middle of a group of people, none of them particularly interesting in anyway, so his shockingly white curls and light brown coat stood out like a sore thumb. Your heart beat wildly in your chest. It had been so long since you had seen the man, and the ache you felt as you tried to get a better view of him was almost too much to bear. Unbidden, your arm began to raise itself and his name flew to the tip of your tongue, but before you knew it, he was gone.

You thought about the incident all the way to your building and up the stairs to your flat. You had half a mind to call Aziraphale and demand to know why he was hanging about on Dean Street not ten minutes ago, and where the hell had he gone between the two seconds it had taken you to decide to call out to him and the moment you’d realised he was no longer there. You decided, thankfully, that you probably weren’t going to come at it from the right angle, especially not over the phone, and that you’d be better off continuing as you were. You put your keys and purse down and hung up your coat, thinking about dinner but unable to keep the memory of Aziraphale’s kind smile out of your mind.

You cooked yourself some pasta, not in the mood for a proper meal. You loved cooking, you really did, but it didn’t seem to have the same… ‘umph!’ to it that it had before this whole fiasco with Aziraphale. You had turned on the television so that you could have a bit of background noise while you worked and let yourself focus on the familiar rituals of boiling and straining and stirring. Before long, you had a plate of your favourite pasta along side a glass (a rather full one, mind you,) of your favourite wine. All was well.

Your serenity was interrupted by loud pounding at your door, as if someone were trying to knock the whole bloody thing down. You jumped, nearly spilling your wine all over your face, but you saved yourself at the last minute. Furiously (gingerly) putting the glass down on your kitchen table, you stood up from your chair, intending on giving whoever was on the other side of that door a piece of your mind. Apparently, you weren’t moving quite fast enough for them, because they knocked again, and you swore you could hear the hinges give a little and the force they were being put under. You stomped over to the door, unlocked it, wrenched it open to find—

“What the fuck?” It was Aziraphale’s angry friend. He stood right outside your door, smirking at you like the little shit he probably was. Your brain paused, hit rewind, and started again. You remembered the incident in Aziraphale’s living room and you tensed, preparing yourself for a deluge of indeterminate nonsense about you being mortal? And that somehow being a problem? He was just as unnerving as he had been when you had first seen him, still swaying, still upending the Universe. The real question of the hour was—

“How do you know where I live?!” You screeched, attempting to shut the door in his face, only to be met with his arm. He smirked and advanced on you, forcing you to walk backwards into your own flat. You looked around desperately and saw a hardcover textbook that you had been using to refresh some technique for work. You grabbed it and pointed it towards him, trying to look threatening. The man reached his hand out and you backed away.

“Don’t! Don’t come any closer!” Crowley stopped moving forward, but he didn’t look the least bothered by your performance. He chuckled, leaning against the door frame.

“Well I was going to introduce myself, but it seems you remember me. Let’s put a name to the face, shall we? My name is Crowley and I understand that I may be…how do you say, fit a f? I am sorry, love but you aren’t quite my type.” He finished by making a show of looking you up and down, which only fuelled your annoyance.

“Answer my question! How do you know where I live? Why are you even here?!”

“I’m afraid that was two questions, which one—”

“ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTIONS!” You demanded. Crowley frowned behind his pitch-black sunglasses (which he wore inside, hours after the sun had set) and seemed to grow more serious.

“I—that’s not how I was supposed to start this. Force of habit, you know, it gets the best of us all.” You didn’t respond, waiting for this strange man who had barged into your life on two separate occasions and had brought you nothing but irritation to explain himself.

“See it’s…I…you are—” He stopped, annoyed with the difficulty he was having. You were annoyed that he was still in your flat. “Aziraphale isn’t well.”

Your heart stopped. What? How could that be? You had just seen him! What was wrong? Was he dying? What if—

“He misses you, love. He won’t admit it but he does. He feels awful about what happened and that you were scared or whatever and ran away and he’s been wanting to call you for weeks but he’s too scared to. He’s not himself, Y/N.” This was not what you were expecting to hear. Aziraphale missed you? He’d been thinking about you? You basked in this knowledge for a couple of seconds before your mind stuck on something.

“How do you know my name?” There hadn’t been time for introductions when he had interrupted you and Aziraphale, and you definitely hadn’t said it since he’d interrupted you now.

“Angel talks about you all the time. It’d be grand not to know your name but noooo. Everything is always “Y/N that” and “Y/N this”. “Isn’t Y/N perfect Crowley?”” He’d pitched his voice higher to indicate he was mocking Aziraphale, but you had barely noticed. This was getting to be a bit too much for you to handle. Did Aziraphale…could he actually…did he feel the same way about you that you did about him? Was it even possible? Crowley must’ve seen your confusion on you face because he softened a little.

“Look. Come back to the shop. At least just talk to him, tell him you’re not angry anymore. You’re not angry anymore, right?” He waited for you to respond. You realised that no, you weren’t angry. You missed him sorely, and if you could have him back in your life, even if everything that Crowley had told you was false, it would be more than enough to just be friends again. You shook your head. Crowley grinned at you.

“Brilliant. So, go to the shop, do whatever you two do, and I won’t have to hear about “lovely Y/N” anymore. It’s win-win-win for everyone.” He turned to leave but stopped, sighed heavily, and turned back around. “Uhm. While I’m here, uh. Aziraphale wanted me to…you know…” He cut himself off. He seemed to do that a lot for a man who had no qualms about breaking down doors and interrupting other people.

“You know how people say things that they don’t mean?” He asked, looking up at a water spot on your ceiling. You nodded. He looked down and nodded too, his lips twitching in a smile. “Good. See ya around, love!” And with that he left, the door closing behind him on his way out. You imagined that whatever had just happened was as close to an apology as you were going to get from the strange man--if that was actually what he was trying to do.

You stood and stared at the door for a good while before dropping the book on the ground and sitting heavily onto your sofa. There was so much to think about now, and your mind was absolutely buzzing. You decided that tonight was a very good night to finish off that brand-new bottle you had just bought yesterday.

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Your palms were sweaty. Your knees were trembling slightly, but that wasn’t as bad as sweaty palms. He would feel your sweat and be disgusted and kick you out of his shop before any of your nasty oily sweat got on any of his precious books. Or, replied the competent part of your brain, you could wipe your hands on your jeans and open the damned door already. Your stomach twisted as you raised your hand and pushed on the handle and walked through the doorway.

You were greeted with the sweet sound of bells. The smell of old books and wax and something that Aziraphale carried around with him washed over you, relaxing your shoulders and planting a stupidly stupid smile on your face. You were totally in love with this man, but his bookshop came a close second. You wandered around at first, partly interested in the books and partly biding time until you had to deal with the Aziraphale in the room. It wasn’t difficult to lose yourself in all of the old volumes, and you were so particularly engrossed in one that you were completely oblivious to the man behind you on the stairs.

Aziraphale was beside himself. He had been up in his apartment brewing some tea when the sound of the front door drew him out to the shop. He’d come down the stairs, expecting to find some customer that he would have to fight tooth and nail to keep from buying one of his books but instead he’d found you. After the way you had left, in tears and clearly terrified, he had not dared to hope that he’d see you again. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He couldn’t help himself from watching over you as you walked home, performing the self-same miracle that had kept you safe last night (however, he was not responsible for you looking up at him, that was something else entirely and it had spooked him something fierce). That was all he had allowed himself to do, baring himself from calling you or visiting you, thinking that if you were so frightened of him, you would not appreciate him initiating contact before you were ready.

He ached for you. He thought of you every day; of your smile, your eyes, your intelligence, your passion for his books and your genuine desire to understand him. Over the time you were apart, he’d come to realise how much he cared for you and how much it hurt to not have you in his life. He watched, unwilling to break your concentration as you ran your fingers reverently along the books, mouthing their titles silently. You were beautiful, even with your hair in the messy bun you preferred on days you didn’t have to dress up for work, in ripped jeans and an old sweater. He couldn’t just stare at you all day, so he forced himself to break his trance and clear his throat.

Predictably, you jumped, hitting your hand on the thick wood of the bookcase. You cursed loudly, bringing your hurting hand to your chest. Panicked, Aziraphale rushed down the stairs and to your side, already reaching for your hand.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, my dear, please forgive me! I didn’t mean to startle you, I just…Oh I feel awful!” You let him take your hand in both of his, everything you had meant to say before stepping into the shop floating away as you watched Aziraphale fuss over your hand. You smiled softly at him.

“It’s okay, Azi.” His head shot up and he stared, wide eyed in wonder. You had been the only person to call him that, and he admittedly missed the sound of it while you weren’t with him. You covered his hands with your other one, squeezing gently. “It’s okay.”

He could scarcely think. Or breathe, or do anything but blink at you like the besotted fool he was. You were here, in front of him, touching him, speaking to him, looking at him like that, like perhaps you had missed him just as much as he had missed you. Out of instinct, out of an urge that had plagued him these long months that he had known you, he slowly lifted your bruising hand up to his lips, giving you plenty of time to pull away, to leave him and never set eyes on him again. When you did none of those things, he pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to your knuckles, and then another on the angry red spot that had hit the case. Your breath shuddered in your chest, and you could do nothing but stand there.

Conversations would be had, nothing to personal, nothing close to admitting whatever it was between you, but you didn’t need that. There was an understanding that life without the other person was not worth the trouble. All was truly well.

Tag List:

@chelsdub, @a-hoe-for-vanya, @lordbeezyprinceofhell, @aelin-thefirebreathingbitchqueen, @beetlebway, @dreamerkim, @petalduck

(Let me know if you want to be added. If you’ve asked before and you aren’t tagged, it means tumblr didn’t let me tag you for whatever reason, so ask me again! If you don’t want to be tagged anymore, also let me know!)

#mine #aziraphale x reader #Aziraphale #crowley #good omens #One Monstrous Miracle #michael sheen

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seraphicwiing · 4 years

Text

Video Analysis #5- CRISIS CORE (The Truth/’You Will Rot’)

Alright folks, the wait is over. As promised, I finally have written up my analysis of this very pivotal point in Sephiroth’s tragic timeline. After all of the posts I have made leading up to this, we have learnt of his compassion, his friendship, his loyalty and his martial prowess. Tonight, we’re going to delve into the start of his madness. Buckle your seatbelts peeps and grab some popcorn, this is gonna be a long one. The clip is 3 minutes long, hopefully the analysis I write doesn’t ramble on for too long. Sit back, relax and enjoy the read! (Also testing out a new format for these types of posts with more structured topics and headings <3)

Context

Before we talk about the scene linked below, we must first talk about the events leading up to Genesis’ being an utter douchebag to his little brother and pulling him further into the madness that would lead to his downfall. Sephiroth and Zack arrive at the Nibelheim reactor and quickly discover that not all is as it seems. The pods containing experiments from past JENOVA projects are revealed to the two SOLDIERS and it begins to make Sephiroth question his entire existence. He had been deprived of the truth his whole life, and even now at the cusp of it all his mind is breaking because he can’t tell what is right and what is wrong anymore. Even with Zack trying to help him, the information thrusted at him is all too much for him to bare.

ShinRa had no idea how fragile Sephiroth’s mental state actually was, nor did they consider the fact that maybe sending Sephiroth to Nibelheim may not be such a good idea considering what was hidden there. But that’s a story for another time, let’s get this started!

‘Am I... A human being?’

Here we begin to see the slow breaking of the once proud hero. The way he says those words, the tone of which he conveys his shock and utter sadness at the fact that the life given to him is most likely nothing more than a fruitless lie. This is such a stark contrast to the Sephiroth we all knew and loved when speaking to his friends in past analysis videos. It hurts a lot more for me since I absolutely adore this character and just hearing him slowly lose his mind really hits me in the gut. After this we see Genesis confirm albeit in the most cruel, heartless and condescending way possible that Sephiroth was an experiment and while Sephiroth really didn’t need to believe a word Genesis said, his psyche had already been broken. All this information being thrown at him is such a huge tidal wave of emotion, it’s no wonder Sephiroth felt overwhelmed.

(“No such luck. You are a monster.” Okay small tangent for a second: Genesis in this scene is doing himself no favours at all. He wants Sephiroth’s help so that he can live right? Why tell him that he’s a monster and droll on and on about how his life was a lie and that his mother wasn’t actually a real human being but an otherworldly cosmic entity AKA a Monster? AND THEN PROCEED TO ASK HIM FOR HELP THINKING THAT HE’LL JUST WILLINGLY ACCEPT? As I told a good friend of mine: Genesis is such an idiot. I AM SORRY GENESIS RPERS OKAY, I LOVE HIS CHARACTER BUT THE WAY HE ACTS IN THIS SCENE IS SO FUCKING DUMB)

Genesis calls Sephiroth the ‘Greatest Monster Created by the Jenova Project’. And this is 100% truth, we’ve all seen just how strong he is, how special Sephiroth is. This is Genesis trying to turn him onto his side by appealing to the monster and detaching him from his human self. But this was a completely wrong way to do it, especially with a fragile mind like Sephiroth’s. He wanted to be human but he knew he somehow wasn’t in a way, he was always detached. And while he always opened up to people in a manner of which was incredibly kind hearted, he always felt like his brith wasn’t normal. Now finding out the truth, he DOES NOT want to be a monster, he DOES NOT want to be considered compartively to the beasts that were in the pods and with Genesis’ continual insistence that Sephiroth is nothing more than a monster, the small rope that was keeping his mind in check was slowly breaking under the large weight of the truth.

‘Poor little Sephiroth. You’ve never actually met your mother.”

Here is where things get super bad for our soon to be psychopath. Genesis throws out all of his cards onto the field, revealing the truth about Sephiroth’s existence and also revealing the truth about his mother: JENOVA. Genesis was right, Sephiroth had no idea who his mother was other than the supposed truths that ShinRa told him. I like to believe that when Sephiroth was growing up, they gave him a forged picture of what his mother looked like AKA JENOVA and from that day onwards, Sephiroth has always conjured that image in his head, that same picture is on his desk back at Shinra HQ and he cherishes it. It makes it hurt so much more watching the scene with this in mind as Genesis further digs into Sephiroth’s heart by mentioning that she was nothing more than a monster and whatever he clung onto was a giant fat lie.

Notice how Sephiroth turns away from Genesis, the natural smile is gone. His stance, his posture has gone. He’s almost lurching forward, his confident strides naught but small steps forward. His eyes are wide and close at times, he is trying so hard to process everything but it’s all coming too fast for him to handle This form of coercion employed by Genesis may have worked on Angeal but Sephiroth? Hell no. It’s also quite amusing that Genesis knocks Sephiroth out of his confused state by calling him by his full title. SOLDIER: 1ST CLASS, SEPHIROTH. He says it similarly to how a general would do a roll call of his cadets before training, and this is literally conveying Genesis’ belief that he is in full control of Sephiroth, he holds the cards, he holds the power over his little brother this time. He believes that Sephiroth will give him what he wants. Little did he know how wrong he would be however.

‘What do you want of me?’

Genesis’ motivations are finally made clear and we learn what makes Sephiroth so special when it comes to the JENOVA Project. We finally learn of the project where Angeal and Genesis originated from as well as the the one where Sephiroth was from. I’ll let Genesis say why in the video becaue he’ll explain it better than I can, I’ll end up butchering it if I tried. Basically what he wants is Sephiroth to share his cells so that he can stop his degradation. He’s slowly dying a painful death and Sephiroth can stop that because his cells have been perfected. Sephiroth has remained quiet this entire time, pondering the truth while Genesis flaps his gums about being saved, he has already made the decision in his head of what he wants to do.

‘The Truth I have sought all my life. You will R O T.’

And here we finally reach the end. Sephiroth with no remorde left in his heart, his mind deadset on now learning the truth of his birth, denies and what I believe he also does is disown Genesis as a friend and brother. All the memories they shared, all the times they recited and enacted ‘Loveless’ together with Angeal, all of that is now dust in the wind. His expression, the deadpan stare that he gives Genesis is a lot more similar to the evil Sephiroth scowl we all know and love. The way in which he speaks, gone is the relatively light hearted, dry humoured tone of the hero that everyone looked up too when trying to become a soldier. No, he speaks with rage and grief in his tongue. He is legitimately torn asunder after the revalation. Whether it be lie or truth that came from Genesis, he’s done with his brother. Their friendhip is over. And at last, he delivers probably the most scathing, delicious and satisfying burns in Final Fantasy. Not only does he reject Genesis, he literally tells him to ROT. To DECAY! He tells Genesis in the most fitting way to just ‘GO DIE’. ‘THEN PERISH’. It’s one of my favourite insults in Final Fantasy ever. It’s nice to see the sarcastic wit hadn’t died with Sephiroth’s kind hearted nature.

The scene ends with Sephiroth heading to ShinRa Manor to find further information of his existence while Genesis is left at the reactor. The closing words being: ‘ I see, perfect monter indeed...’. Genesis was actually surprised when Sephiroth denied him, it was quite a priceless reaction if I do say so myself.

I guess this is a fitting way to conclude with a very salty Genesis and a very angy Sephiroth. I want to thank you all for sticking with it this far I know this was a lot longer than normal but there was so much information to digest. I hope I didn’t waffle or state anything that was super obvious from the clip. This’ll probably be the last one for a while as this definitely took a lot of steam out of me. But yes, I’m glad so many of you enjoy this, if you have any scene requests that you'd want to see me have a shot at IM me <3

#;— WITHIN THE LIFESTREAM (ooc)#;— LEO'S VIDEO ANALYSIS

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mossmotif · 6 years

Text

see how it goes--pt.4

Richie Tozier x Fem!Reader(aged up)

Warnings:uh none

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“And, my aunt has a pretty big house so she has a few spare rooms we could stay in. Oh, you could even invite all your friends too, they seem amazing. You have such amazing friends Rich, we could do tons of stuff as a whole group. My aunt doesn’t mind extra company. She would love you, Richie! California is such an amazing place--”

You finally looked up at Richie to see he’d been staring at you the whole time instead of continuing to draw an awful elephant on your hand. You smiled to try and hide the fact you were thinking of how your chest was tightening.

Squeeze, breath, and boa constrict yourself around my lungs.

“Richie, you know you can’t let me keep rambling like that. It’s probably really annoying.”

He looked back up at you, he really didn’t get why you thought your rambling was annoying. It was fucking adorable. Your eyes would always light up, and you always liked to talk with your hands. You’d make more vigorous motions when you were mad or talked about something you were extremely excited about.You’d bite your lip, make weird faces that he loved, and he would never want you to stop. This was one of those times.

“Love, it’s fine. Remember, I’m getting you to Cali no matter what it takes, so storm up as many ideas as possible. I’m all ears.” Richie smirked when he saw your reaction to the nickname. No matter the amount of times he did it, your face was priceless.

“Okay, Richie.” There was a long pause. “Your elephant looks like shit by the way.” Richie grabbed the hand sanitizer to try and start over and snorted.

“Shut the fuck up, you’re not exactly making it easy for me.” He waved his hands around just like you were to prove his point.

“You still can’t draw for shit, Tozier.” You said, grabbing one of the candies that were laying on your bed and trying to unwrap it with one hand.

Richie laughed and continued to try drawing the awful elephant on your hand, it’s eyes were too big and looked like it was on crack, the proportions of its legs were all kinds of off, but,Richie kept trying to fix it nonetheless. After a while he groaned and examined your hand, letting the pen fall out of his hand.

“I think I’m just going to wash this off for you--” he tried reaching for the hand sanitizer again but you stopped him.

“No, I like this one.”

He shrugged and grabbed your hand again, you were confused, the elephant was finished yet he still held it. He caressed your hand and wrote something on it.

“There.” he said. “Now no one can steal my amazing artwork.” Under the elephant was written ‘By: Richie’

He was still holding your hand, and then there’s this weird feeling in the air, there’s this awful ache in your gut that you can’t get rid of, and you’re confused and don’t know what to think, God, what are you thinking?

The both of you take a step forward.

You were laying on your aunt’s couch in front of the t.v, legs laid across Richie’s lap. Everyone had gone into their spare rooms to sleep, which was understandable since it was 12 a.m.

Your eyes roamed around the house, eyes flickering to photos of her and your mom, pictures of when you were little, and other family members. Taking note of all the random sticky notes that were in the fridge in the kitchen, of all the flowers that were in her front yard, the certain smell of the house when you walked in. Her house was so extremely warm and welcoming it overwhelmed you. The house was broken into like an old cherished sweater. You’d missed this place so much.

“Hey, you okay?” Richie lightly poked your foot. His eyes were half shut and he yawned after speaking.

“Yeah, just a little spaced out.” You removed your legs from his lap and leaned into his shoulder. “You tired?”

He yawned, “Not if you aren’t.”

You laughed and he smiled, his face bright from the glow of the t.v.

He casually slung his arm around you and brought you closer to him, your face buried into his Metallica shirt. You still couldn’t believe he’d actually done this for you, and couldn’t comprehend how you never caught on. It sort of made sense now, the looks the rest of the losers club gave the both of you when talking about the dream road trip, how’d they’d look at him and just sort of smile. It confused you at first, Richie would tell them to knock it off, but you never knew what he was talking about.

You caught him staring at you and it reminded you of something, something far too familiar. There’s this weird feeling in the air, there’s this awful ache in your gut that you can’t get rid of, and you’re confused and don’t know what to think. God, what are you supposed to think? You can feel him slowly moving in. You can feel your heart racing and the weird feeling in the air seems to evaporate, the ache in your stomach disappears. You know exactly what to think.

Then, he hesitates, leans away and coughs.

And your mind is fog again.

One of you takes a step forward, the other blinks and looks away.

“We should go to bed.” You quickly said. Standing up from your position with a quick motion, moving his arm with too much hast that you thought you might have dislocated his shoulder, you almost say sorry. But, he was too close. Burning.

He fumbled to get up. You caught an expression of regret painted on his face for a fraction of a second when he combed his air back. ‘My mind is messing with me,’ you think. The both of you are up now, looking at anything but each other, the random sticky notes thrown onto the fridge, photos of family members, trying and failing to pin-point the certain smell of the house. And just like before, that awful familiar feeling is back and taunting you both. grabbing the both of you by the shoulders and laughing in your faces.

Richie says something about it being late and heading to the room you and Bev were staying in, you nod, his muffled voice going through one ear and out the other, you felt dizzy, like you had gotten up way too fast and needed to sit back down, but whenever you did try and sit back down someone pulled the seat from under you.

You looked up to realize the both of you were in the room already and Richie was calling your name.

“Y/N?” Richie reached to put his hand on your arm, he was hesitant, but grabbed it anyway.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” His touch burned your skin, but you didn’t pull back.

“Yeah I’m fine,” you finally made eye contact. “What were you saying?” He slowly put his hand back down scared that he had left it there for too long. This was unnatural, nothing needed to be thought twice with the two of you, so why was he doubting everything?

You took a step away from him, it meant nothing to you. It felt like a stab in the chest for him, each step back was a slow and painful slash. He choked out words.

“It’s nothing.” He took a few more step backs himself, awkwardly fumbling or the door handle behind him.

“I guess I’ll see tomorrow morning then?” He asked. He nearly tripped over the rug your aunt had laid out into the long hallway. He remembered you telling him how you’d always run up and down them when you were little, you were running too fast and fell down the stairs like a soccer ball. Richie felt like that, like he was endlessly falling down stairs. What was right from left? Up and down? Everything was disoriented, what was once a definitive line of friends and more than that was blurred, mixed together, a swirl of white and black. None of you knew when the other may have crossed it first, which on took the first tentative step into something they knew nothing about. But now, now everything was so grey, so in-distinctive. The both of you had no idea where you stood.

“Yeah, see you.” He turned his back to you and closed the door

The both of you step back, one farther than the other. But, what was the point? There is no border.

Richie woke up the next morning with his glasses screwed across his face. He was still in the clothes he had worn the day before, his shirt now wrinkled, he hated the fact he was expecting you to be next to him. It reminded him of how you’d sometimes come over to his house. ‘I need help with homework.’, is what you’d say, he’d laugh, ‘Again? Thought you had the lesson down?’, and you would say, ‘Sorry that we’re not all geniuses like you Rich.’

You’d stay over at your house hours later finishing homework, sometimes eating dinner with your parents and other times bringing it up to his room and have weird conversations. When more time went by his parents would walk by his room to see you were still there, “Goodnight, Y/N.” is what they’d say, already being used to you staying overnight. You’d sleepover, then be gone the next morning as if you were never even there in the first place. You always left stupid sticky notes around his room before you left, he kept all of them.

He dragged himself off of the bed, trying not to wake up Stanley and silently slipping on his jacket. A huge amount of patches were either stitched on or ironed on by you. There was one of a flower, one of a beaver, a pair of glasses, there was even one you got custom made that had both of your names on it.

He couldn’t not think about you, it was physically impossible.

Everywhere, everywhere he looked just screamed your name.

Richie headed downstairs quickly looked out the window. It was nice outside, pretty blue skies and nice fluffy clouds.

‘That’s right Tozier, it’s an amazing morning in California today. Everything’s fine. Act like yourself will you?’

He removed himself from the window and checked the living room and kitchen to see if anyone else would be there. No one was in the living room, but the t.v was left on. He reached for the remote realizing it was the channel you and him were watching the night before, he turned the t.v off. He walked to the kitchen, eyeing a sticky note that was stuck to the fridge. Your handwriting was as pretty as ever. Eddie, Beverly, Bill, your aunt, and you went to the supermarket to pick up some things for the beach later today.

Richie stepped away from the fridge and walked over to the front of the house, slipping on his shoes and stepping outside.

He was surprised to find Ben and Mike in the backyard, Ben was reading a book and Mike was was playing around on his phone, Richie was now realizing he’d never seen either of them in the house earlier before. Mike noticed Richie standing there.

“Hey.” He put down his phone, grabbing the attention of Ben. “You and Y/N were the last people to go to bed.”

The sentence meant something. ‘Hey what happened between the two of you?’

Richie cleared his throat walking over to the patio and pulling out a chair.

“Y/N and I wouldn’t miss cartoons for anything.” Saying your name was painful, like he’d suddenly gotten sick.

Mike only hummed in response, Ben placed a bookmark in the page of his book.

“What time is it anyways?” Richie looked around the backyard, it wasn’t hard to tell that a lot of work was put into it.

“About 9 a.m, I think.” Ben responded, taking a glance at Mike’s phone. There was a second of silence, a second of breeziness and warm air, a second of a half finished paperback book, a second of an unread text message. The second flew by in an instant, Ben picked up his book again and Mike read whatever was on his phone. It must have been interesting, his brows furrowed and a tiny frown sketched his face. Mike put down his phone again looking towards Richie, Ben took a glance up from his book. Mike opened his mouth for a second, seeming to try and come up with a sentence.

“What’s with the face, Hanlon?” Richie asked.

Mike’s mouth stayed agape for a second, then he seemed to snap out of some trance and closed his mouth again.

“Nothing. Y/N just texted me.” His sentence trailed off and suddenly the bag of soil next to him was much more interesting to him. Ben looked like he was trying to bury himself into his book.

The sentence meant something again. ‘How about you spit out, Tozier? What happened?’

Richie grew apprehensive.

“Hey, what the fuck’s going on? Did I miss something, cause I feel like there’s something going on here.”

Ben looked up at him with an expression. He closed the book and set it down.

“Look, Rich,” He trailed off looked at Mike than looked back at him. “It’s just, did something happen last night?”

Richie looked down at the bag of soil and understood why Mike found it so interesting.

“Last night? What do you mean, Ben?”

“Rich,” Mike spoke up. “Beverly, told us this morning that when Y/N came back upstairs she saw something was off but Y/N wouldn’t tell her anything.”

Rich never looked up, he grew tense. He felt guilty, there was a sticky feeling in his stomach. Something like tar. God, he was such a fucking shitwad, couldn’t he just admit he liked you? He’s said to other girls before, so easily too, why the fuck was this any harder? Was he that afraid to lose you?

Maybe.

“Really? I mean all we did was watch some cartoons until like 2 a.m. It was pretty late and it was a long road trip, she was probably just super tired.”

Richie left it at that, nothing else said, a million things thought.

Then, the three of them heard a car pull over into the driveway, a loud honk, and loud cackling. Richie got up and combed back his hair.

‘You’re having an amazing day, Tozier. You’re in Cali, act like who she wants you need to be.’

Tag(s)

@caitlin-la (lol i don’t even know if you still wanna be tagged but whatever)

#IM ALIVE #richie #it2017 #ben #bev #stan #mike(mylove)#eddie #fanifc #xreader #richiexreader #richiexyou #ya'll want me to continue this??

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bangchanshehe · 7 years

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Andromeda pt.4 (M)

You were no one, a goody-two-shoes who always played by the rules. When you decided to change yourself and live a little more dangerously you got caught up in Taemin’s trap. He had no use for you and no desire to have you. You were a toy and a time killer. But, he just so happened to have a lot of time and you happened to be his new favorite play thing.

Taemin X OC X Minho

Vampire!AU

word count: 4.7k

Taemin held his breath and stormed out of the room and into his office. The only thing that was going to make him feel better was feeding, and lots of it. It was the only thing that he could do to force himself to not storm into the room and rip Minho into thousands of pieces and claim you as his own. The feeling of overwhelming desire to protect you and replace Minho’s filthy smell with his own was almost intolerable. The way that it mixed and mingled with your own sweet natural smell was disgusting. But the worst part was only that he could feel Minho’s aura, and he knew that he was absolutely drunk on you and high on the transfer of feelings of a brother finding a mate. He could distinguish and feel almost every single one of Minho’s emotions from being around you. Happiness, love, content, lust, desire and pride coursed through him. Everything that Taemin was supposed to be feeling for himself now that he had finally met his mate.

He grit his teeth and ripped open his small blood bank and grabbed the closest blood bag and drained the contents quickly. He threw the empty bag across the room angrily and sat down at his desk. The dark maroon thick blood oozed down his throat making himself feel slightly happier and more content, despite his current situation. He opened his laptop up and began to do some work in hopes of distracting himself. He turned on music and allowed for the sound of the music to flow freely around the room. He didn’t want to hear the two of you having fun and he certainly didn’t want to think about it either. Forcing himself to walk away from you earlier was like forcing someone to rip out their own teeth.

Watching you have fun with another man, who happened to be his own brother felt like a slow and painful death. He knew he was supposed to feel this way and it would drive him insane until he finally gave in and mated you, but his anger held him back from doing anything about his feelings. He still felt it was very early for him to find his mate but what made him the most upset was that you lingered in the back of his mind. He couldn’t get your image out of his head, and nothing that he fed on tasted like you smelled. He hated that he was actually beginning to crave you. That he felt like he needed to see you and know that you were okay. That he was beginning to actually care about your well being. And cared that there were other men who were a part of your life other than himself.

Being a committed man was never Taemin’s forte and the concept of being with someone for the rest of eternity was completely foreign to him. And he had always thought that it was so unfair that destiny or who the fuck ever decided who ended up with who got to make all of the choices on their own. Taemin wouldn’t be able to choose his mate, or have feelings for anyone else in the world. It was all decided and for whatever reason he would be paired with a random person like your name was drawn out of a hat. He knew nothing about you and you knew nothing about him and yet you two were supposed to just accept each other and skip off into the sunset? It was stupid and totally unreasonable.

But what was even more frustrating and made him want to rip his hair out was the fact that he actually felt like he could be with you. That he knew that things would be happy and peaceful with you in his life and that he knew that he could become a better person for you. No, not that he could but rather that he wanted too.

He closed his eyes and pushed all thoughts of you as far back in his mind as he could and tried to focus on the work that he had in front of himself. An hour was all that he was able to get away with until the sound of your voice brought back all anger that he was able to flood out.

The kitchen was beautiful and one that you could only ever dream of cooking in. It looked like something that you only saw in magazines or movies. Minho chuckled at your awe and pulled you out of the kitchen and down the hallway into his office.

“Come on, let me show you around a little” he said

You didn’t say anything back but allowed for him to pull you along as you looked around each room and admired the decorations and artwork that loitered the walls. He pulled you down a long dark hall and opened up a large door. Inside of it sat the most beautiful library and cabinets filled with other worldly looking trinkets that seemed to be many lifetimes older than you. You stepped closer and admired a wooden carved elephant that had very intricate designs carved into the facing. You wanted to reach out and touch it but knew that it was probably worth lots of money and sentimental value. You tilted your head to the side and observed the craftsman ship when Minho came behind you and slipped his arms around your waist. He pulled you back into his chest and he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“That is from India, do you like it?” he asked you

“It’s beautiful” you said answering him.

He tilted his head towards you and kissed you softly on the cheek before he walked you over to his desk. There was a large stack of papers tucked into a folder and a leather bound black book sitting in the middle of his giant black desk. There were two computer monitors connected to each other at the corner and his desk chair was large and plush. It looked like a chair that would be fit for the godfather or someone in the white house. He guided you around the desk and placed you in front of the chair.

“Sit” he said softly nodding his head down to the chair

You sat down and the leather immediately shaped into your perfect silhouette making you feel like you were sitting on a cloud. You leaned back and closed your eyes as you relaxed into the feeling of the soft chair.

“Don’t get too comfortable, don’t go to sleep on me” Minho chuckled and tapped on your forehead.

You giggled at his playfulness and opened your eyes.

“You know you look good sitting in that chair” he said

“Do I look like a big boss like you?” you asked playfully

“No baby, you look like the boss” he said leaning down close to your ear

You turned your head to look him in the eye and give him a small smile. It felt good to be seen as someone with authority and power from someone who had both. And being called a boss by the man who you’ve been hooking up with did turn you on tremendously. He gave you a cooked grin that just read nothing but awful and pleasurable intentions and you licked your lips.

“I have one more place to show you.” He said quietly breaking your hazy moment.

You cleared your throat and stood up from the chair and rounded the desk so you could be on the other side. With all of the sexually charged air around Minho a little space in between the two of you would probably do you some good.

He followed you and pulled you by the arm once more out the door and up the stairs to the second floor. The grand staircase was beautiful and large artworks hung from the walls, showing off the extravagant height of the ceilings. You reached the top and walked down the hallway to a set of double doors. He opened up the door and you found yourself outside of a giant bedroom.

The room was decorated with more priceless trinkets and pieces of art that looked like they came from all over the world. A giant wooden giraffe stood in the middle of the room next to a giant television. There were masks and pictures that decorated the walls that looked like they were from India, China, Cambodia, Africa… you name the place and there was probably something in this room from there. There were heavy curtains that framed one wall of the room which had a giant beautiful bay window in the middle. There were couches and chairs in one corner and a giant four post bed with the most soft and comfortable all white bedding. You just wanted to lay down in it and take a proper nap. You reached out to feel how soft the material actually was and Minho was quick to recognize what you were doing.

“I bet your tired, why don’t you lay down” he offered you

“I couldn’t take a nap now that’s rude” you said baffled by his suggestion

“It’s hardly rude I kept you up last night and I… well this afternoon has been busy for you” he said with a cocky grin on his face.

You blushed and looked away from Minho’s direction hoping that he wouldn’t catch the pink tint that definitely overwhelmed your whole face now. How was it that you were still embarrassed talking about sex with him after you both had such a rough quickie in the boutique?

“Plus…” he added and slowly tucked your hair away before placing a feather light kiss on your neck “something tells me that you’d look good on my bed”

You gasped and turned to him to lightly hit him playfully for being so horny and needy all the time, but when you met his eyes your smile dropped. Minho wasn’t playing at all, in fact his gazed was hooded and there wasn’t a single sign of a smile on his face.

He took advantage of the fact that you were already facing him and he kissed you hard and passionately, almost knocking all of the wind out of your body. He kissed you like he meant it and while it wasn’t soft and gentle but rough and needy it seemed like it was more meaningful. Like if he didn’t continue to kiss you he would die. You completely turned around to face him and he pulled your body into him as far as he could manage.

Already you could feel how hard he was for you and you moaned at the realization. He pulled away from you at the sound of your moan and looked down at your lips before licking his own and then looking you right in the eyes. He pushed you back on the bed and you fell back with a slight squeal. Minho smiled at your cute startled noise and peeled of his coat. Piece by piece he took off his blazer, dress shirt and undershirt to reveal the most beautiful and defined washboard abs that you had ever seen. Your jaw dropped when you finally saw them for the first time in the light and not under the influence. He walked up to you and climbed over you placing one of his hands next to your head to brace himself and the other grabbed your hand and placed it over his stomach. The used your hand to trace every dip and curve and watched your face as you admired his hard work.

You felt every muscle twitch and stiffen as your wands washed over his body and worshiped his incredibly physique. Minho looked down his chest and watched as your hands skimmed over his cool flesh and worshiped his body.

Any form of tiredness that you had in your body was instantly pushed to the back of your mind and was replaced with absolute desire to explore and possess the man in front of you. Your fingers ran up from his waist across his chest and rested behind his neck. Minho looked back up at you with a hooded gaze and slowly leaned into your body. Your heart hammered in your chest as you watched Minho slowly lean down to envelop your lips with his in a soft kiss.

It was so soft that it startled you. You opened your eyes to look at him and his were shut as he focused solely on the feeling of your lips on his own. Compared to his flirtatious attention on you earlier this seemed so much more than just a kiss. You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to be swallowed in the feeling of the adoration and gentle love. Minho’s hand cupped your face as the other took its place on your hip, pulling you closer into him as he quickly flipped over on the bed taking you with him. You clung onto his body as your bodies turned leaving you feeling dizzy.

You sat up and put your hands on his chest to brace yourself and straddled his waist. Minho’s hands were tracing patterns up and down on your thighs as you giggled and tried to get your bearings straight.

“You know what I said about you looking like a boss?…Well now you really look like the boss baby” Minho said with a crooked smile

You laughed at his joke and sat back on his hips, making sure that you put pressure on his erection and wiggle a little.

“And why should I be your boss?” you asked seductively

Minho raised his eyebrows at your suggestive tone and smiled at you. You smiled to yourself knowing that he was going to take the bait and answer your question. He ran his hands up your thighs and up to your hips. He rolled his hips into yours and braced you as you rode his thrusts with a gasp.

“Because, I love a woman on top” he said softly as he looked into your eyes.

Your eyes widened and you opened your mouth to reply, but quickly shut it and smirked at him. You didn’t know what it was about Minho that drove you so crazy but you loved it. Had anyone else made that joke you would have rolled your eyes and scoffed, but when it came from Minho it seemed so sexy and promising. You teasingly rolled your hips over his and Minho let out a hiss before he sat up and pulled your chest against his own.

“Don’t tease me baby” he half begged with a whisper in your ear

He pulled back from him and smirked before you pushed him back down on the bed and climbed off of his body. You rest to his side as you quickly tried your best to remove his belt and unzip his pants. He raised his hips in anticipation knowing full well what you were about to do.

You pulled down his pants and his boxers at once leaving Minho completely naked in bed while you hovered over him still completely clothed. You looked down on his body and ogled the evidence of all the hard work and exercise that clearly paid off for him. Everything was toned and hard and bulging from his body. You looked up at Minho and he smirked at you while he put his hands behind his head as if he were relaxing at the beach.

You started at his chest and kissed down his toned stomach making sure to leave every inch of his skin marked. Minho laid there with his eyes closed as you had your way with him relishing in the feeling of your touches. You made your way down his body and left subtle bites and licks across his hips making your way down to finally wrap your lips around his red flushed dripping head.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” an alarmingly angry and soft voice rang from the door way of Minho’s room.

You halted in place and slowly turned your head around to see Taemin standing in the doorway. Minho quickly covered himself and moved away from the bed searching for his clothes.

“Tae, what are you doing?” he asked with a serious tone

But Taemin didn’t budge at all; he just continued to stand there and stared with the most alarmingly angry expression of betrayal that you’d ever seen. He cross the room and grabbed your arm roughly before yanking you off the bed and dragging you out the door.

You were hesitant to follow and confused as to why Taemin was interrupting. You followed him out to the hallway clutching you wrist tight to your chest aware of nothing but the crippling pain that ran up your arm from your wrist. You yelped as the pain became unbearable and the feeling of fire spread through your wrist. No doubt there were already deep dark bruises forming.

“You’re hurting me” you whispered and almost cried.

“So were even then” he scoffed under his breath.

You don’t know why he was in such a fucked up mood and where he got off on intruding and why he thought that he was entitled to do so. He stopped at another room and pushed the doors open revealing another office before he pushed you inside and forced you to sit on a couch. It wasn’t long after you made it inside that Minho joined the two of you and stood in the door way.

“What the fuck!” He hissed at Taemin as he made his way towards you to sit next to you on the couch.

Taemin blocked his path and pointed to a couch opposite of where yours was. Minho looked over to where he pointed and then looked back to him like he was crazy. He put his hands on his hip and stared back at Taemin refusing to sit down.

“You said that you weren’t interest and that we could do what we wanted!” He yelled at Taemin

“You think I don’t know!” Taemin yelled back.

The volume of their voices was getting louder by the second and it almost bursted your eardrums.

“Look if this is about us being affectionate in the house we won’t do it anymore!” You quietly chimes in hoping that, that would be the end of the telling.

You didn’t know why Taemin, the one who you caught fucking a girl in a night club would care that the two of you were doing in the privacy of Minho’s own bedroom, but you were willing to compromise if he felt that strongly about it. Suddenly both men turned towards you both giving you a tired and yet apologetic expression.

“This isn’t about that” Taemin said at a normal level after he cleared his throat“So what? What do you want me to do?” Minho asked with his hands up in the air, “Huh?” there was a long pause as Minho stared at Taemin and Taemin just looked back at him like he had done him some sort of injustice. “We both know that this is too far now! And frankly I don’t want to fucking stop!”

Mihho didn’t care that he was treading all over the history of his species. He didn’t care that Taemin was technically your true mate, because even though he knew it wasn’t him he still felt all of the transferred feelings from his brother. And you weren’t merely a hook up nor a way to pass time. Minho genuinely liked you now and there was no way that he was going to stop seeing you now that Taemin all of a sudden decided to like you. You were the one who had spent the last 24 hours with him and he was damn proud of that. It was petty but if he had to ask you to choose he would, because he knew exactly you would pick and it sure as fuck wasn’t Taemin.

“You know what you have to do!” Taemin said in almost a plea. “Don’t make her choose…. It’s not going to be the answer that you want! You could take her right now and nothing would change, she would still only see me!” Minho growled.

Slowly Minho started to step towards Taemin as he spoke making the two men almost touching chest as he spoke down to him. You watched in anxiety hoping that whatever this was didn’t turn into a fight. However, Minho screamed dominance and power as where Taemin seemed to bow down to him and respect what he said to a certain degree. It seemed like a divine power struggle that had less to do with your affection in the house and their own internal struggles.

“And what happens when I claim her, huh? You feel nothing and it’ll be like she never existed in your heart. You’ll feel nothing for her other than companionship and how do you think she’ll feel when all of a sudden don’t give a single fuck about her?” Taemin said in a half whisper

You suddenly picked up on the mention of a woman and your mind immediately considered that Minho wasn’t single after all and you were just some poor side fling. You looked up at Minho and put your arm on his shoulder trying to earn his attention.

“Are you?...Are you already in a relationship?” you asked him terrified of his answer.

He slowly turned to you and cupped your face with his hands, “no, no, no. I’m not seeing anyone other than you” he pouted and confirmed

Taemin saw his hands touch your face and your small look of concern wash away with a new look of hope at his words. It made his stomach turn and his blood boil seeing him be able to hold you and you be so fond of it. It was him that was supposed to be doing that. Him. Him. HIM.

“And what if I told you y/n, that Minho doesn’t care for you at all? What if I said that I’m the one who cares for you?” He said watching Minho as he slowly withdrew his hands and squeezed his eyes shut “What if I said that you were my soulmate? That we are destined to be together for eternity?” now he was watching you as your face contorted into confusion and disgust since you clearly didn’t believe what he was telling you. “You see my brothers and I are undead creatures and we live for a very long time, and each of us has a destined soulmate.”

“Taemin!” Minho shouted as if he was commanding him to be quiet

“You happen to be mine. And my brother here only feels affection for you because each of us brothers are connected mentally and emotionally.” He laughed as you scowled at his words “And the moment that I finally claim you as mine my brother won’t feel anything for you at all. It’s like you’ll have never existed and you weren’t significant to him at all. All that you’ll have left between the two of you is a platonic friendship.”

Now Minho wasn’t watching Taemin anymore but watching your own reaction to what Taemin had to say. He knew that it would be harsh and hard for you to understand, but he also knew that it was the absolute truth. That once Taemin did finally bite you that you would be rightfully his own and he would no longer feel any affection for you other than friendship. Giving you up was something that he had no anticipation of doing but he knew that by trying to pursue you it was also putting the bond of the brotherhood completely on the line. He never wanted to make things difficult and he didn’t think that he would feel so strongly towards you so quickly after having spent the night with you. In fact he didn’t even think that you would be eager to go home with him at all, and that would have been fine. He would have graciously accepted the denial and gone home alone. But now that he had gotten a taste of you and knew who you were and more of what you liked he didn’t want to stop. You drove him crazy and when he touched you he felt like he was high and when he couldn’t touch you he felt like his heart was beating slower like you were some drug that he needed in order to stay alive. Like his sole purpose was to love you. But seeing Taemin so upset and clearly now hyped up about claiming you he knew that one way or another Taemin would claim you and his feelings for you would fade quickly. In the end all it would do is hurt you and right now that’s the last thing that he ever wants to do.

He looked up at Taemin and assessed him for a moment thinking ‘if I feel this way he’s probably even more torn up about what to do’. If he felt awful about potentially harming you he could only imagine who Taemin must feel now that you were actually involved with one of his brothers. The entire beginning of their relationship would have to start from the betrayal of his brother by claiming you and a betrayal to you by taking away your love and causing you pain. Minho sighed and looked to the ceiling before he finally looked down and focused on Taemin.

“Alright…” he began speaking to Taemin in a whisper “I’ll step down. But I’m not doing this for you but for her. I don’t want to see her absolutely destroyed because of you” he finished before he turned to speak to you.

You took one glance between the two men before you turned and bolted out of the office and down the stairs hoping to get away from the men and out of the house to safety. You didn’t know why you felt like they were telling the truth, but your body and mind just screamed at you that it was your reality. It was absolutely insane to try to believe and had anyone else told you the same thing you’d think that they were absolutely insane. But this time your body didn’t give you a red flag but instead a sort of overwhelming conformation that ran down your spine and spread chills through your body.

You took a turn out the door and realized that you were in the country in the middle of nowhere. It was going to be an absolute nightmare trying to find your way out of this place. You looked around for a moment and then sprinted as fast as you could away from the once inviting home. You pushed past the gates and ran through the trees hoping that it’d make you less visible and more able to run away.

You were starting to feel more positive and hopeful about your escape when a pair of hands held you tight and pulled you back into a chest. You immediately panicked and screamed at the sudden capture, not noticing anyone behind you mere moments ago. A hand covered your mouth and you looked up to see Taemin holding you firmly in place.

“Well, as fun as this was I hope that you won’t do it again.” He said completely serious. “Let’s get you back inside and we can talk”

That was it for you, you thought whatever life you lived is now over and a new beginning was just around the corner for you if not death. You tried to scream and bite Taemin’s palm in hopes that he would let you go, but in only a matter of seconds you were standing back inside of his office again where Minho now sat on the couch with his fingers pinching his nose bridge.

“What the fuck?” you asked completely freaked out and near a state of hyperventilation

NEXT PART

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svfedotov · 7 years

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Punching Nazis for Freedom: Comics VS Fascism

With the world one button away from destruction and hate-rhetoric swarming the streets of America like a million cockroaches, your favorite comic reviewer has decided to do a very special article about the evils of Nazi Fascism through the that wonderful medium of superheroes (and a villain) punching Nazis. It’s no surprise that comics and Nazism have never gotten along, going way back to Captain America slapping the dickens out of Hitler during WW2, and the comic genre hasn’t slowed down since. Superman fought the KKK, Shazam punched Captain Nazi, and Hellboy, well Hellboy just likes punching people with goofy mustaches. With so many wonderful examples, it was hard to narrow it down to only a handful of samples, but hopefully the ones I chose prove that hate not only has no place in our comic books, but no place in America either.

Punisher: War Journal Vol 2 #6-10 (2007)

Punisher is man who takes no shit. Having survived Vietnam, his family being killed, and being hunted by mobsters, he’s a one man hunting machine that’ll see all villains dead at his feet. In War Journal Vol 2, Punisher meets a brand new villain known as Hatemonger, a 6’ 2” slab of beef who preaches white supremacy and looks a bit like Captain America (a fact that sends Punisher to find him and “and shoot that guy in the face.”) Even in the Marvel database, Hatemonger’s occupation is listed as terrorist, another thing that Punisher hates and he who is hated by Punisher feels the sting of the Punishers bullets!

As a special treat, I have included two priceless pics of Punisher beating up Nazis. The first is him slamming a Nazi into a cactus full speed and the second, of course, is the kill shot of Hatemonger himself. Classic Punisher.

Wonder Woman #240 (1978)

Oh Wonder Woman. What can’t be said about her that hasn’t been written a thousand times by a thousand talented writers? But did you know that she also punches Nazis? I’m sure you’re not surprised, she did emerge in the 1940’s when the Great War the Second was in full swing and you bet your last yellow onion that she jumped right into kicking some ass for America. In Wonder Woman #240, our heroine dukes it out with mysterious Nazi agent known as Siegfried the Speedster. Oddly enough, this Nazi accidently proves Wonder Woman’s innocence after she stands trial for treason when she was mind-tricked into seeing the American army as Nazi soldiers. So, all’s well that ends well? Either way, check out this pic of her knocking that punk right the fuck out!

Captain America Comics #1 (1941)

You can’t have the name America in your moniker without knocking out a few fascist, so obviously, the very first Captain America comic has him giving the ol’ American Hello to Hitler himself. Hell, the first issue proved so effective in stirring up some pots, that on top of the overwhelming support, his creators Kirby and Simon, even got some serious hate mail, proving that it’s not art until someone threatens you’re life. But death threats aside, Captain America went on to be the symbol of American hope and kept fighting Nazism, fascism, and all things that threatened the American way of life for decades afterwards (current Hydra arc notwithstanding.) Pictured here is the famous first cover itself, complete with a first introduction of his sidekick Bucky, who goes on in his own comics freeing concentration camps.

Action Comics #59 (1943)

Despite its alluring promise of Superman peeling open Nazi tanks like an orange and eating the delicious German fruit inside, Superman doesn’t actually fight Nazis in this issue. In fact, the majority of Action Comics that feature Superman versus The Reich did not have an accompanying story-arc and instead had other heroes out on the war front, as each issue acted more of an anthology than a one-man comic. Action Comics #59 has two war-related stories, one featuring The Three Aces blowing up a Nazi base and the other featuring Americommando delivering the last message of a British spy while managing to blow up one of Mousselines military bases. Still, I chose this cover because one, I thought it was funny, and two, what’s more awesome than an American space alien dismantling tanks to the horror of Nazi soldiers? Nothing, that’s what.

Every Hellboy Comic Ever

Hellboy was born to fight Nazis. Well, he was actually born to take over Hell, but he was also born to fight Nazis. Even his backstory started off with him being called up by Nazi occult leaders only to be adopted by an American doctor and raised to fight those that brought him to Earth. This is what he does. Hell, there were so many issues and so many images to choose from, I almost didn’t know which one to go with! I decided to use this slash page as a representation of his Nazi-kicking powers; Hellboy keeping the world safe with only a fist and a quip. I don’t even know which issue this is from, that’s how much Hellboy loves beating up Nazis! Seriously, go grab one, he’s probably punching one three pages in!

Saga of the Human Torch #3 (1990)

Before there was Johnny Storm, the Human Torch was originally a humanoid android created by Carl Burgos in the 1939. Though he only had a handful of comics under his belt before being adapted to his more popular form by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby, he has definitely not been forgotten as proven by The Saga of the Human Torch, a 4-issue mini-series released in 1990. The series retells the origin of android Torch and in issues two and three, commences with a hearty Nazi ass-whooping ending in Hitler being set aflame! That’s right, true believers, Hitler set on goddamn fire! Though Hitler asks that his death be kept secret, we know the real story now. It was the Human Torch all along.

Batman and Captain America (Elseworlds) (1997)

If you’ve been around the internet long enough, I’m sure you’ve seen this picture of Joker working with the Red Skull only to immediately turn the tables when finding out his partner was an actual, honest-to-goodness, Nazi. What the picture doesn’t answer is the many questions that surely follow such as: how did Joker and the Red Skull get together despite coming from two different comic companies and when did Joker get so cool? The answer is Elseworlds, a series of DC comics that basically answers every what-if question you ever had, this one being, what-if Captain America and Batman met up in WW2-era Gotham to secretly hunt down the Red Skull? With Red Skulls villainy and Jokers untethered hate (love?) for Batman, it’s no surprise that the two would naturally work together, but Joker will be damned if he’s caught trading hijacking tips with an actual Nazi. As he says, he may be a criminal lunatic, but he’s an American criminal lunatic. Trust me when I tell you, Joker punches the crap out of him.

**********

I’m going to end this article on a special message from Stan Lee himself but I will say this: wherever there is evil, there is hope, and where there is hope, heroes will emerge. Be that hero, stand up and fight.

#comics #anti nazi #superhero

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plinys · 7 years

Note

also fitz/ophelia + kitchen counter ~for science~

dedicated also to @gaysyjohnson whose birthday is today ( i think! time zones man! ) and to @pizza-is-my-buziness for enabling me as well in the sin group chat. i hope you three are happy

There’s something about the quiet domesticity of a kitchen.

Back in the other world, in their world, the Framework, she hadn't particularly cared for the kitchen. Eating was a simulated act, unnecessary but for keeping up appearances. While a morning cup of coffee, offered no benefit that she could register.

Here though, now, in the real world with a real body she could feel the benefits of a morning cup of coffee.

“I hope you’re not planning to cook for us,” Ophelia says, carefully putting a second ice cube in her cup of coffee, lacking the patience to wait for it to cool - and constantly insulting Leopold finicky nature over morning drink choices. “You’re not very good at it.”

His forehead does that adorable wrinkle thing, the box of pancake mix still in his hand, as he turns to look at her - “What’s wrong with my cooking?”

She takes a pointed drink of her now perfectly cooled cup of coffee rather than answering.

Which she supposes is answer enough.

Setting the mug down by the sink, she bumps him out of his spot by the table to examine the box of the pancake mix, shouldn’t be too hard, between the two of them it might just be edible.

Though all her thoughts of making breakfast with him, seem to still as he slides in behind her, resting his forehead against her shoulder while his arms come to wrap around her waist. She can’t help but lean back into his touch. It has been too long, days since they last had anything more than a few moments of contact.

She blames in on their missions, on the fact that SHIELD seems to be doing everything in their power to keep them separated from each other, on the fact that she is still spending each night in her own personal containment pod.

She’s not bitter. (Not like Leopold is.)

If this is what it takes for the team to trust her then she is willing to make compromises.

Though compromising on how often they’re able to be together is not something she had anticipated being so difficult. Her human body was surprisingly needy.

When she leans back into him she can feel that he wants her too, needs her, here and now.

Breakfast can suddenly wait.

“Leopold-”

His answering, “Yes,” is so heavy with need that it stirs something within her.

Sex here is different - she can feel it, feel him against her, feel her body already reacting instinctively to his proximity, needing desperately for more of him. She wants him, desperately. And when his right hand moves from around her waist down inside her sleep pants she can’t help but let out a gasp.

Each brush of his fingers is an electric touch, sending sparks through her body. Fire racing through her veins, all rushing down to the part of her that has only ever been for him.

“Please,” she gasps out, tilting her head so that she can kiss at the side of his face, “Leopold, please.”

“Fuck, Ophelia,” his hand withdraws for a moment. A feeling of loss sudden and sharp, but when she turns around to face him. He tugs down her sleep pants with ease. Her shirt follows afterwards, if only for the momentary pleasure she gets when his hands settle against the curve of her breasts, pinching her nipplies between his fingers. It’s so much more than pain here.

This time when she moans, he captures her lips in his, a kiss that is desperate and so long overdue. Why had she not kissed him the second she found him in the kitchen.

A part of her gets a small thrill out of the idea of where they are. In a SHIELD base, in public, in the kitchen where anyone could walk in on them. She wonders if this is the sort of thrill he used to get back in the Framework when he would order everyone out of the laboratory and take her there a lab table, knocking back into priceless equipment.

“I want to eat you out,” he says, drawing her out of her thoughts and back to the present, and oh -

“Please,” is about all she can manage which seems to be the right answer.

She settles back up on top of the table, letting his position her into what is easiest.

This is a new experience for her. Or relatively new. Every experience seems to be now that they are here in this world, not that she can feel everything that he does to her. It was different before, the few times he had done similar in the Framework, it had felt like nothing at all.

Now though she feels it all.

The brush of his scruff against her thighs. His hands gripping her hips just a bit too tight. The warmth of his breath there against her core. Before he finally moves in forward and then she becomes overwhelmed by it the feeling of his mouth on her.

She had never known anything could feel this good before.

Pleasure that was solely for her.

It’s all consuming, so that the only thing she can focus on is him. On the feel of him. On how good he is treating her and how each brush of his tongue sends a shockwave through her.

Vaguely over the intense feeling of pleasure, she can hear herself, broken moaning noises, desperate calls out of his name over and over again like a prayer.

She needs this man, and he needs her, and nothing else matters but the proof of that that is between her thighs.

When it hit her, the sudden moment, the peak that she still has not been able to predict when and why it comes, but it so overwhelming that she feels like crying. As if infinity was within her grasp for only a brief moment and her entire nervous system lights up in response.

This is by far the greatest part of being human.

His hand reaches for hers as she begins to fall down and she instinctively laces their fingers together, her heartbeat slowly returning to its normal speed, her lungs only just remembering how to breathe.

She comes back to herself fully, falls back from her high, it is with sudden awareness of where they are and the fact that they are very much not alone. Leopold seems to notice around the same time, he’s caught there between her legs, using the back of his hand to wipe off his mouth with a sort of wide eyed embarrassed look.

“Oh don’t mind me,” the new person - a stranger to Ophelia, says. Somehow he’s managed to enter the kitchen and make himself a bowl of cereal during all that without either her or Leopold having noticed. Clearly he was an accomplished spy.

“Hunter, bloody hell-”

“Long time no see Fitz,” he says giving a half salute with his spoon, “Hey hot naked girl I don’t know.”

Some part of her should probably be embarrassed like Leopold is, ashamed at a strange man having caught her spread out over the base’s kitchen table with nothing on, but she’s not. She knows she looks good like this, she has seen it in Leopold’s face plenty of times.

“Ophelia,” she offers her name to the unspoken question.

“Lance Hunter.”

Him introducing himself seems to snap Leopold to action, as he quickly darts up to grab her abandoned clothing. A nice gesture.

“When did you get game, Fitz?”

“Please can we never talk about this.”

“Leopold and I have known each other since the Academy,” she says, the practiced backstory, “At least in my world.”

“You’re from another world? That’s neat. Weird but I mean, who am I to judge.”

“Ophelia, please, put on your shirt,” Leopold beats her to talking, pressing her shirt into her hands quickly.

She does as he asks, if only to ease his embarrassment. Tugging it over her head and putting on her pants as well when offered them.

The other man, Hunter, is still there watching them. Eating his cereal with a casual indifference which reminds her - “Leopold, did you still want to make pancakes?”

“Currently, I want to die,” he says, which is not helpful.

“Don’t worry, love, he just had breakfast of champions, should keep him satisfied for a bit.”

“Oh, Leopold is rarely satisfied.”

Hunter’s laugh is confusing.

Leopold’s embarrassed squeak not so much.

“On second thought, we’re going to Waffle House for breakfast, and you’re not telling anyone about this,” Leopold says quickly.

Waiting only momentarily for Hunter’s reply of “Scouts honor,” before grabbing her hand, with the clear intention to leave.

She supposes that she does enjoy the Waffle House, so that’s not a terrible loss. In fact it was probably better than anything either of them would have been able to cook.

Orgasms and waffles, what a way to start the morning.

There was only one question she had to ask, “Leopold, what is a ‘Breakfast of Champions’?”

#friada #leo fitz #aida #aos fic #aosfic #plinys writes things #this is literally 1.5k of smut with guest appearance by hunter wow #enjoy your daily smut fic #ophvelias #asks

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