#midnight got my paranoia tipping off a bit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jacobbyart · 2 years ago

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title: bathroom breaks for the broken-hearted ship: steve harrington/eddie munson tags: angst, hurt/comfort, reconciliation, getting together, drunkennes words: 2,517 summary: eddie finds steve drunk in a stranger's bathroom.

There were two exits. The front door behind him was closest, but it had already clicked shut before he could think of turning back. The second exit was a few feet away through a throng of partygoers that held their drinks close to their chests as Eddie came into view. The music didn’t suddenly stop the way he imagined it would, nor did the chatter falter, but the pairs of eyes following his every move still unsettled him enough to make him want to sink into himself. Not that he ever would, but maybe parking his van a block away hadn’t been the best idea he had all night. Then again, it was close to midnight, and he was running on very little sleep.

A steady hand squeezed his forearm and pulled him up the stairs firmly. The cuts and bruises from yesterday’s scuffle protested in pain under the sleeve of his sweatshirt, but Eddie only bit down the string of expletives on the tip of his tongue and marched on.

“Jesus Christ,” came a voice from atop the stairs. It was a guy he vaguely remembered from school. “This is your backup plan?”

“Yes.” It was Nancy, he realized, that had a grip on him. He frantically looked around for Robin, a habit from the paranoia borne from having just saved the world—or, at the very least, their small town—and found her close behind him.

The guy from school shook his head and then motioned for them to follow him with a flick of his wrist.

“Sorry, Eddie,” Robin slurred. “It’s—Nancy and I—” She released a shaky breath reeking of alcohol and smoke. Eddie had never been one to judge, but both Nancy and Robin bit off more than they could chew coming to this party. Declining their invitation might have been a bad idea, but they got him to come regardless.

“I’ll get us home, okay? Just sit tight and don’t stray too far.”

Robin frowned but nodded.

They stopped in front of a door as the guy from school pulled out a key ring. He tried for the doorknob once, rolling his eyes when it wouldn’t budge, then slotted the correct key in and pushed the door open.

Eddie prepared for the worst.

It was a bathroom. Large. Dark. On the other end laid a bathtub, and the glow from the hallway washed over limbs splayed over the lip of the porcelain.

“All yours,” said the guy from school.

Eddie had to swallow a bitter laugh.

The door behind him closed as he took the first few steps in. He stood near the sink, counted a few seconds before feeling for the light switch behind him. The light flickered and hummed.

“I wasn’t supposed to drink,” Steve mumbled. “Figured they’d call you.”

“That’s not very kingly of you, Steve,” came the immediate reply. He pressed his lips shut almost as quickly as the words came out.

“That’s my shirt.”

The fabric of Steve’s sweatshirt seemed to burn him. He tugged at the sleeves and then rolled them up, but when the ugly splotches of black and blue revealed themselves, quite loudly in Eddie’s opinion, he pulled them back down. Steve hadn’t been looking at him anymore, thank God, although a pang of hurt still shot through his chest. “I didn’t have time to change.”

Steve scoffed, a nasty wet sound. He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes.

“Steve, we have to get you home. You’re drunk.”

“No, shit.”

“C’mon, Steve—”

“You’re kidding me, right?” There was a sour smile on his lips that Eddie wanted to kiss away.

“The girls… they’re outside waiting—”

“I don’t think I can stand you right now, actually,” Steve said a bit too calmly. The smile hadn’t faded, hadn’t faltered even as Steve faced Eddie. “So if the girls are waiting, take them home and leave.”

“Steve…”

“Stop saying my name.”

Eddie didn't notice he was nodding, hanging on to Steve’s every word until he realized that he couldn’t stop. Yeses and okays played on loop in the back of his mind and the only reason he hadn’t spilled them all out yet was because he was biting hard on his bottom lip. It was a miracle he couldn’t yet taste blood.

The metal rings on the shower curtain slid noisily around its rod, shielding Steve from view, but Eddie could still make out the blurry silhouette from behind the curtain and could hear the soft shaky breaths and muffled sniffles. It was the soft sob, guttural but stifled, that brought pinpricks to Eddie’s eyes and a tightness to his throat, his tears threatening to spill.

He had no right to cry, especially in front of Steve.

Instead, he turned the light off. He had no plans of getting out without Steve, not that the girls would let him anyway. He was glued in place, still by the sink, beside the mirror he was so careful not to face. A part of him wanted to walk away, wanted to let Steve be, and just check in the morning to see if he was safe, home or otherwise. But there was no leaving, no walking away now at the sight of Steve broken and wrecked, at the sound of him spilling his heart out. Once was enough for Eddie, and that in itself almost unraveled him in ways he hadn’t expected to.

It was still a mystery to him how he could possibly be the one responsible for doing this to Steve; how he was able to elicit this kind of reaction out of the Hero of Hawkins himself, out of the King, out of Steve. A name he couldn’t say out loud anymore, because Steve told him not to. Eddie would sooner bite his tongue off than break that silent promise.

“I’m still here,” Eddie said instead, a reminder for Steve and himself. “I’m still here.”

Steve cleared his throat as if telling Eddie he heard, as if telling him he was listening, though that could just be Eddie’s nerves convincing him Steve wasn’t completely throwing him away just yet. Eddie decided to cling to his nerves.

“I’m…”

“You weren’t,” Steve said. “For a while, you weren’t here.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie whispered. “I’m sorry I ran away.” He closed his eyes as a pregnant pause lulled the conversation to what he thought was a complete stop, but then, Steve huffed.

“I just thought I meant something to you.”

“You do.” Eddie’s voice broke at the last word. A single teardrop fell and he immediately wiped it away with the back of his hand.

“Not as much as I wanted to.” He cleared his throat again as he shifted around in the bathtub. “I can take rejection, you know? I’m not delicate.” Steve drew the curtain a little to take a peek. Eddie could see the shine in his eyes under whatever glow cast itself in the bathroom. “I knew from the beginning that I'm not the kind of guy you would usually go for. I’m not that much of an idiot to not see how different we are.”

“That never mattered to me.”

“I don’t care, Eddie. Just get on with it.”

“Get on with what?”

“Tell me you never liked me the way I like you. Tell me you hate me. Tell me you pitied me when you kissed me. God, anything. Tell me anything, just… end this, please. I can’t watch you walk away again and leave me hanging like this, Eddie. I can’t.”

“I didn’t kiss you because I pitied you.”

“Do you still think you’re some sort of experiment to me?”

“I know that I’m not.”

Steve laughed hysterically before sinking further down into the bathtub. “This is worse than the head injuries.”

“Hey, Ste—um, can I turn on the light?”

Steve made a non-committal sound.

The hum of the light was quieter this time around, as Steve’s words still rang in his ears. Eddie slowly made his way towards the bathtub and kneeled in front of Steve. He hadn’t been this close to him for two weeks, though it felt a lot longer. He had steered clear of Family Video for the most part, and when Steve had tried to visit his newly government-reinstated apartment, he climbed out of the back window and stayed in the nearby alleys for a good few hours. Hell, he even avoided Dustin, which he reckoned he should apologize for sooner rather than later. But that was a problem for another day.

“I have something to show you.” He fiddled with the ends of his sleeves. Any more of that and they’d be fraying at the seams. He wouldn’t want to ruin what could be the last of his mementos from Steve. “Is that okay?”

Steve was looking much worse than Eddie anticipated. His eyes were red-rimmed, dark circles and heavy bags circled them. His hair could use a brush or two, though Eddie suspected that was less of days’ worth of neglect and more of a result of the evening’s spiel. “What?”

Eddie rolled his sleeves up and winced at the sight of his gashes and bruises. There were bandages on a few of the deeper cuts. Nothing serious, but if Eddie wasn’t paying attention, he would scratch at the scab and reopen the wounds. “I got this yesterday.”

Steve jerked up and Eddie had to raise his hands, hovering them over Steve’s shoulders to reassure him.

“Who did that?”

“A bunch of nobodies tricked me into doing a deal with them. I didn’t… I knew fighting back would be useless, but they dragged me around before I could run away.”

Steve didn’t touch his bruises, but his hand was so close to Eddie’s skin that he could feel its warmth. It felt especially warm during a cold September night, and Eddie wouldn’t care less whether it was the alcohol or Eddie himself that caused that. He allowed himself, for a moment, to believe that it was him anyway. The red on Steve’s cheeks only made him smile.

“Are you guilt-tripping me?”

“What? No!” Eddie almost scrambled to say. He pulled his arm away, hiding it from Steve. “No, no, Steve, that’s not it at all.”

Steve chewed on his lip, lost in thought. “Somebody already took care of you.”

“What?”

“Are you already with someone else?”

“Steve.” Eddie clasped his mouth with both his hands and groaned. He looked up at the white ceiling, counting the specks of water damage as he willed for his heart to stop beating too fast and too hard. This was not going the way he thought it would. “Jesus Christ.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that you would kiss me when you—”

“No, I know.” Eddie shook his head, then rested his forehead on the cool porcelain of the bathtub, hiding his face from Steve. “I’m not. With anyone, if that wasn’t clear. I don’t think I can be with anyone. Especially not you. Can’t you see what’ll happen if you get too close to me?”

Steve kept his mouth shut.

“You get hurt. I’ll get you hurt, Steve. And I don’t want that. I don’t want that for you.”

“That isn’t up to you. That’s not your fault.”

“I don’t care if it is. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Eddie.” Steve leaned closer now, touching Eddie’s jaw, urging him to look up at him. “I can’t just unlove you because you think being with you will get me beat up in the street. You can’t make that decision for them and you can’t make any decisions for me. Not you. Not you too.”

“Steve, I’m not—”

“All my life, my parents, this town, they decided that they knew what was best for me. Be a Harrington, be King Steve, have good hair, do sports, keep up appearances and I’ll do great. And now you…”

Eddie opened his mouth to say something but his tongue was frozen in place.

“You can’t do that to me. You can’t be a part of them.”

“I’m not.” Eddie put a hand over Steve’s and grasped his fingers tightly. “I won’t.”

“So you either reject me. Tell me you don’t want what I want,” Steve said sternly, both hands now holding gently caressing Eddie’s cheeks. Steve’s face softened. There was a smile on his lips. “Or you could take me away.”

Eddie sighed around a sob.

“Please take me away, Eddie.”

Eddie didn’t bother fighting the urge to kiss Steve. It wasn’t the most comfortable, nor the best position to be in for a kiss. Steve tasted like alcohol and greasy food and a night well spent partying and getting hammered, but Eddie couldn’t find it in him to care.

It was only when Steve’s body convulsed in a fit of cries, lips still locked with Eddie’s, that Eddie pulled away. He gently pulled Steve up from the bathtub, and Steve went with the motion. Steve tried his best to lift his weight but ended up leaning onto Eddie when he finally stood. Steve wrapped his arms around Eddie’s torso, too tightly to only need the added support, and Eddie embraced him back.

They stood there, in some stranger’s bathroom, hugging and crying for a good few minutes. Eddie wanted to pepper in small kisses into Steve’s temples, his hair, his cheeks, and his jaw, but he didn’t feel like he earned it just yet. For now, he was content with the warmth and the proximity that Steve gave him, and he reckoned, for a little while, it should be more than enough.

Rounding Steve out with the girls was easier than he anticipated. Robin told the man—Joel, he had said his name was, and that he and Eddie had once had Chemistry together—that Steve would pick his car up first thing the next day. And with that, they were off. Steve walked close enough with Eddie that Eddie could easily steady him if he swayed too much, and the girls followed behind them.

In the end, they exit through the back door. The walk to Eddie’s van was met with a few grumbles about it being too far. Eddie could only agree.

He dropped the girls off first, and he didn’t drive away until they were safely in their homes.

The way to Steve’s was quiet. When Eddie spared a glance at the other boy, he found Steve fighting off sleep, which endeared Eddie to no end.

“I can’t unlove you too, you know?” he heard himself say.

“Hm?” Steve looked at him, eyes droopy, but it seemed to do the trick of waking him up, his posture now more alert.

“I don’t think I can unlove you even if you decided that I wasn’t worth it after all.”

Steve smiled. “But that’s not the decision I made.”

“No,” Eddie said quietly, “it isn’t.” And Eddie still couldn’t understand why.

“Stay with me?” Steve asked when Eddie pulled his van to a stop in front of his house.

Eddie nodded. “Always.”

#i just realized how shitty links are on tumblr #so ill just post the entire thing here #steddie #steveddie #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #steve/eddie #eddie/steve #steve harrington/eddie munson #eddie munson/steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #stranger things #st #ch: steve harrington #ch: eddie munson #nar: stranger things #ship: steve harrington/eddie munson

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thesunicarusfellfor · 4 years ago

Note

Hello my beloved! ( Can I call you that? And people it's platonic!) I have an idea and this is for pogtopia wilbur and ghostbur! Can you do a reader who loves painting and one morning they find a picture of them with a note about the reader confessing to then but they didn't do it in person because they were really nervous? Thank you!

And please take as much time as you want also could it be a long story? Thank you!

- Your beloved Moosh 🥺

Moosh, darling! Hello! Yes, you have my full permission to call me that, thank you for asking! This is the third time I've written this story because Tumblr just really enjoys screwing me over...

Also. You never clarified whether you wanted fluff or angst, but it's Pogtopia Wilby so I kinda just went with angst? If you want a happy end to this, I'll rewrite this no problem! But it won't be as long because... Well, you'll see. Also also, I didn't exactly know where to throw the Ghosty Bur in, so... Yeaaaah? He's at the end tho!

THE FIRST PART IS LIKE NEW NEW POGTOPIA WILBUR

TW: (Sorry it didn't save the first time) C!Schlatt, bruising, threatened hanging, self doubt

Perfect Picture of Imperfection (Pogtopia!C!Wilbur x GN!Painter!Reader)

Maybe you painted Schlatt's horns the wrong colour? Or his jawline was off? He was furious when you finally showed him your art piece... It was the best you could do with the few hours you were given! Paint physically couldn’t dry as fast as Schlatt wanted it to you… He didn’t seem to care when he threw the wooden frame of the torn canvas at you, giving you a dark bruise right above your eye, or when he started yelling at you and threatening to burn your art studio down to the ground.

Or even when he grabbed you and suggested to Quackity to hang you at the gallows for insulting the emperor of Manberg.

The man you had once been friends with grinned widely and nodded happily, “Yes, sir! Yes, sir!” He said, without a single care that you were a living human being, only giving a cheer as he picked you up so your feet were dangling on the ground, leaving you silent in terror. Tubbo only averted his gaze.

“Aww… You’re like a little fawn, caught in the torchlight of a traveller.” The ram hybrid smiled in a sickly sweet manner, causing the colour to drain from your face, “Come now, darling, I’m not a monster… You’re the only one of Wilbur’s sweet little subjects that he hasn’t gotten back, and here I thought you were his favourite… Or maybe he left you here to act as a sacrifice so they could all be off doing their own thing... Guess he prefers Niki over you…” He whispered as he dropped you, chuckling softly as you scurried out of the building as you quite literally ran for your life.

You called Wilbur when you were safely hidden in your house, gasps and sobs leaving your mouth quicker than tears could pool out of your eyes…

“(Y/n)... You can’t be calling me when-”

“Wil…?” You whispered into the communicator, your voice shaking enough to shut him up immediately, “He… He’s going to…” Hiccuping meekly, you curled in tighter on yourself as you heard Schlatt’s loud and pompous voice come over the speaker system he had hung up all around the once beautiful country, “I think I’m going to die here…”

The dead silence that followed through the line was sickening…

“Is it true…?” You couldn’t help but find yourself wondering aloud, “Is that why I’m the only one left here? Am I a sacrifice so you can live happily elsewhere? ...Is that why you haven’t come to get me?”

“(Y/n), I want you to never utter those words again.” His voice was dark and steely as there was a bit of crashing around that came from the other side as well as faint mumbles which were clearly from Tommy judging by all the swearing, “You are not a sacrifice. Now... Get your Enderchest and Inventory packed up, I’m coming to get you tonight, and then I’ll explain in person…”

The line cut off and you slowly lowered the communicator down from beside your ear. Your heart was sinking one minute, but soaring the next… A terrible feeling really. You were saved! But… He could get caught trying to come to get you… You couldn’t let that happen for sure. With a heavy sigh, you rubbed your eyes free of tears before standing up and beginning to shove any necessary equipment into your Enderchest, including your finished painting of Wilbur that you were going to give to him when he won the election… And finally, confess your feelings…

When midnight hit and the lights of the city finally died down, you climbed up onto your roof and looked around for the president, fear and paranoia flooding through your veins as your mind went wild. What if he got caught? What if he was trying to give you false hope? What if. What if. What if. These sort of questions buzzed around in your mind for an hour as you waited for your saviour to arrive…

Finally, when enough became enough and you decided he wasn’t coming, you stopped pacing and slowly sat down on the roof as the tears began to start again. You could practically hear Schlatt chiding you in the back of your mind, telling you that you were a fool for holding out hope.

“(Y/n)!” A low hiss came from beside you and a hand touched your shoulder. You certainly would’ve screamed bloody murder if another hand hadn’t quickly wrapped around your mouth, “Sh, sh, sh, it’s me… It’s Wilbur.” The voice soothed softly as the hand left your mouth, quickly allowing you to turn your head.

It didn’t feel real… Seeing him after so long… And in an outfit other than his uniform. “Wil...bur?” You repeated, staring at him for a while before giving him a soft smile filled with relief, “You really came…”

“Of course I did!” He almost seemed offended for a moment before his eyes softened as he realized what Schlatt must’ve drilled into your head. Wilbur easily caught you as you flung your self at him, quickly wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your (h/l) (h/c) hair, “I missed my artiste…” He whispered, donning a temporary french accent for the word ‘artist’.

Holding back a sob, you quickly grabbed his extended hand and followed him as he jumped off your roof, safely landing in a bed of hay that you used to feed your old farm animals that Schlatt confiscated before following him out of this damned country.

After that, things seemed to change between you and Wilbur. He always seemed to be at your side, choosing to personally train you rather than letting Techno train you with everyone else, or even running over ideas on how to expand Pogtopia with you rather than with Tommy. His touches always lingered longer or he somehow wound up leaning closer to you than originally necessary, but you never caught yourself complaining. He would watch you paint beautiful designs along the armour he had gifted you, knowing full well it would chip off and was heavily unnecessary, but he only smiled and let you continue doing it as long as it didn’t interfere with enchantments.

Each day with Wilbur became better and better, but your heart physically couldn’t take it any longer, you had to tell him that you felt this way for him… The way that you had to fight back the reddening of your cheeks when his chest pressed against your back as he adjusted your stance in training, or the way you had to struggle to regulate your breathing every time he complimented you on how far you had come…

He was going to be the death of you…

Your already calloused hands were bruised and blistered, but somehow, you were still able to hold a quill, pinched in between the fingers of your dominant hand. Wilbur had come to your Pogtopia home this morning, but upon realizing that he had knocked you to the ground a little too hard yesterday as you were incredibly stiff and sore, he let you have the day off of training.

This was at least a little chance… You had torn a page from your notebook and sat down at your handmade desk with a bitter sigh. Trust me, you wanted to tell him in person, but you were just too scared… Plus, maybe you could play it off as someone pulling a prank on him if it went south.

Biting your lip, your fingers treated the quill as a brush, delicately running the ink dipped tip over the top of the paper, letting your heart control what words you wanted the ink to form.

Wilbur,

You don't realize how much you mean to me. Although we've been friends for only a year, I feel as though I've known you my entire life. My connection to you is already so deep, and my love for you is already so strong that I can't remember what my life was like before we met. Even more, I can't imagine my life without you now. I can't imagine the future without you, either.

You have saved my life several times already. You have even saved me from myself several times, too! I am so thankful for your guidance and care. Whenever I'm having a bad day, I know that I can just give you a call. I know I can depend on you and, with your help, everything will turn out well.

I want you to know how I really feel. It's time for you to know that I'm ready to admit how much I care for you, how much you mean to me. I know, this isn’t the best timing in our lives, but I trust it will get better through your leadership. I love you, Wilbur.

Please, don't ever forget how much I love you.

Love, (Y/n) (L/n)

Sighing, you put the quill into the inkpot and put your head in your bandaged hands. ‘This is going to work. It will work. Go on. Have faith in yourself, as Wil said…’ You took a few deep breaths and stood up, picking up the letter once it was dry and reading it over as many times as you physically could before your mind couldn’t handle it any longer.

Walking to the door, you cracked it open to search for any sign of your president, sighing again as you realized he was likely out helping gather resources. “Is… This enough?” You mumbled sadly as you stared down at the simple letter before looking at your Enderchest in thought. Surely you could give him a few emeralds or some gold… Yeah! That’s what you’d do! Smiling in victory, you quickly wandered over to the chest and opened it, digging through it for a few moments.

It was sort of empty…

You groaned as you remembered that you haven’t really been one of the miners or forgers for Pogtopia. Instead, you were one of the warriors, focused on protecting others instead of gathering supplies.

Going to shut the chest, you suddenly paused as you saw something colourful resting at the bottom. Pushing aside your old L’Manberg uniform, you gasped as you found your old painting of Wilbur from a few months ago. It was old, yes, and a little dusty but you were still proud of it even now! Perfect.

Pulling out the painting, you began to lightly brush the dust off of the picture, smiling at the splashes of paint and colour forming a picture. It was your magnum opus.

It was a painting of Wilbur holding up a massive L’Manberg flag against the sunlight with a wide smile and hope in his eyes… This was the day that L’Manberg won independence from DreamSMP…

Standing up again, you quickly hurried out the door and walked to Wilbur’s room, silently creaking open the door and looking around, even though you were well aware that he was gone for the day. You walked over to his desk and gently setting the painting down on top of the countless sheets of work, making sure not to mix up any of the papers, then putting your letter on top where he could see it before hurrying out before you could change your mind.

Thankfully you got out when you did because, by the time you pulled an already baked potato out of the furnace, Wilbur came down the stone stairs, looking extremely exhausted, “(Y/n), my artiste…” He murmured with a smile, “I’m glad to see you’re still up and going… I was worried we would have to make you a healing pot.”

“It’s not too bad… It’s mostly just my hands that hurt.” You chuckled and held up your shaking bandaged hands, “You want me to cook you up some potatoes and carrots? Or I could maybe try and get some steak cooked up before you go to work?”

Wilbur tried to smile a bit, deciding not to question why your hands were shaking so badly, taking everything out of his inventory and placing them in their designated chests. “No, no… It’s alright. I’m going to go get ready for Tubbo’s report… I’ll see you later tonight, okay?”

You gave him a small wave before Wilbur disappeared into his office. Taking a sharp intake of breath, you quickly followed after him and peeked through the tiny crack in the door where he didn’t close it all the way. He stood in his room silently for a moment before throwing his hat off at a wall, screaming into hands, muffling it heavily to the point where you wouldn’t have heard it if you were still near the furnaces. Wilbur threw off his jacket before plopping himself into his chair with his head in his hands for a few moments, then lifting it to stare at the painting that you had placed.

He was still for a long time, then he slowly picked up the note, his eyes softened slightly before his face broke out into a wide and genuinely happy smile before his mouth twitched and the smile began to fall, tears bubbling into his chocolate coloured eyes. Wilbur held the note up to his chest and slouched back against his chair, sobbing into his hand, whispering ‘I’m so sorry’ repeatedly.

Frowning, you realized that he physically couldn’t return your love because of the stress of caring for Pogtopia and trying to win back L’Manberg. With a sad smile, you stood up and walked to your room, putting your head down as you saw water droplets hit the stone below you, “It wasn’t a no…” You tried to tell yourself, ignoring the tears running from your eyes as you shut the door, sliding down to your knees.

The next few weeks after that were hell, the complete opposite of the Utopia that you were blinded by for the past month. Wilbur asked Techno to pick up your training, and he never even spoke to you about it again… It was the Piglin hybrid that awkwardly told you. During dinner, Wilbur would practically eat as little as possible as he ignored you, trying to make any situation where he would be in the same room as you as short as possible.

“Wil-...” You reached out to the president but watched as he only gave you the saddest gaze before walking past you as if he never saw you. But he would have no problems talking to Niki, or anyone else! It wasn’t fair!

Time ticked by in a haze of fog and you quickly watched the man you had once fallen in love with becoming a complete shadow of his former self… It was sickening… He… Lost it… His mind was becoming twisted… And all you could do was watch in horror…

You knew something was wrong when he crept away from the festival and the celebration… But you just decided that he was going to take a break from the excitement. He was quite old after all…

Then the ground shook with booming roars as TNT blew craters into the earth, sending debris scattering and people screaming, scattering for their lives. Gasps of terror escaped your lips as you realized the cause of it all… You hopped over gunpowder scented broken stone and batted the smoke away as you saw the final picture to paint the last stroke of horror in your heart.

There was a blond man with massive avian wings holding a diamond sword glimmering with enchantments as the brunet clung to his clothing, slowly sinking to his knees. With a sob of despair, you watched the man you once loved so dearly, get stabbed through the chest by his own father.

“WILBUR!” You shrieked, your ears ringing from the blast as you sunk to your knees, sobs racking your frame violently. Wilbur’s head lazily rolled to look in your direction…

And in his last dying breath… He smiled…

“That painting…” A light airy whisper echoed through the darkened stone halls of your home, “It’s familiar… Yet so foreign...”

You gave a hum as you hung your netherite armour on your stand before turning to stare at the spectral figure floating in your doorway, “Which painting, Ghostbur? There’s many… You have to elaborate.”

“Right! Because you’re an artiste!” The transparent male chirped happily, not seeming to notice your flinch, “I mean the one hanging above the fireplace, of Alivebur.”

“Right…” You nodded, following behind the eager sweater-wearing ghost down the eerie hallways and into the office, "I'm going to take it down... I think it's doing more harm than good..."

Ghostbur didn't seem to understand your reasoning, but he didn't say much, knowing that Alivebur hurt many people... But he didn't think he hurt you, "It's pretty though... But your art style has changed, in a good way though!" He smiled softly as you opened the large dark oak double doors.

You walked past your grand dark oak desk to stare at your former magnum opus, dangling above the unlit fireplace. "Hey, Bur, if you have a flint and steel, could you light the fire please?" You glanced over and watched him nod as he dug through his pockets. In the meantime, you climbed up onto the mantle and began to struggle to pull the canvas off the wall. With a bit of hassle, you managed to pull it down and toss it onto the ground before climbing down, just in time for your ghost friend to light the fire.

"Don't damage it, (N/n)! It's still really good!" Ghostbur scolded you with a pout once you hopped down and picked the canvas up, "And you used to be proud of it!"

"I'm not, don't fret too m-" You paused mid-sentence as you saw a letter tucked into the bottom corner of the back of the painting. Frowning in confusion, you slowly picked it up and turned it over into your hand, only to discover that it was addressed to you in fancy cursive, sealed with a light red and white wax seal, "What's this?"

He looked over at you and tilted his head, seeming almost as genuinely confused as you were. Ghostbur shrugged as you propped the painting up against the wall before sitting at your desk, using your letter opener for its purpose, "Love letter, perhaps?"

"I doubt it..." You mumbled softly as you carefully unfolded the paper, recognizing that it was probably a few years old, "Let's see... Who wrote this..." You hummed before beginning to read.

My darling artiste... I'm sure by the time you read this, I'm either dead or... Well, most likely dead, if all goes to plan...

I am writing this letter to you to let you know that life without you is not the same. Life without you is very sad and lonely. I have realised that it was you who keep me alive and cheerful.

I thought I would get used to your absence from my life, but every day has been harder when I think of all the good times we spent together.

There are so many things which I want to confess. It's killing me because I don't want you to go another day without knowing how I feel about you.

And I'm not able to tell you I'm in love with you.

What an idiot I am.

And for the past few days, I've been trying to figure out, why there aren't some words to describe it. I want to tell you exactly how I feel but there isn't a single goddamned word in the entire dictionary that can describe my love for you.

But I need that word. I need it because I want you to hear me say “I love You". I want to make the sweetest gestures in front of you which make you feel even more loved.

Trust me... I know... I act like an absolute ass towards you. I'm so scared of your life being in more danger than it was... I really did love you, and still do, but I didn't want it to hurt you more when I blow up L'Manberg...

Darling, I could have simply called you on your communicator and took you out on a surprise date but I couldn't have expressed my feelings. You have become an integral part of me. I want to give you all my love throughout my life.

The painting you made me is beautiful and I will cherish it for as long as I'm alive... It's a perfect picture of imperfection...

I Love You, (Y/n), even if by now you'll never love me back.

- Wilbur Soot

"That... That idiot..." You whispered, holding your head in your hands in an attempt to hide the tears from Ghostbur, "He planned blowing up L'Manberg from the beginning... That's why he refused to acknowledge me after I... He wanted me to hate him..."

Ghostbur held a bit of blue in his hands tightly, avoiding your gaze as you murmured to yourself, "Yeah... Most of my happiest memories involve you... That's why I couldn't understand when you said Aliverbur hated you..." He glanced away again as he saw you look at him.

"(Y/n)... Are you ever going to move out of Pogtopia?"

"Probably not for a long time, Ghostbur."

#pogtopia wilbur #pogtopia wilbur x reader #c!wilbur x reader #wilbur soot x reader #pogtopia wilbur soot x reader #dsmp x reader #dream smp #dreamsmp x reader #mcyt x reader #wilbur mcyt #villain wilbur #villain wilbur x reader

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wizardofrozz · 3 years ago

Text

Prompt 2: Shapeshifter

Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Wanda Maximoff, Tony Stark

Word Count: 2,279

Warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, mentions of blood, mention of murder

A/N: There aren’t any pairings in the fic, just platonic interactions. But I’m a little self-conscious of about this fic 😬 so be nice lol

The man pressed himself against the wall, watching his target laugh loudly with his group of friends. They stumbled, obviously intoxicated, and the man shook his head, realizing how easy this would be. He stepped out of the shadows, his long hair shielding the part of his face that wasn’t covered by his mask. The group of intoxicated men stumbled into an alleyway, their laughter still echoing off the surrounding buildings as he moved closer.

Parts of the group started to break off, wandering in the direction of their homes until the target was the only one left, staggering through the alleyway. The man glanced at the camera on the corner of the building before hurrying after his mark. He approached the target silently, only reaching out when he could smell the stale scent of booze wafting off the target.

“What the…” the target gasped. The air was forced from his lungs when the masked man slammed him against the nearby wall by the throat. The light over the alleyway sparkled off the metal around the target’s throat. “O-oh my g-god…you’re…you’re the Wi-.” The target was cut off when the man closed his fist.

Steve’s piercing ringtone jolted him awake, and he scrambled around for his phone, nearly falling off his bed.

“Hello?”

“Captain Rogers.” Steve blinked, pulling the phone away from his head to read the caller ID; Secretary Ross’ office number shined back at him, and he brought the phone to his ear again.

“Secretary Ross?”

“You need to get eyes of Barnes immediately,” Ross snapped.

“What? Why?” Steve fumbled around, almost knocking his lamp over in the process of trying to turn it on.

“There’s been a possible Winter Soldier sighting, and I need to know if it’s authentic,” Ross explained through his teeth.

“Uh, yeah, okay,” Steve mumbled, sliding out of bed.

“Stark, Romanoff, and Wilson should be meeting you somewhere in the compound. They should’ve been alerted as well,” Ross added. “I expect a call when you’ve got an answer.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve hummed, hanging up before Ross could say anything else.

Pounding on his bedroom door yanked Bucky out of a dead sleep, the first he’d had in a long time. He stumbled out of bed, throwing the door open, a sleepy scowl etched deep into his face; the expression fell away when he was met with a small group outside his door. Steve stood at the front in his pajamas, Nat behind him wrapped in a fuzzy red robe, Tony looking grumpy in a t-shirt and shorts, and Sam shirtless at the back of the group. All four of them looked surprised when he answered the door, leaving an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

“Did I miss the midnight invitation for a party in my bedroom?” Bucky snapped, scratching at the short stubble on his chin.

“Uh,” Steve started, blinking lamely at Bucky. “S-sorry.”

“I’m going back to bed,” Sam yawned, wandering away from Bucky’s door.

“I second that,” Nat sighed, wrapping her robe tighter around her chest and following Sam. Steve and Tony shared a look before Tony sighed and disappeared down the hall as well; Bucky stared at Steve, trying to understand what just happened.

“Steve,” Bucky pushed.

“Sorry, we, uh, got a call from Ross,” Steve supplied, mindlessly scratching at his stomach.

“About?”

“There was a report of a sighting of…of the Winter Soldier.”

The following day, Bucky sat down with Steve and Tony for a virtual conference with Ross; he wrung his hands under the table, trying to avoid fidgeting with his hair or clothes.

“Secretary Ross,” Tony greeted flatly when his face appeared on the screen.

“Gentlemen,” Ross grumbled. “Let’s cut to the chase. I need verification that Sergeant Barnes was in the compound all night.”

“FRIDAY, send Secretary Ross the footage outside Barnes’ door last night,” Tony called, dropping in the chair opposite the screen.

“It’s been taken care of, sir,” FRIDAY replied after a few seconds.

“Where was the sighting?” Steve spoke up, resting a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“New Jersey,” Ross provided, sounding slightly distracted. “There’s no other way out of his bedroom?”

“No, sir,” Steve started, but Tony cut in.

“The rooms have windows, but there are alarm systems on them, so FRIDAY would notify me if anything went in or out of the window.”

“And she can’t be overridden?” Ross raised a brow, watching Tony through his screen, looking for any signs of lying.

“Look, sir,” Bucky cut in, leaning against the table. “I understand you don’t trust me, period, but I didn’t leave the compound last night or at all yesterday now that I think about it, and I’m also not technologically inclined enough to do anything to FRIDAY.”

“Every possibility needs to be checked, Sergeant Barnes,” Ross hissed, glaring at him.

“Yes, sir. I understand, sir,” Bucky replied immediately, sitting back in his chair like a scolded child.

“I’ll have FRIDAY run a complete system scan and check for any disturbances,” Tony sighed, massaging between his eyes.

“Good,” Ross grunted. “Sergeant Barnes is not to leave the confines of the compound without an escort until further notice. I would also advise FRIDAY to keep tabs on his every movement in case of a further incident.”

Steve’s eyes scrunched shut, and he bit his tongue to keep from arguing. “Yes, sir.”

“I’ll be in touch,” was all Ross said before the call ended and Tony, Steve, and Bucky were left sitting in silence.

Bucky was vindicated a few days later when Ross decided Bucky was asleep in the compound that night. Even though Bucky was cleared to do whatever he wanted now, an anxious hum took root under his skin, leaving him on edge constantly. Steve reluctantly agreed to show Bucky the surveillance video from the incident, but it only made the sick feeling in his stomach worse. Someone was walking around with what seemed to be his face, and he had no idea who it was or why they were doing it.

A few weeks passed with no new sightings, and Bucky started to relax, giving into Sam and Steve’s begging to get out of the compound. The three decided on a bar nearby and agreed to bring Nat and Wanda along for some fresh air. Bucky managed to have a little bit of fun after the last few weeks of paranoia; Wanda sucked him into a conversation about a book she was reading when Nat got up for another drink.

“Hey,” Steve cut in, startling Bucky and Wanda. “Where’d Nat go?”

“She went to grab a drink,” Wanda provided, furrowing her brow at Steve.

“Yeah, like 10 minutes ago,” Sam added.

“Should we check on her?” Bucky asked, glancing at the slightly crowded bar.

“Maybe she went to the bathroom,” Wanda provided. “I have to go too, so I’ll see if I can find her.” The three men nodded stiffly, watching the redhead weave through the crowds of people.

“Thanks, guys,” Bucky sighed, bringing his beer to his lips again.

“You were turning into a hermit,” Sam snorted, knocking shoulders with the super-soldier.

“I had a good reason,” Bucky argued, tipping his bottle towards Sam. Steve shook his head, looking ready to add something when horror bloomed on his face, and he jumped from his chair. Sam tried to ask what happened, but he was already gone; the remaining two looked at each other before getting to their feet, following the path Steve had taken. They pushed through two people in their way, nearly running Steve over; Wanda was in front of him with a badly beaten Natasha draped over her shoulder.

“What the fuck happened,” Sam gasped, shifting around Steve. Nat lifted her head, finding Sam but her eyes quickly flickered over to Bucky, rage exploding from her.

“You!” she screamed, lunging away from Wanda. Steve sidestepped, catching Nat before she could get to Bucky.

“What happened!” Steve shouted, struggling to keep Nat caged in his arms.

“That fucking asshole a-“ Nat stopped, going limp in Steve’s grip as she looked over Bucky again, her face going slack. “But…I just…hold on.”

“Nat, I didn’t touch you,” Bucky whispered, taking a step closer.

“Oh fuck,” she breathed, her eyes growing wider at the same time Bucky’s did.

“We gotta go,” Sam suddenly said, herding the present Avengers towards the door. Bucky stumbled along, barely aware of what was going on as panic set in again; he was pushed down into the backseat of Steve’s car, pressing against Wanda’s side.

“He was there,” Bucky whispered, staring wide-eyed at the floor.

Bucky tip-toed down the dark alley, gun at the ready as he checked every nook and cranny, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Anything yet?” Steve’s crackled in his ear, scaring him, but he didn’t flinch.

“Nothing,” Bucky whispered back, quickly turning down to check another break in the buildings.

“Fuck,” Nat hissed through the earpiece. Bucky sighed, trying to release some of the tension in his shoulders and bring them down from around his ears, but he was too wound up. He could hear the faint bustle of New York City over the thump of his boots against the concrete; the team got a tip of a sighting in the city the night before and wasted no time heading out. Nat, Steve, Sam, Clint, Wanda, and Bucky were spread out around the general area of the sighting, looking for any clues.

“Oh Jesus,” Clint retched. The faint sound on his dinner coming up made Bucky’s stomach turn, and a shiver ran through him.

“Clint?” Nat’s yell echoed from a street near Bucky, and he took off running in the direction where Clint should be.

“I don’t know what the fuck this is, but, uhhh,” Clint panted. Bucky rounded the nearest corner, meeting Wanda and Sam there before heading towards Clint, who was bracing himself against a building, spitting and wiping his mouth.

“What is it?” Steve jogged towards them from the opposite direction with Nat on his heels. Clint weakly waved towards the break in the alley, refusing to turn around again; Bucky, Steve, and Sam approached slowly, searching for whatever Clint found.

“What the fuck!” Sam yelled, jumping back into Bucky. Bucky shot him an exasperated look before stepping around him to look, and man, did he regret it. It looked like a pile of clothes at first glance, but the longer he studied it, he noticed what looked like skin catching the light. Bile burned at the back of Bucky’s throat as he stumbled away, horrified, barely making it away from Sam before hurling himself. Somehow Steve and Sam managed to keep their composure as they took a closer look; Wanda and Nat didn’t even bother to try.

“Alright,” Steve mumbled, trying to hide his disgusted shiver. “Continue the sweep and look for any more of this…stuff.”

“Great,” Clint sighed, pushing away from the wall he was leaning on. Without another word, Bucky, Clint, Wanda, and Nat took off, desperate to get away from whatever the fuck they found. Bucky tried to stay focused as he moved back onto his block, but he couldn’t get the image of the pile of what he was sure now was skin. He kept walking, checking any place someone could hide, but he was still so preoccupied with their discovery that he didn’t hear the approaching footsteps. Bucky stopped to inspect the stairs that led down to the backdoor of a building when he finally heard them, but it was too late.

“I didn’t think you’d ever find me.” Bucky froze. The sound of his own voice calling out to him, taunting him, was stranger and more terrifying than he’d imagined. He slowly turned, forcing himself to keep his eyes open and never letting his guard down. Bucky’s stomach turned as he met familiar blue eyes that he was only used to seeing in the mirror.

“What…what are you,” Bucky stammered, staring at his own face twisted in a sadistic smirk.

“Bucky?” Sam said in his ear. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t really think that’s important,” Bucky’s look-a-like chuckled, lazily strolling closer.

“Kinda important to me,” Bucky snapped, tightening his grip on the gun at his side.

“Let me put it this way,” the other huffed. “It won’t matter for much longer.” Bucky was too distracted by the copy of himself walking and talking that he didn’t notice the slight movement of the copy’s left arm. Bucky stared down the barrel of the gun, his blood roaring in his ears as his heart nearly burst through his ribs; he at least had enough sense at that moment to lift his own gun.

Sam jogged to meet Steve halfway and caught a flash of Wanda’s red hair under the lights at the other end.

“Hurry up!” Steve yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth. Clint, Wanda, and Nat picked up their pace, and as soon as they were close enough, Sam and Steve fell in step. The Avengers were only a few feet from the mouth of the alleyway when the gunshot rang out, quick and efficient like the strike of a cobra. The five skid to stop, staring down at the figure facing them as the figure dropped their arm.

“Took ya long enough,” Bucky panted, stepping over the body at his feet.

“Thank god,” Steve choked out, bending to brace his hands on his knees.

“Let’s go take care of, whatever that is,” Sam offered, taking a deep breath and smacking Bucky’s shoulder as he passed.

“Nice job, buddy,” Clint sighed, elbowing Bucky before following Sam. ‘Bucky’ stood with his back to them, a dark smile slowly crawling up his face.

Masterlist

Taglist:

@marvelfansworld

#bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #james barnes #bucky fic #sergeant barnes #bucky barnes fic #steve rogers #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #clint barton #sam wilson #tony stark #halloween #shapeshifter #spooktober

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agent-cupcake · 4 years ago

Text

Garreg Mach Café Episode Two: Lucky Seven (Yuri x Reader)

The first thing you learned about him —one of the very few things you knew about him— was that he liked sugar. A lot. You didn’t work the counter most of the time, you just made the drinks. So, you didn’t know who had ordered the heart attack inducing Ruined Sky Strawberry Frappe, only that someone was looking for a cavity. Vanilla bean coffee, three pumps of vanilla syrup, and strawberry puree with ice blended and topped with whipped cream, hazelnut drizzle, strawberry drizzle, and red sprinkles.

The second thing you learned about him was his name. Or, more accurately, his lack thereof. People regularly used dumb names. It didn’t really bug you, there was no shame in entertaining someone who thought making a barista call out a drink for Phun E. Monki was the peak of modern entertainment. Not so surprisingly, you saw a lot of hipster and nerd traffic through the café so references and jokes weren’t at all unheard of. Really, this one wasn’t even that bad. Comparatively.

“Ruined Sky Strawberry Frappe for Arsène Lupin,” you called, turning around.

“That’s mine,” the waiting customer responded. Shockingly, it was not the top-hat wearing gentleman thief who stood at the counter waiting for his drink. Neither was it the dweeb you expected. Your Arsène Lupin —that is, the man standing on the other side of the glistening lacquered wood countertop— certainly wasn’t normal, but not in the way you had initially assumed.

The third thing you learned about him was that he was disarmingly beautiful. He stood casually; his arms crossed with one of his hands resting lightly on his chin as he watched with a half-smile that you would have sworn had a mischievous glint. Waiting to see if the little joke got a reaction, you figured.

Well, who were you to deny him that? Pushing down the instinctual nerves of talking to someone who belonged more in the technicolor light of your two-past-midnight Instagram escapades rather than the academia chic café, you smiled back. “Here you go, Monsieur Lupin.”

That made his lips twitch in amusement, which shouldn’t have been as gratifying as it was. “Thanks,” Arsène said warmly, wrapping his fingers around the cup. It wasn’t like you were intentionally trying to notice, but his fingers were long and thin, the nails neat and manicured. Pretty hands. Attractive hands. You wondered if they were soft, or as strong as they looked, or what they might feel like-

Nope. No. You needed God.

Or Tinder

“I hope you enjoy,” you said, trying to act like you hadn’t just committed some obscene thought crime. He was supposed to leave after that. People got their drinks and either sat down or left. But he didn’t, meeting your eyes with an even gaze. Their violet coloring was striking, drawn out by the purple eyeshadow smoked out over his pale eyelids. The makeup should have been off-putting, you were less than uninterested in the pierced hoard of e-boys that had saturated the modern alternative dating market, but it wasn’t. Not on him, at least.

“This is a cute place,” Arsène said. But he wasn’t looking around the cafe, he was staring directly at you. Which… you weren’t sure if you were to buy into your ego telling you he was flirting or your paranoia that he was laughing at you. “Is it usually this busy?”

Flirting was better, for your sanity’s sake if nothing else, so you smiled, doing a quick check to make sure you weren’t missing any customers. The guy working the register was looking at his phone under the counter.

“You know, you shouldn’t pick such an obvious pseudonym when you’re canvassing a business,” you said playfully. “Charm will only get you so far.”

That made him laugh, his appraising eyes sparkling with amusement as he stabbed a straw past the whipped cream of his drink. “In my experience, charm will get you anywhere.”

“For you, maybe,” you allowed, feeling a little more emboldened by that response. Lowering your voice slightly, you leaned in as if to conspire. “I guess the real question is what you’re stealing, Monsieur Lupin, hearts or jewels?”

“Jewels, usually,” Arsène told you without missing a beat. “I have no need to steal the hearts.” He shrugged one shoulder carelessly, casually. “I collect enough of them as it is.”

A corny, over-confident line like that should have made you laugh. Unfortunately, you kind of believed it. So you raised a skeptical eyebrow. “That goes against the spirit of being a Phantom Thief, doesn’t it?”

“Why, do you want me to steal your heart?” Arsène asked. He didn’t sound serious, exactly, but neither was the question joking enough to keep a flush from crawling up your cheeks.

“Baristas don’t have hearts,” you told him theatrically, rejecting your silly reaction. “It’s a void of caffeine, student debt, and the disappointment of our parents.”

Arsène was about to respond when you heard the door jingle open. You turned, looking over your shoulder at the customers who had stepped up to the register. “It looks like you’re needed,” he said, following your eye line.

“Yeah,” you said, feeling a strange stab of disappointment. Which was dumb. A little bit of banter with a handsome stranger was nice, but it shouldn’t have been anything else.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back,” Arsène said, smirking in a way that made you think he’d seen your dismayed reaction. “Thanks for the drink.”

He raised the cup like a toast goodbye, and you wished him a good day. It was completely ridiculous, but that quick and strange interaction played on loop in your head for the rest of the day. You went from embarrassed, to amused, to insecure, and back again dozens of times. By the next day, you weren’t sure what to think about it and you hated to think that you were watching for him, but-

Well, you were.

The fourth thing you learned about him was that he had a schedule, a specific time slot that seemed to be allocated to getting an overly sugary drink at your little cafe.

“Noa Fruit and Caramel Macchiato for Mr Pink,” you called, already expecting to see his smile based on the name alone. Not that the preparation did a whole lot in lessening the effects. Today Arsène, or Mr Pink, wore a dark striped button up tucked into black pants. The top buttons were undone, showing off the elegant column of his neck and the framing lines of his collarbones. His skin was so pale, like it had never seen the sun, the color perfectly even and milky.

“That’s mine,” he said. Redundantly. Of course it was his.

To think that you’d done your makeup with more care than usual today was embarrassing, but you were glad for it as you passed the drink to him. “Reservoir Dogs, right?” you asked, forcing yourself to not be flustered.

“Very good,” he said in a voice that was borderline condescending.

“You thought I wouldn’t know? I serve coffee in downtown, knowing Tarantino is practically a job requirement,” you said. Arsène laughed warmly, a sound that was somewhere between amusement and mocking, a sound that invited a mess of fluttery nerves to dance around in your stomach which you covered with a smile. “Mr Pink, though… he’s a long way off from being a gentleman thief.”

“Let’s just say that I’ve fallen from grace,” Arsène said, his smile an odd combination of mirth and mystery. “Lupin is... more of an ideal. Reality is hardly ever so romantic.”

“Cheers to that,” you said wryly.

“Although if I had to emulate one of them, I’d far prefer it to be the gentleman,” he said, dropping a few dollars in your tip jar. Cheeky. “Thanks for the treat.”

“Oh… Yeah,” you said, not even thinking to point out that it was your job. Unless he wasn’t talking about the coffee, which was even more baffling. “Have a nice day.”

After that came a lineup of sugary drink orders under the names of famous thieves. Some references you knew immediately, others you had to google later. And always, always, he just about made your heart stop with that smile.

It was… Maybe a week later? Your Arsène had become something like an expectation. Which was ridiculous. And stupid. But it was true, and he hadn’t been in the day before which affected you far more than you dared admit. Seeing the familiar purple head in the lineup of waiting customers was more relieving than it should have been.

A Vanilla Wyvern Wing Latte for Danny Ocean, this time. Unfortunately, there was a swath of customer’s orders that needed filling so you couldn’t give it to him personally, sliding it across the counter before rushing back to the blender. That kind of disappointed you, especially since you hadn’t seen him the day before, until you realized that he had taken a seat along the bar, writing something in a notebook and sipping on the creamy white latte.

Waiting for you? Pushing down the spark of excitement you felt about that, you finished up the orders. After that, you took a breath, grabbing a rag to at least seem productive as you inched towards him.

“You’re awfully far from Vegas, Mr Ocean,” you said. Although you called him that, you still thought of him as Arsène Lupin. Your Arsène.

He looked up from his notebook, the end of his pen pushed against his lip in a distracting way. They were so pink. And shapely, his top lip curved by a perfectly symmetrical cupids bow that no amount of lip kits could falsify. And… And you were staring. Again. He obviously noticed, what with the way he grinned when you forced your eyes up to his, but he gracefully didn’t point it out.

“Casinos are nothing more than a party trick,” he told you lightly, flipping his pen through his fingers before letting it drop to the paper. “I’ve got my eye on something far more valuable.” His eyes were burning into yours as he spoke.

That was the fifth thing you learned about him. Arsène could make anything sound like a double entendre. You thought of yourself as being somewhat difficult to ruffle, but even the most innocuous of comments from him could make your cheeks warm. It was the tone of his smooth, lovely voice. Always speaking under his breath, or low enough that you found yourself leaning in.

“Jewels, right?” you asked, playing it cool because you refused to fall prey to what you knew was a purposeful attempt to throw you off balance. “I heard there was an exhibit coming to town.”

“I’m not really interested in that sort of thing,” Arsène said with a little wave of his elegant hand. “You know the reprehensible means they use to get them, don’t you? So beautiful... but stained with blood. Not too dissimilar from myself, I suppose.”

That momentarily tripped you up. He sounded so genuine, even with the little quip of a joke. Most people couldn’t pull off saying something so nakedly edgy. Maybe it only worked because he was pretty, and you were a fool. So you just smiled. “You really ought to work on this whole subterfuge thing.”

Arsène’s eyes met yours. So intense. “And how would you recommend I do that?”

“Misdirection,” you told him, refocusing on wiping up the counter to avoid his gaze. “The names are bad enough. You’ve gotta at least pretend to be an upstanding member of society, right?”

“Do you think I’m not?” he asked lightly, his head falling to the side, hand braced against his cheek casually. “And here I thought I was perfectly amicable.”

“Oh,” you said. Did he sound offended? You quickly backtracked. “I didn’t mean to imply that I don’t think you are, it’s just that what you said-”

“I’m kidding,” Arsène said, the slightly concerned expression slipping from his face like an easily discarded mask.

You winced, internally kicking yourself. “Ah, sorry.”

“Don’t worry. That was cute,” Arsène said with that oddly infuriating unreadable grin and shutting his notebook to stand up.

“You’re leaving?” you asked, almost confused that he’d wait only to cut the conversation short.

“Haven’t you realized? I’m a wanted man. As much as I’d love to stay and chat, I’ve got things to do,” he said. “Speaking of that, I hope you didn’t miss me too much yesterday. This project is more difficult than I anticipated.”

“That’s fine, it’s not like I expect you to come by,” you said. You lied.

“No?” Arsène asked. He didn’t believe you, that much was obvious. “Fine, then. I’m not afraid to admit that I missed you. I’ll definitely see you tomorrow, though.”

“Can’t wait,” you said. And, despite the half-sarcastic affect you tried to put on, you meant it.

It only settled after he’d already left what he really had said. Missed you. Not for the first time, you toyed with the idea of giving him your number. Then again, maybe you were misreading the situation. After all, you didn’t even know his name.

Still, true to his word, he came around the same time the next day.

This time, it was a Cinnamon Dust Frappe for Garrett. Arsène, or Garrett, was wearing a sweater today in a nod to the rainy weather. Just like everything else he wore, it was entirely in service of his allure, a dark knit with leather elbow patches. White clips kept a section of his hair out of his face, which was curling at the ends. From the humidity? Or perhaps he usually straightened it?

“It took me a minute,” you admitted as you handed him his drink, “Garrett. That’s Thief, right? I have to be honest; you don’t really strike me as the gamer type.”

“I’m full of surprises,” he responded. After a moment, he added, “I haven’t got much time for games these days, but I have some fond memories from when I was a kid.”

“Probably why you’re a criminal,” you said.

If you weren’t mistaken, his eyes widened for a fraction of a second in something like surprise before that was composed into something else, his laughter driving it away. “You might be on to something with that. Video games do make kids violent, after all.”

“So, tomorrow, will it be Ezio? Or Corvo… He’s got a bit of thievery under his belt.”

Arsène scoffed. “I’d never do the same trick twice.”

That made you smile. “I look forward to it.”

After he left, you realized that you’d learned the sixth thing about him. It was such a small and mundane detail, but there was something charming and oddly intimate to imagine Arsène as a kid playing video games.

The next day, you were working register while helping to train the newbie in making drinks. It was cold. Slushy snow half-heartedly sprinkled down outside, and the heater was desperately trying, and failing, to keep the cafe warm. The repairman wouldn’t come until the following morning. All in all, your mood was rather poor.

Until the door opened and a familiar face stepped up to the counter.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you up here,” Arsène said.

“Desperate times,” you said with a shrug. He smiled at that, looking up at the menu contemplatively.

“I’ll have…” he said, “a Mockingbird Mocha Hot Chocolate. Medium.”

“And who might you be today?” you asked professionally, the Sharpie point poised over the side of the cardboard hot drinks cup.

“Prometheus,” he said without hesitation.

You blinked, caught off guard for a second as you tried to figure out the reference. That was… clever. The original thief. You couldn’t help but shake your head in amusement as you scribbled that on the side of the cup. The newbie already knew how to make the drink, leaving you with nothing to do. The cafe was quiet today, a rarity. It was the poor weather. People dropped in to get hot drinks, but you didn’t blame them for not sticking around. Arsène was dressed for the cold, wearing a white cape coat that was either incredibly trendy or strangely fringe. Of course, it worked perfectly on him. He looked ready to hop into a new age fashion catalog for outerwear.

“From gentleman thief to a gangster to god… Moving up in the world, are we?” you asked to fill the silence.

“On the contrary,” Arsène told you “There’s no power in being a god nobody believes in.”

“I’d definitely believe in you if you could warm it up in here,” you told him. “I’ve been freezing all day.”

“I’m sure I could think of a few ways to warm you up,” Arsène said, smirking, his eyes dancing with mischievous amusement. “After all, I’m the one who stole the first flame.”

A shaky exhale left your mouth, becoming something like an awkward laugh because he definitely had you going for a second and you knew it was on purpose but still. “That’s what you meant. Right.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What did you think I was talking about?”

“Here you go,” the newbie said with absolutely perfect timing, handing Arsène his drink. At least your blush was keeping you warm.

“Thank you,” Arsène said, meeting her eyes. You were pretty sure you saw her swoon, which made sense. That was the most practical response to him, after all. He looked back to you. “Try to keep warm, I’d hate for you to be calling in sick.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you said. He grinned, wishing the both of you a good day. And you did warm up. By thinking of all the ways he could keep you warm. At this point, even God Himself probably couldn’t do much about your sinful thoughts.

The next day was another cold one, meaning that it was slow. Because of that, your boss had decided that only one person was needed, and you didn’t mind if that was you. Paid hours were always welcome. More than that, and you hated yourself for it, you hoped to see your Arsène. You’d been scrolling on your phone under the register when the door opened. Winter rushed in like it had been chomping at the bit for the chance, called forth with the jingling of bells. Arsène had arrived right on time, wearing that white cloak coat and tall white heeled boots. Snowflakes shined in his hair, quick to melt in the warmth of the repaired heater. By now, you should have been immune. But you weren’t.

“Alone today?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Eerie, isn’t it?” you replied, gesturing to the empty cafe. “Not that I mind, now that the heater is fixed… What will you be having today?”

“A medium Caramel Leclair Latte,” he said.

“And your name…?”

“Yuri,” he said, which you scribbled onto the cardboard.

“All right… Just gimme a second,” you said. The drink was oddly tame for him, and a lot easier to make. You were pretty sure you could whip up a latte in your sleep. He waited without saying anything, but you could feel him watching. The music was too quiet to be a distraction and you were incredibly aware that it was just the two of you which was stupid because the counter practically put you in a different realm of reality, but-

You forced your thoughts to focus on something else, considering the name he’d given you. It was oddly unassuming, at least by the standards of other names he’d given you. You couldn’t recognize it as anything in particular, either. It was Russian. Or Japanese. It being the name of a Russian thief probably made the most sense contextually, but you were drawing a blank as to the specific reference.

“I can’t figure it out,” you admitted when you finished the drink and set it on the counter between you, “who are you impersonating today?”

Arsène blinked, a second of confusion passing before his lips quirked up just a bit. “Myself, actually. I figured it was time to give you my name. You can call me Yuri. Yuri Leclerc, to be precise.”

That was the seventh thing you learned about him. Your stomach clenched. Out of nerves or excitement or happiness, you couldn’t tell. You smiled, feeling something giddy fuzz in your head. “Well... It... It’s good to meet you, Yuri Leclerc.” Yes, you liked that name. It was better than all the others, even better than Arsène.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Yuri replied smoothly.

“So… Is there a reason for this momentous revelation?” you asked.

Some of the mirth drained from his eyes as he slid two of the little coffee straws into the lid. “I’m leaving town.”

The disappointment that struck you was beyond silly, it wasn’t like you had any claim to him. You’d only just learned his name for God’s sake. “Did the police finally catch up with you?” you asked with a smile, trying to be playful.

“Not yet,” Yuri said. “I prefer to leave before they catch wise.”

“I can never tell if you’re joking or not,” you told him, shaking your head. Sure, he was smiling, but, well, he smiled a lot. It was always unreadable. Amusement at something. Life itself, maybe.

“For your own sake,” Yuri said, his eyes fixing on yours, “you should always assume I am.”

Because that really cleared it up. You decided not to worry about it too much. “But you are leaving, that’s not pretend?”

“Yeah.”

Your heart sank all over again. Stupid, stupid. At least you finally knew his name.

That made for seven things you knew about him. That was enough, wasn’t it? Lucky sevens and all that? Without thinking too hard about it, you grabbed one of the embossed café cards and a pen, scribbling your name and phone number on the back. “If you’re ever back in town or whatever, this is me,” you told him, handing it over. “Or I dunno, I get vacation time. Maybe it’d be fun to take a trip to Almyra or Albinea or wherever gentleman thieves go until the heat dies down.”

Yuri looked at the card for a long moment before tucking it into his wallet, smiling. You felt like you could read this smile, it was warm and friendly. More real than his others, the emotion catching in his eyes, too. “I wonder, do you mean that?”

“Do you want me to?”

“I might.”

“Then I do,” you said with a shrug, like it was easy as that and unsure exactly how much of what you said was strictly playful. It didn’t really matter because it made Yuri smile all over again and the look was fond enough to make your heart seize.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “Until then, do you by any chance watch the news?”

“The news?” you asked, confused by the shift in topic. “Not if I can help it.”

“Well, you should, at least for a few days.”

“Am I gonna turn it on and see your mugshot slapped all over some headline about a bank robbery or something?” you asked, mostly joking. Mostly.

“What would have ever given you the impression that I’d do something like that?” he asked, feigning a tone of offense.

“Steal something?” you asked.

“Get caught,” he corrected.

You laughed, thinking of something clever to respond with. Unfortunately, the door opened to admit a trio of bundled up students, killing the moment before you spoke.

“That’s my cue,” Yuri said, picking up his coffee. “Don’t miss me too much until we meet again, yeah?”

“Only as long as you promise not to forget me,” you told him.

“It’s a deal, then.”

“Goodbye, Yuri.”

“Goodbye,” he echoed, his eyes meeting yours and voice gentle. Intimate, almost. Then he was gone, a flash of violet and white disappearing into the winter cold.

It was silly, but you kept an eye on the news like he told you, curious to know if anything would come of it or if you’d just fallen for a cute guy’s ruse. But, no, something did happen. A huge theft. The jewel exhibit that had been about to roll out downtown had been robbed. Such a feat was meant to be impossible, there was seemingly no way it could have been done. But it had and there were no suspects, no public leads. And, not surprisingly, no mugshots.

#fire emblem three houses #fe3h #yuri leclerc #yuris leclair #fe yuri #yuri leclerc x reader #yuris leclair x reader #fe yuri x reader #YOU'VE BEEN HIT BY #YOU'VE BEEN STRUCK BY #ive had this idea in my head for so long #admittedly i'm not sure it turned out the way i wanted but i can't tell why #iS thIs a pERsoNa rEFeRenCe? yes

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oftenderweapons · 4 years ago

Text

Papa Noël — Namjoon

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

Wordcount: 7.0k

Genre: fluff, smut, engaged rmxr, idol!AU

Rating: 18+

Hello bunnies! Merry Christmas to all of you. I wish you all the best ✨💜

I had to write this thingie because I’m selfish and I had this sort of unholy vision that told me, “you must do it”. And so I did this.

This fic is set on Namjoon and Vixen’s first Christmas together. The two are engaged (you’ll read about that sooner or later). Unfortunately, Vixen had to attend a dinner party at which she couldn’t bring Namjoon (their relationship is still very, very private, and even her parents don’t know who she’s dating, plus they respect her privacy). Namjoon spends the night with his friends, but decides to head back home and wait for Vixen — who is unforturnately late. As soon as she arrives, he is quite eager to warm her up and let her unwrap her Christmas gift. But he’d much rather unwrap her first.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: I’ll be on the naughty list forever after writing this. Swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, DDLG dynamics/daaddy kink, dirty talking, striptease, lingerie fetish, light foot fetish, very lowkey roleplay, sex toy (glass dildo), oral fixation, masturbation (female receiving) light bondage (satin bow), spanking (with rings... ahem), thigh riding, cum play and cum eating, mentions of oral sex (male receiving), a very emotional proposal, mentions of unprotected sex (never ever ever do that unless you’re 10000% sure BOTH YOU AND YOUR PARTNER(S) ARE CLEAN)

Suggested playlist: I Just Melt - Sabrina Claudio // Short Red Silk Lingerie - Sabrina Claudio // Santa Baby - Ariana Grande, Liz Gillies // I’ll Be Home For Christmas - Demi Lovato // Wishlist - Alaina Castillo

In case you need it, here is my masterlist :)

Enjoy!!!

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Papa Noël (French) — Santa Claus, en. [Daddy Christmas, lit.]

Namjoon sat on the sofa, his naked foot tapping against the plush carpet. For a second he considered what the actual fuck he was doing in his own living room dressed like that, making an absolute fool of himself.

Then he remembered the party your firm had organised for Christmas Eve, and the fact that he couldn’t have attended with you.

He hadn’t asked you to stay home, especially since your mother and father were going to attend too, and your boss and them had been friends for a very long time.

Obediently, you had followed your father’s will, you had put on your delicious blue velvet dress and you had made sure Namjoon saw you secure the little clip of your suspender belt to your stockings.

“I won’t be out late.” You had told him as he knelt and secured the small straps of your stilettos around your ankles.

“I’m a bit mad you’re going to be out, all dolled up, without me.”

“There’s a ring on my finger, Joonie.” You said.

“A ring and no fiancé. How inconvenient,” He murmured, letting his palms climb up the back of your thighs, until they met the naked skin above the elastic band of your stockings. “Aren’t they going to ask questions?” He asked, letting his long middle finger slide against the soft satin of your panties.

“No.” You said. “They know I’m in a relationship. They know I’ll tell them when I deem it appropriate.”

He moved his hand away from your slit, gripping your asscheeks. “Are you ashamed of me?”

“No.” You replied, dry, determined. Damn his paranoia. “You know there’s nothing I want to do more than use you as my toy boy, my future trophy husband.”

He grinned and sunk his nails into your flesh. “I’m just trying to keep you from rumors, my love.” You replied. “Not all the people in there are as discreet as I am.” You cupped his face. “And it’s not like I’m leaving you all alone.”

He nuzzled his face against your lap. “Jin and Angel are coming over at Yoongi and Kitten’s. I was invited,” Namjoon explained, taking his hands out of your skirt.

“I’m glad I’m leaving you in good hands.”

“It’s our first Christmas together.” He sulked.

“You’ll have me all for yourself tomorrow.” You combed his hair affectionately. “You’re lucky my family doesn’t take this Christmas thing seriously.”

“Will I get breakfast in bed?” He asked, raising to his feet and dwarfing you.

You studied his figure with your eyes, observing his cream turtleneck that made his skin tone look like molten caramel, the expensive cashmere so soft under your palms, and then the light brown slacks, the shape of his cock so delicious that you couldn’t hold yourself back from tracing it with the tip of your index finger.

“Will I get breakfast in bed?” You asked, taunting him.

“I don’t think it’s good for my babygirl to have her favourite candy cane first thing in the morning.” He replied, raising an eyebrow and catching your wrist. “I wouldn’t be a responsible daddy.”

“Come on, it’s Christmas.” You replied, whining a little and stretching to reach his mouth.

He grinned as he saw you struggle, his dimple appearing as you kept pushing yourself on the tip of your toes, trying to touch his lips with yours. His nose scrunched and his eyes shrinked to heated slits as he bent his head down, allowing you access before he tightened his hands on your waist and picked you up, lifting you a few inches from the ground while you tightened your arms around his neck.

“I’ll think about it.” He murmured on your lips.

“Please.” You hummed quietly.

His hand slipped down to your ass and squeezed it. “Maybe.”

You pouted and parted from him. “Then I think I might stay out late. Stay at my parents for the night. Mother always arranges beautiful brunches when I stay there. And Magdalene could enjoy me visiting her. You know, our governess. She raised me.” You said, fixing your dress and wearing your faux fur.

“Come home. Eleven forty-five. No later.” He said, wrapping a forearm around your hips and spinning you around; you stumbled a little on your heels with the whole motion and the way he joined his lips to yours in a passionate kiss. “I’ve got gifts to deliver.” He said, parting from you and fixing your lipstick.

“I’ll try.” You said, checking your watch and realising that probably your parents had already sent their driver to get you.

“I have to go.” You murmured, cupping his cheek. “You know there's nothing I wanted more than spending the evening with you.”

“I know. I’ll wait for you.” He said, fixing a small lock of your hair behind your ear.

He accompanied you to the front door and opened it for you. “Have a nice evening, love.”

“You too.” You replied, completely charmed as he set you free like a delicate, gracious butterfly.

————————————————

He started getting worried when he realised you were half an hour late. Then forty-five minutes. At midnight thirty-three, he heard some noise at the front door.

There you were, legs wobbly, giggling at the phone. “I’m home. Yeah. Love you too. Stay warm.” You said softly, and then squealed. “No, I won’t choke on my boyfriend’s enormous dick. I’m super late. He’ll kill me.” Another pause. “No, he won’t kill me with his colossal cock. Stop talking about my fiancé’s cock, you slut!” You erupted in a bubbly laugh.

Namjoon felt his disappointment disappear, just slightly.

“You could always go choke on Taehyung.” Pause. “Stop rubbing that on my face. I am TINY! It’s not my fault.”

Namjoon heard your snort-laugh. The one you used only with your closest people. He realised you were on the phone with Lace. He relaxed even more. “Gotta blast. Love you. Merry Christmas, you hoe.”

You giggled again as he heard you try to take off your shoes before you lost your balance, leaning on the wall. You hissed and cursed at the shoes. He heard the sound of you taking off your coat. And then you appeared, beautiful, so innocent, standing in the soft light of the Christmas Tree.

And there he was. Sitting on the sofa. Legs parted wide. Shirtless. Barefoot. In a pair of red satin loose sweatpants with white furry hems at the ankles. And a Christmas hat.

You swooned.

“You’re late, little fox.” He said, pinning his forearms to his thighs and leaning forward.

“I stayed out with Taehyung and Lace. We wanted to call you but I didn’t want to interrupt your previous arrangements.”

Namjoon licked his lips and bit his lower one, rubbing his index finger against his chin. “Jin and Angel kept making sex puns about chimneys and gifts and whatnots. Yoongi literally licked whipped cream off Kitten’s finger.” Namjoon exhaled. “It was painful. To say the least.”

You chuckled as discreetly as you could.

“Is it funny, Vixen?” He asked, tipping his head back. “You’re forty-five minutes late.”

You sucked your lips past your teeth, lowering your head. “Tae and Lace were at the party. We left for a quick drink. We lost sense of time a little.” You said, flustered.

“I was here, waiting for you and you were out with your best friend and her boyfriend, my friend.” He said, crossing his arms and cocking his head to the side. “Are you listening?”

“Yes. Of course. I’m sorry.”

No, you weren’t. You were staring at his biceps, flexing, his chest expanding with ample breaths, his pectorals twitching. The mole on his chest. The path that it drew up the tendon of his neck, joining the other little mole near his collarbone, all the way up to the one below his plump lip. And the way his skin glimmered deliciously at the delicate lights of the Christmas Tree. You were ready to ask him a picture.

In your uterus was currently burning a blue hypergiant star. Just to clarify, 37 times hotter than the Sun.

“You’re not listening.” He said, snickering. “I can see it.”

“I tried though.” You said shyly, pouting.

He smiled and laid against the back of the sofa. “Come here.”

You blinked a couple times, rubbing your hand against your sternum, worried, biting your lip and playing coy. “Can I take off my dress first?”

“Of course, babygirl.” He said, propping his elbows on the pillow behind his back.

You saw his chest stretch and oh’ed at the vision, making him giggle. “Come on, babe.”

You frowned and felt your ankles wobble as you undid the zipper at your side, bending down to lift your dress up from the lower hem, slipping it off from over your head.

It took you a while to orient yourself on your way out of your dress, but as soon as you were free, you placed it down folding it neatly over the coffee table, where you noticed a small package wrapped in red paper and a big ribbon.

“Is that mine?” You asked, batting your lashes at Namjoon.

“Yes, darling.” He said, his eyes skimming your entire form. “Are you tipsy?” He asked, worried.

“A teensy, tiny bit.” You said. “Literally one glass of champagne, a spoonful of punch and a glass of wine with Tae and Lace. Nothing more.” You said, easing his nerves. He didn’t like when you drank — only because you’re a lightweight and he doesn’t want you to get sick.

He smiled softly as you listed the drinks. “It’s okay, buttercup. I’m not trying to control you. Just making sure that you can take me.”

You bit your lower lip, nodding.

“You look delicious, sugardoll.” He said, now finally focusing on your attire.

You smiled cutely and fixed your hair. “You like it?”

“I do, babylove.” He said. “Let me see it from up close.”

You walked closer to him, standing in between his legs.

“Come on, give me a little twirl.” He said, placing his hand on your waist and helping you make a small, slow spin. You still had your heels on, after all. Just the way he liked it.

“Let’s take off the big girl shoes, yes? That way you can be all tiny and barefoot for daddy.” He said, finding your wrists and placing your palms on his naked shoulders.

His skin was so hot. To the touch too.

“Give me your foot, baby.” He said, looking up at you.

You felt like crying. In the best way possible.

You complied and his big fingers struggled a little with the small clasp before he managed to free it.

The other shoe was easier. He diligently placed the stilettos out of the way, by the side of the sofa. “Next these.” He said, laying his hand on the back of your thigh and placing your foot between his legs, so close to his cock, currently laying across his lap, half mast towards his left hip. You noticed he still had a set of rings on, including the one shaped like a thick bear head, which he had bought in honour of the nickname you had assigned him.

He fought with the clip of the suspender belt, vaguely knowing that he should look for a small clasp on the upper elastic band of the stockings, but not knowing how to undo them. He still had a lot to learn, he realised.

Your spindly fingers assisted him, showing the procedure. “There’s a rubber nub, inside. It grips the stocking and blocks it inside the metal frame, on the outside. You just need to slide the nub out of the frame.” You explained, showing him.

He observed the movement of your fingers, the suspender strap snapping free.

“There are other three. You can practice.” You smiled gently.

He looked at your sweet face, at your eyes glittering in the Christmas lights. He was completely in love. Enchanted. Head over heels.

He turned his eyes down, looking once more at the suspender strap on the other thigh, caressing your naked skin with the back of his index and middle fingers before hooking them under the fabric of your stocking, spotting a flat rubber surface. That must be the back of the nub. With his thumb, on the outer side, he spotted the nub, hooked in the small metal frame, covered in nylon. He slid it upwards and felt the strap snap.

“Just like that, daddy.” You said, removing his hat with a smile and caressing his hair. So soft. It smelled like cedarwood, vetiver and patchouli. It smelled like safety, home, reassurance. Passion. Unconditional love.

You led his hand to the back of your thigh and he percurred the length of the elastic strap to the hem of your stocking.

You exhaled and closed your eyes as you felt his fingers on your nude leg.

With the left side undone, he placed your leg down and picked up the other, laying it directly on his lap, where you felt his hardening sex under the sole of your foot. “Don’t press down, babygirl.” He said, making a quick work of the last clasp before looking up at you.

“Good boy. Quick learner.” You said, caressing his face.

He closed his eyes and pressed his cheek into your palm. His hands flew to your waist and held you there as he scooted closer to the edge of the sofa, coincidentally pushing his cock into your foot.

However, his focus wasn’t there. His target was your inner thigh, which he licked elegantly, suavely, before moving his mouth along you leg, gripping the hem of your left stocking with his teeth and slowly pulling at it, making the nylon roll down your leg, until it reached your calf. You lifted your leg for him, bringing your ankle and then your foot close to his mouth. He laid back against the sofa, the black sheer stocking dangling from his mouth as he stared at you and cocked an eyebrow teasingly.

You giggled and squealed at the vision.

“I hope my feet don’t smell.” You chuckled.

He pouted. “You never really smell.” He said after letting the garment fall from his mouth. “Really. Your sweat never smells.” He said accompanying your leg down and picking up the other. “And I’ve made you sweat a lot. I would know.”

Again he grabbed your stocking with his teeth, tugging it harder this time, since it looked stuck to your skin. With your assistance, he pulled it all the way down, this time letting it fall straight away to place a kiss on the curve of your foot.

“You’ve got the prettiest little footsies.” He murmured. “They’re babylike. So soft. So small.”

“It’s your feet being exceedingly big. I’m medium sized.” You replied, placing both your feet on the floor.

“Wow.” He said, staring at you. Now he had time to study the deep red silk slip you had been wearing under your dress, with its delicate white lace applications on your chest and on the lower hem. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

You giggled, embarrassed before pulling a cocky move, slipping your hands under the silk gown and hooking your thumbs into the sides of your thong, wiggling your hips as you pulled it down and bent to Namjoon’s waist, tucking the accessory into the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Now you’re the luckiest.” You said, grinning at him mischievously.

He simply raised his eyebrows, mouth wide, perfectly still for a couple seconds before he leaned his head to the side, looking away, his lips curling up in the smallest smile, making eye contact with you and shaking his head.

“Don’t think I forgot you being forty-eight minutes late.” He said, leaning forward as you placed your foot on his knee, parting your legs just enough to let him sniff at your wetness.

“But Santa, dearest, I’ve been a good girl all year.” You said, placing your foot down again and pressing your hands to your lap, bending one knee slightly and letting your body twist a little, side to side.

You looked like the sweetest, cutest little girl in Namjoon eyes, playing coy, acting shy, feigning innocence and conquering him with all your little charms.

“And you’ve already brought me my gift. Wouldn’t it be cruel to take it away?” You asked, furrowing your brow and pushing your lower lip forward in the most adorable expression.

“Take your gift, then, darling.”

Your face sparked up, and you turned quickly, bending over to snatch your package.

Of course Namjoon, with predatorial reflexes, leaned forward to sink his teeth into the round curve of your ass.

You squealed and stood quickly, a bit surprised. “Joon!”

He simply wrapped his arms around you middle and placed you across his lap, making you sit there, your bent knee offering him the magnificent curve of your hip as he began rubbing the side of your leg.

For a moment, your eyes closed and you snuggled into his warm, strong chest. “I’m sorry, I used your lotion.”

You sniffed him and melted, rubbing the side of your face against his shoulder.

“You’re so… mhhhh.” You moaned, speechless.

His chest rumbled with a deep, silent laugh. “You like it, babylove.”

“I love you.” You replied, looking him in the eye.

He kissed your forehead sweetly. “I know, babylove. Open you gift, princess.”

You kissed him on the cheek, his dimple making a brief apparition before you focused on the ribbon, tugging at it gently, using your nails to undo the knots.

“It’s Lace’s doing. The package.” You said, noticing the small details she always inserted on her special orders from the atelier. You had seen her fabricate the small treasures yourself.

Namjoon snorted in surprise. “It is.”

“Is it lingerie?” You asked, beaming up and looking at him.

“No, Vixen, open your present.” He said, slightly frustrated as you took your time. Sometimes dealing with you could be a true test of patience for him. Still, he loved you more than everything. And dealing with a brat like you required patience. His best assets in taming you were patience, brains and ruthless gentleness. The more you lost your cool, the more he became icy in his stubbornness and determination.

Your brow creased with curiosity as you ripped off the paper. The box underneath was plain white leather, designed like a jewellery box, but more curious, especially once you spotted the double crosses on the lid.

Could it be…?

You looked at Namjoon and lifted the lid.

Inside, the case was covered in black silk, and right there, laying on a small pillow, you saw the fanciest, most elaborate toy you had ever set your sight on.

“You like it, sugardoll?” He asked, pressing a kiss to your temple, looking at your face, studying your expression and trying to read your reaction.

“Daddy?” You asked, turning to him, tilting your head to look at him properly.

“Yes, doll?”

“Why was there Lace’s signature package on it?”

“I had it commissioned through her. She knows the artist.” He explained. “She made the package since I’m helpless at those.”

“You had it commissioned?” You asked, eyes wide in amusement.

“For you, yes. A candy cane for my sugar doll.” He explained, moving your hair out of your face.

“Thank you, daddy.” You replied, politely and gratefully.

“It’s okay, my love.” He said, his hand still rubbing your outer thigh while his free palm moved to your neck, his index finger moving your chin towards him, his lips landing on yours chastely.

“It’s really, really pretty.” You said, moving your stare back to the box.

“It was made for my pretty girl.” He said, running his nose against your cheekbone. “Would you like to try it?”

You nodded.

He grinned. “Then I want you over my knees, little vixen.”

Obeying, you kneeled on the floor, the sofa low just enough that Namjoon’s thighs didn’t press painfully against your belly.

“Are your knees safe, babygirl?” He asked, turning your face towards his.

“Yes, daddy.” You replied obediently.

“Good girl.” He praised you, taking the case from your hands and gripping the toy in his palm.

He tried to relax and keep his erection from becoming too much of a bother. That could and would wait.

Placing the case down, he moved the toy in front of your lips. “You know what to do, little fox.” He said.

Just like that, without even needing his command, you lolled your tongue out, covering the glass candy cane-shaped dildo in your drool with long, wide licks. A string of saliva fell on his clothed thigh while he observed the quick work of your tongue lapping at the tip shaped just like that of an actual cock.

“You look so lovely, my little fox.” He said, caressing your hair off your face, fixing the mother of pearl hair-comb that held back your long locks from your face, holding it with two fingers, so delicately, trying not to break it as he pushed it back into your hair. “I can only imagine how many people were drooling for you tonight.”

You looked at him while he rubbed the tip of the toy against your mouth, your lips naturally parting and wrapping around the glass, becoming even fuller and plumper.

He could barely resist himself as he looked at you, laying there, with your wide, innocent eyes, your lashes fluttering like feathery little wings, and your mouth, so dirty and sinful and absolutely lascivious.

He yet had to understand your pure-depraved ratio. It was something he felt but couldn’t explain.

And most of the time it was not one, nor the other that set him off, but rather the combination and absolute divergence of the two.

You bobbed your head slightly, still staring at him, and for a second he thought ‘what if it were not a toy, what if it were another man? What if i were holding him while she took him in her mouth, and she kept her eyes on me?’

You saw his nostrils flare, his chest expand, his whole posture becoming even more magnificent.

You pulled the toy off your mouth. You bit your lip. “What are you thinking?”

“If it was another man in your mouth.” He admitted, caressing your ass through your silk slip, the smoothness of the fabric making the weight of his hand glide freely on your lower back before he lifted up the garment, exposing the curve of your ass, your slick folds.

He massaged your naked skin, extremely glad that he was wearing rings only on one hand.

“I don’t want that.” You said, as soon as he made eye-contact with you.

“What, Vixen?”

“I don’t want another man. Ever.” You said, and it wasn’t a praise, it wasn’t a lure, and it wasn’t flattery. “I only want you.” You said, your hand wrapping around his ankle as it was the only part that you could hold on to, his hands busy and your palms too small for his thighs and calves.

He rubbed your ass a couple times. “Daddy would never allow anyone else, babylove.” His hand cupped your heat, his palm laying on the seam of your butt while his middle finger found your clit easily. He felt your wetness spread over his middle finger, coating it as he drew it between your labia. “You and I have something special, little fox. It’s only ours.” He kissed the top of your head. “You trust daddy?” He asked, his expression warm as he addressed you.

“Yes, daddy.”

“Daddy will slip his finger in now, babylove. Would you like that?”

You nodded, again, “Yes, daddy.”

Slowly he drew his middle finger inside, one knuckle at a time.

You purred as you felt him draw out slightly and turn his wrist, his digit finding your cervix and drawing its outlines.

“Joonie...” You murmured, opening your mouth and stretching your neck to reach the toy.

He toyed with you, placing it before your mouth and pulling it away just as your lips skimmed the material, repeating the taunt a few times, grinning as you turned and glared at him.

“What the— Oh! Fu—!”

You said, ready to scold him but changing your mind as he added a finger inside, Shutting your mouth mid-swear.

He thrusted his fingers hard. “I have told you many, many times, that when you’re naked in front of me you must never, ever swear, little one.” And he punctuated each word with a crook of his fingers, adding another as he murmured, very slowly, ‘little one’.

You whined around the dildo, frowning as you writhed over his knees.

“What do you say, Vixen?” He said, removing the toy.

“Sorry, daddy.”

“Good girl.” He replied. “Do you think you’re stretched out enough for your toy, babygirl?” He asked, massaging his fingers slowly and delicately inside you.

You nodded eagerly. “I want it, please daddy.”

“Such a polite little thing.” He cooed, removing his fingers, letting them hover over your ass, while he teased the glass tip over your slit, rubbing it up and down, letting the first inch in.

“Oh, Joon—”

“Easy, darling.” He said, rubbing his thumb against your tailbone, keeping his wet fingers off your skin, trying to keep you as clean as possible while also trying to comfort you.

“It’s big.” You said, digging your nails into his ankle.

“It’s not that big, Vixen.” He said caressing your spine and letting the dildo sink into your heat while you hummed, focusing on every ridge of the toy, the spiraling swirls imitating the candy cane giving you a completely new sensation.

Namjoon bent down to place a small kiss on the mole on your asscheek, sinking his teeth around it. “You have the most incredible butt in the whole universe, little thing.” He said, placing another small kiss on it. “So damn beautiful.”

“Daddy...” You cried out once he fed all of the shaft into you, leaving only the handle to hang out.

“Careful now, baby fox.” He said as he gave the toy a slow twist, just like he had with his wrist before, twisting the hook of the handle toward your front, letting it brush against your clit.

“Oh my god, Joon.” You whispered.

“Relax, baby.” He cooed, raising his upper body and bringing his forehead to your temple. Next he brought his wet fingers to your lips.

It felt obvious for you to open your mouth and let him place his fingers on your tongue.

“Can you taste how sweet you are, ____? How fucking sweet your cunt tastes?” He asked. You let your tongue slither and slide through every crevasse between his fingers, where your taste hid best, and then you set your target on simply sucking, making sure that his fingers came out clean, only drenched in your drool.

“I can never part from it.” He murmured, choosing that moment to take his digits away and turn your face so his tongue could caress your lower lip and entangle with yours, trying to steal the taste of you from your mouth.

“I’m never letting another man have your mouth. Taste your sweet, precious pussy. Feel how fucking good it feels to move inside your tiny body. My pretty doll.” He praised you and reassured you possessively, his thumb rubbing your lips.

“Daddy?” You called innocently.

“Yes, baby.” He replied, dragging his slippery fingers against your ass seducingly.

“Would you please spank me?” You asked, batting your eyelashes at him.

He raised his eyebrows before he wore a lopsided smirk that made his dimple pop up. “You’d like me to?” He asked, his voice decisively happy.

“If you want to?” You replied, crossing your arms over his thigh and laying your head there.

“Shall we go for sixteen, babe?” He asked, considering that he wanted to simply arouse you before he moved on to his actual goal.

“Okay.” You replied, knowing that you could do better, but acting smart and restraining yourself from wanting more, not knowing how it would feel like with the toy.

“Count them for me?” He asked, patting your head, moving your hair aside.

You nodded obediently before he lifted his hand, your eyes shutting, waiting for him to hit you, just before you felt his hand land on you softly, his stomach moving with a silent laugh after he tricked you.

You pouted and looked at him and just like that he delivered the first smack, making you howl, your inner muscles clenching and moving the dildo just enough for it to tickle your clit.

He kept touching your hair as his hand pressed the toy into you.

“One.” He said, pinching your ass, inviting you to count.

He went on blow after blow, your ass slowly losing sensitivity to the rough impact of his thick rings on your skin. He got rougher at around smack four, when usually he gave you a bit more time before actually going at it hard. Anyway, a small part of your brain, not commanded by arousal and pain, understood and related to his urgency, especially considering how long he hasn’t been acting on the rock-hard cock begging for attention inside his sweats. At hit number nine, you realised his pattern, and how religiously he was sticking to it: smaking your ass, rubbing it for ten seconds, pressing the toy back into you after your inner muscles had pushed it out with the sudden stimulation of his spanks. And repeat

From number twelve, he went all out, trying to give it to you exactly the way you want it and need it. Harsh, merciless, torturously good.

“Sixteen,” you called, exhausted as he fixed the toy inside, your ass burning under his touch, his other hand laying on your head, caressing it like you were nothing short of his pet.

“Are you okay, babylove?” He called, bending to your ear, nibbling on your earlobe.

“Yes, just...” You took your time. “It burns a tiny, tiny bit.” You said, trying not to worry him.

And still he freaked out. “Okay, would you like your cooling gel? Cold pack? I tried to go easy but a—”

“Stop worrying, big bear. I’m okay.” You said, patting his leg in a reassuring way. “But there’s something bothering me a little...”

“What is it, babe?” He asked, cupping your cheek, ready to reassure you.

“What if instead of running away to grab my lotion, you just stayed here and used that fancy candy cane to make me cum?” You said. “I’m so close, I just need you to touch my clit a little, please, daddy!” You tried to convince him.

Your hand stretched back, spreading over his beautiful chest and sliding down towards his crotch.

Lovingly, he caught your hand in his, stopping it over his chest. “Anything you want, precious.”

He kept your hands trapped to his chest, keeping it still and grinning at you mischievously once you tried to slide it down toward his abs. However, the other one moved to your ass, his upper body leaning on it as he blew cold air on it. “I’m gonna twist it around,” he said, placing his hand on the handle and pulling it out just enough to turn the handle toward your ass. He brought your hand down, catching the other one too and placing them on your back, putting your wrists together, quickly grabbing the red satin ribbon you had unwrapped from your Christmas gift.

“I’m simply going to tie it up like shoelaces, Vixen. No fancy business, I promise, but don’t tug at it. Do you understand, baby fox?”

“Yes, daddy.” You replied, staying still as you felt the delicate material against your wrists, his fingers making a quick bow out of the ribbon.

“Is it okay, ____?” He asked, his voice telling you that it was Namjoon and not daddy talking to you.

“Yup, all good.” You said simply.

“Perfect. I just want you to cum as soon as possible, Vixen.” He said, getting to work between your legs. “Like this?” He asked, placing his digit at the apex of your labia, but needing your guidance in finding your clit.

“Just a bit to the left.” You said. “My left.” You added, and he followed with microscopical movements, knowing he had found the right spot when he slid a tiny fraction downwards and you mewled his name, squealing.

“There it is,” he said, wrapping his free hand around the handle of the dildo and thrusting with small movements inside you, making sure that you were still wet and that he didn’t hurt you.

“Keep going with both.” You said, your brow furrowing. “I need...”

“Need to make it wet, sorry baby.” He said, moving his finger away from your clit and putting it in his mouth, tempted to slide it in with the toy, but too worried about messing up your climax. He immediately found your clit again, toying around it a little before finding the spot that made you tug at your wrists and arch your back, your hips starting to move on their own accord.

“Like that, Vixen. Take what you need, baby.” He said, his arm a bit uncomfortable at the angle as he thrusted the toy inside you; nevertheless, he kept going, determined on seeing you come undone.

Which happened, finally. Your mouth opened in a strangled cry before you pressed it to his clothed thigh, suppressing a scream.

“That’s it, baby fox. Feels good?” He asked just as you writhed, trying to escape from his digit on your clit, quickly pushing you into overstimulation.

“Too good.” You replied, turning your head to the side. “Stop, please.”

“You know the word, Vixen. ‘Stop’ ain’t getting you nowhere.” He said, feeling his dick twitch as you begged.

“Mint.” You spoke softly into his leg, escaping his wicked ministrations.

His hand moved away from your sensitive spot.

“I want you.” You murmured. “I’m close, but I want to be near you.” You looked at him with your eyes barely open, your breath wild, your heartbeat wild against his leg. “Not like this.” You called, wiggling your fingers.

He tugged the toy out, placing it on top of the ripped paper of the package not to mess the sofa, then pushed it out of the way. His fingers tugged at one of the strings, careful not to jam the knot. Soon your wrists were free and he helped you on your knees, raising your torso.

“Easy, love.” He said, twining your fingers together as you stood up, making sure that you didn’t get dizzy by standing up too fast.

Soon one of his hands let go of yours, his forearm wrapping behind your back and pulling you into him, making you kneel on the sofa. “Straddle my thigh, babygirl.” He said with a low, rumbling timbre.

“Gonna mess your fancy Santa slacks.” You said, smiling confusedly.

“We can wash them for next year.” He replied, his skin burning as your front connected with his. He pressed your hand into his, against his chest, pulling you closer as your wetness connected with his strong thigh.

“I’m already close.” You said, nuzzling into his neck, under his jaw, kissing the small mole.

“Really, uh?”

“You stopped when I was on the edge, before, after the first.” You said, parting from his throat and looking for his lips with your eyes closed, your hips already rolling back and forth on him.

“You’re a vision, babe.” He said, hitching your slip dress up, so he could look at your mound, at your hips, riding him as you ruthlessly chased your pleasure. “You were close close, uh?”

You nodded, sucking his lower lip into your mouth, his left hand sprawled over your left asscheek, gripping it and helping you ride him.

“Yes,” you sibilated as you felt his nails sink into you. You arched your back even more, your movements turning into small circles once you felt his quadricep flex, your clit connecting fully with the satin of his trousers. “So good. I need— I love your thighs.” You said, rambling helplessly as your free hand went into his hair, tugging it gently and letting your fingers slide down, with a delicate scratch of your nails, running around his neck and jaw and touching his cheek, parting your face enough to look him in the eye, waiting a few seconds for your gaze to focus on him.

“Mhmh,” he said, smirking, helping you quicken your pace. “I love you, babe.”

You nodded and tipped your head back, pleasure rolling down your spine, pooling at your core.

With your throat right in front of his face, Namjoon bent forward, his lips zeroing in on the point where he could feel your pulse and focusing there, sucking and nibbling at your skin while your mouth opened in a whine that quickly turned into a thin mewl. His nails clawed at your ass, squeezing it tighter now that you were deep into your high.

He kept his mouth at your neck, a deep bruise blooming on your skin, parting from you only when he felt your hips slow down and halt.

“It was the prettiest sound you’ve ever made on top of me.” He said, bringing your joined hands to his lips and kissing yours, his other hand letting go of you, soothing the skin he had manhandled so thoroughly.

Your hand toyed with the messy locks of his hair before sliding down to his front, touching his skin feverishly while he hugged you to him.

You were tempted to stay in the warmth of his embrace as you kissed the skin of his pectorals.

“I have a Christmas gift too.” You murmured, trying to untuck his face from your loose, wild hair.

“Stay here. Ride me.” He said, his forearm flexing and squeezing you to his front.

“Want you to open it first.” You said, nipping at his nipple, which convinced him to let you go.

You quickly stood up and took a couple steps toward the Christmas tree, dipping your arm in and wincing as you felt the small synthetic needles prickle your arm.

“You hid it in there?”

You looked at him and nodded, feeling for a small box with your fingers, cheering once you found it.

You retracted your arm as quick as possible and sauntered towards him.

“I didn’t do a nice package,” you explained, embarrassed.

“What…?” He said as you kneeled between his parted legs.

“We said stuff. On our trip.” You said, remembering your quick getaway. “But it was mostly you who did the talking.” You continued, looking down. “Now it’s my turn to speak.” Your eyes met his. “I’m gonna make an honest man out of you, someday.”

His lips turned into an ear-to-ear grin,

“I’m gonna love you as much as my small body allows, and my heart will stop the day I stop loving you. I’m gonna give you a home.” You said, getting emotional as you saw a tear slide down his cheek. “And I’m gonna give you children.” You stretched to dry the small silvery droplet rolling down his face. “I’m gonna make a dad of you.” You said, parting from his face only long enough to open the small box. “But first I will introduce you to my parents.” You said. “My fun relatives and my boring ones too.” You looked at the thick dark wooden band lined in black tungsten. “All my annoying colleagues.” You arched your brows. “And the ones I like much better.” You broke down as you imagined what would come next. “I’d walk down the isle dressed in white for you.”

“Yes.” He said, not even letting you finish. “Yes. Yes, a thousand times yes, ____.” He was crying shamelessly by now, sliding down to the floor and hugging you to his chest.

“I’d walk through hell with you. Hell would feel like heaven with you.” You said, sobbing. “And heaven would feel like hell without you. Marry me, Namjoon.”

“Yes, baby.” He said, kissing your forehead and your lips with both your faces wet with tears. “Put that damn ring on me, princess.” He said, parting from you and giving you his right hand.

Completely excited, your hands trembled as you extracted the wide wooden band, put down the box and placed your hand under his, your forefinger and thumb sliding the ring into his finger.

“You’re shaking, little fox.” He said, hugging you to himself, his eyes studying the ring as you disappeared into his chest, his chin propped on top of your head as his eyes perused the dark wood, protected by a thick layer of lacquer.

“I mentioned to my parents that I’d like to introduce you to them.” You said, shyly. “In January. As soon as you’re done with the shows and everything. I told them I would like to have dinner, all together.” You said, looking up at him. “We didn’t like… Choose a date or anything. I told them we could have dinner, a weekend or another.”

“I’d be honoured.” He said, smiling at you gently.

You stared at him in silence for a couple seconds.

He closed his eyes, steadying himself for what you were about to say, knowing that it would very likely be something completely inappropriate. That’s how you deal with stress.

You licked your lips and giggled at his expression. You knew it so well.

“Is it the wrong moment to say I want my fiancé to ram my stomach with his huge, thick, enormous and delicious cock?”

“You’re fucking filthy and adorable. Up,” He said, holding you by the waist as he helped you stand up and climb his body.

Your arms wrapped around his neck and he held you up with his forearm while his hand dipped into his sweatpants. You mouthed at his jaw. “Please...”

He groaned as he entered you slowly, making you slide down and onto him.

“Feels perfect...” You whimpered as he held you still, breathing through his teeth.

“It will feel even more perfect while I fuck my fiancée stupid on our bed.” He said, making his way to your room. “Merry Christmas, babe.”

“Is Santa gonna cum in my chimney?” You asked with an amused expression.

He shook his head in disbelief and then wore a small smile. “Gonna stuff you like a stocking.”

You squealed and giggled, “Merry Christmas, indeed.”

#namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon fluff #rm smut #rm x reader #namjoon christmas fic #bts blog #bts smut

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oddeyevibes · 4 years ago

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TLND Ch1: The Theatrics of it All

Disclaimer: I DO NOT own Vice City or any of it’s characters, I only own my OCs. Also, many of the images and gifs used are not 100% representative of the story, there are chosen to help create ✨~ambiance~✨.

Summary: Tommy has come to Vice City to kill people for money. For him, it’s business and a duty as a member of the Forelli crime family. Dallas has come to Vice City to kill people for money. For her, it’s business and an art form and a lifestyle that has been apart of her family for a long time. A lot might not see it, but they were made for each other.

Trigger Warning: Blood, graphic depictions of violence

Prickle Pine, Las Venturas

1986

Most people in Prickle Pine always associated with people their neighbors have never seen. This is usually where the rich elites always found hanging out in the Strip lived anyway. So some old couple with nothing better to do but to people-watch probably wouldn’t be calling the authorities any time soon on seeing strange people come out of different houses every day of the week because it was too natural at this point.

So when a midnight blue Sentinel XS pulled up to the Michaels house. No people-watchers thought it was too suspect to see them get a wealthy-looking visitor. The front door opened revealing a man in a faded red and white striped bathrobe known as Bane Michaels. A middle-aged white man who made an infamous name for himself by helping produce some of those pornographic, action-oriented movies the porn industry has ever seen.

He was regular on The Strip and many of his more prudish neighbors came to know him for always having younger women visit while his much more older wife, went off to the hospital for treatment. People watchers merely thought it was another one of those visits.

Bane stood in the doorway a jittery mess as the driver of the Sentinel stepped out of the vehicle. By the look of her outfit, you’d be forgiven for thinking this was a woman whose husband died in “mysterious” circumstances. She was wearing a black pencil dress with a pair of black peep-toe wedges along with some thick-rimmed black sunglasses and a black shoulder purse to make the outfit look a little more perfect. For Bane, she was like an angel of death walking towards his door. This was the woman that would help solve his problems.

“Well...don’t you look excited to see me.” She commented.

Bane moved aside and let her into the house, immediately locking the door and showing her to the spacious living room which looked like it never left the 60s. It didn’t help that there was a TV playing an old sitcom of that era.

The woman sat down on one of the single-seated couches across from Bane who relaxed as he sat down, waiting for the good news. “Well?”

“I’m sure you’ll be happy to know that you are now a widow, Mr. Michaels.”

Bane’s smile grew wide. “Hahaha! Thank you! Thank you SO much!” The man quickly stood up, grabbing the woman’s hand and shaking it frantically, much to the woman’s clear disdain. She yanked her hand out of his grasp. The man took the hint and sat back down. “Y’know, I heard about you from Carlos. I was so sure he was going to do the job until he recommended you.”

The woman shrugged. “Carlos got wrapped up in a more steady gig.”

Bane took the hint and nodded. “Once the life insurance comes through, I promise you, you’ll get your money. Never done something like this before so I’m not quite sure how long it’ll take.”

“Well, I have. Just make sure you don’t say or do anything stupid and suspicious. Remember, when the hospital calls, you don’t know she’s dead.” The way the woman spoke held an air of both sultriness and coldness. Bane was definitely talking to someone who has experience. “Unless they called already and you messed it up.”

Bane shook his head. “Nope, no call yet. Why don’t we…” Bane scooted forward a bit and flashed the woman a smirk. “Maybe we can wait together?” He asked.

The woman tilted her head to the side. “Are you trying to flirt with me?” She asked with a blunt tone of voice. There was no hint of reciprocation in her words.

Bane shrugged. “Well,” He casually leaned back against the seat. “I am a single man after all.”

“You’re wife’s body not even if a coffin yet.”

“That old broad’s been dead for years. Shame though...she was a real cougar, that one. It was fun running around with an older woman. Especially, when they’re loaded. The probably is, what we men want from an older woman gets lost REAL fast when age starts catching up with them.” He continued going on. “Tits start sagging, they need every pill in the fucking book to keep functioning, hair starts going gray, y’know?” He asked with a chuckle, but the woman didn’t respond. Once he realized she wasn’t going to laugh, he sighed and kept going. “Only reason I stayed with her was because of the money. Porn is nice and all but I wanted to do more. I wanna be big but in this city, you gotta pay big to win big, y’know? Edie, love her to death, but she wasn’t going to understand what I needed. I couldn’t let her divorce me either, she’d take her money and run, leaving me with nothing.”

“So you plan to find some young girl?”

He nodded. “Unless you’re willing to fill the position?”

“No.”

Bane chuckled. “Worth a shot.” The brown-haired man stood up and went over to a brown foyer table holding a variety of liquor bottles as well as a couple of whiskey glasses. He proceeded to pour himself a glass as the nearby landline phone began ringing. A smirk on his face, Bane waltz over to answer, prepared to pretend to be heartbroken.

“Michaels Residence, Bane speaking.”

“.....Michaels Residence?” The evil smirk on Bane’s face slowly disappeared. The man glanced back to the woman sitting on his couch. She was currently paying him no mind as she watched the silent erratic movements of the sitcom still playing. He turned his back towards her and continued the conversation. “Edie?” He asked in a terrified whisper.

“I’m not even in the dirt yet and you’ve already claimed my house?” The older woman said and the smile could be heard in her voice. Bane didn’t say anything in response. “What? No funny remark? You used to be made of them, Baney.”

“You’re alive?” He whispered, not wanting to alert the woman behind him since he planned on giving her a piece of his mind.

“Of course I am. You tried to pay for the Montoya’s to kill me using life insurance? I got something more reliable...an owed favor.” There was so much vile as she said the last part of her sentence.

PHT!

If the walls had eyes, they would be covered in the blood that quickly shot out of Bane’s forehead. With the little thinking energy he had left, the man’s eyes had shot up to try and catch a glimpse of the hole in his head. In a second, his body fell forward, colliding with the wall and crashing down on the table, knocking over the different bottles and sending them to the floor with a series of loud crashes as the phone in his hand was let go and fell in one of the puddles that began soaking the ugly colored carpet.

Turning his back to the woman proved to be a fatal mistake. His last mistake. Once he did, she had quietly made her way over to him, calmly pulling out a suppressed .22 pistol and waited for her moment to pull the trigger.

The woman flashed a satisfied smirk as she put away her gun before bending down to pick up the phone. “Ms. Rubio?”

“I wish I could’ve been there to see the look on his face.” The older woman sounded more than happy with the outcome.

“Well, he was very scared if that makes you feel better.”

“I suppose that’ll do.”

“You never told my cousin what you wanted in terms of body disposal.”

“I have some guys of my own. I want to see what’s left of the fucker. If it wasn’t for MY money, that ingrate wouldn’t have what we had now. To think that son of a bitch was plotting to kill me.”

“Small world though.”

“Indeed. When are you and your cousin leaving Las Venturas?”

“Should be by the end of this week.”

“Should have your money by then.”

“No need. This is a favor, remember?”

“I always tip.” The line went dead.

The woman shrugged and hung up the phone. She took a long look at the corpse before letting out a single chuckle and leaving the residence, locking the bottom lock behind her. As far as the neighbors knew, the woman in black that left Eden Rubio’s house was another young fling of Bane’s.

Several days later

Portland, Liberty City

Marco’s Bistro

“Tommy Vercetti? Shit...didn’t think they ever let him out.”

Sonny Forelli had a loud voice. Everyone in the Forelli family knew that. Hell, everyone in the families knew that. It wasn’t a voice that commanded respect but one that wanted fear. The Don of the Forelli family reveled in the fact that others feared him and if he felt someone didn’t fear him, he would take care of them. The idea of catching more bees with honey was a concept lost this Forelli man. He was a man-sized brat but no one in the Forelli Family would call him out on it.

The Don was currently sitting in his brother’s bistro alongside two associates, Casio Graci and Vincent Moreno, who had informed the man that Tommy Vercetti was officially let out of prison. The man that was now known as the ‘Harwood Butcher’ was sentenced away fifteen years ago on 11 counts of manslaughter. The thing is: he was only supposed to kill one guy.

No one besides Sonny knows the specifics of what happened and how a simple hit by a Forelli mobster turned into a bloodbath. It worked out though for the Forelli family’s reputation among the families. If someone like Tommy Vercetti was working for the Forellis, the other families kept their ears perked for any more Forelli men. Sonny didn’t like to admit it, but Tommy helped him...again.

Only a few men in the family knew this, but Sonny despised Tommy’s very existence. No one was dumb enough to comment on it though, out of fear of Sonny’s wrath. No one knew the specifics of it but it was clearly some sort of paranoia. The thought that everyone would look at Tommy the way they SHOULD’VE been looking at Sonny. There were some outside of Sonny’s close circle that had ideas but they were thrown out of the window upon hearing Sonny and the Forellis kept Vercetti from getting the death penalty.

“He kept his head down,” Casio explained. “It helps people forget.”

Sonny chuckled. “People will remember soon enough. When they see him walking down the streets of their neighborhood, it’ll be bad for business.”

The two associates glanced between each other with worried expressions. Cutting Tommy loose was probably not the best idea cause then one of the other families might take him in. Can’t have a hitman like Tommy working the Sindacos, the Sicilians, or the Leones. Definitely not the Leones.

Casio looked at Sonny. “Well, what are we gonna do Sonny?”

The Don sat back in chair thinking for a moment. Truth be told, Sonny didn’t want Tommy anywhere near him. He didn’t want him asking too many questions upon returning. Fifteen years? Vercetti was definitely simmering with curiosity. “Alright,” He leaned in towards the table, his face illuminating a bit more under the green light. His gesture causing the others to do the same. “We treat’em like an old friend and keep him busy out of town, ok?”

The two looked confused.

Sonny leaned back in his seat once more. “We been talking about expanding down south, right? Vice City is 24-Carat gold these days. The Columbians, the Mexicans, hell, even those Cuban refugees are cutting themselves a piece of some nice action.”

Vincent shook his head. “But it’s all drugs, Sonny. None of the families will touch that shit.”

The only reason Vice City had become a gold mind was because of drugs. Not just any drugs but the classic white girl, Cocaine. Most of the Italian mob stationed in Liberty City didn’t go anywhere near drugs. The most they dealt with being weed. Florida, Vice City, in particular, was a place where cocaine was becoming the wave. As of now, it was unknown territory to the families.

“Times are changing. The families can’t keep their backs turned while our enemies reap the rewards. So, we send someone down to do the dirty work for us and cut ourselves a nice quiet slice, ok?” He explained. Sonny looked over to Casio, “who’s our contact down there?”

“Ken Rosenberg,” Casio replied with an eye roll. “Schmuck of a lawyer. How’s he gonna hold Vercetti’s leash?”

“We don’t need him to. We just set him loose in Vice City, we give him a little cash to get started. Ok? Give it a few months,” Sonny relaxed in his chair. “Then we go down, pay him a little visit, okay? See how he's doing.”

Escobar International

Vice City

Tommy’s been down south maybe like...once. It was only a business trip and he’d stood in as one of Sonny’s bodyguards. The was fifteen years ago back in 1970 and he knew the city had probably changed a lot since then. The man wasn’t someone into the latest trends but still, the thought of missing out on a whole decade did something to him mentally. After all, he was barely an adult when he got locked up but hand the bodies of professionals that’s been in the game long before his birth.

Tommy thought about a lot while on the inside. He was grateful for the Forellis for keeping him off death row, he really was, but he was also suspicious of the events in Harwood. Unfortunately, Tommy would have to keep his questions to himself since the first thing that happened upon being released from prison was him being sent to Vice City.

Now instead of killing men left and right which, granted, he may have to do anyway, Tommy was meant to simply help the Forellis make some deals down south. Setting themselves up amidst all the other gangs that have claimed territory in the city.

He didn’t really know what his face looked like but it apparently caught Lee’s attention. “Don’t be so nervous Vercetti,” Lee advised, catching the man’s attention from watching the plane land through its window. “Harry and I have done deals like this before. Simple procedure, go in and out, hasn’t changed since you’ve been locked up.”

Tommy felt annoyed. “I know how these things work.” He shot back with a mild attitude.

Lee didn’t say anything or indicated that he was offended at the response, merely shrugged and went back to reading the magazine. “ Big Shot Porn Producer Reported Dead...robbery gone wrong? ” The man muttered.

Tommy turned his attention back to the window, trying to get back on his previous train of thought.

The air in Vice City was most certainly dry. Tommy almost felt sorry for anyone who didn’t dress down enough. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the bugs here were plenty and HUGE. The worst he dealt with in Liberty City were big ass rats and roaches and flies if a place was filthy enough. Here, the bugs have 34 wings and are always out to cross boundaries. Tommy wished he could’ve stayed inside the airport where the air was cool and the bugs were kept at bay.

But the sight of a white Admiral pulling up provided some quick relief. Though, the appearance of a frantic, curly-haired man in a white suit sort of dimmed in down. He never met Rosenberg but from what Casio and some of the others told him, Rosenberg was easily startled, like a lamb.

The car stopped before the three men and Ken got out, leaning on top of the car’s roof to greet the men. “Hey, hey, guys! It’s, uh, Ken Rosenberg here!” The man shouted. “Hey! Heh, heh, hey, great, hey!”

‘I hate this guy already.’ Tommy thought to himself.

He and the others not replying sent a chill down Ken’s spine, making the neurotic man even more nervous. The Forelli lawyer let out a nervous chuckle. “Well, uh, I’m gonna drive you guys to the meet, ok?” The three nodded and began entering the car, Tommy found himself situated in the back sitting next to Lee once again. Meanwhile, Rosenberg kept explaining the whole deal. “Now, I’ve talked to the suppliers and they’re very keen to start a business relationship, so, uh, if all goes well, we should, uh, be doing very nicely for ourselves, which is, y’know, good.”

With everyone situated in the vehicle, Ken began driving and explained the whole all the way to the docks about the sellers they’ll be purchasing from. Tommy wasn’t too bothered to make any type of comment or even inquire more about, a tiny part hoping Lee or Harry would do that for him, especially Harry, considering that he was the one sitting next to Ken and getting the most of the yammering. To no avail though.

The now 35-year-old let out a silent, annoyed breath as he looked out the window watching his new residence for the new months pass by him in a blur. This would all look nice to gander at if he wasn’t on business. ‘Maybe some other time…’ he thought. For now...just get the deal done was all that was on his mind.

Vice City Docks

Upon the vehicle pulling up to the docks, Tommy was a little on edge. Maybe it was because, in Liberty City, every hour was working hours, he assumed that the docks would be filled with workers paid to mind their own business with maybe one or two ‘ upstanding citizens ’ trying to play the hero.

However, the Vice City docks were damn near-deserted. No sign of anyone clocking in. Maybe the people they were selling to had those types of connections. To make a bunch of construction workers disappear with a snap of their fingers. But, since they weren’t already here, Tommy kind of tossed out that line of thinking.

The sound of a helicopter getting louder caught the attention of the four men in the car. Shaking off the jetlag and gaining their full attention.

“Ok, that’s them in the chopper,” Ken stated. “Ok, here’s the deal,” Harry and Lee began exiting the car while Tommy stayed to hear the rest of the stipulations. “They want a straight exchange on open ground. Alright?”

Tommy nodded, “Right.”, before exiting the car and walking with the other two Forelli men. Meanwhile, one of the dealers, a slightly overweight dark-skinned man wearing a red shirt holding two briefcases, no doubt the product, exited the chopper while his pilot waited and made his way over to meet Tommy and the others.

Once all four had come face to face the deal started. Tommy’s done these before. It was nothing new and nothing had changed. In and out. Get this over with and once all is said and done, focus on finding out what happened back in Hardwood. This is was the only reason Tommy didn’t make a fuss about immediately being put back to work upon being released. He wanted to ease everyone else who worked with him in order to get them talking. A good 20 minutes and he can get to work.

“You got it?” He asked the man in the red shirt.

The man smirked. From the demeanor, Tommy could tell that this man was someone who didn’t take nonsense much like him. “One hundred percent pure grade-A Columbian.” The man replied, placing the two silver cases before the trio.

Tommy gestured his head towards the cases. “Let me see’em.”

The man stopped for a second, looking up at Tommy. “The greens?”

Harry and Lee opened the cases they were holding, showcasing the money. “Tens and twenties,” Tommy replied, “used.”

The man nodded with a smirk, straightening up his posture. “Then I think we got a deal, my friend. Hahaha--”

They only needed a few more minutes to get this deal done but life showed that it had other plans when the sound of multiple gunshots rang out across the docks.

Tommy instinctively ducked as the bodies of both Harry, Lee, and most likely the man in the red shirt. The guy in the copter most likely lifted off and got the hell out of dodge.

That left Tommy to sprint like the wind towards Rosenberg’s car. Taking the phrase ‘leap of faith’ to a literal level when he vaulted through the open window of the backseat. Rosenberg peeled out as Tommy shouted for him to get out there.

Just like fifteen years ago, a ‘simple’ job went terrible in an instant. Between the adrenaline rush of the shootout and the deja vu from back then, the escape from the stocks turned out to be a blurry one for Tommy Vercetti.

The only words that came to his mind were ‘ah shit’ as Rosenberg frantically whimpered in the front seat.

Next Chapter ⏩

#GTA fic #Tommy Vercetti x OC #The Lady Next Door

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carbrakes-and-stakes · 4 years ago

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Two brains are better than one | Morgan & Alain

Morgan insisted on going to the butcher herself sometimes. The stores of brains at home were plentiful enough, Morgan couldn’t remember a time when there hadn’t been a few specimens in the shed out back. But since accidentally having a taste of what, as Deirdre gently reminded her, she was meant to feast on, she found herself speeding up the time between meals, hoping that if she stuffed herself with enough squirrels and deer and racoons she might forget that people taste like a three course dinner meal at midnight. That angst didn’t even take into account that she was trying to space out her feedings a little more so she wouldn’t be caught with puny, mortal strength with a hunter again. The whole situation was a mess. But, as a reasonable, grown-ass zombie girl who was definitely not resenting the blandness of squirrel brain, she could go to the butcher and top herself off easy. She rocked on her feet in line, her number pinched between her fingers as she waited.

Sometimes she liked to wonder how many of the customers were like her. A woman had just left with a hefty tub of pig’s blood. And the man at the counter now was asking for brains too. Morgan watched him take his number and mosey to where she waited, comfortable as anything, if not a little tired in his bones. Had he been dead for long? Was it a new death weight, or something much older? Morgan smiled at him. “Don’t see a lot of people asking for brains around these parts,” she said. “You cook like that a lot?”

Alain did not use to have a thing for cooking offals, but as years passed and he became more sensitized to the consequences of the meat industry, but could not bring himself to give up on eating meat, he had decided that he would start using parts who were usually doomed to end up to the trash, and to turn them into savoury dishes. Veal liver was one of his favorites, but sheep brain was a close second, and exactly why he had pushed the butcher’s door today. Fidgeting idly with his fingers, he waited for his turn, not paying too much attention to his surroundings but rather thinking of who had died instead of him. He had managed to convince himself that it was just an elder who was passing by the shop as Regan screamed, but not knowing for sure was far from pleasant.

He picked up the number given to him and moved to the side to wait. He eyed at the woman smiling at him and refrained a frown. Instead he raised an eyebrow, and scoffed in surprise as she started to talk about his order. Well, it was nice to see that he was not the only one who had taken in interest for pieces that most people would have deemed disgusting. “Oh. Ahem,” he cleared his throat. Well if this did not make it obvious that he was not good at small talk, what would ? “I do, actually, what about you? I’m planning to make Pad thai with it,” he explained, uncrossing his arms and relaxing a bit in his stance. Talking about cooking was a nice way to start a conversation with him for sure.

Morgan was warmed by the man’s awkwardness more than anything else. Maybe if they had a secret sense, like the fae did, it might all be easier. Here there was no instant safety and, heck, for all she knew, there were hunters trolling the parking lot or working in the shop. It was only paranoia if she was wrong, right? She let out a breath, remembering that this was not the time to let her body return to its natural resting state of death, and smiled again. “Pad Thai?” She asked. “That sounds way more appetizing than the casserole I have planned. I’m uh, still kinda new to cooking this way. But you—“ she couldn’t get a sense of him beyond that he mostly wanted to go home, and who could blame him? “You sound almost like a pro at this, yeah?”

“Southern Asian cooking is really interesting,” Alain replied as she mentioned that she had planned to make a casserole with her purchase. It was not a bad idea, but she would get tired of it, eventually. “I’ve done quite a few casserole with those,” you could tell from his tone that he was not exactly thrilled about these anymore. “I would not say I’m a pro, although I did place second in the pie contest,” he scratched at his cheek and shrugged. He had not expected a win, considering his pie was possibly the most simple in the contest but he’d been glad to see that taste mattered more than aspect to the judges. “Anyway, I feel like cooking is about being able to turn something no one likes, into something great that people will want to eat no matter the ingredients.” Calf sweetbread was another one of his favourites, and it made him wonder if brains could be nice in a vol-au-vent. “I think you should try making Vol-au-vent with those. That might work well,” he assured her, a bit too enthusiastic perhaps, than one should be about brains.

So brain casserole wasn’t a thrilling time for other zombies too, not just her. Morgan smirked at his knowing tone. It was kind of a shame. Nothing was more of a staple from her childhood suburbias like a baked casserole. She should have made more when she was alive. Now that brains were the only worthwhile food, all she could see them as were wasted tubs of mush. “Wait, you won the pie contest?” She asked, a little heartened that at least it was someone who had a hard time tasting. “With what? Don’t tell me a brain pie. Did you at least get a fun prize?” She wasn’t sure how she felt about his philosophy. She liked working with things she knew people would like, especially when she could taste so little of it herself. If she managed to taste anything that wasn’t brains or ‘why yes, my tastebuds can still catch fire,’ it was the kind of ghostly whiff of flavor she was used to getting at the bottom of a seltzer can, which was, more or less, nothing. “Okay, prize winner guy,” she said. “Tell me what a--” she hesitated, certain she was going to butcher the syllables, they were already turning fuzzy in her head. “Vole-a-vent? Is? And I’ll give it a try. Soon, even, with this order.”

“I’m pretty sure a brain pie would have earned me a place in the flop 3,” his shoulders jolted up as he held back his laughter. If Alain could avoid having the whole butcher shop look at him, he would avoid it. “I made a tatin pie. Apples, sugar and butter. I used to have that all the time when I was a kid,” he scratched at the stubble on his cheek and shook his head at her next question. Nope, a karkinoid was not really the kind of prize he wanted to win in a contest, but the certificate was nice. “A goddamn lobster. Not a big fan of seafood, unfortunately,” he gave her a shrug and let his eyes wander toward someone who was picking up bones for his dogs. Heh, now he remembered what he had forgotten to ask the butcher for. “Mmh?” He held up his finger and repeated slowly “Vole o vent. It means flies in the wind, in French. It sounds fancier than it is. It’s puffed pastry and a creamy sauce with sweetbread. I think you can replace this with brains and perhaps, to really enhance the taste of brains, you could mix some directly into the sauce,” his brows furrowed. This should work. It probably would make one hell of a recipe for people like them who enjoyed those parts the rest of people sulked at.

Morgan took out her phone and started taking notes on her phone. It sounded decadent. The texture of the pastry would at least shake things up, and a sauce--she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had anything for herself that came with a sauce. As she took it all down, she felt an odd twist of guilt, it was a lot of trouble for something she had to eat by herself. Maybe she could share it with Remmy if they would ever talk to her again, but that was a fat chance. She smiled kindly at the French zombie all the same. “It sounds like you’ve really got your stuff together,” she said. “Um, can I---” She hesitated and searched the shop. No one around screamed hunter, at least. “I just kinda wonder, don’t you ever find it hard? Getting up every day with your real life behind you, trying to figure out how to put all the days in front of you into some kind of sense. Even if it’s longer than what you had before it’s not the same. And you can’t really explain it to most people, because they’ll never understand what it’s like to be like you in the first place. Uuh...it’s okay, if this is too forward. We don’t actually know each other and---” She checked the order counter. One second, three seconds, five-- “Yep! That’s my number, so, we can be good, really.”

“Wow, this got quite existencial really fast,” scoffing to himself, he brushed his laughter hand with a motion of the hand, making it clear that he was not making fun of her at all, but rather surprised by this turn of event. “But to answer to your question, I make do. Besides, you never know what tomorrow might be made of,” he shrugged. Part of what she said made him raise his eyebrows. Could it be possible… that she heard about the banshee scream? It was true that he had more time left than a week ago… technically. “How did you…” he shook his head. Nevermind how she knew. “You’ll send me pictures of your vol-au-vent ? If you need tips, I can send you a copy of my recipe notebook,” he offered. She went to pick up her order and he nodded politely at her. Alain, who had never been one for small talk, had started chatting more easily with others recently. Maybe being happier had helped him open up to people. Either way, it was nice and he couldn’t recall the last time he felt as if things were nice. “It was lovely talking to you.”

“Sorry, just been thinking too much to myself probably,” Morgan said lightly. She hadn’t realized that he didn’t put together the connection between them and it was far too awkward, too public to say, oh, I’m a month and change on the other side of death, how about you? But she gave him a warm look and hefted her brain supply for good measure before tucking it into her woven grocery bag. “Oh, you know, lucky guess,“ she said. “I can be too forward sometimes, I know. But we can chit chat on main, like normal people, if you want. Even without the existential angst! I’m Morgan. And you are—?”

“Who doesn’t,” Alain brushed it off, and glanced away from her, looking up at the order counter. It would not be long for him either, now. The piece of paper with the number on was now all crumpled from him fidgeting with it. He took his eyes back to her and watched her pack her purchases. “No harm done. I tend to be the exact opposite of that, so that’s a nice balance,” he almost smiled. Still there was kindness in his eyes as he nodded in agreement. “Let’s. Be normal people with the right amount of existential angst only,” his lips pursed before he replied. “I’m Alain.”

#chatzy #para morgan #wickedswriting

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hex-and-fable · 5 years ago

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In Search of Midnight Pt: 1

[ A world of Warcraft RP]

R: Most men say the devil's pint offers little clarity. To Rhogar it was the only thing strong enough to wash away the haze of the world. At first he masked the potent smell of it with layers of scented oils, kept himself kempt, clean, and presentable till whatever vestiges of dignity he clung to melted away like water to snow. From the burdens of his avarice he molded into an animal most cared not to concern themselves with. In his mind the voices of years prior rang steadily and true, a mockery of diluted concern and false affections. In the end it never mattered. The cold bite of sea air kissed at the bridge of his reddening nose as the uplift of a canteen was pressed against his mouth. A heavy slosh kissed the inner chamber of the container and with a hard swallow a warm cascade spilled down his throat and across his chest causing the corners of his mouth to splay with grimace as the potent mixture of bourbon and scotch nestled home. From there the massive sea side city stuck out like a sore thumb against the coming dawn, its blackened impression seemingly dwarfed by the bright collection of pastel colors ushering the nightly firmament to sleep. Rhogar Altaeis was far from a hunter.

He lacked the limber most Farstriders carried but held strong to their keen sense of environmental awareness. He wasn't Holy enough to be a pious man and lacked the empathy to take charge of a budding noble woman. No, Rhogar wasn't much of anything in the eyes of the public but he certainly excelled at two things. Drinking and killing.

Rhogar stared dead forward at the pointed peaks of the cities structure, dabbing is tongue at the corner of his mouth once he witnessed a fishermen's boat slink into harbor. Small, discrete, yet laden with city guard. He knew his limit. He could kill five, maybe six before the calvary would strike him down.

As he heaved himself up from his crouch a plume of visible breath touched against the cold morning air. His scale laden fingers furled around the pommel of his sword causing the mare's beady eyes to widen with unbridled fright as the metallic edge caught light. She trotted back, tail violently flicking for she knew exactly what that weapon was capable of. Rhogar hovered a hand before him, sword at the ready while cooing gentle litanies her way before striking her reigns free. Heavily the saddle fell, freeing her tired mouth from its restraints. She buckled, snorting visibly as he approached to brush the pale hairs from her face, cupping her long face into his free hand and holding her there for a moment. "Free." He rumbled, nodding south. It took her little time to register his offer and with a kick of dirt and dying leaf she was off winding through the bush. He spared a glance over his shoulder toward the waking city, his tired, baggy eyes scanning the horizon with the thought of how he himself had his own untamed bitch to capture. S: Her own paranoia, combined with the incessant whispering, had given Serrith the nudge she needed to escape the walls of Silvermoon for a while, figuring her absence would go unnoticed by most. She knew she had spent too much time in the open and now more then ever she felt she was always looking over her shoulder, always feeling that inkling that she's being watched. The priestess had slipped her way into Paltiel's office and sat down at her desk with a parchment and quill in hand and began to write out a short letter. High Inquisitor Paltiel, I apologize for the short notice but I will be absent for a while. I've got a meeting to make with suppliers for my craft and these are things best inspected in person, lest you be cheated with simple glass by delivery. I hope you will understand. Serrith There. Her absence explained, she seemed satisfied and made her way out of the office and towards the Magister's building to do a bit of portal hopping to shorted her trip. It's not like she was being dishonest, she reassured herself. There was a supplier of jewels and fine metals she'd heard of and wanted to see for herself, but mostly, it was just to get herself away for a while. By now the elf seemed settled into the daily bustle of the seaside city, but not quite used to the sudden change in climate just yet. She had avoided interaction when possible, not looking to draw more attention to herself than she had to, though, her heritage wasn't called into question like she thought it would be. Her small and unassuming stature probably gave little reason for anyone to worry, and, she suspected, she might have been confused for an older child. Her lips pursed to the side as she recalled the thought as a shopkeep was opening his door, and called over her shoulder in a fatherly tone, "I hope you weren't out all night, lil lady!" She picked up her pace, clutching onto her messenger bag under her cloak, making her way towards the outer edges of the city where she had found a small tavern to stay in. In truth, she spent far more time during negotiations than she had wanted to, but she did secure herself a couple of contracts for things to be sent back home, with the most precious of them staying with her. A sense of worry hung over her, knowing she looked like a prime target for the seaside thugs that seemed to be ever-present in the quieter parts of the town. Just need to make it back to my room in one piece and I'll be fine. I can rest then. A turn down the forked road towards her destination brought the wind from her side and to her face, catching the small elf off guard with how strong the gust was. Instinctively she pulled her cloak tighter around her torso to keep it in place, though that was about all that stayed put. Her eyes squinted past the leaves swirling along the ground and through the air as her hood flew back after catching the breeze like a sail, leaving pale ears turning pink at the tips from the cold and what locks of hair weren't pulled back into her braid flew about freely, plastering themselves to her face. With a small huff that materialized in the cold air in front of her, she waited for it to die down and captured her cloak together in one hand and moved the other to push her hair from her face and clear her vision before quickly tugging her hood back on. The sun had yet to offer its warmth and it was too damn cold for this, she noted to herself as a shiver worked its way from her shoulders and down her spine. She kept a hand holding the thing down now and looked up, seeing the familiar landmarks in the distance. Almost there.

R: The wind carried what he thought was a linty of whispers pulling his attention here and there from the subtle rustle of leaves to the quickened prattle of deer hove. Rhogar would be a fool to present himself so typically for the weight of armor was not the problem but more so the recognition it would bring. Instead he donned himself in various sets of leather, thick cloth, and scale, the latter of which hugged tight beneath the sections of cloth keeping him remotely warm. Truth be told he looked far more common than he ever had. The thick, peppered strands of his dark hair were hastily combed back freeing his visage from any sense of coverage leaving his hardened resolve free to the waking world to gawk upon. A thick wool coat with unusually shiny gold buttons with a flicked collar and cuffed sleeves did him well along with the pair of heavy boots at his feet moonlighting him as a wayward traveler more so than the stalwart spell breaker he truly was. Perhaps it was the large broad sword slung over his shoulder that gave him away or the intensity of his height and disposition. It mattered little when a strange pang throbbed at his temples---painless but a nuisance nonetheless. A sign that, by the grace of the Gods, meant she was closer than he anticipated. How foolish of her not to dilute her aura. The rumbling of an afterthought bubbled to the forefront of his mind causing that of a small, albeit nefarious grin to tug at the corners of his bearded mouth. Heaving a heft collection of foliage free form his path by the brace of his forearm Rhogar drew privy to the leaf laden pathway coiled and met by a fork in the road. He was quiet, quieter than most would say. Yet it was when his singular hue anchored onto her form like a bad habit was it there he felt his anger rise. The ten months of searching for not only her but her sister had, in some respects, paid a toll. A job in which he sought to finish with them in his captivity dead or alive. Either way their bounty was his for the taking. The man brushed his thickly fingers through the weeks worth of growth at his chin, jowls clenching tighter and tighter as the idea of pinning her shoulder with an arrow seemed more and more apt but would her screams herald unwanted attention? A massive gale spread widely across the open area forcing the sleeping leaves to rouse from their slumber on the cold earth to whirl and swirl distractedly about her. Without pause he took his chance, body lurching forward as he swiftly unsheathed a dirk from the confines of his coat to better guide his way down the root and dirt laden slope. It sullied his boots and the fringe of his attire with light colored dust and when the wind finally eased its temper her attention was spent elsewhere and not to the heavy gait of him encroaching behind her. Without preamble the thickened locks of her braided hair was wrapped not twice but thrice about his knuckles succeeding in reeling her back against the spans of his lower chest as the earth stained dagger was pressed steadily against her throat so much that that he offered a light turn of his wrist, cutting the pallid column of her throat just so to permit a thin trickle of blood to coat her clavicle. Perhaps the only true ounce of warmth to grace her since her arrival within the islands. "They don't need you alive." Rhgoar hissed threateningly against the shell of her ear, his whiskers more than likely offering an unwanted tickle. She'd smell it, so very patently, the deep scent of the liquor on his breath. "And I don't much mind carrying a corpse with me to the settlements several miles that-a-way." He forced her head to turn minutely to the left indicating a beaten path in the opposite direction she aimed to be. "So, you either cooperate or you'll be adding an extra splash of color to the earth today." S: So was she focused on getting back home with her cloak still wrapped around her that she didn't hear him creep up over the sound of the wind blowing past. The sharp yank elicited a small yelp as her hands flared up with purple magic swirling about and concentrating around her fingertips, ready to dispatch whatever local thug had thought her an easy mark. Upon hearing his voice, the recoginition was instant and the hands that were reflexively moving to grab at the arm around her neck stopped, hovering with trembling fingers just shy of actually touching him, and the crackle of energy dying down just as fast. The small elf's breath hitched in her throat, prompting a very uncomfortable swallow of air with the sharp of the blade pressed so firmly against her flesh she could feel a trickle of warmth. Despite the pull on her hair forcing her head back, she dared not to look up. The world around her seemed to stop, and in the same moment, the whispers in her mind hissed in uproar. The first actual thought to cross her mind, though, was her sister. Ceris! Ceris? No--she was alright--she had to be. If something happened to her I'd have known it. I would have.. She found herself hoping her sister would sense something, now, while every other part of her screamed, No! Stay away from here! "O-okay. Put the knife away unless you want to deal with would-be heroes. Everyone's waking up right about now.." her voice was quiet, matched with the soft trembling of her form easily gave away her fear despite her best efforts to hide it and keep calm. She stared forward and watched the shafts of sunlight filter through the rooftops and into the streets as though the would offered guidance, but there was nothing, just an indifferent warmth of morning no different from the one before. Very slowly she allowed her hands to fall to her sides, somewhere she hoped would be less threatening. If the twins could manage to escape before, she would be able to do it again. She was, after all, stronger now than the children they had been when they first ran. Clinging to the thought steeled her resolve, though in truth she had no idea what to do other than comply with his demands; surely he was prepared for her magic and she didn't trust in her ability to pull something off before he could silence her in one way or another. R: Serrith could feel the hiss of his bated laughter at her cheek, dry and coarse. "What makes you think I give a damn about would-be-heros? What will they do, hm? What do you think they'll do to try and save someone who can barely even save themselves?" The latter let him venomously, hard and laden with guile as the anchor of his gaze fell to the limp notch of the magicks dying at her fingertips. "Smart." The heart-wrenching press of steel at her throat subsided only to be replaced at her ribcage, his thickly fingers making greedy work at pulling the layering of her cloak and jacket back to nestle it there. "Come." He urged, coiling a large arm around her petite frame, his free hand a vice at the tender slope of her shoulder as the pair trekked down the opposite direction of her destination. In some respects they resembled a pair of star-crossed lovers huddled close to keep warm in the cold morning ether when instead she was his prisoner, blade pointedly wedged at her side with the intent of slipping between her ribs if need be. It'd be that simple. A single, effortless nudge of his arm would render it home betwixt her meager sinew till its greedy edge pierced her thumbing heart.

"You may have found your voice." Rhogar rumbled from above, his gaze steadily forward, grip tight. "But you will soon learn how to forget it again when you're with me. Anyone we see you lower your eyes to your feet, anyone who directly speaks to you is offered a polite smile and you feign your muteness." There they paused several clicks from where they met and well hidden by a lovely arrangement of blood orange and sunny gold leaves. He whirled her about forcing her frame before his. "Look at me." He commanded with a threateningly sharp narrow to his good eye. "This should be an easy task, hm? Allow me to repeat myself. I am not above killing you. I'm not above killing anyone who stands in my way and that includes your would-be-heros. Savvy?" S: "You don't want to draw attention to yourself. And you would kill them." She answered his inquiry bluntly, thinking the answer to that was obvious. The more likely result would probably be her own death, but that wasn't a welcome thought and she had no business worrying about such what-ifs, needing to keep focused on the present. Though he worked quickly, Serrith still seemed alarmed for all the wrong reasons as his hand searched beneath the layers of fabric before she caught on to what he was doing. And the new placement of the dagger was even more upsetting than the cut left along her neck, if only from her previous experiences with daggers near her chest not ending well. She followed his lead meekly. Earlier she had been looking forward to getting a break from the wind's chill, but with Rhogar of all people standing at her back with his arm around her was the last way she'd have picked to achieve it. In fact, the cold was much preferred to this, and the cool metal served well to remind her. I'd rather forget you instead. Her lips twisted into a frown at his orders. For an elf that didn't speak much to start with she somehow found it rather insulting to be told to feign being mute, no matter how much irony the statement carried. So carry on as usual? she thought to herself, knowing better than to open her mouth to sass the spellbreaker. All her internal musings of witty quips and other possible retorts were silenced by the sudden pull on her shoulder to turn her towards him. There was a very obvious effort to avoid meeting his gaze until commanded to do so. Her stare held anger and contempt for the man and the watering of her eyes dared to convey very plainly the fear she felt. The intensity of the volatile emotions she felt kept threatening to overflow like a cascade, and she could feel her skin tingling with the familiar desire, need, even, to draw on the shadows. This sense of helpless vulnerability was a feeling she swore she'd never allow to happen again, but it was the only thing keeping her breathing for now. "..Yes." R: When the wind picked up he tugged her closer, ensuring that the pressure of his blade made a poignant presence to steel any lingering temptations that may have been bubbling within the recesses of her mind. For a time the wood carried their conversation by the shivering of leaves overhead and the rustle of abundant wildlife flourishing about them. It was only when the brisk touch of sea air caught their atmosphere did he finally will that blade to twist, coating the underside of her leathers with a dangerous jab. “We’re here.” Rhogar rumbled, the vestiges of which billowed out in visible breath from his lips. “Stay keen.” With warning heeded the elf unfurled his arm from Serrith’s person only to roughly nudge her in front of him. “Look about the town wondrously and without abandon, make it seem as if this is your first time away from whatever pit you crawled from.” The winding pathway broke off from a large willow tree, its long twisting foliage drooping down so low it managed to kiss the top of Rhogar’s head as they passed. Seaside, as it were, it wasn’t nothing more than a small fishing village. Smoked fish filled the air coupled with the dampness of the earth about them which caked their boots and the hems of their cloaks. They went unnoticed, for the most part for the villages’ prattle kept all its occupants engaged. Rhogar kept his gaze forward primarily set to the faint sway of ships ahead heralding his freedom. In fervency he nudged her again, nodding toward the docks. “There.” S: Serrith kept dutifully marching forward, despite the shivers running along her spine, borne from an ocean wind cold enough to make the small elf's heavy cloak billow in the breeze despite the wall of a man standing at her back. With her arm opposite to his holding the blade she tugged her cloak closer. Her breath hitched with the twist, as if tensing up would make her small enough to avoid the scraping of steel against flesh. It brought back terrifying memories that she made her best effort to shrug off. With the forceful jab forward, she scrunched her face in annoyance, knowing he wouldn't see, but after a brief moment she sucked in her breath and tried to shove the thought aside. There wasn't much to be excited about, but her efforts were eased by the fact that there was little to actually fake. This was her first time in the area, she had stuck to the the large port city while hiding, and having gotten there via some clever portal hopping, never got the chance to explore too much. The quiet and simple view was rather nice, it didn't seem to be quite ravaged by the war efforts happing around them which was a pleasant surprise--she didn't even mind the damp earth now clinging to her boots and cloak. The scent of smoked reminded her that she had not gotten to eat breakfast, and there was a small growl from her stomach to remind her--and likely Rhogar if he was paying enough attention. Even with the jab she found her gaze lingering towards the main square before they had walked past it and she was all but forced to look away. The burly sailors and dockhands wandering about made her uneasy, not mitigated by the man at her docks. She quickly averted her gaze, feeling herself shy back a bit before catching herself. Trouble for her meant trouble for him, something he didn't want, was a sliver of a silver lining, but she wasn't willing to provoke anything. Not yet, anyhow. A quick glance over her shoulder tried to deceipher what he was thinking, careful to keep her expression curious and shy to mask the worry she was actually feeling. R: Several of the dockhands paid them little heed though there were a few who kept their attentions to her. However the moment their inspecting eyes seized up Rhogar they quickly tended back to their work, desiring not to have their insides splayed across the docks and used for bait. It was clear that even as an elf in these remote areas his brawn stature was enough to ward off even the ficklest of thieves and vagrants. As Serrith paid her little attentions over her shoulder Rhogar nodded toward one of the smaller ships. A shipment ferry if anything but one that could easily get them to where he wanted them to be. In a perfect world he’d have utilized his hearth or even a break in a leyline but it was evident she carried little on her person to afford such a luxury. A twitch came about his ears once the rumbling of her stomach came to life. His annoyance was palpable. How was it she survived this long on her own? Where was her bloody sister? “Stay here while I chat with the captain.” He hissed, pointing a thickly finger to a spot at the dock. It was a collection of crates, stacked in threes, yet thankfully one was low enough for her to rest upon if she so desired. S: A wave of relief washed over her when they very quickly focused on their work after a quick glance their way. Her experiences with the sailors back near her hideout were less than pleasant. Something in the back of her mind reminded her that was likely a bad thing given who they were cowering from. She made her way forward and followed his gaze to the ferry he'd arranged for and made her way to the deck. A quick glance around offered little information beyond the stacked boxes and crates, so after testing that they were sturdy enough, she crawled onto the lowest one with the next one beside it at her back. The cool air was more pronounced here so she drew her knees up to her chest and pulled her cloak tightly around her in an effort to stop the shivering. It had occured to her that Rhogar hadn't noticed her bag beneath her cloak, a detail she decided to keep to herself. She didn't have too much in there, aside from her contracts and the couple of gems she had chosen to bring back to work on personally. Snapping out of her musings, she turned to look at her captor to see how their conversation was going. She was out of range of hearing and still afraid of using any of her spells, so she relied on the body language to gauge its state. He probably didn't plan this far ahead and is securing the ride at the moment. The thought of him being not quite as organized as he appeared put her the slightlest bit at ease. It would be much easier to plan on her own if he was making things up along the way too. R: From what she could see there was an exchange. It started off slow with Rhgoar working his suave charm for a stint up until the dockhand became petulant. It didn’t take long before Rhogar’s massive hand gave pat to his side---what it was wasn’t entirely clear. He could have been threatening promise of a weapon meeting his throat or he could be indicating a coin purse by means of bribing the man, whatever it was caused him to pause with a strange level of contemplation.

Finally there was an exchange of hands and when Rhogar returned there happened to be an annoyed sneer set to his face. “Remind me to kill him when we’re at sea,” He rumbled, taking little time in furling a hand beneath her arm with the intent of hoisting her up to her feet. There he bent at the waist, pointing a thick leather finger down to her face akin to scolding a child though when he lobbed threat he meant it. “Listen here, girl.” He hissed below making certain she’d feel the weight of his gaze. “If so much as a whimper peters from you while we’re on that ship I’ll strangle you in front of the entire crew then kill them for the sport of it. I’m keeping you alive as a courtesy, understand?” That same finger eased all the way back till it was pointing to the ship. He mouthed down to her, brows pinched in narrow. “Go. Now.” If she were to oblige and pass him she would still feel the heat of his gaze till she boarded.

#world of warcraft #serrith and rhogar #part one #rhogar

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quinlin-blog1 · 6 years ago

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Short Story 2: Demons

"If he doesn't have to go back, then neither do I."

"Come on man! Let's go to the other movie!" I sighed. 'Let's not! I like this one." "But the other one has got hot guys and basketball games!" 'But this one has gun fights and adventure!' "Don't get too excited, it gets old after a while, I saw enough of that in Hell." Looks like I wasn't going to see the newest action movie, as I moved out of the line to get tickets, against my own will of course. Some days were easier than others, with an entirely different entity living inside of your head. Though, I couldn't really complain, he'd saved me from many embarrassing situations. I say "He" but it doesn't generally like to be tied down by a specific gender. Its name, the name I'd given it, was Paul, like the alien in the movie. "You'll thank me for this later." 'You said that when we went to that hot wax and I hurt for hours after that." I didn't get a response.

After the movie, I was sat on my couch at home, sipping on a hot chocolate, enjoying the little bit a quiet that filled my apartment. For once. With my roommate always playing loud country music and Paul always babbling in my head, there wasn't much quiet in my life. The television was on in front of me, playing a rerun of an old sit-com. A kaleidoscope of colors reflecting off the screen. It was dark outside, the soft sound of an owl hooting and crickets chirping. It was on nights like this that I liked the go sit on the roof of my building and admire the few stars that were visible. Due to the city lights, the stars weren't very bright, and it was rare that the sky was clear to see them in the first place. "Hey! Have you seen my glasses?" The sudden voice of my loud roommate knocked me out of my thoughts and almost made me drop my mug. "Jeez!" I exclaimed "You scared me! Why do you need your sunglasses anyway? It's night time if you haven't noticed." He shrugged his shoulders "They're cool." I rolled my eyes. "On the counter." I heard footsteps and heard an "Ah ha!" when he found what he was looking for. "You going out?" He nodded "Meeting up with some friends, don't wait up." "I never do." He laughed and left out the door. "I don't like him." 'You don't like most people Paul." "Yeah, but that guy gives me a really bad feeling." I snorted. "Laugh it up, will ya." 'Sorry, I just find it funny that a demon is getting a "bad feeling" from a regular human.' "Whatever Lottie." Lottie. I guess that it would be polite of me to introduce myself to you. Well, dear reader, my name is Charlotte Dans. A pretty boring name. I'm known as Char, or Lottie to mostly everyone that knows me, which is very few people because I don't really leave the apartment very much. Though, you might do the same if you had a demon living inside your head. Yeah, if you hadn't already picked up, Paul is a demon. He left Hell years ago and bounced around from person to person for a while before things got really bad for him. From what Paul has told me, when a demon leaves Hell, they must returned by an allotted time, if they don't, they have other demons sent after them to bring them back downstairs and they live the rest of their days as crossroads demons, which –according to Paul- is the lowest job there is in Hell. Paul had managed to escape the attempts of other demons to bring him back to Hell.

Around five years ago, I was out walking with my family, on a pretty normal day. We had just gotten ice cream and I had laughed at my brother, whose face was covered in the icy treat. The next thing I remember, was being on the ground, little pebbles stuck into my hands. There was yelling, voices that I recognized, some that I didn't. I was going to get up, when a man fell in front of me. He was older, older than my dad at least. His hair was streaked with grey and his face was dirty. It was a split second, but then all I saw was black. When I woke up, I was in a hospital room, my parents and brother around me. I'd apparently been knocked over by some random guys on the street, I'd hit my head hard a blacked out. I told that the men ran off, but I remembered the man in front of me.

I found out from Paul that he had knocked me over. He'd been running from some demons and didn't see me in front of him. He'd knocked me over and then tripped over me. He said he had two options. One being that he let the demons take him back to Hell, or he could possess me. Guess which he chose.

"-and not to mention that he blew up a potato in the microwave!" 'Excuse me, what?" Paul sighed "Have you even been listening to me?" 'You talk a lot Paul, I choose to ignore you have the time.'

"One of these days, you're going to need to remember something that I told you and you won't be able to, because you don't listen."* 'And on that day, I will let you say "I told you so", until then let's just not discuss it.' Paul sighed "Fine. What do you want to do now?" 'Dunno. I kind of want to sleep.' "Boring." 'And what do you suggest we do Paul, go to a church?' ". . . Sleeping sounds good."

BANG BUMP THUMP CRASH I turned over in my bed, used to the noise that often cropped up in the middle of the night. Ted, my roommate, was a messy eater and very fond of midnight snacks. SMACK CRASH BUMP What the hell was he doing? I uncovered my head, which I had placed under my pillow to block out noise, and listened for a few moments. SMACK THUMP BANG CRASH ......... Whimper? I sat up, blinking my eyes so that I could see better and I looked around my room. Two things jumped out at me first thing. One being that my window was open –though I don't generally close it- and two being that my door, was also open. I close my door every night and lock it before going to sleep. Paranoia. Slipping my legs off my bed, I stood up, standing on my tip toes to be quieter. "What's going on?" 'I don't know. I think that Ted might be dying.' "Oh. Let him be then." 'No! What if he's hurt?' "Sounds like his problem." I rolled my eyes, wishing that there was a way I could reach inside my mind and slap the demon. But there wasn't. Not that I'd found anyway, and trust me, I've tried. I walked across my bedroom to my open door, trying to make the least amount of noise possible, which proved to be a task as my feet continuously stepped on the squeaky floorboards. I knew that I should have gotten them fixed. The hallway was dark. There was a light on at the end, where the entrance to the kitchen began. "What the hell are you doing? Have you not seen any horror movies? This is exactly how it someone gets killed! Don't be the character in the first five minutes of Supernatural." I scowled at nothing. "Call the police! Someone could be in your apartment." 'It's just Ted!" "I highly doubt its 'Just Ted.'" 'Well if you're so smart, then why don't you go check? Oh wait, you can't. You rely solely on my body to get you around, so sit down and shut up.' ". . . Rude." I shook my head, ignoring the quiet protests that Paul continued to give me. Oh, how I wished he had an off button. I crept up the hallway, looking around for something I could use as weapon. On the way up, I reached into the supply cupboard and grabbed out the broom, quickly untwisting the head from the handle. It would have to do. I hold onto it tightly, feeling slightly silly. I knew that Paul was right. I was the dumb character in a horror movie. What was I going to do what I reached the kitchen? What if it wasn't Ted? What if it's an actual invader? How is a broom handle going to help me? Either way, my feet carried me forwards and before I knew it, I was standing just behind the kitchen door. The soft yellow light was streaming through, the door itself was only open about a foot and a half, but it was enough for me to poke my head in. I saw a back that was the first thing. A back attached to a head fully of messy brown hair. I knew this to be Ted. Looking a little bit closer, I turned my head a little bit to get a better angle. The second thing I saw, was that Ted had a man against the wall, a tight grip on the other man's throat. And the third thing I noticed, was that the man, wasn't a man. How could he had been, with pale green skin and black eyes? His skin was covered in spikes, tiny ones and longer ones, some were grey while others were brown. "Demon." 'Demon? What do you mean demon? There's a demon in my apartment?' "Well, what else could it be? A gnome?" 'I don't really think that right now is the time for sarcasm.' "There is never not a time for sarcasm." "Please." The demon against the wall wheezed out. "I have just come to bring back the traitor." "Traitor? What's so wrong about wanting to stay out of hell?" "I don't care." Came Ted's reply. But it wasn't Ted. This voice was deeper, gravelly. "Holy crap." 'What?' "But My Lord-!" Ted slammed the demon against the wall again and I heard a sickening crack. Then a loud wail filled the apartment. Black smoke vented out of the dead demons mouth, swirling around the room like a little tornado, before flying out the open window. Ted turned around. His skin was tinted grey, not sickly like, but an actual grey, his eyes were white, the rings where his irises and pupils should have bene remained, but there was no coloration. There seemed to be a flutter when he moved, like the rustling of feathers. There was a broken vase on the floor, shattered into pieces. Painting and framed photographs were littered everywhere and the coffee table in the middle of the living room that adorned the kitchen, was broken in half. Ted turned around further and faced me, his eyes wide as he saw me looking around at the damage. "I can fix it I swear" He said, his voice still different. "What, the hell." He flinched. "Well you see, that's what I'm trying to avoid." "Explanation. Now." "Well, you see. It's a bit more complicated than that. I –uh" "Are you a demon?" "No." "What are you?" Ted rubbed the back of his head. "SPIT IT OUT ALREADY" Ted's eyes went wide. I knew that he had heard Paul, as Paul had spoken his words through my mouth. Another great thing. He doesn't do it often, only when he's really angry.

"I'm the Devil."

#short stories #demons #the devil #Lucifer #roomates

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