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stylistiquements · 3 years

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The Sorcerer pt. 3

Corpse Husband x gn!reader

Reincarnation AU | Summary :

The same candle lights up on Corpse’s desk every time you are reborn and turn 23. He has been looking for you during centuries but this time you might be closer than anticipated. {Playlist}

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝟯 : 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙚

An eagerness for a special sense of belonging brings you to a lot of unexplored roads.

☾ Words : 6159.

☾ Warnings : swearing

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George has barely spoken a word since he started diving into the golden pages of the book Dream brought home. He doesn’t even notice his presence by his side, too absorbed by the perfect calligraphy inked on the paper, curled up on the rocking chair which swings back and forth at a tireless pace.

Dream leans toward his familiar, slowly unfolding his arm so his fingers could get closer to George’s one. His long fingers are curled around the book and it feels as though the contact would be enough to make sure George is okay.

When George exhales deeply and rapidly leafs through the golden paper one last time before closing the book, Dream flinches and sits up while clearing his throat.

“You said it was supposed to help y/n but I’m afraid to ask how,” he says as he lifts his head while shaking it in confusion. “I feel like a voyeur after reading all of … this.”

“You don’t have to ask,” Dream mumbles, hoping that it would be enough for George to brush the matter away.

“I have another question that needs an honest answer.”

Dream hums. He hates the way George is looking at him, as if the wrong question was about to come out of his mouth.

“Did you get that book or did you steal it?”

Yeah, wrong fucking question.

“The book contains too much crucial information it to be given to anyone. Even I can feel that," George pushes and he’s so right Dream can’t bring himself to lie, only cover sugarcoat the truth as much as he can.

“It’s ours. I didn’t steal it, I took it back,” he mutters and George sighs exasperatedly.

“So you got us into trouble,” he concludes.

Dream’s lips part but the words get lost in George’s incriminating eyes. He reaches for his hand and grabs it, one last attempt to reassure him as much as he can.

“It’s okay,” Dream finally breathes. “I’ll make sure everything is okay, you don’t have to worry about that.”

“You better because if this goes wrong a human will get involved.”

Sitting in your car in an empty parking lot, you find yourself staring at the object you just bought with a puzzled expression while taking another bite of your bagel. The clueless item, which sits so perfectly still on the passenger seat, seems to be setting a silence you’re not sure how to handle. It’s an awkwardly clear stone in a conical shape attached to a chain reflecting the rays of the sun into iridescent light that spreads above your head and turns the grayish ceiling of the car into something vivid. You take another bite of your food, the only excuse you found to break eye contact for a second, hoping that it would ease the tension that has been growing since you started feeling like the object observed you as much as you observed him. In a long exhale, you end up covering it with your jacket.

You’re not even sure why you bought the pendulum in the first place. Probably a mind busy with a sense of curiosity and the remains of eerie stories you’ve been narrating all morning that still creeped upon you, leaving you feeling a lot more mystic than usual. You just stopped to describe that cryptic looking shop and your steps were leading you inside before you could realize it, the door tinkling as you pushed it open.

The shelves were brimming with crystals and herbs and things you couldn’t identify. From potion ingredients to candles and incense, it looked like the perfect witch den and you hated that it felt so close to home even though it could never be. It was a strange feeling; a sense of belonging as illegitimate as helpless.

Maybe that’s why you wandered around as you did, sight getting filled with questions and a hint of confusion as you analyzed every display meticulously. As if learning more about their world could give you the illusion of being an active part of it. What an irony to hate something you’re so irremediably drawn to.

When you met the object, your attention stopped and you described it with a careful eye. The owner found her way to you; a young lady with faded purple hair and winged liner that made her eyes look like cat’s eyes. She spoke in a funny accent that left you wondering where it could come from. There was something about it -or her- that felt so peculiarly familiar,

“This is a fascinating pendulum, isn’t it?” The woman said, more of a statement than it was a real question. You brushed the impression away and gently smiled at her, not sure what to answer nor even what a pendulum was.

The lady opened the glass cabinet. The chain intertwined with her long fingers and the thing looked more like a jewel when held so delicately and dangling as it was. It swung from back and forth, movements perfectly calibrated. It was inquisitive, a little mesmerizing and, before you knew it, you both were standing on each side of the counter and the lady carefully covered the pendulum with tissue paper.

The way her hair fell behind her ears, the constant smile that was tattooed on her lips, the way the paper crinkled under her fingers, it all grew together to create this one and so lucid déjà vu. The presence felt so intimate, leaving an odd and indelible aftertastes in your throat.

“I’m sorry but haven’t we met before?” You dared to ask as your mind pressured you to.

“Maybe we have,” she simply answered with a soft smile, eyes still locked on the wrapped pendulum. What a weird way to answer a simple question, neither a validation nor a denial.

“I feel like I know you,” you insisted, narrowing your eyes as if you knew there was something more, something that would make everything make sense.

She didn’t say a word, only handed you the small bag she just packed while leading you toward the exit with a hand on your lower back. It wasn’t pressuring but it was firm, an obvious invitation to leave. Maybe you were just being too annoying with the matter and she wouldn’t have been the first one to think so.

“Take care of the pendulum. It’s very special,” she demanded and, just like that, she closed the door of the shop behind you and flipped the card from “open” to “closed”.

You stood puzzled on the pavement for a minute, not too sure how to feel about all of this. Everyday keeps getting weirder and weirder.

The whole experience was odd, really, and maybe that’s why the purchase feels a little wrong, a little off. Like something that was never meant to happen in the first place.

Now, you place an index and a middle finger around the chain. The pendulum dangles, untamed movements that send vibrations against your skin. Your eyes are trying to focus on the stone, to forget about the people walking down the street you still see in your peripheral vision but, as much as you wish for something magical to happen, it’s nothing but a stone that sways aimlessly in the air. You scoff, it just makes the whole thing even more ridiculous. So, you intuitively take a picture of the thing and send it to Corpse before placing it back on the passenger seat.

[Look what I bought,] you type before clicking on the send button.

[Nice pendulum, didn’t know you were interested in that kind of stuff,] Corpse responds

[Me neither but it’s pretty cool, right? I don’t know how to use it though.]

[Why would you buy a pendulum if you don’t know how to use one?]

Thank you Mr Sorcerer, good talk, you mouth with a fake smile that, realistically, looks more like a wince. He always has a way to make you feel so stupid. You don’t feel like responding, too annoyed to give him the credit of asking an interesting question. Yet, your fingers are telling another story.

[Do you wanna teach me, maybe?]

You twist the key inside the ignition. Is this conversation even of any use? It feels like rhetoric at this point; you already know he won’t answer such a question. Yet the phone lights up in your palms before you’re able to put it out of sight. A two letter response that makes you regret hoping he would answer in the first place.

[No.]

There’s this deep exhale as you rub the exasperation out of your face. Why does he always have to be so ungracious? As if bitterness was the only thing he had left. In the end, this is nothing but a reminder that it’s just your friendship with Corpse in a nutshell; shallow and endless exchanges of fuck yous and you toos and that’s just as deep as it can get. You’re stuck inside this infernal game of cat and mouse, looking for a way to approach the real Corpse without him flinching away. This really isn’t of any use. Why would you even try to crawl inside his mind in the first place?

You push the gas pedal, trying not to stare too long at the shop that gets further and further away through the rear-view because, soon enough, you’ll forget about that odd encounter, about that even odder attempt to feel like belonging in a world you could almost think you despise.

You find yourself thinking about Corpse’s harshness, about the expression he probably wears on a face you know nothing about. Can the coldness be seen on his expression every time he chooses the crudest answer? The city scrolls before your eyes and you don’t pay much attention to it. Does he always consider the options or does his mind automatically go to that place where you’re not allowed?

It feels like every response serves a purpose to draw a line you’re so tempted to cross. You sigh heavily. Leaning closer in the purpose of a touch that can never lead anywhere is one weary way to live a friendship. You’re stuck between the wish to get closer and the wish to let go, neither one of the two being a possible thing.

By the time you reach your apartment, it feels like you’re more confused than you usually are. It’s usually so easy to brush it off, to shrug and think that it’s just Corpse being Corpse. Not today, today you're trying to understand an existence that can’t be put into words.

Why can’t I let it go? It’s with that question that you spent the rest of the day answering emails and reading more gruesome stories and now lay restless on your bed. You press the cold pillow against your face as if it would’ve been enough to stifle the question that spreads in your mind like mold. Maybe, at the end of the day, it’s not that you don’t want to let Corpse go, but simply don’t know how to.

The light of the full moon is growing electric, shining so bright that you doubt even being able to sleep.

You fall asleep, eventually, and when you do, you get woken up by the irrepressible necessity to snatch what tickles your nose with an irritating vigor.

Huh?

Your vision gets clearer as you become aware of your surroundings; vastness of meadow and cottony clouds passing fast in a blue sky. Your body rolls on what feels like a picnic blanket under your touch. You sit up abruptly, meeting the eyes of the one who sits cross legged in front of you.

Dream?

Your lips part to talk but you find yourself unable to let a word escape your grip. The energy that emanates from Dream is familiar but this face is new. He never showed it. A secret he wasn’t ready to share before.

Quite the irony if you think too much about it; the man granted you a secret that probably could have ruined his life but has never been comfortable enough to show his face.

You describe his face; green eyes that show confidence, a good amount of pride and wrinkle under a rooted smile as dirty blond hair frame the whole living painting.

If it wasn’t for the feeling that agitated your heart, you would’ve believed to be in front of a complete stranger. Warmth agitated your heart. The leap of faith he took months ago reflects on the softness he never fails to perform. Warmth and relief to have the confirmation that, after all, Dream is still here.

You try to talk again but no breath dares to fall out of your mouth as relief gets caught in your knotted throat. You wish you could wrap your arms around him, you wish you could cry from worrying so much.

It’s with the same gentleness he radiates that he raises a kettle to pour steaming water in a tea cup that sits in front of you.

“Why aren’t you wearing your mask, Dream?” You say, head leaning on the side with a confusion that is starting to grow more and more intense.

“Do I really need to hide my face any longer?” He answers as he hands you a slice of fruit pie on a golden detailed plate. The wind gently ruffles his hair and you find yourself deep diving inside your own mind in search of an answer to a question that really is more rhetorical than anything.

The meadow is as endless as essentially peaceful but there’s something so bittersweet about it. Maybe it’s the silence that makes the wind’s whistle so clear and the lack of human contact even more obvious, maybe it’s Dream’s unexpected presence. In any case, there’s something about those stirring eyes that makes your mind wander near the ghost of a presentiment you’ve been willing to forget this whole time; am I dreaming?

“This place isn’t real, is it?” You ask and Dream’s eyes lower to his tea cup, only proof that he heard the question since he doesn’t acknowledge it verbally. The light gets softer as a cloud obscures the sun and you wonder; if you were to touch him right now, would you even be able to? It’s a tempting wish for a confirmation that Dream isn’t only a chimera, something that would’ve been meant to ease a bit of disorientation.

“It is real but-”

“-but we’re not really here,” you complete the answer as you nod. It’s just a dream. “How do I know that you’re real and not only the fruit of my imagination?”

“Because I know this place and you don’t,” Dream answers and it’s as obvious as deprived of any sense.

You bring a spoon of pie to your mouth, doubting that this would be enough to prove anything. The sourness of the fruits awaken your tongue and he mimics your movements. There’s something so fundamentally confusing about doing something so domestic when it feels like you’re missing the whole point of it. The quietness being more of a hindrance than an actual help. You’re willing to brush the doubts away and believe that Dream is really here.

“Is this where you’ve been all this time?” You ask. The chances of an answer are thin but you simply can’t help it. Dream shakes his head and pinches his lips together. You hold eye contact, hoping to be able to get an intelligible message in those emerald irises.

“Well, have you been safe at least?”

And now he scrunches his nose as he can never be fully honest yet never dares to lie. Maybe that’s the issue. Maybe you wish he could lie from time to time and you could persuade yourself that it’s the truth as you did with his presence inside your dream.

You’re about to continue the interrogation when he interrupts you, “I’ll answer one more question.”

You huff, as if his facial expressions were actual answers.

“You said you knew this place and I believe you didn’t choose it randomly which means you wanted to show it to me … so where are we?”

And now there’s a full wince on his face. You roll your eyes and throw your hands in the air. You just love Dream’s way of answering questions, don’t you? The annoyance is throbbing, the simplest question becomes the most complex puzzle. You look away, plucking some grass mechanically to release the tension that is growing in your fingers.

“My turn. So you tried to use a spell and bought a pendulum,” Dream says before brushing the cup against his lips. “Bold move for someone who hates magic,” and your attention gets back on him; eyes sparkling and proud grin as if he finally proved a point he tried to make a long time ago. He probably did in a way but you won’t let him hear the whole story as it’s more embarrassing than anything.

“So that’s what you wizards do, huh,” you scoff as you raise an eyebrow. “You text each other to make fun of me?”

Dream doesn’t answer, lashes fluttering slowly as to let you steep in your own question but it only pushes you to talk more, “I have to handle this on my own since you're apparently not willing to help me with my issues.”

“Y/n,” he sighs to bring you back to a reality he thinks you’re too far from. “You don’t wanna get rid of the issues.”

You raise an eyebrow to the audacity, “Why not?”

“The spell didn’t work because neither one of you is ready to let go of the other, so what do you want me to do? There’s nothing I can do if you’re not willing to let go,” Dream explains, “and it’s pretty obvious that you’re not.”

Is it? Your mind hisses. Dream’s voice rings with a confidence that is as irritating as unwelcomed but, maybe, it’s just the way you react when he gets too close to an unwarranted truth. He isn’t as wrong as you wish he was. Why can’t you just let it go?

“Oh come on now, was I ever wrong before?” He continues while the words tangle in your brain for too long. You can clearly picture the wide and oh so proud grin that adorns his lips and you mumble something under your breath that is either related to a cuss or a request for the bragging to stop.

“I don’t want to get rid of him. I just hate that our paths always end up intertwining,” you admit in a deep exhale.

“Of course they do,” Dream murmurs. The words linger before fading away. It’s so gentle that, by the time you realize the breath was a whisper, it’s already too late to ask him to repeat himself. You remain silent, eyes fixed on the steam that escapes from your tea cup as you reconsider saying out loud the words that are hitching your throat so badly.

“It’s not as if a relationship with a sorcerer would be something fruitful or anything anyway.”

Shit.

Dream chokes on his tea he almost spit. You wish you could apologize and say that you didn’t mean the harsh words that left your mouth but it’s nothing but a truth that has to be owned.

“Pretty sure you shouldn’t see a relationship by its loss and benefits.”

“You know it’s not what I meant,” you retort. “I would never be able to be with someone who is so secretive about their life. I mean, to the point where they can’t even answer a simple question like ‘where have you been’.”

“I know,” Dream mumbles, quiet and whispery voice that almost melts into the wind that brushes against the tall grass, “but some things are just better left unsaid.”

It shatters the last glimpse of patience you have left. You can already feel your eyes going wide, ready to roll to the back of your head. You’ve heard this sentence too many times for it to be acceptable.

“See? This fruitless conversation is literally my point,” you complain while throwing a hand in the air.

The silence returns. It’s more irritating than any word could be. It feels like the conversation is about to get too heavy to be endured and you know it can never go that way with Dream. The arguments are always sterile, filled with forbidden words that never work at anyone’s advantage. That’s why you exhale deeply and force yourself to move to a lighter subject, “beside, if I were to decide which sorcerer I’d want to be with, I’m pretty sure I’d choose you.”

“That’s why you’re my favorite human,” Dream sings cheerfully and you can’t repress a smile from creeping on your lips.

“No I’m not. I’m just the only human you talk to on a daily basis,” you snort, “and I would only choose you because you’re the less secretive out of the two I know- which speaks volumes about the level of ignorance I’m on.”

“But you can’t choose, can you?” He trails in a low voice and the thought echoes inside your brain for a long time. His lashes flutter slowly, matching a soft smile that seems too compassionate for the situation, almost a little filled with pity.

“No, I can’t,” you finally conclude after thinking about it for a second and there’s something about that conclusion that almost rings as a confession you’re not sure you should be making in the first place. Spoon rattles against the plates and the sun seems to be back, shining to its fullest capacity. The rest of the tasting in silence, trying to brush every matter out of your sleeves to enjoy a time you’ve been waiting for so long.

“I have to go,” Dream informs you and you raise an eyebrow.

“What, now?” You ask, confused. “We haven’t even finished our picnic.”

“I know, peaches, but I don’t have much time left in here. Call me when you wake up and I promise we’ll catch up.”

Dream gets up and walks through the grass away from you. His silhouette gets smaller and smaller and just as he’s about to make one with the horizon, he turns around, “You were the one who brought up the whole ‘being in a relationship’ thingy. I never implied that.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

[Join the Discord VC,] Dream orders.

Corpse drops the phone on the side table as he lies down, eyes wandering around the crowded room where shelves are filled with books that haven't been read in decades and items he collected from his travels. The white light of the moon mirrors onto every shiny objects. Fatigue burns his eyes and even though it feels like a poker shot, he feels ready to try and get some sleep.

[Stop playing hard to get and join the VC, there’s y/n too,] Dream pushes.

He huffs. Even though he tries his best to keep you at a reasonable distance, you still appear everywhere his eyes lay, do you? He won’t answer, he knows he won’t. His body aches for some earned rest he hasn’t been able to wrap around in a shameful amount of weeks. Corpse exhales heavily, turning left and right on his bed to find the ultimate position he doesn’t seem to find. There’s always a bother he can’t get out of his shoulders. You keep creeping upon his mind as if you had the right to.

He won’t get involved, he knows he won't, but the night rings differently and maybe Corpse is longing to share it with someone a little more than expected. His attention falls upon the plant on a shelf, a distraction from a silence that is almost tempting. It looks miserable and the issue hitches his brain. He gets up, one touch and the plant looks alive again.

In another heavy sigh that drains all the air out of his lungs, Corpse stretches his sore limbs and tense back. He drags his feet to the desk and the computer illuminates the room as much as it hurts his tired eyes. He sits, soulless, for a couple of seconds while still debating whether he should join the call or not before ultimately giving in.

“-stupid. You don’t deserve any apology, Dream,” you roar and Corpse is blown away by a high energy that violently contrasts his.

He has no idea why he joined. It feels like he shouldn’t be here -and he probably really shouldn’t-. You blind him with an enthusiasm he doesn’t know how to handle and surely would never be able to match. He remains silent as voices and wheezes chime too loudly for a disoriented mind like his.

The mouse gets dragged across the screen, he’s so ready to end it before it even had the chance to really start. There’s no point in him being here and he feels like a fool for thinking there was one at some point. Yet, Dream greets him before he is able to.

Fuck.

“What are you doing up so late, you freaks?” Corpse grunts before swallowing a breath. His voice is thundering in a place where the echo is too clear for him to ignore how intense he sounds, too intense for the light mood he felt seconds ago. He doesn’t belong here, he shouldn’t have joined that damn call.

“Why, hello emo Howl, Dream here agreed to teach me how to use a pendulum because he actually cares,” you taunt maliciously as if you didn’t care, as if he never killed a mood he shouldn’t even have bothered to kill.

And now, he realizes there’s no use pushing you away as it only makes him look like the bad guy and doesn’t actually do the requested job. Now that it’s so clear, he almost feels a little guilty, mostly stupid.

“That’s not what I said,” Dream retorts but your voice is already flooding everyone’s headphones with quotes he never stated in the first place and he eventually has to give up.

Your laugh is so candid as you and Dream bicker, so organic and contagious Corpse can’t help but pinch his lips not to smile too. But he gets it now; you just don’t know how to take no for an answer. It’s what makes you so overly annoying but maybe that’s also why he always ends up obliging to whatever request you have to make.

The conversation drifts on and off. Corpse discovers a bond he would have never expected. It’s deep and oh so pretty and it feels like whatever it is, you and Dream are made of the same thing. There comes a point where Corpse wishes he could stop feeling like the outcast and join a conversation he’s somehow scared to interrupt. How nice could it be to be so close to someone? How nice could it be having someone who is there no matter what? He forbids himself to explore the idea. He used to know and now he only has to look through the mirror to really see how nice it is. It’s an illegitimate sense of envy that pinches his heart and tastes helplessly bittersweet.

“Anyway,” you say as the chuckles fall breathless. “Corpse, did you know it was the full moon tonight?”

“Oh really?” He breathes before wincing. He’s well aware that it’s the full moon; he’s a goddamn sorcerer. One glance around him and he can see its reflection into thousands of pieces across the room.

“See?” Dream triumphs

“Yeah, yeah,” you sigh heavily, throwing a side eye to your screen in which Dream and Corpse’s drawn icons are displayed. “I thought you guys would like … dance naked in circles in a forest or something.”

Dream’s confusion is loud in his tone and Corpse surprises himself to laugh at the theatrical tone you chose to deliver the words How cute. Humans are so naive, believing everything they hear and see on TV.

“So, you guys don’t do anything particular on the full moon,” you conclude, seemingly a little upset.

“I do, but that doesn’t imply … t-that,” Dream answers with a tone that blends discomfort and amusement.

Maybe it is as nice as he thought it would be; being able to share a peaceful night and a glimpse of joy with people who seem to care.

That’s why you’re so dangerous; you’re so spontaneous you make him wish he were too. It’s one thing to play with fire. It’s another to play with your own life; too risky to be worth it. Yet, everybody who has experienced l’appel du vide would recognize that thrilling sensation inside their chest. As much as Corpse wants to keep you as far away as possible, you keep reminding him that you’re the tingling sensation on the back of his shoulder.

“What about you, Corpse?” You ask.

“I-I don’t really actively practice magic anymore,” he stutters as if he wasn’t expecting to be given a voice.

“Oh, why not?”

The question echoes inside his mind. Why not? He knows there’s a good explanation but right now it feels like his mind can’t wrap itself around it. He knows there is one yet it feels as though he has forgotten. It confuses him as he parts his lips with a frown, expecting an answer to come out but the words tangle with each other and won’t leave his tongue.

“Well I gotta go,” Dream interrupts the train of his thoughts and it’s almost comforting for Corpse to know that he doesn’t have to further torture his own mind. “You two be nice to each other," he orders and you’re already whining and complaining about his sudden escape.

“What do you wanna do, Corpse, do you wanna go to bed?” You ask.

Behind the loudness and vulgarity you’re always performing, Corpse understands now that there’s a certain elegance in the way you interact with him. A delicacy that resides in the tone of your voice. As if you cared, really cared about what he has to say. How could you still think of him as a friend when he keeps treating you so poorly? He doesn’t deserve it, deprived of a sense of empathy they took away from him too long ago.

“I’m not really tired,” he lies as if you didn’t already know that fatigue was his trademark. He’s surprised you don’t point out the fact that he keeps lying for obscure reasons.

It’s not like he would complain about it. The silence the night brings along is contemplative. He wishes there would be more night like this, when time would almost stop to let him catch his breath. Somehow, he feels like it could be filled with something good, something worth it.

“What are you thinking about?” Corpse asks in an attempt to explore that peaceful quietness.

“I wonder what magic could look like,” you answer with what you deem to be an useless honesty.

The question is stupid but he doesn’t seem to find it funny, considering it with a gentle seriousness before saying,“Do you want me to show you?”

A grin grows on your lips, heart beating with anticipation, “Would you really do that?”

Corpse hums and you lift your head as requested. You stare at the ceiling where shadows move when headlights are projected on the windows. There’s a long pause -too long for your impatient mind- before multiple sparkles of light spread on your ceiling. They twinkle and crakle like fairylights and multiply in front of your amazed eyes. Soon they gather and turn the dark ceiling into a starry night.

Your breath gets caught in your throat as you admire the stars that seem to be floating above your head as if they have always been here, as if they belonged to you.

“Is it working ?” Corpse asks nervously when you’re too silent for his liking.

“What do you mean ‘is it working’? This is fucking amazing, Corpse,” you choke out as you giggle as frenetically until your belly hurts. There’s no human words fitted to describe this state of perplexity and admiration. There's no such beautiful and clear sky in the city, that's why it's so special.

Corpse laughs with you. It’s nothing new but, somehow, in the quietness of the night, it vibrates differently. It doesn’t sound like the kind of forced chuckle he makes when he feels like people are expecting him to laugh but rather genuine and oh so endearing.

You thought you could never enjoy anything related to magic but now you realize that maybe it’s more likely that you never learned how to grow fond of it. When a shootingstar crosses the crafted sky, you both exclaim a "oh" before faintly chuckling. You let your back rest on the chair, imagining that Corpse is probably doing the same and looking at the same sky you’re looking at.

“It feels like you’re sitting next to me right now,” you murmur and it feels so special to be able to share a moment that seems so intimate that it makes your heart warm from a proximity you never knew could be possible.

“You’re cute,” Corpse breathes before he can realize it and once he does, it’s too late to take it back.

“No I’m not,” you grumble between your teeth.

“Sure, if you say so,” he finally shrugs in a battle he knows he can’t win.

Somehow, it feels like a turning point you can sense in a feeling nested inside your chest; a sense of novelty that makes you a little nervous as you don’t know if it’s for the best or the worst. Yet, this new beginning feels like it’s about honesty.

“Are you happy, y/n?” Corpse whispers and it’s so faint you wonder if it’s meant for you to hear.

“I am,” you still answer with a soft smile. “Are you happy?”

“I try to be,” he says after considering the question for a while. A confirmation that you wish you never had to deal with. It sends you back to every conversation that ended up in half bitten words and a concerning amount of melancholia that almost choked you even though it wasn’t yours.

It clicks. Bitterness is not the only thing Corpse has left in him. It’s a protection.

“Why are you so sad, Corpse?”

When the words linger for too long and he can no longer stare at the stars above his head, his throat gets sore, lips trembling as he bites them firmly. He feels seen in a way he thought he was safe from. It’s discomforting, unnerving and a spike that threats to burst into his heart. He takes a moment to remember that he has to breathe. He always seems to forget.

“Because when you live for so long, you live through everything,” Corpse mutters and that’s as honest as he can be.

“And everyone,” you conclude and he hums dryly.

“Can I give you a piece of advice?” You ask, knowing damn well that the amount of deep conversation has passed a long time ago and that the loan you’re deciding to take will have some sort of consequence. “If you keep hoping for the people who haunt you to come back, you’ll never be able to cherish the ones who are actually in front of you.”

The words tinkle in Corpse’s head in an odd way like a call for an awakening. He remembers that Sykkuno used to tell him the same thing; it’s time to let it go. It rises inside his lung like a sea of anguish he’s not ready for and it’s so overwhelming it’s animating him with emotions that are too violent for him to think.

“So what?” he scoffs, “are you saying that you’re the one in front of me?”

“I’m not the one who should answer that question,” you simply answer. It’s not enough, it’s not enough for him to make up his mind. Is that a yes or a no? He can’t think and the words are crumbling, too eager to get out.

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” he says with an unexpectedly strong voice that spreads shivers on your arm. “There’s no place for a human in my life.”

“Good because I don’t like sorcerers,” you thunder before ending the call abruptly.

You sit on your chair puzzled for a second. What the fuck was that?

☾ A/N : WOOOOOW I can't believe I finally finished this chapter it's surreal. I can't even begin to tell you how much I wrote and rewrote this I just COULDNT DO IT!!! Thank you for your patience it has been the wildest ride (I feel like I say that every time but hehe) Anyway thanks for reading I feel like shit is finally about to get started in here and I'm so damn excited!! As always let me know what you think and Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

☾ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 *OPEN* dm me or ask me to get tagged :

@open-minded-chip-101 ; @lochness-butmakeitsexy ; @bizarrebibitch ; @bellomi-clarke ; @ladybismuth ; @katyasrussianaccent ; @satanhauntedourcats ; @owl-llie ; @teenloves ; @notannis ; @mcntsee ; @rottenroyalebooks ; @peachdoppi ; @mirahg ; @foxxtrot-116 ; @koi-soi ; @lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker ; @butterfly-skinnylegend ; @fanworrior ; @stickystrawberrysyrup ; @imsuchtrashhelp ; @clubfairy ; @boiled-onionrings ; @thatlonelyalto ; @thatsouthernblondewiththeass ; @tiaamberxx ; @thesecretwriterblog ; @takoyakiuchiha ; @majasophieanna

#the sorcerer #corpse husband #corpse husband x you #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband x y/n #corpse x reader #corpse x you #corpse x y/n #corpse imagine #corpse fanfic #reincarnation au

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i-cant-sing · 3 years

Text

Okay, Moon anon was able to contact me and I'm gonna post their chapters 3-6 here.

Daniel and YN 3 🌗🌗

Rainy days are crazy. Some of YN’s best and worst memories were on a rainy day. It was a rainy day when Daniel was born. His parents overjoyed when he decided to join the world early. The Sunny morning turned rainy when they saw something was wrong. The sky was so dark when the doctored explained that their baby didn’t get enough oxygen in the womb or when he came out. That his brain was impacted by the trauma. It took four years for Daniel’s mother to stop blaming herself, four years for her to understand that she couldn’t have known that something was wrong in her womb. Four years when they had their second child. It was a rainy day when YN and Daniel got lost. Holding each other’s hand, tightly they wandered the Kamino Ward. Hoping that their parents would be right down an alley or around the corner. That was a terrible 6th birthday for YN. The steps Daniel left in the dirt started to get deeper and more burnt. The boy slightly started to tremble. “Daniel.. it’s gonna be ok. Momma and Pop are going to find us we just have to-“ “Are you two lost?” A very tall man in a black suit asked. YN couldn’t remember his face, but his voice was eerily calm and smoothe. His head had snow white hair on it. A look at him would’ve left even the hero All Might scared. “ye…Yes. My brother and I can’t find our parents..” “Oh dear. Well I can help you. They couldn’t have gotten far.” He held his hand to Daniel. And he almost took it had YN not stepped in. “We’re not supposed to touch strangers.” “Oh yes, that’s a very good rule. Well my name is.. Shigaraki. Now what are yours?” “…yn.. and daniel..” “Now we aren’t strangers. Let’s get you two somewhere safe. Your brother’s quirk might level the neighborho-“ “YN! DANIEL!” The relieved voice of their father shouted out. And the two quickly turned away, toward his calls and open arms. Tears running down their faces, swearing to never wander off again. The day was saved. When YN went to turn to Mr Shigaraki to tell him it was fine, he had disappeared into the crowd. But one question lingered in her head. How did he know Daniel’s quirk could be dangerous? It was a sunny day at first when YN and Daniel went out to the park for their Day out. YN had already planned to tell her parents that she wanted to come back here for her 12th birthday in a few months. Daniel kept over-stimulating himself with every single thing that caught his eyes. The anthill, the trees, the way the wind carried the leaves, when he and YN jumped around over the hopscotch drawings. When the rain came down they didn’t want to leave. They wanted to splash in the wetness like a couple of ducks. But Momma was insistent it was time to go back to the apartment. Inside the car YN immediately put on her headphones to listen to nightcore covers of popular songs. It wasn’t until she noticed her mom’s terrified expression and felt her dad’s fear did she take them off. “-I DONT KNOW ITS NOT BREAKING!” “WE’RE GOING RIGHT INTO TRAFFIC! DO SOMETHING!” “..momma?..” “DANIEL! YN GET DOWN!” That was the last thing her mother said to her. The rain hit the car harder. Daniel was quick to cover his little sister as the car swerved towards a large truck. YN felt her brother shield over their bodies. The last thing she heard from her father was a yell. Before they crashed into the truck. Before YN and Daniel were flung out into the side of the road. Scratches beginning to litter their arms and cheeks. YN felt the rain on her face as she tried looking up. Tried finding her parents. It was a rainy day when the last image of her parents was the crushed front end of the car. 🌗🌗

Daniel and YN 4 🌗🌗

The incident at the cafe left a bigger mess then was intended. Of course the waitress didn’t say a word about who caused the mess, still terrified of the threat, but the manager still called the police. At the moment it was being investigated as a break in. It wasn’t until they started to bag the broken vases as evidence did they think to call a hero as they believed this was a terrorist villain trying to strike more fear. When the first cop touch the broken vases he immediately fell over and started seizing. Like someone had sent hundreds of volts up through his gloved fingers and into his blood stream. The second cop tried picking up the glass with prongs so that she wouldn’t get the same effect. But she still felt some pain and volts. Even the glass windows were giving off static. When they were examined no one could find a point of impact. It was almost like they spontaneously exploded. Worse and more confusing yet was the fact that the material seemed to give off radiation spikes. From a computer screen image, it was like a red glow was emanated from the glass. When the police tried to check the cameras, all the footage was either ruined, too melted to gather anything. It left them in a stump. So they had to make a plea to the hero society to get fresh eyes and help on the case. Not expecting any big response. Some heroes wanted to solve the mystery because it stumped them as well. This quirk residue was something unseen before. Calls and emails were left. All saying they would look into it. And it seemed like this would just be a mysterious case left forgotten. That is until the All Might showed up in the station one morning. Along with his protege Deku. They said they wanted to solve the case because if this person left such a dangerous residue after using their quirk, then they were a danger to themselves and others. No on saw the real intentions in their eyes. When they asked about the only other patron in the cafe the police said that they tried tracking them down, but they were gone into the wind. The only other patron at the cafe made their way into a compound. Holding treats meant for a little girl. But first he had to make a stop at his boss’s office. “Hey.. Kai. You won’t believe what Just saw.” Meanwhile in the station two separate rats made calls to two separate people. “Put me through to Shigaraki…. Hello. I have something interesting to tell you. Something that might please you and your Sensei.” “Oh hey there Aizawa. Detective Tsukauchi here. Look I you know about that cafe destruction a week ago? Yea well I think you outta here about this.” Indeed the cafe incident left a bigger mess than intended. 🌗🌗

Daniel and YN part 5 🌗🌗

They’d been gone for at least two months. YN’s feet hurt and Daniel missed his own bed. But they had to keep going, with no intended final destination but a goal to keep away from the previous home they ran from. After the morning at the cafe, YN and Daniel had kept to the shadows for the rest of the day. But they couldn’t keep going like this. They needed to eat today but not at a restaurant. There was only one dreaded… dreaded option. The grocery store. So after they checked in at the latest motel with kitchens in the rooms, the siblings ventured off to the store.YN couldn’t leave Daniel alone yet. He’d panic and probably have a fit. The store was minimally packed. Since it was still early in the day it seemed like they would zip in and out with relative ease. After grabbing the bare essentials, and what she could pack in a backpack without much drag, it was time to go to the candy aisle. It was a long journey thus far, a journey deserving of some sour candies. But of course there had to be another person there. Invading space and looking right at her favorites. She wanted to just grab and go. But her hand and the stranger's hand touched as they reached for the same one. “Sorry. I should’ve watched where I was going heh..” The tall redhead said. A small blush on his face as he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s fine. Lemme just grab and go here.” She looked back for Daniel, luckily he was close by staring at the varieties of pocky they had. Turning back she noticed his uniform. UA, that might prove to be a complication. But YN was desperate for some kind words and a brief moment to talk to someone her own age. “So you go to UA? Are you a general student or a hero course student?” “Oh hero course definitely! I even have my hero name chosen!” “Wow that’s great. I hope in a few years I get to be saved by…?” “Red Riot!” “Like Crimson Riot?” “Exactly! I really admire him and I hope I live up to his-“ “OI SH**TY HAIR! WE’RE GONNA BE LATE! GRAB YOUR CRAP AND LET’S GO!” A blonde kid shouted down the aisle, also wearing a UA outfit. YN couldn’t place why but she felt like she’d known him before. That volume felt very familiar, but it startled her brother who jumped in fear causing the pocky he saw to fall off the shelving. Time to go now. “I should go anyway. It was nice meeting you.” “Wait, we could walk you and your brother to your school if you guys want?” “We have to go.” The blonde got closer and she could tell something was perpetually up his ass. “Bye.” “Wait! My name’s Eijiro Kirishima. What’s yours?” “YN. Just YN. That’s my brother Daniel.” And before he or his companion could ask anything else the two siblings fast walked toward the checkout and were out the door before they got another chance to talk to them. “YN… huh she was pretty cool right bakubro!” “What ever. Let’s get going before we show up after Deku.” But that name was familiar to him. The girl had long since faded from his mind, but how could anyone forget the day when a quirkless kid tried bashing your head into the dirt. He planned on apologizing the next day for his comments but she was gone. Gone and almost forgotten. It could be possible that this was just someone who shared the same name. But maybe.. possibly.. the universe was giving him the chance to apologize. “YN.” 🌗🌗

Daniel and YN part 6 🌗🌗

YN never really liked her neighbors. She never outright loathed them, but she was uncomfortable with how Inko kept trying to be her mother, and how Izuku had this strange obsessive stare when he looked at her. As long as they stayed in their apartment and never bothered them it would all be fine. But their parents couldn’t watch them all the time. So on days when momma and pop went out Miss Midoryia would graciously watch them. YN never liked pity. So when Miss Midoryia tried to pity and feel sorry about YN’s quirkless status, that just made her dig her heels in longer. She didn’t need people to fuss over her like she was a glass doll. At least with Izuku she could’ve had a companion. She did try to get along with him. But he was so weird. Just because they both were quirkless didn’t mean they’d would be close. “So why are you homeschooled?” “I get into fights.” “Why?” “Because people are mean and they think they’ll have no consequences to their words. I proved them wrong.” “Were they mean because you’re quirkless or because Daniel is… different?” Now obviously he didn’t mean any harm by that. But an emotional 10 year old girl is not someone to mess with. So with a sharp glare to his face the conversation quickly died. In the dining room, Daniel would usually be coloring. Or playing with his legos. Something to stim and distract his mind. Sometimes he’d just pull out a old painting his dad got him, and he’d spend hours looking at the strokes and would mentally add a new feature. Twirling the hair on his head whilst sucking/biting his thumb. “Daniel? Would you like some water?” “No miss. I want momma.” “I know sweetie but she won’t be gone forever. And you call me Inko” Though she’d prefer him to call her something more affectionate. Throughout the night Inko kept trying to mother them. She hovered over YN’s neck and tried petting her head which resulted in a swipe from the little girl. By the time YN’s parents got back, she was relieved and spent the rest of the night complaining to her mom about how she didn’t want to go over to the neighbors anymore and how she felt uncomfortable. Across the hall the two greenettes were enamored with the two kids. Inko adored how sweet Daniel was, how shy he looked to her. Izuku was star struck at this girl without a quirk who was so quick to fight against the norms put in place by a society against them. They'd soon make it a habit to try to talk to the family in the hall, or bump into them on the street. One day, after the family had been gone for a couple weeks, they saw the two with several police officers and a social worker packing away all their belongings. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that something terrible had happened. When Inko offered to watch them, the social worker confirmed the worst and took the children away. Three weeks later, as her son was at school Inko kept trying to find the legal way for her to gain custody of the kids when her door was knocked. Her husband, AFO, on the other side. She tried telling him to go away. Tried saying that he had no part in Izuku’s life anymore. But he had a bigger role than known. “How can you be so cruel my love? Especially now that I’ve opened the door for you to gain what you want?” “What do you mean?” “I’ll help you gain custody of the two children you are craving. I happen to have a fascination with them as well.” “I can’t ever guarantee that we’ll be a whole family ever again.” “Of course not. I wouldn’t expect you to. But let’s try something for now.” So Inko made a deal with the devil, to gain two angels. 🌗🌗

Now that AFO is in the story, I'm like so excited! Great work, Moon anon!

#moon anon

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triplexdoublex · 4 years

Text

12:05

Pairing: Colson x Reader

Warnings/tags: smut, cheating, drug use, mentions of foot-fetish, mild blood (nose bleed)

Welcome to my first Colson Baker (MGK) fic. I used a lot of lyrics and lyric references in this. My goal was to make it seem like this toxic relationship and coversations between his and reader are what inspired a lot of his songs.

*************************

“C’mon get up,” your best friend Shawnie nudges you, pulling back the sheets of her bed she’s been kind enough to share with you since the breakup. “It’s almost noon,”

“Grmmphf,” you groan tugging the sheet back over your head.

“I’m not gonna let you stay in bed all day again, crying over ‘Machine Gun Kelly’,” she says as she raises the shades on the window; the midday sun bright rays beaming through the thin sheet over your head. “It’s been three weeks now, get up. We’re gonna have a girls day.”

“He has a real name, you know,” you mumble from under the sheet. “Colson”

“Oh yes, Colson the compulsive cheater, how could I forget?” She rips back the sheet a final time.”How was he dumb enough to get caught this time?” She emphasizes, knowing it's not the first time you’ve caught him cheating. “Lipstick on his shirt? Hickey?” She taps the bed, “I mean it! Up! I'm taking you out.”

“Ughhh fine,” you prop yourself up. “Nudes on his phone actually. Found them his first night back from tour.” You swing your legs over the edge of the bed with a sigh. “ Do you know that dumbass really tried to convince me they were mine, like I dunno what my own pussy looks like!” You let out a half- amused chuckle.

“Wow, that’s pathetic even for him,” Shawnie rolls her eyes. “I don’t understand why you keep going back to him?”

“I dunno — it’s just..” you rake your hands over your face and into your hair. “I can’t explain it --it’s complicated. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” Shawnie responds, taking a seat next to you on the edge of the bed. “Seriously, I’m listening. I just wanna help you get over him. I hate seeing you hurt all the time.”

“I feel like I’m addicted to him, like he’s my drug or something,” you admit.

“Except what fun is a drug if you can’t even get high off it and only experience the comedown?” She retorts.

“See that’s just the thing — you don’t know him like I do — there is a high,” you smile as fond memories flood back. “When it’s just me and him, when he’s just ‘Colson’, he makes me feel like I’m on top of the world. He treats me like a princess, he makes me laugh, he makes me feel good about myself, and OH MY GOD the sexxxx!” You whine, “You know I always talk about how good it is,” you laugh. “For real our sexual chemistry is just something I never thought I’d experience with anyone. He makes me feel so comfortable and open and unashamed of the things I’m into, and he shares a lot of the same desires. Everything with him is perfect... until tour starts up again”

“I can understand why all that’s important to you, but what about being faithful? Isn’t that important to you too?” Shawnie questions.

“Of course it is, that’s why I keep breaking up with him! And at first I hate him, I really do. I swear to myself I’ll never even talk to him again, but as the hurt wears away, I start craving him again,” A tear rolls down your cheek. “And then I start questioning myself like was I too hard on him? What do I expect from someone who’s living that rockstar lifestyle, getting high and drunk every night with gorgeous women just throwing themselves at him, ya know?”

“No, that is not your fault, you cannot be held responsible for him giving into temptations on the road!” Shawnie exclaims in a motherly tone. “If he truly wanted to be faithful to you he would.”

“In Colson’s words he ‘fucks up when he’s fucked up’.” you defend him.

“Well maybe he shouldn’t get fucked up if he can’t keep his dick in his pants!” She expresses loudly.”Don’t make excuses for him... Now come on I’m taking you out today; my treat.”

“Shawnie, really you don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine”

“Too late I already booked us appointments at the spa, and —” her voice then shifts to a fast whisper “I may have set up a blind date for you with one of Gabe’s friends Kyle for later on tonight!” She finishes with a cheesy grin.

“Shawnie!!!” You gasp.

“Relax, I’ll be there with Gabe too. It’ll be a double date. We’re meeting at Club Hell at eleven. Now get up and get ready before we're late to our appointment.”

‘Hell… how fitting. That’s exactly what this nights gonna be,’ you think to yourself. You’ve seen Shawnie’s boyfriends friends before and they’re not exactly your type.They’re

just a bunch of preppy frat boys who’s penny loafers and crisp button down shirts scream ‘trust fund baby’ and ‘my dads a lawyer’.

*************************

In the passenger seat on the way home from the spa you look down at your bright pink toes and can’t help but frown.

“What’s the matter?” Shawnie asks, nudging you with her elbow as she drives. “Do you not like the color?”

“No, no. It’s not that. I love the color, and thank you so much for taking me to get them done, it’s just that Colson always used to take me — the man’s a sucker for a fresh pedicure,” you answer smirking to yourself as you recall his peculiar kink.

“That is more than I needed to know,” Shawnie’s eyes go wide while keeping them fixed on the road.

“Oh please like you don’t know every detail of our sex life already,” you say tapping her leg playfully.

“But feet is where I draw the line!” She exclaims, pointing a finger.

You let out a chuckle,“Well then I guess I shouldn’t tell you about the time he —”

“Blahhh blah blaaaa I can’t hear you!” Shawnie attempts to cover her ear closest to you with her shoulder, keeping her hands on the wheel, making you bust out laughing. “There’s that smile I miss, I knew it was still in there somewhere,” she smiles back at you. “ Seriously, fuck Colson and FUCK feet!” She laughs.

“I thought you didn’t wanna hear about that time,” you tease.

“What is wrong with you!!!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you clutch your stomach in laughter, “I couldn’t pass up that opportunity, you set yourself up for that.”

***************************

Unfortunately Kyle is pretty much exactly what you were expecting and not at all your type but after a few rounds of drinks you decide to make the best of the night and invite Kyle out onto the floor to dance — Shawnie and Gabe to follow, the four of you forming a small circle. Not even five minutes into dancing you spot Colson entering the club with a tall brunette.

You grab Shawnie’s arm. “Look!” you say into her ear trying to be discreet about it.

“Oh my God, of all nights,” She rolls her eyes, “Is that the girl?”

“I dunno I didn’t exactly see her face, remember?”

“Is everything okay?” Kyle interjects, looking confused.

“It’s nothing, just someone I used to know,” you answer, returning to dancing as Colson and the brunette disappeared into the crowd. You were determined to have a good night, if not for yourself than at least for Shawnie. She was trying her best to help you get over Colson and have a good time.

****************

“Wow, they really pack this place huh?” You yell over the music as the floor starts to get crowded. And as if you spoke too soon one of your elbows collides into someone behind you. Immediately you spin around to apologize. “Oh shit, I’m sorr — Colson!”

“Ah fuck man, why are you here?” Colson rolls his eyes, realizing it’s you.

“I could ask the same thing! I’m tryna have a good night and you gotta show up running shit.”

“Who’s this?” Colson’s date looks up at him annoyed before speaking to you, “Why you talking to my man?”

You throw your head back in laughter. “You’re man? Ha! You’ve got a lot to learn honey. Colson likes to run around. Colson’s everyone’s man!

“Nah, c’mom,chill, chill,” Colson blocks his date with his arm as she tries to step to you.

Shawnie reaches for you, pulling you back towards her by your shirt. “Let’s all be adults about this.”

“Fine!” you twist from her grasp. “Just stay away from me and I’ll stay away from you!” You shout at Colson before marching over to the bar. You need another drink. Your friends follow behind and Kyle sits awkwardly in the bar stool next to you. “Sorry about that, that was my ex, wasn’t exactly planning on seeing him here tonight.”

“No worries, seems like a total douche anyways.” Kyle responds.

“Yeah, something like that,” you answer in a daze staring into the crowded dance floor where you find Colson’s sky blue eyes locked on you from across the room. He watches you over the shoulder of his date, her back turned towards you.

“Can I buy you a shot?” Kyle offers.

“Uhh, yeah sure,” you answer, not paying attention, your eyes still focused on Colson.

Kyle pays for the shot, tips the bartender and hands you your shot. You don't even look to see what it is before throwing it back in one gulp. “Come on let’s go dance,” you slam the empty shot glass and grab Kyle’s hand pulling him onto the dance floor, positioning his back to Colson. You don’t know what kind of game Colson is playing, but you can play it too — your eyes still locked across the room.

When the song changes — Closer by Nine Inch Nails now playing through the club speakers — Colson takes his game to the next level, grinding with “his girl” without breaking eye contact with you. You can’t decide if he’s trying to make you jealous or make you want him. And you can’t decide for what reason you keep playing along but it’s not long before you find yourself rolling your body against your date, your stare letting Colson know two can play this game.

“Damn, girl!” Kyle exclaims, shocked by your sudden shift in demeanour, his hands making their way to your ass, making you cringe internally at his touch. But you keep up the facade letting him push and pull your bodies together on the dance floor as Colson’s glare intensifies.

‘I wanna fuck you like an animal, I wanna feel you on the inside…’ The chorus starts and you know things are about to get turnt up. Colson’s head dips down, his eyes still glued to yours as he sensually licks a stripe up his date's neck. Quickly, you spin Kyle around leaning into him as you grind your backside against the zipper of his denim. You reach behind your head with one hand, lacing your fingers in the back of Kyle’s hair and pull his face into your craned neck, simultaneously inviting him to taste you and shielding his view of you and Colson’s fervid eye fucking. You feel guilty feeling Kyle grow hard against you, knowing allowing his sloppy mouthing of your neck is definitely leading him on.

“Five.” Colson mouths to you, holding up the same amount of fingers behind his dates back, then motioning with his head to the bathrooms. You check your watch, it’s 12:00 exactly.

Five minutes pass and you see Colson excuse himself to the bathroom. Immediately you push you date away frantically, making up a lie about feeling light headed and needing to go get some water at the bar, but head straight to the bathrooms. Inside the one person bathroom you find Colson doing a key bump of coke by the sink.

“What do you want?” You ask, annoyed.

“Ain’t that the tight little black dress from the first night we were together?” he asks, sniffing and wiping at his nose, as he locks the door behind you.

“Is that what you brought me in here for, to ask if this was the dress from our first date? You roll your eyes hopping up to sit on the edge of the sink counter, your fresh pedicured feet with open toed shoes dangling down in front of you.

“MMMmmm you get them done just for me, baby?”

“Fuck off Colson, I didn’t even know you were gonna be here tonight, otherwise I wouldn’t have come,” you quip, folding your arms across your chest in annoyance. “Are you done wasting my time, I’d like to get back to my date.”

“Bullshit!” Colson calls you out. “ Little lawyer boy out there ain’t even your type, I know it and you know it. Your girl set you up on a blind date didn’t she?” He says cocikly. He knows you too well.

“You don’t know shit, Colson,” you lie, jumping down from the counter and heading towards the door to leave.

“Pretty impressive performance out there though, I gotta give it to you — .” Colson steps forward his body between you and the door, backing you back up against the counter. “-- letting him lick and touch all over you —-” he lowers his head, his whiskey-infused breath cascading over your neck and chest and he continues to speak. “-- knowing dayummm well you wish it were me.”

“You need to let me go, Colson. We’re over! You cheated … AGAIN!” You remind him, and apparently yourself, your head involuntarily cocking to the side, opening up your neck to him, your body half ready to give into temptation despite your anger with him.

“I’ll admit I took advantage of you every night that I was on the road,” he speaks in an apologetic tone. But don’t think for a minute i’ma let you convince me that what we started is finished, or for a second that I wouldn't take a bullet to the head for you!” He presses a single knuckle to your temple, his blue eyes piercing though your soul “You know we both want this. I know we’ve had some hard times but you said that even if it took forever that you and me would be together.”

“You’re insane” tumbles from you lips in a last ditch effort to keep up your guard even though the breathy way it escape your mouth sounds a lot more like “fuck me.”

“Ok, yeah, I’m insane… but you the same!” He says, aggressively pointing at you and pressing his forehead to yours, his lips mere centimeters from your own.

You bite your lip; your guard, your walls, and common sense crumbling down around you. “We’re insane — both of us,” you laugh ,a single tear sliding from your eye. “I guess that’s just the way it goes.” You punctuate your words against Colson’s eager lips with a kiss.

There’s no turning back now, your fingers hurriedly undoing the buttons on the placket of his pink devil shirt as his hungry mouth devours kiss after kiss until you can barely breathe, his hands cupping your face so tight. He tastes of weed and whiskey, but you welcome the nostalgic flavor on your tongue. You slide his now open shirt off his shoulders, and let your hands trail down his tattooed torso.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this,” he growls breaking the kiss, quickly lifting you back onto the counter, and letting his shirt fall to the floor. Nestling his face into your neck and hair, he breathes you in as if his memory is bottling up your scent for later.

“Colson,” you whine needily. Desperate to feel the heat of his mouth connect with your flesh, you rake a hand through his tousled bleach blonde locks, pushing down on his head until you feel his wet tongue begin to lap at your clavicle. You lean back against the mirror in pleasure as his tongue writes a sonnet across your neck and chest. He spreads your legs with his knee, your tight black dress inching up your thighs the wider your legs go. His hand slides up the expanse of your inner thighs to your core. Hastily, he pushes your panties to the side, the tips of his pretty painted fingers toying with your clit. The faster he rubs the faster and more sporadic your movements and breathing become, your body begging to be fucked. “Uhhh, Fuck me!” Your words echo your body’s pleas.

“Mmmmhh, he lets out a throaty rumble. “Thought you’d never ask,” he smirks, reaching for the delicate waistband of your black lace panties. He quickly pulls them down, struggling when they get snagged on the stiletto heel of one of your shoes. “Fuck it,” he laughs leaving them stuck in exchange for undoing his cherry red belt. With his belt undone he upzips his dark denim jeans pulling them and his ethika boxers down in one motion, springing himself free.

Wrapping his arms around your thighs he yanks you towards him, your ass teetering on the edge of the counter. With a hand behind each knee he shoves your legs back, bending you into one of his favorite positions; folded in half, legs up by your head. He loves how deep he can get like this.

Still holding your legs back, he bends down, lowering his face to your core, tasting you.

“Uhhhhh, Fuck, Cols,” you whine with eyes squeezed shut, griping his hair as he moves his tongue in a wide stripe from the bottom up, pausing to focus his attention on the sensitive bud at the top.

“Ummghmm,” he hums against you before lifting his head. “No time for this right now” he says with glossed lips “but God, I had to taste you again.”

He removes one of his hands from your legs and grabs himself, bringing the tip to your entrance. Quickly, he slides it back and forth through your wetness before pushing in, a low gravely moan falling from his lips as he bottoms out.

“Shit… Fuck...Oh my God!,” You slap a hand over your mouth.

“Nah, ain’t nobody gonna hear you over the music out there, baby” he says brushing your hand away from your mouth and replacing it with his lips, as he thrusts.

You moan into his mouth and he moves his lips lower, kissing down your neck, so he can hear your pleas of “Harder”. He obliges driving his hips forward with more force, and quickens his pace, the back of your head banging against the mirror so hard, you swear the both of you are about to have seven years of bad luck. But you don’t care, the slight curve to his perfect cock ramming repeatedly into your g-spot.

“Feels so good , uhhh right there. Yes!” You scream out.

“Mmm, yeah you gonna cum for me baby?”

“Ssso close.” You know you're practically guaranteed to cum before Colson; the man could go all night, often making you cum two or three times before he’s done. But you don’t have that kind of time tonight in this tiny club bathroom with both your dates nearby. A few more hard thrusts and your orgasm begins to peak in your abdomen, the feeling as surreal as the Dali tatt on his back your fingernails are raking down. “I — I’m Cumming!

He keeps up his pace, chasing after his own release, groaning with each clench of your walls as you ride out the waves of pleasure.

Still not there yet, he quickly pulls out, grabs you up by your hair, and shoves his cock into your mouth.You can taste yourself as he rams his cock in and out of your mouth. “Yeah, love watching you getting your throat destroyed’” he grits between his teeth, watching in the mirror as he face fucks you. “Uhhgh, gonna —” he exhales heavily, filling your mouth as he holds your head in place. After the last drop is out he pulls you off him with a ‘pop’.

The silence is awkward as you both get dressed, nothing but heavy breathing in the air. “Ah, shit,” Colson breaks the silence, a slow trickle of blood coming from his nose.

“Sit, sit. I’ll get it,” you insist, hurriedly grabbing some toilet paper from the stall, as Colson takes a seat on the counter. You dab at the dripping blood and pinch his nose shut. “Here hold this, like this,” you say, guiding his hand to his nose. “You really gotta stop doing coke, ya know.” you say in a caring tone as you finish buttoning up his shit for him.

He gives you a simple “thanks” with a genuine appreciative smile. “Guess we would get back out there,” he gets off the counter giving his nose a final wipe.

“Yeah, Shawnie’s gonna kill me when she finds out.”

“Shhh,” he shushes your lips with his finger. “The homies don’t gotta know.”

#mgk #mgk smut #machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly smut #colson baker #colson baker smut #EST #XX

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elen-aranel · 3 years

Text

Lt., Phone Home (Part 2)

The Engineer’s Adventures

1-1 • 1-2 • 2 • 3 • 4

For @autumnleaves1991-blog Writer Wednesday. I saw the prompt and was inspired Pairing: Captain Christopher Pike x F!Reader (no Y/N) Warnings: mild cursing, drunk guy being creepy, mild canon-typical violence, alcohol mentions. WC: 2.5k A/N: what is happening to me I wrote this today and um. Yeah. Lots of plot but no kissing? Idk what to say. This is the Captain I needed today. Please excuse the pun title.

“I don’t think I can do this, Captain.”

It has been an... unusual day. Even if in space in general and on the Enterprise in particular there aren’t all that many usual days, this one has been exceptional.

You aren’t privy to all the details of what happened – you were in Engineering, running a level three diagnostic when the alien ship had crossed your path, and, well, ships and technology are your thing. Not theoretical temporal mechanics. Although, you suppose, looking at the... ‘phone booth’? Maybe the mechanics aren’t theoretical anymore.

You were surprised when you were summoned to the conference room, and told that you would be joining the Captain on this mission. Between getting dressed in civvies that wouldn’t look out of place in the twentieth century, and packing a bag with the equipment you’d need to retrieve the artefact, you couldn’t decide if you were more surprised that you were going or that Number One was letting the Captain off the ship, given the circumstances.

“So, why are we doing this?” You ask, as you scan the small town you’ve beamed to the edge of with your tricorder. You know what you’re looking for, but that’s about all.

“The Layrians maybe could have asked before they sent us back in time but... something was stolen from them and wound up here.” he quirks a wry smile at you. “If the... artefact, is allowed to stay here? They showed me the damage that would be done to the timeline, and Spock was able to verify it. Sending us back shielded us.”

“Oh. I guess that makes sense,” you reply, adjusting the tricorder. “Well, whatever it is, it’s this way,” you say, gesturing, as you put your tricorder back in your bag. You can’t bring yourself to ask why you had been chosen for the mission.

“Lead on,” Pike says, and the two of you head into the town.

It’s evening, getting dark, and the streets are quiet. Shops are shut, and only a couple of people pass as you walk.

“Is it wrong that even though I can’t believe how lucky I am to be here, part of me wishes it was daytime?” you say, as you turn a corner on to what looks to be the main street.

“No, I don’t think so. I would like to stop for a coffee. Look in the shops. But...”

“But we would probably mess up the timeline.” A vehicle drives past, and you wrinkle your nose. “I wasn’t expecting the smell.”

Pike laughs. “Horrible, isn’t it? Give me a horse to get around on any day.”

“Horses smell too, though, right? Especially when...”

“But it’s a natural smell. It’s different.”

“Whatever you say, sir,” you say, rolling your eyes a little to show you aren’t convinced. “The building we want is that one.” You point across the road to a bar. You hear music coming through the doorway, see people going in and out.

“You’d better call me Chris when we’re in there. We don’t want to draw attention when we’re around people.”

“Um... yes, Chris.”

You should have known that a bar would be trouble. Inside you take a seat at a table in the corner, where you can scan surreptitiously, and the Captain – Chris – goes to buy you drinks. You take a look round. It isn’t full, but it’s a week night, and there are a decent number of people. A band is playing in the corner, with guitars and a girl sitting on a stool singing. A few people are listening but most are chatting. You’re pleased to see that the currency you synthesised on the ship hasn’t raised any suspicions, as Chris returns with a beer for you and a scotch on the rocks for himself.

“Cheers,” he says, clinking his glass with your bottle. You take a sip, savouring the authentic taste of the alcohol.

“Don’t forget, this is the real stuff,” he adds, as he takes a sip himself.

“I can’t. I think this might spoil me for the stuff we usually have.” You avoid saying synthehol – you don’t know if anyone can hear you.

“Don’t play innocent. I know about the hooch you guys brew in the test bay.”

You laugh. “I never drink that stuff, Chris. It is absolutely disgusting.” He raises an eyebrow at you. “It’s fine if you just want to get plastered, but the hangover is not worth it.”

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience there... do you have a story to tell?” He smiles, dimples at you, and wow. You’re in a bar, in the twentieth century, with a Captain that looks like that, and he has dimples.

“I am absolutely not telling you any stories of any kind,” you return, taking another sip of your beer before opening your tricorder under the table.

You look at your readings. This is going to be a problem.

“The artefact. It’s that thing on the counter behind the bar. Next to the machine they put the money in.”

“The doll-looking thing?” Chris sounds sceptical.

“That’s the one.” You sigh. You have no idea how you’ll get to it.

“I’m going to go take a closer look.” Chris goes to the bar and orders another drink, but this time he stays, flirting with the bartender. She’s pretty, and she doesn’t seem to be trying to shut him down – her laugh looks natural as she leans in toward him, not paying any attention to a couple of guys further along the bar who are clearly waiting to be served. You feel a pang of jealousy go through you at that, but he’s the Captain. There’s no way he’d ever want to be with you. You sigh and power off your tricorder, putting it back in the bag.

“Hey beautiful, looks like your guy abandoned you. How about you and me have some fun, make him jealous?” You look up into the inebriated face of a man in his mid thirties, dark hair greasy and beard unkept. He might even have been attractive if he got cleaned up. If he wasn’t so clearly drunk.

“No thanks, I’m good,” you say, polite.

“Yeah you are,” he says as he sits down anyway. You scan the room. Chris hasn’t noticed – he’s still talking with the bartender, and the band is playing a louder number now. No one is paying attention to you.

“If you’ll excuse me,” you say, moving to stand, but he grabs your arm.

“Don’t be a bitch. I just want to get to know you.”

You stand, yanking your arm out of his grip, and he falls backwards off the chair. But he gets up surprisingly fast, advancing toward you before you can get round him. And somehow, he has friends – those two guys at the bar have got up and are flanking him.

“Come on, honey, is that any way to treat a guy who’s being nice to you?” He makes toward you again and, well. Starfleet doesn’t give you combat training for nothing. You punch him, hard, and he goes sprawling into his friends. Everything goes quiet for a second, and suddenly you realise you have friends too – Chris is on one side of you, and a stranger on the other. Then the guy you punched rallies and all hell breaks loose.

Suddenly everyone in the place has taken sides; a fight must have been waiting to happen, you think, as you push forward to the bar. The bartender is going for the phone, and you see your chance. You catch the Captain’s eye, mouth “leave”, then you jump up onto and over the bar, glad for your pants and sensible shoes.

What you didn’t expect, as you hear sirens in the distance, was that the artefact was going to release some kind of EM pulse when you touched it. The lights all blow. The sprinklers come on. The money machine thing spews out a load of paper then catches on fire before the sprinklers dowse it.

Chris was nearly out the door, so he only stumbled out into the street. You held on to the doll-statue thing with a death grip – you hadn’t come this far to be thwarted – and maybe that protected you? But either way, where everyone else had been fighting or moving to get out the way or protect their drinks, they were now all sprawled on the floor like so many puppets with cut strings.

You check the bartender – she is still breathing, pulse still strong – but the sirens are getting louder. You stow the doll in your bag, go through the bar’s back door, through the dark kitchen, step over the cook’s prone form, and out into the alley.

You want to lean against the wall, calm down a little, but the siren is close now and you need to find the Captain, so you continue out onto the street.

Pike’s hair is mussed. You’ve never seen him look less then perfect before, but there is no other word for it.

“Captain, are you okay?” You ask as you fall into step with him.

“Chris. And I’m fine. Did you get...?”

“Yes, it’s in here.” You pat your bag. “I can believe it could mess up a timeline, based on what happened in there.”

“That was something else,” he says, taking your arm to draw you into an alleyway, out of sight of prying eyes.

He reaches in his pocket for his communicator with his other hand, and flips it open. It doesn’t make the usual sound.

“Pike to Enterprise, come in please,” he says but there’s just silence. Not even static.

He closes and re-opens it but still nothing, so you reach in your bag for yours, handing it to him wordlessly.

“Pike to Enterprise?” but there’s nothing. Yours is fried too.

You get out your tricorder, expecting it to be dead, but it switches on.

“I think the... doll... fried all active devices. Communicators run on low power all the time for translation. We have the tricorder but I can’t use it to contact the ship.”

“Well, we better not stay here. We’re loitering,” he says, with that lopsided smile again. “Not that I... well.”

You wonder what he had been going to say, when—

“Excuse me, sir, ma’am, is everything all right?” You turn to see a Police officer, looking you up and down. You’re glad for a second time that you’re wearing practical clothing.

“We’re fine, Officer. Thank you,” Pike replies, putting sincerity into his voice.

“There was a bit of a disturbance at the bar, Jane’s, earlier. You been there this evening?”

“We stopped by for a drink, but we didn’t stay long. The band was a little loud, and we couldn’t talk. Everything was fine when we left, though. What happened?” Pike looks concerned, and you work to match his expression.

“We’re not sure. They called us to say there was a fight, but when we got there all the lights were off and everyone was flat out on the floor. Looked like they’d been electrocuted.”

“Oh my god that’s awful! Is—is everyone okay?” You hope you didn’t ham it up too much, but the policeman looks at you with approval.

“We’ve got medics on the scene but it looks like everyone will be fine.” He takes a step back. “Call us if you think of anything you saw, that could be suspicious.”

“Of course,” Chris says. Calling. You need to make a call.

“Um... officer? I should call my sister, let her know we’re okay. Is there...?” You’re sure there is some kind of communication system in this era, but you’ve no idea what it’s called.

“A phone booth? Sure.” He points. Just down there, on the right. You two take care now,” he says as he walks away.

Chris takes your arm again as he steers you across the road.

“Well done,” he says softly, and suddenly it begins to hit you. You’re in the past. You’re cut off from your ship. You were nearly electrocuted. That creep who you had to punch. The weird doll. Dealing with the police officer.

You come to a stop in front of the phone booth. It’s very dark now, though the booth itself is lit, and this road is even quieter. There’s no one else around. Still—

“I don’t think I can do this, Captain.” You’re embarrassed to admit it – you’re Starfleet, you’re supposed to be ready for anything. “I know I should be impressing you right now, rising to the challenge, but I—” You stare at the ground.

“Hey,” he says, drawing you round to face him. “This has been a lot, and you’re not used to it. Away missions... you can train all you want but it takes real life practice before you get comfortable, especially when the shit hits the fan.” He touches your face gently, quickly, just enough to make you look up. “I wouldn’t have picked you if I didn’t know you can do this. I know this is your first time on a mission like this, and I am impressed with how you’ve handled yourself so far. Your quick thinking in the bar back there? You’re a natural. You just need to try one more time. Are you with me?”

“Yes Captain.” You take a breath, and get your tricorder out, and a toolkit. You scan the circuitry, then set to work. Something occurs to you while you have the phone in pieces, and you smile

“What’s funny?” The Captain asks, and you gesture to the keypad.

“Enter 1701,” you say.

It’s worth it for his grin as he presses the buttons.

“Pike to Enterprise?” He says as the phone connects, and you can just hear Number One’s voice, a little tinny, though the speaker. “We have the artefact. Can you beam us back from this location?” He sees you holding up three fingers. “In three minutes. Our communicators got fried and we need to put the... uh... phone booth back. Yes I know.” He rolls his eyes. “All right. See you soon,” he hangs up, and you get your tools out again.

Back on the ship, back in your uniform, back in your time, you are called to the ready room. You bring a PADD with your report.

“Captain,” you say, handing it over.

“Thank you,” he replies. “I wanted to ask you here to say... thank you for your exemplary performance. I wouldn’t be surprised if the mission ends up being classified, but you saved the timeline. The important people know.”

“Thank you, sir. And thank you for your support down there. The stress did get to me but... I’d do it again.”

He looks at you, then, his blue eyes holding yours as he comes to some decision.

“Please understand, this is a request you can say no to. I don’t want to put you under any pressure but... I abandoned you at that bar, a bit, and I was wondering... would you like to join me for a drink, after shift? I only have the real stuff.”

You feel butterflies in your stomach as you reply, “I—I’d like that. Yes.”

“Then it’s a date.”

(Part 2)

#writer wednesday #Christopher Pike #Christopher Pike x Reader #Captain Pike #writings of the girl from outer space #writing prompt #fanfic #fanfiction #Christopher Pike x You #The Engineer's Adventures

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maxwell-grant · 3 years

Note

Thoughts on the Shadow's Doppelganger, Lamont Cranston

The funny thing about Cranston in the original stories is that, yeah, one of the most famous scenes across all Shadow media is the “Lamont Cranston Talks to Himself” chapter in The Shadow Laughs, where we learn that The Shadow is not Lamont Cranston, but has usurped his identity, and now shows up at his bedside looking like him, talking like him, knowing more about his own life than he himself does, and ordering him to leave town, effectively blackmailing him into letting him use his face. It’s a very iconic scene that exemplifies a lot of what makes The Shadow unique as a character, and you can imagine why so many adaptations have gone with the idea of Cranston being either a hapless stooge bullied into submission, or an actual villain, because that whole scene is very much a horror movie scenario.

Thing is, none of them seem to remember how Cranston and The Shadow’s relationship developed past this. I’ll post this excerpt from Atoms of Death:

"Good morning, Cranston," came a quiet tone from the foot of the bed.

"Good morning, yourself," returned Cranston, rubbing his eyes without noticing the visitor.

"You should say: Good morning, myself," chuckled The Shadow, dryly.

Cranston was pulling down the sleeves of his pajama jacket. He sat bolt upright, staring. Then a slow smile showed on his lips; one that was almost a replica of The Shadow's.

"So it's you," remarked Cranston, sleepily. "Well, I knew that last night. It was about time we crossed paths again. Well, old man, you landed me in for plenty this trip."

Cranston shoved bedclothes aside and perched on the edge of the bed. He found cigarettes on the telephone table; The Shadow supplied a flame from a lighter before Cranston could ignite a match. The millionaire noted that The Shadow's lighter bore the initials "L. C."

"You handle every detail, don't you?" questioned Cranston in admiration. “Jove! I remember the first time I met you. In this very room. You dropped cloak and hat and left me looking at my own face as plainly as if I had seen it in a mirror. Just as it is today."

"And I advised you," recalled The Shadow, in Cranston's own tone, "to take a trip abroad, while I used your identity. You were a bit exasperated at first."

"I must admit that I was. I threatened to have you arrested, as an impostor, until you proved that you knew more about my affairs than I did. I really believe that if it had come to a showdown, I would have been proven the impostor and you the genuine Lamont Cranston. Jove!"

"Jove," repeated The Shadow, quietly, "You have acquired that expression recently, Cranston. I shall remember it for future reference. You have a penchant for acquiring anglicisms during your sojourns in British colonies. Jove!"

"Bounder and blighter," laughed Cranston. "Don't forget those. I still use them occasionally."

Or this excerpt from The Hydra, which is an incredible book where the chemistry between the two really shines:

Lamont Cranston woke up and wondered why his head still whirled. It took him about half a minute to learn that the motion came from the fact he was riding in his limousine. Someone must have put him back in the limousine and Stanley was driving him home.

He didn't have to guess who had helped him on his way, for at that moment Cranston heard a low-toned laugh beside him. He turned to see the black-cloaked figure of The Shadow.

"What did you hit me with?" asked Cranston. "All four of your automatics?"

"I'm only carrying a pair tonight," replied The Shadow

Look at these two dorks, just palling around and getting into shenanigans and The Shadow outright joking around Cranston, like they are just two old chums having a laugh at the weirdness of their lives. The “real” Cranston didn’t show up very often in the original stories, especially in the last stories when Lamont Cranston essentially became the real identity of The Shadow, but when he did, part of what makes him stand out as his own character is that he’s funny. Gibson gets a lot of mileage out of Cranston as this guy who is completely nonchalant and chill about all the weird shit that happens to him, even in The Hydra after he kills a man with an elephant gun, he’s still more or less the same, he largely just walks out of it with a newfound realization.

Relieving Cranston of the elephant gun, The Shadow steered his friend into the closet. Hauling the big weapon with him, The Shadow opened the door to meet and dismiss arriving servants who had dashed upstairs when they felt the house quake.

"Whenever I see this gun," began Cranston, coming from the closet, "I'll remember what I did with it -"

“Quite right," interposed The Shadow approvingly. "What you did to Mance will make amends for any elephants you may have killed. Too bad Mance didn't bring along a few more Hydra Heads.”

Slowly, understanding dawned on Cranston. He'd never compared his big-game hunts with The Shadow's quests for men of crime. He felt that The Shadow's cause was justified, but it had seemed outside the field of sport. It still was, but Cranston, now that he had dealt with a murderer who deserved to die, was realizing that his game hunts were more deserving of rebuke.

His encounters with The Shadow gradually changed Cranston from a useless millionaire wasting his resources and talents on idle pursuits, to...still largely a useless millionaire, except his resources and talents are no longer wasted and he’s gradually grown into a useful ally and friend to The Shadow. The Shadow tends to have that effect on people who work by his side and even Cranston, the guy whose main role in his organization is to just stay away and be useless somewhere else, can’t help but change a little into a better person when he appears.

There’s an interesting article written by Bob Sampson called “The Third Shadow” which refers to the Bruce Elliot run of The Shadow Magazine, which is incredibly maligned by fans and not without reason, the stories all largely suck and the Shadow bears little resemblance to his former self, instead mostly feeling like a diet take on the radio show Lamont, more of an average detective. The theory Sampson puts out is that, during this period, it was actually Lamont Cranston who became active as The Shadow while Allard was busy overseas, and I definitely like this theory. It makes sense specially considering The Hydra sets up for Cranston to become more pro-active and serious:

While not the towering master-mind of Allard, he does become the next best thing: A post-war sleuth. He even indulges in wearing the cloak and slouch hat from time to time (to varying degrees of effectiveness), while trying to laugh like Allard (also to varying degrees of effectiveness) as if to fulfill that forbidden fantasy until he finally gets it out of his system. After all, The Shadow pretended to be him, why not the other way around?

As Bob Sampson put it: “It is always Cranston who explains all and takes the credit”.

Probably very cathartic for Lamont, who for the last 18 years was relegated to being a distant supporting player in his own life. Cranston is still in contact with the agents however. He even receives "assignments" from Burbank.

This entire arrangement could only be with The Shadow's tacit approval. Let us remember, Cranston was not merely some insipid fop. He certainly had done his own share of exploring and was indeed a hunter. He could handle a variety of firearms, was familiar with exotic peoples and their customs, knew how to stalk dangerous animals through the jungle and veldt, but he was not, nor ever claimed to be, a master secret-agent and soldier.

I think it is fitting that the writing is completely different for this period as well. Not the enigmatic journalistic style of Allards exploits, but the witty, modern champagne fizz of Cranston's odyssey in a Post-War world. He feels a full range of emotions. In the Gibson stories, The Shadow is at arms length. In the Elliott stories, Cranston is sitting right next to you on a train or an airplane or roadster.

It’s also interesting to consider how Lamont Cranston has basically become the true name of The Shadow in pop culture. Often times it’s the name people use when they specifically want to reference The Shadow, the supposed “Ghost of Gay Street” hauntings in Gibson’s former apartment took the form of Lamont Cranston, and even in the stories, more and more people became aware of it as the years went by (which also helps reinforce the idea that the “real” Cranston eventually took to acting as a fill-in for The Shadow, to draw attention away from the real Shadow’s operations), and Gibson even mentioned a few times that Cranston was The Shadow’s “favorite” identity along with Arnaud. Which is kinda fascinating to think about and does hint at some weird underlying aspects of The Shadow’s psyche, that his favorite identity is one not his own.

And at last, there’s these passages from The Whispering Eyes, a book that does not mention Allard once, and the very last Shadow novel:

From beneath the seat he was taking his black garb. Cloaked and hatted as he stepped from the cab, Cranston merged immediately with the darkness. He had become The Shadow.

Cranston's switch to his other self could well be attributed to a hypnotic mood. The mental lapses produced through hypnosis were the sort that would often cause a subject to revert to habit. Now, as The Shadow, Cranston was still in what might be termed a haphazard mood. He was skirting through darkness, pausing, changing direction, behaving generally as though avoiding something that did not exist.

Lang had flung away his glasses; his eyes now showed the shining, hypnotic force that the lenses normally softened. He recognized the eyes that met his above a leveled gun muzzle.

The Shadow's eyes, yet strangely Cranston's, for this was one time The Shadow did not care to disguise them.

Which begs the question: Did Cranston succeed in fully becoming The Shadow? Or did The Shadow succeed in fully becoming Cranston?

#replies tag #pulp heroes #pulp fiction #the shadow #lamont cranston

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sxvxrxssnape · 4 years

Text

In The Midst of Tribulations

Snapetober 2020: Day 8, 9, 10 (Secret Injury, Grief, “You’re Bleeding” Being headmaster is such a lonely job and grieving hurts so much when you’re not allowed to do it. Implied/Referenced Self-Harm.

He doesn’t feel much of anything today.

He’s standing in his quarters, the door locked and warded thrice. There’s a man standing in front of him and his pallid face is staring back. This man is wearing black robes that reach the floor; dull gold thread runs along the hem and down the front of his outer robe, embroidering protective runes into the expensive fabric. He likes them and he wants to tell this man.

He can’t.

His words feel caught in his throat and he finds he cannot speak. He stares down at his feet and sees the same trail of runes stitched onto his own robes. He blinks and looks up again.

The man is still staring.

He lifts up his robes, just enough to reveal the hem of black trousers he cannot part with. The Dark Lord despises muggle clothing, so he chooses to wear robes long enough to cover his secret. He wonders what will happen if the Dark Lord finds out. He wonders if he even cares.

He likes trousers.

They make him feel safe, secure in his existence. He likes the way they make him feel protected, covered, and hidden away from anyone he doesn’t wish to see him. His coat makes him feel the same. He doesn’t wish for anyone to see him.

He can’t allow anyone to see him.

He drapes a summer cloak over his shoulders and pins it in place. He could go without, but he needs the weight of it around him, needs something to ground himself with. He casts a silencing charm on his robes and shoes and then a disillusionment spell on himself.

The man standing in front of him does the same.

He blinks again and stares at the frame that wrapped around the dressing mirror. He wonders how long it had been there. He thinks of the other man, of his reflection, and wonders if there’s a universe where he exists without the deep lines of exhaustion carved into his face. If there’s a version of him that doesn’t look so hollow.

He ventures out of his chambers and walks the corridors, silent and invisible. He feels like a ghost, has felt like one since he stood in the Astronomy Tower and cast that spell days ago. He’s desperate to be seen. He can’t be seen.

The castle feels heavy and there is a sorrow that seeps into the very walls, as if the old stone were mourning just as deeply as everyone else. The lights seem dimmer and there is a haze that has settled over everything.

He wonders if it’s real.

Outside, the light is blinding and it feels wrong for the sky to be so blue. There isn’t a cloud in the sky and the sun is shining. It feels wrong. Doesn’t the world know there is nothing worthwhile left to soak up the warmth of the sun’s rays? Doesn’t the world understand evil will always prevail? Doesn’t the world care at all?

The haze is still there.

He allows his legs to carry him. He blinks and finds himself standing near the Black Lake. There is a white marble tomb where there used to be none, with a smattering of golden chairs before it. Most of the chairs are empty now. He sees Minerva speaking with some delegates from the Ministry, can hear more than see Hagrid’s crumpled form sobbing. He spies Pomona and Flitwick and Horace huddled near a tree, the glint of silver flask being passed between the three of them. Harry Potter is sitting alone, near the shore of the Black Lake and he’s staring emptily into space.

He blinks and now he’s standing next to the boy. He doesn’t dare breathe, only watches him for a few moments. He wonders how keeping him in the dark, when he looks so shattered, will bring forth the defeat of the Dark Lord. He’s wearing the same face as the man in the mirror, but Potter has friends, has family, and Severus hopes that will be enough.

He wonders how he himself will complete his end of the task.

He blinks again and now he’s standing in front of the marble tomb. He puts his hands against the cold stone and stands there, until his hands and feet feel as numb as the rest of him. The blue sky has finally understood the nature of the day and has become dark. Stars twinkle and he thinks of sparkling eyes behind half moon spectacles.

His arm burns.

–

He doesn’t feel much of anything, anymore.

He walks the corridors in stony silence, enters the Great Hall, and takes his place at the center of the head table. It still feels wrong, just as wrong as it had felt a week ago, as he lowers himself into the golden chair; wrong to sit in his place, wrong to face the fearful faces of the students, wrong to address them as Headmaster of this school.

So he doesn’t.

He only taps his wand against his plate and watches solemnly as the five tables begin to fill with silver platters of food. The hum of conversation is soft, but a small part of him is relieved they even talk at all.

That feeling is short-lived.

The Carrows are sitting to his right, whispering between themselves as they discuss the plans for the night’s detentions. He can trust them with his Slytherins, as much as his heart protests against the very thought. He cannot allow himself to doubt that, cannot allow himself to chip away at his defenses. He is the only one who stands between them all and the Dark Lord and he cannot do that if he is breaking down.

So he feels nothing as he reminds himself that despite his protectiveness over his snakes, they can handle themselves. They’re smart, they know not to push. He reminds himself the Carrows would do little to harm them and then thinks about how to keep the other houses safe.

He hears mention of Hannah Abbott’s name. She’s a quiet girl, a Hufflepuff who would always forget to bring a hair tie with her during potions. Her notes were full of little drawings of plants in the margins. She liked to draw pretty borders on the labels of her phials. She had been pulled out of school last year, when news of her mother’s death broke.

Corban Yaxley had been responsible for that.

“Throw Abbott into the Forbidden Forest,” he interrupts with a bored voice. He doesn’t turn to look at them.

Amycus sits up with a start. “Oh, I didn’t even consider the forest.” he muses excitedly. “Might as well send the lot of them. There’s six, might be fun to see if any survive the night.”

“One can only hope they don’t.” Severus shrugs and directs his wand to pour a glass of wine. He doesn’t drink out of it, only studies the ruby plum of the Malbec as it swirls around the glass. He can feel Minerva glaring daggers at him from his left.

He ignores her, and the space she has chosen to put between them with an empty chair feels bigger now.

He glances further down the table and makes the briefest of eye contact with the groundskeeper. Hagrid is staring back at him, his brows furrowed in anger and his mouth set with determination. Clearly, he had been listening. Good.

He returns his attention to the wine. None of the other staff members are speaking; to him, to each other, at all. He doesn’t mind the silence. Sure, a distant part of him hates it, hates how everything has become so convoluted and messy and broken, but he can handle the silence. He can handle their anger too.

He blinks and dinner is over.

He stands up and looks over the students once more. “Curfew begins in twenty minutes.” he announces, his voice carrying in the echoes of the suddenly silent room. “Do not miss it.” He walks away, shoulders tense.

There is a weight perched on top of him and it is only growing heavier. He enters the circular room of the headmaster’s office, his office now, and looks around. Suddenly, he feels very off-center. Everything is the same here.

Yet, everything is so different.

He takes a deep breath and refuses, absolutely refuses to look at the portrait. He can feel eyes staring at him and it makes his skin crawl. He sits down at the desk, deliberately keeps his back to the portrait, and stares at his hands. They’re trembling.

He forces them to still and strengthens the walls of Occlumency he keeps ever present in his mind. It is an exhausting feat, to constantly be on guard, to constantly hold up a mental block against his emotions, his thoughts, his conscience - but really, the exhaustion is a gift in of itself; a blessing to always be far too tired to dream.

He blinks and now there is knocking at the door.

He finally risks a glance behind him and is relieved to see Albus Dumbledore has made his leave. He casts a glamour over the ornate frame, turns the empty space into a painting of the stars, and then allows the door to open.

Alecto enters the room, tells him the students are gathering around Dumbledore’s tomb. He nods and follows behind her, and the corridors and castle walls seem to blur, seem to melt into grey matter. There is a roaring sound in his ears.

The sky is painted in a brilliant orange, with streaks of purple and pink as the sun begins to set. Once again, it feels wrong. The sky is too bright, too colorful a canvas to be set behind the white marble of Albus’ final resting spot. Or perhaps it’s just right.

There is a group of students huddled together and watching their approach with apprehensive eyes. Minerva McGonagall stands in front of them and stares defiantly. There are flowers decorating the tomb. He wonders what the reason may be; today isn’t anything important.

He realizes then he doesn’t quite know what day it is.

He also realizes he doesn’t care.

He stares at the flowers and feels a spark of anger. Has he not already done enough to prove himself loyal to the Dark Lord? Has he not done enough to paint himself as the villain in this story? Must he keep digging this - for lack of better word - grave, in the eyes of someone he once considered his friend.

“I see your new job has given you the luxury of affording new clothes.” Minerva speaks up first, eyeing his robes up and down. They’re the same ones he had worn to the funeral months ago that no one knew he had attended.

Severus remains silent.

“No longer willing to dirty yourself with anything as demeaning as muggle clothing?” she presses on, her voice harsh with implications. “A proper wizard now.”

He thinks of the trousers hidden underneath and says nothing, merely raises an apathetic eyebrow. He pulls out his wand and twirls it absentmindedly, staring at the flowers. He refuses to look at Minerva’s face.

“You wouldn’t dare.” she whispers.

He waves his wand and casts a silent spell, watching alongside everyone else as tendrils of fire snake their way towards the tomb and incinerate every last petal. When nothing but ash remains, he contemplates a cleaning spell, but decides that could translate to taking care of the marble, so he lets it remain. Someone else will take care of it.

It isn’t his place anyway.

He holds onto his wand and wonders how to address the crowd. He wishes he knew why they were gathered here, what day it could be and decides it ultimately doesn’t matter when Minerva pulls out her own wand.

“How dare you!” she yells and he feels the sudden slashing of pain on his arm. A modified cutting hex, no doubt, and a silent one at that. He’s mildly impressed, if not mostly annoyed at the rip on the sleeve of his robe. It’s warded to protect him against curses, but Minerva already knew that, could tell from the second she studied the runes embroidered on the fabric. He wonders what harmless spell she just altered to circumvent the warding.

Neither Alecto nor the students have noticed, so he keeps silent. His robes are black after all, and are hiding any blood he feels seeping into the fabric. Minerva only stares at him, waiting. He finally faces her and the roaring in his ears gets louder.

He doesn’t think it’s possible to hate anyone more than she does him.

He tries to speak, but his voice sounds light-years away. It doesn’t sound like him and he doesn’t quite know what he’s just said. All he knows is the contempt, the betrayal, the utter hatred that burns in Minerva’s eyes.

He turns to leave.

“After everything he ever did for you!” Minerva cries out and Severus suddenly feels as if he’s been dunked underwater. “This is how you choose to repay him! He saw you as a son, you know. He gave you a place in the world where you had none and instead you turned around and became the monster he tried to save you from. He should have just let you burn.”

His face remains blank as he asks, “Are you done?” and then he makes his leave. He blinks and he’s back in the headmaster’s office. The door is already warded, but he casts two more. The rushing in his ears is louder than ever.

He feels his arm burn and for a second he fears he is being summoned, until he realizes it isn’t the Mark that’s burning. He removes his outer robe, thinking about how he’ll need to owl it to Lucius to have it mended; he doesn’t know enough about runes to fix it himself without mucking up the warding. He pulls up the sleeves of his inner robe and stares dully at the expanse of skin. One arm is tainted with the deep red of the skull and snake, the other with a four inch-long laceration; both are littered with tiny scars and burns from years of potion-making.

He can feel his defenses crumbling.

He has to get a grip, has to force that numbness to return and stay, He isn’t allowed to feel pain over this, isn’t allowed to break down. His chest aches, his throat, Merlin his throat feels like something sharp is raking its way down and ravaging him from the inside out. He grips the edge of the desk, tries to take in a deep breath, and instead lets out a ragged sob. He blinks and now there are scratches on his arms, thin and long and criss-crossing over his skin. Some are bleeding, droplets of crimson escaping from the tears he made on his skin and intermingling with what still dripped from the hex Minerva sent his way.

He takes another deep breath and tries to steady himself. He stares at the marks on his skin and scowls at the mess he was making.

“Severus, my boy.” the portrait dares to speak up and he freezes.

Merlin, his chest hurts.

“What do you want.” he scowls, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“You’re bleeding.” Albus states simply, staring down at his arms with a forlorn expression. “That one there isn’t self-inflicted.”

“No.” Severus answers, and his voice is hollow.

The pain he had been so desperate to hold off is escaping him in waves now. He can not breathe through it any longer, can not force it behind a wall of Occlumency. He can not bear the look on Minerva’s face, can not bear the self-hatred he can feel pooling inside of him as he thinks of the flowers he had burned, can not bear the weight of what is expected of him.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It must be done.”

He only wishes it didn’t have to be done alone.

He killed Albus Dumbledore, that much he can accept. Perhaps he can even convince himself that it was done out of mercy. He had spared an innocent child and helped a suffering old man rest. But Merlin, it fucking hurt to be the one to do it, to be the villain, to lose not only his mentor, but also Minerva, to have to do this all alone.

He has no one left.

No one but a sentient portrait that serves as a forceful reminder of how wrong everything has gone in the last few months. He feels as if a small part of him died that night, and now that little piece was slowly killing the rest of him too.

He casts a silencing charm on the door.

–

He feels too much today.

He walks the corridors in stony silence, enters the Great Hall, and takes his place at the center of the head table. Bandages soaked in Essence of Dittany are wrapped around his arms, the sleeves of his robes pulled down to his knuckles.

He pours himself a cup of coffee and stares at the ripples the pitch black brew makes in his trembling hands. He considers adding milk, but when he takes a sip, he tastes nothing, so he figures it isn’t worth the effort.

There is an empty chair between him and Minerva again; once again the gap feels miles wide. He chances a glance in her direction and is met with cold eyes and a chilling blankness. She is looking through him, has no anger left to spare for him. He’s lost her.

His chest threatens to ache and he feels himself unraveling, but he swallows it down with another sip of coffee. No one is allowed to know how much it all hurts, so he keeps his own face stoic and stares ahead. He thinks about how the portrait of Phineas Black came back with an update on Potter’s plans this morning; he has work to do soon. His throat hurts with the effort of keeping it together and he fears this will be the end of things. He’s lost too much to ruin everything over simple emotions. He focuses on Occluding and lets himself become empty. He blinks and breakfast is over, the Great Hall emptying as students leave for class.

The other staff members get up as well and walk away. No one looks in his direction, no one speaks a word. The dirty dishes start to disappear as the house elves summon them back to the kitchens.

There is a buzzing in his ears again.

————-

a/n: flower destruction scene was inspired by a throwaway line in full stop by acedie on ao3

please, please let me know how this was! im so hesitant about posting this one.

#snapetober 2020 #snapedom #pro snape #severus snape #minerva mcgonagall #deathly hallows #hurt no comfort #oops

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darlingpetao3 · 4 years

Text

Give Into the Symptoms (EoWells x Reader)

Rating: M (Smut)

Summary: When an unknown substance is accidentally released into the medbay, you find yourself isolated along with Doctor Wells, and both of you start to develop some very interesting symptoms...

A/N: Happy Friday! Here’s some super hot smut to spice up your day! Word count - 3,223

Tag List: @blogforhoes

Team Flash likes to joke that being accident-prone is your superpower. Little did they know, one accident in particular would catapult you into a world of suspicion and realization…

It’s one of those days - a day in between just having caught the latest meta terrorizing the city and having another one pop up. You have forgotten your travel mug, and are searching the Labs for it. Oh, right!

You remember setting it down while visiting Caitlin in the medbay, then got distracted. There it is. You jog into the room, but remember that’s probably not a good idea. What if you trip on absolutely nothing and fall flat on your face? Not if you can help it.

But that doesn’t seem to help you.

When you reach for your mug on the desk, it’s like everything happens in slow motion (later, you find yourself wondering if this is how it feels for Barry) - your arm knocks over a series of test tubes holding different coloured liquids. Some of the substance splashes onto your skin, whereas the rest of the matter falls to the ground. It gives off a pungent aroma. You can practically see the fumes rising from the desk and the floor up into the air. In the shock of the accident, you let out a yell, and find that whatever the hell chemicals just touched your skin feels like it’s burning.

“Miss (Y/L/N)!” comes the familiar voice of your superior (and friend? You’re fairly certain you’re friends… You hope you’re friends...) Doctor Harrison Wells. The scientist zooms in on his motorized chair at the fastest speed it will carry him. “What’s happened?”

His voice is a mixture of surprise, concern and impending protocol.

“Ow, ow, I knocked over chemicals on the desk, ah!” you try to explain while shaking your affected limb. “Some on my arm.”

You shout in wild staccatos while Doctor Wells helps usher you to the emergency wash station to ease the moderately uncomfortable sensation. Even after the cold water sprays on your skin, it’s Harrison’s next few words that shock you even more than the water temperature or the burn.

“You need to remove your shirt. Quickly.”

“I- what?”

Doctor Wells wheels over to one of the cabinets in the room and plucks one of the many overly stocked S.T.A.R. Labs sweaters to toss it at you.

“There will still be remnants of the concoction on your shirt. It will continue to soak through the fabric and reach the rest of your body. It cannot be touching you. Hurry. Unless you want to try to bathe in that sink.”

You have your shirt off faster than you could say “the Flash.”

You remove your shirt so fast, in fact, that Doctor Wells hasn’t even had time yet to turn away or avert his eyes. Instead, he witnesses the entire thing.

“Oh, well…” he utters, possibly embarrassed, turning around too late. His eyes one hundred percent saw you in your bra. And now you will let that tiny factoid harass you for the rest of your life. You shrug on the classic navy sweater with the organization’s logo stretched across your chest. It is not your size, but it will have to do.

“Alright, I’m decent,” you say to the back of his dark-haired head. He makes a small noise in the back of his throat after he faces you again, but you can’t decipher its meaning. But that is the case with many things when it comes to this man.

“We have to self-isolate ourselves.” Harrison’s voice is calm but firmly urgent. “We’ve both been in contact with each other and the substance. Quick, initiate lockdown.” You know just what to do and sprint to the door to the room. You smash the emergency glass and press the Big Red Button. Instantly, metal barriers drop down to seal the doors and windows, locking you in with the secret object of your affections and an unknown substance.

Only time will tell what will happen to the two of you next.

***

Nothing.

Nothing has happened! God, you are so bored.

“How long are we supposed to be stuck in here?” you ask.

“So far, it’s uncertain. This is an unknown substance. But we must stay isolated so as not to pass along the contagion. We both came in contact with the substance particles, so we may eventually show symptoms.” Harrison hums.

“What?” you ask.

“This unforeseen circumstance may be worth taking notes. For posterity. Do you have a pen?”

Naturally, Harrison would find a way to take this unfortunate situation and turn it into a learning experience.

Always a scientist.

Maybe that’s why you admire him so much. Well, more than just admire…

At first, time passes incredibly slowly. You don’t know what to say in the awkward silence between you and Doctor Wells, so you try to keep yourself busy. This proves extremely difficult, however. All there is in this room are Caitlin’s medical journals, test tubes and various other tools, and a medical bed. Yes, there is a computer, but it was set up solely for data entry. No internet. Not even so much as Solitaire!

And the metal barriers seem to have blocked out all signals to your phone.

Even Doctor Wells’ chess set was out in the other room!

This is hopeless.

You hop up on the medical bed and recline a bit. You’re starting to feel a little strange, but you can’t figure out what exactly is wrong with you. Is this one of the symptoms, or have you finally gone mad from being cooped up? You start to mentally examine yourself.

Your skin tingles, but in a good way - not like how it burned earlier. Your entire body feels comfortably warm, and you find that when your eyes fall on Doctor Wells, that’s when you start to feel hotter.

The man sits in the corner of the room, studying one of the journals. Every so often, he’ll lick his finger and turn the page...

You swallow hard, now wholly distracted by his lips. They’re so pink it should be a crime. But the real outrage is the curves of his arms. At first, you were going to ask whether he wears such muscle-defining sweaters like this all the time, but really you know the answer to that is yes. Your eyes take you on a vicious cycle of drinking him in, admiring every piece of perfection that is Harrison Wells.

“Miss (Y/L/N)? Are you feeling alright?” he shakes you from your ogling.

“Huh, what? I think so…”

“Are you developing any symptoms?”

Is horniness one of them?

“I’m not sure.”

“Write down what you’re feeling, anyway,” he suggests. “It could be helpful.”

You do so, taking the pen and paper you’d found earlier and jot down what you’d been feeling. You’re noticing a bit of lightheadedness too, so you add that to the list. But you hear something mid-scrawl.

“Did you know that you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on?”’

You lift your head. Did he just…?

“I’m sorry, w-what?” you stutter. Doctor Wells removes his glasses in one motion, letting one of its arms touch his lips, which bend up into a smirk. He wheels over to you in the bed, the closer he gets, the hotter and unsteadier you become. Your vision seems altered - rosier than usual.

“I believe you heard me correctly,” he answers, “and I mean it. You make me want to…”

“Want to what?” If you don’t settle yourself down now, you’re going to jump the man.

“It isn’t proper what I want to say.”

Oh, now he’s holding back?

Fuck it. You need to know. You slide your legs off the bed and, without much further thought, kneel between his widespread legs on his chair. Your hands gripping the armrests instead of literally anywhere on the man himself like you would prefer. Leaning in close, so much so that you share the same dangerous breath.

“I need you to tell me,” you beg.

Doctor Wells just blinks at you, then frowns.

Wait. Something’s not right here.

You pull back and examine the situation, and then the scariest words come from his mouth:

“Miss (Y/L/N)? What are you doing?”

You try your damndest not to scream. Did you just hallucinate all that? Oh God, I imagined him coming on to me, didn’t I??

Jumping back far away from him, you turn around to hold your head in your hands. Is this all one big fever dream? Is this a symptom? What’s real? What’s not? You sure as hell don’t know anymore. All you do know is that you’re hot and bothered and almost mauled your boss because of it.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” you say. “I’m just…” You’re completely frazzled. “I’m just going to write it down.”

New symptom: horny hallucinations

You try to let the next half an hour pass without feeling this strange woozy sensation. In doing so, you close your eyes and concentrate on your breathing while lying down. But it’s still too hot. You’re still too hot. You remove the sweater, entirely forgetting that you aren’t alone in this room. Doctor Wells has been quiet for far too long. And it would appear he’s been watching you. His elbow rests on his chair, hand covering his mouth as his eyes rake over your body. You look down to his lap, an accident.

Good Lord, he’s got…

The curve of him is all too apparent in his pants. The way he’s sitting only draws attention to it. It’s like you have instantaneous tunnel vision. His growing self is all you see and all you care about. You go to him, no longer wondering or caring if this is all an illusion, it’s not even a thought in your brain. All that remains is this unrestrainable animal lust for his body. Consequences be damned. You kneel in front of him.

“(Y/N)...” he exhales. He doesn’t sound stunned or taken aback by your extreme forwardness. Instead, it sounds like a warning.

“Suddenly not so formal, hm?” you say. “Good, because we’re about to get better acquainted anyway, Harrison.” Doctor Wells doesn’t make any motion for you to stop your advancements, just stares lustful daggers at you while you practically claw at the man’s buckle and zipper. You reach into his pants to wrap your hand around the single thing in this room that you believe can heal you. His sheer hardness is unveiled and in your firm grasp. Doctor Wells’ groan shifts into a growl. Well, hello. His brow furrows but in the sexiest goddamn way.

Heavens above, you’re desperate to taste this man, eat him, swallow him, consume him.

New symptom: salivation

Your tongue darts out for a slow lick. But the slowness doesn’t last because the need is greater than anything you’ve felt. Soon, you surround your lips around his cock and take him further in your mouth. Further, letting the underside of him brush against your flattened tongue. On your way back down, you swirl around him, which makes your colleague, your employer reach a hand into your hair. He grips a handful at the base of your head. Harder. Pull it harder.

Doctor Wells does just that, and perhaps you did say out loud that after all? You aren’t sure of anything anymore other than you feel on fire, and you need more. Your blood hurtles through your veins. A ceaseless throb makes itself known between your legs. More so than before, that is.

Going in for the kill, you return your mouth to him, meanwhile reaching your own hand past the waistband of your jeans to touch yourself. You need to get off just as much as you want him to. You feel like you’ll keel over if you don’t deal with yourself too.

Harrison’s bobbing head stops to stare down at you.

“Are you-? Fuck, (Y/N), are you-?”

You hum around him in affirmation, and just after you do, the scientist pushes you off of him. In any other situation, you might be mortified that a man told you to stop blowing him, but this is no ordinary situation. Your vision blurs for a second in a surge of lust. You’re like an animal that’s just been denied their meal. There’s so much more to eat.

You stand up, chest heaving, and positively do not believe what you witness next.

Doctor Wells’ hands clutch the chair’s armrests again, but then you watch as he moves his foot. He takes a step onto the floor, then stands to a full six feet. It’s a fucking miracle- no. It truly is a hallucination. A dream. It’s a fantasy.

There’s a flash of danger in his eyes, while yours widen, big and round as his prey. The tables have turned. He’s stalking you, walking you back until you hit the metal barrier where the door once was. Captured.

This hallucination is fucking wild and I am here for it.

Might as well give in to the symptoms, right?

Harrison leans down by your ear and inhales your scent. Sweat, desire, desperation.

“I can’t resist you,” he says as if it’s difficult to even speak through the palpable sexual tension.

“I’d always imagined you saying that,” you confess, because why not? This isn’t real anyway. “I can’t resist you either.”

“I’m aware,” he chuckles into your neck, where his mouth quickly attaches. You swallow twice. “You seemed rather hungry back there.” Your pulse is starting to skyrocket again.

“Still am.” Your fingers find the hem of his soft black sweater and begin to lift it up over him. Might as well indulge in this glorious sex dream. Harrison helps you of course. He seems to want this as much as you. You’re both a series of grabbing hands, flexing muscles, and greedy touches as each and every article of clothing finds its rightful place on the floor.

Fucking hell, sex-fantasy Doctor Wells looks like an actual god. Part of your brain wonders how much of his usually-covered appearance is accurate. The rest of your brain (and another part in particular) thinks, Get in me.

The look on his face says it all. He’s going to ravage you.

Harrison, faster than you could ever imagine, spins you so that your exposed breasts press against the metal barrier. Your palms rest flat against the cool metal as well, bracing yourself for whatever the man has planned. Whatever it is, you want it. Now.

His hands run down your arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake despite your entire body feeling hot as all hell. He steps closer, so close that his whole body presses against the back of yours. His still hard cock digs into you from behind. You reach around and take hold of it and start to pump. The scientist rumbles into your neck, where he licks and nips and sucks and fuck- bites. You squeal. By the way his body twitches, you think he rather enjoyed hearing you like that.

If you weren’t already a mess, Harrison’s fingers take over the job you tried to accomplish on yourself earlier. His fingers are greeted by your already sopping desire.

“You really were serious, weren’t you?” he says at the slippery feel of you. “Do I always arouse you like this?”

“God, you don’t even know.” It comes out a bit strangled. “All the time.”

“Are you ready for me?”

“Do you seriously need to ask?”

He doesn’t answer you, but instead takes his length to press it against you from behind. Finallyfinallyfinally. A little more. Just a bit more. More. Further in. With each inch, you whine for all of him. Doctor Wells growls into your shoulder once he’s reached as far as he’s able to sheath himself inside you.

It’s only when he starts a steady pace of thrusts that you almost believe this is all real. The feeling in your gut tells you it’s real, but the rest of you insists it’s a very very heated symptom. His mouth is still attacking your neck, any bit of skin he can get to. The current mark he’s leaving is starting to hurt but in the best way.

“Fuck,” you swear, knowing your climax is just on the horizon. You’re nearly there. “Faster. Faster,” you ask of him with what little ability you have to form words. Doctor Wells chuckles, almost evilly, into your ear.

“That I can do,” he replies. His hips snap repeatedly, a deliciously rapid speed. Skin against skin slaps to quick beat. His fingers circle at the same pace. And with a surprise, sharp smack to your ass, this wicked combination is your undoing.

You come apart like a crumbling mess, crying out as you do as the man repeatedly slams into you, now seemingly for his own gain. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, an orgasm this powerful, is it even possible to have one this...

***

You blink your eyes open.

You’re still in the medbay, but the barriers on the door and windows have been lifted. And you’re definitely still clothed in your S.T.A.R. Labs sweater and jeans. So it was all a crazy dream?

Regardless, you’re never going to be able to look Doctor Wells in the eye ever again.

Speaking of the man…

He rolls in on his chair with a pleasant and calm smile.

“Feeling alright, Miss (Y/L/N)?” he asks, concerned. “You took quite a spill earlier.”

“I did?”

“Yes.”

You don’t remember falling. You remember a whole lot of an X-rated fantasy, though.

“I didn’t, um…” you aren’t sure how to phrase this. “I didn’t do anything embarrassing or potentially fireable, did I?”

Doctor Wells raises an eyebrow in one of his classic moves. “I don’t believe so. Other than the falling, of course. But you needn’t feel embarrassed about that. It could have happened to anyone.”

You nod slowly, relieved that you didn’t blow your boss under the influence and proceed to fuck against a wall. Although… no. No. You are relieved. Yes.

“I see the barriers are up,” you note. “I take it that isolation is no longer required?”

“You would be correct,” Harrison confirms. “Doctor Snow rushed in, with the appropriate hazmat gear and did some tests. You were out long enough for the results to come back. We’re in the clear.”

“Well, that’s good news.”

“Quite.” Harrison smiles at you, but there’s something different this time than previously. You aren’t sure what it is. “I will leave you now. Feel free to take a few days off. I know that was probably a lot to take in.”

“Right. Yes, right, thank you, I will.”

“Take care, (Y/N).” Harrison wheels away out of the room and out to the corridor. You take a breath and step out of the bed, feeling a bit uncomfortable as you walk. And then, in the reflection of one of the mirrors on Caitlin's work desk, you see it.

A deep-purple mark on your neck.

When you press your fingers to it, it hurts a bit. It’s fresh. But how can that be…?

Can that-?

Did he really-?

But then that means…

Oh shit.

Anonymous Request: Hey dear🤗 I want to request a EoWells story. Reader gets exposed to a VERY powerful aphrodisiac at star labs and the reader asks harrison to help her😏. And he gets exposed to it too. And both go totally crazy and do shameless dirty stuff to each other and together (maybe they always had feelings for each other). And Harrison reveals his secret( that's he's not paralyzed) to get more and more from her. Lots of smut!🙈 Plus add whatever you like. can you plz?🙏🏻

#reader insert #anon request #harrison wells x reader #harrison wells imagine #harrison wells fanfiction #eowells x reader #eowells imagine #eobard thawne x reader #eobard thawne imagine #the flash imagine #the flash smut #the flash fanfiction #harrison wells smut

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my-fanfic-library · 4 years

Text

Something Different {BBC Dracula x Reader} [21]

Masterlist

A/N: and so the smut begins, and you’ve been oh so very naughty for our beloved vamp ;) also my phone literalt shut down on 60% whilst I wrote this so clearly Claes is much too attractive and tempting for even a phone.

Please do not read this chapter at work, school, the dentist, your local grocery store, in the car or similar locations where screaming may not be appreciated in public. A nightclub may be acceptable but please ensure it is read with a glass of Jack Daniels - your author’s favourite. Thank you.

Warnings: dirty talk, praise kink, size kink if you squint, spanking (minimal), kind of a biting kink, fingering (f receiving), probably a ton of swearing - it’s me.

Oh yeah, and a really jealous Drac

~^*^~

Following Dracula down the hall towards the door of the apartment had dread and excitement coursing your veins. He hadn’t uttered a word to you. When you had gotten out of the car, he denied to even acknowledge your existence at all. Whatever was in store for you in the privacy of that apartment... you shuddered at the thought.

The sound of the door crashing open echoed into the hall and you jumped a little. He had already disappeared inside. Dare you go in? Your wildest imagination would let likely not prepare you for what was going to happen once you stepped in there. You hovered a little down the hall for a few minutes. The door remained open. He was waiting for you.

You shrunk into his jacket, wishing that you hadn’t tried to push him so far. You were cold, but then again, you were quite literally only wearing a jacket. You had to go in. You knew he had time to kill and he would wait for you all day and all night.

Taking a meek step forward, your heart began to race. The suspense was going to kill you (providing Dracula didn’t first). You neared the door, and peeked your head in. Dracula was standing at the far end of the room, looking out of the window with his hands in his pockets. If you were quiet enough, you could most definitely make it to the bathroom and lock yourself in and have a nice, civil conversation with him. You honestly didn’t have an idea on what he would do to you. Part of you hoped it would be what he’d been keeping you waiting for. All those lingering touches, those more-than-chaste kisses, it all had to lead somewhere. Angry sex with your vampire boyfriend? If that was how you were going to go, at least you’d go out in style.

You took your first step inside. You flinched. Dracula didn’t turn, and since your foot had made almost no noise, you suspected that he didn’t hear you. So, you took another step and froze. He made no movement. This carried on for maybe another four steps until-

“Take another step and I will be over there in an instant.”

Oh, his voice... it sent the most pleasurable chill down your spine and you indulged yourself in wanting to be his prey. You wanted him to finally fulfil his many promises of punishing your disobedience. He sounded like he could pounce on you, and boy, did you want him to.

So, you broke out into a sprint. Considering how quickly he had moved through the room the last time he had need for it, he had swept you up before you were anywhere near the bathroom door. He hauled you over his shoulder so that you were forced to look at where you had been, not where you were going. He mumbled something, before a sound resounded. You gasped as a fire lit across your ass. You kicked your legs as if to try and get out of his grasp, however he held onto you tighter and hit you again. You bit your lip, loving the way you still felt his hand even though it was no longer there.

“I suppose someone needs attention?” He grumbled, tossing you onto the bed.

“Drac-“

“Don’t you start with me,” he spoke sharply, eyes burning into you as you pushed yourself up onto your hands and knees to look at him. His jacket was much too big for you and seemed to swallow you up, “this is what you wanted, wasn’t it? You were a brat all afternoon, you naughty thing.”

“I didn’t mean it,” you feigned your innocence, eyes boring into him.

“Don’t you lie to me. You’re in enough trouble as it is.” He neared you, grasping your chin firmly and forcing you to look up at him, “you are absolutely in the world of trouble.” He mused, voice quieting and darkening with every word, “I’ll take my time with you.”

With little force from himself, Dracula pushed you backwards and down into the mattress.

“Stay right there.” He commanded, voice lowering to just a little above a whisper. His eyes darkened as he looked at the way you had sprawled out. God fucking damn that dress - if you could even call it that.

You watched, just a little scared of what he was going to do. His fingers worked at his belt and once it was undone, it was your turn. You had never seen such a dark and intense look in his eyes before. Not even when he had fought with Renfield over you. Oh, god, your stomach flipped when his hands touched the bed.

“Your heart...” he mused, “scared now, kitten?”

You couldn’t respond. Your body would not allow you to respond. You were anticipating his touches. Just what was he going to do to you? He chuckled, knowing full well what your answer was. He was so big, so very tall, towering over you as you lay helpless on the bed, propped up by your elbows, gawking at him in your terror. You were a rabbit, and he was the big, bad wolf.

“Not so loud now, are we?”

He began his descent to you, crawling over you, taking in your scent that mingled with his. Now, you were trapped beneath him. He was so close. He could feel the rhythm of your heart, keeping his hands either side of your head, to make sure you wouldn’t try to worm your way out of this one. He had truly had enough. You were finally going to pay.

“Say something, kitten, what are you thinking?”

Again, you were left without words. He was so close. He was so much bigger than you, trapping you beneath him was no issue, and you knew he’d have his way with you and then some now that you’d finally pushed him over the edge. When he still got no response from you, a few growl fumbled through his chest and he tugged your hair away from your neck, biting down into the mark he had created weeks ago. While he didn’t bite hard enough to draw blood (he didn’t even have his fangs on this occasion), the sensitivity of the area was enough. You cried out, arms coming up to wrap around him and bring him ever closer to you.

“Better.” He growled against your skin, and bit down once more. The way you shuddered against him made the cockiest smirk appear on his lips and he started his way around your neck, mapping out the most sensitive areas and marking you up, so that he wouldn’t forget just where they were. His lips moved a little higher, up to your collarbone and he licked up to your earlobe before tugging with his teeth. You whimpered, gripping onto him for dear life as the constant sparks that were igniting within you drove your head back into the mattress.

“Dear God,” you managed to breathe.

“I can make no claims to that title, but trust me on this, I’m about to steer you as far away from that fantastical purity as I can get you.” He lifted his head to look down at you and your hands slipped down, coming to rest half on his cheeks and half on his neck.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

You pulled his face to your own, colliding your lips. That one second that you felt him, you heard him hum in utter bliss and then you were gone.

This time, it was a brief visit. You suspected Dracula wanted you with him at all times. For just the frozen fraction that you were in the haven, it was hot. So burning hot, and you were with him, tangled up in sangria sheets.

When you came back, you gasped. His large hand cupped the left side of your face, guiding your head up so that he had more access to your neck. He laved his way down with his tongue, loving the way you squirmed under him. Humans were strange. They craved this sort of contact, but once they got it, they wanted to wriggle their away from it as if they couldn’t stand it.

“Be still,” he whispered, “I want this off so I can smell only you.”

And he began to push the jacket down. You moved a little to allow him to strip you of the only real item of clothing you had and the cold hit you as he threw the jacket over his shoulder and away. Goosebumps rose on your skin. Your lips began to work on his neck, fingers moving around to the buttons on his shirt, fumbling every now and then when his hands trailed up and down the expanse of your legs. When his shirt was off, he stopped you from doing anymore damage.

“Get this fucking thing off.” His lips were soon enough back on your neck and he tore open your newest wardrobe addition, making it practically one big hole. He had never sworn before and the way the hard profanity rolled from his tongue had a deep heat fill your stomach. You lifted your hips so that he could pull it away, and accidentally collided with his. You took a sharp breath.

Now you were so close to being exposed to him once more. He drank in the sight of you, so close, chest rising and falling with the gasps that he had caused. He was slowly turning you into a mess as he had promised.

His kisses began to work down, working over the exposed top halves of your breasts, down into the valley, over your stomach, towards your naval. Every kiss left a little patch of saliva and to connect the dots, he swiped his tongue back up. Oh, what he’d give to be able to truly kiss you. Not to send you away into a fantasy, but to keep you with him so that you could kiss him over and over. So that you could feel the passion in his mouth, taste his tongue on yours. He wanted to mark every single part of you as his own. One day, maybe. Until then, he’d simply have to mark every inch of your skin.

“Do I have permission?” He inquired lowly, playing with the strap of your bra.

You could only nod, feeling yourself slip away. He pulled you up into him, your chest nicely flush against his as he so easily worked the garment open. Now he was being slow and precise with his moves. He laid you down, pulling the material away and it ended up in some corner, a similar fate to his jacket and his shirt. He hummed, reacting as though he had never seen you topless before. He hadn’t, not like this.

“Guess I finally got my way- Ah~”

He cut you off, sucking a nipple into his mouth and giving it attention with his tongue. Usually, they weren’t the most sensitive things in the world, your nipples, but holy fucking shit, right now you could come like this. Not wanting your other nipple to feel neglected, his large hand came up to knead your free breast and you arched your back at the sensation of his cool skin against your hot, flushing flesh. He pinched hard, and bit down simultaneously, pulling up and away and grinning down at you.

“Actually, I’m getting my way.”

“Whatever floats your boat.”

He paused for a moment, debating on his next move. In the next moment, he had climbed off of you and moved towards the head of the bed, taking a seat against the headboard. You rolled over onto your stomach, peering up at him.

“Come here, now.”

Thinking better than to disobey him anymore, you crawled your way into his lap and began pressing kisses to his shoulders. His head rolled back. He could never get enough of your touch. Never in your life would he let anyone take you from him. You were his.

His hands moved down your body, thumbs brushing over your nipples and coming to rest firmly on your waist. So easily, with no strength, he twisted you so that your back was pressed against his chest and your legs were over the top of his. You looked up at him.

“I can’t give you everything I’d like to,” he kissed your shoulder, “so I’m afraid this is all I can do for you right now.”

His hands began to trail further down, stopping right at the hem of your panties. You nodded. You had expected him to just tug them down, but he, instead, literally tore the material off. To hell with them.

“Drac!” You shrieked, “they were Fenty!” You whined.

“I don’t have a single clue what that means, but I must assure you that I don’t give a damn. You look much more delightful without them.”

You still rolled your eyes.

And finally, after so long of waiting, of the tension building and bubbling, his fingers worked into your slit. Your head rolled back onto his chest, a moan rippling throughout the room. The pure bliss that shot through your body! It had been so long since anyone had touched you. The coolness of his fingers heightened the way that it felt and you had to do something to stop yourself from climaxing too soon.

Using only one finger, he circled your pearl first, not wanting to waste another second in keeping you waiting. A hot rush swept between your legs and you whined.

“Does that feel good?” You nodded in response, “unfortunate.” He pulled his finger back, causing you to whine in protest.

His hands moved to your thighs and he pulled your legs apart, so that your feet were planted either side of his knees and your legs were bent. His hand moved back to rest so close to where you needed it again.

“I don’t think you deserve it.” He whispered into your ear, “you’ve disobeyed me so much. You’ve made me so mad. So, so angry.” He drew circles on the innermost skin of your thigh, right where if his finger slipped, he’d be where you wanted him most, “I should tie you up and leave you here in such a state. I can feel you dripping onto me. You’d soak the sheets and I’d never even have to touch you again, would I?” His voice vibrated through your body and the utter filth he’d never spoke until today made you feel giddy. He really knew how to tease, didn’t he?

“Please,” you whispered a beg, “please just...”

“Please what?” You could practically hear his smirk.

“Please touch me. Please do anything.”

“Anything? Oh, like this?”

He gave you no warning, he just pushed his finger right into your sopping cunt, loving the way it seemed to suck the length of his finger in, craving more. The deep coolness sparked electricity and you cried out at the feeling. Holy fuck, you’d never been with someone who’s fingers were quite as thick or as long. He was definitley proportionate. The bulge pressing against your back was further proof of that.

“Holy shit.” He whispered.

His finger began working on you, almost all the way out before plunging back in and the feeling was already sending you into a frenzy. His finger never warmed like the other men you’d been with, so it was just so delicious to feel his finger constantly cool against your hot and throbbing core. Wet, sensual sounds filled the room - and just by his finger!

“Hm, you like that, don’t you? Your heart sounds like it’s about to run away.” He mused, “would that scum back at the shopping centre be able to do this to you?”

“God, no,” you breathed, focusing much too hard on the waves of pleasure.

“I didn’t think so.”

He pushed a second finger in, a small burn as he stretched you out. You twisted, making a noise as the pleasure heightened more.

“Good girl, taking my fingers so well.”

Your chest rose and fell. The sensation of two of his fingers was enough. You were so close to the edge and he knew it. His lips cane down on your shoulders, pressing here and there, biting a few times.

“Who else could fuck you with their fingers like this?”

“No one-“ you gasped, unable to concentrate on his words.

“Correct. No one.” His free hand trailed down your body, “so don’t you ever wear that sundress out again.”

“But- I like it-“ you gasped, so, so close.

“I didn’t realise your emotions mattered.” The fingers on his free hand began to draw hard, quick circles on your clit. You were a gonner.

“Holy shit-“ you gasped, tossing your head to expose the bite mark.

You watched his fingers work your core. You loved the way his forearms flexed, and he never seemed bothered by any straining it might have been causing.

“Let’s see how far the female body had progressed.” He pumped his fingers quicker, the friction driving you to the brink. Tears were forming in your eyes. Way too much. His fingers worked your clit so well that waves were beginning to build, “have you learnt to come on command?”

You didn’t know if you could hold off anymore. The pleasure was much too intense and the cord that had been growing in your stomach was ready to break at any second.

“Not yet..” you bit your lip, you squeezed your eyes shut, you tired your hardest, “a little longer,” the sounds of your juices filled the room and your body ignited all of a sudden, a raw hotness overcoming you, “now.”

He bit hard down into the mark on your neck and the pleasure came. You screamed out, body absolutely losing control. You shook with every wave, moans filling the room and causing a proud smirk to appear on Dracula’s face.

“Good girl, so good.”

He helped you ride your orgasm out, not stopping the movement of his fingers until your body was no longer tense but blissed out. He helped you off of him, lying you down at his side and he turned to look at you.

“I wonder how you taste...” he wondered aloud before sucking on the tips of his fingers. He groaned, unable to hold back the look of content on his face, “not as good as your blood, but a close second.”

You scoffed, panting heavily. Your stomach was knotting from the intense orgasm and you could only hope that the pain would stop soon.

“What about you?” You breathed.

“Don’t worry yourself over me. I told you, I can’t give it to you.”

“And I told you, that’s how I want to go.”

“I’m not killing you just so that we can make love.” He scowled at you.

“Make love?” You mocked, “what are you a 12 year old girl?”

“Oh shut it, you.”

You laughed through your pants and pulled him down into your side. One way or another, you were going to make him do that to you again and again and again.

~^taglist^~

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talk1about7seventeen · 3 years

Text

𖡼.𖤣𖥧 Admirer 𖡼.𖤣𖥧

Summary: Patton gives each of the sides, including Thomas a Valentines gift to show his appreciation for each and every one of them!

Warning: Wholesome-ness, Remus being Remus, every character just being themselves, blood and gore, happy boy Thomas, good vibes, slight cursing.

Characters: All! (Remus, Thomas, Janus, Roman, Logan, Patton, and Virgil.)

Word Count: 1847

Ship/ Pairing: Thomas + Logan + Virgil + Patton + Janus + Roman + Remus (DRLAMPT) (Platonic)

AU: Sanders Sides (Normal)

I hope you enjoy this (late) Valentine’s Special!!! (,,> ᎑ <,,)

✧ʚ .·:*¨༺♡༻¨*:·. ɞ✧

“Good morning Thomas!” Patton rose up, with his hands folded behind his back, hiding something from Thomas’ line of sight. “Oh, hey Pat, you look cheery today.” Thomas smiled at the side, wearing a graphic t-shirt of Lin-Manuel Miranda’s beautifully written and preformed, Hamiltion.

“How couldn’t I be? Today is such a sweet and fantastic day!” He giggled, smile wide and bright. Thomas tilted his head to one side in confusion. “What’s so special about today?”

“Aww, you haven’t forgotten already, have you?” Thomas thought for a moment, realization hitting him. “Oh! Valentines day.” His face lit up and then dulled as he fully took in the information. “Why so gloomy, kiddo?”

Thomas let out a sigh, looking down at the ground. “Another year without a date...” He ruffled through his brown hair, feeling his heart sink. “Well, this year is gonna be different!” Patton bubbled. “How?” His eyes darted up to meet Patton’s gaze. “Ta-da!” He pulled a bag from behind him decorated in hearts and ribbons, colored pink, white, and red.

Thomas focused on the bag, unsure of how this colorful bag could fix the rain cloud that poured over his mood.

“Hello, my color-coded companions! What a perfect day to look so dashing~” Roman rose up, adjusting his emblems. “Princey!” Patton announced. “You always look good!” He told Thomas’ fanciful side.

“You got me a gift!? How sweet!” Roman practically had stars in his eyes as he looked at the bag in Patton’s hands. “It’s actually for everyone, Ro!”

“Logan! Virgil!” Patton called, summoning the other sides. Logan rose with a Shakespearean classic in his hand. Roman gasped loudly. “Romeo and Juliet! You’re finally reading it!”

“Well, I took your argument stating why I should consume such literature into consideration. Mainly due to your incessant request. I figured the sooner I read it, the sooner you wouldn’t bother me about it.” Logan responded, without looking up from his book.

Virgil appeared soon after, with headphones in his ears. “The gang is all here!” Patton giggled. Virgil took one side of his earbuds out of his ears and looked around him. “Why was I called? I was in the middle of something.”

“Like what? Listening to your, rock and roll, contemplating all the ways Thomas could embarrass himself by trying to ask someone out?” Roman retorted.

“For your information, Princey, I was listening to a compilation of Disney classic love songs, not that you would care.”

“Before you two go on with your cute banter---” Patton started. “I wouldn’t call it cute.” Virgil muttered. “I got you guy’s a little something!” Patton held up the bag for everyone to see.

“I thought instead of focusing on what we don’t have, I thought we could spread a little love and focus on what we do have, each other!” Opening the bag he began to pull out various items. “For you Roman!” He handed the side a box wrapped in pink wrapping paper covered in sparkly hearts.

“Oooo~!” He tore away the paper and opened the box to find a heart themed painted mirror. “So you never forget how beautiful you are, Roman!”

“This....is...AMAZING PATTON!” Roman ran over and wrapped his arms around the side, pulling him in for a warm hug. “Exactly what I needed.” He walked back over to his side of the room, admiring himself in the mirror, smiling at the little hand painted decorations on the reflective surface.

“Logan,” Patton turned to the side. Logan closed his book and looked up, making eye contact with his good friend. “Here!”

Logan grabbed the present which was a thick DVD case with a shiny red bow on top. “A copy of all four seasons of Mark Gatiss’ Sherlock! I hope you like it, Lo.” Logan’s eyes widened and a smile crept onto his face as he stared into the gift. His smile dropped as he realized they were all staring at him. “This is...” He looked up at Patton and cleared his throat, trying to maintain composure. “This is satisfactory.”

“Virgil!” Patton turned to the rather anxious side, who jumped at the mere mention of his name, not expecting it due to the loud music blaring in his ears. Patton handed him a five inch purple Squishmallow. Virgil’s eyes lit up as he took the adorable plushie in his hand. “You got me Brenda the Butterfly.” Virgil said in disbelief. “I thought you could use a cuddle-buddy if you got lonely.”

“Squishy....” Virgil mumbled as he held the stuffed toy close to him. “And Thomas!” Patton looked toward Thomas who had a huge smile on his face. Patton handed Thomas a pink colored book which read in multi-colored words on the front: “Sanders Sides famILY”

Thomas opened the book gently, his eyes fixated on the various pictures of each side as well as hand written notes and drawings on the various colorful pages. “Patton....this is wonderful.” Thomas gushed. “I’m so glad everyone likes what I got! I figured we needed something to cheer us up.”

Everyone in the room was mesmerized with their gifts. Everyone except....the dark sides. “Hey uh, kiddo!” He looked to Thomas who was enveloped in his book. “Yea?”

“I’ll be right back! Don’t have too much fun without me!” Patton gave a little smile and sunk into the floor, traveling to the darkest part of Thomas’ mind.

---

“Good morning Dee!!!” Remus announced as he walked up to Janus who was reading something. “I got you a lil’ something.” He snickered. “If it’s another one of your dead animals, I don’t want it.” Janus said coldly.

“Not at all! I’m giving you something live today!” The scaley side looked up at Remus, whose eyes were filled with mischief. A knife appeared in Remus’ hand and with two hands he jabbed the metal object in his chest and began to slowly drag down to the middle of his torso as blood squirted out of the opened wound. Janus stared at the intestines that wriggled inside Remus’ body and held back a gag. Without looking away, Remus dug one of his hands under his rip and yanked out his beating heart, still attached to the rest of his system. “See? I’m finally giving you my heart, Dee~” He threw his head back and let out a maniacal laugh.

“I said, I didn’t want anything dead.” Janus set down his book. Remus reared his head back in front of Janus. “It’s obviously still beating.” The veins on the fist-sized organ were prominent. “Wow, exactly what I wanted.” His voice was heavy with sarcasm.

“Uhm....hello...” Both heads turned to see a rather shy Patton standing in the room with them. His hands shook as he held onto his bag tighter. “Well, look who it is~!” Remus licked his lips. “Is that...a real heart?” Patton couldn’t look away from the blood covered thing in the demented side’s hand.

“Ignore him, he’s barely house trained.” Janus stood up and walked over to the nervous boy. “My question is,” he started, peering over Patton. “Why are you here?” he emphasized his words. “I uh---I....” Get it together, Pat! He told himself. “I got s-something for you!” He hid his face, holding out the bag.

Janus and Remus looked at each other with confusion. “....why?” Remus asked, his expression twisted with questions. Patton looked up and swallowed the lump in his throat. “It’s Valentines day....! And I thought I could get everyone a little something...”

“Everyone...including us?” Janus looked at Patton’s face and then to the bag. He grabbed the bag as gently as possible and opened it. His eyes widened as he pulled out a yellow sweater with multiple sleeves. “I thought you might want to keep warm since Logan told me snakes can get cold in the Winter.” Patton explained, trying to place how Janus was feeling.

“Oooo!!! What’d ya get for me, glasses?” Remus pushed his heart back in his chest, the wound closing up like a zipper. Patton pulled out a tray of assorted candies in the shape of different body parts, both human and animal.

“Wow! This gives me a great idea!” Remus snatched the tray and ran into his room.

“Uh...thanksss...” Janus blushed. “I didn’t think anyone else thought of us like that.” Patton gave a little happy sigh. “Happy Valentines day, Janus.”

---

At the end of the day, Patton returned to his nostalgic dream-land of a room and noticed the door to his bedroom was open. As he walked in he noticed gifts piled in the center of the room.

He pulled out LED lights with a note on it that read, “I thought this would be an adequate addition to your room.” ~Logan Sanders. His hand writing was as neat as can be, not a mark out of place.

Next was a bouquet of red roses and a box of assorted chocolates. Patton smiled to himself, Roman...

He knew the one to follow was Virgil’s present right away. It was a hand stitched stuffed animal of a cute frog with a little sky blue bow tie. Patton also knew it was from Virgil since there was a little letter with the list of love based Disney songs he was listening to earlier in the side’s messy and dark handwriting.

Lastly, there was the Polaroid from Thomas of all five of them that they took earlier that day with everyone’s initials on the bottom as the words, “To our favorite dad, We love you Patton!” Tears started to swell in his eyes at all the love he had from his dear friends.

As he stood up and went to close his bedroom door, he noticed a plain cardboard box that had randomly appeared in the doorway. He picked it up, closed the door, and walked over to his bed, setting it down gently

He unfolded it and his eyes widened. The first thing his eyes landed on was a bloody Ziplock bag with Remus’ heart in it. Attacked to the clear bag is a letter that read, “Here, have this, I got exstra anywayz!” ~Remus. There was smudges of what looked like pen ink, chocolate, and dried blood on the note.

Next was a letter that could only be from Janus. “Thanks for the gifts, it was really nice of you. (No this isn’t sarcasm) Also ignore Remus’ spelling, bitch barely passed Kindergarten.” ~Lord of the Lies.

There was another Ziplock bag with a dissected frog with it’s limbs and other body parts scattered inside of it. There was a final note attached to it, “I didn’t know what to get you so Remus got you another gift. It’s called, Sort The Frog. You essentially have to put the frog back together and when you do, you win a prize. Have fun with that. (This is sarcasm)” ~Janus Sanders.

Even though their gifts were exactly what Patton expected when it came to the dark sides, he still smiled. Today was truly a wonderful Valentines day.

#sanderssides #fanfiction #fanfic #remussanders #thomassanders #virgilsanders #janussanders #romansanders #pattonsanders #logansanders #wholesome #valentinesday #writing #oneshot #sander sides fanfiction

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elexica · 4 years

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Second Chance Christmas {{ December 21 }}

Christmas tree shopping, ornament making, and decorating reveal some unresolved feelings...

The rest of the chapter after the break:

The door slammed open, clattering against the wall harshly. Kaiba blinked in the bright light from the hallway, headache blooming at his forehead.

“Atticus wants you to come shopping for a Christmas tree.” Joey announced, slamming a thermos of coffee and a small bottle of Tylenol on the side table. The clattering noise was calibrated to exacerbate Kaiba’s hangover, and from the way his eyes squeezed shut, it worked. “You left some stuff, I stuck it in the guest room closet, so help yourself.”

Joey tried to lower his voice as deeply as possible, make it sound as truly menacing as he could, but the follow up sentence, “Waffles are ready,” just didn’t sound very scary.

For his part, Kaiba just rubbed at his eyes.

When Kaiba rolled into the kitchen forty-five minutes later, he looked completely put together. The picture of a man who could compartmentalize absolutely everything that had ever happened to him.

As he wandered toward the plate of waffles, Joey could feel the ghost of years past. Of Seto wandering over, pecking a kiss to his cheek on his way to the coffee machine.

Instead he watched his ex-husband greet the kids and collect the plate set out for him at the counter. Just the waffle and a bit of butter—no syrup, nothing sweet. Kaiba sliced into the waffle surgically, and swallowed a small bite of it. From the look on his face, he was too hungover and sick to really eat.

“Tell your Oto-san to eat his breakfast,” Joey said, pouring a glass of orange juice on the corner of the counter.

Kaiba sent Joey a death glare as Atticus announced that he had just the song. As Atticus launched into the highly repetitive “Breakfast Song”—an independent composition—Kaiba winced as if he had taken a thousand life points of damage in a shadow game.

The thermos of coffee stayed in Kaiba’s hand as he wove through the driveway. One of his cars had been left at the house—a black Mercedes that he had no real attachment to. Kaiba must have tracked down the spare key from the hooks on the wall of the garage. Kaiba was looking back towards the garage, as if he had a say in the matter.

Joey honked the horn of the minivan, startling his ex-husband and drawing another full body flinch from the man.

“I’m not movin’ Alexis’ car seat! Get in.” Joey shouted out the window. Kaiba revived his glare, only to lose it to a frustrated wince as Joey slammed on the horn again.

Kaiba froze, coffee “I swear,” Kaiba said, his voice menacing. “She’s six, she doesn’t need a car seat.”

“Look, it’s a height thing now. Ya can’t fire me, Kaiba, so unless ya got other plans, get in the car.” He punctuated this demand with another ear-scorching honk.

Grasping at the last threads of his dignity, Kaiba straightened his back, schooled his face with as much focus as he could bear, and strode over to the minivan door.

Kaiba flung it open with a theatrical flair that would be more appropriate on a blimp than a minivan.

Joey opened his mouth to deliver an admittedly tepid comment—he was thinking “look who decided to join us”—but he was silenced by the kids cheering when Kaiba sat down in the car.

“Oto-san, can we listen to the Chipmunks Christmas?!” Atticus pleaded from the backseat.

Joey didn’t bother holding back laughter and Kaiba clenched his jaw and nodded.

. . .

The adventure at the Christmas Tree farm started relatively smooth and uneventful. Atticus and Alexis were good kids, even if Atticus could be a little loud and demanded a lot of attention, and Alexis was a bit shy.

For his part, Kaiba did an excellent job of standing and observing the process. With stoicism, he posed at the back of the family and watched as Joey picked a tree, earned the approval of the kids, and tried to chop it down with the farm-provided axe on his own.

Tree chopping was harder than anticipated, and Joey’s struggles were equal parts frustrating and humiliating.

Kaiba couldn’t hold back a snicker, about 15 minutes into Joey’s battle with the tree. But that was his miscalculation: the perfect opening for Joey to shoot back, “You think yer so strong, pretty boy? Give it a go.” And Joey all but tossed the axe in his ex’s direction. Joey could have used a better, safer and more careful form when he handed his ex-husband the axe, but he was trying to catch his breath, and the haughty bastard had goaded him with that laugh. Kaiba caught it easily anyway.

“Step back,” Seto announced, as if he was about to perform a magic trick. The rest of the family formed a slightly more distant semi-circle.

Kaiba posed, axe high behind his back. He made brief eye-contact with Joey before hefting a massive swing. The arc was long and graceful, and bit into the tree-bark savagely. It took Joey’s four-inch indent and turned it into eight-inches, fully three-quarters of the way through the tree.

Kaiba smiled, pleased with his work.

“Alright,” Joey offered after a few seconds. “Now, you pull it out.” Joey resisted making any further innuendoes in front of the kids.

Kaiba nodded and reached for the axe. It didn’t budge. He adjusted his feet in the snow to gain more purchase—to no avail. He lodged one foot against the tree, and still the leverage was insufficient. It was as if the tree had accepted the axe as a new branch, and wouldn’t let go.

Kaiba pulled out his phone and started tapping.

“You lookin’ up how to get an axe out of a tree?” Joey challenged.

“No.”

“Oh my god are you trying to buy a better axe? And have it air dropped or something?”

Kaiba’s clever, snarky glance up from his phone told Joey exactly everything he didn’t need to know. “Would the children have any interest in owning a Christmas tree farm?”

“No!” Joey jumped over, moving to try and steal back Kaiba’s phone before he could pull whatever insane business move required to buy out the family-owned farm.

Kaiba had been a capable “keep-away” player for decades, and hadn’t seemed to allow his skills to get rusty in the intervening period.

Joey still had some signature moves—and certainly could have brought the taller man to his knees if he had a yo-yo on him.

As it stood, the side tackle that Joey settled on was perfectly effective. They rolled in the snow a bit, Kaiba able to twirl and pass the phone between his hands deftly and Joey ready to brute force the situation. He had no qualms with getting snow in his ex-husband’s hair or up his nose.

What was surprising was when Kaiba stopped fighting. He had been pinned down pretty well, back digging into snow, wrists held by Joey’s determined fingers as if handcuffed over his head, flakes stuck to his eyelashes and drenching his scarf. Joey had one knee jamming Kaiba’s thighs into the ground.

Joey paused with those hands in his vice grip, feeling Kaiba’s muscles relax under his hands. The palms were facing him, and they were empty. The only metal that Joey could see was the one thing he had longed to forget—Kaiba was still wearing his wedding ring.

“Is that?” Joey asked softly.

Kaiba had been baring a smug smile at Joey, confident in his plan to abscond with the phone—even in the compromised position. That smile vanished at Joey’s question.

“I didn’t want to field any questions as to whether we were… I wanted it to be clear that we’re both their dads.” Kaiba should have blushed, but he didn’t. Instead he looked wild and scared, like he had been caught in a terrible lie.

Joey drew a slow breath, processing the information as the ice melted on Kaiba’s face.

“Oto-san! I got the phone!” Atticus cheered, waving the slim black device in the air, instantly breaking the tension.

“Excellent execution,” Kaiba said, moving one powerful thigh to dislodge Joey’s entire hold. He went tumbling back into the snow, and Kaiba stood up and straightened himself. He held out his hand expectantly, and Atticus handed him the phone.

“How attached are you to this specific tree?” Kaiba asked Alexis, with the same intensity he would levy a question at a board meeting.

With the same seriousness that Kaiba had summoned, Alexis responded ,“I have no attachment to this tree.”

“Atticus?”

The boy shrugged. Kaiba nodded. “Then we will acquire another tree by alternative means.” Kaiba tapped at the screen a few times. “Any objections?”

This question was directed at Joey who also shrugged. Joey eyed the axe, buried deep in the trunk of the tree. It was not promising.

“What’s next on the holiday itinerary?” Kaiba asked, as if he was going to complete the Christmas activity list with the same ruthless efficiency he took to the business world.

“Decorating ornaments.”

. . .

It’s not just that it was fun to watch Kaiba struggle with things—though Joey thought it usually was—but his ex-husband, eyes narrowed in concentration, brows strung in frustration, long fingers dripping golden glitter glue…

Joey could have laughed the entire time.

Atticus had nicely decorated a music note. He had diligently written the year and his name and his age on the thin piece of wood, and then doodled colorful lines around it. Alexis had decorated a ballet slipper with surprisingly delicate shading and the same information.

Joey was relatively pleased with his own decoration: a nicely colored-in icon of the Time Wizard, with the same information. He had hesitated to put his age, but it was tradition, and Alexis would surely bust him for breaking the rules.

But Kaiba had to be ambitious. Usually his abilities could keep up with his formidable plans. But this year’s image of the Thousand Dragon had not gone according to plan. He had foolishly done the Blue Eyes White Dragon for the first year, and burned through it’s permutations by the time they finalized the divorce.

The underlying coloring wasn’t terrible—and the silhouette of a dragon was distinct enough that he couldn’t quite make it unrecognizable. But the glitter glue gambit hadn’t paid off. Instead of an extra level of pizazz, the glue had chemically interacted with the ink of the pens underneath.

Like a craft drawer Icarus that had flown too close to the sun, the careful coloring underneath melted into an absolute mess, blurring the relevant information, as well as the face of the dragon. The whole work turned into a muddled, blotchy, glittering thing. Yellows and marigolds combining to look more like a splotchy watercolor, but it lacked intention or grace.

Joey’s smile was wide and his jaw was clenched from the effort of not laughing at Kaiba’s very sad ornament. “You can go back to the craft store and get a new blank one,” Joey managed to eek out, with only minimal giggles spilling into his speech.

“It’s…” Kaiba pushed at the glue with a sticky fingertip, as if he could reset the colors by sheer force of will. “I will… write the information the back.” Kaiba flipped the ugly ornament directly on the disposable plastic table cover, glitter glue oozing out. He wrote his name in Japanese characters, and the date.

“It doesn’t look like a dragon, Oto-san,” Atticus protested. “You have to try again!”

Kaiba nodded, and affixed two googly eyes to the head.

Joey completely lost it at the plain wooden outline of a dragon, wings stretched, blank except for the name, date, and age on it’s belly, glitter glue leaking from under it, as if wounded, and two plastic google eyes quivering as the table shook with his laughter.

Joey thought he spotted a soft smile on Kaiba’s face, but by the time he caught his breath again, it was gone.

. . .

Joey tried to push down the warmth in his chest that swelled when he saw Kaiba wrapped around the tree, diligently stringing holiday lights. True to his word, he had an assistant from Kaiba Corp. USA’s New York branch sent out on an emergency hunt for the perfect tree. Without much thought, by the time the family had made it home from the Upstate adventure and trip to the craft store, a tree was already staged in their house—perfectly conical and even. As flawless as plastic, but full of that distinct pine scent.

Putting lights on the tree had been an intuitively “Kaiba” sort of activity. He was taller, more electrically inclined, and better suited to the less nostalgic Christmas elements. Although Joey had handled the task just fine, Kaiba’s persnickety nature did contribute to him spreading the lights evenly and nicely. It was sort of frustrating for Joey to see the lights look so smooth and flawlessly distributed. Especially when two years ago they had looked so uneven.

The off-year, when Kaiba had the kids for the winter holiday, Joey hadn’t bothered with any of his own decorations. He had just visited his sister’s place, skyped with the kids, and moped. He’d fallen asleep watching “Elf” alone on the couch. It ranked high on his list of worst Christmases ever.

Joey wondered a little, while Seto fought with the fragrant pine-needle branches, whether this would top the list of worst holidays. Somehow, already, it didn’t feel like a bad holiday at all.

Joey held out a warm mug to Seto, once his task was finished. It was one of the older ones, white with that navy-blue KC logo imprinted, but faded over the years.

Kaiba raised his hand to reject the offering. “I’m avoiding processed sugars. Last night was an exception, not the rule.”

Joey rolled his eyes. “Trust me, if you’re going to sit through any of tonight’s concert, you’ll appreciate the… heh… innovation.”

With a skeptical look at the hot chocolate and half-melted marshmallows, Kaiba reluctantly accepted the mug. He took a slow sip, before his eyebrows raised, recognizing the heroic volume of Baileys that had been surreptitiously mixed in. Kaiba nodded in approval. “I stand corrected.”

Indeed, the adulterated cocoa was fully drained over the course of Atticus’s hour long performance of every Christmas song he knew, plus a few piano remixes of various children’s show theme songs, and an original composition which was actually just smashing on the keys and smiling.

Kaiba remained steadfastly bound to the couch while Joey and Alexis actually placed all of the ornaments, whispering about what should go where. A few times, Joey looked over, just to see if Kaiba had left. Instead, he stayed, eyes darkened by some unknowable emotion. When the concert was over, and Joey and Alexis’s task was finally complete, the three stepped back to turn off the overhead lights and bask in the eclectic glory of the tree.

Only then had Kaiba vanished.

. . .

Joey wandered into Kaiba’s study. After the last night’s stunt, he expected to see the decanter open on the coffee table.

Instead, Kaiba was illuminated by his laptop, the rhythm of his typing on the keyboard sounding just a little like music. “What do you want?” Kaiba asked, not looking up from his computer.

“I—” Joey shrugged, flopping down on the chair opposite Kaiba. “I want to talk, I guess.”

“About what?” Kaiba asked, though it didn’t quite come out like a question. There was not a hint of curiosity in his voice.

“Us.” Joey looked over at Kaiba. “You’re wearing the ring, Kaiba.” Kaiba looked down at his own hand, as if he had forgotten that he’d put it on and failed to take it off.

“Yeah. And we were outside: there’s no blizzard anymore, Kaiba. It blew over last night. I’m no meteorologist, but you’re definitely cleared to fly.” Joey placed his hands on his hips, pleased with his own argument.

“The ring was unrelated,” Kaiba said, emotionless, glued to the computer screen. Joey rolled his eyes. “And the children have expressed that they’d like me to stay for the holiday. If you will not allow me to, that is a different matter.”

“Of course you can stay, but we need to talk about us. What’s going on here, Kaiba?”

“You’ve made it clear, enough times, that you don’t want me, not in the way that I want you,” Kaiba added, typing speed not diminished in the slightest. “None of that has changed, like you said. And so I don’t know why you are bothering me, now.”

Jou shifted slightly in his chair, his stomach tuning over. Sitting next to Kaiba hadn’t given him this sort of anxiety for so long, maybe ever. He was used to hot anger, coursing through his veins, pooling in his fists. This uneasy détente felt simultaneously unsustainable and like the exact tar pit they’d been drowning in for the last three years.

“I don’t know that I meant that. I mean, yeah, in the moment, I meant it. But,” Joey leaned back, trying to reposition himself so that he might be more comfortable. There didn’t seem to be any decent way to sit in his own damn chair. “But it doesn’t mean, you really didn’t change at all. A little. Or that you couldn’t change… enough.”

Kaiba’s typing speed finally slowed, acquiescing to the intensity of the conversation. Frankly, as Kaiba drew one hand to seal the lid of his laptop, Joey was willing to call that a change. He hadn’t even had to literally ask Kaiba to stop working. “Jounouchi. Tell me what you want to hear.”

“Fine.” Joey straightened his shoulders. “I want to know what happened when you went back to Domino.”

There was a long pause.

“I stayed on Mokuba’s couch for three months.” Kaiba crossed his arms defensively.

Joey burst out with warm laughter. Kaiba didn’t blush, but he raised an eyebrow, as if to signal his ex-husband was not being the image of social grace. Maybe he’d forgotten to whom he was married.

“And how’d he like that?” Joey said as his breathing steadied.

“He liked it fine. He has always appreciated my cooking. His fiancé did not.”

And like that, Joey was lost in another cacophony of giggles. “Why didn’t you go back to the manor?”

Kaiba looked away, suddenly fascinated by the crystal decanter that had returned to the end table. “It was… uncomfortable, after all this time. After Mokuba’s partner made her opinion clear—”

“God, I can only imagine what the arguments were like,” Joey smiled again, bright as sunshine.

“It was not pleasant. Obviously, my brother and I are still very close, but there were certain problems that arose—”

Joey leaned back in the chair, and balanced his feet on the coffee table. To the untrained observer, it could have been mistaken for casual. But all of the muscles of his legs were tense, the tendons that collided with the table strung like the strong of a bow. “I bet I can guess: you show up at 2 am, you make whatever noise you’re gonna make with no regard for anyone sleeping, you sleep in all day after a couple of all-nighters unpredictably—”

“Yes,” Kaiba said, his voice somewhat soured. “Everything that you hate about me, unsurprisingly was also loathsome to Yui.”

“That’s not… Kaiba its not things I hate about you,” Joey shifted again in the chair, picking at his nailbeds. He looked as if he had been called into the principal’s office again after a fight. “It’s shit that you do, that you choose to do, that’s disrespectful to the people around you. I’m glad to hear that Yui didn’t take it.”

“After a time, you didn’t either, right?” Kaiba responded, the sadness seeping in a little. From the longing glance he shot at the whiskey, the allure of the crystal decanter was strong; the urge to not deal with his ex-husband in this mood, fully sober, was perhaps stronger.

But there was something about Joey’s words that seemed to put up a forcefield around the bottle. “But it doesn’t mean, you really didn’t change at all. A little. Or that you couldn’t change… enough.”

Joey rolled his eyes, pressing fast-forward on the tired argument. “That wasn’t all of it, and we both know that you know better. But just tell me what else happened.”

Kaiba’s sour expression and defensive posture continued. “After that, I got an apartment near the office. I only used the manor in the Summer, when the children came to visit.” Kaiba eyed that bottle once more. “It was disconcerting to be there alone. I thought… that this is what he must have… felt like.”

As if saying his name would have brought him into their life, awakened some other dormant form of him trapped between this world and the Hell he so surely belonged in.

They sat there, soaking in the ghosts of the past a little longer. Joey wasn’t going to say anything to break the silence—he knew from experience that with enough stubbornness, Seto would eventually be forced to say something to change the subject or actually talk about his feelings.

After just a couple of minutes, Joey was proven right.

“Are you really happy working at the daycare?” Kaiba asked.

“How did you—” It was only natural that Kaiba would have Joey at a loss again.

“Yugi is a game developer, you know that he collaborates with Kaiba Corp. We talk… sometimes,” Kaiba said, feigning nonchalance. It was not persuasive. Kaiba’s intensity for everything was too strong. Joey was quite certain he’d never had a casual interest in his entire life.

“Yeah. Things are good,” Joey answered the original question.

Kaiba nodded at the input and reopened the laptop. The glare illuminated the wire framed lenses, hiding any expression within his eyes. “I’m getting back to work.”

Joey considered putting up a fight. But it had been a long enough day. In a move reminiscent of his ex, he rose from his seat wordlessly and went his own way.

#Kaiba Seto #seto kaiba #Jounouchi Katsuya #Joey Wheeler #violetshipping #puppyshipping #yugioh #fanfiction #crossposted on ao3

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knittingdreams · 3 years

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Fireheart - Chapter 18

Short and sweet today because I’m drowning in work! I will update the Masterlist later, I promise! But if you jump down like 2 posts, the link will be there (I know, I’m so lazy, it would have been faster to copy the link rather than type all of this, oops! xD) I’m a weirdo, I know!

Btw, if anyone wants to be tagged when I upload a new chapter, please just say so! I’d be more than happy too! And as promise, here’s my first tag: @tillyrubes10 I hope you love this new chapter! :D

CHAPTER 18

Sidetracking

Sunday was a blurred mix of images in Celaena’s mind, and she wasn’t sure what had been real, and what had been a dream. Waking up in a stranger’s room, she started piecing all the bits of information together, trying to collect as many facts as she could about her situation.

She got up from the bed and had a drink of water from the bedside table. There were a couple of blisters with painkillers, and she decided to take just one more to blur the pain and help her focus. She was done with feeling weak and useless. Her phone was also on the night table, connected to a charger on the wall that wasn’t her own; she was surprised to find it there as she couldn’t remember asking for one.

Looking down at herself, she laughed; she was wearing a pair of male pajama pants with drawings of dinosaurs in all colors and shapes. After checking her phone, she started rushing around and picking up the few belongings that were scattered around the room, and throwing them back into her duffle bag. If she wanted to make it in time to go to school, she’d have to go back to the hotel to get her uniform, shower, get changed, and apply a ton of makeup. Probably too much makeup. Time was barely on her side.

She looked around the room until she finally found a small mirror on the inside of the closet’s door. She looked pale, and the cut on her brow was still swollen, the skin around it was a mixture of green, yellow and purple. She rolled her sore shoulders and then lifted her top to look at the long cut on top of her hip bone; the skin around it felt a little tight, but the redness had almost disappeared and the stitches looked good.

As she heard voices outside the room, she hurried to her bag, grabbed her contacts, and put them on using the small mirror again. Her eyes were still sore from wearing the contacts for way longer than she was supposed to and sleeping with them the night before, but she added some eye drops and hoped it’d do for the moment. She barely remembered taking them off on Sunday and hoped she hadn’t been stupid enough to let any of the guys see her eyes.

Not like they could make anything out of it anyway.

A knock sounded at her door, and it slid open slowly almost as soon as she reached the handle.

“You’re up early,” Fenrys said, sounding surprised.

“Yes, I’m feeling way better.”

“You’re leaving,” he said as his eyes darted around the room and focused on her bag. It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway.

“I am, I need to head to school.” She bit her tongue as soon as the words were out of her mouth. The pain was certainly still messing with her mind, she normally wouldn’t have been so stupid to let such a big piece of information slip out of her mouth.

Fenrys’ eyes didn’t give much away, but his smirk did. “School, huh? Why don’t you join us for breakfast before you go? Connall’s making eggs, and he’s a fine cook.”

“I don’t really have time for-”

“I insist,” Fenrys hooked an arm around her and ushered her out of the room. “What kind of host would I be if I didn’t feed you, right? You haven’t eaten pretty much anything in two days, you need your strength back.” He might have noticed her body going tense at the contact because he let go of her almost as fast as he had grabbed her. “Please?” He added with pleading eyes.

Begrudgingly, she walked with him down the hall and towards the kitchen. It was probably a good idea to gather some information on these people before leaving anyway, and she was famished.

The open plan lounge was small but practical. To her left, there was a couch in front of a small TV that had some blankets and a pillow on top, and two small armchairs. And to the right, a small kitchen and a table with four chairs around it. Connall was cooking on the stove, his back to them, and he barely looked over his shoulder as they walked into the room.

“Morning, brother!” Fenrys chanted happily.

“Hm, morning,” Celaena said, feeling slightly uncomfortable but slowly slipping into the character she had to play.

“Come on, let’s grab a seat,” Fenrys pointed to a chair, and she took a seat, looking around the room discreetly.

“So, it’s just the three of you living here?” She asked, pretending to make small talk.

“Yes, it is. So glad to see that you’re off your defensive horse.”

Celaena glared at him and then softened her look. “I apologize if I caused you any inconveniences or if I was rude. If I’m honest, my memories from what’s happened in the last day and a half are a bit hazy, but I know I owe you one; the stitches look great.”

Fenrys’ smile spread wide on his face as he looked at her up and down as if trying to check how well she was feeling.

“You’re welcome, I’m glad you're feeling better. You have some color back on your cheeks... If you wanted to pay me back, you could always stay for a while longer, so I can make sure you’re properly healed.”

“I do feel almost back to my normal self,” Celaena shook her head, and Fenrys sighed as he smiled warmly at her.

“You are so much stronger than what meets the eyes, you know that, right? I think you might be the bravest teen I have ever encountered, you almost had those guys back at the alley.” He said encouragingly.

Connall came over with two plates full of scrambled eggs and toast then, and put one in front of each of them, then returned to the stove and came back a moment later with his own plate, and a tray full of crispy bacon. Celaena was glad for the interruption as everybody looked at the food in awe.

“Bon appétit," Fenrys lifted a glass of orange juice as if doing a toast.

“Thanks, Connall, and thank you too, Fenrys.”

“Eat up,” Fenrys grabbed a forkful of eggs, and Celaena followed suit.

The eggs were delicious, and considering how hungry she was, she ate her whole plate without paying much attention to anything going on around her. Once she was done, she looked up, only to find both Fenrys and Connall staring at her.

“Do you want some more?” Connall asked jokingly, a half-smile showing on his face for the first time.

“Is there any more?” She asked softly, making both brothers laugh. Connall went over to the counter and returned with a new plate full of eggs and fresh bread.

“It was meant to be for Rowan, but he’s taking too long on the 24/7, so you can have it. I’ll make him more later.” He slid the plate in front of her, and Celaena grabbed a mouthful of egg, aware of Fenrys’ eyes still on her.

“So, school, huh?”

She looked up at him through her lashes and shook her head.

“I think you’re smart enough to know I won't tell you anything about it.”

Fenrys’ laughed out loud while Connall collected the empty plates and headed towards the sink. There were only a bunch of schools in the city, but they were enough for them to have to actively search if they wanted to find out which one she attended.

“Girl, I don’t even know your name.”

“And that’s how it’s meant to remain. I need to leave, and you should forget any of this ever happened.”

“Are you sure you're feeling good enough to leave? I honestly don’t think you should be going to school, you need to rest and take care of those stitches. Do I need to remind you that you lost a lot of blood?”

“Trust me, I remember.”

Her eyes dropped back down to her plate as she ate slower now, the memories of everything that had happened catching back with her. She had been careless and stupid, she should have never allowed Cain to get so close to her, to make her so vulnerable. She didn’t want to admit it, but she was lucky Fenrys had seen them and stepped in; she didn’t want to imagine what would have happened if he didn’t.

When they heard the front door open, they both turned around and found Rowan standing under the threshold, his hands full of grocery bags.

“What the fuck is this?” He dropped the bags to the floor and slammed the door shut behind him.

Celaena jumped to her feet on instinct, and Fenrys walked forward, standing almost in front of her. “What’s wrong, Rowan?”

“What’s wrong?” Rowan yelled back. He stormed towards them and pushed Fenrys with a palm against his chest. “Couldn’t you have given her any other fucking seat?”

Celaena watched them confused as Fenrys’ expression changed, his eyes dropping and his palms raising. “I’m sorry mate, I didn’t… didn’t think about it.”

Rowan’s cheeks were bright red, one fist clenched by his side, and the other grabbing a fistful of Fenrys’ shirt. Celaena cleared her throat lightly, and Rowan turned to her as if remembering she was standing there. His eyes traveled down to the pajama pants she was wearing, and if she didn’t know the guy better, she would have thought his eyes were filling up with tears. He let go of Fenrys and, pushing him to the side, stormed towards the hallway.

“Fuck.” Fenrys ran after him, leaving Celaena standing on the spot, speechless and confused. He disappeared down the hall, and then she heard the knocking on a door, a door opening and closing, and muffled yelling as Fenrys and Rowan argued behind closed doors, possibly in Rowan’s bedroom.

Connall showed up by her side, and she looked at him questioningly. “What was that about?” He shook his head and pointed to the bags by the door.

“Help me with the groceries.”

She followed him as they picked up the bags, took them to the kitchen counter, and started unpacking all the food. They worked in silence for a while, the muffled argument in the distance going quieter and quieter until Connall sighed and looked at her.

“You were sitting on her seat,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“Who’s seat?”

“Rowan’s ex.”

“Oh, okay.” Confused, Celaena got a bunch of bananas out of a bag and passed them over to Connall, who set them on a fruit bowl and turned around to get some cans out of another bag.

“So, what’s the deal? Is the seat sacred or something?” She grabbed the last of the apples from the bag and set them on the fruit bowl. Connall poked his head out of the pantry, looking at her with his characteristic nonchalant expression.

“She’s dead.”

Celaena’s jaw dropped, Connall’s head disappeared back behind the pantry’s door, and as if on queue, Rowan walked into the room. There was an awkward silence as Celaena held an empty bag in her hands, and Rowan just stood there in front of the hallway door, looking at her. As she opened her mouth to say something, anything, Fenrys showed up behind Rowan and set a hand hard on his shoulder.

“My mate here wanted to apologize for overreacting,” he said, a huge smile on his face. Rowan scoffed and rolled his eyes, but then looked at her, nodding lightly.

“I’m sorry for overreacting,” Rowan said, nonchalant.

“And… for being a moody prick?” Fenrys spur him on, making Rowan roll his eyes again.

“And for being a moody prick.” Rowan’s right corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly.

“Apology accepted.” Celaena had to admit, she almost liked Fenrys and his way of dealing with things. But her time was over, and she needed to hurry and head to the hotel if she wanted to have enough time to do her makeup. There was probably no useful information within the apartment, nothing worth her time. “Now, it’s my time to head out.”

“Don’t forget to return Rowan his pajamas before you go.” Fenrys winked at her, and Celaena darted out of the kitchen, pushing the guys to the side as she passed the door and headed back to the bedroom. Rowan’s pajamas? She remembered then, barely, how Rowan had given her some of his clothes the day before. Had he been in the bathroom with her? She shook her head dismissing the crazy memory of Rowan helping her, that part surely must have been a dream.

Celaena got her bag, and as she was about to head out of the room, her phone rang. It was Sam’s name on the screen.

“Cortland.”

“Hey, you’ve been MIA this weekend, I expected to hear more about the fight. Should I pop into the hotel before school?”

“I don’t think so, I’m running late and will be just in time for class.”

“Oh, okay. Any new developments I should hear about? I’ve heard from Arobynn, he’ll be out of town all week again, I think he’s headed over to Terrasen.”

“Not much, really. Look, can’t talk right now, gotta go.” She hung up, fixed her bag over her shoulder, and walked towards the lounge.

All three flatmates were sitting on the couches as she approached. “Okay, thanks for your hospitality, but I guess this is goodbye.”

As Fenrys stood up, a loud knock sounded on the front door. Fenrys’ eyes widened, Rowan jumped to his feet, and Connall raised his eyebrows.

“You,” Fenrys mouthed to Rowan as he pointed at her.

Rowan walked quickly to her side and pushed her gently with a hand in the small of her back. He led her towards the room on the back of the hall as she heard Fenrys calling ‘coming’ while he walked loudly around the lounge.

Rowan left the door ajar as he leaned in, his ear against the gap.

“Hey, how can I help you?” Fenrys’ voice reached them from the entrance.

“I have a message for you all,” an unknown male voice replied. It sounded deep but young.

“What is Lorcan Salvaterre doing here?” Rowan murmured to himself, and Celaena stepped back, the school database popping in her head as the name rang a bell.

#fireheart #chapter eighteen #tog fanfic #throne of glass fandom #aelin #rowan #fenrys #lorcan #connall

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lithugraph · 3 years

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Ok I know y'all are thirsty for it, so I'm posting the first part of chapter 5 from The Book Smuggler here. There are still two more parts left to write. I've got the second part about halfway done. And I do feel bad it's taken me so long, I was on such a roll with this fic but this chapter was like hitting a brick wall because

Tilsit, East Prussia, 1863

The inn stood just off the market square, on a narrow street meandering carelessly down to the river. The plaster and timber frame sunk inward, as if the walls were in dire need of repair. They probably were, thought Eduard, as he eyed the building apprehensively, the way it slouched against the ones surrounding it, as if they were the only thing holding it up.

He pushed his glasses up his nose. This hardly seemed like a place his cousin would have chosen. Himself, on the other hand...well, he’d stayed in worse.

Eduard dug the telegram out of his pocket and checked the address again. It was right — this was the place. He flipped the card over as if it could offer up something else — some other clue as to why his cousin was staying — in Tilsit, of all places — at an inn that looked ready to collapse in on itself. But the back of the telegram was maddeningly blank.

Eduard sighed, adjusted the suitcase in his hand, and entered.

A surly-looking barman led him up a winding set of stairs to the top floor. Eduard had to duck his head to keep from knocking it against the sloping roof.

Tauras’ room was the third door on the right.

Eduard thanked the barman, then ensuring he was alone in the hallway, took a moment to compose himself — smoothing jacket lapels and flattening hair and cleaning glasses — and drew a deep, steadying breath. Though they corresponded regularly, it had been a few years since he’d last seen Tauras. And though Eduard had no qualms regarding sharing his exploits in letters, he certainly did not want to look the part of a con artist thief. He wanted to look every bit as respectable — as noble — as Tauras had.

Chin up, eyes down, mouth set. Eduard lifted a hand. And knocked.

The face that greeted him, though, was not the one he remembered.

When they were boys, Tauras had been a field of grass on a summer day, warm and vibrant. That spirit had since left him, and he just seemed...hollowed out. Tauras was thin, his shoulders rounded. A shadow hung behind his eyes — eyes that would not look at Eduard, but around him, through him.

Eduard’s lofty guise melted at the sight of his cousin. He set his suitcase down just inside the door and scooped Tauras into a tight embrace.

Air hissed through Tauras’ teeth, his shoulders tensed.

Eduard let go and stepped back, alarmed. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine,” Tauras said — and Eduard could not help notice the quaver in his voice, nor the pained look creasing his brow.

“No, you’re not.”

“I said I’m fine, Ed.”

Eduard studied him — the shadow lurking in his eyes, the subtle way his shoulders shifted up and down. He noted the shirt, the coarse cotton weave unlike the finer cloth he had last seen his cousin wearing.

Eduard frowned. “What happened to you?” he asked softly.

Tauras raked a hand through his disheveled hair, shaking his head. “I need a drink,” he muttered as he shouldered past his cousin, descending to the bar below.

Eduard followed him down the stairs, eyes catching on the faint, rust-colored lines hatching across the back of Tauras’ shirt.

They sat at a small table near a window, the glass fogged from tobacco smoke and factory soot. The city beyond looked just as dulled under a hazy summer sky. The surly barman that had shown Eduard upstairs brought over two clay mugs of beer, all but throwing them onto the table.

“Welcome to Prussia,” Eduard said under his breath as the barman stalked off. He picked up his mug, drinking a long draught.

Moments later, a young woman brought over two bowls of stew and a loaf of rye bread. Eduard flashed her a smile out of habit. She returned it, cheeks reddening as he gave her a swift, appraising look over, but she had nothing on her worth pick-pocketing. He turned back to Tauras, who was idly stirring his stew.

“So,” Eduard said, “Tilsit. Are you going to tell me what’s going on? Why the hell you’re here” — he glanced around — “in this hovel of an inn? The last thing I heard from you, you were at the seminary. And don’t you dare tell me you’ve come here to minister to these people. I know priests take a vow of poverty and everything, but the last time I checked, they don’t dress like workmen. You can’t lie to a conman, cousin. Lies are what I do for a living, and yours are terrible.”

“I’m not a priest,” Tauras said quietly.

Eduard’s mouth settled into a thin line, his eyes blazing behind his glasses. Corresponding for years in letters had made him forget just how obstinate his cousin could be. Because letters could be edited. That part of yourself you did not wish to show could be hidden, buried with words — or else removed completely.

“You asked me to come here,” he pressed. “The least you could do is tell me why.”

“Is it wrong of me to want to see a familiar face?”

Eduard folded his arms. “Stop avoiding the question.”

Tauras’ eyes drifted up to lock on his cousin’s. Eduard felt himself shrink away at the look they held. Tauras flicked his gaze around the bar, but they were its only occupants. The barmaid had gone back to the kitchen, and the man was nowhere to be seen.

“I left the seminary, and I can’t go back home. That’s all you need to know.”

Eduard scowled, drinking his beer. It was just like when they were boys. Tauras, the leader; Eduard, following his every word. Tauras, the nobleman’s son; Eduard, the bastard-child-turned-serving-boy, following his master’s orders. They would never be equals, no matter how much Tauras had promised it when they were younger. Whether he knew it or not, Tauras still behaved much like the entitled boy he was raised to be, believing his word was final.

“You plan to stay here, then?” Eduard asked, a cutting edge to his voice.

“Yes. I don’t have much of a choice.”

Eduard arched a brow, finishing his beer. “Don’t you? You could have gone anywhere — Berlin, Munich— but you chose Tilsit and can’t even deign to tell me why.” He pulled his bowl of stew closer, tearing a piece of bread from the loaf and dipped it in, watching his cousin. “What does your family think, of you living here?”

“They don’t know. For all I know, they still think I’m at the seminary, or — ” Tauras broke off, shaking his head. The shadow was back, behind his eyes. He drank deeply from his beer mug.

“There are other Lithuanians here,” Tauras continued, as if to himself. “I just need to make contact. They’ll have ways of knowing what’s happening back home.”

Eduard’s eyes narrowed as he slowly chewed his bread. Pieces of the puzzle were gradually falling into place. “You’re talking as if...this is something permanent.”

Tauras looked at him a moment, as if disbelieving his cousin could really be that obtuse. “I already told you: I can’t go back home.”

“No, I know that, but it’s just...I’m trying to understand — and help you understand — whatever’s happened, you’re on your own now. Do you know what that means, truly?”

“Yes — “

“Then what’s your plan?” Eduard asked, tipping his chin back. A challenge. For once, he had the upper hand. For once, his cousin would have to listen to him.

“I have money. It’s not much, but it’ll support me until I can find work.”

Eduard shook his head. “Unfortunately, it’s not as simple as you make it sound. Be honest with yourself — you haven’t worked a day in your life. What skills do you have? What experience? You can paint and draw, play piano, speak four languages — that’s fine for impressing the ladies and gentlemen of society, but you’re not in that world anymore.”

Tauras bristled. “I haven’t been in that world for the past three years, or have you forgotten?”

“I’d hardly count the seminary as useful,” Eduard retorted, “unless you plan to join a monastery.”

“You know nothing of where I’ve been or what I’ve done — “ Tauras’ teeth clacked together as he cut himself off mid-sentence. He shoved himself up from the table. “This was a mistake.” He turned and stormed out of the inn.

“Shit,” Eduard sighed. He adjusted his glasses and stood, tossing a few coins onto the table for their meal, then left to find his cousin.

Tauras was seated on the banks of the Memel, elbows resting on his knees, staring across the river. He turned, hearing the crunch of sandy gravel behind him.

“You always did like the water,” Eduard remarked, hands resting in his pockets. “I remember following you through the woods to the stream when we were younger. And Nanny finding us and scolding us every single time.”

Tauras bowed his head, a faint smile softening the hard edges of his face. “She should have known not to sit on the terrace when she took us outside. The sun always made her fall asleep, and we’d always sneak away then.”

Eduard chuckled at the memory. He sat down beside his cousin. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you back there. We’ve always been honest with each other. But something’s changed that.”

Tauras swallowed, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. “It’s not your fault. I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted to see a familiar face. I did — I do. But seeing you — here — all of a sudden...it made everything seem too real. Everything that’s happened the past few days...it feels like it belongs to someone else’s life, not mine.”

“What has happened?” Eduard asked gently.

Tauras looked at his cousin, his face stricken. “I was caught, Ed.”

Eduard’s brow furrowed. “You mean like — like last time, when your brother — “

Tauras shook his head, a wry smile twisting his lips. “No. Nothing like that. Though I’m sure I’ve only further disgraced myself, as far as my father is concerned.” He picked up a rock, thumb brushing over its smooth, worn surface. “I’m a traitor to the empire. I was arrested and punished as such. And that’s what I mean when I say I can’t go home. If I do, I’ll just be arrested again — only this time I’m sure my sentence won’t be as lenient as a whipping and a train ride to Siberia.”

Eduard’s face paled under the waning afternoon sun. His eyes flicked to his cousin’s back, to the faint marks on his shirt.

Tauras’ shoulders shifted. “And that’s not even the worst of it,” he said, casting a sidelong glance at his cousin. “I left the seminary and joined the uprising. We thought we could overthrow the empire and get our country back. It sounds so foolish to say now, but....” His voice trailed away, eyes growing distant. “It was such a simple plan. We ambushed them, these Russians soldiers — my squadron did — and one of them was right there in my sights but I...I c-couldn’t — I couldn’t shoot him.”

“I ran, Ed,” he rasped. “I turned and I ran, and now they’re dead because of me. I failed my country just as I failed my men.”

They sat in silence, listening to the steady trickle of the river as it gently flowed by the bank.

“I tried to cross the border,” Tauras continued, voice thick, “but a Russian soldier recognized me — one of the ones from the ambush. I was brought to the customs house in Tauragė and sentenced to Kara. Needless to say, I escaped. I hid in the back of a wagon and crossed into Prussia four days ago. Though...there’s a part of me that thinks I should have stayed — stayed and...finished my sentence instead of running again. I owe my men that much, at least.”

Tauras let the rock fall from his hand. Eduard placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Words of assurance, of comfort, clung to the tip of his tongue, but he knew it would do his cousin no good to hear them just now. They would sound empty and trite compared to the immeasurable guilt Tauras sought to atone for. Sometimes, the only thing you could do was sit with someone and watch the water.

Eduard went for a walk around Tilsit later that evening. If Tauras did indeed plan to make this city his new home, they would need better lodgings. Eduard included himself in that measure because, as he told his cousin, he may have worn out his welcome in Chemnitz. Actually most of Saxony, really. So he set out, scouting the rest of the city to see where they might feasibly purchase accommodations. Tauras told him of the money he’d managed to get from the estate. Paired with Eduard’s share from his last con, they would be able to live decently for a few months. But there was still the problem of work. Tauras would need a job and Eduard would need to make contacts as soon as possible. Though he would need to use discretion — Tilsit was nowhere near as big as the cities in Saxony — and his cousin would not appreciate being run out of town after only having just arrived.

Most of the Lithuanian population clustered around the riverfront or around the Lithuanian church further inland. Eduard took this information back to his cousin, along with noting a few help wanted signs hanging in windows near their vicinity.

When he got back to their room, he found Tauras standing in front of the dresser mirror. A basin of water rested on a table nearby. Tauras had removed his shirt and was gingerly cleaning the cuts criss-crossing his back, shoulders tensing as he caught sight of his cousin, reflected in the mirror.

Eduard lowered his head, averting his gaze. “Sorry. I...guess I should have knocked first.”

Tauras simply stared back — that same hollow stare from earlier. All sound seemed to be sucked from the room, save for the steady drip of water from the rag in his hand as he squeezed it over the basin.

“I, um, might have something for that,” Eduard said, eyes flicking up to his cousin’s, then back down.

The tension eased from Tauras. He lowered the rag, giving a near imperceptible nod of his head.

Eduard went to his suitcase, his movements stiff, limbs feeling like they belonged to someone else and not him. He knelt and flicked open the latches, taking a moment to collect himself as he lifted the lid, uncomfortably aware of his cousin watching him the whole time. There, resting on top, was a black leather case. Eduard took it out and set it on the bed, making a quick rummage through it.

“You travel with a medical kit?” Tauras asked.

“I travel with everything all the time,” Eduard said, trying to keep his voice light. “You never know when you’ll have to pretend to be a surgeon.” He spun around, holding up a roll of dressing and a container of salve.

The curiously amused expression Tauras wore as he watched his cousin shifted and became closed once again. Like a cloud passing over the sun, Eduard thought.

Tauras wordlessly approached and sat on the bed. Eduard patted his back dry with a clean cloth and began applying the salve. It had a woody smell, and he’d used it before to treat everything from scrapes and boils to eczema — much to his former patients’ satisfaction. He often thought if he had been able to keep with his schooling, he would have liked to become a doctor. A real doctor. It was probably why he spent so many years watching and imitating them, pretending to be them — and stealing whatever medical instrument he could get his hands on.

Eduard applied the dressing once he was finished with the salve, his eyes catching on the small golden cross around his cousin’s neck. He remembered the letter Tauras had sent him, almost a year after he had left boarding school. They were both sixteen and Tauras was absolutely besotted with his best friend from childhood. Eduard had already known this. Had known long before his cousin knew it himself, from the way Tauras would talk of Feliks in his letters to Eduard.

“Do you still think of him?” Eduard asked, nodding at the cross.

“Sometimes.” A sad smile passed over Tauras’ lips. “I suppose I was lucky my father sent me to Kaunas instead of forcing me into the imperial army, like Feliks’ father did to him.” He reached up, closing his hand around the cross. “Mostly though, I just hope he’s safe.”

And that’s it for now! It hasn’t been fully proofed yet, but I hope you enjoyed it so far and I’m sorry for the long wait! The rest of the chapter is in the works and who knows, maybe it’ll be up by the end of February??

#hetalia #aph fanfiction #my fic #the book smuggler #aph lithuania #aph estonia #aph poland #hws lithuania #hws estonia #hws poland

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7-wonders · 5 years

Text

Creature of the Night

Summary: Michael indulges one of your secret fantasies on Halloween.

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Happy Halloween, witches! A special vampire Michael Langdon fic, just for you!

Warnings for dub-con (it’s established that this is consensual and something that reader wants before the scenario), sex, blood, vampires, unprotected sex

Music pumps through the speakers set up at each corner of a dance floor, the heavy bass being felt in even the bartender’s chest. Flashing, strobing lights cast a variety of colors and patterns across every open surface. The club is packed with people, all dressed in their best costumes for Halloween festivities and dancing through the night where the veil separating the living from the dead is at its thinnest.

Little do they know, the undead walks among them.

You can feel that he’s watching you even before you’ve turned around to search the crowd for his face, the familiar feeling of heat boring into your shoulder blades becoming more uncomfortable the longer you ignore it. Even when you scan the room for any sight of him, it still takes a minute to locate him. You feel a tap on your shoulder and turn back to your drink, ready to tell whoever it is that you’re not interested, that you come face-to-face with the man you’ve been looking for.

He’s gone all out for tonight, the one night of the year where he can dress as gothically Victorian as he’d like and not be seen as out of place. His cloak has elaborate silver embroidery lining the edges, the collar of his silk black shirt still remaining high even with his top buttons undone. His eye makeup is even more dramatic than normal, and you’re pretty proud of the red smokey eye you managed to pull off for him. His long blond hair is effortlessly wavy, the ends reaching just past his shoulders. Tonight, he’s certainly earned his nickname of ‘Lestat.’

“You look lonely,” he comments, choosing to stand instead of taking a seat on the barstool next to you.

“Sorry, I’m actually waiting for someone.” You’re apologetic, and he stares at you with narrowed eyes for a long moment before grinning dangerously, white fangs glinting in the multicolored lighting.

The idea for this little...scene had originally come around accidentally. You were laying in Michael’s arms after a particularly eventful experience involving candle wax (who knew that could be so sexy?) when he gently said, “you know, if there’s anything you would like to try sexually, you don’t have to be afraid to ask.”

You had shifted to look up at him, biting your lip as you nervously thought whether or not you should bring up what had been on your mind.

“There is something, then?” Michael had asked with a smirk.

“Well,” you trailed off, embarrassed. “I just...think it would…” you hid your face in his chest, hoping your next words would be muffled, “be kinda sexy if you were to seduce and compel me like I was one of your victims.”

He heard you loud and clear, however, and his chest swelled with a dark arousal. “As in, we pretend we don’t know each other and you’re my next meal?”

You wrinkled your nose in shame, but nodded nonetheless. “I know it’s dumb, and you probably have no interest in it, but--”

“Your assumptions, my love, are wrong.” Heat pooled in your lower abdomen.

“Really?” you had squeaked out. He chose to remain silent, simply raising an eyebrow at you and leaning down to nip at your throat.

Although he hadn’t explicitly told you that tonight would be the night, you had gotten the assumption that it was when he insisted you go without him, and that he would meet you later. And when you saw him, you just couldn’t resist playing dumb.

“Well surely I can wait with you,” he says haughtily. “After all, a beautiful woman such as yourself shouldn’t be alone. One never knows what could happen.”

You shrug, gesturing to the empty seat next to you with the glass in your hand. “Nice costume, by the way, you make a very realistic vampire…” you trail off.

“Michael,” he supplies.

“You make a very realistic vampire, Michael.”

“And what are you supposed to be…?”

“(Y/N).”

“(Y/N).” Your name rolls off of his tongue, sending shivers down your spine. “You don’t seem to be wearing a costume.”

“When you’re Buffy the Vampire Slayer, that’s the point,” you tease. In reality, you look more like Mina from the original Dracula movie with your long, flowing dress and perfectly painted lips, but you can’t pass up the opportunity to talk about being a vampire slayer to an actual vampire.

“Hmm, and where’s your stake and holy water, Miss Slayer?” He leans his head down just slightly so that he’s almost at eye level with you.

You drop to a whisper. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Michael runs his tongue over his fangs, carefully deciding his next move. “Why don’t you come outside with me, and you can show me?”

“I already told you, Michael, I’m waiting for a friend. I’m sorry.”

He takes your chin in his hand, forcing you to look at him. Your lips part just slightly when his thumb swipes over your bottom lip, but other than that you remain still. His eyes dilate rapidly, and your heart speeds up when you realize that the feeling of fuzziness creeping in your mind is the beginning of Michael’s compulsion. You want to look away just to make sure that this isn’t just your mind psyching you out, but your eyes are locked onto Michael’s.

It feels near dreamlike as your mind starts to feel more and more like it’s full of cotton. Everything is subdued, except for the man in front of you. He’s vividly real, and everything about him sets your senses on fire.

“How do you feel, (Y/N)?” Michael asks softly, smiling at your enraptured gaze and disoriented eyes.

“‘M fine,” you mumble, breathing slower as you fall further under Michael’s compulsion.

“Good,” he coos. Although this is fun and erotic for both of you, he would never want you to be unsafe. “Now, you’re going to come outside with me, and you’re not going to fight. Isn’t that right?”

“I won’t fight you,” you reply breathily, responding to Michael’s question almost immediately.

He lets go of your jaw, but your eyes still remain locked on him as he grabs your hand and helps you to stand from the stool. You’re a little wobbly, knees feeling as if they’ll give out at any second from the lack of control you’re experiencing right now, so Michael’s other hand goes to your waist to help keep you upright. You don’t quite remember the way that Michael takes to get out of the club, the lights and sounds disorienting you further, but suddenly your back is pressed up against the concrete wall of the alley directly outside of the club.

Your arousal is near-instantaneous, causing you to clench your thighs together as Michael begins to kiss you like he’s wanted to since he first saw you from across the club. Even under the compulsion you still have some semblance of free-will, so you’re able to grab at the collar of Michael’s shirt and pull him even closer to you. Michael hitches your right leg above his waist, grinding his hips against yours. When he nicks your lip with his fang, drawing a few beads of blood to the surface, you gasp and moan his name.

“I’ve wanted to fucking devour you all night, love. If it weren’t for that club full of people I would have just taken you right on the bar.” He smirks at your pleased whimper. “You’d like that though, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.” You don’t know if it’s the compulsion or just your own mind, but the answer doesn’t warrant more than a passing thought.

“Good girl,” he praises, kissing down your neck and paying extra special attention to the pulse point at the juncture of your neck and your shoulder.

His large hands go to your legs, grabbing at the fabric of your dress to push it up past your thighs (no panties, of course; he had told you not to wear any, and you would never disobey him). For a moment, Michael lets his gaze wander back up your body, and he takes in your wide, blown-out eyes and flushed expression with an admiring smile.

“Get my belt for me, (Y/N), I know you’re desperate to get those little hands of yours on something.”

He has to admit that watching you fulfill his commands with no sort of hesitation, unable to resist even if you tried, has him harder than he’s been in a while. Michael chokes back a moan when you pull his erection out of his pants, the material against his sensitive skin already making him buck his hips forward. You try to sink to your knees, to pleasure him the way you know how, but he stops you.

“No, baby. I’m going to fuck you right here, against the wall, because isn’t that what you want?”

“Please, Michael, I need you so bad,” you whine, letting Michael lift your other leg up around his waist so that his firm hands on your ass and the wall behind you are the only things keeping you upright.

“I know you do.” He forgets himself momentarily as he roughly thrusts into you, and for a second he worries that he’s hurt you, but the way your head falls back against the wall and your cunt clenches around him let him know that you’re enjoying this just as much as he is.

Michael begins to ruthlessly snap his hips against yours, pulling almost all the way out before thrusting back into you. Your nails dig into the cloak that he’s wearing as you grip his shoulders, weakly attempting to meet each and every thrust. It’s a hopeless endeavor, as it’s always been, to keep up with him, so finally you just let him have his way with you.

It’s like you’re being split in half with how thick Michael is and the brutal pace that he sets. It would be almost painful if his length didn’t hit you in just the right spot every thrust. You lay kisses all over his face as he drills his hips into you, needing to show your affection in some way.

When Michael’s hand wraps around your throat and pushes you back against the wall, you gasp in excitement. He’s truly not messing around tonight, and you love it.

His eyes are bright red when you make eye contact with him again, black veins extending down his face and onto his cheeks. “I’m going to bite you,” he growls, giving you barely any warning before sinking his teeth into your neck.

No matter how many times you allow Michael to bite you, the surprising amount of arousal you feel from the immediate bite still catches you off-guard You and Michael groan simultaneously, his heart syncing with yours causing you to feel everything that he does. This combination of what you’re both experiencing is overwhelming, and an accidental brush of Michael’s cloak against your clit has you cumming harshly with a loud whine.

You call out Michael’s name like a prayer as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, moaning against your neck when his own hits him and has him spilling inside of you. Even after he’s fully spent, he continues to drink from you desperately. It’s only when your heart starts to beat faster and your breathing quickens that he releases you. He’s pleasantly surprised to hear you moan and cum again when he lets go of your neck, the final rush of arousal from both of you sending your exhausted body over the edge.

Michael’s gentle with you as he unwraps your legs from around his waist, holding you to him as the dizziness from cumming and losing blood overtakes you. “You did so well, love. Are you okay?”

You smile at him, nodding tiredly and looking at him with heavy lids. “I’m better than I’ve ever been.”

“And you’re feeling okay after the compulsion? That can be tough on some people.” Michael had released you from his compulsion when he came, too much happening at once for him to focus on keeping you under.

“Michael, it was magical. Thank you for this.”

“If this is what all your hidden kinks are like, I’m more than happy to help you explore them.” Once you both look presentable and like you didn’t just fuck in a dark alley, Michael leads you towards the street. “Let’s go and find you some Halloween candy to make sure you don’t pass out.”

Tag List: @nana15774 @queencocoakimmie @sammythankyou @girlycakepops @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @lichellaw @ajokeformur-ray @pastel-cloudz @ultragibbycentralworld @grim-adventures58 @dandycandy75 @langdonslove @tcc-gizmachine @starwlkers @jimmlangdon @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @1-800-bitchcraft @venusxxlangdon @storminmytwistedmind @lvngdvns @ccodyfern @wroteclassicaly @divinelangdon @forgetting5sos @antichristwrites @michaelsapostle @izuniias

#vampire!michael #michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x you #american horror story #american horror story imagine #american horror story apocalypse #AHS #ahs imagine #ahs imagines #ahs apocalypse

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joontopia · 4 years

Text

Evolver: Chapter 2

pairing: namjoon x reader, jimin x oc, jin x reader

genre: mafia!au, evolver!au, superpower!au, soulmate!au with angst, smut, & violence

word count: 9.6k

warnings: nsfw, cursing, soft dom!joon, bratty!reader

You stood there beside your father with your arms crossed, still smirking at the blonde haired boy standing in between Won-ho and Jin. You enjoyed the look of shock and embarrassment still apparent on his face after finding out who you are. He was cute, handsome even. The thought of his hands on your body excited you and you found yourself wanting to draw closer to him. The little show he had playing in his head of the things he wanted to do to you only piqued your interest in him and you found yourself continuing his thought process in your own mind, wondering how his lips would feel on yours.

“Hmm, I wouldn’t mind having some fun with you either, Pretty Boy,” you thought to yourself. Before you let yourself get too lost in your thoughts, you reminded yourself why you were here.

“What are you hiding in that gorgeous head of yours…” You looked back up at Namjoon, cheeks still slightly flushed from embarrassment. He blinked a few times, still staring at you, before clearing his throat.

“I’m Kim Namjoon. Won-ho’s nephew on his brother’s side. It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N,” Namjoon said while he placed his hands in his pants pockets, giving you a beautiful smile that made his dimples pop out from his cheeks.

“Holy fuck, that’s cute.”

You felt your cheeks flush from the sight of him. You couldn’t deny it to yourself. You were very, very attracted to Namjoon. You took a few seconds to finally look him up and down. He was dressed in a black suit with a white button-up shirt underneath his blazer. Long blonde hair slicked back just a little out of his face. Just slightly taller than Jin, his shoulders were not as wide but you can still tell he had a very nice build under his clothes. You involuntarily licked your lips as your eyes trailed up his long legs and torso. Once your eyes met his again, you noticed a smirk now on his face, one of his eyebrows raised while looking back at you. The shock and embarrassment gone, now replaced with confidence and dominance.

While still staring at each other, you peeked back into his mind. You were met with an image of you pinned under him on a bed, one hand securing both your arms above your head by your wrist. The other roaming your body again, making its way down to your hips while one of his legs spreads yours apart. Your lips part just slightly, feeling yourself becoming aroused by the way he’s roughly handling you in his mind. You keep your eyes locked on his, holding his gaze and daring him to continue. You practically forget where you are, not realizing everyone’s eyes were watching the both of you. You and Namjoon start to unconsciously take a step towards each other, while Jin, who was still standing next to Namjoon, was looking back and forth between you two. You didn’t even notice him until he cleared his throat and spoke to you, breaking your concentration on his cousin to look at him.

“So how was your trip, Y/N? Didn’t think you were going to make it back in time,” Jin said, giving you a big smile.

“It was good. Cut short but I was able to get done what I needed to do. Did you miss me, Jinnie?” You gave him a wink and watched his ears turn red as he smiled again and looked away from you.

“Well…” Won-ho spoke as he took a seat in the armchair next to him, “Now that we are all acquainted, let's get started, shall we?”

Jin went to go stand on the right side of his father while your own father took a seat in his armchair across the way from Won-ho. You felt eyes on you and turned to look at Namjoon, who was still staring at you. Your father went to speak, but you weren’t in the slightest bit interested in what he had to say. Too preoccupied with the deliciously dirty thoughts of you floating through Namjoon’s head. You held his gaze again, watching as he now showed you images of having you blindfolded, hands tied to a bed frame as he’s tracing your entire body with an ice cube followed by his tongue. You felt a shiver go up your spine, mentally experiencing the sensation. You continued to stare at him as he continued with the thought in his head, further trailing the ice cube down your stomach and between your thighs. You involuntarily squirm on the spot, shifting your weight from one leg to the other. Namjoon, noticing you fidget, smirks and clears the image from his mind, not allowing you to see what more he was going to do, much to your annoyance.

“What a fucking tease,” you thought as the sides of your lips turned down into a slight frown. Your eyes started to shift towards your father and Won-ho, intending to get caught up on the current conversation when you see Namjoon slightly tilt his head out of the corner of your eye. You turn back to him, still looking at you as more images start to form in his mind, these ones much different than the previous two he shared with you.

You saw yourself sitting on a bed, the covers slightly thrown off to the side, legs wrapped around Namjoon as he pulled you close. Your hands lightly placed on his bare chest while you were wearing nothing but his button up. Your foreheads were leaning against each other as he leaned in to place a soft kiss on the tip of your nose. The intimacy of the moment made your cheeks flush pink. The scene suddenly changed in his mind. This time the two of you were sitting at a small table covered in a white cloth while a waiter poured two glasses of wine. A delicious looking slice of Tiramisu on the table between you. Your hand reached for his across the table as he interlaced his fingers with yours. The look he had on himself in his mind was so loving, the way he was staring at you. The real you broke eye contact with Namjoon, looking down to the floor. The scene in his mind changed again. You watched as he watched you in his mind, walking down a nature path lined with blooming cherry blossom trees. You watched as you turned around and smiled at him, giggling as you reached for him and pulled him close for a kiss.

You felt your cheeks flush again. “Pull yourself together, Y/N. Don’t let him get to you,” you thought to yourself. “Find his secret. Do it now while he’s distracted.” You snapped your eyes back up to meet Namjoon’s. Looking past the scenes he had playing for you in his head, you dived into his memories. Flipping through his memories like a picture book, you didn’t have to go far to find the memory of his earlier car ride with his uncle and cousin. You watched the memory, listening to the conversation they had in the car. Bingo.

You pulled out of Namjoon’s head and tuned back into the conversation between your father and Won-ho.

“Seojun, my friend. I know you’re growing tired of my requests, but I promise this is the last time. If you say no again, I will honor it,” Won-ho said to your father, a serious look on his face.

“Is this why you brought your nephew up here? Offering him up as another bachelor for my daughter?” Your father asked. Static energy radiating off of him in annoyance to the topic. Won-ho opened his mouth to answer, but you cut him off before he could.

“No. He’s here for another reason,” you said while still looking at Namjoon. All eyes in the room were now back on you. “He’s an evolver. With the power of persuasion.”

“What game are you trying to play at, Won-ho?” Your father asked through gritted teeth. If Won-ho was nervous, he didn’t let it show. His voice was calm and unwavering in his response, even though what he was about to say was a lie.

“No games, Seojun. My nephew has a power that would be more useful up here with us rather than being put to waste in Busan.”

“Don’t you lie to me, Won-ho.” The energy radiating off your father made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. He looked at you, mouth pressed into a hard line. He didn’t even have to say the question he wanted you to answer, nor think it. “Is he lying, girl? Tell me now.”

You looked at your father before looking up past him and making eye contact with your brother. Yoongi shook his head slightly and you gave him a small smile, nose scrunching just a bit before turning and looking at Won-ho. Your eyes start to glow red, diving into Won-ho’s mind. It takes you longer to find his memory of the car ride here, him being very well trained in hiding his thoughts from mind readers like yourself. Once you find it, you bring it to the surface of Won-ho’s mind as he stares, poker-face, back at you, making sure he knew that you were well aware of his intentions before you answered your father’s questions.

“He’s not lying,” you said, eyes still looking at Won-ho. The corner of his lips turned up into a small smirk before looking back at your father. You look up from him to his side and see Seokjin looking at you, giving you a nod of thanks for keeping their intentions quiet.

“Seojun, my friend. You mean to tell me, you still don’t trust me? After all we’ve been through?” Won-ho says with a chuckle. You can feel your father growing even more agitated by the second, the energy radiating off of him causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand.

“I do not have time for your games, Won-ho. This union will not happen,” your father said through gritted teeth, his hands digging into the arms of the chair he was sitting in. You notice his eyes start turning red as a spark goes off in the space between you two, causing you to jump a little to the side. You notice movement out of the corner of your eye and turn to see that Namjoon took a step towards you, a look of concern on his face. You look at him, shaking your head and he stops.

Won-ho, ignoring the obvious tension in the air, continues to press his luck, “Seojun, this would speak volumes in the underground. This would make our stance as the top mafia even stronger.”

“Are you implying that we are weak? Choose your words carefully, Won-ho,” your father said, teeth still gritted together.

“You know that is not what I mean. All this will do is unify our two gangs. My son and your daughter would rule the futu-- “

“ENOUGH!” Your father shouted as he slammed his fist down onto the arm of the chair, eyes glowing a deep blood red. A jolt of lightning shot off from his closed fist and up into the ceiling. You throw your hands to cover your head as you feel small pieces of the ceiling fall on top of you.

You began to raise your head and brush off the dust when you heard Jin yell at you, “Y/N! Look out!”

You look over at Jin who was looking up at the ceiling above you. You hear cracking noises and look up just in time to see the chandelier you were standing under start to fall. Eyes wide, you start to take a step back when you feel someone push you out of the way and fall to the ground on top of you, just as the chandelier crashed onto the ground where you stood just a second before. All of a sudden, a huge burst of energy shot out from you and the person on top of you causing your ears to ring.

“Y/N, can you hear me? Are you okay?” You look up to see Namjoon on top of you, eyes focused on you looking for any signs of pain on your face. You look around to take in what just happened. The chandelier and broken glass are scattered across the room, six feet from where it initially landed. Jin and your brother are picking themselves off the ground by the wall, the burst of energy seeming to have thrown them against it. Your father was standing beside his overturned armchair, glaring at you. Won-ho was knelt on the ground by his armchair in the process of getting up.

“I- I’m fine. What just… How did you…” You couldn’t find the words to finish your sentence as you looked back at Namjoon. It didn’t help how close he was to you, his face inches away from yours. Without thinking, you lifted your hand and went to touch Namjoon’s face, only stopping when a jolt of electricity shot through your arm, causing you to cry out in pain. Knowing exactly where it came from, you look at your father. He was still glaring down at you, eyes back to glowing a deep red. Namjoon moved his body in front of you, trying to block you from any further attacks from your father.

“What have you done, girl?” Your father growled at you, taking a step towards you before Yoongi grabbed his arm, stopping him. You watch as he turns to stare at his son, snatching his arm out of his grip in the process.

“Father, this isn’t her fault. You know that,” Yoongi says, stepping in between your father and you and Namjoon. Your father holds a brief stare down with Yoongi. After a few seconds, you see your father’s eyes turn back to its dark brown. He looks around Yoongi to send you one more glare before turning and walking towards the door. He opens the door to leave but stops as he hears Won-ho chuckle.

“Looks like we’ll be joining together after all, Seojun,” Won-ho says, finally standing up from the ground and brushing off dust from his suit. Your father doesn't respond, only continues his exit and slams the door behind him.

Still laying on the ground, you feel Namjoon stand up off of you. He offers his hand to help you up and you take it, brushing off dust and debris as Yoongi walks over to check on you.

“What the hell was that?” Namjoon asked, looking between you and everyone else still in the room.

Won-ho walks over and pats Namjoon on the back. “That, my boy, was a pairing,” he said before turning to you. “Welcome to the family, sweetheart.” Won-ho gave you a wink and you rolled your eyes.

You hear a bemused laugh come from the corner of the room. Everyone turns to see Seokjin looking at you and Namjoon, shaking his head. “This can’t be happening,” he says. Before anyone could respond, Seokjin moved towards the door, slamming it behind him as he left the room.

“Jin, wait!” Namjoon took off after his cousin, Won-ho followed after him, closing the door behind him, leaving you and Yoongi alone in the room.

You stood there, staring at the door, mind reeling over the events that just occurred until Yoongi broke the silence. Turning to you with a small smirk on his face, he placed his hand on your shoulder before saying “Oh, dear sister… What have you gotten us into now?”

“Jin, man, please answer the phone.” Namjoon walked into his apartment building, currently on his 15th attempt on getting his oldest cousin to answer his calls.

“Good evening, Mr. Kim.” The doorman smiled at him as Namjoon walked through the lobby towards the elevators. He raised his hand in greeting and he dialed his cousin’s number again in his phone. Namjoon stood in front of the silver elevator doors, phone to his ear as it began to ring. Almost immediately, he was sent to Jin’s voicemail. He let out a sigh as he ended the call, the elevator arriving at the same time.

“It’s not like I planned for this to happen,” Namjoon thought to himself as he got onto the elevator. He pressed the button for the 25th floor and entered his passcode; the elevator doors closing shortly after, sending him on his way. As the elevator quickly rose to his floor, Namjoon leaned against the back wall, closing his eyes while letting out a sigh. He tried to think of what he could possibly say to Jin, how he could make this up to him. It’s not like he really had anything to apologize about. He never meant to come in and steal his cousin’s girl. “But that’s just it. You were never really his, were you?”

Namjoon let his mind drift to thoughts of you. How mysterious and alluring you looked when he first saw you leaning up against the wall. How your little black dress framed your body wonderfully. The way the shade of red lipstick you wore complemented your skin tone beautifully. The look you had in your eyes when you first looked at him. Confident. Curious. The way your cheeks flushed the lightest shade of pink when you were reading his mind. How sexy you looked with the way your body reacted to the thoughts of him touching you. He understood why his cousin was so hooked on you. You were absolutely beautiful. And you were paired with him. His soulmate.

Namjoon opened his eyes when the elevator dinged, pulling himself from his thoughts as the doors opened to the short hallway leading to the red door of his apartment. He walked off the elevator, reaching into his pockets for his key and opening the door. Once inside, he threw his keys onto the table beside the entrance and slipped off his shoes. Namjoon walked further into his apartment towards the living room, bee lining for the bar on the opposite side of the room. It was a very nice apartment. Both the living room and master bedroom had a whole wall that was a big window, allowing for a beautiful view of the city. He had a second room that worked as an office, a decent sized kitchen he will never use due to his lack of cooking skills and a personal bar in the living room. Namjoon threw his suit jacket over one of the chairs in the living room and poured himself a glass of whiskey from the bar before sitting on his couch. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tried calling Jin again.

Voicemail. Namjoon threw his head back in exasperation. “Come ON, Jin.” He threw his phone on the coffee table and ran his hand through his hair. He sat there staring at his phone, contemplating giving up on trying to talk to his eldest cousin for the night. “Fuck it,” he thought as he picked his phone back up, trying one more time to reach out, this time taking a different approach.

The phone rang 3 times before it was picked up. The other person let out a small chuckle before greeting him, his tone laced with humor. “Heh, well hello, traitor.”

Namjoon smiled before responding. “Ah, Taehyung… So I’m guessing Jin has told you already…” Namjoon took a big gulp of his drink waiting for his youngest cousin to respond.

“Yoongi, actually. He called me shortly after you guys left to give me a heads up. Said Jin may be a little heated when he gets home. I thought he was exaggerating until Jin came home and nearly burned down the front door. You know when we asked for your help in persuading Seojun to marry our families, we didn’t mean for you to steal the girl,” Taehyung said with laughter in his voice.

“Believe me, it wasn’t my intention.” Namjoon chuckled at his cousin’s playfulness, happy that he’s handling this a lot better than his brother did. “Do you think you can do me a favor? Can you put Jin on the phone?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now, hyung.”

“Can you ask him to call me tomorrow, then? Please?”

“I can try, but I can’t promise that he will. Just give him some time, hyung. This isn’t your fault and he knows that. He’ll come around,” Taehyung said after a sigh.

Namjoon leaned back in his seat, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling. “All this over a girl,” he said, baffled by the thought.

Taehyung let out a small chuckle. “Y/N’s not just any girl. Jin has had his eyes set on her since we were in highschool. Swears he’d have a fighting chance if he had the balls to ask her out before she met her God awful ex boyfriend. Thought he got that chance when they started fucking in college. Every time he tried to make them something serious, she would leave him heartbroken and he’d swear he’d be done with her, but sooner or later he’d run back to her. They went through this cycle for a couple of years until she finally ended things for good. Jin was devastated when he realized she was for real this time. He saw our father’s proposal of the two of them marrying as his last shot.”

“Well that doesn’t make me feel any better about this,” Namjoon said with a groan.

“Don’t worry too much about it, hyung. Jin knew they were never going to work out. He knew Y/N was never really his. He’s just had to learn it the hard way.”

Namjoon grabbed his drink, taking another sip. “Well, lucky for Jin, there’s plenty of girls like her that he can start over with.”

“That’s just it, Joon. There aren’t any girls like her. There were many times I’d imagine myself in Jin’s shoes. I don’t know, man. There’s just something about her.”

“No other girls like her? That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don't you think?” Namjoon scoffed at his cousin’s words.

“Maybe,” Taehyung said while laughing, “Her best friend, Ashley, would be a good rival. Unfortunately, she’s just been off the market since we were kids. But listen, I got to go. Have some business to take care. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah, tomorrow. Thanks for the talk, Tae.” Namjoon was about to hang up the phone until he heard his cousin call his name again.

“Hey, Joon. You should really think about giving Y/N a chance. Get to know her. You are paired now, after all. Her and Yoongi own a bar together in the city. They’ll be there tonight. You should go. I’ll text you the address. Later, hyung.” Without waiting for a reply, Taehyung ended the call.

Namjoon stayed seated on his couch, thinking over his conversation with his cousin. What was it about you that had his cousins so enamoured by you? He would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t very interested in finding out for himself. He was pulled from his thoughts when his text message notification went off, Taehyung making good on his word by sending him the address to the Min twin’s bar, Bangtan. He looked at his phone, staring at the address before finishing off his drink. Namjoon stood up from his spot on his couch and made his way to his bedroom. “What is it about her… I guess tonight is as good as any to start figuring that out,” Namjoon thought to himself as he entered his bedroom, walking to his bathroom to shower and get ready for his night out.

You have reached the voicemail box of Yang Ashley…

“AHH, Ashley. Answer the phone, bitch,” you growl as you hang up your call. You lay sprawled out on your king size bed, still wearing your outfit from the meeting, typing up a text message to your best friend. You know why she isn’t answering her phone. She hasn’t seen her boyfriend, Jimin, in a week. You’d bet your entire trust fund that they’ve been inseparable from each other for at least the last 3 hours. Fucking horn dogs. You hit send on your text message, laying your phone on your stomach while you wait for her reply. You stare at your ceiling, going over the events that occurred just a couple of hours before.

A pairing. A fucking pairing. And it happened to you. With Jin’s cousin, of all people. You don’t even know anything about this guy. You close your eyes, picturing Namjoon in your head. You can still see him standing there, eyes full of lust as he stared at you. Your mind flipping through all the scenes he showed you in his head. The way he showed you what he wanted to do to you made your heartbeat speed up. You liked it. The roughness that he showed, his kinks that he exposed. It was definitely something you can get behind. Your mind then trailed to the softer scenes he played in his mind for you. The gentleness in his aftercare, the dinner date. The nature walk of you happy and loving. You hated how you liked those scenes even more. The feelings that they gave you made you feel vulnerable and uncomfortable. Feelings you never thought you would feel again. Who was this guy?

“My soulmate. I have a soulmate,” you thought to yourself.

“You gotta have a soul to have a soulmate, love.” You hear your brother’s thoughts from where he was in his bedroom across the hall.

You scowl at your brother’s teasing. “Fuck OFF, Yoongi!” You think back to your brother and he mental laughs at you in return. You can picture him sitting in his room with that stupid gummy smile spread across his face. You hear your text message notification go off, your phone vibrating on your stomach. You pick it up and see a response from Ashley.

*Y/N: Ash, SOS. Answer the phone. Something has happened.*

*Y/N: Listen, bitch. I know you might not be able to talk on the phone with Jimin’s dick shoved down your throat, but can you at least take one hand off his balls to text me back? This is an EMERGENCY*

*Ashley: First of all, I was napping. Second, you did NOT have to call me out like that. What’s wrong? Did Jin go rogue and pop the question? Or did you fuck him in your office again?*

*Y/N: omg, NEITHER. This is serious, Ashley. I experienced a pairing.*

Not even 15 seconds passed after I sent that text message and Ashley was calling my phone. When I hit the accept button, I barely got a hello out before she was screaming in my ear.

“A PAIRING? WHO THE FUCK DID YOU PAIR WITH? HOW? Oh GOD, don’t tell me it was Won-ho.”

You rolled your eyes at that last comment. “Oh my God, Ashley. Gross, no. Jin and Tae’s cousin from Busan was there. Apparently he moved up here while we were in Japan.”

“How did this happen?” Ashley asked, her voice still coming through strong through the phone, causing you to pull the phone slightly away from your ear.

“Things started to get a little heated. My dad showed his normal frustration over Won-ho’s requests. He let out a bolt of electricity that caused one of the chandeliers to fall. The guy pushed me out of the way and then it just happened. I don’t know. It kinda just happened so fast.” You summarize the events to your best friend, waiting for her to ask you the million questions you could probably guess that she has.

“Wow... And you said it’s Jin’s cousin? Jin must be livid,” Ashley said with a laugh.

“Ash! This is serious! What the fuck do I do?” You sat up in your bed, trying very hard not to scream into your phone at your best friend. Ashley only giggled at your response, finding your growing frustration even more entertaining.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. So what’s lover boy’s name?”

“DON’T call him that. And it’s Kim Namjoon,” you said as you rolled your eyes. Trying to not get too annoyed with how Ashley is obviously amused with this situation.

“Namjoon. Mmm, moan worthy…” You can practically hear the smile in Ashley’s voice as she giggled after her response.

“ASHLEY!” A laugh slips through your lips as you yell at your best friend through your phone. Despite your laugh, you could feel your annoyance growing even more. You couldn’t tell if you were getting more annoyed over the fact that she wasn’t taking this seriously or that you started to become amused with the situation as well.

“Oh, come on, Y/N. Seriously, what’s the big deal? What are you so worried about? Jin will be fine. He’s a big boy and he will get over it. He knew nothing was ever going to happen between you two.” Ashley's tone of voice turned firm, catching you by surprise.

“Yeah, I know but that’s not —“ You started to argue back but she cut you off.

“Then what is it? Is it your dad? Because I’m pretty sure if he was dangerously pissed off about this, you and I would be having a completely different conversation right now. If one at all. If anything, this probably worked out in the best case scenario for him. Only thing better is if it was Yoongi getting paired.”

You stared at the bedroom wall across from you, trying to understand what Ashley was getting at. Why would your father care if you were paired? “Why would that matter? Me being paired doesn’t do shit for him.”

“You can NOT be this dense. You being paired now means your powers will grow stronger. And with whatever weird twin shit you and Yoongi have going on, I wouldn’t doubt HIS powers will grow stronger, too,” Ashley said, sounding confident in her theory.

She wasn’t completely wrong to have that kind of opinion though. You and Yoongi’s powers have always been connected. You could never explain it. It’s not like there was some special evolver specialist out there you could ask. At least not one that wouldn’t hold you captive and run experiments on you. But that still wasn’t what you were really concerned about.

“Yeah, I guess you have a point,” you muttered back after a moment of thinking.

“That’s still not what you’re concerned about?” Ashley asked. You looked down at your bed, pulling your legs in as you sat crossed legged on your bed. You start to play with the hem of your dress, staying silent as you start to feel ridiculous over your concern.

“It’s Namjoon, isn’t it?” Ashley asked softly. When you don’t respond to her question, you hear her sigh on the other end of the line. “Y/N, he’s not going to be another Jackson. The universe is cruel but it’s not THAT cruel. Besides, he’s family with Jin and Taehyung. He can’t be that bad. You should give him a chance.”

Jackson. Just the sound of his name has you burning with anger and hate. You close your eyes, trying to remain calm knowing Ashley wasn’t intending for you to get upset. “Can you and Jimin reach out to your contacts in Busan about him?” You know your voice didn’t come out as calm as you wanted it to by the sound of Ashley’s sigh on the other end.

“Yeah, we can do that. Just promise me you’ll give him a chance, okay? This pairing could be a good thing,” Ashley said softly.

You slightly nod your head even though you know she couldn’t see you. You go to respond as you hear a couple of light taps by your door and look up to see Yoongi leaning up against your door frame. “Fine, I’ll try. But that all depends on what you guys find.” You hang up the phone, turning your attention to your brother who was staring at you with a curious expression.

“It’s rude to stare, Yoongs. You’re creeping me out.” You say as you move over to the edge of your bed, hanging your legs off the side.

“Are you ever going to trust anyone again?” Yoongi said, giving you a blank look.

“I trust you,” you said, getting up from the couch and walking towards your door.

“Besides me…” He scoffed, rolling his eyes at you.

“I trust Ashley.”

“She doesn’t count either.”

“Jimin, Jin, Hobi, Tae… I trust more than enough people, Yoongi. What’s so wrong checking in on some guy that I’m more than likely going to be tied to for the rest of my life? Some guy that I know nothing about, I should add.” You stop in front of your brother, crossing your arms as you look at him.

Yoongi nodded his head, pushing off of your doorframe and turning to leave. “Hobi is on his way over. We’re leaving for the bar in a couple of hours, if you want a ride.” Yoongi walked back across the hallway and into his room, closing the door behind him. You stared at his closed door, letting out a sigh before closing yours. You turn and walk back towards your bed, already needing to take a second nap for the day.

Namjoon stood outside the dark tinted doors of the Min’s bar, staring at the hours of operation shown on the door

Bangtan Bar Open Thurs - Sat 5PM to 2AM Sundays - Members only Closed Mon - Wed

“Sundays, members only. Fuck,” Namjoon thought as he whipped out his phone, pulling up his text messages with Taehyung.

*Namjoon: Tae, wtf man. It’s members only on Sunday. Didn’t think to mention that, huh?*

Namjoon turned back around to walk towards where he parked his car up the street, stopping when he saw his cousin’s reply.

*Tae: Just walk inside, hyung. I got you. Trust me.*

Namjoon turned back around and pulled the door open to the bar, walking into a small entryway. The room was dark and empty. A set of double doors were on the right wall, closed. On the far back wall, a bouncer, dressed all in black, sat on a stool between what looked to be a check-in desk and a closed single door. Namjoon took a step forward towards the bouncer, who had finally looked up from his phone to see who walked through the door.

“It’s members only today. We’re not open for non-members,” the bouncer said gruffly. Namjoon could hear the soft vibrations of music coming from somewhere in the bar.

“I’m here on behalf of Kim Taehyung,” Namjoon said, thinking the mention of his cousin would help, trusting that he would pull through for him like he said.

“Well, this isn’t the Kims’ bar. You’re in the wrong place, buddy.” The bouncer crossed his arms, his biceps flexing in an attempt to look intimidating. It didn’t work.

Namjoon knew he could easily convince the bouncer to let him through, but intruding in on the Mins’ bar probably wasn’t the best idea. Nor would it be a good impression. Knowing he could easily get through the bouncer while he tried to sit over there looking intimidating left a smirk on Namjoon’s face.

“I need to speak with the Mins,” Namjoon said, taking another step towards the bouncer.

The bouncer stood up from his stool and started towards him. “Listen, buddy. I already said that it’s members only. Now get the hell out of here before I ---”

“Thank you, Chanyeol. That won’t be necessary.”

Namjoon looked past the bouncer in the direction where the voice came from. A blonde haired woman was standing in the now open doorway, looking at the two men.

“Mr. Kim, we have been expecting you. Please follow me,” the blonde said to Namjoon before turning around and walking back through the doorway and up a flight of stairs. The bouncer stepped to the side to let Namjoon pass. Namjoon patted the bouncer on his shoulder before walking through the doorway and saying, “Yes, thank you Chanyeol. Nice to meet you.”

The bouncer narrowed his eyes at Namjoon and shut the door harshly behind him. Namjoon smirked again and continued after the blonde, walking up the stairs, the music he couldn’t hear before now getting louder. Before he made it to the top, he could hear talking and laughter, and the occasional sound of pool balls hitting each other. Namjoon made it to the top of the landing and took a look around the room. It was a large room fitted with a large bar taking up the left half of the back wall. To the right of the bar was a hallway leading further back into the building, a pool table area immediately in front of it, currently occupied by you and two of your friends, a dark haired girl and a blonde haired boy named Park Jimin, who Namjoon remembers meeting a couple weeks earlier. He watched you as you lined up a shot, effortlessly sinking it into the corner pocket, much to the dismay of Jimin who was standing in between the legs of the dark haired girl that was sitting in a tall chair against the wall. Namjoon saw you look up at him, probably feeling his eyes on you from across the room. He gave you a small wave before turning to the blonde he followed up the stairs.

“Over here, Mr. Kim,” She said as she walked to the left side of the room towards a large booth that sat in front of a dark tinted window wall that overlooked the downstairs bar. Namjoon saw Yoongi and another male in the booth, laughing and taking shots. He followed the blonde towards them, Yoongi looking up to greet him.

“Namjoon, looks like Wheein was able to save you before Chanyeol made you my new door stop,” Yoongi said with a laugh. The blonde, who Namjoon figured was Wheein, sat down next to Yoongi as he draped his arm around her, motioning with his other hand for Namjoon to take a seat in the empty chair across the booth from him.

“Ha, more like she saved you from needing to find a new bouncer,” Namjoon joked back, taking a seat across from Yoongi. He felt himself relax with Yoongi’s playful attitude, relieved that the younger male Min didn’t have the attitude or temper of his father. Having met Yoongi a few weeks earlier when he first arrived in Seoul, he wasn’t expecting for the son of the most feared Mafia leader to be so nonchalant and passive. If it weren’t for already knowing his abilities, Namjoon would have found it hard to find him so intimidating. Yoongi was quick in welcoming him into his circle of friends, but Namjoon figured that was due to his relationship with his cousins and hoped the pairing with his sister didn’t affect that.

Yoongi poured another round of shots from the bottle of Soju sitting on the table, sliding a glass over to Namjoon before introducing the other people at the table. “Namjoon, you have already met Wheein. This crazy fucker over here is my best friend, Jung Hoseok.” Yoongi nodded over to the brown hair male sitting at the table with them. Hoseok looked over at Namjoon, smiling and offering his hand.

“Call me Hobi. You must be the lucky bastard that won the pairing lottery with the better Min twin,” Hobi said, laughing as he shook Namjoon’s hand, flipping off Yoongi with his other hand who had flipped off Hobi for his comment. Namjoon smiled at the interaction.

“Yeah, the one and only.” Namjoon picked up the shot and tossed it back, placing the shot glass back on the table. “So, how do you two know each other?”

“We met in college,” Hobi replied and quickly tossed back his shot. “Lab partners. Pretty sure he only kept me around to get to my sister, though. I’m Wheein’s older brother.”

“I wouldn’t have had a chance to get close to your sister if you didn’t want to get experimental with your powers. Hobi’s an evolver, too. Healing abilities. Can heal himself and others. A lot better at healing others now than when he was back in college. Asshole nearly let me bleed out. Luckily, this angel was visiting for the weekend and nursed me back to health.” Yoongi turned to look at Wheein and gave her a kiss, the blonde smiling and blushing in return.

“Are you an evolver, too?” Namjoon asked while Hobi poured the table another round of shots.

“No, I’m not. Only Hobi got the evolver trait in our family. Our parents run the hospital here. I followed them around and luckily learned a thing or two. I’m a pre-med student now,” Wheein said, leaning back into Yoongi.

“Wheein and Hobi are our medics. Any injury, they got you covered,” Yoongi grabbed his shot off the table and tossed it back.

“Good to know. May need one of you if I cross paths with Seojun again. Your father looked like he wanted to strike me down right there in that meeting room today.” Namjoon grabbed his shot and tossed it back, barely placing it back on the table before Hobi filled it for him again.

Yoongi let out a loud laugh before responding. “You don’t have to worry about my father. That look wasn’t for you.” Yoongi looked over towards the pool table and Namjoon followed his gaze.

He watched as Jimin held his pool stick behind his back and lining up his shot, successfully sinking his ball into a pocket. His eyes fell on you standing next to the dark haired girl’s chair, rolling your eyes at Jimin’s celebration as you downed a shot of alcohol. You made eye contact with Namjoon once again. Namjoon watched as you licked what must have been escaped droplets of the shot off your lips and his mind flashed with images of you underneath him licking your lips. This time from the pleasure of him inside of you instead of the alcohol. The real you cocks your head to the side and raises an eyebrow, eyes faintly glowing red behind the brown contacts. Namjoon mentally cursed at himself, knowing that you caught his recent string of thoughts.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Hoseok asked. Namjoon glanced back at him before looking back at you, your attention now back on your game of pool.

“Yeah… She’s breathtaking.,” Namjoon said, still watching you, barely able to see Yoongi’s slight smirk out of the corner of his eye.

Hobi continued, grabbing Namjoon’s attention again. “She’s not an easy catch, that one. She’s intimidating as hell. Doesn’t help with the amount of protection of guys that surrounds her. Yoongi, Jimin, Jin, Tae, me… Consider yourself lucky this pairing is giving you a shot.”

“Are you insinuating I wouldn’t have stood a chance without it?” Namjoon asked with a playful laugh. One that was cut short due once he saw the serious expression on Hobi’s face.

“Like I said, you’d have a line of protection to get through first. Even if your cousin didn’t have a thing for her, I’d say your chances would be slim. And that’s if she decided to give you the time of day. It’s nothing personal.” Hobi threw back another shot and poured another round for the table.

Namjoon looked over at Yoongi, giving him a half smile before speaking. “I’m surprised you’re not the one giving me this talk. Considering it’s your sister I’m paired with.”

Yoongi lets out a laugh before responding. “I like you, Namjoon. You seem like a good guy, trustworthy. Honestly, it makes me feel a little bad for you. I don’t need to threaten you. I don’t have to. I could sit here all night and explain to you in detail how I would make you live your worst nightmare. But none of it would matter. All the mental pain and suffering I could cause, she is capable of doing so much worse. Mentally and physically. Now,” Yoongi says as he removes his arm from around Wheein and leans forward towards Namjoon, his elbows now on his knees with his hands clasped together, “with all that being said. If you do end up hurting my sister and you’re lucky enough that she doesn’t kill you, I will.” Yoongi winks and smiles at Namjoon, once again leaning back and wrapping his arm around Wheein’s shoulder.

Namjoon smiled and let out a chuckle. “Fair enough.” Namjoon grabbed his last shot off the table and took it. “Now, if you will excuse me. I have a soulmate to court.”

Hobi laughed, he and Yoongi giving Namjoon a small wave as he got up from the booth. Namjoon walked up to the bar, ordering a beer and a round of shots before turning and walking towards the pool table.

You heard your brother laugh and look over in his direction, watching as he talked to Hobi and Namjoon, your eyes now trained on the latter. “God, even his side profile is beautiful,” you thought to yourself. You immediately close your eyes and mentally kick yourself for your thoughts, reminding yourself that you still don’t know this guy.

“If you keep looking at him like that, people are going to start to think you like him,” Ashley said, looking at you with a teasing look in her eye.

“Ashley, I don’t even know him.” You turned to look at your best friend as Jimin lined up his next shot.

“Y/N, you’ve looked at Namjoon so many times already since he’s arrived, I’m surprised you’re not using him as an excuse for you losing this game,” Jimin said as he held his pool stick behind his back, taking his shot and sinking his pool ball into the corner pocket. He pumped his fist in the air and walked over to stand by Ashley, pulling her in for a kiss. You roll your eyes and down your shot of alcohol that you had on the table. You feel eyes on you again and turn to see Namjoon staring at you. You involuntarily lick your lips, feeling droplets of your shot lingering on then and see Namjoon’s eyes shift down to your mouth. Peeking into his mind, you see images of you under him as he’s grinding into you, licking your lips in enjoyment. Namjoon’s eyes flick back up to yours and grow wide for just a second as you raise an eyebrow at him, letting him know that you were watching. He turns away to look at Hobi and you take this time to focus back on your game. You go to line up your shot before asking the question you have been waiting to ask all night.

“What information have you gotten on him, so far?” You take your shot, cursing under your breath as the ball bounces off the corner of the pocket, missing.

“Information on who?” Jimin asks, teasingly. You glare at him as you lean up against the pool table, knowing he was just trying to get you to say his name. “My boys didn’t dig much up. He’s got a good reputation for him down in Busan. Nothing concerning.”

“He’s got a good reputation, alright. My girls tell me he’s very good in the bedroom… And any other part of town that he decides. The way they talk about him makes him sound like a Dom I wouldn’t mind having a go with,” Ashley said with a smirk. You know she was purposely trying to poke at Jimin and you watched as he reacted just the way she was hoping.

Jimin clenched his jaw, turning to Ashley and grabbing her by the back of her neck. Ashley’s eyes light up with fire, clearly enjoying the way Jimin was handling her roughly. “You already have a Dom, Baby girl, or do I need to remind you of that?” He said before bringing Ashley in for a heated kiss.

You scoff, snapping your fingers to get Jimin’s attention. “Hey, lovebirds. Keep it in your pants. If I catch you guys fucking in this bar during business hours one more time, I am banning you forever. Now come take your fucking shot.”

Jimin gave Ashley another quick kiss as she giggled, stepping towards the pool table to take his shot. Ashley turns to you and smiles. “First of all, we ARE outside of business hours. And secondly, you’ve banned us 3 times already, Y/N. Your threat is losing its thunder.”

“You’re lucky I don’t have other friends,” you said with a smile. You watch as Jimin takes his shot on the eight-ball, successfully sinking it into the called pocket and you groan. Jimin walks over to Ashley for a celebratory kiss as you hear someone approach you from the side.

“A little more experience and you could’ve won. Pretty sure you’re supposed to sink the eight ball before your opponent to win the game,” Namjoon said, smiling as he walked up to you and your friends with a round of shots. Your eyes go to his dimple on his cheek for a second and your cheeks flush at the cuteness. You quickly move your eyes to meet his, hoping he didn’t notice your momentary distraction.

He hands you a shot as you reply to him, “I know how to play pool, Pretty Boy. I had to go around Jimin’s last ball to try and sink the eight ball. It’s impossible.”

“Don’t feel bad, Y/N. Even I have trouble trying to make that shot,” Jimin said as he came over to grab his and Ashley’s shot from Namjoon.

“Jimin was the billiards club president in highschool. I’m Yang Ashley, by the way. You must be Namjoon. We’ve heard alot about you,” Ashley smiled at Namjoon as Jimin walked back over to her, handing her the shot. You glared at Ashley and she stuck her tongue out at you.

you, giving you another smile. “Well, I hope only good things.” He lifted his shot glass in the air. You followed suit along with Jimin and Ashley.

“To new friends and new beginnings,” Jimin said, giving you a wink.

You roll your eyes as everyone downs their shots, you taking yours in the process. Namjoon grabs your now empty shot glass from you and places it on the table behind you.

“So,” Namjoon says, “are you going to let me show you how to make that shot or what?” Namjoon walks around the pool table, setting up the impossible shot that lost you the game.

“You’ve shown me a lot of things today, Pretty Boy. But I don’t think this is something that can be done.” You gave Namjoon a smirk. You hear Jimin let out a low chuckle and you briefly look over at him as he leaned into Ashley in her chair. Namjoon finishes putting the last ball in place by the corner pocket and walks over to you, circling to stand behind you with his left hand on your hip.

“You just got to trust me, princess,” he said into your ear. You feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up, chills going down your back from his proximity. You lean into him, turning your head just slightly towards him, your noses barely touching.

“Fine then. Show me what you got.” He gives you a small smile and chuckles. His hand still on your hip, he bends you over the pool table while his other hand helps you line up the shot with your pool stick. Not able to help yourself, you push your backside into his groin, feeling him suck in his breath from the contact. You smile and peek into his mind just in time to see flash images of him lifting up the skirt of your dress and fucking you right here on the pool table. You roll your hips just a little, feeling his dick start to harden. Namjoon lets out a low groan in his throat. You felt the vibrations of his noise on your backside, sending shivers down your spine, your cunt involuntarily clenching at the sound. Satisfied with the reaction he gave, you decided to get him back focused on the task at hand.

“Wrong hole, Pretty Boy.” You hear him say a curse word under his breath, knowing he was caught again with those thoughts about you. Namjoon takes his hand off your hips and helps you hold your pool stick, taking control of your motions as he pulls back the stick from the cue ball and drives it forward near the bottom of the ball. The force and angle makes the cue ball jump over what would have been one of Jimin’s balls and hits the eight ball by the corner pocket, successfully making it in.

Namjoon leans back off of you, taking his hands off the pool stick that you’re still holding. You hear Jimin let out a whistle and clap his hands before saying, “Damn, Namjoon. Not bad. Even I have trouble landing those shots.”

Ashley leans in to Jimin, her lips barely brushing his ear. “Maybe all it takes is a man who knows how to handle his stick.” You watch as Jimin’s eyes grow dark and grab Ashley by the arm. Ashley gave you a wicked smile and giggles, happy with the reaction she got from her boyfriend as he pulled her from off the chair and led her down the hallway to the backrooms.

“For fucks sake, at least have the decency to lock the fucking door this time!” You yell at your friends, knowing good and well what they're going to do in the bar office in the back. A few seconds later, you hear a door slam. Namjoon laughs behind you, his hand back on your waist as he turns you to face him, your back now to the pool table.

“How many other rooms do you have back there?” He asks with a sly smile. You scoff at him, placing the pool stick on the pool table and cross your arms.

“Not that kind of bar, Pretty Boy. Sorry to disappoint you.” You look up at him, a small smirk painted across your face as he places his hands on either side of you on the pool table, and leans towards you.

“Come home with me tonight.” The look on Namjoon’s face lets you know that it was more of a statement than a question.

“You’re being mighty forward for someone who just found his soulmate a few hours earlier,” you said, lifting one of your eyebrows at him.

Namjoon gives you a sly smile. “We have our whole life to get to know each other. Why not just skip the formalities?”

You go to lick your lips, catching the tip of your tongue between your lips as you brought it back into your mouth. You watched as Namjoon looked back down to your mouth, then back up to your eyes, holding his gaze. You couldn’t deny it to yourself that you found him unbelievably attractive. The confidence that he carried himself with, especially now, was a major turn on. But you still didn’t know him, and like hell were you going to let him think he was going to have the upper hand. Pairing or not, you weren’t going to just let some guy win you over that easily.

“What makes you think I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you?” Your eyes start to glow red, curious to know what he’s thinking right at this moment. You see in his mind the thoughts he has of you right now. How badly he wants to wipe the smirk off your face, replace it with you begging for him. How he’s thinking if this tough girl act was just that, an act. You laugh at his thoughts and decide to call him out. “I’m not one of those city girls you're used to who wants to try on Mafia Barbie for the day. All those pretty thoughts in your head and you have yet to prove anything. Trust me, Pretty Boy. You’re not ready for me.”

You go to push his arm out of the way but he stops you, leaning in closer to you.

“That’s four times today that you’ve looked into my head. Now tell me, did you see anything you like?” You looked away from him, letting out a small laugh that was cut short. Namjoon grabbed your chin and turned your head back to look at him again, catching you by surprise. You feel your core clench just from the roughness of the gesture.

“You’ll learn quickly, princess, I always get what I want. And you still haven’t answered my questions. More importantly, you still haven’t said No. Now I’m ready to go home. How about you be a good girl and use the drive to pick out whatever scenario you want to try out when we get there.” Namjoon pushed off the pool table and stepped back from you, letting go of your chin in the process. You looked him up and down, licking your lips as you met his gaze once again. As much as you hated to admit it, the dominance exuding off of him turned you on. The amount of sexual frustration he has built up in you since the meeting earlier in the day begging for release. You push off the pool table and step towards him, making up your mind.

“Lead the way, Pretty Boy.”

#evolver #bts imagines #bts smut #bts angst #bts fanfic #kim namjoon #namjoon x you #namjoon x y/n #namjoon x reader #namjoon imagine #mafia au #superpower au #soulmate au

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