#should i thank him for the crystal ball reading?

[tammieswillow]

when i was fourteen my teacher said my personality was of a woman who burns out

[astraystayyh]

If the world was ending

Felix x reader. Estranged childhood best friends to lovers. Angst and happy ending. highly recommend listening to If the world was ending while reading :)

Felix has always been there with you, from the moment you've met him when you were 8 years old, until he suddenly no longer was, and you were left to grapple with the consequences of his absence- and those of his return.

cw: description of a car accident, reader has a fear of loud noises.

skz song series masterlist

12 march 2011 

Screeching brakes, a jarring collision, glass shattering all around you, shards of it embedding into your tender skin. You are too young to understand it all, but you know it's bad. You are suddenly upside down, the only thing helping you stay put is the seatbelt fastened around you. You didn't really like seatbelts but your mom always insisted on you wearing one.

Your mom, you can't see her face, she's upside down too, and she isn't talking. That's unusual because you're crying and she isn't turning around to comfort you. Someone is screaming outside of your car, and then you are pulled out. You don't know who's touching you, and you want them to stop. Where is your mom? Why did they not pull her out too?

An ambulance approaches you; its loud sirens feel like pine needles drilling into your skull. You try to cover your ears but your hands are covered in blood. The world around you is painted red- the flashing lights of the sirens and the liquid oozing from your cuts. It’s no longer your favorite color.

27 may 2011 

You are playing in the playground near your home, waving at your mom from the top of the slide. She's gotten better, she smiles more easily at you now. And you are trying to be a good kid too; you help wash the dishes and you clean your room all by yourself. You don't want your mom to feel sad again and go back to that dreaded hospital. 

You slide out, happy giggles leaving your mouth, before climbing up the tiny stairs once again. But as you reach the top, an ambulance rushes by the playground. You don't know what's happening, but you suddenly feel shards of glass on your skin once again. Your hands are shaking as you sit on the floor, curling around yourself in a ball.  

"What's wrong?" someone asks and you lift your head tentatively. It's a young boy, he's looking at you worriedly, a tiny pout on his lips. 

"I don't like ambulances," you hiccup, burying your head in your knees again. 

Suddenly, small hands cover your ears, muffling the shrill sound of sirens. They are warm and sticky from the red popsicle he’s still holding.

"Now you can't hear them," he giggles, his eyes disappearing into moon crescents. Despite your raging fear, a smile finds its way into your lips.

"What's those on your face," you ask with a small voice, pointing at the faint marks dusting his cheeks. 

"They're called freckles," he says proudly and you nod. 

"They're pretty."

"Thank you!" he grins at you, his hands still covering your ears. The tightness in your chest seems to dissipate slowly before his kind smile- the shadows never stood a chance in front of the sun. 

"What's your name?" 

"Felix. And you?"

"Yn." 

"We should be friends," he beams and you grin back, agreeing wholeheartedly. "We should." 

15 november 2021 

You are sitting on the grass of that very same playground, Felix still by your side. The night breeze is cooling as it brushes against your bodies, and you're wearing his red sweater. It smells like his cologne and your perfume- an intoxicating scent you've come to memorize by heart. 

His nose tip is rosy from the cold, and you can't resist tapping it playfully. "Your nose is pink," you giggle, and he smiles, gently bopping yours in return. 

"So is yours."

You look at him as he gazes up at the stars above. You love Felix, it has always been crystal clear to you. From the moment he planted the seed of his friendship into your soul, and throughout the years when it bloomed into something more, bigger than the two of you. It wrapped around your being entirely, binding itself into your every atom, until all you saw is his reflection in you. 

And you were tired of treading the line between friendship and something more. You wanted, no craved being with him, your yearning so intense it spilled from you each time he was around. In rosy cheeks and shaky fingers and eyes that soften only when they rest on him- evidence of your love imprinted all upon you. 

You take in a deep breath, before laying your hand gently on his cheek, turning his face to meet yours. His eyes widen slightly at the soft touch, and you lean in closer to him. You brush your nose against his, slowly, "to warm it up," you whisper, as his breath hitches in his throat. 

He's close, he's so close, you can almost taste the brownies you shared earlier on his lips. You can see his freckles ever so clearly, constellations you often find yourself getting lost in. Your hand is still on his cheek, and you can feel it burning up under your palm. 

You close your eyes, as his lips are now just a breath away from yours. It's electrifying- having him so near to the way you've always dreamed, fantasized about. But he needs to be the one to take the jump, all he has to do is lean in a bit, and you'd kiss him. You won't ever let go. 

"Lixie...," you choke out, "kiss me." 

"I want to." His voice is hoarse with emotion, as if fighting with himself for self-restraint. 

"So do it," you ask, swiping your thumb gently across his cheek. Your breaths mingle with one another in a dizzying dance. 

"I'm leaving," he says so faintly, you believe for a second that you've imagined it. 

"What?" you ask, leaning a bit away to be able to look at him. 

"I'm leaving," he repeats, his eyes tightly shut. "We're moving to another country, for my dad's job." 

"You're leaving me?" you ask, bewildered. 

"I'm not leaving you-"

"But you are. You won't be here anymore." You drop your hand, taking hurried steps away from him. Touching him didn't feel electrifying anymore, it felt horrible and nauseous, because you won't get to do it again. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to-" 

"How long have you known?" 

"Yn..."

"Felix," you say, tone stern. "How long?" 

"Six months," he whispers and a bitter chuckle escapes your lips.

"When are you leaving?"

"In a week." 

The pain becomes unbearable, and you turn your back to him so he wouldn't see your rapidly falling tears. You are angry, as a disguise for the sadness threatening to drown you. Him leaving tasted like the salty water you gulp when you dive in too quickly into the ocean. And you did dive in, in him, in his soul and everything that made up Felix. And now he was leaving you, with no anchor to help you float again.

"Is that why you insisted on spending so much time with me lately? Because you were leaving?" 

"You need to understand I didn't know how to tell you, I- I don't even know who I am without you." He pleads, his own eyes shimmering with unshed tears, reminding you of tiny diamonds. That's how it is with Felix, you found beauty in everything he did- even tearing your heart in half. 

"Maybe you should've thought of how I would feel. You were thinking of leaving me while I..." Your voice breaks and you take a shaky breath.  "While I was falling in love with you." 

"I'm in love with you too," he quickly says, reaching out to hold your hand. "I love you, I always have." He's wrapping his arms around you, and you're letting him because it feels safe and secure. Because he’s still your Felix, even if he's leaving you behind. 

You wonder what you must have done in a past life, what a horrible person you could've been for the universe to treat you this cruelly. To hand you everything you've ever wanted in a silver platter, and snatch it from your hands before you could dare to grab it. 

"We'll make it work," he mumbles into your hair, placing a tender kiss on your temple. "We'll talk and we can be together."

"No, we can't. I'll just hold you back from living your new life, I can't have that." 

"Don't talk like that, please," his voice wavers, words barely managing to slip out of his mouth. Regret overtakes your body so suddenly at the thought of his lips- you shouldn't have tried to kiss him. Maybe then he wouldn't have told you he was leaving. 

"It's the truth. we'll grow to hate each other, distance will put a strain on us. I'd rather not talk to you than have you resent me." 

"But-"

"Just hold me," you cut him off. "As if nothing's happening, please." 

And he complies because Felix always does. Because he loves you and as much as he doesn't want to, he knows you're right. 

•••••

It's been three months since Felix left- the days passed by agonizingly slowly, and yet the months went by in a blur, a hauntingly vivid reminder of what once was. At first, the texts between you two were frequent, but as time wore on, the messages grew sporadic, from your end, mostly. Seeing him flourish in his new life felt like salt on an open wound, a reminder that he was moving on while you were still anchored in memories of him. 

You saw him in every corner of your city. The smell of brownies that he's made countless times, each time you felt sad. The way he kissed your cheek each time he won a game, while you were lying on his bed, bored. The way he hugged you whenever you were sick, gently tucking strands of your hair behind your ear. The way he covered your ears instinctively at each loud noise, knowing how scared it made you still. 

And you've felt each of these emotions since he was gone. You were sad and bored and sick and happy and scared. And he wasn't here with you through them. Each moment away from Felix seemed to magnify what could have been- what should have been between the two of you.

There is a building construction next to you, loud cement blocks crashing to the ground. And you are curled around yourself in a protective ball, covering your ears with your hands, because Felix isn't here to do it anymore for you. 

You and Felix have grown with one another, your soul carefully woven into his, like two threads intricately stitched into the same tapestry. Him leaving felt like half of your body was cut off from you, and you were left alone to figure out how to function with an incomplete heart. 

17 july 2023 

Summer break meant coming back home and sleeping in your childhood bedroom once again. Memories of Felix still lingered in there- posters he has given you and his red sweater that you've never found the courage to throw away. It doesn't hurt as much to remember him, the sharp pain morphed into a dull ache you've grown accustomed to by now. 

You're watching the TV mindlessly when someone knocks on your door, and you go to open it without a second thought, expecting it to be your parents. It wasn't.

"Felix?" you stammer, stumbling back in shock. You blink repeatedly, in a desperate attempt to make sure he's not a figment of your twisted imagination. You haven't uttered his name in so long, and the syllables felt both foreign and familiar in your mouth. 

"It's me," he smiles sheepishly, his hand scratching the back of his neck. 

"You are here," you whisper, stating the obvious. He didn't change much, his kind brown eyes and freckles still as captivating as before. But his features were sharper, prettier, and the sight of him is making you dizzy once again. 

"I am." 

"What are you doing here?" You ask cautiously, opening the door a bit wider to let him in. 

"I requested a transfer to your university. I wanted to come back. I missed home, and I missed you," he adds softly, making a turmoil of emotions surge within you. 

You clear your throat. "So, you are back for good?" 

"I am," he says, smiling slightly at you as if to gauge your reaction. You stay silent and his grin falters; his tongue resting against the inside of his cheek, a habit he hasn't let go of apparently. He then walks to the kitchen and you follow suit. You don't have to show him around, he knows your home like the back of his hand. He spent most of his childhood here after all, even though his house was only a few blocks away. 

"How have you been?" he asks as he opens the cupboard to take out a glass. He closes its door softly, careful not to make it thud. 

"I'm good. It's summer break so I'm finally back home, what about you?"

"I'm good too. It's nice to be back." 

Your conversation is strained and awkward, so unnatural of you both. There was so much to say, so much to ask about, but you couldn't bring yourself to speak. He felt like uncharted territory to you now, one you didn't have the strength to discover once again.

"It's your mom's birthday tomorrow, right?" he smiles and you nod. 

"Should we make her our cookies? Like we used to before I..." 

"Before you left," you finish, bitterness dripping from your tone.

Hurt flashes in his eyes and you feel your heart suddenly clench in your chest. It was unfair for you to treat him this way. He was only seventeen and if your parents were to move away you would've followed them too. 

"Okay, let's do it." You smile sincerely for the first time since he came back to you. 

You both move seamlessly in the kitchen, each knowing your tasks like a choreographed dance. This was a tradition that started when you were twelve years old. You'd brown the butter while he beat the egg and sugar together. He'd sift the flour while you cut up chocolate. He'd mix it all while you preheat the oven. And then you'd roll the dough together. 

Your hands brush against one another as you shape up the cookies, and it feels so intense you almost drop to the floor. You miss him, you miss him so much and he's near you and you can't seem to think straight anymore. 

When the cookies are finally in the oven, he silently washes the dishes while you dry them. He abruptly pauses, hands still covered in soap before turning back to you. 

"Can we talk? Please?" he says too quickly as if he's been overthinking asking this question. 

"I'm busy today," you scramble to think of an excuse, you weren't ready to face him yet. 

"Tomorrow?"

"I'm staying with my mom, then there is Han’s party."

"I'll be there too. We can talk then, please?" he asks, eagerness evident in his voice. 

"Fine. Let's talk there," you concede and he nods, awkwardly shifting in his place. He finishes the dishes before drying his hands. You avoid his gaze and he sighs softly. "I'll get going. Tell your mom happy birthday from me." 

"Will do." You smile tightly and he does the same, before finally leaving your home, and in his trail, a maelstrom of emotions you weren't certain how to deal with.

18 july 2023 

You're at the reunion party Han is hosting with all your high school friends. You watch as Felix takes turns talking to everybody. He fits right in here, a puzzle perfectly clicking in place as if he's never left. He's telling a joke to Chan who laughs loudly, hitting Minho's arm repeatedly. Everyone is happy he's back, because they never had to gravel with the consequences of his absence. Because he's never ripped their heart out. 

Felix is looking for you around the room- he hasn't seen you in a while. He assumes you're somewhere around the house, and that you'd like to talk when time has passed. The knot in his stomach tightens as the weight of your conversation dawns on him, he longs to be with you, to undo the past two years he has spent away from you. But he's afraid to mess everything up, once again, so he stays near his friends who are now pulling him outside of the house.

"We have a surprise for you," Han says excitedly before pointing at the sky, "look." 

Fireworks, a dazzling show of blue, red and yellow. And Felix feels as if the colors were drained out of his face and splattered into the night sky before him.

"Where is yn?" he turns to Chan, eyes wide.

"Inside, I think. Why?"

"Stop- stop this, don't start any more fireworks," he urges the boy who's looking at him worriedly. 

"Why, what's wrong? We have a warrant to start them, don't worry."

"No, no you don't understand. Yn hates loud noises," he explains frantically, before bolting inside the house. 

He's yelling your name, and you are nowhere to be found, the sound of the fireworks so loud he isn't even sure you can hear him. 

He opens door after door, and after painstakingly long seconds he finally finds you in the bathroom, sitting on the floor, your head buried in your knees. Just like you were twelve years ago. 

Felix doesn't waste any time, kneeling in front of you to cover your ears with his hands, you look up at him, waterline brimming with unshed tears. 

"It's okay, I'm here. Just focus on my voice," he smiles reassuringly at you, and you clasp your hands on top of his, doing your best to muffle the sound of the explosions. 

"Your hands are still small," you attempt to joke, as hot tears trail down your cheeks. You hated how scared you still were. 

"The perfect size to cover your ears," he smiles at you, his eyes softening when they take in your distressed state. 

You hiccup, overcome by a new wave of emotion- for an entirely different reason this time. "You came." 

"I'll always come. Even if the world was ending, I'll... I'll come to you," he smiles, biting his lower lip to stop his own tears from falling. 

"It'd be useless if you came then. There would be nothing for us to do," you manage to say through shaky breaths. 

"But I'd be with you," he insists, gaze unwavering, "It will be scary for you. I imagine it will be loud, the world can't end silently." 

"Mine did, when you left." Felix's eyes go wide at your words, and you don't care that you are baring your soul entirely to him. "Please don't leave me again. I hate goodbyes with you." 

"Why would we ever say goodbye again, hm?" he reassures, his knuckles brushing against your cheek softly. "I'm never leaving you, as long as you'll have me, I'm here," he whispers, before pulling you into his chest.

Your hands find his back, and his cheek rests on top of your head. And you both close your eyes, an exhale of relief leaving you both at the same time. The world grows dark around the two of you, the only thing you saw was his heart and the overflowing love he still bore for you.

You felt as if you were wandering blind and you could finally see again, as if the string tying you to him wrapped tightly around the both of you, trapping you in his warm embrace.

You don't know what will happen next, but he's holding you now, and he'll hold you when the world is ending, and that is enough.

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Dark Shades of Innocence Lost Part 2: The First Taste✨

Club owner! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist Part 1

A/N: It is finally here! Sorry that has taken so long to get updated, but this turned out exactly how I wanted it to. Thank you to @mountainsandmayhem for helping me organize my mood board and for letting me chat your ear off about this series! 🩷

Chapter Summary: You decide to go back to Club Inferno, back to those smoldering brown eyes. Turns out you do want more pleasure from Joel, the club owner.

Rating: 18+ Only MDNI

Word Count: 11.7k

Chapter Tags: Oral (M/F receiving), fingering, dirty talk, pining, flirting, some fluff, pleasure dom! Joel, reader has doubts, reader has hair, no use of y/n, pleasure dom! Joel

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

You spend the next few days at work in a deep haze, your mind completely muddled at the thought of those smoldering dark eyes that haunt your dreams night after night. You can’t concentrate on reorganizing books, can’t focus on your own co-workers as they meander around the library keeping busy while you stand leaning up against a wooden bookshelf doing nothing but looking at the business card Joel gave you. 

   You mindlessly turn the flashy card over and over in your palm, memorizing his phone number, etching his name into your mind as you read his name over and over and over again until the silhouette of his towering body is burned into your brain. You didn’t call, didn’t text him like you should have done after he made you cum on his thigh. God, you want to though. But is it a good idea? Probably not. 

   As you shift the paper card around your fingers, you think of those lust blown eyes, that rugged panting noise he made when he was breathing hard against the shell of your ear, the way those thick fingers felt inside you, the way he called you a good girl and whispered how fucking good you tasted. 

   You slip the card back into the pocket of your jeans and lean your head back against some hardback books in the science section. You huff out and put a hand to your sweating forehead as you fight not to get all worked up again, but it doesn’t work. You’re already wet from thinking about him, so you decide you will see him again. Friday. You’ll go back to the club Friday. 

   You want more, need more. And so you’ll have him. Friday. 

   Your dress flows to the middle of your thighs, the sparkly midnight blue material shimmering under the dim lights of the club as soon as you walk through the front doors of Club Inferno. The bar is crowded, people scattered all around as loud music blares through the speakers. The dance floor is packed, bodies spinning under the crystal lights of the disco ball. Your heart gallops in your chest, your mouth dry as you hope he’s here. Please be here, please be here. 

   You turn toward the lit up bar that’s packed with alcohol lining the back mirrored wall and notice something is different, off. You scan your eyes around and try to decipher what’s changed as you take in the aesthetics of the night club. You peel your eyes over the atmosphere carefully, and you stop in place when you notice it. There’s not just heated red signs around the back walls anymore. There’s now pink ones too, glittering under the dim lights as you furrow your eyebrows up. When did they add the pink signs? Your eyes grow wide at the realization. You mentioned pink signs and how there was too much red last time. He must’ve listened to you…

   The pretty blonde bartender snaps you out of your deep thoughts as she gets your attention. “Need a drink, hun?” she asks as she sets two big glasses of beer in front of two gentlemen in suits in front of you. 

   “Oh, no. Thanks. I was just wondering if Joel was around?” you ask nervously as you look shamefully at her. Hopefully she doesn’t see your cheeks heating up or notice how sweaty your palms are at your sides. 

   She nods her head behind you and smiles as she says, “He’s actually right behind you.”

   You look up at the mirrored wall behind the stacked alcohol bottles and gasp when you see a pair of dark eyes flash in your reflection. You quickly turn around and nearly fall over when you see how handsome he looks tonight. A red button-up collared shirt , sleeves rolled up to the elbows to expose tanned skin with corded veins spiraling down his forearms, clean pressed jeans, and slicked back curls that are threaded with grey. He’s so… gorgeous.

   His eyes flick over your body as he rakes a hand slowly through his salt-and-pepper scruff, analyzing your dress, your legs, your eyes. You’re nearly out of breath as he glances your way. “Didn’t think I was gonna hear from you again,” he smiles as he walks up in front of you and stops right where you can smell his woodsy cologne and whiskey scent. He smells so enticing, you could practically swim in the scent if you wanted to. 

   You shrug and let a sigh out. “Couldn’t keep me away, I guess.”

   “Mmm, guess not.” His honey colored eyes trail over your skin again as he smirks and nods toward the bar. “You want a drink?”

   “Okay,” you say quietly as he leads you over to some empty black barstools. You know what a drink will lead to, and it makes your skin simmer with lightning running through your veins. 

   Joel gets the blonde’s attention, and she saunters over and smiles brightly over at him. “What’ll it be, Joel?”

   “Glass of whiskey on the rocks and a Malibu tonic?” His eyebrow arches as he looks over at you, needing approval before he sends her off. You just nod and watch as he gives her the go ahead, letting the smooth bar top rub against your fingertips as you view him turn slowly in his barstool, bumping his knee lightly against yours.

   “You remembered my drink of choice?” you ask with raised brows. 

   “Thought I’d forget, hmm?” He leans forward as he puts his weight into his elbow, resting his hand on his cheek as it trails over his greying scruff. You can’t believe you’re sitting here with him again, almost in the same position you were in last weekend. It’s almost too much. His broadness, his height, the way he’s staring at you. 

   You adjust in your seat, pulling down the fabric of your dress as you clear your throat. “I dunno. Just kind of hard to believe you’d remember something as simple as that about me.”

   He assesses you, watching you carefully as his dark eyes flick over your nervous form. “Drinks are simple, easy to remember. It’s you that’s hard to forget. Your face, your eyes, your scent.” 

   Your eyes grow wide, suffocating on your own breath as the pounding music flits through your ears, your skin forming goosebumps along your inner thighs as those dark eyes gaze into yours, his full attention on you. “My… scent?” you ask all wide-eyed with your mouth slightly agape.

   “Mhm. I could smell that pretty waft of vanilla when you were standing by the bar. Almost like I was breathing you in,” he murmurs, his voice all low and gruff as his thick fingers tap against the glossy bar top, his eyes melding into yours like he wants to devour you. 

   You can feel that thick tension like smoke filling the room, hot embers filing your nostrils as you fight to compose yourself. You lean forward just a bit, enough to brush your knee against his smooth denim, stirring something low that you can’t quite stop. 

   Before he can lean in, the bartender comes back with your drinks, breaking the tension that was just close enough to drown in. “Enjoy!” She smiles as she leaves to attend to other guests. 

   You take the straw in your hand, twirling it around the sloshing alcohol and then take a sip, letting the fruity taste wash away your growing arousal between your thighs. 

   Joel surprises you as he asks a personal question, maybe something to break the tension as he looks up from his amber glass of whiskey. “So, what do you do for work?” 

   You knit your eyebrows together and swallow another mouthful of the fruity liquid as you eye him suspiciously. He wants to know where you work? Interesting. “I work at the library. Austin Central Library. I’m a librarian.”

   He smiles gently your way, eyes all glistening as flecks of dark brown irises crinkle up at you. It’s a softer smile, not the menacing smirk he usually gives you. This one is different. “Should’ve guessed. A book lover who’s also smart? Figures,” he chuckles as he takes a generous gulp of his whiskey. “Say I come in there one day. Would you assist me in helpin’ me find some books? Maybe some classics? Books that maybe others don’t check out as often?”

   He raises a brow at you, a glint in his beautiful honey eyes as you laugh and play nervously with the bendy straw that sits in your almost untouched drink. “I mean, I would. Seems like you already know your way around though,” you smirk. 

   He chuckles and shakes his head. “Yeah, reckon I do.”     

   A loose curl falls over his eye, a strand that looks so soft to the touch. You almost push it back, so close while your hovering hand sits above your tan thigh, almost pushing the limits into other dangerous territory. 

   You clear your head of the ridiculous notion and push yourself back, watching as he moves the curl away himself. That was a close one. 

   You tap your long nails on the side of your glass and try your luck. “I was surprised to learn you were the owner of this club.”

   He smirks your way and laughs. “Yeah?”

   “You do this often? Pick up pretty girls at work and take them back to the dark hallway?” Your eyes narrow while he just shakes his head and laughs. 

   “No, can’t say that I do. You just caught my attention. I jus’ had to talk to you, at least. You were just so… stunning. Couldn’t pass you up.”

   Oh. 

   Your cheeks burn hot, crimson tinging the skin as you take another large gulp of your alcoholic beverage. You need to calm down. He’s just a guy. He’s probably like the rest of them, but something deep down tells you he’s not. 

   “How long have you been in the business?” you ask as you swirl the straw around the melting ice cubes. 

   “A few years. My brother, Tommy, joined the business with me. We still do contracting together on the side, but this is my main gig.”

   Contracting? He was a contractor? Fuck, can he get any hotter? 

   “Contractor, huh?” you ask curiously as your eyes light up with interest. 

   “That’s right. I like buildin’ things, makin’ things with my hands. It’s sort of relaxin’ to me. The way I can jus’ put together somethin’, imagine anything I want and jus’ build it from scratch. It’s probably my favorite hobby, honestly.”

   You find yourself hovering over the clean bar top, leaning against your elbow as you find yourself dreamily gazing at him. You gawk at his crooked smile, stare at the indented dimple in his left cheek as you get lost in his words, in his lively expressions. His low voice is so melodious that you think you could listen to him talk about his hobbies all night long. Maybe even over dinner, at his house, curled up in his lap…

   You shake yourself out of your hypnotic daze and smooth your dress out. You shouldn’t get close to anyone. Not after your ex, not after that horrible, horrific…

   “Hey, you good?” Joel asks, stirring you out of your hazy thoughts. 

   “What?” you ask confused as you come back to reality. 

   “You jus’ looked a little lost there for a second. You alright?” His voice is gentle, deep, and his large hand is even warmer as it glides over the top of your thigh, his touch soothing you back down from dark thoughts you shouldn’t be turning to. 

   “Oh, yeah. Sorry. You were saying?”

   He looks at you hesitantly, his eyes flicking over you quickly to assess that you’re really alright, but your small smile reassures him as he continues on. 

   Your eyes flicker over the flashy signs, the pink hue reflecting off the scarlet red ones, giving it just the right mix of a perfect combination. He sees you staring, and his lips curl up into a big grin as he raises his eyebrows. “What’s got your attention, hmm?” he asks as he looks over at the sparkling pink sign you’re staring at. 

   “The signs. There’s pink ones now, not just red…” Your voice catches on a whisper, almost being drowned out by the blaring pop song that booms through the speakers, but he still hears you. 

   “Oh, those. Yeah, some pretty little thing complained that there was too much red. Said I should throw some  pink in there. Stubborn thing, a bit moody, but glad I listened to her. It doesn’t look half bad.” He winks at you, and suddenly your heart is in your throat, pumping and making you gasp as he smirks your way with a knowing look in his eyes. 

   You take your chance to flirt, leaning forward as your fingertips hover over the top of his knee. “Didn’t think you’d listen to me after I was complaining the whole time. Didn’t know I was talking to the owner of the club. You could’ve just kicked me out,” you say with a curt laugh.

   He leans forward just a tad, the tops of his calloused fingers laying gently on the top of your thigh as you gasp in response to the heat of his touch. “Sweetheart, now why on earth would I kick you out? You clearly had an affect on me, otherwise I would’ve kept the signs the way they were. And besides,” he leans forward and places his mouth against the shell of your ear, his hot breath dancing across your skin, causing goosebumps to rise. “I wouldn’t have gotten to make you cum on my thigh if I would’ve done that.”

   Your breath hitches, your body coming to life as you feel the nerve endings light up against his touch, his breath, his smell. Suddenly, you want more, need more. And maybe he’ll give it to you, just maybe…

   “Why’d you come back here?” he whispers in the crest of your ear, his voice falling like drops of water against your heated skin, showering you in a mist of desire. “I don’t think it’s to socialize or find another guy, not even to sit back and grab a drink at the bar.”

   You feel his hand ghost over the edge of your hip, his palm hovering over the small of your back as you fight to keep yourself together. “No,” you hum, voice lilting like a fresh rose as your fingertips dig into the denim of his thigh. 

   His lips slide against your jawline, his whiskey breath fogging your mind as he whispers back to you in a deep, gravelly tone. “So, why’d you come back, angel? You want somethin’ else from me? Want me to give you more pleasure, more ecstasy?” 

   His gruff voice slides through your body, making the inside of your thighs press together as you feel the sticky slick drip against your lace. He hasn’t even gotten his hands on you tonight, and you’re already drowning in him. 

   You grab hold of his button-up, clinging to his silky fabric as you feel his coarse scruff drag against the edge of your cheek. You can smell him, almost taste the whiskey dripping down the back of his throat. And you want to taste it, feel it between your legs. 

   “I… Joel,” you whimper as his other hand trails up your thigh, dragging those thick, calloused fingers up up up until he’s raising the hem of your dress, just enough to drag a low groan from your throat. 

   “Yeah, s’that right?” he purrs as his lips meet the shell of your ear again. 

   You hold in a moan as his fingertips trace circles over your heated skin, his hand sliding up to skim the inside of the crease of your thigh, eliciting tingles that start low in your stomach. You want it, want him. “Joel,” you whisper, only low enough for him to hear as you cling harder to his button-up.

   “Gotta use your words, darlin’,” he chuckles. “Now, tell me. You want me to take you to the back? Give you more than last time? ‘Cause I’d sure love to taste you, really taste you,” he smirks. 

   “Are you gonna put me on your thigh again?” you ask breathlessly while his lips trace dangerously over the crest of your ear. 

   “No, angel. Not this time. Gonna show you somethin’ else. Gonna put my mouth between those pretty legs of yours,” he chuckles while his eyes darken with danger and temptation. 

   A wave of slick washes over you, and you’re already dripping at the anticipation of having his tongue swallow you whole. 

   “So, that what you want? Want me to show you how truly good I can make you feel?”

   You’re nearly pulling him toward you with how strong your grip on him is as you nod your head up and down like an eager puppy. “Mhm. Please,” you respond with a complacent whine. 

   He laughs and pulls you out of your seat, keeping his fingers entangled with yours as he grabs his glass of whiskey and drags you along. “C’mon then. Let’s go get ya taken care of.”

   He guides you through the dancing crowd, pushing through sweaty bodies as the bass fills your insides, the loud music mixing together with the nerves pulling down your spine as you follow him into the unknown. 

   The glittery dark walls turn into a narrow hallway as couples making out against the crowded walls step aside when they see Joel. They gawk at him and whisper quiet slurs as you pass them by, probably wishing they were you at this very moment. 

   He looks back at you and smirks, his grip on you tightening, the shadows making the dark brown flecks in his eyes look almost black. As black as a panther’s fur, eyes that want to pounce and consume you whole. And that just makes your heart hammer loudly against your chest as you stare back into those dreamy pools of desire.

   He takes you to the last door at the end of the dark hallway, painted crimson red as he twists the lavish golden handle and presses through, leading you in as he quietly closes it behind him and turns the lock to where no one else can get in. You gulp and try to take a slow breath, but the nerves seem to be crushing down on your lungs. You’re typically quite eloquent, but try as you might, you can’t seem to place what it is you’re feeling. Nervous. Excited. Absolutely panicked. You want this but your mind and body seem to be at odds.

   When you turn around, your mouth parts open as you take in the massive room. A large leather couch sits in the middle, a long pool table with red smooth felt coating the top of it sits in the right hand corner. The lights are dim, a lit fireplace sits crackling next to the leather couch, the walls glisten with shimmering black wallpaper, and the feel of the room is homey, warm, private. You can still hear the pounding music and occasional chants of club goers, but it’s mostly quiet in here. The only thing you can hear is the rushing of blood through your eardrums, your heart right along with it. 

   He lingers by the doorframe, adjusting his sleeves as he carefully rolls them up to his elbows, his smoldering eyes never leaving yours. Suddenly you’re a hot mess, fingers twisting against the hem of your blue dress, your eyes blown wide as you feel your chest tighten at the thought of being alone with him. Joel Miller. The club owner, the absolute menace who was sent to break into your closed up boundaries. 

   “Where do you want me?” you ask breathlessly.

   He stalks toward you, a sly smirk on his face as he starts to back you up toward the leather couch. You have no room to go around, no way to say no, your body just moves pliantly at his command as his thick fingers push gently against your hips. 

   “On the couch, sweetheart. Right. Here.” He gently pushes you down as you land in a heap on the plush couch. You scoot back, your legs sliding easily over the black leather as you squeeze your thighs together and dig your fingers into the edge of the new material. 

   You’re suddenly so nervous as sweat pools against the back of your neck, your lips trembling as you watch him take a generous gulp of his amber colored whiskey. You watch the way he moves, his bulging biceps clinging to his button-up, his slicked back curls throwing smoky grey colors under the dim lighting as he turns slowly, ending right between your legs. 

   He slowly bends down, running his calloused fingers languidly over the curve of your thighs. Your body tenses up, fingers digging into the slick material as your breath hitches at the sight of that smug smirk he has pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

   He tries to part your legs, but you hold back, afraid to show him what you look like bare. What if he doesn’t like what he sees, what if he suddenly changes his mind, what if he tells you to leave? Suddenly, you’re overstimulated by all the unknowns, and you can barely stand to look into his dark eyes as your own gazes toward the black polished floors. 

   As if he can sense your blinding fears and see right through your insecurities, his blown out eyes ease up, his eyebrows knitting together as he stares up at you with a look of encouragement. He cups your chin and makes you gaze up, right into the pits of his softening eyes. 

   “Hey,” he says with a gentle voice. “You nervous?”

   You stumble over your words and just nod, letting the gut wrenching feeling slide down your closed up throat. “Mhm,” you nod slowly. 

   His lips curl up into a gentle smile, and it takes the breath out of you as his dimple caves into the middle of his cheek. One hand lingers on the top of your thigh, and the other grazes softly underneath your chin. “You don’t gotta be nervous now, sweetheart. Jus’ relax, breathe.”

   You take a deep breath and blow it out slowly, starting to relax every limb in your body as you cautiously release your fingers from the edge of the couch and lay them by the hem of your sparkly dress. 

   “There ya go, angel. Jus’ breathe. Can ya do that for me?” You nod your head, and he chuckles lightly. “Good. Now, wanna tell me what’s got ya all nervous?”

   You try to look down, but he keeps his hand rested underneath your chin. You squirm a little, shuffling your hips against the squeaky leather, but he stills your body underneath him with his large palm. Your eyes shift up to his, and there’s no escaping those soft chocolate eyes that seem to stare straight into the depths of your shaking soul.

   “I just… I haven’t really. I’m not…” Fuck. You can’t even think straight, let alone speak without making a fool of yourself. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe…

   He presses his calloused fingers softly against your jawline and furrows his eyebrows as he assesses your stiff features. “Have you ever had anyone go down on you before?” His words are so gentle, not at all condescending which makes you unclench your jaw just a tad. 

   “I mean, a couple of times, but it wasn’t anything special. Maybe just a few seconds. They didn’t actually make me feel good. I think it was just so they could slide in. It wasn’t for my benefit, guess you could say. So no, I guess I really haven’t,” you mutter as you pout your bottom lip out. 

   His brows knit together in a tight line, his jaw ticking as he looks at you with a soft gaze. His fingertips leave your chin, and you feel like you’ve just lost a clutch on yourself, but his fingertips land softly on your wrist instead. “Well, that’s a real shame. They must be fuckin’ blind to pass up a girl like you. A real fuckin’ shame, but don’t worry, angel, I’m gonna make you feel so good. I can promise you that. You want that?”

   You eagerly nod your head up and down as your words tumble out of your mouth. “Yes, Joel. Please.” Maybe you’re a little too eager because you wrap your fingers firmly around his wrist like you're digging your roots into the tan of skin.  

   He chuckles lightly and smiles up at you, the dark flecks of his eyes seeming to sparkle under the dimly lit lights of the private room. “You gonna relax for me?”

   “Mhm,” you hum out. 

   “Attagirl,” he winks. You nearly choke on your own saliva at the sound of him saying Attagirl. It’s a simple word, but he’s telling you what a good girl you’re being, and it sends butterflies flitting through your lower belly. 

   His fingertips start to graze up and down the tops of your thighs, his calloused thumbs dipping down to your inner thighs as he starts to massage the area tenderly. You know what he’s doing, know what he’s capable of doing as he looks up at you with hungry, dark eyes. He wants to devour you, and you sure as hell aren’t going to say no to him. The hottest man you’ve ever laid eyes on wants you. And you sure as hell want him, too. 

   “Need a little liquid courage to relax a little, hmm?” he asks as he cocks one eyebrow up, his head turning to the side as he looks at you with curious eyes. 

   “It wouldn’t hurt,” you shrug. 

   “Alright then, angel. Tip your head back jus’ a little. Gonna give ya a taste of my whiskey,” he says with a sultry tone. 

   You do as he says, tipping your head back just an inch as you watch him get up from the corner of your eye. He grabs his glass of amber whiskey, swirling it around as the ice hits the edge of the clear cup, making a clinking noise that sounds a lot like how your insides feel. All tingly and alive with nerves pulling low in your gut. 

   “Tip your head a little more, that’s it,” he approves as he places a hand under your chin and coaxes your lips open with his calloused thumb. “Keep that pretty mouth open now.”

   You watch him tip his own head back, taking a large gulp of his whiskey on the rocks. Your eyes grow wide when you see him leaning over you as his thumb pulls your mouth open wider. He lets the alcohol pool out of his mouth like a running faucet, flowing down through your own mouth as the whiskey and the taste of his saliva mix together while it slides slowly down the back of your throat. 

   “Swallow,” he instructs as he closes your mouth, still hovering over you as he watches you down his taste. You feel the burn simmer through your stomach, taste him on the tip of your tongue as his woodsy cologne sends you into a hazy fog where all you can see is him as his dark eyes begin to grow black. 

   “Good girl,” he praises. Your mouth gawks open as he sinks back down to the floor, situating himself between the center of your legs as he slowly begins to part them. 

   He clicks his tongue as he sees your body sewn to the back of the couch. “Now, angel, can’t reach ya all the way back there. C’mere.” 

   He pulls you to the edge of the leather couch, the palms of his calloused hands latching onto the backs of your thighs. And then he’s parting them, running his fingers nice and slow up the inside of your thighs until he’s hiking the bottom of your dress up over your hips.

   You can’t breathe, your voice being held back by the drowned out whines and moans you’re already holding back. You know you’re going to fall apart as soon as his large tongue meets your center, and he’s going to devour you, lick you clean till you have nothing left to give because you just have this feeling that he’ll work you and work you and work you till you’re fully gone. And it nearly drowns out the pulsing energy flowing through your ears. 

   He drags his lips against your skin, sending trails of kisses up the insides of your thighs as you suck in a breath from the tingling sensations he’s sending straight to your core. He drags his lips higher, lifting your skirt flush over your thighs as he pulls you closer to him while his breath blows gently over your clothed core.

   “Look at you, already soakin’ for me,” he purrs as he drags the tip of his curved nose against your clothed folds. Fuck. You hold in a whine, bucking your hips forward as you silently beg him to keep going. 

   He chuckles out at your response, his dark eyes smoldering as he takes the tip of his thumb and starts to slowly caress your soaked folds. He gauges your reaction, your wide eyes and panting mouth as he starts to circle your clit slowly through the dripping lace. 

   “Joellll,” you whine out, your manicured nails digging into the leather of the couch. 

   “Yeah? Does it feel good,” he teases as he presses harder against your buzzing bundle of nerves. 

   “Mhm, need more. Need you to…”

   “Shhh. I’ve got ya, angel. Jus’ gettin’ ya nice and worked up. Want you drippin’ for me. Want this pretty pussy messy and sticky so I can drink you down like a bottle of sweet whiskey,” he purrs with mischief written all over those syrupy brown eyes. 

   Before you can speak, he takes his tongue and runs it slowly over your clothed core, soaking your ruined lace as you stifle out a moan and buck your hips forward. “Joel, please,” you beg as your heels dig into the surface of the dark floor. 

   “That’s what I thought,” he teases as his dark eyes shift up toward you. “Now, let’s get these off ya, shall we?” He pulls your lacy panties down your legs and over your high heeled stilettos, bunching up the ruined material and shoving them deep into the pocket of his jeans. 

   He spreads you wide, your pussy on full display as he sits back on his heels and gawks at you, sliding his palm over his silvery scruff as his eyes blow out wide. He groans, long and deep as he takes in the sight of your dripping core. You can barely breathe as you watch him take you in nice and slow, his eyes alight with fire you want to dip your fingertips into. 

   “Goddamn. You’re fuckin’ perfect, angel. Look at that pretty pink pussy. Drippin’ and soppin’ jus’ for me, ain’t that right?” He smirks, eyes blowing out into black pits as he leans back down and starts spreading your thighs, his meaty hands holding you down while his cool breath blows over your sensitive center. 

   You squirm underneath him, feeling sweat pool beneath your long locks as you watch him become mesmerized with your glistening, sticky core. “Joel,” you whisper, barely making a sound as you try to hold yourself back from crushing his face to your center. 

   “Mmm, yeah. You’re such a messy girl, think I need to clean you up,” he purrs as his thumb lightly traces over your sticky folds. 

   “Please,”you beg as you groan out with need. “Your mouth, Joel. I need it,” you whine.

   “Yeah, ya do,” he smirks. The next thing you know, he’s leaning down and licking a thick, clean stripe all the way from your dripping hole to the tops of your curls above your glistening mound. You moan, body writhing beneath him as he takes his meaty hands and holds your hips still. 

   “You taste so fuckin’ sweet, angel. Jus’ hold on. Let me take care of this pretty pussy.”

   He dives back in, his thick fingers spreading your folds wide as he devours you whole. His tongue languidly slides up and down, collecting drops of slick as he works you nice and slow. Your hips cant up every time his large tongue glides over your buzzing mound, feeling the electric zaps of lightning shooting down your spine when he takes his time and drowns himself in your messy pussy. 

   He works and works and works you over, drawing meticulous circles around your puffy clit while your eyes roll back, and you toss your head back in full elation. You can feel the energy coursing through your body, feel that aching desire being fed as he feeds on you, flicking his tongue up and down ravenously until you swear you see stars in your vision. 

   You tangle your fingers into his greying locks, hear him groan under your hold as you fight to keep a grip on yourself. You’re so close to spilling, so close to elated bliss as your body hums beneath your skin. 

   “Eyes on me, angel. Wanna see those beautiful eyes. Watch me, wanna see you fall apart against my tongue,” he purrs as he licks another long stripe up the center of your folds.

   When you snap your eyes open, they go wide as you look at the hungry beast of a man beneath you. He looks completely wrecked, black blown eyes searing into your gaze, his beard dripping in your glistening arousal, his rough tongue working your aching bundle of nerves while his large hands hold your thighs down, making sure you do cum beneath his tongue. 

   You’re a panting mess, high pitched moans drowning out the blaring music from the other side of the club while you feel yourself start to break. Another wave of slick hits his tongue, and you’re fighting everything inside you to hold on just a little longer.

   “Don’t hold back, sweetheart. Wanna see you, wanna taste you. C’mon now, give it to me,” he growls. He pulls your puffy clit into his mouth and sucks, firing off every single nerve ending in your body until you can’t hold on anymore. You’re gone. 

   “Joel - fuck,” you moan as you feel the tingling sensations run flush down your spine, igniting fireworks in your mind that make you dizzy, and then you’re spilling yourself all over him. Slick builds on his tongue, and he groans while he laps up every bit of it while he growls good girl through the pleasurable licks. He keeps you there till there’s not a hint of slick left between your thighs, he eats you up like a ravenous dog that’s starving for you. 

   When he’s finished, he looks up and smirks at you with a mischievous smile. “How was that, angel? Did I make you feel good?”

   You nod your head up and down slowly. “So good. I’ve never felt anything quite like that,” you pant out as he chuckles up at you. 

   “Well, that’s good. ‘Cause I’m not done with you yet,” he smirks.

   “What?” you ask with wide eyes. Not done with you yet? 

   “Oh no, angel. That was one orgasm. You’re gonna give me another one.”

   “Another one? But I…”

   “Know you have more in you, sweetheart. Let me get you there, let me make you lose control.”

   He slides you forward, holding your hip down with one of his meaty hands while his other starts to play with your sensitive mound. “I can make you cum in so many ways. This time I’ll take you through with my fingers, know exactly where to get ya,” he smirks, his blown out eyes looking like black pits of desire, a pit you’ll gladly follow him into. 

   You pant out in a needy whine, watching him drag his middle and ring fingers down your folds, and then shoving them deep into your dripping hole. “Oh,” you moan as he bends his fingers and reaches that spongy, soft spot that makes slick collect on his drenched knuckles. 

   “Yeah? Feel good?” he asks with a smug smirk on that handsome face, your release still sticking through his greying threads throughout his beard. The sight of it makes you drip more for him, panting out a moan when you respond.

   “Mhm, Joel. Feels - so good,” you murmur as you dig your nails into the shoulder of his crimson shirt. 

   “Mmm, that’s what I like to hear,” he responds while licking his lower lip seductively. 

   He pushes the back of his thumb into your buzzing clit, drawing slow, meticulous circles while his other fingers pump in and out of you, drawing wet, squelching noises out of you that just seem to turn him on even more. 

   “C’mon, angel. Tell me how good I’m makin’ ya feel,” he purrs as he continues pulverizing your needy pussy. 

   “So fucking good. Oh my god, Joel,” you whine as he bathes you in pure ecstasy, coating you in desires you didn’t even know you had in you. All you know is you want more, need more of him. 

   “Mmm, that’s good, angel. Wanna make you cum again,” he growls as his dark, blown out eyes tear into your whimpering soul. 

   “Please, Joel. Feels so good. Your fingers, your… fuck,” you whine as he ruts up into you, pushing on that sweet, spongy area that makes slick drip down his huge knuckles. 

   He chuckles, speeding up his meticulous circles of your clit and thrusting his fingers deep inside your messy hole. The wet noises of his calloused fingers brushing up into you are sinful, filling you to the brim until you can barely hold yourself back. You’re about to cum again, but this time feels much different than the last. 

   “C’mon now, messy girl. Spill for me, soak me,” he growls as his fingers move faster in and out of you, continuously tormenting you with how fucking good you feel beneath his touch. 

   “Joel, I’m gonna… gonna…”

   “Give it to me,” he demands with the bite of his snarl and blown out black pupils. 

   One more hit to your spongy walls and he’s knocking the orgasm out of you. His thumb stays clenched down on your throbbing clit, and your orgasm washes through you like a raging hurricane that destroys whole cities with its powerful riptides. You spill yourself, experiencing a new sensation that almost overpowers you as it takes you on the ride of your life. You start squirting, your elated moans filling the emptiness of the room as you release hot, damp slick all over his crimson button-up. 

   “Oh fuck yeah, angel. That’s a good fuckin’ girl. Goddamn,” he praises as his fingers slowly massage your insides, working out your mind blowing orgasm as you fight to keep yourself upright. 

   The arousal glistens on his salt-and-pepper scruff, slick coating the front of his soft material, while he’s knuckles deep into your dripping pussy as you take in just how fucked out he looks. He looks so hot with his messy curls falling down into his blown out eyes, his tongue licking his bottom lip seductively while he works you nice and slow with those meticulous fingers of his. He’s a work of art, a perfect masterpiece that you don’t want to stop looking at. He’s everything you really ever wanted in a man. And he looks so wrecked. 

   His eyes narrow playfully, black pits that swallow you whole as he hooks your tired legs over his broad shoulders and slides you to the very edge of the damp leather couch. His breath blows over your sensitive center, and you can barely tolerate anymore. 

   “Joel,” you whine, feeling like you have nothing else to give. 

   “S’okay, angel. One more, give me one more,” he coaxes as he melts his mouth down to your over sensitive core. 

   You have no room to speak, nowhere to go as he melds his tongue against your folds, dipping inside you, stroking languid licks against your aching clit that’s pulsing and so sensitive. He takes you past the edge, past all your boundaries as you dig your fingers into his mop of messy curls. 

   “Joel, it’s too much. I can’t cum again. I can’t…” you whine as he pops his mouth off your puffy clit. 

   “You can, angel. One more. Give me one more,” he purrs as you nod your head and hold in a whine. He takes his tongue and licks a thick strip all the way up your core, collecting slick against his tongue while he works up another building orgasm that you didn’t know you had left in you. 

   His fingers curl into you, reaching your spongy walls as his tongue pulls your drenched clit into his warm mouth. He sucks and drools over you, mixing his own saliva into your slick clit as he sucks and slurps on your aching core. 

   “Joel, I think I’m about to…”

   “That’s it, angel. One more time, let me hear those pretty moans. Say my name. Say it,” he slurs as he pushes his nose into the curls above your mound and licks feverishly against your puffy clit. 

   “Ahhh, Joellll,” you moan as you feel your slick wash through you, coating his tongue as he generously laps you up, panting between licks as he holds your hips down to lavish in your white hot release. 

   Your breath comes in waves, leaning your head back into the cushion of the leather couch as you watch him languidly clean all the slick from your sore, over sensitive pussy. 

   When he’s finished cleaning you off, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and smirks up at you with that devilish, handsome grin you burn into the back of your buzzing brain. He pulls the skirt of your dress down and pushes himself up, collapsing into the spot next to you on the plushy couch. 

   You both sigh, breathing heavily as he looks over at you and smiles, his blown out eyes relaxing into honey glazed eyes that burn holes through your vision. He’s so pretty when he smiles, eyes alight and his messy curls falling into his sweaty forehead. He looks fucking wrecked, but he looks so good like that. You wonder what he’d look like with you between his large legs…

   “How was that, hmm? Did I exceed your expectations?” he smirks as he lets his head fall back into the couch, glowing eyes staring right through you. 

   You smile, taking a deep breath as you let your aching muscles relax. “That was the best three orgasms of my life. You’re pretty… amazing,” you beam as you see the hint of a sparkle in those thick pools of honey. 

   “Glad I could make ya feel good, angel. You deserve it, and I’m so happy that I could be of some assistance,” he chuckles as his calloused fingers slowly trail up and down your thigh, a gentle rhythm that puts you at ease. 

   Suddenly, you feel like you should move, get up from this couch full of comfort. You want to make him feel good. You should, after he coaxed three insane orgasms out of you, you feel as if you owe him. And you want to, need to give him the same. So you will. Right now. 

   You slowly slide from the couch, ending on your knees as you crawl between his legs, laying your hands flat on his jeans while your fingertips dig into the meat of his thighs. You want to taste him just like he tasted you. 

   “What are you doin’ down there, angel, hmm?” he asks curiously with one eyebrow raised high on his forehead. 

   You brush your fingertips higher, hands now resting on his leather belt. “What does it look like I’m doing?” You smirk up at him and watch his eyes darken with desire. 

   He runs his tongue smoothly over his bottom teeth and gives you a crooked half grin that makes you weak in the knees. “Thought you didn’t like goin’ down on guys, sweetheart. Change your mind?” His jaw ticks, and he looks at you as if he’s teasing you in the best possible way. 

   You smile sweetly up at him and say, “Well, you’re not just any guy,” you laugh as you roll your eyes. “You’re not them, you gave me pleasure first, indescribable bliss. So let me repay the favor. I want to do this. You didn’t ask, I just want to give you exactly what you gave me.”

   He leans forward, narrowing his dark eyes as he smirks devilishly your way, licking his lower lip as he gazes hungrily into your eyes. “Think you can handle it?”

   Your breath hitches, watching the way he’s teasing you, dark eyes alight with mischief written in those flecks of black charcoal. If he thinks that’s turning you on again then he’s absolutely right. You’re already so wet again, slick pooling in between your sticky thighs. 

   You lean forward and undo his leather belt as you toss it to the floor in a heap, smirking smugly up at him. “Oh, I can handle it.”

   He cocks a thick eyebrow up and relaxes into the slick couch, spreading his legs as he nods down to his jeans. “Alright then, sweetheart. Let’s see what you can do with that pretty mouth of yours.”

   You giggle silently and smile up at him, leisurely unzipping his zipper and tugging down his denim jeans, along with his black boxers. When his erect cock springs free, you gawk over how absolutely massive he is. His long, thick cock is leaking precum, the swollen red tip of him begging to be touched. He’s so fucking big that you can barely form a coherent sentence, he’s absolutely sensational. 

   “What’s the matter, angel?” he teases as he cocks his head to the side, a sarcastic smile tugging at his plush lips. “Think you can still handle it?”

   You watch him carefully, narrowing your eyes as you smirk up at him. He’s challenging you, coaxing you to take a hold of him. He doesn't know yet that you can’t pass up a challenge, especially when it comes to him. You may be timid most of the time, but this time you need to show him that you can handle him. 

   You lean forward, inching your hand over his muscular thigh until you’re ghosting over his weeping cock. “Oh, I can handle it. Watch me,” you smirk. 

   He lifts his brows like he’s trying to figure you out, like he wants to crawl inside your scrambled mind until he finds exactly what he wants to know. But somehow he knows you can handle it, so he leans back into the leather and nods his head. “Go on, then. Handle it,” he challenges. 

   You lick your glossy lips seductively as you reach your hand around the girth of his thick cock, slowly spreading the building precum up and down his shaft as you indulge in the wet sounds your hands are making working up and down him. He groans, shifting his hips forward as he relaxes his back against the leather of the couch.

   Keeping your eyes on him, you lean down and slowly lick up the thick vein on the underside of his cock, languidly taking your time and ending at the tip as you swirl your tongue in slow circles over his swollen red head.

   “Christ,” he groans, his dark pits turning carnal as he watches you take him in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks out as you start to bob your head up and down slowly, one hand at the base working the bottom of his shaft while your spit mixes with his precum. 

   You feel him squirm underneath you, his cock spasming in your mouth as you take him deeper, feeling your drool coat his slick cock as you suck him and tease him with your tongue, your hand, the back of your throat. He tastes so good, the salty bitterness sliding down your throat as you drink him down like he’s a fresh glass of sweet lemonade on a hot summer day in Austin.

   You take a breather, pulling off of him as you wrap your hand around his large length and start spreading your drool over him, making him messy as you smile sweetly up at him.

   He looks at you with cloudy eyes, looking absolutely fucked out as he takes you in. Messy lips, lip gloss smeared over his slick cock, a bead of drool connecting from his weeping tip to your lower lip, cheeks flushed pink as you look up at him with glossy eyes. He thinks you’re fucking perfect, a vision only the gods should see. And he feels as if he’s won the lottery because you’re a goddamn treasure. 

   “Fuck, sweetheart. Didn’t know you were so good with that pretty mouth of yours. Not too shy now, are ya?” he chuckles as he traces your bottom lip, catching the strand of drool that connects you to him like an intricate spider web spun around his swollen cock. 

   “Guess not,” you say as you shake your head. The way he’s looking at you seems intimate, even through his big, blown out eyes, it’s like he’s fawning over you, the position you’re in, between his knees, hand wrapped around his shaft, drool pooling in your mouth. It’s too much, too affectionate, you’re suddenly a blushing mess. 

   “Well, go on, angel. Keep goin’. Bein’ such a good girl with that pretty mouth, don’t stop on my account,” he chuckles, sliding his tongue menacingly over his bottom teeth as he winks at you. 

   You feel crimson fill your cheeks as you get back to work. You take him back in your mouth, slowly sliding down, down, down until you’re nearly choking on him. You make a muffled, gagging sound around him, and he tenses under you, groaning your name as he takes a hand and wraps it around your hair, holding it out of the way as you devour him. 

   “Attagirl, that’s it,” he hisses through his teeth when you go back down on him, your tongue twirling around his tip after you slide up and down the shaft of him, ending at his balls while you suck and wet them with your drool and spit. 

   “Goddamn,” he moans, cupping the back of your neck while your hair is wrapped firmly around his hand. When you come back up to the red, angry tip, he rasps out. “Think you can take me deeper, sweetheart?”

   Your heart speeds up, pulling itself into your throat as you swallow back any hesitation. He’s so big, it’ll be hard, but you’ll try. As long as he can guide you, you think you can do it. 

   You slowly nod your head up and down, taking a nice, deep breath while you still have the chance. “Mhm, yeah. I can try,” you pant out as he smiles warmly down at you. 

   “Alright, angel. Gonna guide you, okay? Jus’ wrap your hand around my wrist if it gets too much. Don’t wanna take you past your limits,” he chuckles, placing his large hand back where it was, keeping your hair wrapped around his calloused fingers. 

   You open your mouth wide, taking him back in your mouth while he slowly guides you down against him. You hollow your cheeks, opening your throat as he takes you down down down until your nose is grazing against the coarse, dark hair at the base of him. When you come back up again, breathing fresh air through your nose, he asks if you’re okay. When you nod your head yes, he smirks and takes you back down. 

   He speeds up his movements, guiding you back and forth down on his messy cock as he starts to fuck up into your mouth. The pacing is swift, erratic, desperate as he drives your mouth down on him over and over again. You’re so fucking full of him that obscene, squelching noises are coming out of your throat while you mouth fuck him again and again and again. You’re drowning in your own saliva, the drool pooling out of your throat and onto his large length while you gag and choke on his massive cock. 

   You can’t hear the thumping music out on the dance floor anymore, can only hear his stifled moans and the throat fucking noises reverberate across the dimly lit private room. Your eyes water, mascara running down your eyes while his hand tightens and pulls firmly on your hair, your own moans filling the space while you slip one hand under your dress while the other grips the end of his shirt. 

   You circle your aching clit, feeling pleasure run through your body while he ruts his hips into your mouth and chokes on another heated moan. “Look at you, angel. Already soakin’ again, yeah? Chokin’ on this fat cock made you wet again, hmm?” he teases as he lifts your mouth up and watches the drool pool from your tired mouth. 

   “Mhm, it did,” you nod as the breath leaves your body, his salty taste still lingering in the back of your throat while your hand goes back to slowly working him up and down. 

   You moan out in pleasure, feeling the precipice of your orgasm about to wash over you as he watches with wrecked black eyes. “Gonna cum again, angel?”

   “Ye- yeah,” you pant as you feel the white hot sensation start to take over, feeling your muscles collapse beneath your knees as he places a sturdy hand on your shoulder to keep you from falling over. “Joelllll,” you scream as he works you through your orgasm.

   “Oh, fuck yeah, sweetheart. Such a good girl spillin’ for me again. There ya go, what an angel,” he purrs as you fight to keep your eyes open, feeling the aftershocks of a fourth orgasm in just under an hour. You’ve never cum this many times, but also you’ve never met a man like Joel. A pure menace that keeps you on your toes. 

   He keeps you upright while you lean into his meaty thighs, one hand languidly stroking him up and down while the slick and drool collects in your palm. “Joel,” you whine with a pathetic cry that whimpers from your throat. 

   “What do ya need, sweetheart? Tell me what you want,” he coaxes, his thick fingers massaging the back of your shoulders gently. 

   “Want to… want to finish you off. Wanna make you cum,” you groan out. 

   He looks down at you, gentle brown eyes gazing through you as a light chuckle comes from his lips. “You seem pretty tired, darlin’. You sure you can…”

   “Yes,” you snap, eyes heating into his like a swirling fire. “Let me finish you off. Gag me, Joel. Fuck my mouth, please,” you beg.

   He chuckles out, eyes blowing back out as he smirks your way. “Such a dirty girl, ain’t ya? Alright, sweetheart. Since you asked so nicely, I’ll jus’ give ya what you want.”

   He grabs a fistful of your hair, holding you in place as he brings his weeping cock up to your mouth and thrusts in, hitting the back of your throat while you gag and swallow him whole, his massive cock hitting the back of your throat repeatedly. You sit there and take it, on your knees while your hands dig into the meat of his thighs. 

   His thrusts speed up, snapping his hips into the air as he grunts and swallows your name on elated moans. “That’s a good fuckin’ girl, yeah. Takin’ me so well, sweetheart. Goddamn,” he grunts as he thrusts harder into the back of your throat. 

   He’s so close, you can feel it by the winded breaths and breathy moans, his body coming to life every time he ruts up into you. It’s like he’s everywhere all at once, his salty cum sliding down your hot throat as you feel him about to burst. 

   “Fuck, I’m not gonna last any longer, angel. I’m gonna… gonna cum,” he huffs as he tightens his fist through your messy curls. You inhale his musk, the smell of sweat and sex consuming you while he mouth fucks you nice and hard. 

   Just when you feel like you’re about to run out of breath, he thrusts deep inside your throat, your nose gliding against the base of his coarse hairs when you feel his cock spasm around the back of your throat. Before you know it, hot ropes of white cum are filling you, shooting down your closed up throat as you drink his salty release down. 

   “Christ,” he groans as he releases the last of his cum, filling you nice and full with the white spurts of him. 

   He releases his grip in your hair, pushing you back as he slowly slides out of your drool encased throat. When you finally take a breather, you cough a few times, choking on nothing until you’re panting out in raspy breaths. 

   You see him tuck himself back into his boxers, sliding his jeans up his hips as he zips himself back up and reaches down, cupping your chin as he takes a good look at the absolute wreck he made you. 

   “Look at you,” he laughs, gazing into your tear soaked eyes while his thumb gently grazes against your drool covered mouth, lip gloss covering half your chin. “Really did a number on ya, huh?” he teases. 

   “Looks like it,” you smile. 

   He smiles back, and it’s so warm that you have to stop and take a long, deep breath. He’s positively radiating right now, and it makes something tug hard inside your core. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” he asks. 

   He unbuttons the red collared button-up quickly, throwing his pristine white t-shirt over his head. And you can’t help but gawk at his tanned, glowing skin and the ripped muscles he has against his broad chest. He’s fucking gorgeous, he almost doesn’t even look real. 

   “C’mere,” he chuckles as he takes the soft t-shirt and cleans you off, running the cotton material against your messy mouth, your rainy eyes, your clumpy mascara, your sweat covered forehead. He’s so gentle with his large hands, almost delicate as he traces every inch of your face until you’re all cleaned up. You can’t help but stare at him the entire time he takes care of you. You’ve never had this, never known this. 

   Why was he doing this for you? Surely he’d just leave you to clean up after yourself, but he doesn’t. He does it for you. 

   “There ya go, all better,” he smiles gently, his caramel eyes a lighter brown as he stares back at you, something warm and admirable in his flecked starry eyes. It’s nothing like you’ve seen before. It’s new, uncharted territory. “Feel better?”

   “Yeah,” you say in a daze, still on your sore knees while you stare up at him, eyelashes batting slowly. 

   “Good, that’s good,” he nods slowly, thumb still trailing along your jawline smoothly. It’s like you’re in a fog, your mind racing at whatever this is. He’s a menace, but he’s also so, so… caring. You almost can’t say the word. 

   He throws on his silky shirt again, butting the small buttons as he covers his tanned, hairy chest. You almost mourn the loss of his sweaty, glistening chest. 

   “What are you still doin’ on the floor?” he laughs as he scoots over to the edge of the couch, leaving the left side open for you. 

   “Oh, I don’t know. Guess I got stuck,” you giggle as you shake your head, but honestly you’re just so tired, and you can’t stop looking at his mess of curls and honey colored eyes that you want to slip into. 

   “Well, c’mon now. Let’s get you up. C’mere.” He lifts you up off the hard floor, turning you around to where you’re facing the opposite way. He leans back into the armrest of the chair, parting his legs as he scoops you up into his lap and pulls his arms around your waist while one hand gently slides up and down your bare right arm, his fingertips trailing against smooth skin. 

   Your body is so confused, muscles tensing with every stroke of his thumb. You shouldn’t stiffen up, shouldn’t shy away from him because he feels so warm, but yet your body doesn’t even know what’s happening. Why is he being so soft, so gentle? Your mind must be playing tricks on you. This isn’t normal. At least not normal for you…

   Joel immediately notices your tight, strained muscles and carefully grips your shoulder. “Hey, why are you so tense? Hmm?” he asks with knit together brows, looking down at you with concern lathered all in those syrupy eyes. 

   You shrug, giving him your best perplexed look at you flutter your long lashes up at him. “I don’t know, guess I’m just known to be a little tense,” you whisper out, your eyes still staring up into those pools of warmth. 

   He smiles at you, chuckling out as he rubs the back of your neck, his thick fingers feeling like magic as they gradually dance over your smooth skin. “Relax,” he coaxes as he slides you up further on his lap, resting one arm lazily over your hip and the other drawing gentle circles in the crease of your arm. 

   Relax. The word slips through you, pulling every tense muscle out of its binds, releasing you slowly from any worries or anxiety in your buzzing mind. You’re here with Joel, you can relax. You don’t have to always go into fight or flight mode after being physical. This is a safe space. He is a safe space. 

   You nuzzle into the middle of his chest, resting your hand on the warm button-up as your hand brushes right over his beating heart. You can feel it beat a million miles an hour, the galloping hooves pumping in his veins. You also feel your own heart, steady and pacing wildly, and they start to mix together slowly. 

   Thump, thump, thump. It’s like your beats almost match his. A swift race of only two bodies colliding into the other, both running toward the other until you mesh into one. Two falling stars predestined to fall together. Binary stars.

   You nestle your cheek into the cotton of his button-up, your hand slipping under his shirt as you feel hot, sticky skin and the flex of strong muscles. He flexes his arm across your back and languidly strokes up and down your spine, calming you of any tension and putting your tired muscles at rest. 

   He smells so good, woodsy pine scents sticking to his flannel, sweet whiskey collecting on his tongue, and maybe the hint of some kind of tobacco in his hair from the wild crowd outside this room’s door. You get so lost in his scent that you just now realize he’s stroking the back of your head, fingers combing through your locks of hair as he caresses your lower back with his other hand. 

   You close your eyes, breathing him deep as you relax into his soothing touch, feeling every brush of his calloused fingertips as he rubs the back of your head gently. Your eyes flash open when you realize just what this is. Aftercare. 

   Aftercare? Joel was giving you… aftercare? But why? No one had ever given you that. Why would he want to give you that? 

   He rips you out of your distant thoughts, his deep, gravelly voice blowing gently through your ear. “You okay?” he asks as he trails his index finger up and down your wrist. You wish he’d never stop. 

   “Mhm,” you hum as you nuzzle into his arm, wrapping yourself around it as you hear him chuckle lightly above you while his head comes to rest on the top of your head. 

   “You thirsty?”

   “Yeah, actually,” you murmur against the cotton material rubbing softly against your cheek. 

   “Alright, let me jus’ go grab some water for you, sweetheart.” He shifts his weight carefully, sliding out from underneath you as he positions you against the soft cushion of the couch. “You gonna be alright if I’m gone for a few minutes?”

   You flick your eyes up to his and nod sleepily. “Mhm.”

   “Okay, angel. Be right back.” 

   Before he goes, he softly caresses your cheek with the back of his hand and then makes his way toward the door. He tugs it open, allowing the flow of carrying music to enter the room until he closes it gently, making the loud music suddenly go silent. 

   You breathe out a sigh, relaxing into the black leather as you place your fingers against the seat of the cushion. You still smell him, that whiskey and woodsy scent you could get drunk off. It engulfs you, makes you drunk with need. And then you feel that low tug when you think of those smoldering dark eyes and that lazy, crooked smile that seems to send your heart into a full on race. 

   You’re getting attached to him. You shouldn’t, you don’t need another shattered heart. But maybe Joel would be different, he is different. So maybe you need to let your concrete walls down again. Maybe for him you would…

   You close your eyes, concentrate on soothing the growing ache in between your legs, breathing in his cologne that’s left lathered in the leather on the couch. It’s soothing, almost like a bedtime melody that can hum you to sleep. You’re so close to fading off, drifting into a calm sleep until you hear the rustling noise of a door being opened and the sound of party goers float through the dimly lit room. 

   Once you push yourself to a sitting position, Joel joins you next to you on the couch, skimming his denim jeans against your bare leg. “Sorry I took so long. Thought you might be hungry, too.”

   Before you can ask what he means, he brings a basket of golden chicken fingers around his side and hands it to you, while his big brown gaze smiles back at you. Your mouth drops open, and you gawk at him. Chicken? He remembered what you said.

   Blinking once, twice, three times in shock, you finally reach out and grab the red basket while your fingertips brush against his. “Chicken fingers? I didn’t think you had any food here? I thought you said…”

   He laughs and places his hand on your thigh softly. “Well, if I remember correctly, some random girl just waltzed in here last weekend and started complaining ‘bout there not bein’ any food. Specifically chicken.” 

   He raises his brows and smirks your way, continuing his conversation. “She got me thinkin’ maybe I could use a private menu, somethin’ not open to the public jus’ yet. Maybe she wants to try it out first, hmm?”

   You narrow your eyes playfully, grabbing a piece of a fried chicken finger and breaking off half. “Yeah? Maybe she does want to try,” you say flirtatiously. When you take a bite of the delicious goodness, you can’t help but groan at the taste of it. “Holy shit, this is really good,” you reply with a little bounce in your seat. 

   He chuckles and smiles, grabbing the other half from your hand and bites into it. “Yeah? That good?” he laughs as he folds himself back into the cushion of the couch. 

   “Yeah,” you reply with a smile wide on your face. 

   He changed the signs for you, made chicken for you, made you feel pleasure like you’ve never known before in your life, gave you aftercare. Joel was… something out of a dream. So charming, handsome, dominant but yet so soft. You really needed to be careful with this one. 

   The red embers in the fire crackle in the corner while you and Joel talk about books, hobbies, music, your likes and dislikes. And it’s so easy as you fall back into laughter with him, flirting and smiling to each other while the both of you sip on iced waters and finish off the crispy chicken. 

   “Why’d you do it?” you ask quietly, after the chicken is finished off and you sit with your legs sprawled across his lap, his calloused fingers running slowly up and down your smooth skin.

   “Do what?” he asks, cocking his head to the side as those pools of honey flood your mind. 

   “The pink signs, the chicken, and whatever else you changed that I didn’t notice.”

   He looks at you a minute, his honey eyes glazing over yours while his greying scruff catches the dimly lit lighting of the glowing room. And it looks like he’s contemplating if he wants to say anything or not. He slightly shrugs and smiles over at you. “Guess it jus’ took a special girl to open my eyes.”

   “Oh,” you gulp. 

   Special girl? He thinks you’re special? Oh. 

   His eyes never leave yours, those smoldering brown eyes you can’t get enough of. And you’re afraid you’re already falling hard. 

   You nod to his pocket that he stuffed your panties in and raise an eyebrow at him. “You gonna give me those back, Mr. Club Owner?” you tease as he smirks over at you with a devilish glint to his dark eyes. 

   “I don’t think so, angel. Think I might jus’ keep ‘em. Besides, they look better off you,” he winks as your cheeks flush red. 

   You shake your head and laugh. “You’re a menace, Joel. You know that?”

   He throws his head back and chuckles loudly as his laugh carries around the large room. You love it, the sound of his deep, infectious laugh. You’re in big trouble, and you know that now. But there’s no going back now, it’s too late for that. He’s already had a taste of you, and you want more.

Tags: @pedroswife69 @littlevenicebitch69 @laramari71 @laramc-02 @yxtkiwiyxt

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Great Expectations 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Professor Holmes' class is your most difficult, but he's about to make it even more challenging.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (modern AU)

Note: It was a drabble then it weren't.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You're not certain. Not at first. But when are you ever confident in anything?

Yet you're assured by the dark curls and vibrant eyes, the slanted brows never devoid of judgment. More than anything, it's his posture that confirms his identity. Professor Holmes is staunch and indomitable even as he browses shelves of antique style pens; crystal, wood, and brass. He considers each as he would every word of a term paper. 

You're doubt turns to what to do next. Do you say hello? Or pretend you don't see him? Would he know either way? You're fairly convinced he can't pick you out of the lecture hall. 

So you do what you do best and fade into the scenery. You trail along the shelves and dip around the other side, putting your attention to the spools of thread, organized in a perfect spectrum of hues. As you mindlessly touch the thread, your mind wanders back around the row.

You would never expect to see the professor there, though honestly, you've never thought of him outside the classroom. You avoid that as much as you can, you stress enough over his unattainable standards. His is the only class which has you below an A. 

You contemplate the silver twine. You've been looking for the very thing and yet the price is much above your budget. All that for some shine? 

You move on, turning around to the balls of wool and needles arranged from thinnest to thickest. Your ears are pricked by the familiar timbre. The professor's voice carries as easily as in the lecture hall. You try not to listen but you can't help the instinctive decipher of each syllable. 

"Are these genuine silver?" He asks, presumably of a passing associate.  

"Um, I'm not sure, sir," the squeaky adolescent reply is met with an impatient sigh. "I work in the back." 

"Work in the back doing what? Sorting stock? Do you not know what you put on the shelves?" Professor Holmes' disapproval is unmistakable.  

His tone make you want to run. It is the same detest wrought into the feedback scribbled in the margins of your assignments. If it isn't perfect, it's not acceptable. 

You should go. You don't have the money to waste on hobbies you don't have time for. Nor do you relish an encounter with the very man responsible for your lack of free time. 

You make sure to walk toward the far end of the aisle and avoid any possible sighting. The very thing you meant to distract yourself chases you from your procrastination. Two days before your paper is due, and you've not even touched the readings due for that week's class discussion. 

📕

You’re barely awake as you claim a seat in the melancholic lecture hall. The coeds are silent, only yawning between slurping from paper cups, or slumping dangerously over the narrow armrests. There’s a dour commiseration in the air; a sort of resignation. 

Papers are handed in and yet the outcome is almost assured; Professor Holmes will surely find at least a dozen reasons to dock marks. Sometimes it seems even the font can draw his ire. Yet, there is more to be done. He will expect a lively discussion before that three-hour block is done and if he doesn’t get it, you will all sweat for it. 

You flutter through your notebook. Unlike your other courses, the paper is crinkled and the writing is erratic. Each week sees you with at least another twenty pages added to the reading list. You don’t understand how anyone can keep up with it all; the work alone is as much as all your other classes combined. 

You jump in your seat as his even-keeled voice rolls through the air. He hardly has to project as his baritone fills the large room. You look up and fumble for your pen. Professor Holmes doesn’t permit devices. The last person caught merely looking at their phone was dropped from the course. 

You chew the end of the pen as he begins his introduction, but not without a sharp remark about your midterm papers. It’s as if he’s already made up his mind that you’ve all failed. There’s no bell curve in this class, just an impossible mountain. 

“To make it simple,” his accent lilts off his tongue, “I’ve decided we will do things a bit differently this week. I will have you sort yourself into groups and each will discuss an assigned article. At the end, we will reconvene and you will nominate a member to present your conclusions. You may use our usual guiding questions for these purposes.” 

You nod and furrow your brow thoughtfully. The idea of splitting into groups is daunting on its own. It’s one thing to put your hand up amid the wide sea of your peers but it’s another to parse yourself down into a smaller group amid strangers. Despite weeks of sitting side-by-side, you don’t really know anyone. They all seemed to have made friends before that and made no effort to find any more. 

“Well, off you go,” Holmes flicks his fingers, “you’ve two minutes to arrange yourselves. I’m no kindergarten teacher, certainly you can figure it out.” 

There’s a low murmur then a lull before anyone moves. You hear the chatter that connects the smaller pairings to each other; aren’t you in my econ class? Oh, you were at the Delta party? You gather your notebook and stand, searching for an in. 

“Um,” you approach the nearest cluster of bodies, “room for one more?” 

It’s as if you’re invisible. You wince and clear your throat. Before you can try again, a deeper ahem comes from behind you. You crane to see over your shoulder. Professor Holmes stands at the end of the row, one brow arched as he crosses his arms. His old-fashioned vest strains as his chest bulges against the buttons. 

“Eh, she’s in need of a group. Have some manners.” 

You’re surprised by his intervention, but grateful. You try to smile but it’s probably more of a pathetic simper, “thank you, professor.” You nod and turn back to the other students. 

“Uh, sorry, yeah, can I tag along?” You ask. 

They shrug, none of them daring to ignore Professor Holmes. You sit at the edge of the group, heat speckling up your back in embarrassment. The others as good as ignore you as they go back to complaining about their papers. 

“I didn’t sleep,” a blond you think is named Ethan mutters, “fucker had me tearing out my hair.” 

“Yeah, I was supposed to go to a Barbie party but I need this class,” a pretty redhead rolls her eyes. 

There’s at least ten other students circled between three rows. You glance around at the others as they bow and chatter in kind. You shuffle your notebook in your lap and lean in, trying to seem involved. 

“Right then, you,” Holmes points to your group, “take Jones et al,” he moves his finger towards the next group, “Halloway,” he continues down the list of readings as silence pervades the space.  

It isn’t until he bids you to start that anyone dares speak again. The professor paces at the front of the room, hands in his pockets, as his longs stride take him from one end to the other. As you watch him, he seems to sense it, and his blue eyes meet your own. He hardly reacts before he puts his attention back to his repetitive route. 

“Alright, so Jones et al,” you redirect your attention as your peers continue their griping over lost sleep and shitty coffee. “So uh, we should go over main arguments first--” 

“Didn’t read it,” Ethan scoffs and two girls giggle. 

“I don’t know how that tight ass thinks we have all day for the stuffy bullshit,” another guy snorts. “Some of us get laid.” 

You blanch and chew your lip. You look around and receive only agitation and indifference. 

“Since you’re such a smarty pants, why don’t you do the presentation, huh?” The redhead chirps, “you always have so much to say.” 

You frown. You only put in what you need to get a decent mark. You’re hoping the discussion grade can save you from your disastrous first assignment. Besides, aren’t you all facing the same foe? Shouldn’t you be allies? 

“Well, we should talk about the article a bit. Did anyone else read it?” You insist. 

You don’t get an answer, only scoffs and sneers. Shoot. You look down at your notebook and shrink into yourself. It’s just like high school. You’re the one building the diorama by yourself until midnight. You’re the one doing all the talking in the class debate. 

You scribble notes in the margins as the other garble on about some party and the new cafe opening up at the Student Centre. You keep a hand on your neck as the heat builds under your skin. You should’ve just stayed on your own, not that you have much of a choice. None of them even want to acknowledge you. 

Professor Holmes calls time and you pop your head up, catching your glasses before they can bounce off your nose. You fix them as the lecture hall hushes and you all twist and turn to see the professor. He walks up the centre aisle and points to the group in the very back. 

“You, come on,” he demands. 

There’s crinkling of paper and scratchy coughs. A guy in a polo sweater stands with a cluster of lined paper in hand. He reads out with fractured syllables as if he can’t make out the writing. Professor Holmes sighs and you glance over at his scowl. He’s not impressed. 

“Right, and beyond the obvious, what were your final reflections? Did you have a single thought about the author’s narrative on the consequences of the railway on colonized communities?” He pauses and waits, tapping his clefted chin. Silence. “Mm, absolutely compelling,” he remarks dryly. 

You gulp as your group fidgets. Holmes jabs a finger at another group, calling out a student by name, “thank you for volunteering.” 

The woman with the buzzcut stands, looking nervous as she peers around her group members. She sways and wets her lips, playing with the ring around her lower lip. She laughs nervously before she begins, pausing and umming and ahhing. 

“Enough rambling,” Holmes shakes his head and turns toward your group. Your eyes go wide as the rest peek over at you. You rise as the professor stands just at the end of the rows. “Ethan, you seemed to be doing most of the talking, let’s hear it.” 

Ethan grimaces and sends you a look. He shakes his head. You shrug. You don’t know what to do. You offer your notebook and Holmes clucks. 

“I’m sure he can do it himself, he’s a big boy,” Holmes insists, “let’s hear your take on Jones et al. They have some rather interesting arguments about the cultural significance of the Silk Road, did they not?” 

Ethan exhales and stands, a tick in his jaw as he faces the professor. You chew your cheek as he stutters, “well, what we were talking about was that... er, the Silk Road... um...” 

“Yes, yes, you made some rather intriguing arguments about the Gammas, didn’t you? And how you have so many important things to do, eh? Well, Ethan, if you can’t keep up, you don’t have to bluster,” Holmes reproaches, “your boasting does suggest incompetence over importance.” 

Ethan chokes. There’s a low titter of laughter from further back as the rest of your group stares at their hands. You hug your note book and lower your head as well. 

“Come on, then,” Holmes wags his fingers and calls your name, “stand up. Let’s hear something coherent.” 

“Oh, uh,” you lift your chin as Ethan falls into his chair with a snarl. You get up and focus on your notebook. You swallow tightly before you get your vision to clear, “typically when we think of the, er, Silk Road, er, we fixate on, uh, on uh, on the movement of goods such as dyes and, and, and rice...” you can’t help your stuttering. You just know the professor will have your throat next, “but Jones et all argue that, ummmm, um, the movement of peoples and contact between various cultures is just as... as important--” 

“Ah, yes, someone has done their work,” Holmes proclaims with a clap. 

“All of you. One thousand words on your groups assigned article by the end of the week. You may drop them off at my office.” 

“What?” Several students burst out in shock. 

“It is an individual effort, yes? Not a group project. You have until Friday at 6pm.” 

“Professor,” a woman whines from the back. 

“Would you like a thousand more words?” He turns to face the lecture hall completely, “no, alright then. I can be generous. You may go early so that you can catch up on your readings.” 

He smirks and tilts his head smugly. He spins on his heel and strides down the low steps to the front podium. You glance down at your notebook and slowly flip the cover. 

“Fucking browner,” Ethan growls. 

[ledesaid]

Billy has a special trunk 💼

◉◉◉◉◉◉◉◉◉◉◉◉◉◉

He finds a trunk the size of a microwave under the table of a second-hand shop. It's not very heavy, and the woman attending agrees to give it to him if Billy helps her label some products.

The trunk is a rich mahogany color, with some travel stickers peeking out all over the lid. Some are from Egypt, others from China, and Billy swears there must be one from London under the dirt surrounding it.

He barely makes it to Bambi's house after being chased by some older kids. But here it is. The young woman had agreed to share the apartment after a wave of kidnappings in Fawcett. According to her, Billy was too sweet to be kidnapped; this comes thanks to Billy convincing her to go back to school and become a nurse.

So, great news, Billy has his own key.

And he also has many ideas about what to put inside the trunk. His parents' letters, his favorite stuffed animal, his crystal ball… courtesy of a retired clairvoyant, and his greatest treasure: his album with all the superhero clippings.

Don't get it wrong, if he had the chance to save one thing, he would go for his parents' letters, but currently, that book held Billy's hope on every page, and he read it every night.

Bambi insists that he should be more interested in comics than in the news, yet she never forgets to bring him a couple of newspapers every day.

Billy felt that with her, they were a small team like Batman and Robin.

He never would have imagined that when he wanted to show her the trunk, its contents would have disappeared.

All he could do was accept that it was a nightmare and go to sleep.

Worry wakes him up in the early morning, and he discovers that his trunk is deeper than it should be.

He discovers it when he accidentally falls into the trunk.

A bit dazed, he notices that he is no longer in his Fawcett apartment; worse still, he is still inside a trunk. It's not his trunk, but it is still one.

With some effort, he manages to open the the lid and dosen´t recognize where he is. But the luxurious surroundings tell Billy that he shouldn't be there.

He planned to listen to his brain and go back into the box, but it sounds like a very bad idea… he tries to explore the room, and besides a large canopy bed, a closet full of sheets, and the absence of personality, no one had slept in that place for a long time. He is left with only a window with a view of the large garden of the place. Nothing that would help him recognize where he was, however.

While thinking of some clue, he ended up falling asleep on the soft bed.

"Kid… wake up."

Billy threw himself off the bed in an attempt to find out who had woken him up.

He did not expect to find a teenager with blue eyes and black hair like his. Aside from that, it was someone who had found him when Billy accidentally invaded his home.

A bunch of thoughts tangled in his head. Police, social services, jail, kidnapper…

That last one didn't make sense… But Billy knew he was in trouble!

However, instead of any normal reaction the other boy might have had, he acted carefully not to scare the younger one, and it worked…

Billy had already decided that he would take advantage of any distraction to get back into the trunk and hope to return home. He wasn't very smart, but Billy wanted to have faith that he could get back home with that…

"Calm down, kid, I didn't mean to scare you, and I didn't expect Bruce to bring another kid without warning us… I live here. What's your name?"

"I shouldn't tell my name to strangers."

"That's okay, I wouldn't either if I were you… but I can't just call you kid… my name is Jason…"

To buy some time, he came up with an idea. He had used this trick with two social workers and hoped this boy would fall for it, he would if he was the good person he claimed to be.

"I'm Billy… and I'm very hungry."

As expected, the teenager asks him to wait while he brings something from the kitchen. Billy promises not to go anywhere and opens the trunk as soon as Jason closes the door.

To his surprise, the bottom had disappeared, and he wasted no time before throwing himself inside.

Billy knows it might not be as dangerous when he returns to his apartment. Bambi scolds him for leaving without telling her. But Billy can only hug her while he processes what happened.

First, his trunk is magical; second, his most valuable possessions have disappeared; third, his trunk is magical! and fourth, he is going to go back in to recover his treasures.

[flurrys-creativity]

Ephemeral Part 1

Pairing: Choi San (Ateez) x GN!Reader, other parts will focus on other members; Genre: Fluff, Humour, SMUT, divination au; Rating: nsfw, 18+, MDNI; Warnings: normal divination, smutty divination, teasing, blowjob, slight handjob, spitting, hints of dom/sub dynamic, post coital bliss; Wordcount: 3.460

Summary: San got the chance to experience a once in a life time divination. Starting something all of his friends wanted as well.

Collab: Blow you Mind Collab with @daddyfordaeddy and @potatomountain (writing for Yeosang and Wooyoung), @mingsolo (writing for Yunho and Mingi) and @sanjoongie (writing for Seonghwa and Hongjoong) and Jongho in pt.2

A/N: I'm the start of this collab with more installments to follow. Also this is all a big joke because we as a group were silly and made a collab out of that :D but I did a bunch of research on reading different things for telling ones future, very interesting indeed!!!

San turned around his own axis, taking all the colours, scents and noises of the wandering carnival. Dozens of tents and caravans lined along the green field, families with their kids walked between them and artists working hard to keep everyone’s spirits high.

The scent of freshly made popcorn and sweet cotton candy wafted through the air. Just seeing the bright colours of the large towers of cotton candy made San salivate.

His friends called out for him and San quickly came back to his senses. He turned to the voices of his friend and promptly bumped into a hooded figure. “I’m so sorry.” San bowed hurriedly towards the person and rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment.

“Seems like fate brought you here”, you smiled and looked up at him. “Here, have this.” 

San automatically held out his hands, perplexed from your ominous statement. His eyes widened and his mouth formed the shape of a circle. San’s eyes wandered down to his open hands, watching how you placed some sort of ticket in his palms with your delicate fingers. 

While San turned the ticket around, noticing it was a gift coupon for a divination, you vanished into the crowd. When San looked back up and didn’t find you again, he turned his head from side to side, desperately searching for the hooded figure.

Once more his friends called for him, pulling him out of his train of thoughts. He hastily pushed the coupon into his pants pocket and rushed over to catch up with them. 

During the afternoon at the carnival with all its attractions and stalls San nearly forgot about the coupon. Until his friends dragged him to the haunted house. 

“We should try it out!”

San grimaced and vehemently shook his head. “Thanks, but no.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest, showing an x. “I’m definitely not going in there. You guys have fun, I’ll just wait here or find something else to do.”

He watched his friends go into the haunted house, laughing and hollering over his scaredy cat nature. San waved them off with a tight lipped smile and then stuffed his hands into pockets. 

San pulled them back out once he felt the coupon and turned it once again in his fingers. Both sides showed a crystal ball seemingly glowing in front of a purple background. Your name stood inside of the glowing orb. 

San looked at the haunted house one last time, contemplating his options. Before his brain actually caught up to his decision, his body already moved through the carnival grounds.

Far at the edge of the field stood a smaller caravan. Fairy lights were strung around it, highlighting the entrance. The door was open and an intriguing scent wafted out from the inside of the caravan. 

“Hello?” San stood in front of the few steps, his gaze shifting between the coupon and the open door. He slightly leaned to one side, hoping to get a glance at the inside but a purplish veil obstructed his vision. Uncertainty washed through his system and he rubbed the back of his neck again. 

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

Right as San turned around, ready to leave again, your sweet voice called from the inside of the caravan. San immediately halted in his movements, turning back around on his heels. “Yes! Hello?” San hesitantly climbed the first step, leaning to the side once more as he hoped, seeing at least your movements or something else.

“Come right inside”, you called out. Your smile widened when his head peeked through the curtain. “Don’t be so shy, love.” You waved him inside, offering him a seat on the large pillow pile next to you.

San’s eyes darted around the tiny room, taking everything in that he saw. Towards the back of the room was a large mattress, barely shielded from his gaze by a nearly transparent veil. To one side was a small dresser, littered with candles, cards, stones, a ouija board and lighted incense. The smoke slowly twirled upwards. San noticed how more fairy lights were strung to the ceiling over his head, while the floor was covered with dozens of pillows. Only a low, round table stood out between them. 

San finally sat down, his eyes glued to the things on the table. Besides a large crystal ball in the middle, were more cards and stones. Two cups with steaming hot tea stood there as well.

“Past, present or future.” You mused as you placed your elbows on the table and rested your chin on your hands. “What might have brought you here?” 

San blinked several times before his eyes widened. He didn't exactly think about the reason he came here. “Future?” San noticed the spark within your eyes upon hearing his answer, making him somewhat nervous.

You smiled gently, still keeping a mysterious aura around you. “Have some tea”, you offered, pointing at the cup in front of him. “But careful of the dried leaves at the bottom. I need those to read your future.” You chuckled softly when he only nodded and started sipping from his cup.

Once San finished his tea, he stared down at the bottom of the cup. The leaves clumped together in different ways but he barely made any shape or form out of them - not even thinking of the meaning they could hold.

You slightly craned your neck, trying to peek into the cup. “And? What do you think your future holds?”

San furrowed his brows in thought, twisting and turning the cup in hopes of getting some sort of clue. “I’m not sure. This could be a triangle? And this might be a plus sign or a multiplication?”

You snickered and scooted over to him, peering into the cup he held. “Oh, that’s an abundance of symbols”, you noticed with surprise. “The closer they are to the edge of the cup the sooner they’ll happen or might have happened even.” You pointed at the tea leaves towards the edge. “I can see a fan here, which means a pleasant encounter with the opposite sex.”

San stared at your profile, heat creeping up his neck and turning his ears red. The closeness and your words let all kinds of thoughts play through his mind. 

“And here I see a boat, an angel and a horseshoe. You’ll get a visit from friends and either they will tell you some lucky news or you might share something lucky with them. Oh.” You hummed in thought, looking serious at the inside of the cup.

San’s breath hitched and his heart seemingly thumped even louder than before. “What is it?” He whispered, scared his normal speaking voice would shatter the moment.

“I see a raven and a deer.”

“What do they mean?”

“A dispute, unexpected trouble. You might have a fight or an argument with one of your visitors, but -” you paused for dramatic effect - “I can also see a hammer and what you thought to be a triangle is a pyramid. Both of these symbols tell me you will overcome the problem and have peace in the end.”

San’s mouth shaped into an o as his eyes switched between your profile and the cup. He was fascinated by the things you were able to read in this. “How soon will all of this happen?”

You hummed in thought. “I’d say quite soon. All of it could start within a week.”

“Is there”, San hesitated, his urge to know more, to learn more felt almost overwhelming, “is there more you can tell me?”

“Not from the tea leaves, love. I could offer you tarot cards?” You already reached for your deck without him having answered yet. With swift motions you mixed the cards before fanning them out. “Pick five cards.”

San’s hand hovered over the cards, moving from side to side. He carefully pulled his five cards, placing them face up on the table: 8-Strength, Page of Swords, King of Cups, 18-The Moon and Knight of Pentacles.

“Hmm, I think the moon refers to the dispute with your friend. Aside from that you seem like a real catch, aren’t you?” You laughed softly when San made himself smaller and rubbed the back of his head again, shyly looking away. “You’re a curious one, prying eyes that tell the truth. It might mean you check up on someone without them knowing. You’re also confident, hard-working, patient and in good health.”

San was glued to your lips, soaking in every word you told him. 

“And lastly the king of cups tells me you will be a good father and husband, showing empathy and tolerance.”

“I’ll be a father one day?”

You chuckled softly at his wide eyes and hopeful expression. “And a good one, I’m sure of it.”

San grinned at the thought, drifting into a daydream of his future. He traced the outline of the king with his hand, when another thought crossed his mind. “What about palm reading? Can you do that too?” He looked at you, his heartbeat accelerating at the idea to get even more insight to his future.

A smirk played over your lips as you got even closer to his body and grabbed one of his hands, turning it so the palm faced upwards. “Oh, what strong hands.” You let your nails trail over some lines, tapping his skin here and there. Every time you noticed something, you explained the meaning.

San felt a pleasant shiver roll down his back when you trailed your nail from his palm down to his wrist and lower arm. Even with all the details you provided him with, he yearned for more. A nagging feeling in the back of his mind, wanted to get a special reading - a reading only he could get.

You looked up from his hands and into his face, noticing the furrowed brows he had from being deep in his thoughts. “There’s something else on your mind.”

San flinched, his eyes widening and his heartbeat quickening yet again. “I, uh.”

“You can tell me, love.” You placed a hand on his chest, feeling his firm muscles underneath your palm. “I know you want something from me.”

His eyes dropped to your lips and went back up to your eyes. “Well, I, uh, is there a possibility to get a special reading? Something not everyone who enters gets?”

Ever so slowly you stood up, humming and mumbling under your breath as you walked over to the entrance door and closed it. Your hand rested on the door knob for a moment longer. “There is one thing I could offer you. Are you certain you want it though?”

“Yes! Yes, absolutely, I am certain!” San pressed his hands on the table and slightly pushed himself up. For a second it crossed his mind that he appeared a little too eager but it quickly vanished again.

You turned around and leaned against the door, crossing your arms in front of your chest and tilting the head to one side. “It would involve for you getting rid of your pants.”

San already grabbed his waistband before he halted his movements and looked back up at you, uncertainty shimmering in his eyes.

You cooed softly and moved back to him, swinging your hips sensually from side to side with every step. Once you reached him, you let your hand brush from his left shoulder to his right, before you plopped down next to him again. “This is all up to you. It is your choice, love.”

“I want it.”

Despite having said that, San didn’t move. Instead he stared at his hands, noticing a slight tremble to them. This was kind of crazy after all. Still, he appreciated that you patiently waited for him.

Soon enough San found enough courage and unbuckled his belt, opening his pants and pushing them slightly down.

“It truly was fate”, you whispered with a smile, upon seeing the purple stripes of his boxers. “You were supposed to come here today.” You helped him push his pants even further down, quickly followed by his boxers.

San had to force himself to stay still, wanting nothing more than to squirm underneath your gaze. He definitely wasn’t used to someone only looking at his crotch without touching it immediately. 

You wrapped your fingers around his shaft, feeling his dick pulsating with desire. While his length was average, the thickness of his cock nearly made you drool. “The gods really blessed you”, you mumbled, forcing yourself to look back up at his face.

San’s dick twitched from hearing those words and the fog of desire clouding his brain momentarily lifted due to the curiosity overwhelming him. “How can you tell?”

Your gaze dropped back down to his crotch as you scoffed in amusement. “I can tell you’ll have a healthy life ahead of you.” Your thumb circled the red tip of his circumcised cock. “I can see fortune in your future as well. It may be in love or in wealth, could even be in both.”

You let go of his dick again, raising your hand with your palm facing upwards. “Spit.”

San barely even hesitated before he spit into your hand, watching how you wrapped your hand back around his shaft and pumped him a few times to spread the liquid. 

The anticipation of hearing his future from your reading added to the lust coursing through his veins. San bit down on his lower lip, his eyes nearly closing from the sensations taking over. A choked moan escaped his throat and almost belatedly a thought crossed his mind.

“Wait”, he breathed out, blinking heavily to regain some composure. “You didn’t answer my question.” His voice nearly turned into a whine when the realisation hit him. “I wanna know what made you see all this.”

You chuckled again, amused by his desperation and cuteness. “Don't worry, pretty boy. All in due time.” You placed one hand on his toned chest, getting a feel of the curves of his muscles as you pushed him to lie down. For a second you pictured riding him, ripping his shirt open and letting your hands wander all over his chiselled chest. You shook your head, ridding yourself of these thoughts. 

San stared at you with almost pleading eyes, shivering ever so slightly when you moved your hand up and down his thick shaft. 

“The girth tells me about your wealth”, you whisper as you lean down and blow some air over the tip of his cock. “Like I said, you will come into great fortune.” You hummed softly, using your thumb to press down on the small slit. “While being circumcised isn’t always a choice of your own, it’s still able to tell me a lot about the bonds you built and will build in your life.”

“What does it say?” San whimpered softly, bucking his hips into your hand. 

“Friends come and go in your life but the bond with your family is a strong one. Those, who you consider family, are incredibly close to you.” When you lifted your thumb a string of precum connected it to his dick. Without hesitation you leaned further down, replacing your thumb with your tongue. You pressed the tip into his slit, seeking the sweet taste.

San’s head dropped backwards again, the feeling of your tongue making him delirious. 

“Your sweet pre-cum predicts your future love life.” You circled your tongue around the head of his cock, savouring his low moans. “You will find your one true soulmate. You might even have found them already but the realisation hasn’t settled in yet.”

San barely registered your words, becoming completely unable to respond in any way but low whimpers when you descended on his dick. Your lips wrapped around his shaft while your tongue glided over his skin from side to side. 

You bobbed your head deliberately in a slow pace, hollowing your cheeks every now and then. 

“Please”, San begged in a low voice, his whole body shaking already, “please, don’t stop.” He wanted to thrust up into your wet cave but you quickly pushed his hips down again and removed your lips from his dick with a loud pop.

You teasingly wagged your finger, telling him no. Once you were certain he wouldn’t move his hips again, your hands glided along his sides to tease him further. You rolled out your tongue and flattened it, pressing it against the underside of his cock and trailing it along the prominent vein. As soon as your mouth reached his tip, you quickly enveloped it again, loving the weight of it on your tongue.

San’s eyes rolled to the back of his skull, the pleasure overwhelming him. His lips parted and soft moans and whimpers spilled into the air. Your movements brought him to his release sooner than he anticipated.

You noticed his dick throbbing the closer he got to his release. You pulled your head away, opening your mouth and rolling your tongue out while jerking him off for the last bit.

A few moments later and hot, white cum shot into your awaiting mouth. The thick ropes quickly filled up your hole, some already spilling out at the corner of your lips. 

You swallowed his cum, licking your lips clean afterwards. “Healthy”, you whispered with a small chuckle, watching San still splayed across all your pillows.

His chest moved rapidly up and down while he came down from his high. A soft grin adorned his features, highlighting a dimple in his cheek. 

“Are you satisfied with your reading?” You leaned over him with a curious look in your eyes. You reciprocated the grin, noticing how dazed he still seemed to be. “I do hope you’ll be able to get home safely.”

San could only nod at your statement, blissed out from his orgasm. He barely realised how his body began moving again, making himself presentable, saying his goodbye and walking out of the caravan and back to his home. San honestly didn’t remember much from his way back home - not even how he opened the door to his shared apartment.

He only came to when four pairs of eyes stared at him with different degrees of worry. 

Wooyoung had noticed his spaced out state the second San came home. Both him and Yunho stopped their game mid-play and started questioning their friend but to no avail. Hence why they called for backup.

Hongjoong and Jongho came over soon after they got called, getting comfortable in the living room where the others were.

“Are we having a party I forgot about?” San asked, furrowing his brows in thought as he tried remembering. 

“More like a health check. You were totally out of it when you got home”, Wooyoung told him, tilting his head as he observed his roommate. “You didn’t react to us at all.”

San chuckled softly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to worry you guys.” He looked down at the ground, his memories still so fresh. “I just had the best divination of my life.”

A small pout formed on his lips when the others started laughing out loud at first. Though soon enough they realised how serious San was about this and the questions came naturally.

As San retold his afternoon at the travelling carnival and the divination he received, Wooyoung and the others listened with interest.

“You can’t tell me some cards and wet tea leaves are the reason you were so out of it”, Jongho scoffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. 

Quickly the rest of the guys agreed with him, pressuring San to spill everything.

While at first reluctantly, San eventually told them from the special procedure of telling his future.

“So you basically got the best head of your life by a stranger”, Yunho grinned mischievously, amused he learned about San’s kinkiness.

“It’s not that!” San protested immediately. He tried convincing them that your predictions made sense and were true - especially once he remembered the predictions of the tea leaves.

“The fortune teller knew you would visit me today! They told me I’d be the bearer of good news!”

“Oh, hearing you got your dick wet, definitely is some good news”, Hongjoong snickered, elbowing his friend teasingly.

“You think we could get that special fortune telling as well before the carnival leaves town again?” Wooyoung thought out loud, tapping his chin in the process. “I might even wanna bring someone along to the session.” He chuckled darkly, his grin twisting with mischief.

Jongho scoffed again, shaking his head in disbelief. “Don’t tell me, you actually believe that happened.”

“Only one way to find out.”

© all rights reserved

Taglist: @xavi-in-kpopland @songsoomin

[cambion-companion]

I cannot concentrate on my work (ironically as a TA writing up my phd thesis) because I read your intelligence 8 tav x raphael fics and now I am shaken to the core and all I wanna do is daydream about being a clueless little slut in the house of hoep

please saer can I have some more

hahaha I'm so glad that brain worm took root, intelligence 8 Tav is delightful. I also wanted to incorporate this lovely ask as well and express my gratitude for the support you all have given me this month. All is well! Enjoy a drabble with a Tav/reader utterly oblivious to the true nature of a cambion...to them he's just a tiefling with wings! how cool!

Raphael + reader (gn) drabble

(I'll probably write another that's more romantic/cute but this was too funny to pass up)

"You have an uncanny talent at getting into the most outlandish situations." Raphael pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, inhaling a deep breath.

You looked around at the decadent room he'd rented for himself, steam rising from two baths and flower petals ornamenting the lush red carpet. "I wouldn't think a devil-guy would be the sort to have tulips thrown about."

"Roses." Raphael corrected, his hand clasping firm about your upper arm just in time to save you from slipping on the wet tile and braining yourself. "I would wager a hefty sum of gold your mind does not entertain too many thoughts at one time."

"Thank you." You murmured, touched. You allowed him to escort you to safety upon a chair and watched with vague interest at how his lips twisted in bemusement. "I should thank you for saving my bacon back there. Wasn't expecting to survive that. But Shart always gets Withers to bring me back when we run out of those glowy scroll things."

"I do believe I sense a migraine coming on." Raphael squeezed his eyes shut briefly before crossing to pour you both a glass of dark brown alcohol.

You took the fancy crystal glass and downed the drink with gusto, only realizing your mistake when the scorching whiskey had passed into your gullet, and you burst into a coughing fit. Raphael sighed and gave you a solid couple thumps on your back as you struggled to breath. "There now. Death by imbibing spirits too eagerly is no way to enter the afterlife. Not until you've served your purpose, at least."

"What?"

"I'm concerned for your well-being, dear."

You wiped your eyes with your sleeve. "That's really nice of you, Raph." He winced at the nickname but just barely managed to keep a pleasant neutral expression. "I don't know why everyone else threw such a fit about you, you're not a bad dude."

"I'm flattered." Raphael almost felt a sense of annoyance at how easy this was. He enjoyed a challenge, and this mortal was certainly not bringing it. He drained his glass fluidly and returned it with a clink to the table. "Now, your person is more or less stable for the time being."

You looked around, checking behind you. "What person?"

"Your body has been plucked from the peril you so naively flounced into." Raphael clarified, a slight edge to his words now, he was running low on patience. "Be a good mouse and run along, fetch me the crown and we can part ways amicably."

"I never imagined mice to be much good at fetching." You mused, rising to your feet as Raphael practically pushed you from his room. "That seems more a dog's forte. Oh, we have a most wonderful dog back at camp-"

The door closed in your face, so close it almost clipped your nose. You stared at the dark wood for a moment, then smiled and shrugged. You spoke a little louder so he would be able to hear through it. "His name is Scratch! What was I saying? Oh yes, dogs fetch crowns and balls better than mice! Maybe keep that in mind when giving people animal nicknames!"

No answer.

He must have gone to take a nap. You were sure cambions probably did that often since they seemed to act much like cats in every other way.

Smiling to yourself you departed, convinced that you and Raphael were now bosom friends.

[ckret2]

Chapter 16 of human Bill has taken an "I'm not locked in here with you, you're locked in here with me" approach to being the Mystery Shack's prisoner (title TBD), featuring:

Also featuring: Ford and Mabel bonding... until things go very, very wrong. Thanks Bill.

####

October 2012

As Stan turned the corner, he paused to let his eyes adjust as he came out of the blinding evening sun into the shadows of a tight, unobtrusive street, then shuffled up to where Ford was waiting. "All right, I think we shook the cops," he muttered. "The were-rats should keep 'em distracted. Smart move, splitting up to lead them to each other." He rummaged through the bag of ("borrowed") groceries that had caused them all this trouble, looking for a stick of cured meat he'd had his eye on.

"Mm." That was all Ford said.

Stan looked sharply at Ford. "Hey, you okay? The rats didn't get you, did they?" He glanced over Ford for any torn clothes or blood.

"No—sorry, I'm fine. Just..." He gestured at the storefront across the street. "Distracted."

Stan followed his gesture. He couldn't read the language on the signs, but he didn't need to: the pictures in the windows—tarot cards, palmistry charts, a hand-painted poster of a crystal ball, all surrounded by unlit neon tubes shaped into stars—made it clear enough just what kind of shop this was. Stan laughed. "Hey, it looks like what Ma did with the pawn shop after Dad passed. When we're back in the States, I oughta find a picture for you. Or maybe Shermie can 'e-mail' us one, I think his kid was 'digitalizing' the old family photos..." He trailed off as he saw what Ford was really staring at.

Amongst the other dark neon lights, there was a single larger one, just over the name of the shop: a triangle with an eye.

Stan shuddered. "Ugh. I'm never gonna be able to look at those things the same way again, are you?"

"I haven't been able to for over thirty years," Ford said. "It's funny—in most civilized dimensions in the multiverse, that symbol is incredibly taboo, because as soon as it's drawn it becomes his eye. I only ever saw it used as the direst warning in places tainted by the Nightmare Realm—places he could already see."

Stan snorted. "Coming home must've been a rude shock, huh?"

It was true—Ford saw Bill peering from every dollar, winking slyly at him from strangers' gold rings, standing solemn vigil over graveyards from the headstones. Ford remembered the first time he'd returned to his study: of course he'd known that all his art of Bill was still there, but he'd been stunned by the sheer quantity of eyes watching him, ready to welcome him home. He'd awkwardly hidden himself beneath a bedsheet like a ghost to keep Bill from staring at him as he went around the room, covering every tapestry, drawing, and statue with black curtains. He hoped Bill hadn't been actively watching then. He knew he'd looked stupid.

"You don't know the half of it." Ford nodded toward the psychic shop. "Looking at that face now feels like seeing a toxic waste warning sign."

"Do you think she knows?" Stan asked.

"'She'?"

"The psychic!" Apparently, Stan had decided the psychic was a woman. "D'you think she knows what that is? Did he slip her prophecies to start up her business? Or is it just a spooky magic symbol to her?"

Stan was probably expecting Ford to vaguely speculate—but instead, he eyed the symbol critically. "It's got a slit pupil, which is always a worrying sign," he said, "but that could just be an aesthetic choice. If it had his clothing or limbs, I'd know for sure it's meant to be him, but without..."

As they'd spoken, the evening had crept on and the shadows in the alley had deepened; and now it was dark enough that someone inside the shop flipped the neon lights on. Multicolored stars danced around the window. The triangle lit up bright yellow. The pupil and top eyelid had burned out, so now it looked like the Eye of Providence was perpetually asleep, eye shut.

Stan and Ford both shivered.

"That's probably a coincidence, right?" Stan said. "That's—that's just bad luck."

"There's absolutely no scientific reason why Bill's death would cause depictions of his face to—um—malfunction," Ford said. "It's definitely a coincidence." He said it like he was sure.

"Right," Stan said. "C'mon, we should head back to the beach before someone finds our boat." He turned away from the shop. As he walked, he fished his wallet out of his pocket, rifled through the money until he found some American currency, and squinted at it to make sure Bill's eye was still open.

Ford didn't move. He was still staring at the triangle.

Did she know, he wondered? (She or he or whoever owned this shop.) Did Bill have a worshiper here? Perhaps just another distant believer who'd been recruited by one of the micro-cults Bill left in his wake, five degrees and fifty years removed from a former "student" that Bill had "inspired" and then abandoned?

Or had Bill met them in their dreams? Had he been summoned up to give them inspiration and knowledge of the future? Did they remember Bill as the central figure in a visionary dream that now made up the core of their spirituality? Maybe he'd visited them more than once, while trying to decide whether they'd be useful to him? Perhaps he'd been grooming the fortune teller into his minion, feeding them lines he wanted to pass on to a local politician or scientist? Did he ever play board games with them?

Did they worship him still?

Did they know their god was dead?

Stan called from the end of the street, "Ford?" 

"Coming." Ford tore his gaze away from the dead face. "I kept expecting it to blink."

Stan laughed nervously. "Yeah, real funny."

Stan and Ford watched each other from their peripheral vision as they turned the corner, to make sure neither of them tried to glance back to check.

They returned to their boat, set sail, and had dinner. And when Stan went to bed, Ford sat out on the deck, looked at the stars—and wept.

He'd cried when he'd thought his brother had lost his memories forever. He hadn't cried in the month and a half since then. He didn't want anyone to watch him grieve the worst monster he'd ever met.

####

There'd been an ache in Ford's chest for over thirty years—an empty pit that once held awe—a dark void that used to be filled with starlight. Ford knew now that, metaphorically speaking, the divine light Bill put off had never been anything but optical illusions with flashlights and mirrors. But even so—even so, nothing and nobody had inspired such sublime wonder in Ford since.

During his lowest moments out in the multiverse, starving and exhausted and despairing, he'd irrationally wondered if the unimpressable depression left in Bill's wake was evidence that Bill had been truly that great, too great for a human like Ford to understand, and the shadow cast on Ford's life in Bill's absence was the natural consequence of turning away from something godlike.

Ford had gotten over that. He'd recovered, he'd grown. He understood the truth: Bill's parlor tricks had dazzled his eyes so thoroughly that now he couldn't detect the subtle glimmer of the truly wondrous. He wondered if his eyes would ever adjust to the dark again.

Whether he liked it or not, he missed the way mind-blowing awe felt. He missed being dazzled. 

There were days when he wasn't sure what he resented Bill for more: vomiting so much glittery garbage into his soul, or stopping.

####

June 2013

When Ford went looking for his briefcase to make a trip to Portland, he found it opened in the kitchen. He shouldn't have left it in the kitchen. His five-page copy of the text from a purportedly-extraterrestrial prehistoric cave painting was spread out across the table.

The mysterious, unintelligible alien text had been fully translated.

With purple crayon.

Into a second alien language.

Ford could have strangled Bill.

And what made him angriest was how excited he was over this new puzzle.

The original cave panting had consisted of hundreds of tiny symbols in an unknown language from an unknown species, painted on rock, the text faded over time. He hadn't even known whether all the symbols were recognizable as their originals. He'd suspected there'd never be a translation in his lifetime, if indeed there ever was. Bill's translation implicitly said, yes, there is a knowable translation. Said, and you can know the translation too. Said, I've made it into a fun game for you. Said, all you have to do is play along.

He would not play along.

He stuffed the papers back in his bag where they belonged, added the stack of notes he'd made for his trip, slung the briefcase over his shoulder and against his back, and went looking for his great-niece.

####

"Hey Grunkle Ford!" Mabel waved from the living room table. "Wanna play fairy chess?" She was wearing a black-and-white checkerboard-patterned sweater with a blue fairy on her chest. Apparently, this was her plan for the day.

Ford paused outside the living room. "What's 'fairy' chess?"

"It's like normal chess, but you get to decorate the chess pieces and give them weird new rules. Look! I made a princess and a unicorn!" She held up a queen piece with a yarn ponytail and a knight piece with a clay horn. "Wanna play? You can make up any kind of piece you want and I can decorate it for you! Or I can give you the rook with the dragon wings!"

Ford laughed. "That sounds fun. Where did you come up with fairy chess?"

Mabel hesitated, her smile slightly flagging.

"Ah." Of course. He would teach her made-up chess varieties. Ford cleared his throat. "Actually, I'm planning to visit Portland today. There's a weird-looking shop I saw while Soos was driving Stan and I from the airport, and I've been meaning to visit it."

"Oh." Mabel's smile wilted completely. She placed her princess and unicorn back on the chess board. "Yeah. That's fine. I could ask Dipper if he wants to play. Unless he's going with you..."

"I was actually going to ask if you'd like to come."

Mabel's head whipped toward Ford, eyes wide. "Really?"

"Sure, it seemed up your alley! I'm going to a crystal shop—"

"WHAT!" Mabel was on her feet and bounding across the room. "Shut up, I love crystals! They're like jumbo glitter for adults!"

Ford laughed. "I thought you might be interested!"

Mabel went on, "And you know those gift shops with all the shelves of glass and crystal sculptures? I love looking at those! I've always wanted to get one, but my parents think I'd break it. They're probably right."

Ford flashed back to the devastation Mabel wrought on the gift shop snow globes last summer. Well. Maybe her parents had a point, but. "You just have to be careful with it during transport! I got one of those souvenir glass statues during my roadtrip from college to Gravity Falls, and it survived all sorts of gnome invasions and eye-bat battles. I wonder where Stan put it?"

"What did it look like?"

"Mothgar." Did they still make Mothgar movies? "She's a beautiful, heroic moth—who's been radioactively mutated into a giant fire-breathing monster. I consider her one of my heroes. Her flame breath held her statue in the air."

"That sounds awesome!" Mabel bounced on her feet excitedly. "I'll be right back! I've gotta change clothes before we go." She pounded up the stairs.

Ford wondered if Mabel would like watching Mothgar, or any of the other Lizilla monster movies. He and Stan had practically grown up on those films; it would be nice to pass his love of them on to someone else in the family. Maybe she'd find them boring. It sounded like kids these days were more into computer-generated movies...

His train of thought gently derailed as he slowly became aware of a dangerous predator watching him.

He looked around—living room, kitchen, hallway, front door. Nothing. He looked up. Bill was standing in the shadows of the attic stairway landing, leaning against the corner where the stairs turned, peering down at Ford.

Ford scowled.

Bill grinned. "Crystals, huh?" There was a mocking edge to his smile. "Doesn't that sound fun. I bet she'll just love that."

That was the idea, yes. "What are you getting at, Bill."

"'Getting at'?" Bill repeated innocently. "What's there to get at? I just think it's nice of you to do something nice for her."

"Uh-huh."

"Especially after all the time you've spent favoring her brother."

There it was. And the dig struck home, too. Ford's stomach twisted. He'd never forgive himself for only confiding in Dipper about his history with Bill or the danger of the rift—and in the process, setting up Mabel to be the next one Bill tricked and exploited.

And as much as he wished he could say otherwise, he hadn't done much better in the months since then. Shortly after arriving home, Dipper had started having nightmares about Bill possessing or harassing him. When Dipper had those nightmares, usually Ford was the first person he called. He didn't want to disturb his parents or sister more than necessary, and he knew Ford kept odd hours in odd time zones and might be available at 3 a.m. California time—and most importantly, Ford had had more restless nights than he could count, waking up on strange worlds from nightmares of Bill. Ford was the only one who could understand what Dipper was going through: that unique sanity-shaking terror that came from knowing it was a dream, but still not knowing whether it was real.

Those late-night reassurance sessions and the conversations he'd had with Dipper after he calmed down had brought both of them closer. Ford was glad that when Dipper had most needed somebody, Ford was able to be that person—but he hated that in giving Dipper that support, he'd only widened the gap in the attention he gave Dipper and Mabel. 

But she had her own life, with friends and school and hobbies—so many hobbies—Dipper had told Ford, laughing, about how she'd had to juggle her parkour lessons with library craft classes—and Ford didn't have excuses to talk to Mabel the way he did Dipper, and so what could Ford do about it? (What could Ford do about it? He actually didn't know. He'd always been abysmal at socialization, even just keeping up with friends and family. And that was before he'd gone thirty years without steady human company.)

Ford had hoped he could make it up to Mabel this summer.

And then Bill happened.

He was smirking down at Ford like he knew he'd hit a bullseye.

Ford wondered how much Bill knew—if he'd assumed that the way Ford neglected Mabel last summer had continued, or if he'd had some way to spy on them over the past school year... or if she'd told him. "My family's none of your business, Bill."

Ford could almost see the gears in Bill's head turning—no doubt mentally trying out various retorts to find the most cutting—but when he spoke again, he simply changed topics. "So hey, what'd you think of that translation? Helpful at all?"

Dryly, Ford said, "You mean the one you translated into another alien language?"

"Wrong-o. I translated it into an alien writing system. It's a human language."

"What?" Ford rummaged through his briefcase for the "translated" pages. "Which language?"

"C'mon, Fords—Ford, where's the fun in just telling you? I want to see if you can figure it out yourself," Bill said. As Ford's scowl deepened, Bill added, "Give you a hint: it's a language you've studied."

A language he'd studied... Did that mean only second languages, or was English an option? No, if English was a possibility, Bill probably would have said "it's a language you know." Unless he was trying to distract Ford from the possibility it was English. He'd keep English on the list. He ought to start by counting up the number of distinct letters, if Bill had used a simple substitution cipher that might rule out some options...

He wasn't sure how long he'd been staring at the first page of the crayon translation when he heard the attic bedroom door open. Mabel came bounding downstairs in a hot pink sweater that said "YOU ROCK!" over a drum kit. "I used to have a sweater with a crystal heart on it but I think I left it in Piedmont! This'll have to do..." She slowed at the landing, giving Bill a questioning look, and then stopped when she saw Ford looking up at them. "What's up?"

Before Ford could speak up, Bill said, "I was asking Stanford about an alien translation I helped him with this morning, that's all! I don't think he's too grateful. Hey—crystal shop, right?" He beamed at Mabel. "Bring me something fun!"

Mabel beamed back. "Ok—!"

"No," Ford said.

"No," Mabel immediately repeated. "Nope! Nuh-uh, crystals are off the list of acceptable prisoner amenities."

Bill sighed deeply. "All right, fine. I guess I'll just go without the simple pleasure of a cool-looking rock in my final days."

Mabel laughed. "You're such a whiner. I'll draw you a stupid rock." She hopped down the stairs. "See you later!"

"Hey, Shooting Star," Bill said. "Stay safe out there, okay?" The way he said it like a warning, and the way Mabel immediately paused mid-step, made the hair on the back of Ford's neck stand on end. 

He held open the door, glared up at Bill, and said calmly, "We'll be back by dinner."

Bill didn't reply. He just smiled.

The moment the door shut, Mabel looked up at Ford, brows furrowed. "Sooo... what was all that about an alien translation?"

Ford showed Mabel the papers. "He rifled through my bag when I wasn't looking, put a translation in a cipher, and dared me to crack it."

"Ah!" Mabel's puzzled look evaporated. "I knew he was up to something! At least he's just being a jerk instead of a supervillain." She laughed.

Ford smiled in relief. He hadn't lost her yet. "This time, anyway."

"This time!"

As they walked around the shack to Stan's car, Mabel tentatively took Ford's hand. He squeezed hers back just a little too tight.

####

Part of Mabel was nervous to hang out with Ford—just Ford, without Dipper or Stan there as well. He loved her, of course—she knew he loved her, and she loved him—but they didn't simply hang out. Last summer, she'd usually been the one to talk to him first, and they rarely spoke over the school year unless it was part of a family call. She got it—last summer he'd been busy with Bill stuff, during the school year he'd been busy with adventuring, and this summer he was busy with Bill stuff again—and Ford and Dipper had more in common to talk about—so it was fine, really. She understood. But even so, being alone with him kinda made her feel like she was in trouble.

But she'd had nothing to worry about. As they hit the road, there'd been a few minutes of awkward small talk—the kinds of questions adults always asked kids when they couldn't think to ask anything else, so, what kinds of classes are you taking next year—but once they hit common ground the conversation got rolling. Mabel had agonized over whether to join the yearbook or take art class, since she only had room in her electives for one, and had finally settled on art; Ford revealed that one year in high school he'd only taken biology and physics and passed up chemistry so that he could take an art class, had kicked himself over it when taking college chemistry courses, but now decades later he was glad he'd made the effort to preserve his artistic side even as he cultivated his scientific mind. Somehow, even though she'd spent all summer looking over Dipper's shoulder at Ford's illustrations in Journal 3, it had never quite dawned on her that being a scientist didn't mean Ford wasn't also an artist.

They talked about their preferred drawing tools—Ford liked the precision and detail of pencils and pens, while Mabel preferred the smooth drawing experience, vibrant hues, and color-blending potential of crayons. They talked about what they liked drawing—Ford typically drew from life, but said he greatly admired Mabel's creative imagination. Ford talked about blueprints and engineering diagrams like they were artwork, talked about protractors and compasses and rulers like they were art tools; and Mabel figured that blueprints were like very angular versions of the intricate star, swirl, and squiggle patterns she liked filling page margins with, so maybe that was a kind of art. They agreed that the greatest artistic masters of the modern age were the people who made those crazy paintings for the covers of fantasy paperback novels. They both couldn't stand watercolor painting and didn't understand how people could control the paint well enough to make it look good, rather than just sort of leak faintly-colored puddles around the page—although Mabel, at least, was willing to give watercolors another shot.

And from artwork they moved on to talking about Mabel's hopes for high school and Ford's memories of that time—the good and the bad. (Ford asked Mabel to have mercy if the class nerd ever awkwardly attempted to flirt with her at a school dance; she could tell the nerd "no" if she wanted, just please don't pour punch all over his suit.) And then they talked about music (they were surprised at how many synth-poppy new-wavy favorites they had in common, and Mabel was heartbroken to learn how much of the 80s he still had to catch up on), and then about all the new technology Mabel thought Ford had probably missed out on and the equivalent technology he'd encountered out in the multiverse, and then some of the adventures he'd had and people he'd met out in other dimensions...

And Mabel kept expecting Bill to come up, but he never did.

The hour drive from Gravity Falls to the outskirts of Portland consisted mostly of wide flat roads self-consciously hustling through forests, as if the cars were embarrassed visitors who'd stepped into the wrong room. Low wooden buildings clustered together in twos and threes beneath the trees like dogs sitting at their owners' feet. The occasional A-frame house peered curiously down at the road through the pines and firs. Mabel peered curiously back.

In the distance, hazy blue mountains bristling with trees tried to bite the sky. Sometimes, Mabel could imagine an X-shaped rip in the sky vomiting colors onto a distant mountain. Not for the first time, she wondered what Weirdmageddon had looked like from outside Roadkill County. She'd searched online, but never found any pictures.

They passed a bright red shop with dozens of wood-carved statues of bears and Bigfoot in the parking lot, and a cute little white house with a metal sculpture of an ostrich sitting in the front yard, and a teeny tiny shack next to a chop-your-own-Christmas-tree farm—"You hack it, we'll pack it". Seeing a gas station beside a trailer-sized drive-thru coffee shop felt like stumbling upon a carnival. Eventually, the trees peeled back to reveal a strip of colorful but run-down local shops lining either side of Route 26; which bloomed into a proper small town, houses painted cloud white and sky blue on one side of the road, a hunter green motel-style apartment building on the other side, though Mabel could always see the trees waiting just a few streets beyond the main road; and then another small town, which beat the trees back even further; and then their surroundings gently became the suburban outskirts of Portland as they got on the highway.

"The crystal shop was somewhere on the north side of the highway," Ford said, gesturing to the right. So far, all that had gone by on the right had been trees, warehouses, and distant clusters of houses. "I didn't get a long look at it, but it had some mystical-sounding name and it was in a row of storefronts with a pole sign next to the highway. The sign had a cutout in the middle for a stained glass window shaped like a diamond."

"Oooh, fancy."

"And very distinctive. We should have no trouble finding the place again."

The highway ran elevated above the homes and businesses below. After a few miles, a railroad wove up alongside the highway. Ford glanced at the railroad with a puzzled frown. Mabel asked, "Should we have passed it by now?"

"I'm... not sure. I thought we would have—when we were traveling the other direction, I seem to remember I didn't see it long before we exited the highway—but..." He trailed off. "We can't possibly have missed it. That sign stood out like a sore, bejeweled thumb."

Mabel made a mental note to try bedazzling her fingernails. "Are you sure it was on this side of the highway?"

"Positive. I saw it to my left as we were traveling east and considering asking Soos and Stan if they'd mind exiting the highway to visit it, but I decided that would take too much time since it was on the wrong side of the highway and we'd have to do a U-turn. So now it should be on our side of the highway." He gestured demonstratively to the right. "I'm sure of it."

"Okay." Mabel propped her chin in her hand and stared out the window again. A wall of concrete and trees rose up along the right side of the highway, and Ford's frown deepened.

When they reached the exit for the airport, Mabel finally had to admit to herself that there probably was no crystal shop.

Her stomach flip-flopped as Ford silently exited the highway, pulled into a strip mall parking lot, and parked. He stared out the windshield, frowning in deep thought, staring into the distance.

This is it, Mabel thought, ankles twisting together, fingers digging into the bench seat cushion.

Ford said, "We can't have missed the shop. That sign was taller than anything in the area. We couldn't have overlooked it if we'd tried."

Mabel's stomach slowly de-flipped. "Maybe they closed?" she suggested. "Or maybe something knocked the sign down!" In the week and a half since Ford had last come this way.

"Maybe," Ford said dubiously.

Mabel pulled out her phone to search for Portland crystal shops and rock shops. "There's some shops in town, but I... don't see any up here? Maybe they closed years ago and only just took the sign down?"

"Hmm. It seems unlikely, but... I don't know what else could have happened." He glanced at Mabel's phone. "What are you looking at? Do you have the yellow pages in there?"

"Um..." Mabel shrugged. "Kinda?"

Ford sighed. "Well, if we can't find the crystal shop I saw, I suppose we could visit another one. I did promise you crystals. Can you give me directions with that thing?"

Mabel gave him a hesitant, thoughtful look; but then she nodded, grinned, and said, "Sure! You drive, I'll navigate! This'll be easy!"

####

They missed the store four times.

####

The store Mabel had dug up was a general magic shop named Lunar Blessings, on the ground level of a mixed-use building. It was surrounded by apartments up above, a beauty salon to the left, and a tax preparation service to the right. They carefully stowed Stan's car in the parking garage.

"For my thirtieth birthday, I made a trip to Portland and got a cake at a bakery that used to be on this block," Ford said, looking up at the compact brick-like building that now filled the block. "It must have gone out of business." So many little things had changed.

Mabel was treating the sidewalk like a huge hopscotch board as they approached the magic shop, taking huge leaps between each concrete square. As the storefront came into sight, she said, "You know those souvenir shops with trays of polished rocks and little bags you can fill up?"

"The little brown suede bags? Yes, I've seen those. I think they're terrific gifts for young fans of geology." He probably would have gotten one himself as a child, but he hadn't started seeing them until adulthood.

"I have like eight of those bags!" Mabel declared. "I collect them whenever I can! Last summer I tried to talk Grunkle Stan into adding them to the Mystery Shack, but he said they were too easy to shoplift. He let me buy a fake gold nugget for half price, though!" She looked up at Ford hopefully. "A store full of crystals probably has something like that, right? Or at least a few cheap small rocks? Those bags are only, like, five dollars."

Solemnly, Ford said, "Your shopping budget is fifty dollars."

Mabel stumbled her last jump and almost fell. "What! Are you serious!"

"I've been in places like this before. These days you can't get anything decent for five dollars." He offered her a half smile. "Anyway, I missed out on thirty years of spoiling my nephew and my great-niece and great-nephew. I've got to make up for lost time."

Mabel flung her arms around Ford—"Thank you thank you thank you!"—and flung open the store door. "Rockmongers! Show me to your biggest, fanciest crystals! You've got a big spender in the house!" The door swung shut.

By the time Ford made it in, Mabel was saying, somewhat sheepishly, "Show me to your second fanciest crystals." Ford spied her next to an amethyst geode almost as tall as she was and hurried over.

Mabel took his hand and whispered, "You weren't kidding. Fifty dollars doesn't take you far in this place."

Ford grinned. "Funny, isn't it? Considering that you can just dig this stuff out of the ground."

Mabel nodded. "Like potatoes."

Like potatoes. Ford couldn't believe he'd missed out on thirteen years of this kid.

####

The shop boasted books on metaphysics and magic spells; sculptures depicting an undifferentiated mix of global religious figures and fantasy creatures; fake dream catchers with plastic beads and neon-dyed feathers; shelves stuffed with herbs, incense, tarot cards, and more; and most importantly of all: crystals, crystals, rocks, and crystals. Raw stones, polished tumbled stones, carved into figurines and mystical shapes, arranged by rock type in roughly rainbow order around the walls.

It was the kind of place where, once upon a time, Ford would have eagerly spent half an afternoon, browsing the books for something intellectually stimulating amidst the rows of hokey hocus-pocus, scoffing at the promised protections listed on the cards by each type of crystal but still glancing over the crystals themselves for something that might look pleasant on his desk. Not a believer in the melting pot of New Age beliefs being peddled, but still acknowledging he'd dedicated his life to seeking the same things people sought in shops like this.

He was beginning to wonder if he'd ever feel comfortable in a magic shop again. 

He'd hardly been in the shop a minute before he saw a gold-foiled pyramid with an Eye of Horus on the side. And then small pyramids constructed out of seven layers of stone, forming an inverted rainbow from purple down to red. "Divine Eye"-brand incense sticks with a brown logo stamped onto each package depicting an uncannily realistic eye on a pyramid. Milky translucent selenite pyramids. Multiple different tarot decks—simple woodcut designs, complex oil paintings, punkish collage art—that featured an eye in a triangle somewhere on the box art. Shiny black pyramids with copper coils wrapped around them. A poster with a psychedelic Eye of Providence. Pyramids in a dozen other colors and stones. With so many hostile triangles around, even the familiar, watchful nazar and eyed hamsa amulets now seemed to stare at him too hard.

It was almost a relief when Ford spotted, between sculptures of Shiva and a severe-looking angel, one sculpture that was unmistakeably Bill himself. He was seated with his legs in lotus position, "floating" by attaching to a wall of flames behind him, with two blue glass flames in his hands. Anything else in this shop left Ford with the nervous uncertainty of whether the artist had been depicting Bill, or just an innocuous Eye of Providence symbol a hundred generations removed from its initial inspiration. But this sculpture, down to the hat and bow tie, left no doubt.

Ford reminded himself that it shouldn't be a comfort to see Bill's face; and he didn't like that he had to remind himself.

He gingerly pictured up the sculpture, surprised at how light it was, and inspected the bottom. It had a logo stamped on it that matched the logo on sculptures of at least a dozen other less malevolent entities in the store; the shop had probably bought them en masse and wasn't affiliated with Bill. But somewhere out there was an artist who was. Ford wondered where they were.

####

"Grunkle Ford!" Mabel bounded up to him, grinning. 

Ford flinched when his name was called and turned away from the shelf he'd been inspecting a little too fast, like he'd been caught doing something wrong—but he gave her his full, polite attention. "Yes?"

"Look what I found in the window! It makes rainbows when the sunlight hits it! Like a prism-pyramid! A prismid! A pyrismid?" She shrugged. "Anyway, isn't it awesome! Free rainbows, everywhere, forever!" She beamed at Ford, holding her clear glass pyramid up for him to inspect; but when she saw the look on his face, she slowly lowered it. "What's wrong?"

Ford forced a tense smile. "Oh, it's... I'm sorry, Mabel. You're right, it is very impressive. But—" He winced, glancing away, voice dropping, "Bill happens to be fond of those, too. I used to have—dozens of those."

Mabel's cheeks heated up. "Oh." Now that she thought back, she distantly recalled seeing a similar pyramid in the room with the switcheroo carpet, although she'd never seen it in the sunlight. Stupid, stupid, stupid. "Sorry. I can put it back. I saw some pink cats and these resin hearts filled with gold flakes? They were cute."

It took Ford a second to speak; Mabel wasn't sure he'd even heard what she'd said. "He didn't put the idea of getting one of these in your head, did he?"

"What? No!" Mabel said. "Of course not! When would he have even brought it up?"

"You... have been spending a lot of time around him lately."

"Pffft!" Mabel rolled her eyes. "Like when?"

####

"Okay," Stan called from the kitchen, a tray of raw burgers in front of him, "ready to start grilling! How does everyone want their burgers? Your options are 'medium rare' and 'overcooked.'"

Mabel stuck her head in the kitchen. "I want mine with sprinkles mixed in!"

Stan grimaced. "Sweetie, that sounds awful—"

Bill stuck his head in over Mabel's. "I want sprinkles too."

"I'm not making you a burger!"

Mabel chanted, "Sprinkles, sprinkles—" and Bill joined in, "—sprinkles, sprinkles, sprinkles—!"

####

Mabel pointed at one of the cartoon animal drawings on the blackboard. "And the orange one is...?"

Bill, sitting on the living room floor with a notepad and a yellow pencil, raised his hand, even though he was Mabel's only audience. "Teddy Tender!"

"And his job is...?"

"Healing! Uh—doctoring and social reconciliation! He's like a therapist medic."

"Correct! Full points!"

"Yes!"

"And the indigo one?"

Bill squinted at the fishy-looking creature. "The Mystic Dolphin."

"Close enough, I'll give it to you! Misty the Dolphin. Her job?"

Bill frowned. "Psychic powers."

"No."

"Purple has psychic powers."

"No!"

"Who has psychic powers, then!"

"Nobody has psychic powers, man, we've been over this!"

Bill groaned. "Is Misty going to be on the test?"

"Of course she is! We can't just skip over Misty! Indigo gets shortchanged in artistic depictions of rainbows enough as it is!"

"Misty is stupid! She can't even visit the rest of the critters!" Bill chucked his notebook at the blackboard. It smacked it harmlessly and flopped to the floor.

Mabel gave him a stern look. "You'll never grasp the deeper thematic concepts in Color Critters if you can't see that Misty's an equal part of the team regardless of her handicaps."

Bill groaned again.

####

"Hey dudes," Soos said, opening the attic door. "Do you know where my laundry went? I can't find my green t-shirt, and—"

Mabel was wearing Soos's green t-shirt, which went down to her calves like a loose dress. Bill was hot glueing construction paper flowers all over the shirt.

Arms outstretched in a T shape, Mabel said, "I'm the flower queen."

"She's the flower queen," Bill said.

Soos looked between them both, flashed Mabel a double thumbs up, said, "You look beautiful, dawg," and shut the door.

####

Mabel kicked a foot sheepishly. "I haven't been spending that much time with him."

"That was all in the last three days," Ford said.

Mabel winced. "Okay, fine—but—it's all been harmless stuff! Nothing Bill can use to conquer the world or anything! I'm not even letting him use the scissors! And I promise he's not doing anything evil under my supervision. He's actually been really well behaved—"

"That's exactly what worries me!" Ford snapped. He sighed harshly. "Mabel—I'm not surprised he's treating you decently. It's what I expected. I... I've actually been meaning to talk to you about this for a few days."

Mabel immediately went cold. Stay safe out there, okay? "Oh. Yeah?"

"I understand you're just trying to be kind, but considering who we're dealing with here—and how willing he is to exploit and abuse even our best virtues—I'm worried you're not being careful enough around him."

Mabel was never careful enough, was she? Not even careful enough to be trusted with a snow globe, much less anything important. Voice thick, she asked, "Is that why we're here?" She gestured around the magic shop.

Ford hesitated just long enough to give her her answer. "I... didn't think this was a conversation we should have inside the shack."

Mabel looked down at her hands, saw the stupid glass pyramid, and nearly flung it on the floor in frustration. Instead, she set it on the nearest shelf. Don't break anything. Under her breath, she muttered, "Bill said you'd do something like this."

"Bill said? Bill said?! Of course he would, that's just like him. What kind of nonsense has he been filling your head with?"

####

"Honestly, I'm surprised Ford hasn't said anything about you talking to me yet," Bill said, carefully taping construction paper petals together into flowers. "But mark my words—if he's taken this long, it's only because he's waiting for an opportunity to scold you where I can't overhear. He'll probably lure you out somewhere fun—go to the zoo or something. Then he'll let you have it."

"Pfff, come on!" Mabel focused on cutting out the next few flower petals. "He wouldn't 'let me have it.' If it bothered him that much, he'd have said so by now."

"You, my friend, have never seen him get really mad. I have. For the sake of argument, maybe I deserved it, fine—but he's got a tendency to aim that hate at anybody I'm friends with, too. So don't think you're safe."

Mabel paused, then shook her head. "No." She threw another bunch of petals at Bill to tape together. "He wouldn't hate me. We're family."

"If you were your brother, I'd agree with you. As it is, though..." Bill dumped a half dozen finished flowers in Mabel's lap. "Honestly, I can't even tell how he feels about you. Can you?"

####

Mabel flinched. "Obviously what he's filling my head with isn't nonsense, because he was right! You took me all the way to Portland by promising a stupid crystal shop that doesn't exist—"

"What?! Mabel, that's ridiculous! Just listen to m—"

"Why are you yelling! Why are you mad at me, I was only trying to be nice to him!" She let out a sob. "I didn't do anything wrong this time!"

Ford froze. "Mabel..."

She ran out of the crystal shop, crying. Ford watched her go, paralyzed. Mad at her? He was mad at Bill, if anybody. Mad at her?

He turned helplessly toward the shopkeeper, as if the only other adult in the store could help him out. "I'm... sorry for the disturbance." 

The shopkeeper shrugged her shoulder in vague sympathy. "She upset over some guy?"

"Not that way." Thank goodness for that. "She's just..." He sighed. "She's been making friends with a very bad influence."

####

The entire crystal shop trip was initially one super long chapter that I cut in two. They would have been about equal length if I'd ended this chapter after Ford saw the Bill statue. I decided not to do that. I did that to be mean. ♡

[4nstars]

Coraline au! Denki Kaminari who apologizes a million times after he almost runs you over,He really didn't want to accidentally kill someone with Bakuguo's old bike.

Coraline au! Denki Kaminari who 100% thought that doll that looked like you was adorable,he was already crushing on you since the moment he saw you.

Coraline au! Denki Kaminari who didn't mean to make you think he was weird,That slug was just too cool not to take a photo of! And..well,nobody else was around! The cat couldn't take pictures,or Kaminari would've already made him.

Speaking of that,Coraline au! Denki Kaminari who thinks it's cute you clash so much with "his" cat,The purple cat just pissed you off so much that you screamed at him all the time? God,you were hot no matter what emotion you had on your face.

"What? He hates to get his feet dirty!"

"Wuss-pussss~"

Coraline au! Denki Kaminari who doesn't believe a word you say when you tell him about "the other world" and what not,he thinks Sero gave you too much of the "good stuff"

Coraline au! Denki Kaminari who absolutely loses his shit when you show him the magical tunnel that was where the wall should be,To your shock as well.

"What the fuck?!"

"Did you think I was lieing?"

Silence..

"No.."

Coraline au! Denki Kaminari who chickens out after that,getting your boots thrown at him on the way out as he rode off on his bike.

"You gave me the doll,you jerk!"

"Well damn,I didn't think some demon lady would use it as a crystal ball or whatever!"

Coraline au! Denki Kaminari who saves the day by coming to your rescue when that metal hand came chasing after you,almost killing him in the process. Thank God you were a handy person..

Coraline au! Denki Kaminari who smiles as you both just look at each other,a comfortable silence overtaking the space. The cat hopped onto the stump between you two,and then into your arms.

"God..My mom isn't going to like how I explain this to her."

"It's okay..Ask her to come by tomorrow,We can tell her together."

Coraline au! Denki Kaminari who's face goes red as the cat then leaps into his arms to bring him back to his senses. He smiles and nods,watching you walk off as he stands there with the most huge smile on his face.

"Man..They really are something..Aren't they, bud?"

"Mrow."

Coraline au! Denki Kaminari who brings his mother by your parents' garden party and introduces her to you,explaining how you moving into the pink palace helped solve where Denki's missing aunt went.

Coraline au! Denki Kaminari who knows one day he's gonna marry you when you get along so well with his mom,explaining something so crazy sounding so easily and sweetly.

Coraline au! Denki Kaminari who insists the two "dingbag" old women from the lower pink palace apartment read his tea leaves,wanting to know if his future consisted of you.

"I see a strapping young woman/man/person in your future!"

"Huh? Really?"

"You're going blind Yaoyorozu,It's clearly a slug."

"Kyoka,I think I'm pretty aware of what a lover looks like."

Coraline au! Denki Kaminari who jokes around and laughs with you when Mr.Aoyama talks about his "jumping mice circus". You're both very much aware it's probably never going to happen,but you could never say that to the poor man's face.

Coraline au! Denki Kaminari who'd listen to you for hours on what it was like in the other world,how nice everyone was to you. He's determined to make that a reality,not just something that..whatever she was used to reel you in.

Coraline au! Denki Kaminari who's determined to love you no matter what,the shared trauma makes your bond stronger.

And damn does Coraline au! Denki Kaminari hope your bond is unbreakable.

[shunin-gumis]

Designs of Happiness - Track A17

L4mps Main Story Translation

Title: The Hakodate Chase

Characters: Netaro, Toi, Yodaka, Nagi, Ryui

Summary: At the burger joint, Toi displays his divination prowess to the group to decide on their next destination.

Thank you aca @463ce6, myun @/myuntachis and Niri @/Niri_riri for helping me with proofing!

Location: Hakodate - Lucky Pierrot

Momiji: You ordered a crazy number of burgers there, Netaro-kun. Are you sure you can eat them all?

Netaro: *mouth full* Not to worry, these will be gone in a jiffy.

Toi: Ah~ That sure was delicious! My stomach’s close to bursting now!

Nagi: (Dipping the last of the fries into the sauce for that delicious last bite—)

Netaro: Gii, aah~

Nagi: (Huh? Is “Gii” supposed to be me…?)

Netaro: Aaah~

Nagi: …Here.

Netaro: Nom! Mm, scrumptious~!

Momiji: (Netaro-kun had a lot of fries left on his plate, and yet…)

Nagi: This kind of interaction makes it feel like we’re a family… 

Momiji: (Nagi-kun seems to be happy about it, so I guess it’s fine…)

Momiji: Alright then, let’s decide where we should head next.

Netaro: Toi, it’s time to use that divination of yours! I want to see your secret power with my own two eyes.

Toi: I left my divination tools back at the inn, so I can only show you something simple… 

Netaro: Nooooo… That’s not the same…

Momiji: I’m surprised that you can do it without your tools though. I thought crystal balls or tarot cards were absolutely necessary for fortune-telling… 

Nagi: Me too.

Toi: In my case, I’m able to do a reading as long as I can receive an answer in whatever shape or form. I don’t really need any kind of official method for it.

Toi: There’s no one right way to do a reading in the first place. It’s just that there’s a lot of people who need to borrow power from a crystal ball or tarot cards. 

Nagi: So you can do a reading regardless of the method… You sure have an amazing power, Toi. 

Toi: Hehe! It’s just something that’s been passed down, so I have my ancestors to thank…!

Toi: Then, I’ll try asking the water this time.

Netaro: The water~?

Toi: Let’s see, first I do this… 

Momiji: (Oh, he’s collecting a bit of water from the cup onto the straw…)

Toi: Forgive me for being a little messy… There!

Momiji: (Now he’s splashed the droplets onto the tray…)

Toi: …… 

Nagi: (Is he… observing the shape of the water?)

Nagi: (It seems unbelievable, but if it really works…)

Netaro: Aw phooey, I wanted to study Toi’s secret power! I would like to take him apart piece by piece and put him under a microscope!

Momiji: Netaro-kun, he’s trying to focus so let’s stay quiet, okay?

Netaro: Then, in exchange for my silence, is it alright if I request Toi for a divination at his full power when we return to HAMA?

Nagi: Ah… M-Me too— 

Momiji: This isn’t something you should treat lightly.

Nagi: Oh……… 

Netaro: Hmph~

Location: Hakodate - Near the Kanemori Brick Warehouse

Yodaka: I’ll take the shot now, say cheese! 

Tourist A: Thank you so much~ Sorry for springing that on you all of a sudden.

Tourist B: You even carried all our bags for us… You’re such a lifesaver! 

Yodaka: If I made your trip even a little more pleasant, that is all I could ask for. I hope you enjoy your time at Hakodate.

Tourist B: …! U-Um… 

Tourist B: If it’s alright with you, would you like to join us for—

??: …Tch, that hurt. Watch where you’re walking, old man!

Yodaka: My apologies. I was far too absorbed in my conversation with these lovely ladies. Are you hurt anywhere, young boy?

??: What? I better have heard that wrong, because you did NOT just call me a kid.  

Tourist A: What’s your problem? You’re the one who bumped into him! There’s no reason for you to apologize to this brat.

Tourist B: That’s right! Just ignore him.

Yodaka: Oh dear, you needn’t be so forceful with me. Please don’t worry, I wouldn’t even dream of leaving your side.

??: Oi. 

Tourist A: What now!

??: You dropped something there. Looks like a scrap of paper.

Yodaka: Ah, pardon me. Thank you for pointing that out, this is an important flier you see… 

Yodaka: …… 

Yodaka: Would you mind sharing your name?

??: You don’t need to thank me— 

Toi: Ani-sama!?

??: —Wha!?

Momiji: Huh, that’s Yodaka-san and…? 

Yodaka: Hello there. I see you’ve all just had your lunch.

Nagi: Crazy. We found him the moment we left the restaurant. 

Netaro: So this is the power of divination! 

Toi: So this is where you were, Ani-sama! I’ve been searching for you all this time…!

Ryui: Toi…!

Yodaka: As I thought… The portrait may not have been an exact match, but it’s clear as day that you’re twins. 

Ryui: Dammit, we’re not supposed to meet yet, not like this…!

*Ryui runs off*

Toi: W-Why are you running!?

Momiji: So that’s Ryui-kun… He has a completely different vibe from Toi-kun, but it’s true their faces are quite similar… Wait, now’s not the time for that! Please, wait…! 

Netaro: Eureka! I just had a brilliant idea: It would be far more fun if I made clones of them!

Nagi: Do we chase after them?

Momiji: Yes! …Huh?

Tourist C: What the heck! Why’re there no taxis around? My feet huuuurt!

Tourist D: Kazuo! Where are you! Oh, where could he have gone off to now…!

Tourist E: How are we supposed to get to Mount Hakodate from here? We’ve been, like, walking in circles for ages now! 

Momiji: Ugh…!

Momiji: (There seems to be a lot of troubled tourists around here…!)

Momiji: Now’s not really the time, but I just can’t pretend I don’t see them… Everyone, please give me a moment of your time!

~~~(Hospitality Battle)

Momiji: *panting* Ok, that’s dealt with…!

Momiji: Yodaka-san, please chase after him! 

Yodaka: Alright, leave it to me. I could never say no to your request.

Yodaka: And that’s how it is. Forgive me, but looks like this is where we part ways.

Tourist A: Whaat, no way…!

Yodaka: Please, don’t look so down. You should always smile while traveling. I’m sure that this moment, too, will one day be a memory you look back on fondly. 

Yodaka: I should return your precious belongings now. Who does this paper bag belong to?

Tourist B: That one’s mine! Thank you so much for carrying it for me!

Yodaka: Oh my, looks like you’ve got some pastries in here. This must be handled delicately… Here you go. 

Tourist A: Thank you so much! You were a huge help.

Yodaka: You’re welcome. See, a smile suits you much better after all.

Momiji: So damn slow! 

Nagi: As expected of the man who never lets anything fluster him. But he’s useless now. Let’s leave him behind. 

*Nagi runs off*

Toi: Oh no! Ani-sama is getting away!! Someone, please stop that handsome punk!

*Toi follows*

Momiji: Ah, Manager!

Daniel: Ugh, what now? You guys playing tourism tag or somethin’?

Momiji: We found Ryui-kun! Please help us catch him!

Netaro: There is no time better than now to show off what those muscles of yours are worth!

Daniel: These muscles aren’t made for a marathon, geez… 

~~~

Netaro: Woa-hoh!

Nagi: !

Toi: Netaro-san tripped and fell!

Netaro: I’ve yet to familiarize myself with the length of these limbs… 

Momiji: Toi-kun, we can’t stop now, keep running! Sorry Netaro-kun, we’ll come find you later!

Toi: I’m so sorryyyyyyyy~!

<- Previous | Next ->

Masterlist

[chronicsyd]

I was watching a video of someone breaking down the lyrics of Wish and why fundamentally they don’t work; but the whole thing angers me because it Could have worked if they just went with their original idea to Begin with. I’ve mentioned before that they should have gone with Star Boy but the songs in Wish REALLY emphasize WHY that sentiment rings true. Because “At All Costs” was SUPPOSED to be a duet between Asha and Star Boy because the whole thing sounds like a lovers lullaby and him wanting to love Asha “as a human does” per say. But now it’s just Asha and Magnifico singing to a bunch of crystal balls which loses most of the emphasis that song was trying to portray in the First place (not to mention how Stupid it is that the wishes are just crystal balls like this is where the 2d animation would have stood out).

Now, “I’m a Star!” Just needs to be entirely scrapped and reworked cause they could have used the song to show how Star Boy thinks and feels about things upon his initial introduction cause I’d presume that Star Boy would probably be someone very upbeat and excitable, but incredibly naïve about how the world works at the same time.

And “This is the Thanks I Get?!” COULD have really worked if they went with this plan as well cause Magnifico is supposed to be feeling unappreciated and disrespected and if Asha were his daughter and going against him cause of her feelings for Star Boy and how Magnifico was handling the wishes then That makes sense. But in the film we got, the town already seems to respect him and he doesn’t really have a reason for the way he acts which is why his switch to villain seems so abrupt.

Also the lyrics, rhythm and cadence would need a Drastic change but that would probably be Disney needing to just fire Julia Michaels and going with someone who’s Profession is making lyrics for Musical Theater instead of pop songs cause all these lyrics are just “ohh wishes!” “Ohhh stars!” And whatnot instead of building up Anything narratively. (Cause even though Lin Manuel Miranda has kinda become a meme at this point he still Knows how lyrics should build a story. Except for the Scuttlebutt but that’s just a one off thing that was truly Terrible). But hey, this is just me ranting on something that I should be letting go at this point but whatever 🤷‍♀️

(Also it bothers me that Disney was like “oh we can’t have Asha have a romantic interest in 2023 how can we show she’s a strong lead in 2023 if there’s a love interest!” Even though there’s Plenty of ways to do that with the two building off each other in a natural way and the fact that Asha doesn’t really have a character arc Anyways and her being Magnifico’s daughter would have made this work as well cause she’d have to choose between her feelings for Star Boy and going against her parents wishes just UHG I’m so pressed can someone make a Wish fixed fanfic so I can read that instead please?! Thank you.)

[cruiseperuse]

Interview with the Vampire (1994) facts that aren't important

The movie lost their 1995 Oscar nomination for Best Original Score to The Lion King.

Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise won the 1995 Razzie for Worst Screen Couple at the Golden Raspberry Awards.

Oprah Winfrey walked out ten minutes into the film after seeing Tom Cruise bite a rat: “I believe there are forces of light and darkness in the world and I don’t want to be a contributor to the force of darkness." Because of this she almost didn't air the chaotic Tom Cruise interview where Tom jumps on the couch like 4 times. *

Brad Pitt did not read the script before signing his contract:*

Okay, Interview With the Vampire. You look miserable in the movie. I am miserable. Six months in the fucking dark. (Brad said he liked filming in Louisiana a lot but London sucked) There was also the makeup, the contact lenses..  Contact lenses, makeup, I'm playing the bitch role…

 I got the script two weeks before we started shooting. Didn't you read earlier drafts? You must have. No, I didn't. Let me tell you something, once you're a movie star, you can ask to see the script. I know, but I wasn't then, and you learn.

(He also tried to get out of his contract) What will it cost me to get out?" And he goes, very calmly, "Forty million dollars." And I do, "Okay, thank you." It actually took the anxiety off of me. I was like, "I've got to man up and ride this through, and that's what I'm going to do." Maybe you should have haggled and offering him 10 million. No, I didn't have 10. I had, like, 10 bucks, you know?

Author Anne Rice was initially really opposed to the casting, and said that "Tom did make Lestat work was something I could not see in a crystal ball." But then later said, "from the moment he appeared, Tom was Lestat for me." *

This REALLY hurt Tom's feelings: "When it first hit, it really hurt, to be candid about it. Her venom hurt." To practice for the role he read ALL of her books, lost 12 lbs, moved to Paris, watched lion hunting documentaries (??)* and started playing piano. * In his defense, he was being +$10 mil for the movie.

Kirsten Dunst said the most difficult part of filming Interview with the Vampire was "kissing Brad Pitt! It was horrible and I hated it." *

When asked how he felt about the kiss, Brad Pitt said: "How do you think I feel? I have to kiss a little girl." *

Brad Pitt says Tom Cruise ''bugged'' him. ''There came a point during filming when I really started resenting him." *

[space-mermaid-writing]

Consort and King [IronStrange]

Summary: Anthony Stark, King of Midgard, needs a spouse. Whether he wants one or not. So he accepts an arranged marriage with the Prince of Kamar-Taj – a man he has never met in his life to the day they are standing in front of each other at the altar, speaking their vows. Is it possible that the feeling of duty grows into something more? Will their future be happy?

Relationship: Tony Stark / Stephen Strange

Tags: arranged marriage au, royal au, strangers to husbands, enemies to lovers, slow burn, idiots in love, fluff, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, all the good stuff

Author's note: I just love writing ballroom chapters, okay? Beta by @kvjjjjjj

Ko-fi | Read it on AO3 | Series Masterlist | Word count: 3.6k | Previous | Next

Chapter 10: The Ball

In Tony’s opinion it wasn’t proper to be the first to show up at an event, so by the time they reached the ballroom, the celebration was in full swing.

Stephen had humored him, not really caring about these things anymore ever since he joined the ranks of the sorcerers. He figured he should go back to caring, considering he was going to be a king soon. Even if it was just for Tony’s sake. Stephen wanted to be a good partner and spouse to him. One that Tony could rely on.

Wearing the gloves as usual in public, Stephen had his arm linked with Tony’s, who led them to the hosts in order to greet them; as it was custom.

King Odin and Queen Frigga stood near the thrones, surrounded by people that wanted to talk to them. It bore no problem to Tony slipping through and getting their attention anyway – as Stephen noted with amusement.

“Ah, King Stark.” Odin noticed them first. His eyes wandered to Stephen. “And it’s Consort Strange now, isn’t it?”

“Congratulations on your wedding,” Frigga added, stepping next to her husband.

“Thank you,” Stephen said, while Tony and Odin shook their hands in greeting. Then Tony took Frigga’s hand and blew a kiss on the back of it.

“You look lovely as ever. May your upcoming year be as bright as today’s summer solstice.” Tony had his charm on full blast and the Queen’s pleased smile told it wasn’t too much but just enough.

Tony also registered that Stephen kept his hands to himself and didn’t offer them to the king and queen – who in return didn’t seem offended by that.

He remembered what his husband had told him: he had been here quite a lot after his accident, they knew about his hands and were polite enough not to comment on it.

“Thank you.” Frigga gestured around the room. “Make sure you enjoy yourself tonight. Eat, drink and dance.”

“We absolutely will.” Tony barely held back a wink, because that had been his plan all along; he was going to enjoy the evening with Stephen.

He caught Frigga's gaze; she was watching him and Stephen. It made him wonder what the two husbands looked like to bystanders. There wasn’t any tension between them anymore. At least not the bad kind. Instead they had established a flirty banter, and Tony felt a lot of affection towards his partner.

Oh how much had changed since their wedding. Although it had been merely a few months.

Tony preferred how things were now; by far.

He and Stephen followed the request of the hosts to join the guests of the ball.

People were chatting with each other in small groups or dancing to the music. The murmur of voices is ever present in the lovely decorated ballroom.

Some people toast to each other. Stephen heard the clink of glasses and in the corner of his eyes he noticed the light from the chandeliers reflected in the crystal glass.

It was a game that was familiar to him; after all he grew up with this. And as a prince, eyes had always been on him. He knew it was the same for Tony.

It had been a while since he attended an official event. After he had left the Royal Palace of his parents and started the Mystic Arts, he had taken no interest in them. He had thrown the few invitations that had reached him in the Sorcerer's Temples, straight into the trash. But tonight he found himself excited to make the most of it. A pleasant smile took over his face and he angled his body closer to his husband; who was clearly a vital reason for his good mood.

“Stephen.” Someone called from behind them.

The sorcerer sighed, closing his eyes for a second, before his face became a polite mask and he turned around. “Mother. Father.”

Of course the King and Queen of Kamar-Taj were also invited to the ball. Stephen had been a fool for paying it no mind.

His mother hugged him, although it felt stiff and weird, and was more for show than anything else. She had been the one calling out to him, too. His father practically ignored him and turned to Tony at his side instead.

“King Stark. We finally meet.”

“It’s about time, I would say.” Tony had his charm on full blast when he greeted his parents-in-law. But even while trading pleasantries he stayed at his husband’s side, his hand not leaving the small of Stephen’s back. As if to reassure him that he wasn't alone.

Stephen hadn't talked much about his parents, but it was enough to keep Tony on his guard and his smile not entirely honest.

The King and Queen of Kamar-Taj were happy how the alliance between the two countries had turned out. The trade was growing and everyone agreed that the union had turned out well.

Tony was fully engaged in the conversation about politics and Stephen was glad that he didn't have to contribute much. This was even enjoyable. Maybe his relationship with his parents could take a turn for the better; perhaps he just needed more distance after all. And honestly, that had been one of the reasons why he had turned to magic after his accident: to get space.

But then his father said to Tony, “You seem to handle my son quite well.”

Stephen wished the floor would open up beneath him and swallow him up.

“Pardon?” Irritated, Tony looked at the other king.

“Oh, we know he can be a handful, if you catch on to what I’m saying.”

Tony was still smiling, but his voice got a sharp edge. “I don’t. Please elaborate.”

“Tony, don’t,” Stephen asked him quietly, but his husband didn’t listen.

“No, I want to hear this.”

The king and queen were visibly uncomfortable he was insisting on this.

“Well, he has told you about his accident, hasn’t he?” King Strange was suddenly unsure. And rightly so, because it hadn't been mentioned at all during the wedding negotiations. His parents had sent Stephen away to let him deal with it on his own. They had been sure: by this point, more than half a year into the marriage, he had told Stark about it.

Had he not?

Tony nodded and motioned to them to go on.

Stephen's father wet his lips, finally glancing at his son, even if just for a second. “His hands haven’t been the same ever since. He always needed extra attention after it and-…”

“Oh, he gets all the attention he needs,” Tony interrupted him. “And his hands are magical.” He darted Stephen a gentle smile, before looking back at the parents, ready to attack. “He is quite skilled with them too, if you ask me. Kept me up in pleasure plenty of nights – if you catch on to what I’m saying.”

The king and queen looked scandalized, while Stephen was clearly amused. Tony decided that the conversation was over and led the sorcerer away. He was fuming, but for the sake of this event and his husband, he breathed through his anger.

He stopped in a quiet corner of the ballroom.

“I’m sorry about that,” Tony apologized. After all they were still Stephen's parents and ruler of an allied country. Even if they were shitty.

Stephen stared at him in disbelief. “You are sorry? I am sorry about my parents. They are…” He tried to find the right words, when Tony helped him out.

“A handful?”

The sorcerer huffed a laugh. It wasn’t a full chuckle, but he visibly relaxed. And he felt much less self-doubt than usual after talking to his parents, probably mostly due to the fact that Tony stood up for him.

Tony was just glad to see that frown on his husband’s face gone. “I don’t know about you but I could use a snack.”

Without waiting for an answer, he headed for the nearest servant with a food tray and took plenty for them both. Back at Stephen's side, he handed him a tartare.

Stephen took it and bit into it. It was really great. “Thank you, Tony.”

“You really don’t need to thank me for food.” He knew this wasn't about the food, but neither of them said it out loud.

Tony couldn’t get over the fact that even though their son had married someone none of them had ever met before and they hadn’t seen their son for months, they didn’t even ask Stephen once how he was doing. If he was okay.

The more he thought about it, the more angrier he got again.

His relationship with his own father hadn’t always been the best, but he at least remembered his mother’s love that he received before she died way too early. And he knew that his father’s actions were based on grief. That he hadn’t been able to cope with the loss.

It didn’t excuse anything. But Tony had matured enough to understand it.

His mind wandered to Peter, who wasn’t even his own son, but he still treated him with more care and affection than Howard ever did with him.

But a ball wasn’t the place nor the time to think about these things. Tony chased these thoughts away by stuffing the last few bites into his mouth and grabbing Stephen's wrist. "Have you met Lord T'Challa yet?" he asked with his mouth full and when the sorcerer shook his head he dragged him into the crowd.

As they mingled with people they realized that their circle of mutual acquaintances was quite large. Of course, this was not surprising in the sense that they both came from royal families. What was more surprising was the question of how they had managed to not meet before their wedding.

As the evening progressed, they parted company to pursue various conversations.

Stephen was talking to some royal scholars when – unexpectedly – Loki appeared at Tony’s side.

“You found yourself a rather handsome consort. Kudos. I didn’t think you had it in you to pull Strange of all people.”

Tony wasn't sure which one bothered him more: the lack of any manners or the prince’s presence in general. “Jealous?” he asked, not willing to put any effort in this conversation.

The corners of Loki's mouth twitched in a hint of a smirk. He probably had fun annoying the king. “His parents would never see me as a good fit for any of their children.”

That wasn’t a no, and somehow thinking about Loki and Stephen soured Tony’s mood. The two of them clearly had a history, as their meeting in the garden had shown. But of what kind?

Tony tried to sound nonchalant when he stated, “You two seem rather close,” but he failed; judging by Loki’s face.

Instead of answering, the prince requested, “Let’s dance.” It really sounded more like a demand, but Tony decided to play his game. Since his attention was on Loki, he failed to notice that Stephen had spotted the two of them talking in the crowd and furrowed his brow when he saw Tony leading Loki to the dance floor.

It was a slow waltz, which gave them plenty of time to continue their conversation and sure enough Loki did not fail to rub it in his face, “Powerful magic wielders tend to gravitate to each other. Either because of admiration or hatred for each other.”

“And in which category do you two fall into?”

“We haven’t decided yet,” Loki answered cryptically.

Tony left it at that and they continued to dance in silence. His eyes wandered back to Stephen, who was still engrossed in conversation but he glanced over to the two dancers every now and then.

Tony had never thought about his husband’s magic abilities. They were just there. Sure, he had witnessed Stephen using his powers in his everyday life. Mostly for small things, to help with his hands. Tony had come to terms with it, but he admittedly knew relatively little about his magic.

“Is Stephen that powerful?”

Tony had seen a glimpse of something more the day they had been sparring. He had pulled Rhodey off his feet easily.

Loki looked at him as if he was exceptionally stupid. “He would have become the next Sorcerer Supreme if it wasn’t for his marriage with you.”

Even Tony knew that this was the highest position any mage could ask for – no matter if they preferred the Mystic Arts, Seidr or any other form of magic.

“Can’t he do both?”

"There's a reason that in Kamar-Taj the royal house and the path of magic are separated.”

His words made the king pause. He knew that his magic was important to Stephen. They had talked about it. And it didn’t sit well with him that he was the reason for Stephen’s relinquishment – the arranged marriage his parents dictated onto him.

He spent the rest of the dance caught up in his thoughts and Loki let him.

When the music stopped, they did as well. Tony turned to leave the dance floor, but Loki held his hand tightly. He briefly glanced at the crowd before leaning down to the smaller king and whispering into his ear. “For a Stark, you don’t dance half as bad. It’s a shame it comes with that face.”

Before Tony could open his mouth to complain, Stephen suddenly appeared at his side, his eyes on Loki, coldly. “If you don’t mind, I would like a dance with my husband.”

The Asgardian finally let Tony go and stepped back. “Don’t think too hard about what I told you,” he winked at the king before he left.

Tony already knew he would think way too hard about it. He let Stephen lead him into the next dance, as the music resumed.

“What was that about?” Stephen asked.

“Actually, I’m not sure. I think he insulted me at least twice.”

“He does that,” the sorcerer agreed.

There was something different about him. His eyes felt more intense, when Tony finally looked up. They were clear blue like the sea. But a storm was brewing underneath. He looked determined, like a man on a mission.

Stephen led this dance and Tony didn’t even question it. The touch of his scarred hands felt light but for once they didn’t tremble. He had to use magic for that.

Tony blurted out, “Do you miss Kamar-Taj?”

Stephen barely missed a beat. “Yes.” But it didn’t sound remorseful. Instead he added, “I miss how it used to be. But I know it wouldn’t be the same if I returned. I have found a new place. At your side.”

Tony’s smile was gentle, happy even, at that confession.

For Stephen it looked like the early rays of the morning sun.

“I’m glad to hear that. We could visit anyway. I would love to see that place.”

Surprised by the proposal, Stephen blinked. “If you wish.” His eyes had softened, the storm shrinking. But his words were too formal for Tony’s taste.

“No, if you wish. I’m not insisting on it. Just telling you I’m open to the idea if that is something you would like to do.”

When Stephen would look back later, he would realize that it had been this moment for him. The moment he knew everything would turn out fine and that the marriage had been the right decision. That Tony was worth all the former reluctance, their arguments. Everything. It had been worth it.

“Do you want to get some fresh air?” He asked and Tony nodded, not minding the change of topic.

“Sure.”

After the song ended they left the dance floor and with their fingers interlaced, they made their way through the crowd.

A door led them onto a balcony. Despite the late hour, the sun was only just making its way to the horizon. They stepped up to the balcony railing to watch its descent.

Below the palace was the golden capital of Asgard. Colorful lanterns hung everywhere and people were on the streets, celebrating the summer solstice in honor of the queen. People were laughing, dancing and drinking. The air was buzzing with their excellent mood.

Stephen and Tony were content in each other’s presence. Tony was leaning against the taller man, while Stephen had his arm around his waist.

“It seems like we’re in luck to see a rare pink sunset. They are very special,” Stephen explained, his gaze fixed on the endless sky.

And really, the light of the setting sun colored the sky in a pinkish hue. In fact the color changed – slowly but steadily – the closer the orb came to the horizon. From a pinkish–lilac to some kind of orange and yellow.

It was a phenomenal view.

“Isn’t it fascinating how the same thing can look so different, depending on the point of view?” Tony muttered more to himself.

Stephen made a sound of agreeing anyway.

The colorful sky lasted only for a few minutes. Then the sun disappeared and night finally fell. It immediately became darker, but the many lanterns in the city bathed everything in a cozy light.

Tony turned in Stephen's arm, now looking up at him. Their eyes met. At that moment time didn’t matter. It was just them.

Tony cupped his husband's face; and Stephen met the kiss halfway. It was gentle and full of affection. Until Tony opened his mouth and the kiss became more heated.

Their bodies pressed flush against each other, they basked in each other’s warmth.

Stephen was the first to remember that they were at a public event. When he detached from Tony, albeit reluctantly, his cheeks were flushed and his lips swollen. He shared Tony's lopsided smile.

There was so much he wanted to say to Tony. He felt grateful for tonight; to have this handsome man at his side; for being able to call him his husband; how Tony handled Stephen’s parents; everything.

He wasn’t used to things turning out fine and remaining good. Without any catch whatsoever. He realized he was waiting for the shoe to drop.

It was ridiculous.

Stephen was willing to allow himself to just be happy. To enjoy life.

Before he could voice any of that, Tony pulled him towards the door. “Let’s go back inside. I want to dance some more with you.”

Stephen was only too happy to be pulled along and did so without any hesitation.

They danced and mingled with the people. They ate and drank and had a lot of fun. It was late at night when they retired to their guest room. Or early in the morning – depending on the view.

Tony put his crown off his head onto a table.

“Are you fine with sharing a bed?” He asked while his many rings followed the crown.

Stephen scoffed. “We are married. I think I can manage.”

Turning towards him, Tony raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what you said on our wedding night.”

And they really were at that point of being comfortable with each other that they could talk and joke about this without feeling personally attacked. They had come a long way.

“My wish for having a space of my own has nothing to do with my willingness to share a bed with you,” Stephen stated without looking at him. He shed his outer robes and laid them neatly folded over the back of a chair.

Tony blinked at that. He walked to the bed and sat on it to take off his shoes. “Could have fooled me,” he muttered.

That made Stephen pause.

“I have to apologize,” he realized. Tony looked up, surprised, but Stephen continued, before he could open his mouth. “You had been welcoming me into your home and been nothing but nice in those first days, although you were also forced into this marriage. And I didn’t even try to get to know you. I was determined to resent everything.”

The sorcerer wrung his hands, either due to nervousness or maybe even regret. He exhaled, sighing.

Tony’s eyes softened. He patted on the mattress next to him. “Come here, Stephen.”

Stephen sat down, his posture stiff. It wasn’t easy for him to open up about his emotions. And after Tony met his parents, he no longer wondered why.

“It’s true, we didn’t have the best start to begin with and it could have gone better. But we’re over that now. At least I feel that way. I mean, tonight was a lot of fun and you’re quite a decent dancer, so that’s definitely a plus. I guess what I’m trying to say,” Tony concludes because at this point he was starting to ramble, “I’m glad it’s you I’m married to.”

“You’re not so bad of a husband yourself.” Stephen’s smile was gentle. “You never cease to amaze me with your passion and your ability to love; your people, your men, Peter…” He cupped Tony’s face. “And I’m proud to call myself your consort.”

He leaned in and kissed Tony. It was a slow kiss – a promise for the future, for his willingness to make this work.

“You may take your last statement back, if you steal my blanket tonight.” Tony tried to muster his most serious face afterwards.

“Oh?” Stephen's eyebrow shot up, immediately catching on. “Will you be proclaiming a territory of high ground on your favorite bedside next?"

The king grinned ambiguously. "I'd be open for negotiation."

Stephen chuckled, but didn't entertain the idea further. It was late and both of them were more than ready to go to bed; each on their own side.

After the last candle was blown out, it didn't take long for Stephen to fall asleep. Tony heard the steady breathing from the other end of the mattress. Crossing his arms behind his head, the king stared up at the ceiling. His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. The light from the stars shone in through the window.

It had been nice to attend the ball with a husband and not alone.

Tony turned his head, watching Stephen's relaxed features. For the first time he truly felt like he was married, like there was someone at his side he trusted – and he had to admit: it was really nice.

With a soft smile on his lips, he closed his eyes and soon after he was fast asleep.

_____________

Taglist: @goopierthenyou (tell me if you want to be added/removed)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Trying

Warnings: allusions to fertility issues, unwanted touching, and other possible dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: I got carried away with Blind Offer but here is another Corrupt a Wish! Ft. our boys Steve and Ransom!

Please leave some feedback so I know you want me to do more of the wishes I got. Otherwise, I find it hard to keep my motivation.

Wish Corrupted: I wish Ransom would be a simp for me despite the fact that I’m Steve’s girl 😏 by @stargazingfangirl18

“He’s in his office, writing again,” you keep on hand on the door as you speak to the man on your stoop. “Something about a book deal…”

You grin and Ransom’s cheek dimples. Nothing more. Sometimes it feels like he only tolerates you because you're attached to Steve. You try to give them their space, to stay out of the way. You’d hate to spoil this for your husband.

“Right, so..” Ransom tucks his hands into his russet jacket and looks over his shoulder, “you sending me back out in that?”

“Not at all,” you step back, “come on in.”

He looks back to you with that expression you can’t read. His eyes speak more than his features but they are cryptic. There’s a light behind them you can’t quite place. He steps inside, rivulets on his jacket and a few sparkling droplets caught in his dark hair.

“Can I get you a tea? Coffee?” You offer, balling your hands to keep from wringing them.

He unbuttons his jacket and hangs it from a hook. He smooths his hands over his hair, the rain seeping into the strands. He faces you and tilts his head.

“Got anything stronger?” He asks.

You try not to show your surprise at the request. It’s three in the afternoon. On a Tuesday. Your liquor cabinet is rarely opened even on the weekends. It’s more decorative than practical.

“You like gin, right?” You venture.

His lash flick and he narrows his eyes at you, a ripple in his forehead. He plants a hand on the wall and bends as he thumbs off his wet shoes. He keeps his gaze pointed at you, “you remember?”

“Lucky guess,” you shrug.

“Lucky,” he looks around the entryway, “I’d say so.”

You try not to betray your doubt. It’s hard to tell with him what is meant as a compliment or shade. He speaks in riddles. You almost want to suggest he takes up writing himself. It is in his blood.

“I’ll go see what we got,” you say and spin on your heel.

You’re quick to flee the stolid pressure of his persistent gaze. It’s as if he’s weighing you, judging your worth each time he sets sight on you. It wouldn’t be the first time someone thought you weren’t good enough for Steve. And how could you be? How do you live up to the Captain America?

You go to the cabinet in the dining room and unclasp the door. You peruse the bottle and find a tall bottle of gin. You slip it out over the tops of the other bottle and gently close the cupboard. You bring it to the kitchen and search for a suitable glass among the crystal.

“You got club soda?” Ransom frightens you as you pull down a tumbler.

You turn your head, looking at him from your peripheral. You sidle over to the fridge, “might…”

He crosses the tile as you search and you feel the door shift. As you close it, his hand follows, staying flat to the metal as he peruses the calendar stuck to it with a magnet. The squares are crowded with clusters of your and Steve’s writing. You highly doubt he has any concern for your doctor appointments.

“Busy,” he comments.

“Yep,” you agree as you open the can of soda, “sorry, I don’t have any citrus.”

“It’s fine,” he comes closer as you pour the soda over the gin and the clear mix bubbles to the rim. “Thanks, doll.”

He reaches and slides the glass towards him. For a moment, looming so you can smell the bergamot in his cologne and feel the warmth radiating from his ivory knit. He backs away as he brings the glass to his lips.

“I should go find the old man,” he declares.

“Right,” you move the half-empty can and cap the gin, trying to contain yourself.

You listen to him retreat. His steps are lazy and carry no urgency. You glance over to make sure the kitchen is empty and you lean on the counter.

Doll… only Steve calls you that.

💕

Ransom stays for dinner. It’s not unusual. You don’t even have to ask as two hours pass without a peep from the office. That’s how your husband spends his days lately; burrowed away, writing, grumbling over his laptop, and occasionally calling for help. You smile each time he tells you typewriters were so much simpler.

As you bring out the serving dishes to the table, Ransom chats about some editor’s meeting, Steve looks over as you place the roasted potatoes down, he lets his hand wander to your lower back and smiles up at you. He’s in a better mood than usual.

You touch his shoulder, too shy to kiss him in front of Ransom. You just hate how he’s always watching. The last time to gave your husband a peck on the cheek, it resulted in a snort and a mean joke about PDA.

You go back to the kitchen and grab the pan of drumsticks. You stop as you pass the fridge, staring at your writing, the highlighter over the letters. A few more days… The specialist will be able to figure it out. They have to.

You shrug away that thought and continue into the dining room. You place the last piece of the meal and claim your seat. You sit and wait to take a serving of potatoes until Ransom and Steve get some, then scoop up some grilled asparagus, and a single drumstick.

“Sorry, could I trouble you for another drink?” Ransom asks before you can lift your fork.

“Oh, of course, I forgot,” you push your chair out and grasp the arms as you stand, “Steve?”

“Just water for me.”

You nod and hurry back to the kitchen. Your stomach is roaring with hunger. You pour the rest of the soda in a new glass with the gin. Then you fill a glass with water from the filter on the fridge. You return and give each man their drink.

“Thought you were cutting back,” Steve remarks as Ransom swigs his drink greedily.

Ransom pops his lips and lets out and ‘aah’, “well, I’m only on number two. Usually I’d be at the bottom of the bottle.”

“Fair,” Steve shrugs. He doesn’t drink, even if he did, it doesn’t have any effect for him. You stopped drinking months ago so you could… Well, it hasn’t helped, has it.

“So, first draft when?” Ransom chortles as Steve answers with a growl. “I’m teasing. You’ve made good progress. I mean, the whole world just can’t wait to hear the story of good ole Cap from the man himself… and my grandfather is especially looking forward to it.”

“Mm,” Steve chews, jaw tight with irritation. No, how quickly his good mood flies away. “Deadlines… I am very aware.”

“He’s been working hard,” you offer, “he’s in his office everyday. I think you’re the first guest we’ve had in a few weeks.”

Steve nods but doesn’t comment. Ransom takes another drink. “Must be hard for you,” he remarks, “lonely.”

“I told her to invite Wanda over,” Steve snips, “if she’s lonely, she’s free to solve that problem.”

“Yikes, sorry I said anything,” Ransom cringes, “lighten up, old man.”

“Would you stop calling me that?” Steve huffs, “it’s not funny.”

“Well… you’re what…a hundred or something now? Pretty damn ancient if you ask me–”

“Hugh,” Steve snarls.

Ransom’s grin disappears in an instant. He puts his glass down heavily and leans forward. The men glare at each other. Then suddenly, they’re laughing at each other. You don’t get it. You can’t figure out if they actually like each other or not. It does your head in.

“Mathematically speaking, you’re old, but I’m sure the wife will say you’re spry and youthful in spirit, huh?” Ransom winks in your direction.

Steve sucks back his last laugh and rolls his eyes, “don’t be gross.”

“What? It’s a compliment.”

"It's none of your business," Steve warns.

Ransom laughs again. Steve doesn't and you keep your head down. You can't wait for him to finish this book, hopefully that will be the end of this relationship; professionally and otherwise.

💕

Ransom leans heavily on Steve. The supersoldier shoulders the man with ease as he drsgs him up the stairs. The upstart heir to a bookhouse empire babbles drunkenly.

"So, I get out of this meeting and see my fucker uncle–"

"Language," Steve girds, swiftly ignored as the story continues with similar profanity.

You follow behind, clasping your hands together anxiously. This isn't how you thought the night would end and you know the change in plans will upend Steve. You swallow a dread-filled sigh as your husband angles the houseguest into the spare room.

He as good as tosses Ransom onto the bed. You can tell he's annoyed.

"What were you doing feeding him drink all night?" Steve accuses as he faces you, hands going to his hips. That posture, great, now you're in trouble.

"It was only two," you sputter, "really– you can check the bottle."

Ransom giggles and lets put a belch, "I dropped a few xanny after that idiot uncle of mine got in my face."

"Really?" Steve twists to sneer at the sprawled man. Ransom is so pathetic it's almost impossible to hate him.

"What? Taking the edge off. You should try a few, old man."

"Go to sleep," Steve points at him and turns, marching towards you.

"I'll get some water…" you offer softly.

You precede him out, ready to scurry away from his roiling wrath. He catches your arm as he pulls shut the door. He tugs you back to him, lowering his voice.

"Are you…" he stares at you, his meaning in the angle of his jaw.

"First day," you know he checked the calendar.

"Good," he lets you go and exhales deeply, "I need it."

You nod. He used to be romantic about. Now it's just another chore. Almost mechanical.

"I'll just grab that water and–"

"I'll be waiting," he grits as his throat constricts.

You touch his chest and kiss his lips, "then I'll hurry."

His chest rises and he swallows loudly. He turns away first and you flit away. You know better than to keep him waiting.

You go downstairs and find a fresh glass from the cupboard. You watch the clear water flow into the crystal and balance it carefully to keep it from sloshing over the edges. You come back upstairs and gently tap on the spare room door.

With no answer, you let yourself in, assuming that Ransom's succumbed to his Xanax cocktail.

He's on the bed, just as you left him, eyes closed as he breath subtly under his sweater. You near the night table and set down the water. As you do, you feel a pinch on your ass.

You squeak and recoil. Before you can retract completely, Ransom catches your wrist and yanks you towards the bed. You hold firm, teetering but not succumbing.

"What are you doing?" You touch his thick fingers.

"You're too good for himmmm," he drawls out, "you know that?"

"Ransom--"

"No, it's true. You're so sweet, dolllllll."

"Don't call me that."

He snarls and you're suddenly flung forward with his strength. He pulls you so you collapse onto the bed, against him. You whimper, but not loud enough to be overheard.

"And pretty and..." He caresses your cheek as you turn your face away, squirming as he wraps you up in his other arm, "and perfect. The way you make my dick hurt..."

He rolls his hips and you shove against his shoulder, "get off."

"Shhh, baby, I know you want it too. He doesn't treat you nice. He can't give a baby, but I will--"

You struggle as he grabs your chin and rolls, pinning you to the mattress as he leans over you. Helpless, you writhe, kicking your legs as he smothers you in a sloppy kiss. He tastes like gin.

You bite his lip and he snaps back. You take the opportunity to shove him away and you scramble up off the bed. He reaches for you again but you stay beyond his reach.

"Sleep it off," you hiss and twirl away from him, off kilter as you try not to show how unsettled you are.

You flick the light switch and shut the door, leaning on it as you touch your lips. Hopefully, Steve doesn't taste the gin on you. Not like he really kisses you during anymore.

[clonerightsagenda]

trick or treat!👻🎃🦇🦇 ( i feel like their should be a dancing skeleton emoji or smth:/)

Anything you have to offer about blue eye samurai! Any hot takes? Analysis of character relationships? Unrelated cat pics that are always appreciated?

Happy Halloween!

🔮

(^also safely setting down my offering of a crystal that only tells you vague, impersonal fortunes and futures)

Something I've been thinking about post-watch is Mizu loose in London. Fowler's not wrong that she'd probably have trouble navigating the UK to find 2 specific people without him. However she's taking a real gamble turning to him for help. She doesn't know what these two guys look like. He could point to any of his enemies and claim they're the men she's looking for.

However, Fowler is Irish. In the late 1600s. While I am no great shakes at distinguishing accents, the British have an impressive ability to identify your exact class and location background from a few words, so I assume he is visibly or at least audibly Irish, which means he probably has a lot less cachet in London than he wants Mizu to think. Mizu's about to learn whole new flavors of racism.

I'm also wondering what Mizu's experience will be as a mixed race person in London. Obviously Japan was closed, and from what I can tell, the UK didn't have much dealings with China yet, although they already had some with India. Conceptions of race and attitudes toward mixed race people change a lot depending on the current times and tensions. Will Mizu be an abomination or a curiosity? Would she have stuck out less in another 150 years? I feel like I should do some background reading since the next season isn't due until 2026. Really my biggest question, given the show's playing with gender, gender roles, and using people's expectations against them, is - depending on how mixed race and East Asian people are perceived in this time period in London, which I do not know, would it be more valuable or safer for Mizu to present as a man or a woman?

Thank you for the crystal ball! I shall peer into its depths... cautiously.

[melpomenelamusa]

Holiday surprise - Chimeras

~Special Chapter~

CW: Lady whumpee, pet whump, mostly fluff really.

Madame Lavenza never celebrated the holidays. When December began, she would have the mansion decorated with hundreds of red and gold balls, crystal and ice decorations, and a huge tree in the hall. It wasn't that the woman had any interest in the Christmas spirit, she just liked to show off and spend her money on something.

For Fidi, these dates didn't mean anything special either. They never did for her family, which had always been disunited and poisonous, and they didn't mean anything now, when her role was to play the pet of a crazy woman with too much purchasing power.

Cold mornings were not to the liking of the snake girl, who felt the icy air sneak through her scales and stick to her bones. In the early morning, the cold was even greater, making her shiver and bury herself in the soft duvet and warm sheets.

Suddenly someone opened the door to her room.

"Get up, little snake! I'm preparing a surprise.”

What would Madame Lavenza want on December 25th at 5 in the morning? Nothing good, surely. The lightbulb in her bedroom turned on, illuminating the room with blinding white light. The sheets were torn from her body and a hand closed around her arm, pulling the snake girl up.

"Quick, go get ready! We're running out of time.”

Still sleepy, Fidi quickly showered and dressed in the clothes the woman handed her: a red dress with a design that resembled the classic Santa Claus suit, candy cane-striped stockings, and a pair of mittens. Was Madame Lavenza planning a Christmas-themed photo shoot? Were they going to some themed party? Fidi had many questions, but none could be answered.

They went down to the hall. There was a large gift box, empty and open. Fidi didn't have much time to think about what that could mean when suddenly a pair of servants grabbed her.

"What's wrong?!", Fidi asked, with a hint of fear.

"This is what I get for losing a bet," Madame Lavenza commented, holding up a thick, long red ribbon and approaching the girl. "Next year I'll try harder to win."

~

Neli woke up because of the knocking on her door.

"Get up! Master Fredrik is calling you.”

Neli squeezed her eyelids shut as if she wanted to convince herself that Miss Amere's voice was just part of a nightmare; but the knocks and screams didn't stop, and if she didn't hurry to open the door, she knew it would only end worse for her.

She got out of bed, feeling the cold floor against the bare soles of her feet. The alarm clock read about five minutes to 7 am.

"Good morning, Miss Amere," Neli said, after opening the door.

"Stupid rabbit, are you going to spend the whole morning sleeping?" replied the woman with glasses and a wrinkled face. When she got angry, her face looked more like a pale raisin. "You should be thankful that Master Fredrik thought of you and prepared a gift for you. Go to the hall."

A gift? Oh, it was true, today was Christmas. Neli hated this date, because it reminded her of the pain of not being able to share it with her family. It had been a couple of years since she had seen them. They must miss me as much as I miss them, she told herself. It was what she repeated to herself every day to try to keep some sanity in that house.

Master Fredrik was not one for celebrations. He just liked to take advantage of any excuse to bring alcohol, drugs and women to the mansion. Christmas didn't matter to him, and therefore, neither did gifts. Had he really prepared a surprise for Neli?

"Do you need me to go change?" the girl asked. She was only wearing her pajamas: pink shorts and a thick sweater-type shirt.

"Those big ears don't work for you? I told you to go to the hall immediately."

The rabbit girl pursed her lips, before nodding and starting to walk in the indicated direction. When she reached the hall, she discovered that Master Fredrik was already there. Next to him was an elegant blonde woman. Neli had already seen her before: she was the owner of Ofidia. Between them, on the floor, was a huge box wrapped in gift paper, with a big bow on top.

“Ah, you finally appear,” Fredrik said. “Here, I brought you a present. Merry Christmas, or whatever.”

Neli was… surprised, to say the least. She couldn’t help but stare, with her mouth open, at the huge box and then at the two adults in front of her.

“She looks quite dumb,” Madame Lavenza murmured, covering her mouth with a gloved hand, before addressing the man. “I hope you use this gift wisely. I am not usually so flexible, but this time I´ll give in because I admit my defeat in the bet.”

Fredrik shrugged, with a half smile. Between his fingers was a cigarette. He brought it to his mouth, inhaled, and then blew out a puff of smoke. He had a bad habit of smoking from very early on.

“Hey, you, fat rabbit, hurry up and open your present.”

At those words, Neli reacted. She walked over to the gift and crouched down next to it. It was very large. Neli's hands were shaking as she undid the ribbon on the surface and removed the lid. When she saw the inside, her surprise grew exponentially.

"Ofidia?!"

Inside the box was the snake girl. Her arms and legs were tied with a red ribbon. The same ribbon covered her lips, tied behind her head, which was decorated with a huge gift bow. Ofidia's eyes slowly opened as the box opened, and when they met Neli's they opened even more, shining like two yellow crystals.

"Lavenza and I made a bet," Fredrik said, taking another drag on his cigarette. "Whoever lost would give a gift to the other's pet."

"It's a temporary gift," the blonde woman clarified. "Make good use of her in the meantime. I'll come pick her up later."

"Well, yes, have fun," Fredrik said, without giving it much importance. He and the woman left, leaving them alone in the hall.

"Fidi!" Neli said, hurrying to get the snake girl out of the box. With slightly clumsy fingers, she untied the ribbons that bound her body. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," the other girl replied, once free. "This was a surprise for me too."

An awkward silence formed between them.

"I'm sorry," Neli said suddenly. "I'm sorry they did this to you."

"It's okay," Fidi replied, letting out a tired sigh. "These are things we can't control. I'm used to it."

Neli felt her heart clench as she heard those words. She had only just turned three years old under Fredrick's power, but Fidi had been under her owner's control for many more years. She had suffered for many more years.

"Still, I'm very sorry," she repeated.

It was then that Fidi took her hand.

"No problem. It may not be the most pleasant method; but... I'm glad I can be with you on this day." 

Neli felt a heat rise to her face, and deep down she was relieved that the snake girl had said what her mind was thinking but didn't have the courage to say out loud.

"Shall we go to my room?" Neli asked, not knowing what else to do. Breakfast wouldn't be served for a few hours anyway.

They went to the room. It was relatively large, with pink walls and painted flower drawings, as if trying to imitate a garden. On one side was the bathroom, the bed and the wardrobe, and on the other side was a long, thick curtain that hid "the cage", that space overlooking the game room where Fredrik used to show off his pet when he had parties in his mansion.

"Do… you want to do something?" Nelly asked, trying to hide her nervousness. She suddenly felt very embarrassed for not having dressed and still walking around in only her pajamas.

"Honestly, I'm cold," Fidi said, wrapping her thin body with her arms. "I'm not good at tolerating the cold." 

"Oh! You can lie down here if you want," Neli said, pointing to her own bed. It wasn't until the words had already left her lips that she understood what that could mean: "Say, there are plenty of warm sheets here, or I can lend you a sweater..."

Fidi smiled and the rabbit girl felt her heart skip a beat. Fidi slipped under the covers.

“It’s very comfortable here,” she said, before turning to the other girl. “Aren’t you going to bed?”

Neli felt her ears twitch out of pure instinct.

“S-sure.”

Putting the duvet back a little, the rabbit girl settled herself on one side of the mattress, making sure to keep her distance from her companion.

“What are we doing today?” Fidi asked. “I doubt Madame Lavenza will let me stay here for more than a few hours. She likes nothing less than being kept away from her precious things.”

“Don’t say that,” Neli said, impulsively taking Fidi’s slender hands in hers. “You’re a wonderful person, not a thing, you’re much more than what these people tell you you are.”

Fidi’s eyebrows arched in surprise. Neli thought she might have said too much. She wanted to pull away, but Fidi's fingers remained entwined with hers.

"You're... very sweet, Neli," she said. From so close, the rabbit girl clearly saw Fidi's straight eyelashes and the pearly scales on her cheekbones, like small jewels.

Without realizing it, they both came closer until their bodies were joined, until they were entwined and hugged. Fidi looked quite small compared to Neli, and her body usually felt cold. Neli wished she would never have to take her away from her arms. Who knew when the next time they could see each other would be; if their owners, those people who kept them captive just for being considered "different", would allow them one more moment of this small freedom.

Neli didn't know, and that's why she told herself that she had to enjoy every opportunity she had to be with the people she loved.

Hugged and wrapped in the warm sheets, both girls fell asleep.

Taglist: @scoundrelwithboba @morning-star-whump @lancedoncrimsonwings @3-2-whump @whumped-by-glitter @string-of-broken-hearts

I love the girls. I want to make them suffer as much as I want to make them happy. Maybe later in the story I can do both, hehe. Thank you so much for reading and Merry Christmas! 🎁