#and when we turn the page dracula greets the reader.

[moonsun2010]

pain

[mypoisonedvine]

Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (Chapter 5)

(chapter 1) (chapter 2) (chapter 3) (chapter 4)

series summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind.  you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman– even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: nearly 2.5k

warnings: vague description of a wet dream, some sensual implied stuff (??), 

moodboard and inspiration credit to @evnscvll​

In all your life, you’d never had a wet dream.  Not even in high school when so many of your peers were coping with puberty and budding sexuality in similar ways— not even when you’d wanted to have one about David Kapoor, the cutest guy in senior year who didn’t even know you existed but that you were somehow convinced was going to fall madly in love with you one day.  

It never did work out for you two, but you’d finally managed to have a wet dream.  This one, though, was about Sebastian.

In your dream he had cornered you in the kitchen, kissing you deeply before tossing you onto the table and— well, the rest doesn’t bear repeating.  It was all very ‘discount bin romance novel’ wasn’t it?  The exotic, rugged farm boy roughly taking the formerly-prudish businesswoman in the middle of the house, too deep in the throes of passion to care if someone walking by saw them.

You didn’t find it all that sexy by the time you woke up; moreso just humorous.  That’s preposterous, you thought to yourself, nobody’s ever gonna love me like that.

It was something your husband had said to you once.  You couldn’t even remember what the context was anymore, but clearly it had had an impact on you to be repeating it internally now.  Just last week, Mrs. Alberti had gotten on your case for speaking poorly of yourself.  Clearly, the things you said about yourself to others were nothing against what you said about yourself to yourself.

Your papers had only taken a day to dry, but the ink was pretty severely smudged.  Knowing your publisher wouldn’t accept them in a manuscript, you resolved to retyping the most damaged ones— a good mindless task to do while you pondered your next steps plot-wise.  You’d seen Sebastian less for the past week, and it was no accident; you’d been avoiding him because you were trying to nip this in the bud before it got any worse.  Your divorce isn’t final yet, you need to heal.  This is fantasy, not reality.  You barely know each other.  Your divorce isn’t final.  Your divorce.  Isn’t.  Final.

That was the mantra you found yourself repeating as you retyped the waterlogged sheets; so much for the plot-pondering plan, eh?

You heard someone coming up the stairs, and you knew it was him because the steps were coming too quickly to be Mrs. Alberti.  “Come in,” you instructed before he’d even knocked.  

“Bună ziua,” he greeted as he opened the door, leaning inside.  “Am pregătit cina, ai vrea să mănânci?”

“Hm?” you asked as you turned around in your chair, adjusting your reading glasses.  However, his question became more obvious through context when you saw he had oven mitts and an apron on, and was holding a wooden spoon.  “Oh, um, I’ll be down for dinner in a minute.  Soon.”  You held up a few fingers, hoping he would successfully interpret them into minutes.

“Arăți bine în ochelarii aceia,” he motioned, pointing towards you.

“I’m sorry… what?” you asked, not sure at all what he could be talking about.

“Ochelari. Sunt drăguți,” he re-emphasized, but it was useless as you gave him another confused look.  He sighed, straightening up a bit as he began a new method: “Îmi plac,” he said, pointing to himself and then giving a thumbs up, “ochelarii tăi,” he pointed to you, and then made circles with his fingers and brought them up to his eyes.  

You laughed a little, but you were pretty sure you got what he meant.  “You like my glasses?” you clarified, reaching up to wiggle them on your face a bit.

“Da,” he grinned.  “Pari inteligent.”

“Thank you,” you nodded, and he nodded back as he shut the door and his footsteps faded back into the kitchen.

Once a few more pages had been redone, you gave your hair a quick combing before heading down for dinner with Sebastian.  It smelled a little strange by the time you went downstairs, but when you swung open the door to the kitchen, you were instantly hit with a wave of acidic air, forcing you to wince and cough.  Even that didn’t help much, and you forced your eyes shut as they stung.

“Jesus Christ,” you yelped, “the fuck are you cooking?  Tear gas?!”

“Oțetul te irită?” he asked, not sounding as concerned as you would’ve hoped considering your obvious pain.  It was like you could taste it in the air, and it wasn’t until you managed to open your burning eyes again that you realized what it was: vinegar, in a huge jug right next to the pot he was boiling it in.

“You’re boiling vinegar?” you realized incredulously.  “God, Europeans are fucking weird.”

He just looked back at you with bewildered bemusement.

“In America,” you tried to explain, “we don’t eat vinegar.  We clean our floors with it.”  You pointed to the jug and made a motion meant to indicate scrubbing a surface, and he laughed a little.

“Americanii sunt prea sensibili,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand, turning back to the stove to stir his pot of disinfectant which he apparently planned to serve you as a meal.  “Am avut ciorbă de oțet de când eram copil.”

You’d typically considered yourself an adventurous eater— even with vinegar-pickled things, like kim chi which you’d learned to acquire a taste for— but this one put you to the test.  Considering the smell alone had singed your sinuses, you were nervous what would become of your innocent tastebuds.  But after he served the soup (a dark orange color, so apparently it wasn’t just the boiled vinegar) into a bowl for you and another for himself, you found the taste of it oddly pleasant when you sipped it gently from your hesitant little spoon.

“Vezi, nu e așa de rău,” he smiled gently as he watched you fail to recoil in disgust from the flavor.

“Just like ma used to make, huh?” you chuckled as he ate the soup with incredible speed, even going as far as to lift the bowl to his lips and drink the last few sips that way.

Eating dinner in silence with him was unexpectedly comfortable.  “You wanna know something funny?” you found yourself mumbling aloud.  “I enjoy talking to you more than anyone I ever did back home, and you can’t even understand me.”

His smile softened as he stared back at you, apparently sensing the change in your tone as you spoke.

“See, right there, that’s it: you’re listening to me.  You know it’s useless, you know you won’t be able to tell what I’m talking about, but you’re listening anyways.  Over two billion English speakers on the planet and none of them have listened to me like you do.”

Then you heard yourself, and it was so heart-breaking that you had no choice but to laugh.  It was just a chuckle at first, but then you couldn’t stop it, even when you realized how confused Sebastian would be.  Everything is funnier when you know you shouldn’t laugh, and soon you could barely breathe as tears warmed your eyes from the force of it.

“I’m sorry,” you tried to spit out between your fits of laughter, but it was barely comprehensible anyways.  Sebastian began to laugh with you, if hesitantly and with a hint of confusion.

“De ce râdem?” he asked gently.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, calming down a bit, “I’m sorry I just… I was just imagining what my husband would say, if he knew I was here…” you trailed off as you laughed again, starting over.  “If he knew I was here, falling for someone I’ve never even spoken with.”  You shook your head, resting your face in your hands as you chuckled lightly.  “Oh, he’d hate this.  He’d tell me I was out of my mind.”

With a slow sigh, your laughter subsided as you wiped the wetness from your eyes.  

“He’d be right, but… I don’t really care,” you decided.  “He’s not here.  If he wanted to find me, he would.  And maybe it’s because he’d hate this that I’m having so much goddamn fun doing it.”

When you looked at Sebastian again, his face was serious, yet anything but stern.  Suddenly, you weren’t thinking about your husband anymore.  Of course you logically understood how odd this all was, how impossible it was for you to be slowly finding yourself in love with someone like him, but it felt right, and true, and real.  It made no sense, and yet it made perfect sense in every way that mattered.  

“I’ll help you clean,” you offered as you stood up, realizing you’d gotten lost in your train of thought and probably stared at him for a bit too long.  He stood up with you, helping you gather the used dishes and letting you wash them in the sink while he put the remaining soup in the refrigerator as leftovers for another time.  “I’ll cook for you tomorrow,” you promised, “something real bland, like the English cook.”

“Sper că nu intenționați să gătiți pentru mine cândva, nu suport mâncarea occidentală,” he mumbled as he continued to wipe down the countertop with a damp towel.

With the kitchen clean, you knew you should get back to writing your book, but you were compelled instead to read somebody else’s— so, as you slipped onto the couch with one of a few of your favorites that you’d brought with you, Sebastian summoned the same copy of Dracula you’d seen him reading a few times and took the loveseat.  Not much else happened after that, save for you shivering from a draft and him tossing a throw blanket on you.  

“Ce carte citești?” he asked you eventually, breaking the silence.  When you looked up, he was pointing at your book.  “Book?”

“Right,” you laughed, “I taught you that.  My book, uh, it’s good.”  You closed it, leaving your finger inside to mark your place as you showed him the front cover.  “On the Road?  Ever heard of it?”

He just cocked his head to the side.

“Jack Kerouac?” you continued.  “It’s about going on a long journey in search of… freedom.”

“Acesta este cel despre zombi?” he asked.

“Sure,” you nodded, wishing more than ever that you could know what he was saying.  He smiled and got back to his own reading.  Indulging yourself for a moment, you watched his face as it fell into a neutral expression while he read, his eyes trailing along the page as he continued to read.  You didn’t realize it, but when you returned to reading your own book, he got his chance to look at you.

A long day of writing meant you had more than earned an evening to relax by the fire; late summer became early fall, and early fall turned into the need for a fireplace so much faster than you’d anticipated.  The days were temperate, sure, but as the sun began to sink lower, so did the warmth.  You started your evening with a hot shower, though you didn’t let yourself get too greedy with the limited supply of hot water, knowing Sebastian relied on the same supply for his own baths.  When you finished, you dressed yourself in a fluffy lavender robe, feeling especially pampered when you put on a little moisturizer before heading downstairs to cozy up with the fire.  You were already getting chilly, the heat from the shower fading as your wet hair and bare feet cooled you quickly.  Therefore, it was more of a scurry to the fireplace, which you hadn’t expected Sebastian to be tending or you wouldn’t have come down in a robe.  He’d seen you in less (namely, his shirt and nothing else, which was horrifically embarrassing) but something about this felt more intimate, like all your defenses had been washed away in the shower, too.  Didn’t help that he was shirtless, again.  Wasn’t he cold in this weather?!  Must be all that muscle keeping him warm.

“Bună seara,” he greeted.

“Good evening,” you returned.  Stepping closer, you rubbed your hands together as you felt the hot air radiate towards you.  “It’s nice,” you sighed contentedly.

He smiled back at you, moving the logs slightly with the iron poker.  Sparks jumped and fell off as he shifted them, joining the ashes below— you’d always thought fire was so beautiful, even if it was dangerous, and you took in a long breath through your nose to smell the tinge of smokiness in the air.

“Te încălzești?” he asked quietly as he set the poker aside and stood beside you.  You wrapped your arms around yourself, rubbing through the fabric of the robe to try to warm up a little faster.  Seeing you shiver, he reached out and rubbed your arms for you, which made you tense up slightly before relaxing and breathing out.  “Mai bine?”

You nodded a little, your gaze drifting slightly.  

“Warm?” he asked, making your eyes jump back up to his.  You swallowed dryly as he looked back at you.

“Warm,” you repeated, “yeah.  Good job… when’d you learn that?”

He didn’t answer, watching your hands as they reached out for his arms, finally making delicate contact with his tanned skin before drifting up to his biceps, his shoulders, and finally his chest.  He put his own hands on top of yours and held them there, looking back at you as your heart started to beat rapidly and with no signs of slowing down.  “Warm,” he repeated, only slightly above a whisper.

“Oh yeah,” you agreed hoarsely, “very, very warm…”

He smiled a little; it wasn’t mischievous, it wasn’t conniving or predatory or malicious.  It was subtle but gentle in a way you had absolutely no plan to save yourself from, no protection, no armor, no neutral territory.  There was only heat, so strong that your toes weren’t cold anymore and you didn’t even remember that your hair was still damp.  Not only did you let his heat consume you, but you didn’t even think to stop it, to swallow your desire down, to run away and say goodnight and hide in bed from the icky scary feelings.  No, you looked right back at him and let those eyes pierce right through you, that cold blue changed entirely with the warm firelight reflecting in them.  

“Do you want to come to my room?” you asked slowly.  The words were useless, but a glance back to the stairs that led to your door and back at him asked the same question with much more efficacy.  

He nodded, and you stepped backwards as he followed you: across the house, up the stairs, and to your room.  You opened the door.  He shut it behind you. 

[penny-beee]

Moments of Peace

Draco x Reader

Description. Feeling numb Draco makes a new friend in the astronomy tower.

.

There I sat in the astronomy tower, Pride and Prejudice between my hands. Almost silent footsteps came up the stairs, bright white hair reflecting onto the walls. Draco Malfoy, a boy I had seen several times up here. Whenever I’d come up to read he was out by the railing and I’d sit in the shadows so I wouldn’t disturb him. I never knew if he noticed me or not, but he never detested so I kept my spot.

I shifted my gaze back to my book, shifting a bit to get back into a comfy position. As I got into my story again, a dark figure sat next to me. Stopping for the second time, I looked over to see Draco. He looked as if he could melt into the wall, his back against it and his legs sprawled out-head up to view the ceiling. A sight I’d never seen before, usually so cunning and tense.

Deciding to keep reading, I gazed back down and tried my best to take in the words. Failing miserably I stood to leave. A whispered “thank you” filled the room. I turned on my heel and bowed my head slightly, unsure of why he thanked me or how to respond to that. Confused, I sauntered down the stairs to the Ravenclaw common room.

As it being extremely late, I got into my bed and sunk into my slumber.

For the third time this week, Draco sat besides me as I read. This time I brought a second book-unknowing if he’d be interested in my muggle books. ‘The Great Gatsby’ laud on the floor between us, I almost felt like I was training a dog to trust humans again. I caught him glancing at the book a few times before he finally reached for it. I softly grinned at the small step.

We sat there reading for what felt like hours. His light blonde hair would fall in front of his eyes and he’d run his fingers through it to fix the blinder. Satisfied, I stood to leave his side again. A soft tug caught my attention. I peered down at the innocent face, he stared right into my soul with his silvery eyes. I could see the pain and resentment that just seemed normal.

“Your book.” He went to hand me, losing his page.

“Don’t worry, it’s yours.” I smiled kindly and turned to leave.

Draco came to read with me about four days of each week, felt like a book club. He had finished two books and was now onto Dracula. He giggled every now and again at the story. When he spoke, he would in hushed tones and almost as if he was scared to say the wrong thing and open up. I could see his hurt, I tried my best to just keep conversation small so he knew I wouldn’t push anything out of him.

When he learned my name, I had caught a giggle from him. He thought my name was funny, or at least the nickname he had made in his head was. Although as soon as he started to seem cheerful-it went away. He would shut it down.

“Y/N L/N” I smiled, honestly surprised it had been a month and he hadn’t learned my name.

He chuckled for a moment-but realized he almost sounded insulting towards it “-I didn’t mean to laugh, I was just reminded of something.” He awkwardly responded.

One day I sat in the dining hall instead-needing some company, loud stomps came from the head of the hall, Harry charged at Draco. Harry held Draco by his white collar and exclaimed something I couldn’t make out. Draco’s eyes furrowed and his lips smooshed to his nose, looking aggravated; he pushed Harry off and sped to leave. Harry following after.

A sense of responsibility waved over me, I closed my notes and walked away from the dining hall. I followed far behind the boys, not wanting to cause too much trouble. As I was invisible to everyone already, I saw no issue in me not being seen. I stood silently at the entrance. The sound of pipes breaking and shattering alarmed me. Running for Snape I found him not too far.

“They’re going to kill each other.” I stated,

He followed me back to the lavatory and walked in for me; muffled words filled my ears. Harry stomped off, angry at whatever happened. His face slightly bloodied. I waited for Snape to bring Draco out but McGonagall came to bring him to the infirmary. As they brought him out, he laid silently, his shirt bloodied enormously. Hair all strew, he was a mess to say the least. My hand connected with my mouth, shock waved over my body. He looked so peaceful, something probably impossible for that boy.

I waited a few hours before I went to see him, not wanting to press his buttons or run into anyone threatening. I brought a single white rose and his favorite book ‘The Great Gatsby’. My hair was tucked behind my ears, my eyes slightly red-the idea of my friend hurt and suffering stung. The three months of learning about him slowly felt almost romantic.

Shaking the thought away, I made my way to his bedside, his hair was flat against his forehead, lips cracking and eyes strained. I gave him a genuine smile, hoping to greet him with empathy.

“I brought you some gifts.” I was just above a whisper, not wanting to overwhelm him.

“Why did you come?” He asked firmly, he looked embarrassed, ashamed of being in the bed.

“To bring you gifts and make sure you are alive.”

“Why does it matter to you, mudblood.” His piercing eyes stared into mine and his jaw clenched, looking almost deadly. His words stung, never had he ever been cruel to me.

“I see that I mistook this as a friendship. I can see that authenticity of blood means everything to you because your character is so poor.” I croaked.

I set the rose next to his bed; the book just underneath it. My head held down low, I quickly made my way to my room. I locked my door, making my way to the window I sat in front of when I was upset. I gripped my robe and pulled it close to my body. Tears of sadness and anger fell into the fabric. Crawling to my bedside I pulled my blanket on top of me, curling into almost a ball on the hardwood floor. I gazed at my wrist, ‘mudblood’ carved into from a previous attacker- stung my heart. Making me gasp for air, the feeling of not being good enough rang in my ears for the thousandth time. My soft sniffles brought me into a slumber on the floor.

I had gotten used to not seeing him in the tower anymore, he didn’t show up to read with me; stopped waving ‘hello’ in the halls, it was like he had disappeared completely-the one person that saw me was now gone. I had hopes of making new friends but my shy antics never made it possible, I might be a Ravenclaw but I was almost a Hufflepuff. Again, I was on my own-nothing new to me though. My mother killed when I was 10 and then my father vanishing at 12; I was pretty much alone since. My fathers mother had carved the words that haunt me into my arm when I first stayed with her. My father being a pure blood and my grandmother despising mudbloods.

It was Sunday night, the moon illuminating the tower-sourcing me for light. I drug my feet to the top, Alice in Wonderland by my side. My hood sat on my wild brown locks, tie strewn about, my shirts untucked. I looked like a pure mess. I had my headphones in-Wait by M86 playing loudly. The words belted in my head, swaying my head slightly; my feet switched positions, twirling. Losing my balance-I fell into someone’s chest.

Shuddering almost, I turned-looking up at the pale face. Draco. I took one bud out, taking me from my peace.

“I need to talk to you.” He sounded desperate.

“Do you? You sure you want to talk to a lowlife mudblood?” I quizzed, squinting my nose.

“Look, I’m sorry. I was embarrassed, I wasn’t expecting you-well kind of but not totally.”he trailed off. “It’s hard for me to apologize, really hard. But I’m sorry. I was wrong to judge you for you being a half blood.” He gulped.

“I brought Alice in wonderland, I don’t have a-.” He interrupted my speech raising his arm to have the same in his own hands.

Sighing, I nodded sitting over in our spot. It didn’t feel right to hold a grudge on him. Only time would tell if he was really sorry, only to me would tell if he really learned to judge someone on character.

We sat peacefully against the wall, like we had so many times before. This time, he sat closer, his hand brushing mine as he read, distracting me slightly.

I felt his face move away from his book, his stare baring into my soul. Glancing up, I noticed his stare was only directed at my lips. I filled unsure of what to do, where to look, where to advert my eyes. His hand met my soft cheek and guided me to his own face, he had kissed me. Draco; the boy everyone feared was baring his soul to me. The boy that grew to be so alone in the world was connecting with me. His lips soft, almost like pillows caressed my own. So gentle for such a reckless man.

As we pulled away, we placed our foreheads onto each other’s.

“Y/N, I have scars, I have impurities, I’m broken; but I want to try and learn what love is. Please, help me.”

[amara-scott]

Halloween

Movie: Blackkklansman Characters: Phil Zimmerman x Reader Categories: M’sorry this is long, everything? lil smutty at the end

So, yes- I may get a little more excited for unimportant holidays than the usual American citizen should. But does that mean others have to be cranky or a grump? No. Why not just go with the flow and enjoy some free candy?

"Okay- I get that you don't like it, but what's your costume going to be?" I ask Zimmerman as I sit on his desk at work, looking through a catalogue of adult costumes. Extremely boring ones, might I add. The ones you see in every store and every commercial.

I hear his sigh and glance over the edge of the current page. He rolls his eyes, not looking up from the paper he's reading. Jimmy laughs behind me, Ron joining in. I give them a grin, like every year, I love teasing poor Phil.

"Not happening this year." He mumbles, taking a sip of his coffee, grimacing afterwords. Probably already cold. I hop off his desk and take the mug.

"I'll give you time to think while I get you a fresh, hot coffee—" I walk out the office, patting his shoulder as I go and make out Ron who can't contain his snickering. He receives a glare from Flip but no further comment. I hurry and greet a couple guys in the kitchen.

"Flip! Hey, I have an idea guys. Since it's my turn to host the dinner, we'll all keep it a secret what we dress up as. What do you say?" I place the steaming mug next to Flip's papers and he groans, leaning back and looking at me.

"Seriously? Why do we have to dress up at all?"

"Flip, why not?" I point at Ron, agreeing with his question.

"You're my favorite officer, you know that, Stallworth?" I walk over to him and place a hand on his shoulder as we share a smile.

"Hey." Jimmy says, I look over and wave him off.

"You know very well you're high up on the rank as well." He sighs relieved and sinks back into his chair with a grin.

"What about Flip?" Ron asks, smirking and we all glance over at Phil. He's obviously listening but trying to ignore us, head down and pen ready to write.

"Officer Zimmerman? Oh, I don't know. He's been quite rude lately. I would say— just below Landers."

"Hey!" His head snaps up and he frowns at me, all of us chuckling at his expression. I skip over and lean my elbows on his desk.

"You know what to do to change that." I wink at him and stand back up straight, walking toward the office door. "I'll see you on Saturday then, no more complaints." I raise an eyebrow at Flip at the end, him sighing deeply but nodding. I grin and wave, turning. My bell pants moving and flowing with my long strides.

___

I wait for Patrice to come over that Saturday. She helps me with the food and dips, decorations and music. As Bobby Pickett's Monster Mash is playing in the background, we get ready, dressing up in our costumes.

I slip into my rather tight Bat Girl suit and Patrice in her Wonder Woman outfit. I place the crown in the perfect spot in her wild hair and we help each other touch up on our makeup. We giggle as we pose, taking polaroids and skipping through my small house like we were saving the world. I'm about to take some more popcorn to throw at her but we hear a knock, freezing and I grin, walking over to the door. I see Patrice straightening her outfit, making sure everything's in place.

I open the door and peek outside, seeing my three favorite men of the night. I can't help but burst out laughing, Jimmy dressed up as Tin Man from Wizard of Oz. Even his face is painted silver, shining brighter than my glitter eyeshadow. Patrice walks over and giggles, welcoming Ron and I hug him afterwards. With Jimmy I try to keep his face a little further from mine.

Ron honestly couldn't have picked a better costume. His name tag reading Agent Bond. Which he kind of was. A really good undercover detective. And a secretive bag in his hand.

And Flip? Flip wore a flannel, his hair as messy as ever and Jeans and boots as usual. I don't want to frown, not showing him that it disappoints me he didn't put any effort into it. I really do like him, and I know he likes me too. We spent many evenings together, staying longer at diners and bars than the others. Talking and exchanging looks. Maybe I'm just overreacting.

"Good you're here Flip." I give him a smile and hug him, wondering why he is so quiet. I raise an eyebrow as we pull away and lead them all inside, showing them the food filled table and offer them beers.

Patrice and Ron sit together, Jimmy on one end and the seat next to Flip still open. I feel his eyes on me as I walk between kitchen and dining room. I also picked the costume because it honestly just looked really good. It sparkles just like Yvonne Craig's version, purple and tight. I pull up my mask and sit down next to Flip, trying not to be too mad at him. It's just a costume for goodness sake. Or rather the lack of one.

"Hey Flip, what do you think of (Y/N)'s costume?" Jimmy says, biting into a piece of meat, raising his silvery eyebrows. Ron smiles, glancing up at Flip too. He hasn't even eaten anything yet, is he grumpy today?

"Yeah and what about the food, you don't like it? I'm sorry that I invited you- won't happen again-" I let out, growing more angry every second he's just sitting there. He looks like he's trying to suppress a grin, struggling to keep a straight face. I frown, not sure what's going on. Jimmy and Ron join in and Patrice too after Ron whispered something in her ear.

"I think you look bloody good tonight, Bat Girl." Flip says, turning to me and I glance at his mouth, wondering why his words sound muffled. He grins at me and my eyes grow wide. Vampire teeth. Everyone starts laughing and I can't help but giggle, slapping his arm. He's unbelievable.

"Just for you." He says, quickly taking out the teeth and drying his mouth.

"Well I have to admit- that was good." I say, taking my beer and holding it up to the others.

"To a fun night with Bond, Tin Man, Wonder Woman and- a wanna-be-Dracula." We all toast and take a sip, I finally feel relaxed and take another glance at Flip, shaking my head at him as he looks back at me, winking.

___

We let movies roll in the background and played Pass Out while eating and laughing. Once we finished the game and Flip won, having ten pink elephant cards first, he raises his fists in the air, Ron and Jimmy groaning in annoyance as he gets his last tongue twister right. I feel very tipsy, not used to too much booze. Who could have figured that Ron would bring that game?

I lower one of Flip's arms, shushing him. "Calm down, cowboy. It's just a game." I hear myself slur at the end, frowning. I need water.

"No way, I've never seen you drunk before, Batsy." Flip responds and I click my tongue, trying to stand up. I had to wait a second before actually moving toward the kitchen. "Hey, hey— let me help you." A hand wraps around my waist, holding me to their side. I look up at Flip and nod.

"Thanks." I say quietly, my cheeks warm and eyes glossy. "I want water." I mumble and he helps me sit down at the small kitchen table, leaving me and returning with a glass of what I hope is water.

I take a sip and frown, a weird taste after all the beer, wine and whiskey we had this night. "You doing alright? Feel like you need to throw up?" I groan, not wanting to even think about it. I lean forward on the table, head in my hands and close my eyes for a moment.

"You want me to bring you upstairs?" He suggests, his voice sounding closer than last time he spoke. I glance over my fingers and he sits beside me, rubbing my back now, beneath my costume cape.

"No, I'm good-" I hiccup, holding a hand to my lips and growing even warmer in the face as Flip chuckles, running a hand through his hair and standing up, holding out a hand to me. I sigh taking it and his other hand is back around my waist, holding me up. I can walk myself, I want to pull away but am not strong enough. Maybe it's good he's holding me.

"Hey guys, the host needs to lay down, I'll bring her to bed." I frown at Flip, shaking my head.

"No, I'm fine-" hiccup "-I just need more water." I can't make out anyone's expression before being lead to the stairs. I hear good night and thank you but the next thing I feel is already my bed. Soft blanket against my cheek. I sigh, not wanting to move an inch and sleep for days.

"Let me get Patrice." Flip says and I hear a couple steps. Then my hair is lifted off my face, moved right behind my ear. "Sleep tight." I feel something wet on my forehead and then nothing. Only quiet. And dark.

___

I roll over, feeling around for my blanket and cover my cold skin. With one eye open I look around, trying to figure out what's going on. My window is open, curtains pulled together, darkening the room. I groan, frowning. The phone rings and I flinch, holding a hand to my warm head. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to ignore the shrill tone but it doesn't stop. In one slow but swift motion I sit up, taking a second to regain my balance and blink my eyes open.

"Hello?" I get out, clearing my throat afterwards, not knowing what's wrong with my voice. So groggy and deep.

"Wow, good morning Bat Girl, had a little too much to drink last night?" I hear Patrice's voice and roll my eyes, sighing.

"Why did you let me drink that much? You know me. At least I thought you did." I grin, shaking my head and closing my eyes again, leaning forward, head in my free hand.

"You should know your limits, sister. Maybe you got a little closer to knowing them last night."

"Sure thing, sister."

"You up for a run later?" I raise an eyebrow, not sure if she even drank anything at all last night. I stand up carefully and draw the curtains aside, squinting my eyes as the first sunlight burns my eyes.

"Wow, how late is it?"

"It's one thirty. I'm glad I finally woke you up."

"I'm glad too, I bet it's a mess downstairs. I'll call you when I'm done cleaning, a run should do me some good though."

"Yes, right on, sister. See you later."

As I put on a robe, scanning my costume at the end of my bed, I walk out and down the stairs. I sigh relieved, the mess not as big as I thought. I hope the boys took some leftovers home to eat. But I see all the food stacked in the fridge. I roll my eyes and pack boxes, to drop them off at the station later.

I get ready, drinking a rare cup of coffee and put on grey leggings and a turquoise long sleeve for my run with Patrice. I'll meet her in about twenty minutes at the station.

As I drive there, I try to remember what all went down last night. The pass out game was maybe a little too much for my fragile stomach. And Flip, his Dracula teeth still make me grin. Such a dork.

I park my car and walk inside the station, having all the food stacked on my arms. As I get to their office I make out Patrice at Ron's table, laughing and sitting down on his desk.

"Hello guys, anyone ordered leftovers?" I place down boxes on their desks and lastly at Flip's, sitting down on his.

"Someone arose from the dead I see." Flip says and Patrice nods.

"She was still asleep two hours ago." I frown at her, mouth agape and cross my arms.

"Why do you have to betray me, Patrice?" They laugh at me, Flip nudging me arm. I glare down at him, not able to hide a smile.

"Especially you, Dracula."

"What? I didn't betray you, I even brought you upstairs." He raises his hands in front of himself, eyebrows doing the same. I roll my eyes and stand up, telling Patrice to wrap it up and go running.

"You're going for a run? You mind grabbing me a good coffee on your way back?" Flip says and continues to scan through papers.

"Who says I will come back after my run?" My hands land on my hips, eyes on him as he slowly looks up, adjusting his holster over his red plaid shirt. Which was my favorite. I loved the color on him and it's the softest out of all of them.

"Well, I know you need those tupperware boxes back so-" He shrugs his shoulders, smiling innocently.

"You're lucky you're cute, Zimmerman." I mumble, hitting his shoulder and the guys laugh, Patrice and I walking out.

___

"So are you dating now or what?" Patrice huffs, running alongside me as we enter the park and follow the path down to the water.

"Who? Me and Flip?"

"Obviously, he's absolutely into you."

"What makes you say that?" I swallow, trying to take a look at her but struggling to do it while running. I just see her eyes rolling.

"The way he's treating you, looking at you. Last night for example, he helped you go to bed and was such a gentlemen. He came back down, asking me to help you undress."

I frown, hoping not to trip as I try to remember the wet sensation on my forehead last night. The way his finger ran across my forehead. My skin tingles at the thought.

"I don't know, Patrice." I say and she sighs, changing the subject.

___

The whole way back to the department I have to think of what Patrice said, nearly running into a couple officers. I carry the four big coffee cups from our local Colorado café that usually doesn't do takeaway coffee. But for the department they do. So sweet of them.

"Three orders of hot and delicious coffee?" The guys look up and I give them the cups, Jimmy nearly burning his finger. "Careful!" I say and giggle. I give Flip his cup and he hums, smelling the liquid, eyes closed.

"That's the good stuff." I grin, nodding and take a gentle sip myself, sitting back down on his desk.

"Flip?" He looks over, nodding and drinking the coffee. I push a black strand of hair out of his face, adjusting my seat and face him more. "Can we talk later?" I ask quietly, not wanting to cause a scene or give the boys anything to tease Flip with.

"Uh, sure. After work?" I nod and rub my arm, smiling at him. "You could come by my place, if you want." He adds, seeming hesitant but tries not to show it, drinking more of the coffee. I stop moving for a second, not sure if I heard him right. To his place? I've never been there. Weird, to be honest. I've known him for a while now, nearly a year. Patrice introduced me to them all after an incident with an investigation she told me. That's how she met Ron too.

"I'll be there at around eight?" He nods and smiles at me. After writing down his address for me I leave and decide a hot shower would be the best now.

______

I'm done cleaning up my house and myself, when it's already 7.20. I curse under my breath and quickly get dressed. It's chilly outside and I settle with a thin white turtle neck and my favorite blue plaid skirt, short but beautiful. At the door I put on my black thigh highs and grab my purse and coat, finally leaving at 7.45. It's about 20 down to 21 Street so I hurry, still staying with the speed limit.

As I pull up to number 1813, I take in the house. It's matching the blue tones of my skirt, the lawn turning dry and a huge oak tree standing to the side. It's a cute one story house. I smile and step out, a cold breeze welcoming me. I pull on the coat and hug myself, walking up to his house. After knocking it only took him about a minute to open the door.

"Hey there." We share a hug and he leads me inside, taking my coat from me. I take off my boots, him clearing his throat and then moving from behind me toward a different room.

"Just follow the smell once you're done." He calls out and I look up to see where he's going. I grin and try to imagine Flip cooking a dinner. I walk toward the kitchen and stop in the doorway. He's stirring something in a pot, then goes over to grab a couple plates from a cabinet.

"Can I help?" I walk in further, smoothing down my skirt. He looks over, up and down my form only briefly and shakes his head.

"No need, I can manage. You can pick a drink and sit down in the dining room, right through that door." He nods ver to a different entry way and I open the fridge, looking through his options.

"Alright, you want a beer too?" He hums in response, tasting the sauce next and I try to peek but he points to the door, looking at me seriously.

"Okay okay, I'll leave." I raise my beer bottle filled hands in defence. Before going out the door I glance over my shoulder, his eyes on my bum, not realizing I caught him. I smirk and sway my hips more, leaving and sitting down at the round table in the room. I bite my lip, crossing my legs, running a hand over my exposed skin.

"Here we go." Flip enters, carrying two plates. Pasta with red sauce. I mean, it's nothing extraordinary but it doesn't have to be. It's a good dish and smells really good.

"Thanks, Flip, looks and smells amazing. Where have you been hiding your cooking talent all this time?" He chuckles, joining me across the table. We clink our bottles and start eating. My thigh high socks warm my feet and legs, it's really gotten cold out now. November is one of my favorite months.

"How was work, everything alright?" I ask, wiping my lips with a napkin and take another sip.

"Yeah, it's gotten more busy lately, though." He sighs, twirling more pasta on his fork. I just watch him for a moment, eating. I want to place another fork full into my mouth but it's too much sauce and splatters onto my white turtleneck. I groan, wiping my mouth and start dabbing at my shirt. But it's only getting worse. I hear him chuckle and watch me.

"Hey, that's not funny. Do you have dish soap?" He frowns, nodding though. "Excuse me for a second." I stand up and walk toward the kitchen. I make sure the door is fully closed and step up to the sink. I pull off my top, running some warm water over the spot. Then I look for the dish soap. Nowhere to be found. I want to groan again but start looking through the cabinets. Where does a man keep his cleaning supplies?

"Flip? Where is the dish soap?" I call out and hear his chair squeaking. I freeze, panicking. He'll see me in my bra- I block my chest with the wet top and shiver, the water cold against my bare skin. He walks inside and stops for a second, looking at my state. He clears his throat, hiding a smile and opens one of the upper cabinets, pulling out the dish soap from a shelf that I clearly could not have reached all by myself. Idiot.

"Here you go." He hands it to me and I smile tightly, trying to avoid eye contact. "Do you Want me to get you a shirt?" He asks, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. His grin warms my face even more and I only nod.

"Thanks." I mumble and he pushes himself off, walking past me and toward his bedroom, I assume. I let out a breath and use the soap to quickly soak into the fabric, rubbing the spot together and running it under warm water again. I repeat that until there's only a very light shade of sauce, nearly gone. One time in the wash should get rid of the rest.

"Here you go." I flinch, turning around and accept his shirt. A black plaid shirt that I haven't seen on him before.

"Is this new?" I try to act casual, pulling it on and buttoning it up- but wrong. I groan and he pushes my hands down gently, redoing the buttons. His fingers grazing the skin of my stomach and chest. He apologizes quietly, focusing on the buttons. My heart races fast and at hope he doesn't feel it.

"There- and yes. It's a new one." I thank him again, tucking the shirt into my skirt on one side at the front. The sleeves are long and wide, covering my hands as well. "You want to sit on the couch?" I bite my lip, nodding at him. Before we move he steps closer and wraps his hands around my neck, my breath stuck in my throat. His fingers push out my hair that's stuck underneath the flannel. "Better."

He smiles down at me and walks past me, looking back to see if I'm following. I do. And sit down next to him. Right leg tucked underneath me and hands in my lap as I face him. "I like this one." I say, playing with the ends of the sleeves.

"Me too." I look back up, he's already watching me. "So what did you want to talk about?"

I knew this would be coming but I hoped he forgot. He's a detective. He doesn't forget anything. Maybe struggling to remember names sometimes but that's about it.

"I- uh, you know I just wanted to see how you're doing. I care about my- friends." He nods slowly, totally not buying my words.

"Well I'm doing just fine, thanks for asking." I nod, looking down at my lap, hoping he would let it go.

"How long, (Y/N)?" I meet his ganze, a sigh leaving his lips.

"What do you mean?" He shakes his head, chuckling and inching a little closer, his left hand over the back of the couch and right hand taking my left one, holding it and then gazing back up at me.

"How long are we supposed to keep this game going? I mean, it's fun, don't get me wrong. I love flirting with you and showering you with compliments but- you know, I think-"

"-it's time we take it a step further?" I conclude for him as he starts struggling with words. He nods, sighing with a smile. I take his big hand between both of mine, running my thumbs over his skin.

"Exactly." He adds, his voice calm and warm, like always. Another thing I love about him. I don't know what else to say so I lean my head closer, watching his lips and eyes, his own face leaning in. I close my lids and concentrate on his and my breath mixing. Soon our lips meet, gently and slow. My left hand going up around his neck, trying to sit closer to him. His hands hold onto my waist, lifting me up and setting me on his lap. I giggle against his lips and he chuckles, pulling me tightly against him. Our flannels rubbing together. He's still caressing my hips, digging his thumbs into my skin and hands cupping my bum. My skirt riding up with every movement. Soon his thumbs hook under the hem of my skirt and stay there for a moment. Our tongues fighting and tasting each other. My fingers running through his thick dark hair. His beard tickling my neck as his lips move from my mouth down to my neck. I hold his head and lean mine to the side slightly, giving him more space to play with. His breath is heavy and hot against my skin, his lips leaving a wet trail as he tries to move even lower, quickly opening the top two buttons of the flannel I'm wearing.

"Flip~" I whimper, his teeth pulling at my lower lip, hands back by my skirt, lifting it even further until the fabric is around my waist, panties exposed. My core tingles and I can't help and rock back and forth on his lap, glancing down and making out his hard member inside his pants. I unbutton my shirt even further and pull it off completely, his eyes glued to my every movement, cupping my breasts as soon as they are free. I still wear my bra but he's quick to unhook it and throw it to the side. Hands back on my breasts.

"Fuck." He says under his breath, kneading them and playing with my nipples. I inhale sharply as his teeth graze that soft skin. I try to take off my high socks but he grabs my hands, shaking his head at me, going back for a kiss. His hands now running up and down my thighs up to my ass.

I finally get to unbutton his flannel and he pulls it off, shirt following. I already try my best at opening his buckle but struggle, sighing and stopping the kiss to have a better look. He chuckles and helps me, pulling down the zipper too. I feel his fingers move around my bum and push my soaking panties to the side, teasing my lips and bud. I moan, moving my hips and palming him through his boxer briefs before freeing his member fully. I stroke it, his forehead now resting on my shoulder as he breathes deeply, small but low moans leaving his luscious lips every now and then.

And that's how we had sex for the first time.

___

The next morning I wake up to low snoring, I smile before opening my eyes, glancing over at Flip's peaceful form. The blanket only covering his lower body. His bare chest falling and rising with every breath he takes. I reach out, pushing his hair back gently and watch him, covering myself with more blanket. I move closer to him, resting my head in his chest, fingertips dancing across his stomach. His breath calms down and he's sighing, still sleeping as I glance up to his eyes. I look back down and bite my lip, my fingers moving further down and pushing the blanket as I go. Soon I reach his member, lightly touching it. I lift myself off the sheets and move lower, parting his legs carefully and kneeling between them, I wet my lips and kiss his semi hard cock. I watch his face, twisting and moving. And when I finally take him whole into my mouth his eyes slowly open, hands gripping the sheets as he looks down, smirking and chuckling as he throws his head back against the pillow. I smile as I lick his penis, kissing the tip and running my hands along his abdomen, dragging my nails down. His muscles twitching underneath my touch.

"Good morning to you too." He mumbles, his voice still sounding way too tired. He rubs a hand across his face and the other one tangle ps in my hair, guiding me up and down at a pace he enjoys. His other arm is tucked behind his head and he looks relaxed. His breath is getting heavier, louder, turning into moaning. But suddenly he sits up, me following his movement as his wide eyes search for his alarm clock.

"6.30? Fuck-" He stumbles out the bed and nearly bumps into his dresser on the way to the bathroom. I didn't know he would be working today. Oops. The shower is running and I hear him exhale loudly, soon turning off the water again. I walk to the bathroom as he comes out, pulling out clothes from his drawers. I have to suppress a grin, holding a hand in front of my lips as I still see his hard member. He's trying to tuck it into his pants but I push his hands off, kneeling down.

"If you're late, ten more minutes won't be a problem." I say, his face twisting in frustration and he groans, pulling on his shirt and the black flannel I wore yesterday. I start my job, trying to make him release fast.

"Fuck, okay- this might work." He says, sounding more awake and guiding my head again, his head tilted back. He's pushing my head so far that I'm near tears, struggling to take a breath. The pace quickens and he's holding me down, groaning and twitching in my mouth, now loudly moaning and releasing his load down my throat. I hold onto his legs, hoping he'd let go soon so I could catch my breath. And that he does, I gasp and cough, wiping my mouth and swallowing down his cum. I wipe my eyes and smile up at him. I kiss his tip as he takes a couple deep breaths.

"No more- I need to get going." He tucks his member away, zipping up and buckling his belt. I stand up wiping some spit off my face. He stops and turns to me, pulling me into a hug. "You're incredible." He whispers into my hair, kissing my forehead. He steps around me and I follow him into the living room where he quickly covers me with a blanket from the couch. "Careful love- only I'm allowed to see you like that." He winks and I giggle, pulling it tightly around myself, watching him put on his boots. "I'll bring you lunch later." I say and he smiles, walking over and giving me another kiss, this time on the lips.

"Thanks, see you later." I wave and watch him leave, going to his car and driving off. I go into the kitchen and sigh as I see my stained shirt still laying there. I clean up his house as best as I can, taking a simple black short sleeve shirt from his drawers and get dressed. Before I leave I make sure he has dinner for tonight and write a quick note.

Thanks for last night, I loved it. Dinner is in the fridge, hope you like it. :)

I leave and take all with me that's mine, driving back to my place to make him some early lunch. I make sandwiches, grab an apple and a piece of my homemade chocolate cake that they didn't finish at the Halloween dinner.

Once I'm freshly showered and wearing new clothes, a sweater and my bell pants, I drive back to the station. It's now 11.30 am.

I walk into the office, a big smile on my face. Their conversation dies down as they see me and Flip stands up, taking my bags and pulling me into a hug, kissing my lips. I melt into his touch, stroking his cheek. Other hand holding his strong arm.

Once he lets go, he goes in for a second but brief peck on the lips.

"When did that happen?" We look over at a stunned Ron and smirking Jimmy who looked like he was waiting for it to happen.

"You owe me, Stallworth."

I ignore that our friends were betting on us and only look at Flip. "I made you lunch and brought you some cake as well."

"What about us? Are we getting no food no more?" Ron gasps, holding a hand over his heart.

"I don't know yet. Maybe you should ask Patrice." I raise a brow at him and Flip throws an arm around me, pointing at me.

"She's my personal chef now, none of yours. Get used to it. Comes with having a girlfriend, Stallworth." I look up at him. Slowly smiling.

"Girlfriend, huh?" He shrugs, smiling innocently and I ignore the comment he made about me. Instead I agree with him. Hugging him around his middle.

"He's right." I mumble into his flannel, loving his smell. I could fall asleep just like this. And just like that I won not only a man who I want to spend a lot of time with- no- I also gained a best friend. My Flip.

_________________________________

More Blackkklansman Imagines

Full Masterlist

[neoneversleeps]

"nice costume." | m.l

pairing: spidey!mark lee x reader

genre: fluff, first meeting, spiderman!au

warnings: cuss words

words: 1.2k

description:

It's Halloween night and you stumble upon a young man in an alleyway whose Spiderman costume looks strikingly like the real thing.

notes:

this is dedicated to my favorite mark stan, kahlia, who came up with this idea. love you bebe and I hope you enjoy !! <3

You fiddle slightly with the hem of your white skirt, pulling it down to cover more of your legs to shield yourself from the cold breeze of the night. You stand outside a club, dressed to the nines in a, admittedly, very cute angel costume, complete with fluffy wings and a sparkly Halo headband. The sign above the club entrance reads "Trick or Treat" in bloody font, faces of vampires and werewolves decorating the sides. You shift around slightly, heels slowly getting uncomfortable. The glittery pumps were cute as shit, but they were definitely not built to be used for more than a few hours. 

"Oh my God, how much longer do we have to wait?" You sigh exasperatedly, voice bordering on a whine as you lean part of your weight on to your friend. 

"I don't know, okay? I told you the club would be bursting out the seams with people. It's Halloween night, for Christ's Sake." 

You scoff at your friend. "Excuse me but I wasn't the one who insisted on coming, or on wearing these extremely uncomfortable shoes." Your friend counters your pointed look with a roll of her eyes. 

"Just go sit down somewhere then, I'll keep our place in line." Her suggestion makes you brighten up slightly, giving her a quick squeeze which she waves off before stepping out of the seemingly never ending string of people. There aren't really any tables or chairs around, so you settle for sitting on the edge of the sidewalk. After somewhat awkwardly trying to sit down in the perfect position, you get (more or less) comfortable and pull out your phone. 

You mindlessly scroll through Instagram for a while, refreshing the page again and again before eventually there's nothing left to see. Your eyes glance back towards the people lining up and you spot your friend. She's currently talking to quite the handsome count Dracula, laughing as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ears. You meet her gaze and raise your eyebrows at her to which she responds with a smile and a shrug. You end up sending her a smile of your own and a raised thumbs up before averting your eyes. 

With nothing else to do, you observe your surroundings, taking in all the creative, or not so creative, costumes the crowd before you wears. A sudden flash of movement in the alley beside the club catches in the corner of your eye. You look over, noticing some sort of motion in the shadows. 

You know you probably shouldn't wander off into an unknown alley on your own, especially not in heels, but curiosity wins over the racional side of your brain and you head down the slender street. You can kind of make out two vague figures, but it's hard for your eyes to adjust to the dark. You move even closer, heart only slightly beating out of your chest. Now, you can make out the shape of a man, but it's only one. 

A light flickers on above you, startling both you and the other person in the alley. You blink against the brightness a few times before your eyes refocus. 

The man who stands before you is young, probably around your age. His black hair falls in slight waves against his forehead, casting shadowy shapes on the features of his face. Your eyes trail down his body, not failing to notice the way the tight suit he wore made his finely shaped muscles stand out. 

Realizing you probably shouldn't be staring at this stranger's body, your eyes snap back up to his face. Only now do you see he looks like a deer caught in headlights, big doe eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. 

"Uh, hey." You greet with a small wave, not really knowing how start a conversation with the very attractive stranger you just stumbled upon in an alley behind a club. He clears his throat and shakes his head a little, curls bouncing cutely on his head. 

"Hey…" 

An awkward pause. 

"Um, nice costume. Most spidermen I've seen tonight can't really get the suit right." You mentally facepalm, already willing the ground beneath your feet to open up and swallow you whole.  You didnt think you could make thins any more awkward, but there you go, complimenting a complete stranger you just met in an alleyway, of all places, on how good his spiderman costume was. 

The stranger tilts his head in confusion, before a look of realization spreads across his face. A chuckle leaves his lips, which ends up turning into a full bout of laughter, his eyes crinkling up and his defined cheekbones rising with his upwards turn of his mouth. The sound sends jolts down your spine, and the look of his smile has you smiling in return, even if you have no clue whatsoever why he's laughing. 

"Ah, thank you." He responds after his small fit of laughter, smile still plastered on his face. It makes him look even younger. "Your costume's pretty neat too." His eyes trail over your figure briefly while he talks, and you can't help the colour that rises to your cheeks. 

"Are you… headed to the party?" You tilt your head towards the way you came. The boy shakes his head. 

"N- no. I was actually just leaving. I have an important um- lecture- in the morning." He fumbles out half-heartedly, scratching at the back of his neck almost nervously.

His words cause a small feeling of disappointment to settle in your stomach. It's silly, really, since you don't even know his name, but you can't help it. 

"Oh."Your gaze flicks down briefly to your shoes before you look at him again. "Well, can I know your name at least?" 

The young man smiles. It's a smaller smile this time, softer. "Mark. Mark Lee." 

Mark Lee. You like the name. It's cute, and it definitely fits him. 

"Y/n Y/l/n. It's nice to meet you, Mark." You grin at him, an almost giddy feeling on your stomach. 

"Likewise." Mark's expression morphs into a frown then and his eyes flit around before focusing back on you. "Listen, Y/n, I really gotta go. But it was really nice meeting you." He stumbles out quickly as he shoots an apologetic smile your way. "See you again, sometime?" He asks then, lopsided grin on his face.

"S-sure." You stutter before looking around awkwardly. "Um, but how?" 

Mark only chuckles, already starting to jog backwards. "Don't worry! I'll find you!" 

You shake your head in disbelief,  a small laugh escaping your throat at the boy’s weird antics. Turning on your heel, you start walking back to the club when you hear Mark's shout of your name. You whip your head back around. 

"Oh and Y/n? Please try and stay out of dark alleyways from now on?" 

You laugh. "Sir, yes sir!" You shout back, saluting Mark who smiles back at you. Even from a distance you can see the way it lights up his entire face. 

You turn around again, heels clacking as you resume your walk back to the club. You pause at the end of the alley, however, to throw one last glance over your shoulder.

There, at the other end of the alleyway, you see Mark pulling the mask over his head, adjusting it slightly. Then he puts one hand forward, wrist facing upwards. You brows furrow at the action before you see a string of web shoot out from his wrist, attaching itself to the building nearest to him. 

You're left watching in awe then, as Mark lifts himself off the ground effortlessly, the string pulling him up before it detaches and he shoots out another, effectively swinging out of your field of view. 

You stand there, mouth open in shock.

No wonder his costume was so good. 

this drabble is part of Lilac’s Halloween Spooky Special ♡

[theliteraryvampire]

Take Your Heart In Your Teeth (6/?)

Warnings: None!

Fandom: BBC Dracula (Dracula x Reader)

Author’s Note: This chapter might be kind of short? Also, there’s no Dracula in this. But! It’s leading up to some pretty fun moments, so stay tuned :)

--------------------------------------------------

The night air did nothing to clear my mind. I was in a haze as I walked back home, my mind on autopilot, my muscle memory telling me where to go. I knew something had happened to me tonight, but the farther I walked away from Dracula’s apartment, the farther away the memory seemed. It was slipping out of my grasp, and I didn’t know what to do. 

I threw open the door to my apartment where I was greeted by Sara, who was frantically texting someone.

“I’ve got a date tomorrow! You know that guy I told you about who keeps coming to the gallery? We’re going out after work tomorrow night,” she called out, before setting her phone down and looking up at me. She immediately knew something was wrong.

���What happened?” She took my arm and guided me to our small couch.

“I...don’t know. I think Dracula might have kissed me?”

“Oh! Well, that’s good...right? Was it like, on the cheek, or—”

“No. Um, it was on my neck.” I was still in a daze.

Sara made a face. “Your neck? That’s...kinky. But hot.”

“I think he bit me,” I suddenly said, turning towards her. I hadn’t even known why I said it, but it felt like a piece of the puzzle had just fallen into place. 

“Ok, very hot.”

“No, uh, we were drinking and, I got a little tipsy and then, he was just staring at me, and he leaned over and he kissed my neck, only, I think he bit me, too. I don’t know. It’s like I have two different memories of the same experience, like they were happening at the same time, and I—”

“(Y/N), you’re shaking.” I hadn’t realized that Sara had grabbed my hands. “Do you...mind if I look?” I shook my head and she gently moved my hair away from my neck. I could feel her touch the tips of her fingers to my skin, but when she pulled away, they were clean.

“Well, there’s no blood, but there’s a bump, like a scar, almost.”

“What?” I frantically went to feel my neck, and she was right. There was raised tissue there, in the spot where Dracula kissed or...bit...me, but it wasn’t tender, like it was new. I ran to the bathroom, with Sara right behind me, and looked at the scar myself in the mirror. It was crooked, semi circular, but it was there all the same.

“No...no...it can’t—” I turned around, suddenly angry, and ran to my room, Sara right on my heels. A thought had popped into my head, and I started sifting through the old files I kept on my bookcase, looking for my research from my trip to Romania. 

“Today, Dracula said something about Romania,” I started quickly explaining. “About eating locals or...devouring locals, I don’t know. I thought he was joking but, he kept asking me what I found in my research, kept telling me that I was precisely the person he was looking for, even hinting that he wasn’t...human? I don’t know. It was all really, really weird. Here, start looking through this notebook.” I tossed it over to Sara. “There’s a story I remember being told on my trip there, by a local boy, something about a vampire’s bite.” 

“You think he’s a vampire?!” Sara was incredulous.

“Just...look, please.” I turned back around to frantically flip through more pages.

“Ok, ok, uh...here! Here. ‘It is said that a vampire’s bite is a powerful opiate, that the vampire has the ability to make those from which he drinks see things that differ from reality.’ That...oddly kinda fits. But...you don’t actually believe in this, do you?” 

I ripped the notebook out of her hands to read it for myself.  

“I...I don’t know! It’s...ridiculous but—”

“Yes, it is! There’s a million other things he could be, (Y/N). Like, I don’t know. Some weird old guy with a fetish or like, a serial killer!”

“A serial killer who bites people to death?” I gave her an exasperated look.

“Look,” she said after a moment. “Tomorrow is Friday. Maybe you can just text him and be like ‘yo, I’m sick, not coming into work today. Uhhh by the way, did you do one of the following: spike my drink or drink my blood? Because either way, what the fuuuuuck. See ya Monday!’”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not texting him that. And I’m going to work tomorrow. I want to talk to him in person. Like an adult. I mean, it probably was just a misunderstanding...right?”

“Yeah, totally,” came Sara’s reply, but I could tell that she didn’t fully believe it. “Anyways, get some sleep. You desperately need it. Luhhh yewwww biiiiish!” She kissed me on the side of my head and left my room.

I sat up most of the night contemplating. I must have texted “Did you bite me?” about fifty times, but I always erased it before I could send it. It was ridiculous. I was being ridiculous. Dracula...was human. What else could he possibly be? I couldn’t be sure, but I made a promise to myself: I would try my hardest to find out tomorrow.

[annhellsing]

Thirsty.

notes: i gave up near the end and this sucks but have the first original thing i’ve written in two years. it sucks, ha. rating: teen af pairing: dracula kinda / female reader. word count: 3,284

Autumn slouches in to the city a little late this year. The leaves don’t turn until halfway through October and you were doubtful that homey, fall chill would come at all. The mad sprint towards winter is awfully hard for the weather to pass up, you imagine.

But in the middle of the month, you’re greeted with red leaves and grey skies. It rains every other day and any lingering humidity evaporates into a wet kind of cold. It sticks to your clothes and your hair, a sharp breeze blowing off the lake freezes your fingers on the walk to work.

You have your phone in your hand on the 31st, outside the warmth of your jacket pocket. It rings for longer than you expect, the noise rattles around in your head this early.

So when it stops and the call time starts ticking, you almost don’t register the hesitant, “Hello?” on the other end.

“Oh!” you exclaim, “hi, I know it’s a little last-minute but I was thinking about being a vampire this year. But the thing is, I can’t find anywhere that’s still got teeth in stock. Could you check if you have any for me?”

There’s a long silence on the other end of the line, you’re almost certain you can hear someone whispering. You hold the phone a little closer to your ear, tilting your head to try and hear what on earth is being said.

“It’s okay if you don’t—” you start, but there’s a sound like a frenzied gasp before the voice from earlier replies,

“You want to become a vampire?” they ask. It sounds like a man with an accent you can’t place. Without thinking, you laugh.

“Ideally, yeah. But all the usual places tell me it’s too close to Halloween, there’s nothing left. Shame on me for waiting, I guess. So, you got what I need?” the voice goes quiet again, but there isn’t any whispering to listen to.

“It can be arranged,” he says. You find yourself giggling again.

“That’s great, I’ll swing by around five,” perhaps the disembodied voice seems to sense the end of the conversation. There’s something frantic about the response.

“You know the way?” he says, “it’s quite remote,”

“Yeah,” you sound bemused. The man on the other end doesn’t sound so old to be unfamiliar with Google Maps. “Don’t worry about it. I’m in the area.”

There’s a muffled sort of sound, you can almost distinguish a, “Ah, yes, in that case—” before you’re greeted with more silence.

“I— cool, then. I’ll be there later on today. Have a good one,” you take the phone from your ear and tap the red button. The conversation ends.

Local costume stores are the weirdest, little places.

—

Have a good what? Dracula wonders why you were not more specific. His phone goes silent, the sound of a stranger’s voice still ringing somewhere in the high ceiling. It was like cold water thrown over him, both the scream from his device receiving a call and the idea of speaking to another person.

It’s dark in the chapel, lit only by braziers before the dilapidated organ at the end of the aisle. The sound of him playing nearly drowned out his ringtone, if it were for the infernal buzzing he might’ve missed the call. Fear grips him at tat.

He looks up at the bell tower that extends forever, turning over the conversation in his mind.

A hundred years of silence gave way to a very pleasant numbness after a while. His need for companionship dwindled, or perhaps he only wished it would. He grips the phone in a cold, tight fist and wishes he asked the name of his newfound companion.

But you’ll be here by five o’clock, apparently, though he knows not how. The why, on the other hand is clear. You wish to be like him.

He shoves the phone in his pocket, where he’d forgotten it for decades. How remarkable that its first and only connection would drag him forcibly from isolation. A century ago he might’ve been annoyed, might not have agreed so easily to such a commitment. But the promise of contact dissolves any hesitance on his part. He couldn’t feign disgust if he wanted to, not when this is perhaps his last chance.

The door to the main hall is ajar, spilling candlelight onto the stone. Worse still than the cathedral is the rest of the castle, he knows the state it’s in. And it won’t do for guests, certainly not ones who’ve expressed interest in staying here forever.

He takes two steps and thusly dematerializes, turning to smoke in a blink because he wills it so. The door is shut with a loud bang and a scattering of dust, Dracula’s allowed the place to crumble around him with no thought to its presentability.

There is a great deal of work to be done. He crosses the great hall in a blink, moving over old, brown bloodstains scattered on wood and a faded carpet.

It might, he thinks, be time to wake some help.

—

The costume store was a bust, the bell rings over your head as you leave empty handed. A bored teenager manning the front desk gestured vaguely to a picked-over rack and an absolutely tragic lack of something to pass as a vampire costume.

You thought it best not to ask after the man on the phone, she went back to browsing a magazine while you put up the pretence of shopping. Now, the cold bites your cheeks as you make the trek home.

Disappointment hangs heavy, but what did you expect? It’s the day before Halloween, the whole situation just snuck up on you. The sky is charcoal above your head, the light deciding that it’s had enough even on an overcast day. Soon, you’re walking in the dark down an abandoned street flanked by townhouses.

You can pick yours out of the bunch, it’s the one with the kitschy Halloween decorations scattered lovingly in the front yard. There’s an orange glow welcoming you, you consider that might just be more fun to stay in and hand out candy if you’ll be spending the holiday without a costume.

It doesn’t sound too bad, you suppose. You put your key in the lock and jiggle it slightly before it can turn. Inside is just as dark but decidedly warmer.

More important than any existential crises about what you’ll wear is how you’ll squirm out of the party you’ve been invited to. It seems like something of a cruel joke, to finally have plans only for life to eclipse them. You barely remember the host from high school and contemplate for a moment the embarrassment of being asked by strangers who you’re dressed as.

It’s not life-ending, but it wouldn’t be much fun.

You settle on the couch, reaching without looking to turn on the table lamp. In your other hand, you unlock your phone. It opens to the same page you landed on just before that strange, brief call earlier this morning.

The phone number’s written out on the costume shop’s website. Out of pure curiosity, you dial it up again.

“Corrine’s Costume Castle,” a familiar voice says over the phone. But it isn’t the man, you must be speaking to the girl at the counter. “How can I help you?”

“Hi— uh,” at this distance it might be safer to mention the other person you spoke to, “I had a chat with another employee earlier today, we talked about what was in stock. Could I speak with him?”

A pause, then, “Nobody else’s been in today,” the girl replies. She sounds like her nose is still half-buried in the magazine. “Maybe you got the wrong number? There’re a couple other costume shops, like, a stone’s throw away.”

“That’s probably it, whoops,” you tell her, perhaps a little too quickly, “thanks, have a good one.”

The line goes dead. You pull up the list of recent calls, looking to the one right below what you just dialled. You grip your phone a little tighter.

There’s an extra digit. Whatever number you called this morning, it wasn’t anywhere local. You were tired, your finger must’ve slipped and hit one number too many. And it made a great deal of difference.

—

He keeps time with the grandfather clock at the end of the dining room. Its large face and iron hands tell him it’s nearly nine in the evening. Long, thin fingers tap glass-like nails on the table. The blood in his glass has coagulated.

And still you have not arrived. Dracula is too cynical to be panicked, or to assume you’ve somehow lost your way. If it weren’t for the single number, your number trapped in his phone screen he might wonder if he imagined the whole thing. All his excitement and for nothing.

Glaring at the top half of his flip phone solves nothing, however. He shoves the glass of blood away and it falls over onto the table with a thud. Red blood gone cold and slimy trickles out, on to the tablecloth. In a flash, a man materializes and quickly removes the unwanted offering.

But the stain will stay, Dracula knows. He glances at it before turning his eyes back to your number. A brief pause before he decides what he’ll do.

Inhaling needlessly, he clicks the redial button and watches his phone spring to life. It doesn’t feel like very long at all, despite his mounting anxiety, until you pick up.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing he hears. No hello, no hesitance.

“You are late,” he replies, keeping his tone very cool. Despite his inclination to think the worst, Dracula is coldly polite. You sputter on the other end of the line, it’s not exactly encouraging.

“Oh, man, listen—” you cut yourself off, “your area code is in Romania and I am decidedly nowhere near there.”

“Why would you insist you were nearby if you were not?” Dracula asks, the ice in his voice unmistakable.

“I didn’t actually know it was you I was calling,” you try to explain, “I dialled the wrong number, I just didn’t realize it.”

“It was a mistake?” he asks. And, just there, just around the edges is the faint trace of disappointment he’s tried to conceal. Perhaps you realize how much he’d been hoping.

“I thought you were a costume shop I live near, I wanted to go as a vampire for Halloween,” he exhales sharply, just as needlessly. As if what you’ve said is preposterous.

“I should have known,” he grits his teeth, the ends of his fangs press against his bottom lip. Such is the sudden pain in his chest that he can’t bring himself to care if you can hear it.

“Who are you?” you ask it, very slowly. He considers what he’s saying, what you must think of him and his jaw unclenches. You might hang up if he scares you, he grips the phone tight enough that the plastic is in danger of giving way.

“The name may not be familiar to you any more,” he begins. But to his great surprise, you laugh uneasily.

“That’s kind of the point when talking to strangers,” you tell him.

“In this case, it is somewhat different,” he says, “I asked if you wanted to become a vampire because it is a wish I can grant.”

“You’re a vampire?” you ask, sounding more bemused than incredulous. He doesn’t know why he cares if you believe him. “Like, Dracula? That isn’t your name.”

“How astute,” he replies, “yes, like Dracula. But that is my name.”

There’s a clunking sound from the other end of the line. What you say is rude and barely audible, he pushes his chair back from the table and stands.

“Pick up the phone,” he says, to his horror it’s more of a question than a demand, “please?”

“Shit, that’s—” your voice gets closer again. And though it sounds breathless and disbelieving, it’s still beautiful to hear. “You have to be kidding me.”

“I assure you that I am not,” he replies. He’s greeted by your nervous giggle.

“That’s— shit,” you finally decide. Dracula’s laugh is significantly more stilted, like the rustling of reeds.

“So you have said,” he seems just as startled by his own laughter as you.

“I mean, the logical progression of that is can you prove it?” you ask, but some of that earlier mirth slips back into the way you say it.

“Well, if you cannot make the journey here—” he starts.

“You think I’m going to let a vampire in my house?” you tease. Part of him wonders why you’re still on the line, even Dracula’s aware of the dissonance. “And one I barely know at that?”

“It was only a suggestion,” he replies.

“I want to believe you, actually,” you say, your voice sounds softer. Perhaps a little sad, “for a lot of reasons.”

“Why is that?” he reclines in his seat, propping his elbow against the armrest. The phone is still clenched in his hand.

“Maybe I’d be less alone,” you say it like it’s nothing, but his still heart gives a strange lurch.

Dracula’s hand errantly finds his chest, he presses his palm to his sternum but finds no movement. There is no source of the sharp pain in him, so distinct from but nevertheless in conjunction with loneliness.

“I am not lying,” he sounds perhaps more insistent than he ought. He worries briefly that he might offend or terrify. “I swear it.”

“On what?” you ask. To his delight, you brighten a bit.

“My own grave,” he replies, to a specific end. And it works, he hears your soft shout of laughter so many miles away. It’s a warm sound.

“Do you get lonely? In Romania?” you sigh and seem to regret saying it the second it’s said. Dracula hums.

“You are the first I have spoken to in a century,” he admits, “I think I am only beginning to understand how lonely it can be.”

“Wow,” you sound less incredulous, unflinching, “will you laugh at me if I offer up comfort?”

“Why would I do that?” he knows before you answer.

“In case this is a prank,” you tell him, “or you’re not who you say you are.”

“Whatever you choose to believe, I will not laugh,” is all the reply you get.

“That sounds like a level of isolation I don’t fully understand, honestly,” you seem to make your decision, “provided it’s true.”

“There is a reason I do not want you to hang up again,” he says, “considering I will be receiving no company this evening.”

“I won’t hang up,” you tell him, “I haven’t talked to anybody I know since I got an invite to this Halloween party.”

“Which is why you needed the costume,” he says, the pieces start to fit together. You hadn’t meant to call, that’s true, but he has a promise from you.

“Yeah, exactly. I put it off and now I’m stuck,” you say, “I wanted to be a vampire but it didn’t work out.”

“What I offered is considerably more permanent,” he says, he can hear the smile in your voice.

“I guess so, but I don’t know if I stand by my original hesitance,” you say, “unless you’re actually just crazy. Now you’ve given me hope!” you exclaim. But you sound uncertain, especially uncertain. “It’d solve a lot of problems, being a vampire.”

“Perhaps, but it creates many of its own that are distinct,” Dracula says. He’s become careless with his tone, settled into his chair.

“Oh, yeah,” you say, “but it’s been such a long time since anything happened to break up the monotiny. It’s just nice to dream.”

“I have been without companions like myself for considerably longer than a hundred years,” he says.

“Don’t you have brides?” you ask. Dracula hums and the sound is humourless.

“An exaggeration,” he dismisses. You choose not to press it.

“At least I go to school with other humans,” you tell him, “would you really turn me after a half-hour conversation?”

“If that is what you wanted after all,” he replies. Dracula blinks and shifts again in his seat.

The conversation is one he never expected at all, he hadn’t the faintest idea where it would lead. But it has turned sharply, come full circle with a new understanding shared by the both of you.

But then, there is a change.

“Oh, dammit,” you mutter, sounding distant from the speaker.

“What is it?” Dracula asks, “what is wrong?”

“Nothing, sorry,” you reply, “I just got a look at the time and the party—” the dread in your voice does something special again to him. There is another lurching that he still fails to anticipate. But Dracula does not assume that he is dying again a second time. “It starts soon and I’ve got nothing.”

“That is unfortunate,” he sounds at a loss. Perhaps now you will break your promise.  His heart sinks and the sensation is intense.

“I don’t know if I want to go, now,” you admit with a sheepish softness to your tone. “But I probably should, I can throw something together.”

“I understand,” it isn’t that he’s run out of words to say, but he knows when the fun’s ended.

“It’s been nice talking to you,” you tell him. He thinks you might just mean it.

“And I to you, my dear,” Dracula holds the phone to his ear, even as you say goodbye. Even as the sound of your voice and the slight static is interrupted by nothing.

He flips the infernal thing closed after a few moments of silence and sets it on the table. Dracula lifts his hand, debating summoning a minion to bring him a fresh glass of blood.

The buzzing from his phone is short and amplified by the hard wood underneath it.

—

The party is loud, painfully loud but you breeze through it easily. While the dark corners look appealing, you do have someone to greet. You see your friend through the crowd, Marnie’s wearing a red wig and you couldn’t miss her.

A few people turn to stare as you weave between bodies. The alcohol is flowing and the world is all dazzling colours. Distantly, you hear Monster Mash pouring from someone’s speakers.

Arms are around you as soon as your in range. Marnie’s always been friendly, even more-so when tipsy.

“I was fully expecting the text saying you weren’t coming,” she says with a laugh in her voice. You know what she means.

“I almost did,” you tell her. She holds you suddenly at arm’s length.

“Oh, my god, you look incredible,” she exclaims. Her head lolls, she looks you up and down with a beaming smile.

“So do you,” you reply, “you’re a perfect little mermaid.”

“The wig’s from Party City, you don’t have to lie to me,” but where the fuck did you get those contacts?

“My friend knows a guy,” you tell her, glancing over your shoulder.

Marnie’s eyes follow you over the sea of people dancing and enjoying the revelry. Tucked into a corner that you found more than appealing is a man. He’s tall, death-pale in a way that only makeup can explain. He stares off into the middle distance but suddenly and sharply turns to look directly back at you.

“Who’s he?” Marnie asks, “is he in one of our classes?”

“Not exactly, it’s a little more complicated than that,” you say, but you don’t turn back to look at her. You smile, showing fangs.