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binniesthighs · 3 years

Text

coax the cold | reader x chan

Pairing: self insert, female reader x bang chan

Genre: smut, lil bit of fluff

Tags: softsub!chan, softdom!reader, virgin!chan, shyyyy!chan, lowkey awkward chan hehe, tinder hookup au, college au (very US college haha--or at least how I know it), guided sex, cowgirl, reader has nipple piercings sooo nipple play (my new kink) , hair pulling, use of petnames, praising, protected sex, fingering (f), someone’s impatient ;)

Word count: 4.2k

Recommended listening: bite by troye sivan

*photocreds to OP!

[02:05]

you are messaging: chan

me: i’m here by the bike locks? is this the right place? i don’t see a door anywhere?

Buzzing above your head, a streetlight flickered from the erratic flying of moths to the addictive yellow glow. You were never really a squeamish person, but when it came to moths, there was only so much that you could take in the uncomfortable silence of the parking lot.

A group of girls with their cropped shorts and bralettes came barreling out from a pair of doors farther down the building with music screeching from the phone speakers shoved in their tiny pockets.

“You’ve got the addy right? You didn’t hear anything about it getting shut down? Becs was telling me that they were doing ratios so it looks like we can’t bring the guys--”

You tapped on your phone screen to see if you had received a reply or if the little flame icon would flash while you watched the minutes tick by.

You had a little shame about the position that you were in, and you started to care less and less after seeing this guy’s pictures. He was somewhat illusive from what you could tell. The way that he texted in all lowercase made him seem approachable but he still wasn’t one ask for pictures of your tits or send the odd drunk text asking for you to come over.

You had send the message at this hour. It was likely that you were impatient from “playing the game” but he seemed intriguing enough.

The Friday night was filled with energy from the other side of the street across from the apartment complex. His place was situated right on the edge of campus next to a couple run down houses with windows lit by multicolored string lights and creaking doors which let out vibrating trap songs every time someone opened them. You had left a house similar to that before coming here right when it was getting boring and the boys were getting a bit handsier than you would’ve liked. You were done making out with randoms in hallways who tasted like watery beer and bad decisions.

“Um, hey! Are you y/n?” The stranger’s voice called from a fire escape door.

He was dressed simply, sort of like someone who didn’t care, or someone who hadn’t left their room since the morning. In this lighting, his hair seemed to be some kind of dark burgundy brown which was a bit different from his caramel blonde hair from the photos. You would’ve felt lied to on another occasion, but the simple trait wasn’t a game changer.

“Uh-yeah, that's me.” You smiled bluntly, not really sure even what to say in a situation like this.

Up close you saw what the pictures really didn’t give him justice: a faint press of dimples and stretching veins on his hands. You assumed that he was a bit smaller under the giant black hoodie that he wore, but he had that same kind of coziness that was just a little too dangerous for a hookup.

“I live on the third floor.” He informed you while leading up the hollow sounding cement staircase.

“Mm. Okay.”

The stranger turned his head briefly to smile back at you, “I-Its nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.” You nodded, even though he didn’t see.

This young man’s room was nearly exactly as you had pictured it to be element by element. Like every other boy his age, he had a gaming set up with color changing LEDs on the side of his machine and a smaller TV that was hooked up to some console you didn’t care to know the name of. The floors were nearly clean and the bed made--almost like he had planned for it to be that way; you could see the dirty clothes peeping from under his bed.

The banged up beige walls were decorated with posters of indie bands that you had heard of once or twice. He had somewhat of an organized open closet that held types of CDs and vinyl too--the room itself smelled a bit dusty like the protective covers of those albums that you associated with a record store.

“You can...we can sit down if you’d like.” He rather awkwardly gestured to his full sized bed. You prayed that once you pulled the covers back later there would be no white stains.

“Okay.”

“I could-um, turn on some music maybe? If you would like?”

“Sure!” You piped trying to sound as confident and in control as possible--it was clear he wasn’t.

He fidgeted with his phone and a bluetooth speaker which startled him when he turned it on. Just like the posters on his walls, he picked some soft sounding acoustic song with a crooning folk singer that sounded like he was singing with the exclusive use of his head voice.

The stranger sat next to you clasping his hands in front of him and eyes glued to the floor.

“Sorry...this is my first time doing this.”

“Doing...?”

He smoothed back his dark locks, “You know...meeting up with someone like this after meeting through an app. Um...what do you study?”

“Biochem with a graphic design minor. You?”

You weren’t sure if this was a hook up or an interview.

“Poli Sci Human Rights stuff and sound engineering on the side.”

“Huh...thats...cool.”

Both of you nodded your heads in the silence to which he cleared his throat loudly to feel the space.

“C-can I get you anything? You thirsty or something? I can steal some of my roommate’s Smirnoff Ice--”

“--No. I’m fine. Thank you though.”

He smiled sweetly to hid the fact that he was rubbing his sweating hands against his pants.

“But...how this usually starts off, you could lay down and maybe, I could get on top?”

“Oh!” He squeaked, “Sure! I can do that.”

The bed groaned out with the shuffling of bodies and your hookup sighed out with a shaky breath and squirming legs. “Like this?”

Rather than saying more, you crawled carefully over to him to the tune of his quickening chest and widened eyes. The shier he got, the harder it was for you to keep it in--he was ridiculously cute and your mind could only run wilder thinking about how he would react to everything you were about to show him. Your hands crept to the hem of his hoodie where you teased cold thumbs to his torso.

“I’m gonna take this off you, okay?”

Chan nodded eagerly with hair fluffing once you pulled it over his head.

“Take mine off?” You hushed into his ear to which he smacked dry lips to obey you.

He took his time pulling it off you; he savored the way that your bare body looked in front of him with glossy eyes that shone with the soft pastel glow from his computer in the opposite corner of his room. His chest heaved with his excitement which only held even more shallow breaths once your top hit the floor.

“I-I can touch you?”

“You can touch me anywhere you want to, baby.” You followed his head back to the pillow where you parted his quivering lips with your own. You could feel his shock get caught in his throat, then snake out hotly from his mouth to yours. He kissed you carefully, but growing in greed once you ran the tip of your tongue over his bottom lip. His curious hands wrapped around your back where he rubbed lightly at your sides, then traversed to your chest. You sunk deeper onto him to the tune of the music skipping to the next song which sounded nearly like a chilled out pairing of twangy guitars. As far as you could tell, it sounded something like Grateful Dead.

As your hips melded into his, Chan’s whole body jerked feeling the sudden contact of your pussy grind against him. As you had expected, he had hardened instantly, and his length bobbed and tented the thick fabric of his sweats. You kissed him deeper, exploring the corners of his mouth and the inside of his lower lip while tugged at the plush skin gently.

You should have guessed, but this boy didn’t have a clue how to take a bra off, so you did the job for him, sure to give him a display at the same time just for the dramatic effect of your surprise.

“H-holy shit.” Chan oggled your breasts from below. You were certain that he didn’t notice the way that he slicked his tongue slowly over his lip at the sight of you.

“You can touch them too.” You purred back into his ear, and he eagerly brought thrilled hands to your nipples.

“They’re really...um, pretty.” He said with fluttering eyes from your breasts to your eyes. What a gentleman he was being.

You toyed with your delightfully hardened bud in your hand while he played with the other. You pulled lightly at the sliver stud piercing there to show him that he could do the same and wetted your fingertips with your tongue to bring the wet to your skin. He kneaded at your breast firmly at first, cupping it in his hand, then moved his attention to your sensitive skin aroused just from the softest touches.

Your tiny moans was all the validation that he needed to squeeze harder and pull rougher. It was as if you could see his cute pent up fantasies unfolding right before you in his sparkling brown eyes.

“Mm, that feels so good.” You coaxed him further, going to grind you ass harder into his own lap and indulging in the way that even in your shorts, your folds could part around the thick imprint of his dick.

You collapsed over his face to align your nipples nearest his tongue which he gave no more thought. Chan kissed at them with trailing breathy moans of his own that melted into you and vibrated against the metal made one with your hardened buds. He sucked too with a flicking tongue that sent heat straight down to your clit. Each time his flattened tongue would return with the wet of his spit, you felt weaker and weaker for this boy becoming more tantalizing by the second.

“Want to--want to take off even more?” The phrase barely escaped your lips.

“Mmhm.” He agreed, then took to shimming off his pants quickly and watching you do the same, revealing your sky blue panties that always soaked in the way that you liked them to.

Your show continued on, and you took two of our fingers to rub over your clit while facing him. He too had wetted a spot into his boxers that adorably bunched around the upper parts of his thighs. With your free hand, you slithered to his erection and traced the outline, leaving him on a teasing squeeze.

“B-before we do anything else...I have to tell you something?” The young man hesitated, causing you to draw your hand back.

“What is it?”

“This is like my, first time, first time. You know?”

“You’ve never--”

“--I know. It’s...kinda embarassing...and the fact that it’s happening this way...”

“You don’t want it to happen this way?”

Chan stammered, but shook his head vehemently, “That's not it. I just don’t want you to be dissapointed...since I don’t really...know what I’m doing too well.”

He cracked with a hopeful smile, and you couldn’t stand it any more.

“Babyboy, you’ve got nothing to worry about, I don’t mind.”

“You don’t?”

“No,” You scooched next to him to twist a couple of his deeply cherry red strands into your fingers, “In fact, the fact that you haven’t done this before...really turns me on. Got it?”

Chan gulped, “S-so...what-what can I do for you? I’ll do anything?”

You pressed a light kiss into his forehead with a hand trailing up his thigh and back to his dick which still throbbed with his excitement.

“How about, you show me how you jerk off this cock of yours, angel? And I can show you how I do the same? For starters?”

He licked his lips once more, hooking his hands under his waistband and freeing his cock pink, and even thicker than you had imagined. You slid yourself unto his arm to cuddle up close to him, one of your legs swung over his so he could see exactly how you played with your clit.

He wrapped his hand around his dick with a tug which elicited a tiny “ah!” from his mouth.

“That’s it...jerk your cute cock for me...just like that.”

His eyes devoured the circles made by your hand between your legs--you strung together your slick between your fingers to him to see. The clear stringy cum shone on your fingers, making the other boy whimper out seeing how it coated them.

“I want to touch you too...down there, so bad.” He pleaded after pumping faster at himself.

“Oh? Pretty boy would like to feel what it’s like to touch my dripping cunt, hm? You know that watching you makes me like this...?”

Chan gasped out at the thought, letting out an “mmhm.” that cracked in his throat.

“C-can I?”

The heat of your naked bodies intermingled and turned the air of his small room dense, and each of your senses became hyper aware in your own arousal: every hair that stood on end, every flinch of his muscles beside you, you could feel it all.

“Of course you can.”

Chan shifted, leaving his dripping cock to pulse on your thigh where he flipped on his side to dip his hand between your folds and against your swollen clit.

“Rub in circles baby, or whatever feels right to you...you’ll know if it feels good for me.”

He nodded with hands trickling down to your pussy heated between your legs.

There’s something different about him, it could be the fact that you know next to nothing about him, or how he makes you bothered.

Slowly, his fingers dip between your folds slicked from your teasing--and the way that there mere sight of him teases you. Your back arches from the press of his fingers, and your bud throbs under each and every swipe of his fingers.

“Feels good?” He whispers into your ear, tickling it.

“Mm-yes.” With your free hand, you tangle your fingers into his hair to pull right at the roots. You bite a kiss into his lip while drawing him closer to you. His lips are plush and quivering like they can’t decide what to do with all the simulation at once.

“Harder...you can press harder,” The words were airy on your tongue while your hips writhed.

“Like this?” He circled harder, wider with his digits mixing with your cum.

The room appeared to blur in your euphoria. Coupled with the gentle music playing there was a kind of peace to this boy and everything about his little space. The further he continued, the more you longed for him fully--to feel every inch of his length inside of you as you fucked him for the first time.

Your hand grabbed at his hair even tighter: a symbol that he took as a good sign. He laughed out a little at your response.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He coos. Against your thigh, his dick bobs with a flared tip, begging for more attention.

You moan out for him as you dig your heels into his bed, and watch the way that your nipples harden around the metal piercings just from his touch.

“Just you wait baby, we haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.” Your kisses pull at his lower lip as you fill his mouth with more moans. “You don’t even know how fucking tight it is, how it feels when I pull you inside of me and how the friction feels when you’ll fuck me.”

Chan shivers from your words with a gulp and lets his fingers fall down to your entrance where is curiosity gets the best of him. You wince feeling his fingers fill your pussy with the wonderful way that you desperately close around his digits.

“Shit.”

“Are you ready?” You ask him permission before trailing a hand down his torso.

“--Yes,” He nods quickly, “Please. God--I want to feel it. Show me.”

You twitch from the lack of contact to your pussy when you swing your leg to straddle him. Your hips meet his, and he struggles for a moment over where to put his hands. In one motion you grind your dripping folds over his bare dick, slicking him up and down with the light grind of your hips. A broken gasp escapes from his lips which you catch with your own mouth in a kiss. His closed eyes flutter from the feeling of having you so close...but not completely yet.

“Got a condom, angel?” You caress down his cheek and let your thumb linger over his bottom lip.

Chan gives you a grunt in response before contorting his body to the side table where he fumbles for the plastic wrapper. His curtains dance a little with a breeze caught in them, likely from the window being open. The air smells a bit like water, and it’s cool and crisp in your lungs. It cools the surging heat that your body succumbs to.

You move for him to roll the condom on, tracing the muscles of his chest. His skin is untouched, unmarked, and suddenly all you crave is to see him bruised and scraped in pink. You dig your nails into his chest seeing the way he jerks at himself just a bit more while looking up at you in awe.

“H-how do we do this?” He asks.

“Just...do as I say...’kay?”

Your date nods, letting you take complete control over his body. You start at his neck with kisses that turn heavier and heavier then darker and darker. He busies his hands by cupping into your breasts and tweaking with the hardened buds.

“Just lay still, I can put in the work pup, okay?” You reach for his erection further down his body, and he finds handles in your hips and ass.

“I can do that.” He sighs out with a little groan feeling your hand squeeze at him.

At first, you tease your entrance with his head, barely letting him feel anything besides your clit against his pink tip. His skin grows dewy in his anticipation, and he licks at his lips which dry from each breathy exhale he uses to steady himself. You take your cum to wet at his dick with your hand, and push harder at his sides with your thighs.

“Tell me if you ever want me to stop, got it?”

Chan hastily nods, digging deeper into your sides.

“Fuck, just--fuck me already...I can’t...it’s really...hurts to wait--”

“Getting demanding now are you?” You tap a light slap to his face. “You’re doing what I say, not the other way around.”

“S-sorry...” He whines.

You resume, sitting properly on his length: all the way down, all the way to your cervix which screams in ecstasy from feeling him fill you so deeply.

“Fuck.” He groans, but his curse is intertwined with a beautiful giddy smile. “Its really tight. Oh god--”

You lean over him to attach your lips with his once more--a tiny distraction from the way that you start to roll your hips over his length. Chan freely lets his moans tickle your lips, each of them more gruff than the last as he looses himself in you and your rhythm. He’s dizzied: lightheaded--even you can tell. The new sensation takes him over, and he’s left a mess for you: hips trembling while you work your pussy up and down his length and his fingers claw into your shoulder blades.

Chan’s Adam’s apple bounces as he gulps dry, forming praises the best that he can. “Feels...amazing...”

You sit back, allowing his full length to tease your g-spot as you fuck him rougher, indulging yourself to all the pleasure that he can give you when you let him in as deeply as possible. He notices the change, and supports your body up with hands running up and down your chest, and down your arms where he pulls at the skin with his short nails.

“You like this?” You gasp between each roll of your hips. “How my cunt feels on your cock? How I can use you like this? Use your words Channie.”

“Yes. Fuck yes. Yo-You look...mm--”

You giggle a little at the light pink blush to his cheeks and the way that he stumbles over his words.

“Think you can last a little longer, baby?” Your fingers creep to his throat where you tease at squeezing his neck.

He pauses, loosing himself in it again before giving you a rushed answer: “I think? It’s just...really intense I think that I’m c-close already.”

You permit him only a couple more seconds of you, then glide off him carefully to which he whines out in confusion.

“Your turn to fuck me now. Come on, behind me.”

Chan looks bewildered and breathless, but he does as he’s told and tosses aside stray pieces of clothing on the bed to get to you. You hoist up your hips for him after burying your face into the mattress. To guide him further, you fuck your fingers for him too at this angle, only stopping once you feel the pressure of his cock once more. He slides himself in agonizingly slow until he bottom’s out with a choked moan.

“Fuck me baby boy. You know what do to.”

Your date’s hand finds your hips once more which he firmly grasps, then begins screwing into your pussy already blazing with heat and your orgasm building from before. He finds his pace after a while and fills the room with the fleshy sound of skin on skin. Your own fingers find their own way back to your clit where you rub in tandem with his thrusts.

“Oh,” He gasps quietly.

Your nails bury into the comforter of the bed, and your teeth clench harder as he milks himself into you and grows in pace.

“Fuck yes baby, fuck me just like that. You’re doing so good; fucking my pussy just like you should...”

Your orgasm quickens hearing the praises come from the bottom of your heart and the way that he grunts out hearing them. For someone who’s never done this before, it’s unbelievable how good he is at it all.

He shudders, and you feel yourself tighten around him further, sensing both of your release coming near. Your hookup doubles over your back, burning you with the heat from his body as he fucks into you with reckless thrusts.

“Shit, I’m so, so close.” He admits though clenched teeth.

“Me too baby, finish me off, cum inside until you’re throbbing and you can’t take any-anymore.”

A switches flips within this once innocent man, and you feel the bed creak as he kneels on one leg, then lifts one to stamp upon the bed to better his angle. The new position directly sends your g-spot into flames, and you shake from limb to limb feeling your orgasm right on the brink.

He growls upon his release, finishing it off with shallow breaths once he nearly collapses over your back to feel each drop of his cum release inside of your pussy. You rub your orgasm out until you see lightning behind your eyelids and it’s heightened by the way that he twitches with his cum against your deepest spot.

“A-are you okay?” Your adorable date immediately asks once you gasp and writhe under him.

“I’m fine, I’m fine...fuck,” You laugh out, “That felt unreal Channie.”

He shakes once his softening dick leaves your hole, and you get a good look at this stranger: chest flushed and hair messed over his forehead. He falls down to his side on the bed still breathless and letting out happy little laughs.

“I’m sorry if that was like, really fast. It just all felt...so good, and, I couldn’t really control it--”

“Mm, don’t you worry.” You sweep down to kiss his gasping mouth. Silently, you thank whoever it was in the universe that let you meet this boy on this night, and whoever willed you to leave that party.

“What do we do now?” Chan asks, still bare for you to take in wholly. You wanted to tell him, but couldn’t find the words. He was kind of beautiful.

“Whatever we want. I could go, or I could stay. Really anything goes.”

His chest is peppered with your purple love bites, and you wish then to give him even more if you have the chance--whenever that might be.

Chan tilts his head, “Stay?”

“Well, we still need to get to know eachother don’t we?”

The handsome stranger grins, and lets his hand trace the side of your face. The cool of the room feels addictive against you, and it weaves around your neck and against the little hairs of your arms.

“You’re right.” He nods, “There's only so much you can tell about a person from these kind of dating apps.”

“That’s true.” Your hand discovers his collarbones, which you trace lightly. “It’s nothing like the real thing.”

~🌹~

Bunch of (Ro)ses!

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @lunarskzzz @yourdaddychan @bubblelixie @spnobsessedmemes @lmhmins @eunaeiekim

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saijspellhart · 3 years

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Little oneshot about Atem meeting Sphinx Yugi

Part of my Sphinx AU. Please enjoy.

Atem clutched his cloak around him, trying to settle back against the date palms again, only to sit up with a start at the rustle of leaves. The once vibrant and friendly oasis he’d happened upon in the day, had turned into an absolute nightmare as soon as the sun set.

He hadn’t managed to get a fire going, he couldn’t find anything to eat, and although the water in the massive pond looked clean and tasted good, he was convinced he’d be sick by morning.

The night was so dark, even with all the stars, he could barely make out his surroundings in the dense thickets of trees and brush surrounding the pond. He could swear something was out there. Could feel it staring at him, hunting him.

He snapped his head to the left at the sound of disturbed undergrowth, and swore he caught a glimpse of yellow eyes. Like the glowing pupils of some large animal. They disappeared almost immediately.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen them. Could be a fox, or a crocodile, perhaps a leopard, or even a hyena. Although he really doubted it was a hyena. Too quiet for that noisy pack animal. Never the less, he was convinced he was being stalked by some silent predator.

Hours were passing, and he continued his restless watch.

The night wore on leaving him more and more exhausted, and the chill set in harder. He felt cold in his bones without a fire or proper insulation from the frigid desert night.

He would die of exposure before he was ever rescued by his priests.

Atem saw the flash of yellow eyes again in his peripheral and scowled at them sleepily.

Or I’ll simply get eaten alive. What an end for a mighty Pharaoh. He should have simply died earlier in the day during the skirmish with the brigands. At least then it would have been in the service of his people, and not alone, lost in the desert, and at the jaws of local wildlife.

Another hour passed, and he couldn’t hold his head up anymore to stay alert. He was so cold.

So tired.

His eyelids drooped. And each blink was a little longer, his mind a little hazier.

He searched for the eyes in the dark, but saw nothing. He heard nothing. He couldn’t hold his eyes open any longer and he drifted out of consciousness.

0000

Atem’s world was a lot brighter when his brain clicked back into consciousness the next morning.

And warmer.

So much warmer. He’d been so cold the night before and now he was wrapped in a blanket of warmth and fluffy comfort.

It felt like his head was pillowed against a cloud. A slightly dusty, musky scented cloud with an edge of sweetness, almost like grass. It was pleasant.

In fact everything was pleasant. Even the comforting weight settled over him. Atem didn’t want to move. Didn’t even want to wake up. Instead, he inhaled the pleasant scent again and tried to drift back to sleep.

His hand reached up to sink fingers into soft fur and snuggled deeper into his pillow.

Which gasped, and shifted beneath him.

Atem’s eyes shot open, getting an eyeful of white and tawny red-gold fur. Something like a tail swished just over the swell of golden fur he’d taken a handful of. He was up in an instant, flailing against feathers, and violently slapping a large wing off of himself as he stumbled to get away.

“Ouch!” a stranger’s voice yelped.

He ended up crawling backwards through sand and grasses. Drawing his knife—his khopesh having gotten lost when his horse threw him in the strange and sudden sand storm—he pointed the blade, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the strange creature he’d been cuddled up to only moments before.

“What in Ra’s name are you?” Atem demanded.

The creature blinked large and bewitching purple eyes at him. “What does it look like?” It asked, sounding almost offended. It shook out one of its large black-tipped white feathered wings, as if shaking off pain, before gingerly folding the appendage against its back. “In fact I’m one of the god’s creatures. I’m a sphinx,” it announced rising up on its very feline paws.

This gave Atem a very good look at the creature, and yes. Yes, it was a sphinx. He quickly lowered the knife so as not to disrespect it.

It was not the type of sphinx he was most accustomed to seeing depicted in scrolls and in reliefs. That being a creature with a lion’s body and the head of a human. No, this creature had the head and torso of a human, its arms changing into a feline’s paws starting at the elbow, and its torso becoming a feline’s lower half starting at the stomach.

The stomach that Atem’s head has been pillowed against, he noted. That’s what had been so soft like a cloud. He swallowed thickly.

“It’s been awhile since a human has wandered into my oasis,” the sphinx said conversationally. It took a few steps towards Atem. “What’s your name?”

He wasn’t about to give a magical creature such as this his name. Magical creatures could do dangerous things with your name. “Atem…” the name tumbled off his tongue unbidden. Fuck. He suspected some magic must be at play, but Ra would have to smite him before he would tell this creature he was a Pharaoh. Absolutely no good would come of this creature having that knowledge.

“Atem~” the sphinx tested the name on its tongue, and smiled brightly at him. “Hi Atem! My name is Yugi,” as it introduced itself it made a tight circle giving Atem a look at its entire body from nose to the end of its stumpy tail.

It was just like a cat to give someone an eyeful of its ass. If the lack of breasts hadn’t clued him in, Atem could safely conclude that the very effeminate looking creature was indeed a male.

When Yugi turned to face him again he couldn’t quite meet the Sphinx’s eye anymore and sort of looked off to the side instead.

It was actually startling how much the Sphinx’s hair resembled Atem’s. Should he be flattered? Or maybe the sphinx was flattered. It was probably far older than him. Their hair was strikingly similar, both having flowing blonde bangs and unruly black spikes tinged with color at the tips. Although Atem’s hair ended in red, while Yugi’s seemed to be a gradient of purples and reds. That was where the similarities between them seemed to end though. Yugi had large eyes and a small nose, with a slight build and fair skin. Where as Atem had a large nose, thick brows over slanted eyes, with the build of a fighter and brown skin.

“I’m sorry for scaring you when you woke up,” Yugi dipped his head and looked genuinely apologetic.

“What was…that anyway?” Atem jerked his head at the Sphinx and reached a hand down to pluck at some grass, tearing the blades between his fingers.

“I was keeping you warm,” Yugi explained. Almost comically large cat ears flicked on either side of his head, disturbing locks of hair as they did. Atem could make out black tufts of fur on the ends of the ears that reminded him very much of a caracal. Yugi kept his distance but sat back on his haunches. His wings adjusted on his back, fluttering a bit before folding back into place. “You were so cold, shivering in your sleep, and well… the elements don’t bother me.” he shrugged. “So I curled up beside you, and covered you with my wing.”

Atem narrowed his eyes at the creature. Were sphinxes usually so kind? He couldn’t recall many stories about sphinxes but the stories he did recall they were always dangerous and tricksy. “I suppose I owe you a debt now, don’t I?” He growled out, tossing his handful of shredded grass on the sand before him.

Yugi blinked at him. “No? Oh well maybe…” he tilted his head and it looked like the wheels had begun to turn in his mind. “Why?” he asked slowly.

“Because you probably saved my life. Kept me from succumbing to exposure or something.” Atem explained impatiently. He didn’t want to be in debt to a magical creature, but he was also a Pharaoh and it could spell disaster to leave debts unpaid. Should the sphinx ever find out he was a pharaoh and decide to collect on the debt it might ask for something outrageous. Like a child, or a golden statue in its likeness, or perhaps to stay in his palace to live like a king. “Creatures like you always want payment for a life saved.”

Yugi seemed to consider this, all the while studying Atem curiously. “I suppose that’s true,” he purred. “How about we play a game? Win, and consider the debt repaid. Your life will be your own. But should you lose, then your life is mine.” This time when the little Sphinx grinned at him it was far more predatory. If he wasn’t so adorable Atem might have felt more intimidated.

A game? A smug sense of triumph curled in Atem’s stomach. A game wasn’t so bad. He was excellent at games. “What kind of game?” Atem hedged warily. Skills aside, making a deal with any magical creature was extremely dangerous, but especially with a sphinx.

Yugi laid down on the ground and crossed his front paws. “Oh, nothing complicated. Just a simple game of riddles~”

Atem adjusted until he was sitting cross-legged facing the Sphinx. He placed his hands on his knees and did his best to school his expression with confidence. “Alright then. I’ll play your game.”

“Great!” Yugi chirped happily, and his cat butt wiggled with excitement. “I will start.”

Atem bit his cheek and silently reminded himself that this cuteness was probably a facade. He would focus…and he would win.

#puzzleshipping #yugi mutou #atem #Yami yugi #pharaoh atem #yugioh #sphinx au #sphinx yugi #drabble #oneshot #fanfic #fanfiction #yugioh duel monsters #ygo dm #SaijSpellhart writes

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phoenixtakaramono · 3 years

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Character Design Thoughts for Shen Yuan & Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky in ‘The Untold Tale’

(This is a Follow Up to This Post)

Hello, @averydrearydiana! Loved reading through your tags! I’m excited that you’re excited! Since I’m also seeing comments on AO3 speculating about how our transmigrators are going to appear as in The Untold Tale, I might as well give my current thoughts and have this archived on tumblr for future reference.

A fun fact about TUT is that a lot of the imagery in the story is inspired by Chinese PVs and popular C-dramas and literature. Since TUT is conceived as a lovestory to SVSSS, one element that I’d wanted to incorporate is playful attempts at satirical genre deconstruction. With that comes with me playfully poking fun at some clichés or things I’ve noticed in Chinese works.

Shen Yuan’s Celestial Design

Before I talk about his mortal appearance, I have to give a lil context about his celestial design in the story. We already know what he looks like as the celestial fortuneteller in TUT’s cover art that I’ve already posted on tumblr. As everyone knows, I was heavily inspired by this Chinese PV:

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(TUT ch1 - Excerpt)

Among the things I’ve noticed are the fictional characters with white hair. We have a whole subculture of fans liking male character designs with white hair in anime and animation. Taking that a step further, they’ve even shown up in C-dramas, i.e. Teng She from Love and Redemption (technically more blond than platinum white, but shhhhh, just let me have this), Dong Hua Dijun from Eternal Love of Dream aka Three Lives Three Worlds, Ten Miles of Peach Blossoms (rest assured, I’m aware of the source material’s controversy, but let’s not get into that here), etc. One of the tags for TUT is Opposites Attract. Luo Binghe’s color coordination is aligned with black and red mostly. Now, visually speaking, what’s the opposite of that?

The yin yang symbol.

Fun fact, besides black vs white, green (SY) is the complementary color of red (LBG) on the color wheel. Now taking everything I’ve said, to take it even one step further, my thought process at the time was, “why not go the extra mile then and just have SY be albino? Within context of the Heavenly Realm, that character design makes sense.” TUT is me subtly riffing off what I can (for the good ol’ meta humor), but making the content come across as a legitimate story experience. As Protagonist A and Protagonist B, LBG and SY have to look visually striking together. With all that said, let’s talk about....

(In reference to the original tumblr post)

Shen Yuan (Mortal)

I’ll keep some elements of his albinism from his celestial form (light sensitivity and pale skin mostly), but SY’s mortal form is essentially SY pre-transmigration but within context of the xianxia genre.

For his appearance, let’s just keep this Author’s Note^ and TUT’s summary in the back of our brains. This is the fanvid I was originally inspired by for SY’s mortal appearance:

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(TUT Summary - Excerpt)

For what he wears, I’m currently feeling very heavily inspired by this PV:

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His mortal appearance wouldn’t be considered as “strange” or “otherworldly” compared to the “ethereal fairy-like beauty” SY retains in the Heavenly Realm, but as a side-effect of the 【PROTAGONIST’S HALO】 and his +20 CHARISMA stat, he would still be considered attractive to people even when he takes on a mortal appearance. (Mainly, I like the idea of Bing gē taking large shots of vinegar seeing SY turning heads no matter which appearance SY takes on, and Luo Binghe glaring at these “insects” for even “daring to lay their unworthy eyes on his fated person.” The thought of it just makes me laugh.)

What I mean by how SY’s mortal form being very much based on how SY appeared pre-transmigration but in the xianxia genre context, I mean he’ll have his dark hair (but longer), a “scholarly air” (as a nod to his novelist background), dark eyes, and even his glasses technically (the divine monocle mentioned in ch3, which is also a subtle nod to Sha Po Lang and a riff on men wearing monocles in other Chinese works andit’salsoforeshadowingbutshhhh).

(TUT ch3 - Excerpt)

Shen Yuan originally was an author in his forties pre-transmigration, so I like the idea him having a mature air about him in the Cultivation World as well. So for both our Protagonist B’s celestial and mortal appearances, the idea is that you can look at him and immediately recognize him as a protagonist of the danmei setting. My only two prerequisites are that his appearance screams “hello, I’m Protagonist B” and that he appears in “scholarly” attire.

Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky (Mortal)

Keeping in mind the original tumblr post where I wrote my thoughts on who I’m transmigrating him as, currently I’m thinking it’s a combination of these two PVs for his mortal form:

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As a nod to him being a successful novelist, I wanted him to also appear scholarly. A scholarly crown prince, if you will. For his attire, imagine all the C-drama clothing you’ve seen actors wear in period dramas, and you already have a good idea already of the direction I’m heading down.

As the prince of the cannon fodder emperor, I very much like the idea of Airplane perhaps having a baby face and brown hair (as a small nod to fanon!SQH from SVSSS) but with a great body (a huge source of inspiration are clothing worn by Prince Yu and Prince Jing of the three princes from the C-drama Nirvana in Fire). Since Airplane will also be able to select his Character Creation stats like Shen Yuan had, one thing I’m fairly certain is that he will max out his CONSTITUTION—because “game logic” and not wanting to die. (For those who don’t know, the CON stat in tabletop RPs essentially indicates a person’s overall health, wellbeing, and vigor checks...so him maxing it out is equivalent to him being as invulnerable as a cockroach. A high CON means overall healthiness, which means your character probably is full of energy and vitality, can heal rapidly, and will rarely get sick—if ever. Low CON usually means a higher susceptibility to sickness and disease, wounds that fester and linger, and a general fatigue would haunt you, etc.) Like how SY zeroed in on his CHA, Airplane would have prioritized +20 CON (+5 modifier), especially knowing the fate that’d await him as a prince and the vicious environment that is expected for palace intrigue plots (the harem is a big factor, with concubines and consorts and even the empress sabotaging each other—just to win the favor of one man). Against poison or whatnot which is a cliché in palace intrigue plots, rather than relying on luck, you typically stand a better chance of passing the CON check if you have a high modifier aiding your checks. He’s basically become impervious to illnesses, most poisons (probably being able to spring back quickly), and is considered the healthiest prince in all the mortal imperial line. <- This could be taken both seriously and humorously simultaneously.

Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky (Deity/ Celestial)

For Xiàng Tiān Dà Fēijī’s “actual divine body” that is currently asleep and won’t be awakened until Airplane completes his mortal trial to “regain his cultivation powers,” the face should obviously be similar but, as Xiàng Tiān Dà Fēijī, he would appear regal and dignified as a god of this world:

Imagine something along the lines of mortal Airplane as the man on the right, celestial Shen Yuan in the center, and deity/ celestial Airplane as the man on the left. I envision a respectable appearance that would knock the air out of Mobei jūn and make him recognize Airplane despite any visual dissimilarities, and in a way we have the Four Beauties of China: Luo Binghe, Shen Yuan, Mobei jūn, and Xiàng Tiān Dà Fēijī.

I will say I currently have an idea of making Airplane have “golden” eyes in both his celestial and mortal forms. (Spoiler alert: in my notes, I’d written down to give Airplane yellow eyes as an Easter egg to Yanxi Palace, I believe, where there was an episode where someone of the imperial harem schemed against the empress and almost had the newborn baby killed because that and the yellow skin was an inauspicious omen. We later find out through a timely intervention that the true reason was due to jaundice—because of the diet/ pregnancy cravings she ate for a period of time which resulted in her son’s symptoms. With Airplane’s high CON and another trope I’m bringing in which’ll have to do with the Medicine King’s Valley/ Valley of the Medicine King, his yellow eyes are the only side effect that lingered from that traumatic event which would have killed him had they gotten away with their scheme. A lot of palace dramas have to do with the vicious harem plots, so this would potentially be one such example.) The reason being that this is the identifying marker for MBJ to clue in that they’re the same man he will have loved. And I think that has romantic potential.

Misc.

Now addressing the other tags, yes, essentially speaking, Mobei jūn might just very well experience his very own Big Damn Reunion trope that Bing mèi had suffered from SVSSS. Poor MBJ. He’s in a tumultuous ride of his own with him considering Airplane as his own fated person, hahaha. But for the Moshang dynamic, I want him—a demon—to find himself taken with Airplane in his mortal guise—and subsequently his true celestial appearance once he finds out. I very much also want SY to jokingly snark to his fellow transmigrator-and-writing-colleague about him getting in a relationship with his own “creation” (MBJ). And Airplane would jokingly snark back about SY “ruining his ‘first son’ as well” (LBG). If you can read between the lines of that, then kudos. I’m glad to hear you’re looking forward to the palace intrigue.

I’m especially very happy to hear you’re looking forward to the descriptions! I personally love worldbuilding in the stories I consume I’m an interior designer and realtor irl, so I’m glad my love of house details and landscape, etc shows in TUT. For the pseudohistorical vibe, in the Mortal Realm, I will be referencing the Forbidden City of our Chinese history and a couple popular period C-dramas. Take the settings of period C-dramas like Ruyi’s Royal Love in the Palace, Yanxi Palace, and Nirvana in Fire as examples for what will be awaiting us when we finally meet Airplane in his mortal body. In the Heavenly Realm, the descriptions will be heavily referencing shows that contain aesthetics such as those of Ashes of Love, Love and Redemption, and Eternal Dream.

Take this with a grain of salt just in case I change my mind later on, but in the chapter when we meet Airplane for the first time, I probably won’t say which character he is in the first scene. I’ll give plenty of hints in the first scene so that you all can make your guesses before the big reveal, but I’m fairly confident you all or most of you will be able to pinpoint who he is among the cannon fodders. We’ll meet the emperor, who is discussing with his sons about the matter regarding the approaching calamity that is Luo Binghe. Then when we transition into the second scene, we’ll know exactly which “royal prince OC” it is that our beloved Airplane has transmigrated into, hahaha.

(*Keep in mind, for everything written above, some details are subject to change. Nothing is official until it appears in the story, or I’ve actually drawn my ideas out and posted online to both my tumblr and twitter. These are just my current thoughts.)

A goal of mine for TUT is to make the story widely accessible, meaning it doesn’t matter if the reader is new to the SVSSS fandom or aren’t familiar with the Easter egg references or meta jokes or subtext or even the Chinese culture, or even if English is not their first language. Having knowledge beforehand might help someone notice more hidden details in TUT, yes, but it is a humble wish of this writer for her esteemed readers to be able to dive into the story and get the enjoyable feeling like they’re reading a genuine danmei novel. It really makes me smile whenever I hear feedback that I am able to emulate that experience.

Very exciting developments indeed are in store!

#svsss #bingyuan #moshang #mobei jun #bingqiu #the scum villain's self saving system #the untold tale #phoenixtakaramono #phoenix talks #ask #averydrearydiana #technically not an ask #but i like to categorize it there #it’s very much like we have 2 forbidden romances ay?#There is so much I wanted to reply back to #so just know I read them all #and treasured everything you wrote in your tags #there will indeed be a transmigrator reveal bt SY and Airplane #to their bfs they can only come so close #SY will come REALLY close but of course the System will filter his words #so SPOILER ALERT an example would be SY saying I remember things in my past life clearly #In Chinese reincarnation mythos you don’t typically keep memories of any of your past lives #in some tales and C-dramas you basically drink a potion/ cup of forgetfulness to wipe your memory #before you are allowed to reincarnate into your next life etc #ah yes war strategist SY will make plenty more appearances in TUT lololol #I love your tag about LBH showing off the pelt and being like LoOk At WhAt My Bf GaVe Me aka My Bf iS BeTtEr ThAn YoUr Bf/Gf #the scene when Airplane finds out his fellow transmigrator has screwed him over will be one for the history books #meaning I will derive so much amusement from it but we will be nice and help him escape the brunt of LBH’s malice #MBJ connecting through dots will be fun too bc HeY tHiS iS mY bAe JuNsHaNg #Jūnshàng meaning the Great Exalted One aka replacing Huangshang aka emperor

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klbwriting · 3 years

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Pirate’s Heart - Chapter 1

Perfect Color, or Not

Fandom: Six of Crows

Pairing: Kaz/female!Reader

Warning: so this chapter is pretty dark, Kaz’s backstory is dark and there is suggestion of sexual assault but it is not described

Song: Perfect Color - Safety Suit

Taglist: @sixofshadowandbone @thedelusionreaderbitch @itsemy01 @angelicdanvers @marinettepotterandplagg @screen-to-stage @aysegust @sagewrites111 @lilyoflower @hey-peeps @starjane312 @spawn0fsatan @myalupinblack

Yellow nice to meet you

Do you know that you just blue my mind?

It was the perfect conversation, I think that I red about one time

And I told a white lie when I told you, I've never been green with envy you

You are the perfect color

The song would not get out of Y/N's head and she hated it. Pekka sang it to her about her tail all the time. And she hated Pekka Rollins. Well hated him as much as she could without a heart. Why was she thinking so much anyway? Wasn't she sleeping? Why was she moving and why did she hear voices? She groaned, eyes slowly opening to see two teenage girls standing above her. They were gazing at her with curious eyes and she tried to wipe her own eyes, only to find her wrists were tied to the table she was laying on.

"She's awake Nina," she said a girl with bronze skin and dark hair.

"I can see that Inej," the other girl, creamy white skin with brown hair and freckles. Nina was light eyed while Inej had dark eyes, and both girls were fourteen, maybe fifteen years old. How long had she been asleep? It couldn't have been that long, she didn't feel any older. She turned her head, finding a mirror on a table nearby and seeing that she didn't look older, only dirty.

"Where am I?" she asked. She knew she was on a boat, she could feel the sea moving them, but how did she get there? She was in the jungle before, bleeding, stabbed where her heart should have been.

“You’re on the Menagerie,” the one called Nina said. Inej tried to shush her and Y/N could hear footsteps nearby.

“What have you girls brought me?” a beautiful blond woman asked, entering the room. She was dressed in fine silks with an intricate peacock feather tattoo on her face, making her look almost like an animal herself. Y/N felt a very strange pang of fear, dulled by her lack of heart, but she felt it enough to worry about this woman.

“Tante Heleen, we found her in the jungle when we were hunting,” Inej explained, her eyes downcast. Y/N was fast learning that this woman was not to be trifled with, but she didn’t care. She wanted out of these bindings and she would do what she needed to survive.

“My, my, she is filthy, we will have to clean her up, get me the sponge and some water,” she demanded. Nina did as asked, and Heleen started to clean her face. “Not particularly special in the face, homely and plain. Face too round for most men…eyes are dark but not special, lips are too pale will need color,” the woman continued, cleaning down her body and commenting on everything. Breasts were too small, stomach too round, hips too wide, legs… She stopped at her legs, staring in shock as the bright scales that still dotted her thighs. They were remnants of her tail in case she ever got it back. Heleen demanded Inej get a message out at the port for the commander, they had something special for him.

“What is it Tante?” Inej asked. The look Heleen sent her made Inej run. Y/N was becoming very aware of how this ship worked. Heleen was a captain of some kind of pleasure vessel and all these poor young girls were stuck here attending to the men who paid for them. Y/N was disgusted, and she could see from the look on the woman’s face that she was going to be the centerpiece of some kind of show for this commander. Like hell she would have another man touch her without her permission. Y/N looked around the room and realized she would need to wait for her time to arrive. She started to pretend to be scared, her acting not very good, it had been a long time since she’d been around anyone and Heleen saw right through it.

“O now, I see, you’re fearless are you?” she asked, a snake like smile on her face. “Well, let’s get you dressed and shackled. The commander will want us to report back to Argoes immediately.” Y/N’s eyes narrowed. Like hell she was going anywhere near Argoes, not when Pekka was going to probably be there. She would bide her time, wait for a moment to strike. Y/N may have been a lovestruck mermaid but she was also a rare tail, trained to defend herself. She knew things were different with legs but her upper body defensive maneuvers should be the same.

Heleen had her hands shackled and took her to a room full of clothes, dresses in bright colors, silk, and lace. Nina had followed, listening as the captain listed items for her to retrieve. While they were distracted by clothes Y/N slid a hat pin into her hand, starting to work the cuffs. Humans learned many things about mermaids and nearly none of them were true. The idea that they were stupid, unable to function at the same level mentally as humans, they were underestimating Y/N right now and she was pleased.

The child, Nina approached her, getting her dressed. Y/N saw the girl look at the hat pin, saw the shackles were no longer together and instead of outing her the girl said nothing. Y/N smiled, she would let the girl live whenever she killed Heleen. She wasn’t a monster, at least, she didn’t think she was. Heartless or not she wasn’t going to kill a child who was clearly being used by adults for terrible things.

“Let me cut this string…” Nina said, moving to a dressing table and taking a pair of scissors and moving back to Y/N. She cut a pretend string and slid the scissors into the sleeve of the dress she wore. Their eyes met and an understanding crossed between them. Y/N would kill Heleen, take this ship, and then she would take care of these children. No more powerful men were going to use these babies for their own pleasure again.

Heleen took her above, walked her to the side of the ship. Y/N looked around, all the crew, everyone, was a child except for one man who seemed to be the muscle on this craft. All young girls of various ages, some as young as 7. Y/N felt bile rising in her throat as she looked in the eyes of some of them, their eyes were much older than they should have been. She looked at Nina and motioned for her to fall back a little bit. Nina took two steps back and sat down on the deck. Heleen turned to face the mermaid as she stood, pointing to the island in the distance.

“Now, when we arrive at Argoes…” she didn’t finish her statement. Y/N sunk the scissors into Heleen’s eye, digging in as deep as she could. She pulled them back out, feeling the blood on her face but not letting the warmth distract her. As soon she killed Heleen the man came storming over, lumbering a large. Good. Y/N ducked down, sliding under him and kicking out her leg. He ran into it, nearly snapping it in half as he faltered, trying to balance. For a moment she thought he would regain his footing and come for her but then Inej and Nina came out of nowhere and pushed him, sending him toppling over the side of the ship and into the sea. Y/N stood up, rubbing her knee as she leaned to the rail of the ship.

“Well, I’m sorry you had to see that…” she started. Nina and Inej just shrugged and the rest of the girls on the ship looked at her. She felt her soul ache for these children and realized maybe her soul could harness strong emotions, but it still didn’t feel completely real, still dulled by her lack of heart. O well, she would protect these children, make them into a force a nature, show the world that they were more than just a body to warm a bed.

“Come on, let’s push her over,” Inej said so some of the older girls, moving to Heleen’s body. Y/N held out an arm.

“No, you are children, you shouldn’t be disposing of dead bodies, you shouldn’t even be touching them,” she said. “Get the ship ready, we are sailing for any port except Argoes.” She struggled but finally tossed Heleen’s body to the sea. Turning she sought out Inej.

“Inej love, did you send that message like Heleen asked?” Y/N asked, gently touching the girl’s face. Inej shook her head. “Good. Now, you and Nina are my first mates alright? So, where have you always wanted to go?”

Kaz Rietveld didn’t know how long he had been on that boat in the middle of the ocean. He didn’t know what day it was, what time, all he knew was that he was starving and so very thirsty. Sitting in all this water was making it worse. He had tried seawater, even knowing that it would do nothing but make him sick, but he had been desperate. God, is this how he died? 15 years old and in the middle of the cursed ocean. Fucking hell. He should have just let his uncle know he was alive when he had the chance, but instead he had hid, never wanting to go back to that horrid fortress. But instead, he was just going to die here. O well, what really was his life worth anyway, crippled leg from a botched escape with his brother when he was 11 and now, well now he was broken entirely. He knew that the moment they got on that boat, but he had gone anyway.

He was laying down, ready to die, when the water moved, waves hitting the boat harder than before. He sat up and looked seeing a pirate vessel flying the black colors approaching. He knew this was his only chance. Kaz could die in this boat or he could try his best at getting on that boat. He waved his arms, screaming at the top of his voice. He thought they were just going to pass but then a rope ladder was dropped down the side as they pulled up next to him. He scrambled up the ladder and dropped on the deck, panting.

“Water…please…” he begged. The men around him smiled, looking like they had found a present. One of the men handed him a cup and he drank before spitting out the burning drink. Whiskey, not water. The pirates laughed at him and he saw a few cabin boys standing by, looking fearful of him. No, not of him, for him. Kaz realized that he may have escaped one prison and wound up in another. The spirit of the sea witches clearly wanted revenge on his entire family. Taking his parents before he could remember them wasn’t enough, claiming his brother wasn’t enough, now he was stuck here. Fine. If the sea wanted a war, he would give it one.

For the first six months of his time aboard the Crow he was a cabin boy, but just in name. Truly he was whatever the other men wanted him to be. He was relieved when they brought aboard women for a week or two when he could just be a normal cabin boy. Unless the women liked him too. He noticed the two other cabin boys clung to each other, Jesper and Wylan, keeping each other as safe as they could. One of the crew, an honorable ex-navy captain named Matthias also tried his best to protect them. He often would give sleeping drafts to the crew to give the boys a night to themselves, but even he could only do so much.

Kaz waited, biding his time until the captain himself wanted a visit. Then he put the plan he had with Jesper, Wylan, and Matthias into action.

Matthias put the poison in the crews dinner, which they ate at 6PM before moving to do night work on the vessel. They were all dead before 6:30. The captain ate his dinner at 7PM so Wylan stayed in his cabin, distracting him by being a bumbling fool and getting a severe punishment for it. Kaz would have felt bad but he didn’t know if he was capable of feeless anymore. Jesper brought dinner to the captain and helped a bloody Wylan out of the cabin. Kaz slid in as they left and stood, watching the captain as he ate his meal.

“Come here boy, I want a better look at you, want to see what all the fuss among the crew is about,” he said. Kaz swallowed the sick in his throat and approached, letting the captain touch him, roughly feeling his hands on him. Then the coughing started and Kaz let out a breath of relief. The captain clutched his throat as his airways closed and soon he was dead at Kaz’s feet.

With the help of the others Kaz had the crew overboard and they headed towards a port far from Argoes to gather a new crew using the money the captain had stashed in a vault in his office. The four of them argued over who would be captain but Kaz won out, being the only one truly willing to kill for the title. He decided that as soon as he got to port it was time to reinvent himself. Kaz Rietveld was no more. It was time to take a new name and become something else.

#six of crows #kaz brekker x reader #kaz x reader #kazbrekker #kaz brekker #kaz #pirates heart series #pirate kaz brekker

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du0tine · 3 years

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༄𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐀༄

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄: 5.3K 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 | 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐖!

prominent use of bad language. mentions of people hooking up and using drugs but no explicit description, there is no smut in this prologue but are some light suggestive scenes. description of a drug overdose, drug intoxication and hallucinations. mentions of candy flipping: the use of MDMA and LSD combined. main character death and resurrection. graphic imagery. light mentioning of religious anecdotes.

viewer discretion is advised.

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄:

THIS IS THE FIRST PART TO THE PROLOGUE!

at the end of the second prologue you may choose a route that will lead you to one of the four stories with either:

na jaemin, jung jaehyun, wong yukhei or xiao dejun.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

@stayinzencity @prettyjaems @hunjins @neonun-au @bumblebeenct @neojaems + there may have been more people but i kinda forgot to write them down sorry! lmk if you would like to be added. just let me know which member’s route, you can choose as many as you’d like.

It was all too confined.

Sweaty bodies aggressively shoving against each other in the mosh pit. People falling from side to side, crushing each other as they flailed their bodies around. The smell of DMT lingered in the air clouding your thoughts ever so slightly, tinging your mind with a light haziness. As the vibrant, disco lights blinded you, making your sight kaleidoscopic. You were seeing double and it didn’t help since it served as the only source of light in this underground club. You were pretty sure that had you not been so painfully sober and not shit faced drunk you would’ve been pressed against the club’s dirty floor next to some girls abandoned, dirty thong with people jumping on top of you, crushing your body.

It was hopeless. You’d lost sight of your friends from the moment you got into this dreaded hole of sweaty bodies, quite literally being engulfed by the ocean of people. Your body felt like a pulp, compressed and sweaty, falling apart at the seams. Even your feet were terribly blistered since your toes began to sink further down, your heels pressing uncomfortably against the leather material. Scanning the crowd, you desperately look for an exit to find the bathroom. Of course, you weren’t expecting it to be any better. There would most likely be people hooking up or doing drugs in the empty stalls but you’d at least expect less people inside and more space to just collect yourself and find your friends since there was no way you could just leave. The lineup was almost an hour long and the bouncer wasn’t going to let you in twice.

Finally you spot the broken LED sign that held the exit sign. It’s hues sparking above the crowd, omitting an array of bright colours that mostly alternated between red and blue. Overjoyed, you roughly shove people out of your way, getting shoved back a few times in return but overall, the heavy traffic pushed you closer to the exit and finally you were met with a dimly lit, long corridor. It was rather empty except for the few clusters of people either nearly fucking on the spot or passed out on the floor.

Carefully, navigating your way through the hallway you almost slip on some dark yellow vomit. Your heels squelching against the ground as you mentally cringe feeling disgusted. Nearly yelling out loud at the person who’d thrown up but much to your dismay they were long gone with their face against the floor, eyes shut tight. Roughly dragging the scuff of your shoe against the floor you wipe the putrid substance off before continuing your march through the hallway of hell.

The further you went, the darker it got and you were starting to think you’d come the wrong way. There was no bathroom. Hell, there wasn’t even an exit; it was just a dingy, dark hallway with absolutely no end. As you continued downwards you start to feel uneasy, almost as if there was someone watching you. With each and every step away from the dance floor you hear the music become more and more faint, the sound of the bass thumping lightly along with the sound of the crowd almost disappearing. Soon enough it became painfully silent, the only noise that bounced against the walls of the corridor were your own and they omitted from the clapping of your heels that clacked against the cold floor.

One, two, three, four steps and you start to hear double. Stopping in place, you’re met with a silence. It’s just you and this hallway you think to yourself before taking a few more steps ahead and then hearing it again. It was definitely the sound of someone’s shoes, ones besides yours. Perhaps, someone was following you? You weren’t sure. In fact, you were just too scared to turn your head around and take a look back mostly because something deep inside you warned you not to look back. Maybe there was something about how anxious this place made you feel.

As a result, it made your head spin, the vertigo making you feel nauseous as you struggled to even keep marching forwards through this endless abyss of a walkway.

Nonetheless, you push yourself to keep moving ahead. Forcing yourself to think that the further you went, the faster the bathroom would appear. A doorway that would you lead into a disgusting, nasty as hell bathroom filled with people from the club. This illusion you fed yourself forced you into a sense of false comfort as you tried your best to fight the urge to look back and keep moving.

Your mission was to reach the bathroom because you knew that you’d be safe then. Despite not even knowing what followed you, you kept your vision dead straight ahead becoming so focused you failed to realize how the walls around you twisted and contorted. The chipped paint started to come alive developing a pulse, beating as if it was alive like flesh inside the body of a human. Something that never saw the light of life until given the opportunity to do so and right now it was tearing itself apart stripping itself, revealing the grimy, almost ghastly white woodwork behind it as its paint wilted at your feet. Hypnotized you kept moving forward as the sound of those dreaded footsteps got closer and closer.

Clack, clack, clack it rang through your ears. Echoing through your eardrums and spiralling through your mind. The paranoia ate away at your sanity, it replaced all senses of feeling and thinking with fear and ignorance. You ignored how your mind screamed at you to turn back and stop going forward in fear of what lay ahead. Instead you listened to how your body forced you to place one foot right in front of the other and march straight into your doom.

Finally, you see an exit. A doorway that stands there perfectly still, illuminated around its perimeter with a bright mix of red and blue. You feel yourself fall at ease as you pick up your pace practically racing for the door as you hold a hand out eager to feel the cold, brass doorknob around your sweaty palms. The distance between you and the door close with each step that you take but so does the sound of those dreaded feet behind you. With merely a few inches between you and the door, you feel a gush of hot wind against your neck. Its someones breath.

It feels like your whole body falls into a frenzy, a complete panicking mess. As you finally grip onto the door knob giving it a rapid turn, twisting it with everything you had within you and yet, nothing. It doesn’t budge. Rather simply it stands there silently mocking you as you tug at the door. Your movements only becoming more violent when you feel someones hand atop your shoulder. Goosebumps erupt across your skin, decorating it like grains of sand, the granules sitting coldly atop your body. It surges through your frame and shoots up your spine as the hairs on the back of your neck stand up in shock.

“Going somewhere?” Questions the voice as you freeze in place. Your objective of getting the hell out momentarily pausing as you feel eerily intrigued by the voice. Who could it be? The voice was almost incoherent and yet, it held a tone that would perhaps come from a man. The vibrations from its voice made the shivers that stood at the top of your spine come tumbling back down onto your tall bone as you shudder in response. Just who exactly was this? You had to find out. After all, there was no going back now.

Mustering the very little courage that you had within the pits of your stomach, you tense up. Your muscles restricting themselves making your movements very slow as you take your time turning around. Your eyes glued to the ground, staring at the floor and only just realizing how it jiggled underneath you, almost as if you were standing on top of jello. It’s checkered black and white tiles moving around as you pivot, the toes of your feet sinking in ever so slightly.

You know you’re facing the figure when you see a pair of sleek, perfectly polished mens dress shoes in front of you. The gloss that radiants from the black shoes almost blind you as you can’t help but momentarily look away staring at your own feet that were beginning to sink deeper into the translucent, gelatine floor. Your heels doing nothing more but piercing into the meaty layer beneath you.

“My gosh, you’re so fucking high,” Snickers the voice as you snap your head upwards. Contorting your eyebrows in confusion as you quickly retort their observation, “I am not!”

As the words abruptly leave your mouth you can’t help but feel like you’ve had the wind knocked out of you. In front of you stands a masked man, dressed in a black suit that you could just tell was fabricated with the finest materials and by a crafted tailor no less. The tufts of his hair rotate between the colours of silver, an auburn brown, black and yellow blonde. The mask that adorns his face is plain white, with no slits for eyes nor a mouth leaving you astonished as to how exactly could this masked figure see but you don’t speak the thoughts of your mind. Almost as if you knew that questioning him would lead nowhere.

Instead you continue to gawk at him with your eyes wide, pupils extremely dilated. Your fruity lips drifted apart as you momentarily forget to breath. Slowly you watch as he brings a hand forward to rest on your cheek. Not even realizing how hot and flustered you were until you feel his cold hand caress your skin. He’s gentle as he continues to observe you. Making you feel like a delicate flower in the grasps of a strong being, one wrong move and you could be crushed.

“I’m not high,” Are the words that flutter past your lips once more as you stare at him, your thoughts are in a daze. You can’t even think straight as he lets out a laugh.

“Sure you aren’t. In fact you totally didn’t spend the night candy flipping for nothing, you’ve called upon me and that’s…pretty sweet. The taste of death, reward of the afterlife,” He replies, his fingers leaving your soft cheek and moving towards the locks of your hair as he runs his fingers through them, combing it gently ridding it of its knots.

“Death? I’m sorry what?” You question as you snap out of your thoughts pushing his hand away from yourself as you look around you. Nothing looked normal, the hallway seemed to replicate one from the inside of a twisted funhouse, except this was all but fun. As the realization of being somewhere that you don’t belong in hits you, you begin to panic. The fear settling in at the pit of your stomach, clouding your thoughts as your surroundings begin to darken. Everything seems to take a turn for worse as the floor beneath you continues to cave in faster and faster. Soon you find yourself knee deep staring in horror at the man in front of you, desperately you reach out your hand begging him to pull you up, to save you.

“You’re mistaken! I’m not dead, I was just fine. Perfectly sober in fact!” You shriek out absolutely horrified as you grip onto the jacket of his suit. You’re now thigh deep and sinking in faster. Calmly he holds your hand with his before bringing his other hand and placing it atop your head once more.

“I’m afraid you are dead. Having overdosed in the reckless amount of MDMA and LSD you consumed, eager to reach that ecstasy. That feeling of being in a euphoric state of mind, the bliss coursing through your veins only to be crushed by the mindless bodies of those whom you once danced with, then dragged out by your very own friends. Only to be left alone in the corridor soaked in your vomit.”

Deadpanned, the realization hits you hard. You really were dead and in fact, you’d walked past your very own dead body twice. Astonished and feeling completely drained you look up at the man with sorrowful eyes. This time you don’t speak as you stare at him with oceans in your gaze, the tears seeping from the ducts of your lifeless eyes as they fall down your now stone cold cheeks. You’re now waist deep into the ground as you continue to sink further down with nothing left to say.

“You’ll have a second shot, if you make things right,” He says before using his body weight and strength to push your body down into the ground with his hand. Eyes widening in shock you scream in horror as he submerges you completely, engulfing your voice in the floor beneath as everything swallows you alive and falls black.

It feels like you’re floating, your body is essentially weightless as you drift around in the dark mindlessly. You simply exist with no burdens atop your shoulders, no responsibilities and no sins. Your mind is a clean slate and it feels like you’re swimming around, sauntering inside a dark womb. Everything that surrounds you is inexplicable and unknown but it makes itself present. It’s a cold comfort. Perhaps, this is what it’s like to be dead. No hell, no heaven, simply a dark void. A looming and mysterious abyss where you’re overcome by nothing more except peace and eternal silence.

The silence is short as you suddenly feel a large pressure against your body. An unknown force dawning its mass, crushing you as your senses abruptly flutter awake. You begin to feel more confined, your surroundings no longer providing comfort but working against you. Slowly the unknown force begins to coat your body, covering every nook and cranny with its substance. Rubbing against your skin, grinding with pressure. Its the feeling of small, tiny granules but perhaps millions of them. Though this time it isn’t exactly goosebumps, no longer a natural phenomenon that occurs as a reaction in the human body. Instead, it seems to be sand as it works its way around your figure, engulfing you. Making you feel as if you’re caught inside an hourglass with no way to go but down. The sensation is suffocating as you catch particles of the sand inside your mouth, drying up your taste buds. Its objective is to swallow you whole and consume your existence with itself.

There is no longer any zen. The pulsations that once lingered through mind, body and soul is now gone and replaced with another kind of awakening. One that is urgent, one that screams for you to get out. In desperation you begin to panic, flailing your arms around. Your movements are drastically slower than you expect with the heavy sand slowing your momentum. With one arm in front of the other you swim your way through the sand, clawing your way out of the dark, pushing away from the suction that holds you down. You don’t stop until you feel the light breeze of what seems to be air brushing past your fingertips.

You’ve partially reached the surface. The adrenaline is now coursing through your veins, pumping through your heart with such speed. It feels like your heart is ready to burst through your ribcage at any given moment. But you don’t stop fighting against the quicksand until you’re met with the nights sky, seeing how the constellations are littered upon its dark blue canvas. Your eyes twinkle in the moonlight as you gasp for air, spitting out any of the remnants of sand that linger inside your mouth. Hacking rather loudly as you exhale the sand and inhale in the sweet air.

Mustering the last bit of energy that remains inside of you, you pull your torso out of the sand. The lower half of your body are next to follow as you flop onto the ground and onto your back. The scene is one that someone may have seen in a zombie movie, the undead coming back to life crawling their way out of their graves. Their resting place no longer sufficient. Reborn they quench for the thirst of human flesh except for you, you’re thirsty for life. To live again is all you wish for and you’ve been granted exactly that. Having been given the chance of taking another shot at this cruel game of life. Unbeknownst to you, you’re willing to do whatever it takes to make this permanent.

Gazing up at the nights sky you’re blown away at the sight. The sticky situation of being buried alive is no longer relevant having been replaced with the beauty of the world. Bringing forward a hand you hold it up towards the sky, holding it in reference next to the moon. Like porcelain, you shine. The flesh of your skin is soft and supple like a newborn baby, everything about you is new. You’re no longer dead but instead given the chance to take host in this new vessel. The body is still yours, it is you but it’s new and improved. There are no signs of your old body, no vomit seeping past your lips tainting your skin. Your bones are perfectly intact with no signs of damage, there is no wear and tear, everything seems to be working perfectly fine. All that remains is the black Saint Laurent minidress that you wore that night, in its pristine condition.

Sitting upwards you observe your surroundings before dusting the sand off of your body and proceeding to stand up. The landscape is rather vast and covered in nothing but sand. However, it seems like you’ve dug yourself out from the side of a sand dune. The tall hill that sits proudly behind you seems like a good idea to climb. Perhaps there will be more to see at the top, a perfect vantage point. Standing upwards you quickly start climbing, your feet dragging into the sand causing you to fall on your face a couple times but nonetheless you reach the top and what lies in front of you takes your breath away.

It’s a bustling city, lit up by street lanterns and filled with people. It glows in the dark, radiating the silhouettes of its architectural elements. The tall and looming arabesque styled buildings make you feel tiny in comparison. As it draws you in, it doesn’t even look real. Perhaps, this was all a mirage. None of this could be real, you could just be in a state of delusion having just dug yourself out of a hole in the ground but nonetheless you feel hypnotized completely captured by the beauty what lay ahead. In a trance you make your way towards the city.

Your eyes don’t leave the landscape. Admiring how despite how late it seemed, the people were just as lively. The closer you got, the louder the sounds of the city came alive. The place was surrounded by the desert except for the large port docked with multiple ships to the left of the city where it stretched out onto a large body of water. Perhaps, it led out to the seas? You didn’t know. This place seemed almost mythical like a story coming to life, none of it felt real until you found yourself standing in the middle of it all, walking through its streets.

As you wandered around you were met with the confused stares of its citizens as they all gawked at you. Taking one look at yourself and back at them you soon realized you weren’t dressed like they were. The people of the city were adorned in different types of silk garments, light enough to withstand the heat of the dessert but strong enough to protect from the winds at night. Meanwhile you wore something that just seemed skimpy in comparison to their clothing, it made it obvious you weren’t from here.

Ignoring their stares you continue to wander around following the crowds of people. All of which seemed to be heading in one particular direction straight into the upper north side of the city. Up north stood a perfectly, coral white palace that overlooked the city. One that perhaps resembled the Taj Mahal but exceeded in size and was much more grandiose. Strung up in what looks like an assortment of lights it glistens brightly. People fluttering into the palace through its big gates but not just anyone. The people granted access inside were dressed elegantly and much more expensive than the average citizen.

Just what exactly lay ahead? You had to find out.

Stopping a random lady in her path you quickly question her about what lies ahead. After receiving a rather annoyed look from her she’s quick to give you a snarky reply, “We’re celebrating the success of the Jung Family. Their son has gratefully claimed our land back from those filthy pirates.”

“The Jung family? Pirates?” You question out loud as she looks at you stunned. Quickly you change the tone of your reply when you see her squinting her eyes at you in suspicion. Rapidly repeating yourself and fixing your mistake, “Oh yeah! The Jung family! And those pesky little pirates huh?!”

The women simply rolls her eyes in response before quickly scurrying up ahead not wanting to be bothered by your horrible facade. You watch as she walks past the guards and inside leaving you behind. Standing in the outdoor lobby, your feet are cold and perhaps rather grimy against the polished marble floors as you debate whether or not to go inside. It seemed like there was a definite possibility they wouldn’t allow you indoors but maybe going inside would provide you answers on where exactly you were. Taking a deep breath you stride towards the gates, not making any eye contact with the guards.

You maybe get a foot into the palace before you’re stopped and roughly thrown back out.

“No beggars allowed inside.”

Contorting your eyebrows in confusion you look at the guards with disbelief. Here you stood dressed in something that definitely cost more than what someone else was wearing and yet you were denied access inside. Before you could lash out at the guards for being so rough you remember these people aren’t bouncers, in fact it looked like they were from a whole other time period.

This only proved just how out of place you were and you weren’t going anywhere unless you found a change of clothes or somehow snuck inside. Standing back where you once stood with the guards glaring at you, your eyes wander the palace looking for a way in. Glancing at every potential entry point, you scan the entire perimeter. Finally coming to the conclusion that every square inch of the building seemed impossible to penetrate through unseen and with the last few posh citizens piling inside and the gates slamming shut you felt hopeless.

Here you were in a city you didn’t recognize. A place that looked like the Atlantis of the sands, something out of a mythological book with nowhere to go. Just as you turn around to leave the palace something catches your eye. Within the corner of your peripheral vision you see a figure dart in the near distance, whipping your head in that direction just in time to see a young man climb through a window. His silver hair whipping through the wind. One moment he’s there and the next he’s not.

For a moment you decide that maybe this isn’t worth it. Sneaking in couldn’t promise anything but if it did, the reward would probably be huge. Either that or it held huge consequences. Standing there you debate on whether or not you should go and when you remember the words of the man who’d greeted your soul that night his words speak to you once more.

‘You’ll have a second shot, if you make things right.’

Perhaps, this city you were thrown into meant something. A sign of the afterlife? Maybe something that held significant importance? After all, he was the one who’d transferred you here and granted you this new vessel and it seemed to be pretty clear to you by now that everything happens for a reason. Being granted this temporary second shot at life seemed too good to be true but it seemed like there’d be a price to pay if you didn’t accomplish what you were sent for. The only question was, what was it that you needed to do? Glancing at the window you watch as it blows the gold curtains from inside, fluttering it out in the wind. The entryway was almost signalling you inside. The silver haired man from before must have recklessly left it open.

Taking that as your signal, you run towards the opening. Quickly hoisting yourself up onto the window sill and before slipping inside, you hesitate. All that echoes through your mind is your subconscious screaming at you to just go for it, you do exactly that thinking,

“Fuck it. What’s the worst that could happen, dying twice?”

Like an absolute moron you tumble into the room colliding rather loudly with the hard floor. The whole idea of staying quiet and unseen seemed to be impossible for you to accomplish. Turning around you reach for the doors of the window thinking that at least covering your tracks would help. Just as your fingers brace against the metallic framing of the handle you’re stopped in your tracks.

“Hey,” Calls out someone. The tone of the voice isn’t commanding but instead rather friendly. Looking downwards, you’re met with a rather tall man. His black hair is sleeked back in a hairstyle, two small braids hanging from the side of his scalp. His dark , obsidian orbs are staring right back at you as you gawk at him like a deer caught in the headlights. Clad in the same attire as everyone else you simply brush him off, quickly reaching for the knob and trying to slam it shut in fear of being caught. Only to have your movements halted when his large hand makes contact with your wrist.

“Leave the window open will you?” He asks as the corners of his mouth stretch into a rather playful grin.

“What? Why don’t you just go through the gate like everyone else?” You ironically retort as you attempt to shake his grip off with no success.

“What if I don’t belong here?” He questions. Raising his eyebrows rather theatrically as you freeze on the spot, “Just like you.” With those words you’re quick to release the knob and he’s just as quick to release his grip. He’d clearly been watching you and you were absolutely clueless as to just exactly how long.

The encounter is quick to set off your fight or flight instinct as you make a run for the door, trying to get as far away as possible from the window. Only to be stopped by the same man from before, plummeting to the floor merely inches away from freedom. He rolls you onto your back as he straddles your body, his weight doesn’t crush you in pain but he’s certainly applying pressure and it doesn’t feel great. Using one of his hands to hold both of yours above your head making you essentially defenceless as you try and kick him off with no result.

“Let’s just make something clear,” He begins. Slowly leaning in closer and closer towards you, stopping merely inches away from your face and specifically from your lips. His breath is hot against your skin as you inhale the heavy smell of tobacco and light cologne that omits from his body. Despite having nowhere to look but at him, deep down you feel hot. The burning sensation that rests at the pit of your stomach makes butterflies erupt inside. You can’t help but admire just how good looking he is and how dangerous. A combination you always couldn’t resist. Your chest is heaving up and down as you struggle to stay calm, your breath even hitches a couple times as his eyes burn into yours. He’s reading you silently like an open book and you can’t help but feel like this vulnerability is lustrous and you want more.

Slowly his other hand snakes up your torso, starting at your navel and tiptoeing through the valley in between of your breasts, finally stopping at your neck. His movements are agile and it feels like his fingers are dancing upon your skin. He takes his time knowing that he’s got the upper hand and that the ship sails his way, not yours.

Suddenly his hand is wrapped tightly around your neck, gripping the flesh with his slender, calloused fingers. As they press into the sides of your neck skillfully avoiding your windpipe. You’re thankful he isn’t holding you directly down or else he’d probably crush your only main source of breathing. As your vision starts to fall hazy, you’re seeing stars. It’s like peering into the milky way through a telescope looking at the numerous planets and right now you’re looking at Venus. He is beauty, he is mysterious and he is bold. If Venus was a boy it’d be this man hovering above you. Helplessly watching his every movement as he leans down closer gravitating towards your lips before swerving to the left and placing his mouth close to your ear. The situation makes your heart bounce almost as if you’ve just dodged an astroid.

“If you tell anyone about our little encounter, about me. I’ll go out of my way to kill you first and believe me my schedules pretty full,” The tone in his voice is menacing, definitely evoking more fear within you and you can’t help but gargle out a weak agreement in response. This man came to do business and it seemed like he’d barely decided to spare you and he definitely wouldn’t the next time. He must’ve been convinced with your response because you feel his body weight shift away from you. The sounds of his footsteps move towards the door, his weight creaking against the floor boards and just before he leaves, you prop yourself up calling out to him weakly, “W-who are you?”

Slowly he turns around looking down on you, the light from the corridor behind him illuminating his figure. “Let’s just say, I’m not very liked here,” Is his response as he brings a finger up towards his lips, twisting them and playfully and throwing away the make belief key. With that he’s gone, disappearing down the hallway and you can’t help but think of one word and one word only. The exact definition of just exactly who this man was, a pirate. Given tonights circumstances that the lady from before had mentioned, it didn’t look like things were going to end very well in terms of the celebration.

𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑹𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻𝑺 𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑬𝑹𝑽𝑬𝑫 ©︎𝑫𝑼0𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑬

#PART ONE OF THE PROLOGUE!#LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK AND IF YOUD LIKE TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST!#nct #nct 127 #nct dream #wayv #this was shit but I figured I should release SOMETHING #LMK IF U COULD FIGURE OUT WHICH TWO MEMBERS APPEAR FIRST!#nct fanfic #wayv fanfic #nct dream fanfic #nct 127 fanfic #na jaemin x reader #jaehyun x reader #Lucas x reader #xiaojun x reader

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twistedtummies2 · 3 years

Text

Green-Eyed Devil

A silly piece of Sherliam fluffiness; nothing kinky, just sweet foolery. Summary: William James Moriarty always thought that Sherlock Holmes & Dr. Watson made a good pair...but he finds himself getting very jealous over just HOW good a pair they might be.

In Other Words: Liam goes into “jealous boyfriend mode.” ‘Nuff said. :P

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Another busy day in London. People bustled to and fro in the cool, semi-drizzly afternoon’s yellow-gray light. Paupers held out their hats in hopes of alms, while the gentry chattered, unconcerned by the rain pattering onto their umbrellas. Hoofbeats clip-clapped upon the cobblestone streets as carriages and hansom cabs went back and forth, carrying their passengers quickly but carefully through the mild downpour.

One particular carriage turned a corner onto Baker Street: a black carriage, with strange red-tinted lamps on its sides, which matched the dark, blood-colored lining of its inner cushioning, barely visible through the windows of the coach. The same deep red was painted on the wide wagon wheels. It was a nobleman’s coach, something that turned many eyes, as it was rare for a nobleman to hurry along Baker Street. While the road was by no means a slum, it was not one of the grander parts of the city either: a decent middle-class zone. Those who knew the street best smirked, already having a guess as to where the carriage would stop. They were correct...but not for the reasons they expected. In the driver’s seat of the coach was a young man, dressed in a dark blue suit, with a matching tie and hat, and wire-rimmed spectacles upon his fine nose. His blonde hair fluttered at the sides of his head, half-hiding the nasty scar upon his cheek; the only thing that marred his otherwise handsome, youthful face. A pair of strange red eyes which seemed to dimly glow in the shadows of his hat brim stared resolutely onward...until the carriage neared its destination. “Whoa there!” the man in blue called to the twin horses that pulled the carriage, and tugged on the reins, slowing the stallions to a stop. They whinnied softly and shook their heads as the driver tied the reins off, then hopped down from his seat and opened the door to the coach. “Brother William,” he said to the one inside, “We’ve arrived.” There was a pause...then, a lone figure stepped out of the carriage. He was tall and thin, his stance as elegant as his choice of clothes as he adjusted the gray top hat on his head and tucked a silver-topped cane under one arm. He wore a rich brown suit, and white kid gloves; over this was a thick black overcoat. His countenance was almost identical to that of the other man, with the same blonde hair and unusual red eyes...although his eyes glowed much more brightly, and the whole face seemed narrower, sharper, more mature and almost predator-like in shape, while still having a pleasing, downright attractive demeanor. His expression was serene and gentle, magnetic in the way the features were fixed; a cool, effortlessly composed face that seemed unperturbed by the rain, or anything else, for that matter. The lips on the endlessly calm face stretched ever so slightly into a satisfied smile as he saw the address plaque on the door only a few feet away: 221B. “Brother?” The man in brown turned to the man in blue. “Yes, Louis?” he responded, his voice the same practiced, even calm that could be seen on his face; pleasant, yet unbreakable. Louis James Moriarty squirmed a bit; he looked nervous. “Is this really wise?” he asked, and looked to the door as well. “Asking HIM to join you for dinner, I mean.” “Why not? The Cafe de L’Europe serves fabulous suppers.”

“It’s not the food that worries me,” Louis said, somewhat blandly, and gestured with a toss of his head towards the building. “HE, after all, is simply meant to be a part of your game. And if he figures out the truth through frequent contact…” Louis trailed off. William smiled a little wider. “Ah. Are you afraid the White Pawn might take the Black King, Louis?” the man in brown asked, almost teasingly. “That’s part of it, yes,” Louis answered, in a slow, careful way. William let out a puff of amusement through his nose...then reached out with his free hand, placing it on his brother’s shoulder. Louis turned quickly to face him. “Holmes is a powerful piece in our grand puzzle,” William said softly, making sure not to be heard by any passers-by. “One must know the enemy in order to reach the endgame properly. The more I study him, the more I can learn.” He paused, looking towards the door once more. His eyes narrowed as he seemed to peer through the door. “Besides,” he murmured, and his voice quivered ever so faintly with emotion. “I find him interesting. He seems a clever man...and a lucky one.” Louis narrowed his own eyes and said nothing. He paused before speaking again. “William,” he said, and the genius in brown raised an eyebrow at the use of his name as he gave his younger sibling a sidelong glance. “I don’t like it. I really don’t.” “Holmes’ interest in me, or mine in him?” William checked, voice even and seemingly uncaring. “Both,” Louis confessed. “The more time you spend with him, the more dangerous the game becomes.” “The game was always dangerous, Louis,” William said with a light chuckle, and his red eyes twinkled deviously. “Now the game is just more FUN.” “That’s my point,” Louis responded. “You’re literally flirting with trouble; you could be dining with disaster. I know you, brother. Don’t think I didn’t realize what was going on during the train trip to Durham, or the way you smiled when you spoke of his visit to the university.” William’s smile flickered, showing weakness for the first time, though he kept his eyes on the door. “Louis,” he said at length, “I know you’re looking out for what’s best for me. And I appreciate it. I do.” He turned back and smiled to his younger brother. “I will ALWAYS appreciate you, little brother,” he promised, his voice filled with firm meaning. “That is never going to change, no matter what happens in the future - in our plans, between myself and Holmes - you will always be my light. Having said that, I am not the sort of person to allow my emotions to ruin my strategies.” Louis seemed to relax...and a small smile of his own fell onto his face. His cheeks seemed to turn a bit pink. “If you say so,” he said, his own voice a bit shaky, before his eyes hardened again. “But after Enders in January, Hope in February, and the business with Mr. Bonde in March…” He trailed off, taking a deep breath before stiffening his back. “...If he continues to incommode us, I will remove him myself.” William’s smile was affectionate. He nodded. “I would ask no one else to do it, brother,” he said, sounding pleased to hear it...then added, very quietly, seemingly more to himself than to Louis, “I’m not sure I would have the stomach for it now…” There was an awkward pause, which was interrupted by Louis giving a nigh-imperceptible shiver. William perceived it, however. “How thoughtless of me, keeping you standing in the rain!” he smiled anew, and patted his brother on the shoulder. “Why don’t you take the carriage somewhere dry and get yourself a meal? I can take a hansom up to meet you.” Louis nodded and told William where he was going, then drove the carriage off. William watched his brother go, then marched up to the door of the flat house at long last. He could feel the rain speckling his own clothes, and had no desire to be soaked. He took the brass knocker and, without another moment’s hesitation, he knocked upon the door. Almost immediately, he heard footsteps coming to the door...then, a woman - a little older than himself, but not by more than a few years - answered. Her eyes were the color of emeralds, her hair an auburn shade, tied into a bun. She was dressed in a very proper-looking pink tea dress, a cream-colored apron draped over her front. The woman tilted her head slightly as she blinked up at William. “Hello?” she greeted, curiously. “May I help you?” William doffed his hat; the drizzled rain felt cool and soothing on his golden scalp. “Good day,” he greeted, in his most dulcet voice. “My name is William James Moriarty. I am a Professor of Mathematics at Durham University. I take it you are the famous Miss Hudson?” The woman’s cheeks turned almost as pink as her clothes, and she smiled. “Only thanks to Dr. Watson’s stories,” she chuckled, then frowned and mumbled to herself: “I really need to remind him it’s MISS Hudson, not Missus...yet…” She shook herself out of that thought and stepped aside, opening the door wider. “Come in!” she said cheerily. “No need to stand out in the rain!” “Thank you,” Professor Moriarty said with a short, respectful bow of his head, and stepped into the parlor of the flat house. He offered his cane, his hat, and his black overcoat to the landlady-slash-housekeeper, who graciously smiled as she put the items up on a rack… ...Then scowled as Moriarty began to walk across the room towards the stairs. “OI!” she suddenly snapped. William stopped short, eyes wide, a little alarmed...although the carefully constructed evenness of his voice never once gave that away. “What’s the matter, ma’am?” he asked, politely. Miss Hudson took a breath to calm herself. “Nothing, sir, nothing,” she mumbled. “Just...you forgot to wipe your feet on the mat.” William blinked, and looked down at his shoes. He admitted he felt a flutter of embarrassment as he saw he had left rain-soaked footprints on the floor leading up to the staircase. “Oh,” he whispered to himself, and smiled apologetically, his voice as graceful as his movements as he stepped back, retracing his steps carefully, and did so. “My apologies. It quite slipped my mind.” “Never mind,” huffed Miss Hudson. “I’m sorry for snapping at you, Professor, just...at least you LISTEN, unlike that stubborn, skull-wearing…!” She took another breath and sighed. William’s smile became more akin to a smirk. “I take it Mr. Holmes is as trying as Dr. Watson’s publications would lead one to believe?” he puzzled. “No,” Miss Hudson droned. “He’s even WORSE. I’ve never had children, sir, but after Sherlock Holmes, I think I know what it’s like to raise one, and I don’t think it’s fun.” Moriarty chuckled. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he soothed, and cocked his own head. “Is Mr. Holmes in, by the way? May I see him?” “He is, and I suppose that will depend upon Mr. Holmes,” Miss Hudson answered, and stepped in front of the young Professor, leading him back to the stairs. “Not that I imagine he’d have any objections. He speaks of you often, you know.” William paused at the foot of the steps. “Does he now?” he questioned, seemingly more to himself than Miss Hudson, but she answered anyway. “Yes, almost as often as he rambles on about how important tobacco ash is in an investigation,” she mumbled, with a wry chuckle. “He gets so wrapped up in the little things!” “Well, the little things are often the most important,” Moriarty defended as the pair made their way up the stairs to the upper floor of the building. “That’s what he says,” Miss Hudson shrugged. “I’ve never understood it myself, nor how many different types of ashes he claims there are! Something like one hundred different varieties-” “One hundred forty, actually.” Miss Hudson froze on the steps and looked to the Professor, whose uncanny smile never once faltered. He hadn’t sounded like he was bragging or patronizing, he just...said it. “Yes,” she murmured, and nodded slowly. “That’s exactly right, I remember now...have you read that monograph he published?” Moriarty gave one of “his smiles”: the masks of pleasant sweetness where his eyes closed and his lips curved perhaps a little TOO wide to be genuine looks of happiness. “We’ll say yes,” he answered, in a chirping sort of manner. Miss Hudson raised an eyebrow at the cryptic reaction, then shrugged and led Moriarty up the steps. The Professor followed at a polite pace and distance as she approached the door at the top of the stairs, leading into the rooms of her most popular tenant. She knocked on the door, sharply rapping it with her knuckles. “Sherlock!” she called. “Go away!” a voice from the other side of the door called back. William couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath as Miss Hudson flushed with indignation. “What’s that kind of talk for?” she shouted. “You have a client!” “Tell them to go away, too; I’m busy,” was the snorted response. Then came a new voice: milder, more genteel. “Ah, Miss Hudson...ask them if they wouldn’t mind waiting? We won’t be too long, I should think…” “No more than an hour,” added the first voice, and the Professor was almost certain he heard the other voice hiss angrily: “Not helping, Sherlock!” “I don’t mind waiting,” Moriarty said, placidly. And he didn’t; there was no rush to his visitation. Miss Hudson, however, was incensed, and would hear none of it. “Like HELL you will!” she snarled, causing William to quirk his brow at her language before she glared at the door like it was the source of all the trouble in her life. “Sherlock, you cannot keep a gentleman like Mr. Moriarty waiting! He is-” “Mister WHO?!” came the first voice. “Moriarty! Professor Moriarty from Durham!” Miss Hudson answered. Scarcely had she gotten out the last word, however, than the door burst open, and Miss Hudson jumped aside with a yelp as an excited figure all but jumped through the doorway. William’s smile softened and took on a shade of amusement at the sight of Sherlock Holmes, who looked breathless and almost manic, his smile stretched wide across the handsome but angular proportions of his face. His dark blue eyes (which Moriarty noticed were slightly baggier than usual) gleamed as his dark hair - unkempt as ever - sprung out in every direction, from the curlicue cowlick to his untidy ponytail. He was dressed in his usual garb: not the deerstalker and inverness cape the public knew from the illustrations in the Strand, but a dark blue coat and trousers, along with brown leather shoes that had seen better days, and a white shirt with its top button undone. Moriarty couldn’t help but give a passing glance at the glimpse of a strong chest and collarbone that were visible through that partition… The gangly detective grinned widely, as if his whole day had just become a little sunnier, and extended a hand to William - the one that wore his silver skull ring. “LIAM!” he boomed with a jovial laugh. “You couldn’t have come at a better time! I was just about to get started on a chemical experiment, come in, come in!” Before either the Professor or Miss Hudson could stop him, the detective all but dragged the mathematician through the door. Miss Hudson blinked at the closed door after it slammed shut...then sighed and shook her head, before sniffing primly and heading back downstairs. “Mad as a hatter; he always will be,” she muttered. Meanwhile, the Professor brushed himself off briefly as he stood in the entrance area of Sherlock’s flat. Holmes smirked, tucking one hand into his pants pocket, the other scratching his chin as he eyed William critically. “So, Liam...how was your ride over here? You took your own coach, didn’t you?” “Bumpier than I would like, but not too bad,” shrugged William, not at all bothered by how easily Holmes guessed. “Well, with the weather, you might have found the trains easier. Did our case on the Paddington line make you that squeamish?” teased Sherlock. William gave another of “his” smiles. “Perhaps a little,” he lied in a sing-song way. “Ah...how do you know he came in his own coach?” Blue and red eyes turned to look at the third person in the room: another young man, in his twenties - roughly the same age as both the sleuth and the schemer - dressed in an olive-colored jacket and trousers, along with a brown vest, a neat-looking off-white shirt, and a burnt-yellow-colored ascot. His skin was very lightly tanned, his eyes were the same shade as his vest, and his hair was a sort of pale grayish-blonde color. The eyes were very wide and bright, and peered between the two geniuses with curious interest as he stepped closer. “Elementary, My Dear Watson,” Sherlock chimed, and then looked back to Moriarty. “I don’t think you properly got introduced, did you?” William shook his head, and then looked to Watson with a smile, extending a hand. “A pleasure to see you again, Doctor,” the Professor greeted in a warm but casual voice. “William James Moriarty, at your service.” “It’s nice to meet you, officially,” Watson smiled back with a nod, and shook the hand of Professor Moriarty. “John H. Watson. Thank you, by the way, for helping Sherlock with the Hawthorne case.” “Oh, please,” Moriarty chuckled, lifting his other hand in a dismissive gesture. “Say nothing of it. I’m simply glad I could help an innocent person and see a criminal brought to justice. It was exciting, playing detective, really. I’m surprised you didn’t publish that one.” “Sherlock talked me out of it,” admitted Watson, and gave an accusing look at the detective. Holmes shrugged. “It was a simple case. Too simple, too quick,” he said, boredly. “You two were the only things that made it interesting. I figured your adoring readers would like something more interesting.” “Sure they would,” Watson muttered, then looked back to Moriarty, huge eyes burning with interest. “Now...about your ride here...do you know how he guessed it?” “He didn’t guess it,” insisted Moriarty. “He DEDUCED it, Doctor. And I think I know.” “Oh?” Holmes spoke up, and smiled challengingly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Prove it. Go on, Liam, what were the clues?” “Three clues, really: it was all a question of sight, recollection, and smell.” “Huh?” Watson spoke up, brow furrowing in curiosity. “What do you mean?” “First, recollection,” Moriarty explained, and began counting off the points on his fingers. “Mr. Holmes knows I live in Durham. To say that’s a bit of a walk from here is an understatement, and I do not own a bicycle. So there was no other way to get here beyond covered transportation, especially in this weather: the rain may be light sprinkling, but with that much ground to cover, I would have been soaked to the bone. This leads into sight: if I had even come in a dogcart, for instance, the mud and rainwater would have been splashed onto me.” “But you could have come in a cab!” “That’s where the smell comes in, John,” Holmes interjected, pulling up the sleeve on one of his arms and scratching at a spot there before rolling the sleeve back down as he elaborated. “No driver would take someone from Durham all the way to Baker Street; too much of a distance, and the Moriarty household is much too remote to simply hail a passing cab. Liam either would have had to catch a cab or a horsebus from the train station, or take his own carriage directly from his house. And as there is no scent of smoke from the steam engines or any crowds on him, as you would expect from the former scenario, that leaves only the option of him making the full journey in his carriage.” Watson blinked...then let out a slightly nervous chuckle. “Well...it...sounds kind of obvious when you put it that way,” he admitted, sheepishly. “That’s because it is obvious,” Holmes boasted. “Indeed,” slithered William. “Just as it is obvious Mr. Watson has been diluting your cocaine solution from seven to five percent.” Holmes gaped and Watson gasped. “H-How...how did you guess that?!” sputtered Sherlock, who looked mortified. William’s smile was simple and innocent. “Elementary, My Dear Holmes,” he answered, in a gently teasing tone...and pointedly said NOTHING else. Holmes gulped thinly, and gave a tight sort of smile. “Liam, you rascal,” he hissed under his breath, eyes dancing. “You’re GOOD at this game.” “Thank you,” Moriarty purred, with a slight bow, then looked towards the chemistry set. It was prepared on a table near the window. “So, what was the experiment you mentioned, if you don’t mind my asking?” “Oh!” Sherlock Holmes exclaimed, snapping his fingers, and gestured for both Dr. Watson and Professor Moriarty to join him as he sat down at his chemistry set. Watson stood to his left, while William paused at his right, both watching the detective check on the items he had gathered, to make sure everything was in place. “Part of a case?” William guessed. “Yep,” Holmes popped the word out with his lips before continuing: “A man in Cheshire - John Vincent Harden by name - came to us with the problem yesterday.” Watson nodded, and pulled from his coat pocket a piece of paper. On it was a list of items, untidily scrawled. “Mr. Harden’s friend is currently in the dock under suspicion of murdering the family butler,” the doctor explained. “This piece of paper - which includes the murder of the butler as part of a number of surly deeds to be done - is the only clue that can prove he might be innocent.” “I see,” William murmured, looking at the paper briefly...then nearly jumped as Sherlock snatched it away. The sleuth glanced over it before scoffing through his nostrils. “Offhand, I can deduce very little,” he muttered, placing the paper on the table and squinting down at it. “Only that the paper comes from Mongolia and has no watermark, that the one who wrote this is a drinker, and that they are probably not very rich.” Liam grinned, looking proud as a plum, and was about to comment...but Watson beat him to it. “The odor of cheap brandy, plus the weight and texture of the paper, right?” he smiled hopefully. Holmes grinned. “Very good, John!” he chuckled, and nudged the doctor’s shoulder with a light punch, making Watson squeak like a mouse before gripping his shoulder. Watson gave a blushing, shy smile as he rubbed his shoulder and Holmes all but sang out: “You’re getting better at this every day!” Watson shuffled on his feet. “It was...really nothing; you can smell the brandy part, easily,” he mumbled. This was the moment where Professor Moriarty’s usually marble-carved smile flickered faintly, and his red eyes seemed to shine a bit brighter...and not in a pleasant manner. He slowly looked Watson over, taking in the way the surgeon and former soldier stood and smiled at Sherlock. He could sense the doctor’s heightened pulse even from here...the way the pupils dilated as he watched Holmes work… It could just be happiness at being praised - the rather wide, almost childlike small on John’s face could make that clear - but, of course, it could also mean something far, FAR more meaningful. William glared...but then shook his head, clearing it. No. Not a chance. There was no reason to get worked up. Not yet, anyway. “Liam,” Holmes spoke up, catching Moriarty’s attention as he handed him the paper again. “Is there anything you can see that I haven’t noted yet?” “Black dust,” William said, without taking the parchment piece up. “The ink half-hides it; the man either works as a lamplighter, or frequently goes somewhere where gaslights that require coal are plentifully found.” Holmes nodded, humming softly in thought as he pulled his magnifying glass from his coat pocket and inspected the letter closely. As he did, Watson inched closer...and Moriarty felt his own chest tighten almost imperceptibly as he saw the doctor lean against Holmes, his head in the crook of the detective’s shoulder and neck. It was a casual sort of movement; something intimate, but not necessarily sensual. The same went for the affectionate smiles the two shared before looking back at the paper. All the same, William suddenly sensed the way his own fists tightened at his sides. He felt strangely cold, and he didn’t like it. “Well, until I put it through the chemical test, I can’t say much else,” Sherlock sighed at last. “So far, none of this helps Mr. Harden’s friend: he works at a theater with gaslights, and is, in fact, a frequent patron of a local pub.” So saying, Holmes stood up and held out a hand to Watson, flexing his fingers in a beckoning motion. “Light, please,” he ordered. Watson rolled his eyes but obligingly pulled and struck a match from his waistcoat pocket. Holmes plucked up the match, and then, grinning widely, lifted the paper, preparing to set it ablaze… “STOP!” Holmes jumped at Watson’s shout. “What now?” “You can’t just burn the whole thing!” John protested. “I can, and I will,” huffed Holmes. “He DOES need to reduce the paper to ash in order to conduct the experiment,” Moriarty put in. “Thank you, Liam!” Sherlock nodded. William smiled, a light glimmer of victory in his expression...but the victory was squashed when Watson spoke up again. “Well, burn a small portion of it then,” John suggested. “After all, this is your only sample: if something goes wrong, and you burn the whole thing, you won’t be able to conduct the experiment again, properly, will you? Plus, you��ll be ridding the courtroom of evidence!” Holmes opened his mouth to snap back something...then closed it...and blinked. “...Oh,” he murmured. “I...somehow did not consider that.” He smiled with friendly admiration. “John, what would I do without you?” he chuckled. “Well, you need SOMEONE more normal to tone down that insanity of yours,” John smirked back. Holmes laughed. William’s smile remained fixed...but his eyes narrowed. “You two are even closer than I realized,” he observed, quietly. Sherlock had just asked John to fetch him some scissors. As the doctor returned with the cutting blades, Holmes nodded. “Well, yeah. We’re pretty much inseparable.” “Yes, like two peas in a pod,” Watson agreed, as Sherlock cut a small portion of the paper off the rest. He then tilted his head and added: “I suppose more like two cherries in a bunch, actually. I’ve never liked peas.” “Neither have I!” Holmes exclaimed. “What a remarkable coincidence!” Watson grinned brightly. William felt his molars grind against one another very slightly. He breathed through his nose to relax; externally, he looked thoroughly composed, his smile still set...but inside, he could feel something bubbling up inside him, like magma in a volcano. He wanted Holmes to smile at him that way. He suddenly wanted to be the one there with him constantly. It wasn’t fair that someone else got to be around his nemesis so often. “I always knew you two made a good pair,” he thought to say, as Holmes burned the cut piece and then carefully brushed the ashes into a small bowl. “John has helped me on nearly all my cases since Jefferson Hope,” Sherlock smiled. “Honestly, it’s hard to imagine a time before he came around.” “Aww,” Watson mumbled, blushing once again. “Thank you, Sherlock.” “Oh, don’t think anything of it,” sniffed Holmes, as he poured the ashes into a beaker filled with a curious blue liquid. “After all the times you’ve bungled things, I have to stroke your ego a LITTLE bit.” “Oi! I do not bungle things!” Watson cried out. “Oh, no?” smirked Holmes sitting back and crossing his legs and arms with a supercilious smile. “And what about that case with Miss Stoner? You were so proud of yourself when you found footprints outside her bedroom window...only for us to find out they were OUR footprints the whole time!” “That...I...a-anyone could have made that mistake!” Watson sputtered, withdrawing childishly as he rubbed the back of his neck with embarrassment. “Not me!” chirruped Sherlock Holmes. Watson glared. “Oh, no?” he retorted, mimicking Holmes’ voice and posture as he smirked deviously. “Then how about that time you let those counterfeiters go because you accidentally set the house on fire?” “IF LESTRADE HAD BEEN THERE ON TIME, THEY WOULD HAVE BEEN CAUGHT!” Holmes shouted, and pouted like a sulking child. “I thought we agreed never to speak of that again!” “How do you set a house on fire with a spoon, Holmes?” Watson ribbed. “Clearly, another of your many talents.” Holmes growled...then reached up and pulled Watson down - “C’mere, you!” - giving the gray-blonde soldier a noogie and making him shriek and laugh. William watched the shenanigans with utter apathy. Or at least, utter external apathy. Internally, he wished he could have such an open, joking friendship...in truth, Moriarty had never really felt he HAD a true friend till Sherlock Holmes. He’d understood what friendship was, but beyond his family, he tended to see most people - even his closest subordinates - as pawns for use in his grand scheme. “Ahem,” the Professor cleared his throat, and the pair froze...before jumping away from each other like singed cats. The reaction was so much like two young lovers being caught kissing in private that it almost made Moriarty squirm. Almost. “As amusing as these hijinks are...what about your experiment, Holmes?” “Ah!” Sherlock exclaimed, smacking his own forehead. “Thank you, Liam, for reminding me. Watch carefully, both of you…” So saying, Holmes placed the beaker under a large contraption on the table: it consisted of a glass flask, with a burner under it, and a long curlicue tube - which was patched in several places - stretching from its open top. The beaker was set under the end of the tube, and Holmes switched on the burner. The flask was filled with a bright green liquid. It bubbled and fizzed, and soon began to rise in the glass chamber, pumping into the tube. Slowly but surely, it began to make its way through the piping. Holmes watched the fluid flow intently, his feet tapping on the floor like an excited, eager child, his hands drumming his knees impatiently as he muttered to himself. “Yes...yes, good, good...c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon...hmmm, yes-yes-oop! No, no, bad, bad-yes! Good! C’mon, c’mon-ah! That’s it! C’mon, c’mon...yes, yes, yes…!” Both William and Watson leaned close as the fluid reached the end of the tube...and, after an excruciatingly lengthy wait of exactly three seconds...PLIPP. A single green drop plopped into the beaker. FWOOMPH! A puff of smoke burst from the beaker as the fluid turned red...then purple...then changed back to blue. There was a pause...then, Holmes grinned wider. He began to chuckle...and the chuckle became a giggle...and the giggle became a loud, roaring laugh as he jumped out of his chair, throwing his arms up in joy. “IT WORKED! IT WORKED, JOHN!” he almost screamed. Before either of them could comment, Holmes suddenly slapped both hands down on William’s shoulders. Moriarty stiffened almost imperceptibly; he felt his heart almost stop as he looked into the earnest, happy blue eyes of the detective. “Liam...Liam, it worked!” he gasped out. “I knew it! I KNEW it! You knew it, too, yes? Right?” Moriarty blinked a few times; for a moment his mask fell away. His eyes were very wide and seemed to sparkle faintly...but finally, he recomposed himself, and licked his lips thinly before speaking. “I did,” he confirmed with a nod. “Distilled sodium chloride, yes?” “Exactly! EXACTLY!” Holmes cheered with an extremely hyper nod. “Um...wh-what just happened?” Sherlock turned around fast to face Watson. Moriarty felt a pang in his blackened heart as he realized he missed the warmth and closeness. “Oh, you don’t know?” Holmes blinked. “Would I have asked if I did?” Watson reasoned. “Hmph. Touche,” shrugged Sherlock, and pointed to the beaker. “It’s simple, John: that reaction could only have happened if the paper was, at some point, exposed to a great deal of salt water vapor.” Watson gaped. “Then the person who wrote the paper came from somewhere by the sea. Most likely the dockyards!” Watson realized. “Precisely!” Holmes said, with a clap of his hands. “And you know what that means, don’t you?” “That Mr. Harden’s friend is innocent! He lives in a spot far, FAR from the docks; on the other side of London, in fact! Well done, Sherlock!” “Yes, indeed,” William spoke up, a little more forcefully than he usually liked. He wasn’t at all liking the closeness of the pair, in any sense of the word, in that given moment...and, he realized, he had yet to present his invitation to his nemesis. “Now, Mr. Holmes, since you’re experiment’s done, I wanted to know-” “Sherlock!” Watson exclaimed, and Moriarty realized - with no small amount of affrontation - that neither had been listening to him. Watson, however, immediately backpedaled and smiled nervously at the red-eyed guest. “Oh, sorry, Professor…” “No, no. Go ahead,” Moriarty purred, trying not to clench his teeth as he spoke. He barely succeeded. Watson nodded, and looked back to his dark-haired partner in crimefighting. “How about we celebrate with some dinner? My treat!” “Excellent suggestion, John; I didn’t eat at all yesterday, I could use something now,” Holmes admitted, somewhat sheepishly. “You need to watch that,” John warned. “I will try,” Holmes laughed weakly. “Where should we go?” “Why not the Bugle Tavern?” Watson suggested, in a tone that suggested there was some significance in the spot. William James Moriarty was by no means a snob: his upbringing and his philosophy prevented that. But with that said...he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of superiority flood through him when he heard John Watson’s suggestion. He knew the Bugle; he’d taken a witness there for interrogation during the case of the Earl of Argleton. It was not a BAD place, but it was on the seedier side of the city; the food was decent but cheap. Compared to where he planned to take Holmes, it was hardly an even match, and as the detective was his intellectual equal - a man of many similar tastes - it seemed unlikely he’d ever- “A perfect choice, John!” Holmes declared, and William’s perfect poker face very, VERY nearly broke apart at the seams. “We’ll have a quick dinner, then head to the station to speak to Gregson.” “Right,” Watson nodded as he headed to the door and picked up his bowler hat and cane. “Perhaps with the help of our evidence, and a few very simple charts and graphs, we can convince him that night follows day.” “Yes, and that two plus two will inevitably equal four,” Sherlock snickered, and pulled a cigarette from his pocket as he started to follow Watson… ...Then froze...and slowly turned around to look at Moriarty, who still stood beside the chemistry set. “Oh, ah...Liam...I’m sorry, was there something you needed?” he asked. Moriarty blinked slowly...then, gave another of his far-too-happy-looking smiles. “Oh, it can wait till another day!” he sang. “Off you go! Enjoy yourself!” “Thanks, I will,” Holmes chuckled, and turned to Watson, extending the hand that held his cigarette. “Light, please? Again?” Watson obligingly lit the cigarette. Sherlock took a long drag from it, and blew a smoke ring at the ceiling, before leaving the flat. “See ya, Liam!” he called over his shoulder with a quick wave. Watson smiled politely and tipped his hat to the Professor, before using his cane to shut the door as they departed. The instant both were gone, Moriarty’s expression became cold as ice. He slowly turned his head to look out the window - almost the way a snake might turn its head when charmed from a basket - and watched as he soon saw Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson walk out into the soft shower and down the street. He saw the doctor’s arm squeeze Holmes’ shoulder...saw the way the two inched closer… William’s red eyes blazed like burning coals from the pits of Hell. He briskly marched out of the room and down the stairs. “Ah, Professor, there you are!” Miss Hudson greeted, with an oblivious smile, and handed him back his overcoat, hat, and cane. “Did you get what you needed?” Moriarty swung on his coat and carefully placed his hat upon his head. “No,” he said, very, very softly - so softly Miss Hudson wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly - as he took the cane, gripping it so tightly the hidden sword within nearly rattled. “But I still might.” He tipped his hat and left, saying nothing else but “Good day, Miss Hudson,” as he departed the flat house and went to hail a cab.

Miss Hudson wasn’t sure, but she almost swore the red eyes had turned green.

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The following day, at the Moriarty Mansion, William was sitting alone in the study, poring over a quaint and curious volume of Egyptian lore. Louis had prepared tea and sandwiches, and the mastermind - currently dressed in his fine, gold-and-burgundy robe - was sipping from a cup of Earl Gray while he read. A knock came at the study door, and Moriarty glanced quickly at the portal before placing the thin silk bookmark on the page he was focused on. He then shut the leatherbound tome and put it to one side. “Come in, James,” he called out. The door opened, and James Bonde’s turquoise eyes soon connected with William’s. The master spy was dressed in their usual garments: a light gray suit and small homburg hat, a neatly-pressed lavender tie elegantly bound around their throat. Bonde smiled, the beauty mark at the corner of one eye crinkling slightly as they removed their hat and swept some loose strands of corn-colored hair out of their face.

“How did you know it was me?” “Two very good reasons,” William smiled. “First of all, because I was expecting you, and second of all, because I heard your footsteps in the hall, and your step is unlike any other in England.” The Napoleon of Crime waved a hand towards the seat across from him and simply said, “Please.” James Bonde took the hint, and sat down, hands in his lap, legs crossed, chin held up with cocksure pride. “I take it you have a mission for me?” “Should you choose to accept it,” William confirmed with a nod, and lifted his teacup again, stirring the tea with elegant, slight turns of his wrist. “In your...ahem…‘past life,’ you spent some time with my appointed nemesis, yes?” “Yes,” smirked Bonde, a twinkle in their eye that called back to the days when Irene Adler planned her plots. “I guess that means I have the advantage of being the only agent in our organization who’s slept with the enemy.” Moriarty froze, red eyes latching onto Bonde. “Or, at least, in enemy territory,” James corrected quickly. Moriarty smiled. “James,” he said, far-too-sweetly. “You know how I really feel about him, don’t you?” Bonde nodded slowly, their own smile faltering a bit in confusion. “Well then, please don’t make jokes like that again,” William went on, in a voice that indicated he was a hundred times more aggravated than he chose to let on. James gulped nervously as William sipped his tea far, FAR too crisply. He could almost imagine the unspoken words from the Napoleon of Crime: If you do, they’ll never find your body. “...I’m, uh...I-I’m sorry,” Bonde stammered out with uncharacteristic fear. “It’s fine,” William said with a light sigh, and shook his head as he put his teacup down. His smile settled into a look of sincere apology. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bonde. I’m...feeling a little testy today, that’s all.” Sensing he was out of danger, James nodded and smiled back sympathetically. “I take it your nemesis is what my mission concerns?” the spy said, and then turned serious, frowning. “Is he getting in the way too often?” “Not often enough,” mumbled Professor Moriarty, and shook his head again, this time in answer. “No, James, it’s not that. And it’s not Mr. Holmes I want you to deal with.” James raised an eyebrow. “Dr. Watson, then?” Bonde guessed. “As a matter of fact, yes,” William said, and sat back in his seat, steepling his fingers. “I want you to keep an eye on the flat for two weeks. I want you to pay particular attention to Watson, and whenever he and Holmes leave together for any reason, follow them. I don’t care if they’re simply going to shop for tobacco at the market: keep tabs on them both. Next Friday, you will make a final report on anything suspicious you encountered.” “Suspicious? In what way?” Bonde frowned. “You’d expect US to be the ones up to no good, after all.” Moriarty chuckled. “I will let you be the judge,” he purred, smoothly. Bonde looked confused, but nodded slowly. “Very well, I’ll take the job,” James said, and cocked his head. “But...William...why?” Moriarty shut his eyes, pausing as he tried to decide on his words. “Let us simply say,” he answered steadily, “That I’m concerned about their relationship. Take careful stock of all you see, while I deal with the plans for our next caper, and the rest deal with other matters.” “As you wish,” Bonde said, and stood up from his chair, replacing his hat. “One other thing, James,” Moriarty added, lifting a single finger in instruction. “This mission is particularly special: I’d like to keep it between us. Tell no one else: not any other member of the gang. Not even my own brothers.” James frowned, narrowing his eyes; he wasn’t sure what was so important that had William this worked up...but clearly it mattered a great deal to the Professor. The True M. “Yes, sir,” Bonde said, and tapped his hat brim. “I’ll do my best.” “Very good. You are dismissed; if you need help, inform me. Good day, Bonde.” “Good day, Professor,” smiled James, and exited promptly. The moment the door shut behind James Bonde, William sighed to himself, bowing his head quietly in musing thought. “I suppose,” he whispered to the empty room of books, “That it’s quite wasteful of me to use my Knight for such a menial job in the grand scheme of the game...one should never misuse resources…” He paused...then smirked as he lifted his teacup again, and took another sip before picking up his book to continue reading. “...Then again,” he chuckled lightly, “I’ve committed far worse sins than a little self-indulgent espionage. I AM the Lord of Crime.” He glared as he hissed under his breath: “If anyone is stealing a heart here, it’s going to be ME.”

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James Bonde stared somewhat dully out the window of the empty house across the street from 221B Baker Street. Teal-toned eyes kept a careful watch in the night on the one lit room in the house. He could see the silhouette of Sherlock Holmes, fiddling away on his violin. He could hear the detective playing, too...a nostalgic smile came to his face; he could almost remember hearing those tunes play him to sleep, in another lifetime… Bonde shook his head and lightly slapped his own cheek (more of a rough pat) to keep himself focused. He’d been instructed by William, to watch them from the moment they awoke to the moment they went to bed. The doctor had evidently retired some time ago, but Holmes was still up and about, playing his violin and tinkering with his contraptions. It had been a few days since Bonde started his mission, and Holmes had been given a case by one Mr. Cubitt from Norfolk, involving a mysterious secret code. Bonde had followed Holmes and Watson every which way they went, but so far, nothing of particular unsuality had occurred; Holmes refused to travel to Norfolk till Cubitt sent more information, and so much of their days were spent in the flat, simply trying to puzzle out what they had been given so far. As a result, the past three days had really been quite boring for Bonde. A part of him felt a pang, as it always did, and he wished William had given him a different job; the side that was still Irene Adler wished she could walk across the street and just...tell Holmes the simple fact. Certainly, he guessed she was still alive, but...that was nothing to a direct encounter. James Bonde was a professional, and held out: whatever purpose William had for this mission - be it personal, or something related to the Great Problem - his job was to keep a close eye on things and keep track of any interesting movements: from before they woke up to the moment they both clocked out. Right on cue, Holmes’ silhouette disappeared from the window...and not but sixty seconds later, the light in the room went out. Bond sighed softly, and stood up, stretching; the room in the Empty House was small, dark, and not very large. It was lonely, too: aside from getting meals, Bonde stayed here all day, and could not focus too much on any great amusements, such as reading, lest he lose focus. All he had was solitaire; Moran had been teaching him how to play cards, and it was better than nothing. Bonde grumbled to himself about the slowness of the case as he began to pack up his playing cards...but no sooner had he tucked the box back into a pocket in his jacket lining...than he froze, as he saw the front door of 221B open. From his spot in the window, Bonde watched intently, wondering what was going on. The unmistakable figure of Dr. Watson crept quietly out the door. He shut it silently, and glanced from side to side, as if checking to make sure no one on the street was watching him. The street was silent and quiet; lonely on that dark night. The Doctor twirled his cane, propping its length against his elbow, and began to stroll down the street. Bonde could make out Watson’s brown eyes; they furtively darted from side to side in a ferret-like way. Unlike Moriarty, Dr. Watson had an absolute lack of anything resembling a poker face. Bonde continued to watch as Watson approached an alley...then, after checking once again, slipped into the passage between the buildings and vanished. Suddenly realizing he’d lost track of his target, Bonde cursed under his breath and raced downstairs and across the street… ...But by the time he reached the alley, Dr. Watson was nowhere to be found. “Damn,” muttered Bonde...then took a breath, and straightened his tie and hair, which had been tousled in his quick sprint. There was nothing to be done now; the question was, whether to report this to William now, or wait? After pondering for a moment, Bonde walked off down the street back towards his own lodgings. He would wait. It’s what William would want. For all he knew, this was a one-time affair; whatever had Watson acting so sneakily, it could be resolved by morning. Then he would have no reason to worry at all. Right?

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“Six times?” Professor Moriarty repeated, blinking quickly in surprise. “Yes: six times in just two weeks. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, in fact,” nodded James Bonde, standing almost like a warrior at attention as he made his private report. He was standing near the threshold of William’s room in the manor. William James Moriarty was dressed in his usual clothes, minus his brown coat, which currently hung loosely on his bedpost. “And you’ve lost him every time?” William frowned; he didn’t sound angry, or even disappointed. He was simply checking his facts. “Not exactly,” Bonde claimed, and hastened to elaborate: “The past two times, I was able to catch up with him, but I can’t follow him beyond a certain point.” “What do you mean?” “He’s been visiting a noble’s house.” William’s eyes widened. “He’s what?” “To the Forrester estate,” clarified Bonde. “He climbs over the wall at a certain point, leaps into the yard...then, every night, after a couple hours, crawls back up and high-tails it back to Baker Street.” “Hmmmm,” Moriarty murmured, placing a finger to his lips in thought as he looked down at the floor, brow furrowing. “Have you seen what happens when he goes over the gate?” “This last time, yes,” nodded Bonde. “He doesn’t enter the house, but instead runs to a gazebo in the courtyard. He clearly knows the residence well; he knows when the night watchman comes around with his dog, and avoids them.” Professor Moriarty scowled and made a sour sound in the back of this throat.. Things were more serious than he thought: behavior like that wasn’t just sneaky, it was literally criminal. It appeared that a stolen heart was far from the worst thing he had to fear from John H. Watson. “What do you think he’s up to, William?” James asked. “I haven’t the foggiest idea. Yet,” Moriarty responded. “But I intend to find out.”

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That very night, being a Friday, Professor Moriarty lay in wait behind a tree, in a park area across from the Forrester Estate. He wore a long, black, hooded cloak over his usual suit, and gripped his sword cane tightly in one hand. His red eyes glowed in the dark as he kept his focus zeroed in on the high stone walls of the mansion spot. The Forrester Family was not a bad one, nor even the most noble: they were gentry, people in the upper-middle class, who qualified among the elite but lacked the status of proper Lords and Ladies, Knights and Dames, and so on. With what they had, they were generous, and most considered them friendly. William had nothing against them, and while he sought to destroy the social order...that didn’t mean destroying the good in it. What he wanted was to eradicate evil through his own means… ...He wasn’t sure whether or not to hope he would have to do that tonight. He saw the glare of a bullseye lamp through the grates in the black iron gate that closed off the estate. The distant shape of a man with a large, black dog on a leash walked past and then disappeared: that was the night watchman James Bonde had mentioned, no doubt. Almost on cue, not long after the watchman passed, Moriarty saw a familiar figure - dressed in a green coat and a dark blue bowler hat - trot around a corner. Moriarty narrowed his eyes as Dr. Watson flattened his back against the wall. His expression was tense, worried...almost scared. He glanced from side to side, and sighed with relief; he hadn’t noticed William, and was glad to find apparently no one had spotted him yet. “It’s alright,” William heard Watson say. “What he doesn’t know, won’t hurt him…” Moriarty felt his own eyes blazing as he suspected who the “he” Watson referred to was. “Soon,” Watson added to himself, adjusting his tie and then looking up at the wall. “Soon...it will all be over…” Then, without another word, the Doctor jumped up and grabbed hold of the wall’s edge. He let out a sharp yipe, and bit his lip to silence himself; as he scrambled up to climb over the wall, the sounds and motions he made reminded William so much of a big, dumb dog trying to clamber over a fence, he nearly laughed. Nearly. Not quite. From what he was hearing, he was beginning to have grave worries. Once Watson disappeared over the wall, William took his turn to check and make sure there were no witnesses nearby...then - cloak fluttering about him as he went - he raced to the wall, and leapt over it with the grace of a gazelle. The courtyard was lushly kept, with grass, small topiary trees, and little yellow flowers all around. Quaint and tended to with perfect decorum. Across the lawn of green grass, Watson saw Dr. Watson racing towards a distant red-and-blue gazebo; it was octagonal in shape, and was a closed-off affair; no door, but with thick, tinted windows on seven of its eight sides. William was about to dart forward...when he heard the barking of the Watchman’s dog. Quickly, he dove into the bushes, and crouched low. The Watchman and his dog soon hurried to the spot; both looked around, then the man mumbled something to the black hound...and the pair continued on their way. William waited till their footsteps faded...then, stole across the lawn and made a dash towards the distant gazebo, stealing across the courtyard with such silence, he might as well have been a part of that black night. The Master Criminal only paused once more; this was when he noticed he had to run past an open window, and the light was still on. Inside, he saw Cecil Forrester - the lady of the house - speaking with a maid. Both were fair women with chestnut-colored hair. The two left the room, and Moriarty continued towards the gazebo, keeping low and moving with quiet quickness; one might have mistaken him for a wolf, stalking its prey. Moriarty traced a wide path as he drew closer and closer to the gazebo; he had no desire to be spotted when he got too close. Once he reached it, he flattened himself quietly against the glass-paneled walls, and sidled closer to the open entrance. As he moved nearer, Moriarty could hear a voice; it was tremuluous, faint, and he couldn’t quite make out properly who it belonged to or what they were saying. Once he was right beside the door, that voice stopped...and he picked up the unmistakable sound of John Watson’s voice. Now, he could most certainly make out the words… “It’s too soon. I don’t want to take any risks. This is a delicate operation; one false step, and everything could be ruined. But don’t worry...if worse comes to worse, I can handle him. He won’t be a problem. We’ll get everything we want...nothing is going to stop us. I swear it.” William narrowed his eyes into crimson slits, and prepared to draw his cane sword...before whipping around the side and spinning into the gazebo. “‘Hell is empty. All the devils are-’” The melodramatic quote was stopped short as William froze in place and his eyes went wide at what he saw. Dr. Watson - who had just kissed the lips of the person with him - gasped and backed away fast… ...Leaving a young, beautiful lady standing alone in the center of the gazebo, her indigo eyes wide and bright with surprise. Her hair was the color of brass, and she was dressed in the prim, proper outfit of a governess. Moriarty and the young woman stared at each other, each equally stunned. It was Watson’s stuttered, scared exclamation that broke them out of their momentary stupor. “P-Pr-Pro-Professor M-Moriarty!” he managed to cough out...then, impulsively, he moved forward again… ...And held the young lady close, in a protective, caring way. She coiled back against him, looking startled and more than a little scared by the red-eyed stranger that had swooped into the area. “What...what are you doing here?” Watson asked, a little accusatorily. Moriarty soon regained his composure, the look of utter speechlessness leaving his face as it slid back into his usual, blank, mask-like features. “Following you,” he answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and pointed his cane at the young lady. “Who is this, and what is going on?” Watson squirmed a bit uncomfortably at the Professor’s blood-eyed stare. He held the woman closer and then answered. “I...this is...my fiance,” he answered, and turned rather pink in the face. “Her...her name is Mary Morstan.” Moriarty blinked. His expression didn’t shift an inch. “Fiance?” he repeated, not sounding surprised, but simply questioning. “Y-Yes,” the woman answered. William realized he was still holding out his cane...and, not wishing to frighten the young lady any further, lowered his secret weapon. Mary smiled and sighed gratefully before going on: “I work for Mrs. Forrester; I live here. It’s, um...i-it’s a pleasure to meet you, ah...Mr. Moriarty.” William paused, before giving a single nod. “Mutual,” he responded, but his voice was still quite frosty, then looked back to Watson. “Is this why you’ve been sneaking out three nights a week?” Watson blanched. “H-How did you…?” “I have my ways,” William answered, smoothly. Watson flushed and shuffled on his feet. He hugged Mary close with one arm, his other hand holding hers as she embraced him. He smiled bashfully before looking back to Moriarty. “I...we proposed in secret,” he admitted. “I met Mary thanks to a case. I’ve been...I’ve been keeping this secret from Sherlock.” “Why?” William wondered. Watson frowned and looked askance. “Because I’m not sure if Holmes would approve,” he admitted, quietly, a sad look in his eyes. “He...the two of us have been inseparable, since we met, and...I’m worried about how he’ll react when he finds out about Mary and I.” “So you’ve been meeting her in secret; to rendezvous under the stars,” Moriarty romantically surmised. Watson blushed more and Mary giggled. “Something like that, Professor, yes,” Miss Morstan confirmed in a saccharine sort of way. “Is that what you were whispering about?” William presumed. “Saying you weren’t ready, that you could handle him?” “Yeah,” Watson chuckled, and scratched the back of his head. “I, uh...I-I guess wording like that could sound kinda suspicious, huh?” William sighed through his nose as Mary giggled again. “Very,” William agreed. His face remained blank, his lips still set in a straight line as he then went on: “If I may advise you, Doctor...I think you should tell Holmes soon.” Watson frowned and lowered his head; he looked amusingly guilty, like a little boy caught with his hands in the cookie jar. “Well...I know I SHOULD, but...I don’t want to make him mad,” he admitted, almost meekly. “Not about this. I still want to work with him, and...and he’s my friend, so…” “So,” Moriarty interrupted, “Shouldn’t you be used to sharing secrets with him?” Watson looked up, a little startled. Moriarty’s expression had become a thin, taut smile. “If Mr. Holmes is truly your friend, he should be able to handle something like this,” he reasoned. “Perhaps he’ll be jealous or untrusting at first, but that is to be expected. But behavior like this is dangerous, and it could lead to more bad than good. You shouldn’t be afraid to admit to Holmes things like this.” Watson bit his lip, and looked at Mary, who nodded back to him. He smiled, then looked back up at the Professor. “Yeah. That...I guess that’s right. I’ll...I’ll see about telling him soon. And...and no more of these...these midnight liaisons.” He looked back to his fiance. “We’ll meet on our own terms, without all this roundabout racing. Right, Mary?” “Of course,” she responded, and kissed his nose, making the doctor give a bashful, red-faced smile. Moriarty looked the pair up and down as they hugged...then turned on his heel. “Well,” he said, shortly and sharply. “Now, with that issue settled, I’ll be on my way.” Watson watched as Moriarty left the gazebo and began to walk back towards the wall. His brow knitted itself into a knot, and he paused, whispering “One moment” to Mary before kissing her forehead and hastily hustling out of the gazebo. “Professor!” he called out, and Moriarty paused. His red eyes glittered like rubies as he turned back over his shoulder, expression chilling. Watson didn’t seem scared. He smiled in a kind, amiable manner. “Why DID you follow me?” he asked, simply and bluntly. Moriarty said nothing. Watson paused before taking a guess: “Were you concerned about Sherlock?” Moriarty nodded, still saying nothing. Watson chuckled and smiled gently. “You don’t need to worry, Professor: when I hide things from him, it’s nothing sinister. Sherlock his my best friend, and one of the most fascinating people I know.” “I’m glad you think so.” “Oh, I know it’s so. Just like I know the reason why you looked so jealous when I asked him to join me for dinner.” Moriarty’s eyes widened...then narrowed again. Watson smiled humbly. “I AM getting better,” he said, in a faint, cheeping sort of voice. “You won’t tell him, will you?” William checked, voice staying even, conveying neither worry nor rage. Watson smiled a patient smile; he placed a hand on the young Professor’s shoulder, causing Moriarty to stiffen with surprise. “You just told me that, if he’s really my friend, I shouldn’t keep secrets from him,” Watson stated. “I think the same is in reverse: whatever you feel for him...I think he needs to hear it from you. No one else.” William paused...and his bangs hid his eyes from sight. “And if he doesn’t feel the same?” he queried, in a strangely business-like tone. “I think he will,” Watson chuckled. “You two are practically made for each other: you’re both extraordinary. You both live for the game. You’re both intelligent. You’re two of a kind! I know it’s not the kind of relationship our society smiles upon, but...if it’s the true way you feel, why should that matter?” He patted Moriarty’s shoulder, and then finished: “You’re two sides of the same coin. You belong together...Liam.” William was silent...then, a slick smile slithered over his lips. “Thank you, Doctor. I’ll remember that. But please...don’t call me Liam.” Watson pulled back quickly and let out a nervous laugh. “Ah...heh heh...s-sorry, I won’t.” “Thank you,” Moriarty repeated, and gave a mock salute with his cane. “Goodnight, Doctor. And do apologize to Miss Morstan for me: my unseemingly dramatic entrance no doubt gave her quite a fright.” “You can say that again,” mumbled Watson, and returned the mock salute with a real soldier’s stance. “Goodnight, Professor!” William smiled a little wider...and then walked forward. His dark cloak allowed him to easily slip into the shadows...and soon he was gone. As he prowled through the city back towards home, William James Moriarty couldn’t stop smiling. He hadn’t felt this good in a while.

The Devil swore the lightness in his heart must have been what Angels felt every day.

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“Married with two children. Native of Suffolk. Works in a public house.” “The shoes gave it away?” “Yeah, yeah. Invalid husband; dismissed from the army for his injuries four years ago.” “Three.” “Oh, yes, of course, three! Lastly, at least one of them has a drinking problem.” Sherlock Holmes took a swig of ale from the pewter cup he held and sighed, smacking his lips as the woman he’d been scrutinizing disappeared. He then turned to the party across from him with a daring smile. “Your turn, Liam!” William James Moriarty smirked cunningly, and looked out the window. His blazing, cat-like eyes soon caught sight of his chosen prey. “Bachelor by choice,” he began, noting a gentleman in a stovepipe hat who was passing by. “Scholarly by nature; a frequent visitor to the library. Smokes far too much. Works at a very fine hotel, most likely in an administrative position.” “Birth and residence?” “Lancashire for the former, Yorkshire for the latter. I believe he’s visiting London for the sake of family, but he doesn’t much care FOR said family. I speculate his bachelor status might be the reason-ah! He’s gone. That’s all.” William smiled back at a beaming Sherlock Holmes, drumming the fingers of one hand on the table as his chin rested on the other. “How was that, Mr. Detective?” he purred. Sherlock laughed and applauded. “Liam, you excel yourself!” “I try,” shrugged Moriarty, without much modesty, and lifted his own pewter cup before taking a drink. All around the pair, the bustle and hustle of the Bugle Tavern buzzed and hummed and bellowed...but neither gave it much attention. “I’m so glad you accepted my invitation to dinner,” William said, sincerely, folding his hands on the table with a quiet smile. “Eh,” Holmes shrugged, stirring his drink in its mug as he spoke. “When we met for lunch in Durham, you were busy grading papers. I’m glad we could just have a meal together. Although…” He paused, and then gestured with a careless wave of his free hand around the establishment. “...I am surprised a nobleman would choose to eat HERE.” William smiled a bit wider, and glanced about. A few people were giving him odd looks; it was rare someone so well-to-do showed up in this place. He shrugged again and smiled to Holmes. “I am full of surprises,” was all he said. “Isn’t that the truth,” chuckled Holmes and took another drink. Moriarty watched the detective for a few moments, eyes scanning him. His crimson irises flickered vulnerably for a split second before he spoke again. “Mr. Holmes...may I be very frank with you?” “Sure,” Holmes drawled. “What’s up?” “I’m very glad I met you.” Sherlock blinked and froze, his smile fading. “Eh?” he tilted his head. “Why do you say that? I mean...I’m flattered, obviously, but...what brought this on?” “It’s...hard for me to say,” William admitted with a very soft laugh, before going on. “It’s just...while I have my fair share of friends, and a family of my own that cares for me...I’ve always felt this...disconnect from the world around me.” He glanced out the window as he went on, watching people go by. “Like you, I can look at a person and analyze everything about them...and I can do it very rapidly. While on the surface I am placid as a still lake, my mind is always racing out of control. The sheer amount of mental exertion I go through just in the span of taking a single breath can be exhausting. The rest of the world moves...so slowly. Too slowly. Everyone going about their lives, making differences in small ways or simply shambling around…their minds so rarely used to their fullest...” He tilted his head downwards. “...There are so many days where I feel...I’m totally alone in the universe. Where the mental strain becomes too great.” He paused...then looked back up at Sherlock, once again flashing one of “his” smiles. “It’s relieving to know there’s someone even more mentally fractured than I!” Holmes snorted with laughter. “Well,” he muttered, taking a drink, “We all have our problems, don’t we?” He paused...then licked his lips of some foam as he put down his ale and leaned forward on the table. “I...I have to admit...it’s good to be able to talk to someone who can work on my level,” Sherlock said, with a surprisingly tender smile. “Someone who isn’t my obnoxious control freak of a brother, I mean. I…it’s like...” He paused, biting his lip, hesitantly...then sighed and ran a hand through his hair with a shake of his head. “Ahhh...I’m not good at heartfelt confessions,” he mumbled, and gave an almost sheepish smile. “I guess...I’m trying to say I feel the same way. And...it...it honestly feels really good to hear you...say all that, even in such a teasing way.” The pair smiled at each other, their eyes seemingly magnetized as they found themselves leaning and inching closer across the table. “...Holmes…” “Yes, Liam?” “I...feel there’s something else I should tell you.” “Yes?” was the breathy response. William’s lips were quivering as he moved nearer. “I...I think I might be in lo-” “GENTLEMEN!” Both shot back, sitting straight up in their chairs as a fat waiter with a bristly moustache waddled over to their table, and placed their meals - two plates of steak with baked potatoes - upon the table. “‘Ere’s yer food, gents!” he boomed. “I ‘ope ye find it t’yer likin’!” “I’m sure we will,” Moriarty smiled with a nod, his composure so fully complete it was as if nothing had happened. “Thank you, sir.” “Talk to ya later, Pete!” sniggered Holmes with a wink. The waiter winked back, nodded to Professor Moriarty, and then trundled off. “What were you saying, Liam?” Sherlock asked, as he began to cut into his steak, sawing off a huge chunk and stuffing it into his mouth. William much more elegantly carved a tiny square off his slab of beef, and hummed happily as he savored the juices upon popping it into his mouth. “I forget,” he lied through his teeth...then gave a challenging smile as he glanced to each of their pewters. “Say, Mr. Holmes…” “Mm-hm?” Sherlock grunted through a full mouth. “How much can you drink in a single sitting? Before you collapse?” Sherlock paused mid-chew...then smirked around his stuffed chompers, chewing a few more times, slowly, before gulping down his food. He stifled a burp in his fist and gave a cocksure smirk. “Probably more than you, fancy-pants,” he bragged. “Would you like to make a wager?” Moriarty crooned. “Sure! We’ll make it a race! First to finish twelve straight rounds without falling over wins!” declared Holmes. “Think you can handle that, Mr. Mathematician?” “As long as you can count that high,” was the sharp response. Holmes cackled and lifted his pewter. “You’re on, Liam! May the best man win!” William James Moriarty put down his fork and knife, and lifted his ale. As he clanked it against Sherlock’s, he answered the dare with one of his own, his eyes sultry as he slithered out his response. “Catch me if you can, Mr. Holmes.” Sherlock Holmes shivered almost invisibly, and quickly took a drink. As Liam’s seductive red glare caught his azure eyes, the criminal mastermind had no idea that the one thought on his mind was being copied by the other man at the table. Someday, I’ll tell him I love him. Someday.

The End

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ginwhitlock · 3 years

Text

summary: JASPER/ BELLA. set in eclipse (but is so far from canon honestly all you need to know is that victoria is after bella). When Jasper snatches Bella away to Texas to escape a vampire’s hunt for the girl who killed her lover, Bella comes clean about her hearts unfaithfulness on an unsettling summer morning, in front of God and everybody.

fic type: oneshot, no explicit scenes

warnings: religious guilt, Bella’s weird brand of horny, cheating on Edward, oh and Alice just doesn’t exist— don’t think about it too hard

There was this openness in the air, something stirring from the west, saturating the cotton fields. A yellow eyed barn cat stood still in the morning light, it’s black coat shifting with the bite of ghostly mice. Whiskers twitching.

It was watching her, she was sure of it, like the pecan trees and the paddock mud and the mosquitoes. All beady-eyed and searching the brown haired girl, the one with crooked ankles and misaligned bangs that just barely kissed her cheeks in the late summer sun. She looked home grown. Wheat wild. A child of desert planes. And most importantly, she looked lost.

“I thought you’d still be sleeping by now.” A hushed baritone slipped from the screen door, it’s owner donned in dark royal denim and loose leather.

If it had been just months before, Bella would’ve rolled her eyes.

But she was different now. As different as Washington was to Texas. As different as evergreens were to red oak. She swore even the sweat didn’t smell right.

“Wanted to catch the sunrise.” There was a softness to her front teeth, the round of her molars quiet against one another. To whose ears she was catering to she didn’t know. And to be honest, she didn’t quite care anymore.

Bella made out a lazy nod from her peripheral, the shaggy haired man seemingly relaxed out here on the front porch of her judgement day, all tan and tall and scented like rolled tobacco.

Shut up, stupid girl.

Jasper murmured out a response, something about humans needing sleep and southern sunrises being worthy enough to diminish the former from its place on his immortal pedestal. There was a creak and a groan from the haint green floorboards underneath her before she found herself shoulder to shoulder with the two hundred year old soldier; a stray wind had blown through the shaved baby blond hair lining his chin in the slightest of ways. There was a caution light screaming out from his stature and the brunette girl had the painful urge to swallow it under her teeth and tongue. Soak it in holy water and hide it in her skin for him to find. Or rather, Him, if this stay was going to end like she thought it ought to.

He couldn’t feel that… could he? Stupid, stupid—

“The marigolds should be blooming about now, just west of the barn. They’re quite a bit prettier than Peter’s fields.” There was something off in the lit of his tongue, the way it flipped and rolled off his teeth. It came out… wrong. Forced. Like he was trying to be overtly kind. The way you talk to a frightened rabbit you clipped with the lawn mower.

Bella frowned something deep and turned nose at Jasper. “Why did you bring me here, Hale?”

With the question came a wince to his brow, a noticeable blow to his stature. He seemed to fold ever so slightly towards the young girl.

“Don’t— don’t call me that.”

Silence filled the unwalled prison of the porch like nothing else, the birds and wind seemingly gone to rest whenever the two entered into each other's space. Like worldly magnets, chess pieces that threw blows instead of diagonals. The quiet held them both. It held them together.

Bella Swan blinked slowly in an unknown apology before settling back on the blond with the stone facade. She waited for him to continue.

He sighed. “It’s safer here. Victoria wouldn’t come this far south without encountering things far worse than the likes of Emmett or Rose.”

“But this wasn’t Edward’s plan, was it?” Bella’s lashes were like rodeo announcers with their back and forth turns to the outlook of western Texas.

Jasper looked every bit of his one hundred fifty years as he laid a freezing hand on hers, their knuckles slotting together with unpracticed ease. “No. But it’s mine. And you’re gonna have to accept that.”

She refused to nod at the man with the thigh clenching, hard work mending, touch, for more than a second. She was far from the type of girl that would lay down and let the boys run out their wildest stupidities on her seemingly catastrophic life, but she felt almost resigned in Jasper's hands. There was a calmness between them she couldn’t place as artificial or not, the soft wool of contentedness slowly covering the surveyor-ship she felt stepping outside this morning. The stares of the flora and fauna turned internal. Fire burned in the pit of her stomach, on the nape of her neck, across the fragile skin of her cheeks where freckles started to show, and mostly, on the warming flesh of her hand where their hands met gently.

Maybe it was Edward looking onto them from a frozen forest hundreds of miles from here as he hunted a scarlet monster, discovering the hidden plumpness swirling around in his lover's chest for the brother he always worried about, but for all the wrong reasons.

Or maybe…

“Jasper, can I ask you something?”

His eyes were like serpents, glowing yellow under the copper wind chimes above them.

“Whatever you wish, Isabella.”

Swallow. Breathe. “When you were human… did you believe in God?”

A pause sliced the air in two. The cotton plants seemed to stop swaying. The feline vanished. A golden eyebrow fell to his browbone.

“Yes, Isabella. Yes I did.” His face was drawn, distant, like an old time movie screen was playing out on his stone eyelids.

Bella’s lips pulled at themselves with her front teeth. “Do you think He’s vengeful?”

Their eye contact sealed itself, his hand moving on its own accord up her hand to her wrist, cradling the small, delicate bones that allowed her to touch him— but not now. Not ever again.

“When I was a boy, my mama took me to church every Sunday at seven A.M sharp, and sent me to Sunday school after the service. I was the oldest, even then, and I had more responsibilities than just listening to the preacher ramble on about divinity and charity and sacrifice.”

Jasper's face was taught with memory.

“I had two baby sisters by the time I turned seven and they were the number one priority, you have to understand, Isabella. Ada and Caroline couldn’t have been older than three when the Leroy boy died sitting in the pew behind us… poor child got heatstroke in his wool britches and after that I started dressing the girls in the lightest things I could find and never waited long after the sermon to get back.”

Bella turned stormy under the weight of the seemingly young man's words, her eyes dropping from his own to study the way his fingers wrapped around her skin like a life jacket, one part caregiver and one part destroyer. Jasper's own hands seemed to start to tremor just slightly under her stare, or maybe it was from the wash of his own words.

He took a breath he didn’t need. “But. I started listening when my mother got sick, before the girls finished schooling. Started praying. A part of me was guilty that I hadn’t started before I needed something, that the reason I spoke to Him was for a favor, and a big one at that. I was making up for lost time, I thought. I was begging on my knees for anything. And I didn’t get it.

“They buried an empty coffin with my name on it under a white wooden cross after the army said I went missing. Caroline would plant violets around it in the spring, weed out the planters and start again in the fall. She’d leave me communion wafers in our family pew and have Ada try to talk with me through the minister.”

“I’m so sorry.” A true sadness settled in her bones, her seemingly selfish desire to have the question answered sat like a heavy stone in the out of her stomach. Her heart held out a warm woolen space for him and she silently begged he would sit in it, for his own sake.

He waved her off and took on a slight smile, something she had never seen from Jasper. Not in any capacity before that very moment.

She decided she would try to see it every chance she got for as long as he’d let her.

“I wasn’t a man of religious structure, Isabella, but. I was a man of faith. The small times I was allowed to watch over my sisters only reminded me of that, no matter how far down to hell I had reached, I still had faith in redemption.”

His teeth clicked together not unpleasantly. “But I haven’t answered your question have I?” There was a knowing-ness in his voice box and Bella wanted to drink it down like communion wine. She smiled back slightly.

He was beautiful when he sighed.

“I’ve done horrible things. Killed innocent people. Slaughtered children and mothers and lambs of God. I have worn blood on my hands like a second skin and not once during any of it did I feel remorse. But darlin,” his lashes fluttered like leaves, “not once did I think God wanted me to hate myself for what I had done. I think… He forgave me a long time ago, before I ever forgave myself. So no. I don’t believe in my brother’s vengeful punisher. Not today. Not in this lifetime.“ She’d never hear the ‘not with you’ fragment he had stuck in his mind.

She had to step back from him then, the vampire who had become all consuming to her chest and her heart and her fingers. The air was warmer in the space behind him but it almost didn’t matter, the warmth layering her skin was enough to burn through an air conditioning unit anyway. Bella’s hands found clumsy solace in her back pockets as she stared ahead at the rows of painful cotton buds waiting to be harvested. The blood almost pulled to her fingertips.

Teeth and lips found each other. “I don’t think I’m not going to get punished for this.”

Her words were concrete. Cement. Blacktop on a Kansas back road. They could’ve cut glass if she wanted them to. They almost did as he looked at her.

“For what, Isabella?”

Knowing bastard. Always. Knowing.

No trembling allowed now.

“For wanting you when Edwards away. When he’s in the same room as us. When he’s hunting the woman who's trying to kill me and you’re just standing there telling me not to be afraid of my own horrible heart… for betraying everything I’ve begged for since me and your brother met. I deserve to get punished for this, don’t I? Don’t you think?”

She was sweating now, cold droplets running down her back to her the soft slope of her ass. Her knuckles were popping against each other like fireworks and she thought she might faint right then and there, MONSTER written across her forehead in a bruise from the impact.

A scarred hand felt itself into its place under Bella’s chin and forced her rocking skull to finally glimpse the face she had been thinking of every moment she pulled her eyes away. Jasper Hal— Whitlock? And his clear midnight pupils branding her soul in a sinner’s blush. His lips formed a wonderful crook as he slowly pushed her flat against the ancient siding of the old farmhouse belonging to his long standing brother who looked like everything Jasper was except for his spirit.

She could die this way and she would face God with a smile.

“What I feel for you deserves no punishment darlin, but if you insist, I think I’d rather do the punishing than any divine power.”

His lips were light rosy steel against Bella’s own as the clouds started to stretch out infinitely behind his back, unnoticed by the interlocked couple in their wake. A soft moan escaped as felt the soft chill of a crucifix digging into her neck.

Maybe God would forgive her for this. Just once.

#my fic #mine #twilight #thetwilightsaga #fic #twilight fics #my writing #jasper x bella #jasperella #writing #fanfiction #vampire #twilight fanfiction #oneshot

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tooruluv · 4 years

Text

Kei Tsukishima x F!Reader ( part 1 )

❝ they were the sun and moon, destined to be together but only ever totally meeting once every hundred years or so. ❞

description: in a world where you only see color when you're in love, you've grown frustrated of the greyscale. but falling in love with someone you barely know was never something you planned. and, him not returning the feelings definitely wasn’t planned.

genre: soulmate au... except not quite. everyone is born colorblind. you can only see color once you fall in love (and it grows brighter until you see full color as the love grows). however, that doesn't ensure a lasting connection. it simply means that love exists in that moment, until it doesn't.

word count: 1,855

warnings/notes: i would like to say that the "soulmate au but only when you're actually in love" thing is not my idea! i don't know who's idea it was, and i'm sure it was created by several people, but i just wanted to tell you all that i wish i was that creative but, unfortunately, i am not. so! i wanted to give credit where credit is do! moving on to the fic! <3 enjoy, loves

tag list: @vhskenma @elianetsantana @mini-eggs-reads

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masterlist

“ you're just too good to be true, can't take my eyes off of you ” - can’t take my eyes off of you, frankie vallie

┏━━━━━⋇⋆⋆⋇❦⋇⋆⋆⋇━━━━━┓

Kei Tsukishima did not believe in falling in love. Sure, he believed in loving things, but being in love sounded absolutely ridiculous. The entire basis of love, relationships… it just never made any sense to him.

You, on the other hand, very well might have your heart placed on your sleeve. You had a million crushes, a constant new person in your focus. The thing was, you had never seen color.

Color only came to those who fell in love. Through those crushes, through those varying false relationships and games of spin the bottle and seven minutes in heaven, you had never actually fallen in love.

It was becoming frustrating.

While Tsukishima was perfectly content in living in a world without love, in the same greyscale life he had always known, while you were drowning trying to find someone to hang onto.

What strange friends you were.

Well, not friends, per say. But acquaintances for sure. A comfortable relationship between the two of you full of eye contact, your flirtations, and his constant coming into your coffee shop.

If we had to name a beginning, it started the first week of the summer.

You were working at a coffee shop, this little place called Blu. It was a simple corner shop, squished in between two other buildings. You just wanted a summer job to pass by time and get some money, nothing permanent.

Until, one day a tall boy with glasses walked into the place.

He looked bored out of his mind as his eyes scanned the menu above your head. He didn’t say anything when you greeted him (“Welcome to Blu! What can I get for you today?” in your best customer service voice), nor did he say anything when you handed him his coffee. He only spoke to you once, a monotone “I’ll take a black coffee” when he ordered.

You were absolutely infatuated.

One, because who orders a plain black coffee in the middle of the summer? And two, he was cute.

He had to be your age, you decided. Though most kids your age would never get a plain black coffee, and he was pretty tall, he had the youth you did. You just knew.

“Kei!” you called for his order. He didn’t even look into your eyes.

This was a repeat occurrence throughout the rest of the summer, every morning. Sometimes he would say something more, like add a little “Hello.” before ordering. Or he would steal glances at you, and there would be a staring contest for a moment or two.

Occasionally, he even muttered “thank you” when you handed him the mug. Call it what you want, but you called it “progress”.

One particular morning, he was dressed up. You didn’t know what for, you didn’t know much about him as it were, and all you could do was admire. He was stunning in a dark suit, the greyscale doing nothing but bring out how handsome he looked in it.

“Well, don’t you look ravishing today?” You flirted, already moving to get his black coffee. “The usual?”

He gave a small nod, not reacting to your compliment. He had his hands in his pockets, and a dangly earring in one ear.

“Well, here you go.” You handed him the mug. “One plain black coffee for Kei. Don’t spill it on yourself.”

“I would never.” He said. His voice was still monotone, but you caught it. A small quip in the corner of his lip. You almost got him to smile.

However, most mornings it was the same thing. He would come in, order a black coffee for “Kei”, and sit near the window and scroll through his phone through sips. You would watch as the sun created lighter greys along his skin and hair, you would watch as the glare gleamed off of his glasses.

Oh, how you wished you could see the color of his hair.

And, one day, you did.

It was a usual summer day. Autumn was approaching fast, so cool wind started to battle against the sun. But he came in nonetheless; Kei, with his black coffee. Except, this time was different.

“Welcome back, stranger.” You greeted, smiling as bright as you could. You didn’t even ask him what he wanted, you were already getting the black coffee ready behind the counter.

“I’ll take a black coffee.” he said, monotone and normal.

But, it wasn’t normal, not even the slightest bit. Because when you looked up to hand him his coffee, you were met with an array of colors.

You had to blink a few times, just to make sure that you were seeing what you were seeing. The colors were faded, newly forming, but they were still very much there. He had light yellow hair. No. “Blonde” was the word you were looking for.

He was frozen too, just standing there. But then you realized that you were just staring, his coffee in your hands. He must’ve thought you were insane.

“Kei, can I ask you something?” you asked, not wanting to hand him his drink yet. You weren’t one to let your questions go unanswered.

For a moment, he blinked at you. He definitely had to think you were insane. “What?”

“Do you see color?”

If you saw color as you looked at him, you hoped that maybe… maybe he saw color when he looked at you.

“No.”

Right. Of course not.

“Okay. Thanks! I was just wondering.” you handed him the mug, plastering a fake smile on your face (partly for the sake of customer service, and mainly to cover your disappointment). “Enjoy!”

He gave you one last look over, one last glance, before going to his usual spot by the window.

The thing was, you were hoping that he did. You know how ridiculous it sounded, being in love with someone who only spoke a couple of sentences to you. But you couldn’t deny that spending the entire summer excited to see that one person at work… it made sense that you would be.

You just weren’t expecting the colors to arrive right before you leave the job. The perfect time to fall for someone you will probably never see again once you leave and return to school and sports full-time.

Love really does come when you least expect it.

For the rest of that day, you spent your time finding as many colors as you could. You didn’t want it to go away, though it was a likely chance. The colors go away when the love does.

You had to look up what some of the colors were. It was strange to be taught the colors without ever seeing them, and your parents had explained how some colors look, but it was completely different. It was like each of them had their own feeling.

But, even then, you only witnessed the faded versions of those colors. The sky was a pale blue, hidden by the grey clouds. The grass was almost yellow, and the shop you worked at was a soft brown. Everything was still hidden by the greyscale you were accustomed to. And you couldn’t help but want to see more, see them in their full color.

Maybe falling completely and utterly in love would be an amazing thing.

It was comparable to the sun and moon, the relationship between you and Kei Tsukishima. You danced around each other, hoping to chase the light the other brought.

When you worked the next morning, your usual boy didn’t show up. Your eyes searched for him every time the small ding of the bell above the door announced someone entering. But it was never him.

Sighing, you ended your last shift there. Maybe you would come back as a customer, order a drink that has way too much sugar, and sit in his spot in hopes he would show up and sit with you. Or maybe you would run into him on your way out.

Or not.

As you hung up your apron for the last time, gave your manager your nametag and said your last goodbyes to your favorite coworkers, you accepted the fact that the colors would leave soon. They very well couldn’t stay if you end up falling out of love with a boy you would never see again.

It had been months.

Months, and the colors didn’t leave and didn’t grow any brighter. You were stuck in a world where everything was filtered to be faded, and you were growing annoyed.

“Just fucking go away already.” you spoke to the universe.

You would rather live in a world without color than live in a world of almost.

“Everyone!” Daichi called for the team to join him. They obeyed. “Now that Coach Ukai is our official coach, he’s come up with an idea. I think it’s pretty good, so hear him out.” Daichi announced. He turned to their coach, letting him speak.

“Alright, guys.” Ukai crossed his arms. “We have some tournaments this weekend. So do some of the other sports teams, specifically the girls volleyball teams and the softball and baseball teams.”

Tsukki was bored. What did softball and baseball have to do with volleyball? Their season isn’t for months, anyway. They have plenty of time before actual games.

“So, I’ve talked with the softball and baseball coaches and they think that it’s a good idea for us to team up for some fundraising things the next couple of weeks so we can get buses.” Ukai explained. “And, on top of that, someone from the softball team said that they would help us with volleyball practices after softball, since we typically end later than they do.”

“Wait, softball?” Tanaka gaped. “So a girl’s gonna be helping us?”

“A girl already does help us, dumbass.” Tsukki rolled his eyes. Kiyoko did too, but subtly.

“Yeah, she’ll be here in a couple of minutes so I wanted to give a warning.” Ukai said. “She’s in her first year, too, but I expect respect. Alright, now that that’s out of the way, let’s get on with practice.”

Okay, cool. Now back to practice. The reason they’re there to begin with.

They practiced for a bit, going through drills and did a bit of half-assed running (which Tsukki still never understood, why would he have to run miles if he’s just a blocker?). Until a girl walked in.

It was you.

You were here, at Karasuno, at his practice.

You walked in, still in your softball practice uniform. Every time that he had seen you during the summer, you never had your hair down. But, when you walked into the gym and greeted Coach Ukai with a smile, your hair was down and messy from the wind.

Everyone else had noticed Tsukki had stopped in his tracks and dropped what they were doing, turning their heads to see what he was looking. Or rather, who. Now you had the entire team’s attention.

That was when you caught his eye.

His breathing stopped. And so did yours.

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ghost-thot69 · 3 years

Text

(I wrote this while very tired so it won’t be the best but the fanfic fingers don’t stop for anyone so I wrote some very cute rz Michael Myers and baby june fanfic after reading some fluffy fanfics of him)

Sunny Days (rz Michael Myers and June Marie Heisenberg-Myers)

TW: none. Nothing but sheer adorableness, proceed with caution ⚠️

The sun beamed down on Michael’s face. His long, unkempt, blond hair shining in the bright light as he waited outside of Westfield Elementary school. He stood as stiff as a board, except for his left foot, which he kept tapping repeatedly as he waited for June to come out of school.

He looked up at the giant clock on the outside of the school building, impatiently counting down the minutes, hell even the seconds till all the children came flooding out. A couple of parents would stare at him in intimidation. They, despite not knowing that he was a local mass murderer, we’re still very much afraid of him. I mean who wouldn’t be when a 6 foot 7 tall man who barely spoke a word to you or anybody else aside from his daughter, who had hair covering a majority of his chiseled face and had piercing blue eyes, was standing right next to you.

Michael wasn’t quite fond of having his face being shown either. He much preferred to have it hidden behind either one of his masks, however he can’t risk that chance of being caught. God knows what Dr Loomis and the cops would do to his kid if they arrested and/or killed him. And there was another reason why he kept his mask off in public. He loved seeing the cute little smile on June’s face when she saw him smile at her.

Michael’s mind began to wander on what he and June would do after school together. Would they go out for ice cream? Maybe play at the park? Whatever he had settled on, it was interrupted by the loud ringing of the school bell telling the kids it was time to go home.

Due to his height, he could easily see the kids coming out and was able to pick out June from the rest of them. However he wasn’t able to see her this time, it was hard to miss her with her long and wavy brown locks that came down to her ankles. Michael squinted his eyes to see if she was somewhere in the back amongst the crowd of little children running to their parents or the school bus, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Michael’s blood began to rush, worried that something might have happened to her that the school didn’t tell him about. He began to press forward towards the building before his ears picked up the little pitter-patter of tiny shoes on the ground.

“Papa!” A soft voice called out to him.

Michael looked up at the stairs, and rushing out the large doors came June, a piece of paper in her tiny hand. When she saw him, her face beamed happily, her taking a giant leap off the stairs and into the air.

Michael snapped out of his worried daze and held his arms out to catch her, the tiny girl landing in his large, muscular arms. June happily threw her arms around him in a hug, and nuzzled her face into his. “Papa! Papa!!” She cheered, covering his face in kisses.

Michael breathed out a sigh of relief before smiling at her, pushing the hair out her face. “Hello pumpkin.” He said softly. “How was school?”

June wiggled out of his arms and landed on the ground, jumping up and down happily. “It was good! Oh here here here!” She said, her handing him the paper she had in her hands.

Michael tried to grab it but she was so hyper that it shook before he really could get a hold of it. He chuckled before managing to grab it from her and looked at it. “What is it sweetheart?” He asked, tilting it to get a better look.

What was on the now slightly crumpled piece of paper was a drawing of what looked like him, Jason, herself and a very…very crudely drawn Freddy with the words “stinky pepperoni man” scribbled on it. Right next to them was their home and a couple of flowers, some grass, and the sun. In the corner was some sort of mysterious red stain.

“I drew this today! It's me, you and bubba Jason! Oh and Freddy’s there too I guess.” She murmured, her messing with her feet. “I’m mad at Stu, he got ketchup on it during lunch…”

Michael smiled. The drawing melted his heart, he looked on the back and saw that she had written “my family” on it. It made him happy that, even though she was adopted, and she knew that she was, that she sees them all as her family. He folded up the paper and put it in the pack pocket of his coveralls. He kneeled down to be at her height before taking her in a big hug, almost lifting her off the ground. “I love it,pumpkin. Thank you.”

June gasped out happily, throwing her arms around his neck to hug him back. Michael let her go and stood up, and grabbed her hand. They began to walk back to their home.

“So what are we going to do today papa?”

Michael hummed, looking up at the sky and then down at her. “Well I was thinking we can take the car and drive to the ice cream place?”

Ice cream? June love, love, LOVES ice cream. She frantically shook her head yes, clapping her hands in agreement. “Yes! Yes we gotta go!”

Michael laughed, swinging her arm as they walked. “Alright, let’s go eat then, you can get all the toppings you want.” He instantly regretted saying that. June is a hyper child and knowing her, she’d pile her ice cream in rainbow and chocolate sprinkles, gummy bears and whatever sweet treats that really shouldn’t be used as ice cream toppings, her little heart desires, but he couldn’t resist her. When she was left at his doorsteps as a baby, she changed his life for the better. He didn’t mind spoiling her, but not too much.

Hours later, Michael was laying down on the old, rundown, paisley yellow couch with June asleep on his chest, her snoring softly. The tv was on, playing whatever show she liked. He really couldn’t understand the concept of this young singer who hides her identity by just putting on a blonde wig and her and her friends' shenanigans and why this appealed to June, but it made her happy and that’s all that mattered to him.

Jason was off to the side, drinking a cup of hot chocolate through his mask, looking at the both of them all cheerfully, his energy radiating off the living room walls that, if you turned off the lights, Jason would be beaming head to toe like a lantern.

Freddy walked in, him groaning and rubbing his eye, him poking Jason in the shoulder. “Jason, stop it.” He grumbled, him walking to the couch that Michael and June were on and reached for the remote.

Michael slapped his hand away and shot a deathly glare up at him. “June’s show is on. Don’t you dare change that channel.”

Freddy hissed, shaking his hand which was now more red than it normally was. “What’s the big fuckin deal? She’s asleep and it’s just stupid ass Hannah Montana!”

Michael’s glare grew more intense, him slowly sitting up while holding a sleeping June closer to his chest so she wouldn’t fall. “I said, don’t. Touch. The God damn. Remote.” He hissed, violence backing up his words.

Freddy held his hands up in defense and scoffed, backing up. “Alright fine geez, I’ll watch tv in the kitchen then, good fuckin’ greif.” He muttered, making his way to the kitchen.

Michael rolled his eyes in annoyance and laid back down slowly so as to not wake up June. Lo and behold, she was miraculously still asleep, rubbing her eyes as she slept.

Michael flashed a warm smile down at her before leaning over and planting a kiss on the top of her head.

Jason looked back over to the two before getting up and reaching into a small closet, digging through it before pulling out a small blue blanket. He waddled over as quietly as possible and laid the blanket over June and gave her a pat on her head, his hand ten times the size of her head.

Michael smiled and then turned his attention back to the tv. Before he had realized it the sun was down, and the Disney channel was playing whatever original movie that was causing a whole scene in her school. Teenagers, BLEGH! Dancing and singing about basketball, romance and whatever, He wasn’t paying attention. To be honest, he’d rather be watching the little mermaid, but the songs were catchy.

Michael let out a loud, very audible yawn before covering his mouth instantly and looked down at June, who again, was somehow still asleep through all the loud noise that went on. Jason was asleep on the couch behind him and using Freddy as some sort of teddy bear. Freddy was probably drunk off his ass to really care, but he was definitely going to feel his bones being crushed in the morning.

Michael huffed out and smiled at them all. He didn’t want to admit it to Freddy or Jason, but he was very glad that he had those two around him. The more he thought about the drawing June made for him of them as a family, the more he admitted that they were indeed a family. Originally, they were just there for hiding, though Freddy could go in and out of the dream realm as much as he pleases, he didn’t really need to hide, but I guess he stayed for whatever reason. Still, he needs to pay his rent. When June arrived, however, they did see themselves slowly becoming closer. They really were becoming a family.

June yawned, rolling over some, which snapped Michael out of his thoughts. He looked down at her and smiled, rubbing her cheek with his finger and moving her hair out of her face. He began to hum as he got up slowly from the couch and snuck past the other two and made his way up the stairs to June’s room. He began to navigate the room in the dark, making his way through stuffed toys and paper and crayons laid across the floor. He managed to find her bed, him pulling back the blanket and placing her in the sheets, laying her head on a pillow. He tucked her in blankets and laid under her arm a purple plush bunny.

June gently stirred about before a smile crept on her face in sleep.

Michael had leaned over and gave her a kiss on her head one last time before backing up and switching on a mushroom shaped night light that illuminated the room in a soft blue glow. “Goodnight Pumpkin. I love you.” He whispered, slowly closing the door behind him.

June rubbed her eyes, curling up in a ball under the blanket and held her bunny closer to her.

“I wuv..you too papa.”

#dead by daylight #horror #michael myers #rz michael myers #rz Michael myers fanfic #halloween 2007 #michael myers fanfic #writing #my writing

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unactivedblog · 3 years

Text

mistletoe and nargles

pairing- luna lovegood x fem!reader

warnings- like one kiss?

description- Nargles can't stop you and Luna from sharing a lovely kiss.

word count- 823

author note- In the Christmas mood again, so here's a wholesome Luna imagine. :)

3rd person POV

(Y/N) walked down her house stairs, Luna waiting for her at the bottom. Luna had joined (Y/N) and her family on Christmas break, wanting to spend more time with the girl.

"Merry Christmas (Y/N)!" Luna cheered walking to (Y/N) giving her a light hug. She patted her on the back while wiping her hand across her face, which made her smile crooked.

"Merry Christmas to you too Luna!" (Y/N) replied her hand glazing down Lunas arm and to her hand. She dragged her friend to the somewhat dark living room, only being lit up by the yellow tinted Christmas lights. The two girl sat by the tree while getting their parcels together. Luna had gotten some from her father, and her few friends from school, (Y/N) getting some from her family.

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The girls sat on the floor laughing while enjoying the gifts they got from their loved ones. (Y/N) eyes widened a bit while she got up from the couch.

"Wait here." She smiled and ran up to her room, leaving luna in alone in the living room. (Y/N) entered her room and went straight to the closet, she started searching it throwing clothes and single socks across the room.

Where is it? Did I manage to lose it?

The (E/C) eyed girl started to worry, searching her room now moving everything. Her nightstand, drawers, and shelves. (Y/N) reached her hand underneath her bed, touched a small box making a wrinkled noise. It was what she searched for. She quickly grabbed the box and stood up. She looked at the mirror in front of her and fixed her hair before running back downstairs almost falling down them. (Y/N) stopped before entering the living room staring at the small box wrapped in a plain brown paper with a string bow around it. She took a deep breath and walked in.

Luna smiled as the girl entered the living room, patting the spot next to her. (Y/N) moved to luna and awkwardly shifted toward her.

"What's wrong, (Y/N)?" The blond asked tilting her head to the right.

"Here," she mumbled while pulling the little parcel from behind her band. She held it out and looked down with a small rose tint on her cheeks. Luna took the parcel and opened it revealing a handmade box. She lifted the top of the box and her eyes becoming brighter at the sight. In the box was a gold wire ring with an indigo crystal in the middle. Luna held up the ring and placed it on her index finger. Admiring the beautiful ring that was now laying on her finger.

"(Y/N), this is beautiful. Did you make it?"

"Uh-- yeah, when you told me about how much you liked crystals I thought I'd be a nice gift." (Y/N) gushed out still looking away.

"I do enjoy crystals, and I love this ring. I'm very greatful for it and for you." Luna beamed whilst grabbing (Y/N) hand.

"Let's go eat." (Y/N) stood up and the two friends started to walk to the kitchen hand in hand.

"oh goodness how could I forget!" Luna let go of the girls hand and rushed to the tree having (Y/N) wait in the doorframe connecting the living room and hallway. A couple of seconds later luna came in with a necklace in her hand. It had a light blue string, having a cork hang off of it. She placed it over my head and fixed it.

"I want you to be protected from the nargles. That's why I made you this charms."

"Thank you Luna, I love it."

Luna looked up a bit and let out a small sigh of relief.

"I think I gave it to you just in time, see." She pointed up. (Y/N) lifted her head seeing mistletoe above them.

"Nargles like mistletoe, but now you have the charm so, don't worry." She held (Y/N) hand, giving a little smile.

(Y/N) shifted her gaze back to Luna and let out a shaky breath, moving a strand of hair from Lunas pale face.

"Since we're protected from the nargles -- is it okay if I .. kiss you?" With that question luna wrapped her hands around (Y/N)s neck, laying her soft pink lips on (Y/N)s. (Y/N)s heart skipped a beat when their lips collided, butterflies swimming in her stomach, returning the kiss with no hesitation. The kiss broke with them both smiling, faces flushed and cheeks red.

"Merry Christmas beautiful." (Y/N) whispered in her ear making the biggest smile appear on Lunas face.

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#luna lovegood supremacy #luna lovegood x y/n #luna lovegood x ravenclaw!reader #luna lovegood x you #luna lovegood x reader #luna lovegood #luna lovegood imagine #luna lovegood fluff

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mandoalorian · 4 years

Text

Sugar and Spice [Maxwell Lord x Reader] - Chapter 2

Summary: When you are evicted from your apartment by your toxic ex boyfriend and have no place to go, who do you turn to? Alone in the city as the countdown to Christmas begins, you find yourself applying for a job as the assistant of the world’s biggest entrepreneur; Maxwell Lord. Little do you know, he has other intentions for you. No doubt about it, this Christmas will truly be like no other.

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Eventual smut, mentions of a previous verbally abusive relationship, typical 80s misogyny (but very little of it), mentions of food and drink, alcohol consumption. This is a sugardaddy x sugarbaby fic soooo… a daddy k!nk too oops.

But in this chapter - allusions to sex and MAJOR sexual tension hehe :)

Author’s note: Chapter 2 let’s go!! I hope everyone is enjoying so far! Remember if you wanted to be added to my taglist feel free to let me know!

MASTERLIST | SUBMIT REQUESTS

PREVIOUS - CHAPTER TWO - NEXT

You had been mesmerised just from entering Black Gold Cooperative— but actually stepping foot in Maxwell Lord's office was a whole different story. The entire building was decked out in Christmas decorations, pine trees and tinsel on every corner, but as you stepped foot in his larger-than-life office, there was not a single thing that highlighted festive spirit in sight. Nevertheless, you were in awe, immediately taking in the paintings, the pottery, the statues… it was like every little thing was embellished in gold. You hadn't even laid your eyes on Maxwell yet, but he was certainly looking at you.

You weren't exactly sure what you took a man like Maxwell Lord for. You considered him to be the tacky kind— but every piece of furniture in his office looked antique— like it came straight out of a museum. You admired the paintings on the walls. One thing's for sure, you didn't expect him to be a man who appreciated art culture. They were magnificent, and of all different shapes and sizes.

Maxwell Lord slouched back into his chair and watched you intently, his dark eyes following your every move. You were like no other girl who had come in for an interview, that's for sure. You were dressed in a thick, cream coloured winter coat and he noted the hat and gloves that were stuffed messily into your pocket. Your wet boots left a puddle of water where you had entered his office and he noted the little snowflakes balancing in your windswept, knotted hair.

He was surprised, to say the least. The past week he had been conducting interviews in-attempt to find someone suitable for the job role at hand. Dozens of young girls would confidently strut into his office— their high heels clicking against the expensive marble floor. They would try wooing him with a bat of eyelashes, which of course, Maxwell did not shame their attempts. Despite their unsuccess at acquiring the job, Maxwell did make sure they got a little something from him in return.

The businessman's eyes darted to the trash can under his desk as he looked at the discarded silk handkerchiefs he had just used to clean himself up after his last interview. Then, he re-acquainted his gaze to you, and picked up on the fact that you had yet to acknowledge his presence. You were too caught up in the furnishings of his office. You really were different.

"Ms Minerva?" Maxwell called you eventually, clearing his throat. Not recognising your newly claimed fake name, you didn't budge, but instead let your fingers trace the countries of a world map that hung on the wall. Pins had been stabbed into the capitals of most countries and you wondered what it meant. Perhaps it was all the countries he had visited— or more likely, all the companies that had shares in his black gold business. "Ms Minerva." Maxwell repeated, his voice more solid this time.

You felt your body freeze up, wondering how long he had been calling you for. Shit, you thought. You really believe you had messed up— just stumbling into his office and paying no attention to him whatsoever.

"Oh!" you gasped, spinning around on the heel of your foot, almost slipping on the water you had trailed in with you. Maxwell couldn't help but let the small smirk creep upon his lips at your clumsy but innocent nature. "Your office is… it's so…"

"What you expected?" Maxwell prompted, leaning over the desk slightly trying to get a closer look at you.

Something about your demeanor drew him to you and he couldn't place his finger on what exactly it was. He wondered what your deal was. He wondered why you had decided to attend possibly the most prestigious interview of your life dressed the way you had. You hoped he didn't think you were deliberately ignoring him.

"No- I mean. I'm not sure what I expected, really," You admitted with a small shrug before approaching an oil painting. "This is magnificent," you said. "I've never seen such intricate work before."

The painting was huge— quite possibly the biggest one in the room. It was posed, of course, and you wondered how long the poor models had to stand there to be painted. They were positioned on a grand staircase with a purple carpet rolling up it. They looked stern- mean- not an emotion in sight.

"That's a family portrait," Maxwell informed you from his chair. "My family."

Oh.

You digested the image of the couple with their young son. The child was no older than ten, you guessed, with dark blonde-browning hair and he was dressed in a shirt, shorts and bow tie. The couple stood behind him, and the pair consisted of a beautiful woman with red hair and pearl earrings wearing a fur coat and sleek silk dress. "Your wife is gorgeous." You said, quietly, entranced by the family portrait.

Maxwell paused, his eyes not moving from you for a second. "That's my mother." he deadpanned.

You curled your fingers into a fist at your own shameless and idiotic comment. You could not forget how much you needed this job— you had to do better.

"Oh," you replied, feeling a flush of embarrassment wash over you. "So that little boy is you, hm? Your hair is lighter nowadays," you smiled light-heartedly but Maxwell didn't share the warm sentiment. "You look just like your father." You admitted, eyes flicking between the suited man in the painting, and the suited man who was sitting at his desk behind you.

Both men were of an average height, with broad shoulders and the same, identical cunning smirk. Big brown eyes and swept but styled hair. You very little about the Lord family — to the general public, they were always an enigma. Tabloids would spread rumours and no one ever really knew the truth. You hoped you hadn't hit a nerve with the comparison, but as seconds went on, you cursed yourself for your inability to just keep your mouth shut.

Maxwell didn't reply to your comment, and the silence was deafening. For the first time, he looked away from you and into the light oak wood of his desk which he had inherited from his late father. He let a few sad thoughts ponder his mind as you continued to scower his office looking at all the high end decor, before taking a big huff of breath. It wasn't her fault, she couldn't know any better. Maxwell told himself, but it didn't hurt any less.

Her words stung but he pushed them back as far as he could. Blocking out his emotions was something Maxwell had done his whole life and had become quite accustomed to. This was ridiculous. Maxwell wouldn't let himself get worked up over a brief comment about his father, by a girl wearing a last season winter coat who he had never met before. He stiffened up and cleared his throat.

"Ms Minerva, if you are going to just scope my office I'd be in my right mind to call security and have you thrown out." Maxwell sighed, tapping his fingers impatiently against the desk. Your head bolted towards him.

"Oh! I'm so so sorry." you pressed your hands in a pleading manner.

As Maxwell took in your form, his mind began to race. He could get used to looking at you like that. Pleading for him— on your knees— begging for just a taste of what he had to offer. The dirty thoughts consumed his mind and he shifted in his chair feeling a familiar fire in his lower stomach. Brushing past your pretty, doe-like eyes, he reached for a gold fountain pen and an expensive looking journal, opening it up.

"Why are you here?" Maxwell asked, dropping the pen, slouching back into his leather chair and kicking his feet up on his desk. You swallowed the hard lump that had appeared in your throat as you took in his posture.

"Uhm, well I- uh-" you struggled to find words. My god he was attractive. You hadn't paid much attention before, but now that he was sitting there right before your eyes, you felt a small warmth creep up between your legs.

He was just lounging right before you— his body spread out. He wasn't wearing the smart suit jacket as you had pictured, but instead, a crisp white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You could see the light hair on his arms glisten under the setting sun, and the yellow gold of his Rolex wristwatch sparkle as he played with the rings on his fingers.

Maxwell caught you staring at his hands. How could you not? Teasingly, he began rolling his jewelled rings up and down his long thick fingers. You found yourself biting your lower lip, pulling all your energy into suppressing a moan as you watched the way his fingers moved. You took in every detail, wanting to remember it forever— the light bronzed shade of his skin and the wrinkles over his knuckles. His nails were short but definitely well manicured. You let out the smallest gasp as you imagined how they would feel inside of you. You wondered how many of his fingers you could take and how they would stretch you open. You imagined his thumb rubbing circles into your clit as he finger fucked you and suddenly you felt your panties dampen. Your knees went weak.

He moved his large ring clad hands and folded them against his broad chest, a devilish smirk playing on his lips. You always wondered to what extent his magazine covers had been edited but he was just as handsome as he was on television, in real life. One thing you noticed was that his usual styled dark blonde hair was only slightly out of place, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. It was a change from his ordinary pristine appearance. Seeing that you were struggling to answer his question, Maxwell pointed his finger and gestured you closer to him. You walked towards him and stood still in front of him, only his desk between you both.

"Take it off." he mumbled, his gaze strong and steady on your body. You swore your mind was playing games on you as you engulfed his dark choice for words. You were absolutely ready to submit to him but deep down you knew that you were over-thinking.

"I- I'm sorry?" You croaked out.

His smirk grew and a small dimple appeared in his left cheek. "Your coat. Take it off." He commanded and you mouthed a small 'oh' before following his instructions and dropping your wet winter coat to the floor. You cursed yourself. You were ready to completely undress yourself for this man you had never met before. Did he have this effect on everyone? "Turn around." he prompted you, twirling his finger in gesture. You slowly spun around a few times and Maxwell was struggling to contain himself.

You were delightful— wearing just a pair of washed out flared jeans and a geometric print t shirt. The jeans were very 70s, flaring out at the bottom, and Maxwell wondered how out of date your wardrobe was. He wondered if you'd let him take you out clothes shopping. Maxwell felt flushed as he took in how perfectly the denim sculpted your thighs and the round of your ass. He found your body exquisite. The t-shirt was thin, and he was surprised you had opted for such a fashion choice in the depth of winter. Despite the central heating being turned on, he couldn't help but notice the way your nipples poked through your shirt, hardened from the cold weather— or so he assumed they were hard from the cold weather. You felt his eyes bore into your chest and you crossed your arms over yourself, hoping he hadn't spotted your arousal. Maxwell felt his cock twitch at the sight of you and he fought the urge to bend you over and fuck you right then and there on his desk. You had an air of innocence to you, and he didn't want to ruin that. At least, not yet.

"Is everything okay sir?" Your voice was soft like honey and a small grunt escaped Maxwell's throat. He had just gotten off with his previous interviewee but you were simply something else.

"Perfect," he hummed wistfully. "Please, take a seat." You obeyed his order and slid down into the chair opposite to him. "Tell me, Ms Minerva. What urged you to lie about your identity?"

You felt your heart stop and your fingers gripped the arms of your chair. Shit, you thought to yourself. He had caught on. You gulped and tried to find a quick witted yet believable response to him but it you couldn't. Normally you were great at answering back but sitting before Maxwell Lord had you feeling some kind of way and you couldn't shake it.

"Tell me, who are you really?" He urged. You contemplated his words and decided there was no pointing in continuing your long winded lie. You were surprised you had made it this far without getting caught in the first place. He was still smirking, however, and it seemed like he didn't really care at all. Giving in, you told him your real name.

"Mr Lord, if I may ask, how did you know I wasn't Barbara Minerva?" you asked Maxwell.

"I can read minds." Maxwell said darkly, staring deep into your eyes.

Oh, his eyes. They had darkened significantly— once a chocolate brown but now they could easily be confused for black. Suddenly the extravagant decor around his office had become a mere back thought and you had been absolutely captured by his handsome looks. His skin was golden under the setting sun behind him and it accentuated the blonde highlights in his hair. His eyelashes were long and dark and his lips were the perfect shape. His nose was rather prominent and curved slightly and you imagined what it would be like pressed against your face as he kissed you.

You wanted him to take you in his arms and glide his large hands all over your body, caressing you and touching you everywhere he could. Sliding his hand up your shirt and cupping your breast as he settled lazy sloppy kisses into your neck and collarbones. Realising you had been silent for perhaps a moment too long, you let out a loud laugh.

"Right," you chortled in disbelief. "Read minds. Very funny." you grinned and you even caught him stifle down a dry chuckle.

"I like you," Maxwell admitted and you felt your heart stop. "I think you'd be well suited working for me. Of course… we might have to sort out your wardrobe. I'd like to offer you a job."

He had barely asked you any questions and he already made his mind up. You couldn't believe your luck.

"Wait, really?" you asked, your eyes widening with delight.

Maxwell nodded slowly. "Did one of my secretaries have you sign an NDA on your way in here?"

"Yes sir," you bit your lip anxiously. You had wondered what the non-disclosure agreement was for.

"So you know that if you repeat any of this to anyone else after our interview is over, I can and will sue you."

Not that you had any money anyway, his cold words still made you nervous. He was one of the most powerful men in the world. Friends with the president of the USA, he had relations with practically every country who bought his oil, and now, he was offering you a job.

"Yes sir." you repeated obediently, fluttering your eyelashes at him. The way that word rolled off your tongue— He felt his cock harden in his pants. You were just so damn pretty.

"I have to tell you then," Maxwell leaned forward on his desk, interlocking his fingers together. He was inches away from you, gazing into your eyes. "I'm not looking for an assistant." His voice was dark and menacing and a lustful glint appeared in his eyes.

"You- you're not?" You stammered, feeling your cheeks flush with heat. You wondered what job you had actually gone for.

"How familiar are you with sugar dating?" Maxwell raised an eyebrow, his eyes now glaring dark and sinister.

"Su-sugar dating?"

You weren't overly familiar, but sure, you had read your fair share of erotic novels that illustrated such prospect.

Maxwell stood up from his chair and walked around his desk before perching on top of it and looking down at you. "I'm looking for a certain kind of arrangement, per-se," Maxwell explained. "You give me what I want, and I give you what you want. Money, clothes, diamonds, jewellery, cars… whatever your heart desires. It's yours. Think about finally having everything you always wanted."

Your gaze met the floor as you contemplated his words. No, he couldn't be serious. He had the wrong girl. "Sir," your voice was a timid whisper. "I don't think I possess anything you could want." you told him sadly, insecurity bubbling inside you. He was the Maxwell Lord. Esteemed, knowledgeable, reputable, and he worked amongst the most beautiful and well dressed women you had ever seen. Yet, here you were, sitting before him, and he had chosen you.

Maxwell shook his head. "No." he said simply, extending his arm and curling his fingers around your chin, pointing it upwards so you were looking up at him. He wanted to trace your pretty lips with his fingers— spread them apart and feel the warmth as he let you taste him.

"No?" You beckoned, your heart trashing against your chest. His hands were so soft but his touch was rough and he steadied the hard grip around your face. If it were any other man, you would've pushed him off you, cursing him. But this wasn't just any man.

"You have everything I want."

December Magic: @kiwi-the-first @100layersofdaddyissues @mrschiltoncat @honeymandos @thisisthe-way @this-cat-is-dea

Permanent: @goth-topic @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria

#maxwell lord #maxwell lord x reader #maxwell lord smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #max lord #max lord x reader #max lord smut #december magic #pedro pascal christmas

191 notes · View notes

radioduo · 3 years

Text

i was there in your forgetting (until i was forgot) || dsmp become human

word count: ~1,900

notes: woo!! the title is much different from the others but i think i like it more lmao anyway, hopefully this is good? i wrote it kind of early in the morning lmao

warnings: i guess it counts as a hostage-type situation, but i don’t know what to call that exactly, so i won’t tag it, just be warned! there is also a brief mention of smoking

first // prev // next

Ranboo had forgotten how much distaste he had for rain until he was on his own. It was still dark outside, a little past midnight if he were to guess. Streetlights and storefronts stayed illuminated, luckily for him. Ranboo sat outside a café under a rain-soaked umbrella as he planned his next move. Niki had told him which way to go, but now his only issue was finding the right direction. He had never ventured far in the city before by himself. Now he was by his lonesome with no guidance and no idea where he was going.

He removed his gloves and absently traced a finger along the edges of the metal table as he murmured directions to himself. “East… Camden, and then north to-”

“Ferndale?”

Ranboo froze. He slowly turned his head around to look at the person behind him. A tall ginger man with white streaks in his hair stood behind him, his backlit up by the light of the café. He had a curious look in his dark brown eyes as he looked at the masked android. “Who are you?” Ranboo demanded.

The ginger didn’t answer right away. He wandered over to the seat on the opposite side of Ranboo and sat himself down before replying, “I’m Fundy,” he said. He must have noticed Ranboo’s unease because he quickly added, “Don’t worry! I’m an android too.” He held up his gloved hand. Ranboo watched in surprise as the “skin” retreated from his hand to reveal the porcelain white layer below. Fingerless gloves covered most of his palm, but Ranboo could tell that Fundy wasn’t lying. The newcomer’s LED blinked from under his black cap. “I was passing through here and noticed you sitting alone. I thought you might like some company,”

The tension in Ranboo’s shoulders was easing up a little. “Okay. If that does happen to be true, how did you know I was going to Ferndale?” he asked, narrowing his eyes behind his shades. “You shouldn’t have been able to know that.”

Fundy shrugged. “I have my ways,” he said airily. Mischief gleamed in his eyes. “You’re gonna want to get patched up before going on that trip,” Fundy suggested. “I can see the scarring on your hands.” Fundy pointed to Ranboo’s hands where the skin layer rippled like water over his knuckles and joints. “Doesn’t exactly seem like you’re in good shape,”

Ranboo grimaced beneath his dual-colored mask. “If you knew about the night I’ve had, you wouldn’t be surprised,” he muttered.

Fundy laughed, a sound reminiscent of a fox squeak. “Uh-huh?” His tone was light and playful. “Well, I’m sure it was terrible, but that’s not why I’m here.” He leaned forward in his chair. The light from the stores illuminated the ginger's face. “I know a guy who can fix you up,”

“Huh, that sounds trustworthy, for sure,” Ranboo twiddled his fingers. Fundy was treading a thin line between truth and deceit. “...who do you know?”

----------

“Ah,” Ranboo sighed. “I see.”

He looked down at the slip of paper Fundy had handed him before disappearing. The address was correct, so why did it feel so wrong to be there? The android looked back up at the looming building. It was not the most threatening exterior. The walls were white brick, and the front door was a cheery shade of yellow. Rain blurred some of his vision, but he could see a garden in the back of the house. An iron gate and an intercom blocked the entrance. Haltingly, Ranboo pressed a button on the keypad. A raucous buzzing sounded from the speakers.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the crackling static. “Can I help you?” An unknown woman asked. She had an accent from somewhere Ranboo couldn't put his finger on. Somewhere southern, perhaps?

O Yes

X No

Ranboo rubbed his hands together nervously.

O Yes

“I think you can. At least, someone told me you could,” he stated. He noticed his face on a small screen, presumably the woman's view of him. Ranboo noticed how disheveled he looked, hair mussed up and clothes dirty. He frowned beneath the mask.

There was a pause, and then, “Honey, I don’t know what you think this place is, but I suggest you go home for the night. I don’t appreciate you kids playin’ tricks on me.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” He held a hand up in desperation. Removing his glove, he put his scarred hand up to the screen. “I need your help,” he said quietly. “Please?”

There was an awkward silence, and with no warning, the iron gate began to slide open. Ranboo breathed a sigh of relief. He approached the front door brightly. He was about to knock, fist poised over the door when it suddenly swung open to reveal a tall blonde woman.

“Hello, darlin’,” she drawled. Her accent was much thicker in person, and clouds of cigarette smoke puffed from her mouth now and then. “Come on in! Make yourself at home here. I’ll get my husband and he can fix you right up,” she explained, ushering him into the house.

O Accept

X Refuse

Ranboo cast an anxious glance behind him. As predicted, he was alone with no one but the lady and the rain for company.

O Accept

Ranboo followed the blonde into the living room. He had to admit, the home was comfortable. The fireplace was roaring, and there were throw blankets and pillows scattered around the couch. “Th-thanks?” He called after her as he watched the woman vanish into the next room. He sat in a pillowy chair tentatively and glanced around.

The curtains were smoky gray, and the wooden floors were were the color of freshly made caramel. There was a record player in the corner with shimmering golden accents. Vintage, he noticed. It was made in 1996, if he had to guess, about thirty years ago. A low tune was playing quietly that almost felt foreboding. Ranboo was about to get up and inspect the purple and white striped disc when the door was cast open.

“Well, well, well!” A deep, booming voice cut through the soft music. A man in a cream button-down shirt and suspenders made his grand entrance and set himself on an armchair across from Ranboo. “I hear we have a visitor? It’s nice to meet a young android like you. I’m Alan Devon, and this is my wife Adeline.” he gestured to the blonde lady that stood behind him. He held a hand out to the brown-haired android.

Ranboo took the man’s hand and eyed him cautiously.

Alan Devon

Age: 51

Height: 6’2”

“Nice to meet you too, sir,” Ranboo replied slowly. “I, uh, I heard that you were able to do android repairs?” He said, fiddling with his gloves.

Alan chuckled. “Not just able, son, I’m an expert at this sort of thing. I used to be the second in command at CyberLife. I helped design the very first android ever created, TU880?” Silence met his words, and he continued talking. “What I’m trying to say is that I am more than qualified to fix up your hand.” He stood up from his white armchair and headed towards a door at the back of the room. “If you follow me, we can get started on repairs right away!”

Ranboo watched Alan descend the dark staircase. The sensible part of his mind told him to run.

O Follow him

X Don’t follow him

Considering the night he’d had, Ranboo couldn’t exactly say he was feeling sensible.

O Follow him

He pulled himself off the couch and past the record player. Mellohi, he noted. Huh. With a deep breath, he gripped the railing and followed after the middle-aged man, a quiet determination settling in him.

The flight of stairs was shorter than he expected. At the bottom of the steps sat a large room full of spare parts and pieces of androids. Strewn about the room were LEDs, thirium pumps, and audio processors. Ranboo almost tripped over a stray limb. He shuddered in disgust.

“Here,” Alan pointed to the large machine at the front of the room. “Step up onto this and we can get started,” he ordered coldly.

Ranboo did as he was told, albeit reluctantly. He gasped in surprise as robotic arms grabbed his wrists and pinned them to his side. Another arm placed itself firmly on his head, keeping it still. “What is this?” Ranboo asked shakily.

Alan didn’t respond for a second as he pressed an array of buttons on a keypad next to Ranboo. Finally, he looked back up at the captive android with his too-wide smile and too-bright eyes. “Don’t you know, son?” He asked. “Lesson one: never trust a stranger,” he pressed a green button on the keypad. “Or anyone, for that matter.”

The machine jerked Ranboo's head back swiftly. “What are you doing?” he yelped. The robotic arm was sifting around through the wires and gears in the android's neck. “Aren’t you-”

“No talking,” Alan said firmly, which Ranboo assumed was his polite way of telling him to shut the hell up. “We don’t take kindly to androids in my house, you hear?” He muttered something to himself as he wandered away from where Ranboo was struggling on his own. “Androids were my idea! Who do you think gave that blue-eyed bastard the idea to build that piece of rubbish? Not to mention one of your kind killed my son.”

Ranboo stiffened as the metal claw poked his memory card. “What are you talking about?

Alan dodged the question. “I’m wiping your memory. Once that’s gone, you’ll forget you were ever a deviant, and I can dismantle you.” He smiled. “I’m going to build the most sophisticated piece of AI with these spare parts, mark my words.” He smoothed the wrinkles in his shirt. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get a drink. Don’t even think about leaving, or you’ll be sorry.”

Ranboo wasn’t sure what awaited him if he tried to leave, but he was willing to risk it if it meant freedom. As soon as his captor was out of sight, Ranboo began struggling against the metal claws that held him in place. The machine gripped his memory chip and began to pull. Ranboo winced and tried to move his neck away, but to no avail. The chip disconnected from his system, and Ranboo could feel his memories corrupting.

All the faces he used to recognize blurred together. Niki, Sam, Fundy, slipping away like sand through his fingers. He grimaced as he felt the metal claws relax their grip on his arms and head. Ranboo wriggled his way out of their grasp and stepped down from the platform. He had a minute before all of his system memory was corrupted. Ranboo frowned as he grabbed the memory card. He wasn't able to put it back in himself. He pocketed it and looked around. His adrenaline was fading, and with it went his memories. He scanned the bleak basement. His options were limited. Wait for the Devons, escape through the front door, or find-

The back door, he thought as a plain white door caught his eye. Hope blossomed in his chest again. I can leave.

He rushed to the door silently and was about to tug on the handle when he heard the door open again. Ranboo tensed.

O Leave

X Stay

#ranboo #dream smp #dsmp #dream smp writing #dsmp become human #my writing #ask to tag

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thewriterowl · 3 years

Note

some headcanon about Luke childhood and adolescence on Tatooine?

Oh sure thing! Now, I’d definitely use a lot of what is talked about already.

Luke was sort of exiled from most people, especially any of those who are close to his age.

Now, Tatooine is a hella lonely planet. I recently reblogged an amazing chart that has so many planets, their systems/rims, stats, etc. and it provides so much info. Like how it is estimated only around 200,000 people live on all of Tatooine. The clumps of population are sort of spread out and hopping from one town to the next is not just something you can just get up and do. So Luke has almost no opportunity to even find friends.

I pictures that Biggs actually didn’t like Luke at first when they were kids. That he followed the group and that his family maybe urged for him to stay away from that boy, something just wasn’t quite right to him. The Lars were a rather respectable sort but they were still...odd. His father Cliegg was a pretty good man who saved and married Shmi Skywalker after his wife died, and Shmi was a good soul too...but there were so many rumors about her and her son who she claimed did not have a father. The son that won a race, threw a lot into chaos, and disappeared with cloaked figures. Lars claims this boy is the son of the missing child of Shmi, who had died when all that dramatics happened in the Core Worlds.

It was just...odd. And Luke was odd. Yes, there have been kids born with blond-ish hair and blue eyes before...but the colors were always darker. Their eyes would be such dark blue that they probably could look brown in some light and usually when they reach the teenage years the hair was already starting to darken. It was just a sort of normal thing on the planet. Pretty much everyone grew up too. Even the most measly of slaves had to have girth and strength on them to be of any use on this planet.

Luke just was always slightly off. His hair remained this pretty gold, his eyes were such a strange hue of blue, his face never took on a tough or quite masculine appearance, and he was just small. He was lanky and awkward and just never jumped in height like most kids. He was pathetically weak looking which is enough for most to keep their distances because if you’re around someone weak you could get drug down too.

Then there was those weird things that happen around him. Creatures that normally stayed hidden in the depths of the Tatooine desert and never inched close to towns would be found skulking and whimpering around the Lars’ property, always clawing at the wall that surrounded Luke’s room. The kid always knew where to search for a new well. He could sense when a seller is not being quite honest. He picked up blaster shooting quicker than any other child and could always find his target. He knew how to use a speeder masterfully when he was ten. Beru’s plants sprouted with Luke nearby and gave them vegetables even during the drier months. He could predict things. And, as a child, when he had his rare tantrums things seemed to move. Then there was the fact that mysterious old Ben could be seen, only just, in the background, watching over the kid.

So, yeah, Luke was not seen as a welcomed sort.

But he was so stubborn and so eager for attention and to make friends that Biggs had a hard time fighting him off. The kid just managed to always find him so he just sorta gave up. He wasn’t about to bash a kid built like a twig’s nose in. That wasn’t exactly honorable. And well...Luke is actually pretty fun. He was always excited to go on adventures. He said yes to most anything. He was up for any dare. No matter what happened, he would always smile about it, just happy to be included. Biggs found he had far more fun with this kid than most anyone else so he just took him under his wing. Biggs was probably one of the more popular guys growing up so a lot of people left Luke alone after that, just primarily ignoring him or a cruel name tossed his way and or there.

Luke got kidnapped at least once in “cannon” but I believe that the Hutts would’ve tried to get him for the slave market. Maybe he wouldn’t sell for too much on Tatooine but he was clearly growing up into something pretty and different and that could be a lot of credits for them. Obi-Wan put a stop to it the moment he realized Luke had their attention and no one looked for Luke after that.

He tried to run away once, because he just felt so drained and empty on Tatooine, but Owen found him and dragged him back and scolded him so bad that Luke’s early stages of guilt-complex really ignited. He didn’t mention leaving for a little while after that. But he clearly was desperate to leave.

Luke had a lot of weird dreams. Sometimes even when he was awake. He could see and hear things that were there but...not. Sometimes it was foggy and blurry but he could make out a tall man who blinked from human to a black mass, breathing like a monster. Sometimes it was a man with white robes and long hair and a beard who would smile at him and give him a pat on his head, his expression calm and knowing but always gentle and comfortable. Sometimes the man would blur and Luke could see a hole in his stomach. Sometimes he would see a tall woman who glowed and had glowing green hair who would hold him close, calling him the Light’s child. Other times there was this odd pull to...someone...his mirror. Not his reflection but...yet she, as he knew it was a she, was. This other part of him. And sometimes he swore she felt him right back. He could sometimes hear a little thrum, it sounded like someone like him, but maybe younger...or maybe older, asking for the dark to please leave. He could hear another boy, someone Luke was connected to in some way, full of so much anger and kindness as he donned himself in armor. And sometimes he saw a pale monster, cackling in the shadows, with glowing yellowed eyes and who felt like decay.

Most times, he just never felt quite alone. Like there was something, or multiple somethings, always there. This pull, this connection, to everything. When he focused on it too much it made him very tired so he didn’t do it too often.

He didn’t talk about these things to his family either.

Luke asked about his parents a lot but his aunt and uncle always refused to tell him much. They claimed to only have a little information on his father and knew nothing of his mother. He never gave up, trying to get as many stories from them as possible but it was always the same four to five stories each time.

Luke felt, or at least believed he felt, that his parents did love him and didn’t abandon him. They just died, which was sad but quite normal on Tatooine. He still wished he could see their faces and hear their voices. He usually just called them Mother and Father in his head, as a slight way to detach himself from the pain, cause Luke would be the sort who would call them mommy and daddy when he was young and then mom and dad when he was older. Mother and Father was just this...title he had for two strangers he wished he knew.

Luke still loved them very much and liked to pretend they would show up on the doorstep one day and pull him into a hug, holding him tight, and promising to never leave him again. That they would all stay together.

Luke thrived off of fairy-tale like stories and could never get enough speed in his life. Politics were never something he understood. He had plans on joining the Imperial Academy the moment he was able to become a pilot and travel across the galaxy. He could probably earn credits and get his own place and maybe take care of his aunt and uncle. He often wondered if he could be a hero.

He caused mischief but mostly on accident. He did not need much to keep him occupied and Owen realized he was very good with building, taking care of, and communicating with droids than most.

When he was seventeen to eighteen, folks who were a lot older or a very unsavory would approach Owen to try and get a deal to marry Luke. He was still small and lanky, but people were beginning to notice he was prettier than some girls. Even some from the Hutt’s circle came in with offers to marry Luke into their protection--he could even live at the palace. Owen always rejected every proposal and kept Luke even closer to home after that, rarely letting him leave unless he was with Biggs. After Biggs left, it was always a battle to let Luke leave the farm. It made Luke smothered and a bit exhausted and whiny. He was nearing twenty and he was still treated like this delicate child.

Luke did have a massive crush on Biggs but never acted on it. Other than that he was far more interested in other things.

He was good in picking up most languages by ear, he seemed to know Binary from the start, but he could never do well with speaking. it always sounded awkward to him. Beru taught him to read and write and she found if Luke only had a few texts, after a few lessons he would start to pick things up. Before he leaves, he is fluent in understanding Basic, Binary, Huttese, Jawaese, and Tusken sign. He can’t speak a lick of anything outside of Basic.

Luke was always very kind and apologetic to whoever he met. He always felt he was something wrong and broken and would try to not bother anyone if he could. If something happened he was quick to blame himself (picked up from a lot of his interaction with the people of Tatooine and, unintentionally, from his aunt and uncle who did appear fearful of him at times). He puts other people first and has a hard time seeing other having faults but rather he is so broken that he makes them have faults.

He loves sweets but for savory, his was a big fan of things like rice and bread (I swear, in a Modern AU Luke would almost live off of Japanese rice and would be someone who could actually cook it (cause i can’t and it breaks my heart) and could just eat it as is or he just has it as the foundation for every meal) with some vegetables. He did not grow up with seasoning so he has no idea how to really use it...but would grow to enjoy it after some time.

Luke loves anything dog-like. He probably won over some Tusken’s because their dogs adored Luke.

Luke is amazing at engineering...but ask him what 6+6 is and he’ll probably go blank. Don’t make the poor boy think. He runs on instinct and can easily short-circuit his brain if he tries to think about what he is doing (cause often he shouldn’t really know it as he wasn’t taught it, he just somehow knows what to do)

Just cause of how Tatooine is...it is possible Luke has rarely been hugged and potentially rarely told he was loved.

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babyboy-cody · 3 years

Text

‘ ‘ chapter | 01 ’ ’

complex desires. ( prologue ) ( masterlist )

SUMMARY: It’s the first week of classes after winter break, but you’re not exactly used to seeing new faces - teachers and students in between.

WARNINGS: explicit language, mentions of mental disorders, anxious thoughts, anxiety attack

WORD COUNT: 2.8k

NOTES: i’m currently writing this chapter while drinking a big ass mug of hot cocoa. also, hunter’s pronouns are they/them! this series is one i’m most excited for. hope you kiddies enjoy <3

It was still early when the clouds gave off their rain to the grass and trees, when the road became alive with more splashes than your eyes could appreciate. Yet together they brought such a soothing sound, a natural melody every bit as beautiful as a mother's soulful hum. You felt each splash that touched your skin, watching as your cardigan become a deeper, more rocky hue. It was as if earlier the street had been a matte photograph, only to be washed as glossy as any magazine page.

Each raindrop is a kaleidoscope, if people could only see more closely. You wonder as you walk how it would be to stop time, to suspend this watery gift and peek through each one. Perhaps it would be fun to sit inside those raindrops and take that gravity propelled ride to the earth, as you imagine it you feel your inner self laughing – a little at the crazy daydream and a little at your own silliness. You see the rain beads upon the cars, upon each leaf and washing your outstretched fingers. Soon they will pull together, forming the puddles, opening up a whole new avenue of rain-related fun. Perhaps it isn't normal to love a rainy day so much, but who cares about normal anyway? You’re pretty sure "normal" is a made up thing.

Upon the umbrella come the playful sounds of dancing drops, and from it's rim comes the sight of their more relaxed cousins, dripping as if their soul purpose was to bring a sense of ease and calm to the day. And as the rain became more intense, it began to soak the bottom of each dark blue jean leg, deepening the denim to a stronger hue, bringing your brown boots to a glossy water-shine, becoming a kind of natural cocoon.

Each raindrop is a doorway into nature's heart, an invitation of sorts, a request for your soul to rejoin creation. In the rain there is a serenity, a sense of peace that offers to resonate with the peaceful elements of the soul. Walking among those drops is your meditation, a way to fully become present in the moment, a way to feel free.

There was a vibration coming to life in the back pocket of your jeans, cutting you out of your peaceful daydream in the rain. You stepped to the side to allow a cyclist to pass by and gave him a brief smile when he nodded his head in thanks. When you pulled out your phone to read the contact, you instantly smiled when seeing Mickey’s name on the screen.

“Okay, first off, hello. Second off, where the hell are you? Me and Hunter – okaayy – Hunter and I have been in the cafeteria since 7:15 in the goddamn morning,” she immediately went off as soon as you put the phone to your ear. “Also, did you take your meds today? My alarm went off as a reminder.”

“First off, hi back, Mick. Second off, it’s been 15 minutes and I’m five minutes away from the school. It’s fine if we don’t have breakfast today just once,” you laughed as you heard her scoff. “And thirdly, yes mom, I did take my meds. I actually have to get another refill for my BPD meds. Thank you for asking.”

“Yeah, yeah. Well, you better hurry. We have the last of your favorite yogurt and Hunter’s close to eating the damn thing,” you heard Mickey laugh as she shushes her significant other. “Also, be careful coming around the usual entrance. The school is doing some bogus construction to add a statue of the principal.”

“You’re shitting me!” You exclaimed, earning a dirty glare from a tiny senior citizen as she slowly walks passed you with her small cane. “What the hell did this prick do to earn that? Also, can you grab me a fruit cup too? I’ve been craving kiwi’s for some odd reason.”

“Well, he’s wicked rich and can basically do anything in this school and get away with it, literally. And there’s no fruit cups today, but there’s a bag of sliced apples and tangerine slices,” Mickey told you as she huffed, which you assume is her getting out of her seat to go back to the assortment of breakfast foods. “Ooh, there’s bagels too. I think they just added these.”

“Jesus Christ, this statue is stupid as hell,” you groaned and stood in front of the half built statue, your principal’s name on a gold plated plaque attached to the marble. “This guy really needs an ego boost, huh? And just tangerine slices then. I’m heading inside.”

“Alright, see you soon, baby doll.” She annoyingly kisses into the phone as you snorted and rolled your eyes at her antics.

Sliding your phone back into your pocket, you stood outside the entrance doors and shook the leftover raindrops from your yellow umbrella before closing it. You inhaled the fresh rain water for one last time before grasping onto the freezing cold and disgustingly wet doorknob and pulling it open to head inside. There was a small litter of students here and there; some reading new announcements on the bulletin board in the main hall; some sitting in the lounging chairs with laptops or textbooks open on their laps; some sitting on the ground with a half empty bottle of water beside their laps and phones in their hands, headphones in their ears. You terribly, annoyingly, and oddly missed this. You missed the bustle of students laughing and running down the halls. You missed it all, even if it has been two weeks.

You hear loud chatter coming from just ahead, so you know you’re about to enter the cafeteria area. Just as you’re about to do so, you stop in your tracks in front of a bulletin board. There were a few posters for new clubs, as well as study groups, upcoming announcements, room changes, and more. But one that really struck out to you was a new story writing group, specifically for writers or English majors. You felt a burst of excitement spread throughout your chest and settle into the pit of your stomach. You made sure to take a quick photo of the sheet beforr moving on into the cafeteria.

Almost immediately, you spotted Hunters straight platinum blonde hair and fiery streaks on one side while the other was icy blue. Sitting in front of them was Mickey, her hair curly and unruly, making you wonder if she rolled out of bed, threw some clothes on, and called it a day. You felt your cheek mucles twitch as your lips pulled up into a bright smile. Hunter was the first to notice you. They looked up at you passed Mickey’s shoulder and smiled so brightly that it made you reciprocate. They adorned bright orange eyeshadow with white eyeliner, making their eyes pop out even more. You loved how they didn’t cake on makeup, they kept it simple, yet so drop dead gorgeous.

“There she is, the man of the hour,” they announced and got up from their seat to pull you in for a warm, tight hug. “I missed you so much. I’m so sorry for not messaging you the entire break. We didn’t have any service whatsoever.” There was a crestfallen look on Hunter’s face and you held their cheeks so they wouldn’t look away.

“Look at me, don’t stress about it, okay? Did you at least have fun?” They nodded with a pout. You grinned and gave their forehead a kiss before pulling them in for another hug.

“Okay, first you’re late. And now you’re stealing my person. I see how it is,” Mickey smirked as you gave her the bird behind Hunter’s back as you both pulled away from the hug. “Hi Y/N.”

“Hi Michelle,” you responded in the same tone as you sat in an empty chair around the table. “Give me my tangerine, please.” She passed you the small cup of tangerine slices with a grin when you began eating them.

“You been eating three times a day?” She asked you, looking at you through her mane of curls rather than pushing her hair away. You shrugged and kept your eyes on the half empty cup in your hands. “Y/N..”

“I’m doing it little by little, Mick. And I’m starting to drink water too,” you blushed and laughed softly when her and Hunter began praising you. Praise was something you weren’t used to, but hearing it every now and then really gave you butterflies. “It’s nothing..”

“Are you kidding me?” Hunter laughed and reached over to lay a hand over yours. “This is amazing. This is progress and we’re both so very proud of you.”

“You’ve come a long way,” Mickey lightly bumped your shoulder with her knuckles as Hunter pulled away. “You should do a meal plan like I did when I had to get my weight back up, so that way you don’t forget to eat three times a day.”

“I don’t know.. I don’t exactly have the funds to buy a lot of groceries. I had to use over $100 of my food stamps cause almost everything in my kitchen was old,” you huffed and popped another tangerine slice into your mouth. “Plus, I’ve been busy with finding a job and paying for my therapy appointments and doing school work, and it’s all so fucking overwhelming.”

The first bell rang, signaling students to begin their walk to class with only a few more minutes to spare. You grabbed your shoulder bag and stood beside Mickey while she held onto Hunter’s hand. The three of you passed by a swarm of students; freshman’s and sophomores running by to get to the lecture halls early; juniors having their books and laptops already out and pressed to their chests; seniors loitering in the halls with their friends. Thankfully, you, Hunter, and Mickey had your first English class together.

“How about this?” Mickey began. “Hunter and I will help pay for your groceries.” She hushed you as you began to lightly protest. “Listen, you already got a lot on your plate. I’d be a really shitty best friend if I allowed you to deal with all that. So every week, we’re gonna swing by your place to drop off some stuff, okay? I’ll create a meal plan for you with your favorites, so that way we’re taking that worry for money off your back.”

“Mick, you don’t have to do that for me. Like I said, I’ll find a way,” you mumbled and shrugged as you walked up the long staircase to head up to the lecture halls. “I couldn’t do that to you guys.”

“Y/N,” Hunter stopped you three in the middle of the hallway. “We care about you and we don’t want you going down that negative route alone. We both have jobs and enough money to cover Mickey and I, and it’ll seriously make me the happiest if you let us do this, please.”

“Two more minutes until class begins,” the voiceover on the speaker spoke.

“Fine,” you sighed, feeling a smile pull your lips as you all continued walking to the English room. “I love you both. And I’m very grateful for you to do this for me.”

“We know,” Mickey told you as she kissed your cheek obnoxiously, causing you to groan and Hunter to laugh. “But in all seriousness, don’t be a stranger to asking, okay?”

You nodded and gave her a reassuring smile as you made your up the steps to your seats in the bottom middle row. Mickey sat in between you and Hunter as more students filled the class. There was light chatter and soft clatter as seats were pulled down and the folding desks were pulled up. You set your bag between your feet, being cautious of not getting it dirty from your boots. Pulling out your spiral notebook that had four sections, you neatly wrote the course name, your name, and the date. Nervously clicking your pen, you tried to block out the noise that had started to get a little too loud. Nibbling on your bottom lip to distract yourself, your feet began tapping on its own while you tapped your pen on your book. Mickey and Hunter were having a conversation of their own, so they didn’t notice the early signs of a small anxiety attack.

An invisible hand clasps over your mouth; an equally ghostly hypodermic of adrenaline pierces your heart, unloading in an instant. You feel your ribs heaving as if bound by ropes, straining to inflate your lungs. Your head is a carousel of fears spinning out of control, each one pushing your mind into blackness. You want to run; you need to freeze. Sounds that were near feel far away, like you’re no longer in the body that sits paralyzed in the cold seat. Your breath comes out in rapid, shallow breaths as you shake your head at yourself.

“No, no, no,” you harshly whisper as your bobbing knee gets almost frantic.

You felt the panic begin like a cluster of spark plugs in your abdomen. Tension grew your her face and limbs, your mind replaying the last attack. You held onto the sides of your head, your elbows digging into the hardness of your desk. Your only movement was the trembling of your limbs and salty tears darkening your sleeves. There you stayed, unaware of the numerous eyes watching you until Mickey turned and noticed your frantic state.

“Shit,” she hissed and slung her arm across your desk as the other wrapped around your shoulders. “I’m here, Y/N. It’s okay.. sshhh.. I’m right here.” She noticed a few students staring, to which she narrowed her eyes and snarled, “What the fuck are you looking at, dipshits?!” They immediately looked away after being caught. She turned her attention back on you. “What’s going on, huh?” Her voice was soft and soothing as she smoothed her hand down your hair.

“It-It’s so.. loud,” you hiccuped and covered your face even more when a sob escaped your lips, spit flying onto your hands as you felt your neck, cheeks, and ears heat up out of embarrassment and shame. “I can’t stop it, Mick. I-I can’t!”

Hunter sat on the other side of you, reaching down to get your back, shuffling their hand inside to pull out your earplugs and inhaler. They handed the earplugs fo Mickey while pressing the opening of the inhaler to your lips. “Come on, babe,” they quietly told you and tucked a few strands of hair behind your ears, lightly blowing on your flushed skin to cool it down. “There we go,” they gently said when you took two deep puffs of your inhaler while Mickey made sure your earplugs were snug inside your ears. You felt your lungs open up as the cold, bitter medicine settled on your tongue.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper and shook your head, wiping away the last of your tears. You sniffled and looked at Mickey and Hunter. “I-I don’t know what happened.. it just... happened.”

“It’s always unexplained, but don’t be sorry for something you can’t control, okay?” Mickey told you firmly while making sure you were looking into her eyes. “This doesn’t make you any less of a person.”

Hunter smiled and sat your bag back between your feet before moving to their seat next to Mickey. All the students had settled down, their conversations now a quiet murmur. You felt relieved as you pulled your earplugs out and slid them inside your protective case, making sure the lid was closed tight before shoving it into your bag. Mickey kept an eye on you the entire time, making sure no one triggered you. She sat with an elbow resting on the back her chair with her legs lightly spread.

“You’re man-spreading,” you quietly told her, laughing quietly when she flipped you off.

Suddenly, the metal doors opened and a man hurriedly walks in with an expensive looking leather messenger back over his shoulder. Your lips parted and you sat up straight in your seat when he gave the class a guilty smile. You’ve never seen him in the school. Not even before break. He must’ve been in a different department and just got transferred to the English center. He deeply intrigued you. You noticed the other girls in the class twirling their hair in a cliché way with the tips of their pens between their teeth. He wore all black, and it was so very different compared to what other professors wore. There was no sweater vest or button up shirt. He just wore a comfortable and soft looking black sweater with black jeans and black boots. His dirty blonde - almost brunette - hair was perfectly styled. He looked devastatingly handsome.

“Hello, my name is Professor Shepherd and I’m going to be your English teacher for the rest of the semester. Professor Winifred recently had her baby during winter break and shall be back for the next semester,” he gave another knee-weakening grin as he clapped his hands together. “Shall we get started?”

#AAAHHHH FIRST CHAPTER IS OUT!!!#we’re just getting started 😏#duncan shepherd x reader #bill skarsgård x reader #professor!bill #professor!duncan #love triangle #complex desires series

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