#gray leather club chair

[zyroxan]

Traditional Living Room A large, formal living room with a light wood floor and gray walls in an elegant open concept design.

#living room #dark wood side table #metal glass coffee table #red and brown area rug #gray area rug #jacksonville furniture #gray leather club chair

[drades-lair]

Possessive

Fandom: HelluvaBoss

Rating: M

Pairing: Criminale

Smoke hung in the air, illuminated by the green flames from the fireplace located behind the elegant high back leather chair. Crimson exhaled another mouthful of smoke from his cigar, fingers tapping absently on the surface of the oak desk he was sat at when one of his lackies strode through the double doors of the office. The male shark was gray in color with a second lighter color running under his chin wearing a slick navy-blue suit and he was carrying a stack of photos that Crim had been expecting. The shark placed the photos on the desk in front of Crimson prompting the imp to rifle through them, eyes narrowing with each passing photo he looked at. Upon the photos were images of Alessio, his trusted bodyguard was clad in a red button-down shirt with the top five buttons undone to reveal his chest and a pair of black trousers with black dress shoes. Alessio was frequenting a local club, leaning against the bar when another male shark approached him eventually eliciting a smile from Ale as they talked then about tenth picture in that male shark leaned in and initiated a kiss with Alessio who returned it. Crimson felt his stomach twist as his lip curled up in a snarl, the pictures revealing the heated scene the more he went through them, the male shark sliding his knee between Ale’s legs as he started nipping down Ale’s neck while sliding his hand under Alessio’s shirt all whilst Ale seemed to be enjoying it. Crimson let out an aggravated growl before shouting at the shark in front of him to get the fuck out of his office which the shark hastily obeyed leaving Crim to continue filtering through the photos eventually coming to an end where Ale was laying in bed with this other male shark after they’d had sex. Crimson felt anger bubble up in his gut till it spilled out in the form of an angry yell as he tossed the photos into the fireplace, scowling as they burned although he wasn’t sure what he was more pissed at the fact Alessio was gay or the fact he felt over whelming jealousy and didn’t know why.

The next few days were tense, yet Alessio did his job per normal right up to his next day off however instead of leaving this time Ale apparently decided to stay in. Crimson marinated for several hours in his office as questions roamed his mind, why didn’t Ale ever tell him about being gay? Why was he sleeping with random guys? Most of all though Why was he worried about any of it? Memories of Ale wearing that red button-down with the top buttons undone drifted through Crim’s mind causing heat to rise in his cheeks then settle deep in his abdomen triggering more memories of Ale that fueled that fire till he was all to aware of how tight his pants were getting. Snarling Crimson put out his cigar in the ash tray on the desk then shoved his chair back to head up to Alessio’s room. Ale sat on his bed with the lamp on the bedside table casting a warm glow over the book he was reading, one knee crooked upwards with his one hand draped lazily over it holding a lit cigarette while his other leg was stretched out. A knock at the door drew Ale’s attention towards it, brow furrowing in confusion.

“Come in,” Ale permitted. The door creaked open moments later revealing Crim on the other side, irritated scowl on his features as his eyes raked across Ale relaxing in a pair of black boxers and a gray tank top.

“Oh, sir…um…is there something you need?” Ale asked arching both eyebrows in surprise, setting his book on the bedside table as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Actually…I had a question for you,” Crimson began, eyes narrowing through the inky darkness.

“Of course, what is it?” Ale asked in turn.

“When were you going to tell me that you were gay?” Crimson outright asked almost taking on a sinister quality to his tone. Ale recoiled slightly, eyes growing wide again in surprise before frowning slightly as he looked away.

“Forgive me Crimson, I should have told you…” Alessio began, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“You’re fucking right you should have told me!” Crimson retorted in a slightly louder, irritated tone.

“Crim, being gay doesn’t affect my ability to do my job,” Ale tried to argue.

“I’m not talking about your fucking job, I’m talking about the random guys you’ve been hooking up with at clubs,” Crimson corrected, lowering his tone again as he moved into Alessio’s room, gingerly closing the door behind him.

“What!? Sir…why is that an…?” Alessio began, Crimson coming around to stand in front of the shark.  

“SHUT UP!” Crimson barked, yanking Ale down by his top till they were nose to nose.

Ale wasn’t sure what to do in this situation as this was a side of Crimson he’d never seen before; he didn’t seem to be angry necessarily it was more irritated. Darting his eyes over crimson’s face Ale was preoccupied with trying to read the imp when he was suddenly dragged to the floor on his knees causing a small twinge of fear to spike in his chest.

“Turn around,” Crimson ordered in a low deep tone. Knowing better then to disobey Crimson at the best of times let alone when he was acting strangely Ale complied with the order, gingerly scooting around to face his bed.

“Good, now put your fucking hands behind your back,” Crimson ordered again, tone seeming to get lower in Ale’s ear. Once more the shark obeyed bringing his hands around to his back where one was promptly snatched up by something metal that clamped around his wrist followed swiftly by the other having the same thing attached, linking them to one another.

“Crimson…listen, we can talk this through…” Ale tried only to have his torso shoved over his bed causing him to grunt.

“The time for talking is long past,” Crimson practically growled out as Ale heard rustling clothing behind him. Glancing over his shoulder Alessio was shocked to see Crim beginning to remove his shirt after clearly having removed his jacket which now lay on the ground behind the imp.

“Crim…what are you doing?” Ale inquired with a slight hesitancy to his tone.

“You think you can just do what you please…” Crimson trailed off, tossing his shirt to the ground with his jacket. Ale felt crimson trail his fingertips feather light from the waist band of his boxers up his spine underneath his shirt sending a shiver through the shark.

“Crim…seriously…” Ale trailed off again, breath starting to catch in his throat as heat slid to his lower abdomen.

“That’s enough outta Ya, you fucked around…now it’s time ta find out,” Crimson stated in a deep dark tone as his fingers came back down to hook under the waistband of Ale’s boxers. Ale was so confused as to what was going on, he knew what was happening but not why as his boxers were yanked down to his midthighs. Crimson hummed in approval at the sight of Ale’s impressive dicks hanging between his legs, the shark flushing in the face the more he watched crimson staring at him. Crimson pressed against Ale’s hip making him bite down on his lower lip with a groan only to release a surprised moan when Crim’s fingers trailed lightly up his sides straight over his gills.

“S-sir…” Ale shakily breathed out, hands balling into fists as his entire body quivered.

“Do they touch you like this?” Crimson growled, moving a hand to Ale’s tail base where he rubbed on either side while pinching it between his fingers. Ale groaned, once more taking his lower lip between his teeth, eyes squeezing shut.

Crimson licked up Ale’s spine before biting into the sensitive flesh to either side of his dorsal fin, claws raking simultaneously down Ale’s hip. Ale very quickly became aware that Crimson was being possessive of him, marking him as his own, biting, clawing, and growling aggressively, yet he still didn’t understand why? From what the shark knew of Crimson, the imp hated anything to do with being anything other then straight so then why was he doing this? Ale’s thoughts were interrupted by Crimson suddenly grabbing his ass cheeks and pulling them apart causing panic to rise in Alessio’s chest.

“W-Wait! Sir, please…” Alessio begged through panting breaths however his pleas fell on def ears as Crimson pressed his index finger into Ale. The shark gave a pained groan trying to pull his hips away from crimson only to feel a second finger press into him causing the pain to get worse.

“S-sir…please…ugh! That hurts!” Alessio ground out between clenched teeth.

“Tsk,” Crimson sneered, pulling his fingers out of Ale.

“T-There’s…lube in…the bedside table,” Ale panted out.

Crimson huffed then stuck both his fingers into his mouth, sucking liberally till they were slick with saliva before leaning over to spit onto Ale’s entrance. Ale winced again as Crimson slid his saliva slick fingers into him however it was a little easier thanks to the saliva, unfortunately Ale hadn’t bottomed in a while at this point, and he could feel the burn still of crimson’s fingers.

“I thought you did this all the time, fuckin’ tight for being such a whore,” Crimson snarled, roughly thrusting his fingers in and out of Ale.

“I…Ah! I haven’t…bottomed…for a…while…ugh!” Ale groaned out, tugging against the cuffs holding his hands in place.

“Used to being on top then…well that is not going to happen with me,” Crimson warned with another growl.

“Sir…could you…please use some lube…it still hurts a bit,” Ale begged.

Crimson looked down to see Ale’s cocks had gotten hard between his legs and were leaking precum from their tips, smirking the imp reached down to stroke along each shaft, gathering the pre in his hand. Pulling out his fingers Crim smeared the precum over Ale’s entrance before reaching to his own belt to undo it, pulling out his cock. Ale watched as Crimson slicked up his own cock before he moved right up behind the shark’s kneeling form, sliding his tip against Ale’s entrance. Realizing Crimson had no intension of using proper lube Ale braced himself, inhaling sharply when Crimson pressed harshly into him, yelping loudly at the stretch of taking half of crimson’s length in one go. Ale cried out a second time as Crimson raked his claws down his sides over his gills with yet another growl.

“Always remember Ale…You. Are. MINE!” Crimson snarled thrusting his hips to punctuate each word.

“Fuck! Sir…yes…I’m yours,” Alessio agreed with a deep moan.

Crimson maintained his rough pace not waiting for Ale to adjust as he pounded into the shark promptly drawing out moans and groans of both pleasure as well as a bit of pain. Ale felt his abdomen tighten as his orgasm tore through him, whimpering as he came while Crimson continued to pound him eventually finding his own release, shoving deep into Alessio to spill cum all along the shark’s insides. Ale was grateful to already be on his knees, wincing as Crimson pulled out followed by him releasing the cuffs from Ale’s wrists. Seemingly satisfied Crimson redressed then promptly left with a dark smirk over his shoulder right before closing the door. Alessio eventually managed to get up, entire body aching as he moved to the bathroom to clean up.          

#drama #angst #helluvaboss #smut #Helluva Boss Crimson #Helluva Boss Alessio #Criminale

[therealityhelix]

Shards of the Nexus: Koi no Yokan

Helix has one weakness. And also another.

Song: Tell Me Baby-RHCP

@cardwrecks​ @captainbaddecisions​

The energy of this place! Electricity in every inch, flowing, buzzing leylines of enslaved lightning, the movement of lights a rainbow in darkness. People in masses, composite organisms, breathing, pulsing in time with the music, a thudding memory of ancestors heartbeats. The building respired, air in constant movement, the throats in the walls struggling to overcome the lungs of the people. The building lived, and the energy filled her up, vibrant antiquity, the ancient ritual of music and dance.

A little too much, actually.

The bouncers didn't know she was here, though she stood out in sartorial anachronism, rockabilly flair in a sea of candy acid vogue. She had entered through a door of a different kind, and the night life had hit her like a sonic brick.

YJ had spoken so highly...she had to find someplace away for a moment, away from the sound, the resonance thrumming in her bones, the weakness, the nemesis. YJ wouldn't have known that 'club' meant something different to her, alcohol and smoke, billiards and leather backed chairs, high bred men challenging themselves and each other, wasn't that what a Riddler was? YJ and Arkham, Puzzles and the Detective, she'd grown to expect predatory quiet in the homes and presences of the viridian men. Not safety, and not silence exactly, but not these auditory attacks.

There were side rooms to disappear into, before noise overcame her, three people exiting one. They didn't see her, though she slipped in so close behind them as to brush skirts. With walls between her and the pumping symphonic tide, she could reinforce herself before facing that battlefield once more.

A breath. Two breaths. She was substantial. She was concrete. She would not have her atoms stripped away by stepping back out into that solar wind of sound. She had come here to meet someone.

There was a man.

Watermelon stripes. Grape soda. Tinted sunglasses indoors. Summer, this man was Summer.

A trickle of gold flowed down his throat, terminated in an inquiry. The symbol, the sigil, the sign!

He regarded her with the same amused curiosity that must be echoing in her own face, stood-to speak? To rebuke? To welcome? Who could know, who could know, so different this one, and the energy here, just beneath the floor, just behind the walls, it spiked as the dozen eyes on the ceiling focused on her, it spiked and it was her focus now, and he smiled-

Deep lapis inset ivory, brass filament in amber flesh, more precious for the flaws trapped within. Long sinuous lines, vines, emeralds and amethysts dripping from his shoulders, like all his kin. A greeting, a voice, irreverent velvet burnout, coumarin and black dammar flowing thick and sticky. And the magic! She could smell it here, he'd been touched by it like all the others, moulded and cracked by the whimsy of Gray beings alien even to her, deep down inside him, a festering bubo of plum wine and bitters.

“Hey there cutie, you all right?”

And she was solid again, fixed with a tack to the wall of the Here and Now. He gazed down at her, the lapis dusting her form, quiet blades picking her apart just as she had done to him. The others had all expressed that this one was different, but hadn't elaborated. Neon and alcohol, glitter and decadence, hedonism as a varnish, a temple of Dyonisian mystery. Not in a thousand worlds would she have expected Edward Nigma to be this.

It was delightful.

“I'm...fine. Yes. Mildly disoriented, nothing more.” It was true, she had returned to herself.

He leaned, casual, calculating against a couch. She was outside of arms reach, but not the legs, no. Nobody had mentioned danger in regards to him, but then, she hadn't been warned about Arkham either.

A rite of passage, a hazing for those who would dare. Survive the challenge of meeting the Patriarch.

She had.

“How bout'cha sit down? Room ain't reserved again tonight.”

She took a seat, took in the room. Couches, mismatched in a way that complemented, a little raised stage with a pillar in the center, power coating like bright honey...pole, it was a pole on the stage. Oh. Yes that explained the molasses thick energy that permeated the place. Certain things, ancient things, caused power to pool. Sex and death, music and dance, blood and light, all built up like layers of stone, ready to be mined by those who could. He sat on the edge of the stage, light sheen of sweat just barely discernible on his face.

“So...you a little lost? You needin' a place to rest until you sober up? I know the place has a reputation, but we do have rules here. If it's the hard stuff, well, you can lay down for a little while and I wont say nothin', but you don't come in here with it again. If you need help though, I can point you in the right direction.”

“You're Swag.” she said.

“And you're not high...are you? So who wants to know?”

“Helix.”

A spark, a star in the lapis. Recognition.

“Hey girl, I was wondering when you were gonna show up! I was beginning to feel left out.”

“You know of me?” But why wouldn't they talk? Family was meant to communicate.

“Heard a thing or two. A pesterer of Puzzles, a wyrdling to YJ, an...adversary of Arkham? Nah.” he shook his head, a sardonic grin. “Nah, you don't wanna be that. But yeah. There have been a few words said about you. Mostly 'How the hell did she get in here?' So. How the hell did you get in here?”

“I walked.” she said, and his look was a gentle abrasion. “I...walked. The membranes between worlds open in multiversal osmosis, and I walk. I'm...sorry. Loud noises...fray me. It's hard to think. The energy is overstimulating.”

“Take your time.”

She did. Eventually the strumming on her synapses ceased, the threads of reality cementing.

An offering of water. She hadn't noticed that he had left. That was...odd. How could anybody lose track of this man? She drained the cup.

“So you walked here. Care to say where from? It's kinda a long way from Detective's neck of the woods to here. Figuratively and literally.”

Where did he fall on the pendulum swing? Yj closer to Detective, Puzzles closer to Arkham...Center ground? So many people reveling beyond the door, relishing life. No traps here. No riddles. Questions, not riddles.

“I walk, figuratively and literally. Meeting the Detective was a happy accident. I come from further than that. You're Aware? Of the multiplicity of self? The mitosis of the multiverse?”

He nodded slowly.

“Became aware a li'l while ago. Prolly about the same time Arkham and Detective became aware of each other. I...assume this is unusual, since there's nothing in history mentioning...huh, I wonder if that's where the legends of doppelgangers come from...”

“Maybe.” Oh, he was as quick as his soul-kin, scalpel sharp in cotton gauze. But he had the respect of Matriarch and Patriarch alike, how could anything else be expected?

“It may be a new development. I haven't seen its like before. It's so easy to move here, in this Nexus. Even you native souls can move back and forth, if you know the places.”

“And you're not? Native to the...Nexus?”

“I'm from further away.”

The seed of doubt spread cotyledons in his face. It was worse than not being understood. Being disbelieved.

“I'm from Earth.” she pressed further. “Just not this one, nor any other within this tangle. From further out.”

“I was bouta ask why you sounded like you came from Central City if you really were from 'outside', but...just from a far away Earth, huh? How far does it go?”

“Long way. Couldn't ever explore them all. More and more different, the further one goes. I'm from very far away.”

He clicked his tongue, accepting her words, if maybe not her meaning.

“Ehhh, what can I say? I know a woman who is half plant. There's an alien in upstate New York. I've met six separate me's. Things can always get weirder.”

It was an acceptable concession. He continued to watch her. She supposed it hadn't been the most stunning first impression, showing her weakness like this, but it was better than it had been with Puzzles.

Come to think of it, she had seen this man before, a terrified satellite at Puzzles funeral. In the focus on that hideous rebirth, she'd barely noticed, but there had been another fellow with him, and a ring on his hand, but both were conspicuous in their current absence.

'Nothing lasts forever' was a truth she'd had to grapple with far too often, a platitude useless until after the loss had occurred. She sympathized, for whatever that was worth.

She might have gone quiet for too long, because he reached out as if to steady her, pulling back before actually touching. She caught a whiff of pine heavy cologne, margarita lime mix.

“You're sure, you're all right? You need someplace quieter?”

“I'm fine, really. So this place is yours. Your business?” It seemed strange for a Riddler, but this was a strange Riddler. One who hadn't yet so eagerly tried to show off, or challenge, or prove his own intellect. Even friendly YJ, even the gentle Detective, all had tried to demonstrate something of their mental prowess within mere minutes of meeting her.

“Yep. All above board too. I went straight a while ago. Well, as straight as someone like me can go.” He said with a cheeky wink.

Ridiculous. She couldn't help but to smile back.

“The others said you were different.”

He snorted in laughter.

“I'll just bet they did! How many times did the term 'degenerate freak' show up?”

She tilted her head. Self-depreciation dribbled from his sunken eyes. It fit him poorly.

“Not once. Do you not know that you're loved?”

The surprise, the consternation lasted a Planck length, then disappeared back into easeful allure. But he was watching her now, really watching with that languid, snakelike regard they all shared.

“Well.” he said. “Do you?”

The biomachine moving in uncharted ways. Multiversal syzygy. Swirling islimi progression entwining with centrifugal tessellation. There was something to be built here.

“There is no one left who can. But maybe I'm talking too much. Saying without thinking.”

“No, no.” he leaned forward, weathered smile, shining satin teeth. “Keep talking.”

artist: me

artist: verticalthoughts(deactivated)

Artist: @cardwrecks​

#shards of the nexus #Swag!Riddler #Riddler Family

[dioles-writes]

•OC FICLET: DIOLES•

Masterlist | Characters: Felix (he/him), Winola (she/her), Reese (they/them), Manon (she/her)

Credits to @jiphenn as the characters in blue belong to her 😋

Felix found himself in a strange, unknown room, having no clue on how he got there.

It was what seemed to be an infirmary. There were rows of beds surrounding him, covered with thin, pale sheets. People were sprawled out on a few of them, all unconscious. Felix reached up to wipe the gunk out of his eyes, his vision still blurry from sleep. Wooden bedside tables were squished between each of the cots, and every inch of the walls were lined with shelves, filled to the brim with medical supplies and different types of leather-bound books. Each of them were thick, too, something Felix wouldn’t have been caught dead reading.

Felix blinked. There was someone else in this room. He could see them crouched over one of the unconscious bodies, only three beds away from him. With a start, he realized it wasn’t just any unconscious body, but Winola. She was soaked with blood, looking extremely dead as she laid there on the bed, several nasty bullet wounds covering her torso. The person hovered over her, their hands emitting what looked like glowing particles dancing through the air. Their expression was calm and collected, like they had done this a million times.

Felix bolted out a bed, instantly panicked. The memories from Chumps Jr. flooded his brain. The ambush, Maddox, Reagan. He glanced around wildly. She wasn’t here. She wasn’t here. She wasn’t here.

“Relax, Leonardo,” The person said, dark gray eyes still focused in on Winola. The particles circled Winola, moving onto her re-injured legs now, and in front of his very own eyes, the wounds started magically closing up. Soon, there wasn’t even a scab, or a scar. It was like she hadn’t even been shot in the first place.

Suddenly a lamp in the room exploded, shattering into a million pieces, making the place just a little bit darker.

The person pulled away from Winola, looking up at Felix from their chair. “What are you staring at?” They huffed, running a hand through their shaggy blue hair.

“Who-“ Felix stared at them with wide eyes. “Who are you?!” He demanded, still gawking at them in complete and utter shock.

“Reese. Leader of the Medicinal Sanction.” They said, standing up to go clean up the broken glass from the lamp.

“Where am I?! Where’s my sister?”

“Magnolia? Not sure.” They said, pulling out a broom and dustpan. “And you’re in the immediate care room.”

“How do you know my name? And my sister’s name?”

“Paisley told me.” Reese said, sweeping up the mess.

Felix’s heart skipped a beat, his mind spinning with a million more questions. “Paisley’s here?!”

“I’m not sure, I haven’t seen him.”

Felix paused for a second, falling back onto the soft bed, trying to calm his racing thoughts. He took a better look around the room now that he was properly awake. January, Wilder, Rory, Akali, Winola, and Kuali’i were all lying on separate beds, dead to the world. All of them appeared to be fine - their injuries were healed, each of them sleeping fitfully, looking exactly how they had been before they had gotten attacked.

There was no sign of the rest of the club.

“Where’s Maddox? Alzena? Nyssa? Astley?”

“Not sure, probably out on a tour.” Reese replied, finishing sweeping up the glass.

“Tour?” Felix repeated. “They’re okay?”

“I’m not sure, but their injuries weren’t severe enough to need me to check on them.” Reese shrugged, dumping the remnants of the lamp into a trash bin.

“How did you find us?”

“The guy with dark blue hair brought you in. Ensio, I believe?”

Felix’s jaw dropped to the floor. “ENSIO?!”

“No need to yell. You’ll wake the others.”

“What’s going on?” He asked, looking around wildly. “What is this place?”

“Paradise.” Reese said before turning to Winola, who had started to stir awake at the sound of Felix freaking out. She blinked up at the medic awkwardly, gaze shifting around the room, eyes shiny. “Ah, you’re awake too. That was sooner than expected.”

“Paradise?!” Felix repeated again, surprise still plastered on his face.

“I’ll call someone to bring you to your rooms.” Reese walked towards a phone on the wall. “It’s Reese. Two of them woke up, Leonardo and Winola. Mhm. Please send someone to show them around.” They talked for a couple seconds, nodding and twirling the wire around their finger, before hanging up. “Someone will be here shortly to show you to your rooms.” They said, turning back to Felix and Winola.

“Do you need anything else?” They asked, cocking their head at Felix, who was still blinking at them in shock, trying to wrap his head around what could possibly be happening right now. Hesitantly, he shook his head no, too in awe to even try to ask them anymore questions.

“Okay then, just wait there.” They grabbed a book off of a nearby bookshelf and sat back down.

He sat there for what felt like forever, anxious and confused, fidgeting nervously and praying that he wasn’t waiting to be taken to his execution. Praying that his place was safe. He wasn’t even sure what he considered “safe” anymore, or if there was any place where he didn’t have to be on constant high alert.

But eventually, a cheerful voice interrupted him from his spiralling thoughts. “I’m here doctor!”

In the doorway stood a little girl. She had a big grin on her face as she looked at Felix and Winola, eyes bright with excitement.

“Ah, welcome Manon.” Reese smiled for the first time. “I trust you’ll lead our guests to their rooms just fine.”

“Mhm! Just leave it to me!” She beamed.

Felix stood up in a daze and walked over to her. He rubbed his eyes, like maybe this whole strange place was nothing but a dream. She smiled up at him and waved, not bothered by the weird look he was giving her. “Hi!”

“Uh,” He swallowed. “Hi…” He didn’t know what to do with himself. This had to be too good to be true. There’s no way he could actually be standing in this fancy infirmary, his body feeling more refreshed than it had in months, about to be led to his new room by some random little kid.

This couldn’t be possible.

“Bye Reese!” Manon said with an enthusiastic wave as Winola got up from her spot on the bed, eyes not leaving the floor as she numbly walked over to the two. Reese smiled again and waved as Manon skipped out the door, Felix and Winola following behind her.

“You guys are pretty impolite.” She said as soon as they were out of earshot, continuing down the hall, her pigtails bouncing with each step.

“Uh. Sorry.” Felix said, glancing around at the lit-up hall, still in too much shock to care about little things such as manners.

“You’ll just have to say thank you to Reese next time you see them.” Manon continued down the hall, finally reaching a large metal door.

Slowly, she pushed it open, blinding Felix as a bright light flashed in front of them.

“Welcome to Paradise!”

#I might as well post this for Manon’s birthday #it’s been sitting in my drafts for FOREVER #will I ever finish the actual fic? #who knows 😇😇 #dioles tag #oc: The Board Game Club #oc: Felix #oc: Winola #oc: Reese #oc: Manon #my ocs #ocs #oc ficlit

[frenchiefitzhere]

Frenchie’s Imperium Lasko Headcanons, part 1

In case you haven't heard, I am the reigning queen of the President Moore simps. And these are their stories /ref Appearance Height: 6’2”-6’3” Hair  Color: Blond or sandy brown Length: Respectable and professional, but fun to ruffle your fingers through Eye color: Dark brown, almost black Tattoo: photo-realistic single feather in black ink on right side of his chest Wardrobe:  Glasses: Designer half-moon readers. He owns these in several metals. Suits: This man owns more suits than Barney Stinson. He is always impeccably dressed. He knows how to dress for his height. Everything is slim cut. Suits are all classic colors, but he likes to play around with different color shirts and ties and pocket squares. Yes. Pocket squares. Everything is made of premium natural fibers: silks, linens, wool, etc

n.b. Lasko goes to the same shop as James.

Shoes: For work, Lasko almost exclusively wears Oxfords. When relaxing at home, he’ll wear loafers, but only those made from fine Italian or Moroccan leather. 

He can occasionally be spotted wearing a black fleece or windbreaker with the academy logo on it. That’s the only time he’d be caught dead wearing athletic gear outside in public.

This image of Orlando Bloom checks out:

But also…Sebastian Stan??? (yessir)

Office and Living Space Office: 

Lasko’s office is chock-full of antiques that he chose to complement the old world carved walnut details on the ceiling, wainscoting, French doors, and built-in bookshelves. The office is longer than it is wide, with his desk on the side nearest the three tall windows. The windows have green velvet curtains. Lasko’s desk is immense and heavy, also carved wood, with a green blotter on top. He fully takes advantage of the Bond-villain swivel chair image. There are two shorter, green leather chairs in front of his desk for guests.

At the midpoint of the office, there is a reading alcove set into the bookshelves. There are a few wingback chairs, a coffee table, and a sofa positioned around a small wood-burning stove. Also at the midpoint is a full-length oval mirror beside a valet stand where he often parks his jacket while he’s working.

Inspiration for Lasko’s presidential office (Algonquin Club in Boston):

At the far end of the office (farthest from the window), there is a severe-looking rectangular conference table. 

Per @teafairywithabook: Lasko’s office also has a full residential suite attached in similar decor. Apartment: Lasko owns a penthouse condo in downtown Dahlia. Where his office is classic Old World refinement, his apartment is severe, spartan modernity. Black and white, clean lines, minimalist design. (Think Kingpin’s place in the Daredevil series.)

Country house: Of course he has one. On a fucking vineyard. Spanish tiles on the roof. All that shit. A Mediterranean-ass mansion that looks like it was plucked right out of the south of France. (Addition from @teafairywithabook: Country house has stables. Because Lasko in riding boots etc. Yes please.) Personal Life, Possessions, Preferences

Personal taste: On the whole, Lasko likes imports and prefers the finest and most expensive of everything.

MF-er always has a mirror accessible. He is vain as shit.

Karaoke jam: King of the Clouds (Panic! At the Disco) 

Car: Aston Martin DB11 in China Gray

Season ticket holder to Dahlia Civic Opera (box seats). Often trades these out for political favors.

#redacted asmr #redacted headcanons #redacted imperium #redacted lasko #president moore #imperium lasko #my beloved #i love him so much #my skrunkle

[birdsofparadise747]

Walter A. Dyer -- Gulliver the Great

It was a mild evening in early spring, and the magnolias were in bloom. We motored around the park, turned up a side street, and finally came to a throbbing standstill before the Churchwarden Club.

There was nothing about its exterior to indicate that it was a clubhouse at all, but within there was an indefinable atmosphere of early Victorian comfort. There was something about it that suggested Mr. Pickwick. Old prints of horses and ships and battles hung upon the walls, and the oak was dark and old. There seemed to be no decorative scheme or keynote, and yet the atmosphere was utterly distinctive. It was my first visit to the Churchwarden Club, of which my quaint, old-fashioned Uncle Ford had long been a member, and I was charmed.

We dined in the rathskeller, the walls of which were completely covered with long churchwarden pipes, arranged in the most intricate and marvelous patterns; and after our mutton-chop and ale and plum pudding, we filled with the choicest of tobaccos the pipes which the old major-domo brought us.

Then came Jacob R. Enderby to smoke with us.

Tall and spare he was, with long, straight, black hair, large, aquiline nose, and piercing eyes. I disgraced myself by staring at him. I didn’t know that such a man existed in New York, and yet I couldn’t decide whether his habitat should be Arizona or Cape Cod.

Enderby and Uncle Ford were deep in a discussion of the statesmanship of James G. Blaine, when a waiter summoned my uncle to the telephone.

I neglected to state that my uncle, in his prosaic hours, is a physician; and this was a call. I knew it the moment I saw the waiter approaching. I was disappointed and disgusted.

Uncle Ford saw this and laughed.

“Cheer up!” said he. “You needn’t come with me to visit the sick. I’ll be back in an hour, and meanwhile Mr. Enderby will take care of you; won’t you, Jake?”

For answer Enderby arose, and refilling his pipe took me by the arm, while my uncle got into his overcoat. As he passed us on the way out he whispered in my ear:

“Talk about dogs.”

I heard and nodded.

Enderby led me to the lounge or loafing-room, an oak-paneled apartment in the rear of the floor above, with huge leather chairs and a seat in the bay window. Save for a gray-haired old chap dozing over a copy of Simplicissimus, the room was deserted.

But no sooner had Enderby seated himself on the window-seat than there was a rush and a commotion, and a short, glad bark, and Nubbins, the steward’s bull-terrier, bounded in and landed at Enderby’s side with canine expressions of great joy.

I reached forward to pat him, but he paid absolutely no attention to me.

At last his wriggling subsided, and he settled down with his head on Enderby’s knee, the picture of content. Then I recalled my uncle’s parting injunction.

“Friend of yours?” I suggested.

Enderby smiled. “Yes,” he said, “we’re friends, I guess. And the funny part of it is that he doesn’t pay any attention to any one else except his master. They all act that way with me, dogs do.” And he pulled Nubbins’s stubby ears.

“Natural attraction, I suppose,” said I.

“Yes, it is,” he answered, with the modest frankness of a big man. “It’s a thing hard to explain, though there’s a sort of reason for it in my case.”

I pushed toward him a little tobacco-laden teak-wood stand hopefully. He refilled and lighted.

“It’s an extraordinary thing, even so,” he said, puffing. “Every dog nowadays seems to look upon me as his long-lost master, but it wasn’t always so. I hated dogs and they hated me.”

Not wishing to say “Really” or “Indeed” to this big, outdoor man, I simply grunted my surprise.

“Yes, we were born enemies. More than that, I was afraid of dogs. A little fuzzy toy dog, ambling up to me in a room full of company, with his tail wagging, gave me the shudders. I couldn’t touch the beast. And as for big dogs outdoors, I feared them like the plague. I would go blocks out of my way to avoid one.

“I don’t remember being particularly cowardly about other things, but I just couldn’t help this. It was in my blood, for some reason or other. It was the bane of my existence. I couldn’t see what the brutes were put into the world for, or how any one could have anything to do with them.

“And the dogs reciprocated. They disliked and distrusted me. The most docile old Brunos would growl and show their teeth when I came near.”

“Did the change come suddenly?” I asked.

“Quite. It was in 1901. I accepted a commission from an importing and trading company to go to the Philippines to do a little quiet exploring, and spent four months in the sickly place. Then I got the fever, and when I recovered I couldn’t get out of there too soon.

“I reached Manila just in time to see the mail steamer disappearing around the point, and I was mad. There would be another in six days, but I couldn’t wait. I was just crazy to get back home.

“I made inquiries and learned of an old tramp steamer, named the Old Squaw, making ready to leave for Honolulu on the following day with a cargo of hemp and stuff, and a bunch of Moros for some show in the States, and I booked passage on that.

“She was the worst old tub you ever saw. I didn’t learn much about her, but I verily believe her to have been a condemned excursion boat. She wouldn’t have been allowed to run to Coney Island.

“She was battered and unpainted, and she wallowed horribly. I don’t believe she could have reached Honolulu much before the next regular boat, but I couldn’t wait, and I took her.

“I made myself as comfortable as possible, bribed the cook to insure myself against starvation, and swung a hammock on the forward deck as far as possible from the worst of the vile smells.

“But we hadn’t lost sight of Manila Bay when I discovered that there was a dog aboard—and such a dog! I had never seen one that sent me into such a panic as this one, and he had free range of the ship. A Great Dane he was, named Gulliver, and he was the pride of the captain’s rum-soaked heart.

“With all my fear, I realized he was a magnificent animal, but I looked on him as a gigantic devil. Without exception, he was the biggest dog I ever saw, and as muscular as a lion. He lacked some points that show judges set store by, but he had the size and the build.

“I have seen Vohl’s Vulcan and the Wurtemburg breed, but they were fox-terriers compared with Gulliver. His tail was as big around as my arm, and the cook lived in terror of his getting into the galley and wagging it; and he had a mouth that looked to me like the crater of Mauna Loa, and a voice that shook the planking when he spoke.

“I first caught sight of him appearing from behind a huge coil of cordage in the stern. He stretched and yawned, and I nearly died of fright.

“I caught up a belaying-pin, though little good that would have done me. I think he saw me do it, and doubtless he set me down for an enemy then and there.

“We were well out of the harbor, and there was no turning back, but I would have given my right hand to be off that boat. I fully expected him to eat me up, and I slept with that belaying-pin sticking into my ribs in the hammock, and with my revolver loaded and handy.

“Fortunately, Gulliver’s dislike for me took the form of sublime contempt. He knew I was afraid of him, and he despised me for it. He was a great pet with the captain and crew, and even the Moros treated him with admiring respect when they were allowed on deck. I couldn’t understand it. I would as soon have made a pet of a hungry boa-constrictor.

“On the third day out the poor old boiler burst and the Old Squaw caught fire. She was dry and rotten inside and she burned like tinder. No attempt was made to extinguish the flames, which got into the hemp in the hold in short order.

“The smoke was stifling, and in a jiffy all hands were struggling with the boats. The Moros came tumbling up from below and added to the confusion with their terrified yells.

“The davits were old and rusty, and the men were soon fighting among themselves. One boat dropped stern foremost, filled, and sank immediately, and the Old Squaw herself was visibly settling.

“I saw there was no chance of getting away in the boats, and I recalled a life-raft on the deck forward near my hammock. It was a sort of catamaran—a double platform on a pair of hollow, water-tight, cylindrical buoys. It wasn’t twenty feet long and about half as broad, but it would have to do. I fancy it was a forgotten relic of the old excursion-boat days.

“There was no time to lose, for the Old Squaw was bound to sink presently. Besides, I was aft with the rest, and the flames were licking up the deck and running-gear in the waist of the boat.

“The galley, which was amidships near the engine-room, had received the full force of the explosion, and the cook lay moaning in the lee scuppers with a small water-cask thumping against his chest. I couldn’t stop to help the man, but I did kick the cask away.

“It seemed to be nearly full, and it occurred to me that I should need it. I glanced quickly around, and luckily found a tin of biscuits that had also been blown out of the galley. I picked this up, and rolling the cask of water ahead of me as rapidly as I could, I made my way through the hot, stifling smoke to the bow of the boat.

“I kicked at the life-raft; it seemed to be sound, and I lashed the biscuits and water to it. I also threw on a coil of rope and a piece of sail-cloth. I saw nothing else about that could possibly be of any value to me. I abandoned my trunk for fear it would only prove troublesome.

“Then I hacked the raft loose with my knife and shoved it over to the bulwark. Apparently no one had seen me, for there was no one else forward of the sheet of flame that now cut the boat in two.

“The raft was a mighty heavy affair, but I managed to raise one end to the rail. I don’t believe I would ever have been able to heave it over under any circumstances, but I didn’t have to.

“I felt a great upheaval, and the prow of the Old Squaw went up into the air. I grabbed the ropes that I had lashed the food on with and clung to the raft. The deck became almost perpendicular, and it was a miracle that the raft didn’t slide down with me into the flames. Somehow it stuck where it was.

“Then the boat sank with a great roar, and for about a thousand years, it seemed to me, I was under water. I didn’t do anything. I couldn’t think.

“I was only conscious of a tremendous weight of water and a feeling that I would burst open. Instinct alone made me cling to the raft.

“When it finally brought me to the surface I was as nearly dead as I care to be. I lay there on the thing in a half-conscious condition for an endless time. If my life had depended on my doing something, I would have been lost.

“Then gradually I came to, and began to spit out salt water and gasp for breath. I gathered my wits together and sat up. My hands were absolutely numb, and I had to loosen the grip of my fingers with the help of my toes. Odd sensation.

“Then I looked about me. My biscuits and water and rope were safe, but the sail-cloth had vanished. I remember that this annoyed me hugely at the time, though I don’t know what earthly good it would have been.

“The sea was fairly calm, and I could see all about. Not a human being was visible, only a few floating bits of wreckage. Every man on board must have gone down with the ship and drowned, except myself.

“Then I caught sight of something that made my heart stand still. The huge head of Gulliver was coming rapidly toward me through the water!

“The dog was swimming strongly, and must have leaped from the Old Squaw before she sank. My raft was the only thing afloat large enough to hold him, and he knew it.

“I drew my revolver, but it was soaking wet and useless. Then I sat down on the cracker-tin and gritted my teeth and waited. I had been alarmed, I must admit, when the boiler blew up and the panic began, but that was nothing to the terror that seized me now.

“Here I was all alone on the top of the Pacific Ocean with a horrible demon making for me as fast as he could swim. My mind was benumbed, and I could think of nothing to do. I trembled and my teeth rattled. I prayed for a shark, but no shark came.

“Soon Gulliver reached the raft and placed one of his forepaws on it and then the other. The top of it stood six or eight inches above the water, and it took a great effort for the dog to raise himself. I wanted to kick him back, but I didn’t dare to move.

“Gulliver struggled mightily. Again and again he reared his great shoulders above the sea, only to be cast back, scratching and kicking, at a lurch of the raft.

“Finally a wave favored him, and he caught the edge of the under platform with one of his hind feet. With a stupendous effort he heaved his huge bulk over the edge and lay sprawling at my feet, panting and trembling.”

Enderby paused and gazed out of the window with a big sigh, as though the recital of his story had brought back some of the horror of his remarkable experience.

Nubbins looked up inquiringly, and then snuggled closer to his friend, while Enderby smoothed the white head.

“Well,” he continued, “there we were. You can’t possibly imagine how I felt unless you, too, have been afflicted with dog-fear. It was awful. And I hated the brute so. I could have torn him limb from limb if I had had the strength. But he was vastly more powerful than I. I could only fear him.

“By and by he got up and shook himself. I cowered on my cracker-tin, but he only looked at me contemptuously, went to the other end of the raft, and lay down to wait patiently for deliverance.

“We remained this way until nightfall. The sea was comparatively calm, and we seemed to be drifting but slowly. We were in the path of ships likely to be passing one way or the other, and I would have been hopeful of the outcome if it had not been for my feared and hated companion.

“I began to feel faint, and opened the cracker-tin. The biscuits were wet with salt water, but I ate a couple, and left the cover of the tin open to dry them. Gulliver looked around, and I shut the tin hastily. But the dog never moved. He was not disposed to ask any favors. By kicking the sides of the cask and prying with my knife, I managed to get the bung out and took a drink. Then I settled myself on the raft with my back against the cask, and longed for a smoke.

“The gentle motion of the raft produced a lulling effect on my exhausted nerves, and I began to nod, only to awake with a start, with fear gripping at my heart. I dared not sleep. I don’t know what I thought Gulliver would do to me, for I did not understand dogs, but I felt that I must watch him constantly. In the starlight I could see that his eyes were open. Gulliver was watchful too.

“All night long I kept up a running fight with drowsiness. I dozed at intervals, but never for long at a time. It was a horrible night, and I cannot tell you how I longed for day and welcomed it when it came.

“I must have slept toward dawn, for I suddenly became conscious of broad daylight. I roused myself, stood up, and swung my arms and legs to stir up circulation, for the night had been chilly. Gulliver arose, too, and stood silently watching me until I ceased for fear. When he had settled down again I got my breakfast out of the cracker-tin. Gulliver was restless, and was evidently interested.

“‘He must be hungry,’ I thought, and then a new fear caught me. I had only to wait until he became very hungry and then he would surely attack me. I concluded that it would be wiser to feed him, and I tossed him a biscuit.

“I expected to see him grab it ravenously, and wondered as soon as I had thrown it if the taste of food would only serve to make him more ferocious. But at first he would not touch it. He only lay there with his great head on his paws and glowered at me. Distrust was plainly visible in his face. I had never realized before that a dog’s face could express the subtler emotions.

“His gaze fascinated me, and I could not take my eyes from his. The bulk of him was tremendous as he lay there, and I noticed the big, swelling muscles of his jaw. At last he arose, sniffed suspiciously at the biscuit, and looked up at me again.

“‘It’s all right; eat it!’ I cried.

“The sound of my own voice frightened me. I had not intended to speak to him. But in spite of my strained tone he seemed somewhat reassured.

“He took a little nibble, and then swallowed the biscuit after one or two crunches, and looked up expectantly. I threw him another and he ate that.

“‘That’s all,’ said I. ‘We must be sparing of them.’

“I was amazed to discover how perfectly he understood. He lay down again and licked his chops.

“Late in the forenoon I saw a line of smoke on the horizon, and soon a steamer hove into view. I stood up and waved my coat frantically, but to no purpose. Gulliver stood up and looked from me to the steamer, apparently much interested.

“‘Too far off,’ I said to Gulliver. ‘I hope the next one will come nearer.’

“At midday I dined, and fed Gulliver. This time he took the two biscuits quite without reserve and whacked his great tail against the raft. It seemed to me that his attitude was less hostile, and I wondered at it.

“When I took my drink from the cask, Gulliver showed signs of interest.

“‘I suppose dogs get thirsty, too,’ I said aloud.

“Gulliver rapped with his tail. I looked about for some sort of receptacle, and finally pulled off my shoe, filled it with water, and shoved it toward him with my foot. He drank gratefully.

“During the afternoon I sighted another ship, but it was too distant to notice me. However, the sea remained calm and I did not despair.

“After we had had supper, I settled back against my cask, resolved to keep awake, for still I did not trust Gulliver. The sun set suddenly and the stars came out, and I found myself strangely lonesome. It seemed as though I had been alone out there on the Pacific for weeks. The miles and miles of heaving waters, almost on a level with my eye, were beginning to get on my nerves. I longed for some one to talk to, and wished I had dragged the half-breed cook along with me for company. I sighed loudly, and Gulliver raised his head.

“‘Lonesome out here, isn’t it?’ I said, simply to hear the sound of my own voice.

“Then for the first time Gulliver spoke. He made a deep sound in his throat, but it wasn’t a growl, and with all my ignorance of dog language I knew it.

“Then I began to talk. I talked about everything—the people back home and all that—and Gulliver listened. I know more about dogs now, and I know that the best way to make friends with a dog is to talk to him. He can’t talk back, but he can understand a heap more than you think he can.

“Finally Gulliver, who had kept his distance all this time, arose and came toward me. My words died in my throat. What was he going to do? To my immense relief he did nothing but sink down at my feet with a grunt and curl his huge body into a semicircle. He had dignity, Gulliver had. He wanted to be friendly, but he would not presume. However, I had lost interest in conversation, and sat watching him and wondering.

“In spite of my firm resolution, I fell asleep at length from sheer exhaustion, and never woke until daybreak. The sky was clouded and our craft was pitching. Gulliver was standing in the middle of the raft, looking at me in evident alarm. I glanced over my shoulder, and the blackness of the horizon told me that a storm was coming, and coming soon.

“I made fast our slender provender, tied the end of a line about my own waist for safety, and waited.

“In a short time the storm struck us in all its tropical fury. The raft pitched and tossed, now high up at one end, and now at the other, and sometimes almost engulfed in the waves.

“Gulliver was having a desperate time to keep aboard. His blunt claws slipped on the wet deck of the raft, and he fell and slid about dangerously. The thought flashed across my mind that the storm might prove to be a blessing in disguise, and that I might soon be rid of the brute.

“As I clung there to the lashings, I saw him slip down to the further end of the raft, his hind quarters actually over the edge. A wave swept over him, but still he clung, panting madly. Then the raft righted itself for a moment, and as he hung there he gave me a look I shall never forget—a look of fear, of pleading, of reproach, and yet of silent courage. And with all my stupidity I read that look. Somehow it told me that I was the master, after all, and he the dog. I could not resist it. Cautiously I raised myself and loosened the spare rope I had saved. As the raft tipped the other way Gulliver regained his footing and came sliding toward me.

“Quickly I passed the rope around his body, and as the raft dived again I hung on to the rope with one hand, retaining my own hold with the other. Gulliver’s great weight nearly pulled my arm from its socket, but he helped mightily, and during the next moment of equilibrium I took another turn about his body and made the end of the rope fast.

“The storm passed as swiftly as it had come, and though it left us drenched and exhausted, we were both safe. 

Again and again Gulliver gave voice, deep, full, powerful

“That evening Gulliver crept close to me as I talked, and I let him. Loneliness will make a man do strange things.

“On the fifth day, when our provisions were nearly gone, and I had begun to feel the sinking dullness of despair, I sighted a steamer apparently coming directly toward us. Instantly I felt new life in my limbs and around my heart, and while the boat was yet miles away I began to shout and to wave my coat.

“‘I believe she’s coming, old man!’ I cried to Gulliver; ‘I believe she’s coming!’

“I soon wearied of this foolishness and sat down to wait. Gulliver came close and sat beside me, and for the first time I put my hand on him. He looked up at me and rapped furiously with his tail. I patted his head—a little gingerly, I must confess.

“It was a big, smooth head, and it felt solid and strong. I passed my hand down his neck, his back, his flanks. He seemed to quiver with joy. He leaned his huge body against me. Then he bowed his head and licked my shoe.

“A feeling of intense shame and unworthiness came over me, with the realization of how completely I had misunderstood him. Why should this great, powerful creature lick my shoe? It was incredible.

“Then, somehow, everything changed. Fear and distrust left me, and a feeling of comradeship and understanding took their place. We two had been through so much together. A dog was no longer a frightful beast to me; he was a dog! I cannot think of a nobler word. And Gulliver had licked my shoe! Doubtless it was only the fineness of his perception that had prevented him from licking my hand. I might have resented that. I put my arms suddenly around Gulliver’s neck and hugged him. I loved that dog!

“Slowly, slowly, the steamer crawled along, but still she kept to her course. When she was about a mile away, however, I saw that she would not pass as near to us as I had hoped; so I began once more my waving and yelling. She came nearer, nearer, but still showed no sign of observing us.

“She was abreast of us and passing. I was in a frenzy!

“She was so near that I could make out the figure of the captain on the bridge, and other figures on the deck below. It seemed as though they must see us, though I realized how low in the water we stood, and how pitifully weak and hoarse my voice was. I had been a fool to waste it. Then an idea struck me.

“‘Speak!’ I cried to Gulliver, who stood watching beside me. ‘Speak, old man!’

“Gulliver needed no second bidding. A roar like that of all the bulls of Bashan rolled out over the blue Pacific. Again and again Gulliver gave voice, deep, full, powerful. His great sides heaved with the mighty effort, his red, cavernous mouth open, and his head raised high.

“‘Good, old man!’ I cried. ‘Good!’ And again that magnificent voice boomed forth.

“Then something happened on board the steamer. The figures came to the side. I waved my coat and danced. Then they saw us.

“I was pretty well done up when they took us aboard, and I slept for twenty-four hours straight. When I awoke there sat Gulliver by my bunk, and when I turned to look at him he lifted a great paw and put it on my arm.”

Enderby ceased, and there was silence in the room save for the light snoring of Nubbins.

“You took him home with you, I suppose?” I asked.

Enderby nodded.

“And you have him still?” I certainly wanted to have a look at that dog.

But he did not answer. I saw an expression of great sadness come into his eyes as he gazed out of the window, and I knew that Jacob Enderby had finished his story.

[greatblueheronfurniture]

Choosing the Perfect Rustic Club Chair Factors to Consider

In today's fast-paced world, where modernity often takes center stage in interior design, there's an undeniable charm in embracing the rustic aesthetic. Rustic decor exudes warmth, authenticity, and a connection to nature that many find appealing. One key piece that can effortlessly bring this cozy ambiance into your home is the rustic club chair. But with so many options available, how do you choose the perfect one? In this blog post, we'll explore the essential factors to consider when selecting the ideal rustic club chair for your living space.

Material Matters

When it comes to rustic furniture, the choice of materials is paramount. Look for club chairs crafted from natural elements such as wood, leather, and even wicker. These materials not only contribute to the chair's rustic appeal but also ensure its durability and longevity. Wood, in particular, adds a touch of authenticity and can vary in finishes, from weathered and distressed to polished and refined.

Design and Style

Rustic decor encompasses a wide range of styles, from farmhouse and cottage to log cabin and industrial. Determine the overarching style you want to achieve in your space. For instance, if you're going for a farmhouse vibe, opt for a club chair with simple lines, distressed finishes, and perhaps some hand-carved detailing. On the other hand, if you're leaning toward a more industrial rustic look, consider a chair with a mix of metal and wood elements.

Comfort is Key

A club chair might be visually appealing, but it won't serve its purpose if it's not comfortable. Look for chairs with ample cushioning and support, especially in the seat and back areas. Keep in mind that while rustic design tends to prioritize aesthetics, your comfort should never be compromised. Test the chair if possible, and read reviews to gauge the comfort level based on other customers' experiences.

Size and Proportion

The size of your rustic club chair should be proportionate to the available space. A chair that's too large for the room can overwhelm the surroundings, while one that's too small might look out of place. Measure the area where you intend to place the chair and consider how it fits within the room's layout. Also, think about how many chairs you need – a single statement piece or a pair for symmetry.

Color Palette

Rustic decor often embraces earthy tones and muted colors. When choosing a club chair, consider how it complements your existing color palette. Earthy browns, warm grays, and deep greens are commonly associated with rustic design. These colors can help create a harmonious and inviting atmosphere in your space.

Maintenance and Care

Rustic furniture, while charming, can sometimes require a bit more maintenance due to its natural materials and finishes. Consider how much time you're willing to invest in cleaning, polishing, and maintaining the chair's appearance. Leather, for example, may need conditioning to prevent cracking, while wooden chairs might require occasional polishing to retain their luster.

Read More…Reference from- https://customleatherfurnitureusa.wordpress.com/2023/08/26/choosing-the-perfect-rustic-club-chair-factors-to-consider/

#rustic club chair

[humongousbearbread]

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[notnctu]

backseat chronicles - n.jm | ridin’ club

━ welcome to the ridin’ club smut series

genre ➠ slow burn, smut, fluff, lil angst  wordcount ➠ 8.5k details ➠ fem!reader, streetracer!jaemin, badboy!jaemin, college!au ━ where Jaemin brings you to his club races as his arm candy. warnings ➠ explicit language, overstimulation, flirty banter, pet names, softdom!jaemin, car sex, praise kink, hittin it raw (y/n on the pill), oral, daddy kink, slight corruption kink, fingering synopsis ➠ There is no reasonable explanation as to why or how you always end up in the backseat of Na Jaemin’s beloved car. Almost routinely, he picks you up around ten in the evening with the stereo blasting the raunchiest lyrics for your entire suburban neighborhood to hear. The entire night remains purely friendly, a dabble of flirtatious comments because well, it’s Jaemin for fuck sakes. But all it takes is one suggestive gaze from his dark, lustful eyes and a drop in his voice that rumbles your core to have you climbing over the seats to get to the back. taglist ➠ @rabbit-doyochi​​​ ; @darkneogotmyback​​​ ; @im-lame-irl​​​ ; @p-mini​​​ ; @niniluvsmarkhyuck​​​ ; @saniahmichael​​ ; @jaehy9ngs​​​ ; @danyxthirstae01​​​ ; @jaehyunoos​​​ ; @pikijaemin​​​ ; @suhweo​​​ ; @yunoyeol​​​ ; @lanadreamie​​​ ; @ta3ilmoon​​​ ; 

a/n ➠ hi yall its author doie❀!! thank you for over 1k notes on this series, im beyond impressed by the amount of attention this got! it really blew up and its so crazy!! i wrote this one with more of a romantic plotline i realized its too hard to keep it pwp with all the story building and characterization i have :)) it’s almost over yall! pls pls leave me feedback im sorry it took so long to write ):

While college lecture rooms are too big to interact with other students, discussion classes are there to ease the difficulty. A classroom for about twenty students from a three hundred person lecture. It’s administered by a clueless TA, who barely began his second term in graduate school.

Unlike lecture, attendance is mandatory for participation points. You show up every time without a fail, so it came as a shock to you when a certain blue haired student finally appeared from the list of absent students.

Na Jaemin. The notorious playboy with looks that kill and partakes in some illegal racing club. It’s as if every person in the room fawns over his aura, Jaemin drips with an inexplicable alluring confidence. You didn’t know anything about him besides the fact that he never shows up for class and rumors about how he’s slept with the entire cheer squad.

But he’s drawn to you like a magnet: always sitting in the available spot next to you, asking about your day before the TA arrives, developing an odd staring problem. You don’t feed much into his attention, minding your own business when he starts with his notably flirtatious greeting.

“You just take my breath away, (Y/N).” Jaemin cocks back in his seat with legs stretched wide in an overly comfortable manner. The smug smirk on his face cannot be ignored, he’s doing the absolute most to get you to pay the smallest attention to him.

“I didn’t do anything in particular to do that, Jaemin.” You respond bitterly, pulling out your notes for today’s discussion class. The TA enjoys wasting the first twenty minutes going over the past lecture slides and running through the most obvious topics.

You pay no mind to Jaemin peering over at you with the single handedly most dreamy eyes and smile --- stars shining in his dark orbs and a dazzling twinkle in his wide toothy grin.

“That’s why you’re so amazing. You do nothing and it still leaves me breathless.” His sneaky eyes examine your clothing choice for the long day. On this warm afternoon, the short tank top does nothing to hide much of your skin and the denim shorts that ride up a little too well drive Jaemin insane. And when you cross your legs together, he swallows the spit that pools in the back of his throat.

Your ears catch onto the murmurs of the rest of the class, the midterm is next week. The wretched midterm that is half of your grade dooms you, it is going to take an endless amount of completely undistracted dedicated hours of study--- “On a more serious note, can you help me with this class?”

His voice shatters your inner panic, if anything, adds to the stress that already beats down on your shoulders. You look up to glare at him, but you’re entirely taken aback by the new styling of his hair and the exposure of his tattoos.

The sweet blue cotton candied strands are ruffled lazily above his brows, messy from him constantly running his hand through them. Jaemin sits relaxed in gray sweatpants that are extremely baggy on his slender figure, hands are shoved casually into the pockets.

But what has you staring for longer is the long sleeve of tattoos that wrap around his left arm. Not that you’re surprised that Jaemin has tattoos, let alone a whole sleeve, but this is your first time seeing it as this is the first time he’s come to class without his leather jacket on. Something about the intricate lines and shadowing make Jaemin seem much cooler, almost more attractive.

When you meet his eyes, his lips curl slowly into a sly side smile and he’s practically eating you up under his gaze. He definitely knew that you were staring and what comes next out of his mouth will haunt you for it. “Like what you see, beautiful?”

“I don’t have the time to help you.” The best way out of this situation is to simply ignore it. Jaemin is overly adored and admired by many, he’ll find someone else to help him.

“Jaemin, do you want to study together?” There you go, folks. The random girl snickers with her small huddle of friends in the upper corner of the room, like a crowd of crows, they’re all waiting around for Jaemin to accept her offer so he can be easily integrated into their little group.

However, you watch how his glances bounce between you and her. The most sickly sweet, kind smile is almost too fake to consider it to be genuine. His final choice surprises you, “thank you for offering, but I only want (Y/N)...”

Your breath hitches and gets caught in your throat as you hope for him to finish his sentence, the drumming of your heart distracting you even more. Jaemin wants you? While the thought is flattering, it puzzles you greatly.

“... to help me with my studies.” Jaemin finishes his sentence after a rather long pause, his eyes finally resting upon your figure shying away and finding any way to seem uninterested in the conversation. “Is that going to be okay, (Y/N)?”

“What do I get out of it?” You can’t believe that you are actually considering it. But this is a man that only wants you to help him. Jaemin is an impossible, yet charming man and whatever comfortable attire he is wearing today is really aiding in his request.

He lights up, ears perked up and eyes attentive. His hands fold together on the empty desk, leaning forward towards you. “Dates with me.”

Rolling your eyes, you groan slightly at the arrogant answer. “I don’t care about that. I want something that benefits me.”

“I’ll make sure you’re well fed.” There is a tiny plea in his tone, a remarkable shift from his cool aura. “What do you want? I’ll give it to you.”

“I guess I can’t turn down free food…” there is a hang in your sentence as you contemplate what chaos you’re about to dive into and what life changes are about to be explored with Jaemin.

“Before you agree,” Jaemin chuckles, “there’s one more thing I’d like you to do for me.”

You’re quick to shoot a daggering glare at the overly enthusiastic boy, “why do I suddenly owe you favors?”

“Because I say so.” He deadpans, a chill running down your spine at the deep dip in his octave. The playfulness that was present all this time suddenly vanished, a serious look that intimidates you, but sexy enough to where it erupts something in your core. He blinks at you with dark clouded eyes and you nervously anticipate what he is going to ask next of you.

“Accompany me to my races.” He speaks lowly as if he’s afraid of someone else eavesdropping in the conversation.

Here’s your issue with that request: you’ve never really been part of that scene. You’ve lived pretty mundanely, even in college. It’s simple, you like to stay within the boundaries of what you enjoy to do and what you have to do. But you’re always open minded and willing to try something to determine whether or not you’re fond of it.

Partying and drinking copious amounts of alcohol weren’t your favorite things to do, especially to the point of forgetting your nights. You wanted to remember your nights as much as you do your days. The youth isn’t here for long, why waste them by blacking out in the middle of a large party? Also, whoever said that alcohol goes down smooth is a blatant liar.

Illegal racing could possibly be an extension of people who participate in those things, which is fine, but does place a crippling fear of coming off too boring or unrelatable inside your nervous system. But just because you don’t do those things doesn’t mean that you’re not as cool, right?

Since when was your status based nonsensically on how often you spend your nights in socializing crowds full of sweaty bodies and how much cheap booze you can drink? It had to be all in your head --- you’re just dreading any awkward socializing with people who race cars when it’s absolutely illegal.

“Why me?” It’s a genuine answer, possibly stemming from your insecurities of not being on the same level of charm as Jaemin exudes. You’re not a fool, you’re well aware of the many different people he comes across on campus so, why you?

Jaemin doesn’t hesitate to answer, “why not you? You’re just my type. Hot and smart. Cute and a little shy. The greatest duality, if you ask me.” His words seem so genuine that it has you believing these things about yourself as well.

Nonetheless, you’re taken aback by his observations and his choice of descriptions. “We’ve barely ever talked. How can you say these things so confidently about me?”

Jaemin slightly pulls your chair closer to his own and you yelp in response to the sudden movement and lack of space that separates the two of you. He leans into you, breath hot on your skin and obvious eyes darting between your shocked ones and pretty lips.

“So let’s get to know each other. I can already tell that it’ll just make me fall for you even more.” His finger lightly traces your jaw, stopping at your chin to give it a small lift to meet his focus. Jaemin loves how you squirm underneath his intensity, you’re too cute to let go. “Plus, my boys will love you. I’m sure of it.”

The TA rushes in quickly and is utterly distressed from the traffic that had pushed back his schedule. “Sorry, I’m late everyone.” He rummages through his things to find his notes, but groans to see that the monitor of the computer is off. It’s going to take him another ten minutes to input all his credentials.

But your attention doesn’t stray from Jaemin, especially with his delicate touch at the bottom of your chin. His gentle smile enacts nothing but a soft love, and a peak of interest. Na Jaemin, the one and only. He’s like an adventure waiting to be explored, an open bottle of fun for you to take a sip.

“What would I have to do?” Your voice comes out shaky.

“Just be there as your pretty self.” Jaemin comes off as the type to always have women around him, “you’ll be my lucky charm. For some reason, I always feel better around you.”

The escalation of this conversation is possibly more action you’ve had to handle in the last two years. Jaemin drops your chin and falls back into his own seat with his arms crossed. He is about to turn your life upside down and whether that be a good or bad thing, you don’t mind. You’re excited for the new thrills that come with being by Na Jaemin’s side.

Jaemin’s hot hands lift your shirt quickly, throwing it towards the front seat of his car. His lips return to your soft neck, nibbling at your skin tenderly and with love bites that will remind you of his gentle touches. The streetlamps outside flicker impatiently as you feel the eagerness soaking your panties and he lifts you up to take them off.

“My sweet girl,” his voice is light and airy that it becomes almost lost in the heat of the car. “You’re excited tonight. Did you miss me?” The devilish smirk can be felt upon your collarbones.

“Yes, I haven’t seen you for almost five days.” A peculiar whine settles in your pout and Jaemin’s low growl sends shivers down your spine. The only barrier are his own tight jeans and your hands are fast at unbuckling his belt. Jaemin relaxes back, forearms resting on your soft thighs and watching the neediness in your expression and the speed of your hands. He smiles to himself seeing you this way, wanting him so badly that you can’t wait to get him out of his jeans.

Throughout the two months that you and Jaemin finally became well acquainted, he’s fallen inexplicably into your trance. His friends made it very clear to you that he doesn’t keep the same girl around for more than a few weeks. But he’s brought you to almost every race so far and despite the initial shock of your appearance after the third time, you didn’t let the passing comments phase you.

Why he hasn’t replaced you is unknown and truthfully, there is no reasonable explanation how you always wind up in the backseat of his car by the end of the night. It’s become part of your routine. Jaemin picks you up around ten in the evening with raunchy lyrics blasting out of his personalized car for your entire suburban neighborhood to hear. More often than not, Jaemin has food ready for you to devour and a cozy blanket for your exposed legs.

You’ve learned a bit more about him through your backseat chronicles. Jaemin is possibly one of the only people in your life with a heart bigger than his own body, while also being as carefree as he can. Oddly enough, he cares about you as his friend and as his companion. Not to mention the ridiculous, yet endearing nickname, “Lucky Charm”, that he has coined upon you.

Jaemin has been the best adventure you’ve had in ages. While he takes you on intoxicating thrill rides on the leather of his back seats, every street race has been more than unforgettable. He shares one of the same values as you --- wanting to remember the present. You both know that you’ll remember each other enough for it to transcend into your next lives.

You have him to thank for your youthful experiences, to learn and dive into this new found world of mischief under his care. Jaemin treats you extraordinarily well, he’d never hurt a soul. He showers you in appraisal and carefulness, he’s attentive to your behavior and remembers your favorite things. And he reminds you almost every time you see him that he’s so grateful to have you in his life.

“Have you been touching yourself?” Jaemin’s bold question catches you off guard as it causes your hands to shyly hover over his unzipped jeans. When you glance up at him with soft innocent eyes, as if you’re guilty of a crime and wish to beg for forgiveness, his facial expression is serious and intimidating. 

“Continue, baby. You can be honest with me. Daddy isn’t going to punish you if you did.” His tone is sweet and light, but his eyes are dark and piercing. His lips are drawn tightly into a thin line, no curve in sight.

His finger grazes down your cheek gently as he admires your slightly parted lips and the way your eyelashes dance every time you blink. However, his other hand urges you to continue your previous action of getting him out of his restrictive jeans.

You nod, while rubbing his erection through his gray briefs that hug him so tightly. There’s a sharp intake of breath when you pull the waistband of his underwear down and his cock stands against his lower abdomen. “Do you think of me when you do?” His voice gets caught in his throat when you take him in your warm hand.

“Always.” You kiss his jawline and fix your position above his dick. Your slick pussy presses down against his shaft, coating it in your juices and rubbing his tip to your clit for a delicious sensation. Jaemin groans, his gaze dipping between your lower bodies and back to your face.

“My sweet (Y/N) thinks about her daddy fucking her senseless while she touches herself.” Jaemin chuckles darkly, grinding his hips harder against you. There is a shift in the atmosphere as he grips your hips and slowly enters your dripping hole. “That’s cute, baby.”

You hold onto his shoulders as his raw dick fills you to the brim, stretching you out like past nights. Gasps leave your body when he starts pulling all the way out to only have you sink back down. “Daddy, please just fuck me.”

Jaemin picks up his speed, knowing that you have a quiz due at midnight that you scolded him for forgetting earlier. The grip on his shoulders tighten as this man navigates your body all too well. He knows you like the back of his hand, fucking the spot that causes your body to lose control.

One of his favorite sights in the world is the view of your lips parted open with loud whimpers falling effortlessly. Your eyes roll back into your skull as his hips roll deeper into your walls, the tip hitting your sweet spot repeatedly.

“You’re always the best girl for me, aren’t you?” His hand wraps around your neck when you throw your head back, choking you lightly and your walls grip around his shaft. “I know you’re close. Cum on my dick, baby. Be a good girl.”

Jaemin’s tattoos shine under the moonlight when you peer down at him. His hooded eyes are intoxicated by the pure image of your fucked out body and he’s truly in love. “My good girl, come on baby.” He continues to encourage, his other hand giving you a smack on your ass when he drills mercilessly into you.

The familiar bubbling occupy your lower half and the feeling of release unravels all so suddenly. You fall forward, Jaemin lets go of your neck to hold your limp body close to him, your head on his shoulder as your orgasm overtakes you. He grinds his hips into you to prolong your shaking climax, cooing sweet nothings in your ear as his other hand takes a whole handful of ass to squeeze.

He bottoms out, filling you up to the rim to cum deep inside of you. Jaemin moans loudly, his cum spilling all over your walls. You two sit like that until he grows soft, pampering your temples with gentle kisses. Jaemin remembers to take care of you, no matter what.

While you’re in his arms, he reaches for sanitary wipes in the side compartments. He lifts your hips slowly to pull out and you sigh at the emptiness. Gently, he swipes at the dripping cum from your pussy and makes sure that you’re all cleaned up before getting dressed.

“So, you want to tell me why you’ve been MIA for the past five days?” Rolling your eyes, you pull up your panties and fix the last decency of your hair.

“Car meets that are too far for me to take you.” His thumb rubs your chin lovingly and Jaemin’s eyes are so bright and mesmerizing, you find that it’s hard to look him in the eye at times.

“Not because you’ve been hooking up with other girls?” There is a tinge of sarcasm that laces your rhetorical question and though you don’t expect him to give you an actual answer, you take note of his reaction. Jaemin raises an eyebrow, clearing his throat and looking out the window away from you.

“And if I was?” Truthfully, that question hurt you more than your’s hurt him. His hand rests underneath his chin as he patiently waits for your answer. He admires the clear night sky and the rundown abandoned liquor store that stands all by itself.

“What do you want me to say?” Question after question, a stiff tension replaces the sex of the car.

“I’ll take you back now.” Jaemin crawls back to the driver’s seat, completely ignoring your confused figure. He has always been quite like this: going aloof whenever he wants to dodge something. However, it’s been happening more frequently the past times you two have been seeing each other.

The truth is simple, yet entirely complex at the same time. You and Jaemin aren’t dating, despite always going out together and him posessively introducing you to other men. You and Jaemin aren’t dating.

Nevertheless, it doesn’t stop you from growing feelings for him and you can tell that this happens too often for the attractive boy. He can’t have a fuckbuddy that won’t fall head over heels for him. But who could really blame you? Even if all this time Jaemin was pretending that he cared about you, he still pampers you like a princess; he still tells you he does.

But when it comes to discussion about advancing into something more, he hides and grows silent. This has you wondering, maybe this entire thing to him is all sex? And he can’t love you back the way you do.

No one knows his heart, not even himself. He’s never wanted to complicate his life, it’s always been about two things: racing and having fun. There is no easy way to explain it all, the thoughts that flood his mind and heart, so he chooses every way to ignore it. Overall, he’s genuinely lost. You are one source of stability in his life that he isn’t willing to let go, ever. But just because he won’t let you go, doesn’t mean that you won’t take the chance to leave when you’re fed up with him.

This has him wondering, how far can he push before he pushes you too far?

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just walk.” Tonight is unsettling, it usually doesn’t end like this. Jaemin locks the car doors and turns around to reach for your hand. “Jaemin, open the door.”

“I want you to say that you hate when I sleep with other people.” Jaemin confesses all too wildly as his hand lightly squeezes around your wrist. “And I want you to mean it.” He’s only speaking words of truth that haven’t had the time to process in his own thoughts.

“I hate when you sleep with other people.” And you do mean it. You mean it more than anything you’ve ever said to this man. Jaemin just sighs, bringing your wrist to his lips for a lasting kiss.

“Can I drive you home?” Jaemin asks softly, eyes dipping down to the leather seats and avoiding all need for eye contact.

“Yes, Jaemin.” He pulls you back into the passenger seat and drapes the soft blanket over your exposed legs. “Hopefully, I still have time to take my quiz.”

“Can I come inside?” Jaemin coolly turns his marble wheel to reverse out of the parking space, a hand resting on the shoulder of your seat as he does a double take behind him for any pedestrians, even if you two are far out in the middle of nowhere and there isn’t anyone around; Jaemin knows you have the hots for him when he does that specific move.

“What do you mean? You’ve already cum inside.”

It’s the sound of disappointment as his tongue tsks at you and he flicks lightly at your forehead. He steps on the acceleration, revving the annoying engine that roars throughout the peaceful night. The multicolored lights illuminate around his stereo and at your feet, creating the Rainbow Road right out of Mario Kart. 

Jaemin isn’t like the others who pay close attention to the details of his car. His motto goes, “if I like it, I’m going to have it.” Whether or not anything matches goes beyond his worries.

In some ways, his car is a mirror of his own personality --- wild and free, colorful and welcoming. And his skills as a driver? Safe, no matter how far the speedometer goes, Jaemin always makes you feel safe.

“I mean come inside your room for aftercare. You know how much I hate leaving you without a proper cuddle.” He pouts and almost immediately his cute baby tone comes out with his beg. Almost subconsciously, Jaemin lays his right palm open facing up to invite yours in. Almost routinely, you lace your hands to complete his hold. Getting Jaemin to smile has never been easier as his hold grows tighter.

“You can’t stay over tonight though. My housemates are doing some Single Girls Only house event tomorrow and it starts immediately when we wake up.” You laugh as the ridiculous words fill the air.

“And you’re participating in that?” Jaemin mindlessly asks and you’re unable to differentiate his implications from the question. Is he asking because the idea is horrendously nothing you’d like to do or he’s implying that you’re not single?

“Why wouldn’t I?” Sounding rather harsher than intended, Jaemin finally realizes how poorly he had worded his previous question. Yet, a part of him feels disappointment whirling in his chest and a desire to feel wanted by you.

“Doesn’t seem like something you’d like: wallowing in your singleness.” He chuckles, remaining lighthearted and playful.

“I really don’t.” Jaemin brings your knuckles up to his lips for a lingering kiss, his eyes darting quickly on the road ahead now that you’ve entered the metropolitan areas and his speed drops significantly to avoid getting ticketed.

“I’ll come pick you up. Instead of being single tomorrow, you’ll be on a date.” When you turn to examine his facial expression, the serious tension in his jawline and focused eyes alarm you. Your stomach twists into knots and if he couldn't already tell, your palms grow sweaty at his offer.

“That’s such a slap in the face to them.” Pulling your hand away from his, you cross your arms and lean your head against the cold window. “I don’t think I can do that to them.”

“I have a race tomorrow.” He starts, his head tilting over at you with his round gorgeous begging eyes, “at least, come to that with me.”

“Okay, but only because I want to see Haechan.” As if it wasn’t moments ago, Jaemin was the one balls deep in you and now you’re spewing enthusiasm for another man. It’s all a joke, a way for you to conceal your undying attraction for Jaemin.

You still remember the first time you met the sunshine that is Haechan and the jealousy that seeped from Jaemin’s words when he noticed the exchange of flirtation. Haechan is someone you’d knowingly gravitate towards: a man with a loud personality that just knows how to conduct every personality in the room. And at that moment, Jaemin couldn’t tell if being more observant was a good or bad thing.

Jaemin never saw himself as outgoing as his other friends, staying more kept in his own circle, but he had the confidence to fake it. He’s bold, rather impulsive and slightly narcissistic, Jaemin knows how to use his strengths very well. 

However, when he saw the soft smirk on Haechan’s face and your shy mannerisms, a small tinge in his chest ignited a died out flame. He didn’t realize it before, but that was the very start of his long tumble of feelings for you.

“Do you say those things to purposefully get me jealous?” Jaemin rests his hand on your thigh, giving it a harsh squeeze. His eyes never leave the road and his tone reverts back to his dominant tone.

“Well, are you jealous?” It’s like you two dance in circles, answer questions with a question does not stop.

And as bratty as your tone is, you don’t expect the quick “yes” that answers back and the smoldering look he gives you briefly before focusing back on the drive.

“Then good.” You huff, ready to hop out of the car after the odd, yet sensual tension. Jaemin pulls up to your house and double parks the car to lean in for a nightly goodbye kiss.

“You’re not coming in?” You try to read his facial expressions, but he hides his emotions too perfectly.

His lips curl into a smile before saying, “I think it’s better I cool off tonight.” And you mindlessly give him a peck, but he holds your face to deepen it. Through the kiss, you can feel the neediness by the way Jaemin shoves his tongue into your mouth. The taste of lust against your palette is difficult to ignore, but your academically responsible mind screams at you about your forgotten quiz.

Your hand lightly taps at his chest and he pulls away, his eyes drinking up your swollen lips. “I have a quiz, Jaemin.”

“I know, sorry. It’s just so easy to get lost in you.” Jaemin kisses your cheek once more before you exit. You smile back at him as his words have grown a strong effect on you lately. Bidding him goodbye, he wishes you sweet dreams as he patiently makes sure you’re fully inside your house.

“Is the music too loud?” Jaemin checks over at your hunched figure in the passenger seat. You’re diligently flipping through your thick textbook, a yellow highlighter in one hand and the other comfortably holding Jaemin’s.

The worst part of college is the never ending midterms that are given at any time. Studying in his car isn’t a rare sight, if anything it is more expected than you not doing anything related to your academics. But Jaemin genuinely doesn’t mind, even being mindful about his own actions to ensure an optimal studying space for you.

He really is an ideal guy. Like his first promise, he keeps you well fed and never once asks you for any monetary pay back. Jaemin adjusts the car temperature before you even step into the vehicle, knowing that you prefer wearing less clothes rather than more. Though he isn’t academically responsible, he still makes the effort to try and understand enough information to pass his classes.

The sole flaw would be the lack of open communication. It’s genuinely difficult for you to read his emotions or intentions. Jaemin always has a dazed look in his eyes whenever he looks at you, and it’s an internal fight about whether or not you’re being delusional.

“Music is fine, honey.” The mindless use of a pet name slips from your lips, but your concentration on neoliberalism and globalization doesn’t allow for you to notice.

Nevertheless, Jaemin catches on immediately to the usage. While he showers you in ridiculous nicknames, you’re not one to do so. “Honey?”

“Yes?” You answer back carelessly, not entirely actively listening to him as you highlight an important concept in your book.

“No, you called me honey.”

Looking up from your page, you blink at him with wide eyes and mouth slightly agape. “I did?”

Jaemin chuckles and finally pulls into the overly crowded parking lot, a whole mass of fanboys cheering at the arrival of his flashy vehicle. Everyone just loves Jaemin.

This familiar scene plays like a reel --- several high beams cast light under the dark sky due to the lack of functioning street lamps, dizzy multicolored cars that blaze the tracks, and the all too distinct smell of musky cologne in the chilly air. Oh, and the wide eye admirable stares when you get out of the car.

“Hi, you’re stunning.” A bold new recruit blinks at you in complete awe and awkwardly clears his throat once he realizes his rash comment.

Jaemin raises an eyebrow at him, then at how you plan on handling the situation. You’re flattered, nonetheless, but know that Jaemin didn’t bring you here to flirt with other men. “Thank you. I hope you enjoy your membership in the Ridin’ Club.”

The gracefulness in your delicate voice has the youthful recruit swooning and subtly giddy as he runs off to join a group of others that have been eying you across the parking lot. Jaemin casually drapes his leather jacket over your exposed shoulders, knowing the temperature change is going to result in you most likely catching a cold and because you never bring a jacket despite his plea.

“The power you hold.” Jaemin winks at you before pulling you into a larger crowd to socialize with more impressionable recruits.

“Ah, so you’re (Y/N)!” The stranger is unrecognizable, but you giggle to acknowledge his confident statement. “We haven’t met before, but Jaemin was talking about you the other night at our motorcycle meet.”

Your eyes light up, as if you’ve unlocked a new fun fact of Na Jaemin. “You drive a motorcycle too?” You’re truly shocked at the talent of this man.

Jaemin snakes his arm around your lower waist to draw you closer to his side. “Yeah, but I can’t fuck you in a motorcycle, can I?”

Before the other men can comment on the obvious sexual tension that Jaemin created, he leans in to whisper into your ear. “Actually, I can, but we’ll save our decency from unwanted exposure.” His hot breath grazes against the shell of your ear and you just know where you two are going to end up tonight.

“Bro, you guys probably fuck in the backseat of his car.” One of them chimes recklessly, punching at each others’ chest playfully as if he made a decent joke.

“Why don’t you stay to find out?” Jaemin retorts and the grip on your hip becomes tighter. You’re too flustered to add much into this odd form of competitive banter, distracted by none other than the way Jaemin keeps glancing over at you with a delicious gleam in his eyes.

“So what? You don’t care about us now?” You’d know that bratty tone from anywhere as Lee Haechan pushes past everyone else to rush over to the both of you.

“Aw, are your feelings hurt?” Jaemin sticks his tongue out at his friend before cordially sharing a handshake with him.

“Just slightly.” Haechan looks over at you with a wide grin and playful eyes, “hello, my pretty girl.”

“Drop the possessives, Haechan.” Jaemin rolls his eyes with an irritable twitch on his lips.

He hates how obviously jealous he gets. It’s something too difficult for himself to control, he’s exhausted his efforts to bite his tongue whenever it comes to other people’s flirtations. The thought of someone else calling you theirs doesn’t sit well with him.

“I understand your jealousy, Jaem. If someone was flirting with (Y/N), I wouldn’t be able to stand it either.” Haechan fixes the falling jacket on your shoulders. “But she can handle herself, I know those pretty lips have a mind of their own.” His gaze drops momentarily, yet obvious enough for you to grow shy at how strong Haechan is coming off tonight.

“Stop trying to corrupt her, that’s my job.” Jaemin playfully pushes at Haechan’s chest and they both break out laughing.

“I haven’t said one thing and you’re both talking about me as if I’m not here.” Your small pout is literally the cutest thing to Jaemin. He physically has to stop himself from planting the sweetest kiss on it.

It’s blatantly clear that you’re hot stuff. You’re the perfect example of a head turner, your captivating aura has its ability to suffocate those around you. However, Jaemin has seen all sides of you, but overall finding you so entirely cute. And oddly enough, Jaemin has a knack for cute things.

“Is that (Y/N) I hear?” Huang Renjun engulfs you in a hug, showing clear affection and doesn’t mind doing so. “How did your project go?”

“It went well. You accomplish a lot when you don’t procrastinate.” Renjun gleams at your statement and if Jaemin is delusional enough, he’d probably mistaken the twinkle in his eyes for infatuation instead of admiration.

“You’re so responsible, why are you messing with Jaemin?” Renjun sighs and though his question is more of a joke, there is some truth behind his words.

Your friendship with his friends differ immensely compared to other girls who have come around. Like Jaemin had said before, his boys were going to like you and they do, a lot. Sometimes making it obvious that you’re too good for him.

Jeno comes up from the side, an unidentifiable bruise on his neck and a new cut on his brow. Lee Jeno being such a rough character, his appearance speaks well about how his day has been.

But when he lays his eyes on you, it’s as if all his pain is replaced with joy and security. “(Y/N)! I haven’t seen you in so long!” The enthusiastic boy rushes over to greet you with a warm smile.

“I’m pretty sure I was here a week ago.” You laugh, but welcome him in your arms for a tender friendly hug and pat his head out of habit.

“It’s been a week?! That’s so long.” Jeno narrows his eyes at Jaemin and flicks his forehead.

“Ow!” Jaemin exclaims while rubbing the pain away. “You act like she doesn’t go to the same school as us and therefore, can see her any time you want to.” The tone in Jaemin’s voice raises some eyebrows as they all exchange glances to each other before bursting into laughter.

“Like your jealous ass would allow for that?” Haechan remarks and Jaemin doesn’t outwardly react. However, Jaemin’s hand is squeezing you so tight that you’re more than certain he’s bothered by the comment.

“Oh, stop it. You all know I’m Team Jaemin. He does have the most wins this past month.” You only know that through Jaemin’s proud boasting, anything else in the racing world is unknown to you.

Jaemin situates you in between his legs as he slightly sits on the hood of his car. His arms wrap around your middle and chin rests on your shoulder. Public display of affection isn’t a problem for him, and you learned much earlier that Jaemin can’t keep his hands off of you.

Renjun scoffs at your whimsical fact, in absolute disbelief. “It hurts more hearing you say it. I’m getting my car upgraded, but once it’s done, I’m going to blaze his ass on the tracks.”

“Are you racing today?” Jeno asks the blue haired fellow that clings onto you like a koala.

“Yeah, against a newbie. Apparently he’s really good, so I’m not too sure I’ll win.” Jaemin mumbles into your hair.

“You say that every time, yet you win!” Renjun crosses his arms, weight shifting to his left leg as he pops his hip out. There is always a sense of competition between anyone with Renjun.

Jaemin perks up behind you and when you turn around in his arms, you’re face to face with a beaming smile. “That’s because I have you.” Eyes lock with yours, he isn’t saying that directed to Renjun. Na Jaemin has you wrapped around his pinky, the butterflies fluttering in your stomach are too hard to ignore.

“Alright, lovebirds. Get in your car and let’s start this shit.” Haechan groans and claps his hands to draw the crowd’s attention. Cupping them around his mouth, he roars into the starry night, “let’s roll!”

During the race, Jaemin’s number one priority is to keep you safe. While you’ve sat in his car for a number of times now, it’s different once the loud bang goes off and he’s hitting 100 mph. Tonight’s track is much more dangerous, with twists and turns that can have the vehicle flying weightlessly if he’s not careful.

“You trust me, right?” Jaemin has both hands on the wheel and the engine rumbling as you both anticipate the start of the race.

Spectators watch on the sidelines as if it’s the ultimate battle, but Jaemin doesn’t pay them much mind. He’s more concerned about you instead. “Of course. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now. You’ve proven yourself that you’re an excellent driver, so let’s win this.”

Jaemin smirks at your encouraging words, feeling a warmth spread across his chest. “I’ll tap out any time you want me to, okay?”

You nod and the initial whip of the car is so intense that you didn’t even register the sound off. It’s not your first race, but it’s been awhile since the last one. When you adjust to the pressure, the lanes in front of you cause a slight queasiness in your stomach.

It’s a two lane windy road that wraps around the mountain side and Jaemin happens to be in the outer lane. All it takes is a second of lost control and you two will hit the metal railings that guard the cliff below. Despite your inner panic, Jaemin guides you through the pooling anxiety that leaves you restless.

“(Y/N), look up and out the window. We’re coming up on the cliff side view, I’ve always wanted to bring you here.” Your eyes land on the dazzling glitter that dances on the ripples of the lake. It’s so vast, the moon high up in the sky is reflected on the water below. It’s a romantic scene of melancholy and bliss. Suddenly, you feel at peace in the middle of this high speed race.

“It’s beautiful, Jaem.” You whisper calmly and he’d reach for your hand to hold, but races take too much wheel control. And he’d turn to look at you, but races take too much concentration on the road ahead.

But throughout every obstacle, he hears the gentleness and the solidarity in your cadence in the midst of all the high stress. He, too, feels peace. He feels calm knowing that you’re simply by his side, even in the face of danger. So, he can finally admit to himself… he genuinely developed feelings for you.

Before you know it, you’re thrusted side to side from the sharp turns and the adrenaline kicks in when the other racer catches up right next to Jaemin. “Fuck,” Jaemin curses underneath his breath and steps harshly on the acceleration. “Baby, I’m going to go a bit faster so hold onto something.” He warns and your hand finds the grab handle. It’s neck and neck at this point.

Usually, you squeeze your eyes shut to avoid becoming too overwhelmed by the sights in front of you. Tonight is different, not entirely knowing why, you’re observing every element that circles around the perimeter.

The finish line is up ahead, but there is no sign that the other racer is slowing down. Then, you see it: the fatal mistake that can cost you both of your lives if you didn’t catch it. “Jaemin, watch out!” You yelp when the other car inches dangerously close, your warning allows Jaemin to make a controlled swerve away from a possible hit.

Jaemin shakes his head and tsks at the recklessness. “Now I know why he’s good. It’s foul play.” He blows his bang out of his eyes and casually says, “thank you for warning me. This is why I need you by my side.”

He makes it to the finish line barely before the other, winning the race by half a second. Jaemin brakes smoothly, tire marks scrapping the concrete below, and you both exit the car to celebrate with everyone else.

But before the mass of eager shouting men make their way over to you two, Jaemin hurries to your side to pull you into a steamy, rewarding kiss. The scene is just like the movies; his hand on your lower back and yours on his chest lightly. His lips taste like triumph, like he had won more than just a simple race against a random stranger. He’s won the best person he could ever have.

You two fled the scene after cussing out the other racer. It was a rare sight to see: Jaemin being all bothered and angry, practically fuming after scrambling back into the driver’s seat. However, your mind had mischievous plans of its own and all it took was one look from his hooded eyes for you to announce that you wanted him --- badly.

Back in your usual abandoned parking lot, Jaemin pauses before following you to the back seats. With the engine off and the dead of the night being absolute silent, the tension remains thick around you two. “(Y/N),” Jaemin is about to confess something he never thought he’d admit. He turns to you sitting in the middle seat with just your panties on and a curious look on your face.

His heart burns and despite being so incredibly aroused, he controls his urges enough to be able to say, “I’m into you.”

“I know you’re into me, that’s how we ended up like this in the first place.” You giggle cluelessly to his words, still not understanding the odd shift in mood and intentions. It’s always his unclear, messy intentions.

Though he can’t entirely figure out his puzzle pieces, he has plenty to connect the dots. “I like you. I want to be in a relationship with you and call you my girlfriend.”

You’re stunned. Did Jaemin just confess to you as you sit in your panties ready to fuck? This softness is different from the sides you’ve seen of him. It’s similar to a lost bunny, wandering grasslands to find a purpose. He looks so fragile, one intense stare and he’d crumble. This softness is vulnerability.

“So do it.” The boldness catches him off guard, but switches on the dominance in him. “If you want me, come show it.”

He climbs over the middle console to push you into the leather seats. “Not acting shy anymore, are you?” Practically ripping your shirt off of you, he cups your breast lightly and flicks at your nipples. Your immediate reaction results in a rush of wetness down your core.

“Before I forget,” sitting up, you share a passionate kiss that you’ve held back long enough. You give it every ounce of feeling you have for him. “If it isn’t obvious enough, I like you too.”

“It’s obvious, baby.” Kissing your nose, he wraps a hand around your throat to lightly push you back down. “But hearing you say it out loud makes me happy.” Jaemin smirks, hand still choking you gently and pampering your jawline with soft kisses.

His free hand reaches down into your dripping panties, circling your clit with your wetness. The sensation causes you to whimper for more. “Daddy, give it to me.” You wiggle in his palm, knowing that the nickname is more than effective.

“My sweet (Y/N) wants to get fucked?” Jaemin rolls your underwear off and rids himself of his own bottoms.

“Yes, please.” Through the darkness, his hard dick stands proudly. Jaemin lines himself up as he thrusts into you without another second of hesitation. He waits for you to adjust to his size, his tip barely grazing your sweet spot. “Fuck…”

“You take me so well, my pretty baby.” Jaemin starts moving his hips, slowly at first to build a rhythm. Taking your legs, he presses them into your chest to fuck you at a deeper angle. And you feel him practically in your guts, his cock pumping against your walls deliciously and bumping into your g-spot. “Do you want more of me?”

Your train of thought is in utter shambles and whatever Jaemin is saying to you barely processes. You’re overwhelmed by a pleasure that fills every system, every part of your body. To answer him, you let out an incoherent noise of approval.

Jaemin pulls your hips down while thrusting forward into you, maximizing every inch of his strokes. This single action causes you to scream and grip onto the headrest. “Who knew my sweet girl could be so fucking dirty?” Jaemin chuckles darkly, his cadence dropping several decibels. “When I first met you, I wanted to ruin you.”

All of his filthy words edge you closer to your release as he continues to repeat his previous motion. He holds your hips in place to grind into you, the feeling of his tip rubbing your walls has your eyes rolling back. “Do you want to cum, (Y/N)?”

“Yes!” You yell, the tight ball in your lower abdomen is bound to break any minute. “I want to cum so badly, please.” You beg and moan, the arch in your back lifts you from the seat of the car. Jaemin snaps his hips into you, drilling you quickly to reach your high. And you break. An euphoric cry fills the air as your walls clench around his length. You hear the extra wetness create a slick noise, but Jaemin isn’t done with you yet.

“You wanted to cum so fucking badly. I’ll reward you with one more for being such a good girl for me.” His thumb flicks at your clit and you convulse into spasms from the sensitivity. Your violently shaking legs can’t hold themselves up anymore and Jaemin rests them on his shoulders. He lines kisses along your ankle as the pleasure overtakes you.

“I don’t think I can do it.” You whine, your fingers twisting and toes curling.

“You are going to try, okay baby?” He coos, but it’s most definitely a demand. He sits back on his knees to pick up more speed, fucking endlessly into your swollen pussy and thumb rubbing fast strips against your bud.

“I’m going to snap, Jaem.” You cry, tears rimming your eyes and before you know it, a second wave hits you. Your second orgasm is ruinous and has you squirming around to regain some sense of control.

“Oh fuck, you’re so beautiful.” Jaemin slows down as your walls grip around him again, tighter this time. “I’m going to fill you up with cum,--- watch it drip out of you.” He grunts while releasing into you, his dick twitching and spraying your insides with white.

He pulls out as hot, white cum spills from your pussy. You take this moment to catch your breath and relax your legs. However, Jaemin coats his two fingers and shoves the cum back into you. “Jaemin!” You exclaim at the sudden intrusion.

He curls them into your plushy walls and finger fucks you into another oblivion. “Wait, again?” Your hands wrap around his wrist, but Jaemin moves too fast for you to catch it.

You’re a moaning mess again, louder than before. Jaemin leans down and flicks his tongue against your overstimulated bundle of nerves. Your back arches automatically and a low animalistic scream rises from your throat.

He observes your body lines underneath the moonlight and the last remaining light the broken street lamps have to offer. Your face contours and you’re so far out into ecstasy that you don’t notice how intensely Jaemin watches you lose yourself.

“It feels too good!” With one last thrilling orgasm, you almost pass out and you see small stars of dizziness. He soaks up every last bit of your cathartic reaction and festers a small sense of pride that he can make you feel all this pleasure.

“Such a good girl. You’re beyond impressive, baby.” Jaemin pulls his fingers out to lick them clean and finds some wipes to help you out of your sticky situation.  

“Now that you’re my girlfriend, can we cuddle at any time now? Not just as after care.” He peers up at you and the one word enacts a burning warmth to spread across your chest. That is the best nickname he can call you by.

“I think the Singles Girls Only house event is still going on, but after that, yes a million times.” You laugh and wrap your arms around him into a big loving hug.

Jaemin feels right at home. All the long years of living carelessly and wild, he’s finally found someone worth the extra mile. While Jaemin was a thriving adventure to be explored, you were his comfort to run back to.

It is through the intimacy of your backseat chronicles that Jaemin was able to fall deeper for you. You’re his lucky charm, for some reason, he always feels better around you. 

#neosmutcollective #neowritingsnet #nct-writers #kpopscape #neothestars #nct scenarios #nct smut #jaemin #nct #jaemin smut #jaemin scenarios #na jaemin #nct dream #nct dream scenarios #nct dream smut #nct imagines #nct dream series #ridinclub

[darktwistedstories]

The Hellspawn Procedure

Warning! The following story contains themes that are truly dark and twisted. Reader discretion is advised.

. . . . . . . . .

Bored. So completely and utterly bored. That was the only feeling he felt nowadays, and he was sick of it. James was, by all standards, a very privileged individual. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth into a family owning several businesses, he had not exactly experienced any hardships, but rather the opposite. He had lived that type life to its fullest, down to bullion spoons, weekly golf rounds and a seldom visited garage full of expensive cars he bragged about but never drove.

But even the luxuries of modern society lose their appeal after a while. For the last few years, he had felt himself becoming more apathetic. He was no longer as young as used to, and no longer craved the fleeting pleasures he once did. His marriage had grown cold, and he and his wife had fallen into a routine that did not really excite any of them, but they kept going through the motions all the same. In the bedroom, he and his wife had always been, as it was called in their circles, ‘an adventurous’ couple. This included the usual run of the mill kinky toys and BDSM equipment. But even this had gone stale after a while. A few years ago, they had both also joined an exclusive fetish and BDSM club only open to the higher echelons of society, which had been fun for a while. Lately however, they had not attended any events, instead simply existing and going through their gray days of meetings and outings without reflection or excitement. This mundane existence however, was about to change.

It was like any other tuesday when James received a text message from the club, offering him an invitation to an event the upcoming weekend, sent by the club owner himself from his personal account. This was very out of the ordinary, usually the invitations did not come directly from the owner, and certainly not from the owner’s personal account. This intrigued James. The invitation was cryptic, but mentioned that only a select few of the club’s members had been issued an invitation, to not speak of the event to anyone and that black tie with the addition of identity-concealing headwear was advisable for the event. James knew what that meant all right, he had done enough dirty business dealings to know that this was not about integrity, but rather something dirty on the fringes of the law. Feeling very curious he asked his wife that evening if they should go, and sharing his curiosity, she agreed. He sure hoped this was worth their time, and that he had not fallen victim to some new marketing scheme by the owner. He could be a devious fiend when he wanted to.

The week crept by and James did not really think about the upcoming weekend that much. His initial curiosity had died down, and now he was instead feeling a bit grumpy and half wished that they had declined. However, as they did not have any other plans there were no real reason not to go. He and his wife got ready for the evening, bringing with them a pair of old-fashioned masquerade masks to cover their faces. They were very garish; adorned with real black feathers and lavishly decorated with rhinestones. But they did hide their faces well and since no one would know it was them anyway, neither of them cared about looking foolish.

The club was located at the outskirts of their local city, in a block of what had previously been factory buildings, but that had now been repurposed to offices and a few shops. Both having to show their invitations to get in, they were led to one of the largest rooms inside the club, which was called the theatre. It was called so because it was a large room with a slightly raised stage at the far end, and comfortable arm chairs and sofas stood in rows facing it. Most of the furniture was black leather, apart from the front rows, which were instead sporting dark red velvet fabric. This room was usually used for demonstrations and ceremonies. This evening, a strange metal frame was standing on the stage, it did not look like any equipment James had ever seen before. Feeling his curiosity returning, he hoped to the evening would be entertaining. The room was filled by a fair number of other people, some wearing masks like they were, other fashioning hoods or simply sunglasses. Some of them were obviously devoted followers of a BDSM lifestyle, as various slaves clad in leather and rubber could be seen sitting on the floor in front of their owners. All in all there were maybe around forty or fifty people there. As it turned out, James and his wife were some of the last to arrive, and soon after having sat down the club owner entered onto the stage.

“Welcome, welcome, my dear ladies and gentlemen! Welcome, to what I hope will be an exciting night to remember.” He smiled broadly and held his arms out wide. The club owner was a very tall and good looking man, sporting his usual leather tuxedo and his bald head freshly shined. “And you, my dear visitors, have been carefully selected for this evening. I do apologize for having been so coy with you all. The reason is that what you all will witness here tonight is of a caliber that not everyone can stomach, and that only appeals to those who have an acquired taste for the more finer arts of cruelty and ownership.” The club owner showed his teeth in a slightly evil grin and looked out to the sea of hidden faces looking up at him. Many of the people seemed to be a bit tense, but there was a palpable hunger and curiosity in the air. James thought briefly about what club owner had just said, and wondered if he indeed fit the description. He had for a time received quite a reputation within the club for being a harsh master, but he had never really considered owning a slave, being more of an occasional role player.  

A man wearing a white doctor’s coat had appeared next to the stage. “Tonight”, the club owner went on, “you will all witness the creation of a new kind of toy, the first of its kind, and it is all thanks to our guest of honor. Allow me to introduce to you all: Dr. Clark.” The club owner started applauding and gestured for the man in the coat to come up on the stage. “Dr. Clark is the reason we are all here tonight, and we are very lucky indeed to have him as a guest for what I am sure will be a memorable evening!”, the club owner finished and stepped down to stand right next to the stage. The audience joined him in the applause.

“Thank you, thank you all”, said Dr. Clark with what was a mature and calming voice. He had a classically handsome face, sporting an elegant short haircut and a few days of stubble. “I am honored to have been invited to your fine establishment for the evening. As you just heard, my name is Dr. Clark and I am surgeon that have for the last few years specialized in plastic surgery. In my private time however, I have enjoyed opportunity to apply my knowledge and skills to more devious ideas than tucking chins and straightening noses. It is that which leads me here today. I have been preparing for this day for a long time and hope it shall be successful. Allow me to bring in the main star of the show.” He clapped his hands twice. Four people appeared, each carrying the corner of a large metal stretcher, upon which someone was laying. They went upon the stage and fastened the stretcher into the metal frame. The frame allowed for the stretcher to be moved and rotated. After having locked it into place, the stretcher was tilted up to a standing position, so that everyone in the audience could see. “Ladies and gentlemen”, said Dr. Clark. “Tonight’s star!” Bound to the stretcher with several thick leather straps was a man. A very large and very tall man. He had a very muscular body, large areas of which was covered in dark tattoos. His head was shaved bald and his face looked harsh and rugged, featuring several scars. The man had his eyes closed. He was not awake. “This is David.” Dr. Clark moved close to the man and slapped him on his bald head. The audience was now paying him their fullest attention. They all wondered what was going to happen to David.

“David here, has a tragic backstory. Raised as a religious extremist, he grew up to become quite the fanatic, and over the last few years committed a series of gruesome murders in the name of his faith. Murders for which he was a few weeks ago found guilty of, with the resulting punishment of being sent… to death row.” Dr. Clark paused to let the audience take in what he had just said. The atmosphere in the room changed rapidly. It was very still, and there was a clear sense amongst many of the onlookers that sinister things were in the making. “However, due to a few useful contacts of mine, the injection that was supposed to have ended his life this morning did not actually do so, being replaced as it was with a narcotic instead. This proved effective enough to fool those involved, and thanks to my contact, he did not end up in the morgue. Instead, he is here tonight at as the first candidate for my new procedure.” Dr. Clark walked across the stage, his voice quivering with excitement and… something akin to malice. “Tonight, I will end his sad existence and he will reborn as… a creature that will know nothing but pain and suffering; an object, true to the word”, Dr. Clark exclaimed. A few murmurs swept through the audience as a swift breeze. Some were evidently not comfortable with the morality of the situation, but transfixed enough to not object, and curious enough to want to stay. James felt a tingle in his crotch area. He was starting to get aroused.

“You see”, Dr. Clark continued, as an assistant now rolled trolleys with medical equipment out to stand next to the stage. “For the past few years I have been experimenting with a formula for a new type of, for lack of a better word, silicone. A silicone that is a mix of silicone and glue, that grafts together with living tissue, is durable and strong enough to hold its shape, and do not pose any risk of rejection from the body. It is this formula that is allowing the transformation you will all witness tonight to be possible.” Dr. Clark moved to the edge of the stage and picked up a metal instrument. “I will use this silicone to strip away his senses, reducing him to an object that will not be able to experience any pleasure. Only pain.” He smiled as he glanced over all of the transfixed faces watching him.

Dr. Clark moved on the stage so that he was standing next to the frame holding the unconscious man. An assistant had moved up beside him, holding a tray of several syringes, filled with the silicone he had just mentioned. “The first thing I will do, is to take away its hearing. This object will not have any need for being able to hear any instruction, nor anything else.” As he spoke, Dr. Clark had moved up and peered into the man’s ear, using a small flashlight to look into the ear canal. “To achieve this, I will simply start by rupturing the ear drum”, he continued to say as inserted a scalpel in the ear and made a few delicate stabs. “And then”, he said and put the scalpel down on the tray and raised one of the syringes. “I will inject the silicone to fill up the entire ear cavity. The silicone will adhere and graft together with the tissue; you can think of it as the ultimate ear plug. It will also go so deep and fill up the cavity so much that when the body tries to heal the damage, it will not be able to, as the silicone is blocking the way. This will result in utter and complete loss of hearing. The ear will simply not be able to detect any sound waves at all, and thus not send any signals to the brain: dead silence”, Dr. Clark continued to explain as he emptied the first syringe into the ear, guiding his aim with the flashlight. He then picked up a second syringe and continued to fill the man’s ear. “Upon exposure to the air, the silicone begins a hardening process, becoming firmer. It will still be somewhat flexible when this process is complete however, which takes a few minutes to complete, and until that moment, it simply needs to be held in place.” He picked up a small rubber plug which he showed to the audience, before proceeding to place it carefully into the man’s ear, holding the silicone in place as it hardened. As Dr. Clark and his assistant moved over to the other side of the body to repeat the same steps for the other ear, James looked around the audience. Most of the onlookers were completely transfixed, sitting still as statues, simply gazing on the events unfolding. However, he did notice that a couple of people were slowly caressing their crotches. He was not the only one who found this extreme version of objectification deeply erotic.

“Another nice feature of this silicone”, Dr. Clark lectured as he worked on the other ear. “Is that in addition to it being flexible, it has the same density as human flesh. And as it grafts together with the tissues it touches, this means that it is not possible to feel where the body ends and the silicone begins. It will not feel like there is anything touching the skin, rather it will simply feel like an inert extension of the body itself.” After placing a second rubber plug in the man’s other ear, Dr. Clark put down his instruments on the tray and addressed the audience. “Well, that takes care of the hearing. Now let us move onto the the difficult part, removing its ability to taste, talk, eat and smell.” As he spoke, the assistant busied himself by bringing a tray full of rubber tubing. James’ underwear was feeling definitely too tight now, not helped by the faint moan he heard from someone a few seats away.

Dr. Clark picked up one of the black rubber tubes from the tray. “In order to achieve this, and make it permanent, no less, I have had to apply considerable ingenuity. These tubes are mostly rubber, but they have a middle layer consisting of a glass fibre mesh. This makes it so that the tubes retains some flexibility and can be squished somewhat, but never to the point of actually closing. I have measured these out to fit this specimen specifically, and see here”, he held up one of the ends of the tube in his hands, showing it to the audience. “The end has been carefully rounded, in order to not irritate the tissue around it.” James saw that the other end of the tubes however, had metal bits attached to them, but Dr. Clark did not mention what they were for.

“For this part of the procedure, the object needs to be laying down, but fear not, we have this covered so that you can still see what is going on.”, said Dr. Clark and gave a nod to the club owner. The club owner gestured to a few people James could not see, and in seconds a rolling stand with a giant TV appeared next to the stage. A second assistant appeared and picked up a camera that was connected to the TV, allowing the audience to now see what was being filmed. As this happened, Dr. Clark rotated the stretcher in the metal frame that held the man so that he was now laying down.

“This is a tricky operation, since the epiglottis in the throat is not keen to allow passage to both the esophagus and the lungs at once. But luckily, four hands are able to achieve what two are not.” Dr. Clark said, and gestured with his head towards his medical assistant. James watched as Dr. Clark and his assistant started feeding the rubber tubing into the mouth and nose of the man, using lube to make them go in easier. The assistant was taking care of the mouth, and Dr. Clark operated the tubes in the man’s nose both at once. Dr. Clark and his assistant communicated in silent mumbles  as the audience watch with rapt attention what was happening on the TV screen. The tubing was slowly but surely entering deeper and deeper. At one time, the man’s gag reflex was triggered by the tubing being shoved down his throat and his body twitched. James looked down into his lap and found that his hand was stroking his cock through his trousers. He was not aware of even having started doing so.

After a few minutes, the rubber tubing was finally in place. Two rubber tubes were now entered completely through the man’s nose down into his lungs. The last bit of the tubes were clad in metal, giving the impression that the man had nostrils of steel. The tube sticking out of its mouth still went out past its teeth. “Now comes the most crucial part, filling its mouth with silicone with letting any enter down into its stomach or lungs.”, said Dr. Clark as he and his assistant went to fetch a new set of tools from the trolleys next to the stage. The audience watched as the assistant now placed a metal instrument to the mouth, touching both rows of teeth. It was then carefully expanded, forcing the mouth open by pushing on the top and bottom teeth, so that the man’s mouth was gaping as wide as it could. “The contraption my assistant is now attaching is only temporary, it forces the mouth open to its fullest, and will also hold the tongue in place”, Dr. Clark said. The audience saw on the TV as the assistant pulled the tongue out of the mouth, and fixed it in place with a small clamp on a metal arm in the middle of the contraption. The mouth was now wide open, and the tongue was sticking out of the middle of it, together with the rubber tube leading down to the stomach.

“The tubing in its throat does a good job of blocking the passages, however, there is still the possibility of some silicone trickling past it. To remedy this, I need to compress the throat around the tubing for the time being”, said Dr. Clark and started wrap a roll of elastic cloth bandage around the throat and neck, as the assistant held up the head. “The problem with this of course, is that it also blocks the blood flow, so we need to work quickly. The rubber tubes will not be compressed however, thanks to their mesh interior, so breathing will continue as normal.” He nodded to the assistant to bring him a tray with syringes of silicone. Both he and his assistant started to simultaneously fill the oral cavity with silicone. They started by directing the silicone down into the throat, but then also injected it around the rubber tubes in the nose to fill up the sinuses. James watched in awe as the pool of silicone in the mouth started to rise. They both stopped when it had risen high enough to reach the corners of the mouth, and no more could be filled in without spilling out. A bit of the man’s tongue was sticking up through the pool of silicone together with the black rubber tube leading to the stomach. “Every last bit of the oral and nasal cavity, including the sinuses, are filled with silicone. It will no longer be able to smell, taste, talk, swallow, or even to move its jaw as it will be fixed in this open position permanently.” One of the rubber slaves sitting on the floor in front of its master a few rows away from James could not help itself, but let out a definite, horny squeal. Its master quickly slapped its hooded head to quieten it. James could see that a few other slaves in the room too were quivering with excitement. Up on the stage, Dr. Clark smiled. “It will not even be able moan anymore, as the vocal folds have been frozen in place by the silicone and cannot come together to give voice.”

Going over to the trolleys, Dr. Clark picked up a large bit of what looked like lump of black rubber. The assistant in charge of the camera kept filming the man’s mouth as the silicone in its mouth was going through its hardening process. “While my assistants keep an eye on its head, I shall turn my attention elsewhere. Touch will of course be one of its remaining senses, but I think we can all agree that an object has no use for its hands. These are specially designed mittens which will take care of that.” He held up the lump of rubber and showed it to the audience. “They too consist mainly of rubber, and has the same mesh as the tubing, giving them a firm structure. The outside is covered with a layer of high quality leather, to protect the rubber. And see here, the bit that goes around wrist has metal attachments that will be fastened to this.” He picked up a second object from the trolley. It was a heavy duty metal wrist cuff, opening with a hinge. “Naturally, it will welded shut when we are done here today, for now though a padlock will have to do. The mittens are snugly designed to keep its hands closed as fists, with its thumbs crumpled in the middle. For good measure though, I will also fill up the mittens with silicone, to make sure that the hands are completely immobilized and cannot even be flexed.” Dr. Clark approached the man and started putting its hand into the rubber mitten, as the assistant in charge of the camera started filming what he was doing, so that the audience could follow the procedure on the TV. “And to be honest with you all… I am not completely sure what will happen with its fingernails. I expect the body will attempt to continue growing them out, even with its hands in this constrained state”, he said thoughtfully as he carefully careened the rubber mitt onto the hand. “That would naturally be quite uncomfortable, but I suppose that even if the nails do pierce the flesh they will stop when eventually hitting bone.” A shiver went through the audience. The level of cruelty this man was capable of casually brushing aside as no more than an afterthought was truly mind-boggling.

After Dr. Clark had attached the mittens, filled them up with silicone and then locked the metal wrist cuffs into place, he and his assistants rotated the stretcher again, so that the man now was in a standing position again, still strapped to the stretcher with its leather straps. The TV and the camera was pushed to the side as they were no longer needed. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, let us talk about the object’s lower regions.” Dr. Clark gestured to the man’s flaccid penis and balls. “I contemplated many different options regarding this area in particular. But in the end, my vision is to create an object incapable of feeling pleasure or excitement and only pain and suffering. To that end, there are some modifications I need to make.” Again, his assistant brought him a tray, carrying more rubber tubing, although not as thick as the one that had been inserted into its mouth and nose. “You see, even if its penis were to be removed, there are still nerves inside the urethra going all the way to the bladder. And we all know it can be pleasurable to urinate sometimes, especially if you have had to hold your bladder for a time. Even that pleasure is out of the question. I want this object to feel nothing of the sort. And naturally, any erection and ejaculation is completely out of the question.” Dr. Clark smiled again as his eyes fell on some of the hooded slaves in the audience staring hungrily at him, their eyes wide beneath their hoods. “To that end, a simple solution will do. This is a catheter that will go all the way into the bladder, and as such the object’s urination can also be controlled. This will allow for urine to pass without interacting with the nerves in the urethra.” He picked up the tubing from the tray. “And on this end, there is a simple cap.” He indicated the metal bit on the end of the tube. It looked like the front part of a metal chastity device. The cap did not connect directly to the catheter however, instead there was a bit of metal pipe between it and the catheter, quite bigger in diameter than the tube. “As you can see, the cap has some length to it. It will allow me to first install the catheter tubing, and then push the penis inside the penile cavity, where it will be secured by the use of yet more silicone, grafting it into place. All that will be visible from the outside is this.” He indicated the front of the metal cap, in the center of which was a small hole with metal plug that screwed into it. “This of course leaves the testicles, but I think we can all agree that while they can be used for pleasure, the opposite is just as true, if not more so.”

Dr. Clark proceeded to insert the catheter with the use of lube, then smothered the man’s penis in his special silicone, and proceeded to push it into the penile cavity. Unfortunately, it was difficult to see what was going on, since Dr. Clark obscured the view when doing this. When he finished and stepped away however, where there had earlier been a flaccid cock, there was now only a small round piece of metal. James clenched his hand into a fist and proceeded to massage his crotch more intensely than before. “And that ladies and gentlemen, means it is time for the final step”, said Dr. Clark and smiled broadly as he gestured to the man’s head again. Time stood still for a second when the audience wondered what the final step would be. They had removed the contraption keeping the jaw open, along with the rubber plugs thad had been in its ears. It was a weird sight. The eyes were closed, two tubes were sticking out of its nose and its mouth wide open, with a rubber tube and tongue sticking out from a large amount of hardened silicone filling the mouth. It was grotesque, yet incredibly arousing. James thought it looked incredible.

While his assistant was going over what they had done so far and double checking that everything was in order, Dr. Clark went and fetched a large black object. He went to the middle of the stage and held it up for everyone to see. It was a thick, heavy duty hood, rather larger than normal. Its back was split in two to allow for it to be installed snugly over the man’s head. A woman in the audience who realized what what was about to happen gasped audibly. Dr. Clark did not say anything, instead he just smiled and then went to fetch a large metal collar that he also held up for the audience to see. It looked so heavy James was impressed that the doctor was able to raise it so easily. They all understood what was going on. This hood was going to be installed in the same manner as the mittens. Dr. Clark joined his assistant by the man and turned the hood inside out. This was difficult, as it was so thick and sturdy it did not want to bend out of shape. Dr. Clark and his assistant proceeded to attach the tubes coming out from the man’s nose and mouth to holes in the hood that had been prepared for them. The metal ends of the tubes slid perfectly into place, being visible as three dots of light in the otherwise black mass that was the frontside of the hood. Together, Dr. Clark and his assistant peeled the hood over the head, and used some silicone on the back seam to glue into permanently into place. The assistant held the hood in place as this happened. The thick metal collar was then attached to the bottom of the hood around the throat, closing with a satisfying metal clunk that sent shivers through the audience. James thought it looked incredible. It was no longer a man, but truly an object devoid of senses and expression. 
“Ah, but I am not quite finished,” said Dr. Clark when noticing that some in the audience seemed to think it was all over. “We still have this”, he said, and tapped the top of the hood. “There is a little hole here that needs filling.” His assistant was now bringing him the last tray, on which there was the largest syringe yet, filled with a massive amount of his special silicone. “Naturally, the hood cannot simply sit on the head, but needs to fastened with silicone”, he said as pointed the syringe down into the hole at the top of the hood. “This will fill the hood up entirely. It will cover the rest of the tongue, find its way in under the lips and teeth, fill up the outer parts of the ears and glue its eyelids shut forever.” Dr. Clark explained as he started to empty the syringe full of silicone into the hood. “As with the nails, the hair and beard will attempt to grow, which should increase the pressure inside the hood. Eventually however the pressure will just be too great for the hair follicles to be able to function. Additionally, as you can imagine, the head is now a bit more prone to overheating than usual, so the object should not be left out in the sun for long.” Dr. Clark chuckled silently at his own joke as emptied the last of the silicone and then stepped away. His assistant then went to put a small rubber plug in the hole of the hood. “And for a final touch, let us close his feeding hole as well”, Dr. Clark said and picked up a small metal knob that screwed into the tube in front of the mouth. He inserted it firmly in place and then stepped away. “And with that, ladies gentlemen, my job here is done. I present to you, a true object.” The sight made James so horny that he almost felt light-headed. The stage, the metal frame, the muscled, tattooed man bound inside it with thick leather straps. Its head and hands permanently enclosed in rubber and metal. Its senses stripped away, rubber tubes for breathing, eating and peeing. Its cock compressed inside its body. It was sinister and breathtaking in equal measure.

“Oh and I forgot to tell you about a most entertaining detail. I mentioned earlier that this object was raised as a religious fanatic. It was an ardent devotee and believed in its faith in the literal sense. I was informed that in the intervening days of its verdict and the date of its execution it became obsessed with absolving for any and all sins it had committed, in order to secure a place in the afterlife.” Dr. Clark rolled his eyes in amusement. “The prison guards had heard it having nightly terrors and screaming in its sleep that it was sorry, and for ‘the hellspawn’ to leave it alone. Poor thing, it was having nightmares of going to hell. Well… most amusingly, my contact at the facility was present when he received its injection. As its consciousness was leaving it, my contact leaned close to its ear and told it that the priest it had been confessing its sins to in order to become absolved was in fact a satanist and that the next thing it would know would be waking up in hell.” Dr. Clark smiled wickedly, eyes glinting. “It is for that reason that I jokingly refer to this as ‘the hellspawn procedure’.” Dr. Clark chuckled wickedly. “And this also means that when the narcotic starts wearing off, which should be in a few minutes, the poor thing will indeed believe that it is waking up in hell, and well… it is not wrong, is it? It is now an object, and we are the hellspawn that will torture it for the eternity it has left!” Dr. Clark laughed openly. James groaned in his seat. This was the most arousing thing he had ever witnessed. He sure was glad he accepted the invitation.

Dr. Clark exited the stage as the club owner returned, smiling wildly, his arms outstretched. “What a night, let us all thank Dr. Clark for this truly unique demonstration here this evening.” He faced Dr. Clark and applauded him, and the audience joined in. Dr. Clark was now standing a bit away from the stage, looking pleased and eager. “And as you heard from Dr. Clark, the object formerly known as David is about to regain consciousness at any moment. I will have some help in breaking it in and welcoming it to its new life.” The club owner cracked a wicked smile. Two club members wearing leather hoods and harnesses joined him on the stage, carrying an assortment of whips and crops with them. “We will also allow it to have a bit more mobility”, the club owner added, as he and his companions opened some of the straps, allowing the object a bit more freedom in moving its arms and legs, but its torso still firmly  bound to the stretcher. “Now let us wait.” All that could be heard in the theatre was the breathing of the audience and the occasional involuntary whimper of arousal. James did not think that he had ever been in a situation where the air was this thick with anticipation. His cock was fully erect in his trousers, and he wanted nothing more than to walk onto the stage and fuck the object’s ass until it trembled. Hopefully, he would have the opportunity later.

After around ten minutes or so, something began happening. The object’s head, encased in its large hood and weighed down by the thick metal collar around its neck, began flopping slowly from side to side. It seemed like it was waking up, groggy, no doubt. People were leaning forward in their seats, eager to not miss a thing. A few more minutes passed and the head moved around a bit more, and was joined by certain movements in the arms and legs. The club owner gave a nod to one of his companions. The companion nodded and went closer, looking slightly hesitant. Then, in one swift moment, he raised a riding crop and hit the object across the chest. The object reacted. It looked like it immediately sobered up. James could see how it was slowly testing its movement, attempting to make sense of its surroundings. Perhaps it was unsure about what just had happened. After another sign from the club owner, his companion went forward and taking hold of one the object’s nipples, gave it a hard squeeze and a turn. The object jerked. It had now noticed that someone, or something, was there, interacting with it. The object began shaking its arms around, seeming to notice that its movement was constricted. Another lashing from the riding crop across its chest set it off even more. It began frantically to shake its limbs around, rattling its restraints. No sound was coming from it, as it had the lost ability to give voice or even moan. James was not alone in trying to imagine what on earth it was sensing and thinking. It would never be able to communicate its experience.

The club owner and his second companion moved in. Each holding a different whip, they walked in circles around the metal frame, keeping up a steady rhythm of lashings. The object started to shake every part of its body it could, silently attempting to escape its predicament. The creaking leather and clanking metal joined with the sound of the whips rushing through the air, making any and all tension in the atmosphere discharge into rippling waves of horniness and excitement that spread through the audience. Cheers, the occasional clapping of hands and evil, gleeful laughs joined the symphony. The object was clearly panicking. The club owner and his companions could hear it hyperventilating through its nose tubes. Its body was shaking and trembling uncontrollably. Not before long however, it went limp again and stopped reacting to the deluge of lashings painting its body with welts. Had it fainted? Dr. Clark swiftly came on the stage and checked its pulse. “It is fine”, he told the energetic audience. “Simply a bit overexcited from its first experience of its new life. It has fainted. But let us leave it to rest for now.” He gave a meaning nod to the club owner.

“Of course, Dr. Clark. Thank you.” He dismissed his companions and went to the front of the stage to address the audience again. “Well that brings us swiftly to the final part of the evening. This object needs a home, which means, as I am sure you all have figured out by now, that we have ourselves an auction. The object will need to stay in the club dungeon for a few days under observation by Dr. Clark, but after that whoever wins the auction is free to take it home.” James looked at his wife. She met his gaze and placed her hand on his thigh. They were of one mind. He was going to win the auction, no matter the price. He did not even care if he had to sell every single one of his cars to do it. He had never wanted anything as much in his whole life. Never. The club owner started the bidding process. James raised his arm again and again, pushing the bid higher. Finally he just raised his arm and kept it raised, to indicate to everyone in the room that he was not going to be outbid. The final sum was substantial, well into the six figures. At long last, the bidding concluded and the club owner exclaimed the man with the black feather rhinestone mask as the winner. James could not stop smiling. Both he and his wife quickly got to their feet and walked to the stage, the audience applauded politely. James had to steady his own breathing to contain his excitement. It looked even more incredible up front. He and his wife started feeling the object’s body and inspecting the fine work Dr. Clark had performed on its various body-parts, as the club owner thanked the audience for attending the event. And… James could not help but notice the very hungry stare with which his wife eyed their new toy. Was it simply horniness, or… something more? Envy? Longing? She had always been the submissive one out of the two of them with a flare for sensory deprivation. Hm. Perhaps he should give Dr. Clark and the club owner a call later and tell them that the evening could soon be repeated with a new candidate. And then… perhaps it was time to move his relationship with his barber to the next level? His very attractive barber that had occasionally joined him and his wife in role-play, and who shared his interest of inflicting pain. They would certainly make a handsome couple of hellspawn that could torture his new toy in every way imaginable. James bit his lip in contemplation and felt his entire body shiver. He had not felt this alive in years.

[passivenovember]

Harringrove April, Day Three. 

Elevator.

Believe (Part One)

--

It had wooden slats for a door. And a little pull tab that you had to reach up and grip with both hands, at first, when they were first looking at the apartment and Steve’s muscles were too doughy for the way Billy could hold a smoothie in one and pull the doors shut with the other. 

The Elevator opened, like some sort of unattainable fabric-split to a magic world, directly into their second story apartment.

Maybe that’s why they signed the lease. For the discretion. 

Their apartment was huge. Industrial. Used to be an old leather factory so the walls still smelled like grease and smoke in the summertime. It was grimy and gray and charming in the way all pre-civil war buildings could be. Located in a neighborhood that was Here, Queer, and Up and Cumming. 

Steve wanted to grab the A-train the second the relator said that, but.

Their sky-lit two bedroom was located over Sidetrack. So they could be young, gay, and fashionable on Friday nights when Billy took a few shots and stumbled downstairs to “experience a little bit of life.” Steve could feel the bass thumping below his mattress and imagine Billy, shirtless and covered in glitter and getting eaten alive. 

One week into their stay and Billy was in love, and Steve was in love with--

Yeah.

It was a small price to pay for how Billy’s shoulders loosened. Skin and muscles smoothed over with an impenetrable layer of peace that they had somehow been lucky enough to find themselves in Chicago. 

In the ‘90s.

Right in the heart of where they could really, truly, finally, be themselves. 

Their apartment had a balcony, a breakfast nook, and a space by the front door that was wide enough to house Steve’s pottery wheel. Just down the street sat the headquarters of Nightlines, Chicago’s very own Village Voice, and adjacent from a spit-level building that housed a dual bakery and kink shop sat a bookstore. 

It was, unfortunately, perfect.

Steve spent his weekends curled up by the window. Reading and drinking lavender tea and playing with the lazy bodega cat and--it was a dream. Steve had once lived in a castle on top of the hill, bu this?

It was the stuff of clouds. He felt at home, in their apartment. In their life. Eating midnight pizza with Billy above their night club.

The place couldn’t get more queer if it was called the Meat Packing District and Steve couldn’t get happier if he won the damn lottery, so he kept track of his blessings, with every new guy Billy brought moaning up that elevator.

It was never easy. 

At first it was about the mortgage. The pottery business. The bills and the plight of the starving artist and how it was easier for them to buy a place together, so they could push product quicker than before, when they were in college and had to rent studio spaces. 

But then it became about the wooden slats. 

And the little pull tab Billy could never reach when he had some guy’s tongue down his throat. When his hands were preoccupied. When Steve took power naps on the couch, still covered in residual clay and a shift’s worth of kiln smoke, only to jolt awake to the man he loved dragging some guy that was way hotter than Steve into his bedroom.

Steve sat him down and outlined the basics. “I don’t like random men in our house.” He said. 

It seemed reasonable. 

Billy leaned back in the dining room chair, silk robe popping open to display a line of fresh hickies and bite marks, snaking around one peck and disappearing into the waistband of his boxers. 

Steve ignored them. 

Filed them away. “It happens pretty much every night. You go downstairs, you fuck some guy in a bathroom, you trail him through the house--”

“Sorry, Bambi, I’m not trying to step on your toes, or anything.” 

“You’re not stepping on my toes.”

“it’s just easier to bring ‘em to our place since it’s right upstairs and we’ve got--”

“--The elevator. Yeah.” Steve took a sip of coffee. Winced at the burn of the liquid and the burn of Billy’s gaze, as he tried to work out all the shit Steve was backlogging.

“Fuck’s going on with you?” Billy asked uneasily.

“Huh?”

“Oh, come on. Don’t play that shit, you say it’s not bothering you but then you cook breakfast and call a meeting and you’ve got talking points? Scribbled on a fucking legal pad?” 

Steve cleared his throat.  Shuffled the papers on the island in front of him, like, “Robin helped me.”

“You talked to Buckley about this before me?” Billy asked, still chewing but softer now. Thoughtful. Hurt. “What the fuck is going on?”

Steve read through the list of things that Robin said had to be cleared up. Bullshit, petty things like shooting garbage at the recycling bin instead of walking over to throw it away, and forgetting to pick up the things that bounce off the recycling bin and clatter under the sofa. 

It seemed like bullshit, now. Fodder. Steve knew he could live with all that if Billy would give up the big one. 

Fucking other guys. 

Billy swam through to the other side of Steve’s long, panicked silence shook his head, reaching to gnaw at the last slice of bacon. He tore it in half with his teeth, holding out one piece and biting into the other, and--

Fucking other guys.

Steve took it from him.

“What’s going on, baby?” Billy said. “Can’t take it anymore. Those sad eyes are eating me up. You’ve been acting weirder and weirder since we signed the lease.” Billy leaned forward, bacon still held gingerly between two fingers. “You not happy here? ‘Cause we can move. Just say the word, and--”

“No, that’s not,” Steve sighed, scrubbing at his face. “It’s just.”

I can’t watch you fuck other guys, anymore. Because I love--

“Can you make sure the guys take their shoes off when they come in? I don’t like having to vacuum every time there’s dirt on the rug.”

Billy sat for a long, silent moment. Staring and searching like he didn’t believe it.

Like he didn’t believe him.

There’s no way he bought a single word, but. Billy nodded anyway. Pushed back from the table, anyway, gesturing to the slice of bacon. “You gonna eat that, pretty boy?”

“What? No.”

Steve handed it over, along with other important, breakable, nameless things. Watched Billy roll the strip of bacon into a half eaten pancake, slathered with butter, jam, and peanut butter, and that familiar ache in his heart when Billy’s cheeks bulged like a chipmunk.

I love you. I love you so much, it makes me feel like I could float--

Steve wished he wasn’t such a coward.

#harringrove #harringrove april

[dem-obscure-imagines]

Try

Warren Worthington III x Reader

Fandom: Marvel/X-Men

Summary: Warren has been through hell and then some, but will meeting his soulmate turn that around?

Note: That’s right, it’s ya girl, back on my BS. I watched Apocalypse again and BIG SURPRISE, I’m in love with Warren and Kurt all over again. Still hyperfixating on Pietro also, so…expect more fics for him as well. Anyway, I’m a ho for soulmate aus and I haven’t written one for birb boi in literal years, so here ya go.

Reader is: Gender Neutral

Warnings: swears, mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 2.8k

Warren knew one thing beyond a shadow of a doubt: he didn’t deserve a soulmate. He didn’t. There was no question in his mind. Anyone who was destined to end up with his winged, alcoholic ass had been fucked over by the universe. No one deserved to be stuck with him for the rest of their lives. And yet, these thoughts didn’t seem to erase the words written on his forearm:

Hey, um, you’re Warren, right? The Professor wanted me to talk to you.

Professor. He scoffed. He was never going to college. If his parents had gotten their way, their son “cured” of his wings, he would have ended up at Harvard or Yale or somewhere similar. But it was far too late for that. Sitting in a cage in the back room of an illegal underground mutant fighting club in Berlin…it was far too late for that. He’d probably die before he met his soulmate anyway, rendering the prophecy on his wrist—and theirs, for that matter—useless. A waste of space.

That was all he was anyway.

He spiraled. His dependence on vodka got worse. The fights got harder. He wasn’t making it out unscathed anymore, winding up with burns and scrapes and cuts, depending on what kind of mutant he was up against. One night, one of his cuts had gotten dangerously close to the writing on his wrist. He stared at it for a long time, tears burning his eyeballs until they escaped and dripped down his cheeks, angry and hot.

He hated it, but even after everything, he still had hope. He still had hope that things would get better; that he could be better, even if it seemed impossible.

And then it got…worse.

Apocalypse had come, turned his wings to metal, tuned into his anger, his rage at the world, turned him into a monster, complete with knives for feathers and winding tattoos framing his face. He wished he could blame it on mind control or something, but Apocalypse hadn’t brainwashed him, only used his anger against him. Turned him into a weapon.

And then everything went black.

When he woke up after the battle, he was in an unfamiliar room, large and white and sterile; it smelled like hand sanitizer. He heard the steady beeping of a heart monitor and when he sat up, he noticed how sore he was. His whole body hurt. His head spun. But he was alive. And when he looked down at his tattoo, the words were still there. Wherever his soulmate was, they were fine. His stupidity in joining Apocalypse hadn’t caused anything to happen to them.

For the first time in what felt like years, he breathed.

“You’re awake.” A voice said as a tall man with brown hair entered his room. “I’ll let the Professor know.”

“Where…” his deep voice rasped and the man pointed to a glass of water sitting on the table adjacent to the cot he was situated in. He picked it up and took a few long, greedy sips, not realizing just how thirsty he was until the cool drink hit his tongue. “Where am I? What is this place?”

“This is the infirmary at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.” The man told him, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “You’re safe here.”

Warren nodded hesitantly, but didn’t say anything else. Safe. The word was almost a myth to him at this point. But at least he felt like he could rest for a little while.

***

It had been a few weeks since Apocalypse and his horsemen had almost ended the world. Erik had decided to stick around, and two of the younger horsemen, Storm and “the Angel of Death,” respectively, had been absorbed into the school’s student body. You didn’t know the Angel’s name. No one really talked to him, not even Ororo, Storm, who had been quickly adopted by your friend group.

Supposedly, Peter had tried to talk to the Angel guy, but he didn’t say anything to him. Ororo theorized he probably felt guilty about the whole thing. She did. But you all knew she didn’t know what Apocalypse was really trying to do. He probably hadn’t either, but that didn’t seem to keep the grim expression off of his face.

It was on a nice, sunny day that Xavier called you into his office, and you went down without complaint, knocking on the door a few times before he called you inside. You sat in the chair across from his desk.

“Hi, Professor. What’s going on?” You asked.

“Ah, yes. Just the empath and healer I wanted to see.” He smiled brightly. “(Y/N), if you don’t mind it too terribly, I have a small job for you.”

“Of course! What do you need?”

“I’m sure you’ve seen our newest pupil, Warren, around.”

You thought for a moment. “The, uh, guy with the wings? The big metal ones?”

“Precisely.” He nodded. “Warren…he’s been having quite a hard time adjusting.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“He came to me yesterday discussing…well, quite simply, he was wondering if any of our mutants here would be capable of…reverting him to his previous state. His wings, before Apocalypse, were made of feathers. They’ve been serving as quite a reminder to him and it’s been weighing pretty heavily on him, both literally and emotionally.”

“Yeah, I’ve, uh, caught his vibes from across campus.” You nodded. “It’s like there’s always a rain cloud hanging over his head.”

“Yes,” Xavier agreed. “It doesn’t have to be right away, but at your nearest convenience, if you see him around, would you talk to him? Tell him I sent you?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll see what I can do.” You promised him.

As an empath and a healer, your first priority was helping others. And even if he was known to be a bit intimidating, you wanted to help him if you could.

So, you walked out of Xavier’s office, attended your final class of the day, and when it was over, you wandered out into the courtyard where, because of the nice weather, students were everywhere. And luckily for you, just as you suspected he might be, Warren was sitting under a tree, still sporting his leather jacket despite the warm weather.

You shielded your eyes from the sun and walked over towards him, your heart racing as you built up the courage to talk to him. So, you took a breath and said, “Hey, um, you’re Warren, right? The Professor wanted me to talk to you.”

He stared up at you for a long moment, his green eyes wide in shock. He took a breath, blinked a few times, glanced down at his wrist, and then back up at you. You could have sworn you saw tears beginning to form along his waterline, and you didn’t realize why until he said, “You’re my…No…Oh my God…I’m…I’m so sorry.”

You froze, your knees going weak. You glanced down at your bare forearm and read over the words he’d just said, exactly the way he’d just said them.

You’re my…No…Oh my God…I’m…I’m so sorry.

“Why are you sorry?” You whispered, lowering yourself onto the grass beside him, not trusting your legs to support your weight for much longer. Now you were the one with tears in your eyes. “Don’t be sorry.”

“You deserve so much more than me.” He insisted, his eyes locked on his boots, unwilling and unable to meet your gaze. “I can’t drag you into…this. Me.”

His emotions were heavy, a bleak blue and gray haze and you felt it radiate off of him in waves. His pain, his everything. And you felt it, deep within his chest. He thought you wouldn’t want him anyway.

“Warren…” You shook your head. “Why…Why would you think I don’t want you?”

He was shocked into silence for a few seconds, thinking over his words carefully, his jaw tense and hands shaking. “You’re a telepath?”

“Empath.” You corrected quietly. “And…a healer. Which is why Xavier sent me.”

“Oh. Right.” He swallowed thickly, nodding. “Did he…tell you why?”

“He did.” You smiled softly. “And I’m willing to try if you are.”

Finally, his eyes met yours and he could tell that you meant more than just the healing when you said it. The weak little voice in the back of his head was screaming for him to push you away like he pushed away everyone else, but looking into your eyes, a genuine and warm smile on your face, he just…couldn’t lose you.

He couldn’t lose anyone else.

***

Today was the day. Warren was sitting on a stool in the infirmary. Hank had run his vitals and the two of them were in the room waiting for you to come down after your class was over.

“(Y/N) is the one who saved you, you know.” Hank told Warren while he jotted down some notes.

“What?” Warren asked, snapping out of whatever daydream he had been caught up in. “What do you mean?”

“(Y/N) found you in the rubble. We didn’t think you would make it, but…they healed you. They insisted we bring you back here. Give you a chance.”

Warren was quiet for a long time, thinking about what that meant. Part of him wondered if (Y/N) had known back then that he was their soulmate, but he decided that would have been impossible with just their tattoos alone. Especially without context. They hadn’t known and yet, they’d still wanted the best for him.

“Didn’t know that.” Warren said, his voice soft and deep. He stared at the words on his wrist for a little longer, a hint of warmth swirling around in his stomach. Was this happiness? Was that what happiness felt like? He barely remembered anymore. But he knew there must have been a reason that when you walked through the door, his heart started beating a little bit faster.

“Sorry I’m so late. Professor Leaf kept us a little later than she was supposed to. Are you ready?” You asked taking off your backpack and setting it against the wall. As soon as you looked up at Warren, you felt the way his heart rate was increased and you didn’t miss the warmth swirled with the anxiousness. The anxiousness, you had expected. Even you didn’t know if you could pull off what you were going to attempt to do, but the warmth…it was a pleasant surprise.

“Don’t worry about it.” He told you, shaking his head. Was he…was he smiling? It was a small smile, sure, but you didn’t think you had ever seen him smile before. It looked good on him. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Alright.” You nodded, walking over towards him. Underneath where he was situated on a stool, Hank had laid out some pads from the training room, you assumed, to catch his metal feathers if they fell out rather than transforming back to his normal…feather feathers. None of you really knew how this would unfold. “Again, I’m not sure this will work. I don’t want to get your hopes up in case it doesn’t.”

“I’m not expecting it to.” Warren assured you, but it wasn’t in a rude way. “If it does, I’ll be pleasantly surprised. Cross my heart.” What he didn’t say was: You could never disappoint me. Not even if you tried.

“Okay.” You nodded, taking a few steps closer until you were standing right in front of him. He looked up at you and for the first time, you didn’t feel any negative emotions from him. Only anticipation and that lingering warmth. “Here goes nothing.”

You focused on the warmth in your own chest, the tingling yellow healing power that constantly swirled around your heart, and you forced it into your palms. You reached forward for his hands and he took the hint, his larger hands wrapping around yours.

Immediately, he gasped at the sensation, warm tingles running up his arms, down his spine. It stopped in the center of his back, right where his wings intersected with his body. At first, he didn’t feel anything. And then, he felt everything. The pleasant warmth flooded his metal wings, and one by one, the knife-like feathers fell out, each one landing with a thud against the mat situated underneath him.

Hank’s pencil jotted against his notebook as he took notes. He knew you were powerful, but he’d had no idea you were capable of something like this.

Neither had you.

Once the metal wings were gone, Warren felt a new sensation: another pair of wings, this one soft and familiar, slowly emerging from him. Part of him expected the process to be painful, like the one Apocalypse had forced upon him was, but it wasn’t. Warren chuckled to himself. Of course you would never hurt him. Not even unintentionally.

After a few minutes, the feathery wings had fully emerged, stretched out to his full former wingspan and he stared up at you in awe. You stopped your flow of power to him, but he held onto your hands, squeezing them to keep them in his grasp.

He looked back at his new wings, flexed them and moved them. They felt familiar, like they had always belonged to him.

“Thank you.” He said, giving your hands another squeeze, the warmth in his chest brighter and bolder than it had been before. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course.” You told him, squeezing his hands right back in a way that caused his heart to lurch. “I’m glad I could help.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but do you mind if I keep some of these for research?” Hank asked.

“Keep all of them, if you want. I don’t want them.” Warren told him, standing up from his stool, his hands still in yours. “So, um…do you want to go grab dinner or something?”

“Sure.” You nodded, smiling up at him. “See you later, Hank.”

“Bye, guys, have a nice night.” Hank said as you and Warren walked out of his lab. He couldn’t help but notice the way one of your hands remained in one of his as the two of you left.

***

Later that night, after dinner and after you and Warren had split for the evening, you were walking back to your room from Jean and Jubilee’s and you found Warren, lingering in his doorway, his toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. His eyes widened when he spotted you and he held up a finger, indicating you should wait for him, so you did while he went into his bathroom and rinsed out his mouth, returning a few moments later.

“Hey.” He said, the word casual as it fell from his pink lips.

“Hey yourself.” You chuckled, feeling ridiculously underdressed in your pajamas. But then again, he was wearing his pajamas, too, a large black Metallica shirt and a pair of plaid pants.

“How…how are you? Feeling?” He stumbled over his words, chuckling as he rubbed the back of his neck. You felt a wave of nervousness rush through him. “Hank said sometimes you get tired after, uh, bigger healing jobs?”

“I’m fine.” You nodded. “For whatever reason, I never get tired when I’m healing you.” You chuckled, your cheeks heating up the slightest bit. “Well…I think I know why…”

“Heh, yeah.” He nodded, mulling over his next words very carefully. “Did you, um…I don’t know how to ask this. Did you mean what you said about…trying? About us trying…this. Trying us.”

“Of course I did.” You nodded and took a few steps closer to him. “You’re my soulmate.” You reached for his hand and he gave it to you, letting you play with his fingers. You felt the way his heart fluttered when you did. “Of course I want to try.”

“I’m broken.” He told you. “I’ve never done this before. I’m…I’m a lot, and I know that.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m a healer, huh?” You tilted your head. “And if we’re being honest, I’ve never done this before either. So how about we teach each other? Learn together?”

He smiled softly, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.”

You let go of his hand and instead took the last few steps between the two of you, wrapping your arms around his torso. He froze for a few seconds, unsure of what to do. It had been…a long time since anyone had hugged him. But after a few moments, his arms got the hint and wrapped around you, pulling you to his chest. He rested his head atop yours and exhaled a long, long breath. And for the first time since you’d met him, you felt a wave of peace wash over him, encasing him entirely as his wings gently cocooned you in their warmth.

You felt his lips brush against your temple, pressing a soft kiss there. You looked up at him and his eyes met yours before fluttering shut as he leaned in to press his lips to yours.

#warren worthington iii #warren worthington x reader #warren worthington imagine #angel #xmen angel #angel x reader #angel imagine #archangel x reader #archangel imagine #xmen imagine #marvel imagine

[deniigi]

So @petrichordiam and I are menaces and giggled over our ideal dinluke flower shop AU for like 4 hrs and then I wrote this.

Title: murderer next door

Summary: Din works as a florist and Luke works as a bookseller and they’re both assassins trying to keep the other off their turf.

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

Two times now, Luke had crashed past that flower shop, and two times now, the fucker inside had taken out his mark. Now all Luke had to say about the whole thing was that it was too bad that he was going to have to kill the guy.

Han told him not to turn back. The mark was dead; the mark was gone. They weren’t fast enough this time, but there would be others.

Luke just couldn’t let it go, though. He had rent to pay, and McFloristApron over there was smashing through all his targets and making that nigh impossible—regardless of how many marks there were in the area.

Luke waited until Han had closed up shop for the night and remained there in the dark with his arm slung over the back of the chair in the backroom, surrounded by books. He rolled his shot of whiskey in its tumbler. The sound against the old wood table offered no comfort.

He stood up and left the glass to get his laptop.

He wasn’t losing to some florist, Han, sorry. Only one family could take innocuous cover on this street, and it was them.

 ---

McFlorist’s name wasn’t listed on the florist’s staff page, but then again, none of the people on that page had names. In fact, the website’s whole vibe was all wedding-chic until you clicked on the ‘staff and contacts’ tab. Then, it may as well have been a line of mugshots.

Luke squinted along the row of increasingly involved headgear until he got to someone with a reasonably-sized neck with no tats. The ladies on either side of him appeared to have sapped all the ink out of McFloristApron. He wore a mask over the lower half of his face and gave a stoic thumbs up to the camera.

Under his picture was the number fifteen.

Damn.

Luke was only making eight per pop. Who the hell was this guy eating up all the feeder fish, huh? Them lower division folks had to eat too, you know.

Well.

‘Lower division’ in a sense of the word. Being two times undercover wasn’t super glamorous, Luke had to say. But when your dad fucked it up for the first family, sometimes you had to take what you could get.

Luke pointed at Fifteen on the screen.

“You and me, pal,” he said. “You and me.”

 --

 Step one was to get paid first.

Luke chased down three marks on the other side of town to pay the rent and the medical bills for now. His hand’s new sleeve felt like a dream. It didn’t overheat like the nylon black one did, and the hand was far less shiny now as a bonus. That had certainly reduced the number of people catching something move out of the corner of their eye.

Was it worth fifty grand?

No.

Was it worth the last nine that Luke had left to pay on it?

Yeah. It was definitely worth the nine.

 ------

 Step two was to go make it clear to Fifteen McFlorist that he and his folks needed to back down in the face of the established guard.

Luke put on his biggest sweater and the thickest glasses he could find. He stole Chewie’s messenger bag with all the pins on it. He slung it over his shoulder and rolled the hems of his jeans up just a smidge too much, then scurried over to the florist’s across the way.

Fifteen was off to the side of the register, fucking around with something in the refrigerator. Luke busily and noisily looked through the wall of foliage on the side of the shop nearest the window. He hummed. He hawed. He made anxious nerd-sounds until a voice asked, “Hi, can I help you?”

Luke glanced out of the corner of his eye and found that Fifteen was standing facing his way now. His mask was gray this time. His apron was orange. His boots were too heavy-looking for florist work.

“I’d love that,” Luke gushed breathlessly. “See, my mom just got engaged and I’m on the way to her house.”

Fifteen lifted his chin slightly.

“What’re her favorites?” he asked tonelessly.

Terrible customer service skills, dude.

“Roses,” Luke said.

“Ours are shit today,” Fifteen said. “How about dahlias?”

Luke didn’t know what those were but sure.

“That sounds great,” he said. “You have any in pink?”

 --------

 He watched Fifteen brutalize some pink, orange, and white flowers into a bouquet wrapped with a silver bow and was sure to smile every time the guy looked up.

“That’ll be $37.59.”

Sir, these are dead flowers. There is no need for that price.

“Can I put it on card?” Luke asked. “How long have you worked here, if you don’t mind me asking? I work just across the way is all.”

Fifteen’s dark gaze flicked up. His hair was covered by a gray beanie two shades darker than the mask.

“At the club?” he asked.

“The bookshop,” Luke corrected him with a shy, but widening smile.

Please be gay. Please be gay. Please be gay. Leia wasn’t going to want to cooperate. She thought it was beneath her to establish boundaries like this.

“Blue paint,” Fifteen said. “Yeah, that place. How long have you been there?”

“My brother-in-law’s place, actually,” Luke said. “I started there last year after I finished college.”

Or, you know, maybe even eight years ago when he’d finished college. No one had to know. Baby faces don’t kiss and tell after all.

“Huh. You must like it there,” Fifteen said.

“It’s fine,” Luke hummed. “You like it here?”

“The kid does.”

“Oh, you’re a father?” Luke asked. “How old?”

“He’s three,” Fifteen said. “Godson. His folks were in an accident; didn’t make it.”

“That’s terrible, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Luke said. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Fifteen handed him his card back. Luke’s hand didn’t close in time to catch it and it fell onto to the wooden counter.

“Sorry about that,” Luke said, reaching for it with the other hand. His knuckles bumped into Fifteen’s when he went for the card at the same time. They both paused and went for the card again with the same result. Luke laughed.

“Slippery, am I right?” he asked, flattening his fingers on top of the piece of plastic and snatching it away.

“Very,” Fifteen said. “I hope your mom likes them.”

“Me too,” Luke smiled. “I’ll see you around—What was your name?”

“You can call me Armando,” Fifteen said.

“Armando,” Luke sounded out. “It suits you.”

It was a falsie.

“And yours?”

“James.”

“It suits you.”

It didn’t.

“Bye now,” Luke said. “Thanks for your help.”

He let the door fall closed behind him with the tinkle of the bell.

 --------

 He informed Han that “Armando” had a toddler and received only a warning look and a scolding for all his effort. Han told him not to get jealous. If there was a kid in the balance, then Fifteen, for better or worse, was going to have to see each day after the next until there was no longer a kid in the balance.

Luke offered to call CPS and report “Armando” as an assassin.

“You do that and those folks across the street are gonna call the VA and tell them I’m an assassin,” Han said. “Lay low, Luke. Lay low.”

Never.

“Christ. At least until that thing’s yours then.”

Luke glared at his right hand.

“Gimme a double,” he told Han without looking away from it.

 ------------

 It was never easy to hunt in the daylight, but Luke wasn’t here to do easy things. He needed to get Mark No. 1 alone. The man took the train once a week to a gentleman’s club on his lunch break. Luke needed a change of clothes.

He had a rainbow windbreaker, white boots, and fishnets all ready to go.

He got on the same train as the mark and dropped his phone nearby. It clattered loudly and the case came off. Luke swore and squatted to drop it at the same time that two girls next to him decided to become good Samaritans. They crouched with him and one of them caught the phone first. They handed it back with a smile.

“I like your jacket,” she said.

Luke let his face struggle to find a smile at her kindness to him, a sweet little twink trying to find the pride parade that happened two weeks ago.

“Thanks,” he said. “I like your bracelet.”

He stood up. The girls were pleased with themselves. Luke glanced back to find Mark No. 1 turn his head abruptly away.

Come here, Markie.

Do you like what you see?

  Mark No. 1 didn’t make it out of his hotel room. A pity. Luke took the elevator down and huffed and puffed about a cheap date when he passed the front desk. He stopped abruptly and went back to ask the receptionist what the cross street was. She judged his go-go boots.

He told her she wasn’t his type. Her manager gave him the cross street.

Mark No. 2 had different parameters.

 ----------

 Mark No. 2’s parameters involved chasing him through a maze of boiler rooms and dumpsters. He was chump change towards a hand that Luke hadn’t wanted in the first place, but alas. The anger still roared.

Luke cornered him, still in go-go boots—no need to sacrifice style for speed—and watched those pale eyes look every which way as Mark No. 2 realized that there was no getting out of this.

“You got options, friend,” Luke said. “I can bring you in hot or I can bring you in—”

“—cold.”

His head snapped up and he lurched out of the way just as the crack of a bullet exploded in the alley. A car backfired around the corner in a sympathetic cough. Luke stared at the body then twisted around just in time for a thick glove to latch onto the back of his neck.

“Well, look who it is,” Fifteen drawled.

Luke glared out of the corner of his eye.

“Hands off, Armando,” he warned.

“I like your boots.”

“You’re gonna love ‘em when they’re on your dick,” Luke warned.

“Back off, Nayberry.”

Fucking hell, Han. This is why they should have set up boundaries weeks ago.

“I prefer ‘James,’” Luke said sweetly.

The glock levelled at his face didn’t care.

“You took my mark,” Fifteen said.

“Aw, poor baby,” Luke pouted. “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you took mine.”

Fifteen’s orange apron was gone. He’d swapped it for an old leather jacket—something he could more easily wipe clean. He should’ve gone for patent leather. The brown really wasn’t working with his grey mask-beanie situation.

“Stay in your lane,” Fifteen warned.

“Only if you stay in yours,” Luke beamed.

Fifteen huffed.

“Bookstore,” he scoffed. “Who’d you give the flowers to?”

Luke tsked.

“Myself, jackass,” he said.

“Do you even have a mom?”

“What the fuck business is that of yours? You even got a kid?”

Fifteen’s stare was deadly—the cooling body before them notwithstanding.

“Take one step near him and we won’t be talkin’ so friendly, yeah?”

Mm. Yeah.

“You owe me four grand,” Luke informed Fifteen as the glock went down and Fifteen left him to go take a pulse.

The man’s back stiffened.

“Four?” he asked. “You took this job for four?”

Luke rolled his eyes.

“I got bills, Armando,” he drawled.

“How do you keep that shed open? Have you sold even one book?”

Rude. Luke was a great sales associate. If he actually cared to put his mind to it, he’d be worthy of a promotion to manager.

He pulled the rising legs of his shorts down and adjusted the weapon in his windbreaker. He couldn’t leave the alley the way he’d gone into it. Someone might have seen. He was going to have to take a side street. Hmmm, which one? Choices, choices.

“I’ll give you a Dad’s discount. Gimme two grand, and you can have him,” Luke negotiated as he thought.

“Two.”

Hey, no need for that tone. This was a great deal.

“What’re you gonna do with two?” Fifteen asked, already knelling down to heft the body over his shoulder as proof for payment.

“Buy some more tights,” Luke deadpanned. “Two, final offer.”

Fifteen stood up all the way and gave him a weird look. A long look. His beanie was pulled down low, but Luke got the impression that he was frowning at him.

“Take the four,” he said out of nowhere. “I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

Luke recoiled a step at first, then recoiled another when the reality of the situation hit him full in the chest.

“Forget it,” he snapped.

He spun around and started to leave.

“Wh—hey. HEY. Where are you goin’?”

“I don’t need your fuckin’ pity,” Luke called ahead of him as he set to climbing the chainlink fence separating him from the adjacent dead-end alley.

“You what?”

“You heard me,” Luke said.

He jumped down. His left hand found his right wrist and squeezed as he walked.

 -------

 The phantom pains kept him up all night, and it was definitely that and not the humiliation that made him call in sick. Han told him to answer his therapist’s emails. Luke told him to go do something useful and hung up. He rolled onto his back on his bed and focused on letting his body relax, his jaw unclench, his joints go limp.

There was sunlight finally streaming through his apartment windows again. It had been months.

Spring was almost here. He just had to hold out a little longer.

 --------

 He came in to work the next day and found an envelope on his chair in the backroom. It was thick.

“McFlorist dropped it off,” he said between aggravated sounds at his spreadsheets.

“Is it tax season already?” Luke asked him as he tried to burn a whole in the center of the envelope with his mind.

“Sure fuckin’ is.”

He stepped forward and snatched up the envelope, then deposited it squarely in Han’s lap. He made an unattractive noise of confusion and alarm.

“For the taxes,” Luke called as he went out to grab his lanyard and name tag. “Gotta keep this place open for another six months at least.”

 ------------

 There were new books in. A new shipment to shelve. Two kids’ displays to set up. And Luke was actually good at this stuff, thanks; he started stacking.

He got peace until he nearly got to the end of the second display, and then what he had was a heart attack. Two liquid brown eyes surrounded by an ocean of ringlets stared up at him from between his knees. The child curled a hand in and out in hello.

Luke jerked himself up to locate the thing’s parents immediately, and promptly found himself in deadly eye-contact with Fifteen.

Armando.

“You were gone yesterday,” Fifteen said flatly.

Luke looked between him and the kid. He was pinned between two enemy parties. How to escape, how to escape.

“Are you sick?”

How to escape. How to escape. How to escape.

“Are you hurt?”

H—what?

“I’m fine, stalker,” Luke snapped with more heat than this present cover allowed. He caught himself and pulled it back. “I’m fine,” he repeated. “Thank you for asking. Is this…?”

Fifteen blinked once. The child blinked once as well. It was creepy.

“He’s mine,” Fifteen said. “And apparently the only thing that will get us through the next two hours is a book.”

Dude.

“Kids are kids,” Fifteen said. “You got any books?”

Luke stared at him, then checked the shelves to make sure he hadn’t teleported into another dimension.

You always had to check.

“We’re in a bookstore,” he said.

“He can’t read,” Fifteen said, pointing.

The kid grinned. His teeth were gapped in that toddler sort of way. He was kind of cute.

“You can’t read?” Luke asked him.

“Hi,” Baby said.

Oh no.

Luke loved him.

“How much?” he asked Fifteen.

“Touch him and you’ll be permanently comatose,” Fifteen said.

“Not if I died out of spite,” Luke said.

There was a long pause. Then Fifteen started laughing? Kind of hard?

“Oh my god, that was so unprofessional. I am so sorry,” Luke blurted out.

Fifteen collected himself and shook his head. His little one giggled and reached for Luke’s fingers.

“Boo,” he said.

Luke couldn’t feel the hand, but he could feel all the heart.

“Book?” he asked, crouching down. “Do you want a story?”

“Mmmm.”

“I have the perfect one,” Luke told him. “It’s about a caterpillar. Do you know what a caterpillar is?”

He got a slow, exaggerated head shake back and forth, back and forth. He stood up straight.

“I’m conducting a temporary kidnapping,” he informed Fifteen. “Do I have consent?”

Fifteen looked from him towards the front entrance and mulled over the merits of leaving his kid with his rival assassin. Then he shrugged.

“Consent granted,” he said. “Luke.”

Luke’s heart stopped.

“James,” he said.

“Your name tag says ‘Luke.’”

Well, fuck.

“Luke Nayberry. It suits you.”

Hhhhhhh. This was karma, wasn’t it.

“Thanks,” he gritted out. “And yourself, Armando?”

“Din.”

Woah, look out. Mr. One-Syllable-Cool-Man had entered the building.

“Din, what?” Luke asked as his arm registered tension. Din’s kid had latched onto his fingers and started pulling incessantly with a chubby hand gesturing in the direction of the wall of children’s books.

“Don’t you worry about it,” Din said.

“Fine, go trip then,” Luke said.

He swore that there was a smile under that mask.

 ----------

#dinluke #luke skywalker #ficlet #fic #I can't take any trope seriously it turns out #perhaps I am simply too old now to appreciate them #the mandalorian

[neilswife]

Neil x Reader SMUT

Requested: no

This is not apart of my mini series. Just something I felt like the world needed more of.

This was also inspired by @littleblackdressxx . Thank you for the lovely work🥰

Warnings: Extremely smutty!!!! Please don’t read if you aren’t comfortable with that!!

Y/N’s POV

I put the finishing touches on my makeup as I let out a long sigh. My friends were forcing me to go out to a new club that just opened up downtown. I hated going out to places like that to be looked at like a piece of meat by drunk, horny men.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I was wearing a short, velvet black dress, with red heals and a leather jacket. I felt good about myself. All I wanted to do was have a few drinks and then go home and watch a few movies.

I touched up my hair and sprayed some perfume just as my friend Rachel called me. She told me that they were here and that I better look hot. I groaned before ending the call and grabbing my purse.

I quickly shut the door to my apartment and headed out of the building. My friends were all waiting for me in the car.

Our friend, Maddie was driving tonight since she has work in the morning. “You know I could have drove.” I said as I got in the back seat with Rachel and Annie. “You always drive. You need time to relax and let loose!” Lilly said from the front seat. I rolled my eyes and sat back.

“You look hot. You’re going to have a great time tonight. Who knows, you may even meet the love of your life.” Annie said to me as Maddie began driving towards our destination. “Yeah right.” I laughed.

We got to the club in 20 minutes. Us five girls got out of the car and headed into the large building. Here goes nothing, I thought to myself.

I walked right up to the bar and got myself a martini. Rachel, Annie, and Lilly all got their drinks and we made our way through the crowd of sweaty people to a table on the other side of the room.

“This place is so cool!” Rachel shouted over the music. We all nodded. I had to admit, they made this place look great. High top tables, regular tables, two bars, a dance floor, and a killer DJ.

Maddie came over with a handful of tiny glass cup. “This ones on me, ladies.” She smiled at us. I stared down at the liquid in front of me. We’re doing shots now? Great. Annie squealed and grabbed the glass as soon as Maddie put it down.

We all took the shots and laughed at each other’s faces. “God, I can’t get over the taste of vodka.” I grimaced. They all laughed at me when Lilly said, “Let’s grab another drink and dance!” I relunctantly got up and went back to the bar. This time, looking for something stronger.

“Jack and coke please.” I shouted over the music. As I was getting my drink, I noticed a man down the bar. He was wearing a gray suit and had dirty blonde hair that was slicked back. He was with another man who had a beard and a woman with dark hair.

I guess I was staring for too long because we locked eyes at one point. He smiled at me and I returned it. Wow, he’s really cute. “Here you go!” The bartender said as he slid the drink in front of me. “This ones on the house.” He smiled. I replied thank you and joined my friends on the dance floor. This was going to be a long night.

We danced and danced all night. I was finally tipsy enough that I was getting loose, as Lilly would say. I took Annie’s hands and we danced and spun around like idiots. I was happy they forced me to go with them, I needed this.

Soon I felt a pair of hands snake around my waist. I looked back and saw an older man with dark hair and was obviously drunk. “Hey babygirl.” He whispered in my ear. I let out an awkward laugh before I started to move away.

The man caught my arm and pulled me into him. “Now where do you think you’re going? Leaving me here without a dance?” He said. “Uh, I’m not really looking to dance with anyone right now. I should probably find my friends. Maybe another time.” I said while trying to get out of the situation.

“I don’t think so sweetie,” He began. He gripped my waist and pulled me close, “You’re coming with me.” He whispered. “Please just let me go.” I started saying while trying to push away. His grip only got tighter and it was beginning to hurt. “Please just leave me alone!” I shouted over the music. He wouldn’t budge.

His hands roamed my body and he pushed himself closer to me. I was getting really anxious and upset that tears started to form in my eyes. “Excuse me, I think she asked you politely to let her go.” I heard someone say behind me.

I turned my head slightly to see the man from the other end of the bar. “Would you leave us alone? She likes this.” The man grumbled. “I’m pretty sure she said to leave her alone.” The dirty blonde haired man said in a thick British accent while putting his hand on the mans shoulder.

The man looked at me and then the British guy a few times. “Do you know him?” He asked me. “Yes I do.” I whimpered. “I’m her boyfriend. And I’m gonna say it nicely one more time, let her go.” He said while staring at the man.

He scoffed and pushed me into my mysertous hero. “You can have her. She’s no fun anyways.” He growled and walked away. It took me a minute to catch my breath, but when I did I turned to look at him.

“Thank you.” I said while wiping under my eyes. I let a few tears slip and didn’t want to mess up my makeup. “Don’t worry about it. He should have let you go the first time you tried to walk away.” He spoke. “You saw the whole thing?” I asked.

“Yeah. I’m sorry for not stepping in earlier.” He said while he reached up to rub the back of his neck. “N-no! Thank you for stepping in at all.” I responded with a small smile. “I’m Y/N.” I added while sticking my hand out. “Neil.” He replied while shaking my hand. “Do you want me to give you a ride home?” He asked. I nodded my head and followed him out of the club.

My friends would understand if I told them I left with an attractive stranger. I sent them a quick text in the groupchat and told them I would explain in the morning.

I probably shouldn’t be getting in the car with this guy, but I had a weird urge to just trust him. He opened the passenger door for me and helped me in. Soon he got in the drivers seat and asked me for my address. I gave him the directions and we left the club.

“So, Neil, what do you do for a living?” I asked, just trying to make small talk. “Well Y/N, I actually work for a government group.” He stated. I giggled at the way he mocked me. “That’s cool.” I responded. I saw him look over at me with a small smile. He asked me the same question and we went on for about 15 minutes until he pulled up at my apartment complex.

“Would you mind walking me in? I just, I’m just still shaken up from earlier.” I mumbled. “Of course.” He replied with a cheeky grin. I couldn’t help but smile back. It was infectious. We both got out and made our way to my apartment.

“You can come in if you would like.” I said as I got the door open. “I don’t want to intrude.” He responded. “You’re not intruding, please! The least I could do is get you a cup of coffee for saving me.” I said as I walked in. I heard him follow after me and shut the door gently.

I made us each a cup of coffee and we sat at my table. “Sorry, I’m still a little drunk.” I giggled. He smiled at me and replied, “It’s okay, love. You were at a club. I didn’t expect you to not be.” He snickered. I felt butterflies in my stomach from his nickname for me.

We got to talking and somehow through our conversations, our chairs moved closer and closer. He was showing me pictures of all the places he has been to for work and how beautiful the scenery was in some of those places.

I stared at the pictures in awe. If my job sent me to those places, I don’t think I would ever come home. Neil was scrolling through as I looked up at him. I stared at his jawline and his lips. He was so hot and he saved me. The butterflies in my stomach from him adding “love” or “darling” to the end of his sentences every so often we’re making me feel like a teenager again.

My eyes kept flicking down to his lips and then, without thinking obviously, I kissed him. It took him a second, but he kissed back. After a few moments Neil pulled away and looked at me. “I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I shoul-” I began but was cut off by his lips on mine again.

I kissed back hungrily. My hands went into his hair and his snaked around my waist. He pulled me closer to him and I was inches away from sitting on his lap. I broke away and stood up, while extending my hand. He took it and I led him into my bedroom.

When we entered, I turned around and smashed my lips onto his again. He kissed back and walked me over to my bed. Neil pushed me down in a sort of gentle, but rough way. He got on top of me and kissed me again, slipping his tongue inside my mouth.

He slowly bit my bottom lip and growled. I moaned at his actions and his hands gripped my waist. My hands started reaching for his belt when he grabbed them. He shook his head and was about to say something when I cut him off. “I want this. I’m not drunk enough to want to regret this in the morning.” I whispered.

Neil looked at me with dark eyes before he started to attack my neck with licks and bites. I moaned and rubbed my hands up and down his back. One of his hands grabbed both of mine and held them above my head tightly.

His lips began making their way down my body. He reached my chest where I was almost fully exposed. He let go of my hands briefly to go behind me and unzip my dress.

I slipped off the dress and was left in a black lace bra and a matching thong. “You’re wearing to much clothes.” I groaned. He smirked at me before sitting up. I slipped off the gray suit jacket and began to unbutton his white shirt. Neil undid his tie and laid it gently next to my head. “I’ll be using that later, princess.” He growled into my ear as I finally finished unbuttoning his shirt.

I looked at his body and wow. He was so muscular and toned everywhere. I had to cross my legs to creat some kind of friction because this man was just so sexy. Neil noticed and his hands found their way to my thighs. He pushed them apart slightly and frowned.

“Don’t do that princess. You’ll ruin all the fun.” He whispered while taking in my body. His lips met mine again and I moaned into the kiss. His hands roamed my body. “You are so beautiful, Y/N.” He moaned against my lips.

My heart fluttered as he said my name. His lips moved from my lips to my neck, down to my chest. He reached behind me and unclipped my bra swiftly. Damn, I knew he would be good at this.

He began licking and sucking the exposed skin and my hands found their way into his hair once more. I heard him let out a low growl before a growled and grabbed my hands.

Neil reached behind me and grabbed his tie that got mixed up in the mess. He slowly tied my hands together and whispered in my ear, “Told you I would be using this later.”

I was soaked at this point. “These, stay up there until I say so. Got it?” He said dominantly. I nodded my head.

“Words, princess.” He added while caressing my face and slipping a finger in my mouth. “Yes, Neil.” “Good girl.” He kissed me and his mouth found my boobs.

He nipped and squeezed in all the right places. I moaned and bucked my hips into his before he gripped my waist and pushed me down forcefully. “Patience, is a virtue, love.” He growled.

His lips started to leave wet kisses down my body. I looked down at him and we locked eyes as his face was right next to my hip bone. “Ah. What are we going to do with these?” He teased while slipping a finger under the waist band of my thong and letting it snap back down.

I whimpered. I just wanted him to touch me. Neil began kissing and licking everywhere but the place I needed him most. “Neil, I- p-please!” I moaned.

“Please what, darling? Tell me what you want.” He smirked with dark eyes. I moaned again. “Please, please just touch me.” I whined.

“As you wish.” He mumbled while slipping my thong down my thighs slowly. He maintained eye contact and his face got closer and closer to my dripping core. I whimpered as I watched him kiss closer and closer to my pussy.

He rubbed my inner thighs and blew on spots he bit. Neil got closer and closer to my center and I was soaked. Soon, I felt his finger in my folds. “Did I do this to you princess?” He asked innocently. I nodded again. “Use your words.” He growled. “Yes. Oh my God, yes!” I moaned. “Good.” He responded and slipped his long finger all the way in.

I moaned loudly and saw him smirk. He knew exactly what he was doing to me. He pumped his finger slowly before adding another. His two long fingers made me a moaning mess, but that was nothing compared to when his tongue found my clit.

My hips bucked and he pushed them back down. I looked down at him and whimpered. “Is this what you wanted?” He smirked. “Yes.” I moaned. Neil’s tongue worked on my clit while his fingers pumped in and out of me.

He sucked on my clit and added another finger. “Oh my God!” I moaned as my hands flew to his hair, still bounded together. He pulled away immediately and pushed them over my head with one hand as his other teased my pussy. “What did I say princess?” He asked with dark eyes.

I looked at him innocently as he slipped three fingers inside of me while holding my hands above my head. “Don’t be a naughty girl. You know better.” He growled as he made his way back down to my core. His tongue swirled around and did figure eights over and over again.

I was a moaning mess. The way he had this affect on me and I just met him. “Faster, Neil. Please.” I begged. He didn’t answer, but he began speeding up. I moaned loudly and his pace quickened. His tongue moving faster than ever. I felt the familiar knot in my stomach form and I moaned his name.

“Oh my- Fuck! Neil, I’m gonna cum!” I moaned. He went even faster and I felt him groan against my core. My legs began to shake and I moaned. The knot in my stomach bursted and I screamed. He let me ride out my high before bringing his fingers out and licking them clean. “Mmh you taste so good, princess.” He moaned.

He reached up and untied my hands. “Good girl.” He whispered as his lips attached themselves to mine. My hands found themselves in his hair as I flipped us over so I was sitting on his lap. The friction that was created from his pants made me shake since I was still sensitive from prior events.

I pushed him back and started to undo his belt. I pulled his pants and his underwear down and his memeber sprung up. Wow, he was very large. I looked up at him with innocent eyes as I grabbed his dick and stroked it slowly. Neil let out a low moan.

I brought my face closer to his big dick and stuck my tongue out. I licked from the base all the way to the tip slowly. He looked down at me and I smirked at him. “Don’t tease me.” He growled. “Well, that wouldn’t be fun now, would it?” I asked innocently. His hands found their way to my hair and I placed my mouth on his dick.

I began sucking and licking. I tried to fit all of him in my mouth, but he was too big. I spit on my hand and started to jerk off what I couldn’t fit in my mouth. He gripped my hair tightly as I sucked his dick. I looked up at him through my eyelashes and hollowed my cheeks. “Oh my God. Y/N!” Neil moaned and shut his eyes tightly.

I moved faster and I ripped my hand away from his dick as I deepthroated him, earning a growl from the sexy man. I went back to sucking him off and using my hand. My pace quickened and I felt him twitch.

“Princess, you’re so good at this.” Neil moaned again and bucked his hips into my face. I hunmed slightly and looked up at him. He twitched again and he growled, “I’m gonna cum, baby.” I hummed once more and I felt him release his load into my mouth. I let him ride out his high before I took my mouth off his cock and swallowed every last drop of him.

His hand reached up to my face and he slipped his thumb in my mouth. “Such a good girl.” He praised me. Neil flipped us over and kissed me again. I felt his member rub against my entrance and I moaned against his lips. I bucked my hips against his and he pushed me down once again. “Oh, is that what princess wants?” He asked innocently.

I moaned in response. “Words, Y/N.” He growled. “Please Neil. Get inside me.” I moaned. He moaned in response and slipped himself in me.

I moaned loudly and gasped at how he stretched me out. He held himself for a minute to let me get used to his size before moving in and out slowly. Neil moaned into my neck and began leaving more wet kisses.

I scratched his back and moaned. “Oh princess. You’re so tight.” He groaned in my neck. His lips attached themselves with my boobs as he moved in and out. He went fast and then stopped and pulled out. I whimpered at the loss of contact and he smirked at me as he flipped us and said, “Ride me.”

His words alone almost made me cum again. I sat on his lap and guided his dick inside me. Once I was fully sitting, I moaned. I could feel him in my stomach. He was so big. I slowly started to grind my hips against his and put my head in the crook of his neck.

“That’s it princess. Mmm.” He moaned in my ear. My eyes rolled to the back of my head as I lifted my head. His lips attached themselves to my neck and began sucking. There would definitely be a hickey there in the morning, but I didn’t care.

His hands found my hips and began moving me faster. We were a moaning mess. Neil pulled his head away from my neck and his hand found it’s way around my throat. “You look so pretty riding me, princess.” He growled and tightened his grip.

The feeling was incredible. I almost came on the spot and he felt my walls clench. He flipped us over and put my on my stomach. He pulled my legs so I was on my knees, arching my back, doggy style. “Mmm.” He said as his member poked at my entrance. He slammed his big cock inside of me and I screamed.

“Your screams are so pretty, baby.” He said as his hands found my hips and slammed into me harder. “Oh, Neil!” I moaned against the pillows. One of his hands reached in front of my and found my clit. “Please!” I whimpered.

His pace quickens and his fingers are working magic on my clit. My walls clenched around his dick and I felt the all too familair knot in my stomach form. “Oh my God. I’m gonna cum.” I whined into the pillows.

“Do it. Cum for me princess.” He growled. His fingers moved in circles faster and faster. Soon, I felt my insides burst as I screamed into the pillows. As soon as my walls clenched and I came around his dick, I felt him slam hard into me.

We both moaned loudly and I felt him cum inside me. We rode out our highs before he pulled out of me and laid besides me. I looked up at him and he peered down at me. His hand found its way to my cheek and he caressed it gently. “Such a good girl.” He praised.

I leaned into his hand and smiled. “That was, amazing.” I said to him. I felt his arms snake around my waist and he whispered, “Yes it was, princess.”

I let my head fall into his chest and I shut my eyes. “Y/N?” Neil asked. “Hmm?” I hummed back. “This may seem upfront, but can I take you on a date tomorrow? I would love to get to know you.” He whispered. “Well if that’s upfront, I don’t know what you would call what just happened.” I joked. He chuckled and looked at me with hopeful eyes.

“Yes, I would love to go on a date with you, Neil.” I responded while looking in his eyes. “Wonderful. He smiled as he placed a gentle kiss on my lips.

#neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #robert pattinson #robert pattinson character #robert pattinson tenet #tenet #tenet 2020 #tenet imagines #neil tenet smut #robert pattinson smut #neil x reader smut

[refinedbuffoonery]

Flawless (8)

Con Artist AU. masterlist. 

WE’RE BACK, BITCHES. Thank you so, so much for your patience and love. I can’t wait to take you all on the next leg of this journey. So, without further adieu, I’ll let Riley take it from here. 

*****

“Good morning, Miss Davis,” the parole officer said. He slouched in his worn leather office chair, wearing a neutral, if not bored, expression. His office was just as drab and impersonal as before—bare walls, a small photo of him and his dog, case files stacked haphazardly on the desk. Riley didn’t know how he could stand spending his days here. She certainly couldn’t. The coldness of the office was slightly uncomfortable, and Riley got the impression that it was intentional. 

She smiled sweetly, crossing her legs and folding her hands on her bare knee. Feigning confidence while hiding her goosebumps. “Good morning.” Riley made a mental note to wear pants instead of a dress to the next check-in. 

He shuffled through a stack of papers she could only assume was her file. “I’m not one for small talk, so let’s get to it. You’ve been out on parole for six weeks. How is that simple, happy life you said you wanted working out? Have you been staying on the straight and narrow?” 

Scenes from the past month flashed through Riley’s mind. Teaching Jill to pickpocket. The party job. Paris. “Good,” she said, lying through her teeth. “Very straight. Very narrow.” 

“That’s good to hear. Have you crossed any state lines since I last saw you?” 

The lies came easily. “No.” 

“Have you used drugs or alcohol, or entered an establishment where either of those are sold?” 

Ignoring the echo of pulsing music rattling her bones, Riley forced down memories of the club she’d dragged Nikki and Jill to as they bubbled to the surface. “No.” 

“Have you associated with any other persons with criminal records?” 

My team is too good for that, she wanted to snark. “No.” That, at least, was the truth. Each of the Five Eyes had committed countless crimes over the years, but Riley was the only one with a rap sheet. 

Because Nikki escaped. Somehow—Riley hadn’t asked—Desi got to her in time, and they escaped the clutches of Nikki’s ex and whatever dark hole he no doubt would’ve thrown her in. 

So, yes. Riley was still the only convicted criminal. 

The parole officer continued, “Last, but not least, have you found a job?” 

Riley sighed. Almost there. “Yes,” she said. “I’m an IT consultant.” Another truth. She’d had a full-time IT job when she met Nikki, before she became a thief and a con artist. Despite not needing the money, Riley kept working, mostly to keep up appearances, but also because she enjoyed it. 

Frowning, the officer glanced down at Riley’s file before meeting her gaze with a furrowed brow. “It says here you’re a jewel thief. How does someone like you get a job like that?” 

Riley smirked. “I’m a woman of many talents, officer.” 

“Apparently.” Closing her file, he folded his hands on the desk. “Well, you seem to be on the right track. Keep up the good work, Miss Davis, and I look forward to saying the same at our next meeting.” 

“Thank you.” The officer nodded in dismissal, and Riley navigated through the precinct as quickly as she could without looking suspicious. Every minute in this cold building, with its gray walls and even colder employees, made her heart beat faster as she imagined the walls closing in until she was alone in a cinderblock cell. There were plenty of people in this building who no doubt thought that was where she belonged.

Try as she might, her shaky inhales didn’t do much to calm her racing heart. 

Riley had thought she was doing the right thing when she sacrificed herself for Nikki and Leanna. She thought she was saving them from a fate they didn’t deserve. 

Now she knew all she’d done was blow up her life. 

Maybe Leanna was right. Maybe she should get out of the business while she still could, considering Nikki’s most recent track record for avoiding capture. Riley couldn’t believe Nikki got herself caught again. It was like she learned nothing from their last big job. 

Forcing herself to smile at the receptionist, Riley pushed the precinct’s front door open and stepped out into the sunshine. It was far too hot outside to be wearing all black, but Riley didn’t give a fuck. 

Putting on her sunglasses, Riley did a double-take when she saw a white motorcycle sitting in the parking lot, automatically searching for a certain blonde-haired owner. Realizing it wasn’t Nikki’s, she let out a long, slow exhale. The faint scent of smoke tickled her nose and irritated her lungs. A wildfire started early this morning somewhere north of the city, near Malibu. The news talked about all the celebrities fleeing their homes as the inferno raced through the canyon. 

A different sort of fire awaited her at home. 

Riley had just made it through airport security when Desi texted. Desi had somehow managed to free Nikki from her ex’s clutches, and Riley had a feeling the spies had gone home licking physical wounds in addition to metaphorical ones. The entire team made it out safely, no thanks to Riley. 

She’d received three more texts when she landed in LA, all from Nikki. 

Call me.

Please.

At least respond so I know you’re not dead. 

Riley did none of the above. She didn’t know what to say to Nikki. To any of them. What was she supposed to do? Apologize for being unwilling to go back to prison? Riley wasn’t ready for the outraged phone call she knew was in her future. Nikki and Desi both had a short fuse, and Riley knew better than to hope Cage could calm them both down. So she ignored them all. 

That was three days ago. 

Yesterday, Riley sold the necklace and earrings. Two hundred million dollars now sat in her offshore bank account, waiting to be distributed to the rest of the team. 

Riley slid into her car, hissing as her skin stuck to the hot leather seat. Locking the doors and putting the air conditioner on full blast, she pulled out her phone to text Jill. 

I need your bank account info. I have the money. 

Riley’s thumb hovered over the send button. She wasn’t sure why she hesitated. It was just one text, right?

No, Riley decided. It wasn’t just one text. Days of radio silence and then her first (and only) communication was a text about money? That was a new low, even for her. Riley sent the text anyway. 

Because of traffic, the drive home took forever, and in the silence between yelling at cars and angrily turning off the radio when every station simultaneously played commercials, Riley had too much time to think. She forced herself to only think about trivial things—that is until Jill replied with her account number and nothing else. 

Great. Even the new girl was mad at her. 

Riley didn’t bother to say thank you. 

Back at her apartment, she wired the money to the rest of the team’s offshore accounts before setting up an automated biweekly transfer to Jill’s account. Posing as a second paycheck, the hefty amount deposited each time was less suspicious. 

Closing her laptop, Riley didn’t know what to do with herself. She needed to water her plants, but she hadn’t found the motivation to do that since retrieving them all from Desi and Cage’s place, where they’d resided for the last two years. The plants made it feel a bit more like home again, but her apartment never felt as big as it did now…now that there was no one but her to fill it. It made her feel even more alone than she already was. 

There wasn’t anyone coming for her. No one would come knock on her door. Not after Riley fucked them over like that. 

The saddest part was that she didn’t know anyone else. Prison had a way of sending most people running for the hills, and without her family, Riley had no one left. 

Well, she did have one person. 

Got any plans tonight? Riley texted. 

Kalei responded immediately. Hmm I think I could squeeze you in ;)

Riley smirked, curling her toes inside her shoes and imagining how her night would end. Maybe she wasn’t alone after all.

*****

Riley laughed into her drink, leaving a lipstick print on the rim of the glass. With her free hand, she curled her fingers into Kalei’s. Being with him was easy—no expectations, no baggage. He didn’t see her as anything but what was right in front of him. Riley relished the anonymity; she could be anyone she wanted with him. 

She could have a fresh start, even. 

“I didn’t realize IT guys moonlighted as comedians,” she teased after he landed his fourth joke in as many minutes. 

Sheepishly, Kalei scratched the back of his neck and glanced down. “Actually, I do a bit of stand-up.” Riley took note of the change in his demeanor. Underneath his cocky exterior was a modest, maybe even nervous, man whose apprehension made Riley think that someone in his life wasn’t too keen on his comedic aspirations. 

Squeezing his hand reassuringly, Riley urged, “Tell me about your routine.” 

A smile blooming on his face, he did. 

Riley listened intently as he spoke. Kalei’s passion for stand-up was evident in the way his eyes sparkled in the dim light of the bar. He told her about his favorite comedians, about the sole gig he booked a few months ago, and about how his parents disapproved. He told her his best jokes, earning smiles, a few giggles, and even a snort. He told her that his favorite thing about himself was his ability to make people laugh, because laughter was the solution to so many of life’s problems. Riley wasn’t too sure about that last bit, but she went along with it for his sake. 

After a while, Riley was only half-listening, as she was too busy debating whether to skip dessert and drag him back to her apartment sooner rather than later. He’d promised her a walk along the beach, but that could wait. She’d replayed their previous hookup in her mind countless times, fantasizing what it would be like when she saw him again. 

Well, again arrived, and Riley had big plans for this man as soon as the date portion of the night was over. In fact, the wire from one piece of said big plans dug uncomfortably into her chest. Riley had a love-hate relationship with the lacy black bra hidden beneath her maroon wrap dress. It made her boobs look fabulous, but after accidentally bending the left wire during a job gone wrong (long story), the bra was never the same. Although, if all went to plan, it would be on her apartment floor soon enough. 

The quiet restaurant didn’t provide enough cover to really tease him, so Riley settled for tracing tiny patterns on the back of Kalei’s hand with a manicured fingertip. The gesture was benign enough that she didn’t bother to pause when their waiter came by to collect their plates. Momentarily diverting her attention from her date, Riley offered the young man a smile and a quiet thank you. Kalei did too, passing yet another test. If he’d been rude to the waitstaff, Riley would’ve bailed immediately, regardless of how much she was looking forward to the sex. 

They decided to skip dessert, and Kalei asked for the bill. 

Biting her lower lip, Riley let her eyes drop to his mouth, studying the way his full lips formed each syllable. When a large, calloused hand captured her own, she smirked and met his gaze. Caught. But that was intentional, and if the way Kalei looked at her was any indication, he knew it too. 

In a low, tempting voice, he said, “See something you like?” 

Riley feigned nonchalance. “I’m just trying to figure out why you haven’t kissed me yet.” From what she could tell, the man liked a challenge. It was all too easy to pull his strings and get him to do exactly what she wanted. 

“My apologies,” Kalei purred. “I will remedy that immediately.” Gripping her chin, he pulled her in for a kiss that quickly descended into something too hot and deep considering their public location, but Riley didn’t care. 

They only broke apart when the waiter returned with the bill, clearing his throat and waiting for Kalei to take it from his hand, rather than just setting it on the table. Message received, loud and clear. A few other restaurant patrons stared at them too. Good to know society hadn’t changed its opinion on public displays of affection in the last two years. 

Riley handed Kalei a stack of cash to cover her half of the bill, and his hand lingered on hers as he took it. “Random question,” Kalei began. “Who would you most like to be locked in a room with?” 

Someone who could get me out, Riley barely stopped herself from snapping. That wasn’t the question, she had to remind herself. The question was about who she wanted to have an extended conversation with, not about actually being locked in a room with them. 

Riley knew her internal conversation had gone on too long when Kalei gave her a funny look, although he didn’t say anything. “I don’t know,” she finally answered, hopefully playing off her silence as uncertainty. He didn’t need to know about the talking to herself part. “What about you?” 

As if trying to read her, Kalei narrowed his eyes, but he ultimately let it slide. 

Riley’s mind wandered off again as Kalei answered his own question, more preoccupied with thinking about all the times her former mentor locked her and Nikki in various rooms in order to teach them escape techniques than whatever the hell Kalei was going on about. 

The very first room was the easiest. It had glass doors and a balcony, and escaping was simply a matter of climbing from their balcony to another. The next room only had windows with a thin ledge. The room after that didn’t have windows at all, only a door. Once Riley and Nikki had mastered unlocking all manners of doors—even ones that needed to be hacked—their mentor demanded they find alternative exits: air ducts, crawlspaces, the works. 

As fun as all those daring escapes were, Riley’s favorite was the time the housekeeper accidentally let them out when she came in to clean. 

She smiled at the memory, and Kalei smiled back, oblivious to the fact the smile was not for him. 

“Ready?” he asked. 

Nikki had asked her that question countless times before a job. And the answer was always Don’t get caught. 

Now that her friendship with Nikki was surely over, the answer to that question would never be the same. 

“Yeah,” Riley said, wishing she was saying something else to someone else entirely. 

*****

There were marks on her body afterward, left by his teeth and iron grip, but Riley didn’t care. She left just as many on him. 

The only unmarked part of her body was her arms, Riley noted with relief. He must’ve remembered her reaction last time, since every touch to her arms and hands was brief and gentle. 

It was still early in the evening, but Riley was content to just lie with Kalei in the low light of her bedroom. Soft and inviting, with its white sheets and light gray duvet, the bed cradled her body as she finally started to relax. Her lower back popped when she stretched out, and Riley let out a happy sigh. 

Across the room, pinpricks of city lights shone through the windows. Riley hadn’t bothered to close the blinds upon entry, nor did she need to. An outsider couldn’t see in unless they managed the impossible task of scaling the building—a feature that sold Riley on this apartment when she bought it several years ago. Nikki once said that she’d be willing to test that theory, but that level of stupid was a lot, even for them. 

Riley’s heart squeezed at the memory. Just like her heart squeezed or her breath caught or her eyes watered every time she thought of the friendship she once had and surely now lost. She just needed to let go, to move on. Cut her losses and run. But once she started thinking about Nikki, she couldn’t stop. 

Oh god. What had she done? 

She flinched when a hand waved in front of her face, drawing her attention back to the present. Riley blinked rapidly, trying to clear her mind. How long had she been zoned out? 

“Hey. Sorry. You disappeared for a second there.” Kalei’s tone was gentle, but the tinge of confusion in it made Riley acutely aware of his underlying question regarding where she went. 

“Sorry,” she said, rolling onto her side. Absent-mindedly, she picked up his hand and began playing with his fingers. “Did you ask me something?” 

“Yeah. Do you want to shower?” 

Riley answered too quickly, without even thinking. “No!” she snapped. Kalei pulled away, shrinking in on himself. Good job, Riley, she chastised herself. It wasn’t like she could tell him that her shower felt too much like her prison cell and that the only way she could make it through was if the door was left all the way open. Not to mention that even the thought of another person being in there with her made her skin crawl. But after reacting like that, she couldn’t not give him an explanation. 

That only left one option: lie. 

“My shower is broken,” she blurted, and it sounded suspicious even to her. 

Kalei frowned. He wouldn’t have thought anything of it if she hadn’t already botched so many other questions tonight, giving him numerous reasons to question her. But she did, and Riley could read the hurt and confusion on his face clear as day. Cursing herself for being off her game, Riley silently pleaded with him to let one more lie slide. “What’s the problem? I could probably fix it,” he said. 

Riley racked her brain for known ways a shower could break before landing on one that was actually true, just not at this moment. “It’s nothing,” she started. “The thingy you pull to switch the water from the tub to the showerhead is stuck again and—”

It was the wrong thing to say. She knew it. He knew it. And when he cut her off, Riley knew his tolerance was up. 

“Stop. I’m not stupid. You’ve been dodging my questions all night, and now you’re lying to me?” Kalei sat up. “I really like you, but not if this is how you’re going to act.” Speechless, Riley’s mouth gaped open like a fish, but Kalei pressed on. “I thought you were different, so I need you to explain what’s really going on here. No lies this time.” 

Unable to hold eye contact, it took every ounce of Riley’s willpower not to stammer as she spoke. “I can’t.” 

“You can’t? Why not?” 

“I just can’t!” Tears burned in her eyes, but Riley refused to let them fall. She didn’t cry in front of people. Not her friends, and certainly not a man who was little more than a booty call. 

“That’s a bullshit answer. We’ve been texting for weeks. This isn’t like you.” 

“You don’t even know me,” Riley said coldly, crossing her arms. 

“You’re right,” Kalei snapped. “I don’t have a fucking clue what’s going on in your head.” 

Riley didn’t respond. Not even as Kalei took a deep breath and let his defenses visibly fall. 

Gently resting his hand on her shoulder, Kalei said, “I’m going out on a limb here, but I think you need help. And maybe you’re just having a bad day and I’m jumping to conclusions, but—”

“Just leave me alone.” 

Any softness remaining in Kalei’s expression vanished instantly. “Fine. If that’s what you really want.” He got up and dressed, but there was no sharpness to his movements. No stomping or pouting or passive-aggressively pulling up his pants. He just quietly put himself back together before saying, “This isn’t going to work.” He paused, giving her one last chance to stop him, but she didn’t. Riley didn’t do anything, in fact. Kalei sighed heavily, and for a second she could’ve sworn he looked sad. “It’s okay to trust people, Riley.” 

He left without saying goodbye.

Riley did take that shower after all, letting the water wash over her head and drown out the way her mind incessantly repeated the conversation. Holding her breath, she stood beneath the scalding water, tilting her head back until the spray covered her face. The water did a good job of muting the words rattling around in her brain, but some still managed to get through. 

Yet another bridge burned. Another relationship sabotaged. Well wasn’t she just spectacular. 

Hoping perhaps she could salvage this one, she texted Kalei before she even got dressed. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Her apology was cheap without offering an explanation, but it was better than nothing. 

You’re all I have left, Riley wrote, then deleted. Too desperate. 

Clutching the towel around her chest, Riley waited for a response. And waited. And waited. She chewed her bottom lip and waited some more for a text she knew probably wouldn't come. 

Several minutes passed, and Riley couldn't dwell on it any longer. Throwing her phone facedown on the bed, she forced herself to get dressed. I don't need him, she thought. I don't need any of them. I'm fine on my own. 

But the second her pajamas were on, temptation won out and Riley checked her phone again. 

No reply. Not even a timestamp saying he read it. 

The silence, she decided, was even worse than the fighting. 

Maybe that was how Nikki felt, when Riley didn't answer her texts. Or maybe Nikki was so pissed that she didn't give a shit. Riley was too afraid to find out which was true. 

Turning her phone completely off, she walked to the kitchen in search of a drink. In the back of her alcohol cabinet, there was a bottle of high-end whiskey she kept around for Desi. Riley didn't particularly enjoy it, but she poured herself a glass anyway. The amber liquid burned as it slid down her throat, but Riley swallowed sip after sip, hoping it would drown her problems. 

Truthfully, it wasn’t the yelling Riley was afraid of, but the silence that would come after. The yelling she could handle. She’d been on the receiving end of plenty of it growing up. But the silence? The vacancy when Nikki—when everyone—inevitably left her for good? That she couldn’t handle. Especially not when it was her fault. 

Riley finished her drink, and it refilled itself with loneliness. 

She swallowed that too. 

Riley didn’t stop drinking until the room spun. Her brain refused to turn off before then, refused to stop thinking of…things. 

A knock at her door nearly made Riley jump out of her skin. Who the hell wanted to see her so late? Even with alcohol clouding her judgement, she had a feeling she didn’t want to see whoever was on the other side of that door. 

Quietly, so as not to alert the visitor to her presence, Riley tip-toed to the door and looked through the peephole, tripping over a rug on her way. It took several blinks for her eyes to clear well enough to register the visitor's face. Her jaw dropped. The person on the other side was someone Riley never thought she’d see again. Heart pounding, she unlocked the door. 

Leanna stood on the other side, with red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks. She wore sweatpants and had the duffle bag Riley gave her years ago in hand. This Leanna was a far cry from the foreign woman she met weeks ago. Based on appearance alone, this Leanna was open, trusting, and most importantly, familiar. 

But it was the fear in her eyes that ultimately kept Riley from slamming the door in her face. 

Riley opened her mouth to ask why she was here, but Leanna beat her to it, speaking in a small, quiet voice Riley hadn’t heard since they were teenagers. 

“I had nowhere else to go.”

~ Tag List ~ Want to be added? Send me an ask.

@macrileyedits / @hellishrose / @losingitovermacriley / @mylifequotesshowallofthem / @thecarrieonokay / @holbytlanna / @whumpflumpthump / @fandoms-and-sunshine / @bluedrew12 / @improvidus​ / 

#beth writes #flawless au #macgyver #macgyver fanfiction #riley davis #nikki carpenter #desiree nguyen #samantha cage #jill morgan #leanna martin

[stephthenewgirl]

AGTAW — I: Twila Gilbert

“Twila, did you take my dark blue leather jacket?!” Elena Gilbert strides into her sister's bedroom without a simple thing as a kick. She halts upon laying her doe brown eyes on her sister; her mouth parted and her thin brows furrowing. There her sister stood in only a bra and panties but that's not what shocked her, it was the fact that Twila was in her underwear with a boy in her room. He sat at the edge of her queen-sized bed that was covered in gray and black sheets and heavy blankets. His elbows pressing down on his lap and his back hunched over. His deep brown eyes moved to the elder Gilbert twin.

The later twin — Twila — with celerity wheeled her body around, her large hazel brown eyes aimed at her sister sharply. Her body hiding the boy behind her midway. And the somewhat naked girl's medium brown hair that fell into a sepia reddish-brown moved sweetly and nimbly stroke her neck. A rainbow stripe shirt held between her fingers — a shirt she was about to put on before Elena intruded her bedroom.

Twila briskly put the rainbow shirt on, after she tugged the shirt down, stretching out slight folds on the fabric and she stomped her way towards the elder Gilbert. Elena's doe eyes stayed fixed on the boy that sits peacefully on her little sister's bed. She disliked this — and she disliked it even more that the boy who looked so peaceful and unbothered had no shirt on.

Why doesn't he have a shirt on? Elena query herself.

“Don't you know how to kick?” Twila asked heatedly. Elena's eyes fluttered to the younger twin.

“I-I. . .” The words just wouldn't come out. Her eyes wandered to the boy on her sister's bed. Elena wanted to say ''no boys allowed in the bedroom'', she wanted to ask why Twila had no clothing on and why was he shirtless, what was happening. Elena gasped as the boy known as Clarkson sent a wink to her then frowned.

Twila pushed Elena out of her room, slamming the door in her face.

“No boys in the room, Twila!” Elena finally found her voice.

“You're not my fucking mother, Elena!!” Twila waits to hear the footsteps of her sister walking away. It did not take long. Today, Elena had no energy to lecture her. Twila was grateful. She twirled back around, walking towards the end of her bed.

“Will, that was a show.” Clarkson Forsyth spoke, a lopsided smirk on his soft pink lips. Twila mocked smiled at the boy, picked up his black tee off her bed then threw it at him, hitting his face.

“Yeah, you would think that.” Their giggles bounded off the four walls. “Hurry up. Martin and Vera are picking us up in sixteen.” Twila told the boy as she made her way into her closet and yanked a pair of pants off the hanger.

“So should I hop out the window and wait for you outside?” Clarkson said, standing from the bed, the black shirt in his hold as he goes. He flipped the shirt over and slid his arms in the sleeves then pulled the shirt over his head and pulled it down over his body. Twila stepped out of the closet wearing dark blue loose jeans and held two pairs of black sneakers in her hand. She walked towards her bed, displaying a frown on her face.

“What? No.” Twila sits down at the end of her bed and pulls out the socks she tucked into her sneakers. “I'm fucking hungry, and I know you are too.” Twila slipped the sneakers on her feet and tied them up.

“I just don't want to start—” Clarkson started, taking small steps towards the Gilbert girl.

“Clark, you've been my best friend since kindergarten. My family knows you and Aunt Jenna is cool, and she likes you. You're not going to start anything. . .” Once she finished tying her shoelaces, Twila looked over to the obsidian hair strong-jawed boy. “. . . Okay.”

Clarkson chortle. “Yeah, okay.”

Twila nods slightly with a smile. “Okay.” She pushed herself off the bed. “Don't mind Elena, she's just being a prude. Elena's been all big-sister ever since mom and dad passed. The girl is only four minutes older than me but that is a mile for her.”

Clarkson cracks a tiny smile. “How are you feeling, anyway?”

Twila was quiet for a second, thinking of what to say. She looked up at her best friend and greeted him with a sad smile.

“Getting better. Can't do anything but get better. The world goes on.” Twila gives him a longer smile that forcefully reaches her cheeks. Clarkson pulls her into a hug. It took a while for Twila to react back, but she did; wrapping her arms around him tightly.

“Thanks — for being here for me. I didn't know what I would have done without you last night.”

It was late at night when the boy called, gasping with sobs and in need of his best friend. Twila immediately told him to come over. She sat up on her bed and rubbed her sleep away, awaiting his arrival. Finally arriving at the Gilbert home, Twila hugged him and listened to his recent problems with his father as he cried on her shoulder. Twila did not mind — Clarkson was there for her when her parents passed; even invited her to crash in his room when she did not feel like being at Caroline's. After his tears dried out, they watched Buffy together on her baby-blue-covered laptop — forgetting about the sadness as they laughed away.

“Of course, Clark. I will always be here for you.” Twila pulled from the hug, her hands clasping his biceps tenderly then she gave him a fast smile. “Now get off of me,” She pushed him jocosely. “C'mon, I'm starved.” Clarkson chortled with a head shake; the two grab their belongings and head downstairs.

Twila and Clarkson dumped their belongings on the sofa before passing the threshold into the kitchen. The gold sunlight streamed through the square window; the silhouette of the window slept on the kitchen Island and kissed Jeremy's naked arm.

“Good morning, Gilbert family!!.” Twila smiled wide at her family that was diffuse around the kitchen area.

“Morning, Twila,” Aunt Jenna says softly, tipping her head back from the refrigerator door, welcoming Twila back with a duplicate smile. Her eyesight moved to the boy beside her niece. “Oh, hey Clark. I didn't know you were here.”

“Yeah, I hope you don't mind. Just needed my best friend last night.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Jenna waves him off. “You are welcome anytime. Would you like some toast?”

Twila's eyes instantly widened, jerking her head from side to side, “Oh, no. I'm making waffles. Don't need you having us eating rocks, Aunt Jenna.”

“Not rocks, Twila. Just burnt toast.” The kitchen erupted with laughter for everyone's lips — even Jeremy's. The boy who had been in the dump all summer, spending his time with Vicki Donovan and drug heads. Both Gilbert twins were happy to hear him laugh again; they haven't heard it in a while. Elena shook her head in the corner with a smile and a mug in her hands. After, she pulled it closer to her lips, taking a sip. “Who needs lunch money?”

“Here!” Both Twila and Jeremy raised their hands, shouting.

“Elena?” Jenna walked to her bag that sits on the chair at the dinner table.

“No thanks, Aunt Jenna.”

“Okay.” The strawberry blond rummaged through her bag, pulling out three twenty-dollar bills. “Here you go.” Jenna handed Jeremy and Clarkson each a twenty.

“Oh no Jenna, you don't have to,” Clarkson says, declining the money.

“I know, I want to. So take the money.”

“Take the money!” Twila yelled, not sparing a glance over her shoulders. Her eyes were fixed on the waffles, she didn't want them to burn like Aunt Jenna does every time she cooks something.

“Yeah, or I'll take it.” Jeremy playfully stood up acting as if he was honestly going to, Aunt Jenna pushed him back on his seat.

“Sit down.” She told the boy. “Take it.” She utters to Clarkson, pushing it at his crest.

“Okay, okay. . . Thanks, Jenna.”

“No problem. Twila, yours is on the table.”

“Thanks, Jenna.”

“Don't you have a big presentation today?” Elena reminds the young caretaker.

“I'm meeting with my thesis advisor at. . .” Jenna glanced down at her watch and freaked, “Now. Crap!”

“Then go. We'll be fine.” Jenna nodded at Elena, she quickly put her hair up in a ponytail with a rubber band then grabbed her bag, and dashed out the side door.

Twila plopped the last waffle on top of the rest. Elena walked towards her sister, standing beside her.

“Why was Clarkson in your room?” Elena inquired.

The sepia brunette twisted her neck to her twin. “Because he came over last night.”

“Why?”

“Because he needed a friend, Elena. You know, like how Bonnie comes over when she needs you.”

“Bonnie's not a boy.”

Twila's brows narrowed down and her eyelids batted. She can't believe what Elena was saying to her right now. She angles her body, facing her sister.

“Elena, you know Clark for as long I've been friends with him.”

“Doesn't mean he's not a boy.”

Twila turned away from Elena; grabbing the pleat of waffles, she was done with this exchange. Before she walked off she targeted her big brown hazel eyes at her sister once more.

“I don't know when you've become such a wet blanket but stop with the mothering act. I can have whoever I want in my room.”Twila let Elena know, leaving her there speechless.

Twila was wordless while she ate her waffles, Jeremy and Clarkson on the other hand talked as if they were in a club meeting. The conversation with Elena left a sour taste in her mouth, she still enjoyed her waffles of course, but she was upset. Her big brown hazel eyes glared at her twin as she asked Jeremy a simple question: if he was okay. She snickers at Jeremy's response and rolled her eyes when Elena glanced at her with a confused pouty face.

Elena folds her arms and walks off from the three teens, not soon later Twila's phone buzzes. A text from Vera telling Twila she and Martin were outside. A small smile pulls at her perfect lips as she stares at the screen. Twila slides the phone back into her pocket and sights her eyes on her brother and best friend.

“Vera and Martin's outside.” Clarkson got the hint. He hopped off the stool, grabbing his pleat and then Twila's. She gave him a soft thank you. “Need a ride, Jer?”

“Sure.” Jeremy got off the stool taking his dish, going towards the sink. Clark and Jeremy end up in a —you go first, I go first— situation. Jeremy stepped aside letting Clarkson pass. Clark smiled up at him shyly. Twila looked at him with a knowing smile, and he ignored her smug look while he walked to the living room area grabbing his book bag on the sofa.

Twila walked up behind Clarkson, playfully bumping into him. “Oh, I'm sorry. You first. No, you go first. I go left, you go right? Oh, um. . . okay.” Twila laughed at her dramatic imitation of Jeremy and Clarkson's exchange in the kitchen.

“Ssh, shut up. He could hear you.” He whispered to the girl over his shoulder.

Twila rolls her eyes, “Oh, please.” She grins and moves from behind him, going to grab her book bag also. Clarkson shook his head, letting out a stressful sigh. Hoping Jeremy didn't hear his sister mocking.

“Come on, Jer!”

“Coming!” He placed the wet dish on the dish rack and rushed his way out of the kitchen grabbing his book bag on the chair head. “Hey Vera, Martin.” Jeremy greets his sister's two best friends. Vera is a square face, soft beige skin brunette with deep-set dark brown eyes. Her brows were black-filled and straight. Her hair was black and short in a pixie rat tail cut, her bangs were cut right above her eyebrows, and two long strips of black hair fell just under her chin on each side of her face.

“Hey, Jeremy.” Vera greeted back.

Martin was an almond skin boy with long brown hair and a handsome diamond-shaped face. His eyes are hooded, small, and brown. Martin is Vera's half-brother and was Twila's boyfriend of two years, now ex-boyfriend but still great friends.

“S'up, Jeremy. How's it been?” Martin made conversation.

“Okay. How about you?”

“Fan-fuckin-tastic. I got this new skateboard from my dad. It—”

“Please, stop talking about the skateboard. No one cares, Martin.” Vera twists her head briskly at her brother before aiming her sights back at the road.

“You're just mad I'm better than you.” Martin retorted.

“Ha! Better than me? Jokes. . . That was a funny joke.”

“You—”

“Please, can you turn on the radio? Don't need to hear your brother-sister bickering.” Jeremy and Clarkson chuckle at Twila's insult. Vera rolled her eyes yet she did what was told and made a turn; passing The Mystic Grill. The song WANNABE by Spice Girls blasted throughout the dark blue color car.

Vera, Clarkson, and Twila belled along with the song. Martin and Jeremy had no choice but to tolerate the ordeal of their boisterous singing.

“So, here's a story from A to Z. You wanna get with me, you gotta listen carefully. We got Em in the place who likes it in your face.” Twila bells.

“You got G like MC who likes it on a. Easy V doesn't come for free, she's a real lady. And as for me?” Vera follows.

“HA, YOU'LL SEE.” The three teens yell from the top of their lungs like a banshee's cry.

“C'mon guys.” An annoyed Jeremy wailed.

Martin's eyes traveled from the backseat to his sister. “Yeah, guys cut it off.”

“Slam your body down and wind it all around! Slam your body down and zig-a-zig ah!” They laughed at how irked the two boys were.

Twila pushed herself off her seat, her lips went to Martin's ear. “If you wanna be my lover!” Twila ear-splittingly sings.

Martin slapped his hand against his ear, “Twila, what the fuck!”

“You gotta get with my friend!” Vera sings.

“Friendships last forever!” Clarkson followed along.

“Friendship never eennnnds!” The three belled.

“That's not how it goes.”

“I don't give a shit, Martin. Now, get out of my car. We're here.” The long-haired boy rolled his eyes and pushed the car door open; he stepped out. The four other kids in the car followed shortly after.

“So — the boy had to sleep with her friends to be considered her lover?” Jeremy queried his eldest sister.

“That's not the message of the song, Jer.”

“Well, that's what it said.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Hey, Jeremy.” Vicki Donovan smiled making her way to Jeremy.

Jeremy copies and greets her back. “Hey, V.”

“Twila.” She uttered, moving her eyes to Twila.

“Victoria.” Twila gave a faint smile. Vicki and Twila were once good friends. They got especially close when Elena and Matt started dating but had a fallout this summer when she started to use her baby brother for his prescription pills and sleeping with him to avoid her own screwed-up life.

“Okay, let's go bitc—” Vera stops when her eyes set on Vicki Donovan. “Speaking of bitch.” Her hip cocked out, her fingers tucked into the back of her blue denim jeans pockets.

Vicki's mouth agape and her brows knitted. Her lips hastily retrieve with a curl and a scoff. Vera took hold of Twila's wrist, pulling the girl away from Vicki.

“See ya, Jeremy.” She said as the group of friends part ways from the young boy and ex-friend. “I still can't believe you allow him to be around her.”

“There are certain things I can tell Jeremy to do and certain things I could. He's hard-headed like that.” Twila explained with a shrug.

Lunch came fast for Twila. She had six-period lunch and had Mr. Tanner after. She was tired and glad the school day was almost over. Then she remembered she had to help Caroline with picking out some fresh faces for the new year try-outs after school. Great. She sighed.

“You look exhausted,” Vera slid, sitting down on the curved seat. She set her tray on the round cafeteria table. Today's lunch is a ham sandwich, chicken nuggets, apple, and a side of salads with a dressing of your choice and beverage. The food at Mystic Falls High wasn't so bad.

“I am.” Twila pushes her hair back, fingers gripping her hair softly. “I just wanted to go home after school and have a nice bubble bath, but I have try-out picking to do after school.” She wailed and pouted. Twila felt like sobbing, she truly needed and wanted that bubble bath.

“Aww, don't be so down, Twila. I'm sure you'll be fine.” Vera grabs a hold of her sandwich, taking a big bite.

“Let me detail it for you.” Twila leans forward, her hair falling as she moves her fingers and locks her big eyes with Vera's deep-set ones. “I'm try-out picking after school — with Caroline.”

“Ohh. . .” Vera sees the problem now.

Twila smiled tightly and her eyes squinted a bit and a little hum leaving her lips. Her smile says: now you get it. “It's going to be hell.”

“Aww, Twila. I'll be there for you.” Vera's mouth was occupied by food, she kept her teeth locked while her lips moved. The words came out muffled. Twila smiled anyway.

“You will?” Twila's lower lip pushes out.

Vera nods and speaks after swallowing. “If you need me, of course.”

“Aww, thanks,” The short-haired brunette joined her palm on top of Vera's hand. “But I can't do that to you.” She removed her hand, stealing Vera's apple. “I'll go through the belly of the beast on my own.” She takes a bit of the apple. Vera laughed.

“The belly of what beast?” Clarkson arrives, taking a spot next to Vera; Martin follows beside him.

Vera's eyes travel to the raven-haired boy. “Caroline.” She informed him.

“What about Caroline?” Martin questioned.

“I've got some fresh cheerleaders to pick out with Caroline after school.”

“Oh.” Clarkson and Martin mumble. Twila nods at the boys, chewing through the green apple.

Martin swallows down his food with water before speaking. “Aren't you co-captain? Can't you just do it another time?”

“No.” She placed the apple down on the table. “I'll just get it over with.”

“Clarkson, where were you last night?!” Barbie Forsyth asked, approaching the small group. Clarkson eyed up his sister. She stood with her hands at her hips.

“At Twila's.” He answered honestly. Barbie's eyes went to Twila; they had a squint to them.

“Of course.” She scoffed, shifting her eyes back at her brother.

The bottled blonde — Barbie Forsyth — never had a good relationship with Twila Josephine Gilbert. Ever since Twila ruined Barbie's gingerbread house in elementary school; just because she wanted a piece. And the other time they were partnered up in a history project. Barbie had done all the work and Twila just plastered her name on the paper. But those weren't the reasons why Barbie didn't like the big-eyed Gilbert all that well. For as long as she could remember, Clarkson and Twila were inseparable. She always felt like Twila was more of Clarkson's sister than she ever was.

“Why were you at her house?”

“I, uh. . . I needed someone to talk to.”

Barbie's head jerked forward. Unbelievable, she thought. “You could have talked to me.” Her light green eyes stayed on her brother; it made Clarkson feel guilty the way they were intensely piercing at him. Her eyelids blinked and she rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I wanted to speak to you last night.”

“Okay. . . What?”

Barbie glanced at Twila, who like everyone else at the table was focused on them. Barbie looked back at her brother. “Not here in front of her.” She yanked the boy, pulling him off his seat and away from the group.

Vera chortle, aiming her sight on Twila. “I'm guessing she still hates you for not doing the history project in middle school.”

“Ha, guessing?” Martin uttered. “It's a known fact she does.”

Twila laughed along with her friends, brushing down the fact that deep down she felt awful that her best friend's sister hated her for something she did in middle school. Not knowing that Barbie didn't dislike her because of some petty school project issue, the bottled blonde felt like Twila took her brother from her.

“Once our home state of Virginia joined the confederacy in 1861, it created a tremendous amount of tension within the state. People in Virginia's northwest region had different ideals than those from the traditional deep south. Then Virginia divided in 1863 with the northwest region joining the union.”

In the back corner of the room, Twila sat near the large windows. Mr. Tanner's voice was inaudible to her ears as she doodled in her history book. Through the windows, the evening sun rays hit the desk of students and the classroom floor. One golden glint shimmers comfortably on Twila's hair. A rainbow hues sat at her open history book, making Twila stop her hand movement. She admired the reflection of the colorful lights. Rainbows are one of Twila's favorable things about nature. Rainbows and heavy rain on a lazy afternoon, but she always hated the after smell. It always smelled of wet soil and moist greens.

Her large eyes wandered to the windows, it landed on the tree just outside Ms. Tanner's classroom. A crow sitting perfectly inanimate, as if it was a statue.

It was larger than most. Its feathers pitch as black but the little sunlight that hits its feathers shine a rainbow on it. It was sleek and had greedy dark claws and a sharp beak. Its black eyes glittered, and they were fixed on Elena; the brunette that sits two rolls down from Twila.

Twila watched the crow leer at her twin with this inclination in its eyes. Like how boys' eyes linger on a girl wearing tight clothes; those tops that pop out their cleavage or dresses that outline their bodies.

It was creepy, to say the least.

Then its dark eyes blink at Twila. The girl flinched back a bit, her eyes got broader, but they stayed on the bird. It was like the bird was challenging her; playing with her. A game of who would look away first.

The school bell boom, Twila flinched once more. Her eyes flutter to the front of the classroom seeing everyone packing up.

She lost.

Twila stood up, grabbing her book bag along, and followed her way out the room behind the crowd of teenagers. The short brunette sauntered her way through the crowded hall; she made a right, passing four classroom doors before reaching the staircase. She walked four flights of stairs down, landing on the first floor she went to her locker, putting and taking some of her things then — to Caroline she went.

Twila walked through the football field towards the concern the school gave the cheerleaders to practice. Her eyes gazed at the wannabe cheerleaders of all ages and sizes perfecting their moves. It brought a smile to her face.

Until Caroline spoke.

“Ugh, there you are.” The blonde's voice reached Gilbert's. Twila rolled her eyes. Always Caroline, the extra control Queen.

“Hello to you too, Care.” Twila drops her bag on the green cut grass. “Let's get this over with, shall we?” Some in the flock of wannabe cheerleaders chortle.

Caroline narrows her light bluish-green eyes before throwing Twila a mocked cheesy grin. The blonde pulled the sheet of paper to her eyesight. “Okay, first off you are going to be asked some questions — okay.” The group nods. “Okay, any of you guys have experience with cheerleading? Like gymnastics, dance, or have ever cheered before? If you have, raise your hand.” Caroline nods and marks it down. Caroline glanced to her side, “You want to say something, or are just going to stand there. Co-captain.”

Twila steps forward with a smirk. “All who have experienced step forward, those who don't. Please take a seat at the bleachers.” They followed their orders and Twila continued. “Now I want you all to show me what you've got. Jump, tumble, split, dance? Whatever you've got.”

The fourteen that step forward show Caroline and Twila what they could bring to the team. Both girls watched with sharp eyes. Twila had nicely commented on one girl who intended to do a cartwheel backflip after Caroline rudely told her she shouldn't try it again.

Twila told her she should. She did and succeeded. It was much better the second time around.

Throughout the try-out, Caroline rolled her eyes, scoffed, and scored the wannabe cheerleaders. Twila on the other hand praised and nicely Judged their performance. But she had snickered here and there with the blonde.

“Okay, we are done.” Twila was glad. “Those who made the team will be getting an email in two days and those who didn't,” Caroline sucked air through her teeth. “Too bad.” She shines her big smile, “Okay, bye.”

It was late afternoon and the sun cast a golden shadow upon the sky and Twila didn't care that it was four something when she got home, she was just happy she got her bubble bath. Her arms rest on the top edge of the tub and her hair held up by a black hair claw. She relaxed peacefully in the warm water and the smell of cinnamon, she bathed in the quietness. That was until Elena ruined it.

“Elena!” Twila shouts at her sister that breaks into the bathroom.

“Sorry,” Elena says. “Bleeding.” She put her foot on top of the toilet cover and rolled the bottom of her jeans up.

Twila looked down seeing the dry blood, “What happened?”

“I fell in the cemetery when I was running from a crow.

“Running from a crow?” It's brought a chill down Twila back. Her mind wondered if it could be the same crow watching her from the tree outside Ms. Tanner's window. No, she's just being paranoid.

“Yes.” Elena rolled down the leg of her jeans after cleaning the scraps on her leg and putting on a bandage.

“What were you doing at the cemetery?”

Elena put her foot down on the bathroom ground, sighed, and sat down on the bath cover. “I went to see mom and dad.”

Twila rolled her pretty eyes. “But you didn't see them, did you? You went to see a stone with their names plastered on it.” Twila's fingers wave in the bubble, playing with them. It was stupid for Elena to go see a piece of rock with their parent's names on it. It wasn't gonna bring them back, She thought, nothing was gonna bring them back.

Elena sighs and brushes her hair back. “I'm going to the grill, you want to come?”

“No thanks,” Twila looks over her shoulder. “I had a long day, I'm just gonna relax at home.”

The elder's twin nods, “Okay.” Elena left the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Twila fell back to the bath and relaxed once again.

A.N— Maine focus characters & Twila's outfit

#tvd fanfiction #vampire diaries fanfiction #vampire diaries x reader #damon salvatore x oc #elena gilbert #bonnie bennett #salvatore brothers #stefan salvatore