and he looked and smiled at me

Bts reaction: You sulking on your bed because your butt is too big for the underwear you just bought - fluff and Smut-ish *requested*

This request made me chuckle i hope you enjoy!


Jin

When Jin walked into your shared room and saw you laying on the bed pour in the face he thought something was wrong. But when you told him your reason for sulking he would chuckle.

Baby you’re upset over something like that? You nodded in response. Baby how about you show me the underwear on you and I’ll give you my opinion ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Originally posted by jhopefluxo

Yoongi 

When Yoongi got home from the studio to see you lying face first on the bed he was confused. Y/N you ok? You would look up at him with a huge pout on your face. No I’m not ok at all he’d raise an eyebrow at you before asking what’s wrong

The underwear I just bought doesn’t fit because my butt is too big. He would smile at that kitten, I don’t think that’s such a big deal, you can just buy new ones. You nodded at that but Yoongi continued plus I think you look better with no underwear at all ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Originally posted by scartic

Hoseok

Ahh Jagi why are you so pouty? When you told Hoseok about your small- whoops- issue he would sigh in relief. Ahh ok, i thought it was something bad. You would whip your head around to look at him Hobi it is a big deal!

He’d start chuckling at that. Y/N we can go buy some more tomorrow ok?

You nodded and smiled, though still sad about spending all that money. Plus your were to embarrassed to return the ones you didn’t try on. “Plus Jagi, who says you need underwear when I’m just going to take them off anyway?”  you gasped and chucked your pillow at him, while he only chuckled.

Originally posted by 94seokk

Namjoon

this little shit

When you walked into your shared room and flopped onto the bed he would be confused. But he would wait for you to tell him what’s wrong. After a few minutes sulking you looked up with a pout . “So you going to tell me what’s wrong?” you nodded before explaining your problem.

“Well are you sulking because your butt is too big and you insecure or about the money you just spent?” you sighed “both i guess.”

“Well baby girl, you shouldn’t be insecure about your ass, most girls would kill for that.” he smirked and you snorted. “And the money isn’t really a big deal.” you nodded and sighed sitting up to give him a hug. Plus baby girl if you are still unsure about your ass, i can show you how much i love it”

You could probably imagine what happens after ;)

Originally posted by bts-uke

Jimin

When Jimin came home from practice to find you sprawled on the bed with a huge pout on your face he’d sigh‘What happened this time baby?”you sat up to look at him before saying“Chim i have a butt like yours.”his eyes would widen and he’d let out a surprised laugh“what?”you chuckled at his reaction.“My butt is too big for the underwear i bought Chim”

At that he would burst out laughing“Baby you should be proud of that!”you couldn’t help but chuckle at his reaction“I think it’s the workouts, and being with you, i am getting cursed with the Jibooty.” it was his turn to pout this time. 

Originally posted by kpop-heaven-247

Taehyung

Tae was beyond confused to find you in nothing but a tee shirt and some panties sulking with more underwear scattered around you. Y/n are you ok?  You’d slowly sit up and looking him dead in the eyes Tae! I tried all of them every. Single. Pair. And none of them fit my butt! and at that you would flop over with a pout.

Y/n baby, you act like a big butt is bad. Sure the underwear don’t fit, we can get you more. And plus I like how you look with no underwear at all so…..

You’d raise an eyebrow Tae! Don’t turn my struggle into your turn on he’d only chuckle

Originally posted by bangtanofarmys

Jungkook

When this boy came home to find you struggling to pull a pair of too small underwear off he would be both confused and slightly turned on. You need some help there y/n?

When you saw him biting his lip you’d groan and chuckle. The underwear I bought today is too small, so yes can you help me? And then maybe just cause I love you I’ll reward you?

Needless to say You’d never seen this boy move so fast. And you can guess the rest ;)

Originally posted by roselstra

Hope you liked it lol

ppinkmermaid  asked:

42. “I came here to win you back, and dammit, I’ll do whatever I have to.” With Steve?? Thank youu ❤️❤️

Originally posted by imaginesofeveryfandom

“You have someone waiting for you outside,” said your assistant right after she stuck her head into the room. 

Your brow furrowed. “W-What?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Didn’t even give me his name. All he said was that he needed to talk to you. Looked familiar, though. Oh, and he’s cute.” She winked at this, prompting you to roll your eyes. 

Sighing to yourself, you pushed your up to your feet and walked around your desk towards the door. 

Steve Rogers stood just a few feet away, holding a bouquet of flowers and a small smile. By now, he had taken off the hat he had been wearing and people in the office began to recognize him. 

“What are you doing here?” you demanded.

Steve looked momentarily shocked before a challenging look overcame his eyes. “We belong together.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “Yeah, right. You yourself told me that-”

“I was wrong.”

Your eyebrows shot up your forehead at this. “Pardon?”

Steve stepped forward. “I don’t care. I don’t care if others see. And-And I came here to win you back, and dammit, I’ll do whatever I have to.”

You smirked. “Anything?”

He looked perfectly serious. “Anything.”

Nodding, you turned back to your office. “I have a few things in mind.”

Steve felt his heart jump as he followed you.


Drabbles CLOSED.

Dare

summary:

a game of truth or dare and a night with the team ends in tony’s bedroom

pairing: tony stark x reader

word count: 3k

request: here

warnings: smut, semi-public teasing/make out session (semi-public being in front of the rest of the team), virgin!reader, probably ill-advised games of truth or dare

a/n: sorry this took so long to get out! good old writer’s block hit me like a freight train and i kind of had to force myself to finish it. hopefully you enjoy it and thanks for sticking with me!

Keep reading

BTS Reaction: You back hugging them and rubbing their tummy

SEOKJIN: He would smile softly, looking at you through the mirror. Quickly, he finished brushing his teeth and turn around to kiss you gently. “Morning sweetheart, want to help me make breakfast? then we can cuddle and watch Netflix”

Originally posted by bwiseoks

YOONGI: He would finish what he was going and spin around, picking you up.
“Lets just go cuddle y/n” he hummed softly, kissing your cheek as he laid down with you.

Originally posted by dreamyoongi

HOSEOK: This sunshine’s smile would brighten up as you rubbed his stomach. He’d turn around and smother you in kisses. Pulling you close by your waist, “You’re so cute y/n”

Originally posted by jaayhope

NAMJOON: He’d grin, his dimples showing. Turing around and gently cupping your cheeks, brushing the hair out of your face. “Good morning princess”

Originally posted by choke-me-namjoon

JIMIN: Jimin would start giggling, being ticklish. His eye smile would melt your heart as he turned around. He would rub your hips as he leaned in to kiss you. “Y/n, lets go cuddle, I’m cold!”

Originally posted by bangtanroyalty

TAEHYUNG: This boy would pick you up and through you over his shoulder, placing you on the bed. He’d attack you with kisses and soft tickles. “You scared me~!” he pouted.

Originally posted by jimiyoong

JUNGKOOK: He’d smile at you, kissing your forehead shyly. “Y/n, help me make food, I’m starving!!” He would kiss you again, on the lips before dragging you to the kitchen.

Originally posted by yourpinkpill


Hope you enjoyed this !!

Things I Noticed at DEH (7/22/17)

- evan cracking his knuckles whenever he got nervous.
- evan shaking a lot.
- connor murphy buttons were hella cute.
- the connor project pamphlet had a picture of mike when they did a Newsie’s interview.
- a single tear down evan’s face when the murphy’s had heidi over for dinner.
- connor’s tears when he’s talking to evan before Word’s Fail.
- ben would very often look at audience members (including me 😱) instead of making eye contact with a cast member, which shows evan’s anxiety even more.
- evan’s breakdown in Word’s Fail. I was actually scared that ben was actually having one.
- evan fidgeting with his shirt a lot.
- mike trying to hold in a smile in the Sincerely, Me reprise when he says “so many people end up sucking dick for meth.“ - all you gotta D O.”
- connor’s voice when he says “am i not laughing hard enough for you” to jared is kind of like mockingly spooky and i thought that was a good touch.

take this burden - 45

[ build me up - buttercup - the foundations ]

-

The next two weeks passed without anything horrible happening, which is all you can ask for sometimes.

Mo Guan Shan helped Jane in her preparations for the Halloween party, made some phone calls for He Tian, and learned to make a few drinks. Each day he seemed more comfortable, smiled more, looked over his shoulder less and less frequently.

He and Jane were fast friends, growing close almost a quickly as he had with Jian Yi.

Jane had called him ‘easy to love’ and He Tian hadn’t argued, his relationship with The L Word aside.

He seemed happy, but in light of that happened last time He Tian made that assumption, he kept an eye on him. They all did, and Mo Guan Shan pretended not to notice.

They hadn’t had sex since that night.

He Tian held him while they slept.

Mo Guan Shan intertwined their fingers when they walked.

He Tian walked behind the bar, making any excuse to reach around him, pressing their bodies together briefly and placing a kiss on the side of his neck.

Mo Guan Shan draped his legs over He Tian’s lap when they watched tv.

They constantly, shamelessly, flirted.

The two of them had been on the couch several days before, Mo Guan Shan in He Tian’s lap.

A careful kiss had escalated quickly, He Tian fumbling with Mo Guan Shan’s jeans, trying to get him to keep his hips still for a fucking second as he wound his fingers in He Tian’s hair and sucked a purple bruise into his shoulder, right where a shirt could cover it.

Zhengxi opened the door, taking a few steps into the apartment before spotting them.

He Tian’s instinctual reaction was to shove Mo Guan Shan off his lap, which would have been fine if they’d been on a bed or even the floor, but since they were on the couch Mo Guan Shan slid off his lap and onto the floor.

‘What the FUCK!’

Zhengxi simply shook his head laughed, going to his room.

He Tian stood, extending a hand to Mo Guan Shan and pulling him to his feet, apologizing profusely.

Mo Guan Shan assured him half a dozen times that he was fine, and they got ready for work, smiling from the high of getting caught in the act like a couple of teenagers.

That’s as far as they’d gone since their first time a few days ago.

Things had changed since then.

He wanted Mo Guan Shan impossibly more than he already had, but that sense of urgency, that feeling that this was his only chance, was gone.

They both tried to settle into some semblance of a normal relationship.

He Tian moved slowly when he touched him, making sure his intentions were clear and Mo Guan Shan kissed him when he hesitated.

Mo Guan Shan gave him space, no longer insisting that he stayed the night.

But he always did.

He never asked for He Tian’s time when he was busy or pushed him to talk when he was quiet.

In some  ways, He Tian and Mo Guan Shan were similar.

In most ways, not at all.

Unfortunately, that’s something many people will use as a reason to call it quits, but that’s ridiculous.

A movie you’ve never seen? A tv show you’ve never been interested in? Watch it with someone that loves it. Music you’ve never bothered with, listen to someone you care about sing along with it.

There’s little to learn from someone just like you, he’d learned that from Jian Yi and Zhengxi who, as people, couldn’t be more different.

He asked Mo Guan Shan to show him his favorite movie, his favorite song, the things he cares about.

That’s where you find love, missing half the movie because they talk the whole time, and having to replay the song over and over when you miss their favorite part as they point it out.

He Tian didn’t want to be in love.

He’d never wanted to and, up until now, he’d avoided it.

Very successfully, he might add.

But he hadn’t stood a chance.

Not this time.

Not even close.

While he refused to face it, he was in love with Mo Guan Shan.

The way his eyes lit up when he smiled.

How he looked when he was trying not to laugh.

The way he sang in the shower, loudly, unabashedly, and off-key.

He couldn’t tell Mo Guan Shan.

He had plenty of his own shit to deal with without sudden love confessions.

He’d hold it in. He was great at that.

All in all, things were good.

Until they weren’t.

Until, you guessed it, things went to shit.

Dear Journal,

I woke up with this painful feeling in my muscles and then I remembered the full moon last night. Or yesterday? I don’t really remember… Sirius was next to me. His plumpy lips and messy hair making me smile through the pain. I lifted the sheets and looked down at my body. I was all healed up thanks to my Sirius. I tried to sit down in the bed to drink some water but felt my muscles burn. I let out a slight pain noise and it woke Sirius up.

“It’s okay.. I’ll help you..” He said, bringing the glass of water to my lips.

I felt the cold liquid go down my throat and layed back down.

“How are you feeling?” He asked.

“I’m okay.. but my muscles are really painful.”

“I’ll go make you a hot bath and painkillers okay?” He said, alarmed.

“No.. not now. Please, I just want to hug you..” I said, taking his hand.

He layed back in bed and slid under the covers, snuggling close to me. I layed on his chest and listened to his heartbeat under me. His hand brushed on my back softly.

“How are you?” I asked.

“Me?”

“Yeah you.. Are you okay?” I insited.

“I’m alright..” He looked down.

“You don’t have to be so courageous all the time love.. it’s okay to feel something..” I said. “I know full moons are hard for you too.. You always have to see me broken and take care of me but… No one’s taking care of you..”

“Baby.. I’m okay really.. it’s hard, yes but when I see your smile the next morning, everything gets better..” He smiled.

He kissed me and looked deeply into my eyes.

“Are you sure?” I asked, knowing Sirius was good at hidding his emotions.

“I am. I promise you.”

We hugged me closer to him and we talked for a good hour. He made me a bath and sat next to it so I wouldn’t be alone. He washed my hair and my bruised skin softly. It was a nice feeling. I liked being took care of. We looked outside and saw Teddy in the lake, water to his knees, playing with thunder. I would’ve never imagined that life would’ve taken me this far. A husband, a son, a dog and a kitten. What a perfect story to tell. Sirius helped me get out of the bathtub and he gave me one of his big gryffindor jumpers. Teddy came back in and hugged me slightly. We watched a movie but I fell asleep only minutes after it started. I was okay. For another month at least..

-Remus

hello-moleskine  asked:

32 with Sam please!

Originally posted by imaginingbucky

Sam gave you a side-eye look, a tiny smile appearing on his lips. “What?” 

“Nothing, I’m just glad I met you.” 

Sam gave you a suspicious glance. “Really?”

You grinned. “Of course! Sam, seriously? I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”

“You want something,” he declared. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, right. Your cute remarks come with a price.” He turned his body towards you and wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “If you don’t tell me, I’m gonna have to tickle you.”

You gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would,” he said with a laugh. “So, you better tell me.”

You pursed your lips together, to which Sam made good to his word and began to tickle you. You flailed and kicked your legs around as your boyfriend continued his relentless attack.

“Okay, okay, fine! I’ll tell you!”

Sam relented, pulling away with a wide grin. You playfully glared at him before looking down at your lap now that you had moved to sit cross-legged in front of him. 

The mood shifted and Sam’s smile fell. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head. “Nothing. Um…” You cleared your throat and met his eyes again. “Just that… I love you.”

Sam clutched a hand to his chest. “Oh, my God! You scared the crap out of me! I thought you were going to- Don’t do that!”

You remained serious. “Sam, did you not-”

He rolled his eyes affectionately. “I love you, too, baby. Been loving you for a while now.”

“Oh, but you wanted me to say it first?”

“Not really, but it worked out in my favor,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

“Ugh, Sam!” You flung yourself at him. Sam caught you with a laugh and kissed your lips deeply.


Drabbles are CLOSED.

Bang Yongguk Appreciation Post #1 Gummy Smile

Okay so this is the start of my ‘Bang Yongguk Appreciation’ Series. Prepare yourself: it’s going to be long (i’ve warned you) and some stupid and totally useless dumbass comments from me but you can just skip them and look at the gifs

Here you have a little sneak peak of what’s waiting for you:

Contagious, isn’t it?

Originally posted by junhongsprincess

Keep reading

Cupcake Wars

pairing: Tony x reader

warnings: none, just a whole heap of fluff

* * *

Tony couldn’t help the smile creeping onto his face as he saw his girlfriend dancing around the kitchen blaring Salt n Peppa.

“Tony! Oh my god you scared me!” Y/N screamed as she turned around to see Tony staring at her from the entry way to the large kitchen.

“Please, don’t stop on my behalf.” He said making Y/N smile as she skipped over to him.

“Come and bake with me. I am making cupcakes for the team.” She grinned up at him and he wiped his thumb over her cheek where she had managed to get flour, and she giggled realising what was there.

Tony sighed happily looking after her as she waltzed away from him singing along to ‘Push It’ and doing a terrible running man impression, “Okay, let me help before you hurt yourself.” He laughed and she giggled knowing she had won.

* * *

Y/N screamed in shock as she felt something cold on her head after putting the cupcakes in the oven, turning around she saw Tony with a handful of brown cake batter.

“Tony Stark. You are so screwed.” She said before grabbing an egg and throwing it hitting him in the chest and he faked hurt holding his chest.

“Okay honey, it is on.” Tony said seriously before getting more batter and Y/N was trapped in the corner of the kitchen with two eggs in hand and cracked them on his head as he smeared cake mix over her face.

The pair didn’t realise that they were tickling each other on the floor until they heard someone clear their throats and they looked up seeing Steve looking down at them with crossed arms.

“Stevie! I made cupcakes.” Y/N said innocently and he couldn’t help but fight a small smile at the bubbly girl.

“Make sure you clean this mess up, Fury will be here later today.” Steve said and Y/N nodded as she struggled to stand up slipping in the cake batter and egg mix covering the floor.

“Aye aye Captain.” She said making him raise an eyebrow before leaving the kitchen leaving Tony and Y/N giggling as she slipped back down to the ground but was caught by Tony.

He leant down and capture her chocolatey lips with his, “Mm chocolate.” He said making her giggle.

anonymous asked:

Is a request regarding the Hanahaki disease okay? If so, may I ask for a scenario with Kuroo where he keeps receiving bouquets of flowers with little messages that are coming from a classmate who is making the bouquets based on the flowers she's coughing up?

This might be a bit different than what you wanted and I’m sorry! I hope you’ll enjoy this though!

‘Will you notice me?’

Kuroo raises a brow at the note before gently setting it down on his desk and picking up the bouquet of flowers. This was the second bouquet that week and Kuroo had no idea who it was from.

Looking over at him from the desk beside him you smile, “Another bouquet? Is it an admirer?” You ask and Kuroo shrugs with a smile of his own, “Probably. They don’t leave a name for me so I have no idea who it’s from.”

“What does the note say?” You ask before he hands you the small card, “Will you notice me; huh, will you notice them?” You joke as you gave the note back to him.

“Maybe if I actually knew their name I would,” Kuroo replied back and you chuckled.

Of course, it was you who had given him the bouquets. You knew what was in the note, but you didn’t have the courage to tell him how you feel and because of that you developed Hanahaki.

You would constantly throw up rose petals and decided to turn them into lovely bouquets for the man you love. Lovely for him, deadly for you. 

Being placed in the desk next to him was something you couldn’t have wanted more. Kuroo was so polite, so respectful, so charming you couldn’t help but fall deeper in love with him, which slowly became worse for you.

Some days your hanahaki had gotten so bad you had trouble breathing because of the flowers and petals that were forming in your throat. You knew you had to do something to save yourself.

Opening the door to the classroom early one morning, you were feeling under the weather from your hanahaki. Carefully walking to your desk, you pulled out the chair and sat yourself down before you took your water bottle out and drank it, placing a hand on your throat.

Kuroo glanced over at you worriedly, “Hey (Name), are you feeling okay?” He asked as he leaned closer towards you as you swallowed thickly. “Yeah, I’m fine..”

Kuroo sat back unsatisfied but he didn’t want to bother you anymore so he watched you from his desk carefully all the way until the end of the day. 

Packing up his books and pencils, he glanced over at your slow and weak form as you coughed quietly and cleared your throat before you stood up and walked to the door. 

“Going home (Name)?” Kuroo asks and all you could muster up was a nod before you felt yourself tumbling towards the door. “(Name)!” Kuroo reached out and grabbed you quickly from falling and you fell to your knees holding your throat coughing violently.

“Petals? (Name), can you breathe?” Kuroo asks and you shook your head. Worried filled him and he placed his arms underneath your knees and supported your back as he ran into to the nurse’s office to find you help. 

“She’s having trouble breathing, I think she was coughing up petals but I can’t be sure,” Kuroo says as he sets you on the bed, the nurse standing up to observe your ill state.

“Petals? I’ve seen this plenty of times. She must have hanahaki.” The nurse brings her stethoscope to your chest to hear your breathing better. 

“Hanahaki? What’s that?” Kuroo asks and the nurse glances over at him, “Flowers and petals bloom in the throat from unrequited love.” 

Kuroo’s eyes widen from her statement before you turned to the side to cough violently; petals and flowers falling from your lips. His eyes narrow at the familiar flowers before he opens up his bag to reach for the bouquet of flowers from the morning.

They were the same flowers.

A few minutes later your breathing had come back to normal and the nurse gave Kuroo a small talk about what to do if you had trouble breathing again before she left the room for the two of you.

Kuroo sat in the chair beside you with a frown as he held the bouquet in his hands. your eyes were closed and your brows knitted tightly as Kuroo let out a sigh. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your eyes opened and you glanced over at him with the bouquet, “Tell you about what?”

“That these flowers are from you, that you have hanahaki because of me.” Your eyes glanced down and your lips curved downward, “I didn’t want to be rejected or hurt.” 

“You’ve just ended up hurting yourself more in the long run.” He responded and you sighed, playing with your fingers. Long silent minutes passed and you looked up at Kuroo, his eyes meeting yours, “Did you at least notice me though?”

“Huh?” 

“You know, what the note said?” Kuroo thinks back to what the note said and he let out a chuckle, “I’ve been noticing you, I just didn’t know it was you. You could’ve at least told me, I could’ve prevented this from happening.”

“How?” You asked before Kuroo leans down to plant a kiss onto your forehead, “By taking you on a date.”

rlnerdgirl  asked:

"Are you fucking insane!?" Sterek

“Are you fucking insane?” Stiles screeches at Derek as he rounds his jeep.

“I wasn’t going to leave them,” Derek stands his ground on this.

“I mean clearly, I get that.” Stiles huffs and opens the back of the jeep so Derek and put the wolf cubs on the blankets there. “But, dude, at least call me first so I can have like something ready for what looks like an entire litter of wolf cubs.”

“Their mom was shot.” Derek answers by way of explanation.

“Alright so,” Stiles rubs his hand over his face. “I am going to need curly fries and a mocha milkshake if we are going to become experts in wild life rehebilitation in an evening.”

“Okay.” Derek answers with a small smile.

“And call Deaton while I drive. They are all getting check ups today!” Stiles calls out as he rounds the Jeep again to the driver’s side door. Derek climbs into the back so he can hold the wolf cubs in his lap as they drive. 

You know what they say. Once you write fic you’re in too deep.

“You did what?!” Lucien didn’t know if he should laugh or scream at the boy infront of him. The other boy glared, “You heared me.” He said and Lucien couldn’t help cracking a smile, “Okay,” he said, “You got yourself a tatt by some shabby person instead of asking me where you can get one made properly, am I getting this right?” Ernest avoided eye contact, but nods, a clear pout on his face. “And now you are worried it might have caught an infection.” Lucien continued, Ernest still was avoiding his gaze, “ And you want me to look at it because you don’t want your dad to know.” Ernest didn’t response and it took Lucien’s entire will power to not end up laughing at- or hitting the boy .

“Honestly, you are such an idiot.” Ernest glared at him but didn’t reply, which surprised him honestly, normally Ernest would jump on the chance to have a argument with him. Lucien reflected on the last couple of days and now that he thought about it, the other boy has been acting rather jumpy lately. How long has he been in pain he wondered.

“Dude, seriously. Just tell your Dad and go to a doctor.” Ernest looked actually paniced now, “Please you can’t tell him! If he finds out he will think I’m irresponsible!” Lucien just stared for a moment in silence, wondering, as he does so often, if this boy lives in another realm of reality or if he truly could be that stupid. “You are. I got my tatt from Kyle, his dad’s doing this shit professionally and he has done it for half the school, he knows his shit.” His dad still scolded him about having it done by a teenager instead of consulting him and having a professional do the job, but really, he isn’t as stupid as to let a stranger who does tattoos for minors lay hands on him.

Ernest apparently was though.

“Please Lucien! If he finds out he might take away Dutches!” Lucien paused, Ernest loves that dog, anybody could tell that losing her would completely destroy him. Lucien himself couldn’t form a attachment to the dog, his alergies preventing him from truly getting close to her. But he knew Ernest was a lot less irritating due to her and quiet a bit happier.

Lucien hesitated a bit longer before finally giving in. He knew he would regret this later on but whatever.

“Okay gee, just show it to me already.” He said and the other boy suddenly turned a interesting shade of red. “Um you know, on second thought…” he trailed of and Lucien seriously was losing his patience. Lucien grabed the bottom of his friends hoodie and forcefully took it off, ignoring his friend’s complaints. He turned Ernest around, looking at the other teen’s right shoulder where the tattoo was located, Ernest has been avoiding contact with that site the last few days. He stared at it for a long while, feeling quiet a bit dumbfounded by the image on Ernest’s back.

It was a heart with a banner which said “DAD” in bold letters.

“Not. A. Word.” Was hissed out by Ernest who Lucien could tell must be feeling fairly embarrassed. Lucien bit back any comment he could have made, knowing it probably would earn him a bloody nose again. To be honest he actually found this tattoo kind of endearing, almost cute even. Not that he would ever tell Ernest that.

“When did you have this thing done?” He asked, looking at the red swollen edges. “A week ago.”

“And it still hurts?”

“Would we be here if it didn’t?!”

Lucien stayed silent, he tried to remember what Cassie, one of his friends, did when her tattoo got an infection. If he was right she put some special cream on it and cleaned it a lot? He probably should look that up….or drag Ernest to a doctor.

“Why did you got that thing in the first place?” He asked, he actually was curious, Ernest never showed any particular interest in them after all and Lucien really had a hard time wraping his head around this entire ordeal. Ernest grumbled something under his breath, “What?” Lucien asked and Ernest, rather reluctantly, repeated what he said.

“I tried to impress someone.”

Oh. Lucien wouldn’t lie, that did feel like a punch in the gut. He and Ernest have known eachother since kindergarten and his crush on the other boy has been a on and off thing that never really went away fully. That was the first time he heared Ernest talk about liking somebody, normally he would keep stuff like that to himself. He is very bad with feelings after all. “Please say something, this is getting too awkward.” Ernest spoke up again. “O-oh. Yeah. Um. I’m pretty sure it’s infected.” The other boy let out a groan, Lucien sighed.

“Why this tattoo?” He asked, Ernest’s relationship with his father was complicated, he loved him, sure, but he wasn’t one to voice it or show it a lot. “I wanted the name of the person I wanted to impress on it first but then I realized if he rejects me I would run around with a reminder of my first heartbreak for the rest of my life.” Lucien frowned.

“Your first?! Like ever?!” He asked, shocked by this new revelation, “Dude, don’t tell me that’s your first crush.” The other boy didn’t reply and now it really stung. He ignored the unreasonable feeling of envy he had for that person he didn’t even know and pat around the swollen red edges of Ernest’s tattoo, that caused him a gasp of pain. Yup, this thing was infected alright.

“Do you have a fever?” He asked, “Huh?!” Lucien shaked his head as he reached for Ernest’s forhead. It didn’t feel particularly warm. Good, it wasn’t a dangerous infection…yet, he thinks at least. “Was it at least effective?” He asked, wanting and at the same time not wanting to know the answer to that question. “H-he didn’t seem very impressed by it.” Ernest admitted dejectedly. Lucien felt guilty about being happy over that information, he really did, but it wasn’t like he could help how he feels, he probably wouldn’t feel so awful if he could.
After a few more seconds of examining the Tattoo Lucien let out a sigh. He steped away from his friend, “This thing is infected for sure.” He declared and Ernest let out a noice that came close between a groan and a kicked puppy. It was kinda adorable.

“I will talk to my dad. He will tell your dad to chill and make sure you guys keep the Dutches. Put your hoody back on we are going to a doctor.” Lucien reasured him. “Really?” Ernest looked hopeful. “Yeah. Even if he fails, I’m sure we can mobilize the other kids to overthrow the adult authority and crown the Dutches as the new ruler of Maple Bay.” That earned him a laugh, “Amanda would be proud.” Ernest played along. Lucien smiles, “That’s one of the best compliments one can rescive.”

With that they exited the basement together, “Next time you want to impress someone,” Lucien said, “Try stuff like flowers first.”

“I love you” he whispered softly in my ear.
his breath made me shudder.
his voice stroked me gently, is that what heaven sounds like?
he smelled like a beautiful sunny day, he looked like the sun itself.
And his smile! Oh his smile! his dimples are like a gate that sweeps you into a secrete place.
—  Rom
#62: Girls can’t drive, plain and simple. - BARON CORBIN

Originally posted by rezny

So here is a Baron request I received from an anon. I don’t know much about bikes so I used what I found from an article online so I’m sorry if it’s not accurate. I don’t know the first thing about driving a bike. Also Tumblr hates me and my tags aren’t working. Thanks to @monsteramongmen-tamer for helping me come up with an idea for this one! Hope you guys enjoy! xxx


“Can I drive it?” You asked Baron as you looked over at him with a hopeful smile.

“What? No.” He said shaking his head.

“Why?” You asked.

Girls can’t drive, plain and simple. You’re not driving my bike.” He said.

“Oh C'mon, it’s not like I’m going to wreck it.” You said.

“Have you ever even driven one?” He asked.

“Umm, not exactly…”

“You want to drive my bike and you’ve never driven one? Hell no!” He said.

“C’mon Baron! You can teach me.” You said as you wrapped your arms around his torso looked up at him with the puppy dog face. “Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“No.

“Please!”

“Fine,” he sighed.

He reached for the helmet hanging on the handlebars and carefully placed it on your head before tightening the strap under your chin. He then walked over to the coat rack where he kept his riding jackets for both of you. He slid his own jacket on before grabbing yours. He held it up for you as you slid your arms into it. He then spun you around so that he could reach down and slowly zip it.

“You look so sexy, baby.” He smirked as he took in your appearance.

You smiled back at him before you swung your leg over and climbed onto the bike. Baron positioned his large body on the bike behind you.

“Can’t believe I’m letting you do this,” he mumbled to himself.

“Think of the positives. It gives you an excuse to hold onto me.” You said as you turned your head to look at him.

“Okay so let’s go over the basics. Your right hand is responsible for the throttle and the brakes. Twist the grip towards you to apply the throttle.” He said as he reached out and put his hand over yours. “A little goes a long way, so go easy, okay? This lever here is the brake, but don’t yank it too hard or the front brakes will lock up. Your right foot controls the back brakes. When you want to stop, apply the rear brake first then ease off and slowly apply the front brake.” He said. “Got it so far?”

“Throttle, brake, brake. Got it.” You said.

“Okay, the clutch is the lever on the left. When you squeeze it you’re basically putting the bike in neutral. When you let go, you’re engaging the engine and transmission. Pull it slowly.” He reached out and put his other hand over yours as he showed you how fast to pull on the clutch.

You nodded as you listened to his instructions.

“Okay, now we need to teach you how to shift. You shift by moving the lever under your left foot up or down. Use the clutch every time you shift. Start by disengaging the clutch, then shift gears slowly and re-engage the clutch. Why don’t you do it a couple times for practice?” He said.

You practiced shifting a couple times and Baron nodded in approval.

“Okay, let’s turn it on.” He said. He reached forward and flipped the kill switch to the “on” position, and then turned the key. You felt the bike rumble to life beneath you and you felt butterflies start to build in your stomach. You were really going to do this.

“You ready?” He asked as he gripped your hips after about a minute had passed to let the bike warm up and idle.

You took a deep breath and nodded.

You pulled the clutch lever, pressed the shifter to first gear, released the clutch slowly, and started to feel the bike move forward. You twisted the throttle gently, just like Baron had told you to do. You felt the bike gain some momentum as you moved down the driveway.

You did a couple loops around the neighborhood, that way you were going slow and Baron could step in if he needed to. After a few laps around the neighborhood, you felt like you had the hang of it. So you decided to head out of town on the highway.

“You’re doing great, baby,” Baron said as he wrapped his arms around your waist. That caused a smirk to form on your lips.

You had been driving on the highway for awhile when an idea popped into your head. You twisted the throttle back, revving the engine and sending your ass into his crotch.

“Oomph,” you heard Baron groan as you rubbed against him. You couldn’t help but notice the bulge in the front of his jeans.

“You okay big guy?” If only he could see the smirk on your lips.

“Y-yeah.” He stuttered. “I’m good.” You felt him reach down and adjust himself before wrapping his arms back around you.

100 Quote Prompts: Part 19- Keep Your Friends Close, and Enemies Closer

“Name one thing I’m bad at. Ha– you can’t, can you?”

“No, I can’t name a single thing.” Dark scowled. “I can name several.”

Wilford’s smile dropped, and he went back to flipping his knife over in his hand. “It’s not as if you’re perfect yourself, Darky.”

“Sorry, what did you just call me?!” Dark rose from the pile of boxes he was sitting on, as elegantly as if from a throne. The TV droned on in the background, sending flickers of light across the room. The windows were dark– it might have been 9pm, might have been 3am.

“Calm down,” Wilford said, not even looking up at him. “You’ve existed for what, four months? Seven videos? A livestream?” He scoffed, running a careless had through his hair, turning the fauxhawk into a careless mess. “You’re still a figment. No match for Wilford Warfstache, because Warfstache don’t take no shit from nobody.”

Dark scowled. “That’s rich from someone whose existence has lasted all of a week.”

“I’m a successful journalist and serial killer,” Wilford said, still reclining on the couch, obnoxiously spread over the three available seats, lit only by the light from the TV. “You? The fans love you,” he chuckled, catching his knife, voice suddenly darkening. “But you’re nothing.”

Dark growled, fangs flashing, advancing. Gray smoke began to swirl around the room.


Dark, and for the past week, Wilford, lived in a tiny apartment on the ground floor, under Mark. Dark doubted that Mark was smart enough to figure out that the two of them had been given physical forms, and for the moment, staying close by seemed the most prudent. Keeping Wilford contained was also of the utmost importance.

After all, the saying went, “Keep your friends close, and enemies closer.”

Dark had been steadily gaining power with each day, each video; but was nowhere near close to becoming permanent, much less overpowering Mark. He needed the element of surprise, needed to live in shadow and secrecy until he was strong enough. So far, everything was going to plan.

Well.

Wilford had waltzed past his window a week ago, dressed vividly, talking loudly, tiny firecrackers exploding in the air behind him. Dark, seeing yet another version of himself attracting attention, had little choice but to pull the other figment into the apartment and lock the door behind them. They had the same face– what else could he do?

Wilford, despite having been corporeal for less than a week, was already as powerful as (if not more powerful than) Dark. Dark nursed a healthy amount of jealousy, and couldn’t help but give Wilford a measure of grudging respect; even so, the short week they’d shared together had been one of the worst of Dark’s short life.

And now…


Dark stood over Wilford, still infuriatingly comfortable. On his couch. In his apartment. Watching his TV. (Never mind that he’d possessed the landlord in order to get it. It was his.)

Anger wiped out every other emotion in his mind. The ceiling trembled with the force of his aura whipping around the room, light gray smoke gradually darkening, obscuring the still-playing television. This had happened before, and from vaguely within him came a strand of conscience. Holding him back. Reminding him of the destroyed rooms he’d left in his wake, of chances missed, of control lost.

Control. The word echoed in his mind, but it was already too late. The strand snapped.

“Get out.”

Wilford’s eyes widened a little, seeing Dark standing stiffly above him, rage in every line of his figure, casting a shadow over the couch.

“Woah, boy, there’s no need to get so–”

Dark screamed in fury, pure black smoke emitting from his mouth. Wilford, to his credit, recognized the danger he was in and stumbled: first to his feet, then backing towards the door. The knife now useless on the floor at Dark’s feet.

“Dark–” he was almost pleading now. He had nowhere else to go.

Dark’s figure was changing. His shoulders hulked, nails lengthening into claws, black smoke obscuring his outline. The light of the TV flickered and went out, leaving Wilford in absolute, unnatural darkness.

With a monster.

Wilford screamed, scrambling back towards the door. A fumble. A click. The door was thrown open, and Wilford fell out into the night.

Dark’s laugh echoed out after him, a sinister, maniacal giggle; the door slammed violently closed.

Lights began to flick on elsewhere in the building, and Wilford heard the murmurs of humans stumbling out of bed to check on the noise. His heart pounded in his chest, and he could feel the pulse in the tips of his fingers, in his back where it was pressed into the rough concrete. A gust of wind blew over him, cold, and he shivered.


Dark woke up on the floor of his apartment, cheek pressed into the carpet. He blinked, lifting himself up with a groan. Every muscle in his body seemed to have its own kind of ache, and the shirt and jeans he usually wore were in tatters.

A look around the room confirmed his suspicions: the couch was overturned, the TV screen cracked, and smears of black gleaming in the rays of sunlight on the walls. A hurricane had hit the room, and Dark sat on his heels in the eye of the storm. Alone.

A few moments passed, and Dark gathered the presence of mind to stand up. He walked around the tiny, three-room apartment, checking first the bedroom, then the kitchen. No Wilford.

Dark took a minute to curse himself. Standing in the bathroom, stained with the anger of past late nights, he stared down his own cracked reflection. Wilford was gone, doing who-knows-what, probably too scared to ever return on his own. As much as Dark hated him, Wilford couldn’t be left to his own devices. He was a danger to others, a danger to Dark’s plans. Maybe even a potential asset– but he was gone, and Dark avoided his own eye. This was his fault. Everything was his fault.

He couldn’t help it. He looked up. And there was Mark in the mirror, smirking back at him. Laughing. Mocking. Pitying.

Another crack added itself to the mirror with a noise like a gunshot, and Dark forced himself to turn away. There were other things he had to do just now, and quickly.


Dressed in a clean black shirt and whole jeans, Dark stepped out of the apartment. He locked the door quickly, and looked around. No one had seen him. Wishing he’d perfected the technique of turning invisible, Dark slipped out towards the center of the apartment complex, Wilford’s knife stuffed in his back pocket.

He rounded a corner, still in the shadows, and heard someone call his name.

No, not his name.

“Mark!”

Dark’s heart pounded in his chest– what he figured was the equivalent of a heart, anyway– as someone rounded the corner. Someone tall, taller than him, and in cargo pants.

Dark jumped over the hedge between him and safety and let his aura engulf him, a ringing in his ears, fading into a shadow against the wall. The darkness of his aura was comforting, a deep, reassuring pressure surrounding him. Nothing could find him in here.

A human he recognized as one of Mark’s companions– Wade– walked past him, looking confused.

“Mark?” he said again, tentatively. He looked around again, staring right at Dark, but seeing nothing.

Finally, Wade shrugged, and Dark, hidden, breathed. As Wade walked away, presumably upstairs to see Mark, Dark held his breath and sidestepped along the wall until around a corner and out of sight.

With a gasp, he let his aura dissipate. Too close. Too close. Dark shook his head, still trying to fight down the panic in his chest. Control. With any luck, he wouldn’t see anyone else that recognized him, and neither would Wilford.

“Oh, there you are! Hey, Mark, what’s with the pink?”

No such luck.


Wilford had ran as fast as he could through the night, desperate to get away from Dark, from the sweeping flashlights of the neighbors. The farther he’d gotten from the apartment, the weaker he’d felt. He had reassured himself: it was cold, he was tired; but eventually, he fell to his knees, too spent to keep going, the gate of the apartment complex in front of him. He’d breathed heavily, battling for consciousness, but lost. His head had hit the ground, his body falling behind a bush, and all had gone black.

Now, he was woken by barking dogs and bright sunlight through the leaves above him. Wilford jolted awake, remembering, and scrambled to his feet. He shuddered, and the dirt staining his clothes disappeared.

His first thought was that he should get back– his second, that he should keep running and not stop. Uncertain, he brushed his hands together.

A flash of light, a puff of pink smoke, and Wilford held a pistol finished in pink chrome. He almost dropped it in surprise, blinking.

A voice was talking to him. Telling him to run as far as he could with his newfound power. Another voice, warning of Dark, of the person Dark called Markiplier. Another voice–

“Oh, there you are! Hey, Mark, what’s with the pink?”

Wilford whipped around, stuffing the gun hurriedly behind him. A human, someone he thought he should recognize. His eyes flicked up and down.

Slenderman?

“Mark, what’s up? I was on my way–” The man stopped, looking Wilford up and down. “Are… are we shooting something?”

Not Slenderman. But, a solution had immediately presented itself, and Wilford smiled.

The man– Wade, it clicked– stepped back a foot when Wilford pulled his gun. The handle sat snugly in his palm, as though it had been made for him. The weight, the way the light shone off the barrel, everything about it was perfect. Undeniably Wilford’s.

He drew the gun level with his eyes, pointing it at Wade’s chest. Wade threw his hands up, shaking his head, frozen to the spot.

Wilford squinted and squeezed the trigger.


Dark was running, tennis shoes hitting the pavement at top speed, not even bothering to stay in the shadows. He was getting farther away from Mark, and weaker. The sun was too bright, too hot, and combined, he felt faint.

Just one more push.

He saw something glint in the sun, saw Wade raise his hands in surrender.

Just one more leap.

With a thump of his shoes and a tiny, imperceptible swirl of smoke, Dark launched himself into the air towards Wilford, knocking the two of them to the ground, the gun clattering as it fell.

Wade staggered back in shock. His best friend just pointed a gun at him. His best friend had just been tackled by a monochrome version of himself. Mark–

Dark sat up, panting, on top of Wilford. Wilford looked up at him, dazed. Recognizing Dark, his eyes widened.

“Dark–”

Dark glared, poisonous, brandishing his fangs in a grimace that warned Wilford to be quiet. “Shut up. You’re messier than I am, Warfstache.”

Wilford, for once, fell silent. Dark got up quickly, looking at Wade. He was backing up slowly, shaking his head.

“I’m going crazy. This isn’t happening. No, no, no.”

Dark didn’t bother explaining, only sprang forward to stop Wade from getting away. He closed Wade’s wrist in an ice-cold grip.

“Now,” Dark said, mustering his strength, leaning up to stare Wade in the eye, “where were we?”

“Dark,” Wilford panted from the ground, shaken, “you can’t kill–”

“Oh, I can. But I can do it a lot cleaner than you can, don’t you think?” he crooned at Wade, his aura muting the human’s cries for help.

Wilford finally staggered to his feet, the gun back in his hand, hanging limply at his side. “No, Dark.” His voice was fainter than before, but more controlled. More commanding.

“And who’s going to stop me?” Dark sneered, pulling Wade’s wrist, cruelly, as he struggled, soundless.

“There’s a better way,” Wilford said, stepping forward. He grasped Wade’s other wrist in his free hand, bringing the gun up to his forehead.

Dark smiled at Wilford for what felt like the first time. “I like your style–”

The sickening crack of a pistol whip, and Wade fell unconscious to the ground. Wilford tucked the pistol back into his waistband, avoiding Dark’s eyes. “Let’s get him back to the gates. I have a plan.”

Dark, more curious than angry, helped Wilford pull Wade’s body towards the gate.

“Of all people,” he sneered, needling, “I didn’t expect Wilford Warfstache to be afraid of killing a harmless human.”

“I’m not afraid,” Wilford muttered, propping Wade up against the gate. “Just not bloodthirsty.”

Dark afforded Wilford a snort, stepping back to watch his ‘plan’ unfold.

Wilford squatted in front of Wade, almost nose-to-nose. He snapped his fingers, and Wade jolted awake, babbling in incoherent fear.

“Hey, hey,” Wilford said, holding his chin in place. “Look at me.”

Dark craned his neck, curious despite himself, trying to see what Wilford was doing.

There was a flash of magenta light, and Wilford spoke soothingly, still holding Wade’s face inches from his own. Dark gasped a little, watching Wade’s limbs go slack.

Wilford snapped his fingers, and the light disappeared. He straightened up, a little wobbly on his feet. Wade sat, slumped, eyes closed. Dark caught Wilford, steadying him, and looked down at Wade.

Dark battled to keep the awe out of his voice. “What did you do?”

Wilford huffed a little, recoiling from Dark'a touch, but so unsteady that he leaned on Dark’s arm anyway. “He won’t remember anything.”

“How–” Dark succumbed to a wave of emotion. Anger? Hatred? …Jealousy?

“He’ll wake up in a minute,” Wilford said, shuffling. “We should go.”

Dark turned away from Wilford and stalked back down the sidewalk. Wilford staggered, but caught himself, then followed. As he got closer to the apartment building, closer to Mark, he felt his strength returning in waves. He watched Dark’s back straighten in front of him as they walked.

He’d only existed for a week, a handful of days, but there was something he enjoyed about having a body. It was grounding, and held endless promise. Wilford smiled to himself, mustache twitching. Endless promise, but for what?

Dark had made it very clear that he was out to get their creator, and his influence. He was all about control, Dark. Wilford took the sun-soaked walk back to the apartment to think.

By the time they’d reached the door, Dark fiddling with the keys, he had an answer. He remembered the fear in Wade’s eyes when he’d pulled the gun, the rush of exhilaration at seeing both Dark and Wade angry. He reached a hand back to brush the beautiful pistol in his waistband, and his face broke into a smile. Chaos. Murderous, sensational, bubblegum-colored–

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re getting ideas,” Dark leered, finally opening the door. “Dangerous ones.”

Wilford scoffed, brushing past Dark into the apartment, lit by the light filtering through the windows. The door swung shut behind Dark as he followed, leaving the room dim.

Wilford had to admit, as micromanaging as Dark was, he was growing on him. It had been a short week, but Wilford felt as if they were falling into a kind of camaraderie, an easy back-and-forth.

Wilford’s eyes gradually adjusted from the brightness of the outdoors, and he stifled a gasp, seeing the destroyed room. Dark walked up behind him, his proximity sending a shiver through Wilford.

“I suggest you don’t anger me again,” Dark said, voice smooth, a step behind fury.

Wilford swallowed his misgivings. “Not likely, Darkipoo.” Ignoring the sudden chill in the room, Wilford clapped his hands, concentrating.

Dark, behind Wilford, stopped to stare. Illuminated by slanting rays of sunlight, Wilford stiffened, tensing. A beat, a rustle. The couch, with a groan, righted itself; the TV’s screen flickered on, a low drone filling the room; the black smudges over the walls, like desperate handprints that Dark had never been able to scrub or bleach away, faded to nothing. The room smelled like spun sugar.

Dark actively chose to be annoyed, rather than impressed. “How,” he growled, jaw clenched, “did you do that?”

Wilford relaxed his shoulders, suddenly tired. He limply flopped down onto the couch, digging for the TV remote. “No problem, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal.” He tried impressively to be flippant, but came off instead as strained. He flicked lazily through a few channels, pointedly avoiding Dark’s glare.

“I prefer to be called ‘Dark,’ thank you,” Dark finally snapped, stalking over to his abandoned pile of boxes, now stacked neatly.

“What, we’re not buddies?” Wilford raised an eyebrow, addressing the television screen.

Dark sat on one of the boxes, dropping his head into his hands. When he looked up, it was with a cool intensity that managed to catch Wilford’s full attention.

Wilford struggled to keep his eyes on the TV as Dark spoke, struggled to appear as if he wasn’t hanging on Dark’s every word.

“No,” Dark said, voice like flint. “You and I are not buddies, Wilford. I–” he pressed an elegant hand to his own chest, and Wilford was forced to look, “–am perfectly honed malignancy, the de facto counterpart of our creator, the lawful evil that drives the curiosity of my pawns until they succumb to my bidding.”

He cracked a smile, eyes glinting dangerously. From where Wilford sat, facing the TV, Dark was lit from behind. His face was lost in shadow, eyes and teeth reflecting in glimmers. Wilford waved his hand, doing an impressive job of appearing nonchalant.

“You,” Dark continued, smile dropping dangerously, voice rising bitingly, “are nothing more than misdirected chaos.”

The words echoed around the room, the murmur of the television lost in the ring of Dark’s aura. Wilford tore his eyes away from Dark’s, sunken in shadow, and repressed a shudder.

“Why am I here, then?” Wilford said, finding a desperate kind of bravado.

“Oh, that’s the best part,” Dark said, still smiling silkily. “Directing chaos is my specialty.” He’d leaned back, looking far more comfortable balanced on a cardboard box than Wilford felt sprawled across the couch.

Dark was less than satisfied, looking across at Wilford. This vividly pink figment was a wrench in his plans, even if he could be of some use. Obviously, Wilford was getting used to living here. Getting used to him.

He was more of an asset than a liability, Dark conceded. The sheer speed at which Wilford had found, and now, learned to use, his powers was astonishing and if nothing else, promising.

Wilford hated the way Dark looked him over, like a tool waiting to be used. Even so, his presence was almost amicable. Dark had made empty threats before, and he wouldn’t hurt Wilford, especially if he was planning on working with him, would he?

Besides, Wilford mused, he himself wasn’t entirely helpless. As new to existence as he was, he already had a few tricks up his sleeve.

Wilford lounged, lapsing into boredom. Dark sighed, seeing his words sink into Wilford’s thick skull, and clasped his hands behind his head. It had been a long week of push and pull between him and Wilford. Between forcing Wilford to take the couch, reminding him that his corporeal form needed both food and a toilet, and somehow finding time to corrupt Mark’s videos in the midst of it all, Dark was tired.

“Tired?” Wilford looked over at Dark, wiggling his eyebrows, fingers now carelessly caressing his gun.

Dark scowled back, examining his fingernails with altogether too much interest. “Bored.” He suffered a glance at Wilford, eyes lighting on the weapon. With a sigh, Dark unraveled a little, stretching out his feet. “Where’d you get that, anyway?”

“This beauty?” Wilford lifted it, the mid-morning light playing across its shined barrel. He waved a finger at Dark, teasing. “I never give away all my secrets.”

“Hmmph,” Dark grunted, an indignant response.

Wilford flipped the gun over and over in his hands, almost proudly aware of the way that Dark’s eyes were drawn to it. He tossed it a little, catching it by the handle. As if he were a performer of some sacred art in a darkened, hushed theater, rather than himself, sprawled on Dark’s couch, Wilford tossed it again, a little higher, letting the chrome finish catch the light. For all that Dark stared, he might as well have been on stage.

It was a beautiful gun, really, and Wilford’s fingers itched for the trigger.

“What is it that you want?” Dark broke the silence with a low question, letting it hang in the air. Wilford might have plausibly refused to answer, but Dark’s tone was not questioning, not friendly. Rather, the simple query hung as if a rhetorical question.

“I could ask you the same,” Wilford said finally, eyes still on his own fingers.

“I’ve made it very clear what I want,” Dark said, almost snapping. “The channel. Influence. Power.”

“Mm.” Wilford nodded disinterestedly. “Perhaps it’s too early for me to know.”

“Ridiculous. What were you created for?” Dark had perked up a little, showing interest in a conversation with Wilford for what seemed like the first time.

Wilford blinked, unsure. “I’m a performer,” he started, tone wavering.

Dark stopped him with a wave, now leaning towards him with the look of a hunter examining weakened prey. “What were you made to do?” he repeated, looking Wilford fully in the face.

Wilford squinted, gaze hard. “Chaos,” he finally said. “But none of this 'misdirected’ nonsense. I want things. Power. Influence. A platform.”

Dark smiled, looking satisfied. “Then,” he said, standing, “providing you are bored enough, I have a proposition for you.”


Of all the plans Dark had had, deciding to team up with a week-old figment had to have been the worst. Wilford had been enthusiastic to have something to direct his seemingly boundless energy towards, and Dark restrainedly excited for the potential the future held.

This, of course, lasted less than a day.

“Hold still,” Dark snapped, reaching his free hand into his pocket for his keys.

“I caaaaan’t,” Wilford whined, stumbling under the weight of industrial-sized cables and wires, piled high in his arms. “I have to go to the bathroom!” He danced from foot to foot, shadow lengthening in the setting sun.

Dark shifted his own, smaller bundle of cables under his arm and sighed, fumbling with the doorknob. “Shut up.”

The door opened, and Dark ushered Wilford through first so he could lock the door carefully behind them. Wilford dumped his package of twisted metal onto the couch and ran, nearly tripping on his way to the restroom.

Dark followed more slowly, sitting down in the center of the floor. They’d been to the dump at the edge of the apartment complex twice, collecting bits of metal and wire, finally uncovering cables and rebar from a nearby construction site. Now, Dark picked up a few bits and pieces of their treasure and began to wind them together.

By the time Wilford had returned from the bathroom, night had really fallen, and Dark was nearly done with his creation.

“What’re we making?” Wilford exclaimed, sitting cross-legged across from Dark. “Frankenstein?”

For once, Dark didn’t reply scathingly. Instead, he held up his creation with a kind of cold pride. “Close,” he drawled, inviting Wilford to examine it.

To Wilford’s eye, it seemed unimpressive. Dark had twisted together several couplings and cables into a messy Y-frame– on each end, a sprig of loose wires and clamps.

“What is it?”

“You’ll find out,” Dark smirked. Outside, right on schedule, it was beginning to drizzle.

A hour later, Wilford, too, was rethinking his decision to ally with Dark. He stood on the roof of the apartment building, soaking wet, lugging Dark’s contraption. Dark, equally wet, was bent over something on the side of the roof. Wilford staggered over, afraid to drop something.

“What’re you doing?” he yelled over the pounding rain, struggling to stay upright. The drizzle from earlier had evolved into a storm, complete with lightning and thunder. Looking up, Wilford could see the clouds swirling, a familiar sight near Dark’s gray aura.

“We’re shorting out Mark’s power!” Dark laughed, high-pitched and insane, and Wilford shivered– It had nothing to do with the November chill in the whipping air.

Dark took the Y-frame he’d built from Wilford, hooking one end to the exposed wiring that he’d identified as Mark’s.

He looked at Wilford, mischievous, even with rain pouring down his face. “D'you trust me?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Well, you’re going to have to.” Lightning shot through the air, close by. Dark grinned, taking a moment to look up at the tumultuous sky. This was, he acknowledged, dangerous. This was borderline insanity.

But then again, what did he exist for?

Deftly, Dark looped the other two exposed wires around each of his arms. Wilford stared, mustache dripping. A crack of thunder.

“What I need you to do,” Dark said, quickly, “is to unhook this as soon as the power goes out. That is, unless you want to room with a pile of ash.”

“I– What?” Wilford sputtered, shaking water out of his face. He wasn’t sure that he’d heard Dark over the howling wind. “But– You said you planned this ages ago! When I didn’t exist!” Wilford crouched next to Dark, eyes flashing between the wires and Dark’s smile. “Who would unhook you then?!”

Dark laughed, and there was a close flash of lightning to illuminate his face. Mania in his eyes. “This is what i was made to do.”

The following thunder sent Wilford reeling back, away from both Dark and the steadily sparking contraption he’d hooked himself to. “Are you sure about this?” he started to yell, but it was too late.

The next strike of lightning hit Dark’s outstretched arms, and Wilford could see the flash of light move through him, to the wires, to the apartments below.

The power wasn’t out, but Dark was screaming. Smoke– not his aura, but real smoke– rose from his arms, and even crouched in safety, Wilford swore he’d never eat barbecue again. He watched Dark spasm wildly, limbs jerking, but never breaking free of the wires.

The power still wasn’t out, but Dark– Wilford realized, with a jolt– was dying.

Wilford didn’t think, rushing forward. He had to unhook him, had to get there before it was too late, shorting out Mark’s power be damned– almost unnoticed, his skin began to glow with a soft pink light. Wilford had a split-second to realize what he was about to do, laying his hands on the sparking, shaking metal.

The second passed, and he held the Y-beam in steady hands, the cables warm, but not hot. Electricity– or something like it– flowed through him, and Wilford suddenly understood Dark’s lust for power.

For the moment that Wilford held the lightning-sparking rod, he felt something akin to adrenaline spike through him. For a second, just a second, he felt that he had the strength to move mountains.

With the screech and creak of ripping metal, Dark’s creation fell apart in his hands with the ease of wet tissue paper. Dark had the strength to scream in agony one last time, arms still tangled in wires, but not attached to the building anymore. He fell back, and Wilford caught him with a free arm, pink glow fading as the cables fell from his hand.

Wilford stood on the roof of the apartment building for a moment, holding Dark’s limp form in a French dip, rain still pouring down on them. The wires, abandoned, sparked sadly, fizzling against the raging wind and water. Thunder clapped above them. Wilford, looking down at his friend, had never felt more alone.


Dark came to consciousness slowly, his senses returning one by one. As he remembered the night before, the light and pain, he clenched his eyes shut– almost afraid to witness the aftermath.

The first thing that he noticed was the bed beneath him: his own, of course, head pillowed, blankets softly pulled over him. Wilford must’ve brought him back.

He was in his bedroom, then. Through his closed eyelids, he could tell the room was dark. He couldn’t guess at the time– how long had he been out? What had happened on the roof? His mouth tasted like metal.

Dark heard a quiet shuffling enter his room.


Wilford had dragged Dark downstairs in a blind panic, still tangled in cables, feet thumping at every step. Dark was unconscious, and it seemed that his control over his aura was gone– the gray mist had darkened to black, swirling and biting at Wilford. There was a ringing in his ears.

On the last flight of stairs, just as Wilford had been thanking his stars for not running into anyone, he’d heard footsteps. Wilford had frozen on the spot, envisioning the end. Dark’s aura, still snapping like a rabid dog, had enveloped them.

Wilford couldn’t breathe, then, trapped in inky blackness. Dark’s aura was like a straitjacket, squeezing, suffocating. As if though a veil, he saw a gaggle of humans rush past them, heading for the roof, dressed in blue.

Maintenance. A voice, not unlike Dark’s, had whispered in his ear.

The humans’ steps receded, and Wilford gasped for air. The stairwell was suddenly too bright, Dark’s skin too pale. The rest of the wires gently fell to the floor. Wilford, coming to his senses with the air of being dunked in cold water, had thrown himself down the remaining stairs and down the hallway to their apartment. The aura had followed like a cloud, trailing, ringing diminished.

Finally, Wilford had had the luxury of setting Dark unceremoniously on the ground to rifle through his pockets. The keys, hot to the touch, had burned his fingers when he found them. Wilford hadn’t noticed, intent on getting Dark home.

He’d been surprised that he’d had the presence of mind to relock the door once getting them inside. Safe, Wilford had taken a moment to breathe. Dark, crumpled on the floor, had gasped for air in short, shaky breaths, and Wilford had remembered the danger he was still in.

It had been to bed with Dark, then, Wilford re-ripping the black shirt and jeans as he’d wrestled Dark’s prone form into a comfortable position. With a cold rag on Dark’s forehead and the door barricaded with several chairs and boxes, Wilford had collapsed on the couch.


Wilford woke up, feeling as if he’d just run a marathon. He took it upon himself to blink the sleep hastily out of his eyes and run to check on the apartment– first Dark, now breathing steadily, aura back to its usual gray; then the kitchen, innocuous; and finally the living room, sofa still indented from his sleep, door still barricaded by a chair and a few haphazard boxes.

Wilford took a second glance at the door to make sure it was locked, and saw a square of paper, folded and torn, shoved underneath. He looked around despite himself, his knife still loosely held in his hand. Wilford huffed, finally, and picked it up.

NOTICE TO ALL RESIDENTS:
A POWER SURGE OCCURRED LAST NIGHT BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 11PM AND 2AM. THE POWER DID NOT GO OUT: HOWEVER, FOR YOUR SAFETY, MANAGEMENT SUGGESTS THAT YOU ENSURE THAT ALL PLUGGED-IN ELECTRONICS ARE IN WORKING ORDER.

THANK YOU.
MANAGEMENT.

Wilford crumpled the paper in his hand. Dark’s failure was an issue for another time. Right now, Wilford just had to be sure that he’d be all right, and have a talk with him about his recklessness.

Speaking of Dark…

There was a slight movement from the bedroom, and Wilford shuffled over to see Dark beginning to stir. He’d be angry, no doubt– Wilford figured he’d might as well fave the music, stepping inside and shutting the door quietly behind him.

The room was dim, curtains drawn over the afternoon light slanting through the windows. Dark wasn’t nearly as pale as he’d been last night, and Wilford almost smiled, sitting down on the bed beside him.

Dark’s eyes opened slowly, reluctantly, at the weight on the mattress.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Wilford teased, wiggling his mustache.

Dark said nothing, looking blearily at Wilford, eyes narrow.

“You slept for a while,” Wilford said, trying to sound confident. “I-I was worried.” He lapsed into silence, watching Dark’s chest rise and fall, avoiding his eyes. “Are you hurt?” he asked, gaze flicking up to meet Dark’s.

Dark took a deep breath, finally conscious. He began to sit up, and Wilford sprang to help him, genuine worry finally springing to his eyes.

Dark scowled. “I’m fine.”

Wilford stepped back, uncertain, as the ringing in the room rose to a peak. Dark shifted, bare chest and arms slipping from the covers. With a barely-concealed wince, Dark settled himself against the headboard.

Wilford didn’t bother to hide his emotions, cringing as he saw Dark’s arms. The wires had left their mark, scorched black lines winding their way up his pale arms, ending in tell-tale lightning-bolt veins. Wilford’s eyes followed the intricate lines, burned skin already peeling to give way to oozing, inky blood.

Dark scowled, again, folding his arms into the sheets. “I’m fine,” he repeated, challenging Wilford to meet his eyes, defiance in every line of his body.

Wilford sighed a little, remembering himself. “You’re obviously not fine,” he snapped, looking straight at Dark, eyes burning with an intensity to match his. “You nearly died, that was such a stupid idea–”

Dark interrupted. “I said,” for the third time, “I’m fine.”

Wilford looked at him, a little hopeless, a little incredulous. Determination renewed. “What kind of reckless idiot,” he started, swinging his hands in the air, knife nearly flying out of his grasp.

Dark reached for the crumpled square Wilford had dropped as he ranted, muscles shaking with the effort of lifting a sheet of paper.

“…bring you home,” Wilford was saying, volume increasing, “and put you to bed, and see my friend nearly die– what is WRONG with you?!” he finally finished, arms dropping.

Dark was staring down at his lap, and in the dimly lit room, Wilford could barely see.

Wilford leaned forward to shake Dark’s arm, scolding him. He jumped a little at the unnatural warmth of Dark’s skin, the wounds gaping beneath his hand, and drew back.

“What is wrong with you?” he repeated, squinting. “You risked everything, it’s like you don’t care if you–”

Dark raised his head, cutting Wilford off with a glare. Suddenly, the room was darker, vibrating with a strange ringing–

“Was it something I sa–” Wilford stopped, looking at Dark’s lap. A white square of paper, folded and torn from someone stuffing it under their door.

“Now, don’t get upset,” Wilford started, doing his best to prepare for the storm, “but–”

“What did I say?” Dark’s mind had gone white-hot with fury, and he had the strong impulse to incinerate Wilford on the spot. Something familiar held him back. A thread of conscience, a voice not unlike his own murmuring, “Control, control.”

Dark breathed as Wilford stumbled for an answer, excusing himself. “You were dy–”

Pathetic.

“I said,” Dark leaned forward, sheets slipping down his chest again. Cold. Aura ringing. “'Unhook this as soon as the power goes out.’ Now, what did you do?”

This was much more satisfying, Dark decided, watching Wilford shrink and fumble like a scolded child. His anger felt cool in his chest, more like a keenly honed blade than a flailing mace. This was better, yes. He could work with this.

“You expected me to wait until you were reduced to a pile of ash?” Wilford was saying, glaring under a furrowed brow. “You’re hurt enough as it is, what would’ve happened if–”

Dark’s mind slipped a little in anger, and his aura spread out around him, a writhing mass of tendrils and smoke.

“’If?’” Dark sneered, drawing breath. His chest burned as if on fire, and arms ached, but he pulled himself up against the headboard like a king on a throne. “It is not your place to wonder if. You were given directions–”

“As your partner in this crime, I think I can damn well–”

Partner?” Dark almost laughed, fangs flashing in a grin, and his aura pulsed around him, swirling and snapping: as if laughing itself. His chest tightened with the effort. “This is not a partnership.”

The words were meant to bite, and Dark watched their effect with satisfaction.

Wilford, reeling in hurt and confusion, found his voice. “What are we, then?” he demanded, knowing full well that he was hanging on Dark’s words, wrapped around his finger.

“First of all,” Dark said, sitting back, “there is no 'we.’ Second, what do you think we are? Equals?”

Wilford was taken aback by the cruelty of Dark’s sneer. His heart hardened a little, and Wilford gestured to Dark with the tip of his knife. “I thought we were friends.”

The darkening room reverberated, a low chuckle. The walls were beginning to swirl, closing in on Wilford.

Dark adjusted himself, gritting his teeth, and the curling smoke picked up speed. “We are not friends.”

“What, then?” Wilford had to raise his voice against the whipping wind.

The darkness was swirling, bringing a wall of smoke closer and closer to Wilford– for a long moment, the room was obscured, the air sucked out of his lungs, waves of fear washing over him.

Pinpricks of light. Two, where Dark’s eyes should’ve been. Gleaming fangs. A palpable rush of disgust.

The voice echoed eerily, the ringing now nearly drowning it out. “Consider this a warning, Warfstache. This… relationship… that I’ve so graciously facilitated only exists insofar as it benefits me.” The lights blinked, slowly, seemingly smiling. Wilford struggled for breath.

“Consider yourself an ant,” the voice echoed, the room going black. “An ant on the chessboard, desperately trying to understand the game–”

Wilford looked around frantically, eyes straining against the blackness. The hurricane parted, suddenly– he and Dark sat in its eye, Dark glaring at him steadily.

“–without being crushed.”

The room went black.


The rush of power that Dark had felt controlling his hurricane followed him for the next week. It had been his anger: but at his fingertips, like a tool, rather than a chaotic force. At the center of the hurricane, he’d felt in control of not only himself, but the whole world. It was a good feeling to have.

Being a figment, he healed at a supernatural rate– the winding burns healing over quickly, the faint, radiating lightning-bolt scar never really fading from his chest. He was up and walking in a matter of days, without Wilford’s help.

Wilford, with the air of someone who’d been sitting on the branch they were sawing off, was shocked and confused. For the next week, he carefully avoided Dark, who was sweeping about like a king in the three-room apartment.

Instead of helping Dark with his latest hare-brained scheme (or even being in the same room as him, really), Wilford dedicated himself to getting stronger.

Dark had explained this all when he’d pulled Wilford through the door. They were figments, given corporeal forms by the belief of Mark’s fans. Mark, as their creator, was their life force, and they had to stay close to him. The fans were much more important, at least to Dark. Mark’s subscribers’ perceptions of them dictated the way they were, and how much power they had.

Dark, in the beginning, didn’t even have fangs. Some artists decided he did–as the idea was popularized, Dark’s teeth lengthened.

With each video, they were cemented further into the fans’ heads. Dark relished the spotlight, constantly trying to get into new videos and get more powerful. Wilford, having just the one video, was still figuring out how to edge himself into Mark’s life. As far as he knew, Dark just showed up in the form of nightmares and blackouts, making Mark’s life a living hell. He got videos out of it, and power– but at what cost?

Wilford took to watching Mark’s old videos, trying to learn more about Dark as well as himself. Mark seemed like an okay guy– boring, sentimental, if anything. Wilford didn’t dare ask Dark why he hated Mark so much, at least not now.


“Where’re you going?”

Dark didn’t respond, shouldering his backpack with an air of finality. Wilford stood up, standing between Dark and the door, the closest they’d been in days.

“Move.” Dark pocketed his phone, finally, and looked Wilford in the eye.

“Not unless you tell me where you’re going.” Wilford slipped his knife out of his pocket, holding it behind his back. It didn’t go unnoticed.

“What’re you going to do,” Dark drawled, “stab me?”

“I might.” Wilford’s fingers twitched.

Dark scowled with the air of a teenager caught sneaking out. “I’m going to see a friend,” he said, finally. “Out in the woods. I’ll be gone a few days. Happy?”

“I guess.” Wilford stepped aside, an odd sense of loss filling him as Dark tied his shoes. “What about being close to Mark?”

Dark didn’t bother to turn around. “As if you care.”

“Of course I care,” Wilford snapped, before he could stop himself. Dark was his roommate, if nothing else, and the two figments were alone in the world.

“I’ll manage.” Dark shot back, opening the door. Closing it behind him, he paused. “You can call me in an emergency. The number and spare keys are beside the phone.” A harsh ring to his voice, and the door slammed behind him.

Wilford was left in the dark, staring after him.


Wilford was beginning to doubt if Dark was ever coming back. It had been days, and there was no sign of him. Nothing had happened, nothing to warrant calling, but Wilford eyed the phone every time he passed it, just the same.

Somehow, new videos were showing up with Dark in them, and Wilford inwardly marveled a little at Dark’s power. Out in the woods, wherever he was, he was still apparently strong enough to haunt Mark’s dreams.

Wilford, taking advantage of Dark’s absence, started experimenting. He teleported himself from the bedroom to the kitchen, the kitchen to the living room, and the living room to, accidentally, a small town in the middle of nowhere. He’d teleported back in a matter of seconds, ignoring the screams.

He appeared in the bathroom in a puff of smoke, blinking in confusion. He took a moment to breathe, examine himself in the mirror. His mustache, usually a vivid pink, seemed paler. He wrote it off as a trick of the light, and 'poofed’ back to the living room.

He got braver.

Wilford was juggling knives through dimensions, or as he termed it, interdimensional kn-uggling (the name needed some work), when there was a knock on the door. The lone knife that hadn’t been 'poofed’ away slipped, and Wilford held his breath to stop from cursing.

He was bleeding, a gash on his hand, blood seeping through. Unlike Dark’s blood, which was black, or human blood, which he knew from movies was red, his blood came out a translucent pink. Wilford didn’t have time to marvel, wrapping his hand hastily in a napkin and rushing to the door, knife in his uninjured hand.

Whoever had knocked was gone by the time Wilford pressed his eye to the peephole, but he spotted a magazine on the ground outside. With a quick glance around to see if anyone was watching, Wilford poofed outside to pick it up.

It was some kind of cult, he decided, turning the flyer over. Symbols, few of which he recognized, and text asking him to 'appear before the light.’ Wilford shrugged, tucking it in a pocket.

He turned on the spot, concentrating– a wave of fatigue crashed over him, and Wilford staggered. Suddenly, he was weak, too weak to stand, let alone phase himself through a solid door.

Wilford leaned his back against the wall, struggling to breathe. Thinking quickly. Was this an emergency? Could he call Dark? The phone was inside, anyway, along with Dark’s number and–

The keys.

A jolt of adrenaline, and Wilford looked through his pockets. Finding nothing but lint and a bit of hard candy, he began to panic. He was locked out. Trapped outside, where anyone could see him. Dark was going to be upset if he came home and saw Wilford slumped against the door, throwing secrecy to the wind.

Wilford popped the candy he’d found into his mouth, breathing finally under control. With the sugar, some strength to his limbs, even his still-throbbing hand.

All he had to do was break in, right? Dark had done it to Mark’s apartment before, how hard could it be?

Wilford gathered himself up, knowing he made a sorry sight with a bloodstained rag around his hand, face pale and sweating. A window. He had to find a window. There were two in the living room, he knew that much. Slowly, he shuffled around the side of the building, a hand on the wall, breathing hard.

A window. Their apartment, no doubt.

Now what?

Wilford leveraged a palm against the glass– it was locked. Obvious, obvious. He looked around for another solution, scanning the ground, then the sky for divine intervention.

A rock.

Wilford gave himself the benefit of hesitating. Messy, a voice like Dark’s whispered.

Wilford mentally shook himself, reaching for the rock. He looked around one last time, looking for anyone around, looking for a sign he shouldn’t be doing this.

SMASH.

Glass flew everywhere, and Wilford grinned. Seeing windows shatter was a special kind of satisfaction, even if it was a bit messy.

Holding his hurt hand gingerly, Wilford slid through the open window. Glass crunched under his feet, and he made a mental note to clean it up before Dark got back. For the moment, he stumbled haphazardly towards the sofa, kicking boxes aside.

This, he thought, settling down, was life without Dark. He existed, figuring life out through trial and error, making his own way. He could get used to this, just as soon as he felt a bit stronger.

The question of his sudden weakness never crossed his mind.

He was trying to transform the apartment into something more livable– Dark, even having moved in months ago, had left boxes everywhere, the walls bare. The apartment existed in simple lines of black and white, and Wilford was profoundly bored with it.

A pop of pink here, he was thinking, screwing up his face in concentration to make it so.

Fatigue had been gnawing at him for days, but had never hit him quite like this. If the falling gray mustache hairs in the bathroom weren’t sign enough, this certainly was.

Wilford gasped, falling to his knees. He knelt in semidarkness, fingers digging into the carpet. He didn’t understand– Dark was gone, and with him, his horrible ringing aura. He should be stronger, especially experimenting with his powers. He should–

With horror in his eyes, he saw his hands beginning to turn transparent.


Dark was thinking of heading back to the apartment soon. He couldn’t leave Wilford alone forever, but these few days without him had been a much-needed respite.

He had expected Wilford to have called by now, panicked over a broken water heater or something similar. Honestly, Wilford’s bumbling impetuousness was something he missed having around, if only to make himself feel superior by comparison. Dark smiled to himself, watching the trees rustle overhead. He’d go back, then, maybe even talk to Wilford a bit. Let him feel comfortable. For a while. After all, they had all the time in the world to be enemies.

Dark’s phone buzzed in his back pocket, and he didn’t feel it.

It was only once he’d said his goodbyes and gotten in his car (that he’d gotten completely legally, of course) that Dark checked his phone.

3 Missed Calls.
From– Home
Time– 12:37pm

Dark cursed under his breath His aura, so well under control these past few days, reared up, a coiled snake. Dark waved it away, squinting at the car’s clock.

1:59pm

Dark felt a deep-set panic start to rise in his chest, and forced it down. Wilford had probably stubbed his toe or something equally insignificant. Probably.

He must’ve called the house phone a dozen times as he sped towards home, knowing that the car was trailed by the smoky cloud of his aura. A police car might’ve started following him at one point, but was lost in the shadow. At this point, he didn’t care.

No one picked up, leaving him with a dial tone and the prompt to record a message. More angry than scared, Dark left a few choice words on the answering machine.

“Fuck you, Warfstache.”

Eventually, the swirls of his aura receded in the rear view mirror. Dark drove in concentrated silence, swerving around other cars. Wind whipped around him, engine rattling, but his mind was on the tiny apartment that he called home.

The drive seemed to take forever. Finally, finally, he skidded to a stop in front of their building. He flung the car door open, cleaving neatly into another car, and bounded out. Dark made sure to lock the car– glaring at the neighboring vehicle as if it had attacked him, rather than the other way around– before hurrying up to his own door.

The cloud of his aura seemed to have not caught up to him yet– Dark was for once, alone, not even the ringing of his own power to comfort him. He pushed the thought aside, fumbling with the keys. His mind was oddly clear, emotionless besides the nagging fear that Wilford had somehow blown their cover.

Stepping inside, the first thing he noticed was the window. Broken: shattered glass and a guilty rock on the carpet. Someone had broken in, maybe. A kid playing, maybe. Dark’s brain worked through the possibilities.

The apartment was a crime scene as Dark stepped through, footsteps muffled by the carpet. He looked for every detail, trying to find the missing piece: the victim. Wilford.

Everything was, as far as he could tell, the way he left it. A few boxes were shuffled, the couch pushed against the wall, showing signs of life. It was as if he’d never left, as if Wilford had never lived here.

Dark tiptoed through to the kitchen, shoes echoing against the tile, looking at the spotless countertops. Wilford had been trying his hand at cooking, but only a few stray pots and crumbs remained in the sink. Dark scanned the counters, then the floor, in pindrop silence.

A spray of blood. Not his, and not human.

Dark knelt to look, examining the rusty pink drops and scratches in the kitchen tile. Wilford had been hurt– but not badly enough to explain three missed calls and a silent apartment.

Well, nearly silent.

As the echoes of Dark’s footsteps faded, there came a weak shuffle from the bedroom. The same nagging panic pulled hard at his throat, and Dark crossed the apartment in quick, measured steps.

He threw his bedroom door open and gasped, despite himself.

The floor and walls were nearly covered with pink splashes that hurt to look at, like residue from a faulty bomb. At the center of the explosion, Wilford.

Dark picked his way over to Wilford as fast as he could, careful not to touch the pooling pink splatters, so unnervingly like blood. Wilford, in stark contrast to the rest of the room, was a washed-out version of himself: mustache gray, skin pale. He looked up at Dark with sunken eyes, silent.

If Dark didn’t know better, he would’ve sworn that he was looking at a mustached version of himself.

“Warfstache,” Dark said, voice as hard as he could make it, kneeling down.

“Dark.” Wilford’s voice was horribly weak, horribly faint. “You’re back.”

“Of course I’m back,” Dark found himself well enough to sneer, looking down at Wilford. “Did you really think I’d leave you to your own devices?”

Wilford didn’t respond, struggling for air. The room was silent, and Dark detected a distant ringing.

“I didn’t think you cared,” Wilford finally managed, chest heaving with the effort of cracking a smile.

Dark ignored the sentiment rising in his stomach. “What happened?”

Wilford gathered enough breath to speak, a pause between words. “I haven’t had… a video.”

Dark knew then, a horrible twist in his gut. “They’ve forgotten about you.” The words came out quickly, bluntly.

Wilford laughed, a dry, terrible sound. “Yeah. Yeah they have.”

“You’re…” Dark half didn’t want to speak the truth, sentence Wilford to his fate.

Wilford did it himself. “…fading,” he finished, a whisper.

Silence again, Dark sitting on his heels, Wilford listlessly staring up at the ceiling. The ringing was getting louder.

“I’ve always considered you a friend,” Wilford started, sickening emotion in his voice. Dark stopped him, an angry hand on his shoulder.

“Shut up. Just, shut up.”

“Dark–”

Dark turned on Wilford, eyes flashing. “You are not dying.” The statement betrayed a harsh depth of emotion, and Dark turned away.

Wilford reached out, arm trembling with the effort, to put a hand on Dark’s knee. Dark looked down, seeing the fabric of his jeans through Wilford’s fingers, hating how light the weight of Wilford’s arm was.

“It’s okay, Dark.”

Dark didn’t respond, watching Wilford’s hand against his leg. The ringing was closer now, inside the apartment, outside the door.

Dark finally screwed up his face, closing his eyes, feeling the weight on his knee disappear. “You would’ve been a great partner,” he said, letting the words drop slowly.

There was a familiar ringing in his ears again, and he opened his eyes to an empty room. Wilford had faded completely, the only lingering trace of him the scent of bubblegum and pools of pink blood around the room.

Dark took a breath. The chessboard was his again, but what was it without an ant to play around? Not messy enough. Too clean, too boring.

The winds of his aura began to bend the room into inky blackness, erasing what was left of Wilford’s existence. Still, Dark knelt on the carpet, heart as empty as it had ever been.

There was a hurricane in the room now, and Dark sat in the eye of the storm.

Alone.

Alex Standall Imagine for Iris-

#56: “Are you flirting with me?”

Originally posted by bullet-for-my-valentine09

You sat there, a bit baffled by the idea that had just come up. “You want me to tutor you in History?” You asked Alex, a bit surprised as he never seemed to struggle before. “Yes, you’re the smartest girl I know. My grade needs to get up in that class or my dad will freak out and I’ll be grounded” he said. You nodded, smiling a bit. “Alright Standall, I’ll tutor you, but on one condition” you say. He looks at you and nods. “You have to focus with me, you can’t have distractions and you have to actually do the work” you smile, he rolls his eyes gently but smiles as well. “I’m not using you to do my work, I just need help remembering the Countries and Capitals.” he smiles. “Thank you though” he says. You nod and smile. “Of course, I’ll see you after school at Monet’s, alright?” You smile, and he nods. “See you at Monet’s” he says. 

You two go separate ways, but you still felt his eyes on you as you walked away. You blush a bit, but brush it off. You go to class and sit down, still a little shocked by the request. You sit through your last class, mostly focusing on what material you would need to go over with Alex. It was a movie day in that class anyways. When the bell rings, you get your things and make your way to Monet’s. 

When you get there, you order yourself a hot chocolate and get the material out that you need. You hear the bell ring and look up to see Alex come in, and you smile and wave. He smiles and comes over, setting his bag down. “Hey Iris, how are you?” he asks, getting his things out. “I’m good, and you?” you ask him, he nods and says good. He goes to order himself a drink and when he comes back he smiles at you. “You know, you look really pretty today” he says, causing you to blush. “Oh thank you” you smile. He nods. “That shirt really goes with your eyes” he smiles. You look down to check what you are wearing. You thank him again and bite your lip to hide the smile forming. “Alright Standall, enough compliments. Let’s get to work” you smile and start with teaching him about South America, showing him a map that you guys got in class. 

He rests his head on his hand a bit, sighing. “Can we take a break?” He asks, looking at you. You chuckle. “We barely even started” you tell him. He smiles. “Just a small break” he says. “I promise that I will be the most amazing student after that” he says. You chuckle and nod. “Fine, let’s take a small break. What do you want to do?” you ask. You look at his eyes and he bites his lip. “Did you know that I can read hands?” he smiles softly. “Really?” you ask, chuckling a bit. He smiles and nods. “Laugh all you want, but it’s true. Let me see your hand” he holds his hand out and you oblige, holding your hand face up on his. He studies your hand a bit and looks at you. “You see this line? That means you really like someone” he says, pointing to it with a small smile. You roll your eyes a bit. “Oh does it? I thought those lines mean you have a long life or something” you said. He shakes his head. “Nope, you’ve been lied to” he shrugs, looking at you. You chuckle. “Do you have that line?” you ask him, smiling. “I don’t know, why don’t you check?” He asks, holding his hand up for you. You smile and trace your finger along the line he says means you like someone. “Looks like you do, who is it?” you ask, smiling. “Oh, just some girl” he says and looks at you. “She’s like good at history and stuff, and her shirt really compliments her eyes” he smiles softly. 

You blush a bit and bite your lip, smiling softly. “I’m sorry, are you flirting with me?” you ask. “Have been for the past year, but thanks” he says sarcastically and smiles at you. You giggle, thinking he’s kidding. “Oh sure Standall” you say in disbelief and roll your eyes. “I’m serious, you’re the coolest girl I know” he says, shrugging a bit. You blush and smile at him. “You know, I kind of like this kid with really blonde hair” you say. He smiles gently. “Oh do you?” he asks. You nod. “Yeah, apparently he is really bad at History” you say, with a slight giggle. He smiles, and before he can get anything else out you look at him. “With that said, we need to get back to work. You promised me no distractions, remember?” you smile. “Okay, but if you are the distraction how is that bad?” he asks, looking at you. You shake your head. “No distraction is a good distraction Standall, let’s get back to work” you smile, watching as he rolls his eyes but smiles.

The rest of the tutoring session was filled with small smiles and flirty comments from both of you, and not so shockingly you learned Alex was actually brilliant at remember the countries and capitals. Yet it was still a very fun afternoon, and you couldn’t wait for the next tutoring session.

Right Place, Wrong Time

Pairing: Sami Zayn x Reader
Summary: Sami has liked you for a while now, so he decides to ask you out…only things don’t seem to go as planned every time he tries.

Originally posted by thearchitectwwe


“Good morning, Sami!” You called from across the hotel lobby.

“Hey, Y/N!” Sami replied, returning your smile as he walked over to you and Kevin. “Hey, Kev.”

“Morning, man.” Kevin told Sami, still half asleep. “I look at this one and wonder how she’s so awake this morning.” He pointed to you.

“That’s because I didn’t sleep very well last night.” You said with a shrug. “So I was up early and got some coffee in me an hour ago.”

“Why didn’t you sleep? You could’ve called me, I didn’t sleep much either.” Sami asked.

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