A/N: Lmaoooo the title is misleading xD but! In the context of the first part of this story, it makes sense lol. So there!
Anyway, here’s the second part of Daddy Devil! There was a lot of positive feedback on the first part, so I figured I’d give writing a second part a shot. Hopefully you all like it!
Consider it a belated Valentine’s Day present~ ;p
Namjoon finds himself standing at the bottom of the regal staircase, face blank and cock grown hard between his legs. The clock on the walls ticks just past 3AM, and the entire house is silent—Hell, for once, seems to have quieted down.
But the thoughts in Namjoon’s brain are loud. The images from his dream continue to play in his head, and he scowls, fingers curling into fists.
Taut, rosy nipples—skin decorated with bruises and hickies. Thighs quivering, lips and chin slick with drool, ass red—but that smirk. That cocky little smirk that only belongs to one girl he’s had the pleasure of attempting to ruin, and that damn smirk belongs to you. A smart little girl in Jungkook’s territory, daring enough to deem him “daddy” and even more bold as to play games in his presence despite the fact that you had been at his complete mercy.
The way you’d reacted and bantered with him had been branded into his mind, and you’d been terrorizing him even though your physical presence in his life was lacking.
And tonight is not the first night you had entered his dreams and made him like this—cock stiff and weeping, his heart thrumming with the need to dominate and make you submit.
Yet…his dependence somewhat scares him, because he doesn’t need you, so instead he turns his frustration elsewhere—stepping forward and throwing open the double doors leading into the Play Room.
Girls are thrown over the couches and chairs, eyes groggily popping open at the sound of someone entering. They’re wearing nothing but collars or piercings, typically not needing clothes when their services are needed by many of Namjoon’s men throughout the day.
Eyes widening, the girls can hardly believe their eyes when they spot that its Namjoon who has interrupted their sleep, and any rude thoughts that had come to mind fly away. They all scramble to their feet, watching as Namjoon looks them over, their mouths already slack as their gaze drops to the tent in his pants.
“Don’t make me ask,” he simply states, voice gruff from sleep, and undresses himself before sitting down in an arm chair. Obedient as always, the girls immediately surround him, hands roaming his tanned skin and their mouths parting to release quiet moans.
Namjoon closes his eyes as they work, eyebrows furrowed as lips caress his neck and chest, a small hand boldly wrapping around his cock. They tug skillfully, a mouth descending to enclose around the head of his length. The wet warmth comforts him, coaxing his orgasm towards the surface, but even so he still feels unsatisfied.
These girls have no voice—no effect on him. They don’t make him cocky—don’t give him a challenge. They’re here to please and nothing more, there’s no feeling behind their actions, no reaction behind what they feel.
When he opens his eyes he sees a girl knelt before him, mouth engulfing his cock, her eyes locked on his, waiting to receive his approval. But that’s all she cares about, making sure the Devil is happy with her work, and that doesn’t get Namjoon off.
It used to, in the drunk hours of the night, but not now.
Now he only sees the girls face and wishes that she could be you—trying your best to please him earnestly, searching for a reward yet also getting off despite the pain. A spicy, yet innocent demon—one that he wants to get his hands on once again.
“Fuck,” he growls, reaching down and shoving the girl off of him.
“Sir?” she asks in surprise, nervousness overtaking her tone. Standing up, Namjoon quickly steps into his pants, cock still hard against his leg, and looks back at the girls. His eyes are dark.
“You all did fine, go back to sleep.”
With that he exits the room and storms up the stairs. When he reaches his private quarters, Namjoon slams the door shut behind him, feet gluing to the floor a few steps inside the room. His eyes lock on the spot where he’d first saw you—hands bound above your head, body bare and utterly perfect.
Hand sneaking beneath the band of his pants, his palm strokes his cock, breath turning shaky as he recalls his memory of that day. Your ass, your lips—the way your pussy had felt around his cock. The way you’d obeyed him yet had made sure to retain your independence with wit, and the thought of your snarky words alone has a growl building in his throat, wrists twisting and his eyes fluttering shut.
He recalls your slicked thighs and quivering muscles as he’d touched you, and his teeth grind, dick aching under his touch. The temptation of your wet, warm walls enclosing him and taking him so wonderfully is what sends him over the edge, a gravelly curse sneaking past his lips as he cums in his own palm, the white substance accidentally painting the inside of his pants as well.
Eyes reopening, Namjoon stares down at himself, eyes burning maroon as confused anger passes through his skull. He doesn’t remember the last time he got off like this—like a blushing virgin boy, jacking off to fantasies in his head. He’s always had people to service him—to do his bidding, to take care of his needs. And the girls eat him up, truly. A chance to pleasure the Devil—what lower level, horny demon would pass the opportunity up?
But now they’re not enough for him, and it’s frustrating to realize that he wants you. God, you of all people—a random demon he hadn’t even known about until two weeks ago. But…fuck, something about you has him yearning for more…
“Fuck,” he growls, running his unsoiled hand through his hair. Namjoon walks forward and steps out of his pants, discarding his shirt on the bathroom floor as he strides into the white-tiled room, hand reaching out to start the shower.
He wants you but he’s not sure if you want to see him again. After all, he’d taken you under his mercy, even if you had enjoyed it (at least judging by the way your body had reacted).
But why should he care about the way you feel? He’s the Devil, he can have what he wants.
So, attempting to push his worries aside, writing it off as an emotion he shouldn’t need to bother with (even though the question of: do you want him like he wants you? remains), Namjoon steps into the steaming shower and decides that the next time you come to his mind he won’t hold back. He’ll come and find you.
Darkness descends upon Hell, the artificial sun fading away. The sky changes shade as the ball in the sky fades from yellow to dimmed white, craters appearing on its surface—a little feature added to mimic the look of Earth’s moon.
Namjoon has always been interested in Earthlings and the way that their world functions, Jungkook muses, nursing the glass of juice the bar tender had passed him. Well—half juice, the other half is vodka, but he hates to drink it straight. He typically despises being teased by his hyungs as the youngest, yet in this instance he’ll resign to his younger age. Sweet drinks are still his favorite.
Taking a swig of the concoction, Jungkook’s eyes shift sideways, head turning as he survey’s the laden bar. Most of the patrons he knows briefly on a name or face basis. It’s his job as the 3rd level guardian to know those he needs to keep tabs on.
However, mixed into the crowd are unfamiliar faces as well—people who are likely from Hoseok or Jimin’s level. It’s rare that anyone from Jin’s or Taehyung’s levels ever comes up for a visit, and typically the high class demons of Namjoon’s domain stay mingled amongst their own rank. And, of course, people from Yoongi’s dusty basement don’t get out much either, or…ever, really.
Sighing, Jungkook turns on his stool and takes another mouthful of his drink. Slyly, his eyes glance to the corner of the room where you and your friends are sitting, chatting away about one thing or another.
A couple days after Namjoon had deposited you back home, you had bumped into Jungkook, slapping your hand against his chest angrily at the way he had treated you before. Jungkook had laughed, taking your hand into his own and bringing it to his lips, apologizing for his actions. “It was too much fun,” he’d said, which had earned him another smack, and then…an invitation for lunch. To talk.
You had wanted to know about Namjoon—what he would do next, if he would come for you again. Jungkook hadn’t been able to supply you with much of an answer. He had no idea how Namjoon would act from here on. To his knowledge, nothing like this had ever happened before. Sure, Namjoon had found plenty of girls over the ages to take into his bed for one night only, but…this was different. That’s what Jungkook sensed from the situation. And his suspicions had only been confirmed when you had—
“Oh, and do you know what this is??” you had asked him, looking around with slightly flushed cheeks before you’d lifted up your shirt, revealing the small, shattered black circle on your ribs.
In speed unmatched Jungkook had immediately reached over, tugging your shirt back in place, his face so close to yours that you had seen the shock in his eyes.
“That’s the Devil’s mark,” he had said, sounding baffled, his voice quiet as he had fallen back into his seat. “I mean…it’s the guardians mark—we each have one—”
Pushing a bit of energy into his palm, Jungkook made his own circular black mark appear.
“What…is it?” you had asked, and Jungkook had bit his lips, brows furrowing.
“It basically…is claim? Well–,” he quickly made to amend his phrasing. “The guardians use these circles as a way to keep track of the people we especially…want to keep an eye on. The mark allows us to sense any extreme emotions—pain, sadness, happiness…ecstasy…”
Your eyes had widened, arms crossing over your chest, and Jungkook had stared back at you, unsure what to say.
A/N: Finally after trying to write all day, I finally got part 2 done. Enjoy more art collector, sugar daddy T’Challa since I know you guys got all these feels going on from the trailer drop yesterday. I know I do. Also, I’m pretty sure I want to do a part 3. Who would be down for that?
You were sitting in your office having a meeting with your
assistant when an intern popped her head to tell you that you had a call from
someone. You apologized to your assistant as you picked up the phone.
So, I’ve gotten quite a large amount of comments asking for a series and for dark lance. And I’ll tell you. I listened. In my own way. So, I present to you a mafia au of our fine blue boy! The Young Prince of the McClain family.
Lance was the youngest of the
family. And he’d proudly say that to anyone and everyone that would listen to
him. Though, he doubted that people really just how much weight that held in
his family, the McClain family. He was the baby of the family. A family that
was… how would it be said? Rather, well known. Famous even, if you knew who to
ask. All the attention just for their small family business. It really wasn’t
too big of deal. Well, not a big of deal for them being one of the biggest
mafia’s in Cuba with connections internationally. Lance was a lucky boy being
the youngest. With all his older sisters coddling him and protecting him, there
was always someone playing with him, or teaching him things. Protecting him
from the big bad world.
Just look at Lance’s first boyfriend,
the mess it was. He’d been an asshole, taking advantage of Lance’s money and
love. Then breaking his heart when he slowly realized just who Lance was. His
sister had not been happy. Lance was hurt.
Luckily, the pain wasn’t so bad that
he couldn’t enjoy painting targets of that jackasses pants and watching his
sisters taking turns with their pipes. He did warn his dear Johnny that his
sisters would bust his kneecaps if he hurt Lance. Johnny had said he’d love
Lance forever… but obviously that was a lie if he was fucking some other girl
on the side. Sweet girl. Lance liked her, he took great pleasure in stealing
her to be his own when Johnny was in the hospital, and remaining her closest
friend when the relationship was broken off.
That doesn’t mean Lance was
completely helpless… they didn’t call him the dark prince for nothing. He was
the young prince of the family, with family members that would protect him with their
lives. They would do anything for him, enjoyed taking care of him and smothering
him in protective love. But Lance was more than capable of taking lives of his
own. Mama didn’t raise someone lazy. And Papa didn’t raise a son who was at the
mercy of his surroundings. He was the hunter, not the prey. Lance was just as
driven and hardworking as his older sisters. And Lance couldn’t help but think
that maybe that was his saving grace. Though, he guessed no one could have
guessed the son of a mafia would be shot into space to fight an intergalactic
war with giant metal space lions.
Hey. He’s seen weirder things
growing up he guessed. His uncle was quite creative with a can of spray paint,
a crow bar, and toothpicks. He’d never seen a torture victim crack so fast.
Though, Lance was more partial to kill them with kindness. Mercy and guilt.
Classic. And worked so well for him, being the so called ‘innocent one’ of the
Too bad everyone that could disprove
that was either family or dead.
Oh well, that was a shame he
What Lance couldn’t have guessed
however, was just how hard it was to be in space without his family. The
loneliness and frustration was almost crushing. He couldn’t get a break from
being smiley and joking. He didn’t get to let out his frustrations anymore. The
bloodlust inside him aching, the need to dig and tear into someone, watch their
pain beneath your fingernails. Blood. Red. True. Honest. It was difficult to
act normal without a break for so long. Acting average in training simulators
where he could easily handle his own load, but had to stumble a bit. They had
nothing to technically be suspicious about. And he guessed he could explain
himself. But, that would be. Inconvenient. Gaining trust was time consuming. He
cared about them so much. He’d never hurt them. But if he confessed his sins,
would they still believe that?
It was easier if they never found
out. Even if the dark prince within him was growing impatient. Itching to just
get this over with and go home. The temptation to find and corner a Galran
general on a mission and just take the information he wanted was so an enticement
that was so hard to resist. Lance had to wonder just how long he could take it.
The jabs at his goofy nature, a personality that was warmly received at home.
The biased behaviors, everyone preferring someone else to his company, excusing
Coran. If only he’d met Coran on earth. His father would have loved him. They
would all be well taken care of when they got to earth, whether they learned
why that would be or not. Lance had his plans.
He was going to get Pidge and Hunk
into good colleges or careers dependent on their wishes, they had enough
military and fighting for their short lives. Shiro would be urged into
counseling by everyone, so that wasn’t a worry. Though Lance would be sure to
make sure he would get only the best job in whatever field he would go into.
Keith, he was a little more difficult, Lance would have to wait and see before
he made any decisions. God knows where Keith was going to stay. Though with how
cozy him and Shiro were getting, Keith was probably sure to stay with Shiro. Either
way, Lance would be sure that Keith would not end up in some shack in a desert.
He loved all the paladins, but he knew for a fact he had a soft spot know as a
crush for both the red and black paladins. It wouldn’t affect any judgement he
had on them. And he certainly wasn’t jealous per-say of them finding affections
in each other. He couldn’t have them anyway. They were pure. Naïve. He wouldn’t
Maybe them getting together in front
of Lance’s eyes was the next best thing. Whether it doomed him to other
fantasies or helped him move on. He didn’t know just yet… guess he’d find out
as the days went by. Lance leaned back against Blue’s paw. Head lulled back
with a smile.
Blue was the only one that knew
everything. Mind melds were easy to avoid the memories of a little five-year-old
Lance holding a gun. Or the many ‘interrogations’ and strewn bodies parts that
stained the floors of the training rooms. It wasn’t that hard really. All he
had to do was push forward the memories of his sisters and parents. Christmas
trees and laughter. Playing card games and speaking Spanish together into the
“Hey Blue, do you think I’m a bad
person?” A purr of reassurance rang through his mind, soothing him. She loved
him regardless of human laws and moralities. She sensed his good heart. His
love for their team. She was not worried about him hurting anyone that didn’t
deserve it. Didn’t mind that he had human blood on his hands as well as alien.
Maybe that even helped him, the others all had a hard time with the concept of
deaths on their head. Needing comfort which Lance was often the one to give as
the friendly and cheery paladin. Holding Pidge and assuring her it was okay,
she would find her family, and they would love her all the same. They loved her
too. Hunk always would need a hug. His anxiety and guilt reaching high levels
until Lance could curve it. Whispering quietly and helping Hunk destress, think
with a clear head. Lance helped Keith keep his mind off it. Sparring with him.
And giving subtle reassurance whenever a flash of fear and guilt would ring
through those violet eyes when Keith would pin Lance or point a weapon at him. Shiro
was a little harder to help, but also was easier in a way. He was used to
death. Most of Lance’s comfort was given to Shiro by finding him when the
nightmares were bad and staying with Shiro. Quietly humming, or talking in a
low voice until Shiro would drift back to sleep.
Lance wandered if he noticed how
even when he helped them, he didn’t quite get or need help himself. Looking
down the barrel of a gun and taking someone’s life was a feeling Lance knew
quite well. And if there was a reason for it. Lance was quite fine with the
feeling, only enjoying the rush of pleasure and sadistic desire. Lance knew if
he killed an innocent, with no ties to his family, those feelings would drown
in guilt and ill emotions. So, Lance would avoid that, he never hurt anyone
that hadn’t hurt or threatened him or his family first. Just like he’d avoid
scaring and hurting his new family with his blood ties. His Blood Right.
Lance didn’t realize just how hard
that would be to avoid.
Meant to have this finished and posted earlier on in the week, but it’s here now so I hope you all enjoy it!! Let me know what you think xx B
“Angel,” Harry’s voice was tense as the dressing room door slammed shut behind him. “Have yeh seen m'jacket?” A smirk tugged at your red-painted lips as you straightened the lapels of his ‘missing’ suit jacket, your fingers running lazily over the delicately embroidered Donald Duck’s here and there. Stress was the only feeling Harry seemed to feel over the last day, and his eagerness to please people turned you on much more than it should have. Hence why you stood in the dressing room bathroom in his suit jacket only. Completely bare for him underneath the silken cloth.
When you eased open the door, Harry’s back was to you as he bent over his suitcase, searching for the top half of his outfit. You leaned against the door frame, eyes raking over his long legs and bum. Harry heard the door open but didn’t turn to look at you, his hands moving to dig through the rack of clothes his stylist had in the corner of the room.
“Can yeh please help m'look? I’d like t'be on set on time.” A mischievous smile took over your face.
“What are you looking for?” A frustrated breath left Harry as he clenched his jaw and pivoted to face you.
“My–what’re yeh doin’? I don’ have time fo’ this, lovely, the show starts in half an hour, and I’m already too stressed about it. Please give m'my jacket,” Harry sounded anything but patient as he held out a hand for his top, and you feigned innocence.
“Oh, this is what you’re looking for? This jacket?” You didn’t miss the way your boyfriend’s eyes narrowed at you words.
“Pet,” the word was a growl, his stress getting the best of him as he prowled towards you. “I won’ ask again. Give me the jacket.” You pretended to contemplate, your lips pursing and head bobbing to each side as you made your way to the vanity area. With an evil glint to your eye, you hoisted yourself onto the cool surface, legs crossing as you leaned against the mirror. Harry’s hands tightened into fists at his sides.
“Hmm…I don’t know…maybe you’ll just have to come take it off me.” Your fingers toyed with the hem of the jacket, eyes never leaving his as he glowered at you.
“I don’ have time fo’ this.” But he was stalking towards you, hands already working on his pants.
“Better make it fast then.” Harry’s mouth covered yours, his tongue prodding against your ups for entrance. You eagerly granted him access, melting into his body as his hands ran up your thighs.
“No panties, love? How naughty.” There was a pleased lilt to his voice as his fingers skated up your tummy, circling your belly button once before continuing upwards. “’M gonna fuck yeh now, angel, and when I get back, I’ll deal with yeh distracting me. Maybe I’ll have t'take yeh over m'knee, teach yeh a lesson?” His hands now cupped your breasts, thumbs rubbing over your nipples teasingly. Harry lowered his mouth to your neck, sucking and biting a trail down your skin. You impatiently grappled for his pants, pushing them down with his underwear with a moan. Harry made no move to take his jacket off of you, only shifting his hips so that he was nestled between your legs. A large hand slid down the front of your body to dip into your center, a long groan rumbling through Harry as the pads of his fingers met the wetness waiting for them. “Look a’ yeh. S'wet fo’ m'already.” You whined as his thumb circled your clit, his fingers slipping into you easily. Your head rolled back against the mirror, hands gripping Harry’s hips tightly. In a sudden movement, Harry yanked your forward, pulling you so your soaked core was almost right against his hardened cock, your legs wrapped around us waist.
“Please,” was all you could manage as Harry circled his length in one of his hands, the other going to his lips so he could suck your excitement from his fingers. Then his head was easing into you, thick and smooth. You moaned, eyes screwing shut as Harry sheathed himself inside of you fully.
“Feel s'good, angel. Always take m'cock like a good girl.” You nodded breathlessly, hands shoving his shirt up and over his head. Immediately your nails sunk into the meat of his shoulders, and Harry grunted at the pleasure, hips shooting forward. His pace was quick and almost brutal, fucking into you with no hesitation. The single button you’d actually done on the jacket popped open as harry lowered his head to your breast, mouth latching onto your nipple and sucking with fervor. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry, your hands tangling in his hair and tugging harshly. A moan vibrated through Harry as he slid his hand into your hair. You whined, arching your back as he slid back into you, his hand pulling your head back as he thrusted his hips. His hips went slow and powerful, making your eyes screw shut at the pleasure. You moaned loudly as his tip brushed your sweet spot again, his free hand gripping your hip and shifting you closer to him, so your knees were bent and your ankles were locked around his waist as he thrusted into you.
“Oh, God,” you panted, “Please don’t stop.”
“Christ, angel…so tight. Does tha’ feel good? Does m'cock feel good inside yeh?” You nodded hastily, loving the way he dragged out of you. His hand unraveled from your hair, his fingers going to your clit and circling it. You cried out, mouth wide as pleasure seared through you.
“Harry! Oh, God, yes!” You moaned, and Harry grunted as his hips moved faster. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, and you panted loudly as pleasure curled in your belly. Harry hardly took a pause from suckling on your breasts, his soft tongue lapping over your pert nipples languidly. Every now and then, his teeth would sink gently into your tender skin, enough to indent but never enough to bruise. “Love yeh tits, sweetheart, s'pretty fo’ me.” His lips puckered just around your nipple, sucking fervently as you squirmed beneath him. Your walls clenched around him, and you could feel him pulsing inside of you, a clear indication of how close he was to cumming. Sweat beaded on Harry’s brow as his mouth released your breast with a wet pop, his face burying into your neck.
“Please, Harry, I’m so close,” you whined, hips shifting off of the counter to meet his, sliding him further inside of you. Harry grunted in response, one hand coming to slap against the mirror behind you while the other worked relentlessly against your clit. Your orgasm loomed ahead, and Harry shoved you towards it, his thick cock brushing every nerve possible.
“Yeh gonna cum? C'mon, pet, cum fo’ me. Need it, need yeh t’ cover m'cock,” Harry’s words were filthy as he continued to plow into you. Your eyes rolled in pleasure. “Cum.” With the last word, your release washed over you, and you cried out as your legs began to tremble.
“Fuck! Fuckin’–Bloody hell, I’m gonna cum!” Harry’s hips thrusted forward quickly as you ran a hand through his hair, breath puffing over his ear.
“Cum, baby, I want you to fill me up, please. I want it so bad.” Harry groaned into your skin before he stilled, warm cum painting your walls as he panted into your neck. The silk of his jacket now felt stifling as his body pressed you back into the mirror, but you said nothing as Harry worked up the strength to peel himself off of you. You brushed a sweet kiss to his cheek. Sliding the jacket off, you handed to him, gasping softly as he withdrew, leaving you empty. A wicked smile tugged at your lips.
“Still stressed out?” Harry shot you a look.
“Y'just wait. I’ll use the scarf that goes w’ this jacket to tie yeh up later fo’ this.” A knock sounded through the dressing room.
“Harry, come on! You’re meant to be on right now!” Jeff’s voice was terse as he spoke, and Harry raced to put his clothes back on.
“Now look what yeh’ve done. Gone and made me late for Late Late.”
Reader is in art class. The professor assigned a nude model to each
student and gave a last assignment of the semester that has a lot of
weight on the final grade.
Pairing: AU!Bucky Barnes x Reader (Reader POV)
Warnings: None for now
(Y/N) = your name; (Y/L/N) = your last name; (Y/N/N) = your nickname
a/n: This story turned out to be MUCH longer than I was intending. As of right now, I’m not sure how many parts it will have, but I’ll let you know as we go along.
rush down the hall towards the classroom. Class had started 5 minutes
ago and last class the professor had warned that she would be giving out
the last assignment of the semester, and it would have a lot of weight
in the final grade. I reach the door slightly out of breath. Pulling the
handle, the cool air hits the beads of sweat that formed on my forehead
and neck. As quietly as my bag will allow, I walk towards my easel and
set my things down besides my chair. The professor hadn’t gotten to the
classroom yet, thankfully, so I take out my sketchbook out of my bag and
begin doodling. A little while after the door opens and the professor
makes her way through. The classroom quiets down and everybody turns to
pay attention to her.
guys, good afternoon. I know you’re all excited that the semester is
almost over, but I’m going to need you to NOT slack off in this final
assignment because, as I’ve said before, it will be 20% of the final
grade of the class. Now, I’ve been lucky enough with this class to have
only 15 students, so I was able to find everyone a model. They are my
students from a couple of past semesters, and they gladly volunteered.”
She spoke gesturing towards the door.
group that was waiting outside the door started pouring into the large
and mostly empty classroom. They made their way to the back where they
sat on the empty chairs, making themselves comfortable. When the noise
died down, the professor continued.
the lights in the only gas station for miles were never bright enough. they flickered and jumped. somehow they still blinded you.
dogs howled at night. they never stopped. you can’t remember when they started.
the roads are terrible. constantly damaged and filled with potholes. if you break down on one, stay in your car. it’s not worth the risk.
“see you in church! ” the old woman says with a smile. her smile never reaches her eyes. you know her. of course you know her. you couldn’t forget that cloying smell of artificial rose.
the tv channel loops. the static of poor reception drones on in the background. it hasn’t changed for three years. you don’t know why you don’t shut it off. something tells you no to .
there is a sale down at Wal-Mart. you have to go look. you could use another mason jar. the seventy five you own look lonely.
everyone dresses the same. stains coating their clothing, and their knees are visible through their paint splattered pants. except for the old women. they are immaculate. they smell of artificial rose.
there is always a political debate. you don’t know how to feel. others ask your opinion. you just smile and nod. what did they say?
it’s always sunday. church is always happening. sometimes it’s wendsday. church happens then too. you don’t remember which church. did you go?
the open fields are for sale. they’ve been for sale as long as you can remember. no one buys them. it’s too expensive. the grass is as tall as the fence. no one notices.
it’s always summer. you don’t remember a winter. it’s so hot. it makes the dead things reek. you are almost suffocating.
When Wally dies(spoilers) in the finale, he doesn’t actually die. Nor does the speedforce take him, instead it throws him into an alternate universe. He still has his speed and memories, but Barry and Iris don’t exist. The Central City he was thrown into is almost as bad with crimes as Gotham and somebody sees him in the ally he so conveniently appeared in and said Halloween wasn’t for another couple of months and Wally just looks down and laughs because he’s still in costume, and being the smooth motherfucker he is he’s just like: “Yeah, you wouldn’t happen to have an extra set of clothes with you?” and that’s how Wally makes his new friend.
The dude takes him back to his apartment and gives him an outfit because he’s a nice person. But Wally’s a humble motherfucker and thanks him over and over again and goes back to that same alley at night instead of sleeping in a person who he just met’s house.
For the next couple of months he goes job hunting and finally gets enough money for a kinda beaten up van. He starts living there and now all his money is going to food and supplies to make a flash costume.
And every night he(when he actually slept) he’d fall asleep with a picture of Artemis pressed against him because he misses her like a son of a gun.
He starts to run around town with a red hoodie, with the flash symbol painted on and red pants and red shoes, he also puts red face paint on his forehead and nose and around his eyes.
Word of ‘The Scarlet Speedster’ catches and spreads like wildfire, to Gotham, and Metropolis fastest. Lois drags Clark to Central to see if they can get a story on him, and while there something tries to attack the city and Clark does the shirt ripping thing and both of them are there and Clark gets a real good look at his face and is just like: “Holy shit, You’re just a kid!” and Wally is like: “Dude chill i know what i’m doing.”
“you don’t even have a costume…”
“why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be in Metropolis or something?”
“I got dragged here by a friend, duck! She wanted to see you herself y’know?”
“Aww, you came all this way to meet lil’ ol’ me? I gotta say Mr.Man, I am flattered. To your left!”
“The Flash, and word of the wise, find Thicker glasses if you really want no one to recognize you.”
“oh, okay then- wait a moment how the heck did you kno-”
“gotta Dash! Nice Meeting you supey!”
A month later there’s a knock on his van door while he’s working on the real flash costume, he uses his superspeed to put it away and look out the van window, only to see batman and superman standing out there, so Wally slaps on some face paint and pulls them in at superspeed.
“seriously? i cannot be this popular.”
“we’re making a team, and we need members. we-”
so he’s finds himself in the place of the flash on the justice league in the justice league unlimited universe and a year later he finally finds a way back to his universe just as another speedster arrives. That speedster becomes flash number two and Wally supposedly dies in that universe too. But he’s just back home and with Barry and Iris and Arty.
So I work at a video game store in a mall and across the hall from us is this really nice suit shop. One day one of the guys came in an asked if they could use our microwave (the store they used to go to closed down) and we bargined for use of their bathroom in return since the mall bathrooms are like a 5 min trek.
So for like three months now we just have these men in really nice suits come in and talk while using our microwave and teach them about nerdy shit? Then I, the goblin king in various shitty tee shirts and paint stained pants, walk into their super expensive store and just get greeted with “Yo dude what’s good?” and talk about the pains of steaming silken dress shirts properly and it’s my favorite business interaction every day
“…and then, I have nature and art and poetry, and if that is not enough, what is enough?”
You swing open the door and step into your shabby apartment. The yellow-stained walls and peeling paint don’t exactly scream ‘welcome home’. Well, it’s not like you made an effort to pretty up the place anyway. You only have essential furniture, and nothing decorative– no houseplants, no carpets, no pictures, no paintings…
The uneven wooden tiles seesaw back and forth as you walk across the room. You toss your bag at the leg of the coffee table, and only watch with a neutral expression as all your sketches pour out. You throw yourself onto the couch and a satisfied sigh escapes you. You lay still, staring up at the cracked ceiling. The setting sun pours in from your balcony, coloring the room an orange tint.
It’s been about a year and a half since you moved to Paris. Luckily you’re quite fluent in French, after taking it for eight years straight. But the transition was hard, no doubt. New country, new people, and new job. And… no Kyungsoo.