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sydsaint · 2 months

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My fav evil bastard man is back!! <3

Summary: PAC returns to AEW and finds that his old friend/lover has been swayed by Malakai Black to join his crew.

It's almost time for the main event involving House of Black. Buddy, Malakai, and Brody are all doing last minute adjustments to their gear and plans while you are Julia wait for them.

"Malakai." You approach your leader cautiously, not wanting to distract him from the task at hand,

"Yes, YN." Malakai turns away from Brody who he was just talking too.

You twitch under Malakai's intense gaze as he peers down and waits for your question. It's been almost a year since he saved you from a dwindling singles career and recruited you into the House of Black. You and Malakai have become close in that time. But the man still scares you to some degree. Just like he does everyone else on the team.

"Are you sure that you don't want me and Julia to come out there with you?" You ask Black. "You know that it wouldn't be a problem. And we could help ensure that Mark Briscoe and his friends are dealt with once and for all." You add.

Malakai shakes his head and puts a hand on your shoulder. "We can handle Briscoe and his friends, YN." He assures you. "Besides, Julia needs time to recover from her shoulder injury. And as for you, my dear? Well, you should be focused on finding a way to garner Toni Storm's attention." He reminds you.

"Right." You nod meekly. "Good luck out there, then. To everyone." You nod to Buddy and Brody.

Buddy and Brody both nod and Malakai turns back around to them. You walk back over to Julia and take a seat next to her.

"Sorry, YN." Julia frowns. "I know that you hate being cooped up in here all night."

"It's alright, Julia." You sigh. "But it's like Malakai said. I should be using my time to figure out how I can mess with Toni the most." You assure yourself.

Over the past few weeks you've taken notice that Malakai has been confining you to the locker room more and more. Usually he's happy to have you at his side and ready to handle potential problems. You're a wild and free spirit. So being cooped up like a caged animal has been slowly driving you nuts. But you trust Malakai. He pulled you out of a dark place after your last faction fell to pieces.

A little over a year ago you were happily involved with the Penta, Rey, and most importantly, Pac. Together, the four of you were a faction making moves in AEW. But then Pac lost his international title to Orange Cassidy, Rey broke his arm badly, and everything fell apart.

On the other side of the locker rooms backstage, Eddie Kingston has rallied the troops for his latest multi-man feud and is busy greeting his newest recruit. Fresh off of a bad shoulder injury, Pac.

"Pac, man. It's good to have you back." Eddie greets the self-proclaimed 'bastard' with a friendly shoulder bump and handshake.

"It's good to be back, mate." Pac nods. "Rumor is that you're dead-set on taking out the Jackson brothers and their new best friend, Okada?" He asks Kingston.

Eddie nods as the two sit down to chat for a bit. "Yep, that's the plan. Penta is already on board with it." He nods to Penta talking to someone on the phone in Spanish on the other side of the room. "And we could use your specific brand of violence and cruelty for this, if you're down."

"Of course." Pac nods. "I'm happy to help an old friend. And speaking of old friends. I can't seem to find YN anywhere." He wastes no time in bringing you up to Eddie.

"YN, right." Eddie nods. "I forgot you and her used to be a thing." He chuckles. "YN...she's been going through some stuff lately, man." Eddie rubs the back of his neck.

Pac tilts his head, worry crossing his face. "What kind of stuff? She's alright isn't she?" He presses Eddie to clarify things.

"Umm, not exactly the words I'd use." Eddie replies, beating around the bush as much as he can for fear of Pac's response to the news. "Pac, you gotta understand something man. After you lost the International championship and Rey broke his arm. Well, everything kind of fell apart." He explains a bit. "I tried to look out for YN as best that I could man. But I had my own shit going on at the time. And well, you know, YN, man. You can't keep a leash on the girl."

"Eddie! You're rambling." Pac interrupts his friends babbling. "Just tell me where she is. What happened to, YN?" He asks Eddie again.

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek and shakes his head, guilt written plain on his face. "YN's with Malakai Black and his buddies now, alright?" He finally gives Pac a straight answer. "Black picked her up about a year ago and she's been with him ever since."

"What?!" Pac jumps out of his seat. "You let YN get pulled in by Malakai Black?" He aims an accusing look at Eddie.

"Now come on man!" Eddie sighs and gets to his feet as well. "I said I tried to look out for her!" He reminds Pac. "But the girl doesn't listen to anyone, you know that."

Pac's jaw twitches in annoyance and worry. But deep down he knows that Eddie is right. Pac knows better than anyone that you can be one stubborn woman when you want to be.

Eddie studies his friends face and watch as Pac begins formulating a plan in his head to get you back. "Pac, bro, say something." He tries to get Pac's attention off of you for a moment. "Come on. What's on your mind? Where are you going?" He asks when Pac turns toward the door.

"I'm going to get YN back." Pac replies matter-of-factly as he strides toward the door like a man on a mission.

"Pac, wait!" Eddie hurries around the table and steps into Pac's way. "YN ain't the same broad you were seeing a year ago, alright?" He warns Pac. "Malakai's turned the girl into an animal. Just like he did Julia."

Pac shakes his head and shoulders past Eddie. "YN was always an animal. She was just excellent at hiding it from people." He insists. "She's still the same, YN. My, YN."

Eddie groans in frustration as Pac storms off in search of his lost love. He grabs Penta from the locker room and the pair head out to assist Pac in case a fight against Malakai and his boys breaks out.

Back in the HOB locker room, you decide to head down to the ring and assist your friends when it looks like they are in trouble. Julia's shoulder is bothering her, so you go alone. You make it out to the ring without a hitch and assist Malakai with Mark Briscoe. Malakai delivers a finishing blow to Briscoe and HOB wins the match so you join Malakai in the ring to celebrate.

You are in the middle of celebrating with your team in the middle of the ring when suddenly a familiar voice sounds over the arena speakers. Your head whips to the top of the ramp just as someone comes through the tunnel.

"YN! Tell me it ain't true, love! You've abandoned your friends for these fools?" Pac comes through the tunnel like a man on a mission and a microphone in hand.

"Pac?" Your heart skips a beat in your chest.

Malakai clamps a hand down on your arm and you turn to look at him. "Look who finally decided to come back, YN." Black peers down at you with an intense gaze. "Remember what I told you when we first met?" He asks you.

You swallow and nod. "That my friends would try and blame me." You recall your first encounter with Black.

"Mhm. And look what's happened." Malakai points up the ramp. "Pac comes back to AEW finally and what is the first thing he does? He points fingers at you. He's the one that left, remember?" Black whispers in your ear.

"Right." You nod. "I didn't abandon my friends! They abandoned me!" You begin to feel anger rising up in your gut. "He abandoned me. Not the other way around." You point an accusing finger toward the top of the ramp.

A sinister smile crosses Malakai's face at his expert manipulation of you. "Atta girl, YN. Now, are you going to let that traitor stand there and blame you for his misfortunes?" He asks you.

"No. No, I'm not." You shake your head. "Brody, Buddy." You turn to the pair standing idly behind you. "Take care of him, please." You ask them.

Brody and Buddy both happily nod before quickly making their exit from the ring. You watch the pair sprint up the ramp to confront Pac. Luckily for Pac, Penta and Eddie arrive just in time to occupy Malakai's goons. Pac breaks away from the fight and makes a b-line for the ring. Malakai remains at your side as Pac steps into the ring, his gaze transfixed on you.

"YN, love. Come on now." Pac begins his speech with a soft expression.

"Don't!" You put a hand up. "Every abandoned me, Pac. You abandoned me. No phone call. No letter. Nothing. You were just gone. And I was left alone. Alone to face everyone and everything we did together!"

Malakai watches your speech with a pleased expression. He's done it. He's managed to take a broken girl with the passion to be the most dominate force AEW has ever seen and sowed hatred and mistrust into her heart.

He's made the perfect weapon. And now here's the test to ensure that you are past the point of redemption and ready to be wielded like the gilded sword Malakai needs you to be.

"YN, I'm sorry, love." Pac takes a cautious step toward you.

"You're sorry!" You laugh. "Sorry? You don't get to be sorry!" You shout at him. "You don't get to show up out of the blue and expect everything to go back to normal!"

Pac takes a step back at your outburst and turns his glare onto Malakai. "You! What did you do to her!" He confronts Black.

"What did I do to her?" Malakai laughs. "You should ask yourself that same question, friend. You're the fool that abandoned, YN. I saved her! I gave her friends! A family that loves her!" He puts a hand on your shoulder. "Tell me, Pac. What did you do for, YN? Pretend to care about her? Lie and claim you loved her once? Only to abandon her when she needed you most?" He raises his voice in a fake protective manner.

"YN, please." Pac tries one last attempt to reason with you. "You have to know that I never meant to hurt you." He asks you.

You stare at Pac with a cold look in your eyes. "Well you did hurt me." You inform him. "And now you get to live with that sin." You step back, eyes directed behind Pac as Buddy and Brody make their way up to him after dispatching Penta and Eddie.

Brody and Buddy descend on Pac and Malakai leads you off with a directing hand on your back.

"YN! YN! I know It's not over!" Pac shouts in-between hits as Brody and Buddy reign hits down on him. "The girl I love is still in there! And I won't stop until I get her back!"

#wrestling #aew #all elite wrestling #aew fanfiction #aew fanfic #aew fic #wrestling fanfiction #wrestling fanfic #wrestling fic #aew x reader #pac #pac aew #pac x reader #pac aew x reader #bastard pac #syd's wrestling fics

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ghostficwriter · 1 year

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Lightweight

Fandom: AEWPairing/Form: Pac x OC / Blurb

Warnings: Technically an alcohol mention (being a lightweight as a metaphor) though no one drinks in the scene Word Count: 195 Plot: Pac and his new beloved are on their second date, and he’s not the only one who can tease. A/N: This is just a random blurb I’ve had in my drafts for ages. I don’t really plan on expanding on it here but thought some might get a tickle out of it <3.

“What do you think?”

“I’m surprised.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I thought it would be somewhere nature-y again. Since you find it so peaceful.”

He chuckled. “I thought about taking you to some gardens near here, but it’s too public. Too crowded…I still want to keep you to myself…don’t get me wrong, I’ll want to show ya off too, but right now,” he turned to look at me, his eyes almost hungry for a moment, “I want our time together to be just us. I want you to only see me, and I want to be the only one who sees you.”

I kept walking, looking at him instead of at where I was going, backing away from him. “You better be careful what you say, Pac.”

He followed, slowly, taking one step for every three I took, keeping pace but letting me stray ahead. “Why is that, love?”

My head tilted, but our eyes never broke contact, “Because I’m a lightweight, and your attention is intoxicating.”

He smirked and I fought a shiver. “You’re bold today, little dove.”

My lips mirrored his, “I’m a kaleidoscope, dear. Endless angles - you’d better stay on your toes.”

#pac #the bastard pac #bastard pac #pac x reader #pac fanfiction #pac fanfic #gfw's work

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smolsammichowo · 9 months

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Time for a stupid 4 am long post that I’d usually vomit out on twitter but I can type out more shit on tumblr :O

Well uh,

To everyone who has recently followed me on here who is NOT from my Twitter or anywhere else that I linked my tumblr on and just found me from somewhere,

Thanks for following me & also Sorry for me constantly screaming about random bullshit such as

- Minecraft Stuff / Minecraft content / Minecraft stream lore / minecraft streamers

- (note , while I’m not a fan of dream, I have no problem if you are a fan of dream. Just as long as you are kind to others & are kind to me. That should just be common sense really though. )

Pro wrestling (Ive mainly talked about AEW & WWE but I do like stuff such as Impact, NJPW, Lucha Underground, Dragon Gate, and a few others! Feel free to dm me some other pro wrestling stuff that you think I’d like too ! )

- (note - favorite pro wrestler is a guy named Pac. Gonna confuse the shit out of minecraft people given theres a content creator named Pac as well in the minecraft content creator space lmao. Though the pro wrestler calls himself BASTARD pac as well so I can just call the wrestler BastardPac to not confuse y’all lol )

Anime (if I list the animes I like this list would become a fucking dictionary)

Genshin (Tumblr seems SO SO SO SO CALM compared to Twitter , BLESS YOU ALL )

Pokemon (seems like a lot of you have followed me from either minecraft or this! Hello! Im doing a pokedex project but i keep redoing it as I keep feeling self concious about my art ; v ; )

- Top 5 favorite pokemon not in order are Chikorita, Togekiss, Alolan Raichu, Koraidon, & Reuniclus

Splatoon (got into the game this year and its like a drug to me now. I adore the paintbrush weapon even though the reef bow is the one Im closest to getting a 5 star on as that one is the money maker )

Roblox ( A middle school thing that never left me. Im 23 still playing it. Though its how I made my online persona that is kinda my fursona)

Furry stuff (o hey speaking of that stuff)

MLP ( Funny enough this ties into above as this was the butterfly effect of me finding the fanbase because of a dumb fanfiction about pinkiepie being hannable lector & making horse cupcakes. )

Typing dumb shit at 3 - 4 am in the morning SUCH AS THIS .

Anyhow I need to stop procrastinating and get a piece of art Ive been working on since yesterday night done.

Love y’all, just wanted to post a little bit about myself to people who dont really know about me that thought it was a good idea to follow me.

#about me #minecraft #anime #pokemon #splatoon #roblox #pro wrestling #mlp

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debbiechanclub · 1 year

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Part 1: The Man in the Blindfold

A House of Black magic AU

Pairing: PAC x OFC x Malakai Black Word Count: 3,357 Warnings: Alcohol use and the teeniest tiniest bit of smut so 18+ only

Strange things start to happen in her dreams one night. But she finds that reality might be even stranger.

Masterlist | Read it on AO3

A/N: This is a repost/re-write. I've changed the tense from a second-person "you" to a third-person nameless "she," and included Buddy Matthews from the get-go (when I first started writing this fic, he was not yet in HOB). Thank you to everyone who read the previous version, and I hope you enjoy this one just as much :)

tag squad: @aussiearrow @cowboyslariat @knifepervert @sldghmmr @rusevday @missbrownstone @meteora-fc @bec0m @thatgirlforever5 @rocca09 @adriii-omega

It started in her dreams one night.

It had been an entirely ordinary night. She’d come home from work and spent the evening alone with a carton of Chinese takeout and the television, a typically uneventful Thursday in the dead of winter. But when she finally shut off the TV and crawled into bed just before midnight, her entirely ordinary night turned… strange.

It wasn’t often that she dreamed. At least, not that she could remember, and the only dreams she ever did seem to remember were the ones not worth remembering at all. But that night, she dreamed a dream so vivid that it was permanently seared into her mind’s eye.

At first, she’d thought she’d woken up. Being a rather light sleeper, she had the unfortunate tendency to wake up more than once throughout the night. But as she turned over in hopes of drifting back to sleep, she noticed a light. A warm, otherworldly glow that danced and flickered against her bedroom walls like so many candle flames. But her blackout curtains were drawn closed, and there was no source for the light that she could see. It just… was. And as she tried to figure out how it was, she saw him. A man, standing motionless next to her dresser.

She would have thought it was a bout of sleep paralysis if she hadn’t jolted upright with a startled gasp. But then she was paralyzed by shock, pupils dilated, heart in her throat. And all she could do was watch him.

He looked, for the most part, like a normal man. Shorter than average, but more muscular, too, with a rather unkempt dark beard and long dark hair that was pulled into a knot at the back of his head. But what stood out as peculiar was a dirtied, white cloth blindfold tied around his head.

“Who are you?” she managed to ask, and she was proud that her voice didn’t waver. But the man didn’t answer. Instead, he moved toward her. Slowly, deliberately. And she didn’t shrink away or cower under her covers. She sat transfixed, captivated, filled with an inexplicable sense that he wasn’t there to hurt her.

And then he was right in front of her. He reached out. Her breath hitched in throat as calloused fingers brushed her cheek—

And then she woke up.

It was as if his touch had sent her back to consciousness. One second, she’d been sitting up in bed with him in front of her—solid, whole, clear as day—and the next she was curled up underneath her comforter, alone. The otherworldly light gone, her bedroom dark.

But her heart was still pounding just as hard as it had been in the dream.

It was a fitful, restless night after that. The next morning, she sucked down a venti cold brew to make it through the workday and tried not to think about the man in the blindfold. But it was an impossible effort. Because she’d realized: that hadn’t been just a dream.

It couldn’t have been. It had been too vivid, too real, she’d felt him touch her. She tingled at the memory of it now, how rough his fingers had felt against her skin. He’d appeared in her bedroom, in her subconsciousness, for a reason—a purpose. And she was determined to find out what that purpose was.

On most Fridays she met up with friends for happy hour after work, but that Friday she made up some excuse to go straight home. Part of her wanted to turn in early, eager to fall asleep, to enter that strange dream realm again and ask the man in the blindfold what it was he wanted. But that same inexplicable instinct told her that it couldn’t—shouldn’t—be forced; it just had to happen. So, she went about her evening as routinely as possible and went to bed around the same time she always did.

But she couldn’t fall asleep.

She was too keyed up, too anxious, and she tossed and turned in frustration, tangling the flat sheet under her comforter. Forty-five minutes ticked by, and she was on the verge of getting up to pop a couple melatonin gummies when she felt something. A presence in the room. She closed her eyes—and when she reopened them, she was in the dream realm.

The strange, warm light filled her bedroom again, illuminating the dark. But the man in the blindfold wasn’t standing in the corner. He was sitting on the edge of her bed, right beside her.

She sat up, but not quick or startled like the night before. Curious. He seemed to look right at her despite the blindfold, as if he could see in some way other than with his eyes. She knew that was the case when he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. But his touch didn’t send her back to the waking world that time; it exhilarated her. She leaned into it, heart racing. Her body seemed to move of its own accord as she traced her fingertips up his forearm to gently wrap her hand around his wrist. She wanted to see his eyes. But something told her it wasn’t yet time.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

Ever so slight, almost imperceptibly, the man in the blindfold shook his head. “Not yet.”

His accent caught her off-guard, rough and some type of British. But then he brushed his thumb over her bottom lip just so, and she re-awoke in her dark bedroom. The presence she’d felt before she’d fallen asleep was gone now. But her lip still tingled with the ghost of his touch.

The next few days passed by in a blur. Saturday and Sunday night each came and went without a visit from the man in the blindfold, and by Monday she’d checked out entirely from the real world. She spent time on the clock at work researching things like lucid dreaming and astral projection, hoping to dig up an answer to what was happening, how it was happening. But nothing quite fit or made sense. Frustratingly, it seemed that only the man in the blindfold would be able to enlighten her.

And, thankfully, on Monday night he visited again.

He appeared at her bedside just as he had three nights before. She studied him, interested, something electric and palpable pulsing between them, and it wasn’t long before he found the curve of her thigh underneath the blankets. He ran his hand slowly up, higher, higher, until he stopped just shy of where he wasn’t sure he had consent to go. Her body flushed hot with sudden desire. She wanted to feel him.

She ripped the blankets aside and climbed onto his lap, straddling him. His fingers gripped her thighs, and she brought her hands to either side of his face and kissed him. Lustful, rough. His beard scratched her skin, and she moaned into his mouth when he squeezed her backside. He felt as good as real—his lips, his skin, the muscle underneath. And as she threaded her fingers into his hair, she felt the knot of the blindfold at the back of his head.

She pulled back and looked down at him. She wanted to undo the knot and remove the blindfold. She wanted to see his eyes. And when he didn’t pull her fingers away, she knew it was time.

The knot was tight, and it took a few seconds for her to work it loose. But even though her fingers trembled, she wasn’t afraid of what she might find underneath. And when the knot came free and she pulled the dirty, worn cloth from his face, her heart sank.

His eyes were white. Entirely white, other than a faint, milky outline of what should have been his irises. But she didn’t get the sense he was blind; not really. She knew he could see her. And she also knew that whatever had happened to his sight wasn’t natural.

“Who did this to you?” she breathed.

But like all her other questions, it went unanswered. And the next thing she knew, she was awake and alone in her bed again, back underneath the covers, the cloth blindfold still gripped in her hand.

* * * *

One… two… three… four nights passed without another visit. She grew impatient, and then frustrated, and then worried. Was this a test? Was the man in the blindfold discerning if she could be trusted with the answers she sought? Or had she pushed too far too soon? Whatever the case, she sensed there was another party in this, another person, another entity she had yet to encounter—the one who had turned his eyes that eerie, milky white. And based on how quickly he’d disappeared after she’d asked who, she wondered if it maybe was for the best that she didn’t find out.

But her need to know was stronger than her fear. Curiosity killed the cat, and all that.

When the weekend arrived, her best friend insisted that she get out and unwind; she hadn’t been herself the last week. Admittedly, her friend wasn’t wrong—she desperately needed a distraction. So, she agreed to go for drinks at their usual spot, a cozy Irish pub downtown. They sat at a table for two near the bar, but even after two drinks she still bounced her foot anxiously against the floor. She wanted to confide in her friend about what she’d been experiencing, but she neither knew how nor if she even should. She didn’t want to fail if this was a test from the man in the blindfold. She didn’t want her friend to think she was insane.

“Okay, what’s going on with you?” her friend charged. “You’re completely in your head about something, I can tell.”

She flicked her eyes up at her friend and bit the inside of her lip, bouncing her foot faster. How could she possibly begin to explain what was going on? I’ve been having strange dreams. But they weren’t just dreams. The blindfold tucked into the nightstand drawer back in her apartment was proof of that.

“Well?” her friend pressed.

“I…” she started; but a draft of cold air suddenly invaded the warmth of the pub, and the most imposing man she’d ever seen walked through the door.

He had to be six-foot-five and close to three hundred pounds, with dark hair slicked back with grease and a long, unkempt beard. He was followed by a young, pretty blonde who looked comically small and out-of-place beside him, and then an auburn-haired man who obviously spent a lot of time in the gym, the black hoodie he wore stretched by the muscle underneath.

But if those three had captivated her attention, it was nothing compared to the fourth person who walked through the door.

He was dressed in all black just like the others, tall and athletic with a stern, commanding brow and a tiny crescent moon tattooed above his cheekbone. She could tell by the way he carried himself that he was the one in charge—of what, thought, she wasn’t sure. But when he turned and met her gaze, every thought left her head.

And then the man in the blindfold walked in.

Every muscle in her body tensed at once. It was him. He looked nothing like how he’d appeared to her in her bedroom—he was normal, completely normal, with a black beanie on his head and square glasses on his face—but she knew it was him. She could sense it. And when his eyes scanned the room and found hers, she knew he recognized her, too.

“Hello?” Her friend snapped her fingers in front of her face and redrew her attention. “Seriously, are you alright? You’re starting to freak me out.”

“Yeah,” she answered. But she glanced back at the group that had just walked in. “I just think I know that guy.”

Her friend’s brow furrowed, and she discreetly looked toward where the four had settled at a table on the other side of the room. “Which one?”

“Glasses.”

Her friend looked a beat longer, clearly confused still. “From where?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she picked up her glass and drained the last of her drink. “I need another,” she said, and she stood up and started for the bar before her friend could argue. She actually did need another drink now. But she also hoped that, if she went to the bar, the man in the blindfold would, too.

She set her empty glass on the bar top and asked for another of the same, and it wasn’t long before she got the distinct feeling that someone was watching. She fidgeted, tempted to turn around and look; but she leaned on her elbows and tried to distract herself with the extensive collection of liquor lined up in rows underneath the large, decorative mirror behind the bar. And then she saw movement—his reflection in the mirror. He was coming up to the bar, just like she’d hoped. Their eyes met in the mirror, and then he was right next to her.

He ordered a beer, and a tingle crawled up her spine at the sound of his voice, here, out in the real world. It was the same voice, the same accent that she’d heard just over a week ago, unmistakable. They found each other in the mirror again. His eyes weren’t inhumanely white now. They were a shade of greenish blue with a black pupil in the middle, entirely normal.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” she quietly asked. She wanted verbal confirmation, a nod, a grin, something. She turned her head and looked directly at him. He smirked.

“Don’t ask unnecessary questions.”

Her stomach flipped. That was confirmation enough.

The bartender set both their drinks in front of them. He picked up his and glanced at her. “Don’t drink too much tonight,” he said, and as he walked back to his table, she knew it wasn’t just an unsolicited suggestion. It was an order. Because that night, he’d visit.

* * * *

She left the pub as soon as she finished that drink. Thankfully, her friend stopped prying after the second time she told her she was fine, she didn’t want to talk about it, she just needed to go home and sleep it off.

Her friend didn’t need to know what she really meant by that.

No sooner had she walked through her door than she stripped down to her underwear, pulled on an old, comfortable, oversized t-shirt and crawled into bed. She had a buzz from the alcohol, drinking on a largely empty stomach, too anxious to eat; and as her bare legs slipped between the sheets, she thought of his last visit. The feel of his hands on her body, his lips on hers, the way he’d grabbed her ass as they’d kissed. She slipped her hand under the covers, down her stomach—

And then she was in the dream realm. She opened her eyes. He was with her, overtop of her; and instead of her fingers slipping into her panties, it was his. He pushed them inside her and she let out a moan. He bent his head and nipped at her neck as he worked; she clung to his shoulders, digging her fingernails into his skin. His arousal pressed against her thigh, and she ached to feel it, to feel him inside her—but then he bit her skin hard enough to bruise, and it pushed her over the edge. A cry of pleasure tore from her mouth as her back arched, and then bliss as all her muscles relaxed. He looked down at her; she reached up and pushed his hair out of his face so she could see his eyes. They were white.

“Sleep,” he told her. “We’ll see each other again soon.”

That time, she didn’t awake in the physical version of her bedroom. She slept. More soundly than she’d slept in months, maybe years. When she awoke the next morning, there was a note on her nightstand. It didn’t say much—just an address, date, and time scrawled in black ink. Directions to see him again in just over a week. Not in her dreams, but in reality.

* * * *

Time passed more slowly than she would have liked before the date written on the note finally arrived. She was nervous in the way she might have been if a friend had set her up on a blind date. Butterflies teemed in her gut; she didn’t know what to wear because she had no idea what the evening would entail. So, she just put on a nice top with her favorite pair of jeans and white high-top Converse. It would have to do.

Upping her nervousness—and admittedly, her intrigue—was the fact that the address on the note was that of a private residence in the pricier, historic part of town. She’d recognized the house as soon as she’d pulled it up on Google Street View; she’d admired it many a time before on the way to her favorite ice cream shop. She’d wondered about who lived there many a time, too.

She’d find out tonight.

The note had instructed her to arrive at 9 p.m. sharp, and so she left her apartment with time to spare. She’d considered taking an Uber but had decided it would be best to drive herself; she didn’t want to rely on someone else if she needed to make a speedy getaway. She also hadn’t told anyone where she’d be. It was irresponsible, she knew, but something told her it was information that shouldn’t be disclosed. Besides, she trusted the man in the blindfold; she genuinely felt that he didn’t mean her any harm. And truthfully, she hoped that this cryptic invitation meant he finally trusted her, too.

She found a street parking spot at the end of the block. It was quiet and cold on the walk to the house, and her breath came out in puffs of translucent white from her mouth. She hesitated when she reached the wrought iron gate. It was wide open and there were cars—expensive cars—parked all along the U-shaped driveway, but even though she’d been invited it felt like an intrusion to walk in from the street. But she swallowed down her nervousness and made her way to the front door.

The house was built of brick, stately and old, but well-kept and updated with modern curb appeal. Flames flickered in wrought iron gas lamps mounted on either side of the door, and she thought of that otherworldly light that always danced on her bedroom walls with the appearance of the man in the blindfold. And then a little voice in the back of her head warned: something dark and terrible could be behind that door. But her intrigue, her deep-seeded need to understand, to discover the purpose, drowned it out and drove her forward.

She walked up the steps, treading lightly so as not to disturb the atmosphere of the place—but she had a feeling he already knew she was there. She reached out and pressed the doorbell with her index finger before she could lose the nerve. And then she stuck clammy hands into her coat pockets and waited.

But not for long.

The door opened; her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t the man in the blindfold who had answered, but the man with the crescent moon tattoo. He was dressed again in an all-black, this time a suit. He smiled down at her; disarming, strikingly handsome.

“Welcome. We’ve been expecting you.”

He pulled the door open further and stepped aside, gesturing with his free arm for her to come in. And for a second, she hesitated. But then she felt a pull, something beckoning her from inside the house, urging her. There was power and knowledge beyond understanding of what she thought was possible, if only she’d cross the threshold. And so, she swallowed the lump in her throat, and entered the house.

#pac fanfiction #bastard pac fanfiction #malakai black fanfiction #house of black fanfiction #magic au

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debbiechanclub · 8 months

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Part 2: The Man with the Crescent Moon Tattoo

A House of Black magic AU

Pairing: PAC x OFC x Malakai Black Word Count: 4,087 Warnings: Alcohol use; angst; language

Strange things start to happen in her dreams one night. But she finds that reality might be even stranger.

Read it on AO3

Part 1 | Masterlist

tag squad: @aussiearrow @cowboyslariat @knifepervert @sldghmmr @rusevday @missbrownstone @meteora-fc @bec0m @thatgirlforever5 @rocca09 @aussiespam

The warmth inside the house was a welcome change from the bite of the cold outside, but she didn’t move to take off her coat, too preoccupied with taking in her surroundings. The house looked just as she’d expected it would from the outside, dark and rich, but with a modern flair that paid homage to the original character of the home. A sleek cage-style iron chandelier drew her eye up into the two-story foyer. To the left, a formal sitting room was decorated with dark cherry wood furniture, including a massive bookcase that took up nearly the entire far wall, its shelves lined with old tomes and various expensive-looking and eclectic items. On the right, a curved staircase next to a closed door led up to the second level. And even though she couldn’t see anyone from where she stood, she could hear the din of chatter from further into the house. He was clearly hosting a party, which she hadn’t expected. But it eased her apprehension a bit.

“I can take your coat.”

She looked back up at the man, suddenly embarrassed for being so nosy right in front of him. “Oh, thanks,” she said; but as she unzipped her coat, she realized just how woefully underdressed she was compared to him in his perfectly tailored three-piece suit. All the expensive cars in the driveway compared to her well-kept but humble Kia sedan. She was a fish out of water.

“I didn’t know there was a dress code,” she sheepishly said as she handed him her coat.

But he shook his head. “Oh no, there’s not,” he returned with an easy laugh. “Honestly, I’m overdressed. You look great.”

Her cheeks burned, and she was grateful when he walked into the closed room to their right to deposit her coat and give her a chance to catch her breath. His presence was overwhelming; magnetic, ten times more than it had been the night she’d seen him at the pub.

And she had the strangest feeling that that night hadn’t been the first they’d crossed paths.

He grinned as he rejoined her. It was stupid how good-looking he was. “Relax; I can practically feel how nervous you are right now.”

She breathed a laugh and wiped her palms on her jeans. “Can you blame me?” she returned. There was no need to explain; she knew he knew why she was there.

“No, I can’t,” he returned. “I know you’ve been experiencing some strange, seemingly impossible things. But there’s nothing to be afraid of. You’ll see.”

His voice was soothing, calm; it spread over her like a balm and gave her no choice but to relax. There was something dangerous about that, she knew, about how strong and instant her attraction was to him. She noticed he had more tattoos on his hands. She didn’t doubt there were more underneath his clothes. She swallowed the thought down.

“Is he here?”

The man’s grin faded a bit. “Ben?” he returned. And upon her obvious confusion, clarified, “The one who’s been visiting you. Yeah, he’s here.”

She let go of the breath she’d been holding. The man in the blindfold finally had a name. Ben.

“I’m Malakai, by the way.”

He extended his hand. She bit the inside of her lip, nervous again, but accepted the gesture; and the second her hand touched his, she was hit with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. It threw her off-kilter, both mentally and physically. But she blinked it away and introduced herself. Malakai’s crooked, handsome grin returned.

“It’s nice to officially meet you. Why don’t we get a drink?”

“That would be great,” she said, and he led her from the foyer down a short hall that opened up into a beautiful, two-story great room. The first thing she noticed was an impressive wood burning fireplace with a brick façade that reached all the way to the ceiling line. But there weren’t any flames crackling in the firebox; the house was warm enough what with the nearly two-dozen people inside. Many of them were convened around the kitchen island, fully spread with hors d’oeuvres, finger foods, and desserts. That was where she spotted Ben. He leaned against a countertop, a beer in his hand, already watching her. She wanted to go to him—but Malakai redrew her attention.

“Do you like Scotch?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “If it’s mixed with Coke.”

His eyebrows arched. “No, no, no… you just haven’t had good Scotch, then.”

He led her over to a beautifully handcrafted wood roll-top bar stocked with spirits. Some of the liquor had been poured into crystal decanters while others remained in their store-bought bottles, but they all looked high quality. That was becoming a theme; Malakai clearly enjoyed the finer things in life.

He grabbed a rocks glass and selected one of the crystal decanters. “I only share this with people I like,” he said. It made her face burn again.

He poured a shot’s worth of the rich, amber-colored liquor into the glass and handed it to her. She took a sip—and was instantly pleasantly surprised. It was smooth and oaky and warmed her blood on the way down. It would be a crime to mix this with anything.

“That’s definitely better than any Scotch I’ve ever had,” she told him. Malakai grinned, pleased.

“I told you.” He poured himself a glass and held it out. “To… embracing the inevitable.”

The toast sent a tingle up her spine. But she didn’t question it and clinked her glass with his—and felt it again. That of déjà vu. That sense that they’d already met.

“I’m sorry, but you look really familiar, and I have this overwhelming feeling we’ve done this before.”

Something glinted in Malakai’s eye, as if he’d been waiting for her to say it ever since he’d answered the door. “Well, we never made it to the drink… but we have met before.”

She cocked her head, knowing he was right but struggling to remember. “When?”

He breathed out, recalling it himself. “Back in the summer, at a bar downtown. If I remember correctly, you called me mysterious.”

He took a sip of his Scotch, and just like that it came back to her, as if all he’d had to do was say the word to unlock some hidden memory in the recesses of her mind. They had met that summer, as she’d been leaving a bar to head to another one downtown. And she’d absolutely called him “mysterious.”

* * * *

“There’s a tattooed guy over there who’s been checking you out non-stop ever since he walked in.”

Her friend smirked as she finished what was left of her drink and indicated with her eyes where exactly “over there” was. She glanced over her shoulder as discreetly she could, her head light from the alcohol she’d consumed. It wasn’t hard to spot exactly who her friend was talking about. Ink covered both his arms and reached up the side of his neck from underneath the collar of his black t-shirt. He had a full beard and long light brown hair that was shaved on the sides. It was obvious he kept in shape. He was attractive, absolutely. But the stony look on his face made him seem less than approachable.

She turned back to her friend with a shrug. “And? We’re leaving.”

“And?” she echoed. “Go get his number.”

“What? Why?”

“Why not? You’re not still talking to that douche from the gym, are you?”

She rolled her eyes, but conveniently ignored the question. “I’m gonna go close out.”

She got up from their table and made her way to the bar, and even though she’d acted uninterested, her gaze couldn’t help but drift over to tattooed guy again. He turned his head and their eyes met. It sent an unexpected jolt of electricity through her body. Maybe her friend was right; maybe she should get his number. She smirked and looked coyly away, walking with just a little more sway in her hips.

The bar was crowded with people out enjoying the summer Saturday night, and she had to wait for a spot to open up so she could squeeze in and lean her elbows on the bar top. But the only bartender was at the other end working his way down, and with the amount of people lined up between there and where she stood, it didn’t seem like he’d get to her any time soon. So, she fished her phone out of her clutch; but just as she did, a second bartender appeared. He nudged his chin at someone as they came up next to her.

“Hey, man. Want your usual?”

“Yeah, and whatever she wants.”

She looked over in surprise. It was tattooed guy.

The bartender looked expectantly at her, but she seemed to have forgotten how to speak. “Um, I was actually closing out…” she eventually said.

She looked apologetically at tattooed guy. A corner of his mouth quirked up. He had a lip ring she hadn’t noticed before.

“Well, I guess just my usual, then,” he said.

Something like regret twinged her gut, and after she gave the bartender her name he left to run her tab. But she couldn’t just leave it at that. She didn’t want to just leave it at that.

“Thank you, though,” she genuinely told tattooed guy. “I’d take you up on the offer if I wasn’t leaving.”

His smirk widened. His teeth were white and perfect. “I guess I can’t tempt you to stay, then?”

She wasn’t sure if he was being serious or not, but she suddenly was tempted to stay. Fuck your friends, the little devil on her shoulder practically urged. You’ve been yearning for a little intrigue.

But the angel on her other shoulder reminded her it wouldn’t be right. “Well, my friend and I are going to a birthday thing at another bar a few blocks down, so it would be kind of a dick move if I ditched. No matter how much I’d like to.”

She looked up at him from underneath long, dark lashes and, whether intentionally or not, softly bit her lip. It was the liquid courage. Or maybe it was just him.

The bartender returned with her receipt and tattooed guy’s drink. She was a bit disappointed that he’d been so quick about it. But as she finished signing her name, tattooed guy spoke up again.

“Well, just because you’re leaving now doesn’t mean I can’t buy you a drink later.”

There was that electricity again. “No, it doesn’t,” she agreed. And before she could ask, he grabbed a napkin from a caddy on the bar, took the pen from her fingers, and wrote down his number.

“Here. We can get a drink on a night when you’re not going to a birthday thing.”

He handed her the napkin. But she noticed there was something missing.

“No name?”

He flashed that pearly white devilish grin. “I’ll tell you when you text me.”

It was a bold move. Confident. It turned her on. “Mysterious, are we? It’s working for you, not gonna lie,” she smiled, with that she turned and walked away, making sure to tuck the napkin safely inside her clutch.

* * * *

She blinked out of the memory. “Oh my God—you gave me your number.”

“And you never texted,” Malakai reminded with a teasing grin. “It bruised my ego for a bit, not gonna lie.”

She frowned regretfully at him, not unlike she had that summer night. “I know, I’m sorry. Genuinely. I was sort of still involved with this other guy at the time and… yeah. I wish I had texted you; you’re already ten times more interesting than him.”

That charming grin spread over Malakai’s lips again. “Well, I was rocking a beard back then so I forgive you for not recognizing me,” he said, rubbing his clean-shaven face. It suited him, she thought. “Plus, everything happens in its own time, when it’s meant to. And when I found out you were the one Ben’s been visiting… it didn’t seem like just coincidence.”

She fidgeted under his gaze, suddenly wondering with some embarrassment how much Malakai knew about Ben’s visits. But she agreed. It didn’t seem like just coincidence.

“Maybe not.”

Malakai nudged his head. “Come on, I want to introduce you to a few people.”

He put his hand on the small of her back, and she let him guide her toward a group standing near the fireplace. And as they turned, she stole a glance at Ben over her shoulder, and found him still watching.

* * * *

It was strange. If she’d felt like a total fish out of water when she’d arrived, by the end of the night she’d grown lungs. Malakai just had this way of making her feel at ease, understood, seen—and not just her. Everyone. It was innate in him, and it was obvious from his interactions with each and every person he introduced her to that he was the most respected person in the room. Any room.

The large, imposing man and petite blonde who had been there that night at the pub were named Brody and Julia. Malakai had introduced her to them first. Brody had been welcoming and kind; he wasn’t nearly as intimidating as he looked. But Julia had been glaring daggers at her all night. She couldn’t tell if it was out of jealousy or mistrust. Maybe a little of both.

The muscular redhead was named Buddy, which seemed like a strange fit. He was Australian, as was his fiancée, a woman named Rhea with striking feline-like features and a wide, white smile. She clearly spent just as much time in the gym as Buddy did. In fact, everyone at the party was fit and gorgeous. It was intimidating.

But Malakai made her feel like she fit.

And then there was Ben.

Whereas everyone else clearly regarded Malakai with respect, Ben didn’t seem to like him much at all. He didn’t even seem like he wanted to be there. There was a permanent scowl on his face, and he hadn’t said a single word to her all night. It was confusing. He was the reason she was here, all the strange, seemingly impossible things that had been happening; but Malakai had neglected to formally introduce her and Ben. He hadn’t interacted with him at all. There was a power struggle between them, she could sense it. It put her on edge.

But now it was nearing midnight, and the party had wound down. Everyone but Brody, Julia, and Ben had left, their fancy cars disappearing from the driveway one by one. As for her, she wasn’t sure if she should stay or go. No one had made mention of the dreams, not since Malakai had let her in, and she’d understood without being told that that was intentional. Most of the people at the party weren’t privy to that information, that world. And now that it was just them, she wondered if Malakai would finally broach the topic.

At the moment, though, Malakai was seeing Julia out.

They stood in the open doorway, the outside cold seeping into the foyer, while she waited in the sitting room in front of the large bookcase, occupying herself with studying the books and items on the shelves. She didn’t want to eavesdrop. But it was hard not to. Their hushed, harsh tones made it obvious they were talking about her. Arguing. She refocused on the books.

From what she could discern from the titles printed on their spines, hardbound and thick, many of the books were about mythology, folklore, and religion, mainly those of Norse, Germanic, and Celtic traditions, but some from East Asian cultures. Others were about the occult and esoteric topics she’d never heard of. A few were in another language that, at first glance, looked like German, but might have been Dutch. She thought she’d detected a hint of some European accent in Malakai’s voice, but it had been so faint that she’d stopped noticing it after a while.

But the thing that most drew her attention was a gilded statue of a man with large deer antlers protruding from his head. She didn’t have a clue who he was—character, god, being, something in between—but the figure pulled her forward as if by a string in her gut. His eyes were gold and blank, but she swore he could see her. Watching.

“That’s Herne the Hunter.”

She jumped at the sound of Malakai’s voice right behind her.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologized with a grin and a touch to her lower back. His hand lingered. She didn’t mind.

“It’s fine; I didn’t hear you at all.” She glanced toward the door. Julia was gone. “Everything alright?”

He breathed out as he nodded and pulled his hand away. She instantly missed his touch. “Yeah. Julia… doesn’t trust easily. She’s protective of what we have as a group, and you’re the first new person I’ve brought in in a while.”

Her stomach flipped involuntarily. “Understandable, I suppose,” she returned.

Malakai nodded. “Yeah… but I like you. And that’s really all that matters.”

She looked up at him and suddenly realized how close they were. The heat between them. She cleared her throat and looked back at the statue. “So, who’s Herne the Hunter? Some sort of mythological figure?”

He thoughtfully bobbled his head. “It depends on what you believe. The first recorded mention of Herne was actually by Shakespeare in The Merry Wives of Windsor, but no one’s really sure where he derived the character from. Some think ‘Herne’ is another name for an ancient Celtic deity; others think he’s based on a real person. But I personally believe Herne is another form of Odin, particularly with relation to the Wild Hunt.”

Her brow furrowed. “I’ve heard of that, but I’m not sure what it is.”

“It’s from Northern European folklore,” he explained. “A hunt made up of souls of the dead or other entities, usually led by Odin or another figure affiliated with him.”

She nodded. “And what are they hunting? Mortal souls?” she asked. Malakai grinned, crooked.

“No… it’s more of an omen than an actual hunt. Seeing the Wild Hunt is said to portend some sort of catastrophe, or the death of the person who witnesses it. Although, some cultures do believe that people who cross paths with the Wild Hunt can be abducted to the underworld. Some even believe it can steal people’s souls as they sleep.”

A shiver shot up her spine, from the base all the way to her skull. There was something about the deliberate way he’d said that, the look he’d given her as he did, that caused her throat to tighten. Despite her lack of understanding, she hadn’t worried that anything would happen to her—her soul—when she was in the dream realm.

But then why would Malakai have said that to her?

“Don’t read too much into it,” he added, reading her reaction. “It’s like I said earlier… there’s nothing to be afraid of. There’s only possibility.”

Of what, though? she wondered. But she was too distracted to voice it; distracted by him. He attracted her like a magnet, natural and impossible to resist. Inevitable. He still had the lip ring. She’d never kissed anyone with a lip ring before. She wanted to now.

“Malakai.”

Someone interrupted and snapped her out of the trance. Brody. Ben was there too, stiff and scowling. She took an awkward step back from Malakai.

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but can I steal you for a minute?”

Brody’s eyes flicked to her, and she got the sense this was about her. Again.

“Of course,” Malakai said. “Excuse me for a minute,” he said to her with another touch on her back, and then he and Brody left the room.

Ben, however, stayed right where he was.

“Oh, so now you want to be around me?” she said. She couldn’t help it; his behavior the whole night had put her off. Maybe even hurt her.

“You and Malakai seem to be getting along,” he returned. The contempt in his voice was palpable.

“Yeah well, funnily enough, it turns out we’ve met before. Did you know that?”

Her tone was accusatory. But the scowl on his face softened.

“No. Not before that night we ran into each other at the pub.”

And just like that, it all clicked into place. Ben’s disdain; Malakai’s interest. Ben wasn’t the one who’d invited her here—Malakai was. Ben had just been the messenger. And when they’d been intimate, he’d known. She felt sick.

“What the fuck?” she blurted.

He moved closer then. “Listen—I know, alright? But you have no idea what’s going on here.”

“So tell me. I’ve been waiting all fucking night for someone to tell me.”

“Malakai is dangerous.”

Her stomach lurched. Ben’s eyes were dark, deadly serious. She had to swallow a lump in her throat before she could respond. “What do you mean?”

Ben waited for a beat, listening. Making sure Malakai and Brody weren’t nearby. When he spoke, it was hushed and quick. “He’s cunning, and manipulative, and he uses people until he decides they’re of no use to him anymore. Julia? She worships the ground he fucking walks on, but the second you came through the door he looked ready to put her out with the rubbish. And she’ll be lucky if that’s what he does.”

Her brow lowered. “Well then why are you here?” she defiantly asked. “Why’d you bring me here if he’s so dangerous?”

“I’m not here by choice. And I shouldn’t have brought you here. I wish I hadn’t.”

His words landed like a blow to the gut, unexpected and hard. She stepped back from him—and then they heard footsteps. Malakai and Brody appeared a second later. Malakai slowed to a stop, glancing between her and Ben. The tension was obvious.

“Everything alright?��

His eyes lingered on Ben. He looked much differently at him than he did her. Then he had everyone that night.

“Oh, yeah,” she quickly answered. “It’s just getting late; I should probably head out before I get much more tired.”

It was a half-truth, a lie by omission, and she was certain Malakai knew that. He shot another glance at Ben, but he didn’t press her further.

“Of course. Let me get your coat.”

He walked toward her, and she sent Ben a parting look as Malakai led her back out into the foyer. She both didn’t want to speak to him and hoped he’d visit that night, if only to answer the dozens of questions he’d left her with.

But now, she didn’t know if it was safe.

Malakai retrieved her coat and helped her put it on. She thanked him as she zipped it up. There was visible concern on his brow.

“Are you sure you’re alright? I hope I didn’t scare you off with that Wild Hunt stuff.”

“Oh! No,” she professed with a shake of her head. “No. You didn’t scare me off. I promise.”

That was Ben, she wryly thought.

“Good,” he smiled, handsome as ever. But it felt ominous after Ben’s warning. “Well, I’m assuming you didn’t save my number that night… but I’d still like to get a drink. Coffee, maybe. If you’d like.”

She felt her mouth go dry with nervousness. Her knee-jerk response was to say yes, of course, I’d love to get coffee with you. And the kernel of fear that Ben had planted hadn’t yet taken root.

“Yeah, I’d like that. Here.” She fished her phone from her pocket. “You can make sure I have it this time.”

Her skin tingled when their fingers brushed as he took her phone, and he input his name and number and handed it back to her. “How about tomorrow?” he asked.

She bit back a grin. “Tomorrow’s perfect,” she said. It pleased Malakai.

“Great. I’ll let you know. And you let me know when you make it home.”

“I will.”

He opened the front door, and a draft of cold air rushed in. She pulled her coat closer as she stepped out into the night, already eager to get home and fall asleep. Not in hopes of seeing Ben, but in anticipation of seeing Malakai again.

#malakai black fanfiction #pac fanfiction #the bastard pac fanfiction #house of black fanfiction #aew fanfiction

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