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busterkeatonfanfic · 3 years

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Note: Today is so beautiful, you all deserve this 8,000-word chapter a few days early. Thank Uncle Joe and Aunt Kamala. If you enjoy it, please leave me a little comment telling me what you liked best. They really keep me going!

Chapter 13

Nelly had never suffered stage fright in the theater, but as her taxi pulled up to the Villa, she felt like she was getting a year’s worth at once. Her taxi wasn’t the only vehicle in the front drive. A handsome red-and-black Packard was there, expelling a man in a seersucker suit and a fashionable woman who shimmered in a dress the color of a deep blue sapphire. She wished desperately for a drink. She wished that she hadn’t eaten a plate of scalloped ham and potatoes before leaving. She wished that she’d asked Buster what to wear, how to comport herself, what to say, but all she had to go on were her own acting skills and a small measure of courage. She wondered if he’d be surprised to see her show up, if he’d forgotten the invitation altogether.

She had rented her dress from Carmela’s for the handsome sum of $37. It was pale green like a luna moth and layered in silks and crepe de chine. Silver beading was stitched across the front in a design vaguely resembling a rising phoenix. She’d also purchased a white-feathered rhinestone headpiece for $12, but her necklace was her own and its green gemstones only glass. Her hair was waved, each side done up in a braided bun. For her lips she’d chosen a dark rose, and she’d applied some turquoise shadow to her lids above the kohl liner. She felt like a perfect imposter, albeit an elegant one.

Until they’d pulled up his drive and she’d sighted the Villa, she hadn’t really understood just how rich Buster Keaton was. The residence was white and enormous, a sort of boxcar shape with both ends bent inward, with a red clay-tile roof and another large house to the left as you were approaching the Villa from the back. A long paved drive wound up the back of the house where palm trees, Mediterranean cypresses, and a carpet bed of flowers studded the hills. Buster’s easy, humble manner on the few occasions she’d interacted with him in person had made her feel increasingly at ease with him. It had begun to feel like they were on the same level. Now she realized how incorrect that feeling had been. She’d been in a few stately houses back in Evanston—those belonging to her mother’s higher-society friends—but they were nothing to the sprawling grandeur of the Villa.

The jets of a stone fountain in the center of the front drive splashed pleasantly as Nelly stepped out of the car and tipped the driver, holding her door, with a five-dollar bill. She smiled and tried to look easy, like she belonged there and was in the habit of handing out handsome tips. Her only thought as she approached the tall arched doorway of the Villa was, I’m going to flub my lines.

It was a warm night and no one was wearing coats, but there was a maid in the foyer prepared to take them nonetheless. Just outside of the foyer, a beautiful young woman was smiling and clasping the hand of another beautiful young woman, who was accompanied by a beautiful young man. The beautiful young woman looked a whole lot like Norma Talmage and Nelly realized that she was none other than Natalie. Her heart went wild. Before she had time to think about what she would say, it was her turn to greet the hostess.

“How do you do?” she said.

“Very well. How do you do?” said Natalie, smiling. She was slim and petite, with a dark bob parted on the side and prettily waved.

“Very well. I’m Nelly. I worked with Bus—your husband—on Steamboat Bill.” She didn’t know what made her blurt it, only that Natalie was looking at her without a hint of recognition in her eyes and Nelly felt she owed an explanation for how a nobody like her ended up among the big names. She fancied that she saw something in Natalie’s expression change a little, but the smile didn’t waver.

“Very pleased to meet you. You’ll find refreshments just over there. Buster will be down in a little while. I’m sure he’ll be pleased you came.”

Nelly wanted to do something to soften Natalie’s impression of her, compliment the house or her dress, a costly-looking beaded yellow one that hit slightly above the knee, but she was already greeting the next guest.

Seven or so couples mingled in the space beyond the foyer. There were two square white columns supporting an upper level, a majestic stone staircase leading up to it on the right, and arched doorways to the left and right leading to unseen parts of the house. There were arched doorways everywhere, in fact, and a long table filled with an assortment of French hors d’oeuvre. A recessed area with white-streaked black marble steps stood at the rear of the open room, leading out to a loggia from which Nelly could just see the backyard. She itched to find the washroom so she could powder the sweat off her face.

A butler appeared at her elbow offering a cocktail and she took it at once. When she was sure no one was watching, she gulped it in one go and hid the glass on a nearby table. She had no business being here. She wondered whether she was meant to have invited somebody. All of the other couples seemed to know each other and were engrossed in conversation, and she was the only one without a partner. She stood on the checkerboard marble floor with her hands knit in front of her, smiling and trying her best to project an air of belonging.

That smile faltered when she saw who came through foyer next. It was Louise Brooks! She was wearing a low-cut black gown that revealed the cleavage of her small breasts and her lips were a deep cherry red. She was accompanied by a man that Nelly didn’t recognize. Nelly’s mouth began to go dry and she was keenly aware of how damp her underarms had become. She had nothing to anchor herself to for comfort or security. As the minutes ticked by and she remained unacknowledged by the other guests besides polite smiles and nods, she began to feel hot and dizzy. Her heart was beating rapidly. She needed to escape. She wondered if anyone would notice if she made a casual break for the loggia.

“Hey, Buster!” a man called. Some people pointed up and waved. Nelly followed their eyes and saw Buster on the second level above the loggia. He put up his hand gravely like a king recognizing his subjects and started down the stairs.

In the next horrifying moment, he lost his footing and took a hard tumble straight down. The room erupted in gasps and shouts. Buster had come to rest on his back at the foot of the stairs with his limbs splayed. His eyes were closed and he wasn’t moving. Some of the guests rushed toward him.

Then, with a mildly baffled expression, he stood up and brushed the dust off the arms of his suit jacket. Someone began clapping and pretty soon everyone joined in, laughing and cheering him. Only then did Nelly realize it had been a pratfall. She didn’t know if it was funny. The sight of him lying so still for those few heart-stopping moments had rattled her.

“A drink?” The butler was at her elbow again.

She looked away from Buster. “Please.”

He handed her a martini glass with a little orange wedge on the side and sugar on the rim and she sipped, the spell of her own panic broken somewhat, though not for very long. Still more guests were filtering into the room. She recognized Marion Davies and Norma Talmadge with another thudding of her heart in her throat. The room seemed to be getting famouser by the minute. Buster was greeting guests a few yards away, sober and unsmiling, unaware that she was there. She wondered if he’d forgotten that he’d invited her. It seemed quite possible.

It was too much; she gave into her impulse to steal off to the loggia. Trying not to draw attention to herself, she stepped down into the recessed area, through an arched doorway, and into the loggia. White wicker furniture, potted trees, and pink orchids adorned it. Sconces on its inner walls burned with real flames, while two hanging fixtures gave a stronger light.

It felt a few degrees cooler outside. The sun had by now fallen and only a few streaks of purple remained in the sky. Nelly’s cocktail tasted of citrus, and she licked some sugar off the rim. The glow of the drinks hadn’t yet hit her. Too much scalloped ham in her stomach, she supposed. She stood next to one of the columns beneath yet another arched doorway and looked down what seemed like one hundred white marble steps, illuminated by carefully concealed electric lights, leading to the huge sunken swimming pool. The green lawn seemed to go on for miles. She still couldn’t get her head around the sheer excess of Buster’s abode. She remembered a two-reeler in which a down-and-out Buster, looking pitiful, stood in a bread line but was denied a loaf at the last minute. How humble and sad he had seemed!

“Hello,” said Buster behind her.

She shuddered in surprise and turned around to see him walking toward her. “You always sneak up on me,” she said.

“Nelly.”

The split-second astonishment on his face told her two things. One, he hadn’t recognized her. Two, she looked as good as she thought she did. A sudden warm confidence renewed her.

“What are you doing out here?” he said, stopping a few paces from her. He raised his own cocktail to his lips.

She took another sip of hers, deciding there was no point in not being honest. “I realized I was out of place and wanted some air.”

Buster looked at her appraisingly. He was wearing a well-tailored navy-blue suit and the flowers on his matching silk tie were embroidered in bright gilt thread. It was the prettiest tie she’d ever seen. “Thought you wanted fame and fortune,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows. “I want a job as an extra. I never said anything about fame and fortune.”

“What about your starring role in Shakespeare’s big talkie?” he said. Although he wasn’t smiling, it was definitely a tease.

“I want the role. I hadn’t thought about what happens next,” she said, and it was true. She wanted to be an actress because she liked it. She wanted recognition for that acting, but it had never occurred to her, not seriously anyway, that recognition might lead to prominence or money. Now, among Hollywood’s elites in Buster Keaton’s extravagant mansion, anything seemed possible. Silence fell between them and she finished her cocktail.

Buster said, “So what do you think?”

“Of what?”

“My house. The Villa.” He came to her side.

She met his eyes and was alarmed to feel a sort of flutter in her middle as they regarded each other. She thought of Natalie greeting her in the foyer and was disgusted with herself. “It’s, uh …” she said, distracted.

“Vulgar?”

“No, that’s not what I was going to say. I think it’s wonderful. I’ve never seen anything like it.” “But it is vulgar. I think it’s wonderful as well, but it’s vulgar. You can say it.”

“If you insist,” she said, looking away from him. It was difficult to look him in the eyes now.

“You’re not being honest,” he said.

For a panicked second, she thought he was referring to her feelings. But no, they were talking about the house. “I never thought you lived like this,” she said. “I guess I don’t know what I thought. I’m not used to it.”

Buster nodded. “You thought I was that honest boy from the pictures.”

“Well that’s how you seem when you’re working. I mean, when you’re filming a picture.”

He sipped his cocktail. “It’s expected,” he said, sweeping his hand to indicate the house. “When in Rome, you know.”

“Well I suppose that tells you that I’m out of place, that I’m not used to it.”

“C’mon, I’ll help you find your place.” He held out his elbow and she found she couldn’t refuse. She linked her arm in his before she was properly aware of it. His arm was warm and the material of his jacket was soft against her bare arm. He smelled like cigarettes and aftershave. Her mind protested, Natalie, his wife Natalie. But she was powerless. They walked back up the steps to the recessed area, then up the other pair of steps to the checkerboard floor. The room was now noisy with conversation. A Victrola playing jazz could barely be heard.

Buster dropped her arm and stopped in front of Marion Davies and her male companion, who were near the hors d'oeuvre table sipping drinks. “Nelly, this is Marion and Dick. Marion and Dick, this is Nelly.”

“How do you do?” said Nelly, blushing.

With formalities out of the way, the lovely blonde-haired Marion asked with a polite smile, “And what do you do, Nelly?”

“I’m a theater actress. I worked with Buster on his last picture,” she said, the answer coming out just as smoothly as if she’d rehearsed it.

More polite conversation commenced, and Nelly began to relax. This was one of her mother’s garden parties when she was a teenager and she was practicing her charm and manners with the adults, that was all. Sure it was artificial, but that was okay.

As soon as there was a lull in the conversation with Marion and Dick, Buster spun her toward a nearby man looking to be about forty, slightly heavy with large, broad arms. “Clarence, Nelly. Nelly, Clarence.”

Clarence ended up being Clarence Brown, who had directed Norma Talmadge in Kiki. Nelly told him that she had liked it and Buster said in a whisper, his breath hot on her ear, “Careful you don’t charm him too much, he just got divorced.”

Next, Buster turned her toward Jack Conway and his wife Virginia. She didn’t recognize his name and kicked herself for not paying more attention to title credits when Buster explained that he was Jack Conway the director. She had seen Brown of Harvard, though, and was able to find common ground with him by telling him that she liked it. She was just starting to feel like she had established a good rapport with the Conways when Buster whisked her away again. She was now faced with Louise Brooks, sparkling like the dictionary definition of sex, and her date, a slim-mouthed man in a grey double-breasted suit who did not sparkle with anything.

“Louise and George, Nelly. Nelly, Louise and George.”

“Call him Wet Wash,” said Louise, giggling.

“She’s not his wife,” Buster whispered. Nelly swallowed at the feeling of his breath against her ear again.

Again, Buster’s butler approached her and again she accepted a cocktail. This one was bright green and mint-flavored. Nelly hadn’t seen Louise Brooks in any pictures, but she’d seen her in plenty of magazines, so she expressed her admiration for Louise’s sleek, dark-brown bob instead. Louise received the compliment good-humoredly and asked Nelly what she did. Buster placed his hand on the small of her back. The weight of it was exquisite, but brief. He leaned over to say, “You’re on your own now, kid. I have to mingle.” Then he was gone.

“I’m a theater actress,” said Nelly.

And Louise said, “Oh, what have you starred in?”

And pretty soon she was telling Louise about the humble Vista, the revues, and playing Helena and Maria like it was nothing. It was suicide to be seen paying more than momentary attention to a girl in the presence of Nate and the two warships that were his sisters-in-law, but from the minute Buster saw Nelly out on the loggia, a vision in green, he couldn’t seem to leave her alone. There was no reason why he should worry so much about whether she was having a good time or if she spoke to the right people, but now that she was here, he felt compelled to look out for her. Maybe it was how drunk she’d gotten at that speak-easy. Without guidance, she seemed liable to slip and be swallowed up. Or maybe it was her unspoiled Midwestern ways, which reminded him so much of folks he’d known in Muskegon.

He wondered that he’d never noticed that her eyes were blue.

His sense of duty toward her became more powerful with every drink. He knew he’d suffer the consequences in the form of one of Nate’s jealousy attacks, but that punishment seemed far removed as his guests got drunker and their sense of abandon greater. Morning was far off and the night was still young. Now was a time to be happy about it all, to stop tormenting himself about how to make Nate happy and thinking about being saddled with twenty M-G-M gag writers who wouldn’t know funny if it high-kicked them in the forehead like Joe Keaton. He was with his friends in his palace, there was a pretty girl to charm, and life was okay. Somewhere north of nine o’clock, Nelly was sitting in the family room on a settee opposite Louise and George, who were sharing a chair. Perched in George’s lap, Louise’s sparkle drew lots of men’s eyes, Nelly noticed. Of course, that sparkle had a lot to do with the shocking low cut of her dress and its promise to expose her breasts if she moved just a little this way or that. In spite of Louise’s glamor and unabashed provocativeness, Nelly liked her. She was down-to-earth, and they soon discovered a mutual love of books and music. Another citrus cocktail had been handed to Nelly by the butler at some point and the warm glow of spirits was finally upon her. She couldn’t remember why she’d been so worried about this party. She belonged perfectly.

Louise was in the midst of a story about her first feature role which was to begin filming in Mexico the following month when Buster wandered over. It had been over an hour since Nelly had last seen him. She looked up expectantly, waiting for him to sit next to her on the settee. Instead, he moved closer and seated himself straight in her lap.

“Buster!” she cried, trying not to spill what remained of her drink.

He sprang up and looked at her lap, his brows knit in confusion. Then he sat next to her, folded his hands, and looked at Louise and George, as if unaware of his mistake. Louise laughed appreciatively and George smiled. Nelly tried not to laugh, but couldn’t help it. He really was funny, playing the boyish Buster she knew from the screen.

“Oh. Nelly,” he said, as though noticing her for the first time.

“Buster,” she said dryly.

“I don’t suppose you like to dance,” he said. He searched her eyes and nodded slowly, as if coming to an answer. “No, I don’t think you do.”

“What?” she said. Her cheeks were warm and there was a joke she wasn’t understanding.

“Go dance with him!” said Louise, laughing. “That’s what he’s asking.”

Buster responded with a mock pained look and opened his hands, as if to say, Great, you just ruined it.

Silently, he offered his elbow to Nelly, looking straight ahead and not saying anything, back to acting like one of his characters again. She took it and cast Louise a helpless look as he led her away. As they headed back toward the room with the checkerboard floor, she kept her gaze straight ahead. She didn’t want to risk catching any of the Talmadges’ eyes if they were around.

A medium-tempo jazz number was playing on the Victrola. Buster wasted no time in placing an arm around her waist and taking her hand in his. He led her onto the checkerboard floor where a number of other couples were dancing. She smelled whiskey on him where she hadn’t earlier and wondered if he was drunk. Buster hummed along to the song, which wasn’t one she recognized, but she liked the jaunty saxophone. He was a good dancer, nimble and coordinated.

She looked into his eyes and what she thought she saw there made her certain that she was in over her head. She quickly glanced away. She was getting that gay happy feeling she had the night at the blind tiger and wished to squash it. Natalie might be somewhere in the room and Buster was dancing with a girl other than his wife, so she had to have all her wits about her.

Don’t you know who she is

Looking right at me is

Sugar

My sugar

She looked at Buster’s hand curled around hers. She’d never noticed how big his hands were for such a small man. Feeling the danger in it, she glanced back at his face. He was regarding her impassively. She dropped her eyes again.

Bees would not be buzzin’

‘Round her if she wasn’t

Sugar

My sugar

I declare that honey hasn’t got a thing on her,

No sir!

Buster hummed as he swanned her around the room. Nelly finally worked up the courage to look over his shoulder to see who else was in the room. To her relief, she saw none of the Talmadges, which could only mean that they were in the living room. She made a note to spend the rest of the night out here offering herself as a dance partner so she could avoid finding out how they felt about Buster inviting her to dance.

In conclusion therefore

That is why I care for

Sugar

She felt a little out of breath when the song ended. Part of her was relieved that they were no longer drawing attention to themselves and the other part was disappointed, especially when Buster released her hand and dropped his hand from her waist.

She started to thank Buster for the dance, but his attention was elsewhere. Her eyes followed his and fell on a man who wasn’t much taller than Buster, but seemed far bigger. Maybe it was the breadth of his most defining features: that distinctive cleft chin, the prominent nose and ears. Or maybe it was just the way he had loomed so large in her fantasies.

“Well there’s your Don Juan,” Buster said softly, breaking the spell. “Won’t you go to him?”

“Oh, I can’t,” she said, terror grabbing her.

Buster touched her chin and steered her face back to his. “Do you want to be in pictures?” He looked at her in an earnest way.

“Yes.”

“Then let’s meet him.” He placed his hand lightly in the center of her back and walked her to the object of so many of her torrid dreams.

“Jack, this is Nelly. Nelly, this is Jack,” he said.

To Nelly’s alarm, Buster melted off into the crowd and she was stuck staring up into John Barrymore’s face.“How do you do?” she said. Tremulous didn’t begin to describe how she felt.

He smiled. “How do you do?” His voice was deep and rich and aristocratic, exactly as she had imagined it. “Do you care to dance?”

She managed to nod and he pulled her close to him, guiding her in a waltz step as a slower number began. It was a new version of “In the Good Old Summertime” that she hadn’t heard before.

In the good old summertime

“And what’s your story, Nelly?” Barrymore asked.

Nelly felt like she might be drowning.

You hold her hand and she holds yours

And that’s a very good sign

In a daze, her cheeks flushed, she found herself telling him not about being a theater actress or working with Buster, but of playing Kate in the first talkie adaptation of Taming of the Shrew. Unlike Buster, Barrymore knew Shakespeare back to front and she felt sure somehow that he would understand. He smiled and listened, the perfect gentleman. She explained that talkies were a natural fit for Shakespeare and would forever change the way audiences experienced him. All the while, the soft dreamy notes of the music carried them along. She had been gay and light-hearted before, but now she was overpowered by Barrymore’s sheer presence. He was strong, he was beautiful, he seemed a little dangerous. Maybe this was what real love felt like.

She was surprised when he released her hand and thanked her for the dance. The music had ended just like that. She felt as though she’d only been dancing for seconds.

Before she had time to do anything other than return his thanks for the dance, another man touched her shoulder. “May I have this dance?” he said in a refined English accent. He was about Buster’s size and quite handsome.

“Of course,” she said, taken aback. She was dizzy with the drinks and the encounter with Barrymore. She wanted nothing more than to retire to the washroom to touch up her face and memorize the details of her conversation with Barrymore, but it wouldn’t do to be rude to one of Buster’s guests.

The man grasped her waist and took her hand as a Dixieland jazz tune began. He smiled. He had full lips, blue eyes, and thick wavy hair that was turning white at his temples and forehead. In spite of that, he looked and sounded young. She tried to remember if she had ever danced with three such handsome men before in a single night.

“I’m Nelly,” she said. “A stage actress.”

“You probably don’t need me to introduce myself,” said the man. His voice was light and cheerful. He bore forward and she stepped back, left foot, right foot, to the side. A tango.

She didn’t recognize him at all, but guessed that he was a director. “I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are,” she confessed. “I’m pretty new to town.”

The man’s smile broadened. “You’ve really no idea?” He seemed delighted by this news.

Nelly smiled and shook her head. “Not in the faintest.”

“Shall I spoil it for you or do you like a mystery?” he said.

“I like one well enough,” she said, trying to remember her tango steps.

“I’ll give you a clue. Clue starts with C.”

Beautiful changes in different keys

Beautiful changes and harmonies

“You’re charming,” she said.

“That’s not my name, but it’s a good guess.”

Watch that, hear that minor strain!

The song changed tempo and they trotted across the floor. She was definitely out of breath now.

There’s so many babies that he can squeeze,

And he’s always changing those keys.

She studied his face and shook her head again after a few seconds. “I can’t place you. Are you a director?”

“The first four letters were right,” he said, winking. “When you said ‘charming.’”

She spelled them in her head, C-H-A-R, and the penny dropped, along with her jaw. “I can’t believe it!” she managed.

“It’s not often I get to surprise anybody,” he said, looking satisfied.

She searched his face for hints of the Little Tramp, but couldn’t find them. “I never knew your eyes were blue. I thought they were brown.”

“One of my many secrets.”

“Well, you are a director. I had that right!” she said, and that made him laugh.

When the dance ended, Charlie Chaplin kissed her hand before releasing her and she felt truly like she was walking on the moon as she sought out of the washroom. It didn’t seem possible that this was her life. She relieved herself, then appraised herself in the mirror. It was scalloped and gold, with the names of famous Italian cities stamped around the edges, FIRENZE, GENOVA, ROMA, MODENA, VENEZIA. She was happy to see that her makeup was mostly bearing up under the dancing, but she touched up her lipstick and powder. Although she was a little flushed, she felt far more in control of her faculties than she had been the night of the blind tiger. There was great irony, she supposed, in the fact that she had felt out of place that night too. Whether in low company or high company, Nelly Foster managed to stick out. Her head whirled with the encounters she’d had over the past few hours, Marion Davis, Louise, John Barrymore, and Charlie Chaplin.

And Buster, the architect of it all. As she left the washroom, she wondered where he’d gotten off to. She hesitated in the corridor, reluctant to rejoin the revelers on the checkerboard floor or face the Talmadge clan in the living room. Once again, the loggia seemed the logical solution. She crept off to it, wondering what time it was.

Unfortunately, the loggia was not a refuge. As soon as she stepped foot on it, she heard such blatant sounds of passion that sent her scurrying and blushing back to the room with the checkerboard floor. The front door seemed to beckon. There was a grandfather clock just outside the foyer that told her it was a quarter to eleven. The mere thought of the late hour made her yawn; she was accustomed to being asleep by nine-thirty each night. The night had been enjoyable and, all things considered, she had comported herself alright. It seemed wisest to call a taxi and quit while she was ahead.

“You’re not leaving?” said Buster behind her.

She startled again. “How do you manage to do that?” she said, turning around

“Do what?” He had a whiskey glass in each hand and was wearing a nonchalant expression.

“Oh, you know what,” she said. “And yes, I was thinking of it. It’s getting late.”

Buster cocked his head, indicating the front door.

“What?” she said.

He rolled his eyes in mock impatience and cocked his head again, wordless, playing his character. She followed him, her heart quickening as she followed him out the massive arched mahogany door and into the circle drive where the fountain splashed. She couldn’t imagine where they were going and why. He went left and led her past topiaries, then left around the corner of the house. Outside, it was dark and still. The leaves of palms waved above them and shrubs sheltered them from sight. Buster sank down in the lawn some feet from the marble steps of another loggia, this one with a squarish entrance.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

Instead of answering, he reached up and offered her one of the glasses. She took it and sniffed it. It was straight whiskey. Her stomach remembered the way it had felt coming back up that night in his hotel room in July and she hesitated.

“Did you get your break with Barrymore?” Buster said, looking up at the sky.

Nelly set the drink in the grass and lowered herself carefully next to him. She had to return the dress the following day and would be responsible for any damage, including grass stains. “I didn’t get a chance to bring it up.”

Buster tilted his glass to his lips. “I can talk to him if you’d like. Or Sam Taylor.”

Nelly frowned though he couldn’t see her face well in the diffuse light coming from the loggia. She picked up the glass and swirled it, then plugged up her nose before she took a drink. All the same, the whiskey still burned going down. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she said at last. The question had been growing on her ever since he invited her to the party and, influenced by the cocktails, she wanted to know.

Buster took another drink. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t be?” He lowered his chin and looked off into the distance.

“Are you drunk?” she said. She didn’t have proof, but she was pretty sure she was more sober than him by miles.

“Does it matter?” he countered.

The conversation wasn’t getting anywhere. “All I mean to say,” she said, “is that you don’t have to introduce me to your friends. When I called you the other day, I wasn’t expecting this. In fact, now I don’t think I ought to have called you at all. I ought to have just found a way to ask Mr. Taylor myself.”

“Everyone has an angle,” said Buster, knocking back the last of the whiskey.

Nelly had not thought of herself as someone with an angle before, but there was some truth to his words, even though she didn’t like to admit it. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you doing these days?” he said. He pulled a flask from his jacket and refilled his glass.

The flask shocked Nelly a little bit, but she bit back a blunt remark and answered his question as if she didn’t notice. “Working on the United Artists lot. They put me in the prop department and I paint backdrops once and awhile. I’m hoping to get a part as an extra in the new D.W. Griffith. Anything they’ll let me do, really. It pays my rent fine.”

Buster hmmed. She saw that his hair was beginning to resist the lacquer he’d put in it and was coming loose, a curl here, a wave there. Likely it was the cocktails speaking, but she wanted to take the glass of whiskey away and stroke it.

She followed his gaze. The Villa looked down into the soft, firefly-like glow of Beverly Hills. The light from the distant mansions wasn’t enough to dampen the stars, which hung white and clear overhead, peeping through the palm leaves. The grass was dewy beneath her hands and goose pimples rose on her arms as a breeze stirred. It was decidedly cool now. Although October in California felt nothing like October in Illinois, there was something of autumn in the air. She shivered. It was like a scene out of a picture, Buster and his girl under the stars, dissatisfied because they hadn’t yet sorted out their misunderstanding. Then she gave herself a mental shake for being fanciful and romantic, reminding herself of how Natalie had welcomed her into the Villa earlier. This was her home just as much as it was Buster’s; she was Buster’s girl.

“Cold?” said Buster.

She protested, but he was already shrugging out of his jacket. He arranged it around her shoulders. “Thank you,” she said. His face was close as he tucked the jacket and she turned away. She reached for her glass and took another swallow of whiskey. She wasn’t ready to face her thoughts without more liquor on board.

“Pretty dress, by the way,” said Buster, leaning back on an elbow. “Might be the prettiest one here.”

“Thank you. I rented it,” she said, warmth rising in her cheeks.

“Why?”

She laughed. “Why? Why’d I rent it? Well to begin with, I’m not rich, and if you’re going to act, you need to look the part.”

“Are you acting?” said Buster.

She choked back another mouthful of whiskey and grimaced. “Sure I am.”

“What does your father do?”

It was an odd non-sequitur. “He’s in real estate,” she said. “Why?” The warm bloom of a proper drunkenness was settling on her.

“And he does pretty well for himself, I guess?” said Buster.

“I guess.” She rolled the glass between her hands.

“You didn’t want for anything growing up?”

“No.”

“Most of those people in there, they didn’t grow up so well. We all just got lucky, that’s all. Right place, right time kind of thing. We’re just kids with a bunch of money, buying toys and palaces. You’ve got nothing to be afraid of around them. Everyone’s pretending just as much as you.”

She considered him, his face deeply shadowed in the feeble light. There was something dark and melancholic in his mood.

“Anyway, I should have told you to bring someone,” said Buster. “You would have felt a little better I bet. Do you have a steady?”

She shook her head, wondering what it meant that he was asking her if there was a man in her life. “No steady. And I did feel a little better, after you introduced me.”

“Good.” He tossed back the rest of his glass and scooted closer. “How was Jack Barrymore? Did he live up to your dreams?”

She grew hot and took another swallow of the biting liquor before answering. It was the second time he’d brought up Barrymore. The truth was, events had moved so fast she hadn’t had a chance to think about her encounter with Barrymore in any depth. And now that Buster was so distracting and near, she found it hard to think of Barrymore at all. “What makes you think he has anything to do with my dreams?”

“ ‘Cause you said so, that night I picked you up from the speak-easy. It’s alright, I won’t tell his wife. They’re getting a divorce, anyway.”

The joke felt cruel, the barb of it directed more at her than Barrymore and his wife. It made her feel ridiculous and scheming, ashamed of the dazed way she’d looked up at that singular face she’d only seen on screen, imagining that this could be her break, that she might be captivating him or falling in love. The worst of it was that it might be true. She did have an angle, possibly more than one.

“That’s mean,” she said, looking out at the distant houses.

“Well, it’s true. And I suppose you heard about Chaplin’s scandal, how he got soaked for almost a million in that divorce of his,” he said.

She acknowledged that she had.

“I just hope Nate’s kinder to me when the time comes,” he said.

She looked at him quizzically. “What do you mean?”

His lips twisted in a bitter smile. “You can’t seriously think that we’re happy.”

“Nate?” she said.

“My wife. Natalie.”

“Oh.” The conversation had taken a dangerous turn and she finished her whiskey before saying, “I hadn’t thought about it.” Her heart thumped in her ears.

“Do you like me, Nelly?”

“Yes. Why?” She tried to sound casual, but wasn’t sure if she succeeded.

She hazarded a glance at him, fearing what she might find in his eyes, but he was looking straight ahead again. What she didn’t dare say was that she liked the profile in front of her—the aquiline nose, the soft lips, the dark brows, the heavy-lidded eyes—better than Barrymore’s. She had for a while now, she realized.

Buster shrugged and pulled the flask out of his jacket again. Nelly, by now feeling the whiskey’s full effects, did something shocking without a single thought. She snatched it from his hand, raised her arm as high as she could, and flung it down the hill.

“Hey!” said Buster, somewhat loudly.

“Shh,” she said. “We’ll be heard.”

“Don’t shush me, sweetheart, this is my party and I can drink as much as I like, you hear?”

He looked like such a mixture of things in that moment—bewildered, indignant, hurt—that she leaned in and kissed him.

He didn’t react.

For a split second, she was sure that she had misread all of the signs she thought she’d noticed and was about to be in serious trouble with him. Then his hand was at the back of her neck and he was pulling her into a deeper kiss, nothing at all like the chaste, brief pecks he gave on screen. She threaded her hand in the shorter hair at the back of his head to keep him where he was. His arm came around her shoulders and she braced her free hand against his chest. She was thrilled to find that his heart was pounding.

“You shouldn’t drink anymore tonight. You’ll have an awful headache in the morning,” she said in a whisper, when he pulled back for a moment.

He kissed her again. The heat in her cheeks was rapidly starting to spread to other regions of her body. Now that this was happening, she didn’t have a single thought for anything but Buster. Her entire world had come down to him, and he felt too right for her to worry about morals or consequences.

She leaned her forehead against his as they broke apart. His breath warmed her lips. He was looking at her silently and she looked back. Gradually, the world began to fade back in. She could hear a faint peal of laughter from within the Villa and she wondered how long it would be before someone would miss the host and go searching for him.

“I guess we should go in,” she said, after a few moments of silence.

Buster looked at her. His finger traced the bow of her upper lip, then the seam of her mouth. When she parted her lips in response, he captured them again. She closed her eyes and cupped his cheek as her world narrowed back down to the sound of their kisses and his soft, needy exhales. It might have been just seconds or whole minutes before Buster jolted her back to reality with the press of his tongue against hers. She drew back, feeling light-headed, and he followed, biting her neck, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to tell her that this could get out of control quickly. The base part of her wanted that—very much—but the rational part of her mind was waking up.

“We should go,” she said.

“We’re by my wing,” said Buster hoarsely. “There’s a staircase to my balcony. You could wait in my room for me until the party’s over. I’d get you out before morning.”

“We can’t,” she said, even as he was arguing against her neck with more gentle love-bites.

“Why not?” His head went lower and his tongue outlined her collarbone.

“It’s dangerous. I bet your guests are already looking for you.”

Almost on cue, laughter echoed out from the area of the drive and the fountain. Aware that it could be the Talmadge sisters, Nelly took the opportunity to stand up and brush herself off before he could persuade her—and he was perhaps too close to persuading her. She’d lost track of the whiskey glass and whether she had finished what was in it. She was decidedly intoxicated. “C’mon,” she said. She stuck out her hand for Buster. He let her pull him up and swayed beside her for a moment, wincing and rubbing his forehead.

“Will you call a taxi for me?” she said.

He reached out and touched her cheek, looking at her for a long quiet moment as if to memorize her. She noticed that his mouth was smudged in lipstick.

“Oh dear. I got lipstick all over you,” she said. “Do you have a handkerchief? I don’t have mine on me. My handbag’s inside.”

“You and that damn bag, always leaving it behind.” He reached out and fished in the breast pocket of his jacket on her shoulders.

She dampened the handkerchief with a little saliva and scrubbed at his lips. “Ow!” he said, frowning.

“Don’t be a baby, it’s almost off,” she said, wiping at the corner of his mouth. She stood back. It was hard to tell because of the shadows, but she thought that she’d gotten most of it. “How do I look?”

Buster smirked, the first real smile she’d seen on him the whole night. “Defiled,” he said. “Better stay out here while I call that taxi.” He pressed her hand before he left, and she was alone with the most impossible tangle of thoughts, the foremost of which was that she wanted him to come back as soon as possible so that they could finish what they’d started.

She stepped into the loggia and sat down in the nearest chair. Stunned didn’t begin to describe her feelings. Buster’s jacket around her shoulders enveloped her in the smell of him, cigarettes and his own unique scent. Drunk, she was buoyed on a comfortable wave of happiness. She and Buster had done something daring, it was true, but in her heart’s core it was what she had wanted and she didn’t regret it a single bit. She’d only stopped it because she was afraid of being caught. Under normal circumstances, that thought would have alarmed her, but inebriated she could be honest with herself. It wasn’t to say that she didn’t get the thrill of a lifetime when she thought of her dance with Barrymore or even handsome Charlie Chaplin; she did. It seemed, though, that she had fallen for Buster without even knowing it. She shivered and not because of the chill in the air.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she said, standing up and catching his hand when he reappeared a few minutes later.

He gave her hand a squeeze and passed over her bag, which he was holding. “I did you one better. Caruthers said he’d take you home. He’ll have the car ready in five.”

“Five minutes is a long time,” she said suggestively.

“Even I can’t finish that quick, honey,” he said, and she was glad he couldn’t see how brightly her face burned.

“I didn’t mean that you goose, I meant this.” She leaned in and kissed him again.

“Oh. Yeah, that,” he said. He pulled her against his chest and gave her a long, searching kiss.

This time, Nelly didn’t pull away at the touch of his tongue; she met it and Buster groaned. With one hand, she stroked the fallen strands of hair at his forehead. “Thank you,” she said, when they broke apart. “Thank you for inviting me tonight.”

“Sure you won’t stay the night?” Buster said, kissing the corner of her lips.

“I’m not crazy,” she said.

“If you were, would you?” he said, drawing back to look in the eyes.

Her heart pounded. “Yes,” she said, after considering it. “I guess I would.”

He pulled her close and embraced her. She rested her cheek against his shoulder, thinking that she could stay here in his arms all night. Another burst of laughter and conversation came from the direction of the fountain. Car tires crunched on the gravel.

“We better behave,” Buster said.

“You’re probably right.”

He released her and sat down in one of the chairs, and she followed his lead. He took her hand between both of his and they fell into silence. She wanted to tell him what the night meant to her, but couldn’t find the words. She looked out at the distant houses and up the stars, wondering if she’d ever get the chance to kiss him again or if she was just a passing fancy for a starry, booze-filled night. Too soon, there was the honk of a horn and Buster let go of her hand, standing up. “I think that’s your ride,” he said. They walked back to the drive, Nelly a few paces ahead of Buster, where a dark-colored Packard was waiting. Buster approached it and opened the nearest backseat door. He took her hand and helped her into the car. “Thanks for coming,” he said, after regarding her for a quiet moment.

She wanted to give him a parting kiss on the cheek, but couldn’t with his butler for an audience. “I had a beautiful night,” she said. “Thank you so much.” He gave her hand another quick squeeze and went around to the driver’s window, where he said to Caruthers, “Get her home safe.”

As the butler pulled away, she watched Buster walk back to the Villa. He didn’t turn around once, but continued until he reached the mahogany front door and slipped inside. Only then did she realize she was still wearing his jacket and had forgotten to check him for lipstick again. Soundtrack: Red Nichols’ Stompers - “Sugar” Paul Whiteman’s Orchestra - “In the Good Old Summertime” Paul Whiteman’s Orchestra - “Changes” You don’t know how many times I’ve listened to these songs on repeat the past two months.

#Buster Keaton #Fan fiction #Fan fic #RPF #Actor RPF #Silent film #Golden Age Hollywood #Bing Crosby

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akuzon-prime · 3 years

Text

To New Beginnings ~OM Secret Santa 2020~

this goes out to @ikesensrandomninjagirl ! Happy Holidays <3 Word Count: 2397

Summary: It all comes down to this and Lucifer is trying his hardest to hide the nerves that are assailing him. What he really needs is his brothers by his side and he can take a new step towards the next chapter of his life.

Pairing: Implied Dialucy

Theme: Pre wedding jitters and sweet brotherly fluff

This was it.

He couldn’t believe that it was finally here...finally happening. After so many years of pain, anger, and loneliness...it was over. It was beginning.

…It was terrifying.

Lucifer bit his lip carefully, adjusting his lapels and gloves in a nervous gesture that he'd somehow picked up since leaving the Celestial Realm. Of course, RAD looked quite different than it had only days ago - he hardly recognized it at all now that it was decorated with ivy and orchids, and LOTS of white tulle. Asmodeus, Barbatos, and MC had spared no amount of energy to make the school shine like a true wedding hall. It might not be how he would have decorated things himself, but he could hardly deny his brother the opportunity to go all out for the occasion.

He let out a shaky breath and glanced back into the mirror. His hair had started out styled as usual – bangs framing his cheeks and parted to the side. Asmo nearly had a fit. Now, Lucifer’s raven locks were swept back from his forehead and a gel that miraculously made the styling seem natural held it in place. The Avatar of Lust was busying himself by rushing around the room, making sure that everything - the bouquet, the ring, and whatever else was in place; Lucifer had long since stopped trying to watch him. The knowledge of what was soon to happen was rushing over him all at once. A tear slipped from the corner of his eye and he heard a gasp before he had the chance to wipe it away. His brother was by his side instantly, dabbing at it with a baby blue handkerchief.

"What did I tell you? I thought we got all the wild emotions out last night at the bachelor party. What’s wrong now? Don’t make me have to whip out the demonus to get you through this. You need to be sober to say those lines." The man's attitude, while feisty, held notes of love and respect for his eldest brother. "No more tears till you get to the altar, got it? Because otherwise, you'll get me crying. If my make up smudges, there will be the Devildom to pay."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lucifer muttered.

Asmodeus hummed, ignoring the blatant attempt to change the subject. His fingers plucked open one of the buttons on Lucifer's vest and he tucked the handkerchief inside so that the small square rested against the white dress shirt. "MC told me that this is something some humans do for weddings. It's borrowed and blue. I think you're old enough."

Despite the glare leveled at him, Asmo laughed merrily. "You even have something new. The rock."

Lucifer fidgeted. He wore the engagement ring over his gloves typically...but since Diavolo would be removing them during the ceremony, he had forgone the ring for the day. Diavolo knew his tastes well - it was modest and more importantly, the best thing he had ever been given.

"Ya need something else!"

Lucifer's lips pursed but he let out a slow and even breath as he looked at his white-haired brother in the doorway. Mammon was grinning and holding up a single Grimm. Probably his only Grimm, currently. Crimson eyes tracked his brother's movements as Mammon crossed the room to him and slipped the coin into his hand. "That goes in your shoe."

He squinted his eyes at the coin and then cut his gaze to Mammon. "...Why. That sounds asinine."

Mammon opened his mouth and then after a second's hesitation, closed it with a shrug. "Hell if I know."

Bending down, Lucifer slid the grimm down the inside of his leather shoe, wiggling his slender index finger till the coin was tucked and snug against his arch. Straightening, he reached to rake his hand through his hair but paused, remembering at the last second that it was styled. His red eyes met his brothers. "Anything else?" Mammon turned a chair backwards and sat, resting his arms on the curved wood. "Ya look fine to me. Stuffy as usual, but fine.

"Asmodeus stepped back and lifted a hand to tap his finger against his cheek as his golden eyes evaluated the groom from head to toe. Just as he was about to confirm that Lucifer looked perfect, his eyes widened and a strangled gasp escaped him - startling the hell out of Mammon who jumped out of his chair and stumbled back against the table beside it. Lucifer's only reaction was to raise his eyebrows.

"What's wrong?! Did ya hafta nearly faint? We're right here!"

"YOUR CUFFLINKS! We forgot them in your room! SHIT!" The tone of Asmo's voice made it seem like the world was ending over that little oversight.

Lucifer let his breath out. "Language, As. Are they really so important? We should be fine without -"

"DEVILDOM NO! You stay here! I'm going back to the House of Lamentation."

Before Lucifer could utter a reply, Asmodeus was out the door with a whirl of his woven gold scarf. Red eyes drifted from his younger brother's departing figure back to the mirror - gazing at himself in the finery of the tuxedo that had been tailor made for him. He reached a hand forward to touch the glass as if he didn't recognize himself.

"Oh no, don't ya go second guessing yourself." Mammon came over and rested a hand on his older brother's shoulder as they both looked at their reflections. Mammon's eyes were soft - a rarity for him when the two of them were together. Over the last few centuries, Mammon had been at the brunt of Lucifer's irritation but that still didn't lessen their affection for one another. Lucifer trusted him more than anyone and was still Mammon's favorite brother. No more words needed to be said. Mammon was his best man for a reason.

There was a knock on the door and both men turned. Asmodeus was fast when he wanted to be but that was a bit ridiculous. He wouldn't risk perspiration for the sake of a few accessories nobody would miss.

Maybe it's one of the others. He sighed. As much as he was looking forward to what would come after the wedding, his nerves were raw and his meter for dealing with others, even his own family, was nearing empty. "Come in?"

His visitor was most certainly not one of his brothers. At least...not anymore.

"...I'll admit, you're the last person I expected to see."

Standing in the doorway was a man who was radiance incarnate. His robes were no different from usual but Simeon always looked perfect - he was an angel after all. Blinding beauty was expected of the divine. Lucifer didn't hate him. Far from it. ...still, Simeon represented something, someone, inside Lucifer that he had left behind. There was nothing to mar the soft smile on the angel's lips. His tranquility reflected like pools in his eyes.

"I hadn't planned on seeing you before the ceremony." Simeon admitted. Lucifer resisted the urge to cross his arms. Instead, he moved away from both the mirror and Mammon to pour a cup of water from the pitcher sitting on the table.

"...then why are you here?" Of course Simeon would be in attendance. Luke as well. Someone cleared their throat and Simeon looked over his shoulder before stepping aside to show the human in the doorway. They were far better dressed than their usual RAD uniform and it seemed his busybody brother had gotten their hair tamed as well. There was an apology in their eyes.

"I'm the one who dragged him here." MC's voice had a soothing effect on Lucifer and he felt his muscles loosen as he looked at his closest friend. There was an apology in their eyes and they looped an arm through Simeon's. "I brought him here because..."

At the complicated look on MC's face, Lucifer supplied the end of the sentence for them. "...you're each other's date?"

"No." The two replied simultaneously (and Lucifer could swear he heard Mammon let out a sigh of relief), both managing to sound completely entertained and confused at the prospect.

"Then...what's going on ten minutes before my wedding?"

"It's silly," Simeon replied, looking sheepish. MC's eyes rolled so far back in their sockets, Lucifer could imagine they could see their own thoughts to wonder exactly what choices they had made to land them here in the first place.

"It’s not." MC pinched the inside of the angel's arm and he gave a startled yelp. Letting the man go, MC pushed Simeon slightly and stepped back towards the door, ignoring his look of betrayal. They reached out and snagged Mammon's hand, pulling him after them. "I'm going to find Beel and Belphie. See you at the aisle."

Lucifer stiffened, staring at Simeon and his bewildered expression. "...I'll be the one in white."

MC's laugh could be heard as the door shut, leaving the two men in an awkward silence.

"You look very handsome, Lucy." As usual, Simeon was the first one to break. Lucifer wanted to snap at him to knock it off with the nickname. Once upon a time, though, he would have smiled at the compliment instead of feeling uncomfortable. Marriage had never even been a prospect when he lived in the Celestial realm. Simeon looked so forlorn, though, that even with the negative emotions churning inside him from the recollection the nickname brought him, he felt no ill will towards the angel. Lucifer took a breath and spoke clearly, despite his hesitation on the matter.

"Would you mind walking me down the aisle, since you're here?"

Simeon's eyes widened at his suggestion and then glanced down at his clothes. Oh yeah. After all his careful planning, the stylish Asmodeus was going to have a hernia when he saw Simeon walking down the aisle in the same clothes he wore on a daily basis. Something about the normalcy of it made something tight in Lucifer's gut release its hold. Simeon's voice was astonished. "...you actually want me to?"

"You are my brother, too. ...were."

Simeon opened his mouth to say something but was cut off.

"Lucifer, I'm assuming you're decent since As sent me down to come and get you. I'm ignoring decorum just coming in." Without even knocking, Satan walked into the room, a pair of cufflinks gripped in his hands. "He asked me to bring these to you. And by asked I mean commanded. And what the Devildom are you doing here?"

Satan's gaze had fallen to the unexpected guest. Simeon just gave a blithe smile as if he hadn't just had the wind knocked out of him by Lucifer's unexpected offer. He reached out and adjusted Satan's tie and pocket handkerchief. The blonde stepped away, confusion still etched on his face. "Asmodeus has been a fiend today. Is there anyone he hasn't dressed?"

His tone was teasing but the words missed Lucifer entirely. Satan and Simeon didn't interact often - they were two completely separate parts of his life. Satan wasn't exactly his brother, but that had never been much of an issue in Lucifer's eyes. Usually, Satan wanted to antagonize him more than anything else. He took the cufflinks from Satan's proffered hand and adjusted them to the ends of his jacket sleeves. "Was there something you needed, Satan? The ceremony is just about to start."

The blonde's face reddened and he gruffly cleared his throat, choosing to look anywhere other than at Lucifer. "I was just... It had crossed my mind... Can I...walk you down the aisle?"

The question seemed to be more shocking than Lucifer's offer to Simeon. Despite not having any real emotion behind the word, it came out anyway.

"Why?"

Satan's ruddy cheeks darkened and he cleared his throat. "Well. You...brought me into existence. It seems, I suppose, appropriate? Also, obviously, a one time deal."

"...to take me out of it? I don't exactly see marriage as the end of the world." Lucifer's words were wry but he was, in all honesty, humbled by the offer. Satan out of all of his brothers...

"That's not what I meant," The Avatar of Wrath huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. The petulant look made much more sense than the previously bashful one. "I just meant that you gave me the start of a new life, I should give you away to the start of yours."

Lucifer was speechless. Simeon smiled softly and placed a hand on Lucifer's elbow. Naturally, it made sense for Lucifer to be given away by one of the six demon brothers rather than the angel himself. "There you have it. I think you should probably take him up on the offer."

"...of course." Lucifer blinked and stood taller, taking a deep breath. Simeon moved away from him but the taller man dropped a hand on his shoulder. "I have to thank you. At least now, nobody will be looking specifically at me when the three of us go down the aisle."

The processional music began to play and every nerve in his body shot to attention at the sound. He was again the shell shocked groom that he had been before his two escorts had arrived. Simeon immediately saw his reaction to the organ's tones and he recovered from the shock of not being turned aside in favor of Satan. "You'll be ok, Lucy...I won't let you trip. Though I'm sure nobody would laugh if you did."

"I would," Satan interjected. Lucifer gave him a look that said that he didn't appreciate the joke but when Satan held his elbow out to him, he wove his arm through it. "Looks like that music means it's our cue."

Simeon didn't take Lucifer's other arm but stood close by his shoulder - staying right at his side, where he would have been anyway before the Fall. It felt right to have him there.

The men stepped into the hallway, adjacent to the grand room where the ceremony was being held. The doors opened wide, seemingly on their own and Lucifer was faintly aware of the students and friends and family in attendance - rising from their seats and staring at him. His ruby eyes instantly traveled straight down the flower petal covered aisle to a tall man with a shock of red hair and sparkling mischievous eyes. He stared at him with his mouth slightly agape and a tinge of red on his dark cheeks. Diavolo...

...This was it. It was beginning.

#OBEY ME #obeymesecretsanta2020 #Maiden's notebook #fireflowermaiden #dialucy #wedding au #obey me lucifer #obey me diavolo

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lostinmysticfalls · 4 years

Text

Worth The Fight - Javi x Fem!Reader

Summary: After finding out Javi’s interest in you started off as a ruse, you needed time alone to rethink your relationship. (This was written as a conclusion to Meet Me In The Afterglow but can be read as a standalone.)

Words: 4k

Warnings: unapologetic smut

It had only been three weeks but it felt like ages. The remnants of Javi’s voice still lingered in your head; the begging tone in his words as he asked you to trust him, the sound of him repeating that he loved you, assuring you that he’d be there waiting until you were ready to return to him. Reminiscing about it made your chest tighten and your insides flutter, spurring on an agonizing yearning and making the magnitude of his absence even more glaring.

Your late nights in bed had been occupied by countless minutes spent trying to figure out if you had been too hard on him. The thoughts made you falter in your decision and question your own reason. Had you perhaps judged him too harshly? Did he actually deserve you walking out on him that night? Did you punish him with a silence that was unwarranted—forcing both of you to drift apart like islands into a sea of uncertainty and loneliness?

Thinking about him stung like cold air on a fresh wound, even after all those days. It all eventually circled back to his deception, and then the vicious cycle and overanalyzing started all over again. Like a serpent swallowing its own tail, there was no beginning and no end.

Stopping yourself from reaching out to him before you had enough time to clear your head hadn't been easy but you had managed to get through the days without any incident. You hadn't heard from him since that night and his respectful approach to your time apart had been a double-edged sword. On the one hand, you appreciated that he'd remained true to his word about giving you your space, but on the other, the thought of him moving on without you struck you with a fear that made you anxious to the point of hurling. It was that tiny sliver of doubt that scared the hell out of you.

You held up the receiver with one hand, your index finger shaking over the telephone’s keypad, hovering above the first digit of his phone number.

"Fuck." You muttered, hanging up before you mustered up the courage to call him.

The probability of him being at the charity dinner that night was high; the head of his department was hosting it, after all. You had wrestled with the idea of speaking to him first before seeing him again, but even after three weeks of no contact you still couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

You grumbled, an exasperated huff leaving your lips as you took your evening gown out of the closet and made your way to the bathroom.

Maybe it was best to leave it all up to fate.

* * * * *

You got to the villa forty minutes later than the scheduled event, just at the time when an influx of guests were also starting to arrive. The plan had been to show up and wave hello to your boss, hang around long enough for him to see that you'd made the effort to network with important clients, and then slip out before anyone bothered you too much.

As soon as you entered the main foyer you had made a beeline for the bar, picking up a champagne flute and trying to blend in with everyone as you sipped it in silence.

But as your luck would have it, your alone time lasted all but ten minutes before an older gentleman tried to make conversation.

“Hola señorita, buenas noches."

"Buenas noches." You replied, a ghost of a smile appeared on your face but you avoided eye contact as much as possible.

“What’s a pretty lady like yourself doing here all alone?” He asked.

You laughed under your breath and then lied through your teeth. “I’m not here alone.”

Cranking your neck, you looked past him, pretending like you’d spotted a familiar face. “I came here with my friend, she’s just over on other side chatting up a guest.” Your finger pointed at nothing in particular, past the crowd, to the open doors that led to the garden.

You tipped back the champagne flute, finishing up your drink and placing the glass on the table before excusing yourself. “I’m afraid I have to go. Enjoy your night, sir.”

The flow of your long dress wrapped around your legs as you strutted away in a hurry. The atmosphere inside was starting to become suffocating anyway, so being outdoors and breathing in the faint, sweet smell of the orchids and the freshness of the crisp night air was a nice change.

The chatter outside was much quieter too, drowned out by the sound of the water spouting from the large fountain that adorned the center of the garden. You were starting to think that attending had been a mistake. Nothing about the party was vaguely entertaining, and frankly, the thought of running into Javi was starting to seem unlikely. He’d always been the type to show up on time.

The chirping of the crickets grew louder as you walked down the curved path in the direction of the side gate. The heels of your shoes clanked atop the stone walkway as you rounded the corner toward the small corridor to freedom, when all of a sudden the oxygen in your lungs escaped you. The rhythm of your heart becoming unsteady as you gulped nervously.

You stared at him in awe, completely entranced by his presence, your whole body frozen in place.

His lips curled into a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling with joy as he reciprocated your steady glances. The cigarette between his fingers still burning as he tossed it to the ground and stepped on it.

It only took a short moment and the sheer sound of his voice uttering your name for everything around you to disappear. The intonation like an idyllic melody as it left his lips.

Truth be told, you had spent quite a bit of time dreaming up a similar encounter, but no amount of fantasizing had really prepared you for that specific run-in.

You managed to squeak out a weak, “Hi.”

Javi drifted closer to you then, abandoning the shadows of the corridor. “Were you leaving?” A deflated timbre accompanied his voice as he posed the question.

“These kind of things are not really my scene. I’m not even sure if I should be mingling with some of these people—word on the street is some of them aren’t very nice.” You quipped. “I just came to make my boss happy.”

“That makes two of us.” He said, tilting his head to one side as he smiled.

You swept your gaze over his tall frame, taking note of his black dress shoes and his nicely fitted suit. Your hands clutched the small purse that hung from your shoulder, your way of restraining yourself from straightening his slightly crooked bow tie.

“You look good, Javi.” That was a vast understatement; he looked more handsome than ever.

He chuckled, like he didn’t believe your compliment. Shaking his head, he replied. “No. I’m just wearing a plain old, black tux.” He paused, looking at you in wonderment. “But you…”

He exaggerated an exhale as his eyes trailed over you, stripping you of all reservations the moment they slowly reached your face. “Eres la mujer más hermosa que eh visto en toda mi vida.”

You looked away, grimacing a little bit, the way you usually did whenever he showered you with flattering remarks. You tried to hide the flustered smile that followed but failed almost instantly.

“Way better than in my dreams.” He added, making your breathing hitch and stimulating your pulse as he gradually closed the distance between you.

After a few moments of you not saying anything in return, he cleared his throat. “Are you here with anyone?”

He already knew the answer to that, so you didn’t see the point in saying it. Instead you took the bait, finding a bit of amusement in your exchange. “Are you?”

A wicked little grin appeared on his face, accentuating his irresistible good looks. He shook his head. “Just me.”

Something about the way he spoke and the intense look in his eyes as he contemplated you, made every cell in your body whir and vibrate with need. You bit down on your lip as if by instinct, unknowingly giving him those bedroom eyes that you knew always drove him wild.

There was a shift in his demeanor, your shared silent glances compelling you both to give in to the feelings that had held you hostage for the past three weeks. It was impossible not to get caught up in each other when both of you wanted the exact same thing.

You remembered taking one step in his direction. It was the one defining push that swiftly fired up the pheromones in your brain. From one moment to the next, your lips engaged in a long-awaited heated clash that filled you with the type of dizzying feeling that gave you butterflies and knocked your whole world off balance.

Javi’s hands were on your face, his mouth hungrily enclosing yours. His craving for you intensifying the more he relished in the taste of red lips. You gave in to him without putting up a fight, his delicious smell inciting a spiral of heat deep in your belly. The sides of his body felt firm and warm against your fingertips as you tucked your hands underneath his jacket.

“I missed you so fucking much.” He murmured against your parted lips, kissing you like he couldn’t get enough.

“I did too.” You were breathless, not realizing until then how starved you’d been for his touch.

You kissed for a while longer, just the two of you in that isolated corridor, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you breathed each other in under the starry cloak of the night sky.

When you finally parted, you let out a small laugh, wiping your dark lipstick off his chin and mouth—your thumb gliding down the center of his bottom lip, teasingly.

“You wanna get out of here?” He asked.

Your heart pattered as you nodded in earnest, staring deep into his adoring brown eyes as you caressed his cheek with your hand. “Yes. Take me home, Javi.”

The drive back to his apartment wasn't long but you took the opportunity to finally address everything head on. You sat in the passenger seat, staring at the darkness of the road ahead—the headlights the only thing illuminating your path for the first few miles until you got to the main road.

"I wanted to call you." You said softly. "To see how you were doing."

“Why didn’t you?” His voice low and raspy as he glanced at you for a quick second.

You pursed your lips, feeling the anguish materialize in your chest as you muttered. “I thought maybe you'd moved on by now or something.” You scoffed. “It’s no secret that you’ve never been one to settle down.”

Javi took his eyes off the road to look at you. "Is that what you think of me?" Before you had a chance to answer, he added. "I wouldn't blame you if you did but I thought… I thought I'd made it pretty clear that once I commit to the right person, it’s pretty final."

"To tell you the truth, I'm not entirely sure what to think anymore." You twisted in your seat, angling your body until you were facing him. "But I can tell you what I do know."

This caught his attention, his dark eyes widening with curiosity as he perched his eyebrows. The car stopped at the intersection where he was supposed to take the next turn, remaining idle for longer than necessary as he stared at you.

His lips opened just a little bit, the tiny gap drawing your gaze to them for a second. It was those kind of moments that made everything around him fade into nothingness. Your stomach churned anxiously as you flicked your eyes away and slightly adjusted yourself in your seat.

"I know that not being with you hurts way more than knowing you lied to me." You lowered your voice as if admitting that to him filled you with shame. “And maybe I’m an idiot for feeling that way but it's the truth.” You said sheepishly.

Shortly thereafter, the car started to move again.

Javi sighed. “Look, I know this is all on me. I’m the only one who is at fault here.” The crestfallen look on his face was evidence that he felt terrible for having done that to you. “I hate that I made you feel that way. I never wanted to hurt you.” He put his hand on your leg and gave it a comforting squeeze. Shadows swaying over him every time you drove under another street light.

"I understand why you felt the need to keep things from me.” You said calmly, interlacing your fingers with his. “You said you did it to keep me safe, and I believe you, Javi.” A tiny huff abandoned you as you continued to speak. “That’s the thing about you. You’ve never before given me a reason to doubt you.”

"I meant to tell you. I wanted to. There's no other explanation for why I kept that file with me this whole time. But every time I thought about you reacting to the truth…” He paused, making a disgruntle noise as he gripped the steering wheel with one hand. “I was afraid of losing you. I’ve never been more scared of anything in my life."

He pulled into a parking spot on the side of the building, having arrived at the apartment complex by then. He killed the engine but made no effort to get out until he was sure that you’d finished your discussion.

“I love you more than anything. I don’t want to lose what we have.”

You took a minute to gather your thoughts.

“If we do this,” you said, seeing how his smile widened with hope. “If we're really gonna give this another try then there can’t be any more lies. Not of any kind. No white lies, no omissions, no deceptions. None of it, Javier. We are done with that.”

“No lies.” He replied in haste. “Te lo juro, mi amor.”

* * * * *

You were back in his arms the second the door to the apartment shut behind you, your body engulfed in the warmth and safety that they provided while his hungry lips desperately sucked and bit yours. You threw your head back, his mouth brushing your elongated neck, ardent tongue licking your feverish skin as his hands glided over your frame, tracing and squeezing every bend of your body.

The rousing feelings he produced in you were maddening. Your core throbbed with want, heat billowing within you as your heart beat unevenly.

Taking him by the hand, you guided him to the bedroom, your body buzzing from arousal and eagerness.

Once you were standing at the foot of the bed, you promptly slipped off his jacket, tossing it aside as you went to work on his bowtie and the buttons of his white shirt. Your fingers moved fast but with ease, pulling his shirt untucked as you got him out of it. The feel of his hard, bare chest against the palm of your hands was exhilarating. You breathed into his open mouth as you kissed, little noises escaping you and your body quaking every time he touched you.

He began pulling up the silky fabric of your dress over your legs, higher and higher up, until it was completely off over your head.

His hands were immediately drawn to your lower back, gliding over the lace of your underwear, searching for your supple skin until they were sprawled over the fullness of your ass. Squeezing and pulling as his kisses continued to consume you. His fingers slipped between the front of your thighs, stimulating your heated core as he rubbed your clit over your underwear, dampening the thin cloth in a matter of seconds.

He trailed his fingers along your spine, unclipping your bra in one swift motion and sliding it off. His lips brushed your chest, hands encompassing your breasts as he carefully molded his fingers around them. Your whimpers rippled through the stillness of the dark room, the feel of him pinching your nipples sending gratifying shivers all through your body.

Everything around you was spinning, all your senses captivated by his actions. His head moved over your breasts, mouth sucking on one nipple before switching to the other.

Javi’s breathing became stunted as your hand reached for the bulge protruding from his pants, little grunts leaving his lips every time you kneaded his hardened length over his clothes. He kicked his shoes off, helping as you started to undo his pants and pulled them down his legs.

As far as you were concerned, you had nothing to apologize for—nothing for which you had to beg forgiveness—and yet, you dropped to your knees right in front of him like you were ready to confess for all your sins.

He sat back on the edge of the bed, looking at you completely riveted. Watching and anticipating your every move, longing to have the heat of your mouth on him. There was a change in his breathing the moment you yanked down his underwear and took him in your hand.

You smiled at him as you securely wrapped your fingers around his girth and began stroking his length. After a few moments, your wet lips enclosed around his head, the intensity of your movements growing at the same time your tongue pressed against his silky skin, coiling around him as you began to suck him off with a type of fervor you had no idea you possessed.

Javi panted, holding the back of your head as you took him in as deep as you could manage, his tip ramming the back of your throat over and over until it made you gag. After a short while of relishing in his flavor, you released him with a pop. Licking your lips, you wiped the excess saliva off your mouth with the back of your hand.

A fiendish smile spread over Javi’s face as he lifted you up by the arms. He held you tight, kissing you hard until you were begging him to take you any way he wanted.

His large hands moved over you, playing with your breasts before he threw you on the bed and crawled toward you. Spreading kisses over the length of your legs as he slowly moved higher up your thighs. He gently nipped at the area bellow your navel and then pulled on the band of your underwear with his teeth before using his hands to take them off.

He licked his lips, spreading your legs apart as he lowered his head into your center. Your whole body shivered when his tongue finally brushed the delicate skin of your wet folds. It darted in between your slit in the most masterful of ways, making you whimper incessantly. His breath like a hot blanket over your sensitive bud, his mustache scraping your flesh, making you hum in delight. He eagerly sucked on your little bundle of nerves, your hands gripping the bedsheets when the sensations threatened to bring about your undoing.

You pleaded, ”Don’t stop." And it was the last thing you uttered before the waves of elation washed over you, in a split second clouding every rampant thought in your mind.

Javi smiled, taking in your gestures and loving your blushed complexion as you came.

“I need you.” You said quietly under your breath. “All of you.”

He adjusted himself on the bed, sitting back on his knees as he pulled you into him.

He stroked his cock with his hand, giving it a few tugs before guiding it into your narrow opening.

“You feel so good.” He moaned as he entered you, filling you up inch by inch.

It was astounding how gentle he was with you, carefully gaging your reactions as he glided in further. His hands spread over your hips, gripping you as he dove in deeper. You writhed beneath him, back arching as he invaded your depths with more force each time. The mind-blowing sensations making your eyes water.

The sound of his firm balls slamming into you and his skin slapping yours was like a lewd hymn resonating through the stillness of the bedroom. Your bodies, two dancing silhouettes in the darkness, moving in rhythm with each other as you rolled over on the mattress and shifted your positions.

You felt your heart thump faster in your chest. The whimpers leaving your lips were a sign that your body was getting ready to reach that peak one more time. Your cheeks felt hot, your center throbbing as the ache increased and overpowered your senses once again. After a few minutes, his steady movements became too much for you to bear, your whole body overcome by a heated euphoric feeling that struck your core all at once.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Come for me.” Javi’s voice made you tremble as he kissed your neck, watching as your unraveled beneath him.

He turned you on your side, slipping inside you with ease from behind, your quivering walls nice and slick from your orgasm.

His hand ran along the curves of your body, firmly holding your hip every time he entered you. You turned your head, searching for his mouth, kissing him and feeling how his breathing became more labored and his pace more vigorous. You listened to the lustful noises he was emitting, inhaling in his scent, hoping the feelings he was instilling in you could last forever but ultimately knowing that you could only avoid the inevitable for so long.

“I’m so close.” Javi warned, his hips thrusting into you with force.

His skilled movements triggered your mewling cries. The sensation of your walls spasming around his cock and the noises you were making as a result of his actions were enough for him reach his climax. He wrapped his free arm around you, pulling you in closer as he let himself go. He grunted loudly, moaning as bursts of hot release bathed you from the inside in a matter of seconds.

You let out a profound sigh, letting the pleasurable feelings overtake you as you lied there in silence for a few minutes after. He remained inside you, not wanting to abandon your snug confines just yet. His lips brushed your shoulder blade, delicately kissing your skin as he embraced you.

Your bodies intertwined over the undone sheets, chests rising and falling with exertion as you continued to bask in the afterglow of your love-making.

“Please don’t go.” He said, fretting that you’d depart as soon as you got up and got dressed, just like you had done the last time.

You smiled, kissing his arm which was still roped around you. “You want me to stay the night?”

His loving gaze was fixated on you as he spoke. “I want you to stay tonight and every night.”

You beamed, snuggling into him and letting the feel of his mouth against your skin put any lingering doubts to rest.

“I think that can be arranged.” You said coyly.

He groaned, finally pulling out of you as your body turned on the bed to face him.

“You’ll always be my home, Javi.” You placed a sweet, drawn-out kiss on his lips, as if to reassure him. “I love you.”

“I love you.” He echoed, tenderly kissing your nose and then your forehead.

The way your heart swelled just for him was a confirmation that starting anew was the only right choice. There was no denying it.

Deep down, you had always known that the love you both shared was worth the fight.

#pedro pascal #javier peña #javier peña x reader #narcos #narcos netflix #fanfiction #oneshot #my previous post contained a gif that was too much for holier than thou tumblr so i'mreposting #javi x reader

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countryshitposts · 4 years

Text

You’re Shooting Your Bullet The Wrong Way

Pain, I Let The Bullets Fly Oh Let Them Rain

Trigger Warnings: Rape

Also whoever gets the symbolism i made TELL ME

AO3 Link

Name Guide:

Sulian- Soviet Union

Choson Inmin- North Korea

Renmin/Jung-gug- China

Minguo- Republic of China

Nippon Koku- Japan

Nippon Teikoku- Japan Empire

New Zealand thrusts a newspaper underneath America’s nose at seven in the morning, rudely interrupting her morning coffee and general mood for the day. She can already feel an incoming headache, resonating deep inside her as her blue eyes skim the pages, resting on the featured headline. Normally she would not care for headlines and news stories, believing that she’s updated herself every so often, on cold lonely nights with a mug of steaming tea in her hands, looking down from her balcony and into the wild, breeze flowing down at her hair as she checks her phone for new inquiries and to see if there is anything that can potentially be useful to her; either for entertainment or for her job.

She furrows her brows as she reads the headlines again and again, clutching the smooth surface of the newspaper, acting like it has done something wrong to her when in reality, she was the one missing-in-action, out of the game, because she was busily fixing that god-awful broken television that kept bugging her due to the fact she could not watch all of her weekly shows last night in a bathrobe.

“What do you think of this?”, New Zealand asks his sister, quirking a brow at her direction, like she was the boss and everyone has to follow her orders.

(Technically, she is the boss- from taking care of this whole department while the others had gone to their free periods and such, or to the point where her hair is in a bun and looking over at the files in alphabetical order, hoping for the morning to go easy on her.)

“I don’t know; how do you think I should react?”, she replies to her brother, who shrugs a little.

“This might be our one chance on getting into Teikoku’s lair once and for all”, New Zealand replies, and he points at the picture of a man in his late thirties, dark brown eyes staring at the camera, smooth dark hair shining from the light. Manchukuo, it read. “This guy was one of his bodyguards, and now he’s got a vacant position that one of us can occupy.”

“You can take care of this; I’ll be watching.” She leans back onto her swivel chair, legs on the reception desk, boredly looking at the lights blinkering above her, the ceiling plain white and she reminds herself to actually paint this whole dull station to look more entertaining than the pieces of paper scattered around her office day and night.

“You’re going to participate in this”, Canada speaks up from where he was sitting, Vietnam in front of him, possibly talking about something important. “We need you on this case, America. Because I feel like this Teikoku case will spiral out of control due to the diabolical plans he has up his sleeve.”

America groans- Canada was using his ‘older brother’ voice (despite the fact America is older than the bastard by a few years); at times Australia would mimick his tone of voice whenever they were alone to make Kiwi and America better, but now she handles the lamp on her desk, feeling its metal surface underneath her warm palms, wanting to throw the object right at Canada’s face, wanting to hear him shout in surprise as the lamp will collide with his face. She doesn’t, though; she’ll have fun torturing him during practice.

The front door opens and like fishes swimming their way to where the food is, they turn their heads towards the swinging doors, to reveal Philip (two hours late, like he always is), with an even more eyebrow-raising surprise; he was holding a vase full of white orchids, its petals flowing softly in the rising sun before he rudely closes the doors, his face looking utterly exhausted like he’s ran a marathon, dark circles over taking the space under his eyes like it was a cosmic deity of space and his hands were trembling, perhaps forcing them to work to death and in excruciating pain, leaving them immobile as he tries to carry the light-weight vase with visible difficulty. His hair was messy and standing on ends, like he had just woken up from the soft and sweet tendrils of sleep just this morning, put on his shoddy attire (it doesn’t even look ironed; the ruffled creases is obvious) and walked from hell to work.

But everyone’s eyes weren’t on Philip looking the slightest bit ghastly or sleep-deprived despite drinking down three cups of coffee based on how rushed and fast he walks, no; their eyes were on the pale white orchids, the wind inside of the room making them bow down obedient and willing to listen to their master. The colors were ghostly, touched by a spirit from another realm, like someone had just died.

The silence was broken by Philip, who, in his coffee-blazed haze, glares at everyone. “What?”

Canada was the first to recover, a smirk playin on his lips, light eyes staring at the orchids. “So, who is it?”

“Whose what?”, Philip snaps, walking towards his desk and harshly placing the vase on the table- America sees the orchids bounce, its only fluid movement of life before becoming silent once again.

“Uh, ya know”, Aussie eyes the vase again, “the orchids.”

Philip glances at the orchids, like it was the first time he acknowledges their presence as he raises a brow. “These? A friend gave them to me this morning.”

Canada’s smirk grows wider, his brows wiggling. “A ’friend’, hm? Or perhaps… a secret admirer?”

Philip rolls his eyes, sighing. “Look, it’s not like that okay? Just… drop it.”

America blinks at the tone of curtness Philip had in his voice, especially when he starts to curse the god above to why the coffee machine is empty and who wasted the favorite flavor of his, mumbling something incomprehensible before resolving to go outside, away from the eyes, to go buy somewhere.

As he opens the door to the outside world again, the sun and electrical lights made America catch on to something she did not notice a while ago.

There was a golden ring on Philip’s finger, a pattern of small words deciphered into it, its golden gleam and glow reflective throughout the sun.

“America, we really need your help in this case”, Canada pleads with her again, voice soft and literally like a small boy, but she scoffs.

“Ya’ll can do that on your own”, she replies, examining her gleaming and polished nails in the light. “I’m going to be here. Watching.”

“We need you more than as a watcher”, Canada argues back, his voice becoming impatient as his strings of kindness start to loosen. “We need you on our team, to spy on enemy eyes.”

“What makes Teikoku so special anyways? He kidnap a boy’s mother- big deal. Does that make him different from other mobs that also kidnap people?”

“Well, no, not really-”

“Well you have my answer. I’m not helping, you’re on your own.”

“Will this change your mind, then?”, Philip intervenes from the end of the table, holding up a small slip of paper. He walks up to America, giving her the brittle piece of evidence to why she’d volunteer onto this crazy cuckoo quest her brother had just started because he’s too compassionate to a child. She reads and rereads it, the messy and garbled writing surely belonging to Teikoku, due to his harsh lettering and vocabulary. She could just imagine him writing this message with a small smirk on his face, loving the way he would toy at the people he would crush under his shoes when the time comes.

Her eyes tell the story all by itself. Absolute boredom once she starts reading the words and language written in the letter, slowly widening in surprise and panic, the words and letters slowly murdering her on the inside, one hand letting go of the letter to hold on to her throat, as if the words are latching onto her, suffocating her with a pillow. America’s eyes of terror stare from Canada’s concerned expression to Philip’s furrowed brow.

“Where did you find this?”, America asks the one who gave her the letter, him fiddling with his pen.

“I decided to look into someone else’s files for the Teikoku case”, he says, eye averting from the audience, expression unreadable, lines clearly well-rehearsed like he has heard this question one thousand and one nights and his mouth of silver would answer words golden, words of promises, showering jewelry onto the person he is speaking to. “Tokyo, his brother.”

“He wrote his plans to his brother? Then how did it end up in Tokyo’s file?” Canada asks with a suspicious look on his face.

Philip sighs, “Look, sometimes I can hack into others’ documents; Tokyo’s letter history wasn’t secure at all, which is how I got the letter.”

“Philip asks full permission to search out the files for Teikoku’s family”, Aussie intervenes, raising his hand.

“Apparently Teikoku’s letter to Tokyo was hidden beneath another sheet of paper to the point we haven’t even noticed it”, Kiwi adds.

Philip was distractedly playing with the ring on his finger, eyes full of longing… before turning back to America. “So- are you in this or not?”

America looks back at her audience, eyes expectant, monitoring and watching her evert move. It was a choice of a lifetime; to stop Teikoku’s evil deeds before the seeds of malevolence he had planted grow over night, into a tree deep in the gardens, standung still, swaying to the beat of the winds and its leaves will become darker, shaping the forbidden fruit that Adam and Eve had eaten due to a snake’s evil treachery. America looks at the tables, its metallic state replicating her face but more distorted and highly surreal, everyone’s eyes are now melded into one being. She sighs, defeated.

“Fine, I’ll join.”

Koku stands outside of Teikoku’s office, leaning against the wall, crossing his arms at the same time carressing his bruise. He winces once his fingers brush the wound on his forearm, once a gash from last night now bandaged but he can still see the traces of crimson blood when he dares look at it. He’d bit his lip during the whole process of tending to his wound, trying not to glance at it because he knows that it is quite a gruesome sight, clenching his eyes closed, feeling the nurse’s hands near the wound and even above it, making him wince ever so slightly. Teikoku was there, encouraging him that everything will be fine, it was just a gash he had earned from the shattered chandelier glass.

It was obsessively itchy in the bandages, and he tries to resist scratching his forearm because goddamn it the whole bandage was itchy, like hands trying hard to find his sensitive spot but ultimately failing because he is both angry and irritated. It was much better than the obliterating pain he felt when he realizes he actually has a wound on his arm.

Koku inhales and exhales; whatever the reason, he dislikes the sight of blood.

He hears his brother in his office, talking to someone on the phone in a hushed voice, always knowing when someone is at the door. Koku decides to spend his time waiting for Teikoku by rehearsing his words, clouds of words and letters forming in his head like precipitation is going to drown them all. He tries to pick his words carefully, walking on a tightrope that once he looks down he sees a dark abyss opening its mouth to engulf him wholly. He forms a coherent sentence in his mind, a cloud to his clear-headedness; he hears the squeak of a door and Koku snaps out from his thoughts.

“Koku”, comes the voice of the elder, actually tinged with surprise as he finds his younger brother, “what brings you to my room?”

Koku bites his lower lip, opening his mouth and trying to remind his brain not to stutter. “W-well, Manchukuo’s dead.”

Teikoku’s face clouds over, but instead of white cotton clouds blocking out the sun his whole face looks like a thunderstorm is brewing. “I am aware of it.”

“He has three children”, Koku continues, “I believe that they need to be notified of their father’s…”, he swallows down bile and the word ‘dead’, “passing.”

Teikoku nods, his face still settled into a deep frown. “Is that all you wish to talk to me, brother?”

Koku shivers a little, like Teikoku’s stare is stabbing into him, and he has never felt this feeling before, like the whole surrounding is now covered in ice, freezing him until he cannot move, eyes searching for a way of warmth before dying in fiery cold.

“No”, Koku fixes his hair awkwardly as a way to compose himself, “since Manchukuo is… dead, I feel like what he left - aside from his children - is a vacant position for a job.”

Teikoku lifts a brow, suddenly intrigued. “A job.”

Koku nods, “For um… as a bodyguard for the family.”

Teikoku’s frown transforms to a thoughtful look, seemingly considering what Koku says, before looking back at his brother with a small smile on his face. “I’ll consider it; but you do the job interviews, hm?”

Koku’s face lights up, ultimately nodding- he had never received a serious responsibility before, and he now feels eager to do as his brother says. “I will, not to worry Teikoku.” Before he turns to leave, however, he looks back at him. “Where was Palau, during the dinner?”

Teikoku smiles mysteriously, hiding a secret, the snake inside of him trying to jump out. “She had a dinner date in another restaurant; she didn’t want us to disturb them, so I didn’t invite her to eat dinner with us.”

(Palau had been thoroughly as shaken as Koku was when she comes out of her car, pale as a ghost, shielding her body from her father, eyes swivelling from he to Koku. She doesn’t look like she even ate, as thin as she had once was, no joy in her body and replaced by fear clawing at her alive.

Koku had asked what happened to her date, and, her eyes flinging to Teikoku, she smiles a little before saying, “I enjoyed it.”)

Koku nods, telling his brother he will see him later during lunch, walking away from his brother and his room, hearing the door close behind him. As if the cost was clear, as if his third eye tells him that the threat has now long gone, his smile fades and turns into a small frown. His fingers linger on his wound before the little pinch of pain becomes too much for him to handle, his pacing becoming faster, shuffling his feet across the smooth tiles of floors like he is now being lifted by an angel with wings. His train of thought goes from his request to his brother to what happened last night.

Koku thinks about the catastrophe that was last night: how an unruly gang knew Teikoku’s name and wants his blood; how Manchukuo seemed to recognize one of the members; how that man was seen dragging away another boy away from Teikoku; he doesn’t get why that gang targetted his brother, of all people. Perhaps of his money, he assumes, because they are one of the richest families in the city, and Teikoku’s charming grin while handling his well-tailored suit can tell him that they wish to smear his blood on his own fortune, to claim it as their own. But there was something else- the way the boy with the eye-patch tries to aim his pistol on Teikoku, wishing vengeance as he tries to shoot the bullet ready to kill him. The way Teikoku did not flinch nor look casual when he sees Manchukuo’s body, blood dripping from the hole in his head, like he expected this outcome and expected his death.

Maybe there is more to Teikoku and he is only scratching the surface.

America sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, tying her hair up in a bun, looking at her reflection in the bathroom’s mirror. When she tells them she actually wanted to join this wild case against Teikoku, they give her a job where she wouldn’t sit back and watch this whole disaster play out. At the very least, she isn’t going to disguise herself as a prostitute to seduce her clients, like what Canada is doing now. She takes out her compact mirror to try add a little splendor to her face, then dabbing herself with perfume to somewhat impress her brand new 'boss’, as Australia so elegantly put it.

(“Looks like you’re the one being ordered around now”, Australia snickers as he gives her a bunch of uniforms to sort out through to see which suits her the best.

America gives her brother a glare before picking out one from the pile, “I’ll have fun removing your lunch time privilages.”

Australia goes pale.)

America looks back at her reflection again, cerulean eyes making contact with its duplicate, steeling herself for what was about to come, rehearsing the words in her head and trying hard not to let Teikoku get the best of her. Of course, she reminds herself to never be nervous of Teikoku, that he is the worst of them all, a single demon escaping from hell to create an all new spawn of monsters lurking around every dark corner, a shadow to one’s eye. She takes a deep and sharp breath, applying lip balm on her lips and she gives herself a small smile, to look like nothing is wrong and everything is fine, and that she isn’t infiltrating a bastard’s home every time he isn’t looking.

America replays her role in her head, trying to clear her mind.

Be hired as one of Teikoku’s bodyguards.

Find evidence in his files.

Arrest him.

Sounds like an easy enough plan, America thinks to herself, the problem is whether Teikoku is smart enough to see through her.

Another reason why she did not join this whole goose chase in the first place: she indisputably is aware that Teikoku is a conniving and perceptive man- one wrong move he’ll put a bullet through her skull or do something much worse than a quick and painless death. She had met him, once; during a party by one of the highest officials in the city, intent to become allies with the richest of businessman and highest of officials.

Teikoku was the least talkative out of everyone she has ever interacted, crossing his arms and never inviting anyone to his personal space unless he is called by someone else, putting on anelegant and charming smile that wins the entire population, disregsrding his eyes; grey orbs that swirl with absolute evil and lust for power, his hands conjoining as he looks towards the surroundings with intent and ambition painted across his face, waiting for the right moment to strike like he was a lion waiting for the prey to be surrounded to jump out from their hiding and tear its food apart, piece by piece, grinding its teeth to their flesh as they squeal and scream and kick but the grip is firm, until their screams die and their hearts will stop, knowing that this was the end of their existence.

America refuses to remember the way he looked at her, the way he looked at the other women from a distance, smiling wickedly ever so slightly, a smirk on his face, glass of wine in his palms, studying its contents.

America looks back at the mirror, giving herself another confident smile, before stalking out from the bathroom and into the fatal situation that she has gotten herself into, with no way back unless it’s through Teikoku’s head.

Canada has never been to a brothel before.

(Well, if he counts those times his father tried to get him to loosen up a bit and lose his virginity to strangers unknown to him. He declined his father’s offers, knowing that he should save his virtue for someone special, but later that night he made the mistake of letting someone into their house in a drunken haze, his room smelling of honey and lemon for days.)

He opens his phone to send Aussie and Kiwi a message, that he was already in front of Teikoku’s very own brothel and house for prostitution, ’The Comfort Zone’, as he so elegantly put it.

(He can see why it is called like that; providing comfort and sweet sweet lust to the clients paying for a cheap fuck or two, but for the prostitutes being forced to work in this place they are stuck in the deepest pits of hell, forcefully playing the game of lust with their customers, knowing they don’t enjoy it, and never will.)

Canada takes his time pacing at the entrace, trying to make himself look unrecognizable and obscure from the cameras littering around the place, covering himself, trying to look unrecognizable through the blur of the mobitoring and predating cameras littered around the whole place, fixing his hair, making himself look less more of an officer and more as an awkward and newcomer looking for a quick fuck like their stored lust has now been unleashed.

But for the first time in his life, he isn’t looking forward to get laid.

He needed answers and evidence to destroy Teikoku and his family once and for all, ridding the world once more of life that taints blood with inklings of darkness, first small drops like a rain before the storm hits, before the thunder claps and the lightning flashes and strikes across the sky, until it becomes a downpour but instead of drying once their old enemy the sun is shining ever so brightly and radiantly, they dry until nothing is left but their ghosts.

Taking a deep breath, he walks in.

Renmin wakes up feeling warm, either from the sun escaping through the barriers that is the windows and curtains, the soft blanket covering his waist down, or Sulian’s warm arms wrapping around him. He can feel Sulian’s breath on his neck, the way his lover’s chest rises and falls like the beat of his heart, eyes closed and lips parted, as if expecting a kiss from the deepest tendrils of sleep, waiting for someone, anyone, to wake him up with a touch on the lips. Renmin just smiles, of course; nothing had ruined his peaceful morning with Sulian, their night ecstatic and amazing, each of their kisses giving them more and more warmth until it burnt on their skin and lips like forging the flames of a dying sun. He carefully carresses the man in front of him, his lover, on the cheek, feeling the softness of the skin from a hardenned man, always in for battles, but never displaying affection.

Except for him.

The warm arms enveloping him pushes his bare body, only flesh and no clothing, closer to Sulian’s chest, shirt ruffled and tattered from last night’s latest game for naught. Renmin sighs once again, putting his arms around Sulian’s much larger and bulkier body, cuddling himself closer in his chest.

They can stay like this forever; time standing still, stopping them from doing anything, no one disturbing them, an unbreakable glass dome around the couple, serene and sturdy, letting them rest until they grow old and die, thus ending their small string of love, cut by fate.

Of course, nothing can last forever- he hears Sulian groan, a sign he has roughly been disrupted from his peaceful sleep and is brought back to the nightmare that is his life, and his dream that is Renmin, smiling back at him. He opens his amber eye, taking in his surroundings like he was in an unfamiliar setting with no way back, until his eyes find Renmin’s, body entangled in a mass of blankets and his arms, smiling a little back at him. Sulian smiles as well, feeling his day become better just by looking at the star near him, brightening like a damned solar flare, until burning out and becoming mortal like the rest of the universe.

Renmin feels a kiss on top of his forehead, a kiss of love burning through his head like the bullet he embedded on his own brother’s forehead, no sense of remorse, and no time for such rushed reunions.

All he needed was Sulian, and that is the objective that makes his heart melt.

“Zaoshang hao”, he greets, as he feels the arms around him stretch and Sulian yawning. He feels another kiss on his forehead, then on his lips, short but brilliant, making him feel at home.

“Morning, lyubov”, Soviet greets back, still entranced from sleep. Renmin chuckles as Sulian once again puts his arms around him, bringing him closer. “I have been dreaming about you.”

Renmin smells the sweat and blood on his shirt, sighing a little. “As you should.”

They stay like this once again, the entire world against their union and against their love for one another, but they too, hate what the world has given them and wish to correct the perspective given to them. Minguo had made the same mistake, trying to tear them apart to keep his younger brother loyal, but in the end he lost one ally to another.

He can feel old grudges rising inside of him, remembering Minguo’s red face once he says he was in an alliance with Sulian’s gang, remembering the way his older brother’s hands were up on his throat, choking and suffocating him, depriving the boy of needed air to sustain himself and one hand crawling up until it reaches his eye, and as Renmin cries and screams and kicks and pleads with Minguo, begging for forgiveness, but like a doctor’s scalpel digging into one’s flesh to draw out blood, the fingers plunging into his sockets and ripping his eye out like it was nothing but a toy stuck and wedged into the wall, the hands stubbornly never giving up on its onslaught until at last they finally meet their goal. A hand unconsciously comes towards the wounded eye, a raw flavor on what those wars have done to him.

A sigh comes from Sulian- not one of disappointment but a pitying one. “Thinking about Minguo again?”

Renmin snuggles a little more into him, “Well, sort of. It’s been a decade and I still haven’t found him.”

Amber eyes melt into gold. “Is it because of your meeting with Manchukuo last night?”

Renmin fixes his hair, staring at the ceiling. “Well, yes; we’re all aware that he works for that bastard man now, but to see him again… it just made me feel strange.”

“Perhaps from the fact I murdered your own blood?”

Renmin snorts, “Oh please- I’d care less about family who’s rejected me lying down in front of me dead.” He kisses Sulian again, feeling a hand on his back to elongate and deepen their passion, until seconds later Sulian lets him go, light in his eyes.

“Let’s go eat breakfast, then”, Sulian says, getting up, his waist below covered by the covers until he stands, looking for his clothes, leaving Renmin to monitor his back, feeling his skin prick with more passion.

They were late for breakfast, of course; breathless and messy hair, clothes absolutely falling down like they had a small quick fuck (of course they did) before walking out of the hall and in absolute bliss, the members of their small mob knowing what they’d just done but never commenting, preferring to be as silent as the lambs than scarring themselves with what the couple does in bed. Breakfast, like all other periods of feeding members, were quiet, hushed voices the only one trying to tap on the window of silence, as everyone clinks on their plates, eating in small and rhythmic bites to savor their meals and their energy for another day. Some were not eating and instead having a conversation with their friends; some were smoking outside with a cup of coffee as their meal; and some - like Inmin - were busily scheming silently.

Inmin was one of their youngest members- recruited at the mere age of thirteen just to find his mother in the darkest corners, going through desperate measures to find her. He was a young and naïve boy, once upon a time; a small smile on his face, amber eyes full of fractured innocence, ready to be used for one’s advantage, to be played with until his innocence shatters. He had lived happily with his family from beyond, but his desperation to find his mother made him and his twin drift apart, a single dust speck in the winds. Madness came to him like a swift wind dealing with a tree trying to stand during a storm- an explosion had racked the boy’s nerves one day, and a shard had scarred him for life, maming contact with his eye. When he wakes up from his slumber, he was hysterical, blaming his family and everything for what has happened to him.

Inmin remains silent but at the same time vocal to this day.

Sulian tells Renmin that he was going to get them breakfast, and Renmin swivels around towards Inmin’s table, only one person sitting on it, never eating, thin but able, holding a newspaper, and, judging by his face, once again exercising himself to read the printed words. Once he senses Renmin near him, however, he stops trying to read.

“Joh-eun achim, Jung-gug”, Inmin says with a small voice, hoarse from last nights shouting and screaming and crying about how they were close, so close to getting Teikoku. He turns back to the newspaper. “I’ve reread the same page over and over but the only thing I can understand is - well - your brother’s death.”

Renmin nods, taking the newspaper from Inmin’s hands and reading the section of Manchukuo’s death. His eyes skim the page, paragraph by paragraph, until he freezes, his eyes flying wide as his entire blood runs cold. If Sulian had given him a cup of coffee earlier, he would’ve spat out the bitter and hot liquid before dropping it on to the floor.

Inmin seems to sense his discomfort, and he blinks and asks, “Are you alright?”

Renmin does not reply, looking at the last paragraph about Manchukuo’s death, the photo of his dead older half-brother haunting him, like he came back just to mock Renmin.

The death of Manchukuo was hard for his boss, Teikoku, who says that Manchukuo was a loyal friend in the end, and to his three children, Heilongjiang, Jilin and Liaoning, who were waiting for their father to come home until Teikoku breaks the news to the three orphaned kids.

“He had children”, he says in a small voice, barely a whisper. He can feel the whole world once again laughing at him, noticing his horrible decision when he let Sulian go in for the kill. Of his brother. Of a father. A father of three small children, oblivious to the matters of death and are now paying their father’s price.

“Do you feel guilty of the fact that I murdered someone with three children on his shoulders?”, Sulian asks from behind, making Renmin jolt from surprise as he turns and faces Sulian, two pairs of plates with meals and two cups of coffee, juggling them in each hand. His eyes were on the printed words, while Renmin’s were on his shoes, feeling ugly guilt churning inside of him, a feeling he had not felt ever since he sees Nanjing being dragged by Teikoku but never doing anything about it, because that was Minguo’s responsibility but he did not see him look for his wife, having disappeared to thin air. His hand shakes a little, like the whole world had gone cold, creeping up from the wake of the warmth of the fireplace until it catches him by surprise, freezing him alive. A little sprinkle of sadness, then of guilt, was enough for him to suffocate of his deeds.

But he sucks that up; he did not have any time to cry or mourn Manchukuo’s death, knowing he is nothing but a hindrance now gone from his life. He looks at Sulian straight in the eye, who was trying to test his composure, wanting to see him cry.

There is less time for humility and more time for pride.

He smiles pleasantly, “No, not even a bit.”

America makes her way through Teikoku’s halls, being escorted by his half-brother - Koku, she reminds herself - who was waiting for a flood of people coming to their home for a new job but only she arrives. She remembers the way Koku was fidgeting in the entrance, pacing back and forth, rehearsing speeches to himself all the while fixing his hair to look nice in front of an audience. The way he smiled at her as she approaches, was like the sun had become brighter and stronger, flares scorching from his veins but instead of malevolence the smile is genuine and happy, unlike Teikoku’s. The way he shook her hand, like he was eager to meet her, as if he has been closed off from the world and has only ever interacted with his family.

(According to his records, Koku was home-schooled by Teikoku; maybe that is why he seemed so happy yet awkward to interact with someone outside his family.)

The halls were lit by small lamps on the walls, giving the white paint a sort of radiant yet looming energy, a candle dancing with the flames on its head to give their surroundings a better light. She looks at the floors, patterned tiles sounding as she steps on them with her heels, looking at Koku who was humming to himself as he busily stares ahead. She keeps her head low, but looking at the long halls until they reach the intersection where the halls end into dozens of rooms, railways of patterns around them.

“Just continue following me, we’re almost there”, Koku tells her, and she looks back at him, dark hair smoothed out, gray eyes sparkling and glinting.

She thinks that, despite the fact they are half-brothers, their resemblance is uncanny, and not even Tokyo can be compared to how similar they both are. Perhaps the only difference is the air around them; Teikoku presents himself as a meteor that is slowly looming closer out of the naked eye until its impact cannot be stopped and it shakes the entire world, while Koku was a small comet, passing by in a wink of an eye.

Even his voice enchants her a little, just a little- she reminds herself he is just like his brother, his innocent demeanor a ruse to let her guard down until he leaves her to rot in a hole.

She is wary of how unusually calm and somewhat bright behavior is odd for someone who was caught in a crossfire last night. She eyes the bandaged wound on his forearm, a red crimson hue surrounding the gauze. She and Koku go through the dark hallways again, seeing the entire house so… huge yet monochrome, blank walls as if eyes can escape through its blank stare, looking at her suspiciously, knowing of her intentions of goal. Koku stops at a large door, mahogany penetrated for patterns as he unlocks it and ushers her in.

Like the walls from the hallways, this was painted a lonely white, sorrow surrounding her, eating her whole slowly but surely, and she turns back to her guide who was busily arranging some things out of the way.

“Sorry about this room, it’s the only vacant one in the house”, he finally says after a while of arranging chairs. He looks back at her, tilting his head, “well, if you accept or get this job, you can have this room.”

America shakes her head, plastering a small smile, “No, I’d rather stay with my family.”

Koku nods, no malice or grudge hidden in his eyes. “I’d understand; I wouldn’t want to be separated from my family as well.”

With a content smile on his face, he asks, “What’s your name and do you have any family members?”

“My name’s America”, she replies coolly, leaning back on her chair like it’s the end of the world, “my father was England, I don’t know my mother, and I have three brothers.” Her eyes turn from the windows featuring the blue skies to Koku’s thoughtful face, magnetized by how the creases of his brow fade whenever he raises his eyebrows, the tongue sticking from the edge of his lip like a small child trying to make something out of his own sweat and tears, determined to impress their parent.

Koku’s gray eyes meet hers and he gives her a small smile and her cheeks color, heart beating just a little faster than it was before. She shakes herself out of it, playing on a strand of her hair, averting her gaze from Koku like a dazed school girl. Her mind reminds her smitten heart that he is a mission, bait for her demise, knowing he’s only pretending to be her companion until she makes the wrong move.

“Why do you want to apply to become a bodyguard?”

“The news last night was quite a surprise, to be honest.” She picks at her words on the platter, calmly choosing them with one finger to lead her on until she gets the job. “An experienced bodyguard, of one of the most powerful businessmen, killed by a lover of a mob boss… I don’t like mafia mobs, you see. They took my father away and they, well…” She leans closer to him, getting the boy in front of her, just a teen, invested. “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt, of course.”

Her cerulean eyes meet with Koku’s gray ones, her fingers lingering on his larger but smoother hands a little, playing with him, even if it means seducing him to get this job because at the very least, he is not his brother. She blinks at him, trying to look innocent, a damsel wanting to save him from the bandits who’d run his castle dry. He goes entirely red, America feeling his hands shake.

“I-I…”, he sputters, hormones raging deep inside him whilst America smiles at him, a devil in Eve’s clothes. “I a-appreciate your concern, but I don’t need protection.”

America feigns surprise and hurt, her eyes twinkling more with pure unaldurated lust and desire for Koku. “Oh? Even if you say you’re protected by Teikoku, he’ll never be always there for you, always busy and away for his work.” They are now a small distance apart, their lips almost touching if America would lean a little more, looking at Koku’s lips, entranced before going back to her job. “I would always be there.”

Koku gulps, slow and short. “I…”

America smirks a little, licking her lips, “The choice is entirely yours, of course; if you’d like me to work undeterred in your home, or you can kindly send me on my way.”

Koku hesitates; his hands fidget as his gray eyes go from her then to the window and then back to America, her legs crossed and owning a straight face, lips tingling. It was as if the entire world has gifted him a mysterious box, letting him decide whether he should open it without knowing the cost, or if he should ignore it, trying to disregard the feelings of temptation and curiosity burning up inside of him and live through another day of debating whether he should or should not open the box. America wants to laugh; Koku’s face looks like a mix of a small child and an old man facing a choice that will decide his fate, but her heart is still beating in a fast pace, but she assumes it was from hoping he’d accept her than how completely cute he was in that expression, hair covering a small side of his face.

The silence between them was a cloud of wisps, blowing ever so hard in their direction, in love with teasing the both of them, making the both of them feel antsy outside of their own comfortable space.

“My brother did say it was up to me whether or not I should hire you”, Koku finally says, making America perk up. “So… I feel like hiring you would be a good choice.”

America smirks deviously, but she turns back to him who was smiling brightly and holding out a hand. She hesitantly takes it, warmth suddenly surging up from the hand touching her hands and into every part of her body, energizing her to continue with this tomfoolery they had assigned to her. She gasps a little, like this sensation is always there, she just refuses to search the inner depths of her mind for this beautiful yet bamboozling feeling. Her mind is jumbled, playing a sweet and soft melody, her eyes seeing the stars.

But once Koku retracts his hand from her grasp, she feels the warm walls around her, making her as cozy as she is in a fireplace, crash into her with cold arms, her mind goes back to the plan.

“You’ve made the right choice”, America assures Koku, who chuckles a little, making the woman in front of him - once again - frozen in place, time standing still as she awkwardly fidgets with her hands; why is she so… awkward whenever Koku does one small move of happiness? This is normally what a lot of people do, laugh whenever there is something funny to laugh at, but for Koku, his laugh… it was like the stars were twinkling above her, showing her the way.

“You should come with me, I’ll break the news to my brother about your hiring.”

Her blood runs cold.

The whole city was cold during the night- it had just rained the afternoon before the sun’s flares had died and gave the light to the moon, now glaring down at her with its soft light, not guiding her into beyond but watching her with its eyes, the craters all seemingly moving like they are irises. She breathes in a little, shivering from the cold, and how horribly revealing her clothes are for this temperature. She shudders as another gust of wind blows out of nowhere, like a kiss on her skin growing to become prickly thorns. Her heels were worn from walking around the city too much, holding the satchel the stranger had given to her tightly before she was freed from the infernal pits of hell, the room more like a prison cell despite the fact that it looks more like a suite than anything she has seen in her entire life.

She can still remember the arms, searching her, roaming on her small figure as they try and take what they want from her, pinning her to the soft matress of the bed, becoming her worst enemy, back flat against its soft yet sharp underneath her. She used to kick and scream, trying to get them away from her, that this wasn’t the job she wanted and that she used to be so much more, so much valuable than being one prostitute on Street Number Sixty-Three. Shanghai recalled those disgustingly fake sweet voices, calling her petnames as they touched her, their voices lingering before disintegrating; she has been called those and hated every single one of it.

But that was before.

Before she decided to play their game, become Teikoku’s sweet little seductress, meek and submissive while retaining her seduction, charm and wit, easily making her a fan favorite.

Shanghai did not want this, nor did she care becoming a different person from who she was, but Teikoku made her like this. He broke her apart, piece by piece, putting out the only shards that he liked on her. He broke her, bones and mirrors and all.

She huddles around the jacket the stranger had given her once more, as she fusses with the satchel, feeling the rolls of money he gave to her, the canned goods enough to last her a week or two if she rationed it just enough. The jacket was her only layer of clothing from the cold and protecting her body due to only wearing lingerie once he ushers her out from her window and into the bustling city she had not touched but only watched for years. Shanghai would remember sticking her head out of the windows to feel the breeze and wind of being free, having freedom she used to have before she was locked up in a cage with no return to the wilderness. She had seen - with her very own eyes - everything change, innovations and technology happening here and there, the shapes on her eyes becoming taller, wider, larger, but even then, when the entire world is on the brink of collapse, she can find solace at the fact that nothing is changing, even if they are forcing her eyes wide open to the surroundings around her.

Shanghai steps on a puddle, immediately soaking her heels much to her grimace, looking at the lamposts littered around the street, luminating small pieces of the concrete road, as if they are trying hard to battle the darkness during the night, yet they are failing because of course they are. She decides to think of where to stay, but her mind comes up blank.

The police department? Absolutely not. She had her fair share of clients boasting that they are in high-ranking positions such as catching crime and putting them in jail. How can they be good men when even they clutch the treasures of corruption, perhaps even wanting to undress her as they work with their higher-ups and telling them they can handle her, but instead they’d put her in the backseat of the car and drive her back to the brothel and take advantage of her and her body-

She shakes her head, shedding a single tear in her eye.

No to the police department, then.

Shanghai tries to remember the old house she and her old members used to share, either dead or had gone through the same fate as she did, becoming slaves for Teikoku, grovelling and begging for him to feed them, even the tiniest bit. The house must probably only be standing in their own minds now, ever since Minguo vanished into thin air one night, no news of where he went, but she knows he is a coward who never became their saving grace. He chooses to hide his wings of darkness in favor of running away, never to come back because he is now just a mortal with nothing on his shoulders.

She frowns a little, thinking about the last time she saw Minguo, exchanging fires with his own brother before she is knocked over the head.

She then feels a tap on her shoulder, and she lets out a small shriek that pierces through the whispering night, jumping and stumbling until she trips on the road; thanfully the jacket was soft enough to land on and act as her cushion.

“Oh dear; I am so sorry.” A man’s voice says from behind her, and panic rises from her chest as she knows she will now have to deal with another man being shoved into her life and for her to play games. She feels the damp road beneath her, and she gets up, slipping a little before a hand catches her wrist.

Shanghai freezes up from the sudden touch and she inches away from the newcomer and sees that it was a man, business suit and smooth dark hair, blue eyes full of concern.

(She does not know whether it is genuine or he is feigning concern- she has learned never to trust anyone again.)

“Are you lost?”

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