#How does one ask for a raise within organized crime?

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 30

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Ichirou Moriyama had long been someone Riko had spoken about and therefore someone Kevin knew of.

First reverently as he talked about how someday his brother would come for him and how he’d watch Riko’s games. Then Ichirou never showed up once and the anger set in and mentions of his brother would result in especially bad days.

Kevin’s only saving grace at the Nest near the end was that Ichirou had been as uninterested in him as he was in Riko.

Neil was the one who had handled any communications with the new Master of the Moriyama family and Kevin was grateful for that. His stomach still twists when he found out what it would cost him to have the closest thing he would ever really have to freedom since his mom’s car accident but Kevin could hardly fault Neil since Kevin has no idea if he would have been able to even open his mouth and speak to negotiate with Ichirou. He certainly wouldn’t have thought to bargain for Neil and Jean’s lives.

So he was going to make sure the Neil had the best possible chances to get on a great team not just because he had every faith that Neil could be on the national court but also Kevin wanted him on the national court. Neil was his partner and his friend.

This was his last year that he could help as directly as this so he and Neil were still putting in the hours in their evening practices. It was also the last year that Neil could rely on him to assist in getting everyone up to snuff.

Ichirou Moriyama was going to be stopping by at some point and Kevin had decided that the best way to handle this information was to focus on something life affirming.

“I’m just saying it isn’t an unknown flavor combination.” Kevin argues.

“Kevin there is something very different about vanilla protein powder in chicken stock and Chicken and Waffles.” Aaron says from his spot behind Kevin in Wymack’s car.

“There shouldn’t be! It’s all the same flavors, just liquid!” Kevin turns in his seat to point at Aaron, “You should put on your seatbelt, what if Wymack crashes?” He says for the third time since the car ride had begun.

“That’s my problem, not yours.” Aaron says and his eyes have been locked on the roof of the car since the car ride began which was rude but Kevin had learned to expect nothing less from a Minyard.

“It will be my problem when your corpse breaks my neck as you fly forward!” Kevin hisses.

“Coach, could you do me a favor-“

“I’m not going to crash the car.” Wymack interrupts eyes on the road and hands at 10 and 2.

“God forbid you do something nice for me.” Aaron gripes crossing his arms.

Kevin decides to change his target.

“Coach-“

“Kevin, you’re not putting any protein powder into Smith’s soup. That’s final. Do you want to mess up his Grandma’s hard work to follow the Doctor’s recipe exactly?” Wymack asks.

No.

No Kevin does not wish to mess up Grandma Smith’s hard work.

He just…

A Food pyramid flashes in his mind.

…thinks he knows more than the hospital dietician.

“It’s not that Smith’s Grandma made bad soup.” Kevin says because the woman was a talent in the kitchen even if she might use a bit too much butter. He’d let her know but Nicky refused to translate and she’d smiled so warmly at him and touched his face so gently… “I think she was led astray by bad science and Nicky wouldn’t translate for me.” He says, “If she understood English she would have understood and agreed with me.” He says because he did manage to get her finely chop a bunch of carrots to put into the pasta sauce so that Neil would get some veggies.

She was a reasonable woman who understood the importance of good nutrition.

“I don’t know about that.” Coach says and Kevin wonders what he means by that.

They’re close behind Andrew’s car and Kevin can see two parking spots next to one another near the front except Andrew pulls into the spots in a way that means it is almost impossible for anyone to get into the second spot unless they owned a tiny smart car.

Andrew often parks like that to make sure no one dings the Maserati.

“That little shit.” Wymack grumbles as he continues to drive.

“Aren’t you going to let us out at the entrance?” Kevin asks.

“Who am I, your driver?” Wymack grumbles and does not slow down to let them out  at the hospital entrance. “You’ve been bitching about not getting enough exercise and eating too much fat this weekend, consider this just some of the exercise you’ve been wanting.” He says.

Kevin leans back in the chair.

He does NOT pout. He merely frowns with his lips puffed out and feels as if he has been treated unfairly.

He uses this time wisely.

He thinks about Neil and Andrew’s ‘secret’ conversation.

Kevin still doesn’t know Russian, has no plans to learn it because he does not want to know 80% of what Neil and Andrew say to one another, but Kevin has always been great at understanding tone and it’s not that hard to understand that they were talking about FF when he ‘Kapitan Neil’.

He thinks about what might stress Neil out about FF (never once does he consider that FF being in the hospital with a stab wound may be the thing that stresses Neil out, not when there’s an explanation that involves Exy).

FF might choose to leave.

That would not bode well for Neil.

Kevin has already signed but Neil needs the next few years still to make sure he can follow through on his deal with Ichirou.

FF is a great defensive dealer.

Kevin still doesn’t really understand how he can seemingly just appear on the Court to intercept passes but Kevin has been informed that all of his plans to figure it out are ‘medically unethical’ and ‘likely to get him thrown in prison’.

Nicky patting his face pityingly and saying, “Your face is too pretty for prison.” had been when he stopped looking at how he could buy electrodes.

His follow-up search to find out that no prison in the United States currently had an Exy court as a facility had him drop the outline of his research into his recycle bin and right click to delete permanently.

Since Kevin cannot find a way to replicate that particular talent of FF’s then they just need FF to stay.

He also quite likes the steady freshman. He’s probably not ever going to be National Court level like he and Neil are, but he would be a solid Dealer on a good team. Kevin wouldn’t even mind playing with him professionally.

They park the car far in the back of the lot and Wymack grumbles at a different nice car that is taking up two spots. Kevin climbs out of the car and they start their way towards the hospital.

Kevin considers jogging in circles around Aaron and Wymack as they walk just to burn off more of the lunch they’d just had but decides against it.

Maybe a different nutritionist will be on staff today and will be able to back Kevin up on his plan.

***

Captain Neil and Andrew are quickly followed by Nicky and his Grandma both of whom look nervous but some of that seemed to dissipate when they saw him.

“Are you okay?” Captain Neil asks.

FF goes to open his mouth but a nurse interrupts, “He decided to go on a walk in his current condition. I thought we were quite clear that you needed to stay in bed. Stressing yourself is why you collapsed in the Cafeteria like that.” His main nurse chastises.

“Sorry, it won’t happen again.” FF promises because it won’t. He’s planning on asking for a medically induced coma to escape the consequences of his actions so leaving the bed is the last thing he’s going to do. His dad’s trust for him can have money taken out for his medical needs and there has never been a greater medical need in his entire life than right now.

“What happened?” Andrew demands stepping next to Neil.

How does one explain getting a job offer from the Yakuza (Yakuza or Mafia)?

“I wanted to go for a walk.” He answers because he had and that’s easier to explain.

“Why did you meet Ichirou Moriyama?” Andrew asks again in German.

Well dammit.

FF finds himself at a crossroads.

Does he tell the truth? That he’s an idiot and didn’t realize the man was reaching out to Captain Neil? That he went and had an entire conversation with the man who owns Captain Neil, Kevin, and Jean Moreau? That afterward he tried to stand up and fainted which is how he got taken back to his room?

He thinks he has enough lies going on between his own and his grandma’s and he needs to relay something from Ichirou Moriyama.

“Lord Moriyama wanted me to tell you that he no longer needed to speak with you Captain Neil.” He relays just like he said he would and he sees Captain Neil tense.

“Smith.” Andrew says his name.

He also doesn’t want to talk about it any further.

“I’m fine, but I don’t want to talk about it.” FF closes his eyes as he answers back in German. He feels exhausted now and wishes that he had just requested a coma earlier so that he wouldn’t be in this situation. “Captain Neil, you left your phone here and it’s been pinging. Sorry I read one of the texts.” He gestures vaguely to his side table.

None of his guests speak for the next few minutes as the nurses finish reminding him to stay still, that he’s lucky his stitches didn’t break, that he’s on thin ice. He’s tired and he’s hungry so he’s curt with them in a way he’ll regret later but right now it’s just a lot when he can still feel Captain Neil and Andrew’s eyes burning into him.

Then Nicky proves to continue to be the nicest friend he has when the nurses leave and he feels Nicky’s hand take his and squeeze. “Hey, how are you really feeling?” he asks.

FF takes a deep breath, “I have...no idea.” he says. “I’m sorry.” he adds.

Nicky squeezes his hand again, “Hey, Aras made you some soup and we kept it away from Kevin. You’re probably a lil’ cranky because you’re tired, hungry, and in pain. You don’t need to talk about it right now okay?” Nicky says.

He’s really lucky to have Nicky as his friend.

He squeezes Nicky’s hand back and valiantly does not cry. He squeezes his eyes tighter to keep them from slipping out, it’d be embarrassing to cry here like this.

“Thank you.” He says voice quiet but doesn’t open his eyes, knowing what will come out if he does.

His Grandma comes to his side again and strokes his face. Her fingers wipe away the few tears that did slip out despite his best efforts but he thinks she did it so casually that maybe no one noticed.

It hasn’t been a good day, but Grandma’s soup has always been something that makes him feel better. He just wishes he could be alone for a minute with just her to witness the next few minutes.

Nicky, bless him, must sense that because he squeezes his hand tightly before letting go, “C’mon, let’s give Smithy and Aras a moment okay?” He says.

FF doesn’t open his eyes until his Grandma whispers, “My little Rotisserie Chicken, they’ve stepped out.” She says.

“He offered me a job in the Yakuza.” He blubbers immediately. “I don’t even know if they have dental.” He spills one of his lesser concerns.

“Oh honey, let’s eat some soup.” She soothes stroking his face.

***

Neil feels bad.

FF was pale, shaking, sweaty, and despite his grandma’s best efforts Neil had seen a tear slip from his tightly closed eyes.

He looks to his side and sees Andrew’s own hands tightened into fists.

“C’mon, let’s give Smithy and Aras a moment okay?” Nicky says and drags them out of the room through the sheer force of his ire. It’s moment like this that Neil really does understand why it is that FF prefers to spend his free time with Nicky over any other of their group.

They get out of the room and down the hall before Nicky starts in. “You two are the KINGS of not talking about shit so, for now, LEAVE it.” He hisses in German in a bid to keep the conversation private from anyone walking past.

“We need to know what deal he and Ichirou came to.” Andrew says in the same language.

“You’re going to find that out from Ichirou probably once he crazy murders Romero and Jackson in the next couple days!” Nicky cries dramatically, “Smithy probably doesn’t even know the full details because he’s in a lot of pain because he’s been STABBED.” Nicky points a finger at Andrew but wisely does not poke him with it. “Do you think he ACTUALLY went on a walk? Ichirou’s men probably took him since they couldn’t find YOU Neil.” Nicky points at Neil and, again, wisely does not poke him with it.

Neil’s stomach twists.

Maybe Neil should invest in a phone clip like Wymack thought the implication that the Moriyamas came to where his phone was leaves him wanting to skip it like a stone straight into the ocean. Too bad going to a beach still makes his palms sweaty.

“So what WE are going to do,” Nicky does a quick circle to point at the three of them, “is we are going to be good friends and help Smithy because he’s stressed, in pain, and needs friends not INTERROGATORS.” Nicky waves his arms in exasperation.

“Who are Neil and Andrew interrogating?” Aaron asks and Neil looks to the side to see Aaron with Kevin being pulled along by the scruff by Wymack.

“Smithy.” Nicky says.

“Why?” Kevin asks.

“Because Ichirou came and talked to him.” Andrew explains.

Kevin goes pale. “Why? I thought he was going to talk with Neil?” Kevin asks looking at Neil.

“He probably came here following Neil’s phone, which he left. So he grabbed Smithy to talk to him.” Nicky says, “Ichirou seemed impressed and pleased with whatever they talked about but Smithy is a little fragile after all of this so,” Nicky stepped into Kevin’s space, “Leave.” He pokes Kevin’s chest once, “Him.” He pokes Kevin’s chest twice, “Alone.” He pokes Kevin’s chest a third time.

“How would he even have an understanding of who he’s talking to?” Kevin asks looking sick. “No one has mentioned anything about the whole thing with the Moriyamas right?” He looks at the rest of them and Neil knows none of them would mention it.

Nicky rolls his eyes with his entire body.

“Kevin, do you know how many languages Smithy is fluent in?” Nicky asks.

“Uh…quite a few?” Kevin responds looking thrown.

“Yeah, one of those languages is French. Which you KNOW because he’s corrected your pronunciation before.” Nicky reminds Kevin and the Son of Exy blushes slightly.

“What does that have to do with this?!” Kevin squawks.

“Kevin, how many conversations have you had RIGHT in front of Smithy in French as you talked with Jean?” Nicky asks.

“None!” Kevin hisses.

“Can you say that for sure? You know how it can be with Smithy. Aaron over here has basically almost fucked his girlfriend in front of Smithy before because he didn’t realize he was there.” He juts his thumb towards Aaron.

“Hey.” Aaron scowls not happy to be reminded of that. “He needs a damn bell.” Aaron grumbles.

“I’ve talked about it in front of him and you never told us?!” Kevin exclaims.

“It’s Smithy! He’s not going to tell anyone!”  Nicky argues.

Which is very true.

FF is just not that kind of guy.

“So we are ALL going to be good, supportive friends to Smithy and hopefully he gets out of here today despite the whole shit show with Ichirou and we get him back to Abby’s where he can rest up in her guest room with his grandma.” He points at each of them with a frown.

“But-“

“Kevin, leave it for now.” Wymack finally steps in to the conversation. “How’s he looking?” He looks to Neil.

Pale, tired, pained, and trying not to cry either from pain, stress, or fear Neil does not know.

“Bad.” Neil answers.

Wymack sighs, “Stay out here. I’m going to go check.” He says.

They watch as Wymack enters into FF’s room.

Kevin is still spiraling from the realization of all the different conversations he could have possibly had in front of FF thinking French would act as a barrier.

A thought crosses Neil’s mind, “Wait, Smith doesn’t know Russian right?” He looks to Andrew because he and Andrew have said quite a few things to one another when FF was there.

“No, he said he isn’t learning it here.” Andrew shakes his head. “Even if he does learn it Smith would just leave if he was uncomfortable.” Andrew shrugs.

They have all seen a ‘Smith 180°™‘ before when he’s walked in and has seen Aaron and Katelyn or entered a room where Nicky was talking to Erik or Matt was talking to Dan. Neil has even noticed one or two when him and Andrew may have been in a less than private place.

It was nice to have someone who would just see them like that and leave it alone instead of betting on it, trying to take a picture, or gagging like it’s disgusting.

Wymack walks back out after a minute in FF’s hospital room, “Let’s give Smith and his Grandma a couple more minutes.” He says and Neil’s heart sinks.

***

Wymack wasn’t quite sure what he walked into.

Smith’s Grandma was wiping his face and feeding him soup which is about what he expected. What he hadn’t expected was what FF was saying to his Grandma.

“….didn’t even wash his hands Gran. What if none of them wash their hands? I can’t work in that kind of environment!” FF babbles as he takes another spoonful of soup from his Grandma.

Smith’s Grandma looks up and sees that it’s just him at the door before continuing in English, “Sweetie, you don’t need to accept the job offer from the Yakuza.” She soothes.

“What do I even do?! What’s the etiquette? Do I send a letter refusing the job offer? Do I email him thanking him for the interview? Was it an interview?” FF asks.

Wymack shuts the door and he’s sure FF hadn’t even noticed him.

Yeah the kid needs a couple more minutes

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

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The  requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few  different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I  promise I just missed you.

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be  something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

#Fluent Freshman AU #FF - Pt. 30 #Can't BELIEVE there's 30 parts of this #Happy 4th of July to all my fellow Americans #Happy Tuesday to everyone else #FF be going through it a bit in this chapter #He's a silly goofy guy but also he's having a delayed reaction to realizing who he just talked to #Yes Wymack was dragging Kevin because Kevin tried to go get into another argument with the Nutritionist #Also Yes GS had Neil eat veggies without his knowledge but EVERYONE else knew #Also yes the car that was parked the same assholey way that Andrew's was is Ichirou's car #Some other things that FF is worried about with the job offer #How does one ask for a raise within organized crime? #How organized is the crime? #Do they have payroll? #Or is it commissions based? #Is there some sort of ACCOUNTANT who manages all of that? #That's gotta be stressful #If he wants to pursue other avenues of employment how does he use this on his resume? #IS Ichirou Moriyama a good reference? #Do they get paid vacation? #What are his benefits? #Does he get to request 1 free hit a year? #If hired can he push a hygiene initiative? #Like YES you are trying to kill your target #But Sepsis is such an awful way to go #What do human resources look like in a crime family? #aftg #AFTG AU #AFTG OC #Andreil

[cheeseandstrawberrytartlover]

Chapters: 2/?

Fandom: Elder Scrolls

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Sheogorath (Elder Scrolls)/Reader

Characters: Sheogorath (Elder Scrolls), Reader

Additional Tags: Fluff, Prison, Caretaking

─✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ─

Next thing you knew is that you were in a completely different place. No longer were you in the dimly lit dungeon, but within a room with large stone walls and a few stained-glass windows.

How did you get there so quickl-

Your savior carefully put you on a wooden table. Out of nowhere, you were in a room with a small crowd.

Sheogorath turned to his servants, "I need water to clean the wound."

A few of them spun around hastily and fetched some water while the Daedric Prince was inspecting your leg.

Yes, one of the guards had slashed your leg... though you do not even know what crimes you have committed.

"Let us hope it is not infected yet.... I should have listened to your prayers sooner, apologies."

Your chest tightened and you spoke, "I did not intend on summoning you, My Lord."

"Well, but you still called for someone. And I answered."

The Madgod smiled at you.

"You have gone through so much, little mortal, but no worries. I am here."

For a second, it felt like time stopped as those golden eyes gazed upon you with softness and pure intention. That was not a thing that you thought would come from a Daedric Prince, yet... there they were.

You could now see them clearly with the light coming through the large windows unlike when you both were in the prison.

The Madgod's face seemed soft, but also very sharp. Their cheekbones were chiseled. Thanks to her beard, their face looked more masculine even though all of his features were the peak of androgyny. They had slightly pointed ears which were shorter than those of a normal mer. Their grey, but close to white hair was slicked back and mostly tucked between their ears.... although a rowdy strand got loose and was hanging in his face. Sheogorath's face and ears were adorned with golden piercings. There was a stud in their right nostril, a golden ring in their bottom lip and a few mismatched piercings on their ears.

While you were distracted by the absurdity of the Daedric Prince's beauty, the servants returned with a bucket of clean water and a rag. Your staring did not stop.

"I will clean their wound," Sheogorath mumbled to his servants after they try to help you.

Any other Daedric Prince would have ordered someone to do this for them, but the Madgod really was unlike his kind, huh?

Sheogorath calmly inspected your exposed wound. The blade had cut through your pants and your flesh. The Daedric Prince frowned at the thought of ripping your pantleg, but it had to be done. Even then they were careful.

"Does not seem infected... and trust me, I know what an infected wound looks like."

After the inspection, you gripped the table as the Madgod cleaned your wound.

The Daedric Prince looked up from your wound and asked, "Do you know any healing spells, darling?"

You nodded and Sheogorath stopped cleaning your wound.

"All right, I will intensify the spell by using my energy. I would love to heal you, but that is sadly out my abilities."

Once you looked down, you saw the claw-like hand enter your view. Their nails were long and black. A gradiant ran up to their elbows were it slowly ended in their natural skin color.

You took their hand carefully. A bright light emerged from the Madgod's veins and travelled towards you until it reached your finger tips.

The energy that hit you nearly electrified you.

The urge to pull away was strong, but you felt safe among the Daedric Prince.

"Try a healing spell!"

Looking down at your trembling hand, you raised slightly before you turned your energy into magic, or in this case a familiar healing spell. A golden light gleamed in your hands and you started to feel the energy of the Daedric Prince as your own energy got weaker. You took a look at your leg to see the gash heal rapidly.

"Incredible. Well done, darling. Now... onto more pressing matters..."

The Madgod grabbed you quickly and without any remorse of scaring you. They were now inches away from your face.

"I cannot let you leave until I know that you are safe and well. I want to make sure that you are safe after leaving the isles and that you can live freely on Nirn. This is... a standard procedure."

You look past Sheogorath. The servants were nodding eagerly.

The Madgod's voice had a cynical kick to it as he spoke, "Oh and... I will also bring you new clothes to wear... your poor pants payed the price of being worn. Apologies."

You did have to say that for servants of Sheogorath... they were incredibly well-dressed.

The grip around your arm loosened and the Daedric Prince stood up straight before brushing some dust off their fancy suit.

"All right. My servants will do the rest."

Sheogorath tried to remain serious, mysterious and well... Daedric, but they smiled at you. It was a kind smile.

After the master left, the servants basically ambushed you with kindness and assistance of any kind. They helped you get dressed and you looked at yourself in the mirror.

The colorful spectrum of fabric fit you well and the golden adornments only lightened up the entire outfit. The jacket you liked especially, with its embroidery of fantastical flowers that you had never seen before.

You noticed how the lighting got dimmer and you made your way to a little balcony.

Of course, it was natural to be shocked and amazed at such a landscape. You had read of the Shivering isles, but you never would have imagined it to see it with your own eyes.

"So the bright side is Mania and the gloomy side is Dementia.... interesting," you thought out loud.

#sheogorath x reader #sheogorath #tes fanfiction #elder scrolls fanfiction #daedric prince

[plush-rabbit]

LOV Kinks

A/N: Hope you enjoy them!! Also a few mention AFAB but it’s mostly kept gender neutral (some of them im not so keen on but i think it fits more into their character except for like 1 but that’s like a whole ‘nother thing)

Bubaigawara Jin:

Brat Play- Jin is a gentleman with you, but he likes the sense of control that sex gives him. He likes teasing you, towering over you with his large stature. He’ll kiss your lips, order you to get on your knees and when he’s met with a cheeky response and a killer smile, he’ll ask once more. Deny him and  he’s bending you over his lap, bum exposed and smacked until you start to sniffle. He wants to see you cry a bit, to look up at him from your position and act cheeky. 

Katoptronophilia- Sex in front of the mirror is a everything to him. He has you bent over, arms stretched behind your back and he holds your wrists with a single hand. He looks in front of the mirror and admires what he sees. Whether it’s your chest that moves widely or your cock that bobs and drips with arousal, he’s cupping his hands to your chest and twisting at your nipples, bringing you close to his chest and talking absolute filth to you. If you compliment Jin during this time, there’s a high chance he’ll pound into you harder, bite at your shoulder all while you tell him beautiful things about himself. 

Sensory Deprivation- No matter who it is that is being tired, gagged, blind folded- Jin is having the time of his life. If it’s you, he loves to see you nervous. The way your muscles tense when he walks by, how you can tell he’s already so near when his knee makes the bed dip. It’s a feral type of arousal that he gets from it, salivating at the thought of you being terrified, comes about your body and whispers close to your ear about how he’s going to wreck you. If he’s deprived, he’s excited. Sculpted muscles line his body, tense and perfect, you’re able to see every curve and dent and he’s gasping when you touch him. He wants to be drained by the time you’re done with him.

Dabi:

Corruption- Play the dotting role of the lover- cook for him and take care of him, wash his hair and kiss his scars. He falls deeper for you. A sinking pit that wants to drag you down and bury himself inside of you until you’re molded to his shape, ruined for anyone else. Dabi wants to see you cry and think about all the perverted things you do. He stuffs you with his cock and shoves his fingers into your mouth until you’re gagging and crying. He wants to take you and fuck you on a dirty mattress, ruin the sweet mental image of who you are. 

Humiliation- Dabi loves to see you hide yourself behind your palms. He wants to see you whine and deny the filthy words that leave his mouth. He thinks it’s the cutest thing when you start to hiccup and whine about how you aren’t a slut. It’s all in good fun and he knows your tears better than anyone so when you do start to actually cry, he’s apologizing but he’s jerking in the shower about that cute, scrunched up face you made. But, turn the tables on him and he’s creaming. Every single word that cuts at him is soothed over as you call him yours. 

Marking- He doesn’t want to hurt you. At least more than necessary. He likes branding you. It’s usually nothing more than a slight burn that will sting for a bit, your skin flushed and hot. He’ll press himself close to you, kiss at your neck and open his mouth. He lives for leaving you marked- bruises that won’t fade until weeks later, bites that sting and a grip too tight that breaks skin. A soft press of his hand against your hip that leaves you hissing is something that he takes pride in. If you want to mark Dabi as well, he’s eager to let you. The sharp, hesitant bite of your teeth, the way you lap it over with the flat of your tongue is so cute, he’s thrusting deeper into you.

Iguchi Shuichi:

Body Worship- Shuichi has a bit of self-esteem issues given the way he grew up and the organizations that are highly against his type of quirks. Run your hands through his hair, kiss his hands and comment how nice his hands are and tell him how pretty his scales are he’s melting. If he’s being praised- told how gorgeous he is, complimented on his scales during sex, and he’s nothing but putty, slow, sensual sex where he keeps himself close to you, nails scratching down your skin and threatening to rip the soft skin. His compliments towards you are the standard type- being told how pretty you are, how you’re perfect- but as it continues, he starts highly praising you, listing everything that he loves about you while kissing and nipping his ways toward your sex.

Breeding- Due to his quirk, there’s a bit of an animalistic side to him. He’s always close to you during sex, bodies pressed and meshed, legs intertwined and arms wrapped tightly around you but it hardly ever steps into the breeding category unless you mention it to him. There are times where Shuichi can’t help himself, pumping himself into you, head buried into your neck and a hand will curve over your stomach. It’s during this when he’s absolutely filthy- talking about how you’re going to be full of children- eggs that will fill your belly- slimy and completely aroused when he knows that he can smell your ovulation. Perhaps it isn’t the thought of raising children that makes him excited- though he can’t deny that he hasn’t thought about having children with you- but rather the entire aspect of breeding. To see a swollen belly, full breasts, your leaking cunt, the way that he gets to be the only one to have his seed so deep within it and see the dazed look on your face after he orgasms. 

Odaxelagnia- While your teeth might not be strong enough to pierce his skin, he can’t deny the pleasure from it. He can feel the pressure, the way your spit pools onto him in heavy strands that trail down his body. He enjoys it very much. While Shuichi may not be the tamest nor the wildest, he can appreciate a good mark. He was given sharp teeth for a reason. He’ll bite around your body- thighs, stomach, shoulders, and anywhere else he happens to be- and admire the welts that form. During his breeding episodes is when he’s most likely to bite, tearing up and shaking, a faint copper taste in his mouth and then he feels you yank on his hair. It’s a sharp pain and he remains latched onto you, soothing away the pain with his tongue. He loves to see you marked, covering his bite where he can see and a few times where others can see.

Sako Atsuhiro:

Helplessness- Atsuhiro is a gentleman- a bit of a flirt, but a gentleman nonetheless. He’ll always help you, take amazing care of you and give you whatever you need without a second thought. However, during sex he is a different person. He feeds a bit off of your helplessness. He wants to watch you struggle- whether it's roleplay or bondage- he wants to see you twist and turn, bite your lips and be flushed in your face. He thrives on seeing you squirm, the way your legs tense when he runs a gloves hand over you or even the way that you act naïve, begging him for help with doe-eyes. It fuels a bit of his need to be there for you, to give and fulfill your wants while also making sure he is pleased as well.

Impact Play- The marks he leaves never linger for long. He prefers to spank at your bum, to let his hand arch over the fat, let his fingers dance above your sex and see the way that you grip onto the sheets or pillows in fear. He prefers his hand but he isn’t above using a belt or a flogger if you seem up for it. He loves the dark print that it leaves, the way you whine out the numbers that you can barely keep a track of. Atsuhiro would never hurt you, but there’s something about seeing you at his complete mercy, the way that you’ll cry and beg to be good, how you’re sniffling and slowly turning on your back, so careful to not rest against your sore bottom. He likes seeing his print on you, the way you cry and whine, how you’ll bend your legs and hold the back of your knees as he rocks into you. 

Risk- Atsuhiro is a showman. He likes to be the center of attention, to garner everyone’s attention and it shows. His personality is loud, the way he never reveals his face and keeps it behind a mask, and how he prefers letting people know what he’s done rather than keeping to the shadows. And that’s why voyeurism does it for him. He wants the risk of being caught, to have people see your naked body, sex played with his hands so expertly that it should be a crime. He so often wants to see you come undone, to run the risk of having people known what he’s doing to you- late trains are a special occasion when going out with him- sitting on his lap and letting the rumble of the train vibrate and move your body against him. A metal hand reaching to pull at your teats and a soothing voice in your ear to tell you to be quiet, as you struggle not to make a sound behind a closed mouth. There’s a part of him that wants to get caught, to see people’s reaction, to give a performance and show them how good you can look.

Shigaraki Tomura:

Internal Cumshots- Being inside of you bare is already so risky. He’s deep within you, huffing and panting, mindless fucking where your bodies stick together because of sweat. You feel so good- warm and soft, the lewd shucking noises enhanced without the feel of latex. But the real prize comes when he releases inside of you. He knows the risk, but seeing you full with his semen- thick, slow drops oozing out of your abused hole can get him going for another round. He can almost imagine your belly swelling with his seed. The titillating look on your face as he enters you once again is enough to make him ejaculate once more.

Mommy- He has mommy issues. It doesn’t matter whether Tomura is on top or on beneath you, he’s still a submissive when it comes to you. He’s whimpering, begging for you to touch him, all while he paws at your chest, lips kissing feverishly at every inch of your skin until he latches on a breast, the teat in his mouth and he’s humping you like a dog. You could be cuddling, threading your fingers through his hair and calling him a good boy and he’s already erect, fucking you between your thighs and begging for you to touch him. 

Somnophilia- Tomura enjoys coming into your room, watching as you sleep, climbing above you and slowly fondling you until you start to whimper and pant in your sleep.  He watches with wide eyes, pupils dilated, his skin hot and flushed and when he enters you, you’re already stretched. He loves the bit where you start to wake up, eyes blinking away sleep but slowly returning to your slumber. On the same note, he loves waking up to you already touching him, his cock around your hand as you jerk him off, your lips against his unmoving ones, trailing down to kiss at his chest.

#jin bubaigawara x reader #jin bubaigawara imagines #jin bubaigawara headcanons #bubaigawara jin x reader #twice x reader #bnha twice imagines #bnha twice x reader #dabi x reader #dabi headcanons #dabi imagine #spinner headcanons #spinner x reader #shuichi iguchi x reader #shuichi iguchi headcanons #iguchi shuichi x reader #sako atsuhiro x reader #atsuhiro sako x reader #sako atsuhiro headcanons #mr compress x reader #mr. compress x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura headcanons #sorry for jsut the one #i fell asleep #and took an exam #so yeah #ill try to have things out tomorrow #byee

[ask-the-clergy-bc]

what did our ghoulies do for the clergy before they became band ghouls and why were they picked out?

Ooooooh, love this!! Love getting to explore different clergy roles! I love getting to play with the origins of Era IV!

Since I also make a LOT of references to my ideas of leader ghouls, I'm gonna go ahead and link that headcanon here to avoid confusion! --> [Link]

Era IV Jobs Before the Ghost Project

Aether: Aether was summoned when the ministry decided to start training successor ghouls to the current ghoul leaders. Air had finally stepped down as Beta ghoul, and the ministry was afraid others would do the same. Ather was summoned specially to become the next Omega ghoul. While Aether has his own powers of healing that took over as his main duties, he mainly shadowed the head quintessence ghoul. This included a lot of traveling, learning about Earth and human culture, and working with many different types of ghouls. There was also a lot of personal assistance to the Emeritus line, as aether ghoul healing is more effective for demon blood than normal human medicine.

When Omega was on his tours, Aether took care of his business in his stead to test how close he was to being ready. Aether was never originally meant to take part in the Ghost project until a few albums ahead. But with Omega’s sudden departure and being needed back in the Clergy, Aether was once again tested by being a band substitute. Luckily, he was a natural and has been proving himself as the next head ghoul! Handling both responsibilities and the pressure of being the Omega Ghoul.

Cumulus: Cumulus has been around for a few decades and has served enthusiastically. Her first decade was as an assistant to Papa I- her summoner. Namely as his ritual assistant and with his paperwork. She has always had a good eye for detail and organization, with a queenly air of authority about her. But Papa believes in letting his ghouls flourish to their strong suits. Until Copia’s ascension, Cumulus has been the lively and loyal personal ghoul to Sister Imperator. Serving as everything from bodyguard, personal confidant, and even enforcer to the Mother Superior. Cumulus was the very first selected for the job of band ghoul when it was Copia’s turn to head the Ghost project.

Imperator wanted a ghoul who was smart, capable, and with a good grasp of leadership to help supervise the other ghouls. Cumulus was also vouched for by Air. Her and Cirrus were both personally trained by the older ghoul when he was looking for a successor for the Beta ghoul position. While neither were chosen for that particular duty, Cumulus is happy to be a part of the band. She still keeps in touch with Imperator and sometimes acts as though she is Copia’s manager. If something goes wrong or needs to be done, Cumulus is the first to know.

Cirrus: Cirrus has gone back and forth between two duties. Serving the current Imperator and studying under the former Beta ghoul, Air. Cirrus is a tough cookie and has been a ghoulish enforcer for many abbies. Essentially keeping ghouls and siblings in line when it comes to fights or rule breaking. There are always ghouls who make sure the will of the clergy is followed and those who commit crimes are punished. This was her preferred job, rather than work with Air. Who tended to find stuffy, traditional research more important. Cirrus, as calm as she is, prefers hands on work. She’s also worked security detail for all of the Papas but most importantly, Grand Papa Nihil. Cirrus is a long time bodyguard (and baby sitter) for the Grandpapa and Sister Imperator.

Cirrus was recommended by both Cumulus and Air- since they were both practically raised by Air to be potential leader ghouls. Nihil was particularly sad to see Cirrus disappear from his entourage, but agreed she would be a wonderful fit. Also Nihil and Imperator can agreed that Cirrus keeps Copia in line by her sheer intimidating presence and powerful aura. Cirrus would be lying if she said she didn’t also enjoy the chance to do something more fun and get away from the clergy for a bit!

Mountain: Although Mountain was summoned by Papa II, he was never strictly a ghoul for the Emeritus. Personally summoned ghouls tend to be bodyguards or close entourage for their Papal summoners. For a couple of decades Mountain was an effective and reliable body guard for Papa II. But Papa eventually realized his ghoul’s talents were being wasted. Stone ghouls have been shown to have natural strength beyond most ghouls and a good eye for architecture. Mountain has been responsible for helping build new cathedrals, quarters, and even clearing land. His level headedness and bluntness have also been excellent when working with Papa II, who has supervised many of these new buildings.

Mountain being assigned to go with Copia was actually a sort of ‘good faith loan’ from Papa II. Don’t get me wrong, Papa II does NOT like Copia. He finds him opportunistic and a usurping leech… However, Copia IS chosen by Lucifer. Papa II cares about his ministry MORE than he hates Copia. Since he hasn’t had Mountain as a bodyguard for years he decides to recommend him. After all, it also looks good on him for being generous enough to support the newest singer of the band. The Ministry was happy, mainly to let the Cardinal practice working with ghouls of different types and skill sets to delegate. On tour he was accepted and chosen for both his natural talents but to help balance out all of the incredibly strong personalities of the current ghouls.

Rain: Rain was a very behind the scenes ghoul, and rarely worked in the public congregation. He was the archivist assistant to the current head water ghoul, Delta. Delta is one of the oldest serving ghouls who now takes care of the Ministry’s protected collections of records. Rain has happily kept a quiet existence processing old and new registrations for the entire ministry. At one point Rain had studied directly under Delta with Water and Mist- all powerful water ghouls who are being trained for greater works. Rain loved playing music but never considered himself one to be ever picked for anything but reorganizing entire archives and dusting off old books.

Rain was recommended by Mist after her short stint with the Ghost project and Papa III. While she wanted to go on tour, she was needed elsewhere to train. She could vouch for Rain’s hard work and need to open up and embrace his potential. Copia was happy to take the water ghoul, as was shown to have indelible talent and an agreeable personality. The touring has definitely made Rain want to be more active in the ministry and with his fellow ghouls.

Swiss: Swiss was actually pretty high ranked before he became a band ghoul! While not part of the leader ghouls for the entire ministry, Swiss was the top ghoul in one of the main cathedrals outside of the head abbey. This meant he directed, advocated, and watched over all of the ghouls a part of the cathedral. Making sure all duties were done and all ghouls were taken care of. Swiss is a pretty strong ghoul in his own right. While he is fire he was born from two mixed ghouls of different elements. So he is well versed in different elemental energies and knowledge. His easy going nature and quick wit makes him a favorite among siblings and ghouls alike. Higher Clergy also worked with him to make accommodations and holidays for the ghouls.

Swiss was hand picked by Copia who worked with him pre Ghost project. Copia has always valued Swiss’s hard work and ability to get along with everyone he met. Swiss was agreed by Imperator and the ministry to be a great ghoul. Not just in vocals but bringing everyone together and interacting with the fans and staff. Swiss accepted the position with glee. He loves doing ceremonies at his home abbey, and a Ritual is nothing different- just bigger! Plus, Swiss will never turn down a chance to sing.

Ember: Ember has been strong but an entire pain in the ass of the Ministry for a LONG time. There have been many times he was almost sent back to Hell because he was difficult to control. Ember has calmed down in recent years, but he can still be a bit of a thorn in everyone's side. But he has so much potential within the Ministry, he’s too valuable of an asset. At first he was summoned as the potential candidate to be the next Alpha ghoul, for when Alpha eventually steps down. But to help him adjust to the responsibilities he had been shipped to many places with many duties. He’s been everything from a guard, to ritual assistant, to attack dog.

Eventually he found a spot with Papa III right before he went on tour as his bodyguard. Their energies actually worked very well together and he was one of the few before Copia who was able to give him the right outlets he needed. Ember was hand chosen to be a bassist by Papa III when Alpha had to return with Omega to the Ministry. Ember had originally asked to be guitarist, but the Ministry was interested in testing Ifrit to be the next Alpha ghoul. Ember was just happy to play but was absolutely thrilled when Copia asked for him to play head guitar.

#the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost headcanon #world building #nameless ghouls #ghoulettes #ember #swiss #aether #cumulus #cirrus #mountain #rain

[lulu-zodiac]

Hidden in Plain Sight

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Jeremy Bradshaw

Tags: Early seasons Dean, pre-podcast Professor Bradshaw, denial, unresolved sexual tension, bickering, smut, gratuitous owl references, case fic

Summary: It's the fall of 2006, and a string of grisly deaths linked to local lore brings Sam and Dean to the village of Bridgewater. There, Dean finds himself working closely with the frustrating and unexpectedly compelling Professor Bradshaw.

---

Dean feels about as comfortable in old colleges as he does in churches. There’s the same sense of exclusivity, that same reverence of things Dean has spent his life stuck on wrong side of. This campus even feels a little like a church, with its old architecture and sprawling ruby ivy and slit windows like narrowed eyes. His footfalls echo heavily along the cold stone corridor, making him feel uncomfortably aware of his own existence.

The door he’s looking for is old and made of oak, nestled in an alcove near the staircase, with a small plaque on it that reads Professor J Bradshaw.

Dean pauses for a moment, then knocks abruptly, suddenly noticing his knuckles are still smudged with earth. From within, a muffled voice instructs him to enter, and he does so, wiping his hand surreptitiously against the side of his leather jacket.

The first thing that hits him is the sheer volume of books in the room; they clutter every available surface, piled high in front of the big bay window like a strange line of defense. There are stacks of loose papers everywhere too, haphazard but clearly organized, some held in place by empty coffee mugs or odd-looking artefacts. The air is bright and warm, like this room catches the sun when it’s slow and mellow in the afternoons.

The second thing that hits him is the man sitting at the desk.

He doesn’t look up at Dean’s entrance, continuing to scribble away in a leather-bound notebook with intent dexterity, seemingly utterly lost in his own thoughts. He’s not what Dean expected; surprisingly young, maybe approaching forty, with a sharp jaw and tousled hair that just brushes his broad shoulders. When Dean clears his throat awkwardly, the man finally looks up with striking blue eyes that immediately pin Dean in place.

“Yes?” his voice is inquiring and several octaves deeper than Dean would have imagined, low and gravelly. He sets down his pen, looking at Dean with piercing focus.

“Uh – hey. Professor Bradshaw?” Dean feels distinctly self-conscious.

“Who wants to know?” the man closes his notebook with a snap and stands with surprisingly fluid ease, eyes still intent on Dean as though he’s cataloguing him.

He’s wearing a faded navy-blue sweater with the sleeves rolled up, slightly crumpled shirt tails poking out at the hem, just visible.

Drawing on years of sizing people up, Dean guesses that the guy probably has no one to go home to at night. If he goes home much at all, that is; the office has a distinctly lived-in look. It’s strangely reminiscent of the makeshift home feel of the impala’s interior.

“Um – Dean. Dean Collins,” Dean answers hastily, suddenly realizing he’s spent a little too long looking. “I’m uh – a student in one of your classes,” he lies the best way he knows how: with a charming smile. “I was wondering if you’ve got a moment? I was hoping to ask you a couple of questions about your work.”

“Come in, please,” Professor Bradshaw sits back down behind his desk, and gestures for Dean to close the door. “Take a seat.”

“Thanks,” Dean shuts the door and awkwardly removes three hardback books and a small, slightly drooping fern from the only available seat in front of Professor Bradshaw’s desk.

“Sorry – let me –” Professor Bradshaw leans over the desk to relieve Dean of the books and the plant. Close up, Dean can see faint lines softening the corners of his vivid eyes, and when he breathes in, he catches a hint of peppermint and the musk of warm skin, strangely compelling. Their hands brush for a moment as Professor Bradshaw takes the items, and Dean flinches, jerking away and planting himself firmly on the chair.

“So – Dean, yes?” Professor Bradshaw settles back into his seat. He’s still looking intently at Dean, gaze startlingly blue.

Wordlessly, Dean nods. He doesn’t know why he can feel the heat creeping up his cheeks.

“You’re not in any of my classes, Dean,” Professor Bradshaw says, with a slight edge to his voice. He reaches for a half-drunk mug of tea on his desk, expression skeptical.

Dean feels his stomach drop. “Uh, yeah – I’m new, just transferred a couple weeks back,” he bluffs quickly, but it sounds weak even to his own ears. He feels strangely flustered, visible.

“No, I don’t think so,” Professor Bradshaw says, flatly. “I believe I would have noticed,” he adds, wryly, with a kind of impatient warmth in his expression that makes Dean’s cheeks flare with heat all over again. Professor Bradshaw merely swallows a mouthful of tea and sets the mug back down, still looking at Dean. “So. Who are you?”

“Alright,” Dean puts his hands up in mock-surrender, smiling wide even though he feels stupidly on edge, knocked off course. “You got me. I’m – uh – a journalist. My boss has me writing a piece on local legends, and I was hoping to pick your brains. Heard you’re the expert on all that stuff around here, and thought I might be in with a better chance of talking to you as a student instead of some annoying reporter.”

“I see,” Professor Bradshaw leans back in his chair, contemplative. A shaft of sunlight filters through the bay window behind him, illuminating a hint of tawny in his dark, untidy hair. Dust motes hang everywhere like suspended snow. “Well, luckily for you, Dean, I find that my students can be just as annoying as reporters. And I still talk to them on a daily basis.”

Dean grins a little awkwardly, “Yeah?”

“Of course, I do get paid to do that,” Professor Bradshaw adds, dryly. “But perhaps I do them a disservice. Some of them are really quite inspiring.” He pauses, raising his mug to his lips. It has an owl on it, Dean notices absently. An overly fluffy one, with a slightly threatening glare. “I daresay I can spare five minutes. What is it that I can do for you, Dean?”

“Uh, so you study the supernatural, right?” Dean asks, clumsily. His hands are sweating where they’re shoved in the pockets of his jacket. “Ghosts and demons and all that shit?”

“I study the lore and mythology of supernatural beings, and why it’s important to humans to create such stories,” Professor Bradshaw clarifies, shortly.

“Right, got it,” Dean agrees, hastily. “But you’d know a bit about the Bridgewater coven?”

“I am familiar with the legends, yes,” Professor Bradshaw replies, reaching for his mug again. There’s an ink stain on the side of his index finger, smudged deep blue. Dean fleetingly wonders if it would rub off easily if he touched it, if it would leave a ghostly imprint on his own skin.

“Yeah – uh – so there’s been quite a lot of interest in the coven recently,” Dean blusters, annoyed with himself for how stupidly flustered he feels, “You know, since those bodies were found last week? At the burial site in Bridgewater Forest that’s associated with the legend? Yeah. Well, anyway, I was – hoping you might be able to tell me a little more about the legend of the coven.”

“I don’t see what the recent tragedies could possibly have to do with the legend,” Professor Bradshaw narrows his eyes skeptically.

“Right – yeah – nothing, I’m sure,” Dean lies hastily, “But the location of the crimes has definitely raised awareness about the existence of the legend, and that’s what we really want to provide for our readers.”

“Well, certainly, I can tell you the history,” Professor Bradshaw replies, briskly, “In fact, I teach an undergrad course on witchcraft in history and my lecture this Wednesday actually covers the legend of the coven. If you want a more detailed, nuanced version, you’re more than welcome to come along then – it’s at 11am in the Milton building. But I’m happy to give you the short version now, if that would be helpful?”

“Thanks – yeah, that’d be great,” Dean says, gratefully. “On a bit of a tight schedule today.”

“Well, the local legend about the Bridgewater coven has existed for almost two hundred years,” Professor Bradshaw starts, and immediately Dean can picture him talking in front of a lecture theatre full of kids. He’s a natural, something inherently captivating about the way he speaks. “In the 1800s, this village was an important site of religious pilgrimage. However, according to the legend, the village was also home to a small coven lead by a witch named Iris. Iris’s coven was said to have lived in secrecy in the forest on the outskirts of Bridgewater for years, and not to have troubled the village people. However, by 1816, the legend claims the coven had become very hostile, specifically towards the church. There were fears the coven had begun indoctrinating – or bewitching – members of the congregation.”

Professor Bradshaw pauses, swallowing another mouthful of tea. The muscles in his throat work, drawing Dean’s attention to the way his pale blue shirt isn’t buttoned up properly. He’s filled with the sudden, inexplicable urge to button it up correctly.

“More and more people started disappearing in connection with the coven,” Professor Bradshaw continues, setting his mug back down on the desk, and Dean jerks his gaze guiltily away from the line of his throat, clenching his hands into fists inside the pockets of his leather jacket. “The rapidly diminishing congregation lived in terror. The remaining members of the church all turned against each other. Then, at the height of local hysteria, Iris is said to have murdered Blanche, the minister’s daughter, in what is portrayed in the lore as some kind of statement of the coven’s power over the church.”

“Bet that didn’t go down too well,” Dean remarks, sardonically.

“Quite,” Professor Bradshaw catches Dean’s eye, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Anyway, according to the legend, the tragedy of Blanche’s death united the warring members of the congregation. They captured Iris and entombed her alive, using her own magic against her to keep her trapped. Iris’s death broke the spell on the members of the congregation who’d been indoctrinated against their will, and peace was restored to the village. The few remaining members of the original coven fled and were never seen again.”

“Wow,” Dean raises his eyebrows, “Very love-thy-neighbor.”

Professor Bradshaw snorts, “Yes. Religious leaders in the 1800s were renowned for sitting down and resolving their problems through compassionate discussion,” he remarks, dryly.

“Okay, but what about the other versions of the legend?” Dean asks, trying to remember the things Sam had told him to ask about, but drawing a total blank. His brain feels weirdly scrambled. It’s hard to remember what happened before walking into Professor Bradshaw’s office. “The other stories about the coven I’ve come across so far all seem pretty different.”

Professor Bradshaw frowns slightly. “It’s true, there are many conflicting accounts. Which is often the case with legends, being human constructions of the past,” he regards Dean slightly disapprovingly over the rim of his owl mug, a kind of skeptical stubbornness in the set of his mouth. “It’s not about knowing which ‘to believe’ – it’s about looking at why historically people have favored one version over the other and what that tells us about them.”

“Right, yeah, but aren’t legends often based on fact?” Dean pushes.

Professor Bradshaw pauses, contemplatively, “Yes. That’s certainly true in some cases.”

“Do you think it’s the case in this one?”

“Possibly,” Professor Bradshaw replies, haltingly. His expression is serious and he hesitates for a moment before elaborating; “In fact, I’m currently writing a paper about the historical figures who feature in the legend of the Bridgewater coven.”

“Yeah? Which ones?” Dean presses. He’s used to having to fake interest to get information out of people like Professor Bradshaw, but for once, he finds he’s genuinely interested. There’s something compelling about Professor Bradshaw’s evidently obsessive quest for obscure answers, something that resonates with all too much familiarity.

“Iris, predominantly,” Professor Bradshaw replies. “I’m very interested in the historical reasons women were condemned as witches. Often, it’s as simple as jilted male lovers using accusations of witchcraft as a means of revenge, or the women using herbal remedies that threatened contemporary male ideas of medicine and the body. Sometimes it’s to do with female homosexuality and society’s unacceptance of same sex relationships or women as sexual beings. Of course, it wasn’t uncommon for gay men to be condemned for witchcraft either. But statistically, more homosexual women died as a result of such accusations.”

“Uh – right –” Dean swallows, looking away. His hands are sweating again, and he wipes them surreptitiously on the insides of his pockets. Clearing his throat, he changes the subject, suddenly remembering the other thing Sam had told him to ask Professor Bradshaw about, “What about the runes?”

“Ah yes, the runes on Iris’s supposed tomb,” Professor Bradshaw’s gaze is suddenly inscrutable in a way that makes Dean’s heart thud uncomfortably in his chest. It sweeps over Dean, lingering and unnervingly blue for a moment, before he continues, “Very interesting. I’ve been studying them a great deal as part of my research. The true nature of them has always remained a mystery, and any attempts to discern their meaning haven’t fitted with the legend at all. I believe they may be key to understanding the history behind the creation of the legend. But,” he smiles, wryly, “It’s not an easy task. They’re unlike any runes I’ve come across anywhere else before.”

“Can I see?” Dean asks, partly out of interest, and partly for some way of distracting himself from the way his heart is still thumping uncomfortably fast.

“You’d have to visit the forest burial site to see them in person, but I do have a couple of sketches of the lines I’m working on at the moment,” Professor Bradshaw gets to his feet and crosses to the cabinet by the window, pulling the top drawer open.

The fall chestnut trees outside smolder amber behind his silhouette, midday sunshine pale gold and still where it filters through the window. Time seems strangely irrelevant. Dean watches as Professor Bradshaw flicks through a green binder, fingers quick and dexterous, skilled and uncalloused in a way Dean’s have never had the chance to be.

Dean swallows and looks away, ignoring the thud of his heart as he stares around at the rest of the room. He clocks a bunch of compendiums of mythology on the bookcase nearest him, and two other eccentric and slightly neglected looking plants. There’s a thick plaid rug on the couch in the corner, not quite concealing a plate of half-eaten toast. On the windowsill, there’s a little tin mug with a toothbrush in it that makes Dean wonder again just how often Professor Bradshaw goes home at all. He finds himself wondering whether Professor Bradshaw has always had nothing but an empty house to return to, or whether that’s a more recent development. He’s definitely old enough to be going through a divorce. The thought sits uncomfortably in Dean’s chest for reasons he doesn’t particularly want to identify.

“Here we are.” Professor Bradshaw’s gravelly voice, suddenly much closer, makes Dean jump. He glances around to find Professor Bradshaw standing beside him, holding out a sheet of paper. The smell of warm skin and peppermint catches Dean off guard, stronger this time, and still strangely compelling.

“Uh – thanks,” Dean says awkwardly, taking the proffered page. He feels Professor Bradshaw’s fingers brush against his fleetingly, warm and ink-stained.

Dean swallows, forcing himself to focus on the page in front of him even though his cheeks are hot with something he doesn’t want to think about. The sketches are good, a few strange vaguely Norse reminiscent symbols drawn hastily with accompanying, scrawled notes in the margins. There’s something about the runes that niggles at Dean’s brain, familiar and unfamiliar all at once, like something he’s known his whole life but can’t put his finger on.

“These are interesting,” Dean he frowns, tracing his finger along the two last symbols.

When he glances up, he finds Professor Bradshaw looking at him intently, blue eyes inscrutable. “Yes,” he says, leaning back against the desk and folding his arms across his chest. “Those are the ones which struck me too,” he’s speaking a little quieter, low voice distracting Dean from why the runes are so familiar. He hopes he can remember them, that Sam will be able to place what he can’t about them.

“So, uh, this tomb. The one with the runes on it – that’s definitely where that guy’s body was found last week? It wasn’t just nearby or something?” Dean forces himself to ask, ignoring the way his heart is suddenly thumping again. “And the girl found the week before – she was directly linked to the burial site too?”

Professor Bradshaw clears his throat, unfolding his arms. “I believe so, yes.”

“And that doesn’t seem – I don’t know – a little strange, to you?”

“Human beings committing violent acts against each other is generally something I find a little strange,” Professor Bradshaw replies, in clipped tones. “But beyond that – no. Now –” he breaks off, glancing at his watch. “I’m afraid I have a seminar to deliver in ten minutes,” he confesses, and there’s something unfinished about the way he says it, something almost reluctant. Like he half wants to stay here talking with Dean.

“No problem,” Dean stands, and takes a last glance at the sketches before handing them back, trying to commit them to memory. “Thanks, Professor.”

Their eyes meet as Professor Bradshaw accepts the page, and the room suddenly feels very airless, a pause suspended between them. Neither of them moves away.

This close, Dean can see miniscule flecks of grey like tiny stars lost in blue of Professor Bradshaw’s eyes, the way that his full lips are slightly chapped, like maybe he worries them between his teeth when he’s thinking. They’re soft pink and warm-looking, and Dean wonders fleetingly if they taste like peppermint tea.

“It was nice meeting you, Dean,” Professor Bradshaw says, gently, and his eyes are so blue.

“Uh – yeah – you too. Thanks. I’d – uh – I’d better get going,” Dean stammers, shoving his hands deep in his pockets and cursing the way his cheeks are suddenly flaming with heat. His thoughts churn unsteadily; he ignores them the way he’s learnt to.

Still feeling strangely wound-up, he nods awkwardly at Professor Bradshaw and turns reluctantly towards the door.

“Wait a moment, Dean –” Professor Bradshaw’s voice halts Dean in his tracks as he reaches the door, and Dean turns expectantly, heat thumping a little painfully.

“Yeah?”

“Here – you’re welcome to borrow a couple of books on local history,” Professor Bradshaw is pulling a couple of books down from the overflowing cabinet by the window. “They should have a bit more about the legend of the coven that you might find interesting. Divergences of the legend and so forth. I’ll need them back by Thursday morning as I’m teaching a class on them in the afternoon, but you’re welcome to borrow them until then if they’d be helpful.”

“You sure?” Dean takes the proffered books awkwardly, and swallows the strange disappointment sinks in him like a stone as Professor Bradshaw steps back again. “Thanks.”

“As I said, I’m also giving a lecture on Wednesday where I’ll be examining the history behind the legend of the coven. I meant what I said - you’d be more than welcome to attend,” Professor Bradshaw says, sincerely. His eyes are intent, and there’s a hint of something almost like hopefulness hidden in the depths of his gravelly voice. Working on long ingrained instinct, Dean chooses to ignore it.

“Thanks, I’ll – I’ll see what my schedule’s like,” Dean replies, haltingly.

“Of course,” Professor Bradshaw agrees. He turns back to his desk.

“Can I ask –” Dean pauses, watching Professor Bradshaw stuff another notebook and a stack of handouts into his briefcase. “You said you’re writing a paper about the runes at the forest burial site– do you go to there much?”

Professor Bradshaw glances up, distractedly. “Yes, I spend time there every week.”

“So you haven’t noticed anything – I don’t know – anything unusual when you’ve been there recently?” Dean ventures.

“Unusual how?” Professor Bradshaw closes his briefcase with a snap and looks up at Dean properly, eyes narrowed with sudden skepticism. It’s stronger than the hints Dean has caught at other points during their conversation, sharp and blue, a world away from the observant warmth of a few moments ago.

“I dunno – odd noises, sudden drops in temperature, shadows –”

“Just what are you asking me?” Professor Bradshaw demands, voice clipped and defensive.

“Have you seen anything like that?” Dean presses, stubbornly. Irritation prickles his skin.

“No, I haven’t,” Professor Bradshaw says, bluntly. “And you know why? Because yes, I study the supernatural – but it’s not real, Dean. I don’t know what kind of sensational article you’re writing about local lore, but I can assure you, lore is all it is.” He winds a striped scarf haphazardly around his neck, and grabs his briefcase off the desk. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a class to teach.”

-

Sam is eating some gross looking granola yoghurt pot with a plastic spoon when Dean eventually clambers back into the car, feeling distinctly frustrated.

“You took your time,” he remarks idly, raising an eyebrow as Dean adjusts the mirror with an unnecessary amount of force and turns on the ignition.

“Goddamn waste of time was what it was,” Dean mutters mutinously, pulling out of the space and then immediately being forced to hit the brakes when a cluster of students cross the parking lot in front of him. He grinds his teeth and resists the urge to honk the horn. “Thought I was getting somewhere but he completely shut down the minute I asked him if he’d noticed anything weird at the burial site.”

“Suspicious?” Sam frowns, through a mouthful of granola.

“No, don’t think so. Just really damn touchy,” Dean drums his fingers impatiently against the wheel as he waits for the students to move, “And a bit of an asshole. I dunno, suppose working in his field he’s probably used to people thinking he’s just some lunatic who believes in the supernatural.”

“And does he?”

Dean snorts. “No way. He’s got a real bee in his bonnet about it. You’d think someone who’s spent the last twenty years with their head buried in books about ghosts and covens and demonic possession might be a little more open to the idea,” he shrugs, and gives in to the temptation to lean on the horn, reveling in the brief satisfaction of making the students jump and scurry out of the way, “But no. The guy’s absolutely blind to it all, and could rival you on stubbornness.”

Sam purses his mouth in annoyance, but doesn’t rise to the bait. “Get anything useful at all?”

“He did lend me a couple books,” Dean admits, nodding in the direction of the backseat. “Have to take them back on Thursday morning, though. He needs them for some class.”

“He leant you his books?” Sam raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Dean shrugs, skin prickling in annoyance, “What of it?”

“Dunno, that’s just,” Sam swallows a mouthful of yoghurt, “Pretty trusting. Academics usually treat their books as if they’re their first borns.”

“Don’t mess them up when you read them, then,” Dean says, dismissively, as they pull out onto the main street. “You find out anything useful about the victims?”

“Not really,” Sam leans back in his seat with a sigh, “Both from middle class, religious families. Seem to have been pretty well liked by people. Hard to establish any link more than that. The wife of the guy that was killed last week seemed a bit cagey, though,” he shrugs, “Might be worth a second visit to see if she’s holding out on us about something.”

“Right,” Dean drums his fingers impatiently against the wheel as they wait for a light to change. It’s starting to drizzle, tiny flecks of grey hitting the windshield. “Are we still definitely thinking ghost?”

“Seems like it,” Sam affirms, “The way the victims died definitely points to a vengeful spirit. But the place they were killed – connected to the burial site associated with the coven? I don’t know, I was thinking maybe it’s no ordinary ghost. Maybe it’s the vengeful spirit of a witch, and that’s why it’s so powerful?”

“Hm,” Dean mulls it over, flicking the windscreen wipers on as they continue to wait. They squeak slightly, repetitive and familiar. “You could be onto something there.”

“Yeah?”

“Professor Bradshaw was telling me about the local legend of the coven. Apparently, its leader was entombed alive by a bunch of angry churchgoers,” Dean steps on the accelerator as the light finally changes, and the rain-slicked village slides past in a blur. “That’s got to be some pretty good vengeful spirit material right there. And you said the victims were both religious, right? Can’t be a coincidence.”

“Why now, though?” Sam frowns. “It’s been what – two hundred years? There must have been plenty of churchgoers who walked by the burial site before now.”

“Dunno,” Dean shrugs, staring out at the rainy smudge of fall colors. The chestnuts trees lining the street are the same smoldering hue of amber as the one outside Professor Bradshaw’s window.

They drive in silence for a few moments, wipers squeaking.

“Okay,” Sam says, at length, “So I’m thinking – we go check into a motel, get through as much of these books from your professor as we can while we wait for the rain to stop, and then check out the burial site later this afternoon before it gets dark?” Sam asks, chucking his plastic spoon in the empty yoghurt container.

“He’s not ‘my professor’,” Dean says defensively, and suddenly has to step a little too hard on the breaks to avoid running a red light.

“Alright,” Sam says, slowly. “Okay.”

“Anyway, yeah,” Dean blusters, hastily, ignoring the weight of Sam’s gaze on the side of his face, “Works for me. But first,” he flicks on the indicator and pulls into a space near a little line of local shops. “Food. Not that yoghurty shit you’ve been eating. Real food.”

-

The forest is steeped in quiet in the way all ancient places are, fall singing the leaves on the gnarled branches that claw their way towards the fading gold of the late afternoon sun. Dean breathes in the wet, cloying smell of moss and follows Sam’s careful path through the trees. There’s a chill in the air, but the handle of Dean’s blade is hot in the palm of his hand.

“How much further to this place?” he hisses at Sam’s back, swatting a frond of bracken out of his face and casting his gaze edgily through the twisting branches and burnt amber.

“Nearly there, according to –” Sam stops so abruptly that Dean nearly collides with him, throwing out a cautionary arm.

“What?” Dean whispers urgently, instantly drawing his blade. His heart is racing now, whole body tense, coiled, ready to attack. His gaze flickers rapidly through the mess of branches and he stands on his tiptoes, trying to see past Sam’s stupidly large frame. “Sammy,” he hisses, impatiently, when Sam doesn’t immediately answer, “What is it?”

“There’s something there,” Sam breathes, almost inaudible. His posture is still, alert. Dean can see Sam’s hold on the gun in his back pocket tighten.

“What kind of something?” Dean whispers, craning his neck to try and see. The light seems somehow dimmer already, the fading sun sliding further towards the ground. When he breathes in, the smell of wet leaves is stronger, now that they’re in the heart of the forest. His heart is thrumming so fast but everything else feels suspended in time, unnaturally still.

“I think it’s a person,” Sam murmurs, and somewhere close, Dean hears the brittle rustle of dead leaves, loud and unnerving in the wooded quiet. He watches the quickened rise and fall of Sam’s shoulders as his breathing suddenly sharpens. “They’re holding something. They – shit, Dean, they’re coming this way.”

Dean reacts immediately and on nearly twenty years of protective instinct; he shoves Sam out of the way and stumbles out into the clearing, blade brandished in front of him.

---

#did i really just create a new ship tag on ao3 just because i couldn't get the idea of early seasons dean and pre-podcast jeremy meeting? #yes #yes i did #feedback truly makes my day <3 #crossposting from ao3 #bridgewater #bridgewater podcast #supernatural #dean winchester #jeremy bradshaw #dean x jeremy #spn fanfic #dean fanfic #my stuff #my posts: fanfic

[chanluster]

non ducor duco | {m}

oneshot | historical! au | gang! au | 15.2k words 

“The most notorious gang leader in Victorian London can gouge out the eyes of men, steal from the corrupted rich, and terrify an entire city, but cannot figure out a few complicated feelings with you.”

s u m m a r y >> the leader of the sons of seoul, the wanted criminal mastermind, christopher bang, has the courage to commit any deed save for confronting you, his most trusted accomplice, about his feelings. however, when opportunity arises, in the shape of an invitation to a grand seasonal ball, to take down his fated enemy, he takes you to the heart of a lavish estate, both of you unaware of actions that occur inside, and after the mission.

w a r n i n g s >> gonna be using chris instead of chan cause it’s set in 1860s london, chan is a dom of course, jisung and changbin are dumb and dumber, are also massive cockblockers, some cliché scenes cause i’m a sucker for them, sexual! tension!, gore, foul language, making out, dirty talk, aggressiveness, semi-public fingering, unprotected sex (stay safe homies!!), oral (f. receiving), multiple orgasms, chan has a thing for being called his korean name, whack spelling for ‘cum’ as ‘come’ cause technically that word didn’t exist in 1860s, there is a plot so there will be build up

a / n > > so i went way over the 10k originally planned lmfaoooo but i hope y’all enjoy this oneshot! i worked my ass off on it and hopefully y’all can appreciate gang leader chan in 1860s london cause honestly i’m a 100% whore for that concept

back to masterlist

IT WAS A UNIVERSAL LAW THAT ONE MUST NEVER FUCK WITH CHRISTOPHER BANG. EVER.

Whatever charge you may have against him, it must be withdrawn. Whatever he had done to you — robbed you, murdered your son, destroyed your entire existence — it did not matter. There were always limits, and trying to challenge this specific criminal would only result in your undoing.

It seemed the target, cornered before you and the very man himself, did not fully understand this order.

Chris Bang, in all his midnight suited glory, took a step towards the cowering man, the ends of his longcoat trailing him in the air. His gloved hands locked behind his back, a grave curve of his lips as he addressed his next victim. “Mr. Shaw, we know you have the documents.”

This said Mr Shaw hastily shook his head, raising his hands in immediate surrender. “Please, Mr. Bang,” he whimpered. “I have no inkling of what you speak of!”

“Don’t you dare lie!” You interjected, sliding out your knife, pointing it towards him. “We received reports of you. Don’t you dare forget the monthly checks we’ve sent for its safekeeping!”

“I was taking care of it, Miss!” He backed further, until the wall of his office stopped his escape. “They came to the office though.”

“Who did?!” You demanded, but the way Chris’s hand fisted in irritancy answered your question.

The Mayor had taken their shares. Once again, the tyrant had robbed them off their fortune. 

“Mr. Shaw,” the man beside you started. The raw, dark matter in his voice had the owner’s eyes widening in pure fear. “Who was it specifically?”

“A really large man, about seven foot for sure…God, he had cuts all over his face, slight stubble,” he answered, knees slightly shaking. “Please, Mr. Bang, I have a family, children who have not grown—”

“Why is it that whenever man is at his weakest he mentions his loved ones?” A few stray locks escaped from Chris’ raked hair, caressing the ragged scar from his brow down to his cheek. “Why do you think that I’ll suddenly take pity because you have others who will mourn your existence?”

These questions had the man collapsing, leaning completely against the wall for support. You stole a glance at Chris, wondering if he was now capable of extracting the very souls from men. “Do not keep toying with me, Shaw,” he warned, leaning in slightly. “I know you have information.”

A soft, helpless whine escaped from the owner of the building. “Then-they'll kill me,” he mumbled, looking up at the criminal with desperation. It was a shame that never worked on a man with no sympathy.

“I can kill you too,” Chris countered, and in a flash a sleek, pocket knife appeared in his gloved hand, and hovered it right under Shaw’s chin. “So how about you tell me what you know, and I can prolong your imminent end, hmm? Does that seem fair enough?”

You almost felt sorry for the man. “H-his men…” tears formed in his eyes. “His men kept calling him Carter.”

“Brilliant,” you muttered. ‘Scar’ Carter, the Mayor’s link to the crime world, the dirty dealings of London. Carter, the lapdog of the socialites. The most irritating, disgusting son of a bitch you had ever encountered.

“I see.” The knife stayed, caressing the manager’s skin. “Now I know they’re to sell the documents. The bastard is greedy.

“Question is, Shaw, where is the transaction going to take place?”

Dear God, the man looked as if he was about to piss his trousers. “The ball.” He tried to gulp, but felt the curve of the blade. “The Mayor’s brother is holding a masquerade ball in a few days, and Carter already had a client. They’re going to do the dealing there, I swear on my children!”

A harsh scoff emitted from the criminal. “You better hope for the sake of your sons that you aren’t lying.” 

“Did you get the invitations?” You asked, eyes darting around the dirtied room, the messy desks and chairs lopsided from your searching. 

“Yes, yes!” He pointed to a set of drawers. “There are two in there!”

You walked towards the destination, opening the drawers and sure enough, finding the gold-edged enveloped, addressed to Shaw and his wife. “Are your names inside too?”

“No, just the envelope, but that is not important! I promise!”

You pocketed the invitations inside your coat pocket, joining your leader’s side again. Chris, after a minute of heart-wrenching silence, stood up, freeing Shaw’s neck from the knife, sliding it within his belt.

“That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” His eyes were still upon the man when he said, “Let us return.”

The both of you were ready to leave when you heard Shaw’s sudden protests.

“The Sons of Seoul, everybody!” He declared, almost hysterically. “Coming in, fucking everything up, and leaving as if nothing had ever happened!”

Chris paused in his tracks, a quiet stillness passing over his whole figure. 

“What are you going to do now, Mr. Bang?” He hissed, slowly sliding up. “Are you going to infiltrate the biggest ball of the season? Create a bloodbath on the dance floor? It’s what you love to do so ardently, no?”

You heard the harsh spit smack on the office floor. “Stop meddling with the business of the British socialites. Go back to the gutter you crawled out of.” The next words overflowed with hatred. “Go back to where you really came from, you slit-eyed prick.”

Your eyes flashed in shock, swerving around to see the raging expression on Shaw’s beady little face. Fisting your hands, you were ready to knock him out when you felt the man beside you move.

Chris whirled around, eyes promising a horrifying future as he pounced upon the manager.

A yelp was heard as Chris’ fingers dug at the corner of Shaw's eyes, and relished the cries of terror as with a roar of his own, he squeezed with his thumb and forefinger, swelling the balls of vision from their sockets. With a loud pop! the two eyes tore from their origins, gooey residue trailing down his face as Christopher Bang palmed the two organs in his hands.

He observed his victim bellowing in pain as he fell to his knees, hands covering his bloodied sockets. A ghostly smirk accompanied his lips. "Better slit-eyes than none at all."

You had to suppress the severe shivers that threatened to break your stance. 

Shaw broke the universal law. His undoing was inevitable.

He flung the eyes upon the owner, and turned on his heel, eerily cool as he walked out of the office, blood and goo still on his black gloves. Not a hair ruffled upon his pretty head. 

You spared a look at the victim, crying out in infinite pain, hands on his sockets still. “Do not fuck with Christopher Bang,” was all you said, before following the devil out of the building.

The afternoon London heat hit you as you exited the offices, Chris waiting as he examined the filthy streets surrounding you. People of all classes strolled by, beggars on the street asking for two-pence, children selling newspapers down the corners, and carriages riding away on the wide roads. The man still did not clean his gloves from the mess, and you pointed this out as you arrived at his side.

“It does not bother me,” he waved you off, but you brought out your leather skin.

“Bring your hands out,” you ordered. 

Chris scowled. “I said I’m alright,___.” He began walking forwards, towards your humble abode, not far away from your starting point. “Besides, whoever strolls past us, they’ll second guess their evil intentions against us.” You glanced over the strange looking fellows, scattered across the roads. “Shows I am not afraid to get my hands dirty.”

“Whatever,” you mumbled. “Dirty pig.”

You felt daggers glaring into you. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” you said, turning a corner, already catching sight of the docks. “I expect this behaviour from Jisung. Perhaps even Changbin, but not from you.”

“Enough with this,” the man ordered, irritancy clear in his voice. Grumbling, you walked beside him in silence, the Thames entering your vision. You wished it would have radiated a rich, clear blue body of water, but from the stench which even reached your nose, it would be impossible. The river, a dump for the sewers, the rubbish disposed daily, was a toxic mass of water, and the cause of thousands dying from drinking its contents. When you first joined the Sons you nearly drank from the river, being saved only by Chris’ rough hand slapping the cup away. You remembered you received a harsh scolding from him that day, immediately providing you with clean water after to quench your thirst. 

A small smile curved onto your lips at the memory.

“Hand it over.”

You perked your head up to see his filthy, gloved hands out. “What is it?” You asked. 

“The water.”An irritated sigh escaped him. “I’ll clean the bloody gloves.” 

Your smile grew as you handed him the leather skin. “But only because I don’t ever want to be associated with Jisung and Changbin,” he added, and you only laughed, watching the man rub the mess off his attire as you both arrived at the docks.

The first sounds heard were not of the boats bellowing at port, nor the waves lapping in underneath the stilts. 

No, all you were welcomed with was a string of curses, spat by Seo Changbin.

“You fucking bastard, how dare you—”

“Here we go again,” you caught Chris muttering, who quickened his pace, thundering to where the two of his sidemen fought, caught in a scrap.

Han Jisung’s whines were carried through the river air, burning into your eardrums. “Bin, no, I said I’m sorry—!”

When you caught up to Chris, he opened his mouth, exasperation clear in his voice. “Boys!” He exclaimed.

Immediately the fighting ceased. The boys addressed, Changbin atop Jisung, ready to throw the final punch, turned back to see his leader scowling. Jisung let out a yelp, throwing the former from him and scrambling to his feet. Changbin followed suit, a little more slowly after rubbing his side in agony.

“Why the fuck,” Chris started, pointer finger darting between his two men, “Are you both fighting again?”

Changbin, fixing his ruined locks with his hand, shot his best friend a glare. “He took my fucking scones again.” He groaned, much too loud. “God, I specifically stored them in a place where no one would find them, but this greedy pig still managed to snuff them out!”

Jisung, a slender and more comical figure, crossed his arms, raising his chin in stubbornness. “I did not see a bloody name on them! Tell me Bin,” he matched his opponent’s stare. “Did you write down your name with blood-red ink across the scones? Because I certainly did not see the words Seo Changbin scrawled on the surface!”

“Argh!” The elder of the two turned his raging gaze towards the leader, who was watching his subordinates with slight distaste. “Chris, permission to cut off his tongue for being the bane of my existence?!”

Chris only stepped past them, heading for the big wooden table situated near the gang’s warehouse. The sounds of ships sailing in the dirty waters thrummed to the port, shouting heard all around over new, imported goods. “Another time, Changbin,” he only said, bringing out a chair and sitting down, propping an ankle over a knee. “I have encountered enough organ slicing for the day.”

Jisung’s face twisted in awed curiosity, settling himself down beside Chris. “Without me?” he let out a disappointed whine, turning to you. “I trusted you, at least!”

“I was surprised myself, Ji,” you argued, raising a hand towards the aloof man as you sat opposite your friend. “I didn’t know Chris gouged out Shaw’s eyes until they were in his hand!”

“You truly are a selfish man,” Changbin complained, plopping himself on the last seat. “Alway keeping the fun for yourself and ____.”

You did not really know why your face flushed a little at his charge, but you made sure to whack Changbin in the gut, earning a pained groan from the boy.

Chris locked his hands upon the table. “Well, gentlemen, then it is time for you to join in on the entertainment.”

The two boys exchanged confused glances. On cue, you brought out the pair of invitations within your coat pocket, tossing them to the table. “The Mayor’s brother is holding a ball,” you explained, rolling your eyes at the boys tearing open the envelopes, yanking out the oblong, cartridge paper, details inked with a precise hand. “Since it does not have names, anyone can enter the estate.”

Jisung let out an excited yell, grabbing onto Changbin’s arm. “Binnie, we can actually have some fun!”

“Not so fast, boys,” Chris said, tightening his gloves. “The invitations are not yours.”

Changbin’s face immediately fell. “Are you fucking kidding me—”

The elder held out a finger, silencing the complaints, but not the quiet grumbling of his members. “As I was saying,” he continued, hands interlocking once more, “____ and I will use the invitations to get inside, with the two of you as our bodyguards.”

“Marvellous!” Jisung exclaimed, sarcasm practically dripping on his words. “Absolutely fan-fucking-tastic!”

“Jisung,” Chris warned, “How about you clean the shit off the docks instead?”

“Chan,” you murmured, causing him to glance at you. His sour expression almost softened at the word, the name which only few have ever said to him. You pondered at the time the two boys, sat to your right, tried teasing him with this name, and nearly earned an ass-beating. You, on the other hand, rather liked the way the name sounded on your tongue. 

Perhaps, you wished dearly, he liked the way it sounded on your tongue too.

The man, after a pause, averted his eyes from you, focusing them on his comrades. “You both can still enjoy the festivities, but you have to keep a low profile, because while ____ and I are socialising and distracting the guests, you both need to find Carter.”

“Is he at the party too?” Changbin propped his elbows on the table. “Lord above, I’ve been wanting to kick his arse for a while.”

“So you both just frivol away, then?” Jisung whined. “I want to drink and dance!”

“And you both will,” Chris persisted. “We all will keep a lookout for Carter and his dealings, and if any of us find him first, you report to me. At my signal, you and Changbin will break through their trade. I will be behind you as long as I slip away without anyone discovering our motives.”

You look to your leader. “There’s another problem.”

The three all turned to you. “If we are to go to the most lavish ball of the season, we certainly need to dress for it.” Suddenly, you sounded like a little girl when you pointed out, “I do not have a gown to wear for the evening.”

An eyebrow raised upon Chan’s face, while Changbin and Jisung snickered, puckering their lips. “Aww, poor little ____ has no lace to woo the rich men!”

You made to slap the pair’s arms and narrowly missed, glaring. “As if you animals have any decent attire to wear for the ball! When was the last time you wore a proper tailcoat?”

That was enough for their teasing to cease, but Changbin was adamant. “Don’t throw me in with Jisung! He doesn't even bother to shower!”

“Oi, you bastard!”

The pair were ready to fight once more when Chris cleared his throat.

“You’re right,____.”

A glance at the man who said it. “I have only seen you in stealth gear and rags, the first time I met you.” He leaned back in his creaking chair. “Perhaps it is time to flower you up a little.”

Jisung and Changbin were about to chuckle once again when you shot them a dirty look.

“I will order evening attire tomorrow,” Chris decided. “They will arrive on the day of the ball, which is adequate enough timing. 

“Now,” he declared, standing. “Are we all aware of what we have to do?”

The two boys turned sheepishly to you, who sighed and addressed the leader. “You and I attend the ball with these two fools as our bodyguards—”

“Hey!”

“____!”

“We maintain a believable facade and enjoy ourselves while also looking out for Carter and the documents. Once we find out where he is, Changbin and Jisung take him away, and we slip out of the party unnoticed.”

Chris, after a pause, nodded, a ghost of a smile upon his lips. “Good girl.”

And just like that, he left the table, your eyes a little wide and heart a little raced. 

When Chris retreated into the warehouse, the two boys turned their malicious gazes towards you, smirking much too wide for your liking.

“Do not,” you snapped, cheeks burning deeper, earning a smattering of laughter from the bastards.

“Whatever you say, good girl,” Changbin simpered, Jisung repeating the damned endearment until you hastily stood from your chair.

You rewarded them both with your middle finger before storming back into another warehouse, Chris’ words still engraved in your mind.

Just as Christopher Bang had predicted, the new attire arrived on the day of the ball. 

More planning had been explained, more additions to the grand scheme of the evening which was mere hours away. The gang was ready, but you can never be perfectly anticipated for any ideas gone amiss.

You even taught Jisung and Changbin to dance, ranging from the Polka to the Viennese Waltz, which was popular amongst high society in the growing years of Queen Victoria’s reign. They were terrible at the start, both of them always falling on each other, but with hard effort they learned quickly, almost perfecting the art of leading your partner on the ballroom floor.

You had not bothered asking the other if he wished to learn. There was something about him which made you think that he could do anything. Not once had he ever doubted your theory.

It was as if there was nothing in the world he could not know like the back of his gloved hand.

Thoughts like these were what filled you with such awe for him. Such deep-rooted pride that you worked under this man. Those thoughts did, however, curve into darker corners — when his midnight-lined eyes and raven figure haunted you in restless nights. 

You aggressively shook your head, swinging your legs over the dock. Sitting upon the wood, you watched the sun descend slowly, the stark yellows and whites of the sky beginning to darken. Ships docked and stayed, men with their filthy language and filthier intentions flocked outside, and strange women with too-tight corsets and lips too rosey, smirking at the newcomers, carrying out their own ways of living.

Sometimes, you’d watch this run-down life move on in this exact same spot, thanking the lucky stars for not being one of the boys with the weights on their backs, nor the girls with the untied top corsets. You thanked the same man, who brought you out of that hell, giving you the chance to fight all this wrong embedded in London. 

You also thanked him, especially that day, for calling you that endearment. 

God. The man was a criminal, yet you were the one being imprisoned. 

“____!”

You turned, heaving to your feet when you see Jisung running to you, packages in his hands. “Your gown’s inside!” He exclaimed, gummy smile lighting up his entire face. 

Throwing you the box, you caught it just before it flew into the Thames, shooting the boy a wary glare. “Careful,” you said, looking over the silk ribbon tied into a perfect bow upon the middle. Although there were greater happinesses in life, small ones such as new dresses had you in near giggles.

“I’ve got my very own tailcoat now,” Jisung yelled, ripping open the packaging, about to whip out his new clothing when you waved him to stop.

“Do it inside, Ji, or you’ll ruin your outfit!”

“Trust him to fuck up a perfectly new suit before trying it on,” Changbin’s voice drawled through the dock, who held a box of his own. “Also, the boss is saying to quit dallying and start dressing!”

You obliged, holding onto your box tenderly as you entered a little building beside the main warehouse, consisting of everyone’s rooms and privies. Your eyes glanced to Chris’ bedroom door before pushing open the door to yours, stepping inside to the small, yet decorated space, filled with a board of knives and bows displayed upon one wall and an erratic strokes of paint brushed along the textured surfaces, courtesy of Jisung and Changbin’s lack of motivation to finish your room. An undone bed was tucked into the corner, and a large mirror stood on its curled railing in the other corner, revealing yourself, hands underneath the package.

The sun fell further, sky being painted with dark oranges and purple and pinks, staining your bedroom the colours of soft autumn as you put your package on the bed, untying the ribbon and unboxing the whole treat. 

The first glance of the dress had you smiling in pure incitement.

You brought the dress out of its box, letting it trail free right down to your toes, holding it to arm’s length to examine the details : it was a mysterious, dark red, a colour which instantly attracted attention within the golds of the ballroom. The neck line was low, dipping just enough to tempt until it swelled over for the openings for the arms, black ruffles on the fabric to accentuate off shoulders. The intricate, midnight detail was stitched to perfection, creating a network of swirls upon the bodice before flaring out into the wider skirts. Dear God, you had never seen such an exquisite dress on any noble lady in this damned city.

Your smile grew a little wider. Christopher Bang, once again, has not disappointed. 

You turned it on it’s back, mouth parting in surprise at the silk lacing, undone and trailing down the dress, waiting to be tied and admired. Realising that we’re you to wear this, the entire ball would see your back half-exposed. Even the man you’re to be escorted with.

The thought alone made your insides sing. 

Chris had ordered this dress. He knew what he was acquiring for you, what he asked you to dare. 

Well, you were happy to oblige. Something within you wished to see his eyes blaze at you in the gown.

Closing the curtains of your room, you quickly lit up a metallic lamp, orange light leaking onto your dresser and walls.  Setting the source upon a stool, you began shedding your coat, tossing it on the bed before going to the dresser.

You spent about ten minutes on your hair, lifting locks upward and curling them into a messy bun. You brought out clips of pearls, attaching them at the back of your hair, letting the few stray curls bounce along your ears and neck.

After finishing your hair you began shedding your clothing, excitement rushing in your gut at the thought of wearing the ballgown. When you were adorned in nothing but your underthings, you grabbed onto the arms of the new dress, entering one leg into the opening before sliding the other. You raised the gown, fitting the bodice upon yourself and the short sleeves cuffing just under your shoulders. 

Looking over your shoulder at the back, it was bare before the mirror, saving your rear only with a small dip which was edged with more black lace. The laces for tightening the back still hung uselessly, begging to be entangled with their partners.

And you tried to oblige. You truly did, straining your hands behind your back and trying your hardest to tie the laces with the opposites, of creating a pattern adequate enough for the ball and announce your preparation. Unfortunately for you, your fingers refused to assist you that moment in the evening. 

Letting out an irritated sigh, you called for your friends.

“Jisung!” you shouted, hands endeavouring still. “Changbin!”

Your back still to the door, you waited for the two fools to arrive, but no one came. Again, you called their names, but to no avail, only silence answering you.

“I swear to the Lord,” you muttered, arms now starting to hurt from the stretching. You were about to bring the warehouse down with your roar when you heard the door quietly creak open, the sound of boots emitting against the floor. 

“Ah, finally,” you began as you turned around, hands clutching the bodice of the dress, ready to be irritated by your comrades when all words abandoned your tongue.

There, standing by the door, in all his midnight-tainted glory, was Chris Bang.

You hated how your eyes widened at the sight of him. 

The man always took care of his appearance, but that evening he had truly outdone himself - His infamous woollen longcoat was hung over his arm, exposing his black tailcoat, shining slightly in the flickering lamp light. His waistcoat underneath fit snug, and his white cravat tie peaked just above the lapels, caressing his Adam’s apple. His raven locks were slicked back, a few stray flyaways drooping over his forehead. The gloves were worn still, skin never exposed.

You caught his eyes flicker, something within stirring at seeing you, holding onto your dress in case it fell to the floor. The prolonging silence was shattered when you forced yourself to speak.

“Chris,” you said, because his name was the first thing, the only thing you could comprehend.

He, too, inhaled, slowly. “Jisung and Changbin...they’re outside, so they could not hear.”

“Oh.” 

Another round of silence. God, you wished you could just say something to him, anything which wasn’t a single syllable—

“____.”

You snapped into focus. “Yes?”

“Why did you call them?”

Blinking, you stumbled, “I, I just needed help with…” your hand gestured to your back. “...with the laces.”

There was an indecipherable undertone in his next words. “You could have called me.”

“You’re here now.”

Again. The world-heavy pause upon the both of you. 

A few more seconds ticked by when Chris set his coat upon the dresser chair. His eyes never left yours.

“Turn around.”

You dragged your gaze away from his as you complied, baring your back before him, laces dangling. His footsteps sounded from behind you, and his presence was felt, large and magnetic.

Leather sliding from skin, you sensed his eyes on you, taking in your illuminated skin. You had the greatest urge to shiver, but suppressed it, waiting for his next move.

A small breath hitched in your throat when Chris grabbed onto the first pair of laces and tugged them back, pulling you to him. 

Almost too conveniently, your rear backed against his crotch, and a minute noise escaped you before putting some distance between you two again. You instantly regretted the action, already missing the mere caress of what lay underneath his trousers.

“Stop fidgeting,____,” he ordered, and you immediately stilled, the tug still adamant at your back. Almost disgraceful how quickly you listened to him.

Slowly, he tied the first bow, right to the small of your back. When he started on the second, though, the first touch of his fingers against your back threw you off guard.

You should have expected this. You should have known from the start of his task that his fingers would graze your skin but each caress was like a lick of fire, threatening to singe the skin. Your breath caught in your throat, each time Chris touched you.

Those damned fingers skirted upwards, tying up the laces with such delicacy it nearly softened your stance, if only you didn’t notice his growing warmth. You realised with no small amount of pleasure that he, too, was possibly flustered.

Christopher Bang. Flustered over a girl.

You almost gasped when his hands brought a few stray curls over your shoulder, the dip of your neck exposed as he began the final bow of your gown. The process was excruciatingly slow, each little caress enough for you to turn around and—

And what?

How you desperately wanted to find out. 

Sensing the ribbon curling upon your neck, you understood. 

“It is done,” he whispered, and you shifted at the sigh which kissed your skin. God, he was so close, you were scared that if you turned around his lips—

You did not need to worry when you felt strong hands grip your shoulders, whirling you around in a sudden fashion. Your eyes widened at the close proximity of his face, his beautiful fucking face, and the warm, slender hands on your naked shoulders.

“Chan,” you let yourself say, and you swore the criminal’s eyes darkened. His grip on you tightened.

Perhaps he would have closed the distance, saved you from desperation when someone knocked on the goddamn door.

“___?!”

“Hurry up, the carriage is waiting!”

“Women, honestly—!”

You yelped at the sound of your friends bellowing behind the door. Even Chris looked a little surprised, a slight tick in his jaw as the noise grew louder.

Grabbing onto your skirts, you thundered towards the door, furrowing your brows as you twisted the knob, opening to see the same two idiots, shooting you irritated glares. 

“Is Miss Fancy-Shmancy finally ready?” Changbin drawled, propping a hand upon his hip, tails of his coat dangling behind him.

“Madame certainly took her time,” Jisung went on, sauntering into your bedroom without a care. “Might as well not attend the ball at all—”

His incessant rambling was instantly ceased when he saw Chris standing before you, putting on his gloves. His face was impassive as ever, save for the jaw still tightened.

“Oh, Chris,” he said, and started backing away to the door. “The carriage is outside.”

“Let us go, then,” he only replied as he grabbed his longcoat, strolling out of your bedroom, leaving your skin tingling and heart confused.

Changbin watched Chris exit the building, turning to you with a raised brow. “What was the Mr. Thorns-up-his-arse doing in your room?”

You scoffed at the nickname, picking up the invitations from the dresser. “He was just helping me.”

Jisung’s lips curved into a smirk. “Helping you…?”

“Stop it!” You demanded, but both of the boys could see the blush on your cheeks, even from the dim lamp light. 

“Come on, now,____,” Changbin said, holding out an arm, and hitting Jisung’s arm to do the same. “Let us follow Chris before he shouts at us for keeping you here.”

“Don’t say such things,” you cooed, looping your arms with the two boys. “He will kill you outright instead.”

Laughter emitted from the two, leading you out of the room, down the halls and soon the building.

The carriage was waiting at the entrance of the dock, horses neighing softly at your arrival. Jisung opened the carriage door, letting you climb inside. Chris, inside already, held out a hand, you taking it as he had you sit beside him. His hard figure brushed against your shoulders, reminding you of his fingers on your back not too long ago.

Just like that, you slumped against the seating. That man was truly going to be the death of you.

When the two boys scrambled inside, Chris’ hand thudded against the roof, indicating it to start riding. The carriage obliged to his command. 

The small, interwoven streets widened as the carriage rode upon the main roads, going faster with each signal of Chris’ hand. The inside was alive with Jisung gloating shamelessly over his checkered waistcoat, with Changbin giving reassurances for his “ugly face ruining the clothing.” You laughed at every jab the two threw at each other, but would tense at the erratic touches Chris’ knee would send with every shake of the vehicle. Although the many layers of skirts cushioned these brushes, the blood rushing to your cheeks was evidence enough - everything he did made you so unhinged.

Soon, the big roads led from filthy, back-to-back housing to larger homes, the further the dirty central city strayed from you. A few touches of countryside teased your view when you saw mansions, estates the size of neighbourhoods gracing the surroundings. The carriage began to slow down, as more people adorned in fine attire entered your window view, no doubt going to the same destination as the gang.

The most illuminated estate welcomed you as the carriage stopped right before its vast, colourful gardens, smattering of couples taking intimate walks along the hedges. Chris, noticing the destination, opened the door, Changbin following suit. As the former got out he held out his hand to you. Surprised by his sudden manners, you took his hand, stepping down from the carriage, careful of your skirts as they brushed against the pavement. Jisung and Changbin were right beside you, uttering the driver to come back within a couple of hours.

“Now,” Chris began, bringing your hand to his arm. “You both stay behind me and ____. You wouldn’t need invitations if you both act like our bodyguards.”

“Right behind you, boss,” Jisung chanted, counting his knives inside his coat pockets. Changbin took one of the weapons from him, sliding it up his trouser sleeve, securing it with a leather ankle strap. 

“Right.” the gang all looked at each other, silent understanding passing between all of you.

“Let’s ruffle some rich feathers.”

With your hand still on his arm, the leader of the Sons of Seoul led his gang inside of the massive estate. 

Guards at the entrance shot you grave looks as they stopped you. “Invitations,” they said. You obliged, bringing out the golden paper. They looked over, convinced, and gave them back to you.

You and Chris were about to enter when Jisung and Changbin were stopped behind you. “Protection,” Chris said, but the guards were unconvinced. 

“They need invitations too,” was their answer.

Dread, slight yet present, began to fill your stomach. Has the mission failed before it could even begin?

“I suggest you let them in, too,” Chris only said, black eyes piercing the two men with a glare. “Or my friend hosting this party will hear of this inconvenience.”

That seemed to stir the guards, for they said nothing more, letting your friends enter the estate. Jisung and Changbin made sure to smirk at the men before sauntering inside behind you.

Your eyes, upon stepping inside the main hall, were welcomed with paradise. 

Gold. gold upon gold was painted, lined, moulded everywhere, upon the walls, on the floor, on the painted ceiling, hypnotising you with its kaleidoscopic pattern. Swirls of white and silver journeyed along the walls, and the floor bore solid treasures, sculpted into the ground and shining exquisitely from the chandelier lighting. Hundreds of lords and ladies, businessmen and escorts populated the manor, either being moved by the orchestral band, dancing, helping themselves to food from the lines of dishes or simply mingling among others.

It was the chaos of the rich. A place you didn’t quite fit in.

You stole a glance at the man beside you. Even though he looked contained as ever, you felt his arm tightening all over. Perhaps he knew he did not belong in this world either.

The grim understanding was cut off when Changbin’s shrill gulp sounded from behind you.

“Scones!”

The man immediately dashed towards the food section, earning blatant laughter from his friends as Jisung stepped beside Chris. “Once he’s done stuffing himself, we’ll get into positions.” He skirted his eyes over the buzzing crowd. “I have already spotted some of Carter’s men in different corners of the hall, so we can see where they’re going to go.”

“Any signs of Carter?” you asked, already feeling suggestive eyes on your body, the dark red curves of your figure. 

“He’ll show himself soon,” Chris promised, beginning to take a step forward. “The bastard thrives in attention.” He turned to Jisung. “Make yourself scarce.”

He then saw Changbin making himself much too comfortable with the jam scones rapidly declining in his wake. “And for God’s sake, control Changbin.”

Jisung shook his head, mocking a salute before strolling to his friend. You and him were left to your own activities, and soon you felt the tug of his body, leading you further into the hall.

You looked up to see him scouring the room. His brows furrowed slightly, that stiffness felt underneath your fingertips. “Chris,” you called to him, and were answered with an uncertain stare.

“I’m alright,” he said, walking along the lines of the dance floor, looking away when he gave you the false assurance. 

You did not know what was going on. In other missions his composure would never falter — this was what he was so notorious for, being calm despite the anarchy around him. Never before had you seen him so tense.

“Stop it.”

You blinked back into reality. “What?”

“You’re doing it again,” he hissed, raking his hand through his hair. “Looking at me that way. Like I’m about to snap.”

A pout formed on your lips, looking up at him underneath your lashes. “I can sense you’re distressed.” You squeezed his arm in comfort. “I cannot help if I worry for you, Chris.” 

With small surprise, you found him soften, only slightly. “I just…” he sighed in exasperation. “I hate parties.”

You understood the connotations. Wealthy parties. The men and women who throw them. 

“And I, too,” you agreed, earning a soft snort from the man. Your heart warmed a little at the sound, and thankfully the tension faded between the two of you, not necessarily from each other but from the socialites around you.

Your heart, however, received no such rest, beating much too loud for your liking. 

The two of you took another turn of the room before a low, arrogant drawl paused you both in your tracks.

“Mr Christopher Bang.”

You and your leader both sighed simultaneously. 

Turning, you tilted your head upwards to none other than ‘Scar’ Carter, smirking ridiculously down at the the two of you. He was something out of a children’s book, the grotesque villains with wanned skin and beady looks, ready to pounce and make you disappear without you ever realising. Although young, he looked to be in his mid-forties, unkept locks and curled moustache, being played by his fingers. 

He held out his other hand, extending the smile to the man beside you. “Always a goddamned blessing to see you.”

Chris assessed his hand for a moment before he let go of your grip on his arm, slipping off his gloves. His own olive coloured hands were roughened, no doubt from years of manual labour. He took Carter’s hand, shaking the greeting in place, and the latter turned his enemy’s hold, looking over at the new image inked upon the hand.

“What is this, Chrissy?” He mused, the nickname causing the said-man’s lips to twitch. “Some flowery poetry?”

Your eyes strayed to what he meant; just under his thumb, where the joint began, was a tattoo, inked deeply in a cursive hand. It was a phrase you had never knew the meaning of, nor had you asked, but the Latin was beautiful on his textured skin.

NON DUCOR DUCO.

“Not poetry, Carter,” he only said, tracing his sole tattoo with a finger. “But something I live by.”

Despite Carter towering over the man, Chris Bang pinned him with a piercing glare. His signature phantom smile appeared on his lips. 

“I am not led. I lead.”

The giant’s shit-eating grin faltered. You could not help but let a small chuckle escape at his reaction. 

And maybe you shouldn’t have shown amusement, because when he focused his animalistic gaze upon you, you had the sudden urge to hold onto the man beside you again.

“Ah, Miss ____,” he jeered, mocking a deep bow which you did not return. “Chris’ little...protégée.”

He then held out his hand to you, and you knew it was not to shake the gnarled fingers. “Would you do me the honour of dancing with you?”

You scoffed, anger bubbling within your veins. How dare he even ask you, after all the trouble he had caused for the gang? Smirking as if it was all a little game.

Your mouth parted, ready to reject him outright when a warm hand settled on your back. 

Chris’ fingers stroked the exposed skin, skirting over the lacing, and despite the heavenly feeling, you knew what this signal really meant. 

Distraction. This would be the perfect opportunity to divert Carter’s attention while Chris joined in the other’s search. Listening to the instrumental, you realised that would spare them another five minutes.

Reigning in your fury, you offered the bastard a thin-lipped smile before taking his hand, already missing the mere touch of another seconds before.

Carter led you to the dance floor among the other dancers, you hardly radiating the same enthusiasm as the others accompanying you. The man’s other hand, one still holding yours, snaked around your waist, and you hated how it felt against your back, pure distaste staining your features as he tried to impersonate the idle lace curling that Chris did.

As if it physically hurt, you propped a hand upon his shoulder, and when the music began, the game started.

The giant kept ogling at you as the sly grin appeared on his lips. “I must say, I am very envious of Chris.”

You matched his stare. “Of course you would,” you only said, trying your best to sound like your leader, who was an embodiment of calmness. “You can never be the man Chris is.”

“Oh, I did not mean by what he is, my lady,” he corrected. “I meant by what he has.”

He pulled you to him, much to close, and you hissed as the fingers behind you played on your back. “He is much too lucky to possess a creature like you, Miss ____.”

Good God. If he endeavoured to make you as uncomfortable as possible, then he was doing a splendid job. You regretted ever listening to Chris, but for the plan, you will do what is necessary.

As if on cue, you felt dark, piercing eyes on you. By the little hairs which stood at the back of your neck, there was no doubt who watched over you, murmuring progress with Jisung as he sipped wine on a tightly held flute. 

“Tell me, sweet,” he began once more, making you lose your thoughts, turning about the room as the music went on. “Why do you work for a man like him?”

You sighed at the question. Truly this man did not know how to initiate small talk. “Why is that any of your concern?”

“Because I’ve seen you in action,” he answered, and you could not mistake the awe that threatened to expose in his voice. “You have incredible potential, my lady, and it pains me that Chris does not use you properly. You waste your efforts in a silly gang.”

His condescending speech made you dig his nails in his hand. “Careful, Carter,” you seethed, watching his face crumple in pain from your action. “The silly gang you speak of will not hesitate to obliterate your entire organisation. And neither will I.”

Rage flashed in his eyes as he grinned at your claim. “I doubt the esteemed Christopher Bang would even let you participate,” he drawled, grazing his fingers against your back. “You being his whore is enough for him.”

You parted your mouth in slight shock. The reaction quickly evaporated with pure, unadulterated fury. A lot of people speculate your true relationship with Chris, but your own demeaning always struck deep. How dare people think that you only have the power you have because you slept with the greatest criminal in the city? 

With your head raging, you sent your low heel down upon Carter’s boot, a yelp escaping the man as his dancing faltered, grip on you loosening. Fortunately for you, the orchestra smoothed their music to a close, and small applause rang around the room, you joining as you smiled at Carter’s slight groaning.

When the giant looked at you again, all his arrogance was gone, instead a face of wrath. “You bitch-”

You were sure he was going to strike, despite hundreds in the ballroom. Even your smug demeanour dampened when you saw his bear-like hand raise when its journey was paused.

Ceased completely as Chris’ hand wrapped around Carter’s wrists.

Your leader’s smile was sharp, like a decorated dagger. “Are you already creating a scene, just when you finished the first dance?”

Carter, dumbfounded by his enemy’s sudden presence, waved off the foreign grip on his hand. “You are never going to find the documents,” he crowed, glaring at the two of you.

Chris, the magnificent bastard, only kept his magnetic smirk as he took your hand, enveloping his fingers with yours. “We shall see about that,” he promised, and dipped his head in adieu, turning on his heel and taking you with him. 

You felt your heart flutter when his grip on you stayed, even when Carter stomped off into the crowd. “Bastard,” you hissed. A hum of agreement followed. 

Soon, music began to play a sensual tune, and you looked to the couples joining in the main circle of the floor. You made to leave that area when you felt the man refused to be led. 

You looked back, noticing an uncertain emotion swirling in his eyes. “The dance is about to begin.”

“So?” he merely said, hands still clasping yours. The people around you began to take positions. 

“Chris,” you got out. “You do not dance.”

A small smile enveloped his mouth at the claim. He answered in wrapping a hand around you, making you suck in a breath. You caught sight of the tattoo inked on his skin as he raised his hold on. NON DUCOR DUCO.

I am not led. I lead.

“You’re right,” he admitted. As the first tune of the violin settled in the ballroom, the man took a step. “But I let it slide on special occasions.”

You did not reply, only staring at him as you happily let him turn you about the dance floor.

Your assumptions were correct - Chris Bang was a wonderful dancer. The man already possessed a natural smoothness in his usual movement, but the way he led you across the room gave fluidity another meaning entirely. His hand on your back was an anchor to reality, keeping you from dreaming away in the skies above, and his fingers, interlocked with yours, were a silent promise that he was never letting you go. 

You were so caught up in your fantasies that you did not hear what Chris said until he called your name. 

“____.”

You perked up, raising your brows. “Yes?

“Did Carter say anything to you?” His fingers on your exposed skin began to caress you, and it took a lot within you to stay calm. “You were seething while you both danced.”

Oh, so he was watching you. The information didn’t help your nerves. “He was being his usual, charming self,” you drawled, careful of your feet. 

He paused a bit at your unhelpful answer. “I see,” he got out, index curling with the ribbon of your back. You let out a shuddered breath, not going unnoticed by the man. 

You changed the subject, focusing on the mission. “Are Jisung and Changbin still searching for the documents?”

Chris, on the note, twirled you delicately, and brought you back into his arms. “They have discovered the hideout, and have taken down half the men,” he informed, and you sighed in relief. “They’ll find what we’re looking for soon.”

“I hope so, too,” you murmured, listening to the music ascend in its pitch. 

So much finery radiated in this room. As your eyes drifted to the surroundings once more, you became slightly envious of the family fortunate enough to reside in this estate, and drink in the liquid gold splattered everywhere in the vast hall. Complaints were heard from a rather nasty woman, who screamed at a young servant for spilling wine on her oh so expensive dress, and the jewellery which glittered upon necks and ears. 

This. you hated this. Despised the wealth which accumulated in this ball, this entire neighbourhood. Not months ago you were about to die from the lack of food in your stomach. No doubt these people simply relished another one of these many balls, occurring every season.

It was the only reason the Sons of Seoul existed in the first place. To battle the ranks of the rich, and establish a sense of justice which had long faded from London.

Perhaps Chris sensed your growing disgust at the environment, for he sighed. “I hate these people.”

You nearly smiled at how similar you both think.

His touches still had you nearing closer to him as he continued, “I hate how everyone here can simply enjoy themselves without a care in the world. I hate the Mayor for letting this chaos happen as he sits back on his arse, corruption spiking under his office.”

His anger grew. “I hate that pig-headed prick Carter and all the trouble he’s brought me. I hate that he stole those documents and constantly fucks with me as if we two had not crawled out of the same hellhole.

“And God,” he snapped, pure venom now lacing his tongue, “I hate how he was touching you as if you were no one but his.”

Your eyes widened at the confession.

He groaned out in frustration, fingers tightening on your hand. “I hate how Jisung and Changbin walked in on us this evening. Despise that the moment I was about to close the distance they burst through the door, leaving me helpless. And I hate feeling helpless.”

You did not know what to say, what words to comfort him with. Not when you were thinking the exact same thing, and felt the exact same agitation, particularly at your core.

The man leaned in, eyes heavy lidded. “You know what I hate the most, ____?”

Gulping, you let out a little, “What?” afraid of what he was going to reveal.

His tongue ran along his bottom lip, fingers continuing their teasing.

“I-” he seethed, gripping your back tightly. “Fuck, I hate how ravishing you look in that dress.”

You parted your mouth in shock, blushing the colour of roses. “Why do you hate that?” you only asked, breath almost lost in your lungs as your blood began to thrum beneath your skin.

His eyes lost all dreamy light when a small curve enveloped his lips. “Because, my dear ____,” he muttered hoarsely, each breath ragged, “It makes me think of all the things I want to do to you.”

The strong hand on his back was felt much more, fingers playing with the laces of your dress. You nearly cried out in front of a hundred people over their idle play, and his bold, bold statement.

Chris relished in your whimpering reaction. “Aren’t you going to ask me?” he whispered, leaning in till his mouth hovered near your ear. “Do you not want to know what I wish to do to you?”

“What,” you rasped out, grip tightening over his neck. “What are you going to do?”

His husky chuckling nearly sent you over the edge. “I’ll find a nice little space, away from Carter and all these people,” he began, breath caressing your skin. “Then I’ll kiss you slowly, like so.” he pressed a chaste kiss underneath your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “These hands of mine will roam all over, but they will gladly trail up your legs, ____.

“And God, when my hands stop at your sopping cunt, I’ll make it cry with my fingers.” He drummed his fingers on your back. “One.” Tap. “Two.” Tap. “Three of them.” Tap. “Perhaps you’d like more.”

You whined into his shoulder, feet stumbling as you clung onto him tighter. “M-more,” you pleaded quietly, so careful to keep dancing, move along to the music. 

“Of course you would,” he only cooed in your ear, and you were scared you would collapse over his words. “Luckily for you, I wouldn’t be finished with you either.”

Your hand, clasped in his his, squeezed at his words. “Chris, please—”

“Yes, just like that,” the man mused, whirling you on the dance floor. “Just like that, you’ll beg me to send you over the edge, but I won’t let you be satisfied so easily.” 

On God and all his subjects, if he did not cease his filth you were going to come onto the floor by his mere words. You could tell Chris noticed, almost reading your mind as the ghost of a smirk widened. “Already afraid, love?”

Love. 

Dear, fucking God.

“You see, ____,” he muttered, leading you to the final round of the song, the steps of the dance going faster. “I won’t let you be satiated with just my fingers.”

And as he broke his hold on you, twirling you with his tattooed hand, he pulled you to him, one last time, crushing you against his granite chest. 

His eyes bore into yours when the last string of the violin wailed around the hall. All you could see was pure, unadulterated desire.

“I will have you writhing with my cock.”

Your eyes never left Chris’ as the music finally came to a close, gaze blurring at the dark promise. Applause scattered around the ballroom, yet your hands stayed upon his arm, the other enveloped in his.

You caught the words once more under his thumb. NON DUCOR DUCO.

Indeed you do.

“Chris,” you breathed out, waiting for him to let you go. He did no such thing.

Feeling a few suspicious eyes on you, your feet backed away from the man, hands escaping the feeling he emitted underneath your touch. 

A whine threatened to escape you when you saw his desire had not dampened. His hands shook, only slightly, and your stomach erupted into a million butterflies, journeying lower and lower. 

You wanted him. You wanted him so badly you feared you would faint on the dance floor. 

Excusing yourself, you hastened your footsteps, sending a few smiles to passerbys as you picked up a flute of champagne, hurrying down long hallways, catching a few couples leaning towards each other. When you found a grand wooden cabinet beside another door, no doubt a guest room, you slumped next to it, breathing loud and ragged, too affected by a certain man’s eyes and the hidden intentions underneath. You drank the entire champagne in one gulp, propping the flute on a servant’s tray as he rushed by.

“____!”

Gasping, you turned to the source of the voice. The voice which filled you with such unexplainable hunger you had to clench your thighs as it drew nearer.

Footsteps thudded against the carpet, and you squirmed at the sight of Chris Bang, storming towards you with a ferocity which had your knees near buckling.

“Where,” he began, voice an octave lower as he stood not a foot from you, smacking his hands against the wall, caging you with his presence. “Were you trying to lead me?”

“Somewhere where they cannot see us,” you responded, excitement clear in your voice. The ballroom chatter was still within your range, so technically, anyone could wonder down these halls, look over the cabinet and catch you both. 

The throbbing inside you didn’t particularly care. 

“And what do you want me to do,____,” he murmured, and his voice was glazed with pure lust,  “Which the world cannot see?”

“I…” slight shame tried to course through your body but the overflowing desire was too strong. Not when your tongue was not afraid to voice what was in your heart the moment you first saw him. “I want you to do all those things you said. I want you to ruin me.”

And perhaps that was all he needed, when Christopher Bang pressed his lips against yours and answered your prayers.

He was instantly rewarded with your surprised whine, drowned out by the movement of his mouth as his hands left the wall, holding onto your face. His thumbs caressed your cheeks as he led the fiery kiss, opening your mouth to let the little noises escape.

“Chris,” you tried to rasp out, but his lips refused once more as he tilted your head, gaining full access and truly discovering the sheer pleasure oozing from the swell of your lips. God, he had gone through every experience which gave him a sense of thrill, but the kiss he shared with you brought him a new, foreign high — as if he tried the drugs he had seen on the streets for the first time, and becoming addicted on the first dose. 

You broke the kiss, gasping for air as the two of you shared a carnal gaze, chests rising at an unsteady rhythm. Chris was ruthless, only sparing you for a few seconds before pouncing back in on your mouth, this time tongue playing along, asking to be let inside and slide along the inner workings. You would have been a fool to refuse him.

The moment you opened your lips for him his tongue slithered inside, sliding it along the roof of your mouth, while his hands left your face and instead gripped onto your waist, driving you further against the wall, snuffing out any distance which dared come between you and him.

A slightly moan bubbled within your throat when he began to roughen your lips, capturing your tongue before closing the seam of your mouth within his own, repeating the action until you didn’t know whether you were sane or absolutely fucking crazy.

You were sure straight after when one of his hands began sliding down. Down. He hurriedly broke the kiss, letting out an angry groan at the never ending skirts which met with his fingers. “Fuck this dress,” he cursed as he descended a little, peppering kisses upon the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck, trailing until he found the hem of your skirts.

Bunching them up with his one hand, he lifted the fabric, baring your legs to the dimmed chandelier light from the main hall. His hand trailed right up to your core, a single layer hiding it from Chris’ fingers. The poor, soaked fabric could not ever compete, when the criminal, with a single finger as he scattered kisses upon your face, hooked under the lacey underwear, sliding it down your thighs. So much desperation lurked he did not even bother to slide it down to your ankles,  a chuckle rasping out of him as his fingers skimmed your upper thighs to find them dripping with the suppressed arousal.

“My poor, poor, darling,” he whispered in a menacing tone, the other hand caressing your face, “Couldn’t contain yourself for me?”

“Ch-chan,” you heard yourself say, because at this point your soul was not present, probably lurking in seventh heaven where this man was taking you. 

Hearing his name on your slurred mouth only had him plunging the first finger inside you. 

You let out an obscenely loud moan, which was immediately followed by hushing. “Don’t make a sound,” he demanded, smiling slyly at your whimpering, “Or else I stop. Understand?”

You could not nod fast enough, and he huffed out a laugh before sliding the second finger in, rubbing against your slit, drawing circles upon your throbbing skin, testing the rather sticky waters of you and your fucked out state. 

Satisfied, he delved the two fingers in deeper, pulsating against your walls until they hit a certain spot which had you crying out in pleasure. Chris’ heavy lidded warning flashed in his eyes.

You nearly cried when he began to slide his fingers out over your moaning, your hand immediately stopping him from pulling out further. “Ch-Chan,” you pleaded, pleaded like the whores you heard on the docks, but you didn’t care, did not give a single fuck when those fingers needed to be inside you again. “Chan, please, I’m sorry—”

“One more fuck up, ____, and these—” his fingers plunged back into you once more, hitching you upwards with the sheer force, “—will be back out.”

Nodding hastily, you left your hand on his wrist. Chris continued to work so deliciously inside you that it took every ounce of strength left in you not to bring the manor down with your moaning. The whimpering could not be contained, but the criminal let that slide, finding great contentment every time you begged for more.

He curled his slender fingers, acquainting himself with that same bloody spot which had you seeing stars. Your hands gripped onto his neck for stability, nails digging into his shirt. How you wanted it off, along with all the damned layers he adorned.

The way he played with your sweet spot had you feeling heavy, a pleasured ball of pain forming at your lower back. You knew you were being led to an edge, an edge you could not, did not want to escape, and when you pulled away from Chris, looking into his eyes, he instantly understood.

“Oh my, love,” he simpered, his free hand thumbing your cheek. “Does someone want to get fucked against the wall? When I’m not even finished with them yet?”

Tears lined your eyes, cunt throbbing almost painfully around his fingers. “Chan, I’m going to—ah!” you cut off, closing your eyes as you barely held on to your last grips of sanity. “Chan.”

Your weakened, fucked out demeanour had the most dangerous man in London fearing for his own senses. He wished nothing more than you screaming his name for the whole city to hear, and with you, looking at him like that…

Oh, he was definitely going to drive you over the edge.

Christopher Bang nearly carried out his promise when a shrill call interrupted you two. 

“CHRIS! ____!”

“WHERE ARE YOU—?”

Your lust-glazed stare cracked as you blinked. “Chan,” you said his name, but the man let out an enraged roar. You felt the hollow emptiness when those golden fingers were pulled out of you, sticky residue coating his skin. The footsteps grew closer, the volume of the shouting increasing. 

Chris brought out a white handkerchief, cleaning your mess on his fingers rather aggressively. “I’m going to fucking kill them,” he guttered out, making your legs tremble. To your utmost misery you felt the orgasm, so close before, fading from existence, and you made a silent vow to break Jisung and Changbin’s legs the moment all of this was over.

Speaking of the Devil, the two hastened, opening all doors and closing them till the two stumbled upon the both of you, infuriated and worryingly turned on.

Changbin looked at the deflated expression on both of yours faces. “Chris? ____?” His eyes narrowed, trying to work out the reasons for the slight electric atmosphere he suddenly entered in. “Are you both...alright?”

“Perfectly,” the man answered in a ragged hiss, sliding on his gloves again, smoothing over his raven locks. “Now why the fuck are you both here?”

The two boys did not understand their leader’s anger. Choosing to let the snipe slide, Jisung said, “We’ve caught Carter.”

That seemed to send you and Chris back in reality. Well, not really, when your core still throbbed, the pleasure fading with each passing second.

“Where is he?” Chris flattened out his coat. “Where are the documents?”

Changbin brought out a small file from inside his waistcoat, holding it out for the former. “Right here.”

Chris took the file, skimming through the contents. His previously angered expression relaxed, just a fraction, and he held onto it as he set his powerful gaze on you all. 

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

The four of you managed to slip away easily, you trying your hardest to fix yourself after the whole fiasco in the hallway. Your heart was still running a mile per minute, refusing to calm as your mind relived the events. The original carriage which you all arrived in was now accompanied with another one, with a dark figure hunched over from the window’s view.

“We threw the giant fucker in another carriage,” Changbin said, laughing as he recalled the takedown with Jisung. “Man could not believe he was failing!”

Chris ignored his story, turning to you all as he stood before Carter’s carriage. “You three, take the free one,” he ordered, his eyes rooted on you. “I will journey home with him.”

“But Chris,” you began, taking a step towards him, “Let me come with you.”

You caught a glimpse of the desire which swirled in his eyes, not long ago, and perhaps that was why he held your arm in his now gloved hand. 

“Go,” he only said. “I have a few things to say to him alone.”

After letting you go, nodding at the boys behind you, Chris Bang stepped inside the first carriage, slamming the door shut. The metal wheels screeched as the whole thing began to move, accelerating away.

You watched the carriage fade from view, Jisung and Changbin stepping beside you.

“What happened, ____?” the former asked, the other trying to comfort you with his gaze. 

Silence was their only answer, as you turned on your heel, climbing inside your designated ride and watched the stars twinkle from the window.

The two members of the gang really tried their best.

As you all journeyed home without your leader, the pair told their tale of how they took down Carter and his men, Jisung adding exaggerated gasps as Changbin demonstrated each kill he thrust upon his victims. You offered them a few laughs, giving them your attention, but really your mind was somewhere else, specifically a midnight-tainted criminal who nearly brought you your undoing.

You were insane. Insane as you thought of him, insane as you remembered how wonderfully he had you writhing over him, just by his fingers. The mindless pondering alone had your cunt pulsating, and you deserved an award for how unaffected you acted with your friends. 

Soon, the carriage slowed to a stop, and you perked up, not realising you had already arrived home. 

You waited for the boys to exit before you stepped out of the carriage, the only light on the docks emitting from lamps and the night sky, reflected on the surface of the river. The first carriage was already there when your feet met the concrete floor, and when you turned to the man who reigned in your mind he had his signature expression, an aloof distaste as he walked over to his gang. 

“Jisung, Changbin,” he called, and the boys responded. “Lock the carriage door,” he ordered, jerking his chin towards his transport. “We will bring him out in the morning.”

“Chris, should we not throw him in the cellar?” Changbin glared at Carter’s direction. “Bastard might escape.”

He only slid his hands in his pockets, you catching the dried blood on his gloves. “Oh, don’t worry about that,” he said, striking a step towards the building. “He’s not going to disturb us tonight. I can promise you that.”

Jisung cursed low along with you, only watching the man walk back to the bedrooms. Bidding goodnight to your friends, you followed Chris’ trail, opening the door and stepping inside the hallway.

You saw him before his bedroom door, bringing out a rusted key. His eyes slid to you as your feet brought you to your entrance. You looked back, waiting as Chris unlocked his room and began to enter.

He turned back, something dark and twisted still lurking in his eyes.

You waited, so patiently at the words you wished to hear, of him finally ruining you.

Instead, you received something else entirely.

“Goodnight, ____.”

And closed the door behind him.

Your heart dropped. 

Fell to the floor, and shattered under the criminal’s bloodied boots. 

The light of the hallway flickered as you stood rooted to the doorway, eyes staring at Chris’ door as if looking at it hard enough would get him to change his mind.

What did you know. The man is not led by exterior forces. Only by his own will.

When you gathered up the strength to the slam the door shut, you slumped against the wood, hating yourself for the tears which threatened to break the lines of your eyes. This was pathetic — utterly disgusting that you were about to cry over his decision.

But you could not help it. You were so enraptured by him. Hell, you were ready to throw yourself in the fires of damnation for him, as he whispered filth all the while rutting against you. Why had that suddenly changed?

“Argh!” You screamed, stomping over to the lamp, light now long extinguished. You relit it’s spark, illuminating the room once more, and set it on the stool before recklessly plucking out the pearls in your hair, a few tears daring to trail down your cheeks. 

Fuck him. Fuck him for making you so rattled. Fuck him for having that effect on you.

You looked into your mirror and cursing yourself for the disheveled appearance. Again, the consequences for letting yourself fall for him.

“To hell with you Bang Chan,” you cursed. 

You were about to untie your dress when your bedroom door was nearly ripped off its hinges. 

Flinching, you grabbed the dagger on your dresser, raised to cut down whoever stupid enough to barge in on an assassin at midnight.

You were met with Christopher Bang. 

And the disorder he brought with him.

Chaos reigned in his figure; his tousled locks, his star-struck expression, his rolled-up sleeves and his pandemonic eyes, all working together and against each other to create the man you had never seen in your life. 

Good God. What had happened to him?

“Chan?” You got out, dagger now brought down. He said not a single word in response as he slammed the door shut, hard enough for the entirety of London to hear. 

Instead, he imprisoned you with his stare, almost giving you his chaos. The chaos you had always shared with him since the moment he picked you off the streets.

No, he said not one word — only took the steps needed to march towards you. You could only watch with widening eyes when he grabbed your face in his rugged hands and collided his lips against yours. 

You did not even hesitate to comply, hands grabbing onto his shirt, pulling him as close as you possibly could, so afraid that he would disappear from your grip if you dared let go. With the way he moved his mouth along yours, however, already opening up the familiar workings, you had a feeling he was not going to abandon you now.

When he broke away, breathing already erratic, his hands slid down to your neck, thumbs caressing the length of your throat. “I couldn’t,” he started, and he was sprinkling kisses all over your face. “I couldn’t leave.”

“I was scared, Chan,” you confessed, fisting the material harder. “I thought you truly did.”

His eyes focused on you. Within the turmoil, there was a promise. “Never,” he whispered, leaning in. “Never again.”

And suddenly his lips were on you, and the desperation was so rooted he nearly stole the very breath from your lungs. The sheer intensity, the longing implied broke your heart to the point you attached yourself to him, wrapping your arms around him and refusing to ever let him go.

The rather soft kiss began to heat up, as Chris broke the seam of your lips, swirling your tongue in his, already receiving incoherent praise from deep down your throat, making the man smile against his lips as he continued. 

His hands slid further down, right to the small of your back, where he began to untie all the little bows he created for you at the dawn of the evening, the little touches of fire singeing you still. It was fascinating how effortlessly he loosened all the laces, fingers sliding through the patterns until one by one they fluttered down, until the dark red dress slackened around your chest. 

A small gasp escaped you as Chris, while creating a trail of kisses down your jaw, right down to your neck, grabs the dress from your sides, hitching it down until it falls to the floor. Leaving you practically naked save for the scraps covering your dangerously soiled underwear. 

Chris paused from his ravishing, taking a much too long look at your skin, glowing from the lamp light, and before he could stare any longer you brought your arms to your chest, suddenly becoming a little too embarassed to let him see you at your most vulnerable. 

The supposedly unfeeling criminal, however, nearly broke into a smile at your flustered nature, and grabbed onto your wrists, opening the lock to your breasts, peaked by his actions, and the thought of what was to come.

The soiled underwear was about to drip at this point.

“You’re exquisite,” was all he said, making you almost burst into tears at the praise. You pressed a long, heart shattering kiss upon his mouth, and he responded perfectly, hands sliding to your naked waist, each drum of his fingers like a tug towards a dangerous edge. 

Things began to take a turn, open mouthed kisses being plastered on the skin of your throat as the man pushed you back, further and further until the back of your knees hit the bed, stopping you in his tracks. His grip on your waist directed downwards, planting you on the mattress as his mouth descended to your collarbone, down and down until he licked your peaked nipple in a way that had you moaning obscenely loud. His husky chuckle resonated along your skin, still not pausing his trail until he hit the end of the dip of your cunt, barricaded by the fabric. 

The moment he looked up at you, that alone made you nearly undo yourself. By the increasing volume of your breathing, Chris seemed to realise so too.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he got out, watching you whimper at each touch caressing your hips. “Already about to come when I haven’t even done anything?”

“Ch-Chan,” you pleaded, wishing for those damned fingers of his to plunge inside of you. The son of a bitch was taking his time, making you wait knowing it pained you to stay like this. “Chan—”

His name on your tongue had him gritting his teeth, hands on each of your side grabbing onto your lace, and sliding your underwear down, all the way till it fell free from your legs and threw it across the room, forgotten when Chris parted his mouth at the moistened treasure between your legs. 

Those roughened hands steeled their grip on your thighs, pulling you closer till you sat right on the edge of the bed, cunt mere inches from his face. You could not even comprehend the insanity of this situation, that the hidden fantasies you dreamed of shamelessly were morphing into reality right before your eyes.

“So, so pretty,” he murmured, blowing a little air on your slick folds, earning himself a sucked in breath from his truly. “So pretty and wet, and all because of me.”

You let out a ragged breath, words of filth sounding so foreign on his tongue. It was not like he didn’t talk like the sailors living near you on the docks, but these dirty words and dirtier intentions, now all directed at you, made you feel so flustered, in a wondrous way you could not possibly describe. All you wanted was for him to keep singing this filth till you blacked out.

Chris, with the force of his hands, spread your thighs a little wider, and without warning broke his tongue from the seam of his lips, planting it upon your slit and moving it slowly over the surface.

That alone made you cry out in ecstasy.

But that was only a test, a taking on of foreign surroundings before truly welcoming himself, and by God, did he welcome himself in as more than a guest, when that tongue slid deeper and performed strokes which had you seeing all the stars in the universe. 

What was first slow teasing then became a starved hunt, tongue relishing in the sweet arousal you emitted, lapping it up brazenly as if he had been wanting to do this for a long, long time. Your blubbering grew louder with every lick, fisting the sheets behind you with such ferocity you were sure they’d tear. 

And if that wasn’t painstakingly enough, the man spread your legs a little wider, his tattooed hand, two fingers out, sliding straight inside you, making you mewl at the way they tightened they walls they journeyed in. Curling, just like they did earlier in the evening, they took their time finding the certain little spot which had you bringing the house down with your cries. 

“Ch-Chan, please, please, I’m going to—AH!” You rasped out, when the said-criminal found the sweet little undoing of yours and stroked your fingers along the sensitive spot, making that bundle of pleasure resonating in your back appear once more, like a low throbbing begging to be released.

His tongue had not given you any breaks, still working ruthlessly along your clit and you cried for him to give you that sweet release, to just let you come but he had not let you be satisfied this easily. No, he wanted you writhing underneath him, wanted the final ruination to be from underneath his trousers, angered as it outlined against his leather.

You craned your head back, screaming out his name because you knew all else had abandoned you. “Chan!” Looking down, his mouth very much occupied with your cunt. Your orgasm was reaching, was on the very edge, and if he kept working on you like this he was on his way to taste the consequences of his actions.

Something about that image made you want it as a reality with a worryingly strong intensity. 

“Chan, I’m going to—” you were about to warn but were interrupted by a squeeze of your thigh, done by yours truly as if he knew. And as if he knew, the two fingers began pumping much faster, harmonising along with his tongue, and the two actions at once, fucking you with that rapidity was so pleasurable that, with the first earth-shattering cry of the night, you were driven over the edge, releasing your orgasm straight into the criminal’s face.

You felt the work of his fingers slow down, along with his tongue, that with one, final lick, he retreated from your cunt, fingers still inside you as they comforted your aching core with slow, soothing strokes. 

When he looked up at you, though, with your residue mostly upon his mouth, scattered on his cheeks, and basically a bit of everywhere, that sight alone nearly caused you to come all over again. 

Perhaps that was his intentions. 

Because when he licked his lips clean of your mess, ever so slowly, as if enjoying your orgasm like a man starved, you instantly saw in his eyes that this night was not over yet. 

“Already so good, so wonderful,” he mused, slipping his fingers out, both hands now resting on your thighs. “Coming so quick even though I had been saving for the last.”

You knew exactly what he meant, but still had the nerve to ask, “The last?”

He raised a groomed brow, and that gesture was so breathtaking, more so when he raised himself slightly, so he knelt eye-level to you. “Don’t act oblivious, love,” he mused, leaving your thighs to your disappointment, but quickly diminishing when his fingers worked on the buttons of his shirt, slowly popping upon, each patch of skin being revealed like a show of your own. “We both know this isn’t how it’s going to end.”

Shivers crawled down your spine, but you only watched as the man finished undoing his shirt, peeling it off of him and throwing it amongst the other clothing. You nearly let spit trail down your chin at the sheer finery of his muscle alone, sharpened at his arms, his chest all the way down to his v-line, which dipped dangerously low. With no small amount of pride, you also noticed the large, angry outline of Chris’ cock, begging to be set free. 

The man caught you blatantly staring, and a shit-eating grin twisted his glistening lips. “You may do the honours if you’re so keen.”

Blushing, you mumbled a shut up, but was captured by Chris’ lips, tasting your own arousal on his tongue, as his grip on you led you further into the bed, while you fumbled on the buttons of his trousers, popping them open one by one when you broke from the kiss, your turn to shower him with more along the veiny expanse of his neck as you pulled his trousers down, tossing them among the pile.

When you saw the slight-stained underwear of his, you felt the familiar throbbing again, so affected by how you affected him. Noticing your apparent pride, he pressed his lips upon you in a searing kiss, peeling off any last scrap of clothing and forgetting that too among the other clothing.

And by God, when Chris Bang’s cock escaped from his underthings your mouth actually watered at the sheer size it bore. Husky laughter resonated in your ears, and you flushed the colour of blood when he caught you staring much too audaciously than he would have imagined. 

“Already fantasising about my cock?” He slurred, the tattooed hand curling stray hairs from your sweat-slick, flushed face. The way you scrunched your nose, clearly flustered by his comment, melted his stone cold heart, as he caressed your cheeks with his fingers. 

You did not answer him, only whispering his name along his skin, waiting and waiting for the man to drive that force home inside you. “Chan,” you murmured, and the name you kept saying like a religious chant, like it was the only word that mattered, was what brought him to grip his cock, directing it against your entrance, the still slick folds which grew more wet every time the tip caressed the sensitive skin. “Chan, please—”

“Please what?” He demanded, demanded because he needed to hear you precisely want you wanted. The words he practically prayed would be on your tongue the moment he kissed you for the first time this evening.

Obliging him was like second nature. “Please fuck me, Chan,” you breathed out, holding onto his shoulders, knowing you were going to need a hell of a good grip for what was about to arrive. “Please, just ruin me with your cock.”

A malicious smile curled upon his lips. “Good, good girl,” he purred, and began the descend which you dreamed of the very first night you realised you were ridiculously attracted to him.

His cock slid inside you, and with a soul-wrenching whine, was perfectly snug as the journey went on, and on, and on, until you were certain you could not take anymore, despite the man retaining a few inches. He was slow at first, making sure you were not going to be pained by this action. Although your nails dug into the granite muscle of his shoulders, you only egged him on. “M-more,” you only said, and he readily obliged, until you felt him all around you in your body, as if he had filled you up to the brim. 

“Ready?” He asked, and when you nodded, he rested his forehead against yours as gently, he began to pull out. 

You nearly whined at the lack of inches filling you up, but then he brought his cock back in, creating this hypnotic rhythm which was so unimaginably ethereal you felt yourself float amongst the clouds. Each thrust out and thrust in was a drive in and out of reality, with Chris Bang holding the tether of your survival, pulling you in and out of his mercy. 

Gradually, he began to fasten, panting as his drove into you with more force, and when the momentum hardened, you felt your soul leave your body. His cock created wonders for you, having you scream in unimaginable pleasure, and driving your nails into his back was not enough, your lewd moaning not enough given to his sheer skill, his pure simplicity in bringing his cock back and front which had you seeing stars. Hell, Christopher Bang showed you undiscovered universes, leading you across galaxies and unfamiliar cosmos, each thrust in a different vision, and when he lifted your leg a little higher for more access, you feared that you would wake the whole docks with your groaning, for this criminal, this heartless criminal provided you with the whole universe with the simple strokes of his cock inside you, and all you could offer him were screams. 

Even your reactions were pure Beethoven to his ears, relishing in your fucked out state as he gave you all he asked, driving you to the edge of the world. You, finally, clashed your lips against his, offering him sloppy, open mouthed kisses all over his face and neck, and that alone had him greeting his teeth, knowing his own release was near. You were going to die if he was not given the same pleasure as you, so you reacted with each of his touches, each of his thrusts, him practically pistoning you upon this bed which very much would break. 

“Ch...Chan…” you grated out, eyes blurring, vision completely fucked, “I’m...I-I—”

“I—fuck,” he too got out, for your last love mark painted onto to the curve of his neck nearly had him ruined. “I’m going to come, too, love—”

“Chan!” You whined, because the throbbing was there, and was so close that if the man did not send that last thrust home then it was all for nothing, everything that had ever happened will all be for nothing.

But he listened. The man who did not listen to anyone or anything listened, and pounded his cock so hard in approval that it had you crying out to the cosmos as you finally let go, orgasm spilling out from whatever space the residue could find between his cock. Your own release had Chris groaning louder than he had even done this entire time, praising you unconditionally, until the filth was cut off by a low curse, with his own release barrelling into you, some joining your spilled mess upon the sheets.

Chris let out a shuddering breath, slowly crossing his movement inside you. Carefully, when you stopped digging your nails into his shoulders, he pulled out, reaching for the blanket untouched and bringing it over you and him before collapsing beside you. Both of you breathed as if you had held your oxygen for a thousand years, chests rising unevenly. 

A silence hung over you two, heavy yet not uncomfortable, lingering in your bedroom. Chris sat up a little, using your pillows behind him as comfort as he raked his hair back, sweat-slick all over, much like you. You held the blanket right up to your chest, hair in disarray, much like your heart. The poor organ threatened to collapse at the events.

Sneakily, you caught a glance at the greatest criminal in London, staring off at the distance, mouth set in a concentrated line. He looked dashing even in his post-sex state, the lines of his chest still stark against his sweat. You truly had never seen a man this beautiful in your life. 

He turned his head to you, catching your staring, and when you tried to look away he captured his chin with his fingers, making you meet his fierce stare. Although dark, the lust had satiated, and instead held passive affection. Well, you hoped it did.

“Why do you still look away?” He demanded in a low, tired voice.

You tried to slide your gaze to the lamp, but was too bewitched by his midnight eyes. “Because you’re beautiful, Chan,” you answered, feeling the blood rush to your face. 

He cocked his head, damp curls sticking to his face. “You say that as if you are not,” he countered. 

You did not say anything then. Even so, he received your answer. 

“____,” he said in a low tone. The grip on your chin loosened, and the hand went to your cheeks, cupping your face. “You are truly flawless. Don’t make me have to make you believe that.”

A small smile hinted at your lips. “And what if I still don’t?”

His answering smirk sent butterflies tumbling once again. After a moment, as if hesitating, he then snaked his arm around you, pulling you closer to him. You were surprised when his one hand fully encircled you, while the other hand, the tattooed hand, rested upon your head, stroking your hair with his slender fingers. You did not pull away, was never going to, only wrapping your arm across his chest. 

It was the first time you had ever seen Christopher Bang hug someone in his life.

“Chan?” You asked.

“Hmm?”

“Why did you get that tattoo?”

He paused for a minute, never ceasing his fingers intertwined in your locks. After a small sigh, which you felt beneath your own fingertips, he said, “It is simply something I live by. 

“Non ducor duco. No one will lead me, love. Only myself.”

You pondered over the roots of this phrase, of the significance for the man you lay with. 

“Good,” you said after a while. “I wouldn’t want anyone leading you either.”

With that, you gave into the soothing movement of Chris’ fingers, working lazily in your hair. And while you dozed off to sleep, the criminal mastermind of the biggest city in the world pondered some more, specifically over his motto.

NON DUCOR DUCO. A phrase which had stayed true for so long no one could ever change it.

But after tonight, as you slowly dozed off under Chris’ caresses, he wondered whether there isn’t one person he wouldn’t mind being led by. 

And as he stole a soft glance at the specific person beside him, he knew. 

He knew that although he will be led by no man, there is one woman who he would, to his own shock, happily be led for. 

So, with that new, and slightly terrifying revelation, Christopher Bang went to sleep, knowing that someone had fucked with him and gotten away. 

And he was willingly going to let it happen. 

#stray kids imagines #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #bang chan imagines #stray kids dark hours #bang chan #stray kids #stray kids oneshot #kpop imagines #kpop smut #skz imagines #skz smut #chris bang #christopher bang #skz dark hours

[kim-miyeon]

Hell Above-Chapter Two

PAIRINGS: Hwang Hyunjin X Female Reader

WARNINGS: Mafia!AU, strong explicit language, family problems, pregnancy,  mentions of birth control, angst, mentions of murder, alcohol, cigarettes,  18+

WORD COUNT: 4.1K

Previous | Next

I Know You’re Tortured Within, Your Eyes Look Hungry Again.

You pushed your hand into the door of the rundown bar, emitting light into its darkness from the outside. The smell of liquor and smoke from lit cigarettes stung your nose as your eyes gazed at the immediate sight of drunks who never made it out from the night before.  Your sight was darkened more due to the gold rimmed sunglasses that held on the bridge of your nose, as your eyes rummaged through the area until they spotted the far table with your cousins sitting. Strutting towards the table, the sound of your heels gaining attention from the lowlife bodies of men surrounding the bar. You rolled your eyes as you passed by and finally reached the table where Seungmin, Minho, Felix and Jeongin all sat.  All four boys stood from their seats to formally greet you as you nodded softly and grabbed the empty chair in front of you to take your seat. As they followed, you brought your arm in front of you , bending it to get a close view of the rose gold watch that rested on your wrist. The time changed to 9:00 AM and you smiled softly looking up at the boys you were waiting for you.  You licked your lips and reached to remove the glasses off your face before folding them and setting it on the table. You leaned back and crossed your arms firmly. 

“I know it's a Saturday morning and we would all rather be anywhere else but here, so lets make it brief.” You advised as you snapped your head to Felix, “What do you have?” 

“Body was disposed of at the location, like you wanted. Police arrived this morning to investigate but the public won’t receive any more information that just another murder in the streets.” Felix informed as he handed you a photo of the crime scene. You extended your hand and grabbed the sheet to look and saw the remnants of ash in a pile by the train tracks. Burned. A form of execution that you found liberating. A way to mark your territory and erase any evidence. All that could remain was the teeth of the victim, but you knew better than to allow such evidence to be kept at the scene of the crime, even when you owned the police. Scanning the photo more, you managed to look at a train cart that stood in the background and to your delight, was a perfect stroke of the letter ‘L’. 

“L for Lee.” You cocked your eyebrow up and looked at Felix who smiled.

“Written in our color, using real material,” Felix emphasized and you nodded pleasantly. 

Blood Red. It was the long standing color of the Lee Family. One that bonded the family together and also was a message to anyone who would know. But to use the blood of the victim as a marking of a murder was the way the Lee’s had practiced their executions for generations, and with the silence of the family, you had managed to make sure that it was incorporated in subtle ways. It helped to know that your money paid the detectives who otherwise would pass along information to other gang leaders, people who could out the Lee Family. Each case of a murder had its own form of marking, this one being the first to truly state something bold. 

“It’s definitely a message for Y.” You handed the picture back to Felix.

“Someone who also had a message for us,” You turned your gaze to Seungmin who spoke up, “He knew you’d kill that man and bring the body there.”

“I can’t say that I’m shocked to hear that,” You smirked “What riddle did he send this time?”

Seungmin handed you a manila envelope and you took it. Opening it to feel a thick piece of paper, you let your fingers pull it out. Your eyes scanned the sheet that was filled with large dots and dashes. The way it looked could cause anyone a headache. It was so much on one page, you hated the way it looked. 

“Morse code?” You looked at Seungmin, in disbelief. “He wants us to decode a morse code message? What the fuck is this guy on?”

“That’s what I’m saying.” Felix chimed in annoyed and you shook your head. 

“How long do you think it will take you to solve it?” You questioned Seungmin as he  took the page back and analyzed it, sucking in air between his teeth. 

“A few hours maybe, definitely by the end of the day. I have other things to work on too. ” He stated and you nodded your head in confirmation. 

“Do that then,” You finally looked over to Minho who had been quiet the whole time and completely unengaged. You watched as he sat back and tapped his fingers against the table and you grew annoyed. He was always like this, so cold. Distant and bluntly just mean. You could tell that he wanted to say something but was holding back, probably trying to prevent another screaming match. You both had been head to head for years and even though you did love him, he managed to make your blood boil just by the way he looked. You sighed loudly.

“Something eating you, Minho?” You asked and he stopped tapping his fingers on the table and slowly looked up at you. You continued, “You look aggravated.”

“I’m fine.” He muttered softly.

“Did you take care of the associates like I asked?”

He scoffed, “You think I can just commit a mass murder of 100+ men overnight without raising the ears of our enemies?”

You tilted your head in an innocent way, “I don’t know,” You paused, “ I assume that you have it under control, am I right?”

“I do have it under control,” He growled. 

“Well, with each second that passes, more of those fuckers keep talking.” You clicked your tongue and Minho looked at you darkly. 

“With each second that passes, one of those leaders are gonna see that message and begin planning.” Minho spat.

“Ohhh, so that’s why you're upset. You don’t like our little message?” You grabbed the photo of the crime scene and looked at it again in amusement. “I think it’s a lovely message to Y.”

“IT’S AN IRRESPONSIBLE MESSAGE,” Minho slammed his hands on the table and yelled at you as you looked up at him coolly. “Y is not the only one after us, Y/N. There are others, like your beloved little husband.

You clenched your jaw tightly at the mention of Hyunjin. Minho shook his head in aggravation. 

“What is even taking you so long Y/N? The longer he stays alive the longer we all have to keep this shit secretive. What are you waiting for?” Minho snapped and then took a quick pause glaring his eyes at you, “Are you not strong enough to pull the trigger? Is that it? Does your little Hyunjin dick you down so well that you can’t find another fuck buddy, huh?”

You slammed the table and stood up angrily. All the boys held in their breath and you took a slow inhale as you tried to bring yourself to a place of peace. You exhaled audibly and you opened your eyes to look back at the table and then directly to Minho. 

“Okay. Everyone listen to me.” You waited for each boy to look at you before you began. “I respect and love each one of you. We are family first and our blood bonds us and makes us strong. You have stood by my side all these years and I am thankful for that.” 

You saw Felix flash an innocent smile and Jeongin nodding his head in agreement to your words. Minho deterred his gaze from you and Seungmin bit his lip preparing for your next words. 

“However, none of you are Won Shik’s child, I am. And my father died and left me with this organization, with my mission. I am the rightful leader of the Lee Family and this is a business and you all work for me. It is not the other way around.” You looked to Minho aggressively. “Hwang Hyunjin will stay alive for as long as I want him to. And if any of you have a problem with that,” You halted and  looked around the table at the boys who were in slight fear of your indirect threats. “I suggest you keep that shit to yourself.” 

You sat back down and watched Minho stand and walk away from the table. You rolled your eyes and Seungmin called out for Minho as you rested your hand on his, shaking your head for him to just let Minho go. You turned your gaze to Jeongin and Felix.

“Speaking about my husband, how was his trip?” 

“Well, you’d be happy to know that he is about to finalize a million dollar contract.” Felix laughed a bit.

“A million dollars I’ll never see.” You leaned back into your chair.

“Still not as much as you thought” Jeongin cutely stated and you snickered,

“Money I can’t even flaunt,” You stated as you gathered yourself, “But I can use it for groceries. I gotta go and pick up some stuff so I will take my leave.” 

“Can I come with you?” Jeongin asked and you smiled.

“Always little one” You patted his head and he smiled back. You looked to Seungmin and Felix who all stood up, “Morse code by tonight?”

“Promise.” Seungmin stated and you smiled. 

“See you all later.” You turned to walk with Jeongin by your side. 

As you walked out of the bar and towards your car, you opened the door and sat in. Jeongin sat next to you and you groaned out.

“He is SO entitled. Why is he such a fucking asshole?” You ranted, more to yourself but loud enough that Jeongin heard.

“He cares alot about you.” Jeongin reassured and you looked at him. “Minho just has a strange way of showing it.”

“He doesn’t care about me. He only cares about himself.” You huffed, “What about the family?”

“Safe. In police protection, set to deport the country.” 

You closed your eyes in relief and then took Jeongin’s hand in comfort. “Thank you Jeongin. I am so sorry that I keep asking you-”

“No Y/N. Don’t apologize.” 

“Jeongin I’m serious. It’s not right of me to keep putting you in those situations, I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.” Jeongin took a hold of your shoulders and made sure you looked at him.

“Nothing is going to happen to me. I will always do what you need me to do. We are family, it's what we do.” You nodded at him and sighed softly. Your phone alarm began to ring through the silence and you whined.

“It’s that time.” You chuckled, pulling your phone to snooze your alarm and reaching into the middle console and pulling out a small packet of pills. Popping on into your hand, you placed the pill in your mouth and dry swallowed it. Jeongin watched the whole scene and after you were done you looked at his sad eyes and laughed. 

“What’s wrong with you?” 

“Why do you take those?” He asked. 

You looked at him in confusion, “ Birth control? Obviously, so I don’t get pre-”

“That’s not what you want.” He interrupted and immediately you felt sadness run through you.

“You know I can’t have a child, Jeongin. It would be chaos.”

“What if a child was the only way?” he responded.  You turned your head, “What if having a child was the only way to end the feud? Giving birth to the heir of both families?”

“The feud can never be ended Jeongin, a child would only cause problems.”

“The love you and Hyunjin have is not fake, what you two have is real and powerful. They say love overcomes hate. You two could unite and bring peace. You wouldn’t have to complete your mission and you two could live, happily, with a family.” He optimistically recommended and you looked down at your wedding ring that rested on your finger. Jeongin’s hopeful words made you sad at the harsh reality of your life. Jeongin sighes in a mixture of frustration and sadness. 

“You deserve to be happy Y/N. You don’t want this.”

You started the car and you nodded. Jeongin had always been your rock, the person who knew you better than anyone. He knew your heart and where you stood. The love you have for Hyunjin, how you wanted to be normal. You hated living this life, but what choice did you have? You were born into this, this was your fate and Hyunjin was your enemy. One day you’ll have to kill him, you knew that one day you wouldn't be able to live your life with him. You couldn’t grow old together, you won’t start a family. It hurt you. This was not what you wanted. 

“I don’t get to be happy.”  

*******************************************************************************************

Hyunjin walked through the kitchen and laughed softly at the mess you two made the night before. All the silverware on the ground and food left out made Hyunjin remember how he felt to have you again. Even though he was gone for a short time, it felt like a lifetime for him. There was something exuberating about being in your arms and having you close. It was like your heart beats were in sync when you two were together. It never ceased to amaze him how you were like his soulmate. Reaching down to grab some of the utensils on the ground, a knock broke the silence in the house and Hyunjin shot back up. Looking at the time, 9:04 AM. He surely didn’t think his wife was back from running her errands for the day. 

Walking over towards the door, Hyunjin grabbed the handle and pulled it open.

“Yo Yo Yo!” The brown headed guy exclaimed and smiled as Hyunjin leaned back in surprise.

“Jisung! What are you doing here?” Hyunjin asked as the two quickly hugged and Jisung pulled back.

“Came to welcome you back and give you some updates, is the wife home?” Jisung asked suspiciously.

“No she went out to run some errands, come in” Hyunjin walked leading Jisung into the house, “Sorry for the mess by the way.”

Jisung looked at the mess in the kitchen and smirked, “Doesn’t seem like a lot of eating went on last night.”

Hyunjin playfully glared at Jisung and Jisung held his hands in the air in defeat, “Sorry, sorry. But he congrats on the contract negotiations this week. Hell, you get any richer and I might have to marry you.”

“Hey, she doesn’t know about it so hush.” Hyunjin warned and Jisung nodded, “What do you have?”

“Confirmation that the Lee Family is operating. Take a look.” Jisung pulled out his phone to show Hyunjin the photo of the crime scene by the tracks.

“I assume that that is not just a pile of random ash, anyone could have burned a body.” 

“Not the body, the train cart.” Jisung pointed and Hyunjin’s eyes grew wider as the realization, “Blood red. ‘L’. So it’s a message.” 

“It’s something. Blood red is a Lee Family color. Maybe it’s a message for us, it's almost been twenty years since the death of Won-Shik. A new heir would be old enough to take reign.” Jiung informed. 

Hyunjin’s mind went red. The inkling and the thought of his natural born enemy gave him an profound adrenaline. It was always just a rumor, a plan in the shadows, that if the Lee Family had an heir, Hyunjin would be the one to end him. It had always been an image in his head to claim that kind of power, to never let the Lee Family come back. Generations of leaders all look to Hyunjin to lead the family to its greatest potential. 

“If a new leader is here, then we better get to moving on it.” Hyunjin stated, “Does my father know about this?’

“Uh I don’t think so, but um…” Jisung trailed off and Hyunjin looked at him concerningly. 

“What Ji?” 

“You’re father did come by the office this week...asking a lot of questions...” Hyunjin froze in fear. 

“What kind of questions?” 

“If you’re considering any one to marry, like any of the women he recommended. You’re coming to the age where you have to.. you know.” Jisung stood there awkwardly.  Hyunjin sighed frustratingly. 

“Maybe it’s time to tell Y/N.” Jisung suggested and Hyunjin stood there biting his lip.

He couldn’t just tell you. How could he tell you. “I can’t Ji.”

“She’s not gonna leave you.” 

“How would you tell the woman of your dreams that you are the leader of the biggest mafia gangs in the world? How do you tell her that you aren’t a PR representative and that you go out of town to make illegal deals with other gangs? That we can afford to live in a house triple if not quadruple the size as this one. There’s blood on my hands Ji, I’ve killed more people than I care to count. How do I tell her?” Hyunjin proclaimed at Jisung and Jisung hung his head down.

“What are you going to do about a future heir?” He asked concerningly. 

Hyunjin ran his hands through his hair, “She can’t have kids.”

“What?” Jisung asked shocked, “I didn’t know that.”

“She’s infertile. We’ve tried but she... just can’t” Hyunjin’s demeanor grew sad and Jisung nodded. 

“If she loves you the way I know she does, I think she will be understanding of your situation.” Jisung stated and Hyunjin shook his head in agreement, just to end the conversation, “ I do have to get going though, and you, my guy, need to get cleaning.”

Jisung patted Hyunjin’s back as he headed towards the front door. Hyunjin stood there in the middle of the kitchen mess and rested his hands against the island in front of him, lowering his head down and groaning in frustration. He hated it. All of it. When you came into his life, he never wanted to protect another human in the way he wanted to protect you. You made him feel secured and safe, and all he has ever wanted was someone to love him for him. Not for the money and the luxury that came with who he was. Hyunjin knew by getting involved with you early on that perhaps one day he'd have to come clean. Then some days, he just wants to take your hand and run far away and live a life without all of the damage. Jisung’s optimism for you was so high, but Hyunjin knew it wouldn’t be that easy. He didn’t want to lose you. He can never lose you. 

*******************************************************************************************

You took another sip of your red wine as you focused into the television that was playing recurring advertisements. Your legs curled up on the couch with a blanket resting over you and you heard the sound of the water from the sink turn off. Looking over to see Hyunjin drying his hands after washing all the dishes, you smiled in content as you looked back over to the tv and felt your phone buzz in your lap. 

SM: The morse code message is almost done. 

You read Seungmin’s text and you clicked your phone off when you heard the floor creak from Hyunjin walking towards you. You raised your head and saw him make a beeline behind the couch, approaching you. He stood behind you and his long fingers grazed your neck up and down and you moaned into the touch. You leaned your head back and he bent down to place kisses on your lips. His thick lips taking all of you with him as he tried to deepen the kiss but you laughed and he laughed with you in response. 

“Thank you for dinner” You whispered against him and he kissed you again. 

“Hmm.” He groaned as he kissed you a final time, pulling back and making his way around to sit next to you on the couch. 

You pulled your legs away to sit in front of you as he laid his body across the couch and rested his head on your lap. Your hand naturally rested on top of his head, and your fingers began to stroke through his soft locks. He hummed into your legs as he let you play with his hair. You smiled softly at the whole scene. This is what you lived and craved for, small moments with him that filled your happiness. He meant everything to you and you never wanted to be a second without him. 

Your phone buzzed again and you picked it up to read the messages. 

SM: Done. 

FX: What did it say?

SM: “ When the clock strikes upon the new day, won’t you meet me under the stars?”

MH: Of course, he’s not gonna give us anymore than that. 

FX: It is a riddle though, not very far from before. 

MH: It’s aggravating. We don’t know what it means. 

JN: Maybe it has something to do with constellations? Or something about the moon? 

You: Could be Jeongin, let’s look into that. 

You sat your phone down and aimed your eyes back at your husband who was watching the news for the night. You looked back up at the screen and then saw the news report.

“And we have some breaking news tonight, a community in fear after learning about a potential homicide by the local train station. Police were called to the site after complaints of a stench was called in, some believing a body had been burned.” 

“That’s crazy.” Hyunjin mumbled out and you stared sternly at the program, intrigued by how your most recent kill made a debut on television. 

“What is?” You asked back.

“That someone could kill a human by burning their body.” He said softly and you mentally scoffed at the sudden change of heart he grew from watching the scene. You knew that Hyunjin put up an innocent act when you were together. How every time a murder was casted on the news, he act like it was the worst thing. However,  you also knew that he had committed murders far more gruesome than you and allowed the bodies to be shown more publicly.  

Hyunjin shifts his head to look at you and you respond by looking down at him. 

“I would never let anyone hurt you like that.” He pouted and you chuckled to yourself and caressed his soft face. 

“You’re so silly Jinnie,” you smiled at him and he shifted back over to face the tv again. 

“Well, the event of the year is right around the corner and we are very excited about it!” The newscaster exclaimed as she looked at her co-caster.

“That’s right, the 72nd Annual Charity Ball Event is in two weeks and today we have brought the Chairwoman of the Ball, Young Mi Hyuk with us to announce the theme of this year's event.”

“Isn’t that the ball you go to Hyunjin?” You asked and Hyunjin groaned. 

“Unfortunately.” He grumbled, “ Another year of fancy cocktails and blood sucking pieces of shit I guess.” 

“Well maybe the theme will be fun this year.” You insured as you paid attention to the women on the screen. 

“We are very excited and honored to host another year of the The Charity Ball and we have worked very hard on developing a theme to accentuate what a special night it will be,” The chairwoman spoke in octaves to try and seem more excited than she actually cared to be. You knew that those who went to the ball did not care about charity, they only cared about reeling money in for themselves. You watched as the women grew anxious about the reveal and it happened so suddenly that you almost thought you went deaf. The way the words left her mouth felt unreal, exquisitely unique. It was hard to believe. You simply couldn’t believe it. 

“This years’ theme... ‘Under the Stars’.”

******** 

A/N: WOW so sorry this took forever to come out. It’s a bit short and underwhelming but I promise its gonna get good. I’m thinking of doing a taglist if people are interested. Please let me know! Also don’t be afraid to share your thoughts, I really wanna know my readers:) Okay until next week! -KMY

#stray kids hyunjin #stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids smut #hwang hyunjin #hwang hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin imagines #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut #hyunjin fan fic #hyunjin x you #hyunjin x female reader #lee know #lee minho #lee felix #kim Seungmin #yang jeongin #han jisung #seo changbin #bang chan #hell above fic

[bangteamhyuk]

In This Rain

Genre:  Mafia (AU), Action, Suspense/Thriller, Smut

Mature content

Word Count: 4,962k

Characters: Police Captain!Namjoon, Police Officer! Reader, Mafia Boss! Jungkook.

Warning: mentions of drug use, graphic violence, language, oral sex, penetrative sex, implied dom!reader, emotional manipulation, mention of psychopathic characters, implied torture

Synopsis:  You admire your captain, your beloved Capt. Kim Namjoon. You admire him so much that you wanted to be by his side always, well, quite literally. Under his office desk, inside his apartment, on his bed and even on his dangerous mission against a vicious Mafia leader named Jeon Jungkook.

He’s been so obsessed in Jungkook, his formidable enemy on his entire career, that he’s been trying to apprehend him for years. Until both of you uncovered an unsettling truth as to why he always slithers: there’s a mole within your department.

Namjoon kicked the door hard with his combat boots, took cover immediately from the wall behind him, before aiming his gun to the direction of the open entryway.

“Freeze!” he shouted.

Yet he was the one that was left frozen at the scene. Two men, thin as a stick, were staring blankly at the ceiling. Clearly passed out with rubbers wrapped around their arms, old scabs and fresh jabs on their skin. Several discarded needles were left lying on the floor.

They look so oblivious from the presence of Namjoon and his team that you can’t help but call him out “Namjoon, I think we’re late” you shook your head, as you watched their cold and drugged out bodies sitting on a plastic chair, heads resting on the air.

“We are, they’re both dead” Hoseok said after checking their pulse. He stared at them for a moment, as if saying a prayer as he shuts their eyes gently with his finger.

Namjoon walked around the room and picked a used foil and a paper with logo of a lotus flower “Jungkook…” he mumbled to himself as he crumpled the paper and threw it on the floor in fury.

“Are you sure it’s him?” you went to pick it up and checked. It was definitely the symbol of his organized syndicate.

“Positive” Namjoon’s blood suddenly rushed in and felt nauseous at the thought, as he shut his eyes, hoping that he was wrong about it.

“It was a close one...” Hoseok rummaged through the pockets of the two men, but he found none.

“I was so sure, they’ll be here. Him and his men. But why does it look like they knew... You think” you shut your eyes and gasped, realizing what Namjoon might have just thought of earlier. “there’s a mole within the Department?” you continued, slowly turning around to see Namjoon’s reaction. His face turned grim and just weakly nodded.

“I trust that you two would keep this a secret, until we find who it is…” Namjoon swore. It wasn’t about money or his ego any longer, he wanted to end this. For years. Whatever this was, he wanted to stop people from dying, stop wasting innocent lives, end the fear of women and children always being on the brink of death.

“Roger” Hoseok nodded.

“Roger, Captain!” you blinked and stood up. You and Hoseok tapped Namjoon’s shoulder, assuring him that you two were on his side. Always on his side.

You and Hoseok stood behind closed doors, but it was very apparent that the chiefs and the  Department heads were clearly upset at the result of your team’s recent mission.

“Goddamit! We told you to think things through Kim and you blew it! You got one shot! One fucking shot, and you didn’t even get to meet a single strand of his hair!” the deputy chief exclaimed.

“What a waste of the city tax, really, you haven’t given us any valuable result” the Department head, fixed his paper and put everything inside his briefcase.

Namjoon just stood there, taking every thing silently. He was called names before, been spatted, got hit, everything. He’s the man who’s been through all horrible things and yet he still took it in. No wonder why you’ve like this guy, there’s something incredibly attractive about an underdog filled with potentials. It’s as if you’re hearing a club of hyenas around a lion, waiting for it to roar. He was the kind of leader you want to solemnly swear your loyalty, and that was the reason why you were there.

After the sham meeting, you and Hoseok just followed Namjoon towards your office room. He was clearly angry and frustrated, as well. But more than that he was determined to find another chance to get close to Jungkook . Namjoon went to his desk silently, and studied recent reports and profiles of people on his desk, piled and unkept.

Hoseok, feeling unnecessarily guilty, excused himself to get the team sandwiches from a nearby store.

You on the other hand, had something in mind to ease Namjoon’s frustration. “Hey there” you whispered on his ear. “Not here, Y/N. Not today” his eyes still concentrated on the screen. You gently pressed his shoulders, unbothered at his plea and made gentle circular motion, caressing his stiff shoulder blades. You slowly crouched down to kiss his ears and traced it down his neck. “You know what reminds me of your stiffness?” you chuckled.

“I said stop!” his quick reflex surprised you, as he held on to your wrist. His eyes stern, full of resolved. You stood up, and knew that he wasn’t up for any games.

“I just heard everything from the meeting. It’s hard to miss.” You folded your arms, as you watched him turn his back on you again and type disordered words on his screen. “Try, typing Gwangjin-gu, April 16…” you reached out for his hands to guide his finger from each letter on the keyboard, as he suddenly groaned softly to the sensation of your warm hands.

You smirked, seeing him freeze for a second. You crouched back down again and slowly reached for his legs hiding underneath his desk. “You know, it takes Hoseok about half an hour to get back? No one’s around. I’m sure you needed to let loose of that tension” you spoke softly, while caressing his legs. He slowly turned around from his seat and opened his legs.

“Give me 10 minutes tops, Captain” you smirked as you knelt down, and unclasped his belt.

Namjoon just stared at you blankly for a second, thoughtless and unsure. But as soon as he felt the warmth that you give right in the middle of his legs, he cursed and responded in pure ecstasy. You watched him toss his head and covered his mouth, trying not to cry out your name, but you love it. You love seeing your beloved Captain, the one people look up with so much pride and respect, becomes susceptible to your touch.

You were lounging in the smoking area during your break time, even though you aren’t smoker. You just like being outside, on a bench, and beside a vending coffee machine where you could refill your own cup.

“Hm, Sun Tzu’s Art of War” you heard Namjoon’s voice from behind. You nodded in agreement, as you finished the last line of the page and flipped it to the next.

“Read this about 9 times, still holds true” you replied, not leaving your gaze towards the book.

“I got a lead” he pulled out his cup from the vending machine and scoot beside you on the bench. You closed your book and turned to face him. Namjoon peered behind you, and looked around before he dropped the name “Seokjin”. You squint your eyes, trying to figure out how Namjoon arrived at his conclusion.

“You mean Kim Seokjin from the Hi-tech Crime Unit?” you spoke softly towards him, making sure no one hears even when it was only the two of you in the area.

He nodded, grinning. “I always wonder how he received information about them, everyone in his unit is as competent as he is but he would always get the best lead”

You smiled, finally beginning to piece things together. “It does seem odd Namjoon. It doesn’t make sense, but it does seem bizarre? How does he get those information?” you stared at Namjoon and smirked “I never thought of that, Captain. As always, that’s pretty smart of you to---”

“Y/N!” you heard someone call.

“Speak of the devil” you smiled at Namjoon then at Seokjin.

“Meet you after office hours?” Seokjin ran up to you, handing you a bag of sandwich. Namjoon tilt his head in confusion.

“Yeah sure” you blushed, turning your head to the floor at Seokjin’s sweet gesture.

“Y/N, are you…. Are you two going out? Since when?” Namjoon stood up, puzzled at the scenario. Clearly, you have left him out of the picture, but it’s not like you owe him anything. Besides weren’t you two clear about the position you two are in? Just colleagues trying to help each other out? Out of convenience?

“Kind of like that. Well, you never asked about our private lives, Cap” you chuckled. Not that he doesn’t care, but you know how much he respects his colleague’s personal space. Well, except on some occasion when you two needed to satisfy each other’s need. “Give me a minute, I just need to talk to my superior” you faced Seokjin for a moment and watched him wait for you at a distance.

“Cap, I’m sorry.” You cleared your throat and continued “The news surprised me too, and I didn’t know how to tell you. Can you trust me? I’ll try to look on to this. I swear, feelings won’t get involved. If I happen to find anything that might point a connection against Seokjin and Jungkook, I’ll let you know immediately”

“And what if he is? Are you okay with it? You know what will happen if he becomes part of our custody” he asked, worriedly.

You shut your eyes and nodded “I’m aware. I’ve been seeing him Jin for half a month now. It’s nothing compared to you, Cap” you looked down, refusing to look back at him, not when you just confessed your feelings for him albeit indirectly.

“Y/N…” he spoke softly.

“You don’t have to say anything.” You shook your head “I know this is purely work, lives are on the line…” You begrudgingly replied, then you paused. “That’s why I’ll make sure I’ll get compensated well on this” you slowly turned your gazed at him, now smirking.

“I can only pay what the government give--- ” you stopped him mid-sentence by pointing a finger on his lip, raising yourself up, tip-toed.

“Not that silly” He tilt his head again in confusion. “You, wrapped around my fingers. Go figure.” You whispered on his ear and chuckled. You turned around, and left him wondering on his own. It took him a moment before he realized what you meant. He bashfully chuckled at the thought.

After spending more time with Seokjin for months, you’ve finally gathered valuable information to report directly to Namjoon, which entails you in meeting him straight to his own apartment each night.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” he asked, as he gathered his boxer he left from the floor. You remained still in bed, panting after doing a marathon with Namjoon. Namjoon opened his window to let the cold breeze enter his dull room.

You turned sideways and watched him moved out from the bed, savoring his bareness. “Nearly, ready”

He tied his discarded condom and threw it on the trash bin “Y/N, whatever happens tomorrow. I just want to let you know that I---” he paused, trying to construct what he was about to say.

You sat up, despite remaining bare “Shh” You reached him out for a kiss.

“If things goes bad tomorrow, I want you to know that you mean so much to me” he took your wrist and kissed the back of your hand, his lips pressed hard as if hoping that his pure intentions will get through your skin.

You shook you head. “Aren’t I just a colleague, Namjoon?” you smiled weakly, reminding him of the reality that you are just there for him… for his own convenience.

He cupped your cheek and kissed you again. “You’re my partner, in everything Y/N”

You parted and smile. “I’m glad you feel that way” you pushed him back to bed, and pulled his boxers off again, almost ripping it to two. You wanted to let him know he wasn’t wrong, about feeling that you are his.

He was clearly surprised at your reaction, and flustered upon seeing you right above him. You smiled, amused at the view. To see your beloved Captain in such a vulnerable position. And like a clockwork, you sat comfortably on his waist as you pulled his wrists towards you. You forced his palms open with yours and directed it to your chest, letting him feel you again.

You closed your eyes, as you let him cup you gently “Captain..” you breathed his name while you shut your eyes, and began moving your hips slowly.

“Shit” he quickly got hard again, and you felt that. You felt his excitement again after you shamelessly teased your beloved Captain. You took a sealed condom from  the bed side table and placed it on his harden length. He pulled one of his hand away and held on to it, then guided his length towards your entrance. You opened your eyes and smile.

“Ready for a second?” you asked. You watched him nod, as he began to push it in within you,  both of you cursed almost synchronously at the ecstatic sensation. You tossed your head, and began moving your hips.

He held on to your waist, and you relished on it. You relished the way your Captain held on to you, you relished at the sight of seeing someone strong like him depended on you for comfort and affirmation. Exhilarated at the view of him below you, exhilarated at the thought of your own superior, down at your mercy.

Seokjin informed the Investigation Department again, which the assignment was promptly relayed again to your team: “Apprehend Jungkook and his men in #32 Namdo Building Gangseo-gu District”

At the same time, Namjoon informed the Investigation Department of his suspicion against Seokjin.

“You sure, Kim? If you’re wrong about this, not only will you lose Seokjin’s trust but your whole credibility as a Captain…” Mr. Song, one of the Investigation head, reminded Namjoon.

“I am certain sir. One of my partner, Y/N, was able to gather pieces of evidence that may point out his guilt in conniving with Jeon Jungkook” he bowed and handed him a manilla envelope containing the things you took from Seokjin, secretly.

“Very well, we will take Seokjin in to custody after I examine these things. Good luck on your mission” he bid Namjoon good luck as he watched Namjoon ran towards his car while it rained.

“Point A to D clear” you heard Hoseok speak from you and Namjoon’s ear piece.

“Copy” you subtly replied from your microphone hidden inside your shirt. “Ready, Mr. Kim?” you fixed his necktie inside the car. He didn’t reply, his eyes were burning with hatred. You’ve never seen him this determined to be able to see Jungkook, his formidable enemy, finally in the flesh.

You and Namjoon, took great lengths over these past few weeks to be able to secure a seat on this secret meeting with the boss himself, Jeon Jungkook. Despite at his tender age of 22, he was able to amass a fortune more than his father and his forefathers could ever gain. And now at the age of 24, he was able to bring down all his enemies. Rumor has it, he would clear out his enemy’s entire family line so that no one could ever attempt to take revenge against the whole Jeon family.

But Namjoon was ready to risk it all, even if his own family was on the line. He was willing to wager everything he has, just to end his lunacy. Yet he still couldn’t bring to himself the idea of risking and losing you against Jeon.

“Y/N, if anything goes bad, I want you to run as far as you could. Away from this, okay? You know how vindictive Jungkook can be” he stared at you, longingly.

“Joon” you shook your head and corrected yourself “I mean Captain, I’m trained to face whatever remember? Whatever happens, I’ll show up. It’s part of my job---”

“Okay, lovebirds, enough chit-chat. You know this is recorded right? We’ll be handling our conversation to the heads, unless you wanted to let them know about your secret affair or whatever this is… God, it’s awkward listening to you two!” Hoseok said on the other line.

You chuckled. “Can we have this off-record? Anyway, he’s right Captain. Time’s running. You need to get to your sit there now, as Mr. Kim the representative of Fiery Brothel of Songpa-gu District. I’ll stay here, make sure everything is working according to plan, alright?” you pat his collar and checked his ear piece if it was greatly secured. “All dashing and ready!” you smiled at him.

Namjoon introduced himself as Mr. Kim to a man in red suit “I speak on behalf of my superior Mr. Co, who manages Fiery Brothel in Songpa-gu owned by the Jeon” The man in red suit just nod and led you inside the building.

At first, Namjoon was confused as to why he was led inside a burger chain. Then he turned to the left hallway and entered inside the “authorized personnel staff room”, Namjoon followed. The room was cramped and filled with cleaning tools, food and personal hygiene products and other things.

The man pulled out the fire extinguisher from the glass box, where he found a button hidden behind it. He suddenly pressed it twice, paused then thrice, paused then once. It was a secret code. The wall started to separate from top to bottom, unfurling another secret entryway that leads to a speakeasy bar-cum-opium den.

Namjoon quickly recognized few faces around, from the head of the other government department, to local celebrities, even the sons and daughter of influential businessmen were there. Gambling, out of wits, high from the aroma of opium mixed with other things.

They continued to walk, the man in red suit clearly unbothered, as if it was regular business. Namjoon gulped and tried to calm himself, putting a mental note on everything he saw and commit it to his memory. He’ll be needing it once he get his hands on Jungkook. Everything he sees right now, everything he owns, he wanted to see him lose it. He wanted his downfall. he was confident that after that night he’ll finally put everything to its end.

“This is as far as I can lead you sir” the man stopped in front of the door, bowed and opened it for Namjoon.

There it was the high table. Only 6 men, sitting on each side of the table, making him the last and the seventh member to the meeting. His heart was pounding fast, hands starting to grow cold, shaking uncontrollably. Little sweat beads were forming behind his neck, it’s as if he was drugged and out of wits as well, except his feeling was driven by his own fear.

Just a few second upon entering, he saw Taehyung and Jimin enter first from the front door of the room. He presumed it was an exclusive entryway for Jungkook and his trusted men, in case something bad happens, but nothing bad ever happened when they’re there. Taehyung and Jimin were his only trusted men. They were skilled, precise, ruthless and cold to the core. They would blindly kill anyone and even everyone for Jungkook, even if it cost their lives.

Jimin, narrowed his eyes towards Namjoon while he chew on his bubblegum. Taehyung, on the other hand, watched the other men shake in fear too. All were waiting for the boss himself to enter the room.

The room was white and bare, almost blinding to the eyes. The only color that was present are their ashen faces (except Taehyung and Jimin), their black clothes and the long dark-red oaken wood table and its matching chair. And finally, he was there, all in flesh.

No longer a picture posted on his office walls. No longer a dream, that woke up him up each night in fright. This was Jeon Jungkook.  Young, tall, handsome, almost perfect that he can pass up as a god. Well, technically, he is, because he is the kind who plays like one. Because any mistake they omit in his presence can swiftly translate to a painful death.

Everyone rose from their seat to show their respect and fear towards him. Jungkook smiled. Too kind and too sweet, as if he looked innocent. But everyone knew better, he wasn’t the slightest bit of it. When he sat from his chair on the front, everyone followed, except Jimin and Taehyung who stood there to watch over.

Jungkook listened to each person during the meeting, he was attentive, alert and smart. He was the kind of leader that would bring shame to the whole police department, perhaps the whole country. Everything that runs out of his mouth were well-thought, intelligible and thorough. He didn’t leave a single issue unresolved, and the men quickly took note of it. The men were so scared that they just nodded without any further question. Jungkook like things brief, and hated being interrupted. The moment he finds someone that annoys him, Taehyung, a sharp shooter, will place a single bullet straight through their head. Not even letting them finish their first word.

“Actually, I’m sure you are all aware of the situation you are in right now, don’t you? I called everyone for a meeting because some of you are doing a very, very poor job” he grinned at everybody, nose a bit scrunched, like a harmlessly little bunny pouncing sunshine on each person on the table. Yet everyone looked down, nervous and grim. So did Namjoon.

Namjoon wasn’t aware of it. Neither anyone on the team. What was Jungkook thinking? Did he knew? Did Seokjin informed him that they’ll be attempting to take him in? Sh--

“Shit!” one of them men screamed in fear as he tried to ran towards the door, but before he could take another step from his sit, Jimin managed to throw his dagger in his head which passed through his eye and pinned his body down the floor.

“Tsk” Jungkook shook his head in disappointment. “Atleast, we were able to eliminate a coward in this group. Anyone wants to follow?” he raised his eyebrow as he chuckled again. Clearly entertained at the sight of blood.

No one dared to speak, not even a sound of whimper. “Very well, now that no one wants to speak for themselves, I would, for everyone’s behalf. I need to keep my business flowing, and you all are doing a terrible job. Thus, it’s unfortunate to inform everyone in this room that no one will survive today…” Right upon hearing it, Taehyung fired his gun towards 3 other men on his side and Jimin with his daggers flying and pinning the remaining 2 heads to the wall on his side, simultaneously and precise. “Except you, Kim Namjoon.” He blinks slowly and smiled at his direction.

“How does it feel to finally meet your nightmare?” he stood up and went to his direction.

Suddenly, Namjoon heard Hoseok cursing on the other end “Namjoon, it’s a trap! They knew! If you’re still there, run! Quickly! The mole told everything about us!”

“Where’s Y/N?” Namjoon asked Hoseok, but you only heard noises from his end.

“Y/N?” Jungkook asked. “You know I don’t like it when I don’t have someone’s full attention”

“Where is she? My partner! Did you take her? Did you kill her?” Namjoon immediately stood up from his seat, demanding Jungkook for an answer. Jimin swiftly threw his dagger to pin Namjoon’s legs back to his seat while Namjoon cried in shock and pain .

“You know I wouldn’t dare you pissing Jimin any longer Namjoon, unlike Taehyung he doesn’t have much patience. If you try to move again, I swear the next time will be a bullet from Taehyung’s gun and it’s far more painful than Jimin’s knife… and I can’t assure you where he wants to aim it. Sit” he spoke calmly, and strangely alluring yet intimidating.

Hoseok spoke again “The mole is here! Seokji----- scchhhht” Taehyung went to Namjoon side and pulled the ear piece away from him, threw it on the floor and stepped on it.

“Where is she?!” Namjoon demanded, eyes intensely fixated on Jungkook.

Taehyung crouched down and slapped his mouth. “You’re not asked to speak” he took the broken ear piece from the floor and pushed it inside Namjoon’s mouth “You better listen!”

Namjoon gagged a bit and spit the shattered pieces “Enough Taehyung, I bet he’s got it” Jungkook commanded.

“You and Seokjin will pay for what you did to Y/N!” he screamed, his fear already absent upon realizing the possibility of losing you for good.

“Seokjin? Who is he?” Jungkook chuckled. “While, it’s true there’s a mole within you” he sat on the table, just inches away Namjoon. “It’s not Seokjin, whoever he may be, I never met the guy. He sounded like a nice guy” he shrugs, still smiling. “Give you a clue, try to think who is out of reach right now?” he taps his temple.

Namjoon paused. When he realized who it was, his blood rushed up to his head, leaving him cold, nauseated and in pain. “No, it can’t be”

There you were, entering the room from the door in front of everyone inside. Safe and unharmed “Hey love, I miss you so much!” you quickly ran towards Jungkook and jumped to give him a long pressing kiss.

“No… but why?” Namjoon’s eyes started to cloud with his own tears.

“Love, why don’t you tell him?” Jungkook pouted as he turned to face you, and pulled you in closer, letting you sit on his lap.

“Well, I got bored here. I decided I want to play police. That’s why I’m here, but I got bored too, so I decided to come back” you smiled at Namjoon then at Jungkook “to you, love”

Jungkook chuckled, his nose scrunched again in a bunny like manner, as he point his finger against your nose and tapped it “That’s my girl, isn’t she cute when she gets bored?” he asked Namjoon.

“But everything, what we’ve been through, were they all lies?”

You shook your head still smiling “Not everything, no. Well, except everything about Seokjin, and the brothel and Mr.Co…” you rolled your eyes, sluggishly “Didn’t I tell you I’ll make sure everything goes according to plan? I mean, my plan that is…” you shrugged.

“How?” Namjoon’s head fell to his chest, clearly desperate, praying that everything he was hearing from you weren’t true.

“Well for starters, it’s really not hard to fake documents, my background then my history… You’ve seen the opium den earlier didn’t you? The head of National Office Record is pretty much a regular these days, we just gave him a little freebies and then we’re good. But you sir, you were pretty interesting, I really had a great time!” you nodded.

“It was actually me who subtly planted the idea that it was Seokjin, it was me who gave Seokjin information, the exact location and a glimpse of our plan, well without telling him I am part of the group that is” you playfully traced your finger on Jungkook’s neck, letting Namjoon watch while he aches at everything. The reality that was unfolding before him.

“I was the one who curated random stuff as your evidence, made up stories about a non-existent Mr. Co and the Fiery Brothel in Songpa-gu, reserved a seat for you in the meeting and voila!  You’re here! Isn’t great, love?” you gave Jungkook a peck on his lips and he nodded.

“Y/N” Namjoon cried

“You know Namjoon? I really like you, that’s pretty much true. But this man right here” you turn to Jungkook and playfully squeezed his cheek “I love him so much, I’m willing to give my life for him. That’s the difference. To be by your side, quite literally and to be by his side, forever, wherever I may be” Jungkook giggled at your declaration for his love.

“Please say it’s a lie! Tell me, you’re being forced by him, just say it. Please, I love you!” Namjoon screamed

“Stop, Namjoon” you watched him in pity. “Didn’t I tell you? We’re just bunch of colleagues…”

“Boss, what are you going to do with him?” Jimin’s eyes remained focused against Namjoon while he pops his gum.

“Love, what do you plan?” Jungkook gazed at you lovingly, while he was fixing your hair.

“He’s where he is supposed to be. A captain who just lost the trust of his superior and his men, just because of a woman. Isn’t it a tragic story, the story of a naïve pawn? This way love, you’ll be able to move freely with your business.” You stared at Jungkook’s lips, resisting to kiss him while he revel at your impregnable intellect.

“As usual, impressive as always” Jungkook nods as he kissed you again. “Let him live, so he’ll be able to tell our tale, a precautionary one to not screw with us”

“Y/N” Namjoon pleaded.

“Namjoon, you were the best Captain really. Thank you for the memories” you smiled.

Then Taehyung swiftly hit Namjoon in the face, leaving him unconscious, but only for a while.

Namjoon blinked at the sensation of rain drop falling over his face. Next thing he knew, people in scrubs were rushing towards him, raised him up from the pavement outside the hospital and secured his tired body on a stretcher.

“Sir, are you okay? Do you know where you are? Do you remember who left you here?” Namjoon was so oblivious at the moment, that he just tried to pull himself up to see if everything that happened earlier was a dream.

Until something fell from the inside of his coat. He picked it up “The Art of War by Sun Tzu?” he opened a page and saw a little note from you that says

“An enemy of my enemy is my FRIEND :) - Y/N”

Even when this rain stops, when the clouds go away I stand here, just the same Without saying anything, looking at the world There, a not so beautiful me is looking at myself In this rain In this rain

Rain by BTS

A/N: Thank you for giving time and reaching this far. This is my first attempt in making a smut fic so please be kind >.< This fic is actually my birthday gift for Slyn (SLL-AW Fictions) she’s a writer from YT who pushed me to try doing one too. Her bias is Jungkook so, naturally, the story ended with Y/N falling in the arms of Jungkook.

This is also nod and an attempt to honor one of my all time favorite fanfic, the BEST EVER CREATED on the internet about BTS: “House of Card by Sugamins” (if you know, you know 😉 )

I am so whipped for Master Jeon Jungkook that I just 👁️👄👁️. I didn’t want to recreate the verse, because I just can’t... I could never. House of Card is like a whole level of superiority and I’m just...a nursery...

Although, I borrowed the dark environment and the emotions involved in the characters... but I am totally disclaiming it to be a part of the verse. I’m a huge fan, I’m sorry I’m geeking out 😭 (Sugamins if you ever see this, I love you and thank you!! 😭 huge fan!!)

Slyn’s favorite genre are mafia, action, and romance (specifically with Jungkook). She’s aware of House of Cards too so yeah..

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed “In The Rain” :).

PS.  If you haven’t read “House of Card” please do! It’s on a03! Google it! BUT YOU HAVE TO BE 18 and above... and open to like practically everything! Read the warning signs first before you proceed. But I swear, it’s the best out there!!! (you’ll know why it hit a million views once you finished. That fic should be in a book, and I’ll gladly buy several copies!

ALSO, I’m so sorry for making Y/N a villain/psychopath. As well as Jungkook, Jimin and Taehyung. Forgive me. It was raining hard one day while listening to Rain on by BTS and the ending scene just came up to my mind and I happen to work on it since... :<

#bts smut #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts namjoon #bts rm #bts jungkook #RM #namjoon #kim namjoon #bts kim namjoon #kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x reader smut #kim namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader smut #rm smut #rm x reader smut #rm x reader #BTS x reader #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon x oc #rm x you #rm x oc #jungkook x you #jungkook x oc

[autisticsupervillain]

Judicious Reaper AU

Hiveswap/Death Note Crossover

Tyzias Entykk is going heading home for the night when she stumbles across a strange black book on the ground. She picks it up and reads the five rules, written in plain Alternian.

The troll whose name is written in this note shall die.

This note will not take effect unless the writer has the person's face in their mind when writing his/her name. Therefore, people sharing the same name will not be affected.

If the cause of death is written within the next 40 seconds of writing the person's name, it will happen.

If the cause of death is not specified, the person will simply die of a heart attack.

After writing the cause of death, details of the death should be written in the next 6 minutes and 40 seconds.

She shrugs it off and stuffs the "Death Note" into her bag, figuring it's just some weeb thing that Tegiri dropped and she could return it to him tomorrow.

Later that night, she finds herself mulling over the Death Note with the TV on in the background, wondering what it could be from. Tegiri's never been shy about his interests, so it does strike her as odd that she's never heard him mention it. It's not like it could be new either, as Tegiri would've bragged about his new notebook the first chance he got. Just as Tyzias resolves to look it up, Trizza appears on the TV screen.

Trizza subjects her audience to another one of her narcissistic tyraids about how much better she is than everyone else and how she's definitely the rightful Empress. Tyzias, already tired from a long night of work and throughly fed up with Alternia's bullshit for that night, decides to write Trizza's name in the Death Note. Just as Tyzias dryly remarks to herself that "i wwwwish it wwwwas that easy", Trizza drops dead on stage. Tyzias drops her mug in shock.

Alternia is sent reeling on the inexplicable death of its Heiress and Tyzias is left staring mortified at the Death Note in her hands. She quickly throws the book in the trash and resolves to try and get to bed early that day, knowing she'll have a long night of work tomorrow. She doesn't get much sleep that night.

Predictably, Alternia has descended into absolute chaos by the time Tyzias wakes up. Trizza's death has inspired the rebellion to be more overt and violent, actively organizing raids and invasions while highblooded rebels like Fiamat try and seize control of the power vacuum. This leaves Tyzias swimming in so much paperwork that she barely has time to even think about the Death Note in between tending to the emotional needs of a shocked and confused Stelsa and trying to get her work done on time.

In the coming weeks, the Purples and Violets loyal to the Empire begrudgingly unite to try and get a handle on things. Chahut is elected as a stand-in heiress, as she's the only one persuasive enough to convince the castes to work together for the time being. Marvus, however, has a different reaction.

He knows for a fact that Trizza didn't just die. The Messiahs gave him the script, told him how everything was supposed to play out, and Trizza was much to important to drop dead. She was assassinated, she had to be. It was the only rational explanation, even if he didn't understand how just yet. His only choice was to find this assassin and play damage control to try and correct this timeline. Part of him knew that was impossible, that they'd gone so wildly off script that their timeline was doomed now, but that's what made the challenge so appealing.

It's only when her work load had died down several weeks later that Tyzias thinks to pull the Death Note out of the garbage. That's when she found Ryuk standing over her. After she panics and tosses her mug through his head, Ryuk laughs and intoduces himself.

He explains to her what he and the Death Note are and why he dropped it on Alternia. Sure, Ryuk is typically supposed to be one of Earth's shinigami, he's had a lot of trouble finding good entertainment sense "that Light kid died" and figured a more bloodthirsty species could provide it.

"You, however, seem to be an exception to that rule. Most trolls in your place would be thrilled to have this much power. But you seem almost afraid of it. Afraid of what you could do with that power and afraid of what that power could do with you. I can't say any if its human owners had that same wisdom."

Tyzias admits that she doesn't really know what to do with it. She'd always wanted to stage a nonviolent revolution, to reform the system from inside while killing as few people as possible. But, that was before she had the Death Note. With which she could control the Rebellion's body count, only burn down what she needed to so she could come and rebuild it into something better.

Tyzias decides to take her mind off the dilemma by chasing down a case that interests her. Lowbloods had been going missing in her area lately and she wanted to investigate. It would've been easy to just chalk this up to violence in response to Trizza's death, but there were no bodies. No signs of struggle even, suggesting that either the lowblood community had either taken the opportunity to evacuate en mass or they'd been abducted during all the confusion.

She finds her breadcrumb trail and follows it back to one Zebruh Codakk, who'd taken the opportunity to lure lowbloods to his hive with the offer of safely sitting out the violent rebellion. True to form, he immediately enslaved those who accepted his invite.

Unfortunately, this is where Tyzias' case would hit a brick wall. Highbloods enslaving Lowbloods wasn't illegal and it would take months for her to forge enough evidence to convict Zebruh of an actual crime. But.... Tyzias has the Death Note. With the flick of a pen, she could remove Zebruh from the picture and free all his slaves.

So, one night, Zebruh mysteriously dies of a heart attack while a strange troll in a cloak frees his slaves. She introduces herself as a "judicious reaper" and advises them to take as much of Zebruh's stuff as they can and run. Their hives aren't safe anymore, the authorities would likely pin Zebruh's death on them.

Marvus, meanwhile, has been blindly searching for leads on Tizza's killer and hears about Zebruh's death. Through this, he puts together that the assassin is a genuine revolutionary and not just someone grasping for power, given both their targets were cruel towards Lowbloods and killing Zebruh wouldn't likely solidy any kind of power base for them given how unpopular he was. After he tracks down one of the escaped slaves, he learns about the "judicious reaper" who saved them and deduces that the assassin might actually live nearby. After all, they didn't show up at the scene of Trizza's death, but they did show up here. Or, at least, sent one of their operatives here to free the slaves.

He decides to test this theory. He orders a squad of bluebloods to seize control of the town, cutting of the wifi and intercepting all incoming signals, before rounding up a random selection of five trolls from each caste. The plan is to publicly execute them in the town square under the excuse of "quelling rebellion". If the killer does indeed live in that town and they're as altruistic as Marvus suspects, they'll likely kill these executioners to prevent any deaths, inadvertently outing that they live in that small town.

The killer clearly has supernatural means available, as Trizza and Zebruh seemed to die of natural causes, which means that supernatural system likely has rules and limitations to it. This gives Marvus the hunch that the killer might need names and faces to kill people. As such, only some of the executioners will publicly announce their names or take off their masks.

Tyzias is unaware of the ploy and of the full extent of Marvus' knowledge, as she has no reason to believe that anyone suspects that there even was a killer. As such, she's trying to figure a way out of this situation that won't give anyone looking for patterns a reason to think that there might be a killer. Unfortunately, Stelsa is one of the trolls selected to be executed, so her hand is forced.

Luckily, Stelsa's executioner gave both his name and his face, so Stelsa was saved, but Tyzias couldn't save all of them and a good chunk of trolls were still executed. She suspects now that this was a set up, given how weird and candid it was that some of the executioners gave their names and faces but others didn't, but her attention is currently on comforting Stelsa.

Marvus is ecstatic at having his theory proven correct and decides to investigate. Not personally, but by proxy. He's a celebrity, so he can't exactly go asking around himself, nor could any of his associates without raising suspicion. So, he decides to outsource to the last kind of troll that the killer would suspect. Boldir.

Boldir has been a pretty open pain in Marvus's neck for awhile now. He knows she's constantly poking around where she shouldn't be and he knows she's good enough at it to not leave any kind of tangible, solid proof. He'd only been tolerating her because the script said he needed her alive, but now she can play into his hands a little more directly. Marvus tracks her down and meets her in person at her hive, both because she'd figure out he's involved if he tried to deal with her indirectly anyways and because it makes the statement of "I know who you are and where you and your loved ones live". Boldir initially refuses to cooperate, but her interest is peaked when he offers her a favor. Marvus knows about Fozzer and he knows about how his personality has changed. Marvus offers to use his chucklevoodoos to get to the bottom of Fozzer's strange behavior if Boldir investigates this "judicious reaper" for him.

Meanwhile, Tyzias is comforting Stelsa. She's hesitant to open up to Tyzias, as they're matesprites and not moirails, but ultimately, she has no one else to turn to. Stelsa nearly breaks down going over how, not only is Trizza dead, not only does the Empire seem to be collapsing all around her, but the very Empire she trusted just tried to kill her for seemingly no reason. She's scared. Exhausted. Confused. And she just doesn't know what to do.

Tyzias considers revealing that she killed Trizza, all she'd have to do is hand her the Death Note, but she doesn't. Tyzias and Stelsa have always just politely ignored each other's political leanings. Tyzias has never had to lie about it before.

Putting those heavy feelings to the side for now, Tyzias realizes she has to get out of town. Killing those executioners was a big giveaway towards her existence and even potentially her identity, and, if it was a ploy like Tyzias suspects, it's likely the Empire's noose is closing in right that second. Luckily, Tyzias finds her answer online.

It turns out The Mask is one of the trolls Tyzias saved from Zebruh's clutches, and, after going through her files on Zebruh's case, Tyzias is able to figure out she's Chixie Roixmr. Chixie had been singing about the "judicious reaper" who saved her and had gotten people to rally behind them as part if the rebel movement. Tyzias sends Chixie a letter as this "judicious reaper", using her position to fudge the paperwork so this can't be traced back to her, and asks Chixie to perform live in her home town in three nights. Chixie announces her schedule change to her fans online, which sends swarms of The Mask fans to Tyzias's town.

Tyzias spins this to the now very paranoid local government as a potential rebel invasion and gets them to agree to an evacuation. Boldir keeps Marvus updated on this process and Marvus realizes that the killer is making an effort to escape. Deciding this would be the perfect opportunity to just get rid of them in one swoop, Marvus uses his resources to hire Azdaja and Konyyl to attack the evacuation train and kill everyone aboard.

This turns out to be Marvus's fatal mistake. Azdaja abd Konyyl start arguing at a crucial moment, allowing Tyzias, Stelsa, and Boldir to escape unharmed. Boldir even realizes how badly Marvus has shot himself in the foot as now the killer will know for a fact that someone powerful is after them.

Indeed, as soon as Tyzias, Stelsa, and Boldir make it to the next town over, Tyzias looks into the two assassins who tried to kill her. Realizing how expensive their fee is, Tyzias realizes just how powerful the person hunting her is. They're clearly onto her and have no problem bringing as much of their reach to bear on her as possible. So, she decides she has no choice but to take the fight to them.

So, Tyzias writes Chahut's name in the Death Note, effectively beheading the pro-empire side of the conflict. The should force her pursuer to back off and focus on the chaos going on above them, and it does. Marvus has to address this new power vacuum because otherwise he'll be next in line to fill the Heiress' throne, which would put him next on the killer's chopping block. Knowing he can't leave Boldir to handle this case unsupervised, he decides to kidnap Fozzer and use him ti threaten her into line directly. Now, Boldir is forced to wear a recorder all night, every night to make sure she doesn't try to betray him while he sorts things out between the purple bloods and the violet bloods.

Unfortunately, Marvus doesn't have to wait much longer to get results. Boldir is able to pin down Tyzias's identity after she pickpockets the Death Note and gets a good look at it. While Boldir doesn't meet Ryuk, as ahe snuck off before the two could notice each other, she does see that the names written down perfectly match the killer's known victims. That, alongside the rules listed up front, gives her enough proof to pin Tyzias as the killer. Boldir quietly returns the notebook so to avoid alerting Tyzias before informing Marvus.

After getting the rundown on Tyzias's personality from Boldir, Marvus kidnaps Stelsa to strongarm Tyzias into surrendering, broadcasting his demands to all of Alternia. Tyzias calls him and sets up a time and place to surrender, agreeing to come unarmed. In Tyzias's last gambit, she bribes Ryuk into staying out of sight on the night of her execution before sending Chixie a letter containing a page of the Death Note and the front page instructions how to use it. Thus, when Marvus attempts to execute her live before Alternia, he ends up dying as Chixie writes his name in the Death Note.

Marvus puts the pieces together as he dies, realizing that the strange black book filled with names that Tyzias had was how she killed her victims. He laughs and congratulates her for putting on one hell of a show before his heart stops.

With the pro-empire side soundly decapitated and with no one as competent as Marvus or Chahut left to carry the torch, Alternia swifty falls to the rebellion. Tyzias is offically given the title of the Judicial Reaper after her rebel friends rescue her and offer to shower her with awards. But, Tyzias puts all if that to the side. She needs to talk to Stelsa.

Stelsa is hurt, bitter that Tyzias did all of this behind her back. For as long as she had known her, Tyzias had said that she wanted to change Alternia peacefully. And, as much as Stelsa tried to dissuade her, she respected that. But, Tyzias assassinated the Heiress the first chance she got and now, one sweep later, had effectively taken over Alternia.

Tyzias tries to explain everything to her. She didn't want to overthrow anyone until Zebruh and Marvus forced her hand, she even hands Stelsa the Death Note and introduces her to Ryuk to prove it, but Stelsa is done.

Tyzias had the chance to tell her everything. Explain everything. Maybe even convince her of everything back when Stelsa was looking for comfort when the executioners showed up. But that moment is gone now. Stelsa leaves Tyzias behind with tears in her eyes.

Boldir catches up to Tyzias drinking at a bar. She introduces herself, explains how shes knows her, and apologizes for everything. She explains how someone she cared about was threatened and how she was currently tryinf to convince the rebels to let Fozzer out of containment due to his imperial bootlicking attitude. Tyzias symoathizes and the two bond over shared stories. Ryuk is bemused by the fact that Boldir doesn't seem intimidated by him.

After being given a high rank in the Rebellion's new regime, Tyzias is able to bring about the world she'd always dreamed of. Turning Alternia into a better world, step by step. After Glybglob is killed and the Condescension defeated, Tyzias finally works up the courage to confront Stelsa again.

After Tyzias took over, Stelsa wasn't really sure what to do with herself. So, she hid and watched the world change around her from the safety of her hive. Fear turned to curiosity and that turned to wonder. Stelsa has, during her sweeps in hiding, seen the ways that Tyzias had improved upon life on Alternia and is, after countless sweeps, willing to forgive her.

Sweeps later, after the Alternian Empire has been reshaped from the ground up and after Tyzias's body finally starts to give out, Ryuk comments that Tyzias is probably the only person he's seen win when handed the Death Note.

"Most people I give this thing too tend to lose. Usually because they try to cheat death, play God, or win big. But you? You didn't do any of that. And you won because of it. Sure, it made things a bit boring in places, but ut made things pretty fun too."

Ryuk writes Tyzias's name in his book. "Well, Tyzias, so long. It's been interesting."

#hiveswap #death note #tyzias entykk #stelsa sezyat #ryuk #marvus xoloto #boldir lamati #chixie roixmr #crossover #long post #judicial reaper au

[bluegarners]

By popular demand, I have written a Part 2 for mainstay for @viceturtle. Thank you so much @newsical for being an immense help with this!!

Part 1.

This chapter was inspired by this conversation between @bigskydreaming and @fuyunoakegata

ao3

There’s a lot to be said about his stubbornness. 

He thinks everyone has at least some degree of it within themselves. A refusal to move or consent to something. Sure, some don’t hesitate long. They give. They bend. They break. But the stubbornness is in that hesitation. That moment of ‘Am I really doing this? Should I be doing this? Why in the world should I do this?’. It’s about the pause, is what he’s trying to get at, that makes stubbornness so inherent to each individual. 

It breathes in the form of grudges. Arguments. Games of she-said-he-said-they-said. Right or wrong. I told you so’s and I’m not sorry’s. 

Jason does all of those things like it's second nature. He’s not going to pretend like he’s some saint who can understand the other side and reason with them. If he thinks he’s right, it’s not a matter of if the other person is actually right or wrong. He knows he’s right, so it doesn’t matter in the end. He knows what he knows, and if he doesn’t— whatever. Immovable object and all that.

So, yeah. There’s a lot to be said about his stubbornness. 

He calls Red Robin anyway.

“He’s gone.”

“Sorry, what? I need context for this. There’s a lot of people this could apply to—”

“Dick. Dick is gone.”

“Oh. Like, just now he left?”

“I don’t know. Some guy came and took him.”

“As much as I love vague conversations, this isn’t helping me and I don’t understand why you’re calling in the first place.”

“Dick is fucking. Gone. What do you not understand about that.”

“Jesus, I don’t know, Jason. What, is he not supposed to be gone? He said he was going to leave again. He already said ‘hi’ to Damian, so I don’t see why he would stick around any longer.”

“Hm.”

“Fuck me, didn’t you know? This was all just- just some visit for him. Sure, he’ll be back eventually, but fuck knows if he’s actually—”

He hangs up. Pockets his phone. Listens as the rain continues to drench the world outside of his little apartment. His shoulders hurt. There’s a bruise on his chest. Right between his fifth and sixth ribs. He has a split lip. He put ointment on it earlier but it still stings. His knees ache. He has a distant memory of his mother complaining about her knees too. Something about the weather making them act up.

He’s twenty-three.

He’s getting old.

On the table next to him is a box of cigarettes. Low-tar. Filtered. In his right pocket, there’s a lighter he got from someone years ago. He doesn’t know. Maybe he stole it. Found it. 

He pulls it out. Shakes a cigarette out of the thin box. Holds the paper wrapped nicotine between his lips, lifting the lighter and thumbing the flink strike. 

Click. 

He shakes the lighter. Tries again.

Click.

Gotham hasn’t had this much rain in a long time. It’s nearing October. Maybe it’s in season or whatever weather does. He doesn’t know the term.

Click.

It’s raining outside. Jason can see it. There’s raindrops on his window. He can hear it clattering against the fire-escape. Gray and black and mixes of yellow from street lamps below. Jason is inside on the comfort of his couch. Sure, it’s not the best apartment, but it doesn’t leak. The ceiling is fine and he hasn’t had any problems with it before. His face is wet though. He doesn’t know why.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The cigarette falls from his lips and lands with a thud on the stained carpet. The T.V is on. Says the storm over Gotham will last for the next few days. An unprecedented seven inches of rain predicted. The GCPD is advising everyone to stay indoors. Crime is expected to rise with the water levels.

Click.

His clothes are still soaked. He’s probably ruining his couch. He can’t remember if he took his boots off or not. 

Click.

Jason sighs. His chest feels heavy, like someone is sitting on top of him. It’s just him though. Only him in his apartment. He likes having his own space. The neighbors get loud sometimes, but it’s not as if he’s a five star resident either. It’s always been like this. He is…. Alone.

Click.

Dick was gone. Came back. And now, Dick is gone again. Did he do that? Did he drive him away? Is this his fault? Jason doesn’t know. Doesn’t care. Doesn’t know if he doesn’t care at all, but at least the rain is nice to listen to. Yeah. The rain is really nice. Consistent. Steady.

Click.

He didn’t take off his boots.

 ~oOo~

One month is all it takes. 

One month and Nightwing is out spotted in Bludhaven, his photo splashed across every news outlet from Gotham to Metropolis. New Jersey missed its boy in blue and cheers at his return.

Nightwing stays in Bludhaven though. Red Hood stays in Gotham. Just as it used to be. Back to normal. Yeah.

The rain stopped a week ago.

Jason misses the noise.

 ~oOo~

“Won’t you come?”

“No.”

“Please, Master Jason? We would love to have you here. It has been too long.”

“I can’t.”

“I thought you loved turkey. There’ll be plenty of leftovers and I know you’ve been meaning to return the tupperware from last time. It’ll be good for you to leave that apartment of yours.”

“I have better things to do than play nice and talk politics in Brucie Wayne’s mansion. I’m not coming.”

“I know you have your own quarrels with Master Dick, but—”

“It’s not about him. I don’t give a fuck about what he’s doing or what stick Bruce has up his ass this time. I am not walking into the line of fire just to save everyone else an evening of beating around the bush. I. Am. Not. Going.”

“. . . Then won’t you at least visit? I miss you. I worry about you.”

“I’m sorry, Alfred.”

“I am too, my boy.”

  Click.

 Jason spends Thanksgiving out in the Narrows. He’s not rich, doesn’t want to be, but he has money. Plenty he doesn’t need to spend on himself. He goes grocery shopping. Fills two, three carts worth of canned food and rotisserie chickens. Goes home, carries the bags in all at once. Organizes them. 

Single. Partners. Family.

He leaves his apartment. He is not Jason Todd. He is not Red Hood. He’s just some guy out in the Narrows. 

He hands out the bags. Has the decency to look the people in the eyes, knowing he was that street kid once. Seeing his mother in each dirty, beaten face he comes across. Pitying the drunken men and the addicts. They accept his offerings. It would be stupid not to. No one says thank you. He doesn’t need them to.

He goes home. His arms are sore. The bruises have completely faded.

The apartment is empty.

  Click

 Sometimes, there are days where he doesn’t know why. 

That’s a big concept: why? 

He thinks it carries too much weight. Maybe if he had survived past tenth grade, he could’ve signed up for a philosophy or debate class, maybe shed some light on that particular question, but he didn’t. Survive. So, he only has his own mind to ponder the concept. He’s read a couple books. Never fully understood the words he read though. He would’ve liked to, but he didn’t. Understand. 

But it’s up to interpretation right? So, here’s where he’s at.

Jason doesn’t understand or know why sometimes, and it becomes a problem.

He doesn’t understand why he got such a bad hand for parents. Why Bruce didn’t grieve like Jason wanted him to (so desperately yearned for, screamed for, died for). Why someone thought it was a good idea for him to live out a second-still-the-same life. Why he came back so different. (Was he? Different? He doesn’t think he came back wrong but he doesn’t know a lot. Well, he does. But, if he came back wrong then that means he wasn’t right to begin with and he’s always right and if he’s wrong then—). 

He doesn’t know why he punched Dick. He didn’t want to. Not really. But he did. Want to. Badly so. Wanted proof, wanted penance, wanted forgiveness, wanted retribution, wanted that sting that comes with reality and the regret of a little something called mortality. Horse drawn carriage alongside Death, patting the seat next to it. 

Okay, he knows why .

He doesn’t understand why, though.

Jason doesn’t understand why he gets so angry sometimes. It doesn’t feel good, doesn’t feel right, like he’s supposed to be feeling something else but he’s just flipped upside down so there’s no point in trying to right himself. He’s always right anyway. Yeah. Yeah.

He doesn’t understand why he says things, why he opens his mouth at all when he regrets them so quickly after. He yells a lot. Raises his voice and spits mean words and cusses worse than anyone else he knows and regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth. But he doesn’t learn. Doesn’t rethink it, doesn’t look back and remember the lesson he taught himself. You can’t be taught if you’re always right anyway, so what’s the point? Why regret it when he’s just going to do it again? 

That’s a big word: why.

There are answers attached to the word. Reasons for the question being asked. Explanations and solutions and resolutions.

Jason is good at solving problems, is quick to work around it and get the job done. And a question is just a problem being asked, right? It’s verbal, that’s the only difference, so if he’s such a good problem solver, if he’s such a goddamn good thinker and understands things like philosophy and literature and great big concepts and words—

Why did he do that? Why did he say those things? Why can’t he make up his fucking mind? Why is he the way he is? Why does he just push and shove and drive away everyone and everything? Why did he come back different? Why did he come back wrong? Why didn’t Bruce love him enough to end things? Why was he worth a second chance when he screws up and regrets so much? Why do people still fucking try with him? Why can’t he get one goddamn thing right? Why is he always—

Click.

“Why didn’t you come to dinner?”

Click.

Red Hood is in Gotham. Nightwing is too. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. The air is cold and there’s ice in the wind. It’s a clear night. A quiet frost coats the rooftop and Jason can hear his brother’s footsteps.

“We missed you, you know. Here, Agent A wanted me to give you these.”

Jason turns. Dick is holding out a duffle-cooler. He stands six feet away.

“They’re just leftovers. Turkey, sweet potatoes, casserole, pie; the fixings.”

Jason doesn’t move. Neither does Dick. To anyone else, it would look like a stand-off between Nightwing and Red Hood, neutral ground tensions. They both know it’s not.

It is cold and there is ice in the wind and the rainy season is long past. When they breathe, it erupts out of them in the form of white vapor and Jason can only think of the fact that it looks like smoke. His lighter still doesn’t work. It sits in his right pocket. He wants to take it out. Hear the click. 

“There’s some beer too,” Dick adds softly, voice carried away and twisted in the sharp air. “I have a bottle opener.”

Nightwing walks a few paces away to sit against an A/C unit, shielding himself from the wind. He sets the cooler down beside him, unzipping the duffle and pulling out two bottles of a brand Jason doesn’t recognize, and pats the space next to him. Horse drawn carriage. 

Why is a big concept. A big word. Maybe one of the bigger questions in the repertoire. 

He doesn’t know nor understand why he takes the offered seat. He just does. It feels right to do so. Jason takes the offered bottle too and opens it himself. Hands back the blade. Takes a sip.

It’s cold. It warms him. 

He doesn’t understand:

“Why?”

Dick swirls the alcohol around, bubbles rising to the surface. “Why, what?” 

There’s a lot of things Jason could say. Could ask. He’s had two months to think about a question that would fit the answer he’s trying so hard to get; one that would satisfy the cavern that just keeps getting wider and wider, this empty presence that digs deeper inside him. He likes to think it would be a really intelligent question, one that would stump his all knowing brother; the one with all the answers in the world and a smile to accompany it. Dick had been on this pedestal for as long as Jason can remember. Had been placed so high above himself, even now, it’s impossible for him to reach, fingers a thousand miles away from ever grazing the top.

A lot of people would tell him he’s done this to himself. That the things he decides to do, his actions, what he says to other people and what they do as a consequence; all a product of his own creation. Even the cavern inside of him, filled with stalagmites and cobwebs and so many empty boxes, perhaps he did that to himself. He— He did that. To himself. 

But Jason doesn’t like being wrong. Doesn’t like the fear that invades every nerve in his body when faced with the possibility of being so far off from the mark that it comes back and strikes him in the face. He’s paid the price for being wrong, has the scars and the memories and the stories to prove it, but he’s also been right, over and over again, and it feels so good to be right.

It felt good to punch his brother.

It felt good to have a reason to do so. 

The anger, the fear, the possessive guilt that clung to him in those months where Dick was dead and he was at the wheel, knowing he was going to crash and burn eventually and probably take everyone with him. He played the long game and knew the end result. Jason had fooled himself with the thought of taking Dick’s place, thinking he could climb up that enormous pedestal he had placed there himself all those years ago. Torn down and resurrected today.

He doesn’t have a question though. Not a singular, all encompassing question that would piece together every missing hole inside of him and fill the void. His mother used to tell him he talked too much, that a big mouth like his would one day get him into trouble. She also told him that he was smart and curious and kind and so much more than anything she would ever be able to give him. Jason doesn’t understand why she said so many contrary things.  Wishes he could ask her, have the opportunity to finally get the answers he wanted from her when he left everything behind just for a chance to do so. He can’t though. She died. He died too.

Dick didn’t.

“Why did you leave?” 

His brother stops swirling the contents of his bottle, choosing instead to release a heavy sigh that travels into the air in a thick cloud of tired gray and remorse. “I wasn’t in a good place at the time. Leaving felt like the only good thing left I could do. Batman gave me the mission and I… I took it.”

“What part of letting us all think you were dead was ‘good’? How does that translate to ‘good’ in your world?”

“I wasn’t a part of that decision,” Dick says pointedly, setting down his beer and thunking his head back to rest against the unit. “I was still comatose by the time Batman had broken the news to everyone else. I told you, Hood, I had no choice. Leaving was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it was all that made sense to do.”

He pauses, a hand coming up to scrub at the sides of his face. “Robin had just… died. Protecting me. I got captured by people with faces I’ve known my entire life and couldn’t escape them. I let myself get hooked up to that- that machine and exposed my identity to the entire world. Do you have any idea what that would’ve done to you all, had I stayed? Everyone knew who Nightwing was under the mask. It would’ve— People would have figured the rest out soon enough. When Batman offered me the opportunity to at least make something right, I took it.”

Something unsettles inside Jason’s chest. Leaking, fracturing. It feels wrong. He feels- “So, what? You left because you felt bad ? Gallivanted off as soon as the opportunity was presented? Oh, I’m sure you’d love to do that again. Hey, Nightwing, tell me, are you feeling bad right now? Would you like a one-way ticket to Spain? I bet that’d make you feel much better.”

Dick frowns, head swiveling to look at Jason. “If that’s how you’d like to picture it, then fine. Yeah, I felt bad about exposing my entire family’s identities. I felt bad about letting down Batman and getting myself taken. I felt bad about dying and not being—”

“Quit fucking saying you died! You didn’t. You put on a good show, I’ll give you that, but having a model that looks just like you being buried in the ground doesn’t qualify as you dying. Get the fuck over yourself.”

A sharp crack meets his words and Jason snaps his head over to see Dick’s bottle broken against the ground, the older man having knocked it over with his hand.

Nightwing’s white lenses are staring at him and Red Hood meets his gaze unflinchingly, if only for the reason that he can’t see his brother’s eyes. There was something to be said about clear eyes in a city full of smog and endless voids, and Jason has looked enough people in the eye to know when to blink and walk away. The dark does not have a gaze to collapse within and yet there is empty white surrounding them.

“Come with me.” 

Why is too big of a word.

 Jason follows anyway.

He’s at the end of his rope in asking questions he knows no one will be able to answer. Knows that the answer he wants is not one anyone is willing to give, or even can give. See, Jason knows why. Has an understanding with the concept in a personal way unlike anyone else will ever have. He knows, understands, gets exactly what the question demands with all of its little fallacies and conundrums and ever so many follow ups. If he could, Jason would shake hands with it, an agreement to never speak a word of its existence ever again. But, how could he ponder the question when he himself cannot bear to fathom his own existence?

Nightwing is already scaling down a fire-escape, duffle-cooler slung over his shoulder, and Jason watches his head disappear below the roof line. He stands up, feet numb and hands feeling bitten, and side glances the broken bottle and the one he’s leaving behind. Even with the bleak, gray weather, the glass twinkles and shimmers in the ice, and, just faintly, Jason can smell the alcohol in the wind. Gotham is a city filled with muck, grease, scum, and litter. There is no difference in adding their own to the ever increasing pile, and yet Jason cannot help amend himself with the thought that at least their trash is beautiful in the cold.

He walks over to the edge of the roof, peering down to where he can see Nightwing traveling up a different, rusted ladder, ready to seek a new vantage point for wherever it is he’s decided to lead Jason. He doesn’t have his helmet on tonight, just a plain domino to hide his face, and the frost cuts against his nose and lips. A shiver runs through his body and Jason slides down into the alleyway below, keeping his brother in eye-sight. Nightwing launches a grapple, clinging to another building about 200 meters away, and Red Hood follows suit, the chill buffering inside of his jacket.

They arrive at one of those motel looking buildings, the outward appearance completely abandoned. Bruce had built this many years ago, one of the first of several safe-houses, and for all intents and purposes, it served to only attract the kinds of people that knew how to keep their mouths shut. The “general office” is where Dick walks into, a separate facility from the boarding rooms. He waits for Jason to enter, having taken a back door of four inches of solid steel, and locks it behind them once the younger has entered as well.

Dick throws the duffle onto one of the chairs inside the room, and rolls his shoulders in a circular motion, a long sigh escaping him. Somewhere, Jason can hear the heater kicking on.

He thumbs his lighter.

Click.

He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to be doing, waiting by the door for Dick to make the first move. His brother says nothing though, continuing to move his joints around and rub his hands furiously together. He doesn’t even glance at Jason as he leaves the main room, entering another side door and into, what Jason assumes is, a bathroom. Left alone, Jason keeps his boots on and sits down.

Click.

He waits. Peels off his mask and winces at the pull on his skin. Rubs at his eyes and forehead. Sighs.

Click. Click.

He stares at the domino in his lap, regretting having taken it off. Dick could look him in the eye now. He didn’t— He doesn’t like that. You only look people in the eye when you want to convey something, be it emotion, honesty, or purely how much you don’t give a shit. Jason doesn’t know what it meant when he looked at all those people in the Narrows a few days ago. Doesn’t know what it meant when they looked at him. Who was he, then? He was no one. No one. 

Click.

The bathroom door opens and Dick steps out wearing a thick tank top and a long pair of joggers. Just beyond the cracked doorway, Jason can see his Nightwing suit hung up against a rack. The remnants of irritated skin also pepper his brother’s face, red and splotchy. 

Dick looks up and meets his gaze.

Click.

“This the part where you try to argue yourself right?”

His older brother frowns. “No, it’s not.”

Jason looks away.

Click. Click. Click.

“What’s that in your pocket?”

“Just some old lighter. It doesn’t work.”

“Ah.”

The stiff silence reverberates between them. Normally, when conversation isn’t invited, Dick would go off somewhere and find something to do; something in his head urging him to seek out an offering. It was a tactic the older man used often, something to hold or something else to focus your attention on making an otherwise shaky atmosphere comfortable. When he was still Robin, it was a ploy Jason found himself enjoying sometimes, where Nightwing would meet him on some pre-designated roof carrying hot chocolate or donuts and Jason would gripe to the older man about Bruce’s latest restriction or Batman’s newest growl. Their conversations would last well into the night and it was their secret they kept together, a fall-back to go to when things were too uncertain or days were too long.

Those memories were nice. Fond, even. 

Dick does not have an offering this time.

“Did you believe I was dead?”

Jason sucks in a breath, fingers stilling against his lighter. “Yes.” Pause. “I wanted to.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” Jason fires back. “It was on live television for Christ’s sake, Dick! Half the world watched you die.”

“It’s not as if doctored film has never been done before, even if it was live. At some point, it cut off too. I’ve watched the video myself. My death wasn’t shown on screen.”

“There was audio. I could hear your heart stopping on the machine.”

“There was a lot of fighting going on. It was chaos.”

“Fine, I didn’t see you die and the video was shit. But Bruce told us you were dead. Batman told us you had died.”

“And Batman doesn’t lie.”

“Fuck you.”

Dick sighs, leaning back against one of the walls. “Look, I’m not trying to pick another fight with you. I don’t want to.”

“Then what. Do. You. Want,” Jason grounds out, rising from his chair. “I’m sick of this. I am so sick of not knowing what the fuck is going on with you and Bruce, with all of your little secrets and fake-deaths and—”

“It wasn’t fake,” Dick interrupts, standing his ground. “It may not have been for long, but my heart did stop. I died in that machine, Jason, and I’m upset you guys accepted that.”

“Well, what the fuck else were we supposed to do?” Jason erupts, flinging his arms wide. “Fucking poke at your body until you were alive again? Wait next to your corpse in the morgue with your suit on hand, just in case you decided to wake up?”

“You could’ve at least doubted, ” Dick hisses. Jason can hear the heater still humming. The room is cold though. Bitter. “At the very least, you guys could’ve looked into it. Bruce isn’t the perfect, untouchable beast we’ve made him into. He left a trail. A trail that would have led right to the fake body he created while I was comatose. A trail that would have shown the Batmobile needing repairs it shouldn’t have needed. A trail that would have shown the documents he forged to get me into Spyral. There were so many things, Jason! So many goddamn things that would have shown you guys I wasn’t dead!”

“If you wanted to be found so badly, why didn’t you tell us?” Jason snarls, that leaking fracture in his chest pooling into his lungs. “Why didn’t you say a single word if you were so desperate for someone to notice?”

“I already told you,” Dick says quietly. “I needed to make things right. Bruce offered a way to do it and I needed that; the space, away from everything, everyone, in my life that I knew I had failed. I don’t regret it, and I am sorry it caused so much pain, but—”

Click.

“—was it really so wrong to want someone to save me?”

The leak implodes and Jason stops breathing.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

“I know it sounds ridiculous. I should be able to handle these things, but I— there was this moment where I convinced myself that none of what was happening was real and that it was all some nightmare I was watching.”

The blows had stung and burned in the way only rusted metal against bone and flesh could. His left eye was bleeding and his nose had been broken long ago. After the thirtieth strike, Jason had somehow convinced himself it wasn’t real. That he wasn’t there, in that old warehouse, and that he wasn’t some child-soldier-hero being beaten to death by a maniac who laughed and giggled at his pain. 

“When I woke up, I really believed that. I-I was so convinced and then Bruce showed up and gave me this mission and, god, Jason, how could I have ever said no? I had failed. Bruce told me I failed. ”

He remembers that sadistic clock in the corner. Silent up until the last ten seconds. It had its own little tick, a click, and it was the stupidest looking bomb Jason had ever seen, bright red and just any old alarm clock with a few extra wires. A nightmare. All just a nightmare and Jason had begged the universe for him to wake up. For someone, anyone, to save him. For Batman to come swooping in and rescue him from his stupid fucking mistakes but—

Click.

Dick breathes out, a shuttering exhale that rocks him to his core. “Spyral, the mission, everything after… It was my penance, I think. Bruce’s way of forgiving me for failing. There was just no other way, Jason. It was all I had left. I guess I had just hoped someone was still in my corner, even after fucking it all up, you know?”

He does. Jason does know with a clarity that haunts him every morning he wakes up and finds the events unchanged. There are cobwebs and old boxes inside his cavern, the place where his soul used to be, but he knows. He knows he came back wrong. That he came back different. That something inside of him was missing when he opened his eyes to mystic green and an emptiness that plagued him until he came back to Gotham; rage, fear, and a deep sadness taking up that empty space inside of him. He doesn’t know how many times he’s asked himself ‘why?’ only to ignore the answer given to him. Too many. 

And maybe Dick has asked that same question as well. Maybe he has his own cavern deep inside of him, filled with his own fragmented cobwebs and starved crates, ghosts that continue to follow his every step, and whispers that forever ring in his ears. Perhaps the dead carry memories and questions wherever they go, and perhaps that is their sole purpose. They only stay to recount and wish and want and only breach the word “if” and “maybe”. 

But they are alive now. They live. They breathe. 

Jason thought death connected himself to his elder brother, but perhaps it was the voids inside of them both that bound them together. The desperation that clung to their beings, seeking approval, seeking retribution, seeking out anything that’ll make them feel whole once more after having been stripped bare and left in the throes of Death's carriage. This was the tie that bound them together. It wasn’t Bruce. It wasn’t Robin. It wasn’t death.

It was simply the missing pieces inside of them. Brothers not by blood, but by the very nature of their search for meaning. And that was all.

“Yeah,” Jason says, the molten gravity of this answer leaving him boneless. “Okay.”

Dick stares at him with the same clear eyes he’s looked at his younger brother with since day one. Something passes behind those eyes, a shift in the monumental focus that is Dick Grayson’s ever present gaze, and the heater continues to thrum in the background, just as ubiquitous as Gotham always was and always will be for them. There was a fundamental alteration inside them both, something taken from them that can’t be replaced, and Jason feels as though he is not alone anymore. There is another presence, another existence, in his life full of betrayal that shares the same scars and the same emptiness that has captured him since the day Bruce stopped hoping for him.

“Okay?” Dick repeats quietly, and Jason can hear the echo inside his chest. “Is that all?” 

“No,” Jason murmurs, easing back into the chair he had left. “No, it’s not. But I… I can’t do more of this right now. I don’t want to.”

“I don’t either,” Dick sighs, the exhaustion from his own ordeals weighing down his shoulders and causing him to slide down the wall. “It’s— I never wanted to, Jason. You know that, right?”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. I guess- We deal with it, right?”

Jason wants to laugh. Maybe give a little less weight on his back to the warm air around them, but it sounds like a lot to do. He exhales instead, something maybe interpretable as a tired grin lifting his mouth. “Another time, then?”

Perhaps that is a statement that can’t be guaranteed nor promised. Time is scarce in their world, more so than anyone else's, but it is a scarcity they are well accustomed to. Death had departed in Its carriage, the seat left warm by their presence, but for now, they had left and that was all that really mattered. Why they left, why they need time they don’t have, why the caverns inside of them exist. All questions that have been answered before. Maybe when the sky isn’t gray, or when the rain isn’t pounding against fractured ceilings, they can begin to make amends and go from there. But the safe-house is warm.

It is warm.

“Another time.”

#dick grayson #jason todd #spyral #agent 37 #nightwing #red hood #hurt/comfort #bad things happen bingo #what have i done? #part 2 #my fic #fanfic #txt #yes there will be a part 3!! i am not leaving this unresolved- this was just another conversation i wanted them to have

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

IMAGINE: Introduction

a successful Black woman named Tatyana is living the dream. She’s married to the love of her life and has two children by him. What happens when her marriage is on the rocks? Tatyana finds solice and unimaginable dick in a drug kingpin named Erik a.k.a Killa.

Warnings: Smut, Drug Dealer!Erik, Dominant!Erik. Entanglements lmaoo, Nasty Talk.

Suggested listenings: King Von- F**k Yo Man

The most feared trap house in Grove Park ATL. The name speaks for itself. It’s a place where drug dealers peddle their poison. The biggest dealer in Grove Park of illicit drugs traps people into his business. Once you are into organized crime activities, you may find it difficult to come out of it...especially alive. Big-time drug trafficker and kingpin Erik Stevens; Daddy E or Killa, makes millions of dollars a month selling opiates such as opium, heroin, morphine and codeine; MDMA better known as ecstasy; strong stimulants such as cocaine and crack cocaine; LSD if you want to hallucinate; Xanax illegally, better known as Z-bars or Zannies, and of course weed. 

The Trap House is a bungalow style home on North Ave NW Atlanta, GA. It has a brand new front porch that overlooks a quiet corner lot in the heart of Atlanta. The outside of the single-family home is painted grey. It has a regular setting with children playing and the home is usually managed like a regular household by a middle-aged woman named Michelle, also known as the Trap Queen. She’s Killa’s godmother. Anyone who isn’t involved with the physically and psychologically hazardous activities happening within the Trap House would think it’s a standard family home. It’s all a hoax. 

Killa and his group of duffle bag boys usually come in the late-night hours during the week, every other weekend, or the third day of the month. Loud trap music blares from the home, signifying that they are working. Killa’s matte black Mercedes-Benz G Wagon with black rims is the only car he drives to work at the Trap House. The living room is simply furnished with a clean-cut black leather sectional sofa, and a wall-mounted flat screen used for surveillance of the entire home. The kitchen isn’t anything special except for the refrigerator filled with different types of Hennessy. 

The dining room is used for the dealers to play spades, dominoes, or gamble when there isn’t much to do except keep watch of the area. The main bathroom is a safe way to flush stash if need be but there was little concern for that since Killa has crooked cops in his circle. The three bedrooms all serve a purpose. The master bedroom or the Clandestine Chemistry Room is used as a drug laboratory to illegally manufacture drugs such as PCP, LSD, MDMA, Fentanyl, and Meth. The middle room has some local trap girls counting money with various bank machines and UV counterfeit detection lamps. 

The last and smallest room is the artillery room or The Heat Room. Various guns like shotguns, Uzi’s, Smith & Wesson, Taurus 9MM, GLOCK INC 9MM and .45, and Sig Sauer P938 are stored in that room. Killa makes it mandatory that the Trap House is cleaned and no traces left behind every other weekend. He has a few storage units in Atlanta where he keeps everything when shipments come in. He’s always watching his men because he wants to make sure none of them are snitching to the feds. They wouldn’t dare to anyway because they knew where their fate would end up if they did. 

Killa and the rest of the dealers were working in the Trap House on a Saturday evening. Killa is seated on his black leather sectional wearing a white beater, black and red basketball shorts, and Air Jordan 1s. He has a simple gold cross chain hanging from his neck and a gold and black Versace watch on his left wrist. Killa’s dreads are wild and tapered with the sides cut into a fade. He has bright white teeth lined with gold slugs behind his thick lips, a sinewy body covered in tattoos on his arms, chest, neck, and back, and black diamond studs in his ears. Evidently from the description of his physical appearance he’s absolutely sexy; fine; handsome; good-looking. 

Killa’s obsidian eyes are unyielding as he watches the surveillance. His dark, unruly brows furrow when he notices a figure approach the Trap House. Killa turns down the music playing from the Bluetooth speakers before grabbing his gold chrome Glock, holding it behind his back at waist level. He walked up to the door, peering through the peephole to see who it was approaching. With an annoyed grunt, Killa opens the door to find one of his dealers carrying a black and grey duffel bag most likely filled with his money. 

“Where the fuck have you been nigga?” He asked with an icy tone of voice, “you were supposed to show up a few hours ago with my money,” Killa checks the outside surroundings with a quick sweep of his eyes before opening the door wider, snatching the bag from his dealer's shoulder so harshly that the dealer’s arm was almost pulled from its socket.

“My fault, Killa, the drug deal started a little later than it was supposed to. They ain’t show up until thirty minutes after...I thought they were tryna jug me out of the deal.” 

Killa didn’t care for the explanation, all he was worried about was his money and if it was there.

“Rick, go to Stella and tell her there’s more money to count. I wanna know how much is here. Make sure she does it right too,” Killa hands Rick, his most trusted duffel bag boy and sometimes henchmen, the money.

“Keith, right?” Killa says with hard unwavering eyes and a stony face, “You got one more time to be late. If you keep that shit up working for me then these other niggas around here will try and be on that same shit too...I don’t play bout’ my drugs, and most of all I don’t play bout’ dat payola… Yen know before you decided to be in this game, nigga?” 

“Yo, Killa, I promise you, this shit won’t happen again,” He pleaded.

“Yeah, Aight, we’ll see,” Killa was standing at 6’3, “Lets take a trip to the money room.” 

Walking to the money room, Killa was greeted with ebony beauties dressed half-naked counting money. The UV of the room made their acrylic nails glow. Nothing but juicy ass and titties handling Daddy E’s money. Stella, a redbone with her bleach-blonde hair styled in six stitch braids was on the last stack of money from the duffel bag. Killa strolled over to Stella, lightly tapping her on the ass which caused her to blush and smile. 

“Hey, Daddy E. I’m almost finished,” She started up the counting machine while tapping it with her lime green stiletto nails. Once it was finished and she wrapped it in rubber bands, she allowed Killa to read the total. He felt like he was about to burst with rage. Stella made herself scarce and went to the other side of the room. Keith stood confused and from the deranged look on Killa face he knew he was in trouble. 

Killa raised a single dark brow, “You must think I’m stupid, where is the rest of my fucking money?” 

“I promise you, that’s all of it, Killa,” Keith says while fear throbbed inside of him. 

“Like I said, you think I’m a fool? Nigga...if I let you get away with this shit then other niggas will steal from me too, I’m not finna have that shit,” Killa says while chuckling, “NOW WHERE IS THE REST OF MY FUCKING MONEY AT HOMIE?!”

“What’s going on Killa?” Rick walks in holding his strap.

“I told you this nigga is wishy washy, Rick,” Killa pointed his gold chrome Glock to the amount of money, “This is counting out 95G’s I’m missing 5G’s!!!” Killa felt himself getting even madder than he was before. Rick gives Keith a dirty look before charging up to him, balling up the front of his shirt within his large hulking fist.

“WHERE IS IT?” Rick asks with clenched teeth and spit flying menacingly.

“You better get it out of him before I end this nigga life, Rick. I’m itching to use my piece on this sell out, aint kill a nigga in a grip,” Killa cocks his gun, waiting for the perfect opportunity. If he lied, he was going to die and if he told the truth he was going to die. Either way, he’s dead. 

“Didn’t you hear me ask you a question?!!! Where is Killa’s money!!!!” Rick pistol-whipped Keith, watching his lanky body fall to the floor. Killa crouched down to his level with his gold chrome gun dangling in his left hand. He gives Keith a sinister smile with eyes so vicious it made you feel like you were in the presence of the devil. 

“What’s up with my money? And don’t lie to me,”  Killa’s voice was smooth and threatening. 

It was clear that panic fueled him. Killa could see right through him. The sweat on his face, the slight tremble of his body, the way his eyelids would flicker. Killa wordlessly points his Glock to Keith’s temple so hard it left a painful indentation from the barrel. 

“I have it,” He finally says, “It’s in my car.” 

Killa sniffled with rage before standing at his full height. He shared a look with Rick before placing his gold chrome Glock in the front of his shorts causing them to hang lower on his hips. 

“Let’s take this nigga to the spot,” Killa tells Rick before walking out of the room. 

“The what?!” Keith asks with his voice numb with shock. The more he talked, the more he stroked Killa’s anger. 

“Take him out back to the Escalade, Rick, and bring PAC wit’ you too.”

“Wait!!! Wait!!!! The money is in my car!!!!” Keith yelled while Rick man-handled him to his feet by the collar of his white T-shirt causing it to rip, “I can go get it!!!! It’s all there, Killa!!! I promise you, man, it’s all there!!!!!”

“Niggas always wanna beg and plead when they about to die, shit is lame,” Killa spoke mostly to himself before entering his gun room to grab his favorite piece. 

The black Escalade was the car that Killa used for committing murder. They have a designated spot which is a dirt-covered lot that overlooks Downtown Atlanta. The lot has a mechanic shop that Killa owns which is one of the businesses to clean up a few dollars; an easy way to legitimize the dirty money from the streets. Only his circle used the mechanic shop. 

Killa sauntered out back to the parked Escalade with his Uzi. He checked the trunk to make sure everything needed to dispose of the body in such a way as to prevent, hinder, or delay discovery of the body, to prevent identification of the body, or to prevent autopsy, was there. Usually, after he murders his victims, Killa will have the bodies wrapped in heavy-duty plastic and driven out to a rural farm that he also owns to bury them. If someone were to ask him how many bodies are decaying there, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. Rick and another henchman nicknamed PAC-man carried a struggling Keith from the house and tossed him in one of the back seats of the Escalade. Rick hopped in the driver's seat, cranking up the car before pulling out into a back alley. 

“The house is getting cleaned up as we speak, Killa, here,” Rick hands him a handheld surveillance. 

“Thanks, Patna, nigga did you bring me a blunt? I forgot my shit back in the living room,” Killa says. 

“You lucky I rolled an extra one earlier,” Rick chuckled while passing Killa a freshly rolled blunt.

“Let’s get this shit over with so I can go see this broad,” Killa lights his blunt, takes a hit, and blows out smoke rings, “Aye, PAC, quiet that punk ass nigga down!!!” Killa yells over his shoulder, “Nigga crying too much...if you gotta gag that nigga do it...making my fucking ears hurt with all that bitch ass crying.” Rick and PAC-man share a laugh. 

“What broad you seeing anyway, Patna?” Rick asks. 

“Nicki,” Killa French inhaled the smoke while keeping his eyes on the rearview mirror. 

“The bitch who’s mama you selling crack to? Explain this shit because I’m lost.” 

Killa laughs, “For the record, I didn’t even know that was her mama until I saw both of them leaving Church’s Chicken. Anyway, she knows her mama is still smoking rocks...last time I had to check that old bitch,” Killa spits outside of the car window before licking his full lips. 

“Fuck, was she the one that came by the Trap House on Monday night?” Rick makes a left turn. 

“Bitch came banging on the door, Rick,” Killa shakes his head while stroking his goatee, “Begging me for some more crack. I told her old ass that she owes me 200 dollars for the crack I gave her a week ago...I only did that shit because Nicki didn’t have it to pay for it...why did this dry pussy bitch get down on her knees begging to suck my dick for some crack?!” Killa kisses his teeth, “I told her to take her ol’ ass off my porch before I put my foot in her. She ain’t getting no more from me until I get my money.” 

“Why don’t you just drop Nicki? That’s some wack ass drama, Killa, you know you don’t need that shit,”  Rick finally pulls into the dirt lot of the mechanic shop after a ten-minute ride. 

“The pussy is so damn good…” Killa left it at that. Nicki was Killa’s on-again, off-again booty call. She was the only girl that could match his freaky, that was before he met Tatyana. Saving the rest of the conversation for another day, Killa grabs his Uzi from between his legs before exiting the Escalade. He puts out his weed before placing it in his pocket. Rick and PAC-man grab the traitor from the back of the car, dragging him in the dirt before dropping him face-first about six feet away from Killa. 

“Aight, bring this nigga to his feet...face forward sneak nigga!!” Killa commanded before pointing his Uzi to the dealer's body, “There you go,” Killa congratulates Keith sarcastically, “Hold your chin up, Rick, grab his keys and wallet.” 

Rick cleans out his pockets before pushing him with his Nike boot covered foot. Keith stumbled while staring at the Uzi in Killa’s hand. He didn’t dare move. 

“Yeah...be a man and die right here like the rest of em’ you wanna steal from me? My money?” Killa spoke with squinted eyes and a tilt of his head, “I’m about to leave you layin’ where you standing.” 

Rick and PAC-man chuckle when they notice Keith wetting his pants. The dirt beneath his feet turned damp. 

“Ah, shit,” Killa laughs, “This nigga is pissing his pants…” Killa aims his Uzi for Keith’s left shoulder and shoots him. Keith screams with agony, clutching his shoulder. Killa shoots him in the hand that covered his shoulder. He paused again so that he could watch the mixture of pain and fear in Keith’s eyes. Maybe he was a sick, twisted individual for that but he thoroughly enjoyed watching his victims suffer before he really put their lights out. 

“Damn, I bet that shit burn,” Killa shoots him in his stomach, watching him fall to his knees, “Open your mouth, bitch, let that blood out,” Killa fired off two rounds in his chest, “you dip into my bag I kill you,” with those last words, Killa blasted Keith in his head between his eyes like the middle of a dart board. 

____________________

Tatyana Parham-Narvaez, a successful black business woman in Atlanta is best known for her line of intimate products and three luxury spa locations titled Tatyana’s Getaway. Tatyana’s Getaway boasts a fun yet relaxing environment that does not lose its chic and classic aesthetic. She believes that the overall experience is just as important as the quality of service that you receive. Licensed Esthetician,designer and Humanitarian, Tatyana holds yearly fundraisers to support other black owned businesses in Atlanta and also low income communities with food, beverages, clothing, and school supplies. 

Tatyana has cat-like mink brown eyes fringed with long lashes, cinnamon skin silken and glowing, a dainty nose with a ring, moist lush lips, a TWA with thick, dark brown spirals, short with generous curves, and a dulcet voice. She’s adventurous, some would consider that rebellious because she craves her freedom and can come off as quite the difficult ‘nesting partner’. She can be naive which explains her optimism, and she’s very independent. Tatyana never saw herself getting married but she found the love of her life just two years ago. His name is Carlos Narvaez and he’s an ex-convict turned businessman. Carlos Narvaez is a Party Promoter and famous Jeweler who moved from Miami to Atlanta five years prior. Los Ice and Gold is the place to go for many Atlanta rappers. 

Tatyana and Carlos first met each other at a mutual friends' album release party. It was his way with words, that dazzled her just like the ice around his neck and wrists. Usually, Tatyana would go for a much taller and more chiseled man but it was the way he articulated his words; bewitching her out of her panties, not to mention his beautiful smile and whiskey colored eyes. Carlos was the first man to ever sweep her off her feet with his mind rather than his dick. Carlos and Tatyana got married in Puerto Rico and just a year later they had a baby boy; Carlos Jayden Narvaez Jr, and soon after a baby girl; Nayelis Genesis Narvaez. Tatyana and her family live in Lawrenceville, GA, just 45 minutes outside of Atlanta. It’s a brick front suburban home with a driveway and a garage, four bedrooms and three bathrooms, a large family kitchen and dining area, a cozy living room, furnished basement, and a yard fit for summer occasions with a pool. 

As sweet and loving as it looks from the outside, Tatyana’s marriage is troubled. Carlos and Tatyana bicker a great deal; escalating out of control and into screaming matches, they don’t talk to one another about their problems and feelings, there is inequality between both of them concerning gender roles and decision making, and the level of sexual intimacy in their marriage is low or there isn't any at all. Since both of them are always so busy, Carlos Jr. and Nayelis spend more time at Tatyana’s parents' home than their own on weekdays. Although she has given birth to 2 children and married “the love of her life,” she still finds herself stepping out of her mundane life to mess with Erik. He’s EVERYTHING her mother warned her about—dangerous, doesn’t give a fuck, liable to shoot now and ask questions later yet is so damn enticing/addicting. 

Tatyana grew up in Bankhead,one of the places where Erik a.k.a Killa trafficked drugs. Tatyana’s baby sister, Tia, lives in Bankhead with her baby father and 8-month-old son named Demitri. From what Tatyana gathered about Erik when she saw him pull up in his matte black Mercedes Benz G Wagon is that he’s hood rich and he cares about his people. When Tatyana was leaving Tia’s home, Erik was talking to Miss Shay, Tatyana’s old babysitter, on her front porch. He was holding a white foam cup in his hand, and he was wearing a black beater with dark wash denim jeans and some black and white Jordan 1s on his feet. 

——————————————-

(Flashback) 

“Tati! Is that you?!”  Miss Shay yelled from across the street. She waved one slender and frail hand at Tatyana. Tatyana was still in her formal work attire; black pencil skirt, fitted peach colored blouse, and black peekaboo Christian Louboutin pumps. She walked across the street to Miss Shay, taking off her Fendi sunglasses and placing them within her Christian Louboutin black embellished clutch. 

“Miss Shay! Wow! You look amazing, you haven’t changed at all!!” Tatyana gives the elderly woman a gentle hug before kissing her cheek. She still wore that Sweet Honesty perfume by Avon. Miss Shay was known for being the Avon lady in Bankhead. 

“Me?! Child, look at you!” Miss Shay laughs before coughing slightly. Tatyana guesses that she is still smoking cigarettes, “Still just as pretty as ever! I was talking to Tia the other day about you, wondering how you were. It’s good to see you, Erik, do you remember Tatyana from daycare?” 

“Nah, auntie,” Erik says before taking a sip from his white foam cup, “I would have remembered shawty, trust me,” He brings the cup to his lips again, the gold watch on his wrist catching Tatyana’s eye. His stance was wide, shoulders squared, and brows furrowed slightly while his obsidian eyes never left Tatyana’s face for one second. 

“I was pretty quiet back then, and I didn’t like playing with the boys,” Tatyana says before blinking her eyes away from Erik. He’s attractive. Tatyana stole another glance, allowing her mink brown eyes to regard him from head to toe. Very attractive. The body art made his sinewy body appear more defined. She never knew a neck tattoo would look so good on a man. It’s a spade with a skull in the middle surrounded by shaded roses. She could feel his rugged energy and it made her shudder.

“That’s cuz y’all couldn’t keep up wit’ us, baby,” He laughs and it was so smooth and sexy. He must have a habit of licking his lips like LL Cool J, “And I liked picking on y’all quiet girls back then, I bet you say I don’t know a lot,” He smiles and the dimples blew her away, “I don’t know, maybe” he mocked with a sweet voice. 

“Jokes!!” Tatyana fought hard not to crack a smile but her lush lips turned up and her cheeks puffed out. Her laugh was a pleasant falsetto, “And you don’t know me like that so don’t come for me...Erik, right?” Tatyana says with an audacious tone. 

“Erik, leave Tati alone, please,” Miss Shay spoke with a stringent tone. Tatyana giggles, she can remember that tone of voice like it was yesterday when she was seven years old, “Tati, how are the children?”

“They’re fine, Carlos Jr. will be two in about four months, Nayelis will be seven months.” 

“I need a picture of them Tati!!! Erik bought me a cell phone, he’s been teaching me how to answer video calls and such.” 

“That’s so sweet,” Tatyana gives Erik a respectful gaze, “Well, let’s exchange numbers, Miss Shay, and I can send you some photos today.” 

“Oh! Let me go get my phone,” Miss Shay grabs the railing to her steps, pushing up onto her feet. Erik opens her screen door, making sure to watch her walk inside so she doesn’t trip and fall. 

“Careful, auntie, don’t trip over that part,” Erik was referring to the cracked concrete of her top step, “I thought I called somebody to come fix that? These motherfuckers man,” His irritation crackled, “You broke your toe because of that fucking step, ima give them a call when I leave.”

“Erik, calm down, don’t go roughing those damn people up because of a step.”

Erik closes the screen door behind Miss Shay. 

“She broke her toe?” Tatyana asks with concern. 

“Yeah, like five months ago. I’ve been coming to check up on her to make sure she's good. Dats my auntie right there, she means the world to me.” 

“I don’t know why I can’t remember you,” Tatyana says while her forehead creased in thought. 

“It’s cool, shawty, don’t stress your pretty head,” his eyes shot down to Tatyana’s matte brown lips, “Damn...you got some sexy ass lips.” 

“Excuse me?” Tatyana asks with a high-pitched tone. 

“Your lips, they're sexy. You got a man?” 

“I have a HUSBAND,” Tatyana clarified with a flippant tone. 

“Oooh, okay,” Erik held his hands up in surrender with a grin on his face, “You ain’t gotta get all mouthy on a nigga...my guess is he doesn’t know how to correct you.” 

“My guess is you have a habit of being in people’s business, Erik,” Tatyana spoke boldly, “and don’t no man correct me.”

“When I want to, yeah, I’ll make it my business. You’re feisty ain’t you?...how is ‘Hubby’ treating you Miss Tati?” 

Tatyana couldn’t believe the boldness of him. He didn’t waste any time trying to get at her. To be honest, Erik is the finest man she’s ever seen and that’s coming from a married woman. He didn’t need to know that, his head is already too big.

“None of your concern, Sir,” Tatyana shakes her head, laughing lightly. 

“I’m making it my concern though. Hubby doing what he’s supposed to? My guess is he’s not.” 

“Boy,” Tatyana rolled her eyes. Miss Shay was taking way too long to grab her cell phone. 

“Boy? Do I look like a boy?” He spoke harshly, “don’t be talking to me like you crazy Lil mama.” 

“I am crazy, but you don’t know me, remember?” Tatyana wasn’t about to hold her tongue with some hood ass, narcissistic motherfucker. 

“Yeah, I want you to keep that in mind and fix that shit before I fix you out here,” he warned her. 

“You ain’t fixing shit, who the fuck are you to be talking to me like that?” Tatyana was in disbelief. 

“You ain’t know?” He spoke arrogantly, “They call me Killa around here, ma,” he lowered his voice to a seductive lilt, “But you can call me Daddy E if you want, it’s up to you.” He says with a half-smirk. 

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Tatyana puts her Fendi sunglasses back on, “Can you tell Miss Shay that I had to run? I’ll just get her number from my sister Tia.”

“I’ll let her know,” Erik sips from his cup again, his eyes focused on Tatyana’s plush booty and shapely legs, “Now that I know Tia is your sister I’ll definitely be checking for you.”

“BYE, Killa,” Tatyana chucked up the deuces to Erik before entering her all-white Bentley. 

___________________________

 Erik was freshly showered and wearing a plain black T-shirt with a pair of G-Star relaxed fit black shorts and black Armani slides. There was a knock on the front door of his luxury Condo in Buckhead. The warm and stylish condo features a gourmet kitchen, three covered terraces, two bedrooms, and three bathrooms; one bathroom is a master bathroom with a side-entry shower. There is a wide-open living room that connects with his dining room. The building included an on-site lounge, a gym with views, and a palm-studded pool deck, and a spacious hot tub. 

Erik was only expecting one person tonight; Nicki. Nicole Brown a.k.a Nicki is Erik’s frequent fuck buddy. She’s slim-thick with round cognac eyes, thinly arched brows like Megan Good, golden skin with raised freckles on her face, heart-shaped lips with a gap between her teeth, and a full head of thick, voluminous 4B curls. She can be self-centered, and stubborn. Nicki hates being ignored and not being treated like she’s in the first place. There had been many occasions where Erik had to put Nicki in her place. It was strictly sex between them both...only sex. Erik hadn’t seen Nicki in a week and the girl was blowing his phone up with at least ten calls a day. He was about to stretch her little pussy wide the fuck open on his daddy dick, got to teach um they place so they can remember, he says. 

“Well? Can I come in, Daddy E,” Nicki says with a honeyed tone. The pink gloss on her lips matched her pink tongue and Erik couldn’t wait to stuff his pipe down her throat. 

“Hurry up,” Erik opened the door wider so Nicki could walk inside. She’s wearing a pair of little black stretchy shorts, a hot pink bandeau, and a pair of black mules on her feet. She has her toes and nails painted with baby blue gel polish on purpose because she knows how much Erik loves blue against her skin. 

“What have you been doing the past week,” Nicki takes off her shoes by the door, “I’m tired of you ignoring me, Erik. I missed you like crazy, you can’t be doing that,” Nicki threw her arms around Erik’s shoulders before kissing his thick lips, “mmm...minty,” She smiles.

“Don’t get too excited, we gotta talk first,” Erik removes her arms from around his shoulders, “did you want something to drink?”

“Nah, I’m good...what are we talking about?” Nicki takes a seat on his couch, “I have to talk to you as well...so my mom tells me that you threatened her? Fuck is going on with that?”

“You’re hella bipolar, didn’t you just walk in here telling me you missed me?”

“I did, and I still do, daddy, but you and I have a problem. She told me you threatened to kick her in the ass on Monday, E.”

“Did she?” Erik makes himself a small glass of Hennessy before joining Nicki on the couch. He takes a seat away from her, resting his back in the corner of the sectional couch, “did she tell you why I threatened her?”

“Doesn’t matter, THAT'S my mom, Erik. I know she’s going through some shit but don’t do that, I will kill you,” Nicki mouthed off. 

“You’ll kill me? With what? These hands?” Erik grabs Nicki’s small hands, laughing at how little she is compared to him, “you can’t even wrap your hand around my neck fully so cut that shit out.” 

“Whatever, asshole, DON'T threaten my mom again,” Nicki jabbed her finger into Erik’s solid chest, “Now you owe me...I want my pussy ate from the back.” 

“Hm,” Erik brings his face closer to Nicki’s, “Did your momma tell you that she got down on her knees, begging to suck my dick?”

“...what?” Nicki’s eyes glanced at his lips.

“She came banging on the door to my Trap House, pleading to suck my dick for some more crack...what you got to say now, shawty? I don’t hear you talkin’ back.”

Nicki swallows spit, before letting out a ragged breath, “She didn’t tell me all that...She’s been staying with my aunt to get better…”

“Next time, I think you need to get all the facts before you come up in my place getting buck with me,” Erik spoke with a raw voice so close to her face that his nose was touching her cheek, “And you know what happens when you get buck with me, Nicki...shut yo ass up when you talking all that shit...told yo ass I ain’t nothing like these other niggas, bitch, I don’t play that shit.” 

“I’m sorry, Erik-

“fuck your throat till I’m done...I don’t stop...you know I keep going.” 

“I won’t do it again-

“You will because daddy’s dick is yo favorite...you love sucking this big black dick...get my dick nice and wet...giving me all that good sloppy top like the freak hoe you are...telling me I’m yo favorite thug nigga while you suck on my nuts…”

“Fuck,” Nicki turned so she could face Erik fully. Her nose brushed against his broad one and the tickle of it shot straight to her phat clit. 

“Then you blowing up my phone all week like you ain’t got no damn sense,” Erik looks her up and down with eyes so ominous they made Nicki shiver, “Calling me ten times a fucking day...I hit you back when I’m ready, this my last time telling you, ma, hear me?”

Nicki nods her head before quickly saying, “Yes, Daddy E.” 

“I ain’t have this pussy in a week...she's still super soaker wet?” Erik’s hand found its way between Nicki’s thighs, stroking her pussy, “I can feel that clit poking...that phat ass clit...you only want me to eat it from the back because I suck it good from that angle.”

“Damn...I miss your fingers on my pussy,” Nicki spoke with a serene voice. 

“I miss that juicy mouth on my dick,” Erik roughly spreads Nicki’s thighs so he could see her pussy lips sitting nice and plump, “Big pussy on a tiny girl...I love that shit…”

“I need you,” Nicki says with her glossy cognac eyes filled with lust. 

“Not before I get my dick sucked you don’t,” Erik stands up, undoing his shorts, bringing them down to rest around his ankles. He purposely left his Armani briefs on so she could see his thick print jump. It pulsated and pulsated. His wide glans was peeking at her from the bottom of his briefs. Nicki has to pick her jaw up off of the floor. She had that huge black dick buried in her pussy so many times before and yet she still couldn’t believe he was packing that much thickness and length. 

“You need me? Suck this daddy dick,” He points to his crotch that he was blessed with. Nicki scoots over so that she’s seated perfectly in front of him before grabbing the waistband of his briefs, pulling them down so they could rest around his ankles with his shorts, “I need your lips to show my throbbing dick how much you appreciate every inch of me…” 

Nicki grabs Erik’s dick in her hand. She moves it up and down...up and down...then she sticks her tongue out to lick his slit. Nicki’s tongue wiggles slowly while her cognac eyes blinked up at Erik innocently. 

“Stop playing and put this dick in your mouth,” Erik says.

“This big dick right here?” Nicki uses her tongue to circle the tip of Erik’s dick. 

“Nicki...stop playing with me,” Erik’s fingers tangled around her thick hair and he yanked it hard enough to extend her neck so that she could look at him, “And you can drop that good girl act you know when you see this dick all of that goes straight out the fucking window.”

Erik was reminded of how much of a nasty bitch Nicki is. Nicki spits on Erik’s dick before taking him halfway into her mouth and sucking him with just the power of her jaw muscles. She started making those nasty, loud slurping sounds that Erik loves. Nicki grabs Erik’s balls to massage them before using her lips to slurp along the sides of his lengthy dick. 

“Fuckkkkkkkkk,” Nicki relished in the squelching sound of Erik’s spit covered dick in her hand while she jerked him slowly. She knew that he wanted her to swallow all of him but Nicki wanted him to make her do it. 

“This dick is thick and heavy, Daddy.”

“Oh yeah? It likes being sucked too,” Erik takes his dick in his hand, “so why don’t you hop on that and stop playing, girl.” 

“Or what? What?” 

“I’ll just make you...open yo’ mouth.” 

“Make me like you said you would,” Nicki says with a sly grin. Erik takes his thumb to rub Nicki’s bottom lip before dragging his hand down past her chin to grasp her throat with enough pressure to remind her of who is in charge. 

“I need good head right now and I need you to focus...give me yo’ fucking throat.” 

Erik slapped his dick on Nicki’s lips and she opened up for him, sticking her tongue all the way out graciously. Erik’s dick slid right in easily and with both of his hands holding her head in place Erik moved Nicki’s head back and forth. He watched his dick disappear between her glossy pink lips until his hands moved away from her head and Nicki was sucking all of him on her own. 

“Looks like you don’t wanna stop...I don’t wanna let you stop...sucking the life outta me...suck all that dick...yeahhhh just like that...you’re into that I see why you called me ten times a day…” 

“Mhmmmmmm,” Nicki’s eyes never left Erik’s and the eye contact made her mouth just as wet as her pussy. Nicki drooled all over Erik’s dick and the spit covered her chest, staining her bandeau top. 

“Suck that dick bitch, I bet you wish this was a daily thing for you...no matter where we are...If you enjoy it like you say you do be a slut and suck this dick whenever I tell you to.” 

Erik’s words excited Nicki. She knew it was in the heat of the moment because her sloppy head was making his dick swell but the thought of waking up with Erik’s dick in her mouth was a world she wanted to live in. Looking up into his fine ass face reminded her of how much she really REALLY wanted Erik to make her his girl. He kept talking that nasty shit to her and it made her take her fingers covered in her spit to rub her clit. 

“Nah, don’t get distracted, I got too much dick to not be getting it sucked...Mhm, you see that dick getting fatter? that’s cuz daddy is about to bust...all that fucking nut? don’t waste my shit, Nicki, don’t be wasting my shit bitch! FUCK!” Erik grabs his dick to slap it on Nicki’s tongue. His cum spurted out in thick streams. Nicki wrapped her lips around Erik’s dick, “get all that nut the fuck out bitch.” 

Nicki finished emptying him before licking her lips clean. She sat back on the couch with her face gleaming with saliva. Nicki turned around, arching her back and started twerking in her little shorts. Erik’s hands reached down to play with her ass while she bounced it for him. His fingers then start to rub her pussy from the back. Nicki starts thrusting her hips back against Erik while whining for attention. 

“I know what you need, baby, you know nobody’s mouth is nastier than mine. Who sucks on that pussy the best?”

“Daddy E,” Nicki moaned. 

“Who gets all that nut out?” Erik pulls Nicki’s shorts down to reveal that she isn’t wearing any panties. 

“You do, Daddy,” Nicki hissed when her pussy finally became exposed to the cool air, “my pussy is so damn wet.” 

“I’m looking at this fat, creamy pussy now...all that dripping from your pussy...and that clit…” Erik takes his thumb to stroke Nicki’s phat clit, “ima make you cum all over my thick dick.” 

“Please,” Nicki reaches beneath her to hold her pussy lips open, “Daddy, please suck on my pussy...please…”

Erik got down on his knees and buried his face in Nicki’s pussy. His tongue lapped and cleaned up all her cream before sucking on her phat clit from behind. Erik spreads her cheeks so he could have more space to lick her asshole too. Nicki’s pussy was fitting in Erik’s mouth so good that it made him thrust his hips like he was fucking her. He just knew the tip of his dick was leaking pre-cum. He was eating that sloppy, juicy pussy. 

“Daddy, yes, clean this pussy up and make some more,” Nicki licks her lips, “Oh, daddy, fuck yeah, oh, daddy, yes, right there, I’m gonna cum, yes, fuckkkkk, daddy, oh my God, daddy keep sucking,” Nicki shouts, “FUCK IM CUMMING!!!” 

Erik kisses her clit before using his tongue to fuck her pussy and asshole, alternating back and forth. Nicki didn’t know what to do with herself. One minute, Erik’s tongue is in her pussy and the next minute it’s wiggling in her tight ass. 

“Oh, shit,” Nicki could feel the sensation to cum creeping over her body again, “oooooo daddy you always eat my pussy so good!!!”

Erik helped Nicki get through her orgasm with rough spanking to her ass. His dick was painfully hard and as much as he loved slurping on Nicki’s phat clit he needed to bury all ten inches of his big black dick inside of her. Grabbing his jeans, Erik pulls out a magnum, opening it with his teeth before taking the condom and rolling it over his dick. Erik stood up while bending his knees slightly since Nicki is much shorter than him.

“You know what time it is, ma, keep this ass up so I can fuck you good, give you exactly what you deserve.” 

Nicki held her arched position, pushing her hips higher so she could provide a good angle for Erik.

“Got this pretty pussy with all this fat ass for daddy to pound deep and hard…” Eriks hips retreated back , and forth as he found her entrance . His tip felt that warm slippery wet hole and he eased himself in, just enough to hear those sweet little gasps and pants from her. Nicki reached behind her to grasp Erik’s upper thigh. He always expected that because of his generous size. 

“Aight, ma, ima put the rest of this dick in. Bite the couch if you need to,” Erik spoke casually. Erik slammed into Nicki hard, resulting in a huge slap from his pelvis against her plump booty. When he did it again her head flew back in bliss. He gave her another stroke, much harder than before. Nicki’s entire body from her head down to her toes felt that pressure and it caused her head to slump forward against the couch. 

“Yeah, daddy got that ass now...this what you like? All this dick in you? Fix your arch, Nicki,” Nicki’s mouth drew wide open and she looked back at Erik. Erik invaded her tight wetness, reaching every spot that needed to be stroked. Hitting every itch that had been yearning to be touched. Erik fucked her hard and steady. It was the rhythm of his toned hips knocking into her that shocked Nicki every single time. His back muscles flexed when his arms reached forward to grab the back of the couch. Nicki felt like this was the only man that could control her body as if he practiced it. His thick pole hit a spongy spot of pleasure inside of her. It felt so damn fucking good that Nicki started throwing her hips back, fucking him. Nicki started moaning uncontrollably, so honest that her body practically did it for her each time. 

“Fuck this dick! Take this shit!” Erik says all the while fucking Nicki himself, “I see you keeping this dick nice and slippery for me…”

“Mmm, daddy, you got me shaking and tightening all over that dick,” Nicki says between heavy sobs. 

“I love when your pussy tells me I'm doing a good job...you got more for me?” Erik pushes himself all the way inside until his balls slapped her clit, “dropping this dick in that big pussy?”

“Fucck..... show me who’s daddy,” Nicki could feel Erik hitting the bottom of her pussy with the tip of his dick and he wasn’t slowing down. Erik brings one leg up to rest his foot on the couch before grabbing Nicki’s hips. He started really plowing her pussy; plowing it so damn good that Nicki started sounding like someone went at her throat with a cheese grater. Her ass was bouncing like a ball against him. Nicki wailed and Erik could feel the smooth ridges of her vaginal walls ripple along the broad shaft of his dick. 

“Shit, I feel it coming, baby!!!!!!” Nicki’s ass ricocheted off of Erik before she went stiff, her thighs caving in like she was crippled. Her creamy orgasm oozed from her pussy and dripped to his couch. It was beautiful watching Nicki’s pussy cum. He could only imagine the overwhelming sensation she must be experiencing to cum on a thick dick. 

“Wow, look at this juicy pussy,” Erik slows down before stopping completely, his dick slipping from her snug pussy and resting between her inner lips. The sound effects her wet pussy made when the tip of his dick stroked her labia caused Erik to bite down on his pouty bottom lip so hard it stung. His eyes glinted with desire when he saw how Nicki glazed his dick.

“Come clean up all this mess, girl,” The corners of his mouth turned up and then a stream of hisses followed. Nicki slurped all of her sticky cream from Erik’s dick. She showed him her cum covered tongue before licking her lips. Erik needed to bust a nut now, hard and urgent. Taking a seat on the couch, Erik forcefully slaps Nicki’s ass, soundlessly telling her that she needs to slam that pussy on his dick froggystyle. Nicki’s weak limbs shook out of control when she positioned herself over Erik’s fat ass dick. 

“What you waiting on? Ride that fucking dick,” Erik pointed to his dick, “you see how you got my shit standing up? You better get on this dick and make me bust.”

Nicki guides Erik’s dick back to her overworked entrance before she finally lowered herself over him. Erik’s hands automatically grabbed each ass cheek so that he could have something to hold onto when he fucked her himself. Nicki started working just the tip of his dick, a constant whimper coming from her mouth. 

“Where is the rest of that phat pussy? Ride the fuck outta me, Nicki...my nuts are so goddamn tight,” Erik tugged on his sack, “Lil ass bought to have me explode up in this bitch.” 

“Shitttttttttttt, whew!!!!!!” Nicki finally takes all of him. She sat still while Erik’s hands still cupped her ass cheeks. 

“Just like that, girl, keep going,” Erik started pumping his hips, “All I need you to do right now is make this big ass dick cum.” 

“Fuck,” Nicki squeezes Erik’s shoulders and then with whatever strength she has left, Nicki started bouncing her pussy up and down Erik’s dick. The sound effects of her pussy increased with the speed of her strokes. With no warning, Erik started force feeding Nicki his fat dick. It was a good thing he had a grip on her ass because she allowed all of her body weight to fall forward against him. 

“Gotta get up in it...DEEP...know what I’m saying?” He spoke nonchalantly like he wasn’t making Nicki cry above him. He didn’t expect her to answer him, not with all his dick in her stomach. 

“Damn, fuck, shit, Oooh,” Nicki’s body started shaking and then as if a pipe burst she began to cum all in Erik’s lap, “FUUUUCK! Okay, baby, okay!!! Shit!!” 

Erik wasn’t listening, his dick was trying to drill a new slippery hole in her pussy. Erik’s dick was all up in her to get to that perfect spot where he knows that every inch of his fat dick is stuffing her. He was afraid that the more he thrust against her cervix that the condom would break. Easing up a bit, Erik grabs Nicki’s hips and starts moving her up and down his dick instead. His head fell back to rest against the couch while his narrow eyes watched the blissful expression on her face. Nicki held onto Erik’s wrists and her bandeau top slid down to rest around her slender waist. 

“You’re about to make me leak all in this rubber...ahhh fuck, yeah, you like this dick baby...you love being daddy’s nasty little fucking slut...yeah, ahhhhh, fuck...get on this dick, bitch, sit on this fat-fucking-dick, ride that fucking dick...ride this fat dick until I fucking cum…” Erik’s dick became so robust and rock-hard that Nicki began to scream from how vast his dick was making her pussy, “Fuckkkk, Nicki, you finna make me bust, girl, shittttttttt,” Erik’s hips left the couch and his toes curled. He filled that magnum to the brim. Nicki’s pussy damn near pranced from his dick and she was on her knees, between his athletically built thighs, waiting for her reward. 

Nicki removed Erik’s condom, his cum overflowing his dick from his wide tip all the way down to the base. Nicki strokes her hair back before using only her tongue to clean him up. This was routine, Erik didn’t need to remind her what to do. His dick was only covered in her greedy saliva now. Nicki picks up the condom, tipping it over in her mouth and squeezing the remnants of his cum out like a tube of toothpaste. Erik lightly chuckles, he loved how cum hungry Nicki is. 

“You taste so good...I could drink you,” Nicki stands before walking away with a dramatic switch of her hips to toss the condom in the trash. Erik sits up, his elbows resting on his kneecaps. He used his right hand to shake out his dreads. He was going to need to disinfect his couch. He could feel his sweat between his muscular ass cheeks. Grabbing his glass whiskey 

tumbler, Erik takes a sip of his Hennessy to quench his thirst. Nicki smiles while tipping her head down slightly. She loved the way Erik looked after sex, sweaty and undomesticated. Nicki makes herself comfortable on Erik’s couch, her knees to her chest and thighs wide open. Erik drew his lower lip between his teeth and furrowed his brows at her. 

“What?” She asked with genuine confusion. 

“You know it’s time for you to go, right?” Erik stated in a straightforward tone of voice, “I only let you spend the night that one time because it was 3 AM and I was too damn faded to take yo’ ass home.” 

“You’re such a Goddamn asshole. I just want my pussy ate again and I’ll be on my way,” Nicki spreads her pussy lips to reveal her pink center, “Candy coated and ready to be licked...don’t you wanna?”

“You know I like that sweet little pussy but I got a busy day tomorrow, ma. As tempting as that phat clit is...I gotta pass,” Erik settles back against his couch lazily.

“Not even a little lick?” Nicki begged.

“Not even a tiny taste, girl, next time though,” Erik closed his eyes and began to yawn. Nicki was staring all in his grill at his gold canines. 

“Fine. I have an interview tomorrow for this CNA certificate program so I need to rest anyway,” Nicki grabs her little stretchy black shorts from the floor, “When should I call you for some more dick, daddy?”

“I’ll hit you up,” Erik helps Nicki by lifting her bandeau over her small, round breasts, “the next few days I got a shipment of supplies coming in and I’m gonna be really busy. Don’t worry, I gotchu.”

“We’ll see,” Nicki fluffs out her hair before standing from the couch, “Are you gonna escort me to the door?” Nicki says with attitude. 

“Stop tripping,” Erik kisses his teeth, standing at his full height, grabbing a short Nicki around her waist before giving her a chaste kiss, “Why all that attitude? You know that shit don’t even mean nothing.” 

“Whatever, I’m mad at you,” Nicki jabbed her pointer finger lightly against Erik’s right dimple. She allowed Erik to walk her to the door with his arm still wrapped around her petite waist. Finally at his door, Erik opens it, shielding his nude body so nobody can see him. Nicki turned towards him, flipping him off before making her way to the elevators. She made a sour face at him one final time before jabbing the down arrow button. 

“Fix your pretty face,” Erik gives her a final air kiss, “I’ll hit you soon. Keep that pussy wet.”

Nicki couldn’t help but to blush at the last minute before the elevator doors closed. A wide smile was plastered to her face the whole ride down and butterflies were in her stomach. She felt like a teenager all over again, only this time she was getting dick. The elevator dinged and Nicki was back in the lobby, she walked along the tile flooring, passing all the paintings that lined the walls and the calming and soothing ambience of the blue and brown interior design. Nicki was just about to push open the commercial double glass doors when a woman with short chocolate ringlets dressed in a fitted, strapless, black maxi dress and black Birkenstocks with a cream Christian Louboutin tote bag in her left hand almost smacked her in the face with the door. 

“My fault, girl,” She spoke with an apologetic tone, “I left my damn glasses in the car...excuse my blindness.”

Nicki gives her a polite smile followed by a light laugh. Her smile faded when she noticed the woman’s red-rimmed mink brown eyes are glossy, “It’s cool, sis, from blind girl to blind girl, I get it,” Nicki noticed the look of confusion on her face so she pointed to her left eye, “Contacts.”

“Ah,” She smiles pleasantly, the warmth in it causing Nicki to smirk, “My mind is all over the place...pretty mules by the way,” The pretty cinnamon skinned woman complimented while walking away. 

“Thank you! I was just about to say the same about that bag on your arm,” Nicki admired it enviously.

“Thanks,” She stroked it, “My fault about the door, girl, have a good rest of your night.”

“Ain’t no thang, and you do the same,” Nicki gives her one final polite farewell before she turns to leave the lobby. 

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#Erik Killmonger #killmonger smut #killmonger imagine #killmonger x oc #nahimjustfeelingit-writes

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Bio-Terrorism

The gaping maw was the most imposing location on the entire planet of Savan VI. 

Since the dawn of Gillden’s civilization it had been an almost holy place for their people. A place that judgement was cast upon the accused and should they be found wanting their bodies would be cast into the bottomless hole and their memory erased from existence; a fitting end for those whose crimes were monstrous enough. 

As the ages had passed and the Gillden’s had become more technologically advanced building was built around the maw which became known as the “Hall of Justice” while the surrounding area became known as the government district of the world. While more modern facilities were built as the Gillden entered the galactic stage they still held to their old beliefs and still held trial for their most severe crimes at the maw. 

Criminals were led into the hall from a narrow walkway to a grav unit podium in the center of the room. As the accused reached the podium the walkway would retract leaving the accused on the floating island of the podium while being observed by those around them held aloft on similar grav unit benches and stands. 

In the event the accused was found guilty the podium they stood upon would slowly tilt sideways until flipping upside down and casting the guilty into the gaping maw below. Before righting itself again for the next case.

The hall of justice today was a chorus of hushed voices; its occupants speaking in hushed tones, eyes darting at the nearest sound louder than a whisper. 

The Arbitrator General sat atop a large stand opposite the podium slowly going over papers strewn across his desk.His thin fingers slowly turned each page with the dexterity of a archaeologist handling the find of a century, the thin strands of his hair being casually flicked out of the way more by reflex rather than conscious action. 

Finally having read enough, the Arbitrator gave a subtle nod and the doors to the hall opened opposite him. 

A lone figure was shoved forward through the door and fell to their knees. They wore the grey garments of a prisoner of Saran VI yet they themselves were not Gillden.

The human stood to their feet unsteadily and after a moments hesitation continued walking along the gangway to the podium. 

“Prisoner 47893″ the Arbitrator spoke as the human reached the podium and the gangway retracted. “You stand accused of crimes against the Gillden people. How do you plead?” 

Shielding their eyes with their right hand the human took in their surroundings for the first time. They saw the faces of the Arbitrator and the onlookers all watching them with their crimson eyes. It was like being watched by demons in the dead of night waiting for the campfire to die out. 

“Not guilty.”

The onlookers raised their voices in uproar at the humans words, waving their fists and some even trying to hit them with thrown objects. 

“SILENCE!” 

The Arbitrator’s voice was deafening and the onlookers fell silent like school children. 

“The prisoners stance is recorded. Accuser, you may begin.”

One of the onlookers stepped out of the benches and on to a separate platform that drifted towards the center of the room. 

“Noble Gilldren’s,” they began as their platform slowly spun in place so the Accuser could see all of the onlookers, “I have come here before you, to our most holy sight, to prove that this human is a monster beyond all recognition.”

The Accuser pointed at the human with what the human thought was meant to be an intimidating star but if stares could kill than this Accuser’s was about as deadly as a water pistol. 

Pulling up a data pad, the Accuser hit several runes and large hologram display panels appeared overhead. “State your name for the record.”

“Silva Torris.” the human spoke. 

“What is your profession Ms. Torris?” 

“I am a biochemist.” 

“And what does a biochemist  do?”

Silva cocked her head to the side. “Are you people fucking stupid or have you not advanced past the dark ages yet?”

More clamor came from the onlookers but a slam of the Arbitrators fist against their stand silenced them. 

“Permission to treat the prisoner as hostile?” the Accuser asked the Arbitrator General. Receiving a subtle nod the Accuser pressed another key on their data pad and the shackles of the human sent a strong jolt of electricity coursing through Silva’s body.

The suddenness took her off-guard and she recoiled as if she had just been punched in the stomach. She was bent over when the Accuser repeated the question and she straightened herself out. 

“I study the chemical reactions of living organisms.” 

“Do you know why you are here today?” 

She shrugged. “Clearly not for my sense of humor.” To which she was then shocked again by the Accuser. 

“You are here,” the Accuser began as his platform circled Silva’s podium slowly, “because you released chemical agents on Savan VI that have resulted in the deaths of more than 400 souls.” 

They leaned in close to Silva. “Do you deny this?” 

Silva looked at the Accuser, matching his stare. “Before I answer your question, would you answer one of mine?” 

Silva received another shock but this time was better prepared for it. 

“You can shock me all day but you won’t get an answer from me until you answer my question.”

The Accuser was about to shock her again when the Arbitrator held up a hand to forestall it. They looked down at Silva with a inquisitive look. “What is your question, human?” 

Relaxing slightly at not getting shocked again, Silva rolled her shoulders to stretch them out and looked at the onlookers. 

“Is a human or Gillden more biologically perfect?” 

The onlookers and Accuser laughed and even the slamming of the Arbitrator’s fist was not enough to silence them this time. 

Floating in front of her again the Accuser looked down at her. “Gillden’s are clearly superior to humans.”

“And how do you know that?” 

The Accuser looked at the human in puzzlement. “It is a simply a well know fact.” 

“Do you have proof of it? Reliable sources” 

The Accuser seemed unsure how to answer and coughed before attempting to regain the initiative. 

“We are getting off topic now. I have answered your question now you mus-”

“But you haven’t.” Silva cut in, “You have answered my question with a statement supported by nothing but ones beliefs. Belief does not change the world around you. I could believe that I can fly and escape this prosecution but that does not make it fact nor will it change my situation. Therefore your belief that you are superior holds as much weight as your belief that I am guilty.” 

The only sound to come from the Accuser was a series of starts and stops of replies of sentences of rebukes and counter arguments not being made and dying in his throat. Rather than say anything the Accuser reached for their pad and triggered a shock causing Silva to bend over again in pain. 

When the shock finally stopped Silva coughed several times before spitting out a blotch of blood on to the podium. 

“Is that how the Gillden do things?” she mockingly said. “When you are proven wrong by facts you seek to undermine those who have proven you wrong? Do facts mean nothing?!”

The Accuser was bristling in rage now. 

“Since you seem so keen on facts let us bring up some.” 

With a wave of his hand the holograms changed and showed footage of a crowded plaza near the market district. The footage was from a floating security drone that monitored the area so the quality was immaculate.

Out of the corner of the busy plaza came a large moving van. It came to a stop on the outskirts of the plaza and the drivers cab door opened just as the Accuser paused the video. 

“That is you Ms. Torris is it not?” 

“It is.” she confirmed as the video continued playing. 

Hopping out of the van’s driver side door and approaching the back she slapped the side of the van three times and the back opened up. Two cargo bots stepped out carrying between them a strange metallic cylinder. Once it was set down Silva stepped forward and began twisting and turning several nobs on the device before leaving it and returning to the front of the van. 

The two loader bots hopped back into the van as the back closed and the vehicle drove away leaving behind the strange device. 

Several seconds passed and everything on camera appeared normal until an elderly Gillden collapsed to the ground near the cylinder. Those nearby rushed to their aide but upon getting within a foot of the collapsed Gillden they too began to spasm and collapse to the ground. 

Spreading out from their like a wave as the seconds passed more and more of the people in the Plaza began to convulse and collapse to the ground clutching at themselves wildly. Some tried to grab their young and carry them to safety only to fall and crush them under their own weight. 

In a matter of minutes the entire once bustling plaza was left littered with the bodies of the dead. 

The Accuser turned back to face Silva. “The fact is that three days ago you entered the market district and unleashed a deadly chemical agent. Within the hour the entire district was sealed off as the contagion began to spread from person to person like fire and rages on even now.”

They glared down at her, her mask of disinterest all the more infuriating to him as he seemingly nailed her to the wall. 

“Do you deny that it was you in the video who murdered those Gillden?” 

Silva shook her head, but before the Accuser could pronounce her guilt she continued. 

“That indeed was me in the video but it was not murder.” 

Rounding on her in surprise the Accuser had to stop themselves from physically striking her.

“What else would you call such madness?!?”

She once again shrugged her shoulders. 

“A scientific experiment.” 

The Accuser’s mouth hung open in disbelief so Silva continued. 

“For centuries the Gillden people have proclaimed themselves as you have just now to be the most supreme species in the entire universe. I put that question to the test with a common mutagenic from my homeworld and released it into your populace to study the results. I was unimpressed by the results.” 

The calmness in which she casually described this horrific act shook everyone present to the core. 

Wrongfully thinking she had correctly assumed the expressions of those around her Silva continued. “My first case was somewhat inconclusive as you interrupted me before I could finish gathering data so I prepared a second test to further disprove your superiority belief and replace it with hard facts.” 

This was a surprise to all present. “What do you mean “second test”? Have you planted another device on our world?!?” 

Silva shook her head. “This time I thought it best if I witnessed the results first hand.”

Before the Accuser could continue his line of questioning he felt his muscles begin to tense. His eyes began to become blurry and he wiped them away as he tried to focus. He looked down at his sleeve to see to his horror that it was smeared with his blood as his eyes became blurry once more. 

Coughing and gurgling could be heard behind him and he turned to see the onlookers and even the Arbitrator General showing similar side effects as their eyes began to bleed and their muscles locked up. He saw the Arbitrator begin convulsing rapidly to the point they lost balance from their stand and fell into the great maw below them in a silent scream of horror. 

The Accuser collapsed to their platform and nearly fell themselves before they grabbed hold of the edges. He looked up through blood clotting eyes to see Silva kneeling over him looking at him with an ponderous gaze. 

“The chemical agent is neutral in liquid form,” she began calmly as if the Accusers dying gasps were nothing but a nuisance, “but once the liquid evaporates it becomes active and turns into an airborne agent. Frankly rather hard to design chemically but I would settle for nothing less for my experiments.

Silva slowly knelt down and drew her finger across the dried blood she had coughed up earlier. “It is amazing when one species is so completely immune to something they can even carry it in their body as if it was nothing more luggage.” She looked over at the Accuser with a look of disdain. “Your people really should have spent more time doing medical checks than beating me in prison.” 

The Accuser attempted to make a lunge at her with one of his free arms but missed as his body suddenly convulsed. He lost his grip with his other hand and to his horror he could feel his body begin to fall into the gaping maw below. 

“I guess you weren’t as superior as you thought.” 

Silva’s final words to the Accuser rang out to him as the darkness of the maw swallowed him whole.  

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #scifi #story

[dossi-io]

An introduction to DeVita

Do you want to learn all about the AOMG artist DeVita? This article will cover everything you need to know about the third female member to join the labels roster.

The content of this article is also available in video format, embedded at the bottom of this article.

Prelude

In early April of 2020, the Korean hip-hop label AOMG ambiguously announced that a new artist was signing onto the label. This label was grounded by the Korean-American triple-threat; Jay Park, who’s also one of its executives. This is a label with a very organic feel and artist-oriented nature, which stands out compared to many other music labels.

On April 3rd, the label’s official Instagram account posted a video. It was titled, “Who’s The Next AOMG?” where fellow AOMG members talked about this upcoming recruit. They sprinkled small hints and details by sharing their thoughts on the artist without mentioning who.

Around the world, fans immediately began speculating on who this could be. The major consensus was that it had to be the solo artist Lee Hi, due to reporting like this: “AOMG responds ‘nothing is confirmed’ to reports of Lee Hi signing on with the label”

A few other names got thrown in fan speculations like Hanbin (B.I), previous member of IKON, Jvcki Wai, and MOON (문) aka Moon Sujin. This despite a few of these already being signed to other labels.

On April 6th, three days later, the account was updated with a part two. This time dropping more hints, which would exclude many names from fan speculations.

On the 7th of April, the label’s official Instagram account posted a short teaser. The video sported an 80’s retrofuturistic setting, with a woman turned from the camera, dressed in all black, rocking braids, and some glistening high-heels. As it seemed to be a female, some were now certain that it had to be Lee Hi. A small few actually guessed correctly that the one who would be joining AOMG would be Ms DeVita.

Finally on April 9th, it was official! She debuted with the music video, from which the teaser clips was taken from, EVITA!, which accompanied the release of her EP, CRÈME.

What does the name DeVita mean?

The name DeVita, draws inspiration and meaning from two things. Firstly, Eva Perón – also known as Evita – who was Argentina’s former First Lady. When Chloe was learning about Eva’s life, it inspired her to combine “Devil” and “Evita”, thus creating “DeVita”. The name signifies the duality of how both Eva Perón and DeVita could be perceived. Either being a devil, or an angel depending on the eye of the beholder. Secondly, Salvatore Di Vita, a character from Cinema Paradiso, was also a source of inspiration.

An introduction to DeVita

Chloe Cho – now known under the artist name DeVita – was born and raised in South Korea, until the age of eleven. In 2009, she moved to Chicago, where she would learn English.

In 2013, she went back to Korea and participated in the third season of the show; K-pop Star. A talent show, where the “big three” (the three largest music labels in Korea) hosts auditions to find the next big k-pop star. However she didn’t win, therefore neither got signed.

Later on, she returned to Chicago and graduated high school. After reflecting on what she wanted to do next, she decided to make music. In 2014, her pursuit to become an artist brought her to the talent show Kollaboration. On this show, she performed covers and actually ended up being a finalist. Despite her talents, she did not triumph as the winner of the show.

Not letting these losses stop her, she started releasing music on Soundcloud. The earliest release I could find, Halfway Love (Ruff), was from 2016. Her catalogue consisted of both covers and original music.

One day, Kirin, an artist and CEO of the music label 8balltown Records, was introduced to DeVita’s music. He liked what he heard and the two linked up. In May of 2018, WEKEYZ, one of 8balltown’s producer duos released a track titled Sugar. This track featured both DeVita, and the AOMG rapper Ugly Duck. This was the beginning of many collaborations to come.

On August 28th of 2018, just a few months later, AOMG released Sugar (Puff Daehee Mix).

This was a remix done by Puff Daehee, the alter ego of Kirin. Along with this track, it was accompanied by a music video starring Kirin, DeVita, and Ugly Duck. For most people, this was their first time seeing DeVita.

DeVita continued doing features on many songs by Korean artists while creating a little buzz for herself. There’s one notable feature, which could be seen as an important milestone in her career. That is her feature on the track Noise, from AOMG artist Woo Won Jae’s project, titled af.

In a tweet a few days after the release of CRÈME, she shared the significance of this moment.

“I was still making minimum wage working at a restaurant back when Noise dropped- I wrote my part during my shift on the back of this receipt paper. This was about a year and a half ago. A little bit after that I got a call from Pumpkin at 3am Chicago time. He said Jay wanted to meet in Philly in 4 hours. They put me on a plane and the rest is history.”

The phone call she mentioned in her tweet, about Jay wanting to meet, must have been made around September 2018. Jay was performing in Philadelphia at the time. The moment they met in Philadelphia was actually captured through a photo of the two. However, this picture ended up getting removed later on.

Fast forward a few months and Jay had just released his Ask About Me EP. The project focused on a western audience, so he went to the States on a promo run. During his visit, he also met up with DeVita once again, as can be seen here.

Finally, on April 9th, her being signed to AOMG was officially announced and she debuted with her EP titled CRÈME. Her joining AOMG, looked like something that happened pretty naturally. The vast majority of artists she had collaborated on tracks with happened to be AOMG members. Getting comfortable with the AOMG family, likely made the decision to join crystal clear.

Artistically

Just a quick look at her body of work thus far, a majority of it is in English. However, she has no issues singing in Korean, as proven by her feature on Code Kunst’s; Let u in. The tone in her voice has this sort of mixture of many singers, a melting pot of sorts. It reminds me of Audrey Nuna, SAAY, H.E.R, some vocal riffs from Dinah Jane, and at times, just a tiny bit of Ariana Grande.

As an artist, she’s still in the early stages of carving out her own unique sound and style. There’s incredible potential here, but her distinct identity is not completely there yet. I see before me a caterpillar that within a couple years, will transform into a butterfly, with its own identifiable pattern to spread its wings out on.

From what she’s shown so far, I would say she seems most comfortable doing R&B and soul music. However, beyond a quick description I prefer to refrain from categorizing her. Mostly because artists generally feel limited when categorized. More importantly, because we have no idea what she has in store for the future.

Debut EP: CRÈME

CRÈME is DeVita’s “crème de la crème”. She constantly modified the tracklist to present her debut project in a way that held her personal standard; essentially presenting us her best tracks. The result is CRÈME, which consists of five tracks, with a runtime of fourteen minutes altogether.

This EP showcases the fact that she is a competent songwriter, able to write some soulful, emotional ballads. It is completely in English and all the tracks are written by her, telling both life stories of her own and that of others. A majority of the production was handled by her “musical soulmate”; TE RIM, but other notable names, like Code Kunst show up as well.

Tracks:

Movies, introduces the project in a very gentle manner. In the track, DeVita paints a picture of a criminal couple, getting a rush, by committing crimes together. The lyrics feel inspired by movies like Bonnie and Clyde. My initial thoughts were that, for some ears, it could possibly be “too” calm as an opener. It doesn’t demand attention the way EVITA! does. Simply put, it’s not a bad track. I would just have put this track later on in the EP.

EVITA!, is something different compared to what I hear from others in the K-R&B lane. I love the 80’s aesthetic in both the track and music video. Sonically, the nostalgic saxophone riffs, warm lush synth pads, thumping bass line, results in a trip back to the 80s. With this recipe, topped with DeVita’s “current” contemporary soul and R&B voice makes for an interesting combination. The music video had that futuristic 80’s look with the neon colors, and I loved how the guns she played around with looked a lot like the “Needlers” from the Halo franchise.  The title is once again just like DeVita’s name, an ode to the controversial Eva Perón. The instrumental was originally used by TE RIM, the producer of the track in 2017. His version has the same title as DeVita’s version and I recommend giving that one a listen as well, as it has a different feel to it. This track was definitely one of the highlights of the EP.

All About You, is a simple yet beautiful piano love ballad. Originating from her own tales of love, her vocals effortlessly capture what she felt during these moments.

1974 Live, is yet another ballad, but this time, with a calm guitar backing, playing a poppier R&B chord progression. DeVita’s voice is given a lot of space to be in the center of the track. As soon as I heard this track I became curious. What was the significance of this year, which would have her title the track as such? My questions were left unanswered… until the EP had marinated a while, when she tweeted: “1974 Live is about Christine Chubbuck”. In case you’re unfamiliar, Christine Chubbuck was a television news reporter, who made history in 1974. She was the first person to commit suicide live on air. According to her mother Christine’s suicide would on paper be due to an unfullfilling personal life. All throughout her life, she had experienced unreciprocated love. With this information tying back to the track, it becomes a lot less ambiguous and reveals a more cohesive narrative.

Show Me, is the final track of the EP, featuring immaculate production from the talented CODE KUNST. The sound is very moody, which fits her voice like a glove. This is my favorite performance on the entire EP, both lyrically and vocally. The lyrics present someone who’s fed up dealing with men, who talk the talk but don’t walk the walk. Now she’s looking for love with someone who’s honest and “real”.

With the project being a year old now, it has already gotten her nominated for both Rookie of the Year along with EVITA being nominated for Best R&B & Soul Track in the 18th iteration of the Korean Music Awards.

A majority of listeners seemed to enjoy the project. Many seem to be in love with her voice judging by the endless amounts of praise she has received, often described as painfully addicting, soothing, smooth, and so on.

I also asked a friend who’s a huge fan of Korean music, especially the hiphop and r&b scene to share her thoughts on the project. Here’s what she said:

"This whole project is empowering, in particular the tracks Show Me and EVITA! DeVita being a new artist, managed to impress me and many more listeners through this EP. As mentioned earlier, empowering lyrics with unique melodies and beats. Especially with the track EVITA! The fact that 1974 Live and EVITA! was referring to, two historically important women, is something that I love. This is one of my favorite EP:s of 2020 and DeVita is now included in my list of favorite artists." @Haonsmom

From what I’ve seen, only a few have been vocal about not really being too fond of the project. Some were left a bit disappointed, as they were expecting more hip-hop and R&B from an AOMG artist. The lack of “danceable” tracks was also a concern to some. Despite these criticisms, one thing was always mentioned; the girl has a beautiful voice and is obviously talented.

After listening to this EP, I hear a lot of potential. Being an EP with just five tracks, it definitely avoids overstaying its welcome. It’s brief enough to allow a listen through the entire project, no matter what you’re doing. My favorite tracks would have to be Show Me and EVITA!, but I found the whole project to be enjoyable. This EP is sprinkled with lovely vocal performances and simple but captivating production. I do still stand by my opinion that Movies would have fit better later in the tracklist if you’re chasing that mainstream ear.

I think the way EVITA! kicks you in the face, demanding attention, would’ve been a better fit as the opening track. In contrast to the other tracks, the energy level is unique, making the placement feel odd as the rest of the tracks have a chill vibe. All in all, this project gave me a taste of the “crème” but left me with a curious yearning for what this chef will whip up for dessert.

Bright future ahead

The addition of more female artists to the AOMG roster was much needed. Hoody was the first and only female member for about four years. This was the case up until late 2019, where she was then joined by sogumm, who had just won AOMG’s audition program called SignHere. Now funnily enough after DeVita, Lee Hi actually did end up officially signing with AOMG on July 22, last year.

Based on what I’ve heard during Devita’s Kollaboration days, she has improved immensely. This topped with her leaving the impression of someone passionate about their craft, bodes well for what's to come. She seems to be someone who'll constantly evolve.

Following an artist, at the early stages of their career, is something that I always find exciting. With such a lovely debut, I cannot wait to see what the future has in store for DeVita.

To view the content of this article in video format simply play the video embedded below.

Thanks for reading, watching. If you enjoyed this content feel free to follow my socials to stay up to date on when new content is posted.

https://allmylinks.com/dossi-io

Credits:

The first image in article: Original photo, pre-edit from @jinveun

Gif from the Sugar Puff Daehee MV: @moxiepoints

#devita #krnb #jay park #aomg #h1ghrmusic #8balltown #kpop #review #korea #uglyduck #chloe devita #chloe cho #kirin #evita! #crème #moon sujin #khh #korean hip hop #krap

[nebraska-is-a-myth]

If you would rather die, then you better hurry up and do it - Crime au part 5

Here we go again boys, thank you all so much for the support with this series, its been so heartwarming to see all of you nice comments. Feel free to talk about any of it in the comments, ask me questions, or give your own suggestions for what you think should happen next in the series and maybe Ill incorporate it into the next part.

Masterlist

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‘The person you are trying to reach is currently unavailable’

“Fuck.”

Dream paces in front of the big windows, sapnap isn't answering his fucking phone and after the phone call he’s just had with Wilbur, there is going to be some hell to pay.

He grips the phone in his hand as his footsteps become more unstable, he feels his hands shaking with rage and fear. He knows Wilbur said that neither of the two boys were too drastically hurt but he can't help but think of what could have happened.

The masked man tries to ground himself with good memories to remind himself that the young boy is alive, a few broken bones but alive nonetheless.

He takes a deep breath and thinks back to the time he Tommy rode out to the outskirts of the dream smp in the early days of Dreams rise to power.

They had both taken motorbikes, much to dreams protest, but Tommy had insisted that he knew how to ride. Even if dream didn't believe him, it would have taken too much effort to convince Tommy to ride on the back of dreams bike.

As they revved their engines through the night, the two friends weaved in between cars and ran through as many red lights they could, and Dream would have to admit he was impressed by Tommy's driving skills.

Every now and again he would glance at the younger boy and listen to him laugh over the roaring of the motorbike Dream had leant him for the night. ( When the night finally concluded, he would gift the bike to Tommy and ride back to Dreams apartment together to watch movies and eat pizza with George and sapnap. Neither of who quite trusted the boy yet, but had come to dislike him a little less )

They both drove until they ran out of road and stopped at the very edge of the city where the land met the water. They took off their helmets and sat under the stars, talking about nothing and everything all at once. They shared stories they never thought they would tell to anyone other than their closest allies, and soon came to realise that maybe they were closer than they thought. 

Nothing extraordinary happened that night, but dream thinks that's why it's one of his fonder memories with the boy. But he thinks now he may never get the chance to talk to Tommy in the same way he did that night, there were no secrets then, no fights or anger brooding. He hopes that this is just a big misunderstanding and that maybe he will get a chance to see the stars again, but deep down he knows nothing will ever be the same.

At that moment sapnap walks through the door. Dream can smell the smoke sticking to his skin and he sees the ash wiped across his face. His fists clench but his face remains still.

“What have you done.”

Sapnap looks startled at his friend's voice, half expecting the other man to be asleep at this hour. But his stance softens and he half raises his hands as he talks. “Look, I know you said you had it under control but-”

“What the fuck did you do sapnap!”

“Hey dude chill, I'm doing you a favor here.”

“Doing me a favor! You just set a fucking warehouse on fire with two my men in it!”

“Two of your men? But I-”

“You just put two fucking kids in the hospital sapnap! You think that's doing me a fucking favor!”

“Kids, but they-”

“Yeah well they lied sap! But you didn't even think to fucking check did you! They almost put one of the on a fucking ventilator!”

“Ventilator?”

“I didn't ask for a fucking parrot sapnap, I asked you to stay out of my fucking way!” 

Dream punches sapnap in the face and the room goes quiet. Sapnap keeps his face turned from Dream and bites his tongue.

“You better fucking hope those kids recover or next time that'll be a bullet that breaks your nose.”

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It's a while before Wilbur agrees to meet with Dream.

Tubbo is back on his feet again, Wilbur's heartbeat picks up anytime he hears the boy cough but it's never usually more than once or twice. It eases Wilbur's mind to know he wasn't too badly affected by what happened, or at least as far as Tubbo tells him.

Tommy's shoulder is mostly healed now and he's able to carry himself on his crutches, although he mostly uses them to fend off fundy when he makes fury jokes and to poke Eret awake when he falls asleep in his spot on the couch. The left side of his face is scared slightly, it doesn't bother him too much but nobody questions it when they see the boy hobbling round in the spare pair of glasses Eret has in his room. ( Eret won't admit it, but he's stopped putting them in his closet now so tommy doesn't have to reach up high to find them )

Dream tried to contact both of the boys after the fire, only Tubbo responded to his apologetic messages, Tommy leaves him on read every time.

So when he enters Wilbur's headquarters to see both of the young boys laughing and joking with one another, he feels a sense of relief wash over him and he's almost glad nobody can see his expression under the mask.

Tommy however, does not hold the same relief Dream does.

( Okay so maybe he has missed the masked man just a little bit, but he’d rather swallow his own foot than tell dream that )

They blond glares at dream as he enters the room, refuses to reposition himself from where he's sat with his cast over the armrest of the chair. He wants the older man to see what he’s done, wants him to know that the scars are still there. It's the only reason he hasn't got Eret’s glasses on, if he didn't know the spare pair where just inches away in Eret’s office, his demeanor would be very different right now.

Dream stands before Wilbur and clears his throat to speak, Wilbur cuts him off however before he can even mutter a hello.

“We want independence.”

Dreams posture changes and Tommy can tell the demand throws him off.

“I'm sorry I don't understand.”

“We want out of the SMP. We want to request that the east side be recognized as an independent city, separate from the dream smp. You can have access to whatever funds you think you may be entitled to from the past few months, and there are a list of men that would like to return to employment under your jurisdiction. The rest will resume work under my command and will no longer be associated with you or your organization.”

Dream stands silent for a moment, unsure of what his command as a leader should be. 

“ And if I deny this request.”

“ We will not ask so nicely again dream. We have the manpower and the determination to reclaim this land as our and we will do so by any means necessary.”

Dream scoffs and turns to Tommy who is still staring daggers into him.

“And you're okay with this.”

“Don't address hi-”

Tommy cuts Wilbur off and grabs his crutch to stand, he walks over to dream in silence, never taking his eyes from the mans stupid masked face.

“I would rather die than be a part of your SMP.”

Dream looks around the room at the faces of people who he used to call his friends. He knows deep down this is his fault, that he should just agree to Wilbur's terms and maybe somehow try and rebuild his friendship with each of them. But he knows that the city isn't prepared for the kind of rivalry that having two independent gangs brings. The streets will be chaos, and he tries to tell himself that this will be the safest option, if the smp defeats them now then Dream will stay on top and he can protect his friends for just a little longer. That's all he needs, just a little bit longer to make Tommy realize that he cannot allow this to happen. 

Just a little longer

Dream turns back to tommy and slips into his façade

“If you would rather die, then do it! My answer, is no. Accept it, or face the consequences.”

Wilbur steps forward in front of Tommy and stares dream down.

“Then face the consequences we shall. Now get out, if I see you here again, I will gun you down myself.”

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

A few days later, karma catches up with Wilbur as he sits in the very same office he and dream spoke in. He receives a letter from the man himself, appropriately titled:

Declaration of war

Dear Wilbur,

I am a man with a large reputation within the city, and your actions against the smp cannot go without punishment. Therefore I hereby declare that we as a nation, are at war. I can offer you no mercy unless you comply with our demands of surrender from your team. We will allow you 72 hours to prepare and evacuate the city before the borders of your territory are to be bombed. If, by the 42 hour mark, you have not complied to this demand we will fire one warning shot into lmanchildburg lmaburg l’manberg. If any of your men are found on smp soil they will be shot on sight. b4tbg. Within this period of evacuation we will allow you to surrender at any point and hand in your resignation as commander of the east side.

Time to face the consequences Wilbur, the lives of your men are in your hands.

Yours truthfully, Dream

#dream team #dreamwastaken #crime au #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #the eret #fundy #georgenotfound #sapnap #arson sapnap #tubbolive #did yall see the techno reference I put in there #yes it is a secret code for tommy for part 3 #congrats to those who fuigered it out the first time #soft eret times to make the betrayal harder #i do actually really love him tho

[sunflowerandco]

After the Fact: Act VII - The First of Three

Hey everyone :) here's another chapter, and we're back in present times. i wanted to thank Andy@straighttxhell for being a bilingual queen and helping me with the Spanish dialogue in this chapter you saved me!!

I hope you all enjoy <3

Courtney had her head buried in her textbook when she heard Duncan arrive home from work. She didn't mean to sound defeated in her delivery. "Oh, good. You're home."

He headed toward her study nook. "Missed me that much? What's wrong, Princess?" He questioned her, her look of frustration apparent on her face.

"I just can't get past this scenario in my textbook for my criminal law class."

"Sounds like my thing."

Courtney scoffed. "Hardly..." Duncan looked at her in utmost offense. "Oh, don't get offended. I just consider you...retired."

"That's more like it. I retired for a life in peace with my lady."

Courtney agreed playfully to appease him. "Yes, definitely." He leaned down, pecking her on her lips.

"But, yeah, what was the problem-thing?"

She turned her head over her shoulder to explain the dilemma, eventually turning the chair toward him. "Basically, they're asking me if this scenario requires prosecution: Person A shoots Person B in an attempt to kill them. However, Person B was already dead before Person A pulls the trigger. My question is: where does the line between motive and convenience become blurred? When does the defendant become a total liability for the damage done?"

Duncan hadn't felt this lost since he attended his Pre-Calculus class on accident. All he knew was that he has been referred to as 'defendant' a couple times in his life. "Well, the defendant could still be a good liar."

"...What?"

"You said he'd become a liability? But, how could that mess up his ability to lie?"

She closed her eyes as she tried to make sense of his statement. "Duncan... that has to be the most incoherent thing I've ever heard you say." She shamefully side-eyed to herself. "Why was that so hot?"

"Oh?" He smirked, egging her on. He still had no idea what he was talking about, but he liked flustering her in any way he could. He couldn't keep a straight face as he continued on. "I'm serious, babe! I've been a defendant enough times to know about lying abilities."

Courtney shook her head slowly, unbuttoning her shirt, but didn't let it fall. "That was so stupid. Fuck me."

Courtney never had to say those words more than once. They became one, an unconstrained, vocal Courtney flush against the wall with her legs wrapped around Duncan's waist clawing at his back.

***

Courtney groaned at the very last task she and Bridgette needed to complete: setting the table for the dinner both her and Duncan's parents were invited to in celebration of their engagement. A good amount of time had passed since the news broke. But, it was still an opportunity for everyone to meet and spend some time together.

"I'm just so freaking tired. I couldn't get out of bed this morning." Courtney handed the other end of the table cloth to Bridgette. "Duncan had to carry me to the shower."

Bridgette and Courtney lifted the cloth into the air, one losing sight of the other. Bridgette spoke as it slowly rested on top of the table. "Is he really that good?" She smirked as she smoothed out the edges with her hands.

"Please. Like his ego could use any more inflation..." Bridgette still waited for an answer, making Courtney give in. "Yes. But, he never tires me out to that point."

"Maybe you've been too stressed lately?"

"I suppose so. Planning this dinner, getting our families to come together all on the same day sure did wear us the hell out." They were done setting the table when Courtney raised the question. "Are you sure you don't wanna stay for dinner?"

"I'd love to, but..."

"But?!"

"I'm starting my fertility treatment today. Geoff and I have been trying for over a year, and we need the extra help."

Courtney pulled her into a hug. "I hope everything goes well. You know I love you. If you need to talk about anything, I'm here."

Bridgette took in her words before changing the subject. "Thank you. I love you, too, Court. So, what about you guys?"

"What about us?"

"You know... have you and Duncan talked about babies?"

She and Bridgette each sat on a dining chair in unison; Courtney sighed louder than she meant to in exhaustion. "I mean of course! But, I have this three year plan: finish law school, become a prosecutor, get married, and move out all in three years."

"That's quite the plan."

"Oh, that's nothing. I haven't even gotten to the two-year within the three-year plan."

"You have a plan for your plan?" Bridgette's head spun trying to wrap her head around Courtney's obsession with organization. "Never mind, the word's lost its meaning."

***

After their parents had done their formal introductions to each other, they settled into their seats for dinner. Besides story exchanging and pleasant conversation, Courtney had to deal with an occasional all-knowing stare from her mother. She tried her best to ignore it for the sake of a successful dinner. She was also coping with the fact that she was still hungry after eating her serving.

"Are you gonna finish that, babe?"

"Uh... no. Here, take it."

She smiled, scraping the last of Duncan's pasta on her plate. "Thank you. I just haven't eaten all day."

Courtney's mother called from across the table. "Can you help me with something in the kitchen, honey?"

Courtney nodded, getting up from her seat. They walked in together while her mother pulled her into a closer corner of the kitchen, speaking in a hushed tone.

"¿Por qué no me dijiste?"

Why didn't you tell me?

Courtney gave her a confused look, encouraging her to explain further.

"Que estás embarazada."

That you're pregnant.

Courtney furrowed her brows at her incredulous statement. "Qué? ¡No estoy embarazada!"

What? I'm not pregnant!

"Conozco a mi hija."

I know my daughter.

"Mamá! No digas tonterías!"

Mom, stop talking nonsense!

"No tienes que creerme. Pero aléjate de la champaña."

You don't have to believe me but stay away from the champagne.

Courtney rolled her eyes as Duncan walked into the kitchen.

"Everything okay in here?"

"Sí, mi amor- yes, everything's fine. Mamá just wanted me to take out this stack of plates."

"They're too heavy, cariño-"

Courtney widened her eyes and spoke through gritted teeth, signaling for her mother to stop this in front of Duncan. "I got it."

They all returned to their seats with Courtney demanding everything to be resumed to normal without her mother's theories.

***

Courtney stood in front of the mirror assembling her outfit for her very first mock trial. While she still struggled with her energy level hitting a new low, Courtney had been looking forward to this assignment for weeks. She brought out her favorite suit jacket and skirt to match, trying to slip it on with ease when she hit a snag at the button on her waist. Courtney tried her hardest to slip the button through until it eventually popped, landing on the floor.

"Goddamn it!"

Duncan called from the hallway as he approached their bedroom. "What happened?"

"My favorite skirt... I popped the damn button. I must've gained some weight." Courtney knew it was nearly impossible to stay the same weight she was five years ago, but was still sad to see her skirt go.

Duncan shamelessly eyed her backside. "Maybe there are consequences for havin' a fatty."

Courtney sighed defeatedly. "Now what am I gonna wear?" He gingerly held her by the waist, his arms wrapping around her torso, and eyed her through the mirror when he reassured her. "You would look amazing in anything, babe."

A smile crept the corner of her lips as she held the hands he wrapped around her. He let her go after pecking her on the cheek and she settled for a newer pantsuit that aligned with her figure. She was seconds away from heading out the door when Duncan called out to her; she only used her head to turn back to him.

"Hey! You forgot something."

"What?"

His hand swiftly slapped her ass and she yelped. She would've kicked him if she wasn't already about to miss her train.

"I'm going to kill you later!"

"I love you, too, Princess!"

***

She figured if she distributed her energy into the testimonies she'd ace the mock trial with flying colors.

Her body had other plans by the end of the trial.

Courtney tried to muster up the energy she had to give her mock closing argument. She used her arms to lift her up from the chair and she sauntered to the fake jury.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, the evidence lays out right in front of you: the bloodied bat, motive, and an eyewitness that places the defendant right at the crime scene. Do not let Alicia become a statistic. Put her sadistic killer rightfully where he belongs."

She took a deep breath before she turned around to head back to her seat. Her head spun and she tried to focus on the seat she was getting to until it was too blurry to see. Her eyes shut as she fell onto the floor. She fell in and out of consciousness as she heard fragments of voices around her.

...an ambulance!

...she have a pulse?

Stay with me, Ms. Courtney.

***

Duncan received a call from the hospital and rushed out of the tattoo shop without much thought. When he reached Courtney's hospital room, Duncan found her mother standing outside exchanging pleasantries with the doctor. He assumed she had just made it there as well.

"Now, you're Mom and..?"

"Boyfriend," Duncan answered.

"Boyfriend." The doctor reiterated while shaking his hand. "I'm Doctor Holt and I've been taking care of Ms. Courtney. She's going to be fine. We're just monitoring her blood pressure, making sure she's getting some rest. Fainting is a common occurrence in the first trimester."

Duncan nodded, accepting the verdict until he realized the last three words that came out of the doctor's mouth. He furrowed his brow in confusion and disbelief. He took pauses, stammered over his words as he tried to catch his breath the last three words stole from his lungs. "Th-the first trimester? ...Of pregnancy?"

"Yes...?"

"I knew it!" Courtney's mother exclaimed in victory over her intuition. Duncan whipped his head to the left of him in shock.

"You knew?!"

"Well, not knew, per se. A mother can just tell." This time Doctor Holt chimed in realizing his mistake.

"I'm so sorry. I couldn't ask her about the possibility of her being pregnant. She kept falling in and out of consciousness and I just decided to draw her blood for a test. I needed to know to care for her properly. If you don't know, then that means she definitely doesn't know she's pregnant."

"If it's not too much, I'd like to tell my daughter the news."

"I'm not against that," Doctor Holt declared. "I just need to be in the room when it happens. I'll be back in about five minutes to see if she's awake." He turned to enter another patients room down the hall. Lorena looked over to her future son-in-law being uncharacteristically silent, looking at Courtney through the door's window.

"How are you doing, Pobrecito?"

He didn't divert his gaze. The longer he stared, the more he was able to accept the fact. A small smile crept upon his face seeing his girl so sound asleep. For once, Duncan didn't feel resistant to change. When he looked at Courtney he didn't doubt either of their abilities; only relief took over as he ascertained that she was his partner in this journey. The only thing bringing him out of his thoughts were the angry exclaims from Lorena.

"Now you decide to show up after all these years?!" Duncan turned to see a tall man with graying hair in a suit.

Courtney rarely spoke of her father. Duncan had an idea why she didn't; the words exchanged between her parents confirmed his assumptions and her apprehensiveness when he asked. There were some things Courtney just didn't talk about with anyone and Duncan felt he needed to respect that no matter the circumstance. Her father answered, his tone devoid of any emotion. Every sentence suggested his presence was strictly business and contrasted her Lorena's emotional articulation.

"I'm still on her emergency contact card, so I'm entitled to know the status of my daughter's health."

"You can't just decide to be a father whenever you want! She and Kate are past the age of needing their father, if you couldn't tell."

"Because, of course, you're doing a fine job." He retorted, gesturing to Courtney's state.

"What happened to her is no one's fault. Not even her own." Lorena crossed her arms in frustration, defensive over him undermining all of her work. "Courtney and Kate have their mother. I knew I didn't give our daughters your last name for a reason!"

Duncan intervened when he saw Courtney staring through the window. "Please! Stop. She's awake." He turned to her father. He knew nothing about him, not even his first name. Still, he immediately wanted to diffuse the situation to diminish any stress Courtney could be feeling. Duncan tried his best to steer him away without revealing any information. "It's your best interest to leave. The doctor told us Courtney is fine and we've got it under control, but she doesn't need any more stress as it is." Lorena had the last word before her father left Courtney again.

"If she needed you, she'd call you herself."

***

Courtney's eyes fluttered open to offending voices. She knew she was going to the hospital from what the EMT told her while she lied in the ambulance. She just didn't know how much time had passed between then and now. Courtney enjoyed the feeling of being well-rested before she sat up, squinting her eyes to catch a glimpse of the arguing pair in the hallway. Her eyes widened when she witnessed her mom pointing her finger at her dad while he stood there completely composed and unbothered. Courtney froze and could only stare at them in their usual mode of communication.

It took her back to the little girl watching her father make his yearly visit, her mother denying him access for the emotional protection of her daughters. She remembered watching from the top of the stairs, hoping her sister wouldn't wake from the sound of their parents fighting. At the age of ten Courtney promised herself she wouldn't let herself feel that helpless ever again. That she'd never let her father ever make her feel unwanted.

Their yelling ceased when Duncan interrupted the both of them, signaling to them about her being woken up. The next thing she saw was her boyfriend inaudibly addressing her father rather seriously. His hand gestures and facial expressions indicated he was dismissing him. It seemed to work. Her mother spoke again, but she didn't want to ask her what was said. Whatever she said made him walk away. Courtney's stress levels seemed to be more manageable as she waited on her family to enter her room. No less than a few minutes later Duncan and Lorena entered her room with her mother attaching herself to Courtney in a worrisome hug.

"My baby! Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm okay." She felt like she was comforting her mother more than anything. She patted her on the back as she gave Duncan a small smile while he let the two of them have their moment.

A doctor unfamiliar to Courtney followed along and introduced himself to her. "I'm Dr. Holt. Glad to see you're awake." He checked her blood pressure on a monitor before continuing. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine..." Courtney didn't feel comfortable with the diverse expressions strewn across the three of their faces. She turned to her mother who seemed to be eager to speak. "Why are you looking at me like that?" She couldn't tell the nature of her diagnosis that she hadn't received yet. Duncan seemed be to readying himself while her mother looked to the doctor for an 'okay' to give her the news. Doctor Holt nodded to confirm.

"Mija, you are pregnant."

Courtney looked up at her mom again, slightly embarrassed. She doubled-down on their discussion at the dinner party last weekend. "Mom, I told you to stop this in front of Duncan-"

"Baby," Courtney stopped and turned to him. He made eye contact with her and her face softened when his hand ran up and down her calf covered by the blanket. His eyes were reassuring as he tried to prepare her for his statement. "It's true."

Doctor Holt began to speak about how it's an early pregnancy, but any details disclosed by her doctor came and went as an abundance of thoughts pervaded Courtney's mind. She tried to pay attention to the advice he gave her. Manage stress, drink water, set a sleep schedule. She felt this news would be an added amount of stress to a mound caving in.

***

Courtney sat on a stool near Bridgette's kitchen island. She barely spoke out of nervousness, letting Bridgette handle most of the conversation.

"So, my test came out negative." Bridgette poured a hefty amount of wine into her glass. She held up an empty one to signal her offering Courtney some.

"Oh... I'm so sorry, Bridge." Courtney's nervousness raised after hearing the news. She noticed her nonverbal offer and tried to answer simply. "Oh, no thanks. I need to drink more water. Doctor's orders."

"It's okay. Maybe I was destined to have the exact problems my mom had. You know, I dread waiting for the results now. It's like I'm manifesting seeing only one line on that stupid, goddamned stick."

"Come here." Courtney pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back. The tears began to sting resting atop the brims of her eyes. Her initial reason for stopping by took a backseat in her mind. When they broke apart Bridgette immediately took to her defeated demeanor.

"I didn't notice before, but you look really worried. What's wrong, Courtney?"

"Nothing. I had something to tell you, but I don't think it's the right time."

"No... I ranted. Now it's your turn. It's not a friendship if only one person gets to unload their emotions." Bridgette reassured her. "Tell me."

"Okay." Courtney took a deep breath, instinctively clutching her stomach. "I just want to preface by saying I am in no means trying to make your day worse."

"...Okay..." Bridgette crossed her arms in confusion, but pointed to the hands on her stomach. "Are you...?"

Courtney nodded silently. Her expression became unreadable at her conflicting emotions. "Yes..." Tears started welling up into her eyes and she couldn't tell if she was happy or sad to bring those two words into her reality. She was practically whispering, hoping this change wouldn't bring any destruction to her realm. "I'm pregnant."

Bridgette smiled in shock. "Babe?? Congratulations!" Bridgette quickly brought her into a hug. Her reaction surprised Courtney given how upset she had been. "How far along are you? How did you find out?"

Courtney felt she should be smiling. She felt she should be incredibly happy at the fact. Instead a tear fell down her cheek. "A month. We just found out at the hospital." Courtney was adamant no one knowing about her stint at the hospital. "I only wanted to tell you, because I-I'm just trying to make sense of this and you're my best friend..."

Bridgette noticed Courtney was increasingly feeling less than thrilled the more she explained. "Are you keeping the baby?"

"We don't know, yet. Duncan was excited, but I'm just...- This was not my plan, you know? I haven't even finished school, yet. We can't afford a bigger place because I haven't started my career. This was supposed to come after. After the wedding, after school."

"I understand your feelings, and I'm with you no matter what decision you make. But, there's no set plan for life. Take a lesson out of whatever choice you make, and do what you think is best for all involved."

***

Courtney opened the apartment door and noticed a distinct smell coming from the kitchen. It reminded her of her favorite chicken her mother made for her and Kate when she got home from work early. She curiously walked into the kitchen to see Duncan in full chef mode. He greeted her

"Hey, babe. Are you hungry?  I'm making this recipe your mom wrote down for me the other day."

She only stood still as she watched him stir the contents of the pan.

There was nothing Duncan could get out of Courtney after the news broke about their pregnancy. She had completely shut him out for the rest of the week, burying herself in her homework, studying, and whatever else she could distract herself with. She couldn't look at him when they talked and her answers were shortened to simple, one-worded responses, or sometimes none at all.

He opened the refrigerator door behind him to fetch her a bottle of water. "Did you drink enough water today?" He held it out for her to take.

Courtney dropped her bag and rushed into his arms crying. this time she's wailing. Duncan is purely shocked; he's never seen her so emotional. He spent the better half of this week trying to get her to speak. But, he didn't expect this kind of response from her. He placed the bottle on the counter and wrapped his arms around her shoulders as he tried to console her in a hushed tone.

"Hey, hey, no... What's wrong, Princess?"

She was barely coherent, still sobbing over her words. "You're just... too nice. I haven't been nice at all ever since we found out. And you seem so ready and calm and I'm just neither of those things. What if I suck at being a mom? What if I can't make them happy?

"I'm calm because, one, I still wanted to treat you like I normally do. And, two, yes this is shocking news, but... it's you. if I'm gonna embark on this part of life, the only person I trust enough to do the best job is you." She faced him this time, still sniffling but calmed, and he continued.

"You're incredibly smart, ambitious, and beautiful. I'm cool, strong, and hot. Our kid wins the genetic lottery."

Courtney shook her head, half smiling. "Of course you'd point that out." She buried her head in his chest again, letting him run a hand through her hair.

"'Cause it's true," he said chuckling. "Whatever decision you make, I'm with you every step of the way. Okay?"  She nodded and he placed a soft kiss on her forehead. When they parted, he ordered her to relax in the living room while he continued cooking. In his mind, he knew everything would be alright; as long as he didn't burn the chicken.

A/N: hello and thank you for reading :) there will be more; hopefully soon. also

fatty=big butt don't worry duncan's not calling her a mean insult i swear lol

#duncney #td courtney #td duncney

[dimonds456]

TOH Season 2, 4 Theories (SPOILERS!)

So we're only 4 episodes in, and there's a LOT going on. I have 3 theories (and one that's more speculation) that I want to share (that have probably already been discussed before, but I haven't seen them, so here I go), and they're all beneath the cut! I wanna talk about King, Belos, and a third one that might surprise you, but I can't say just yet because ~dramatic buildup.~

MASSIVE SPOILER WARNING!

THEORY 1: King is a Titan

This has been a theory since Season 1, but it's reeeeally getting expanded upon here. It's hinted at that King might have a deeper backstory than he's been given, if those carvings and his memory gaps are anything to go off of.

However, we can find proof in his design and the design in that of the Boiling Isles themselves. They were birthed from an actual Titan, right? We see the Titan's still-beating heart in Belos' throne room. The Isles are his organs and ribcage. His skull sits in the water, eye sockets looking out over all.

Lookit it all. Gross. :)

Now look at his skull specifically. He's got those two horns on top of his head, looking to be a similar-to-exactly-the-same shape as King's, which is even more apparent since his other horn is fixed now.

(Side theory, King's collar is a glyph, look at the design. What does it do? idk, but I think it's gonna be Epic, and perhaps only he or another Titan can activate it. But I have no proof and just wanted to throw that one out there for consideration.)

Different noses, sure, but this Titan is also more mature. And bigger. That could change as King gets older.

If this theory is true, then that means Emperor Belos- who is rumored to be able to communicate WITH THE BOILING ISLES TITAN- is going to want King at some point. If he is able to RAISE A TITAN, that would strengthen the theory that he has this ~special connection~ with the Titan and put him in so much more power. King is easy to please, too, meaning that he might go along with it.

Leading me to:

THEORY 2: Belos is a human

Look at this series of quotes from Gwen Clawthorne from S2E4:

(Starting with when she says "You're not the only human to have lived in Bones Burrow," but image limit, so.)

[Image ID: four screenshots from The Owl House. The first is a picture of Gwen with the quote "there's a rare substance called Titan's blood." The next is Gwen in a different pose, with the quote "it is extremely powerful, and oftentimes causes leaks between our realms." The third is a picture if Luz, with her eyes wide with shock. Gwen is still speaking though, with the quote "but humans... are rare." The fourth is back to Gwen, with her hands up and the quote "my great-grandmother told me about a human who once lived here, but one day, he just vanished." End ID.]

"a human who once lived here, but one day, he just vanished."

Notice the use of he/him pronouns here. I was originally thinking it was whoever wrote the Azura books- and that is not off the table, really- but... the circumstances of him just vanishing are suspicious at best and earth-shattering at worst.

What if he never left?

We have never seen Belo's face. He was breathing hard when we first saw him, implying he's sick somehow, but was better after he Murdered a Man and poured goop in his eyes. He's never actually used magic before that we've seen. The only hint of power is that he's able to "talk with the Titan" and therefore that makes him better.

If he truly is a human, then that would be why he wears the mask. His ears would look like Luz's, not like a resident of the Boiling Isles. He has no magic. Or, if he does, he's channeling it in a way similar to Luz herself. He's been here for a LONG TIME, meaning he's becoming old and frail- or he should be, if it weren't for the Miracle Eye Healing Goop.

This would explain the portal Eda found out in the woods, and why Belos knows what it is. It was his portal. But, because Eda had it by the time he realized he wanted it back for whatever nefarious purposes he wanted that portal back for, he never got it.

But he's living literally right next to the Titan's still-beating heart. If Titan's blood is what allows for dimensional rifts, like Gwen says it can do, that means his throne is located directly in front of Luz's way home. He just needs a way to open the rift, which is where the portal comes in. The portal is there to channel the blood and create a rift on purpose, just like Eda's old portal could.

In fact, Luz probably has the "key" to opening that rift already. She just needs the blood and a vessel to complete the ritual.

Really think about it. Luz comes from our world, pretty much just as it is, and enters the Boiling Isles, where there is no discrimination on the same level of humanity. You can love freely, be freely, and crimes are judged on the action, not the person. Belos would have come from that same world, and saw how free it is here. If he wanted to take control and power, the only way he could ever do so would be to have the witches living here willingly give up their magic. He could not force them. So, he came up with the lie he can speak to the Titan.

Or, if it's not a lie, he used that power for evil instead of good. This leaves the implication that,

THEORY 3: Luz can ALSO talk to the Titan

This one is just speculation, but if Belos can do it, why not she? And if this IS a real ability Belos has, and he's been lying to everyone, Luz could be able to actually speak to the Titan and find out what it really wants. I imagine that it's probably not happy with Belos, but it can't just move or the entire Isles get destroyed. Or, he's physically unable to. Or perhaps, she can find out why the Titan wants magic restrained and find a different way.

If Belos is a human, then he and Luz contrast each other in that their journeys are the same. They both stumbled into this world by accident, they came from a world that wanted to stifle them, they entered a free world, and they wanted to stay.

The difference here is the power. While Belos reached for it, I predict Luz will be presented with a similar opportunity and throw it away. She becomes powerful in that she has her friends behind her, and that's all she needs. Her power comes from her determination and selflessness, whereas Belos' comes from his lies and selfishness.

Though, that story sounds familiar doesn't it? Which leads me to my final theory...

THEORY 4: The Good Witch Azura

I have 2 theories for this one, but they can both be grouped under one, so here we go.

Theory A) The Good Witch Azura was a REAL WITCH.

If these rifts can open because of Titan's blood, then there's a good chance that people like Eda had found the human world, too. And decided to stay for whatever reason.

Azura may have been writing an autobiography, or wanted to share to the human world about the Boiling Isles without directly saying it exists. Maybe she/they wanted to just get away from it, but missed the way it used to be, and expressed that through writing that happened to get popular.

Another mini theory that falls under this one is the idea that maybe someone tried to stand up to Belos early on, a sort of mirror to modern Eda. She/they saw how corrupt the system would become, and decided to flee or find help.

Theory B) Belos WROTE the Azura books

Now hear me out.

Going back to the 'Belos is a human' theory, that means he came from the human world, and for a time, he had a way of going back and forth between realms before he either lost or rejected his portal. Well, I don't know what his plans are, but if the fact that he's trying to get back to the human world are any indication, then I'd say he wants humans to know.

What if he's trying to spread his power and control? He has all the most powerful witches working under him, right? So it'd be easy to declare war on humanity. Just drop in without warning, cause havoc, and leave before they can retaliate. Then, do the same to a different location and leave before they can do anything. Do this again and again at random, and eventually, they surrender.

So why the Azura books? Well, I'm not entirely sure, but he's marketing books that are shockingly similar to how magic works in the Boiling Isles to humans, with messages about cheesy love and acceptance and working together. Humans eat that stuff right up. He may be testing the waters somehow.

I gotta be honest, I don't know why he'd write about those things, and the only episode I have to go off of is the writing/crunchtime episode from Season 1.

Oh, and this.

[Image ID: The same scene with Gwen that was shown before, but a continuation of the quote. Two screenshots this time, the first with the quote "Rumor has it he left something in the library, and- if you can find it-" then continued, "and if you can find out more about him..." End ID]

Luz: "Maybe I could find out how he got here!"

What if that something is the Azura books? What if there's a secret hidden within their pages, asking the humans to seek the witches out? Asking them to be entranced with this wondrous world, just as he was? What if he's asking them to come here?

"Knock knock, human."

Seasons 2 and 3 are gonna be wild.

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