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to-star-lake · 3 years

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Mars [ I ]

pairing | kth x reader genre | ahistorical au, military au, yandere!taehyung word count | 5.5k

The first time you saw him you were alone.

It was dark. Pitch black behind the counter of an abandoned cafe where you were hiding. You were split up from the group you’d been traveling with during the raid. You heard the whoosh of an incoming bomb somewhere in the distance, then the thundering boom when it hit. The building shook. Dust and soot fell from the ceiling. You clasped your hands together over your head, hiding your face between your knees.

Outside you could hear screams from all directions. The sound of rapid gunfire. The crunch of wooden beams and bricks being crushed under the weight of the enemy tanks that rolled over them in the streets.

You were scared, but you didn’t cry. Actually, you couldn’t remember when the last time was that you did cry. How long had it been since you were displaced from your home and your family because of the war? How long had it been since you were in the company of anyone you knew? The last you saw of your hometown, a small quiet village by the sea - it was burning, lost to a cloud of flames and ash. You’d long since stopped crying. Long since stopped wishing for the war to end, wishing for better days, for safety, for any kind of comfort. You came to accept the hunger, the cold, the stench of burning bodies in the streets, being on the run.

You heard the sound of glass shattering. Where was it? The building across the road? But the sound was too close. You lifted your head from under your arms and before you, as a reflection in the glass of the cabinet once meant to hold pastries, you saw the shadow of a man entering the cafe. He was alone, you noted. You had a chance.

Sliding further down under the counter, you held close to your chest the small pastry knife you found on the counter when you first entered the building when the raid warning horns blasted across the town. You became conscious of every breath you took, breathing in and out slowly and with purpose - to slow down your heart rate, and in hopes of concealing your presence.

Glass crunched under his boots as he walked into the building. You gripped the knife tighter in your hand. He stopped moving. You inched yourself just ever so slightly to your left, so you could find his reflection in the glass again but it was too much.

The glass shattered in an instant as a bullet hit it. You quickly ducked your face behind your forearms, you could feel the sting on your skin as stray shards streaked across it. You shouldn’t have looked. He saw you.

He fired thrice more, breaking the glass of the counter above you. Broken glass fell all around you and you pulled your limbs in even closer, hearing your own shallow breaths like an echo in your ears, ringing from the sound of the gun firing so close. You waited until it was quiet again. And you ran.

You stood, and forced your legs to pick up as much momentum and speed in a few seconds as your weak body could muster. Just to the door. Just to the exit out the back of the building. But as fast as you tried to move, he was faster.

Wood splinters broke off from the door frame where he fired another shot as you tried to run through it. You heard his steps behind you, wondering just how it was possible he was able to catch up to you so quickly. You swung around, lashing the knife in your hand but he ducked back, the blade missing the skin of his cheek by centimeters. His hand gripped around your arm, squeezing your wrist in a painful clutch. Your hand fell open, the knife dropped to the floor, clattering as it hit the broken glass under your feet.

You writhed, trying to break free of his grasp but failed. The darkness made it difficult to see, but he towered above you, a vice grip on your wrist, and his eyes were hidden behind a veil of dark hair. But even in the dark you could tell the uniform he wore - a black coat with gold trimming, the patch over his chest, an emblem of the enemy.

“Please..let me go..” the words you uttered would sound like a desperate plea, but the tone of your voice showed him that you were resigned to whatever fate will bring. You knew you were done for. You’d been captured. There was no way he would just let you go.

Thoughts of what will befall you ran through your mind. Would you be sent to the labor camps in the north - to work, to freeze, to starve, to die a slow, painful, diseased death? Would he claim you as a spoil of war - make you serve him, a slave girl, to use you in any way he pleased? Or would he be merciful - and put a bullet in your head here and now? You prayed for this last.

Past him you could see a tank turning onto the road, the flash of light from the high beam flew past your face, and you felt him run a hand behind your head, lacing his fingers into your hair, pulling your face back into the light. This pain barely registered, lost between the deafening ringing in your ears and the blood that trickled down your arms from splintered wood and crushed glass, your nerves were frayed after years of being on the run.

He stepped closer, so close you could feel his breath on your skin. You could see the splatters of blood across his face. The overwhelming metallic smell of blood on his clothes made you nauseous. You held your breath, and from behind the long strands of his hair, dripping droplets of blood onto his cheeks, he examined your face.

It was only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Finally, he let go of your hair, but kept his hand around your wrist and pulled you out from behind the counter. He brought you out onto the street, tugging you while you screamed in protest, though you knew no one was there to answer your pleas for help. Your bare feet dragged and pulled against him on the gravel and broken glass in the street. He brought you to an armored vehicle outside the building.

You screamed in protest, pushing against the metal frame of the door, writhing and wriggling your body in any way you could but it was useless against the force and strength of his arms. He pushed you onto the passenger seat and held both your wrists up to the handle above the door. He looped a zip tie around your wrists and tied you up to the handle, so tight you swore the plastic material cut into your skin. He then tied your ankles.

All around you was fire, ash and smoke. Bodies dropping to the ground under a cloud of red dust. He moved swiftly around the vehicle, jumping into the driver’s seat. The engine roared to life, and you fell back against the seat, swaying with the force of the car as he turned and sped down the road through the burning town.

You must’ve been in the car for hours when he pulled up to a set of black iron gates, guarded by six men armed with machine guns that hung around their torsos. They seemed to recognize him immediately, saluting and greeting him. They exchanged glances and shot you looks, but no one made mention of you, only opening the gate immediately to let him drive through.

He stopped in front of a large stone estate. You recognized it. It had once been the home of the governor of this land. Now it housed the enemy combatants. You wondered what happened to the family that lived here before the war.

He walked around to the passenger side and pulled a knife from his belt. You flinched but he reached up to untie you from the handle above the door. He cut through the ties that bound your feet. You grimaced as he pulled you from the vehicle, the cut-up soles of your feet stung against the rough gravel.

“Captain!”

You turned at the voice. A young man, tall and thin, donned in the same uniform as the man that captured you, appeared from within the estate. Only now in the brightly lit lot of the compound you could see his young man had far less pins and medals than the man that brought you here.

He hurried down the steps of the building and saluted the man beside you.

“The town’s taken.”

Hearing his voice for the first time shocked you. Partly because it was at a much lower register than the young man saluting him, and partly because you did not expect him, the enemy, a dog of war, to have such a sophisticated tone.

“Sir, that’s excellent, the General will be glad to hear of it-”

Before he could finish, the man beside you pushed you forward, causing you to momentarily lose your balance, and you would’ve fallen to the ground had the young man not caught you in his arms and steadied you back onto your feet.

“Take her to Inah.”

“Um..sure, uh, I mean, yes sir!” the young man called out.

The man he called Captain swung the heavy machine gun he carried around his torso off, and slid off his overcoat. Even though the shirt he wore underneath was black, you could tell from the way the material was dampened and stuck to his skin that it was drenched in blood.

“And Soobin,” he turned to address the young man as he walked up the steps.

“Yes, sir?”

“No one touches her.”

The young man made a face. “Sir?”

The Captain turned and continued up the steps. “Have Inah tend to her wounds and get her some fresh clothing and food. Then bring her to my quarters.”

“Yes, sir.”

Once the Captain had gone, the young man turned and looked down at your face, speckled with dried blood and ash and dust, your hair clumped together from not having been washed in what felt like ages. He wrinkled his nose at the sight of you.

“Come on,” he grabbed onto your arm and pulled you roughly up the steps of the building.

Inside there were many guards, roaming the halls in pairs. The rooms were dimly lit by wood-burning fires, or candles on chandeliers overhead. It was surprisingly quiet inside. So quiet it brought a ghastly unease, a stark contrast to the shell-shocked war zones you’d fled.

He led you up a marble stairwell, down several hallways, until you reached the end of a narrow hall and he knocked on a single door at the end. The door creaked open and you saw a woman emerge from behind it.

“The Captain wishes her to be cleaned and given fresh clothing,” Soobin pronounced, and you watched as an almost indetectable flicker went across her eyes, but she quickly regained her composure.

“...the Captain?” she asked in a small, squeaky voice.

“Yes, and once that’s done, the Captain wishes she be brought to his quarters. And instruct the servants to bring his supper as well.” He shoved you forward through the open door.

“Yes, sir,” the woman said, bowing. The young man turned swiftly and left down the hall.

She closed the door behind him, and looking around, you found yourself in the drawing room of what looked to be the servants’ quarters. There was no decor, sparse furniture, and the room felt cold compared to the rest of the house.

“Lira,” the woman sighed.

“Yes, Lady Inah?” you turned and saw a girl who could not be older than you emerge from an adjacent room.

“Please go down to the kitchen and instruct the servants to bring supper to the Captain, he’s returned.”

The girl gave a small bow before turning and leaving. As she left, two other girls came into the room. You stood, arms clasped in front of your chest, cold and unsure what to do.

“Bring water and a washcloth,” the woman instructed. One of the girls nodded, bowing and leaving to her task. “And a fresh gown.” The other girl followed suit.

The woman looked at you up and down, walking a circle around you like an appraiser assessing an item. The girls returned and they assisted the woman in stripping you of all your clothing against your yells of protest. They cleaned your face and body with washcloths and warm water that smelled of berries and mint. They poured water over your head, and ran a brush through your hair, and cleaned it with rose fragranced water. They cleaned the scrapes and cuts on your arms and your feet, and bandaged them lightly with linens. Then they pulled a white gown over your head. It hung loosely around your chest and torso, the straps were adjusted to keep from falling off your shoulders.

“Follow me,” the woman said.

She led you out into the hall, through a labyrinth of turns and stairs to the uppermost level of the house, to a set of large double doors in a glossy, veneered oak. One of the doors was slightly ajar, and you could see the orange glow of a fire from within.

“You will not speak unless first spoken to,” the woman instructed, coming to a halt before the doors. “You will obey the Captain’s wishes, all the Captain’s wishes.” She knocked quietly on the doors. “The Captain has never brought back a servant, and he has never wished to take any of the girls here at the compound,” she lowered her voice. “Consider yourself lucky. If the Captain fancies you, you may be allowed more freedoms and be given more rewards than any of the other servant girls here. The General holds him in the highest favor because of his wrath and cruelty in war. He is an esteemed soldier.”

“Come in,” you heard his voice from within the room.

You felt your chest tighten.

“Just keep your head down, and do as you’re told,” were her last words before she adjusted her posture, and cautiously, pushed the door open a bit more, and entered.

“Sir, I have brought you the girl,” she pushed your forward.

The room was expansive, and there were doorways you saw that led to adjacent rooms. At the far end, there were large windows, reaching from the ceiling to the floor, they must’ve been eight meters tall. Two of them were doors, with large bronze handles that led out to a marble balcony. The room was lit by a billowing fire from a stone hearth. Against the wall there was a large bed under a velvet canopy. Occupying the rest of the room was a round table with two chairs beside it, on top of which held dishes, steam rising from them, a basket of assorted breads and pastries, and a tea set. And beside that, close to the fire, you saw a cot, low to the ground, covered with a wool military-issue blanket and a small, square pillow.

“You may leave,” he said, taking a seat at the edge of the bed.

The woman took a deep bow, and turned to leave the room. She closed the door behind her and all there was was you, standing in the middle of the floor of his room. And him, unfastening the buttons of his shirt, and sliding it from his body, and all he had was a dark t-shirt, tucked into the black military slacks.

He sighed, tossing the shirt aside onto the floor before looking up at you.

He’d pushed his hair back, revealing his eyes and in the orange glow of the fire, and in his dark irises you could see only what you’d always seen in the enemy - brutality, savagery, violence.

He stood, and you listened to the thump of his boots against the marble floor as he made his way over to the table beside the fire. He pulled out a seat and stood behind it.

“Sit.”

You moved cautiously toward the table, your legs buckling from pain of overuse in all your running and hiding. You sat slowly, and he took a seat across the table from you.

“Eat,” he moved an empty porcelain plate toward you, and began putting morsels of food onto it - a piece of bread, a bowl of soup, some kind of vegetable and meat dish you hardly recognized because it’d been so long since the last time you tasted anything other than stale and moldy bread. He began plating food onto his own dish as well, and you watched, listening with disgust as he held a piece of bread to his lips, ripping off a piece with his teeth. The sound of him chewing made you nauseous, you wanted to throw up.

He stopped, noticing your obvious discomfort - you’d pushed yourself against the back of the seat, your body rigid. He set down the fork in his hand, sighing.

“Eat, you must be starving,” he reached across the table, pushing your plate closer to you.

You didn’t move.

He brought the napkin that laid on his lap to his lips, then dropped it onto the table. “What’s your name?”

You didn’t answer.

He sighed, standing up and moving his chair beside you. You flinched. He sat down, too close to you for comfort, and took the utensils that lay beside your plate and began cutting the food into bite-sized pieces. He took the piece of bread and broke that up too, dropping pieces of it into the soup to soften.

Your eyes caught the balcony door behind him, not five feet away - it was slightly ajar. He noticed this.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” his voice lowered, setting the utensils back down on the table. “I can’t do anything for you if you leave this room, if you attempt to flee. My men will shoot you immediately.” He sat back in his seat, resting his hands on his legs. “What’s your name?” he asked again.

You still did not answer.

“Even the people of this godforsaken country have names,” he sighed.

This woke an anger in you.

You grabbed the dinner knife from beside your plate and lunged toward him, but just as before, he was faster. He grabbed your arm, squeezing it and the knife fell from your hand. He pulled you onto the floor beneath him and he closed his other hand around your throat with enough force that you felt your larynx would be crushed if he closed his hand just the slightest bit more. He could kill you like this, and it would be easy for him.

Your eyes began watering. You weren’t crying, the warm droplets that fell were due to you the pain of the hand closed around your throat, your eyes stung from the salt of your tears as you gasped for air.

“You’re nothing but a killer..” you choked out. Something seemed to flash across his eyes, and he dropped you to the floor. You coughed hacking breaths, fighting for air. You had only the strength to hold yourself on your forearms. “This was a beautiful country, a peaceful country of farmers and horsemen. Why did you come..you destroyed everything..you know nothing of this land, of its people, you kill and torture indiscriminately..” you rasped.

Through the hair that’s fallen over your face you could see him lean onto his elbows on his legs, sighing. After a moment he stood, bending over to pick you up in his arms, but you screamed and yelled, hitting him with ineffective fists and he walked you over to the cot in the corner, dropping you on it.

You tried to stand, but your legs failed you, and his hand fell on your shoulder, and with just the smallest amount of force he was able to push you back down.

He crouched in front of you, and reached a hand up to brush a few strands of hair from your shoulder, to examine your neck. You flinched at the contact, and he retracted his hand quickly.

“I’ll have them keep the food here, but it’ll become cold if you don’t eat it soon. You’ll sleep here. I apologize this was all I could manage for tonight, I will arrange for better accommodations tomorrow. The adjacent room is my office, I’ll be taking meetings tonight and working, I hope that will not disturb you too much. Servants will also be coming in and out to bring tea, help yourself to whatever you’d like. There is a bathroom through that door on the other side.” He stood. “Do not attempt to escape. I say this for your own sake.”

---

For as long as he could remember, he’d been a soldier. When he was young, in the dusty streets of his hometown, impoverished, homeless, without family, living off of what he could beg for, what he could find, what he could steal.

All around him was uproar, anger and fury, unrest amongst the people. Disease ran rampant in this poor country, there was not enough food and water, the people suffered. He heard tell of a nation to the west - a thriving nation, of lush green fields that rose on high white towers of rock above a pale blue ocean. Of abundant food, of smiles and laughter, without worries of whether one would live to see the sunrise the next day.

He lingered on that thought - the thought of sunrise. How long had it been since he’d seen the sun, shining clear and bright in the sky? When it didn’t seem so far away in the distance, hidden behind the billowing clouds of brown dust that plagued this nation? When was the last time he didn’t feel the hunger? The thirst, his skin and lips cracked and bleeding in the dry heat.

War lords had risen across this sickened nation, amassing followers to their various causes, committing atrocities, pillaging towns and stealing what little was there in the first place. Until a man rose above it all, preaching that he would bring prosperity and hope to the people - that he would seek to bring the riches of the nation beside it to the people who were in real need of it. He tended the small, flickering flames that were people’s anger and discontent and grew it into an army, built on fury and malice, with a singular goal of bringing down the nation beside, and to share and revel in the riches that it would bring.

The boy was nineteen when he first saw a piece of dusty war propaganda on the street. He brushed the layer of dust away, and his eyes opened wide at the image it held - a drawing of young man in a peaked cap, facing a bright orange and red setting sun beyond the ocean, he stood on a cliff beside a pony, in grass so tall and lush it rose to his chest.

He wondered what that would feel like. The grass that tickled at your skin, how soft it must be. The smell of the ocean. Rays of a warm sun hitting his bare skin.

He’d kept the same spirit, the will to survive, and it served him well in the army. He rose through the ranks quickly. He fought well, better than anyone. He was ruthless.

Soon, he’d gained the favor of the General, who named him Captain to an entire legion, which he led to devastating effect across the plains of the west to the ocean.

He’d never wanted to kill anyone. He’d never wanted to burn down entire villages. He wanted to feel the sun, to dip his feet into the ocean, to know what sand would feel like beneath his feet. It began as a simple wish to do just that, but that wish became darkened by the deeds he piled up over the years, afflicted by an endless war, for the General did not stop at simply conquering this nation - his ambition and greed grew to an invasion of the entire continent.

And as the years passed, he grew tired. Tired of the fire, of the burning smell of bodies in the streets, the wanton death and destruction. When he finally reached the ocean, the warmth of the sun on his face was not a welcoming sensation - the heat burned against his raw and scratched skin like a punishment for his sins. The waves of the ocean crashed against his body, cold as ice, and seemed to forsake him, pushing him back ashore.

That night was not unlike any other he’d seen in the past six years. The general had instructions to burn down the three villages nearest to the compound they’d taken up, the former governor’s residence. His battalion was efficient, they had done this hundreds of times before. The homes and buildings in this small town burned down like butter close to a fire, this had become so easy for him he’d become numb to it. Numb to the destruction.

A bomb dropped nearby and the row of buildings across the road from where he stood shook, cracks ran through the glass storefronts. Inside the buildings appeared dark and empty, he walked closer and broke through the glass of one of these storefronts. He detected movement, and on instinct, fired his weapon into the glass when he saw a figure stand from behind the counters, making a run for the rear exit. He fired again, but stopped immediately when he saw the long strands of dark hair.

When he grasped onto your wrist and turned you to face him, he wondered how one could be so small, how one could be so fragile - he could break your wrist in his hand with just the slightest effort. When he looked into your eyes he was shaken by something familiar, something he recognized, a painful nostalgia. It was the look in your eyes - your spirit, that once held a will to fight, a will to survive, like he had as a child. But he could see that that spirit had been whittled down over the years, broken by a hopelessness so vast and heavy one could not escape it - you’d given up hope.

“You’re nothing but a killer.”

Your words echoed in his mind as he walked into his office in the adjacent room and took a seat behind a large mahogany desk. He felt goosebumps rise on his skin at the sight of your eyes, looking directly into his, without a single shred of fear - that they were cold, distant, detached, as the ocean had been when he’d finally touched it. They held no sympathy, though he did not expect they would. They were empty.

“Sir, the General is here to see you.”

He was brought out of his thoughts by a gentle knock on the door, and Soobin appeared through the frame, bowing.

He nodded, “Soobin, please make arrangements to have furniture brought into this room first thing tomorrow. A bed, an armchair, and a nightstand to start. Have Inah bring the best linens she can find.”

“Sir?” Soobin asked, a perplexed expression on his face. “What about your desk and chairs and books?”

“Have them moved into my room.”

“Yes, sir,” he bowed again, and the Captain waved him off. As he left, the loud thumping of boots came into the room.

“Taehyung.”

“General,” the Captain stood from his chair, taking a bow and saluting his commanding officer.

“Oh please, there’s no need to stand on ceremony, it is only you and I here,” the General walked around to his side of the desk, his hands closing around the Captain’s arms, giving him a pat of approval on the shoulder. The Captain stepped aside, offering his chair to the General, who took a seat immediately.

“The three towns northeast of here have been taken, tomorrow we will have scouts return to assess-”

“Oh Tae, there’s no need for that, I can get the details from one of the Lieutenants,” the General furrowed his brows, impatiently waving a hand in the air.

“As you wish.”

“Now tell me,” the General swung in his chair to face the Captain directly, his hands clasping together across his stomach. “I’ve just arrived here with my men, and what’s all this hubbub I’m hearing about a beautiful servant girl you’ve brought back?”

His jaw tightened.

“Now, if I know you well, and I’d like to think I do after six years,” the General tilted his head quizzically to the side to look at the Captain’s face. “You are not the type to take a girl. Sure, all the men have taken girls for themselves, they have needs you know, I do not fault them for that.”

He looked down.

“But you have seemed, over the years, to be quite, how shall I put it, well you look at the men with a bit of disdain? Though that would be a bit hypocritical, would it not, I know you’ve visited brothels here and there, I do understand that even you, the most stoic and controlled of soldiers must also give into your basest needs at some point..”

He said nothing.

“Oh now, surely I do not judge you, you are the best after all, you’re my favorite, you’ve won countless battles for me!” the General let out a nervous chuckle. “So it makes me wonder, who is this girl that you’ve suddenly decided to claim? Where did you find her? Where is she, may I see her?”

No, he answered definitively in his head.

“She is being looked after by Inah,” he answered carefully after a moment. “She will be a serving girl in the compound, she will work in the kitchen and clean.”

The General pondered this silently, much to the Captain’s dismay - he’d hoped he would not be questioned further on this.

“So you mean to say..” the General began slowly, raising an eyebrow. “That this girl is free to serve whomever here?”

The Captain stood abruptly. “Sir, as you said, I have done much for your,” he caught himself. “Our cause. I don’t yet have plans for this girl, but I do intend for her to earn her keep. As to whom she serves, I would greatly appreciate it if you and the other captains would remember that she belongs to me.”

The General stared in incredulity at the Captain for a few moments, but the corners of his mouth soon lifted and he broke into boisterous laughter. “Oh Taehyung, my boy, look how serious you’ve suddenly become!” he stood, laughing and making his way over to the Captain. He put his hands around his shoulders once again, “Of course, she belongs to you, you found her, who else should we have her serve? Oh come now, you must be exhausted after this week, get some good rest. Though, if what I hear of this girl is true, you may yet have more physical exertion ahead of you tonight,” he chuckled.

The Captain felt his hand close into the fist. It took all of his concentration and effort not to hit the General’s face, puffy and red from years of overindulging in liquor and food and tobacco. He composed himself, giving a low bow to the General as he turned and walked out into the hall. The Captain quickly closed the door behind him and took a deep breath in to calm himself.

Slowly, he moved to the door on the opposite end of the room, peering quietly over the opening. Past the small dining table, he could see you, huddled back against the wall beside the cot. You sat on the floor, your knees pulled in tightly to your body, your head leaned to the side against the stone wall. The light emanating from the fire allowed him to see your face, your expression - that it had not changed since he left you a few moments ago. Your eyes held resignation, a numbing coldness.

The Captain moved slowly back to his desk and took a seat in the leather armchair beside it. He reached out for the map that laid on the top of his desk and looked at the large red circles and arrows on it. In the far bottom-most corner of the map he brushed his fingertips past a small town by the ocean. It’d been untouched by the war, thousands of miles away from the fire and famine. He thought about what he would do next.

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jungwooisms · 3 years

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hwarang | prologue

pairing: no pairing in prologue. route list tba genre: historical au, fluff, angst, smut (later routes), supernatural members: moon taeil, lee taeyong, nakamoto yuta, qian kun, li yongqin (ten), jeong jaehyun, wong kunhang (hendery), lee minhyung (mark), na jaemin, park jisung warnings: crass humor and language, blood, violence, mentions of suicide, alcohol, minor character death word count: 11.2k

in 661 silla, you leave your hometown in search for your father, a physician whose work takes him far from home and oft to the battlefields of the kingdom. but with no word from him in months, you disguise yourself as a man and head to seorabeol, the kingdom’s capital, in search of him. it’s not until you become involved with a group that calls themselves the hwarang that things begin to unravel at the seams.

January 22nd, 661 - Seorabeol, Kingdom of Silla It had been two months since your father had left. And those two months that felt like a lifetime. It wasn’t that you were so solely dependent on your caretaker that you’d let your home and his practice fall into ruin. It’s just that he said he’d be gone for at most two weeks while he attended to a patient in Seorabeol. He’d neglected to write, forgotten, maybe. But he wasn’t a careless man, you knew that as much as he. Perhaps that’s why you find yourself so stricken with apprehension as you near the gates of Silla’s capital, the dirt underfoot hard in the dead of winter.

The gates of the city stand menacingly in front of you, the grip you have on the knapsack slung over your shoulder tightens as you begin to notice the mass of people making their way in and out of the city. You have to dodge every nudging elbow prodding into your back to move you forward, duck or sway when a merchant’s wares almost topple from their carts and try not to make eye contact with the soldiers who line the entrance.

Eventually, you make it into the city with little to no fuss raised about you, everyone seemed so deeply enthralled with their own business you were easily out of their minds. Yet now that you stand in the streets of Seorabeol, you don’t know which way to go. It wasn’t as if your father had left a directory for you to follow him up on, nor had any of his letters detailed his whereabouts in the capital in full. So, you sigh and continue forward, beginning to scan the crowds in search of a face you hadn’t seen in months.

Despite the golden sun shining down onto the Kingdom’s capital, Seorabeol lies under a blanket of cold air. And despite the layers of cloth and fur adorning your shoulders the wintery chill sets into your bones as you continue along the streets.

Through the passing greetings of friends, the shouts of merchants and the bickering of their patrons, the voices collide together in a symphony of noise, you can’t seem to pull one apart from the other. No faces looked at you with recognition, but why would they? This wasn’t your home, and you were surely just another visitor that they’d forget as soon as you left their line of sight.

You’d come to the capital when you were a child, your father had been called upon by some aristocratic family, but you could scarcely remember who it had been. After the patient had been treated the pair of you had retreated to your village some distance away from Seorabeol, the memory of this place and its people quickly leaving your subconscious.

Even now, after the partial loss of that memory, you can recall how cold the city had been compared to how cold it was now. It might be due to the winter chill that resides like a phantom over the streets, but this felt different, more ominous now that you’re old enough to realize it.

Had you been right to leave your home?

The question plagues you as you wander the winding streets, your legs tired from your trek and eyes even heavier from the lost sleep over the course of your father’s absence. You’d questioned, asked if anyone had heard your father’s name or had seen him before, but concluded that those who had seen or met him had done so weeks prior.

And then you asked of Namekawa Yasuo, an acquaintance of your father’s. He was another physician that might know where he resided. But that inquiry typically left you with a snicker and a turn of the other’s heels. It was most likely that your father and his friend had ventured on to another town from here. You were alone once again.

Before you’d realized it, dusk had fallen over the city, the gray clouds beginning to unleash a torrent of snowy flurries that made the streets become almost unnavigable. Your hands pull your overcoat together, trying to find warmth where you already knew there wouldn’t be. If you didn’t want to freeze to death, you’d have to find somewhere to stay the night or die by freezing or by some wandering bandit.

“Excuse me,” you call out as you stop traversing the road, turning to the side and over to a small stall aligning the street. Eyes locking with those of a miserly sort of merchant, you poise the question, “Do you know where the nearest inn is?”

For a moment you’d forgotten that you were wearing your father’s clothes, so when the grizzled voice of the merchant asks if you’re looking for a pleasure house to get lost, you were somewhat puzzled. It isn’t without a moment of insistence that you’re just looking for a normal inn, do they comply.

“Past the butcher’s, it’s cheap enough.” He turns away from you with that final statement, continuing to close up his stall and lock his goods away until the next morning.

A quick nod and you’re off, the lanterns aligning the street only helping when the flurries die down a bit and you’re able to see several meters in front of you. You quicken your pace whenever you hear someone behind you, all too skittish to get out of this outbreak of snow. It wasn’t as if you feared the city’s inhabitants, but you’d heard warnings throughout your life that traveling alone at nighttime wasn’t ever a great idea. Maybe being dressed as a man should put you more at ease, but the message ingrained into your brain was even more overpowering.

The city grows even darker as you fail to find the inn that the merchant had mentioned, had you already passed it? Ahead of you looks to be one of the agate walls aligning the city, stopping you dead in your tracks as you think of where to go next.

“Hey, kid.” A voice calls out behind you, it sounds disjointed, slurred. Were they drunk?

You spin on your heels, your hand reaching for your bag, for the small blade you’d tucked away in case of an instance like this. But it wasn’t just one man, it was three men swaying on their feet. Even at some distance away you could smell the sickeningly sweet scent of their perfumes and notice the bright colors their robes were made of. They were of some standing in society, but with the way they were presenting themselves, you suspect they were of the aristocracy’s lower ranks.

“Can I help you?” Using a lower register of your voice as you speak, as if it’ll somehow cast some sort of intimidation onto the men, you nod at them. Your fingers gently undo the string on your bag, reaching around for your blade. When you were younger your father had encouraged lessons, somewhat breaking the mold as for what was appropriate for a girl to learn, but your father had always been the unconventional sort.

“That’s a pretty blade,” one notes as you slip the weapon from the bag, the sheen from the hilt catching in the light of the streetlamp above. It was then you realized that they were probably more interested in the family heirloom than they were in you. “Seems a little extravagant for a commoner like you to have.”

“Why don’t you hand it over, we’d put it to much better use,” another snickers, stumbling forward and reaching his hand out towards you. Their heavily jeweled wrist chimes as their hand outstretches towards you, the gold glimmering in the now open moonlight.

“But this is…” you hesitate, understanding that they wouldn’t comprehend its sentimentality. The handle of the blade is cool under your grip as your knees tense. It didn’t look as if any of the men were going to stop harassing you until they got what they were after, your only choice now was to get away from them at all cost.

So, you run. Feet slapping atop the ground, the tops of your shoes becoming wettened by the puddles of melted snow you step into as you bolt down a side street.

“Son of a— get back here!” You hear one of them call out after you, the collective sounds of their footfalls chasing after you only seconds later.

It seems like you were running for hours, your heartbeat loud in your ears and the cold air tearing at your lungs with every breath you inhale. They were still chasing after you, they sound more distant now, but their curses and footfalls still echo the street behind you. You spot an alley and decide to duck into it for an attempt at eluding them.

There were several long sheets of wood leaning against the side of one of the houses, finding it an apt hiding place you crawl under them, trying to calm your breathing as you hear the footsteps of the nobles approach.

“Are you sure it was this one?” You hear a voice after a few seconds at the opening of the alley, the labored breathing tells you it was one of your pursuers.

“It had to have been,” the voices and footfalls edging closer, the clinking of their belts signaling their proximity.

You hold your breath, expecting to be found out any second. But you’re not, instead the air goes quiet, the sound of the wind whistling through the alleyway all you can hear. It isn’t until a few seconds later that one of the men cries out in pain.

Before you could peek out from behind the board you stop yourself, not wanting to be caught by those men or whoever had caught them.

“What do you think you’re doing!” One of the men cries out, you hear a blade being unsheathed as they speak.

Another blade unsheathed, the sounds of iron on iron clanging through the air for a few seconds before one of the men speaks out again, “Why aren’t you dying?” A few bated breaths, “Jinyoung, we should get out of here—”

Something akin to primal fear takes over you at that moment, locking you in place, unable to move for a moment. What was out there? What were they fighting? With your mind flying with all sorts of gruesome imagery, you barely had time to comprehend what you were doing. Your head peeks out from your hiding spot and into the alleyway.

There’s another clangor of steel as you look, the light from the street reflecting off one of the blades as two people are interlocked in a fight. The only figure you could see fighting was donned in a light blue robe, had they saved you?

Something of a menacing laugh emits from them, their blade once again falling onto the other’s as one of your pursuers cries out for help. Your savior says nothing as he stops his attacks, only now moving to raise his blade over his head and bringing it down to fatally slash against the chest of his foe. The struck noble lets out an anguished yell as he falls to his knees, the sword in hand clattering to the ground as he reaches to try and staunch the blood flow from the gash in his chest.

A high-pitched laugh overtakes the man’s anguish, the man donned in blue still standing over his opponent and nearly snickering at his demise. You have to hold your hands to your mouth to stop you from gasping when the blue-clad man raises his sword once more. He begins hacking away at the now vanquished noble, his blows tearing into flesh more so like a butcher’s knife than a sword. There wasn’t skill, just a raw brutality behind every blow.

The screams grew quiet, just wet bellows that stilled after a moment more. Your breath heavy and your chest heaving after watching that, you’d just witnessed that man’s murder. Wanting to get away from this situation, you fall back under the cover of the wood, your back hitting the house’s exterior as you try and keep yourself together. The man keeps hacking away, the splatter of blood on the ground and onto the nearby walls almost causing you to be sick to your stomach.

This wasn’t human, it couldn’t have been. Sure, it was a man committing the act but the brutality of it all was more akin to a beast. It was as if they’d forgone any sense and given way into a psychotic madness.

A coppery tinge to the air almost makes you gag; the scent of the deceased man’s blood had risen to greet you. How were you going to get out of this?

You pull your hands away from your face, the cold air meeting your skin all too unpleasantly. If you stayed in place the killer would easily find you if he wanted to, perhaps your best bet was to outrun him like you had the now deceased nobles. So, you brace yourself, pushing yourself up to your knees and prepare to make a dash down the alleyway and towards the opening on the other end. But as you do, you find that your joints have locked, sending you stumbling forward as you stand and knocking the sheets of wood over. With a dreadful fear encasing you, you turn to see that it hadn’t been just one man to kill the three that were after you, but two others had joined him as well, all wearing the light blue robes. All of them drenched in the blood of the fallen nobles.

Their eyes bore into yours, smiles etching their way onto their faces as if you’ve become the lamb brought to the slaughter. You had to run, had to get away. But you can’t, your legs are locked in place out of the sheer madness of this situation. They laugh as they turn towards you, wordless in any other manner as they begin to saunter over to you, their silvery hair and reddened eyes looking almost ghostly in the moonlight.

You were going to die. You can’t even muster a scream to call out to any city patrol, nor move your limbs with how wrought with fear you are.

Eyes closing as you begin to accept your fate, the sounds of their footsteps nearing, you can almost sense them lifting their blades to cut you down before— A whirring through the air and a grunt from one of the men in front of you has your eyes flying open. Someone had shot an arrow and hit one of the silver-haired men, causing them to stumble back a step or two. In theory, a blow like that should have downed a man, an arrow to the chest isn’t a superficial wound by any means, but it looks like the man was angrier now than injured.

The trio now raise their swords, their target now someone behind you, and before you're able to turn and see who or what it is, a glint of a silver blade flashes across your vision and cuts in front of you. You’re able to feel the warm blood splatter across your cheek before you register what just happened in front of you. Now the trio of men lay on the ground, dead by the looks of it, as a long gash seems to have torn across their bodies. The same queasiness from before begins to invade you as you wipe the gore from your cheek onto your sleeve, but before you’re able to do anything else about it, you hear a voice behind you.

“Is this really what we’re dealing with tonight?” It was a sigh of disappointment, but somewhere in the tone there was almost a sound of amusement. “I wanted to take them out myself, couldn’t you have picked a different patrol group, Nakamoto?” You turn to see two men behind you, clad in the same blue as the murderers, but they looked calmer, despite the one talking having a grin plastered onto his face.

“I did my job,” the one that must be Nakamoto sighs, watching the other slinging the bow he’d used to shoot one of the men around his shoulder before moving to withdraw the sword he’d used to slay the men that had been after you. “Unlike you, I’m not getting any gratification out of this.”

“That’s a little rude,” his partner laughs.

“You’re not even trying to hide it,” Nakamoto frowns, he carries the air as if he’s dealt with the other’s antics for quite some time. His gaze then flickers from the trio of fallen men to you.

“You know me well enough to know that I’m joking,” the other shakes his head and turns to look at you. “If you had just let them kill the kid you could’ve saved us some trouble, though.” Despite the lightness in his tone, the content of his speech made the same chill of fear creep down your spine. You’d escaped the nobles and the murderers, but now a different foe stands before you.

“Maybe,” Nakamoto notes, “but this isn’t our decision to make.”

Your brow furrows as they speak, by what they were saying it would leave you to believe that these men were a part of some sort of organization. Thinking more on it, you only knew of one group prominent enough to walk the streets of Seorabeol at night in place of any military patrol. Were these truly members of the Hwarang?

Before you’re able to part your lips to ask, a figure rounds the corner behind the two men and makes his way over to you. He wears the same blue as them, his hair styled the same way with a headband across his forehead and the long locks held in a topknot atop his head. The other two grow silent as he approaches, denoting some sort of superiority as he stands shoulder to shoulder with them.

His gaze travels behind you, looking at the splayed out remains, and then returns to you, a frown adorning his lips. “It doesn’t seem like luck was on your side tonight.” He speaks sharply, as if his words were whettened by the same stone that had sharpened his blade. The cold blue of the moonlight reflects off the blade in his grasp as he raises it towards your chest, sending another bolt of dread to your stomach. Although it wasn’t necessarily the steel pointed at your heart that made you feel that way, it was the way his gaze bore into you. It was cold and fierce, but there was another emotion stowed away that you weren’t fully comprehending. Mercy, maybe? The man fully seems capable of killing you instantly, but he looks somewhat troubled. “If you run, I will kill you. Do you understand?”

You nod immediately, knowing full well that he wouldn’t back down on that statement. He stares at you for a moment longer before sighing and sheathing his sword.

“W- What?” Too surprised to stop yourself, you blurt out the question as the man crosses his arms.

“Are you sure about this Qian?” The snarkier of the two others asks, his eyes narrowing at the one he’d called out to, “The kid saw everything.”

Qian frowns, “Quiet. If you keep saying that then you know what we’ll have to do.”

With their apprehension to mention what had just occurred, it was clear that you’d seen something you weren’t supposed to. The more they said the easier it was to figure out what they were trying to hide and no one wanted that.

“Don’t you think it’ll come back to bite us in the ass if we let him go?” With the way the Hwarang spoke it sounded as if he could read your mind.

“And so the right thing to do would be killing him? No,” Qian shakes his head, “We’ll see what to do with the kid once we get back.”

“I agree with the commander, the longer we stay here the more likely we’re to be seen… Again.” Nakamoto adds, moving to sheath his own sword and look at the creatures they’d slain as though he hadn’t seen them before. “If this is their reaction to blood, I don’t think they’ll have a practical use.”

“Damn…” Qian looks down to the corpses, an emotionless expression on his face before he looks back to his companions. “As for you two, stop with the ‘Qian’ and ‘commander’, we’re trying to keep a low profile.”

“You can’t be serious, our robes are a big giveaway,” the nameless Hwarang snorts.

“What should we do with the bodies? There doesn’t seem to be any physical signs…” Nakamoto notes, looking at Qian.

The commander thinks for a moment, “Just take their robes, Minhyung can deal with the rest.”

“Understood.”

“Another man killed in the streets of Seorabeol,” the other Hwarang sighs out before bellowing out a bark of laughter, “We’re doing a great job, aren’t we?”

“As long as we don’t talk about it, I don’t think anyone will know we were here,” Qian looks to you and you get the feeling that his words weren’t directed towards his companions. It wasn’t uncommon for people to be murdered in the capital, with rising tensions across the kingdoms as different factions had been popping up everywhere and leading anywhere from small to large fights. Seeing it happen was a different story.

“Hmm, we did save you, didn’t we?” The nameless Hwarang muses as he looks at you.

Eyes widening at his statement. Despite his earlier attempts of pursuing after your death, he and Nakamoto had saved you from the murderers. “Thank you,” you bow, hesitantly as you didn’t trust them entirely. “I’m sorry for not thanking you earlier, there was just so much going on…”

Looking back up at the three, they looked almost as confused as you felt. You quickly break eye contact and look down to the ground, “It’s a little strange to say that… but he told me I should say thanks so—”

Gaze returning to the men, Qian and Nakamoto were looking at anywhere but you while the third man was shaking with laughter.

“I guess I did tell you to, didn’t I?” He laughs again, doubling over to the point he has to wipe a few tears away from his eyes before straightening up. “You’re welcome, I’m Li Yongqin. Nice to meet someone who actually knows how to be polite.”

“Thanks for helping me…”

“The one you should be thanking is Nakamoto Yuta over here, and this bossy guy—” He begins again but is abruptly stopped by Qian.

“The hell do you think you’re doing, Li?” He frowns as he turns towards Yongqin.

“I understand your concerns, commander, but we have to move.” Whatever pervasive happiness that had penetrated the bloodied air dissipated with Nakamoto’s words.

Li reaches out and grabs your wrist, gives you a small smirk and begins to lead you out of the alleyway and down the street. His grip too rough and tight to be friendly, his fingers feel like stone wrapped around you. There wasn’t any question about the situation you now found yourself in; if you were to run you were to be killed. Your life was now in their hands and up to their discretion.

“It would be best if you prepared for the worst,” Nakamoto says as you traverse the streets of Seorabeol, wondering how the sight of their bloodstained robes weren’t catching anyone’s attention. “I doubt this will end well for you.” His words were sharper than the blades of cold that soar through the streets, tearing into your chest.

January 23rd, 661 - Seorabeol, Kingdom of Silla The harshness of the sunlight beaming in through a nearby window pulls you from a dreamless slumber, the ground underneath you far too hard to allow you a peaceful enough rest for such frivolities. Head reeling at the events of the night prior, it isn’t until you try and rub the sleep from your eyes that you realize where you were exactly. The knot roping your hands together brushes against your wrists, the fibers of the cordage causing the skin to burn.

Looking around the room, you realize that there isn’t anyone else present. In a way that made you feel a little more comfortable, but again, waking up in an unfamiliar place was sure to keep you on edge. You writhe on the floor for a moment, realizing that your feet had been bound too, the blankets that had been strewn atop you falling away and pooling on the floor beside you. A dull ache in your back tells you that you’d be feeling the consequence of sleeping on such a surface for the next day or so, the twisting already signaling a crick in your neck as well. For as dull as your own home had seemed to you as a child, you miss it now more than ever.

“This is a nightmare,” a sigh under your breath as you think to the men who you’d come across the night prior, and whatever situation they’d found you in.

Finding the scrambling on the ground unhelpful, you lay back down, your bound hands falling atop your stomach as you stare up at the dark ceiling.

It’s only a few moments later that you hear the gentle slide of the wooden door across from you, noting that someone was making an appearance. You try your best to sit up, looking at the face of the newcomer and realizing quickly that it wasn’t one of the men with whom you’d been acquainted with last night.

“Are you awake?” a small and awkward smile as they peek their head into the room, they pause for a moment as they notice the ropes binding you. Their brow furrows as they step fully into the room, “This isn’t normally how we treat guests… If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll untie you.”

A silent nod as they approach, loosening the ropes around your ankles as you can now sit up freely, unencumbered by the restrictive ties. You note that he’d left your hands bound, you can understand why but the chafing still hurts.

“Who are you?” You question as they step back, a small smile quirking on their face as they move to kneel by your side.

“Ah, my name’s Park Jisung,” he says, a look overcoming him as if he’d forgotten himself for a moment.

“Thank you… Jisung.” Muttering out as he stands, offering out his arm to you to help you rise from the floor.

“A few of the captains want to talk to you,” there’s something likened to a worry in his eyes, you hardly know the kid, but he reads like an open book. “If you’d just follow me…”

And you do, walking in silence through the compound for a moment or two before the younger speaks up again. “They’ve been discussing what to do with you since they woke up. I think they’re going to try and hear what you’ve got to say and see if they’ve got to report you or not…”

“Report me?”

“Mhm,” he nods as his feet slide over the smooth floorboards. “We’re not like the city guard or anything, so we don’t have that much jurisdiction over—” Jisung pauses, a hand raising to his mouth as if he’s said too much. He lets out a nervous chuckle, “Well, you’ll see.”

Jisung’s courtesy was nice, better than that of those men you’d seen last night. But it had an air to it that told you to be cautious, you were the one impeding on their space and it was their judgement to dole out.

As if he could tell you were on edge, the younger speaks out, “They might seem scary at first but they’re really not that bad.”

The Hwarang themselves don’t have a tainted name, but you knew that the ones located in the different towns and localities of Silla had varying degrees of severity. And with this being the unit of the capital, you wouldn’t expect them to be anything less than vicious towards any perceived troublemaking.

“You’re actually probably around the same age as our commander, well, we’re all really around the same age,” his laugh resounds around the space for a moment, his hand trailing up to his ear to toy with a small, dangling earring attached to it. “Captain Jeong and Captain Wong tend to sate any tension too so I wouldn’t worry all too much.”

Jisung’s reassurances go partially on deaf ears as you approach what seems to be the main building. Through the paper walls you can hear muffled chatter as the people inside are undeniably trying to decide your fate. With a steady hand, Jisung slides open the door and motions you inside.

You didn’t need to announce yourself, as the sound of you entering caused several heads to turn in your direction. A quick glance around the room tells you that these were probably the heads of the Hwarang. Their own gazes felt like daggers, picking you apart silently and without a care other than what the hell your presence meant to them.

“I take it you slept well, then?” A voice to your right calling out to you. You turn your head to see Yongqin, or at least that’s what he’d been referred to last night, glaring at you with a smirk on his lips. His attire was different than last night, as were the robes of the several others you recognized standing around, more lavish than what their Hwarang uniforms had been yesterday. The red of his robes feels even more threatening to you in lieu of this situation.

“It wasn’t… great.” A small frown as you respond, noticing his brow contort into an irritated expression. You grit your teeth, maybe it would be better to kiss up to them?

“Is that right?” His shoulders shrug, “When I went to check on you earlier you didn’t move at all, no matter how many times I tried to wake you up.” Yongqin sighs out, “You looked like you were dead to the world.”

You don’t say anything, feeling a rise of embarrassment in your stomach at his words.

“Don’t take what he says too seriously,” another face emerging from the mass, belonging to another man you’d met last night. You think it’s the one they’d called Nakamoto Yuta. “Yongqin didn’t go anywhere near your room.”

A devilish grin spreading over Yongqin’s face as he sees how flustered his statement had gotten you, “You didn’t need to ruin the fun that quickly, Yuta.”

“Nakamoto didn’t do anything wrong though, you though—” a glare at Yongqin, your fingers rubbing together as you try to find the will to butt heads with him.

“That’s enough.” A voice cuts through your conversation swiftly, drawing your attention to the figure standing at the head of the room. Their head hangs low, as if they were just listening to the chatter before calling out. “You sound like a bunch of kids.” It was the third man from last night, Commander Qian.

“This is your witness Commander?” A new voice, younger sounding, calls out from your left. You turn to see three men sitting together, presumably having been conversing with one another prior to your arrival.

The notoriety of the Hwarang stemmed from the fact that they only chose youthful men to be a part of their organization, you can see that while glancing around to the other faces in the room. Maybe you’d expected them all to be a little older, but it seems as if the eldest was just in his late twenties or so.

“He’s just a stick,” the voice continues, you see that it looks like the younger of the trio’s talking. His hand rests lazily over his knee as he looks you over, a frown settled onto his lips.

“You’re calling him a kid, Na?” One of the other men sitting snickers, “That’s funny.”

So, that’s at least one of their names.

“Put them together and they’d look just like scared little kids,” the second speaker sighs out, head resting lazily in his hand.

“I can call them that because I’m a mature adult, obviously.” The two begin to have a bickering discourse, glaring at one another from their seated positions.

“Mature adult?” The other barks, his hand moving from his cheek in disbelief, “Wong, I knew you weren’t smart but that’s a reach even for you.”

Their tones weren’t angry, more so a taunting argument between two friends. It was lighthearted enough but if you’d just been passing by and not listened fully you might’ve just seen it as two people arguing. Were these the two people that Jisung had mentioned, Jeong and Wong?

“You’re just a pair of grumpy old men,” Na rolls his eyes, “I think you’re both going senile.”

“You think you can get away with talking to us like that?” the one you presumed to be Wong scoffs, “I’m hardly old enough to be called old… Jeong here though…”

“I thought we were friends, you son of a bitch,” Jeong looks to the other, an expression of faux hurt caked onto his brow.

“Real adults, my ass,” Na shakes his head at the two. The back and forth between the three was certainly interesting to watch, it was almost as if they’d been going at it like this for years with one another.

Despite their light-hearted banter, it didn’t downplay the tension you felt encroaching on this space. This was the home of the Hwarang, and you were an outsider, foreign to them in almost every way possible.

“I’ll apologize on their behalf,” a soft voice speaks, it comes from one of the men standing next to Qian. “Don’t let them unsettle you too much.” The warmth emanating from his tone was enough to make you relax even in the slightest bit, forgetting for a moment the peril you may be in.

“Don’t kid yourself,” the Commander speaks up, shooting a glance to the other, “You’re the scariest one out of all of us, Lee.” You’re almost too lost in looking at the one who’d spoken to notice the number of heads nodding in agreement with Qian.

“Really? I get that from the other men but from our own demon commander?” Lee muses, his hand toying with the long strands of hair falling over his shoulder before looking to his compatriot, “I feel a little flattered. I only try to hold the Hwarang to the highest standard I can.” His hand falls away from his hair, falling to rest on the hilt of his sword fastened around his waist in such a relaxed manner you hadn’t realized he’d had it on him in the first place, “Although I suppose it’s easy to get confused when our standards… or maybe our taboos, are at your mercy.”

“Maybe you’re right, but this isn’t the time to get into that,” Qian sighs out, a small smirk mirroring Lee’s, his gaze once again pinpointing on you after a moment.

“You’re lucky to have a friend like that, Kun,” a new voice comments. The dialogue between Lee and the Hwarang’s Commander hadn’t been exactly what you would call ‘friendly’. It was cold and lacked the warmth that had flowed between the prior conversation between the other three captains. Although from the way the new face had spoken it sounded as if he had perceived the pair as such.

“I haven’t introduced myself,” he says, turning from the pair and facing you. “Sorry, my name is Moon Taeil, the leader of the Hwarang. Or at least, this division,” he chuckles at himself.

“So, you’re the most important man in the Hwarang?” A tilt of your head as you look at him, his presence was far less intimidating than the handful of others that had come before him.

“Well,” another short laugh, “I wouldn’t go that far. I merely represent everyone in the Hwarang. Kun’s the commander and Taeyong’s more or less the colonel.”

“Don’t you think that’s important information to be divulging, Taeil?” Kun cuts the other off, arms crossing over his chest as he continues to glare at you.

“Ah,” Taeil’s brow softens, a confusion taking over his demeanor, “Do you think it’s a bad idea?”

“Unless you want them to learn everything about us,” a grunt as Wong pushes himself up off of the floor and strides over, quickly followed by Na and Jeong, “I think you’d better keep your mouth shut.”

“Exactly! We don’t owe him anything,” Na adds, glancing over to you.

“Those are good points…” Taeil cedes for a moment, “But it’s rude to ignore your guests, isn’t it?”

A laugh from Jeong as he shakes his head, “I guess you’re right.”

Taeil perks up ever so slightly, he’d looked dejected at Kun’s words and seemed as if the affirmation helped his mood. His demeanor was much more cheerful than the others, seeming to radiate a positivity that hadn’t been shed amongst the others.

Another smile flashes on his lips as he looks at you, it's brief but there’s a coolness in his gaze that tells you the newly found lightened mood was due for a change.

“Now, let’s get back to why we’re here,” he glances at Nakamoto before speaking again, “Can you tell me what happened last night?”

“Last night we were on patrol when we encountered a band of thugs wandering the streets. They attacked first so we fought.” Nakamoto’s voice is calm as he recounts the events, calmer than you would ever be in his shoes. “A few of the men were able to subdue them,” His eyes move to you, prodding at your own take on the events that had transpired.

“I didn’t see what happened,” you insist, shaking your head as you lock eyes with the speaker.

Despite that, you could feel Kun’s glare boring into you. It was akin to a harshness of a parent severely scolding their child. Nakamoto’s expression doesn’t change, despite the pleading in your gaze, and in your peripheral, Yongqin continues to smirk at you.

“Positive you didn’t see anything?” Na prompts, causation enough for you to turn your attention back to him and his other two compatriots.

“I didn’t,” you press, trying to muster as much authority in your voice as you can.

“Hmm,” his hand moves under his chin as your eyes dart from Wong to Jeong before settling back onto Na, “If that's the case then I really don’t see what the problem is.”

“Didn’t Yongqin say you helped out some of the guys?” Jeong mumbles, his arms crossed as if he were deep in thought.

Your brow furrows before you begin to shake your head once again, this time a little more vehemently, “That isn’t true.” The plastered grin on Yongqin’s face remains, despite the accusatory glance you throw to him. “I was trying to get away from those noble thugs, or whoever they were and then some men in Hwarang robes showed up, if anything, they helped me out.”

“So, then you saw them apprehend those men?” It was lightly put, the flashes of viscera still playing in your mind occasionally. Jeong was testing the waters and you were beginning to sink your own ship.

“I…” You couldn’t deny it, something tells you that if they even get a whiff of inaccuracy, you’d be in much deeper shit than you were in now.

“If you’re not going to say anything, we can only assume you saw everything, right?” Jeong questions. The silence you emit must be answer enough for him as he sighs and continues, “I can tell you’ve got an honest heart, and that’s not a bad thing, really, but…” The eeriness of that sentence put you on edge, would the next thing that fell from his mouth be the words that would damn you?

“I promise I won’t tell anyone what I saw!” The words fall from your lips, blithely and almost incoherent as your hands clench together.

“Hmm,” Taeyong’s gentle hum resounding around the room after your outburst. “The attack doesn’t seem like it wasn’t deliberate. Yet, it also seems unlikely that you’re our enemy. Even if you have good intentions, we will still have to interrogate you... Can you handle torture?”

Images of bodies rolled in straw mats and being beaten with wooden sticks courses through you, of what they could possibly do to you. Taeyong’s words, despite the warmness of his voice, were cold, calculating. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, unable to respond to such a question without an air of incredulity.

“Staying quiet is easy, but if you were captured, you’d have no loyalty to us regarding what you saw.” Nakamoto points out nonchalantly.

“Let’s just kill him,” Yongqin shrugs, almost as if the thought hadn’t carried the weight of your life, “That’s the only surefire way to not have him talk.”

“Yongqin, that isn’t our way.” Taeil interjects, his brow furrowing at the other, before you could protest, “We don’t run around murdering civilians.”

The other laughs, “Don’t look at me, I was only kidding.” It sure hadn’t felt like it. Nor had it sounded like it either.

“You may need to work on your delivery, then.” Nakamoto shakes his head, as Yongqin chuckles with that cheshire-like grin.

“If anything, he can’t be that much older than me,” Jisung, who had until up to this remained silent, speaks out from behind you. You hear his feet tread across the floorboards until he’s standing by your side, “That’d almost be killing a kid, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t want to kill him but choosing to ignore the unlikelihood of his untrustworthiness is very irrational,” Taeyong frowns, his fingers toying with the butt-end of his sword. “What’s your take, Commander Qian?”

Everyone’s attention turns to Kun, the Commander’s lips curving down into an ever sourer grimace as the gazes’ rest upon him. He sighs before looking up and around at the different faces.

“Last night we killed the wang-do that broke our code, this kid shouldn’t have been involved in the slightest.” It wasn’t an answer and it only heightened the anxiety coursing through you.

“Is that all you have to say on the matter?” Taeyong prods.

“He probably saw something that he doesn’t understand…” Qian mutters as Wong steps forward.

“Even if that’s the case this is pretty serious,” Wong’s foot taps on the floor, the light from outside glinting off his deep green robes. “We have to sweep this under the rug. If the rumor spreads that the Hwarang have turned blood-thirsty it wouldn’t sit well with the people, or the crown for that matter.” It looks as if people were taking Wong’s words to heart, a grimace overcomes Kun’s face the more the taller continues to speak.

“Watch it,” Kun fires back, “It’s our responsibility to regulate the wang-do that haven’t followed the code. We are going to do something about it.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that he saw something.” Yongqin looks at you again, but you refuse to acknowledge it.

“He does have a point,” Jeong muses, “I’ll do whatever Moon, Qian and Lee tell me to do.”

“I think we should let him go,” Na notes, his hand moving to brush a few strands of hair out of his face. “It’s not like he knows everything.”

“...Everything?” You question aloud and the room once again turns cold at your words.

“I think it’d be best if you stop talking, Na.” Kun says solemnly, as the younger mutters out a brief apology.

“Now it’s going to be a little harder to just simply let you go,” Yongqin says pointedly, crossing his arms as you look at him briefly.

“A man should always be ready to face death. You should make your peace with that,” Wong notes, nodding his head as if he were agreeing with his own statement.

A man…. The words resound around your head and it isn’t until you look down at your feet and the clothes you were wearing do you remember. Right, you’re not dressed in your typical attire, this was stolen from your father’s chest, his clothes that you had mended as you awaited his arrival. The clothes you had taken to undergo your journey to find him, the journey that had somehow led you here. It hits you that they think you’re a man. With the whirlwind of events that had led you here you’d completely forgotten about your attire and how they may have perceived you.

“That’s true, there’s nothing wrong with a brave death. When I was younger, I committed honorable suicide,” Jeong shrugs his shoulders, a humor riding his tone as he spoke of the grave topic.

“Didn’t really stick though, did it, Jae?” Wong snorts, giving the other captain a nudge with his shoulder before they broke out into a short burst of laughter.

“Commander, since we can’t figure out what to do, should I just send him back to his room for the time being?” Nakamoto asks Kun once the laughter has died down. “The more we leave him out here, the more likely he’s going to hear something he’s not meant to, and we’d have to kill him regardless.”

Even if Nakamoto hadn’t said it for your well being, a flush of relief floods through your muscles.

“Alright, let’s do that. Besides, there’s something I need to look into.” The commander acquiesces, before looking over to Taeyong.

“I agree, there’s a few careless voices among us, you never know what could slip.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Na’s eyes widen as he realizes that the colonel was glaring in his direction.

“You’ve gotta admit we’re all pretty reckless with our words, especially you, Jaem.” Jeong huffs, begrudgingly agreeing to Lee’s observation.

“It was just a mistake! No need to blame me for all of it,” Na’s voice rises as he tries to defend himself. He sighs out and glances to you, mumbling a quiet, “I’m sorry” under his breath.

Still apprehensive about their plans with you, you can’t find it within you to respond to him in any sort of affirmative way. It still seems like he understood the intention behind your curt nod.

“Alright then, Nakamoto, take care of the kid.” The commander says as he begins to turn on his heels, heading towards a side room branching off the main hall.

“Will do…” Nakamoto nods and turns to you, “Shall we go?”

After Nakamoto had walked you to your room in relative silence, you find yourself sitting on the floor, your hands still bound, after what had seemed like hours since the meeting.

The Hwarang were esteemed because of their loyalty to the crown and their way of life, you hadn’t realized how vicious it could be. But behind all of that there was a humanity behind the veneer of the aristocratic and diplomatic traits they were meant to have. Despite it not seeming like it as of your first meeting.

Their presence wasn’t that of cold-blooded killers or snotty aristocrats, the message garnered through that meeting had been along the lines of ‘We are not killers, but to protect our way of life we must bring death’. It didn’t make you feel great, but it could help you understand them a little more.

As you sit in the room, watching the sun flit in through nearly closed shades you ponder that the longer you stay here, the less chance you have of returning to your home in one piece. They had no real right to let you go, your loyalty to them was a contract by word, not by blood. And you were sure they would recognize that sooner or later.

If they still thought you to be a man would they still make you face that fate? Would exposing your true identity be worth mercy on your life? Even then you don’t know if the repercussions of that would be any better, it may backfire and lead to an even worse end for you.

If possible, you would like to forgo either of those scenarios. Perhaps escaping would be your best bet...

As your feet had been left unbound, it was easy to push yourself off the ground to unsteadily rise on your feet. With your feet free it wouldn’t be nearly as impossible a feat to escape if both your feet and hands were bound. You take a deep breath before walking towards the door, thinking of how they had brought you in last night and where Jisung had guided you to the meeting and Nakamoto had taken you from. It was a rudimentary enough map in your head, but you could make it work, you had to make it work.

You approach the sliding door quietly, inching your foot towards it as to open it. Before you’re able to though, it slides open and a figure almost runs face-first into you.

“Ah-!” Taeil stops himself so he doesn’t run into you, you take a cautionary step backwards to distance yourself from him.

A figure peers out from behind Taeil, Taeyong’s eyes wide as he realizes what is going on. “Oh, you weren’t trying to escape, were you?”

“I was just…” you search for a response, but your situation was already damning enough.

“Trying to escape isn’t really going to make your situation any less difficult,” he frowns, stepping out from behind Taeil to stand in line with the leader. While his voice was soft, his eyes held that same calculating glare that had scrutinized you earlier in the day.

You think for a moment before a realization dawns on you. They hadn’t tied you up because they’d been watching you the entire time. Maybe you should’ve figured that out sooner, but your brain was too muddled with flight or flight instinct.

“I’ll only repeat this one more time,” a voice coming from the hall outside as two pairs of footsteps approach the room, “if you try to run, I’ll kill you.” Kun’s voice is stern as he rounds the corner with Yongqin.

“Sorry, that means we’re forced to kill you,” Yongqin sighs, his hand hovering over the hilt of his sword, “We can’t let you go if you can’t keep a promise.” He didn’t look sorry with the way a fresh smile danced along his lips as he spoke.

Teeth gritting together you plant your feet firmly on the ground and look to the men in front of you. They weren’t presenting any favorable options to you, and if they were going to kill you anyway, the best thing you could do was try and run for it.

By some miraculous means you’re able to push your feet from the floor, sliding around Taeil and beginning to race down the corridor of the building. It’s not long until you feel a hand grab the back of your robes, pulling you back towards the room you’d been kept in.

“Did you really think you could escape?” Kun asks, sounding somewhat bewildered by the actions you’d taken.

“Let me go!” You writhe in his grasp, trying to free yourself from his grip, but it was holding firm to you with no sign of weakness.

“If I do that, you’ll just run off again,” he sounds annoyed now as he leads you back into the room with Yongqin, Taeyong, and Taeil.

“I don’t want to die, though!” You say, still struggling under his hold. “There’s something I have to do!”

“And what’s that? What’s important enough for a girl to dress up as a boy and run around Seorabeol?”

You freeze at his words, eyes widening as his grip on you goes slack. It’s given you the opportunity to run for it again, but you find yourself too stunned to move. Did he know this whole time? You turn to look at him, your mouth parting as if to say something but you can’t think of what to utter.

“Did you just call me a girl?” You can tell by the steely glare he gives you that your feeble attempt at a lie won’t work on him.

A small ‘huh’ and you look over your shoulder to see Taeyong looking at you, “So you really are a girl.”

“Did you really think putting on a pair of pants and a man’s robes would fool us?” Yongqin questions as he crosses his arms, a teasing tinge to his voice.

“You all knew from the start?” Eyes widening, you thought your disguise had been rather good. But perhaps not as much as you had thought.

“Moon Taeil you idiot,” the leader of the Hwarang mutters just loudly enough for you to hear, “How did you not realize this sooner?”

Taeil’s reaction puts you more at ease, seeing that not everyone had seen right through your facade.

“You almost got killed for whatever you’re here for, maybe it’s time you enlighten us,” Kun doesn’t ask, rather demands the information out of you.

You nod at him and the trio silently takes you back to the hall where you’d been questioned only hours prior. The rest of the men filter in from whatever they’d been doing at the compound, none of them sparing you more than a second’s glance once they walk into the large room.

“I thought your features were a little more effeminate than most men but to think you were a lady this whole time…” Taeil leads, his head nodding as if he’d come to the conclusion hours earlier and hadn’t only just learned your secret moments prior.

“Once you realize she’s a girl she really doesn’t look like a guy at all, right?” Na muses as he looks into your eyes.

Uncomfortable with this you break away, looking to Jisung who stands next to him.

“So, we really left her tied up all night to sleep on the floor?” The younger mumbles, looking down to his feet before looking up to you and giving a very heartfelt “Sorry,” before returning his gaze to the floor.

“Well she claims to be a girl, but it’s not like we have any real proof, right?” Wong muses as he looks to Jeong.

“You want proof?” You fire back, eyebrows raising at the implied suggestion.

“Would you feel better if we stripped her down?” Jeong scoffs, eyes rolling at the other.

“You will absolutely not!” Taeil interrupts, seemingly not understanding the sarcasm of Jeong’s statement. “To suggest that goes against everything we stand for.”

“It was a joke,” Jeong shoots back, “But if we needed absolute proof…”

“If you are a girl though,” Wong muses, “Then I think it would feel kind of wrong just to kill you.”

“Why are all of you acting so naive? If we have to kill her, we have to kill her.” Kun frowns while looking over his men.

“Exactly,” Taeyong nods, a small frown overcoming him, “Although it’s not her gender that’s the issue. Killing in general is wrong.” Even with those words, the way his hand rests on the hilt of his sword makes an uneasy feeling lurch in your stomach, “We were organized by the crown to protect Silla and her people, killing those people in cold-blood wouldn’t put us in a favorable light.”

“But if this girl, or boy, is a threat to the crown, that’s a whole other matter in itself.” Yongqin notes, the sly grin on his face present once more. At this point you’re concluding this is what he normally looks like.

“I apologize,” Kun looks at you, “I took it upon myself to look through your things. It seems like you’ve come all the way from Toehwa-hyeon by yourself. You didn’t have much; some change, clothing, a few scraps of letters and a blade.” He pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts, “One of the fragments of letters was signed by Namekawa Yasuo, I assume you saw him?” Another pause as he looks into your eyes as if he’s searching for something, “What exactly are you here for?”

When the doctor’s name is spoken a chatter begins among the men, did they know Namekawa? And it isn’t until Kun asks what your true purpose here, followed by your full name, does the entire room go silent.

“Commander… that name…” Wong’s eyes are wide as he addresses Kun.

“It’s not just some bizarre coincidence, is it?” Jeong adds on, his face looking almost as equally as confused as Wong’s.

“Now, let’s hold on for a moment,” Taeil tries to calm the room’s mounting tension. He looks to you, a weary expression on his brow as he continues, “We need to determine if you are a threat. Why did you come to Seorabeol?”

At Taeil’s behest you move forward to speak, with a quiet voice you announce your name, and the chatter begins quietly once more for a moment. Once it settles down you speak again, “My father is a doctor in Toehwa-hyeon. I travelled from my home there in search of him as I haven’t heard from him in several months. The last time we spoke he said he was travelling here, the capital, for work.

“You’re from Toehwa-hyeon as well?” A small smile dances along Taeil’s lips, “And you came all of this way to find your father? Who is he?”

“I am the daughter of Physician Heo Jinsang.” You answer shortly, not fully expecting their reactions.

They don’t seem angry, rather sate in their realization of something.

“So, it’s all piecing together,” Kun sighs out.

“The handwriting does match Jinsang’s but… To think you were his daughter,” Taeyong’s gaze furrows at you as he bites the inside of his cheek.

“Do you know my father?” You ask as you turn to look from Taeyong to Kun.

“You’ve been withholding information from us?” Kun’s voice, now angered, calls out to you. It’s accusatory in nature and you can’t begin to fathom as to why.

“I… What?” A step backwards at the intensity of his words, your heart begins to pound in your chest as the next words flow from his lips like a torrent from an incensed river.

“There’s no point in lying now!” His gaze hardens, voice unrelenting in its authority, What the hell are you doing in Seorabeol?!”

“I just came to look for my father.” You protest, your muscles tense as the commander takes a step towards you.

“No, you came into this city fully aware of what your father is doing, didn’t you?” Kun’s presence itself is harsh, unsettling as his heightening anger bores directly from his voice and to your ears, trying to dig up secrets that were unknown even to you.

“I was told that he was travelling here for medical work, I haven’t seen him in months!” Voice almost cracking under the stressful strain of trying to prove your innocence to them, your heart grows heavy at the thought of committing a crime just from being someone’s daughter.

“Kun, it may be better to leave her be. She may not know anything…” Taeyong interjects, stepping forward to place a hand on Kun’s forearm.

A reprieve from the interrogation allows you to collect your breath and poise a question of your own, “So what do you know about my father? Do you know where he is?”

“The Hwarang are currently trying to find the location of Physician Heo Jinsang.” Nakamoto responds with a flat tone, as if he’s not trying to interject any emotion or his own opinion into the matter.

“You’re after my father?” A furrowed brow as you look to him. What exactly had your father done?

“It’s not like that… We’re not after him, per se.” Yongqin interjects by shaking his head.

“I see…” A small exhale of air that you hadn’t realized you were holding escapes you, a slight weight lifted from your shoulders.

“He’s a supporter of the crown but he disappeared a little while ago.” Yongqin explains.

“There’s a chance a few Baekjae loyalists have identified him as a threat,” Nakamoto adds after Yongqin had finished speaking.

“Really?” You frown, beginning to think the worst before Nakamoto begins to speak again.

“Of course, there’s a chance that he’s still alive, there are a few Tang-trained physicians in Silla at the moment.” He notes, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Taeil, what do you think we should do? Would it be in our interest to help her because we’re both looking for her father?” Taeyong questions as you feel your heart about to burst from the anxiety of this situation.

“What do you mean by ‘help her’?” Taeil asks, one of his hands resting on his hip as he looks to the colonel.

“I think it would be in our best interest to cooperate with her until we find Heo,” Taeyong’s lips purse, it looks like he’s already thinking of ways to find your father but you can’t be too sure. “With her help I’m sure our chances of finding him will increase drastically. It may prove fruitless to look for him if he’s in disguise. However, you are his daughter, you should be able to recognize him no matter how he’s disguised himself, right?” Taeyong looks to you inquisitively, his head tilted to the side and his eyes wide in question.

You nod, “Of course.”

“What do you say Kun?” Taeil turns to look at the commander, “Taeyong is making some sense of this mess.”

“If she really doesn’t know anything…” Kun hums, looking at you warily.

“I really don’t, all I know is that he was headed here for work but I really don’t know anything else—” You huff, “And about last night, I didn’t see anything, I promise!”

Kun huffs out a sigh as his eyes narrow, “Well, if she really is his daughter, we can’t really kill her, can we?” He watches your reaction for a moment more before continuing, “If you promise to not talk about the events of last night, we’ll let you stay here until we find your father. Fair?”

“I can promise that the Hwarang will do whatever we can to find your father,” Taeil adds with something of a reassuring smile.

“Thank you,” you say and bow as deeply as you can, thankful for their gratitude and, most of all, them deciding that your life hadn’t needed to be halted. You’d found your first lead in finding your father, and it seems they were actively looking for him as well.

“You must be glad we’re not killing you,” Yongqin quips, “not yet anyway.” That same snide grin encapsulating his lips, as you frown at him. In no way was your position desirable, but you were alive and, on your way, to finding your father.

“More than glad,” you snip back at him.

“I’m happy we didn’t have to kill you,” Jisung sighs out, “or turn you into the Crown. My brother’s a guard there and he says it’s awful.”

“Oh, really?” You ponder on that for a moment, thinking of what may have happened if the official patrol had found you instead of the Hwarang.

“Hm, Jisung? With her being a lady, I’m not sure the compound is equipped for all her needs. It’s not as if we have the Wonhwa anymore…” Taeil frowns as if he’s just realized an all male domicile may not be the best suited for you.

“That’s a good point…” Jisung mutters.

“If you need anything you only have to ask,” Yuta nods, “We will do what we can to accommodate you.”

“Thank you, Nakamoto.” You nod and turn to look at who’s just begun to speak.

“I guess if you are a girl, we’ll have to be nicer to you, huh?” Wong says, a nervous laugh escaping him.

“Hah,” Na snorts at him, “didn’t take long for you to change your attitude, huh, ?”

“It’ll be a nice change of pace though, brighten things up a bit from all of your guys’ shit,” Jeong scoffs at the two of them.

Your brow furrows, not fully believing that sentiment as the trio begin bickering with another once more.

“Everything may not be up to standards here for a lady,” Taeyong sighs, almost sounding embarrassed at the state of the place, “You’re not a soldier so we can’t fully expect to treat you as such.”

“Then make her an assistant or something.” Kun suggests, “Do you need a page, Taeil? Or you, Taeyong?”

“It’s your idea, Qian,” Yongqin pipes up once more, a teasing tinge to his voice, “you can’t just drop her onto someone else.”

“That’s perfect, we can entrust Kun with her,” Taeil smiles, playing along with Yongqin’s antics.

“That settles it, I think,” Taeyong nods, trying to suppress a laugh as he looks at the increasingly flustered commander.

“You— You can’t just decide like that!” Kun barks angrily as those around him laugh. Their back and forth, while humorous to them, caused the relief you felt prior to chip away little by little with each of their jabs.

It was eventually decided that you were to be Qian Kun’s page, if only for the time being, until your father was found. Rather than immediately give you a task to accomplish, the commander sends you back to your room, assuming that you probably hadn’t had a restful night and that your pagely duties would start the next morning.

“I brought some clothes for you to change into,” a voice calls out from behind your closed door, it sounded like Jisung. “The ones you’re wearing were a little bloodstained and I figured you might want to change,” he says as you allow him entry.

“Thank you, Jisung,” you nod as he sets down the pile of cloth on a nearby tabletop. “Do you think I’ll be here for very long?”

“Hmm,” he thinks for a moment, “I’m not sure. I know we’ve been looking for your father for a while now, but with you joining us I’m sure it’ll help us out immensely.”

“I see…” you sigh as Jisung begins to make his leave. “Thanks again, Jisung.”

“It’s no problem,” he smiles, “I’ll see if I can get some food brought to your room if you don’t want to join us for dinner yet.”

“Alright,” you nod and Jisung exits your room, closing the door behind him as you’re left alone once more. As you rise to your feet and move your now unbound hands to reach out for the clothes the kid had brought, you can’t help but notice the dirt and dried gore adorning your hands. Had all this happened within a day of arriving in the capital? It felt surreal, almost like a dream that you hadn’t woken up from yet.

But as the hours passed, it was more and more obvious that this was now your home for the time being. And all the men, and their strange characters, were your company.

You sigh as you begin to undress yourself, wondering when and how the mystery of your father’s disappearance would be solved.

#cznnet #neowritingsnet #unfortunatus: inferno #nct smut #nct angst #nct fluff #nct 127 angst #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 smut #wayv fluff #wayv angst #wayv smut

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the-blind-one-speaks · 2 years

Text

Creative, Pt 8

CW: flashbacks, death threats and… worse than death threats (not noncon tho torture)

Quick note: Sunny uses he/they pronouns and they may shift throughout the story, sorry if it’s confusing but gender be like that sometimes :)

Sunny was hurrying along. He was new to this city, but it unnerved him. The street he was walking along just seemed so… empty. Abandoned. He ducked his head lower and tugged his scarf up around his ears. He was lost, but if he came across anyone in this ungodly place, he was going to just keep on walking.

That was the plan, until he saw the boy.

The child was curled up with his fingers buried in his hair. He was moaning slightly as he rocked, his body pressed to the dirt in a narrow alleyway. Sunny stopped in his tracks.

He glanced around. A shiver ran up his spine, chasing the hot indignation that quickly melted into concern. With a dry swallow, he hurried forward. He took a long, long look into the alley before crouching down in front of the boy.

“Hey, hey there, are you alright?” The boy was wearing a sweater that pooled around him in the street, definitely too large. His knees were tucked to his chest, but Sunny could see the pale tips of his toes peeking out from the sweater’s hem. He hoped to all the gods the boy had trousers, at least. He couldn’t imagine anyone being able to walk past the wretched thing.

He slid another glance around the deserted street. Their lips were suddenly very dry. They licked them with a parched tongue. Something heavy and cold curled in his gut.

Maybe that was the whole point, in leaving him here.

He shivered again, and not because of the icy wind that nipped across the street. “Hey, can you hear me? Please, kid, wake up. You’re— you are awake, aren’t you?” He reached out a hand. “Kid? Can you — hear me?” The moment he touched the boy’s shoulder, the boy let out a heart wrenching scream.

Sunny lurched back as though he’d been burned. Gasping, he almost reached for the boy again, but the child was sobbing now, whimpering. For the first time, he noticed the scars. So, so many scars. His hands fluttered uselessly. He gulped, trying to think of how he could help, trying desperately not to think about that — that horrible scream.

Hoping the warmth would distract him, he shrugged out of his overcoat. “Okay, um, okay. I’m just — just gonna wrap you up in this, alright? Just so you’re warm. I’ll — I’ll take it away if you don’t like it, alright? I promise I will. Just — just…” He took a deep breath. This was not about him. He had to get the child warm. He could worry about the — about all the rest, after that.

He hesitantly draped the coat over the boy. The child stiffened. He didn’t scream. Sunny breathed a silent sigh of relief. That was progress. He was a little more protected now. Sunny glanced up and down the street again. Nobody had appeared at the boy’s scream. Something clenched at his heart, something hot and burning, something heavy and agonizingly old. He could recognize terror when he felt it.

He ground his teeth, then glanced down at the boy. They had to get him out of this street. This place — he didn’t believe in ghosts or magic but if he did — this place was cursed. Even without that, it was bad enough.

He took a deep breath. He hated this next part, but it was the only idea he had. “Look, I’m — I’m sorry about this, okay? I only want to get you out. To get you somewhere safe.” He felt tears prick at his eyes. They hadn’t even known this child, and they already felt like they were hurting him. “I’m sorry,” they managed again. “It’s for your own good. I’ll get you somewhere safe, I promise.”

They slowly unwound their scarf. He desperately hoped he got this right on the first try. He hated enough what he was doing, but if he had to fight the boy —

With a deep breath, they plunged the scarf down. The child was wrapped up in it before he had a chance to scream. He still tried, but they had wound it over his mouth to muffle the awful sound. With a sob in his throat, Sunny scooped him into his arms. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, everything is going to be okay. I promise, everything is going to be okay.” He rushed down the street, heart pounding. The sound of sharp footsteps echoing on the walls only made him run faster. It took a long time for him to realize the footsteps were his own.

Xavier had searched. He’d woken up later than usual today. The boy didn’t usually have bad days so close to each other; he’d thought it was fine to sleep in. Asha had been in and out; she knew he would look after David.

He felt a growing darkness in his chest. He had searched up and down the street, but he didn’t find the boy. Not in the alley nearest the river, not hiding in one of the few buildings that Xavier knew he hated going into, just… nowhere.

He had almost accepted that David had left on his own when he found the note.

He stared at the little scrap of paper trapped under his boot. David couldn’t read. He couldn’t write. Xavier couldn’t, either. He had connections, though, and he knew enough of what he could see on the note to understand that it had an address.

Hot fury boiled through him. He reached down and picked the paper up. It had been skittering down the empty street in the gathering dusk, almost passing for a fallen leaf. His fist curled around it. A dark laugh welled up in him.

He hadn’t taken nearly enough time to enjoy his work with Flit. Whoever this was, he would be sure to enjoy it. His eyes glittered, his breath coming harshly. He didn’t even bother lighting up a smoke.

Someone had taken David from him, from his street. He would have something to burn soon enough. He’d burn the whole city down to prove his point. David belonged to him, and nobody was ever going to hurt him again.

Nobody.

Sunny was trying to figure out what to do. He’d managed, somehow, to stumble across his apartment. It wasn’t the best lodgings, but at least it was warmer than the street. He had slammed the door, and locked it, then double-checked the lock. The boy was… heavier, than they’d expected. They were still hyperventilating, both from running in the cold and the fear of the boy’s abuser catching up to them.

With a sigh, they slid down with their back against the front door. They had made it. That was all that mattered. The boy was safe.

He bundled the child into his arms again and settled him on the sofa. The boy was completely unconscious. Sunny’s heart ached at the thought that he might have passed out from fear. Sunny knew he would have, being gagged and swept into a stranger’s arms and pounding helter-skelter down an abandoned street. He sighed.

The boy was safe. That was all that mattered. When he woke up, Sunny would do their best to explain. There wasn’t much they could say, but… well, they had to try. He built a fire and prayed the chimney was clean enough for it to be a cheery crackle and not a smoky haze.

David opened his eyes. He was warm, snuggled into Xavier’s coat again. He wasn’t used to waking alone, though. He missed the firm, powerful beat of Xavier’s heart, thudding against his ear with all the certainty of the world turning. He burrowed deeper into the warmth and closed his eyes, watching the flames jump and dance in the fireplace. Xavier probably had work to do. He didn’t need David underfoot, and David never wanted to see Xavier work. It would remind him that at any time, the man wasn’t the pillar of safety that David had come to rely on.

His eyes widened. Xavier didn’t have a fireplace. That was when he noticed the soft pressure around his mouth and throat. A figure stepped closer to him, just a shadow in the corner of his eye. David screamed.

In a flash, the stranger was kneeling, staring into his face. David flailed, tears streaming down his face. Where was Xavier? Why wasn’t he with Xavier? Or Asha — if Xavier wasn’t around, where was Asha? Who was this, touching him?

Sunny was babbling apologies, explanations, but he could see that none of them were getting through. The boy looked as panicked as he felt, and that wasn’t really fair, because given the situation, the boy should be panicking, while Sunny should not. He had, after all, basically kidnapped him. It was with good intentions, of course, but there was no way the boy was going to believe that, not after — whoever had beat him and left hm in the street to die.

Sunny found themself moving their hands to the boy’s face. “I’m going to take the scarf off, okay? I — um, the neighbors — please don’t scream, don’t scream I know you want to and this isn’t fair but please don’t scream I’m just trying to let you breathe —“

The door to their apartment shattered inward. Sunny fell back, managing to catch himself before he crashed into the fire. Eyes wide, he was stared at the man in his doorway with growing horror. A shadow slipped past the man’s broad form. He flinched away, but the woman landed on her knees next to the couch. She made quick work of the scarf and coat that David had been sobbing so desperately to writhe out of.

“David, my sweet, are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere? It’s okay, I’ve got you now, you’re okay.” She folded him into an embrace, soothing, her hand trailing up and down his back. The boy screamed, trying to fight her. Sunny flinched, shaking. The scream made his mind go blank.

The poker was already under his hand. He curled his fingers around it, pointing it at her. Even he could see his hands were shaking. “Let him go,” they whispered. “Let him go — he doesn’t— doesn’t want to go anywhere with you.”

The woman ignored him. She called to the man, still standing in the wrecked remains of his doorway. His very stillness made Sunny’s heart pound. The woman, he sensed, could be reasoned with. There was something wrong about the man.

“Xavier, honey, he’s doing it again. I know you want to rip him limb from limb, but David needs you right now. Will you help me out with this, honey?”

The man strode into the room. His smoldering eyes dropped just for a second to the boy. Sunny dropped the poker. He curled back. The man was suffocating, just his presence, and he had shattered their door like it was matchwood and they were in his living room standing over the boy and —

The man reached down. He trailed a finger gently, almost tenderly, down the boy’s spine. David let out a choked cry. He turned blindly towards the touch, hands shaking. Even as Sunny’s panic was skyrocketing, the boy seemed to calm down.

“Xavier?”

The man’s voice was gruff. “I’m here.”

The boy sobbed, grabbing onto him. Xavier lifted him up the armpits. Not a gentle touch, but Sunny could not deny the rough affection in it. The boy grabbed him, clinging to his chest as soon as he was within arm’s reach. Xavier held him, running a single finger down the knobs of his spine. Sunny was staring at them, curled in the corner of his own living room, but he felt like he was watching something private, something no one was meant to see. He dropped his eyes.

“I — I found him on the street. It’s been so cold out. I was — trying to help.”

“Xavier — I’m scared — I was so scared —“

Sunny felt both adults turn their eyes to him. He swallowed. The air in his throat petered out. Something told him his fate was sealed.

His skin prickled. He swallowed dryly. He wished, fervently, he had never walked down that empty street and never seen that freezing boy.

…..

I just can’t keep away from my boys (and Asha the Esteemed Lady of the Street) too long, now, can I?

Taglist: @whumpzone @itsleighlove

#creative #my writing

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floweryfreelance · 3 years

Text

𝕴𝖓𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖆 𝕽𝖊𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖚𝖘

CHAPTER FOUR

Table of Contents

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 |

This work of fiction is an original collaborative work between tumblr users @theearltrancy and @floweryfreelance. Its original format was in that of a roleplay, and has been edited to be a more cohesive story. This work was created on 11.10.20 and completed on 11.30.20.

Please consider following each author for more fictional works.

Ciel made his way up the grand staircase in the center of the foyer, admiring paintings on the walls as he made his way down the hallway towards his own bedroom. As he walked, growing closer and closer to Alois’ old spare room, he heard voices. Ah, he must have been right. That cocky demon butler of his must be getting a stern talking to. He smirked.

Feeling too mature to stand with his ear against the door, Ciel simply slowed his walking pace, tuning his ear just in case he was able to pick up anything being said inside the room. And what he heard, well, it certainly didn’t sound pleasant.

Inside the room was Alois’ voice quickly reaching a louder and louder pitch. He once saved his anger for Hannah, but the roles had reversed now, the man’s now deeper voice rattling things in the room. He could feel himself getting too heated, but the demon couldn’t feel pain; he was keenly aware.

“No, I don’t care, you absolute wretch!” He screamed, taking his own shoe from earlier and tossing it at the butler’s head. He dodged, the object smacking the wall behind him. “I will do things in my own time, do you understand? I will not be a pawn for your f*cking problems anymore! Not tonight, not ever!”

Claude’s response was low and threatening, almost as if he were still disciplining a child. In fact, he seemed to think that’s exactly all he was doing. The dismissive attitude only angered him more. “Your Highness… If you do not have the drive to take that man from that wretched butler, you will only be stuck with me longer. It is beneficial for us both that you complete your contract, and that means you must take the boy.”

“For you! Always for you! I signed that contract thinking I would get something out of it! Maybe a companion, for god’s sake!” Alois screeched, knowing now he could be heard from outside of the room. “But all you’ve done is lie to and cheat me! I wanted you to take me!”

“You know I cannot do that until you find a way to take him. Even if you isolate him, I can leave. I can make it a pleasurable experience for you.”

“But that’s not what you really want, is it?” The man retorted, cooling into sass. “Get the hell out of here. And take your god damn attitude too. That’s an ORDER.”

The door opened moments later, revealing an emotionless Claude if not slightly annoyed, and a simply vicious Alois with his arms crossed on his chest. The demon nodded at Ciel as if nothing had happened, but a peek in the room would show that was not the case. The blonde had been throwing all his things around, tearing his clothes from the closet onto the floor now, a flurry of a man. Though grown now, it was at times as if all he had grown was taller.

Ciel couldn’t mask his searing glare at the butler as he walked past, perhaps partially compensating for just how shaken he felt after hearing their words, particularly Claude’s. He really would give anything to just see him dead, wouldn’t he? As is the nature of such a contract.

Seeing Alois in this fragile state, knowing he hadn’t been noticed quite yet, he quietly stepped into the room, looking at the clothes on the floor. “..You’ve made a mess.” He noted, bending down to pick up a deep purple coat that had been crumpled on the floor. “Did you notice?” He inquired, looking up at the distressed blond man before him. “These clothes, they’re yours from all those years ago. I left them.” He inspected the sleeves. “I’m frankly surprised there aren’t more moth holes.”

In his experience, Ciel knew the best way to approach Alois during these fits of rage was calmly. In fact, his presence typically helped to calm him down regardless.It pained him to see him like this. In the past, he found his tantrums childish and annoying, but since growing to understand him, they just hurt to see. However, he always kept a slight distance until he could tell if he was still in the heat of the moment. And so, Ciel stood still, gently holding the small boy’s coat in his hand while looking at his love.

He took a step closer, standing so that his leg was just brushing Alois’ arm as he sat on the ground. He crouched beside him, still holding the purple coat. His mind wandered, trying to find the right words to say.

“..I.. lied earlier.” Ciel admitted, rubbing the coat fabric between his thumb and forefinger. “I didn’t leave this room untouched. I had it cleaned everyday.” It was embarrassing to admit, he felt, but he wanted to ground Alois. He wanted to remind him he was wanted and loved and desired. He could withstand feeling embarrassed for a minute or two. “The maid dusted everyday, changed the sheets once a week. And by the looks of it, kept your old clothes ironed. How she did all that everyday, I don’t know.”

He stood once again, looking around the room he hadn’t stepped foot into in eight long years. It truly looked as though it was in present use, not a speck of dust or a single stain anywhere to be found. Impressive, he thought to himself. “I remember sneaking in here.” Ciel couldn’t help but smile softly. “On the nights when you were too stubborn to come to my room, and waited here until I grew impatient enough to sneak into yours.”

The thought brought a small smile to the man’s face, though he betrayed none of that information to the other. He did lift his head, though, taking a look around at the hell he had created. Though his anger had once again caused destruction, he couldn’t help but notice the man was correct - the room was dusted, polished, and comfortable. His old clothing was flawlessly ironed, and he remembered that before he’d been triggered, it was in fact all folded and hung just the way it was when he was a teen. He let some of the tension in his body go, taking one hand from his head to rest his arm on his knee.

“We took turns.” He recalled, still breathing heavily but coming back to the room slowly, “I liked to play. You made it easy.” He looked his lover in the eyes. “We were so small.” The man sighed, looking away to the clothes on the floor surrounding him, noting he had also made a small dent in the wall behind them with his heel.

Note to self. Aim better next time.

“We did play.” Ciel agreed, standing and walking to the wardrobe, hanging the purple coat back in the closet. The remaining clothes could be taken care of in the morning, as they were the least of his concerns. The white night clothes set out on the bed caught his eye, though upon closer inspection, he noticed there were two pairs. He smirked, that idiot, he thought, knowing Sebastian must have thought it would be amusing to prepare for what they all knew would happen.

Turning back to Alois, he held out his hand and leaned his cane against the wardrobe. “Here now, stand up. We don’t have our butlers to dress us,” he said sarcastically. “But we can’t sleep in our dinner attire.”

Smiling gently to himself now, Alois took another deep breath and stood up, dusting himself off. He bit his lip, planning his next move, for they were finally truly alone. The man took a good few solid steps towards the other until they were impossibly close. The sudden movement pressed his lover against the closed door of the closet, placing an arm on the other side so that the man couldn’t escape him.

“I suppose we can’t.” He acknowledged, placing his free hand under the other’s chin. This being the first time since they were young teenagers, he added, “Hm, seems I’m still taller than you.”

If there were any way he knew how to transition out of an intense emotion, it was straight through another one - lust. Even as an adult, he only had three modes - indifferent, violent, and reveling in sin.

“So. Dress me.” He ordered.

The cool of the wood door against his back counteracted the heat filling his body. Eight years had passed since he was spoken to like this, touched like this. The Earl honestly thought he would never experience anything like it again, so long as he lived.

His heart pounded in the chamber of his chest, and he wondered if the other man could feel it too. His jaw shifted as he swallowed hard, feeling the warm fingers of his lover caressing his chin. Ciel melted for him, just like he always did. “Don’t order me around..” he protested, the tone of his voice eager and excited but attempting to hide behind a disguise of stubbornness.

Without taking his eyes off of him, Ciel cautiously reached up to Alois’ chest, grasping the buttons of his overcoat and beginning to undo them. His hands visibly shook and he cursed himself for it, it was as if it were the first time all over again.

“And if I do?” He purred, holding control over himself while he leaned in to press a small kiss on Ciel’s earlobe. His whole body pulled closer, closing even more distance between the two. Leaving just enough space for the buttons to come undone, he leaned back once they were loose, shrugging the coat off to the floor along with his other things. The size difference was notable when the two coats were side by side, Alois now pushing 6′ tall himself.

In response, he reached back out to his lover’s chest, pulling button after button open. The pale skin underneath caught the moonlight like a modern day Adonis. Just as Aphrodite had done long ago, he would sacrifice his sanity to spend only several nights a year with him if it came to it. Now there was definition to his chest - not quite muscle, but the man wasn’t soft either. Alois smiled mischievously, ducking in for a deep kiss on the lips with no hesitation.

While the other was nervous and shaky, the taller man was confident and needy. He’d bided his time pretending that positions like this were with his fantasy to begin with. Now that it really was the one he imagined most nights, he’d waste no time. He’d push the subject and get his way - for once, just for once.

“Y..You..” A sad attempt at a protest. He was helpless at this point, as he always was when they played this game. Shuddered breaths escaped Ciel’s lips, his throat and hands and legs beginning to throb with the violent beating of his heart. Hardly even noticing his own buttons being undone, he couldn’t help but stare at the unfamiliar physique of his partner, still just as pale and soft and smelling of lavender, but larger. Of course, he was used to that aspect, as Alois had always had the advantage when it came to physical size. Another reminder they were men now.

A cool breeze crossed his chest as button after button was opened, and he trailed his fingertips down his lover’s abdomen, touching him as if he was still unsure if he was really there. His fingers kept moving until they reached a new texture, his eyes following. A scar. The scar. His thumb gently ran across it, memories of that awful night haunting his memory again.

A distraction. He wanted a distraction. This moment was too sweet to be ruined by those nightmares. Ciel’s hand darted back up Alois’ body, wrapping around the back of his neck and pulling him back in for a deeply passionate kiss, the feeling of his lips on his own bringing him back to the present moment.

Noticing his pause, Alois was pulled out of the moment for a split-second, eyes following the other’s to the raggedly-healed wound on his abdomen. Once upon a time, it nearly killed him. It took months to seal up to the point he would no longer vomit blood. Yet, it served as a reminder to tie the two together. The man had made peace with it, never answering Jean honestly when he asked about it. A fight with a carriage, maybe he’d fallen, sometimes he changed his lie to keep it fresh in his mind. Little did he know about the beautifully composed violent blue boy in London.

Though the thought didn’t last long until he was to be wrapped in another kiss. The two lost themselves in the texture of the other’s lips, the newfound fullness and softness. For a moment, the blonde forgot that for the other, it had been years since he felt this much passion, for he knew his lover would only accept a partner that could destroy him and build him back up in one night; a challenging love. The night allowed for this kind of depraved waltz.

Shrugging off his own shirt, he pulled off the necktie he’d chosen for that day, pulling it behind Ciel’s neck and quickly grabbing it tight - cutting off breath for a split-second. The gasp for air would last long enough to make the other slightly dizzy, almost a drunk sort of feeling. While Ciel had been saving himself for marriage, Alois had been learning new tricks in Paris.

His breath caught in his throat as his neck was pulled forward slightly, his eyes widening at the unfamiliar and sudden sensation. He liked it. His hands grabbed tightly at his lover’s shoulders, his body’s initial reaction being to fight for air, until he relaxed and leaned into the lightheaded feeling. As the tightness of the tie around his neck loosened he gasped for breath, heat pooling in his lower stomach.

Ciel’s hand ran up the back of Alois’ neck, lightly entangling itself in the silky blond hair and tugging, all needy and wanting. It was during moments like these that Ciel was thankful there wasn’t a mirror nearby, as he’d never be able to forgive himself for how he looked now- desperate and weak, two traits he prided himself on seldom exhibiting. Meanwhile, his free hand worked its way down to the other’s trousers, his subconscious growing impatient.

A devilish smile crossed the man’s face, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he felt his lover’s hand stray from his chest. In reaction, the blonde grabbed the other by the hips, fingers hooking through the belt loops. Using this guide, he swung Ciel to the other side and walked him back to the bed in the center of the room.

The soft silk accepted the two into its folds as Alois pressed him down into it, following on top in a straddle. Oh, how long it had been since he had looked down at the real version of this scene rather than the discount. It even made the space worth it somehow, made the taste sweeter. Reaching down to finish undoing all the remaining buttons on his lover’s chest, he took a second to trace the new body. He was certainly well-built, and knowing how many sweets the other indulged in, it made him wonder exactly where it came from. Of course, this matched his fantasy even more so and lit a fire within him.

“I’ve missed the real thing..” He whispered, leaning down to place a lengthy kiss on the other’s exposed collarbone. “You’re worth it.”

Ciel’s hands instinctively fell against the pillows on either side of his head as he laid back, his body remembering how many times he had been pinned down in this position to be toyed with by his lover. His chest rose and fell as he took shallow, nervous breaths, his spine arching ever so slightly as he felt the other’s lips against his collarbone.

This was bliss, it had to be. For eight years he spent every night alone, many of those nights sleepless as Alois’ face appeared behind his eyelids. And yet, here he was. Here they were, tangled in each other’s arms and peppering each other with kisses and nips, their bodies illuminated by a sliver of moonlight shining through the curtains. If he had ever wanted a painting of anything, it would be this.

A hand came up to cradle Alois’ head as he kissed his chest, his other hand sliding up his lover’s thigh eagerly and brushing his fingertips just underneath the hem of his trousers. Lifting Alois’ head so his eyes met his own, he tugged lightly on the fabric of his pants. “Off.”

“Hm,” Alois snickered quietly, smiling against the other’s skin. He’d forgotten all about the past few weeks, even the dent he’d just made in the wall. The man leaned back to stand and undid his belt, allowing the layer to fall to the floor. All that remained now was a pair of not-so-modest undergarments and his socks, illuminated by the moonlight.

“Since you want to be so demanding,” He purred, leaning back in to speak right against the other’s neck. “You too, coward.”

The two were as close to heaven as they could ever get. Living in sin left one with only so many options - sink to the bottom, or find a way out. Being that they’d already sold their souls, this love was to be their only glimpse of it. That it was; both were old enough to savor it as such, hardened by the world outside this room. Yet, they were still young enough to allow some recklessness into their doomed sorts of lives. Knowing this fact, Alois rolled off his lover, now sitting on the edge of the bed and gesturing. Up.

He would never admit it aloud, or maybe even to himself, but Alois was more than likely the only person who could order him around, and have it arouse him. His eyes watched intently as his partner continued to undress, noting the way his fingers methodically moved, the way his stomach and chest expanded with every breath; it was exhilarating.

Hearing the command, Ciel moved in carefully calculated movements, as if he could be pounced on at any moment. He stood up, dropping his unbuttoned shirt to the floor before moving onto his own trousers. Button by button, the fabric loosened before pooling around his ankles. He stepped out of them, his hands on Alois’ shoulders for balance. And there he stood, nearly naked and completely vulnerable for the first time in nearly a decade.

The bluenette moved as if leaning in for another kiss but hesitated, leaning away again. He reached behind his own head, grabbing the string of his eye patch between his thumb and forefingers, pulling until it loosened and fell to the floor. There, he thought, off.

Surprised by the sight of both eyes, the man’s eyes locked with the other’s. A soft sound of “oh, love…” escaped his lips, his hand moving up the side of Ciel’s skull to gently hold him there. He took a moment to gaze into both eyes, having all but forgotten he’d only ever seen the one. Even as teens, Ciel was always cautious about how much of himself he revealed even when completely alone. Though he knew the contract resided there, it never really dawned on him that he had never seen it. Recognizing how raw this moment was, the man leaned back until he was flat against the bed, other hand coming up to trace along his partner’s chest.

It was only moments before he pulled him back in for a deep kiss, filled now with all the longing and pining of eight full years. For a moment, it crossed his mind that this man deserved better from him- he always had. He deserved all his raw moments, anger and joy, sickness and health, fear and confidence. Alois wished he could find a way to give that all to him. If only there were a way, Alois would risk it all. Maybe someday they could play dead and run away, have Sebastian kill Claude, write Lizzie a nice letter - something about market study in the States.

At least they could sail away in these sheets for the night, he thought. Before he realized it, his hands had travelled to his lover’s waist, pulling them so close together that it would require something earth-shattering to pull them away. His mind was scattered, but his body fell into old patterns, finding it completely impossible not to touch the other. Suddenly, every moment he spent with his ex-lover felt like a paperback book that ended on a cliffhanger- so close to satisfying, but nothing compared to a happy ending.

Vulnerability was surprisingly becoming on Ciel; as someone who prided himself on being completely untouchable both emotionally and physically, he appeared most beautiful in this state, especially in the eyes of his lover. He rubbed his eye slightly, trying to regain the balanced sight of two eyes he had been lacking for a whole day. He wanted to see Alois clearly.

Pulled back in for a deep kiss, Ciel climbed forward, straddling the blond man underneath him with his arms wrapped underneath his neck, pulling them impossibly close. He hummed as their hips ground against one another, as he brought one hand around to lightly trace his thumb across Alois’ bottom lip.

“Let me see yours..” He whispered, his digit pulling down lightly on his lip and brushing against his bottom teeth. The other Earl’s contract seal was not new to him- he had seen it before a number of times, but he had nearly forgotten what it looked like now, the image just a fuzzy memory buried in his mind. This thing, this stupidly complicated thing, was one of the few things that they felt tied them together.

Smiling with his teeth, a rare sight in and of itself, the man was glad he could share this with someone. Jean knew nothing of his contract, making efforts to hide his contract from the lover of his. It was a deep secret once he left the city, one he planned to take to his grave after Claude gutted him for his soul. It was a secret he shared with the man in front of him and in a way, the shared tragedy made him feel like he could be all of himself without effort.

He allowed his tongue to stick out of his mouth, the inactive pattern still visible despite its faded nature. It spoke to the strength of the bond he held with his demon, or lack thereof. Though it looked like a burn mark when it wasn’t on display, it was still visible. Alois searched his lover’s eyes for approval, insecurity bleeding through his expression.

Sensing his partner’s vulnerability his lips curled into some mixture of a smile and a smirk, enjoying the look on his face though trying to remain comforting. “Beautiful..” he whispered, fingers grasping Alois’ jaw to pull him into another kiss. This kiss was backed with more fire, all teeth and tongue as they savored the taste and texture of one another.

The fire in his belly growing hotter, he found himself subconsciously rocking his hips against the other’s, searching desperately for some sort of friction to release the knot he felt forming deep inside him. His neediness was showing as he pulled down on his partner’s undergarments, annoyed by the thin pieces of fabric still keeping them even remotely decent. “These too..” he whined, clearing his throat as he felt embarrassment wash over him at the sound of his own voice. “Off..”

A light laugh left his lips, finding the desperation completely hilarious. Alois pushed his lover off eagerly, shifting his legs to get the undergarment off and allowing it to fall to the floor. He swiftly pulled the other man back in for a deep kiss, rolling the two over so that he could position himself on top and straddle the other. Now completely nude, the moonlight caught his skin in his moment of pause.

“You’re so demanding…” He purred, leaning back in and winding a hand behind the other’s head. He locked his fingers in the denim hair, briefly eliciting a light amount of pain. “Though, you’ve been saving yourself.” He added, raising an eyebrow to challenge him. He’d missed just how needy his lover got with him, circumstance leading them to secrecy, and him being the only man unafraid to break that barrier - the only man who held this secret with him.

A soft whine left his lips as his head was pulled back, his Adam’s apple protruding from his throat as his neck arched. His face contorted slightly as he gazed up at the controlling man, brows furrowed and eyes slightly widened as his face flushed a deep rosy red.

He would be lying to himself if he tried to claim he wasn’t at least a bit nervous, as excited as he was. It had been nearly a decade since he had been in this position, this situation, and it had his nerves running rampant. Considering he still wasn’t married, he really hadn’t been physically intimate with another person since he was a young teen, when they experimented with each other’s bodies and memorized every curve and mark.

Ciel swallowed hard, the action difficult with the angle of his neck. “Eight years.. yes..” he breathed, his hands gently running up Alois’ thighs, dangerously close to his core but refusing to touch it. As desperate as he appeared, he liked to play games with him, too.

“Mm…” He trailed, tensing at the touch and biting his lip to stay calm as possible. “All for me, then..” He hummed. He was getting closer to losing his mind in the intimacy, whole body heating up. While he hadn’t had a lack of intimacy by any means, none of it was anything honest. He’d used his ex-lover as a means to an end, a way to spend those eight years not so alone. None of it was true pleasure.

But this, this most certainly was just that. It was as if he hadn’t been touched in years either, never as nervous with another as he was with Ciel. The man knew every curve and spot by muscle memory, but his passion clouded his mind, rendered just as useless.

Removing his hand from the back of Ciel’s head, he grabbed the hand that was wandering near his thighs. Alois guided it, allowing it to rest directly beside his member, leaving the choice still ever open. Besides, his own hands had become shaky, his eyes having trouble staying open. “Please…” He whispered, opening his eyes for a second to reveal a pleading expression.

Ciel’s lips parted and hung open, his eyes never leaving Alois’ as he carefully wrapped his palm around the other’s member, grasping it gently. He watched his face for a change in expression, enjoying teasing his lover even as he laid underneath him, powerless.

Truth be told, Ciel would stay in this moment for all eternity if he could. Just the two of them; bodies bare and vulnerable, entangled in each other’s arms and legs twisted around one another, just like this forever.

Despite his current position, he couldn’t help but feel a rush of confidence as he touched the other man, his hand slowly beginning to move back and forth, his movements triggered by muscle memory. He grinned, looking up at Alois through half lidded eyes. “I so love that face you make..” He commented, his free hand running up and down Alois’ chest and stomach. “The same face, only older..” His hand squeezed slightly around the other’s member, hoping to provoke a more entertaining reaction from his partner.

Upon the contact, the blonde man gasped loudly, clapping a hand over his mouth in embarassment. Although they were entirely alone, it had been a long time since he’d felt a genuine surge of passion and the sudden vocalization shocked even himself. Confident, my love.

“Ah-” he attempted, his breath catching, God, it was so hard to speak when handling actual pleasure. His entire body was so hot. “I’ll need to relearn you…” He trailed, eyes closing again, “all over again…” He admitted, his memory of Paris disappearing as the evening turned to deep blue night.

Like the other, he wished for the time to just freeze here. They were so safe under the cover of night, and they didn’t have to lie to the world here. The blonde could be open with the other man underneath him, mouths and sins combining.

Ciel’s face subconsciously mimicked the other’s, his mouth slightly agape as he felt his lover harden under his touch. He continued stroking softly, tracing his thumb ever so gently around the tip.

“Then start studying..” he whispered, his voice breathy and longing. The knot in his stomach grew tighter and hotter, the friction between the two of them arousing himself as well. “You have a lot of catching up to do.” His cockiness was showing, made even more obvious by the smirk spreading across his lips like melted butter. Ciel spoke teasingly as if he himself didn’t have to relearn his lover’s body.

But his teasing didn’t stop there. He swiftly removed his hand from Alois’ member, placing both of his hands by either side of his head against the mattress. Alois got a taste, now it was his turn. And he would lay here until he got it. Clearly it hadn’t taken long for the two of them to fall back into the passionate and competitive, also quite stubborn, nature of their games.

“Fuck you…” He breathed, sending his lover a dagger of a glare. The man crawled off the bed at this moment, sliding down to the ground on his knees. He didn’t wait for the other man to reposition, but instead chose to grab both legs and tug him closer to the edge of the bed.

The blonde licked his lips, a glimpse of his contract seal showing as he did so, leaning in now to place his lover’s member in his own mouth. Things like this held double-meaning for him, only ever soiling his seal for the other man. He and Jean’s love life was still a mystery to both; Alois lived in a daze then, and feeling alive at all came at a price. One thing could be said about it, however - Alois never allowed anyone else to touch his tongue in such a way.

He worked the other to a fever pitch, he himself getting lost as well. Lesson one, he thought, one of many from here on out. The idea that the other was still engaged made him smile, knowing that he was able to prove his own worth on his knees.

A surprised gasp left him as he was pulled, moving to sit up on his elbows to watch Alois sink down to the ground before him. A pretty sight, he thought, though the devilish smirk on his face was quickly wiped away as soon as he felt his mouth on him. His right hand immediately went to the blond’s hair, gripping tightly as his left hand twisted itself in the sheets. His head, suddenly heavy, fell back against the mattress, a whimpering moan pouring from his lips.

Before his eyes, the other man could see his stomach muscles twitching and his chest heaving with heavy breaths as his mind frantically tried to make sense of this long forgotten feeling. Fingers and toes curled, back arched, eyes shut tightly as he felt his member engulfed in wet warmth.

His goal pleasure, the blonde bobbed his head dutifully, lost in the motion. He could feel his lover grow harder and hotter on the walls of his cheeks, a forgotten feeling and one long-missed. Ciel’s moans were a welcome melody to his ears, hands grabbing the other’s legs tightly; he had to be careful not to leave any bruises though he would delve great pleasure from doing so.

He wished nothing more than to provide pleasure, despite only ever being good at receiving it. It was bliss to see the other’s edges soften right in front of his eyes, his breath quickening and his reaction exactly what he wanted out of the other. The taste of skin and the heat of the room were but a backdrop to their worlds entwining for a night - hopefully, there would be many more.

The two continued without words, only the sounds of whines and moans singing in their ears. Opening his eyes after holding them so tightly shut, Ciel felt as though he were seeing stars. He felt as though he could cry. Eight years of loneliness, eight years of being completely touch starved and wishing everyday so ashamedly that it was Alois’ cheek he were kissing instead of Lizzie’s.

His legs suddenly curled up around Alois’ head, unknowingly squeezing him between them as he felt hot pleasure pooling deep within him. It couldn’t end now, he had to last longer than this. He wished he could last hours doing this, all night if he were able. Gripping the blond’s hair tighter than he meant to, he pulled, lifting Alois’ head from his groin before he fell over the edge.

And what a sight he was. Pink and flushed and sweating and completely out of breath, barely able to hold himself up balancing on one elbow dug into the mattress. Ciel stared into nothing, eyes half lidded and pupils larger than moons, a bit embarrassed at how quickly Alois had gotten a rise out of him, but also trying to come down off of his overwhelming high.

The high was like a drug, a quick and fast hit now and then to stay satisfied. Alois felt like an addict, seeking his next hit from every hallway and dark room until he could come home and get high on his own supply. To compare it, Jean had been like a weak supply, a watered-down opiate that kept him alive but did naught much else. Ciel was the cleanest form of it, one hit could make him lose his mind.

The contact turned his entire face bright pink and his whole body hot as the fire they stood in front of earlier. He was briefly thankful that his butler had worn him down already, stripped him emotionally so he could feel his lover piece him back together, breath by breath; pure opium poppies to soothe him. The blonde felt dizzy and lightheaded as his hair was grasped, crawling back on top of his love. What a sight that man beneath him was.

Ciel had grown into a remarkable man, chiseled chest as if by the gods themselves. He took a pause to look him over, messy and unseamed. This was a sight he could behold for hours upon hours, the moonlight through the slightly drawn curtain dancing on them both. Leaning down on his own elbow, he placed a soft kiss on his lover’s cheek, a sweet gesture unusual for the Earl.

“You’re beautiful.” He mumbled, brushing hair from the other man’s face with his free hand. “All I ever wanted.. right here.”

It was painfully poetic, how the two Earl’s saw each other in exactly the same way, particularly in this very moment. Flushed pink, out of breath and sweat beading up on their foreheads; surely the most beautiful sight they had seen in a long time.

Catching his breath, Ciel looked Alois in the eyes upon hearing his words, his heart clenching. Beautiful, the voice repeated in his mind. It was in moments like these that Ciel struggled to find words, too caught up in the act to think properly, as if he never learned to speak in the first place. He did what he could only think of doing then, and wrapped his arms tightly around Alois and pulled him in close, capturing his lips yet again in a deep kiss. His legs lifted, locking ankles around Alois’ hips, and he trailed one hand back down to his lover’s member, wasting no time in stroking him eagerly. Ciel wanted to capture every one of his moans and breathless gasps.

He needed him. He wanted him. He wanted just as much for it to happen as he wanted the scene to last for hours. “Please..” he whined in the kiss, nearly desperate enough to begin begging. “Alois, please..”

Allowing a heavy breath to pass his lips upon the touch of the other, he closed his eyes in desire. His hot breath released onto his lover’s face, relaxing into a soft smile. Alois opened his eyes to fix his gaze on his face, taking in every sweet second they had right now.

“Take me however you wish.” He stated, weak and low. “You’re the one who’s been waiting without a placeholder. So… show me what you fantasized about.” His statement dripped with desire and longing, his thoughts still partially distant but his body and world contained in this room. He wondered exactly what the other wanted to see from him, nothing but a circus clown when it came to the other man. Alois knew in that moment, he’d do absolutely anything if it made the love of his life feel some kind of freedom from all the responsibility they both held, knowing none of those fantasies were for the consumption of his betrothed.

With his hand still working diligently, stroking his lover ever so intently, his face froze as he stared up at the other, looking so deeply into his sea blue eyes he thought he might be falling in.

What had he fantasized about? Eight years had passed and Ciel spent every one of those days trying desperately to forget Alois; his scent, his body, the feeling of his skin against his own. When they were young, they spent nights like these experimenting, learning about each other’s bodies and their own; what felt good and what felt right. In fact, thinking about it now, they had probably used almost every surface in this room for sinning. Ciel’s face turned an even darker red at the thought, those memories resurfacing.

But ultimately, he knew what he wanted. “This..” he breathed, bringing both of his hands up to Alois’ cheeks to hold him and stroke his thumbs across his skin. “Like this.. I want to see your face..” Saying it this way made it sound romantic, and while of course it was, a part of Ciel also wanted so desperately to watch the other’s face contort with pleasure as they neared the end of this. That was admittedly his favorite part. “Take me this way..”

He nodded softly, breath catching in his throat at every stroke. Fuck, jean wishes he could. Alois had only ever loved one other like this- his butler never returning the favor, every other man in his bed only ever filling the space. He had nearly forgotten what love really felt like; the passion of such a love never quite matching up.

He rolled himself over, taking his lover with him since they were locked in such a manner. The man splayed himself out beneath him, giving himself up to the moment. “All of me is yours,” he purred, leaving himself on display for the other alone. His pale skin was hot as a stovetop, arching towards the other in desire.

It has always belonged to the other man, he thought. No matter what he tried to do to move on, none of it had worked. He knew now that this was due to the fact that having sold their souls, their bodies were forever bound by the lack. They were a match made directly in hell itself, the fires of which came through their bodies when they were alone.

A moment passed as Ciel regained his balance from being flipped over, now hovering over the other young man with his hands against the mattress on either side of his head. He forgot how this felt, being in control. A rush of confidence sparked through him, sitting up straight to look down at Alois, a calm but devious look in his eyes.

Ciel slowly ran his fingertips under Alois’ jaw, placing his first two fingers against his lips. “Open.“ He commanded, slipping his two fingers into the other’s mouth and against his tongue, coating them in slick saliva. “I forgot how lovely you look like this..” He teased, grinning as he pressed his fingers down against the pad of Alois’ tongue, admiring the seal that was barely visible.

Alois heeded the command, parting his lips eagerly. The seal of his contract appeared as if a latent burn mark, branded but inactive as ever as he waited for his lover to defile it. The act was one of disrespect, wanting his mouth to be used to the fullest extent to coat the mark. The man smiled slightly, wanting nothing more than to be used.

While he always stayed on top in the past, he felt comfortable letting himself loose only with his love. It had been years since they’d been together, years more since he’d been used last like this. While some memories still burned of the old man and his torture, Ciel would be the only one who could take those memories and light them ablaze. Nights such as these served as his only form of therapy, twisting his old memories into new ones and taking their place.

While distracting Alois with his fingers in his mouth, Ciel thought deeply about how he should go about being in this new position of control. He hadn’t done it like this before, and was wracking his brain for memories of things Alois had done to him. This was the perfect opportunity to give his lover a taste of his own medicine.

And suddenly, he had a wonderful idea. He stifled a small laugh, sneering as he removed his now soaked fingers from Alois’ mouth. In what looked like one swift movement from Alois’ love drunk point of view, Ciel scooched down the bed, lifting each of Alois’ legs over his shoulders and pulling him close by his thighs. “Relax for me, love,” he cooed, pressing an eager digit to his lover’s entrance. Remembering the initial discomfort he usually felt during this, he made sure to stimulate him in other ways, squeezing the other’s thigh with his free hand and licking gently at his member. He kept his gaze locked firmly on Alois’ face, studying him for any hint of pain or pleasure as he slowly massaged his finger inside of him, deeper and deeper until he reached his second knuckle.

With a sharp gasp, the man pressed into it, growing dizzy. While painful, no one else ever took so much care with his body. It hurt, but in the best kind of way; pain morphed into pleasure, heat growing in his abdomen. Letting out a soft moan, Alois closed his eyes tightly, breathing through any of the remaining pain.

The man wanted to lose complete control underneath the other, relaxing as his fingers tied knots of the silken sheets and sweat beading on his chest. Drunk on love was a look that suited him flawlessly, arching his back into it and giving himself up to the mercy of the moment. He grew harder, heartbeats siphoning blood to the region and heard through the silence now only they punctured.

“F…. fucking hell…”

Watching him carefully through his eyelashes, Ciel left wet kisses along his inner thighs, stopping to bite lightly at the skin. Hearing the other’s comment he couldn’t help but grin, sensing another opportunity for cockiness. “Don’t be so sensitive with me now..” he teased, remembering every time their positions had been switched, with Alois purring in his ear about how sensitive and tightly wound he could be.

Careful not to move too quickly, Ciel massaged in a second finger, this one sliding in a bit easier than the first, He curled them together, gently beginning to move them in and out of the other’s entrance. His free hand ran up, up his thigh and up the side of his torso, eventually finding his hand and interlocking their fingers tightly. “I’m never this quiet,” he smirked, pushing his fingers in just a bit deeper. “Let me hear you..”

Neither am I, he thought, not when I’m faking. That was just it, wasn’t it though. This time, Alois was actually embarrassed by how desperate he’d gotten for this brat. While familiar with the feeling, he wasn’t used to his heartbeat quickening this much, the heat in his stomach growing so much. Everything without him had just been a release, and only satisfied when he could block out Jean’s body. Thank god their faces were similar, but their personalities held different appeal. The man inside him now, for example, was one he loved.

With another thrust, he was driven close to the edge. A louder moan escaped him, his eyes rolling back in pleasure. Sticky-sweet bliss coursed through his whole body, feeling as though he had been dipped into syrup with how lost in paradise he was becoming. His fingers tightened into the sheets, pulling them off the other side of the bed as he allowed another moan to escape.

“You make such pretty noises..” He hummed, sucking a dark bruise into the inside of Alois’ thigh. He continued twisting and thrusting his fingers into him, curling them and trying to ensure he was relaxed. It wouldn’t be pleasing for either of them if it wasn’t.

Planting a quick kiss on his thigh, Ciel gently removed his fingers, sitting himself up and pulling Alois’ legs around his hips, securing them there. His chest rose and fell as he took deep breaths, trying to push aside the nervousness he felt in this moment. A final look at the blond’s face caused him to relax completely, feeling the heat between their bodies grow hotter. He swallowed hard, leaning in to kiss his lover passionately.

Pulling away so they were just centimeters apart, Ciel gazed into the eyes of Alois, exhausted and aroused. “Stop me if it hurts..” He whispered softly, remembering how Alois always said something along those lines to him when the positions were switched.

Ciel gently stroked himself a few times, stifling soft moans before pressing the tip of his member to Alois’ entrance, moving as slowly as he could as he began to push inside. A low groan melted from his lips, feeling the tight heat surround his member. It was almost enough to send him over the edge just like this, but he was determined to hold on. Steadier now, he placed his palms over Alois’ locking their fingers together on either side of his head against the mattress.

Wincing slightly, he exhaled sharply as he felt the other enter. It did hurt, of course, but he could relax into it in a way he hadn’t been able to with his replacement. It had been years however, since he’d done anything like this, and he was tighter than he used to be. Held down by his palms, he struggled to clear the brain fog that made him feel drunk.

Eyes watering at the remnants of pain, he let himself ease into the pleasure. The heat in his abdomen grew, placing him right on the edge of the cliff. The man moaned repeatedly at every thrust, leaving his mouth open so as not to worry about it as much as he was prior. The room grew louder and hotter and he felt himself edging so close to release, fingers holding tightly through the other’s.

After only minutes, Alois felt the pressure burst, arching back into the bed in ever-fleeting bliss. The moment made him feel lightheaded, all the blood rushing to the area and leaving him a succulent mess. Embarrassed, he released his fingers to wind tightly together behind his lover’s back. “Fuck you…” He sighed, an echoing release rocking his body again.

Upon feeling his body relax, Ciel picked up his pace a bit, thrusting rhythmically into his lover. Soft gasps and low groans tumbled from his lips, his brows furrowing as sweat beaded along his rosy forehead.

Only minutes later did the rhythm he found begin to fumble, his thrusts becoming less precise and more desperate. He leaned over Alois’ body, gripping the sheets above his head as the other wrapped tightly around his back. The knot in his lower abdomen pulled, tighter and tighter until the rope snapped, forcing his blissful release inside of Alois. He shuddered, his hips still slowly rocking as he rode out his high, looking down at the mess Alois had left all over his lower stomach.

Ciel barely had any energy left, his muscles quivering slightly as he rested on top of the other man, yet to pull out. He chuckled softly at Alois’ feisty words, peppering the side of his face and neck with soft kisses. “You loved it..” Ciel hummed into his ear.

After taking a few deep breaths, Ciel moved to pull out, both of them flinching a bit as he did so, followed by a relaxed sigh. He knew they had cleaning up to do, but he decided it could wait a few more minutes. The power high he had felt was dying down now as he curled up against Alois’ side, resting his head on his lover’s chest and listening to his heart. It felt as though a part of him had been fulfilled, like an incomplete puzzle finally placing the last puzzle piece after years of being incomplete. Alois Trancy was his missing puzzle piece.

“Mm…” Alois hummed ,closing his eyes and holding his lover close. “Irrelevant.” He teased, looking over. He poked one finger into Ciel’s red hot cheek, causing the other man’s face to shrink for a moment. The expression made him chuckle lightly, all tension gone between the two. It was a childish gesture, calling back to the years they spent apart and tying the time together. It was as if they’d never been apart to being with, the shedded years as irrelevant as the comment.

The taller man turned his head, nuzzling into Ciel’s neck. “I just want you to know,” he began softly, “you have no one to compete with.”

He wondered just how much his past affair bugged the other man, though he hoped not at all. Jean had looked nearly the same, spoke the same, and shared most mannerisms. Yet, he held the knowledge to be true that the comparison was never truly there. Nights were desperate in a different way, as if he had to prove himself time and time again. Both men had grown up beside Alois, but Alois had never grown out of London, rather leaving a piece of himself here that he was able to gain back in these sickly sweet nothings.

Ciel closed his eyes, nuzzling deeper into the embrace and wrapping his arms around Alois. He wrapped a strand of blond hair around his finger, twisting it gently.

The sudden confession took him by surprise, his eyes opening although he didn’t move. He was surprisingly not angry or hurt in the slightest. The two of them were not only living under different circumstances, one of them actively engaged and the other free to do as he pleased, but they also handled their pain quite differently. Ciel tended to shrink away from the world and wallow in silence, muting any emotion he felt until it passed. Alois would act out in a number of ways, grabbing onto anything he could to chase a new feeling that would distract him from the pain.

“I know..” he whispered, lifting his head to look at Alois, still playing with his hair. “I do, I know..”

The two Earls shared that moment, looking into each other’s eyes and reaching a silent understanding that they would be okay, that the past didn’t matter and whatever happened in the last eight years wasn’t something they could change. They laid there awhile longer, snuggling close and sharing the occasional kiss, before eventually rising from the bed to clean one another. Ciel felt both pride and pity at the sight of Alois struggling to sit up, hiding a snicker as he helped clean him up.

Their bodies cooled down, no longer out of breath and coated in a layer of sweat. They pulled the silky covers over themselves, resting their heads comfortably in the folds of the pillows, still clinging to one another as if they feared the other would disappear before morning.

Tied together, all worries dissipated in the fog of the London night. They were finally alone, even if it were for only a night or two here and there. As grown men, they knew they were both on borrowed time even more so than as teens. Any moment outside this manor or this room could endanger either one, and yet they were perfectly calm. Falling asleep now, the blonde was sure to hide in his lover’s chest, letting darkness cover him completely. Pain from long ago didn’t touch him here, sewing up the lost edges of their love story.

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soundofseventeen · 4 years

Text

13 Days of Christmas (Xu Minghao)

I’m almost done.

Word count: 2268

“Did he see me?” You asked ducking behind the curtains.

“If he did, he would’ve been knocking on your front door already,” Chan said nonchalantly. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re so fucking weird?”

“He has a dog, Chan! And he’s the cutest thing ever!” “Are you talking about Minghao hyung or his dog?”

“Shouldn’t you be at home?” “Shouldn’t you stop taking pictures of my friends?” He brought the baseball cap he was wearing down to his eyes. “Seriously, I’m getting tired of you falling in love with them.”

“I’m not in love with any of your friends!”

“Let’s see...there was Cheol hyung at the coffee shop, Mingyu and Jihoon hyungdeul at the gym, Jun hyung at the park...and my personal favorite Soonyoung hyung at that restaurant.”

“That one wasn’t intentional!” you pointed your finger at him “You know I was meeting Wonwoo there!”

“So you say.” He shrugged, looking for his jacket to put it on. “Listen, as much I don’t enjoy spying on my friends with you, I have to go meet Vernon and talk to him about a show coming up...no you can’t come to either.”

“I wasn’t asking to go.”

“You can’t either way so ‘bye! I’ll text you later.”

You rolled your eyes. You loved Chan but he liked to blow things out of proportion from time to time. He had very attractive friends, yes, but you didn’t care for following them around town and hoping they’d notice you. Yes, Seoul was big but he wasn’t exactly the shy type….he had 12 other friends that he constantly like to spend time with….at the same time. You could barely handle four people at once for a couple of hours but hey you respected him. But that wasn’t the point.

You could name one attractive thing from the oldest to the one barely older than him but he wouldn’t really listen to that. But there was something about Minghao that kept you on your toes. You couldn’t exactly figure out why he stuck out like a sore thumb. He had the iconic resting bitch face made you afraid to approach him in the past, even when he had the cotton candy looking hair thing going on. You talked to him the least and admired him from afar the most. He also had this thing where he ruined your ego by rejecting someone else. As in, someone else confessed they had a crush on him and he said he wasn’t interested and to think about other things besides him. (As if he was some kpop idol.)

And then, he seemed a little friendlier when he got a dog. It wasn’t a big change but it was enough for you to say hi to him...and take pictures of the dog when Minghao wasn’t looking. But as always, Chan caught you at the wrong time and made his own assumption. Well, he wasn’t wrong but you wanted to play it cool...or as cool as you could manage.

You waited a few more minutes until you were sure that Chan was gone, so you could leave to do your grocery shopping for the week. The cold weather often made it impossible for you to get things done but with the holidays approaching faster and faster, you wanted to have your fridge and cabinets stocked with food in case someone in your family dropped by to surprise you or in the unlikely event that you’d be snowed in. You knew you had enough nonperishable food to last you to the New Year...even to Valentine’s Day, but you didn’t like being at home with nothing to do, so you threw your jacket on, transferred money out of your savings and headed straight for the supermarket, not quite sure what you were gonna buy.

You were quite proud of yourself for everything you bought...even though you felt tired.

Well, you didn’t actually get into the spirit of buying food, (and maybe presents if you found some that you liked enough to give) until you had caffeine in your system. You loved Chan, you really did, but he somehow usually managed to drain enough energy out of your system to power an army. You stopped at the local dog cafe, since it was the closest thing to you. You’d been there a handful of times and even though you had no complaints about the coffee...the price was another story. Somehow though, being surrouded by all the furry animals made up for it.

You sat at one of the tables after getting your drink, becoming a bystander to the outside world. You opened your backpack and pulled out your sticky notes. Though you still had time for the Chfristmas gift shopping, you wnated to be sure you had enough to make it to your next paycheck...even with what you transferred. It was noisy inside but somehow you were still able to get lost in your thoughts and what you still had to do, only coming back to reality whenever a pup scurried past by and their tail thumped on your leg.They often made you wanna have a pet of your own, but you couldn’t afford one just yet.

”Do you mind if I sit here?”

You looked up to see Minghao balancing a laptop, a book, his own cup of coffee and his newest trusty sidekick and you nodded, standing up quickly to see if there’d be any way to help him unload but he waved you off.

“I got this. It’s just so crowded here and you were the only familiar face I saw so I thought it’d be good to ask you.”

You merely smiled at him, unsure of what to say. You’d be lying if you said you never pictured something like this would happen, but you also couldn’t deny it made the situation a little scarier. Minghao in your daydreams often stopped by quietly, and shyly put your favorite pastry on the table and he shared his earphones with you and he’d sneak peeks at you. This Minghao quickly opened his laptap and fed his dog a biscuit to keep him quiet. He didn’t bother to make conversation with you and instead flipped through the notebook and typed in whatever was written down. “I’ll be out of your hair soon. I just need to buy a few presents for people.”

“Oh, you can stay as long as you want. Im just making some payments and then I’m leaving.”

“Who could you possibly be stalking today?” He didn’t break his gaze from the laptop so you couldn’t tell if he was joking.

“I...no one. I have to do grocery shopping and maybe start buying people stuff.” You did some addition, wondering just how much you could pay this month and still have enough to spend and letting out an irritated sigh when the numbers didn’t agree with you. You completely ignored him then, focusin on the internal bargains you made with yourself until you reached a satisfactory conclusion. You tapped your fingers on your knee absently, making one more quick estimate when you felt somthing licking your hand, Alright, you momentarily forgot that it was a pet cafe so you gasped a little louder than inteded, but it was time to go anyways.

Minghao noticed this and quietly rebuked the poor pup in Chinese and turned his attention to you. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to go. I can leave.”

“I have to go anyways,” you stood up, feeling embarrassed. “I have to go make dinner and then call my mom to see how she’s doing. Plus, if I give my landlord the rent money money now, I’ll be able to spend mh next check however I please.”

He surprised you by standing up too. “No, I insist. You can stay and I’ll leave with Pandi. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Mingaho, it’s fine,” you assured him. “I have to go and-shit it’s cold!” The breeze that snuck in when the door opened reminded you that the holiday was here and you rushed to put your overcoat and gloves on, grateful that you left your beanie on.

“Pandi said she’s sorry...hey Y/N?”

“What?”

“I think you might need your phone for future things,” he chuckled. He picked it up and shoved it into his pocket. He took your only grocery back and walked outside with it until you were ready to join him. “I guess we can walk with Chan’s friend tonight, huh sweet girl?” He knelt to the dog’s level, and put on the small jacket he carried in his messenger bag on her and after some deliberation, a Santa hat too

You finally stepped outside as he was zipping her up and you had to contain your squeal at the adorableness. You had to admit though: seeing your intimidating crush caring for some thing as vulnerable as a pet made your heart do things. He just gave you a shy smile and offered you your bag. “Wait, are you coming with me?” The thought alone made your heart race in a way that scared you.

“Well, we live in the same area...and it’s almost dark outside...don’t you think it’d be more awkward to walk by ourselves?” He shot you a pointed look and you had to admit that you felt silly. He was still kinda scary. “Besides, I need to talk to you.”

There it was...the chill in your bones that had nothing to do with the air. “Oh my god, please tell Chan I’m not in love with any of you and I don’t stalk any of you.”

“I was just gonna say that if you wanted to watch Pandi when I go back to China next month...Chan said you’re good at taking care of pets.” You couldn’t tell if the reddening of his cheeks came from the cold air or the acknowledgement of what you said, but you cursed Chan for making your life miserable. “The stalking thing was a joke.”

With a blush as red as his Pandi’s Santa hat, you could conclude with absolute certainty was that if you didn’t give Chan a well-deserved lump of coal...you’d defintiely be chucking one at him soon. “Oh...sorry.”

“I’m gonna regret asking this, but is that really all you and Chan talk about?”

Oh, the candidness only embarrassed you further, and you wished more than anything to have been run over by a reindeer. “Chan seems to think...I’m in love with either one of you guys or all of you. And I’m not...at all.” The attraction was another story. “He’s convinced that I know all of your schedules and have all these photos of you hidden somewhere in my room.” You shot Minghao a short glare as he opened his mouth. “And I can 100% tell you it’s bullshit.”

“So you’re really gonna deny taking pictures of me from your room?”

“They’re all of your dog, I swear!” You whined. “You just happened to come out in a few of them.”

“Y/N.”

Your gloved hand reached into your pocket to take out your phone and you threw it at him. “The code is 2605.”

“Why are you giving it to me?” He asked, sounding amused. He didn’t know what your lockscreen would be, but he had to admit that he found it endearing. (unless it’s Hao, then picture something completely different.) And the same for your wallpaper.

“Because if I showed you, you’d think I was deleting them.”

“How do I know they’re not backed up in your laptop somewhere?” He didn’t know that you could be so funny either. No wonder Chan liked hanging out with you.

“Wait until I get home and I bring the fucking thing to you,” you muttered but he still heard you.

“Are you gonna give me gingerbread cookies and hot chocolate too?” He finally stopped stalling and went to your gallery, unsure why his heart was pounding.

“If it’s gonna shut you up, then yes.” You took his leash to take Pandi, but were surprised when he didn’t say anything. The screen was still bright enough for you to catch the glare reflecting off his glasses as he casually swiped through them. He finally nodded approvingly and he handed it back to you, but let you keep the leash. “Proof enough?”

“I mean, I’m still not convinced. I might have to see your laptop too. Plus you promised me cookies.” He was a little bummed that he found a whopping total of three pictures he was included in when it came to his pet, and that was including the one where it was only his shoe.

Minghao had always found you cute, but when Lee Chan started the crazy rumors of you being a stalker, he was skeptical, especially how you managed to show up a lot of the time after he pointed it out. Coincidence? Or something else?

“You...are...infuriating.” You shook your head. Maybe this would make your crush go away.

“Are they homemade?” He remembered that Chan said you baked for fun from time to time.

“You’re not getting any.”

“I guess I’ma have to tell my friends you’re a stalker.”

Yep, walking home as the stars came out and with the wind blowing the pine scent in every direction, your crush on him was slowly fading.

He gave you a small smile followed by a giggle and gently ruffled the beanie on your head. “You’re funny.”

Or not.

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overly-obsessed-fangirl1 · 4 years

Text

A Study in Pink - Part 3

A/N: I wanted to know how Sherlock would be the same or different if John was Jane, but everything else remained the same. This was the result. Unless a scene is particularly short, each scene will be one chapter.

Transcript used was written up by Ariane DeVere and can be found here

Walking out into the street, Sherlock hailed an approaching cab.

“Taxi!”

The taxi pulled up and he and Jane got in. The car drove off again, headed for Brixton. The two sat in silence for a long time while Sherlock focused on his smartphone and Jane kept sneaking glances at him. Finally, Sherlock lowered his phone.

“Okay, you’ve got questions,” he stated.

“Yeah,” Jane said. “Where are we going?”

“Crime scene. Next?”

“Who are you? What do you do?”

“What do you think?” Sherlock turned to look at her.

“I’d say private detective,” Jane said slowly.

“But?” Sherlock prompted.

“But the police don’t go to private detectives,” she finished.

“I’m a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me.”

“The police don’t consult amateurs.”

Sherlock threw her a look. “When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, ‘Afghanistan or Iraq?’ You looked surprised.”

“Yes, how did you know?

“I didn’t know, I saw.” He took a breath before continuing, rapid-fire. “Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But your conversation as you entered the room...”

Jane limped into the lab, looking around at all the equipment. “Well, bit different from my day.”

“... said trained at Bart’s, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You’ve been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp’s really bad when you walk but you don’t ask for a chair when you stand, like you’ve forgotten about it, so it’s at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq.” He loudly clicked the ‘k’ sound at the end of the final word.

“You said I had a therapist.”

“You’ve got a psychosomatic limp – of course you’ve got a therapist. Then there’s your brother.”

“Hmm?” Jane looked back at him. Sherlock held out his hand. “Your phone. It’s expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you’re looking for a flatshare – you wouldn’t waste money on this. It’s a gift, then.”

Jane, having handed over the phone, watched as Sherlock turned it over and looked at it again as he spoke.

“Scratches. Not one, many over time. It’s been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The woman sitting next to me wouldn’t treat her one luxury item like this, so it’s had a previous owner. Next bit’s easy. You know it already.”

“The engraving.”

Engraved on the back of the phone were the words:

Harry Watson From Clara xxx

“Harry Watson: clearly a family member who’s given you his old phone. Not your father; this is a young man’s gadget. Could be a cousin, but you’re a war hero who can’t find a place to live. Unlikely you’ve got an extended family, certainly not one you’re close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who’s Clara? Three kisses says it’s a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model’s only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he’s just given it away. If she’d left him, he’d have kept it. People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You’re looking for cheap accommodation, but you’re not going to your brother for help: that says you’ve got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don’t like his drinking.”

“How can you possibly know about the drinking?” Jane asked, disbelieving.

Sherlock smirked. “Shot in the dark. Good one, though.”

He pointed out the charging port. “Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man’s phone; never see a drunk’s without them.”

Sherlock passed the phone back. “There you go, you see – you were right.”

“I was right?” asked Jane, astounded. “Right about what?”

“The police don’t consult amateurs.”

He looked back out of the side window, biting his lip nervously while he awaited Jane’s reaction.

“That ... was amazing,” she said after a pause.

Sherlock looked round, so surprised that he couldn’t even reply for the next four seconds.

“Do you think so?”

“Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary.”

“That’s not what people normally say.”

“What do people normally say?”

“Piss off,” he muttered.

He smiled briefly at Jane, who grinned and turned away to look out of the window as the journey continued. The cab stopped at a road block surrounded by police. Sherlock and Jane got out and walked towards the police tape.

“Did I get anything wrong?” Sherlock asked suddenly.

“Harry and me don’t get on, never have,” said Jane. “Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they’re getting a divorce, and Harry is a drinker.”

Sherlock looked impressed with himself. “Spot on, then. I didn’t expect to be right about everything.”

“And Harry’s short for Harriet.”

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks.

“Harry’s your sister.”

Jane kept walking. “Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?

“Sister!”

“No, seriously, what am I doing here?”

Exasperated, Sherlock moved to catch up. “There’s always something.”

They approached the police tape and were stopped by a policewoman. Jane thought she didn’t look happy to see them.

“Hello, freak,” the policewoman said, crossing her arms.

Oh, so her ire was aimed at Sherlock.

“I’m here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade,” Sherlock said, seemingly unaffected by the dislike radiating from her.

“Why?”

“I was invited.”

“Why?”

“I think he wants me to take a look,” he said sarcastically.

“Well, you know what I think, don’t you?”

This is like a tennis match, Jane thought, looking back and forth from one to the other.

Sherlock lifted the tape and ducked underneath it. “Always, Sally.” He took a deep breath. “I even know you didn’t make it home last night.”

“I don’t ...” the woman -Sally- stopped mid-sentence, noticing Jane. “Er, who’s this?

“Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson.” Sherlock turned to Jane.

“Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan.” Voice dripping with sarcasm, he added “Old friend.”

Sally looked taken aback. “A colleague? How do you get a colleague?!”

She too turned to Jane. “What, did he follow you home?” she asked, sounding a mix of mocking and slightly concerned that he actually might have.

Jane shifted uncomfortably. “Would it be better if I just waited and ...”

Sherlock lifted the tape again. “No.”

As Jane walked under the tape, Sally lifted a radio to her mouth.

“Freak’s here. Bringing him in.”

Jane didn’t think she liked Sally Donovan.

Sally lead them towards one of the houses. Sherlock studied the area and the ground as they approached. As they reached the pavement, a man wearing a coverall over his clothes came out of the house.

“Ah, Anderson. Here we are again,” Sherlock said.

Anderson looked at him with distaste. Jane was sensing a pattern.

“It’s a crime scene. I don’t want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?” he said shortly.

Sherlock took another deep breath. “Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?”

“Oh, don’t pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that.”

“Your deodorant told me that.”

“My deodorant?” Clearly that’s not what Anderson had expected.

Sherlock smirked. “It’s for men.”

“Well, of course it’s for men! I’m wearing it!” Anderson was getting more exasperated by the second.

“So’s Sergeant Donovan.”

Oh, Jane thought. I was not expecting that.

Anderson looked round in shock at Donovan. Sherlock sniffed a third time, pointedly.

“Ooh, and I think it just vaporized. May I go in?”

Turning back, Anderson pointed at him angrily. “Now look: whatever you’re trying to imply ...”

“I’m not implying anything,” Sherlock said, striding past Donovan towards the front door. “I’m sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over.”

He turns back.

“And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees.”

Anderson and Donovan stared at him in horror. He smiled smugly, then turned and went into the house. Jane edged past Sally, briefly looking down to her knees, then followed Sherlock inside.

Sherlock lead her into a room on the ground floor where Lestrade was putting on a coverall. Sherlock pointed to a pile of similar items.

“You need to wear one of these.”

“Who’s this?” Lestrade asked.

“She’s with me,” Sherlock said, as if that explained everything, and took off his gloves.

“But who is she?”

“I said she’s with me.”

By this point Jane has taken off her jacket and picked up a coverall. She looked at Sherlock who had picked up a pair of latex gloves.

“Aren’t you gonna put one on?” Jane asked, referring to the coverall. Sherlock just looked at her.

Jane gave a soft shake of her head. Silly me. What was I thinking?

“So where are we?” Sherlock addressed Lestrade.

Lestrade picked up another pair of latex gloves. “Upstairs.”

He lead them up a circular staircase. “I can give you two minutes.”

“May need longer,” said Sherlock casually.

Lestrade continued as if uninterrupted. “Her name’s Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We’re running them now for contact details. Hasn’t been here long. Some kids found her.”

He showed them into a room two flights up. The room was empty except for a rocking horse in the far corner, emergency portable lighting, scaffolding holding up part of the ceiling near where a couple of large holes have been knocked through one of the walls, and a woman’s body. Lying face down on the bare floorboards in the middle of the room, she was wearing a bright pink overcoat and high-heeled pink shoes, hands flat on the floor either side of her head, RACHE scratched into the floor by her left hand.

Sherlock walked a few steps into the room and stopped, holding one hand out in front of himself as he focused on the corpse. Behind him, Jane looked at the woman’s body, face filled with pain and sadness. The three of them stood there silently for several long seconds, then Sherlock looked over at Lestrade.

“Shut up.” “I didn’t say anything,” Lestrade protested.

“You were thinking. It’s annoying.”

Lestrade and Jane exchanged a surprised look as Sherlock stepped slowly forward until he reached the side of the corpse. He stared at it for a very long time. Jane was beginning to wonder if something was wrong when he gave a small shake of his head. He stared a bit longer at the word carved into the floor, then bent down next to her and ran his hand down the back of her coat. He glanced at his hand and then reached into the woman’s pocket, pulling out an umbrella. He ran his fingers along the umbrella, examined them, and put the umbrella back. Next he ran his fingers under her collar, and looked at them again.

What is he doing?

Pulling out a collapsible magnifying glass, Sherlock began to examine the woman’s jewelry. Reaching the wedding band, he worked it off her hand and held it up to the light. He put it back and sat back. Jane had no idea how he got any information from that.

“Got anything?” Lestrade asked.

“Not much.” Standing up, Sherlock took off the gloves and pulled his mobile phone from his pocket, typing.

Leaning casually against the doorway, Anderson spoke up. “She’s German. Rache. It’s German for ‘revenge.’ She could be trying to tell us something ...”

Not looking up from his phone, Sherlock walked quickly towards the door. “Yes, thank you for your input.” Slamming the door shut, he turned and walked back into the room.

“So she’s German?” Lestrade spoke again.

Sherlock was still looking at his phone. “Of course she’s not. She is from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night ...” He smiled smugly, apparently finding the information he needed. “... before returning home to Cardiff.”

He pocketed his phone. “So far, so obvious.”

Jane stared at him. “Sorry – obvious?”

“What about the message, though?” Lestrade asked.

Sherlock ignored him. “Doctor Watson, what do you think?”

“Of the message?”

“Of the body. You’re a medical woman.”

Lestrade cut in, “Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside.”

“They won’t work with me,” Sherlock protested.

“I’m breaking every rule letting you in here.”

“Yes ... Because you need me,” Sherlock challenged him.

Lestrade stared at him for a moment, then lowered his eyes helplessly.

“Yes, I do. God help me.”

“Doctor Watson.”

“Hm?” Jane looked up from the body, then turned her head towards Lestrade, silently asking permission.

“Oh, do as he says,” Lestrade gave in. “Help yourself.”

He turned and opened the door, going outside.

“Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes.”

Sherlock and Jane walked over to the body. Sherlock squatted down on one side of it and Jane painfully lowered herself to one knee on the other side, leaning heavily on her cane to support herself.

“Well?” Sherlock prompted.

Jane spoke softly. “What am I doing here?”

“Helping me make a point,” Sherlock responded, just as quietly.

“I’m supposed to be helping you pay the rent.”

“Yeah, well, this is more fun.”

“Fun?" He thinks this is fun? "There’s a woman lying dead.”

“Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you’d go deeper.”

Lestrade came back into the room and stood just inside the doorway. Jane dragged her other leg down into a kneeling position, then leaned forward to look more closely at the woman’s body. She put her head close to hers and sniffed. Nothing.

She straightened a little before lifting the woman’s right hand and looking at the skin. Sitting up, Jane looked across to Sherlock, having gained no information. The woman seemed perfectly fine form a surface exam, apart from being dead.

“Yeah ... asphyxiation, probably,” she BSed. “Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can’t smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs.”

“You know what it was,” Sherlock prompted. “You’ve read the papers.”

“What, she’s one of the suicides? The fourth ...?” Jane looked down and up again as Lestrade cut in.

“Sherlock, two minutes, I said. I need anything you’ve got.”

Sherlock stood up, and Jane struggled to get to her feet.

“Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes; I’m guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Traveled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It’s obvious from the size of her suitcase.”

“Suitcase?” Lestrade seemed puzzled.

Jane looked around the room but couldn’t see a suitcase anywhere.

“Suitcase, yes,” Sherlock continued. “She’s been married at least ten years, but not happily. She’s had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, if you’re just making this up ...”

Sherlock pointed down to her left hand. “Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewelry has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it’s regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It’s not for work; look at her nails. She doesn’t work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover; she’d never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple.”

“That’s brilliant,” Jane spoke up, admiringly.

Sherlock looked round at her.

She blushed. “Sorry.”

Lestrade cut in again. “Cardiff?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Sherlock asked.

“It’s not obvious to me,” Jane said.

Sherlock paused as he looked at the other two. “Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring.”

He turned back to the body. “Her coat: it’s slightly damp. She’s been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She’s turned it up against the wind. She’s got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it’s dry and unused: not just wind, strong wind – too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can’t have traveled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn’t dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?”

He pulls his phone from his pocket and shows the other two the webpage he was looking at earlier, displaying the day’s weather for the southern part of Britain.

“Cardiff.”

“That’s fantastic!” Jane spoke again without thinking.

Sherlock turned to her, speaking in a low voice. “D’you know you do that out loud?”

“Sorry. I’ll shut up.”

“No, it’s ... Fine.” Sherlock looked strangely pleased.

“Why d’you keep saying suitcase?” Lestrade brought their attention back to the case at hand.

Sherlock spun around in a circle to look around the room. “Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organizer. Find out who Rachel is.”

“She was writing ‘Rachel’?

“No, she was leaving an angry note in German!” Sherlock addressed Lestrade sarcastically. “Of course she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. Question is, why did she wait until she was dying to write it?”

“How d’you know she had a suitcase?” Lestrade ignored Sherlock’s sarcastic remark.

Pointing down to the body, Sherlock continued. “Where her tights have small black splotches on the lower part of her right leg - back of the right leg - tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don’t get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night.”

He squatted down by the woman’s body and examined the backs of her legs more closely. “Now, where is it? What have you done with it?”

“There wasn’t a case.”

Slowly, Sherlock raised his head, frowning up at Lestrade.

“Say that again.”

“There wasn’t a case. There was never any suitcase.” Lestrade seemed pleased that Sherlock had made a mistake.

He called Sherlock in, why would he be pleased that Sherlock made a mistake? Jane wondered.

Immediately Sherlock straightened up and went for the door, calling out to all the officers in the house as he began to hurry down the stairs.

“Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?”

Lestrade and Jane followed him out and stopped on the landing. Lestrade called down the stairs.

“Sherlock, there was no case!”

Sherlock slowed down, but still made his way down the stairs. “But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs. Even you lot couldn’t miss them.”

“Right, yeah, thanks! And?”

“It’s murder, all of them. I don’t know how, but they’re not suicides, they’re killings – serial killings.”

He held his hands up in front of his face in delight. “We’ve got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There’s always something to look forward to.”

“Why are you saying that?” Lestrade tried desperately to get Sherlock’s attention back.

Sherlock stopped and shouted back up the stairs. “Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it?! Someone else was here, and they took her case.”

More quietly, as if talking to himself, he continued, “so the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car.”

“She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there,” Jane supplied.

“No, she never got to the hotel.” Sherlock looked up the stairs again. “Look at her hair. She color-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She’d never have left any hotel with her hair still looking ...” he trailed off, realizing something.

“Oh.” His eyes widened and his face lit up. “Oh!”

He clapped his hands together in delight, looking like a child on Christmas.

“Sherlock?” Lestrade leaned over the railings. “What is it, what?”

Sherlock, still smiling cheerfully to himself, actually answered. “Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake.”

“We can’t just wait!” Lestrade shouted back.

“Oh, we’re done waiting!” He started to hurry down the stairs again.

“Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff. Find out who Jennifer Wilson’s family and friends were. Find Rachel!”

He reached the bottom of the stairs and disappeared from view.

Lestrade called after him, “Of course, yeah – but what mistake?!”

Sherlock came back into view and ran up a couple of stairs so that he could be seen and yelled up to Lestrade, as if the answer was obvious.

“PINK!”

He hurried off again. Lestrade, baffled, turned and went back into the room while Anderson and his team, who had been waiting on the next landing down, hurried up the stairs to follow him into the room.

“Let’s get on with it,” Anderson said, clearly glad that he could finally get to work with Sherlock gone.

Forgotten by everyone else, Jane hesitated, baffled, on the landing for a moment before slowly making her way down the stairs. A couple more police officers were rushing up and one of them bumped against her, throwing her off-balance and making her lurch heavily against the banister. The man continued on without even a glance, although his colleague did at least look apologetically at Jane as he passed.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she removed her coverall and put her jacket back on, walking out onto the street. Looking all around, she saw no sign of Sherlock.

“He’s gone,” Donovan called out from next to the tape.

Jane went towards her. “Who, Sherlock Holmes?”

“Yeah, he just took off. He does that.”

“Is he coming back?”

“Didn’t look like it.”

“Right.” Jane looked around helplessly. Had she really gone off with a complete stranger with no idea of where? And now she was left behind.

She turned to Donovan again. “Right ... Yes. Sorry, where am I?”

“Brixton.”

“Right. Er, d’you know where I could get a cab? It’s just, er ... well ...” Jane looked down awkwardly at her walking stick “... my leg.”

Donovan finally stopped what she was doing and really looked at Jane. Jane hated the pity flashed briefly across her face.

“Er ...” Donovan stepped over to the tape and lifted it, clearly dismissing her. “... try the main road.”

Jane ducked under the tape. “Thanks.”

“You’re not his friend.”

Jane turned back towards her, surprised.

“He doesn’t have friends,” Donovan continued. “You're not his girlfriend, I don't think he can even have relationships. So who are you?”

“I’m ... I’m nobody. I just met him.” Had it really just been yesterday?

“Okay, bit of advice then: stay away from that guy.”

“Why?” Jane suspected Donovan’s reasons were more personal than professional.

“You know why he’s here?” Donovan asked. “He’s not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won’t be enough. One day we’ll be standing round a body and Sherlock Holmes’ll be the one that put it there.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he’s a psychopath. And psychopaths get bored.”

Jane was saved having to respond by Lestrade shouting for Donovan.

Donovan turned and called back. “Coming!”

She looked back towards Jane as she walked towards the house.

“Stay away from Sherlock Holmes!”

#Sherlock Holmes #bbc sherlock #Sherlock #sherlock fanfiction #Study in Pink

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twistedrunes · 5 years

Text

George - Chapter 25

A Peaky Blinders Fanfiction

This is a series. If you’re new here welcome! I would recommend you start at the beginning: Chapter One More chapters of George are available on the Masterlist Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters, settings etc. are the property of their respective owners. All original work is my own.

Hello Friends!

I head back to uni tomorrow to hopefully bust out that PhD so I wanted to celebrate (not sure if that’s the right word) by getting up the next chapter of George. Thank you all for your patience and ongoing encouragement a special shout out to my MVP’s @prettieparker86 , @pure-bastard-extract and @tommysmutnothingbut for putting up with my moaning. Thank you too, to everyone who supported my Six Sentence Sunday teaser, in particular, @sympathyfortheblinderdevil @zazasblogxx @londoncharlotte88 @weeo @inkinterrupted and @mafaldaz - without your enthusiasm, this would not have happened so quickly.

Until next time - Twistedrunes xox

Chapter Twenty-five: Before Dawn

Summary: In the aftermath of the disaster with Arthur in Tommy's office, Tommy comes to be with Anna at the betting shop.

Warnings: language, angst, smut, violence, racial slurs, grinding, allusions to past abuse, feelings

Tommy’s hands are on your hips as soon as you open the door, bundling you back inside, kicking the door closed behind him. You’re immediately struck by the intensity in his eyes, wide and slightly wild. As you back up against the wall he pauses, assessing you, eyes roaming your face, settling in the middle of your forehead. His jaw tenses, he pales slightly and he swallows hard. Watching him you recognise the expression from bad nights when he’s seeing things that aren’t really there. If your guess is correct he’s seeing a perfectly formed bullet hole in the middle of your forehead. He closes his eyes as he lifts his hands to your neck, using your jaw to tilt your head down and pressing a tender kiss on your forehead. He hums softly as your hands slip into his overcoat and rest on his hips. He reaches up and pulls his cap off, shoving it deep within the pocket of his overcoat.

As he pulls back, you bring your hands to his chest, rising up on your toes you graze your lips against his. Meeting his eye you give him a soft smile before kissing him again, slightly firmer this time. Silently reminding him that you’re alright. That you’re here, in this moment, with him. Under your hands, you feel Tommy’s chest rise and fall. Your kiss deepens becoming firmer, Tommy's hands cup your cheeks and he parts his lips, quickly the kiss becomes more frantic. It’s ferocious, dragging the air from your lungs and leaving you gasping when he finally releases you.

Heart pounding you slip out of Tommy’s grasp and slide the bolts of the betting shop door home. Tommy paws at your hip, turning you to face him. He takes your chin in his hand, caressing your swollen lips with his thumb as he steps closer. He ducks his head to kiss your neck, sucking the flesh into his mouth, teeth pressing just hard enough to send a thrill through you. Your mouth falls open as you draw shaky breath, the tip of Tommy’s thumb bumping against your tongue. He groans as your lips close around it and you draw it into your mouth. Tommy lifts his head, eyes blazing as he pushes his body up against yours, trapping you between him and the door.

Still, there are no words between you, nothing needed to explain or guide your actions. Tommy grinds against you, cock already firm and reaching out for you. Burying his hand into your hair, his lips are on yours again. Tongue slipping between them as his other hand slides down from your hip to your thigh, coaxing your leg up so your knee is resting above his hip. The movement tilts your pelvis and his hardness brushes against you. Groaning, you tighten your leg pulling him harder against you, rocking as you pull your skirt up to your hips.

Grabbing your ass, Tommy moves you up the door, leaning into you with his hips. Your kisses become sloppier, sucking on each other’s lips and tongues. The sensation is delicious, you were so close before Arthur arrived in Tommy’s office earlier and now, coming down from that adrenaline high, you were teetering on the edge already. Frantically, you work your hand between you, unable to resist feeling his fullness. Tommy’s rhythm stutters slightly, and he moans into your mouth. You continue stroking him before your own need returns and you begin to fumble with the buttons of his fly.

Tommy’s catches your wrist and he shakes his head, devilment dancing on his face. Humming in disappointment you watch Tommy’s eyes blaze as he lifts your hand above your head, pressing the back of it to the door and holding it in place. Tommy smirks as your breath catches, his teeth dragging over his bottom lip. He places his free hand in the back of your knee and adjusts you so you’re grinding against him at the perfect angle. Your mouth hangs open as you pant, aware of his length hardening and growing, your eyes flutter closed as you lose yourself in the feeling, balling the fabric of his lapel in your fist.

Beginning to come undone you struggle against Tommy’s restraint. Tommy loosens his grip and allows your hand to fall. You bring it to his chest, stroking over the cool cotton, and then over the rougher texture of his tie, working up to the knot and loosening it. Tommy rests his brow against yours, brushing your nose with his, silently urging you to meet his gaze again. Tommy hums approvingly as you do, his fingers gliding along your jaw. He swallows hard, thumb tugging on your lower lip. The tightness in your stomach becomes nearly unbearable, a hot ball of tension needing release. You lick your lips, tongue grazing the pad of his thumb and feel your heart miss a beat as he pushes the digit further inside. You suckle on it greedily. Tommy intermittently rubs it over your lips, smearing your lipstick, his cock getting harder each time. Your rocking becomes more fevered and you tug on his coat and dig your nails into the back of his neck.

Tommy responds by grabbing your ass pulling you against him, your legs wrap around his waist instinctively. You squirm, trying desperately to reach release. The tension of the last few hours unbearable, you whimper. Tommy’s eyes sweep your face, a look, somewhere between tenderness and feral lust passes behind them. You nod in response to his unasked question, barely able to contain yourself.

“Cum,” he commands.

And you do. Your voice breaks as you let out a strangled cry. Tommy kisses you, sloppy frenetic kisses down into the crook of your neck, a shuddering breath over the burning flesh before he bites you, timing it perfectly with your peak.

You’re not prepared for the strength of the orgasm that consumes you, falling through an infinity of light, body throbbing and heart pounding in your ears. You shake and gasp and moan. Tommy breathes gentle praises in your ear, as he continues to rock against you, slowing as you come down. He soothes you, bringing you back, a tender kiss on the smarting flesh where he’s bitten you, stroking your hair back off your sweaty brow and slowly lowering your legs. His hands stay on your hips, steadying you and making sure you’re stable on your feet. You lean against him allowing him to support you, resting your head against his chest as you regain your breath. Tommy holds you close, tucking your head under his chin and caressing his fingers over the nape of your neck.

A soft smile on your face, you tip your head back to look at him. His face a mixture of lust, wonder and darkness. The darkness familiar something you've seen before, after a nightmare, a kind of repressed grief. “Let’s go to bed.” You suggest quietly, suspecting what Tommy needs is to lose himself for a few hours.

An evil smile flashes over Tommy’s face, momentarily breaking through the darkness. “Oh, I’m not ready for bed yet.” He growls before kissing you.

“I wasn’t suggesting we sleep.” You purr, stroking his face, in a more overt attempt to get him upstairs. Taking his hand in your own you take a few steps towards the stairs. Tommy follows until you reach the bottom step where he stands fast, stopping you short. “Come upstairs.” You repeat as you step back up onto the first tread before wrapping your arms over his shoulders. “Come on,” you suggest kissing the warm skin above his collar.

Tommy unwraps you from his neck “Let me make sure everything is secure.” He says, kissing your nose.

“I’ve already checked.”

Tommy nods but steps away, hanging his coat by the door before turning towards the main body of the shop. Resigned and with your legs still wobbly you sink down onto the step. Closing your eyes you can follow the sound of him moving around the space, the soft rattle of the windows being tested, and the metallic clunk of the safe door resisting his attempts to open it.

Closing the door that separates the shop from the house Tommy pushes the bolts home. He raises his eyebrows at you with a bemused smile, looking down at you on the step, elbows on knees, with your chin cupped in your palms. You pout in response. He leans down, placing his hands either side of you, and kisses you. “Are you sulking?” He teases.

“Hmmf” you huff turning your face away.

Tommy nuzzles below your ear “Or do you need a few minutes to recover.” He chuckles, nipping your lobe.

“Recover?” You snort as if you had no idea what you could need to recover from. Knowing full well that any question of Tommy’s ability to satisfy would result in hours of him proving just how satisfied you could be. Putting your hands on the landing behind you, you lift yourself up and out of Tommy’s reach.

Tommy groans as if deeply wounded by your comment and buries his face into your lap, dropping to his knees. Lifting his head he meets your eye, “Better fix that then ‘ey” he says, face deadpan.

“Yeah, you better.” You shoot back flirtatiously, glad to see Tommy seems to have relaxed. You reach up for the handrail and begin to pull yourself up.

Tommy grabs your waist and pulls you back down. Your face wrinkles in confusion. Tommy slowly slides your dress up your thighs as he leans over you. “I told you, I’m not ready for bed.” His hand runs up your side, slowly kneading your breast before stopping on your throat, caressing the skin lightly with his fingertips.

Your body reacts instantly and you groan. Tommy pauses to mouth your breasts, teasing your nipple with his teeth for a moment before carrying down further, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as you squirm beneath him. His lips brush over your thighs, quickly becoming deep sucking kisses. You writhe under his touch, whimpering a little as your back arches and fingers tug at his hair to guide him towards your centre.

Eagerly he buries his face between your legs, inhaling deeply. He kisses you through your panties and you moan his name. Tommy stops. You grunt in irritation and tug at his hair. “Tommy,” you repeat. Tommy straightens and strokes his fingers down your arm, again a haunted look passes over his face. He shakes his head as if trying to dislodge it. “Tommy?” you ask, sitting up. Tommy closes his eyes and shakes his head as he brings his hand to your cheek, you relax into it and allow him to bring your mouth to his.

He pauses, opening his eyes as your lips touch. “I can’t do this without you.” He rasps.

“Everything is going to be alright Tommy.” You assure him, your hand coming to his face and drawing it the final distance to your lips. “The plan is in place, it’s going to work. Changretta and the Mafia will be dealt with. We’ll send a message to every organisation in the fucking world never to come for us. They’ll all know not to fuck with the Peaky Blinders.” You hold Tommy’s gaze fiercely. “We’re going to be alright.”

Tommy shakes his head slightly, grasping your face in his hands. “You, Charlie, the family, that’s all that matters.” He kisses you, it’s long and needy, but the fire and lust are no longer there. Tommy sits on the landing next to you, he takes your hand in his, again watching you closely. “I nearly fucking lost you tonight. Again! Fuck, a few inches lower,” he pauses and takes a deep breath. “If Arthur hadn’t been so upset, drunk.” He shakes his head “FUCK!” he yells at the ceiling, although you suspect it’s directed higher. He remains that way even after the anguish robs the voice from his throat.

Shuffling closer you press against Tommy’s side, “Tommy,” you murmur against his cheek. Tommy doesn’t move or look at you. “Tommy, look at me.” Tommy’s eyes remain closed. “Tommy,” you whisper, bumping your nose against his jaw. Still, he remains motionless. “Tommy,” you insist. Reaching across him you take his hand and place it on your knee, the result turning his body towards you. His eyes remain closed and slide your arm under his, tucking yourself under it so you can wrap your arm around his waist. You place your head on his shoulder and look at him, weaving your fingers between his. “I’m still here Tommy,” you remind him. Tommy flinches. You remain still. Tommy takes another deep breath and slowly leans into you, softening he moulds himself around you, forehead resting against your collarbone, arms wrapped around your waist.

Dropping your head to the side you rest your head on his. Tommy’s body is warm against yours and you enjoy the silence of the moment. “Tommy,” you say finally, this time Tommy looks up at you. Relieved you smile. “We’ll do it together alright? Whatever happens, we’ll look after each other.”

In his old bedroom, Tommy holds you close, dancing. There’s no music and no space, but he doesn’t care, he has you in his arms and, for the moment at least, you were safe. “We need to talk about some things,” he begins.

You shake your head and pull him closer. “Not tonight, please.” You sigh just wanting the quiet and release of being close with Tommy without interruption, knowing he needed it too.

“We have to, some things are going to happen tomorrow, things that can’t be avoided,” his jaw twitches and he trails off.

You feel the fatigue of the past month pulling down on you, exhausted by the plans and secrets and the constant need to be alert. Then it occurs to you that maybe Tommy wants to talk about whatever is playing on his mind. “Alright.”

“The Golds are going to want more than the money we’re giving them for the men.” Tommy begins, still moving with you around the tiny improvised dance floor, his thumb caressing the small of your back.

“Mm,” you hum, it’s not a surprise, people thought the Shelby’s were in trouble, and so the sharks were circling.

“His boy, Bonnie, is a boxer. He wants to go professional but the Gold’s don’t have the money, or the contacts, so they want us to promote him. They want Bonnie to go up against Alfie’s top welterweight fighter.”

“Right, so what’s the problem?”

Tommy sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “Our people, the Gypsy’s, they have a certain way of doing things, it’s important to them that we take Bonnie on, so they are going to ask for something else first, something too big, something we will refuse so when they ask for the smaller thing it seems minor in comparison.”

“What are they going to ask for?”

“To buy Charlie’s Yard.”

“But if they can’t afford to promote Bonnie how will they afford the yard?” You stop moving, stepping back a little to look at Tommy.

“Doesn’t matter. They know I’ll tell them it’s not for sale and they’ll insist and then I’ll suggest we make a wager, flip of the coin.” Tommy describes the transaction with the boredom of someone who’s played this game before. “What’s important is that they can’t know that we know, what their goal is. They can’t know how much we know about them and their plans.” Tommy explains you nod. “So we need to ask him to wager something valuable against the yard. Something precious. Something he will have no choice but to refuse, something he will refuse immediately and without hesitation.” Tommy holds your eye his tone sincere and insistent. He brings his hands to your face, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. He watches you closely, his own expression pained. Nervously you nod and wait for him to continue. “I need you to know I would never suggest this if I didn’t know that he’ll refuse. He will refuse.” Tommy is insistent.

“His daughter,” You realise, stumbling backwards with the shock of it.

Tommy’s hands come to your shoulders, stopping you from falling. “Yes.” He agrees flatly, holding your eye. He steps closer, speaking slowly and quietly, caressing your shoulders with his palms. “I’ll ask him to wager his eldest daughter, Esmeralda. I will tell him if he loses I will have sex with her.” His voice is even and factual, but his eyes are filled with emotion.

“How sure are you he will refuse?” You ask, trying to focus on what Tommy’s telling you.

“Very,” Tommy assures you. “She’s promised to the son of the head of another family. They don't want her to have been in Shelby hands.”

You can feel panic rising in you. “If he doesn’t refuse and he loses what’s your plan?” You ask, realising, for perhaps the first time, you need Tommy to have a plan. Because you can’t think, can’t see a way out that doesn’t involve you shooting Gold if he offers his daughter as the stake in a game she has no way of winning.

“In the highly unlikely event, he takes the wager and loses,” Tommy speaks slowly emphasising the words, holding your face to keep you focused, stopping you from spiralling. He pauses for a moment waiting until you are focused on him before speaking again. “I’ll tell him it will have to wait until after the Mafia business is done. By the time all of this is done, nothing wagered tomorrow will matter. Bonnie will have had his fight and no one will care.”

“Promise me you won’t do that to her, you won’t hurt her, no matter what.” You ask, voice tight and wavering.

“I promise. I won’t hurt her. No one will touch her.” Tommy promises.

In your heart you know it’s true and your eyes close as you hear the words, tears sliding onto your cheeks. He moves closer, wrapping his arms around you, bundling you up so your arms are pressed between your chests. “I would never go through with it.” He assures you, stroking your hair.

You breathe deeply, the familiar comforting scent of Tommy flowing over you. You remember the first time you met him in his office. You desperate and half mad with fear. Tommy, you recognise now, was desperate and half-mad too, although for him it was grief. Both of you trying to survive in a world that seemed determined to grind you out.

Tommy begins to sway softly, reaching between you and taking your hands in his. “I need you.” He says, lips brushing over your knuckles as he holds your eye.

“I need you.” You reply, pressing your brow to his.

“Together?” Tommy asks, eyes searching yours.

“Together.” You promise.

Tommy’s light touch wakes you. His fingers brushing through your hair, tracing over the landmarks of your face, enjoying the soft skin of your shoulder. It’s still dark when you wake, you can tell Tommy’s sitting up smoking, his face illuminated by the glow of the tip as he inhales. Through a gap in the curtain, you can see the sky is just starting to lighten. Not ready to speak yet you rub your hand over his hip in greeting.

“Morning love.” He says, voice deeper in the early morning.

“Mm,” you agree, shuffling over so you can snuggle up to him, your face resting next to your hand on his chest, his arm draped over your shoulders.

Tommy kisses the top of your head. “Sleep well?”

“Mmhmm,” you agree.

Despite fatigue and the emotion of the day, or maybe because of it, you and Tommy had remained holding each other and dancing until you had shivered with cold and Tommy had taken you to bed. You’d made love for hours, connection rather than pleasure, the goal. You’d fallen asleep held by Tommy and you felt like you’d slept for days.

“You?” You ask, stealing his cigarette and taking a drag.

You just catch the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he answers. “Yeah.”

“What time is it?”

“Early.”

“Good.” You say shuffling up onto your knees before leaning in and kissing his neck.

“Mmm,” Tommy agrees, lifting your chin with his finger and turning his torso so he can kiss your mouth.

From your kneeling position, it’s easy to slide across and straddle Tommy’s thighs, the bedding pooling around your ass. Tommy grinds his cigarette out in the ashtray on the nightstand. The corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles at you, taking your face in his hands and drawing you in for a kiss. “Again?” He asks playfully, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Well, only if you’ve recovered.” You tease rubbing your hands over his chest. Tommy’s fingers dig into your ass as he drags your hips to his. “Fuck.” You hiss as his cock, hard and ready presses against you.

Tommy smirks, his hand gliding smoothly up your naked back and into your hair. He tugs gently as he pulls you in to kiss him again. You can feel yourself getting wet and begin rolling your hips, spreading slickness along the length of Tommy’s shaft. You groan in unison. Pulling you up so your hips are pressed against his chest he kisses your breasts, drawing circles around your nipples with his tongue before sucking them into his mouth.

You grab the metal bar of the headboard to support yourself, your other hand caressing Tommy’s shoulders and neck. Palm gliding over the shorn velvet of the back of his head before your fingers twist in the longer strands on top.

Tommy’s hands splay over your back, seemingly everywhere at once as he drags his tongue up between your breasts and nips at your throat. The sensation arches your back and you let go of the headboard, your arms falling around Tommy’s shoulders. His hands come to your hips, guiding them down, bringing your faces level. His mouth capturing your whimper as he enters you and turning it into a groan deep in his chest. You curl in on yourself, the pleasure almost too much, your fingers digging into Tommy’s sides and your forehead pressed into the corner of his neck.

“Look at me,” Tommy insists, holding your hips still and stopping the motion of his own. He watches you as you lift your head and open your eyes, his thumb brushing over your cheek, fingers guiding your hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear. Slowly you begin to move together, finding your rhythm. The tension within you begins to build again, breathing becoming more erratic as you both scramble to hold each other closer. Tommy’s lips dance over your neck, his hot breath humid against your skin, you shiver. “You cold love?” Tommy asks.

“A little, I’m fine.” You assure him, your body making a liar of you as you shiver again.

Tommy adjusts himself, turning you and laying you down on the bed. Kneeling between your legs he reaches behind him and pulls the covers up his back before stretching his arms up and holding them over his head. He falls on top of you completely burying you both. You can’t help but laugh as he pushes himself up, pinning the covers above your head and hovering over you.

In the dark you wiggle beneath him, rubbing your leg up over his hip and pressing your heel into his ass, “Tommy, please.” He nods, reaching down between you to guide himself. Your toes curl and you gasp as he reaches the top of his stroke.

His gaze softens as he leans down and kisses you, “together,” he reminds you.

Wrapping your legs around his waist you pull him against you. Tommy releases the covers as his hands caress your thighs on their way to tilt your hips. He withdraws nearly completely before he presses into you again, and you cry out in pleasure. You can feel the heat in your belly building as Tommy fucks you slowly. Your fingers dig into the back of his neck as he pumps harder, faster. You watch as he bites his bottom lip with pleasure before you bring his face to yours. You kiss him briefly between breaths. “Together.”

Tommy’s eyes widen and he murmurs softly in Romani, pressing his brow to yours as you watch each other. “Together.” He agrees as your back arches as you feel the first explosion of warmth in your belly. Your fingers claw at Tommy’s back as his thrusts increases. Biting your lip, you hold on until his head falls back and he cries out. In seconds you follow. Together you climax, each lost in the other as you do.

The curtain has a rose coloured glow before either of you feels the need to pay attention to anything than the other. Eventually, Tommy sits up against the headboard, lighting a cigarette and pulling you up against him.

“We should get moving soon.” You say stealing the cigarette from Tommy’s fingers. “You should be there when Charlie wakes up, spend some time with him.”

“There’s a lawyer coming this morning to sign some paperwork.” Tommy begins.

“Can’t you see Charlie before?” You don’t mean it but there’s rebuke in your tone. “It can’t be any later than seven now, how early is he coming?” You try again.

Tommy smiles and shakes his head. “Will you listen for a moment, please? This is important.”

You nod chastised and rub your hand over his chest, “Sorry.”

Tommy simply nods and continues. “I’m going to have him change my will.”

“We have a plan, it’s going to be alright.” You interrupt him.

Tommy holds his hand up to stop you, “But just in case, I wanted to ask you if you would be Charlie’s guardian.” You’re so shocked you sit bolt upright, drawing the covers up to your chest but can’t find any words. Tommy carries on. “You’ll be in charge of the house until he’s of age and then there is provision for you to get a place of your own if you wish. The money will be held in trust for Charlie but household expenses will be drawn from it and you will receive a monthly allowance for yourself.”

“But, surely Grace’s family?”

“No,” Tommy says flatly.

“Polly, Ada, Arthur?” You stammer.

“They have families of their own and they never liked Grace. You know what it is to lose your mother young. You won’t let him forget her.”

“But,”

“You always put him first. Always.” Tommy cuts you off. “You make sure I put him first.”

“He’s important.”

“And that’s why I want it to be you. He loves you.”

You shake your head. Tommy kisses his teeth in frustration “Do you love him?” He asks bluntly.

“Yes, of course.”

“That’s all he needs. The rest you’ll work out as you go.”

You take a deep breath trying to work out how to respond. Of course, you loved the sweet boy who played with his cars on your bedspread when he was younger and still squealed with delight whenever you came to visit. “You can’t just make a snap decision like this. It’s Charlie’s future.”

“It’s not a snap decision. I’ve talked to Pol and she agrees.” Tommy takes your face in his hands, “I want you to be part of Charlie’s future, part of my future. When I said I need you, I didn’t just mean with business. When I said we would do this together, I didn’t just mean Changretta and the Mafia. I want us to be together, all of it. The three of us. But with all this shit going on, we can only deal with one bit at a time. And right now that bit is you being there for Charlie if I’m gone.” Tommy stops breathing hard. “Please, it’s important to me. Will you do it?”

Your eyes meet Tommy's and all your worries disappear. Taking a deep breath you nod “Yes.”

As always I look forward to your thoughts, comments, questions and suggestions. I’ll see you all again for the next chapter.

Chapter 26 - Of Gold and Lead > > >

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raywritesthings · 5 years

Text

Can’t Bear To Lose 4/?

My Writing Fandom: Doctor Who Characters: Donna Noble, Tenth Doctor Pairing: Doctor/Donna Summary: The DoctorDonna supposedly thinks of things the Doctor never would. Why not a way to fix the metacrisis? *Update can also be read on my AO3*

They’d been to ten planets already, and so far there was no sign. What if she was back on planet number three and had simply arrived the day after they’d left? What if the rocket had malfunctioned? What if she didn’t know how to fly it properly? She could be adrift out there in space and they might never find her until it was too late.

The Doctor’s mind was beginning to chase itself in circles with these questions. He’d thought everything would be alright once they went back to Messaline, yet now all he felt was a fresh wave of guilt and self-loathing.

He had abandoned his daughter. Yes, he’d thought Jenny was dead, but if he’d been able to bring himself to remain for the funeral he would have been quickly disabused of that notion. His policy of not looking back had cost him dearly this time.

He’d been squinting at the scanner readings for the last two hours, trying to pick out the most logical path Jenny could have taken to not have ended up in any of the places they’d yet to take. His eyes were growing irritated from staring at the screen so long and kept trying to close. Or maybe it was just that they needed a break in general...

A hand landed on his arm and he jerked back upright, eyelids blinking rapidly. “What? What’s happened?”

“Nothing. You just fell asleep standing up.”

One of the downsides to Donna suddenly being immortal. She was starting not to sleep as much as she used to, and she was there to see him fight against his own exhaustion.

“Spaceman, you need to rest.”

“I’ll rest once we’ve found her,” he said, shrugging off the hand Donna had moved up to his shoulder.

She frowned. “We don’t know how long that’s gonna take. And I know you’re running on fumes and out of ideas. The best thing you can do for Jenny right now is to rest up and attack it from a new angle in the morning.”

In the very depths of his mind, the Doctor knew Donna was making perfect sense; she always did. And perhaps he might have listened to her in any other circumstance.

But he shook his head. “And what if overnight the worst happens?”

Donna perches a hand on her hip. “You’re just assuming the worst.”

“I’m not,” he insisted, but he knew that alone wouldn’t be enough. Donna wasn’t the type to let these sorts of things go without explanation. Not that he’d expect her to. “You have to understand. This was exactly what I was afraid of, Donna.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you convinced me to accept Jenny. I didn’t want to because, well, partly my own stubbornness. I know that. But also—” He closed his eyes and sighed. “I was never a good father. Before.”

She was silent.

“I loved them, but I suppose I loved the traveling more. Or I wanted it more because I couldn’t have it and have a family,” he confessed. “I was dissatisfied on Gallifrey. And I left them. All of them — well, all except Susan. But even her I left behind eventually. Just like I left Jenny.”

“But that’s not the same,” she said. “You didn’t mean to leave her. We didn’t know she could come back. Martha thought—”

He looked back at her. “Martha was working with what she knew, but I should’ve known better. I let her convince me it was over because maybe I wanted it to be. So I didn’t have to wait and find out how I’d fail later.”

Donna’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t.”

He fell silent.

“I know you feel you’re destined to repeat past mistakes, but isn’t the point of living to nine-hundred-whatever that you learn from those mistakes and move on? It’s not enough to have regrets, Doctor. You’ve got to act on that change you want to see,” Donna said, her tone gentler by the end. “And that starts with taking care of yourself so you can look for Jenny properly instead of staggering about half-dead on your feet.”

The Doctor’s shoulders slumped. “Alright, Madame, you’ve made your point.”

“Good.” She reached down and took his hand, tugging him towards the corridor.

“Er, where are we going?”

“To bed.”

His eyebrows rose high enough it ought to have hurt. “Er, Donna—”

“Oh, not like that, you prawn. Not yet, anyway,” she muttered, and the back of her neck had gone a bright red. She chanced a look at him over her shoulder. “But I doubt you’ll do it on your own, so that’s the way it’s got to be.”

The Doctor harrumphed to himself. “So sorry to inconvenience you.”

Her lips quirked. “You’re grumpy. Sleep will do you some good.”

She led them into her room and directed him onto the bed where she left him for a while as she changed in the bathroom. He barely got a look at Donna’s nightclothes, for she scurried under the covers and turned the lights off almost immediately after emerging from the en suite.

There was a pause as they both considered what to do now, and it occurred to the Doctor that he’d never shared a bed with Donna before.

“Donna, if this is too — I mean I’d rather you not be uncomfortable for my sake.”

She found him in the dark and wrapped her arms around him in a determined sort of way. “I invited you, Time Boy. Wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t want you here.”

He hadn’t been paying too much attention to Donna’s wants the last few days, he realized with regret.

“I’m sorry if I’ve put our, um, relationship on hold somewhat.”

He felt her hands rub up and down his back, which was both unfamiliar and nice.

“Nothing to apologize for. I’m worried about her, too.”

He risked ducking down to press a kiss to the top of her head, letting his face linger there in her hair a moment or two.

“I’ll make it up to both of you,” he promised. “Soon as Jenny’s found.”

With that, he allowed himself to relax in Donna’s arms, which turned out to be far easier than he might have believed.

—-

The next day found them at much the same routine as before. They’d stopped on a smaller planet she’d scarcely had time to hear the name of before Spaceman was leading them around asking the locals if they’d seen someone like Jenny.

“She would have come in on a rocket. A kind of ship. Do you know—?”

“No ships have come in. But there was, out in the grove, something came down.”

“A ship?” Asked Donna. “Has anyone arrived in town since?”

That got a shake of the head. “Nothing comes out of there.”

“Well, we will,” the Doctor decided. He turned tail and Donna was left to give a rushed goodbye before hurrying after him.

“Do you think it’s her?”

“I hope so. If not, someone’s out there and probably needs help.”

“Right,” Donna agreed.

They left the town and entered the tougher terrain of the grove. Well, grove was putting it nicely. Sharp looking bushes that rose up to the knees at the shortest stretched out as far as the horizon. She was glad she’d opted for jeans and long sleeves, that was for certain!

“Looks a bit rough,” she remarked as they exchanged a look. “Still.”

Spaceman nodded. “Still.”

With that, they plunged forward. It was just as prickly and unpleasant as she’d been expecting, but Donna resolved to keep her complaints to herself for once. If it was Jenny out there, she could brave a little discomfort.

“You know, it’s good she didn’t change.”

The Doctor glanced back at her. “How do you mean?”

“I mean cos if she’d changed we could walk right past her and never know.”

“Well, she’d know us. Do you really not like the idea of changing?”

“Well, you don’t seem to,” she retorted. “But don’t get all nervous. I’m not about to up and leave you. I’ve already put up with Victorian you.”

“That wasn’t even me.”

“Yeah, well the point is,” Donna huffed as she swung her leg over a particularly high bush. Her hand was caught by the Doctor, who’d reached out to keep her steady as she worked her way across. “You can change fifty times over and I’m not leaving.”

“No, I can’t.”

“What?”

“I’ve only got one more regeneration left,” he stated, perfectly calm.

“What, there’s a limit?” She demanded.

“Twelve times, yeah.”

Donna let go of his hand and stopped walking. “And how long does one usually last?”

“Oh, it varies. Time Lord bodies age much slower than humans, for one thing. And if you avoid accidents — in my first body I nearly made it to five-hundred alone.”

“Yeah, and what about the last body?” She asked, feeling rather sure she wouldn’t like the answer.

“Well...not nearly so long,” he admitted.

“Right.” Donna paused, then started walking again. “And poor Jenny’s already lost one. We ought to find her sooner than later so you can explain all this to her.”

The Doctor hummed an agreement and was on the move again as well. She let him go, not really wanting him to notice her troubled expression.

She’d assumed, this whole immortality bit, that he’d be there. But now he was telling her there was a limit, and a fast-approaching one by the sounds of it. Donna wasn’t prepared to imagine a forever that didn’t have him in it.

She wasn’t sure how long they walked on in silence. The Doctor was keeping just a few steps ahead of her, though he kept slowing and then starting back up again. Donna had to wonder how much good that rest the previous night had done him. She’d rather be curled up and bed with him at the moment regardless.

She was pulled from that more pleasant recollection as the Doctor abruptly shucked his overcoat and dropped it onto a bush before marching onward.

“Oi! This isn’t the TARDIS. You can’t just toss things to the side and expect them to be in your closet the next day.” She waded over to the right and scooped the coat up, careful not to poke herself with the brambles that clung to it.

“Keeps getting caught,” the Doctor called back in explanation. “And it’s too hot besides.”

She could agree with that. Her bangs were sticking to her forehead with sweat, but Donna plowed on ahead to keep up.

It wasn’t so hard as usual. What was unusual was him admitting at all that he was uncomfortable. Did he just feel less pressure to seem invulnerable now that she wasn’t the same, fragile human she once was? Or was something more going on.

Donna jogged a few paces to come up to his side. “Doctor, what do you think they meant back there, that nothing comes out of here?”

“Doesn’t matter.” His eyes were fixed dead ahead. “Nearly there.”

She followed his gaze and saw one end of a familiar looking ship rising up from the branches in the distance. “It’s the rocket. Oh, that’s got to be her!”

Her heart suddenly felt much lighter, and she stomped over the next few thickets, uncaring of the scratches they managed to leave on her hands — but she faltered at the sound of something falling over behind her.

Donna whirled around just as the Doctor landed hard in some bushes, sprawled on his side.

“Doctor!”

“Got to...keep…” he mumbled as his eyes slipped shut. Donna looked about in a panic — had some unseen foe attacked them? — and her eyes caught a flash of green and blonde.

“Jenny!”

The girl they’d been searching for was lying not five feet from her, prone and unconscious like her father. It looked as though she, too, had been trying to make her way through the thick growth covering the landscape.

The plants...had that warning been about them? She turned her hands over, examining the scratches, but couldn’t tell anything about them that might make them more dangerous. Either way, she clearly hadn’t been effected, which meant it was up to her to get them out of this mess.

Donna looked between the two fallen Time Lords. What did she do?

#ten x donna #doctor x donna #donna noble #tenth doctor #doctor who #the doctor #my writing

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whisker-biscuit · 6 years

Text

Harley Quinn is Not A Good Role Model: Chapter 10

Rated T-M for language and graphic descriptions of violence

Pairing: Dr. Flug/Black Hat

Summary: Dr. Flug Slys is a successful psychiatrist working at one of the world’s most respected mental institutes for the criminally insane. But this new patient is unlike anything he’s ever encountered. Flug is determined to help him, nonetheless.

Black Hat has other ideas.

Chapter 10: Icarus

Warning: This chapter contains references to graphic violence and derogatory homophobic slurs and prejudice. Please tread with caution.

After the whole ‘moving 505 to his new room and trying to keep Black Hat from killing us both’ fiasco, Flug was entirely prepared to sit in the security room watching security feed of the two most secure cells for the rest of the night, sleep be damned. He’d already set himself up in one of the desk chairs, with paperwork, a decent neck pillow and at least 1,500 grams of nonperishable foods. This was mostly thanks to his sudden, bizarre camaraderie with Lucas – and Ben, to a lesser extent – who gave him access to the screens and got the other guards off his back.

He had finally gotten comfortable in the swivel chair, armed with a granola bar and a formal request for time off for that EPPA convention in a month, with his legs propped up and his bag snugly fit against the pillow, when one of his phones buzzed. It was the one in his left coat pocket, which signaled a personal message instead of a work one from the phone stuck in his right. Flug grumbled to himself and shifted to reach for it, and found an email for the arrival of an order of cosmetics from the website recommended to him from the nurse.

That order had been fairly expensive, and the last thing he needed was for it to sit unguarded at the local post office for who knew how long.

Despite his severe misgivings, the psychiatrist was forced out of his vigilant post and away from the security feeds, taking his provisions with him. He knocked on the doorframe to get the closest guard’s attention, explaining the situation and asking for a temporary fill-in while he went to retrieve his package.

“Don’t worry, Doc,” she batted her lashes at him, “I’ll do anything for you.”

It didn’t really make him feel better.

On the way out of the lobby, Flug was so stuck in his worries that he nearly collided with a nurse carrying a large bundle of standard patient uniforms. Clothes fluttered to the ground in heaps and left the poor girl with only a single pair of pants in her grasp.

“Oh, I’m s-so sorry, I’m so,” he crouched at the same time she did and they collided heads, causing both to fall back on their butts and rub their new respective bumps. “Owww…”

“Nnngh,” the nurse’s eyes were barely visible past her dreadlocks, which cascaded down to her chest. She lifted her head to look up at him and recognized his face at the same time he read her nametag.

It was Susie, the quiet nurse he had given 505’s prescription to nearly a week ago. It felt like much, much longer. They sat awkwardly across from each other with large eyes, then simultaneously realized the uniforms were still on the floor. The girl hastily made to pick them up and Flug wasted no time in joining her, grateful for something else to distract him.

“I’m – I’m really sorry about that.” He offered meekly, keeping his head down and away from her. If he’d looked up he would have noticed she was doing the same.

“No, no it’s no trouble,” Susie mumbled, embarrassment present in the red flush across her dark warm cheeks. “I should have watched where I was going.”

“Ah, m-me too.” They got all the fallen clothes together and began the tedious process of folding and stacking each pair. Flug was painfully aware of the large metal clock ticking away above the entrance. As soon as the last shirt was placed on top of the pile he scrambled to his feet, sneakers squeaking against the marble floor.

“Thank you,” the nurse carefully hefted the uniforms as she stood up, putting one hand on top to keep it steady. She looked more closely at him. “I haven’t seen you in a few days, Dr. Slys. Are – are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’ve been j-just great,” the psychiatrist resisted the childish urge to tap his foot. “A lot on my plate with a new p-patient, that’s all. Everything’s great.”

“That’s good.” Susie shuffled, a bit more relaxed now. “We’ve all been worried about you, Doctor. That crim – that new inmate, Black Hat, all the nurses avoid his room and I don’t know how you can do it. How are you so brave?”

“I’m not, um, I’m not brave. Not that brave. It’s just my job.” Flug brushed out his lab coat, head ducked. “I appreciate your c-concern, really, but I’m fine. Nothing I can’t survive – handle! Nothing I can’t handle,” he amended quickly at her pinched face.

“Okay…” the nurse bit her lip. “That’s…good to hear, Dr. Slys. But we’re here to help – the nurses. If you need anything. Please don’t be afraid to ask.”

“I won’t,” the words were sincere. “Thank you and…” he gestured jerkily at the clothing, “I’m so sorry about that.”

Susie shook her head, grateful smile dimpling her face. “No, it happens. They’re dirty anyway.”

They parted ways a little less awkwardly than they had met, and Flug felt relatively happy until he caught a glimpse of the clock and nearly had an aneurysm. Sprinting down the building steps and into the parking lot, the psychiatrist reached his reserved parking space in the span of fifteen seconds and had to take a quick breather against his car.

It was a silver Chevrolet Cobalt, modeled in 2008 and in good condition. Wasn’t fancy, wasn’t what most of his staff had, but it got the job done and he was going to use it for all it was worth before getting anything else. Besides, no one suspected someone of his occupation drove anything like this. Better for avoiding media after a press conference or whatever else.

Better for keeping a low profile. It kept him safe.

The post office was almost completely void of people, thank god, and Flug waited as patiently as he could while the postal worker checked through his ID and verified the transaction. The package wasn’t too big to fit in his arms, but the skewed weight had him juggling it clumsily as he strode briskly back to his car. He stuck it in the passenger seat and buckled it up for good measure. Safety first and all that.

Instead of taking it back to his apartment, he made an executive decision to just drop it off in his office before resuming his watch of 505’s situation. That decision was regretted quite a bit when he was halfway down the hall and turned the corner only to stare at the barrel chest of Dr. Bautista.

His luck really sucked sometimes.

The other psychiatrist looked down his nose as if the doctor wasn’t worth his head turn, but then his eyes lighted on the box in Flug’s hands and did a double take.

“Make-up? You bought make-up?” He sneered in a way that had Flug gritting his teeth. “I didn’t know you were that kind, Dr. Slys.”

“Excuse me,” the psychiatrist tried to walk around, but Bautista matched his step backwards and folded his arms, making it nearly impossible to move forward without brushing into him. “Please, Doctor, I really need to get through.”

“Is that why you had me kicked off the inmate’s case? Scared I’d see this?” The larger man stabbed an angry finger into the package, almost knocking Flug off balance with the force of the tap. “Is this what’s under that dumb bag? Shit like this?”

“I d-don’t need to explain anything to you. A-And I asked you to move.” He tried to shove past but was stopped again. The box creaked a little under his grip. “Dr. Bautista, please, I talked to the director a-and she approved my request, th-that’s all there is to it. She wants us t-to work out our differences and I can’t do that if you won’t let me through!”

There was a tense moment of standoff, but Flug was sick of this day and sick of bullies with names of the letter B and he refused to be the first to crack. His coworker’s hard gaze trailed down to the box again, a defeat hidden behind contempt.

“Is this why you wanted my intern, too? Gonna make him dress up like those freaks on TV? Turn him into a queer, like you?”

‘you’re German, aren’t you? Why you gotta be a fuckin’ queer?’

Flug sucked in a breath and Bautista realized in that instance what he’d said, what he was doing. The bigger man metaphorically backpedaled and looked nervously around for any sign of other employees.

“Forget it, forget what I said. Do whatever the hell you want, he’s your intern now anyway, he’s not worth my time. And neither are you.” The psychiatrist pivoted on his heel and stalked away, eyeing nearby closed doors apprehensively as he went.

Left behind was a psychiatrist struggling to keep himself from falling apart right there in the hall.

He booked it for his office, hands shaking so much that the box’s contents rattled haphazardly. The moment he reached his little sanctuary and the door was shut Flug collapsed to his knees, hunched over the package and headwear pressed into its top.

This was not supposed to happen. He was supposed to have moved past this, give or take a paper bag and some shaky stuttering. He had moved past it, hadn’t had such a bad episode since before the Institute, before restraining scary inmates and psycho patients and dealing with…whatever Black Hat was.

But the memory bubbled up in familiar sickness and the doctor had just enough sense to reach up and lock the handle above him, fingers trembling with the effort. His hand dropped, boneless in his lap, and Flug stared in horrified awe as the yellow glove disappeared, the white lab coat disappeared. In its place was exposed pale skin, with the red overcoat clashing terribly with the icy ground and the snowy air. He couldn’t feel the cold, but it was right there, right there and he was back he was –

A cough made him look up.

It was a group of five men, all their heads shaved to the bone and with near-matching tattoos right at the nape of their necks – barely visible from the high-collared heavy blue jackets they shared. He was not one of them, had never seen them before and hoped never to again, but a job was a job and he wasn’t going to complain, especially not here. They were mostly ignoring him anyway, grumbling to themselves about the frigid wind as they all waited behind that warehouse.

Their hit wouldn’t be there for another ten minutes at least, however, and he could sense their restlessness even as he pulled and twitched at his coat. He hadn’t had the chance to do his good-luck straighten-up routine when he’d left this morning, and it was filling him with irrational, irritating dread.

One of the smaller skinheads finally got bored enough to look his way, and he bit his tongue and kept his expression carefully neutral as the man approached.

“So you’re, like, really the guy helpin’ us out here?” It was said nonchalantly, in the tone of someone who very literally had nothing else better to do.

“That’s right,” he replied, eyes landing somewhere just under the other’s gaze. Directness was dangerous, was seen as challenge, but avoiding the face altogether was often seen as an insult. He’d toed this beam plenty of times and was well-versed in the physical whisperings of others.

The man scrubbed at the thick line of stubble under his jaw, itchy and miserable from the cold. “So what’s your deal, then? She said you were German, like honest to god bloodline and everything.”

He stilled the movements of his hands. “Yes, I am. My name was on the contract, if I remember right.”

“Oh, yeah,” more scratching, “that’s right, I saw your name, yeah. That really was German, huh. You ever think about joinin’ one of us ‘stead of her? Less rules and shit.”

“Ah, I don’t know,” he glanced over at the rest. One or two were starting to pay attention. “It’s really good pay, I guess. And she lets me use her lab, I can build whatever I want, whenever I want. It’s hard to leave a setup like that, you know?”

“Sure,” the skinhead reached a scarred hand to his neck and rubbed aggressively at the inflamed skin under his swastika. It was very recent, possibly within the last few days if his math was right.

“Stop fuckin’ with it,” gruffed one of the largest members, who stood and stretched before stepping heavily to join the two. “It’ll get infected and then you’re gonna cry like a bitch for weeks.”

“I ain’t gonna cry like no bitch,” the obvious newbie snarled, agitated by the cold and the teasing. “Only bitches here are all of you, huddled together over there for warmth. It’s pathetic.”

“Mm,” the older, larger man looked over the non-member with a skeptical look to his eye. “You’re kinda scrawny for your age, aren’t you? For your work?”

He kept his face clear, going for a simple shrug of shoulders and a slight fiddle of his coat zipper. It wasn’t the first time hearing this question doubting his appearance, but he had come prepared and equipped and demonstration would persuade these men much more than words. If only the damn target would show up.

“He kinda looks like a queer.”

The suggestion was much more unexpected and he stiffened up, eyes moving very slowly to look at the newbie, who sneered and stared at him with newfound amusement.

“Izzat true? You a queer?”

“No,” he said, firm and strong and leaving no room for suspicion. “I’m a scientist.”

The bigger, older man gave a few deep, rumbling chuckles and nudged his irritated companion. “That was a good one, come on.”

“Wasn’t nothing,” the younger one responded, shadowed face getting darker every second. “It wasn’t even an answer. I thought he’d at least give me an answer. You afraid of something, kid? Got something to hide?”

“Don’t call him kid, you’re barely growing pubes, idiot.”

The two skinheads started slinging insults at each other, and the rest of the gang was perking up at the sight. In the meantime he edged away, very slowly and as quiet as he could be in the snow. His sense for danger was always reliable and it was telling him that if their hit didn’t arrive soon, something was going to happen.

Something very, very bad.

Of course, he was only about a meter further from the verbal brawl before the newbie turned angrily back to him and spat at the ground.

“Just answer the fucking’ question, Aryan. You gay or not?”

“I’m not gay,” he insisted, but this question was not one he had mastered a safe answer to, had never had to before, and something must have shown on his face, in his voice, in his words maybe – because the larger, older man straightened up abruptly with practiced ease. The gaze of the young new one became sharp and predatory and hovered somewhere between eagerness and loathing.

It wasn’t until all five began to circle him that he realized he was hitting the cold back of the warehouse.

“Repeat that for me,” said the older, larger skinhead, and he was starting to think this one was the leader, the way he seemed to tower above them all and demanded respect, and an honest answer.

“I’m not – gay!” He insisted again, words slipping only because of the sudden closeness of one man to his right. It startled him into a voice crack and that was all the prompting they needed. He was pinned to the wall by three different pairs of hands and his head smacked painfully against the metal.

“Hang on, hang on guys,” hissed a voice belonging to one pair of grasping hands. “We gotta do the job first, right? She’s not gonna pay us if we don’t do the job.”

“I’m not working with a fucking fag,” hissed another. “Got enough of that shit in the world already, it doesn’t belong here with real people. It’ll taint us all if we don’t stop it.”

“But I’m not – I’m not…!” He tried to cry out just as a gloved hand slapped him hard and stung worse than the cold ever could.

“Shut up.” It was the newbie, eyes blazing and manic. “You’re German, aren’t you? Why you gotta be a fuckin’ queer? Bet you’ve been wanting to fuck all of us this whole time, huh. Bet it really gets you off bein’ around real men for once.”

“What should we do with him?” Asked the hesitant one again. “You know she’ll put a hit out on us if we kill him, you – you guys know that.”

“I know,” rumbled the larger, older man quietly. He was standing behind them all, overseeing as was his position, but his gaze had landed on the back of the newbie’s neck. Something passed his visage, and for one moment there was no white in his eyes. “Pin him to the ground, on his back.”

They complied eagerly and he fought for every centimeter of height lost until someone got impatient and punched him hard in the stomach. He collapsed immediately, gasping for breath even as they stretched his arms out and sat on his legs.

“Chase, give me your cigarette.”

“What?! Why the hell –”

“Just fucking give it to me!” The tone left no room for argument and he watched in stuck terror as a half-used cigarette traded hands to the older, larger skinhead, who walked around and crouched right above his head.

He stared, pleading and cold and hurting and asking for a single shred of mercy. But they had both played this game for a long while and thus both knew there would be none.

“I think,” the soulless black look was back. “The best way to do this,” a giant, meaty hand gripped painfully in his hair and stilled his shaking head. “Is to show our employer exactly what we think of little creatures like you poisoning our perfect race.”

The burning tip hovered a millimeter from his wet right cheek.

“You said you’re German. I think it’s time to embrace your roots.”

The tip came down.

And Flug cried silently into his square paper mask.

Hey guys, this one was a heavy one and I apologize for it. If it triggered or upset anyone, please let me know and I’ll give more warning in the beginning of the chapter. Please keep in mind that this story as a whole will continue to deal with heavy topics like this, but it isn’t my intention to sugarcoat these things or paint them as insignificant.

Thanks for listening. Last chapter is tomorrow and then we’ll be all caught up. Hope you all have a good one.

#villainous #villainous au #asylum au #dr flug #black hat #paperhat

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toonman19 · 6 years

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"BOUNTY OF A BLACKBIRD"

Considering the polarizing effect Tyler's storyline has had, and the demonstrated effectiveness of his vigilantics with Cyrus...carnage was bound to be a diffused plot point. Here's an alternate scene take for 2x13....I've been going through some dark thoughts, and this was kind of an exorcism for those. I've got sharp teeth and rhino skin, so if you like, critique/share.

**AGAIN: **WARNING****The following is an alternate imagining of events in the thirteenth episode of 13RW's second season. It contains language and sexual violence in brief, but chilling description. If such reinterpretations disgust or trigger, please turn back now for your benefit.

For those with steel wills, and a small, sickening taste for retribution, read on:**(CONTEXT)**Tyler returns from camp, and is confronted by Monty's gang in the bathroom. He calmly repeats his earlier offering, but when Monty grabs him, Tyler pulls out a handgun and intimidates him into backing off him and Clay and to leave town for the school year's duration. Shortly after, he disappears from his house and from Liberty for several weeks.

April 20th: (CONTEXT)

(Before "The Night We Met" plays,* Bryce receives a text from an anonymous numbe*r): "Know you've been going through a lot...since you're coming to Hillcrest, just want you to know we're here for you. Come meet me in the men's room when you get a moment." (Drunk, Bryce shrugs and stumbles out to finish his drink.) (After the song has played, Bryce walks into the men's restroom and looks around. The stalls are all occupied, and the only sound outside the gym ambience is dripping water.) Bryce: OK...if you're in here, I got the text. Hello? Voice from Stall#2: Be right out, Walker. Bryce: ...how come you wanted to chat? Voice from Stall#2: ...naw, man. I don't need to talk. Bryce: ...hold up. You knew it was me, and "you'll be right out"? You didn't send the text? Voice from Stall#2: Oh no, I sent the text. Bryce: ...I swear to God, I'm not in the mood. (The sound of a creaking door opens several bootsteps behind Bryce. He slowly turns around tensely to behold an eerie figure. A top hat and a plague doctor mask with gold-spiked eye holes and a gold-tipped black beak stare back at Bryce. The rest of the figure is adorned in a black single-breasted overcoat, save for two white gloves with four domino dots stitched onto the sides.) Bryce: ...the fuck? Tyler: ...Nice tux. I really wasn't sure I could bank on seeing you here. But when Chloe was going on at Monet's about what would be a complimentary dress and corsage, well...like boyfriend, like girlfriend. People spill so much in the arms of comfort.

Bryce: So you were spying on my girlfriend?...well good for you. You found your excuse to go Tim Burton. Now how about a reason why I shouldn't smash your face through that stupid mask? Tyler: Easy there, big guy. We're guys, right? We can talk about the ladies all we want in here...sure you've got more admissions than you're comfortable keeping inside. Bryce: You know what, my intimate life's none of your business. And no offense, but that's not a subject you look qualified to tackle. (Tyler stares at Bryce unflinchingly) Tyler: Three months probation...all these free passes, and you're still hiding from the truth. Bryce: Why don't you take off that faggot mask and show me who you really are? Tyler: I'm about to. But I don't need to unmask for that. Bryce: See, if I had to-I'm guessing you're another one of Baker's sugar daddies....right? What, was S&M getup one of her depressive turn-ons? Tyler: ...this isn't about Hannah, Bryce. This (to mask) is what was always inside. The sapling within the pit. Bryce: What've you got in that overcoat? Another tape recorder? I got three words for you: two-way consent. Tyler: You really think I came here just to get another piece of evidence...the presiding pig-pen pal who set you loose in court already showed they don't care about stopping you. The school, your parents, every one of your "bros" padded you damn good....but they're outside, Bryce. You and me. The company of twisted men. Bryce: So what are you gonna do? Tyler: ...I kind of like the mystery element here. Take a wild guess. Bryce: ...a gun? (laughs tentatively, then steps two feet towards Tyler) The second you reach in your pocket, I'm going to break your neck. Right here. Tyler: (chuckles) I'm not gonna kill you, Bryce. God, if anything comes second to your cruelty, it's how boring you are without it. Bryce: (shoves Tyler back) What the FUCK are you playing at?! Is this just some pathetic game you came up with? Tyler: Y'know, funny story...when I was eight, I really got good at Monopoly. Granted, I usually paid out more than I brought in...but wherever I spread it just right, it sprung up in later rounds. I knew that boot camp was going to play the same pacifier techniques with me that Bolan did..and I managed to find some kindred spirits from our little town. Now you and I are more similar than we ever were. Bryce: Yeah? How you figure that? Tyler: ...I've learned to love a team effort. (The stalls behind them slowly open, and Bryce turns to see four tall boys in ski masks and goggles, draped in Hillcrest letter jackets, and carrying baseball bats, step out.) Bryce: No. Fuck this-no,no-!! (He pushes past Tyler and starts to storm out, but comes face to face with three more thugs striding in, two of them ski-masked women in bikini tops and leather pants carrying lead pipes in one arm, and one in a hooded sweatshirt carrying handcuffs and rope...all seven of them wearing black leather gloves. Tyler backs behind the bikini thugs, holding his arms out.) Tyler: It's like they say: A little green goes a long way out...and a little way in. (Bryce turns frantically as the thugs enclose on him silently) Maybe I paraphrased that last bit, but...what's a good American who can't revise? (He snaps his fingers, and the thugs charge him. Bryce, intoxicated, heaves and swings wildly, succeeding in clocking one forward bikini thug in the ribs, then grabbing her and throwing her against a left urinal. He lunges to grab Tyler, but the Hillcrest thugs seize him and begin slugging and kneeing him in the jaw, ribs, and side of his head with their bats. Five of them chokehold him, and charge a sink, raising and smashing Bryce's forehead into the basin, shattering the corner and bloodying his brows. Three manage to grab his flailing legs and pull them in front of him while the others pull his upper body back. The bikini thugs raise their lead pipes and bludgeon Bryce's kneecaps while a thug holds his arms over his mouth. As he screams and bites into the arm, Tyler motions to the sweatshirt thug, who pulls out a wax apple tied to a leather strap from his pocket.) Bryce: (with bleeding lips) RRRGHH!! You--pfft--pathetic-motherpfttkk-! Tyler: Quite a potty mouth on you. I think a time-out should work.(The sweatshirt thug takes the handcuffs, as two of the Hillcrest thugs grab both of Bryce's wrists with their hands and stretch them in front of the flush valve, crossing them and handcuffing to the valve. Taking the rope, two Hillcrest thugs pull Bryce's legs back towards the basin and tie them to the faucet. Bryce hangs midair, writhing and roaring.) Bryce: ALL OF YOU ARE DEAD! YOU HEAR ME?! Tyler: Yeah, that whining's not gonna make this go easier. (to Sweatshirt) Could you-? (Sweatshirt takes the wax apple and holds it up to Bryce's mouth.) Sweatshirt: Open*. (Bryce turns towards him and spits on his shoes. A Hillcrest thug lifts and smacks Bryce's feet with his bat, leading Bryce to yell.)* OPEN, NOW! (Furiously, Bryce opens his bleeding mouth as Sweatshirt shoves it in and pulls out the apple straps around the back of Bryce's head, clipping the two ends together. Bryce breathes and whimpers a muffled sound as Tyler steps forward.) Tyler: I had ammo stacked that could've slain every Liberty Tiger graduating. I could've launched a million "thoughts and prayers". But just like what you did to Hannah, to Jessica...the girl you actually claim you loved..it would've died out slowly. Numero 22 in 2018. This...is going to do more than freak out the monsters like you. It's going to turn stomachs, minds...fucking tides. And those that don't drown will burn. (Bryce squeals tearfully, pleading inaudibly as Tyler reaches inside his overcoat and untapes a broken pool cue hidden in the lining... with the top wrapped in barbed wire. Bryce, unaware, suddenly begins wailing, shaking desperately to pull his feet or his hands from their restraints. The bikini thugs begin giggling as they undo Bryce's belt...then his zipper...then his pants button. The Hillcrest thugs yank his pants back onto his ankles. As Tyler ducks under Bryce's legs with the cue, he stands up behind Bryce's exposed rear as the girls pull the cheeks apart, unseen by the viewer.) Tyler: I meant it when I said I wouldn't kill you. (The ambience builds to a near shriek, as Bryce freezes in terror.) I only came back to destroy you. (With a heave, he thrusts the cue forward and inward. Bryce can't scream...only weep, gape and gag as the backward thrust withdraws and repeats, withdraws and repeats...until Tyler leaves the cue suspended within Bryce's rear, and crawls back out. As the thugs chuckle, Bryce sobs with a helplessness and horror unawakened since his starved childhood. Perhaps a twinge of regret crosses his pupils.) Tyler: Well, I owe you one...I finally became what I was meant to be. All those Poloroids, all those tapes, the failures...they were just developing the whole picture. THIS is what moving on is, Bryce. And now we're both monsters...with just one difference. (As Bryce turns to Tyler seethingly, still soaked in blood and tears, he sees Tyler pull something else from his overcoat, and his eyes widen with pure horror.) Tyler: I'm the monster for a new beginning. Your means were always to your end. (Bryce begins shaking again, flailing wildly like a trapped animal, screaming desperately as Tyler bends down with a set of garden clippers and reaches forward.) (Inside Liberty Gym, Clay is seen sitting down next to Justin and Alex as a new song plays on the DJ stand. All of a sudden, Bryce's bloodcurdling shriek echoes throughout the hallway outside.) Justin: What the hell was--? (The shrieking gets louder as Zach comes over to them.) Zach: Jesus, did you guys-?! That wasn't just me.. Clay: No, I heard it too. Zach: Wait a minute...didn't Bryce just go outside before the last song? Clay***:*** (sullen) I wasn't paying attention. (Suddenly, buzzes echo on their phones.) Hang on, I got something... Justin: Yeah, so did... (As they pull their phones out, Courtney comes towards them.) Courtney: What in God's name is making that sound?? Alex: Maybe someone's passing a kidney stone? Zach: Hang on, lemme...(looks at phone, retches.) Justin: What? Zach: This is--did you guys get this?? (As all of them open the message, they stare in horror at the mass group photo text. In one, a puddle of blood has formed underneath Bryce's waist, and the word "PORKER" is painted with blood across his back. In the next, his head, covered by a loose-fitting pig mask, is forcibly turned towards the camera by Tyler's gloves with the caption:) Clay: (with trembling hands) "This little piggy went to Liberty...and now goes wee-wee-wee all the way onward. For the revolution to rise, innocence dies. Blood has been shed, but lives will be spared. We are listening...we are waiting...we are everywhere. ~SYL" (As Clay looks up in mutual alarm towards his friends, the sounds of screams and gasps fill the auditorium. As adults frantically attempt to calm the students over the microphone and in the audience, U2's "Raised By Wolves" begins playing in the background.) RaisedByWolves (Tyler and his cronies run giddily towards their pickup truck, hop into the back and driver's seat, and drive off as the sounds of sirens sound in the distance and approach Liberty from far away in the opposite direction.

(As the ambulance pulls up amidst flashes of red and blue, groups of students are gathered outside frantically calling their parents, friends, anyone to alert. On top of the Liberty High steps, a team of emergency medics carry Bryce out on a stretcher into the vehicle, as he continues to sob and shake wildly. From the bottom of the steps, Clay glances at him with a reproachful pity, then turns away to his friends.) Jessica: Alex, did you call..? Alex: Yeah. Half the department's on their way here for questioning. (Cyrus comes sprinting towards them.) Cyrus: Shit, you guys. It's--it's viral. (shows Justin his phone) (Justin takes it, and sees Bryce's pictures uploaded to Liberty High's Facebook page...with him tagged. Most reactions are shocked...some are laughing faces, and the comments section continues to bulge with alarm and excitement.) Justin: T-this is fucked up, right?? Clay: ...yeah. (All of them stare at the ambulance as it closes up and takes off into the distance while police vehicles join the ones present in front of Liberty.)

(CREDITS.)

==DISCLAIMER==This post is solely for fictional purposes, and is not an active recommendation towards suspected offenders or assailants of sexual abuse. It bears the dark musings of its author, but not his encompassed nature.

Viewing Clay and Tyler as counterparts is most effective when sending them down diverging destinies. As Clay chooses not to let the past destroy his future, Tyler builds his future upon the injustices of his past. Clay has begun healing, Tyler has chosen congealing.

And Bryce's humanity has been further diminished...yielding to depression? Insanity? Suicide? What are the effects of a retribution so heinous?

...I'm ready. Fire away.

#13rw #13 reasons why #bryce walker #tyler down #oneshot #revenge #fanfiction

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