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scribbleseas · 4 years

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The Indignant Pawn, Chapter II: The Woman In Beige

Description: You are Y/n Y/l/n- formerly known as Princess Helena, the runaway princess.

You're an assassin for hire who only agrees to find the worst of London's criminals at the business end of your knife; until a mysterious woman hires you to end the likes of Ciel Phantomhive, the King of the Underworld. You find yourself trading your weapons for your abandoned family crest in order to infiltrate his home as none other than Princess Marie-Louise, your twin sister. What's to happen when you find that the young Earl is more than a callous businessman?

OVERALL STORY WARNINGS: sexual assault, objectification, death, detailed description of blood/gore, detailed description of murder, lying, impersonation, theft, weapons, detailed panic attacks, symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.

Author’s Note: If you have any questions or concerns about these warnings, please don’t hesitate to contact me! Otherwise, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

-Dan

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. . .

DECEMBER 17TH, 1891

LONDON, ENGLAND

The outside of the Globe theater was alight with bustling crowds as Oscar Wilde's London premiere of Salome had just concluded for the evening.

You were never partial towards theater. In fact, it made you wonder how a show could captivate such a diverse audience, as you watched formally clothed aristocrats and their servants cringed amongst the middle-class plebeians as they exited the theater through the matching front doors. Little did they know, the real show would take place inside of the closed carriage you waited in, peering through the red blind that covered it. Your thumb ran over the smooth pommel of your dagger. You focused on its smooth entirety as you sat back in the carriage to wait, distracting yourself from the consuming darkness.

Thankfully, Felix Keating, the wealthiest factory owner from Birmingham, valued his privacy. He opted for a carriage that had a single window on the door. This made his carriage an ideal place for you to intervene and elude any potential witnesses, considering the man had little to no time alone. In your case, it was less than optimal, but strategically, it was going to do the trick.

You stared at the wall of the carriage across from you before squeezing your eyes shut. You tried to focus on something concrete- perhaps the weight of your weapon, the tickle that your wool scarf gave your lip as it concealed the bottom half of your face. You inhaled deeply, reaching out for the drape of the window to let a fraction of light, but you froze and for a moment, you were...gone. When you opened your eyes again, you found yourself in the hallway of your home, a lantern burning dimly in your hand as you heard two men talking- one voice familiar, the other strange.

'Lass? I haven't the slightest-'

'Just hand over the money and we won't have to blow no one's brains outta their skulls.'

Gunshots. Blood.

'Has she already been broken in? Lord knows what she was doing here with that old bum.'

'Doesn't matter, she's ours now, isn't that right?'

'Whore?'

Cold.

Piercing pain in your neck reminded you that you were in a carriage with years of difference from that morning. You had a job to do as you heard approaching steps and the posh voice of the factory owner himself. Before sinking to the corner furthest from the door, you took a generous inhale of the drafty air and focused on how it filled your lungs, rather than the poorly timed panic that the darkness insisted on showing you towards. You wiggled your toes in your black boots and wrinkled your nose, which served as tics that you had cautiously picked out years ago to help ground yourself when necessary. You held the dagger in your hand, the blade ready to pierce a sinner's flesh.

"That playwright will bring tears to the steeliest of lads. Quite brilliant. I must write to Wilde," Felix Keating's dulcet voice sounded as his coachman greeted him. "Reckon I could stick my nose into the theater enterprise, Her Majesty is quite interested in renovating these rubbish theaters," Keating mused, his muffled voice growing closer by the step.

"A clever investment, Mr. Keating," the coachman validated as you hugged your legs, making yourself smaller in the corner of the carriage, your head down and hood up. The door opened and you held your breath, as your heart pounded against your ribcage in protest. "May I offer you extra linens for warmth? The wind's just startin' up."

This wasn't the first time you've had to hide in order to carry out an assignment, yet the adrenaline between waiting and pouncing was always riveting.

"Ah, no Horace, I'll be 'right," Keating took his seat, more focusing on lighting his cigar. The scent caused you to tense, reminding you of the conman, someone smoked as if his life depended on it. He was a smart man that would scold you for the way you grew past his death. He'd be disappointed in you, a relentless advocate for diplomacy. Ask questions, shoot later.

"Right. If you change your mind, you gimme a holler," Horace, the coachman, shut the door as Keating settled himself with an exasperated sigh. He pushed the short drapes that were concealing the window, allowing the city lights to illuminate the small quarters and simply watched the street go by as Horace told the horse to "get walkin".

Without wasting another moment, you got to your feet, your dagger precariously reflecting light that shone through the window.

"Who is it? Who's there-" Keating started to shout, immediately sitting to attention as you used the whole of your arm's strength to shove him back against the wall that he was previously reclining against. Your nondominant hand barely fit around the circumference of his clammy neck, but nevertheless you were able to force his head back completely, his torso following in suit. You squeezed firmly, your fingers digging into the warm flesh and you could feel his hurried pulse with ease as you kept your back straight and legs strong. The angle was awkward, seeing as you were bent over in a moving carriage, but your balance was more than you gave it credit for. "Why- please!" he gasped for air, his glasses low on his nose, threatening to fall to the floor. "Stop! I have...money! Take anything you want. H-Horace!"

"Shut up!" Unintentionally, your grip tightened as you shoved his head back into the wall again, causing Keating's extinguished cigar to fall on the cushioned seat next to him. His hands flailed in panic as his chest tensed with effort as he tried to yell out to Horace again. "Maggie Calvert," you snarled as your petticoats moved with your short steps closer. Your nose could have touched his while you held his sightline. You adjusted your hold on the wooden handle of your dagger in your dominant hand before impelling the blade between his fourth and fifth ribs and close to his midline. "This is for her."

His body froze, his mouth agape. You couldn't tell if he recognized the name, but you wanted him to. A greedy businessman of his caliber deserved to think about someone other than himself during his last few moments alive. You pushed your dagger until both quillions were making contact with his white shirt. You have the dagger a small jerk for maximum damage before pulling it out, allowing blood to immediately gush out of his wound. Finally, your heart rate was beginning to slow with the rush of merely completing the task and you let go of his neck, your fingers aching from being tense. Keating was choking as he tried to yell or scream, or perhaps curse you, but the blood that was rushing into his collapsing lung was going to keep him from doing so.

"Maggie Calvert," you repeated solemnly, using Keating's long coat to clean off your dagger and tuck it into your pocket bag, one of the two large pouches that were nestled between your skirts. The body was limp and the strangled hacking had finally come to a stop. After all, the blood had stained your stomacher as it had come up through his mouth during his final moments of struggle. However, the compensation you were about to receive for this task would more than cover it. Unfortunately, it left Horace with more than a mess to clean up. Blood was a stubborn substance.

. . .

DECEMBER 20TH 1891

BIRMINGHAM, ENGLAND

Before you could knock, the door of the brick building flew open, causing you to jump in surprise.

"Miss Y/l/n," Eric Calvert's muddy green eyes were glassy with unshed tears as you pushed the hood of your cloak off of your neck out of respect for the modest home. The housing in Birmingham, an industrial town, was much different than London's. It was more compact, the air was more polluted with factory smoke. The Calverts seemed to be better off than most common families, but that meant nothing in this case. Factory conditions were poor, even after the reform laws from the 1830s. You were blessed to be introduced to more lucrative work upon your arrival- drawing money straight out of pockets with the most genuine man to have strolled down the cemented walkways of the city. "Please, come right in," he gestured with his gloved hand, moving out of your way as he removed his hat and bowed.

"Mr. Calvert," you offered a tight-lipped smile at the bowing man. In the hand that pressed against his chest, Eric pressed his grey hat into it, like a proper gentleman. The gesture had only fed into your discontentment, while Eric seemed no better off. You weren't blind to the pallid shade of his face, the withheld energy in his stance. "You mustn't bow to me," you assert, waiting for the man to right himself as he frowned.

"Oh, please... Mr. Calvert's my father." Eric said with a miffed shake of his head, raking his fingers through his sloppy waves of hair. The two of you walked down the short hall that led into a big foyer. A fireplace was on the far side with several articles of outerwear hanging on the mantle to help warm them from snow, you presume. The scent of the burning wood brings you a foreign nostalgia that ideally, you would've failed to notice. The past deserved to stay where it belonged- in the past. The only hearth you were to be a part of was your own.

"Evelyn, dear! Draw some tea, she's come back!" Eric called his wife, who seemed busy in the kitchen that was located in an attached room. "Hurry!" You presumed that he felt apprehensive about being left alone with you, which was fair.

"Just a minute!" Evelyn called from the attaching room, the door left ajar. You were right to assume that it was a kitchen of some form, seeing as the general layout of this building resembled that of your own home, the fuss of her brown petticoats catching your eye. You wished she'd move with more urgency. You had yet to eat properly, seeing as you were more occupied with moving efficiently over the past day or two. At least the vicinity was warm, allowing you to pull off your thick gloves and tuck them into either pocket bag as Eric led you to a small area near the fireplace. There were two big loveseats across from each other and with a rug in between. The cushions were patched together with random sheets of fabric.

There was a single photograph in a hanging frame over the fireplace's mantle, the glass dirty. It was Eric and Evelyn, jubilant in light, fancy clothing as they cradled their baby girl between them. You understood how the couple found themselves in such desperation to acquaint themselves with someone like you when they had once smiled without any semblance of malignity. She was stolen from them, and it had seemed that the world was prepared to let the men at fault see their own children grow up. You were the one to right that wrong- by driving your knife between the ribs of Felix Keating and watching him choke as blood filled his lungs. His eyes tearing as he begged for mercy when Maggie Calvert, who was no more than nine, died in his workhouse because of his cheaply built machinery. She wasn't given a chance, so who was Keating to think he deserved one?

"She'll be uh...right out," Eric smiled at you again, repeating the words of his wife, those of which you had no problem hearing. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the uncomfortable way he held himself, as opposed to the haughty attitude he sported during your first meeting. He was dubious that a mere lady like yourself (months shy of twenty) could hurt a fly, much less hold a body count to her name. Yet the morning prior, the bustling headlines of The Daily Telegraph reached Birmingham, selling quickly as they covered the murder of Felix Keating, owner of many iron manufacturing factories who narrowly escaped an immense prison sentence for a major accident in his Birmingham factory a week before.

"Oh my, Eric," Evelyn entered the main room, precariously balancing a steaming teapot and a modest spread of small bites on a tarnished, silver tray. "Where have your manners gone?" she tutted, setting it down on the oakwood table before turning her attention to you. Her blonde hair was tied in a disheveled bun, droopy and with tendrils falling out of it like spider legs that swayed as she moved.

"My manners?" Eric began to protest, only to be interrupted by his wife again. You found their dynamic as a couple quite refreshing. After all, you would not have been there, had Evelyn worked to contact you without her husband's knowledge.

"Miss Y/l/n, allow me to take your cloak," Evelyn gestured to the many hooks that were nailed into the fireplace mantle where there were drying articles of clothing hanging, narrowly dodging the short flames.

It was difficult to compel yourself to smile, but the corners of your lips turned upwards anyhow. There was a line where social niceties ended and another where gullible kindness started. This was the latter as they knowingly welcomed you, a murderer into their home because you made an ally out of yourself. "Don't trouble yourself any more than you have, Mrs. Calvert. My time here is brief," you found satisfaction when she shook her head and began to pour you a cup of the steaming tea, despite your words. Thankfully, she made no attempt to sit with you.

"Brief?" Evelyn repeated, gently passing the delicate teacup to you. The warmth spread over your palms on contact as you brought the rim to your lips. Your hold was improper, though necessary, seeing as the finest details are what make the best disguises. Only the wealthy held their teacups with so much consideration. Besides, the warmth was much more satisfying when it went beyond the tips of your fingers. "I reckon a woman such as yourself is a tad busy," she concurred, causing you to tense in surprise. You were rarely referred to as a woman.

"Quite," you mused after her, taking a contemplative sip of your tea. "I ought to be at the station in less than an hour," you lied, gently tapping the tips of your short nails on the warm cup. All that was necessary was payment and crucial parting words. The assorted bites on the tray were beginning to seem unappealing, the longer you stood there. "But we must discuss a few things-" you start, only to be interrupted by Evelyn, which was common.

"Your fee. We have the first installment," she gestured to Eric with her chin, her smile long gone as he offered a small pouch made of different, threadbare, fabrics. While you had already discounted your normal charge for the couple's situation, they could hardly afford a fraction of the sum.

"We've tried to save as much as possible. Take it. It's the least we can do at the time," Eric spoke, linking his arm with his wife's. Reluctantly, you hold your cup in one hand and deftly slide the pouch into the pocket bag between your petticoats. They would have felt worse if you refused to take their money. After all, you avenged the silenced death of their girl.

"It's plenty, thank you," after finishing the rest of your tea, you proceed with your original thought before they could try to pass their relief for protest. You had to recite the practiced discourse that you gave to every one of your patrons before making your leave. "Now, the two of you will be suspects to the Yard, be cautious," you put emphasis on your words by meeting each of their gazes. "You must avoid London and keep your heads down. Do you understand?"

"And... what happens to you?" Eric asked, sipping out of his own teacup. His shoulders were still unnaturally squared and attentive as he actively avoided your sightline. "Where are you off to?" his focus quickly turned to Evelyn, who was untangling her arm from his and bringing the tray back into the kitchen.

"The distance from Birmingham to London is great, she'll starve before she returns!" Evelyn stopped to yell from over her shoulder before leaving the door open behind her. In the kitchen, she promptly began to wrap the biscuits in napkins.

"Nevermind me," you coaxed Eric back to the conversation by answering his question. You smiled once again as you put your cup on the table and begin to put your gloves back on their respective hands. "You need to make certain that you both have an alibi for the night of December 17th, I cannot stress this enough, Mr. Calvert," you looked up from your gloves, pulling them so they covered your forearms again.

"I assure you, Miss Y/l/n. We were both working in that refinery- until dawn," you had no doubt about the truth to that statement, though any Peeler would press further. That part was to the Calverts to handle, seeing as you had played out your role. Pursing your lips, you took a generous inhale to soothe the ominous pit of anxiety that had settled in your stomach.

"Sure," you pulled your hood back over your head as Evelyn returned with a minute basket. It was covered and you wished you still had your appetite from when you had entered their home.

"Here you are," Evelyn allowed you to take the handle in your non-dominant hand. In a city, it was always smartest to have your dominant hand free, which was yet another insignificant habit that you had inherited from the old conman. What was the date? December 20th, which meant there were still a few weeks before it was the anniversary of his death. Otherwise, the most difficult twenty-four hours to bear out of a calendar year.

Evelyn was smiling, but it didn't reach her eyes. After all, for most women, motherhood was a privilege and it had been torn away from her. She was attempting to care for you as she would have for Maggie...had she lived to nineteen. Tears were welling in her eyes as she watched your hand extend to briefly touch her shoulder. "Take care," you said, finally meeting Eric's green hues that were tearing up as well. "I can show myself out," you shook your head dismissively when he moved to go to the front door with you. Evelyn needed to be coddled more than you did.

. . .

JANUARY 5TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

Evenings at home always unsettled you, being the start of an all-too boring night, which made you feel restless- itchy for action. Rather, your quiet home always put you on the height of your guard, even as you were sitting behind the short shed, submerging your assorted gowns and petticoats into the warm, soapy water that bubbled in your wooden tub. It was a tedious, once a week process that perhaps irked you more than cooking. With a huff, you directed your stress into the iron grip that you kept your washboard upright with, rubbing fabric over its ridges.

The water made your fingers prune and the stool under you caused your bottom to grow sore, the longer you had to sit there, toiling away until each article was hanging on your makeshift clothesline- fastened with pins. When you were a girl, you had about twice the amount to wash and yet, you enjoyed the task because there were two more hands to make light, fun work of it. The conman liked to sing to pass the time- the lyrics had taken you ages to comprehend, seeing as your English had challenged for years. He was anything but a schoolteacher.

You cringed as your hand slid down the washboard too quickly, causing the hot water to splash back up at your face. The weather was foul, the winter in London was always tempestuous and the warm water on your face had only reminded you of how little warmth your wool scarf provided. It was wrought with holes by now, but you couldn't bring yourself to give it away, you've had it from the day you arrived...nine years ago. Dismissing the thought, you allowed the cooling water to run down your forehead, passing the slope of your nose, until it finally fell and assimilated with the top of your stomacher.

You squeezed the wet petticoat, turning it in order to ring the water out. Although you could have been more thorough, the boredom that came with domestic chores was causing you to rush and find something more occupying to start. The tranquility of the night was eerie, an uneasy contrast to the violent life you led.

The sound of approaching voices caused you to pause, your hands pulling the washboard out of the water to hold, ready to swing. The petticoat that you had been wringing out fell back into the wooden tub with a quiet splash. The soap suds ran down your forearms, dampening the brown sleeves of your gown.

"No entiendo por qué la señora quiere una chica. Podríamos bombardear el sitio de Phantomhive más rápido que esta pérdida de tiempo," the voice of a woman spoke quickly, in a language that you couldn't identify. A denomination of Latin? Knitting your eyebrows, you conceded, deciding to focus on what you could understand. Bombard, Phantomhive. Bomb?

Vaguely, you recognized the name 'Phantomhive' from the newspaper. The Earl Phantomhive ran the Funtom Company, children's' toys and confectionery.

"Quiere su nombre lo más lejos posible de esto. La chica es una asesina exitosa, así que sería más discreta que los explosivos," a masculine voice responded, a stiff twig cracking beneath one of their shoes. You scowled as you shifted your weight from your left side to your right. The washboard was a viable weapon, but it was simply a matter of timing. Their silhouettes were getting closer, each short and clad in neutral earth tones.

"A menos que te interese en enredarte con ese mocoso," the man chuckled. He wasn't secretive or trying to be discreet. By the way he trudged, he was probably leaving deep tracks in the slushy excuse for snow.

"No tengo un deseo de muerte, a diferencia de ti. Callado!!" The woman said, her voice suddenly at a harsh whisper.

"Ah. There," the man spoke in English, finally a language that you could comprehend. "Y/n Y/l/n?" He asked, pulling down his scarf to expose the rest of his face. In comparison to yours, his accent was much thicker. Your grip on the washboard didn't waver.

"Who are you?" You demanded, stepping forward to stand your ground as they approached you. The pair wasn't visibly armed, their figures weren't particularly threatening to you. The man merely smiled at you while the woman to his side scowled.

"Diego- and uh, Carmen. Peace! We come in...uh, peace," Diego stammered, stopping at a respectful distance from you while showing you his empty hands as they beckoned with his rapid words. He seemed amused with your choice in weapon and assertive stance. "Carmen," he elbowed the sour-faced woman, causing her to grunt and hold her gloved hands up as he was.

"What brings you here?" They must have knocked at your door and came around when there was no response and a dim light behind the shack. Their winter gear suggested that they had some tier of wealth or deft hands in thievery. If it was business, this wouldn't be the first time you were asked to aid in stealing. However, as tempting as the offers were, you turned each one down.

"Business." Carmen answered this time, her hand slowly reaching into her jacket pocket. "No fret. Is just a letter," her English was just as mediocre as yours had been, years ago. Your eyes followed her hand as she pulled out an envelope with a dark red seal. "Business for our...líder?" She explained and looked at the man, leaving a long pause before her last word. It was essentially 'leader', but the stress was on an 'i' sound instead.

"Yes. Leader," Diego cleared his throat in a weak attempt to mask a laugh as you dropped your washboard back into the washbasin with a short splash. You ignored him as you took the letter from the woman, your wet hand causing the ink on the front to smear. It read your name, Y/n Y/l/n, in a pompous script, the illegible type that royalty and aristocrats penned. "All you needa know is there."

The Undertaker was supposed to be the partition between yourself and clients. Who did he think he was to give these servants your address? You'd have to give him a stern reminder for the next time you cross paths. With a frown, you pushed the envelope into your pocket bag, allowing it to jut out due to its dimensions.

"Is this all?" You asked as you waited for them to either leave or proceed with more broken commentary. Your lips were pressed together in a tight purse, a fresh lump of apprehension growing in your stomach. However, you couldn't let it show as the man sheepishly removed his hat with a shallow bow. It was more unctuous than anything as it only caused your scowl to deepen.

"Yes, Miss. We can... be going now," Diego righted himself and put his hat back over his dark curly hair. You didn't offer either of than a proper dismissal for the favor of going back to your washing and ruminating over the letter. It merely had a location, date, and time with no further information. No explanation of identification. You could appreciate the impudent nature of it, as this 'leader' assumed you had no plans for January 10th or presumed that you would handle any conflicts yourself when they were approaching you for your services. It was crude of them to assume that you still took orders.

. . .

JANUARY 10TH, 1892

READING, ENGLAND

Perhaps it was curiosity or a lapse of judgment that led you to board a train and throw caution to the wind. Whatever it was, your default prudence seemed to abandon you at each instance you dared open the letter that you were given- if you could call it that. The paper inside merely had your name, a distinct address, time, and date all in a presumptuous formality that made you want to tear it to shreds. But you refrained and instead, rolled your shoulders back and down as you knocked on the painted door of the lofty residential home that coincided with the address in the letter. The walls were constructed with sturdy brick and there was smoke wafting out of the chimney. As you predicted, the entirety of the property before you suggested wealth, just as the note and the delivery had.

You knocked on the door, the letter in your hand as you waited several long, cold moments before a woman greeted you. Most of her features matched Carmen's, deep olive skin and brown hair that was tied back. "You are late," she spoke, disdain clear in her voice as she ushered you through the open door and into a foyer. You were only late by a few minutes, according to the clock on a passing wall. "My mistress is impatient," the woman added as an afterthought as if that fact was supposed to faze you into an apology. Her accent was quite notable, pronounced, and sharp like the other servants.

As she led you to a winding staircase as your gaze trained on each room that you passed. They were each decorated in a modest fashion and the colors were left to a simple tan palette. It was more simple than you would have expected from the manor's proud exterior. The woman cleared her throat, "Doña, she has arrived," she knocked twice on the closed door before opening it, revealing another woman. She stood behind a mahogany desk, watching you with relaxed shoulders. The bay window behind her illuminated the silk of her beige dress, contrasting her tan skin as it hugged her slender figure. Beige was uncommon at the time, given the dullness of it, although this woman wore it like a badge, using the simple color to allow other parts of her appearance to stand out.

"Leave us, Andrea," the woman's gaze had yet to leave yours, causing you to look away in mild discomfort. Once the door was closed again, she extended her hand to you, speaking again as you cautiously shook it. Her grip was confident and warm against your bare palm. "It is my pleasure, Princess Helena. I feared you would disregard dear Carmen and Diego." You retracted your hand, the name causing you to meet her eyes again.

"Y/n," You corrected, your mouth running dry as you calculated each of your words, down to the syllable. This foreign woman was able to unravel each of your lies within the latest nine years and frankly, it took every bit of your skill to remain composed. The conman would assess the person standing in front of him and decide if they were entitled to the truth that they were trying to extract. He would run through each advantage and disadvantage and return to the same conclusion- murder was always an option. After all, it was the only sure way of containing sensitive information. "Y/n Y/l/n," you repeated, causing the woman to laugh, her rounded cheeks eclipsing her eyes.

"We may both employ our pseudonyms, then. Address me as Doña," she sat in the red, cushioned chair behind her. Doña raised her eyebrows at you expectantly as she motioned towards the decidedly less opulent wooden chair across from her. You complied, frowning at her as she leaned towards you. Her smile only seemed to expand. "I have a task for you, Y/n. Only you can complete it for me."

"I know there are other services in London you might have requested," you contradicted, sitting back in the uncomfortable chair as you showed no qualms in testing her.

"No," Doña said with a simple shrug of her slender shoulders, "I need you to eliminate the Earl Phantomhive- the Queen's Guard Dog who puts an end to anyone she names. The graveyard to his name exceeds even yours. Although... it seems to be watered with the blood of the innocent, instead," her smile finally melted, causing her red lips to lay in a natural frown. In the streets of London, her lip color was enough to impose any of the filthiest assumptions about her.

"How does this concern me, specifically?" You asked. As your interest piqued, your eyebrows furrowed and you found yourself leaning towards the edge of the desk, rather than sitting slack against the wooden chair. The notion of the proprietor of a children's company having blood on his noble hands was more endearing than anything, especially to someone such as yourself, living substantial evidence that no one was who they appeared to be.

Your eyes followed Doña's hand as she opened a drawer in the desk, pulling out a pristine, folded newspaper. The masthead read 'DIE SUEDLlCHE POST' (THE SOUTHERN POST), a German newspaper with the headline of 'PRINZESSIN MARIE-LOUISE GIBT IHRE VERLOBUNG MIT PRINZ ARIBERT VON ANHALT BEKANNT' (PRINCESS MARIE-LOUISE ANNOUNCES ENGAGEMENT TO PRINCE ARIBERT OF ANHALT). There was a picture within the columns of words of your twin sister as she sported a gaudy dress and faux-smile as she beckoned the public into her personal life. Seeing Marie's matured face resemble yours so flawlessly was disarming and you only remembered to release a breath you had been holding when Doña spoke again. "The Queen trusts the Earl implicitly- enough to put the safety of her granddaughter in his...capable hands. At any mere threat, the Princess will come overseas to stay under his protection," she paused, smiling again as she unfurled the groundwork of a meticulous plan. "The monarchy is quite predictable, no?"

You had to give her credit for her unwavering confidence. The idea that she implied was beyond mad and yet, she sold it well. "We intercept her transportation before she reaches the port," Doña raised her chin as she explained, her expression smug to challenge you. Someone had trained her to manipulate others, just as the conman had done for you. She was reflecting your body language, while keeping her own polished mannerisms as a subtle attempt to establish trust, but express her own certitude.

"And you intend for me to take her place," you finished mapping out her plan for her, almost speaking in disbelief. Reclaiming your past? Your sister represented the whole of what you had resented in Germany; the wealth, the social faux pas, down to each ruffle of every gown. "Kill the Earl within his own estate," you bit the inside of your bottom lip, keeping yourself in the present.

The door opened behind you, the startling sound of a crying baby caused you to jump and turn your head to the source. A frazzled Andrea, the servant who greeted you, held a crying infant in her arms as it squirmed. "Doña, su hija te necesita ahora," she said, offending you as again as the two individuals conversed in a foreign tongue, ignoring your confusion.

At the sight of the distressed child, Doña's expression curled such as milk did. Her nose wrinkled, her eyes staring at it in disdain. Her glowered response came quickly as she gestured with her hands, "debes llevártela. Andrea, deberías saber mejor que interponerme cuando estoy ocupado con los negocios."

Immediately, and to your relief, Andrea left the office with a mumbled curse that you couldn't decipher. The baby was still crying. "You never learned Spanish?" Doña mused, her hands slowly returning to the wooden surface that separated herself and you. At least you had been correct in assuming it was from a Latin dialect. "That was my daughter," she explained with a careless shrug, causing you to frown. Your mother always spoke of you with the same amount of indifference, if not more than what this woman expressed, calling her daughter a 'that'. Bearing witness to that treatment left you vulnerable to frustration, an emotion that distracted you from the clear thinking you were trained to maintain.

"Earl Phantomhive," you said, bringing her back on topic before she could fiddle with your strained heartstrings any more. "It's a personal vendetta, is it not?"

"Ah. Correct," her face grew serious again as she brought her heavy stare back to yours. For a moment, you looked down at the newspaper- at your beaming sister and her Prince. "The Earl killed my husband after my whole family," Doña said as she shifted in her seat. Her eyes pried into your soul as if she was weighing each of your sins and virtue against each other in that moment. "I cannot rest until he feels the same anguish. What do you say?" She asked, raising her thin eyebrows, leaning forward in her seat.

For the first time that afternoon, you understood the woman sitting before you. You understood the lingering pain behind every smile, the loneliness behind her confident handshake. For that, you didn't need her to prove that the Earl was deserving of just intervention when normally, you required a means that ensured you that you weren't being sent to murder an innocent. The Calverts allowed you to read the court records of Keating's failed prosecution. But in this case, you recognized the raw emotion in her face. You saw it weekly in your employers and it used to stare back at you in the mirror...before you grew.

"Fine," your shoulders relaxed as you shifted in on the wooden chair, tempted to retreat, the more she invaded your space.

"We will begin our preparations immediately, then. We may discuss the finer details over tea."

. . .

JANUARY 17TH, 1892

READING, ENGLAND

"Diego and Carmen have returned," Doña entered your room without the formality of knocking, even though Andrea was in the middle of preparing you for your arrival to the Phantomhive Manor while you were attempting to keep yourself present. You gave your toes a discrete wiggle while they were crushed in tall heels. At least the slight pain was grounding. "Your personal effects will be included with ours," she added as a suggestion for you to respond. Over the week you had spent in her presence, you learned that talking to her was an exhaustive endeavor when most of the time, all you needed to do was listen. Meanwhile, Andrea was finishing your complicated hairstyle behind you. She tied strands of your hair into braids that led into a single low ponytail behind your head. Frankly, the steps she took had you standing there for ages, but you didn't protest, as opposed to the riot you always threw in Germany.

"At last," you stared at your reflection in the mirror before you, willfully ignoring the addition of her behind you. It was almost difficult to recognize yourself, considering you were staring at the visage of your sister, Marie as you dawned a sky blue gown that was embroidered with white designs around the bodice and top petticoat. The neckline had simple ruffles that covered the top of your stomacher, alternating with lace. Your skin was smooth to touch, almost delicate with the amount of cold cream that Andrea had insisted on smothering over every inch of you each morning and night. Even the apples of your cheeks were lightened with a gentle hand of pink rouge. "Putting that off to the last day was careless."

"At least our princess needs not to remember her privilege," Doña smarted, her red lips pursing in a sardonic grin. "Only her grace."

"And what of the princess?" You asked, turning away from yourself to give the packed trunks in your room a quick once over. They were each packed with fine clothing and luxury products that Doña had procured over the week, whilst important belongings of your own had just arrived, according to the woman herself. The conman's watch stayed with you for each task, whether you wore it, forced it into your pocket bag, or wrapped around a garter.

"Her steamship was supposed to dock about an hour ago. It should be in the process of sinking in the North Sea." The words had no effect on you, other than perhaps, relief. While Marie was your sister, you grew up in her looming shadow, her constant jibes, and haughty smiles. Her death secured your role in perhaps, one of the most complicated schemes you have ever dared take part in and did well to rid the world of another self-absorbed leech. Doña's hand gave your shoulder a patronizing pat as she smiled, "peace, Y/n. Your face is too young for frown lines. Remember, princesses haven't a care."

"You would know?" you asked, pressing your lips together and gathering your breath in a shallow inhale. The statement affected you more than it should have, but you blamed the superior tone that Doña attempted to pull over you. Although there were many years separating the two of you, it gave her no right to treat you as a child. You believed that Evelyn Calvert said it best- you were a woman, a lady that deserved every brutal sentiment that the world had to offer. "I believe the monarchy in Spain ended years ago."

"Someone did their reading."

"Enough," you glared, "I believe it would be best to allow Andrea to finish here. Before I stain this gown with your-" Andrea gave your hair a slight tug to tighten the hold before she gave you a quick once over. She seemed proud of her work- turning a runaway back into a princess. Quickly she patted a bit of power over the exposed junction between your neck and shoulders, adding some to your throat. Rather than making you appear paler, it was mostly translucent and served as a more natural aromatic while hiding blemishes. Andrea then left and quickly returned with a white coat that ran down to your mid-thigh. Deftly, she buttoned down the middle of it, closing both sides with little effort, seeing as it was made to be snug over all of your tight layers.

"-No, I believe that is quite enough, Y/n. Don't forget- we are allies, love." Doña reminded you with a smile. "In fact, I retrieved something else of yours to prove it," her hand disappeared into the deliberate fold of her pocket bag, revealing a small box. It was a black velvet that was soft in your hand. "Go on, she prompted, nodding at the box with her chin, "open." Slowly, you opened the box as it revealed a breathtaking emerald ring. The band's soft rose gold shone in the sunlight that came through the windows as small diamonds lined its circumference and outlined the expensive gem itself.

It couldn't be-

Your breath hitched as you took the ring out, putting the box on the vanity to your side as you looked at the interior of the band, your eyes wide as the engraving read 'Prinzessin Helena Victoria, 5/3' (Princess). It was your family ring, the exact one that you had given to a young boy because he was too poor to buy himself a proper jacket. All he wanted were a few coins for you to buy his newspaper, but you had no currency at the time. Instead, you gave him the ring and changed his life, rather than allowing the damned thing to burden you any more than it already had.

"That ring has seen...nearly all of Europe before returning to you," Doña said as she watched you slide the ring back over your satin glove. It fit your ring finger perfectly. Marie was made a completely identical ring, emerald, rose gold, and diamonds. You shared the same birthdate with her, being twins. "It would have been wiser to procure hers, but we must make do. You may never take it off." She was right. Though the ring was in fact, a smart decision to make your appearance more legitimate, the engraving could just as easily be the end of you.

"I understand." You confirmed, with a generous inhale. You felt your chest expand against the confining corset you wore.

"Andrea, ¿está lista ahora?" (Andrea, is she ready now?) Doña asked the servant, who was cradling her daughter, a chubby infant in her skinny arms, seeing as she finished tending to you. Andrea was not given enough credit, seeing as she took care of you, the baby, and everyone else within the household. She seemed to be around the age of Doña herself, perhaps younger, though missing a ring on her own finger. You owed her more respect than Doña, seeing as she took the time to teach you bits of conversational Spanish. Sitting in that house for a week while most individuals spoke in their native tongue was frustrating to you, and she cared enough to alleviate some of that pressure.

"Yes. You all should be going. Marie would have been near to our destination." Andrea said, before leaving your room to presumably, get Diego and Carmen to load the carriage with the aforementioned trunks. She left you and Doña alone, in temporary silence.

"Diego and Carmen are escorting you," she spoke, ushering you to leave the room behind her and start to the carriage that waited in front of the brick manor. "They are dock workers to you since the Queen called for finesse; minimum security." Marie's steamship was private- it made sense that she'd only have a few individuals as personnel. Although, they were likely dead at the bottom of the sea with the intended princess. "I will be in contact," her eyes, once again, stared into you, but you refused to falter. At a time like this, it was important to appear confident, even when there was residual panic racing through you.

"I won't be long," you replied, quite sardonically. The Earl Phantomhive was just a boy, about two years younger than you. He had a butler and four servants and an opulent estate that gave you plenty of opportunities, space, and minimal witnesses. You have surmised much harder conditions in the past, considering you've posed as a maid and drowned a woman in her own bathtub since she kidnapped and sold little girls to the highest bidder. That case had reached a particular soft spot within you, although it made you sensitive to the scent of rose water.

For a moment, you were back in that bathroom. The steam of the heated water hit your face in droplets as the curvaceous woman thrashed, her knees peeking out of the water, kicking. She was screaming, but it was garbled by the water as she choked on it. You had to use both of your soapy hands to press her forehead against the porcelain tub and apply moderate pressure around her trachea before she went limp...

"I'm sure," Doña rolled her eyes as she opened the carriage door for you. Diego and Carmen came out the front door with the small trunks in their arms. Carmen's tan features were still warped in her perpetual scowl, but Diego beamed at you, his eyelashes fluttering. You squeezed your eyes closed before opening them again, repeating the process multiple times while wrinkling your nose. It was, naturally, still cold and unlike the staff, you were only given a coat and gloves to stay warm. How Doña stood her ground without sleeves in this weather was lost to you.

"Andrea, fixed you up real good, Your Highness," Diego said, leaving Carmen to finish packing the carriage as he approached you. He bowed at his waist, over-exaggerating the movement. You had come to the conclusion that he was an excitable puppy dog, personified in a man. It was hard to imagine a man like that had the nerve to use the handgun in his holster. You frowned, the sight of firearms never failing to unsettle you, despite your line of work.

Trap the gun.

You urged yourself to focus on the people in front of you and the task that was rapidly coming into fruition. "You ought to ask her for a hand," you shrugged dismissively, the jab subtle as you shrugged and showed yourself through the carriage door. You sat down on the cushioned seat, closing the door and staring out the window of the carriage. Though you could have afforded a simple goodbye to the staff, your growing demand to be alone was overwhelming. Even the carriage, though it was white and an unassuming beige upholstery lined the seats, you had to force yourself to stay present.

Felix Keating.

"Y/n, we're pulling out now!" Carmen's grumpy voice announced as she knocked twice on the closed door to get your attention. She and Diego were to be driving the carriage- as Doña said, they were acting as port attendants to substitute Marie's dead servants. Your fingers wrapped around the pommel of your dagger, giving it a long squeeze.

"Fine!" You responded, watching the street from your window as it slowly passed by, paired with the trotting hooves of the horse that dragged you to your possible demise.

. . .

JANUARY 17TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

The Phantomhive manor was on the outskirts of London, shielded within the countryside by a thin forest line. As it rolled into your sightline through the small window of the carriage, you shamelessly allowed yourself to gape at the sheer size of it- the height of the walls, the militant stone masonry, and expansive stone garden that surrounded the cobblestone path. The cobblestone caused the carriage to bump clumsily and you could hear the sound of the packed trunks shifting around, even though they sat in the front with Carmen and Diego. To you, having so much space for one person was simply a waste- you made do in a shoebox that was going to be comparable to a linen closet on this property.

There was no describing the intimidating grace of the noble manor that stood proudly before you- although it was the furthest from your first complicated infiltration and as much as you tried to repress it, grew up in a castle. However, even Glücksburg was feeble in comparison to the fortress that your carriage slowed to a stop in front of. Diego wasted no time in opening the door, allowing more of the afternoon light in. You shuddered as the cold, once again, attacked your face and outer extremities, despite the petticoats that Andrea had precariously piled under your gown.

"We have made it, Your Highness," the joke was obvious in Diego's face, the apples of his cheeks too perky with his enthusiastic smile. He needed some of Carmen's restraint while the latter required at least a semblance of his warmth.

Your Highness. The form address was foreign to you. It was nothing but a burden that weighed just as much as the genuine metal around your ring finger and the tight corset that restricted your torso. But this was your role- at least for the next week or so. Your smile was small enough to not seem horribly forced, though anything but enthused. Restraint was something Governess Lydia always stressed, making it one of the single things she had in common with the conman, who never let you forget about the strength of words. This task required you to heed lessons from the both of them, which was unfortunate, considering the conman represented the best two years of your life, while Governess Lydia was the embodiment of your poisonous girlhood.

"Your prudence is more than appreciated," you accepted his hand as he helped you down the two, rather short stairs of the carriage. This was it- now you were Princess Marie of Schleswig-Holstein. Her identity belonged to you- rather than a withering corpse in the sea- however Doña had managed to get her there. For your own sake, you found it easier not to ask. You didn't need the blood of your sister on your conscience while you embodied her likeliness. Or at least...what you could recall from your spoiled bias and hourly etiquette classes in the castle. "Thank you, Diego," you let go of his hand once you stood on your own feet. You didn't need to look at him to know that he was shaking his head, discouraged that you were being kind to him simply because you had to. Prior to the carriage ride, you'd told him to see Andrea and give her a chance to improve his scraggly appearance.

"Of course," he responded with a hasty bow. Diego shut the door with a slam, clumsier than he needed to be. You pretended that all of your doubts were conveniently left sitting on a cushioned seat- as dispensable as a glove. Confidence in your own vast skill sets was going to get you through this and the blade of your dagger between the Earl's ribs. "To the door, Your Highness. You'll catch cold." Diego led you to the door, leaving Carmen to unload your baggage. The door opened immediately after he knocked, revealing a simpering man.

"Wir heißen sie herzlich willkommen, Eure Hoheit. Ich hoffe, dass Ihre reise bis zu diesem punkt angenehm war.," (Our deepest welcome, Your Highness. I do hope your journey was pleasant to this point,) he spoke, his German succinct as if he was a native speaker himself. Following his practiced welcome, he bowed, the silver accessory that was pinned on his lapel moved as he did. A gloved hand pressed politely over his heart as he righted himself at your nod. In this case, you would have preferred him to speak to you in English, seeing as the whole of the experience was already quite out of body for you. "Bitte, treten sie ein." (Please, come in).

You complied, reluctantly crossing the tall threshold. Diego was behind you and silent as you took a moment to look over the barren foyer around you. "Sie haben ein schönes anwesen. Danke, dass sie mein Refugium beherbergen - Ihre Majestät kann mehr als exzessiv sein," (You keep a lovely manor. Thank you for housing my retreat- Her Majesty can be more than excessive,) you replied, noting the butler's endearing features. His face was pale as if the moon decided to bless him with natural illumination and in contrast, his hair fell in black tresses that framed his face. His smile was too perky for his darker disposition.

"Es ist unser privileg, mit ihrer sicherheit betraut zu werden." (It is our privilege to be entrusted with your safety.) The unctuous pleasantries were in excess. A little went a long way, especially for you, who tended to be brief towards every accessory- every pawn. As a girl, that efficiency labeled you as ill-mannered, as Lydia, the uptight Governess, cautioned you.

"Gibt es einen namen für sie?" (Is there a name to call you by?) It was more appropriate for his master- the rudely absent Earl, to introduce him properly, but you were growing weary of having no name to associate with the man. You tilted your head, thinly smiling at the butler who immediately stood to attention to respond. He had more effortless poise than you did, but at its essence, it couldn't be hard. Between your intense life in the monarchy was nearly a decade of living amongst the middle class and working for anyone with the fortune to pay you.

He bowed again, the palm of his right hand returning to his heart. "Natürlich. Mein Name ist Sebastian, mein meister-" (Of course. My name is Sebastian, my master-) he was interrupted by the door opening again, proceeding with three individuals and Carmen entering the foyer, bringing the trunks that were in the carriage. There were only six boxes, but the shorter boy out of the group was holding three heavy boxes instead of one.

"Sebastian! Where should we be putting these?" A woman asked rather loudly, as opposed to the smooth dulcet of Sebastian's German. Her voice had a clear, animated quirk of an English accent and it took you a moment to return your brain to the language, seeing as focusing on one at a time rather than two at once was simpler. Then you entered her sightline, causing her to shriek in surprise as she gasped. "Princess Marie- Your Highness!" she dropped the box, sinking into a clumsy excuse for a curtsy. At your side, you could hear Diego attempting to stifle his laughter. As for yourself, you weren't one for sudden noises and had to feign understanding. By the end of the day, your cheeks were going to ache from constantly having to smile.

"Your Highness, these are the other servants of the house," Sebastian finally spoke in English as he gestured with an arm to the two men and the woman. As the three other servants put the trunks down. The woman's face was red under her disproportionate glasses as she looked from the older man to the younger one at her sides, searching for validation for her abrupt enthusiasm. "Our gardener, Finnian-"

"-Finny!" He interrupted with a bright smile, before meeting Sebastian's eyes and shrinking. Finny cleared his throat, his gloved hand rubbing under the hat that covered the nape of his neck. "Please, um...call me Finny, Your Highness." In front of him were the three trunks that he had been carrying- stacked vertically. One alone was heavy for even yourself, but he seemed unaffected.

"Right...Mey-Rin, the maid," Sebastian continued. Mey-Rin's face was still red as she looked at Sebastian and then you, uncomfortable with the attention of the room on her. "Our cook, Baldroy."

Baldory seemed to be the most composed of the three. Notably, there were strands of grey in his blond hair as he regarded you with an easy simper, his shoulders relaxed. "Good to meet ya," he said with a simple nod of his head. His voice reminded you of the conman's- perpetually at ease.

"And ...Tanaka- the executive director of the Funtom Company," Sebastian said, guiding your attention to a small man that watched you from behind Baldroy's legs. He wore a monocle and seemed to hold a cup of tea as he bowed. The executive director of the Funtom Company was a frail man?

"Oh but, that's how he is- he rarely goes into his full size," Finny chimed in, once again, cutting himself off at Sebastian's pointed gaze. He only gave you more questions than he had answered. How was such a large estate taken care of by such a small cast of individuals?

"Might I ask about the Earl himself?" You didn't feel the need to properly introduce Carmen and Diego, seeing as they were only supposed to be distant dockworkers to you. Marie wouldn't have thought twice about them, seeing as she was her own sun, moon, and savior. Instead, she would be miffed that a mere Earl had the self-importance to show tardiness in meeting her.

"Our master should be with us in a moment. Please allow me to show you to his study," Sebastian said, easily making a transition from the exhaustive introductions to sitting in. "In the meantime; you three, take Her Highness's belongings to her quarters." This time, Baldroy picked up Carmen's neglected box as she stood at Diego's side. The three of them responded enthusiastically as if they were excited to be given a laborious task from their superior.

"Sure," you agreed, more than aware that this was going to be a temporary goodbye to Diego and Carmen, the final allies you'd speak to before heading into a minefield of social complexity, corsets, and lies. You turned to Diego, almost unsure of how to let him depart. It was almost pathetic of you, growing tongue-tied from a simple goodbye. The duo had no semblance of sentimental value to you. All you had was yourself, a dagger, and a large sum of money waiting for you.

"We leave you in capable hands, Your Highness," Diego smiled as he bowed, before quickly winking at you.

"Farewell," Carmen added, her expression illegible as she too, bowed and left with her counterpart.

"Right then," Sebastian led you up the massive staircase. Each step was narrow and troublesome but you attempted to tread smoothly. "Would you care for tea? You toiled through quite a long trip..."

. . .

Tags:

#ciel phantomhive #ciel x reader #black butler #black butler fanfic #strangers to lovers #anime fanfiction #sebastian michaelis #murder #angst #historical romance #historical fiction #victorian era #the indignant pawn #the woman in beige

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 4 years

Text

Tattoo Party

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes and I talked about this a long time ago but I'm finally writing it. 💕 oneshot.

"Mane, I'm sweating! My face feel hot like my makeup melting off. Do I look shiny?"

"You glowing li-"

"You look like Rudolph, bitch," Moriah yells over the music, cutting Jainayah off.

"I asked Jainayah, patchy. I already know I look fuckin shiny," I yell back, irritated. Moriah ass mouthy as usual. That's why she got a bigass white bandage on her arm. Who gets tattoos at a house party? "It feel like my glue sweating off like my lace lifting right here," I point tilting my head to Jainayah who looks closely but their crossfaded asses can't and ain't trying to really see shit. "Where the bathroom at."

"Ask one of Viche boys," Moriah yells, turning to drop with her hands on her knees to whine.

The house ain't but so big. Turning, I'm bumped by the wide back of this tall nigga whose just backed into me while getting whined on. "Move out the way!" I have to push his big ass up off of me because he's acting like I'm not standing here. "Move. Move!"

All these funky ass people up in the way. I'm upset now. I'm already hot and tired and I have to push past them because they still tryna dance. Somebody perfume smell good as fuck but I also smell somebody ass right now, I just don't know whose.

I poke my head into the kitchen and there's about four women and three niggas there congregating around the liquor.

"Where is the bathroom," I ask to no one in particular but one guy with a sandy blonde fro hawk points behind me, red cup in his other hand.

"Back down that hall, first door is a closet. Second door is a bathroom."

"Say no more."

The music is loud as hell now that I'm not dancing to it and I know.. I KNOW I was just over there for five songs throwing ass, but whoever owns this house is acting like they don't have neighbors when the houses are close together, like almost connecting. There are like ten different neighbors who could be opps itchin to bust some shit and people are all throughout this house! In the kitchen with the liquor... and out on the lil side deck playing pool and beer pong.

"I'm in here," a muffled voice yells through the bathroom door when I knock. The toilet flushes twice and suddenly I don't want to go in there.

"Who doing tattoos," a girl asks and when I turn back she's talking to a girl with a white bandage over her boob under her clavicle.

"It's this fine nigga," she gushes brushing her fingers lightly over the bandage.

"Hurry up," I sigh knocking on the bathroom door. There's another flush. Tapping my foot, I look down at my glittery silver strappy heels. I could've saved these shoes, but I thought I'd see someone fine tonight. Maybe I'll see what this tattoo artistè look like.

"Move," I warn pushing between two bitches to make my way upstairs. It smells like boodussy and weed.. But I want some weed though.

There are like ten guys and three girls in a bedroom room playing GTA with a bigass dresser mirror on the wall. A few look up when I walk in but then their attention is back on the game and they're talking. There's a joint sitting on a dish on the dresser that no one's smoking. Pulling a kleenex from my bag, I blot my face and trash the brown tissue before checking the perimeter of my lacefront to make sure it's still laying. "You're welcome," I point after spritzing ten pumps of A Thousand Wishes in the air to take away some of the smell. A few snickers and a thumbs up. Mhm. I snatch the joint from the dish and put it in my bag since no one's paying attention and walk out with a case of the giggles.

Ah shit, someone done started playing City Girlz downstairs and I'm missing it. I start to head back down, already dancing, but there's another room and I'm nosey so I fix my jacket and I walk in.

Shit, they weren't lying. The boy is cute all focused with his thick ass fingers holding that tattoo machine. His hand is steady but what the hell is he doing.. the tattoo look ghetto as hell.

The girl in the black chair with her arm out looks up and I walk over being nosier still. Her eyes are red as fuck and her arm bleeding like she got water in her blood. The words ain't even lined up right and he wrote "The Moon." Maybe that's what her drunk ass wanted.

"Um, did you ask for 'The Moon' to be put on your arm," I ask earning a look from the artist. He want me to shut up.

"Yeah, I like looking at the moon so I wanted it on my arm," she replies eyes closed.

"Oh you got 'The Moon' on your arm alright." She gone be mad when she sober up and see that shit. He smears petroleum jelly over it and tapes a white bandage to cover it before popping his lips at me. "You ain't shit," I mumble.

"$80 cutie." He smiles, gold slugs showing on his bottom canines.

"Oh shit, here you go," the girl blinks scrambling to pull her money together. She hands him 3 twenties and 3 tens. I almost tell her.

"Thank you sweetie," he nods kissing her hand before pocketing the money. I wait for her drunk ass to find her way out the door before I speak again.

"Sir, you're a crook. Oughtta be ashamed of yourself."

"I'll give you $20 to not say nothing," he smirks.

"Hell nah, someone need to say something! Do you even know what you doing or you just been in here bullshittin all night?"

"I'll give you $50."

"$50 plus $5 off each tattoo I get to watch cuz this shit funny as hell."

"Who's the bastard now," he smirks. "Deal."

Sitting on the bed next to his chair, I can see he has a tattoo on the back of his thick neck. It's black roman numerals and they look clean.

"Who did your tattoos I know it wasn't you."

"Hell nah, I get my shit done professionally."

"Wow so you really don't know what you're doing?" Who let him do this?!

"You gone turn down money," he turns to ask with eye contact. "I got tuition to pay for."

Oh shit, college boy.

"Who hired you, Viche?" Viche was dicey as fuck anyway.

"None other," he smiles, arms out.

"Mm." Yeah that made sense. Long as it was money, Viche ain't give a fuck. He was making a profit.

"Yo?" He looks toward the door at another girl who saunters to the chair before him.

"Thasyo bitch?" She slurs pointing at me and he speaks up.

"She getting tatted. She thinking right now, what you getting pretty girl?"

"Ha," she smiles, tongue out. "You is fine as hell.. Okay so I want.. my bellybutton pierced.."

Not here, sis, I wanna laugh.

"..And.. a black butterfly on my shoulder.. right here." Removing her arm and shoulder from her shirt, she pulls down her bra strap flashing her nipple before covering it. She points to the back of her shoulder.

"Right here," he asks scooting closer to touch her shoulder.

"That's my titty," she giggles and he pulls his hidden hand back. Perverted mothafucka.

"My bad, my bad," he says with a chuckle in his voice but she definitely does not mind.

"Uggh," I groan and he looks back with a smirk.

"You good?"

"Mhm."

"Aight so the tat would be 80 and the piercing 10. That cool? I bumped off 20 since you so fuckin cute."

No the fuck he didn't, I wanna screech. He is such a damn liar, but her drunk ass starts giggling again.

"You gone change your gloves," I whisper. Immediately, he removes his gloves but doesn't put any new ones on. He must not have any.

I watch him start with the piercing expecting a piercing gun. The nigga pulls out a safety pin and burns the poin with a cigarette lighter. I have to stand up and walk to the door to keep myself together because I almost scream.

"What the fuck is that," the girl whines, her pitch high in question. That's what I wanted to ask!

"The guns are great to use when you're piercing someone sober, but I find this original and basic method is best when working on someone inebriated. There's less force, less bleeding, and it's just more sanitary. Little trick anyone would tell you."

"Oh okay." She raises her shirt exposing her bellybutton and I almost have a stroke. He rubs his index over her stomach slowly before wiping her bellybutton with alcohol on a cottonball.

"Get me a piece of ice out that cooler," he says nodding to the blue drink cooler in the room. I start to say get it yourself but I'm curious to see what all is in this cooler.

Beer is in the damn cooler sitting on the ice. Ghetto as hell! Grabbing a wet cube, I hand it to him and wipe my hand on the back of his t-shirt. He doesn't seem to care. He holds the ice on her bellybutton for a few moments and lines the needle up with where it's going through on her skin.

"You ready?"

"I'm scared."

"Poor baby, I'll make it quick. I'll count from 6.. 5.. 4," his lips peck hers briefly and her jaw drops. "3," he pushes the needle. "You got a belly ring to put in this?"

"I thought you had some.."

"Nah, I just pierce.. uh.. that's okay put your earring in it until you get your belly ring. It works the same and you don't want this to close or get infected. Let my wipe it with the alcohol."

She hands him her gold hoop and he wipes it along with her bellybutton. She hisses as he puts the earing through the new hole.

"Make sure you don't forget.. get a real belly ring okay?"

"Okay," she repeats.

"The tattoo," I remind wanting my cut. He licks his lips hiding a laugh and picks up his machine to change the needle.

I watch him etch a blacked out butterfly onto her shoulder and it actually doesn't look that bad, but I could've done it. When she stands and looks over her shoulder in the mirror, she's smiling until she looks closer. Her smile slowly drops as she frowns.

"I don't like it," her face scrunches.

"It's what you asked for. You ain't show me a picture," he shrugs.

"I'm not paying for this shit!"

"The fuck you ain't. I did the work, now run me my money.. Lock the door," he nods to me. I blink before getting up to lock the door. Technically he did give her what she asked for.

"I'm getting my money," he chuckles turning the tattoo machine on again. His eyes meet hers with a threat. "Gimme my money and you won't walk outta here with a dick on your forehead. I'll hold you down and that shit right over your eyebrows."

"I'm telling my boyfriend," she threatens. "He downstairs and he gone kick ya ass when I tell him about this."

"Tell him entrance into this room is $80 and he can get a dick on his forehead too, call it bae goals."

I can't hold it anymore, I squeal and he chuckles as the girl throws the cash at him. Bending, he picks up from the floor. "You short $20. Find it if you don't want 2 tats tonight," he says gesturing to his forehead. It's so petty. She digs out $20 more and throws it. It doesn't go far, floating to her feet. He walks over and picks it up stuffing it in his pocket. "Thanks. Open the door," he nods.

I do and step back as she storms out flying down the stairs. It's bout to be some shit, I can foresee it.

"I hope you can fight," I say to him as he sits back down in his seat. He looks unbothered, wiping down the machine.

"I gotta give this shit back to Frank at the end of the night."

Who Frank is, I don't know.

"How much you rent it for?"

"Rent? I borrowed it. He just don't know it yet. I'm a have it back to him tonight though."

"Oh my g-.... CROOK."

"Entrepreneur," he smirks turning his attention to the door as this tall ass nigga walks in. "Can I help you?"

The last girl comes back in with her arm still out of her shirt as the nigga spins her to point at the tattoo.

"What is this shit? I'm a fuck ya ass up," he yells, squaring up. Charging at tattoo guy, he swings and connects but gets socked in the neck and crumbles.

"Pressure points nigga. Now I told your bitch $80 if you walk yo ass up in here so you must've wanted to pay me."

"RONDALOUS. YOU OKAY," the girl yells almost causing me to plug my ears. She's trying to help her man to his feet.

Tattoo guy grips her forehead and brings his tattoo machine to a buzz and she hops back.

My breath is stolen.

He's then able to go through the nigga's pockets taking the open pack of Extra gum and the $80.

"Thank you, come again," he mumbles dismissively before heading to the cooler for a beer. Drinking gulp, he pours some on the guy's face waking him up with a start before drinking some more. "Get the fuck out."

Once they're gone, I take a long look at this tattoo man. "Who the fuck are you?"

He chuckles with another sip. "Name's Erik."

"Erik you must have a death wish. When these people sober up-"

"I'm a be long gone, sweetheart. I don't live near here," he shrugs with a grin. "Finna get my ass up out of here now."

"Lemme go witchu, I'm bored."

"Hell nah," he snorts. "I'll give you your cut but my ass is outta here." Bending, he starts to gather all his shit.

"Nah, you taking me with you," I say snatching his beer and freeing his hand. "And you dropping me off at home or else.. I'm snatching bandages in this party and exposing."

"Shit," he sighs humored. He pulls car keys from his pocket. "If you was scrubbin and needed a ride home you could've asked, Left Eye. But you owe me gas money."

"I don't owe you shit," I laugh on my way out the door following him. On the way out the house I see Jainayah drinking out a red cup in her own little world. I see Moriah through the glass and she's outside. I know she's gonna be pissed when she sees that shit she got etched on her tomorrow.

"Let's go," Erik mouths turning back and with a tickled smirk, I follow him out.

#original #tattoo party #erik killmonger x oc #erik killmonger imagine #erik x oc

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punkscowardschampions · 5 years

Text

Carly & Drew

Carly: hey Carly: gimme more of what i got last time yea Carly: she had fun on that Drew: Yeah? Drew: tah for the tip-off Drew: doubt she's in the party mood rn though Drew: not seen her for days Carly: ha Carly: heard u need em boy Carly: im bringing the party thats why uve not seen her Drew: who fed you that bullshit like Drew: you still gotta get yours from somewhere Carly: idk 😢 girl @ the other nights party Carly: k so gimme Carly: im not paying tho Carly: u made her sad u make it better Drew: hmm well you know what girls are like, yeah Drew: don't all play nice like yous two Carly: yea & i kno what lads say girls r like too Drew: ain't saying nothing that ain't true me Drew: so I didn't make her sad Carly: dont u kno the truth hurts Drew: better than bullshit though Carly: u like her Carly: u want her to like you Carly: be nice Carly: be fun Drew: how do i know you won't just take it all girl Carly: aw u wanna watch Carly: cute Drew: if it's cute you're doing it wrong Carly: ha Carly: u dont kno her v well do u Drew: I know her well as you do Drew: always up for more Carly: when you run out of drugs you should pick up a 🎤 & try comedy Carly: everyone knows im the one who plays rough Carly: shes sweet Drew: stock is pretty depleted so thanks for the suggestion Drew: reckon you could stock shelves Drew: maccies, maybe Drew: like I said, maybe yous ain't doing it right Carly: ha ty baby 💛 Carly: gimme what i need for free & im good Carly: like i said love that u want an invite Carly: but idk if shed be into it Carly: she dont like ur hair Drew: you expect me to remember what you order? Drew: cute Drew: yeah she does Carly: like u forget anything about her Carly: cuter Drew: where are you then Carly: [sends location] Drew: you together or what Carly: shes on her way if you wanna wait for her Drew: I should talk to her, actually Drew: she's not told you then Carly: that her bro came to you yea Carly: why wouldn't she Drew: so, not total bullshit Drew: just not the full truth Carly: ? Drew: you said she's sad yeah Drew: don't be thick Drew: why would she be sad if he was just getting a few tabs or something Carly: cos he wasnt Carly: im not that thick Carly: i dont need her to spell out his exact order tho not working under the golden arches yet am i Drew: maybe not Drew: maybe if you were paying I'd say different but do you think getting her high is the best thing for her right now Carly: aw u think u kno better Carly: uve got it really bad Drew: so you don't fuck Drew: and you don't talk Drew: what do you actually do Drew: or is it all just for attention like Carly: we do everything Carly: its cute that you think im gonna get graphic so u can wank about it but like Drew: never been shy before Drew: everyone knows Carly: never been in love before boy Carly: everyone knows that too Drew: and I've got it bad Drew: Jesus Carly: this is mutual tho Carly: different vibe Carly: take ur pining to church if u wanna Carly: loves a trier he do Carly: i been schooled on all that Carly: probably keep your hands off yourself tho its a sin Drew: how long though eh Drew: her last didn't last very long Drew: but you know all about that, like Carly: ill take the credit yea Carly: dont be jealous Carly: youre cute too Carly: just not as cute as me Drew: this month maybe Carly: ha Carly: the flavour's 🍓 Carly: what are you? Drew: you already stoned babe? Carly: you gonna be even more 💔 if I am Carly: or that you're vanilla Drew: I know that girl didn't tell you that Carly: do u Drew: like i said Drew: probably lying anyway Drew: idk who you mean Carly: k Drew: you take the piss Drew: no more freebies Carly: after this im not asking baby Carly: relax Drew: yeah right Drew: that rep precedes you too Carly: didnt ask just got Carly: cos yea my rep does Drew: no one gets freebies forever girl Carly: nobodys talking about forever but you boy Drew: you'll still be needing it when you're cleaning up kid's vom from the ballpit Drew: trust me Drew: i know all the types Carly: u get paid for that Carly: be able to afford u Drew: afford my merchandise anyway Drew: my time's a whole other thing babe Drew: speaking of, be there in 15 so be there alright Carly: im there Carly: 💛 Drew: good girl Carly: did that work on the girl from the party? Drew: you wish you knew Carly: ha maybe Carly: but i wouldnt tell u if i did Drew: why not Carly: not me u like Drew: aw don't be jealous Drew: nuff to go round Carly: im not jealous & ur not slick Carly: but k ill try & remember Drew: yeah right Drew: you already told be Carly: what Drew: you so want me Drew: ha Carly: ur pretty ive told lots of people i think u are Carly: so Drew: you're so weird Carly: can be Carly: like you said my rep is well known Drew: yeah Carly: tell me how u like it & ill be that if the day ever comes Carly: but it probably wont Drew: you flirt a lot for someone who's so in love Carly: aw u think im flirting Carly: u havent seen me do it yet Carly: this is talking Carly: im bored Drew: i know Drew: you said Drew: sweet, right Carly: im not gonna tell her ur a good listener Drew: she knows Carly: how? Drew: we talked loads about her brother like Carly: mean then i have 2 ask u to make shit better u kno Carly: shes special u should be trying harder Drew: i can't make her brother not a junkie can i Carly: neither can she Carly: so she dont wanna think about it Carly: feel about it Drew: i'm coming ain't i Carly: u were gonna make me beg tho Carly: least i kno now thats ur thing Drew: this is still my living ain't it Carly: not asking for ur whole stash Carly: bet u gave party girl freebies & u dont even remember her Drew: i bet she didn't need as much as you 2 Carly: ha Carly: if u kno my rep u kno how needy i am baby Drew: ha yeah Drew: not my thing babe Carly: 😢💔 Carly: ur cute Drew: yeah yeah you said Carly: i said pretty Carly: different words Drew: same bollocks Carly: mean Carly: & untrue Drew: i told you that ain't my thing Carly: being nice? Carly: she won't like u Carly: too late to be in her bad boyfriends club Drew: i ain't bad Carly: what are you Drew: wouldn't you like to know Drew: maybe one day Carly: nvm i kno Carly: ur boring Drew: just giving you your chat back Drew: told you it weren't it babe Carly: aw u want my good chat Drew: be less of a waste of time sure Carly: ur one of those lads Carly: cant get hard til ive talked u up Drew: well you ain't paying so Carly: so u want me to fuck you Carly: or what Drew: obviously not Drew: it's a favour for her Carly: so u want her to fuck you Carly: good luck Drew: no Drew: jesus Drew: shut up and i'll be there sooner Carly: be more fun when u are here Carly: so boring Drew: why ain't you with her Carly: shes on her way remember Drew: need a job walsh Drew: no time to be bored Carly: aw u offering Drew: haha Drew: fuck no Drew: you'd be the worst drug dealer in the world Carly: would i Drew: yeah Drew: you can't be doing half the shit Carly: so u never dip in Carly: like i said boring Drew: got money tho ain't i Carly: i dont need money Drew: yet Drew: you've got a few years at best before you ain't young and pretty enough Drew: already told you Carly: i knew u thought i was pretty too Carly: aw Drew: have that on the house as well Drew: you are desperate weren't wrong Carly: never said u were Carly: not here cos i dont want drugs am i Drew: not what i was chatting on but yeah Drew: save some face now girl Carly: u reckon i need you to tell me im pretty Carly: why would i need you to be the first lad to chat like that to me Drew: you're bored? Drew: fuck knows Carly: not trying to get more bored then Drew: me either Drew: g2g Drew: you're next drop Carly: k Carly: have fun

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 6 years

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House Rules

Part 9

So Flu realized quick that he wasn't getting into her room and immediately started his back up plan setting up his cameras. He's practiced that's why he was so quick.. Erik, like all y'all wants blood. Y/N is still at Erik's house and that's where we are. Also, I'm trying something new. Tagging in the replies so bare with me. Didn't work out.

Warnings: Graphic violence ahead.

Part 10: Killmonger

Swift tagged along with Rell and Erik and they rolled pass Flu's identified apartment. According to the activity lifted from his phone's GPS signal, he was on the move and fast which meant he'd gotten Erik's clear threat. They followed his trail to the bank where they found him waiting behind a red truck in a grey Mitsubishi RVR at the ATM's drive thru.

"He's trying to run," Rell mumbled, eyes fixed on Flu in his vehicle. Neither of them were letting that happen.

"What a dumbass. He doesn't know we can track this. Nigga.. we see you," Swift scoffed parking the car. Any use of his credit card or phone they'd automatically see. Any call he made, they'd hear. Erik had Flu's bank account numbers, social security number, address, emails, messages.. and he planned to wire all the nigga's money to an account for the three of them to split evenly. After all, he wouldn't be needing it anymore. Just then, the red truck left and it was Flu's turn at the ATM.

"I'm going," Erik said sliding his gun into the band of his shorts. Cautious not to be spotted in Flu's rearview mirrors he crept casually but quickly to the SUV. Flu's window was down and the doors were unlocked as he leaned from the car to get closer to the kiosk. To Erik's joy, this allowed him to open the door quickly and slide into the passenger seat, aiming his gun smoothly at Flu's side. His face immediately snapped to the right, eyes widening in fearful recognition.

"Drive away," Erik commanded in a voice that was low but firm. Flu's hesitation made Erik press the cold metal barrel into his side ready to blow his kidney, sure that on camera it'd look like they were sitting there casually. Erik laughed quietly watching Flu's fear intensify. For all this nigga knew he was absolutely crazy, but Erik knew exactly what he was doing.

"Nigga, I'll shoot yo ugly ass right here if I have to and watch you bleed out. I said, Drive. Off." The smile on Erik's face never touched his dark eyes as the car rolled forward and made a turn pass a McDonald's before hopping on the main street.

"Drive home."

Erik's face turned to stone and the nigga was damn near shaking, nervously trying to catch the eye of any driver he passed. He was about as subtle as the bulky ass coat hook he put in Y/N's bathroom and still failed to draw the necessary attention.

"Gimme the phone." Erik snatched and pocketed the device, grabbing the keys before hopping out.

"Why don't you show me how you live, Shy'Dell." Erik jutted his chin toward the building and Flu shook his head regretfully, recognizing the familiar line he'd used on Y/N.

"I'm good." He averted his eyes like he had a choice and Erik had to remind himself that he was a professional. No, he couldn't shoot this nigga in broad daylight in front of the building. That'd be sloppy and anticlimactic.

"Walk yo stupid ass in the building," Erik bit back, palming the gun in his waistband. They took the elevator which rose slowly, Erik's narrowed eyes never leaving Flu and Flu's eyes looking anywhere but at Erik. Then in the hall, Flu turned.. his hands raised in a peace offering.

"Look man.. Your girl?.. I don't even have anything on her. I ain't touch her. Nothi--"

"Nigga. Keep walking," Erik snapped, his lip twisting in disgust. He waited for Flu to turn and walk to the apartment on his own and Flu pulled out his house key, missing the keyhole on the first couple attempts due to the fact that his hands were shaking. His eyes darted to the staircase, but Erik silently dared him to attempt outrunning a bullet. With a finger on his trigger, Erik followed him inside ready for anything to pop off. There wasn't much there in terms of furniture.

"Sit," Erik waved his gun to one of the few folding chairs that sat in the nearly empty living room. The only other objects in the room were a tv and an air mattress, dicey as hell. "Where's your second location? This ain't it."

"My what? I don--"

"If you like your brain inside your skull you'll speak the fuck up." Flu looked to be genuinely clueless and Erik was amazed. If he didn't already know this nigga was a bold liar, he may have believed him.

"Keep this up, your mama finna get a copy of every video you ever made."

"This all I have man I swear on my mama I don't have anything else!"

Erik sneered. Disrespectful ass nigga. Suddenly, his phone rang.

"We're over at the second apartment, I'm going through his shit now." Swift was in.

"The fuck?! Oh hell nah this nigga crazy as hell." Rell wasn't squeamish so it had to be some bullshit.

"This sick bastard, so many hours of him and women, I wouldn't be surprised if.. He is. He's been selling the footage online. Kill, this shit it graphic."

"Kill his pages and delete the footage. Anything you can trace, destroy it." Flu's expression sobered and Erik knew it was in that moment Flu realized he fucked up.

"Got it. And Kill.. Wait for us. Don't start until we get there, you get messy when it's personal. Thirty minutes."

Click.

"...That wasn't my place, I swear. This is the only pl--" SHMACK! The gun whipped across Flu's cheekbone, snapping it to the right and Erik rolled his shoulders.

"I-I didn't touch that girl, I swe--" SHMACK! The gun flew across Flu's other cheek with equal strength causing him to spit blood. No one said don't fuck him up a bit. It felt good.

"You gone stand there like you ain't as bad as me? Really?! Look at you right now. If I'm a monster then it takes one to know one," Flu spat.

"Maybe," he nodded. "You gone whoop ma ass about it? Gone 'head." He squatted, putting himself in swinging distance, but the man ain't move. "Yo bitch ass specifically happened to fuck with what's mine, that's where you lost."

Flu's face twitched. He obviously ain't like feeling powerless and mocked. He took a breath as if choosing his next words carefully, blood still painting his lip. His face was swelling and it was nowhere near the pain he deserved.

"Y/N. Why her?" It was the main question on Erik's mind. In a way, he already knew the answer, but he needed to hear it from the source.

"Ugh,” Flu groaned, “Damn.. I don't know, I guess she seemed lonely. I was drawn to her."

"Fuck this shit," Erik mumbled pushing the barrel of the gun directly against Flu's temple.

"Look. Dammit. She was naive and easy to manipulate. Is that what you wanna hear? She was an easy bitch and it woulda been dumb not to take advantage of something like that."

"Something..," Erik scoffs recalling the countless killers he'd known to use a similar logic, himself included. It made him sick to compare himself to the monster before him. "Yeah, it's real easy to categorize a person as a something. Makes it easier to hurt 'em when you can forget that they're people with their own shit to deal with in life. That way you can convince yourself they don't matter.."

"So you a therapist now? Is that how this works? How many people you kill like this? What about their lives?"

“Oh, I leave most of the people I kill their dignity when it ain’t personal. You though? Nah.”

For the rest of the time, they remained in silence, Erik shushing Flu whenever he tried to speak. Erik ain’t wanna hear shit else the nigga had to say. Finally, the apartment door opened and Flu sat there trying his damndest to look harmless.

"You can cut the shit, Shy'Dell, you know you're not leaving here alive. You never were."

“Kill, we brought the tools,” Swift called carrying a suitcase. Rell rolled a white tarpe out over the beige carpet earning a strong stare from Flu before he made a run for the door. Before he could get a second step away, a blade flew plunging into his leg. His knee buckled and a second blade hit his other leg taking him down to the ground.

“I think all the lies you be telling got yo ass confused, thinkin I don’t mean the shit I be saying.” Erik examined the clean machete Swift removed from the suitcase. This vendetta went beyond guns. “Get ya ass up and sit in the fuckin chair,” he growled, but Flu kept crawling like a roach toward the door. He had to pick the nigga up and sit him in the chair like a child while Swift and Rell stood back, looking on expressionless.

“All ya shit is gone nigga. Ya tapes, ya cameras, ya money. You ain’t got shit. You AIN’T shit. You finna die in this fuckin hellhole and for what? Was it worth it?”

“..........Maybe,” Flu spoke in his boldest move yet.

“See it’s weirdass niggas like this, I don’t claim. This some caucasian shit,” Rell said from behind, Swift verbally agreeing.

“Can y’all like.. shut the fuck up? I’m tryna murk this muhfucka,” Erik shrugged, but high-key he agreed. After gagging Flu and taping his mouth for good measure, he commanded him to strip down butt naked.

“No wonder you gets no play,” Swift deadpanned staring at the minidick Flu was packing. It was anticlimactic, Erik wanted to make a show of cutting the nigga dick off but wasn’t much there to begin with.

“Now I know how disappointed y’all be feelin,” Erik cracked causing Swift to lose it in a snickering fit. “..But then some of y’all still fuck anyway.. so I’m a chop this muhfucka regardless.” Swift, still snickering, shook her head content to watch as the machete flew. Erik made sure the balls came off too and he was glad for the tarpe.. it was messy and Swift turned on the TV to drown out the muffled agonized screams, a slight smirk on her face. She was just as sadistic as he was when it came to sexual predators and sexual violence. To her, it was one of the worst possible crimes.. something he suspected she’d experienced personally though he’d never ask out of respect for her.

The fingers were next, cutting them off of one hand all at once then the other. By the first cut, Flu’s eyes were glued shut, thick tears streaming down his face. Erik was shocked he was still conscious. He had to laugh, the nigga did say it was worth it. Meanwhile Rell waited to collect the parts as the second set of fingers were hacked off at the top knuckle.

“That’s for touching shit that ain’t yours to touch. Something you’ll never do again,” Erik sighed.

“Beat Bobby Flay, I love this show,” Swift perked from behind catching Erik off guard, but he recovered quickly, returning his attention to Flu.

“Still worth it?” Erik eyed Flu’s greying face as the blood drained from it. He was losing a lot of blood quickly. Erik had to hurry it along. This time Flu shook his head ‘no’ and Erik poked out his bottom lip. The nigga did learn something, albeit it was too late. The legs were next. Erik cut them off cleanly at the joints, cutting them smaller at the knees, not caring if the nigga died at this point. Then the arms at the shoulder and elbow. Finally, his head. When he was satisfied with his work, he pulled the change of clothes packed for him via Swift and gave her a kiss on the cheek watching her smile spread before changing. He knew she had a slight thing for him, but she’d never speak on it and he was thankful for that, though he wouldn’t tell her.

“You check for cameras and shit,” he told her before turning to Rell who’d already started cleaning. He was fast as hell. “You need me to cut this shit up smaller?”

“Nah, smaller pieces are harder to move, that’s why I be glad when you use the guns. It’s noisier, but there’s less mess to clean.”

“My bad bruh.”

---

Erik's home is beautiful, but it can also get very dark and that's a little creepy when you're all alone. Once it gets dark out, you have to find and turn on all of the house lights. The next thing is to search and rescue your sex toys. You don't really want to snoop through the man's house because it's rude and bad form, besides he'll probably give you the full tour when he returns. However, the temptation is great considering he has something that belongs to you. You search his drawers, his closet, under his bed, and find nothing but the knowledge that he's extremely organized. The next empty bedroom yields no results either. Then there's a room that's locked and you check around but can't find the key. Knowing how extra Erik is, he probably stored your toys in there. Speak of the devil, your phone rings and it's him.

"I'm on the way, you need something from anywhere?" Yeah, you and this room key.

"Nope, just come on back," you gesture though he can't see you.

"Aight. You okay?"

For some reason that question hit hard. The genuine consideration and care in his voice, it melts something in you, making your chest heat.

"Yeah.. I'm okay.. Are you okay?"

"Me? I'm fine, angelcakes."

There it goes again, that heat radiating through your body, forming a line of hot energy connecting your thumping heart to your jumping vagina.

"You need me to stay on the line," he asks when you don't hang up and you want to say yes, but you also don't want to worry him to make him think you're afraid. You're anxious, sure, but not really afraid.

"Um, nah I'll see you when you get back," you say before hanging up. It's strange how it feels like you're waiting for him as if he's your black and white TV husband, the Ricky to your Lucy. You return to your room and change from the towel into blue jersey shorts and a grey t-shirt, something to sleep in, before heading back down the stairs to explore a bit more. Amazingly, you stumble upon an outdoor pool that's on the back deck. If you'd known this was here, you'd have certainly been chilling out here all day. But maybe you'll have tomorrow to take a dip after work.. That is, if you don't have to go back home tomorrow.

It's only about fifteen minutes later when Erik pulls up and you're curled on the couch, doing some online reading. The key in the door steals your attention and you're anticipating his return a little too eagerly. Calm down weirdo, you tell yourself before the door swings open. He's changed his clothes. Does that mean he went to another pussy appointment before he came back? Not that it's unlike him, but that's still pretty damn cold if he did that today when he was supposed to be checking your apartment. He follows your eyes down to his clothes and immediately rolls his eyes.

"I always carry spare clothes just in case I make a mess and I made a mess today... not from fuckin. Damn, you think I'm that bad?"

"I mean, I didn't say anything to you, but I hoped you weren't."

"You thought it.. and I'm not. I wouldn't do that shit, not when your safety is on the line. You need a better perception of me."

"Maybe.. So how was it, is it safe to go back?"

"Nah, I called some professionals to check it out and they found a bunch of cameras and shit," he says dropping his keys on the table and taking a seat next to you on the couch where he stretches out. "They're gonna take a while to fully remove, you know how it go. You might have to stay here a bit longer until they're all located and gone. Few days maybe.. Hope that's okay."

"Cameras? Wow, I mean... As long as they're removed. How much did they ask for?"

"Don't worry about that, it's on me. Part of my duty in taking care of you."

Taking care of me. Yeah that's exactly what he's been doing isn't it. It's so strange how this arrangement just happened to come about, like destiny if you believe in such a thing.

"..I really do hate that guy, Flu. I don't get how someone could be that sick and evil," you shake your head sitting down your phone and Erik adjusts, pulling your shoulders so your head falls against his chest, his palm cradling your head. Your eyes close and instantly you're calm enough to drift off into a deep sleep.

"Don't worry about him. He's a dumbass and random selection will take care of him. You just rest now."

@muse-of-mbaku @imaginewhoever @vanitykocaine @panthergoddessbast @thadelightfulone @misspooh @inlovewithmakeupcomicsanimelove @marvelpotterlove @youreadthatright @forbeautyandlife @theunsweetenedtruth @bidibidibombaclaat @myboyfriendgiriboy @dameshaemonique @blackpantherimagines @eriknutinthispoosy @mandapandas-blog @vikkidc @hidden-treasures21 @romanceoftheeveryday @mysidefanting @allhailnjadaka @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @syndrlla97 @winteroflife @thotyana-in-this-hoe @eemahnee @texasbama @gingerylimonte @princessstevens @sweetsexysavagery @magic-madness-heavensin @localtrapgod @taint3dvirgin @wawakanda-btch @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @wakanda-inspired @blackgirloneshots @thegucciwaffle @sicksadgen @shesfromwakanda @thiccdaddy-mbaku @violet-ines @ange-sensuel @drsunshine97 @purplehairgawdess @littlesunflwrr @indigoxsummers @cccccx1 @niggarachi15

#erik killmonger #erik killmonger imagine #erik killmonger imagines #erik killmonger x reader #erik stevens #erik stevens au #erik x reader #killmonger #original #erik stevens x reader #erik stevens x you #erik killmonger fanfiction

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