#this is how everybody must feel. your world is collapsing and this little man. this little man with a spring in his step thinks it's FUN. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chanluster · 4 years

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non ducor duco | {m}

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whatever charge you may have against him, it must be withdrawn.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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shaw broke the universal law. His undoing was inevitable.

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

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

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

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

“Bring your hands out,” you ordered.

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

“Whatever,” you mumbled. “Dirty pig.”

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

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

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

A small smile curved onto your lips at the memory.

“Hand it over.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You fucking bastard, how dare you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oi, you bastard!”

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

“You’re right,____.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!”

“____!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“____!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The thought alone made your insides sing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

“____.”

You snapped into focus. “Yes?”

“Why did you call them?”

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

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

“You’re here now.”

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

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

“Turn around.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Christopher Bang. Flustered over a girl.

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

And what?

How you desperately wanted to find out.

Sensing the ribbon curling upon your neck, you understood.

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

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

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

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

“___?!”

“Hurry up, the carriage is waiting!”

“Women, honestly—!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s ruffle some rich feathers.”

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

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

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

“They need invitations too,” was their answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Scones!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop it.”

You blinked back into reality. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mr Christopher Bang.”

You and your leader both sighed simultaneously.

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

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

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

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

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

NON DUCOR DUCO.

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

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

“I am not led. I lead.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am not led. I lead.

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

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

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

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

“____.”

You perked up, raising your brows. “Yes?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nearly smiled at how similar you both think.

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

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

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

Your eyes widened at the confession.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love.

Dear, fucking God.

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

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

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

“I will have you writhing with my cock.”

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

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

Indeed you do.

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

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

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

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

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

“____!”

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

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

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

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

The throbbing inside you didn’t particularly care.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“CHRIS! ____!”

“WHERE ARE YOU—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The two members of the gang really tried their best.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, you received something else entirely.

“Goodnight, ____.”

And closed the door behind him.

Your heart dropped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were met with Christopher Bang.

And the disorder he brought with him.

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

Good God. What had happened to him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The soiled underwear was about to drip at this point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That alone made you cry out in ecstasy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps that was his intentions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chan?” You asked.

“Hmm?”

“Why did you get that tattoo?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he was willingly going to let it happen.

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

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hotdamnhunnam · 3 years

Text

His Time

A/N: Here’s some jealous Jax smut based on a steamy request that I got! I had thought this would be 99% smut, but there’s also angst/fluff, as I wanted to set the stage more and explore their love. (Fellow Jax sluts, fear not – the sex is still filthy and hot!)

Pairing: Jax Teller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, reader as a risque performer, recent breakup, jealous Jax, intense makeup sex when he comes back for her Request: Based on a scene from the movie Burlesque – Y/N is performing “Guy What Takes His Time” when Jax arrives with his friends; she doesn’t know he’s in the audience. Smut, jealous and a little fluff? – @rochyu (Note: I know that the movie is set in LA, but I wanted this fic to be set someplace farther from Charming, so I chose Chicago)

Word Count: ~2.9k

The lights are too bright. Always are, every night. You had come here to hide, from the girl you once were, with delusions of decency. Dignity. Pride.

It all happened so recently. Weeks ago you were still in the same town where you’d lived all your life—that town equal parts charming and shitty—with dreams of becoming the king’s wedded wife, his beloved old lady. Until you escaped to this faraway city.

You will always remember that night. One last screaming fuck, after your first screaming match of a fight. How you’d managed to keep love afloat, for so long on the rocks, without killing each other, you don’t even know. But the issues that you had both smothered in silence eventually had to explode. You will always remember just how hard you tried, to heal wounds that would never recover, to stay by his side. With no luck. You had hit the road, that very night, and the girl you once were—the fiercely faithful lover, future wife and mother... had faded and died.

Standing here now, about to perform without shame for the same nameless crowd, you tell yourself that you love Chicago. There is only one thing that you honestly love, though: the king of Charming, the impossible dream of blonde hair and black leather. Jackson Fucking Teller. And now that you’ve left him, you’ve lost him forever. Already it feels like forever ago.

You prepare for the spotlight, all ready to put on a show. The same show. Ever since you left home, this is what your whole life has become. At random, you lock eyes with the goodlooking guy who plays drums; once the show is done, maybe you’ll take him backstage for a fuck. Just to take your mind off of Jax’s unforgettable cock. You shudder to think of how many skanks Jax must’ve banged since you left him alone in his kingdom—a hundred? A thousand and one...?

The answer is none, though you don’t know it yet. In the time since you left, Jackson has barely slept. He has been on a hunt, for the only queen he’ll ever want; you had left him no clue as to where you had gone...

But he’s hunted you down. Like a damn bloodhound, tracked you from miles away, and he’s here in the crowd, as you take to the stage and the song starts to play. Determined not to lose what he’s finally found.

The song tonight is “Guy What Takes His Time.” His time is now.

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

Fucking lights. They’re too bright.

He hates every damned inch of this place from the second he sets foot inside. Sources close to SAMCRO had advised this is where Jackson Teller’s old lady had run off to hide. And apparently sources were right.

How the hell did it come to this? Never in Jax’s life has he been so fucking pissed. He stands frozen in place between Opie and Chibs, the two Sons that he wanted to be by his side, as he crossed the whole country in search of the love that had vanished. The love of his life. Now that he has arrived, seeing you up on stage underneath these damn lights, he can’t handle the sight. The blood in his veins all at once turns to fire and ice.

Every gaze in this place is on you, as you come into view, barely wearing a thing as you start to sing under the spotlight. As if you have nothing to hide. As if every last inch of your skin was fashioned for the pleasure of strangers, to satisfy their prying eyes.

The sergeant-at-arms can’t believe what he sees, muttering quietly, looking over Jax’s shoulder where he’s standing close behind. No one thought this was what they would find. “Jesus Christ...”

“Do you mind? Look away,” the king snaps, quickly realizing that the men by his side deserve better. But the alpha male pride that he harbors inside feels about to collapse; in the moment, that’s all he could manage to say. “Listen, I—I can’t thank you enough that you both rode with me all this way, but it’s just... Jesus, everyone here’s looking up at her...”

Opie knows all too well just what Jax must be feeling tonight. Firsthand, he understands, just what it’s like to love a woman who is always on display for others. Lays a calm and steady palm on Jax’s shoulder, as the king shudders and smolders. “Sure thing, brother. We’ll wait up for you right outside.”

They step out, leaving Jax all alone in the crowd, where the lights are too bright and the music too loud. The whole room—no one more so than him—hanging on every word of the song, every line that feels so fucking wrong coming out of your mouth. The king’s entire world is crashing down on him tonight. Nothing has ever felt so wrong to him in his entire life of crime.

Oblivious to where he is, though on some level you can feel him, watching you from somewhere in the room... you tell yourself that can’t be right. It’s not the first truth you’ve denied. All through the night, lyrics fall from your brightly glossed lips like false promises, all meaning lost in the rhythm and rhyme.

I’d be satisfied... electrified... to know a guy what takes his time...

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

Once you’d wrapped up the performance, you had whispered to the dashing boy who plays the drums to meet you in your dressing room. Sitting here alone, you wonder what is taking him so long. The two of you were flirting up a storm throughout the song—surely there’s no way that he doesn’t plan to come...?

One thing’s for certain: you for one intend to come, before the night is done. After the curtains fell, you’d had to take a moment just to catch your breath and calm yourself. Recover from the random wave of heat you felt. For some unfathomable reason, you had sensed some sort of energy from somewhere in the room, thrumming intensely in a way that made you desperate for an orgasm.

You don’t know where it came from, have no clue how to explain... so you try to convince yourself, in vain, that it was pure sexual tension with the guy who played the drums. Any second now, he’s bound to come and dick you the fuck down.

When at last someone enters your dressing room, you leap excitedly out of your seat like a damn clown in heat.

Heartbeat racing as you turn around, full of more than just lust as it pounds... Jesus Christ—you’ve been found. Those were not the blue eyes you expected to meet.

Your breath escapes you in a gasp. “Jax...!” your big fat mouth blurts out the question that you shouldn’t have to ask. “How did you find—”

He cuts you off. And fuck—that voice of his you’d missed so much, laden with sex and cigarette smoke, hits you now all kinds of ravenous and rough, and it’s just honestly divine. Already has you soaked. “You know I always find what’s mine.”

It isn’t fair, the way the dim light glimmers off his golden hair. The way that Jax Teller just standing there completely blows your mind. You curse the hell he never fails to put you through. “I don’t belong to...”

Cuts you off again. Because he can. “Does he fuck you like I do?”

Did he honestly just ask you that? Of course he did. The stupid piece of shit. Even if you had been with anybody else, no man on earth could ever fuck you half as well, and you both know it’s fucking true. “What? Who?”

Jax takes a deep drag of his cigarette. Shaking his head, like he’s disgusted. As if he has any right to be. “That many? Now you can’t even keep count? I guess you like slutting around, this brand new fucking freedom that you’ve found?”

He can’t be serious? He can’t really be here at all, ruining you like this? You cross the room toward the farthest wall, hoping that he won’t see the tears that fall, the way you fear your self-respect and self-resolve are crashing down.

“How many. Tell me,” he demands. “What—you thought running off to some other city, you could just flirt your way into some other man’s pants, right up on stage flaunting your slutty ass in front of everybody, and I wouldn’t see?”

Well, shit—apparently he’s serious. But so are you. If he came here to play dirty, then that’s a game for two. And you’ll defend your dignity if it’s the last damn thing you do. “That’s not your business.”

Jax has now crossed the room toward you after putting out his cigarette; he grabs a firm hold of your wrist, his grip somehow soft yet insistent. “Like hell it isn’t.”

“Jackson, I am not your goddamn possession,” you tell him, wrenching yourself free from his fist, almost wishing that you’d fucked somebody if only to teach him a lesson. Almost. Tonight you had come awfully close. “Get your hands off me. You can’t—can’t just come here and claim me as if I’m a piece of lost property.”

The sound of that is more than he can stand; he slams you up against the wall, hard. Has you seeing fucking stars. Frames your face in his hands, as his gaze pierces straight to your heart. “You think that’s what you are to me? Honestly?”

“I don’t know what I am!” you scream back at him, matching his roar, your own voice raw and hoarse. “Who I am... I just... Jax, I don’t know—I don’t know a damn thing anymore.”

“Let me remind you, then. So you don’t ever forget again.” His mouth is fire as it suddenly descends, claiming your lips with more dominance and desire than you’ve ever felt before. There was no point ever pretending this was war. The fire that burns between the both of you is love and nothing more—so bright it strikes you blind, so dirty that it’s pure. “You’re fucking mine. And I am yours.”

Not long ago today, you had felt sure that ever since you ran away, Jax must have fucked a hundred thousand other whores.

Now this... from just one kiss, you know the opposite is true. You’ve never felt more sure that Jackson Fucking Teller only ever wanted you.

He tells you nonetheless, because words matter. Even though the way he shows it is a million times better. “Y/N. I can’t stand ever losing you again. When you were gone, nothing made sense,” he murmurs as you melt into his hands, the only thing holding your heart together as it shatters. “I know I don’t deserve you, but I want to spend my whole life trying to. You’re more than just my girl. You are my whole entire fucking world.”

His words are giving you a goddamn heart attack. “Jax...”

“Christ, I’m so sorry. Anything I ever did, to push you far from me... all the shit I said—that fucking fight...” he shudders at the thought of it, hands cradling your face so close and tight. “But baby, please—can you be mine, just for tonight? I know I have no right to take you back. No fucking right. But damn I tried...”

You cannot handle just how much he hates himself. You feel his pain just as you always do, slaying you through and through; it hurts like fucking hell. It kills. The most that you can do is love him till he feels that he deserves it, just to hope someday he will.

“Jax, stop,” you beg him as he stifles back a sob. “Don’t even... God, do you have any fucking clue how much I love you? I have never wanted anybody else. I ran away because the pain became too much to take—but babe, my heart is always yours to break. I was just... stupid and scared, and thought that I didn’t belong there. But if you’ll take me—if you want me, love me, honestly... then I promise you, baby: I’m not going anywhere.”

He’s breathing ragged, shaky sighs and gasps. His forehead pressed to yours, beaded with sweat, cheeks red and wet with all the tears you both have shed. “You mean that?”

Ugh, as if he has to ask. But then of course he does. He’s always doubted that he’s worthy of your love... but thankfully, Jax Teller never doubted whether he is worthy of your lust. You rake your fingers through the smooth strands of his hair, meeting his deep blue stare, then drop one hand to wrap your arm around his back. “Yes. I do. I love you, and I want you—only ever you. Don’t ever doubt it’s true. Now just shut up and fuck me, Jax.”

He doesn’t need anything more than that. Now that you’ve said the word, the animal inside of him attacks. The way this sweet angelic savage sex god of a man can go from soft to rough, in just a fraction of a second, is just... damn. One of the million things you’ll always love about him.

Jax lifts you off the wall and slams you down over the table as your moans resound throughout the room. “This how you want it? Hard and fast?”

“Fuck, yes...!” you gasp.

“Mmm, thought you like a man who takes his time...?” he teases, ripping at your slutty little outfit till it’s torn to shreds. Until he has you naked, dripping wet and aching for him, just the way he pleases. The savage darkness in his eyes should be a crime.

You wish you could sass back at him for being a smug son of a bitch, making you eat your own burlesque lyrics. But then he reaches down to grab one of your tits and fucking squeezes, and your brain is blown to bits. “Oh, shit—Jesus...”

“That ain’t my name, you little slut,” he scolds you as he strips out of his kutte.

“Jax...” you watch as he flings off his flannel, reaches for his belt, taking his time with the damn buckle. From the bulge in his crotch, you can tell that he’s already hard as a rock. “Fuck...”

“Bet you’ve been spending every day without me dreaming of this big hard fucking cock.”

You nod, too turned on to respond. Of fucking course.

“Then say it, whore.”

You force yourself to form the words. “I’ve never wanted any cock but yours. You own me, sir.”

“That’s better,” he mutters, reaching down to flip you over. With your tits pressed against the surface underneath, he spanks your ass so hard you bite your tongue and grind your teeth. Then he dips two of his fingers into your core, feeling your soaking wet heat. “Now, baby, I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you’ll always remember. This tight little pussy exists for my pleasure.”

In actions and words, you completely surrender to Jax Fucking Teller. “Yes, sir!”

“Mmm, is that what you want?” he taunts, rubbing the head of his cock against your swollen, slick pussy lips with a fierce, feral grunt. “Dirty slut. Want me to fucking destroy your cunt?”

You have now lost the power to respond. But he won’t fuck you till you do. Even when it’s so obviously true.

Jax pulls your hair back, deals your ass another smack. “Who do you belong to? Better answer if you want this dick, you filthy little bitch.”

“I belong to you, sir!”

“That’s a good whore. Now what do you want me to do to this dripping wet pussy of yours?”

“Oh God, I want you to destroy it, sir! I want your cock inside me, please, I’ve never wanted anything more...”

“That’s right. I fucking own you, and I’m gonna show you how,” he growls, and seems to mean it as sincerely as a goddamn wedding vow. “You want a ‘guy what takes his time’ and all that shit... well, slut, it’s my fucking time now.”

Hell yes it fucking is. Jax fucks you like nobody’s business, rough and fast and hardcore, and you hope that he made sure to lock the door when he walked in because you’re screaming like a whore. It’s not like it’s a problem, if your boss and all your coworkers can hear what’s happening in your dressing room; after tonight, you most definitely won’t be needing this job anymore. You’ll be on the back of Jax Teller’s bike, holding him tight, as the two of you ride toward the rest of your life. Toward your future. Together.

You don’t know it yet, but Jax wants to make damn sure, this time, that you’ll stay by his side forever. Once he’s finally done fucking you dead, straight up ripping your pussy apart, like you wanted, he glances over toward the kutte that he’d thrown on the floor. Eyes the pocket that rests on his chest, right above his heart... and softly smiles at the thought, the hope, of claiming his most precious treasure. The diamond shines so bright that he could swear he sees the light, right through the leather.

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

Hope you enjoyed this!! Would love to hear if you did 🤗❤️

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knockknockchicagopd · 3 years

Text

❛ WHO'S THE ALPHA? ❜

❚❙ REQUEST BY ANON: hi there💞 can i request where reader and antiono dawson are dating in secret and she's pregnant and now they getting it on with some smut in his office and her father hank catches them with some angst please

❚❙ ANTONIO DAWSON MASTERLIST.

❚❙ WORDS: about 1.9k

❚❙ NOTES: There's no smut because I couldn't imagine the situation of being caught in the act, also keeping in mind that reader is Hank's daughter. There's no way Antonio would take that kind of risk.

❚❙ A/N: this writing hasn’t been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I’m sorry about that. If you find a description about body or a word out of place, or something that it makes you feel uncomfortable / unrepresented, let me know by a private message and I will change it delighted.

❚❙ GIF credits: to the author.

❚❙ Tag list: @melblacc @rebelwrites @skyofficialxx @sesamepancakes @scarletsoldierrr @mondefantastique @that-chick212 @enbyamaro @anotherfan07 @ocetevasgirl @sophie-writes @destynelseclipsa @jadakiss13. If you want to be added to my tag list, send me a message.

Since you knew this morning that you're pregnant, you haven't stopped thinking about how you are going to say it to Antonio. It's not a big deal, but it means that your father will know it too. And that's a real problem. But the happiness inside you doesn't let you worry now about that. It's been a long year hiding it from him and maybe it's a good way for him to discover it.

Honestly, you can't wait till coming to his house to tell him and, by the time it is, your father must be in your home already. So you decide to drive to the District. Antonio has to be there, since he hasn't text you yet. Leaving your car in the private parking, you walk in by the back door, going upstairs straight to the Intelligence Unit, passing away what they call the cage and the interview rooms. You can't contain the smile curving up your lips when you find your boyfriend very focused on something in his computer, writing down some kind of notes in a report. He doesn't even notice your presence, till you're in front of him.

“Voight left ten minutes ago”. He says, keeping up appearances just in case someone can hear you.

“We're alone”. You reply raising both eyebrows.

Leaning back on his chair to check both sides of his office, he drags his seat away from his desk enough for you to sit on his lap. Infected by your smile, Antonio can't help but draw the same gesture while placing an arm around your waist and his other hand on the back of your head. He's delighted to see you after a long day of paperwork and his ass stuck on his chair. Sometimes he doesn't know if it is worse to be there or to be in the street. But you're his reward, so he doesn't complain.

His lips find yours in a sigh, purring against them when he feels your warm wrapping him. The only thing he needs. His kisses are soft, slow, gentle. Just like his caresses. Just like him all the time. You found the most tender man you could ask for, and you thank God every day of your life. He takes care of you like no one else, with the most minimal details, without asking anything back. You two are made for each other, that's a fact.

“Antonio… baby, I have to tell you something”.

“Can't it wait?” He mumbles pecking your lips once and again, watching him bite his in the short meantime of meeting again.

“Yeah, actually for… like seven months, more or less”.

With his mouth on yours but not moving a single inch, he pulls himself away from you frowning confused. Your boyfriend doesn't last longer than two seconds to put his brain cells to work and connects the dots. His gesture changes from playful and joy to a big pout, as his eyes are filled up with tears.

“Dios mío”.

It's the first time you watch him crying since you know him, for more than eight years. You don't doubt cleaning the tears that fall down by his cheek, as his sobs become a little constant.

“Are you sure?” He asks with a broken tone of voice, tilting his head for a moment. You just nod in silence. “When did… you know?”

“This morning. I'm two months now… Are you… happy?”

“Of course I am, princesa”. Lively laughing, he urges you to stand up to do the same and push you into a tight hug between his arms.

Of course, it wasn't something you two planned. And of course, it wasn't something you two were expecting. But you have never felt this blissfulness in your life. You're in a rollercoaster of emotions right now, just like your boyfriend who doesn't know what to say, nor what to do more than to spread a bunch of kisses all around your face trying to transmit you every single thing he is feeling right now.

Since Laura left him, Antonio thought he would never be loved with so much intensity, and then, you clapped eyes on each other. You know him ever since practically, but that time was different. You had a rare day in the hospital and he had closed a two-months investigation satisfactory. But you were tired like never before, feeling vulnerable and with a mix of emotions roaming your bodies. You came to the District looking for your father, but he was gone to celebrate already, so he offered himself to drive you home. And it just simply happened.

One year after, you're expecting your first baby. And probably not the last.

“Making friends?”

The well known tone of voice of your father interrupts your moment. Your bodies are frozen against the other, putting distance between both slowly. Gulping and turning toward the sergeant, you watch him waving a hand waiting for an answer. The tip of his tongue licks his teeth, arching an eyebrow as his face hardens. You aren't able to say anything, looking at your boyfriend who seems more terrified than you, rubbing his forehead.

“Hm…”

Your father grabs his gun from the holster on his belt, taking the safety off. You know he's just pressuring you to talk, but you block his possible target by putting ahead of Antonio. Just in case.

“Dad… Dad, list—listen”.

“I'm listening, baby girl”. He scoffs, placing his hands crossed under his abdomen.

“We… Uh…” Your heart is racing so fast that you're afraid to collapse, until you feel one of Antonio's hands hold yours, placing himself by your side. “We're together… like… a couple”.

“You're not anymore. Go home and wait for me there”.

“Da—”.

“Don't make me say it twice, (Y/N)”.

“Go. We will talk later, I promise you”. Your boyfriend's whisper doesn't make you feel convinced, but you obey in silence not being another option.

With your arms around your abdomen and your hands trembling tangled on your own uniform, you leave the District looking back every two seconds. It's not like Hank controls your life, but this is a question of honor, and you trust in Antonio. You know they need to be alone to talk some sense into him. But you also know what is going to happen.

Two long hours sitting on your sofa, desperate with your phone between both fingers waiting for a call, a text, anything. You knew it wasn't a good idea to hide it from your father, but to be honest, you didn't know that Antonio and you could go that far. The baby wasn't something planned, it just happened. You haven't even had time to react, but you still have some hope. Hank would never forbid you to continue this relationship now that you're pregnant. Though you know it's not going to be easy for him to assimilate it.

When the lights of a big SUV illuminates the street and the facade of your house, you don't lose time getting up from your seat to run to the entrance, opening the door and waiting for your father to say something as he steps out of his car. He doesn't look happy, not at all. You've lied to him all this time and you're aware of how hurt his ego is right now. It's going to cost you more than a sorry to bring back his trust in you. Licking your bottom lip in silence, you can't help but go downstairs to meet him on his path.

Hank has his hands kept in the pocket of his jeans with a rough and disappointed gesture in his face. You aren't sure what to say, being just a couple steps away from him.

“Maybe Antonio tripped and broke his nose”. He just says with feigned innocence, causing you to arch an eyebrow and cross your arms on your chest. “He's in the Chicago Med. You should go”.

Your father is about to pass you away to the inside when you stop him by a hand on his chest, pushing him back to face you.

“You're still my favorite man on earth”. You mumble bowing your head down for a second, till he holds your hand to place a kiss on the back of it.

“That's why he isn't dead, princess”.

“Isn't it because I am pregnant, and he is the father?” Not trying to contain a soft grin, you grab his other hand to lace your fingers with his and place them on your belly, knowing it's going to work.

“His grandfather is more than enough”. Hank replies squinting at you, before tilting his head to press a kiss on your forehead.

Leaving the front of your house straight to your car, he waits for you outside till you abandon your neighborhood to take the highway and reach the hospital faster. You're ashamed, you can't lie, but if your father didn't have a single scratch means that Antonio didn't hit him back, which is good. He still knows who the alpha is. You can go against the world, but not against Hank Voight. That's a fact. Everybody in Chicago knows it.

Not caring too much about how you park your car, your legs move quicker to the Emergencies being received by Will, who is trying to not laugh pressing both lips against the other. Making you a sign with a silent congratulations, your eyes travel around the open doors till finding Antonio sitting on a stretcher with his head bowed down, swinging his feet.

Knocking on the white metallic frame, you stick your head out of it with a sweet smile on the corner of your lips. “Need a ride back home, inspector?”

“May I need a nurse too”.

His brown eyes have a shine that only appears in them when he sees you after a long, long day; when he's about to be hugged by you, kissed, touched, loved. Putting down from the stretcher, you help your boyfriend to wear his jacket and zip it up over his torso.

“You okay?” Feeling your cheeks burning because of the shame, you put both hands on his neck to take a look of his nose covered with a gauze.

“He just threatened me and punched me. Honestly, I thought he would bring me to a remote place to make me dig my own grave. I think it did quite well, don't you?”

Antonio's positivism makes you laugh, nodding with your chin. Holding your arms and taking them to his mouth, he kisses both with so much care and tenderness, before tilting his head to catch your lips between his. At first, it's weird and awkward for you to be kissen for him in public, after a year hiding it. But it only lasts a short second. You can't wait to stop containing your impulses for hugging him and holding his hand and calling him amor in front of all; not in front of your dad, obviously. You're too young to die.

#lemme know what you think in a comment! ⚡#chicago pd #chicago pd imagine #chicago pd x reader #antonio dawson #antonio dawson x reader #antonio dawson imagine

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charliedawn · 3 years

Text

Imagine being an old classmate of Lucius and him stumbling upon your shop

As soon as the blond boy enters your shop, you know that trouble is not far behind. The boy is touching an item when another man comes in and warns the child by hitting his hand that was handling said item with his cane, sending him a stern look.

" Come on, Scorpius. Stop acting like a child. You shouldn't touch things that aren't yours. Your father would be ashamed.."

The voice, the look, the hair..Oh no..You would have recognized that condescending tone anywhere. You are about to back away slowly and hide in the back shop when the man coughs from behind you to get your attention.

" Shopkeeper, I am searching for a crystal ball for my grandson's class of Divination. Do you have any of those ?"

The hair at the back of your neck stand on edge at the pompous voice dripping with disdain, but you force yourself to smile and turn around to greet the client.

" For sure, sir. Please, follow me."

He doesn't seem to have recognized you yet and you thank Merlin for that miracle. You show him the different crystal balls and he inspects each one of them with the minutiae of a true expert, but you know that deep down, he is absolutely clueless. You almost let out a snort when he chooses the most useless of the crystal balls to buy, surely because it is the most expensive one and that the Malfoys ever had only one motto : Higher is the price Better quality it must be. You still cash it in and try to contain your laughter at the bad deal the man had just bestowed upon himself. However, you fail to see his brat outside, practicing the Alohomora spell on your front door and before you could truly comprehend what had happened, your door shuts close and traps you both inside. Lucius pales at his grandson's action and immediately withdraws his wand to open the door, but the spell doesn't work and he groans in annoyance.

" What is this ?! Why don't my spells work ?!"

You sigh before looking at your watch..6 o'clock. Of course.

" It won't work. Because of the many thieves roaming the street at night, I spelled this door to not succumb to any spell after 6 o'clock at night..It won't open until 6 o'clock tomorrow morning."

He turns towards you, obviously unnerved and is about to yell at your incompetence when a sudden glimmer of recognition lits up his eyes.

" Wait..I know you..You were in my house. Your name is Y/N, isn't it ?"

You scoff before mockingly clapping.

" Bravo ! Took you long enough.."

He growls at your mocking gesture before looking at the door with a scowl.

" Were you always that irresponsible ?"

You rise an eyebrow before rebutting.

" And you, were you always that annoying ? On second thoughts, don't answer that..this is why nobody invited you to the Yule Ball !"

He blushes in embarrassment and mumbles angrily.

" Why you little..Because I had Narcissa !"

You roll your eyes before replying with a jeering tone.

" Thanks Merlin, you had her ! Or you would still be a virgin !"

You would have never thought to see such passionate hatred in Lucius' eyes, him who usually remained so calm and who always had the perfect comeback. But, as you are both trapped, you sigh before getting two chairs and placing them next to each other while he stands still. You sit down and cross your arms before sighing exasperatedly at him.

" Are you going to stay up all night ? Come on, I don't bite..often."

He humphs at that last part before looking at the chair, maybe trying to decipher if there are any traps under the cushion. But, he finally indulges. You both sit next to each other in silence until Lucius sighs and admits.

" You're wrong, you know ? Someone did invite me..I never knew who it was though ? However, what I do remember, is the effort they had put inside the letter..The silver lines moving like snakes around the paper and the green velvet envelope..They even used perfume: a rich fragrance of mint, leather and a hint of fresh nightingale. No name had been written though and this is why I thought it was Narcissa, since she had been trying to find a way to invite me for a while..But then, I asked her about it and she never dared to admit that it was her who wrote it, I found it cute at the time..But now that the divorce is in motion, I really doubt that it was her."

He sighs loudly before pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers, exhausted. You had noticed the heavy eyebags and could only imagine what a single grandfather Lucius could be like. No wonder his grandkid locked him inside. But, since he had been nice enough to share his worries with you, it's only normal that you do the same.

" My shop is on the verge of collapsing, nobody is interested in buying quills and papers now that they have those damn muggle phones..It must be me ? I live in the past and now, reality is hitting me hard in the face.."

He listens to you without interrupting and smiles nearly compassionately at you.

" Guess muggles aren't that great anymore, huh ? I knew that, at some point, our worlds would merge, I just didn't want the Wizarding World to be lost forever..It's sad really."

You can't help but laugh bitterly at his comment.

" A Malfoy will remain a Malfoy ! Always with your ideas of purity and against any kind of change ! If you had just been a little more open-minded, maybe you wouldn't be the most hated family in all the Wizarding World ?"

He only scoffs dismissively at your comment.

" What is the point of being liked when you have power ?"

You look at him and smirk.

" Power ? True power doesn't come from money, Lucius..If you had been paying a little bit more attention, you would have known that power comes in many different shapes and forms..Everybody could have power over anybody, if they only know how to play their assets.. "

He arks an eyebrow at you before smirking as well and asks almost daringly.

" Really ? And what power do you have over me then ?"

The both of you ferociously stare at each other for a while and then, you finally decide to jump on him and tackle him to the ground, to his greatest astonishment. Before he can do anything, you take his cane and throw it away. You then take some nearby rope and, in a few minutes, Lucius is defenseless. When he tries to speak, you put your hand around his throat and squeeze. He grits his teeths and you smile victoriously.

" What was that you were saying about true power ? See how easy it was for me to take the upper hand ? You Malfoy men, always playing the same dangerous game..Over and over again. Never learning that it takes a woman to truly feel powerful..Now that Narcissa is gone, it would be a shame if I were to bite your head off ? Who is going to save you ? Your son ? I doubt it..He hates you. Your wife was your best protection, people always underestimate the power of a mother..But, dear Lucius, you should have known better than treat everyone you come across as pathetic worthless worms..Now, you can either tell me that you were wrong, or I'll tell everyone that a mere half-blood has put the great Lucius Malfoy on his back.."

His eyes widen at the revelation before remembering that he had never seen your mother..Your father was a metamorphmagus and many respected him and that had always been enough..He should have definitely digged deeper. He groans, trying to free himself, but to no avail. He finally glares up at you with everything he feels: disgust being a very distinctive look on him.

" Let me go this instant, you filthy mud..!"

But before he could finish his sentence, you bit his shoulder so profoundly that he finds himself on the verge of screaming..He only hisses instead and you then whisper in his ear.

" Ask nicely..and I may consider it."

He sighs, how could he have been so stupid ? And now, he is pretty sure the memory of submitting to the halfblood would stay in his mind forever..

" Could you please let me go ?"

He finally asks politely but, he is surprised when you start kissing up the side of his neck.

" See ? You can be nice when you want to.."

He groans, still frustrated, but also strangely aroused by all this..But, of course that, he would never admit it to you. He only closes his eyes and hopes that you will stop when you notice that he isn't paying attention to you anymore. However, you aren't going to let him go so easily. You take him suddenly by the chin to force him to look back at your flashing yellow eyes and, to his surprise, you growl.

" Eyes on me, pretty boy..You wanted to see real power ? I'll show you what real power looks like.."

Again, you attack his neck and grind against him until he sees stars.

" You..You will never.."

He tries to speak, but his words get lost when you get him out of his coat and throw it to the ground carelessly.

" Hey ! That coat costs more than your whole damn muggle shop !"

You bite him again, a little less hard on his clavicle, only to shut him up again and roll your eyes playfully at him.

" Me who always thought that you were an ice king, you are just a snow princess.."

He opens his eyes wide at the nickname before glaring at you.

" What did you call me, parasite ?"

You dramatically put your hand at the level of your chest, as if the insult had hurt you before smirking down at him.

" What ? Is that the best you got ? Parasite ? Well, don't forget that said parasite is the one who is making you harder than rock right now..Must hurt, isn't it baby ?"

He clenches his jaw hard at your taunting tone before suddenly raising his pelvis to hit yours, making you moan loudly. When you open your eyes again, he is grinning up at you and asks mockingly.

" What was that ? I thought you said you were going to show me power, but all I hear are the purrs of a pitiful kitten who thinks she is a predator.."

You growl and put your hands around his throat. You aren't playing anymore and want to kill him..To kill him for everything he had done, everything he was..

" Die, you piece of trash !"

But, far from being affected by your sudden death sentence, Lucius only smiles weakly at you and takes your wrists that are shaking around his throat. He takes your moment of inattention to flip you under him, your wrists pinned to the floor.

" It isn't fair.."

You mumble almost in tears as he frowns in incomprehension at you. Why are you crying ? You are the one who had attacked him first, and now you are the one saying that it isn't fair ? As if you could read minds, you try to explain.

" I tried so hard to escape..To escape from you Malfoys and the misery that you seem to surround those who try to get close to you..But even years later, I still end up crossing your damned path !"

He tilts his head to the side, surprised by your sudden outburst and stares at you while you start sobbing and wiggle to set yourself free. When he is sure that you aren't going to attack him again, he slowly shifts his hands from around your wrists to gently wrap them around your waist. He then cradles you in his arms and puts his chin on the top of your head before closing his eyes, calmly stroking your back with his hand to soothe you. It takes a few moments for the both of you to calm down and get back to a normal regular breathing rhythm.

" Soon, I'll be out of your shop and you will never see me again.."

You know that he is trying to reassure you, but the realization makes your heart skip a beat in fear. You would not see him again..He would never know who wrote him that letter all those years ago..He would forget about you. Narcissa had been clear on what would happen to you if you ever dared tell him who was the true writer of the letter..But, would it really matter now ? Narcissa was gone and Lucius was there, his arms wrapped around you. Also, surprisingly, had not make a move to get his wand back to Avada Kedavra you yet. It was a good sign, right ? You look up at him and as soon as your eyes meet, you know that he isn't going to hurt you. You then look at the crystal bowl that he had bought, broken and splattered on the floor. You sigh before reluctantly standing up and getting your most precious crystal ball out of the shelf and giving it to him. He frowns in confusion at your gift.

" What are you doing ? I haven't paid for that one.."

You smile genuinely up at Lucius before silently picking his coat up and running your hand on the soft material before giving it back to him as well.

" I think it should be better if you would take a moment to rest, Mr Malfoy..My behavior was inappropriate and I shouldn't have acted the way I did. It was foolish of me and I humbly ask that you do not sue the shop for my mistake. It is already in a very bad condition and I do not have the money to pay you back for what I did to you.."

He opens his eyes wide in shock before looking at the items in his hands, and finally lays them on a nearby table.

" I do not care about all that now. I don't even understand you. At first, you say that you hate me and try to kill me, then you bite me and try to seduce me in a very odd and savage way, and now this ? What are you trying to tell me, Y/N ?"

You bawl your hands into fists and bite your inner cheek in order not to say anything and turn around to leave. He is to never know who you are or why you are angry at him..You thought he was smart, but you had to admit that he was not the one you thought he was.

" This is where we part ways, my ice prince. Tomorrow, you will come back to your kingdom of paper people and fake happiness and I'll be just another insignificant person that you will forget..Until then, I suggest we both sleep our separate ways. The sofa on your right will be just enough comfort for you and I'll be sleeping in the back with the best company one can have: books."

He stares at you for a few seconds, dumbfounded, before following you and locking the door behind him. You squint your eyes suspiciously as he flashes you a dark grin.

" After all this time, I finally found you.."

The dangerous vibe he is giving you makes you quiver in fear and you step back until you hit the wall. He chuckles at you poor attempt to escape and when he looks up at you again, you can see that his icy blue eyes are nearly glowing in the dark. He gets out his cane that you regret not having taken and slowly makes his way to you, running the tip of his wand on the many books kept on the shelves. You suddenly feel cold sweat running down your back, is he going to kill you ? You wonder as he stops just in front of you and his eyes brighten as he slowly makes a mental map of your body with his eyes that give away a certain appreciation..Is he planning on disposing of your body piece by piece ? Suddenly, he take you by the jaw and forces you to look directly in his eyes as he runs the tip of his wand on your cheek, neck and collarbone. He then leans forward and whispers in his low baritone voice.

" I hope you had fun teasing me..Because it will be the last time I'll ever allow you to make a fool out of me..What ? You thought I wouldn't recognize the perfume ? You stink of the same thing you sprayed that letter ages ago..And, if it wasn't for that, there is only one person that I've ever heard call me ice prince."

He knew. He knows. Oh no..You feel your eyes sprinkle with tears in front of the truth. When you think things couldn't get any worse, he summons said letter with his magic and smirks at your horrified expression.

" I kept it. Want me to refresh your memory ?"

He doesn't wait for an answer before starting reading out loud the subject of your embarrassment.

" My ice prince, I have been considering over the past few months to ask you humbly to accompany me to the Yule Ball. My dreams are filled with your scent and marvelous blue eyes that seem to light up a path to Heaven. When I close my eyes, my thoughts are filled with images of your delicate..Oh my !"

He stops abruptly and glances at you with a sinful smile.

" I had forgotten how detailed the letter was..I remember making Narcissa very happy the following day. To think that it could have been you..You must be feeling so disappointed.."

You blush vividly and try to get out of his grip by scratching his face, but he takes both of wrists and pins them above your head with one hand before continuing reading, not the least bothered.

"Oh no, my darling..You'll stay right there and listen to every word you wrote me..You'll listen and I'll make sure that you remember all of them by heart by the end of the night.. That way, you can shout all you want about how you've put the great Malfoy on his back, but I'll have the immense pleasure to tell everyone who I've succeeded in bringing to her knees."

Your heartbeat quickens at his words and you try to get back up, but Lucius doesn't let you. He pins you down to the table while motioning you to stay quiet.

" You..You're evil.."

You manage to gasp out and he chuckles, as if the insult in itself was some kind of hilarious joke.

" Coming from you ? It's a compliment, my dear..You bit me and tried to kill me. Now, where was I ? Ah, yes..Your delicate hands around my throat and your tongue against the crook of my neck.."

He leans in and slowly and sensually licks your neck from your collarbone to that place behind your ear. He then proceeds to whisper in the shell of your ear.

" I must admit, you are far more responsive than Narcissa at the time.."

His hand lowers itself agonizingly slow down your waist until he reaches your waist and suddenly uses it as leverage to drag you towards him brutally, as if to make you realize that it is happening, that he is here, that it isn't all just a dream..

" Your lips look irresistibly pleasing, my dear..Mind if I get a taste ?"

Before you can say anything, his lips are upon yours and his tongue is invading every crevice of your mouth. You roll your hips against him as a response and he slowly drags his other hand from your wrist to your throat. He squeezes lightly and with your free hands, you cradle his face for him to stay still.

"..I've never seen such beautiful sapphire eyes and only the thought of you makes me want to sing and dance.."

The letter falls from his hand as he understands that he doesn't have to remind you..as you've never truly forgotten. He kisses you again, but sweetly this time. Before you can continue however, he stands up and gets out of the room, leaving you hot and bothered.

" What are you doing ?!"

You yell, almost in despair and he only chuckles before closing the door behind him.

" I did what I said. You won't forget that letter any time soon..However, I can't allow myself to be seen with an half-blood..It would be improper."

" Im..Improper..?"

You repeat, as if dumbstruck by the fact that you may have been played with..You look at the door with a glare before getting up and walking determinedly towards the door. You try to open it, but find it locked.

" Lucius ! Open this door right now !"

But you are only met with a laugh from the other side.

" Good night."

You try to open it by force, but it doesn't work and you can't do anything but declare defeat. You get back to the table and sit on it before burying your face in your arms, trying to muffle your tears as Lucius had, once again, tricked you. But, to your surprise, you hear the door opening and see Lucius standing there, guilt written all over his features.

" I..I didn't think that you would actually cry.."

You don't know what angers you the most : his genuine shock or the fact that he is now staring at you, completely lost ? You try to get past him, but he doesn't let you and cages you in his arms.

" Come on..You know I was only playing. I was going to open it soon enough.."

You try to get out of his grip, but the man is not ready to let you go any time soon. He even tightens his hold on you and you finally lean back, inhaling his very expensive cologne.

" Am I just a game to you, Lucius ?"

You ask with a heavy heart and he decides to answer truthfully.

" At first..you were. But, now ? I don't think so. After the war, I understood that I may have acted wrong. I'm still trying to get better. I may have had very bad ideas over this concept of pure-blood supremacy and other..But, I know now thanks to my son and my grandson that I acted out and I wish to make amends. I truly do. This is why, I think I want to give it a try..Will you help me ? Please ?"

You are taken aback by such honesty in Lucius, but still nod in agreement.

" I have had many phases in my life, some when I hated you and some when I lov..liked you. I don't think that you are a bad man, Lucius. I just think that you are a very ambitious and very proud person. If you could just spend some time with people like me..You would see that we aren't so different..This is why I'm willing to make the first step."

He looks at your outstretched hand for a moment before finally taking it with a small smile.

" I'm looking forward to working with you, Miss Y/N."

The next day, Lucius is finally free from the shop and remains courteous. He even apologizes on behalf of his grandson and Draco seems surprised by his sudden change in behavior.

" Did you use magic on him or what ?"

He asks you in a whisper, but you only laugh heartily and shake your head.

" No. I just talked to him..and he listened."

Lucius smiles, his eyes creasing a bit and you glance at each other with a knowing look. Lucius would be back. He had still much to learn afterall..

#lucius malfoy x you #harry potter #lucius malfoy #lucius malfoy x reader #scorpius malfoy #draco malfoy #fandoms #imagine

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buoyantsaturn · 3 years

Text

megamind type beat (1/1)

warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH

summary: If Nico asked, Will might even let the world fall to ashes around them.

word count: 2025

read on ao3

Will Solace was a little bit in love with Nico di Angelo.

Everything about Nico was perfect in Will’s eyes, despite how opposite the two of them were. While Will was incredibly extroverted, Nico was quiet and reserved, though when the two of them were alone, Nico would light up - and sometimes, it was difficult to get him to shut up once he got excited. The two of them already spent almost every waking hour together, but Will would make it more in a heartbeat if he could.

If Nico asked, Will might even let the world fall to ashes around them.

Nico knew more about Will than anybody in the world, though there was one secret Will had never been able to share, no matter how much he wished he could, and that was the truth about Will’s identity.

He knew nothing about Will’s superpowers, or the high-tech weapons that Will kept locked away but always nearby in case of a supervillain-sized emergency. It was the only thing that Will had ever kept from Nico, but every day Will felt like Nico never really knew the real him.

And, okay, he’d never told Nico how he felt about him, either.

Will never wanted to risk ruining their friendship over a dumb crush (which was how it started, but now Will really was fully head-over-heels in love with Nico), especially when Nico didn’t really seem to have many other friends, so Will had never acted on his feelings.

It didn’t help that, just about every time that he did plan some way to confess, the world would start falling down around them. And, of course, it was Will’s job to fix that.

As Solar Flare, Will was the perfect hero to fight Nightmare, a villain who only attacked the city at its darkest times, both physically and emotionally. He had confessed to Solar Flare once that he often waited until the city was at its weakest, late at night or after some kind of tragedy, because it would be easier to cause mass chaos and destruction. Will sometimes wondered if Nightmare caused those tragedies as a setup for the next night’s evil plan.

Will had been on his way to surprise Nico with pizza and video games when he heard the city’s siren go off. It was one that had formerly been used to warn about incoming tornadoes, but now was recognized to mean supervillains are attacking, take cover. Will had hastily handed off his box of pizza to a homeless man on the nearest corner before ducking into an alleyway to change into his bright white-and-yellow spandex suit. (Why did heroes always have to wear spandex? There was never any padding in those things, and he bruised like a peach.)

Will had appreciated the quietness of the last week - he’d gotten to spend plenty of time with Nico and caught up on some of the homework from his community college classes (because he couldn’t rely on a superhero’s salary forever) - though he’d been getting antsy about his next fight with Nightmare. He could feel that the other had had something cooking for sometime, and Will had a few new weapons he wanted to try out, as well.

He caught up with Nightmare in the middle of Central Park; it hadn’t been difficult to trace the pained screaming back to that spot. The villain’s clothes were always black as night, likely to make it easier for him to move around undetected in the darkness, and his head was surrounded by something similar to a solid black motorcycle helmet. When Will had first seen it, it had reminded him of Daft Punk - though mentioning that had gotten him shot with some kind of laser-ice-beam gun that left him with a minor case of frostbite in the middle of summer. Will was certain that the inside of that helmet was full of computer screens, similar to how Iron Man’s helmet looked in the movies.

Will tried to sneak up on him, but his helmet must’ve gotten an upgrade recently - new sensors, or maybe a backup camera - because that creepy, auto-tuned voice that the helmet produced announced, “You’re late to the party, Lampshade Man.”

Will huffed. “It’s Solar Flare, and you know that.”

“Sure,” Nightmare replied, “but you’re cute when you pout like that.”

Will blinked, thrown off guard for just a second, though it wasn’t long enough for Nightmare to spin around and shoot him with some kind of stun gun. Will avoided the shot easily, and charged forward in an attempt to tackle Nightmare, though the other seemingly vanished into thin air before appearing again a few feet away.

“What’s the plan, Nightmare?” Will demanded, staying on his toes but knowing that this game of cat and mouse would only tire himself out.

“I could ask you the same question,” he replied. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

He had, actually, but he’d wanted a confirmation. He’d stayed up too late after too many fights, piecing together little bits of information here and there until the wall of his bedroom looked like a total conspiracy theory board. Some of the weapons Nightmare had been testing, some of the things he’d mentioned from his past in his evil monologuing, it was all leading up to one thing. A machine that could suck the soul out of a person in order to bring someone back to life. The only thing Will couldn’t figure out was why.

His mind jumped back to Nico, as it so often did. How he’d mentioned the loss of a sister, and how he would do anything to bring her back, if only he’d had the power. It had broken Will’s heart at the time, and now, seeing Nightmare trying to do something similar, Will was filled with rage.

“You can’t play God,” Will told him, his voice shaking with anger. “Everybody loses somebody important, and there’s nothing you can do to bring them back. All you’re going to do is hurt innocent people, and make others feel the same pain of losing a loved one. Now, destroy your machine, or I’ll be forced to do it for you.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Nightmare said, holding up a remote and hitting one of the buttons. Suddenly, the screaming around them amplified as more people succumbed to what must have been a horrible pain. Will glanced around, trying to locate some sort of central point, though the noise was echoing all around them.

“What are you doing to them?” Will demanded, his eyes searching for Nightmare, though he only saw subtle flashes in the dark - the villain was taunting him, moving just too fast for Will to see.

“Draining the life out of them, of course,” Nightmare said, suddenly right behind him, and Will barely had a second to whip around and attack. Normally, he would aim for the head to incapacitate his enemy - a bank robber, or some drunk trying to start a street brawl - but the helmet prevented Nightmare from taking damage that way, so Will aimed for the stomach instead.

Luckily for him, it appeared that villains were a part of the spandex curse as well, because Nightmare had nothing to cushion the impact of Will’s elbow into his gut. Nightmare groaned from the hit, curling inward and allowing Will the time to spin around and continue his assault.

He’d never gotten close enough to touch Nightmare - always fighting with ranged weapons at a distance - but now that he could, he hardly believed that there was really a person inside Nightmare’s suit. His body was so cold to the touch, and whenever Will tried to grasp at an arm or a leg, his hand almost seemed to pass through him before finding purchase.

And Nightmare, it seemed, was better at hand-to-hand combat than he was with a weapon. Despite being smaller in stature, he nearly overpowered Will more than a few times, leaving Will to resort to reaching for a weapon for what he hoped was the last time.

He could end it all - he finally had Nightmare in his grasp, and he could finish him. Will could go back to fighting petty crime and spending his nights on the couch beside Nico, stuffing himself full of junk food and bingeing movies. He could get his life back, and all it would cost was him taking the life of someone else.

Wasn’t that what this was leading up to all along?

Will pulled a small, golden dagger from his belt and lodged it between Nightmare’s ribs, feeling the other man suddenly solidify, hearing him gasp through the strange auto-tuned effect, and then he collapsed, the remote falling out of his hand as he did so.

Will lunged for the remote. He couldn’t see it very well in the dark, but there were only a few buttons, so one of them had to be off. He jammed at each button until the screaming around them started to die down, no longer cries of active pain but of a slowly fading injury, shouts of fear and shouts for help.

Will would check on all of them soon. First, he needed to unmask his long-time enemy.

He could hear Nightmare’s pained breathing being projected through his helmet, though his breaths were shallow. Will could barely see any movement of his chest in the distant glow of the streetlight, though he saw the shine of blood pouring from the knife wound in his chest. Will knelt beside him and reached for the helmet, tugging it off without trying to cause any more unnecessary injury, and the object nearly slipped between his fingers when Will’s eyes landed on the face he revealed.

He tossed the helmet aside, bending down to get a closer look and brushing the hair out of the other man’s face and there was Nico, his Nico, the love of his life with a knife wound in his chest, Will’s knife sticking out of his chest, and Will couldn’t breathe.

“No,” Will choked, forgetting everything he learned from his CPR training and pulling Nico’s head to rest on his lap as tears started to streak down his face. “No, this can’t be happening. You can’t be--”

“Will,” Nico croaked, and Will’s heart stopped, but no, Nico wasn’t looking at him - he was looking past Will. He wasn’t about to beg Will for mercy, or plead for his life, or demand to know why his best friend had done this to him. He was calling, reaching out for some sense of comfort in the end, and Will felt himself sob.

“I’m right here,” Will whispered, reaching to apply pressure to the wound without jostling the knife, though Nico still grimaced in pain. “Sorry, I’m sorry. Nico,” he cried, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know, I would never-- I love you, Nico, and help is on the way, okay? I’ll save you - I’ll do whatever it takes. I promise.”

“Will,” Nico tried again, and the movement of his tongue pushed a drop of blood from the corner of his mouth, “hurts.”

“I know,” Will replied, his vision clouding with tears. “Don’t talk, Nico. Save your strength. You’ll be okay.”

“Can’t--” Nico wheezed, and coughed, and choked.

“Nico,” Will said, louder than before, begging for his attention. “Nico, look at me.”

Nico’s eyes rolled back, and his head tipped to follow. Will patted his cheek, trying to wake him up once more, though all he did was smear Nico’s face with his own blood.

“No, no, no,” Will choked, curling forward to press his forehead to Nico’s. “I’m sorry, Nico, please, I’ll do anything!”

Nico didn’t move. He didn’t breathe.

Will lowered him back to the ground, and felt his hand hit something as it slid out from underneath Nico’s head.

The remote.

The remote to the machine Nico had created to bring his sister back to life. The remote that, at the cost of one other human life - or more, Will didn’t actually know - could bring Nico back to him.

Could Will bring himself to make that sacrifice?

His thumb hovered over the buttons.

thanks for reading!!

buy me a coffee

#solangelo #will solace #nico di angelo #mine #my writing #seriously. severe angst warning <3 read with caution <3

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oscar-lettjohanssonloveme · 3 years

Text

Glide (Miss Venable x reader)

a/n: hello :3 here we have another song fanfiction whoohoo- uhm Glide (by Lxandra) don't expect too much haha.. its angsty i guess lol :7 oh and its really long-

summary: I am really bad at this holy shit.. I guess its about the “"relationship” between you and Miss Venable (relationship is a weird word-)

warnings: alcohol, talking about depression and suicide (but nobody's actually depressed), notes of sex

google translate :’D

"So, Miss Y / L / N", Mister Langdon finally said as he stepped around the table to stand in front of you.

"After telling me about your homosexuality, I would like to know if you are currently in love?"

You narrowed your eyes at the man in front of you.

"What kind of stupid question is that? Is this the part where we braid each other's hair and talk about our high school crushes?"

"Answer. My. Question.", the Man growled.

"Okay okay," you muttered quickly. "Uhm, well let me think about it for a minute."

--------------------

It all started when Miss Venable heard you scream one night.

You had been at Outpost 3 for a few months at this point and in all that time you hadn't spoken a lot and spent the entire time in your room except for meals.

The others didn't know much about you. They knew, you were one of the youngest residents of the Outpost and that you had left your family behind. And of course they knew your name. But that was all.

You spent a lot of time thinking about your family. Your relationship with your parents wasn't ideal, but you still missed them. And if you had known a year ago where you were today, you would have done a few things differently. Celebrating Christmas with them one last time, vacationing with them, simply spending the time peacefully with them instead of arguing.

Usually you cried quietly to yourself, with your head buried under your pillow, hoping, that everyone would forget you existed, but crying wasn't enough tonight and after dinner you snuck into the kitchen to steal a bottle of the red wine, that you smuggled into your room afterwards.

It was now 1 a.m., the bottle was almost empty, and hours ago you had started tossing the items you had in your room. Your clothes were scattered on the floor, while you had tossed the boring books from the library against the wall. Your bed was a complete disaster and in all your anger you had torn the sheets. There were red wine stains on your pillows, which had almost slipped into the blazing fire of the fireplace after you tossed them off the bed.

And now all you could do was scream.

"Fuck you!" You shouted as you staggered in the room with the alcohol in one hand.

"Fuck you all! Fuck this apocalypse, fuck this outpost, fuck-"

"Miss Y / L / N" interrupted you a loud voice behind you and made you turn around.

Miss Venable was standing in the doorway in front of the locked door, staring at you in confusion.

"Ever heard of knocking?" You grumbled and hid the bottle behind your back.

"I knocked," Miss Venable hissed, her gaze wandering angrily over your chaos.

"And if you hadn't screamed so loud, you would probably have heard it. What the fuck do you think of making such a noise here at night? Stealing alcohol as well?"

"I uh- caught," you muttered as you put the bottle on the round table in front of you.

"Do you know what's really funny? We don't have anything to eat, but there is no end of alcohol. Whoever came up with that must be pretty stupid."

"It was my idea. I am in charge here, in case you forgot."

"Oh right," you sighed and slapped your forehead with the palm of your hand.

"Shit, well, i'm sorry, but what was your name again?"

"You forgot my name?" Asked Miss Venable sharply with raised eyebrows.

"Yeah," you muttered before collapsing onto your messy bed.

"But I know it was something weird."

Miss Venable glared at you, which of course you couldn't see because you were buried with your face in your blanket.

"Hopefully you realize this will be punished," she growled.

"Oh suck my dick", you grumbled. "You enjoy punishing others, don't you? You are a little psychopath"

You laughed softly into your blanket and noticed how you became more and more sleepy. You almost fell asleep if Miss Venable hadn't tapped her stick loudly on the floor.

"You will start cleaning up here immediately, otherwise it will be the last night you spend in this outpost."

"Oh shut up. You are totally mean to me," you moaned and pouted at the angry woman.

"Why are everyone always so mean to me? I haven't done anything wrong."

You got up on shaky legs to walk past her to the door, but you tripped and fell against Miss Venable.

"Wow," you mumbled as you stared into her brown eyes with your glassy ones and grabbed hold of her hips.

"I may not know your name, but I know, that you are really pretty"

"What the fuck is wrong withyou ?! "

Wilhemina pushed you away from her so that you stumbled backwards and landed on the floor.

You stared out at her with hurt eyes as tears welled up in your eyes.

"I didn't do anything," you yelled at Miss Venable, who was still leaning on her stick in front of you.

"It's not my fault, that you're beautiful. Be happy, others are ugly."

"That's enough," growled Miss Venable as she took a step towards you and grabbed your arm to pull you up.

"You're going to bed now."

"I'll do nothing," you mumbled and tried to pull yourself out of her grip, but you were way too drunk to use enough strength and she could push you like a doll on the bed.

You laughed again.

"Guess what, my bed is big enough for both of us, isn't that funny?"

You looked up at her playfully, or at least you tried.

"You beautiful woman. We-"

"Your behavior is disgusting," she interrupted as she leaned over to grab your chin. Immediately you fell silent.

"And my name is Miss Venable."

She looked down at you dangerously and you saw fire in her eyes when you started laughing out loud.

"Haha Miss Venable, I told you it was something weird," you shouted before you started screaming out loud.

"Miss Venable is beautiful whohoo. Can you all hear me? Miss Venable is beautiful. She-"

"What the hell", Miss Venable cut you off again and took her hand from your jaw to put it on your mouth.

"Are you going to be quiet at last?"

"M'sorry," you hummed against her hand and Miss Venable could see from the wrinkles around your eyes, that you were grinning under her hand.

"I want you to go to sleep now and clean up the chaos here tomorrow, do you understand me?" She asked in a sharp voice. But you just glared at her and wanted to bite her hand when she repeated her question.

"Do you understand me?" She barked louder and this time you nodded quickly.

"Good," she said happily as she took her hand from your mouth and straightened up again.

"Fuck you," you mumbled quietly and watched unhappily as the woman went to the sofa across from the fireplace and sat on it.

"Can't you just go?" You moaned as she leaned her cane against the edge of the sofa.

"Oh I'll go," she replied while staring into the fire.

"When you fell asleep."

You groan in annoyance.

"Is that supposed to be a joke?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

"Oh come on," you sighed and pulled your blanket over your head so she couldn't see you.

It was actually your plan to wait for her to go away, but at some point (who knows how much time had passed) you actually fell asleep.

Living my life in a bubble

Sometimes reality's too much for me

(I trip and fall into a dream)

Your love it gets me into trouble

Sometimes your gravity's too much for me

(It gets me weak in the knees)

------------

A week had passed and not much had happened. The next morning you woke up alone and with a big hangover and barely remembering what had happened the previous evening. Miss Venable had forced you to clean up the mess in your room after she had punished you for stealing the alcohol and as attractive as this woman was, she seemed genuinely angry about what had happened, even though it was actually nothing special. At least that's what you thought, but you couldn't remember either.

The world had ended and her problem was, that you had stolen a bottle of wine and ravaged your room. You wondered how fucked up her life must have been before the apocalypse, if that bothered her. And she wasn't the only one you wondered about.

The other residents of the outpost were all disgusting.

"Why do we have to eat this shit?"

"When are we getting out of here?"

"Why is life so unfair and let me be here with you idiots?"

You hate those ungrateful assholes. Everyone was dead and their only problem was, that they were still alive.

Other people deserved it so much more and the fact that mankind's only hope was in these conceited, stupid assholes seemed like a joke.

When you lay in bed that day and stared lost at the ceiling, you had lost all reference to reality. You didn't know what day it was or what month you were in. You also didn't know whether the last meal you ate was lunch or dinner, although a glance at the clock would have been enough. But you got tired of staring at the clock and watching the second hand, hoping something would happen.

Nothing changed anyway. And all you felt was that big feeling of loneliness that completely filled you. You were a very emotional person and all you wanted was someone who was normal. But everybody in this outpost was a huge disappointment. Conceited assholes, intimidated Grays and Miss Venable, who enjoyed punishing people.

Probably you would have started talking to yourself, but thank god you weren't there yet.

Sometimes you thought, it might be easier, if you opened up to others. But your body had become like a prison and you kept every thought trapped deep inside you because it did not match those of the others. Stupid assholes.

And while you continued to sink into your self-pity, you would probably have fallen asleep, if you hadn't been bothered by the sudden knock on your door.

"Fuck off," you moaned while staring angrily at the door, but the person standing in front of it only knocked one more time.

Asshole, you thought before reluctantly climbing out of bed to open your door.

"I said you should f- Oh Miss Venable," you stared at the woman in front of you.

"Are you here to punish me again for something pointless? If so, I can assure you it won't be necessary .. The wounds from last time still hurt, if you care."

Miss Venable screwed up her eyes.

"Well, Miss Y / L / N, actually I don't care, but if it still hurts, you seem to have learned your lesson," she replied coldly and you just snorted in annoyance.

"What do you want from me?"

"You are obviously depressed-" she started and you interrupted her immediately.

"What is that shit supposed to mean? I'm not depressed, I'm just sad. And since when have you been interested in how I'm doing?"

You glared at her with narrowed eyes, but her face still had the same deadly serious expression.

"You've been sad for a long time, don't you think?"

"I- uh".

You looked at her confused.

"All my friends are dead, it's only logical that I feel that way .. I find it rather questionable, that I'm the only one here, who feels that way."

"So?" Miss Venable raised an eyebrow, which made you even more insecure.

"I don't really care how you feel either. I just don't feel like wiping your blood off should you decide to kill yourself."

"Suicide isn't always bloody," you muttered.

"And because we don't have any doctors here-"

"By the way, that's the stupidest thing of all. You know, we have a hairstylist, but no doctors, you also notice that it doesn't make any sense, right?" You interrupted her and crossed your arms in front of your chest.

And again Miss Venable ignored your words and finished her sentence, which you had interrupted.

"..I thought that would help too."

Your eyes widened when you saw what she was pulling out from behind her back and immediately you started laughing.

"Are you serious? First you punish me brutally for stealing a bottle of red wine and now you come to give me one?" You laughed and stared down at the bottle she was holding out to you.

"What's worse is, that you think alcohol is replacing therapeutic treatment. That's pretty sad to be honest, Miss Venable."

Wilhemina narrowed her eyes.

"It's not sad, I just prefer red wine stains instead of stains from your blood," she growled.

"You can't possibly be serious," you mumbled and suddenly had to grin.

"You enjoyed punishing me, right? And now you're coming, because you need a reason to do it again."

"Oh come on," Miss Venable rolled her eyes.

"Take the bottle or don't take it, it's just an offer."

You were still staring at her in amazement. What was wrong with her that she thought this action would solve your problems? Another proof of how fucked up everything was and that the only person you could count on was yourself.

"Uhm, well thank you, Miss Venable," you stuttered and reached for the bottle.

"If you come over every evening and bring me a bottle, your diagnosis may work and I will have very different problems, than my sadness."

"Not funny," muttered Miss Venable, her lips pressed together.

"Well, good evening, Miss Y / N."

She turned around and started to leave and you could only stare after her in confusion. Evening?

Then you actually had dinner earlier, even though you could have sworn it was only lunch.

"Maybe you want to join me-?" You asked suddenly and were just as surprised by this question as Miss Venable, who turned to you.

"What?"

"I don't think getting drunk on my own would be fun," you added, stepping nervously from one foot to the other.

"You did it a week ago," replied Miss Venable and in the torchlight you could see the lines of confusion on her face.

"But I never said it was fun," you smiled crookedly as your grip tightened on the neck of the bottle.

"And I think it would be nicer to do that, in the presence of another person. Especially since you've already seen me drunk."

You looked at Miss Venable expectantly, although you did not know exactly what you were doing. It was probably just your desperate attempt to get someone's attention, simply because everyone, who has ever cared about you was dead. And you knew Miss Venable might not be the best choice. But while the others complained aloud about their suffering and argued about who was worse off, Miss Venable didn't show such feelings and kept her thoughts to herself. A circumstance with which you could somehow identify.

"Okay," Miss Venable finally muttered, surprising you one more time that day.

"Well, great," you said before stepping out the door frame to go back to your room. You sat on the other end of the sofa, across from where she sat a week ago. In your hand there was still the bottle of red wine and for whatever reason you were ashamed of this situation. Miss Venable brought you alcohol because she thought, you could use it to manage your sadness, or depression (as she called it). And if she had actually meant well, which was actually questionable with her, then you had to make a pretty pathetic impression on others.

"You cleaned up the mess," you heard Miss Venable's voice behind you, but it was more of a determination than an acknowledgment.

"And I just noticed that we have no glasses at all".

Your shoulders sagged at her words and for a moment you were afraid she would leave. But you heard her close the door behind her before she went to the sofa and sat down on the exact same place, that she had been sitting on a week ago.

You watched the woman confused, leaning her cane against the sofa.

Her gaze lifted to you and she stared at you as expectantly as you looked at her confused.

"What are you waiting for? Go into the kitchen and get glasses," Miss Venable uttered.

You blinked in surprise.

"I- I didn't know that was a request," you muttered before jumping up from the sofa to run from your room into the kitchen.

When you ran back to your room 5 minutes later with two wine glasses, Miss Venable was still sitting on the ugly fabric sofa just as she had done a few minutes earlier. And somehow there was something aesthetic about it.

Personally, you thought it was ridiculous, that everyone had to adapt to the Victorian style, just because she wanted to. But it was perfect for Miss Venable. As if it was made for it. Her red hair, which she always pinned up so strictly, then her almost black eyes and the lipstick. Also her pale skin and her cane. Even her strict personality perfectly matched the style of clothing.

"Do you want to stay in the door frame and stare at me, or are you finally coming now," Wilhemina hissed suddenly without moving even an inch and immediately a slight blush rose in your face.

"M'sorry," you muttered and quickly closed the door before going back to the sofa. After you sat down, you put the glasses in front of you on the table, where the wine bottle was now.

"I was just wondering," you explained as you poured the wine into your glasses.

"Why the Victorian style of all things?"

"Why not? It looks good," replied Miss Venable, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Well," you began before turning to give her her glass.

"The world is ending and you make us wear 10kg dresses, because you think it looks good?"

"Any better idea?" Miss Venable asked back, putting the glass to her lips.

"Uhm I, i don't know," you stuttered and watched Miss Venable as she drank her wine.

"Don't we have to be prepared somehow or something like that?"

You heard Miss Venable laugh quietly into her glass.

"Prepared?" She repeated with a small grin and put her glass back on the table.

"On what? For the aliens to come and get us out of here?"

You shrugged your shoulders.

"I don't know," you mumbled before you put your glass to your lips to take a sip of the bitter liquid and while you were drinking you could feel her gaze digging into your skin.

"By the way, I also find it very questionable what kind of people live in this outpost," you added, setting your Glas next to hers on the table.

Wilhemina let out a laugh. It was one of those laughs that you couldn't tell whether it was meant honestly or sarcastically.

"I'm not surprised you say that," she muttered.

"Is my dislike of the others that obvious?" you asked confused.

"I don't know if obviously this is the right word .. But what I do know, is that you always look disgusted when you see them, so I'm assuming you don't like them and to be honest, I like them neither.

Your confusion turned to laughter.

"Well," you said.

"With you it is obvious that you don't like any of them."

"These people are just as competent as they were poor. They are only here because of their money," she said disapprovingly.

You sighed thoughtfully.

"It's kind of sad, that money was the way in here. Scientists would have been so much more valuable. I'm only here because my grandfather had the money."

"What did you do before the apocalypse?" She asked you and you were surprised by this honest question.

"I went to college to study history," you replied when your gaze wandered into the fire.

"So I can judge that the Victorian style wasn't the most practical choice."

You heard Miss Venable snort in annoyance and you couldn't help but grin.

"And what did you do before the apocalypse?" You asked, turning your gaze back to her. Miss Venable seemed as surprised by your question as you were by hers.

"It's a little tricky," she began. "Basically, I built human robots."

"Robots?"

"Robots."

For a moment you stared at her in amazement. Miss Venable had averted her gaze from you and directed it to the wine glass in front of her.

"M'sorry, but if you've built human robots, why are you letting real people, the Grays, work for us? Wouldn't robots have been revolutionary in an apocalypse?"

Unlike you, Miss Venable seemed totally unaffected by this.

You watched as the redhead reached for her wine glass and took another sip of the blood red liquid.

"You are asking too many questions for my taste, Miss Y / L / N," said Miss Venable softly, putting her glass back on the table. And even though she kept her voice low, you could hear her indirect threat.

"To be honest, I'm amazed, that I'm the only one asking questions," you replied, trying to make eye contact with the woman next to you again, but Miss Venable's gaze was tied to the blazing fire in the fireplace and you could see a dark glint in their eyes.

"You shouldn't get involved in things that are none of your business," she said suddenly in a monotonous voice. "All over the world there are survivors and it is not your job to question my system, nobody has the right to do so. You are just one stupid survivor of many, nothing more"

You and I, we just glide

Through the night

We just drive, we get by

We just glide

----------------------

"Oh c'mon," you moaned and ran your tousled hair.

"God must hate me".

You stood on shaky legs from the library floor, that you fell on after stumbling into the room. You brushed the dirt off your skirt and realized with gritted teeth, that it was ruined.

"Seems like someone is having a bad day," you suddenly heard a voice say and immediately your mood worsened.

You straighten up again to meet Miss Venable's eyes. The woman sat on the right of the two leather sofas and with one hand clutched her cane, which was propped on the floor.

"Fuck you", you hissed before you let yourself fall on the sofa across from her.

"Oh, someone is having a very bad day," added Miss Venable, and you didn't have to look at her to see, that she was amused by your behavior,

"Yes, my day sucks and guess what, it's all your fault," you growled and glared angrily at her stick.

"When I got up this morning and wanted to leave my room, I got stuck in the door with my blouse and the whole sleeve was torn. Did you also notice, how much you sweat in these clothes? It's really hard to go at the toilet with these clothes .. I'm sorry, but what the hell was your idea, when you decided to give us a Victorian dress code? Did you have to make our life after the apocalypse even harder ? "

You pressed angrily your lips together and screwed up your eyes.

"You are the only person who complains about it," said Miss Venable and sounded not quite as amused as a minute before. You let out a dry laugh.

"The others are too scared of you, to tell you that," you said bitterly.

"Besides, what the hell are you doing here?"

You tore your gaze away from her stick to look directly into her dark eyes.

"Why shouldn't I be here?"

"Because you're never here and you didn't look like someone who'd like to hang out with Mr. Gallant or Coco."

"Well, neither Mr. Gallant nor Miss St. Pierre Vanderbilt are here right now, right? And besides, I could ask you the same thing", Miss Venable replied indifferently and somehow she was right. It was also a rarity to see you in the library as you actually spent most of the time in your room.

"I suppose my great sadness is over now .. or as you called it 'depression'. I'm more in the mood right now, that I don't care and I am angry at everything and now you are my victim. Your lipstick is smeared by the way", you sighed, although that was actually a lie, her lipstick was perfect as always. But in fact her eyes widened slightly and you couldn't help but enjoy this view.

"You're lying," hissed Miss Venable and you had to grin.

"Maybe".

You shrugged your shoulders.

"Maybe you'd better go and see, or you risk the others seeing you ruined makeup."

It was obvious that Miss Venable was a perfectionist woman and she wasn't going to let her position of power be challenged over a smeared lipstick. On the other hand, you were an extremely bad liar and Miss Venable wasn't stupid.

"You're lying," she repeated, only with her lips pressed together, giving you the sense of achievement you wanted.

"Mhh Miss Venable," you hummed as your eyes found her stick again.

"This cane .. when I saw you for the first time, I wondered if it was just a symbol of power or if you really needed it-"

"..And then you saw me walk with it," added Miss Venable with a bitter tone in her voice.

"Oh no," you quickly shook your head.

"It wasn't your walk that gave me the confirmation that you really need the stick. It could never be your walk, you walk so majestically with that stupid thing, that even people, who don't really need a cane and only use it as an accessory would look handicapped next to you."

It was probably a rather desperate attempt to put the whole thing in a compliment and Miss Venable did not answer your words either, but you could see in the glow of the fire how her pale skin turned a light red shade and that was enough for you.

"It was your grip to be honest," you continued.

Miss Venable frowned.

"My grip?"

"Yes," you nodded and started playing with the fabric of your skirt.

"Your fingers are always clenched so tightly around the handle, as if you wanted it to break through. As if you were trying to strangle it or something like that, i dont know."

The furrow on Wilhemina's forehead only got a little wider with your words.

"You seem to spend a lot of time watching what my hands are doing," she mumbled and this time it was you, who blushed.

"It was just an observation, that I made on the side," you stammered quickly when you realized, that from one moment to the next the conversation had taken a completely wrong direction. Miss Venable did not answer again and you did not have the courage to look her face again and so the next few seconds were filled with an embarrassing silence, although you could imagine that Miss Venable was enjoying your discomfort.

"May I take a look at your cane-?" You finally asked to break the silence.

"You want to take a look at my cane?" Repeated Miss Venable, surprised with raised eyebrows.

"Only if it's okay," you said quickly.

"You are the first person, who asks me that".

Miss Venable looked thoughtfully down at her cane, which was still in her hand.

"As I said, the others are too scared of you-"

"The others don't care," Miss Venable interrupted, and you didn't know if she was sad about it or if she didn't care. But we're talking about Wilhemina Venable, she probably didn't care.

The red-haired woman sighed before holding out her stick to you.

You grinned and tried to grab the staff, but before your fingers could touch the wood, Miss Venable pulled it back again.

"How can I be sure, that you won't break it up and use it to make firewood?", She asked you and you looked at her in horror.

"I would probably be the last person to do that," you said indignantly.

"On the contrary, I think you would be the only person in this outpost who would dare to."

Miss Venable held out her stick to you again and this time she let you reach for it.

You immediately noticed how light the wood was in your hand as you carefully ran your fingers over the stick.

"What kind of wood is that?" You asked quietly without looking up from her walker.

"I guess it was blackthorn".

Your fingers moved on to the handle of the stick, which was probably the most interesting thing. A metal handle in the shape of a raven skull served as a support for the hand.

"Doesn't that hurt?".

You lifted your gaze back to Miss Venable, who obviously didn't understand what to do with your question.

"Well, if I had to support myself with all my weight on this skull, it would hurt," you added and Wilhemina just shrugged her shoulders.

"Uhm, it's a beautiful cane," you muttered, handing it back to her.

"May I ask why you need it?"

"I don't know what this should have gotten to do with you," replied Miss Venable, not sounding as nice as before. If you could call it "nice".

"Okay okay, taboo subject, I got it," you said quickly, desperately searching your head for anything to keep the conversation going.

"Do you actually enjoy it? To have control over everyone here? And know that, that almost everyone is afraid of you?", You finally asked and leaned back against the sofa.

"You asked me that a few weeks ago, when you were drunk," remarked Miss Venable, looking down at her gloved fingers, which were wrapped around her cane again.

"Really?" You asked confused.

"More or less. It was more of an accusation."

"An accusation?"

Miss Venable hummed in agreement.

"I told you, that you would be punished for your behavior and you said I would enjoy it."

"I understand," you mumbled, still staring hard at her face.

"What else happened that evening?"

A smug smile danced on Wilhemina's lips and she took a moment to consider your question.

"Well, you made fun of my name," she finally began as she drummed her fingers on the skull-like handle of her stick.

"And then you said, that I was pretty and that I should be happy about it, because other people are ugly."

Your eyes froze as her words entered your brain.

Wrong turn. Wrong turn.

"Uhm .. You know, when I'm drunk I tend to perceive things a lot more intensely than they actually are and then I exaggerate occasionally," you tried desperately to get yourself out of this situation, but Miss Venable just let out a loud laugh and you realized, that you had failed miserably. You cleared your throat briefly and sat up straight again.

"You haven't answered my question yet," you said, trying to change the subject again.

"I wanted to know, if you enjoy all of this."

"Do I enjoy it if you don't obey my rules? No, I don't enjoy that, why should I?" Miss Venable said and again had that indifferent sound in her voice. Of course you knew that she had bypassed your question and that was enough to prove, that she enjoyed her monarchy in Outpost 3.

"You said earlier, that you had got over your grief. That's good to hear," said Miss Venable, and this time she was the one who changed the subject.

"I thought you didn't care what I felt".

You smiled contentedly and cocked your head. Somehow you liked this game of mutual debunking.

"I don't care either, I just wanted to be polite."

Your smile widened when you saw her fingers clench a little tighter around her stick.

"Miss Venable and polite, I don't think this is a well-working combination," you teased her and in the glow of the fire you could see her roll her eyes.

"You were a lot less tiring, when you were crying in your room all day," she muttered disapprovingly.

Why should it be such a struggle

When it means so much to you and me?

(I trip and fall into a dream)

Built like a ship in a bottle

Gotta handle you so delicately

------------------

I don't know what we got

But I know what I want

The silence is killing me softly

What. The. Fuck.

When you arrived at the Outpost a few months ago, you couldn't even have imagined in your deepest dreams, that you would ever end up in this situation.

You lay on your back, still staring at the ceiling with wide eyes as you tried to stabilize your breathing. Only now did you notice, that you had your arms wrapped around your chest and that your fingernails were digging painfully into the flesh of your shoulder. Your body lay rigid in her bed and you couldn't move an inch. You desperately tried to put the things that had happened in the right order.

Was it a stupid idea to go in Miss Venable's Bedroom? Yes, definitely. In retrospect, you didn't even know what exactly you wanted there. And actually you should have disappeared, after you saw that Wilhemina hadn't even been there. But no, of course your curious ass had to inspect her entire room.

And by the time Miss Venable came out of her bathroom in her pajamas, you had already started counting in your head how many punches Miss Mead was going to give you as punishment. You had definitely crossed the line.

But it turned out very differently than expected. Miss Venable had been angry anyway, very angry, but her anger was not expressed in words. The woman had pressed you against the wall and before you could do anything about it, her hand had slipped under your skirt, between your legs and Miss Venable had broken her own rule.

Of course you could have pushed her away, but it felt so right. You wanted so badly for someone to pay you attention and Miss Venable had kind of given you just that, when she pressed you against the wall and fucked you senselessly.

The whole thing was just so emotionless. You hadn't been able to look at her. You were ashamed of every sound you made, and if Miss Venable hadn't put her hand over your mouth, everyone in the Outpost would probably have heard you scream.

Which wouldn't have been so practical, because this man had come here a few days ago and you knew he was interviewing all the residents for the sanctuary and it wouldn't have been very beneficial for you if he'd caught you, breaking you down Venables rules. Regardless of the fact, that she had broken her rule herself.

Miss Venable hadn't said a single word about what had happened a few minutes ago, as if she had absolutely no need to justify herself.

She hadn't even looked at you when she took her hands off you and wiped them with a kleenex.

"You can sleep here tonight," she had muttered.

"It would be noticeable if you left my room now."

And now you lay next to her in bed and tried to understand all of this. Your dress was messy on the floor and all you had on was your underwear. After your fingers relaxed, you had pulled the blanket, that she wordlessly gave you over you and clung desperately to the fabric.

You had calmed down and could now hear her breathing next to you. The fact, that she was just lying next to you and probably sleeping was disturbing. At least, she could have apologized, right? Although, that didn't make sense either, because you obviously enjoyed what had happened.

You carefully turned your head towards her and saw, that her back was turned to you. And you wondered if she was really sleeping or just pretending. Miss Venable had become your most private contact in the outpost and you didn't really know what that actually meant.

You wanted so badly to touch her, but you didn't know if you had the right to do so. Only now did you notice the scars on her back, that shone through the light nightgown. Add to that the snake-like curve of her spine and suddenly you understood why she needed her stick.

"You have scoliosis," you said your thoughts out loud and you heard her hold her breath.

"Congratulations," she hummed miserably.

"You figured it die out."

You nervously began to chew your lower lip.

"Did I make anything wrong?" You asked quietly.

"Ask yourself how you got into this situation, then you will know."

"I- do you want me to go?", Your voice sounded sadder than you actually wanted.

When Miss Venable didn't answer, you felt tears welling up in your eyes as the feeling of fear grew inside you. You screwed it up. Probably the next evening you would end up like Stu as stew.

"No," Miss Venable suddenly whispered before turning to you. The red-haired woman had a blank expression on her face while she watched you cry.

She raised her hand as if to wipe the tears from your face, but she lowered it again and you had to do it yourself.

"M'sorry," you muttered.

"You're stupid if you apologize," Miss Venable replied bluntly.

"That was more than just unprofessional of me, I should have let you go and tomorrow you would have been punished."

You looked at her sadly.

"That's the only solution, isn't it? Punishment."

"I don't know exactly what you're getting at? It's actually quite simple. Those are my rules and whoever doesn't stick to them will be punished for it", Miss Venable looked at you unimpressed and you returned her gaze thoughtfully.

"What about Michael Langdon? Does he have to obey your rules too?" You finally asked.

"What does this mean?"

"Uhm well, I guess I've known you for 18 months now and the first time you seem scared."

Miss Venable raised her eyebrows.

"You don't know anything about me. I'm not even remotely an emotional chaos as you are."

Emotional chaos. Okay she had a point. You blinked a few times to force the tears, that were still glistening in your eyes back down.

"I don't know if emotional chaos is the right word," you muttered.

"You should think less about your stupid feelings," Miss Venable sighed, turning away from you again.

"They've only got you in trouble so far if you ask me."

You pressed your lips together and had to suppress an angry comment, that would only confirm her accusation. Your eyes stared at her back again. The red curls of her long hair had slipped behind her shoulders and were now curling on her back. You would have loved to stretch out your hand to touch it. You would have loved to curl up in her arms to feel safe for the first time in over a year. You wanted to kiss her. Or at least hold her hand. Anything. Just a little bit of their affection would have been enough and you would have been happy. It probably all sounds kind of selfish, because she fucked you a few minutes ago. The whole thing just wasn't particularly loving. You felt like a disgusting animal and now you wanted her to show you, you weren't. Miss Venable was only a few inches away from you and all you had to do was hold out your hand and you would feel her warmth. But while it was actually only a few centimeters, you realized, that there were worlds between you and this woman and that she was probably never further away from you than at this moment.

You and I, we just glide

Through the night

We just drive, we get by

We just glide

Maybe we're just fooling in foolish imagination

Got no destination in sight

You and I, we get by

We just glide

-------------------------

Wilhemina Venable had a great talent at pretending everything was fine.

As if nothing happened. Nothing had changed in the days after that night.

Since Michael Langdon was at the Outpost, she avoided private contact with you and the fact, that you had shared a bed didn't change that. In addition, she was just as disgusting to you in front of the others as always and that was nothing new either. And while Wilhemina no longer seemed to care about what had happened between you two, at the same time it almost killed you.

You actually expected, that she would want to talk to you about it again, but nothing had happened and that made you angry. Miss Venable would always deny it, but she was the only one who cared about you. And you appreciated her weird way of paying attention to you so much.

The only problem was, you couldn't even begin to imagine, what was going on in her head. While you were acting like a lovesick teenager, the only thing you saw of her was her deadly serious face.

Oh and Miss Venable was right, you were a fucking emotional mess. Since you woke up the next morning in her empty bed, you have cried a lot again and spent a lot of time in your room, but this time Miss Venable would probably not come to offer you alcohol as medication.

It was the afternoon of any day and you were sitting on the floor, leaning against your bed. In one hand you held a pair of scissors, while in the other you held the skirt of your dress. You were still not used to wearing long skirts after so many months and you still kept poking around at yourself, when walking through the outpost, so you decided to cut your skirts short. Of course you knew, that Wilhemina would probably kill you, if she saw you, breaking her sacred dress code, but fuck Wilhemina. At least you could finally walk properly again.

The triple knock on your door made you look up from your work and you got up to go to the door. You probably should have known it was Miss Venable who knocked. Who else has been interested in you, in the past few months?

"We need to talk," said the red-haired woman firmly, without looking at you.

You just nodded and stepped out of the door frame to make room for her.

For a brief moment you were afraid, that Miss Venable would get angry about the dress, that was lying shortened on the floor next to the scissors, but she just ignored it and stood across from you.

"Well, Miss Y / L / N, I'm just here to ugh- "

Miss Venable was interrupted by you when you, you stupid idiot, reached for her face to angrily press your lips against hers. The kiss only lasted a second in total, because Miss Venable immediately pushed you away from her and the next thing you felt was her hand lashing angrily against your right cheek. A horrified gasp escaped your lips and you looked at Wilhemina in horror as you rubbed your cheek.

"If you do that again, I'll kill you," the redhead growled, glaring at you angrily.

You looked at her hurt and felt tears start to sting in your eyes.

"M'sorry," you muttered.

"Oh of course you are," hissed Miss Venable.

"What the hell were you thinking of?"

"I just- I don't know," you stuttered desperately.

"I think I love you".

Miss Venable's eyes narrowed and she looked like she was going to punch you again.

"This is not love, this is despair, you stupid thing."

"Despair?" You breathed in horror.

"How else would you describe your behavior?" She spat and angrily started knocking her stick on the floor.

"I mean, look at you. You are a total mess. Either you cry in your room all day or you are angry at everything and everyone. You are the only person, who ruins her clothes. You are the one which most often breaks my rules, just because you are too unable to deal with your feelings. You know, everyone can handle what happened, except you, because you are so damn selfish. But you have to wake up.. Do you think, that was what I wanted, when you cried into my bed a few days ago? Oh no. And I know that, was my fault too. You know, everything what I want, is that you obey my rules, but that seems to be too much for your incompetent ass ", Wilhemina scolded and angrily knocked her stick on the floor.

"And now you come and say you love me."

She shook her head.

"As I said, this is not love, this is despair. And I don't know what kind of answer you were hoping for, from me, but let me be clear: In my opinion, of all the residents of the Outpost, you are the most pathetic and I hate you, I really do and you're sick if you even thought it would be different. "

You stared at her in shock. The feeling, that rose in you at that moment was indescribable. A mixture of disgust, shame and anger. But also the feeling of betrayal. And you couldn't say who these feelings were for, for you or for Wilhemina.

"Y-you hate me?" You stuttered, wiping the back of your hand over your cheek to remove your tears.

"I hate everyone in this outpost, that includes you too," hissed Miss Venable.

You shook your head in disbelief.

"I don't believe you," you whispered.

"I still believe, that you are scared and that is why you act like that."

"Mister Langdon will interview you tomorrow," said Miss Venable without responding to your comment.

"If you tell him anything about what happened a few days ago, I promise you will wish you were never born. With your condition, you probably won't be in the sanctuary anyway, but I will don't let me spoil this opportunity from you. Do you understand me? "

You shook your head.

"I don't understand what your problem is suddenly ... I asked you that evening if I should go and you said no."

"The whole thing was a mistake, nothing more", Miss Venable growled quietly and stepped past you to go to your door.

"I hate you and you hate me, that's all that's between us, you understand?"

You wanted to say something, but you decided not to, it didn't make any sense anyway.

"I understand," you said softly.

"Good," replied Miss Venable before turning and walking out of your room.

You stared after her sadly. Of course you didn't understand why she was suddenly so mad at you, but how could you? Miss Venable had wanted to end whatever was between you, so that she would not feel guilty if you were to be murdered by her in a few days. She had never meant to offend you, but she had to make it clear to herself, that she didn't love you. She just couldn't love you.

Show me freedom

'Cause love don't cost a thing

Give me freedom

Yeah don't just let me leave

--------------------

"Miss Y / L / N", Mister Langdon barked and slapped the table with the palm of his hand. You winced and looked disturbed into the blond man's eyes.

"I asked you something".

He leaned down to you and his face was only a few inches from yours.

"Are you in love?"

You swallowed and blinked a few times, before you whispered softly:

"I am not."

The man leaned back and looked at you thoughtfully for a few seconds.

"Well, Miss Y / L / N," he finally sighed.

"You can go."

Without looking at the man again, you got up to run out of the room. You tripped and if you hadn't held onto the wall next to the door, you would have fallen. For a moment you leaned against the wall with your eyes closed and took a deep breath.

This man was disgusting and a little too intimate for your taste, no wonder, that no one liked him.

You opened your eyes again and realized, that Miss Venable was staring down at you as she leaned against the railing.

Your eyes were lost in hers, her almost black eyes in which the light of the torches is always reflected. You wanted to say something, but you were afraid, that she would leave and you didn't want that. Miss Venable had put on her indifferent expression as always and, as always, you did not know what was going on inside the woman.

Your lips formed a mute "fuck you" when you saw her turn away from you to move. And the faint tapping of her cane proved to you, that she was indeed leaving and you knew that she would not come back.

Maybe we're just fooling in foolish imagination

Got no destination in sight

You and I, we get by

We just glide

#wilhemina venable x reader #wilhemina venable imagine #wilhemina venable #sarah paulson x reader #sarah paulson imagine #american horror story

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constancelaufeydottir · 3 years

Text

Help me, help you

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: Attempted suicide, mentions of mental illness and eating disorders, angst, fluff(?)

Summary: You seek help from the stranger who saved you the night you sought for an escape, maybe you weren’t the only one who needs saving.

A/N: This is my first ever fic here! I’ve never written anything before and I’m really anxious to put this out here, please bear with me if I make any grammatical mistakes and let me know what you think!

You probably shouldn’t be doing this. They said you’d disappoint your family and people around you would be sad. But the water, it’s tempting. A dive, and your problems would be gone.

To be honest, you don’t think you family cares at all. They’ve got bigger things to worry about, you sister’s engagement, your brother’s enrolment in college. After all, you were the unwanted kid, an accident. The only time you caught your parents’ attention was when you butchered your job interview. You had prepared thoroughly but a stomach bug ruined it all and your parents blamed you for it, saying they always knew you were a failure, a disgrace to the family.

They didn’t even ask where you were going tonight. They never cared unless you had big achievements in your life or maybe when your failure was too huge for them to ignore.

The sloshing of the water is luring you to jump into it. The deep dark waters inviting you to join the others who had succeeded before you. You moved your feet a little towards the edge of the railings, embracing the chilling midnight wind as you closed your eyes. This is the end, you thought, your foot dangling over the railings ready to plummet into the river.

You felt an arm circling your waist and pulling you backwards until your back hit the ground, a palm caging the back of your head, preventing it from hitting the hard ground.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” You heard a deep voice coming from the right side of your body, hands were on your shoulders gently shaking. You blinked a few times, the blinding lights made you wince as you closed your eyes again with your hand shielding them.

The man who saved you helped you sat up, kneeling beside you to ensure your safety. You took time to have a close look at the good Samaritan. His hair was long, stopping a little lower down his ears. Eyes was the colour of the ocean, almost enticing as the water. His chin adorned with a scruffy beard, lips curving in a small smile. If it weren’t for your bad mood right now, you would have joked that he looked like a modern version of Jesus.

“Why?” You whispered, so quietly if not for his enhance hearing, the man wouldn’t have heard you. “Why did you save me?” You cried out, hands trembling as they grasped the collar of his bomber jacket. Your teary face surprised him and your sniffles made his heart tightened.

“I- I can’t let you die!” He exclaimed. The tears in your eyes spilled out again as you collapsed into the stranger’s chest, crying your heart out. He felt the vulnerability in your voice and hugged you tighter, palms meeting behind you and patted your back to comfort you.

You didn’t know how long you sat there crying in the man’s arms. Your tears soaked the dark red Henley underneath his jacket, causing it to stick onto his firm chest but he did not utter a single word, instead opting to calm you down.

You had no idea how you got home, except for the fact that you vaguely recalled ending up in the arms of a certain stranger, the rest was a blur.

You woke up on the couch the next morning, your phone alarm blaring. The hard rectangular metal was digging the soft flesh of your butt and you groggily dig it out of your back pocket turning the alarm off.

There was a sweet smell of pancake wafted from the kitchen and you sniffed at the smell, face scrunching when you didn’t remember having someone over. The thought of someone unfamiliar inviting themselves into your house alarmed you and your hastily got up from the couch, a pillow in your hand as you inched slowly towards the kitchen. Peeking your head around the corner, you found a tall and broad figure in the space, hands fumbling around with something. You couldn’t see clearly who that was, your glasses were in your bedroom the last time your saw it.

You knew the stranger in your house could never be your brother because one, he was an asshole who gave no fucks about his sister’s life and two, your both hated each other’s guts. Your breath quickened as the intruder suddenly turned his head towards your direction. You yelped as you threw the pillow at him, or the general direction where he was standing.

Of course, you missed the target when he walked towards you. “Shit, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die.” You shut your eyes as you heard his footsteps getting closer and closer to you.

“Hey, you’re awake!” You squinted at the man, trying to make out the features of his blurry face. He looked oddly like the guy who saved you on the bridge last night. He moved closer to you when he realized you couldn’t see him clearly. Your eyes widen at the sudden close proximity, your lips were slightly parted. You could feel his breath against your face, his long lashes and that steel blue eyes.

“Y-you!” Instantly, you were conscious of your own appearance, your eyes must have been puffy from last night’s non-stop crying. There were probably still dried tears on your face. Adverting your gaze from his, you looked to the side as you slid out of the slightly awkward situation. Walking towards the counter, you pulled out a wet tissue and wiped your stiff face with it then retrieving the cold spoons you kept in the freezer.

He laughed when you put the spoons on your eyes, you sighed at the cool sensation soothing the puffiness of your eyelids. “Don’t laugh. It’s effective,” you glared at him.

“Alright, alright.” He threw his hands up. “I’m Bucky,” his hand extended outward, waiting for you to shake it. “Y/N.” He smiled, eyes crinkled as you reciprocate the gesture.

He cooked you breakfast, although it was a simple one, you were still grateful.

“Thank you for last night,” you gave him a genuine smile as he was seated across you on the dining table, stuffing his mouth with the pancakes. “It’s nice to see that someone cares.” This time you smile didn’t quite reach your eyes and he caught it.

Grabbing your hand across the table, he looked at you in the eyes with sincerity. “It’s the least I could do.” Taking a deep breath, cautiously he spoke up. “Y/N, I know it’s not my place to say this but seek for professional help if you aren’t feeling fine. Maybe just talk to someone or … go see a therapist.”

“Are you insinuating that I have depression?” You scoffed. Your eyebrows furrowed in annoyance as you snatched your hand from his grasp and crossed your arms in front of your chest defensively.

Depression? No, you couldn’t have had depression. It’s a sign of weakness, you father said. Depression is just a fancy term to describe one’s laziness, that’s what your mother told you.

“I’m not insinuating anyt-”

“Get out,” you interrupted, “get out of my house!” Enraged, you pointed towards the door while snapping at him. How dare he, a stranger suggested that there was something wrong with you.

Sighing, Bucky gave you a taut smile while nodding then placed a piece of paper on the coffee table on his way out. “Here’s my number in case you needed any help.” He paced towards the door opening it, giving you a last glance before leaving.

It’s been weeks now since you yelled at Bucky to get out of your house. You felt bad and deep down there you knew he was right, but the stigma surrounding mental illnesses was extremely terrifying to you. Not to mention what will happen if your family found out. You were a major disappointment in your household already and you definitely wouldn’t want to add a mental illness into the mix.

You were sitting in your office, typing on the keyboard furiously. Honestly you didn’t know why you were still here. This job sucks, even though the salary was high and you’d just been promoted to manager of the department. Chewing on your nails and bouncing your legs under the desk, you felt the need to just leave everything and go home.

The drive home was painful, you simply had no energy to do so but you still had to go home, your only safe place. Taking off your shoes, changing out your clothes, you lied on the bed. Your stomach grumbled, protesting at the lack of food in your system but you just couldn’t get yourself off the bed to make something for yourself. Your mind travelled back to the day you were on that bridge. You didn’t actually seek for death, all you sought for was an escape. An escape from reality, from your parents, from the constant judgements of people surrounding you.

As you closed your eyes, you wished that tomorrow never comes.

Another day, another disappointment. You were still alive, and the world seemed a wee bit duller than before. Skipping breakfast, you went to work as usual, plastering the faux smile on your face which everybody seemed to liked and expected from you. In this workplace, everybody’s gotta put on a façade and that included you but you dreaded the day where there would be a crack in your mask. Until then, you just had to work harder to reinforce it because according to your parents, nobody would want to see the real you, it was unpleasant … and ugly.

“I gotta say. Miss Y/L/N, you are spectacular. Being one of the Y/L/N, I bet it was a lot of pressure but you have done such amazing job, I think your parents would be so proud of you.” A client who was a family friend was seated across you, a wide grin on her face as her face crinkled rambling about how lucky you were being born into a family filled with successful people.

You smiled and thank her for her compliments, cutting the steak your ordered into bite-size pieces. Poking into one of the pieces with your fork, you lifted it up to your lips. Taking a deep breath, you put it into your mouth and instantly you felt like you were about to throw up. Fighting the urge to spit it out, you endured the taste of the meat as you bite at it mechanically. Looking down at your plate of steak, you no longer feel the appetite to consume any more of it.

Everyday you woke up, you wondered how long would it be until the colours faded into grey. Perhaps it was the only thing keeping you alive right now, counting the days until the beautiful hue of the sunsets no longer amazes you; the sight of puppies doesn’t excite you; the thought of having ice cream whenever you can no longer sounds appealing to you.

You should get some help, you really should. Your body was deteriorating, you could feel it. You weren’t in denial anymore; you knew there was something gravely wrong about you. Your body couldn’t afford being in denial. The loss of radiance in your face, the hair and weight loss and most importantly, you couldn’t put on a façade anymore.

Bucky rushed towards your apartment when you called, he could hear how shaky your voice was. He was extremely worried the past weeks even though he had only met you once. Maybe it was because he was in that dark place before and was able to relate or maybe he took a liking to you. He found himself constantly wondering whether you were well and how long would it take for your stubborn ass to call him.

He arrived at your place as fast as he could, probably drove past a few red lights but he couldn’t care less. He was more worried about you that the fine he would have to pay.

Bucky stormed past the hallway, straight to your unit and knocked on the door when he couldn’t open it. He received no response from you and his mind immediately went straight to the negative thoughts. His heart raced as he banged on the door, shouting your name several times.

He was about to break his way into your apartment when he saw the door opened slightly, your tired eyes meeting his concerned ones. He made his way into the space and immediately got the wind knocked out of him when you hurled yourself into his chest.

“Imsorryimsorryimsorry.” You kept chanting your apologies as you broke down in his embrace. You felt as if you were floating in the middle of the ocean succumbing into nothingness and he was the anchor, helping you to stay in one place. He was a mere stranger to you yet he witnessed every vulnerable side of you, if only your family could share the same level of concern as he did.

“Shh, shh. I’m here now,” he guided both of you to the couch with you still tightly in his arms, smoothing a palm on your back gently patting you. You hiccupped, eyes teary while you tried to calm yourself down. The tears however would not co-operate, it was like a broken faucet and no matter what you try it wouldn’t fix itself. “I’m really sorry for lashing out last time.”

He didn’t say anything, only wiped your tears with the sleeve of his sweater instead. Maybe it was the fatigue of crying too much or the absence of food in your body, you drifted into sleep in his arms while he hummed songs to you.

You woke up in the middle of the night when you heard the heavy breaths of the man. Half awake, you blindly reach out for your glasses on the night stand, vision clearer as you saw the door to your bedroom was wide opened. Getting on your feet, you moved towards the source of the noises carefully and realized it came from Bucky who was now thrashing on the couch in your living room.

He was groaning, clutching at his left arm painfully as if it was burned. A sheen of sweat could be seen on his forehead, strays of hair sticking onto the sides of his face. The front of his wife beater clung onto his chest soaked by perspiration. His groans soon turned into agonizing screams as he tossed and turned on your couch. You noticed webs of burn scars littering the expanse of his left shoulder to his arm and felt your heart tightened at the sight of it.

You hastily knelt in front of the couch, hand gripping on his shoulder and his face. “Bucky! Bucky!” His eyes shot open at your voice, flinching at the sight of you. Hands balled into fists in front of his chest, he was ready to take on any attack coming at his way. He visibly relaxed when he broke out of the haze, pushing his hair back with his hand with a bashful look on his face.

His muscles tensed when your hand reached out to his shoulder, but then slackened when you pulled him into a hug. His head fell onto your shoulder as you patted on his back like how he did for you just a few hours ago, ignoring the sweat gliding down his skin.

It must have been hours; the two of you sitting there in an embrace on your couch, not wanting to let each other go after what you both have been through. No one spoke a word and there was only silence in the large apartment of yours. The faint ray of sunlight peeked through the blinds, gleaming into your apartment reminding you to start the day.

He was the one who broke the hug, an awkward silence now surrounding the both of you. “Thank you … for helping me, even though I was supposed to be the one helping you,” his voice was raspy from the groans and moans. “It’s … uh nothing,” you shrugged, dragging your worn body to make some hot chocolate for him even though your body was screaming for you to lay in the bed, rotting your day away.

Your hands trembled as you passed him the mug. “Where’s yours?” Your head tilted at his question, not quite sure what he was asking about.

“Y/N, how long have you not eaten anything?” You turned your head away, not meeting his determined gaze. You wished he didn’t catch the glint of guilt in your eyes, but you knew he did.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He clenched his jaw at your statement.

“You called me, Y/N. You called me because you need help and I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me.” You gulped at his words. His eyebrows were furrowed and it triggered a fear in you; you didn’t want to disappoint him like you did to your parents.

Your lips quivered a little, eyes darting to the carpet. “I couldn’t find the energy to eat, it’s just too much work. These days it’s either eat or shower. Since I don’t have any appetite anymore, I dedicated all the energy to shower then. But I have a feeling that I might not even have the energy to drag myself to take a shower or even get up in the mornings soon. It’s just so tiring, where do people even get those energy from?”

“Well, we’ll deal with it one step at a time, okay?” Bucky tilted your chin up to make you look him in the eyes. You whispered a meek ‘ok’, suddenly tired at the lack of sleep.

He handed you the now warm hot chocolate, a stern stare on his face. “At least have some fluids in your system, please.” His gaze softened when he saw you gulping at the sight of the warm brown liquid, nose scrunched up in disgust.

He noticed your discomfort and gestured you to wait while he went to your kitchen and rummaged around the drawers only to return with a spoon.

“Baby steps, okay? Just 5 spoons of it then we’re done.” You nodded while he passed the spoon to you.

The whole morning was spent with Bucky in the living room, him giving your warm encouraging smiles whenever you managed to swallow a spoonful of the chocolate drink.

“Go get some sleep,” he gave your knee a few light taps before proceeding to pull you off the couch and guide you back to your room, then went back to the couch himself to get some shut-eye.

Sending a message to your assistant that you would have to take a few days off, you didn’t wait until you get a reply and plopped yourself on the bed, once again drifting into sleep hoping tomorrow would be better than today.

#bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic

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meshugana1 · 3 years

Text

Re-Write Strikes

"Give up now, there's no hope of escape," Wonder Woman said as she descended from the sky and struck her iconic pose. The small, brave crowd that had gathered immediately retrieved their phones and snapped pics of the scene. She addressed the Woman, clad in a green dress and holding two large duffle bags in a single hand. She adjusted her round-rimmed glasses and smirked at the heroine.

"I don't know that I agree, Wonder Woman. I think my chances are decidedly in my favor. I mean, look at my opposition, piece of cake." Wonder Woman's gaze remained steely as she continued the stare down. All villains bluff at first, but this fresh face is being particularly obnoxious about it.

"I have faced many villains over many years. The likes of 'Re-Write' hardly rank among the most intimidating." Wonder Woman had no idea where this Woman got her confidence. According to the Justice League database, she was a meta human with the ability to reprogram electronic systems to function the way she desires. Sadly she only seems to put this ability to use by hacking into government systems and robbing banks.

"I doubt that. I mean, why should I be scared of a grown woman who still wets the bed every night." Wonder Woman's body remained stoic, but her eyes betrayed her shock. How could this Woman have known? Her night time issue was a secret more closely guarded than her civilian identity. Even her mother and Amazonian sisters were in the dark.

"L-Lies will not save you! I don't do that!" Wonder Woman countered, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. Re-write continued smirking at her foe.

"Maybe I was wrong. Soaking the sheets every single night isn't something a responsible adult would do, is it? Maybe you aren't an adult after all. No, you look barely look eighteen, if that." Diana's stoic expression rattled slightly as this Woman guessed her age exactly. She had just turned eighteen last week, and less than that, she was finally able to acquire her own apartment and no longer live in fear of exposing her nighttime secret to her American friends, the Kapatelis family.

"So you know how old I am, big whoop. You're still not getting away with this." Wonder Woman said as she drew closer to Re-Write. Re-Write made no aggressive moves, and she just continued to smile and attempt to bluff her way out of the youthful heroine's grip.

"Now that I say it, it's so obvious. I mean, just look at those ridiculous braces and all those angry little pimples all over your face." Wonder Woman balked and stopped mid-stride, nearly tripping. It wasn't as if she wanted to get braces. When she arrived in Man's world after living a life devoid of modern dental care, obviously she would need some adjustment. The dentist assured her that the rig she received was standard. Nobody had ever mocked her for it before. As she ran her tongue along the intricate metalwork across her teeth, a hand unconsciously moved to cover her mouth. And You could hardly blame wonder Woman for having acne. Everyone has it. She tried for years to be rid of it, even with the aide of proactive and washing her face every day didn't help. Every morning, aside from waking up wet, she found even more zits than the day before.

"S-Shut up! At least I'm not some petty crook using her powers for evil!"

"Oh, real scathing comeback, Princess. At least I'm not a nerdy little immature high school freshman."

"W-What?!"

"Obviously Wonder' Woman', real women have these," Re-Write said as she leaned forward and made a very sensual show of grabbing her sizable breasts, easily more than several handfuls, and presenting them to Wonder Woman. Diana's pimpled face turned blood red as she looked down at her pancake-flat chest. She had waited and waited and prayed to the gods for them to grow in, but her pleas went unheeded. Memories of her mother, Queen Hippolyta, and her bountiful breasts tormenting her with their promise of coming womanhood for years before she stole away to Man's world. And here, she even attempted online remedies and ointments to make her breasts grow in; if anything, they made them smaller. All the girls at school made fun of her enough for everything else. She just wanted to take one thing off the table. But as that thought crossed her mind, another intersected it.

"Wait. I know my breasts are s-small, o-ok non-existent, but I'm not a freshman. I-I graduated last month, Valedictorian!" Diana said, for the first time doubting the observational skill of her foe. And for the first time, Re-Write's composure slackened and she showed a strained expression as she straitened her posture. She closed her eyes and held her forehead as if a migraine had suddenly struck her. A moment later, she had collected herself, and her cocky expression returned.

"Valedictorian? What an imagination you have, little Princess. You have to have good grades to be a valedictorian, and if I were a betting woman, I'd say you're a D student on your best day. Yup, I can tell; you must have flunked quite a bit. They probably only let you into high school out of pity in the first place." Re-Write said, beginning to seem somewhat unsteady on her feet. Wonder Woman's blush only deepened as she heard this criminal's accusation and only prayed that her expression wasn't letting on that she had her dead to rights.

Diana was forced to enroll in middle school after she arrived in Man's world, and she began staying with the Kapatelis family. Her placement exams put her in eighth grade despite being a year older, much to her dismay. She was a princess in her homeland and was given much care and attention by her tutors, but her education was of a more practical nature. It was only due to Ms. Kapatelis's intervention with her friend, the principal, that allowed Diana to progress to High school, despite her almost total failure of all her academic courses. But there were no friends for Ms. Kapatelis to lean on for Diana in High school, and Diana was forced to repeat her freshman year three times, and this year was the fourth. It was like no new information would stay in her head.

"I can't believe your Mommy lets you do this every night; I mean, don't you have homework to fail and a bed to pee in?"

"S-Sh-Shut up!" Diana said in a more embarrassed tone rather than an authoritative one. "My Mommy doesn't even live here, and she's still on the island I came from!" Diana said with folded arms and a smirk, failing to notice that she referred to her mother as Mommy in public at her age.

"Oh, Wonder Woman, still trying to push that fake story? You know no one believes you, right? You need to be tall to be an Amazon, after all, and you look like you barely hit five feet in heels. I'm sure most of this crowd saw your Mommy drop you off before you arrived too. I'm sure she wanted her little angel to be safe on her very first night as a wannabe superhero. Let me guess, big ol' chubby lady? Loves to embarrass you? How predictable." Re-Write said, bringing a hand to her face and whipping away a small dollop of blood leaking from her nose. Diana's knees touched as her posture betrayed her nervousness. Her shaking hands were evident to the entire assembly as they gathered to watch the small girl's heroic debut. It wasn't going well. She spent nearly ten minutes being scolded by her first criminal and having almost all her secrets exposed to the masses and any news crews that had gathered.

Diana's eyes became misty as her debut continued to fall apart. She had worked on her back story for weeks. Her Mommy was the initial inspiration for it, what with her old name. But everybody just called her Polly; it seemed to fit a modern woman more than Hippolyta. Her Mommy was never really on board with the whole hero thing, mainly because of her consistently low grades, but Diana's pouty face was legendary, even covered in acne. Before tonight, Diana had relegated her costumed activities to rescuing kittens and helping little old ladies across the street, literally. The most action she had seen was an argument with some girl scouts trying to earn merit badges that resulted in her being pushed into a garbage can.

But finally, she had worn her Mommy down and convinced her she was ready for the big leagues. She cast a shy glance into the crowd and saw her Mommy there with a concerned look on her chubby face.

For the first time since their meeting, Re-Write advanced on the nervous young heroine. This caused Diana to literally jump and take a step back before she reminded herself that she was the one with authority. Diana did her best to resume the heroic pose she had practiced for hours in the mirror, but as Re-Write drew closer, Diana only crumbled more. Re-Write was right in front of her. Diana looked as if she was about to burst into tears. The smile on Re-Writes face was predatory, and the Woman stood nearly a full head and shoulders above Diana. Diana looked up, her lip trembling as Re-Write literally looked down on the frightened green hero.

Re-Write moved quickly and suddenly. Her arms reached out to Diana as her feet squared up. Her smile never left her face as she spoke softly and speedily, "Boo."

Diana fell back on instinct and collapsed onto the ground, curling into a tight ball with her arms coving her head as she unleashed a girlish scream for help. Diana was sure she was dead, a foolish little girl who got too big for her bloomers. Her dreams of becoming the greatest heroine in the world and standing shoulder to shoulder with the Justice League would all end in a bloody mess. The tears flowed unabated, and all the onlookers could hear her sobs. Diana didn't feel anything but the cold ground and warmth growing from her homemade star-spangled cotton bottoms.

A minute later, she opened her eyes and found herself to her amazement to be still alive. She looked up from the ground and saw the smirk of Re-Write even wider than before as she stood over her with hands-on wide hips.

"Who's intimidating now, Wonder Wetter? Maybe you'll know when you're out of your league better now. I wonder if a public spanking would hammer the message home better. What do you say, piddle pants?" Re-Write said as she reached a hand out to the cowering girl. Her smile turned sinister as her hand drew closer when suddenly another hand slapped hers away with a thunderous clap. Diana finally felt safe enough to open her eyes, and she saw a new figure standing between her and Re-Write.

"How dare you say those hurtful things to my little girl!" Polly said as she stood between her precious bundle of joy and the spiteful Woman tormenting her.

"Well well, far be it from me to stand between such a large woman and—"

"Don't give me that, you nasty little tramp! I know I'm a big fat woman. Congratulations, you have eyes. Where do you get off thinking you can drive my poor little sweetheart to pee herself and ruin her reputation on her first night as a real hero? Do you have any idea how long it took her to work up the courage to do this? How nervous she was even to leave the car? Or even how much she just wants to help people? No, you don't, do you? You probably don't even care as you do your silly little crimes and make life hard for everyone else? You probably still don't even realize that you just crushed a poor little girl's dream tonight. I feel so sorry for you that you need to steal and flaunt your fat tits and ass in front of an insecure young woman to feel better about yourself." Polly didn't take a single breath as she unleashed her motherly fury onto Re-Write.

The villainess was shocked as she backed away from the fat mother's accusatory finger. Polly continued to press and wag her finger at Re-Write as she defended her daughter. Only when Re-Write had been driven ten feet away, and Polly was red in the face, did the diatribe finally cease. Re-Write had her hands up in defeat as Polly semi-waddled back to her still cowering little girl.

"It's okay Little Bird; let's go home," Polly said as she knelt as best as her fat belly and thighs would allow and lifted her blubbering daughter to her awkward feet. The makeup Diana had experimented with to give her a more mature look had been entirely ruined by her tears, and she looked more like a clown as she waddled away, clinging tightly to her mother's thick arm.

She felt the squish of her underwear and heard the snickers of the crowd they passed through, and it brought new tears to her eyes. How was she ever going to live this down? She wasn't Wonder Woman, she was just a silly little girl playing dress-up. She'd be lucky if the other kids at school didn't recognize her on tv and start picking on her again.

It felt like miles before Diana, and her mother arrived at Polly's car. A beat-up old Jeep Cherokee that had rust along its tire rims and a faded red paint job that had all but given up. The door creaked open, and Polly lifted her daughter into the back seat. Diana winced as she felt the rapid cooling of her soaked briefs press deeply into her skin. In the rearview mirror, she was finally able to see what everyone else was snickering at and brought fresh, heaving breaths. Polly sat in the driver's seat, the Jeep visibly listing with her added weight.

"Don't you worry, sweetie, Mommy's gonna drive us home, and we can get you out of those wet shorts and into a nice bath. Then after a little slice of pie, we can forget about this whole night. You can try again next weekend, after your homework, of course."

"NO! I never wanna be a superhero again! They all laughed at me, Momma, they all laughed and pointed and…" Diana said as she cried anew.

"Don't be like that, sweetheart; it's just a little setback, is all. I'm sure with a little more confidence; you'll be tossing them in prison left and right. In the meantime, I'm sure Ms. Tracy's cat needs help. You know how Snookers likes to climb trees, and of course, Mrs. Halloway always appreciates you helping her around her home. You know how hard it is for the older folks. And don't forget babysitting little Katie from next door, under her older sister's supervision, of course. You don't see that big Mr. Superman out there doing those things do you?" Polly said as she slowly put the crowd and that horrible Woman behind them. She continued her words of encouragement to her blubbering daughter as they drove to their modest home.

Re-Write's stunned expression shifted back to smug self-assurance as she watched the beat-up old car leave the scene. As she returned to the bank to collect her goods, she couldn't help whispering.

"Sometimes I really scare myself with this shit."

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

The apartment door opened, and three duffle bags filled with cash were dumped onto the floor. Re-Write heard the clicking of keys as she stumbled into the small living room. The Woman at the computer in the corner of the room took no notice as Re-Write opened the fridge, grabbed an ice pack, and promptly collapsed onto the couch.

The throbbing pain at the front of her skull was by far the worst she had given herself in over a month. Her hand searched the wall for a moment, finding the light switch and flicking it on and off for a few seconds. The Woman at the desk looked up with a start and searched the room, smiling when she looked to the couch. She moved to her and placed a gentle kiss on Re-Write's forehead, causing a genuine smile. The Woman began gesturing with her hands as she sat next to Re-Writes smooth legs.

So how did your little adventure go? Is capitalism dead? And are the corrupt and evil sufficiently inconvenienced?

"Har-har-har. And yes, it went pretty well. The villains using that bank to fund all their little terrors are now half a billion dollars poorer, thank you very much."

I saw on the news that you had to humiliate some poor little girl trying to debut as a hero. Was that necessary? She seemed really upset.

"Oh, Her. Don't worry, she'll be back to normal by morning, I think."

Normal? Wait, was she different before tonight?

"Oh yeah, lots."

No way, you did the thing with your powers again? I thought you said you couldn't affect people or whatever?

"Before, yeah, but I think I'm getting stronger. A month ago, I would have lost consciousness doing that much to one person, let alone two people."

Two people?

"I'll tell you all about it later. The world should be fine without 'Wonder Woman' for a couple of days. Nothing I do seems to last much longer than that." Re-Write said as she felt the hand of her companion rest on her midriff. The throbbing in her skull began to abate as she felt her friend's hand begin to float lower.

I seem to recall one thing that usually makes you feel better.

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

Diana felt the clammy sheets before she opened her eyes. They were cold and doggedly clung to her skin. The pull-up her Mommy had fitted her into the night before once again utterly failing to do its duty. After so many years, she could hardly count the times her Mommy had threatened her with diapers at night, but nothing ever came of those. She didn't even bother with removing the soiled underwear as she gathered the wet sheets and did her daily walk of shame to the hamper in her Mommy's room.

She thought about how she might announce this morning's accident. She would probably do it as she always did. Bashfully creak open the door and tiptoe along to the hamper as her mother snored away. Then slowly circling until she grabbed a few of her Mommy's pudgy fingers and gently shook. She would, of course, leave out the part about how she was still so upset as Mommy tucked her in that as she lay sniffling, she didn't even bother to try as her Mommy bid her goodnight and she proceeded to let the floodgates flow. What was the point after all? They were going to be wet in the morning no matter what.

She dragged her feet along the bright hallway, dreading her Mommy's blind optimistic fawning. She passed the hallway mirror, absentmindedly casting a glance it's way. She froze with a yelp stuck in her throat. She shivered for a moment as she looked at the stranger she saw carrying sheets looking back at her. The wet sheets hit the floor as she covered her face, flashes of the previous night rising up and fear reasserting itself. Her bottom hit the floor, and her hands covered her face, praying that this person would ignore her and move on.

When no sound other than her whimpering could be heard, she braved to open her eyes and saw the intruder do the same. Her hands fell away, as did the mystery woman's, and her slow mind began to throb with activity. The full-figured Woman was wearing precisely the same pajamas as Diana was. She raised herself onto her thighs and blushed as she felt her clammy trainers were no longer quite as clammy. The Woman copied her exactly. She even had the same acne spots on her face and the same brand of braces on her teeth. Her mind had nearly connected the dots when suddenly a pointed scream spooked her yet again.

She turned her head, expecting to see her mother emerge from her bedroom and scream again at the sight of this intruder. Instead, Diana saw the prettiest Woman she had ever seen come out of her Mommy's room. She was tall, had a beautiful face and curly hair that flowed like water around her. She was dressed so strangely. Her pajamas looked like expensive purple silk robes and a lot of golden jewelry. She was even wearing a crown like a princess, just like in the back story she made up for her superhero identity.

The Woman's eyes locked onto Diana. "Diana? What has happened?"

"How do you know my name, Lady?" Diana asked, rising to her unsteady feet.

"Diana, this is not some jest. Last night I was walking along the beach near the palace then I was suddenly exhausted, and now I've awoken here in man's world? And now I see you here with a spotted face and metal in your mouth? And, are you wearing a diaper? Explain this, Diana."

Diana's mouth hung open as she listened to this lady talk. Why was she talking like someone from a Shakespeare book, and why did she act like she knew her? Diana cast a wary sideways glance to the Woman in the mirror one more time, and suddenly all the pieces came together in her mind at once. Diana looked at her body in the mirror. She fought away the desire to dance for joy at the sight of her full, round breasts. She had had them before, for years. Her head hurt as she raised a hand to feel the flesh that both was and wasn't there before. She looked at her acne-ridden face and her metal-covered teeth, at her kitty covered pajamas and the saggy, clammy pull-up around her waist. Diana had seen more than her fair share of horrors in her life but never before this morning had any of them caused her to lose her balance, blur her vision, and make her fall into unconsciousness with only her soggy pull up and wet bedsheets to break her fall.

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

Diana awoke to a gentle nudging on her shoulder. Her eyes refused to open as she raised her arms high and twisted her torso into a stretch. She met resistance as she grunted in an attempt to pull her comforter over her eyes.

"Diana. Diana! You need to wake up or you'll be late again. I do not want to attend another conference with your principal over this, so get out of bed immediately! You need a change and a shower, again."

"Five more minutes, mommy…"

"No, how have you become so lazy? You were never like this at home."

"It's not my fault; it's whatever that lady did to me. To us," Diana said with a yawn as she scratched at the clammy night diaper she wore. Her friends at the league could come up with no explanation as to what exactly did happen. The best the more cosmically inclined heroes they know could come up with was that somehow, Re-Write could interconnect and stitch together different parts of countless realities. But the universe prefers order, and thus the Gordian knot that is Diana's reality is slowly unraveling to normal, explaining her partial physical shift back. However, it seems her reality is being repaired on a triage basis. Her new acne and braces, as well as her status as a high school freshman, and even her nighttime incontinence, have been deemed by the universe to be non-essential to Diana's impact on fate.

Hippolyta seemed to have faired better than her daughter, aside from a recent inclination towards sweets wreaking havoc on her diet. Though, due to Themyscira being almost impossible to find, returning the Amazon Queen to her throne is proving a complicated matter. That is how Diana Prince, the Wonder Woman, found herself adjust the skirt of her school uniform in her hallway mirror, desperately trying to remember what her math teacher had assigned as homework. As well as her English assignment, and she couldn't even recall what time her history teacher set her.

"You look very lovely, my little bird," Hippolyta said, brushing her daughter's hair.

"Yeah, right. I look like such a dork. Everyone at school says so." Diana said crestfallen.

"And just who is everyone? Are those girls picking on you again? Do I need to call the school again?"

"No, Mom! Jeez, I think I can handle some high school girls."

"I wouldn't be so sure, especially after the janitor had to pull you out of your locker. Or that time they poured oatmeal into your panties at lunch. And let's not forget the glorious time they told you in Spanish class that 'Hola, soy una Gorda fea perdedora' is the formal way to introduce yourself."

"That wasn't my fault! It sounded right…at the time."

"Diana, the gods gifted you with the ability to understand all languages."

"They just sounded so sure…"

"Well, if they do bother you anymore, just tell one of your teachers and let them take care of it," Hippolyta said as she patted her child on the back. She could hardly believe that the sweet, gullible Woman in front of her was her willful daughter. They lived in this new situation for a little over two months, and it had started to become frighteningly routine. Absentmindedly she reached a finger into the waistband of Diana's skirt and pulled, observing the condition of her thick underwear.

"MOM!"

"Relax, little one; I'm just checking.”

"I'm not a baby anymore."

"Well, our little nighttime ritual would say otherwise. And of course, there was the state of your pants after the locker incident."

"That wasn't my fault! I was in that locker forever!"

"According to the janitor, you were only in there for twenty minutes at the most."

"…I got scared…" Diana said, her eyes becoming wet. Hippolyta gently embraced her daughter.

"It's okay, I understand. Just find a teacher next time, okay?"

Diana smiled as she rubbed her eyes as she turned and nodded. The screech of familiar worn brakes alerted Diana, and she firmly hugged her mother back as she grabbed her bag and rushed out the door. Hippolyta looked down as she saw her daughter rushing and fall flat on her face just feet from the yellow transport. Even three floors up, she could hear the children's laughter as Diana boarded and took a seat in the very front. The window near her seat rolled down, and Diana shoved her head and arm through and began waving violently at Hippolyta. The proud mother smiled and gently waved back as she saw her daughter make her way to school.

She returned to the living room and slid onto the couch, a bag of cheesy potato chips in one hand and a bowl of skittles in the other. She turned on the TV and began the unexpectedly difficult task of trying to choose a streaming service to watch until her precious daughter returned home, inevitably in tears, whether because of the difficulty of basic subjects or the cruel tormenting on American teenagers. Regardless, she would be here, for better or worse, homework or bullies for her daughter.

#original story #Wonder Woman #wonderwoman #fanfiction #Age Regression #nerdification #hippolyta #weight gain #reality alteration #superhero #infantilization

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fanaticit · 3 years

Text

Nobody Heard Him

Preview: "But it was more than Loneliness, wasn't it, Martin? It was terror, too. Don't you remember how that terror felt? Feel it again. Feed on it."Or, Peter Lukas imposes the Lonely onto Martin.

Pairing: Implied Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood (Jonmartin)

Genre/themes: Hurt, angst, loneliness

CW's: Using power over somebody in a harmful way, being trapped in a bad situation, nobody can hear/see you, psychological and emotional abuse, manipulation, loneliness, etc. Be safe, please!

Word Count: 1627

Martin was drifting through the Archives with every care in the world resting on his sagged shoulders. He stepped on each marble tile, remembering that he didn't have to worry about stepping on the grouting between the tiles anymore. "Step on a crack, break your mother's back." He used to remember that every time he walked on pavement or tiles, but it didn't much matter anymore, did it?

He reached out a hand to open the door to his office. The knob had been black-painted metal, but years of use had made most of it metallic, reminding Martin of several statues he saw in Scottish streets a while back.

His pale hand passed through the doorknob.

It took him a moment. He tried again, and then again to open the door, to feel that cold smooth metal under his palm. Because clearly, that'd been his mind playing tricks on him. He hadn't slept well recently, or it was a trick of the light. When his hand went through the door, he screamed. Someone patted his shoulder.

"Ah, hello there Martin. Having a rough one, are you?" asked Peter with a genuine grin.

Martin shook his head in disbelief. "Peter, what just happened? My hand, it... it went through the door? But-- but you could touch me! You did, just now. What just happened?" he stammered, staring at his hand, which seemed to be growing less opaque to his eyes.

"Yes, that does happen eventually to most of us. Nothing to be alarmed about, I assure you." Peter assured triumphantly. "In fact, this is wonderful progress. How long has this been going on? I'm proud of you, Martin."

"I-- I can't open the door," Martin murmured to himself. "But I've seen you open doors. You walk around and pick things up, I've seen it. Peter, what's going on?"

Peter contemplated for a second. "I guess it's time for a discussion on the Lonely, Martin. Would you care to step inside?" He opened the door to Martin's office. Martin stepped inside, numb.

The Avatar of the Lonely looked at the wall while he spoke. "To truly harness the power of the Lonely, you must understand its power, its potential, its effect. Let me tell you some stories of people I knew of, Martin. There are so many factors in Loneliness. I can't list them to you, it's bigger than that. It's always too big to summarize, so I'll do some storytelling."

"A woman who worked up the courage to confess to someone she loved, only to be shut down and cast out like waste in front of a laughing crowd. How she cried in the bathroom, how she wanted to sink into the ground or disappear instead of being embarrassed in front of others. Humiliation and rejection are symptoms of the Lonely."

"There was a teen I knew of who associated with sad fools that glorified loneliness. They loved the pain inflicted on them, boasting about their latest tragedy until they couldn't separate grief from joy. They infused Loneliness into themselves eagerly, for the story they could tell later. The glorification of tragedy is Loneliness."

"Some old man who once had a name, but nobody remembered it anymore. Loneliness from age, from the grief of losing everyone close to yourself."

"Two siblings vying for a parents' affection, only for one to be left alone when the parent was forced to choose between the two. Being abandoned."

"A successful lawyer choosing to stay late at work again instead of seeing his family, falling asleep in his office instead of in his home. A priority that lets Loneliness win."

"Loneliness no matter how many people are close. Pushing them away, feeling like they don't care. Anxiety and depression, loneliness despite a crowd around you."

"Oh, there are so many shapes and sizes of Loneliness, Martin. The feeling of being Lonely is similar to the true understanding of it-- overwhelming in every way. It's incredible, isn't it? I can tell in your eyes-- you feel it. You felt the Loneliness of every poor soul I described. Isn't it liberating, Martin? Knowing that you understand the lock, but not the key? Understanding the underlying terror of everyone leaving you behind, understanding why they all assume nothing will improve."

"It's marvelous, don't you think, Martin?" announced Peter, feeling the emotion of his novice.

Martin's face shook. "It's... it's terrible. I hate it. I want no part in this, Peter. I can't do this. I can't feed on their grief. It's wrong!"

He stumbled out of his office, his face grey and hands shaking. Jon. He needed him, Jon would know what to do, how to help him out of this. Where was he?

There-- in his office, the door wide open and a tape recorder going. His head was rested on his arms, and he was silently staring at the spinning tape. There was something haunting about his expression. Martin sped into the room in a panic.

"Jon, oh thank god, I need your help. I did something really stupid, and Peter's chasing me, and I need your help. Please, I can explain it all later, but he's gonna be here any minute, Jon. I don't want to disappear. He wants me to feed on their pain, but I can't do it. I don't want others to be hurting. Come on, we've only got a moment. Why aren't you listening to me? Jon!" Martin ranted, only then looking up at noticing that Jon hadn't moved.

"Jon, listen to me. Please, why aren't you getting it? Peter's going to be here any second and--."

"I'm already here, Martin," Peter announced from behind him in the doorway. He sauntered in, taking a place by Martin's side, staring at the Archivist with no emotion. "He can't hear you, you know."

"Stop playing games, Peter. Not with Jon. You said you'd leave him out of it," Martin stammered, looking between the two others in the room with worry and terror.

"I'm not," Peter said, matter-of-factly. "It's all you, Martin. I'm proud, really. You're making incredible progress."

"Stop it! I don't want any part of it. You're the one doing this, aren't you? Just another one of your sick mind games!" yelled Martin, no longer worried about being overheard, because nobody could hear him.

"This was all you, Martin. I didn't have to do this for you, you figured it all out on your own. Of course, I chose well. You were the perfect candidate for the Lonely right from the beginning. I didn't even have to work it into you, it was already there."

"Shut up!"

"The employee surrounded by superior minds, the eternally jealous and awestruck novice. The friend-to-all with no friends at all. The one ruled by emotion over logic, trapped in a room alone with their terrors locking on the door."

"Stop talking, Peter."

"Were you Lonely when you were trapped in your apartment while the worms tried their hardest to enter and dissect you? Were you Lonely when you faked your way into your job? Were you Lonely when you lost your companions in the tunnels and wandered about on your own until you stumbled upon a corpse?"

"I said shut up!"

"But it was more than Loneliness, wasn't it, Martin? It was terror, too. Don't you remember how that terror felt? Feel it again. Feed on it."

Martin had stopped talking. He went rigid and curled up into a ball instead, sinking to the floor and cradling his knees.

"You're the outcast, Martin. Why else would their only use for you be to bring tea? And they didn't even ask for that, either. Maybe they just didn't want you around at all. Is that why you faced Elias's terror all alone? And then so many of them died because you were too useless, too cowardly, too foolish to act. You're fixated on the one you love, but your death would be inconsequential to him. Everybody you've burdened with your problems was exasperated, so why do you even bother?"

The ringing in Martin's ears was intense, but Peter's words were more so. He stared at Jon, who hadn't moved. He was staring at the tape, oblivious to the scene in front of him.

"They all assume you're nothing, and you'll never have the strength or the resolve to even try to prove them wrong. You felt the Lonely when you lost your mother, too, but you felt it even more when she was here. Do you remember what her last words to you were? Grief seems like second nature to you now, but it never gets better, does it? All the little things you keep seeing. The little reminders."

"Just leave-- me-- ALONE!" screamed Martin out of the blue. He made eye contact, forcing Peter to look away.

"I really am proud of you. If being Lonely is what you wish, then I've succeeded already, haven't I?" Peter murmured. "You'll be able to become visible over time, though it will take effort. Although who's to say that you're really not visible?"

"...Maybe they all don't see you because they don't want to. Just something to think about. I'll see you tomorrow, Martin." Peter let out a sigh, then walked out of the door and vanished from sight.

Martin collapsed against the wall, suddenly exhausted. He stared at Jon, who was still staring at that tape recorder. The Archivist paused, then looked at the door. "Martin... where are you?" he whispered to himself, then rubbed his eyes and stared at the tea he'd made himself. "I miss you."

"I wish I could explain, Jon" mumbled Martin. "I miss you." He muttered it to himself under his breath, Loneliness taking him under again.

Nobody heard him.

AN: Stay safe, it's a crazy world out there. Have a good night. --fanaticit

#the magnus archives #tma #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #peter lukas #the lonely #angst #fanfic #the magnus archives fanfic

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hatsukeii · 4 years

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𝐋𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫

𝐏𝐭. 𝟏- 𝐋𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏.𝟓𝐤

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐃𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠

He was a Tsukishima.

The family of successful people.

Scholars, athletes, politicians, the list goes on.

In the Tsukishima family line, academics were essential. Skills were essential. Talent was essential. Foolishness was not tolerated. Weakness was not tolerated. Clumsiness was not tolerated. Everyone was expected to be at tip top shape at all times, both physically and mentally. Manners were a must. Manners make a man, or so do the elders constantly remind. Gold medals were expected to be seen after competitions. Anything below that was worthless. The Tsukishimas were raised to be in a higher class than others. They mingled with the wealthy, frowned upon the powerless and poor. Mental health was the least of the family’s worries. They had money, they had a reputation, they had a talented bloodline, what was there to worry about anyways?

His full name was Tsukishima Kei, and he was the outcast.

His mother averted her eyes from his direction as he treaded down the flight of stairs to the dining area. She’s always done this. The moment Kei was diagnosed with farsightedness, the Tsukishima family knew he was no good. An omen, they said. With those weird, clunky glasses, the family constantly made passive aggressive comments regarding his sight. You thought he would be safe from his parents? Oh no, you would be wrong. Akiteru was hugely favoured over Kei. He was handsome, tall, well built, smart, he had a bright future ahead of him. Kei? He was scrawny, had sight problems, felt inferior to everybody else. The family had deemed him no good as a child, that wasn’t going to change because of puberty.

He sat at the table quietly, munching on his toast. As usual, his mother was preparing breakfast for Akiteru. As the older sibling jogged down the stairs, he was met with a welcoming smile, along with a bowl of steaming hot ramen. “Good morning son! Come over and have some food won’t you?” Hearing his cue to leave, Kei grabbed his bag, wiped the crumbs off his mouth, and headed out the door, but not before giving his older brother a tiny wave, in which he returned with a small grin and a peace sign. Perhaps Akiteru was the one person that didn’t treat him like shit. Maybe it was because if he did, Kei would tell everyone how he lied about being the ace of Karasuno. Although his kindness was fuelled by a shallow reason as so, it felt nice being treated well once in a while, even if it wasn’t truly genuine.

“Tsukki! Tsukki! Wait up!” Yamaguchi yelled from behind him as he jogged towards the blond. “Morning Tsukki!” The two stood in silence, waiting for the next train to arrive. This routine had been going on for years. Every morning Yamaguchi would meet up with Tsukishima at the train station, then they would head off together. Yamaguchi was one more thing the Tsukishimas frowned upon. When Kei beamed about how he defended the poor boy who was being bullied, instead of praises he received criticism. Bucketloads of criticism from everyone in his family. What was supposed to be an honourable act of kindness towards the less fortunate became the butt of a joke for the family to berate endlessly. To them, Yamaguchi was the perfect example of the weak. The weak were not tolerated. Tsukishimas were raised to frown upon them. They were higher than others. They minded their own business and had a reputation to keep. The world saw them as elegant, graceful, and privileged. They didn’t see them as charitable, soft, or weak. However, Kei paid no mind to his family’s stupid, cold hearted, absolutely fucking ridiculous “ideals”. He was an outcast, would forever be an outcast, might as well live on his own terms if his family couldn’t accept him.

“So, what’d you get on the test? I only managed to score a B-, it was so hard wasn’t it?” He stared at his paper, a huge A written and circled at the top of it. “I mean I think I did-”

“Really good? It’s not an A+. You couldn’t get it perfect so try harder next time. This isn’t good enough.”

His mouth hung open as he stopped abruptly at his words. Oh of course, how could he have forgotten? The constant criticism he received was not only from his family, but from himself as well. His grades were the only valuable thing about him, but it was never good enough. He was top of the class, but never the top of the school. Never the best player on the court. Never the best friend. “Eh, not that great. I should’ve done better considering I spent all day studying for the past week. I got the same score last time too, I doubt it’ll get any better than this.” Scrunching his nose, Yamaguchi leaned in, taking a peek of Tsukishima’s test. “Tsukki, you did so good! Ah, but it’s expected from you, always so harsh on yourself! Chill out a little bit, you’ve got the best grades in our class already! You saying that just makes me sound stupid in your eyes...” Realising the impact his words had on his friend, he stuttered, thinking of something to say. “No, I promise Yamaguchi, you’re not stupid. If you were I wouldn’t have let you befriend me. Please don’t look down upon yourself like that, it’s not good.”

Slinking down the hall, Tsukishima manoeuvred around the sea of students trying to get out of the school, mumbling to himself under his breath. The constant shuffling of feet and people pushing him around were enough to make his head spin and his heart race so much so that he had to stop in the middle of the hall, grabbing his head in an attempt to stop the pulsing. “Move it bro, what the fuck?” Stop. “Dude, don’t just stand there, get out of the way blockhead!” Please, stop. Stumbling his way down the hall, his steps were uneven as his sight became hazy. Cold sweat slid down from his forehead, his chest heaving and his breaths ragged. He needed help. He needed help now, but there was no one. Everyone was too occupied trying to get out of the school. Usually Yamaguchi would be with him but he had art club and stayed behind. Panic attacks were nothing new to him. He would experience them randomly. Everything around him would become everything he feared. Death, disappointment, loss, burden. Yet there was not a single time he was able to calm himself down. He would make someone else worry about him all over again. Maybe he was a burden to people, but he didn’t care anymore. His family hated him enough for his flaws anyways, what’s a few extra people hating him gonna do anyways? He was seeing spots now, staggering down the stairs that he finally reached, when something- or rather someone, walked right into him.

“Hey, please watch where you’re- holy shit... are you okay? I’ll bring you to the nurse hold on-”

“N..no.”

“What?”

“Panic...attack...”

Your eyes widened like saucers as the situation dawned upon you.

“Oh... OH um uh I-”

Cmon stupid, think!

Grabbing his arm, you dragged him into a random classroom, almost tripping over air from him stumbling and his height. Shutting the door behind you, Tsukishima collapsed onto the cold floor, trembling as his eyes darted. You were panicking with him. Hell, you didn’t know how to deal with panic attacks. Pulling out your phone, your fingers tapped furiously as you tried to figure out how you could calm him down. “Mmmm cmon cmon something please...” The sobbing in the background did not help your panic at all. In fact, it made you even more anxious. You couldn’t just leave him here, you had to do something. Anything.

“I- uh, do you need anything? Water? A towel? Is there anything I can do?”

“Stay...stay here..”

Shuffling to his side, you waved your arms around him, trying to figure out what to do next, finally awkwardly settling one of your hands on his back. Giving him occasional pats, your read the instructions on healthline for what to do if someone was going through a panic attack. The next part was to give reassurance.

“I’ll stay here until you’re okay, so don’t worry. Are you feeling any better now?”

Feeling Tsukishima shift, you retracted your hand, putting it on your leg instead. His breathing had finally gone back to normal and he wasn’t shaking anymore. Pushing his glasses back up properly, he grabbed his bag from the floor, pulling the strap over his shoulder.

“Yeah, thanks. I’ll be heading out now.”

“Wait!”

He stopped in his tracks, but not sparing even a glance behind him.

“What’s your name?”

“You don’t have to know.”

He left without another word.

Because that’s what Tsukishimas do.

They walk away from others and hold their shit together by themselves.

Tags:

@sunshines-and-tatertots @izzyphantomgamer @tiger1719 @tiredgr3mlin @trashcanweeb @itmekisuu @fandomwriter73 @random-fandomlover @samanthaa-leanne @sneezefiction @bokutokoutarou @skyeackermans @writeiolite @kuroo-thought-of-a-better-un @ewfilthymundane @mariechan123 @saturnmoon @macaronnv @talks-a-lot-of-stuff @artsamber @kaylacinderella @agentvicinity @sakusasgarbage @tchalameme

#haikyuu #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu tsukishima #hq #hq x reader #hq tsukki #hq headcanons #hq imagines #hq scenarios #tsukishima #tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #tsukki #lemons and sugar #manga #anime

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foxtophat · 3 years

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i dont have much to say about this one!!! it’s just a story about carmina’s tenth birthday, and how the town of fall’s end is coping a decade after the collapse. uhhh there are some random children in it? bean is there! and of course john shows up, too, because that’s KIND OF THE POINT of mercyverse lol

technically there’s a story that comes before this, but i don’t have the vibe yet for it so i haven’t worked on it in a while. instead, i’ll probably just keep moving forward and throw up that one if the rest of the plot becomes at all relevant to the real main storyline. uhhh the next one will take place in the spring of 2029 and we’re going to start getting into some fun stuff that i’ve planned out for a while!!!

until then, uh, the usual: love you, please like/share/reblog/kudos/comment, whatever you feel good about doing, because i sure do love to share my universe with other people! hope you’re doing well and hopefully i’ll see you with another fic in a few weeks!

also as usual: the story text is below the cut for those of you who wanna stay on tumblr :)

It's Carmina's tenth birthday, and there's a party in town. The two things aren't exactly related, sure, but Carmina's used to sharing her birthday with the Collapse, and she's not about to turn down a bunch of free food. How can she not go to a real Hope County barbecue after her parents had hyped the experience up so much in the bunker? She'd hoped that her ninth birthday would have gotten a similar treatment, but the town just didn't have the food or people for it at the time. Her parents had told her that next year would be better; Carmina does her best to keep her imagination from blowing the whole thing out of proportion.

They leave a little bit after breakfast. Since John is coming along, mom has no excuse not to let Carmina ride in the back with him. He's not excited to be heading into town, but then again, the town isn't usually excited to see him, either. And considering what day it is, they're likely to be extra rude to him. Carmina doesn't get it, honestly, but she's just glad that she can ride in back without her mom grabbing onto her at every pothole and bump in the road.

The first surprise of the day comes as her dad parks just past the church, giving her a chance to stand up and look out over the town. She hasn't been here in a while, and so she's surprised to see that they've cleared out a lot of the dirt lot behind the usable buildings — and there are a lot of people hanging out there. Carmina's never seen so many people at once — she loses count around twenty and can easily guess double that. It's enough to rattle her nerves for just a second, before she catches the looks on her mom and dads' faces and realizes that this is probably a good thing. Sure, John looks like he wants to hop back in the truck and go home, but he always looks like that around strangers. Her parents, on the other hand, actually seem happy for once, and that's what matters to Carmina.

The second surprise is just how many of the adults seem to know her. Her parents move slowly through the mingling crowd, usually coming up with names for faces before Carmina's even looked at the strangers who call her by name. She gets lots of comments like, "I remember when your parents were expecting you!" and "I was wondering how the Rye's little girl turned out!" and even a few, "Glad to see you made it," comments that make her parents side-eye each other pretty fiercely. She doesn't need to introduce herself to anyone, not even people who her parents don't know so well — it's like everybody's always known her, and her family. It's kind of cool — but also kind of weird. Pastor Jerome always said that their family was a pillar in the community, but this is first-person evidence, right here in front of her.

Plenty of the adults wish her a happy birthday, too, but she knows their hearts aren't in it. It's one of the big drawbacks to sharing her birthday with the end of the world — nobody asks how old she is, nobody wants to know what she did on previous birthdays, and all of them have to make some kind of depressing comment. Like trying to get her to relate to birthdays before the Collapse: all they want to do is tell her about all the things she could be doing, or would be doing, if only the world hadn't ended. They want to share their birthdays from the past, but Carmina's never been to the movies, she doesn't know who Disney is, and she has no idea why they'd need a cake and candles for it all. Somebody tells her she should be graduating to the fourth grade, and she just stares back because what even is the fourth grade? What does that mean?

They mean well, so Carmina does her best not to upset anybody, but she knows that nobody appreciates how little she cares about life before the Collapse.

At least there are other kids in town today. Her mom had been telling her about some of them — kids who don't have families, who the town looks after — but Carmina's only ever met one of them, and that had been only for a few minutes. But Carmina can see them hanging out in the field, and as soon as her mom lets her, she heads right out to them. It's about time that she met people her age — she's getting tired of only ever talking to old people.

Of course, meeting strangers is still difficult for her, but she's saved from too much embarrassment as she recognizes the chicken brothers hanging out in the small group. She can't remember which one is Tom and which one is Matt, but they seemed really nice when they helped her pick out her chickens. She also recognizes the oldest boy in the group, although she can't remember his name at all. She's never seen the others before — two teenage girls, another boy her age, and a kid a couple years younger than her — but hopefully she won't make a total fool of herself.

"Hi," she says as she approaches, waving.

"Hey, Carmina," Matt-or-Tom says, stepping aside to make room for her in their makeshift circle. "I thought we would see you today."

"Yep," Carmina smiles, "Here I am!" She sees the teenagers' curious looks and tells them with little fanfare, "Today's my birthday."

"Oh," the oldest boy says. "That sucks."

One of the girls elbows him. "Don't be mean," she says.

"No, he's right," Carmina says. "It does suck."

"Well, happy birthday anyway. How old are you now?"

"Ten."

"Wow," the girl says. She looks at the boy, then back to Carmina, and says sympathetically, "You weren't kidding. That's rough."

Giggling with relief, Carmina waves once more. "It's okay. My name's Carmina, by the way. It's nice to meet you."

Being polite works like a charm, and the oldest boy is quick to go around with introductions. "Well, I'm Jason — this is Caroline, and this is Flower. The little kid there —"

"Hey!"

"— Is Bean, and... Sorry, man, what did you say your name was again?"

The other ten-year-old looking boy frowns and shoves his hands deeper into his pockets. "Luke," he says.

"Okay, Luke. And you know Tom and Matt."

"We were talking about the bison out in the field," Tom-or-Matt says. He points in the direction of home and asks, "Did you guys see the big one when you were coming into town?"

"The one that's all white?" Carmina asks, "With the big scar over its hump? We see that one all the time when we come out this way —"

"No, no," the other brother says, "Jason says there's a bigger one."

"I told you guys," Jason says, "I only saw it once, and it was late at night while I was up in the crow's nest. I don't think it comes out during the day."

Carmina frowns. "What big one? What do you mean?"

"Oh, boy," Caroline sighs, "Don't listen to him, Carmina, he's full of shit."

"Hey, language," Flower laughs.

"Look, I was pretty far away, but I had the sniper rifle and I wasn't sleeping on the job. Uh, so..." He points out over the field, towards a squat set of huts surrounding a tall, busted silo that's still standing. The view from up there must be great. "Jerome has me sit up in that tower sometimes, you know, to practice. So I was up there, looking around, and it was probably midnight or so... and I just see this glow out in the field. I think it's a fire, right? Maybe somebody made a camp out there on their way to town or something. So I look out through the scope — and it was a bison."

"A glowing bison?" Carmina asks skeptically.

"Yeah. Like, a monster bison. It was all dark and scaly looking, except for the way its belly glowed. I thought about shooting it, but..."

Caroline laughs. "He got scared. Or it wasn't real, and he's making it all up."

"I wasn't scared, and I'm not making it up! It's not like it could've hurt me up in the nest. It... just didn't feel right. You know, it was just grazing with the rest of the herd. And it moved off over the hill before I could change my mind or call anybody up to confirm it."

"Sure, Jason."

"I'm serious," Jason insists, "I really saw it, okay? I told Jerome about it and everything." He frowns at the dirt. "He said it might've been mutated after the bombs. Then he told me not to go looking for it."

"He's right," Flower says. "Even regular bison are pretty dangerous." She smiles. "That's why I like deer — they won't hurt you. If you sit really still, sometimes they'll even come up and lick your face."

"Oh," Carmina says. "I usually just shoot them. They eat all our vegetables otherwise."

"Yeah," Flower sighs, "Sometimes I do, too. But they're also nice to watch."

Tom-or-Matt looks to his brother. "I wonder if that's what we see outside at night?"

"What, deer?"

"No, dumbass." He turns to the group and explains, "Sometimes, when it's real late and I gotta use the bathroom, I'll see something glowing out in the woods. Dad's cut back a lot of space so it never gets very close, but... maybe it's another mutated animal."

"At least you'll see it coming when it tries to attack you," Carmina suggests.

"Gee, thanks."

Carmina knows he's probably teasing, but she still feels guilty for being so blunt about it. The least she can do is try to reassure him. "Well... most animals don't attack near houses, I don't think. When we first came out of the bunker, there were wild dogs and wolves that would watch us, and my dad was real worried about them — but now they mostly stay away from the property. I think it's because of the fence. You guys have a fence, right?"

"Yeah, plus a butt-load of chickens that freak out over anything out of the ordinary." Matt-or-Tom grins at her and asks, "Don't they wake you up with every little thing?"

Carmina briefly considers mentioning John being attacked, then decides against it. She also doesn't want to tell them that the chickens live mostly indoors at night now — the last thing she wants to do is kick off a whole big thing about the cult on her dang birthday! It's already hard enough pretending to care about them around her parents; she's not sure she could even force herself to bother here. And if she's not careful, the kids in town might start to think about her and her family the same way all the adults do.

"They're pretty docile, actually," she says, "And we only really see deer around our place... It's not like they eat chickens."

"Well.... maybe there's a mutant deer out there that wants to eat you," Tom-or-Matt teases.

Carmina rolls her eyes. "I'll shoot it before it gets past the hangar," she replies.

Of course, her dismissive confidence leads to a sprawling discussion on who might be the best shot out of the group. Carmina does her best to defend her skills, considering she can't prove any of it right now, but all three teens insist they're dead-eyes, and even Bean says he's "getting pretty good at the aiming part." On top of that, the kids from the town have gotten pointers from Aunt Grace herself, which means they might actually be better shots than Carmina expects.

"Maybe we should have a competition," Caroline suggests. "I bet Pastor Jerome and Aunt Grace would be okay with it."

"Sure," Jason laughs, "But you know they'd make us spend forty minutes disassembling and cleaning our rifles before and after. Like I don't know what I'm doing — I'm almost fifteen!"

"Have you guys been to Aunt Grace's?" Carmina asks. "She has a shooting range there."

"Maybe she'd let us use it!"

"I've never been to a real shooting range," Bean says.

"It's not a real shooting range," Jason points out, "Those all got blown up. Do you even know how to use a gun, Bean?"

"I just said I do! My dad taught me! I... just don't like the loud noises it makes."

Matt-or-Tom boasts, "We learned to shoot in our bunker. Mom collected Airsoft guns — they don't use bullets, so they can't kill you."

"What's the point of that?"

"I dunno, I guess practicing underground?"

Tom-or-Matt laughs. "Dad was convinced the Peggies were gonna get us, so he wanted us to know how to shoot."

The quiet kid, Luke, finally speaks up. "Lucky," he mutters, "Easier to learn underground, I bet."

"What about you?" Carmina asks. She tries not to cringe away when he stares back at her like he didn't expect anyone to hear him. Maybe he doesn't like people talking to him? "Um... my mom and dad had a bunch of gun magazines in the bunker, but I never got to shoot a real gun until we came outside. Mom and Aunt Grace have been teaching me, though, and I'm way better than my dad is."

Luke hesitates. "Kind of the same. We came up early, though. Had to."

"Me, too," Jason replies. "It was just me and my brother. I was five when we got stuck in the bunker — we went through our supplies in about three years, so we had to come back up."

"We... only stayed down until I could walk," Luke admits. "It was still really cold when we came up. And mom got real sick for a while."

"Yikes," Bean says, "That sucks!"

"Come on, bean," Jason snaps, "You don't say that."

"You just said it to her!" Bean shouts, pointing at Carmina.

"He's... right," Luke mumbles. "It sucked. It... still sucks. But things are getting better now." He looks up at them, then drops his eyes back to the dirt. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Carmina insists, "I asked first!"

"That's kind of the mood today," Caroline adds. "Don't worry. We can talk about something else."

The change in topic comes abruptly as Bean points towards the Church and asks, "Who is that with Pastor Jerome?"

Carmina doesn't need to look, but since the rest of the group does, she might as well too. John has his hat pulled low over his eyes, as usual, which makes him look suspicious, as usual. Knowing him, he probably didn't even leave the truck — just waited there for Jerome to come talk to him.

She can only hope that Tom and Matt keep their mouths shut since they're the only other kids who know what John looks like nowadays. Unfortunately for her, that hope is pretty quickly dashed.

"Oh," Matt-or-Tom says, like a jerk, "That's John, I think. Right, Carmina?"

"Wait," Jason says, "You're that Carmina?"

Carmina ducks her head. "Um... it depends, I guess?"

Flower, looking too sympathetic for Carmina's liking, tries to mediate. "He just means, well... Jerome talks about you sometimes."

"And he talks about that guy," Jason adds, pointing without any subtlety at all.

"Everyone talks about that guy," Caroline says with a sigh. She gives Carmina a sympathetic shrug as she does, as though she wishes she could stop the conversation from happening, too. That only makes Carmina worried that this isn't the first time the teenagers have sat around gossiping about John and the crazy people who decided to take him in.

"Wait," Bean gasps, way too loudly, "That's John Seed?"

"Oh my God," Matt-or-Tom sighs, "You gotta keep up with the conversation."

"Wait, what's he doing here? Why's he going into the church? I thought he wasn't supposed to come to town? I thought he was locked up!"

Carmina groans. "It's my birthday," she whines, "I don't wanna talk about John today!"

"We don't have to," Caroline says. "Guys, come on."

"I mean, he did kill a lot of people. Isn't he, like, a psychopath? Isn't it weird to live with a murderer?"

"Jason!"

Luke mutters, "I heard he used to cut off people's skin."

"That's true," Jason replies, "My brother has a huge scar from when it happened to him. Boy, I hope he doesn't see that jackass is here..."

Matt-or-Tom finally seems to realize what he's started, frowning as the conversation spirals crazily out of control. It's too late to stop it, though, and so he shuffles his feet and looks apologetically towards Carmina.

Fine. If she can't get around the subject, she's just going to have to tackle it head-on. Even if that sounds really scary. She doesn't think that these guys are going to flip out like the caravan last year did, but she's still a little worried that she might be in for a fight if she says the wrong thing about John.

"I know John used to be a bad guy," she says. "Like, really bad. My dad's got one of those scars, too. But he's not like that any more. All he does nowadays is help my parents with chores and stuff. And he's just like everybody else — he doesn't talk about what happened before the Collapse to me or anybody. So I really don't know anything more than you guys.

She probably knows less than them, honestly, but she's not about to say so and get a brutal lesson in everything John's ever done wrong.

"So he's just... different, now?" Jason asks, frowning unhappily at the church.

"I guess so," Carmina replies with a shrug. She looks over to make sure that John and Jerome are inside, just in case. "He's not... scary, or mean, or anything like that. Just quiet. Kind of... lonely, I guess. Ever since he found out his brother is alive but still crazy, he's been really beat up about it." He's also been literally beaten up over it, but now's not the time to try and make the others feel sorry for him. John would probably be irritated at the idea of a bunch of kids pitying him.

Matt-or-Tom is quick to help her out, which is nice. "She's right," he says. "The Father is still out there in the woods with all those crazies, but John's repented. Dad said he made amends with God, whatever that means. He... uh, still doesn't like us being around him, but when we helped him load the chickens in he seemed okay. Just real quiet."

"That's John, alright," Carmina sighs.

Bean looks seriously disappointed by the news. "You mean he doesn't talk about it at all?" he asks.

"No," Carmina says, snapping for good measure, "And he gets really upset when you ask about it, so don't."

"I'm not gonna go talk to him!" Bean gasps.

The idea that a kid might be scared of John is pretty funny, considering how uncomfortable he is around her, but Carmina's not about to say as much. John probably wouldn't like her sharing a weakness like that with a bunch of strangers, and she wouldn't want them using it against him later.

Flower slowly lifts her hand, looking embarrassed. "Some of the adults in town say the Bliss messed him up. Is that... true?"

Well, at least she's trying to be nice about it. "I dunno," Carmina admits. "He was super weird when he first started living with us, but that might've just been because he was stuck in his bunker for so long."

"Oh, that happened to a guy my dad knows!" Bean supplies helpfully. "Dad calls it bunker shock. Says living underground too long is bad for you when you're all alone!"

"Glad I didn't live in one long enough for that," Luke says. When everyone looks at him, he clams up for a second before continuing on. "A neighbor came up just this year. He's... real weird. I don't like him much. He still sleeps underground, hoping he'll wake up and it'll all be a dream." He scuffs his boot against the dirt, sniffing loudly. "That's what my mom says, anyway. I try not to be around when he comes by."

"He wouldn't be the first adult to be like that," Jason says. He gives the church one last look before nodding his head towards the party. "I mean, that's why we're all the way out here, instead of hanging out around the food. Right?"

"No," Bean replies, "I'm out here 'cos I can't eat another bite! I didn't know you could be this full."

Caroline laughs. "Yeah, the adults have been stockpiling for weeks, it looks like... I guess everyone was really looking forward to it — or, well, I guess that's what it is."

Flower gazes over at the gaggle of adults. Carmina recognizes her dreamy smile from the way her mom looks around the house sometimes, like she's getting a new, better look at the place.

"It feels like things are starting to look up," she says. "Maybe they can all be happier now."

"Hey, don't jinx it!" Tom-or-Matt laughs.

Bean looks around at the rest of them and for a second, Carmina is worried he's going to ask more about John and restart the whole ugly conversation. Thankfully, it looks like he's still a baby, so he's quickly distracted.

"So, what do we do now?" he asks, pushing his too-big glasses up his nose.

Carmina has never actually played with other kids before, so she doesn't have any good suggestions — especially when shooting is off-limits. Thankfully, she isn't the only one. The teenagers don't know where their soccer ball went, and Luke says he doesn't even know what soccer is. Bean says he usually plays word games by himself. When Tom-or-Matt suggests they play something called "capture the flag," it manages to make its way to the top of the list just because Jason and Caroline have both heard of it before.

Well, at least something is better than nothing. The older kids explain how capture the flag works, using Jason's shirt for their team's flag while the other kids band together around Matt-or-Tom's sweaty tank top. Carmina imagines that one of them should sit out for even teams, but the older kids seem confident that they can handle it. Too confident, in Carmina's opinion — maybe they need to be brought down a peg.

Capture the flag turns out to be more fun than Carmina had expected — and a lot harder, too. Trying to outmaneuver the older kids is tough work, but she and Tom-or-Matt figure out how to flank them pretty quick. There's nothing better than the moment when Carmina manages to dive out of the way when Jason tries to tackle her, and even if she gets dog-piled by Flower halfway back to Bean at home base, she holds Jason's shirt up for another teammate to take.

Unfortunately, the game ends without a winner as a sharp whistle pierces the air. Bean looks up and shouts, "That's my dad! I better go!"

He runs off at full tilt without so much as a goodbye, and Carmina has to squint against the setting sun to watch him go. She hadn't realized how late it had gotten.

"I should probably get going, too," Luke says, sweaty and almost smiling for once. "I want to get another plate of food before we go home."

"Ugh," Carmina sighs, "And the chickens need feeding."

"Just make John do it," Matt-or-Tom says, apparently not learning his lesson about mentioning John.

"It's supposed to be my job," she says. "And anyway, he already feeds them in the morning when I don't get up in time."

"They're gonna like him more than you," Tom-or-Matt laughs.

Jason frowns. "He feeds your chickens?"

"I mean... yeah. He does whatever we need him to." Carmina shrugs, glancing back towards the church. She hasn't seen Jerome or John leave — maybe she should go see them before she rounds up her parents? Nah, it's better to leave them alone until the very last minute.

"Just... didn't think you'd let him near livestock, that's all."

"What's he gonna do, poison the eggs?" Carmina huffs. "He's good with them. I think he likes them 'cos they aren't judgey."

Caroline frowns, which tells Carmina she might've been a little rude. But Jason's been rude about John all day, so she's not going to feel sorry about it!

"Well, I guess if your parents trust him..."

"Sure they do," Carmina replies, even if that's not... exactly right. She knows her parents trust John enough to help around the house, but she thinks they only want to trust him with all the other stuff.

"I really better go," she says, pointing towards town.

"Sure," Flower says. "It was nice to meet you, Carmina."

Carmina gives them her best grin, relieved when it's returned from the others. Jason even waves like there's no hard feelings. "It was nice meeting you guys," she says.

"Happy birthday again!" Matt-or-Tom says, "And be careful!"

"Yeah," his brother laughs, "Wouldn't want to have a glowing deer attack you in the outhouse tonight!"

Carmina laughs away the dumb attempt to scare her, waving goodbye before turning to head for the party. Halfway there, she glances over her shoulder and sees the group turned back to one-another in conversation. None of them are looking back, but as she continues on, she's chased by an unfamiliar sense of discomfort. She can't help but wonder if they're still talking about John in the church.... If they're talking about her.

At least she can distract herself while looking for her parents. There are plenty of adults who say hello; some of them even point her helpfully towards her mom's last known location, or towards the table with the cookies her dad really liked. Some of them check in to make sure her birthday has been going well, too, which is nice of them, but a lot of adults are pretty drunk and deep in their own conversations.

She eventually finds her mom and dad standing around a grill with Marjorie, one of the adults in charge around town. Carmina's met her a couple of times. She's nice, but she can talk a lot. There's no telling how long they've been talking for, and if Carmina doesn't interrupt, who knows when they'll finish. While she could probably grab some food for the road, first she has to make sure that they're actually going to be leaving sometime before the next Collapse.

Besides, it looks like her dad's already got a box of leftovers in his hands. If Carmina wants to eat, she's going to have to interrupt.

"Hey dad," she says as she comes up to them, "The chickens are going to need dinner soon."

Her dad grins at her before handing over the squat, open cardboard box. There's chicken, ribs, corn and roasted potatoes, and even a handful of cookies and flatbread; it takes everything in Carmina's power not to make a desperate grab for more food. She doesn't have to worry about going hungry tonight, so there's no need to eat everything put in front of her.

"Here," he tells her, "You take this, alright? My arms are gettin' tired."

Yeah, right. As soon as she takes the box, he uses one of those tired arms to grab one of the ribs. When Carmina frowns suspiciously at him, her dad only shrugs.

"I coughed on it."

"Uh-huh..."

Laughing, her mom reaches out to give Marjorie a hug. It might've run a little long, but her mom obviously enjoyed the talk. "We'll be back in a week or two with the tractor parts," she says. "You're going to get the fields back in shape in no time."

"Already got a good start," Marjorie replies. She shoots Carmina a warm smile. "Happy birthday, by the way! Don't think I got to see you much. Hope those kids weren't giving you a hard time."

"No," Carmina replies., "They're all really nice. We want to practice shooting together, maybe have a contest. Jason said he's better than anybody else."

"I bet you're gonna give him a run for his money!" Marjorie laughs. "Well, the better a shot you are, the better off you'll be. You won't see anybody here stop you kids."

"Yeah, but tonight, I have to feed the chickens," Carmina says, just in case her parents need another chance to get out of here.

"We've got a few other people to say goodbye to," her mom tells her. "Why don't you take the food back to the truck? We'll meet you there."

"Should I get John, too?"

As soon as she asks, Carmina decides she probably shouldn't have brought it up. Too late, though; by the look on Marjorie's face, there's no way to pretend she didn't hear it.

Her dad shrugs. "Probably oughta," he tells her, as if he doesn't see Marjorie staring at them like she is.

Marjorie definitely doesn't like that, judging by the way she squints, but she doesn't say anything about it. "Well, I hope you had a decent enough birthday for once," she says, "Hopefully we'll be having a party around this time every year from now on."

"That would be nice," mom says.

"Just you wait, we're gonna turn this ship around one way or another." Marjorie gestures with her hands and says, "Alright, you better go, before those chickens of yours eat each other."

Carmina frowns. "They don't do that, do they?"

"Uh, let's get moving," her dad says. "See you soon, Marg."

"Take care!"

Her mom and dad have to stop a few more times to say goodbye to people Carmina doesn't know, but she pushes on without them and nobody stops her for more than a quick birthday greeting. She catches sight of Luke packing up some food with his parents, but he's too distracted to notice her. At least she isn't the only one carrying a box of leftovers out of here; it would feel selfish of her if they weren't sending leftovers home with other people.

Her parents haven't caught up with her by the time she reaches the truck, and John is nowhere to be seen. She figures he's probably still in the church — he and Pastor Jerome always take forever when they're talking. They'll probably be there until dad goes in and breaks them up.

Eating by herself in the back of the truck doesn't feel right, especially not within walking distance of the church. Leaving the food tucked in the corner by the cab, Carmina heads for the building herself. Even if nobody was in there, she'd probably go wander inside for a few minutes; it's a comforting, quiet place in the dry, dusty town. But right now, she's pretty sure John is hanging around inside, and he probably hasn't eaten anything all day, either. She should at least let him have first pick.

She knows a lot of the adults dislike the church, but Carmina personally enjoys how its sun-bleached siding stands out against the sky. Besides the house, the church is one of the few places Carmina wishes she could have seen in one piece. She's seen old, faded pictures from ancient newspaper clippings, but it's just not the same.

The doors are open wide enough for Carmina to slip in without a sound. The air inside is cool, almost chilly, and it smells like dirt and grass. From the entrance, there's only a narrow gap keeping Jerome and John out of sight. She doesn't mean to hide, but she doesn't want to interrupt Jerome mid-sentence...

It's too late, she's eavesdropping.

"It might not be much, but it's something," Jerome's saying. "He even stayed a few nights, when the wind got bad and brought too much pollen over the river."

"It would be better for everyone if he stayed here permanently," John replies. "Wallace went further down the path than the rest of them, and they clearly don't know what they're doing."

"They're trying, John. And we don't have a say in the matter. It's got to be his choice. Remember?"

John grunts, clearly annoyed. Carmina doesn't think she's ever heard him say so much before. Does he talk to her mom and dad this much? Is he really only quiet around her?

"I don't like it," John says.

"For what it's worth, neither do I. But Sharky's taking things seriously — they all are. You're going to have to trust them."

"Trust isn't exactly one of my virtues," John grumpily admits.

Jerome chuckles. "You just need practice."

Well, Carmina definitely feels guilty now. She had only been waiting for an opening, but if she waits any longer, she's really going to be breaking John's trust. Pastor Jerome's, too, for that matter.

Thinking on her toes, Carmina pushes on the already open door as though she's just showing up. Of course, the hinges squeal in protest as soon as she does, so she stops before she breaks something.

"Are you guys still in here?" she calls. She's pretty convincing about it, in her opinion.

"Yes, Carmina," Jerome responds, apparently none-the-wiser, "We're here."

John regards her neutrally as she steps into view, but he's always wearing his poker face around her. She needs to get better at reading it.

"I guess it's time to go, then," he says.

"Yeah. Um — I mean, I can meet you back at the truck. Mom and dad will be here soon..."

Jerome speaks up before John can get the chance. "No, you two go on. I think we were just about done ourselves, and I'd like to sit here for a little while, before it gets too dark." He and John shake hands, and then he comes over to give Carmina a hug. "Happy birthday," he tells her. "You be good for another year, alright?"

"I'll try," she says.

"That'a girl," Jerome laughs. "Keep an eye on her, John."

Sometimes, it seems like Jerome is the only adult in Hope County that doesn't think John is a bad influence on her. Even her mom and dad, who are basically the only people on John's side, get uncomfortable if she tries to talk to him too much. But Jerome is a special case. He used to be weird about anything John-related, but nowadays? Honestly, Carmina's pretty sure he's John's only friend at this point — well, okay, other than mom and dad, but they don't count.

John waits until they've left the church to speak. He's chilly and dismissive, as usual.

"How long were you listening for?"

"I wasn't," Carmina begins — but she can't lie to him. Lying only ever makes things worse. So she corrects herself reluctantly and admits, "It was only a minute. I didn't mean to... it just sort of happened."

"Hm."

Normally, Carmina can't get a read on John's poker face, but... huh. She can't help but feel like she might've... hurt his feelings? She definitely wasn't being trustworthy, that's for sure. And now he's trying to casually out-pace her on the walk back to the truck.

"I'm sorry for eavesdropping," she says, picking up her pace to match his. "I promise, I won't do it again."

John glares at her, but she's pretty sure he's not angry. Maybe just confused? She's not sure, he's never looked at her longer than two seconds before.

"I... appreciate it," he replies instead, which makes it the first time he's ever accepted an apology of hers. Usually, he just tells her not to worry about it.

Carmina grins at him, but he's already looked away, so of course he doesn't see it. Instead, he looks to the field, where the three teens from town are still hanging out. Carmina can't tell if they're looking this way or not. She sure hopes they aren't; John would know immediately that they gossiped about him, and she's already messed up with him once today.

"Have you ever played capture the flag?" she asks, hoping to distract him. "The chicken brothers taught us the rules but I think they maybe made some of it up."

John cracks a small smile. Well, Carmina will pretend it's one, anyway.

"The chicken brothers," he repeats.

"You know, Tommy and Matt."

"Do they know that's what you call them?"

"I mean, I've never said it to their faces..."

"That's probably smart."

They reach the truck, which marks the invisible barrier that keeps John out of town. Of course, mom and dad still aren't here. If Carmina climbed up on top of the truck, she might be able to spot them, but it's not like she could get their attention from this far away. So, she's going to have to kill time until they get back.

"Did you eat?" she asks, climbing up into the truck bed.

"I'm fine, Carmina," John replies, a little wearily. Like she's not the first person to bug him about it today — or, maybe like he lacks energy from not eating all day.

She rolls her eyes, but John doesn't see. "Uh-huh." She sits down, pulling the box of food into her lap as she leans back against the cab. "Dad was surprised that there were cookies. Um, not exactly the same, I guess? But still really good." She's not going to give him a chance to turn it down, grabbing one and shoving it in his direction. "Here, try one!"

John, leaning against the side of the truck like he is, is clearly more interested in looking for her parents than humoring her. He definitely looks like he wants to say no. But to her surprise, he actually takes the offered food. It would be weird to stare at him while he eats, so she goes back to debating between a chicken leg or one of the last ribs in the box.

"Not bad," John comments, which is like, crazy, because Carmina definitely isn't goading him into talking.

"They're kind of crumbly," Carmina says, "I dunno if that's what it's supposed to be like. But all the food is really good." She counts the chicken legs out again, just to make sure there's one for each of them. "Um... hey, John? Uh... do chickens eat each other?"

John frowns, chewing the question over with the rest of the cookie. He swallows, then says, "Most animals cannibalize their own if they're desperate enough."

"Oh."

"They would need to be left alone for a lot longer than a few hours," he points out. "Or they would have to be sick. It's more likely a dog will get them before they turn on each other."

Well, at least Carmina can trust John to tell her the truth, even if it's probably not the way her parents would want him to do it. She doesn't even mind him being so blunt about it, either; she's just surprised he's willing to talk to her. She can't help but wonder if this is going to be a normal thing, now that she's ten — is he going to stop being so weird around her? Or is this just a special treat, because of the day? She sure hopes not. It'd be a lot less awkward if John didn't act so scared of her all the time.

Her parents finally join them at the truck. Her mom wrinkles her nose at Carmina sitting in the back again, but she doesn't say anything. Her dad doesn't seem to mind; once he spots the box in Carmina's lap, he reaches over to grab one of the shortbread cookies for himself.

"Sorry about that," he says, "We got held up a couple times. John, you try one of these yet?"

"I did."

"Crazy having home-baked goods again, right?" Her dad waggles the cookie in John's face; John rolls his eyes and circles back around to the tailgate, climbing up into the bed. "Here, Carmina, give me that box so the food doesn't get too cold on the way home."

"You're just gonna eat everything," Carmina objects, handing over the box anyway.

"Nah, come on. Here, you guys grab something for the ride home." He nudges Carmina's shoulder with the box. "You probably worked up an appetite bullying all the older kids out there — and I bet you didn't eat much of anything, either," he adds in John's direction.

"I had a cookie, didn't I?"

"Yeah, I'll bet nobody forced you into it, either."

Carmina grins as her dad winks at her. Her mom rolls her eyes, but doesn't keep dad from bullying John a little. "Grab something so we can get going," she tells John, "And make sure she doesn't stand up once we're in drive."

John reluctantly takes a towel-wrapped ear of corn and a single rib, while Carmina goes right for that piece of chicken she'd been eying from the start. That helps her make peace with sitting safely, at least this one time. Next year, she's definitely going to get to ride in back by herself, she can feel it, and she is going to do it standing up!

As Carmina watches the town shrink behind them, she congratulates herself on another successful birthday. It'd been better than she'd expected — she was a little uncomfortable around so many people at first, but now she's pretty sure she can say she's made some friends? And seeing the town full of food and laughter and music... It had been sort of what Carmina imagines Fall's End used to be like. Her parents probably wouldn't agree, but maybe that's okay. Maybe when she's older, she can try and prove to them that things can be just as good as they used to be — even if it's a different kind of good.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #fcnd #new dawn #john seed #nick rye #kim rye #carmina rye #far cry fanfic #my fic

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wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 3 years

Note

Hi Evoe, can I ask for you to write this MCxVinca fic? The request is where mc made deal with demons by giving up ability to feel touch to obtain darkness and light powers so she can keep up with Vinca and her friends. However, demon magic corrupt mc’s soul. Mc went dark and betray her lover by using Vinca’s knife to kill her so she can become Pride and take her mind reading power. Mc made it looks like it’s from Vuzgamad’s ambush and claimed that Vinca made her a successor before her death

PART 1

Written by: @evoedbd

WARNINGS: Violence Blood Broken Bones Psychological Abuse Verbal Abuse Strong Language A whistle Morbid Idolization (testing how this is received before putting the darker stuff out) *************************************

What Yvette dragged out of the bar was not human. Not anymore. It was a tapestry of torn, mutilated flesh. Of fury and indifference mixed into the most toxic being to draw breath. It was pain personified, five foot two and perhaps 100 pounds soaking wet worth of utter agony. Something so utterly twisted, so broken, that just a glance could cause tears to leak from one’s eyes like blood from a serial killer’s knife.

The woman’s head was almost entirely void of hair, covered instead by rows of raised scar tissue from hairline to the back of her neck. Burned and clawed into the skin. The faintest hint of grey bloomed between each row, stubborn black hairs regrowing amidst the pain. This only made the stark white tissue stand out more prominently, especially against bronze-tinged skin. The self-mutilation didn’t end there. Her now pointed ears were uneven, the healed edges bubbly with regrown flesh. Reminiscent of a goblin; an inhuman monster. It was not a clean, surgical modification. Instead, it appeared as if earrings had been torn from open wounds. Again and again until even calling her ears human was a stretch of the imagination. Through each was ring, jewellery far finer than her actual appearance. An echo from the past, of someone else’s past.

Rae Wren, or what was left of her, gave no fight. In fact, she strode with a wicked smirk across her lips, a glimmer of unnaturally sharpened, wolf like teeth gleaming behind blackened lips. The pattern of teeth continued along her lower face to her ear, carved like the lines across her head, then outlined with ink, each point a tattooed monstrosity representing those she had killed. They weren’t for human lives; those were far too simple. Too easy to erase and forget. To replace. One warm body was like another. Breakable. Disposable. Prisons of utter filth for her to pick and choose. It was almost like shopping for chastity belts or cock traps to keep her little demonic slaves in check whilst she played. And played, and played and played… or was it murdered? She didn’t even remember anymore. No, the wolf like grin permanently marked upon her flesh with scar and ink was very special. Each tooth was a life of host and demon both, of those who had seen the end. The final moments. The sacrifice. When Pride had become Rae’s mantle. When Rae had ceased to be anything and everything.

The other demons and humans had their places across her body. Each a line for the demonic veins that should have marked her body. Everybody knew she was a demon, even demons. At this point, she was a whisper in the realms of hell. The devil awaiting every demon who dared rise. Lucifer may have been the terror of man, but Rae, but the Proud Wren, was the terror of nightmares. It had once been said no mortal could make a demon beg, could make a demon fear or willingly return to hell. Rae had taken those words to heart, then proven otherwise. She had proven again, and again and again and again. Until her mere name was proof enough. Nevermind her loving attentions to her adoptive siblings.

But apparently someone still didn’t get the memo.

“You can’t keep doing this, Rae!” Yvette’s words were low, a hiss as much as a sigh. That was so Yvette. So broken herself, so naive. So hooked on her dreams and submerged in her fears. Once, Rae had admired Yvette’s strength. How she was unafraid and stood up to demons. Now… now Rae knew the truth. Yvette was the worst type of coward. She wasn’t even in denial. She was so utterly oblivious that it was almost laughable. Simply sitting next to Yvette for five minutes was a hoot. Popcorn worthy… if popcorn had still had flavour.

“I doubt anybody is going to stop me. You won’t.” Rae retorted, lips peeling further away from her teeth. The reveal of pink may have been a relief, a reminder of her humanity. Yvette flinched as Rae’s artificially forked tongue poked out, splitting around a splatter of blood across her lip. Blood which was not her own. Catlike, she lifted her bloodied knuckles to her tongue, smirking around her mouthful as she lapped at her tarnished skin.

“You’re going to get sick off of that.”

“Well, heaven won’t want me, and the devil has a restraining order against me.”

“Ever wondered what it must take for demons to fear you.”

“I did dethrone your pathetic little act, didn’t I? Hashtag, so sad.” Rae mocked, her lips turning into an exaggerated pout. One she emphasised with fingers pulling on the corners of her mouth and a sluggish drop of her shoulders.

“If you keep doing this, I won’t come for you. I’ll leave you to deal with the police again. Then you won’t get to continue your little vigilante act, Rae.” Yvette’s tone was firm, her brows lowered dangerously over blazing azure eyes.

Oh, it was adorable. A good effort. Truly. Solid jaw, dangerous eyes, crowding her space. All an A plus mark in big girl intimidation…

“You won’t.” Rae laughed, almost ready to collapse with her malicious mirth.

“You’ll try, sure, but we both know you’ll fail. You need me, Yvette. I’m sure only one who can ever truly understand you. The others try, they really do, but none of them have really been there… have they? You and I are the founders of the killed your girlfriend club… so, unless you want to encourage some homicide of the human variety, you’re stuck with me as your therapist. Of course, you could always fix that with just a little kiss. Get your special badge back.” Rae taunted, leaning a little closer with pursed lips, taunting further.

She was so close; Rae could feel it. The way Yvette’s body warmed, teasing Rae’s skin like sunlight on a spring’s day. Refreshing. Comforting. Just like a hug from the latest murder victim. Who cared if the hug was post-mortem… wait, perhaps the warmth was blood then… maybe Yvette’s little tantrum was more akin to demon dust fluttering across Rae’s naked body? Warm with death, ripe with fear and justice… the tingly kind of delightful. Fun and morally responsible. A two for one deal.

“You didn’t kill her. That wa-”

“My own deal to help save your girlfriends ass. I chose to help family and look where it got me. No family. No fiancée. Very little humanity. I’ve gotten more reward for hurting people than I ever got for helping… so thanks for the reminder, but you already know the drill. I’m naughty, you come play mommy, your breathing reminds me I lost everything I ever loved saving your sexy finger warmer. It’s a whole thing.” Rae sighed, pausing long enough to lift a hand to her shades between shrugs.

Cold, lifeless eyes gazed from behind expensive sunglasses, the ones from Vinca Wren’s last project. Rae’s eyes were so scarred, so utterly void of humanity that even Yvette shuddered. Rae’s pupil was more reminiscent of an ink droplet, running into the whites in little sickly veins. The pattern of an infection. What once had been soft, gentle browns had hardened, as if the pigment had been drawn from them until only the yellows of the shade remained. Rare veins and streaks of brown remained, lightning bolts within the everlasting storm of grief.

“If you hate me so much…”

“Why stick around? Oh Yvette, its nothing personal, babe. Pride’s honor.” Rae began, pausing to slide those precious shades into a hardcase hidden within her jacket. Her hands were so gentle with those shades, fingertips lingering as if she might project her touch through time and space, as if somehow Vinca might feel her affections. A moment the world allowed her before the sound of footsteps echoed. The snap of the case was the snap back to reality, a snap which echoed off of the old brickwork. The first beacon. The second was a silver whistle, chipped and worn, one which Yvette was already reaching to slap out of Rae’s hand as the fallen assassin laughed.

“You’re just the best bait.”

Then the whistle sounded.

A short blow, then a longer one, then a short one again. An SOS. One wavering with Rae’s laughter. The whistle sounded only thrice before it was slapped aside, Yvette huffing and puffing furiously.

“You’re a special kind of cunt, Rae!” The Greed assassin growled; decorum lost to her outrage. Rae could already see it, the torn loyalties waging war within Yvette’s blazing blue eyes. The misguided belief in Rae despite everything. It was so obvious, from clenching jaw to pained eyes, how desperately Yvette wanted to avoid this. How it pained her to let Onyx suffer around the corner, just as much as it pained her to war against Rae. In the past, Rae may have broken at such a thing, at such a display. At Yvette letting her heart beat for two sides. For a sister and a lover. Now, it was all merely an annoyance. Not what Rae needed.

“Dawww… don’t you want to go save your girl?” She cooed, before raising her voice.

“Here, puppy, puppy. We know you like it rough, so come play… I may not be Dorran, but I can probably hit as hard. I can even entertain your emotional whore kink!”

The shing of a blade leaving its scabbard was the only warning Rae had before she was sent staggering by a burst of heat delivered in a solid punch to the gut. Before she could even right herself, the slap of the scabbard across her face forced her back another few stumbling steps. There it was. The snap. The goal she’d had for weeks. Weeks of volatile behaviour. Misbehaving a little too close to Yvette’s secrets. Once, it was a line she’d never have crossed. Once, those young lives held meaning to Rae. All life did. Now? Now it was all ash in her mouth. A thirst she could never slake, not that she truly wanted to. Afterall, Assassins fought demons, and Rae had worked incredibly hard to perfect her mutilated appearance. To leave no illusions that she was truly a demon in human skin, even if none from the depths of hell would touch her… well, now she had her own little slice of hell. All fired up, enraged, protective even. Lunging with her blade with the intent to harm. Maybe this time, it would be enough.

Yvette was not like the other assassins. They all fought with a sense of honor. Each had things too low for their heroics. Yvette held no such qualms. She struck high and low, lunging and twisting. A single foot out of place was punished by blade and heels, driving Rae backwards. It was an exquisite dance. Duck. Weave. Twist. A thrust of Yvette’s blade. Countered by a duck and a jab to the ribs. A quick hand was at Yvette’s wrist, twisting her arm aside, tearing her guard down for Rae’s following punch to the tender gut. Break it down, bruise it, take the air from Yvette’s body. For her efforts, Rae received a backhanded slap in response. The echo of gloved hand against flesh was accompanied by matching screams, two immensely powerful individuals reduced to hissing and screeching like fighting cats in heat.

Yvette was again the first to strike out, a wild slash of her blade. Rae ducked, falling right into the precise thrust of the scabbard straight to the collar. She shoulda read that. It was too easy to reach out, to capture every thought flittering through Yvette’s mind. From there, it was a different dance. Yvette could no longer land the blows, yet Rae’s shorter range kept her from truly inflicting any harm. The dance switched from snakes slithering under one another’s guard and striking out with fast blows into wolves circling one another. Assessing. Manoeuvring. Rae didn’t need to keep her eyes on Yvette, in fact doing so was playing the game. So, Rae waited, allowing Yvette to slink around her, letting Yvette find the faux opening… then launch.

Yvette was fast. Rae was faster. A twist later she had her left arm hooked over Yvette’s, forcing the blade to pass her. A swift toss back of her head saw Yvette’s nose broken, bloodied. Tears blinding those remarkably clear blues. Snot and blood choking her. Rae followed through with her elbow, driving it straight into Yvette’s throat. It was calculated. Too hard would kill her, too gentle wouldn’t be enough to drop her. Greed fell to her knees, spitting blood over Rae’s boots. Pride wasn’t done. A tug on Yvette’s trapped arm had Greed falling into Rae’s rising knee. The blow sent Yvette sprawling to the ground, into the grease and muck like some common drug addict. Like the homeless orphan Yvette had once been.

“How does it feel, Yvette? To be back here?” Rae mocked, kicking the lethal blade aside. The clattering of the weapon filled the alleyway, a sound far too familiar for Rae. The Pride assassin flinched, drawing back from the sound for only a moment. Then, it was so much worse.

“Rae! STOP!”

Rae’s teeth clashed together, biting back the enraged scream as she turned towards her worst nightmare.

Onyx Wren. Five foot nothing of gorgeous blonde bombshell. A little fuckwit wearing the face of Vinca… only Onyx couldn’t wear it right. Her bold, neon makeup was a child’s game at beauty, like a toddler playing with mommy’s makeup from her teenage Scene phase. Onyx was all cherub and sweet, with eyes the colour of sunlight through an ocean wave. Figures Onyx would represent the water beneath the skies that Vinca embodied. She was never better than Vinca, never appreciative. She’d let Vinca endure it all. To save her own pathetic skin, Onyx had let Vinca be condemned. Over and over. Now, she pranced about, the good girl. The grieving sister. Forgiven for putting her abuser above Vinca, even in death. Onyx was the sister who let Vinca throw everything that truly mattered away and repaid her with vicious rumour.

She dared? She fucking dared! She dared show her face after everything, to rip into Rae’s chest all over again. It was a holocaust in her heart, memory after memory dragged into the chamber feeding her agony. Each felt like a death all over again. A blow to her chest unlike any physical pain. A lance into the side of a great beast, until said beast was reduced to a feral being. Onyx’s fucking face took Rae’s breath, brought her to her knees before the jeering crowd. It tore Pride down, leaving only a screaming, sobbing wreck behind.

“Fuck off!” Rae screamed, tearing her vocal cords with the strength of her cry. It was torn from her churning, bruised gut, loud enough to drown out the monotonous drill of cars. The former Mechanic howled, hands brought to her scarred head, nails dragging down the scars in practiced desperation. The teeth carved from the corner of her mouth to her ears began to glow, illuminated a deathly bone white. The glow spread, radiating across every scar, until the veins stood stark against her skin, a homage to the demon she swore was within. It was a terrifying duet with every tattooed line, shadows now. Or rather, the complete absence of colour and light. The void left behind in Rae’s heart given physical form.

“You have to let go, Rae. Please. We all lost-”

“I CAN’T!” Rae’s cry cut Onyx’s sentence short. Her hands fell to the ground, fingers clawing the asphalt as if she might find something, anything, to settle her tornado of an existence. On her hands and knees, the Pride assassin once more looked small. Broken. Defeated. So lost and helpless. Her back curled, shoulders caving beneath the weight of her angst. Her forehead met the ground, taking comfort in the greasy coolness for a few seconds before she defiantly lifted her head, fixing Onyx with a look of pure, seething hatred.

Envy looked cut to the bone, deeper than all of Rae’s torments. All her jabs and digs. Every secret she had gleefully sung to the other Assassins, publicly tearing Onyx down. Publicly shaming her, shaming all of them. All the assassins were fucking idiots. They hadn’t seen what was unfolding right beneath their noses, too content to gripe about a harsh leader as Onyx begged for him to stop. As she concealed his darkness to preserve a fantasy. As she was morphed into his little punching bag. His little victim. The Harley Quinn to his Joker. With Onyx’s secrets, Rae had torn all the Assassins down, brought them to their knees weeping, then strutted across the corpses of their self-esteem. She wasn’t Vinca. She didn’t care about these people. About what was right and wrong. They’d all condemned Vinca. All willingly cast her out rather than face reality. If they hadn’t, if Onyx had just spoken…

“It’s all your fucking fault.” Rae no longer sobbed, she snarled, a tapestry of shadow and light, a monster digging into Onyx’s brain, wrenching everything to the forefront in the hopes just one memory flashed across Onyx’s conscious.

“You may have been happy to let her go. I refuse to. I won’t. You’ll have to tear her from my cold, dead ha-” whatever melodramatics Rae had planned were interrupted by an enraged scream, followed by the swing of something straight into her temple. The Pride assassin teetered, forearms trembling to hold her weight for but a moment before she fell, surrendering to the abyss.

Perhaps this time, things would be better in the void.

****************************** 3 years Ago ******************************

She was so tired. It was something which went deeper than a mere sleep could repair. The weight of the world was constantly upon her shoulders; dragging her chest down towards her gut. Her heart felt as if every beat was sluggish, a constant painful rock in her chest, yet one she could not feel. Rather, she felt the absence of her heart, the pain stopping only there, whilst her lungs were further tormented. Even here, with sweat running down her body, leaving her hair stuck to her forehead as if it were a layer of paper mashe upon a child’s sculpture. Even with her blood rushing through her veins, muscles screaming with ever hurried stride she took, her heart did not warm. Each beat sent a pulse of cold through Rae’s body, a seeping despair she was continuously clawing her way out of. Only to find herself somewhere far… darker.

Tendrils of that darkness drove her onwards, pulling and pushing each muscle as Rae desperately just tried to stop. She was so tired. All she wanted to do was collapse, to fall into Vinca’s arms and just feel the embrace. Feeling. It wasn’t so long ago Rae had taken it for granted. Now, it was simply gone. Forever. It was her sacrifice for the abilities she had gained. For what had allowed her to save Vinca time and time again. What had allowed her to save Onyx, Vinca’s twin sister. The power over light and shadow, and the temperatures they could bring. Durability to stand against Vinca’s foes, the strength to protect. If only such a thing hadn’t cost so much. Touch. The ability to ever feel another’s touch ever again. It had rendered Rae’s hands useless, for no longer could she feel a pulse, nor how deep wounds were. Without touch, she couldn’t heal anybody. Couldn’t help them. Couldn’t feel when she hurt them. All she had ever been, gone. Taken from her in a deal she had barely understood in her desperation. She’d tried. She tried so hard to continue on. To pretend touch wasn’t so important. But, night after night, she watched Vinca’s pleasure without ever being able to feel it. She held Vinca close, without ever being able to feel her. The simplicity of holding hands was robbed from her. No, not robbed. She’d given it up in a foolish moment of insecurity, convinced it was to save Vinca’s life. To save Onyx’s life. That was a pretty small comfort now. She just wanted a hug, darn it! No, not darn it. Darn was close, but not what she truly wanted to say. Fuck it. FUCK. IT. She just wanted one fucking hug she could feel. Just one to remind her she was still tethered to this world.

“I’ve got you.” Vinca’s huff in Rae’s ear was accompanied by a sense of flying. Of floating. There was no more pain in her muscles, that migrated to her chest. She wanted to scream, to tell Vinca to stop. That this was wrong. This was all a trap. All dangerous. Something was screaming within her, writhing against the darkness, the tendrils… fighting to be the voice dominating her brain. Even that was murky. The river of the Nile running red with blood. Her blood. Vinca’s blood… maybe if it was Vinca’s she wouldn’t be alone anymore.

“-I wouldn’t be… I’d feel her again. Something. Anything. It’s not like she told me. Nobody told me! Vinca cheated this and couldn’t even tell me until I’d already paid the fucking price… does she really deserve- NO! Stop! What am

I doing? I love her! This isn’t me! I c-can’t hurt her!-”

Rae’s war didn’t end there. A droopy blink later, she registered the feeling of metal beneath her fingers. A kunai. One of Vinca’s weapons from her collar. The blade so close to Vinca’s jugular vein… whilst the Assassin was oblivious. So utterly clueless, or so utterly trusting of her devoted fiancée. Fiancée… they had a life together, a life to live. Years to figure this out. All Rae had to do was hold on, was fight as hard as Vinca had.

“It’s back, Vinc… I almost…”

“I know. Your heart isn’t cold yet, Unco, so stay with me. There’s still time, and I will never give up on you. It’s not our style.” Vinca’s voice was firm, the great wall of China between Rae’s doubts and her conscious. It was only the sound of lips smacking and the momentary loss of breath which let Rae know Vinca had leaned close, had pressed a kiss to her lips. What type of kiss? Was it one flavoured with desperation? Was it biting, Vinca demanding Rae’s submission? Was it tender and sweet? The brush of morning breath and vulnerability only Rae ever experienced? Bitter tears of frustration fell silently from her dark eyes, bathing Vinca’s shoulder as they continued further into the warehouse.

“Yeah… not our style.” Rae muttered in agreement. After all, what else could she do but believe?

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