#and the white blood cells to go back to their day job?
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Holy crap guys, TIL
If you get a splinter you can't get out you can just leave it in - and I do not recommend this - and it's painful for a while, and you gotta leave it alone, and then it builds up pressure and builds up pressure for like two weeks as white blood cells (?) gather, and then it hurts like a bejeezus again
and then you can get in a bath with epsom salts, and after a while squeeze it gently and something starts to emerge, so you call for tweezers because maybe now you can have your life back, maybe! finally!
and then you give it another gentle squeeze and the whole thing just rockets out, you did nothing, just suddenly there's a whole, unmarred splinter lying there against the hole. And you're stuck there with your useless tweezers on hold going. That was awesome.
And this is the best part of wound care for nurses.
#Nimblermortals Senf#I have been hobbling for the last few hours 'cause it was on the bottom of my foot - where you get splinters - and I couldn't walk#and now I can go to capoeira tomorrow!#anyway final note if you do this it is advisable to put antibiotic ointment and a bandaid over it for a few hours#not because it's going to bleed or anything just to give the hole a chance to seal over#and the white blood cells to go back to their day job?
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Housing is a labor issue
There's a reason Reagan declared war on unions before he declared war on everything else – environmental protection, health care, consumer rights, financial regulation. Unions are how working people fight for a better world for all of us. They're how everyday people come together to resist oligarchy, extraction and exploitation.
Take the 2019 LA teachers' strike. As Jane McAlevey writes in A Collective Bargain, the LA teachers didn't just win higher pay for their members! They also demanded (and got) an end to immigration sweeps of parents waiting for their kids at the school gate; a guarantee of green space near every public school in the city; and on-site immigration counselors in LA schools:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/23/a-collective-bargain/
Unionization is enjoying an historic renaissance. The Hot Labor Summer transitioned to an Eternal Labor September, and it's still going strong, with UAW president Shawn Fain celebrating his members victory over the Big Three automakers by calling for a 2028 general strike:
https://www.teenvogue.com/story/uaw-general-strike-no-class
The rising labor movement has powerful allies in the Biden Administration. NLRB general counsel Jennifer Abruzzo is systematically gutting the "union avoidance" playbook. She's banned the use of temp-work app blacklists that force workers to cross picket lines:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/30/computer-says-scab/#instawork
She's changed the penalty for bosses who violate labor law during union drives. It used to be the boss would pay a fine, which was an easy price to pay in exchange for killing your workers' union. Now, the penalty is automatic recognition of the union:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/06/goons-ginks-and-company-finks/#if-blood-be-the-price-of-your-cursed-wealth
And while the law doesn't allow Abruzzo to impose a contract on companies that refuse to bargain their unions, she's set to force those companies to honor other employers' union contracts until they agree to a contract with their own workers:
https://onlabor.org/gc-abruzzo-just-asked-the-nlrb-to-overturn-ex-cell-o-heres-why-that-matters/
She's also nuking TRAPs, the deals that force workers to repay their employers for their "training expenses" if they have the audacity to quit and get a better job somewhere else:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/14/prop-22-never-again/#norms-code-laws-markets
(As with every aspect of the Biden White House, its labor policy is contradictory and self-defeating, with other Biden appointees working to smash worker power, including when Biden broke the railworkers' strike:)
https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/18/co-determination/#now-make-me-do-it
A surging labor movement opens up all kinds of possibilities for a better world. Writing for the Law and Political Economy Project, UNITE Here attorney Zoe Tucker makes the case for unions as a way out of America's brutal housing crisis:
https://lpeproject.org/blog/why-unions-should-join-the-housing-fight/
She describes how low-waged LA hotel workers have been pushed out of neighborhoods close to their jobs, with UNITE Here members commuting three hours in each direction, starting their work-days at 3AM in order to clock in on time:
https://twitter.com/MorePerfectUS/status/1669088899769987079
UNITE Here members are striking against 50 hotels in LA and Orange County, and their demands include significant cost-of-living raises. But more money won't give them back the time they give up to those bruising daily commutes. For that, unions need to make housing itself a demand.
As Tucker writes, most workers are tenants and vice-versa. What's more, bad landlords are apt to be bad bosses, too. Stepan Kazaryan, the same guy who owns the strip club whose conditions were so bad that it prompted the creation of Equity Strippers NoHo, the first strippers' union in a generation, is also a shitty landlord whose tenants went on a rent-strike:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/20/the-missing-links/#plunderphonics
So it was only natural that Kazaryan's tenants walked the picket line with the Equity Stripper Noho workers:
https://twitter.com/glendaletenants/status/1733290276599570736?s=46
While scumbag bosses/evil landlords like Kazaryan deal out misery retail, one apartment building at a time, the wholesale destruction of workers' lives comes from private equity giants who are the most prolific source of TRAPs, robo-scabbing apps, illegal union busting, and indefinite contract delays – and these are the very same PE firms that are buying up millions of single-family homes and turning them into slums:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/08/wall-street-landlords/#the-new-slumlords
Tucker's point is that when a worker clocks out of their bad job, commutes home for three hours, and gets back to their black-mold-saturated, overpriced apartment to find a notice of a new junk fee (like a surcharge for paying your rent in cash, by check, or by direct payment), they're fighting the very same corporations.
Unions who defend their workers' right to shelter do every tenant a service. A coalition of LA unions succeeded in passing Measure ULA, which uses a surcharge on real estate transactions over $5m to fund "the largest municipal housing program in the country":
https://unitedtohousela.com/app/uploads/2022/05/LA_City_Affordable_Housing_Petition_H.pdf
LA unions are fighting for rules to limit Airbnbs and other platforms that transform the city's rental stock into illegal, unlicensed hotels:
https://upgo.lab.mcgill.ca/publication/strs-in-los-angeles-2022/Wachsmuth_LA_2022.pdf
And the hotel workers organized under UNITE Here are fighting their own employers: the hoteliers who are aggressively buying up residences, evicting their long-term tenants, tearing down the building and putting up a luxury hotel. They got LA council to pass a law requiring hotels to build new housing to replace any residences they displace:
https://www.latimes.com/california/story/2023-11-28/airbnb-operators-would-need-police-permit-in-l-a-under-proposed-law
UNITE Here is bargaining for a per-room hotel surcharge to fund housing specifically for hotel workers, so the people who change the sheets and clean the toilets don't have to waste six hours a day commuting to do so.
Labor unions and tenant unions have a long history of collaboration in the USA. NYC's first housing coop was midwifed by the Amalgamated Clothing Workers of America in 1927. The Penn South coop was created by the International Ladies Garment Workers’ Union. The 1949 Federal Housing Act passed after American unions pushed hard for it:
http://www.peterdreier.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/Labors-Love-Lost.pdf
It goes both ways. Strong unions can create sound housing – and precarious housing makes unions weaker. Remember during the Hollywood writers' strike, when an anonymous studio ghoul told the press the plans was to "allow things to drag on until union members start losing their apartments and losing their houses?"
Vienna has the most successful housing in any major city in the world. It's the city where people of every income and background live in comfort without being rent-burdened and without worry about eviction, mold, or leaks. That's the legacy of Red Vienna, the Austrian period of Social Democratic Workers' Party rule and built vast tracts of high-quality public housing. The system was so robust that it rebounded after World War II and continues to this day:
https://www.politico.eu/article/vienna-social-housing-architecture-austria-stigma/
Today, the rest of the world is mired in a terrible housing crisis. It's not merely that the rent's too damned high (though it is) – housing precarity is driving dangerous political instability:
https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/06/the-rents-too-damned-high/
Turning the human necessity of shelter into a market commodity is a failure. The economic orthodoxy that insists that public housing, rent control, and high-density zoning will lead to less housing has failed. rent control works:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/16/mortgages-are-rent-control/#housing-is-a-human-right-not-an-asset
Leaving housing to the market only produces losers. If you have the bad luck to invest everything you have into a home in a city that contracts, you're wiped out. If you have the bad luck into invest everything into a home in a "superstar city" where prices go up, you also lose, because your city becomes uninhabitable and your children can't afford to live there:
https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/27/lethal-dysfunction/#yimby
A strong labor movement is the best chance we have for breaking the housing deadlock. And housing is just for starters. Labor is the key to opening every frozen-in-place dysfunction. Take care work: the aging, increasingly chronically ill American population is being tortured and murdered by private equity hospices, long-term care facilities and health services that have been rolled up by the same private equity firms that destroyed work and housing:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/26/death-panels/#what-the-heck-is-going-on-with-CMS
In her interview with Capital & Main's Jessica Goodheart, National Domestic Workers Alliance president Ai-jen Poo describes how making things better for care workers will make things better for everyone:
https://prospect.org/labor/2023-12-13-labor-leader-ai-jen-poo-interview/
Care work is a "triple dignity investment": first, it makes life better for the worker (most often a woman of color), then, it allows family members of people who need care to move into higher paid work; and of course, it makes life better for people who need care: "It delivers human potential and agency. It delivers a future workforce. It delivers quality of life."
The failure to fund care work is a massive driver of inequality. America's sole federal public provision for care is Medicaid, which only kicks in after a family it totally impoverished. Funding care with tax increases polls high with both Democrats and Republicans, making it good politics:
https://www.dataforprogress.org/blog/2021/4/7/voters-support-investing-in-the-care-economy
Congress stripped many of the care provisions from Build Back Better, missing a chance for an "unprecedented, transformational investment in care." But the administrative agencies picked up where Congress failed, following a detailed executive order that identifies existing, previously unused powers to improve care in America. The EO "expands access to care, supports family caregivers and improves wages and conditions for the workforce":
https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefing-room/presidential-actions/2023/04/18/executive-order-on-increasing-access-to-high-quality-care-and-supporting-caregivers/
States are also filling the void. Washington just created a long-term care benefit:
https://apnews.com/article/washington-long-term-care-tax-disability-cb54b04b025223dbdba7199db1d254e4
New Mexicans passed a ballot initiative that establishes permanent funding for child care:
https://www.cwla.org/new-mexico-votes-for-child-care/
New York care workers won a $3/hour across the board raise:
https://inequality.org/great-divide/new-york-budget-fair-pay-home-care/
The fight is being led by women of color, and they're kicking ass – and they're doing it through their unions. Worker power is the foundation that we build a better world upon, and it's surging.
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/13/i-want-a-roof-over-my-head/#and-bread-on-the-table
#pluralistic#labor#hot labor summer#eternal labor september#jane mcalevey#los angeles#weaponized shelter#housing#airbnb#equity strip noho#tenants unions#red vienna#jennifer abruzzo#nlrb#the rent's too damned high
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Whispers of the Forgotten | pt. 1
pairing: azriel x reader | type: angst | words: 800 | masterlist
Bloody and broken your body slumps to the ground, his hands, the strong grip he had on you, still lingering like a phantom touch.
Ragged breath whoosh in and out of your lungs, the crisp air burning down your throat, your chest aching, like sharp claws are digging right into the flesh. You want to scream, but your mouth is too dry, your throat hurting too much. There is nothing but an endless void inside your heart and mind, and yet a whirlwind of fury starts to boil within.
The creaking of the door hinges is what makes you tip your head back, eyes burning, vision blurry due to the dust in them. But you see him. It’s not too late. You see his face once last time. The face you will remember forever - loathe forever.
"Azriel," you seethe, but your voice is hoarse and breaks before it can reach him. Or that’s what you think.
The young male‘s head whips towards you. He heard you. Or the swirling shadows always dancing around him heard you. They calm down, almost like they are waiting for what you are about to say.
You brace your bloody fists on the ground, knuckles white from how hard you curl your fingers towards your palms. Your gaze drops for a split second, landing on his scarred hands, gripping the bloody hunting knife tightly. That damn knife that caused you the flesh deep wound on your belly, now dripping with blood and soon puss.
"Yes," you breathe, trying to summon every little ounce of energy you have left. You force ypur eyes to meet his. "That’s right, Azriel." Your eyes lock with his. "And I’ll remember your damn name forever…" You push up, getting on your knees. "Until I do my last breathe. I will personally carve it into your grave stone. And you will remember my name. Forever."
Your teeth are bared, blood and drool running down your chin. "You will remember my name when I rip open your throat with my claws. You will remember my name when—"
"Let’s go, Az. Our job here is done. The High Lord expects us to be back by now."
Azriel is not alone. Someone is with him. Cassian, one of the best Illyrian warriors there are. Right now…his usual confidence is gone. He looks haunted, scared, impatient. He wants Azriel to come with him. Right in this moment.
But Azriel’s lingers. The male doesn’t move. Not even when Cassian clasps his shoulder - tightly.
Azriel's gaze is trained on you, eyes wide open.
"Az," Cassian warns, curling his gloved fingers around Azriel's biceps. "We need to leave."
Azriel snaps out of his trance and finally averts his gaze, without a look back, they leave, wind blowing through the prison, thrashing against the walls, howling.
You are alone. Cold. Bloody. Broken.
A cry parts your lips - full of fury and pain. You thrash your fists against the cool ground, moist with mould and grimy water.
You are trapped in a cell that seems to be suffocating you, its walls seeming to press inwards, the space getting narrower and narrower by the second.
You are locked in. Forever. Until the last day of your immortal life. Or until you go insane and forget even your own name.
Another scream leaves you. Your body is shaking, trembling with cold and hurt. Eventually, you lift your gaze to look around. There is just a small cot draped in a thin blanket and a weathered stool and nothing else. The walls are made of dark stone. Moss and lichen crawl up on them, making decay even more apparent in this place. They bear scars—scratches of beings who have been in this cell before you.
The air is heavy, thick with desperation. And it is cold. So damn cold, making you see your own breath.
You know this a place where spirits are broken, where the very essence of a person is eroded when you go insane. But your spirit won't be broken. You will get out.
Shadows dance across the walls and make you remember him.
Azriel. The shadowsinger. You will remember him forever. Until the day you die. Until the day you personally carve out his heart.
He left you in pieces and the shards for you to pick up with your already wounded hands.
He is going to pay for this. They all are.
Nothing is visible through the narrow, slit-like window that seems more like a mockery than a source of light. But you can hear a storm raging outside, branches and the wind hitting the walls of the Prison and it matches the storm brewing inside of you. You won't die here. You will get out of here. And you will get your payback. This is a promise.
A promise to Azriel. A promise to your mate.
tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii@nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22 @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict @callmeblaire
tags wotf: @goldenmagnolias @chessebookgirl @blackgirlmagicforever @mollygetssherlockcoffee @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @janebirkln @cleverzonkwombatsludge @namelesssav @sidthedollface2 @brujitafantomatico @ruler-of-hades @favsrachz @katherinejess @jesus-is-me @ashbatz @onyx-obsession @mischiefmanagers @thesnugglingduck @wandas-dream @emryb
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Carlos Motherfucking Sainz
This man. I cannot. Also, these men also keep putting my love of nursing and my love of F1 together so let's get into it! How did Carlos Sainz manage to win 2 weeks after having an appendectomy?
In the UK, at least, you can leave the hospital the same day you've have an appendectomy as long as there are no complications as long is it was done laparoscopically and there were no complications (burst appendix etc)
Carlos had his appendix removed laparoscopically (which I predicted considering how quickly he was back at the paddock to watch the Grand Prix!) you can tell by the incisions - 3 small ones for the camera and tools rather than one long incision for an open appendectomy.
Usually after an appendectomy you can go back to work after 1-2 weeks. IF YOU HAVE A NON-PHYSICAL JOB. We know this man was back training and strengthening as soon as he could. You can usually start to work out after 2 weeks, depending on wound healing. Those sit ups would have been agony!
That alone would have had him in a lot of pain, let alone the amount of g-force the drivers encounter when they're driving around the circuits - up to 5G in some cases. That's 5x their body weight.
On his latest Instagram post you can see him in a weird glass tube - this presumably is a hyperbaric chamber. There are multiple studies investigating the effectiveness of hyperbaric oxygen therapy in the speedier healing of surgical wounds and reduction of post-operative infection.
In short, this type of therapy can reduce inflammation and boost the formation of white blood cells (the cells that protect the body against infection and defend it from attack of unknown organisms) to improve healing and lower the risk of infection.
Overall, we know he wouldn't have been able to drive unless he was safe to and he said himself they made sure he could get out of his car in the required time and padded his wound and made adjustments to ensure his comfort but you could see the pain he was in after and Lando helping onto the podium.
That man deserves his seat.
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I know nobody probably wants this, but I had this spiral of thoughts while at work today and had to share. What if the Joker had a child that no one had known about?
Not like a teenager that had been under his care for years and mentally crazy like the Joker, but like a knee-high, wide eyed, 'have uppies?' toddler.
Like, imagine that Batman had busted a part of Joker's operations and was talking with the officers
He realized it was only a couple hours until sunrise and had to go and get some rest for a big meeting he had with his lawyers
The last thing he said was to round up every person in the building and put them all in a secure cell in the Asylum
Immediately after Batman leaves, one of the officers finds this small child in a room with multiple screens playing different escapades that the Joker had performed over the years
Poor kid was strapped to a chair and sobbing when the officer frantically undid the ropes and got the kid out of that room
Everyone was confused about what they should potentially do with this kid who looked like a miniature clown
Without many options, the kid gets sent to the Asylum with all the Joker's henchmen who are equally as confused about who the hell this kid was
The Warden is fucking livid because what the FUCK is a kid doing here, but it was the safest place to be while everyone tried to figure out if the child was stable to be around the nonvillainous population
Most of the detainees are confused, but none of them speak out of turn to them
In fact, the kid becomes the reason most of them behave to a degree
It is still a prison after all with rules and there were no exceptions even with a child
Some of the inmates would get into small altercations during meal times to keep the guards distracted while the cooks would sneak small bits of food to other inmates so they could give the kid a snack later in the day
Sure it could cost them their job, but what kind of person would let a child go hungry throughout the day?
Anyways, a couple weeks go by and most crime had gone down during the night. No attempted escapes or extravagant overtakings of any kind from almost any villain
Bruce and the boys are very confused by the sudden change, but silently welcome the relaxed pace that is happening
Alfred was taking the day to get groceries for the Manor with Jason being dragged along for some 'social interaction'
Mostly so Alfred had someone else to push the shopping cart and Tim and Damian refused to go to the store, but that's besides the point
Alfred was looking between two different brownie mixes when two women walk by
They talked about how the guards are bordering on taking their job too serious with the one inmate they had
Alfred began to tune them out as he began to put one of the mixes in the cart when he suddenly froze in place
"I mean, the kid's been through enough already. How many 4-year-olds do you know that have semipermanent white paint on their whole body with dyed purple hair?"
Alfred's hand remained suspended in air as the women slowly walked past them. His mind flashed back to a few years ago when he remembered Bruce telling him about Harley suddenly stopped coming to any scheme the Joker had for over half a year. And then she came back slightly more manic than she was previously for a few month after
Jason, who had been spaced out, glanced at Alfred and thought the older man was having a stroke. He had never seen the butler so still in all the time that they had known one another. Jason swears he can't even see him breath for a good 12 seconds
Alfred quickly puts the baking mix on the shelf, not even looking to make sure it was in the right spot. Jason felt his blood run cold at that sight alone as the bulter walked off and grabbed Jason's collar
The cart partially full of groceries was forgotten as Alfred went to the children's section and picked up a box with a toddler's car seat in it. Went to the register and paying before going to the car and expertly putting car seat in the middle backseat
Jason felt extremely confused as he watched the whole scene before he hesitantly decided to ask, "What do we need a carseat for? We don't have a kid that needs one."
Alfred broke down the empty box and put it in the trunk before going to open the passenger door for Jason. Walking over to the driver's side and calmly getting in. "Not yet."
Cue Jason terrified for his life as Alfred speeds through the streets because DEAR GOD THE SPEED LIMIT IS 55 NOT 82!
Jason pulls out his phone to record the whole thing before it was over because no one would believe this if he didn'thave proof. Barely registering that he had accidentally started a live stream on one of the Wayne Enterprise's accounts Tim had connected him to at some point
Alfred only slams on the breaks when he gets to the gates of Arkham Asylum. Glaring down the guard who tries to yell at him before coldly stating, "I'm here for the child."
The guard begins protesting that it's a restricted area, but Alfred stared him down with a glare that Jason had only seen a handful of times in his life when one of the boys had fucked up bad
The guard keeps telling them to turn around and Alfred reached under the dash and when the FUCK did he hide a GUN under there?!
"The child. Now." The guard opened the gate and Alfred pulled in before putting the gun away and shutting the car off
Jason considers staying in the car as Alfred gets out and begins marching to the door. But God, he didn't want to explain to Bruce that he didn't even fully know why Alfred conned his way into a high security prison
The two of them walk through the corridors to an unknown destination. Jason looking both confused and terrified while flipping the camera between him and Alfred until they make it to the cafeteria
All the inmates look over at the two of them as they walk in, Alfred looking over the crowd before spotting the spot of purple in the sea of orange jumpsuits
He walks with over to Poison Ivy who was carrying the little one around before holding out his hands. Ivy looks at him for a moment before giving a small nod in understanding and letting him take the child
"Take good care of them or I will come for you, old man." Ivy warns him before giving a small wave to the child. "Have a good time sweetie."
"Bye bye, Aunt Ivy." Alfred began to walk back to Jason. Glaring softly as the guards try to block his path
Half of them are on the ground in just a few seconds as most of the inmates start a fight with the guards. Each of them waving bye as Alfred walks back to Jason and to the car
By looks alone, Jason could tell exactly who's kid this was. Who wouldn't be able to when they looked just like a fucking child circus star
Jason stares in confusion as Alred gently puts the child in the car seat and buckles them in. Patting their head before telling Jason to get in the back
He's too scared to argue so he gets in behind the passenger seat as Alfred opens the door to get in but stops when the Warden comes marching over
Leaving the door open, Alfred calmly walks over the the man while getting yelled at that he can't just take a prisoner simply because he wants to
Jason flips the camera to show Alfred calmly taking in the yells of the Warden
The moment he tried to walk past the butler to get to the car, Alfred backhanded him so hard the Warden fell to the ground
Jason stared in shock as Alfred got in the car and began driving back towards the City
Jason looks at the child who stares back at him with the same intensity until they looked out the window and pointing. "Where going?"
"To get you some food and new clothes." Alfred speaks plainly as he got to a drive thru. Quickly ordering a kids meal and handing it back the moment it was ready.
Jason watched as the child began eating the moment the food was in their lap. Occasionally offering him a piece which he always denied so the kid ate the much needed nutrients
Alfred drove into the parking lot of a children's clothing store before getting out and carrying the child in with Jason following close behind
Alfred takes the kid through the aisles to pick out some clothes that they would want to wear
Jason chuckling at the sight of Alfred holding different shirts up to see if they would fit because they look so happy to get to pick out one with a derpy looking cat on it
After getting some outfits, they all walk to the checkout. Waiting in line for a moment before Alfred feels a small tug on his arm
Looking down, he sees the child pointing at something. Moving his gaze, he takes notice of a small stand with small Batman plushies on it
Jason holds back a laugh as he points the camera over the stand before looking at the child again. "You like Batman, huh?"
The both got an eager nod as curious eyes look back at Alfred, waiting for an answer. With a small smile, he grabbed one and put it on the counter to be paid for first. The moment it was scanned, it was handed down to the excited hands of its new owner
The kid gives an excited giggle as they held the toy over their head that the cashier couldn't help but smile as well
After everything was paid for, Alfred makes sure the child gets changed out of the prison uniform. He made a mental note to have Bruce investigate on why they even were given one in the first place
Getting back in the car, Alfred drives them back to the grocery store to restart the whole shopping trip with the intention for getting extra snacks for the family's new guest
With the child buckled into the child carrier in the cart, Jason began pushing the cart while following Alfred around the store once again
He tried holding the phone in his own hand, but gave up as little hands keep curiously grabbing at it to see the screen with wide eyes
He smiles as he watches the child make multiple different faces to the camera, a small fit of laughter sounding each time they look back up at Jason
He can help but wonder how such a calm and happy child (calm and happy compared to the teens Bruce took in) could be the offspring of the very man who made his life a living hell
They make it halfway through the store a confused voice called out to the men
Dick had just been grabbing a few snack items for himself to have for his weekend off
The last thing he expected to see was Jason hauling around a child while Alfred finished putting multiple different juice boxes from the shelf into the cart
He walked over with a bag of chips and frozen mini pizzas as he wore a confused frown while looking between the three of them
Jason wore a smirk as he leaned on the handle. Alfred gave him a small nod before he pulled out the shopping list to see what else was needed
The child look at him with a small head tilt. Blinking up at him before holding up the plush toy with a cheerful "Batsy!"
Dick has to bite his lip to hold back is laughter from the single action alone, because how ironic is it that this kid adores Batman specifically
Alfred begins to walk towards the pharmacy area, intending to get some hygiene supplies for the child
Dick begin following behind Jason as they follow behind. Dick leaning over to Jason and asking what the hell is going and why is there now a toddler
Before Jason can say anything, an excited fit of laughter sounds as a small hand points to something once again
It's the electronic area in the store, so maybe it's a movie that's caught the attention of the child
Jason and Dick look over and both of them stare in shock as they see a wall of TVs playing a live feed from a local news station. A group of news anchors smiling as they stare at a screen that was also playing onscreen
What makes the two of them most nervous is the half of the screen that was currently showing a smiling face with purple hair staring down at the camera once again
Jason frantically grabs his phone as he begins to try and figure out how to turn the video off as Dick frantically raises his voice because how did you not realize you were live filming and WHY IS THERE 3.2 BILLION PEOPLE WATCHING THIS!?
Jason finally turns the video off and the TV cuts the video almost immediately which causes half the reporters to boo
Let both let out a breath of relief as the feed cuts out, watching the screen to see how bad the damage was
To their surprise, the headline on screen read 'Happy Little Addition to Wayne Family?'
They both look confused as they hear one reporter talks about how the internet is enamored by this unexpected new appearance in the Wayne family. Grinning as they mention the people who watched the video decided to nickname the kid 'Giggles' because of how happy they were during the whole thing
Jason cursed under his breath as he realized he might have screwed up big time with Bruce because of the whole thing. He didn't get much time to think about it before Alfred came back and pulled the cart along with him
Dick shook his head with a stupid grin on his face as he looked at Jason "Bruce is going to have stroke when he finds out about this."
Which Bruce practically did. He was in a budgeted meeting for the new quarter for the company, so he didn't even have a clue about the whole livestream
He had just got out of the meeting when his assistant came up with a concerned expression. Hastily trying to tell him some news that he really needs to hear
Bruce rubs his temples as he calmly asks if he could get five minutes of quiet in his office before hearing any form of news
His assistant followed after him while trying to explain that it was really important that he sees this now
With a deep sigh, Bruce reluctantly took the tablet into his hand to stare at whatever statistic was on the screen
What he wasn't expecting to see was small clips of video with Alfred holding up different clothes and Jason sitting in the backseat as a kid offers him a french fry
The only reaction from Bruce was a deep sighas he handed the tablet back before saying he was leaving for the day
He was thankful that no paparazzi had come around to get any pictures as he was getting to his car
Damian and Tim had been in the living room when they had gotten back to the manor. Neither of them knowing about the livestream because why would they watch it if Bruce would just sum it up to the others later that night
Alfred came in with the sleeping child in his arms and walked over to the couch Tim was on. Placing them down on his lap before walking away to get the groceries put away
Both of the younger boys are confused as they watch this little clown lean further into Tim while holding a small toy in a death cuddle
After a few minutes, Dick and Jason both come walking in as Jason takes the remote from beside Damian and flips through the channels
Dick sits near Tim as he opens the bag of chips he got as he stares at the child with a confused expression
Everyone looks at Jason for a moment before Tim asks, "Where did you get the kid from?"
Jason settles on a small comedy movie as he gives a small shrug "Alfred picked the kid up from the Asylum. He pulled a gun he keeps under the dash on one of the guards."
Tim and Dick let out small noises of disbelief at the explanation while Damian wondered which gun Jason was meaning. Alfred had both a pistol and revolver in the car that he was aware of
The child slowly began to stir with a small whine as they opened their eyes. Glancing around to see the new environment they had found themselves in
Moving to their own spot on the couch while looking at the movie with confused and sleepy eyes
Damian stared down the child for a while before actually making eye contact
The both stared at one another for a moment before Damian finally spoke up "So the clown had an accident that he didn't want."
"Damian!" Dick begins to scold the boy as he sat up straight. His voice falling short when a little head rests on his chest as frantic cries fill the room
It's hard for them to understand the what was being said between the sobs, but Dick was able to get out was 'don't wanna go back'
Dick holds the child close while trying his hardest to make the crying stop
Everyone feels uncomfortable as the child holds the Batman toy tighter while hiccuping out something along the lines of 'no fight Batsy'
Dear lord, did they underestimate how traumatized this toddler was compared to the rest of them at such a young age
Tim picks up his phone to try and find a video or something that might try and calm down the whole situation
That's when he gets a notification about some video about someone named Giggles?
He clicks on it, thinking it would be able to a couple laughs
The moment it loads, he looks between Jason and the kid because why are they in a video on his phone right now
Apparently, people had made highlight reels of the live stream and were sharing them online. The one Tim had clicked on was designed like one of those joke style ones with the funny little background music
He was about to change it when he saw the kid lift their head up with a confused look as they stare at the phone in his hand
Tim quickly connects his phone to the TV so the video was now on screen
Tears were quickly gone as small laughs soon began to fill the living room
All the boys felt relieved as they watched along with the video. Laughing softly at a few parts that showed up in the video
All of them let out shocked noises when they all watched Alfred bitch slap the Warden like he was a fly
None of them noticed when the door opened when Bruce got home. He immediately went to the kitchen where Alfred was making a few sandwiches
Walking up to the counter, Bruce looked at Alfred while asking him why the internet is showing he basically broke a convict out of prison
Cutting the crust off the sandwiches, Alfred countered that without an actual crime being committed by the person, it wasn't breaking a convict out
Bruce was utterly unimpressed as he crossed his arms saying they had to go back to the asylum where they were placed by the police
Alfred puts the last sandwich on the plate before looking directly into Bruce's eyes
"Alright."
Bruce furrowed his brow in confusion. There was no way it was going to be that easy for Alfred to agree
"You have to break the news of taking the child back though."
There it was
Bruce held his gaze as he raised a brow. He could easily find a way to explain the whole situation and why it would be best-
The tugging on his suit jacket pulled Bruce out of his thoughts. Looking down, he saw a curious face looking back at him
"I have juice, please?"
Bruce had not expected someone who barely even reached his knee to be the child in question. He was thinking maybe it was a teenager who was on the younger looking side of the spectrum
He really needed to talk to his assistant about showing him more detailed photos next time
Bruce looked back at Alfred, who simply raised a brow in response
Cue the whole Batfam on or around the couch while watching a movie. Bruce sending messages to his assistant to remind him to schedule different doctors appointments with little Giggles cuddled up on his lap
No one knew the kids actual name so they were just going with it because it made the kid happy to be called that
Dick was on the end as he quickly took a selfie with Bruce patting Giggles' head as they showed him the stuffed Batman while drinking from a juice box. The others in various lounging positions close by while eating the sandwiches Alfred provided
He put it on his story with the caption 'Bruce is putting this kid in his will right now, I swear'
The peaceful atmosphere was broken when Alfred came walking in with Commissioner Gordon walking in with a deep frown
He looked at Bruce as he explained that Giggles had to go back to the asylum due to the safety of the city
All the boys stared at him with looks of disinterest as they silently dared him to try
Gordon let out a sigh as he explained that Giggles was placed in the care of the city after the bust had happened, so technically the Wayne's would potentially face kidnapping charges if they didn't give the kid to him
Alfred cleared his throat as he pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Gordan
He looked it over for a moment before taking in a deep breath while rubbing his temple
He handed the paper back as he mumbles that he doesn't get paid enough. He begins walking away with a small wave goodbye as he quickly leaves the manor
Bruce looks at Alfred as he asks what the paper was. It gets handed to him as a confused look crosses Bruce's face because when the hell did he sign adoption papers
Alfred explains he had messaged Bruce's lawyer earlier hand had it drawn up that afternoon. The signature was easy to get because he had a stamp for emergency reasons
Dick can't help himself as he takes another picture for the scene and posts it on the Bruce's personal account with the caption 'He adopted the kid and didn't even know it'
Dick and Jason laugh to one another as they whisper to themselves about how Giggles is going to loose it when they find out who Batman really was
#batman#batfam#bruce wayne#dick grayson#jason todd#tim drake#damian wayne#alfred pennyworth#batfam x reader#batfam imagine
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Care to elaborate on 'Caught and Content'?
So, as I said in the post, Caught and Content is not really an active WIP. So I don't have any snippets to share from it. It's really just a vibes and 'as the mood hits' kinda thing.
That said, there are some things I've settled on for it I'm happy to share. So here's what I've got for you: Danny is not going to understand that the League genuinely just wants to help him for a long, long time. He's going to keep thinking around the truth, trying to rationalize and reconcile these heroes behavior with how he understands things are supposed to go now. That is, when he bothers to question anything it all.
They take him back to the first room with the big window? Well, Superman did just break the table in the other room. Maybe this table is built to withstand super strength in case Superman loses control again.
They switch the dampeners for ones he can use his hands with? What do that want him to use his hands for?
They put food on the table? Huh, must be lunch time.
Oh, it's for him? Is it... poisoned? Is there blood blossoms in it? This is... a test. Should he eat it because they told him to? Or should he not because ghosts don't eat? It was always hard to tell with the GIW.
They take him to a new room, with a bed and a window and even a bathroom? Damn, these guys have cushy holding cells. Although, they probably usually expect to be holding real people. Sentient people. People with rights.
Days pass and Danny doesn't understand why he's still here. Or why they're still feeding him. Or why people keep coming by and talking at him. But he's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He is content to wait here, drinking in starlight until the end.
Oh, the Ward has been disbanded? Huh. Guess the government decided the Justice League did the better job at it anyway. After all, they're the ones that have Phantom caught and contained. Bout time they stopped wasting money on those mostly incompetent idiots in white.
Over and over and over again; Danny is either to busy dissociating to ask questions, or he invents answers that fit his preconceived notions. He does not allow himself to Hope that this won't end how he assumes it will. Not until someone gets fed up and spells it out for him. Someone enough like him that he listens to them. Someone enough like him that he inherently trusts them.
And once a little birdie gives him Hope again, that's when Danny finally lets himself fall apart.
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The Shepherd's Daughter - II
Pairing: Phillip Graves x F!Reader (Shepherd's daughter)
Warnings: Reader is a CIA agent. Mentions of terrorism, both foreign and domestic, blood, injury, guns, etc. Graves is a whiny, jealous little bitch boy, but when he gets his way OOOOOO. SPOILERS FOR MW2.
Summary: As punishment for the botched infiltration of a domestic terror cell, your father, General Shepherd, pairs you with Shadow Company to retrieve American war assets that have fallen into the wrong hands.
Word Count: 2k maybe?
Part ONE HERE
--
"Are you any closer to finding them?" Your father's voice was tense, on the verge of anger. You sensed that perhaps he had been into the whiskey he kept in his desk drawer ("for emergencies" as he so often joked).
There was no progress update to be given. Every lead you had chased with Shadow Company had been a dead end. You considered, for a moment, lying to him- spinning a tale and trying to make the situation less dire.
It would do you no good. He had an uncanny way of knowing when you were lying, even if all he had to go on was your voice.
"No, sir. We are not," the line was silent at that response and you instinctively tensed, awaiting the inevitable shouting that would come.
But it didn't.
Instead, his voice was even as he asked, "And how is Shadow Company performing?"
The question perplexed you. Did he think of you as his own personal spy? Had Graves been correct in his assumption that your father wanted someone to keep an eye on their operations?
"Well?" Impatient. Nothing the man hated more than waiting.
You took a quick glance around the room to make sure no Shadows had wandered in before answering, "They're...fine, sir. We just don't have many leads to go on."
"Fine?" His anger had finally bubbled to the surface, "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Are they doing their fucking job or not?"
You held the phone at arm's length until he had finished his tirade before bringing it back to your ear for a rebuttal, "They're well-equipped, efficient. My...reputation makes it difficult to earn their trust, but they are tireless in their efforts."
A grunt of approval on the other end of the line. The deity had been appeased.
"I expect a report at the same time tomorrow."
The line went dead.
Graves watched you from across the room, his blue eyes unwavering as he drummed his fingers impatiently on the body of his rifle. You were staring out the cracked window, your hair moving ever so slightly with the push of the salt-soaked breeze.
You were pretty, something that Graves had began to notice the more time he spent with you. Something that ate at him- frustrated him beyond reason.
He still didn't trust you fully. Hated the way you took phone calls from the general behind closed doors. Graves knew you were reporting back to Shepherd about them- on good days, funding poured in from their benefactor, and on bad ones they barely scraped by with their lives.
"The general giving you grief today?" Graves called across the room.
You shrugged and made a face that distorted your features in the dim lighting of the safehouse. He chuckled and bounced on the balls of his feet, waiting to see if you'd relinquish any further details.
You didn't.
Graves chewed the inside of his cheek and decided to press his luck-
"You been tellin' him how we're doin'? That what the phone calls are for?"
You shot him another look, this time laced with your obvious annoyance at the question; he smiled in return, that disarming smile full of too-white teeth that could almost be mistaken for a shark's maw.
"Just askin', princess. No need for the venom."
He drawled out the cutesy nickname that made your face heat; the other Shadows had dropped it after you'd proved yourself to their standards, but Graves still used it, much to your chagrin.
"I tell him what he asks for," you spat the words a little more harshly than you intended, and you almost felt a pang of guilt when Graves raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"And what does he ask for?" he cocked his head, blue eyes shining under the exposed bulb in the ceiling, "how his lapdog is performing?"
"Your words, not mine, Graves."
"Mhm," he took a step forward and the aging wooden floor creaked under the sole of his boots, "Do ya tell him how my boys are run ragged chasin' his fuck up? How we're stayin' in shitholes like this-" he jerked his head around the room at the cracked walls and exposed wiring, "while he sits in his office?"
"Where are you going with this, Graves?" you sighed through your nose and folded your arms across your chest, "What do you want from me? I've been with you for weeks- if you don't trust me, then-"
Graves cut you off and took another step toward you, his hands still clutching his rifle to the point of whitened knuckles, "I wanna know what the high and mighty Shepherd junior is feeding her daddy dearest when no one is listening."
Something in you snapped.
You shoved him, hard, and he stumbled backward, his eyes wide before he caught himself. An expression flashed across his face that made your stomach drop as he tossed his rifle to the floor.
"Try that again," Graves snarled, his face now twisted in an almost eager grin.
You could try to defuse the situation- tell him this was pointless bickering.
But that something inside you fought back against the urge, burning white hot like a branding iron.
"C'mon, princess. Try it again."
That was the final straw.
You leapt forward and tried to level a knee into his gut, but anger made you sloppy. Graves elbowed you in the middle of your back, nearly snatching the air from your lungs.
"Sloppy work, Shep," he sneered and you brought your head up quickly, making connection with his chin with a crack that radiated through your own skull.
Graves stumbled backward and spit, a splatter of crimson hitting the filthy wooden floor before wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Before he could recover, you lunged at him again, grabbing him around the middle and shoving him to the floor.
Graves let out a muffled yelp of surprise as you pinned him, the sharp point of your knee keeping him flat on his back. You unsheathed your knife and pressed the razor edge to his throat, savoring the way his pulse raced under his sweat-soaked skin.
"Give me a reason, Graves," you hissed through gritted teeth, "I'll tell him you started it. Make sure there's only one story."
"You gonna cut my throat? Do it then," he was still grinning and a small trickle of blood ran down from the corner of his mouth, "C'mon!"
He shouted the last word and you jumped, nearly granting his wish.
"Not worth the paperwork," you sheathed your knife, satisfied with the small cut you'd left in your wake. You made to rise from him, but he clapped a hand onto your thigh, holding you there.
A strange expression passed over his features for just a moment, then disappeared along with the pressure of his hand on your leg. You rose to your feet and offered him a hand, which he took before orienting himself.
"You gonna tell the general about this little spat?" Graves cocked an eyebrow and brought his hand to his throat, swiping the still trickling blood from the wound.
"Maybe."
The fight was absent from the next call with your father. It didn't seem worth the effort to explain that you'd briefly thought of killing the commander over a childlike argument.
There was good news to pass on anyway- Shadow Company had landed in Las Almas and the Mexican Special Forces seemed far more competent than the US Military back home.
Colonel Alejandro Vargas, in particular, was impressive among them. He and his second in command had already had a run-in with Hassan and the taskforce they were working alongside had been chasing down leads left and right before Shadow Company arrived.
The 141 and the Special Forces treated you with more respect than the Shadows had- they even seemed to seek your input, which was more than you could say for Graves and his men.
It was easier to spend time at the Las Almas base- it was warm, and for once, you weren't sleeping on a bare floor next to a dozen snoring soldiers.
Graves seemed annoyed with your enjoyment of their hospitality, but never mentioned it directly.
"It's good to have you around here, hermosa," Alejandro was bent low over a map of Las Almas, studying it with intensity, "Sometimes these men forget the little details."
You smiled and he returned it, a genuine grin that accented his handsome features.
From across the room, Graves glared at him, his lip curled in a barely-concealed snarl of disdain. Why it upset him so much, he had no idea- that alone frustrated him more than Alejandro's blatant flirting.
He wanted more than anything to wipe that smile off of the colonel's face, preferably with his knuckles.
"Graves?" you cocked your head and the sound of your voice cut through the swirling white noise in his head, snapping him out of his rage-fueled trance.
"What?"
You furrowed your brows and gestured to the map, "Alejandro's plan?"
Alejandro. So quick to call him by his first name.
"Small teams are probably better for this," the colonel repeated the plan slowly, as if Graves was a child who had been caught daydreaming, "Shepherd and I could-"
"No," Graves cut him off and you raised a brow, "She comes with me, she doesn't work for you, Vargas."
Alejandro seemed to have made a connection in that moment and a smirk ghosted over his lips at the realization, "Far as I know, she doesn't work for you either, sombra."
You glanced between them, sensing some unspoken tension that seemed to have formed behind your back.
"I should go with Shadow Company," you murmured quietly. For a moment, Graves looked triumphant, until you continued, "The general wants regular reports on their performance."
Alejandro chuckled and shot the commander a look of victory, "Wouldn't want to disappoint your bankroll."
You spent the next miserable night in a decrepit safe house, staring up at the ceiling as Graves breathed softly next to you. He hadn't said a word since the spat with Alejandro, and he'd tossed you your duffel with such force it had nearly knocked you off your feet.
Your back ached from the hard floor, and the early sounds of a thunderstorm were brewing outside the thin walls. You sat up in the darkness and rubbed your temples, contemplating the series of life fuckups you'd had to make to get to this point.
A loud crescendo of thunder shook the house and you jumped, barely stifling a yelp of fear at the sudden sound.
"Scared of storms, princess?" Graves mumbled from his position on the floor.
"Will you give it a rest, Graves?" you snapped and he chuckled.
There was a long moment of silence before he spoke again.
"How come you don't call me Phillip?" he pushed himself up to a seated position, his eyes barley visible shining in the dark.
"Because you're the commander," you said with a shrug.
"You call the Colonel by his name. Seems a little too familiar."
"Are you jealous?" you asked incredulously and he huffed out a noncommittal response you couldn't catch, "What is going on with you? Three weeks ago, you'd have been happy to have me out of your hair! Hell, before we landed in Las Almas, we nearly killed one another-"
"Yeah? Maybe I just don't want you shacking up with a foreign military leader when we're supposed to be focused!"
You sputtered indignantly, feeling your face grow warm at the accusation, "Shacking up? Really?"
"Yeah, really."
You took a blind swat at his face in the dark and he grabbed your wrist yanking you toward him until your chest was flush with his. In the pitch blackness, his eyes shone like a predator as he stared down at you.
His face was so close to yours now that you could feel his breath as it fanned over you; he was nearly panting, and you could feel the thrum of his heart under his fatigues.
You tried to pull away, but Graves tightened his grip with a growl, "I sat back while you spied on my men, slowed us down, and reported back to your piece of shit father. Then we land in Las Almas and you may as well have sat on that fucking prick's lap while he planned-"
Your free hand connected with his face with a crisp -SMACK- that rang out in the silent room. If it had hurt him, he didn't show it. Instead, he grinned and took hold of your free hand with his own before moving, swiftly, and knocking you onto your back with your arms pinned above your head.
You tried to wriggle free, but he shoved a knee between your legs for leverage and you felt a sudden pang of heat at the contact.
"Didn't your daddy ever teach you any manners?" He hissed through gritted teeth.
"Fuck you, Phillip," you spat his name and he laughed, a hollow, mirthless sound that fell flat in the darkness.
"Ask me nicely."
"Get the fuck off of me!"
"Wrong answer, princess," he thrust his knee up into you and you let out a strained gasp that made him laugh again, "See, you're givin' me mixed signals here." He brought his mouth down to your ear and you felt a jolt of electricity run down your spine.
"You want me to stop? I'll stop, but I don't think that's what you really want."
You didn't answer, your attention now too focused on his mouth as it neared your neck, hot breath sending your hair on end. When his tongue finally hit your skin, you had to stifle the sound that threatened to tumble past your lips. Before you could stop yourself, you bucked your hips, desperate for friction against his knee.
"That's more like it," he purred; his teeth came down, suddenly, on your pulse point and you gasped, back arching off the cold floor and sending your chest against his. Tomorrow, there'd be a mark there, glaring and obvious for everyone to see.
"Can I let your hands go?" Graves panted, his mouth still close to your ear, "you gonna go smackin' me again?"
"No," you tried to focus through the haze of lust that had taken root in your mind.
"Promise?" He asked, his voice smug.
Before you could answer, he released your wrists and one of his hands snaked under the hem of your shirt, rough fingertips gliding across your sensitive skin. His hand found your bra, deftly moving it up to expose your breasts to his fingers. He wasted no time taking one of your nipples between them, rolling gently until you let out a pathetic whimper.
"Wondered how good you'd sound," Graves' mouth found yours and he nearly crashed into you, kissing you like the desperate man he'd been since landing in Las Almas, "He's never gonna fuckin' hear this."
Alejandro. He had been jealous.
"C'mon, let me hear that pretty sound again, baby," he murmured; his knee ground into you once more and you moaned his name, his first name, and it sent his head into a daze.
You heard him fumble with his belt for a moment, then he tapped your buckle expectantly, prompting you to wriggle your way out of your pants. You tossed them aside in the darkness and shivered against the cold night air as it hit your bare skin.
"This ain't the way I wanted it to happen," Graves whispered as he ran a gentle hand up your inner thigh.
How long had he been thinking about it?
Swiftly, he grabbed your thighs and pulled your legs around his waist, lining himself up with you. Slowly, agonizingly, he pushed himself inside you, hands grasping desperately at your hips to pull you flush with him.
Graves dropped his forehead to yours, panting quietly as he let you adjust to him. His first thrust was gentle, slow and easy, as if he was testing the water.
"You gonna tell your daddy about this?" Graves set a bruising pace, thrusting into you with less restraint than before.
You didn't answer, unable to speak as his cock hit every sensitive spot deep inside you over and over again. You wanted to hate him, wanted to tell him what an absolute bastard he was-
But the words wouldn't come.
Instead, you clutched at his shoulders, moaning and whining like an animal in heat as he fucked you on the filthy floor of the safehouse.
This was a bad idea, surely. Sleeping with the commander could only come back to haunt you.
Graves thrust, hard, and the thought was pushed from your mind entirely as he edged you closer to release. It was clear he wasn't far behind as he panted and let his movement grow sloppy and erratic.
"Gonna cum inside you, baby, that okay?" Graves' voice shook as he spoke.
"Yes-" you gasped out the words as he gave you one final push that had the tension inside you snapping like a taut cord.
He was close behind you, thrusting sloppily until he was spilling inside you with a weak grunt. He stayed like that for a moment, panting, as sweat dripped from his face and pattered down onto you.
Already, you could feel the gentle throb of the bruise that was forming on your neck where he had bitten you earlier.
To your left, a radio crackled to life and Graves scrambled to grab it, listening intently to the chatter from the Shadows on the other end.
"Shit-" he tossed the radio to the floor and searched for his pants.
"What is it?" You asked weakly, still lying on the floor where he'd left you.
"141 has movement, pretty sure it's Hassan," Graves threw your pants to you and you wiggled your way into them. It had to be at least 3am and you were exhausted.
You searched blindly for something to cover your neck, but to no avail. You weren't thrilled at the thought of Alejandro seeing it, but decided you didn't care.
Graves led the way and you followed him out the front door, rifles drawn.
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Housewife
Part - 19
Summery: Billy and Stu have been planning these murders for quite some time. Everything is going to plan until you show up. What happens when they meet someone who is just as mentally deluded as they are?
Pairing: Poly! ghostface x fem!reader
Warnings for this series: murder, blood, smut (will be more in depth on smut chapters), power dynamics, a dash of sexism, knives, stalking, perverse behavior, cheating,
Part 1
Dewey looked at the boy with pity. Billy's right hand was wrapped in a white cast. He had spent an hour in the hospital setting his broken hand back in place. It was way worse than getting stabbed according to him. The officers on duty all thought the boy was hilarious. The makeup paired with the outfit he was a walking joke. Dewey only made matters worse. His coworkers almost died laughing watching the deputy sign his name on Billy's cast.
"I hear Batman is getting released," Todd said leaning on Dewey's desk. "Yes, Billy is being released I already called someone to pick him up." The deputy left his seat on his way to talk to the inmate.
"Stu said he's on his way," Dewey said taking a seat outside of the holding cell. Billy hadn't spoken much. The few times he did it was to give his statement on what happened or ask if you were okay. He didn't care about anything else. Billy was too busy planning on killing the fucker that laid his hands on you. "Did he say how Y/n was doing?" The boy's gaze stayed glued to the moldy ceiling. "No, just that he'd be on his way to pick you up. I told him about your hand." Billy looked at the deputy with a scoff. "That's great."
"What did you think he's going to miss that when he shows up to get you?" Billy had begged the doctor just to set his hand and leave it be. Turns out they can't do that. Now he was stuck with a heavy cast with Dewey's name on it. He didn't even agree to that the deputy just grabbed a marker and did it.
"I know seeing that mask set you off. That and what happened to Y/n. Look, you're not in any trouble. If Daniel decides to press charges the county won't prosecute you. It'd be a waste of time. You were protecting her and after all that's happened you don't need to worry about this." Dewey's change of heart confused Billy. Every time he's run into the officer he's been met with nothing but disdain and hostility. Now Dewey wants to act like his friend. "What happened to you? You hated me just days ago." Billy sat up on the bench making eye contact with the man.
Dewey realized what you said that day in the office was true. The three of you needed to look out for each other. At the end of the day, he felt bad for all of you. The ghost of the massacre would follow the survivors for as long as they lived. They were just kids. No one deserved what happened to them that night. Dewey hated himself for living through it and he was sure the three of you felt similarly. Survivor's guilt they call it. He read a book about it.
He pulled off his hat sitting it neatly on his lap. "It's been 26 days since I lost Tatum... Even less since the funeral. I can still hear her sometimes." His eyes focused on his shoes as he talked. "I couldn't save her. For a while I blamed Stu. How could her boyfriend who loves her let that happen? I know that Neil was the one who took her but I guess I needed someone else to blame." Dewey leaned forward looking up at Billy through the bars.
"I care about Y/n like I know you do. I treated you and Stu poorly because I saw what happened to the people you loved. That was messed up, I get that now and I'm sorry. I don't want her to go through what my sister did. You did a damn good job of taking care of her tonight."
Billy sat in silence. He didn't feel bad about what he did to Tatum. Neither did he feel bad about what he did to Sydney. It was necessary to move on with his life to start over. He felt It was fair considering what the Prescott family took from him. Maureen's choices shouldn't have fucked up his whole life but they did. Billy just leveled the playing field.
Listening to Dewey's sob story almost made the boy sick to his stomach. He didn't feel bad about what he did rather he felt horrible that he didn't care. Dewey wasn't his friend or his brother, he shouldn't care about his feelings. Yet here he was feeling sorry for the officer. "I can't lose her," Billy spoke in something akin to a whisper. His voice was broken almost as much as his hand.
"You've got a good head on your shoulders. You won't. After the stunt you pulled tonight I'd say she's in good hands." Dewey did think it was odd that Billy was able to move on so quickly from Sydney. He guessed that the boy was trying to fill the hole that abruptly appeared. Dewey couldn't blame him. He was doing the same thing. Where did that leave you though? After all of this, he didn't want you to get more hurt than you already had been. "You think so?" Billy asked loving the idea of protecting you. What he did at the party felt good. Feeling that fuckers bones crack beneath his hand was exhilarating. Of course, he wished he didn't have to do it. He hated the fact he let it happen. The details of your attack were lost on Billy. All he saw was the masked boy pining you to the wall as his hands pulled at your dress.
"I do. Just maybe take it easy for a while?" Dewey smiled lighting up the conversation. "I'll try." Billy nodded. "Deputy, Can I speak to you for a moment?" Another officer called Dewey away leaving Billy alone in the cell.
Billy looked down at his cast trying not to pick at it. He didn't like having it on. It was a nuisance to put it lightly. The doctor told him he'd have to wear it for at least six weeks. Frankly, he didn't think he could make it that long mainly because of the name written in black ink on the cast. "Billy?" Dewey spoke walking into the room. His keys jangled as he opened up the cell door. "Stu's here to pick you up."
Once all the paperwork was done and signed Billy was finally allowed to leave the county jail. "Oh, she's going to kill you," Billy said looking at your car in the parking lot. Stu was upset. Billy hadn't said one word to him. Not a "thank you," "glad to see ya," "go fuck yourself," nothing. "Me? What about you?" Stu spat getting into the driver's seat.
"What about me? I saved her from that creep." Billy thought he was your knight in shining armor. You kept him fed and he kept you safe. After all, that's what you wanted right?
"You told the whole town you two were dating. Billy, you knew she wanted to wait." Stu drove while Billy rolled his eyes. "They were going to find out eventually. Everyone already thinks you two were fucking behind Tatum's back." Stu kept his eyes on the road. "Don't talk about her." After his talk with Dewey, Stu felt differently about a few things. "Jesus, what crawled up your ass tonight?" Stu hit the brakes making Billy's head hit the dash. "What the fuck!" The boy yelled holding his now bleeding head. "It's four in the morning. I just had to drive across town to pick you up from jail and you haven't said thank you. I begged Dewey not to call your dad to save you from the fight that was bound to happen and still, no thank you. Do you give a shit about me at all? Cause lately I feel like the only one you pay attention to is little Miss Betty Crocker. If I have to put on an apron for you to give a fuck I will. Is that what it's going to take?"
Billy's head pounded and Stu's yelling didn't help. "I'm sorry. Is that what you want to hear? My fucking hand is broken and you're upset that I didn't say thank you? You didn't even give me the chance. Where were you when she was getting attacked?" Stu's demeanor changed as he seemed to shrink. "You told me to get water-"
"That's right you were getting her water because you just had to give her alcohol. If you would've just gotten me and you a beer none of this would've happened. Don't jump my ass because all of this is your fault." Stu's face was red as tears weld up in his eyes. He gassed up the car driving in silence. The streetlights were smeared by his tears making it harder to see. This was his fault. That was what he told himself over and over. He was the one being selfish. He hadn't even noticed the bright white cast covering his partner's hand.
While Stu beat himself up over something he had no control over Billy cursed himself for yelling. "I'm sorry for shouting." Billy broke the silence. Stu sniffled trying to compose himself. "I'm sorry for jumping your ass." He responded quietly.
Billy turned towards the driver sighing at the sight. "It's not your fault. If it's anyone's fault it's Daniel's." Stu rounded the corner sending a glance to Billy. He didn't know his partner knew your assailant. "Daniel?" Stu asked. "Daniel Lawson. I heard Dewey say his name when talking to some other asshole." Stu looked over at his friend seeing that gleam in his eyes he hadn't seen for a while. "What are you thinking?" Billy smirked already having a plan. "I'm thinking we're about to have one less student attending Woodsboro high school."
By the time Stu pulled into the garage both men had smiles on their faces. Stu was happy to have his partner in crime back. It was probably unhealthy that the time he felt closest to Billy was when they were planning a murder. This was something only the two of them shared. Billy didn't want to include you because he saw you as too innocent to partake in such a depraved act. Even after what you did that night at Stu's place. To put it simply it was men's work.
Stu didn't want to include you because he had Billy to himself. It was their little secret this time. Stu would make sure you wouldn't find out about it. It was a win for everyone involved. Your attacker would disappear and Stu got to spend quality time with his boyfriend. It was a win win scenario.
"I'm going to take a shower and get something to eat before I head to bed." Billy pulled his boots off sitting them by the door. Stu stood behind his lover starting to kiss his neck softly. All the planning had stirred something inside of the short-haired boy. "Stu..." Billy warned not really in the mood. That didn't stop him however as his hand slowly slid down the front of Billy's outfit. "I'm tired." He spoke trying not to hurt Stu's feelings. His hand slipped underneath Billy's pants making him pull away. "Enough, alright? I'm tired and I'm hungry. I'm not in the mood right now."
Billy's hand was still killing him and his stomach was fighting for attention. Not to mention the throbbing headache he now had thanks to Stu. The last thing on his mind was sex unfortunately for his partner. Billy didn't mean anything by it. It wasn't personal but Stu took it as such.
"Whatever I'm going to sleep. You'll probably have more room on the couch than the bed." Stu walked upstairs leaving Billy with a headache. He was used to Stu's mood swings they happened ever so often. That along with an occasional manic episode. If he was lucky Stu would wake up in a better mood. Billy rubbed his face stopping halfway realizing too late he had makeup on. "Fuck..." He cursed.
Billy walked into the kitchen fixing himself a sandwich. He decided he would eat first and then take a shower. It was a funny sight. The man covered in makeup and blood stains was sitting at the kitchen table trying his best to eat a sandwich with his left hand. Once it was gone he put his plate in the sink, he'd wash it later. Billy decided to use the downstairs bathroom not about to suffer Stu's wrath once again.
Showering was more difficult than anticipated. The more he struggled to get his shirt off the more aggravated he got. "God damnit!" He cursed a little too loud. "Stupid..." He whispered to himself. With a couple of deep breaths, he went into the kitchen grabbing a pair of scissors. It wasn't an easy task to cut the shirt from his body. The doctor at the hospital cut the duct tape and the sleeve of his shirt off leaving room to put on the cast. Funny enough he left Billy to suffer with the rest of the fabric. His hand fumbled with the scissors struggling to get them to cut anything.
His yelling had woken you up. You could still feel the effects of the alcohol coursing through your veins. Thankfully it was less aggressive than before. Stu was laying sideways in the bed drooling onto your pillows. "Guess everyone had a rough night." You grumbled pulling yourself up from the bed.
You threw on your robe before heading down the stairs. Billy was home. His cursing and mumbling gave him away. "What are you doing?" Your eyes were squinted, offended by the white light in the bathroom. "Babe thank fuck. Cut this." He held the scissors towards you while you just stood confused. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust.
"What happened to your face?" You moved forward to run a finger over the dried blood. "Police brutality." He raised his eyebrows at the joke which didn't make you laugh. "Your arm..." You noticed the cast branded with Dewey's name. Gently you reached out inspecting the cast. "Don't ask." Billy shook his head at the signature. "How bad did you break it?" Just like that the whole scene replayed in your head. For a minute or two you watched your boyfriend turn into something you couldn't describe.
It was scary. You remembered how he looked when he was chasing you in the mall a few days after you moved. It was that same terrifying look just directed at someone else.
"They said I broke four knuckles, nothing too horrible." It was horrible. Some of the worst pain that boy ever felt but he wouldn't tell you that. You huffed a laugh. "How are you feeling?" He asked running his left hand over your head. Billy's eyes looked you up and down. You knew what he was wondering. "I'm okay. He didn't get that far if that's what you're asking." Billy shook his head. "It doesn't matter how far he got Y/n he shouldn't have touched you at all."
You grabbed the scissors slowly cutting the fabric off his body. "Are you upset that he touched me or are you upset that he hurt me?" The question was asked calmly. Billy didn't understand the difference between the two questions. To you however the difference was great. You seriously doubted Billy would've acted that same way if it was some other girl.
Billy chose his words carefully seeing you had scissors and all. "I'm not upset, I'm furious." His fingers grabbed your jaw lifting your chin. Your hands stopped, waiting for him to say something. Billy's eyes wandered your face his heart squeezed at the thought of anything happening to you. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you tonight. I didn't know what he was doing. I heard you say my name and I saw his hand under your dress. I blacked out for a second." It was a bullshit excuse. He remembered every thought that flew through his brain. Billy could recite the boy's pained pleas if you asked him to. Now was the time to play up the boyfriend act. As days went on it got easier for him to do.
His eyes softened as he spoke. It was funny how things came full circle. You met Billy because of some bully trying to see down your shirt. That was the first person he ever hit. Now look at the two of you. Both of you were broken but somehow you were looking out for each other.
"You think you embarrassed me?" You pulled away from his touch. Everyone would be talking about it. You knew that, but Billy almost killed a man with his bare hands and he's worried about the scene he caused.
"You're not embarrassed?" Billy cocked his head to one side. You started to peel off the cut up shirt as you spoke. "No. I'm scared, I-I'm worried but I'm not embarrassed. Do you think I'm embarrassed of you?" That was one of Billy's concerns. That after tonight you wouldn't want anything to do with him. He knew if the roles were reversed he'd probably never leave his house again. Fearful of what people might say. You looked the man up and down. He looked broken literally and figuratively. "The guy wanted to see my scar. I think he had more to drink than I did." You laughed trying to make a joke out of the serious conversation. "It was scary, I thought... something bad was going to happen and it might have. I don't know. You stopped him before anything seriously fucked up happened so thank you."
You tossed the ripped pieces of the shirt in the trash almost falling over from spinning too fast. "Baby," Billy said as he grabbed your arm stabilizing you. "Still feeling it huh?" He smiled. "I'll never do this again." You promised but Billy doubted that. Billy knew by the way you and Stu danced that you two would have partying in common.
"I bet." He said turning on the shower so the water could warm up. "Make sure you scrub your face good. You don't want to break out." Billy nodded at your advice. "Are you going back to bed?" You yawned at the mention of sleep. "I'm exhausted. I'll save you a spot in bed okay?" Billy watched you walk into the hallway. "Okay, I won't be long." You shut the bathroom door behind you going back up to your room.
You tried to be normal about it all. Part of you swooned over what he did. In some sick twisted way, you enjoyed seeing him defend you the way he did. It made you feel invincible which was a dangerous feeling. The other part of you however feared the man you began to love. He could keep you safe from everyone but himself. Stu's behavior at the party was unsettling as well. The violence was more important to him than you. He rushed to your side but his shouting didn't stop. The fight was thrilling for Stu.
With a heavy heart and head, you threw your robe over the chair crawling into bed next to Stu. "Scoot." You shoved the boy forcing him to move to the side of the bed. Stu rolled over his back facing you. Deep in sleep, he grabbed your hand pulling your arm over his waist. With a small smile, you pulled him in effectively snuggling up to the man.
You didn't know how things would go. The headache you had could've been the alcohol or your overthinking. You were scared of the future. For too long you had lived on a day-to-day basis. It was nice for a while but eventually, you'd have to face the music. Something had to give.
Billy pulled on a pair of boxers along with a t-shirt before heading to bed. Stu had you wrapped in his arms leaving plenty of room for Billy. Carefully he climbed into bed not wanting to wake up either of you. He wasn't happy with the way things played out. Daniel should be dead not just concussed with a broken nose. Billy didn't give a shit about the details of your attack. That son of a bitch laid a finger on you, the one thing Billy promised to prevent. Daniel didn't know it yet but he was a dead man walking.
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serial killer william afton x (afab) law enforcement reader pt.3!
A/N: We're back, baby! You're probably going to have to read the previous parts for this as it's been fucking ages, you can find them here (pt.1 and pt.2) especially for a refresher on William's bizarre ability.
Reader is forced to return to Afton, even after what happened last time. And finally he gets to make her his.
Warnings: smut, dub con, violence, injury detail, blood/pain kink?, predator/prey stuff. This series continues to be fucked up, so bear that in mind lmao.
“I just can’t.” you say bluntly into the phone, quickly to be met by a sigh from your boss. There was no way you could face Afton again. Your body physically wouldn’t let you and the thought of it crippled you with fear. Hence this call, letting your superior know you won’t be attending the scheduled interview for today.
“But you won’t tell me why.” he scoffs, “Look, y/n. Obviously this case isn’t to your liking, but what were you expecting? He’s a child murderer, it was never going to be pleasant.”
“Yes, I know but-” The man on the other end of the phone didn’t wait for your argument and you could tell that his decision was already made.
He sighs, “We don't have the resources to send someone else. Moreover, you have taken and categorised the information yourself so far, it would take time for you to share this with another agent. Time we don’t have.” This dispassion and lack of concern in his voice made tears prick your eyes, he didn't understand. You couldn’t go back to the facility and sit opposite a man that had been endlessly playing with you since you met him.
You hadn't seen William Afton since he cornered you in the interview room, since you used him for pleasure, since you came to, curled up on the floor of your apartment ravaged by tears and the searing guilt of what you had done. How could you continue this case? But how could you not? It's not like you can tell your boss that reason, it’s unbelievable, you yourself could hardly comprehend it. Hell, even if he did believe you, you’d lose your job.
“I’m sorry, y/n. I know it’s taking an emotional toll on you, how couldn’t it? But we need you to continue.” Your tears are obscured by a venomous scowl you have no control of- ‘an emotional toll’, you could laugh at that. He had no idea. You feel watched at all times, vulnerable, and as such have lost sleep because you don’t know when or how he will toy with you next.
“I-”
Again you are cut off by his uncaring and bored tone. “I’m sorry, but if you refuse… your contract will be terminated as per clause... 14a.”
“Yes, sir.” Your voice cracks with the words and you have to take a pause to steady your breath and resign yourself to this fate. The fate of continuing to be this child killer’s play thing. “I understand and I will proceed.” You enunciate each word separately, unable to pretend to be polite.
You can picture the arrogant expression on your superior’s face and it makes your fist clench automatically revealing a row of white knuckles. “Tomorrow, report to me afterwards.” And you agree, through gritted teeth, the now very familiar sensation of dread making itself known.
Tomorrow. You would be there tomorrow, faced with the reality of your ghost.
~
Afton had a nagging feeling you wouldn’t show, no doubt terrified of the fallout of what you’d let him do to you last time. As much as he’d expected this, that did nothing to ease the boredom of being locked in his cell all day with only planning and thought for stimulation.
He had warned you, told you that you would regret not showing, not playing his game. You’re a fool if you think that abandoning your post would be the end of it. Would it fuck. If anything it just made him want to teach you a lesson about resolve and determination, something you were clearly lacking.
It was his goal to break you down, make you malleable, the perfect toy for him. And clearly it was easier than he’d have thought, you jumped at the chance to use him then crumbled immediately. So he left you alone for a while, let the fear of yourself amplify.
The pacing of his cell ceased for a moment to allow himself a chuckle at how bizarre this was. He was on edge at your absence and felt as though he lacked control. He’d see you soon, tonight perhaps, but how should he proceed? You hated him, it was poisonous around you and dripping with rage, targeted at him but rooted in hate for yourself and your powerlessness. Because you were powerless, even if you ran or hid, you were powerless because deep down you wanted him to find you out.
God, it was evident in your last meeting. You’d resisted, spat on him, your disgust making his cock rock hard. And then you’d lost yourself, faltered so easily. Dragging yourself against him fuelled by burning lust, he could practically see it in your eyes, hunger plain and simple. Just thinking about it made him carnal, he had received nothing from the interaction but the image and it was a fucking sweet one to say the least, he would have acted on the picture right then and now, pulling his shirt up slightly to gain access to his waistband. But he’s quickly interrupted by footsteps down the corridor.
It was two sets of steps, intending to be slow and purposeful but instead reeking of entitlement, it was no doubt his favourite duo of coppers. Dithers and Paulson. He sighed, turning his back to the glass wall, not wanting interaction with PC Douche and PC Can’t-walk-straight-for-Douche’s-hand-up-his-arse.
The steps stop outside his cell, bringing with it a heavy silence. They were waiting for him to turn but he only sniggered, pressing his tongue over his front teeth. His silent refusal caused officer Dithers to glance at the other guard, a mean spirited smirk crossing his face as he walked over to the door, raising his hand to pound the glass. Trying to corral him like a fucking caged animal.
“Come on, knobhead. Got something to say to you.” Dithers called out sing-song style, the other guard laughing in toe.
Afton turns, making a point of sizing the officer up, exhaling loudly through his nose as he approaches the door. Sticking his chin up and letting a smirk slide across his face at the height difference between himself and both these officers. And although Dithers would never admit it, he had to step back to effectively meet his eyeline.
“Morning, kiddie-fiddler.” He says, instantly turning to his mate for validation. The killer sneers, forcing himself to not rise to the words of this shit-stirrer in front of him. To put it lightly, Dithers was lucky for the walls of the cell. “Been busy, huh?” He gestures to how his uniform was disturbed from the activity he was about to indulge in, spurred on by the memory of his last encounter with you. “Suppose you’ve got nowt to do but pull your prick all day.”
The two officers shared a look of amusement that was instantly shattered when Afton grinned, “And… you’re here to watch?” Their machismo makes them stand a little straighter and avert their gaze. Their instant school-yard response of ‘you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ dead air because yes, he probably would.
Awkwardness remains for a few moments before it's broken by the guard. “Looks like that pretty little agent ain’t coming today.” He gets closer to the glass trying to assert dominance, “She must’ve got bored of talking to nonces.”
Afton looks down his nose, the smirk on his face as aggravating as a slap in the face. “They should put someone else on duty then.” he sniggers.
At that, Dithers slams his hand against the glass and takes out his keys, the aggressive rattling loud in the otherwise silent corridor. Afton just chuckles, clearly he’s struck a nerve if this bastard thinks it’s a good idea to pick a fight with him in this tiny cell. The raised voices of Dithers and his crony catches O’Connor’s attention from his post and he moves quickly down the corridor to see the key raised to the lock and hear the threats of the fuming officer.
He shouts at the soon-to-be altercation, “What the Hell is going on here!?” Forcing his hand between Dithers and the lock, getting cut up by his movement in the process. “Are you fucking stupid?” He hisses in pain, and holds up his hand to show Dithers the blooming blood, causing the aggressor to back off, the ugly expression on his face demonstrating that he knew he’d fucked up big time now.
“Shit.” he mumbles, mouth opening to give excuses.
O’Connor snaps and grabs him by the collar, shaking him before pushing him back, leaving him to stumble. “Just- feck off and get me first aid.” The words are hissed, his tone harder than they’d ever thought possible from someone they’d before considered a soft-arse.
Dithers nods and moves away, the other guard follows suit, both hoping to find the captain before O’Connor could, conveniently forgetting the CCTV is on his side. As they retreat, O’Connor grabs his hand, wincing in pain, he wipes the blood to see the injury underneath. The keys had pieced his palm fairly deep and the blood was pouring. He mumbles the word ‘fuck’ under his breath.
“You alright, big boy?” Afton smirked, but he wasn’t laughing any more though because he recognised that this young lad had probably just gotten him out of a week in seg. for something that wasn’t really his fault.
The officer looks from his injury to the criminal, “What the fuck was that about?”
“You tell me. I were minding my own.”
He scoffs, to be fair that was pretty hard to believe. “Yeah let’s see if that’s what the cameras say.” Afton laughs, moving away from the glass to sit on his bunk. Officer Dithers was a fucking joke, that whole display was pathetic, all the CCTV could tell was he stood their calm as anything whilst the guard tried to prove how big his bollocks were, the runt.
He remained on his bunk, watching the officer try to stem the flow of blood with his fingers. The action irritates him, “You want to get that sorted. Disinfectant. I wouldn’t wait for PC Dipshit.”
O’Connor turned to again face the man inside his cell, his brows furrowed. What was that, advice? How weird, he thought to himself, must be this freak’s way of a thank you.
~
The next day when you arrived at the facility your heart was in your throat, firmly lodged there making it impossible for you to breathe normally. You’d called early this morning, arranged everything the same as it should have been yesterday, but it did nothing to ease your nerves. You pause outside the doors, taking a moment to reassure yourself, it’s anxiety, nothing new, once you clapped eyes on the bastard it’d subside - at least you hope so. But that didn’t make it any easier to enter the building.
“Hey!” a man’s voice calls out to you, making you turn to the direction of its source. Your kind-of friend, O’Connor, gave you a shy wave, a bundle of bandages wrapped around his palm. And giving him a slight smile you go over, fists clenched tight to stop your hands from trembling, hating how much effort you need to stay remotely professional right now.
“Hi. What happened?” you ask instantly, pointing at the covering on his hand. It was out of curiosity but also your need to keep the conversation away from last week and your absence yesterday.
He looks down to his hand as though he’d forgotten about the injury altogether. “Oh, your man, Afton, had a row with uh Officer Dithers.” He smiles bashfully and some colour appears on his face. “I intervened and-”
“Afton did that?” You cut him off, voice stern due to anxiety and coming off sharper than intended.
The smile falls at your tone, he can tell something is bothering you, though to be fair I didn’t exactly take an emotional genius. “No, no. Dithers did, it was an accident- doesn’t really matter. Are you… okay?”
You pick up that he’s not just asking etiquettely, it's touched with concern. So you double check that the expression on your face isn’t revealing too much, and smile as much as you can. “Yeah, sorry. Just… after last week I’m put off, to say the least.” It’s a reasonable excuse and you’re so glad it came to you as easily as it did.
“Yeah, I get it. But uh if you want, I can get someone to go in there with you, I don’t mind doing it?” The second the idea leaves him he sees your face change, like you breathed out for the first time since you walked in, a bucket of tension off your shoulders.
You blink as relief seeps through your veins, this guy must really like you to offer that. “Is that something that can happen? I mean, that would be great, but who do I ask?”
“I’ll talk to the cap., you can wait here, or…” Or go in alone, you finish the thought for him in your head, weighing it up. Obviously waiting for him is preferable, then you won’t have to face your demon alone, it’ll keep Afton in check too, no sly comments if he’s there. But… you’re on a strict time schedule to make up for yesterday and your boss wants your report in exactly two hours. The anxiety creeps back in when you realise that you’ll have to do the first stretch on your own.
You assure yourself, as much as O'Connor, that you’ll be fine, though it’s a complete lie. He goes straight to the Captain’s office, leaving you to take yourself to what feels like your doom. Maybe it’s better because the silence gives you an opportunity to ground yourself, you’re safe here, you have someone staying at your flat with you, you don’t have to subject yourself to these awful impulses Afton released from you; you just have to conduct your questioning. It helps somewhat, the fear now lessened to a nagging tightness in your shoulders, by the time you stand outside the interview door and exchange a few words with the guard there.
But still you find yourself trembling when he unlocks the door and holds it open for you.
Seeing Afton sitting there waiting for you, makes your whole body go tense. This was ridiculous, you should be here, you shouldn’t have to do this, not after the landslide of emotions you’re still recovering from. How can you be terrified of someone doing something you liked? Maybe you’re not really scared of Afton, maybe you’re scared of what Afton is turning you into. This pathetic, shaky mess isn’t you. And so, with a nod to the guard on the door, he closes it, the small beep indicating the lock becoming active and sealing you in here, with him.
You take a deep breath and force yourself into business mode, slowly walking over and taking a seat, all without actually looking the criminal in the eye, though you feel him staring and analysing your every movement. Once seated you make yourself look at him, though the struggle to do so is evident in the tension of your jaw. He catches the flicker of a wince on your face and smiles broadly.
“Just as I were starting to think you wouldn’t come back. Here you are…” Afton breaks the silence that was just beginning to become too long, he plays with the words, taking his time to speak whilst bringing his hands up to rest under his chin. He takes you in, dressed all modestly today, like you’re trying to compensate for last week, it’s cute. As he moves you notice he’s wearing different cuffs, these ones not a chain between them but a thick solid metal bar. It must be some fallout from the interaction with Officer Dithers, though you can’t see why.
You swallow, internally begging your voice not to crack, “We’re only a day behind schedule. I think you’re being overdramatic, Mr Afton.” The second you get the words out you applaud yourself, grateful that the role of lawyer wasn’t too difficult to slip into, though maybe that was partly due to the impending arrival of O’Connor.
“Overdramatic, huh?” He laughs, “And what would you call your reaction to what happened last time I seen you?” His tone is dripping with accusation, implying you missed yesterday because of it, a sarcastic sharpness layered on the words. It looks like you missing yesterday’s session pissed him off more than reasonably, he probably thought his ‘skills’ weren’t paying off and that you had slipped out of his control.
“You mean that pathetic display of violence on that officer?” The dismissive way you speak annoys him, manifesting in a slight scowl. You must think you’re so clever sitting there, trying to pretend you weren’t on the verge of breaking, he can see it in your eyes, you’re close to being his.
“Why? Did it scare you? You know that that’s not what I’m talking about.” He speaks a little more harshly, the theatrics dropping off by the second. But your words didn’t reflect how you actually felt about that day, when he headbutted that guard, there was no reaction of pain. Not even a flinch. And that was disturbing. Maybe that explains these more secure cuffs.
Sighing, you wave your hand, not wanting this teasing to go on. This needs to be over as fast as possible, for your sanity. “Frankly, Mr Afton, I’m not interested in whatever rapport you think we have. I’m here to work.” You let the natural authority fall from your lips, pointing down to the sheet of questions designed for today’s session. You shove all fearful thoughts from your mind, resigning yourself to calm.
“Oh." He leans back, an expression of faux-offence coating his face. “So, no foreplay today? Fine, sweetheart… I’m happy to give you what you want.” His suggestive tone and eyes scanning your body makes last time flash before your eyes, and it steals your breath.
“I…I want to talk about your family. Research suggests it might play a huge part in your actions...” You trail off at the sound of the keypad outside the door being used, finally O’Connor was here, you can rest a little easier. Looking at Afton, you see his gaze completely locked on the door, brow furrowed. It hits you then that this might not be a good idea, changes like this are notorious for getting a rise out of inmates and that’s the last thing you want from a man who can torture you if the impluse strikes him.
Your friend enters and you turn expecting to see him walking towards you. He doesn’t, instead just gesturing at you to come over a look of pity written on his face. Pushing your chair out you go to him, very aware of Afton’s eyes like daggers on the two of you, his expression serious.
The scrutiny is evident in his face as he wondered why the hall that officer was interrupting his session. His time with you. It's rude to say the least, and just as he was starting to like that ginger guard and all.
You keep your voice quiet and out of his earshot, “Well?”
He launches into it immediately, “...I don’t have the right clearance. Cap. said that I can’t go near this. I’m so sorry.” You can tell on his face that he means it, he looks very sorry indeed. “I tried to go after someone higher up, but-”
“No one would do it?” You laugh shortly, what a fucking surprise. No one would sit in for you because you’re a stranger here. A woman no less. An unknown woman who’d slighted one of their colleagues, that must be like a triple crime here.
“I’m sorry, I really am.”
You smile, though it’s strained, and resist the urge to cry that’s now making itself very apparent. “It’s alright, it’s not your fault.” You place your hand on his arm, half out of reassurance that you’re not angry at him, half the need to bring yourself back to reality. You’re going to have to finish this alone, but hey, if you’ve come this far you can handle it. It’s such a nothing action and you hardly register it, O’Connor smiles back, still looking very apologetic. “I need to get back to this.” You make your intention to walk away clear.
He nods, quickly leaving the room. You hear the beep again when you sit down, finally casting your attention back on the murderer in front of you, whose face is set in indignation. Such fiery anger that you blink in shock, unable to understand what had brought him to this.
“What the fuck was that?” The words are knife-like, said through gritted teeth. The human part of you shudders but the business part of you is intrigued as to why he was reacting this way.
You speak cautiously, “I’m sorry, I asked O’Connor to do something for me: it didn’t work out. Anyway, as I was saying-”
He cuts you off, “Are you fucking him?” The words are interrogation and you then notice his hand gripping the desk as he leans forward, his knuckles strained so much a previous gash was bleeding. You remember those hands on you, how easily he held you still, the frightening strength of them. Then he wasn’t even pissed off, what the fuck could he do if he lost control? The thought makes you swallow.
“I- Mr Afton. It doe-”
“It does fucking matter.” He spits, the words pure venom, “Answer the question.” The movement of his head is animalistic as he ducks slightly to catch your eye line better, like how a caged wolf would follow a keeper’s actions, waiting for a mistake, a chance.
You stare at him in disbelief, the ability to speak coherently lost in your terror and fascination. “I-I… no.” you finally manage, shaking your head.
He scoffs then, averting his gaze for a moment before again fixing it on you. His fingers rising from the table like he suddenly remembered himself, then slowly laying flat. “If he lays a finger on you- I’ll fucking kill him. You hear me?” He speaks quietly, demonstrating an insane amount of self-restraint, which didn’t go uncommended.
“Excuse me?” Your brows narrow instinctively as you’re unable to follow his manner of thinking. All this rage over that interaction, it’s crazy.
He laughs, leaning closer to you, “I’ll make it good too. I’ve heard intestines are longer than you think.” Intimidation, it’s just intimidation. You try to soothe yourself, the thought manual to try and lessen the spiral he’d just thrown you into. He just wants to assert dominance, to make you feel weak. But looking at the cruelly grave look on his face, you just know he’s telling the truth.
You try to engage him, eager to understand why he said that, the pen gripped in your hands as you hold yourself back from writing this down. “I- so you would do that. Murder us, what- just because you can?”
Out of the blue, a smirk slowly spreads across his face, “No, no sweetheart. I’ll kill him… Could you live with that? Lover boy’s blood on your hands?” Something thoughtful flickers in his gaze before he continues, “It’s harder than you think.”
“I don’t understand. Why?”
The grin doesn’t budge when he sits back in the chair. “Just because I can.” He puts knowing infliction on the words, mirroring exactly what you’d said moments ago, mocking you. Then he shrugs, “I think we’re done. For now.”
You’re more than taken aback by that, it’s like he’s trying to remove himself from your company, maybe because he’s still pissed off and didn’t want you to see it, and that suggested an element of control you didn’t know he had. And so, putting your notes away you try to think of what you would tell your boss, he’d given you nothing today and no doubt that was going to be your fault. Fuck’s sake.
“Next week then.” You say at the door, as a means of goodbye. It makes the murderer smirk and he shakes his head briefly.
“Sure. See you soon, sweetheart.”
~
You’re still a little dazed even on the other side of the door, still in shock Afton had just ended the session like that, leaving you hanging in your boss’s mercy. But there’s not really anything you could do. And perhaps, that possessive reaction could be worth reporting, though how you would do that without implicating yourself in something, you don’t know.
“Hey, you didn’t finish early cos of me, right? Again, I’m sorry.” The sweet officer walks beside you, eager to really make sure you’re not angry at him. You probably should be, he’d gotten your hopes up of support, but then again, you managed fine. Plus it’s hard to be upset at someone who’d so far struck you as very genuine.
“Honestly?” You ask, a small smile settling on your face. He nods. “Afton called it off. I don’t think he liked the interruption.”
He chuckles, “Or he didn’t like the idea of you having a life outside that room.”
You look at him then, your brows narrowed in thought. “What do you mean?” You know more than you’re saying, but getting his opinion on your surface level relationship with your charge could be useful.
“Just that… You know what they’re like, don’t see a lass for years and now he has one visiting him every week? He probably thinks you’re a lot closer than you are.” You try not to let your reality manifest in your expression and smile politely. He has no fucking idea how close you are. God, you wish you didn’t.
~
You’re so comforted by your little do with the officer that it makes the drive home easier, instead of being fearful of what would await you later on you replay the entire conversation, focusing on your side and hoping you didn’t make a melt of yourself. The analysis makes the drive fly by and you’re parking in your building before you know it, messaging your temporary housemate to check that they’re in and physically relaxing with the knowledge that they are. Today couldn’t have gone better really, especially after all the anxiety you had prior to going to work, and now you can forget about it, well, as much as you're able to with Afton’s words still sharp in your mind.
Unlocking your apartment door, you step inside and call out instantly to the person waiting for you. No reply. But the blurred sound of the tv calms your nerves, they probably didn’t hear you over it, nothing more. The flat is still, your kitchen exactly as you’d left it, pots and all, the table messy with a pile of washing on it. Why you’re looking for something wrong is unknown, but an eerie feeling in your gut tells you to be careful, and you know better than to ignore it.
Going through to the living area, you stiffen at the sight of the empty sofa, the telly playing to itself and your houseguest nowhere to be seen. Your intuition was right, something was gravely off and the heavy silence makes you turn to the open door, a tightness spreading across your chest. On a small table near the door there’s a kitchen knife, probably the biggest one in your rack, and it’s just laid there. Although it’s a menacing sight you go over to it and pick up the blade, a soft security in having something to defend yourself with. Maybe you’re overthinking, allowing your fears of further confrontation with Afton to come to fruition, but you can’t physically relax. Your friend could just be in the toilet, or the bedroom, yet something tells you not to call out again.
Whilst you’re looking at the hefty knife in your hand a devastatingly loud scraping sound comes from outside the room. Like some heavy furniture being pulled across the floor without care. You hold the blade to your chest, eyes flicking over everything as you walk back towards the kitchen, a prey mindset coming over you, making you consider your escape options. Not the front door, you locked it, it would take too long, besides surely your pursuer would catch you, unless… you tighten your grip on the knife.
In the kitchen you find the source of noise, one of the chairs strewn across the room and knocked over. You steady yourself as much as possible, mind too pragmatic to let fear overcome you right now and head to the chair, picking it up as quickly and silently as you can. It’s then that that god-awful sensation of eyes makes you tense, and so you turn, knowing before you can see that it's him.
You don’t question how Afton is in your flat, hell, maybe deep down you’d expected it, at least he was in front of you and in your sight, there’s a certain power that comes with that. “What do you want?” You speak gruffly, not allowing any smidge of terror in your voice, you have to stay strong… for all that worked last time. But today is different.
“I thought I’d pay you a visit. It’s a nice place you have here… real private.”
“And this?” You hold the knife forward, the light catching it and making the blade shine, “We’re playing games now?” He laughs at that, leaning his huge frame against the wall of the hallway, letting you see the front door over his shoulder.
“We’ve always been playing games. I felt bad for you, thought I’d give you a chance.” He grins and it’s meaner than usual, so is his tone, this didn’t feel like giving you a chance, more like setting you up for failure so he can see the hope die in your eyes. You can’t help but think this could be punishment.
“If you think I wouldn’t use it- you’re wrong.” You say sternly, putting a lot of effort into keeping your voice solid. He doesn’t look perturbed in the slightest, if anything a tinge of amusement graces his face, that's definitely what scares you the most. He moved then, standing straight and stepping towards you, eyes raking over your form for any sign of weakness. You match his movement by retreating so your back is against the counter, the kitchen table separating you and him, the deja vu from your last encounter gives you hope: this table certainly isn’t fucking bolted down.
Maybe he picked up on your thought process because he suddenly moved quickly, quick enough to startle you but not to ruin your idea. You shove the table hard and it hits the target with a notable thump. You know it’s not going to hurt him, but it gives you the briefest chance to run, so you do. Out the kitchen to your bedroom hallway. You slam the door to keep him inside, wanting all possible indications of his movement when he chases you, then the door to the bathroom, your room and the guestroom, not before sliding inside the latter. In a quick though you push yourself down under the bed, its long covers close to the floor and side table providing you a small corner to curl up in.
It’s the best you can do and it allows you to watch the door and wait for him, the knife still enclosed in your hand. Years of safety training and online courses cross your mind, he’s much bigger than you, you know from experience if he gets the upper hand you’re his to toy with. So you have to strike quick and fast, deadly or at least close to it. The neck would be best.
Your plan begins to work, when you hear the kitchen door open, banging roughly into the wall. He doesn’t care if you hear- he wants you to, wants you to be scared.
“Now who’s playing games?” Your chaser calls out, you’d expected that angerfrom before to return, but instead that torturously mocking tone is back. He’s underestimating you.
He doesn’t disguise his movement, going room to room. Your bathroom, bedroom and then here. You’re so confident in your plan until he opens the door, then child-like terror settles in when you realise how cornered you are. You’ve left yourself no other option than to attack him and if that doesn’t work, you’re fucked.
You don’t need to see his face to know he’s grinning, there’s nowhere else you could be. He walks to the edge of the bed, his feet casting shadow across the floor. Instinctively you pull your feet up to curl up smaller, the sound of your action crystal clear.
“I heard that.” He speaks with a sing-song tone. “Under the bed? Really?” He laughs, but you keep your head on straight. His shadows reveal what he’s doing, crouching down silently to pull you out, so you force yourself to take your chance. You shove yourself from hiding quickly, rolling to your feet and swinging the blade as hard as you can towards his neck. You hit. But not as precisely as you meant to. A slash, not a stab, and although the blood from the wound is a lot, his reaction is proof of failure.
He grunts in pain, catching your arm before you could strike again and slamming your wrist into the corner of the wall, instantly knocking the blade from your grip. It hurts like hell, a sudden electric pain down your entire arm, your fingers tingling. It’s hard to think with the pain but seeing him kick the knife across the floor another idea strikes you. You kick him with force in the balls and this time your assault is successful, as he doubles over with an absolutely wretched sound. He doesn’t let go of your arm though, his grip lethally strong even though you rive against it. You try to think against the amounting futility but the struggling kills your motivation. Regaining himself, he meanly swipes your legs from under you and you go down instantly, hitting your linoleum hard enough for it to show in your expression.
He pins you there on the floor, using his body to completely immobilise you, your hands now captured in his. And just like that your will to fight is hanging on by a thread. What’s the point in thrashing, you can hardly move and the anger in his eyes is a warning.
He just watches you for a moment, still beneath him except for your rapid breathing and that disgusted look on your face, not touching you more than ‘necessary’ because he doesn't want to hurt you too much. And you’re making that very fucking difficult.
“Get off me.” You try, the words coming off your tongue sharply.
“Or what? You’ll fucking stab me again?” Mentioning your attack draws his attention to the pain and the sensation of warm blood on his throat, you had more fight and intelligence than he’d given you credit for. He winces as he touches the wound, the smell of blood instantly hitting you. “You could have killed me.”
“That was the idea, you psychopath.” You eye his red coated fingers with malice, the insult making spit fly from your mouth. He grinned then, the intensity of you right now amusing him. Fuck, he’d done nothing to you,and yet you stabbed him and he wasn’t creating half as much fuss as you.
“Not well executed though, huh? You were close, could’ve done it if you wanted to.” He leans close to you, the darkness in his gaze taking your breath. “But you didn’t want to.”
In spite of fear, a sudden indignation sparks inside you, “You’re not worth it.”
The metallic scent of blood gets stronger when he grabs your jaw, revelling in the fury that rose in your eyes. “Maybe you’re not as clever as I thought. Is it really such a good idea to try and hurt my feelings right now?”
He’s right. Like this he could do anything to you now and you couldn’t defend yourself, quite literally at his mercy, but would you fuck give up the one power you had left. “You don’t scare me.” You say it firm, your poker face strong.
“Bullshit. There’s a difference between not being scared and liking to be scared.” You can practically feel his eyes moving down your body and stopping where it meets his, he’s hard on top of you, and your trembling breath makes him twitch. “I’d bet anything you’re wet for me, sweetheart.”
You scoff, hating that he was right. The heat between your legs was intense, the feeling of his hands on you cross-wiring your brain, you shouldn’t like this. Part of you wants to chalk how aroused you are up to memories of last time, but you know it's more than that and that knowledge is a punch in the gut.
“I wonder if it’s the chase you like more, or the capture?”
“Maybe it’s seeing you bleed.” You counter through your teeth. He shifts his hold then, bringing his blood stained fingers to your lips, wordlessly daring you to prove it. There must be some truth to what you just said because both of you note the involuntary hunger in your gaze.
You can’t describe what you’re feeling right now, all your senses are overwhelmed, you want to brush up against him and relieve some of that tension in your core, you want him to touch you, your tits, your pussy, anything. Your lip twitches in a snarl when he smears his blood on your lips, before you part them and taste him. Rolling your tongue on his fingers and trying not to think of how wrong this is, how wrong you are. The iron taste is dirty and your back arches slightly against him.
“That’s fucked up.” He smirks, near-mesmerised by the movement of your tongue on his fingers, how you suck on them so prettily, the look in your eyes something he recognised. You know it is, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, you silently try to free your arms, you need something more, need to pull him down to you and taste more of him. His lips, his throat, the apparent hardness resting on your midsection. All of it.
He obliges your silent request, not really caring if you try to hurt him again, you can if you want to, especially if you look this good whilst doing it. With your hand free you hook them around the back of his neck, unknowingly digging into his cut in the most deliciously agonising way. He grimaces against your lips when you try to kiss him but doesn’t stop your grip, the dulling agony making pre leak from his tip. He wasn’t planning to fuck you, but fuck, you deserve it.
He moves on top of you, your hand instantly following his torso down to his now exposed waistband, you need to feel him, you want to be fucking consumed. It’s the only thought in your mind. Your eyebrows raise as you explore him, grabbing his cock through the fabric of his trousers. He’s bigger than anything you’ve had before, so big it's almost frightening. So lost in your realisation you don’t notice his pulling at your shirt until he yanks the fabric, making the buttons pop off onto the floor and cool air hit your chest. Your bra quickly follows as he easily lifts your body from the ground to unhook it and pry it from your skin, he’s rough, letting you drop back down heavily, and immediately biting a kiss into your breast. It hurts in a blaze before dying down as he sucks your flesh, no doubt leaving marks.
He runs his tongue over your nipple and you shiver, your pussy clenching around nothing. You want to stroke his cock, feel him properly but you can’t reach, making you moan pathetically. It sounds nothing like you but you’re so desperate for him that your skin is burning, you need more or nothing, this middle ground driving you insane.
He looks up at you then, dazed like a starved man. You suppose he is. It’s then you see how his blood has smeared across your chest, catching the light in the most filthy fucking way, you maon again, instinctively spreading your legs for him and he needs no further invitation. His fingers scratch your skin in their rush to get to the zip on your trousers, undoing it and pulling them off quickly, he wants you completely exposed for him, to see every inch of you broken for him.
Sitting up, you again grab at his manhood, desperate to feel him inside you. Your touch makes him groan and he rips your hands from him, the movement violent. “You want me to fucking split you in half? Fucking wait.” You flinch at the words, the tone so commanding you obey without question. Realising what he means when he pulls your panties down and slides his fingers between your folds, your slick making a mess of him instantly. He wants to stretch you open, make you cum so you’re ready for him, it's an ill-fitting kindness you never would have expected.
He shoves two of his digits inside your heat, instantly making you aware of that god-awful coil in your core, it’s insane how close you are to exploding, from nothing but a vague touch. Fucking his fingers in and out of you, he touches himself, unable to help it with how tight you are on just his fingers, you’re going to fucking strangle his cock. That thought makes his pace mean, fingers curling inside you to angle against that spot that makes tears spring in your eyes. You’re so close, you’re grabbing his wrist begging him to keep going, you need it so bad, you need to come undone. A scream burns in your throat when he rubs your clit, you cum on the instant, writhing like an animal as the almost agonising pleasure floods your senses. You can’t fucking feel anything except your climax, not the ground beneath you or the fury of your grip on his arm. It’s so crazy that your entire body trembles as you start to come down, your walls intermediately squeezing him.
You look so fucking gone, almost absent from your body that he watches you near awe, groaning at the sight of those pretty tears rolling down your face. He grabs your ankle and pulls you towards him, this time letting you take hold of him and free him from his trousers, you hardly realise you are doing it, it comes so instinctually. It’s only the sudden grip on your throat when you begin stroking him that brings you to reality.
Your back arches into it, trying to relieve some of the pressure of his hold, pleasure again sparking in your core. You look at him like you hate him, your eyes brimming with venom, “Fuck me.” You manage despite his grip and he grunts some noise of agreement, not hesitating to line himself up at your entrance, his head just pressing there, finding your wet heat almost hypnotic.
He just knew you’d be fucking delicious, is the thought that strikes him when he shoves himself inside you, the stretch enough to make you cry out. It sends ripples of ache through your lower body, your legs shaking before he gets to the hilt. He doesn’t hesitate to let you adjust, he probably couldn’t even if he wanted to, the need to feel you flutter around him fucking carnal. He keeps his hold on your neck, his other hand using your hip to force you to take all of him, making a stream of profanity flee your lips at how deep he feels. The pace he sets is selfish, using your hole for his pleasure and just the idea of making him cum has you shivering. You want it, want all of it, no, you fucking need it.
He pulls out of you to press your body down to the floor, hooking under your legs and pulling them up, folding you in half before slamming back in. The angle is brutal, his cock hitting further inside you than you’d ever thought possible, forcing incoherent babbling noises from you each time he fully sheathed himself in your tight cunt. He’s chasing his end, the eagerness of your walls swallowing him, telling him you’re going to cum again and he’s going to fucking fill you, make you his. You clearly want it. You gasp as he throws you into another orgasm, overstimulation making you go limp in his grip. All you can do it take the increasingly rough and sloppy thrusts as he fucks you through it, hand on your throat tightening considerably when your greedy walls push him over his edge. He cums inside you, each thrust shoving it deep, the warmth delirium of it beyond words. He doesn’t realise how tight his grip is until whiteness tints the edges of your vision, your pussy clamping down on him, reminding him to let go, god, he could’ve fucking-
He pulls out of your cunt to see you flushed, his cum dripping out your tightness. Still reeling your hand goes to your throat, knowing already how bruised you were going to be, such an unambiguous injury that couldn’t be explained away.
“You fucking bastard.” You manage, your voice hoarse. You hate how he just laughs at you, careless even though he could have made you pass out, or worse. But you can’t deny the electric feeling of adrenaline in your veins, it was beautiful, an otherworldly feeling, and already you want it again.
Maybe that makes you just as fucked up as him.
#fnaf#william afton#william afton x reader#william afton smut#fnaf william afton#william afton x you#fnaf smut#serial killer william#read warnings
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elevate [bro's 500 — jinsik]
[forced proximity, smut, ceo!au, jinsik/afab!reader]
requested by: 🎧
word count: 1.5k
content: smut, kissing, oral sex, hand job, blow job, completely consensual!
author's note: mmm yes i changed it from ceo to managing partner but close enough right? anyway enjoy
Jinsik had a huge crush on you. You were a powerful, independent woman who worked her ass off to become managing partner at your firm, and Jinsik found that incredibly hot. So hot, in fact, that he would always get super flustered whenever you entered the bullpen to check in with the paralegals.
Not only were you a badass, but you were also the sweetest human being (but could tear someone’s head off if need be), which just made you more and more desirable not just to Jinsik, but to everyone at the firm.
As much as Jinsik liked you, he couldn’t. For one thing, it was crazy that he, a lowly paralegal, could even dream about being with you, the high and mighty managing partner. The other thing was that you were not allowed to date within the firm. That was a big no-no, and one of the senior partners made that abundantly clear to him when he first joined the team. So, he just had to settle for appreciating from afar.
So, when he got stuck in the elevator with you, his brain was on fire, and his brain cells were sprinting around trying desperately to extinguish the fire.
You were beautiful that day with your tight blouse and gray pencil skirt that hugged your waist and hips just right. You had the cutest little scowl on your face as you pressed the help button over and over again, and Jinsik had to keep himself from staring before all of the blood in his body rushed straight down to his waist.
“Is this button not working or something?” you huffed angrily. Your tone then became gentle as you apologized with a slight laugh, “I’m so sorry, Jinsik… I’m sure you’d rather be out enjoying your night.”
“N-no, I was just g-going to go home and go over these c-case files,” Jinsik stuttered.
“Oh, which case are you working on?”
“T-the nuclear power plant m-meltdown…”
“Oh! That’s going to be a tough case. Do you have the files with you right now?”
Jinsik nodded rapidly before producing the manila folders from his bag. You accepted the folders from him and started leafing through the various documents, looking at his notes. Jinsik gulped nervously as your eyes darted back and forth on each piece of paper only to sharply inhale to keep himself together. You ran your fingers through your hair and brushed it back, and while it was something so simple, there was something about the way you did it that turned him on to the max. Doing his best to hide it, Jinsik covered his crotch with his bag and started to slink away from you while hoping and praying you wouldn’t notice his consternation.
“Jinsik, are you alright?”
Fuck, you noticed.
“Y-yeah, um, yes. I just, I just need to sit— No! I can’t sit! Fuck— Oh my God, I am so sorry for swearing in front of you— I’m just, I’m losing it, and—”
“Jinsik, calm down, please.”
How the fuck was he going to calm down when you kept saying his name with that honey voice of yours?
“No, I can’t— I mean, like, fuck— Oh shit— I’m so sorry! Fuck— Oh God, why am I doing this?!”
Jinsik looked ready to hyperventilate. You tried your best to calm the poor thing down and get him to breathe normally by placing a calming hand on his shoulder, but that was worse. That was so much worse. Physical contact with you was turning him on even more. Bad.
That’s when you finally noticed Jinsik pressing his bag against his waist so firmly, his knuckles white, and his hand shaking. Jinsik saw your eyes travel downwards, making him burst into flames. God, he was so embarrassed. He wanted the elevator to suddenly crash to the ground for the world to end or anything just for him to get out of this situation with any amount of his dignity left.
“Isn’t it uncomfortable, Jinsik?” you whispered while leaning closer to him, trying to get a look at exactly how far along he was.
“Y/N, I’m so, so, so sorry…”
“Don’t apologize, it’s only natural,” you told him gently while softly stroking his shoulder. “You must be so uncomfortable, though.”
“I— I am…”
“Let me help you since I don’t think we’re going to be out of this elevator anytime soon.”
“W-what?”
You dropped the files to the ground before reaching for Jinsik’s bag. He reluctantly let go of the bag and let you toss it to the ground as well. His hands were desperately trying to cover up his crotch, but you were having none of that. You moved his hands to the side and cupped his bulge, Jinsik’s eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head just at the feeling over his clothes.
“Y/N,” Jinsik said while breathing heavily the more you massaged his dick over his clothes. “Can I touch you?”
“Of course you can,” you responded while bringing your own body closer to his.
His hands slithered around your waist and he hugged you close, his body rolling against yours as his impatient hands groped your body here and there. He was still panting as he brought his lips mere millimeters from yours, teasing you slightly as he tilted his head as if he was going to kiss you.
“Can I kiss you?”
“Yes please.”
With one hand on the back of his neck, your lips met his, your own body now trembling with excitement. You unbuckled his pants and undid his fly before diving your hand down his underwear and producing his hot, throbbing cock. Your fingers ran up and down the length of his dick, your nails tickling the tip as you continued to lock lips with him. Jinsik moved his hand so one was grabbing your hair and messing it up like anything while his other hand strayed to your ass and gripped it while pulling upwards.
A moan left Jinsik’s throat when you began to stroke him properly, his pre-cum allowing your hand to glide up and down with ease. You stroked him slowly as he moved his hands to your blouse, unbuttoning it and pushing your bra upwards so he could firmly massage your breasts, making you groan into his mouth when you felt his fingers twist and play with your nipples.
The friction from your hand and his cock made him feel like his entire body was on fire, and he wanted to release his load, but he wasn’t quite there yet. You knew that too, which is why you ended your intense make-out session and sank to your knees. Jinsik watched with shock and complete and utter lust as you took him into your mouth slowly until your lips were pressed right against his pelvis.
You quietly gagged as you moved your head slightly from the base of his cock to a little away from him over and over again. You only gagged louder when Jinsik ran his fingers through the roots of your hair and gripped tightly, moving your head at the pace he wanted.
“Yes, oh wow… Just like that… Mmm, fuck!”
Jinsik’s groans and sighs filled the elevator as you throat-fucked him. When he bucked his hips towards you, he swore quietly under his breath, the profanities not stopping. You held onto his thighs and dug your nails into the cloth covering his thighs, but your nails were still leaving tiny little crescents that he could feel on his skin, stimulating him further.
He was about to pull out of your mouth and release his load onto your face when he suddenly remembered that there would be no way for him to clean you or anything up for that matter unless one of you decided to forego a piece of your clothing. He was struggling to hold his orgasm until he could figure out exactly what to do, and before he knew it, ropes of his cum shot to the back of your throat. His dick throbbed and twitched in your mouth as he came harder than he ever had before, embarrassment washing over him once more.
The embarrassment only piled on when he looked down at you to see you arching your back and looking up at him with wide eyes, his cock still fully in your mouth. He covered his mouth and bit back a gasp when you swallowed the entire pool of his cum. His cock was starting to get hard again, but thankfully, it immediately went limp when the elevator speakers went off.
“Hello?! Are you still stuck in the elevator?”
You released Jinsik’s cock and wiped the residue from your lips and chin before standing up and walking to the intercom.
“Yes, we are. Took you long enough.”
“My apologies, ma’am. We’ll get you out of there as soon as possible. Hang tight.”
Jinsik, meanwhile, had dressed himself, his face still a light shade of red. It only got redder when you fully turned towards him and began straightening out your own clothes, giving him a beautiful, brief view of your breasts before you fixed your bra.
“Fuck, Y/N…” Jinsik whispered. “I need more of you…”
A slight smirk appeared on your face. You walked up to him and pressed your chest against his as your fingers worked on the buttons of your blouse. You brought your lips to his ear.
“Let’s get out of this elevator, and I’ll let you do whatever you want with me tonight.”
bro's 500 event | bro's 500 event masterlist
bro's 500 taglist: @eyeryis @sinnarols @nakiiko @haebaragisworld @hyukssunflower @aaasia111 @k-hotchoisan
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#xikers#xikers jinsik#ham jinsik#jinsik smut#jinsik x reader#ham jinsik xikers#jinsik xikers#broatz#bro's 500 event#Spotify
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Dead or Alive: Family
Dead or Alive: Sugar and Jake
A/N: Someone asked if I was going to write about when Sugar told Jake she couldn’t have kids so here it is. It got away from me a bit…
Pairing: Jake Seresin/Reader
Warning: Trigger Warning: Abortion, Fertility problems, Western themed violence.
Word Count: 1200 ish
Summary: Some updates on Sugar and Jake after they leave the Dagger Gang.
Previous Masterlist Next
Frozen, you stare at the sheets before you. A smear of blood blemishes the otherwise snowy white bed linens. Another month and you were not pregnant. Blinking back tears, you pull out the sanitary belt from where you had tucked it in the back of the drawer before dressing for the day. Your time of the month was only a few days late and as much as you fought against it, as much as you tried to squash it down, you had hoped that this time it would be different.
Angrily you began to strip the bottom sheet off the bed. You had just put fresh linens on yesterday. Now you had to spend an hour washing and ironing it all again. You dump the sheet in the wash bin on the porch and begin filling it up from the pump by the back door.
Jake had been away last night. He had spent the evening on guard duty at the local jail cell. You shake your head ruefully at the change in circumstances. Move a few states east and Jake would be the prisoner that needed guarding and not the deputy holding the keys.
You will never forget the day that the sheriff had arrived at your door. Jake had volunteered to ride in a posse a month earlier and had helped apprehend a man accused of murdering a gold miner a few towns over. You weren't sure of the details, you only know that Jake had saved the sheriff's life.
When you answered the door the sheriff had held up wanted posters with Jake’s and your real names without saying anything. As you stared into eyes the uncommonly accurate likeness of your own poster you had felt your stomach drop to the floorboards. You tore your eyes away and gazed at the blue sky and the California mountains towering over the small farm you and Jake had built. The dirt road trampled into the dirt led to the idyllic little town you had settled beside. Everything you had ever wanted was right here and you had brushed aside a tear, sure that the jig was up.
You clutched at Jake’s hand as the sheriff spoke. “Before these came in I was planning on asking if you wanted one of these officially.” He had held up a shiny, sliver deputy’s badge to Jake. “I did some thinking and the offer still stands for Mr. Smith.” He used the fake name the two of you had been living under. “Or I’ll allow Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin and his wife one week to leave town, if that is your decision.”
He handed the badge to Jake. “If you want the job Mr Smith, I expect to see you tomorrow and I’ll read you in.” He passed you the posters. “If I do not see you tomorrow I will be back in a week to arrest the both of you.” With a final look that ensured that you and Jake understood his meaning, he tipped his hat and walked away.
That was seven years ago now and the only thing that had changed was the sheriff was now talking about retiring and had been encouraging Jake to run for sheriff when he did. Your mind returns to the task at hand and you grab the soap and washboard and begin to scrub the stain on the corrugated washboard. Once the mark is as clean as you will get it you wring out the heavy sheet and hang it on the line. Maybe you won’t bother ironing it again. Jake won’t care and no one else would notice if your linens had wrinkles.
After milking the cow and collecting the eggs you head inside and start on breakfast. Jake should be home soon. You are just finishing breakfast when he canters up on the pinto horse he had taken to riding since retiring Jet. The old black gelding now spent his days teaching manners to weanling foals and napping in the shade. You turn to smile at Jake as he walks through the door but your lower lip begins to tremble when you see the look on his face. He knows what the sheet hanging on the line means.
Forcing an overly cheery greeting past your lips you turn back to the stove so you don’t have to see the disappointment in his eyes. “It’s scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast today.” You begin to plate the food, hoping that the familiar routine will calm your emotions.
Jake’s arms wrapping around you finally slows your movements and you lean back into his chest. “It’s never going to happen.” It is easier to speak the thought that has been sitting in your mind for years if you do not have to look him in the eye.
“You don’t know that.” His lips are soft as gently kisses your temple. “It might still happen.”
“No,” You sigh, finally ready to confess the secret you have been keeping from your husband. “It won’t.”
Turning in his arms you look up into his green eyes. “I was pregnant before.” You watch his eyes widen in shock but he doesn’t let you go, in fact he tightens his grip on your waist. “It was before us, I was barely 18.” You continue waiting for him to push you away.
“It was before the quickening, but it had recently been made illegal so a doctor wouldn’t do it.” You can’t read his expression and don’t know if you should continue but find that you are unable to stop. The secret has been eating at you for years. “I tried tansy, pennyroyal, gin, hot baths… but nothing would work, eventually the madam where I was working made it happen.” You brush a tear away and drop your gaze, unable to meet his eye anymore.
“There was an infection. A doctor did treat me for that, and he said I might never be able to get pregnant.” You watch Jake’s chest as he takes a deep breath and sighs it out before pulling you in for a hug. He gently cradles the back of your head as silent tears slip down your face.
“So it will just be you and me then.” His chest rumbles under your ear at his words and you pull back to meet his eyes sniffing.
“Are you ok with that?” You search his face as he smiles sadly down at you.
Jake gives a little shrug. “I can imagine my life without children.” He gently kisses your lips. “What I can’t imagine is a life without you, Sugar.”
“You would have been a great father.” You say thinking about seeing him interact with the local school children.
“And you would have been a great mother.” You brush a tear away at his words but your heart feels lighter at his easy acceptance of your past. You no longer have to pretend that you are expecting to get pregnant. You no longer have to fake anticipation and hope that you have long given up on.
“I guess it’s just the way it goes sometimes.” You are finally able to bring a small, sad smile to your lips. “Some things are not meant to be.”
#jake seresin#hangman#jake hangman seresin#jake seresin/reader#hangman/reader#jake hangman x reader#jake seresin x reader#top gun hangman#topgun maverick#western!au
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A Kiss And A Key Pt.2
TW: Blood, death, mentions of torture, injury, angst
Summary: You let Ghost escape...but now your trapped
Pairing: GhostxReader
PART 1
Of course, it wasn’t that simple. You did still have a job to complete. You began to collect every scrap of intelligence you could find, anything that sounded remotely interesting go tput on the drive. And then you were ready to leave. You planned it all out, preparing to slip out under the cover of darkness, when the guard changes. But life is never so easy.
It took them 3 days to figure out you were the one who let Ghost free, and when they did, all hell broke loose. You were dragged to interrogation, handcuffed to the table, and questioned for hours. You said nothing, and soon harsher methods were utilized to get you to talk.
You didn’t break. No matter what they did, you never said a word. You held your tongue through the beatings, the waterboardings, the white room, through your fingernails being removed, through stress positions, through electrocution. You would be proud of yourself, if you weren’t in so much pain. The only things keeping you from giving up was the fact that Price would raid the base if you missed your monthly rendezvous, which you would eventually, and the fact that you had gotten Ghost out.
You lay curled in your cell, back up against the wall in the fetal position when the door swings open. You automatically curl up tighter, bracing yourself in preparation for whatever was about to happen.
“I’ve got her!” You could tell he yelled it, but the sound is muffled in your ears. You shift slightly, unused to the sound in the quiet of your cell, and look up. A man crouches over you, his figure blurred and wavering. He looks familiar, but you are so exhausted and in too much pain to think about it.
“We’re gonna get ye outta here, okay little bird?” Soap winces at your bruised, malnourished form. Your clothes are in rags, and he can see your ribs through your skin, which is mottled with bruises, welts, and burn marks. His heart hurts as he sees the fear in your eyes when he touches you.
“Where’s…Ghost?” You rasp out, voice low and hoarse, “Di-did he…make it…out?”
“Oh little bird.” Soap says, and the look on his face tells you everything you need to know. It's like a rush of adrenaline washes over you, and suddenly everything becomes clear.
“What happened?” You whisper, sitting up despite the pain. He purses his lips, staring at you with tear-filled eyes.
“Soap please.” You beg, “What happened?”
“He’s gone.” Soap whispers, and it's like a rug has been pulled out from under you.
“Please.” you whisper hoarsely, the only thing you can say as your world spins out of control.
“Ah am so, so sorry.” He whispers, “There wis…there wis an issue wi’ extraction loue ‘n he…” You're not sure if he stopped talking or if you just can’t hear him over the roaring in your ears, but either way, you don’t hear what he has to say. Your brian shuts down, unable to take the news after the stress of the last month. No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no NO NO NO NO NO
“Y/n? Y/n? Y/N?” Soap grabs you as you slump forward, fear in his heart. His breathing eases a bit as he feels your weak-but-still-there pulse, and he scoops you up in his arms, rushing into the hallway. You are feather-light in his arms, just skin and bones as he carries you through the hallways, stepping over bodies and around debris until he reaches Price.
“Are they alive?” Price murmurs, his eyes taking in your limp, beaten form. His heart fills with guilt as he takes in your malnourished body, and not for the first time he curses the fact he ever asked you to do this.
“Fer now.” Soap gently hands you over to the medics, who strap you to a stretcher and load you into the transport, “They asked about Ghost.”
“What did you tell them?” Price’s voice is sharp.
“Th’ truth.”
“I shouldn’t have sent them on this op.” Price murmurs, changing from one painful subject to another.
“Ye shouldn’ta sent them wit' no back-up.” Soap says, slightly annoyed, “It’s against regulations and if they die, it's on yer conscience. Jus’ li’ Ghost.” He regrets saying it almost immediately as Price’s face falls, but he doesn’t take it back.
“I know.” Price says softly. He climbs into the driver's side of the truck and they drive back to base in silence.
“They’ll be okay.” The doctor says after hours of surgery, “But they have a long recovery ahead of them. They had a dislocated shoulder, fractured wrist, broken fingers, partially-healed broken ribs, multiple burn marks and contusions, a concussion, a major couple ear infection, and pneumonia. We also had to re-break their femur because it had started healing wrong, and we have them on an IV and feeding tube due to how malnourished they are. They should be coming out of anesthesia soon, if one of you wants to visit her.”
“Ah am goin’.” Soap says, rising to follow the doctor on shaky legs. He inhales sharply once they make it to your room, the sight of you lying unconscious in the sheets, surrounded by machines and wires and tubes hurting him.
“Hey little bird,” His voice cracks as he gently takes your pale hand, “Ah am goin’ tae wait for ye, okay?”
Your heart monitor beats steadily in the background, and for the first time since watching Ghost’s get shot down, Soap cries.
There will be a part 3, and, because I am a kind god, if you would like an alternative non-angst ending, I will write one <3
@alanalanalanalanalanna sorry I don't know how to do a tag list yet 😅
#cod x reader#major character death#cod fanfic#simon ghost riley#angst#ghost x reader#no beta we die like men#ghost fanfiction#cod#i am evil#suck it losers#dead dove do not eat
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The Wife, the Lover, and the Bastard Son - Part 4
Chris Redfield x Fem!Reader (he'll be in the next part)
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 (You are here)
Summary: Your past comes back to haunt you in more ways than you thought possible.
Contents: Major spoilers for RE6, canon typical violence/swearing, mentions of blood being drawn, improper use of a syringe as an improvised weapon, angsty Jake content, angsty plot content, descriptions of blood and violence, dialogue heavy chapter. Reader is referred to as 'Doc' and is the wife of (dead) Albert Wesker and is a former Umbrella scientist.
a/n: Hey peeps. It's me ya boi. I regret nothing for the events that are about to unfold. Thanks for reading :)
w/c: 10.8k+
There is no feasible way out of the cell that you’re confined in. After an indiscernible amount of time being unconscious from the gas released in the specimen room, you woke up here. As far as prisons go, it’s not half bad; a spacious white chamber with a basic cot with white sheets in the middle of the room. In the corner across from it is a security camera with a red light. What makes this room different from your handful of previous kidnapping quarters, are the metal shutters to the right of the entrance to the room that takes up the entirety of the wall. Given the room you were in reminded you of chambers for infected test subjects, there was a likely chance you were being observed through the camera on the other side of the wall.
There’s a second difference as well. You woke up with the crook of your arm wrapped in gauze and a cotton swab. These people had drawn blood from you while you were knocked out. Probably to test if you were compatible for the new virus you’re sure they’re making.
All you can do is wait and see if you’re right.
You aren’t too worried about your involuntary confinement. Not yet anyway. These people evidently want you alive and in one piece. You’re not too sure if Jake would be given the same courtesy though. If he was as skilled as he said he was, you would be willing to bet he was already long gone. If that boy had any sense, he would be trying to find a radio right now to signal for help.
You don’t have to wait too long with your thoughts. A short time after, you hear white noise hum from the speaker and the familiar higher pitched male voice echoes around the chamber.
“Good day, Dr. Wesker.” The voice is the same one you heard from the thin silhouetted man when you first arrived. He speaks in a slow, deliberate tone.
“Hello.” You answer back looking directly into the camera, keeping your tone neutral.
“I understand you had a little -detour- on the way to your room.”
“I did.”
“I would encourage you not to indulge in your wanderlust again, but you strike me as the type to take that as a challenge.”
You narrow your eyes at the camera and purse your lips. You don’t want to give anything away that would confirm the man’s assumption is correct. When you continue to be silent, the man speaks again.
“Forgive me, we haven’t made a proper introduction. I am Youju, one of the head researchers for Neo Umbrella. Welcome to my facility.”
You can’t find it in you to even care who he is. It doesn’t matter in the grand scope of things. As far as you’re concerned, Umbrella (or Neo Umbrella) was still just a terrorist organization that made bioorganic weapons. You don’t care about the specifics of what that means unless it’s relevant to preventing an outbreak.
“Will you just cut to the chase?”
There’s a pause from the speaker. “Pardon?”
You sigh and cross your arms, still looking into the camera. “I’ve done this song and dance multiple times and I have no patience for the dramatics anymore. What do you want?”
Silence from the speaker. You let out an annoyed huff.
“Do you have a new virus you want to test out on me? An old one you revamped? I’ve been proposed with job offers before but I’m letting you know right now-”
“No, no miss. Your purpose here today is much more… personal.”
That can’t be good.
“So I’m here for revenge? You’re going to have to specify. Albert had a lot of enemies, and I couldn’t be bothered to keep up with them.”
“You misunderstand what I mean when I say personal.” You can hear an underlying tone of deviousness in that statement. Youju continues.
“Tell me doctor, how have I gone all these years without knowing Albert Wesker had a son?”
You stand in stunned silence. Wesker? A father? The thought makes you want to laugh in disbelief. The only thing that stops you from doing so is the confidence in Youju’s voice.
What kind of ploy is this?
Is he trying to get you to admit a secret you don’t even have? You spend the next few moments thinking over what the man had just said, when you hear him tap the mic, which results in your ears being assaulted with high pitched feedback and you reflexively covering your ears.
“I’m not a patient man, doctor. Answer me.” Youju’s words are drawn out with a mocking, sing-song voice.
You lower your hands and stare directly into the camera, making a conscious effort to keep your tone even. “We never had any kids.”
Silence falls over the chamber again. Long enough that you think Youju must have left. However, you hear his voice again, but this time you hear a smile in his words.
“… well this is quite an interesting development. I have someone I want to introduce you to. Mrs. Wesker.”
The tone in his voice clearly indicates he doesn’t believe you.
A deep metallic click sounds through the chamber before the metal shutters next to you begin to raise themselves up, groaning their whole journey to the ceiling. As they ascend, the shutters reveal a window to another room. Although surprisingly, there aren’t any Neo Umbrella personnel behind the glass. Instead, the panels reveal an identical chamber to yours, except it’s Jake on the other side of the glass sitting on the bed and leaning on his knees. The bottoms of his pants are covered in dark mud, a part of his sleeve looks scorched, and there’s a sizeable gash on his temple that had scabbed over next to his buzzed ginger hair. Blood that has long since dried had trickled down next to the large diagonal scar on the left side of his face. In other words, he’s much worse for wear than the last time you saw him. Whoever came into the room to investigate the alarm really did a number on him.
You see a discarded bundle of gauze with a slightly bloody cotton ball in Jake’s room. These people took blood from him too.
That grating voice over the loudspeaker interrupts your thoughts.
“Mr. Muller! I hope you’re finding your accommodations acceptable.”
Acceptable was a stretch, but at least your rooms had the bare necessities. You can’t say the same for your past accommodations with other organizations.
Jake shrugs and leans back, taking a look around the room. You hear his voice come from a hidden speaker near the window.
“Not bad, asshole. Feels like I’m shacking up at the Shitz Carlton.”
You would have smiled at that if that nagging sense of familiarity from earlier wasn’t still wracking your brain.
Where have I seen him before?
Youju quips back with that knowing tone over the speaker. “Even when corned in the lion’s den, you still have something witty to bite back with. Just like your father so I’m told.”
Jake’s carefree demeanor grows more rigid; shoulders squared, clenched jaw and sharpened expression. The man’s family is a sensitive subject.
“Where are my manners? Dr. Wesker have you had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Muller?”
It was hard to tell, but you could have sworn you saw Jake perk up at hearing your dreaded last name. You stare at him a moment longer.
“Can’t say I have before today.”
“Really? Are you certain?” The way Youju says that makes it seems like he’s trying to make you doubt an obvious answer to a trivia question. You stare at Jake, and he stares back, unblinking.
You turn back towards the camera.
“I would remember the scar. I haven’t met this man.”
“Interesting. Why don’t you look closer?”
The man from the speaker obviously wants to get some sort of point across to you, so you humor him. Sighing and shifting your weight, you turn to Jake. You look past the grime, the evidence of fights lost, and modern clothes.
You look at his face, his eyes…
You stop breathing.
You thought about what Youju had said before. Albert Wesker had a son.
Your mind races with a cacophony of scrambled thoughts over the next few seconds.
How did these people figure out Wesker had a son before you did? He looks like him. How did he go this long without being discovered? It’s likely Jake’s blood is special like Albert’s, so they’d want a promising candidate for virus injections. Who is his mother?
You don’t know where it comes from in the moment, but all you can picture is a displeased Albert holding a ginger headed baby, with his nice work shirt covered in spit up while another woman takes a picture and laughs.
It starts as a giggle, but the longer you think about this scenario, the more ridiculous the thought becomes and the harder it becomes to keep your shoulders still.
“So tell me doctor, what are your thoughts?” Youju replies smugly, waiting for your response.
You can’t help it. You start laughing like an insane woman. Jake’s existence was the cherry on top of an already stressful situation. Your body is exhausted from the journey here, you’re still processing the emotional whiplash from seeing and destroying the Uroboros sample, you’re mentally and emotionally done with everything that could possibly relate to Wesker and now you find out he has a son that isn’t yours? You just find the whole situation so absurd that you can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it.
It's clear that Youju doesn’t find your reaction amusing. His tone is cold and controlled when he speaks next. “Enlighten me Wesker, what could possibly be so funny?”
When you finally catch your breath, you look at the camera again with tears in your eyes from laughing so hard.
“This… establishment is really scraping the bottom of the barrel for bright and promising imbeciles, aren’t they?”
Silence, then the sound of a throat being cleared.
“Oh really? And why is that?”
Youju’s voice is flat. Controlled. You had struck something sensitive, and you intend to use it to your advantage to get a moment alone with Jake.
“Because this is ridiculous! Albert Wesker? A father- his father? Are we talking about the same Wesker?”
“His blood sample suggests otherwise-”
“And how do you know that exactly?”
Silence.
You let out a deranged cackle.
“I think I understand now. You found this stranger helping me in the middle of your ocean getaway, you thought he looked like Wesker, and your only plausible conclusion was that he has to be my son. So you’re comparing his DNA to mine because Wesker’s genome is impossible to find. Is that it?”
Youju struggles to stay composed under a guise of false confidence.
“Well we… any reputable institution would confirm hypotheses by… conducting their own independent tests and gathering their samples directly from the source.”
You hum and step a little closer to the camera.
“You know, Umbrella used to check their homework before going through the trouble of kidnapping persons of interest. Just goes to show that the copy is always going to be a letdown from the original.” You made sure to look straight into the camera when you say that, and it has the desired effect.
“You…I-I’ll know you’re lying one way or another soon Wesker!” Unlike before, there was no trace of confident humor. Instead, the voice spits out the words with prideful fury.
“Then by all means, do it. Waste everyone’s time. Hell, I’ll even volunteer for another blood sample when it comes back negative.”
It’s silent for a long time until the white noise from the speaker cuts out and all you can hear is the fluorescent lights above you.
You hear a muffled voice on the other side of the glass. “Hey Wesker!” Youju must have switched off the window speaker.
You let out a sharp breath through your nose. You turn to the window. Jake stands there, forearm resting on the glass above his head and observing you like a slide under a microscope. “Like I told you before, just Doc is fine.” You respond, annoyed.
You look up at the camera and see its beady red light still trained on you. You look between the camera and Jake. No use being stealthy. You walk over to the window with a determined look on your face, already in problem solving mode.
“We both know that test is going to come back negative.”
“Uh huh… and?” Jake responds, unimpressed.
“Personnel are going to come back eventually for another sample. Make it count and make it hurt although based on your current state-” You gesture to Jakes muddy and burnt clothes. “-your technique needs some work.”
Jake scowls. “My ‘technique’ is just fine.”
“Then prove me wrong.”
It doesn’t take too long for your assumption to come true. After a long stretch of time that you try to fill by pacing your room, you hear several sets of footsteps outside the room. A moment later, you see two men in lab coats accompanied by one guard armed with an electric baton and one armed with a pistol enter Jake’s room on the other side of the glass.
Jake deals with them in a similar quick and efficient fashion to what you saw before when you first met him, except his moves are much more violent and incensed. Nothing like the cool and confident rescuer you first thought him to be.
The men in lab coats gesture for Jake to roll up his sleeve. Jake complies and one of the men puts a band on his upper arm to cut off blood flow. When the other man goes to do the blood draw, Jake grabs the syringe and plunges it into the man’s eye, causing to scream in pain and stumble back. The other scientist is frozen in fear as the two guards spring into action.
The guard with the baton reaches Jake first, but he’s prepared to duck under the guard’s wide swing and he easily kicks the guard’s feet out from under him in one graceful move. As soon as the guard’s body hits the floor, Jake wastes no time grabbing the back of his head and chin and forcing his neck to an unnatural angle, immediately making the guard go limp.
The other guard is yelling something in that unfamiliar language while pointing his gun at Jake, but Jake doesn’t even acknowledge it as he charges at him with full speed. The guard is only able to shoot once, barely missing his shot, before Jake unleashes a flurry of blows, his skill in hand-to-hand combat evident in the way he dodges all the guard’s attempts at defense with ease.
While Jake is busy with the other guard, the remaining scientist finally comes to his senses and begins to run out of the room. But by the time he makes it to the door of Jake’s chamber, Jake has already disarmed and shot the other guard in the head. By the time the scientist opens the door, Jake has already lined his shot up perfectly and shoots the scientist dead in his tracks, blood leaking from the bullet wound on the back of his head.
The sight in the other room is grisly, but nothing you’re not already used to from the lifestyle you’ve lived. Once the last scientist is taken care of, you knock on the window to get Jake’s attention. He turns to you, breathing heavily and ripping off the rubber armband from earlier.
“Grab all their keycards! Can’t hurt to have them just in case.”
Jake nods and grabs the keycards from all the bodies, then exits the room. Shortly after, there’s a ping from your door and it opens to reveal Jake on the other side of it.
“Let me see?” You request, briskly walking outside the room and holding out your hand for the keycards. Jake plops them in your hand, looking at you closely. You ignore it and flip through the keycards, trying to discern security level but failing because the only difference between the two are the colors; red for the scientists and black for the guards. You halve them and give one of each back to Jake, which he pockets. He’s still holding the pistol he got from the guard at his side.
“Guess we’ll find out which have higher clearance when the time comes.”
Jake is still looking at you with that analyzing expression. “So you-” Jake is interrupted by an ear piercing alarm and the room is bathed in a foreboding red light.
“Time to move!” Jake grabs your upper arm before you can protest and runs out a door and down the hallway, half dragging you behind him while you struggle to keep up with his pace. You don’t know where you’re running to and Jake doesn’t appear to know either. You both keep running until you reach a four-way hallway where the alarm isn’t as loud and the lights are normal. Jake pauses, taking a moment before deciding where to run. You take the opportunity to yank your arm back, rubbing away the sting of Jake’s harsh grip.
“Wait, why aren’t there any guards? Or people?” You say, not quite sure where to go. Maybe it’s residual memories from working at Umbrella, but seeing the nearly identical hallways so empty is setting off alarm bells in your head.
“That’s what you’re worried about right now?” Jake replies, irritated, taking a few steps to look down one of the hallways trying to decide where to go while he holds his pistol defensively, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.
“There’s no people! You don’t find that weird?”
“We’ve got bigger problems right now!” Jake snaps, looking at you with a cold stare. Not a second later, the ear-piercing alarm cries overhead and the lights flick to red.
“We’re going left.” Jake says, running down the left hallway with you tailing right behind him. As you’re running, you notice the grating on the floor.
You realize it’s like the flooring in the specimen room, and suddenly more details about this place make sense.
There’re no people around because they use the knockout gas as a security measure.
The guards wear gas masks so they don’t lose consciousness during breaches.
The alarms and lights warn employees to get to a safe place or avoid the area.
Unfortunately, you put all of this together in the middle of the hallway when the security doors at both ends light up red, rise up from the floor, and close with loud metallic clicks. You hear loud hissing from below you, and you realize with dreaded clarity that the hallway is starting to fill up with gas.
You quickly scan the hallway and see a door with a red marking on it like the one on the scientist keycard.
“Red door on your right! Move it!” You command, already running to the door, keycard in hand.
You don’t need to tell Jake twice. Jake wastes no time dashing into the suggested room once you scan the card. You follow Jake into the room right on his heels. The second you’re through the threshold of the door, you scan the keycard to close the door and engage the emergency lock, emergency protocols drilled into your head from your time at Umbrella taking over. The door beeps and hisses shut just in time to cut off the gas from invading the room you and Jake just entered. The room appears to be some kind of office with several desks around the room. The alarm on the other side of the door is barely heard in this room. You’re safe. For now.
You take a shaky and labored breath while leaning against the door, trying to get your bearings.
Too close.
Your break is quickly interrupted by an accusatory comment from Jake. “You knew him well, huh?”
You stay silent and finally look at Jake. His expression is a cocktail of anger and frustration, even as he’s trying to catch his breath. You glance at Jake’s hand by his side; he’s gripping his pistol tightly and his face is grim and cold. It doesn’t help that you’re looking at Jake with an exasperated and annoyed look.
“You of all people should know why I don’t freely give out my last name.”
You give Jake a ‘what the fuck are you doing’ look and Jake tightens his grip on his pistol as he lifts it a few inches like he’s thinking about aiming it. A few seconds pass and Jake takes a deep breath as he sheathes the pistol.
“Fair enough. But I have questions.”
You let out a crazed laugh and start to feverishly pace the room, still in disbelief at the sudden appearance of your husband’s bastard child. “I’m sure you do! I’ve sure as hell got some!” Your tone comes off as angry, but in reality you’re frustrated.
“I’m not too happy he’s my dad either lady!”
“That’s not- ugh. I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you. You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s just-” You take a breath and try to relax your shoulders, so you don’t snap at Jake again. “The B.S.A.A. and I have a deal. I tell them everything I know, and I help their scientists deal with bioterrorism. In exchange, I’m supposed to get protection and they keep me in the loop. Simple right? But then-” You stop pacing and gesture to Jake. “-I get kidnapped, again, and I find out my dead husband has a whole ass… grown… child! In their organization! That’s a pretty major development if you ask me!”
You stop pacing the room and plop down in a chair and put your head in your hands, then run your hands through your hair. What else aren’t the B.S.A.A telling you? What isn’t Chris telling you? Did he know about this? He has to. You haven’t done anything to your knowledge to warrant them keeping something this big from you. Did they think you’d not take the news well? Take it out on Jake? Leak the information out of misplaced anger for Albert being with another woman?
“I don’t care what kind of bullshit deal you’ve got with the Bioterrorism Boy Scouts. I’ve got questions and I think considering everything, I deserve some fucking answers.” Jake’s steely look from the chamber is trained directly on you.
“You-” You stop. You’re about to tell him now isn’t the time and that you both need to prioritize finding a radio to call for help and come up with an exit plan, but you don’t. You can’t deny that you want to know more about Jake. He’s rightfully demanding answers about a father he presumably never knew. You know the B.S.A.A hasn’t been forthcoming about new information to you, so they probably haven’t disclosed much to Jake. You also know they won’t be too pleased about you spilling top secret intel about Albert to his son.
“You’re right. He’s your dad, you deserve to know. You didn’t hear this from me, okay? I don’t need more reasons for B.S.A.A.’s finest to dislike me.”
Jake silently looks at you, then nods his head. “Deal.”
You nod back. “Alright. You first.”
Jake leans against the wall, looking at you with a serious expression. “What kind of man was Albert Wesker?”
You look at him, confused. “I’m assuming you already know what kind of man he was.”
“I do. I’ve heard a hell of a lot about my old man, but not from the woman who knew him best. What kind of man was he?”
“An intelligent psychopath with a god complex.” You pause. “Well... the god complex came later. But still.”
“Intelligent? That’s not what I heard.”
“What did you hear then?”
“That he was crazy and he tried to destroy the world.” Jakes voice drips with disdain.
“Crazy and intelligent aren’t mutually exclusive traits. Are you positive that these people didn’t know who you were before they tested your blood?”
Even with everything that had just happened, you still couldn’t wrap your head around why you were brought here. To your knowledge, Neo Umbrella didn’t know Jake existed before an hour ago, let alone know that he was Albert’s son. How they knew he was Albert’s son is still unclear to you since his genome is highly classified information. The man on the speaker said your purpose here was personal but didn’t give any indication that it was related to revenge. What did he mean by that? How does this all connect?
“Hundred percent. If he was like that, why’d you marry him then?” Jake’s tone is accusatory, and a scowl that eerily reminds you of Albert adorns his face.
You’re annoyed with the one-word answer and his tone, but you keep your feelings to yourself. You know Jake has complicated feelings when it comes to his father, and he’s dead. You’re the next best thing when it comes to closure. After a moment you calmly and neutrally respond to Jakes question.
“When I first met him, I thought he was a very different man. Sure, he was stoic, cold and all business at the Umbrella Labs, but with me he was romantic, charismatic, and thoughtful." You feel like Jake’s gaze is piercing into your soul, so you look away and stare at the ground instead. “Three years I thought that. Then the mansion incident happened, and everything changed for the worse.”
“Romantic? Hmph. Yeah sure…”
You frown and let out a resigned sigh, shoulders slumping in the process, and you respond in a tired tone. “Has there ever been anyone in your life that you trusted with your whole being and they ended up being someone you didn’t even recognize?”
Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jake cross his arms and scowl become more prominent. Another sensitive subject. You move on.
“He was unfathomably good at making you believe he was someone else. He did it with me. He did it with his S.T.A.R.S. squad at R.P.D. He even did it to Umbrella. In the end, he was just a power-starved monster.”
“R.P.D? He was a cop too?”
You turn your head back towards Jake in surprise. You would have thought that Albert’s previous jobs were easy pieces of information to get ahold of, but then again, Jake may have not cared enough to know. Jake’s expression is still unreadable apart from his voice dripping with contempt as he asked that question. You keep your answer clinical and to the point. “Yeah. He was a scientific prodigy and worked at Umbrella as a researcher really young. Then one of his projects stalled and he became an Umbrella spy and worked in the U.S. Army and then became the captain of the Rescue Service at the police station. After that: bioterrorist.”
You stop and wait for any follow up questions. When Jake only continues to stare you down, you ask your next question.
“Who knows that he’s your father?”
“Couple of guys in the B.S.A.A. and a handful of government agents. Everyone else who knew is dead. What happened after the Mansion Incident? Between you two? There has to be more to that story.” Jakes expression grows darker and more serious.
The thought crosses your mind that you should lie about how you felt, but you have a feeling that you needed to be open with Jake. He deserves the truth, no matter how unpleasant the answer will be.
“I was devastated. When what was left of his team returned from that mansion, I simply didn't want to believe it. I didn't even know he worked for the R.P.D. before that day, and they’re telling me he led his team to die at a mansion in the mountains with a secret Umbrella lab I didn’t know existed? The whole thing sounded crazy." You stop and choose your next words delicately before continuing.
"You have to understand that I loved him at the time. I was in denial. I was mourning. I didn't know he survived the mansion until the Racoon City incident. He could have let me die in Racoon when everything went to shit but he didn't. Instead, he sent a mercenary after me to rescue me and kept me with him until he was killed."
Jake gives you a long look when you finish, his eyes fixed and unblinking. You can tell he’s digesting your every word as his jaw tenses and his knuckles whiten from the force of his fists clenching with his arms are still crossed.
“… so he saved you?”
His voice is icy, and there’s a dangerous edge to his tone that you’ve never heard before. Each word sounds like it’s taking great effort to force out. “Why?”
A pang of fear goes through you at his change of tone. You hit something sensitive, and you don’t even know what it is, which only makes you more nervous. “I don’t have a good answer for that.” Your voice comes out softer than you intend, but you do a good job of masking how intimidated you are by Jake in the moment. Logically, you know he’s probably not going to fly off the handle and do anything to you, but his eyes and expressions are so similar to Albert’s that it’s instinctively putting you on edge.
Unless Albert told you directly, knowing the inner workings of his mind was a challenging task even for you. You’d asked yourself that question and reflected on a possible answer countless times over the years, and each time you came to a slightly different conclusion. On the occasional day where you really missed your marriage before the Mansion Incident, you thought he may have been fond of you in some way. On days like this, your theories were a bit more realistic. You were a means to an end.
Either way, Jake’s eyes are boring into your soul as he’s waiting for you to answer his question.
“At the time, I thought it was because he loved me. But now-” You pause for a moment, desperately trying to gather your thoughts to present them in a way that won’t upset Jake further. “-I have two theories. Either he saw me as an asset with my virology knowledge and kept me close just in case, or he just saw me as something that was his. He almost always used possessives when he addressed me. My darling, my dear, my love. That kind of thing.”
Jake remains silent and his body language still has that edge to it like a cord dangerously close to snapping. You opt to ask a more neutral question.
“How long have you known about Wesker?”
“A year. So he saw you as an asset? You helped him with his plans?”
“No! Fuck no. He definitely wanted me to, but I refused every single time. I still looked at all the lab results and things the he left laying out to stay up to date on what he was planning, but I never gave him feedback.”
“If you refused, why the hell did he keep you around?” Another accusatory, but valid question. Albert wasn’t exactly the forgiving type if he didn’t get what he wanted.
“I think he thought he could wear me down or change my mind eventually. I work fast. I’m good at seeing patterns and remembering small details. My guess is that he didn’t want to get rid of me if there was the possibility of me being useful.” You catch yourself becoming slightly defensive, so you make a conscious effort to reel your emotions in before you ask Jake your question. “Where’d you grow up?”
“Edonia. If you were so against helping him, then why did you stay, huh?”
You’re starting to feel anger boil up in you.
“I was just happy to have my husband back at first! I tried leaving when I realized what he wanted to do. I really did. But by the time I took off the rose colored glasses, I’d seen too much and I was either locked up or he had someone babysitting me so I couldn’t run off. And Edonia? Really? That’s a long way from the U.S. Is that where your mom’s from?”
“Why do you care, huh?” Jake snaps at you, fire in his eyes and nostrils flaring.
You’re slightly taken aback with Jake’s combative response. “Because if anyone finds out she’s associated with Wesker in any way, she’s going to be in danger and needs protection.”
“Don’t need it. She’s dead.” Jake’s face holds no traces of relaxed cockiness like earlier. His expression has morphed into an explosive combination of wrath and pain. “And you know why? Because daddy dearest wasn’t there to pay for her medical bills. He walked out and didn’t fucking look back, yet she still acted like he was this exceptional man who could do no wrong.”
The atmosphere of the room is thick with tension. Even through Jake is a few feet away still leaning on the desk, you feel small and defenseless sitting in your office chair. You feel like the energy in the room could snap at any moment, so you keep your tone sympathetic, but firm.
“I’m sorry about your mom. But you need to believe me when I tell you that you are lucky he was never in your lives-“
“Lucky? That psychopath sent someone to a city that was tearing itself apart to save you but couldn’t send a damn check to save my mom?”
You’ve been patient throughout this whole exchange, and you were resigned to be Jake’s verbal punching bag. But suggesting Albert would have helped Jake’s mother without consequences? That’s the final straw that inevitably makes you lose your composure.
“Did you grow up feeling loved?” The question is sudden. Blurted without thinking of what could come after.
Jake’s angered expression morphs into confusion. “What?”
You know you’re playing with fire with this line of questioning, but you don’t see any other option that will be as effective. “Did your mother… tell you she loved you, make sure you had your coat before leaving the house? Hug you goodbye? Tell you bedtime stories?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“Did she?” You don’t back down. You need to make him understand.
“Yeah! She did!”
You nodded. “Good! You wouldn’t have gotten that with Albert. Far from it!”
“Oh yeah? And why do you think that Doc?”
“Is that your question?”
“Answer it.” Jake spits, anger boiling to the surface.
“Do you know anything about Project W?”
You take the silence as a no and continue.
“Albert was a product of one of Oswald Spencer’s projects, founder of Umbrella, headed by Dr. William Wesker. It was a eugenics-based plan to create a race of more intelligent, more fit more whatever superhumans. Your father was essentially raised in a lab.”
You pause to make sure Jake is following your words and keep going.
“There were hundreds of kids in this program. When they were adults, Spencer weeded out a group of thirteen including your father. All of them were given the progenitor virus whether willingly or unknowingly, and only Albert and another woman I’ve never met survived. Albert was the only one who gained superhuman abilities.”
Jake is silent for a moment, then responds, “When you say willingly or unknowingly-”
“Some of these kids didn’t know they were in the program.”
Silence.
“That is where your father came from. You want to know what kind of man he was? He was opportunistic and manipulative. I have no doubt that he would have used you as a guinea pig just like he was. He would have framed it in a way that made it look like he was doing what was best for you too. If he had stayed in your life, you would have been living in a lab waiting for him to shove a needle in your vein as a bonding activity.”
More silence. Jake’s expression is unreadable, but he doesn’t appear angry like before. His eyebrows are scrunched together and he looks at the floor, deep in thought.
“Jake?” You say, gently. He doesn’t respond.
“Jake. Please look at me.” You try again a little louder, and he turns his head to look at you, Albert’s - Jake’s - pale blue eyes look more understanding.
“Do you understand everything I just told you?”
“Yeah. I just-” Jake pauses. “I don’t know what I was expecting to hear, but it wasn’t that.”
You nod and give him a sympathetic look. “I know it doesn’t make it better, but I don’t think he knew you existed. He would have seen you as an asset and tried to find you otherwise.”
Jake doesn’t say anything, but he nods his head to let you know he heard you.
“Loving him came at a price. Be thankful for the anonymity you have.”
“What was your price?”
Everything.
“My future.” Jake looks at you with an eyebrow raised, so you continue. “Because of the relationship I had with him, it’s impossible to live a normal life. I’ve tried, but there will always be people trying to find me to recruit me or kill me because of that.” You say this off-handedly. You’ve become used to this kind of life to the point where happenings like this feel routine.
You and Jake sit in silence. Jake’s presence doesn’t emit that aura of anger anymore.
“That’s not fair to you.”
You give Jake a wry smile.
“It’s not fair that he’s your father. We can’t change the past. But we can try to make the future a bit less shitty.” You quip.
Jake chuckles a little at that comment, and his smirk finally returns.
“You’re not-” Jake stops, and you wait for him to finish, “-how I expected you to be.”
“…thanks?” You reply, not sure if that’s a good thing or not.
Jake snorts at your comment. “And uh… sorry I got heated for a minute there.”
You give Jake a dismissive wave. “Hey, it’s not the first time I’ve gotten my ass chewed out because of Wesker, and it’s not going to be the last. At least yours was warranted. You love your mom. I can’t fault you for that.”
“Appreciate it.” Jake replies, his smirk disappearing after a moment.
“I’ve got one more… personal question.” Jake looks at you, a dark intensity to his gaze.
You nod. ”Go for it. You deserve to know.”
“Do you have any children?” After a long, silent pause, Jake’s eyes lose their intensity and he gives you a small, sympathetic look.
You give Jake a sad smile. “No. No we… everything I said before about bonding activities? That’s not anecdotal. Just conjecture. Just-“ You gesture to Jake. “You.”
That I know of.
You clear your throat. “How old are you, by the way? I’m just curious-”
“You don’t need to finish that, I get it. Twenty.”
“You look older.”
“Mercenary work and a civil war will do that to ya.”
“Sorry I didn’t mean to-”
“It’s okay.”
You shift in your seat from the awkward turn of events and say your thoughts out loud. “Let’s see…” You do the math in your head. “That would’ve been ’92. I met him in ’95. We got married in ’97...”
“And everything with Umbrella went to shit in ’98.” Jake finishes.
You feel the side of your mouth curl into a half smile. “You’ve done your homework.”
The alarm outside the room suddenly stops, and you hear a hissing noise from the hallway outside. You look to the door, then back at Jake. “I’ll tell you more later. We gotta get moving.”
You stand up from your chair and check the panel on the door. Still red. It’s going to take a minute or two for the gas to filter out of the hallway. You look over your shoulder at Jake.
“Did you end up finding that sample by the way? Or a way to contact the Tokyo base?”
Jake frowns and checks his pistol. “No, but I have a better idea of where those things could be.”
You sigh and shake your head. “Better than nothing, I guess. Any theories?”
Jake shrugs. “Half this place used to be a military base and the other half an Umbrella lab that’s had some renovations. The old lab holds the old samples-”
“So the newer part of the lab should have the new samples and the military part should have a radio?”
Jake smirks and points at you. “If everything goes right, we’ll be outta here by sunset.”
The office door panel beeps and lights up green. You smile and slide the red card and the door swooshes open. You look back to Jake. “I like the sound of that. Let’s go.”
As you both walk back out into the hallway, you notice it’s still eerily empty. However, the security doors are still engaged at both ends of the hallway. You and Jake walk over to the door you were heading through before the lockdown. You scan the red keycard and it declines. You huff and scan the black keycard, and you hear the lock disengage and the security doors split open and return their respectful halves to the floor and ceiling. You look at the black keycard with a stern look as Jake walks though.
“Only guards can open security doors? That sounds like a shitshow waiting to happen.”
“You an expert on security now too? C’mon we’ve got a schedule to-”
Jake is cut off by a loud buzzer, followed by the security doors slamming shut so you and Jake are on opposite sides. Jake hurries up to the doors and looks at you through one of the small windows in the middle.
“What the hell? Try the card again maybe it’s a timer thing.”
You scan the black card again, but it returns an error message. You shake your head in annoyance, but then it turns into concern when you hear shouting and footsteps from the direction of the observation rooms you were held in.
“It’s giving me an error message. Try yours on that side!” You shout at Jake through the door.
You see Jake’s face as he scans the panel on his side but based on how Jake grits his teeth in frustration he’s probably not having any better luck than you. You hear shouting and footsteps growing louder. Jake notices and tries to pry open the security doors with his hands. You scan the red card again, but it also returns an error message.
“Shit! Jake, they know which cards we took and deactivated them. They’re no good!”
You throw down the cards and take a few steps back to get a better look at the hallway to find an alternate route or some structural weakness in the door arch, but you notice nothing. The sounds of guards shouting and running are getting even closer. Your only chance of getting out of here is Jake. He can’t be here when you’re ultimately discovered.
You hurry back up to one of the windows on the security door to shout at Jake. “You need to go, now!”
Jake ignores you and keeps looking for purchase on the door, but it’s too smooth to get a decent grip to pull it open.
“Jake!” You scold.
Jake pauses to look at you, scowling.
“They obviously want me alive I’ll be fine. You find that sample and radio for help. I’ll stall for as long as I can.”
Jake’s scowl on his face deepens as he tries to open the mechanical door again, but his efforts are fruitless. He finally slams a hand on the door and lets out an annoyed huff and looks back at you through the window.
“You’re sure you’ll be fine on your own?”
More yelling and bangs echo down the hall.
“More than likely, yes. Just be quick about it. I’d rather not be a lab rat if I can help it.”
Jake takes one more analyzing look at the door and gives you a curt nod, clearly not happy with the new set of circumstances.
“Don’t say anything that’ll piss em’ off more.”
“No promises, now go!”
You turn around at the sound of the opposite security door opening, and you hear Jake’s footsteps grow further and further before they disappear and are replaced with the stomping of a battalion of gas masked soldiers. A group of eight quickly block off your only exit and train their semi-automatic TMP’s on you. Seeing as you’re heavily outnumbered, you put your hands up in surrender.
As you do, a wiry man a little taller than you walks leisurely through the intimidating crowd of masked faces. He wears a suit under a pristine white lab coat and looks at you with cold eyes through a pair of square glasses.
“Where is Muller, Doctor?”
You recognize the lilting voice immediately. This is Youju. Your immediate impression is that he’s much too young to be the director of this facility. But then again, Umbrella is chock full of young prodigies. Time to buy Jake some time.
“I could care less about where he went. As I told you before, he’s not my son.”
“I see.” Youju walks a few steps past the line of guards towards you and looks at the mechanical door behind you, skeptical.
“Why stop here Dr. Wesker? Why this door?”
“Because your security system needs some work. It closed and it can’t be opened.” You reply, curtly.
“Then why didn’t you run?”
“I’ve been in enough scrapes to know when I’ve been backed into a corner.” It’s not a lie. Even though your main goal is to distract these people, you know when you’re beat. Especially when you have an overwhelming handful of guns trained on you.
Youju frowns. “You still haven’t answered my question. Where. Is. Muller?”
“I. Don’t. Know. We went our separate ways when it became convenient.” You reply condescendingly, already tired of answering Youju’s questions.
Youju narrows his eyes at you, calculating his response. “Very well then. Since you’re so keen on seeing what amenities this facility has to offer, allow me to give you a guided tour.”
“I’d rather go back to my room. I’ve had enough cardio for today.”
Youju waves his hand and the guards put their guns down, save for one who quickly positions himself behind you with his gun still aimed at your back. Youju gives you a chilling smile. “I must insist, Doctor.”
As Youju walks back through the crowd of guards, he announces one more command to the crowd of guards.
“Find the other one. Alive. Maim him if you must, but ensure he is brought to me in one piece.”
Not ten minutes later, Youju and his guard lead you deeper into the facility, seemingly with one destination in mind for your guided tour. Youju leads the way in front of you, while the soldier trails behind never once lowering his weapon. He seems to be leading you into the newly renovated parts of the lab. There are no windows into the many rooms you pass so you have no inkling of what could be going on behind closed doors, but Youju ignores all of them in favor of the main lab at the center of the facility.
He scans a white key card and a large lock disengages from the mechanism in the middle of the door, spinning until it’s completely free before the doors finally open to reveal another set of sliding doors. Youju scans the card again and enters with you and the soldier right behind him.
It's a room with several scientists checking over miscellaneous machines and monitors, as well as fridges with multiple different colored chemical substances. All of them periodically glance over their respective stations and into the observation chamber below through the window that takes up the entire expanse of the wall opposite the door. A handful of soldiers line the wall in the back of the room. Youju saunters in and stands by a monitor that flickers to show a different part of the facility every fifteen seconds or so. A microphone stands idly next to it. Youju trains his dark eyes on you, a barely noticeable sly smile on his face.
“Welcome to the inner sanctum, Doctor. I would like your thoughts on my latest and greatest project.”
You cross your arms defiantly and shift your weight with a bored expression on your face. “As I said before, I have no interest in any job you have to offer me.”
“I didn’t offer you employment. I only ask that you take a cursory look. I assure you, he will be of great interest to you.” Youju speaks in that same, know-it-all tone from when you were stuck in your quarters. Like he wants you to figure out his point.
Better yet, who’s ‘he?’
You roll your eyes and humor him.
You look over the consoles and into the chamber below. There are illuminated chambers filled with substances you don’t recognize and over a dozen machines tracking something you can’t discern from this distance. The cylindrical tank in the middle of the room is the focal point of the observation chamber. It glows with a foreboding orange light, illuminating the space in between itself and you. At first, you can’t tell what the tank holds with the light emanating from it shining in your eyes. When your eyes adjust to the light, one by one you notice features of the creature inside; you see the outline of a man. Then notice one of its arms is much longer and darker than the other. The scar tissue across its chest. Then, most devastatingly, disheveled, slicked back blonde hair.
Your heart drops and your annoyed expression shifts into something much more terrified.
“Where… that’s not…”
But it was. Behind the glass in the chamber below was the body of a mutated Albert Wesker floating in a liquid filled chamber. His chest and legs are overtaken by burnt scar tissue, but otherwise look about the same as the last time you saw him; although you don’t like to think about that series of events.
The bomber. The volcano. The helicopter that he almost pulled down into the lava with him. Any one of those scenarios could have easily ended with your death, the world ending or Uroboros in your arm. Not that the three were that different regarding the death part.
The last time you saw Wesker, he had mutated into the monster he had become on the inside. His snake eyes glowed red, black Uroboros burst from beneath his skin around his eyes, worms of Uroboros completely overtook his chest and arms, which he could stretch to great lengths, and he was altogether consumed by rage. Rage against Chris for besting him once again, rage against himself for underestimating him, and you were certain rage against you for betraying him.
You stare blankly into the chamber as the reality of the situation sets in: Youju went to great lengths to find Albert. You didn’t know how he could have found him after so long, but you knew this man had to mine through volcanic rock at best and perform an underwater excavation of a volcano at worst to exhume him. Whatever he has planned, it can only spell doom for whatever unfortunate soul falls in Albert’s wake. Your body can’t bring itself to move, so you stand frozen by the console of the observation room overlooking the chamber Albert is in.
“The union of Wesker and Uroboros is truly a remarkable miracle of nature,” Youju says smugly, relishing in your shock.
All you can do in the moment is gape at your husband in horror.
“There’s nothing natural about this.” Your voice comes out small. Rattled. Nothing like how you planned when you stepped into this room.
“Natural? That’s a matter of perspective, Doctor. We are seeing evolution in real time.” Youju is enjoying your torment, but there is a pit forming in your stomach that is screaming for you to talk sense into him. You know in your bones that this is a bad idea, but you can’t articulate it into words that will break through to the Director. You knew men like him. He won’t listen until it’s too late, but you try anyway.
“Whatever you’re planning is not worth the consequences you’re going to reap from playing God.” You still stare at Wesker’s peaceful, mutated face.
“I assure you it will be. Your husband is an incredible case study. He was medically dead when we found him, but you know as well as I do that the dead don’t tend to stay that way for long in our profession. Uroboros preserved his brain and nervous system better than any modern medical instrument you or I could have hoped to have at our disposal.” Youju explains with pride.
“Weapon, DNA, or emotional blackmail?” You reply cooly, still staring at Wesker in the chamber below.
“Whichever has the highest bidder. Although I think the value of a subject like him transcends material wealth, so I’ll hold off on an auction for now. I have more pressing plans first.”
You break your gaze from Wesker’s body in the chamber and look at Youju with a cautious expression, curious as to what he means.
“We know his brain is showing activity, but he hasn’t woken up you see. All the regular avenues for breaking comatose states have been exhausted.”
Youju turns to the chamber and puts his hand on the window thoughtfully as he speaks.
“Sure, we could harvest his DNA and easily make our investment in excavating him a drop in the bucket. As you’ve said, his DNA is one in a trillion. But it’s not just his DNA that makes him unique, it’s his mind as well. He was- is- the greatest mind manufactured by man. By Oswald Spencer himself. What I would give to speak with him! To know his thoughts on my research. To continue where Spencer was forced to stop.”
The Director looks away from Wesker and back to you, with a giddy look you know all too well. It’s a dissecting look of a scientist attempting to peel away the mystery of an unsolved problem.
“But then one of my researchers had an interesting hypothesis. This is not a regular subject so normal avenues are more than likely going to prove fruitless. Perhaps Wesker needs a familiar face as an extra incentive to chat with us. Someone who knew him much more personally than anyone else. Someone like you. We’ve already tried recordings of your voice, and they’ve yielded positive results, but not the one’s we’re looking for.”
“The saying ‘you should never meet your heroes,’ definitely applies in this case. You need to quit while you’re ahead. You’re inviting nothing but trouble by indulging this fantasy.” You warn, unable to wipe the look of barely contained terror on your face.
Youju tilts his head and gives you a mocking pout.
“Awww… what’s wrong Dr. Wesker? I thought this would be a happy reunion for you. After all, you survived him. He respected your intellect. It’s not every day that a genius offers his lover a place beside him in a new world. And don’t deny it. I’ve seen the footage of him offering you Uroboros on multiple occasions. I’m not a betting man, but I’d say those weren’t the only times he tried to convince you.”
“Director, you need to stop-”
“Not until I get what I want.” Youju’s gaze turns cold and he flips a switch on the console in front of you both. A red light above it switches to green. The guard behind you raises his gun to your head. Youju turns his face towards the microphone but keeps his eyes on you.
“Albert Wesker, you have a visitor. A personal visitor. Go ahead and say hello my dear.”
You avoid looking into the chamber and keep your mouth shut while staring down Youju. You would rather die than awaken that monster.
“Your wife is here to see you Dr. Wesker. Mrs. Doctor Wesker, if you know what’s good for you, please speak into the microphone.” The tone the Director uses reminds you of a car salesman; sleazy and said with a gritted smile. Attempting to get you to bend to his will no matter the cost if it gets you to sign the metaphorical dotted line.
When you keep your mouth shut, Youju motions to the guard behind you and you feel the cold steel of the muzzle of the gun on the back of your head. Your breath becomes unsteady, but you stay silent. He needs you. He wouldn’t kill you so quickly when he needs you. You’re sure of it.
“You know I’m not a patient man dear. Speak, or I will make you.” Youju spits out the warning, his patience already wearing thin.
You clench your jaw and stay silent. You fully intend to stay quiet, even though the urge to call Youju a dumb motherfucker is strong. You see a flicker on one of the cameras on Youju’s monitor. A figure. You weren’t going to pay it any mind, but even out of the corner of your eye you recognize the large scar on the side of Jake’s face.
Youju lets out an annoyed huff at your continued silence, currently unaware of Jake’s presence. “I wanted to avoid making this messy, but it seems you’ve left me with no other option.”
Youju turns around and starts to bend down towards a drawer below the monitor. You panic. Jake is your only hope in getting the B.S.A.A. here. You can’t let his stealth go to waste.
“Albert!” You spit out the name without thinking. You already feel sick to your stomach at your choice of action, but it has its intended effect immediately. Youju snaps his attention away from the monitor’s direction and back to you, then back to the chamber, then to a monitor off to the side that you now realize is displaying brainwave activity. His brainwave activity. You hadn’t noticed it before because the brainwaves were barely perceptible, only small mole hills on a nearly straight line. Now, like a rising tide, the red wave on the monitor grows in intensity along with your heartbeat.
Youju stares at the monitor with you in awe, then turns his attention to the chamber while speaking to you. “Go on. Tell him to wake up.”
“Albert dear?” You pause to take a shallow breath of air. The red wave rises higher on the monitor. “I need you to wake up.”
The more the red wave rises, the more animated the other scientists in the room become. Youju most of all. Everyone buzzes with excitement over their machines and data displaying on the screens, but all you can do is stare at Wesker in the chamber with a lump in your throat.
You have an idea on how to get the upper hand. It’s stupid, suicidal, and against everything your brain is telling you not to do, but if it works it’s an almost guaranteed way for these people to lock you in your room again until the B.S.A.A. can get here with proper reinforcements.
“Albert help me they have a gun to my head!”
Almost immediately, beeping sounds emanate from each and every machine in the room. One by one, every piece of machinery has warning lights on their displays and nervous chattering erupts from the scientists. The red wave on the brainwave monitor devolves into jittery valleys and peaks. You see Wesker in his water chamber twitching, and his peaceful face morph into an angered scowl that you know all too well.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Youju scolds as he switches off the microphone. He grabs your shoulder in a tight grip and walks you back closer to the door away from the window seemingly the only one not concerned with the sudden uptick in activity on the monitors and more peeved at your little stunt.
“That’s enough from you for now Doctor.” He turns his attention to the guard behind you. “Take her back to-”
Youju’s command is interrupted by the sound of glass cracking, a rush of water and metal screeching in the chamber below. Youju’s eyes grow wide and he immediately rushes back over to the window. He turns his head to say something, but before he’s able to, a pipe breaks through the glass of the observation chamber and into Youju’s skull with so much force that blood splatters on you from across the room and you stumble to the floor in your shock.
All hell breaks loose. Some scientists scream, others duck and cover, a handful try and fail to open the door to the hallway, the soldier leaves your side and open fires on Wesker in the chamber along with the other ones in the room.
You can’t seem to escape from the bloodshed. No matter where you turn, more blood splashes across your clothes but you manage to keep your escape in mind: grab Youju’s white keycard to get out of the room. You do your best to block out the grisly sight of Youju’s head as you army crawl across the floor. The white keycard, now stained crimson in some places, hangs precariously from his belt. A black and blonde blur dives into the room from the chamber and the screams grow louder and more frightened. You grab the keycard and you crawl behind a large cabinet that got overturned in the chaos in the corner of the room and make yourself as small as possible by hugging your knees to your chest. You clutch the keycard for dear life.
Meanwhile, in the background, you hear Wesker spewing insults as he tears through the room.
“Ignorant cretins! Worthless, self-righteous chaff! Inferior good for nothing fools!”
Something in Wesker’s voice puts you on edge, and it has nothing to do with the fact he’s seething with rage or leaving a trail of blood and viscera and broken machinery in his wake. You can’t quite describe it, other than that it sounds wrong. The voice is Wesker’s, but the tone and intonation are just… off. Your Wesker spoke in a much sharper and eloquent manner. This voice is direct and garbled in some places.
In the moment, you don’t know which voice you’d prefer. You don’t have time to think on it when you feel a presence behind you. It’s only now that you realize the screams and cries of pain have gone silent. Your blood runs cold when you hear a familiar, yet unfamiliar voice in your ear that makes the hairs on your neck stand up.
“My dear? Oh, how I’ve missed you my sweet…”
You freeze. His tone is uncannily gentle. He’s so close, you can feel Wesker’s breath on your ear and neck. Everything in your body is screaming at you to run, but it’s like Wesker’s words have you under a paralytic spell.
“How dare they touch what’s not theirs…”
A wet, slimy and black tendril slowly makes its way into the corner of your vision and gingerly tucks a flyaway hair behind your ear. You can’t bring yourself to move and you heart feels like it's about to burst out of your chest it's beating so fast.
You sense Wesker move his head closer to yours until you can feel the damp heat of him over your shoulder. Glass breaks on the other side of the room and he whips his head towards the sound. There’s one last scientist left. She’s trying to climb into the observation chamber, but she stepped on a piece of glass and now she’s gaping at Wesker in fear.
Wesker attacks her with the bloodlust of a wild animal, plunging his Uroboros arm into her chest and not stopping his assault until it reveals itself again when it pokes out through her mouth. She doesn’t even have a chance to scream. Only gurgle sounds of pain.
The grisly sight finally breaks the spell, and you bolt to the sliding doors and run the second the door registers Youju’s keycard.
You don’t stop when you hear Albert calling your name behind you.
You don’t stop when you see other guards and scientists coming out into the hallway to observe what caused such deafening, monstrous noises.
You don’t stop when you hear more screaming and gunfire erupting behind you.
You have no destination in mind when the hallways become unrecognizable.
The only thing consuming your thoughts is the fact that your psychopathic husband is alive, and that you’ve doomed the world because you destroyed the only Uroboros sample in existence to stop him in a misguided attempt to save it.
a/n 2: How's that for angst? More juiciness in the next part :)
If you've made it this far THANK YOU and sorry for this part being long I thought it would ruin the flow to split it up into two parts.
Tag List: @killerwendigo
#resident evil fanfiction#chris redfield x reader#but not in this part (again) because MORE PLOT#no beta we die like men#albert wesker#no use of y/n#angst#chris redfield#jake muller#resident evil#resident evil 6#resident evil 6 spoilers#The Wife the Lover and the Bastard Son#resident evil 5
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Enjoy this C/el/ls A/t W/or/k drabble short fic inspired by @dsnzfb 's wonderful snzario from the other day. I initially wrote a bit of it and wanted to turn it into a drabble, but it turned instead into a mini fic, so here ya go!! Enjoy!! And I am going to bed now since it's after 4 am. But this man put in this scenario was living rent free in my brain so much I had to write this before going to sleep!!!
Snz'er: Wh/i/te Bl/o/od C/el/l U/-1/14/6 (my beloved, shown here)
Minor spoilers for C/el/ls A/t W/or/k season 1. Continued below the cut.
Giving a gentle sigh, U-1146 finished his usual patrol around the body. Although things had been peaceful lately, being a part of the first line of defense meant he always had to stay alert. Regardless of how "normal" things might seem, he could never be too wary of any antigens possibly invading the area, whether it was through a breakage in the vascular endothelial cells, a viral infection, or anything foreign that dared cross paths with him, for that matter.
Today, everything seemed almost...too peaceful. When he experiences such a quiet day like this, especially when it comes to such a sensitive place like the epidermis, he always is extra careful and pays more attention to his receptor. After all, its job is—
"Da-ding!"
46 spun on his heel and frantically looked around. Complete silence except for the occasional hustle and bustle of red blood cells. Hm...how odd...
Speaking of, as he searched for the culprit his receptor was detecting, he noticed AE3803 taking a break on a bench nearby to stock up on more glucose. She looked up from her ice cream, smiled, and waved to him, before slowly lowering her hand, looking confused at his sudden search. He decided it would be good to head over there while he tried to sort out the current situation. Besides, it's possible she may have seen something he missed. No harm in asking! On his way over to her, he subconsciously rubbed his nose lightly.
"Snf! Red Blood Cell. Good to see you again," he stated with a nod, carefully holding his hat as he softly nodded as a gentle greeting.
"White Blood Cell! Same to you!" 03 piped up and smiled once more, but it didn't last long, as her expression and tone turned concerned quite quickly. "You seemed to be searching for something, and I noticed your receptor is up. Is everything okay?"
46 carefully nodded and turned slightly. "It seems an antigen is hiding somewhere nearby. Actually, that's why I came over here." He turned back to her, his expression determined, yet still sweet and calm. "I wanted to ask you if you'd seen anything odd." He stood there patiently while Red Blood Cell thought for a moment. However, after a short silence, she only ended up slowly shaking her head. "I see," 46 continued simply. The two of them stood there quietly while 46 eyed the surrounding area once more.
Eventually, 03 narrowed her eyes and looked down at her ice cream as if in deep thought before eventually breaking the silence, "You know, I've been meaning to ask...How do you go searching for hidden antigens anyway?"
46 couldn't help but crack a smile. Seeing he always expressed interest in Red Blood Cell's job, it was always fun to explain his own tasks to her as well. "Well, it's all in this," he said simply, pointing at his receptor. "Any time something is hiding, it's often easier to detect by taking into account when it does and doesn't react." He paused and sniffled softly.
03 gently nodded. "That's so fascinating. I'd love to hear more about how it works!"
"Sure! So when it stops reacting, I...I..." Suddenly, 46's train of thought became occupied elsewhere. He could feel a prickling sensation swiftly building in his sinuses, feathering so quickly through them that he automatically scrunched his nose, his mouth fell slightly agape, and his brow furrowed.
"...You...?" 03 asked in confusion, seeming very intrigued on how this worked and very confused on why 46 suddenly stopped speaking. Little did she know, this reason would become obvious very quickly.
"...I...hh-have t-to...sne—hehh!—sneeze!" He quickly brought his wrist to his nose as his eyelids fluttered and he inhaled sharply. "Heehh...! Hiht'TSSschyuu! Hah'AS—shuu!" His shoulders shook with the force, and although they didn't sound too intense, he struggled to keep himself from bending forward slightly from the intensity. He paused, shook his head, opened his eyes, and sniffled harshly from behind his wrist, seeming to consider whether any more sneezes were lurking in his sinuses before daring to bring his wrist down from his face.
"Snrf! O-oh no, hhiih!..." That sniffle instantly riled his sinuses up even more, and he quickly found himself gasping behind his wrist and snapping his eyes shut yet again. "Haaah'YTsSchhyuu! Hih!...iht'KSSs—chuu!—uungh..." This time, both sneezes made his whole body quiver violently, and he let out a soft groan after the final one. He rubbed his nose vigorously with the back of his wrist before letting out another sniffle. "Snf! Urgh, 'scuse me."
"...Is that usually a part of your process?" Red Blood Cell asked in confusion. White Blood Cell chuckled in response and gently shook his head as he lowered his hand. He also took a mental note that his receptor had gone down afterwards, similarly to that other day when he first learned his receptor will react shortly before he sneezes.
"Not usually, but sometimes, yes." He disconnected his receptor and held it in his hand. "I always have to take my receptor's reactions very seriously and jump into action, regardless of what I'm doing at the time. Since it also tends to detect when something is bothering my nose though, it can be frustrating to start searching for an antigen, then find out I just had to sneeze." He couldn't help but laugh a bit at the idea. "Though silly, it's a welcome change of pace to realize everything is still peaceful in this body, and my receptor just wanted to alert me to my body's irritants too." He smiled softly.
While incredibly odd and unusual, it was in fact relieving for White Blood Cell to experience this situation again. While peace in the body is refreshing, having false alarms from his receptor being affected by his own body as well is one of the unusual trade-offs he would happily take if it meant he could keep this body and all his fellow cells safe!
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The Detoxification Of Bros
Friendship is boundless even though you are sharing a building, a company and the wind fall of finances because they are CO-CEOS of Bro Codes.Thomas Alex is the one who hired me when the company Bro Codes was established is about to fire me for not meeting his goals and that is simply never going to happen.
He closes the door, taking my hand in him as I smirk an and shake his hand tightly with a smile to his annoyance and curiosity but before he could react.I turn to two side I press the side of both of my cheeks causing my eyes to spiral out of control and activating my contacts as they glow red.
Tom catches my eyes he gets scared start to back up as I follow him carefully to his ass and then his back hit the desk behind him. His fear is heightened at the sight of my red eyes meeting his, our eyes connecting on an instant interface I begin to maneuver setting up a new code and login process.
He stops cold his mouth drops to its edge, his lips drip of spit down trickling down his neck and soon enough his eye look wide and in awe. As if he is a deer in headlights I begin my little journey with a massive amount of solo time with him and press my hands on to his chest.
They slide down leaving utterly in disbelief at how perfect his body is, I cannot hold my life back and starts to strip him naked for my many purposes. I reach for a chair quickly picking it up place it in front of him, happily I continue to smirk in love and my lust overflowing my cup of pure ecstasy.
Closing my eyes I begin to pulse a bit with little effort his senses go through the roof as he pumps up and I can sense his blood flow rise. In my sense both our energies are at an all time highs sending shills down my spine in to the air and all of it is ripping through my veins.
I feel the chair dropping from under me as k free fall in to his mind empty pit of darkness encircling meet and my feet hit the ground of his subconscious. My mind takes root burying so deep in to him any self defenses are easily override due to my power and I begin to formulate a plan.
I decide to go for a stroll walking down a long overdrawn corridor catching up with his reflection stuck inside a old fashion television set in black and white. “What? Why am I here? Who are you? Let me out at once.” He shouts banging on the hard glass and getting more intense by the second it to is really embarrassing.
“Submit to me completely! I have infected you boss with a simple mental connection way beyond your understanding so don’t even bother to comprehend.” I say kneeling to face the screen to push fiercely intent to him because I am in control of his life for all of eternity and simply put his nerves purely go red.
Charlie is never happy at the sound of his cell ringing in the morning while going over his to do for the day and he angrily picks up the phone. “What the hell do you want?” He howls. “Shut The Fuck Up!” A voice barrels back at him then the television flips on with a huge screen as I appear on it and he my eyes see in to his as we connect deeply in to his the nerves go on fire.
“Charlie you are such a burden”
“I am a burden”
“You need to release”
“Let go of the stress and worry “
“You are not a man”
“Your bitch a pussy”
“I am pussy “
“Mwahahahahaha “
“I am your boss “
“Like Tom your serve me”
“Take a dive “
“Relinquish control”
“Be a pussy”
“Yes a pussy”
“Some men are made to kneel”
“Nothing about you is of importance “
“Strong guys like you can be improved “
Ben always works from home since about ten years ago with no interaction with us he runs his day to day and expect us to have no issues with him or the job in a seamless fashion because he demands us to be it.I commanded all two guys to drive me to the blue yeah Ben and Ian share with each other and they do so sneaking me in to the gigantic mansion by way of the back door for me.
Unfortunately! Of course neither is home at the moment leaving me time to set up all my plans. It is exactly one o’clock precisely the specials Ben strolls in to his home and race up the staircase to his bathroom and he has no idea.He pops the cabinet to find a strange pair of contacts in his eyes, in him he questions it all why because they must be his and he just forgot about it picking them up in a half hearted attempt.
The jackass slips the box to reveal to small contact lenses, turning them over he begins to undo the packages and placing them in his eyes and he goes blank unaware of the door shutting after him. “Sorry buddy I am assuming absolute control of this body as of this second. You have no way of even beginning to accept or understand a word am saying not that it really matters at this point.
“You are entrapped be me Ben”
“You love my scent “
“Obsessed with my body “
“My mind”
“My life is all you care about “
“Your life is mine”
“No escape”
“No worry”
“No desire”
“Serving me is everything “
“To you I am god “
“To you I am life “
“I breath life in to you “
“You exist for me”
“You love me”
“I love you “
“Admit it”
“Yes! Master Lawrence !”
Ian is the last of the four CEO titans about to meet his new maker, I slip behind him as he walks in to the bathroom closing the door and then steps up and in unzips his pants prepped to urinate. I dig in to my bag as I am in step with him a wet rag in my hand, placing it on his mouth holding him tight as he struggles to fight me and yank him back as his eyes flutter close and submit to me.
I back up letting him fall backwards on to the ground, sitting next to him i place ear pods in to his ears and then rip his eyes open wide and put the contacts in to his eyes. My finger swings back to the side then they connect snapping in time the sound rings resonating deep in him. His eyes pop awake sitting he stares ahead blankly awaiting all the orders I shall command of her.
He rose to his feet standing tall across from me his eyes are darted grossly crossing a bit sometimes and he freaks out punching him with a gut and I kiss his cheeks telling him to move forward. I shove him forward letting my hand slips in to his pants, let’s begin by undoing his belt and bending him over, his underpants fall while my hand swaps his butt cheeks swap aside and my hand starts to fist.
“Ian you are the last of these toxicity”
“Command…prompt…start”
“Shut eyes”
“Contacts upload”
“Bbbbuuuuzzzz”
“Perfect we are sinking “
“Yes Master”
“You thought you were a god”
“A man among men”
“You are just a pussy”
“A simple bitch”
“A nobody “
“Kneel “
“Mwahahahahaha “
“Too easy”
the end
#tom hardy#charlie hunnam#ben affleck#ian bohen#best friends#Co-CEOS#Minds eye#hypnosis#mind control#reprogramming#hypno slave#hypno submission#mind control slaves#The Detoxification
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Babes, secret vampire villain who gets captured by heroes and locked in a cell and they won’t eat the food the heroes are providing because it doesn’t help so hero goes in to try and convince them to eat and ends up finding out villain is a vampire and letting them feed on them.
“It’s a bad strategy. Unless you’re some kind of masochist,” the hero said, hands resting on their own hips. They tilted their head, looking at their nemesis.
Obviously, the villain was locked up in a glass prison with a white floor.
Because that was practical and modern and chic. Observing the villain twenty-four hours a day was the agency’s newest hobby. And in a prison of glass, you could do exactly that.
“You don’t seem like you’re enjoying this, though,” the hero continued.
The villain smiled weakly.
“Always so curious…” the villain said with a sharp smile. They still looked horrible.
“It’s my job,” the hero reminded them. “No heavy feelings involved.”
“Sure, sweetheart.” The villain groaned as they stood up, their fingers touching their forehead in pain before they collected themselves. “Because your feelings turn off when you go to work.”
“More or less.”
“Yeah.” The villain walked up to the glass that separated the both of them. They looked down at the hero who was in detective mode. A million solutions went through their head.
Maybe the villain thought they were getting poisoned? Maybe they didn’t like the food? Eating disorder? Allergies?
Why the fuck didn’t they eat bread and water?
“So. What can the kitchen cook for you today?”
“Ah, you’re my waiter now? I like that.” The hero clenched their jaw and took another step towards the glass prison. Even though the villain looked like a walking corpse, they were cocky. The hero didn’t know what to make of this.
“No, it was a polite question. But I assume you’ll eat nothing the kitchen offers?”
“Smart hero. So smart,” the villain answered. They put their index finger against the glass and let it slide down, right in front of the hero. As if it was gliding down their body.
“Help me out here. Are you a sucker for pain? Do you like being tortured? Do you like to suffer?”
“Is that a formal question or one of personal interest?” The villain’s finger stopped on the glass right where the hero’s abdomen was on the other side.
Ignoring them, the hero continued.
“Refusing to eat will kill you. Why are you doing this? I can help you. Just tell me what it is and I’ll help you.” It wasn’t like the hero cared about them. They were a villain. They’d killed a few people and they’d kill again if it meant they’d get what they want.
But the villain had also saved a few people. An ethical dilemma, it seemed. A trolley problem.
“What about no ‘heavy feelings involved?’ You’re worried about me.” The hero’s cheeks started to hurt. Their heart started racing.
“I’m not.”
“You totally are. You wanted to see me personally,” the villain taunted, making the hero even more nervous.
“To question you—”
“Your blood pressure just rose.” The villain looked different out of a sudden. They were concentrated, more awake, as they stared the hero up and down. Their attention was zeroed on the hero’s body. Unfortunately it wasn’t uncomfortable.
Because this time, they looked hungry.
And as they looked at the hero’s wrist, as the villain’s pupils dilated, it clicked for the hero.
“Vampire…” the hero gasped. “You’re…a vampire.”
The hero had never considered it as a possibility. But there were other villains (and heroes) who had to deal with the same problem. Not a lot. But they existed. So, it wasn’t totally insane.
They should’ve known. The hero cursed themselves in their mind. The villain had provoked them so their blood pressure would rise.
“Smart hero,” the villain mumbled. They managed to tear their gaze off the hero’s veins and back to their eyes. “I’ll die without blood. Normal food is useless.”
“Shit,” the hero whispered. “Shit.”
“It’s a quick death. The process is just nasty.”
The hero walked along the glass, away from the villain. Their decision was already made.
“You cannot die. I still need answers,” they said.
“Like how good I am in bed?” Again, the hero didn’t answer but they could feel how their body reacted. Ignoring that, they pressed the buttons of the little device on the glass wall. Once the code was correct, one small part of the glass disappeared into the floor, revealing a door.
Without hesitation, the hero walked in and pushed up their sleeve.
“Be quick.”
The villain grinned.
#writing snippet#heroxvillain prompt#heroxvillain snippet#heroes and villains#hero#villain#hero x villain#villain vampire#request#an answer for an ask#suggestive
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