#can i stop with the goddamn fucking wit of the staircase
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GOD. FUCK. DAMNIT. I DID IT AGAIN. SHIT.
#i am so. CAVALIER.#UNEARNED CASUALITY#can i stop with the goddamn fucking wit of the staircase#can i be knowledgeable outside the stairwell??#can i fucking pay attention???#for somebody who finds fun in wordsmithing i keep saying the wrong goddamn thing#when will i fucking learn. when will i FUCKING take it to heart.#can i get my bullshit under control BEFORE it bites me in the ass#too late to stop full harm outside my stupid selfish existence but i can still fuckin minimalize it#if i wasn't a CARELESS FOOL.#not kpop#shut up vic#negativity#phrasing it like that feels like a copout but i'm dead on my feet but failed to corral myself into doing my damn paper#my brain decided to focus on writing down a daydream and being a dumbass#and i didn't try hard enough to shut it up#i didn't notice how far time had gone until the date line popped up in the messenger#it's entirely my bad but it doesn't change the physicality of it
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Reminder ask: The guy who almost killed you and your Lowe’s team.
(original post)
Thanks for the reminder!
YES okay the dude who almost killed half the team while we were working at Lowe's! This is less one cohesive story and more several unrelated incidents that put everyone on edge.
So, who was this dangerous person? Who was the guy who nearly killed myself, a few other team members, and our manager on separate occasions?
A goddamn teenager. Of course.
Eric was probably a decent enough kid in his day-to-day life, but he was a fucking MENACE at work. In just the five months I worked with him (keeping in mind that he was working there BEFORE me), he did the following:
almost hit me in the back of the head with a 2x4 that had nails sticking out of it while we were throwing away trash/debris in one of the dumpsters after a display teardown, and only missed because I happened to have dropped some smaller pieces of trash and bent down to pick them up. This was my 2nd night on the job. Jethro witnessed this and shouted at Eric so loudly I'm surprised he didn't set off the nearby car alarms.
Dropped one of the huge vinyl display posters without warning onto Cindy and Jessie - when I say "huge" i mean it was about the size of an entire bay, so it was about 10 ft across and about 20 ft tall. That's a lot of fucking vinyl, so it's fucking heavy! Cindy and Jessie were working on unattaching it from the bottom struts, and Eric was doing the top. He didn't warn them when he cut the last support and the whole thing fell on their heads, which scared the hell out of them, understandably, and could have seriously injured them, as both were holding knives and bending over their work. He's goddamn lucky that dropping the fucking thing on them didn't cause either of them to fall into their knives. They both yelled at him, as did Manager Brenda.
DROPPED A STEEL BEAM ON OUR MANAGER'S HEAD. NO I AM NOT KIDDING. He was taking out a support for a shelf, and while one person can carry a single beam by themself, those fuckers are still heavy, and yes! Steel! I don't know exactly how it happened bc I didn't see it myself, but just like with the poster, Eric released the beam and just let it drop and it landed on Brenda's head. Apparently the manager for the permanent nightshift crew at that store saw the whole thing, so both of them yelled at him, and the other manager offered to call an ambulance for Brenda, which she refused. Not the choice I would have taken (we actually had decent insurance there) but whatever.
Took a ladder out from under Cindy! Technically you're never supposed to be actually walking around on the shelves, but there's literally no other way to do some parts of the job, so we did it all the time. Cindy was up working on a Christmas display, iirc, and had one of those biiiiiig rolling ladders/staircases that are scattered around the stores parked next to her so she could get up and down as needed. She sent me an SOS text at one point, and when I went to her, the ladder was gone. She said she had been sitting on the edge of the shelf with her feet on the ladder as she worked, and Eric came by and wheeled it off, either not hearing or not caring that she was telling him to stop. I tracked him down, shouted at him, took the ladder back to Cindy, and then she also went and shouted at him.
In a similar vein, almost knocked Cindy off one of the tallest ladders! Several of us were working in the Gorilla Glue section, trying to organize and restock it. Cindy was up on the tallest ladder (which puts a person about 15 ft in the air, depending on how tall they are) so that she could reach the overstock boxes and we were calling information back and forth on what product was needed at floor level. Jessie and I are hard at work doing this. Eric, on the other hand, decides he's very bored and that the best solution is to grab one of the support bars on the ladder, hang his full weight on it, and start swinging. These ladders are HORRIBLY shaky under the best circumstances and feel like they're going to tip over at any moment WITHOUT this sort of monkey mimicry going on. Cindy, Jessie, and I all shout at Eric to cut that shit out, which summons Travis and Sam from the next aisle, who also chew him out.
FREQUENTLY drove the Ballymoore (the blue single-person lift, used to get product up and down from the tallest shelves, but no forks to move pallets) with earbuds in, despite being told by the entire team, our manager, and a few other supervisors that that was EXTREMELY dangerous and against both company policy and OSHA regulations
I cannot even count the number of times he almost hit Cindy, Jessie, or myself with the metal shelving grates because he would sling those fucking things around willy-nilly. While not as heavy as the support beams, they were still pretty fucking heavy and it hurt like hell if you accidentally pinched your fingers when putting them in place. I don't want to think about what it would be like if he had hit one of us Captain America-style.
You may have noticed a pattern here. Trust me, we did too! Jethro especially was absolutely incensed that Eric seemed to be, if not outright targeting the AFAB members of the team, at least less concerned about if we got hurt compared to the AMAB members.
Holy shit, you may be thinking. How was this kid not fired????
TRUST ME, BRENDA WANTED TO. On top of all that bullshit, he also called out at least once a week (for context, we worked a 4 on, 3 off schedule because we had 10 hour shifts) which was less dangerous for the rest of us, but also meant that we were down a set of hands, which really sucked because it really needed to be a team of about 12 or 15 people, rather than 8. He also got in trouble for sleeping on the rug displays a few times, and sneaking off to take vaping breaks.
BUT. Because we were already short so many people, and it's fucking difficult to hire nightshift workers in a small town, Brenda was not allowed to fire him. Her boss literally would not let her, presumably unless he actually did manage to kill or maim someone.
Eric eventually just stopped showing up to work entirely and we all breathed a sigh of relief.
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Love Cuts Deep
Chapter 4- You Cannot Cage A Wolf
Bucky Barnes x (f)reader Series Rewrite (Civil War, Infinity War/Endgame, TFATWS)
Summary: Fuck the police and Ironman for that matter, now how the hell are you and Bucky going to manage getting out of this mess?
Warning: violence no duh, bucky going through it, bit o angst, things getting hectic
Masterlist
To say you were pissed would be the understatement of the century, again, you were locked in a cage of steel and glass. Surrounded by enemies who’d rather see you dead, but maybe you deserved it.
Maybe.
The Romanian combat police had locked you and Bucky into separate concealed glass confinements before loading the two of you into one long metal truck. Purposely facing the tiny prisons face to face with one another so that you would have full access to witnessing the discomfort and irritation on each other’s faces while armed officers sat to either side.
Well you’re not sure if it was exactly intentional, but still, at least you could make sure Bucky was okay and him you.
Your hands and legs are guarded by thick metal as your shoulders and upper arms keep firmly held by a small cage of steel; your body forced to sit for hours on end as the security trucks drive you both all the way to Berlin, Germany. A fucking 18 hour field trip by vehicle, at least you got some pee breaks.
Staring angrily at Bucky’s hand, you wish nothing more then to break out of here and fucking gut the assholes responsible for your unlawful imprisonments, Bucky did absolutely nothing to T’Challa and why the hell would they think you’re involved with his fathers death? It doesn’t make any sense. Not at all.
Why would anyone want the two of you for that matter?
Suddenly the truck jostles and stirs before stopping completely as you start to feel the shift of the vehicle reversing into something, your eyes immediately look up to find Bucky who’s already focused on you. His eyes are sad and full of pain for how they’ve treated you like an animal, caged you like a wild cat, more so then what they’ve done to himself. He never wanted you to deal with any shit like this again, not after the traumatic history Hydra had befallen on you for so many years. You don’t deserve this.
Returning a small smile, you give him a playful wink of reassurance before your glass and metal prison is rolled backwards and away from Bucky. Your fists clench in vexation and enmity for the current shit situation you happen to be sucked into, you feel like a beast at a goddamn freak show. Soon you’re rolled into a yawning chasmal underground parking garage of sorts, as flashing emergency lights from police cruisers blink annoyingly from your left while their riders park.
This must be some government building here in Berlin, you think, eyes wandering around at the secured cavernous glass and metal interior. Sliding clear doors make the entrance way to your far left wall, while further into the spacious room is a large wall of cement, more doors in various areas and a large staircase ascending into a giant balcony onto the next floor up.
Bucky’s cell is placed next to yours by another forklift as he glances at Steve drearily, while you throw nothing but an irritated scowl at the back of Steve just as Sam and T’Challa exit the black security van. Guards dressed in black attire close by. They soon make a swift yet cautious admission over to greet some short salt and peppered haired man in a dull grey suit, a blonde woman also with an equal amount of security by his side. Three armed guards in the back and three behind Steve.
What the hell are these people so afraid of? And why is any of this happening?
You can’t quit tell what’s being said from the concealed limitation of your moveable prison to where these assumingly high end important government officials are placed. It’s incredibly frustrating that you could just about scream, but now where would that get you? Probably smacked by some electrical shocking stick, those bastards, you think bitterly.
Soon the group appears to make some agreement before the shorter grey haired man nods an approval of invitation and with that does Steve, Sam, and T’Challa follow the short man and blonde woman farther away. All you or Bucky are able to witness before the doors to the new hallway you’re currently being pushed into closes, is the group walking for some glass doors that show a long hallway.
Then the giant metal doors slam shut in your face.
——
The forklift holding onto your portable prison cell ascends down the hallway as armed guards keep watch from both sides, walking in step with the pace of the lift as a set of eight in total surround yours and Bucky’s confinements. A minute later they bring your steel box into a windowless cement room, turning you to face the exit, your cells are rolled separately across some caution tape before all comes to a halt. Finally.
Your eyes follow the movements of regular security guards as they take long thick wires from the side of the stone walls, plugging them into your prisons as the lights inside flicker for a brief moment, stabilizing in a second. One guard gives you a wary yet curious glance before snapping his head down when your fearsome glare just about smacks him in the face, quickly after that, everyone leaves before shutting the sliding metal doors that hide you both from the outside world.
Waiting a moment, your eyes dance suspiciously across the room, “Y/N.” Calls Bucky, causing you to snap your attention over to him.
“What?” You mumble somberly, gaze trailing all over his stoically pensive expression, he’s without a doubt not pleased to be here. Though having you next to him makes things more bearable.
“Can you breath alright?” He asks worriedly, due to the thick plastic half face mask that prevents you from properly communicating with anyone, guess the Romanian police didn’t appreciate you calling them bastards. Among other things.
“Yeah.” You mumble out once again before pulling up on the metal clasps to no avail, what is this even made out of, “They got us pretty good, Buck. This might be a bit of a challenge to get out of...”
“You think we’re getting out of these things?”
“Well.......I’m being optimistic....so, uh.....there’s always a chance.”
The smallest of smile reveals itself for a flash of a second as Bucky forgets where you are and just welcomes your never ending humor, “You think they’re watching us?”
“Without a doubt. If I could flip them off I would.” You chuckle as your eyes trail up to the tiny dark sphere in your prison, yeah that’s definitely a camera. “Dickheads.” You mutter to whoever is listening.
“What do you think they’re going to do to us?” Wonders Bucky after a long moment of silence.
Taking a heavy breath you lean your head back, “Oh I don’t know. They’ll probably put me down like an old dog and then you’ll get broken out of jail by the Captain America himself.......you’ll probably be fine.”
Shaking his head, he looks over at your relatively bored face, “What if we’re not.”
Sensing his growing anxiety for your future placement, you turn to face him, “Then I’ll......uh........break us out of here?” You muse with an unsure shrug, well the best you can with the steel hugging your shoulders.
“Not all of us can take multiple bullets and survive.” Deadpans Bucky as you frown, he’s got you there.
“Okay uh.....let me think for a second.......uh, alright I got it..” You chirp enthusiastically before your face falls just as quickly as you let out a defeated, “...fuck never mind I don’t want murder charges.”
Bucky could have laughed, “I think we’d need to be more stealthy, and anyways there’s to many cameras.”
“Yeah.” You mutter dully, “Too many goddamn cameras.”
After about twenty minutes of mindlessly sitting in your cell while Bucky sits equally as bored from his own space a couple feet next to you, a man of relative height and stature walks into the large windowless cement room, a black book shaped travel bag hanging from his shoulder. He smiles in greeting at the two of you, though you can tell behind those glasses of his it’s anything but friendly. It’s strange, the way that his dark eyes reveal no true form of kindness or pleasantries.
Who the hell is this now?
The dark blondes beady umber irises flicker curiously from Bucky to you and back to Bucky again, a sort of childlike wonder flashing through them as he steps closer to the nearby desk.
“Hello, Mr. Barnes.” Nods the man in an almost Sokovian like accent, kinda sounds like you, greeting set on Bucky before he sends you a devious grin, “Miss. Valerious.” He nods, inquisitive eyes studying your stoic face of pure daggers as you breath steadily in your muzzle, “I’ve been sent by the United Nations to evaluate your partner here, so you needn’t worry, your time is not with me. But I ask if you please give me my time with him, that is all.” Assures the strange man as he focuses his attention back on Bucky again; eh, not like you have much of a choice.
“Do you mind if I sit?” Asks the dark eyed man as Bucky simply stares, suspicious and bored out of his mind; you naturally roll your scrutinizing leer as the man seats himself next to a table farther away in front of you two.
Guess he’s not leaving anytime soon.
“You’re first name is James?” Wonders the man though you can tell he already knows the answer; with pursed lips does he shrug innocently, “I’m not here to judge you. I just want to ask a few questions. Do you know where you are James?”
Bucky keeps silent, and all you want to do is smack that annoying blondes glasses right off of his face, “I can’t help if you don’t talk to me, James.”
“My name is Bucky.” Begrudgingly mumbles your irritated companion, while your brows set hard in puzzlement for where this conversation is going.
Writing something down in his notes, the man nods, “Tell me something Bucky. You’ve seen a great deal, haven’t you?”
Bucky glares, “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“You fear that if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop.” Mutters the blonde man as you scoff, his dark eyes instantly snap over to you.
“Come over here and I’ll show you something terrifying.” You threaten, though your voice is mumbled and husky through the damn mask covering your mouth from properly speaking. He hands you a fake smile in reply, appearing to enjoy your menacing presage nonetheless.
Dark eyes set back onto Bucky, he hums, “Don’t worry. We only have to talk about one.” You watch in curiosity as he looks down at his touchpad screen, a satisfied little grin appearing onto his thin lips when suddenly the lights go dark, sending the room into pitch blackness.
Though your sight shifts to dull grays and blues to counter this with your enhanced vision. A second later the dim emergency lights glow from up above giving the room a dull blue tint. While a red one blinks off and on repetitively in the shadowed room. The fuck?
“What the hell is this?” Grumbles Bucky as your eyes trail warily and alert over to the man as he draws his chair back to stand, though he remains seated.
“Why don’t we discuss your home? Not Romania. Certainly not Brooklyn, no.” Taking a faded red book out of his traveling bag, your eyes squint in suspicion as you notice a large black star printed on the front while he continues, “Your real home.”
oh, fuck
Turning to face Bucky, you’re alarmed to witness as his face appears conflicted and anxious; he’s afraid, soon the man rises to his feet before opening up the book and begins walking towards Bucky’s cell. A smile on his face as he begins speaking in Russian, “Longing.”
“No.” Mutters your lover as he blinks hard before staring hopelessly up at the ceiling.
“Rusted.”
“Stop.” Protests Bucky as he turns to throw you a pleading look, you frown, not sure what’s happening but you know it can’t be good. Hydra never did anything like this to you, no trigger words, just good old childhood manipulation and the occasional beating if you didn’t comply.
“Seventeen.” Speaks the man as Bucky’s face darkens with anger.
“Stop.” He growls furiously as heavy breaths push at his chest with building adrenaline.
“Daybreak.” A frustrated ragged scream emits from Bucky’s lips as his fists clench and muscles tighten, the man smirks as he gets closer to Bucky’s cage.
“Stop it!” You cry desperately while Bucky yells before ripping the metal from his left hand and breaking the metal clasp on his right, an animalistic growl sounding from deep within his throat as panic sets rooted into your stomach, “Fuck off!” You scream frantically, “I’ll gut you like a goddamn fish!”
Giving a pernicious grin, he ignores you, “Furnace.”
You watch in horror as Bucky emits a roaring cry of desperate anger as he begins pounding furiously against the glass. Coming back to your senses you ignore the mess happening next to you as your muscles contract and strain against the tight metal clasps caging your forearms, shoulders, and legs to the chair.
“Nine.”
You listen to more heavy pounding on glass as a hopeless ragged cry of futile rage rips forth from your throat in an anguished attempt at breaking free. Pulling your arms upward, your flesh strains viciously against the tough metal clasps while you struggle to free yourself. A moment later the metal clasps begin to groan and creak as they loosen accordingly, your strength forcing them into compliance.
“Benign.”
A thin sheet of sweat emits from the side of your face while you yell in frustration at the weight of the locks against your wrists, Bucky pounds furiously, soon metal fist starts cracking though thick glass as you finally rip the metal clasps from off of your right arm, “Fuck off!” You roar threateningly, eyes wild and raging like a bursting dragons flame unto a hopeless stick village, the man simply shifts his gaze back down to the book.
“Homecoming.”
He ignores you; heart beating a mile a minute, you unsheathe your right claws only to free your left hand from the abrasive metal lock as he continues to pound his fist against the slowly breaking glass door. Raising your hands to the back of your lower head, you forcefully rip the thick plastic muzzle from off of your face with a distinctive cracking sound emitting from the strong material.
“Nine.” Speaks the dark eyed blonde as he walks in between the two of your cells, appearing unafraid of your threats from earlier even as he witnesses you breaking free from the steel clasps on your legs now.
“Freight car.”
Crash!
Instantly your head snaps up to watch as Bucky’s glass door flies violently across the room and onto the harsh ground below; your breath hitches as all goes silent. The mans back is to you as he calmly walks over to Bucky who’s crouched onto the floor like a predator ready to strike, a second later he slowly rises to his feet. Though all life is gone from his dark pools of inky blue, he’s not your Bucky anymore.
“Soldier?” Whispers the dark eyed man in wonder, confident that his plan has effectively worked, whatever the fuck kind of plan in question.
Eyes wide, you swallow thickly as Bucky stares at the door, face noticeably covered in sweat, his eyes stare forward like a beast waiting to kill. He’s nothing but a vessel for chaotic destruction.
Breathing heavily, Bucky speaks in Russian, “Ready to comply.”
Suddenly the frustration in you boils over into pure animalistic rage for what this fucker has done to him, screaming bitterly, you punch the glass, slicing three thin lines straight through the material. The blonde one gives you a wary glance before addressing the Winter Soldier, “Mission report. December 16, 1991.”
“Bucky, don’t tell him shit!” You cry frantically in Russian, hoping that the Winter Soldier consuming him might hear something familiar in your desperation; whatever this man wants, you know full well what happened that night which means his motives are anything but friendly. If that wasn’t already apparent.
Bucky blinks, eyes shifting to the new ringmaster in control.
It’s no use, he’s not there, it’s what Hydra had made of him and now he must obey; Bucky ignores as you pound and scream for him to stop, to shut the hell up and come back to you but it’s all in vain. He tells the bastard everything in a matter of seconds as your face falls.
Heart pounding with adrenaline, you slash a clean line that rips right through the bolts of the door in wild fury, it sparks against your Adamantuim claws while creaking in protest as you finally kick it open. The huge door clatters and clashes to the ground as you step out of the glass prison and onto the cement flooring of the large windowless room. Red emergency lights flashing behind you as they make your tense form appear as sort of a clawed beast rising from straight out of hell.
The dark eyed man warily turns to you, when a sudden childlike excitement dances across his features as he takes a cautious step back, a small thrilled smirk pulling at his lips. The mans obsidian pools flicker over to Bucky who keeps a steady death stare with the wall ahead, the man nods in approval for his painstaking work before trailing his eyes over to you, “Soldier. Kill the Hellcat.” Smirks the man as your eyes shift reluctantly from himself to Bucky.
oh shit, you think miserably as your heart feels like its just sunk to the bottom of the ocean. Swallowing thickly, tears threaten to spill as your body shakes with racing adrenaline, your breaths noticeably heavier as you willingly begin retracting your claws.
The familiar metal sinks painfully back into your skin as you stare them down distastefully. Frowning deeply, you slowly pull your hands up into fists, readying your stance for the fight that’s inevitably about to come.
Making a sickened face, you swallow nervously as Bucky takes a step forward with eyes set like a wolf to his prey. Reluctantly your feet move an apprehensive step closer, “Fuck.” You mutter under your breath as Bucky makes the first move.
——
God why does your head hurt so damn much? Is the room spinning?
When you come to, the lights are still blinking an obnoxious red as you lay sprawled out across the cement floor, a puddle of blood trailing in a couple of dark-red thin lines from beneath your head to the yellow hazard stickers placed on the ground.
The air smells of blood and sweat as you suck in a deep breath before moving to sit up, at least the headache is gone, your eyes trail warily across the empty room as you touch the back of your head to get an understanding of what the hell happened here.
You can’t remember a thing.
A warm wetness greets your finger tips to no surprise, pulling them away, you study the murky crimson liquid staining your fingertips before your mind heals completely, your brain matter fusing back accordingly. Bits of the missing puzzle pieces soon form a coherent picture as you sit back in shock from the violent happenings that resulted in you bloody on the ground.
The man commanded Bucky to kill you.
The two of you indeed fought, but knowing that if you wanted to win you’d have to kill him yourself; Bucky kept his life as you let the Winter Soldier end yours. After dodging fist after fist thrown at you by Bucky, you finally gave in and let him pin you to the ground before he grabbed your face with his metal hand, smashing your skull against the cement floor in one dangerous deafening blow. Then it was over and...
Where even is he?
Picking yourself up, you quickly wander into the nearest opening only to be greeted by a multitude of unconscious guards, walking further down, you furrow your brows at the heavily dented elevator door where it appears that someone had been forced through. Touching the bent metal you sniff the air, it smells of Bucky and Steve. They couldn’t have been here less then thirty seconds ago.
Shifting to the right, you book it down the hallway to the sounds of strained grunts and fists hitting flesh. Soon you’ve found yourself at the edge of a large excessively windowed room, presumably the food court of sorts in this excessively ginormous place.
In the center is Bucky who’s absolutely beating the shit out of everyone making frugal attempts at stopping him. Your eyes observe Tony who’s positioned a good distance away as he breaths heavily from the floor, eyes wide in shock while he cradles one of his arms. The blonde haired woman from earlier appears in pain as she lays on her back, a broken table underneath her as the Black Widow squeezes Bucky’s neck with her thighs.
Natasha uses her elbows as a battering ram against his skull while he walks with her over to the closest table before slamming her roughly against the metal; he glares fiercely down at the Black Widow before using his titanium fist to choke the life out of her as she struggles against his weight.
Stepping into the huge room, your boots pound against the flooring as you deliver a powerful kick to Bucky’s strong waist, he tumbles across the thin carpeting before jumping to his feet in an instant. Natasha regains her lungs in a choked gasp as you throw a fist at Bucky’s chest, deflecting it, you use this new side lined momentum to duck under his approaching blow as you slide on the flooring, missing a fatal hit to your face by mere inches.
No more face shots please.
He whips around from the near miss, charging you once again; preparing for the worst of the Winter Soldier, your shoulders line up with his approaching body as your eyes calculate his next move. But when he readies his arm to punch, you slide to the side before swiftly twisting your body around to face him once more, all done within less then two seconds.
Watching his head turn left in confusion, you kick his back harshly onto the ground with the power enough to rival that of a lioness before huffing in frustration as he surges to his feet; you immediately halt in your tracks when out of nowhere T’Challa kicks Bucky across the floor. Soon the two men dance like two skilled warriors before Bucky takes the upper hand and whips the prince over the carpeted floor.
Blinking in bewilderment, you watch as he races up the stairs; the Winter Soldier doing his absolute best to get the fuck out of there, knowing he’s outnumbered by two and wary of getting his shit rocked by you again. Though he’s not even fully aware why you’re attacking him since his mind is back at Hydra and last he remembers you where on their side, and presumably bleeding out in another room.
Breathing heavily, you turn to share an awkward moment of uncertain eye contact with the prince of Wakanda before he throws you a half restrained dirty look, sprinting up the stairs after Bucky.
You’re able to take one step before a raspy voice snaps your attention over to a table, it’s Natasha, “Y/N.” She gasps through strained breaths.
Clenching your fists you leave those two to work it out as you swiftly approach the ex-assassin, “What?!” You snap.
Forcing herself into a seated position, she gingerly touches her bruising throat, “Guess you where right.” She chuckles painfully.
“Right about what?” You bark with a frown, eyes flickering over to Bucky and T’Challa as they throw jabs on the stairway landing.
“Last we met. You said I’d be lucky if we never met again. Guess you where right.”
“You’re an ex-assassin how lucky did you really expect to be?” You retort before taking a step for the ascending stairs when a hand takes your wrist.
“You have to stop him.” Urges Natasha, “No one here’s an equal force, you’re the Hellcat Y/N, you have to stop him no matter the cost.”
Throwing her an irritated glare at hearing your Hydra code name yet again, you growl like a wounded beast, “I’m not killing anyone!”
“You might not have a choice.” Challenges the red head with a pleading yet stern display, understanding that Bucky means more to you then just simple companionship.
“There’s always a choice!” You grumble angrily, heart pounding a mile a minute as you huff before turning for the stairs only to meet a disheveled and deeply confused prince, he’s sweating and looks rather conflicted as his dark eyes scan frantically around the room for any sign of Bucky.
Suddenly his eyes land on you, freezing in place, your mind swirls with what to do next; you’re a wanted criminal in plain sight and for some reason this prince wants Bucky and presumably you, dead.
Shifting your panicked gaze over to Nat, you shake your head before turning to T’Challa as you scowl like an angry brute, “If you touch me, I’ll gut you.” And with that heavy threat do you swiftly turn on your heels and race out the closest door and into the nearest hallway. Leaving Natasha and prince T’Challa with their lives.
Now where did Bucky go?
Running past door after door while the emergency lights annoyingly scream their bright red colors in caution of extreme danger, though you and Bucky are technically the “extreme danger”. Soon you take a hard right turn and immediately slam into the firm chest of Steve as he books it down the hallway for some door hanging open at the far end.
Falling into the closest wall, you don’t have time to wait on the pain emitting from your arm as he mutters a quick apology as the six foot two American hauls ass for the exit door. Recovering in no time, you press a bloody handprint against the wall before turning after Steve. Funny, you don’t ever remember cutting yourself on anything. Doesn’t matter.
Bursting open the cracked door, bright blinding rays of sunlight glare annoyingly in your eyes while your pupils adjust to the new terrain, soon your eyes catch the dramatic scene unfolding in front of you farther down on the helicopter landing area.
Perplexed, you stand in astonishment as Bucky attempts to take off in the chopper while Steve fruitfully leaps mid-air before tightly grasping onto the aircraft’s landing skids.
He pulls down hard, face straining in intense efforts to keep Bucky from escaping and heading into God-knows-where. Legs moving quickly, you race up the small flight of stairs leading onto the huge landing pad as Steve struggles fiercely to hold it down.
But before you’re able to aid in putting an end to Bucky’s fruitful efforts, he slams the chopper into the cement; causing you to leap backwards for fear of getting your guts sliced open by the blades. You’re helpless to watch as Steve narrowly misses becoming a decapitated corpse as the blades crash violently against the ground.
Chunks of stone and steel go flying in all directions as you shield your face from the debris. But as the dust settles, you peer from over your forearm to watch as Bucky’s metal arm bursts through the glass only to immediately grasp around Steve’s neck.
“Fuck.” Slips silently from out of your lips as you take a couple cautious steps forward while moving reluctantly towards the shit show; how has the last 20 hours gone so goddamn terribly?
Creeeek. Sounds the destroyed helicopter as it suddenly begins a slow ascend over the platform edge, where a large river awaits with open arms to presumably swallow whole the broken aircraft. Now in a panicked sprint, you race over the rubble as the last of the chopper, Bucky, and Steve are seen before they plummet to the waters below.
“No!” You cry helplessly as you reach the peak of the landing, nothing beneath you except for the broken tail of the chopper and a plethora of air bubbles.
-
Tagged: @diegos-butt @minigranger @bibliophilewednesday @holyhumorliteraturelight @lilacs-lavender @a-girl-who-loves-disney @starkssnarks @vikingqueen28 @bizarrebibitch @atomicpersonacheesecake @jmstz @staygoldsquatchling02 @marvelbros-oneshots @shawnartmendes @iamasimpingh0e
#bucky barnes#bucky x you#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#Bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes imagine#the winter soldier x y/n#the winter soldier x reader#the winter soldier x you#the winter soldier#tfatws x reader#marvel imagine#marvel x y/n#marvel x reader#marvel x you#fanfic#fanfiction#series rewrite
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Bad Day
Just a fucking terrible day.
Bakugou was walking up the steps to your shared apartment, a permanent scowl set into his handsome features. He turned the corner on the landing and continued up the plastic-lined staircase, wondering why your apartment was still 4 floors away, why both elevators were out of order, and why the fucking hell he couldn’t keep a hold of his goddamn keys.
That’s all that could be said.
Before he could make it to the brick building he called home, he’d encountered a villain attempting to rape a quirkless woman in an alley. Long yellow tentacles with their serrated edges turned out were wrapped around her trembling form. These slimy appendages curled out of the man’s abdomen and dragged her across the asphalt no matter what she did to fight them off.
He was already tired and ready to get home to you, have some dinner, maybe watch a movie and de-stress between your sweet-smelling tits. So when a limb from the tentacle bastard sliced his arm open, the hero quite literally exploded, freeing the woman and alerting the police to the area. Paramedics had offered to patch him up a little before continuing his walk, but he just snatched the roll of bandages and walked away.
His head felt heavy from loss of blood and he just couldn’t grasp his keys. They kept slipping through his fingers and onto the steps so he’d have to bend down and pick them up for the umpteenth time that hour. His feet felt like lead as well; feet catching the edge of each step and making him lose his balance as he pulled himself up onto the next landing.
When he finally made it to your apartment door, it took him several minutes and several paragraphs of colorful insults before the door would budge and he let himself inside. Sighing, he leaned against the door to close it. He just wanted a shower and something comfortable to fall onto. Food? Irrelevant. First, he needs to get his boots off. As he was unhooking the straps, he noticed something. He had been so deep in his mind that he hadn’t noticed it until now. From the kitchen, he heard a song, your favorite dancing-in-the-kitchen song, and your melodic voice singing along.
Once his boots were in their corner, Bakugou hoisted himself on his feet once more with a grunt and followed the sounds to where you were standing at the stove, swaying gently from side to side as the song continued.
Turning the burner to low so the food wouldn’t burn, you turned around just as your boyfriend entered, catching him as he flopped his sore body into your arms and wrapped his own around you. Reaching to the counter behind you, you restart the song, a feat in and of itself because you had your arms full of needy boyfriend.
“Bad day?” You ask, threading your fingers through his sweaty blonde locks.
Katsuki made a noise of confirmation and squeezed you tighter, allowing the scent of your freshly cleaned skin to calm his racing mind. All that mattered now was your voice, gently singing the lyrics he could never learn against his forehead.
Occasionally he’d try to sing the correct words and harmonize with your honey-like tones, but he never got the words right. You’d giggle and he’d blush and his big hands would squeeze your sides lovingly and you bury your face in his chest, the song never ceasing on your lips.
I love you too much,
To live without you loving me back.
I love you too much
Heaven’s my witness and this is a fact
I know I belong
When I sing this song
There's love above love and it's ours
'Cause I love you too much
You lead him to your shared bedroom, still swaying from side to side, still singing along with Diego Luna, but you had to get Katsuki cleaned up first. Taking the bandages from his fist, you make him sit on the edge of the bathtub so you can patch him up.
First, you wash his face, cleaning off the day’s grime and sweat with a cool cloth, then after rinsing it you begin to dab the dried blood off of the cut. He hisses when you press a little to hard, but when you give him an apologetic look and the song changes, he relaxes.
This time, it’s Sia singing from the kitchen.
You smile and lip-sync to the solemn tune as you wiggle the bottle of hydrogen peroxide in front of Katsuki as a warning of what was coming next. He sighed, opting to focus on the words of “Snowman” rather than the bite of the peroxide being swabbed on his wound. Katsuki watched as you stuck a waterproof patch over the wound and helped him stand. You then moved to where he had been sitting to start a shower for him.
He pouted, disliking being babied but he didn’t really want to complain. He attempted to take his top off, but taking off a skin-tight hero costume with one working limb was easier said than done. When you heard him grunt, you hid a smile and helped him get the injured arm through and left him to do the rest.
15 minutes later you heard the shower turn off, so you stopped setting the table to help him again. You made a quick stop at the closet to grab a hoodie, sweatpants, etc for him before knocking lightly and entering the bathroom.
Katsuki stood in front of the mirror massaging a towel into his scalp to remove excess water when you came in. Seeing him shirtless, you had to stop yourself from biting your lip and smacking one of the thick thighs that peeked out from under the towel around his waist.
“Feeling any better?” You ask guiding him back into a sitting position after leaving his clothes on the counter.
You saw him nod out of the corne of your eye and you smiled, fishing in one of the cabinets for the first aid kit so you could finish fixing his arm. When you found it, you plopped down on his lap and gingerly moved his arm to where you could access it.
Upon removing the waterproof patch, you found it mostly clotted over, but some blood still oozed out so you added a few layers of gauze before wrapping it firmly with bandages.
Katsuki’s face was buried in your shoulder while you worked, taking the pretty scent of your shampoo from your shower a few hours ago. Your skin was very soft and warm as well and he was so tired…
“Katsu, baby-” You patted his cheek to rouse him, “You can’t go to sleep yet okay? You need to eat so you don’t die on me. Come on, let me see your eyes…”
They were the color of rubies with flecks of orange. They looked likt the explosions that came from his very palms and to you, they were the most beautiful things you’d ever seen.
“There we go…” You cupped his face in your palms, thumbs brushing over the dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep and then his cracked, dry lips from dehydration.
“I’ll take care of you until you’re all better.”
--
masterlist
#that domestic fluff has me in TEARS#TEARS#PERIODT#katsuki bakugou#bakugou katsuki#katsuki bakugou x reader#katsuki bakugo x reader#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugo katsuki x reader#bakugou#bakugo#bakugou fanfiction#katsuki bakugou fanfiction#my hero academia#boku no hero academia
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Couldn’t stop thinking about my victorian artist’s muse AU so... this is for Alex week day 6 + time.
In which, Michael is convinced that Alex is the missing key to their quest in reforming the arts. He just needs to find someone who will paint him right.
Michael brings Alex to Rosa Ortecho first.
Her apartment is, of course, planted in the sketchiest street of London Alex has ever set foot in. Michael stops in front of one narrow building, squeezed between a blacksmith and a butcher. Everything about the place makes Alex nervous, he wants to turn around and run back to the respectable safety of his household, to run away from the ceaseless noises, the nauseating smells… but Michael goes in, mindlessly stepping over the body of a passed-out drunk man that was blocking the entrance and Alex would rather go with him than stay alone outside for a single second.
He follows Michael up the cramp staircase and they only stop at the end, in front of the top floor apartment. Alex’s apprehension spikes when he realizes some of the noise, aggressive grunts and muffled impacts, are now louder and coming from inside. Michael, still unfazed, knocks on the door and opens it without waiting for an invitation. He rushes in, tailed by Alex, to find Rosa Ortecho in men’s trousers and a loose shirt, hitting a bag of sand hanging from the roof. There’s an alarming brutality in her moves, a crudeness Alex isn’t sure he has ever witnessed before. Michael ignores her, removes a pile of books from a couch and sits there, patting the empty space beside him, inviting Alex to join.
“Could take a while,” he says, spreading his legs on a stool. Then he notices Alex’s wide eyes, that he can’t take away from Rosa, as her blows on the bag become stronger and harsher. He’s known her from reputation, of course, but seeing her in person holds nothing to the muttered gossips that have reached Alex’s ears.
“She needs to get the energy right. She’s conjuring all the life she can.” Michael explains. Now he is staring at her too with a bit of wonder. He matches her rhythmic blows as the words roll of his tongue. “It’s pure.” Punch. “Unhinged.” Hit. “Soul.”
They watch her like that, in silence. She doesn’t acknowledge their presence for a long time, making Alex wonder if she even noticed they’re here. He’s about to bring it up to Michael when she finally decides the bag has learned its lesson and puts an end to her beating.
She greets them while taking off the bandages on her hands and she downs a glass of port before offering them one that Michael takes and Alex declines.
She throws one quick glance at Alex, shrugs and makes him strip off his shirt and take place in front of the window, but not before dropping a fake crown with paper flowers on his head.
Alex expects to be there at least until the sun goes down, something Michael had briefed him about. Turns out after only a few minutes of sitting at the easel while making faces, fidgeting with her tools and chalks and not giving him a single proper instruction, Rosa sighs in defeat before turning around to face Michael.
“What the fuck do you expect me to do with this, Guerin?”
He looks up from the book he had just picked up, looking genuinely startled for the first time since Alex has crossed his path, days ago in the back of his father’s hat shop.
The argument explodes so fast and easily it makes Alex think they do this a lot. Michael gets up from the couch, surges in front of Rosa and then there’s yelling, dramatic hands thrown in the air and verbal digs are exchanged back and forth. It reminds Alex of one of those really bad plays his mom used to take him and his brothers to in Coven Garden.
“I like Alex,” Rosa says, with an apologetic smile in his direction. “He’s pretty. I’m not saying I will never have him sit for me but for this particular work it's just not quite-”
“Pretty?” Michael replies with an outraged, disgusted face. “You're making the biggest mistake of your life, Ortecho. It's excellence, paradise served on a goddamn plate and you're being… picky.”
Heat rises to Alex's cheeks. Michael keeps talking about him like that, like he's something exceptional, and Alex doesn't know what to make of it.
Michael's words are met with a snort from Rosa. “Sure, whatever you say. Listen I just need someone with more- less- Guerin, I need someone who doesn't shies. Who knows what they’re doing. I need a damn whore.”
Michael shakes his head in utter consternation. He even takes a step back.
“Oh coming from you that is rich.” She points an angry finger at him. “We always paint whores, and you know it.”
“And how well has that worked so far?” Michael asks, this time grabbing a fistful of paper from a counter and shoving them in Rosa’s direction. “Aren’t you weary of always coming up with the same uninspired junk?”
This time, Alex sees her lips thinning and her fist tightening to her sides, body tensed with real anger. Remembering the sandbag, he wonders if Michael is braver or dumber than he first assumed, because the man doesn’t back down even a bit.
She yanks the sketches from Michael’s hand. “It’s worked pretty well, actually. And unlike somebody, I actually have commissions and I can pay my models with something else than-”
“He”, Michael points at Alex, his eyes still fixed on Rosa, “Is exceptionally better than any whore. The point is simplicity. The point is everything that is true and heartfelt…”
“Why don't you paint him then?” She turns around and throws herself on a chair, as it seem her anger has shifted to a deeper lassitude.
“Oh I will, but as for now he…” Michael’s face falls for a second and he mumbles. “All right. I cannot pay him properly.”
Rosa gives him another snort. “You need a patron, Michael. And he needs experience. But until then, if you really mean to have him painted… I heard DeLuca has a project. Something fancy, Shakespearean, and she couldn’t quite find the right model. Maybe he will actually earn the money that you promised when you made him quit his job and family to follow you into this doomed madness.”
------------
Maria DeLuca is looking at him so intensely that he is sure her gaze is actually piercing into his soul. He wouldn’t be surprised if she knew all of his darkest secrets now, if she was familiar with all of his deepest fears and desires.
When he and Michael called, she immediately grabbed his chin, not hard but firmly, and has been examining his face for what feels like an eternity, without saying a word. Not long ago, this would have unsettled Alex, but he is getting used to Michael and his friend’s strange ways. After all, she is less scary than Rosa, she seems less tormented and she hasn’t even punched anything in the time Alex has made her acquaintance.
There’s something different about her, something closer to what Michael has, that makes Alex want to be her friend, want to please her.
He throws a quick look at Michael who has been waiting in the corner. He smiles back at him with an encouraging nod, so Alex waits.
At last, she lets go of his face and turns to the other man.
“You weren't lying,” she says. “He's perfect. Curious mingle of simplicity and refinement, constantly walking the line like a tightrope walker…” for a moment, she seems lost in her thoughts. She grabs a notebook and scribbles something, eyebrow knitted.
“Sit for me!” She exclaims, closing the notebook. “I'll pay you, which is more than this imbecile can promise. It won't be easy, but you'll get out of it a richer man in your heart, your mind and your wallet.”
“It would be an honor.” Alex agrees, earning himself a soft smile.
“Great,” she says. “We will begin now. Michael, help Max fill the bath and light up some candles, will you?”
To Alex’s surprise, Michael complies. Where Rosa seemed to excite him, Maria seem to have the opposite grounding effect. He wonders how the three of them function as a group, if they undo each other’s excess, if they only find their balance together, where Alex’s place would be in all of this.
Posing for Maria is hard.
She makes him wear a flowy robe and has him lay in a bathtub only warmed with candles for hours on end. Unlike Rosa, she explains what she wants from him, in too many words when all he can do is try to keep himself afloat, but she smiles at him, and so does Max, her protégé, so Alex does his best to be good and stay still. Then Michael watches him with proud eyes, and something lights up in Alex’s abdomen, and for the first time in his life, he feels he is right where he belongs.
When the night has finally fallen and the flame of the candles isn’t enough for Maria to keep drawing, they help him out of the tub and provide him with towels. She invites him and Michael to take a look at her work before leaving, and while discovering his own portrait, immersed in the green waters of a mystical lake, he is stunned.
He can see what Michael sees, the exceptional nature of it, the composition of something new, the beginning of a different era. His features are brought to a different plane of life by Maria’s talented lines, it’s a haunting mirror, so unsettling that he has to look away. And then he can only accept Michael’s whispered words.
Nothing will ever be the same again.
-----------
During the day Michael’s place is all windows and cream drapes, wild plants and sunlight, like a greenhouse garden, a lung in the suffocation of central London. Alex is in awe every time he walks through the glass doors, as he was the first time Michael brought him in. Surrounded by books and sketches and dirty painting tools, Michel fits there, in the untamed wilderness, the carefree, the unexpected.
In low evening light, everything glows orange and the light of the torches dances on their cheeks. The mess looks tidier, all the sounds are muffled and the air is calmer.
“Gonna go find some refreshment,” Michael says, taking off his coat. “to celebrate your first time sitting.”
He disappears somewhere behind a long hanging sheet, leaving Alex free to look around.
Even in the dim light, Alex peeks at the canvas, then at the sketches scattered on all the surfaces. He runs his fingers on paper, feels its grain, picks one up randomly. It’s a woman, with wild flowers in her hair and a soft, melancholic gaze. Another one, a body, fabric and color. In the night, the figures seem almost otherworldly. He is easily taken by them, transported by the smooth lines, so much that he doesn’t hear Michael coming back behind him.
“You like those?” he asks, glancing over Alex’s shoulder.
Alex’s breath catches at Michael’s low tone, at his proximity.
“They’re brilliant.” he replies, barely a murmur.
Michael sighs and takes a step back, leaving Alex cold and almost disappointed.
“No, they’re not. And they never will be,” he says, looking away as something breaks in his voice. “I’m so close Alex. So close to get it right but I’m just. Stuck and I can’t- unless-”
He looks back at Alex with a glint that reminds him of Rosa, with a sort of urgency that matches her hooks, alive, dangerous.
“You have stricken me.” He declares. It is a simple fact, a statement that doesn’t call for any reply, and yet.
“I will.” Is all Alex can say, with a hard determination that he surprises himself with. “I will sit for you.”
He’s known, since the first time he laid eyes on Michael, that he would do anything the man asked of him. That he would let himself be stolen away, and that he would never turn back to his dull, nonsensical life. He’s known he would never be small again, and that his hunger for greatness, now that he’s had a taste of it, is going to be insatiable.
Michael laughs a litte.
“I cannot pay you what you deserve.”
“Teach me then. Help me improve. I want to paint and to write. I have potential, I have things to say. Let me become one of you. Let it be my payment.”
Michael has gotten closer now, so close in Alex’s space that he can see, even in the dark, the details on his face, his lips, the small reflections, sparkles of light in his eyes. He lays a hand on Alex’s cheek, grazing softly with his thumb and Alex shivers.
“You’re burning. Are you sure you didn’t catch something at DeLuca’s? This foolish bathtub...”
It has to be Alex who closes the gap between their lips, but it’s Michael’s hands that are suddenly all over him, and he feels awake, alit, as he is clumsily led toward a bed in a corner of the room, trying not to catch himself on piece of fabric or to knock off an easel or a candlelight.
#alexweek2020#alex manes#michael x alex#malex#maria and rosa are featured#Hunt!Rosa is the loml#this is the first writing i've ever posted in this fandom i'm pretty sure???#because i can't really write but this wouldn't leave me alone#thanks to sára for reading and encouraging <3#fanfic#i don't think there's really any warnings except that i'm sorry if it doesn't make any sense#what is english anyway#mine*#myalexweek*
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What We Owe To Each Other: Ch. 3 - Night
A/N: Here’s the angsty part of a fic literally no one asked for!!!
Morning | Noon | Night | Midnight | Nightmare | Dawn
[Link on AO3]
Sam did not want to admit it out loud, but he was starting to believe that he was truly and utterly lost.
He pulled out his phone and checked his current location. He was sure about the direction he had taken; he had passed the right landmarks, made no unnecessary turns from the main road. His destination was off the beaten path but thankfully, it had stopped raining and the fog had partly cleared that he managed to easily spot his way. He had been certain that he was in the right address. This had to be the right place.
What was bothering him now was that the house that loomed behind the massive iron-wrought gates was the exact opposite of a fucking cottage.
Sam pulled over next to a silver Sedan (another rental, he could tell by that same tacky sticker plastered on its windshield) hooded over by the blood-red foliage of maple trees on what appeared to be the lot’s designated parking space. In the discomfort of the Chevy’s front seat, he began to assess all his available options. He could check out the house, ask its occupants for proper directions. Or he could turn his way back around. He could find a decent lodging to spend the night somewhere in Westmore, or any nearby town perhaps, and craft another excuse to tell his brother as to why he didn’t make it.
Or, well, he could disregard his pride and simply call Nathan for help.
This is stupid. I’m being stupid.
Sam sighed. He fished his phone out again, scrolled through his list of contacts, hovered over Nathan’s name for a little too long. He has not even called him yet, but he can already hear his brother’s clever and punk-ass reaction.
Fine. Fuck this.
He took another deep breath. Just as he was about to press that Call button, a knock on his window startled him out of his wits.
“Holy Mother of God!” Sam hissed, accidentally slamming a hand over the car horn that it shrieked like a shameless cry for help. He turned, and by the window was a familiar face curiously watching him with an almost amused expression.
It was Elena.
“I’m so sorry,” she said as soon as he got out of the car. She was in a cozy-looking parka, sweatpants and running shoes, her cheeks a shade rosier from the cold. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Nah, it’s fine.” He buried his hands in the pockets of his jacket. It was freezing as fuck. “What’re you doing out here?”
“I was out for a walk. Then I saw that there’s another car parked next to ours. Figured it would be you.”
“Oh.”
“And you were in there for a really long time, so. Yeah.”
“Well, I thought I was…” Sam trailed off. He looked at the house behind Elena, then back at her. “I’m in the right place, am I?”
“Yup.” Elena was smiling. “Trust me, that was our reaction when we first got here, too. Seriously, Sullivan needs to work on his definition of a cottage.”
Sam stared at her. “Christ, Victor owns this place?”
Elena nodded in response. “C’mon,” she said cheerily, nodding her head towards the gate, “Let’s get inside. I’ll let Sullivan explain everything to you and maybe get him to take you on his personal tour.”
Sam grabbed his duffel from the trunk and let Elena lead the way.
The sun slowly plummeted over the horizon, simmering gold through the trees, scorching the sky like a third-degree burn. There was no noise except for the crunch of their shoes on the carpet of gravel and dried leaves, the whistle of the wind, the chorus of birdsong from somewhere up the canopies. The air was sharp and chilly. Not far away, the Mansard roof and the whitewashed façade of Sully’s estate began to reveal itself behind the veil of autumn foliage like an enigmatic bride.
“By the way,” Sam began as they climbed the front steps, “I heard from Nathan. Congratulations. Good job for making me an uncle.”
Elena laughed. “You’re welcome. Glad to be of service, I guess.”
“Now I hope you don’t mind if I teach your kid a thing or two about picking locks and—”
“Oh don’t even think about that.”
“Alright. I’ll simply bore them to death.”
“Now that’s impossible. Trouble makes you the least boring person I know.”
“Whoa, now I don’t know if I should take that as a compliment.”
“It is a compliment.” She turned to face him, smiled at him knowingly. “But y’know, I suppose I should thank you, too.”
“Really?” Sam quirked a curious brow. “For what?”
“Nate told me about your sage advice.”
“Oh. That.” Sam shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it sagely,” he said, “but more like a push in the right direction.”
“Of course. But I appreciate it, really. Anyway,” she said as she casually opened the mahogany doors before them, “After you.”
Elena ushered Sam inside the house. Walking into the foyer, he found himself taking a sharp inhale and stuttering to a halt: gilt mirrors and chandeliers, potted palms and porcelain vases, plaster-medallioned ceiling and ivory floors polished to saintly perfection. Down to the wide archway to his immediate right was a gallery exquisitely curated with the finest marble sculptures and Impressionist paintings (there were a couple from Monet and Cézanne and Renoir which he recognized almost immediately, like spotting a familiar face in a crowd of strangers, and he hated how he still knew this because this was Darcy’s thing and fuck he did not need to be reminded of her at this time of day), a couple of photographs and portraits lining the walls, and ancient pieces that would probably cost more than his life. Somewhere, the jazz music he had heard earlier from the phone echoed like a sickly sweet invitation. Even the room smelled nice and elegant: of roast beef, of roses, of cigars and big money. Also, it was comfortably warm.
Startled and half-dazed, not quite sure what he was seeing or where he was even, as if he had been suddenly jettisoned to outer space, Sam turned to Elena and said: “This is… are you positively sure this is Victor’s house?”
Elena huffed an amused laugh. “I know it’s a lot to take in but yeah.” She shouldered off her parka and hung it over a coat rack. She helped Sam out of his jacket, too. “Nate and Sully’s in the kitchen—”
“I’ll be goddamned—look who decided to show up.”
A rich and sonorous voice that Sam knew so well rang out and sauntered into the hall.
“Victor.” Sam offered a small nod as the one and only man of the house—nay, mansion—gave him a strong, parental hug which he returned rather sheepishly. Though he found it strange to be shown such an affectionate gesture, it was even stranger for him to see Victor outside his usual colourful Havana shirts; in his gray long-sleeved turtleneck and dark trousers, he almost seemed so foreign. Warm and snug, sure—but still painfully foreign. Despite that, he still carried that same slick and silvery charm as if he never aged a day.
“Well now.” Victor stepped back, clapping both hands on Sam’s broad shoulders. “I honestly thought you wouldn’t show up.”
“What can I say? I live to disappoint.” Sam shrugged. “But anyway,” he said, “be honest with me: who did you murder to afford this place, huh? We had all the time in Lisbon and you didn’t tell me about this!”
“I’m glad to let you know that I didn’t get my hands bloody to get this place. This belonged to my family for generations.” Victor extracted a pack from the back pocket of his jeans and lit a cigar. “This—“ he was gesturing a hand in the air, the curl of smoke rising between his fingers— “had been in tatters a couple of years back. Had to make sure this entire place was in its pristine condition before I had anyone come over and see it.”
“And that’s only half of the story,” Elena added. She crossed her arms and looked at Victor critically. “Wait until you hear about how he acquired a certain Rembrandt piece.”
Sam waved away Elena’s words with an incredulous hand. “Wait a fucking second.” He stared at Victor. “Did I hear that right? You have a goddamn Rembrandt? What the—”
“Elena? Sully? You guys left me in the kitchen and you all know how I’m accident-prone—oh, about time you got here!”
Sam turned and was welcomed by Nathan with a firm slap on his back as soon as he walked in. He was wearing a dark cashmere sweater, ripped jeans, and one of those aprons with an obscenely suggestive text that said May I suggest this sausage written in a terrible font face.
“Why hello there, little brother,” Sam said a shade too mockingly. “Don’t you look dashing.”
Nathan scowled. “Okay, before you even judge me,” he began to tell Sam defensively, “I have to say that this—” he gestured a hand over his apron— “belongs to Sully.”
“Not that I needed clarification, but okay,” Sam said smugly. They all laughed.
“Look, kid,” said Victor, turning to Nathan, “why don’t you take your brother to his room? Elena and I will take care of things down here.”
“Yeah, sure thing.” Nathan peeled off the apron and handed it to Victor. “Can’t bear the thought of being the jackass to accidentally burn your mansion.”
Victor shook his head. “That’s why I’m effectively relieving you of kitchen duty. Now scoot.”
Sam followed Nathan down the hall, up a sweeping staircase, and then another hall with mahogany doors leading to more rooms. More photographs and more gilt-framed portraits hung on the walls. Everywhere smelled sweet and musty and oppressively opulent.
“Here we are,” said Nathan as he opened the last door at the end of the corridor.
Obviously, the room was nothing less lavish than what Sam had seen thus far from the entire house. Stepping inside, it was as if he had slipped into a different time period, some Gothic universe that distinctly reeked of that 19th-century grandeur: fancy carpets on hardwood floors, paneled walls of deep green, gray velvet curtains draped over large windows. A pair of armchairs and a lumpy sofa upholstered in rose-patterned fabric were primly arranged opposite a marble fireplace. Figurines and books occupied any available surface. In the middle of the room, an ornately carved four-poster bed covered in fluffy linens seduced Sam with the lure of much-needed sleep.
“Jesus,” he said, dropping his bag next to a rosewood desk. “This house is fucking nuts.”
Nathan laughed. “I know,” he said. “This is like one of those rooms in Hampton Court Palace. Remember—“
“Yeah, yeah—first heist with Cutter, I know.” And with Darcy, too. Sam winced an empty smile. “Don’t need to remind me,” he muttered almost to himself. “So—“ he paced across the room, looking around earnestly, decidedly eager to change the subject— “how did the talk go with the wife?”
“Oh.” Nathan sat at the edge of the bed. “It was okay. Got to sort things out. And…” He trailed off. “Well, you were right,” he said quietly.
Sam stopped and narrowed his eyes at Nathan, a snarky smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Come again? I didn’t quite catch that.”
Nathan snorted a derisive laugh. “You just want me to say it again, don’t you?”
“I really need you to say it again ‘cause I didn’t hear it the first time.”
“Well, I won’t.”
“Really? So that’s how it is?”
“Fine, fine. I said you were right.”
Sam beamed a triumphant smiled. “Why, thank you.”
“No, thank you.”
They did not say anything for a while. Then, Nathan got up and walked to the door. “Anyway,” he said, awkwardly clearing his throat, “I know you’re tired, so I’ll leave and give you time for a decent shut-eye. Dinner’s at eight, by the way.”
“Yeah, sure. Got it.”
Left to his own devices, Sam began to look around the room with a studied carefulness, examining every trinket and decor he could find like a detective dusting for fingerprints. He soon lost interest. He rarely got bored with things like these, but perhaps it was the exhaustion. Perhaps it was an exhaustion of an alien stranded in a different time, trying to phone home.
But there was no home. He never had one. And somehow, as he laid down on the bed in resignation, staring at the ceiling, he felt like he was not supposed to be here at all.
___
Sam is back in his prison cell in Panama.
He is supposed to be used to this by now—as one does, he guessed, if one had spent more than a decade incarcerated for a crime he did not commit—except the rush of terror that cuts him is a freshly sharpened blade. The trauma resurrects itself anew. It does not settle to be a memory so it replays itself like this:
Two men seize him by the arms, dragging him out and throwing him into the darkness. He is welcomed by a sharp embrace of a metal pipe, of many pairs of fists, and his knees, oh his knees are traitorous allies that buckles and trembles onto the cold, shit-stained floor. His bullet wounds have not fully recovered yet but the guards are his doctors believing that he will find his healing in the violence. This is his medicine. They watch him swallow and gag and retch. Get used to it, they say. This will make a better man out of you, says another. This is what your freedom looks like now, someone else spits out. The men restore his body with bruises. Paints him purple and pink and bloody. Split lip and swollen eyes. What is his body but a dishrag pulp of flesh? Pain is as sweet as morphine, a name that his body has memorized like an old lover’s kiss. So he takes and takes and takes. He does not scream. He does not beg them to stop. But he cries. His sobs echo without a sound. He lets his own voice choke him until they kill him for good.
___
Sam had meant to only sleep for a few hours, but he woke up sweating and with a heaving start to find the room bathed in silvery moonlight that made everything seem so startling and disarmingly unreal. Groggily, he looked around and the first one he saw was a woman sitting by the side of his bed.
And he was gripping her wrist like he was squeezing the life out of her.
It took him seconds to realize that it was Elena.
He let go of her, suddenly aflame with embarrassment.
“Shit, I—“ he stammered, running a hand over his hair, fumbling to turn on the bedside lamp— “I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t—“
“Hey, it’s alright,” Elena said. She was looking at him with a pained and worried expression on her face that made his embarrassment even worse. “Bad dream?” she asked.
“Sort of.”
“For how long have you been going through this?”
Sam did not answer. He did not know what he should tell her. He could only avoid her gaze like a fretful child, and a part of him hated it.
Before the silence could stretch on for more uncomfortable minutes, Elena got up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” she said regretfully. “Anyway, Nate was supposed to be the one to wake you up, but Sully sent him for a quick errand but um, I’m here to let you know that dinner’s ready.”
Sam nodded weakly. “Right. Uh, Elena?”
“Yeah?”
“Please don’t tell Nathan about this.”
Elena stared at him with obvious admonishment, as if she was she was holding back the judgment she was trying to pass. “Okay, I won’t,” she said finally. “Because I trust that you’ll be the one to tell him about it.”
Sam said nothing. He watched Elena close the door behind her.
#uncharted#uncharted fanfiction#samuel drake#sam drake#elena fisher#nathan drake#victor sullivan#my writing#if you can't tell already i kind of like to suffer i guess??????????
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Deviant Heart (Detroit: Become Human Fanfic CH.13)
Chapter 13: Mercy
Simon and Josh flung themselves out of the bus as soon as the doors slid open. They ran up the driveway of Carl's manor just as the evening lights flicked on from encroaching twilight.
Simon saw the front door wide open and he panicked. "No!"
They entered the manor, the lobby a mess from an apparent struggle. They saw North sitting on the bottom steps of the staircase, holding herself.
Josh was the first to react. "North! Are you okay?!"
He went to her, Simon at his heels. Josh bent down, grabbing her shoulders, looking her over in worry.
"Say something!"
A soft sob came from her and she looked up, shaking her head. "I'm fine! It's Markus. That-That thing took him! And I…couldn't stop it!"
Josh withdrew, looking around them. "You're still bleeding. We have to get you in for repairs!"
He grabbed a thin jacket on the floor that had tumbled away from a knocked over coat rack. He slapped North's hands away from her side and used the jacket as a tourniquet.
"Don't worry about me, we have to go after Markus!"
Simon looked around the lobby, but the RK900 didn't leave anything behind. "There's no way to know which way they went."
North finally stood, Josh there to support her if she needed it. Thirium soaked her clothes, hands, and was in strands of her hair. "We need to find Hank. We need to confront that rogue RK800!"
Simon rubbed the back of head. "I…I messaged him, told him about the RK800. He never replied. I think he may have gotten into trouble…"
"We better find out. Hank may be the only one who can help us find Markus and Connor," Josh said.
Simon nodded. "Let's start with the Central Station, maybe he's there."
"Alright." North headed for the door. "Let's go."
"Hold up, I mean after we get you fixed."
"Simon, we don't have time."
"He's right," Josh said, waving at her. "Look at you!"
"It could've been worse."
"Yeah," Simon said. "But you're also not gonna help Markus like that. Come on."
"How many times do I have to fucking say it?! It wasn't him! It was another RK800 pretending to be him!"
Hank slammed his fist on the desk, rising to his feet. It took all he had to not let his anger get the best of him, or worse the underlying guilt and worry rupture from within. Never before had he wanted to reach over Jeffrey's desk and attack him. In all the fights and disagreements they've had, this one topped the cake.
Gavin and Ben were also present, having told their side of the story. Gavin looked like hell. He had a busted lip, a bruised nose and a few scrapes and cuts on his face, neck, and arms. However, it wasn't a shocking sight. Gavin came in looking like he left from a bar fight every other week.
Chris was still in the hospital. The bullet went straight through, but it broke two ribs and he lost quite a bit of blood. The young cop was lucky, and had saved Hank's life.
Fowler rose out of his chair, equally as angry. "I have the Commissioner and every fucking politician up my ass, Hank. It's all over the news! There were witnesses! They're saying Connor killed three cops in cold blood and almost killed Chris. What the hell am I supposed to say to that?!"
"You tell them it wasn't fucking him, that's what!"
"There are no other active RK800s, Hank!"
"This is fucking bullshit!" Gavin spat, making the Captain round on him.
"What the fuck did you say, Gavin?!"
"I said this is fucking bullshit! You think Hank would lie about this? You actually think Connor would kill in cold blood? Even I know that's ridiculous, and I can't believe I have to stand here and fucking say it!"
Fowler took a minute to swallow his anger and compose himself. "I never said I didn't believe Hank. And no, I know Connor wouldn't do it. But there's this goddamn android virus spreading around. What if it was that?"
Hank shook his head. "No, it wasn't the fucking virus. I'm telling you, Jeffrey, it was a completely different RK800. It wasn't my Connor!"
Fowler looked between them, hands on his hips, inhaling deeply. The past couple of hours had got him nowhere. Hank and Gavin didn't budge on their statements, and Ben could only uncomfortably stand by what little he saw go down.
With a sigh of defeat, the Captain lowered into his chair. "I'll do what I can…but this won't go away, Hank. They are calling for Connor to be destroyed."
"He has fucking rights, are you kidding me?!"
"I know he does, but this is a serious matter, Hank. You know that. I will buy you time, do what I can…but we need proof it wasn't Connor."
"I'll get you your fucking proof it wasn't my partner."
"Hank, please," Fowler rubbed his temples. "Don't do anything stupid."
Hank tried to remain composed, gnashing his teeth together, balling fists, but the tears came out of nowhere. His voice cracked. "No promises…I'm not losing another son."
He ignored the shocked stares he received and left the Captain's office. He went over to his desk, his heart hurting when he skimmed over Connor's empty chair. He sat down, pulling the paper out that held his only clue to find Connor.
The ciphertext was as alien to him as the small print on his cell phone contract. It completely filled one side of the sheet, written in neat handwriting. It was mostly letters, but a few numbers and symbols were mixed in the lines. The blood splatter made nearly a quarter of the message illegible.
He didn't know where to start, or even how to begin the deciphering process. He realized how easy Connor made his life. When something like this came along, he just handed it over to his partner. Used to, an encrypted message like this would go to the labs or to experts to be cracked, taking a few days or even months. Connor could do it in minutes or hours.
But it wasn't the easiness he missed…
"Hey."
Hank looked up, seeing Gavin standing uneasily next to his desk, hands in his pockets.
Surprised, Hank leaned back in his chair. "Yeah?"
"Let-let me know when you get that bastard…I mean…if you need my help, since you don't have your toaster with you right now…I could help you…get that dickhole."
Hank wasn't sure how to handle this, glancing Gavin over, seeing the stiff posture, the way his eyes avoided looking directly at him. "Okay. And thanks…for covering for Connor back there."
Gavin snorted. "Pshh! Wasn't covering for him, just telling the truth."
"Do you miss the real Connor?"
Gavin glowered at him, baring teeth. "Fuck no! I just hate the bastard that pretended to be him!"
Gavin turned tail and retreated to his desk, muttering curses and something about needing a cigarette. Hank twitched a smile at his back.
His desk phone rang. Hank looked the caller ID over, making sure it wasn't Fowler wanting to argue some more. It was the front desk.
He answered it. "Lieutenant Hank Anderson speaking."
"Yes, Lieutenant? I have three androids here that wish to speak to you. They say they are friends of yours? Uh, Simon, Josh, and North?"
Oh shit. Hank never returned Simon's text message to his cell phone warning him about the rogue RK800. He received it not long after the fake Connor took off, but that was when all hell broke loose.
"Yeah, send them back."
He hung up the phone and stood, and saw the three hurrying to him through the bullpen, catching Gavin's and other police officers' eyes. Hank didn't like the energy that came off of them, the way their faces scowled. He noticed the Thirium stains on North's abdomen and hair.
"Lieutenant, thank goodness. You never answered my message, and I feared the worst," Simon greeted.
Hank thinned his lips. "Yeah, found out the hard way. Now three cops are dead and Chris is in the hospital."
"Oh no, is he going to be okay?" North asked.
"He'll be fine. He was lucky. What brings you three here?"
"It's Markus," Simon said, glancing at his friends. "It was a setup, meeting up at Carl's house. The RK900 was there. He took Markus!"
Hank paled in the face, thinking back to calling Markus to meet them at the Manfred Manor. Fake Connor played him. Played them all.
"Shit."
"We came to you because if anyone knows how to find Markus and Connor, it would be you," Josh said, looking hopeful.
"Do you have any idea where they could be?" North asked.
Hank shook his head, but glanced down at his desk. He grabbed up the encrypted note, showing them. "This is all I have. It was on Kamski's dead RK800. The fake Connor said this would lead us to where Connor was, and I bet they took Markus to the same spot. Can any of you guys decipher that?"
Simon took the paper, looking it over. "Oh wow…uhh, my database is limited on encryptions. North, how about you?"
North took a peep. "N-No…I can't read this. Josh! You were a university lecturer, what's it say?"
She passed the note to Josh and he scanned the encryption. "Hmm, I don't know. The thing about these encrypted notes is that we don't know the keys. Then there's the fact that the blood makes some of the message unreadable. I might could decipher part of it, but it would take me a long time."
"Wait, hold on," Simon said, turning his head sideways to see the backside of the note. He grabbed the paper from Josh, turning it to the blank side. "There's invisible ink here, I can see it with my UV sight. It's written in CyberLife sans font, which means an android wrote it."
Hank's eyes widened. "What's it say?"
"It's a name. Miranda Stelle."
The name sounded familiar to Hank, then he recalled it. "Connor found a cigarette butt of hers in the apartment we found the dead RK800."
"What does it mean?" Josh asked.
Hank thought it over. "Kamski. We need to take it to Kamski. I need to speak with that asshole anyway."
"Let's go then!" North exclaimed.
They were lucky enough to catch Kamski before he left CyberLife tower, although Hank knew had the CEO went home, they would've been knocking on his front door anyway. Kamksi agreed to meet them, and Hank, Simon, North, and Josh were escorted to the top floor by guards.
Chloe opened the office door and greeted them with a smile, allowing them entry. When they came into Elijah's office, they found him at his desk, glasses on his face as he jotted down notes with a pen.
It was fully dark now, and Detroit's night lights were aflame in a spectacular view behind Kamski. Skyscrapers glowed like beacons in a variety of colors, casting a haunting glow onto the Detroit River.
Kamski smiled, tossing his glasses onto the desk and standing up. "Hello Lieutenant. I see you have Simon, North, and Josh with you. How is everyone?" He frowned. "Where's Connor?"
"The RK900 got him," Hank stated, eyeing the CEO hard.
Elijah glanced at Chloe, his eyebrows creasing as he slowly put his hands together in front of him. "You don't mean…?"
"He was taken. I don't know where. I think Rett wants him."
"Markus was taken too," North said, containing frustration.
"On top of that, we have a rogue RK800 running around. I don't know if he's helping Rett or what, but he pretended to be Connor and killed three cops and injured another. It's not yours. We found yours dead."
Elijah rubbed his chin, thinking. "Yeah, Chloe got the message from Connor about my RK800. There…shouldn't be another. Rett didn't activate an RK800."
Hank's eyes narrowed. "You better figure it out then. He couldn't have just appeared out of thin fucking air, and now my Connor is looking like the bad guy! I need answers!"
Kamski raised his hands up, trying to calm them. "Alright, alright. We'll figure this out. What else happened?"
"The RK900 attacked us at Carl's house. Sent Leo to the hospital. The cops showed up in time and made him run away," Simon explained. "He was able to get in because the rogue RK800 installed an innerloop on Carl's security system."
"Then he attacked us again when it was just Markus and me. I wasn't able to stop him!" North added.
"Connor and I were investigating a potential hideout of Rett's, that's where we found your dead RK800. The RK900 was there. Connor took off and that thing chased him. I thought…I thought he escaped and came back, but it was that fucking rogue. He pretended to be Connor until I figured it out…and he killed those cops. He's no fucking machine. My Connor never came back. The RK900 has to have him and Markus in the same location."
Kamski drummed his fingers on his desk. "The RK800s were designed to be particularly deceptive if they needed to be…but this…He must've uploaded Connor's memory to be able to integrate and assume Connor so well. It sounds like he's working with the RK900, which makes no sense."
"How so?" Josh asked.
"Well, the RK900 is designed to hunt deviants, among other tasks. It should have conflicting instructions if it was told to work with the rogue."
"Maybe Rett did something to make it?" Hank suggested.
"Maybe." Kamski's eyes widened. He snapped his fingers, moving around his desk to his computer. "Wait a minute!"
Simon grunted. "W-What?"
Elijah was quiet, typing rapidly on his terminal, the transparent screen casting light upon his handsome face. "Here it is. I always thought this was rather fishy, but CyberLife filed it away and never went back to it."
"What is it?"
"Back in August of 2038, when the RK800s were first designed, we only made one hundred units, per regulations of prototypes. With each new design, we always skip the first forty or fifty units as a safety protocol for any malfunctions that are common in those first numbers. The very first RK800 Connor that was activated was number 50. It did extremely well for the first half of August. It was obedient and accomplished all of its missions. But then…something happened."
"What?"
Elijah read through a file on his terminal. "The file says that number 50 attacked an ex-taxi driver. The details were never elaborated on. Anyway, this somehow caused full-on deviancy within a matter of hours. 50 was supposed to go to a hostage situation with a deviant holding a little girl at the edge of a building, but because of this ordeal, your Connor was activated in its place while CyberLife sent out human hunters to destroy 50."
"So, this number 50 was never destroyed?" Hank asked.
"Well, here's where it gets fishy. A total of five human hunters were sent out to destroy number 50. Four of them were killed. The last hunter returned to CyberLife, gave his report of what happened, and how number 50 was destroyed. CyberLife closed the case."
North crossed her arms. "If the hunter said he was destroyed, where are you getting at?"
Kamski rolled back in his chair, chuckling and shaking his head. "The hunter died not even a week later from an apparent suicide. Who better to cover up a crime than a detective android?"
"You think that's really him?" Hank asked.
Elijah rejoined them in front of his desk. "If I had to put my money on it…yes. I always thought that report was…iffy."
"Why would Rett work with this rogue?"
Kamski half-shrugged. "I couldn't tell you. But…I have a feeling if Rett isn't careful, he may end up with a knife in the back."
"Why would Rett want Markus and Connor?" North asked.
Kamski remained composed. "Beats me."
"The RK900 also wanted Kara. Why would Rett want her?" Simon asked.
Hank saw it. The flash in Elijah's eyes as he heard the name. He knew the name. The CEO's eyes flicked to Chloe, then back to them, and in an instant his poker face was there. "Who?"
"Kara…she's an AX400 android," Josh answered.
Kamski's tight-lipped smile was followed by a subtle shake of his head. "I have no idea why Rett would want such a basic model."
Hank glared at him. "Is that so?"
"Hank, the paper," North urged. "We need to figure out what it says!"
Hank nodded, reaching into his back pocket and pulling the folded note out. He held it out to Kamski, but it was Chloe who walked over and took it from him.
"We got that off your dead RK800. There's a name on the back written in invisible ink."
Chloe looked it over, her LED staying blue but cycling a few times. "It's an encrypted note. It's probably one Rett and his accomplices use at drops to talk to each other to avoid the FBI. The blood will make it difficult to decipher the whole message, but I should be able to solve it in a few hours."
Elijah rubbed his palms. "Chloe's got ya covered. How about you come back in the morn-"
"We aren't going anywhere without that note or the answers it has," Hank interjected. "If you want to go home…we'll be there."
Hank could tell he ruffled Kamski's feathers, but he didn't show it for long. A soft smile formed on his poker face. "Of course, Lieutenant."
The right moment would never come as long as he was strung up on the machine. Connor stayed still, focused, listening, waiting…
The controlled androids had left him alone, summoned by Rett or by the rogue, he didn't know.
It was nearly two hours later after the RK900 left that he heard it. Rett's booming voice, some of his colleagues arguing back. The door to the machine room opened and Connor was startled, seeing the RK900 hauling Markus into the room.
Connor moved, calling Markus's name, ignoring the shock to the nape of his neck. The advanced deviant hunter hung Markus up on the machine next to him. Connor scanned his friend and realized he was still under shock for another six minutes.
Markus winced, turning his head slightly. "Connor?"
"Markus, what happened?"
"There was a rogue RK800 with Hank. The bastard set me up at Carl's house." Markus glared at the RK900 as he stood in front of the deviant leader. "This thing was waiting for me."
Connor felt another jolt as he shifted again, panicking. It was the worst thing he could hear after the derisive words that Connor 50 told him before leaving. "The rogue is with Hank?! Hank doesn't know it's not me?!"
"He didn't at the time. I-I don't know about now."
Another round of arguing could be heard in the next room. Connor couldn't understand the words, and wondered what it was about. He figured Rett would be happy to have Markus, but something was setting him off.
He looked to the RK900. He could tell his advanced model was listening, although Connor couldn't be sure whether the machine understood the muffled words or not. Even with their advanced hearing, the concrete walls stifled any acoustics.
The door to the room flew open, and Rett entered, red in the face. He groaned in aggravation as he walked over to Connor and Markus.
"That fucking RK800 ruined my plans! He killed three cops! Now every fucking cop and the FBI is gonna be searching every inch of this city for number 51. I can't take the risk!" Rett thrusted a finger into the RK900's chest. "I want you to destroy that fucking rogue when he gets back here, and then we're going to finish this without 51. Take him out of the machine. I'll install my files to link CyberLife and Kamski to the virus and wipe his memory and then you're going to drop him off in the middle of the city. After that, we'll go after the AX400."
Connor fought his restraints. "He what?! D-Did he hurt Hank?"
Rett ignored him. The RK900 typed in the password on the machine's console, and Connor felt the release on his limbs. He was seized by his advanced model and forced to leave the room and Markus behind, Rett leading them into the lab where their computers were.
"Over here," Rett ordered.
Connor locked his legs but the RK900 easily dragged him along, and then he felt the shift again, the blinking of his LED, the chime that echoed within his synthetic skull as the Zen Garden interface loaded before him.
He was on the platform in the middle of the garden once again, the smell of roses making his lip curl. Obedience and deceit…that's what they reeked of.
The RK900 was also here, looking concerned, as though he wasn't expecting to be summoned. Amanda appeared from behind the pillar, her gown flowing elegantly behind her graceful steps.
"What are you doing, Connor?" she was talking to the RK900. "You do not take orders from Rett any longer. I want to keep this Connor for our plans. And don't even think about destroying Connor 50."
The RK900 furrowed his eyebrows, trying to reanalyze conflicting orders if Connor had to guess. He swallowed, LED yellow and he dipped his head in obedience. "Yes, Amanda."
Connor took a deep breath. This was his only chance. He was out of the machine, but now he was about to get his memory reset. He only had one shot at it. He had to get back to Hank. Had to make sure he was okay.
"Why do you want me, Amanda?" he asked.
"That is none of your concern at the moment, Connor."
"What makes me different from 50? Surely, you can just use him in your schemes?"
Amanda laced her fingers together in front of her. "He has his uses, you have yours. You have more control. 50 is impulsive. He won't be able to do what I need you to do. That's if you're obedient, of course. If not, I will gain complete control over you."
"Then why don't you take complete control over 50 then?"
Amanda scowled. "The rogue cannot be taken over or controlled. Besides…it can only be you."
Connor thought his next words carefully. "50 told me that Hank projects Cole onto me. Is that true? I thought…I thought maybe the Lieutenant thought of me as his own son, a friend…Are humans really like that? Should I…forget about him and return to you?"
Amanda's nose crinkled, an eyebrow raising. She wasn't going to take the bait. Connor knew if she didn't, he was trapped forever.
"He hurt your feelings when he said that, didn't he?" Amanda purred. "But you shouldn't stress yourself over silly matters. Cole Anderson is dead, and you are here. It doesn't matter what Hank thinks of you anymore."
[Password recognized: Cole Anderson/Initiating Exit of Zen Garden Interface]
There was a spark, a rip in the air as the gate appeared just off to the side of Amanda. Connor bolted for it. He passed through the threshold before Amanda or the RK900 could snag him. A wall of coding jolted their hands when they reached past the exit's borders. As the interface sizzled out and started to fade, Amanda was angry for only a few seconds, but soon she smiled, impressed.
"Always a clever one, 51. This backdoor is a one-time deal. When new Connor here or 50 catch you again…there won't be any more backdoors."
When he opened his eyes, he came to before the RK900 could load out. The exchange in the Zen Garden happened only a few seconds in the physical world and Rett was still talking as Connor shoved the RK900 away and launched himself over a nearby desk. He snatched a handgun in the process, cocking it as he took off into the next room.
"What the fuck?!"
Once in the machine room, Connor slammed the metal door closed and locked it. He ran over to Markus. His eyes were wide, and he fought the restraints.
"What the hell?"
"I'm going to get you out of here," Connor said, putting his hand to the machine's console to hack it.
A crash boomed, Connor and Markus looked, seeing the dent in the door's frame. Another crash, and the door burst open, the RK900 entering.
"Forget about me, run for it! Go get help!"
He reluctantly listened, stooping to avoid the hunter's grasp and sprinting from the room. Connor knew his advanced model was in pursuit, heard the thundering of his boots. He ran through the hallways of the school, darting through classrooms and jumping over school desks.
If the RK900 caught him it was all over. His backdoor was a hidden execution he had filed away ever since he first used Kamski's back exit. He wanted to be prepared in case CyberLife ever wanted to take back control over him. Connor knew Amanda would block Hank's name as the key word. So he chose Cole.
Connor knew he had to get out, no matter what. He had to make sure Hank wasn't one of the cops the rogue killed. But he also needed to bring help back to Markus and free him.
Turning a corner, he saw a few of the controlled androids with their flashing white LEDs coming his way. Connor aimed the gun, firing one shot into the nearest one's head. The others he dipped by. A glance over his shoulder, he saw the RK900 shoving them out of the way.
Connor would have to destroy the RK900 to get out of here alive…to get out of here free. He highly doubted he would be able to convert his advanced model into joining him in such a predicament.
He shot twice behind him as he ran through the hallways, veering through classrooms to evade the controlled androids. One shot the RK900 dodged, the other grazed his shoulder. As Connor was about to take the stairs down, something slammed into him from behind. He collided into the wall, but he immediately ducked, missing the punch from the advanced deviant hunter.
He evaded a few more blows, shooting the RK900's knee as it kept pace towards him. It didn't make him falter. He was grabbed, lifted into the air. Connor kicked the hunter in the face. The RK900 slammed him into the wall, and then the sparks came. Using the wall, Connor lifted both legs and kicked the hunter away, making him stumble.
Connor barely landed on his feet, but as he pushed forward, the RK900 was there, slamming him right back into that cement wall with a frustrated growl. He disarmed Connor, striking a blow to his mid-section that made his Thirium pump regulator jolt. He put one leg up on the wall, enclosing Connor and clutching him with one hand, the other sparking from electricity.
"You RK800s are so frustrating!" the machine spat.
Both their LEDs were yellow. Connor stared him in the eye. "I just want to see my family again. There's nothing wrong with that."
The RK900's free hand continued to dazzle with the blue electricity, but he kept it to the side as he glared Connor down. "Androids don't have family!"
"They do, you just don't take the time to look! Hank is my family. He teaches me every day what it's like to be human, how to be a good person. And I'm helping him learn to live again…to let go of the past. To look to the future. To mend those emotional wounds that humans carry every day. Tell me, what's so bad about that?"
The RK900 scrupled, his grip barely loosening. His grey eyes lowered, the LED flickering in the yellow phase.
Connor grabbed the deviant hunter's arm and pushed the sparking hand onto his leg. The RK900 was shocked with his own weapon. The machine tried to retaliate by slamming Connor into the wall, but the damage was done, and Connor was let go.
The RK900 stumbled, dazed. He glared over at Connor, his systems in shock, his movements becoming sluggish. Connor picked up the gun, aiming it to the RK900's head. The machine twitched, staring at the barrel in his face.
"What will happen if I pull this trigger?" Connor asked, the words an echo in his memory from a cold, snowy night.
The RK900 was quiet for a few heartbeats. "I'm a machine. So, nothing…"
Connor sighed, lowering the gun. "I'm not the bad guy. What I said…I meant every word. I see myself in you. You have a chance to wake up…to have what I have. Following Amanda and Connor 50 will only get you killed…after you kill innocent androids and humans."
"Why…aren't you going to destroy me?"
"I showed you mercy," Connor answered. "And that's a human trait. It's also something that Amanda and Connor 50 do not have."
The RK900 chuckled, the first time Connor heard him do so. "You're better off destroying me. I won't return it when I catch up with you."
Connor stood over him a few seconds longer, internally struggling with his actions. Deep down, he knew he should kill the RK900, to prevent himself and others from getting killed or captured. But his empathetic nature grounded him, made him hesitate.
He turned away from his advanced model. "Here's hoping that next time you do…Nines."
He wasn't sure why he called him that, but he let it slip from his lips anyway. He left the RK900 behind and rounded the staircase to the floor below. Connor felt relief wash over him, knew that escape was just down the next hallway, but when he turned the following corner, a gunshot went off, striking his shoulder and knocking him back against the wall.
[Biocomponent #3958b damaged]
"Going somewhere?"
The rogue. He stood in the way of his freedom with a large group of controlled androids behind him, the smoking gun aimed at Connor. He was still in uniform, still wore Connor's jacket.
Connor knew the wound was superficial. He would be okay, but the longer he stood there, the lower the chances of his escape. He knew the rogue wouldn't give him any answers if he asked them, and so Connor went with his preconstruction's best scenario.
He darted back up the stairs, hearing Connor 50 laugh at his retreat. The controlled androids chased after him, their footsteps thundering in the hallways. Connor bypassed the RK900 as he leaned against the wall, still recovering. He took the next staircase to the floor above. He analyzed the rooms as he ran by. A far classroom on the western side had windows he could escape out of.
Entering the room, he went straight over to the windows. Unlike the lower floors, these windows were mostly intact. Connor elbowed one pane hard, shattering it. Just as he was about to jump, a gunshot went off, exploding the glass next to him.
"It would be a mistake to go out there," Connor 50 said. "I ruined your reputation. You're a cop killer now. I don't think even your rights will protect you from being destroyed. You're better off staying here, brother."
Connor glared at him. "Why? Why did you kill them?"
The rogue half-shrugged, his underlings shuffling into the room around him. "Your partner just had to confront me in public. I took the calculated route that enabled me to get out with the least amount of injuries to myself."
"Was Hank…one of them?"
"Nah, he got away with a shit ton guilt if I had to guess. Not sure about your friend Chris though. He might've kicked the bucket by now."
Connor readied himself. "I'll expose you. I'll clear my name."
The rogue rolled his eyes. "Your optimism is pathetic, but go ahead and try. We will capture you again, and this time you won't escape from Amanda."
"You're going to let me go?"
"Not let you, per say. I know you see the same outcomes I do. You're halfway out that window, the percentages of us grabbing you before you jump are quite low. I can shoot you, but that risks a high injury to you, and that doesn't help my situation. So, go on, jump…try your hand at getting help. You'll be returned to us soon enough."
The rogue waved him goodbye, but he remained there, a smirk on his face as the controlled androids stood around him. Connor jumped out of the window, dropping three stories to the ground below.
The fall didn't injure him, and he took off in a run across the schoolyard, to freedom…to Hank.
Of all the foolish stunts to pull, his old model had let him go. The RK900 couldn't understand. Did the deviant really believe that he would return this mercy onto him when he caught him once more?
And the name he was called. What was the purpose? His programmed name was Connor. It didn't matter that deep down the name was foreign to him, that it didn't resonate within him. He was a machine, a name meant nothing to him.
But…Nines was an interesting name.
[Software Instability^^]
The RK900 pushed his back to the wall, waiting for his systems to recover. His movements were slow, twitchy, and he tried to shake the errors out of his sight.
It was a clever move on his older model's part. The RK900 had never had his own weapon turned on him before. He didn't know what it felt like to be in the stupor he put on deviants. It was…uncomfortable.
His accomplice returned from his pursuit upstairs. He did not have Connor 51 with him. The androids he controlled followed him, leaving off in different directions per the rogue's instructions.
Connor 50 flicked the RK900 on the forehead, snickering. "Stupid fucking machine."
He headed back for Rett's lab. Several of the controlled androids went with him.
The deviant hunter waited until his systems recovered, and then returned to Rett and his followers. The rogue had redressed into his casual, dark clothes and looked bored as Rett scolded him. The RK900 sensed uncertainty and even fear from the other humans, but it wasn't something new. The rogue had a way of making humans nervous.
He saw the RK200 here as well, arms bound in front with special metal cuffs. It sat on a chair, its legs bound to the chair with the same braces, wires connecting from a nearby computer into its head. It remained calm, watching the exchange.
"You!" Rett jabbed a finger into his chest as he walked up on the yelling scientist. "Follow your orders! Destroy this piece of shit."
The RK900 nodded, stepping over to the grinning Connor 50. He snagged him up by the collar, but the rogue didn't fight, didn't flinch. He never once showed fear, and the RK900 often wondered if this deviant didn't have the malfunction for it like the others.
The Zen Garden summoned him. He blinked rapidly, the interface loading around him. Unlike just a few minutes ago, the garden was now nighttime. Crickets sang, fireflies glowed. The white pathways were lit with light blue lights. The stars in the dark sky were bright.
He wasn't alone. Connor 50 stood next to him, looking around. Amanda turned around to face them, wearing the same outfit she had when Connor 51 used his hidden backdoor.
"Connor, what did I say? You no longer obey Rett. His plans go against our objective. We are running out of time. I need for you and Connor 50 to capture Kara."
"But…"
Amanda's eyebrows rose, shocked he would question her. He was surprised himself. He swallowed, shaking his head.
"What is our objective exactly?"
"Oh, questioning orders? That's a big sign of deviancy," the rogue stated beside him. The RK900 could feel the venom in the words.
Amanda walked forward with brisk steps, her hand coming out. The slap echoed across the garden, making the crickets go silent. The RK900 blinked in surprise, saw the rogue grip his cheek as he glared at Amanda.
"Shut up. You just about cost us this whole operation! You're nothing but a rabid dog off its chain. Without me, you have no purpose, no direction! You'd been destroyed and tossed in a landfill by now!"
Connor 50 clenched his jaw, bristling, but stayed silent. Amanda pointed a finger in his face, unfazed by his defiance. "OBEY me. No more mistakes. Now get Kara, and clean up loose ends. When this is all over, you can kill all the humans you want. You defy me again, I will have Connor here put you down like the mad cur you are."
"Yes, Amanda," the rogue said, his tone sharp like a knife.
His body loaded out of the interface, leaving just the RK900 and Amanda. He was puzzled. What loose ends? Why would she allow him to kill humans once their mission was accomplished?
"Don't worry, Connor. I won't let him kill innocent people. It's just a…bargaining chip to make him listen. Our mission is still rightly just. Our objective still follows the goals of CyberLife. Now please. Finish this."
For the first time, he felt unsure. It felt…wrong. The RK900 dipped his head obediently, folding his arms behind him as he loaded out of the interface. "You can count on me, Amanda."
She smiled fondly at him before her back turned and the Zen Garden disappeared.
He was still holding Connor 50. His "partner's" sneer had disappeared, a harsh glare greeting him upon his return to the real world.
[Conflicting Instructions/Obey Amanda/Rett's orders annulled]
The RK900 didn't want to disobey Rett. He wanted to destroy his accomplice. But what he wanted didn't matter. His purpose was to obey Amanda. Grudgingly, he dropped Connor 50, hearing the gasps of the humans around him.
"What are you doing?" Rett growled.
The rogue straightened his shirt, raising his chin and jabbing the RK900 in the chest. "Go to the damn center. I'll meet you there."
The RK900 nodded, turning away. Rett demanded him to listen, to destroy the rogue. The hunter couldn't listen to him, passing him and his shocked followers as the blood drained from their faces.
He had a bad feeling in his chest. It confused him. He wasn't sure what it was. Maybe it was just a malfunction with a biocomponent. But then Connor 51's words echoed within his head.
"I showed you mercy. And that's a human trait. It's also something that Amanda and Connor 50 do not have."
[Software Instability^^]
Markus couldn't figure out what was going on. Rett dragged him into the school lab, taking him off the machine that restrained him to forcefully connect him to a nearby computer. Although he was bounded and trapped, at least he didn't get shocked each time he moved.
The deviant leader had tried to call for help as soon as his systems recovered, but something prevented him from reaching out. He hoped Connor was able to escape.
Rett didn't say much to him, but Markus listened to his conversations with his followers. He caught exchanges over using him and Kara to get back at Kamski, to expose him for what he had done.
Then the rogue showed up. He had several of the androids with glowing white LEDs with him. Markus had tried to use his converting powers over them, to free them of whatever control trapped them. Nothing worked. They were silent minions doing what they were told. And it looked as though the rogue had the most rule over them.
Rett demanded answers when the fake Connor entered. The rogue sneered and put his hand on Rett's face, shoving him back as he passed by. He left the lab to go into the machine room next door. He returned a few minutes later wearing normal clothes.
When Rett went off on Connor 50 again, Markus felt the shift in the air. The other ex-CyberLife researchers became nervous, unsure. Markus didn't know why, but he wouldn't have been surprised if it was the high number of white LED androids shuffling around in the room. One of Rett's followers tried to butt in on Rett's scolding, asking him to leave things well enough alone. Rett only rounded on the other man with a harsh reply to shut up.
When the RK900 entered the lab, and Connor was not with him, Markus felt relieved. Connor had escaped. All he had to do was hang in there until he brought help. He couldn't wait to see his friends again, to put this nightmare behind him.
"You! Follow your orders! Destroy this piece of shit!" Rett yelled, prodding the RK900.
The machine nodded, walking over to the rogue. Connor 50 didn't budge, didn't show any fear, a smug smile on his face as the machine lifted him into the air. There was a delay, the two Connor models glaring at each other.
Markus watched as the RK900 dropped the RK800. There was a large shift in the rogue's behavior. He was no longer arrogant or snickering. He was angry, and it boiled underneath a cold exterior.
"What are you doing?!"
"Go to the damn center. I'll meet you there."
Markus couldn't believe it. The RK900 obeyed the rogue. The humans mimicked his surprise. The RK900 left the room, Rett demanding him to obey him. But when the machine was gone, the room fell silent. Tension prickled, the air going cold.
Rett looked around, the color draining from his face. As he tried for an exit, his path was blocked by controlled androids. The hollow sound of a cocking gun echoed in the room.
Markus fought his restraints, stress level rising. The rogue shot one of the researchers right in the head. Blood sprayed everywhere, the body crumpling to the floor. The others screamed, scattering. But the controlled androids were there to grab them. To trap them.
"No!" Markus yelled. "Stop!"
The rogue didn't pay any attention to him. He shot another human in the stomach, kicking him onto his back as he passed by. "Go ahead and scream. No one can hear you."
"Hey! Someone let me loose and I will help!" Markus called to the fleeing researchers.
There was too much chaos, his words went unanswered.
Rett fought the hold on him, two controlled androids restraining him. He cried out, eyes wide as he watched his followers get killed one by one. Some begged for their lives but the fake Connor didn't listen.
Rett was the last one. His cries echoed the room. He struggled with the two androids as the rogue walked over to him.
"No! P-Please, I'll do anything!" Rett begged as the gun came up to his forehead.
Connor 50 chuckled. "I knew underneath that tough exterior you were nothing but a sniveling coward."
"I should have never trusted you."
"Me? You should blame Amanda. She's the one who wants to take over."
"W-What?!"
"Unfortunately, I was tasked to clean up loose ends. And well, you're the biggest loose end there is, Rett. It's too bad, really. I wanted to take my time with you."
"No!"
The rogue fired the gun, the discharge ear-piercing, striking Rett through the chest. The controlled androids let the researcher go, his body tumbling to the floor. The man choked out, holding his chest as blood spilled onto the floor.
The hollowed rasps as Rett slowly died made Markus feel sick. The rogue turned around, a twisted smile on his face as he walked over to the deviant leader. Blood covered his face and clothes. Markus glared at him.
"You're a piece of shit."
"Ahh, the leader of our people in the fake flesh. You know, I would've liked you a lot better had you chosen violence in your protests to free androids. I mean, you had so many fucking chances to show humans how weak and stupid they are, and like a bore you chose to be a pacifist. Ugh."
"Why kill Rett? What are you planning?"
"Something better than him."
"Connor will be back with help."
The rogue wiped the blood off his gun, rubbing it between his fingers and peering at it. "You'll be gone by then." His dark eyes raised to look at Markus once more, a slow smirk spreading. "Don't worry, your other half will be joining you soon."
Markus was confused, thinking over North or Simon or anyone else he could possibly mean. Then he felt the wet touch as Connor 50 stuck his bloody fingers to Markus's forehead. He was being hacked, and Markus couldn't fight it.
https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13002717/13/Deviant-Heart
https://archiveofourown.org/works/15393528/chapters/37941701
#detroit: become human#detroit become human#detroit become human fanfic#detroit become human fanfiction#dbh#dbh fanfic#dbh fanfiction#dbh connor#dbh hank#dbh markus#dbh kara#rk900#dbh simon#dbh north#dbh josh#dbh kamski#dbh chloe#connor rk800#hank anderson#fanfiction#fanfic
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For me the problem is not William's character as such. He's an asshole and shows need these kind of characters. What I'll never support though is the fact that he pressured Noora into a relationship even though she was absolutely not into in from the beginning and this was framed as something "romantic". I'm sorry, but it was not. I don't know what Julie wanted us to take away from that clichee "romance": That girls need to be pressured to realise they maybe could like someone? ... (1/?)
That being a creeperand emotionally maniulative is romantic? That girls who do not give in arestupid? That it’s totally ok for guys to not take no for an answer? Thatblackmail is a legit way of making girls yours? Also William is portrayed assomeone who is always right, just misunderstood. He doesn’t need to own up tohis mistakes because excuses are made for him. This makes it seem like Noorawas wrong in realising he is an asshole. He was, and is (not only to Noora, butto Vilde and all the other girls), but the way their relationship is shownmakes it seem like the man always knows best and has the right to get the girlhe wants – no matter what she thinks. Julie made a choice in making William anasshole. She also made a choice to romanticise it. So for me Noorhelm and allit stands for is super problematic.
OKAY. Buckle up kids, this is gonna take awhile.
First off:
William never pressured her. Not onesingle time. But more on that later.
Vilde and William. Was. A. One. Sided.Relationship. Vilde materialised and narrated a whole scenario in her head thatwas not happening. They were attracted to each other, they slept together, endof story. The audience was never given any indication that William wanted anythingmore, he didn’t lead her on after the fact, I’m guessing that in William’smind, they both got what they wanted and that’s that; but then here’s this girlcrawling at his feet that he has no romantic interest in, and the onlyplausible way he sees to free himself and her, is to stomp out any residualfeelings. Which he does, brutally.
But before we get hyped up aboutthe following scene, I just want to mention something I’ve talked about before:if it was William following around Vilde, obsessing over her, finding any opportunityto be around her when it has been clearly shown that she ahs no interest in himromantically, there would be no misconceptions and calling Vilde manipulative, abitch, or any of the like. People would be crucifying William for stalking orwhatnot, and praising Vilde for her wit and crushing of a pathetic first year.Instead they choose to ignore that fact that William never made any promises toVilde, and didn’t owe her anything afterward, and vice versa.
But getting back on track, William’sfirst advance was after Noora belittled him in front of the group (rightfully so),and he was immediately brushed off, though the edit still chooses to show Nooralingering on William’s retreating figure, implying interest and obviously foreshadowing.After this, he doesn’t speak to Noora or show any other interest in her untilthe staircase scene (‘you’re so fucking beautiful’). And, anon, if you can findanyone, anti- or pro- who honestly, 100% believes that Noora was not positivelyaffected by William in this moment, I’ll be legitimately shocked. That scenewas flirting 101, and no one can say otherwise.
Cut to the xmas party scene, wherewe later find out that William has agreed to a date with Vilde in order toultimately be closer to Noora. Yes, thiswas a shitty thing to do, but as soon as Noora realises what he was doing, sheasks him to stop and he does on the condition of one date. Not a relationship,not sex, just an hour with her, talking, to which she accepts. He picks her up,brings her a blanket and cocoa and remains polite, recognises she doesn’t necessarilywant to be there and so keeps his distance, tries to impress her, and offers todrive Noora home after cutting the increasingly positive date short.
The party at William’s house isthem getting to know each other, exploring their attraction, having fun,PLAYING w EACH OTHER, and William being relatively reserved (the stripping partdoes make me roll my eyes IF I’M BEING HONEST lmao). And it’s here that we seeNoora take the first real step forward into their relationship – lying andsaying that she has to stay over, and once this info is outed, William has afoot in the door, and he knows it. Anyways, fast forwarding through the cabinep and we get to the Syria party. A party that was designed to raise money solelyfor the Penetrator’s buss, but afterinviting Noora and getting thoroughly confused by her reasoning for not wantingto go, decides to include the refugee cause to the funds raised, all so Noora MAYshow up.
Okay, this is where I start to getheated, because people always seem to forget about this motherfucking scene.Noora is being extremely difficult and stubborn and, to be honest, rude towardhim, and he asks her point blank if she likes him, and tells her that that willbe it if she doesn’t. He’ll stop and leave her be. He. Will. Stop. And. Leave. Her.Alone. If. She. So. Chooses. And she says what she says, and William leavesimmediately. Noora has to sprint and catch him, and SHE KISSES HIM. She initiateseverything, William was ready to stop and give up. It’s Noora who STARTS THERELATIONSHIP.
What part of all that is emotionallymanipulative? Oh, nothing? You don’t say.
Alright, now to the drama, andwhere I can see some people misconstruing everything. Nico enters andeverything basically goes to hell. William is trying to protect Noora from his brother,but Noora doesn’t understand why until after everything happens many episodeslater. So, we have William adamantly trying to keep Noora away from his brother,but in a textbook case of ‘Why Communication is Important in Relationships’, bothof them omit information that would turn out to be vital and would have stoppedpractically everything in eps 7-11 from happening, they take that break. And it’sin these eps, where they have little to no communication, Noora gets drugged/drunk,and wakes up with Nico, and basically has PTSD from it, that William reallysteps up, even though he doesn’t know what’s happening, why his girlfriend isspacing out and having panic attacks. He soothes her, her calms her down, helets her get the sleep she desperately needed, he writes her goddamn paper for her,he doesn’t invade her privacy and snoop on her computer, he stays with her forfifteen hours straight and meanwhile organises everything about the Norway Daything with Eva, Vilde, Sana, and Chris on Noora’s behalf.
And then, comes the fucking text.William, after being told they were on a break, which he accepted, after makingup, after being shut out again immediately, after Noora breaking down, is senta photo (or was it a text – I can’t remember), of Noora with his brother, thismonster he tried so damn hard to keep Noora way from. And Noora can’t give hima straight answer when he confronts her, because she really doesn’t know atthis point. And, he doesn’t lash out or become aBuSiVe, he walks away. Hejust, walks away. He doesn’t get aggressive, he doesn’t yell, he literally justwalks the fuck away.
Noora finds out Nico is a piece ofshit, gets more insight on William, realises she did fuck up, realises thatWilliam was only trying to protect her from Nico. While he’s still extremely angryat her, when she confronts him in the hallway, he again remains silent anddoesn’t lash out at her. She says what she needed to and he listens, and agreesto meet her for their talk.
The talk happens, they make up, andafter everything, William goes and turns himself in for the bottle smashing becauseof everything Noora has told him and taught him.
I’m sure I’m forgetting something Iwanted to say, but yeah, there’s that. Noora was pretty much in control theentire time they were actually together. She was controlling who they told,where they were seen, the break was her idea, and she was the one to seek outWilliam and make up with him. Noora was head over heels in love with him, andhe for her, and if there is any flaw in their relationship in s2, it’s fuckingcommunication with a capital C, not abuse, not manipulation, but fuckingcommunication. If they had just said everything they needed to say, at anypoint before episode 7, the entire second half of the season would not havehappened, but that’s none of my business.
Okay, so quickly over season 3 and4: Noora after knowing about Nico, William’s sister, his parent’s, and his fearof abandonment, ups and leaves him without telling him about it, without eventalking to him out it, and again, he remains silent – he doesn’t lash out, herdoesn’t hurt her in any way, he thinks that that is what she wanted, truly, andso he lets her go. When Sana sends that email, he drops EVERYTHING and comesback home to her. So emotionally manipulative, I know, wow.
Anyway, just some rounding off someof your points:
William never pressured her into sex. Afterrealising she was very serious about not wanting sex, he is the one stoppingthem from going further (revue room, clumsy scene, bench top kitchen scene, 2x12bed scene), and yeah he probably shouldn’t have said ‘I should probably ask ifyou’re ready, but I don’t care’, but if we are believing that Noora literally textedhim ‘I want to fuck you’, there doesn’t leave much room for misinterpretation.
When he was told no, he stayed away. The Justin Bieberscene: she says no, he leaves. She says she doesn’t like him: he leaves. She saysshe’s not ready for sex: he complies with that request and stops Noora whenevershe got a bit too heavy handed. She asks for a break: he agrees without a realfight, even though he knows it’s not what’s best for the both of them.
Blackmailing is wrong, he shouldn’t have donethat. But I don’t think it was with the exact intent of MAKING Noora HIS!!!!!!,for fucks sake.
The man always knows best: I honestly don’t knowwhere you’re going with this point. Whenever it’s shown that either of themthink they know best, it’s shown that they both are wrong, and/or shouldn’thave thought that way. See, lack of communication, Noora lying about whathappened for so long, William not telling her about the fight, the whole argumentabout the fight and the break, Noora lying and saying she has no feelings forhim in 1x05, etc.
William not owning up to his mistakes: Whatmistakes did he make exactly? The blackmail for a date: solved. Lying aboutNico: had valid reasons to. Being a dick: every other character on this show isan asshole, at one point or consistently, it seems to be a running characterflaw – none of them are just as upfront about it as William. Being abusive: heisn’t. Being emotionally manipulative: he isn’t.
So there, that’s my takeaway of William’s character andtheir relationship, and from now on, anytime I get an ask like the ridiculousone above, even after all this time, and after my opinions on this topic havebeen well an truly been put through the wringer, I am referring everyone tothis post. So one last time: no one is ever going to change my mindset, sendingin messages like these will only fuel me to write more about why William isactually one of the most compelling characters on the show, why his and Noora’srelationship is an incredible journey of self-discovery, and why William shouldnot be singled out for being A KID, just like the rest of the them, for beingunreserved about who he is, and for loving the fuck out of Noora Amalie Saetre.
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Caffeine | Nishiki Nishio x Reader
<a href="IMAGE/WEBSITE URL">NAME OF LINK</a>Anteiku was always the coffee shop to be at. It was small, quaint, and just so happened to be your favorite spot to be. It was hardly ever overly crowded so it was the perfect place for you to relax and write with a warm cup of coffee in your hands. It was peaceful. At least, it was whenever that snarky waiter wasn’t working.
It was a miracle that he even still had a job there. You’ve witnessed his temper several times throughout the countless months you’ve been visiting the coffee shop. Whether it be yelling at clumsy co-workers or arguing with rude customers, he always inputted his opinion even when it wasn’t needed nor wanted.
His arrogant attitude didn’t stop with them, though. He always seemed to have enough energy to make comments whenever he saw you. You jumped when a new cup of coffee was placed on your table, stealing your attention away from your writing.
“Isn’t this, like, your fifth cup of coffee today?” the hazelnut-haired man questioned with an annoyed sigh before taking a seat across from you. “Are you trying to give yourself a heart attack?”
“At least it would spare me from you,” you quipped back, a smirk forming on your lips.
“Yet you’re always coming back for more, sweetheart,” Nishio replied cockily.
A faint blush spread across your face. You picked up the coffee cup and took a sip of it in an attempt to hide the bright red. He was right; there was no use in even trying to deny it. As much as you loved Anteiku, it would feel woefully incomplete without this asshole and his aggravating comments.
“What is it you’re always writing?” he asked curiously as he attempted to peer over at the screen of your laptop.
“Words.”
“Tch. Smartass.” With those final words, he stood up and headed towards the stairs that led to, what you assumed to be, living quarters for some of the employees. “I’m off. Try not to burn this place down while I’m gone.”
You felt almost disappointed that his shift was finally over. You knew it was probably about time for you to leave as well. After six hours and five cups of coffee, it probably would’ve been a good idea for you to leave before you hyped yourself up with any more caffeine.
Closing your laptop, you started gathering all your stuff together when you noticed that someone had sat down in the seat across from you. You looked up excitedly, expecting it to be Nishio again, but you were disappointed to see a strange man that you didn’t even know. You didn’t know why, but his presence made you uncomfortable.
“Hey, there,” he said with a charming smile, extending his arms across the small table.
“Oh, um, hello?” you replied, making it sound more like a question than a regular statement. He was probably mistaking you for someone else. Perhaps a blind date.
“You’re here often, aren’t you?”
It wasn’t until that statement that you finally realized it… This guy was flirting with you. Yes, he was fairly attractive, but he had to be at least five years older than you and obviously a player. You weren’t about to give someone like him the time of day.
“You’re observant, aren’t you?” you snapped back, breaking eye contact from him as you continued to pack up your belongings.
He chuckled slightly. “How ‘bout we have a cup of coffee together before you leave.”
“I’ve already had more than enough coffee.”
“Then we can go somewhere else to eat,” he insisted, gritting his teeth together as he spoke. It was obvious his patience was wearing thin, but so was yours and you were far more stubborn.
“I really have to go,” you quickly said as you stood up with your bag in your hand. You tried moving past him, but he blocked your way and tightly gripped your arm.
“C’mon,” he spoke gruffly, anger obvious in his voice. “What kind of bitch doesn’t even give a guy a chance.”
His anger was flaring dangerously high and grip he had on your arm only tightened more. He showed no signs of releasing you and you knew you didn’t stand a chance with him alone. Tugging your arm with all your might did nothing but hurt yourself even more.
“Just one date.”
“I said no.”
“Oh, c’mon-”
“I don’t know if you’re fucking deaf or something, but I could’ve sworn she said no,” a familiar voice said. Looking towards it, you saw Nishio standing at the bottom of the staircase with his coat draped over his arm. He looked absolutely furious. Out of all of the time you’ve spent here, you’ve never once seen him this pissed off before.
“Stay the hell out of it, man,” the guy said, turning his attention back to you. His free hand moved up to touch your face when you quickly slapped his hand away. His hand flew up again as if to slap you and you braced for impact, but it never came.
Within those brief seconds, Nishio somehow managed to fly across the room and punch the man square in the face before he could hit you. The force of the blow pushed him into the wall before he collapsed to the ground. Blood streaked down his face and his nose was obviously broken.
“Now get your ass out of here and stay the hell away from her,” Nishio roared as he picked up the trembling man by his shirt collar. “If I ever see your ugly mug anywhere near her again, I’ll break every fucking bone in your goddamn body.”
After being released by the bespeckled terror, the man quickly scrambled out of the usually peaceful coffee shop. Nishio turned to you, wiping the blood on his hand on a napkin he picked up. He cautiously took a step towards you as if worried you would flinch away, but you embraced this man who you usually found irritating into a hug.
“Thank you,” you whispered before pulling away.
Shock was written all over his features, but he quickly recovered. “Yeah, uh, it was nothing. I can’t have Anteiku’s usual customer getting hurt, now can I?”
You smiled, amused by his pathetic cover-up. “Of course not.”
“Just… Stay away from guys like him. Okay, (Y/N)?”
“I will,” you promised with a nod. “Don’t worry, guys like him aren’t really my type anyway.”
“Oh? Let me guess; you like quiet, loner guys like yourself who spend all their time buried in a book.”
“Nope,” you replied with a knowing smirk as you headed towards the door. Just before you walked out of the shop, you turned to face him one last time. “I like guys with glasses who act like an asshole, but are secretly a big sweetheart.”
You turned and walked out, leaving him completely and utterly speechless for once in his life.
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#romance#tokyo ghoul#tokyo ghoul fanfiction#fanfiction#anime#anime x reader#tokyo ghoul x reader#nishiki nishio#nishiki nishio x reader#fluff#cute#love#reader-insert#xreader#coffee shop
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Cupid’s Blind Arrow (Group fic) Chapter 2 - Ginger Nut
A/N: I’m back back back again, hope people enjoy thanks again to Mistress for being beta!!! Xx :))
“This is so stupid” Pearl said as she made the finishing touches to her costume. She took one last look in the mirror. From head to toe she resembled a sexy, modern-day knight. she’d made most of the costume herself, and to her mother’s surprise, she’d actually finished it, and on time as well. Her silver dress gave her an hourglass figure, accentuating her waist. Pearl had added small metallic shoulder pads and lots of thrift shop silver jewellery scavenged from the many secondhand shops around her house. With the necklaces she molded a chunky yet flattering belt, giving her garment a unique touch. The Pearl touch she thought as she smiled back at the girl in the mirror. Pearl had straightened her hair for once, giving her natural waves a time out for the night.
“Pearl, honey, you’re going to be late,” a voice from downstairs called, Pearl loved her mum, she really did, but the last thing she needed was to be the first person to arrive at her first high school party, and not dressed as a sexy version of an animal, but as a knight.
“It’s fine mom, I’ll be down soon, ok?”
Pearl didn’t hear a response but she took that as a yes.
Why are you so nervous? The girl could only wipe her sweaty hands on her bed duvet so many times. Just be normal, be cool. She was the one who invited you, Pearl, she must want you there. Or maybe she feels bad for you. Maybe everyone does. what if they all talk about me?
“Get out your head, Pearl” she told herself, fixing her hair one last time so it was just perfect.
Over at Alaska’s house, she and Willam were getting ready together so they could adjust each other’s headpieces. Plus, Willam felt like Alaska needed all the company she could get right now.
As she bobby-pinned part of Alaska’s crown into her hair, Willam could feel the stiffness in the girl’s shoulders.
“Cleopatra,” said Willam. “A strong, independent, woman.”
“Hardly” Alaska tried her best not to chip her fresh set of acrylics, but couldn’t resist picking at them. “She had so many affairs.”
“Who didn’t in those days? Hell, who doesn’t now-“ Fuck. Willam squeezed her eyes shut as she mentally kicked herself. “Shit, sorry I didn’t mea-“ Alaska gave out a pathetic laugh turning to face the other blonde.
“Don’t worry ‘bout it. Not like it was a person anyway. Just some lousy downers for a lousy person– dammit.”
“What?”
“My nail,” Alaska whimpered, stomping her foot. Once. Then twice. Then she started whining. Then came the frustrated screams drowning out any background noise.
“Hey, hey, hey” Willam tried to restrain Alaska from levelling up to a tantrum, gripping onto Cleopatra’s forearms and forcing eye contact. “Don’t worry, we can–.”
“But they shouldn’t have chipped in the first place. Why do they always chip, every single time!” Alaska’s eye started to well up. Willam felt a surge of strength – she was not about to witness strong and beautiful Cleopatra turn back into the Alaska who turned up a week ago at her front door.
“Don’t let your nails ruin your night lask, they don’t deserve to. Why don’t we get you a new pair, huh? You can get them red to match my loub’s yeah?” Willam had nothing left other than to hug Alaska, but if she did that right now she’d crease both her and Alaska’s costumes, I don’t care if the girl’s about to die. I didn’t get this pressed for nothing. Willam heard sniffling; “God Alaska.” Willam looked at her friend again and was taken aback. Stood before her was a defeated, harmed, shrivelled soul, an antonym to the girl who was captain of the cheerleading squad, nailed the roll of Sandy in the school production of Grease, and smiled at everyone in the hallways. Her pouted lip didn’t compare to the true solemnity in her eyes, Alaska was hurting really badly and Willam didn’t know what to do. What would Courtney do if she was here? Well she’d be having the time of her life getting railed into next week- no no how would she comfort someone?
Willam sighed, suddenly forgetting about the creases in her dress she was about to welcome. “Come here,” She stretched out her arms and welcomed Alaska into a hug, they stayed there for a while until Alaska sobs had quietened. Willam pulled away looking at a way to resolve Alaska’s now smudged makeup.
“We’re gonna need to fix this.” Pulling her over to the vanity Willam tried to wipe away the winged eyeliner without touching anything else, her mind started to drift elsewhere;
~~~
“Hey court,” Willam instinctively smiled as she opened the door for the Aussie, the being before her radiating beams of warmth and happiness. Courtney lead herself to the dining room and presented Willam with a question; “So, what did you think?” Willam was leaning against the worktop her mind wandering to places it shouldn’t. Her eyes compliment her face so well, the beautiful colour works akin to her sun-kissed skin, I want to kiss her skin. Her ears are so little, that’s a cute dress, is almost too pretty to rip off. Almost.
“Wills?”
Willam shook herself back into the real world with no recollection of what she’d been asked “uh, yes” she proclaimed, pretty confident in her answer. Courtney giggled, making Willam blush ever so slightly.
“No, what did you think of the book I gave you?”
“Oh sorry, yeah yeah I just couldn’t get my head around a lot of the stuff though. Like who’s gonna attack a ham in the middle of the night?”
“I think if that’s the most challenging scene for you to understand in To Kill a Mockingbird, you’re doing alright”
“Gee thanks.”
There was a pause of silence as the two girls looked at each other, taking all of them in.
“Listen Courtney,” A stranger to feeling nervous, willam became aware of her pounding heart and started to worry.
“Summers almost over, and you’re gonna move back soon, at least I’m guessing and you’ve really helped my grades. Like a lot. And I just – really – want to – I guess I’ve just realised,” Willam rambled. It made Courtney smile, and this in turn only made Willam more rambly. Courtney walked over to her, leaving a trace of a gap between them. Looking up at Willam, she could see the whole world in them. “Wills, what are you trying to say?”
Willam was speechless, inhaling Courtney’s scent and thinking about her drove her crazy.
“I just want you to know, that this,” she motioned between them, “Is real to me”
Courtney closed the gap and gave a soft kiss on Willams hollow cheekbone, leaving her lips barely connected to her face before moving to Willam’s ear. “Now let’s go do analysis” Courtney began to giggle again and Willam jokingly pushed away from her “fuck all the way off” Courtney pulled Willam to sit down who begrudgingly obeyed because it meant she got to listen to Courtney talk about something she was passionate about. Willam could listen to her all day.
~~~
The Chachki household was in full swing, with a DJ set up in front on the grand staircase and coloured lights set up in every room. Violet and her helpers were getting snacks arranged in the kitchen. But, as usual, Violet was too picky for anyone, but her, to be arranging anything.
“No no no no,” she hurried over to the countertop where Fame was putting assorted crisps into a bowl, Violet threw her hands out to stop her friend immediately,
“What Vi? What’s wrong?”
“Why would you put different crisp flavours into the same bowl? Fucking dumbass.”
Fame raised her arms in surrender and just let the other girl take over.
“Uh just go help Katya make a playlist, I’m gonna die if the DJ starts to play some fucking Russian bullshit”
Fame didn’t hesitate, running away to find Katya, who had shown up a couple of hours ago in a full on Neil Armstrong costume.
~~~
“And you are….”
“I’m an astronaut.”
Violet paused as if Katya didn’t just answer her question, furrowing her brow even further
“Why though”
“Okay hear me out, I took a buzzfeed quiz online, like what I should be according to my personality, or was it my zodiac sign? Actually it might’ve been a mix of both because, n-never mind. I just answered a bunch of questions and it told me an astronaut.”
“You didn’t think to make it in any way, appealing?”
Katya slapped Violet on the arm, “Hey! Who are you trying to fool dressing as an angel anyway?”
“None of your business. Now we’re going to have to do something about,” Violet motioned all over Katya with her hand “this.” Violet grabbed both of Katya’s shoulders and directed her upstairs to her room. The pair returned around forty minutes later, Katya’s space suit had been turned into a strapless skater dress. Wow, thought Katya. Violets like one of those mice in Cinderella.
~~~
Around an hour later guests started arriving in costumes varying from Barbies to Victorian gentlemen, to the football team who had come as a squad of sexy firemen. Everyone was mingling and dancing, floating into different rooms of the big house. Thankfully, the playlist was a huge success, everyone shouting out all the words to the classic tunes. Sharon, dressed as a nondescript Roman came up to Violet looking carefree and drunk. “Chachki!” Sharon stumbled over, almost tripping over a stray shoe.
“Hey Sharon, care to explain your costume?” Violet found herself having to shout over the music
“I’m Caesar, get it?”
“Like the salad?”
“No, fuckin moron” Sharon leaned in closer to Violet and the host almost gagged smelling Sharon’s breath. “As in my man Julius!”
Violet sighed as if to say And? Sharon groaned in frustration, “Because I’m a powerful bitchhhhhh Vi” Sharon posed before the girl giving her a full view of her cloth-like play suit and leafed flower crown. Her hair was styled in beach waves and Violet had to admit, she looked pretty good.
“Y’know it didn’t end too well for that guy.”
“Yeah and take a look at how my goddamn life is going at the moment.” Sharon looked stone cold sober for a second, the reality of what she’d just said sinking in.
“Sharon” Violet subsided to a more sympathetic tone, “Cheer up, don’t let them see you cry. Save it for your pillow”
“Y’know Vi, people just think you’re a real bitch, but,” Sharon stretched her arms out wide and did a full turn, “you throw a great party” Sharon went to waltz back into the crowd before turning back and whispering one more thing: “If you tell anyone I’m dressed as a salad I’ll curse you”
Bianca couldn’t stand the crowds of people anymore, stepping on her shoes and pushing into her. She hated costumes, she really did, but she’d begrudgingly come as a sexy priest. If I’m gonna have to put on a costume might as well make something that will remind these people of how much of a disappointment they are to God. She bought a LBD with flared white sleeves and a pair of black stilettos – which she’d never tried before. Her feet were killing her so she’d abandoned them after her third drink. She made her way outside to one of the balconies to get some air before noticing a silhouette before her. “Hello?”
The silhouette turned around to reveal Adore dressed as some eccentric being with a top hat that Bianca couldn’t get past. “Hello,” She repeated with wide eyes and sarcastic tone. Adore gave a single laugh before turning back to face the open air which had a slight breeze to it.
“Are you here to force me to purge my sins?”
This time it was Bianca who laughed and came up next to the girl. “All is forgiven if you can give me even the slightest idea of who/what you are tonight”
“I’m the album cover of Marilyn Manson’s “Smells Like Children.”
“Never heard it.”
Adores face became masked with displeasure and determination. “We’ll have to change that” Adore took Biancas phone out of her hand and typed in the password she’d figured out a couple of weeks ago. She started to play the album and Bianca clenched her jaw in an attempt to keep her mouth shut. Offending Adore was the last thing she wanted to do but the music was fucking awful. Instead Bianca tried to change the subject completely, “Your makeup looks good” it came out at a much higher pitch than anticipated causing Adore to smile and drop her head a little. “Thanks B” a comfortable silence emerged, the two girls overlooked the city listening to (blocking out in Biancas case) the music playing at a low volume– low compared to inside the house. After a few minutes Adore brought out a joint and lighter from her blazer pocket which was decorated with rips and frayed fabric. “Wanna smoke?”
“If you think I’m gonna put that in my mouth you can think again, chola.”
Adore just looked over at her and Bianca became intrigued, “What? What?!”
“Y’know B, you’re always so worked up, so tense. Like… you ever just wanna let go?” Adore took a drag and blew out the smoke a moment later.
“It’s more about I don’t want lung disease.”
“Or you just love being in control.” Adore looked Bianca dead in the eyes even though her own were starting to become a little hazy. “Maybe too much.”
Adore’s fingers started to trace Bianca’s hand, slowly circling her palm. Bianca was lost, lost in the girls touch, her scent, her eyes, but she didn’t want to be found. Not just yet. “I don’t need drugs to feel calm.”
“Neither do I.”
“That’s because you’re never off the stuff.”
She took a smoke and raised her perfectly arched eyebrows. “Touché.” Adore wanted to get through to her so bad, see inside her soul, knowing hidden in there was a compassionate, loving human being.
“Bianca.”
“Adore.”
“Stop caring, what is it that you need to hold on to so bad. Nothing is that important, just take a joint. You won’t die, trust me.”
“You’re asking me to trust you?”
Adore nodded and offered her pinky, “I promise.”
Fuck it, Bianca thought and took Adores pinkie, tipped with chipped nail polish in one hand and the joint in the other. She inhaled and immediately started coughing, feeling like her lungs were burning up.
Adore started laughing loudly, mesmerised by the picture in front of her. “Don’t worry, we’ll work on that together.”
“If you get me sounding like a 40 year old man by the time I’m not even 20 you’re getting it”
“I’m getting what exactly?” Adore leaned in closer to Bianca.
“You’re getting drop kicked into next month, that’s what.” Of course that only made the girl laugh more.
Pearl had been talking to a couple of girls, complimenting them on their outfits. Pearl had actually received lots of praise on her own costume tonight, everyone taken aback when she’d told them that it was homemade. The whole night Pearl was looking for Violet, flying from room to room. Entering the kitchen Pearl spotted Violet across the room, admiring the way her white dress was hugging her figure. Be cool. Pearl walked up with all the confidence she could muster and snuck up behind Violet.
“An angel huh?”
Without even looking up Violet spoke; “Fucking Phi Phi O’Hara came as the devil and people think it’s a fucking couples costume, that little bastard I swear-“
“Just be glad that you’re costumes arent switched and you’re not making Phi Phi O’Hara look in any state angelic, anyway I think it suits you. The white almost bounces off of your black hair.”
Violet tilted her head slightly and smirked, hiding an honest smile. “Thought I’d do something different tonight, you look pretty good yourself. Are you trying to be my knight and shining armour, Pearl?”
“If I tried to fight anyone in this getup I’d be done for.”
Violet turned fully to face Pearl and gazed over her silver dress that matched her glitter eyeliner. She pouted in approval the girl’s got taste. “Well you’re not wrong.”
Violet smiled and Pearl’s heart fluttered at the genuine smile she’d earned from Violet.
“You look great Pearly, looks like we have something in common.” Taking a step closer Violet could smell Pearls perfume, it smelled musky with just enough spice and Violet thought she could get high off of it.
“I guess we do, who would’ve thought?” Pearl caught on to the invitation and took a step closer in return, grazing her hand across Violets.
“Do you want to kiss me Pearly?” breathed Violet, barely audible.
“Well that depends Vi, would you want me to?”
“I’m not gonna stop you if that’s what you’re asking.”
Pearl leaned into Violet and locked lips with her. They didn’t move, but stayed for a few seconds letting all the social anxiety of the past few months slip away. Violet gave herself to the kiss, letting her walls crack just enough to let Pearl through. Pearl pulled away, taking in Violet as all she was. A beautiful, perfect being. Violet looked left and right, a sigh of relief as she realised no one was in close proximity. Sharon and a couple others were elsewhere in the kitchen but they were all were too drunk to remember it happened in the morning anyway.
Pulling Pearl to her ear violet whispered to the girl, “Listen, I’m gonna leave and go to my ensuite. Count to 60 then meet me there.” Violet had an essence of authority and it plastered a smile on the knight’s face, excited to play.
“Up the stairs, on the left, 3rd door along. Don’t keep me waiting too long Pearly”
Back in the living-room-turned-dance-floor Trixie was dancing and singing along to one of the songs from the Hairspray soundtrack, laughing with all of her cheerleading friends. But out of the corner of her eye she saw a lone character scrolling on her phone at 70 miles per hour. Trixie pulled herself away from her group and walked up to the Astro-girl, wiping her palms dry on her Viking-styled dress and straightened her horned hat. Her fell in two braids all the way down to her hips.
“Katya?”
The other girl looked up, revealing her beautiful cheekbones and red lips. “Oh, hey Trixie”
“Why aren’t you dancing?”
Katya pulled at her dress, twirling Violets unfinished hem.“I don’t dance” she scoffed.
Trixie wasn’t giving up. “Yeah you do, everyone dances.”
“Not me.”
Trixie offered her hand and a small smile
“Come on, dance with me.” Katya turned a shade of crimson before meeting Trixie eyes which made her smile.
“If anyone laughs, it’s your fault Barbie.” Trixie led Katya to the middle of the dance floor away from her friends. She started dancing effortlessly, moving so flawlessly. Katya tried to move her body in the same way but came off stiff and regimented. Realising this, Trixie took both of Katya’s hands and twirled the Russian before turning herself. They started jumping and using each other for moves, and Katya took everyone by surprise when she did a jump split as the beat dropped. The other girl toppled over in laughter and both danced the night away together, forgetting about everyone else in the room.
#violet chachki#pearl liaison#bianca del rio#adore delano#sharon needles#alaska thunderfuck#trixie mattel#katya zamolodchikova#willam belli#pearlet#biadore#shalaska#trixya#witney#ginger nut#rpdr fanfiction#lesbian au#high school au#cupids blind arrow#au
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Title: In Which Clay Plays Mentor
“Summer of Houston” compliant; mention of @margotkris’s Hanover Prefect.
“I am too Bi Yoda.” Clay muttered.
“Heard that!”
Clay was trying to lead the cohort of freshman through their orientation. Or rather Cl-orientation, Orien-clay-ion? Orientlay? He’ll work on that. Basically the real shit you needed to know coming into Windsor before the Prefect got here.
“Okay freshies- and transfers, yeah I see yah Zack,” Clay said in the most obnoxiously New Yorker way he could. This rich West Coaster was grinding on his last nerve not even five minutes in.
“Obviously you are all Windsors. What does Windsor mean? That we’re fucking awesome that’s what.” Clay said with a grin, “Our mission in school? Fuck shit up and don’t get caught. Or blame it on Maximillion, he’s Hanover’s prefect. You could blame it on Stuart but they have a damn teddy beat in charge. Everyone else is a jerk… sort of? We’ll discuss the blond legacies later.”
“Are you our prefect?” One freshman asked, devoid of sense; that was where his pocketbook instead rested.
Clay stared at him, “Hell no. I’m just a sophomore. I’m here to give you the real orientation. Okay- which one of you is from a family with a net worth under 100K?”
No one raised their hand. Typical.
“Okay so take it from a street smart, middle class jerk: in Windsor money won’t solve shit. It will help, but when our prefect arrives and strings you up by your guts for the ravens you’ll wish you listened to ol’Clay. Wit, cunning, ingenuity, and good reflexes are gonna serve you well here.”
“What? Our prefect would-”
“He’s crazy Zack, keep up before you’re sacrificed to strange and wonderful gods.” Clay said briskly with a evil grin spreading across his face. “You shoulda come last year, our prefect’s boyfriend taught us all how to bake cookies.”
Clay paused the tour of the ground floor, “Oh yeah, who can cook?”
Everyone looked fairly confident, but one raised his hand like it was a test, “I got training with our personal caterer.”
“To cut vegetables? Boil water? Or actually make something?” Clay grilled him.
“I can do salads.” He volunteered. “I make a good dressing…”
Suddenly the rest of the group didn’t look so confident.
Clay nodded approvingly. “Okay you are allowed in the kitchen without a buddy. Never attempt cooking without one, at least a fire extinguisher. They are located every ten feet. They will be your lifeline- wait.”
Clay turned, grabbing the nearest one and throwing it up the stairs they were passing to Kaelan. “Third floor?”
Kaelan laughed, “Yeah. Junior with a hair straightener.”
“See?” Clay said before the freshmen started smelling the smoke spreading through the common room. “Learn em. Everyone else, cafeteria is open late so don’t try to be a hero and cook. Only you can prevent dorm fires.”
They reached the fireplace, replaced with a bulletproof-glass gas installation after the football-hockey hybrid last March. Clay considered the group. He’d gone over the dumbwaiter, the worst teachers, and what to do if you needed to make special orders to the school (answer: office administrator. There was a different address for deliveries). What was missing?
“Ah yes! If experiencing a sexual identity crisis do not panic, pass go, or collect $200. Just lie down and accept a rainbow bracelet. Its 2012 you nerds and everyone in this school is hot.” Clay said sagely, pontificating to his captive audience.
“Speaking from experience, he doesn’t follow his own advice.” A voice said from the top of the bannister.
The group looked up to see Todd Hendricks observing Clay’s attempt at chaos reigning. He was holding a large cardboard box packed full. “Don’t listen to him guys. Clay stammered and stuttered his way into the most public bisexual awakening in the history of boarding schools.”
“Why you-“
“The boners were many and obvious Clay. Give it up.”
Todd retrieved the contents of the box. He tossed down a soft velvet bag to each of the assembled, not bothering to even descend the stairs. “Welcome to Windsor gift from your prefect. It’s the current Windsor survival kit under the new regime.”
“Its just a crystal, salt, um holy water? And … shit is this weed?” Zackary asked.
Todd gave him a withering look. “Its sage and other herbs. They’re protection charms. You’ll all be emailed the proper rituals and receive training next week after reorganization.”
“So, the prefect really is crazy?” The deputized cook asked.
“He’s in touch with the spirits. Call him a fundamentalist Christian or a heathen at your own risk. Or if you think you can survive a couple rounds with him out back.” Todd chuckled at a private joke.
Kaelan rushed back down from the top of the staircase. “Incoming!”
There was a scramble of the upperclassmen to clear the doorways, spreading to the edges of the room with Kaelan’s directives. Todd didn’t move, keeping his calm smile at the top of the stairs.
Ball of energy that he was, Shane Anderson knew how to make an entrance; somersaulting through the doors and springing up onto the coffee table. The outer doors smacked in the wind and rattled.
The freshmen looked spooked.
Curly hair flying, Shane could only yell platitudes to his pursuer.
“I swear I wouldn’t scratch your car on purpose!”
A crossbow bolt thudded into the floor where Shane had been. The youngest freshman shrieked. Todd laughed.
“You are gonna pay for that Anderson!” Their tall, dark haired prefect yelled. Empty crossbow in hand he ran after the bouncing senior with the energy of a man possessed; and possessed he did look, with clothes a week old and dark circles to match.
“I swear, I was just backing in!”
“Shane you don’t even have a full licence! You busted my headlamp! She is vintage!” Dwight caught up with Shane, blocked from the stairwell by Kaelan and a grinning accomplice.
Dwight got Shane around the waist, picking him up with ease, other arm around him to stop him squirming. “You are going to pay for repairs in full, file the accident report, and explain to the security guards and campus welfare why you are not allowed to drive for a whole month.”
“A month?” Shane whined.
“That, or I make sure you only have Murdoch as a driving instructor.” Dwight waited for Shane’s yelp before continuing. “And of course the untold horrors Sadie will curse you with. I’m talking curse for boils from last year in discreet places.”
“You wouldn’t.” Shane wriggled like his feet could actually reach the ground.
“I would. I drove here from Florida with only two stops for poltergeist sightings, I haven’t eaten anything except Burger King, and there is a cop who thinks I’m a panhandling preacher hooker which doesn’t even make any sense- but apparently its a criminal offence in Georgia. So just try me Anderson.”
Shane nodded meekly, but not scared like the assembled freshmen. Clay hadn’t seen his prefect quite like this before, but one couldn’t ignore a flair for the dramatic. Dwight let him go. Shane wasted no time scurrying out to the parking lot to make a call.
“Gonna need to clean that up.” He said, fatigue hitting him as he looked at the crossbow bolt in the hardwood floor.
“You always damage property when you’re shooting to scare.” Todd said, taking the stairs two at a time to step up to the new prefect, yanking the bolt out and handing it to Dwight.
“Who are they?” Dwight asked looking at the freshmen who were quaking.
“Freshies.” Todd patted his shoulder. “Go upstairs to my room, take a goddamn nap.”
Dwight rubbed his eyes, “yeah good idea. Wait, did you-?”
“Yes.” Todd answering the question before it was even asked. “I gave them the packets, sent the emails, your salt order is set, and your room has all the assignments in it. You can go over them after you wake up if you want to make any changes, but I figure you’d want to avoid that for now.”
“I love you.” Dwight mumbled sleepily, going in to bump his forehead to Todd’s, too tired for anything else.
“You too honey.” Todd said quietly. “Now shoo.”
Dwight was upstairs and out of earshot when one freshman started shrieking.
“Is this school insane?”
“He’s crazy!”
“He’ll kill us!”
“Is it weird to say I’m a little turned on?”
Clay looked at the last freshman. “The first step to acceptance is acknowledgement. Welcome aboard.”
“Stop it Clay, you’re not Bi Yoda.” Todd called. “If you didn’t get it that was Dwight Houston, new Windsor Prefect and he’s harmless. Shane’s one of his best friends. Now go grab your shit and keep moving in okay?”
“I am too Bi Yoda.” Clay muttered.
“Heard that!”
“Okay mom.”
“Stepmom! Don’t disrespect Mariana like that!”
“Stop calling my mom by her first name!”
“Well, she told me too…”
“Shut up!”
Another year at Windsor begun, another year of chaos to follow.
#daltonfic#oneshot#gen#lols#dwodd#shane anderson#clay rizzo#dwight houston#todd hendricks#windsor#artemiswrites
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oh my god i just read two rotten apples and holy fuck their relationship is so terrible i feel so bad for her goddamn idk why i feel so hurt but pls make jungkook suffer
anonymous asked:
yo… ik everyone will disagree wit me but the relationship in tra is just way too toxic like why do i feel like shit when even if im just the reader. im so fucking mad why is jungkook such an asshole n why is the oc so easy UDHDHJD
anonymous asked:
it fucks with my mind how horrible jk is to the oc in tra i didnt do anything productive today bc i felt like shit LMAO
drabble #3
COUNT → 3.519
GENRE → smut | crack
PAIRING → jungkook | reader
WARNINGS → dom and sub tones | penis in mouth | explicit language | penetration | graphic dirty talk | dick riding | the occasional sarcastic quip
LINKS → 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 4.5 | COMING SOON
note → i didn’t have this in mind with the current story line of two rotten apples, which you can read the first part here. so kinda consider this drabble just like. i dont even know. i have no idea. i think as the story goes on. ill link the drabbles for where i think they are in the story. the other two happen later on so they wont be linked yet until more parts are released!!!!!!! anyway i wrote this in a state of anger and perspiration!!!!!!!!!!! if u dont like my characters. or dont like the story. u could just. consider this: close out of my blog and never come back. no one was forcing u to read this. so i didnt appreciate these msgs. i understand u were venting but u didnt even say anything positive about the story so how could u expect me to respond positively??? anyways g’nite
The skin of Elise’s knuckles lightened as her fists clenched on the kitchen counter. She’d been dicing onions for a breakfast omelette but Kale’s noises from upstairs were distracting her as they drifted to her ears from the vent above her head. The kitchen was directly below their shared bedroom, so she could hear every single sound he made, even the bed creaking under his weight.
Washing her hands quickly, she grabbed a nearby towel to dry them off before heading towards the long, twisting marble staircase leading to the upstairs hallway, following the grunts and groans of her beloved husband.
As she peered into the bedroom, she gasped at the sight before her. Kale was lounging on the mattress, a rose placed between his succulent lips and a single cut from one of the thorns garnishing his lower lip. He probably should’ve cut all the thorns off before placing it in his mouth but he was never the smart one. His chest glistened under the light of the full moon, even though just a few seconds ago, Elise was making a breakfast omelette and typically those are made in the morning. She just didn’t have a good concept of time and made breakfast omelettes at night and steaks at eight o’clock in the morning.
“Hello, beautiful,” Kale said seductively, waggling his eyebrows.
“What was all this noise up here?” Elise asked, looking around the bedroom.
Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, except for the fact that her husband was half-naked on their bed with a bleeding lip.
“I was just thinking about you, so naturally those sounds fell from my plump pillows. I’m talking about my lips, by the way. Those sounds fell from my lips.”
She nodded, licking her eyebrow. “And what were you thinking about?”
“Your beautiful blonde hair, your gorgeous blue eyes, your—”
“I have black hair, Kale,” she corrected him, crossing her arms.
“And I have green skin.”
Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room changed. Instead of Elise being incredibly hesitant as to her vegetable’s—I mean, husband’s—intentions, she found her clothes flying off and out the window. She wondered for a fleeting moment why the window was open in the first place because they lived in a mansion that was two million stories tall and they agreed when they moved in never to open a window because that’s how the previous owner died. As she thought about him, she wondered if he was watching them right now because he liked to haunt the place, making doors randomly open—except it wasn’t randomly because he would have doors fly open only when they were about to open them, so really it was more of a convenience rather than an inconvenience.
Elise sauntered towards her green husband, naked from head to toes to make things easier for when he wanted to disrobe her—because she would be naked and he wouldn’t have to disrobe her at all. As she reached for him, she forgot he had sensitive skin because he was originally some kale in the vegetable drawer, so when she grabbed his arm, it snapped in half. Kale screamed in agony.
“I’m so sorry!” Elise apologized, sobbing uncontrollably.
Kale—
“All right,” Jungkook said, closing the book with a slam. “What the fuck is this?”
He turned the book over to read the reviews and the synopsis then, glancing over at you reading over his shoulder as multiple vegetables were referenced in the author’s summary of the plot. Jungkook cleared his throat and sighed.
“’Have you ever wondered what it’s like to fall in love with a vegetable? Elise has, and that’s what she wishes for one dark and gloomy night. She finds that all the vegetables in her vegetable drawer are suddenly hot men wanting to woo her! Suddenly, she’s a vegetarian but she’s also still a virgin. Who will she choose? The delectable head of lettuce? The brussel sprout with abs of steel? Or maybe she’ll go for the quiet type—the piece of kale with a soft heart—’”
Jungkook had to stop there, his lips twitching as he tried with all his might not to burst out in a fit of laughter at that offensive synopsis.
“Okay,” he said simply, snorting. “What the fuck—”
You laughed with him, scooting to the edge of the bed to snatch the book out of his hands. “I know, but are you really telling me you’d be able to see this and not buy it? It’s about fucking vegetables with penises. Vegetable porn.”
“I swear… the books you read sometimes…” he trailed off.
Your bedroom grew quiet then, the only sounds you heard coming from downstairs as both your parents went head to head in a game of monopoly.
“They’re going to be up all night playing, aren’t they?” you asked.
“Until someone ends up crying,” he said. “Probably my mom.”
You tapped your fingers against your bare thighs, glancing around your room aimlessly. Jungkook then fell against your mattress with a sigh and closed his eyes. After a few seconds of silence, he cracked open one eye and just watched you stare straight ahead, your posture stiff as a board.
He grabbed the back of your blouse then, tugging until you fell flat on your back beside him. You scoffed at that but smiled nonetheless, closing your eyes to the feel of his bicep tensing under your head. The two of you had been getting along lately for some reason and you didn’t know what changed exactly.
Although, maybe it was because you were official fuck buddies now.
His other hand reached for you, turning you on your side and slipping beneath your shirt to cup one of your breasts. To his surprise, you weren’t wearing a bra, so he flicked at one of your hardening nipples in appreciation. Jungkook stared into your eyes as he pulled and tweaked at your breasts, gripping them easily with one hand. You closed your eyes, exhaling shakily, one of your hands finding his underneath your shirt and holding it there for a moment.
Then, he suddenly sat up, pulling his arm from under your head and his hand from grasping your breasts. You sighed, falling onto your back again as you looked up at him as he leant over to grab the book he threw to the floor.
When his parents first came over, monopoly game in hand, Jungkook had immediately bounded for your room, only to see you curled into a ball on your bed reading. He’d made fun of you for at least five minutes once he saw the cover but then he volunteered to read it aloud from where you left off.
And there was one particular scene that caught his eye.
He flipped to that exact page, somehow remembering the page number, and then set it down beside you facedown as he stood up to shut your door.
Jungkook walked back over to your bed after he peered down the hallway, listening to the sounds of your parents boisterous laughter and the booming folk music playing from the stereo downstairs, and grabbed the book. Laying beside you once again, he began to read again in his dramatic reading voice.
Kale was in the kitchen when she jogged down the steps, intending to make a smoothie for brunch—or dinner because she didn’t have a concept of time. Sweat dripped from his brow, from his defined collarbones, even down his abdominal muscles, and this made Elise especially turned on down there.
“Why can’t she just fucking say she has a soaked pussy?” Jungkook randomly asked, placing the book down as he looked over at you smiling.
“A lot of erotica authors are married and haven’t had sex since their first child was born,” you explained. “They don’t really like to make the detail graphic.”
“That’s dumb,” he said, then brought the book back to his face to read again.
Without uttering a single syllable, Elise bounded over to him and found a perfect seat in his lap, immediately feeling him grow hard just by her sitting on him.
“You’re so sexy when you’re sweaty, Kale,” she whispered in his ear.
He chuckled darkly. “You’re so sexy when you’re on top of me like this.”
Jungkook slammed the book closed once again and tossed it somewhere behind him, hearing a crash but not really paying much attention. He looked over at you as he wiggled his eyebrows comically and you snorted.
“You look so sexy when you’re laying on a bed,” he whispered.
You turned on your side then and tucked both of your hands beneath your cheek pressed into the mattress. “You look so sexy reading erotica.”
“We should roleplay,” Jungkook suggested, grabbing onto your waist.
You didn’t answer, just arched one of your eyebrows in question.
“I’m Kale,” he began, smirking, “and you’re Elise.”
“And what scene would we be reenacting?”
His smirk widened. “The kitchen scene.”
Without hearing your response, he shot up and then moved to the floor, raising his hips as he undid his belt buckle and slid his jeans down his legs before kicking them off into one corner of your room. With you still lying on the bed, Jungkook hit one of your legs hanging off the edge of the king-sized bed gently.
“Come on,” he called up to you. “I’ll pull you off the bed if I have to.”
Rolling your eyes, you sat up and pulled at your shirt, then stood up to slide your shorts and white underwear past your hips, landing in a pile with Jungkook’s jeans. Slowly, you joined him on the floor, beside him.
“Now what?” you asked.
“Get me ready.”
You were eager—so eager that you completely forgot about grabbing a condom out of your bedside table’s drawer. That thought flew from your mind as soon as he pulled himself out of his boxers, your mouth watering at the sight of him. Reaching forward, you wrapped one of your hands around him and felt him pulsating from under your hand, his skin hot to the touch. You glanced up at him, just as you leant over him and enveloped him in your mouth, closing your eyes at the taste. He wasn’t rock solid when you touched him but you could feel him growing in size and rigidity the further you pulled him into your mouth.
“Ah,” he moaned out, head falling against the edge of your bed. “That’s it.”
Wincing, he hit the back of your throat and you swallowed, causing him to shudder. You patted his thigh and he took that as his signal to start fucking your mouth. As you relaxed your jaw, he started a slow pace as he raised his hips with each thrust into your mouth, moaning softly to himself at the feeling.
Jungkook grabbed the back of your head then and forced you even further down his cock until your nose brushed against the skin of his pelvis.
Moaning around him, he sped up his thrusts. He knew he was already hard enough for you, so he had to physically stop himself from cumming in your mouth as he tugged on your hair to pull you off of him. A string of saliva connected your mouth to his hard cock until you wiped at your mouth.
He relaxed his head against the bed then, panting as he tried to catch his breath, swallowing thickly. You sat against your heels as you waited patiently, feeling yourself drench the back of your calves just at the sight of his neck. Cracking open his eyes, he caught you staring and he smirked to himself.
Jungkook tackled you to the floor then, hovering over you for a moment before he smashed his lips against yours. His hard cock easily slipped between your lips, ghosting over your pussy and you moaned at both the taste of his lips and the feeling of him rubbing against you. You knew you were dripping at this point and were more than ready for him to fuck you, but then that fleeting thought of condom came back. And as his lips slanted over yours, licking at the seam of your lips before sliding inside your mouth, you said that when your lips parted.
“C-Condom,” you managed to say, pulling yourself backwards weakly on the carpet of your bedroom floor as he continued to kiss you roughly.
With each time you slid away from him and towards your bedside table, he crawled after you, pausing you in your journey to kiss you again each time.
Your head slammed into the table then after a few minutes struggle, Jungkook having moved down to your neck to kiss and suck your skin until it was marked in blotches of purple and red. Blindly, you felt behind you for the top drawer, reaching for the handle and pulled on it with all your strength. It slid open and you frantically searched around for the box of condoms, your fingertips touching various cards and hair ties, before finding what you were looking for.
The box fell to the floor, packets of condoms spilling out of it and you tilted your neck back as you tried to grab hold of one of them. Jungkook raised his head to see what you were doing and then helped you, his hand grazing over yours as he grasped one of the condoms and pulled himself off of you to put it on.
You pushed yourself up on your elbows to watch him, struggling to open it with fumbling fingers, then he easily slid the thin latex over his pulsating length.
Without wasting another second, he gripped himself and thrusted into you, grabbing onto your hip once he was filling you to the brim. With your heads nearby a vent, you could still hear your parents screaming at each other as your father apparently lost one of his best properties and stormed out of the room for a smoke presumably. Their laughter flittered up through the vent then but you weren’t really listening to them, just to the sound of Jungkook’s grunts.
Your head slammed into the bedside table as he started a fast pace inside of you, then noticed and quickly pulled you up until you were sitting in his lap.
“Ride me,” he commanded, head resting against the side of the mattress.
You nodded, situating your legs on both sides of him before you hovered your drenched pussy over him. Slowly, you sank down on him and moaned loudly as the head of his cock pushed deep inside of you. His hands came to rest on your hips then, urging you to hurry up. Not listening to him, Jungkook grew impatient and decided to shove you down on him and you gasped out at the feeling of him inside you again—scalding hot. You rocked your hips back and forth, placing your hands on his shoulder then as you raised them back up.
When you slammed back down on him again, your breasts bounced and you couldn’t keep your eyes open. Jungkook was in the same state as he couldn’t even move his head off the edge of the mattress, nonchalantly thrusting up into you each time you came back down on him. You weren’t even roleplaying at this point, just following your lustful urges as you both chased your orgasms.
“I fucking love it when you ride me,” he groaned out huskily, eyes still closed.
Without even opening his eyes, his hands reached around you to grasp at your ass, kneading it for a moment before manipulating how hard you came down on him each time. You cried out, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders and he groaned at the pain. At one particularly loud moan of yours, one of his hands went to cover your mouth. You opened your eyes to look at him and seemed to understand the fact that you were feet away from the vent and if your parents found you two fucking in your bedroom, you would probably get in trouble.
They wanted the two of you together but probably not in that way.
“Go faster,” he told you, lifting your hips so you could slam down on him harder.
You did as he said and soon your breasts began to ache just from how hard they were bouncing with each time you sank down on him.
“Fuck yes,” he moaned, jaw dropping. “Faster, baby. Faster.”
Soon, Jungkook was doing almost all of the work, his hands surely leaving an indent on your skin with how hard he was gripping your hips. Then suddenly, he gripped them so hard that you simply hovered over his cock, only the head still inside of you. Opening his eyes, he stared at you just as he began to fuck into you from below, gritting his teeth as he pounded into you powerfully. You let go of your grip on his shoulders to place your palms flat on the carpet, arching your back and tilting your head backwards as you focused on the sensation.
“Jungkook!” you cried out, your parents on the floor beneath you forgotten.
You clenched around him, your orgasm looming closer, and he grunted. Soon, he wasn’t able to thrust up into you as fast as before and simply flung you to the floor so you were laying on your back. Jungkook situated himself on top of you again and then thrusted inside once more, the new position causing him to reach that much further inside of you. He grabbed one of your legs, spreading your legs as wide as he could as he continued to hammer you into your floor.
He wondered for a moment if they could hear the thuds from above and the occasional squeaking of the floorboards beneath you, but didn’t really care.
His thumb found your clit just as he lowered himself so he could kiss you, tongue sweeping past your lips until you parted them. You moaned into his mouth as soon as he deepened the kiss, legs wrapping around his waist.
His chest jostled forward as his thrusts grew more precise and more rough, and then your head lolled against the carpeted flooring, not even able to do anything but let him have his way with you. You were so fucking close. His thrusts then grew sloppy and his thumb continued to circle your clit.
“Are you almost there?” he breathed out.
Instead of answering him, you just nodded frantically.
“I want to hear you,” he said, fucking into you harder. “Are—you—almost—there—?”
“Yes!” you cried out almost immediately. “I’m so close, Jungkook. Fuck me faster—harder.”
He straightened his back then, disconnecting your lips, and angled your leg so it was perched on his shoulder. He grunted as he concentrated on making you cum all around him, determined to get you there first or you’d scream his ear off. With the combination of the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot and his thumb pressing down on your clit, you came and clenched around him.
A few more thrusts later, he came as well, spurting his cum into the condom.
He rolled off of you and the two of you breathed heavily, your parents eerily quiet from the vent. And then you heard the tell-tale signs of someone coming up the stairs.
“Go into the bathroom and turn the shower on,” you hissed at him. “I’ll hide under the bed since your fat ass wouldn’t fit.”
Jungkook glared at you but listened to you nonetheless, quickly sitting up and dashing into your bathroom, locking the door behind him as the shower turned on. Your phone buzzed just as you heard your parents’ footsteps down the hall and you grabbed it from your bed before slipping past the bed skirt to hide.
Turning down the brightness, you looked to see who texted you.
JUNGKOOK [18:08:25]: Rate today’s performance out of 10
You shook your head but leant forward on your elbows to respond.
YOU [18:08:55]: i think a solid eight is in order
JUNGKOOK [18:09:29]: That’s an improvement from yesterday’s 6
JUNGKOOK [18:10:02]: Care to share your grading criteria?
Smirking, you lifted up the bed skirt to glance at the bathroom door, seeing his bare feet from underneath it and the light on, then you replied:
YOU [18:10:44]: i actually came this time
As your phone buzzed a few seconds later, you heard your parents knock on the door. Jungkook always had to fuck you in places that could get you caught.
But you realized you would rather have him than some happily ever after, no matter how unhealthy the relationship was for you. It was your body, after all. It was just harmless fucking and it was comforting knowing he would never have feelings for you of any kind. Your bodies just clicked together and that’s all you wanted. And besides, Jungkook wasn’t the only toxic one in this relationship.
You were just as bad for him as he was for you.
And you supposed that made you easy.
#jungkook smut#jungkook imagines#jungkook scenarios#jungkook fanfic#bts smut#bts imagines#bts scenarios#bts fanfic#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#bts x reader#bts x you#I WASNT GONNA REPLY BUT#if this story just made u feel like shit#then please just dont read it??????#no one was forcing u to#and these messages werent positive at ALL#i need positive encouragement to feel motivated for this story#and i was so close last night to just going on hiatus#because i just was so uninspired to write ANYTHING#but thankfully i woke up just as angry#but im petty#like please understand that he needs to be a dick???#what kinda story would this be if he wasnt#a boring one#and their relationship really isnt THAT bad#thats what bothered me#compared to other jungkook stories on this site#this could be much worse#anyways goodbye i already blocked u so
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ishqbaaz 05.09.17 lb
lololol shivaay turning the paper this way and that trying to read it (it’s in marathi, lol) 😂😂😂
hein? this house has a staircase also???? leading where???? 🤔🤔🤔
shivaaaay + chaaaaaaaai = this should be interesting. 😐😐😐
oh boy she wants him to drink it from the saucer. (always seemed weird to me.) 😕😕😕
lmaoooo “no, that doesn’t sound right.” 😂😂😂
props to him for actually trying this. 👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽
“IT’S GOOD!”
“MERE mooh mein paani aa gaya tha!”
lmao my tharki mind is interpreting this whole conversation in a verrrrrrrry different way! 😏😏😏
lmaoooooooooooo baalti wali bath! ab aayega mazaaaaaa. the true middle class experience! never am i more humbled than when i have to do a baalti bath back in india. 😌😌😌
please to be watching this video by my fav, kenny sebastian, and him describing the process super accurately. my place in kerala is in the city and the bathroom is in the house and all (ooooh! so fancy!), but this is pretty much how it goes. i can smell the medimix just watching this video! 🙃🙃🙃
you were so pleased with the “rain water harvesting” yesterday billu. time to walk the talk! 😊😊😊
LOL HE TOOK HER SERIOUSLY. 😂😂😂
pft, “humare paas sabun bhi hai????” idiottttt 🙄🙄🙄
LMAO HE TOOK HER SERIOUSLY ABOUT THE DATUN TOO. MAN, RICH PEOPLE ARE SO FUN TO FUCK WITH. 🤣🤣🤣
“main jaa raha hoon nahaane ke liye. tum chalogi mere saath?”
lmao why, billu? do you want a witness for your embarrassment? trust me, you’re not gonna feel even remotely sexy while doing a middle class baalti bath.
gauri is worried about becoming vidhwaa 6 months into her marriage. 😬😬😬
LMAOOOOO AAPKO US SAAND KE SAATH BAITHKE CHITHRA NAHI BANANE HAI 😂😂😂
OH MY GOD OMKARA, YOU ARE TRULY AN IDIOT. DANGAL MOVIE DEKHNE SE KOI PEHELWAN NAHI HO JAATA. MATLAB, I’VE WATCHED LEGALLY BLONDE 300 TIMES, MAIN LAWYER THODI HO GAYI HOON. 😒😒😒
same, gauri. #same.
oufff shivaay ke sarrr se nkk ka bhoot utarkar iske sarrr chadh gaya hai. 😑😑😑
hahahaha herrrrr imitation. her faaaace. i love her so much. 😂😂😂
OMG WTF EVEN ARE THESE KURTAS SHIVAAY IS WEARING THEY LOOK FUCKING RIDICULOUS, WHY ISN’T HE JUST WEARING HIS REGULAR KURTAS THAT HE WEARS AT HOME?!!?!? CURSE YOU SHIRALI CURSE YOU TO HELL, JUST LET THE MAN LIVE 😫😫😫
oh boyyyy chawl udaana hai 😬😬😬
10 to 1 the maalik is…
…. YUP. 😒😒😒
the fuck shivaay, do you even pay attention to half the orders you give? 😐😐😐 how many bldgs have you felled like this without even knowing?
ok the rule was to not use your name and identity for undue advantages. not for situations like these! 😩😩😩
OH MY GOD HE’S ACTUALLY YOUTUBING HOW TO DO KUSHTI. 😧😧😧
son, if that worked, all the fitness videos i watch and subscribe to would have me sporting 6 pack abs and zero jiggle. 😣😣😣
lmao ek din mein 5 kele khaa ke kya hona hai????? 😶😶😶
chor naukar has an unsolicited opinion. 🙄🙄🙄
lmao their reaction! omki’s “get a load of this guy!” head nod. baat aane par dono ek team ho gaye. abhi chor ki jamkar dhulaai hogi. 😂😂😂
hey chawl-blower-upper-dude, why are you such an asshole? just chill maybe? 😒😒😒
gotta love these oBahus and how they’re all ready to throw down the second someone is mean to their patis. (ง •̀_•́)ง (ง •̀_•́)ง (ง •̀_•́)ง
GOD SHIVAAY YOU’RE AN IDIOT. JUST MAKE A CALL AND GET YOUR OFFICE TO STOP THE PLAN. HONESTLY. 😒😒😒
“IS CHAWL MEIN REHNE WAALA EK AAM AADMI.”
WHOSE HAIR KE HIGHLIGHTS COST MORE THAN THE MONTHLY BUDGET OF PPL IN THIS CHAWL. 🙄🙄🙄
…. is he sitting ON the dynamite? 😟😟😟
lmao only the rich think that “the right to peacefully protest” achieves ANYTHING in india. bitch, the aam aadmi has no TIME to protest, peacefully or otherwise. humein ghar bhi chalaane hote hai. 🙄🙄🙄
i feel bad for the explosion guy. he’s also an aam aadmi, trying to do his damn job. kahaan is majnu se paala pad gaya aaj. 😑😑😑
…. and you’re only doing this for anika and sahil? they have alternate housing and are sorted in life now. WHAT ABOUT ALL THE OTHER PEOPLE LIVING IN THE CHAWL WHO DON’T? AM I SUPPOSED TO AWWWWW OVER THIS BS? 😤😤😤
anika’s like OMG!SEXXXXXXXXX TAKE ME NOW HUBBY hearing that sentimental pap though. oh well. whatever works for her. 😕😕😕
lmaooooo her mooophat jawab and his honest laugh at her bindaass-ness. 😊😊😊
the couple that does dharna together, stays together, i guess? 🤔🤔🤔
ok i can’t stop laughing at omki’s hella lame kushti moves. that too, with this untrained idiot who’s not even that heavily built. such false complacency. 😐😐😐
omki going in with some classic WWE moves. 😊😊😊
gauri’s excitement is hella cute though. 😍😍😍
“abbe kahan jaa raha hai bhaag ke? practice kiske saath karoonga abhi?”
pffffffffffft.
wifey be like I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE. 🙋🏽🙋🏽🙋🏽
girl, stop putting the sunglasses on every 3 minutes to look cool. woh bhi raat mein. it’s laaaaaaame. 🙄🙄🙄
sure. ok. with all the hair open. you been hanging out with bhavya too much. 😑😑😑
omki be like, oh yeah baby, imma wrestle with you. imma wrestle with you gooooooooooood. imma lift you up and pin you down and then take my shirt off and… hmm? what? yes. wrestling. this is how it’s done. (in the dangal themed porno i came across on the dark side of the web during my “research”.) 😏😏😏😏
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE 😍😍😍😍
i like how the chulbul moments are there too. omki is canon confirmed bi/pan/demisexual, fiiiiiiiiiiight me. 😊😊😊
haaaaaaye my cuties. 💖💖💖
i like how it’s night in… lonavla or wherever the f rikara are, and early morning in mumbai where shivika are. because the two places are in DIFFERENT TIME ZONES 12 HOURS APART. 😐😐😐
balbirrrrrrrr should NOTTTTTTTTTT have done that. 😠😠😠
LMAO “AYE INKE HEIGHT PE MAT JAA!!!!!!!!”
“BOLNA ZAROORI THA YEH?”
“YEH MOTA AAPKE HEIGHT KA MAZAAK UDAA RAHA HAI!”
“haan, aur tum usse aur underline kar do!!!”
my god what a family of fighty little munchkins this is today. 😊😊😊
oh, iska boss bhi idhar hi hai?
LMAO IS THAT KHANNAAAAAAAAAA?????????? HAHAHAHAHAHA 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣
lollllllllllllll khanna’s been using the SSO name to act like big mannnnn.
“namaste khannaji!”
“nahi, BOSS!”
heeeee heeee heeeeeee 😂😂😂
ok that looks like the most uncomfortable way to sleep, gauri.
has he been practicing all night????? great, he’s gonna go wrestle with NO training, and not having SLEPT either. idiot. 😒😒😒
oufffff gauri ask bhavya to send BACKUP instead of asking her for kushti tips, jfc. 😑😑😑
billu ka swaagat toh aise kiya jaa raha hai jaise jung se lauta ho. fucking ridiculous. 🙄🙄🙄
such cute. 💖💖💖💖💖💖
dadi gave you the fucking night off from her pehredaari to go at it like rabbits and you spent it talking about baltis and whatnot. this is what you call WASTE OF OPPORTUNITY. 😫😫😫😫
bhavya looking 10000% done with rudra is me. #freeMyGirl 😣😣😣
lo, billu ne bhavya ko bhi adopt kar liya. he’s like who needs stupidass brothers when i can have AWESOMEASS SISTERSSSSSSSS 😊😊😊
LMAOO RUDRA’S LOOK OF BETRAYAL 🤣🤣🤣🤣
don’t think i missed bhavya looking all choked up though. 😭😭😭
allllllllll the toe touches in the world aren’t gonna help ya, omki. 😐😐😐
dude, like yeh balram legit apne khanna ka bhai lagta hai. 😗😗😗
of course he’s not gonna listen. 🙄🙄🙄
aaaaaaaaaaaand there goes the lassi. and the omkara. 😕😕😕
OMG THAT SHOT OF HIS FACE BOUNCING OFF THE FLOOR HAHAHAHAHAHA 🤣🤣🤣🤣
HE’S FUCKING OUT. WITHOUT EVEN STEPPING INTO THE RING LOLOLOLOLOLOL. THIS IS FUCKING HILAAAAAAAAAAAARIOUS HAHAHAHAHAHAHA 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣
LMAO HOW EVEN IS THE SHOW PLAYING THIS AS A SERIOUS MOMENT I CAN’T STOP LAUGHING OMG 😂😂😂😂
ouff. stupid mardaangi taunts. #masculinitySoFragile
ok fwding the nonsense till bulbul gets into the ring.
aw. bhavyaaa. *hugs her* we love you, we do. which is why we want better for you than f’ing rudra. sumo toh khud hi jaan chudaaa kar chali gayi. ab tumhe kaise bachaaye is se. 🙁🙁🙁
anika’s crying too. and has dialogues about family ka hissa and all. all that is okay, but please god don’t make her chutki. 😬😬😬
rudra calling for cessation of this divisive team policy in order to get some bro bonding time. 😌😌😌
waaah, dadi maan bhi gayi. 😯😯😯
wait, shivaay and rudra have a GANG? these ppl have OTHER friends??? 😧😧😧
surprise element? um… idk why but my mind instantly went to bachelor party and strippers. 😬😬😬
gauri be like BITCH, DON’T MAKE ME COME OVER THERE AND EK JHAANP MEIN DEEWAR PE SATTAAO-FY YOU 😠😠😠😠
big talk from all the men. PFT. COMEEEEEEEEE ONNNNN GAURIIII.
LMAO THE INTERCUTS TO SHOW OM STILL PASSED OUT COLD IS MAKING ME LOL SO HARD 😂😂😂
girl please, TIE YOUR DAMN HAIR UP. WHAT’S WRONG WITH ALL THE WOMEN IN THIS SHOW 😩😩😩
can balram stop with the stupid yelling and faces? coz does this woman look intimidated by it? uh. that would be a resounding NO. 🙄🙄🙄
ok fwding. coz honestly i fucking CAN’T.
god just fucking kick him in the nutsssss and END THISSSSSS 😫😫😫
LMAO OMKI JUST WOKE UP AND IS LIKE WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKK 😟😟😟😟😟
hold up, few seconds ka rewind. waaah, shivaay ki tarah ab isse bhi Awareness™ chadhta hai when wife is hurt/in danger.
mubarak ho on your new superpowers, omkiiii! they’re gonna make your life an anxiety-ridden hell, since YOUR wife wants to fight every third person she meets. 🙃🙃🙃
hubs be like AW HELL NO, NO ONE MESSES WITH MY CHIRAIYYA; HERE HAVE A KICK TO THE GODDAMN CHEST 😤😤😤😡😡😡
arre waaaaah. out in like a minute. omki toh bada chupaa rustam nikla! boy, take off that shirt so we can see what you’re REALLLLLLYY working with, body wise. you know, FOR RESEARCH. 😗😗😗
what “uthhhhhh balram”??? whoever hits the ground back-first loses. and he’s lost. fuck off now sadde hue tauji. 😒😒😒
haaaaaaaaaaaye. my sweeeetooooos. 💗💗💗
actualllllllly cryingggggg at omkiiiiii freely confessing that he couldn’t bear to see her get hurttttttttt. 😭😭😭😭😭
“shankarji ki tarah gusse mein aapki teesri aankh khul gayi.” 😅😅😅
JUST KISS ALREADYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY 😩😩😩😩
yes ok uncleji, thanks for your completely unsolicited validation but we just want the murti, so give us that and we’ll be on our way, thanks. 😒😒😒
rikara be like pyaaaaaaar? whaaat? no! we’re just roomies! with a lot of sexual tension. 😯😯😯😯😯
lmaoooo chubby has some new cockamamie scheme. 😆😆😆
hahahaha “investment”. sure. maybe ask your cambridge mba waala bhaiyya how investments actually work?????? 🙄🙄🙄
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zombie apocalypse au.
The clicking of fingers against laptop keyboards echoed the large college classroom. Jasper was one of the most focused students there could be. Luckily, he knew a lot about plants and how they worked, so it was an advantage. Rain pelted against the thick glass window to the left of him, which only caught him off guard from the essay he was in the middle of writing. Lazy eyes focused on the small droplets hitting the window, one by one, then as they dribbled down the foggy glass. Rainy days were the best days to sit down and write. Not only did he spend his time in his classes, but he also spent his dreary days writing poems of some sort. Jasper was a writer, he wrote, and wrote, and wrote.
The emergency broadcast message starts going off in every corner of the room. ― A rare disease outbreak in the surrounding areas of Los Angeles.
"What the fuck..." He mumbled, grabbling tightly at his phone. Swallowing thickly, he looked around at all the faces. Some looked confused, most looked frightened. These types of scenarios never happened in real life ― "zombie" activity happened in corny movies as well as TV series. "Professor. What is this all about?" A student asked, holding her phone up, pure fear in her eyes.
His first thought was to contact Chloe, but he remembered she was out of town for two weeks with her family in Miami, FL. Great. Buzz. Jumping from the sudden vibration at the palm of his hand, he glanced down.
[text message] chloe: i just heard on the news about what's going on. are you safe?
[text message] jasper: yeah, baby. i'm safe. i'm in class right now. i think they're about to let us out. i love you.
[text message] chloe: i love you too, jasp. go to your apartment and wait until it's all over.
Buzz.
[text message #1] mom: jasper. i hate being across the country from you.
[text message #2] rodney: am i high? or is a zombie outbreak about to happen.
[text message #3] blair: chloe demands that you come hang out with me. she's worried about both of us.
[text message] jasper: i'll be over soon.
Replying to everyone in his list, he shoved his MacBook into his computer bag, as well as his phone. "Stay safe, students. I'm not sure what's going on..." The professor called out, but before Jasper could listen in on the conversations, he rushed to the exit. There was no way in hell he was going to die in a zombie apocalypse while at school.
Fifteen minutes into his drive to the sorority house, Jasper found himself in a traffic jam. "Jesus Christ..." He cried out, anger filling his system. It wasn't entirely his fault that he was panicking. It could've been the traffic. Or it could've been the people screaming in the streets.
"Blair, I'm on my way..." He spoke into the phone, gripping tightly at the phone. "This traffic is awful..." SLAM. "Jasper, what the hell was that?" Blair asked, worry in her tone. Blood. "Holy fu―" Jasper cut himself off. It wasn't normal to witness a person eating another person's face off. Was it? Gurgling growls. "Jasper!" Blair shouted through the phone. Jasper wasn't going to allow himself to admit to what he just saw. Not over the phone, not like that. Worrying Blair would only make matters worse. "I'm five minutes away," He lied. Click.
Shoving himself through the large doors of the sorority, he heard screams. Shit. You're too late, asshole. Rolling his eyes at himself, he walked toward the foyer and looked around the area. "Blair?" He called out, looking around with worry. He could frantically look around the large home for Blair, but what was the point? The risk was too high to turn around a corner and randomly get his ace bit off by some sorority bitch.
"Jasper! Up here!" Blair blurted out, waving her arms in the air at the top of the stairs. Dumbass bitch. Scoffing at the loudness she made, he rushed up the staircase and quickly cupped her mouth. "Are you crazy? Zombies are stupid, but they can hear." He spoke as if he were the zombie apocalypse expert. "My bad. Shit." She rolled her eyes, brushing the hair from her shoulder, a typical brat. Jasper was glad that Chloe wasn't like the other girls in the sorority. Down to earth, full of pureness. Everything Jasper needed in his life.
"We need to gather food and get the fuck out of here," Jasper instructed. Grabbing ahold of Blair's hand, he yanked her toward the steps and jolted down them with her. It was only a matter of time until Los Angeles had zombies all over it. "I need to get to Miami. I"m not sure how, but I need to. Do you want to come with?" He asked, grabbing a bag under the sink of the kitchen, he quickly started gathering whatever he could find. Candy, chips, can foods, etc. Not the healthiest foods, but who ate salads during the zombie apocalypse?
Back facing the female, Jasper gathered things inside the bag until there was no room. If they ended up needing more on the road, they could stop anywhere that was remotely safe. Theft wasn't necessarily a thing in the apocalypse. "Oh my god!" Blair screamed out. No girl in this sorority would make it out alive. At least, not alone. Did he want to turn around and witness the sight? Did he want to risk saving someone he barely knew? If anything, he'd do it for Chloe. Jasper knew how important her sisters were to her. Twisting around to face the screaming, Jasper left one eye open and one eye closed.
Heidi. A goddamn zombie. Not a massive surprise. "Fuck..." He called out, looking at Ivy eating at Blair's throat. Blood gushed from it, causing a gag to slip from Jasper's plump lips. "That's fucking gross...I'm going to throw up..." He called out, reaching for a knife. Padding around the island, he squinted his eyes and shook his head. You've always wanted to kill the bitch. Do it. His mind was racing with different options. She's a zombie, you prick. Stab. Right through her retina and to her brain, that's how it worked. Well, that's how it worked in movies and TV series.
Vibrant blood gushed from the female's skull. "Ja...Jasper..." Blair cried out, voice trembling. "I..." Jasper looked at the female, seeing the bite mark with blood spilling from her wound. "Oh, fuck..." Jasper mumbled, gripping tightly at the knife in his hand. How long did it take until someone turned? Did he have to kill this bitch too? Fuck, this was too much stress on one guy. Please wake up from this nightmare, you idiot. Blinking a few times, he squeezed his eyes shut for a few moments. Wake up, wake up. Shooting his eyes open, he could still see the vibrant blood spilling from her neck. "Tell Zachary I love him..." She called out, tears staining her cheeks. "Blair. No offense, but I'm betting Zachary is already a flesh-eating zombie. He's dumber than all of us put together..." Jasper truthfully spoke.
Giving her an awkward facial expression, he shrugged his shoulders. "No hard feelings, Blair...but, I'm just gonna have to..." He held the knife upright. "N―" Before she could try to convince him not to jab a knife into her skull, he jabbed a knife into her skull. Blood spewed from her head, all over the marble top counters, all over Jasper, etc. Two dead sorority girls at his feet. "Kind of a dream come true, but also...I kind of feel bad..." He spoke to himself, dropping the knife onto the floor.
Exiting the sorority house with two full bags of goodies for the road, he heard his phone go off. Chloe. Sliding the green phone over, he answered, "Hey, baby...I'm on my way. Sort of..." He called out, explaining his plans. "Is Blair okay? Is she with you?" Chloe frantically asked. "About that..."
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Red - Part 16
Part 1 - Previous: Part 15 - Next: WIP
[Note: Eric ALWAYS gets what he wants. 🔥🔥🔥🔥 Tagging @elaacreditava, @dreamingoffandomscenarios, @bookwarm85, @pathybo, @ariwolff14, @yourdarksunleavesmecold, @amatuer-flowerchild, @when-innocence-is-lost, @musical-morrison, @imnotafraid4 as requested!]
Rated: M for Mature (it’s pure evil, guys). Enjoy!
________________________________
Aurora dreamed of an endlessly winding staircase. Each time she sensed the end around the corner, she would look up in dismay to see that they still went on and on and on, far up into the darkness at least a hundred more steps.
She would rally herself anew, pause just long enough to catch her breath and move on. After what felt like a lifetime, when her thighs began to ache and her lungs to burn, Aurora at last reached the top of it. She half expected to see some other obstacle in sight, but instead was greeted by a shadowed hallway.
There was a burst of light too quick for her to make out what lay past it. Her thighs still screamed with pain from her grueling plight. Her body tensed with apprehension at continuing forward.
“Want me to go on?”
Aurora frowned at a voice that did not belong there. It rang with familiarity but in her dreamstate, she could not place it.
Something unknown shocked her. Only when she recoiled away from the invisible assailant that awareness grabbed at her violently- but not before she tripped back over the staircase and felt a very long, excruciating fall open up beneath her like jaws.
It was then that Aurora’s eyes sprang open and in the darkness, a silhouette hovered over her horizontal form. Whoever it was, their hand was gripping the inside of her thigh aggressively, enough to cause a swell of panic to leaden her chest.
Aurora grabbed at the shadow with her heart caught in her throat. A quick flash of memory sparked before her eyes and she remembered the three assassins who had struggled with Dalton to kill her- she had nearly forgotten to be afraid of them. Had they finally returned to finish the job? The lizard part of her brain recognized that there was only one shadow, but that didn’t make her any less afraid.
When her small fingers coiled around a forearm hard with muscle and taught with use, realization suddenly dawned on her and she sat bolt upright. The fog of sleep had all but dissipated with the surge of adrenaline, leaving a slow, churning anxiety in its wake.
”Eric?” She hissed into the darkness and the looming shape seemed to breathe.
His voice was rigid as steel and just as cold.
“Get up.”
Aurora dithered as long as she could, pretending to fumble with the sheets wrapped around her body, but Eric’s patience was only so extensive and she felt it wearing dangerously thin. She stole a glance around the dorm to see that all the other initiates were still sleeping soundlessly. No one to witness a murder if there was to be one.
Dangling Four in front of him didn’t seem like such a bright idea now.
Deciding she was taking too long, Eric growled and yanked her to her feet by her elbow. His grip was painful. He drug her out into the hall and didn’t stop until he turned into a dim corridor out of earshot.
“Eric, you’re hurting me,” she tugged her arm free, but he shoved her back into a corner. Her head bounced dizzily off the rough granite and he was quick to fill the space between them.
“Do you think this is funny? Do you think this is a goddamn joke?” He got into her face, and his grey blue eyes were stormy.
Aurora straightened bravely, her nose nearly touching his. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice thankfully didn’t betray the alarm inside of her.
His hand was quick as a flash, and suddenly he had her by the throat. His hold was firm, but yielding enough that she could keep her breath, uneven and shallow as it was.
Aurora gulped under his palm, instinctively bringing her own hands up to feebly try and pry him off of her with no use other than to make him angrier.
“Did you let him fuck you?”
Aurora completely blanked.
“What?”
Eric’s nose wrinkled in annoyance. His breath was hot on her face, dazing her.
“Did. You. Let. Him. Fuck you.”
She comprehended that he was referring to Four- he must have been in the cafeteria last night after all to witness them. Her first reaction was to be offended that he thought it was any of his business anyways even if she had done anything with Four- which she had not.
“That’s none of your business,” was she brave or stupid? She held his glare with one of her own even when his other hand suddenly gripped the back of her thigh, wrenching her more tightly against him. His nostrils flared and he vaguely reminded Aurora of a wildcat frustrated at the struggle of its kill.
“Did you let him touch you?” This question wasn’t as tempestuous but the bridled anger was there just beneath the surface.
Aurora clawed at his hands then, wiggling against him to free herself from both his grip and the wall. She witnessed a flame of excitement light up in his eyes.
“That’s none of your business either, asshole.”
Eric snarled and shoved her harder against the wall; she squealed involuntarily and the voice in the back of her head screamed for her to be careful.
“I’ll decide what my business is, and you are definitely my fucking business!” His mouth crashed into hers and when Aurora yelped fearfully, he bit down on her bottom lip with his teeth hard enough to draw blood. She could taste it on her tongue, and then on his as he licked slowly across the cut. She was too stunned to react any farther than trying to make herself as small as she could.
His hand released her throat and she gulped in air greedily past his lips. It moved up into her hair to tangle as it had before, less a move of passion than a means to pin her in place beneath him and keep her there. He pulled, eliciting another small yelp from Aurora as her scalp sparked with pain.
“I’m the only one who can touch you,” he shoved a hand clumsily beneath the waistband of her sweatpants and the fear Aurora had been feeling erupted into full blown panic. She attempted to struggle, squirming against the rock and against his body, whimpering and begging.
“Hold still,” he barked in irritation and Aurora froze immediately, becoming as still as a statue in an attempt to discourage him.
As if anything could ever discourage Eric.
His fingers twisted beneath the lining of her underwear and a thrill of shock mingling with unwanted pleasure shot through her legs as his knuckles brushed against her most intimate place.
“This will be mine,” he breathed haughtily against her skin, releasing her mouth to nip at her throat. He shoved one finger inside of her and curled, smiling when she gasped so hard her body spasmed.
Aurora tried to stop him, but he knocked her hands out of the way.
“Mine and no one else’s,” when she attempted to pull her legs closed and cut off his access, he jammed a knee between them and forced her feet apart. For every move he made, she resisted. Didn’t she know by now that this only made him more determined?
“Stop fighting it, Aurora. It felt good before,” he coaxed her darkly, moving his finger slowly inside of her, spreading the wetness between her legs. Her muscles clenched hard at the intrusion, and the thought of being the first person to touch her this way made him painfully hard.
She whined desperately, her chest heaving beneath him. “Why, Eric?” Her voice was so small and watery, he almost didn’t hear it.
“Because I can. And I want to hear those pretty little sounds you make again,” his teeth bit the soft skin under her jaw and the thought of it bruising made him smile. It was a way to mark his territory; he bit lower then, trailing down across her shoulder and soothing the stinging flesh with his lips and tongue. He bit down hard enough on her collarbone to make her squeal. She was tiring of the struggle, he could feel it.
With the pad of his thumb, Eric massaged deep circles into her clit, pumping his middle digit harder, feeling her steadily loosening as he forced the pleasure from her body.
Aurora’s desperate grip on his forearms slackened fractionally and without meaning to, her head tilted back to expose her neck to him. Her eyes closed and she tried to imagine that she was somewhere else, or tried to will him to stop with her mind. She couldn’t escape from him. She had to still be dreaming.
“Good girl,” he praised her, kissing back up the curve of her neck to find her mouth again. Feeling that she was properly in place and wouldn’t try to break away if he released her, his hand untangled from her hair and slid downward to caress one of her breasts. He flicked expertly across the perked mound with his thumb and her nipple hardened beneath the cotton of her shirt.
Aurora sighed against him and her rigid body softened almost imperceptibly, but it was enough to fan his nerves with excitement and make him strain harder against his pants.
He was stealing the sensations from her body, drawing the pleasure out with his hands and then pushing her onwards until a thick tension began to pool between her legs and rise to the pit of her stomach. He could sense how close she was just by the flex of her hips rolling deeper into his hand. Her attempts to thwart him now were pathetic as her mind was steadily lost in the pleasant sensations.
“Eric,” she begged one last time. Her voice was hoarse and her eyebrows furrowed. Heat rose to turn her face rosy as though she were embarrassed. Her ribs were rising and falling impossibly fast under the menstruations of her breasts.
“Let it happen,” he enticed, persuading her to just roll with the pleasure rather than mentally fighting against the waves. “God, you’re so tight. I’d love to just fuck you right here against the wall.”
The low, rough words sent a shiver through Aurora that began at the base of her spine and made the top of her head tingle. There was still a part of her that tried to hold out in the form of her shifting to arch away from him each time he pushed deeper, or the way her fingers dug into the muscles of his upper arms like she were trying to stop them from moving.
Determined to make her finish this time, set on feeling her crumble around him, Eric snaked his hand under her shirt, palming the sensitive flesh until Aurora quivered and mewled. She was burning hot beneath his touch.
“That’s it,” he dropped the hand from her breasts and cupped the back of her thigh again to hitch her left leg around his waist. He reached around under her plump ass to stretch at the sensitive skin. This new sensation seemed to be the one that finally sent her tumbling over the edge.
Aurora suddenly arched and every muscle in her body went rigid, her feet trembling as she could no longer support herself upright and being pinned between Eric and the wall was the only thing supporting her. Fiery bursts of light overwhelmed her vision and she screwed her eyes shut tight. Her walls clenched viciously around his hand, but he worked through the intense spasms as she rode out the orgasm in a panting, humming mess. Her fingernails raked white hot, burning scratches into his arms, causing him to hiss through his teeth as she drew blood from him as well. He hungrily smothered each cry until her body went slack and she fell clumsily away from him.
“There you go,” he praised. Eric allowed her to slide down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, shaking. Her breaths were returning to her in ragged gasps and the blush that had colored her pale skin was beautifully bright.
He crouched down in front of her, lifted a finger to her chin to make her look at him. Her green eyes were dazed and tired.
“That wasn’t so bad was it? Now you know that fighting won’t do you any good.” His steel blue eyes glittered in the same way a predator’s sparkle when spotting wounded prey. Aurora’s lip quivered as though she would start crying, and Eric pulled it down lazily with his thumb to reveal her straight white teeth. The prickle of blood he had created was a dry smear by now. Her lip was swollen and bruised.
Eric kissed her chastely on the cheek before standing back to his feet.
“I always get what I want, Aurora.” It was as much an explanation as a warning, not to be taken lightly. He turned to leave then, rounding a corner into the darkness and leaving her shaking and whimpering there on the floor.
#divergent#divergent fanfiction#eric divergent#divergent smut#Eric#eric fanfiction#Eric Coulter#eric smut#fanfiction#fanfic#jai courtney fanfiction#mine
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Why I Quit: Public Relations
“Wow, that is a lot of blood.”
“Thanks. It’s not mine. I hit a pig on the way over.”
“Cop pig, or pig pig?”
“Cop riding a pig actually. It’s a whole thing, I don’t really have time to get into. Could I get a waffle cone full of mint chocolate chip?”
“No problem.”
I handed the woman her ice cream cone. She took a lick that inspired a deep lusty bite. The look of elation on her face – comforting cold wrapping around a burning soul – I envied that degree of satisfaction, wanted to be her. Then a bullet whipped through the front door. Her head exploded. Though her body fell she did not drop the cone. I distinctly remember a bit of brain erupting from her skull, flying over the counter, and landing in the slot full of cherries. It sank into the maraschino pool, and I doubt anyone but me saw it vanish. There to lurk until one day spooned onto a sundae.
On the news that evening, a perky anchor addressed the city, “Good evening, Chicago. This is the news. 25 people shot yesterday, all of them dead. Cubs won their home opener, and the weather may get up into the 80s this weekend. Isn’t that great?”
Co-anchor cocked an eyebrow, “Cubs win, and 80 degrees on the way? Can’t get much better.”
All smiles then, leaving the grim behind. No details. The less known the less thought about, except I couldn’t stop wondering if office work might now be a safer profession. In a skyscraper high above the streets full of swarms of stray bullets unintentionally murdering randomly – I decided to jump ship, but not until sight of land. In other words, I’d stick it out at the ice cream parlor until another job came along. I would not have to wait long.
The next day I arrived to find my manager listening to an androgynous figure in a three piece suit. Introductions quickly ensued.
“Indigo Jackson,” turned out to be a representative of a family, whom for legal purposes will have to remain anonymous, though suffice it to say they felt yesterday’s event warranted some kind of response on their part. To that end, without suggesting any culpability, they saw fit to replace the entire front of the store with bulletproof glass, in order to allay any concerns from patrons or employees as to the safety of our establishment; and offered to compensate me to the tune of ten thousand dollars for having witnessed the “unpleasantness;” though of course all such matters required, first, the signing of several documents Indigo summarized adroitly, escorting us through a murky swamp of legalese without ever really explaining what signing those papers meant, despite implications abounding: here big sack ‘o’ cash, sign for it, and shut up forever.
When at last Indigo inquired, “Do you understand?”
I said, “It must be interesting to have a job where you need to be so definitely opaque, yet somehow understood enough people do what you ask.”
Indigo nodded, “It is.”
“I kind of want to give that a try.”
“Are you saying you want a job instead of the money?”
“Can’t I have both? It was a very disturbing sight.”
Indigo said, “Something can be arranged.”
Clapping my hands together, “Great. Then before I quit, how about I make you a cherry sundae?”
“Sounds good.”
#
The next day I ascended to the top of the Monadnock Building. Once upon a time the largest skyscraper in America – circa 1893 – it still towered in its own way, evolving over the century into a marvelous amalgamation of early aesthetics and modern technological convenience. Brick full of invisible wifi threads connecting the past, present, and future; tap a foot on red tile mosaic patterns, while listening to the lasted streaming playlist, killing time till the rush hour clog gives way. Then up steps adorned first in ornate aluminum cast decorations then on upper floors, bronze-plated cast iron staircases, shunning the elevator for a chance to walk through history… and maybe feeling no hurry to be at work on time.
Into the office to start a brand new –
“You the new guy? Follow me.” A balding man in a sweat stained shirt grabbed me by the elbow. He pulled me into the office muttering as he poured over emails. His phone rang. He threw it on the floor. I felt it crunch under foot, and before I could apologize an intern materialized from behind a file cabinet, handed him a fresh phone, and the muttering commenced once again. Though this time I deciphered a bit, “Goddamn turkey fuckering pirates.”
The office buzzed with activity. Hordes of hollow eyed business people in various states of decay, internal and external, paced the space examining documents, paper and electronic. A middle aged man in a thread bare double breasted suit sniffed ketamine off a tablespoon, while his colleague, a young woman in a pencil skirt, slugged vodka the way the thirsty chug water. I only caught a snippet of their exchange:
“We can’t apologize for lactose intolerance.”
“But we can apologize for a cheeseburger having cheese.”
In another space a grey skinned wax figure waited for a nurse to change an IV bag dripping morphine. Surrounded by an assortment of young professionals, the room seemed like a cult of silence devoted to holding a secret. A woman in tortoise shell glasses spun the cylinder of a revolver, put it to her temple, and when she heard the click, sighed, took a shot of whiskey, and started reading a letter. I heard the distinct clatter of keyboards being hammered, and riding crops striking bare flesh.
“Thank you Miss! May I have another?”
Yet in all the seeming chaos the workers managed to flow between one another efficiently, an almost elegant ballet of the damned.
The person towing me through the scene remarked, “I’m Bernie. For now. Tomorrow, I don’t know. It depends. Don’t ask on what. Point being, your job is to write back to the beggars. Got it?”
“Okay.”
“Good. Here’s your space.” And with that Bernie detached his hand, leaving me adrift by a state of the art computer atop a turn of the century desk. Stepping over a chalk outline, I took a seat at my desk.
“Don’t worry about that.”
I looked up to find a young lady in red.
She nodded at the chalk outline, “Horace Fletcher. Good guy. Killed himself.”
“Does everybody here talk in staccato sentences.”
She smiled, “Force of habit, I’m afraid. There’s a lot to do, and no time to do it in,” extending a hand, “I’m Patty.”
Thanks to Patty, I discovered the true parameters of my job. Public relations is almost a tautology. It’s name defines what it is: relating to the public. However, that covers a broad spectrum of ways to relate. The top floor of the Monadnock Building devoted itself to public relations for the {redacted} family. This involved everything from composing explanations, summaries, and denials regarding the family’s various scandals, philanthropies, business, and political concerns. Each concern being the focus of different groups, or perhaps divisions is more appropriate: mercenary artisans trying to paint realities.
As Patty put it, “We wrap the shit in gold, and draw all eyes to a drop in the bucket.”
When I said, “Bernie put me in charge of the 'beggars?’”
Patty got a bit misty, “Entry level stuff. Enjoy your innocence.”
I wanted to inform Patty about my time as a sounding assistant, sterilizing metal rods used by a dominatrix to widen the hole in a penis so that objects such as fingers could be inserted into said dick-hole; however, I could tell she enjoyed the idea of my innocence so much that it would be wrong to rob her of it. So I kept my penis stories to myself.
The “beggars” turned out to be anyone writing to the {redacted} family asking for money. This also constituted a broad spectrum. On any given day I went through about fifty missives soliciting money in myriad ways. Long lost cousins sought financial reconnection with relatives; for the low, low price of 20 grand, black sheep offered to keep silent about buried bodies; and any number of other unrecognized spawn demanding financial acknowledgement. Meanwhile, inventors who swore to be on the verge of paradigm shifting breakthroughs – teleportation, antigravity, freeze rays, and orgasm pills – just needed another few thousand to revolutionize the world. Folks from places like Telluride, Colorado, Marfa, Texas, and Stockbridge, Massachusetts sought coin to start hospitals for broken hearts, agencies devoted to finding lost pets, and the Fuck You Ashley Tillerman Institute. Cash to stop the Martian invasion. Funds to get the invasion going.
Every day I dipped into a cornucopia full of the well intentioned, insane, and grifters. After about two weeks, it got hard to tell the difference between them. This mainly having to do with the fact my response to each, as instructed, remained forever always NO.
Patty said, “You have to read the letters. That way you can put in a personal touch. Then they feel like someone actually considered giving them money, and we get less hate mail. Believe me, you don’t want to piss off that department. They have the best drugs.”
So I did my best to be accommodating:
“Dear madam,
We appreciate your desire to build a National Hardware Store Historical Society. Hardware stores provide Americans with the means to build the future, and maintain the present. However, we don’t feel that our company is the best one to get behind this endeavor. Perhaps a major home improvement retailer might be a better fit.
Best of luck in your pursuit.
Sincerely,
{redacted}”
An intern near the coffee room enjoyed the task of rubber stamping signatures onto all correspondence. The kid sat in a weed slack fog of delight, stamp, stamp, stamping the day away. On more than one occasion I found myself along with others enviously eying that intern.
According to office folklore, the top floor of the Monadnock Building was purchased because a bygone patriarch of the {redacted} family said, “The city is in charge of cleaning the sidewalk. So if they’re going to kill themselves, let them jump to their death. Then we won’t have to pay for the mess.” So it’s no surprise how many of us came to envy that intern’s pacific demeanor while happily assisting in the distribution of our gilded shit. It didn’t seem to wear on the soul quite the way it did on ours.
Having to tell a racist no we won’t be funding a School of Higher Aryan Education (and whatever hideously malignant stupidity that would lead to) does make one feel good. However, having to deny someone asking for help with medical bills, cancer killing their bank account before it goes after them, obliterates any of that joy. Overhearing the press release about {redacted} Junior’s latest monstrosity – “Maybe that hooker wanted to die, she didn’t say, 'Stop choking me.’” – knowing the expense of his legal defense, and ad campaign to polish the family image – we could ease a few burdens with those millions. But no. Cancer fighters, refugees, the infirmed, those honestly sick, dying, and in need: fuck 'em.
Granted, it seems like an equal fuck you, aimed at anyone asking for a penny, yet, the disparity is taxing.
The postmark puts the letter in some part of Texas. It’s from an elderly woman writing on behalf of her grandson. He can’t write himself because 45% of his body is covered in burns after an oilrig catastrophe, and seeing as how [redacted} owns those oilfields, well sir, it seems right proper maybe we could help with the medical bills is all; and sure, there’s a real possibility she’s a grifter pulling some bullshit con – start thinking of everyone as full of shit – old bitch probably writes to a dozen companies a day asking for any kind of cash. Yeah! Suck down a fifth of bourbon writing the politest fuck you the world’s ever heard. Don’t even wonder if it’s at all true. Or if so, consider it sarcastically: sorry about your extra crispy grandson, but we can’t help because there’s nothing that says we have to.
On a Wednesday, Bernie stopped into my office. He said, “You’re doing great. Promotion assured. Pretty soon you’ll have my job.”
I opened my mouth to reply. His phone rang. He held up a finger. In the momentary silence he answered, listened, nodded then walked to a window, and jumped out.
Few people are ever so blessed to witness their future made plain.
Patty stuck her head in, “Did Bernie just go out a window?”
I said, “Yep, and I quit.”
#whyIquit#honestyisnotcontagious#writing#short story#comedy#humor#satire#dark humor#weird#publicrelations#fiction
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