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victoria-daydreams · 4 years ago

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The Long Way Home

Chapter Four: Recruiting for a Jailbreak

AN: Here it is folks! You finally get a taste of what Claudia been up to over the years.

Trigger Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.8k

Taglist: @iloveeverything-09, @eiferundruhe, @greatscott--wrongdecade

Chapter Five: A Summer Place

She was laying on their shared bed with nothing on but one of Charles' shirt, her legs tucked slightly to let the natural curves of them lead up to her thighs and to more scenic places, reading a book. Charles was reading a novel of his own, leaning against the headboard of the bed, but he found it hard to concentrate on the text in front of him when there was a beautiful woman laying opposite of him.

Claudia caught Charles' eyes on her, and broke out into a grin that almost made him reach across the bed and drag her mouth to his, kissing away that smile and make it his own forever.

"Why are you staring at me like that Charles?" Claudia asked, a soft grin pulling at her lips.

"Because you're breathtaking love," he breathed, giving a lopsided smile.

Claudia rolled her eyes, feeling her face flush with heat, "I'm only in one your button ups Charles," she replied, slightly laughing.

"Hmm, and you wear it so well darling," Charles purred, running a finger up and down her ankle.

Snapping her book shut, not caring where she left off, Claudia righted herself and crawled over to Charles where he gathered her in his arms and held her to his body. She burrowed herself into Charles and he nuzzled his nose into her hair, inhaling deeply.

"Sometimes I think to myself of how lucky I am to have met you," Charles murmured, against Claudia's ear. "To be with you," he added, using the back of his finger to caress her cheek.

Claudia lifted her head slightly from his shoulder, "I love you Charles," she breathed, bumping her nose with his.

"And I love you," Charles smiled, his words ghosting over her lips.

Their noses bumping into each other until Charles lowered Claudia back onto the bed, capturing her lips in a fiery kiss.

~~~x~~~

"Hank, I still can't believe you kept Claudia's address a secret for all these years!" Charles fumed, glaring at Hank and then out the backseat window.

"Do you honestly think she would even want to see you after everything you said to her?" Hank asked back, letting out a scoff.

The trees passed by as they drove down a side road in Richmond, Virginia. The car slowly came to a stop as they reached a local park. As all the men piled out of the rental car, they began to observe the serene environment. The trees bent softly with the wind, the wind carrying the laughter of children running around the playground, being princesses and mighty warriors in their own worlds. Erik gazed across the street, seeing only children and their parents, and became confused.

Charles' brows also furrowed, "Are you sure this is the right neighborhood?" he questioned, doing a slow 360 turn as his eyes swept their surroundings. The neighborhood had elegant, Victorian-style homes lined on each side of the street in various colors, manicured lawns and ample yard space. "This seems too...suburban for someone like Claudia," Charles stated.

"Claudia was always one for the city," Erik recalled, staring at a sign informing residents that the neighborhood watch worked round the clock.

"This is the type of place where you would settle down and start a family..." Charles’ voice faded, at his own assessment.

Hank unfolded a piece of wrinkled, almost yellowing paper, "She gave me this address in 1967, I called the number she wrote down, but no one answered. There's no telling if she still lives there or not," he said, smoothing the paper out. "This way," Hank announced, walking down the sidewalk and everyone followed him.

Several times, they had to stop before they collided with humans half their size, smiling kindly as the children took off giggling.

"So you and Claudia split up then," Erik began, just loud enough for only Charles to hear as Peter, Hank, and Logan walked ahead.

"Obviously," Charles bit back, not wanting to talk about it.

Erik shook his head, "Never thought I'd see that happen, she thought the world of you," he started, but was interrupted by shrieks of laughter as they passed a yellow two story home, the sprinklers were on and three children under the age of eight, raced through the water in swimsuits. "Such a shame isn't it, you had a woman like Claudia and you let her go," Erik mentioned casually, letting out a tsk before quickening his pace to catch up with the group.

Erik's statement pierced Charles like a twisting knife through the heart. A frown lined his forehead as he let out a deep breath, he had no idea what he was going to say once he saw her.

"Here we are," Hank notified, stopping in front of a house. "1342 West Main Street," he read, looking down at the piece of paper and glancing up at the front door.

The house was beautiful, a three story updated cream colored Victorian mansion, leading to the garage to the road is a brick driveway. The front of the mansion had a tan painted wooden porch with five sturdy and wide steps. The porch cover had white shingles and a comfortable beige two person porch swing hanging from the ceiling. It was spacious enough for one or more people to stand on the wide front porch with ease to overlook the large front yard with tall oaks that displayed their rich, green foliage and beautiful shrubs carefully trimmed.

"Is your friend rich?" Peter asked, staring in awe at the house.

Erik slid his hands into his pockets, "If she wills it so." He quipped, hinting at her power.

"Sounds strangely ominous," Logan commented, glancing Erik then back at the house.

"There's a car in the driveway, so someone's home," Erik observed, before walking up the porch steps. "Come on, let's go, no need to prolong this any longer than we have to," he stated, climbing the stairs.

Everyone walked up the stairs without hesitation, but Charles remained at the bottom of the porch still looking up at the mansion. His stomach was twisting itself into knots, he couldn't shake the feeling of restless nervousness that's been building up within him since D.C. The thought of walking up the grand staircase leading to the door frightened him, what if she didn't want to see him?

Claudia was never one to forgive easy.

"Did I tell you why Claudia has to be involved?" Charles questioned, trying to find some excuse not to face his ex-fiancée.

"No, you didn't mention," Logan answered. "But you have to do this. You insisted, like I said," he reminded.

"Why? She dies, but so will I someday. We all will," Charles pointed out lamely.

"Her dying should be reason enough Charles," Erik stated, narrowing his eyes at him.

Charles threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender, "You're right, you're right," The telepath conceded, making his way up the steps giving himself a constant pep talk as he went.

Hank raised one of his thin fingers and pressed the doorbell, the ringing of the bell echoed through the house, but no one came to greet them. Hank waited another thirty seconds before he pressed the doorbell a second time, still there wasn't a sign of movement from within the home.

"Maybe she's not home," Hank suggested, cupping his hands to peer through the front door window, but the glass was frosted.

"Or she's ignoring us," Charles reckoned.

"I'm one to never turn down the opportunity to use my powers." Peter offered, getting ready to take off until Erik clasped his hand on his shoulder.

"Not if you value your life," Erik cautioned, letting him go. "Claudia, is the last person to be trifled with," he added.

Logan raised his eyebrow at this, "Who was this woman?" he thought.

Suddenly, Logan's ear perked up at the sound of music playing faintly.

"Do any of you hear that?" Logan asked, craning his neck as he moved away from the front door.

"Hear what?" Charles asked.

"There's music being played," Logan responded, walking down the porch steps. "It's coming from the backyard," he continued, making his way to the gate.

They followed behind the man and as they got closer to the gate the sound of orchestral music could be heard wafting from the backyard. Logan unlatched the back gate, walking across the plush green lawn now being able to fully hear the crooning of Andy Williams singing A Summer Place.

There's a summer place Where it may rain or storm

Moving further into the backyard Logan was stunned by its opulence. There was a stone patio attached to the home designed with veranda arches, an in ground pool was centered in the middle of grand, park-like backyard. The pool was surrounded by tan stone tiles which extended from the deck against the house. To the left side of the deck was a grill and a round white table with a white umbrella and a couple of garden chairs and on the right had an in-ground Jacuzzi. If anyone stood on the deck and looked up they would notice a balcony.

For within that summer place Your arms reach out to me

Logan's gaze halted as he spotted a figure of a woman in a pool chair underneath an umbrella, lounging with one leg outstretched and the other pulled in immersed in her reading. The woman was not far off from the backyard gate, but she didn't move, seemingly unaware that there were guests with her. The record player was playing right next to her, the music must have masked the noise of the gate opening as she kept absently swaying her foot back and forth to the song.

There are no gloomy skies When seen through the eyes

"Well, if that's her, she's certainly living lavishly," Erik observed, simply amazed at the wealth of the homeowner.

Charles' eyes swept around the backyard in shock. He was speechless as a matter of fact. If the woman under the umbrella was Claudia, Charles had to wonder who was the rich man that swept her off her feet and married her. As the men approached the woman they suddenly felt their legs lock up, except for Hank's. Logan, Erik, Charles, and Peter all looked down to see violet wisps surrounding their lower limbs.

"What the hell?" Logan muttered, as Erik and Charles both glanced at each other.

"Now Hank," a familiar female voice called out over the music. "When I invited you to stop by my house whenever you please, that invitation wasn't extended to a stranger, a wanted criminal, a drug abuser, and a..." the woman paused, and loudly sniffed the air twice. "A dog," she finished, never turning to face them.

"I wouldn't have brought them along if this wasn't important," Hank explained, taking a step closer.

"We need your help Claudia,"

Chapter Six: Hell Hath No Fury

#x-men fanfiction #black fanfiction #x-men fanfic #charles xavier fanfiction #charles xavier x oc #black!oc #magneto x oc #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr fanfiction #erik lehnsherr x oc #erik lehnsherr x reader #charles xavier x reader #black!reader #x men fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic

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lunacyxxx · 4 years ago

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Your shoes hit the concrete of the sidewalk as you ran trying to ignore the numerous shouts behind you, the sound of your beating heart echoed in your ears as well. Your mind was racing, you were caught in the wrong place at the wrong time while walking home from your last class, your curiosity got the best of you when you stumbled upon a drug deal going wrong.

You knew and heard rumors about the mafia being in town, but you didn’t think they’d be this close to your neighbourhood. Turning down an alley, you pushed your body to keep going; tears pricked in your eyes and you wiped them away when you saw the street your house was on come into view. Your rejoice was cut short when a sleek black car skidded to a stop in front of you swinging the door open, before you could stop you skidded into a pair of heavily tattooed arms that wrestled you into the backseat of the vehicle.

A cloth was pressed to your nose and you ended up inhaling the bizarre sweet scent that came from it, black dots claimed your vision while a male with black hair and blue eyes smirked down at you.

You woke up with a gasp as cold water was dumped over your body, you cough and struggle slightly to wipe your face only to find your arms tied behind you. You were on your knees and you could feel ropes digging into the skin of your legs, your limbs were bound making your calves press against your thighs. Someone clears their throat and you finally look up to a white haired male with red eyes, behind him were two other people as well.

You could recognize the tattooed dude who dragged you into the car and knocked you out with the chloroform drenched rag, there’s a blonde that’s smirking at you standing next to the black haired man. An audible gulp escapes your mouth once the guy who seems to be the leader starts to speak.

“I’m gonna just cut to the chase here you dumb girl, first of all how much did you see and hear,” the lanky male circled around your form and you nervously lick your lips before answering with a shaky voice. “I only saw when the money and stuff was being exchanged, and when someone pointed out that the money was counterfeit, I turned to leave when things got serious and one of the guys saw me and that’s when they started chasing me.”

“I was surprised at your speed though Babybird, you almost got away from me,” your eyes trail to meet golden ones. You couldn’t tell if the marks by his eyes were makeup or birthmarks, something glints in his hand and you’re shivering now. “I wasn’t done speaking Hawks,” Shigaraki crouched down in front of you and took your chin in his hold.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t put a bullet in this pretty little head of yours.”

Your breath hitches and you look between the three males, it finally clicked in your mind that you were dealing with the mafia and you swore they could possibly hear your heartbeat too. “Awe c’mon Shigs, she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. She seems like a really good girl too, she hasn’t put up a fight or anything either. What’s your name, even though I’m still gonna call you Songbird or Babybird.”

“Its Y/n,” Keigo nods and a ring cuts through the silence. It’s the personal ringtone you have set for Katsuki, you and him were best friends. He had ‘practice’ today so he wasn’t able to walk you home today, “Katsuki? Ah, I’ve heard about that kid. He’s a really good student with a shitty personality though. And he’s involved with Deku’s gang.”

You honestly forgot Shigaraki and Dabi were in the room until the white haired male spoke, “Do what you need to do then get her cleaned up before she gets a fever. I don’t need a cold floating around here,” you heard the door close leaving both you and Hawks alone.

Katsuki never told you he was participating in the mafia.

“Let’s answer this phone call shall we?”

“Wait! Please don’t,” Hawks ignores you and he props the phone up before answering the video call and walking back in front of you.

“Hey Shitty Girl, you didn’t call when you got home so I- what the fuck?”

The blonde’s red eyes were wide as he took in the sight of you bound on your knees, he felt awful for getting slightly aroused.

Hawks brought up a chair behind you and sat down pulling you back to lean against his form, fingers decorated with a few rings circled around your throat. The cold barrel of the gun lightly taps the edge of your jaw making you flinch and lean away, “How bout we play a game? Let’s meet up, but you have a few things to tell me first before you get your precious girl-.”

“Listen you cockatoo reject, Y/n has nothing to do with anything that fucking happens between our group and yours so let her go.”

A short scream escapes your mouth when the ceiling is shot, “I wasn’t finished you explosive brat.” Hawks’ grip tightened on your neck as he placed the hot barrel against your inner thigh making you cry out and squirm. “Everytime you cuss and or interrupt me, this cutie right here gets burned. Be mindful of what you do or say because I don’t plan on wasting the last bullet.”

Your breath comes out in short pants and Keigo releases the hold on your neck to take a hold of your jaw making you face Katsuki, you plead with your eyes towards your friend who grits his teeth. “What the f-what do you want from me?”

“First of all, a shame you kept this cutie hidden away. I guess you just wanted to be a good friend and keep her safe, you calling just made things a lot easier though.” Katsuki sucked his teeth and crossed his arms, “We’re gonna meet up and you’ll give me all of your gang’s current plans. If I find out or suspect you’re lying, this cutie right here is gonna suffer the consequences of your actions. I’ll be sending you the address shortly.”

“You bastard, I’d rather fucking die than give up that damn nerd Deku,” Katsuki immediately regretted his words when another gunshot rang out and your scream echoed through the speakers on his end. The tip of the gun was pressed up higher on your inner thigh then Keigo shot the ceiling for a third time and dragged the barrel of the gun from your hip up making your shirt ride up.

You were panting and whimpering, your body shivering from the cool air, Keigo let out a small groan. “I wonder what other sounds you can make Babybird. We can possibly find out now maybe?” A look was in Keigo’s and Katsuki hated it, the younger blond gnawed at his lip, mixed emotions were flowing around his mind. Katsuki was possibly just as guilty as the other male, the sight of you bound, water dripping off your body excited him.

The way your chest heaves with every breath you take, “Like I said. I’ll send you the address and you better be on your way as soon as you get the text.” Before Bakugo could speak, Hawks reached over and hung up the phone. His golden eyes landed on you, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You could feel the ropes coming undone and you rubbed your arms then legs to get the blood flowing through them.

“You’re not gonna hurt him are you?”

“That all depends on how he decides to approach this whole situation, truth be told you should worry about yourself.” Hawks had a sly smile on his face before he picked you up leading you through the same doors Dabi and Tomura used. You were led through what seemed like a maze of halls before Keigo stopped at a door, “This is my room. There’s a bathroom in there for you to use and we can just grab something of mine for you to wear, after that we’re gonna meet your friend so don’t take too long or try anything.”

You nodded and he unlocked the door ushering you in before coming in and pointing to the bathroom, your feet lead you to the door before opening it.

The bathroom was simple, a bit larger than the one at your home but you knew this was the base of their operations so there was no need for extravagant spaces here. Keigo taps your shoulder and you jump lightly, folded up in his hands is a pair of sweats and a shirt. You thank him softly and take the clothing before closing the door, after about twenty minutes you were done and you come out seeing your captor laid out on his bed texting away.

“Alright let’s get this show on the road,” he smiles at you but your gut tells you something more is gonna happen. He takes you by your wrist and leaves with you trailing behind him, “You don’t have to be so scared Babybird. I don’t think I have it in me to actually hurt that pretty little face of yours unless you’re into stuff like that. I don’t kink shame.”

You sputter softly and your cheeks redden brightly, Hawks laughs shaking his head and soon you’re being pushed into yet another car; Keigo slides in beside you resting his hand on your thigh.

Katsuki doesn’t tell anyone about the ordeal that he’s in, he knew that if he did Deku would want to wait it out and make some dumbass plan. Katsuki was always protective of you, seeing you bound like that in front of the other blond made him upset yet turned on. He watched his phone until it lit up with the text containing the address, Bakugo was already pacing in front of his door beforehand.

Exiting his home, he plugged the address into his maps and saw that it was only a fifteen minute walk. He made sure that the hood of his jacket was up to stop anyone he knew from recognizing him being out this late.

Katsuki stood in front of what seemed to be a penthouse and snorted before ringing the buzzer to be let in.

Hawks gave you your phone to unlock it before snatching it back out of your hands to text Katsuki as soon as the two of you made it to his place. He ushered you inside and told you to sit on the couch, “What did you mean when you said I had to worry more about myself earlier?”

“Ah that’s still on your mind? Well maybe I could just show you,” he stalked towards you and placed his hands onto the back of the couch beside your head. You audibly gulped as your eyes gazed into his own golden ones, “Your friend isn’t exactly who he seems. I know he never told you about his gang affiliation but I’m sure he’s never told you about how he’s also a double agent.”

You blink owlishly opening your mouth to ask what he meant until there was a buzzing sound, “He’s here already.” Keigo strolled to the front door pressing a button, his hand looked around your bicep when he walked back urging you to follow him to his room. A startled yelp leaves your mouth when he tosses you on the bed telling you to stay put, Hawks leaves the room and you keep quiet.

The door opens and you could hear an exchange of words, both of their voices mingling a bit before there’s a shared laugh. Your heart speeds up as they enter the room, Katsuki smiles at you and the whole situation becomes even more confusing.

Your breath came out in short pants, your legs were shaking and you were trying your best to wrestle your hands from the iron grip that pressed them to the comforter. Red eyes stare down at your teary e/c ones, “P-Please. I-I can’t..let me c-cum please!”

Keigo gave a hard lick against your clit while slipping his soaked fingers from your aching pussy, “Oh come on Babybird. You can hold out just a bit longer can’t you?” Katsuki leaned down to press an upside down kiss to your lip, “Yeah Teddybear. If I knew you were such a fucking slut, I would have snatched you up before this birdbrain right here did.”

��Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you were trying to hide your boner through that video call Sparky. You should be fucking thanking me that you’re here with me, I didn’t have to send the address and shit.”

A squeak leaves your mouth when Keigo leans back down taking your clit back into his mouth while reinserting his fingers back into your quivering cunt. Bakugo’s insults are ignored as Hawks noisily (and sloppily) eats you out like he’s been starved. Your thighs are quaking and the gold eyed male huffs sitting up, “Grab her thighs.”

“W-wait I-“ you’re suddenly sitting upright but Katsuki has you in a full nelson position leaving you completely exposed to Hawks. Your head knocks back against Bakugo’s shoulder and he places kisses along your neck. “Look at you all spread out like this. You love the fucking attention don’t you? Being fucking dominated by two guys that could do literally anything they want to you.”

You were babbling softly as your hips twitch, Bakugo’s words and Hawks’ mouth turned your brain to mush. You slick walls were clinging to Keigo’s fingers as he hooked them upwards making you scream.

Keigo let your clit go with with a loud wet smack before bringing his face towards yours while finger fucking you.

“There we fucking go, you ready to cum? Yeah? You wanna cum after we took turns edging you over and over again, go ahead and cum so we can fuck your brains out.”

Your eyes squeeze shut and white flashes behind your lids as a shaky keen erupts from your throat as you finally cum. Your essence gushes out soaking his fingers and the covers below, “Holy shit Teddybear. To think you were a fucking squirter.” Katsuki kisses your temple and lets your quivering legs down while Hawks licks his fingers.

The both of them give you about a minutes to come down from your high before Bakugo pulls you into his lap, you look down gulping seeing that he’s already naked. His cock pressed against your puffy lower lips before his hot hands gripped your waist, he soon began rutting against you making your juices coat his cock.

“You’re gonna sing me a song right Songbird? Let everyone know, especially the one behind you know who this pussy belongs to?” You look up through your lashes at the older blond smirking down at you, “Shut the fuck up you damn Tweetybird. My Teddybear knows who she really belongs to, you don’t know her like I fucking do.”

You’re snatched up from Bakugo who growls and Keigo holds you up hovering your dripping folds over the head of his leaking cock. “Let’s see who can make her cum the most amount of times then we’ll decide who gets her.”

They were talking and snapping at each other as if you weren’t right here dangling over a cock. Your hands place themselves on Hawks chest, during their banter you were able to somewhat calm down to think again.

“Ah you’re back with us finally Babybird?”

You give a soft nod and swallow hard, you adjust yourself so you’re properly straddling him hissing softly when the tip of his member grazes your clit. Warmth covers your back as Katsuki leans over you to kiss your cheek.

“I’m tired of having your fucking back to me.”

Your world spins and now your back is pressed to Hawks’ chest, you gaze up into red irises as Bakugo claims your mouth in a heated kiss. Hawks rolls his eyes and gropes at your breasts playing with your budding peaks, you feel a prod at your back entrance making you jolt slightly.

“Sorry Kid, I should have warned you but I’m dying to get inside of you. Just relax for me okay,” Katsuki breaks the kiss and pulls away to spit on your pussy and watch his saliva flow down to the puckered ring of muscle.

“K-Katsuki,” you were shocked at the display. You and Keigo both knew you were already wet down there anyway, “You sly bastard. Just know I’m still gonna make her scream my name more than yours.”

Hawks gripped one of your thighs while his other hand took his cock guiding it to press at your hole again. “Relax and be a good girl for me yeah?” You nod and glance at the other occupant in the room who’s stroking his cock at the sight of you spread out like this. You and Hawks sigh out in unison when he finally slips inside of you, “Ohhh fuck.”

Keigo’s voice drops an octave or two while he slowly pushes his member deeper into your gummy walls, “You’re so fucking tight. Fucking hell.”

You were panting and trying not to squirm too much until you could feel his hips flush against yours.

“Fucking finally you damn extra.”

Katsuki was back over you, his cock lightly tapping at your pussy before it slips inside of you. Both men hiss at the way you squeeze their cocks, the three of you lay there panting.

Your hips soon begin to wiggle, the stinging melting into pleasure. “Someone’s a little eager. Ready for us to fuck you, pump you full of our cum Babybird? Ready to show this amateur who you belong to?”

Katsuki suddenly delivers a sharp thrust making you and Hawks yelp, “You talk too fucking much.” Katsuki sets the pace and Hawks soon followed, they’re moving in sync so that when one of them is pulling out the other is pushing in.

The room is filled with a chorus of moans, filthy promises and skin hitting skin. Your hands are scrambling to find purchase on either of the guys as you could already feel your orgasm approaching, “I’m gonna-I’m gonna c-cum!”

Katsuki’s hand flew down and his fingers started rubbing your clit making you arch your back, you were about to cry out his name until Hawks shoved his middle and ring finger into your mouth making you gag. Katsuki clicked his tongue, “That’s fucking cheating.”

“And you stroking her clit right as she’s about to cum isn’t,” Hawks sasses back. The both of them are too involved with their bickering to notice you cumming until you went limp in their hold weakly pushing on them.

Your muffled plea for them to slow them was ignored as Hawks picked up the pace, “We’re gonna have to redo that one Babybird.” Katsuki nodded as his hand left your clit to wrap around your throat, your eyes struggled to stay open as they both wrecked your body overstimulating you until you ended up squirting again.

You could feel the throbs if their cocks as they too began to reach their climaxes, their dirty talking to you (and maybe some to each other) was drowned out by the overload of pleasure.

With a final thrust, they both cussed and groaned as they filled you up with their seed.

The three of you lay there trying to catch your breaths, your eyes widen slightly when you feel Keigo twitch inside of you. “You tired already Blasty? I bet I can last more rounds than you ever could.”

Bakugo clicked his tongue and gave an experimental thrust while his teeth dug into his lower lip, “Shut the fuck up.” Hawks rolled his eyes and shifted, “I wanna fuck her pussy next so move.” Katsuki gets up slowly slipping out of you and he watches his cum drop out of your pussy, “You look so good with my cum dripping out of you Princess.”

Your meek voice doesn’t seem to reach them as Keigo sits up with his member still inside of you. His right hand wraps around your throat while the other grabs your hip, “I’m gonna fuck you while you clean him up. How does that sound, Babybird?”

You nod and the younger blond cups your cheeks as he kisses you, a moan comes from you as the other male in the room grunts. You feel the blunt head of his cock pressing at your pussy until he slips in, Keigo had a slightly larger girth than Bakugo but he filled you up so well.

Leaning down after breaking the kiss with Katsuki, you wrapped your hand around his cock and took his tip into your mouth. His warm hand made homage on the back of your head while he let out a guttural growl, his hips began bucking slightly making you take more of his length.

Hawks cooed at you and told you how much of a good girl you were being for taking them both like his. “You love having your holes fucked and stretched like this huh? You like the idea of both of us filling you up with our cum, who knew such a cutie like you would be a cumslut.”

Bakugo would never admit it to anyone, not even himself but the way Keigo spoke to you combined with your glossy eyes gazing up to him drove him wild. He didn’t expect to cum again so quickly, Keigo massaged you’re throat making sure you swallowed all of the other male’s seed before sitting back on his knees with your body to his absolutely pounding into you.

You cry out when Hawks spanks your thigh, “Look at your best friend. He’s such a pervert for watching you being fucked like this, I’m pretty sure he’d love it even if Dabi were here. Hell maybe even my boss, we’d pass you around and take turns filling you up and fucking you until you can’t remember your own name. But you’d damn well remember ours, you like the sound of that? Your pussy clenched down on me, you gonna cum again huh? Don’t fucking close your eyes and let him see you cum all over this dick.”

You were reduced back to stutters and soft babbles as you weakly reached towards Katsuki who interlocked your fingers together and grabbed your chin. His tongue collected the drool coming from the corner of your mouth before he slips his thumb between your lips and spits in your mouth again.

“Don’t fucking swallow,” Hawks turns your towards him and does the same thing. You couldn’t stop yourself from swallowing before a choked up sob exits your throat as white flashes behind your eyelids. Your legs are practically vibrating now and you slump completely against Katsuki when Hawks lets you go to grab your hips. Feral growls come from the man behind you as he reaches his peak yet again making sure his hips and as close as they can be against yours.

“Y/n you swallowed when I told you not to,” Bakugo grumbles wiping your tears with his thumbs. Hawks pulls out of you and you fall into Katsuki’s arms, your mind was fuzzy and you could only murmur softly as you came down from your high. Keigo rubs your back and kisses your shoulder, “Maybe sharing with this pipsqueak won’t be so bad.”

“Tch, shut the hell up you damn flamingo.”

#citruslovin #katsuki bakugo x reader #hawks x reader #Katsuki x reader x hawks #keigo takami x reader #bakugo x reader #mafia au #quirkless au

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baepsaetan · 4 years ago

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Banner by @thebannershop

Summary: In a futuristic age where a person can be coded and inserted into a new body, the rich can live forever. Born to a wealthy family, Jin expects to live life at a lofty and uncaring height. His expectations go awry when his body is murdered and a small gang steals his ‘stack’ and resleeves him in a criminal. Thrust into a gritty, neon world far below his life as an immortal, where death can be Real, Jin will discover truths that challenge his perceptions and make him wonder what - if anything - immortality is worth.

Chapters: pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt.5, pt. 6, pt. 7 -> read on Ao3

Genre: Altered Carbon Fusion, Science Fiction/Futuristic, Slow Burn, Smut, Angst, Murder Mystery

Warnings: Shifting PoVs (primarily Jin), minor character death, abuse, torture, gangs, drug addiction, drug use, references to depression, body dysphoria, animal death, swearing, smut in future chapters

Length: 7.1k

Before he’s even aware of the sound of the shot – maybe even before the sound is made – Jin is flying. Almost literally. Someone hip checks him so hard that his feet, not firmly planted to begin with, leave the ground, and as he falls, he crashes into Namjoon, sending them both sprawling off the sidewalk. They land in the road in a tangle of limbs, groans and (in Namjoon’s case) curses. Several more shots ring out, Jin’s brain too slow on the uptake to do anything more than cringe and sort of hug the ground, expecting to feel the impact of a bullet at any second.

Jungkook is not so slow.

After he’d shoved Seokjin out of the way, he’d drawn his own weapon and started firing at the woman, as well as several other people who’ve swarmed out from the cars they’d hidden behind. Now, as Seokjin clings for dear life to the pavement, blood thundering in his ears and eyes wildly scouring the street, he finds his mouth falling open. Two bodies have already joined Namjoon and Jin on the pavement, slumped figures that move only feebly, and even as Jin lifts his head a bit more, Jungkook finds another mark and she joins her companions on the ground, clutching at her shoulder. Jin thinks she might be screaming – her mouth is open – but all he can hear is his own stampeding heartbeat and an occasional popping noise that must be the guns firing.

It adds to the air of unrealism, but Jungkook is the main focus of this nightmare. So fast his hands blur, he changes out a cartridge and keeps shooting, seamless and assured. He’s already moved to set himself between Namjoon and the attackers, though the position isn’t as deadly as it would have been even a few seconds prior. Jungkook’s rapid and accurate aim has forced their enemies to take cover behind cars, abandoning their three comrades where they fell. The trio don’t last long; with cool precision, Jungkook takes an extra moment and shoots all three in the heads before resuming firing at anyone who dares to show any part of their body from behind their shields.

He had suspected Jungkook was harboring neurochems and some variety of physical enhancements – he just moved too fluidly to be entirely natural – but the unadulterated violence of the other man has Jin transfixed and shaking. There’s blood on the ground by the bodies, blood and – other things – and a part of him is trying to remember that it’s sleeves – just sleeves – that were destroyed so casually. That part is dim and very far away. Was this how his own murderer had killed him, as easily as tapping a button, and with as much concern?

The violence drops to a simmer as quickly as it flared up, the flurry of bullets slowing, and Jin’s hearing returns only when Namjoon grabs him by both shoulders and shakes him. “Seokjin! Snap out of it! Damn it, can you hear me?”

He takes in the other’s excruciatingly tense expression with a befuddled stare, and his eyes widen when he realizes they’re not in the center of the street anymore but huddled against a vehicle. Namjoon must have dragged him here, but he hadn’t even… With a tremendous effort, Seokjin shakes his head, chasing away the fogged paralyses wrapping his appendages and brain in cotton, unsure what to feel about Namjoon risking life and limb to get him to the shelter. “Yeah,” he gasps, “yeah, I hear you. What do we do?”

“Keep your head low. You see that dumpster?” Namjoon uses the hand not holding his own gun to point out a green behemoth of a dumpster a few meters behind them, set at the mouth of an alley between two of the industrial buildings. “Get behind it.”

“Namjoon, there’s someone going around the cars on the far side,” Jungkook calls, his warning followed closely by two quick bangs as he fires at whoever it is. “I can’t get them, not with those assholes still up the street.”

It takes a moment to understand what Jungkook means, though Jin gets it eventually. If he turns to follow the movement of the person darting along the side, the assailants in front will have time to get out of cover and shoot; it’s only Jungkook’s constant vigilance that’s keeping them pinned down.

Appallingly steady, like they’re just having a normal conversation, Namjoon replies, “I’ve got him. I’ll – Seokjin, get behind that dumpster before you get yourself killed. I’ll cover you, Jungkook.”

Doing as he’s bid takes a courage all its own; moving from even this pitiful shelter feels like inviting a spotlight to fall on him, with a ‘shoot me’ sign put up for good measure. But Jin can’t just sit there. Who knew what would happen if he got killed again? Best case scenario, his stack would be ransomed back to his parents, but that’s a very best case, and besides, his parents hadn’t put him back in a sleeve the first time, had they? What if it’s the same the next time around? The best case wouldn’t really be best case then, would it?

Better to stick with the pink haired devil he knows.

Clenching his teeth, he psyches himself up for a heartbeat more before flinging himself into a running crouch. Almost immediately several gunshots ring out and Jin is pretty sure he’s not imagining the crack of bullets whipping by. As he tumbles behind the protection of the metal bulk, he definitely doesn’t imagine the chorus of voices shouting, “It’s him, he’s there!” Even more bullets come his way – one hits into the dumpster with a tortured scream of metal – but Jungkook makes the shooters pay for the attempt if a pained yell is anything to go by.

Did that mean these psychopaths were trying to get him specifically? And was ‘him’ Seokjin, or were they after Siwoo for some reason? And how’d they know who he was, where they would be? Could that girl from the club have told someone, not anywhere near as fooled as he’d thought she’d been? Gasping for breath, his back pressed into the reassuring hardness of the dumpster, Jin can’t get his scattered thoughts together enough to figure out what any of it means. Not being able to see what’s going on just fuels his hammering heart, but he’s not stupid enough to think that sticking his head out is a good idea.

Except for the person still screaming in pain, it’s gone very quiet.

Had Namjoon already shot the person trying to flank them? Or had he been shot himself? Could that be why he and Jungkook aren’t talking to each other? What if Namjoon’s dead?

The thought sets him to trembling, violent shudders that wrack his body for a reason he’s not anywhere near calm enough to identify. No matter how fast or hard he blinks, Seokjin can’t seem to clear away the picture of rivulets of red streaming from the heads of those people Jungkook killed. He can’t stop himself from imagining Namjoon in exactly the same position, slumped over, hair tinged a colour far less innocent than peach, the exit wound a gaping hole that’s there because Seokjin couldn’t move fast enough.

An unfamiliar voice rips through the macabre picture, tearing Jin’s focus back to reality. “You fuckers are fucking dead, you hear me? Fucking dead!”

“Not as dead as your friends,” Jungkook yells back, and Seokjin can almost picture the maddening grin he’s probably wearing. It helps, too, because he instinctively knows the boy wouldn’t say something like that if Namjoon had been shot.

His intuition proves correct. Namjoon joins the yelling contest a moment later, louder than the string of swears Jungkook’s comment elicited. “You’ve already lost too many people, whoever the hell you are. Why don’t you just walk away? It’s not gonna get any easier from here.”

There’s a pause, and stupid or not, Jin can’t bear the laden tension anymore. He peeks around the dumpster. It takes him a while to locate everyone. The few pedestrians who he could have sworn were around before have up and vanished. Namjoon and Jungkook have moved closer to his hiding spot, Jungkook on his side of the street, Namjoon on the other. From this angle he can just make out a few people, muffled under hoodies, crouched on the sidewalk. If he’d had a gun, he might have been able to pick one or two of them off (but probably not). It’s impossible to tell how many there are. And unless he’s very much mistaken, they’re on both sides of the streets now, using the cars as cover to creep closer.

The closest one, just a few cars from where Namjoon is crouched, trusts the vehicle’s protective abilities too much. He moves away from the front area of the car he’s cowering behind, probably intending to move one more car down, and Jin sees Junkook’s head snap to the movement. A second later and the gun follows, sending five or six bullets across the street to shred through the vehicle’s doors. At least one finds its target, because there’s a sharp yelp and the man collapses, writhing on the sidewalk.

It’d be easy for Namjoon or Jungkook to take him out. Seemingly following that train of thought, the former shifts, about to lean around the car he’s behind.

The same voice from before makes him pause. “Hold up! You’re right it ain’t gonna get easier, but that’s for you, not us. We got all fucking day to drown you assholes out.” A beat. “But maybe we don’t wanna go to the bother of getting new sleeves. Maybe we’re feeling generous. I got a deal for you. You give us Seokjin, and you walk away. Don’t, and I’m going to crush your fucking stacks myself. We know he was at the Ring, that he’s with you now. You really feel like facing Real Death for some prick of a Meth?”

Jungkook looks towards Namjoon, just a twitch of distraction, and his leader doesn’t immediately reply. He’s facing Jin’s hiding spot, eyes slightly narrowed, and Seokjin can only stare at him helplessly, heart in his throat. He doesn’t have a weapon, nothing to defend himself with, no bargaining chip to offer. Namjoon’s goodwill – and, realistically, Seokjin’s usefulness to Namjoon’s group – are his only shields, flimsy though they are. And they are flimsy. First the failure to find anything useful at the Ring, and then, what had Namjoon said? I’m not risking my crew for a Meth…

Right. So, he’s screwed.

“We can’t give him up.” Given that the hissed objection comes from Jungkook, Jin could not have been more surprised if God Himself had spoken from Heaven. Even Namjoon looks taken aback. The muscular gunman shifts his weight restlessly, eyes never leaving their scanning track across the road. “We can’t just let them beat on us like this,” he adds, not able to whisper because of Namjoon’s distance, but attempting to keep his voice low, nonetheless. “They’ll expect us to roll over like dogs all the time.”

He sounds disgusted at the prospect of losing, and for all that Jin feels a sudden rush of warmth towards the kid, he can’t help but think that competitiveness isn’t going to be enough to persuade Namjoon. A moment later, though, gaze still skimming the street, Jungkook says flatly, “Besides, they just sent a few people down the side streets further down. They’re probably gonna go around the block and come up behind us.”

Automatically Jin turns, checking their backs; the street is utterly deserted, for the moment. It makes him wonder, fleetingly, where the few civilians he’d seen before have gone (hopefully to call the police), but Namjoon pulls his attention back.

“He’s stalling, huh? I guess it was too much to expect this trash to be honest.” Namjoon shifts, pulls his green camo coat open and seems to be searching for something. “I’ve got two magazines left. You?”

“One.”

Namjoon tosses one of his black cases to Jungkook, who catches it deftly. The pink haired man is wearing a strange expression; he’s smiling, a thin, lopsided quirk of his lips, but when his gaze goes to Jungkook, his eyes are wretched. The sharp regret doesn’t change when they shift briefly to Jin, though Jin had been expecting rage, or at the least accusation. Maybe that wouldn’t have been fair – it’s not like he chose to be here, or at the Ring – but it wouldn’t have been surprising. However, when their eyes meet, Namjoon’s bloodless face suddenly flushes a bit, and he mouths something that Seokjin can’t catch from so far away.

It might have been sorry, but probably not.

Probably not, but Jin still finds himself saying, “I’ll watch your backs. If someone comes, you’ll know.”

He can only shrug at their surprise. At this point, he’s pretty sure that their funeral is going to be his funeral, too. Might as well do what he can. Besides, if they can hold out long enough… “Maybe the police are on their way.”

That’s more to himself than to Jungkook, but the other male shakes his head anyways. “Or maybe those assholes asked their Meth friends to call in a favour, and there are no cops around at all.”

“…You never learned about the power of positive thinking, did you?”

“Sorry, sir. They only teach that in Meth kindergarten,” Jungkook replies, smiling faintly. After a moment, though, even that falls away, like he’s lost the strength to keep it there. Quietly, so quietly Jin knows he’s not really meant to hear, Jungkook mumbles, “Wish Yoongi were here. Guess it’s good he’s not.”

For whatever reason, that makes the young man straighten a little, his shoulders squaring, and he calls to Namjoon. “I’m ready, hyung. Guess now’s as good a time as any to make up for that car thing.”

The leader, too, has stiffened his resolve. “You’ve got nothing to make up for, Jungkook. Even if you did, that tab’s going to stay open for a bit longer. We’re going to get out of here.” He even manages to make it sound like he believes it.

“Yeah, hyung, sure… I think they’re getting ready to rush us. Guess they figured out we’re not buying.” Jungkook’s voice is as steady as his hands, unshaking as they raise his pistol a little higher.

The both of them, ducked behind their respective vehicles, somehow manage to make it seem like they’re waiting for a boring game of hide-and-seek to end, not staring down a barrel pointed unerringly at their stacks. Seokjin turns back to fulfill his part of this little pageant, squinting down the street and ready to shout, yet his shoulders are trembling and pressing them hard against the dumpster can only do so much to still them. His eyes are welling with tears, too, and angrily Jin brushes them clear. He’s not even that afraid, because he’s pretty much used up his fear and adrenaline for today. But it’s a real pity to die for the second time in a week, beneath this ugly grey sky, along with two strangers who may or may not deserve it for kidnapping him. He wants to be angry at them for dragging him into this, but the blunt knives buried in his chest are made of grief and not rage.

Jin’s just so tired; spitting fury into the void he’s facing is too much effort. I hope Taehyung doesn’t hear about me dying again, he thinks dully. Taehyung is probably the only one in his life who would bother mourning him twice. His family would certainly have done so the first time, sincere in their sorrow, but emotion is just as much a resource as anything. They’d be too practical to grieve a second time, at least with the same depth.

There’s a flicker of movement far, far down the street where Seokjin’s facing. “Someone’s–” He stops, has to cough several times to dislodge the hoarseness in his throat, “Someone’s coming.” Now more than ever, he wishes he had a gun, or a knife, or anything, really. Not that it would make a difference – Seokjin’s not one of the children his parents take to the shooting range, not after the first few mediocre showings – but it would be nice to have something. Just so that he could pretend for a little longer that he has a chance, that maybe he could help the men preparing to die for him have a chance, too.

The figure is moving closer, pretty much in the middle of the street, as bold as you please, and Jin just guesses they’re that confident in their fellow gang members. Personally, he wouldn’t be, not after the show Jungkook had put on, but maybe these thugs just didn’t care if their sleeves got killed. If some Meth were going to give him a new body after he died, maybe he wouldn’t care either. Although…

His eyes narrow. The person approaching from his side is weaving. Not in the better-dart-around-to-make-it-harder-to-shoot-me manner, but in the stumbling-drunk-and-finding-it-hard-to-walk kind of way. He tips first to one side, then to the other, feet dragging and catching on the pavement, and it seems miraculous that he doesn’t drop each time. And actually… hadn’t he come from too many streets down? Wouldn’t the gangsters have cut through a road that was closer, so they didn’t have to be in the open for so long? And why hasn’t Jungkook shot this sucker yet?

At about the same time all of those questions are falling into a startled realization, three more people appear in Jin’s field of vision, closer than the other man. They’re definitely part of the attackers; they’re wearing the same hoodies and face masks, and they’re utterly intent on Jin’s side of the street. He doesn’t even think they see the other guy, and if they do, they ignore him and start inching down the road. Part of him wants to run, maybe down the alley on his left side, even if it just leads to a dead end. That would make it that much easier for their assailants to focus solely on taking out Namjoon and Jungkook, though. The least he can do is offer another target to distract their focus and their bullets.

He might not offer even that for long. One of the three is gesturing excitedly, clearly having realized who he is, and a second later the others raise their guns. Jin can’t help it. He shuts his eyes, throat clogged with the warning he should be giving, and braces himself, an eerie feeling of déjà vu resounding through his very marrow, deep and sickening.

And he waits. And waits. And later – he couldn’t have said how much later – three shots ring out. Just three. None of them sound anywhere close to him.

When Jin opens his eyes, he’s greeted by three bodies on the road and the same man from before walking by them. There’s panicked shouting going on behind his dumpster, further down the street, so much shouting that even though he thinks Namjoon and Jungkook are talking, he can’t tell what they’re saying. A series of sharp reports crack the tension like a bone breaking, and suddenly the air is filled with the staccato noise of gunfire. The man approaching him doesn’t seem bothered. He doesn’t even pause, just keeps walking, and there’s still some of that staggering gait in his movements, like he’s forgotten how to take steps and has to remember each time.

This close, the black police uniform is starkly obvious, and so is the blueish grey revolver the man has clasped loosely at his side. There’s nothing personal about the relief Seokjin feels – nothing like the comfort he’d experienced upon seeing Taehyung – but the searing release of pressure is utterly welcome, all the same. His first thought is perilously close to thanking God, even though he’s never been very interested in his parents’ religion.

His second thought is about how funny Jungkook’s face is going to be when he realizes there was at least one cop around.

The police officer finally makes it to him, although he doesn’t pause for long. He’s a wiry individual with a sweep of black bangs that almost touch his eyes, but it’s his smile that’s most eye catching. His grin is one of the largest and most cheerful things that Jin has ever seen, a sunny beam set with casual brilliance on the man’s heart shaped face, and in another situation, it also would have been one of the most uplifting things he’s ever seen, too.

Given that they are currently being shot at (did Jin see a bullet fling by the cop’s head or was he imagining things?) the grin is kind of scary. So is the look in the guy’s eyes, painfully bright and intent, like an operating table light. It’s a stark contrast to his smile.

“Please stay down,” the officer says, the words leaping extremely quickly from his mouth, and it kind of seems like he’s not really seeing Jin. “This will be over shortly.” Another screech as a bullet grazes the dumpster underlines his assertion.

He moves out of view, and more bangs assault Jin’s ringing ears. This time around, his courage and curiosity both fail him; he stays firmly put, refusing the urge to peek out from his cover. Besides, before much time has passed, he can hear Jungkook swearing, but it’s soft amazement and not anger that’s saturating his voice. The shots dwindle until there’s only one or two going off every few seconds, and moments later even that dies.

“They’re gone, Kwanghyun. You can come out.” That’s Namjoon, but Jin stays where he is, his brows furrowing. Who was Kwanghyun? The police officer?

Namjoon’s shadow falls over him and Jin looks up with a small, relieved smile. The other man’s face is just as drained of colour as before, and there’s a line of tension in his jaw that’s entirely inappropriate given that none of them died. “They’re gone, Kwanghyun,” Namjoon repeats, putting extra emphasis on the name. “Get up.”

Jin stares at him blankly for a moment before his brain catches up. His tentative smile dies. Oh. Right. He can’t be Seokjin in front of an officer. Seokjin was taken from his safe haven at the police station by Namjoon and the rest of his crew.

Embarrassed by how slow he was on the uptake, embarrassed by the tight knot of disappointment in his throat, Jin drops his gaze and starts to rise. Without him being aware of it, his legs have gone numb from his awkward positioning, and it’s a struggle to straighten with his knees threatening to buckle. Suddenly Namjoon hooks a hand under Jin’s elbow and helps him up. His hand remains there, and Seokjin unexpectedly finds himself desperate to believe that the warm support is just out of kindness.

Given the tightness of the hold, however, and the way Namjoon hasn’t put his weapon away, he can’t quite push himself into embracing the achingly appealing fantasy.

They walk out from behind the dumpster, Jin moving like a tottering old man. This sleeve is in shape, but even it can’t quite handle being compressed into a terror-induced crouch for such a long period of time. As the pins and needles jab at his legs, injecting feeling back in the most painful way possible, Jin lets his capturer tow him along. Once again, he’s faced with a question of what to do, and if anything, it’s harder to decide now than it was back at Ringwanderung.

There are bodies scattered across the street, for all the world looking like toys knocked over by some overenthusiastic toddler. None are moving, and the holes ripped into their heads or chests or throats are more than enough evidence for why. He finds himself having to breathe between his teeth and it’s a struggle to tear his gaze away from the bloody scene.

The police officer is speaking into his interface watch as they approach. “Yeah, I count fourteen – fourteen sleeves down. Don’t think any stacks are damaged. Yeah, fourteen. Yeah, I – it’s fourteen, you can all count that high. Make sure – you have to bring Organic Damage with you. I want – what? No, I didn’t get them all myself. Even my sleeve’s not that good.” He laughs, and the sound is… off. Hoarse and too fast. “Anyways, anyways, several ran off, so you need to get patrols down here… I don’t know why there aren’t any around now, it’s a bloody clusterfuck. I want Jaemin prepped to help one of you in interrogation. No, no, I’m not going to do it. I’m not – I’m off the clock, Tanesha, I’m not…”

More is said, but Jin’s having trouble focusing. Namjoon’s grip on his arm is too tight, starting to pass from pain into numbness, as though the sensation just traded its spot from his legs. He’s watching his captors from the corner of his eyes, just about as intensely as they’re watching both him and the cop. It’s dawning on him that this officer saving their lives doesn’t mean the same thing for them as it does for him. Jungkook’s gnawing at his lip, looking less composed now than when there’d been bullets flying, and while Namjoon is more collected, he’s not much more so.

He can’t tell what they’re thinking. Jin doesn’t know if he should care. What would happen if he just blurted out the truth, right here and now? To judge by the gangsters’ reactions and the numerous out of commission sleeves, this man can handle himself. Far better than Taehyung could, anyways. And he’s a police officer! His very life is supposed to be dedicated to protecting people. Wouldn’t he be far better equipped to handle this mess than Jin, too? There’s an overwhelming urge to just dump the situation into his lap, just to see what happens, just to relieve the tension.

Only… He’d saved Jin’s life already, there’s no doubt about that. And while he seems utterly relaxed, his gun slipped into its holster, both Namjoon and Jungkook are so on edge they look like they might just shoot the guy without Jin saying anything at all. What kind of payment would that be, setting them off on his saviour? And just after he’d almost done the same thing to Taehyung?

The officer finishes his conversation rather abruptly; if Seokjin didn’t know better, he might have thought he’d hung up on whoever he was talking to. This close up, he doesn’t look great. His face is shiny with sweat, black hair plastered to his forehead, and the dark circles under his eyes are so prominent his irises look about as black as his hair. The smile from before, unusual as it had been, is gone, replaced by a sharp, triangular frown.

That just makes Jin feel worse about the thought of bringing him into this situation. And as bad as he feels, he still needs to bite his tongue to keep it from going rogue and voicing a desperate attempt at escape. If he was smarter, or maybe just less tired, he might have tried to think of some coded way of asking for help, a secret phrase or a special look, but casting through his head right now is like scavenging through a swamp. There’s plenty of things there, half-formed and half-seen and covered in slick mud, but nothing Seokjin can get a confident grip on.

Besides, Jimin implied that some if not all of the police are in the pay of whatever Meth set his murder up. How can he tell if this man is one of those? Should he just blindly run to a person who could sign his Real Death warrant?

Indecision is a poison, slinking through his veins, paralyzing his muscles and tongue. In the end, Jin elects to do nothing – not because it seems like the best thing to do, but because doing anything else is more nerve-wracking than he presently has the strength to bear.

“Sorry about that,” the officer says, finally turning to them, and once again Jin has the impression that he’s not really looking at them. Or maybe that he’s only seeing exactly what he wants to see. “Ah, first, I need to ask… to…” He stops, confusion passing like a cloud over his expression. “I… can’t remember…” he mutters, and as he says it one of his legs suddenly spasms, a series of twitches and jerks that he doesn’t seem to notice.

Before it fully passes, the cop’s uncertainty evaporates, and his eyes are abruptly keen again, too sharp, almost sterile. “I’m Jung Hoseok, of the Thorton precinct.” Thorton, the official name for the Curve that no one ever uses except on paper. Jin is faintly surprised that this hellhole even has a precinct.

“Officer,” Namjoon replies, and at least he’s working on erasing the hostility from his face; Jungkook’s still got his chin belligerently lifted, and if Jin didn’t know better, he’d say the young man is a bit afraid. Jungkook lets Namjoon take the lead, though. “I’m Kim Doyoon. This is Jung Minjae… and he’s Lee Kwanghyun.” He says the list smoothly, and either he’s really good at making things up on the spot, or he’s got a few names memorized already.

From what he knows about Namjoon’s deliberate personality, probably the latter, but neither is bulletproof. What if the officer asks to scan their IDs?

He doesn’t, which seems very strange to Jin, but then again, this guy’s been acting strangely from the minute he showed up. Instead, the man says, “Right. Can I assume you’ve got registrations for your weapons?” and Jin’s heart stutters a little.

Needlessly so, apparently. Still calm, Namjoon nods, even goes so far as to proffer his gun. After a moment of hesitation, Jungkook follows suit. Hoseok uses his interface to swipe both of them, but the look he casts at the information screen that shows up in response is uninterested, even aimless. He keeps pulling and scratching at his black uniform, rocking on his heels, and every once in awhile the odd tremors repeat themselves in his hands, his legs, his shoulders. Seokjin can’t help but stare. He’s seen plenty of people under the influence of various substances, but he’s never seen anyone – least of all a cop – act like this.

Either oblivious to their looks or choosing to ignore them, Hoseok wanders over to the closest body, one of the first Jungkook took down, and nudges it with a booted foot. “I recognize a few of them,” he declares, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “They’re part of that group that’s been causing so much trouble down here, yeah?” He doesn’t seem to be expecting an answer. “At least that’s a dozen of the – it was a dozen, right? No. More than a dozen off the street. Maybe we can finally focus on some more important issues.”

Like the stolen stack of a Meth? Jin wonders.

As though one of them said something – although they haven’t, and Jungkook might even have stopped breathing – the officer’s eyes snap towards the trio. “Why’d they come after you? They’re not – seems like too many people.”

Once again, Namjoon’s left to field the question. Not that Seokjin has any choice in the matter. “Dunno. We were at the Ring before, having some fun, and this one,” he jerks his thumb at Jin, “mentioned how we’d won at the games downstairs. Maybe they overheard and wanted to take the creds we won?”

Hoseok’s overly alert gaze focuses on Jin, who’s doing his best to look repentant and not indignant about being given the blame. “Is that why he looks like he’s about to be sick? You guys get into some hard stuff while you were there?” He doesn’t appear to care about the legality of that, one way or another. Minor drug usage is probably pretty low on the list of things this precinct needs to deal with.

“No,” Namjoon replies. “I think that’s the whole being shot at thing.” As it happens, he’s right.

“Oh… right. I forgot most people don’t…” Almost get killed every day, he probably means to say, but trails off. “You handled yourself well,” Hoseok continues into the awkward pause, turning to Jungkook.

Who nods curtly. “Yeah… I practice at a range a lot. Place like this, you need to protect yourself, y’know? I – you were better.” There’s something ridiculous about how jealous Jungkook sounds. “I’ve never seen bullets do that before.”

Do what? Jin wants to ask, but even though Namjoon’s relaxed his hold on Jin’s arm (fractionally), he’s still more than a little worried that they’ll react badly to him trying to talk. Hoseok snorts a laugh, more impatient than amused. “That’s less me than the gun. It’s custom made. Practice enough and the bullets practically bend themselves.”

“Uh huh…” For some reason Jungkook isn’t convinced. He’s eyeing Hoseok like he expects the man to explode or something.

Namjoon gently breaks in. “I’m sorry, officer, but do we need to stay here? None of us are injured, and I think Kwanghyun would feel more comfortable at home.” Jin’s watched enough crime serials to know that the request isn’t going to be granted; that’s just not the procedure for a shootout on some street. He can’t imagine that Namjoon wants to go to the police station or be surrounded by a bunch of cops – hell, at this point even he doesn’t really want to – but it seems unavoidable.

“I should take your statements,” Hoseok says, but then he just stands there, jittery and unfocused. It’s not until Namjoon coughs that the officer starts and refocuses, at least a little. “I’m not – sorry, you’ll need to wait until the on-duty officers arrive.”

And without another word, the man turns away from them, meanders through the sleeves, careless of the way his boots squelch through the blood on the street. He’s checking each stack with his interface watch, maybe looking at identities or making sure they aren’t destroyed. Namjoon and Jungkook exchange looks, and Jin half expects them to decide to either make a break for it or try to take the cop out while he’s distracted.

Eventually Namjoon jerks a shoulder. “We’ve prepared for this,” he says, very low. “We’ll just have to wait. And – here.” He digs in his coat’s pockets and then shoves something at Seokjin, a slender, silver wristband, and it’s so simple that it takes Jin a moment to realize that it’s an interface device. Nothing at all like his own, with its sleek monochrome frame, but with a feeling of relief he puts it on anyways, blinks a few times as it syncs with his internal network. Being without one had almost felt like being naked, and a quick scroll through the limited features confirms that the band has an identity tied to it – real and stolen from someone else, or just made up, he doesn’t know. It can’t make calls or connect to other devices, and when he circumspectly brings up a web page, he finds that he can access all the posts but can’t make any of his own.

He supposes it would have been a little naïve to hope they’d make that kind of mistake.

Namjoon guides Jin and Jungkook to the side while Hoseok makes harried efforts to shoo away the people who are beginning to congregate around the scene, mysteriously interested now that bullets have stopped flying. They’re in a good position to see three black and yellow hovercars (Jin’s once again surprised the district even has any) sinking from the sky, kicking up a cloud of dirt, and police are suddenly descending on the scene like a swarm of locusts.

With quick professionalism they set up a cordon, the laser red lights bright in the gathering darkness, warning away curious onlookers. Immediately after, they begin to tag the bodies and collect spent cartridges, and a few more peel off, presumably to look for the remaining ambushers. Actually, they’re as methodical and skilful as any staff he’s ever seen (not that Jin’s seen many police setups) and he’s just beginning to feel a mixture of unease and admiration for whoever’s leading them when a tall, curly haired officer walks over to Hoseok.

And salutes him.

Jin is gratified to note that he’s not alone in his slack-jawed disbelief; Namjoon makes a little, incredulous sound, eyes widening before they abruptly narrow, and Jungkook actually leans forward like he’s seriously doubting his eyesight. They can’t hear what’s being said, but the two seem to be arguing, with a lot of hand waving by the woman while Hoseok stares anywhere but her and rocks on his heels. She jabs at his arm and he winces and steps back but doesn’t seem like he’s budging more than that. After several moments, the conversation winds down. Hoseok gestures at them, and both cops come over.

“This is Lieutenant Adebayo. She’ll take your statements and be leading this case. If we need anything else, she’ll be in contact with you, too.”

“For now,” the officer says, her eyes flashing a challenge. “I’m sure the captain will step in later once he’s got his wounds fixed up.”

Wounds? Jin scours the man’s body, then finds the spot the officer had poked at, on his upper arm. There is a rip in the fabric of the uniform, though the cloth is so dark it’s hard to tell if there’s any bleeding at the spot. And he certainly hadn’t seemed to act like someone who’d just been shot. Or shot multiple times.

The man looks away from his officer, and her brows furrow in frustration before she switches her attention to them. Adebayo turns out to be just as efficient as the rest of the team. She scans their bands – as suspected, Jin comes up as Kwanghyun – and she takes their accounts of the situation with decisive questions, forcing all of them to answer at random. Jin does his best to go along with the barebones of the story that Namjoon’s already constructed, more wary than ever of saying the wrong thing, and none of them contradict each other. She doesn’t seem inclined to suspicion, anyways; apparently the captain has all but cleared them. Before too long she’s lowering her omni-tool and shutting off the recording.

Hoseok’s wandered off and is lingering by the side, just inside of the red-light tape. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. They dance around his body, tapping at his thighs, sweeping across his chest, or fretting at the air like he’s trying to grab something. One of the other policemen is attending to him, and sure enough, with his jacket removed, his arm is bleeding from two spots, sluggish trickles that he pays no mind to. The medic is struggling to get it wrapped in between his fidgeting.

Jin’s not entirely sure, but it seems like the rest of the collection of officers, some ten of them, are so blatantly not looking at Hoseok that they must be making an effort at it. Just once, Seokjin catches one of them glancing at Hoseok, with an expression so troubled it’s too personal to just be a subordinate worrying about her wounded boss.

Adebayo notices where he’s looking. “You’re lucky Captain Jung came along when he did,” she says stiffly. “I don’t know why these thugs jumped you guys, and I really don’t know why they kept at it when you shot the first few, but you’d be dead if he hadn’t shown up.”

Inclining his head, a bare acknowledgement, Namjoon says, “I think you’re right. Although Captain Hoseok mentioned there weren’t any patrols around this area. Why was he here?” His inquiry is more aggressive than he’s sounded throughout, a stormy tension drawing his forehead tight.

“I don’t know, but that’s not any of your business,” is her flat answer as she pulls back a little.

“Maybe not, but I’m just concerned. Why weren’t there any police patrols around? This isn’t a safe place to begin with. Should we be scared? Are the police giving up on this area? Do I need to tell our neighbours that we’re alone now, that we can only count on ‘off-duty’ cops?” He pauses, studying her with an intensity that has her shifting, and then asks, “Or do the Meths just want the police patrolling somewhere else?”

At the last question, her chin jerks up, and Adebayo snaps, “The Meths don’t say where we go, and no, we’re not abandoning this neighbourhood. Of course we aren’t!�� She stops, takes a deep breath. “Listen, I live around here, too. I want it to be safe. We’re going to be patrolling more in the future. This just happened, coincidentally, at a bad time. And the captain saved your asses and got shot in the process, so you shouldn’t be going around badmouthing us to your neighbours or anyone else!”

Abruptly his penetrating expression falls away, replaced by an embarrassment that seems artificial to Jin, a mask placed over some other, stronger emotion. “I’m sorry. It’s just – it seems to be getting worse around here. I haven’t been – I just wouldn’t want to lose anyone.”

Adebayo softens and relents. “Yeah. Yeah, I get that. Look, there’s not much more you can do here. The captain said you weren’t injured?” Wordlessly Namjoon nods. “We have your info; we’ll give you a call or drop by once we’re done interviewing some of these.” Her careless gesture indicates the sleeves being loaded up into one of the hovercars. “Best you can do is go home and rest. You’re not planning on leaving Triptych anytime soon, are you?”

“No, Lieutenant. Last I checked, you need a helluva lot of creds for a vacation.”

Making a face, she steps away. “Don’t remind me. Just keep it that way, huh? We’ll probably need you to testify at some point.”

“You got it.”

Not needing to be told twice, Namjoon pulls Jin along, Jungkook keeping pace alongside them. Jin glances back, in time to see Lieutenant Adebayo rest a hesitant hand on Hoseok’s shoulder, leaning forward to speak to him. He also watches long enough to see the lanky man gently shrug off that supportive hand and turn his back on his subordinate, on the sprawl of bodies, and, it seems to Jin, on the whole situation altogether.

#namjin #namjin fanfic #namjoon x seokjin #member x member #namjoon #seokjin #jin #my fanfic

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citrinekay · 5 years ago

Note

hi! i have a prompt/headcanon i’d like to share 🥰: (can be modern au) they’re out at a bar and someone starts flirting with holden. cue jealous!bill. Love your writing! ❤️

Thanks for the prompt!! I love doing the modern au 💕 I’m considering this a sequel to a previous prompt that you can read over on AO3, Chapter 12: Earth Angel. But you don’t need to read that one to understand this one :)

The radio is playing some upbeat, percussive rap-pop duo tune that is grating on Bill’s nerves, but he’s too wrapped up in his thoughts to move his hand from the steering wheel to change the station. His other hand is tucked out the open window, dispelling cigarette ashes into the night air. The smoke is dwindled down to a stub, burned low by his silent machinations and itching agitation.

Flicking a glance across the car, Bill discreetly studies Holden’s face illuminated in the glow of his cellphone screen. His thumb scrolls lazily, and his expression is coolly relaxed. He isn’t nervous at all.

Bill looks away sharply when Holden’s gaze lifts from his phone.

“What?” He asks.

“Nothing.” Bill says, focusing on the road ahead.

The street light flashes to red, and he pushes down on the brake a little too hard. The car comes to a halting stop, plunging them into silence. Bill curls his fingers tighter around the wheel until his knuckles blanch white.

“You know, you didn’t have to come tonight.” Holden says, his tone brooking on irritation.

Bill scoffs.

“You didn’t. Seriously. I get why it could be too much for you to-”

“It’s not too much for me.” Bill interrupts, his mouth tensing with an offended grimace.

Holden releases a clipped sigh.

Bill doesn’t want to argue, but the disagreement is already rippling beneath the surface like an electric current, threatening flame. He takes a hard drag of his cigarette.

They’re six months into their relationship. Publicly, only three months. Some people don’t mind stretching the boundaries and exploring new experiences together after that short period of time, but to Bill, who was married for fifteen years, three months is the blink of an eye. Unsteady ground. Sharp learning curves and fast balls he’s juggling just as quickly as he can. Is going to a gay bar together really the kind of limb they should be crawling out onto right now?

It doesn’t matter. Their co-worker, Jared, had suggested they come out for drinks tonight since it’s Memorial Day, and Holden had all but harangued Bill into going. Maybe harangued isn’t the right word. He’d announced he was going, and Bill hadn’t been able to divest him of the notion; and he couldn’t stand the thought of Holden going alone either. Does that make him the jealous boyfriend? Maybe so. There’s nothing he can do about it.

As Bill parks along the curb outside the bar, he squints at the group of young men standing out front smoking. They’re all scarcely dressed in shorts and crop-tops. One of them is even wearing heels. To Bill, they look like the kind of delinquents he’d spent his beat cop days chasing off street corners, but his opinions since then have changed. He has to remind himself not to be so judgmental.

“Ready?” Holden asks, his tone bursting with excitement.

“Yeah.” Bill mutters.

Holden leans across the seat to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Take a few deep breaths. I promise, I’m not throwing you to the wolves.”

“I’m fine. I said I’m fine.”

“Okay. Just try to have fun, will you?” Holden says, his mouth curling in a knowing smile.

He shoves the door open with his shoulder, and climbs out onto the sidewalk.

Bill takes one last drag of his cigarette before pitching it out onto the sidewalk. Drawing in a deep breath, he climbs out of the car, and meets Holden at the hood. Holden’s fingers wind between his, dragging him across the street towards the front of the bar.

As they approach the front door, one of the young men, wearing a full face of makeup and a blond wig, waves at them.

“Hey, there.”

“Hi.” Holden says, smiling at the young drag queen amiably.

“Staying for the show?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Ooh, wonderful. I’ll look for your face in the crowd.” The queen says, painted lips casting Holden a coy smile before shifting her gaze to Bill. “You too, soldier boy.”

Bill opens his mouth to muster a defensive reply, but Holden’s fingers tighten around his, sternly guiding him past the front door. The interior of the bar is dimly lit, the air vibrating with the thump of dance music and the buzz of conversation. Strobe lights flash across the tables surrounding the peninsular platform and the crowded bar area, making it difficult to distinguish faces in the churning mass of bodies.

Bill immediately feels the tension in his body ratchet up a notch further, all of his instincts telling him to get the hell out right now. Holden had promised he wasn’t throwing him to the wolves, but this feels distinctly hostile - a pointed attack on his sheltered ideals, on himself.

After they show their IDs, Holden drags Bill further into the crowded room.

“There’s Jared!” He shouts over the thump of the music, pointing a finger at their co-worker standing in a group of young men at the far end of the bar.

Jared waves back at them, an ecstatic smile breaking out on his face.

Clutching Bill’s hand, Holden leads them through the sea of bodies. Bill keeps his gaze focused ahead, avoiding accidental eye contact with any of the numerous scantily clad men around him. He feels entirely out of place in his jeans and golf shirt, his graying hair and crew cut. Most of the people in the bar are closer to Holden’s age or younger with the few older men looking like tattooed muscle heads clinging to fleeting youth.

His hand is sweating around Holden’s by the time they make their way down the bar to where Jared and his friends are standing.

“Hey, guys, I’m so glad you could make it.” Jared says, giving Holden a quick hug.

Bill offers a handshake, blocking off the possibility of an embrace. Jared looks like he’s already a few drinks in, his cheeks flushed pink below the strobe light and his eyes glistening with a liquor glaze.

“Bill, man-” Jared says, clapping him on the shoulder. “I gotta say, I’m surprised to see you.”

“Well, here I am.” Bill says, ruefully.

“Oh, don’t let him fool you.” Holden says, leaning into Bill with a sly chuckle. “I practically had to hog tie him.”

“That isn’t true.” Bill says.

Holden’s fingers push playfully into his ribs as he rises up on his toes to plant a kiss on Bill’s mouth. “You’re cute.”

Jared snickers. “Ever been to a drag show before, Bill?”

“Uh, no.”

“Well, you are in for a treat. And I think you need a drink in your hand.”

Jared waves down the bartender, and in just a few minutes, Bill has a rum and coke in his hand while Holden is sipping a cosmo. They crowd around the bar with Jared who is apparently a seasoned regular at the club. Bill keeps his hand braced against Holden’s lower back as they’re introduced to a seemingly endless string of friends and acquaintances most of whom are already partially inebriated. They’re all so carefree and jovial, easily flaunting their sexuality and having a good time, but their free spirits have the opposite effect on Bill’s raw nerves.

Before he knows it, he’s downed two rum and cokes and is working on his third. Holden is carrying on a lively conversation with Jared and his friends, a discussion that Bill can’t think of anything he has to contribute to. Quietly, he starts to wonder just how early they can slip out of the bar without being called light-weights or party-poopers; but just as his lips are feeling numb from the rum, a voice over the PA system announces the drag show is starting in ten minutes.

Jared whoops, “Hell yeah. The best part of the night. Come on!”

Bill grits his teeth as Jared heads for the stage, creating a mass exodus of his friends crowded around the bar. He hangs back, his stomach knotting with a strange mix of anticipation and anxiety. He’s seen a man in a dress before - on police reports, crime scene photos. Not in a bar where it’s openly accepted and encouraged. He isn’t sure how he’s supposed to feel about it.

“You okay?” Holden asks, lowering his voice as he slides off the bar stool.

“Yeah, fine.”

“You’re drinking a lot.”

“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

“Do you want to leave?” Holden asks, his brow rising impatiently.

“What do you think?”

“Can you at least try to relax and have a good time?” Holden asks, his brow pinching with frustration. “You’re not even giving it a chance.”

“What do you want me to say, Holden? This isn’t my thing.”

“It could be if you would let it. Everyone here is nice. They’re not trying to attack you; they’re just trying to have a good time, make friends. It’s a community.”

“Oh, so you’re going to lecture me right now? In the middle of a gay bar?”

Holden glances away, his jaw tightening beneath the pink glow of the strobe lights. His hair is disheveled, his temples sweat-lined in the cramped humidity of the bar. On another night, Bill would have thought he looked irresistible. Right now, he’s just pissing Bill off.

“Well, I’m not leaving.” Holden says, sharply. “You can go home if you want.”

“What? I’m not leaving you here.”

“I could find a ride home. It’s not like you’re leaving me with a group of strangers to be raped or something.”

“Jesus. That’s not what I was implying.”

“That’s what it sounded like.”

Before Bill can protest, Holden turns and marches into the crowd of bodies gathering around the platform. A percussive, pop anthem blasts from the speakers, and the strobe lights switch to red, white, and blue as a voice over the speakers announces the beginning of the show.

Bill glances around the bar, his stomach turning. If he leaves right now, he’s not living it down. Not with Holden, or Jared, or anyone else. And he should really try harder, he thinks. Like Holden says, if he gives it a chance it might not be all bad. He can do this. He survived Desert Storm. A gay bar should be no problem.

Drawing in a deep breath, Bill orders another drink from the bar, and makes his way through the crowd just as the first drag queen is strutting down the platform. His newly gathered courage flags immediately when he sees Holden seated at one of the tables next to a middle-aged guy with shaggy, black hair and a muscular build.

“I haven’t seen you around here before.” The guy is saying, leaning closer to Holden attentively despite the drag show playing out above them.

“I’m friends with Jared.” Holden says, pointing out Jared from across the aisle. “We work together.”

“Oh, yeah, Jared’s cool. What’s your name?”

“Holden.”

“Holden?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, okay. Like Catcher In the Rye.”

“Yeah, just like that.”

“Well, your parents were kind of bold naming you after a guy like that. Talk about a conversation starter.”

“Yeah, if you’re into classic literature.”

“I am. I’m into other things, too.” The guy says, leaning closer with a coy smile. “Are you on Grindr?”

“Um, no. I was a few months ago.”

“Was?”

“Yeah, I-”

Holden’s reply stops in the back of his throat as Bill walks up to the table. The guy sitting next to him glances up, the eager gleam in his eyes fading away as Bill glares down at him.

“Bill …” Holden says, shifting away from the guy’s comfortable posture. “Um … this is Alex.”

“Hi.” Alex says, rising from his chair to offer his hand. “Who are you?”

“Leaving.” Bill says.

Holden’s mouth slips open as Bill catches him by the hand, and pulls him up from the table.

“Bill-” Holden begins to protest, his cheeks flushing pink.

“Come on, let’s go.”

Without waiting for Holden to agree, Bill leads them through the crowd of swaying bodies, away from the thud of the music, the show, the lights.

As they emerge out into the night air, Holden resists against Bill’s hand around his wrist.

“Bill, stop. Wait.”

“Who the fuck was that guy?” Bill demands, spinning around to pin Holden with a fiery glare. “And since when were you on Grindr?”

“He- He was a friend of Jared’s I think.” Holden sputters, his eyes widening with disbelief. “I don’t know. He just sat down and started talking to me.”

“He wasn’t just talking, Holden. He was trying to fuck you. I may be a little new to this scene, but I know when somebody is interested.”

“So? I wasn’t interested in him!”

They both pauses, staring back and forth at each other and panting in agitated frustration.

Bill turns away, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Fucking Christ.” He curses, trying to shove down the heat of anger in his chest.

He can feel himself overreacting, but he’s too stupid and jealous and buzzed to make it stop. Where did all of his self-control go?

“You are blowing this out of proportion.” Holden says, his voice dropping to a wounded whisper. “God, I knew this was a mistake.”

“So then why did you agree to come here tonight?” Bill asks, cutting him a withering glare.

“Because Jared is my friend, Bill. And I am not just going to stop living my life because we’re dating now. I’m not going to change my group of friends, or stop doing things I enjoy. And I’m sure as hell not going put up with you acting like a selfish, jealous asshole.”

Silence settles again. Bill’s face is burning, an acidic mix of rage and humiliation.

“Fine.” He says, his voice dropping to a choked whisper. “Go back in there then. Go have fun.”

Holden’s expression falls from anger to disbelief as Bill turns to march across the street towards the car. His hands curl into fists at his sides, squeezing back the shudder of anger; but his rage has already waned into something closer to crushing disappointment. Not in Holden, but in himself.

As he reaches the car, Holden’s clipped pace across the asphalt draws his attention. He glances up to see Holden jogging towards him, his face etched with defiance. He draws to a stop a few feet away, his eyes glistening beneath the yellow glow of the street lamp.

“I’m coming with you.” He says, softly.

Bill nods, his throat too thick with tangled emotion to speak. He ducks into the car, and twists the key forcefully into the ignition. Holden climbs into the passenger’s seat, sinking low against the leather cushioning as Bill pulls away from the curb.

They drive in silence, hurt feelings throbbing angrily beneath the surface like an open wound. Bill keeps trying to think of something to say, but every crafted apology is immediately crushed by his own flinching insecurities. He wants to hang onto his rage because it feels better than vulnerability. It’s partially justified, isn’t it? Maybe all the other gays at the bar are fine with flirting along the borders of their committed relationship, but he isn’t. He isn’t like any of them. He’s just the idiot who fell in love with his co-worker and blew up his entire life.

As they’re nearing home, Holden glances over at him.

“You know, I deleted Grindr from my phone as soon as we got together.” He says, quietly.

“I can’t believe you were on there in the first place.”

Holden shakes his head, his arms curling across his chest. “God. You really need to get your head out of your ass. You have no idea what it’s like. You just stumbled into this relationship - which was a good thing until now, by the way - without even trying. You don’t know what it’s like to try to date when you're a minority. How hard it is to meet people. How fucking lonely it gets. Please, don’t tell me I should have stuck with a dating app, or that I should have listened to everyone when they told me not to fall for a straight guy.”

Bill scoffs harshly from the back of his throat, pride flinching deep down into his bones.

“Wow. Seriously?”

Holden’s face is fixed straight ahead, his profile quivering with suppressed anger when Bill casts him a sharp glance.

“You want to debate my sexuality?” Bill demands, his gaze shifting between the approaching light of his house and Holden’s stoic rage. “You want to make me prove it to you?”

Holden’s gaze darts from the road, apprehension surpassing the anger. His lower lip quivers.

Bill pulls into the driveway, and throws the gear shift forcefully into park. Yanking off his seatbelt, he nods towards the house.

“You want to? Let’s go, then.” He says, shoving the door open.

Holden’s mouth slips open as Bill climbs out of the car, and marches toward the house. He doesn’t follow until Bill is up to the front porch, unlocking the door with shaking hands. As he climbs up the steps, Bill leaves the door open behind him, and paces into the living room. His body is humming with competing urges of possessive anger, wounded pride, needy desperation, every single one of them looking for validation - for proof inside Holden’s warm, quivering body that he belongs there.

Holden slips past the front door, and gazes at him in the low light. His eyes are gleaming, both steel and glass, but his mouth is trembling defiantly. A beautiful wreck. Bill wants to throw himself into it, watch them both shatter, watch them try to collect the pieces; the night is already far gone enough, so what’s one more boundary crossed?

He closes the space between them in a few strides and catches Holden by the cheeks. Their mouths collide, a desperate clash of panting lips, hungry tongue, biting teeth. Holden’s whimper is muffled beneath the pressure of Bill’s mouth coming down, but it quickly twists into a needy groan as he leans into the harsh caress.

Bill pushes him up against the wall, hearing the back of Holden’s head hit with a thud. Holden only seems fueled by the ferocity, his hands tearing at Bill’s neck and chest, pushing fabric out of the way until he can rub his palm up against Bill’s swelling groin.

Their mouths break apart with a gasp, and Holden gazes up at him with swollen lips and flaring eyes.

“I want you to fuck me.” He whispers, his voice ragged and hoarse. He pushes a wet kiss against Bill’s lower lip, his eyes staying open as he whispers visceral need. “Fuck me so hard.”

Bill kisses him again, smothering the last of his hesitation. He lifts Holden off the ground with both hands clasped over his backside, and Holden locks his ankles against his lower back. Bill staggers down the hallway to the bedroom, finding his way through the dark to their bed where they collapse in a wrestling heap of angry, needy limbs.

They tear at each other’s clothes, shoving each garment out of the way in a hurry, in between biting kisses and heavy-handed petting. As Holden yanks on his boxers, Bill reaches over to yank the dresser drawer open and find the bottle of lube.

He uses a generous amount to glaze Holden’s cleft before pushing a finger inside. Holden bites into his shoulder as the rough penetration quickly goes in to the knuckle again and again, working him open at a demanding pace. He doesn’t whimper or complain; in fact, the rough handling seems to only be making him more aroused as he thrusts down against Bill’s hand and curses in pleasure. Soon, he’s squirming and whispering desperately in Bill’s ear, “Hurry up. I’m ready. I want your cock.”

Bill’s head is already lost in a blur of alcohol, bruised ego, and need, and he feels himself tipping over the edge, past his frustration, as he quickly rolls on a condom. He forces himself to slow down as he pushes his cock inside, working past the lingering clench of muscle, working all the way to the hilt.

Holden moans and arches beneath him, his expression etched with mounting pleasure. Bill feels his chest seize as he plunges inside, their bodies joining as firmly and deeply as they can. Suddenly, with Holden’s body wrapped around him and his mouth moaning just for Bill, all of his crazy, insecure conclusions look unfounded and silly. Not just stupid, but selfish and damaging.

Bill leans over Holden’s trembling body, gathering him closer in his arms as he begins to thrust against him. A sense of relief washes over him when Holden reciprocates, wrapping both arms around his neck and clutching his knees to Bill’s ribs. Burying his face in Holden’s neck, Bill rocks against him, and tries to absorb every second of his warm, soft skin, the heat of his body cradling Bill at their most intimate points, the shudder of limbs wrapped desperately around him. They’re all alone in the dark, no strobe lights or painted faces or leering suitors; on this private stage, none of it matters.

Some time later, they’re laying in a tangled heap of spent pleasure and boneless limbs. Holden curls against his chest while Bill’s breathing slows, the jagged hitch of his lungs pinned down by the warmth of his ear pressed close.

Bill runs his fingertips over Holden’s shoulder, watching his pale skin glow beneath the splash of moonlight stretching through the window. His chin is tucked against his chest, hiding his face from Bill’s searching gaze, but Bill can feel the tender shudder running through him.

He sighs, letting his fingers go stationary against Holden’s shoulder. His chest is still raw and flinching and full, bottled emotions wanting to burst free; and he knows he needs to channel them in some other way than rage or reckless, angry sex.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers into the darkness.

Holden lays still against him for a long moment before his head nestles closer. “I’m sorry, too. That was harsh of me to say … the straight guy thing.”

“I shouldn’t have overreacted at the bar. I was just-”

“I know.” Holden says, lifting his head from Bill’s chest to cast him a rueful gaze. “It’s not what you’re used to, and I should have been more sensitive to that. I know tonight was hard for you.”

“Look, I want to hear you and your friends out.” Bill says, “I just don’t know if it’s something I’ll ever enjoy.”

“Okay. I get that.” Holden says, pressing a gentle hand to his chest. “But you have to let me enjoy it. We have to keep living our lives and doing the things we like independently.”

“I know-” Bill begins, glancing away as his face grows hot.

Holden gently catches him by the chin, turning his face back towards him.

“Do you?” He whispers.

Bill clenches his jaw. “Yes.”

“Just because I’m going to a gay bar doesn’t mean I want to hook up with someone. It doesn’t mean I’m going to cheat on you. But it also doesn’t mean that I’m immune to people hitting on me. I know how to say ‘no’. . . I had just hoped you trusted me enough to realize that.”

Bill nods, pressing his eyes shut for a moment before looking up at Holden’s somber gaze.

“Do you trust me?” Holden asks, softly. “Because if you don’t, then we seriously need to rethink what we’re doing here.”

“No, I do trust you. I shouldn’t have acted like I don’t.”

“Okay.” Holden says, leaning down to press a kiss to Bill’s mouth. He chuckles softly, melting the tension. “On another note, that was honestly some of the best sex I’ve ever had.”

Bill laughs quietly despite the knot still unraveling in his chest. “Yeah. Me, too.”

“You’ve been holding back on me.” Holden murmurs, running his fingertip along Bill’s jawline. “You were like an animal just now.”

Bill purses his lips against a smile, his face warm with giddy heat that’s quickly melting the last of his frustration.

“Why were you holding back?” Holden says, nudging his nose against Bill’s.

“I don’t know. I won’t anymore.”

“Good.” Holden whispers, melding the affirmation into a kiss.

Bill wraps his arm tighter around Holden’s waist, dragging him into the slow, deep kiss with fresh appreciation. He wants to say so much - that Holden makes him want to throw aside all of his fears and inhibitions; that no matter how wounded his pride gets, he’d never want to stay angry; that he’s seen life without Holden, and he never wants to live that experience again. But maybe the apology was enough for tonight. Maybe this kiss can say all the things he can’t yet speak. Maybe in time, Holden will lead him out of the dark and into the light, and he won’t ever have a reason to be afraid again.

#bill x holden #my writing #Anonymous

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beanwritesthings · 4 years ago

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The Winter’s Chill (Repost)

I posted this to my main (where I post literally everything else) because I forgot this blog existed for a sec, so I’m reposting it here, and will probably (maybe?) delete it from my main after.

~~~~

A short story based on a weird dream I had.

Warnings: Corruption, loss of control, dysphoria, some weird eldritch body shit, possession

__________

The shadow comes for me again on a cold winter’s night in the city. It sneaks into my mind and whispers words of sorrow and pain and anger to me as I walk home. I feel it settle into its usual place there as its tendrils worm their way down to my heart, tainting, corrupting everything it touches. The street lights flicker and the snow swirls around me as the wind whips through the streets. I know that, if I looked beneath my coat, the inky blackness would be slowly oozing through my veins, the color marking me for what I am. The chill cuts that much deeper now.

~~~~

I enter my apartment and kick off my boots quickly, barely taking the time to pull off my hat and scarf before I’m running to the bathroom. I hear my roommate call out in greeting behind me but I don’t respond, already inside and closing the door.

They can’t know, I can’t drag them into this.

I pull off my coat now, yanking hard on fabric to get it off my arms in the rush. It hits the tile with a soft thump that I barely notice as I’m already pulling off my thick sweater to reveal my bare skin. My veins are dark, standing out clearly from my skin and seem to pulse in time with my rapidly beating heart. I swallow the forming lump in my throat and I risk a look into the mirror. The veins in my neck stand out the most, bulging and throbbing, and the lump returns with the cold burn of stomach acid. I watch the whites of my eyes turn black and the shadow in my head lets out a low laugh.

YOU BELONG TO US. YOU ARE FOOLISH TO THINK OTHERWISE

My heart pounds harder and my head starts to join. The veins bulge and then the ink is pouring out, spreading over my skin like growing and splitting vines and I watch as I am consumed by them in the mirror. My hands make their way to my mouth unbidden and I use them to stifle a sob. I feel tears stream from my eyes but I cannot see them among the dark, shining tendrils writhing all over my face. The ink bleeds into my eyes and I feel my mouth curve into a twisted parody of a smile beneath my hands. Another sob crawls its way from my throat and I jerk out an arm to brace myself on the sink, suddenly feeling lightheaded. My whole body pounds and my skin crawls and itches as I stand there, bound by the shadow in my head.

Knock-knock

I freeze. My roommate’s voice floats into the small room, concern clear and I know any distressed sound will have them opening the door in an instant. The shadow gives one last laugh.

A REMINDER

And then the ink is gone. My skin is clear of dark veins, its presence is no longer pushing at my thoughts. My eyes are clear and tear tracks shine on my cheeks. Relief crashes through me, if only for the assurance that I can continue to bear the burden alone. I must have let out another sob because suddenly they’re there and wiping away the still-flowing tears. I pull them into a hug, unable to resist the urge and they wrap their arms around me, rubbing circles on my back and whispering reassurances in my ear as I fall apart in their embrace. I feel warm again.

~~~~

It’s approaching midnight when I leave my apartment again. After reassuring my roommate that my breakdown was just the result of a bad day at work, they spent the evening taking my mind off of anything other than their excellent cooking and whatever ridiculous late-night sitcom they scrounged up from the previous decade on the TV. I sent them to bed with the knowledge that they had improved my mood significantly and waited until they were definitely asleep before re-dressing and stepping back out into the cold.

It’s snowing heavier now, coating the sidewalks in a fine coating and hanging in the air. The streetlights struggle to penetrate through the flakes as they tumble and spin their way to the ground. Faint footprints become less and less common as I weave my way through the streets away from the heart of the city, and then repopulate as I enter another district. The streets here are narrower, older, and paved with stones worn from years and years of traffic and the snow gathers on the edges in piles where the remnants of the last snow still endure. The little shops that are still open are decorated with solstice lights that blink and twinkle, interior light shining through the iced-over windows. Small groups of people still hop from shop to shop, laughing and talking about the snow.

I bury my face further into my scarf, avoiding making eye contact with anyone and hunch over further, trying to guard myself from the wind that still whips around the buildings, launching the snow into little vortexes. I’m clenching my gloved hands in my pockets and squinting against a particularly strong gust when unnatural ice creeps down my spine and begins to spread once more.

NO ESCAPE

The shadow is back, twisting and turning into place as if it never left. The chill spreads everywhere and I shiver violently, tucking myself over even more. Passersby look at me in worry, but do not approach me. There’s no telling what I could be.

I’m walking faster now, trying to outrun the thing in my head despite everything I know pointing to that being impossible. The shadow laughs and sinks its tendrils into my bones, anchoring them there. There’s flashes of pain now, not just cold and I suppress a cry as a particularly sharp one snaps into place in my knee. I stumble away from the road and press myself hard into the side of the closest building, barely getting close enough to it to use it as a brace before my legs give out from under me. I curl into a ball facing the street and put my head on my knees, losing myself to tears for the second time of the night. The cold is almost unbearable.

~~~~

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting there when I finally notice the temple. It’s fairly small, as far as temples go, but it has a fairly consistent stream of people headed inside. The snow has lessened enough so that I can see the stained glass on the front, various depictions of the Weaver and her creations. The glow from the light inside looks so very warm and the people headed in and out look so very normal and happy. A gust kicks up the snow in the street and the resulting spiral seems to orbit the doorway, placed a half-story above the street with some stone steps leading up to it.

I slowly move from my position, limbs reluctant to answer me after so long in the same arrangement. The chords of ink in my limbs resist for a few seconds before giving in to my demands. The shadow hisses a warning in my head, but makes no move to stop me as I get up, shaking the snow from my shoulders and stepping out into the street.

I climb the steps slowly, afraid that the shadow will decide it wants me without delay and pull me away into the cold and dark where I belong, but also terrified that I will not be able to enter a place where the Weaver has such a presence. The shadow is everything the Weaver is not and my corruption should prevent me from entering, but somehow, my foot crosses the threshold and I’m inside. The shadow lets out a terrible screech and my limbs lock up, the cords refusing to allow them to move before they’re ripped from their anchors, and they’re gone, the shadow disappearing from my head.

I collapse, strings cut, and I’m surrounded by people, being lifted up and brought further into the temple. I drift as their mutterings orbit me, people moving about and bringing things in and out of whatever room I’ve ended up in. I’m suddenly wrapped in blankets and there’s a fire roaring away in front of me and I’m warm.

~~~~

A priestess enters the room and asks me a few questions that I hesitate to answer. She cannot know about the shadow, about my failure to hold it at bay and to hold to the teachings of my youth. No, I must merely be a lost traveler who spent too long out in the cold. I say as much to her and she smiles.

There is always room in the Weaver’s heart for one more.

I’m left to my own devices as I sit there by the fire, relishing in the warmth and the true freedom that I have not felt for a long time. I am so relieved that it takes time for my trepidation about being inside the temple to creep back up on me, an uneasiness drilled into me after escaping a childhood dedicated to such extreme religious pursuits. But, there are no symbols of the Watcher here, something that they would not ever allow in a place of their worship, so I relax into my coverings and go back to watching the fire.

The same priestess enters the room again after a while, smiling softly and asks if I would like to join them in their prayers, in thanking the Weaver for her dedication to creation. I almost say no, that I would very much rather spend the night in the warm room away from the cold and the dark, but then I remember the outrage the shadow expressed at the entrance, how I was free while I was within this blessed place.

I will thank the Weaver for granting me sanctuary from my troubles.

She nods and smiles more widely, but no less genuine. I stand up, limbs straining from lack of movement, not from outside interference, and I follow her to the main hall of worship. The majority of the people inside are other priests and priestesses, but there are other people not dressed in the iridescent robes of the Weaver, other people just there to join in the prayer. I take the place offered to me in the third row of pews and watch as the priestess goes to join the ranks on either side of the altar.

The head priestess steps forward, her headdress shining and sparkling in the lantern-light and opens her mouth and sings. Her voice rings in the silence of the temple before, slowly, words form from the pure sound. They’re in the old tongue, as all prayers are, but the words are of thanks and praise, not the crazed devotion and begging that filled the prayers of my youth. The other priests step forward, opening their mouths and joining, a beautiful round in different pitches that’s absolutely breathtaking. The other people around me allow the sound to resonate in the room for a few seconds longer before adding in their own praises. I wait a bit longer, basking in the unity of the sound before adding my own to it, tongue tripping as I recall the tongue I denounced when I left the temple I was raised in. My soul feels lighter as it sings with me, so full and warm for the first time in a long time.

The lantern flames flicker and dance, casting shadows on the walls and the windows. The song orbits the room, bouncing and changing and repeating and I lose myself in it. The metal of the priestess’s headdress shimmers and the reflected bits of light seem to move on their own, creating a hypnotizing dance. The scenes depicted in the windows seem to shift and change in the corners of my vision and I find myself struggling to keep up with the song as it starts to reach a crescendo. The headdress really is glowing now, specks of light whirling and shifting into too many colors to count. I begin to feel dizzy, my eyes suddenly struggling to remain open. Between blinks, the stained glass changes, scenes of creation and the Weaver morphing into the mind boggling patterns of runes and lines so common in temples of the Watcher.

The song shifts, changing, the priestess now begging for understanding, for freedom, for knowledge, for change, and the words are filled with blind devotion. Fear fills me now, but I am captured in the music, unable to escape. Those around me sway, their song changing to match the priestess’s as the rest of the order’s words also shift to match the fanatic tone. I try to stop, to remain in praise of the Weaver, but I cannot, and now I am also singing praise to the Watcher and the warmth in my soul disappears. I am cold and darkness surrounds me.

~~~~

There is darkness. There is pain. I am running towards something, away from something. The shadows laugh at me from everywhere, but cannot touch me. There is a burning on my back, between my shoulders and then there is light and I can see.

The pain fades, the light fades, and there is darkness and cold once more.

~~~~

I wake to the warmth and the softness of a bed. There is a presence beside me that sends spikes of hurtangerfearregretlovehate through me, a presence that I have not felt since I fled the temple at 15. Mother sits next to me, most likely in a chair, and sings softly. Their words are in the old tongue, as always, twisting and turning on each other in a way that used to make my very being ache, but that I now track without trouble. They are words of happiness, of reuniting, of a possessive sort of love that makes my skin crawl.

MY CHILD, YOU HAVE COME HOME.

I wince, then slowly open my eyes.

The room is lit with the soft light of morning, the dull beige walls covered in the runes and line-patterns of the Watcher. The room itself is bare other than a door set in the far left corner and the two windows on either side of the bed. The presence shifts and I slowly force my eyes to the right. Mother sits there, blank eyes staring at me. Their wings are mere fractals behind them, as opposed to the usual limitless explosion, ever-shifting and rotating through more colors than should exist. The runes that constantly run over them are slow, muted enough that I can read them and identify them as the sacred text of the Watcher. Their halo is also muted, the spectral third eye remaining a bright, unnatural blue without the usual orbiting runes.

It takes me a moment to realize that my head does not hurt, that my eyes are not bleeding from looking upon so much of their true form at once. Dread begins to climb the back of my throat. They smile at me, and reach a hand out, settling it on my cheek.

YOU ALWAYS HELD SUCH PROMISE. IT WAS SUCH A SHAME WHEN YOU LEFT, ALL THAT POTENTIAL LOST. BUT DO NOT WORRY, YOU HAVE EXCEEDED ALL OF OUR EXPECTATIONS.

I am suddenly aware of a weight sitting on my head, on my shoulders and I lurch into motion. I throw the covers off of me and leap out of the bed, my legs almost giving away under me. I grunt and push through the strange feeling of notmine that fills me with every step, as I stumble my way to the door. Mother remains sitting and begins to sing once more.

I make my way down the hallway, ignoring the way the various depictions of eyes seem to follow my progress. I peek in each door, hoping for a room with a mirror, but it still takes me getting down most of the hallway before I’m rewarded with a bathroom. I throw myself in, closing the door and fumbling the doorknob with stiff hands - notminenotmine - before I’m able to lock it. Not that a simple lock would be able to keep out Mother, but the click makes me feel better anyway.

I take a deep breath, examining my hands fully for the first time, seeing the way my skin seems to shimmer and look like not-skin before settling into normalcy once more. Tears fill my eyes and I let them fall. I take another breath, steeling myself for a look in the mirror. My teeth clench and I tear my eyes away from the hands - notminenotmine - to the piece of glass in front of me.

My eyes are blank, no pupils or irises to be seen, just pure white. A halo, circular in general shape but made of tendrils that move and shape and snap into hard angles, floats above my head, shining in every color of the universe. Rising above my shoulders are two whorls of light, shifting and changing, soft knots and almost feather-like structures and they constantly shift and change, the colors always different, yet complementing those of the halo. Runes run along and through the light, spelling out phrases of wondering, of hopelessness, of pain and sorrow.

Tears fall most readily down my face as I reach a hand back, running it through the light and shivering as, though my hand did not feel anything other than a slight warmth, something else did. The whorls condense into sharp fractals so similar to Mother’s as I tense up, sharpening and making a sharp clattering noise, like that of a wind chime being hit by something. I step back, hands limp at my sides as I turn around, craning my neck to keep looking in the mirror. The wings - because they’re wings - are mirrored by a smaller set that sprout from my mid-back, equally as tense. I turn back around, beginning to shake and that same clattering noise begins again. The runes stutter in their flowing motion, stopping and starting at random.

A sob rips its wat from my throat suddenly and I reach up to wipe away the tears, only to be stopped by a sudden chill down my spine.

No, please.

The shadow laughs as it slides into my head, as neatly as if it was meant to be there and the cold rushes through me. My eyes glaze over black and the runes flow again, changing and morphing until they speak of anger, of hate, of the cold and dark, of eternal shadow. The colors change faster, darkening and alternating in a way that would have a mortal - I’m not one anymore, am I? - blinded. My halo tries to keep shifting, but also tries to stop and the pressure builds and builds until my head feels like it will explode until something gives with a mighty CRACK.

~~~~

My ears ring and I’m dully aware that I must have been screaming because of the pain in my throat. I hear the pounding of feet elsewhere in the building, signaling the inevitable arrival of members of the Order. I pick myself up from the ground, my mouth dry and my head full of cotton. Looking in the mirror again, the breath leaves me and I barely catch myself from doubling over by gripping the sink. My eyes are a shining, inky black that bleeds into the surrounding flesh. But my halo - howwhy, whathappened, notmine - is broken. Some pieces remain still, frozen in time while others continue their orbit, the colors dull and tinted grey. My wings are the same, stiff and shattered and bleeding iridescent fluid that floats up when it drips off the jagged pieces to disappear into the air.

My head lifts itself. A smile, sharp-edged and full of malice and wild joy, carves itself onto my face. I try to scream, but no sound comes from my throat. I try to pull away from the mirror, but nothing will move. I am so cold. My limbs are frozen, cold, notmine. I do not hold the strings.

WELCOME HOME

The shadow’s cords pull my bones and I’m lurching to the window, tearing at the latch and pulling it open. I don’t feel the gust of winter air. Someone is banging on the door. Mother’s singing is getting closer. My body throws itself out the window, wings flare and I’m flying; flying away from Mother and the Watcher and the childhood that won’t let me go. I feel free, truly free for the first time in my life before the shadow reminds me of my chains, shoving me further into the recesses of my mind. And yet, trapped as I am in the cold chains of darkness in my head, an ember of hope ignites.

The sun rises over the city and I rise with it, the kernel of warmth keeping the winter’s chill at bay.

#original writing #short story #my writing #repost #possession tw #corruption #horror????#body horror elements #based on a dream #weird religion stuff #some weird world building as well #this is real weird #imma tell you now #i will eventually name this idea/collection #because im writing more in this world #fantasy #modern fantasy

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lilsliceofpie · 7 years ago

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Mistaken Evil Part 2

I’m really excited to share this with y’all because this is my first(fully completed) piece of fanfic! The first part was written by my lovely friend, @an-angel-on-earth

you can find the first part here

"Venator, can you spare an interview for "Superlife" magazine?"

"Are you really dating a villain?"

"Trickster, does this mean that you're giving up evil?"

"What exactly is the nature of your relationship?"

The moment Trickster and Venator had walked onto the sidewalk, they were crowded by determined reporters and curious citizens. People were asking questions over one another, each desperate to catch their attention, and microphones were being shoved in both of their faces.

"Shit. Paparazzi." Venator muttered under his breath. While Sam was doing his best to avoid the cameras and mics, Gabriel had started up several conversations with the reporters, obviously enjoying the attention. As much as Sam wanted to leave, he loved seeing the way Gabriel lit up with joy under the questioning eyes of the reporters. So he made his decision with an irritated sigh as he walked up to the reporter from Superlife. He had read a few of her articles in the magazine, and had been delightfully surprised that they seemed to be more focused on the impact the superheroes had on the city instead of their personal lives.

"Hey, Cindy if you'd like, Trickster and I might be able to spare an interview sometime." He punctuates his offer with a knowing wink.

The reporter, Cindy Myers, could only stand there with wide eyes and an even wider smile. Eventually, she has the sense to dig in the pocket of her(rather fashionable) suit jacket for her business card and available times. As soon she gently hands the small squares of paper to the superhero, Venator's out of sight, dragging the Trickster with him past the crowd.

Sam had set up the interview for 2 days after at noon. And despite his usual calm composure, he was a nervous wreck. It was his first interview ever and he really didn’t want to screw it up. If Gabriel wasn’t looking forward to this so much, he would have canceled it right away.

They had decided to meet at a small coffee shop in a rather unpopulated area of the town. Venator and Trickster were seated on a large couch, and Cindy was sitting across from them with a pencil and paper ready.

“So let’s get started. Venator is such an interesting name. What does it mean?”

Venator sighed in relief from the easy question. “Well, it’s latin. For Hunter.” They both watched as Cindy quickly etched her notes on the paper and readied herself for the next question.

“I know you must be getting this a lot lately, but I have to know. Are you two really dating?”

Before Venator could respond, Trickster had his arm wrapped around the larger man and was flashing Cindy his best grin. “Yup. We’re completely in love. Ain’t that right, Venny?” Long hair swished as Venator turned to the side to hide his blush. “He’s a bit camera shy, but he knows it’s true.” Trickster put his free hand up to stage whisper. “He said he loved me.”

As she furiously wrote down notes, Cindy was smiling slightly at the adorable antics of the super couple. “So, when and how did this relationship start?”

Once again, Trickster jumped to the answer first. “It was two days ago. I had tied up Venny here, and not in the sexy way. Although I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea…” Trickster wiggled his eyebrows at the taller man, causing Venator to roll his eyes. “Anyway, we got to talking, and that’s when I charmed this big guy into falling in love with me.”

“That’s not exactly how it happened. If I recall correctly, you were the one who fell for me first.”

“But you were the one to ask me out first.”

“Okay okay, you win.” Venator smiled before turning his focus back to the reporter across from them.

“I’m not supposed to have any personal opinions in my work, but you two make an adorable couple.” Venator turned his head to try to hide a blush, and to avoid seeing the smug look on Trickster’s face. “Anyway, Trickster does this mean that you’re giving up evil?”

Before Gabriel could start on his rant about not being evil, he was interrupted by Sam clutching his head in pain.

The whole town is painted in ashes. Houses are burnt to the ground on each side of the road. Charred corpses litter the ground. Above the destruction is a man, sandy blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. He is floating against the cloudy grey sky, large wings extend from his back, flapping ever so gently against the rising smoke.

Venator awoke from his vision with a large intake of breath. He very abruptly stood up, almost knocking over Trickster in the process. “Hey, baby, what’s wrong?”

Venator looked around, panic in his eyes. “I-uh I gotta go.” Before anyone could get another word in, Venator had sped out of the coffee shop.

After the blur that was his boyfriend was out of sight, Trickster turned to Cindy apologetically. “Sorry Ms. Myers, we’re gonna have to reschedule. Duty calls and all that…” He shot her one last look and then rushed outside, following Venator’s trail.

Due to Sam’s knowledge of the area, it didn’t take him long to find the setting of his vision. Once there, he immediately scanned the area for the winged man. He turned to his right, he saw houses. His left, the mostly empty street. In front of him, a few trees and a park bench. Behind him… Sam jumped back. The winged man was standing there, head cocked to one side, staring at Sam with amusement.

The blond man’s mouth twisted into a devilish grin. “Venator, just the man I was looking for!”

“You know me?” Sam asked, hiding his initial shock.

“Well of course, Venator. I know all about you.” He replied, crossing in front of Sam to sit on the park bench. Quite awkwardly, as Sam noticed. The man was sitting on the back of the bench with one of his legs draped over the side of the bench and the other resting on the seat.

“Can’t say the same about you. I don’t even know your name. Guessing you’re new to the area?”

“Smart boy. Yes, I’m new. I was previously...incarcerated elsewhere. And as for my name… You can call me Lucifer.”

Gabriel had been searching all over for Sam. He assumed what Sam saw was really bad because he didn’t even tell Gabe where he was going. Whatever Sam was about to deal with, Gabriel hoped that he didn’t get himself hurt. Unfortunately, the Trickster didn’t have Sammy-GPS, so he’d have to rely on his hope until he could find him. Gabriel crossed a street corner, eyes darting from one side to the next. Sighing, he realized searching like this was never going to work. Instead, he started looking for a tall building to perch on top of. He singled out a rather tall office building and started his ascend to the roof. With each step, he repeated a mantra in his head of “Sam can handle it, he’ll be okay.”

Sam was not okay. He was currently fighting Lucifer, and losing terribly. Lucifer had pinned Venator to the wall with only his mind and was force-choking him. Venator was completely helpless. He just didn’t know how to get out of this one. Never before had he been in a situation where he couldn’t fight back. Even when he was chained or locked up, he could put some effort into fighting against his restraints. Now though, he had no control of his limbs and they felt like they were stuck to the wall. He was also rapidly running out of air, so he couldn’t talk his way out of it.

“So Venator, I’ll ask you one last time. Relinquish this city to me or become my prisoner. Indefinitely.”

The attempt at words Sam made came out as a gargled choking sound.

Lucifer released Sam’s neck from his invisible noose. “Sorry, couldn’t hear you. Say that again?”

“I...will never give...this city...to you.” Sam gasped out, still trying to recollect his air supply.

Lucifer did not look angry or disappointed. He just calmly leaned against the wall opposite Sam. “Listen Venator, I’m not here to undermine you or your work. But you’ve noticed, I’ve noticed, the whole city’s noticed how quiet it’s gotten since Trickster went soft. All I’m offering is to take his place. And if you don’t give it to me, I’ll have to take it. But, oh wait, that means you’re going to try and stop me. But guess what? I’m a whole lot stronger than you. And if you try to take me down... I’ll kill you. No hard feelings, but a man’s gotta do his job. So what I’m offering is a way to keep your precious little head, from rolling on the ground. I like you. I really do. You’ve got spunk. And you’re irritating in that hot, makes you wanna have angry sex, kinda way. So I’d be sad if I had to kill you. I want you to stay alive. I’m rooting for ya buddie! So just… say… yes.”

Gabriel had spotted them. He saw Sam and...Lucifer. His brother Lucifer, who had broken out of his prison, who was undeniably a murderous psychopath, was targeting Sam. Gabe needed to get down there. He didn’t know what he would do, didn’t have time to think of a plan. Gabriel stretched out his wings that he hadn’t used since he was a superhero. Feathers extending outward, he leaned forward, and jumped off the building. He soared through the sky, regaining a freedom he hadn’t felt in years, as he hurried to Sam.

Lucifer smirked at Sam as he walked towards him. The villain’s hand reached forward and roughly cupped the hero’s jaw. “Not changing your mind, huh?” Sam glared at him through his mask. Lucifer tsked and dropped his hand. “Is that your final answer? For 1,000 dollars, show me prisoner!” As soon as he spoke, Lucifer snapped and a large cage appeared around Sam.

Sam was too shocked and afraid to notice the sound of wings ruffling against the wind. Only when Lucifer grimaced and turned around, did Sam see Gabriel. This was the first time he has ever seen Gabe’s wings, and despite his grim situation, Sam allowed himself a moment to admire them. They were a beautiful off-white and had a golden glow.

“Brother. I thought you had given up the hero gig.” Lucifer spoke mockingly, but there was an underlying tone of sadness to his words.

Gabriel leered at his fallen brother and stepped forward. Despite his short stature, the Archangel seemed to fill the area, stretching taller than any building. His presence was alluring. A golden aura spread high into the heavens. “I will not let you destroy this town. And I will not let you kill Venator.” As Gabriel spoke, his voice resonated strong and unwavering, buzzing with determination.

Lucifer looked down, slowly shaking his head. “Love has blinded you, brother.” He raised his gaze to meet Gabriel’s. “Look around you, Trickster.” He spoke the name with so much venom it would have poisoned any mortal man. “Look at this city, how...peaceful it has gotten because of you. Its shameful, really. Ever since you fell for this-this disgrace of a hero...” He turned to glare momentarily at Sam, who was watching the scene unfold with wide eyes. “The city needs a real villain. One that won’t fail to put fear in the hearts of everyone who dares utter a word against him.” A smirk stretched across his face, eyes glinting with malevolence. “The city has already seen one Archangel. I think it’s time for it to see another. The Archangel Lucifer.” As he said his name, he rolled his shoulders, stretching out long dark wings.

Sam was stunned. The wings looked even more menacing than they did in his vision. Every instinct was telling him to run away, to somehow get Lucifer’s attention off of him. But damn it, he was a hero! Venator wouldn’t stand back and cower in fear! Why should Sam? Determined, Sam now started looking around the cage for something he could use to pick the lock.

While Sam was busy, he didn’t notice Gabriel and Lucifer moving into fighting positions. He only looked up when he heard the sound of Gabriel’s voice.

“Lucifer, you’re my brother and I love you, but you’re a great big bag of dicks.”

“Brother, you don’t have to do this.”

“I’m sorry, but I do.”

That was the last thing Sam heard before a blinding light flooded his senses. The light soon turned into a enveloping blackness as Sam lost consciousness.

“Heya Sammykins. Have a nice nap?” Gabriel’s kind face was the first thing Sam saw as he blinked the blurriness out of his sight. “Hi there sleepy head.” Gabriel’s smile sent warmth straight into Sam’s heart, making it flutter within his chest.

“Gabriel… Wha.. What happened?” Sam gazed up sleepily at his boyfriend. Boyfriend. He smiled. His loving boyfriend was here, he had saved him.

“Shhh… Sammy-bear don’t worry about it. You’re safe now.”

“Lucifer?”

“He won’t bother you or this town ever again”

“Good.” Sam smiled as he pulled Gabriel-his boyfriend, his savior- in for a kiss.

#sabriel #superhero au #superhero boyfriends #lucifer is a supervillain #sam's visions #my work #I'm sorry if my writing is terrible

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alizaarches · 7 years ago

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Growing up, Gin had heard the tales of the dragons of old—how creatures with teeth sharpened like razors and the size of small garbage trucks hunted the land with a vengeance unparalleled to anything seen before. Monsters the length of Shanghai Tower roaming with enough passion to fill the books of Gin’s ancestors. Gin was taught by her grandfather to never trust a dragon. Originally, she’d believed the statement to be a metaphor, in the same way humans were called rats and snakes, but no; he’d meant actual, literal dragons. The beginning of Gin’s bizarre existence took place in a small town in Japan, a long time ago. Her mother gently stroked Gin’s hair as she sang the stories of faraway lands and legendary princesses, while her father handed her a katana and whispered a blessing of good fortune in three dead languages. Her grandfather, full of grief from losing his wife, smiled sadly at her, telling her how much she looked like her namesake, how exactly is the perfect way to sharpen her sword (which was more helpful than the solemn silence of her father), and how to perform a three-fingered gesticulation that wards off dragons. Gin shook her head to get rid of those thoughts, and promptly slammed into a telephone pole. She cried out, gripping her forehead, glancing up from her romance novel, glaring at the pole like it had attacked her. She huffed, put The Ace of Hearts into her bag, and slung it over her shoulder. She walked around the post and continued strolling down the sidewalk with her head held up high. Joking around, she started dancing dorkily to the music in her earbuds, twisting her feet together and falling on her face. She laughed, rolling her eyes at herself, and twisting onto her side to push herself back up. Instead of pulling off the epidemy of grace she so obviously was, she turned her head and made eye contact with huge, bright yellow irises. She screamed, scrambling away from the storm drain, staring in absolute horror. Black pupils in the center of lightbulb eyelets observed her, looking Gin up and down as if calculating the potentiality of a threat, and ducked beneath the grate once more. Gin sat on her hip, panting like she’d freshly run a marathon, and wondered if she’d read too much fantasy. She looked down at her palms, steadying herself, and stood. She picked up her backpack from where she’d dropped it, glanced back at the home of the giant egg yolks, and kept on marching. She plugged back in her songs of the wild and went back to dreamland. Gin wished she could dive back into her card game book—she was just getting to the part where the professional gambler throws a match of poker for the woman he loves—but the road home required many roadway intersection, and she’d rather not get run over by moderately quick vehicles. She stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets and attempted to avoid any ponderings of her grandfather, which of course meant she could only think of him. Her mind was filled with the fondness in his voice when he spoke of shenanigans he ensued when he was younger (including a swordfight with Grandmother’s brother, an attempted burglary of his motorbike, and a bratwurst Japanese nun party); the smile on his face when he flipped through old scrapbooks of past memories with him and his deceased spouse; the crinkles of the corners of his eyes when he retells the childhood of his eldest daughter, Gin’s mother. Gin missed her grandfather so much. She looked down at the concrete: one foot in front of the other—left, right, left, right. Watch the breaks in the sidewalk, follow the straight line. She stopped dead. She shut her eyes, a tear crawling passed her willpower. In her heart—her Ace of Hearts (okay, she’ll stop now)—she knew her grandpa was happy, satisfied; he’d missed his Gin (the original one) more than anything, even more than non-crooked legs and the adventure of youth. Gin the Second knew he was content in being buried next to the love of his life. But sometimes she’d catch her mom look at her wedding photo—the two most important men in her life on either side, all smiling like idiots—and fiddle with her Years of Life bracelet: silver, like Gin’s name. Gin knew she wasn’t the only one who missed Grandpappy Kei, but from how her family avoided his death like a forest fire, sometimes it felt that way. She sighed shakily. Crying wasn’t going to bring him back, and she’d had plenty of time to grieve. Her dark eyes hardened, and she, determined, thought, “I am stronger than his. Grandfather taught me better than this.” She forced her legs to move in the familiar path to her cottage through the square. She brushed her fingertips against passing mailboxes and store windows to get a better grip on reality. She reached a fork in the road—she could either go the longer, more wiry direction with heavier traffic and more people that could notice a tearstain and report it to her parents like the police, OR she could go through the peaceful, small patch of woods that could’ve housed Grandmother’s house. She chose the compact cluster of trees, thank you very much. Gin lowered the volume of her music just in case. She carefully breathed in the fresh air, a patch of non-toxified air in a town full of air pollution and quite a lot of gasoline. She raised her arm and touched the hanging trees of maple, beautiful in the weather of this time of year, blending in with the orchards of cherry blossoms and magnolias. The ground was invisible, covered in colorful fallen leaves. She adjusted the pack on her back and wondered that if she ran away from Casa de Mori, how long would she survive in this part of the woods? How long would it take before the authorities found her? Before anyone found her? To her right, a branch cracked. She froze. With the caution of prey to an unknowing hunter, she turned her head, slowly. For the second time that day, she found herself staring into eyes the color of the smiling yellow sun she’d used to draw in the corner of prepubescent illustrations. The creature glowered back, fearlessly, and raised its head in a show of dominance—a challenge. Gin broke eye contact in response. Instead, she stretched her neck to examine its body; she wasn’t sure what she was expecting. An owl the size of her bedroom? (No, its body was long, and lean, and it lacked the bodily feathers.) A Bombay cat? (The likeliest possibility, and even that was a stretch. A domestic animal prowling like its untamed counterpart in the woods? It also didn’t help that a Bombay cat could not possibly be the length of a pickup truck.) Gin moved her scrutiny further down its figure—a scaly, muscular spine with white spikes popping out like shark’s teeth; a tail, swinging, a weapon curling gracefully like the smooth agility of a feline; a form so dark it blended in with the shadows of maple trees (noticeable by the black spot on the otherwise very pinkish reddish earth); legs the height of the pole Gin had run into; and wings the size of a man’s parachute, as leathery and inky as the raisins of her homeland, relaxed in the way the calm before a storm was relaxed—an uneasy stillness before the ball will drop. The beast took a careful step into the light—a very minute spot uncovered by the canopy of branches overhead. Gin’s eyes widened. It was—predictable, because her life was as ironic as the soap operas her mother loved to watch, minus the secret incest and bastard children from illegitimate sibling/spouse/parent/person—a dragon, matching the pictures from Grandmother Gin’s tomes of folklore perfectly. Its razorlike teeth was covered by an unintimidating close-lipped smile, and its lightbulb irises closed as it bent its head over in a show of docility, seeming to only want peace with the human girl with clumsy tendencies and long, dark hair. Beware of the legends her grandfather drilled into her naïve little-girl brain of malicious dragons, Gin gulped. She tightened her grip on her backpack straps, and walked forward, as softly and as docile as the dragon itself. Dragging her feet on the ground, she could only hear the dragon’s breathing, the sole sound in a silent forest. She reached up, a pale arm outstretching in a gesture of trust. Inwardly, she was screaming at herself—a single signal of ceasefire from an intelligent monster (who could be tricking her into becoming willing prey, casually strolling into her own death) and she was going to possibly very eagerly sacrifice her own limb? Too late now. “Hi,” said Gin. “Please don’t kill me.” The dragon opened one eye and glanced at her like it was questioning her intellect. If it had eyebrows, it would’ve totally raised it at her with enough sass one could convey with an eyebrow. Her hand touched its jaw, gentle, apprehensive. It leaned into her touch. A glare of light reflected into Gin’s iris, making her startle. She frowned, before ducking her head slightly. A collar was wrapped tightly around the dragon’s neck, with a silver nameplate engraved with affection: ASA. “Asa,” Gin whispered. “Like the flower? The Morning Glory—Asagao?” The dragon—now known as Asa, a feminine name, so Gin assumed the dragon was female—shook her head. Gin wondered what Asa stood for, but dismissed it, blaming her deadly curiosity. She’d never been able to resist a good mystery, and typically drove herself insane while trying to solve the enigma. She stroked Asa’s scales like she was petting a puppy. In comfort, the dragon yawned, showing off her long, triangular white-gold fangs. Gin’s heart climbed into her throat—her grandfather. The thousands of times he’d spent his life describing to Gin every menacing detail of a dragon’s claws, of the wide, intelligent catlike eyes, of the teeth sharpened like razors, ready to bite anything and everything in half, taking pleasure in doing so. Asa sensed her discomfort, and nudged her, purring. Gin could only mindlessly caress her backarmor, flashing back to happier times, where her family wasn’t grieving, and her life wasn’t a series of ones and zeroes—coded, replaceable, and predictable. “Where did you come from?” Gin forced herself to ask, swallowing back the urge to start running. Scurrying away from a dragon like a frightened deer would not solve anything, especially with a creature that could chew her up and spit her out. If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?—If a girl screams in a forest and there’s no one around to hear it, does she still die? Asa nuzzled her hand for her attention, and answered her question, glancing up to the sky with lightbulb irises. Gin nodded. “I should’ve guessed. Can you imagine Sensei Mei’s face if a dragon strolled into the Plaza? Walked straight into the Ki’s without a single—er, roar? Do you guys roar?” Gin got chatty when she was nervous. It was a Mori thing. Asa blinked slowly at her, one eye at a time. Asa turned her massive body around in a circle and sat down like a dog, her fat legs stretching out as a pillow for her resting head. A dragon trusted her—why? How did the monster know Gin wouldn’t be cruel to her? Wouldn’t hook her nameplate and sell it to the nearest shady buyer? Wouldn’t survive if Asa attacked her, and throw her backpack as a distraction, run back to the Plaza and scream for the Dragon Hunter crew? Gin smiled a little, ironically. The Dragon Hunters were a story her grandfather used to tell her—ethereal warriors made specially to protect the world from dragonkind. Along with the stories of Clarity’s Lover; The Killer, Master, Brother; and What One Gives (the written tales of a woman falling in love as a girl, growing up, and returning “home” to discover her former lover was blinded by the one he trusted most; that of a man who’s only solace in life is his sister, does whatever it takes to save her from herself, including murder and training someone to do his bidding; and that of a guardian angel who falls for a human—figuratively—and gives everything for him, only for him to point a weapon her in face. There are different versions, the American movie version says a gun, the traditional version says a Kama, the odd remake from Spain just claims he strangles her with his garrote wire—and kill her), the Dragon Hunters was a legend, a story told down through generations. Gin really wasn’t sure why those myths were the details she thought of as she contemplated why she’d earned a dragon’s trust, but she was told before she could never truly focus on one thing, always having a wandering mind. With Asa sitting directly in front of her, as innocent as a puppy and as intelligent as an owl, it probably wasn’t a death wish to drift off into dreamland again. Gin knelt. She stroked the head of a dragon. “Hi,” she said. “Sorry. I zoned out, right? My family calls it my ‘dreamland look’. They say I daydream for longer than normal person does, usually at ten minutes a time. I don’t ever realize I’m doing it. I just think, and apparently that’s weird.” She sighed, shaking her head. “You don’t care, do you?” She grinned self-deprecatingly. Gin had a realization. “Huh. I never told you my name.” For some reason, Asa perked up at that. “Yeah? You want to know my name?” For the first time, Asa the Dragon looked shy. She nodded, reluctantly. “Okay.” Gin pet her. “Well, my name is Mori Gin, I’m a Sagittarius, and I like hot chocolate.” Asa glanced up. Her eyes, yellow as a Tokyo Banana, looked almost human, if without a natural coloring. Abruptly, and very, very unexpected, a voice popped into her head, as clear as the music in her headphones: “I am Asa, and I am a Virgo.” Gin stared, shocked. “Did you just—?” Gin asked the dragon. “Did you just TALK TO ME?” Reasonably, she was freaking out, if more mentally than physically. Because, as everyone is aware, dragons cannot talk. “Or am I going insane?” which was another option. “You are not going insane,” said Asa, gruff and fiery, which was what a dragon’s voice apparently sounded like. “You told me who you are.” “I … I told you my name!” “It qualifies.” “‘Qualifies’!” “Yes. My former handlers … well, they manipulated my neural programming so I can only speak when someone introduces themselves to me. And for being what I am… . My handlers wanted me under a leash, to say the least.” Gin’s stomach dropped. “Asa, what is your name short for?” Asa looked down at her claws. “Asashin.” “‘Assassin’. Your name is ‘Assassin’.” “Yes. My handlers were not kind people. They intended to make me into a monster. You know what that feels like, I think.” Gin’s jaw clenched. “I have many questions. Who are your handlers? Why do they want to make you into an assassin? Why are you here? Where did you come from? What do you want from me?” “I do not want anything from you.” With a single thought to the grandfather that taught her everything she knew, she spoke a prayer, apologizing, for she knew he was all but throwing a riot in his double gravestone, Gin made a decision she knew she’d either completely regret, or thank herself forever for doing so. “Can I ask a favor?” “That depends on the favor, Miss Mori.” Gin smiled. (I’m sorry, Grandfather.) “I want to fly.”

The Dragon Rider, by alizaarches

Hello everyone. Guess who’s back, back, back! Back again! Anyway, I decided to try to write my first sequel. This is the sequel to The Dragon Hunter, with Naomi. This time we follow a girl named Gin, and she just wants to fly (because the word “ride” has been ruined for me).

Again, I just want to stress I do not want to be offensive. This is only briefly based on Japanese culture. This one takes place in Japan, but I sincerely do not mean offense. I simply wanted to write some fun fantasy, with weird relatable protagonist and a puppylike pet dragon.

Asa was inspired by the dragons Aithusa (Merlin, the TV Show), Toothless (How to Train Your Dragon), and Bombay cats. You could probably tell the similarities. I also made somewhat subtle and also non-subtle references to fandoms. I’ll let you guess which ones.

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danithebookaholic-blog · 6 years ago

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COMING SOON!

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Powder (The Legotti Family #3)

By Leopold Borstinski

Publisher: Sobriety Press Publication Date: November 19, 2018 Genre: Crime

Synopsis:

Owning a huge amount of money is useless if you can’t spend it. With the mob and the Feds on your tail, the last thing you need is family trouble. And there’s plenty of that in this gripping new installment in the life of the Lagotti clan.

When hiding in Canada doesn’t work, the only option is to run again and build a fortress of your own in the land of the free. To start in a new town means you must prove yourself all over again – no matter how much money you bring to the table. Building a drug peddling business takes time and there’s always the kids to worry about when you get home.

So when a drug deal goes south, Mary Lou must fight to save her children. How far will she have to go to keep her family alive with Latino heroin traffickers and the East Coast mob holding her babies captive?

Set three years after the First Bank of Baltimore robbery, this fresh tale is a perfect stand-alone story, which will be enjoyed by new and existing readers.

Goodreads

Excerpt:

Mary Lou Lagotti drove at five miles an hour below the speed limit away from Burbank Airport. The first time since 1962 she felt alone, certain there was nobody on this planet who she could rely on for anything.

Always checking in the rearview mirror for signs of trouble, she headed to the Clements Fitzrovia Hotel. Occasionally, she’d glance down at her bloody skirt and glimpse the red ovals on her arms - the small globules of her husband’s blood which had splattered over her while he was shot twice as he knelt beside her.

Tears still dribbled down her cheeks as the shock and torment of those few moments juddered across her mind. No matter how much she concentrated on the road ahead, Mary Lou couldn’t shake off the image of Frank bleeding out in her arms. Of her shooting the Fed before he arrested her. Of her zigzag escape from the parking lot that brought her to within three blocks of her current location.

She drove the green saloon to the back of the hotel and grabbed the two holdalls she’d stashed in the front passenger footwell. Mary Lou looked around, saw no-one and bent down to open the lighter bag and move its contents to its heavier twin. Then she zipped it shut and dragged it out the vehicle. She fingered every cent of the one hundred and forty thousand dollars contained inside. Laundered money from the robbery at the Lansdowne branch of the First Bank of Baltimore. And she was the sole survivor of the entire gang now that her Frank was no more.

Into a side door, Mary Lou hoped to find a service elevator but somehow she headed straight for the main reception area. She spotted the bellboy, Tom who strode over to her.

“Jeez, miss. What happened?”

“No time to explain, but I need your help.”

“I’m not surprised. Housekeeping will be hard pushed to take those stains out.”

Mary Lou looked down at herself and realized how blood-drenched she appeared. Never mind.

“Has anyone else been asking about us since we left this morning?”

“No, none.”

“Good.”

Beat.

“I’ll come down in ten minutes and I want you to call a cab and have him wait at the side of the hotel. Got that?”

“Sure, miss.”

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Mary Lou laid a clean Jackson on Tom who nodded, smiled and went off to find that taxi. Meantime, she hauled straight up the stairs to the second floor and then ran all the way to their room. She fumbled with the door key but after a lifetime the lock pinged open.

In front of the bathroom mirror, Mary Lou stripped out of her bloody clothes and stared at herself. Her legs and arms were splattered with too much blood. She used the shower attachment to wash away the red from her limbs but she still felt dirty inside. Unclean.

That unfathomable sense of disgust clung to her skin as she put on fresh underwear, a shirt, a pair of jeans and sunglasses. A walk around the suite enabled her to gather every ounce of possessions they’d scattered round the place since their arrival in LA. She stuffed all her clothes on top of the cash and shoved all Frank’s things into the empty holdall. Mary Lou checked her revolver and filled the chambers with slugs.

One final trip around and by the time she returned to the bed, she knew it was clear. Another image flashed in her head as she recalled Anthony flying through the air with the force of the bullet slamming through his body. His death meant nothing to her - he was one of the thugs Uncle Frankie hired to hunt them down, kill them and return the money. The Shylock had played fast and loose and was left with bupkis. Not even his life.

Mary Lou reckoned the hit she’d arranged on Uncle Frankie must have been executed by now. All that stood between her and some kind of future was the New York mob and the Feds. Her best hope was to leave the country soonest and wait for the heat to die down.

One last check of herself in the mirror, Mary Lou grabbed the holdall and left the room. Down the stairs and into the lobby where Tom hustled over to her.

“The cab is waiting like you asked.”

“Thanks.”

“Is there anything more I can do for you?”

“No, you’ve been great.”

She placed another Jackson in his palm.

“If anyone else comes wandering past asking questions...”

“... I know nothing.”

“You said it. You keep your mouth shut. Even if it’s the cops.”

“Especially if it’s the pigs.”

She gave him a peck on the cheek to seal the deal. There’s no way that sixteen-year-old boy would spill his guts even to a G-Man.

Without turning her head backwards, Mary Lou strode out the Clements and into the back of the cab. It was less than thirty minutes since Frank drew his last breath. She sank into the seat as the taxi dredged its way to the bus depot.

Mary Lou bought a ticket for the first vehicle leaving town. After only a quarter hour, she stepped onto a bus, shoved her bag onto the overhead shelf and slumped into the aisle seat so no-one could grab it without her taking direct action against them.

Ten hours later, she reached San Francisco where she laid overnight in a fleapit near the bus station. Her time in the city was uneventful but unpleasant. She picked her way past the hookers plying their trade as she entered the hotel.

The following morning, Mary Lou returned to the depot and purchased another ticket - with Vancouver as her destination. There was a two hour wait, so she trooped over to a diner to fill up on food. Her appetite was still shot to hell from the previous day’s violence but she ate anyway.

Thirty hours later and Claudia Starr stepped out into the Canadian sun. She showed her fake ID to cross the border so once the Feds identified her, they’d not be able to trace her departure from the land of the free.

As the mob used intel from the Hoover boys, Mary Lou figured the trail of carnage around the city of Angels would stop at the Clements Fitzrovia. Even if someone worked out she had made it to San Francisco, they wouldn’t be able to follow her any further.

As she walked on the foreign concrete sidewalk, Mary Lou removed her sunglasses and tried to breathe and act like a normal person. Only trouble was: she couldn’t remember how to do it.

Purchase:

Amazon

Author Bio:

Leopold Borstinski is an independent author whose past careers have included financial journalism, business management of financial software companies, consulting and product sales and marketing, as well as teaching.

There is nothing he likes better so he does as much nothing as he possibly can. He has travelled extensively in Europe and the US and has visited Asia on several occasions. Leopold holds a Philosophy degree and tries not to drop it too often.

He lives near London and is married with one wife, one child and no pets.

Website / Facebook / Twitter / Goodreads

From one bookaholic to another, I hope I’ve helped you find your next fix. —Dani

Have a book you’d like to suggest or one you’d like me to review? Please feel free to leave your comments down below.

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