#edge of the sidewalk and kept on matching my pace even when i was nearly running

[unholyhelbig]

Crescent 2/? | Natasha Romanoff x MoonKnight!Reader

Summary: When Natasha Romanoff takes a job as head of security for Dina Jackson she has an ulterior motive- to find the tomb of Egyptian artifacts that the art world is racing for. Dina’s disgraced niece is charming, awkward, and under the influence of Khonsu, the God of the Moon.

Warnings: Not so subtle violence, cat-calling, Shitty dudes, and horrible grammar.

Read Part one Here | Read on Ao3

[A/N: ugh, this is so fun for me. Hope you guys are enjoying it so far! Let me know what you think]

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The blood against your tongue was tart, coppery, and all too familiar in taste. The hand on your collar pulled harder as a stiff kick pressed into your abdomen. You coughed up another mix of spit and bile. Your ribs ached and a wet warmth dripped from your nose onto a dry sidewalk. Your fingers trembled, pressing hard into your stomach to quell the pain.

“No, please I don’t have anything.” You managed through stifled breaths and broken teeth.

The man pulled a small handgun from the space between his skin and his belt, using its tip to lilt your head up. You squinted against the golden flickering streetlamp. Your right eye was starting to swell shut, a blackness playing at the edge of your vision. You wanted nothing more than to call out.

“You work for that old bitch Dina.” His breath was sour, mixing evilly with the scent of your own blood and sweat, and tears. “I don’t believe that. The mask- where is the mask?”

There was a crackling laugh that escaped you. I turned into a fit of coughs. He pulled the tip of the weapon up, tilting your head towards his gaze. His eyes were a ghostly type of blue that looked right through you.

“The mask, kid. Where the fuck is the mask”

“I don’t know! I don’t know. It’s an artifact.”

“Useless.” He hissed, pulling the handgun away and pressing the heels of his palms against both of his temples. He mumbled out a string of profanities pacing as you allowed your head to drop, gulping hungrily at the stale air. He pointed the gun back at you, yellow teeth gritted. “Useless!”

You woke up in a cold sweat before the bullet pierced your skin. The electronic billboard across the street switched from the warm white light of a perfume ad to that of a thriller film set to hit screens two weeks from now. The red tones flushed through your apartment, stretching odd shadows against the floor and the books stacked against your walls.

Subconsciously, you moved the pads of your fingers over the ribbed scar on your abdomen, then back up to your shoulder. A phantom ache that often woke you more than the bad dreams. When you finally stopped trembling, you padded your way to the kitchen, not bothering to turn on a light as the yellow glow from ‘Rodgers the Musical’ clouded your gaze.

You flicked on the sink and filled the nearest glass before gulping down two full helpings of water. Your stomach hurt now, and your mouth was still dry like cotton, but your skin had stopped aching something fierce, and that was a good development.

Khonsu could cure a lot. A gunshot wound to the abdomen, broken ribs, even a slashed throat. His ancient magic, however, was no match for the mental torture you had been put through. After putting the glass cup in the sink, there was no sleep to be had. Instead, you picked up the shirt closest to you, sliding it on and pushing your shoes on without unlacing them.

Most of the time, when you went on these middle-of-the night strolls, you were asking for trouble. You kept the darker parts of the city, the backroads, and the alleyways that smelled so thickly of rotten garbage your eyes would water. If you stuck to the shadows, those who lived in them would take notice.

There was a 24-hour diner that you told yourself you would make it to nearly every night. Sometimes, it worked, sometimes, it didn’t’. But it made you feel better about your actions. There was some type of rhyme or reason to them.

“Hey hot stuff!” Your heart pounded in your throat. The man was drunk, you told yourself. You could hear it in his slurred words and elated speech. Still, it took everything not to slow down at first. “Late night study session? Maybe I could help you learn a few things!”

This time, you did stop, just short of the full moon shaped light in the center of the sidewalk. It was buzzing like a trapped gnat. He stood in his own circle of yellow, a few paces behind you. He wore an oversized hoodie, one that could hide a handgun, a knife, or simply his own brute strength.

You took a deep breath, trying to still the excitement that you knew would make you a bad person. A small thrill moved up your spine and to your fingertips. Why not use the power Khonsu gave you? Better for the woman walking at night.

He laughed with excitement of his own “Seriously sweetheart, where you heading so fast? You should stick around for a while.”

“I’d rather do literally anything else,”

You said the words bluntly, with enough echo for him to hear. His eyes flashed dangerously in the light before he closed the space between the two of you. There was a distinct, putrid smell of alcohol to the air. He reached forward and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear- oddly gentle for his cursed actions.

Your fingers wrapped around his wrist with a crushing grip. “Seriously, dude. You shouldn’t touch someone without consent.”

“Please,” his lip curled sloppily “You know you want it.”

The first time you had summoned the suit, a great fear had moved through you, akin to the reason you were given the power in the first place. It felt warm, and constricting, and not at all like yourself. It was fast, though, and when your breath slowed and you looked into the bathroom mirror sprinkled with toothpaste- you couldn’t help but smile.

White gauze was complimented by a silver crest in the center of your chest. Each side could be removed in pointed halfmoons that were sharp enough to draw blood. They came when you called- that was something you learned later. There was a hood, and a cape, and everything that you had read about in comic books when you were young and impressionable.

Now, it was like a second skin. The man in front of you let out a yelp of shock when your eyes began to glow a shuttered white. You pushed his arm further to the right than intended, folding at just the right spot. He dropped to his knees and let out a strangled cry of pain.

“That’s the shittiest line in the book, pal.” You brought your knee up into his abdomen, knocking the air from his lungs. “Sober up and think about your actions.”

“What are you?” He asked.

You lowered your voice, furrowing your brow in the suit “Your worst nightmare.”

With that, you turned and started walking towards the café, letting the Moon Knight suit retract from your body. Unnecessary? Yes. With the amount of training, you had had since meeting the ancient God, you could have done that without the fancy costume. But part of you folded to the idea of it being fun, and a lesson learned.

That was a terrible one-liner.

“Yeah, it was. Dude pissed his pants, though.”

That’s not what I gave you this power for.

“I know,” You groaned, watching as the large Deity stalked behind you in the reflection of the storefronts that were not set to open for hours. “I have to blow off some steam, though. Like you said, as long as it doesn’t effect the great plan-“

Don’t throw my godlike wisdom back at me. I’m aware of what I said. I remember everything.

You shrugged your shoulders and pushed your way into the diner at the corner, blinking at the harsh overhead lights. Khonsu didn’t enjoy this spot either. Something about the fly paper hanging from the ceiling and the same stale pieces of pie rotating within the glass cases threw him off. Part of you didn’t blame him for that.

Usually, it was empty save for the night cook and the lone waitress scrolling through her phone as she kicked her feet mindlessly behind the counter- rolled silverware set aside in a soggy box. But tonight, there was another face. A familiar one at that.

Natalie Rushman.

She was using the side of her fork to cut into a syrup saturated waffle topped with butter. You didn’t’ figure her for a sweet tooth. The remainder of dinner had gone off without a hitch. You kept quiet and she listened politely to the same stories you had heard a million times before. Aunt Dina kept flashing her diamond necklace and matching earrings, pushing it as a nervous habit each time her fingers clutched them.

The woman glanced up at the sound of the bell and you felt an even sweat against your palms, caught like a deer in headlights. The waitress nodded in acknowledgement of your presence and moved to pour the usual cup of caffeinated black coffee that you would down.

Her eyes, if possible, looked even greener in this setting. It was clear that you had caught her in a moment of disarm. She shot you a nervous smile, lifting her chin. You hadn’t ever seen this woman before the last 24 hours and here she was again, this time in a place that you felt comfortable in.

There was something curious in her stare as she waved you over, stabbing another bite she had cut with the sharp end of her fork. Your stomach clenched at the thought of something that sweet in the middle of the night. Hesitantly, you lowered yourself into the booth across from her.

“Aren’t heads of security supposed to be very vigilant?” You raised an eyebrow, the adrenaline coursing through your veins from the encounter making you bold.

She shrugged “I couldn’t’ sleep. I suppose you’re in the same boat as I am.”

You nodded and thanked the waitress when she supplied you with the fracture hair mug of steaming, stale coffee. It was a form of comfort; how bad it was. There was no hope of sleep for the rest of the evening.

“Nightmares,” You confirmed, cheeks heating up in a brilliant pink. “I mean, not you, me. Classic case of bad dreams. How’d you find this place?”

“I live around here. It’s the only spot that’s open. Usually, I bide my time in my apartment but… I don’t know. It didn’t’ feel like enough tonight.” She frowned at her plate, swimming in syrup “Don’t know if this is really enough either but it’s something.”

“They’re not known for their good food,” you leaned back into the plush of the booth, stretching your arm out, flexing your fingers as if to test them. The thrumming scar on your shoulder reached its phantom pain all the way down to your elbow.

“Can I ask you a question, off the record?” Natalie said, and you nodded, not aware that you had ever been on a record in the first place. “I don’t like to speak ill of new employers but your aunt, she didn’t’ seem too fond of you. What’s with that?”

You sized Natalie up over the rim of your glass. God, even with dark circles under her eyes and her red hair tied up in a messy bun, she was stunning. You would answer any question she posed. The answer buzzed at the edge of your brain. How not to sound condescending, and bitter.

“You don’t have to answer, family is complicated, I get it. I just like to know who I work for.”

Lowering your cup, “I’m the least interesting person in the Y/L/N dynasty, I’m afraid. A spoiled brat, really.”

She laughed at that. God, that laugh, you ached for it in the short two times that you’d heard it. And then shook your head to clear the thought. This was a woman you had just met, and yet- you felt like you cold hang the moon for her, if you persisted with your ancient God master enough.

“Two years ago, I fucked up.” You stared, tracing the sticky rim of your cup with your forefinger. “I was put into a compromising situation, and my aunt thinks I could have fought harder. I could have fought harder. I lost something very important to her.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s fair.” Natalia frowned and finally took another bite of her waffle, chewing thoughtfully. “It doesn’t matter how much you prepare for a situation, until you’re fully in it, dodging the punches, there’s no way to know how your mind and body will respond.”

You swallowed back the bitter taste of black coffee that lingered on your tongue. Forest green eyes flicked down to your lips and then back up to your gaze. You were imagining things, must have been. It was a symptom of insomnia induced headaches.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What’s a woman like you doing working as head of security for a fancy museum curator. I’m sure there are more exciting jobs opportunities out there.”

She waved her hand dismissively “I’ve had enough excitement for seven lifetimes. I’m tired of excitement, perfectly content guarding a bunch of dusty artifacts.”

This made you smile again, pushing away what was left of your coffee. There was a warmth that radiated around Natalie Rushman, one that thrummed deep in your stomach and radiated. It was enough to calm the pain in your shoulder, and the thoughts in your tired mind.

When you did finally part ways with her, deep into the early morning after sharing conversation about the waitress behind the counter that smelled like clove cigarettes, and the man who flipped hashbrowns into a greasy pile of oil until it popped. She had scribbled her number down on a napkin and shoved it your way.

You shoved it into your front pocket on the way home to protect the sacred message from a misting rain that had begun to fall, making the scent of a sour city turn even riper. But still, you had a dumb smile on your face all the way to your apartment.

You look smitten.

“Do you ever like… sleep?”

Do you?

“touché bird. She is pretty, though. And charming. Suave I wish I could entertain.” You huffed out the words. When the ancient God first appeared in your life he promised you protection, and strength that you had never known. Life from the death that you bled to pushed against a brick wall. Nothing- however, could fix the awkward stumbling mess of a love life you’d cultivated.

I can’t fix everything, you know. I don’t trust her.

You stopped under the half-finished scaffolding of a nearby building. Plastic caught the wind and Khonsu towered to nearly the second platform. His bony grip tightened around his staff, decaying head cocking to the side.

Instead of pushing back sarcastically, you asked “No?”

Your Aunt continues to search for the tomb. He hissed out, kneeling to your level. Rain dripped from his crumbling jaw, the scent of sand filling your lungs. A head of security with a mysterious past would do her well, but not us.

You lifted an eyebrow at Khonsu, a cold feeling working through your clothes, getting drenched by the most subtle of storms. First and foremost, you served him, the partially annoying deity that had enveloped you into a search for a tomb that might not even exist. Studying the same markings on the same exhibit at the same museum.

“I’ll look into her,” You softened.

As if you had the luxury of choice.

Taglist! [If I forgot to tag you, let me know]: @ohmy-godyes @littlebluestone @kacka84 @143bc @lenam07 @tforjatp @iwishforausername @strangegardentaco @pianogirl2121 @i-need-somebody-else @fayhar @xxxtwilightaxelxxx

[neeksnorton]

Abner Krill // Anything for Daddy

hi there! apologies for this being a few minutes late. this story is also a little shorter than usual, my apologies for that as well. enjoy!!

WORD COUNT : 1.3K

NSFW TAGS : Maledom, slapping, vibrators, anal, oral, slight cnc, pet names, daddy kink

The girl rushed home from work, running down the sidewalk. Abner had JUST called her. He told her to hurry up her shift at work, to wait for him on the bed and wear something pretty.

“Shit, shit shit shit shit-” She came up to her apartment, scampering up the stairs and fidgeting with the keys as she unlocked the door. Her black flats flew off her feet and you tried your best to unbutton your shirt as fast as possible.

“God fucking dammit!” She muttered under her breath. Heavy footsteps were coming up the door. She didn’t think he’d be home THIS early, that maybe he would've given her at least 5 minutes. But she guessed not.

The door opened, and Abner walked in. He was wearing a dark blue suit neatly tailored to fit his lanky body. A white button up hugged his torso, along with a tie to match the suit. He looks up at you and freezes in his tracks.

“I’m sorry, i know I’m not ready, just hold on a sec-”

“Stop. In the bedroom, now.”

Her hands slowly moved off her torso. She turned on her heels and made her way to the bedroom, Abner following behind her. Fuck, she thought. She knew she was in trouble. But she was excited because she knew that meant she was gonna get it good and rough, the way she liked it.

She reached the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, looking up slowly only to see Abner’s slight look of disapproval.

“What did I say when I called you?”

“To come home from work early and get ready for you.”

“And why aren’t you ready?”

“Babe, I’ve only been home 2 minutes and I figured-”

“I don’t want to hear any goddamn excuses. Lay down.” He said sternly.

She did as she was told, clenching her jaw. He kicked his shoes off and climbed slowly on top of her. He leaned down so mouth barely grazed her ear.

“Now… will you be good for Daddy? Or am I going to have to teach you a lesson?” He growled breathily.

She nearly felt her pussy quiver. His breath on her neck made every hair on her body stand up. She smiled cheekily.

“Why don’t you find out?”

He lightly slapped her face and gripped her chin. He straddled her and used his other free hand to pin her arm down. He kissed her hard, using his tongue to explore every inch of her mouth. To show her that she was his.

She tried to roll her hips to get some friction. But Abner kept lifting himself so she couldn’t reach his crotch.

“Please please please-” she whimpered. She would do anything for just a little bit of relief.

“Sorry. That’s not how this works, baby.”

He let her face and hand go, and grabbed her waist, and flipped her onto her stomach. He bends back down, gingerly kissing the back of her neck. He pulled down her shirt collar to feel as much skin as possible. He moved back up and ran his hands down her back, stopping at her ass.

“Are you gonna fucking do what I say?” He placed a slap across her ass, then gripped it hard.

“Yes, Daddy, of course, please-”

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back, bringing his face to hers.

“Do you promise?” She was nearly going insane, her core was so tight and begging for relief, she was nearly in pain.

“Yes Daddy, ahh- yes I promise…”

“Good. Ass up, princess.”

He shuffles off of her to let her scoot herself up. Her ass was in the air with her legs slightly spread. Abner pulled off her pants and underwear, and used his hand to lift her legs up and take them fully off. He planted kisses on her ass, squeezing her soft body around him. His hands roamed around her hips and thighs, and moved his hands under her. He undid the rest of her buttons, untucked the shirt, and ripped it off of her. All of her skin was now completely exposed to him.

His mouth moved down her back and he eventually made his way back down to her ass. He sucked at the skin right outside of her pussy before running his tongue across her clit.

“Ohh shit- ahh…” She moaned, already close to releasing.

He hummed against her pussy, making sure his tongue gets every inch of her.

“Mmmh… I bet you wanna cum for Daddy. Is that right, baby?”

“Abbie please- I’m gonna cum…keep going-”

He stopped abruptly. “I’m sorry, are you telling me what to do?” He slapped her ass, leaving a red mark on her.

“No, no, I just- Daddy, please-”

“Shut the fuck up. I don’t take orders from you. Wait here.”

Abner left the room and she nearly had tears in her eyes. She knew that she was gonna love every second of what he was about to do to her, but she resented that she had to wait for it.

He came back and climbed back on the bed. He had taken off his shirt, blazer, and tie. She exhaled heavily. He grabbed her thighs and pulled her ass flush to his bulge.

“Ahh! Fucking shit- oh my god-” She nearly screamed. Abner had stuck a vibrator into her without any warning. She didn’t even see it in his hand, she was too busy staring at his exposed torso.

“How’s that? How would you feel if I just left that inside of you, leaving you to squirm while I watch?”

“Ahh- unh… whatever you want, Daddy.” She said in between moans. Her legs were shaking for more relief, but she couldn’t say no because she knew she’d have to wait longer.

“Perfect. Good answer, babygirl.”

She heard him undo his belt. Her pussy was glistening, and she was letting out pornographic moans as the vibrator rubbed against her G-spot.

Giving her no time to adjust, he slammed his cock into her ass, making her scream with a mix of pain and pleasure. His pace was ruthless, pounding into her with no mercy.

His hand reached under her, and he swirled his middle finger on her clit, pressing gently.

“Oh my god- Abbie…” Her hands gripped the sheets, knuckles white. The pleasure coursing through her veins was nearly unbearable.

“Ahhh- You like that? I bet you do, stupid fucking baby…”

He pulled her into him, using his hips as leverage. He felt his muscles tighten, knowing that he was already close to cumming.

“Do you wanna cum? I bet you do. Would you like to cum?”

“Oh my god, please- Daddy, may I cum p-please? Unhhh- please…” Tears pouring out of her eyes,

“Do it baby, cum for Daddy and I’ll cum with you.”

Her release came, washing over her in waves. Her pussy clenched, she couldn’t even get a sound out. Abner threw his head back in pleasure, letting out a pornographic moan. He shot his cum deep into her, his thrusts becoming less rhythmic.

As they both came down from their orgasm, he slowly pulled out of her. She shivered a little as he did.

“Abbie, take the vibrator out- ahhh fuck-” Now that she reached her climax, the vibrator was way too much for her to handle.

“Oh shit, sorry sorry sorry-” He pulled out quickly and she exhaled in relief.

“Do you need anything, honey? I know I was a little rough today.” he said softly.

“Actually if you just lay here with me and cuddle, that would be nice.”

“Of course, whatever you need.”

She loved him so much. He never failed to make sure she was comfortable after having intense sex.

“Thank you baby.” She whispered.

[phantomrose96]

Backfire

tw: description of injuries

...

Sometimes, crime happened quietly.

Sometimes it was a man in business attire entering a sleepy, small-town bank with a gun holstered at his hip.

Sometimes it was a few calm words requesting the cash from the vault with a cold barrel of steel tickling the teller’s neck.

Sometimes danger manifested only in bloodlust, and a sense of dread could take a room hostage with no fanfare at all.

This was the case as an ashen-faced citizen toed her way quietly out of the bank, heart in her throat, vision creeping gray at the edges, processing what she’d seen. The gun. The man. The hostages beneath the table. So quiet, so unremarkable, so lacking in the cacophony most villains brought with them that she almost hadn’t believed what she’d seen.

She thought to scream for help, but the image in her mind dazed her, subdued her. How had she walked out unscathed? How had he not pursued her? He’d seen her, those cold gray eyes flitting to hers for a single second when the bell chimed overhead. She’d seen him, his sweep of peppered hair catching the sunlight, his burgundy suit perfectly fitting on a tall frame. He should have killed her. She should be dead. How had she just walked back out?

The same tinkle of bells pelted out behind her. So gentle, and so non-threatening on a warm day of late May. But the sound dizzied her. She flinched, spun, a full-body shiver racking down her spine. The man in the burgundy suit stepped out. Unassuming, with just a simple briefcase in hand, he could pass for any other normal citizen were it not for the bevel at the hip of his suit where the gun was holstered. He looked at her briefly. His eyes locked hers, and she did not dare to breathe.

The man in the burgundy suit walked on.

“Ma’am… Ma’am?”

A hand touched her shoulder. She jumped.

“O-oh, sorry about that Ma’am! But are you okay? You look pale.”

It was a boy. A boy was speaking to her. She saw him now – half a head shorter than her, staring up at her from beneath a mop of curly plain hair that was tinted a deep forest green in the sunlight. His face was round and boyish, freckled, and he was dressed head-to-toe in a jumpsuit fortified with gauntlets, and leg braces, and a utility belt.

“…Hero?” she asked.

“Oh! Well uh, provisional hero, actually, um, I’m still in training! I’m a student. Deku. Is my name. You can call me Deku. My classmates and I are on patrol right now for training but. Um. You. Are you alright?”

She processed little of what he said. Her mouth moved slowly, numb.

“The bank,” she said.

“I’m sorry?”

“…was robbed. The bank.”

She raised a trembling hand, index finger outstretched, targeted to the building behind her. It basked, seemingly untouched, in the warm sunlight. No destruction, no panic, just a bright white façade with the vault emptied out from the inside. “The man in the business suit. Him. He robbed it” And steadily her arm swung, until the line from her finger pinned the back of the burgundy man shrinking to a nondescript figure on the horizon. “Had a gun. He had a gun.”

And the alarm bells sounded behind her.

Wailing sirens. Strobing lights. Like the brief pause in the world had ended. Reality resumed at full speed, full volume, smashing through her chest. Erupting a gasp from her lungs. Snapping her to her senses.

That’s when her knees gave out. The green-suited boy caught her. From the corner of her eye, she saw two more costumed children race after the man with the briefcase.

“It’s okay, Ma’am. It’s alright! We’ll handle this. Did he use his quirk? What power did he have? What did you see?” The boy – Deku - asked her.

She shook her head. “No quirk. No power. Just a gun. All I saw. Just a gun.”

“Did you see anything else?”

“No.”

“Okay. Okay, thank you. That’s very helpful! We’ll handle this.” He steadied her, and pulled his arms away. Thin glowing veins of light like spiderwebs spread across his body. “Get somewhere safe, Ma’am. The pros will be here soon.”

In a flash, he was gone.

…

“What’d you find out?” Todoroki asked, sidelong, as Deku raced in to match his stride. Bakugou flanked him on the other side, all three of them maintaining a safe 50 feet of distance behind the briefcase man, who’d broken into a run from the moment the alarm sounded.

“He didn’t use a quirk to rob the teller. Just a gun. So I’ve got no intel on his quirk. We should be cautious. His quirk could be anything.”

The man took a sharp right, off the main road. The towncenter street ebbed away behind them, trees and greenery punctuating the sides of the roadway as the residential area bloomed ahead.

“Or his quirk could be nothing,” Todoroki offered. “It’s unusual for a villain to rob a bank without using one. If we’re lucky, he might be quirkless.”

“Or it could not matter,” Bakugou interjected. He upped his pace, arms spread behind him with a few sparks flash-igniting along his palms. “Street’s empty here, and I’m not giving him the chance to attack first. Stay back while I blast this fucker!”

“We should wait for the pros!” Deku yelled. “If we just tail him—”

“If we just tail him. WEAK! I’m taking him down first. You two try to keep up!” Bakugou announced, voice cracking as he shouted over the flash-ignition of his gloves. A blast of heat washed over Deku, and Deku shielded his own eyes as Bakugou rocketed off ahead of him, instantly closing the gap to the fleeing suspect. 30 feet, 20, 10.

The suspect spun, meeting Bakugou’s eyes for a single second.

Several things happened in the next moment. The lock in Bakugou’s elbows, which kept his arms pointed straight behind him as propulsion, faltered. And he faltered like a helicopter faulters when one of its blades is taken out. His body gave a spasmodic jolt, teetering, veering. This came with a strangled eruption of noise from Bakugou’s throat, wet and choking. His arms curled. His gauntlets extinguished. And Bakugou crashed. Gracelessly, violently smashing to the asphalt below, his momentum still carried him forward, so that Bakugou’s body tumbled and skidded until slamming to a halt against the curb.

“Kacchan!” Deku felt his heart jump to his throat. He jerked forward. Todoroki swung one stiff arm out to stop him. “What was that? What did he do??”

“No idea,” Todoroki answered. And he swept his right arm out wider now, a cascade of blooming ice wrapping down the sidewalk and heading off the villain ahead, who’d tried just briefly to take off running once more. The villain halted, nearly tripping on his own feet, a split-second shy of colliding with Todoroki’s wall of ice.

Todoroki stopped, as did Deku, whose focus was divided between Bakugou’s crumpled form and the enemy ahead. Spasms still racked Bakugou’s body – alive, conscious – but he was not getting up. The lack of information terrified Deku the most, because he hadn’t even seen how the villain had struck Bakugou, let alone what it had done to him.

“Don’t get too close until we know what he can do,” Todoroki said.

“I know. I know, but,” Deku muttered in response, eyes still flitting to Bakugou. “Kacchan’s in danger. We can’t leave him there. If you distract the villain, just for a moment, I’ll grab Kacchan. I’m fast. I can do it in an instant. If you just cover me.”

Todoroki said nothing. He only nodded, and took one step forward, and ignited a pyre of flame crawling down his left arm. “Be fast. Before he blinks.”

Deku bounced from his spot. He covered that distance between him and Bakugou in a single bound. He wasted no time hoisting Bakugou around the middle, and spinning on heel, and bounding back to Todoroki’s side. Over in a moment, done in an instant, too fast for even the flit of the villain’s eyes, who’d been well distracted by the swell of fire along Todoroki’s left side.

Deku set Bakugou down gently, but he did not dare remove his hand from him.

“Are you hurt?” Todoroki asked.

“No. Nothing. He didn’t touch me.”

“How’s Bakugou?”

“I can’t tell. I don’t want to drop my guard.”

“Then take him and run. I’ll cover you.”

“No. I won’t abandon you here.”

“It’s fine.” With his words, Todoroki curled his right wrist up. Ice braided up and out, a single rail that slammed the villain’s arm and pinned it, solidified, against the wall of ice Todoroki had already erected. “I can keep my distance. Send the pros this way. I can hold him.”

Deku’s instincts screamed against him, swamped him with the guilt at the idea of leaving Todoroki to fight this battle alone. But Bakugou’s silent crumpled figure worried him more. The fact that Bakugou hadn’t so much as protested once – either against Deku saving him or Todoroki suggesting they escape – worried Deku more than he could properly explain.

“Alright. …Alright. I’ll be back. And with pros. This won’t be like Stain. I promise,” Deku said. For the first time, he let his sight fully stray from the villain. His eyes dropped to Bakugou instead, who was too curled in on himself to properly assess with a single glance. Beyond the tears and scrapes in his costume from slamming into the asphalt, Deku couldn’t see anything visibly wrong.

Deku bent down, and he wrapped one arm around Bakugou once more, and he cranked the power of One For All running through his bones just a bit higher. From 8% up to 10%. Because this was real. Because he needed to be fast, for Todoroki’s sake.

Deku’s feet never made it off the ground. He felt it like a crack in the pressure of the air, a sudden, distinct, discrete switch in the atmosphere that bled hot into his bones. He heard the choking wet inhale from Todoroki, and did not even need to look to confirm the horror in his gut.

Deku looked anyway. Eyes flitting in an instant to his right, he watched Todoroki jolt as though someone had taken a bat to the back of his knees. The wet keening inhale from Todoroki turned to a rasp, a burst of raw noise from his throat, and the wrapping flames along his left arm went out. In an instant, the smell on the wind turned terrible, and Todoroki buckled into the gravel.

“Todoroki?”

Deku crouched, his power ebbing down away from the 10% he couldn’t sustain. He did not dare release Bakugou, though now he tugged rightward in an attempt to hover over Todoroki too. Deku’s free hand hung suspended in the air. He did not set it down on Todoroki. It was perhaps his only weapon right now. Deku could not spare even the instant it would take to assess what had happened to Todoroki. He kept his eyes now on the villain, too heated and terrified to risk diverting his attention for even a microsecond.

Panic leaked through Deku’s very bones. He couldn’t carry both Bakugou and Todoroki and expect to escape. Stain. Iida. Todoroki. All too familiar.

“Get up,” Deku whispered. “Get up, please.” He wasn’t speaking to Bakugou or Todoroki in particular. It was to either of them. Both of them.

Neither responded in words. Not so much as a note of rage from Bakugou. That alone was bad, enough to heighten the fear already thrumming through his chest.

What could he do? Could he risk turning his back on the villain? Could he even spare a moment to figure out how wounded the other two were? Presently, Deku did not feel like he could look away. Because If the villain dropped him too, they stood no chance.

How long until the pros would get here?

“What happened? What happened??” Deku asked, short of breath. “What did he use?? What did he do?? Please. Todoroki. Kacchan. What did he do?”

Some noise came from Todoroki, but nothing that formed coherent words. A whistling from his throat too pained to wrap into words. Quick glances told Deku nothing. Todoroki had curled in on himself, too hidden to evaluate for damage.  

“Yoo-hoo! Young man!” The villain. Deku bolted upright, vision latched firmly to the man up against the ice wall. His gray eyes met Deku’s, and peppery hair slicked with sweat clung in curls to his forehead. “You seem strong and strapping, and it appears my route home has been blocked by this ice, as has my wrist. Think you could knock it down for me? I’d very much like to be on my way.”

“And why would I help you?!” Deku shouted. “Look what you—"

“If you help me out, I promise to let your friends live.”

“…What did you do? What happened to them? What’s your quirk?!” Deku continued. He rose now, tall on legs he did not fully trust to support him, and he took a single uncertain step forward. His body blocked Bakugou and Todoroki behind him. Deku held himself up as a human shield between them and the villain whose quirk could incapacitate without so much as a single touch.

“Oh my quirk is really quite useless in today’s society, I don’t think you should fret! I do reiterate that I would love to have this ice wall removed though. I hear sirens in the distance.”

“T…Tell me… Tell me your quirk.”

“Certainly, if you break this ice wall.”

Deku stood, frozen, indecision rooting him to the spot, heart pounding in his throat. The villain had the advantage. The villain had information he didn’t. The villain had knowledge of how to drop Todoroki and Bakugou in a single moment, and that – the fact that it was those two specifically – cowed Deku more than he wanted to admit.

Something knocked his left ankle.

Deku broke eye contact with the villain, eyes shooting to his side. He blinked, and looked truly at what had tapped his ankle, pulling his thoughts back together.

Bakugou’s gauntlet.

Bakugou, face down in the gravel still, had craned his neck far enough for his eyes to lock with Deku. Pitifully, he knocked his gauntlet against Deku’s ankle once more.

“…Off,” Bakugou wheezed out between labored breaths.

“Off?” Deku asked.

“Get it off,” Bakugou keened, and the traces of bravado did nothing to hide the agony of his words.

“Oh. O-okay.” With one more glance thrown to the villain to ensure he hadn’t moved, Deku crouched fully to Bakugou’s side. When he grabbed the gauntlet, Bakugou hissed. When he pulled, Bakugou yowled.

“It’s stuck,” Deku said. “Why is it stuck?”

He traced his hands down the length of the gauntlet, to where the edges of the gloves met skin. Deku turned Bakugou’s arm over, eyes trained to the inner forearm, and felt his stomach twist into knots.

“It’s melted,” Deku mouthed. But those words weren’t quite right, and Deku understood that the longer he looked. The gauntlet and the gloves hadn’t melted – it was Bakugou’s own skin that had melted to them. Deku looked more closely to where glove met flesh. The exposed skin beneath the glove was welted red and bubbled, peeled raw with flays of dead white skin curling back and away toward his elbow. Tissue, down nearly to tendon, was exposed beneath and it leaked beads of fluid that gave Bakugou’s whole wound a thick greasy shine.

Deku had never seen a burn victim in real life, but he understood well enough what he was looking at. It was the wounding pattern of someone who’d been gripping a live grenade, burned so deep and so thoroughly that Bakugou could scarcely form words.

“Kacchan.” Deku had nothing else to say.

“He seems pretty badly burned,” the villain tossed out. His voice was sing-song, nonchalant. “At least, that’s my assessment from the smell wafting over here.”

“Fire… is it a fire quirk? Did you burn him?” Deku asked, but something didn’t sit right in his chest. This wasn’t like Todoroki’s fire quirk. Deku had seen no flames from the villain. He’d seen nothing.

“…Run.”

Deku’s head snapped down to his right, tilting back, following the noise. It was Todoroki who had spoken. Still on the ground, with his right hand clawing into the gravel, Todoroki stared up at Deku with desperate eyes. “Run. Get the pros. Just run.”

“No.”

“Run!”

“No!”

“Before he gets you too!”

“N—” Deku stopped short, his whole body spinning toward Todoroki. He had a chance finally to see the damage, to look Todoroki over properly, now that Todoroki had unfurled himself. The whole length of Todoroki’s left arm – no, his whole left side – had been seared down to a greasy red. In his panic earlier, Deku hadn’t registered the smell of singed fabric, of burnt flesh. The burn pattern was hauntingly uniform up and down the whole length of Todoroki’s left arm, along shoulder and neck and cheek and creeping up to the corner of his eye. Strands from the fabric of his uniform were woven into the burns, like tree roots through mucky soil, finding purchase in the subcutaneous tissue.

Burned as well. Burned as well... The villain had gotten him just as he’d gotten Bakugou. Deku wondered if he had only seconds left. Or if perhaps the villain had abstained from attacking him since Deku seemed to be his last hope at breaking through the ice wall.

“I’m losing patience with you, boy. I’ll do the same to you as I did to your friends if you don’t help me.”

Ice wall…. Made of ice.

“Do… what? Are you going to burn me too?”

“Oh, perhaps.”

“I think that would be hard… since you don’t have a fire quirk.” Deku steadied his breath. He found his voice. He pinned his eyes on the villain. “If you did, you could have melted yourself free.”

The villain said nothing. Deku swallowed dryly. A thought stung in the back of his mind, a seed of ice that spread cool and tingling through his body. A hope. A hunch. A prayer, maybe.

“I think, actually, you have no idea if you can attack me,” Deku continued. The wailing sirens bled louder behind him. “The threats you’re making right now. You’re bluffing.”

“Oh, you sound so confident, young man. Are you so confident that you’re willing to end up like those two on the ground?”

“…Yes, actually,” Deku answered. And he pulled a smile to his face, a small and wavering on, still shaken by his bout of panic, but it was one he held. “Because I’ve already ended up like them.”

“I don’t think you understand what you’re up against.”

“They’re burned. They’re really badly burned. But.. they burned themselves, didn’t they? Kacchan’s palms. Todoroki’s left side. You didn’t attack them. You made them attack themselves. Your quirk cancels out a person’s bodily immunity to their own quirk, doesn’t it?”

A silence. An emptiness filled the space between them. Only the sound of the swelling sirens from far behind filled the gap. The villain offered only a simple smile, which curled wider and brighter than Deku’s. He barked a laugh, delighted.

“Oh, you’re a smart boy,” the villain answered. “It’s a useless quirk in day to day life. But it’s brilliant against heroes. I really love seeing how they crumble when they get a taste of their own medicine.” The man cocked his head. “And I’ll bet you’re thinking how smart you are right now – you’ll just not use your quirk against me, right? I’m already pinned. You’ve practically won.” His unrestrained hand snaked to his belt in an instant, and with a flash of sun glinting along steel, he unholstered the gun from his side. “Which is why I carry this. So choose. Use your quirk and incapacitate yourself. Choose not to use it, and die by my gun. Or free me. It’s your choice. But I’m only giving you five seconds to make it.”

Five

“I’m choosing D – none of the above,” Deku answered.

Four

“Final answer?”

Three

Sirens keened closer. The slam and tumble of footsteps approaching. Deku breathed deep, and let the power thrumming through his bones dial up.

Two

“Yeah, final answer.”

One.

“Well then, sorry about this.” The villain cocked his gun, and set his pointer finger to the trigger.

Zero.

Deku kicked off from his spot in the road, light erupting in spider veins through his body. He pulled one arm back and cocked it. When he released it, it with power fine-tuned to 20% of his limit. Knuckle connected with jaw, and cracked the villain’s head sideways, and tumbled the gun from his grasp, and snuffed his consciousness with the ugly, calculated pop of his neck.

…

The pros hit the scene hardly 30 seconds later – two local heroes flanked with four sidekicks bursting through the bushes and trampling a few unfortunate flower beds as they slammed into a fight that had already ended.

They halted. A murmur rumbled through the pros, with one mouthing just audibly “Is that Backfire?” The words set the whole group of heroes on instant high alert, shooting like an electric current through each of them. One hero stepped forward, swinging a heavy hand out.

“Get back from him, kid! If that’s Backfire you don’t want to—” the hero, a burly man with cannons in his palms who Deku recognized as the Pro Hero Fodder, trailed off as he looked closely, drinking in the scene. The villain, Backfire, was slumped unconscious against the ice wall, pinned by his wrist. Deku breathed heavily, still sparking off a few vestigial traces of energy from the fight.

“I think… he got him.” The next pro, a woman with an acid-like sheen along her skin, stepped cautiously forward. Deku recognized her as well – Pro Hero Medusa. “A kid took down Backfire?”

“Oh… oh shit, look, Medusa. Over there. On the ground.”

“Oh sh—Quaker, call an ambulance!”

Deku’s ears were ringing. His senses had not caught up with him, not since connecting the final punch, not since the adrenaline spike ebbed to a near-sedative afterglow. He blinked, trying to come back to himself.

Fodder’s hands came down on Deku’s shoulders, snapping him back to reality.

“Kid, you okay?”

“Huh?” Deku blinked. “Yeah. But they’re—Kacchan and Todoroki! They’re both—”

“My sidekick’s calling an ambulance. We’re on it already. Don’t worry. He’s also got a first aid kit on him too. It’s okay now. You’re okay.”

Deku nodded. “Are they going to be okay?”

“They’re going to be okay.”

“The villain’s quirk. It canceled out their quirk immunity—”

“—We know. Trust us, we know.” Fodder looked up, giving Backfire’s slumped body a once-over glance, a grimace crossing his face. “This guy has hospitalized more heroes in this area than we—no, forget it, how did you do it? How’d you take him down?”

Deku looked at his own hand. He saw the image of it broken and busted a dozen times over. And yet here it was, completely intact, utterly uninjured. He flexed it, to be sure.

“It was simple. Really simple actually.”

Deku pulled his glove off. The skin beneath was completely undamaged, the last traces of Full Cowling fading away in the aftermath.

“It’s like… Kacchan’s palms don’t burn. And neither does Todoroki’s left side… Because they’re compatible with their quirks. Without that, neither of them would ever be able to use their quirks… But I’m incompatible to start.”

Fodder looked Deku over properly for the first time since arriving on scene, eyes squinting just a fraction. “Incompatible? Are you… I recognize you from the U.A. Sports Festival, that was you, wasn’t it? The kid who broke all his bones?” Fodder looked over his shoulder. “Shit… and those two are the First and Second Place winners, aren’t they? My office tried to scout Todorok—never mind. Never mind. What do you mean, kid? What were you saying.”

Deku pulled himself out of Fodder’s grip. He felt his own senses returning. He pulled in a few deep breaths to ground himself, and offered a simple, cordial smile.

“I mean, I was just lucky, I suppose. Backfire’s quirk didn’t work on me. Because I have no immunity to my quirk to start. I’ve injured myself plenty of times with it. So many times that I was risking permanent injury if I didn’t stop. So I learned to stop. All the training I’ve done has been to restrain my quirk enough to keep its power within my body’s limits. Backfire couldn’t have hurt me if he tried. I was… really just lucky.”

Deku stepped around Fodder. “I’m going… I want to wait with Kacchan and Todoroki. For the ambulance. Please. If I can.”

Fodder nodded, and he watched the boy go, sinking into his own thoughts. The fact that Backfire had been captured still had not caught up to him. Disbelief. And relief. After so many incidents of pro heroes near-fatally damaged by their own quirk, after so many gruesome scenes he’d arrived at. It was nigh unconscionable to accept that a single kid had taken him down.

Images of the U.A. Sports Festival flashed in his mind, the manic bloody broken desperation of that boy. And Fodder’s initial disbelief started to wane. Maybe this boy – this Izuku Midoriya of Class 1-A – couldn’t be classified as just some kid.

He’d seen heroes contemplate retirement after a brush with Backfire. The post traumatic fear of using their own quirk overwhelmed some of them, from just a single instance of damaging themselves beyond their control with it. Whatever this boy’s training had looked like, it had meant throwing himself headlong into his own destruction as many times as necessary to teach himself restraint.

He was fighting with exactly the handicap that Backfire inflicted on others, and still functioned at the level of someone who was nearly pro.

The boy had claimed he was “lucky”. Fodder watched him crouch down beside his friends, nudged back by the paramedics who’d just arrived on scene, watched him offer a smile and words that Fodder could not hear while the blond boy yelled back something unintelligible, which for unclear reasons brought a relieved smile to Midoriya’s face. 

Fodder understand only a fraction of the whole picture, but from what he’d witnessed, he knew it was something well beyond luck that burned in that boy.

[starrswife]

What Goes On - Ringo x Reader

Friends from childhood, an unlikely pair of Liverpudlians face the challenges of growing up.

-

Thank you @moodysunflowergirl for beta-reading this chapter and being so kind to me.  

I hope you all enjoy this series!     

-

Word Count - 2.1k

Warnings - none

Chapter Summary - November, 1957, Y/n decides to concentrate on schoolwork, but a bored and restless Richard has other plans. 

-

“Doncha half to get back to work soon?” Y/n attempted to ask, mouth full.

Everyday since Richard had dropped out of school, he bought her a pastry from the local bakery and walked her home during his lunch break. At first, the baked good had served as reparations for what Y/n said was, quote, “Abandoning me all alone in hell,” but the tradition continued to stick.

“Nah, my boss let me off early,” he walked backwards to face her, “What do ya’ wanna do? My whole day’s cleared.”

Chewing her last bite, she brushed off her hands of any crumbs. Rich gestured for her to take back the schoolbag she forced him to carry, despite knowing she would just shake her head and make him hold it for the entire walk.

“I’ve got to study, I’m sorry.”

“Again? But you’ve been at it the entire week,” he complained.

“College is a lot more difficult than our old school, Rich. But I’ll go over to yours, if you’d like. Maybe… say, tutor you a bit?”

He rolled his eyes and turned back to face the right way.

“Don’t waste your energy trying.”

She huffed, “Fine, be illiterate your entire life.”

“I’m not illiterate.”

“You can hardly spell.”

“Well, I can read.”

“Oh, lovely, at seventeen years old, you’ve got at least half of it down.”

“Lay off you prick.”

Richard made a move to shove Y/n, but she dodged it, taking off down the sidewalk.

Accepting the stupidly immature challenge, he wasted no time chasing after her.

They maneuvered through pram-pushers who gave them a friendly nod, and business men who scowled at the very sight of their smiling faces.

The icy air felt like blades against her skin as she ran, but with Richie gaining on her, she only sped up the pace. Like usual Liverpool weather, the sky kept at a gloomy grey, and the cobble walkways were darker in color, dampened by the previous night’s rain.

Y/n hopped over the puddles, not wanting to get her oxfords dirty, but Richie couldn’t bring himself to care, charging straight through them.

Reaching their turn and not wanting to give up, Y/n sprinted across the road, Rich following close behind. They screamed out of both fear and amusement when cars honked at them, or shouted, expressing their vexation.

“No!” Y/n yelled, glancing backwards. She tried to speed up, but it was too late. Richard grabbed her arm and pulled her back, wrapping his arms around her shoulders to keep her from escaping. They struggled to catch their breath, each puff coming out as white clouds, that faded into the air. It proved difficult to do so, while simultaneously in a fit of laughter.

“Let me go!”

“Surrender!”

“Never!” Y/n wriggled around in his grip, but to no avail.

“I won’t until you admit what a loser you are.”

Rich laughed, a high pitched and boyish sound that always evoked a smile from Y/n, even while she was mumbling about how much of an arse he was.

Eventually tiring out, she went limp, fully defeated.

“You give up? Say it.”

“I give up.”

“And what?”

“You win, and I’m a loser! Now get off of me.”

He obliged with a grin of triumph then stepped away, and immediately, the winter air chilled her spine as if a blanket had been ripped off of her.

Was it odd to want the warmth back? To want him to pull her closer?

She walked a bit farther away from him, deciding it was odd.

They fell into comfortable silence, enjoying their peaceful stroll as they usually did when not bantering. As the town led further into Richie’s neighborhood, the houses became more and more decrepit, tiny lots with peeling paint and splintered door frames. Abundant rubble, sad reminders of the war, had become playgrounds for imaginative schoolboys. They had grown used to these surroundings, and now, reaching 10 Admiral Grove, the dirt coated bricks and rusty letterbox had become a warm, familiar welcome.

They hung up their coats and headed up the creaky, narrow stairs to his room.

Rich slung her bag onto the bed and sighed in relief. The amount of textbooks she had to haul around made him glad he’d dropped out.

Y/n sat at the foot of the bed, grabbing her bag and pulling out a few of them.

“Mind if I practice a bit?” Richie asked, already walking towards his drums. His stepdad, Harry, had recently bought him his very own set, and he had become a menace, constantly playing, even into late hours of the night.

She groaned. She loved his drumming, really, but it wasn’t the best background noise for calculus homework. Still, she nodded for him to go ahead.

An hour passed, and Richie was now lying on the floor, twirling his drumsticks. One slipped and smacked him on the face, and he glanced up at Y/n to make sure she didn’t see that. Luckily, she was laying on his bed, fully absorbed in her history notes.

Another hour gone. Richie put on a record and cranked up the volume. Y/n made him turn it down. He resorted to making tea.

Sixty minutes later. His half-drunk tea had gotten cold and now sat solitary on his table. He was laying beside Y/n, flipping through her books and giggling about the human anatomy photos.

By six in the evening, Richard had grown fidgety and impatient.

“Y/n.”

No reply.

“Y/n.”

Nothing.

“Fine. I’ll just take a nap.”

He laid back and sprawled his limbs about the bed, making a point to bother her. With his leg over her back and an arm balanced on her head, she finally snapped at him in irritation.

“What do you want?”

He stared directly at her for a moment, then shut his eyes and pretended to snore.

Y/n pushed him off of her and grabbed a pillow to try to suffocate him.

“Someone help!”

He dramatically writhed around before going limp like a corpse.

Slowly, she lifted the pillow up, peering behind it to see his face, eyes shut with his tongue hanging out of the corner of his mouth.

He snatched the pillow from her and pushed her over with it.

She screamed, stifling her laughs and curling into a ball as Rich whacked her with it, her schoolwork spilling off the bed.

“I hate you,” she stated as he flopped backwards, both out of breath.

“Aww,” he cooed mockingly. She threw the pillow at him and got up to retrieve the things from the floor. “Seriously?”

“Seriously, what?”

“It’s been hours, Y/n. It’s Friday night. Let’s go do something.”

“I look horrible, I don’t want to go out.”

“No you don’t, you always look nice. Can we go, please, please, please, plea-“

“Ok, fine! Let me get ready, will you?”

Like a puppy, Richie sat on the edge of the bed, watching Y/n intently as she stood in front of the mirror, trying her best to brush her wind-tousled hair with his comb. She readjusted her black headband, making sure her bangs were out to frame her face. Once finished, she grabbed a tube of rosy lipstick from her bag, and dotted just a bit on before rubbing her lips together to blend it.

It had to look natural.

Her mother had once told her she looked like a hooker for wearing full coverage makeup, and for some strange reason, she felt uncomfortable doing anything remotely feminine around her father. Even when they weren’t near, the need to appease them stuck.

She turned around, “How do I look?”

“Like a square,” he teased.

Y/n glared, and he was quick to reword his statement.

“A pretty square!”

/

The gusty, evening air was as cold as ever, and the two of them stuffed their hands in their pockets, trying to somehow shrink themselves into the warmth of their coats.

“What did you do at work today?” Y/n asked, shivering.

“Uhm, we really just fooled around. Roy, Eddie, and me.”

“Ah, I gotta see the Eddie Miles band in action one day.” “Actually, we renamed ourselves Eddie Clayton and the Clayton Squares. We might pick up some gigs soon, I don’t know, hopefully.”

“Oh, that’d be fab. I’ll be there for every one of your shows,” she looked up to meet his eye, “I promise.”

Richie smiled. It was small, but sincere and warm. He held her gaze just a bit longer, admiring how she looked under the yellow glow of the lampposts. The tip of her nose was pink from the cold, and the way she looked all bundled up was so... so... adorable.

He cleared his throat and turned away from her. “Thanks.”

They got on the bus to Garston, and as it was Y/n’s turn to pay the driver, she caught up to Rich when she was finished.

Even if the bus was completely vacant, the two ran up to sit on the second floor, racing to get there before it started driving again. It was just another one of their antics.

Finally arriving at Wilson Hall, the two took off their coats and followed the crowd to the dance floor. On stage was a group of rough-looking boys, playing as loud as they could with their makeshift instruments. The audience nearly matched the volume, laughing and hollering as they spun about.

“Well, c’mon then,” Richie grinned, reaching out to grab her hands.

She giggled bashfully as he twirled her, and after a bit, loosened up until the both of them were twisting wildly as if their life depended on it. Richard’s slicked back curls bobbed as he stepped, and Y/n’s circle skirt swayed proudly with her hips.

It was crowded, hot, and stuffy, but while dancing, no one seemed to care. It was electrifying, freeing, and for once they were able to forget about their hardships and stresses.

The song came to an end and the crowd gave an applause, eagerly awaiting for the next band to come on.

“I’m going for a coke, d’you want anything?”

Y/n shook her head, “I’m okay, I’ll wait here.”

Rich nodded and squeezed his way through to the bar.

She stood alone, fiddling with her fingers as the next band started and the couples began to dance.

The music now was more jazz than rock or skiffle, and everyone was paired up, swinging each other around and leaving Y/n to stick out like a sore thumb.

Looking over the room, she thought about how much better the other girls looked than her. Their dresses were sleeveless, their faces glowing with expertly done makeup, and their hair somehow curled perfectly at the ends.

She tugged off her cardigan. Would that help? It didn’t show any skin -her button down blouse preventing it- but at least it took a layer off. She glanced down at herself. Were her boobs not big enough? Nah, they were an all-right size for her age, but maybe just a little bigger would be-

“You alright, miss?”

She gasped, snapping her eyes up from her chest.

There, towering over her, was a man with Elvis-esque hair, a fitted leather jacket, and a smirk tugging at his lips. He looked older, perhaps in his early twenties, and he… just wow.

Y/n was taken aback.

“I-I’m alright.”

“How come a pretty girl like you doesn’t have a partner?”

“Oh, uh, thank you. I’m actually waiting for someone to get back, he just,” Y/n awkwardly gestured behind her, lost for words.

“Mind if I keep you company until then?”

He offered his hand to dance, and with a hesitant nod, she accepted.

/

The trip home was almost silent.

Y/n vaguely addressed why she was gone the whole night, and Richard said it was okay.

After a bit of a search, he’d realized she was with another guy and went off to dance with the other birds too. However, he didn’t know how things had… escalated with her and the man.

He asked if she would step out with him. He was mysterious and suave, and it was exhilarating. How could she say no? But when the nameless man pressed her against the brick alley, hands caressing her hips and waist, a sudden tsunami of uncertainty and panic crashed against her. He was nearing her lips, but the once sensual closeness had become suffocating- she couldn’t do this!

“Y/n, love?”

She blinked out of it.

“What’s wrong? You’ve been staring at the wall.”

Spewing the words before she could think them through, Y/n deadpanned, “Teach me how to kiss.”

[let-me-love-you-loki]

Welcome to Oblivion--Ch. 15

Chapter 15

           Drew looked up from the notebook on his lap and grunted. “Addy? You okay?”

           The sound of his voice startled me awake. It was the week before Thanksgiving and the majority of the professors had decided it was time they torture us with exams and papers and projects. I’d been up late the night before working on a paper for my world history class and then had to get up early for a Poms workout. I shouldn’t have been surprised that I’d practically fallen asleep on my textbooks.

           “Huh?” I asked, wiping drool off the corner of my mouth.

           The big Scotsman laughed and leaned back in his chair. “You’re useless right now,” he said with a grin. “Go take a walk or something. Otherwise, we’re both going to fail psychology.”

           I nodded, not quite hearing what he was saying. Standing up, I threw on my jacket and tugged gloves over my hands. A walk around the quad would do me good. That, and maybe a stop at the coffee shop. Yeah, I thought, that’ll do the trick.

           The sky was gunmetal grey as I stepped out into the quad. Leftover frost tinted the grass silver. Freshly spread salt crunched under my feet on the sidewalk. The weather was calling for snow overnight. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen a good, heavy snow. Living down South made that a rare occurrence. I nearly jogged to close the distance to the student center. The cold bit at my face and slid down into my lungs.

           I let out a sigh when I stepped into the warm, coffee scented air of the shop. Just the smell perked me up more than I would have thought. People were milling around, some at tables with laptops and stacks of textbooks, others curled up on mismatched furniture with containers of steaming muffins. I dropped into the line and tugged off my gloves so I could dig out my card.

           “Shit,” I said under my breath, realizing too late that I’d left everything in the dorm. I didn’t even have my key to get back into the building. Or my phone to text Drew to let me in. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

           More than a little frustrated—and slightly embarrassed—I turned on my heel and made to jump out of the line. No coffee for me. Only a cold walk back to the dorm and an even colder wait for someone to walk by and let me in. I was paying so much attention to wallowing in pity and tugging on my gloves that I shouldered into someone waiting in the line behind me.

           “God, I’m sorry! I didn’t—” Looking up, I caught sight of Roman’s dark-haired, dark-eyed roommate. The one I’d literally slammed into a few weeks ago in the hallway.

           “It’s cool. Hey, I know you.” His voice was deep but with a hint of something gruff just beneath. My first thought was that it didn’t match with the way he looked.

           Heat burned my cheeks. “Yeah… you’re Roman’s roommate.”

           “Seth Rollins,” he said, sticking out his hand. I took it, trying not to think about how we’d first met. “Addy, right?”

           I nodded. “Yeah.”

           He looked from me to the coffee counter. “Change your mind?”

           “Left my card in my dorm.” I rolled my eyes and tucked my fists back into my pockets. “Along with my phone and my keys.”

           “Coffee’s on me then.” He smiled and pulled me back into the line in front of him. “Roman would kill me otherwise.”

***

           I grinned when I saw Drew pacing in front of the door. He pushed it open the second he saw me crossing the quad with a coffee cup in my hands. “Didn’t even check before you left, did ya?” he asked, dangling my keys and phone from his hands.

           “I’m sorry,” I replied slipping into the building past his bulk. “But I ran into Roman’s roommate at the coffee shop and he hooked me up.”

           Drew lifted a brow as he followed me back toward the lounge where our books were still spread out on one of the tables. “I’m sure the Big Dog will be happy about that.”

           “Shut up, Drew. Now where’s my astronomy lab book? We’ve got an exam tonight.”

***

           Roman pulled into the parking lot outside his apartment. It was almost three in the morning, and I was exhausted. While I was glad that we’d gotten our astronomy midterm over with, I needed sleep more than anything else. And I didn’t feel like driving the rest of the way back to the dorm.

           He came around the truck and gathered me up in his arms, carrying me princess style inside. The television was on, and I caught sight of Dean sitting on the sofa in sweatpants and a t-shirt, his feet propped up on the coffee table. He looked up as we came inside.

           “Hey, Ro,” Dean said faintly. His voice seemed to fade in and out as I fell further toward sleep. “She’s a princess now, huh?”

           “Shut up,” Roman hissed back. “She’s asleep. Or close to. Any food in the fridge?”

           “Yeah, there’s some pizza from last night.” For a moment, there was quiet. Then… “Dude, just put her down here and get something to eat.”

           For a moment, Roman was still. Then he turned toward the sound of Dean’s voice and carried me over to the sofa. There was a heavy rustling noise just before I was settled down on cushions that were surprisingly plush and comfortable. My feet bumped into Dean’s legs, and I tucked them back close to me.

           “Jesus Christ stretch out,” Dean said, a frustrated edge in his voice. He reached for my feet and, though his voice sounded upset, his fingers were gentle as he pulled my feet into his lap. His hands were warm on my toes. “Ro, get the princess here a blanket. She’s freezing.”

           Dean kept his hands on my feet, rubbing my toes between his palms to work some warmth into them. Half-awake, I wriggled my toes, snuggling into the cushions. I really wanted to go crawl into Roman’s bed—I knew it was comfortable, plush, and warm. And it smelled wonderfully like Roman which made it easier to sleep.

           “Here,” I heard Roman’s voice nearby. Dean’s body shifted beneath my feet and, an instant later, he was spreading a blanket over me, taking the time to tuck it around my legs. “And turn that down so she can rest.”

           The sound that Dean made was halfway frustrated and halfway something like indulgence. But he moved around, the noise of the television dipped, and a peaceful calm settled over the room. I could sense Roman somewhere near my head… a sensation confirmed when his fingers slid into my hair. A faint sigh of happiness slipped past my lips as I finally drifted straight off to sleep.

***

           I woke up what was probably hours later, but might have been only a few minutes. Everything was pitch black. I was disoriented for a moment, unsure of where I was. The faint ache in my hip was enough to remind me. I was curled on my side on the sofa in Roman’s apartment. I shifted, trying to take some of the pressure off. My feet bumped into something warm and solid.

           “Stop wigglin’, princess,” came Dean’s sleepy voice. “Go back to sleep.”

           For a moment, I stayed still. But the ache in my hips and my joints made it impossible to rest anywhere close to comfortably. Every move made me bump Dean.

           “Goddamn it,” Dean said after I wiggled another two or three times. He pulled himself from beneath my feet and stood up.

           The next thing I knew, I was being lifted up. It wasn’t the gentle carry of Roman. Dean had leaned over and picked me up around the waist, practically putting me over his shoulder like I was a sack of potatoes. I had a clear view of Dean’s broad back as he carried me down the hall to Roman’s room. While I expected a hard drop onto the mattress, he squatted down and sat me on the edge before easing me sideways.

           “Go to sleep,” he said gruffly.

***

           I woke up alone, clearly in Roman’s bed, still in my clothes from the night before. My head swam, desperate for something to drink. Grunting, running my hands through my hair to take care of the knots, I padded down the hallway. The door that I figured belonged to Seth was closed tight. The next was wide open. But I could see into the living room, and both Dean and Roman were still there. The former was stretched out on the sofa where I had started out the night. The latter was sprawled in the chair, arms and legs hanging off the edges. His head was dropped back in a ridiculously uncomfortable position.

           Grinning, I made my way to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. Then I went to dig around in the fridge to find something to eat. I grabbed a carton of eggs, and found everything I needed to make scrambled eggs. Some of the weariness of the night before began to fade away at the scent of fresh coffee.

           Moment by moment, the apartment filled with the sounds of people waking. There was a groan and a loud thump. When I turned around, Dean was getting to his feet after having fallen into the floor. He was bleary eyed, his auburn hair sticking up at odd angles. There was a red mark on his cheek from how he slept.

           “Morning, Dean,” I said just loud enough to get his attention. He stumbled into the kitchen, making a bee line for the coffee maker. “Do you like scrambled eggs?”

           A grunt was his only response. At least until he was halfway through a cup of black coffee. “Princess can cook, huh?”

           “When she has enough to work with, yes. But right now, she’s only got eggs.”

           Dean slipped around behind me to get to the fridge. He dug around for a minute and pulled out an almost empty bag of shredded cheddar cheese, microwavable bacon, and a slightly questionable Tupperware container of chopped vegetables. “Enough to work with?”

           “Those,” I said, pointing at the container, “look like they’d kill us. But the rest… I can manage.”

           He grunted again, snatching up his coffee cup and the Tupperware. As he walked back toward the living room, he tossed the container into the garbage. “Call me when breakfast’s ready, princess,” Dean said over his shoulder.

Tag List

@mox-made-me-do-it​ @vebner37​

[scarofthewind]

PLEASE, Billy whose SO gained quite a bit of weight from school stress + a few nasty people bullying her. She loves Billy but thinks that he finds her repulsive so she wears baggy clothes and stops being as affectionate with him. Then one night he climbs into her room and she flinches when he puts his hands on her waist. He asks what's going on and she cries telling him everything. By the end, he goes: "You think I don't find you hot? Let me prove you wrong." Smuttiness and fluff ensue

A/N: There is nothing wrong with the way anyone looks. They are their own person and are beautiful in every way, shape and form. Hope you guys enjoy this! This is B in my masterlist under GhostfaceWarnings: Sexual Content (NSFW), Bondage. Female Pronouns

“Would you stop?” Billy’s hands left your sides as you scooted farther away from him on the couch. The movie on the TV being long forgotten about and a heavy emotion hanging in the air. 

“What’s your deal, Y/N? First you won’t look at me, then you won’t let me touch you in any way.” Billy frowned, his eyes watching you closely.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just don’t feel good.” You lied, eyes glued straight ahead. There was a moment of silence before he spoke up again.

“You know I trust you. I fucking admitted to you who I was and what kind of person I was. I haven’t hurt you and I sure as hell haven’t let anyone else.” He moved to stand up and you looked at him then, pulling at the long sleeves of your baggy sweater. “But what’s the point if you keep shutting me out?” 

His eyes held something dark and for a moment you thought he might actually harm you. “Don’t talk to me until you’re ready too. If you don’t reach out to me in a week then I’ll come for you.” Suddenly, he moved closer and you flinched. “Don’t think that just because I care about you, means that I won’t rough you up a little.” 

Your eyes peered into his for a moment before he turned and walked out the front door. You cried yourself to sleep that night. Not out of fear, but out of shame that you couldn’t tell him. 

You couldn’t tell anyone. 

_

Once again, your locker was filled with trash, ruining everything inside. 

Once again, the group of assholes beat you up in the back parking lot.

Once again, you cried in the school bathroom and tried to hide the bruises and cuts with makeup. 

Once again, you didn’t go to classes for the rest of the day and walked home in the rain. 

However, as soon as you walked through the front door, you realized Billy wasn’t lying. He was always there at your house, but he wasn’t now. You didn’t see him at school either. A horrific scene ran through your mind and you cursed before dropping your bag and running out the door. 

He wouldn’t be that stupid would he? Billy wasn’t a dumb man, he knew. You knew he knew. You just didn’t know if he knew what they were bullying you about. That’s what you didn’t want him to know. 

Your feet ran across the sidewalk, leading you to the woods that surrounded a lake. That’s where the popular kids would go to skip class and do adult things. Your lungs burned and so did your eyes as you let a few branches scratch you as you ran. You didn’t stop until you saw the dock. 

Your legs shook and you let your tears fall. Standing a few feet away, Billy faced out towards the lake, cigarette between his fingers and a head in his other hand. You watched as he tossed the man’s head into the lake, and you realized just how much he had done. The police would have to play a matching game to figure out which body part went to what person. Blood covered the dock and you watched as Billy turned his head a bit to look back at you. 

Almost as if he commanded your legs to give out, they did. You fell on your hands and knees, heart beating so fast you thought you were going to faint. It had been only a few days since your last talk with him, but you felt that he was ready to rip you in half. 

You cried then. Billy watched with interest as he finished his cigarette and walked over towards you, hands stuffed in his pockets. He squatted in front of you and reached out to grip your chin, forcing you to look at him. “I don’t like being lied to, Y/N.” 

“It took me having to watch them hurt you and tease you for four days straight before I snapped. Look at what you made me do.” He looked back at the lake and the water that was tinted red. His eyes met yours again and he wiped a few tears away with his thumb. “Don’t you have anything to say to me?” 

“I’m sorry.” You sniffled, watching as he nodded, pulling you into a hug and rubbing your back. 

“I know you are. You know I’m not an idiot, Y/N. I was going to find out, no matter what it took.” Billy could feel you shaking and he hoped that it was for both being cold and fear. 

He loved fear on you, it turned him on. 

“I couldn’t tell you. I was too embarrassed.” You sobbed as Billy rubbed your back. 

“Gaining weight only makes you look better and feel better. I’ve got more to touch now. Plus, I think you look healthier. If I cut you deeply, it wont kill you like how it killed the skinnier bitches. You barely touch them with a knife and you’ve stabbed right through them.” Billy heard you laugh a bit and he pulled back from the hug, resting his forehead against yours. 

“Does this mean we’re okay?” Your eyes stared into his. “Come home Billy.” The man nearly came in his pants at the whine of your voice when you spoke. He needed you and you needed him. 

Who was he to hold back from showing you how much he cared about you?

“You have three minutes to get to the house and lay on the bed. Naked or you’ll learn just how deep my love for you goes.” His voice changed in that second and you’ve never run so fast in your life. Busting through the front door, you ran to your room and faltered. The mirror across your room showed how much of a mess you looked. How ugly you looked. Fat.

Your fingers gripped at the bottom of the hoodie you wore and you couldn’t take it off. You didn’t even realize Billy was behind you until he roughly pushed you to the bed. 

“Stop.” He growled, staring down at you angrily. “You’re not fat, and you sure as fuck aren’t ugly.” 

You looked away from him and didn’t say anything, which only made him blow a fuse. Why were you acting like this? It was annoying him greatly and he couldn’t take it anymore. 

“You remember the safe word?” He asked, taking off his belt and tying your wrists to the  headboard of the bed. You nodded and he smirked. “It doesn’t apply to what I am about to do to you.” Billy said, siting on your hips and flicking out his pocket knife, cutting the hoodie off your body. 

Goosebumps rose all over your skin and your mind raced a mile a minute. What did he mean? The last time he said that, he nearly killed you with how much he kept going. “Billy.” You said, watching as he tossed the shredded clothing aside, not paying attention to you. “Billy!” You shouted and he looked up from cutting at the waistband of your sweatpants. 

“You don’t get to speak.” He sighed, rummaging through your bedside table and finding tape, cutting a piece off his this teeth and slapping it over your mouth. 

Your breathing quickened and he noticed. Your bra clad chest moved faster the more he got close to finishing. As soon as he took the sweats off and threw them to the floor, he stopped and looked you dead in the eye. You stopped breathing. 

“You’ve made me very angry, Y/N. It’s time to take responsibility.” He tossed the knife off the bed and kissed up your stomach, reaching behind you and unclasping your bra. “Look at that.” He groaned, cupping your bare breasts in his hands and running his thumbs over your nipples. “You went up a size here. Gaining weight has its perks.” 

You barely had time to register what he had said before you felt his mouth attach itself to one of your nipples, sucking and biting at it hungrily. His hands kneaded them gently and he switched between them, kissing up the middle and reaching your neck. You could feel his breath on your neck, hovering over your jugular vein. “You know you’re mine, right?” His eyes glared at you and you nodded slowly. 

“Do you trust me?” His question caught you off guard, causing you to move your head and look him directly in the eyes. “I think you’re the most beautiful and sexiest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. You’re not fat. You’re perfect and believe me when I say that.” 

You could only stare at him. Never had you heard him say these things to you in the time you’ve been together. You tried to open your mouth to speak but remembered that he’d taped your mouth shut. “I’m not taking it off.” He smiled bitterly at you. His hand moved down to your hips and then your underwear, slowly tugging them down. “I am taking these off though.” He laughed, sliding them down your legs and tossing them behind himself. 

“Spread them.” You let out a small laugh and refused, turning your head to the side. A rough hand gripped your chin, squeezing harshly and making you look at him. “What part of this makes you think you have a choice? Spread them or I will break them.” You blinked a few times before slowly opening your legs, watching him sit back and let your chin go. 

“Good girl.” His voice dropped as well as his eyes as his hands traced your legs, moving towards your soaking core. You ached for the touch he was going to give, your heart was on edge as you awaited his fingers. Billy smirked, removing himself from you and unzipping his pants. You watched him unclothe himself and cursed mentally, knowing where this was going. 

“Sorry babe but I can’t wait to be inside you.” He moaned, rubbing his tip against your opening, watching your juices mix together. He gently pushed himself inside you, his lips parting when he bottomed out. “Fuck you’re tight.” 

With a whimper from you, he started to move rocking his hips against you and setting a pace that would have you moaning louder with each thrust. His hands held your hips tightly as he thrusted into you roughly. Your eyes never left his body, watching his muscles flex under the skin as he pounded into you from above. He moved one hand from your hip to push some hair from his face and you felt yourself clench around his cock. Immediately he locked eyes with you and smirked.

Reaching down, he pressed his fingers to your clit, rubbing in tight, harsh circles. Billy watched your face and groaned, feeling you tighten around his shaft. He didn’t have to ask, he knew you were close. His eyes met yours and he grit his teeth, holding himself back from coming undone. “Come for me.” He hissed, watching as your back arched off the bed and your legs clenched around his waist. 

“Fuck.” Billy growled, coming with a few more thrusts, pumping his seed into you and gripping your hips, bruising them. 

You panted, your eyes seeing stars as he continued his powerful thrusts. Your arms hurt from hanging above your head for so long and you were sure that you were going to die if he kept going. Soft whimpers left your throat and you looked at Billy with pleading eyes. 

“I’m not even close to being done with you, Y/N. I’m going to fuck the negative thoughts about yourself right out of you.” Billy stared down at you and slowly removed the tape from your mouth. 

You couldn’t say anything, your thighs trembled against his skin and you felt your face heat up under his gaze. “I love you.” You mumbled, your breathing calming down. Billy came to a full stop and bent over to kiss you. 

“I know.” He hummed against your lips, reaching up and untying your wrists, pulling you to sit in his lap. No matter how long he wanted to keep going for, you were okay with it in the end as long as it meant he could hold you like this forever. 

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Nineteen

Table of Contents or Part Eighteen

Pairing: Douglas Booth!Nikki Sixx x OC

Word Count: 2.4k

Warning(s): Language, mentions of drugs abuse, mentions of domestic violence

A/N: Tried to update last night but it kept telling me there was a problem uploading it and to try again later so now is later

Tag List: @cierrasixx19 @oskea93 @mgkobsessed @vamprlestat @sharon6713 @itsametaphorbriansblog @miriampraez @allie-mcginn @rebeccaphillips14 @nicholeh7 @fandomshit6000 @lilmou5ie @tamedhearts @divaanya @kingbouji3 @evrsncnewyork @6ixx6ixx @ratedrkohardychick91 @floregrohlssard @oldschoolimagineblog @thanks2pete @abaldboi @swoopygorl @justjodeye @liith-ium @caos18blog @ytwahsog @shamlessobsessions @scarecrowmax @toadspleen @random-internet-user-4471 @solohqrry @loveofmyloif

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED

———————————————————————

"Shit." My hand shakes, holding the positive pregnancy test.

My mind races a mile a minute as I hear the bathroom door open and someone walks in with their feet dragging against the floor.

"Babe, c'mon!" Nikki slurs and I let out a breath and shove the test in to my jacket pocket as I pace the tiny stall.

"You're not supposed to be in here." I tell him as I step out to wash my hands at the sink.

"I missed you." He sounds like a child, his tone reaching a high pitch and I giggle as he comes up behind me and presses a sloppy line of kisses from my cheek to my neck.

"How much did you have to drink while I was gone?" I ask, and he chuckles drunkenly, grabbing my jaw to angle my lips to his before kissing me. When he pulls away he gives one more peck to my lips and tugs at my arm.

"C'mon, I've got something for you." He pulls me away from the sink.

"Yeah, I've heard that one before." I smartly reply as I turn off the water, shaking my hands dry due to the lack of paper towels as he pulls me from the ladies room.

"C'mon, c'mon," He rushes me.

"I'm coming, Nikki." I laugh and he throws his arm around me, making sure I help keep him from falling as he stumbles slightly in the direction he's leading me as my ears are nearly buzzing from the loud music in the strip joint.

When I look at where the guys are seated, I stop in my tracks, my mouth nearly falling to the floor.

Nikki starts chuckling, looking at me with raised brows.

"That's..." I trail off, completely out of words.

"Ratt." He finishes what I was going to say. "C'mon." He nudges me and I don't move at all, baffled and sickeningly nervous.

"I can't, I look disgusting!" I whisper yell, glancing around as a waiter passes us.

"You look hot." He argues, looking me up and down. "I'd fuck You."

"You'd have sex with a couch if you could angle your dick between the cushions." I rudely shoot back and he rolls his eyes.

"It's not like you're impressing them or anything. You're married to me anyway." He fluffs his hair carelessly, smiling at me.

"Can I just meet them later? I really just want to go to the hotel." I plead, my nerves getting the best of me for being put on the spot.

"Viv, I—"

"Please, baby?" I grab his hand with both of mine, holding it to my chest as if it's a dear possession of mine and he sighs and digs in his pocket with his free hand for the car keys.

"You're driving. Lemme go tell these fuckers bye'."

"You guys are like the seven deadly sins come to life and throwing anything they can get their fuckin' hands on at each other."  Is how Fred Saunders, the band's head of security for their tours, described Nikki and I.

His job consisted of keeping us protected, even if it meant from each other.

He said that after he had separated us before we could start fist fighting, the both of us bleeding and bruised in multiple places due to having a "who can hit who with what the hardest" contest which resulted in liquor bottles, needle loaded syringes, shoes, hotel room dishes, and lamps, being hurled through the air at each other.

I didn't know what the hell else I was suppose to do after I turned on The Arsenio Hall Show just to see Vanity showing off my wedding ring—that I had presumed was just lost—claiming that she and Nikki were engaged.

I figured the freebase had officially fried the both of their brain's, and since she wasn't there in Texas where we were staying so I could include her in my outburst, Nikki just got enough of my wrath for the both of them when I found him in the neighboring room with Tommy, and attacked him like a rabid bitch.

I wasn't ever violent growing up, and although I had an outburst every now and then with Vince (because he is someone who knows exactly how to keep pushing at me until I snap) it wasn't ever my first response to just be on edge all the time and hit, cut, scratch, and punch people who got on my nerves; however, I got sick and tired of nobody listening to me.

I'd tell the dealers to "fuck off and stay fucked off"...they'd be back as soon as Nikki called. I'd tell the record company that the guys did not need to go back on the road because they were nearly spun out...they'd look me in the eye while printing out the schedule for the next leg of tour dates. I decided if I stopped being so patient and nice, and just started beating the ever loving fuck out of the people I considered partly to blame, shit would actually get done instead of just putting me on the back burner.

That was a toxic way of thinking, and I know it was, but you slap junkies when they won't wake up.

I suppose I was trying to slap everyone out of their own customized vice-induced comas.

The truth is Nikki's love for drugs, that grew more than his love for me or even himself, was the root of my resentment.

Every screaming match, every conniving thing done out of spite to one another, every affair, every bit of turmoil, all came back to his heroin addiction...which really kickstarted in 1984, when Robbin Crosby of the band Ratt—who did a handful of openings for Mötley Crüe during their last leg of the Shout At The Devil tour—taught him how to use needles.

I angrily stomp my heels down the pavement of the sidewalk as we step to our hotel entrance through the crowd of fans and photographers.

I'm completely out of it, having lost my patience a couple minutes ago when we were bombarded by reporters while leaving the club the guys practically drug me to after the show.

"Viv, I don't see the big fuckin' deal. We're married. We fuck. That's what we do. People know that's what we do." Nikki defends himself as the elevator dings, opening it's doors for all of us to go up to our room.

I don't say a word, rolling my jaw, not wanting to get into an argument with him and the guys wasted.

"It was a joke, Viv." Tommy adds innocently.

"It's not that fucking serious." Vince says next and I step out of the elevator once it stops at our floor. "Are you fucking kidding me? You're not talking to me now?" The blonde asks and I contain the urge to slap him sober.

I pluck the key from Nikki's hand and unlock the door, stepping inside to set my bag on the floor next to the bed closest to the window, hearing him shut the door behind him, roughly, while saying, “it’s not that serious, Viv.” I brush him off.

"Vivian!" Nikki raises his voice a little, catching my attention. "I’m talking to you, don’t fucking ignore me!”

"My sex life isn't the headline of a fucking run-down sleazy gossip magazine." I state pointedly, completely ignoring his comment about me ignoring him.

"It's called sex, drugs and rock n' roll for a reason, Viv, which means my sex life—a.k.a you—is and always will be the headline of a fucking run-down sleazy gossip magazine. The more attention I get, the more attention the band gets and that's how we reach the fans."

"'I treat her like a lady, so she'll stay on her knees like a groupie'?" I quote what he told a bunch of slimy reporters when we left the club, and he blinks at me.

"Do you want me to go back out there and lie and tell them the wildest that we get is fucking in missionary at the foot of the bed instead of at the top?"

"That's not even the point."

"Well then what is the fucking point, Viv?!"

"I'm not a groupie, Nikki, I'm your wife!"

"Oh my God, you're really pussying out over a fucking joke?!"

"That was a shit thing to say, and you know it was, Nikki, although I can't say I'm surprised ever since you've started that shit you've been a bigger jackass than before!" I accuse him.

"What the fuck are you talking about?!" He yells, his pupils seemingly worse than they were before.

"Smoking your fucking heroin and snorting your coke, that's what the fuck I'm talking about!" I fly off the handle, standing on the tips of my toes to get in his face and he pushes me away from him roughly, causing me to stumble back and fall on to the floor with a loud thump.

He's about to walk away and leave, but I don't know when to leave a dead horse after I've beaten it enough.

The heel of my stiletto collides with the side of his leg roughly, opting him to groan out in pain from where I kicked him.

His hand is tightly around my ankle in two seconds, yanking me up like a cat by its scruff, all while I'm clawing at him.

I'm tossed on to the bed, his hands pinning my arms down as he gets between my legs, stopping my chance of kicking him off of me.

I don't fight back, the look in his eye actually scaring me, and I realize I took it way too far.

I don't know what the hell he's taken, but it's a lot different than how he usually is when he's fucked up.

"I'm not gonna repeat myself, Vivian. What the fuck I do, who the fuck I do it with, and when the fuck I do it, is none of your fucking business. I don't control you. You don't fucking control me. You're just embarrassing yourself, and me, when you try to." He warns me darkly, doing a complete 180 from how chipper and happy he was earlier tonight. "Got it?"

My eyes water, my lip shaking a little but I stop myself from crying to save myself the broken pride.

"Okay, Nikki." I agree, feeling guilty for hounding him about it.

He gets off of me and doesn't even give me a second glance before he leaves, slamming the door behind him.

I was pregnant, terrified, off my Nardil, and projecting all of that onto him, while he was secretly mixing heroin with coke and shooting it to balance each other out.

He'd spend however long trying to correct and tweak his method of adding more coke to correct his drowsiness and adding more heroin to calm him down...but he would usually manage to over correct each time and he wigged out or nodded off...then he would get irritable and have shitty ups and downs with his mood in a matter of minutes.

I don't know where he went when he left that night, but me and Mick were the only two that fell asleep in the room. I never bothered asking Nikki where he stayed.

I probably don't want to know.

"Viv, c'mon, we gotta get up." Mick tells me, pulling me from my shitty sleep.

I'm exhausted from not being able to sleep barely at all until I saw the faint light of the sun starting to rise through the curtains of the hotel.

I groan, yawn and stretch, sitting up.

"What time is it?" I ask him, rubbing my eyes.

"Six o'clock. We gotta be on the bus by six-thirty." He informs me, getting out of his bed, putting his stuff back in his suitcase.

I wait for the sickness to kick in, it usually does a couple minutes after I've been awake, but it hasn't yet.

I go ahead and get up, throwing on a T-shirt and shorts, packing my suitcase quickly Incase I get distracted from puking my brains out.

Reaching down to pick up my purse, I notice the bruising around my ankle where Nikki grabbed me. I’m positive he has a bruise from where my heel nearly punctured him on his leg.

"You cry like a hit dog in your sleep." Mick tells me, interrupting my thoughts, as he zips his bag and I exhale and do the same, not answering right away.

"I cry like a hit dog when I'm awake. What's new?" I mumble, stepping to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

Nikki's stuff is still all in here, so when I'm done brushing my teeth I gather his things and put them in his suitcase.

The sound of the key unlocking the door sounds, and I dart my eyes to the door, hoping to see Nikki so I can apologize for last night.

I'm sorely disappointed.

"We're ready in the lobby." Doc tells me and Mick, grabbing Nikki's suitcase from where I put it beside the door.

I nod a little and grab my stuff and Mick and I follow him out of the room to the elevator to get to the lobby.

"Is he still mad at me?" I ask Doc and he sighs.

"He doesn't like handling you like that." He tells me, disappointment in his voice as he refers to Nikki putting his hands on me last night.

"I don't like doing it to him, either." I reply and he looks at me.

"Well, then you two just need to stop while you're ahead before it gets worse." He suggests and I don't say anything else, waiting for the doors to open once we get to the first floor.

I see Nikki, Vince, and Tommy, all wearing sunglasses to avoid making their hangovers worse, and no one says anything to me, and I don't say anything to them.

"Alright, come on." Doc ushers us to the door to get to the bus.

Our bags get packed in as we file in a line to get on, and just as I'm about to step up, I'm held back by someone holding at my wrist.

I think it's Tommy or Vince, stopping me to tell me something smart-assy or funny, but it's Nikki grabbing at me to keep his balance so he doesn't fall due to his delayed reaction time.

I look down at him, and he moves his hand from my wrist to completely engulf my hand with it, and relief is a dear friend to me.

I'm forgiven.

Once we sit down, he's positioning himself to lay his head on my lap and I put my hands in his fluffy hair, taking his glasses off of him when I know he's asleep so he doesn't mess the frame up, as we head to Memphis, Tennessee for the last show of the tour.

[cakesunflower]

Not Immune [Greaser!Calum AU] Part 2

Disclaimer: I’m well aware my dumbass said that there would only be two parts to this imagine/one shot/whatever you wanna call it, but this is already nearly 6k words and I kept going until I realized how long it was getting so I decided to cut it up. So now it’s gonna be THREE parts instead of two. Hope y’all enjoy!

All Parts:  Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 [Finale]

The lazy whir of the fan’s blades were calming to Y/N, her eyes following the movements while her fingers lightly played with the curls on the head of the boy currently sound asleep next to her. Or, more accurately, almost on top of her as Calum’s cheek rested Y/N’s chest, the stubble of his chin tickling her as the softest snores escaped him. She had on one of Calum’s V-necks, the size of the shirt making for a big neckline for Y/N, the area under her collarbones completely exposed, which is where Calum’s cheek was currently resting.

These moments were one of her favorites. She loved waking up before Calum if they spent the night together, because almost always they would end up tangled in one way or another, and more often than not Calum rendered blankets useless for Y/N because he was just so warm and comforting. In the months they’ve been together—nearly six, to be exact—Calum’s embrace had easily become Y/N’s favorite place to be. The Greaser who intimidated both who lived on the north or south side had become her favorite person in just a few months, and Y/N had become the only person who got to see a side of Calum that was just hers to enjoy.

The side of Calum that had the most handsome smile ever, one that brought crinkles to his eyes as he grinned widely. She saw the side of Calum that had saved money from his job at the auto shop to buy himself a guitar, who played for her on the back porch of his house and even sang a little sometimes, never failing to steal her breath for the duration of the songs he played. The side of Calum that had taken off one of his rings, the one he knew was her favorite, and put it in a chain to give to Y/N as a gift on Christmas (a gift she wore every day under the collars of her blouses). The side of Calum that she gifted a brand new leather jacket to on his birthday when his old one had gotten ripped and destroyed beyond repair during a brawl with some Preps. The side of Calum that, despite being known only for an intimidating Greaser always ready for a fight, turned soft and gentle and utterly loving in front of her.

Y/N’s gotten to know more of him—his mind, his heart, his body—in the months they’ve been together and they have easily become the best months of her life.

She smiled in sleepy contentment, having just woken up, as she let her eyes flutter shut, hoping sleep would come once again. But then something crashed on the other side of Calum’s closed bedroom door, followed by glass shattering and Luke’s unmistakable voice yelling, “Those are my fucking pancakes, asswipe!”  

Her eyes shot open as his yells were responded with even more shouting, the sleep shocked out of her as she took a deep breath to calm the quickened pace of her heart brought on by the unexpectant yelling. This wasn’t the first time she was scared awake by Calum’s friends’ shouting, but Y/N doubted she’d ever get used to it.

“Gonna kill ‘em,” Calum tiredly, raspily mumbled, lips brushing against Y/N’s skin as he spoke.

Y/N chuckled softly, the racket outside not dying down, so she decided to get up for the day because God knows she’ll be able to fall back asleep now. “Come on, sun’s up.”

Calum groaned, burying his face in her chest as his arms slid around her waist, making Y/N laugh lightly as he turned so they were both laying on their sides, with Calum’s head tucked under chin, curls tickling Y/N’s skin. “Doesn’t mean we have to get up,” he grumbled, left leg pushing in between hers and pinning down her right one to keep her in place.

As much as Y/N would love to stay in bed with Calum, she knew she couldn’t. She had told her parents she was sleeping over at Diana’s house and that’d be back by one this afternoon, and the small analog clock on Calum’s bedside said it was 11:47. “Yes, it does, Cal,” she hummed, hand sliding from his hair down his smooth back. “Let’s have breakfast.”

It took another few minutes of encouraging, but soon Calum and Y/N were getting up. While he remained in just a pair of pajama pants despite the cold weather, Y/N changed into her clothes from the day before of pants and a sweater, picking up Calum’s brush to tame her hair before putting on her headband to push it back from her face. The commotion outside had died down by the time they stepped out, and Calum made his way towards the kitchen while Y/N stopped to use the bathroom which, Y/N seemed to notice around the second month of her coming around, always seemed to be a bit cleaner than usual when she came by. It made her smile.

As she washed her hands and face, Y/N pressed her smiling lips together at the sight of her neck, seeing a few purple marks scattered here and there, knowing that Calum’s golden skin looked similar to hers. At least she had a scarf to cover it up when she left.

When she walked into the kitchen that also served as a makeshift dining room that opened into the living room, Y/N was unsurprised at the ruckus going on. Four boys who lived together were bound to cause as much noise as they could, and if she wasn’t being frightened out of her sleep, Y/N kind of enjoyed it. Her house was never this lively, full of so much chatter and laughter and the occasional boisterous yelling, and she quickly found familiarity here.

“Mornin’, Preppie,” Ashton, the oldest high school graduate of the bunch, greeted Y/N as she walked in and he leaned against the entryway between the kitchen and living room, sipping tea from a mug. Preppie was the nickname he coined for Y/N just a short while after Calum started bringing her around, ultimately shocking his buddies that his new girl was a north side Prep. At first Y/N didn’t care for the nickname, but six months later and it was a call to the friendship they established. “Want breakfast?”

Not too hungry, Y/N helped herself to a cup of tea as well as Calum hopped up on the counter next to the stove, where Luke was begrudgingly making more pancakes since Michael was wolfing down the ones already made. Calum slouched where he sat, feet only an inch or so from the floor, rubbing the top of his head and messing up his sleep induced curls even more as his tired eyes remained on his girlfriend.

He watched her, saw how comfortable she was sitting on the lone, random chair Michael had brought in a year ago because someone had put it on the sidewalk to throw it out so he took it and fixed it and now it was one of the random chairs in their house. Every time he saw Y/N lounge around his house, Calum always felt a bit shocked that she was so comfortable here, that she felt and looked so at home.

He remembered the first time he brought her over, about a month and a half in since when they had started sneaking around and he had told the boys he started seeing someone. Safe to say they were in for a dizzying shock when they found out it was some Prep girl. And when Calum brought her over, he hadn’t realized how nervous he had suddenly become when she stepped through the front door. Calum could give a fuck about what people thought of him; no one on the south side had an issue with his house. It was one story, though big enough for the four boys which gave them their own rooms. But it was nowhere near as nice as even the shabbiest house from the north side, and he’d been to Y/N’s house a couple of times already when her parents weren’t around. He knew what kind of background she came from, knew she had money, and suddenly, for the first time, Calum had become insecure of his own pad.

Seems like he had been freaking himself out over nothing, because Y/N didn’t at all seemed perturbed. The hard edged, Greaser side of him had been ready to kick her out if she had so much as made a face at the sight of his place, but Y/N did no such thing. She smiled when she took in the mismatched furniture, one piece rarely matching another, and teased that she didn’t know four boys living together could keep a place so clean. And Calum saw no hidden disdain in her eyes and decided that this chick was definitely more than just a Prep.

As if feeling his gaze on her, Y/N glanced over at him from where she sat on the other side of the small kitchen, quirking a curious eyebrow when she saw him looking at her. Calum merely smirked lazily over the chatter of his buddies, and Y/N smiled, shooting him a quick wink before returning to her conversation with Ashton. Calum felt his throat dry; yeah. . . Definitely more than just a Prep.

Too bad it was bullshit that even though neither of them saw the barrier of Greaser and Prep between the two of them, the rest of the town still did. Which meant for the past six months Calum had been reduced to only being able to touch and be with her in the privacy of their homes or late night escapades at Venture Creek. Not for the first time in the past few months, tough guy, punch-loving Calum wished the rivalry between Greasers and Preps was non-existent.

                                                            *****

Something was wrong.

Y/N didn’t know what, but she could feel it inside, feel the sensation of her heart sinking in her chest and chills running down her back and her worry increased with every minute that went by. She found herself glancing around the theater, nothing seeming out of the ordinary, but she just couldn’t shake the feeling. Glancing at Diana, Y/N saw that her friend was completely engrossed in the film, which was coming to an end soon, so Y/N’s knee began bouncing out of nerves, wanting to bail from the cinema. She didn’t even pay attention to the end, too bent trying to figure out what the hell was wrong.

She was probably freaked out over nothing and needed to get a grip, but the tightness in her chest was silently telling Y/N that something bad was happening. So when the movie ended, she was out of her seat and was practically bugging out of there as quickly as she could, Diana stumbling behind her to keep up with her.

“Why’re you bailin’ so quick, Y/N?” Diana asked as they got to the lobby of the cinema. “Everything okay?”

Y/N frowned, chewing her lower lip as she paused for a moment and mumbled, “I don’t know.” But then she heard it. The noise; the yelling that attracted the attention of almost everyone in the cinema, and it wasn’t hard to tell that it was coming from outside. Her frown deepened and Y/N began making her way towards the doors like some other few were doing, Diana right behind her as they stepped outside in the cool March air.

Everything was louder now as they kept walking towards the parking lot where a group was gathered; sweater vests and leather jackets alike and realization dawned on Y/N that of course there was a fight going on. She felt her previously tense shoulders relax a bit, figuring that this is what had gotten her so uptight before, and she was about to turn to Diana to tell her to let’s go, uninterested in some fight, when she heard a familiar voice within the crowd yell.

That familiar voice, happening to belong to her ex-boyfriend Joey, which happened to be yelling, “That’s the best you got, Hood?”

Y/N’s heart fell.

Before the thought even fully processed in her mind, her feet were moving her towards the boisterous crowd which was throwing shouts every which way towards the two boys in the middle. Y/N could feel Diana behind her, the two young women sticking close amongst the group that was mostly made up of boys, yet they managed to shove their way towards the front.

When they did, Y/N didn’t think her heart could sink any lower than it had, and her right hand instinctively grasped Diana’s left, eyes unable to look at anything other than the scene unfolding in front of her. The scene that consisted of her ex and current—albeit secret—boyfriend exchanging blows, with Joey receiving more than he was throwing.

He was already sporting a bloody nose and an eye that was swelling up after a hit, but Y/N’s own eyes went directly towards Calum. She inhaled an unsteady breath at the sight of him, taking notice of his messed up hair and lack of leather jacket and the red drops and streaks on the front of his white shirt, which also had spots of dirt coloring it. He wasn’t too far from her, allowing Y/N to see the split lip he was sporting and his own bloody—although not as much as Joey’s—nose, along with a yellowing, purplish bruise forming on his cheek.

But what really had her grip on Diana’s hand tightening was the sneer on his lips, an expression of aggravated distaste with his eyes set in the fiercest scowl she’s ever seen him wear. Diana shot her best friend a worried look, but Y/N paid her no mind, too frozen at the fight going on in front of them. Other than Calum’s three friends, Diana was the only person who knew about Y/N and Calum’s relationship. The girl had been downright astounded and in disbelief when Y/N told her she had been seeing Calum for nearly three months, and it wasn’t until Diana actually hung out at Y/N’s house with her and the Greaser that she realized her best friend was truly smitten with the south sider.

It was lucky that while Diana had grown up with north sider beliefs, she wasn’t one to judge people harshly, which is why she and Y/N were best friends in the first place. Sure, it had taken her a while to accept and warm up to the Greaser, especially because of the harsh reputation that followed him, but when she saw him with her best friend, Diana knew that there was more to Calum than she thought. So she kept the relationship a secret, even helped Y/N out when she wanted to spend the night with Calum and covered for her when it came to her parents. Who was she to stand in the way of her best friend’s happiness?

And in this moment, all Diana wanted to do was pull Y/N out of here so she didn’t have to witness the ugly sight in front of them.

“I’m not the one with the broken nose, Ken Doll,” Calum countered, a taunting edge in his voice as he wiped under his own nose with the back of his hand, indifferent to the blood that was smeared on his skin. But Y/N cringed at it; it hurt to see him bleed. Then there was a smirk—not the kind that flipped Y/N’s heart, but the kind that sent a chilling shiver down her spine as he sneered, “Let’s see ya crawl out of here when I’m done with you.”

When he lunged, the shouts from the crowd gathered intensified, and Y/N felt her stomach twist and heart hammer at the sight of Calum landing a ring clad punch to Joey’s jaw. A gasp choked in her throat, watching stunned on the spot, as Joey slammed back into a parked car. And suddenly it was like Joey didn’t have a chance because Calum was on him, left hand fisting the front of Joey’s bloody button down and right fist repeatedly slamming down on his face, the sound of skin harshly colliding with skin making Y/N watch along in horror, frozen in utter shock.

Across the crowd, Luke’s eyes somehow landed on Y/N when he happened to look away from his best friend teaching that Prep fucker a lesson, and Luke felt his heart stop. He saw the look on her face—saw the fright and surprise and numbness—and he cursed, “Oh, fuck.”

He grabbed Ashton’s arm, the older guy looking at his taller buddy before the blue eyed blonde nodded towards where Y/N stood. And when Ashton saw what Luke did, he too was cursing under his breath before the two broke out into a run towards the fight.

Y/N watched two figures break out of the crowd on the other side, instantly recognizing Luke and Ashton, watching in silent apprehension as the two of them reached Calum and Joey, effectively pulling his friend off of the beaten Prep. The raucatious crowd died down as Ashton pulled Calum off of Joey and Luke came to stand between them, and through her anxiety over everything Y/N wondered why the boys came to put a stop to everything.

And then, so subtly, she saw Ashton nod in her direction after animatedly talking to Calum, and to her—what? Apprehension? Anxiousness? Relief?—Calum looked over his shoulder, dark eyes searching everyone’s faces until they landed on her.

She saw the instant change of his expression; saw the dangerous, downright furious glare transform into one of surprise before changing into one of what seemed like regret. Y/N was no longer paying attention to the other people around her, her eyes focused on Calum, her eyebrows drawn together in distress and unease, deaf to everything except her heart pounding in her ears.

Breaking her gaze from Calum, she glanced at Joey who was now being helped up by some of his friends, unable to get up on his own feet, face bloodied. Y/N flinched at the sight of him, a grimace flashing across her face and lips pressing together in mild concern over her ex. Then her eyes landed on Calum’s hands, no longer curled in fists but knuckles and rings tainted with blood that wasn’t his own.

Y/N’s heart was in her throat, along with a tense feeling she couldn’t determine was fear or trepidation, as her gaze lifted to meet Calum. The crowd had began dispersing as her eyes met Calum’s and she recognizing the pleading look he wore, her own gaze softening at the sight of his cut lip and bruised cheek and slightly bloodied nose. But one image of Joey’s bloodied face flashing through her mind had her cringing once more.

She saw Calum take a step towards her, and Y/N took a breath as she subtly shook her head because there were too many Greasers and Preps around, and the two of them hadn’t told anyone. She saw the frown twitch on Calum’s face, and Y/N wanted to talk to him, to run up to him, but there were too many people around. They hadn’t talked about going public, figured that it wasn’t a good idea, and it was that very exhausting ideology that had Y/N preventing herself from hugging Calum. God knows if a Prep girl was gonna run up to hug a Greaser, all the other north side boys would wreak havoc, and that’s the last thing they needed right now. As much as it pained her, Y/N would have to talk to Calum some other time.

She broke her gaze from Calum’s worried, anxious ones, knowing painfully there wasn’t much she could do in this moment. Her eyes met Diana’s, who was also still reeling from what they had just witnessed. “Let’s go,” Y/N muttered, inhaling deeply once she uttered those words. Diana didn’t need to be told twice.

Y/N could feel Calum’s gaze burning a hole in her back as she walked away.

                                                         *****

I fucked up. I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up. Those three words were repeating in Calum’s head like a mantra, a chant to remind him of his mistake tonight. As if he could forget. As if he could ever erase the rattled look of astonishment, disbelief, and devastated unease on the face of the one girl he’s ever really cared about. And the way she looked at him after she truly witnessed what he was capable of—that hurt more than any injury he could get in a brawl.

Y/N wasn’t oblivious to Calum’s actions; she knew he fought—hell, she knew that about him long before she even met him. But once the two of them started hanging out, Calum made sure she was nowhere around if he ever got into it with some Preps. Not that she would be there in the first place, since the two of them never saw each other in public, but the last thing Calum wanted was for her to witness the scene that unfolds when it’s him and his buddies against a bunch of Preps.

But tonight she saw and bailed before Calum could even say anything. He couldn’t explain to her that he didn’t fight Joey for no reason—he lost his temper because he had heard Joey talking smack about Y/N and Calum couldn’t just sit idly by and let that dick talk about his girl like that, even though no one knew of their relationship. The first crude comment about her that escaped Joey’s lips had Calum launching at the fucker. He used his rivalry with Joey to his advantage, so no one thought anything of it when the fight ensued.

Still—Calum wanted to explain his side to Y/N, but she hadn’t wanted to listen. Whether it was because they were around people and couldn’t be seen together or because she couldn’t be around him in that moment, Calum didn’t know. But he couldn’t crash for the night until he talked to her.

The cold wind whipping  against his face was almost a relief as he rode his motorcycle down the emptying streets, everyone already home from their day at work or school, hair slicked back save for a single strand, nearly curled, fluttering against his forehead. The dull roar of his motorcycle was all he could hear as he pulled into Y/N’s neighborhood, dark save for one or two lights in a couple of houses flickered on along with the street lamps dropping pools of light every few feet.

Calum parked his bike in the usual spot under a tree around a few shrubs around the corner, before shoving his hands in the pocket of his jacket, not even flinching at the clench of his raw knuckles, and quickly making his way to Y/N’s house. Her parents were home, but probably asleep, so Calum made his way around to the back, eyes on the sturdy draining pipe that ran up the house right near Y/N’s window on the second floor. He let out a breath. He fucking hoped she left her window unlocked.

Inside the house, Y/N was downstairs in the kitchen, getting herself some water before going to bed. Her parents had long since gone to bed, always turning in early, so she silently made her way back up to her room, bare feet on the wood paneled floors sending shivers up her spine as she approached her bedroom door, on the other end of the hallway from her parents’ room.

She entered the room, shutting the door behind her and when she turned around to walk further in, Y/N froze at the sight of the figure sitting on her bed directly opposite of it her. Only her bedside lamp was on, practically glowing around Calum’s seated figure as she looked at him, the shadows by the lack of light hiding the injuries she knew to be on his face.

Seeing Calum in her room wasn’t a surprise; he often snuck in through her unlocked window, using the draining pipe to climb up. Honestly, Y/N had expected him to show up after what happened tonight, and she was glad he was here, especially with how she had just left after everything went down. She hoped Calum get the wrong message, though she wouldn’t be surprised if he had.

“How’re you feeling?” she asked, hoping to keep her tone neutral although the concern slipping in couldn’t be helped.

Calum watched her as she took a few steps further into the room, though small and almost hesitant. Was she afraid of him? The harsh twisting in his chest was unexpected yet robbed him of his breath; Calum didn’t want Y/N to be afraid of him. Not ever. The mere idea of her fearing him had bile burning the back of his throat. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he rasped, sitting up and squaring his shoulders. “What about you?”

Y/N raised her eyebrows, walking over to her vanity to set down her glass before facing Calum. He had an unreadable expression on his face, eyes blank and lips pursed, making Y/N wonder what he could possibly be thinking. “Me?” she frowned with a light shake of her head. “I’m alright?” It came out as a question, only because she wasn’t sure why Calum was asking her. It’s not like she’s the one that had blood on her face earlier.

“You looked pretty tee’d off. Rattled,” Calum supplied, lifting his chin slightly, almost in defiance. As if he was trying to appear indifferent to her reaction of seeing Calum like that, when in reality he was anything but. When Y/N parted her lips but didn’t say anything, Calum stood up, easily towering over her, though she didn’t shrink back. That was a good sign, maybe. “You know what I get into, Y/N. You know I don’t care about wailing on some asswipe—especially when it comes to my girl.”

Y/N blinked at his words, giving a startled shake of her head as she asked, “I’m sorry, what? What do I have to do with this?”

Calum scoffed, a dry smile on his face as her rubbing his hand down his face, not even flinching as he rubbed against his bruised cheek and cut lip. Y/N stared at him expectantly, wondering what the hell Calum was talking about as he walked towards the window he had climbed in from, now shut as he stared out into the dark of the night.

“Your ex-Ken Doll was talking about you,” Calum finally spoke up, his back to Y/N, but she heard the edge in his voice, which was wavering as he tried to keep it steady through the anger that was creeping in. Y/N’s frown deepened, lips tugging downwards as she noticed the tension in his shoulders. “’M not even gonna repeat what he said but it didn’t sit well with me. Had to teach him some manners, even if he didn’t know what lesson he was learnin’.” His jaw ached from how hard he was clenching it, thinking of that damned Prep’s derogatory words about his girl being the easiest bitch he’s ever laid. Just thinking about it got Calum’s blood boiling.

Y/N stared at Calum’s back, eyes wide and jaw slightly hung as his words sank in. She knew getting into brawls was in Calum’s nature, knew that the animosity between Greasers and Preps hadn’t eased up just because she was secretly friendly with them. She also was aware of how things weren’t good between her and Joey since they had broken up, her ex always sneering at her in the hallway at school and making comments left and right—though, she never told Calum because she didn’t care. Joey could say whatever he wanted, it was only fueling her dislike for him. And why should she care, anyways? She had Calum, and he’s all she needed.

She may have flinched at the sight of Joey’s beat up face, but she could give a damn about him anymore.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” Y/N spoke up, a gentleness in her voice that matched the soft smile on her face. The thought of Calum defending her like that, although violent, had her heart racing. They’ve been together for six months, yet he still managed to keep her on her toes.

Calum turned to look at her, a disbelieving frown on his face. “I wasn’t gonna let some piece of shit Prep get away with talking about you like that,” he said, nothing but solid determination in his slightly accented voice. Y/N didn’t say anything, feeling a rush of warmth at his words at the knowledge of Calum being so fiercely protective of her even if she wasn’t there to hear Joey’s unkind words. Calum scoffed with a shake of his head, looking back out the window as he continued with a mutter, “Even if it means havin’ you bein’ afraid of me.”

That had Y/N blinking in disbelief, staring at his broad shoulders since Calum was still showing his back, not looking back at her, as if he was expecting a look on her face that would just prove his point. But all Y/N could do was look incredulous, taken aback at his words. Afraid of him?

“Cal. . .” she began, her hand reaching out to grab his arm, the leather jacket cool under her touch as she tugged him. “Look at me.” When Calum reluctantly turned, expression steeled as if he was bracing himself for Y/N’s confirmation, she felt her heart sink. His jaw was clenched, muscle jumping that gave away the tension he felt that was hidden in his blank expression. “Calum, I’m not—I’m not afraid of you.”

He let out a disbelieving huff with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t bullshit me, Y/N. Saw the look on your face—you couldn’t’ve booked out of there faster if you tried.”

Through the hard mask he wore, Y/N saw the hurt crack through it and she swallowed inaudibly, her shoulders sinking at the thought of being the reason for it. Calum had the reputation for being the toughest, baddest Greaser out there—it was the side of him that he made sure everyone saw. It was the only side of him everyone else saw.

But Y/N was lucky. She got to see past the tough exterior; she saw how big his heart was, how caring and loving and gentle he was. The side of him that was reserved just for her, and while that side of him was one she adored, Y/N’s feelings for Calum wouldn’t be as strong as they were if she didn’t accept him for who he was all over. He was a Greaser—he was her Greaser.

“I was surprised, Calum, not afraid,” she told him, her other hand coming to grab his, her touch gentle as she glanced down at his hand, her fingers ghosting over his bruised knuckles. Calum turned his hand then, carefully grabbing hers and Y/N smiled smally, looking up at him. He had been looking at their joined hands before his gaze met hers, the tension leaving his features somewhat yet still cautioned. She should’ve known her fleeing actions could’ve been misconstrued, could’ve caused Calum to think that she was running away from him when in reality she wanted whatever conversation they needed to have to be done in private. They couldn’t do that in front of everyone.

“I saw you,” Calum argued, eyebrows drawing together slightly. “You were scared, Y/N. I know fear when I see it.”

“Maybe so, but I wasn’t scared of you,” Y/N easily countered, watching as Calum pressed his lips together, his lower one a bit red due to the diagonal cut in the middle. “I just—I was scared of the whole thing. No girl wants to see her boyfriend in a fight, no matter how well he can hold his own. It was. . . A lot, and I was also worried about you, but I wasn’t afraid of you, Calum. I could never be scared of you. Scared for you, yeah, but never of you. I need you to believe that.”

She kept her gaze on him, watched as he dropped his own down to their joined hands, a furrow in his brows as he considered her words, unable to stop herself from holding her breath as she waited. After their first night together at the creek, when they decided that they wanted to see more of each other, be together, it had surprised Y/N how easily Calum opened up to her. There had definitely been times when his tough, not-to-be-messed with exterior shined through when they were together, but more often than not, when he was with Y/N, Calum melted. She had an effect on him he hadn’t seen coming.

“I do.” Calum’s voice was gruff as he let go of Y/N’s hand before his finger looped into the ring that she wore around her neck, dangling from the chain. No one ever really questioned Y/N on it, assuming it was a new piece of jewelry, and every time Calum saw it around her neck he felt a swell of pride in his chest, adoration for the girl in front of him. He kept his finger looped in, bent at the middle joint, as he met her eyes. Then, hesitantly, looking afraid for the first time Y/N’s met him, Calum asked quietly, “You know I’d never hurt you, right, sweetheart?”

Y/N’s eyebrows smoothed out from their frown, staring at him almost incredulously, taking in the expression he wore. Genuine worry was swimming in brown eyes she adored, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat nervously as Y/N’s lips parted, letting out a breath. The fact that he felt the need to ask her that broke Y/N’s heart, making her want to do nothing more than erase any and every doubt that may be clouding Calum’s mind.

“Of course I do,” she answered with every bit of conviction she had, her hand that had been resting on his arm sliding up to cup his jaw, brushing her thumb along his unbruised cheek as she added with a reassuring smile, “You don’t ever have to worry about me thinking otherwise.”

One look at her—at the breathtaking smile and glimmering eyes and unadulterated acceptance—and Calum didn’t need to press on the matter anymore. He felt the weight of the night lifting off his shoulders, easing his chest, and finally being able to breathe. He used his finger in the ring to pull Y/N closer, slanting his lips over hers in a kiss that he hoped translated his gratitude, his feelings.  

How lucky was he to be in love with the most beautiful person, inside and out?

Now it was only a matter of telling her.

tags: @gotta-try-something-new @crownedbyluke @lipstickstainfading @angelbbycal @cals-babylons @irwinkitten @spookyashton @luke-0-lantern @vaporlewk @perfectlycake @tothemoonmikey @kaloncal @calumh-excess @bitchinbabylon @calistajs @grreatgooglymoogly @calumthoodsyonce @biggestslutforcalum @cosmixcalum @babygirlcashton @thebodaciouscth @irrevocablylukes @calistheloml @ghostofhood @gigglyirwin @checkeredcalum @wrappedaroundcal @complete-trash-101 @thesamebutwonderfullydifferent @booklove-2 @calumfornicationx @sensationalmikey

[rogue-c]

House Sitting, Pt. I

“So I gave you the spare keys already?”

“Yes…”

“And what about money for uhhh… ummm…-“

“The lawn care guys honey.”

“Yeah! Do you have the envelope with the money for them in it? I gave that to you earlier right?”

I let out an exasperated sigh.

“Yes. I have the money,” I responded dryly. “And the spare keys to the house, and the emergency numbers, and the numbers to all the resorts you’re staying in AND your flight information, and even the alarm codes for the house. I am fine. Go catch your flight… please…”

I loved her dearly, but I was more than a bit frustrated with my best friend Vanessa at the moment. Thankfully her husband was here to stem the tide of her tidal wave of worried questioning. It was understood to some degree though. She and her husband, Andre, were headed on a whirlwind tour of various European countries for the next month or so. Naturally, Vanessa asked her best friend to house sit for the 6 weeks that they’d be gone.

But Jesus! Did she trust me or not? This obnoxious questioning routine was getting way out of hand. I’ve known her since college – maybe 12 years or so – and she’d always been a bit neurotic, but this is overkill even for her. As she continued nervously muttering to herself, I took the opportunity to help her husband take the bags out to the car. Of course, they had packed everything they needed and then some – resulting in a host of extra suitcases and bags to lug around. We had been talking in the kitchen and no sooner had I made up my mind to help Andre did Vanessa disappear into a nearby door and down into the basement, perhaps to look for something she may have forgotten. Curiously, I had never been down there in all the times I’d come over. I peered into the nearby opening, hoping to glean what might be below, only to realize I couldn’t see anything.

The lighting was too dim to see around the corner at the bottom of the staircase, and I turned my attention to Andre, who was already robotically moving the suitcases to the car outside. I grabbed as many bags I could and followed the man’s tall, lanky frame out of the kitchen and through the living room, out of the front door and down the narrow walkway towards the mini-van that was waiting. The van was all black, with tinted windows. The midday sun glinted off of the windshield to the point that it was nearly blinding as I approached. Squinting to ignore it, I pulled the luggage up to the trunk of the van and began tossing it into the back of the vehicle.

“Hey…” Andre began speaking to me. “I know ‘Nessa is being a little much today-“

“It’s fine.” I interrupted. “She was like this when we graduated and when you two got married, so this isn’t really a surprise. She’s always uptight when she’s nervous.”

“Yeah, but we owe you. You’ve been a big help over and over and we probably couldn’t live a lot of our dreams without you, ya know?”

I lowered my head to hide the blushing from that comment. As I felt my cheeks redden, I thought back to how Andre used to be when he and Vanessa first met. He was far bulkier and much harsher – a bit of a stereotypical jock. But over the years his attitude mellowed and he physically changed to match – becoming the physical embodiment of his caring, gentle demeanor. It was odd at first, but I could tell Vanessa enjoyed this version far more than its predecessor.

“Umm, yeah. It’s no big deal. Thanks” I responded, flustered from the unexpected compliment.

Andre started to smile, but before he could verbally respond, the driver honked – rather frantic in his insistence on leaving on time as he emphatically tapped on his wrist. Instinctively, I moved towards the house again to go get Vanessa. Before I could even get halfway back, she was rushing out of the house, tripping down the porch stairs as she pulled her last two suitcases behind her. She stopped for a brief second to give me one final hug – and a rundown of everything I may need – before the driver honked again, indicating his anxious desire to leave.

Vanessa took the signal as an opportunity to brush past me as she hurriedly threw her suitcases into the trunk with the others and step into the van. As she did, she motioned her husband to do the same – a direction that resulted in the harshest of eye rolls from Andre as he waved goodbye. I began to head back inside when a call startled me.

“HEY… LESLIE!” I turned around to see what another annoying tidbit of information my friend had for me.

“I know I said to clean the entire house each week, but don’t worry about tackling the basement. There’s some stuff down there that I need to move first, so just let it go.”

Perplexed, I gave a thumbs-up as I watched the van speed away from the curb and down the street, only to disappear around a nearby corner in route to the airport. I continued my lonely trek back into the massive house I was to watch for the next six weeks. It was an enormous white house, with brown and grey stone facing. The cement walkway bridged the porch to the sidewalk, crossing through neatly trimmed and manicured grass. The porch itself wrapped around one side of the house, barricaded by a white railing on its edge. As I walked up to the stairs back to the large reddish-brown wooden door, a tinge of jealousy swept over me. I’d been in apartments all my life – this kind of luxury was still hard to fathom even though I’d been here dozens of times.

The living room was immediately beyond the door, and once inside the climate-controlled lush confines of the house, I casually flopped down onto the nearby sofa to relax. The white furniture sat atop black marble flooring and was situated in a square, with an ornate glass coffee table at its center. The walls were maroon colored, giving off a bit of a sensual vibe, to be honest. Despite its size, the room felt cozy, especially with the fireplace on the far right wall. On the left were the stairs to the bedrooms. In front of me, there was a hallway they led back to the kitchen. It was a surprisingly simple layout for such a grandiose house. As I lounged on the sofa though, a thought kept crossing my mind: Why hadn’t I seen the basement? I mean, I’ve known Vanessa for at least 12 or 13 years. We’re best friends. Did she not trust me? Was I not close enough with her to go down there? And why tell me not to worry about cleaning it all of a sudden? Was there something down there I wasn’t supposed to see?

The thought of it frustrated me to no end and as I stomped into the kitchen to grab something stiff to dull the frustration, I felt something was off. The room was square shaped, with the refrigerator on the far right side of the room. Earlier Vanessa went down into the basement by opening a door that was next to it in the corner, but now, the refrigerator was curiously blocking the door, squarely in front of it. As odd as it was, I didn’t think much of it as I reached into the refrigerator to pull some strawberry jam out. But as I reached above the appliance to grab some bread and peanut butter, I began hearing what sounded like moaning coming from just behind the refrigerator itself. I couldn’t quite make out the words, but they sounded strained and guttural. As I leaned further into the fridge to try and understand what was going on, I heard something different. A loud thumping on the door it seemed. It was slow and loud, and it scared me half to death as I tumbled backward, staggering away to get back to my feet. The thumping continued as I sprinted out of the room and up the nearby stairs to the bedroom.

I sprinted into the master bedroom and shut the doors behind me, unsure of what was going on, and much less what I should even do. I reached for my pocket to try and call Vanessa, but there was nothing there – my phone was still downstairs in the kitchen. Angry at myself, I began pacing the room, thinking of what exactly could’ve made that sound. It couldn’t have been a pet, Vanessa hated cats, and Andre was allergic to most dogs and their fur. Maybe it was a stray animal that got down there? But then how’d anyone have time to push the refrigerator in front of the door before it got out? And wouldn’t someone have called animal control for that? What was down there?

I had to get my phone first. Anxiously, I tiptoed back down the stairs, through the living room and back into the kitchen. Sure enough, my phone was resting on the black granite countertop, right next to the jam I had pulled out. I crouched down and moved as silently as I could, hoping whatever was behind the blocked off basement door wouldn’t notice me. As I got close I reached up for my phone and grabbed it, sliding it off the counter and over the edge. As soon as I had it, I bolted for the stairs again. No sooner, did I stand to run did the banging start again, this time louder and more frantic. I ignored it and ran back up the stairs.

I was safe and back into the master bedroom. Immediately, I dialed Vanessa. The phone rang and rang, rang for what felt like an eternity until finally, it picked up. It was Vanessa’s voice.

“Hey, thanks for calling. If you’re getting this message then I’m probably busy – most likely with a client. If this call is for professional or medical advice, then please call the corresponding number listed for ____ hospital. If it’s an emergency, hang up and dial 911. If you needed to reach me for a personal matter, a text would be more effective. Thanks.”

Of course, it was her damn voicemail. She was probably on the plane and halfway to London by now. I might as well try texting though. Maybe she’ll get that sooner than the missed call. As I sent it, I knew, deep in my heart, that I’d have to figure it out on my own. The sun was sinking outside and there’s no way I’d be able to sleep without finding out what was down there. I sat up from my seat on the bed and hopped onto my feet. If I was going to be comfortable, I had to go check it out.

As I marched back down the stairs, I tried to mentally prepare myself for whatever weird little animal could be down there. I could take it. Once I got to the kitchen, I looked around for a bit, searching for a makeshift weapon. In the corner near a table, I saw a broom. I grabbed hold of it and stepped towards the refrigerator. In order to get to the basement, I’d have to move it first. I stood on the side of it and began pushing. Slowly it began to budge, inching away from its post in front of the door. I couldn’t push it all the way off the spot, but I managed to move it just enough that I could squeeze into the basement entrance. I turned my phone’s flashlight on and peered into the stairwell before me. It was dark and dim. The stairs looked decrepit – like they would break if you jumped on them. But I had to go down there and check….

[kenzieam]

Druid - Chapter Ten

Rating: M (smut, language, violence, mature themes, potential major character death)

Genre: Drama/Angst

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JAMES

I can’t wait to get the fuck out of here.

It’s been a shit show around here this last week, and all I fuckin’ want is to take my girl on a long ride on my bike and then a longer ride on my cock.  

Levi’s been working hard, cleaning up and organizing her new shop. Tully was a hell of an artist, and kept his immediate work area clean, but the rest of the shop was seriously doubtful and my girl’s had her hands full. She’s near militant with her cleanliness, and the place reeks of bleach and disinfectant.  

I roll to a stop in front of the corner store, my bike idling smoothly beneath me.  

One minute rolls into two, and I start to get antsy.

I turn off my bike and lean it on its stand, then walk slowly inside. I’m in full leathers and colors, and even though I’ve lived in this town my whole goddamn life, the sight of me still makes some people cross the street (or aisle) to avoid me. I hardly notice anymore, and definitely not when my only thought is to find the one person who means everything to me.  

A quick scan tells me Levi’s not in here and I step back outside, frowning. This is the closest corner store to her shop, the most logical place to go.  

Something’s not right. The same instinct that’s saved my life more than once is starting to hum again.    

I climb back on my bike and start it, begin idling slowly along the street, scanning faces for Levi’s, but nothing, she’s not out here. My chest is beginning to tighten as I reach her shop. It’s closed tight, the lights off.  

To be sure, I dismount and stalk to the door, but it’s locked; no shadows move within.  

I turn, and my eyes happen to drop to the ground. My heart goes with them.

Three drops on the sidewalk, nothing more.  

I crouch, touch one with a shaking finger. The blood is tacky, a deep red.  

I know deep in my heart that this is Levi’s blood, that something fucking terrible has just gone down.

Levi’s gone.

For a half-second, I let myself panic, for a heartbeat I let my mind run wild with the possibilities of what happened; for the space of one breath I let the darkness in.

And I never ever want to feel this depth of anguish again, I would die to keep from experiencing this raw terror a second time.

I force it all away, force myself to focus; to draw on that part of me that takes over when I’m Cannon, the part of me that leads with confidence, able to make snap decisions, that knows what to do.  

My phone is in my hand, the number dialed before I even realize I’ve done it.

“Hammer.” I bark, not letting him even answer. “Someone’s got Levi.”

“Explain.” He’s instantly alert, instantly serious, instantly Hammer, and that’s my he’s my Sergeant-At-Arms; no one can throw down faster when it really matters.

I outline what’s happened, realizing as I do that it’s fairly weak evidence... but I just know, and Hammer doesn’t argue.  

“I’m on my way, give me fifteen.” He hangs up. I dial Steve, leave the terse details when he answers. He too senses the utter seriousness immediately and all trace of levity are gone from his normally friendly voice.  

A thought occurs to me, like a goddamn lightning bolt and I scramble at my phone, clawing at the screen. A while ago I asked Levi to install a tracker app on her phone; she’d eyed me for a bit but complied and I am so fucking grateful she did. I swipe the app and tap the LOCATE icon. I’m fucking sweating bullets as the screen blurs, three blinking dots waiting to deliver my fate.  

Finally, fucking finally, the screen clears, a red dot blinking steadily in the center of the screen. My heart hammers in my chest, a breath-stealing mix of relief and fresh anxiety. What will I find? I activate the app’s direction option and a path forms on the screen for me to follow. The dot shows Levi’s just a mile or so outside of town, and the dot isn’t moving.

Or her phone isn’t, and Levi’s long gone.

I force that shit down because I cannot allow my mind to consider that, not right now... not ever. I cannot lose Levi; not after everything, not after all the years and shit we’ve gone through to be with each other.  

It’s not a fucking option.  

My bike roars as I fly away, hardly even cognizant of my surroundings, all I see is the dot on the screen, all I can think of is Levi; the way she looked this morning as I watched her sleep, the fluttering of her delicate eyelashes, the faint smiles; her pleasured moans as I pushed slowly inside her, buried my face in the crook of her neck, basking in her warmth and love, felt her arms wrap around my neck and hold me close as we whispered eternal love to each other-

I’m close and screech to a stop, panting for breath as I rip my helmet off and scan the area. The app shows I’m within ten yards of Levi, of her phone, but all I see is the blacktop, the grassy shoulders, empty fields. I scramble off my bike, barely remembering to lean it on its stand and start frantically casting about, eyes darting between the screen and indifferent surroundings. My eyes drop to the ground, nearly on top of the dot and I beg, scream inside to anything or anybody willing to listen to not let this be it, because she’s not here, there’s nothing-

A glint catches my eye and I dive at it, ignoring the gravel that bites my palms.  

Her phone, shattered and dying; now that I can see it, I notice more chunks of it, slivers of glass, plastic bits. It doesn’t take much imagination. It was thrown from a moving vehicle, bouncing and splintering into garbage, into a mocking sign that my girl is gone.

The scream that tears from my throat is more beast than man, more tortured and anguished than fury and for the space of a few seconds, I can’t breathe, I can’t focus, black dots swim in my vision. I’m either about to pass out or transform into the Hulk.  

The remnant of her phone crushes in my fist.

A strange numbness takes over my limbs. I will hold it together as long as I need to, to find Levi; and then my monster will be set free.

I don’t look back as I mount my bike and race back into town to meet Hammer.

It seems like eternity, but within a half hour the bulk of my club’s muscle is here. The darkness, the what-ifs are threatening to consume me again when a hand slams on my shoulder. I whirl, ready to smash in someone’s face, or maybe collapse into hysterics when I see Hammer staring at me, eyes blazing.  

“We need to get back to the clubhouse.”

“But we have to look-”

“Trust me.”  

And I do, despite, or maybe because of, everything that’s happened between us, I do.

“You okay to ride?”

I nod sharply, not looking back to see if anyone follows me as I roar away.  

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

“Thor, fuckin’ spill, man.” I growl, pacing the war room. It’s been less than an hour since Levi disappeared, and it’s been too fucking long already. My nerves are razor edged and raw.  

Steve has coordinated the entire club and their families traveling here for a lock-down, and he walks into the room just as I snarl this at Thor.  

“Lock-down initiated.” He reports and I nod at him, thanking him silently. I ordered the lock-down but am way too wound up to have followed through with anything.

Thor shifts his weight, scrubbing roughly at his crew cut before smacking his fist on the table. “I think I know who’s got Levi.”

I glare at him, my lip curling, a microsecond away from snarling at him to spit it the fuck out.

He opens him mouth to answer, then grabs his chirping phone, swiping it and glowering at the screen. Whatever it says confirms his suspicions and he drops it again with a rough nod, looking more confident but also a million times angrier.

“Fuckin’ Lurch.”

I consider slapping the stupid out of him, but hold back. “The fucker’s dead... you helped bury him!”

“No... Shit, Cannon. His brother. His fuckin’ twin brother.”

“What?!” I hiss, shock threatening to overtake my rage. “A fucking twin? Jesus Fucking Christ!”

That’s all I get out, then I’m literally apoplectic with rage, I can feel the veins pulsing in my neck, feel my face go purple but I can’t draw a breath, can’t-

Steve slaps my back hard enough to make me stagger, but it forces me to breathe again and I wheeze, bent double.

“Explain.” Steve demands, his voice clipped. He’s almost as affected as me, but he hides it way better; I’ve always been the emotional one of our brotherhood.  

Thor growls, rubbing a hand roughly over his face, his stubble rasping. “I got Bane and Tucker to ask some questions, check out any security footage along the path Levi would have taken. Didn’t get much but that florist across the street said she saw a big guy in a grey van parked in front of Levi’s shop. Guy inside looked shifty, her description matched Lurch, big and ugly. She didn’t see him take her but it’s too fucking convenient. I called Tracer and asked what the fuck? did that asshole have a twin or something? and yeah, he fuckin’ does, but Trace never mentioned it because they ain’t close. That last text was Bane, the florist didn’t remember much about the van except it had out of state plates, and Trace confirmed the rest.”

Rage and fury like I’ve never felt rip through me. That fucker sold us out, ran off and told Lurch’s brother! My fists clench tight enough I feel warmth drip between my fingers.  

Thor reads my expression, tensed to stop me if I take off running. “Trace says he didn’t tell him. Lurch hadn’t talked to the guy in years, so he just told the mother. She musta’ called him.”

“Who is this guy? Tell me everything.” I ground out. Dimly, I feel an ache in my palms and hold them up, staring semidetached as I uncurl my fists and see bloody crescents in my skin.  

“He runs with the White Knights out in Idaho. Trace says they’re half MC, half white supremist militants; you know, those crazy bastards that think the government’s trying to take their guns and there’s going to be a civil war. Tracer didn’t know the whole story, but it sounds like their dad was killed in a drug deal gone south when they were just kids and their ma married the VP of the Knights. Lurch never really agreed with the militia shit and got out, but the brother stayed. Name’s Joseph Henday, road name Deimos. Lurch was his twin.”

“Deimos?” I snarl, because what the fuck?

“You know, Greek god of dread and terror.”

“So, what? He’s a fuckin’ scholar?!”  I rage. Fuckin’ Henday’s got some god complex, thinking he’s-

“Cannon.” Steve barks and it’s enough to snap me out of my spiral.  

Shit, I cannot let the darkness take me, I need to stay sharp; I need to find Levi, then I can let the beast free, and plant this fuck Deimos right next to his fucking brother.

“Where is he?”

“Working on it.” Thor replies. “His most likely travel back to Idaho takes him through Hedge’s turf, so I got them keeping eyes out for grey vans and ugly motherfuckers. Nothing yet.”

“And Tracer? What’s he doing to make this right?” I’m so fucking outraged at my charter brother I can taste blood.

Thor and Steve trade a glance. “He’s sending up some brothers, checking out all Henday’s old haunts, but it’s a long shot, they never ran together down state.”

A bitter retort stings my tongue but I bite it back. Tracer’s day of judgement will come, but not now.

My brothers are eyeing me like a rabid animal, but they don’t need to worry; I’m in control. I will keep it together, until this is over and Levi is back safe with me, then all Hell will be unleashed and I will bathe in the blood of everyone who was part of hurting my woman.

LEVI

Where the fuck am I? Christ, my head hurts.

Flashes of what happened hit me. Lurch, fucking Lurch! standing in front of me, back from the fucking dead; and then the fucker hits me again, again!  

What is it with this man and backhanding me?

My cheek throbs, and I’d bet my best tattoo gun that my eye socket is cracked again, if not outright broken. My pulse pounds through my cheek, which feels hot and tight, and my bottom lips throbs. I test it tentatively and taste blood, feel a rough wound. I must have put my teeth through it, or maybe broke my fall with my face.  

I lay quiet for a moment, gathering my bearings. I’m in a vehicle, I can hear the road noise. A radio plays quietly, but I can’t hear it over the rush of blood in my ears.  

“I know you’re awake.” I hear a rough voice growl nearby. “Stop playing the fool.”

Fuck you coils on my tongue, itching to escape but I hold it back. Instead, I open my eyes and lift my head. I try to sit up but am hampered both by stiff soreness and resistance at my limbs. I manage a clumsy shuffling and squirming into a seated position, glancing down. Plastic zip-ties secure my wrists and ankles, cutting deeply, threatening to break the skin and bleed.  

I focus on the speaker, the man back from the grave currently driving the van I’m being held prisoner in.  

“You’re supposed to be dead.” I don’t think this guy responds to small talk, so I cut right to the chase.

He sneers, flashing me a glare in the rearview mirror before turning his entire head. “You stupid bitch. You killed my twin brother, not me. But I’m the one calling due.” He turns back forward, shaking his head like I’m too stupid to live.  

“Brother?” I choke.  

“Yeah, split-tail. We didn’t talk much, but that don’t mean I ain’t gonna make the fuckers who killed him pay.”

Well... shit.

I’m dizzy, and disoriented; and I don’t usually get car-sick but I’m definitely nauseous right now too. The road is bumpy, or maybe the shocks in this van are shot, and I’m getting jostled quite a bit, the zip-ties digging painfully into my skin. I look around when I can, and am not encouraged by what I see.  

The van is dented and dirty, obviously only a means of transportation. A military rucksack lays nearby, and a sweatshirt sleeve pokes out, and two duffels lie closer to the back doors. They’re all hard angles and clink with each bump and I realize they’re full of weapons. A large crate holds camping supplies and a rolled up sleeping bag sprawls beside it.  

Where the fuck is he taking me?

There’s a definite dangerous vibe to this guy, and I mean beyond the fact that he’s hit me and abducted me to god knows where. Something about him is high-strung, edgy; the permanent kind, like he was born with a faster metronome than the average person and it makes him instinctively more reactive.  

I have no idea how long I’ve been out, and honestly no idea of what direction this bastard is taking us and I can’t see much from my perch on the floor either.  

I try to sit up slightly, just enough to catch a hint of where we’re going, but I’m not a ninja at the best of times, and this guy seems to have the senses of a hawk.  

His fist appears from nowhere, pain exploding in my cheek and I fly backwards, hitting the floor painfully. It takes me long moments to get my bearings again and I glare up at him through bleary, pain-hazed eyes. I’m going for pissed-off, but I don’t think I’m quite there, I’m too disoriented.

His cold eyes mock me, his thin lips twist in a sneer. He’d be handsome if he wasn’t so goddamn flat and hard.  

“You’ll see where we’re going soon enough, then we’re going to have fun.” The way he says ‘fun’ sends instant shivers of fear through me and he smiles knowingly, tipping me a wink before turning back to the road.  

JAMES

I am losing my fucking mind.

It has been over a day since Levi was taken. Thirty-one hours, sixteen minutes and forty-nine seconds to be exact; and each fucking tick of the clock is a fresh stab in my heart.

I’m going crazy, legitimately losing my mind as I can’t stop obsessing over what that bastard might be doing to her right now, to my girl, my woman, my fucking life.

My guys have been machines, tirelessly working, calling up favors and trying everything in their power and beyond to find them. Trace has been fucking useless, and that fucker’s days are numbered. I will bring down his entire chapter if anything’s happened to Levi.  

Fuck.

FUCK.

I haven’t slept a wink, I’m running on nothing but desperate adrenaline and burning rage right now. The families are all sleeping, it’s near midnight, but the majority of my brothers are still awake, still working, still looking.  

I can’t take this, the unknowns, the what-ifs, the maybes and possibilities. I’m going to break soon, I won’t survive this if Levi’s been taken from me forever. I’ll shatter and disappear, my soul leaving to try and find hers, to be with her forever.  

My cell starts ringing and I scramble to answer it. The brothers fall silent, raising their heads to listen. I don’t recognize the number, but I’m so desperate for news I hardly even pause to consider this.

“Barnes.” I bark.

“Cannon.” A low growl.

“Yeah? Who’s this?” A hard knot starts to form in my belly. I have a damn good idea who it is.

“I’m sure you’ve figured out by now who took your bitch.”

“Deimos.” The knot twists. “Give her back, you fuck.”

He only laughs.  

“What do you want?” There is precious little I wouldn’t give up right now.

“Like money?” There’s a new edge to his voice. “We’re loooong past monetary compensation, my friend.”

Cold dread threatens to close off my throat. Dimly, I note Thor and Steve moving closer to stand on either side of me, listening intently. “Then what do you want?”

A low chuckle. “My brother back. But since that ain’t gonna happen; I’ll settle for your woman.”

“What do you want?!” I roar, my tenuous hold on my temper fraying and snapping.

“I want you to know that you can’t do a fucking thing to save her. I want you to know I’m going to take everything she has to give. I WANT you to know I’m going to strangle her while I split her in half. AND I WANT YOU TO KNOW I’m going to keep fucking her corpse ‘till it’s cold. AND I WANT YOU TO KNOW I’M GOING TO SEND HER BACK TO YOU A LITTLE PIECE AT A TIME!!” He roars back, voice rising with each word until his voice can be heard throughout the room.

I scream wordless rage, terror and helplessness giving my voice a broken edge. Steve snatches the phone from my hand.

“Deimos!” He barks, then shakes his head, pulling the phone away.  

Deimos hung up, I heard the click even as Steve took the phone.  

A sharp pain in my throat breaks off my scream, but my panic and fury are still crushing me, and mangled animal whines spill from my lips. Finally, my rage surges anew, giving me something to focus on and I clench my fists, my broken noises morphing into a low snarl.  

I am going to tear this fucker apart with my bare hands.

LEVI

I'm tired, hungry and cold. It’s pitch black out, must be near midnight. The campfire nearby does little to dispel my chill. My wrists and ankles throb, the zip-ties biting tightly into my swollen flesh. I’ve been working on sawing through my wrist-tie for hours now, using only the edge of a pebble I managed to hide in my fist. The brother’s sharp, and he watches me often, so I can’t work at the tie as much as I need to in order to break it.  

He's been drinking, not a lot, but enough to loosen his limbs and lower his restraint. The hatred in his eyes is eclipsed only by growing lust and stark fear coils in my belly.  

The surest way to punish me, to break me and James, the two people responsible for killing his brother, is to take my body before my life and his next actions confirm this. Dread prickles my skin as I watch him dial a number, growing stronger each second as I listen to him toy with James.

Then I hear James yell ‘what do you want?!’ and my blood runs cold as I watch this dangerous man seemingly morph right before my eyes, maniacal rage growing in his eyes as he answers, as his voice rising to an unholy scream as he describes just what he has planned for me, or rather, for my cooling corpse. With the firelight glinting in his eyes he looks like some sort of mad creature, an insane beast.

I shake with terror, unable to hide my fear as he violently ends the connection, stabbing the phone screen almost hard enough to break it. He’s breathing hard, growling on each exhale and my heart literally stops when he turns his glowing eyes to me.

Instead of attacking me however, he smiles and I’ve never seen something so demonic and soul-chilling.  

“Sweet dreams.” He rasps before standing and stalking away, leaving me to stew and speculate, wait in terror for his return.

JAMES

Thor and Steve have been checking up on me periodically, making sure I’m not doing something retarded like slitting my wrists, or swallowing a bullet. I hear one of them now, judging by the tread, it’s Thor.

“James.” He says, voice low. In the shadow of Levi’s abduction, we’ve moved beyond road names.  

I sigh, dropping my head. I can’t speak right now or I’ll fall apart.  

His hand rests on my shoulder and it’s all I can do to keep from collapsing. It’s been forty-six hours since Levi was taken, fifteen hours since Henday’s phone call and my soul is raw, shredded and bleeding; I’m weak from the loss and blackness threatens at the corners of my vision. Standing here helpless while my mind runs wild imagining Henday carrying out his threats, laying hands on my woman, making her suffer, torturing her as he violates her, then taking her life is doing a serious number on my sanity and I’ve chewed my lip bloody, pounded at the walls until my knuckles tore and bled.  

I feel so helpless, I’ve never felt so fucking helpless, so goddamn weak. I will raze the earth, burn the world to the ground in retaliation, then I’m going to curl up and die so Levi and I can be together again.  

Thor seems reluctant but then Steve rushes into the room, looking around quickly before spotting us and reaching us in two powerful strides. He nods to Thor who relaxes only slightly.

“We might have a lead,” Thor begins and I whirl to him, aware the gleam in my eye isn’t entirely sane.

He glances again at Steve before continuing. “They grew up outside some shit town on the Nevada border. One of Tracer’s guys that was tight with Lurch says the two of them used to talk about taking their childhood home back from the bank, fixing it up again.”

I stare at him, not understanding. Precious little is able to break through my haze of devastation right now. If I wasn’t so shit scared about what could be happening to Levi at this moment, I’d be shocked at my extreme reaction; but at the same time, I can’t find a fuck to give. This is Levi, this is my goddamn life; I’ve waited for her for too fucking long to lose her now, she’s too bright a star to be taken from this world. It doesn’t matter that we’ve been together for short weeks, she’s my heart and soul, she always has been.

“It’s got meaning to him, it’s a potential hideout-” Steve begins.

That’s all I need to hear. It cuts through my haze. “Move!!”

LEVI

He’s back, but he still hasn’t made a move towards me. In a way, this is worse; psychological torture, leaving me on pins and needles to wait.  

I’m not sure if the blood trickling from my abused wrists is helping lubricate my attempts to saw through my ties, or hindering it, but I can’t stop. It been hours since he phoned James, its midday based on the sun and I’m getting seriously weak from dehydration.  

I’m also fucking starving, but the prick hasn’t offered me anything to eat or drink. He’s brought plenty, and never fails to slake his own thirst and stuff his own fucking face right in front of me, but he’s trying to wear me down; either wait until I’m desperate and will agree to anything or am just too damn weak physically to resist him anymore.  

I spent hours last night awake, eyes peering at the darkness, tracking shadows and jumping at every little sound, waiting for him to come back. I don’t know where he went for most of the night, and for all I know he could have been mere feet away, watching me in the blackness, but he returned to the camp this morning and has hardly looked my way since.  

I have no illusions that he was lying to James; he fully intends to carry out what he threatened, he will take my mind and my body as payment for his brother, and send bloody reminders to James periodically for fun.

Therefore, I keep working at the tie, long past when I could’ve given up. I know James won’t give up looking for me, I won’t give up trying to escape.  

And then, just as the cramps in my fingers threaten to completely immobilize them, threaten to numb them so I can’t saw at the tie anymore, the tie breaks, weakened enough to snap. For a second, I freeze in shock, not moving and glance desperately at my captor. Did he see me jolt? My arms move suddenly as the restraints gave? The abject astonishment on my face?  

I exhale slowly, muscles trembling. He didn’t notice, at least not yet and now I have to figure out what to do.  

Do I attack? Try to kill him? For someone who’s never contemplated personally murdering anyone before, I’ve become quite enamored of the idea.        

Do I try to sneak away? Even as that thought flits through my exhausted mind, I know it’s beyond foolish. I have no idea where we are, but its desolate. All I can see is empty land and scrub-brush. Some semi-arid hell-hole. I’m weak and hungry and he’d be on me in seconds if I tried to run.  

“Dad used to take us out here to camp.” He speaks suddenly, breaking the silence and I turn to peer at him in confusion. He’s hardly been loquacious during our time together, so his sudden volunteering of information is startling.  

I have no idea if he’s even looking for a response, so I wait silently. “There’s nothing around for miles.,” he continues, reaching down and blatantly adjusting himself and I suddenly and with a sinking feeling realize exactly what’s on his mind. “There’s no one to hear your screams.” He stands then and begins to stalk slowly towards me, slowly he pulls a large knife from the small of his back. The lust that’s been lingering in his eyes for hours has completely taken over his expression. “You’re going to be a sweet piece, split-tail,” he growls and I can’t stop a tremor of fear. “I’m gonna like fucking you ‘till you break.”

Shit, I don’t have a plan yet.  

I sag slightly, trying to convey both exhaustion and resignation, maybe trick him into lowering his guard. Through lowered lashes I search desperately for a weapon. Shit, there’s nothing nearby.  

He's almost on me and I do the only thing I can think of. Throwing myself backwards I kick violently upwards with my bound legs, moving them as one large limb. His eyes widen is shock when he sees my hands are free and it gives me the extra half-second I need.  

My feet connect solidly with the bulge in his jeans and the sound he makes both satisfies and chills my blood. At the last moment, instinctively and without aim, his hand slashes at my feet to stop them, but it’s not enough. The blade slices a gash along my shin before continuing between my feet and we’re both stunned when the knife cuts through the zip-tie.  

Thank the fucking fates for small favors.  

My feet ache, both from renewed blood-flow and connecting solidly with his groin but I scramble desperately upright, casting around for anything to use.

“Bitch.” He snarls, stumbling backwards; I must have kicked him real hard and it does my heart good.  

I launch towards the nearest item and snag it with claw like fingers. I swing back around and, acting on adrenaline alone; for if I had a second to slow down and consider what I was about to do, I’d chicken out; I launch myself back at him. In my hand is a propane tank and it’s either almost empty or my adrenaline has given me extra strength.  

His eyes widen and a mix of fresh rage and shock color his features. He wasn’t expecting his prey to have teeth.  

Foolish, arrogant bastard.  

I swing the tank in a wild arc towards his head, fully intending on splattering his brains across the sand. As my arm gets closer, he abandons his knife and instead pulls a pistol from his belt. I’m committed though, the momentum of the tank too much for me to stop, but I couldn’t stop anyway, this is my only chance.  

I let go of the tank, praying my aim is correct and dive to the side; I hear a sharp bang just as white-hot pain explodes in my shoulder and I hit the ground hard. Dimly, as my shoulder ignited, I heard a loud hollow thump and grunt and I roll quickly, struggling to me feet, gritting my teeth against the pain.  

I managed to connect with the fucker’s head, but he’s not dead, just stunned, scalp split and one side of his head reddening with blood. My options are few as I leap frantically for his gun, only to scramble desperately away when he tries to grab at me. Instead, I start running, snagging the knife he dropped as I pass and duck behind the van as another shot goes off. I crawl beneath the van, heart hammering. My legs are on fire, pins and needles like crazy and my body shakes like jelly.  

He’s been knocked stupid, and staggers as he nears the van. His mind is telling him to find me and finish me, but his balls and head hurt too much too make it a smooth operation and I need to use this to my advantage. The van jolts, metal screeching when he falls against it and blood patters to the sand at his feet. I slash at him with everything I have, hitting just above both heels. The dual pops of his severed Achilles’ tendons are drowned out by his pained howl, and I’m already scooting backwards under the van as he falls to his knees. I scramble through the passenger door of the van and fall into the driver’s seat, clawing at the ignition.  

The driver’s door rips open and he roars as he reaches for me. I react without thinking, slamming the heel of my hand into his nose and hear a satisfying crack. His eyes roll back in his head as he collapses forward. His head lulls in the van’s doorway and I see one more opportunity, then I’m getting the fuck outta here.

I slam the door on his head once, twice, and he falls limp to the sand. My eyes land on his back pocket and I fall out on top of him, fumbling for his phone then I’m screeching in fear and panic, clamoring back inside and grabbing at the ignition, twisting the key. The van roars to life and I throw it into gear, fishtailing away. Tears pour down my cheeks as I start bawling hysterically but through them, in the rear view, I see my attacker’s body slumped in the sand where I left him.  

I hope he’s dead, but I’m not staying to find out.

The adrenaline rush that no doubt saved my life is rapidly dissipating and I start trembling uncontrollably, fucking vibrating, my teeth chattering. There’s a rough road ahead of me, little more than a trail and I push the accelerator to the floor, trying to get as far away from him as I can before I pass out.  

My heart is hammering painfully in my chest and my shoulder is on fire, my arm leaden. Jesus, I’ve been shot. If I had anything in my stomach, I’d throw up; I’ve never been shot and it fucking hurts!

The van jolts and the engine falters. Smoke starts pouring out from under the hood.  

“Shit! Not now, not now please!”

But my luck runs out and the van dies. After it coasts to a stop I climb painfully out. I missed noticing it in the rush, but that second gunshot I heard was closer than I thought. It hit the van, blowing through the front fender and did something bad to the engine inside, I’m lucky I got as far away as I did. I’d estimate I made it a few miles at least.

Let’s see that fucker drag his crippled ass that far.

I remember the phone and pull it out, swearing sharply when I see that I have no service. There’s service back there where I was held, but I’m not going to risk it. My legs ache as I start walking forwards.  

Shit, that sun is hot and my throat is fucking dry. As I cross over a small rise I see a crumbling house a few hundred feet away and I almost start crying again in relief.  

The house is abandoned, the few buildings around it falling apart. A robin’s-egg blue ford pickup is the only spot of color, it’s hood up, tires flat, paint baked by the sun. I stagger closer to the house, if nothing else, it will provide some shade. The small yard is overgrown, the rickety barb-wire fence that delineated it from the scrub brush, marking the property, is barely visible anymore.  

The door creaks open on rusty hinges and I shuffle inside.  

No one’s been here for years.  

I take out the phone again, biting back a whimper when I see the screen. It’s not strong, but I have service down here. With shaking fingers, I dial James’ number.

His voice is hard, murderous. “Deimos.”

“James-” I manage before I break down completely, sobs tearing through my body.

“LEVI?! Jesus baby! Levi, talk to me!” James screeches, his voice breaking with emotion.

“James,” warmth fills me, pushing away the physical pain at the sound of his voice. “I got away.”

“Where are you?” I hear tears in his deep voice, he’s crying with me.

“I don’t know.” I whimper.

[therealsymmetra]

//Pack

Why do they hunt in packs? Because one alone becomes the prey. 

Jack and King are @jorgancrath‘s

Modern Fantasy AU

This is a different train today. Yes. Five blocks too far then double back. Nobody kept their eyes on their phone screen even though they weren’t actually reading the text that they scrolled through. News. Humans killing each other. Nothing new. Their senses instead were overwhelmed by the scents and sounds of the subway, a million different subtle layers of human life that seemed to clog their head. But nothing stood out, nothing was repeated and that was a good sign. The sunlight that had poked itself out from behind the clouds after a week of incessant rain was also a positive, there were ways to shield a vampire from the sun; amulets, magic, a coat and an umbrella, but at the very least they were noticeable or a lot of work Nobody hoped that the clan wasn’t willing to go through. You killed the master, they’ll do anything. They swallowed back their fear as their stomach growled. Being in a crowded city and too paranoid to leave their motel room to find food was also a danger in more ways than one. They couldn’t afford to lose it in such a place, a forest, away from civilization, maybe. But not here. They were trapped really. If they left the city it was nearly guaranteed that they would be hunted down by the clan, if they stayed and didn’t keep a tight check on their hunger and the moon, then worse things would happen. Much worse. The train swayed as it stopped, a gush of people stepping out onto the platform swept them along and soon they emerged above ground, safer in the sunlight.

They had walking to do, and while their stomach was empty they still had their stamina. Once again they refocused their senses, scanned the myriad of people. Humans, creatures, monsters, they all meshed together here in the streets, but there was something different. An alpha. They could smell them not far away, and Nobody hoped they would stay there; they weren’t looking to be absorbed into a pack, they knew what happened to stray dogs like them. They picked up their pace but the scent never diminished, even as they wove their way through alleys and finally into the grocery store; however it didn’t seemed to grow stronger, not until of course they were well into their shopping trip. They were in close quarters now, a store might be big but compared to the streets it was much harder to follow someone by scent alone if you didn’t follow. Follow. They were being followed. They had to be, this wasn’t a coincidence. They deliberately took their time, trying desperately to spot their stalker to no avail. Their heart pounded and they tried to calm it, tried to slow it and no doubt the smell of fear radiating from them. They pursued the meat section, frozen, vegetables, bakery. Finally though they spotted him in the reflection of a glass case, he was an older man, but certainly not elderly, firmly placed somewhere between 40 and 50; short hair, neat five-o'clock shadow, well dressed. He was good at his job, he didn’t look at Nobody even with their back turned, but they knew he didn’t need too. He had their scent, and that was more terrifying than if they had locked eyes with him. Had the clan hired another werewolf for this? After weeks of evasion they had finally been beat at their own game. They shakily put the loaf of bread down, their basket was filled with raw meat, it was all they needed and putting on a show at this point was futile.

They took a few  deep breaths and made their way to the check out stand, opting for the quick line of self service. Once finished they reigned in their want to sprint out, to rush into the streets and hope their scent was lost among the millions of souls that traversed the street. But like wild animals running meant a chase, and somehow they knew they’d lose. Once outside they tried to look as if they knew where they were going. They could hail a cab, but that meant standing still for a period until one pulled up, and if the alpha wanted to move for them he could. Outside of that there was also the fact that they were extremely low on money. About a week more and they’d be on the streets, not a place a wayward werewolf would want to be. They shook off the anxiety, they’d figure it out later, now they had bigger issues to deal with. They held their groceries with an iron fist trying to look as natural in their gate and direction as possible, but they could nearly feel the alpha closing in, narrowing the gap between them. The fact that he was so cavalier about their proximity was alarming to say the least, he would know that Nobody could smell him, could hear his steady heartbeat; and he didn’t care. They found their mouth was dry, heart pounding much too loud behind their ribs as they started to evaluate their options. They could run, but they knew they’d lose, they could try and shake him amongst the civilians but their fear was nearly a beacon.

As they contemplated their escape however they nearly ran face first into a man’s chest. They stumbled, mumbling an apology as they met his eye. It barely took a second to realize this was another lycan, and another second to realize not just any; one that belonged to the pack of the alpha following them. Packs smelt similar, not the same, but there were nuances that differentiated them. The two men had a strange undertone, like a freshly extinguished match, that set them apart.

“Hey kid, can we talk to you?” This one was younger than the alpha, but not as young as Nobody, longer hair and slight beard, darker skin.

They froze, eyes wide, and they saw him reach for their shoulder. He knew what they were about to do. They tossed the bag of food forward, taking a millisecond to mourn their dinner as they took off into traffic. Car horns blared and they braced for impact, surprised when they emerged on the other side of the street unscathed. They sprinted into an alleyway, twisting through the maze of brick and cement as they tried to navigate among the haze of panic that filled their head. They could still smell the second lycan on their tail but the alpha had disappeared, they weren’t sure if they were supposed to be relieved or even more on edge. They dashed out and onto a sidewalk cluttered with people making their commute home from work, weaving through them with little grace, receiving insults and curses as they collided with shoulders and bags.

Nobody careened around a corner, checking their shoulder for their pursuer, easily picking him out as he race towards them. They pushed themselves, body aching, lack of food and the surplus of terror making it hard to concentrate on running. They entered another alleyway, this time hoping to cut through only to be hit with the overwhelming scent of the alpha again, this time in front of them. They were cornered, head whipping around as they tried to find an exit, they spotted him, locking eyes for a moment as the alpha opened his mouth to say something. Nobody spotted their possible escape however, leaping up to grab a dangling fire escape ladder, the two pursuers making a run for their legs as they scrambled upwards, taking each rung faster than the last. They heard the overwhelming clang of the two following, pushing them up and to the roof. By the time they reached it their lungs were on fire, legs like jelly and they limped across the rooftop towards the edge, stopping as they reached the waist high barrier. They huffed, struggling to get a lung full of air as they heard the now slow footsteps behind them.

Nobody considered their options, either be taken back to the clan or the long plummet below, if they survived then their stalkers probably wouldn’t follow by jumping, if they died then that was the end of it. No more running. No more pain. Their heart clenched in their chest as they shoved themselves up, shoes scraping on concrete as they teetered on the edge.

“Woah woah! Wait, kid, wait!” This time is was the alpha talking.

Nobody could hear him tell the other to back off as he approached, their jaw clenched, mind telling them to just do it, just let go, let gravity take them, but their legs locked and their muscles seized.

“We want to help you,” he said, and Nobody had to resist the urge to laugh.

“We aren’t going to hurt you.”

“I’ve heard that before,” they replied, voice ragged from their climb.

“It’s true, you know it is, you could tell if I was lying, right?”

It gave Nobody pause. It was true that they could hear his heartbeat, could hear the way it was evenly paced, could hear the calm in his voice.

“You could just be a really good liar,” they hissed, a deep sting beneath the words that weren’t necessarily directed at the alpha.

“I know you’re scared, you’re running from someone, someone that’ll hurt you I assume.”

“You don’t know me,” Nobody said, the words although carrying so much weight spat with little care.

“No, not you specifically. But I know people like you, people who are scared, who feel like they don’t have anywhere else to go. We want to help you, we can protect you.”

Nobody watched the streets below, people moving about like a swarm of ants.

“If I say no?”

“Then we leave, we go home. But we don’t want to do that, we want to help.”

The alpha had gotten closer now, standing a foot behind them and to their left.

“Let us help,” he said, voice softer, a kindness to it they had never heard before. They looked down, meeting his eye, evaluating his everything, breathing, heart rate, scent. He outstretched a hand and waited and for a moment. Nobody contemplated the drop before slipping their hand into his and stepping down.

“My name’s Jack, and you are?” He asked.

“I’m just Nobody.”

[purkinje-effect]

The Purkinje Effect, 20

Minor tw’s for broken bones (again) and “off-screen” medical gore.

Table of Contents

Geek's tibia and fibula had buckled in half just from bearing body weight alone. Deacon handed over a Stimpack in an instant, Hancock offering a shoulder to lean on. The words that came from the pink dreg next felt more like a demand than advice.

"D-- don't try to catch me. I think-- I think I'd hurt you more than falling d'hurt me."

"You really think you weigh enough to hurt me?" Hancock objected, feeling his pride in question with his assistance shrugged off, as far as his strength and constitution. Deacon glared at him over the top of his sunglasses.

"You just saw the kid's leg bones snap like twigs just by trying to stand up, and you're playing the tough guy." Deacon took the Stimpack from Geek when Geek couldn't balance well enough to inject the syringe into his own leg, and knelt near him. "Geek, I'm not a professional medic, but I'm at least gonna try to right the bones before applying the Stimpack. Can you take the weight off the bad leg without hurting the other?"

Geek shook his pounding head, but tried to lean harder into the wall. He took a fold of the shoulder fabric of his faded green jumpsuit in his teeth. When Deacon was sure Geek was ready for it, he firmly gripped the upper and lower parts of Geek's calf and felt out an approximate alignment. Then the pneumatic implement plunged deep in the side of his calf, the needle nestling between the two bones before administering cold regenerative serum with a hiss. Hancock disregarded the caveat and helped steady Geek against the wall to keep the weight off the healing leg while the medication took hold, but did at least keep salient footing in the event Geek needed to fall.

"...We've got plenty more, right," Geek joked, slowly testing the leg once the numbness of the chems wore off. His face had run terribly. "I feel like I'm gonna need about two hundred before we get back."

"Oh come on, now," Hancock smiled sadly, planting a fresh cigarette between Geek's lips. "You're not gonna break every bone in your body. We're gonna get you somewhere safe, and we're gonna get you better." He flicked up a match for Geek, who shakily accepted it. Anything to mask the scent of his own lapse into indiscretion.

"We'll keep you supplied with whatever aid we can provide," Deacon seconded, standing. "Just pace yourself, and we'll spot you. It's only a day's walk back from here. We can manage that."

"I'm ready whenever y'all are," Geek insisted, starting off again. Every step he took had to be small, deliberate, and prepared.

"Woah, woah there, Boss." Deacon took him gingerly by the shoulder and guided him about face. "Elevator's that way."

Arriving back at ground level was a simple matter of a short hallway, an elevator ride, and a utility stairwell. Deacon and Hancock did most of the work, dispatching the Synths and various turrets stationed within the ruins of the Slocum's Joe coffee shop as they exited the base's front face. Geek equipped himself with the bull barrel pistol for fire support, though it was mostly for emotional confidence. His eyesight wouldn't draw into focus, his smell the strongest to rely upon. He didn't use the gun for the fear of friendly fire. But he distrusted his balance, and his bodily integrity, too much to fight physically. Simply scaling the stairs had been enough exertion to ruin him.

The scent of stale coolants indicated for Geek there was a Red Rocket station to his right. A fog of distortion enervated him further. More gunfire? Ferals. His footing wasn't steady, but at any given point he never went longer than a few minutes without at least one hand guiding his shoulder. He wheezed raggedly, needing to stop regularly to recollect his breath. The rot of petrichor stuffed his nostrils, and he could feel the rain soak into his clothing.

He didn't really mind the chill. Everything was on fire, and his body felt like it was hardening all over. Leaden. Saturnine. Overencumbered by himself.

Like hearing everything from inside a glass jar, Geek could tell Deacon and Hancock quipped unintelligibly back and forth as they traveled. His ears rang numbly. The ground became uneven, and he nearly slipped from the mud as they took the river bank. His boots sank sharply in the silty mess of patchy grass as he slid, leaving deep skids in the terrain.

"I am not about to take an unscheduled bath today." Hancock grunted, narrowly letting Geek right himself rather than instinctively catching him.

The rainfall bloomed up the familiar, complex chemical smell of Mass. Gravel & Sand, and for a brief moment Geek thought he halfway had his bearings. They kept to the broken thoroughfare, passing through a prewar military checkpoint littered with overturned vehicles and guard posts.

More gunfire, though it didn't last long. Geek assumed his companions had sniped out whatever had been the threat.

"I wanna sit down." Detached but beseeching, he addressed no one in particular.

Met with muffled responses, he let them both guide him by the shoulders. But, they didn't stop him someplace where he could sit. Pushing onward, he figured they'd told him he'd only have difficulty standing again.

Night fell before he could make out a tall fortification to his left. They rounded down past an overturned eighteen-wheeler and cut across the river on a bridge beneath the overpass. The shadowed stink of this patch of the Charles, Geek had been here before. The night was unforgiving there, unable to go by much more than his companions' road familiarity in the pitch dark.

They crossed over a white-edged red line in the sidewalk. That line felt important, but Geek couldn't sufficiently verbalize it as he watched his own footsteps. The river was to their left. A dumpster to the right. He wanted to say that he should stop and eat something, that he didn't know how long it had been since he ate. Something trapped the words within him.

Concrete stairs, leading into the ruins of a building. More dull bickering. They briefly stood in place before entering a utility tunnel. Soured pipes running everywhere. Brick stairs descending, winding. A bright light pained him and he snarled to himself. They waded through water knee-deep. More stairs, and a strong red light illuminating the way. Mattresses lined one side of the tunnel, metal supply shelving the other.

A third voice joined the usual banter with a door slammed behind it. Desdemona, urgent and incredulous. Geek struggled to focus on the dialogue.

"You what!"

"We need him, Dez. But what he needs right now is for you to let us in the crypt, so Carrington can treat him. We'll tend to formalities when he's not probably rotting on the inside."

The four of them moved into the heart of the crypt then. The dull must of ancient mildew clinged to every surface. To his left, a huge, bright round source of light. To his right, a salty smell affronted him. Increasingly, the dozen or so agents in the headquarters began to mill about in a fashion as to rubberneck.

"Carrington, this guy just saved your prototype from the Switchboard," Deacon introduced. Hancock handed it over readily. "Could you maybe show him a little gratitude by assessing the toll it took on him to do it?"

Geek looked up to the figure receiving the treasure. Tall, West Asian, a white medical coat. The pink mess wheezed, and decided it was finally acceptable to simply lie down directly on the cobbled ground.

"My God. Recap everything. Don't leave out a thing."

"Don't look at me," Hancock blurted out. "All I know is what I've seen him eating. He don't really talk much."

"Don't. Don't tell me he ate things up there," another male voice interjected.

"Not now, Tom." The doctor seemed genuinely pained by the intrusion.

"I ate all kinds of things," Geek retorted pathetically at the air. "What shouldn't I have ate? The telephone? The petrol? The damn Synth parts?"

The black man in overalls was crouched near him, his soft features and strange goggles traced with light from behind. Geek's features went slack, feeling comforted by this bizarre agent moreso than the doctor somehow, despite how haunted this Tom was by his response.

"That's it. No question about it. The Institute has got in his blood. Nanites. Tiny little computerized cells. They report back to the Institute, and probably worse."

"That's... terrifying, if true." Geek shivered. The prospect this Institute was responsible for everything that had happened to him and his people chewed him to the core.

"No! There's battery acid in that serum of yours." The doctor tried to pull Tom back, but he knelt down fully to get nearer.

"Aaand some algae, and a delightful little bacterial culture. Among other things." He looked Geek firmly in the eye. "Can't nuke an omelette without irradiating some eggs. It'll fix you up. Clear it all out. ...You. You don't gotta do it. Dez says it has to stay voluntary. But I'm positive it's all those lil' nanites buzzin' around in your guts that's all the trouble. We got to burn those babies out of you. One... not so small injection, and a good nap. You won't regret it. A hard reboot to your system."

"Are you certain you don't want any legitimate medical care before you... encourage this?" Carrington could tell Geek was likeminded to Tom. "Tom is our quartermaster, not a medic."

"Ye of little faith," Tom puffed.

"...I've tried every remotely normal medical thing tryin' t'fix this," Geek muttered, letting his head fall to one side, and welcoming the cold of the stone against his cheek. "This... whatever it is. It's hell, an' I'll try anything at this point. Let's... let's give it a shot."

"Even this messed up, you're cracking puns." Hancock snorted.

Carrington could only look on in deep concern as Tom snapped up out of the floor to retrieve the serum. Brief instructions back and forth across the crypt left Hancock helping Geek out of his jumpsuit and armor, down to his underwear, then into a pair of ratty pants produced in donation by an agent. Tom drew a syringe from an old oil can, the fluid semi opaque and of uncertain coloration. Like an inoculation, it was injected into Geek's upper arm.

In an instant, Geek felt his blood curdle. As his pulse matched his panic, the spoiling raced through his veins. When it hit the chambers of his heart, everything went black with a hard jolt.

He was running again. His siblings, Vana, Orpi, and Torber sprinted alongside him. Orpi carried their youngest sibling Ruti piggyback. Their parents were far ahead of them, trying to spur their haste. The Reds were finally bombing America, with confirmed reports of mushroom clouds in Pennsylvania and New York. Radioactive dust rolled in from all around the family as they hurried down the shore of the Blackstone Gorge from the junkyard they owned, racing to Vault 82. The Miner family made decent time avoiding the detonation which Galen had always believed was a near-direct hit on Providence. This liminal assertion never changed, anytime this dream transpired.

The gear-shaped door in the rock face rolled back in place with mere minutes to spare. The tectonic activity caused by the nuclear detonation knocked out power in the shelter. It was rapidly understood by the families that had sought refuge there that the amenities of the vault had been a projection, and that the electrical failure had disrupted the illusion. There was nothing. Overseer Bensington tried the vault door, but she found it immovable and decreed it such. Trapped in a wet, lightless cave while the world above was wrought asunder by a nuclear apocalypse, they had no food or safe water. They only had each other.

Galen lay on the cold stone floor of the cave, limp and ineffectual. The moisture from the cave clung to him, puddled beneath him. Yet, he didn't move from where he lay, didn't bother seeking a dry place or dry clothes. He simply stared off into the darkness and let the muck pool around him. He could hear in some far part of the cave, several other 82ers having a heated argument. The forming mire cradled him.

Hot foam frothed from his mouth, and he sat up rasping.

"This is proof you can't just go around giving people sulfuric acid injections!" Carrington was in a near-roar. "How many times have I told you to stop pitching your serum to the new agents!"

"He was that bad off!" Tom objected. "You! You SAW that mess of sludge that started pouring out of him! I don't have to run tests on that stuff to know whatever poisoned him was bad news! The Institute HAD him!"

Sludge. Every inch of Geek felt clammy. He looked down to find himself heavily layered in sinewy scars, the floor pooled up with a dark sulfurous substance he was positive had been sweated out of him or worse.

"Tom didn't do anything wrong," Hancock defended, sardonically. "You... you didn't see everything I've-- we've seen him eat. It wasn't his serum that did him in. He was already dying before he even stepped foot in the a Commonwealth. We just quickened the process. Least he ain't suffering now."

"I mean, you pretty much handed him the trigger," Deacon muttered pointedly.

"Deacon! Out of line," Desdemona growled.

"And you were the gun itself," Hancock snapped. "You were planning on keeping the prototype for yourself when Geek flipped out, even though you promised him that the recon would win him favor with the Railroad. What, ripping Synths apart with his teeth was too uncouth for your little club? You're all goddamn ingrates, just letting him die like that."

"He... ate them?" Geek could tell that was Glory's voice. "I'm sorry if it sounds like I'm speaking ill of the dead, but that sounds like a sick load of karma. I... I've got a dead drop to catch."

"Can I at least take his body somewhere to give him a proper burial? He deserves better than what he's been handed him here."

By the time Geek had stood, Glory had left. The group encircled a large round drafting table in the center of the space. He approached barefoot, feeling lighter, more steady, sharper, and noted this.

"I, for one, don't think I deserved a miracle."

They looked up to find a mangled but cognizant Geek. Relief washed over Desdemona, Deacon and Hancock, while Carrington and Tom seemed nearly revolted.

"There, there wasn't much left of you the nanites didn't chew up, was there?" Tom uttered, backing up a step, uncertain whether Geek would be furious.

"I've never in my life--" Carrington cut off abruptly, attempting to regain medical tact. "How do you feel?"

Geek looked to his bare hands, then to Hancock, whom he could tell was hiding his alarm well, and shot him a smile.

"I... I actually think for the first time in years... that I'm gonna be ok."

"I suppose if you can call becoming a candy pink zombie a happy ending," Deacon snarked deadpan.

The description left Geek feeling his face in the absence of a nearby mirror of any kind. Jutting textures, and it finally sank in that his right eye was now missing.

"I guess the past 228 years finally caught up with me," he laughed. "Maybe Daisy was right after all."

"She's... often right about things," Hancock affirmed, unsure what he could be on about.

"I told her I was prewar. She pretty much told me I was either full of shit, or I was the most well-preserved ghoul she'd ever met. I knew she got the preservative part right, but." Another laugh, more genuine this time. He could hear how his trachea had warped like a straw in a too-hot beverage. "I feel fantastic. Tom, I rightly think y'saved my life. An' if it wasn't for the lot of ya, I wouldn't have even ended up here."

"The Railroad's lifesaver," Tom remarked, admiring getting respected for his innovation for once, albeit from an unexpected source. "Anytime, pink ghoul guy."

"Don't speak so soon," Carrington began, tugging at his collar like his necktie was on too tight. "You should take it easy until any side effects can be accounted for."

"The only taking it easy I wanna be doing is gettin' a bath in the river and slippin' back in my clothes, so I can get right back to work."

"We simply can't do that," Desdemona insisted. "You're a potential liability until we can determine you're of sound constitution. And the way you handled the Switchboard. Deacon tells me that was an isolated incident--I pray that's true. I respect your willingness to aid our cause, but you need to untether. You've clearly been through at least one near-death experience. You need to take care of yourself before we can safely rely on you."

Geek stiffened.

"You can rely on me to follow orders. It's the least I can do for what your people have done for me." Hancock had come over to stand on his side of the round table. "How long before you'll evaluate my entry?"

"Give it a week," Carrington weighed in, seeming most exhausted of any of them by the course of events. "I'll give you a full physical now, and again after a week, to compare your recovery. Think of it as a fitness evaluation. It was my prototype you retrieved, so your fate as an agent is in my hands. In the mean time, I demanded the full story before all of this, and I refuse to see to Tom and Deacon's mess without even knowing what is going on."

[whoajeon]

Deeper Than Ink | 01

P R E M I S E ⇒

Should you fall in love with someone, even in the slightest, your skin becomes marked with vibrant colors that depict the story of your emotions. A tattoo, per say. However, should they or you fall out of love, the bright hues dull to black and the feelings you once had for each other melt away. To many, it’s a blessing to not have to live with the pain of your past. But what’s the point when you have too many reminders–say 27?

P A I R I N G ⇒  namjoon x reader

G E N R E ⇒  angst, tattoo au, soulmate au

W O R D S ⇒  7.281

P A R T ⇒  one | two | three

Pebbles bounced against the sidewalk, caught between the concrete and the rubber soles of boots dragging across the pavement. The movement was slow and the sound was reminiscent of a modern romantic defeat, another tally to add to the chalkboard. Another inked reminder that would be incomplete on a pale skin canvas.

A single finger rose to itch at the back of a studded ear, scratching just above the intricate black swirls of patterned water that was splayed over a neck. The owner of this design–and the 27 others cluttering his skin–wasn’t a lost cause or a serial romantic as many had come to believe. But potentially the most unlucky man in the world.

There were many others like him, decorated in dozens of these brandishes to signify their accomplishments in a manner akin to a trophy shelf. Their skin was littered with these marks of past lovers who were only intended to become blackened symbols. However, hoarding tattoos of ones he adored was not a game to him like it was to others; he feared the attention and judgment that his ink gave him.

He was enamored by people and their stories, the things they had to say and the words that they would whisper to him. Falling for them was simply a side effect of his own curiosity that he had no control over, as the patterns would only appear when the emotions were mutual. People were drawn to him, not for the art etched into him, but for his elegant thoughts and charming words.

His fingers flinched as his hand curled into itself, balling up before rubbing at the tip of his nose which had gone red from the cold breeze stretching down the street. It had been mere minutes since he left the museum and the late afternoon’s freezing bitter bite had quickly pecked at him.

His hands retreated into the pockets of his thin jacket as he kept his pace down the sidewalk, keeping his eyes down when others would pass him by. The action was a force of habit now, the large koi fish running the length of his neck being a blatant attraction to foreign eyes. It hadn’t bothered him when it appeared, the bright warm hues were alluring in contrast to the blue water surrounding the fish. However, when the colors were replaced with the familiar black coating the rest of his skin, it only became another embarrassment.

Sighing to himself, he tucked his chin into the small opening of his jacket and kept his eyes on the concrete. For a while, he focused on avoiding the crevices and cracks that would pop up, scrunching his nose when he would misstep and blunder his shoe over the lines.

It was when his phone began to viciously vibrate in his pocket that he jolted, nearly letting out a yelp of surprise, that he stole his attention away from the ground. His fingers stretched into his jeans as he pulled the device out and placed it at his ear, the air already nipping at his skin.

“Hello?” He hummed, shrugging his shoulders as if to tuck himself further into his jacket.

“Hey,” the voice on the other end replied blandly. “I’m getting out of work in a few hours. Do you wanna grab something to eat at Jin’s?”

“Ah, I don’t know. I’m not really too hungry.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s bullshit,” the person said with a scoff. “Come on, Namjoon. You haven’t so much as answered a single text for two weeks. If it wasn’t for you checking my page a few days ago, I would have assumed you died or drowned in your mop bucket.”

He didn’t respond, instead maintaining his pace and glancing down at his hand which had come free from his pocket. The colors were nearly completely grayscaled now, the once deep reds and warm browns of the compass painted on his hand a reminder of yet another love left behind.

“I know you’re still hurting.” The quieter sound of the voice meets his ears as if it were a pat on the back, a reminder that he wasn’t alone despite all the marks that said he was. “I’ll be there at 7 if you want to get out of your head for a little while.”

“Thanks, Yoongi,” he said softly. He didn’t wait for the goodbye that was sure to come, but hastily hung up and dug the phone back into his pocket along with his hand.

Honestly, he knew he was being ridiculous by avoiding his friend, subjecting himself to a painful schedule that didn’t veer in hopes that the normality would trick him into forgetting the whirlwind that was Hwasa. It was the fastest a tattoo had ever formed on his skin and being that it was a pocket watch of all things, he took it as a sign that his time had finally come. Who could blame him?

Her skin, imperfectly perfect and doused in just as many patterns as his, had felt like a mirror that reflected the ideal version of himself, a confident version. She was fearless in her everyday life, thoughtful, brave and wild in a way he had never experienced in anyone else before. It was odd that society had labeled both of them as the crueler stereotype of others littered in the same marks when they were anything but, at least he thought.

Hwasa was full of life and meaning, unafraid to show her skin and all its supposed imperfections to the world, but choosing to revel in how much they had grown her. It was this mindset of hers that drew him to her, and it was everything else that made him stay.

The way she would take him to places far from prying eyes, bare herself to him, open up her mind and let him speak endlessly. She listened and understood, let her tongue dance with promises that she would never become another darkened scar on him.

Until she did.

The tip of his boots kicked at the stairs as he climbed up to his apartment, rounding corners until he arrived on the sixth floor and glowered at the rusting gold numbers on his door. 604. They weren’t significant numbers and held no hidden meaning aside from the consistent reminder of the painfully unwavering schedule of his life. He saw them twice a day, six days a week, every year for so many he had begun to lose count.

His actions were automated as he pushed the key into the lock, turned the knob, shuffled inside and kicked the wooden barrier closed.

The fraying edges of his jacket were pulled away from him as he shrugged it off and tossed it over the back of the couch, knees bending over the arm rest until his back laid flat and eyes were attached to the ceiling. A silent sigh slid past his lips as he rose his arm into his line of sight until the edges of the fading tattoo grasped his attention.

Although most of the ink on him was twirled and intricate, this one seemed to hold more complexities than ones that had formed over the years. The centerpiece was an open pocket watch surrounded by thorny flora which stopped just short of his fingers. However, it was the thick roman numerals displaying the time 11:17 that was the most symbolic; it being the date he had met Hwasa.

After the first eleven darkened patterns had formed on his skin, Namjoon had come to have a solemn feeling toward their significance. It was easy to understand learning from past mistakes and things that were simply too good to be true, but to have them permanently etched into your skin based on some cruel fate was something entirely different.

He had spent days watching his tattoos lose their color as his emotions fled him for the person who had created them. Vibrant shades and varying depths became nothing more than blackened frames on his skin, matching that of others but on a much greater scale. They were plastered all over his arms and chest, crawling over his back and peeking up his neck with each new person he became enamored with.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, he would tell himself every time he met someone who sparked his interest. But he always became invested, always fell hard, and blindly at that.

The hand waving above him fell to drag over his face and tug his eyes closed, lips turning downward with the passing of his fingers. Time ticked by as he laid there, lost in his thoughts and mulling over the colors on the back of his hand that he would soon come to forget the pigment of. It went that way until he had lost track of himself and slipped into his personal oblivion, only the vigorous vibration of his phone pulling him back into the reality of his empty apartment.

From: Yoongi

I’ll be off in 15 if you want to eat your thoughts out

A small scoff, half-hearted smile, and a five-minute internal debate later, Namjoon found the hug of his jacket around his torso as he strode out the door.

It was a surprise to find Yoongi at a table, void of any beer or soju, with an abundance of varying food splayed everywhere to the point the table was nearly overflowing. The brunet had already begun to dig in, rice piled at the tips of his chopsticks and cheeks full of what could only be meat, given the sauce at the corner of his mouth.

A half-hearted smile curved on his lips as his attention rose to Namjoon, registering the exhaustion written all over his features and the clear slump in his shoulders. Even as he sat down he could tell the past two weeks had taken a toll much heavier than the many others that he had seen the man have.

“I should have gotten beer,” Yoongi said as he finished swallowing. He smoothly hooked his wrists at the edge of the table as he sat back in his chair and observed his friend. There was a fleeting moment of silence before he sighed and licked his lips. “Alright, what’s going on?”

Namjoon’s shoulders rose in a shrug. “Nothing.”

“I wouldn’t have walked nine blocks in the wrong direction to sit here if I thought nothing was wrong.” His eyes were set on Namjoon in a firm gaze that had the latter shifting in his seat, keeping his sights away from the other.

There was an unspoken mystery to Yoongi. It wasn’t something anybody could notice, it was a sentiment reserved only for those who he cared about. As if he had created his own emotion, and he knew how to use it to his advantage in situations much like this, where there was a restraint of thought from his friends.

On many occasions, Namjoon wondered if this power of gaze that Yoongi had was the reason his skin was so clear save for four inkings. In some ways, he was envious of the brunet’s ability to see through people and know their real intentions and thoughts. It sure would have been helpful 26 tattoos ago.

"Is it her or is it the tat?" Yoongi queried with a bland stare. His chopsticks were half in a bowl of rice, chasing down the tiny grains mindlessly as he stared at Namjoon. "Because she makes twenty-something, and I'm sorry to have to say it but it's not like you're foreign to this situation." Namjoon stayed quiet as Yoongi spoke, moving his hands around the table and piecing together a tiny meal that he seemed to have no intentions of eating. His friend was right and it made him sick to his stomach. This wasn't Namjoon's first go-around with a break-up and it didn't feel as if it would be the last, which made it all the worse. "Look, you're not the fucked-up one here, okay?" Yoongi piped up again, lips opening to continue but the sudden snap of Namjoon's eyes shut him up. "I know you're trying to help, but there's 27 black spots on my body that disagree with you." His voice was level as he spoke, but it was clear he was boiling in his seat. "Then get them covered!" The brunet burst in exasperation, dropping his chopsticks and throwing his hands up. "If they keep reminding you of all the shitty people you've dated–including Mina–then get rid of them.”

“I can’t just get rid of them, you know that,” Namjoon huffed.

Yoongi’s jaw was tight and it was easy to see that his patience was wearing thin. “I know. I do, honestly. I’m just saying that erasing the tattoos and the memories are better than living with this self-pity fit you’re in. You haven’t been the same since Mina, and I don’t think what's-her-face helped at all. If anything, she made this hole you have worse.”

Neither of them said a word even when Yoongi continued to drill a stare into Namjoon’s head, the latter shoving food into his mouth in an attempt to avoid conversation.

The mere idea of getting rid of the tattoos was terrifying to him, especially with the total loss of memory for the person who it had formed for. They weren’t just symbols of affection–they held everything the relationship was, including the memory. Tattoos formed the second you met someone you’re destined to fall for, and from that second on the memories of that person are held in the ink.

If the tattoo goes, so does any recollection of that person. For that reason alone Namjoon couldn’t get rid of them, of the people who helped to mold and shape him into who he is. He fell for people because they intrigued him because he felt as if he could learn something from them and ultimately live a life of exploring a brand new world made up of that person.

“I know of this place,” Yoongi tried again, his voice much softer and leveled now, pulling Namjoon’s attention back up to him. “It specializes in covering tattoos, making them disappear for a month at a time without really getting rid of them.”

“Do you mean makeup?” Namjoon asked with a brow raising in curiosity.

“No, not makeup,” Yoongi scoffed, a small smile at the corner of his lips. “It’s some kind of paste, like a skin colored glue or something to that effect. I don’t know the details, but a woman I work with had it done.”

“I don’t think covering them up is going to help me. I’ll know they’re still there,” Namjoon countered and sat up a little straighter.

“But it’s a habit for you to look at them, right?” Yoongi asked with a pointed look.

Namjoon’s eyes rolled as he put his own utensils down and sat back in his chair, head nodding. “Well yeah but–”

“If they’re covered and you can’t see them, then the habit breaks. This isn’t some kind of paint, you can’t scratch it off. It’s a semi-permanent fix until you can walk around again without feeling like a pile of shit because trust me, you look like one.” It was nothing but tough love with Yoongi and the tone he used only amplified how much he cared.

“It’s probably the job,” Namjoon shrugged, attempting to change the subject. “Working as a janitor isn’t exactly glamorous unless you count accidentally spraying my hand with cleaner.”

Yoongi snorted. “Accidentally? Cleaners are like cologne to you.”

“What the fuck? I just spent $80 on a bottle of Saint Laurent,” Namjoon defended, shooting a glare at his friend whose face was plastered with a shit-eating grin.

“Whatever you say, Joon. If you think mop water smells like Saint Laurent, I’m not here to judge.”

“Oh fuck off,” he groaned, but there was a familiar crinkle by the side of his eyes as he threw a napkin at his friend. “At least I’m not yelled at on a daily basis.”

“Of course you’re not, there’s no yelling in museums,” Yoongi shrugged, earning another balled up napkin to the face.

For a moment they held the same grins, but the drop of Namjoon’s eyes back onto his food had Yoongi taking a deep breath as he leaned forward. His forearms pressed against the edge of the table and he tapped his finger on the wooden surface to get Namjoon’s attention.

“All I’m saying here is that it’s worth a shot. You can go for a consultation, learn about how it’s done, and if you still don’t want to do it then you don’t.” Yoongi’s voice was much softer now and if it weren’t for the unwavering stare he had on Namjoon, then his message probably wouldn’t have gotten through.

Nonetheless, Namjoon bobbed his head in a nod despite the biting feeling in his chest that said the trip would be pointless. This wasn’t going to be something he would do for himself, but for the sake of not letting Yoongi down. It’s not as if he could blame him either. Ever since Hwasa had ridden off on the back of Kai’s motorcycle, he hadn’t been the same.

Falling for her was the fastest his emotions had ever run for someone. She had all the same reasons to be scared of letting herself open up to another person as Namjoon had, but there were some habits she couldn’t kick.

He should have known on their second date that she had so many tattoos because she was too free. Her eyes hypnotized men, just like they had him, and it was no surprise that her hand drifted over another man’s arm just across the room from the booth Namjoon was sat in, waiting for her to come back from the bathroom. By the time he had miraculously endured two months of her painfully amorous displays to strangers, it was a mere dull feeling to see her press her lips to those of his closest friend before taking off deep into the city.

“I’ve got to get going, though. There’s another show at the Flux tonight, and I was told if I don’t show up my earrings will get ripped out straight through the cartilage,” Yoongi chuckled, eyebrows raising as his lips thinned. His arm stretched across the table as he gave Namjoon’s shoulder a small pat. “I’ll send you a text with the address. Let me know how it goes, yeah?”

“Alright.” He nodded, barely glancing up at his friend.

“It’ll be fine. Don’t eat too much,” Yoongi said, dropping down a few bills before standing and leaving.

Nearly an hour after the drag of Yoongi’s shoes had left the small restaurant, Namjoon found himself slumped back in his chair, arm perched just right on the table for his eyes to scan over the pocket watch again. By tomorrow all of the colors would be gone and the heartache along with it. It should have made him happy to know that the longing he had for Hwasa would diminish, but it only meant another scar of failure to stare him in the face every day.

Of course the procedure Yoongi talked about was the closest thing to relieving himself of the mental pain as he was willing to go, but it felt wrong. Wrong to cover up all of these emotions he had for so many people, for pretending, if only for a fleeting moment, that they never truly existed. Obviously, it was a coping mechanism for people who couldn’t stand the constant reminder of what they once had, but to Namjoon it had almost felt as if it made him stronger.

Clearly not, though, given how many calls he missed, texts he ignored and knocks on his door that went unheard. He wasn’t okay, and for the first time in a long time, he realized that.

The toe of Namjoon’s boot tapped feverishly against the pavement as he sat on a bench across the street from the place Yoongi had mentioned last night.

Mask Core Aide

His nose crinkled at the cheesy wordplay but given the people who had left with broad smiles and an extra pep in their step, it was a cheesy but helpful business.

The more he watched people go in and out, the more he realized the commonality of them. They weren’t littered in the same way he was and some didn’t even look like they had any tattoos, although perhaps they were already covered. Those who left the large glass doors were practically glowing with new-found confidence; however, it was not one that Namjoon believed he could share. Not a single person that strutted out of the place had skin as corrupted as his, most likely because people with as many tattoos as him enjoyed showing them off.

It felt weird and displacing to be on this side of town where the upper class lived and everyone who walked by showed off their clean skin. Sitting with a tattered jacket and a heavy scarf wrapped tight around his neck, Namjoon felt he had eyes careened in his direction. He thought he could feel the silent chiding and the questions of why are you here dancing around him.

By now his leg was bouncing and his hands were fidgeting in his lap, eyes glued to the italicized words hanging off the building. He could feel the bubble of anxiety growing around him, and all it would take to pop it was a verbalized what are you doing here. At this point, he felt as if he was waiting for someone with a plunging neckline and shoulder cut-offs to approach him with blatant disgust, a snobby finger aimed at him.

However, the truth was nobody cared. Sure there were the curious wandering eyes but not a single person bothered to spare their time to gape at Namjoon. He was merely a man sitting on a bench, squirming in place and staring hard at the building across the street. They weren’t bothered. They weren’t scared. They didn’t care. So why should he?

Faces in this part of town were intimidating and demeaning as if a single look could unwrap him and make him feel completely bare to passersby. It felt as if they could see right through his jacket and gawk at all the tattoos coating his skin.

It was easier for people to walk around a little more carelessly when they had the money to afford such treatments as those he was waveringly considering.

“Hello?” Yoongi’s voice sounded raspy on the other end of the phone.

“I can’t do this, there’s no fucking way I’m going in there,” Namjoon sputtered. The anxious tone of his voice spoke volumes more than his actual words and the heavy drag of his breath said it all.

His scarf felt tight around his neck and a cold sweat had grown at the base of his forehead, leg bouncing feverishly the more he sat still. Whatever that building held was by far nothing he could make himself do on his own.

“Okay,” Yoongi said.

“Okay?” Namjoon huffed breathlessly, letting silence waver overhead for a second. “You bothered me about this all night yesterday and now that I’m literally thirty feet away you’re telling me it’s okay?”

“I told you that you didn’t have to do it if you didn’t want to, don’t twist my words,” Yoongi quickly snapped back. “Do I think this would be good for you? Fuck yes. But if you’re going to get all worked up like this over it then leave. If I wanted you to do it that bad then I would have come with you, but this is your body and your decision.”

For a moment the only thing that could be heard was Namjoon’s heavy breathing until he shut his mouth and closed his eyes. His heartbeat was erratic and the tips of his fingers felt as if they were going numb the longer he sat still. He couldn’t understand why something so silly as having a paste over his skin had gotten him so worked up.

This could help him in all the right ways. For once he could wake up without seeing the constant reminder of those who had left him. He could walk outside without a long sleeved shirt and a scarf hiding his arms and neck away. There wouldn’t be gazes cast down at his skin instead of his eyes and he could finally start to live the way he was supposed to; freely.

So why was he so tethered to the idea that this wasn’t for him?

Think of the good, he said to himself, opening his eyes to look blandly at the sign parallel to him.

“I’m gonna do it,” he said. Without a second to spare, he pulled his phone from his ear and ended the call with the faint shout of “It’s about fucking time” ringing from the speaker.

His boots scraped against the sidewalk as he stood up and shoved his phone into his back pocket. The determination in his step as he strode across the street never slackened until his palm was wrapped around the cool door handle, his eyes glassing over as a numbness rushed over him.

The dirt of his shoes crumbled away on the tanned carpet of the waiting room, his vision clouding as he glanced around the room. There were a few women perched at a table in the corner, sipping on tea and flipping through random magazines scattered about. They didn’t seem remotely fazed by the clunk of his shoes as he walked past; too busy in their own worlds.

However, he could feel himself mentally slipping as he stopped at the counter of the front desk, throat clearing awkwardly and pulling a cough up from his throat. His hand rose to cover his mouth but the woman sitting behind the glass wall gave him a weary look. She seemed just as uncomfortable as he had actually felt.

“Sir, would you like some water?” She asked when his cough lasted longer than a few seconds.

Yet he quickly shook his head, waving his free hand and turning away to give one final heave to rid the cough away. His cheeks were flushed as air rushed back into his lungs, and if nobody had noticed him before, they definitely knew he was there now.

“Um,” he started quietly, shifting his gaze back to the receptionist. “I’d like to meet with somebody? Uh, I mean, schedule an appointment? For today…”

His sentence fell off at the end as the woman nodded, attempting to give him a reassuring smile although it only looked pained. Her fingers tapped at her keyboard as Namjoon placed his forearms onto the marble countertop, shifting uncomfortably as he glanced around.

Everything was a pearly white on the inside, paired with tan and a pastel lilac color that was splattered here and there. The waiting room off to his left resembled that of a lounge or cafe sitting area; light wooden floors and puffy white chairs, stools lining a bar at the front window. It was classier than any place he had been in, and this place was more or less a dermatologist's.

“There’s room for a consultation in about fifteen minutes. If you’re okay with waiting?” The receptionist piped up, bringing Namjoon’s attention back to her.

As he registered her words, he nodded eagerly and straightened up where he stood. She merely forced another smile in his direction, tapping her fingers against the keyboard before grabbing a clipboard from under her desk.

The metal of the clipboard scraped obnoxiously across the countertop as she slipped it through a small glass opening. “Fill out this form and hand it back when you’re done. Your consultant will call you when they’re ready.”

“Thank you,” he said. Another nod bounced from his head as he took the clipboard, offering a small smile, before turning away.

A heavy breath left him as he strode across the room and took a seat at a particularly soft chair in the back of the waiting room. For a moment he contemplated taking off his jacket, his nerves having risen his temperature significantly. But with a single glance around the room and awkwardly catching several onlooking sets of eyes, he shrugged further into the material. It could wait until he saw the consultant.

His eyes stretched as he let out a particularly long puff of air, fingers flicking through the small packet attached to the clipboard. The questions were what he had expected: name, age, number of tattoos, reasoning. He even let himself chuckle at the “How did you hear about us?” at the bottom of the last page. Even a place as high class as this was still trying to figure out how they were getting their customers.

That was easy enough for him to answer. Nobody likes to see their past hanging around, and others don’t really enjoy the pity party either.

After he had returned the clipboard and sat back down, Namjoon found his eyes wandering over the room once again. Yet his stare lingered on a woman maybe not even a year younger than himself, hand rubbing at her collarbones.

There was an air of familiarity to her as if he had seen her or even talked to her before, but when she looked up it was as if her face was blurred over. If he focused he could see the finer details like the slope of her nose and the feathering of her eyelashes, but none of it pieced together.

His brows creased the longer he looked at her, and he could feel a tugging in his chest when her eyes swept over him–almost through him. It was when his lips parted and his hand began to rise, words ready to tumble into the air, that his name echoed into the room. For a fleeting moment he watched the girl’s eyes widen, then a confusion matching his own settled in.

“Kim Namjoon?” His name was called again with a stern lilt to his last name.

With a final look at the girl across the room, he rose his hand and tore his gaze away toward the voice who called him. “That’s me.”

“Follow me.”

And so he did, walking away from the girl so familiar he forgot who she was.

There was a certain lull to the sound of a clock ticking so profoundly, the small, typically tuned-out sound, suddenly roaring to encompass an entire room. One moment there are voices and shuffling, papers scraping over desks and fingers clattering against digital letters, and the next moment is nothing. A mere tick, tick, tick that has an irritatingly quick way of introducing bland emotions.

It was an uncomfortable feeling that had rooted itself in Namjoon’s stomach when he sat down in the black pleated leather chair of a peculiarly dark office. Deep purple curtains spanned over the floor to ceiling windows that spread the back wall, the gray spotted carpet doing nothing to lighten the place up. The room held the weary feeling of being a trap as if some terrifying creature would pounce and drag him away.

Everything was so muted, only the pristine white computer perched on the desk before him giving the tiniest bit of contrast.

So when a tired voice muttered the words “I’ll be right with you,” followed by the abrupt shake of the door slamming into its frame, Namjoon fixated himself into an unnatural position. The blankness of a clock’s hand ticking away had him fidgeting in his seat, the chair already being annoyingly big and making him feel like a child at a doctor's office.

His knees were perched higher than his thighs, arms laying awkwardly on the cushion of his chair because the span of the armrests was too wide. The pleating pushing into his back made his spine curl away, creating an illusion of a man too concerned with his posture. To say the least, the room was a box of nicely placed annoyances.

The inside of his lip became a distraction as he chewed at the skin, eyes preoccupied with dancing over every surface of the room. He couldn’t help but feel like this was a choice he should have never pushed himself to make. Nobody here actually cared; the ink that marked him said enough. All anyone here wanted was the money he neither had nor was willing to give.

His shoulders jolted forward as the door snapped open the metal lock rang as it fell out of place, the wood of the door sliding over the carpet like nails on a chalkboard. The hairs on his arms stood on end as voices weaved their way into the small room, a strained laugh wavering over him as a woman strode in.

“Sorry.” Her voice was curt and quite frankly the apology fell short of even sounding sincere. She didn't hide a bored sigh as she walked past Namjoon, his eyes catching the stark white of her pencil skirt as a slight breeze hit him.

The tips of her fingers anchored around the edge of a clipboard resting just off her desk, body turning as she sat down and flicked through the pages.

For a split second, Namjoon allowed himself to gape at her. It wasn’t anything in particular that had him so intrigued. She was void of any noticeable tattoos and she was just as pretty as anyone else he had ever seen, but there was something prodding at him. Her expressions were flat and she became increasingly put off the longer her eyes stretched over the papers in her hand.

The sudden surprised murmur of his number slipping past her lips like it was some kind of sin had his fingers curling. It was the same reaction as anyone else, he had only hoped it wouldn’t have been so blatant coming from someone who was supposed to help him.

“Do you really have 27 tattoos?” She deadpanned, tearing her eyes from the inked number and meeting his gaze for the first time.

There was a brief pause as he took in her entirety, as if her eyes completed the puzzle he wasn’t aware he had made of her. He made no effort to speak, merely nodding as he blankly stared back at her even after her eyes had retreated.

“And you’re 24?” She piped back up immediately. Her tone wavered as she struggled to hide her shock and the feeling of immense bother she felt by his presence.

Again he nodded, but his eyes broke away from her as his hands shifted to his lap and his shoulders shrunk in. The questions she was asking in her head mine as well have been screamed from a rooftop with how transparent her judgment had become to Namjoon.

His silent responses hung in the air as she stared at him with disregard, taking note of his particular choice of conservative clothing. The dark ink under the thick fabric was so strategically tucked away that had she merely passed him on the street, they would have gone unbeknownst to her. It should have been obvious that he didn’t fit in here, that he was hiding something so monumentally crucial to the intricacies of societies inner workings.

After an elongated moment of continued nitpicking, she tore her eyes away from him and he let a breath slip past his lips at the relief. He could feel her scrutiny to his bones, and the feeling in the pit of his stomach was a siren wailing that this was not going to end well. The tips of his toes itched in his shoes, begging to take him away from this office and back to his cozy apartment downtown.

However, the woman’s abrupt release of his application form had his back turning rigid once again. Her hands were folded on the desk, body leant back in her chair and nothing but a dull silence hanging between them as she pursed her lips.

“Apologies for not introducing myself,” she started, dragging her chair forward. “I was caught off guard by your application.”

“Not a problem at all. I’m used to the surprise,” he offered up lightheartedly, but the shake in his voice was obvious. His nerves were practically seeping out of his pores.

“Right,” she paused, giving him a small, fake smile. “Regardless, I’m Doctor y/n. I specialize in both the synthetic expulsion treatment and concrete expulsion treatments performed here. I’m assuming by your application that you’ve never had either done before, correct?”

He shifted uncomfortably in the chair, nodding. “Yeah.”

“Normally we suggest trying the synthetic expulsion first, but that’s all dependent on why you want to shield your marks.” The words moved from her mouth like fine silk, a pattern so smooth that it could only have been refined by hundreds of thousands of repetitions. Given the prestige of this place, Namjoon didn’t doubt she probably had said the same thing to an egregious amount of people. “I understand that you want to cover them for personal reasons, but it would be easier to give my professional opinion if you would elaborate a bit more on why. It’s okay if you don’t want to, I just want you to be sure of which path you are looking to take.”

Despite her sounding as if she was completely neutral to what he wanted to do, Namjoon couldn’t help but feel the way she was sweeping him aside. It was blatant that she wanted to get this meeting done and over with so she could wash her hands and be rid of him. In some ways, he couldn’t blame her.

Letting out a small cough to clear his throat, he rose his shoulders and straightened his back in his chair. His fingers combed together sloppily in his lap as he dodged her gaze and tugged at the inside of his lip with his teeth. This was what he had been most nervous about; revealing why.

“Well, I suppose it’s the reminder,” he said softly.

“Suppose?” She rose a brow. “Mr. Kim–it is Kim right?” He nodded, too tense to ask her to drop such titled formalities. “Okay. Mr. Kim, with all due respect, this is a semi-permanent procedure that can potentially damage your skin for the rest of your life. I know I’m just a stranger to you, but I want to help you make the right choice. So, what is it really?”

His eyes grew in mild surprise at how forward she was being, her curiosity–even if strictly professional–fell over him like a ray of light, not particularly warm, but at the least intriguing. Someone other than Yoongi wanted to know why he was so wound up in himself to the point he can barely function properly.

“It is the reminder,” he started again, his voice still soft with each syllable. “It’s not the good kind either, like how other people with so many tattoos are. I don’t like being reminded of all my failures and all the people who have left me over them. For once I would like to look at myself in the mirror without feeling like crap for who I am.”

“What do you mean by ‘feel like crap for who you are’?” She prodded, hand notched with a pen and scribbling away at the base of his application.

With a disheartened sigh, Namjoon slowly brought his hand up to his collar, tugging ever so slightly on the hood draped neatly over his neck until the air hit his skin and exposed the blackened koi fish. “I haven’t worn a t-shirt in almost two years and my whole wardrobe is an array of dark colors. Anything too short or see-through brings attention. Do you get what I’m saying?”

His eyes strained and his heart tugged for her to see what he meant, for her to notice that he couldn’t even be himself because he was so scared of what others perceived him as. The way his knuckles turned white as they tugged at the fabric around his neck made him shake with anxiety. There was nothing more that he wanted than to be himself comfortably, and she had the power to give even a fraction of that feeling to him.

When she made no effort to reply, he dropped his hand back to his legs, and deterred his attention mindlessly toward the carpet. The sounds of her pen were the only noise to fill the room, but it was swiftly drowned out as his mind silently ran rampant.

Every passing second he was sewn into this chair he could feel the air being sucked from his lungs, as if his own oxygen was the ink supplying her pen. However, she was interpreting him with thin lines and extensive words, took every ounce of strength he had left. The cross of her t’s and dots of her i’s hit the paper alongside his heartbeat, a long dash prodding at his ears crisply before her pen dribbled as it softly fell to the desk.

“I understand,” she nodded. The tips of her fingernails pushed his application away as if in dismissal, a word in red detailing what she saw. “And I want to help you.”

His breath stole from his chest in a rush, as he jolted forward in the slightest.

“However, this is more than just painting over your tattoos. What you will be going through requires a more stable mental state and your full desire to do this,” she continued, lips parted to continue with a monolog he would no sooner tune out.

Your full desire to do this, he turned his head to the side and scrunched his eyes in distaste. The words clung to him the more that she spoke, babbling on about prices and dates, mental well-being and rehab, but it all soared right past him as he rolled the words over and over. It was a minuscule slip-up, something that would have gone unnoticed had he not been aware of her increasing discomfort with him.

She thought he was full of shit.

“Do you think I’m trying to be like the inked?” He snapped, tone level but eyes unwavering as they latched onto hers.

“Excuse me?” She rose a brow.

“Do you think I’m here to cover my tattoos so that I can plaster myself with more?” He deadpanned.

Her hands, which had been poised just a few inches above the desk, fell onto the surface, the disgust she had been hiding now exploiting itself in the downturn of her lips. “I never said that.”

“There are some things that don’t have to be said to be heard,” he said starkly. His fingers gripped onto the chair's arms, pulling him up until he was hovering over the desk with a look of disappointment.

“Mr. Kim,” she sighed, placing her hand on her desk and standing to meet his gaze. “I’ve dealt with people like you before, and I’ve tried to believe that they wanted–”

“People like me before?” His feet adjusted as he shook his head in disbelief. “You’ve sat with me for barely five minutes and you think you have the slightest idea of who I am?”

“I’m just trying to say that–”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll just take myself and my mental instability out of this judgemental shit hole.” The words came out in a snarl that bit at her as he took a step back, head shaking in disdain before turning his back to her.

“Thanks for nothing.”

[squiddlesandsopor]

Don’t Forget to Breathe

Chapter 2 

RivaMika

General Audiences

AO3

Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

“So, I’m meeting him tomorrow afternoon,” Mikasa huffed as her sneakers thumped against the pavement.

Next to her Sasha shook her head, “I still can’t believe your parents want you to marry a stranger. Who does that?”

“Well,” Mikasa hummed, thinking, “It’s not common here but in some societies it’s normal. Expected even. My parents are like that. That’s what their families were like. I guess that’s what this guy’s family is like too. I don’t like it because I feel like I’m being pushed into something I don’t want but there are a lot of people that are fine with it.”

Sasha shook her head again but dropped the subject as they increased their pace at the halfway point of their run. The rising sun behind them cast long shadows that they chased down the quiet residential street. They ran in relative silence aside from their softly echoing footsteps and controlled breaths.

When they looped back to the street housing Sasha’s apartment complex they slowed to a jog and then finally to a walk. Mikasa focused on keeping her breathing steady and maintaining an even pace despite her twitching muscles. Next to her Sasha groaned.

“I am so hungry now I could eat enough breakfast for three people.”

With a small smile Mikasa replied, “Wouldn’t you do that anyway?”

“Yeah,” Sasha laughed, “Now I can binge on carbs though!”

The women parted with smiles and small waves as Sasha went back up to her apartment and Mikasa got in her car to drive home for a quick shower before class. Her fingers tapped arhythmically against the steering wheel as she made her way through the empty streets. While she had brushed off her meeting tomorrow she was more conflicted about it than she had let on. She had fallen back onto the same arguments her parents had used on her over the years. This bothered her and the thought plagued her throughout the day even though she exuded her usual quiet focus externally.

In class she took notes and wondered why her parents had so much faith in a man they’d never even met. From what little she could tell Levi’s uncle was an acquaintance of her parents. How they’d decided the match would be a good one was beyond her.

After class she met up with two of her oldest friends. They had coffee and she listened absently as they chatted. She thought about telling them about her issue but decided not to trouble them. They parted after an hour saying that it had been too long, that they had to get together again soon, that the only downside about not being in high school anymore was that they didn’t see each other nearly as often. Mikasa agreed, sipping her now cold latte, but knew that it would be another month or two before they saw each other again just like always.

At work she pruned and watered and calmly answered questions but the whole time she felt on edge. Like a drawn bowstring, the faintest hint of a tremor along her limbs, waiting for the release that would snap her back to equilibrium. She tried to ignore her tension but as the hours crept forward the feelings of being strung too tightly intensified. By the end of her shift she hurried to escape the stifling confines of the greenhouse. She made it to her car before she had to stop. She leaned back against it and, head hanging, braced her hands on her thighs. After several deep breaths her head cleared enough for her to feel safe to drive. She got into her car and glanced at the plain black duffle bag in the backseat. With a slight nod she started the car and made the quick drive to her gym. There wasn’t a lot of time before closing but she was able to run through a routine she had designed for days when she had an excess of adrenaline coursing through her system. By the time she was finishing her last stretches the employee had come by to give her the five minute warning. Her tension eased by the demanding routine, Mikasa collected her items and made the short drive home in an endorphin-laden haze.

Mikasa shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket to control the impulse to fidget. Her mother walked next to her with a pleased smile tugging up her lips and crinkling in the corners of her eyes.

“Remind me why you’re here again?”

Her mom looked startled for a moment, “Because I need to introduce you to Levi! I can’t just expect you to introduce yourself. Besides, you don’t know what he looks like.”

“And you do?”

“Of course, I met him when we arranged this match. You didn’t think I wasn’t going to get an idea of who my little girl might marry before consenting to the arrangement did you?”

That was exactly what Mikasa thought but she kept that to herself as she looked away from her mother. It was a beautiful afternoon with wispy clouds that lazed across an azure sky. The meticulously kept municipal gardens were in full, fragrant bloom. Pigeons waddled down the sidewalk cooing softly as sparrows flitted between the ground and the manicured trees standing like sentinels along the length of the street.

It was rare that Mikasa was able to make time for herself and it bothered her that she had to waste a fine day like this one to appease her parents.

“Here we are,” her mother’s cheerful voice interrupted her brooding by causing another spike of adrenaline to shoot through her system.

They were in front of a quaint coffee shop in the middle of a street she had never been down. The place was practically deserted which, she assumed, was the point of the location in the first place. There was a man leaning against the side of the building but as they approached he straightened and stepped forward to meet them. His impeccable posture momentarily leant him the illusion of height but the closer they got the more Mikasa realized that he was actually significantly shorter than her own, slightly greater than average, height.

“Levi,” her mother’s tone was warm and she flashed a radiant smile at the man in front of them, “It’s so good to see you again.”

He nodded in response.

“Levi, this is my daughter - Mikasa. Mikasa this is Levi. His uncle and mother were friends of your father’s.”

Mikasa nodded in turn and had to suppress the childish glee she felt when her mother’s smile faltered slightly and her lips thinned.

“Well!” Smile back, she took a step away, “I’ll leave you two to get to know each other. Mikasa, I’ll call you tonight.”

Mikasa wasn’t sure if that was meant as a reassurance or as a warning but she returned her mother’s hug and raised her hand in a small wave of acknowledgement.

“Shall we?”

Mikasa turned back at the low question and inclined her chin again in a slight nod.

Levi lead the way into the shop and Mikasa followed after a moment. By the time she’d caught up to him he was already at the counter.

“I’ll have Qimen Hong Cha, the Hao Ya variety if you have it,” he turned his head enough to look at Mikasa out of the corner of his eye, “Get whatever you’d like.”

Her eyebrows twitched up slightly at his abruptness but she asked for a black coffee anyway to remain cordial in front of the barista.

After he paid Levi went and sat at a small table against the wall with a good view of the window. For lack of much else to do Mikasa joined him in tense silence. She focused on the view out the large front window despite the fact that there was nothing to really focus on - the street was more than empty. A few minutes later the barista brought over their drinks but even this was not enough to break the stony impasse.

Her eyes trailed away from the window to fixate on the lightly steaming, mirror dark surface of her coffee. While deliberately not looking at the man across from her she caught the graceful clasp of his long fingers around the rim of his cup in her peripherals. So intense was her unintentional focus that she heard the soft sounds of his lips parting and the fluid swallows he took. It was enough that she felt the need to break the tension anyway she could so she slapped her palm against the table and looked up into steady grey-blue eyes.

“What kind of man agrees to marry a child half his age?” She spit the question as an accusation, no less venomous for the fact that she said it quietly to avoid the barista overhearing.

This earned her no response beyond a single raised brow and another small sip of tea.

Her open hand clenched into a fist - an unintentional motion she only realized she’d made once Levi’s eyes flicked down to it and back up to her face with the same bland expression he’d been wearing since she met him. She took a controlled breath in and relaxed her hand as she released it again. She then took her own measured sip of coffee.

“I think that’s something I have a right to know, don’t you?” She tracked the slight tilt of his head and then repeated her question, this time with less hostility, “What kind of man agrees to marry a child?”

He set his cup down and regarded her with flat eyes, “The kind of man that was hoping she would have held out a little longer.”

Mikasa’s eyebrows furrowed, “Wait, what?”

“You didn’t think I intended to marry some brat did you?”

“I,” she faltered, “I don’t know. My parents gave me the impression you did.”

He rested one hand on the table while slinging his other arm over the back of the chair, “How old were you when your parents first brought up the idea of an arranged marriage with you?”

“Ten.”

He nods, almost to himself, before continuing, “That’s how old I was when my uncle took me to meet the first potential bride he and my mother had lined up.

“But it didn’t stop there. After I refused that match they found me another. Then another after I refused that one. When I was thirty and they suggested you I’d been turning down unwanted matches for longer than you’d been alive. So I told them I’d consider you once you were older to get them off my back. I’d hoped you’d put meeting off for more than five years but it was better than nothing I suppose.”

He reached for his tea again as Mikasa contemplated what he had said.

“So,” she steadied herself with another swallow of coffee before speaking again, “What happens now?”

His eyebrow ticked up again and she had to push down the flash of irritation she felt at his condescension.

“Now we go our separate ways and endure more unsavory matches.”

“No, this was it. I tell my parents I’m not interested and this is the end of it.”

His dark chuckle held no humour.

“That’s awfully naive of you. I just told you my family has been trying to set me up since I was ten and you think your family will back off after a single rejection.

“That’s cute.” The words were dry and Mikasa felt her burgeoning hope flee before the sharpness of his tone.

She traced the rim of her cup with the tip of her finger, a frown on her face.

“So what should I do,” the exhalation was little more than thinking out loud but Levi heard it anyway and shrugged.

“I’d recommend you find someone to date or a friend willing to pretend for your sake. If neither of those are possibilities you should drag this out; let your family think we’re actually considering this. That’s what I’m planning on doing at least.”

She looked up and met his eyes before looking away again unhappily.

His barely audible sigh echoed her own internal one, “Are you dating anyone?”

“No.”

“Any friends that are willing to take one for the team?”

She considered it briefly, “No. At least no one believable.”

His lips thinned and she could sense the tension building again. The silence stretched and she was preparing to leave when he interrupted her thought process.

“Tch.” The noise was sudden and he was frowning, “I don’t relish the thought of having to meet new women every couple months or so and you’re obviously not interested in that life either. So I have a proposition; you probably won’t like it though.”

Mikasa shrugged and Levi continued.

“We can tell our families that we’re seriously considering this marriage. We’ll have to see each other at least occasionally or they’ll get suspicious but it’s probably better than the alternative.”

Mikasa looked up to meet his eyes but he was glaring out the window so she looked back to the dregs of her coffee. He was right, she didn’t like it. Unfortunately, she didn’t see much of an alternative either. She tried to think of something, anything really, but eventually she relented. Throwing back the bitter dregs of her cold coffee she steeled herself for what was almost certainly a mistake in the making.

[mellicose]

The Game - 2

A David Tennant Holiday Fic Request

Fandom: David Tennant, Jean-Francois Mercier, Spies of Warsaw

Wordcount: 1500

Warnings: none

Second Place - After their amazing afternoon, Jean-Francois has been searching for the dark-haired beauty who nearly succeeded in killing him at his most vulnerable. Now that he finally found her, will she be as easy to capture as he believes?

Read Chapter 1

14 Février 1938

He shifted position on the unyielding stone, rubbed his eyes, and brought the binoculars to his face again.

They were done. How quick.

She put on her negligee, deep blue satin trimmed in cream lace. The binoculars were so powerful he could see the shadow of her sex-hard nipples.

His mouth twitched.

The pale, bilious bastard she’d been fucking rolled out of her sheets and scratched at his chest. A Nazi, by the medals on the suit he’d shed less than ten minutes before. He tried to grab at her, but she ducked gracefully from his grasp. She grinned openmouthed at him. She put on earrings. Diamonds. A gift.

He finished dressing behind her. She faced the window as she combed her black hair. The smile was gone.

There was a silver revolver on the sill, hidden between clay potted geraniums. He combed his yellow hair at her vanity. She put her brush down and put on some kid gloves, then screwed on a silencer. The man fiddled with his tie, oblivious.

His eyebrows arched over the binoculars. Could she be-

She turned. The Nazi’s mouth opened to scream, but she shot him in the throat, then pumped two bullets in his chest. He dropped like a sack of shit. She burst into action, rolling his body in the carpet underneath him.

His heart raced, but his face was impassive. He worked months to gather a dossier on the woman who had tried -

-but had she really tried?-

To kill him. Just like the dead Nazi, she’d fucked him. And it chilled his blood to know for sure that she would’ve been successful, had his death been the objective.

Her face had haunted him since that warm afternoon. That, and her adventurous mouth. She had not done those things with the Nazi. For him, it had been the standard bounce on his lap, but even then, she was artful.

He almost didn’t blame the man for coming so quickly.

“Il est mort heureux,” he said out loud. He died happy. And it was far more than he deserved.

She called someone. Her face was grave. She nodded and hung up, then dressed quickly. She wore an inconspicuous brown skirt suit.

Well, as inconspicuous as she could look. She was a stunning beauty.

She took off the earrings. Her raven hair was hidden under a cloche, a hat gone far out of style. She unscrewed the silencer from the revolver and wrapped it in a felt rag. She put on some muddy tan stockings. They looked a travesty on her smooth skin.

He watched as she paced her flat, her hands on her waist. She was waiting. At one point, she stood over the carpet wrapped body and kicked it. Repeatedly. Viciously. When she turned, her face was twisted into a mask of disgust. Maybe even agony.

Despite the chill, sweat dripped from his armpits down his sides.

A beat up sedan pulled up to the alley - the car she was waiting for, because she picked up her purse and gloves and left the apartment.

Merde! He picked up his knapsack and ran down the four flights of stairs of the the building on whose roof he had been spying four steps at a time and ran out a side door. Nobody clocked him. Nobody cared.

She was already walking down the sidewalk as he cleared the alley. He hid behind some trash cans and watched. The car purred on neutral in the alley.

She turned the corner. He looked back and forth painfully, then followed her.

He ran deftly behind her in the light evening foot traffic. She walked quickly, but a bit stiffly. No one looked at her.

If they could only see who they were dismissing.

She walked into an alley, then stepped into a place with a soup sign over the door - a working-class restaurant. He pulled his pageboy low over his forehead and followed. No one stood at the door to greet him. There were tables draped in oilcloth, and a counter at which three sallow faced men slurped.

She sat in a dark corner, near the door to the kitchen, sipping on something. She felt comfortable enough to take off her hat. The men at the counter didn’t stir.

She looked at him boldly and stirred her beverage. He was momentarily stuck to the place he stood.

“Colonel,” she said, and pointed to the seat opposite her.

He put his hand in his jacket and sat down.

She gave him a half smile. “No need for that, Jean. I’m unarmed.”

He took his thumb off the hammer and put his hand on the table. Fresh mint leaves floated in her steaming cup.

“Did you get a good show, Colonel?”

He remained silent.

“You have questions. I might have answers.”

“Why did you kill him?”

“Because I was ordered to, although it was my pleasure. Next?”

“You are a Nazi assassin. A plant.”

“Yes. Is that it?”

“And they ordered you to kill that man?”

“They? No. Your questions aren’t very well-worded, Mercier. I must be going.” She picked up her hat and stood up. He followed, but in the blink of an eye she had reached into his jacket and taken his weapon. The muzzle now hovered at the level of his eyes, just out of his reach.

“Keep watching, Colonel. Maybe then you’ll have better questions.”

The men at the counter did not even look their way. When he looked back, she was gone.

He ran out through the kitchen, but the alley was empty. Again, she had disarmed him. And again, she had not taken the opportunity to kill him.

He went back to the apartment building and climbed the stairs to where the murder had occurred. The door was open. He patted in his boot for a knife and backed carefully into it. The apartment still smelled faintly of her perfume mixed with the iron tang of blood.

But it was empty. The body was gone. He did a quick recon of the three rooms, but there was no one there, and no evidence that there had been. The bed had been made with fresh sheets. The scuffed wood floor was clean.

He put the knife between his teeth and started to look through the bureau drawers. They were empty, save for clean linen. He shook them open, and they drifted around his head like shrouds, but there was nothing. He looked in the closet. It was empty. He went to the kitchen and opened the cabinets. There was only vodka and powdered soap.

He was perplexed.

She played the part of a kept woman very well. Why would that man consent to see her there, in that shitty flat? It didn’t even have a lavatory. He had marked the man’s face well - he would go through the hundreds of archived photos of Nazis and Nazi sympathisers and find out who he was.

But the mystery of who she really was loomed larger.

She had kicked the dead body so angrily. It smacked of a personal affront to him.

He went back to the closet turned on the light. He carefully touched the doorjamb, then moved down the wood floor. His persistence paid off - a board came off easily after just a little prodding. An old shoebox was jammed into the hole in the floor.

He pulled it out and stared at it for a bit. It looked like a girl’s shoebox, no more than 25 cm long. He opened it. There was an old velvet ribbon, a rich blue color, but balding at the edges.  A little wood doll with red painted cheeks. A letter, addressed to a Sylvia Mountbatten, in English, in an envelope with Minnie Mouse on it. He pulled it out, and a photo fell on his lap.

Two smiling girls, arm in arm, with a lake behind them. One was blonde, one had dark hair. He squinted at the image. The one with dark hair had a long, slim face, with limbs to match. The blonde was shorter, but she already had twin buds stretching the front of her striped suit and blooming hips. The curve of her lips was familiar.

He flipped the photo, and there was something written on the back.

Catskills, USA, 1927

Sylvia and Rachel

Which is Sylvia? More importantly, who is Sylvia, and why had she hidden the shoebox?

He heard a hammer cock and turned to see her standing in the middle of the bedroom, his gun pointed at his chest.

“It looks like you found my secret stash, Colonel.” She kicked the knife he’d laid on the floor into the next room. He was completely unarmed now. She walked confidently to him and snatched the photo and letter from his hand. He studied her dark hair, the delicate planes of her face. She couldn’t be the dark haired girl. That girl would’ve grown to be tall and skinny. She was petite, curvy.

She put the letter in the box and tucked it under her arm.

“You’re tenacious, Jean. I’ll give you that.” She eyed his lips, then her gaze traveled slowly to his eyes. She bit her own unpainted lip. “Fucking Frenchman,” she said in English. His eyes widened in surprise. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

He felt a flash of pain, then all slid easily into darkness.