#they grab my phone to scroll through my messages and analyse everything he and i say

[official-lucifers-child]

so i have a massive crush on a guy in my philosophy class, and pretty much all of my friends know and are constantly teasing me and trying to set me up with him. i mean like i get in the car and every one of them asks me about my crush and if we’ve talked that day and what we talked about and for how long and i’m banging my head against the dashboard trying to get them to shut up

[nosferatvpussy]

distorted lullabies [chapter XV]

Word count: 5,674

Warnings: vulgar language

Pairing: Dracula x female reader

Not the gif I wanted but I was too lazy to search for longer.

AO3 link

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My ears rang with the grating sound of Judge Llewellyn’s voice projecting inside the courtroom. I glanced at my wristwatch. The session should have been over at 4.30pm but it was now past 5. Through the window closest to me, I could see that the sky had lost its orange clouds amidst light blue in favour of pinks and deep blues. Dracula would start calling me incessantly at any moment now, like he’d done yesterday.

Surreptitiously, I slid a hand on my trousers’ front pocket and grabbed my phone. I eased back on my seat to glimpse the screen from under the table. Jane Grisham’s client – my newest client as of yesterday, actually – huffed at my side but I ignored him; my problem was life or death, his was the possibility of ten years in prison which he well deserved. 

No messages from Count Dracula so far, except the ones from last night. I scrolled up the texts. Odd. I dared bring the phone closer to check if my phone was on airplane mode to justify this but I could see three bars at the top indicating that I had signal.

“Are we boring you, Miss L/N?”

I scrambled into a proper posture as I clicked the phone off and hurriedly put it back in my pocket. My eyes met Judge Llewellyn’s up in his pulpit and I forced an innocent smile at his chiding stare.

“Apologies, my lord. Please proceed.”

The prosecutor, a scrawny old man, raised a contemptuous eyebrow at me before he continued scribbling on a notebook. Llewellyn was nearing the end of the session, going over court dates and times, which was indeed boring, and I knew he would email the details later to make sure nobody made any mistakes, so his speech wasn’t as important as he thought.

I rubbed the corners of my eyes as much as my make up would allow to try and clear the sensation that I had sand in my eyes from lack of sleep. I’d gotten only two hours of sleep – that is, if I combined all the moments I nodded off when shuffling through files, otherwise I wouldn’t say I’d slept at all. I had spent the night staring at the window until sunrise, listening to every minimal sound that could indicate that Count Dracula had found me hiding in Mallory’s guestroom. When Mallory finally woke up earlier that morning, I had already gotten ready for work, stuffed all my things back in my suitcase, made us breakfast and sat down with a cup of untouched tea to mull over what I was going to say to Dracula. By the time Mallory and I left for work, I was confident with my little speech but as the day stretched on and exhaustion settled over me, I doubted that I was capable of many coherent thoughts. Facing Count Dracula when my head was a jumble and I could scarcely keep my eyes open wasn’t ideal but I had no other choice. My ten days were beyond over.

Llewellyn briefly interrupted himself as the courtroom’s door opened with a creak. He regarded whoever had entered the courtroom before resuming. Clicking heels approaching me made me turn my head just in time to see Mallory taking a seat behind me with the audience, a stern look on her face.

Without turning away from the court, I leaned back to give her my ear.

“St Thomas Hospital called me just now, they’re letting Renfield out,” she whispered. My foot bumped into the table as if I had just been shocked by high voltage. My mouth opened and closed. None of what Mallory had just said made sense. She placed a hand on my shoulder. “Dracula vouched for him to leave, he’s one of Renfield’s emergency contacts, apparently. The nurse told me that Dracula called them to say that you will be picking up Renfield after release hours tonight because you’re caught up in court duty. Renfield gave the nurse my number so I could notify you. Y/N, how did Dracula know you’d be in court until late? Is he stalking you?”

My head started spinning from the moment Mallory said Dracula had vouched for Renfied, and I failed to process the rest of what she’d said. 

Was he taunting me because the ten days were up? Was it a threat to Renfield’s life? A threat that he could hurt the people around me because I didn’t abide to his deadline? 

“We’re adjourned,” Llewellyn declared, and I shot up from my seat at once, gathering my things as quickly as I could before striding out of the courtroom with Mallory at my side; my client forgotten.

“Y/N, is he stalking you?” she asked again when we were at the Royal Courts of Justice’s halls.

“I don’t know! Maybe. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“You can’t keep seeing him if he is.”

“I don’t really have a choice in that matter, Mal,” I scoffed. She grabbed my elbow to make me look at her. Noting her scowl, I continued, “He’s a client, I can’t deny seeing him if he requests.” It wasn’t a lie but wasn’t the proper explanation either.

“Don’t play stupid with me, you know what I meant. Y/N, if he’s dangerous–”

“He is. He is very dangerous but I can deal with him,” I said, forcing my voice to sound strong to make me believe it, too. I untangled myself from Mallory. “I’ve got to go pick up Renfield. Talk to you later, Mal.”

  ______________________________________________________

“Miss? We’re here,” said the cabbie.

By his tone I knew he had said it at least once before and I hadn’t heard him. 

Renfield should be waiting for me inside St Thomas Hospital with his bags packed and a harmless, sane look in his eyes, at least I hoped. Count Dracula could be waiting in there, too, waiting for me to walk right into his arms. If I was smarter and less tired, I would give the cabbie Mallory’s address, but I couldn’t run forever. 

I rubbed my forehead. Exhaustion made it harder to evaluate all the possible consequences if I walked out of the car and into the hospital. 

“Can you wait for me here?” I finally said to the cabbie. “I’m picking up someone and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“No problem,” he said, glancing at the taximeter with a small smile in his mouth.

I considered my suitcase in the backseat and left, unconcerned. There wasn’t anything valuable in there to a cabbie, unless he had a secret propensity for crossdressing. 

My legs guided me through the hospital as if I was on autopilot while I cast furtive glances at every corner. More than once my heart sank when I saw a tall silhouette at the end of a hallway until I realised it was too short or too skinny to be Count Dracula.

Breathing was a hard task when I neared the psych ward but it was too late to turn back. People passed me, watery eyes and runny noses as a little girl complained that her dad sounded funny and asked her mother why dad drooled all the time and wouldn’t blink. The mother looked at me and I focused ahead of me, pretending I hadn’t heard any of that. 

Nurse Margaret greeted me with a warm smile when I stopped at the nurse’s station inside the psych ward.

“Wondered if you’d really come. Your fiancée said you were quite busy.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“My what?”

“Your fiancée,” she repeated, enunciating the word clearly like I’d missed it the first time. “He called earlier and said that Mr. Renfield will be getting his treatments from home now and that you’d come tonight to sign his release forms.”

“He’s not my fiancée.”

“Oh. I must’ve heard him wrong, then, but I’m sure he said the word bride…” her gaze was lost in thought for a moment.

“Where do I sign?” I asked with more than a touch of impatience. 

Margaret frowned lightly at my rudeness but retrieved a thin stack of papers from below her desk. Using a pen, she pointed at several paragraphs while she repeated without reading, almost word for word, what was written. Because Renfield had been committed on account of violent behaviour he would have to attend psychotherapy sessions inside St Thomas Hospital and see a psychiatrist every fifteen days – Nurse Margaret informed me that the normal procedure was usually every week but Renfield’s doctor had seen fantastic improvement and decided that fifteen days was more adequate in his case until he was deemed mentally healthy. She showed me where to sign and reminded me at each turn of a page that Renfield would be under my responsibility since I was permitting his release. When I was done signing everything, Margaret left to get Renfield.

Minutes rolled by and I paced around the waiting room like I was a caged beast, peering around corners, breath hitching in my chest whenever I heard a man’s voice. Clicking high heels drew me out to the hallway and I exhaled in relief upon seeing Renfield striding next to Nurse Margaret and a male nurse carrying a box. He was dressed in the very same clothes he had been wearing the morning he attacked me but they were clean and looked a little bigger on his frame than they did before. His glasses slid down his nose as he walked. They were too big for his face but he never wore another pair, even when I gave him new ones on his birthday. I smiled as he pushed them back over the bridge of his nose. Stubborn man. He smiled back.

“Happy to leave?” I asked him. 

“You’ve got no idea,” he replied, and surprised me by planting a kiss to my forehead. I froze for a second. He was usually awkward about physical contact with almost anyone. Therapy must have driven another man to crawl out of him. “You didn’t come visit me last week. How was the wedding?”

“Not great,” I said, staring into his eyes. They didn’t change, so I assumed he didn’t know what had happened. He could also be wearing his courtroom face which was just as good as mine, better even. 

At that, Margaret said her goodbyes with a warm smile and told us that Roger, the slender nurse carrying a cardboard box, would accompany us down with Renfield’s books. I noticed Renfield analysing me as I fidgeted inside my shoes and forced myself to stop. Roger tried to make small talk on the way out but I couldn’t give him more than a few words.

The taxi was parked in the same exact spot as before. The cabbie nodded at me, blowing out smoke before throwing his cigarette to the ground and stomping it. My feet hurt as I hurried towards him and my worry subsided a little. I’d made it. Renfield was out and I hadn’t seen Count Dracula. It wasn’t a trap but I still didn’t understand his true intention by doing so. 

The cabbie opened the door for me and I entered the car, relaxing in my seat to feel the coolness of the window against my forehead. Roger placed the box next to me so when Renfield took a seat, it laid between us.

“Why am I out?” Renfield asked in the short pause it took for the cabbie to close our door and round the car towards the driver’s seat.

I stared at him.

“If you don’t know, what makes you think I would?”

“You’re his brid–” Renfield cut the word short when the cabbie threw himself behind the wheel. He leaned forward and gave the cabbie his address. When he spoke to me again, his voice was low over the sound of the car’s engine. “From my experience, the Count isn’t particularly kind and I know he would never do this for me, especially after my little outburst. There must be a reason for this benevolence.”

“At the wedding he said that you could have some of his things shipped from Romania to London. Maybe he has need of them now.”

Renfield gave me a lopsided smile. It was usually the smile he reserved for cross examining witnesses. A venomous snake just before it struck.

“The wedding. Something happened there, didn’t it?” He inquired. I chose to look out of the window instead of facing him. “You won’t look at me, which means I’m right. Please tell me you were smart enough to listen to what I told you.”

Surrender with arms wide open or he’ll hurt you and those around you. Listen to me. He will. 

I surrendered but not fast enough. Not fast enough to take back everything I had done.

“I really should have listened to you,” I confessed. “He did exactly what you said he would.”

“Even though he’s lived a long time, patience isn’t one of his virtues, Y/N.”

“It wasn’t lack of patience,” I muttered. “Actually, he’s been nothing if not patient with me. I went behind his back and it blew up in my face, and you don’t need to chastise me about it. I’ve got enough guilt as it is.”

“What did he do?”

A weird question from him. Finally, I met his eyes again and was surprised to find that I knew the man behind them. 

“Mallory,” I said as a means of explanation. There wasn’t much we could say with the cabbie listening. “She’s okay, though.”

“So are you,” Renfield said as he extended a hand and brushed my hair away from my neck. 

“For now. I owe him an explanation, which I was supposed to give it to him yesterday but work happened. I’m not sure how he’ll–” I regarded Renfield for the second time that night. “You’re worried about me?”

“Of course I am.” He frowned, seemingly offended that I had to ask. “I wear glasses but I’m not completely blind. You haven’t been sleeping,” he said as he tapped under his eye. Covering my dark circles with a decent amount of concealer obviously didn’t disguise it enough. “And you were fidgeting inside the hospital because you were afraid of encountering Count Dracula. Cowardice is a horrible look on you, Y/N.”

“You haven’t asked me what I did to Dracula.”

“It mustn’t have been good to drive him towards Mallory. And why should it matter what you did to him? It’s no excuse.”

“Oh, my god,” I murmured, staring at him in shock as I pieced it together. The kiss to the forehead, his concern, the completely sane look to his eyes... 

“What? Did you think I’d defend him if he hurt you?”

“He released you,” I said. Renfield’s frown deepened as he looked from me to the hospital like I had just stated the obvious. “He released you from him,” I spoke quietly so the cabbie wouldn’t hear it but Renfield did. His face paled until it was stark white in the car’s low light. 

“No…”

“Would you ever speak of him this way if he hadn’t?”

He shook his head.

Letting Renfield out of the hospital wasn’t a threat or a ploy to get me. It was a gift.  However dim the possibility, my brain latched on to the idea that it wasn’t simply a gift, but an apology. Being merciful wasn’t at all like Dracula. It wouldn’t fix what he had done but it was something. If he had freed Renfield out of the goodness of his heart or if he had done it for ulterior motives, it didn’t really matter. I had begged for Renfield and offered myself up in exchange and Dracula had dismissed my attempts. Before, he had never cared how much that hurt me. And now this; an abrupt kindness to make up for his deeds. 

“He wouldn’t– no,” Renfield grumbled. “Why– he, he can’t… he can’t do this to me. I’ll be alone.”

“You’ll have me,” I retorted.

“No, you’re his. I know you are. It’s in your eyes, and you want it, too. You’ll be like him and who will I be, hm?” His voice was thin but carried the weight of restrained emotion. “Nobody, I’ll be nobody. In a few years the both of you won’t even remember me.”

To my horror, twin tears streamed down his face. 

Dracula had called him weak once, and suddenly I understood why he could see Renfield like that. Renfield himself had said that he didn't exist without Count Dracula but I’d deduced he had been made to believe that as a slave. His weeping told of an abandonment I couldn’t understand, and hoped never would. As much as I dreaded the idea, some people can only fathom existence if they have a leash around their neck to guide them. Sometimes the leash is religion or politics, and least often it is a centuries old vampire. It comforted Renfield, I supposed, this feeling of unquestionable certainty, and to have that teared away debased him. 

Revulsion wrapped its claws around my ankles until it creeped up to my face in a scowl. It wasn’t Renfield’s fault that this world had made him like this and I shouldn’t blame him for wanting direction under a tight fist of a warlord, and yet I found that an ugly part of me despised him for it. Did that mean I shared something in common with Count Dracula? One of his defects? 

“It’ll pass,” I told Renfield, looking out the window. “You’ll find your footing again soon. And no matter what you think or what happens, I’ll remember you.”

Despite his desolation, I was glad that he was back to himself. If it made me selfish, so be it. Although I wasn’t sure I was more pleased that Renfield was himself again or that Dracula had done it for me. 

When we arrived at Renfield’s flat in Chelsea, he refused any help to carry his belongings out of the car, so he stumbled out with the cardboard box and his small suitcase. At my request, the cabbie waited until I was sure Renfield was safe inside his building and then I gave him my address. 

I fished my phone from my purse and skimmed through my texts. Still none from Dracula. My fingers started typing before I could really think about what I was doing.

  _____________________________________________________

Count Dracula knocked briefly on Lucy’s balcony door before opening it. She had been lying on her stomach, texting someone, but turned around to greet him with a kittenish grin. The bed’s covers were instantly thrown away with a swift movement to expose her legs. 

“Finally! I thought you were giving up on me,” she exclaimed, rising on the bed to stand on her knees. He allowed her to pull him closer by his jacket’s lapels but when she neared his lips, he turned his face slightly to the side and she kissed only the corner of his mouth. “Nobody ignores my texts, you know.”

“Alas, I did”– he raised an eyebrow– “but you were begging for me and I had to come to put an end to it.”

That elicited another grin from her. A few days ago he would have found it charming, it was odd that it didn’t get a reaction out of him now. He hadn’t spent time with Lucy ever since before the wedding, so maybe that’s all he needed to warm up to her again – time. 

“Tell me you’re taking me out tonight,” she goaded, pouting.

“Don’t you have class tomorrow morning?”

“Yes but–”

“Then no.” He pushed her back on the bed and she fell with a laugh. “I’d rather do this,” he murmured as he climbed on top of her. 

She wriggled under him, doing her best to incite him as she rubbed her neck near his mouth, her hips twisting in need as her legs wrapped about his waist to brush up against him. He let her touch him, and he waited for desire to rise. She whined when he didn’t respond to her advances. 

Nothing stirred in him. He rolled off of her, throwing an arm over his face. His arm was lifted not a second later and he glanced at Lucy as she wrapped it around herself to snuggle up to his chest. He patted her shoulder, gazing up at the star pattern stamped on Lucy’s ceiling. Releasing Renfield should appease Y/N, which is what he wanted, but so far there was no news from her. He couldn’t stay in his home pacing around as he waited for a call. And then Lucy’s text had arrived and he decided it was better to go distract himself. No use so far.

“Did you have fun on your trip?�� She asked him softly.

“Up to a point.”

“Did you miss me?”

“No, not really,” he said. Lucy chuckled, as she always did whenever he was too serious. He wasn’t sure if she interpreted his seriousness as a joke or if she laughed it off because she didn’t know how to react. 

“But you’re here,” she continued.

“It seems so, yes.”

He could tell that she wanted him to say that he had missed her but he wouldn’t lie. If she was hurt, then it was for the best. 

Lucy quickly maneuvered herself so she could straddle him. His hands automatically went to her thighs as she settled in a comfortable position. 

“Okay, so you didn’t come here to talk or to take me out.” Lowering her body over his, she popped a button on his shirt. Then another. “We can do other stuff, more interesting stuff…” Another button opened and she splayed her hands on his chest, stroking his skin. She moved her hips back and forth over his and his body stirred in response. Ah, so he wasn’t completely immune to her, it seemed. When she leaned in to kiss him, he let her. He breathed in her scent, and the charm was broken as swiftly as it had begun. It wasn’t the smell of honey he so longed for. “You’re being weird,” Lucy mumbled against his lips before pulling back to observe him.

Shutting his eyes, he forced himself to relax, concentrating on wiping Y/N’s scent from his brain. He covered Lucy’s hands with his own when he felt a tug on another button. Her fingers persisted but a light squeeze on them made her stop.

“How come?” 

“It’s fine if you don’t want to fuck because god knows all you want to do is drink me but you’re barely touching me, and usually you can’t keep your hands to yourself.” She wiggled her hips. “You’re not even hard, and I’m really trying here, Drac.” He laughed at her pout. She had never looked so offended since he’d met her and he had said things to her that would make anyone’s blood curdle. “It’s not funny. I was right that time, wasn’t I? You really don’t want me anymore.”

He opened his mouth to answer her, then his phone vibrated in his pocket, and froze. Lucy narrowed her eyes at him and glanced at the lit screen shining through the fabric of his trousers. She plucked his phone out, swatting his hands away when he tried to take it from her, and pushed off of his lap. He gripped thin air when she scooted out of the bed. He clenched his jaw. Lucy’s bratty behaviour was something he had learnt to enjoy but he didn’t find anything fun about it now.

“Give it to me, Lucy,” he said, holding out a hand as he sat. She bit her lip and shook her head to the sides as the phone lit her face from beneath. “Fine, then. Read the message aloud, please.”

“ I’m heading home now if you want to talk. And thank you. ” She read, making a face. “Who’s Y/N?”

Dracula grinned. A thank you from her was enough to bring him contentment, more than Lucy’s playful nature ever would. That boy from the pub, Trent, was apparently correct in saying that doing something nice for her might draw her out. If Dracula knew the outcome would be so perfect, he would have spared him for that alone. 

“My lawyer,” he said, his grin widening. “Give it back to me, Lucy.”

She placed the phone in his palm with an eye roll before sprawling on the bed again.

“Is she the reason why you’re leaving me?”

“How could I leave you if we weren’t together to begin with?”

“Ouch.”

“I swore I’d be sincere with you from the start, and I also told you this wouldn’t become a relationship. Save your ‘ouch’,” he told her, smirking. 

Taking advantage that Lucy appeared momentarily distracted by his words, he opened his texts. Beneath Y/N’s text, there was an opened one from Chelsea. He deleted it without reading it. She’d given him her number yesterday and while he thought to discard it, he was glad he hadn’t. After all, it was useful so he could find out when Y/N would be leaving work and Chelsea, appealing to gain his attention, had kindly provided the information that Y/N would be busy with court until late. It gave him a small window to call the hospital until the message reached her that Renfield was being released. Cutting the servitude ties to Renfield was as simple as closing a door. It opened another so he could make his way back to Y/N.

A sniffle drew his attention up as he was typing. Lucy turned her face toward him from where she lied, batting wet eyelashes at him.

“Lucy… Crying over me?” He smiled. “Didn’t you tell me you couldn’t get your heart broken and that you would be the one doing the heart breaking?”

“I’m crying because I never thought someone would reject me.” She huffed, and he laughed again, earning him a light, playful smack on the shoulder. “It’s sort of absurd.”

“You’re irredeemably spoiled.”

“I know.” She wiped the tears before crawling into his lap and pushing his arms away so she could fit between them. His phone was cast somewhere among her pillows. Lucy’s curls bounced as she settled on top of him and he smoothed them, being careful not to accidentally pull one. The time he’d done that, Lucy had made his ears ring from complaining so much. “But you like me anyway?” He simply nodded. “Hm. Can I meet her?”

“What?” He asked, as if his hearing had failed for the first time in centuries.

“Can I meet Y/N?”

“Why?”

“I want to see what I’m up against.”

“It’s not a competition, Lucy–”

“Okay. But what if–” she gave him a malicious smile “–c’mon, imagine… If I like her too, then maybe the three of us–”

“Lucy–”

“No, hear me out. It’s actually brilliant, and it’d be fun. I’ve never done anything like it. And if you make her a vampire too–”

“Lucy, stop.” He shook her lightly, making her furrow her eyebrows. “It could be fun, yes. Terribly fun, actually,” he said as he considered the image Lucy’s suggestion conjured. “But it’s not happening. None of it.”

“None of it?” She repeated. 

“None, dear,” he asserted. A smile struggled on the corners of his mouth. He had come to see Lucy for one reason but now he wondered his true motivation. Had he known what he was doing, subconsciously? “I won’t come to see you anymore.”

She gaped.

“You’re going to let me wither and die, aren’t you?” she accused.

He chuckled, tilting his head.

“I trust you’ll find some inventive way to kill yourself before you reach old age.”

“You are my inventive way! You promised me eternal life, that I’d pretty forever–”

“Lucy…” he grabbed her jaw to make her stop talking and she whined, although her eyes twinkled slightly at his bruteness. “I really don’t care. I’ve made my decision.”

Tears appeared on her eyes.

“Oh, please, stop with the crying,” he requested, cupping her cheek so a thumb could catch a fat tear before it spilled. He licked it, savouring the salt of her hurt. “I’ve had to deal with vast amounts of it lately and I don’t deserve your tears. They won’t get you anywhere with me.” He sighed. “I don’t want you anymore, Lucy, but it has nothing to do with you. I’ve simply found what I was looking for in someone else. And in her alone.” He smiled. “Y/N is my perfect fruit.”

“You don’t have to be mean,” she grumbled. 

“You’ve never seen me being mean. I realise now that I said the same words to you once and I thought them to be true at the time but not anymore. I don’t regret our time together, Lucy, and I’ll enjoy remembering it years from now. This is goodbye.”

Delicately, he started pushing her out of his lap but she grappled on to him. If she continued being a brat he might have to pry her hands away. When he gazed into her eyes he glimpsed in them an unforeseen sobriety. He hadn’t thought she was capable of it. 

“You won’t make me a vampire. I don’t want to grow old, and I won’t, so before you leave me, will you give me death? A sweet, tragic death that will make people wail at my funeral and say “oh poor Lucy, gone so soon”? Pretty, pretty please?”

“Vain until your last moments, aren’t you, Lucy?”

“Always,” she proclaimed with a proud tilt of her chin. “Give me at least that if you’re going to dump me. What’s there to live for anyway?”

Dark eyes studied her face as he inhaled her scent. There was no fear tainting his senses. Lucy never feared anything from him which was what had drawn him to her at first, yet it wasn’t powerful enough to hold his interest. She didn’t want more out of life except for death. In that sense, Y/N and Lucy were entirely opposites. One couldn’t live forever if life’s eternal paths didn’t interest them; at least Y/N searched for something worth living for. 

“Are you serious?” He  asked, raising an eyebrow. She nodded solemnly. “Death is not a caprice. You can’t take it back, Lucy. If this is your last hope that I’ll keep you, that I’ll suddenly change my mind at the last second, then you underestimate me.”

“I’m dead serious,” she said, widening her eyes at her own joke. Dracula’s expression didn’t change. “I am, Drac. And why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

“Then do it,” she urged before brushing her hair away and exposing her neck to him.

Scars marked her neck and he bent forward instinctively, like it beckoned him closer. Lucy leaned in, her tiny chest heaving next to his, and he enveloped her in a tight embrace. Choosing to kill Lucy would leave only Y/N in his path, by doing it he would kill yet another bride, the one he was most certain would survive the metamorphosis. However glorious was that possibility there was nothing about Lucy that would make him want her as a companion. 

“As a last courtesy…” he whispered, laying his lips on a vein. Her pulse accelerated and the vein jumped, coaxing him to take it cautiously between his teeth. “Lucy, my darkling… I’ll be your easeful Death.” He smiled at his own quotation but she didn’t seem to quite catch it. Y/N would have understood it. She stimulated everything in him, and managed to ignite parts of him that had been long forgotten. He hungered for her like he hungered for blood. What did Lucy do to him? Nothing, nothing, nothing. 

His teeth cut through her and she slumped, melting into him. The taste of her blood was familiar and did not sing to him as it once did. He devoured her methodically. A flavorless drink, like an alcoholic’s bottle of choice. She didn’t move once, not even when death’s spasms should have seized her body.

Once she grew cold, utterly depleted of blood, he laid her on the bed, arranged the covers around her and fluffed the pillows. After considering it, he closed her eyes with the tips of his fingers and fixed the crown of curls about her head. Her dainty lips were slightly parted in her pout. A pretty picture for her mother to find – sweet and tragic, like Lucy had asked. He admired her for a moment and nodded in approval. It had been fun and if she wanted death, it was only right that he gave it to her.

Dracula’s shirt clung to the sides of his chest, dampened by the little blood that had escaped his mouth. He considered the dark swirls of hair on his chest muddled by red liquid; a shower was in order when he got home. His shirt made a muffled, wet sound as he buttoned it up.

His phone rested near Lucy’s shoulder. The screen was smeared with red but it was no trouble seeing through it as he opened Y/N’s message again. 

It would be late at night until he made himself presentable to her, and she would be tired until then. Killing a bride in favour of another also occupied his mind more than he expected. Y/N had ensnared him, completely. He was used to it being the other way around. He had given her time and in that time he had done nothing but kill to cleanse himself from her. It hadn’t worked. Perhaps it was time he did some reflection of his own, before they met again.

 Truce for now, we meet tomorrow. You’re welcome.

“She’s making me soft,” he muttered to himself. He eyed Lucy and rose an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you say so, dear?”

 .

.

.

A/N: Writing this chapter was a struggle, especially the last scene. Once again, not the right mindset for it in my opinion. For those who aren't familiar with what Dracula quotes, it's from Ode to a Nightingale by John Keats. As a treat, I'll let you all know that they'll be reunited in the next chapter... and that's all I'll say about that.

@festering-queen​ @feralstare​ @rheabalaur​ @a-dorky-book-keeper​ @thorin-smokin-shield​ @dreamer2381​ @deborahlazaroff​ @illbegoinhome​ @saint-hardy​ @girlonfireice​ @mr-kisskiss-bangbang​ @iwasjustablur​ @crossoverqueen89​ @vampirescurse​ @blue-serendipity​ @sunscreenfeverdream​ @25ocurer​ @daydreaming136​ @hello-itsbarbie​ @princessayveke​ 

[samanthadalton]

Star crossed lovers (au) part 2

pairings: poppy x mc (bea)

warnings: throughout this fic there will be mentions of substance abuse, homophobia, sexual abuse, violence, NSFW, mentions of abandonment, depression and death including suicide

reader discretion is advised

(i apologise for any spelling/grammatical mistakes, i’ll fix them later) 

taglist: @somewillwin @save-me-the-last-dance @baexpoppy @cloud9in @stanzoeywade @ognenniyvolk @thepotatobleh @crazzyplays @rxssians (i’m pretty sure this is my taglist, if you wanna be tagged in future posts just reply or message me 😊) 

word count: 6.2k

read part 1 here: 

Part 2: First day jitters

BEEP BEEP BEEP 

Bea groans and puts her alarm on snooze momentarily silencing the deafening noise. After finding difficulty in falling asleep on time, the brunette found herself feeling zombified this morning. With great difficulty she forces herself to sit up and reaches over to her dresser to check her phone.

A snapchat from Poppy, 

a miss call from AJ

And 5 unread texts from Zoey

She opens the snapchat from Poppy who had sent a selfie of her with an adorable bedhead, lips slightly puckered, captioning the picture, ‘good morning babe 💋I love you’. Bea decided to send a selfie back, hands raised in a peace sign captioning her post, ‘I love you too, see you at school ❤️’. She decides to give AJ a quick text since he called her at 4:34am and Bea is worried he might’ve gotten into some trouble overnight.  

AJ Baxter, one of the few friends Bea has at Belvoire. He’s younger, a sophomore now, but has a heart of gold. His family is more middle class but his father is good friends with the superintendent which means his place in Belvoire is secured, he could practically get away with anything without risk of suspension. He hangs out with Bea and her friends who live in the south, but recently he’s gotten caught up in a bad crowd, a gang called ‘Southside nation’ who causes nothing but trouble. Bea’s taken it upon herself to look out for him and make sure he doesn’t do anything illegal because he’s a good kid, just a little lost. 

She then decided to check her texts from Zoey who just wants to wish her luck at her fancy school and to let her know if any preppy rich kid tries to bully her to call Zoey who would beat their ass. Zoey was one of Bea’s best friends, they had met when Bea moved into her neighbourhood after leaving the northside of Greensburg, and she practically taught Bea how to survive in the south. She often discloses her opinion about Bea and Poppy’s relationship, warning Bea that it will only end up with her getting her heart broken. Bea tends to ignore Zoey’s criticisms, and anyone else’s really, no one could understand their relationship, Bea and Poppy were soulmates, or at least that’s how they saw each other. Bea usually retorts to Zoey’s criticisms arguing that no matter what life threw at them she and Poppy were destined to be together and no one could ever ruin that. 

After a few more moments of scrolling through her phone, she forces herself to get up and moves over to the other side of the room to wake up her little sister. 

“Hey sleepy head, you gotta get up” Bea gently shakes the younger girl who in response groans loudly and pulls the covers over her head. 

“Go awayyyyy” her voice rasps, as she’s evidently still in sleepy mode. 

Bea grins and decides to jump on her sister’s bed and shake her awake, earning a hard shove from her Aria who sits up on her bed rubbing her red eyes, “Bea whatthehell, what’s wrong with you”, for a 11 year old she sure as hell had a lot of attitude, a trait she definitely acquired from her mother. 

“Sorry kiddo” she leaps off the bed and turns back to look at her sister, “I want you ready for school in 40 minutes, that means you’ve brushed your teeth, brushed your hair, wearing your school clothes and eaten breakfast, all in that order okay?” 

Aria just drags her hands down her face and moans, “okayyyy, relax Bea, let me at least fully wake up”. 

Bea smiles and stalks towards the bathroom and turns on the tap blasting the cold water. She cups her hand and splashes the water all over her face, gasping as if she had been holding her breath for hours. Well, that definitely woke her up. 

After brushing her teeth and going through the steps of her basic skincare routine Poppy practically forced upon her, she advances to the living room and sees that her mother is still in the same place she left her last night. She takes a minute to analyse her mother’s facial features, a few grey hairs peaks out of her hair, threatening to showcase her ageing, her slightly creased forehead, and the small wrinkles which edged on the corners of her eyes. Her nose was similar to Aria’s, a petite buttoned up nose, except she had a silver nose ring. Her lips were thin and wide, red lipstick smeared on her chin a little and all Bea could do was frown. Her mother used to be so beautiful, she remembers the time she stumbled across a photo album in which Bea’s mother had documented almost everything in her life, she used to be so full of life, so happy but now, she was different. She hated her life, ever since her husband left her she resorted to alcohol and drugs, the only way she knew how to numb the pain. It killed Bea to see her mother destroy herself piece by piece, she often questioned to herself why she or Aria were never enough for her to want to live. But Bea would never say anything out loud, not wanting to upset her mother or sister or the more likely answer, she was afraid of the truth. 

Bea shakes herself out of her thoughts and moves towards the kitchen which is connected to the living room. She decides to make scrambled eggs for breakfast as she definitely needs the protein and it was pretty easy to cook. A few minutes later, Aria emerges from her bedroom, dressed in her school clothes, Bea begins to assess the girls outfit from head to toe, disproving the slightly cropped t-shirt Aria decided to wear and forcing her to change into something more appropriate for school. 

“No, turn around and change your top now,” her tone commanding with a hint of discontent. 

“It’s just a t-shirt, why are you making a big deal out of it, god” she retorted as she walks back to the room and moments later she walks into the room wearing an oversized hoodie. “There, happy?” 

“I’m practically jumping for joy, A, now hurry up and eat, the bus will be here soon” Bea moves towards the stools while Aria pours herself a bowl of cereal. Behind them they hear a series of moans and groans, guess their mother is finally awake. 

“Could you girls make any more noise, goddamn” she clutches her head in agony and begins rubbing the temples of her forehead with her fingertips. 

“We’re eating breakfast, maybe if you managed to make it to your bedroom we wouldn’t have woken you up,” Bea quips, turning back to focus on eating her breakfast while her mother just glares at the back of her head and rolls her eyes. 

“I’m your mother, don’t be a bitch with me especially when I’ve just woken up” she reaches over to the table and takes a huge swig of the vodka on the table while Bea silently berates herself for forgetting to throw the drink away. “Anyways where were you yesterday, you didn’t leave any money for dinner so I had to pay for a pizza” 

“I saw” Bea says unaffected, she’s used to her mom’s bitchiness and attitude. 

“Don’t tell me you were with richie rich’, she downs the rest of the drink and slams the empty bottle on the table. 

That agitates Bea and grabs her attention, she shifts in her seat to glower at her mother, “Don’t call her that”

“Looks like I hit a sore spot” her mother waves her hands dismissing Bea’s anger, “next time be here for dinner or leave some money because I don’t have enough money to be worrying about feeding that one”, she nods her head towards Aria. 

Bea clenches her fist and takes a deep breath, ‘Aria go get your school bag”, Aria’s about to respond when Bea just glares at her expecting her to follow through, Aria reluctantly gets up from her seat leaving her almost empty bowl of cereal on the counter. Bea quickly gets up and stomps towards Isabella, her voice is low and sharp, “Do you have to speak about your daughter like that when she’s around? I don’t give a shit about a $13 pizza, she’s your kid, she comes first no matter how much you despise her, she’s not to blame for your own mistakes”. Without waiting for a response she goes towards the bedroom and finds Aria lurking in the hallway looking dejected. 

“She hates me doesn’t she?”

Bea sighs, the relationship between her mother and Aria has always been so strained, her mother viewing Aria more as a burden and a physical embodiment of her biggest mistake in life. One of Bea’s biggest worries was what would happen once she moved to New York for college, she’s the only thing that is keeping the peace in the house but once she leaves she’s apprehensive about how her sister would fare around their mother. 

“She could never hate you, you’re her daughter, mom’s just….” she struggles to find the words, “mom’s just sad, she just doesn’t know how to properly control her emotions, but don’t worry you always have me here”, she feels guilty as she says the words because her mind drifts to college and New York but she musters a smile and hugs her sister, “now come on I’ll walk you to the bus stop just let me grab my bag”. 

After grabbing her bag, she quickly goes to the kitchen to put the dirty dishes in the sink, making a mental note of remembering to wash them when she gets home from work, since she knew her mother nor Aria would. She looks over to the living room to find the sofa empty and the door of her mother’s room, which was connected to the living room, slightly ajar, guess she’s gone back to doing nothing productive..again. 

After walking her sister to the bus stop, Bea insists on waiting with her to make sure she gets to school on time because she cannot afford having the principal call home about Aria being late, not if she wanted to piss her mom off more. Bea leaves Aria as soon as the  bus arrives, running back home to get her motorbike after looking at the clock on her phone and realising school begins in 30 minutes, “crap”. As soon as she makes it to her bike, she practically throws on her helmet and drives as rapidly as she can. The motorbike was a present from Poppy who had bought it from one of Bea’s co-workers at the diner at the beginning of the summer. Bea, at first, was apprehensive about the gift, she usually disdained Poppy for spending a lot of money on her but once she got on her new bike it was her second favourite thing in the world, the first being Poppy of course. Poppy secretly loved riding on her bike because it gave her the excuse to feel Bea’s abs (not that she needed one) but also because of the ephemeral ecstasy she would feel at every ride. It was a little taste of the freedom she so badly craved. 

The brunette is almost sweating at every red light because it means that she has to drive even faster and she did not want to be late on the first day back. Bea’s plan for senior year is to draw the least amount of attention to herself as she can, and coming late to homeroom is just basically like putting a huge kick me sign on her back. 

As soon as she parks her bike in the school’s parking lot she looks down at her phone, ‘7 minutes to spare that must be some new record’ she thinks to herself. She looks around at Belvoire, the school’s pristine building hasn’t gotten any less intimidating over the summer. She hears a bunch of shrill voices booming behind her and one of them in particular was almost like a banshee, the high pitched voice ringing in her ears which could only mean one person, Chloe St James. 

Chloe was one of Poppy’s best friends and one of Bea’s worst enemies. She was captain of the volleyball team which meant that she practically owned Bea on the court during practice but she was also incredibly irritating and very stupid. Once in class, her maths teacher asked Chloe what pi is, and she replied with “I don’t eat foods with a high fat content”. Everyone laughed at her until she cut them all off with a silent but deadly look. No one really messes with Chloe because she is secretly a very aggressive person which is exemplified by her plays on the volleyball court, Bea hated to admit it but Chloe was their best player. However, Chloe is the epitome of a classic dumb blonde rich girl who has to depend on her money and looks to get her somewhere in life, she practically has half of the football team worshipping her at her feet. Bea could never really understand why but Chloe has had it out for her since she’s come to Belvoire, maybe it was a classist thing but in the last year especially, Chloe’s antics became an everyday chore for Bea, who was getting sick of the constant harassment. It’s almost as if she swore to make Bea’s life a living hell. 

“Omg look who it is”,Bea rolls her eyes so hard they could get stuck in the back of her head, she turns to face the dumb blonde, “hey strip tease, how was your summer in the slums?” 

Bea balls her hands into a tight fist, ‘god this bitch is annoying’ she thought. “Is it true you whored yourself out so you could get that bike of yours?... Like mother like daughter I guess?” She giggles a little, triggering the girls around her, whose names Bea could never remember, to start laughing along with her. 

“Do you know what Chloe?” Bea takes a step forward a scowl etching on her face, “You’re all talk, I guarantee I’ll be able to take you”, Bea lowers her voice so only the blonde can hear what she’s saying, “You know I grew up in the South which means I was taught how to fight, so unless you want me to mess up that pretty face of yours back off.” Bea thought she was threatening enough for the dumb blonde to recede but her threats only aggravated Chloe more. 

“Listen up here you little tramp,” Chloe’s eyes were shooting daggers at Bea, even though she felt a tiny bit daunted by Chloe’s cold demeanor, Bea stood her ground when suddenly she could see Poppy in her peripheral vision sauntering up to the group and decided not to engage with Chloe since she promised Poppy she would be good. Before Chloe could obliterate Bea using her words, Bea holds up her middle finger at the blonde and counters, “go fuck yourself Chloe��. 

Chloe’s eyes flash with anger and just as she’s about to retort Poppy lays a hand on her shoulder and greets the girl with a squeal and Chloe delivers a bone crushing hug. Poppy doesn’t bother to spare a glance at Bea which means they’re back in the real world. 

After having the entire summer to themselves, riding around Greensburg, going to parties in the south, stealing moments in each other's rooms and going on secret weekend long trips to New York, being two teenagers completely in love, it was now a closed chapter. Now, the girls were in two different worlds, Bea took a quick second to appreciate Poppy’s outfit, she wore the cute pink bomber jacket Bea loved so much and her legs looked so long in her jeans, Poppy wore that specific outfit to catch Bea’s attention, but it was doing a lot more than that. Bea just wanted to reach out and kiss her so bad, the gloss on Poppy’s lips were shining so bright, almost as if she wanted to tease Bea, knowing she could only stare and not touch. 

“Come on Chlo, we’re gonna be late,” she drags the blonde away and as she breezes past Bea she spares a quick glance, their eyes locked for a brief moment, Poppy’s gaze softens for a second, her big brown eyes bore into Bea’s in the most tender way. If only the students at Belvoire, were less self absorbent and paid attention to the girls instead of themselves, they would’ve already felt the sexual tension just through the intense stares. After all the eyes are the windows to the soul. 

Bea takes a second to breathe, leaning on her bike, she knew today was going to be a long day. After hearing the warning bells she grabs her bag and practically runs the last 50 feet to homeroom and is grateful to see an empty seat at the back of the classroom. She slips in as their homeroom teacher, Mr Jennings quietens the class for the morning announcements, and as all the students direct their attention to the tv in the corner of the room, Poppy’s angelic face brightens up the screen with her adorable smile while she stacks the papers in her hands and turns to look at her co-anchor Carter Jackson. 

Carter Jackson, he’s devilishly handsome and the school’s golden boy. Captain of the football team, on track to being the school’s valedictorian, prevailing against the stereotypes of jocks all being dimwits, his resume is impeccable, any college would be lucky to have him. Bea always felt a pang of jealousy whenever she saw Carter within the same breathing space as Poppy since it was obvious he had the biggest crush on her. The whole school is already expecting for them to date since traditionally in movies and books the football captain and head cheerleader always get together. There were already existing rumours that they were secretly dating or they’ve had sex and many others which made Bea envious.  Bea was never the jealous type but subconsciously the thoughts of her not being good enough for Poppy would regularly infiltrate her mind. Poppy usually had to subside Bea’s fears whenever she felt like Bea was worried about Carter, promising her that she would never actually be into him but Carter is a gentleman and is practically harmless. 

‘Look at this stupid goofy smile and his stupid awesome hair’ Bea clenched her fists so hard her nails were digging into her palms which are definitely going to leave some marks. The announcements went on about the new school year and something about the sports teams and school spirit but Bea’s blood begins to boil when Carter makes a dumb joke earning playful slap on his arm from Poppy. She knows she can trust Poppy around him, it’s just Carter she couldn’t trust. He would always openly flirt with Poppy who would just give a little laugh or change the subject or sometimes indulge in his flirtations, just enough to throw him and the rest of her friends off from the truth. 

After the morning announcements Mr Jennings begins talking about the importance of senior year and how the students would have to start thinking about college and their futures. Bea has her whole future planned out with Poppy, get into Columbia, live off campus with her and eventually Poppy would tell her father about them and he will have no other choice but to accept them and if not then Poppy could take out some loans and eventually use the Min Sinclair name to build herself a brand. Bea wants to go into law, first into corporate, so her and Poppy can work together, so when Poppy takes over her father’s duties as the official CEO of the Min Sinclair industries, Bea would work the legal angle until she’s made a name for herself. If Poppy’s father wouldn’t pass the companies down to Poppy then she’ll go straight to being a general practice lawyer. Then she’ll open her own law firm to help those in need, money won’t be an issue for clients as she just wants to help people who are suffering from legal trouble but have no sufficient funds, because if we are being honest, the public defence system in America is a joke. 

Once the bell went off Bea checked her timetable to see AP science class first thing in the morning. ‘Kill me now’, she heeded she loved science but on a monday morning? It was a different kind of torture. She walks into the class to see all the students glaring at the projected screen and sees that a seating plan has been put into place for them. Miss Acker, is one of the strictest teachers at Belvoire, she’s a straight to the point no BS kind of teacher who would never let students walk all over her so the students in the AP class knew better than to challenge the seating plan. Bea looked for her name to see her being placed at the back corner of the class and her seating buddy is, no way… It’s Poppy. Bea felt a sliver of enlightenment fill her chest, an entire year of sitting next to Poppy and no one would say anything because they had no choice but to be next to each other. 

As Bea makes her way to the back she sees Poppy stride into the class, she gives Bea a quick wink, so quick that you would’ve missed it within a blink of an eye as she promptly took a seat in a random seat near the front of the class, her focus is on taking out her books from her bags until a stern tone catches her attention. 

“Miss Min Sinclair, if you bothered to look at the screen you would see there’s a seating plan, you’re supposed to sit with Miss Hughes at the back”, Miss Acker raises an eyebrow waiting for Poppy to oblige. 

“I-”, Poppy’s face flushes red, either from the embarrassment of being called out or the thought of sitting next to Bea all year, it wasn’t clear. She picks up her notebook and bag and as she’s walking to the back of the class a hand reaches out to touch her elbow. 

“Good luck sitting next to the freak all year” Carter’s voice smooth and his tone jesting at Poppy. 

“Uh, thanks,” Poppy lets out an awkward laugh and sits at the back daring not to look at Bea as the lesson begins. 

“So, looks like we’re science buddies,” Bea leans over and whispers as Miss Ackers goes over the rules of the lab. 

“Not here Bea, please,” Poppy almost pleads as her attention is fixated at the front of the classroom. 

Bea huffs a little, “well we do have to work together Pops, you can’t exactly avoid me since we go to the same school and everything”. 

Poppy doesn’t answer Bea, as the class continues. As Miss Acker addresses the class, Poppy’s attention shifts to the notebook in front of her, doodling across the blank page. She draws a little bumblebee and a heart around it and nudges Bea slightly with her elbow, directing her focus to her drawing. A small smile graces Bea’s face as she runs a finger around the heart and the bee on Poppy’s notebook. 

Bees were part of an inside joke between the two girls, Poppy used to call Bea her ‘little bumblebee’ when they were 14 and although Bea pretended to hate the nickname she found it a little sweet and gave Poppy the nickname ‘Popsicle’. 

The lesson carries on in full silence between the girls as they begin to concentrate at the lesson at hand, and when the lesson ended Poppy quickly packs up her things, grabs her bag and leaves the class with Carter and a few other girls in tow. Bea sighs and places her hands in her jacket pocket suddenly hearing the rustling of a piece of paper. She brings it out and sees a little folded note, and when she unfolds it, she sees a cartoon drawing of two girls kissing and the words ‘I love you’ written underneath it. She has no idea when Poppy even put the note in her pocket but she’s grateful she did. It was the little things like that that made Bea smile, and reminds her why she loves Poppy so much. To the rest of the school, it seems like the girls don’t even care about each other but Poppy’s a secret romantic at heart and usually leaves little tidbits around Bea as a reminder of her love. 

She pockets the note and goes to her next class with a little more pep in her steps. Lunchtime soon rolls over and Bea sits on one of the tables alone enjoying her sandwich. A few tables over, Poppy and her friends are laughing and sharing stories about their summer. One of the girls who’s sitting next to Poppy, catches Bea staring their way and gives a little wave. 

“Veronica who are you waving at?” Chloe’s voice blares and she turns her head looking around the lunch hall to see who’s gotten her attention now. 

Veronica Lombardi, Poppy’s other best friend and one of the very few people who actually treats Bea like a decent human being. She is one of the prettiest girls in school, excluding Poppy, and last year she made the decision to dye her hair a really cool greyish ombre which makes her look ever hotter. She’s also on the cheer team, and is also a vlogger and has over 30k subscribers on her growing youtube channel. Veronica’s family moved to Greensburg when she was 12, and she became quick friends with Poppy after being introduced at a work dinner since Veronica’s dad is one of the COOs for one of Poppy dad’s companies. Veronica also grew up with a lot of money and privilege but it never once deterred her from making friends from all sorts of places. She’s also the only one of Poppy’s friends who knows the truth about her and Bea’s relationship after accidentally walking into one of their make out sessions in the locker room last year during cheer and volleyball practice. She was super understanding and completely supportive of the relationship and often joins the girls when they would go to parties in the southside, arguing that they were tons more fun than the regular highschool parties her peers hosted. She loves to tease Poppy about Bea and insinuate that Poppy may or may not be in a secret relationship which would make their friendship group ask Poppy all kinds of questions about her ‘secret boyfriend’. 

“I’m just waving at Bea” that earns a hard eye roll from Chloe who just shifts her focus on her salad. “Is it me or has she gotten hotter over the summer?” she nudges Poppy with her elbow giving her a playful smile. Poppy’s jaw tightens as she stealthily kicks Veronica’s shin under the table. 

The rest of the people on the table have disgusted looks on their faces at the mention of Bea until Ford, one of the boys on the football team and a perfect example of classic dumb jock says, “I heard she got chylamidia or something because her mom pimps her out to get money or drugs”. 

Poppy takes a stab at her salad and gulps uneasily, “Can we talk about something less disgusting you’re making me lose my appetite.” 

Another girl, Tasha, who surprise surprise is also a cheerleader chimes in, “Like you ever have an appetite Poppy” the table bursts in laughter while Chloe sits in silence lost in thought. 

“What the hell are you plotting Chlo? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you think so much” Veronica laughs. 

A devilish smile appears on Chloe’s face, “I have a little surprise for that little tramp at the end of lunch, I’m just thinking about how hilarious it’s going to be”, the rest of the table reciprocate a similar smile on their faces except for Poppy and Veronica who just lock eyes confused at Chloe’s revelation. 

Poppy clears her throat, “so, uh, what are you planning?” Her tone is steady attempting to keep it as monotone as she can so no one suspects she cares. 

“Lets just say she’s gonna get the stripper treatment real soon” and with that the conversation swiftly changes. 

All the while an unsuspecting Bea sits at her table, after acknowledging Veronica’s wave with a swift nod of her head, Bea silently eats her lunch until she’s interrupted by two scrawny hands clamping onto her shoulders. 

“Dammit AJ you’re gonna give me a heart attack”, Bea sputters while her mouth is full of food. The young boy breaks into a wide grin and sits opposite Bea and swipes the cookie off Bea’s tray, “Hey no!” Bea grabs the cookie before he can shove it into his mouth, “not my cookie, I need my sugar”. 

AJ sulks a little, giving Bea a strong puppy dog look until she gives in and breaks her cookie in half giving him the larger piece. “Thanks Bea, I’m starving and all the good food has already run out, they’re just handing out apples for dessert” he sticks out his tongue making a ‘blergh’ sound and shudders. 

Bea doesn’t laugh, instead she stares intensely at the sophomore with a small frown outlined on her lips’, she leans in her voice low and serious, ‘AJ I want you to tell me the truth, where were you yesterday and why did you call me so late?” 

AJ gulps and places one of his hands on the back of his head and rubs it sheepishly, “I wasn’t doing anything bad I swear, it’s just that dad came home late last night and started fighting with my mom, it woke me up and I guess I just needed someone to talk to. I’m sorry i should’ve texted you back or something.” 

“Yeah you should’ve, AJ I was worried sick, you can’t pull that kinda crap on me okay? If you can’t reach me at least text me or leave a voice message or something.”

The boy nods but Bea isn’t entirely convinced he’s telling the truth but she decides to let it go since AJ is usually not someone who likes to dwell on the bad stuff. The conversation moves to a lighter one as the two reminisce about the summer and the parties they went to and how they were looking forward to the party on saturday. 

“I heard Razor’s getting a bunch of fireworks for the party, it’s gonna be so lit”, AJ is almost jumping out of his seat while Bea looks stunned. 

“Fireworks, really? Poppy would love that, I gotta remember to invite her.” 

AJ rolls his eyes slightly not that he had anything against Poppy, he adores her, he just hates the lovey dovey crap, “yes, yes she’ll love it,” he looks down at his phone and abruptly stands from his seat, and tells Bea he needs to fill up his water bottle but before Bea can even open her mouth, AJ moves out of her line of sight and sprints out of the dining hall. ‘Well he’s most definitely lying’ she thinks but she doesn’t want to press the matter in case AJ closes off on her, she trusts that he wouldn’t do anything too stupid. She begins to clean up after herself and throws her rubbish into the trash can and walks towards the courtyard. Just as she’s leaving, Chloe, Carter, Ford, Tasha and a few of the others on the table share a conspiratorial look before standing up and going after Bea. 

Poppy pulls Veronica to the side, her face filled with worry, “What the hell are they planning?” 

Veronica simply shrugs in response, her face looking exasperated, “I don’t know P but it’s not gonna be good”, she grabs Poppy’s elbow and pulls her towards the doors, “let’s catch up before something bad happens”. 

Bea peacefully walks in the courtyard, one of her hands inside her jacket pocket fiddling with the note Poppy left for her, a small smile gracing her features. Behind her, she hears a loud cough and stops in her tracks, she automatically knew it was Chloe, she softly sighs and turns to see a group of Poppy’s friends encircling her. Her face twitches into a scorn as she uneasily looks around to see the preppy kids staring back at her, all greeting her with a smile which unsettled her. 

“What the hell do you and your stupid cult want Chloe?” She tries to look unbothered but her fingers deceive her, as they fiddle with the straps of her backpack. Behind the group she sees Poppy and Veronica almost running and stopping in their tracks when they see the group surrounding Bea. 

“We all want a show,” Chloe spreads out her arms smiling, god her smug face is so punchable. She walks towards Bea until she’s standing directly in front of her, “well strip tease? I got a paying audience here, why don’t you show us what you mom taught you?” 

Bea shoves Chloe back, and Tasha steps forward and suddenly moves her hands so quick Bea for sure thinks she’s going to be punched. Instead she brings out a bunch of one dollar bills? ‘Oh shit’ is all Bea could think before the group began throwing one dollar bills at the brunette, drawing the attention of all the students in the courtyard. Some took out their phones to record the ordeal while some started cheering and whistling. 

“Come onnnn, don’t be such a tease Bea, show us something” Tasha forces Bea back into the middle of the circle as Bea struggles to leave. 

All the colour drains from Bea’s face as she takes in the faces of the laughing students all publicly humiliating her, it makes her so mad, especially at her mother, who’s at fault for the nickname ‘strip tease’. Bea looks over at Poppy who is frozen in her spot, her face falls when suddenly Veronica pushes herself into the circle and grabs Chloe by the arm, “End this now Chloe, it’s not funny,” Veronica’s eyes are filled with fury, Bea’s heart slightly drops because she secretly hoped that it was Poppy standing up for her. 

“Chillax V, Bea’s used to people throwing their money at her,” she laughs and bends down to pick up some fallen one dollar bills from the floor and throws it in the air. Carter moves towards Bea and places a folder one dollar bill in the loop of her jeans and winks at her and just when Bea pulls her hand back to deliver a blow, a sharp whistle sound infiltrates the ears of all the students who begin clasping at their ears. 

“What the hell is going on here!” the voice bellows over the entire courtyard. 

“Principal Steinhelm, I-” Chloe struggles to speak. 

Principal Steinhelm quickly assesses the situation, seeing Bea’s hands balled into fists and on the verge of tears, with one dollar bills thrown all around her while the rest of the students are surrounding her, some still holding money in their hands. She raises a hand and points at the crowd encircling all the guilty students and simply says, “All of you detention, if any of you do not show up today, there will be consequences. Get to class. Now”. All the students begin to disperse, Veronica places a hand on Bea’s arm and comfortingly rubs it for a few seconds before she walks towards Poppy who is still staring at Bea, her eyes filled with sadness, she looks away and trudges off with Veronica and the rest of her friends who are laughing cruelly in tow. Principle Steinhelm advances towards Bea, eyes filled with concern, “Miss Hughes would you like me to call your mother?”

Bea shakes her head no, her voice dissipated, scared that if she tries to speak, she’ll just burst into tears. Principle Steinhelm gives Bea an awkward pat on her shoulder before telling her to make her way to class as the bell rings. For the rest of the day, students around Bea were staring at her, sharing whispers and covertly laughing at the brunette, so much for not wanting to draw any attention today. Her phone buzzes with texts from Poppy but Bea puts her phone on silent not wanting to think about everything that just happened at school. 

Once the school day is over, Bea runs over to the parking lot and speeds off to work, not waiting to give Chloe a third chance to annoy her today. Poppy sees the girl rushing to leave and feels a pang in her chest. It kills her to see her girlfriend being mistreated but she couldn’t do anything to help her. Right? 

read part 3 here: 

[gwoongi]

(abandoned) it’s late, just stay

john wick / reader genre: sugar daddy au rating: general, mature themes words: 2.4k warnings: sugar daddy relationship, slight john wick 2 spoilers i guess a/n: this 1 is for me. i wrote her in a heat,,,she’s literally not finished. but im adding her to my online portfolio 4 the memories. Also fyi the profile was made before i indulged in seeking arrangements and as a sugar baby i know that ur not allowed to mention 90% of brooklynbaby’s bio in ur bio but who cares man this is fiction and im making it up

At that, she tossed her head back with a laugh and leant forward. “And since when are sugar babies a relationship status?”

Sometimes, John doesn’t really know how he gets himself into awkward situations.

The first few occasions, he figured it was merely a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. While, actually, this always worked out in his favour, John began to notice that it was more frequent that he ended up at a bar with some people he didn’t really know, or being invited to a baby shower as the date of a woman he had never even met before. Granted, John enjoyed company whenever he could get it, and whenever it avoided conflict; however socialism has never been his strongest asset. No, he simply prefers silent gestures or glances across rooms, ‘eye conversations’ where he says hello and nothing else for the remainder of the evening.

“You just need to loosen up a bit,” is what Addy had told him, whilst slipping him a glass of straight Bourbon. It had been a relatively quiet evening in the Continental, and just when John thought he could have five minutes of peace and quiet, Addy has slipped in his line of sight. “You know, go out. Make new friends.”

“You’re my friend,” John replied. He made no room to elaborate on that statement, swallowing the contents of the drink and pushing it back to her with a short nod. She sighed and rolled her eyes, doing her job.

“No, you know what you really need?” He didn’t answer, glancing at her through his hair as she filled his drink and rested her weight on her elbows. Instantly, John didn’t like the feeling in his stomach when Addy raised her eyebrows suggestively, tugging on her bottom lip with newfound excitement: “I think you need to get laid.” 

And when John scoffed with humour, she tried again, “and not like, laid as in you have a one night stand. No- hear me out, John! You should invest in a sugar baby. You know, someone you can spend time with when you’re not doing the dirty work for everybody else. It’s fun, and frisky, and also means you can start spending some of the millions you have stashed somewhere not being used.”

She tutted like a scolding mother, “Selfish boy.” Addy then smiled, “Maybe instead of retirement, what you really need is something to help you unwind.”

John scoffed, gulping back the Bourbon. “I’m married.”

At that, she tossed her head back with a laugh and leant forward. “And since when are sugar babies a relationship status?”

That’s really all the thinking he had done on the subject of John- John fucking Wick- investing in a sugar baby. He simply took it in stride, almost complimented by the assumption that he was attractive and rich enough to have someone leaning on him for money and sex, and stored it away for future thought when he was lost and drunk. John never actually considered the possibility of “putting his bills to good use” until fucking Santino D’Antonio decided to light a bonfire inside his house. Having lost virtually everything related to Helen, he found himself back at the Continental, back to listening to Addy sympathetically give her condolences and five seconds later, introducing him to Seeking Arrangements.

John doesn’t know why he’s doing this, staring at the laptop screen that smiles at him. For circumstances, Addy had loaned him her laptop for the evening he spends at the Continental, and he’s too busy browsing the elaborately made profiles that he barely registers the fact that he is still wearing his suit. He pulls at the cuffs of his blazer and is midway through taking it off when he stumbles across a profile- one of which is oddly amusing- titled brooklynbaby. He racks his mind for the reference but can’t seem to place it.

“A sugar baby suggests that I sleep with them, and as I said,” John had mentioned back in the bar, “I’m married.”

Addy had grabbed his hands and groaned, “Look- you might surprise yourself. And, I’m not suggesting that you throw your wife away for somebody new. I’m just saying you need to...make use of yourself. Honestly, you’re too sexy to be stored away like this. Most sugar babies are dumb and unobservant, they won’t even know who you are.”

brooklynbaby makes an adorably hilarious first impression, and John is hesitant to browse her profile. If he wanted to “make use of himself” by investing all of his personal time into somebody who in truth wanted him for his dick and his bank balance, then it needed to be somebody at least near to his wavelength. Somebody who was smart, but clueless at the same time, and somebody who was the complete opposite of Helen. The last thing he needed on top of a handful of a baby was the guilt of moving on. But still, even when he pinned her tab and returned to scrolling through the profiles, John realised that most sugar babies were simply trolls hidden behind pretty pictures, or girls who wanted money for pleasure and not for need.

He went back to brooklynbaby. Three times. Three times, before he pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering a quiet, “Oh, fuck it,” and favoriting her account, and pressing to send a message.

Even online, John was never great with words. He typed, and backspaced, and typed again, trying to come up with something interesting to make up for the bland profile he made around thirty minutes ago.

From: johnwick So. You like dogs?

If Addy were here, she would have slapped him.

Almost immediately after it sends, John lets out a frustrated noise and tears his gaze away from the screen. Dating just wasn’t like how it was when he met Helen. Why did everything have to be so complicated, and mysterious, and why the hell does he even have to waste his money on somebody when he could be saving this money to eventually, whenever the day comes, retire? John wrestles with the dilemma of deleting the whole account when a notification bell rings through the laptop speakers.

From: brooklynbaby yes, I love dogs!!! :D (typing) do you have a dog?

John breathes a sigh of relief.

From: johnwick Yes. I do.

From: brooklynbaby oh, great. :) (typing)

John’s leg begins to bounce quickly, the table wavering with the glass on top, like an earthquake. Suddenly, brooklynbaby stops typing and John stills. Why did she stop? Did he do something wrong? Honestly, women are so hard to please nowadays.

From: brooklynbaby want to be my sugar daddy?

Never mind.

From: johnwick I would.

From: brooklynbaby cool

Neither him or brooklynbaby says anything for a few moments, and John doesn’t notice. After-all, he is still a working man, busy with life and revenge and trying to stay alive for more than three seconds. When he goes back to the laptop and sees no reply, he frowns.

From: johnwick I am sorry. I really don’t know what I’m doing. What am I supposed to say?

He makes a mental reminder to have words with Addy later.

From: brooklynbaby /(*u*)/ you’re cute we could make dinner reservations and talk over terms if you’d like!!! i say reservations because they’re fancy and if anything goes wrong, we can pretend we’re… business partners? discussing business?

Without even really realising, John finds himself laughing shortly, settling back into the chair. All of this feels weird, as in typing to a stranger he’s planning to spend his money on and occasionally fuck. John quickly revisits her profile and spends four minutes analysing her profile picture. If this is her, then she’s really very beautiful. A steal.

From: johnwick When are you free for dinner?

From: brooklynbaby hmm well i’m dogsitting tomorrow, but i can be free for the day after!!!! is that okay ^_^

From: johnwick That would be fine. [Address] at 7pm, does that work for you?

brooklynbaby pauses.

From: brooklynbaby omg am i gonna have to dress fancy?

From: johnwick Don’t feel pressured. I only own black.

From: brooklynbaby well….guess i’ll bring out like one of my old uni party dresses :( but you have to promise not to judge me!!!

John laughs again. At some point during the evening, he ends up with a planned dinner reservation at one of the most expensive restaurants in Brooklyn, and he’s also 2 grand poorer thanks to the generous donation in brooklynbaby’s bank account for a nice evening outfit.

When John returns the laptop to Addy the following morning, he was admittedly expecting the rant that followed. She had glared at the laptop being handed back over the bar and refused to serve him until he came up with a reasonably valid excuse as to why he wasn’t putting himself out there for a bit of company. John had blinked with an unimpressed look and drummed his fingers.

“I have dinner reservations with someone tomorrow at 7pm. Also- can I have a drink?”

But of course, with work being as tedious as ever and with his whole day being completely ruined by a blood stained shirt and poor room service for the first time in his many years of frequenting the Continental, John didn’t amuse himself with brooklynbaby until he logged onto the site on his phone, and saw that she had messaged thrice during the day. He almost felt guilty, until he saw a string of numbers at the end of the last message. He deemed it less necessary to read her above messages and instead went right to texting.

brooklynbaby ok. so should i just ask for mr john wick when i get to this restaurant??? sorry for so many texts im just kinda nervous

me Yes. I booked under my name and I will be waiting for you when you arrive. Why are you nervous? Didn’t you ask me to be here?

brooklynbaby well if we’re going to be technical then YOU asked me to dinner first :P and im nervous because i have nooo idea who you are send a picture?

John sank into bed.

me Maybe I like the element of surprise.

brooklynbaby seems a lil unfair that you get to see me but i dont get to see you :( ive seen ur dog before you thats saying something

me You could have used any image. If we’re going to be technical, I don’t even know your name, or if that is really you in the image.

John really hadn’t been expecting a full blown nude image at 4:15pm in the afternoon, but he will admit that it was nevertheless what he needed to break some steam. He had arrived at the restaurant twenty minutes earlier than expected, but that’s okay, Mr Wick. Right this way! Now that he was sitting here, at an empty table overlooking Brooklyn and the lights, with an already ordered bottle of wine, John could understand and relate to the first date nerves. He hadn’t felt this way in a long time. Not since-

brooklynbaby uhhh im kind of here like ten minutes early should i wait outside for you :3

He laughs, mostly to himself.

me I’m already up here. I ordered a rosé, is that alright?

brooklynbaby YES IM RUNNING

And, surprising himself also, John had clammed up and reached for his glass. Thankfully, the owner of this restaurant knew John by face and order, because, after-all, this had been his go-to with Helen. These days, he doesn’t have time to go out to new places and eat new things, and so had panicked, and picked a place with sentimental value, and a history of good food. He gulped back his glass of Bourbon and waited until the door at the other side of the room opened meekly, and he tried to appear vacant as the waiter led a woman across the room and towards him.

“Your date, Mr Wick.”

He left curtly and brooklynbaby followed his body as he left, her feet firmly glued to the floor as her head looked back over her shoulder. John took this as an opportunity to look at her body, covered in a beautiful dress he felt proud of paying for. Finally, brooklynbaby looked towards him and paused, observing him and his clearly surprising appearance. John then remembered the gash on his cheekbone and the way he probably looked very off-putting with an unshaven face and long hair, but brooklynbaby smiled softly and raised her brows, beating him to helping her in her chair as she quickly sat down and looked at his glass.

“How did you know I liked beards?”

John didn’t say anything for a moment. “I didn’t.”

brooklynbaby rolled her eyes with a grin. “Of course you didn’t.” She looked up, then, properly taking in his face. John did the same, looking at every feature present and coming to the quick conclusion that yes, she was definitely the woman in the pictures, and yes, she was one of the most gorgeous humans he had ever seen on planet Earth since Helen herself.

“You’re not what I expected,” she said honestly. “But, more than my expectations. I don’t believe I’ve really introduced myself- I’m Y/N. Y/N L/N.”

He tried it out in his head. Y/N. Y/N L.N, Y/N L/N, Y/N Wick-

“John,” he replied and she sniggered and rested her chin in her palms.

“You’re seriously so handsome,” she complimented. “Are you sure you’re not married, or something?”

Her gaze panned to his hands where she noticed the wedding band, and for a moment, she hesitated. John wasn’t ashamed of the ring, nor embarrassed to be seen wearing it. He toyed with it on his finger, looking at her from across the table. “It’s complicated.”

Y/N nodded meekly. “I see.” She cleared her throat, “divorce? Planned divorce? Affair?”

“No, I’m widowed,” he tried out a joke, but she only looked more uncomfortable. Her mouth gaped and she fumbled for words.

“Oh, John, I’m really sorry- no, really, I’m so sorry,” she stumbled, and John watched her carefully across the table. “God, how fucking insensitive. Sorry, I guess that just. Wow, that never really crossed my mind. That sucks, I’m sorry.”

“It’s in the past,” John said, finding finality in that sentence. “I’m trying to move on from it.”

Y/N nodded sympathetically. “No, yeah, wow, I get it. Completely. I...hope I live up to great expectations, then?”

John smiled and looked past her, noticing the waiter rounding the corner with the bottle of rose. “You’re getting there, Miss L/N.”

[kidolate]

Perfect Perfidy Pt. 6

-umm quick warning bc there might be a slight triggering moment-

PART 1  PART 2  PART 3  PART4  PART 5

A few weeks had passed and in that time you had logged back into the messenger, Jumin had sent all of your belongings to your new address - which was Zen’s apartment and had decided to become a foley artist for Zens agency. Your career choice was random, however, it was fun and came with no regrets.

“Zennnn” you whined “stop stealing my hair ties! Get your own!”

Zen laughed as he took out his hair tie and walked behind you, his hands beginning to gather your hair into a ponytail. You watched in the mirror with your face graced with a small smile, Zen was always gentle with you, whether it be in bed, tying your hair, feeding you, walking with you, driving in the car with you and talking to you. His thoughtfulness never ceased to take you by surprise, he had memorised your usual restaurant order, your coffee preference and even your menstrual cycle - but that was a given since it was Zen after all, and his stamina was above average as well as something else...

Zen leant down and smelt your hair before slowly moving down to your neck, you moved to the side and closed your eyes in bliss. His soft lips lingering over your sensitive neck felt surreal and erupted tingles throughout your body.

“Zen, we can’t miss our dinner booking”

“I already cancelled”

Despite the vibrations of his voice and the heat of his breath on your neck, your eyes flew open and you turned around.

“But Zennyyy, what are we meant to do on date night?”

Your pout made him laugh, which then made you frown

“MC,  I hope we can reschedule for next week but I had wanted to spend the night with you is that ok?”

He walked forward and circled his arms around your waist with his head resting on your chin. The smell of Zens chest was what you associated with home now and you’d never been happier.

“I guess that's ok, what are we gonna do though? Did you have anything special in mind?”

Zens hand had slipped from your waist to your lower back while his other hand circled around your neck with his thumb pushing your chin upwards. As you met his eye his gaze was focused and hard on you, as if analysing every little thing on your face. His lips came crashing down on your own and he backed you against the sink, he had wasted no time in letting his tongue roam around in your mouth, clashing with your teeth and tongue. It was hard to keep up with his sharp movements but he didn't seem to notice your struggle and kept on going until he moved down to your neck.

“Z-Zen, no marks on the neck I-I have work”

Zen looked up at you and smirked.

“Should we take this to the bed then MC?”

-----

The next morning Zen had said something about needing to shoot a scene with the sunrise so he had already left with a kiss on your cheek and a squeeze to your hip. Your phone pinged and you flung your arm over to the bedside table and grabbed your phone.

Seven had sent you a link.

You opened the link and you froze, it was you against the sink with the most sinful expression as Zens face was nuzzled into your neck. You knew you shouldn’t have but you scrolled to the bottom of the article and read the comments, they weren't nice. There were comments from men who thought it would be okay to say how ‘good’ you looked and what they would do to you and some other girls had just downright insulted you, calling you a slut. WIth blurry eyes, you went back to the messenger and read the message from seven

‘MC, how are you doing? Please don’t feel bad for this, it wasn’t your fault’

‘Jumin said he would ask the publishers to take it down and ask the other big agencies to withdraw from spreading the gossip’

You sighed in relief and typed back.

‘Hey Seven, I’m fine although I am wondering how they managed to get to the bathroom window. Tell Jumin I said thank you and thank you for telling me about it’

Seven soon replied ‘It’s no worries MC, but you should probably call Jumin and thank him yourself, he’s losing his mind because he hasn’t seen or heard from you in nearly a month’

You frowned, he was the one who was never online. Your train of thought was interrupted when your phone vibrated in your hands and Zens face appeared on your screen, you answered the phone with a cautious ‘hello’.

“MC, MC, are you alright? Seven sent me an article, did he send it to you too??”

“Zen, I’m fine and yes he did, I'm a little shocked but otherwise I’m fine. Are you alright? It sounds quite noisy over there, and you’re panting”

“I'm just...hiding from paparazzi...is all...and trying to get home to you as quick as possible” he said in between large breaths.

“Zen, I’m fine please take your time, I don’t want you to get hurt or in any trouble while this is happening”

“Okay MC, stay put I’m coming soon” He hung up the phone after.

Not longer than 5 minutes and there was a knock on the door, Zen must’ve really been rushing you thought as you slipped on a silk pyjama dress and walked to the front door, however you weren’t expecting a stranger to pounce on you.

Almost immediately a blindfold was wrapped around your eyes while you were winded and disoriented after you fell hard onto the floor. The man’s body lay atop yours and you felt his hand fondling you through your dress.

“You must be such a good girl, look at what you’re wearing” his hand slipped up your dress “Not even any underwear, good God Zen is a lucky man”

You cursed in your mind for not taking any precautions, your blindfold had become wet with tears and you began to grow tired of trying to get him off of you. His cold fingers were nearing closer to your core and you would’ve screamed if it wasn’t for his hand on your mouth, you would’ve scratched his eyeballs out if it weren’t for his knees painfully resting on your wrists. You were helpless.

You cringed and clenched your teeth hard when his finger entered you dry, this couldn’t be happening, there was always meant to be a hero to come at the right moment, this could not be happening to you. Where was Zen? Were you still even in the house? You weren’t sure anymore. He painfully added another finger and you began to squirm again before you felt him being ripped off of you. You quickly got up and ripped your blindfold off and backed away into the corner of the living room, slow sobs making its way through your throat.

There was Jumin beating the other guy to a pulp, you realised you had to stop him otherwise there would be a high chance he might actually die.

“Jumin! Jumin stop! That's enough he might die!” you yanked his body back and held him there as he took his time to calm down. Once he was calm he turned around and looked over your body, checking to see if you were hurt.

“MC are you alright? I’m so sorry this happened to you”

Your heart beat slowed and your knees felt weak, everything had taken a turn for the worst and Zen wasn’t here. You didn’t trust yourself to be with Jumin, you knew Zen wouldn’t like this. Sob after sob and tear after tear soon came and left without hesitance, you couldn’t stop it. Jumin had embraced you while you cried but did nothing more other than saying “I'll always have a shoulder for you MC”.

A while after your crying had reduced to hiccups and you sat at the kitchen table silently with Jumin observing Zen had burst through the door, almost hitting the unconscious man who still lay on the floor.

Zen, completely ignoring Jumin, ran to you in an instant.

“MC, I’m so sorry, I promised to be here but the crowd got so bad I had to take refuge”

“You’re lucky I was here, some random man was here and decided he could have his way with her” Jumin said from afar.

What looked like Zen finally taking notice of Jumin on the couch and the man on the floor, he flew into panic mode.

“Oh, fuck MC are you ok? What am I saying, of course you’re not! Wait, he violated you?! What the fuck, I’m going to kill him”

“Zen stop, no, it's over, there's nothing you can do now”

Zen visibly calmed down and looked at you before asking

“How far did he go?”

You looked down at your hands in your lap, tearing up again

“J-just his fingers, his f-fingers”

Zen ran a hand through his hair, turned around and left the house, the loss of contact causing you to close into yourself, you felt dirty, you were exactly what the accusations said, a slut.

“You’re not a slut MC”

Your head snapped up to look at Jumin, he was still able to read you like a picture book.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about”

“I know what you’re thinking, you really think after all those years together I would forget who you are and how you act?”

You said nothing so he continued.

“I did what you told me, I went and saw a therapist. I still thought of you every single day and I still do, your face is what I see when I close my eyes at night”

“Jumin I - you -”

He cut you off and continued as he walked forward.

“I don’t like seeing Zen touching what used to be mine, I still consider you to be mine but I know I’m not yours anymore. Each time I come home, I imagine your laughs, your light footsteps” he neared your seat and leaned towards your ear “I still remember you moaning my name, screaming for me”

You leant back in shock

“Jumin you still cheated, you still hit me, you even tried to physically keep me with you. I’m glad you’re seeing a therapist but you need to move on, stop tormenting me like this. Is this what you plan to do every time you see me? Just stop!”

You got up from the bar stool and walked off until he grabbed your wrist, preventing you from walking away.

“I’m sorry, I do still love you dearly. Elizabeth the 3rd misses you, I miss you”

You were about to yank your hand away until he started speaking again

“I’ve come to terms with our relationship and I just wanted to tell you that I respect you, if being friends is what makes you happy then I’ll gladly do so, if me disappearing off the face of the earth will make you happy then i’ll gladly do so, but if you choose to be friends then please come visit, I really do believe Elizabeth misses you”

You smiled and he let go of your hand.

“I’m fine with being friends Jumin and I really think you should go home now”

He had nodded and left the house with a small smile on his face and a man over his shoulder, deciding what to do with him when he wakes up. You, on the other hand, walked into the bedroom and cried. Zen had most likely left you because you were tainted, there was nothing you could do about, there was nothing he could do about it so he probably decided to just leave. You had fallen asleep after an extremely hot shower with an extreme amount of soap and harsh scrubbing with your mind plagued with similar dreams and thoughts.

A light shake on your shoulder roused you from your sleep and you looked up to see Zen hovering over you. You instantly got up and threw your arms around his neck.

“I thought you had left me Zen, don't ever do that again” you managed to say through muffled cries.

“I’m sorry MC, I most definitely wasn’t angry at you. I was angry at myself for not being there in time to save you, I’m so sorry for putting you through a situation like that” Zen was crying with you now too “I’ll never ever leave MC, no matter what happens. I love you”

“I love you too Zen, I’m sorry for letting someone else touch me like that. I love only you please remember that”

“MC you shouldn’t be saying sorry, it wasn’t your fault. It was mine”

You pulled away and looked into his tear filled eyes

“Zen. Listen to me. It was not your fault. I love you. Don’t blame yourself”

He nodded and the two of you embraced each other again, leaning against each other. You had never felt more happy, more content and more purposeful. The two of you were going to work through this situation together after the sweet moment had passed, your relationship with Jumin was going to be stable now that it was labelled as a friendship. It felt perfect as the two of you lay in each other's arms. It felt as if nothing bad ever happened. It felt as if you’ve known him your whole life. It felt perfectly normal to be in his arms after everything that’s happened.

It was the perfect perfidy that got you here after all.

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

Okay but I literally have an exam tomorrow and I haven’t found the time to write for this but hey I couldnt focus on studying so I just gave up and decided to write. on a side note ya gurl hit 100 followers and I have also finished my very first fan fiction....yay :D...time to actually go study now hahahah *silently cries*

[sophiaholmes221b]

Sophia Holmes and the Blind Banker

Chapter Four

Dad hands me the book as we get into the taxi and I flick through it, seeing the date stamped in the front. This can tell us a lot: the book belongs to the West Kensington Library and is dated for the day he died. Was he at the library when he was threatened?

We stride through the double doors at the front of the modern building, and onto an escalator which takes us up to the aisle, the book is from.

I know this library like the back of my hand, as it's often the building of choice for me to go to when I think, so I have no trouble leading dad and John to the right place.

"Date stamped on the book is the same day that he died," dad states, for John's benefit. He checks the reference number stuck to the bottom of the spine, then wanders down the shelves, taking out books and examining them. I look further down, whilst John starts pulling some out opposite dad.

"Sherlock," John says, and I spin around to look at the space where the books were. Another tag sprayed in the same paint as before fills the gap.

Seeing this, dad steps forward, and takes a handful of books in each hand, revealing another identical set of graffiti to the one in Sir William's office. Instinctively, I reach for my phone and snap two or three pictures each of the new graffiti, then jog to catch up with dad as he turns on his heel.

Dad hails another taxi and we sit in silence, our thoughts churning over in our minds. John looks idly out of the window as we work. Two sets of graffiti, both exactly the same, but what's the link? The murderer needed to send the same message - a threat - to two people, but why?

I step out of the cab first and sprint up the stairs to the printer, printing off the new photos and sticking them above the others on the mirror, leaving just a small gap in the centre of the mirror. Dad and John join me by the fireplace, and together, we stare at the images.

"So, the killer goes to the bank, leaves a threatening cypher for Van Coon; Van Coon panics, returns to his apartment, locks himself in," dad recites, using the information we have to piece together the china fragments. "Hours later, he dies."

"The killer finds Lukis at the library; he writes the cypher on the shelf where he knows it'll be seen; Lukis goes home," John continues.

"Late that night, he dies too," I add.

"Why did they die, Sherlock?" John asks softly.

Dad traces his fingers over the line painted over Sir William's eyes. "Only the cypher can tell us," dad says, tapping his finger against the photo. We need some advice from an expert to tell us more. Dad's expression sharpens as he too reaches the same conclusion. "Come on John," he says brightly, standing up and striding towards the door.

"Hmm?" John murmurs, following us.

I tap a small message into my phone, send it, and receive one straight back. Smiling, I step into the cab dad hailed before my arrival and feed the cabbie the address.

***

We walk across the centre of Trafalgar Square towards the National Gallery, trying to ignore the funny looks we're getting. Obviously, John's blog is picking up on followers, and more people are recognising who we are.

"The world's run on codes and cyphers, John," dad states randomly. "From the million-pound security system at the bank, to the PIN machine you took exception to, cryptography inhabits our every waking moment."

"Yes," John says sarcastically, "okay, but ..."

"... but it's all computer-generated: electronic codes, electronic ciphering methods. This is different. It's an ancient device. Modern code-breaking methods won't unravel it."

"Where are we headed?" John asks.

"We need to ask some advice," I grimace.

"What?! Sorry?!"

Dad throws him a dark look and John smiles in disbelief. "You heard her perfectly."

"I'm not saying it again," I pipe in.

"You need advice?" John asks sceptically.

"On painting, yes," dad says. "I need to talk to an expert."

"We can't be experts in everything," I point out, leading them around the side of the Gallery to where a boy a little older than me is spray-stenciling onto a grey, metal door which leads into the back of the building. The image seems to be of a policeman holding a rifle in his hands, but in the place of his nose, he has a pigs snout. Near the bottom of the image, the graffitist has sprayed his tag, 'RAZ'.

Raz continues spraying as we approach him, a canvas bag overflowing with spray cans at his feet.

"Attractive," I call out as we get nearer. "Very fetching."

Raz rolls his eyes at my sarcasm. "Part of a new exhibition," he smirks, continuing to paint.

"Interesting," dad says, just as interested as I am.

"I call it 'Urban Bloodlust Frenzy'," Raz chuckles quietly.

"Catchy!" John says, disapprovingly.

"I've got two minutes before a Community Support Officer comes round that corner," Raz says, turning to face us, looking cocky. "Can we do this while I'm workin'?"

I show the photos of the cypher to Raz, who turns and tosses the spray can in his hand to John. Instinctively, John catches the can, then looks at us in bewilderment. Raz takes my phone and begins to scroll through the pictures of the cyphers from the office and library.

"Know the author?" dad asks, staring intently at Raz.

"Recognise the paint," he answers, still scrolling. "It's like Michigan; hardcore propellant. I'd say zinc."

"What about the symbols: d'you recognise them?" I ask, mentally logging the paint type.

Raz squints at the images on the screen. "Not even sure it's a proper language," Raz replies and I sigh in disbelief.

"Two men have been murdered, Raz," dad continues, studying Raz sternly. "Deciphering this is the key to finding out who killed them."

"What, and this is all you've got to go on?" Raz taunts, vainly. "It's hardly much, now, is it?"

"It's all we've got," I say, gritting my teeth with anger. "Two men, Raz, the next could be any of us and the clue to stopping this is in the graffiti!"

"Are you gonna help us or not?" dad asks, a little more calmly.

Raz sighs, beaten, then shrugs. "I'll ask around."

"Somebody 'must' know something about it," dad asserts and Raz runs his tongue along his teeth.

I hear approaching footsteps, and look around. "Oi!" the PCSO calls, and the other three look around. I instantly grab my phone back and run, following dad as Raz drops a second spray can from his hand and kicks his bag towards John. Around the corner, we stop, panting and laughing.

"Any information, however small, you know where to find us," dad speaks to Raz. He nods, then scarpers off.

"Should we help him?" I ask, gesturing around the corner to where John is currently taking the fall for the graffiti.

"Nah," dad says, smiling. "Let's leave it to him."

***

We make our way back to 221B in silence as we quietly mull over the new information that Raz was able to give us. I file the paint type into its respected department, then continue to piece together what we already know about the crime.

There is a gang operating in London at the moment which is threatening seemingly random people through a set of cyphers sprayed in places where the target would see it and recognise it. The paint, as we now know, is fairly cheap to buy, coming in at just under £5. That would mean it's easy to get hold of, and that opens up the field of potential buyers of this paint considerably. All we can hope to do now is to wait and see whether this graffitist decides to show up again.

Around half an hour later, when I emerge from my thoughts, I realise I'm back in Baker Street watching as dad pins some more images of various pictograms and cyphers onto the mirror. I also realise that I'm holding a book that I don't remember picking up, and I look down to read the information on the page. It seems to be a book on codes and cyphers. My dormant mind obviously didn't find anything of use on the pages before, so I continue to flick through the book, occasionally glancing up at the mirror to compare an image. Dad stands beside me, mirroring my actions with another book containing similar translations.

The slamming of the kitchen door awakens my mind a little, but I continue to hold my head low, appearing to be studying the book in great detail. I hear John's heavy footsteps and assume that he is quite angry at us leaving him behind. It's just a guess.

"You've been a while," dad announces, not bothering to turn around.

John walks a few more steps into the room, and I look up in the mirror to analyse his body language. His shoulders seem rather bunched up, and he holds his fists in clenches, stopping to blink back the anger at dads steady calm as he turns to us.

"Yeah, well, you know how it is," he says tetchily, and my head snaps back down before he notices that I'm trying to hide a smirk. "Custody sergeants don't really like to be hurried, do they?" He begins to pace, an angry grimace on his face as he begins to speak again, getting louder as he voices the consequences of us leaving him behind. "Just formalities: fingerprints, charge sheet; and I've gotta be in Magistrates Court on Tuesday."

Dad doesn't seem to be listening. "What?" he says absently, looking up to check another image, but I can see a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Me, Sherlock, in court on Tuesday," John yells, seeming to me to be rather angry. He puts on a rough London accent, not too far off the ones the so-called 'gangstas' use on the streets. "They're givin' me an ASBO!"

"Good. Fine," dad continues to half-listen, and I watch John's face tighten.

"You wanna tell your little pal he's welcome to go and own up any time," he says, a little more calmly as he turns to look out of the window.

Dad slams his book shut. "This symbol: I still can't place it."

"It's not in here either," I conclude, tossing my book onto the cluttered desk.

Dad walks over to John, who's just started to shrug off his donkey jacket and pulls the jacket back over his shoulders. "No, I need you to go to the police station ..." dad says firmly, wheeling John back around so that he's facing the living room door.

"Oy, oy, oy!" John protests indignantly.

"... ask about the journalist."

"Oh, Jesus!" John says, exasperated as dad grabs his own coat from the back of the door, and throws mine over.

"His personal effects will have been impounded. Get hold of his diary, or something that will tell us his movements," dad continues, unaware or just not caring about John's protests. I don't know why he wouldn't want to go!

"If you look to see exactly what he does after going abroad, then that'll mean we're one step closer to piecing this damn story together," I say as we go downstairs and out onto the street.

"Why, what're you going to be doing?" John asks, obviously still a little annoyed with the both of us

"Gonna go and see Van Coon's P.A. If we retrace their steps, somewhere they'll coincide," dad tells him as we part ways.

On the other side of the road, I see the same Chinese lady from before, but as I glance around to look at the path in front of me, she disappears again.

***

"I would like to see Edward Van Coon's P.A.," dad demands as he strides up to the desk, flipping open Lestrade's Police Identity Card.

"Just a minute sir," the woman says before buzzing us through to the trading floor.

I walk on through first, walking directly to Van Coon's office where his P.A. sits by her laptop. She doesn't look surprised when we walk in, so I assume the receptionist phoned ahead to warn her of our arrival.

"Good afternoon," she says, standing up and letting us walk over. "I'm Amanda, Eddie's personal assistant. But, of course, you already know that." Amanda titters slightly. She leans over and taps a few things into her laptop, bringing up an online calendar of Van Coon's meetings and business trips.

"We just need the last two weeks before his death," I say, pacing the room as to take in as much as I can.

"Right, okay," she types a few more things in and brings up a bigger version of the dates, ones mainly focused on the days around his death. "Ah, here!" she cries out, and we lean over her to look at the screen. "Flew back from Dalian Friday. Looks like he had back-to-back meetings with the sales team."

"Can you print me up a copy?" dad requests.

"Sure," Amanda replies, leaning over to type a command to print into the computer.

"What about the day he died?" dad asks. "Can you tell me where he was?"

"Sorry," she apologises, looking at the screen. "Bit of a gap."

I sigh through my teeth and twirl around, frustrated. The calendar shows no entries at all for the day he died - Monday 22nd. Dad also looks away, annoyed, and something clicks.

"I have all his receipts," Amanda realises, standing up to sift through a draw.

"Something isn't right, and I don't mean Van Coon's empty diary," I tell dad quietly.

He frowns at me, looking puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Look at the dates," I say, pointing to the computer. "Van Coon supposedly returns home on the Friday, yet when we come to his suitcase on the Monday, everything's still inside, untouched. Now we know the body was fresh because the graffiti warning was, so why was his bag untouched?" Dad looks up, frustrated, I think, that he didn't notice that. "Doesn't that strike you as odd?"

He nods, but there's no time to continue, as Amanda stands back up with a file of crumpled receipts, and spreads them over her desk.

"What kind of a boss was he, Amanda?" dad questions, probably trying to delve into their relationships. "Appreciative?"

"Um, no. That's not a word I'd use." Amanda says, fiddling around with her ring, a clear sign that she's not telling the full truth. "The only things Eddie appreciated had a big price tag."

Dad bends over the table to get a better look at the receipts and I cross to the other end, watching Amanda suspiciously. I notice a pump-action bottle of luxury hand lotion nearby, and realize that it's the same brand as the one in Van Coon's flat.

"Like that hand cream," I say. "He bought that for you, didn't he?"

Amanda looks at me in surprise, fiddling around with an emerald hairpin in her elaborate updo. I shuffle through the receipts, taking her expression as the only answer I need, and try to order them in a way that'll give us a vague idea of the things he did leading up to his murder on Monday. Picking out a few, I pass dad several taxi receipts dated for around the 22nd March.

He picks one up and hands it up to Amanda. "Look at this one. Got a taxi from home on the day he died. Eighteen pounds fifty."

"That would get him to the office," she says slowly, looking down at the piece of card as dad continues to sift through the paperwork.

"Not rush hour; check the time. Mid-morning," dad corrects her. "Eighteen would get him as far as ..." he fades off as he tries to calculate.

"The West End," Amanda realises. "I remember him saying."

I hand dad a London Underground ticket for Piccadilly with the same date, but at a later time than the taxi. He glances at it before handing that one up to the P.A. as well.

"Underground. Printed at one in Piccadilly."

"So he got a Tube back to the office," Amanda frowns. "Why would he get a taxi into town and then the Tube back?"

"Because he was delivering something heavy," dad says, still sifting through the receipts, but beginning to form a chronological order of events. "Didn't want to lug a package up the escalator."

"Delivering?" Amanda questions, sceptically, obviously wondering what, like all of us, was being delivered. Evidently, whatever it was that was tightly packed inside his luggage.

"To somewhere near Piccadilly Station," dad repeats. "Dropped the package, delivered it and then..." Dad trails off as he finds another receipt, standing up as he looks at it. "... Stopped on his way," he looks up. "He got peckish."

Dad turns around and heads for the door. Amanda looks at me in surprise. "Thanks for the help!" I call, picking up the receipts and following him out.