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MANIAC #1: Chris Bang (Full Story)

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WOLF BY THE TAIL

📜13.5K words | Approx. 60-minute read 📓One-shot, Explicit 🖤Bang Chan x (afab) Reader 🪐Prison AU, Inmate/Gangster!Chan (feat. hardcore simping) 🏷️Angst, Smut, Psychological, Crime 🚨Please see the series masterlist for general warnings: May contain factual inaccuracies (just play along), self-harm, Machiavellianism (severe manipulative tendencies), themes of cheating, themes of revenge, referenced miscarriage, professional ethics going out the window, crime of passion, referenced murder, prison violence, referenced breaking and entering & attempted physical/sexual assault, confrontation, emotional turmoil/severe internal conflict, wound suturing (mention of needles), desacralization (sexual acts taking place in a confessional), masturbation, first time oral sex (f receiving), semi-public sex (in non-residential environments), implied breeding kink, strength kink, oral sex, unprotected sex, creampie, fully charged vibrators will be recommended per usual. 📻Accompanying soundtrack 💭Reblogs & comments are always appreciated and please keep in mind they are the ultimate motivation fuel. 🍮Like my content? Consider supporting my work with a pudding!

The charmer of the Aussies. Jewel of The Crown Street Cartel. Fucking pride of his area code and his pack with a gigantic “Kia Kaha” tattoo on his back. Inmate Christopher Bang.

“Kia kaha!”

“KIA KAHA!”

Stay strong. And the rest will follow.

It wasn’t the sheer thrill of breaking the rules that drove Chris to the convoluted world of crime. He let himself ride the wave of his bad decisions to see where it was gonna eventually take him. Apparently, it would make him crash his surfboard into the shores of opioids, sandy beaches that you could snort by yourself or trade for some moisture. Whether it was the alcohol, bodily fluids, or spit spewing from angry mouths over a deal table, the incessant heat emitted from his lust for life would make it evaporate just to condense in the sky and rain back down again as dollar bills.

Silver rings on those long, dexterous fingers, silver necklace around the neck that held his head way too high, silver tongue in that mouth home to all kinds of sins. Inducing immediate envy in anybody who witnessed how easy he made it look to get rich or die trying, immediate desire in anybody who caught a whiff of his wind as he walked by. Fucking charmer and the pride of his area code if not the entire continent, bound by the extreme loyalty he possessed for the pack he belonged to. The rivals of The Crown Street Cartel could do nothing but seethe in their intense loathing toward him, prompted by the mere fact that Chris just existed. He was the epitome of being devious; so much so that he could literally walk right off anything by just talking his way out of it.

Needless to say, nothing, absolutely nothing satisfied the aforementioned bitter foes more than hearing the word that shit indeed hit the fan for The Crown Street.

“They got Jake.”

Jake. The deranged troublemaker hopped up on adrenaline, aggressively looking up to Chris and way too impatient for his own good. His sworn protégé. The cause of the emergency get-together with the boss man Oliver and their designated lawyer Jun to come up with a strategy dedicated to saving his ass for the umpteenth time.

“What are our options? Give it to us straight,” Oliver demanded.

Jun heaved a deep sigh, “Jake has priors. This doesn’t look good,” he stated bluntly, “If he talks, this time around he’s getting locked up for at least ten years with no chance of parole if not a life sentence.”

Chris held his head between his hands, utterly frustrated and cursing Jake’s ass off inside for not being more careful. For not being more patient. For having this unnecessary desire to prove himself.

“Is there nothing we can do?” Chris appealed emphatically, “I’m not gonna let the kid rot in a hellhole.”

Jun leaned back in his chair and looked dead into Chris’ eyes albeit with a defeated expression.

“Hypothetically speaking, if someone else with no priors on paper owns up to it, I can negotiate a deal for as little as five years.” 

“How the fuck is five years little?!” Oliver yelled while slamming his fist on the circular mahogany table.

“Under these circumstances, it actually is. You’re lucky we’re not trying to dodge a death penalty here,” Jun declared, “All you gotta do is find someone to take the rep. Play nice and he can get out on parole in a year or so.”

Fascinating thing, loyalty. Things that would never even pop up in your wildest dreams, it would make you do without blinking an eye. What was there to even think about when you knew someone’s fate was lying in your hands, especially if that someone meant the world to you?

“I’ll confess to it.”

“Chris, no.”

“What’s the alternative, huh? He’ll get jumped before 3 PM on his first day,” Chris countered immediately, “Jun’s always had our back. If this is the lesser of the two evils, I’ll do it. He says I can be out in a year.”

“But what if you can’t?” Oliver implored him to see reason, “This is jail time we’re talking about, mate, not fucking community service. ”

Chris’ eyes were dripping with determination and Oliver knew what that meant. Once he set his mind to something, it was impossible to talk Chris out of it no matter how obvious the end result was. He was just one of those people who had to experience things firsthand, either to brag an ‘I told you so’ or to finally acknowledge what a horrendous mistake that was.

“You already know I’m well-versed in the art of surviving, brother.”

That very sentence ended up being one Chris had to serve. Luckily for him, it at least had a full stop at the end of it although it ran on for an entire paragraph. But anything to protect one of their own.

Stay strong.

Kia Kaha.

I will prevent disease whenever I can, for prevention is preferable to cure.

It was an oath you had taken. Well, you had to because apparently some dude named Hippocrates was extremely triggered by the concept of perjury some centuries ago, so either swear to it and make the unbreakable vow, or fucking rip your diploma in half, which cost you a hell a lot of money, and ironically enough a little bit of your own sanity in the process.

Or, you know, a good deal of it.

It wasn’t the sheer nobility of the profession that drove you to become a doctor. The design of the human body and mind had always fascinated you, so why not make a career out of it while you were getting goddamn intrigued by the total length of an average adult human’s blood vessels? Out of all the places you could have picked, you took a job in a prison as the chief attending physician because, hey, multiple birds with one stone. 

I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm.

Nobody told you to take on the challenge of serving the most disturbed crowd that you could possibly come across, but you did it anyway as if this was the only correct way of practicing your craft. At a correctional facility. Since you couldn’t think of a more infirm population than a building full of captive lunatics…

“I’m leaving. Will you be home by dinner?”

“I’ll try.”

Not even a ‘Have a good one on your first day, sweetheart’. Fuck that, not even a curt ‘Good luck’.

The awkward tension between you and your husband wasn’t always this palpable to cut with a knife. Not that anything specific happened to cause that, but somewhere along the way, you did feel something snap causing both of you to grow apart day by day. Maybe it was the unbearable heaviness of the mundane, coloring your entire marriage in the bleakest shade of gray. The affection? Gone. The desire? Gone. You were like two roommates at this point because you didn’t feel like doing anything for him anymore. Why bother when it was one-sided? Why bother getting a gift for someone imagining how happy it was going to make them when they couldn’t even care less? Why get upset when they didn’t react exactly in the way you pictured they would? No one put a gun to your head to get the said gift in the first place, which meant they didn’t owe you shit, did they?

When it was your spouse in question, it felt like they did. For wasting years of your life trapping you in a loveless birdcage if not for anything else. Cue the unsolicited advice from the spectators of your life.

Why do you keep doing this to yourself?

Get a divorce.

You can’t fix him. Just walk away.

How fucking easy was it to tell someone to make a drastic change in their life in a split second? Would you stop drinking coffee just because someone told you to? 

No. Unless you believed it was not doing you any good anymore.

Even then, you would find a substitute first, see how it works. Or you could try to see how well you were adjusting to the complete lack of it, if at all. Everyone’s tolerance to change was different, after all; some welcomed it with open arms, and some avoided it like the plague. In any case, when you felt confident about your eventual decision, when you felt ready, then and only then would you make the change.

Not because somebody told you to because nobody was going to go through the consequences on your behalf if shit went south, nor were they going to take the blame for your prospective unhappiness with the outcome.

I will not be ashamed to say "I know not"...

Your marital bed that was empty most nights was not your place of work. Breaking an oath within the confines of your suffocation was not going to harm anyone.

Other than yourself.

Inmate 8MS3HF92. 

That was what Chris was known as for the past ten months. No name, no surname, nothing that could humanize him. Mere letters and numbers. Another statistic to quote in recidivism reports maybe. The only time he would be reminded of his identity was when he was addressed by his prison family as ‘Bang’, the circle of people showing him the ins and outs of navigating the hell simulator with as little damage and as much profit as possible. To all the guards, to the warden, to everybody else, he was just ‘inmate’.

Not for long, though.

Do not pick fights no matter what and survive.

Survive.

That was exactly what he had been doing.

The plan was quite straightforward on paper: he was going to endure this for two more months, go up against the parole committee, and get the hell outta there for good, quite possibly getting another assault charge within his first hour as a free man by beating the shit out of Jake. If he dared press charges against his role model, that was.

Chris was one sly man that took particular, not to mention excessive, pride in the way he operated. He would never get his hands dirty. He wanted something? He would talk his way into it. He detected a threat? He would orchestrate the subtlest of feuds and have someone else get rid of it on his behalf. Obviously, ‘on his behalf’ did not mean that you would do it in full awareness that this was in Chris’ best interests. He would pitch it to you in such a manner that you would have no choice but to believe the threat was actually posed to you. 

Yeah, he needed to survive, but being in the only place where you could make the most twisted but most lucrative connections, he was not going to waste that opportunity. Prison? More like a gangster's LinkedIn. After successfully outlining the food chain and making several rounds of meet and greets, Chris finally located where the drug ops ran from, and obviously getting himself assigned to any other place would be out of the question. 

“Work detail assignments. Bang, you're working in the kitchen.”

“Oh, am I now? What a pleasant surprise.”

Ever the smooth talker, yes, but Chris still managed to make a few enemies wherever he went. That was both the curse and the blessing of being a charmer: If you didn't annoy the fuck out of somebody along the way, you were doing it wrong. That being said, the closer his parole hearing date approached, the more intolerant people became. He could just breathe in the general direction of someone he never talked to before and still manage to irritate them. That was the tradition of this place. You’d go through the hazing when you were about to graduate, not during orientation.

“Bang. A word.”

He was being called by Andrei, the head honcho of the kitchen, right before lunch. Chris wiped his hands on his apron and followed suit behind him.

“What's up, boss?”

“We were expecting a little delivery from the commissary two days ago. What the fuck happened with that Aussie boy?”

“Yeah, about that,” Chris scratched his nape with a look feigning an apology in his eyes like he was oh so sorry, “We’re experiencing a little hiccup. Should come in no later than Friday, though.”

“That's not what we agreed upon.”

“I know, but I'm also leaning on other people here. I can't exactly go out to personally bring in your heroin now, can I?”

Andrei cornered Chris against a wall and slammed both his hands on either side of him. 

“I don't appreciate being played for a fool, Aussie boy.”

“Chill, mate. What the fuck are you busting my balls for?”

“Because your goddamn smug face gets on my last fucking nerve.”

“Have you looked in a mirror recently?”

The loud sound of a jar crashing alerted the two guards on the floor, prompting them to immediately dash towards the kitchen. 

“Break it off! Break it off now!”

Chris might have managed to dodge getting his throat ripped, but a large piece of glass still made its way to his chest area, cutting a wound open below his left collarbone. A couple of centimeters more to the south and it could have easily been a slasher movie. He was immediately escorted to the infirmary to get patched up, which was hilarious in itself for Chris. He couldn't think of anything more ironic than nursing someone back to health just so they could rot some more. He waited and waited and waited on that gurney for someone to appear, washcloth still pressing on the bleeding wound and annoyed out of his mind.

“Hey doc, can we get this shit over with already? I kinda need to be somewhere right now.”

“Please excuse the tardiness to your schedule, your majesty. We're a little shorthanded around here,” you walked into the room.

Whoa…

Chris briefly wondered whether he in fact died on that floor due to blood loss because there was no other way he could see angels clad in white in broad daylight, not to mention in that dementor den.

“Who the fuck-? I mean…”

“It's fine, I've been called worse,” you responded without taking your eye off the incident report in your hands, “I'm Dr. Y/N Y/LN, the new chief attending physician,” then you met his eyes at long last, “Pleasure to make your acquaintance inmate 8MS3HF92 that got jumped in the kitchen.”

“Pretty name, huh? It’s French,” he grinned, “Chris Bang for short would suffice, doc.”

You knew what you were getting yourself into when you started working in this prison, and your contract with Hippocrates included one thing in its essence: Help the sick and do no harm. In that particular moment, however, you crassly fistbumped him for blessing your eyes by sending in this Olympian contemporary of his for a change. Yes, this might have been an inmate in front of you, but all your suppressed urges could register was a pair of thick forearms adorned with bulging veins all the way down to his hands; long, slender fingers pressing on his wound, and thighs spread wide almost invitingly…

…if you were anywhere else but in a prison at that moment, that is.

“Take it off, please.”

Chris’ mind was also somewhere else, so he wasn’t able to instantly comprehend your request, “Uh- Take what off?”

“Your top,” you pointed your pen at him, “So that I can examine the injury.”

He proceeded to do exactly as you said, but never in your entire professional life did you have to contain something primitive threatening to rear its head inside you. You bitchslapped your lizard brain really hard to remind yourself once again that this was a goddamn patient you had to attend to. Little did you know that you weren’t actually alone in this struggle.

Your smell was making Chris dizzy and he couldn’t control the arousal that forced a mild erection when you ran your hands on his chest, which was actually on his wound, but he couldn’t care less. It didn’t matter whether they were hidden under latex gloves since his goddamn touch starvation was through the roof already. To top it all off, you looking like that? It was a miracle he didn't blow in his pants right then and there. 

You finished stitching his wound in complete silence while he watched you with his lips slightly parted, and only when you informed him you were done was he able to come back to reality.

“Come back next week, okay?”

Once he snapped out of it, Chris immediately wore his other personality on his sleeve as a knee-jerk reaction.

“Why don’t you just say you’re gonna miss me? I can even come back tomorrow,” he smugly grinned. You looked at him with a confused look.

“To get your stitches removed, Bang. The fuck is wrong with you?” you scoffed, “You can go back to your easy bake oven now.”

Not easily charmed, huh? I fucking love that in a woman.

“Thank you for taking care of me, doc. I’ll see you soon.”

Chris left the infirmary that day with a smile glued to his lips, full-on launching the crescent craters adorning his cheeks and secretly hoping you found dimples attractive in a man. 

One borrowed touch was all it took. He caught himself counting down the days to get his stitches removed instead of his parole hearing.

All of a sudden, the walls weren’t closing in on him as much anymore. His breathing was still a little irregular but seemingly for different reasons than the humidity crawling in the stone walls. He had trouble falling asleep no matter how much he forced himself because his mind wouldn’t shut up about you. If only he could fall asleep, maybe he could see you one more time.

One day. Three days. Five days. And finally back to the infirmary again. God, if that didn’t feel longer than the time he had served…

“Hey, doc!”

You looked up at the unusually chirpy voice that most certainly did not belong to the dismal backdrop of this place. It was the stitches dude that looked more like a sculpture with a chip on it.

“Feeling good today, are we?” you commented while wearing your gloves to check the healing status of his scar, “Are you getting out or something?”

Chris actually had a snarky comment ready for you but as soon as your hand brushed against his, he forgot what he was going to say due to the sudden jolt he felt.

“There’s uh- fish tacos… for lunch.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the unexpected answer, “I take it you’re very easy to please, Bang.”

Fucking yes. Let me borrow your lips just once and watch the fireworks go off.

As you got to work with a pair of tweezers to remove his stitches, Chris was watching you completely awestruck as if he was appreciating a piece of fine art, right click saving everything he could observe about you into his mind. Your brows that creased whenever you were focused on something, beautiful lips you licked every now and then, hair that looked like it was made of pure silk, skin that most certainly felt like velvet to the touch…

God, you're like a queen. 

“All done. Don’t run around with scissors, okay?” you smiled and got up from the stool in front of him.

“Thank you.” 

The gratitude was pretty much redundant considering this was your job; you were literally on payroll to take care of people. Nevertheless, you actually appreciated it since the stitches dude was quite literally the first person to thank you for your services.

“I uh- I'll see you around, doc.”

“I hope not. That would mean you injured yourself again or something,” you giggled and gently squeezed his shoulder, “Stay out of trouble, Bang.”

Oh, I don’t think so, my queen.

Chris tossed and turned in his bed for what felt like hours to him that night because his mind wouldn’t shut up about the burn on his shoulder caused by the first ‘unprotected’ touch you shared without a layer of latex between his skin and yours. If only he could fall asleep, maybe he could see you one more time.

Then again, he didn’t actually have to wait for that when you were all that he saw whenever he closed his eyes, so he did. His hand moved inside his bottoms as if it had a mind of its own. 

And there you were. Your attention completely on him, your tongue glazing your lips every now and then. Why were you licking them, though? Was it because you also felt your throat getting dry? Was it because you also wanted to press them against his?

Fuck, I’d kill to feel those lips on me.

Your face. The way the corners of your mouth curled when you smiled at him. The way you slightly squinted your eyes when you were focused. Was that what you looked like when you were turned on?

I want you. Oh god, I want you so bad.

Your poise. The way you carried yourself. Firm steps, determined voice, very obviously not taking shit from anyone. Grace materialized.

I wanna be the floor you walk on, fucking christ.

Just your sheer beauty. The way you oozed sexiness without revealing any piece of skin. The way you moved. The way you knew exactly what you were doing. Did you also know what exactly pleased you? Did you know all the things he was willing to do just to please you?

“Ah, fuck!”

Chris didn’t even care that he made a hefty mess on himself as he arched on that god-awful mattress. The convulsions spreading throughout his body as he came were a different kind of intense. Up until that moment in his life, he had climaxed infinity times either with the assistance of third parties or all by himself; sometimes manifesting as an unimpressive shiver and some other times mind-numbingly hard.

But not once, never once did it feel like surrendering his soul to someone.

If it is given me to save a life, all thanks. But it may also be within my power to take a life; this awesome responsibility must be faced with great humbleness and awareness of my own frailty. 

Above all, I must not play at God.

Chris wasn’t aware of what the Hippocratic oath contained, nor did he have to take it. Ergo, he was free to ‘play at god’ all he wanted whenever the fuck he saw fit. Much like that day when he overheard the Irish circle indulging in a little locker room talk while Chris was watching TV with his own entourage.

“Have you seen the doctor chick yet? Complete cumdump material if you ask me.”

“You just know she likes it dirty, sassy-ass bitch.”

Every time Chris felt the onset of a rampage coming on, he knew exactly what to do: remove himself from the environment until he could think straight. That being said, the loud sleazy waves of laughter coming from right behind him triggered him so hard that it took everything in his willpower not to crash his chair on this O’Connell lowlife’s face and scatter his brains out right then and there. He clenched his teeth and his fists really hard to control his emotions, and jumped to his feet.

“Where are you going?” Noah asked him.

“The gym, mate. Been slacking off on them weights lately. I’ll catch you later.”

Technically, Chris didn’t lie. He was indeed going to the gym, but not because his body craved that post-workout dopamine release. He knew the one man he needed was always in the gym during those hours.

“Paco! My main man,” he got behind the bench his friend was lifting weights on.

“What's good, Bang?”

“Can't complain. Can't complain.”

Chris helped him with the next set of benchpress as if his sole purpose was just that all along and put the weights back in their place once the set was done.

“You already know you're my brother around here, right?”

“Damn straight, man. Ride or die.”

“Something came to my attention, so I thought I'd let you know.”

“What is it?”

He offered Paco a towel and leaned into him like he was about to reveal top secret information.

“You do remember how O'Connell ratted you out to the guards about the whole cellphone situation, right?”

“Yeah?”

Chris glanced over the gym door and turned his attention back to Paco again, “He told people he turned it in but I heard it on the grapevine that he’s indulging in a little hotline bling action for himself. The fucking audacity of this guy to fuck his girl through something that doesn't belong to him...”

“That MOTHERFUCKER…”

Chris placed his hand on Paco’s shoulder, “Just between you and me, but I think he is out to colonize all your outside resources, mate. I'd put a burner up his ass before he could even plan to do something if I were you,” then he continued after giving his friend a bottle of water, “If you wanna take back what's yours, you know where to go, brother. Find me if you need anything, yeah?”

“I owe you one, Bang. I won’t forget this.”

It was that easy. None of these people knew how to burn that sugar as brain fuel, so nobody ever questioned anything. In Chris’ defense, it took a lot of actual snitching for the ploys to work. Trust needed to be earned first - respect naturally followed. Now he could just sit back, relax, and watch the altercations unfold as the tension between the parties escalated through the roof.

Because he never got his own hands dirty. 

Now he could channel all his attention to the only thing that mattered to him. You.

You would never visit the gen pop wing, so Chris’ only chance of seeing you was coming to you at the infirmary. Of course the guards would never let him leave the wing unless he absolutely needed medical attention, which meant intensive brainstorming sessions on Chris’ end to put on successful performances to convince them he was either sick or injured. If that meant standing in front of the ventilation grates blowing cool air right after taking a freezing-ass shower, so be it. Risking pneumonia was so worth it if it meant seeing you again.

“Does it hurt when I press here?” you gently sank your fingers into his chest after listening to his breathing.

“I can’t tell. Do it again.”

“You do realize we’re not having outercourse, right Bang?”

“Says you,” Chris mischievously smiled, “You’re very much getting to second base with me right now, doc.”

You applied pressure to the area right under his jawline sharper than your scalpels to check for swelling, and grabbed a throat swab for a strep test.

“Open wide.”

“That’s what she said.”

“Bang…”

“Okay, okay. Please don’t be mad.”

You got your sample for a throat culture and went back to the back of the room to properly label it. Chris sat there in silence for some time and spoke with a soft voice.

“I don’t know why the fuck you care this much, but I’m grateful that you do, you know?”

“It’s my job to care,” you responded without looking at him.

“I know, but…” Chris trailed off, “Nobody else bothered to care about me my entire life unless I was useful to them in some capacity. You’re the first person that does it.”

You didn’t want to assume anything but when your eyes met his, you felt like you saw something glinting with a faint shade of pink, terribly reminiscent of adoration. Chris got up to head back to his wing again.

“I owe you my life, doc.”

This was his third time in the infirmary within a span of two weeks. How this man functioned in a cartel while hurting himself this much was appalling, really. Then again, maybe he didn’t and that was what landed his ass in prison in the first place.

“What is it this time, Bang? Tripped on a flat surface?”

His face lit up like a Christmas tree upon your sight, “I thought you'd like to see your favorite inmate.”

You furrowed your brows with a mildly nauseated expression, “Yeah, that's not a thing, and don't say that ever again. What do you have for me today?”

Chris spread his legs for you to show you the cut on his inner thigh, blood oozing from it now dried.

“I wasn’t being careful with the knives during the kitchen duty. We gotta be fast to feed this many people on time, you know.”

You put on your latex gloves, the supply of which was being frequently used for Chris nowadays, and examined the wound, “Looks like a clean cut, but you'll need stitches again.” Then you retorted while preparing the suture, “Just bring a fucking design next time so I can tattoo it on you. At least it'll look pretty. Drop your pants.”

Chris was tremendously grateful you were facing away from him as he gulped really thickly, experiencing a sudden case of cottonmouth. He knew the remedy to that was hidden between your lips of course, but that was neither here nor there, and certainly not to be brought up right that second. Nevertheless, he was still acutely aware of the fact that he was putting himself on display for you in some capacity.

You pulled a stool right in front of him to get to work, your instruments neatly placed on the surface right next to you. When you locked your eyes on your target, you got momentarily furious at yourself for wondering whether his thighs were always this sculpted or he shaped them out during his time here. Heaving a deep sigh, you penetrated his skin with a needle to proceed with stitching his wound, but that wasn’t when he hissed. Chris let out that sharp inhale when you placed your hand on his inner thigh instead.

“Am I hurting you?”

“A little, but it’s fine.”

Of course he was going to lie his ass off. He wasn’t about to tell you how that contact went straight to the synapse connected to his X-rated inner mind theatre and prompted a chain reaction reaching all the way down to his crotch.

Control it.

You broke into a sarcastic smirk, “A little pussy of you to gasp at a little needle when you’re in a fucking prison, don’t you think?”

Chris chortled in slight surprise at your commentary, “You usually swear this much, doc?”

“On the regular,” you replied with a firm voice, your eyes still glued to his thigh, “That’s how you motherfuckers learn to check yourselves around me. As you should.” Then you briefly looked up at him.

“Doesn't seem to be working on you that much, though. You keep showing up here like this is a restaurant.”

“So what?” he responded with a nonchalant smile, “I like how you take care of me. I don’t think that’s grounds for violating my parole chances.”

Like you were the one to talk. You really wished you could help the smile he elicited out of you as if you were two people flirting over drinks in a goddamn restaurant.

Fucking charmer.

“Don't you think we got a little more than a Hippocratic relationship going on here, doc?”

His words landed like a nuclear bomb in your office and Chris noticed that pause in your movements even though it didn't take any longer than two nanoseconds.

“I see how you shudder when you touch me.”

“Bang, stop.”

“You know it's true, though.”

His voice had become deeper all of a sudden like he was trying to get a message across. It didn't matter whether that message was in a glass bottle floating its way into obscurity without a proper address attached to it.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but I'm married.”

Chris' face dropped ever so slightly, barely noticeable to the naked eye, but he knew. He knew that was a formality. He knew you just stated a fact. He knew that wasn't an invitation for him to make himself scarce.

“Doesn't take a genius to conclude it's not a disgustingly happy one if you ask me,” he declared, “Is it because he works so late? Doesn’t cherish you like you should be?”

“It's none of your business.”

He kept examining your face as you kept stitching him up like the answer was written there somewhere.

“Or is it because he's out a little too much? Doesn't come home for dinner anymore?”

You involuntarily flinched at his words.

“Oh, so that's why,” Chris tilted his head and continued, “Why do you fucking put up with that, doc? Knowing he was out, probably calling someone else a slut or whatever... Do you still let him go down on you with that mouth?”

You hysterically laughed in response, “Maybe it worked out for the best that I don't need to worry about anyone going down on me. Hold this,” you handed him the antiseptic trying to brush away the interrogation over your failing marriage.

“What do you mean?”

“You need to know the taste of something to crave it, Bang,” you heaved an annoyed sigh and blew on his wound, “This should heal nicely.”

Chris’ eyes widened upon your words like you just told him he was getting out the following day.

“You… You mean you've never been…”

While you were putting your instruments away, you felt your face getting hot as if you stayed under the sun for five hours straight. You must have been beet red, but you kept your composure nevertheless. Chris, on the other hand, was very much amused.

“No shit, you really don't know what it's like to be eaten out, do you, doc?” he chuckled.

You didn’t answer. Not that there was anything to be replied to. His question was rhetorical after all, but he kept on pressing for a further comment.

“It's phenomenal. Nothing quite like it,” he squinted his eyes and continued, “Especially when you eat pussy with enthusiasm. Takes a woman like you to induce that appetite.”

You returned to the stool to clean around the wound without saying anything since you were almost sure nothing intelligible was going to come out of your mouth. He kept painting you this picture and forced you to look at it. Forced you to witness how tantalizing it was. Your mind was getting infested with the image of Chris between your legs, slowly killing you with curiosity to snap and find out whether it was true, whether it was really that hell of an experience like he was promising.

If you don't have something to retort with, then shut the fuck up.

“But you're not terribly upset with me, are you doc? This doesn't bother you as much as you believe it should.”

You were wondering whether Chris somehow managed to install wires in your mind, narrating your own thoughts back to you shamelessly. He tugged at the stray hairs right in the intersection of your nape and your ear. You shuddered at the sensation.

“Why else would you close your eyes when I touch your hair?”

He placed his hand on your cheek that was warm to the touch, courtesy of his relentless flustering attempts. You found yourself leaning into it, not a shred of courage present in your soul to open your eyes and look at him. You didn't want to burst with anticipation and you were desperately looking for the whereabouts of your sanity but it was nowhere to be found. And then…

You felt his lips on yours, asking for permission to stay a while longer, begging you to not send him away. Soft but wet. Warm but intense. Tender but passionate. And it was gaining speed like a plane was about to take off with his fingers brushing your hair, his tongue clashing with yours, his lips consuming yours, and your hands trying to find their way to his face. If you didn't take the last exit right about now, you were fucking doomed.

“No,” you pulled away from him hurriedly like someone told you to cut it off, trying to catch your breath, “Go. We're done here.”

“Are we, though?” he flashed the faintest but still a knowing smile.

“You don't have to come in every time you sneeze, Bang. Stay out of trouble,” you quickly made your way to your desk to occupy yourself with filling out some patient forms.

Chris exhaled and got up to his feet to make his way back, “I would hold that thought if I were you. This is a fucking prison after all. The only place worse than here would be the third circle of hell.” Then he stopped right behind you and whispered in your ear.

“We'll pick this up where we left off when I come in to get my stitches removed, doc,” he placed the softest of kisses on your earlobe.

Chris was aware that playing doctor with you was not that sustainable in the long run. He had to come up with an idea that would position him around you much more frequently so that he didn’t have to remind you of his existence at regular intervals, and he had to do it without the risk of inflicting permanent damage on himself.

Naturally…

“A proposal, brother,” Chris spoke to Noah in their cell, “Don’t you think it would be a more lucrative move if I was in the infirmary instead? It's literally the chemical stash of this fucking prison. Besides the commissary I mean.”

“Where did that come from all of a sudden?” Noah eyed Chris.

“The current tension between us and the Lurkers. I wouldn't have to watch my ass every five seconds to avoid getting jumped. Consider it protective custody until my parole hearing.”

Chris liked to think that he was smarter than most, if not all people, but apparently there was something about him that he wasn’t quite able to conceal.

“And you’d swear this has nothing to do with the doctor lady?” he asked, briefly stunning Chris in the meantime.

“It’s no-”

“Bang,” Noah immediately stopped him, “Fake it to whoever the fuck else you want. Not to one of your own.”

Chris looked at his cellmate’s face to decide whether there was any chance at all that he could fake it. His fingers inadvertently touched the wolf tattoo on his inner left arm and he heaved a deep sigh that was colored with all the shades of yearning that ever existed.

“She seeped through my skin, mate,” he said with a broken smile, “She lives under my skin like a fucking tattoo.”

Contrary to Chris' expectation, that moment of honest vulnerability actually elicited a comforting pat on the shoulder from Noah.

“Looks like you grabbed the tiger by the tail this time, mate,” Noah broke the news to him and pointed at his tattoo, “Or in your case, a goddamn wolf.”

“Bang? What are you doing here?”

It had been a while since you last saw Chris, so you expected some banter exchange with his usual flirtation frosting over whatever klutzery he dabbled in this time, but not only Chris looked very much healthy, he also responded to you very nonchalantly.

“Shift in work detail. I’ll be working here, doc.”

“Doing what?”

“Helping you?” he shrugged, “Weren’t you the one complaining about being shorthanded? Just dump whatever manual labor and paperwork you have on me. I know how to read.”

Chris had decided to maneuver to be less aggressive in his advances towards you, thinking to himself that just being close to you would be enough for the time being and he could somehow work his way up from there. At least he tried. As much as he could.

He really really tried his utmost best as much as he could, but the more time he spent breathing the same air as you, the more hopelessly he was falling in love, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it.

He initially didn’t want to assume anything but could swear he felt it the day he kissed you. You didn’t give an immediate automatic rejection like you would have if you weren’t the slightest bit interested in him. You did kiss him back. For quite a bit. For Chris, that instantly meant your marital status didn’t mean jack shit to you. Why would it when you were so obviously unhappy anyway?

One day. Three days. Five days. Veiled glances. Stolen touches. Catching whiffs of scent in passerby winds. Yearning. Yearning. Yearning.

He tried his best as much as he could.

“Need a hand with that?” Chris made his way in front of your desk as you were labeling documents to archive them properly while standing.

“Felt lonely by the file cabinet?” you smiled at him. Although your intentions were to bounce snark off of each other to end the tiring day on a lighthearted note, you didn’t expect such a response.

“I just wanna be next to you.”

You stopped trying to cram a piece of paper in a sheet protector and looked at him. His eyes were clouded with something akin to sorrow. It didn’t suit him. The only thing fit for that face was crescent eyes and those dimples that chipped away at his dangerousness.

“Bang…”

“I wanna feel you. I wanna kiss you.”

He was talking without looking at you, hands still busy with sorting out documents like he wasn’t saying what he was saying. Even a man of his usual composure had his limits since he was a human being after all. A human being with needs taking over his sanity.

“God, I really wanna taste you,” he dropped the paper on the desk and finally reciprocated your gaze. It held so much meaning that you whimpered inside but it was quite audible to you. He was trying. He was really trying to control his urges but he found himself walking behind you nevertheless.

“We’re alone now. Nobody will know.”

Chris touched the strands of stray hairs on your nape again, knowing damn well what it did to you, and whispered into your ear, his voice slowly changing colors as he kept talking.

“You surely heard about it, didn't you doc? How good it feels when a tongue swipes on your folds?”

You inadvertently closed your eyes and exhaled. His hands found their way to your waist.

“How wet it gets? How warm it is?”

He was brushing your cheeks now. You leaned into the feeling.

"How it glides against your wetness? God, so fucking slippery."

The very same fingers dragged down your neck and cupped your breasts over your lab coat. Your heart was pounding in your chest.

“Having a pair of lips wrapped around your clit? Sucking your soul out of you?”

And he finally guided them right over your core still clothed with your dress and very unnecessary underwear.

“Getting that clit teased until it melts in the mouth?”

Chris turned you around with one harsh movement and trapped you between your desk and his frame, his face way too close to yours.

“I wanna see what you look like cumming, doc. I wanna hear what you sound like moaning.”

He placed a very soft kiss on your forehead as if his intentions were as pure as they could ever get. His whisper in your ear felt like it was blasting from loudspeakers, sending an immediate shockwave to your core.

“I wanna be a slave to my queen.”

You were in complete disbelief over what his mere words were inducing in you, appalled that you would even consider something like this. This beautiful demon with that silver tongue of his… It was next to impossible to resist him. 

That being said, even a woman of your usual poise had her limits since you were a human being after all. A human being with needs that weren’t catered to for what seemed like forever taking over her sanity. Chris was closing the distance between you to mere millimeters and if you didn't take the last exit right about now, you were fucking doomed.

“Let me. Let me, please.”

Please.

You didn’t take the exit and allowed all your defenses against him to collapse instead. Fuck the exit. In fact, you slammed on the gas pedal really hard and drove past it leaving a trail of dust clouds behind you. Finally. You finally leaned into his lips and let him electrocute your entire body. Chris held you in his arms like he was reunited with something he had lost a long time ago, so glad that he found it but terrified to let go for fear of losing it again. His hand reached down your core under your dress and when he slid your underwear to the side to feel your wetness at long goddamn last, he hissed at the sensation.

“Oh, god,” he groaned into your mouth. He brought his fingers to your eye level so that you could see the trail you left on him and watch him taste you as he sucked on them.

“You taste amazing. Fucking amazing.”

As you leaned against your desk, Chris got on his knees for you, eyes never leaving yours for one second. He slid the skirt of your dress up just enough so that you could watch the arson he was about to commit on your body.

And you were absolutely paralyzed.

“Do you have any idea how fucking hot you get me, doc?” he gently spread your legs apart and placed kisses on your thighs, stroking your legs up and down in the meantime, “You just… exist. And I'm fucking gone.”

Oh, this goddamn charmer and that silver tongue of his. That was about to take you on a ride.

“God, you do feel like satin under my touch.”

Chris slid your underwear down your legs while keeping your gaze all the while and contorted his face in utter pleasure when he finally witnessed your exposed wet folds for him.

“Chain me between your legs. I wanna be buried here. Drown me in your ocean.”

And when the warmth of his mouth covered your pussy…

“Oh, fuck, Chris!”

Chris. You called him Chris. He wrapped his arms around your ass in return, indeed burying his face in you.

You had never felt anything like this before in your goddamn life. It was everything Chris told you it was going to feel like and then some. Much more stimulating than having fingers clumsily pressed against your clit, wetter than you could possibly get yourself watching the hottest porn, instant source of buzz traveling your entire body at lightspeed like someone injected desire in your veins in lieu of pure heroin. You knew Chris wasn’t a death row inmate but he was eating you like he was one and you were going to be the last thing imprinted on his palate before leaving this world for good to burn in hell for all eternity.

“I'm not touch starved. I'm you starved, baby. I've been starving my entire fucking life.”

You held onto the edges of your desk and threw your head back, unable to do anything else besides letting out those quiet moans Chris’ delightful ministrations were forcing out of you. You wanted to fucking combust.

“You're just so delicious. A goddamn feast right between your legs.”

Swipe.

Swipe.

Swipe.

“Shit.”

“Found a spot we like, did we?” Chris grinned at you, “Is it this one, baby?”

He latched back at the spot he just discovered and started lapping at it.

“Ah, please!”

“Right there, isn't it baby?” he went on to gently suck on your clit now.

“Chris… Oh, god!”

Chris. You called him Chris. 

“Wanna tease it until you go crazy for me. You're ruining me. Fucking ruining me.”

He wasn’t in any kind of rush as if you were in his actual bedroom, taking his time to make sure you were relishing this sensation. Like he was a plug sneakily handing you a pill to pop because no harm in just once. Like he was trying to get you addicted to his tongue.

“It's rising, isn't it? I feel that tide rising in you, baby.”

“Please, fuck, I'm so close. Don't stop, please. Please!” you tugged at his locks.

“Hold onto me. Pull me closer.”

You pressed his head into your pussy more as his hands traveled upwards and Chris intertwined his fingers with yours. He wasn’t applying too much pressure over your clit so as not to overstimulate you but he made up for it with pace. 

“I'm- Oh, fucking god!”

He talked against your pussy with eyes closed, “Cum in my mouth. Let me get you so damn high,” then he dragged his tongue all the way from your entrance up to your clit again and looked at you with eyes overflowing with sheer want and passion.

“Let me be your first, baby.”

Chris finally moved on to land the coup de grâce, trapping your clit between his plush lips, sucking on it, teasing it with his tongue at a gradually increasing pace. Third gear. Fourth gear. Fifth gear. Fucking NOS mode on overdrive.

“Fuck, cumming. Oh, Chris!”

Chris. You called him Chris while you violently arched into him. He squeezed your hands in return.

That tidal wave absolutely washed over you. You were drenched. Everywhere. Chris looked so beautiful with his eyes closed like that, never unlatching himself from your clit, still moaning into your pussy as he let you roll your hips against his face to ride out your orgasm, resolute to elicit every last drop he could suck out of you. For him. Because of him.

“First. I'm your first now. It will never change.”

That orgasm went straight to your head so hard like a brainfreeze that it took a hot minute for you to come down. Chris chuckled between your legs.

“Came so hard. You were throbbing in my mouth.”

He put your underwear back on as you were still panting, struggling to catch your breath and trying to put the floating pieces of your reasoning back into their place.

“That's what it feels like,” Chris got up to his feet and brushed your hair back, “Wasn't that just phenomenal?”

It indeed was. You had literally never cum like that before. Not by yourself, not with someone else, not through anything. It felt like Chris opened a door to a dimension that you never knew existed. Maybe Atlantis was indeed real and it was located in his mouth.

“Kiss me again. Taste yourself on my lips. See for yourself how sweet you taste."

You were so fucked out that you were having trouble even keeping your eyes open, but you welcomed Chris into your mouth with open arms and let him coat your tongue with yourself.

“Will you let me visit you after dinners? I promise I’ll be good. I'll be fucking exemplary to earn dessert, just say yes.”

It actually looked kinda cute that he was this eager. You tried. You tried really hard to come up with a reasonable response to this, but your sanity was long gone.

“You'll let me do it again right? Fly you out of your body again?” Chris kissed your neck and spoke softly into your ear, “Anytime. Anywhere. Just ask for me and I'll come rushing.”

At that moment, the siren went off signaling headcount. You didn’t know why that was a source of disappointment for you.

“Just know that you got me right where you want me, doc,” Chris stole a kiss from your lips and made his way back, clearly extremely reluctant to do so.

Chris had been losing sleep over you for quite some time already, but this time it was different. This time not much was left to his imagination since he had actual references now. He knew what you smelled like, what you tasted like, what you felt like, what you looked like, what you sounded like, overloading all his senses with just you. You. You. You. You. You. 

Tonight, he was gonna cum to the instant replay of how he ate you out. How you kept calling his name.

‘Oh, fuck, Chris!’

Just like that. Say my name.

What if he mustered his courage a little earlier? What if the siren didn’t go off before knowing what you would feel like around his cock?

Bet you're so tight from being touch starved. Ready to kill. Kill me already.

He soaked his entire palm and squeezed his length, imagining you clenching around him out of sheer neediness. 

‘Chris… Oh, god!’

Oh, your pulse, baby girl. Your heart beats so hard I can feel it in me.

He closed his fist tighter and picked up his pace.

GOD, I wanna die in that pussy. Stretch it all good, mold it for myself.

Faster.

Do you go to bed wishing you would see me in your dreams tasting you? Do you randomly imagine me, too? 

And faster.

Do you want me as bad as I want you? 

And faster.

Nothing sounds as pretty as you. Nothing I’ve ever felt was this true.

‘Fuck, cumming. Oh, Chris!’

Oh god, I love you. I fucking LOVE YOU.

“Baby, fuck!”

Chris had lost count of how many times he came to the thought of you in his bed, in bathroom stalls, in the shower when no one was around. Up until that moment in his life, he had ejaculated in different holes of different people just for the heck of it.

But not once, never once did he experience an immediate jealousy fit afterwards.

Didn’t even sip on you once when you taste like that, fucking waste of oxygen. Doesn't even appreciate you when that's all he should be doing.

Chris closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, throwing his arm over his forehead.

You should be mine, baby girl. Only mine.

Thursdays. Thursdays were your on-call duty days where you spent the night at the prison. And somebody was of course aware of that.

He was also aware that you were preparing a report for the warden for a while now, and you were supposed to hand it in on Friday. It was a Wednesday when Chris hid it six feet under your computer so that you would think you had lost it for good. He just needed an excuse to spend the Thursday with you so that he could whip out your hard work on a Friday and save the day. No harm done, and in fact, two birds with one stone.

Fucking genius.

“Thank you for helping me with this. I can’t believe how I managed to lose it. It was right fucking there just yesterday!”

“No thanks necessary doc,” Chris talked while entering a bunch of data on the screen, “It’s my job to help you.”

You smiled, being reminded of the moment you told him something with the exact gist. The fact that he remembered tickled something inside you.

Nobody was good at remembering stuff about you.

“But I’m still a firm believer of positive reinforcement,” he grinned, eyes still glued to the screen, “If I do a good job, then you’ll let me have dessert.”

“Will you stop?” you landed a light punch on his shoulder.

“No, I won’t,” he mischievously smiled in response, “I’m missing dinner for this, doc. You gotta make it up to me.”

You had already crossed a line with Chris. An inmate. A patient. 

Then why the fuck the prospect of the same thing repeating itself flared something inside you despite your better judgement?

“I can hear you thinking about it. To answer your question, that's the charm of the Aussies.”

You were taken aback by the unexpected comment that spoke directly to your concern.

“Are all of you like that?”

“No. That's a me-exclusive thing,” he stopped typing and looked up at you sitting on your desk. His eyes darted to your lips and Chris slowly scooted the rolling chair closer to you. You knew where this was headed.

“Are you sure you’re not just missing your girlfriend?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend, doc. Nor do I want one.” 

He grabbed your hand and placed the softest kiss on it prompting you to close your eyes on cue.

“Unless it’s you.”

“Please, Bang.”

“Don’t call me that! I want you.” 

Chris got up to his feet to be on eye level with you and cupped your cheeks.

“And only you.” 

It was like a learned reflex at this point. Whenever Chris leaned in, you braced yourself for the impact on your lips. So soft. So wet. So full of need.

“I miss you, baby,” Chris spoke from your neck, “You miss me, too, don’t you? I know you do.”

“Jesus-”

His hands didn’t mind going on a field trip this time around. He dragged his fingers from your neck to your cleavage, witnessing you shudder under his touch fully anticipating his next move. Chris thickly gulped when he fondled your breasts, letting them fill his palms to the brim.

“You do things to me. You do things to my body.”

“Chris…”

“Touch me. Please.”

Zing!

Nobody wanted you this bad before. Nobody lusted after you to the extent of causing earthquakes on your core. Nobody begged for your touch like they were praying for you to declare war.

And obliterate them into tomorrow.

You lost it.

“Fuck me, Chris.”

Did he… did he hear you right? Did you actually say what he thought y-?

You grabbed him by his nape and pulled him in for a hungry kiss. Like you had been Chris starved your whole fucking life. 

“Show me how much you want me.”

Chris' jaw hit the floor. He was really hoping you were able to register what was coming out of your mouth because he was on the brink of snapping himself.

“Are you… Are you su-?”

“I want you.”

Do you want me as bad as I want you? 

He finally got his answer.

“Touch me. Fucking touch me, baby.”

You slithered your hands under his sleeveless shirt and damn was that whole turn-on by itself. Solid pecs under your touch begging you to drag your nails, your lips, your tongue on them. Chris got rid of your underwear with one swift move as you yanked down his bottoms to finally finally see him in the flesh. As he spread your legs apart on that desk he was losing his mind over the amount of gloss coating your pussy while you were going insane over a man looking like Chris being rock-hard for you. Because of you.

“I’m gonna-”

If he could just shut the fuck up for two seconds trying to announce everything he was about to do to you since the consent was already very clearly established by you. You wrapped your legs around his waist to harshly pull him into you so that he would get the message.

As soon as he pushed himself into you with an obscene squelch, Chris snapped.

“Fuck! That stretch. As tight as I’ve always imagined.”

As he’d always imagined. So he had been imagining you.

“Oh god, faster Chris.”

You wanted faster? He’d give you faster and then some. Anything for you. Chris placed a hand over the small of your back as support and started ramming himself into you.

“I’ve only dreamed of fucking you this good. Can’t believe how well you’re taking me, fuck!”

“Ah, please. Please, more!”

“Feel how good I’m fucking you. Feel it, baby. Clench for me.”

Chris angled himself a little upwards so that the curvature of his cock would hit that spot to get you to see the stars and he went harder.

“Goddammit, Chris!”

“It’s a fact, baby girl. You were fucking made for me, my god! Clench harder, come on.”

Oh to lose yourself in someone. To descend into insanity together with them. Nothing but two souls. Nothing but two bodies.

Nothing but the lunacy called love.

“Call me yours. Make me your man. I’ll be your man instead.”

Nobody pleaded to be yours before. Nobody fucked you into forgetting how your heart was sore.

“I promise I’ll give you everything you deserve, baby. Just be mine.”

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Please, I’m gonna cum!”

“I'm so fucking in love with you, oh god!”

“Chris, FUCK!”

Between these walls, behind the bars, in a stone box where people were punished was the liberation you wanted to feel all along. As you came really hard on his cock, Chris buried his face into your lips. Needy, lustful, passionate. 

He tasted like nothing but freedom.

The next day he magically retrieved your file for you first thing in the morning and went to have a stale breakfast as a changed man. It never tasted this delicious to him before. After he was done eating, he made his way to the library where nobody ever came in, and took out Paco’s cellphone he stole back from O’Connell, which was hidden behind the ventilation grates.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Chris?!”

“I don’t have much time,” Chris checked the door to see if anyone was nearby and lowered his voice, “I need a favor, mate. No questions asked.”

There were two reasons the warden would call someone in. Either regarding disciplinary actions or to break some bad news. In any case, it wasn’t a pleasant experience. Your heart started thumping in your chest as you made your way to his office. You noticed the gen pop manager was also with him in the room.

“I'm afraid we have some bad news, Dr. Y/LN.”

A part of you was relieved this didn’t have anything to do with your little fling with an inmate, which was definitely grounds for a disciplinary hearing if not getting your license revoked, but you no way in hell were you expecting the news of your husband’s passing due to a heart attack induced by excessive drug use in a hotel room.

“We thought you would like to know that the person instigating the event is found to have ties to The Crown Street Cartel and she confessed to the crime. She will be moved to a correctional institution for women tomorrow morning. We’re really sorry for your loss.”

That whole string of information landed like a bomb in that dark room, rendering you completely shocked. You didn’t know what to be upset over first. Your husband gone. Being divorced by death. Apparent adultery involved not that you were pure as the driven snow. And the cherry on top, The Crown Street Cartel.

No.

You passed on the offer to give a eulogy for your husband at the funeral. What were you going to talk about anyway? How you hastily got married over the scare of a pregnancy and how things were never the same after your miscarriage? How he didn’t even make one attempt to maybe reconcile things? How he either spent his nights out or on the couch, forcing you to drown yourself in impossible amounts of work so that you didn’t have to think about it all? How he died right before you actually mustered the courage to tell him that you didn’t wanna live like this anymore?

IS THAT WHAT YOU WERE GOING TO TALK ABOUT???

You didn’t even take time off to properly grieve, since there was no loss to be experienced anyway. It had always been kind of there. However, there was still a confrontation to be had, driving you much antsier the more it approached. It approached. It approached.

And finally arrived at your office door one morning.

“You’re back!” Chris beamed up at the sight of you and attempted a hug.

“SAVE IT!” you yelled at him a lot more loudly than you anticipated while pushing him away and pointed your finger at him with a trembling voice, “I’m gonna ask you point-blank. Do you or do you not have anything to do with my husband’s death?”

“Baby, I-”

“ANSWER THE QUESTION!”

Chris’ silence seemed like the answer you were dreading to hear all along. You scoffed.

“You can guess why I became a doctor, right Bang?”

Bang. You called him Bang.

“Didn’t I save your ass every single time you fell down? Didn't you tell me you owe me your fucking life, huh? That’s what you do for me in return?”

You approached him with slow steps and stopped right in front of his face.

“Is fucking ruining my life what you do for me in return, Bang?!”

He furrowed his brows and his expression was unreadable. It could have very well been interpreted as being upset, angry, sad, or whatever the fuck he claimed to feel.

“But you… You didn’t love him. You love me, baby. We love each other!”

“WHO gave you the right?” you pushed his chest, “What the fuck would you know about love, huh? Do you know what it takes to love someone? What you have to sacrifice for them? Loving someone means you want them to be happy!”

“Do you know what it takes, doc?” Chris countered, “You’ve been trapped in a prison of your own for god knows how long. I set you free so that you could be happy!”

“At least I fucking know it’s not an excuse to play god and take someone’s life away!”

Chris was heavily breathing from his nose, trying so hard to find the right words to sate you, but it felt much like the day your hand brushed against his for the first time.

“Then maybe you’ve never been in love before.”

You looked at him with incredulous eyes as he approached you.

“Please, baby. I lov-”

“Go,” you stopped him and turned away, “We’re done here.”

And that was exactly what Chris did. After watching your back like he was witnessing you evaporate into thin air like smoke, he turned around and left.

After that day, you started paying frequent visits to the prison chapel. Not to pray, it was actually for meditation purposes since it was quiet. Not the kind of deafening silence crawling at your house and driving you absolutely crazy. It could be the pretty stained glass windows, but you felt a piece of peace there. Every day during lunch, you borrowed the key from Father Moreno, locked the door behind you and just sat there, trying to hear yourself think. Just breathe.

After that day, a week passed, but you weren’t grieving as much as you should have. Neither were you turning Chris in. Unfortunately for you, not because you didn’t have anything to pin the crime on him. You literally had a confession directly coming from his mouth.

You painfully realized that it was because you didn’t want to.

I will prevent disease whenever I can, for prevention is preferable to cure.

Not only could you not prevent it, but it was also well on its way to metastasizing in your heart.

Chris was losing sleep over you again. Not because of the butterfly riot inside his stomach but due to this crippling restlessness over you not wanting to see him in any capacity. One day. Three days. Five days. Looking at your bobby pin he stole from your desk for hours on end. Yearning. Yearning. Yearning.

“Bang. The doc wants to see you.”

“SHE DOES?!”

He jumped from his seat and dashed to your office like he was trying to break the Olympian record for running. He actually hated hospitals. He hated that antiseptic smell. He hated the color white, but yes. Yes to everything for all eternity if he could be with you again. Your back was turned when he finally made it to that doorframe.

“Finally, baby. Finally you asked for me! Do y-”

“You're way over your head with this shit, Bang. WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING???”

When you turned around to face him Chris didn’t know whether he should have dropped to his knees or go on a fucking rampage. There were bruises on your face. Scratches on your arms. Your lip was busted.

“Baby, wh- What happened to you?”

“Are you really gonna pretend you didn’t unleash some fucking lunatic on me because I didn’t want anything to do with you anymore?!”

“A WHAT?”

Your eyes were crawling with hatred and it was killing Chris inside one step at a time.

“He was one of you, too, wasn’t he? Don’t lie to me, I saw the goddamn boomerang necklace.”

Boomerang necklace.

Noah’s crew.

“I swear I don't have anything to do with this. I'd die before letting anything happen to you!” Chris was on the brink of tears, but you weren’t able to pinpoint the root cause of that. Anger? Sadness? Confusion?

Why would we cry anyway?

Million-dollar question: Why would a man who didn’t even flinch while confessing to orchestrating a murder feel the need to lie about an assault ambush?

Unless he actually didn’t have anything to do with it, that was.

“Please,” Chris enveloped your hands in his, moments away from wrapping you in a tight embrace to shelter you from whatever demons were after you and not giving a fuck if you wanted to curse him to the bottom circle of hell, “Please. Tell me everything. Tell me what happened. I’m begging you.”

Since you informed Chris that you pressed charges against the culprit, he was after his person of interest relentlessly to see which prison he was going to end up in. He should have asked for a million dollars instead because the man came on a silver platter right through the front door. Chris didn’t even need the whole spiel to locate the guy. All he had to do was scan the newcomers that would end up with the Aussies. ‘A family welcome’ was the tradition around here, and he was most certainly going to wear an iron ore boomerang necklace. 

“What are you in for, mate?”

“Nothing that major, brother,” the guy slapped a crooked smile on his face, “I took a little field trip to a house I thought was empty. I should have just left when I emptied the safe, but a hot piece of ass lying in bed like that? That was gonna be a dumb move not to hit that, you know what I mean?”

How dare you talk about my girl like that you fucking cocksucker.

Chris forced a sleazy smile while dying inside, “Did you… Did you get to…?”

“Nah, man, the bitch had an iron bat and damn did she know how to use it,” he cackled, “I was actually fucking turned on by it.”

“Better luck next time, huh?” Chris slapped his shoulder harsher than intended, “Take it easy.”

Fuming out of his nostrils, he made his way to kitchen and slammed his fist into the refrigerator, drawing the attention of Paco to himself.

“I don’t mean to diss your clan, but that asshole gets on my goddamn nerves, Bang. It hasn’t even been 24 hours and the fucker acts like he’s the king running this shit.”

Chris looked at the shelf of jars in front of him and then Paco’s nauseated face, which sparked an idea in his mind.

“We both want the same thing, brother. What if I told you, we can do it?”

Chris wrapped a towal around one of the empty jars to function as a silencer, and slammed it on the metal counter. Paco raised his brows upon the sight.

“You’re legit considering to take out one of your own?”

“He’s not one of my own. One of my own would never disrespect me like that.”

Paco dropped the carrots in his hands and walked towards Chris, still panting out of sheer rage.

“The doc isn’t your girl, brother.”

“She might as well be.”

“The dude didn’t even know who she was, man.”

“Then he should have had a fucking revelation, Paco.”

Chris grabbed a plastic pickle can and started rolling it on the broken glass, almost crushing it into dust. 

“We use a different kind of seasoning in Sydney, you know? Fit for the kings.”

Paco maniacally smiled at Chris’ insinuation.

“You’re one sick motherfucker, you know that right?”

Chris called the gesture and raised it with an even more psychopatic grin.

“That’s some god-tier praise, mate. Appreciate it.”

It took about a week. About a week of pretending to be chummy with the guy Chris couldn’t be bothered to learn the name of so that nobody would suspect anything. About a week of feeding the fucker crushed glass instead of salt, slowly nudging him into his much deserved demise due to an internal hemorrhage. About a week until the body ended up in your office so that you could call the time of death before sending it to the morgue while feeling the most fucked up kind of satisfaction inside.

You plopped down on your chair and noticed an envelope on your desk. It had a hurriedly scribbled note inside along with what looked like crushed pieces of iron.

Anything for you, my queen.

You were in the chapel by yourself again. After locking the door behind you, you opted for going to the confessional this time instead of sitting down one of the benches. You felt like just silently thinking about the gigantic knot inside of you while looking at the pretty colors breaking through the stained glass was not going to cut it. You wanted darkness. You wanted to hide. You wanted your presence to be erased so that you could find peace for once. Weeks of burden piling up on your shoulders finally crushed you under it and you started uncontrollably sobbing. Just letting it out. Only when you said it out loud in between your hiccups did you realize how fucked up beyond repair you were.

“I can’t fucking believe I fell in love with a murderer.”

You eventually ran out of tears to cry and calmed down. You kind of wish you did that sooner because for some reason you felt ten pounds lighter. 

“Anything else you wanna confess?”

That voice…

You felt like you got suckerpunched.

“I know you’ve been coming here a lot, doc.”

No fucking way.

“Were you…? All this time…?”

“Yes.”

The door in front of you opened slowly and you saw him again. You saw one beautiful man fucked up beyond repair looking at you with raised brows, almost scared you were gonna run away, eyes looking like they belonged to a puppy rather than the sick motherfucker you knew him to be. 

“Yes, I have one more thing to confess,” you got up to your feet and extended your hand to him to hold. When he did, you gently pulled him inside.

“Turns out you just cannot love Chris Bang by choice.”

If you didn’t know any better, you would say Chris was welling up a little bit behind that bright smile he broke into. It was obvious how dire his you-starvation was because his kisses shapeshifted. Wetter. More passionate. Even more full of need like that was possible.

“You have my soul on a leash. Anything for you.”

He was trying to take his time with his touches, fighting his craving as much as he can, trying so hard not to give into the urge to take you as hard as he can, and you knew it. Something else you knew, however, was what got him to go full unhinged, filling him with the sole thought of claiming you and you goddamn had enough of your solitary confinement.

“Chris.”

“Fuck, baby, I need you.”

You knew. You could see it in the way he licked his lips every time he caught a glimpse of you. You could smell it in his natural musk getting denser by the second. You could feel it in his touches loaded with the hellfire that scorched your skin after he discarded your underwear. You could hear it in the way he moaned your name with so much need. You could taste it in his lips that you were convinced were made to be kissed by you.

“I think we’ve established that we’re going to hell after this.”

“Isn't this what's called a correctional practice? I’m repenting,” Chris chuckled while lifting you up at one go and pushed you against the wooden wall as you wrapped your legs around his waist. You never felt this close to him before and there was something about the way he moved you around however the fuck he pleased that was just so…

“I’m repenting between these thighs, baby. Everything I need is between these thighs,” he buried his lips on yours again, his body weight pinning you against the wall as he dropped his bottoms with one hand.

“Ah, Chris!”

One push inside of you and he lost all the battles against his urges. Chris was fucking into you hard like he was trying to make up for all the years that passed by without feeling you around him.

“God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You just feel too good, baby. Too good.”

“Faster, Chris.”

“I can't fucking control how much I want you. Fuck, I'm so sorry.”

The way his facial features beautifully shattered with every thrust, your moans melting together, pure desire ruling over that tiny confined space felt like everything you had ever wanted. The strange sense of completeness. The belongingness. The door of your solitary cell getting bombarded with a loud crash every time Chris whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

“Fuck, I missed you. I missed you so fucking much. Give it to me baby, come on.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and dove into his lips headfirst. Whenever he moved his tongue inside, it felt like he was licking your entire body, overloading you with carnality that was beyond this world.

“Do y- Do you wanna cum inside?”

You felt how hard he twitched inside you, and that was almost what got you to cream on him.

“FUCK, you’ll- You’ll really let me?”

“Yes. Fucking yes!”

Chris started fucking into you with an afresh fervor, fully determined to chuck both of your souls in the wildfire he started in that booth.

“Fucking hell, let me claim you like I should, baby. Be mine. Be mine forever.”

Every thrust felt like a soothing touch on your charred soul. Every kiss felt like falling in love with him all over again. Every moan felt like an ode meant to be sung after your beauty.

“Kiss me. Kiss my soul out of me, baby.”

Baby. You called him baby.

“Fuck, I love you. I’m so fucking in love with you, OH GOD!”

You had literally never cum like that before. Not by yourself, not with someone else, not through anything. It felt like Chris opened another door to a dimension that you never knew existed. Maybe Narnia was indeed real and it was located in his kisses. In his moans silenced by the harsh press of your lips against his. 

It happened again. He tasted like nothing but freedom.

That just couldn’t have been a coincidence anymore.

I will prevent disease whenever I can, for prevention is preferable to cure.

The time you had served in the prison provided enough baggage for you to last a lifetime. You opted for not spending whatever little sanity you had left there and resigned, deciding that you would be better off taking some time away from all the insanity and open a new chapter in your life. You could lean on your savings for a little while, and although opening a little practice seemed like a feasible option for the time being, who knew what the time was going to bring? You hadn’t planned on getting your heart stolen by some fucking charmer, either, had you?

You got out of the car after spotting a movement in your peripheral vision to your left and hugged him tightly like you hadn’t seen each other in forever. His kisses still tasted like freedom, but for good reason this time around. As he settled down in the passenger seat, you asked him:

“Where do you wanna go on your first day as a free man?”

I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm.

You couldn’t prevent it, but so what if you couldn’t? Maybe some cures were hidden in the disease itself and they could actually be good for you. Weren’t antidotes made out of venom anyway? Loving Chris this much may have permanently placed you under the category of the infirm, but who was to say you didn’t have the very same special obligations to the only person that mattered? 

Yourself.

Chris grabbed your hand to kiss it and looked into your eyes dreamily with a smile.

“To heaven, baby. In your bed this time.”

AUTHOR'S NOTE

🍮Like my content? Consider supporting my work with a pudding!

Welcome to the first installment of the insanity marathon! I really appreciate you being here (✿◠‿◠) I figured, what better way than to kick off the event with a BANGer (see what I did there?). Hope I was able to do it justice and serve the Christopher trash community accordingly. If you enjoyed this story, please feel free to yell at me in reblogs, tags, or in my inbox. I tremendously enjoy it! (●'◡'●)

Regarding updates: I had initially announced that I was going to post a story every Monday until Halloween, but considering the current obligations of my life and the volume of the stories, it doesn't seem very likely. There will still be eight stories posted (hopefully) by Halloween, but let's not expect military precision on the updates ^^' Once again, thank you so much for tagging along!

-R. (CB97%)

«GENERAL MASTERLIST» · «ABOUT/FAQ» · «ASK/REQUEST» · «TREAT ME TO PUDDING?🍮»

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BIRTHDAY BOY v 2.0 

Rose tea ☕️🌹

ikedda on Instagram

Just watched the FNAF Movie, it was great

Thought of a really captivating way to learn BSL; I’m translating songs. It’s really fun. My grammar is probably shit but at least I’m doing it.

Lucy Heartfilia redesign, it's that time of the year when my fairy tail fixation comes back

in honor of the countless times this guy kicked my ass (wym I was underleveled???? lies.)

(sketch version under cut)

More birds

WIP Extract Tag

Another tag from the lovely @oh-no-another-idea here! Thanks 💙

We'll get a sneep from AASOAF 3 of a part I recently edited!

Tagging (gently): @paintedbutton @shadoedseptmbr @teamdilf @anyablackwood @noblebs and anyone else who wants to play!

cw: alcohol use, violence

“Do you remember those nights too?” I asked from the shadows thrown across the floor by the moonlight. “Do you?” He didn’t respond. I knew he wouldn’t. He couldn’t see me. Couldn’t hear me. I was but a trick of light before his drunken eyes. Oh yes, he was just the same. So I walked the scaffold of his window pane’s shadows, dropping my guard and my reserve, until I was but a woman once more. He said my name and found his god, but before he could commune with it, the glass tumbled from his hand and shattered on the floor. The spirits mingled with the shards at his feet. He stepped back, shocked. Rejected. So I came forth, passing through his desk as I had his door, and stood before him as he continued to stare at his god’s refusal in disbelief. I caressed his feathered neck with my smokey hands until they became solid and seized his face between them.  “You won’t find me there.” I hissed.  He frowned.  I shoved him back into his plush captain’s seat and closed a both hands around his throat. “You won’t find me anywhere.”

AASOAF 3 Taglist: @outpost51 @thelivingdeceased @faelanvance @captain-kraken @illjustpretend

@elshells @full-on-sam @the-mindless @zestymimblo @tabswrites

@void-botanist

✨WHY I THINK OOGWAY FROM KUNG FU PANDA IS A HUGE BITCH✨

And why I LOVE Tai Lung and Kai

EDIT: I wrote a long time ago and I would have liked to rewrite it more precisely and add points because YES but I don't have the courage so appreciate my burning hate from that day while waiting lmao

Ok so it might be a bit long and you probably won't agree, if you have the courage to read I thank you for it and be really happy to hear what you think about it. ❤️ (hope my English will be understandable enough)

I loved Oogway like everyone, but watching the movies again I got really attached to Kai and Tai Lung and I noticed that in both cases the one who destroyed their lives was Oogway; Tai Lung was just a little orphan abandoned at his doors. He loves his dad Shifu more than anything and dream to make him proud and win his love because he feels worthless due to his abandonment; he never asked to be the Dragon Warrior nor have infinite power, he was just playing with a ball. Let kid be kid dammit ! Shifu transposed his own dreams to Tai Lung, and TL willing to do well pursued his father's dream, whatever the cost, even if it means sacrificing what he believed to be his destiny. He worked his ass for 20 years every day until he collapsed, "until his bones cracked ", couldn't go to school or make friends, or grow up like a normal child because he had to train hard TO BECOME the DW Shifu told him he's destined to be.

Tai Lung being a prodigy and Shifu a perfectionist, he always asked more from baby Tai Lung, never apologizing for overworking him physically and mentally or telling him that he was proud or love him. He grew up in the company of Oogway, who has been telling for 500 years that the Dragon Warrior prophecy would come true, that "There’s no accidents", so OBVIOUSLY Tai Lung who was abandoned at the gates of the Jade Palace and raised by the greatest master of China, who discovered he was a Kung Fu prodigy and who was told that nothing happens by accident his whole life thought he would be worthy if he did everything for; -This is where Oogway should have intervened, he saw Tai Lung grow within his walls, take his first steps in the palace, at no time in 20 years has he told Shifu to stop putting too many expectations on Tai Lung, or tell him to thanks him for his efforts, or say I Love You, or NOT to bribe him with his own ambitions, but he never did-

He did for Tigress. He told Shifu "She wants you to be proud of her" and guess what, later Shifu told Tigress he was proud of her. Why has he never done this for Tai Lung. (Probably cause it will obviously change everything and he didn't want to)

He also never took the time to talk to Tai Lung and guide him to his own destiny, like he does with everyone else, so WHY TF not the little orphan who grows up with him ? Since Oogway adopted Shifu when his father abandoned him at the Jade Palace too, Tai Lung is basically like his adoptive grandson. I just think Oogway sacrificed Tai Lung's fate to use it later to accomplish Po's. Since Tai Lung never did anything wrong, at any time before being denied the scroll,I think "the darkness in his heart" was only an excuse to deny Tai Lung the scroll after all the effort and flawless behavior he's had all this time (he even had the 1000 scrolls that even Oogway never reached). Especially since the Dragon Scroll was "written" by Oogway, and it WAS EMPTY AND OBVIOUSLY HE KNEW IT. He could have used it to teach Tai Lung a lesson but he preferred to refuse him just to destroy him and use him as the perfect opponent of the Future Dragon Warrior. When Tai Lung left to sow desolation in the valley to attract the attention of his master/father, hours have passed after his rejection of the title, no one went to console him or give him explanations. Because there is none. He just broke the hearts of proud Papa Shifu and Tai Lung by passing him off as a bad guy for no reason, and Shifu as a bad master / father. Shifu didn’t even stand up for Tai Lung kindness of heart, which hurt him more deeply than being denied the scroll. He did all this for Shifu, and Shifu did not show recognition for his work

(+ Tai Lung has already shown several times that he has a good heart during the film, I will be happy to talk about it later if you are interested but let's continue)

[p.s: It has been confirmed that Tai Lung never ever killed, not even the rhinos. Good boii]

When Tai Lung made a mess of the Valley, ( the first and ONLY bad thing he have done in 20 years of life) Oogway didn't move and stayed to protect his empty scroll rather than the Valley and its people, when he could knock Tai Lung out in a second. He probably preferred let Tai Lung act to prove his point, even if it means leaving the Valley and Shifu traumatized; Oogway asked Shifu to defend the EMPTY scroll by killing his son with a lethal kick but ofc he couldn't. ( how do you think Shifu might react if he found out he had to kill his son to protect an empty scroll ??) So instead of killing Tai Lung for Shifu, Oogway decided to put TL into an icy coma for several months, to MAKE SHIFU BUILD CHOR-GHOM prison in the most freezing mountain of Mongolia where he will have to remain locked for LIFE with a pressure-point-turtle-shell Oogway created himself to block his chi, where he can barely breathe until he dies, like WHY ?? Tai Lung never deserves this, he was abandoned by his mother, then abandoned by his adoptive father who tried to kill him, then abandoned by the society of which he worked hard to be the hero, and now he is locked up in Chorh-Gom, alone, constantly watched by 1000 guards, cold, in the dark on his knees for 20 years, with the beating of his heart, the sound of his thoughts and the mocking of the guards as his only sound; without any visit or message from his adoptive father, they do not even have the right to pronounce his name so that he is permanently forgotten and in addition is badly treated by Vachir without being able to move or no one to defend him . NO, Oogway just no. If you wanted him to die first, why keep him alive under such conditions if not to mentally break him and use him later? You knew Shifu couldn't do it. You knew Tai Lung would push him away, you knew it would mark the end of their relationship and that's why you asked him to do that. Now Shifu must have tried to kill his baby at your request and Tai Lung will never forget that his father stood in front of him to destroy him. disgusting ✨

[You even took the care of designing a TURTLE SHELL for Tai Lung with 16 jade needles each decorated with a dragon's head as well as the chain clapboards in the shape of a dragon, you keep him imprisoned in his own obsession to prepare him for combat you little bastard]

Is this the moment to point out that Tai Lung never met a person in his life who didn’t want him dead? Because I think about it every second

Oogway instructed Shifu to train warriors so that one of them would become the Dragon Warrior, TO kill Tai Lung. It makes me think even more that Oogway planned from the start to use Tai Lung as an ordeal, he already knew that Po was destined to be the Dragon Warrior so I don't understand this need to have Shifu train people in the bitter goal of killing his own son when Oogway could have avoided it all from the start.

It was cruel to Tai Lung, and cruel to Shifu. At no time Oogway assumed part of the responsibility or blame himself, he could have acted for a very long time, but he just never did, and let Shifu bear all the brunt of his "mistake" alone. I’m mad.

“ One often meets his destiny on the road he takes to avoid it.” what was Tai Lung's fate then? Die by the real Dragon Warrior then? I'm sure there was a way for both to be fulfilled and happy (and besties forever)

Even 20 years later, Shifu still loves and thinks about Tai Lung, (and same for Tai Lung.)* proven by the fact that he plays his theme on the flute under the tree where he fed him, or continues to meditate in TL’s personal training room. I won't talk about the fact that Oogway let Po be harassed by the Fives or Shifu because of his own decision cause it wasn’t the worst he did, but still. è__é Once he's screwed up the shit, he is told Tai Lung is back as he had hopedpredicted, all his plan worked, he can leave his staff to Shifu to face death on his own with his son and get out in cherry tree petals. Give the shit you’ve done to others as usual

We have already seen that Oogway did not hesitate to be calculating and intervene so that others "accomplish their destiny" as he was able to do by making Shifu fall sick with noodles he ordered (I don't know if he did it on purpose) and not healing him while he can so that he is unable to fight and leaves Tigress to fight Boar alone in "The Secret of the Scroll"- once again, so she can "fulfill her destiny". It is exactly this kind of manipulation that I blame him for having done to organize Tai Lung's fall.

--what we know about Tai Lung's past, told by Tigress, is what Oogway told her and we know that he is canonicaly described petty and very probably a liar (to be continued in Kai chapter), when Tai Lung mentions it from his point of view in his fight against Shifu we can clearly see the difference. Tai Lung was just a child who needed guidance, and I still don’t understand why Oogway didn’t helped him.

I also won't be talking about Tai Lung or all the reasons he's my absolute favorite character ever because the post would never end, but I'm done with Oogway about him. I just hope he welcomed Tai Lung into the Spirit Realm and showed him the path of redemption. 💔

I really wonder why if "There is no accident" and "There are no secret ingredients", why is there a chosen one. and if the secret ingredient is to believe in yourself, why is it wrong when it's Tai Lung

Now I'm going to express myself on all the bad Oogway did to Kai, it might be shorter but just as pissed off 💥

First of all, we all agree that Kai is in love with Oogway but that Oogway saw him as a friend right ??? Good

I find Oogway particularly HYPOCRITICAL to treat Kai as a monster and himself as a Saint when they were literally war murderers together. [Dreamworks describe him as a “ troublemaking, rebellious warrior”]

Oogway literally describes himself as "an ambitious young warrior leading a great army" bro just say that you killed people like everyone at that moment and assume for once. Kai him was Suprem Warlord of China, in other words, a hero for all, they won wars together, fought together, in short Kai clearly had his share of glory in that. The day Oogway almost died on the battlefield, Kai, who had remained standing, gave up everything to help him. The battle, the soldiers, absolutely anything to take Oogway against him and wander the snowy mountains in despair without destination and terrified of losing him. Once Oogway was saved by Kai and the pandas, he stayed in the village where Kai waited for him, he learned to transmit chi, and suddenly decided to play it peace and love after having massively killed in the war.

He wrote that Kai wanted the power of chi all for himself, but that's not what I think and I take no shit about what this liar turtle is saying. I think Kai was terribly scared when he nearly lost Oogway, he felt totally helpless and useless, and never wants to feel that feeling of weakness again. I think he genuinely loves Oogway, and seeing that chi could save him, he decided to collect it so that he never runs out of it to help Oogway again when he needs it. Not only is this technique revolutionary, but it could have been incredibly useful in war, imagine taking chi from enemies, making you stronger, and controlling them to turn them against their own army. Of course it was wrong to use that on a poor panda, but Oogway communication exists you could tell him to stop right now rather than kill him after everything he's done for you, you gave him no chance to explain himself like fuck

(+ excuse me Oogway but don't you know yourself a Chi technique used to KILL? like Wuxi finger hold maybe ╭∩╮)

Oogway didn't just kill Kai, he ERASED HIS NAME FROM HISTORY AND FOR WHAT ? Kai fought valiantly, he probably brought China to victory, protected the innocent, he was known as a war hero and YOU, Oogway, you should have died in a battle if Kai hadn't left it all for you. Kai won the war, you didn't. And now everyone recognizes Oogway as the supreme hero, building a huge palace in his honor, though he's just an ungrateful liar. Kai wanted to be recognized as well, Oogway could leave his name in history and erase what he did, no one would ever know. But he preferred to appropriate all the merits, all the honors and glory, to be the wise old man kind to everyone after committing genocides, kind to everyone except Tai Lung. He decided to invent the title of Dragon Warrior to defeat Kai 500 years later, and as he say so well “I have set another on that path” so surprising of you Oogway. NOTHING OF ALL OF THIS WOULD HAVE HAPPENED IF KAI HAD LET YOU DIE AS HE SHOULD

Notice how even as an amulet, Kai wore Oogway on his heart around his neck talking to him regularly, holding him in his hands and never using him in battle.

« - I would not let you destroy Oogway’s memory !

- Why not ? He destroyed MINE. »

“ I fought by his side. I loved him like a brother, and he... betrayed me.”

I’m going to stop this essay here and thank you if you’re still here lmao, honestly THERES MORE lmao, i used to love him now i just hate/like him BUT I can't forgive what he did to my babies and can’t contain all my rage towards him anymore so let me end on just

✨fuck Oogway✨ and long live everyone else

MASKING MYTHS BUSTED: “Masking = Acting NT.”

FALSE.

Autistic masking does not necessarily mean “pretending to be allistic/neurotypical," although you’d definitely be forgiven for thinking it does.

Non-autistic researchers have been referring to it as “camouflaging” for years, framing it as an intentional choice to suppress autistic traits and replace them with allistic ones in order to “blend in.” Doing an internet search on the term will return several similar results.

But now, Autistic researchers are in the game, and their take is much more nuanced and comprehensive than that. (Funny how that happens, isn’t it?)

They’ve found that:

- It CAN be intentional but is often subconscious and involuntary 

- It is a protective response to trauma and feeling unsafe 

- It is often about suppressing more than just autistic traits 

- It is about identity management and being able to predict how people will treat you, not just “blending in”

Some people will lean into being “the bad kid” because they know that’s what people expect of them. Some people will even act “more autistic” because they know that’s what people expect of them. Others still will do things to attract attention in controllable, more “acceptable” ways to avoid attracting attention in unsafe, more stigmatizing ways. Not because they WANT to be that way, but because it lets them predict people’s responses better, which feels safer.

Also, there are Autistic people who can’t “pass” for non-autistic no matter how hard they try. That doesn’t mean they’re not masking. They may actually be working hard to suppress A LOT, they just can’t do everything to neuronormative standards.

None of these people will be accused of “blending in,” yet they are still masking their hearts out. When we assume they are not, we miss all the harm that masking is causing them. But they are suppressing themselves and suffering the consequences of that just as much as any Autistic person whose mask successfully says, “Hey, I’m just like you!”

(For more on this, please see the work of Dr. Amy Pearson and Kieran Rose.)