Doing some character analysis of Nick for an upcoming chapter and it's becoming clearer to me that teen Nick is violent fundamentally because he's emotionally neglected.
He doesn't know what emotional regulation looks like because his parents never really bothered to teach him - they, as image-conscious careerists, just acted regulated and expected him to echo.
His feelings were generally minimized because it was easier than dealing with them. He was rarely told no; when he got in trouble, it was rarely with consequences, and when he hurt people, his parents covered for him for the sake of his success and image.
Anger, contempt, etc. went unchecked and when they inevitably exposed him to fights (and even crime), those were 'dealt with' rather than addressed (and Nick learned to hide these well, not that he really needed to).
Basically, all of this creates a kind of gleeful social detachment, low fear response (to consequences and authority in general), and dominance-seeking that his home-life never bothered trying to contain.
TLDR; Nick learned how to be a sobbing crying SIMP for Hayko from all his nannies and chauffeurs, not his parents.
as I scrolled though the Riverdale tag on tumblr and in other social media just a few minutes ago I saw all this hate towards Toni. Sure people defending her and I love that most of the fans are rational and civil but think about this.
In this episode we met Nick Sinclair. A scumbag piece of trash who first tried to hit on Veronica and make her sleep with him when she clearly didn’t want to and then when he saw tough luck there, he turned to Cheryl. He DRUGGED HER AND WAS UNDRESSING IN FRONT OF HER READY TO RAPE HER.
And some people still think that it’s more important to hate on Toni. A person who is human and has a crush and got the opportunity to make a move. As shitty of a move and a moment to choose as that was and trust me I am very pissed about it too, it could have been anyone. And it is certainly not a reason for death threats or just mindless hate. I’m pissed too cause I love bughead with all my heart but I think that Jughead is just super hurt right now and Toni did take advantage of the opportunity. But this does not make her a bad person, it just makes her a human. Every character on Riverdale has done something wrong but we know what kind of people they are and Toni doesn’t seem to be the “snake” people label her as. And unless proven otherwise, I REFUSE TO HATE ON A CHARACTER BECAUSE OF THIS ONLY.
So whether you like Toni or not, or you ship her with Jughead or not, be respectful of others.
And also if you really wanna be bitter and hate on someone hate on fucking Nick Sinclair who almost RAPED a teenage girl. Because some shit is much more important than ships.
c.w. creepy/intimate whumper, drugging, kidnapping, torture with knives, forced to beg for pain, noncon stripping, power-play
—
The world turned on its side as he was coaxed through the doorway by different hands, all unwelcoming and invasive, grabbing his shoulders and kneading into his back with slick, eager voices. He could hardly think, let alone remember how he had ended up so far from the bar.
“In you go, baby, that’s it,” Harvey lilted, voice falsely soft as the others helped him indoors, and there was nothing safe in his tone.
“I-I don’t-...”
Nick’s own dangerously low one from behind, laced with a laugh, “Shh, love, no more talking. You’re out of it so just come with us.”
“W-Where...where’re you…” His slurred voice swirled around in unseen currents of sound, ringing in his head and only his head, where none of the strangers around him responded to or even noticed the distraught questions, only whisked him away from the night.
Time wasn’t moving linearly but when the door closed behind him and the party with a soft click, it echoed loudest of all the sounds that night. Of what felt like was the car ride back - now obscured memory, a blur. Of his disoriented stumble down the stone pathway as hands held him upright. Of the dark, oily laughter rushing at him from all angles.
“I don’-...don’ know you, hey…” he slurred. The air changed around him, barring him in from the familiar outdoor cool, blurred hands and faces replacing it. “Home, I-I wanna...go...go home…” Where was home?
“Oh, sweetheart, you are home.”
Pressure crept through his throat as Nick’s hand encircled it and leaned him against the wall, his jacket disappearing with one swift motion of another set of fingers. More gripped his locks, a groan falling from the man who pulled the hair until he keened quietly.
“I know,” Nick returned with a broadening grin, giving his muse’s hair another tug and letting out an ‘Oh’ at his weak moan. “Cute smile, honey-coloured, and ones that look like they beg well. Now, I’ve got two of those checked off so shall we see the third?” A sharp flash of teeth in darkness, cornering him with nowhere to go and nothing left.
“N-No, you don’...don’ have t’...lemme leave, I h-have t’ go home…” he whimpered and a round of pleased sounds came from the party, living for every ounce of his desperate confusion and fear. That must have set something violent off as more hands wound into his dress shirt, rougher this time, and they pulled him from the mudroom with a jerk, letting him meet the couch cushions in a heap of loose limbs.
“Now, let’s see how nicely this one screams.”
Harvey chuckled low, a delighted flutter in his voice. “Why stop at screaming? We might even get a few pretty little tears out of him too. This one looks like a crier more than a screamer, don’t you, darling?” The blond met him, gliding across the ground as evenly as if it were made of ice and suddenly all the wolfish faces circled him, gleaming eyes in dark looks that pinned him down.
“I have a lot of creative things that I want to do to you tonight, but I like boys that bleed the most,” Nick murmured as he climbed on top of him, a glint of eagerness in his smile at the terrified, doe-eyed eyes beneath him that just begged for him. “What I like about knives the most is that you can ease into them, let a little bit flow and save the rest for later. So much more flexible than a bullet.”
“P-Please, don’-...”
“And you know what I really like?” Nick’s thumb traced his lower lip gracefully, parting and molding it as the terror grew thicker. “I can make it go so, so slow.”
Cold steel flashed into view, reflecting the faint moonlight that fell through the window across from him and it would have reflected more if the men weren’t all around him. Just as his limbs began to lose feeling, a sharp bite brought it all back, like water first crashing against rocks with all their power. A gasp shot out. Panic.
“No...no, gedaway-...argh…” His lips quivered with terror at the impact of different knives from different hands and then the collapse of electric pain in each cut, the surge of heat that took over his body fighting against the knives and the hands and the poison. “It hurts, i-it hurts so-...so much…”
“I know, I know,” Harvey nearly whispered. “But that’s the best part about this, cutie, and you’re doing so well. How about putting on a little show for us, hmm?” His blade tugged at the soft flesh of his bicep. “I want to hear your screams and cries and everything in between. I want whatever you can give me and you’re going to give it to me.”
“I jus’ wanna go h-home…”
“Beg me to hurt you and I just might let you, darling.”
He whimpered under his look and finally let the quiet sounds break into gasping sobs, tears streaming down his face and blurring every vile face together. Beginning hesitantly in a shaky voice, he began. “...H-Hurt me...please, please hurt me-”
“Please hurt me, sir,” Harvey corrected, waving down Nick’s teasing laughter in response.
“I never knew you were into that kind of talk,” Nick said with a hint of suggestiveness as he tore away the man’s shirt with sharp jerks. “You heard the man. Now beg for it.”
A ragged sob, hope fleeing quickly. “P-Please, hurt, hurt me...sir.” The pleading was taken from him with pleasure and so was the inexorable scream that tore out when Harvey drove the blade through his hand.
And the tip met the couch on the other fucking side.
He could barely catch his breath under the depth of the heat and pain suffocating him, one he could have never imagined, and suddenly all his obedience liquified to desperation again. “O-Oh God, i-it, hurts, please, please don’-...please stop, jus’ make i’ stop…”
“Listen to the way this one begs,” someone nearly groaned. “It isn’t every day you score someone this damn perfect. Fuck, do it more, babes, since you’re so eager to give us all a good time tonight.”
At that point, each plea clattered from his tongue, leaden in his mouth. Nothing made sense. He hurt and he stumbled and they didn’t care. They didn’t care because it didn’t matter at all. Because the vultures picked at him until he had nothing more to give. Because there would be another one like him the next night.
c.w. mentions of past abuse, mentions of torture, intimate whumper, vague reference to noncon
AO3
Hayko flinched away as he felt his chin lifted for their eyes to meet, where Nick could get a better look at the evidence of the abuse. A thumb swept over his chin and his split lower lip with a feather-light caress. The blood trickling down his nose painted a streak onto his nail. He wiped it away gently. Nick’s expression was unreadable as he kept the investigation going and Hayko didn’t know whether he wanted to feel his anger more. He felt the thumb press a bruise gingerly and he sucked in a breath from the sting but stayed otherwise quiet, trembling slightly. Say something. Do something.
Nick was looking him dead in the eye now, his jaw clenching the way it did when he was beyond pissed and with a voice that barely restrained his rage, “Who did this?”
Taking a shuddering breath, Hayko looked away. Who didn’t do it? he wanted to say but getting smart with people usually didn’t bode well for him. That, and he didn’t think he would live through another beating.
“Look at me,” Nick said, low, threatening. “Who?” His touch was so soft compared to that tone.
Despite this, Hayko thought it best to keep staring at the floor. Was he really expected to continue his humiliation? By now, he would have been hit hard enough to see stars but strangely, Nick’s hand stayed all but tender.
“You know not answering me usually doesn’t work out well for you.” Nick looked at him expectantly, the anger simmering in his eyes.
“I-I know,” he rasped.
“So, do you want to tell me who toyed with you?”
Even after all the pain, he could feel his anger burning in his chest at that shameful description, and he gritted the backs of his teeth, shooting him a look. “Just do it already.”
Nick raised an eyebrow after an instant of silence, “Do what?”
“Just d-do it,” he repeated. “I can...I can probably take it and I’m used to it by now so s-stop dicking me around and just do it.” Hayko’s voice broke at the end of the tangent. “I know I’m y-yours, I didn’t want this for fuck’s sake. So, spare me the show and do it already.” Bracing himself for the impact, Hayko let his eyes slip shut and waited for the air around him to change as Nick brought his hand back. But it never came.
“Look at me,” he ordered again.
Hayko stifled a sob as he turned his eyes up to face Nick at last. “What?”
Nick took and released a slow, even breath. In a way, it looked like he was holding himself back. “Who did this?”
“Oh, f-fuck you,” he finally sobbed and let himself fall against his chest as Nick’s hand drew him close. “Fuck you…” It was muffled by the shirt along with the other sobs that slipped out all at once.
As if he were someone besides Nick, Hayko felt Nick’s fingers coiling gently in his hair and raking through them softly, reassuring hushes swirling in his ears against the sound of his own body wracking with cries. His vision was blurry. All he could see was the dull grey of the shirt and the chest he shook against.
Nick’s voice was just above a whisper again, “Who did this?” His fingers scratched at Hayko’s scalp encouragingly, a gentleness he could take away in a second but didn’t. “I just want a name, love.”
He looked up to find Nick again, eyes red and stinging. What are you going to do with them? “Why?...”
“So I can have a chat with them about personal integrity,” he sneered.
Hayko felt his lip twitch up before leaning his forehead slowly against his chest and closing his eyes, swallowing. “I-it was Eladio. H-he…”
Nick listened patiently, soothing him with the caresses.
“...told me I h-had to…” he hicced a sob, “entertain this...group of…” He froze as he felt the caressing come to a sudden halt.
“Entertain?” Nick asked darkly.
“N-Not that,” Hayko mumbled quickly into the polyester and moved a sleeve up to wipe his eyes, already swollen enough from the ordeal, let alone this. Upon hearing this, the tension sank out of his grip and the hand threaded through his hair again. “They...messed me up for a while and then l-left.”
He hummed, “What did they do?” Nick slowed down his movements, his fingers traveling to the back of his neck. There was an assortment of colors by the bruises left. Realizing the silence in that time, he glanced down. “Hayko?”
“Don’t make m-me say it…” he whispered. “Please…”
Nick nodded, ignoring the fact he wouldn’t see, and tightened his grip on his body as his answer. Hayko’s sobs continued quietly, dampening his shirt at the ribcage level until eventually, there was no evidence that the shirt had ever been dry. “You know I’m not going to hurt you,” he said softly. “But I am going to be coming back late tonight...”
Hayko thought he heard a laugh and for once, he felt like he could have laughed too. He sniffled, “Y-you can’t...um…”
“Can’t what, kill them?” Nick chuckled. “Come on, I thought we knew each other better than that, love.”
“You can’t...just…” he stammered. “He won’t let you.” The silence that followed after gave Hayko an idea of what face Nick was making.
“Never said I was going to kill them.” Bending down to his height, Nick reached around Hayko’s legs and heaved him up, ignoring the surprised gasp and ensuing protest. He jostled him against his chest as he took him down the apartment hall from the hallway and into the bathroom. Once they were there, he slowly let him down on the edge of the bathtub where Hayko keened quietly at the unpleasant pressure of the acrylic against his thighs.
For a few silent moments, the only sounds between them were the thud of bottles against each other, the tape hiss that tore from a roll, and Nick’s thoughtful hums in deciding amongst the disinfectants. Hayko’s mind wandered in the therapeutic silence to other places. Questions. He glanced up timidly, watching the man’s movements - paced.
Why didn’t you just do it? Eventually, he turned around with his pick in equipment. You could have just hit me, just made me say I’m yours, just cut off my breath. You could have just done it. Why didn’t you do it?
“I’m over here, love,” Nick said, waving a hand in front of his face. “Back on planet Earth, if you please.”
Hayko blinked rapidly as his eyes found him, snapping out of his trance and he rasped, “S-Sorry...um...”
With a curious look, Nick stared in silence. “What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing, I just,” Hayko closed his eyes and shook his head, swallowing with difficulty, “I just spaced out for a second.” He hoped Nick would believe him. Please don’t make me say it. For a second, his heart skipped a beat at the intensity of his stare, almost as if Nick was trying to empty him out. But he didn’t seem to be out for blood today and simply shrugged in acknowledgment.
“Try to stay mostly here, yeah?” he laughed, sitting next to him on the tub. “I’m not sure what could possibly be more interesting than me.”
It is about you, idiot.
Hayko scoffed - something he thought he had the privilege of doing now. Nick’s hand moved against his chest and ran up the tattered remains of the shirt, smiling under his breath as he felt him shiver against the touch. The shirt came off easily and it was then that Nick paused to investigate the damage scattered across his ribs in all its raw blacks and blues. Hayko’s eyes fell away, blinking away new tears, “Yeah.”
“Did quite a number on you, didn’t they?” he mumbled, stretching out the bandages and scooting closer. “Arms up, love.”
Hayko obeyed, trying to stay still as he felt the bandages winding around his body, wracked with exhaustion, agony, and every fucking thing in between. As he had been entertaining, what kept him on his toes was the eventuality of facing Nick. Of facing his dangerous smile as he looked over the evidence of the torture and then finished him off with what they didn’t do. Couldn’t do.
Finding his strength, he had been ready for everything from a dark “Who do you think you are, getting used up by these other fuckers?” to a “Now I’m going to make you wish they finished you off.”
What he hadn’t been ready for was the expert gentleness with which his hands moved over his skin, the touches burning in place after they left. He hadn’t been ready for the soft whispers and the comforting grip, holding him in place as he wept with such firmness that Hayko thought he would clatter to the ground if Nick’s arms hadn’t been there.
“A-Ah!-” Hayko suddenly gasped, feeling a sharp pain shoot across his chest from a misplaced touch.
“Sorry love,” Nick murmured apologetically, “Wasn’t looking.” His thumb swept over the skin as if to correct the mistake.
He nodded slightly, sighing. “A-Alright.” With a lilt that soft, Hayko could have listened to it forever, if only it could be forever. There was no doubt that this was something to cherish. After this day of pure hell, he just needed someone to touch him as softly as Nick was doing now, just needed someone to hold him as he had. God damn you. As the bandages were tightened and secured, those expert hands moved lower, lower until they reached his hips where he held them for a while. Hayko could have melted into the touch. God damn you. I hate you, you’re fucking vile. Fuck you. Giving me exactly what I want, and it has to be you.
Nick glanced up, his voice quiet but coated with want, “You look damn good like this, you know?” His eyes roamed over the bandages and the bruises peeking from beneath them, hands still secure on his hips.
Hayko’s eyes found him slowly. Then, they lost him again.
c.w. drug withdrawal symptoms, creepy whumper, noncon touching, torture as stress relief, stress position, knives, implication of stockholm syndrome
Tagging: @doveotions for Nick and Hayko stuff
—
“How much longer do you plan on keeping me like this?”
Nick shrugged lazily, slipping the tip of the knife between the rope and his skin. “You said you wanted me to quit, didn’t you?” If he jostled it just a bit more, it would sink into his neck and suddenly, Hayko would look a lot better hogtied if only he would be a little fucking quieter.
It wasn’t like the pain noises had ever been a bother before but now, silence was preferred.
“That-”
“Shut the fuck up.”
He ordered it quietly, an edge to his voice that Hayko had never heard before but he wasn’t planning on contesting. There really had been no warning besides a ‘get over here’ and the next thing he knew, he was being roped together and propped onto the coffee table like contemporary art. And Nick didn’t seem to be a fan of the movement.
Slowly, the tip tugged at his skin as he moved it along the curve of rope and Hayko hoped that withdrawal didn’t come with tremors too bad or that would mean bad news for his throat.
“You know, when you first told me I had a problem with using I didn’t pay it any mind…” Nick looked up at him, dark circles underlining fatigued eyes, “But aren’t you a smart one?” The knife retreated right before it sliced.
Hayko’s throat bobbed in a swallow and soft sigh, unsure if that warranted an answer but knowing him, it was dangerous to assume. He gasped when Nick began tracing the flesh between his ribs.
“Um, withdrawal is- is easier if you drink more water.”
He scoffed, framing his jaw with his hand. “Is that right?”
“Yeah, if you-...”
“But I recall telling you to be quiet, love. I’d prefer you listening to me right now because I’m not sure how patient I’ll be with you today.”
Hayko nodded quickly and bit the inside of his cheek, something close to self-punishment as the knife now moved to the carved initials that sat on his shoulder for over a year now.
They hadn’t taunted him the past few weeks but the glimmer in Nick’s eyes hinted that he wanted to change that.
His eyes were fixed on the letters for a while before he chuckled, tracing the now raised scars where a mess of congealed blood and scratches used to be. N.S. Still perfectly preserved to this day like a bug in amber. “Really, if you wanted to be hurt less, I suggest you carve yourself up and finish the job because nobody’s ever leaving you alone. Not when you scar so nicely.”
Hayko shivered as the pads of his fingers ran over the scars so slowly that he wanted to arch away and sink into the table, maybe follow the suggestion.
“Christ, it’s a privilege I got to you first or you would be a very unhappy man.”
That wasn’t even the worst of some of the shit he’d said but the irritability was obvious. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good decision to spring the idea after all with as little explanation as he’d given.
“When I told you to try quitting, I meant slowly,” he reasoned. “There’s a reason I didn’t say stop all at once.”
Nick listened, looking irritatingly bored. “So, I should start again.”
“N-no, just that you should maybe, um-...” His breath hitched at the feeling of metal invading the scars again, forcing through healed skin and the memories underneath them and his eyes started to burn. “Try to maybe ease off a little at a time.”
The suggestion came out in a whisper but Nick hummed instantly in response. “A little at a time…”
Hayko wasn’t sure if he was entirely conscious but his shoulders were starting to ache and the irritation the ropes would leave on his throat would be nasty to deal with. The feeling in his wrists had left a while ago too and pulsating numbness replaced it.
“Why did you stop?”
“You confuse me sometimes.”
“I mean why did you stop? I didn’t-... I mean it was-”
Nick smiled and grabbed his chin to turn it towards him. “I thought I could try something new for a change. Isn’t that why you suggested I stop?”
In retrospect, he couldn’t remember why he had even given the suggestion. What did it bother him if the psychopath kept at his habits? But there was one particular end of that which did include him and it had to do with how he got under the influence.
“So I told myself that I’ll try and change. Just for you, baby.”
It may have been a while since then but he still remembered.
He remembered when he had spat blood in his face all those months ago and what had followed after that mistake. His body remembered.
“You seem so ready to help me get through this too and if you’re willing to,” Nick fingers curled into his bicep and eased off, then tightened again like he was a fucking stress ball. “I’ll give it a shot.”
No, this was for him and his survival.
But something darker had been in the suggestion that Hayko couldn’t bring to admit and it made him sick just thinking about how for a split-second as he told Nick to quit, genuine concern had wavered in his voice.
c.w. creepy/intimate whumper, burning with cigarette, burning as torture, non-consensual touching, choking, mentions of death
Tagging: @doveotions for Nick & Hayko stuff!
—
“Is it true?” Hayko hid his clenched fists against his legs not only to disguise their shaking, but also so he could disguise his rage. Strangely enough, he could remember only three other times that anger had consumed him so wholly.
With his weight against the desk, Nick chewed on a toothpick noncommittally. “Is what true?”
“You know what.”
At this, a saccharine smile gleamed on his face, never once losing control of the toothpick. “No. I don’t think I do.”
Hayko took a shaky breath for self-restraint. “You blew it up, didn’t you?” With his heart in his throat, he approached Nick slowly and for once in his life, he felt like the roles had switched; he was the predator nearing a nervous prey. “You...You blew up that car and you killed innocent people and you’re standing here now like it doesn’t even matter to you. I-I know you did it, I know it was you.” But Nick didn’t look nervous in the slightest.
“...Prove it.” He took his weight off the hand that had leant against the desk and pulled himself upright, and with the disgust that crept over Hayko’s face, only returned a pleasant smile. “Prove it.”
Hayko couldn’t approach him any more than he had because it wasn’t authentic. It was expected that prey would be agitated and remorseful, in this case, but when he looked at Nick’s expression, he saw nothing. He froze in place, stricken by fury. “You’re disgusting.”
“And you work for me,” Nick replied with as little care as he could muster. “Don’t be a hypocrite, love. You know how I hate that.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you like,” Hayko spat back with a voice close to breaking. His fingers dug into both palms so violently that he could feel little crescents being formed in the flesh. “You know I didn’t choose to and the day you stop working me is the day I die.”
Nick rocked his toothpick from side-to-side as his arms folded over his chest, lips pulled up in a dangerous smile. “Well, if you’re so self-righteous, why don’t you free yourself from your position? Nobody’s stopping you, my dear.”
Hayko felt his stomach flip at the sickly-sweet name and drew away from him. Nick’s disposition was starting to change and not in any way he liked, a menacing quality creeping into his grin as he took a step forward. Their roles had quickly been switched back.
“And haven’t I told you not to overstep your boundaries?” He took another step forward to compensate for Hayko taking a fearful one back. “The reason you’re alive right now is because of me and I hope you haven’t forgotten that.” A predator in all his glory, taking back the control that was rightfully his.
“I—”
“Haven’t I told you not to meddle in things that don’t have anything to do with you?” Casually, his fingers travelled to his pants pocket, nimble enough to find a cigarette within seconds. “Maybe I haven’t made that clear enough.”
Hayko wasn’t following his hand, his eyes locked on Nick’s warily as he backed away from him. Swallowing hard, he feigned courage and sneered, “How do you live with yourself?” It felt so good to watch his face darken at that. It felt so goddamn good, inciting emotions in him that he otherwise wouldn’t bother to feel. To poke the monster despite being aware of the consequences.
“Unlike you, I never worried about principles,” he returned darkly. He raised his cigarette wedged between two fingers and up came a lighter in the other hand. “Turn around, love.”
“I’m—”
“Now.”
Hayko’s heart raced now, having found what his stubbornness had gotten him and yet, he had it in him to obey anyway. There was no other way out of this. Slowly, he turned around and tried not to flinch when the lighter ignited with a flick, or the hiss of fabric ripping when Nick gripped his shoulder and tore the shirt down from it. He couldn’t help but wince at the scrape on the now open wound as chilled air hit the carved mark, still unhealed.
Nick chuckled quietly as he looked over the abused shoulder. “I’m going to give you one final lesson on knowing your place,” the warmth of the cigarette’s cloves fanned over the skin, teasing terror, “and we won’t be having this conversation again, I promise you.”
Hayko couldn’t stifle the gasp when the embers ground into his skin, a high-pitched whine escaping as the burn was laid over the scar and twisted with punishing slowness. The drive of agony wound through him as he bit his tongue to hold back the keens that he knew Nick was enjoying every vibration of.
“God, it’s like you do this on purpose.”
As Nick’s hand wove around his throat, a wail was garbled. Another burn was planted over an old wound and Hayko could only choke as unforgiving fingers tightened around his trachea. A twist into his skin. A strained whimper.
“You keep pushing my buttons, love.”
“P-Please,” Hayko wheezed through the grip, “I-I won’t, won’t—”
“And you keep pushing me but fuck me if I don’t love it.” Nick’s voice fell into a breathy register, coming closer to his ear where teeth could almost graze skin. The cloves pulled away and earned a gasp of relief from Hayko. A pause. “Oh, you know I love it.”
Hayko couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak anything but quiet wails as Nick made another burn. Unhurriedly, his air was seeping out but so was his strength, each bite of the cigar leaving a hole from which drained his vitality and stubbornness.
“You push me because you know how badly I need this from you.”
If anything, he was right. He doubted they would be having this conversation again, but didn’t doubt that he would find himself like this again. Arching back, he felt his neck on Nick’s shoulder and his nose in his hair, breathing in the depth of his fear, his pain.
“I love everything about you,” Nick breathed against his neck, “I love how you suffer for me, Hayko, and you do it so well.” A reprieve. Gasp. A fourth burn. Fifth. Sixth. By then, Nick had forgotten his anger entirely, he had forgiven him for everything if only he could keep hurting so well. “So good for me,” he whispered, twisting another burn over his spine.
Hayko gasped and whimpered as the fingers loosened the inexorable grip on his throat, breathing shallow and rapidly. “Nick, please…” With nowhere to run, he could only press back into his shoulder desperately, contorting in agony and pleading to deaf ears. “I-I won’t ask again, I’m so, s-so—”
“Shh, I know you are and I forgive you this time, darling,” Nick drawled quietly as he tightened the hand around him once more. Lips that had once teased with their closeness now pressed against his ear and his satisfied hums burned against Hayko’s skin, dual sensations clouding his mind. Nick crushed the dying embers of the cigar into his skin, drinking in his wails. “I forgive you this time.”
This is the official beginning of this series. Something to note is that this series focusses on a branch of law enforcement, graphic violence and organized crime. Reader's discretion is advised.
c.w. implied/referenced drug use, mentions of death, implied/referenced past political violence
AO3
---
Four years before...
If there had ever been a time to be less nervous, this was it, but Hayko Grigoryan was failing miserably in the few short minutes he had been sitting in the police station. Briefcase tucked between his legs, he stared, idly at the silver star badge decorating the wall in front of him, a tacky courtroom-reminiscent wood on which the star hung, dark and rich. Noble.
He was scared.
Going to law school had been its own world of anxiety but volunteering to parole a real criminal brought a new terror, a shivering one that wound around his chest and squeezed him so tightly he forgot how to breathe for a second. Or more than a second. Five seconds now.
Screw that. This isn’t new. It’s exciting to be this nervous.
Hayko listened to the gentle buzz of talk, the dribble of hurried footsteps and they whirred in the back of his mind long after they were gone and replaced by new ones. It was an ever-going whisper, something that laid on the gloomy atmosphere thick. And before he could do any more observing, the only thing in his view was a towering blonde woman. Hayko’s eyes snapped up and he automatically fixed his posture. The first thing about her was that firmly slicked back hairdo, coated in product, and even firmer black eyes. Then came her stern, Cuban lilt that snapped him out of whatever trance he was in.
“Afternoon, sir. You here for the parole program?”
“That’s me,” he confirmed, swallowing. “It’s—um—I’m Hayko. It’s not every day you get the shining opportunity, right?” She smirked like she had but couldn’t care less if it killed her.
“Just call me ASAC Iglesias and I’ll show you to your man.” Ms. Iglesias was a woman of few words and the ones she did say seemed all but unwilling.
He trailed after her through the station, tugging at his suit uncomfortably as the halls grew narrower with every wind and twist, or seemed to be at least. Of course, the convict couldn’t be too rough around the edges, right? Hopefully, no raving psychopaths or America’s Most Wanted? This was meant for his future—not as someone who put people away, but who defended them. You can parole one before defending them. You’ll get a taste of the other side. A suggestion by parents and friends alike.
So here he was, on the other side and getting that taste.
He just hoped he wouldn’t regret it.
Hayko broke the tense silence, “So, you’re with the...Drug Enforcement Administration?” His sleeves rustled as he pulled up the watch. How long was this damn station?
“Yep. Am and have been for nine years.” Iglesias stated the fact so cooly that—given her age—it gave him a hint of insecurity in his own experience. Nine years in the DEA? Jesus Christ.
But he only pleasantly responded with a sound of praise as the briefcase drew closer, scrawny fingers gripping it as if for support. His longish brown curls bounced along with him as he compared the officer’s macho flair to his own mellow cadence. It wasn’t easy being this vulnerable in the big city.
There he sat in all his glory—or lounged—feet kicked up but wrists cuffed to the table. From just the first glance, Hayko could immediately tell who was waiting behind the orange jumpsuit. The convict looked up after a few seconds, lips pressed together and hostile, narrow eyes. Suddenly, the room seemed much smaller and his suit, a bit too tight near the collar.
“This, Hayko, is who you’ll be babysitting for the next month or two,” ASAC Iglesias sounded miffed, holding the door open with her weight. His entrance looked suspiciously like an invitation to an animal cage, just from the way his ‘man’ looked at him.
“Mr. Sinclair was jailed on possession charges but nothing too serious so this shouldn’t be too scary. Of course—” she shot “Mr. Sinclair” a less than generous look, “—the prison authority will be watching with you.”
Hayko licked his lips, fidgeting slightly with the hem of the shirt. “Alright. Um—it’s nice to meet you.” Nice to meet him? Real smooth. He’s some dopehead, not your family friend.
“—Wish I could say the same,” the prisoner spoke abruptly and with a British inflection that snapped at him. “Also, I heard her say your name. Unless you didn’t?” The quiet tapping of fingers filled the room, replacing Hayko’s stunned silence. That voice of his wasn’t quite hostile and not quite annoyed either, to him it seemed more like boredom.
He opened his mouth to stammer something out but couldn’t find the words, or courage. But ASAC Iglesias found them for him instantly.
“Don’t give him lip, junkie” the cop said, trying to get her order across with a tough look but he clearly wasn’t paying attention to her. No, “Mr. Sinclair’s” thin green eyes were zeroed in on Hayko specifically and he watched him cautiously in return like the handcuffs wouldn’t be enough in case he wanted to—
Shifting nervously, Hayko pushed a stray curl out of his eyes but tried to match the intensity of his stare. It was a menacing one too, eyes burrowing into his own. Mr. Sinclair nodded slowly; he found something. Then he smiled.
Once the door creaked shut, there were only the two of them in the ever-tightening room. Hayko sat across, serving him the papers of his probation order. He sucked in a breath and kept it, acknowledging the tension.
“Mr. Sinclair,” he began firmly but didn’t get very far before that abrupt voice cut him off.
“—You plan on calling me that for the next month?” He smiled again but it didn’t reach his eyes, being more of a face contortion than a smile. “‘Cause it’s annoying as shit.”
Eyebrows pricking up, the student gave a blank look, a little startled. “Would you like to be called by...your first name?” Hayko rustled through the papers quickly, hiding any edge. “Nicolas?” It sounded respectable enough.
“It’s Nick,” he insisted with a scowl. Not so respectable.
As he was about to apologize, Nick cut him off again with a soft snort. “Hayko.” He seemed to be testing the name on his tongue. “Rolls off the tongue nicely. Haayyy-ko.” Nick mused, letting his name bounce off each time with a harsh, glottal ‘k’ and he hummed, looking like he was about to ask the name’s origin.
Hayko gaped but laughed softly, breathing in relief at the dwindling hostility. “So, Nick,” he tried again, “do you...understand the conditions of this order?”
Sitting still, he said nothing for a second. “Which are?”
“—Um, that you—” he stammered faintly, and even though he had run through the page twenty times before coming to the station, Hayko, once again, found his eyes darting across the court order, to Nick’s utter satisfaction, “—have to appear before Court when they ask and to notify them of any change of address.”
Nick yawned and kneaded his shoulder with his jaw. Wherever his head was, it was far from here. Or perhaps, he was fantasizing about what horrible things he’d like to do to him if the situation was a little different. “That's it? So, can I still snort coke?” Glass shattered.
“Wha—No! ‘You shall not commit the same offence or any other offence that is punishable by imprisonment,’” Hayko read fluently, but his tone was incredulous.
At first glance, Nick’s face didn’t betray a history of drug abuse but with a careful look, it was clear from the hazy eyes sunk in dark pools that he was using.
Though he couldn’t have been much older than Hayko himself, his tilted down face and eyes peeking beneath the eyebrows made him look sinisterly older—not to mention the impish grin. Nick’s hair was short, murky black, and pulled out of his eyes with some slick hair product—maybe the same as Iglesias. Some sleazy college frat boy probably.
Nick smiled again and Hayko got more uncomfortable each time he did. When he saw each of his simpers, he saw dry amusement like how one would watch T.V. or read the news. Slowly, he uncrossed his legs off the table one at a time. Within a few seconds, Hayko heard his first laugh come out in a kind of raspy, high-pitched giggle. “How old are you?” Nothing short of an insult.
But Hayko betrayed no offense, trying to stay grounded. “I’m—turning twenty-two soon but I’m not sure how that’s…” He snarled under his breath. So much for that. “Do you understand the conditions?”
“Yeah, yeah, I understand the stupid conditions. Hey, Hayko,” Nick interrupted himself, “Has anyone told you that you’re really fucking cute?” Nick cooed, voice coated with ridicule, and his grin grew watching the student’s lip twitch in thinly veiled disgust. “It’s like you talk, and it goes in one ear, out the other because I just can’t stop starin’ at you.”
Unwittingly, Hayko’s hand darted to the nape of his neck as he struggled, wide-eyed to respond to this jaunty creep who was clearly delighted at getting a rise out of him. Cute? Cute. Is this who he has to keep an eye on for the next two months? It wasn’t exactly what he had signed up for. Drunken offenders, petty thieves, juvenile delinquents, and all the rest—sure— but this sleazeball wasn’t mentally shelved away.
Gritting his teeth, he swallowed hard and returned with a stern “That’s hardly appropriate—” before Nick cut him off again with his second laugh, slamming the table hard enough to make him flinch back and his head fell back in a string of giggles.
“Blimey, you are not fit for this job,” he snorted. “I’d say come back when the piss-drunk highschoolers with D.U.I’s have roughed you up a good bit.” And he cracked a slight close-lipped smile. That smile of his had such a cloy smugness that it made Hayko grit the backs of his teeth for around the tenth time.
“I don’t think you’re in any position to criticize me. I’m not the one in handcuffs,” Hayko now sneered—nearly spat—back and watched Nick’s smile flutter from enigmatic to threatening in an instant. Before he had been a stuffy obstacle but now, he was a problem. Or prey. He truly felt like if those handcuffs weren’t there...
Rolling his shoulders back, he feigned confidence as the prisoner stared at him, and the longer he stared, the darker his glower became. Neither of them moved for a while. After what seemed like ten minutes of unyielding silence, Nick spoke over Hayko’s shallow breaths, low like it was a secret. “Do you wanna know something?” Steepling his fingers, he gave him something of a bored stare, cornering him as if he was a trapped animal. “It’s a big, scary world out there, Hayko. And this posturing of yours isn’t gonna cut it.”
Hayko froze, suddenly never feeling so seen-through, so unsettled from a person’s way of speaking before. Unsettled from what he saw in his face, which was nothing. He saw nothing but the vast stretch of dark forest, nothing but a hole in which the fall was deep. Empty.
Nick continued smoothly, “And one of the things I want you—what,” he flippantly gestured to Hayko’s suit, the handcuffs rattling, “with your straight-laced jacket and tie—to know is that unless you get a reality check,” his fingers drummed the table, “and learn that self-righteousness isn’t getting you shit, you’re not going to survive.”
With a twisted mouth, Hayko glared at him in fear, in silent fury, in revulsion. What startled him most was his air of confidence as he unwound his every insecurity, handcuffed to a table. It was like he knew him better than anyone else. And that was what scared him most.
He had known the big, scary world from before any of the prisoner’s generous insights. One where he had seen his friends splayed on the streets protesting a country plagued with election fraud, where the Human Rights Watch was the only media attention they got, and where not a moment’s peace had been allowed into the kleptocracy that made him who he was. That was the big, scary world. And It hadn’t broken him; it had made him better. He was better than this—this fucking piece of—Hayko forced out a breath, stopping himself before his mind slipped to darker places. He let his shoulders fall and filled his lungs again. Those two breaths were the only things stopping him from lunging at the smirking convict and snapping his neck.
“...Two weeks from now is your court appearance.” As the chair scraped back, the student stood up, betraying no anger. Not a hint of anger. “I’ll hear from you then.”
As Hayko left the police station, he was struck with shaking nausea, unlike anything he had felt before. Even now as he walked away, he could feel Nick behind him, following, the handcuffs no longer rattling because they weren’t there. Betraying himself for a second, his eyes darted back to check and as he turned back, he was almost half-expecting him to appear.
The gentle Chicago breeze whistled and played with the crunchy leaf litter and with the Begonias lost to the summer’s end, though still pretty. Hopefulness lingered in his mind that once these two months were finished, he would never have to hear from Nick again.
