#gore and violence and death etc

[boleynqueenes]

send me a review of a fic I haven’t written and I’ll write a bit of it: wow, this was deeply, deeply disturbing, thank you so much for sharing 10/10

The dawn is upon Edward, and he feels strange, as he breaks his fast, to know with the next bite, could be his Uncle Edward's last breath.

Two swings of the axe, he hears, and, well, there it is. He thinks of the twitching, the blood, and lifts his mug of small ale without tremor, takes his bite of bread with ease, as he pictures the rivulets of blood down the block. The morning was easy, but the night stretches, sleepless. For he turns a question over and over again in his mind: could he do it, to either of his sisters? Were they to betray him, as his uncles did? Mary's, Edward can imagine with ease, she has courted martyrdom for so long: he would want mercy, not the butchery subjected to Lord Cromwell, and Lady Pole, and Buckingham, he would pay for the best to dispatch her quickly. He would make notes to the guards, to be on watch for any Papists streaking their handkerchiefs through her blood, creating and keeping idolatrous relics. Elizabeth's, he cannot, but then he forces himself: it is to be a king, and man, to dwell on the future with honesty, and his future holds the potential for further brutality to keep his realm safe, and those closest to you can better betray you than those furthest, God has delivered this lesson to him again and again, brutally and savagely .... Could he do it? What if she was false, what if she plotted to kill him and take his throne, what was it that his uncles had always said...she has that Boleyn enchantment in her, but then they were traitors, but even traitors could be true twice a day...

He would dispatch an equal treachery, an equal enemy, same as his father, he supposes...once, barely three, and hiding behind curtains, he had overheard gossip of the earth-reverberating news, even years later...treason become fable, how Elizabeth's mother had had the loveliest neck on the isle-- right up until the final moment of ignominy.

That is the link between them, tenuous as it is, besides paternity: his mother, surviving in a shadow, until she did not, her mother: the shadow itself.

This warrant he has signed today causes him to think of her: this was her brother, would she have begged for his life? Flung to her knees, hands clapsed? Would he have granted it, that clemency? He does not, cannot know, for he never knew her. The idea of Elizabeth's death does not cause him tears, but very little does. His dog, bleeding out onto the floor, was the first time he had cried since he had been crowned. Since then, the last time was a fever, a delirium that lifted the porticullis of his self-correcting vigilance and invited in nightmares heavy in colour and bright with blood.

[if-loki-was-a-fox]

hey guys I had an idea. what if they were a cat and a dog (ft. Faust as a rabbit)

(look at me lasting a whole four seasons into my listen-through before animal-ificating them! ...mostly)

[envy-of-the-apple]

Infinite Rewind

Gojo Satoru x reader

Synopsis: Instead of dying, you are sent 13 years in the past, but this isn't your face. "Let's cut the shit." The white-haired kid grins. "Who are you and what're you doing in Suguru's body?"

Part two: Rewound Infinitely

Word Count: 18.1k

(Warnings: slight yandere, death, murder, inaccurate Tokyo geography, blood, violence, mild gore, obsession, unhealthy relationships, child abuse/neglect, time looping(?), fem!reader) Ageless blogs that try to follow me will be blocked

First, you saw a monster. 

It was big and horrible—nasty teeth. You heard screaming. People. Running as fast as they could away from the creatures. Pain. 

And then, you saw a bright, clear sky. 

The sun was blaring down at you. It was so hot. Wasn't it December? How was the sun out at night? 

"Hey, you good?" 

A girl is looking at you. Short brown hair. A high schooler, judging by the uniform. How is she wearing all black when the weather is so hot? 

When you don't respond, her eyes squint. 

"Suguru, are you okay?" 

That's not your name; your mouth moves faster than your brain.

"I-I'm fine." That wasn't your voice. It was deeper. More masculine. What the fuck happened to your voice? 

The girl gives you another strange look but you're too busy freaking out over your new voice. Your hands are different too. A completely different skin tone, larger. 

And then you're fumbling with your pockets, clothes you know you didn't buy. The girl is calling for you again but you're too busy pulling out a fucking flip-phone and looking into the black screen, the only thing you have for a mirror. 

Purple eyes stare back. These aren't your eyes. This isn't your nose. This isn't your hair. This isn't your face. You blink. He does too. You open your mouth. So does he. You pinch your cheek. In the reflection, he winces. 

Oh, you just fucking bodysnatched someone. 

ⴵ

Ten minutes later, you conclude that your name is Geto Suguru, you are a 16-year-old boy, the year is 2006, and you attend a religious academy. 

"You're finally acting normally again." The girl-newly discovered as Ieiri- says. "No more weirdness." 

You don't blame her, considering you grabbed her by the shoulders, asking ridiculous questions like: what year is it, who am I, why am I here, who are you, am I dead, is this Hell, etc. For a teenage girl, she took your outburst well. 

"Sorry," you say and by now you've gotten used to your voice, "it must have been the stress from studying." 

She just hums, continuing to walk beside you. Though, Ieiri had a point. You were definitely calmer, and it was mostly because you figured it out. 

You were dreaming. 

You were lucid dreaming, to be more precise. Your brain was conjuring up a weird setting and you just happened to be placed in another person's body. You heard about this happening before. You were just so freaked out because this was the first time anything like this had happened to you. 

An impulsive part of you wants to tell Ieiri that this is just a dream, but you've heard weird things happen after a lucid dreamer tries to break the illusion. It's best if you just let it just play out and see where this goes. 

“Excited?” 

“Hm?” You ask. And Shoko rolls her eyes. 

“For the mission you have this evening. Special grade. Sounds scary.” She says, her sarcasm evident. 

Mission? Special grade? You don’t know what those words mean but it sounds like a school field trip. Shoko takes your hesitance as something else. 

“Ah,” she says, “so you forgot.” 

“I didn’t.” You reply on instinct. 

“I expected this from Satoru, not you. You should stop hanging out with him, he’s starting to rub off on you.”

You give a sheepish laugh, and it’s enough to quell her questions. 

She leads you into the school, all through the winding halls and through an office door. You couldn’t be more grateful, it’s not like you would have known where to go. It’s a teachers room. Two people are already inside. 

“Wait, for once, I’m early?” The boy with sunglasses asks, voice dripping with amusement. He’s leaning dangerously on a chair. You stare at him. You’ve never seen someone with white hair before. It can’t be real. 

“He forgot.” Shoko pipes up and the boy cackles. 

“That’s hilarious. I’m starting to rub off on you.” Ah, this must be Satoru. 

You give a nervous smile. “Haha, yeah.” 

The boy stops rocking in the chair. Three pairs of eyes look at you. Your uniform feels itchy.

“Gojo, stop making such a ruckus.” The man, presumably his teacher, gruffs. "You two got the briefing yesterday. Do your job and for the last time do not leave your assistant manager behind again." 

Gojo groans, and you delve into more confusion. Before you can say anything, the kid is hopping out of his seat before lazily striding out the door. Shoko and the teacher look at you expectantly. 

Oh, you were supposed to follow him. 

Not wanting to make a scene, you catch up to Gojo. He's tall, his footsteps are long and wide. But you're tall now too, so it's easy to keep up with him. This new body of yours has a lot of pros. 

"Yaga's so annoying," Gojo suddenly says, "constantly nagging us like that. It's not our fault the assistants can't keep up." 

What should you say? You clear your throat. 

"He just wants what's best for us." 

Wrong answer. 

"Where'd that come from?" He snorts. How charming. "I know you agree with me. You're just tryna' act like the nicer one, again. It's starting to get a little old." 

Is that how 16 year-olds talk? Rude, but also strangely off-putting, like he can see straight through you. Or more accurately, he can see straight through Suguru. How close are these two, anyway? 

Why did any of these questions even matter? This is a dream! You need to wake up already. 

On the campus grounds, a sleek black car waits outside for you two. Along with a miffed man in a black suit. This must be a very rich school for a field trip to have a chauffeur. Where were you two going again?

Gojo hops in the back, taking one of the window seats. You take the other. In your own body, you would've fit nicely. But Suguru's legs are long, and the spacious car feels cramped. You should've taken the passenger seat. How do tall people live like this? 

The ride is quiet. Out the corner of your eye, you catch Satoru type away on his flip phone. A moment later, yours beeps. You still have no idea how to use Suguru's phone or his password, so you ignore his message. Satoru groans. 

Quickly, you learn that Satoru has a very low attention span. When looking out the window gets boring, he bugs the chauffeur. When the chauffeur ignores him, he starts bugging you. 

"Hey heyyyy," Satoru says, "when this is all over, we should go to that new ice cream place. Like you said, we should." 

You look at him. "Uh, sure." You say. 

"And you should pay for it, 'cuz you said you owed me last time." 

Fine, whatever. "Sure thing." 

He grins. You can't see his glasses, and it makes his smile even more unnerving. This kid. 

This doesn't feel like a normal field trip at all. Why did you stop in front of some rackety house that looked as though it were about to collapse? You turn back to the only adult in the vicinity, but he's out too. He takes out a lighter and a cigarette. In front of impressionable children, too. Wonderful. 

"I'll wait out here." He says, though his tone is uncaring. "Since we're out in the country, there's no need for a veil. Do your best." 

Veil? What? Gojo's already going off again and you've already decided to be his chaperone, so you follow. You reluctantly trail behind him. Feet crunch the leaves. The house grows bleaker and bleaker. 

"Okay, I have a plan!" Gojo exclaims when he gets through the squeaky door. He's so loud, can't he be quieter? "I check upstairs and you check the ground floor and the basement. Got it?" 

Check the house? Were he and Suguru electricians in training or something? That still wouldn't explain why a grown man decided to drop off two teenagers in front of a creepy mansion. And why in God's name did Gojo want to split up?

"I-I don't think that's a good idea," you say, "shouldn't we try to stick together?" Or, better yet, leave. 

He clicks his tongue. "Ugh, you're so lame. Not like Suguru at all." 

Wait, what did he say? You're about to call out to him when he climbs up the stairs, disappearing from view. Unbelievable. 

This kid was starting to get on your nerves. Enough, you were leaving. You could have a nice dream where you met and fell in love with Zendaya, not babysitting some teenager, whilst possessing another person's body. You were going to wait outside with the man and hope your dream finally came to an end. 

Except, you couldn't go outside. The door was gone. 

It-it was right behind you, right? The entrance was right behind you. You couldn't have gotten turned around so quickly? What the hell happened? Or maybe you had gotten turned around? Considering how distracting that Gojo kid was, you might not have realized it. 

You look around the house. Looks like it'd been abandoned for a while. There's dirt on the shelves. Chairs were toppled over and left to rot. The wooden floorboards dangerously creaked beneath you. Just what had happened here? 

There's no patio door. No door leading to the outside. At the same time, you hadn't explored everything yet. Each door led to a room. The only door that didn't, led to a basement. And no, you weren't going down there. 

When you got back to where you started, you noticed something had changed. 

There was a person. Seated right at the base of the stairs? 

Gojo? Was he done with urban exploring? Maybe he knew the way out. He stands up, reaching to his full height, then higher, then higher. 

Gojo was tall, but this thing was taller. Gojo was human. This thing wasn't. 

What the fuck you can only mouth because your voice is stuck in your throat when it takes a shaky step towards you. It's a black husk of a figure, too skinny but too tall and twitching fingers. You don't know how you could've mistaken this for the kid. 

Another step. You're running, back into the house, leaping over the fallen shelves and creaky floorboards. It gives chase, and you can hear it groan behind you. It's deep and rumbly and terrifying. It just motivates you to go faster. 

It's slower than you. That's good, but it seems to realize this. You can barely celebrate your advantage before something heavy is smashed into your back, sending you toppling to the floor. You and wooden chair crash on the ground. 

It hurts. 

Everything hurts. 

Dreams aren't supposed to hurt. Because this wasn't a dream. 

This was real. You were stuck in the year 2006, stuck in another person's body, about to get mauled by a monster. 

You were going to die. 

You aren't even fighting anymore. How pathetic is that? The shock numbs your body as the thing grows closer and closer, all you can do is reach your hands up, protecting your face. 

And then the creature explodes. 

An implosion. It's skin and bones twist in a way no one should. There's a shriek, something wrong and high and inhuman before it's gone. Like it never existed in the first place. 

After all that, he's still smiling. Like the cat that just caught the mouse. 

"I guess we're not pretending anymore, are we?" Gojo asks, stretching his arms. "That's good. That game was starting to get a little boring, anyways. Now, then." 

He folds his glasses, tucking it on his uniform. Blue, his eyes are. As blue as a clear sky. 

"Let's cut the shit." The white-haired kid grins. "Who are you, and what're you doing in Suguru's body?"

ⴵ

Contrary to your belief, Gojo Satoru is a good listener. 

There's never an interruption. Not even once. Every once in a while, he nods, a hand on his chin. It's probably because he can't interrupt. You just keep going on and on. Word vomit. 

He only speaks when you pause to catch your breath. "So you are from the year 2017, and you went back in time to body-snatch someone. I had a feeling your technique had something to do with possession." 

You look at him warily. "Wait, you knew this entire time?" 

You two hadn't moved from your earlier spot. You were still sprawled on the floor, still feeling the adrenaline surge through you. Gojo had transitioned to squatting on the floor. He scratches his neck, still so casual. 

"I have good eyes. Don't worry about it." He shrugs. "Anyway, you seem pretty harmless, and as annoying as it is not having Suguru around, I doubt killing you would do any good." Why is he being so nonchalant about murder? Is this kid really sixteen?

"I think we gotta' just wait around until your technique reactivates." Gojo whistles. "2017. That's like a decade away. I wonder what happened for your technique to show up." 

You blink, trying to remember the date. 

"It was Christmas Eve..." You glance at him. "And then I was here." 

He thinks for a moment. "Yeah, I got nothing." Of course. 

He sighs, before sprawling on the dirty floor, belly up. You grimace at his antics but choose to keep your mouth shut. 

He doesn't seem very worried. At the most, he looks mildly inconvenienced. Why isn't he worried about his friend? 

When you ask him, he just snorts. 

"Sorry, but you're not that scary. Besides, I don't have to worry about Suguru. He's strong." 

Well, that's nice to know, but one other thing still bothers you. 

"You speak so casually to me," you mutter, "You know I'm older than you, right? I'm 22." 

He laughs. "22? Damn. You're old, man." 

"That isn't old!" You argue. "You have no concept of age since you're just a teenager." And why did he assume you were a man? Oh right, you were trapped in a teenage boy’s body. Of course.

"I mean, technically, I'm older than you, right?" Gojo ponders with a grin. "If you're 22 in 2017, that makes you what—11 in 2006?" 

You say nothing because you have a feeling that if you continue to argue with him, he'll just drag you down to his insanity. 

"Technique, you've said that a couple of times." You look at him. "That's what you call your 'powers', right? Does Geto have one too?" 

"Yeah," Gojo says, "but you can't use it. You have zero cursed energy. Honestly, it's at the same level as a plant. A bit lower than regular humans. It's a little impressive, actually." For one second, could he stop being so condescending? 

"What's his technique?" You ignore his comments. "Could it be related to how I got here?" 

He gives you a look over. "I doubt that, but Suguru's technique is curse manipulation. Uh, you remember that thing you saw earlier." You nod. "Yeah, he can control and absorb them." 

He sounds pretty awesome. You look at your hands. Not your hands. Geto's hands. They're paler than yours, and a lot longer. This isn't your body. Your soul can feel it. You can feel the guilt too. 

'I'd give it back if I could,' you think, 'I just don't know how.' 

Gojo's getting up. He stretches. He was lying on the ground but you can't see a speck of dirt on his uniform. 

"Okay, then. No use mopping around." He grins down at you. "Maybe Yaga can do something about you. Let's get you back to jujutsu tech." 

You blink up at him. His hand is outstretched, reaching out to you. He's still grinning that insufferable grin but his eyes have slightly melted. 

"Okay." You say, barely touching his fingertips. "Let's-" 

And then Gojo's gone. And then, you're standing. And then it's cold. 

You're wearing a coat; weren't you wearing a uniform before? There's no clear sky. It's nearly dusk. 

You were standing on the sidewalk, where people bustled all around you. You fumble through your jackets, putting out a phone. An actual iphone. You flick on the screen. 

December 24th, 2017, 7:06.

Holy shit, you were back. 

Was it because you touched Gojo? That makes no sense, but how could you explain anything else that happened so far? God. You rake a hand through your hair. Your hand. Your hair. You can't believe how much you missed yourself. It felt so good to be back. 

Your mind is spinning, you had no idea what the fuck just happened.

For now, you just wanted to turn your mind off and grab a drink. 

You know there was a bar not too far from your location. Along the way, you pass by the bustling town. There's a couple walking side by side, giggling over something you couldn't hear. Right, it's the 24th. You remember your empty bed with no one to share it with, and you cement your desire to drown yourself in alcohol today. 

Your self-pitying session is almost how you nearly miss him. His shoulder brushes past you. You're about to apologize when you hear his voice. It's familiar. 

It used to be your voice. 

It's all there. Black hair, but it's longer this time around. Of course it is, he's had years to grow it out. He's tall, he must've grown since highschool. His broad back is the only thing you see, you're almost afraid to reach out to him. 

"Suguru...?" 

He halts in his tracks. When he turns around, it's like looking into a fractured past. He looks older, no longer a youthful teenager. You should have paid more attention to his eyes, how scrutinizing they were, how condescending his fake smile was. All that you could think of was that it was actually him. 

"Do I know you?" He tilts his head. "Apologies, but my girls and I are quite busy." 

You don't notice the two young ladies beside him until Geto points them out. Teenagers, maybe just around the age when you first met him. He was a father now. 

You're so swept up by the emotions that you barely notice they've continued walking. You stumble behind, ducking behind the alleyway they went into. 

"Wait! Geto!" You call. "Please! We need to talk!" You still needed your answers. You didn't know care how desperate you came off as. 

In hindsight, you should have noticed that they looked more annoyed than worried about a stranger chasing them across the street. 

The one with the ponytail scoffs. "This one talks an awful lot. How annoying." 

Geto sighs. He leaves his daughters, finally standing in front of you. This is what you wanted, right? A chance to talk to him. 

Still, you can't help but feel wrongness within you. His smile is off. 

"Most monkeys are just that, unfortunately." You don't move. You can't. Not when he places a hand on your skull. "I suppose it'd be humane to put this one out of its misery." 

Geto Suguru crushes your skull. And then you die. 

ⴵ

Again. You died again. 

This is the second time Geto has killed you. Fuck, you should've realized. 

"Back again, Greeny?" Gojo asks. 

He and Suguru were sitting outside in the grass. Satoru's holding up a few playing cards. You look at Suguru's hands and find yourself doing the same. 

Not again. 

"What year is it?" You ask warily. "And what did you just call me?" 

Gojo grins with teeth. You remember he compared you to a plant before, didn't he? He's so clever with nicknames; someone should give him an award. 

"Welcome back to 2006!" Gojo beams. "It's only been a couple of days since you left. And why are you so grumpy? I'm the one who just lost a player." 

You weren't grumpy, you were pissed. You figured out what's been going on with you, and it's all because of the asshole you're possessing right now.

The look on his face when he killed you. Like you were nothing more than an animal. A monkey. Now, you feel a lot less guilty about possessing his body. 

At least you figured out two things. You know how your technique works. Whenever someone kills you, you are sent back in time to take over their body. But you can go back whenever you touch Gojo, or perhaps just another sorcerer. 

Secondly, you have access to Geto's memories. 

It didn't happen the first time you died. It must have been because the kill wasn't direct (from Getos curse, rather than himself), but milliseconds after Geto split your skull in two, your brain was overwhelmed by his past, his present, as well as his future. 

Geto was set to die on December 24th, 2017. At the hands of his best friend, Gojo Satoru. 

Fuck him. Let the bastard die. You didn't give a shit. 

You reach over to touch Gojo's arm, ready to leave. He pulls back with a snicker. Ugh, the brat must've figured out your technique, too. 

"Stop messing around." You tell him. "I need to go back to my timeline." 

"Sure, sure," he says as though speaking to a time traveler is just another Tuesday. "But first, finish the game with me." 

"No." You tell him before leaning out even further. He isn't moving away anymore, but you still can't reach him. Fuck, he must've activated his technique. 

Despite your annoyance, you decide to keep the future away from Gojo's ears. He doesn't need to know that he'll be the one to kill Suguru. He shouldn't. Not at his age. He's just a kid. 

"Just one game! I promise!" He pleads. "Then I'll let you go. Suguru never lets me beat him, I want an easy opponent to boost my ego." 

You roll your eyes, but you settle down, picking up the cards. You already know the rules; you have Geto's memories, after all. 

It's silent, save for Gojo's humming. When you place down your King of hearts, you ask:

"Hey, is my cursed energy different at all?" You ask.

"Not really." He squints. "Wait, it has grown a little. Aw, Greeny sprouted!" 

So, every time you die, your cursed energy increases. That, or your cursed energy, increases every time you time travel. It doesn't matter either way. Does this mean you can use Geto's technique now? It couldn't hurt to try, right? 

There's a demon-no, they're called curses you know that now- floating beside you, just a little ways away. Small. Barely fourth grade. You stick your hand out, calling out Geto's power. There's a pull, a rush of energy. 

A blue ball drops into your hand. 

"Holy shit." Gojo leans forward. "So you can use his techniques." Surprisingly, there's no wariness in his voice. Just awe. 

"Yeah." You breathe before glancing up at him. "Shouldn't you be focused on your cards?" 

He shrugs, tossing the cards away. "What cards?" 

You sigh before staring at the ball. Well, you captured the curse. All that's left to do is swallow it, right? You can do that. You open your mouth. Gojo is still staring. You scowl. 

"Look away." 

He rolls his eyes. "It's not like I haven't seen you do this before. Well, not you, the guy that you bodysnatched." 

Ass, you keep that in your head as you hold your breath. You swallow the ball down. 

Instantly, you choke. 

It's horrible. Like a rotten carcass on the highway, oozing blood and oil and pus. You start dry-heaving, suffocating, spit dribbles down your chin. Nothing comes out. You've already absorbed it. The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows. Like swallowing a rag that was used to wipe up vomit and shit. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. 

"Is it really that bad?" Gojo observes you. "That guy swallows them down, no problem." 

Because Suguru was used to this taste. He was used to the responsibility. The hoarding mass of distraught absorbing a curse comes with. It was a disgusting art. Something he'd perfected to mask for years. Until he couldn't take it anymore. 

Fuck, you might have lost your mind, too, if you kept having to eat this. To protect people who were happy you failed. 

You snapped out of it. Suguru's memories were affecting your own. That's probably a sign that you need to get out of here. No way would you be sympathizing with someone so monstrous. 

"Hopefully, I never do that again." You slowly recover, wiping your spit away with your hand. You lean back on your hands, exhausted. 

"Something I've always wondered." You call out to Gojo. "What did Suguru ever think about someone possessing his body." 

Gojo laughed. "Funny thing. He never knew." 

"What?" You look at him. "No gaps in his memory? Nothing?" 

"Nope," Gojo said, "he remembered what happened in the house, but he thinks he did everything. And then he said something weird." 

You perk up at that. "What did he say?" 

Gojo tilts his head. Then, he shrugs. 

"I forgot." Typical. 

You pinch your nose bridge. "So, did you tell anyone else about...this?" You gesture to yourself. 

"Wait, you're supposed to be a secret?" You look at him in alarm. "In my defense, I didn't know, but I haven't gotten the chance to tell anyone. After the mission, Suguru and I went to the arcade, and then I kinda' forgot about it." 

Well, at least Gojo's arrogance works in your favor sometimes. You can't let anyone know, especially anyone connected to the higher-ups. From Geto's memories, you know they don't like anything new. It's best to stay under their radar. 

"Good, well, from now on, we're keeping it a secret. Got it?" 

"What are you two keeping a secret?" A new voice pops up. You jump. 

You know him—at least from Geto's memories. Haibara beams at you. He looks so alive in the sunlight, smiling and with bright eyes.

He'll be dead within a year or so. 

Gojo takes advantage of your shock. "The bodysnatcher wants me to promise that I won't tell anyone that a curse-user is possessing Suguru's body." 

"What the hell? You just promised that you wouldn't tell anyone!" 

"Uh, technically, I didn't promise anything yet." Gojo retaliates. "But okay, fiiiiine. I won't tell anyone....except for Haibara." You groan. 

"What's going on?" Haibara's smile fades. "Wait, Gojo, is this not Geto? Is this person actually a curse-user!?" 

"I'm not a curse-user." You correct. "I'm not a sorcerer either, for the record." 

"You just used a curse technique to travel back in time to take over someone's body." Gojo enunciates. "Sounds like a sorcerer to me." 

"Wait, you're a time-traveler, Mr. Not-Geto?" Haibara asks and you are genuinely impressed he's able to keep up. 

"The name’s Greeny, Haibara." Gojo supplements. Haibara nods, still a bit unsure. 

"So...do we fight Greeny?" 

"It's not my name." You get ignored. 

"Nah, it's all good. Greeny's harmless. Just a weakling, don’t worry about it." Rude, but you don’t think you’d want Gojo to take you as much of a threat, not after knowing what he can do.

"Oh, okay!" Haibara instantly relaxes. The kid's really trusting, huh? 

"Okay, fine, but no one else can know, got it, Gojo?" This promise doesn't matter. It's not like you're planning on returning to the past anytime soon. As soon as you return to the present, you are leaving Tokyo and escaping the night parade of 100 demons. Fuck that. You don't want to die again. 

He waves you off. "Yeah, yeah."

He's so insufferable. You don't know who's worse: the genocidal maniac or this brat. 

"Give me your hand. I want to go home." 

Haibara looks confused. "Wait, why does Greeny need your hand?" 

"It's how the curse technique works," Gojo explains. "Greeny gets sent back in time, and then my true-love's touch sends him careening forward into the future." You frown at his comment, but he turns to you before you can say anything. 

"Which reminds me, Greeny: ever figure out how your technique works?" 

No way are you telling a kid that their best friend killed you....twice. Instead, you just shrug. 

"Haven't figured it out yet." 

Gojo stares at you. "Huh." He responds. "Well, if you ever figure it out, lemme' know." 

Sure you will. You hold up your hand. Gojo, finally holds his own up. Out of the corner of your eye, Haibara waves. And then you're back in your own body, on December 24th, 2017, 7:06 pm.

You waste no time. You push at the crowd, squeezing through the hoards of people. You need to get out. You need to leave before the death parade starts, before you're trapped in that terrifying cycle of death again. 

You need to leave. 

Exorcised. Ingested. 

No no no. Shut up. This wasn't you. This was Geto's memories. 

Exorcised. Ingested.  

You need to leave. 

Exorcised. Ingested. 

You need to survive. 

The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows. 

You stop, right there in the middle of the sidewalk. People glare, cursing as they move around you. They don't know this place will be a bloodbath in a matter of minutes. They'd all die. But you could stop it. 

If only if you hadn't accessed Geto's memories. If only if you hadn't eaten that damn curse. If only if you hadn't sympathized with a murderer. Maybe you'd have the courage to escape your future. 

But you'd felt that taste. Horrible. If you eat enough, you could go insane. If you were lonely enough, that would do it too. 

The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows. No one except for you. 

At 8:06 the screams start. The monsters come out to play their song. You close your eyes, forgive Suguru, and you die once more. 

ⴵ

For once, when you open your eyes, Gojo isn’t there with you. 

You’re still on the campus of Jujutsu tech. Suguru was just about to grab his soda from the vending machine. You finish his job. The can feels cold. It feels refreshing on your tongue. It’s a momentary distraction to the fact that you have no clue what you’re doing. 

You understand your cursed technique, but you still struggle with the application. Fuck, what did you do? You were utterly fucked. You’re playing a dangerous game. If you died- if Geto died- here, what would even happen? 

 The worst part is that you can’t even think of the hypothetical because there’s no other choice. You needed to do this. To not only save the people in Tokyo from the Night Parade, but to also save Geto Suguru. The man who has killed you three times now. 

Geto’s dissent starts to worsen at Riko Amanai’s death. If you could prevent that from happening, you could probably change history. But Geto’s true fracture begins with the curses themselves. They were rotting him from the inside.

You grimace, but you have to do it. You have to eat every single curse that Geto couldn’t swallow down himself. 

One was coming up. In less than an hour, Yaga will call you and Gojo for a mission. It’ll be a special-grade grave-type curse. Dispatching it will be simple, but Geto would be the one to exorcise it, ingesting the screams of all that the curse devoured. You needed to prepare yourself for that. 

Maybe you should save some of this soda to wash the taste off later. 

“Geto!” Someone cheers, you jump, but Haibara’s already poking his head around the wall. He grins. 

“Hey! Oh, you’re not Geto, aren’t you?” He tilts his head. “Greeny?” 

“Keep your voice down,” you whisper, “wait, you can recognize me?” 

He nods, after checking to make sure no one’s around, he says, “yeah, your eyes are different? It’s hard to explain.” He tells you. 

Huh. Interesting. 

“You’ve been gone a while.” Haibara beams. “It’s been a few weeks. I’m glad you’re back, Gojo was starting to get cranky.” 

It’s probably because he had no one to mess with. Poor him. He has all your sympathies. Ass. 

“I’m glad to return as his punching back.” You mutter. 

Haibara shyly shuffles his feet. 

“So, are you really from the future?” He asks. “Was Gojo telling the truth?” 

You nod. “Haibara, you haven’t told anyone, right?” 

“Of course not!” He instantly says. “Not a soul. Not even Nanami, and I tell him everything! Your secret’s safe with me.” 

“And Gojo, too! I know he doesn’t look very trustworthy, but me and him have kept it under wraps.” 

Reluctantly, you can’t help but agree with the kid. Gojo is annoying, but so far, he hasn’t done anything super harmful. 

“So anyway, Greeny.” He clears his throat. “Considering you’re from the future and all. Would you mind telling me what my future will be like?” 

You blink at him. He takes it as a sign to continue. “Nothing much! I just wanna know what I’ll be doing in 2017. Will I finally be a grade 1 sorcerer?” 

You think of Geto’s final memories of Haibara. A child burying another child. 

“Sorry,” you lie through your teeth, “but I didn’t know you in my future. Again, I’m not really a sorcerer.” 

Haibara nods, disappointed but still very excitable. He asks you about other things about the future, and you try to answer to the best of your ability, but you can’t shake off his dead glass eyes, staring at you from the morgue. 

“Another thing, we should have a code word.” Haibara exclaims. 

You blink. “A code word?” 

“If we ever meet in the future,” he explains, “y’know, in 'Groundhog’s day', he has to keep explaining what’s happening repeatedly? In order to prevent that, we should have a secret word between eachother so I instantly know who you are.” 

Not the same exact situation, but it sounds like exactly something a child would come up with. You indulge him anyway. 

“Okay, what did you have in mind?” 

“Well, it can’t be anything too crazy, or we might attract unwanted attention.” Haibara puts a hand on his chin in serious thought. You smile. 

“Got it! If you ever see me, just yell ‘brocolli head’ really really loudly. Then I’ll know.” Haibara chirps. 

“Wait, why broccoli head?”

“Because broccoli heads are green!” Haibara chirps happily.

You’re starting to learn it’s best not to question his logic.

You nod, very amused. “Sure thing, Haibara.”  

Someone calls out his name. He jumps before he waves to you. You watch as he joins with Nanami. They talk about something you can’t hear. Haibara laughs and you decide it would be a shame if his laugh was lost to death. 

Gojo finds you eventually. You can’t hide from him forever. You were walking into the school when he caught up with you. He’d ran there. His breath was slightly ragged. 

“Greeny, couldn’t get enough last time, huh?” You shoot him a look. 

“What are you talking about? Doesn’t matter, we need to go, the missions coming up.” 

Gojo’s smile dips ever so slightly. “How’d you know about that?” 

It’s probably not a good idea to tell the guy's best friend that you’re possessing that you’ve unlocked his memories. 

“Haibara told me.” 

“Ah,” He replies, “let’s go then.” 

The car ride is different this time around. Less tension. You aren’t as confused. Gojo is seated quietly beside you, watching the scenery go by. The assistant is too preoccupied with belting the radio to notice Gojo's words. 

“Figured it out yet?” He asks. “Your technique.” 

He's persistent about that answer, isn't he? You're sure the only reason Gojo cooperates with you is because he thinks you're inhabiting Suguru's on accident. How would he react if he knew you were doing it intentionally? It's best not to get on the strongests’ bad side. 

“Oh, not really, but I think it’s random. I can’t seem to find a set pattern. Maybe Suguru calls out to me, somehow?” 

“Maybe.” Gojo replies. His time is flat. Anxiety flips through your stomach. 

“You’re different this time around,” Gojo says. 

“Am I?” You ask. “I guess I’m just more determined today.” 

He gives you a look over. "Oh yeah? What for?" 

"The curse. I'll exorcise it, today." 

You don't know how you wanted Gojo to react to that, but you're still disappointed when he turns back to the window. 

"Do whatever, Greeny." 

In the end, you do swallow the curse. You manage to hold your gags in this time. 

It's worse than before. It makes sense. This curse was first-grade. Stronger. In terms of taste, it was like curdled blood and mold. You were so grateful for that soda. 

Gojo only watches with a tilted head. 

"You're getting better at that."

You give a weak grin. 

"Practice makes perfect," you reply, "do you think I'll get strong enough to absorb a special grade soon?" 

He doesn't like your question. You can see it in his stiff expression. 

"Maybe. Why do you want to swallow up curses, anyway? Last time you were here, you were practically begging to go back." 

His response wasn't exactly hostile but far from his usual playful attitude. You knew you'd have to confront this eventually. Despite how nonchalant he acted, it's clear Satrou doesn't enjoy watching someone prance around in his friend's body like this. If he starts to dislike you, it could rupture your entire plan. You need his cooperation, more than anything, to save Suguru. 

A little bit of the truth. Just a bit. It can't hurt, can it?

"Curses taste horrible," you say, looking at the ground. You can still taste the remnants of it, "it's the worst thing in the world. I can't even explain how wrong it feels to eat one. I thought...while I'm in his body...I could maybe help Suguru a little. I could ingest the curses in his stead, so that way, he still gets to absorb it." But it'll lessen the trauma it has on his mental state. 

You can't see how Gojo feels about that. Those glasses of his cover everything. But you know he's staring at you. The six eyes are taking you apart, observing you whole. 

"Did you know Suguru in the future?" He asks. 

"I didn't." The man that killed you. The man that will keep killing you. And you'd forgive him each time. 

Another beat of silence.

Finally, he just sighs. "You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right?" 

You give a sheepish laugh.

"That isn't a compliment, by the way. You're just really reckless. And maybe stupid, Greeny." His tone isn't mean. 

"My name still isn't Greeny." You tell him. 

"Oh yeah, what's your name, then?" He's reverted back to that teasing lilt, and it almost makes you relax if you don't note the curiosity underneath. 

So far, you've been lax giving away information regarding the future, but you don't think you should continue that. What if you're too careless and the future changes in a way you didn't intend? A name, personal information, that could be way too dangerous. 

"Actually, just call me Greeny. I like that name a lot better." 

"You complained about it all the time, though?" Gojo argues. 

"It's starting to grow on me." You grin. "Grow? Get it, because you compared me to a plant and-"

"Stop stop, you really are an old man." Gojo groans. You just grin wider. Then, you grimace.

“I can still taste it.” You complain. “I’d kill for a cigarette right now.”

“I caught our assistant manager smoking a while back,” Satoru suggests. “Maybe you could go and beg him for one.”

You toss him a look. “Suguru doesn’t smoke, and I’m not giving a teenager a nicotine addiction.” You have found lighters inside Suguru’s pockets, but you have a feeling it isn’t for his own cravings.

"Hey, could you do me a favor?" 

He gives a wordless hum.

"Maybe after this, could you take Suguru out to a cafe'? I can taste the aftertaste of the curse." You shudder. "Just get him something to wash it down." 

Also, Suguru couldn't go back to his dorm after this. Suguru dissented because of his fractured relationship with everyone, not just with Satoru. You'd try to bridge the gap between him and his peers as much as you can. You go through Suguru's flip phone, asking Shoko if she wants to join the two. 

When you're done with that, you snap the phone closed. 

"Okay, I'm done here. You two have fun, okay?" You raise your hand. 

Gojo just huffs, amused. "Sure sure. By the way, someone wanted to thank you." 

You blink at that. "What?" 

He shakes his head. "Don't worry about it."

He gives you a high-five, and then you're back in 2017 in your own body. 

Temporarily. So far you figured out that you get sent back an hour before the night parade happens. 8:06. Considering you have a couple more minutes to kill before you’re killed, you reach into your pocket for that cigarette you’ve been craving. You pick the first out of the box, cherry burns just out of corner of your eye.

You notice things now. The children giggled to their parents. Old couples gingerly held hands with sweet smiles. You'd save them, but first, you need to save Suguru. 

And do really do that, you'd have to save Riko. 

Easier said than done. You could go back in time, but you can't really control when to go back in time. It's been random, but your trips are typically two days away from each other. You can work with that. 

But in order to get to Riko's death, you'd have to die...a lot. Absorbing curses made Suguru lose his mind, but how well would you fare with dying over and over again? 

"Hungry?" 

Someone looms over you. A woman. She's pretty, with short hair and bangs. In her hand, she holds a bag of chips. 

"The vending machine gave me an extra." She gives a laugh. She kind of sounds like you. "Would you like one?" 

"Oh." You take it. "Thanks." 

"Don't mention it." She trots off into the crowd. You watch her.

A stranger's act of kindness. She didn't even know what would happen to her soon. You grip the bag, it crinkles in your grasp. 

It didn't matter how well you'd fare with dying over and over again. You'd get over it. So many innocent people depended on you. You can't just abandon them like this. 

You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right? It's aggravating how accurate he is, honestly. 

The screams start up again, and you forgive Suguru. 

ⴵ

It takes a few cycles to finally reach the day Amanai Riko is assassinated. Whenever you deem yourself too early, you often accompany Gojo on a mission and exorcise a special-grade curse. Your overall plan is working, bit by bit. Each time you return, Suguru's memories swarm you. Each curse he remembers as less painful. 

It's why you get worried when you get there a little too late. 

"Something wrong?" Riko asks. 

You've stopped in the middle of the hallway, and of course, they're looking at you strangely. You know this place. Tengen's barrier is just an elevator ride away. Suguru, Riko, and Miss Kuroi were all almost there.

Fushiguro Toji has already arrived. 

In the first timeline, Geto leads the girls all the way down to Tengen's barrier. He puts his trust in Gojo. Of course, he would. They're the strongest. And in the end, Gojo does kill Toji. 

But the kill comes too late. Riko still dies, and the fracturing happens. 

You thought you'd have more time. If you had arrived a bit earlier, you could have fought with Gojo, and the chances of defeating Toji would have significantly increased. 

What do you do?

"What's the matter?" Miss Kuroi asks. She's supposed to die today, too. 

"Sorry, ladies." You smile. "But I need to go back for him." 

You don't answer their calls, running back up the hallway. The sun's bright, shimmering beautifully in the sky.

It contradicts the blood dripping all over the stone floor. 

Gojo's lifeless body is draped across the rubble. It's a horrifying sight. Eyes that were once like the sky are just this empty blue. A dead sea. He isn't breathing. You know, if you touched his wrist, you wouldn't feel a heartbeat. 

"Hate to break it to ya', but the Gojo kid's dead." Toji's right behind you. You can feel him grinning. 

You know Gojo isn't dead. At least, he won't be dead for a while, but seeing the boy who used to tease you, annoy the shit out of you, laugh at you, be so....it made you freeze. Falter. 

You were wasting time. 

"Sorceror killer." You say after a minute. You almost can't bring yourself to turn, to look at him. The man who kills Gojo. The man who could've killed Suguru, but chose not to. "You certainly live up to your name." 

Toji's grin widens. The only man in the world with zero cursed energy. It'd be awe-inspiring if it weren't so terrifying. 

It's funny. You weren't afraid of dying, not anymore. You were afraid of failing. Failing when you were so close, when victory was just a blink away. 

"The flyheads." You mention to the swarms of curses all around you. "That's really smart." It gives you an idea or two. 

You have Suguru's memories, but they aren't always concrete. You just have snippets. A general idea of what happened within a certain event. It makes sense. Humans can't remember everything. 

But regarding the memories of Suguru and Fushiguro, everything is crystal clear. It's almost like you were there when it happened. 

It also means that you know Suguru, at this current level, won't be able to defeat Fushiguro. 

But Suguru doesn't need to beat the sorcerer killer; he just needs to hold him off. 

Currently, Suguru's body contains 368 curses: 3 special grades, 24 grade ones, 33 grade twos, 103 grade threes, and 205 fourth grades. 

You release all 368 of them. 

In another timeline, these curses would look to you as something to devour. Today, these curses have a new target. 

It won't stop Fushiguro. You're not dumb enough to think that. But it should give you time. Hopefully, it'll be enough time. 

Your knees hurt when you collapse next to the corpse. Gojo's so beautiful, even when he's dead. 

"Gojo." You shake him. Nothing happens. "You need to wake up. Gojo." 

Nothing happens. You don't know what caused Gojo to become the strongest, Suguru wasn't there. For once, you are blind to the past. 

"Riko needs you. Wake up. You-you need to go and save her and Miss Kuroi." 

His body's so cold, and you know he's dead because when you touch his skin, you don't wake up in the present. You push against his body, and he falls limply right back to place. You're sure this sight will haunt you for the rest of your life. 

"Satoru." You beg. "It's Greeny. Please, please, please wake up."

 Nothing happens. 

Everything happens. 

The brightest blue you've ever seen. It's heavenly. A glow that warms and chills your skin. It takes a while for you to see again. When you do, Satoru is standing. 

Somehow, his eyes are even brighter. You don't think you're looking at a teenage boy anymore. 

You're sitting in front of God. 

"Greeny." he states, voice flat. "You're late." 

You manage to smile.

"Sorry." 

You’ve seen Satoru fight before. He’s always calm, body relaxed as he practically floats in the air. Those fights differed from Suguru’s memories—post Satoru’s awakening. There’s always this twinge of desperation. An aftertaste of bloodlust.

But seeing it for yourself is something else entirely. Even with Suguru’s heightened senses, you still can’t follow him. He’s barely a mirage. One milisecond you can see a blue flash, the next you see nothing.

It's barely a fight. Not this time around. Fushiguro is completely unmatched. There's a flash of purple. And then, it's over. 

Fushiguro is in shambles. You didn't realize he was human until he started to bleed and shatter. Parentage over labor. It's sobering, in a way. 

Satoru's mouth moves. You're too far away to hear anything. They stand there for a few more seconds until Fushiguro slumps. Then, he falls.

You wonder when you got so desensitized to death. 

Gojo stands there. You should let him compress, but the clock is ticking. You need to do one more thing before you can let Suguru go. 

"You need to go." You say when you're close to him. He doesn't acknowledge you. "Riko's about to enter Tengen's barrier." 

He looks at you right then. His eyes. They're so bright, but they're strangely lifeless. Like he can't process you, your words. 

"I can see you now," he says, "it was so foggy before, but now, you're crystal clear." 

Six eyes look at you. You don't think you're hiding behind Suguru's face anymore. 

You clear your throat. 

"Gojo." You remind him. "Riko. You need to stop her." 

He blinks back into focus, rising from his high. 

"Oh," he says after a moment, "right." 

You stop him before he can walk any further. You hold out your hand. 

"You and Suguru." 

For the first time in a while, Gojo hesitates to send you back. You wait a couple seconds longer. 

"Yeah," he finally says.

His skin still feels cold. 

ⴵ

This death is a lot more painful than the others. 

The curse that's holding you is more intelligent than its predecessors. It keeps you alive, tearing at your skin, feasting on your flesh. Blood is everywhere. You scream until it rips out your vocal cords. It's almost a mercy to just die. 

You forgive Suguru. 

ⴵ

Time skips a lot faster now. 

You stand in 2006, four months after the death of Fushiguro Toji. It takes a second for Geto's memories to kick in. What you see makes you nearly cry in relief. 

Gojo and Geto made it in time. You can still remember the tears spilling down Riko's cheeks, the smile on her face when Geto asked her if she wanted to go back. They were safe. They were home, with each other. 

You did it. You actually managed to pull it off. 

But you can't celebrate, not yet. From what you can gather from Suguru's memories, Geto defects after four years. You've just held off the eventual. 

It's nearly the middle of December. The air feels a bit chillier. You stay on that bench where Suguru once occupied. He was finishing his lunch. Usually, he'd eat with Satoru, but Satoru wasn't on campus these days. 

Right, you weren't finished with your work, yet. There was still one other issue. Suguru went on missions alone these days. Swallowing curses, letting them fester and rot in his body. It's isolating and grueling work. You might have been able to help him with the absorption, but your aide won't be enough to prevent his eventual downfall. 

You'll have to deal with his natural isolation. To do that, Suguru will have to make friends with people who aren't Satoru. 

Suguru does have friends, but he's the closest to Satoru. Considering Satoru is getting busier each passing day, Suguru needs to broaden his horizons a bit. 

It's a good thing this school is filled with such colorful characters. 

Haibara and Nanami were sitting in the back of the school. From Geto's memories, their dynamic was interesting. Haibara was definitely more outgoing than the two, but Nanami seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. They looked out for each other, in that way. 

Ah, Shoko was there, too. You haven't seen her since your first day. Her hair's grown longer. It lightly brushes her shoulders now. The cigarette in her hand burns a cherry red. 

Your reaction is rooted in Suguru's instinct than anything on your part. You reach out, taking the cigarette and stomping on the embers. 

"You shouldn't smoke in front of kids." You tell her, hoping she didn't read too much into your action.

Shoko scoffs, but to your satisfaction, she doesn't take out another one. 

"We're just one year below you." Nanami retaliates, but he looks more at ease now that the cigarette's out. 

"Did you finish lunch already, Geto?" Haibara asks kindly, then he takes a closer look. "Greeny?" 

You suck air through your teeth, giving Haibara a scathing look. Instead of looking exasperated, Nanami looks confused. 

"What's Greeny?" Nanami asks, and Haibara weakly laughs. 

"It's-uh-my new nickname for the tree that's growing over there!" He wildly points to something just behind you. "'Cuz it's so...green!"

"Of course." You note the hint of affection laced within his tone. 

"When'd you get back?" Haibara recovers with eagerness. 

"Recently." You grin. "Nice to see you again." 

"You saw him this morning," Nanami interjects, and you shrug. When he frowns, you know you pulled off a perfect Suguru impression. 

Suguru melds into the conversation perfectly. Haibara says something funny, Shoko and Suguru agree, Nanami disagrees. It's a lovely little cycle that ends when Nanami grumbles and picks himself up to go. Shoko starts to follow suit when you stop her. 

"Your hair's nice." You tell her. 

She hums, grabbing a strand to study it. You can see hints of dark circles beginning to form under her eyes. She looked livelier when you first met her. Curses have been popping up left and right since Fushiguro's death. Everyone is overworked, but Shoko looks like she's getting the brunt of it. She's one of the only people who can use RCT on others, and there aren't many healers on her level. All of the strongests share one thing in common it seems. 

"Pretty soon, it'll be longer than yours," Shoko replies. You smile in response. 

"Where are you going?" You ask. 

"Dorm," she replies, "I'm behind on paperwork." 

You had a feeling she always was. You gave a look of sympathy, but misery loves company. 

"I have some work too," You 'remember' the piles of papers lodged on Suguru's desk, "Maybe we can do it together later. The cafe right next to campus? It'll be my treat." 

She looks at Suguru. Her eyes are a pretty color. 

"Sure." She shrugs. "see you then." 

You feel your heart thump twice in your chest and decide that your work here is done. 

Haibara stares at Shoko's disappearing back. The forehead flick comes from both you and Suguru. 

"That hurt." Haibara whines. 

Good, you inwardly think. 

"Sorry." You tell him. He rubs his head, and you wonder if this is how kicking a puppy feels like. 

Luckily for you, Haibara recovers quickly. 

"You've been gone for a while." Haibara tilts his head. "What happened?" 

You can't exactly control your technique, it's more like it has a mind of its own, placing you exactly where you need to be placed. Instead of answering, you sigh, leaning against the wall. 

"Timeline gimmicks." You tell him tiredly. "It's hard to explain." He frowns, but he takes it as an answer.

"Do you know when Gojo's coming back?" You ask. "I think it's time for me to go back again." 

In previous time travels, you and Haibara tried to see if any physical contact would be enough to send you back. No matter how many times you two high-fived, shook hands, or even held hands. Nothing worked. Only Gojo Satoru could activate your technique. It must have something to do with the amount of cursed energy another person has. 

“He should be getting back later this evening.” Haibara muses. “But I’ll be happy to keep you company!”

It's nice to hear him chatter. If you'd let him, he'd go one and one. But you like hearing him talk about his sister. Apparently, she’s also a sorcerer, and his affection for her makes you smile.

"You remind me a lot of her, actually." He tells you. "Even though, y'know, you're a man." It's enough to get a laugh out of you. 

“Do you have anyone in your family who can see curses?” Haibaracasks.

“No,” you answer honestly, “at least, not that I can tell. My dad never spoke of curses or strange powers when I was growing up.”

You think he would have said something; after all, you two were too close to have secrets from each other. Your father was a single man, who took to raising you himself after your mother passed away. He often said you had her laugh.

“Maybe you’re one of a kind,” Haibara suggests.

You agree with him.

Gojo finds you before you can find him. He comes up to you with a grin and a wave.

“Hey, long time.”

His sunglasses are tilted down. You can see his eyes. They’ve lost the mania he had in his fight with Fushiguro. You’re relieved at that. You still can’t shake off that strange thing he said to you.

Wordlessly, you raise your hand. Satoru frowned.

“You wanna leave so soon? You just got here.”

“I’ve been here for hours,” you tell him, “also, you aren’t very concerned that someone is using your best friend’s body as a puppet.”

“He’s been through worse,” Satoru tells you off with a wave. Some friend.

“Let’s go to the arcade,” he suggests.

“Do that with Suguru.” You tell him. “I’m not hanging out with a high schooler.”

“Right right, my bad. I keep forgetting you’re an old man, Greeny.”

“22 is not old,” you say with exasperation, “didn’t your birthday just pass? You’re just five years away. I’ll see your attitude change, then.”

He grows quiet. You feel like you messed up somewhere.

“How did you know about my birthday?”

Fuck, you keep forgetting about keeping Suguru’s memories a secret. It takes everything within you to just relax.

“Haibara told me,” you say, “blabbermouth. You know him.”

“Oh.” Gojo replies. “Huh.”

You shuffle your feet. Distantly, you wonder what shoe size Suguru wears.

“How did your mission go?”

“Horrible,” he’s instantly back to his usual self, whiny and complaint, “and the curse was so ugly too. It was oozing goo everywhere.”

You frown. “Sounds gross. But you won, right?”

He doesn’t even answer. You secretly admire his sheer confidence. You certainly weren’t that when you were at his age.

“How’s Amanai and Miss Kuroi?” You ask.

“Safe.” He tells you. “The higher-ups weren’t really happy with us after that; pretty sure all these sudden missions are punishments.” He frowns. “But they’re fine. Miss Kuroi officially adopted her, so she’s a Kuroi now, too.”

You smiled. You already knew all that, but it’s nice to hear it.

“You saved them,” he says.

You laugh, “I didn’t do a thing.” You tell him. “You and Suguru did all the heavy lifting. I just caused some property damage.”

“You did.” He replies. “I don’t know how, but things always manage to work out whenever you’re around.”

You don’t like how he phrases that, but you don’t react.

“You think so? Maybe I’m lucky.” It’s supposed to be a joke of some kind. Neither of you laugh.

“You really don’t know us in the future?” He asks.

Maybe you should’ve asked Shoko if you could have a cigarette.

“I really didn't,” you say, “Honest, I—I have no idea what’s happening. I’m just as lost as you. Hopefully, I can figure out how to control my technique, and you won’t have to see me again.”

You never stopped feeling guilty for doing this to Suguru. Controlling him. Forcing him to laugh with his friends, make decisions based on your feelings rather than his. But you’re so close. You promise yourself that once you fix everything, you’ll never cause someone this much pain again. No matter how many times they kill you.

Satoru’s fists tighten. He looks even more upset at your response.

“That’s not what I—” He cuts himself off. You wait. Satoru says nothing more.

“You’re annoying.” He tells you in the end. It’s clean and cut, but it sounds like him. More confident, less wavery. “And stupid too.”

You can’t help but smile.

“Thank you. Am I done entertaining you now? Can I go?” He grumbles, holding up his hand.

“Yeah, sure, Greeny.”

ⴵ

You forgive Suguru.

ⴵ

Something’s wrong.

You can feel it. Something’s wrong.

You look through Geto’s memories. There’s nothing. Everything’s going as it should be. Everything looks perfect. Then, why do you feel so wrong?

Currently, Suguru was finishing excorcising a curse. You absorb it, swallowing down the remnant like it’s a pile of rusted nails but even the disgusting taste isn’t enough to wash away the feeling of dread.

The walls of the hospital was empty. The auxillary managers had already cleared everyone out by the time Suguru had walked in. Maybe it was the silence that added to your stress?

You walk out. Nothing changes. One of the managers comes up to you with a clipboard.

“The curse was exorcised.” Suguru tells them. “It wasn’t first grade, it was special grade. It was still disposed of.”

He curses, scribbling something down on his clipboard.

“The wrong information again.” He hisses to himself. “If we keep doing this, someone will die. We need more people, we’re way too stretched out.”

Those words are familiar. Hold on.

“Wait, what day is it?” You ask the frazzled-looking manager.

Offhandedly, he responds. He says the date so casually, and yet his mere words feel like a bear trap, tightening on your leg.

No. You should have had more time. Why weren’t you given more time?

Nanami and Haibara have probably already been dispatched. You go through Suguru’s phone, finding Haibara’s contact. It doesn’t go through. Nanami doesn’t pick up either.

You won’t make it in time. Even using Suguru’s curses, you won’t be able to reach them until it’s too late. Suguru’s memory of that day is muddled and dark, but Haibara’s dead corpse laying on the examination table. The pieces of him that Nanami could bring back.

You wouldn’t be fast enough.

He picks up on the second ring.

“...What’s up?”

“It’s Haibara.” You spit the words out as fast as you can. “Satoru, you need to go and get him right now, he isn’t going to make it—”

“—Greeny?” The exhaustion in Gojo’s voice is gone. You can hear something rustle behind him.

“Satoru, listen to me.” You beg. “Haibara and Nanami were just dispatched on a mission, but Yu isn’t going to survive it. It wasn’t a second-grade curse; it was a first grade. Please, you have to go and save him before it kills him.”

It’s silent. It feels like hours have passed when you know it’s just three seconds.

“We’ll talk later, Greeny.” The line clicks.

You’ve lost the trust of the strongest.

ⴵ

The future has changed when you get to campus. Haibara’s status is still alive. Barely. But he’s still there. Shoko’s currently taking care of him.

Nanami remains quiet the entire time since he returned with Haibara’s battered body. The only thing you can think of to offer comfort is to pat his shoulder. He barely even registers it. It’s more for you than for him. You’re self-soothing, taking care of something else, so you don’t have to recognize your own panic.

If Haibara dies, right here, on this day, everything can change. Everything can go back to the way it was in your original timeline. Haibara, with his sunshine, smiles, and bright eyes. His death is so important, and you can’t even think of him right now.

Gojo Satoru knows you’ve been deceiving him.

This is bad. So very bad. If he starts to suspect that you know more than you let on, he might deem you enough of a threat to kill, regardless of whether or not you’re in Suguru’s body. It’s not like that hasn’t stopped him before.

Gojo Satoru is selfless. He’s selfless enough to kill his best friend, if he thinks it will save everyone.

But if Gojo kills Geto here and now, would that really be bad?

You’d lose your path to the past, but the threat to your life would be over. Even if you did die in Suguru’s body, at least the people of Tokyo will be spared the Death Parade. You’ll still get what you want. And it will be much easier than your current plan.

Nanami shuffles behind you and you instantly snap out of it. That wasn’t you. It couldn’t have been you. That same lack of apathy when Fushiguro died in front of you.

It seems like dying over and over again caused you to lose bits of your humanity.

Shoko comes out. Nanami stands up, a tall ball of nervous energy. Shoko removes her mask. Her dark circles have grown even more prominent. She’s only 17.

“He’s still alive.” Nanami sags. “But he isn’t responsive. I’ve done all that I can.”

She looks at Nanami, and then she can’t anymore.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Nanami rasps, the most emotion you’ve ever seen from him, “don’t apologize. It was my fault. I should’ve taken better care of him.”

You swallow. It wasn’t his fault, you wish you could tell him that it was yours.

You wonder what Haibara’s younger sister looked like. A spitting image of him, perhaps. Shorter. Darker hair, bigger eyes. Their smiles would look identical. What would she look like when she’s told her brother died doing the profession he forbade her from doing?

You can’t do that to her. You can’t be the reason she loses her brother the second time.

You’re not sure if a God is even out there. How could there be? What kind of entity would do something like this to you? Still, you sit on that bench, right outside the room where Haibara’s body lay, and you pray for a God.

Gojo’s footsteps stop right in front of you.

It’s hard to get the words out. For a minute, he just stands there.

“Did you exorcise it?” You finally ask.

“Yeah.”

You lift your head up to look at him. Even in his school uniform, he’s regal to look at. Like a warrior of the sun, blessed by the moon, sent to vanquish beasts and monsters.

Now, his blood-soaked sword is pointed at you.

Make it quick. You can only think. Just make it quick.

“Not here.” You say.

Nanami was still shaking. Shoko was right beside him. So you stand, you drag yourself away from Haibara’s fading presence, and Gojo follows behind.

It shouldn’t be this pretty outside. The sun is bright, and the sky is clear. There should be rain. Enough rain to drown the Earth.

“I figured out your technique a while ago, y’know.” You don’t look at him. You can’t. “Dying. Death activates your technique. Each time you die, you’re sent back 12 years in the past.”

You grip the fabric of your uniform until your knuckles turn white. Satoru’s cruel enough to continue.

“But I never got why your soul kept possessing Suguru’s body. It always felt kinda’ random. Unless he was the one who was killing you. Over and over again.”

“Gojo. Stop.” You beg.

“That’s how your CT works. Every time you’re murdered, you go back in time so you can kill them when they’re at their most emotionally vulnerable moment. It’s a pretty powerful technique, all things considered. I might not even stand a chance against it. Assisted suicide, never expected that from you of all people.

But you never do. Each time Suguru kills you, you just come back and try to save him and everyone else your hands can reach. I can’t get why you did that.”

He steps in front of you so you can see him. The God that he is.

“Let’s cut the shit, Greeny. Tell me what future is so bad you’re willing to die over and over again to prevent it.”

The worst outcome you could have ever thought of was standing right in front of you.

Satoru was demanding to know his future.

And...you couldn’t.

You’re taking in a shaky breath. It’s not enough oxygen. The sky was close to crumbling, and you still couldn’t breathe.

“There’s nothing to know.” You try. “There’s nothing, I’m fixing it—”

“—by Suguru killing you, or is this considering killing yourself, now?”

“You don’t understand.” Your voice is cracking, so high-pitched that even Suguru’s vocal cords can’t keep up. “You don’t get it. You can’t.”

“Then help me understand.” His voice is as ragged as yours, he steps closer, you step back. “Tell me why my friend would do something like this to someone.”

It clicks right then. Satoru’s anger isn’t directed at you.

No, it’s directed at Suguru.

It’s even worse than you thought.

“He—he was better than me. He was supposed to be the best out of all of us. I wanna deny it all that I can but—but I can see the proof right here in front of me. And—And I don’t—” His voice breaks too much to continue. 

You’re breaking, too. How many times have you been doing this, over and over again? All alone, with no one to support you. To comfort you.

The words are right there, threatening to bubble out. It’d be so easy to tell Satoru everything.

And maybe you would’ve, but then you looked at him.

Despite how disingenuous Satoru acted, you knew he was kind. The kindest person you’ve ever met. He’d sit there and listen, and he’d break every bone in his body to help. That’s just how he was.

Satoru was selfless, he was selfless enough to kill his best friend here and now if it meant he’d save the millions in Tokyo.

You can’t put another burden on the strongest.

You can’t do that to a kid.

“It—it isn’t him.” You manage to spit out. “He isn’t doing it on purpose. It’s not his fault.

It’s the curses. They were too much for him; they overtook his body. Suguru couldn’t control them anymore.”

He says nothing. It’s like you’ve put a spell on Gojo somehow, freezing him in place. Satoru can’t do anything but stare at the talking puppet that’s his best friend.

“He lost so many people.” You continue. “Riko, Miss Kuroi, Haibara. He couldn’t take it. It was too much. His body succumbed to the curses, and they took over Shinjuku. That’s how I keep...”

It’s okay to lie like this, you justify to yourself. Because the Suguru, you know—the one with fake smiles, beady eyes, and a broken expression—isn’t the one that Satoru knows. They’re two completely different people. Years—timelines—apart from each other. They aren’t the same.

Even then, you forgave both Sugurus a lifetime ago.

You’d get on your knees if you know that would make a difference. You’d plead and beg and cry if it would get Satoru to drop it. In the end, you can only stare at him.

“All I’m asking is that you trust me.” You whisper. “Believe that I’m making this right. Please, Satoru?”

His eyes. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. He’s gone quiet and dull. The same look he had when he fully awakened his technique. The day he became God.

But he’s not a God. God’s don’t cry.

He leans ever so closely until his head rests on your shoulder. His body shakes.

“You’ll save him, right?” He asks. Gone, is his aura of confidence and resilience. He’s nothing more than a shell. If you feel something stain Suguru’s uniform, you say nothing about it.

You smile anyway.

“I will.” You tell the truth. “I will save him.”

You think of something morbidly funny.

“I’ll die trying.”

His shoulders shake with quiet, genuine laughter, the kind that’s wet and sticks to the top of your mouth.

“That’s fucked up, Greeny.” He whispers.

You hum, reaching up to pat him on the back. It takes another minute before he gathers himself up. His eyes are shiny. Satoru blinks it away.

“Haibara will be okay.” He says with such conviction. “I’ll take care of him. I’ll take care of Suguru, too.”

He doesn’t get it, not yet. He doesn’t understand that Shoko and Satoru and Haibara and Nanami need him. He’ll get it soon, though. You managed to put Suguru on the right path.

For now, it’s all you can do. 

“I know you will.” 

He scoffs, right then. 

“You’re really annoying, you know that? Next time, don’t piss me off like that. Just tell it to me straight.” 

Rely on me. Lean on me.

“I’m sorry,” you say and you truly are, “I won’t leave you in the dark from now on. I guess I just forgot that I had a friend in 2006.” 

His eyes get a little brighter. “It’s actually 2007—” 

“Shut up.” He laughs and it sounds like him again. 

You reach out your hand and his grin fades, the tiniest bit. He mirrors you, regardless. 

This time, you hesitate.

“You should learn how to be selfish every once in a while.” You tell him. “I won’t fault you if you’re selfish. I don’t think anyone will.

He doesn’t answer that, but his touch is finally warm.

ⴵ

It hurts. It hurts so much. Blood seeps into the pavement. You can hear the curse laughing. It sounds like him.

You forgive Suguru. 

ⴵ

It’s today. 

You can feel it. You don’t even have to look at the date to know.

The catalyst for December 24th, 2017.

Suguru’s already dressed. You’re currently standing in front of a shotty mirror, watching your reflection.

He looks tired. His smile’s a bit muted. You notice a scar you hadn’t seen before. An unregistered special grade curse, Suguru’s memory gives.

He’s different from when you saw him a year ago, but there’s still a spark in his eye. You cling to that hope, as hard as you can.

You step out of the room. It isn’t Suguru’s. He’d rented accommodations with an older woman and her son for the mission. Their place smelled like home. It made your stomach turn.

She smiles when she sees you coming down stairs. She looks kind; she has the eyes of a mother. You’ll never understand how a person who raised children could do something like this to another.

“Mr. Geto.” She chirps. “I’m so glad you’re awake! Would you like anything to eat?”

“No, I’m fine.” Better get this done sooner than later. “I should be heading back now, anyways.”

Suguru had already absorbed the curse tormenting the village last night. You can feel the sticky aftertaste in your mouth. He should have left the village yesterday, but the people were insistent he stayed one last day as thanks, feeding him all they could.

Now, it’s obvious that it was a way to butter him up for today.

Her smile grows a bit nervous. She shuffles her feet a bit.

“If it isn't too much.” She starts. “The head of our village asked if you could look at something.” Her eyes darken into disgust.

You fight to keep your smile.

“Of course. Please, lead the way.”

It’s worse than you ever could have imagined.

You’ve seen this play out so many times in Suguru’s memories. He reminisces about this moment a lot. Because of that, you knew this scene too, like the back of your hand.

And yet, seeing two children huddled together on the floor. Nothing could prepare you for that.

The village head is saying something. The woman who Suguru roomed with is yelling at the scared kids, but you can’t hear any of that.

Their clothes were dirty and ripped. Their cheeks were hollow, and they looked like they hadn’t eaten for days. Himiko’s eye looks swollen.

The twins.

The first time you saw them, they stepped aside and let Geto kill you. There’s something oddly poetic about you being on the other side.

They tremble as they continue to look at you, flinch whenever that woman raises her voice. They must think Suguru’s here to kill them.

They’re too young to think like that. They’re too young to see the horrors of this world so soon.

It’s a mistake to look towards the end of their cell. Dirty water and dog food.

How could a human do this to them? How could a mother do this to them?

You feel red. It coarses through your blood, your veins, your soul. It feels like there’s lava right underneath your skin. Shuddering, tittering anger.

There’s more than enough fire to burn down an entire village.

‘Suguru,’ you think to your companion, your tormentor, ‘I think I’m starting to get it now.’

You reach for the bars of the cell. The twins shrink away.

“Ah! Mr. Geto, you musn’t get too close to them—”

“I’ll take them.”

“What?” The head of the village asks.

“The children.” You straighten yourself up. “I’ll take them off your hands.”

It’s pointless to do anything to these people. They’re delusional enough to think that they’re in the right. By torturing these children, they’re protecting their own. It’s fear. That’s all it ever was. Even without a curse, it’ll fester on and on until this village is nothing but abandoned homes. There’s no point to punish these people any further.

If you look at the adults a bit too long, you’re afraid of what you’d do, even without Suguru’s interference. Instead, you focus on Himiko and Nanako, looking into their wary gazes. Their hands are so tiny. You could protect them with your own.

When you got out of this backward village, you’d find them something to eat.

ⴵ

You go to Shoko first.

She looks surprised to see the twins. You can’t imagine why. Still, her voice is calm when she speaks to them, setting both of them up in the clinic room. Since you got them into the car, Nanako and Himiko seemed to calm down. Himiko even told you the name of her doll.

A little while later, Yaga comes for a visit. He’s the principal now. Usually, his voice is filled with gruff, but he’s oddly gentle when he speaks to them. Nanako cracks a shy smile.

You can’t escape the ‘we’ll talk later��� look he gives you. Inwardly, you sympathize with Suguru. But a harsh lecture is better than being branded a murderer.

He hasn’t come by, yet. With the twins aided for, you decide to go find him yourself.

Walking through campus feels a little nostalgic. The grounds of the infamous jujutsu technical college are a bright green. It’s summer again. You’ve met so many colorful characters since your time here. You’ve only seen snippets, mere seconds of their lives, and yet it feels like an entire lifetime.

He’s sitting on a bench when you finally see him, nursing a drink. He doesn’t acknowledge you. You have to roll your eyes at his childish behavior, plopping down beside him.

“Hey.” You say first.

“Heard you adopted two kids,” Satoru says, “Never thought Suguru would be a teen mom, but here we are.”

You laugh, light and breathless. The sky is so pretty today.

“I don’t think he’d have it any other way, personally.” You respond.

He reminisces on your words.

“This happened before too?” He asked.

It did. It was a lot less of a happy ending, however.

“Yeah,” you say regardless, “he took good care of them last time. He’ll do the same in this timeline too. I’m sure of it.”

And this time, he’d have help. Shoko, Satoru, his teachers. They’d all be there for him. Suguru’s memories haven’t changed yet, but you know the future you step into will be a different one.

“In any case, I’m glad I got to see jujutsu tech one last time. It’s a beautiful campus.”

“You act like you’re leaving,” Satoru says, uncaring. “You’ll just come back again next month. Or next year.”

You play with your fingers.

“I...won’t be doing that from now on.”

He pauses. Then, he looks at you.

“What?”

You can’t gauge his reaction, but he doesn’t look happy. You find this a bit hard to swallow.

“I fixed the future.” You smile at him. “I finally did it. Suguru won’t break. Himiko and Nanako won’t lose their father. You won’t lose a friend, anymore. There’s no reason for me to keep coming back. You’re all free.”

You phrased the last part as a joke, but Satoru isn’t laughing.

“Wait, you’re leaving? You’re...leaving leaving.”

You nod. “I can’t believe it either.” You still can’t believe you accomplished everything you set out to do. A task that seemed so impossible, now you’re standing on the other side of it.

It wasn’t truly over. Not really, but you were able to get Suguru through the worst of it. Now, you were sure Satoru and Shoko would take up your mantel, pushing Suguru through the finish line. Just like he’ll do to them.

Satoru’s quiet.

“You seem happy.” He notes.

“Well, I did just save everyone, I think I deserve to feel a little good about myself.”

For a moment, you want to ask if it’ll be okay to visit everyone in the future. To see how Shoko and Suguru and Satoru are doing as adults. You stop yourself. Of course, they wouldn’t want to see you. You needed to stop being so greedy.

This, was more than enough.

“Will you at least tell me your name?” Satoru asks.

“You know I can’t do that.” You tell him with a smile.

“Right right.” He laughs, it sounds hollow. “Time travel, bullshit. Makes sense.”

“I’ll miss you.” You tell him.

He straightens himself up.

“I’ll miss you too, old man.” He responds. “You were a lotta’ fun to mess with.”

For once, you aren’t offended by the old man’, comment. If anything, it feels somber.

“Can I ask for some advice?” He suddenly asks. “Y’know what they say, ask the old and wise or whatever.” Okay, now he was starting to push it.

“What is it?”

It’s his turn to shuffle with his fingers.

“What would you do if...there’s something you really want, but no matter how fast you run, you just can’t catch up to it?”

You glance at him. He looks earnest. Did something like that even exist for Satoru?

“Something I can’t catch up to?” You ponder out loud. “I guess I’d have to make a big enough ruckus to where it has no choice but to look back.”

He frowns. “That makes no sense. You’re growing senile.”

You laugh. You’ll miss this brat.

You wish you could stay more. You wish you could ask about Haibara, and Shoko, and Nanami, but the clock is ticking.

Suguru’s getting impatient.

“Bye, Satoru.” You reach out your hand.

He scrutinizes it, before clasping it within his own.

“Yeah, Greeny.”

Within a blink, you’re back again in the middle of Shinjuku. December 24th, 7:06 pm.

It’s the same as always. People bustle around you. Children’s laughter. Everything always repeats itself, but you don’t think you can ever get sick of it. You’ll savor this peace for as long as you can.

You reach into your pocket, flicking out a lighter and the first cigarette of the box. You don’t know why you always chose this one. Despite outmaneuvering time itself, perhaps it’s within human nature to follow what’s written stone.

You’ve relived this hour so many times that you can list everything that happens. Down to the exact minute. 7:08- a little girl wearing a red dress walks by. 7:09- a lady with short hair catches your eyes and smiles. 7:14-an old man and woman bicker with each other as they pass you by. 7:21- A little dog sniffs the bench you sit on. 7:34- Two schoolchildren run past you, babbling. 7:45- five construction workers grumble out their grievances. 7:58- a businessman talks loudly on the phone.

You wait. You sit on a bench and wait until 8:06.

Five seconds after 8:06. Twenty seconds after 8:06.

The clock clicks to 8:07.

You were expecting to feel something else. Celebration. Elation. You half-expected to cause a scene and jump for joy right there in the streets of Shinjuku.

None of that comes. There’s just a feeling of relief. A weight presses you down, and you slump in your seat.

It was over.

It was finally over.

How long do you stay like that? Hours? Days? When you feel like you can finally breathe again, it’s only 8:12. Time travel warped your sense of time.

You stand up, stretch, feel your bones crack and pop. In the second timeline, you wanted to get a drink to drown your misery of nearly getting killed by a curse and being alone on December 24th. It felt like a lifetime ago when being single was the worst of your problems.

Honestly, you’d stay celibate for the rest of your life if it meant you wouldn’t have to go through that ever again.

Tomorrow, you’ll decompress and devolve into hysteria over what happened.

Next week, you’ll check yourself into therapy.

Today, you decide to go home and sleep for a couple hundred years.

You must look like a zombie with the way you wobble down the street. Physically, your body is perfectly fine. You’ve suffered no bruises or cuts. Even the numerous times you’ve been killed leaves nothing on your skin.

Mentally, you’re in shambles. The indomitable human spirit within you is snuffed out.

The stairs to your flat is your last enemy that you must vanquish before you can reunite with your adoring bed. You cling onto the railing with dazed eyes. You don’t see the curse until you’re right before it.

Distantly, you wonder how often you’ve passed a curse and didn’t even realize it. It’s almost instinct to reach out with your hand, intent on absorbing it.

Nothing happens. You remember you aren’t Suguru anymore.

It’s a grotesque-looking thing. No eyes, too many hands, a gaping mouth. It turns and looks at you.

Strange. Its’ smile mirrors the one in the abandoned house.

Adrenaline. You feel it coarse through your veins, meld into your bones, explode in your skin. You’re stumbling back, nearly tripping down the steps in your haste to get away.

It screeches. Loud and clear and angry and you can almost feel its teeth chomp on your leg, ripping your muscles and skin to mere tatters.

You’ve died before. You’ve been skinned alive before. You’ve been eaten before. Yet, it all amounts to nothing compared to the fear you feel at the thought of the curse catching you.

It can’t have been nothing more than a third grade. If you were taller, larger, special-grade, you could have killed it immediately. But you weren’t, not anymore, you were at the same level as a plant. Useless. Helpless.

A dead man stumbling, tripping, running.

The streets were quiet. You supposed that meant there’d be fewer casualties. But it didn’t make you feel any better. And even if there were people around, no one would have been able to help you.

Your brain isn’t working as clearly. Fear is the only thing that guides you. You’re reduced to a rat scampering through a maze. Sooner or later, that rodent reaches a dead end.

The alleyway was blocked off. You felt the rough brick wall scrape your hands and even the feeling of your raw skin couldn’t assuage your heart pumping in your throat. When you whirled your head back, it was right there, and you knew you were dead.

Again.

It might kill you, if it’s feeling generous. It might cut your legs off and watch you bleed, if its feeling kind. It might eat you, if it’s a decent curse.

It shouldn’t be happening. You fixed it. You were supposed to have fixed everything. But clearly you didn't. There must have been some piece of the puzzle that you forgot. You need to go back. You need to fix things, but why do you need to why can't he just leave you alone—

You don’t see what happens. One moment, the curse is there. The next it isn’t.

“Those things are so annoying.” The newcomer complains.

No, not new. You know him.

You blink. He grins. It’s kind. A toothy smile that warms.

“You alright?” He asks in sympathy. “Curses are pretty scary, aren’t they? Are you hurt?”

It’s him. You weren’t in 2006. You were in the present, here and now, and he was here with you.

He actually made it.

“Ma’am?” He asks.

It wasn’t intentional. You just blurted it out, the promise you made to him. It was a decade for him. Mere hours for you.

“Um, broccoli head...?” And then you instantly regret it.

Haibara Yu takes a minute, eyes squinting like you just grew a new head.

Then, he gasps.

“Greeny?”

ⴵ

A few minutes later, you’re seated at a restaurant. Haibara has not shut up.

“—I—I can’t believe it? It’s actually you! I thought I’d never see you again ‘cuz Gojo said you weren’t gonna be around anymore, and—and then suddenly you pop up outta’ nowhere—not that I’m complaining— but—”

“—Haibara.” You interrupt. “Please, slow down.”

He stops himself, right when the server comes with drinks. He shoots the waiter a smile, and then he’s back on you.

“Sorry.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I—I got a little excited. And nervous. It’s just...well, I didn’t expect you to be a girl.”

That might have been your fault. Both Haibara and Gojo kept referring to you as a man, so you decided to roll with it. Earlier, you would have justified it by insisting the less they know about you, the better. Now, you just think you were being petty.

“So, how you’ve been? A whole decade...” You murmur to yourself.

“Fine! But what about you?” Haibara asks, concern etched into his eyes. “Where’d you go?”

Wow, he was actually worried for you. Despite being in Suguru’s body, you didn’t really feel like part of the group Shoko, Gojo, Nanami, and Haibara were part of. You felt like an outsider, being somewhere you didn’t belong. It's because you were an outsider. Nevertheless, it’s nice to know one person missed you.

“This might be a little hard to believe, but I just came back to 2017 two hours ago.”

Haibara gapes.

“Wait, so to you, that whole thing happened, today?” You nod. He leans back in his chair.

“Holy fuck.” You laugh at his awe.

“Thanks for saving me, by the way.” You change the topic. “From the curse.”

He waves it off. “I was just paying my debt. From what you did for me all those years ago.”

Ah, Gojo must have told him. Oddly enough, Haibara doesn't seem all that perturbed that he shouldn’t exist currently. At the same time, it feels just like Haibara.

He’s different from when he was younger. Taller. The baby fat is gone. His face is more built, just like the rest of his body. His eyes are less round, but they haven’t lost the spark. A few scars here and there, but he’s all in one piece.

You weren’t able to see what he looked like as an adult from Suguru’s memories, he’d never grown up. But now, you can see it for yourself. You can see the active change you made in his life, to his life.

“Haibara—”

“Yu—” He says seriously. “My friends call me Yu.”

A smile twitches on your lips.

“Tell me about everyone.” You scoot your chair closer. “You, Suguru. How is everyone doing?”

He perks up at that, clearly delighted to be talking.

“Great! Everyone’s doing great! You should totally come visit the school, sometime. They’d love to see you. Uh, even if they don’t technically know you, but I’m sure they’ll love to meet you!” He rambles, and it’s nice to know he hasn’t changed from his younger self.

“Let’s see, Kento’s teaching the first years. I teach the second years—”

“—You’re a teacher?”

He nods. “We all are! Except for Shoko, but she has her own thing going on. Anyway, Mimiko and Nanako have become second-grade semi-sorcerors. Isn’t that incredible? I’m just a first grade semi-sorceror, and at their young ages too! But Suguru wasn’t surprised, he kept saying his girls were prodigies. Oh! You probably want to know about Suguru too, right?”

You nod. Even if you hadn’t done anything, you don’t think that would have stopped his enthusiasm.

“He’s a teacher too! At least, for right now. Yaga’s been wanting to retire, and there have been talks of Suguru becoming the next principal. Principal Geto has a ring to it, right? Oh, and Shoko is currently planning the wedding. You’ll definitely be invited, of course! She said I could bring a plus-one. Oh, and—”

It goes on like that for hours, you think. Not that you mind. You listen to Yu babble on and on about his friends, his students. He talks about Nanami’s recent baking addiction, Shoko’s new office cat, Suguru’s favorite tea pot. It’s a never-ending surge of information.

Eventually, you catch on to the fact that he’s deliberately leaving someone out.

"Yu?" You interrupt him while he's talking about the prank the fourth year pulled on Nanami. "What about Satoru? What's he up to?" 

Maybe you were overthinking things. Haibara likes to talk; perhaps he forgot to exclude someone else's story in his rants. But then, he grimaces. For the first time in this entire conversation, Haibara is reluctant to talk. 

"Satoru is..." He winces, and your hands turn into fists. 

No. No. You were supposed to save everyone. Why hadn't you saved everyone? 

A warm hand grips your own. You'd been shaking. 

Yu gives a soft smile, and you remember he's no longer younger than you. 

"He's not dead." He assures you, but his smile fades. He straightens himself up, and his hand pulls away. 

"Satoru defected from Jujutsu tech. We don't know where he is." 

What? You must have misheard him wrong. Satoru wouldn't do that. That's not like him. This is some sick joke.

But there's no teasing grin on Haibara. His face is grave. You hate it more than anything. 

"It happened when he was a fourth year. No one really knows what happened. Suguru refuses to say anything about it, but I think he's just as confused as the rest of us. It came outta nowhere." 

Yeah, it definitely came out of nowhere. It's so random. Why would Satoru do that? The last time you saw him, he was so happy. He was smiling; he teased you. What happened? It made no sense. 

"So, you haven't seen him for nine years?" You ask. "Not even a glimpse?" 

Yu shakes his head. "Nothing but his residuals. That's how we know he's still alive." 

Nothing computes in your brain. None of it made any sense. You saved Suguru. That was supposed to make everyone happy, including Satoru. Why would he turn around and do this? Defecting made no sense.

"We've actually been tasked to execute him. Since he’s been branded a curse user, all four of us. " Yu laughs with no humor. "Isn't that insane? I don't think any one of us could even fathom doing that, even if it were possible." 

It wasn't possible. Gojo was the strongest. Nothing could go toe to toe with him. Once he put his mind to something, no one could stop him.

But maybe you could. 

You're shutting that idea down immediately. You were done. You were done with dying and time-travel and strange powers. You wanted it all to be over. It'd be so easy to thank Haibara for the nice meal, to go home and sleep this entire day off. Satoru dug his own grave, he can go lay in it. You weren't responsible for someone else's actions. You wouldn’t. You can’t do that another time.

You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right?

You hate that brat so much. 

You close your eyes. Take in a breath. Then, you open them. 

"Haibara?" You ask. "Did Gojo tell you how my technique worked?" 

He shakes his head. You grimace because convincing him might take a while.

"Okay, well, I'll need you to do a tiny favor for me."

ⴵ

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Oh, you're back already?" Satoru says casually, turning back to gaze at you. "I just left today. How did you convince Haibara to snap your neck? That guy cries after killing a mosquito.”

You’d caught him just as he was leaving campus. Yu’s body was less athletic than Suguru’s. Your breath was slightly ragged, pulled down by minor exhaustion.

It doesn’t weigh down your frustration for Gojo Satoru. The biggest pain in your ass you’ve ever met.

“Shut up.” You snap. “Just answer the question.”

“We haven’t seen each other for a year and that’s how you react?” Satoru ignores you. “That’s mean, Greeny. How ‘bout we discuss my treason over steak. Haibara can pay.”

“Satoru.” You beg, “Why are you doing this? What’s the point? Why is everyone happy with their life except for you?”

That seems to get him. His posture stiffens ever so slightly. You can see him work his jaw. He finally drops his act.

“You didn’t have to come back, y’know.” He murmurs quietly. “You could’ve just stayed in the future. Like you said, Greeny, everyone’s happy with their life. 4 outta’ five. That’s a passing grade.”

For once, you wish you could possess him. You wished you could open his brain and peer into his memories until he finally made sense.

“I could never leave you behind like that.” You say the truth just as quietly. “I’ll die a thousand more deaths than do that.”

He smiles. It looks genuine as it looks painful.

“Yeah, I know. I know you, Greeny. Always gotta’ play hero.” He gives a bitter laugh. “That’s why I defected.”

You stare at him. He’s a fourth-year now, even taller than before. You aren’t equal to him anymore in this body, now you’re starting to think you never were.

“Satoru.” You start because what he’s saying can’t be the truth. Your heart broke and broke. “Did—did you leave—did you leave everyone for a decade just so I’d come back? Why would you do that to yourself?”

He doesn’t say anything. Then, he steps forward, just a bit.

“It’s your fault,” Satoru says like it’s instinct to blame you for his actions, “this was your idea.”

What’s he talking about? And then memories of the two of you sitting on that bench just outside of campus.

What would you do if...there’s something you really want, but no matter how fast you run, you just can’t catch up to it? So that’s what he meant. You were an idiot.

“That’s not fair, Satoru,” you say regardless, “I—I never—I couldn’t expect you’d do this.”

“What choice did I fucking have, Greeny?” There’s rapid steps and he’s in front of you, desperate and wild. “You—you just left me here. You left me alone and I couldn’t even look for you because I know nothing about you. Your face, your eyes, your hair, not even your fucking name! How’s that fair?”

It’s true. It’s all true. As much as you tried to claim you tried to make everyone happy, you only focused on Suguru. And Suguru’s happiness enlisted space from the strongest. In a different timeline, things would be different between them. A button he never left behind. Words Satoru never said. That timeline held too much pain and suffering, so you scrubbed it from history. In this rendition, everything was changed. Suguru had Shoko. Yu had Kento. Who did Satoru have?

You saved Suguru in this timeline. But to save him, you neglected Satoru.

Satoru must have known. He must have known you intentionally distanced Suguru from him, but he allowed it anyway. Satoru’s selfless like that. Too giving. Too Godlike.

But he’s selfish too. Purposefully demeaning himself so he could get one more glimpse of you, uncaring if you went through hell for his sake. Too taking. Too human.

Once, you told him that if he was selfish, just once, you wouldn’t fault him. What a liar you are.

You forgive Satoru.

“I’m sorry.” Haibara’s voice is like your own. You step closer. His infinity lets you in. “I’m sorry Satoru. I didn’t mean to leave you alone.”

It’s hard to wrap him in a hug. The brat’s too big. He sinks into your touch like a tiger, filled with dangerous claws, retracted just for your sake. He shakes the tiniest bit; even now, he’s keeping himself as a pinnacle. If you hear a sniffle or two, you don’t comment on it.

It’s why your heart breaks to tell him the truth.

“I can’t give you my name.” You whisper in his ear. He pulls back. He doesn’t look at you.

“Yeah, I know. I know. time-travel bullshit—”

“For now.” You add. “I can’t do that for now.”

Three pairs of eyes look at you. You’re not hiding behind Haibara anymore. You’re not trying to.

“December 24th, 2017. 8:06. Tokyo Skytree.” You look at him. “Can you wait until then?”

For you, it’d only be an hour. For Satoru, it’d be a decade.

You expect him to reject it, to yell at you. You decide if he wants to be selfish; you’d let him.

“If you don’t show up, I’ll turn evil.” You laugh. His grin widens and he’s back again. “I’m serious. I’ll take over the world. I’ll throw the biggest temper tantrum ever.”

“You’re such a brat.” There’s no hostility in your tone. “I will. I promise.”

‘I’ll save you,’ You promise in your head because he’s too prideful to hear it.

“Is it still possible for you to go back?” You ask, the wariness present again. “The higher ups haven’t taken any action against you, right?”

He shakes his head.

“I think Yaga might yell at me, but other than that.” He shrugs. “They’ll decide it’s teen rebellion and sweep it under the rug.”

You laugh again. Satoru shoots you a toothy grin.

When you reach out a hand, Satoru mirrors you. He clasps your hand in his. For once, you wonder how they’ll feel on your own.

“See ya’ later, Greeny.”

A blink. Satoru’s gone. Your hand is empty, and you’re standing in the streets of Shinjuku once again.

ⴵ

December 24th, 2017. 8:06, at the top of the Tokyo Skytree.

Why did you decide on that date and time for all the places? You were so fucking stupid. You needed to stop being so poetic.

It’s already 7:12 when you’re desperately waving down a taxi. The driver looks disinterested when you blubber out the location. When he tells you it’ll cost extra because Sumida City isn’t part of his route, you’re more than happy to fork over the money.

It’s already 7:35 when you stumble through the interiors of Tokyo Skytree town. It’s crowded. Fuck, it’s December 24th, of course people would be out and about.

At 7:44, you finally reach the observational building. And then you hit upon a snag.

It’s closed.

Renovations, the sign reads, accompanied by an irritatingly cute drawing of a cat, please come visit us next week.

Would this excuse be enough to satisfy Satoru? You’re only human. Surely he’d understand if you couldn’t make it because the entire building was shut down.

Or wait. Was this Satoru’s doing?

You look up at the tower. Lights were still on and flickering. No crowds. No people. No prying eyes.

Let it be known that you’ve never trespassed before, until you met Gojo Satoru.

With a guilty conscious, you step over the line. You justify it by convincing yourself you were saving the world because you know Satoru wasn’t joking a decade ago.

The elevators still worked. Thank God. Yet another hint he’s paving the way for you. You made the location, but it feels like you’re a mouse stuck in a human-designed maze. Even though you set up the game, he’s still managed to rig it.

You land on the first deck at 7:52. At 7:56, you reach the second observational deck.

It’s empty. You’ve never seen the skytree so empty before. Not a single soul is here except for you. Your footsteps echo across the floor. Were you early?

Out the corner of your eye, there’s a post-it note stuck on the window. A hand-drawn arrow. Up ahead, there’s another one.

You follow the next, and then the next. All the time you don’t know how to feel about him doing all of this just for an encounter. Something bubbles in your stomach. You’re pushing it down.

You follow the post-its until there’s one placed right on top of a door.

Authorized personnel only. Why does this brat continue to test you?

But it’s already 8:03; you’re far too deep to complain.

A service elevator greets you. If you press the button, it’ll take you all the way up to the broadcast equipment, the top of the Tokyo Skytree.

It’s different from the past two elevator rides. The service elevator isn’t all that polished. The wheels squeak a little too dangerously at times. It’s slower, too.

That’s bad, because now you’re starting to think.

That familiar feeling boils within your stomach, again. You’re anxious. It’s strange to say, but meeting Satoru through Suguru, meeting Satoru through Yu, it felt like you had a protective shell around yourself. You were free from his judgement, only invoking curiosity.

If you show yourself to him, how would he react? What would he say? Would he get angry that you made him wait a decade for such a blunder? Even worse, what if he doesn’t get angry?

What if—what if he’s disappointed by you?

Cold feet. It freezes your toes. You want to go back. You want the elevator to go back down, you want to go home and hide away.

But you promised Satoru. He deserves answers.

Pathetic answers are better than no answers at all.

Instead of your soul being protected by a sorcerer's body, it’s protected by your own. You’d steel yourself for whatever comes next. You could melt after.

It’s windy up here. That’s the first thing you notice. Icy wind cuts at your face and your eyes squint so they don’t dry out so quickly. It’s colder, too; your jacket is nice protection, but nothing helps your vulnerable hands.

But the view. Oh, what a view.

The sea of twinkling lights shines from the city. The sun has set, leaving Tokyo to do nothing but shine. She’s gorgeous like she’s picked the stars from the sky, burying them within her own soul. You could stay there forever, if she let you.

It’s 8:09. Satoru was late.

Or maybe he just wasn’t planning to show up.

You lean away from the railing. It’s just like him to make huge gestures and at the last moment, ditch everything. The balloon in your lungs deflates ever so slightly.

And then, you can feel hands.

Around your shoulders, caging you in. Large and warm despite the icy air. You know these hands. They’re familiar, even a decade later. His chest presses up against your back. His face settles in the crook of your neck.

His laugh tickles your ear, and you aren’t so cold anymore.

“Caught ya, Greeny.”

(“Did something happen to you, back there in the house?”

"Hm?" Suguru asked.

They were wading through long grass and overgrown weeds. Satoru glances at his friend. Suguru looks fine. His cursed energy has gone back to normal. That's probably good.

"You were just acting weird," Satoru said, "I mean you fell on your ass in front of a curse. Embarrassing."

Suguru huffed, a red hue across his cheeks. "Shut up, don't remind me."

'So he remembered,' Satoru thinks, 'didn't expect that.'

They're almost to the car when Suguru speaks again.

"Actually, I did feel a little strange," he says, "I felt like I wasn't really all there. There was this voice, guiding me along."

"Really?" Satoru shivers. "That sounds creepy."

So the entity within Suguru was a bad thing after all. He should try to get rid of it if it ever comes back. It might take a complex spell or something-

"Not really." Suguru said. "It's hard to explain, but it felt....nice."

"Nice?" Satoru echoes.

"Yeah."

And then it's quiet again.)

Part two: Rewound Infinitely

[zkg2318]

Blood on Fire ~ pt. 1 | LHS

A/N: this is part 1 of the BOF series! I have decided to divide this story up by who's sex scene is in it, but in order to fully understand the story, you must start with part 1 and finish (if you want). they are plot driven, and context will not make sense if you start with part 2, etc...

genre/tags ✶ MDNI reverse harem!hyung line x afab!reader, angst, smut, gore and violence, supernatural themes, (sirens, werewolves, vampires, shapeshifters, phoenixes, frost elves, dragons, witches, and more…), underground betting, alcohol use, blood, verbal and physical violence, murder, manipulation, death (no major characters, lol kinda), government themes (not political), fight club au, ot7

synopsis ✶ In a city where the supernatural are arrested on sight, the only refuge for their pent-up rage is “The Enha Arena”- an exclusive, hidden venue where creatures engage in brutal, blood-soaked battles with one another. Concealed beneath the unassuming exterior of “Dusk and Dawn,” a gym that serves as the front of a totally legal business, this underground fight club acts as the epicenter for this violent world where supernatural beings not only fight for dominance and pride but for the sheer thrill of it all. In dire need of some money, you find yourself drawn into the fight club when you come across a black market job posting- an offer for a new trainer at the gym. Desperate for new ways to keep your own abilities under wraps and even learn about other supernatural beings, you accept the position, completely unaware of the dangers and complicated relationships that await you

WC ✶ 16.9k

Part 2

smut warnings under the cut

smut warnings ✶ monster erotica (obviously), blood play/kink, love bites, spanking, dubcon, bondage, unprotected sex, aphrodisiac usage (kinda), degradation, pet names, oral fem!receiving, vaginal fingering

Luxta was different from other cities; it was neither big nor small- large enough that not everyone knew each other by name, but small enough that you didn’t need to make it a day trip to get to the grocery store. What set apart Luxta from other cities was the thriving population of supernatural beings living in the shadows, though their existence was only known by the government and select humans. The rest of the world, including the unsuspecting citizens of Luxta, had no idea that they walked on the same streets as did you so-called ‘monsters’, the ones that should have only ever existed in stories.

Being supernatural was illegal in Luxta and if you were to be caught by those hand-held scanners the government officials in the enforcement division wore around their belt, you’d be arrested on site. They weren’t as far-reaching or accurate as the large, reinforced scanners that were mounted in the back of their trucks or brought to building inspections, but they were enough to ruin your life. So, like everyone else who had the misfortune of being ‘different’, you stayed hidden.

There was one solution to these scanners: suppressants. A sort of perfume that you could use to spray on yourself that would make you undetectable to their scanners. But they were difficult to come by, the production being regulated by one man and their distribution being restricted to underground networks that sold them at sky-high prices. And they were experimental at best, coming with an abundance of long-lasting side effects and malfunctions that didn’t guarantee 100% effectiveness. For the few people that could afford one, they were used as an emergency fall-back.

And for the majority few that didn’t have that luxury, they stayed in The Veil, the black market’s so-called ‘base’ for the supernatural. For you personally, you lived there until you turned three, when a blue-collar couple took you in a few days after your birthday. “Adopted” wouldn’t be the right word- “purchased” would fit the situation better. Given only a handful of humans knew about the supernatural, these types of ‘transactions’ came with a strict clause that if broken, were punishable by death. Even so, 90% of supernatural children grew up as orphans, relying on The Veil for support.

Being adopted in the supernatural community was supposed to be some sort of grand escape from poverty, and in a way, it was. But since meeting your parents, you never stepped foot outside of your home. From the moment you met your parents, you never left your parents’ 800 square foot apartment and its measly excuse for a patio that overlooked the area where people took out their trash.

You existed only to service your human parents- like some sort of bloody commodity. At first, you didn’t know any better. A few healing touches here, a bit of supernatural magic there- it was harmless. But as you grew older, smarter, it didn’t take a genius to know why you were really there. You were just a piece of capital to them, a tool to be used.

As a phoenix, you were an expensively rare commodity. Your regenerative and healing abilities made you invaluable, and many people sought after those traits- but few possessed those characteristics. Your parents, both construction workers, were no stranger to danger in the field. Injuries were a part of their daily lives, and having you around to heal their wounds was an advantage they never hesitated to use.

It was routine- your mother’s strained back from lifting heavy materials and your father’s broken bones from working with heavy machinery. It was the perfect system, your healing touches allowing them to return to their jobs faster than most could manage, like a money making pig. But their injuries were extensive, more than just a mere cut or bruise. Every wound you healed required a certain amount of energy, the more severe wounds drained you of energy for days. As time went on, you felt your body getting weaker and weaker until eventually, you just couldn’t do it anymore.

Whether it was because your body was drained of its own powers or you just couldn’t find it in you to help them anymore, you stopped healing them. So at 14 years old, they kicked you out of their home when they realized they couldn’t extort you of your powers anymore. The realization that you parents had only used you for your abilities hits you hard now, but at the time, it was like a huge burden had been lifted off of your shoulders. And now, for the last six years you’ve been living alone in a poorly lit apartment that’s been funded by The Veil; two years out of highschool and working part time jobs at home all while remaining disconnected from the world outside. Since being kicked out, you hadn’t physically interacted with anyone aside from the person that delivers your groceries to your door. At this point, you’re starting to think you have a deeper connection with your delivery driver than anyone else in your life.

But now, even that little security was slipping away from you. The Veil was making room for the next generation of supernatural kids, which meant only one thing- you were getting kicked out. You still had a few more months to get your shit together, find a new place and make sure you had a stable enough job to maintain yourself in this economy. Your side hustles weren’t going to be enough to cover a first and last month's rent deposit anywhere. So that’s how you ended up here, pulling on some workout gear for some gym training job you found on the dark web for a place called “Dusk and Dawn,” a supernaturally owned gym that operated within the shadows of the black market. The wage was kind, almost too kind and it had you second-guessing the legitimacy of the job- but you were in no position to play it safe right now.

There wasn’t much of an interview process, just some email telling you that your first day would involve being shadowed by a staff member to see how well you interact with their clients. It sounded doable, despite your half empty resume and lack of any formal qualifications. But surely, your years of self-defense training during your free time through a computer screen counted for something, right?

When night finally settles over the city, you leave your cramped studio apartment, watching garbage sweep across the broken cracks in the sidewalk as you hastily make your way down the alleyways. It always took a bit longer to get to where you wanted when you took the back alleys over the main roads, but it was a safety net you had no choice but to rely on whenever you went out. The shadows of the alleys felt safer anyways, more familiar to you than the brightly lit streets that crawled with government officials late at night.

Luxta was always scarce at night, save for the few men in blue that scoured the streets looking for the supernatural under the guise that they were just keeping watch over the neighborhood. When the supernatural had first invaded the city, it was more of a slow encroachment than a sudden flood. It started with a few whispers at first, shadows passing by in the night. Then rumors began to stretch across the city as sightings of these fleeting figures moving faster than the human eye could imagine became more and more frequent. It was never officially confirmed what they were, but the government responded swiftly and labelled the mysterious occurrences as nothing more than a mere increase in criminal activity.

The men in blue- members of the government’s enforcement division- were sent out in droves after that, scouring the streets while armed with silver scanners clipped to their belts. Their devices would emit a piercing alarm at around 90 decibels whenever it detected a supernatural presence, irritatingly announcing their capture to anyone nearby. It’s game over once you hear that alarm, immediate handcuffs specifically designed to detain the supernatural. What happened after was anyone’s guess.

There’s speculation in the supernatural community about what they do with you after you’re arrested: years of brutal testing, harsh interrogations, maybe even torture only to conclude it with a senseless execution. But no one outside of that division knew what happened beyond the arrests made in public. And no one knew why they were even populating Luxta in the first place. The only thing you did know was that your only ally was The Veil.

Arriving in front of a dimly lit building that is squished between a post office and a laundromat, you’re pulled from your thoughts when you see a flickering “Dusk and Dawn” sign hanging above the entrance. You look at the windows, but you can’t see past the dirt and scratches that decorate the glass, obscuring any view of inside. With a nervous breath, you push open the door to the entrance, its rusty bell ringing above you as you enter.

Your eyes fall on the counter before you, its fading white paint peeling at the sides from years of wear and tear. Behind the counter sits a woman with sleek black hair and rectangular framed glasses that accentuate her sharp jawline, “Hello?” you call, glancing around the small waiting room.

The woman glances up, her brown eyes zeroing in on you as you step closer, “And you are?” she asks with disinterest in her tone.

“I’m Y/n, I’m here for orientation as the new gym trainer?” you respond. Up close, you can see that she’s around your age, maybe a few years older with smooth skin and dark eyes that shine at you despite the deadbeat tone she uses to address you with.

She gives you a curt nod, her expression slightly brightening, “My name is Yuqi, I’m the manager here,” she slides off of her stool, the old wood creaking beneath her. “Were you able to see well in the dark, I know the hours of your orientation seem a bit odd, but we’re a 24/7 gym.”

Your mind hesitates as you recall the unspoken question to recognizing a fellow supernatural: asking about the darkness of the sky, “It was glimmering enough for me to see clearly, thanks.”

Yuqi narrows her eyes before offering you a smile, flicking her tongue at you. You watch as her eyes transition from a dark brown to a piercing yellow, her pupils narrowing into a slit. A subtle hiss comes from her as the forked tip darts out at you in a dangerous frenzy. You freeze, mesmerized by the way her thin tongue moves in an unsettling precision, like she’s trying to reel you in, “I’m a serpent, but if you really wanted to get technical, I’m a basilisk,” she explains, observing your wide eyes, “You don’t seem to know many supernatural, do you?”

You blink at her, shoulders slumping as you shake your head.

“Well, if orientation goes ok, you’ll be meeting a lot more supernatural people here. Things can get… intense,” she says, her eyes glinting with pride. “Come,” she gestures for you to follow her, guiding you through a large room filled with old gym equipment that look like they’re about ready to break. You don’t stop there though as she continues to lead you into a dim hallway where a heavy iron door clad with locks and chains at the end of the hall is. You hear a thrum of things clanging on the ground and low murmurs behind the door, and an uneasy tension begins to coil in your chest.

“So, how much do you know about our gym?”

“The ad only told me I’d be helping people work out, nothing more.”

Yuqi raises her eyebrow as she reaches into her pocket, pulling out a silver key. When she begins to unlock the chains, she turns to you, “Don’t be alarmed, things are just different here,” she says calmly, undoing the last lock.

With a rough push of her shoulder, the door opens with a heavy click, unveiling a space that feels worlds apart from the one you just saw minutes ago. The polished bamboo floors shine under the cool lighting of the gym, the industrial light fixtures hanging 6 feet in the air. Each area of the gym is meticulously organized, groups of machines clustered by function on top of black rubber gym tiles. There’s even motivational black and white posters hanging on the walls, accompanied by black plates that adorn the walls near the benches and squat racks. It all feels so overwhelming, the sheer volume of equipment just waiting to be used.

But the most striking feature of the auditorium had to be the imposing boxing ring that sat to the left of everything, its rubber barriers worn and fraying in a way that commanded authority. Encircling three out of four sides of the ring was a bunch of bleachers that looked as though they had been spray-painted black to match the aesthetic of the black and white theme the rest of the gym was following, giving it a high-end yet gritty finish.

“Welcome to the Dusk Gym,” Yuqi says with pride laced in her voice, her gaze sweeping over the space in front of you, “What you saw outside was our Dawn Gym. I know the ad said you’d be helping people work out,” she continues by gesturing at a few of the members working out on some of the equipment, “but that’s only a fraction of what you’ll be doing.”

You turn to her, confusion evident in the way you tilt your head and furrow your brows, “What do you mean?” your voice carries a mixture of wariness and intrigue as Yuqi’s thin lips curve upwards into a smirk.

“Nestled within Dusk Gym is the Enha Arena,” she reveals, her voice dropping a few decibels as she points to the boxing ring, “This is where supernatural beings come to fight one another, to test their limits and use their powers without worrying about the legal repercussions,” She matches your gaze with her own and presses her lips together, “We are technically an underground fight club, Dawn Gym is just a front. There’s an official match with spectators once a month. And yes, this is extremely illegal.”

Listening to her words, you swallow a string of saliva building up in your throat. As she continues, an uneasy wave washes over you and a coil begins to tighten in your stomach.

“Your job isn’t just to guide them through their workouts, but to prepare them to fight one another, to teach them how to harness their abilities and control them. One mistake in public, and they jeopardize not only themselves, but the entire underground community.”

Her words hang in the air like an impending storm, the heavy weight of them waiting to strike. A nauseating tension settles in your stomach as you begin to question your capabilities for the job, your confidence waning by the minute. Uncertainty swirls through your mind, your lacking qualifications pressing against your forehead like a swollen thought. “You’ll be given a journal that was started by our old trainer- it’s got notes on every member in the gym, so don’t feel like you’re going into this blindly.”

You press your lips together, “Ok, anything else?”

“You’ll also need to make sure they’re pushing themselves to be their best without losing control. It’s on you to make sure they’re ready to fight, mentally and physically. At the end of the day, we’re a fight club and that’s how we make most of our money.”

You hold her gaze, finally feeling her words settle like lead. “Ok, but why a fight club? Why all the violence?” You feel your words catch in your throat as you ask, feeling as though this may be too much to take on. But you couldn’t turn it down, the pay was good and there weren’t many other supernatural jobs that were hiring.

Yuqi looks around the gym, nodding towards a few of the patrons that were already working up a sweat before answering your question, “I’m sure you’re well aware of this already, but the majority of us have spent our lives isolated from the real world. A lot of us don’t know how to regulate ourselves. Not being brought up properly didn’t give us the chance to learn how to cope with big emotions. The Veil helped create this place for us, a space for the supernatural to confront their inner demons and let their anger out in a safe environment” her voice softens for a moment, the slit of her pupils expanding briefly, “In a place like this, they don’t have to hide.”

Her words hit harder than you expect, cutting through a part of your heart that still aches for your past. Despite leaving the community, you had still hidden yourself. Even after being taken in and offered what you were forced to call a home, it felt more like a prison than living without a roof over your head. Forced to hide away what was an extension of yourself and acknowledged only when it benefited the two people who were supposed to love and cherish you, you never thought you’d see the day where you could embrace your entire being. Yet here you are, standing in a place where you weren’t a secret anymore but rather a strength. It’s foreign, and if it weren’t for Yuqi’s words holding up a mirror to your own past, you never would’ve questioned what life was like where you weren’t discriminated against for being different. You would be an idiot to not take this job up now.

“Now, be a good girl and introduce yourself to one of our patrons. I’ll be right behind you.” She shoves you along a bit, following after you with a soft laugh. “You’ll be working with Heeseung, Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon. They’re four of our seven regulars here.”

You bite your lip out of nervousness and find the nearest patron, only getting a view of his back as you watch him push through a set of squats. You can see his muscles strain beneath the weight, each striae bulging beneath the tight compression of his black long-sleeve. His focus is nearly palpable as he executes each movement with a haunting precision and you almost hesitate to introduce yourself, but Yuqi pushes you forward again and into his peripheral vision. When you stumble in front of him, you see that his skin is a striking porcelain white and you feel a sub zero chill run through your spine as you step into his presence. Noticing your feet awkwardly shuffling from one weight to the other, he pulls his earbuds out and gives you a strikingly cold stare.

“Hi, I’m Y/n,” your voice trembles a bit, your confidence wavering as an icy chill travels through your veins. Your next words catch in your throat as you begin to find it harder to focus, the temperature of your body becoming colder by the second. “I’m a new trainer here… at Dusk and Dawn. I’m just getting to know everyone.” You kick yourself internally for fucking up your intro, but your mind falters when your muscles begin to stiffen, the coldness gripping you like an iron vice.

Frozen in place, you opt to stare into Sunghoon’s eyes, a storm of frost and grief storming behind them. There’s a mysterious depth to them that draws you in despite the arctic freeze that’s creeping through your body, an irrational pull to figure him out.

When Yuqi notices your frozen state, she moves to deliver a sharp smack to the back of Sunghoon’s head, “Knock it off, Sunghoon,” She scolds, throwing him a venomous glare. “You’re not a walking AC unit,”

The boy has an air of arrogance to him that floats around him like a cloud, thundering when she gets too close. Rolling his eyes, his lips curve into a mocking smirk before he slides his earbuds back in as if dismissing you. You’re about to scoff when Yuqi slips her arm through yours, pulling you away before he can catch a glance at your flushed out cheeks. “Please excuse him. He’s a frost elf, so don’t expect much empathy from him.”

“Is that why I nearly died of hypothermia all of a sudden?” you ask, rubbing your arms despite your core temperature returning back to normal almost immediately.

She sighs, shaking her head as she drags you over to the next patron. “Probably, it’s a defense mechanism of his. When he feels negative emotions like annoyance or just wants to push someone away, his body temperature significantly drops, as well as whoever else he wants to affect.”

“So he did it on purpose?”

“I’m not sure,” she answers, tapping her foot on the floor, “It’s integrated into his sympathetic nervous system, so it normally activates when his fight or flight gets triggered. But if he really wanted to, he could control it. But I’ve noticed he just lets it happen whenever, like it’s his way of telling people you’re pissing him off.”

You give her a simple nod, filing the information away in the back of your brain to jot down for later. When you gather yourself, your gaze falls onto the next patron- a tall, lean guy who was too busy re-racking his weights on the bench press to notice your presence. His taut muscles flex under his white compression shirt as he handles the bar, each side stacked with more weight than you could imagine. “Fresh blood?” he asks without even sparing you a glance.

Before you can respond, Yuqi leans over, “He’s a vampire. He can smell your blood from miles away. Just don’t stare into Heeseung’s eyes for too long.”

You give the woman a nod of confirmation, playing it off as if meeting a vampire was just a regular occurrence. Turning to the vampire, you offer him a short but polite greeting, looking anywhere except his crimson gaze. Just like with Sunghoon, you find an invisible tug pulling you towards him that has you craving more, an unknown urge in your belly asking you to uncover whatever it was this person was hiding from you.

He shoots you a knowing smile, his pearly white fangs peeking out while he narrows his red eyes on you, as if testing your resolve. His stare pierces through you, slickening your core with a striking heat that has you instinctively pressing your thighs against each other. You feel a warmth begin to pool in your stomach as your composure starts to crumble, his gaze melting you like frost in the morning sun, “Yeah, that’s enough of that,” Yuqi says, pulling you away from his heat induced fixation.

Her grip on you is uncomfortably tight as she pulls you over to a corner where another person is working hard at a punching bag, each one of his strikes sending a powerful ripple through the tough canvas. The rhythm is hypnotic as he paces around the bag, his muscles surging with every hit. You stay back and watch for a moment, flinching as he assaults the bag with an unspoken aggression, years of pent up anger charged with each punch. Without even turning to address you, he snarls in an aggravated tone with his lips curled up, “Don’t bother, I already heard all the introductions.”

You raise an eyebrow and turn to Yuqi, finding yourself increasingly annoyed at the little respect you’ve been offered from the boys. “That’s Jake, another one of your trainees. Don’t mind him either… he’s a werewolf, so his hearing is enhanced, as well as all his other senses.” Yuqi looks around momentarily before connecting her hands together, turning to give you a small smile.

“Alright, I think you can find the last member assigned to you by yourself, but there is one more thing I’d like to show you,” she places a hand on your shoulder and guides you back over to the entrance. Gesturing upwards with her hand, she points to a glass booth that was suspended above the gym floor, facing the Enha Arena on the other side of the gym. “That’s our staff room. We have access to it 24/7, letting us control who enters and exits the Dusk Gym. Patrons will use the same entrance we came through with a staff to unlock the chains and everything, and we all leave through this one-way exit,” she points to a smaller door a few feet away from the entrance.

Looking over to where she points, you feel a sense of finality wash over you. The gym was starting to feel more and more like a fortress by the second, all the security features overwhelming your mind. “This isn’t just a gym, Y/n,” she says as if reading your mind, “It’s a sanctuary, and we take security here very seriously. Come find me in a few hours once you’re done, ok? I’ll be in the booth.”

With a final wave, Yuqi disappears up a staircase, leaving you by yourself with the few patrons that were still training. There were only four men in the gym, which meant the last one had to be Jay. Looking around, you spot him at the pull up bars, a grunt escaping him with each rep.

Sweat slickens your hands, and before moving, you hastily rub your hands up and down your leggings. “Hey,” you say, waving your hand. The boy hops off the pull up bar and looks at you expectantly with an eyebrow raised exceptionally high, “My name’s Y/n, I’m just introduced myself as the new gym trainer here.”

“The name is Jay, though I don’t think I’ll need much help…” he looks you up and down, his gaze terribly imposing as he takes you in, “... from you.”

You scoff at that, swallow the urge to get to know him better like a bitter pill. Like a switch, you narrow your golden eyes at the boy, refusing to let him brush you off like that, “If you want to fix that poor pull up form, you’ll want it,” your voice is rich with annoyance as you feel a deep sense of aggravation draw from within you.

He lets out an airy laugh, a breath of fire escaping his mouth as he does, “I don’t take advice from people who think ‘chin ups’ count as a real up.”

“Keep saying that when your protein shakes start tasting like the salt from your tears,” you shoot back, forcibly shoving him to the side, “And I don’t do chin ups,” Jay stumbles into the bar as his eyes begin to glow with an orange hue, an amused annoyance radiating off his warm body while a smirk creeps onto his face.

You jump onto the bar with ease, gripping the iron structure firmly before pulling yourself up in one fluid motion. With an almost annoying ease, you begin to pump out as many reps as possible, each one silently taunting him. Eventually, you drop back down to the floor once you find yourself losing count, letting your chest rise and fall with a feigned exertion.

“That’s cute, but half reps don’t count,” he declares, straightening his posture as the smirk on his face dies out like an old flame, “Now move, I’ll give you something to fucking count.”

You roll your eyes as you step back, letting him line up below the bar, “Did you need a spot, or can you get up there by yourself?” you tease, but he shuts you up with an angry grunt.

As he powers through each movement, every motion as fluid as your own, you catch a glimpse of red as his tank top moves with the speed of his reps. Red scales decorate a part of his lats and shoulders, shimmering like molten embers embedded in his skin, catching underneath the glint of the harsh lights hanging from the gym ceiling.

“Good job, Jay. Maybe you’ll graduate to a real pull up,” you say, a smirk playing its way onto your lips as you turn around. Without waiting for his response, you make your way towards the sound of metal banging on metal.

In another area of the gym is Heeseung, sitting at one of the high-end rowing machines, working up a sweat as his muscles flex under the synthetic material of his shirt. When you fall into his line of vision, he drops the grip to the row, “Can I help you?” he asks, his voice dripping with an allure as he eyes you up and down.

“I noticed your right shoulder was sagging, did you recently strain your rotator cuff?” you say, pointing at his shoulder.

He rubs the shoulder in question, feeling for the pain and nods his head, “Some bitch twisted me into the ring ropes of the arena, fucked up my shoulder and everything,” he grunts, moving it around as if to show he was still in pain, “I was just going to let it heal itself.” He moves to pick the grip back up, wincing as he pulls backwards on the heavy weight attached to it.

Without thinking, you reach out to him and place your hand over his, pulling back when he flinches away from your touch. “Sorry, but you’re just going to make it worse if you keep going,” you tell him, “Can I touch your shoulder?”

He drops the grip again, letting it hit the metal bar in the middle of the machine with a loud clang before looking at you with a coy smile, “Be my guest.”

You ignore the obvious tease in his voice and step closer to him, reaching your palm out to cover the curve of his shoulder. A quiet hush falls between the two of you as warmth diffuses from your hand while a soft orange glow emanates from your palm. The warmth intensifies as it spreads over his shoulders like liquid fire, seeping into his muscle until you feel the tautness melt away.

Heeseung’s red eyes widen slightly as he pulls away from your touch, rolling his shoulders back, “What the hell was that?”

“I’m a phoenix,” you say simply, amusement flickering across your face as you watch astonishment cross his features, his stoic mask dropping for a brief moment.

“Shit, didn’t think I’d ever meet one,” he mutters under his breath, quickly resuming his workout to test out his newfound repairment.

A twinge of sadness tugs on your heart as his words settle over you like a heavy weight pressing you to acknowledge the sad truth of the fact. You force a smile, despite his focus being elsewhere, “Yeah, we’re quite rare now,” you say more to yourself than him, an affirmation of the loneliness written into the stars. Your thoughts are burdened by the inescapable truth: you’ll never encounter another phoenix as there can only ever be one solitary ember burning in this world, destined to rise and fall until their purpose is fulfilled. At least that’s what Google says.

Heeseung finishes his set as you stand back awkwardly, unsure of what to do, “You should spend some time with Niki, he tends to hurt himself a lot during training. Usually Minnie helps, but she can only do so much with a sports medicine degree.”

“Who is Minnie?”

Heeseung stands up from the machine, seemingly done with rowing, “She’s just another trainer here. She works with Sunoo, Jungwon, and Niki.” He explains, using a towel to clean the seat on the row machine, “There are some other trainers, like Yuqi, who work with the casuals, but the seven of us are Dusk and Dawn regulars. We kind of hold the fort down here.”

“Good to know, thanks,” you say with a quick nod. When he starts to move to another machine, you don’t follow him and instead offer him a quick wave goodbye, “I’ll see you around, Heeseung.” When he nods you off, you leave the gym, ascending the same staircase Yuqi had used earlier to head up to the office. Reaching the top, you’re met with a short hallway. At the end, a single door on the left catches your eye- the staff room. With a quick knock, you enter the room to find Yuqi sitting at a large desk with several monitors in front of her, security camera footage running across each screen.

Hearing you enter, she swivels her chair around, a large smile on her face as her snake eyes long and you, “Just the person I wanted to see!” she exclaims, waving her hand for you to come over, “Looks like you’re getting along quite well with the boys, so I’ll go ahead and email you the schedule for their training sessions and the journal I was telling you about earlier. Their next match is in two weeks, so you’ll be preparing for that.” She turns to grab something from her desk, reading for a worn out leather journal, “You did more than enough today, so study this journal and I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, placing the item in your arms with a satisfied nod. You take the tattered journal from her, the weight of its content acting as a tangible reminder of the crazy few hours you just had.

When you exit the building, the early morning air hits you like a slap, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. The streets were devoid of any governmental presence now, too much of a commitment for them to maintain any vigilance past 3 a.m. You knew they’d be back on the streets around 12 p.m., and that the neighborhood would soon be populated with moms and their strollers and people walking to work by 7 a.m. the earliest. So this four hour period in which the streets were abandoned was something the supernatural community knew well, a time slot in which the supernatural could leave their homes and stretch their legs without having to worry so much about being caught.

As you walk home, you see figures blur by you at an unnatural speed while others propel themselves dozens of feet into the air, skipping across roofs. It was a testament to what the human eye could only deem as a fantasy, but to you, it was an unspoken reality that only thrived in the quietness of the early morning. Even during this time, though, there were still limits. Elemental abilities were still kept at bay- no one dared to bend water or fire in public so openly, no matter the hour of the day. Those who did wield such powers stuck to minute things like changing the temperature of their body or whispering the flicker of heat into an angry flame.

And you knew there was still a whole other realm of abilities you weren’t aware of, tucked away beyond layers of secrecy the supernatural world was too scared to show. There was only so much research you could scour online before it became repetitive and almost theorized by rumors. The shame of living in a universe where it was illegal to exist gnawed at you everyday, and you were becoming desperate for life beyond scratching the surface of freedom. Each moment spent outside of your home left you with an aching curiosity, questions unanswered indefinitely.

But with the journal Yuqi gave you, clutched tightly in your grasp, you had a sliver of hope. Maybe it wouldn't grant you the freedom you’ve wanted for the supernatural all these years, but you hoped it could answer some of the questions that have been burning at the back of your head since your parents kicked you out.

When you arrive at the steps of your rundown apartment complex, you slowly make your way up the creaky stairs until you slip inside the dimly lit studio. Flicking the light switch on, you watch as a single bulb pathetically sputters to life, casting a faint glow across the room. There’s a lack of light in the hours where the sun doesn’t shine through your one window that acts as a source of constant frustration for you, making it nearly impossible for you to see without the flashlight from your phone or the fire from your fingers. But with your new job and new paychecks, you’re starting to hope you’ll be able to find a place that has bulbs stronger than a meager 40 watts.

With an exasperated sigh, you throw your belongings onto your patchwork couch and change into an old shirt and panties. As much as you wanted to dive into the journal that Yuqi had so generously given you, the dim lighting of your apartment made it almost impossible to read. You could’ve used the flashlight on your phone, but the lack of a working outlet left you unable to charge it if it died. And as much as you would’ve liked to cast a pretty flame from your fingertips, they were far too much of a fire hazard inside the old wooden walls of your studio apartment. Instead, you decide it’d be best to just wait until the early afternoon when the sunlight enters your window naturally.

When the sun rays do filter through your window, you spring upwards in bed, your body restless despite the pitiful amount of hours you managed to snag. For the first time in years, your night wasn’t consumed with a monotonous amount of homework or the glow of online workout videos in a lonely room. Instead- no matter how chaotic- you had a new purpose. You were exhilarated to keep going, fuelled by only a few hours of sleep yet ready to take on the next few days coursing with energy- a trait Phoenixes prided themselves upon: resilience.

With a precise stretch, you reach over to your desk and grab the journal you set aside from earlier. Nestling back into bed, you open the first page to reveal a comprehensive list of all the supernatural beings that had ever attended Dusk and Dawn over the years. Your eyes scan through the list of names, a mess of words that bleed onto the next page. Some are expected, familiar even- werewolves, vampires, dragons, griffins- but there are some that catch you off guard: valkyries, kitsunes, fairies, centaurs, and many more. Yet, you notice that not a single phoenix appears on the list, and it leaves an invisible weight sitting on your shoulders.

Moving through the next few pages, the entries become more and more detailed as they start to divulge into each patron, starting with Heeseung. His name is scrawled out on the top of the page in fancy letters, and underneath it readers ‘Vampire.’ A barely legible sketch of his face is drawn next to his name and you let out a soft laugh as you trace your finger over the old led before drawing your eyes down to Heeseung’s written description.

Heeseung came to Dusk and Dawn seven years ago, seeking for a way to cope with the anger of his parents abandoning him at the age of 16. He has been a general joy to have, often participating diligently in activities and putting his best foot forward in matches. Throughout his years at Dusk and Dawn, staff has observed that when pushed too far, Heeseung enters a state known as vampiric rage. Symptoms include: severe blood lust, glowing red eyes, feeding compulsion, disturbed/over enhanced senses, uncontrollable aggression, and predatory behavior. It is recommended he be taken into isolation when this occurs until he calms down

Power descriptions: hypnotic gaze, enhanced senses (strength, smell, sight, hearing), night vision, super speed. Please revise if necessary

You swallow the lump in your throat when you finish reading his entry, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach as you turn to the next page. Jongseong is the next name you see, and in parentheses the name Jay is written next to it with a large ‘Dragon’ scrawled underneath it. There’s another half-hearted sketch drawn next to it, and you notice the birth mark added to his neck, a darker patch on the left side of his neck.

Jay first came to Dusk and Dawn a few months after Heeseung, bringing a similar energy as the latter. Shaped by the self-resilient upbringing he developed under The Veil’s guidance, he has showcased a few profound characteristics that stand out during training. His past cultivates a very competitive spirit that is landmarked by a web of complex trust issues, resulting in a volatile temperature which resembles that of a pressure cooker.

Power descriptions: scale armor, pyrokinesis, enhanced strength. Please revise if necessary

On the next two pages are profiles for Jake and Sunghoon, the last two members Yuqi said you would be training. Beneath Sunghoon’s name are the words ‘Frost Elf’, and ‘Werewolf’ beneath Jakes.

Jake joined Dusk and Dawn shortly after Jay and Heeseung with a unique backstory, coming from a lineage of other werewolves, he sought out this place after losing his family during an attack. His personality fluctuates heavily between being quite friendly and open to acting quite aggressive and aloof. During full moons and times of overstimulation, he struggles with the primal side of his werewolf blood coming into full effect: excessive aggression, overprotection of his packmates, animalistic instincts, and loss of rationality. Jake should be carefully monitored for any signs of depression d/t history of family loss

Power descriptions: enhanced senses (smell, hearing, speed, strength), healing saliva (minor wounds), scent tracker, lethal bites and scratches. Please revise if necessary

Below Jake’s profile is Sunghoon’s.

Sunghoon joined a day after Jake with the primary goal of fighting people. Like Jay, he has navigated the challenges of all life stages by himself and upon joining Dusk and Dawn, he openly admitted to struggling with recognizing emotional cues and controlling his powers. It has become evident over the years that Sunghoon has made significant progress in developing his abilities, yet he often chooses to not exercise control unless absolutely necessary. Rather, he tends to resort to violence when provoked, that he just “doesn’t care” as stated by Sunghoon himself.

Power descriptions: cryokinesis, frost armor, temperature manipulation/aura. Please revise if necessary

Upon finishing Sunghoon’s entry, an overwhelming sense of responsibility descends over your shoulders, prompting you to close the book and reflect. The solemn history of these four members has you reconsidering your qualifications, debating whether you’re just in over your head and blinded by the hourly wage of your new job. Did you have the societal experience to connect with them and guide them in the way that Yuqi was expecting you to? Really, they too grew up alone or abandoned at some point in their life, isolated from the real world- but they had more time to learn about the real world through Dusk and Dawn than you did. What right did you have to go ordering them around and telling them what to do?

Heeseung had previously mentioned that there were three other regulars that attended the gym, but because they weren’t training with you, you decided it’d be best to wait until you met them before reading their entries. Right now, your immediate focus was on sharpening your own skills.

So with your renewed determination, you divulge into a whirlwind of rigorous training. The next few hours leading up to your second training shift is filled with a relentless cycle of speed drills and high-intensity circuits designed to test your endurance. Your goal wasn’t to just be stronger- you already had that. Instead, you aimed to outlast the boys. Stamina would be your greatest asset working at Dusk and Dawn.

After who knows how many hours, your phone alarm goes off indicating you had one hour left before your next shift started. You take that time to shower and clean up, taking an especially hot shower. Clad in a new pair of leggings and tank top, you walk back to the gym, retracing the same alleyways and backroads as you did the night before.

“Hi, Yuqi.” you say, greeting the serpent hybrid supernatural sitting behind the front desk. She's got her head tilted down with some magazine in her hands, her black framed glasses perched low on her nose as she reads.

She acknowledges you with a low hiss, her forked tongue flicking up and down in the air. “Here are some keys,” she says, tossing a set of keys at you to which you catch mid-air. “Take the boys into the elemental training room when they get here, you’ll learn about their abilities there. It’s just Niki in there right now”

With the keys in one hand and your backpack strap tucked in the other, you make your way down the familiarly dim hallway where that same iron door stands at the end, wrapped in a chain of metal. Laying against the rusting door were at least three padlocks, and after a minute of figuring out which key goes where, you push open the door to reveal the glory of the Dusk gym once again.

The familiar clang of weights hitting against one another fills the air, echoing through the large auditorium as you walk in. Setting your bag down against a long black bench beside one of the cement pillars, your eyes draw in on a tall, unfamiliar boy whom you presume to be Niki, working out in front of the numerous mirrors lining the gym. As you approach him, you can’t help but let your focus fall on the way the vein in his bicep bulges with every rep, straining when the dumbbells press against his chest. You lean against a machine nearby, momentarily forgetting your intent to introduce yourself to him. “Looking for something?” he says, glancing at you through the mirror. Your attention snaps back up to respond, but he’s not there.

“I’m right here, sweetie.” the voice continues to tease, this time coming from behind. You spin around, your gaze travelling the area as you look for the source but to no avail.

A dark laugh that seems to only fill your thoughts starts overwhelming you, the absurdness of the voices in your head making you spin. Shutting your eyes, you will the laughter to go away. Suddenly, a tap on your shoulder jolts you out of your thoughts and the laughter comes to a stop. Opening your eyes, your gaze finally lands on the boy you saw in the mirror, his sharp eyes glaring down on you with a mischievous glint, “So you’re the infamous trainer I’ve heard so much about.” He says, leaning down to match your height.

You clear your throat, “That’s correct. And I’m assuming you’re Niki?” Stepping back, you attempt to create some distance from the relatively tall boy standing before you.

He nods his head, letting the fringe of his black hair fall into his eyes. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says, stepping into your space despite your previous attempt to distance yourself. He bites his lip as his mouth curves into a devious smile, eyes darkening. Reaching for your hand, he interlocks his fingers in yours, “So you’re a phoenix…”

He brings your hands up to your vision so that the both of you can see, his large hand almost devouring yours completely, “I can play with fire too.” He says, squeezing your hand harshly. Suddenly, a glow of embers envelopes your hands completely, a scalding heat spreading between you both as his powers force yours out as well.

But as quickly as the fire emits, it extinguishes, a flash of blue striking the flame and leaving only a cloud of smoke in its wake. “Cut it out, Niki,” a voice calls from a distance. Turning to the sound, you see a boy with ashy brown hair approaching you with graceful strides, “We’re not supposed to use our elements in the gym, there’s a specific place for that.”

“Alright, Katara.”

“It’s Sunoo, not Katara.” The boy corrects, bowing to you.

“Could’ve fooled me with that water bending of yours,” Niki pesters, squeezing Sunoo’s ears after letting go of your hand.

Sunoo gives Niki a face as he swats the taller boy’s hand away from him, shooting him a darkened glare that leaves Niki in a slight daze. “Are you guys ever gonna act like your age, or are we stuck with the mental capacity of a 10 year old?” a voice calls from behind. Sunghoon’s chilling voice pierces through the air as he comes into view, casually dressed in a pair of gray sweats and white tank, a disturbing contrast to his arrogance. He shoves his hands into his pockets before adding, “You guys are fucking children.”

An arctic freeze radiates off of his otherwise relaxed body and Niki begins to tremble, angrily flicking his arm to emit a glow of fire that crawls up his arm and down his torso. “Stop using your temperature manipulation on us, Yuqi said you’re supposed to control that shit,” Sunoo scolds, moving closer to Niki to feel his fire.

You roll your eyes, feeling bored of their tense exchange. “Enough, just get into the training room before you rip each other’s heads off.” you demand, your voice laced with annoyance. The boys grumble in response, muttering things that you don’t bother to decipher as they walk into a dark room tucked away in the back of the auditorium. When you enter, you flick the light on to reveal a large gray room, both its floor and walls adorned with the same glossy stone material- though they’re marked up by what you assume is years of burn marks and blunt force. The room is a quarter the size of the gym, holding an abundance of training dummies and bullseyes; amongst other things.

“Line up here,” you say, pointing to the back of the room. They kick their shoes off before stepping onto the black gym mats, moving in silence. “I’ll have you guys each target train on a dummy so I can get a gauge of your guys’ skills. If you don’t have an ability that requires target training, just don’t line up.” You say as you kick your own shoes off.

Before you can continue, an out of breath voice interrupts you, “Am I late?”

You turn around to see the silhouette of a boy who seems to have run all the way here. Rather than answering, you nod your head to the mat in annoyance, “Who are you?”

“Jungwon,” he offers, presenting you with a smile to which the pits of his dimples show. For a second, your shield of authority falters for a brief second when your eyes pass over his grin, but you’re quick to pick it back up as you address Sunghoon.

“Sunghoon, can you tell me what each of these boys are?” He opens his mouth to complain, but you catch on to the change in his demeanor rather quickly, “Without complaining.”

He bites his lip, grumbling something under his breath before proceeding. “Niki is a kitsune- a childish one at that. Sunoo is a siren, and Jungwon is a shapeshifter. And I’m a frost elf, but I’m hoping you already knew that.”

Looking down at your watch, you frown when you realize that more than half of your own group is missing and you were supposed to start ten minutes ago. “Ok, let’s start,” you annoy, stepping off to the side.

“Shouldn’t we spar? We already know how to target train,” Sunghoon tests, cinching his eyebrows together in annoyance.

“Did I ask?” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow at him. “Sunoo, go first.”

Sunoo grins, dramatically flicking away a strand of hair from his face before stepping forward. He steadies himself, planting his feet firmly on the floor before narrowing his fox-like eyes at the dummy across the room. In one graceful motion, a stream of water burst from his hands, gradually growing in volume before he thrusts his hands forward, sending a jet of water towards the target. The liquid splits down the middle as it moves through the air, weaving around itself before slamming into the target.

When it hits, Sunoo begins to sing- his voice a piercing yet soothing high that seems to resonate with the movement of the water. The liquid responds, wrapping around the target like a mermaid’s tail, constricting the target more and more with every second. When Sunoo’s voice fades, the water falls, limp of any life it once had.

“Well done,” you say, giving him a nod of acknowledgement, “But I’m worried about your singing. You become quite vulnerable when you sing, though your water becomes very powerful when you do, so come up with a way to make yourself safe before performing something like that.”

Sunoo smiles at you as he accepts your critiques, stepping aside. He brushes past Sunghoon with a smirk you don’t quite catch and the responding boy pushes him into the wall. You nod to Sunghoon next, who steps forward to take his spot, his confidence radiating in a piercing chill around him. He doesn’t wait for further instruction before he’s raising his hand to eye level, creating a razor-sharp shard of ice that cuts through the air and tears straight into the dummy’s chest with cunning precision. Upon impact, the ice splinters, shattering the dummy beyond repair.

Before you can offer your commentary, Sunghoon’s launching himself into a side-flip, a long blade of ice forming in his hands mid-air. When he lands, the floor beneath him transforms into a sheet of ice. With amazing ease, he glides towards the other dummies and wields the blade of ice into each target with a lethalness that has you flinching.

His chest heaves up and down as the ice underneath him dissipates, returning the floor back to its original material. He carries himself with a cold arrogance, his head thrown back as he walks back to the line. “What the hell…” you whisper, not catching the way your eyes ravage his body, his veins bulging out of his arms. Sweat glistens down his porcelain skin and you subconsciously rub your thighs together to quell the unnatural feeling in your core.

“He’s hot, right?” a voice from behind you whispers, loud enough for only you to hear. You turn around only to see Jake standing beside you, just inches away from.

“When the hell did you get here?”

“When Sunoo finished, but you were too busy ogling at Sunghoon to notice.”

“I was not ogling, I was evaluating,” you correct, taking a step away. Jake is quick to compensate for the pathetic distance you try to put between you and him, bringing his body even closer than it was before until you can feel the heat of his body radiate off onto yours. He’s taller than you, not as much as the others, but enough to make you want to crawl inside of yourself and disappear as he breathes in your exhales.

“I may just be a werewolf, a mutt as some of the boys like to call me, but I’m just as strong as Sunghoon,” he whispers, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Maybe even stronger.”

His voice sends a rush of heat down to your core, only adding on to the slick that’s coated the seat of your panties. Fueled by a mix of arousal and anger, you force yourself to choose the latter to control your next decisions. Stomping on his foot, hard, you give Jake a throaty snarl, “Get in the damn line.”

Jake smirks, ignoring the pain that shoots up his foot, “I just know you’re gonna be begging for me soon,” he whispers once more before sauntering off to stand next to Jungwon.

“Well?” Sunghoon’s voice pulls you out of your own mental storm and you look up at him, “Any comments, Ms. Y/n?”

“Dial it back a bit,” is all you say, nodding at Niki next. Sunghoon rolls his eyes, biting back a smirk as he plays oblivious to the fact that he didn’t just catch the way you watched his every move as he walked back into the line, staring at him like a bitch in heat. Just like all the others, he thinks to himself as he watches Niki step up to the spot he was in originally.

Niki is your focus of attention now, steadying himself into a ready position before allowing his body to engulf in a rage of flames. He strides towards the group of targets, flaming embers dripping off of him like a molten sweat as he approaches. As he moves closer, a swirl of fire surrounds the targets and fills the air with an eerie, high-pitched laughter that echoes off the walls. The swarm of fire morphs into a crowd of sinister faces that leer at the targets, hauntingly paralyzing if you were to look them in the eye. It’s disorienting, even to watch as a spectator on the sidelines as the faces transform into flaming spears that shoot into the dummies- a copycat of Sunghoon’s ice shards.

The room immediately fills with smoke as the targets burst into flames, smoke stinging your eyes. Sunoo jumps into action then, dousing the fiery targets with a storm of water, clearing out the smoke. The room is silent except for the soft sizzling of the dummies rematerializing in front of you as brand new, like some sort of magic. “Alright, Jake is useless with elements and Jungwon would rather spar than copy our powers, so can we finally start hitting each other?” Sunghoon asks, breaking the tension in the room.

Jake lets out a growl, slamming his fist into Sunghoon’s unsuspecting body, “Suck my cock.”

In a matter of seconds, Sunghoon’s dark brown eyes transition into a furiously bright blue, his hand materializing a razor-sharp ice blade. He lunges towards Jake, raising his arm up at the boy to attack but you step in immediately, a burst of flames surrounding you as you teleport to Sunghoon’s side. “Enough!” you yell out, Sunghoon’s arm held tightly in your hand. “No more of these stupid fights unless it’s during an official match or sparring. And Sunghoon,” you twist his shoulder until he’s wincing, “I will not have you slicing Jake open with your blades of ice.”

You bring your hand down to grip the girth of his ice-blade before looking at the others, “Go to the damn ring and put your wraps on. Now.”

As the group begins to exit, you catch Sunghoon’s arm with a sharp glare. “Not so fast.,” you mutter. A surge of heat pulses through your palm and immediately melts his blade, the crystalline weapon quickly losing its shape and dripping onto the padded floor. With a final shove, you send him stumbling to the ground.

“What the fuck, Y/n?” He hisses, shooting you a blue-eyed glare.

“Out.” You hiss with finality, watching with your eyes as he stomps out of the room. The door slams behind him, echoing with the anger he harbors towards your actions. You could care less- finally alone for a brief moment. You draw in a deep breath, an attempt at steadying your racing pulse. The air is thick with apprehension and you feel a knot developing in your shoulders, one that likely wouldn’t have developed if it weren’t for the boys’ constant bickering. There’s a frustration that bubbles beneath your authoritative facade, one that’s bordering the lines of blowing up.

You lean against the wall and close your eyes for a brief moment, taking that second to let the darkness consume you. In that moment of peaceful blindness, you seek solace in the unknown- almost yearning for your life in isolation to come back. “It’s nice to see someone keep the boys in line,” the voice has you opening your eyes, focusing in on a girl that steps out from the shadows of the training room. Her pink eyes sparkle with warmth as she approaches you, a broad smile painting her face.

“Are you Minnie?”

“What gave it away?” she giggles, “Sorry, something came up yesterday during your orientation so I couldn’t meet with you, but I’ll be able to spend some time with you today.” She takes a hold of your hand, humming softly as a warm glow radiates between the connections.

Her gesture sends a wave of relaxation through your tense body, easing the knot in your shoulders as the light travels through your veins. “I’m a light fairy,” she explains, “one of my powers is to calm people down through touch.”

You smile into her touch, placing your free hand atop your connected ones, “I may need you around me indefinitely,” you prod at the tense air gently, though deep down you both know it’s not entirely a joke. The weight of everything despite it only being your second day was already feeling like too much. Her warmth was like a much needed respite.

Minnie laughs again, infecting you with a joy you didn’t think was possible. When the light between your hands fades, she pulls you out of the room. “Boys!” she exclaims as she approaches the ring, waving at the group of boys who have started warming up. You notice Jay and Heeseung are already there.

Sunoo and Jungwon are the only ones that bother to look up, waving back excitedly before rushing to the edge of the arena, leaning on the rope rings to peer down at the two of you. “Hi noona!” Jungwon says, reaching his hand out toward Minnie.

Minnie connects her hand with his and closes her eyes, a ball of light transferring between their intertwined fingers, “Are you gonna calm them down?” she whispers, a soft melody that could make you fall asleep. Jungwon nods, letting the light dance along his skin before it dissolves when he disconnects their hands and bounds back to the boys to tussle around with them. With his back turned, Minnie looks at you with a melancholic gaze, one that doesn’t really match her vibrant energy from earlier, “The older boys don’t let me touch them, they’re a bit closed off like that, but I get it,” her voice drops off as her gaze drifts back to the older members, a longing sadness in her eyes. Though it doesn’t last long before she turns back to face you, “When they get riled up, Jungwon copies my powers temporarily and does the same thing I did with you. They seem to trust him the most.”

You turn to watch Jungwon, his hands subtly climbing the backs of the older boys as a soft luminescent glow of light identical to Minnie’s pulses from his fingertips and transcends through their bodies. He continues to mess around with them, shadow boxing with the elders as each one of them slowly let their defenses fall.

“My boys don’t get as angry as yours,” Minnie continues, running a hand through her blonde hair. “I think that’s why Yuqi paired me with them. She knows I can only handle so much negativity as a fairy.” She pauses to glance over at the boys once more, smiling when she sees Jungwon’s head stuck in between Sunghoon’s arms- a sisterly affection radiating off of her body. “I think their outbursts are what made the old gym trainer quit. If I’m being honest, they’re quite dangerous when their emotions get the best of them. They’re rough around the edges, but they’re good people on the inside.”

Her words spark a curiosity deep inside of you, and you press on for more info as you continue to watch them from outside of the arena. “Have they known each other for a long time?” You ask, noticing their sibling like energy, despite the tension from earlier.

“I think some of the boys have known each other since they were in the community, and others have just met a year ago when they joined the gym. But they all get along differently, some are really close while others aren’t.” She gives you a grim smile, “I think Sunghoon’s got the most complicated relationships out of all of them. Frost elves aren’t exactly known to be friendly, but he’s different with these boys. I dont think he’d ever really hurt them- at least not seriously. He really cares for them, he just lets his emotions get the best of him.”

Her candid assessment of Sunghoon roots you to the spot, prompting you to process her words right then. You had noticed something too- he was especially closed off when you first met him. There was a storm in his eyes when his gaze landed on yours, one that seemed to cloud his judgement. It was raw and unfiltered, hiding what you felt was a war of control in the back of his mind behind a fog of indifference.

Shaking your head, you give Minnie a grateful nod and gesture to the ring, “Should we get started?” Her face lights up and she slips into the arena, lifting the ropes up for you as you follow after her. You bounce against the padded cushion of the ring, adjusting to the flooring before addressing the group of boys before you. “Let’s start off with Jake and Jay, no powers. Just pure strength and skill.”

Jake and Jay separate from their impromptu shadow boxing match, leaving the other boys to move off to the side, leaning against the ropes like its routine; varying levels of interest on their faces. Sunghoon’s got his arms crossed with a bored expression across his face, like he could be doing anything else than watch other people fight. Next to him, Niki looks intrigued, his head slightly tilted like a little puppy as he awaits the match. The rest of the boys seem indifferent, neither bored nor interested as if they’ve seen this a million times.

In the center of the ring now is Jay and Jake, facing each other as they steady themselves in their own personal ready positions. Jake has his right foot forward, his hands up to his face in a rather tense position as he narrows his eyes at Jay. The latter is more calm, his posture relaxed while his hands are held loosely at his face. “Go.”

Jake is the first to move, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet as he sizes up Jay, initiating an unspoken agreement to move counter-clockwise in the arena. The two boys circle around one another for a few seconds, each step heavy with tension as their gazes become predatory. Jay throws the first punch, lunging forward with a fast left jab, but Jake anticipates his movement and strides to the side, allowing Jay to graze his ear. Jay overcompensates and passes Jake, barely stumbling forward while Jake’s lip curls into a grin, laughter erupting from his belly.

Rolling his eyes, Jay kicks his foot back, connecting with the back of Jake’s knee. In an instant, Jake is on the ground, dead-legged by his opponent. “Dumbass,” Jay mutters, smirking to himself when he turns around. He steps back, allowing Jake to get back up.

Jake regains his composure quickly, rolling his shoulders back and stretching his neck. Jay moves in one more time- using his right arm this time as he aims for Jake’s jaw, but he ducks out of the way again, throwing a left hook into Jay’s side. The force of his punch has Jay gasping for air, hunching over from the velocity as he staggers back to catch his breath. It doesn’t hurt, but rather knocks the wind out of him. There’s a brief silence as Jay quickly catches his breath, steadying himself as he gives Jake the chance to go on the offense this time.

Sweat is beading on both of their foreheads now as the tension in the air thickens. You watch as Jake begins to circle around Jay again like a predator stalking his prey, locking eyes on him once more. With lightning speed, Jake flies forward to uppercut Jay’s jaw, blood flying in the air as Jay bites down on his tongue- hard. Jay doesn’t falter though, immediately responding with a jab and two crosses to Jake’s face. They stumble away from each other for a brief second before going at it again, throwing a mess of punches and kicks at each other until they can barely hold themselves up.

You get a good look at their faces once they separate- a thick stream of blood spills from Jay’s chin, the familiar taste of metallic filling his mouth. He smiles, teeth bloodied as he’s reminded of the adrenaline from fighting- a chemical surge of power. He brings a wrist to his lip, pulling back to see bright red staining his skin. When he looks at Jake, he observes his best friend in a similar state, a jagged cut across his eyebrow and blood gushing from his left nostril. You don’t even want to imagine the bruises developing beneath their clothes where they clutch at themselves like a kicked puppy.

You step forward, wincing at the blood staining their faces. “Alright, that’s enough,” you say, looking over at their hunched over figures. Jake and Jay, flushed out and breathing heavily begin to unwrap their boxing wraps. Limping to the middle of the ring, they exchange a quick handshake and slap on the back before slipping out of the ring to clean themselves up at the benches. The pungent mixture of sweat and iron has you cringing when it slams into your senses, causing you to wrinkle your nose up in disgust. “We’ll take a quick break and then I’ll have Sunghoon and Heeseung spar next.”

Before you can turn away, a voice- unfamiliar and brooding- slices through the murmur of conversation amongst the group. “Mind if I hop in?” You whirl around to the source of the voice, your gaze landing on a figure taller than everyone in the room standing just a few feet away from the arena. He’s clad in a black zip up jacket and white sweats that hang loosely around his lean, athletic build, “My name’s K. Just signed up at the front desk.”

You tilt your head to the side as you take in his presence. There’s something unsettling about him. The air around him seems dark, hanging off of his frame like a suicide gone wrong. There’s a ringing in your ears as you debate whether or not to let him spar, and without realizing it, Jake steps in front of you. Glancing over at Heeseung, he nods, a look of challenge lighting up in his eyes. “Alright, you can go up against Heeseung. Just give them a few minutes.”

Ten minutes go by quickly and Heeseung is back in the ring along with the others. He’s quick to get into position, hands raised to the front of his face as he plants his feet firmly into the mat of the ring. K lines himself up across from Heeseung in a similar position, ready to start but you hold your hand out. “K, I want to know who you are before starting.”

A wicked grin spreads across his face as he keeps his eyes locked on Heeseung, “You’ll figure it out soon enough, sweetheart.” He taunts, and before you can press further, he lunges.

Heeseung doesn’t hesitate, sidestepping out of K’s trajectory at an almost inhumane speed. As K’s fist whistles past Heeseung’s face, he counters the attack with a right hook aimed towards K’s gut. It doesn’t work as K snaps his body around to catch Heeseung’s punch with an iron-like grip. Heeseung’s eyes widen momentarily but he recovers quickly as he twists his arm out, driving a knee into the taller boy’s stomach.

Again, K blocks the attack and with a violent twist, throws Heeseung to the edge of the ring that you’re standing at. You along with Jungwon, Niki, and Jake quickly separate to make room for Heeseung’s body before he slams against the rubber ropes, landing on the ground with a loud thud. He’s quick to recover, his vampiric speed allowing him to regain his composure within milliseconds. With a new anger raging through him, Heeseung bares his fangs at K as sweat drips down his temple.

K’s smirk never fades as he runs at Heeseung, his fist flying through the air as he closes in on him, but Heeseung dodges. A mirage of relentless punches and kicks are thrown at Heeseung, but he dodges each one by a hair. Quickly fatigued by the sporadic movement, K’s motions become slower and in a moment of weakness, Heeseung delivers a swift uppercut to K’s jaw followed by a sequence of jabs that are delivered with a savage intensity that only a vampire at full strength could display. The force of his blows sends blood gushing from K’s face, his features splitting open in an unattractive display.

K staggers back, suddenly caught off guard by the sheer force of Heeseung’s assault. In a heartbeat, the air shifts and K’s demeanor changes from that of a playfully oppressive gaze to one of a lethal intent. When Heeseung throws one more punch, K catches his fist in his palm mid-air and uses his momentum to slam him into the ground with a bone-cracking force, the impact knocking all of the wind out of Heeseung.

A guttural sound rips from Heeseung’s mouth when his back hits the pad, the impact leaving him clawing for air as you take a step forward out of instinct. Niki’s hand grips your shoulder and he pulls you back, holding you there firmly as he drops his hand down to your forearm. “You worthless vampire,” K whispers, a black tendril stretching out from K’s hand. When you see the shadows unfurl from K’s palm, your breath catches and you move to intervene right as Heeseung’s own red tendrils flare to life, his red eyes glowing with rage. He kicks under K’s hold, their shadows a mess of anger as they collide against each other.

“Enough!” you shout, cutting through the brutal stalemate they seem to be locked into.

K releases Heeseung from his hold, his sinister shadows immediately flowing back into his slender hands while Heeseung rolls away from under him, his chest heaving up and down. “What the hell was that?” you shout, fury boiling under the surface as you clench your fists.

K leans down to match your height, his gaze locking on yours as his eyes cloud over with a black haze, “I’m a necromancer.” He says, his voice dripping with challenge.

A snarl erupts from your throat, barely restrained by the thread of resolve you hold for yourself as you throw a deadly glare at K, “That doesn’t give you the fucking right to try and kill him during practice!” You accuse, the heaviness in your voice punctuated by the chilling tension in the air. You let out a long, shaky sight and rush over to reach for Heeseung, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?” You murmur, trying to gauge his emotions.

He flinches under your touch, roughly pulling away from you before giving you a barely noticeable nod, lips held in a tight line as he refuses to meet your concerned gaze. You tongue your cheek with worry as you watch him slip out of the ring and head into the changing rooms, leaving you standing there in the middle of the ring while the rest of the boys pretend to not have watched the whole exchange. A complicated knot of guilt settles in your stomach as you think about what to do, torn between following after him and just staying put.

You’ve only known the boy for a day- barely enough time for you to feel entitled to his trust or to chase after him. In fact, you’ve only known the gym for a day- but there was something sharp that twisted inside of you after seeing him like that.

With a shaky sigh, you turn around but you’re caught off guard when you see Sunoo’s eyes wash over you, but his eyes are vacant, as if he’s looking right through you. His expression is dulled by a glassy sheen, holding a deeper understanding that you can’t quite grasp and it makes the knife in your stomach twist just that much more.

“I think we’re done for today,” You look back at K before slipping out of the ring, ““K, I don’t want to ever see you pulling that shit again.” The atmosphere is thick with hostility as you start to clean up, thick enough you could choke on it. Throwing a bloodied rag into a nearby laundry bin, you spot Yuqi entering the gym, her snake eyes narrowed on K.

You watch as she zips towards him in quick, determined strides. Within seconds, she’s face to face with K, thrusting her hand at his neck. She grabs onto his long neck with a vice-like grip, strangling him. With her serpent-like strength, she slams him into a nearby pillar, the impact echoing through the gym loud enough to have the boys flicking their heads up. K’s eyes widen in shock as he claws at her arm, his arrogant facade breaking as his back slides against the concrete pillar.

“If you ever hurt one of my patrons like that again, I will have you blacklisted from Dusk and Dawn in an instant,” she hisses, her forked tongue flicking out to spray a mist of black venom on his face. The effect is instant, liquid smoke curling up from his skin as the venom sizzles into his flesh, leaving red blisters on his face. She tightens her fingers around his throat for just a second before letting go, letting her threat hang in the air like old laundry.

When she leaves, your mouth hangs open in shock, “You’re catching flies.” Sunghoon says, nudging your chin closed.

You purse your lips, ignoring him as you clasp your hands in an attempt to regain some composure. “Alright…” you trail off, still reeling from the confrontation between Yuqi and K. “Before you guys leave, I’d like to have a one-on-one conversation with each of you. I’ll be over by the benches when you’re ready.”

Despite being able to feel the pounding of your own heartbeat in your damn throat, you stride over to where the benches are, forcing your steps to remain steady and confident. You refuse to show the boys any hints of fear or inferiority, not like the first day.

As you sit down on the benches, you notice Jake is the first one to approach, his presence commanding as ever when he enters your space. “Jake,” you say, patting the spot beside you.

He doesn’t move, rather adjusts the strap on his gym bag that’s slung over his shoulder as he continues to stand in front of you.

“You really should sit. This isn’t supposed to be a quick chat.” You respond, noticing his restraint. “I’m not asking.”

Sighing, he drops onto the bench, letting his bag fall to the floor with a loud thud. “Alright, what’d you need?”

Cutting straight to the point, you ask your first question, “Are you friends with all the boys?”

Jake lets out a deep laugh, his canines flashing at you when he does. “Really? That’s what you want to know?” You roll your eyes, smacking him. “Ok, well I guess you could say we’re all pretty tight. But Sunghoon, he’s a dick through and through, but I know him well enough. I’ve been at this gym for six years now?”

You’re not surprised to hear about his comments towards Sunghoon, his earlier bickering with him being evidence enough that they often butted heads. But your mind thinks back to the journal entry you read about Jake’s past, about his family being torn apart prior to coming here. You shift in your spot, choosing your words with careful precision. “I came across something while I was reading the old trainer’s journal. It said you had supernatural parents. That’s quite rare in Luxta, most of us are found and taken in by The Veil.”

Your question hangs in the air with unspoken emotion as Jake’s entire body tenses at the mention of his late parents, his laughter dying in his throat as he thinks of a response. “Well yeah, I’m a werewolf. We live in packs, but that’s all gone now.” His jaw clenches as the browns of his eyes darken into something deeper. At his sides, his fists repeatedly clench and unclench, his knuckles blanching with each movement. “It’s none of your damn business anyways. Are we done here?”

His voice drips with anger as he stands up, snatching his gym bag in one quick motion. He doesn’t wait for you to answer, instead curling his lips at you, a silent warning for you to stop talking. “Watch your fucking mouth, Y/n. You don’t know anything.” He says before walking off, shoulders tense and you swear you can almost smell the angry pheromones lingering in his absence.

“Don’t mind him, he tends to have extreme mood swings.” Jay says from behind. You turn around to face him, unintentionally letting him catch a glimpse of your sad eyes, mourning the ghost of his presence. His own gaze softens in response when he sees your reaction, and he finds himself fighting this flicker of empathy clawing its way up his throat. “You said you wanted to talk to us?” He says instead, sitting at a comfortable distance from you.

“Right, I just wanted to see how you guys get along, that sort of thing.” You clarify, pausing in order to let him fill in the gaps.

“Ah, I guess you could say I’m pretty close with everyone. Jungwon and I go way back though, I guess I took him under my wing in the community since neither of us were adopted.” He offers you a half-smile as he speaks, but you notice the way he rushes through the word ‘adopted’, as if it’ll hurt him if he lingers on the word too long.

“What was it like growing up in The Veil?”

“It sucked, but I’m not sure the alternative was any better,” he steals a glance at you to which you look down at the floor in a hurry, guilt eating away at you for being one of the few children that were ‘adopted.’ “We were in and out of shelters until we were 16, then Jungwon and I got housed together and then eventually, we were forced to find our own place once we turned 20.”

“And what about Sunghoon?”

“What about me?” That familiar wave of coldness shocks your nervous system and you freeze, feeling it work its way up your veins. Sunghoon’s voice cuts through the chilling temperature, and you steal a glance at the boy standing behind you, his eyes sending daggers into your back. “If you have something to say, say it to my face.”

Jay only laughs, finding the situation amusing. “I think that’s my cue to leave.” He stands up quickly, throwing Sunghoon a hesitant glance before parting.

You meet Sunghoon’s glare, a touch of guilt coursing through you as your core temperature continues to drop. “I’m sorry, Sunghoon,” You say, your voice evident with a mix of frustration and defeat. “Please, can you stop trying to give me hypothermia?”

Your pathetic apology seems to strike a chord in Sunghoon, and for a moment, his usually hard expression falls. Though as quickly as it falls, it tenses right back up as your body bounces back to its original temperature. “I didn’t mean to talk about you behind your back, I just want to know how I can support you.”

Sunghoon crosses his arms, offering you an unamused smile. “I don’t know why you’re so desperate to support me. You’re just a gym trainer.”

His words are like a slap to your face, and you flinch, feeling its harsh sting. He’s right- you’re just a trainer, hired to make sure they don’t kill each other and out themselves to the real world. You know you should keep your distance, but you can’t. That pull you felt yesterday when you met them all, it’s only grown stronger. You weren’t going to let Sunghoon’s attitude freeze you out, not if you could help it.

“Well unfortunately, that’s not up to you.” You counter. “So, can you explain to me why you feel the need to use your temperature manipulation so casually? Why do you choose not to control it around your friends?”

Sunghoon remains indifferent to your question, but you think a small part of him reacts to you saying the word ‘friend.’ “Cuts down on the amount of talking I need to do. Gets the message across that they’re pissing me off when I freeze them, and when they back off, I dial it back.” He pauses for a second before continuing. “And they’re not my friends.”

“Ok, except it doesn’t.” You challenge him, “This isn’t just some simple power where you can use negative reinforcement to condition other people’s behaviors. You can’t punish people into compliance, it’s not ethical.” You hang your head, trying to think of a way to speak to him like you aren’t talking down on him. “I would really appreciate it if you’d put in more effort on keeping it in check. I get it- in a world like this, we can’t trust anyone. But these boys care about you, so it’d be nice for you to reciprocate it.”

When you raise your head, you hold his gaze with your own and notice that the storm in his eyes has cleared. It reappears as quickly as it left, but you saw; his vulnerability melting away that frost and it makes you wonder if there were more layers underneath his cold indifference. It’s clear that this is about as much as Sunghoon is going to give you before he starts to snap at you, so you decide to hold back on prodding any further.

“Anyways, can you tell me if Heeseung is still around?”

“Heeseung should be out of the changing rooms by now,” Sunghoon says, standing up.

“Thanks,” you mutter, following his lead. When he disappears from your vision, you make your way over to the changing rooms, a tired drag in your step. “Heeseung?” You say into the tiled hallway, your voice bouncing off the walls- but no response. You wonder if he had already left, but you don’t recall ever seeing him leave, so you decide to wait a little longer, the quietness of the gym almost suffocating as time drags on.

As you lean against the concrete, you watch as the younger boys wave bye to you, smiling joyfully as they head out. The minutes pass by slowly and you’re almost worried that Heeseung slipped out without you noticing, you were really hoping to talk to him before the end of your shift. The weight of your concern had only grown heavier in his absence. When you’re about to push off the wall and leave, Heeseung emerges.

You almost forget the list of things you want to address with Heeseung by the time he comes out, but it slips your mind anyways when you see his eyes glowing an unnatural red. “Heeseung?”

“Move.” He snarls, baring his fangs at you. You notice his skin has turned into a pale white, drained of its energy as he pushes past you with an abrupt shove, practically forcing you into the wall but you catch yourself, grabbing him by the collar of his leather jacket.

“Don’t talk to me that way.” You snap, shoving him back.

“I’m not going to tell you again, Y/n. I said, move.” His voice carries the weight of a thousand suns as he stares hard into your eyes- and for a moment, you almost waiver, feeling a hypnotic force to obey his order. It’s strong, and it almost pains you to reject this invisible beckoning, but you have to. Despite his intense stare, you grit your teeth and clench your fists, ignoring the uncomfortable ache in your core.

Your eyes lock onto his, acutely aware of the bright orange hue that has now plagued your irises as you struggle to maintain control. “Heeseung…” You gasp just before he crashes his mouth against yours.

With his lips on yours, the grip on your throat falters and he moves his hands to clutch at the sides of your face while shoving his knee between your legs. His fangs plunge into your bottom lip, puncturing the soft tissue until a stream of blood flows down your chin. You groan into his mouth as he begins to suck on your lip, tasting the warmth of your blood with a savage intensity. His tongue draws up and down your chin, soaking up each drop of blood that pulses out of your lip all while grinding his knee into your core, picking up on the scent of your essence leaking out of your cunt. His tongue plunges into your mouth and you taste the iron of your own blood on your tongue. It’s disgusting really, but the desperation of his kisses has you weak and reeling for more. You can’t help but get off on the taste of your own blood seeping through his tongue.

Shock and arousal have you drunk on Heeseung, but you summon every once of strength in you to shove him off of you with the strength of a phoenix. He stumbles backwards, flying into the edge of one of the sinks. “What the fuck!” he shouts, his voice dripping with fury and hunger. Heeseung clutches at his side, the impact likely adding on to the bruises from earlier.

“What the hell, Heeseung!” You shout, panting as you reach your hand to your lips, a drop of blood staining the microscopic divots of your fingers.

“I told you to fucking move!” He shouts back, massaging his side.

Your mind races as you think back to his journal entry. Glowing red eyes, disturbed senses, compulsive what? You wrack your brain for the rest of his vampiric rage symptoms, but the adrenaline of it all has your mind scrambled of any rationality. What was it that you had to do when he became like this? You’re so busy caught up in your own mind that you don’t notice Heeseung approaching you again, each of his steps dripping with savage lust.

He reaches out a hand, grabbing your arm and with unnatural speed and force, he pulls you into him. Your body abruptly presses against his, and the unmistakable feeling of his cock presses against your hip. “Focus on me,” he growls, forcing your eyes on him, “Only me.” The glowing intensity of his eyes ensnares your mind like a trap, leaving you gasping for air. A surge of slick gushes out of your cunt, pooling at the seat of your panties and leaving you with a desperate ache in your core. There’s a striking need to keep your eyes locked on his, a primal urge to surrender yourself to him entirely as his glowing red eyes pierce the amber haze of your own- igniting a part of your heart that you didn’t realize was dormant.

In one swift motion, Heeseung rips apart your top and latches his mouth onto your nipple while his hands massage your ass, pulling you plush against him. “Damnit, Y/n,” he moans, his fangs digging into the flesh of your breasts. “Couldn’t fucking listen… Just had to get in my fucking way.” He pulls you in by the ass, grinding his cock against you as he sucks on your nipple, his fangs nipping at the delicate flesh. His hand slaps your ass harshly, the sound of his palm landing against your cheek echoing in the chambers of the locker room. The sting of his hand against your ass only sends another gush of slickness through you, earning a dark chuckle from Heeseung. “I can fucking smell how turned on you are. You like it when I slap you?”

Blinded by an overwhelming wave of lust, you throw your head back and comb your fingers through his hair, relishing in the way his tongue flicks over your bud. “Hee, m-more.” You beg, feeling the trickle of something wet fall from where he’s sucking.

You look down only to see a shiny line of red trailing down your bare stomach, staining your leggings next. Heeseung licks a stripe up your stomach, catching the flow of red onto his tongue, groaning in delight as the taste of your blood soaks into his taste buds. In one sudden movement, Heeseung hoists you up and moves you to the counter, ripping your leggings off along with your panties. You lay bare before him now, back pressed on the counter, but you don’t even care. Your body is on fire, every nerve of yours flaring like a wildfire. You feel so overwhelmed with the desire to fill your pussy with something, anything- that you’re clawing at the air. “Please- I need you.”

“Use that fucking mouth of yours, baby. What do you need?” You mewl out a response as Heeseung dives headfirst into your cunt, pressing a rough kiss on your heat. The warmth of his tongue against her bundle of nerves leaves you shaking, moans erupting from your throat. He practically growls as he slides his tongue between your folds, getting a taste of your sopping pussy. “So fucking wet, you like disobeying me?”

You don’t say anything, instead opting to cry out and moan as he continues his assault on your cunt. “I asked you a fucking question,” he demands, slapping a hand down on your pussy.

The slap sends shockwaves through your body, the sting of his hand only offering you brief stimulation. “N-no, Heeseung! I’ll be good!” You shout, dragging your hands through his hair to pull him towards you while you buck your hips up. He brings his face down to kiss at your pussy again, rocking up and down so his nose rubs against your clit while he eats away at your core. You let your eyes wander down to his face, catching the sultry stare he gives you as he flicks his tongue in and out of your entrance.

Eventually, Heeseung slides three fingers in at once, not bothering to prep you as he deems the amount of slick pooling on the counter enough. “Fuck!” You scream, feeling the stretch of your walls adjust to the girth of his fingers. He pumps his digits in and out of you at a savage pace, ghosting his lips over your thighs as he does.

“Keep screaming, baby. Let me hear you.” He moans, biting down on your thigh suddenly. You scream out, a mixture of pain and pleasure shooting through you when you feel his fangs piercing your skin once again. The sound of his lips sucking around the wound sends another gush of arousal out of your cunt and you can feel a warmth building up in your lower abdomen. He sucks vigorously on the wound, wrapping his arm around your other thigh and massaging it generously.

“H-Heeseung-” You whine, squirming in his hold. “I-I’m close!”

“Cum on my mouth, let me taste you,” he encourages, moving around your thighs to press more bites into. A particular spot, closer to your pelvis, is bitten and that’s all you need to let go, the coil releasing as your pussy begins to clench around Heeseung’s fingers indefinitely. “Fuck, good girl, Y/n.” He says, moving his mouth back to your pussy, lapping at your folds. He sucks on your bud, drinking up your arousal as pleasure washes through your body like a tsunami. “So sweet,”

You shudder under his touch as his tongue stays extra diligent in swirling around your clit while he finishes you off. “Turn around,” he demands, helping you slide off the counter.

You struggle to stand up, entirely relying on Heeseung as he presses you against the counter, your breasts rubbing against the coldness of the counter. Behind you, Heeseung shoves his jeans and briefs down, allowing his cock to spring free, the tip an angry red from his neglect. “Give me your hands,” he says, catching them in the air as you throw your arms back. “Good girl,” he coos.

With his one free hand, he flicks it forward and a red tendril forms, ghosting from his palm like liquid smoke. “You’re gonna be good for me, right?” he asks, smirking as the red wisps move to coil around your wrists like a makeshift handcuff.

You nod anxiously, tears pricking your eyes as the strain of your hands behind your back begins to pull on your muscles. “My good fucking girl.” He says before plunging his cock into your soaking pussy, immediately followed by the snap of his hips. You scream as his cock fills you up, the girth stretching you out all at once. With the coil of his tendrils holding your arms captive behind your back, he lets his hands wander to your hips until they’re bruising you, using them as leverage to piston his cock in and out of you.

You have no idea for how long he continues, but you know he goes long enough to fuck you through two more orgasms before he begins to slow down. When he does, he reaches forward to grab you by your throat, pulling you to his chest. His lips ghosts over your pulse point as he continues to snap his cock into your pussy, the drag of his cock having you reel with pleasure. “I can taste your fucking pulse,” he whispers, licking your neck. You shiver under his touch, the warmth of his breath causing you to unintentionally clench around his member. “Don’t fucking squeeze like that,”

“Heeseung, I- I’m gonna cum again,” you cry, biting your lip as you close your eyes, too tired to keep them open.

He stays silent as he drags his mouth further down your neck, puncturing a few more spots as he soaks up the red liquid quickly. “So sweet, you taste so good.” He snaps his hips into you even deeper than before, the tip of his cock brushing against your G-spot now.

“Hee,” you beg, focusing on the stretch of his cock. You open your eyes just in time to see a collection of red tendrils surrounding you, some crawling up your body and you suddenly become acutely aware of the ghostly feeling of them roaming your bruising skin. They tickle the fine hairs of your body, leaving you a shaking mess before Heeseung as he continues to ravage your pussy.

The added stimulation sends you over the edge and you’re coming for the fourth time, crying out as you wrap your walls around Heeseung’s member tightly. “Fuck, I’m coming Y/n!” Heeseung shouts, shoving his cock up to the hilt of your pelvis.

With a few more thrusts, he stills, allowing his cum to bury itself deep within your womb. Spurts of cum shoot into you at such a force you feel each rope hit your walls, clenching around him as his dick pulses inside of you. Heeseung lets go of you once he starts to soften, his rosy mist disappearing into thin air as you collapse onto the cold surface of the counter. Without warning, he slides out of you and you wince, listening to him zip himself back into his jeans.

Your body is still shaking from the aftermath of your release when you hear Heeseung’s footsteps echo out of the changing room. When it fades, you’re left alone and bare, laying against the cool surface of the counter. In the absence of his presence, a wave of clarity rushes through you, replacing any lingering heat you once had. You can’t help but let out a string or curse words as you fumble around to put your clothes back on, each movement a cold reminder of your impulsive endeavors, your muscles already feeling the dull ache.

As you pull your leggings on, you feel the unwelcome sensation of his cum slowly leaking down, slick and cold now. At this point, you’re too focused on getting home to care- letting it trickle down your thigh as you head back home into the rising daylight. When you finally reach the temporary sanctuary of your studio apartment, you reach for your journal first. Shadow manipulation, you write that besides the writer’s notes on Heeseung’s page before collapsing face-first onto your bed, letting sleep consume you immediately.

read part 2 here

Taglist: @heesimp, @kyunlov, @quill-ink, @lunaritex, @jiryunn, @jakeswifez, @fancypeacepersona, @nshmrarki, @ikaw-at-ikaw, @wilonevys, @strxwbloody, @capri-cuntz, @riribelle, @machambrx, @vousty, @rebeccakan

Permanent taglist: @kittys00, @ikaw-at-ikaw, @17ericas

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

You're my favorite writer, and König is my favorite aussie man, so OF COURSE im making you write for him, hal, BEAR W ME !

Alright, what do you think about König with the “You’re here late.” prompt? The reader is part of KorTac and always worked alongside König, since they both entered about the same time, because of the readers personality, they are always fighting, one of these fights are specifically bad, leading the reader to go on a mission with another KorTac member, to help out somewhere else and take their mind off things, when the reader face a problem on the mission and ends up arriving late, König is furious.

Moths Hit the Window

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Fights with König were always loud, but this time his comments went a bit too far.

WORD COUNT: 5.9k

WARNINGS: Verbal fighting, angst, high tension, blood & stitches, wounds, canon typical violence, guns/weapons, death, suggestive near the end, fluff, hurt/comfort, etc.

A/N: Huge thanks to @idocarealot for the German translations!! Also, König's wearing the arachnid skin in this because I love it sm - enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You seethe. If eyes could turn red yous would be a beautiful shade of crimson—bloody knives ripping out of the cornea to strike whoever happened to get too close. It was as if the very air boiled with the force of a raging tsunami as you stomped down the local military base’s hallways, covered in blood and guts. Never had you reconsidered working for KorTac more than at this very moment. 

Maybe I should just become a mercenary, you rip at the torn-apart gloves over your hands and jerk your arm out. Passerbyers quickly avert their eyes as you shove them into a garbage can and continue on with a growl. No shitty rules, no regulations—no fucking partners.

If people happened to slide past without noticing the steam coming out of your ears, they would have immediately locked eyes on the pure elephant of a man trailing fast behind. König’s eyes were goring into the back of your neck, gray and tan garb swaying as the packs and flash grenades on his combat vest bounced with every step. Accents of red do nothing in comparison to his visible flesh—the section of his eyes uncovered by his mask and head rig alight around his obsidian gaze. 

 König was muttering to himself far under his breath, curses and harsh comments all in German that he wouldn’t say to your face. At least not right now in view of others. 

“I can hear you, you dimwit,” you hiss over your shoulder, grinding your teeth as you both make your way to the armory, “curse me out quieter!” 

“You are making a scene!” The beast grunts, that heavily accented English striking your eardrums with its harsh dialect. 

“Oh, jeez!” You raise your voice even higher, turning back forward and clenching your hands into fists as blood and guts drip off your gear—none of it yours. “I’m just so damn embarrassed, König! I’m making such a large and obnoxious display. Whatever will I do?!” Sarcasm like a valuable drug is injected into the waves of your voice. People from open doorways look out with shock, brows pulled up. 

Everyone quickly darts back away when you snap your head in their direction and send them a scathing glare.

No one was surprised to find you and the Austrian going at it again but knew well enough to stay out of the crossfire. Lest someone get roped into it.

“Fuck off!” You spit the last curse into the burning air and shove past a soldier ahead of you.

König’s dark eyes flash dangerously, lips under his mask twisting into a sneer. The man’s shoulders seem to dig in even farther, spine curling over as if a brooding child. 

This had all started the second you’d joined up with KorTac. Fresh out of the military and eager to get back into the game after a good vacation the PMC group had been at the top of your list. But if you’d known you’d be paired up with this damn mountain every chance there was just because he’d got into the game at nearly the same time as you, you’d have put in your luck with SpecGru. 

“I do not see how this is appropriate behavior,” König follows as you place your palms on the black metal of the armory door, pressing with your shoulders. “I did what I was tasked to do—”

The masked man is cut off as you whirl on your heels, the door slamming shut as his body is shoved into it with strong arms. Dark eyes go wide in surprise, feeling the dig of your nails on his abdomen as your form presses into him and the chill of the door on his spine. You feel his skin bunch under his thick shirt and even if you want to stare him down that’s just not an option. Your warm figures shuffle together with panting breaths and dangerous glints in your eyes. 

“Bull,” you drag out the word, growling it right up into his neck; sniper hood caressing your chin. König’s breath hitches with shakes of swirling emotions. “Shit.”

Shoving once more so he gets the point, you push off of him and stalk away like a feral wolf, already unclipping grenades and medical packs from your vest. 

“You’re the damn reason the target got away!” Gear is thrown haphazardly to the long table in the center of the room. The Austrian watches with predatory eyes, hands clenched so hard that they quiver. He stays still, watching, as you send scathing glances. “The reason we’re going to be here for ten times longer than we’re supposed to be!” 

“It is not my fault you failed to properly check the perimeter before you rushed in like a fool.” Volatile couldn’t be used to describe this…this was nothing short of volcanic. It was as if there were two sides of a scale filled with bullets and gunpowder—fire in the middle that was equally heating both piles as they raised and lowered erratically. König’s voice grates over the air, “I did what I could to fix your scheiße plan!”

“Don’t you shit on my plan!” You point, voice bouncing off the weapon racks as you rip the rifle strap from over your chest, chucking it away. 

“I will shit on it—it was…it was…!”  König’s voice cuts out and he can’t find the words. The Austrian descends into visceral German ramblings. “Es war so ziemlich der schlechteste Plan, den ich je gehört hab. Welcher halbwegs vernünftige Mensch geht in eine heiße Zone ohne vorher alle Zielobjekte richtig zu markieren?! Ich kann dich und deine Rücksichtslosigkeit nicht mehr leiden — du bringst mich um meinen Verstand! Hast du überhaupt ein Gehirn in deinem Schädel?”

You shake your head to yourself, heart pounding. “You’re still the one that was supposed to focus on the HVT. I rushed so he would flush out, but, no,” taking out the magazine of the rifle you hold it in your hands like an accusatory ruler that a teacher would hold. König shoves off the door and stands to his full height; arms tensed and straining before they coil around his chest in a soothing gesture. 

He hated the fighting—the constant strain between the two of you. But when you were together it could never amount to anything else. The room felt like it was a million degrees.

Your eyes stab at him, “No! You had to go and focus on me! I hate to break this to you,  König,” feet come forward and you once again find yourself close to him—breathing the same air and taking in the scent of gunpowder and blood. You point the tip of the magazine into his chest. His unseen lips pull; jaw clenching with held-back fire. “But I am not your damn mutt to keep on a leash. I had it under control.”

It’s as if you don’t realize the Austrian could snap you in half with a single kick of his leg, as if the sheer size of König had slipped your mind as a whole. His hands could snap your neck in an instant, but that was only if he got ahold of you. 

But that was a line the both of you were never planning to cross. Words were one thing in this profession, actions another. If you ever got into a physical fight, you’d both kill each other, no doubt. 

You’d like to think you’re a bit above that, but perhaps not.

König’s chest rises and falls deeply, taking in calming breaths as he tries to get his temper under control. “You didn’t,” he jeers out, “I saved your life, you Heißluftgebläse. And if you wanted to be treated less than a dog,” he grunts to you, head pulling down close to your face, harshly whispering out, “You could have simply asked me, yes?”

You both snarl at each other's throats like rabid animals, the world disappearing all around the obsidian eyes that match with yours; for a moment you get lost in the shining bits of silver in his iris that seem to burn with chilled iron. What little skin you can see is flushed and tight—hawk nose nearly poking out your eye as you’re leaned over like a giraffe near a bush.

Body vibrating, you sharply breathe, “I’m not even going to ask what that fucking means, you tool.”

“Good.” The words are bitten and fast, “because I am not telling you.”

“Great!”

“Perfekt!” You both were arguing like children. Hot faces and unwilling to let the other have the last word. If you got along it might have been funny. 

“I’m going to dump all of your Einspänner out on the tarmac.” Your sure voice echoes with a definitive promise to the tone. 

Pale lids widen in horror at the threat to the Austrian's favorite beverage, comfortably sitting in the Base’s fridge. 

“You would not,” König’s tone is deathly serious and you smirk, eyes dancing. “You…” a guttural growl meets the air, mind translating words and giving meanings, “beast of a woman!”

“Oh, is that the best you can fucking do?!” You yell, splaying your hands out widely and moving away from him. “Now that’s really a show stopper, König, I’m shaking in my damn boots.” 

“Ich komm mit dir nicht mehr klar.” König yells, moving back and placing both of his hands atop his head, knuckles white. “You’re rude—you do not even try to get along. You are loud and disrespectful; how do you live like this?!”

Your eyes slightly widen, watching the Austrian.

“Don’t try?” You echo, scoffing loudly. “What do you mean don’t try? I was the one to try and smooth things out between us in the beginning.”

“When?!” König spreads his hands out, knees slightly bent. “Because I have no recollection of such events.”

“Well of course you wouldn’t!” The heat was meeting a breaking point—words were getting more personal, sharper. Like a blade being honed for the kill slowly; being sharpened by rocks and whetstones of conviction. 

König points a finger at you, voice going low and thin, “I’ve had enough of you, yes?” His sniper hood moves rapidly with his fast ricochets of breath. “Just about enough. Would you have wanted me to let you die?”

“I had it,” your lips spit, nose scrunched, and forehead tight. The man’s chest vibrates with a mute growl. 

In all actuality, you’d never seen him this worked up before. König wasn’t above giving your quips back even if he obviously disliked it—most of that was due to the strange familiarity between the two of you. In large crowds, the man preferred to stay silent. This only added to his almost deadly aura with others, though you knew the muteness was because of social anxiety and not some built silence. He wasn’t shy per se, just afraid he’d say something wrong; mess up the conversation. You did most of the talking in meetings and you never minded it. Added him in when the topic was something he knew a lot about.

Your mind had addled it up to thinking it was cute, actually. How his feet would shuffle; his half-lidded gaze and his intense eye contact to let them know he was still listening. When he’d have to remind himself to look away with a pinch to his thigh because it was starting to seem threatening. It was endearing, even.

But around people König knew, well, he was going to speak his mind. No matter how long it takes his brain to catch up with his lips.

The only thing the two of you were good at was being moths—hitting the metaphorical window over and over on the same topics and tension points. Slamming heads and flapping wings. You were at the end of your rope just as he was.

“I should have never taken you as a partner!” He calls, feet splayed. “Should have gotten out of this the second you were assigned with me. Gott, ich hab wirklich versucht, dich zu verstehen — Ich hätte gleich aufgeben sollen.” Your lips thin, lungs stalling as all the air vacates the room. You stand still and listen to what he really thinks, fingers shaking.

König’s large form towers over all, great sparks of electricity flying out. His gear shakes as he moves, thigh straps pushing fabric to shift and conform to his body. Your blood pumps with brewing hesitance. 

Maybe this had gone too far. I’ve never seen him like this.

“I can’t stand you any longer! Pathetic squabbles that mean nothing, absolutely ludicrous plans that make little headway.” Your head bursts with aggression and what little warning signs you have are squashed. “I can’t keep saving you because you can’t do your job correctly!”

“You don’t have to save me at all!” You scream. “You can’t keep your damn eyes off of me for five seconds, König.” Feet move away quickly from the armory door as if someone had come to put away their stuff but thought better of it. The next words burst from you before you can think of the contents. “It’s like you fucking love me or something!”

König doesn’t miss a beat, but for months afterward, he wishes he had.

“Oh, do not make me laugh—” he scoffs ferally, adrenaline making him talk, “as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place.” 

Twin eyes widen and both parties immediately fall silent. A sharp inhale.

Too far.

Under the hood, König’s face goes an embarrassing shade of red all the way down to his chest. Fingers freeze. Jaw slackens.

You feel like your heart was just grasped in his grip and ripped out of your ribs with one violent motion—one sentence out of all the others enough to knock down the rebuttal that had formed on the tip of your tongue. Your throat closes up as you blink in shock.

“I-I…” König stutters, mind blanking as he struggles for words. But anger was easier than pain.

Numb fingers rip off the last of your weapons and belongings as you let them hit the floor with defining thuds as warm shame floods your cheeks. Shaky puffs of breath like a panting dog. Dark eyes watch with regretful panic, heart jumping and eyes flinching. The adrenaline it…it made him forget himself on occasion—how to properly act when not on the battlefield. It was like that with everyone but…but he hadn’t meant that.

Shame that it’s already too late.

Your fisted hand slams into his chest, brutal and unforgiving. König lets off a grunt but does nothing as you slither past, hissing into his ear, “Find yourself a new punching bag.”

His hand snaps to his breast where you had slammed your KorTac patch right into his heart, catching it. It’s many moments before he can think enough through the alarm; form words.

“I…I didn’t…oh, du blöde Kuh!” 

By the time the man composed himself, panicked tears burning in his eyes, the door had already slammed shut. His feet squeaked over the tile to an empty audience. 

—

Private Military Companies don’t have ranks. There are no Sergeants, Lieutenants, Generals or Colonels. Just people. Beyond the orders you’d been hired on, there was nothing keeping you in line with König on this mission. And those orders were loose at best.

Adhere to policy and listen to the Base’s COs. Shut up and get the job done. 

The Austrian and you weren’t due out for another week because of rotations. Since you’d failed to capture or kill the HVT that you were assigned, another group had picked up the tracks in the meantime. Like an oiled machine, the gears of this operation kept whirling. 

Evolve, or die. 

“Lieutenant!” You call to the geared-up man on the tarmac—the one heading that very same group. It had been only a few hours since the incident in the armory. You needed a distraction; blood was still running high and brain pounding for release. There were only so many times you could bruise your fists and legs on a punching bag before people started giving you nervous looks. “Need an extra hand?”

Your voice sounds strained, even to you. The man looks you over once and narrows his eyes. Nods not moments later. 

“Get tired of your big friend? Okay, how fast can you be ready for me?” You feel your shoulders loosen, a relieved sigh exiting your lips.

“Three minutes.”

“...get to it then. We move in five.” 

So that was how you found yourself backed into a corner five hours into the op from hell—bloody knife held tightly in your grip and mouth open in ragged pants. 

“Fuck,” your vest is torn and riddled with bullets; your entire chest must be bruised by now because it surely aches like it is. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You really are reckless, just like König had said you were. Maybe you’d just never realized it because he always seemed to watch your six. This…this was really bad. The comms were awash with screaming orders and panic, ringing out across the abandoned mining factory that exploded with light from gunfire and the sounds that accompanied it. You knew for a fact three soldiers were down; two KIA. 

The Lieutenant is one of them. 

Your hand snaps to the radio strapped to your chest, one eye squinted in pain at the ragged slice across your left brow line. At your feet, two heavily armed men lay dead. 

“Pull back! They knew we were coming!” But your word didn’t carry weight here. Your face twists between pain and rage. König’s comment still rings in your ears as the onset of tinnitus does, as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place. It wasn’t ideal to be thinking about this now—it was detrimental that you didn’t. 

But König and the things he did often stained your brain. No matter how much you tried to distance yourself from that fact. 

Snapping the knife in your grasp down in an arch to dispel the blood from the blade, you take a steel-laced inhale and shove off the wall. Limping, but moving. Sprained ankle. Nothing you hadn’t dealt with before.

The concrete under you is splattered with crimson viscera and you stumble over spasming bodies riddled with bullets. With a subdued shink you slip your knife into its thigh sheath, grabbing the FTac Recon strapped around your chest after slamming a fresh mag into it. With a numb calm overcoming you, you slip your forefinger into the trigger guard, poised over the easy press of the trigger itself. 

The long shadows spread over you; your head illuminated by the dull sheen of the moon as you pass under a stretch of open sky to slink into the building across the empty street. Feral yells still bounce off the air and you go to them readily, purpose settling in your veins. 

Pain flies to the back of your mind, displaced by adrenaline and the rabid puffs of breath that fall like grinding thunder from your lips.  

You wonder what König’s thinking right now—he’d without a doubt noticed that you were gone. He’d even probably gone to your barracks room to try and apologize and found it empty. That was just how he was. 

Would he be happy? You wondered. Relieved to see you out of his life? You’d both done nothing but fight, but there were moments of peace. Understanding. 

Shared meals and comfortable, yet sarcastic, comments; soft glances when the other wasn’t looking. Heat in your face and obviously shown on his when shy hands brushed. 

Your hold tightens on your gun, brows dripping with sweat as it dribbles down along with the blood. Gunfire flashes. 

Closer now.

Shadows scream on top of a raised walkway attached to an in-mountain compound, targets with trigger fingers firing on your fellows who take cover behind crumbling walls. Pinned down. You watch, unseen, from a broken window as dust and moths collide. 

Your eyes lock on the closest hostile and you raise your weapon slowly, barrel resting on the frame between shattered glass. You clock the distance and adjust accordingly; breaths falling steady. 

The small insect that keeps hitting the window plays in your mind over and over—drowning out the yells; the fire. 

Just a moth readily willing to smash into that barrier until it dies. You hum under your breath and rest the gun into the crook of your shoulder, cheek to stock. 

Your finger slams into the trigger. 

—

You stumble out of the loud infirmary with a bloody rag pressed deeply into your forehead, medical pouch under one arm. You hear rushing feet and barked orders from nurses and doctors just before the door closes, cutting off as you stake out on your own.

Limping, you reason there were others with more severe wounds than your own; as blood drips from your flooded rag, your feet take you deep into the base one broken step at a time. You’d figure it out yourself. 

Plus, the silence would give you time to think. Think about König. 

You just gritted your teeth and decided that was better than taking up space in the infirmary. 

In times like these, the Austrian would fix your wounds for you, just as you did his. While you had your disagreements and heated fights, he’d never made it as personal as he had hours beforehand. Never made it hurt. 

“Jesus,” you mutter, rubbing your other crusty hand over the mud along your chin. Everything ached and you don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. 

Flinching along like a downed bird, you shove through into the last door into the barracks; thoughts now stuck on finding a chair to sit down on before your legs gave out. The darkness of the common area was deep—staining your eyelids as you grunt, bumping into the back of the couch. 

It’s almost funny the way the lamp flicked on mere moments later. 

You hiss, eyes snapping shut as the rays attack your sight, rendering you blind for a moment. The shaking hand on your dripping rag tightens before the spark of pain makes you lighten the pressure. 

There’s a dark grunt just as you open your eyes back up.

“You are late.” König. 

He sits in one of the chairs—sniper hood still over his head yet only clothed in a large compression shirt and casual camo pants. Like a disappointed parent, the Austrian’s arms were crossed over his chest; feet resting out and crossed at the ankles. With such a big stature the look could strike fear into anyone. 

Anyone but you, that is. 

König’s dark eyes rove over you, stopping immediately on the fabric you keep to your forehead. The previous, furious, tone stops and the flash of very real concern takes precedence. His hands tighten on his biceps, thighs tensing over the cushion; spine just a little bit straighter. 

You watch and say nothing—dead-faced. 

Your heart suddenly skips beats, stuck into the framework of the man’s eyes. König’s brows peel back and a timid stutter stays in your breast.

“...Vögelchen?” Lids blink rapidly, and before you can register anything because of your blood loss and fatigue, you’re being dragged to the couch and forced to sit down. 

Strong hands encompass your shoulders and small breaths flutter in front of your face as König peels back to kneel in front of you; spying the medical pouch in your under-arm. 

“What is this?” He mutters to you, vision flinching along your body but always dragging back to the bloody rag on your face. “What did you do to yourself?” 

Scarred hands raise before pausing, obsidian eyes staring deeply into yours as if in frantic question. Your own gaze keeps him close, spying on his veiled fear at the sight of your blood and your disappearance. He’d heard about the mission, then, that much was upfront because of his earlier comment. 

The humvee had been late arriving back. Half an hour. 

“Fuck off,” you utter, shoving off the couch before you’re captured in an unyielding press again, shoved down. Your anger spikes along with your unease, “König! I don’t have the patience—”

“I’m sorry.” The fight leaves you. 

Fingers squeeze your biceps, hold lightly shaking with nerves. “I did not mean it.” Obsidian pierces you, “Please, Vögelchen, I am sorry. Utterly. I speak so fast I misplace words—get far more,” words fail as you stare so intently at him, a strange feeling swirling in your gut. König’s face was going crimson again, though not from anger. His tone was deep and honest, accent becoming more whole with emotion. The hands on your skin stay. “Rude than I intend. It is not an excuse, but…”

In the horizontal oval of his hood, you spy the dots of tiny freckles; the whispers of auburn hair. That hawk nose still points violently from behind the fabric. König never finishes his sentence, just takes a large breath and looks to the side after a moment of silence. 

Then he steals the medical pack from your grip and opens the zipper with firm fingers, taking out gloves and gauze. Needle and sutures. It’s all placed on the side table as the bear of an Austrian stays on his knees for you—bending and shifting as the bottom of his shirt rides up. 

It’s a tense affair of touching skin; warmth and hissed curses. Gentle shushing. But you say nothing through it. Until he’s up in your face trying off stitches with forceps and a needle holder, breath making his hood lightly caress your bloodless face. His fingers are large and firm, never second-guessing or stuttering over the course of directing tools that dig a needling and thread into your flesh. 

He’s warm and every motion elicits shivers. You see his form from the side of your eye; his face’s outline as the lamp light illuminates the hood’s fabric. Shadowy silhouette of König’s strong jaw that shifts with every other breath from his wide chest. 

“You’re an asshole for saying that to me, y’know.” you slip your gaze away just as he snaps over. “Adrenaline or not.” 

The needle pauses and a swift nod is given. 

“I…I know it was. No amount of apologizing can explain how very horrible I feel. It was like I was so…so…” An annoyed grunt was leveled at himself.

“Pissed off?” You offer quietly. 

“Yes! Pissed off.” Amused glances were shared, the air slowly smoothing out between the two of you. Dark eyes quickly look away from yours and König clears his throat terse-like. But softer, steadier, “I…could not bear it if I were to see you in harm and be unable to assist you. That…is why I was watching. Why I do watch you.”

Inside of you, it was like there was a pot of water on the stove, steadily boiling under the heat. Your eyes are delicately wide when the man’s hands leave your face; kneeling body still tall enough to stare into you.

“You are…” König pauses, but not to find the words. To ready himself. He takes a long breath. “You are special to me, my Vögelchen. I can not see you hurt,” a gesture to your forehead and creased eyes. As if your pain was his own. “Not like this.”

“What are you saying, König?” You whisper, face twisted with hurt and confusion. Apprehension. “You’re giving me mixed signals. We always fight with each other. I’m not saying I’m blameless, but…c’mon, now. Look at us.” 

“Not…always.” He grumbled like a child, tools placed away and hands dripping blood before he slips the gloves off. They meet the side table with a tiny toss. The Austrian leans back onto his ankles, butt to heel. He begins to look at your forehead and you can practically hear his heart break. “I do not like arguing with you, you know that, yes?” 

“Me neither,” you whisper, fingers fiddling as a sheen of anxiousness sets in. “You just,” you pause, “confuse me.”

 König blinks in surprise, head tilting and large eyes shimmering. Your mind flashes to a curious cat and you try to explain with a burning face and fast lips.

“You say we’re partners but you never act like it,” he stares and listens. When had you both had a conversation like this before? “You make it seem like you can’t trust me to do the simplest task. I’m not,” your voice betrays you, cracking, “I’m not that useless, am I?” 

He freezes, muscles going taunt. 

“U-Useless? Nutzlos? No, no,” A hand comes to capture your chin and you let him move you where he wishes. Creased eyes lock on yours. “That is not right. You’re not useless to me—how could you be?” Pained brows move in, “did I make you think like this? Like I did not appreciate your skills?” 

Your eyes burn, and the aches from your wounds mix with the pure fatigue in your flesh to leave your emotions running between sanity and sadness. A moment later you’re turning your head away. 

König recaptures it, hands finding both sides of your cheeks. He looks shaky; desperate. 

“No, please, Vögelchen, please. I need you to look at me.”

“König, I don’t—” You close your mouth before you let out the beginnings of a sob. “I can’t keep fighting with you.”

“I know, oh, I know,” his hands are so grounding it’s like you’re the inner pages of a book, and his grip the thick leather cover—leather laced with shared scars and the same that had stitched you up countless times. This push and pull had to end. “I cannot fight with you either—it tears me apart. Oh, du weißt gar nicht, wie sehr es mich schmerzt, dein wunderschönes Gesicht anzuschreien. Mit dir zu streiten bedeutet, meinen Verstand und mein Herz gleichzeitig zu brechen.” König’s thumbs run up and down your skin, still bloody with dried flakes falling to the ground. He seems not to care a bit. 

“What can I do to fix this? Anything. Anything to get us to stop doing this to each other.” You stare into his eyes, both creased and glazed over. 

There’s a brief moment where you wonder if anyone truly even knew you as well as König did—there was no one else that you shared such a deep connection with. Years upon years of being stuck at his side. 

And someone else’s hands had never felt as good as his. They were hard and callused over but cupped your face as gently as one would cup water from a rippling stream. His eyes were stars; visible skin like porcelain, his breath raised a large and wide chest with a fast-paced heart. You could sense his throat trapping air. 

König kneeled to you and bared himself. 

Anything, he had said, to fix what he had said. To stop this. 

There was one way you could think to stop this—it might not have been smart, certainly not, but…hmm…You gradually raised your hand raised from your lap and slipped it under the front of König’s hood. 

Slowly, with all the delicateness of a glass dragonfly, your fingers strayed to the side of his neck to press into tight flesh. A rapid pulse.

The man goes to stone. It’s like you’ve stolen his nervous system. Dark eyes stay locked onto yours as you gaze back, hand dragging nails up with a light pressure near to the speed of a slug. 

König whispers your name into the empty space and the oxygen seems to dry up. Warm light from the lamp cast phantoms on walls and over skin in a small moment of foreign discoveries. The Austrian swallows saliva and you feel his neck flex. You don’t answer him, just watch and feel his own hands tighten on your cheeks in warning. 

But you never listen, do you? Reckless you were called. And König had been right.

You were reckless.

Your hand had now explored like a map the indents of hidden facial scars; long and short over jaw and lips. The hand that was doing this had hiked the sniper’s hood up around your wrist so that the man’s lashes were twitching as the fabric got too close to his eyes. And you watched. And so did he. 

A twin pair of moths hitting a glass window, staring from opposite sides at one another until they realized the break in the frame. 

“Anything?” You ask in a loose tone, barely heard above the flood in both of your ears. 

König was breathing heavily but didn’t pull away. Pupils wide and body heavy to your touch. His spine briefly straightened, until he realized he had moved back slightly and immediately hunched again if only to keep your hands on him. 

“I…” he grunts, “A…anything.” Fingers touch his nose, they spread under the hood to trace the bumps and marks he keeps hidden like buried treasure. Your vision takes in the otherworldly hue on his visible skin; the glaze of rapture in his eyes yet still that ingrained heat. 

Your body shivers at the gravel in his accented English. 

Fingers stall over his lips, hood showing you the pale being of König’s strong chin and jaw. You shift your touch to the side and find chapped lips revealed to you, a small palate scar that had healed to nothing more than a line up to his nostril. 

You spare it nothing more than a glance before you look back into obsidian. Dark ether and dead galaxies devoid of stars. Swallowed in a sea of pasts and futures. You look for hesitation; for disgust. 

You find none. 

“You said that no one could ever love someone like me,” your head leans in, and your breath mingles together with an intimacy that had never been shared between this type of partners. König, as if broken from a spell, takes down a swift inhale of air into his stiff lungs. He stares with far back lids. Flashes of unidentified emotions. “Why did you say that?”

A moment of silence and of rabid hearts. The man’s lips twitch over yours as he answers slowly, not breaking eye contact for a moment. As if he did he’d be turned to rock. As if he’d miss something amazing from happening. 

He speaks with a whispered confession.

“Because if they did—I would have to kill them. Because no other than I would be able to love you more.” Your world slows and your ears strain with the breathy words. 

Face burning your lips part with shock and awe. Violent to any other, but to you this was a confession from a man that could meet you blow for blow—calm you and infuriate you all in one. Challenge you, but knew when he’d gone too far and how to properly apologize. 

He’d waited in that chair for you all night, you’d realized. 

For you to come back to him. His partner. 

You press your lips to his and hear his pitiful sounds of gasped reassurance. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you let saliva drip off of your chins to splatter onto bent knees and shaking thighs.

König’s arms cage you; capture your waist and draw you closer, lips breaking apart before you both share a wide-eyed look of momentary pause. There was no room to breathe; to think. Chests hit together and fingers tighten to a tendon-visible hold.

The man's growing smile is wide from where you still hold his hood up by his nose, and with a lick of his red and wet lips, he reconnects your awaiting mouths. 

This time, you’re the one to gasp.

“Lass mich zeigen, wie leid es mir tut, Vögelchen.”

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[wwooyology]

The Murder House | Masterlist & Intro ⏃

↳ this is inspired by an ask from the lovely @addictedtohobi

「parings」 : enha x fem!reader

「synopsis」 : it was halloween season once again, and your brother begged you and your friends to go to this new hit escape room that just came into town; the only problem? you hated going to them almost as much as you hated waking up early in the morning. however, being the good friend and sister you were you went with them. you expected cheesy props, dumb riddles and questions, and a rigged room, so you couldn't get out even if you got the right answers. what you weren't expecting was being drugged and waking up in a room with a dead body and separated from all of your friends.

「genre」 : horror/thriller, gore, angst, psychological thriller, mystery

「warnings」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, heavy gore, blood, murder, mentions of suicide, cussing, death, manipulation, mentions of being drugged, toxic behavior, reader is speculated to be an 03' liner, trauma bonding, other specific warnings on individual parts.

𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆

「taglist」 : CLOSED

↳ a/n: I have decided to make this into a short series because I just know trying to write one long fic won't suffice, so I am making it into separate parts! I am super excited to see what you guys think so far and to hear all of your theories. don't forget to read the intro at the bottom!! I will be figuring out release dates for all of the parts at a later time, but they will all be subject to change depending on multiple factors! also, if you were on the taglist located on the wip post, then you are still on there, so don't worry! with that being said you will only be added to the taglist if you are 18+ and your age is visible on your page. if you don't meet either of those criteria, you will be ignored.

「start」 : May 8th, 2024 「end」 : June 20th, 2024

「synopsis」 : after waking up trapped in a room with a dead body, you are saved by none other than heeseung, but you're still left with questions. why were you and your friends trapped there, and who is behind it all? though it would seem that you won't be getting your answers very easily and definitely not without a few losses. 「word count」 : 10.2k 「warnings」 : blood, dead body, cussing, mentions of murder, mind games, drugging, mentions of mental health disorders (anxiety, panic attacks, etc...), jungwon is kinda reckless, lmk if I missed anything! 「release date」 : read here

「synopsis」 : with everyone's lives on the line will luck be on your side? except it seems like whoever trapped you here doesn't plan on letting any of you leave that easy... suspicion is rising and trust is starting to falter, but can you save everyone and bust whoever put you and your friends through this hell? or will you have to watch all of your friends die? 「word count」 : 11.3k 「warnings」 : cussing, spiders/bugs, water, blood, mentions of betrayal, arguments, mentions of claustrophobia & arachnophobia/entomophobia, mentions of spider venom, life or death situations, more mind games, mental health disorders (anxiety, panic attacks, breakdowns, etc...), (some tags will be hidden as to not spoil the story!) 「release date」 : read here

「synopsis」 : everything seems to be going downhill at a rapid pace and nothing is going right and you've already suffered the loss of two friends, but the mastermind behind this doesn't seem to be satisfied just yet. another test is thrown your way but things are starting to become more clear and you're realizing that the culprit has been with you the whole time... but will you be able to stop him and escape this hell house with your lives intact? 「word count」 : 10.5k 「warnings」 : cussing, even more 'games', blood, violence, gore, gun goes pew pew, poisoning, betrayal, gaslighting, familial issues, mentions of abuse (mental & physical), knife goes stabby, threats, death, obsessive/stalker-ish behavior, mental health disorders, even more betrayal, traumatic events, police, pls lmk if I missed anything! 「release date」 : read here

「synopsis」 : it's been a few weeks since you managed to escape from the murder house, but it's not quite over yet. your brother's trial was right around the corner and everything is brought back to the table. after he's found guilty and sent to prison you are determined to find out some answers, though you aren't sure if you'll like what he has to say.... 「word count」 : 6.2k 「warnings」 : cussing, petnames (my love, love...), kissing, court trial, sister complex, familial issues, mentions of abuse (mental & physical), obsessive behavior, threats, mentions of death, gaslighting, lmk if I missed anything! 「release date」 : read here

“Come on, y/n. We never get the chance to do this!” Riki whined as he draped his taller frame over your back, causing you to slouch forward. You let out an annoyed huff, letting your hands fall to your lap. Your phone slid from your fingers as you tilted your head to look back at your brother.

“Riki, how many times have I told you that I hate going to things like that?” You pushed back against him, causing the boy to fall dramatically back on the couch. Rolling your eyes, you grabbed your discarded phone off the ground, Riki watching you with a pout.

“You watch too many horror movies,” he grumbled, remembering all the nights you would watch horror movies only to have some new-found fear afterward, even if it was something completely unnecessary.

You dropped your phone once more before glaring up at your brother, “ya know, there is always some truth to them.”

“y/n, please. They are just movies. Complete fiction. Ghosts aren’t real.” Riki rolled his eyes, picking at the loose strings of the couch cushion. 

“Even rumors stem from some kind of truth, Riki.” You huffed out, but it didn’t seem like your brother would stop pestering you until you finally gave in. So after hours of continuously asking and begging, you finally gave in to him, telling him that you would ask your friends only if he brought his own.

And he agreed.

When that dreadful night finally came, you were stuck in a car with all of your friends. The crisp October air was cold on your skin, but the heating in the vehicle that Jay had turned on was enough to leave you comfortable. Jake had some random playlist filling the speakers jamming out in the passenger seat while Jungwon, Sunghoon, and Heeseung were crammed into the far back of the SUV, all three on the brink of passing out from how long the drive was.

“I thought you said this place was in town, Riki.” You grumbled, flexing your jaw, trying to ease the discomfort from having it placed on your hand as you stared mindlessly out the car window. However, now that it was fully dark outside, there wasn’t much to look at, seeing that there were no streetlights.

“I mean, the address said it was in town; how was I supposed to know it was in the ass crack of it?” Riki sassed as he scrolled through his phone, looking at whatever was posted on social media.

“Language, dude.” Jay scolded the boy, his eyes staring at him through the rearview mirror.

“Korean, what else?”

Pursing your lips, you reached over and landed a smack on the back of his head, resulting in him letting out a groan as his head fell forward.

“What was that for?!” Riki exclaimed, rubbing the back of his head as he looked over at you with wide eyes.

“Don’t be such a smart ass.” You scolded him, and Riki grumbled before showing Sunoo something on his phone. 

Shaking your head, you lean forward, resting your arms on the back of Jay’s seat, “How much longer do we have to go?”

Jay quickly glanced at you from the rearview mirror, much like he did Riki, before glancing down at the GPS on his dash.

"It's saying we have about ten or so minutes left until we get there." He told you before putting his eyes back on the road. 

It was then that you started to notice just how desolate the surrounding area was. If this was such a hit attraction, why weren't any other cars around? Or any kind of sign of life. It was starting to give you the creeps. However, you just reminded yourself that you were doing this for your brother and that it was probably just your imagination playing tricks on you. So you just tried to relax, sitting back in your seat once more, eyes staring out at the blackness of the trees.

That feeling of unease only grew more once Jay pulled into the driveway, and you noticed that there wasn’t a single car in sight. You pulled your seatbelt off slowly, eyes searching everywhere, trying to find anything to settle this unnerving feeling that was twisting in your gut. As you opened the door, welcoming the chilling air outside, goosebumps littered your skin.

“Come on, y/n, get out. My legs are cramping!” Riki complained, pushing on your shoulder and urging you to leave the vehicle.

With a shaky sigh, you slowly let your foot fall to the ground, your knees feeling like jelly. Jay stepped out of the car, pocketing the keys before looking over at you. His eyebrows scrunched together, taking in the uneasy expression on your face.

“Hey, y/n, are you okay?” he asked, softly taking your arm and pulling you away from the open door so everyone else could pile out. 

“Yeah, it’s just…” You trailed on as your eyes caught sight of the small sign that was hammered into the ground.

The Murder House

You could have sworn that you felt your heart stop. What kind of douchebag names their escape room that? As if the air around you wasn’t suffocating enough, seeing that only made it feel like you were fighting for your breath.

“Sunoo, you’re in the back on the way home.” Heeseung groans as he stretches out, his joints groaning in protest. Sunoo just gave the older male the side eye before moving to stand on the other side of Jake, who had just gotten out of the car.

“Riki, I thought you said this was a hit attraction.” You looked over at your brother, who was inspecting the area much like you were until his eyes landed on you. “Why is there no one here?”

“Calm your tits, sis. I’m sure we just came on a night that no one else wanted to?” He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, that just means we won’t get stuck with some randos.” Heeseung shrugged, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

"Come on, y'know, we didn't come all this way just to chicken out," Jungwon grumbled, tossing his hair with his fingers.

You curled your lips inward, knowing that they were right and that you were just thinking too much about the situation. Crossing your arms over your chest, you nodded your head in silent agreement. Jay wrapped his arm around your shoulder, giving you a gentle squeeze, ignoring the prying eyes that were on the two of you.

“Don’t let it get to you too much, okay? We’ll just get it over with, and if anything, we just let the timer go out.” He whispered softly in your ear, and the warmth of his breath eased your mind slightly. 

“You’re right, I’m just overthinking.” You gave him a small smile before following after him and the others.

“God damn, Riki, why did we have to walk all the way up here?” Sunghoon huffed as all of you reached the steps of the porch.

You couldn’t help but laugh, knowing he was right because that was a pretty lengthy walk uphill. All of the guys nodded in agreement before Jake walked further up the step, trying to see if you were able to get in. He then noticed a welcome sign hanging from the door, with a small basket underneath holding a piece of paper.

“It looks like we got some instructions, boys and girls,” Jake exclaimed with a broad smile, turning with the paper held high.

You looked at him uneasily as he unfolded it with a flourish and started reading it out loud so everyone could hear.

‘You will have two hours to uncover the grand mystery and escape the murder house. You will find clues and puzzles, but be careful, for everything isn’t as it seems… Good luck!’

A shiver ran down your spine as he finished reading. You weren't sure whether it was the chilling breeze that swept through or the cryptic words of the note. However, you did know that it wasn't just your mind messing with you; there was something deeply wrong with this place.

“Hey guys, this seems really weird. Maybe we should just go.” You voiced your concern, earning yourself a collection of groans from the guys.

“Oh, come on, y/n. Stop being such a negative Nancy and have some fun for once in your life.” Jake rolled his eyes, his hands falling to his side.

Your jaw clenched shut, and a glare adorned your features before you leaned forward, snatching the paper out of his hands.

“You’re such an asshole, Jake.” The words tumbled out quietly as you reread the same message that Jake had just read aloud, trying to see if there was anything else that he had missed.

“Yeah, yeah.” The brunette rolled his eyes before going on to complain about how thirsty he was and how he was sure that they would have drinks for sale or something inside. Then, without another word, he opened the door despite the multiple protests from you and a few others. 

“Jake, you can’t just walk in like you own the place!” You exclaim, hands slapping against your thighs as he disappears around the corner.

Letting out a huff, you step past the threshold, trying to shake off the eerie feeling that started to settle into your bones before going in the direction you saw Jake go, everyone trailing after you.

You walked into the foyer with a groan as you saw the older male chugging down a water bottle, some of it trickling down his chin before catching on his shirt. Your eyes then trail over to a tray that sat in the center of the table, six other bottles neatly placed inside.

“Jake, you can’t just take shit that’s not yours!” You scolded him, which only caused him to stop drinking, a gasp leaving his lips as he pulled the bottle away.

Riki then walked past you, looking down at the table and seeing some kind of note. Taking it, he held it up so everyone could see.

Free refreshments!

“The host probably just sat them out for people to take.” Riki shrugged, setting the paper back down on the table before grabbing a bottle for himself. 

Your stomach turned as you watched him unscrew the cap, “we can’t just trust drinks that are given to us by some random strangers.”

Heeseung then moves past you, his arm brushing yours, before grabbing one of the bottles. He inspected it for a few seconds before meeting your gaze.

"It's still sealed; there's no way someone tampered with it," he explained before twisting the cap open and swallowing a few drinks.

“Weren’t you the one complaining about being thirsty in the car?” Riki raised an eyebrow at you, and you just rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, but-” “But what, just drink the water, it’s not like you’re gonna die.” Riki quipped, causing your jaw to tighten. You knew he was right; you had been complaining about not bringing an extra drink for the road, but you weren’t quite sure if you were thirsty enough to drink some random water given out by a stranger. However, the dry feeling in your throat was telling you otherwise, so with some hesitation, you took the bottle Jay was handing you before twisting the cap off and bringing it to your lips; the liquid instantly quenched your dying thirst. 

After everyone got a much-needed drink, they all needed you all gathered around the coffee table. You, Heeseung, and Jay were on the long couch while Sunoo, Niki, and Jake cramped on the loveseat, leaving the armchair for Sunghoon, Jungwon perched on the armrest. 

“So… when does this game start?” Sunoo asked, leaning forward so his arms rested on his knees. Looking around, you couldn’t help but notice that the room was neatly decorated and clean, yet there was no sign of anyone being there.

Heeseung then leaned forward to grab something sitting on the table, catching everyone’s attention. He flipped it around, trying to find any indication of what it was, but nothing was written on the outside, so he opened the flap and pulled out the papers inside.

“It’s more instructions,” he explains as he starts to read them aloud. It says that as soon as the… the… sorry, I just feel really lightheaded.” He mumbles, shaking his head while squeezing his eyes shut, trying to stabilize his vision.

"Hee man, are you good?" Jay asked, putting a hand on the older male's shoulder, and Heeseung just nodded.

“Yeah, I just…” Heeseung’s words slurred as he started to sway, his eyes drooping. 

Panic started to set in your chest as you noticed that Heeseung looked like he was on the brink of passing out. Just then, Jungwon slumped to the side, falling right into Sunghoon’s lap, causing him to start calling out the boy’s name.

You quickly stood to your feet to check on him, but you fell back into your seat just as soon as you stood, your vision swimming. However, as you looked around, you noticed that all of the boys were either slumped over or on the brink of passing out. 

Worry then etched itself into your bones when your hazy vision landed on your brother's motionless form. You opened your mouth to call out for him and tried to get your body to move, but it wouldn't respond, and no words left your lips. Then everything seemed to fade, and your body grew weaker and weaker until you fell to the side, your head resting against Jay's back before everything went black.

Your body shot up with a gasp, and your ears rang so loud you could have thought it was coming from some kind of speaker. However, as it started to die down to a dull shrill, you realized that it was just you.

Looking around, you felt a chill run down your spine. You couldn’t see a thing. The room was shrouded in darkness, with not a single light in sight. Panic then started to set in as the earlier events started to play in your head. 

Where was your brother? Or your friends? What caused you all to black out?

So many questions started filling your brain, some overlapping others as you fumbled to get to your feet. You blinked multiple times, trying to fully stabilize your vision and to see in the darkness.

A scream escaped from your lips as you tripped over something, landing in some kind of liquid. Your heartbeat roared in your ears as you hurriedly tried to get to your feet, the ringing in your ears growing louder.

Scrambling to your feet, you reach out in front of you, trying to find the wall, and as soon as you do, you start searching for the light switch. With shaky hands, you felt around the wall until you felt the switch. Letting out a relieved sigh, you flipped it, allowing the room to flood with light.

You looked up with a smile before remembering that your hands were still covered in whatever you had fallen into. Your gaze then fell down to your hands, only for the smile to be wiped away and your eyes to go wide.

Blood. Your palms were covered in blood.

Your stomach turns the urge to throw up very strong; dread then fills your veins as you slowly turn around. A high-pitched scream leaves your lips as your eyes are set upon the body of a man, blood pooling all around him.

Fear clouded your brain as you quickly turned back around to open the door. Rushing over to the wooden door, you wrapped your hands around the knob, hoping that it would turn. But it didn���t.

The door was locked, and you were trapped.

@wwooyology | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[eempyreall]

♪ 𝐺𝑙𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟 𝑏𝑦 𝐽𝑎𝑛𝑛 ♪

༺ Temptation ༻

Oneshot ~ Omega Kings x Alpha Female Reader

Summary ~ You, an alpha maid, must clean the room of the omegan kings while they are in the middle of their heat. You mustn’t allow them to tempt you or you will surely be executed.

Featuring ~ Original Characters: Saint and Sebastian

Extra Notes ~ This is the non fandom version of this story. If you want to read the Tokyo Revengers’ version, press this link.

This story should only be posted under eempyreall on my tumblr and ao3. Report if you see it posted under anyone else but me.

Warning ~

You and the characters are 21+. Although I picture the reader as a black cis-gendered female, physical appearance will not be described at all.

Content within this story may not be realistic or factual.

I do not condone any of the behavior displayed within the story.

There may be dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit content, sexual content, non consensual and/or dubious consensual content, etc.

That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

It was troubling to present as an alpha while working under omegan authority. Sure, being an alpha as a royal or upper-class citizen has its perks, but classifying as the sub-gender when you're a commoner or someone who serves under a higher power is intimidating.

Omegas, men or women alike, tend to be manipulative, calculative, and sneaky. Their ethereal appearance and nurturing aura open broad opportunities for them—especially in a society ruled by omegan kings.

Many alphas have been castrated amongst the public. Their wrists are chained to a wooden bar as they hang, bodies bare and exposed to the eyes of the belligerent crowd. Alphas and omegas alike cheer as the culprit's clitoris or penis is chopped off.

Unfortunately, many do not deserve to be treated as such criminals when they are purposefully set up to force a rut or lied on.There are never trials nor any need for proof of such cases. Because of the dire circumstances, omegas will always be a priority. If only some omegas didn't take advantage of the system that's made to be in their favor.

You did your best to stay far away from the sub-gender. You only cleaned within the areas you were assigned. You kept to yourself, even amongst the other maids and servants. Even they can be conniving as a way to climb the ranks of the service industry. The higher you get, the more gold you receive.

That’s why, when you were directed to personally clean the kings’ heat room, you were bewildered. The brothers were known for their strength and cold demeanor. Despite presenting as omegas, they lacked the nurturing attribute that the sub-gender is popular for. Many have been fooled by their delicate features and challenged them head-on, resulting in the victims’ deaths.

When the kings attend public executions, they sit on their thrones with their legs crossed and their faces resting in the palms of their hands as the crowd goes wild during the legal murder. If the victim is just a measly servant or maid, they are instantly struck by the omegas' bare hands.

It was an outright death sentence to even be near the omegans. Anything could set them off. You've witnessed some of your fellow service members get murdered in cold blood, all by a simple slice of their heads. The brothers' presence is suffocating, and you have made sure to stay out of their vicinity.

Both of the kings shared equal intensity when it came to the glimmer of their eyes. King Sebastian has irises darker than blood. They are shiny and icy as they pierce into your soul. There is a natural narrow shape to his lids. Long black strands drape down his back elegantly as he forever wears an unreadable, emotionless gaze.

Considering his feminine features, he is consistently underestimated by other royal families, constantly challenged by the alphas who intend to court him. He proves them wrong with a strong flick of his wrist to their neck, forcing the trembling alphas to bow after the humiliating display.

King Saint has a naturally calculative glow to his blue irises. His haunting gaze holds a mask of eerie calmness. His platinum hair falls gracefully down his back, with long bangs that shape his jawline, and a faint unreadable grin that gives a sinister edge to his appearance.

Similarly to his brother, he is often underestimated until he proves himself worthy of etiquette and grace. Only, he is more patient with his movements, as he seems to enjoy taunting his prey.

Here you are, an alpha who dares to invade the space of their most vulnerable positions. Why would the knights send you instead of another omega? You couldn’t figure it out as you stood outside the grand door of their heat room, the scents already thick through the door as they reached your mask.

Fortunately, you took suppressants this morning, as you normally do to abide by the rules of the castle. They should last until the evening arrives, which is only an hour away. That should give you enough time to finish your work and flee.

You took a deep breath before slowly opening the door, peeking through the crack before stepping inside.

In your view were the kings, deep in slumber, both men entangled within the scrambled silks concealing their bodies. You were relieved to see them consumed by exhaustion, your presence unnoticed as you stepped into the room and quietly closed the door behind you.

You set the basket down, ignoring the suffocating atmosphere that caused sweat to bead against your skin. Sliding the gloves onto your hands, you began to set the cleaning supplies to the side.

One of the tasks assigned to you was to remove the dirty silks and replace them. This was a requirement you’d have to complete first to avoid accidentally rubbing cleaning liquids onto the kings’ skin.

You dreaded this moment, not wanting to get too close. Yet, you had to make your move so you could hurry and scrub the room clean.

You quickly make your way to the bed, the platinum-haired man nearest to you as you walk closer. You eyed both males’ sleeping faces. They looked peaceful and delicate, a reddened hue blooming across their cheeks as their slightly pouty lips rested while they slept.

Despite the circumstances, you took a moment to admire the kings’ natural omega beauty. Their torsos displayed abs similar to those of the knights which is an unexpected attribute for omega males. Quickly, you shook yourself free of the distraction and reached for a piece of the silk, carefully planning to extract it from the body entangled within.

Abruptly, a hand snatched your wrist before you could succeed. Your eyes widened as his eyelids shot open. Blue irises shifted toward you, and your heartbeat began to accelerate. You stood trembling in your spot as King Saint stared at you intensely, an unreadable expression in his gaze.

You immediately bowed, your wrist still grasped in his hand.

“Greetings, Your Majesty. I’ve been advised to replace your silks and clean this room,” you said with a steady voice.

“Hm,” he responds, the corner of his lips shifting upward. You yelp as you’re yanked over him, landing on top of him as he sits up.

“Dear little alpha, were you planning to have your way with me?” The red on his face grew, as did the heightened pheromones, the smell of vanilla reaching your mask as you felt a hard structure poke below you.

“Huh?! No—of course not, Your Majesty! I would never,” you gasp as your head drops to see the lengthy girth poking out of the red silk.

You felt heat rush to your face as you attempted to pull away, the head of his bare cock poking your concealed vagina. His free arm circles around your waist as he tugged you forward.

“Alphas are such filthy creatures. Is this what you want?” Saint’s grin grew wider as he lifted his hips, arousal thick in the air as he gripped you tighter.

“My intentions were only to replace your silks and clea—!” you were cut off by another voice.

“Alpha?” You feel Sebastian’s breath against your neck as another pair of arms wrap around you from behind. The smell of rose reached your nostrils as you felt a hardness against your lower back.

You gasp when you feel the omega behind you tug the fabric of your pants. Sebastian quietly pants as he makes an attempt to tear off your bottoms. Saint grabs the string behind your ear to pull the mask off.

He growled at the lack of your reaction to his scent when he tossed it to the side. He snatched your neck with a frown as he pulled you forward.

“Aren’t you supposed to be begging me to eat your pussy? Is there something wrong with you?” He hissed.

You held Sebastian’s wrists against your lap as you spoke, “It would not be right, Your Majesty! I have no desire to take advantage of either one of you.”

“You don’t want me?” Sebastian questioned with a tone that caused guilt to fill your heart. Saint grasped your jaw as his blue irises pierced you.

“You dare to reject your kings?”

“I mean no disrespect, My King! I am nothing but a maid. I am not fit to be your alpha,” you try to reason with Saint.

You did not want to get caught up and blamed for something you didn’t do. You need to escape quickly, before your rut is triggered by their pheromones. You could feel your suppressants weakening by the minute and you had no intention of getting castrated or killed.

“Excuses,” Sebastian breathed before successfully ripping the waistband of your pants. Saint yanked your gloves off before tossing them to the side.

Suddenly, Sebastian pulls you back as he lands on his bottom. His legs rest on either side of your thighs as he tightens his grip around your waist. His lips press against your neck as you feel the hardness against your back pressing into you harder.

Saint’s silks draped over his body as he crawled between your legs. He dug his nails into the fabric of your thin uniform, shredding the top from the middle and exposing your bra.

“Shit—wait!” you exclaim, grabbing Saint’s wrists. You forgot to use honorifics as they continued to scent the room, purposefully baiting you.

Sebastian’s hands wandered to your breasts, squeezing them before peeling the straps of your bra. When you begin to feel the suppressants wearing off, you use as much strength as you can muster to shove Saint off you and jump off the bed, falling onto your bottom in the process.

“Fuck!” you hiss in pain as the two omegas eyed you from the bed, panting as their irises shimmered. You could see that their pupils had completely enlarged.

You begin to feel exposed, embarrassment rising to your cheeks as you cover yourself with your arms, knees pulled to your chest. You shakily pull yourself up as you avoid eye contact with both of them. Surprisingly, they allow you to grab the supplies and run out of the room.

A few days passed, and you found yourself among a huge crowd of individuals awaiting the next castration. A man was chained to the platform, hanging with his feet off the ground, completely naked. The royals sat pretty with their knights, watching from above.

“Hey, what did this guy do?” you asked in confusion, catching the attention of the woman next to you.

“He took advantage of the kings during their heat. I pity those beautiful omegas. What a disgrace to the rest of us alphas,” she said, crossing her arms before turning back toward the platform.

Your eyebrows furrowed in disbelief as you watched the executioner approach with his weapon. Your breath hitched as realization struck.

It was a test. The kings had set you up to see if you would fail. The brothers deceived the public to maintain control and spread fear, especially among the alphas. The man hanging from the stage could have been you. A lump formed in your throat as tears pricked the corners of your eyes. They were truly sinister.

You turned away from the screaming man, closing your eyes as the crowd cheered for his demise. The severed half of his penis dropped to the ground, blood spraying everywhere. You remained unaware of the piercing gazes lingering on your form.

You were in the middle of scrubbing the floor of the room you had been assigned to. Your knees were pressed against the cold marble floor as you tossed the sponge into the bucket. You were still shaken up by the display that morning. Had you not suppressed your alpha instincts from taking over, you would’ve surely been castrated amongst the vicious public.

“Dear Y/n,” you heard a familiar voice behind you.

The kings’ signature aromas swirled in the air as they reached your nostrils. Your body shot upright as you turned to face the omegas, their knights standing behind them.

“Uh, Your Majesties,” you bowed quickly toward the brothers to show your respect. You missed the smirks tugging at their lips.

You yelped as a shoe pressed down on your upper back, your face smushed to the floor along with your hands plastered against the marble.

“Such a satisfying position to see you in,” King Saint said, his voice low as he continued to apply pressure. “We have a proposition for you.”

“You are to become our designated guide for heats,” he stated, a finality in his tone that indicated there was no room for denial.

Your eyes widened at the statement. You were unsure if this was some sort of trick. Even if it was the truth, you simply could not accept the conditions. You didn’t want to become a slave to these vicious monsters.

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, I am not fit to become the royals’ alpha. I will have to decline your proposition, though I’m very grateful and honored,” your gut clenched as you felt more pressure against your back.

Shoes entered your view before the person crouched down, your eyes lifting to meet the attention of the younger king.

“Who do you think you are?” Sebastian’s dull gaze, filled with nothingness, sent goosebumps across your arms.

You really wanted to ask what their problem was. Why were they trying so hard to get you killed? Why couldn’t they just slice you and get it over with? Was this how they played with some of their prey? It was confusing and truly exhausting. You just wanted them to leave you alone.

“I—I meant no disrespect—,” you squealed as the collar of your shirt was snatched, Saint yanking you upright.

Your fingers grasped the front collar of your top, which was tight around your neck. Saint pulled you back just enough to make eye contact.

“My apologies, Alpha. I completely worded that wrong. It is not a proposition. You will be our heat guide,” he demanded, an eerie smile lingering on his expression.

After a moment of the stare-down from the kings and knights, he released his grip on your shirt, causing you to land with your palms against the floor, leaving you to return to your duties.

“Damnit!” you exclaimed, smacking the floor.

“Interesting isn’t she?” Saint questioned Sebastian as they walked to the throne room.

His brother nodded as his eyes shifted in contemplation. “I don’t really like the rejection,” Sebastian hummed.

“Neither do I, but this is only the beginning,” Saint grinned. “I want to see how interesting she’ll be without the supply of suppressants.”

Weeks had passed since the interaction, and you were dreading their upcoming heat. You had no experience with omegas’ heats and no idea how to prepare. The kings hadn’t made it easy for you either.

You couldn’t find your suppressant pills, and when you went to the head maid to request more tablets, she declined as per the kings’ orders. You spent hours in the library, researching heats and alternative ways to suppress ruts.

You found a helpful passage on how to remain in control, realizing that, although your instincts would be screaming and yearning for omega cock, you would have to keep your mind in check while focusing on helping the omegas release their tension. In the end, the omegas were the priority.

There was also an herbal remedy in the book that you had crafted to help suppress those urges just enough to stay in control. You refused to allow the kings to break you.

Oddly enough, some of the omegan maids seemed happy for you and gifted you two rubber objects to aid the kings during their heat. They explained how to turn the products on and use them. You were already familiar with vibrators, but only the toys that provided suction for the clitoris. You hadn’t known about the rubber toys shaped as cocks.

The knights closed the doors behind you as you stepped into the heat room, the air already suffocating with the warmth of omegan pheromones.

You were slightly intimidated by the low rumbles and groans of the kings, their bodies loosely draped in silks similar to the last time you were here. This time, however, the brothers were awake.

You could hear the frustration in their voices as they whimpered, Sebastian using two of his fingers to penetrate his moist anal hole while yanking at his dripping, pulsating cock. His face was red, as well as the bottom lip he chewed on. Saint palmed his testicles while sliding his hand up-and-down his slick cock. His face shared the same red hue as his brother while his eyebrows were furrowed.

You took a deep breath in before releasing from your lips as you walked closer to the two, this time closer to Sebastian. You could feel the urges tugging at you to please these poor omegas. You sucked your teeth to keep your fangs from protruding from your gums, a desire to bite their neck glands forming as their fumes and cries went straight to your clit.

Their eyes shot open as they became aware of your presence, their panting growing heavier. Sebastian reached out, tugging at your arm.

“Alpha, I—I need you,” he breathed. “It hurts.”

“Hurry up! F—fucking alpha, taking your time while I’m s—suffering,” Saint seethed.

You were surprised by how needy they were this time. Rummaging through the bag, you pulled out the two toys the maids had gifted you before climbing onto the bed. Before they could snatch at you, your hands shot up after placing the vibrators onto the fabric.

“It’s alright, omegas. I have a wonderful surprise for you,” you cooed, just as the book had instructed. It felt strange and completely out of character for you, but you knew it would help your situation.

Their eyes brightened as they leaned back with a bit more patience. When you told Sebastian to spread his legs, he immediately complied. You quickly lathered a rubber cock with the substance you had brought.

“Alright, we're going to try something fun today. I don't know if you've used these toys before, but I'm sure you'll like it,” you said with a smile. Sebastian’s lips formed an 'O' as he stared at the object in your hand.

Truth be told, neither he nor Saint had seen anything like it. Usually, they used whatever alphas were available and called it a day.

Most alphas didn't even try to maintain control over their ruts once triggered, which often led to them becoming castrated after aggressively fucking the kings, committing a disrespectful act.

They could smell your arousal and were very confused as to how you stayed within your right mind. It drove them crazy how you seemed to be in complete control of your actions. They wanted to see how far they could push so you could reveal yourself as another disgusting mutt. But here you are, surprising them before the session even started.

“Are you ready, omega?” You question Sebastian with a soft tone. You read that it was good to call them ‘omega’ during their heats and to treat them with care.

Once he nodded in response, you set the head of the toy against his anus before slowly pushing the rubber inside. His anal walls clenched as he stretched around the vibrator. His lips fell apart as his head fell back against the pillow, a breathy moan escaping.

“Fuck,” Sebastian whispered. His hips twitch upward as the rubber reaches his prostate. His fingers twist into the sheets as his testicles tense.

“I’m going to switch it on, okay?” You say as you twist the bottom of the toy to the second to lowest setting, a buzzing sound echoing throughout the room.

Sebastian gasped as he thrusted against the air. “That’s so good, Alpha,” he groaned as he fucked his hand.

His moans go straight to your clit, the smell of your own arousal thickening. However, you seemed unbothered by the display. You kept your urges at bay and reminded yourself that this isn’t about you or your pleasure. It’s about aiding the omegas to their release.

A hand yanked your arm to the side, almost causing you to fall onto the bed as you kneeled.

“You’re t—taking so long! I need you now,” Saint hissed as he glared at you. Before you could think, your hand reached for his neck and pinned him down, his eyes widening.

“You will be a good omega, and wait your turn,” your voice becomes low, surprising yourself in the process.

Holy shit.

Your alpha instincts must be taking over as to remain in control of the situation.

“It’s gonna be alright, okay? I was just about to get your toy ready so can you be patient with me, please?” You sighed. You honestly couldn’t believe your own voice. You hope that you won’t be punished for this later.

The red hue on Saint’s face grew as he nodded, slightly pouting in the process. You give him a smile before reaching to pat his head.

“Such a good omega. I’ll make sure to take very good care of you,” you tell him before returning your attention to a hysterical Sebastian. Saint stares at you with awe in response.

You begin to penetrate Sebastian’s anus, his hole stretching around the rubber toy as it sinks into his tight anal walls. The slick soaks the vibrator and your fingers as you accelerate the pace.

“A—alpha, please touch me,” Sebastian moaned with teary eyes.

He couldn’t stop thrusting his hips, the sensation buzzing through his backside, too euphoric as his girth pulsates. A white substance continued to ooze out of his reddened tip as the rosy, floral scent heightened.

You comply, your free hand firmly wrapping around his length as you begin to slide against his thrusts as you penetrate him faster. You made sure to continue aiming for his prostate.

“Does that feel good for you, omega?” You question with curiosity. His teary eyes gazed at you from his position.

“S—so good. It feels so good, alpha. M’ gonna cum,” he groaned as his head fell back once more.

Sebastian’s thrusts became harder against your hand as he cursed. He wanted to replace the hand with your pussy. He wants you to ride him as he grinds into you, filling you with his semen as you moan out his name. You’re driving him fucking crazy. Suddenly, a wad of slick shoots out of his cock as he rode out his orgasm. The alpha in you wanted to lick it all up but you kept yourself tamed. This is a job that you must complete and you must stay professional.

Sebastian pants until he falls into a slumber, his cock slowly going flaccid as his chest rose and fell. You grab the second toy after slowly pulling the used one out of Sebastian’s ass.

“Alright, omega. It’s your turn now,” you say with a grin. You saw a shimmer in Saint’s eyes as you shifted toward him with the toy in hand.

His poor cock leaks pitifully, the tip redder than Sebastian as it throbbed upward. It twitched along with his testicles twitching, slick dripping down the skin.

You use a thumb to gently caress the underside of his head, your fingers curved around the girth.

“Does it hurt?” You ask, to which he nods with a slight whimper escaping his lips as you rub gently against the vein.

“P—please, alpha. I n—need to fuck you,” he pleads. You never thought that you’d see the day where King Saint would beg to be fucked by an alpha maid.

It was pitiful but also arousing. His eyes weren’t as teary as Sebastian’s but you could see the swirl of desire embedded within his gaze.

“I cannot risk a rut to take place. I will fuck you with the vibrator as I did before, okay? Keep your legs spread, for me,” you say while caressing his cock.

Your head lowered as you used his slick as a lube and slowly pushed the vibrator inside of his anus. Your lips circle around the head of his cock, the sweet substance reaching your tongue as you sucked the tip.

“Oh—oh, fuck,” Saint groaned as your arm pinned one of his thighs in place. Your hand massaged the rest of his cock as you continued to suck his tip.

You feel his hips rise as he tries to grind against you, the head of the toy reaching his prostate as you penetrate him at a steady pace. You feel the weight of his hand on the back of your head.

His head drops back, eyelids heavy as his mouth hangs open. He bit his lip as he grinds harder against you.

Your hand stopped your mouth from going further as you used your other hand to switch the vibrator to a slightly higher setting than you did for Sebastian.

“L—look at me! Look at what you’re fucking doing to me, alpha,” he groaned as his eyes bore into yours. “I’m gonna cum so hard,” he whimpered.

Saint has never been pleasured like this before. No alpha, man or woman, has ever taken their time to attentively take care of him and his brother. It’s never felt this beautiful before. He wants to snatch you from his cock and plunge himself deep inside you. He wants to force you onto your hands and knees and return the favor. He wants to feel you clenching around him while you cry.

You feel his cock tense in your mouth as you press the vibrator as far into him as you can, slick filling your mouth as your eyes widen. He moans loudly through his orgasm as sweat beads around his head.

“Swallow it! Swallow my semen, alpha. I want you to consume me,” Saint groaned as he held your head, nails digging into your scalp.

You comply, your clit gaining a heartbeat as you close your eyes and breathe deeply. You almost triggered your own rut by the load of his cum filling your belly. When Saint commands you to open your mouth to see that you gulped it all down, you comply.

“That’s right,” he breathed a chuckle, his eyes drowsy as he slowly fell into a deep slumber.

That night, you stayed in the bathroom, using your own suctioned vibrator as you orgasmed hard from the memories in your head. Your alpha instincts have gone haywire as you were locked inside, sitting on the floor. All of the pent up energy had been fucked out of you by your own fingers.

Days had passed as you helped them through the process each day and night. Each night you masturbated after it was over, releasing your tension so that you wouldn’t go crazy. You missed having suppressants to help get you through the days. It was needed now more than ever.

This continued for months. It became harder and harder to control yourself as time went on. Not only were you forced to spend more time with them during heats, but even on normal days. You were compelled to keep them company, no matter what they had planned. They became more touchy and showed a lack of respect for your boundaries.

They constantly wanted you by their side, to the point that you were forced to sleep in their beds, switching between the two each night. It made it harder for you to sneak off and release your tension, considering their tight holds. They barely allowed you to go use the restroom when you were trapped in their arms.

You couldn’t use them to release yourself, or else you’d go into a rut. You also didn’t want to be this close and personal with them in the first place. This was supposed to be a professional job, not something you signed up for. You didn’t agree to become a sex slave.

One night became too much for you as they tempted you. Unknown to you, they were doing it on purpose. They wanted your pussy so bad and they were willing to do anything to have it. It was confusing as to how a pill that forced a heat could affect an alpha the same as it would an omega.

“Ah!” You whine out as Sebastian’s fingers tightened around your waist, thrusting into you as his cock stretched your vagina. His teeth penetrated the skin of your neck gland as he used his free hand to hold your head down.

“Good, omega. You’re taking this cock so well,” he whispered against your ear with your blood staining his teeth. You could only whimper in response as your g-spot was consistently hit.

Tears streamed down your face as you accidentally made eye contact with the knights that stood in front of the doorway. You couldn’t read their expressions, shifting your eyes away quickly with embarrassment as your body rocked against Sebastian. Both of your walls clenched around the cocks inside of you.

“That’s right, omega. Cum for your kings,” Saint hissed as he penetrated your ass harder, his slick gushing out of your ass. His grip on your hips tightened as he leaned forward, his silks draping over you.

You felt your rut triggered as your fangs shot out. You tried to turn away from Sebastian’s shoulder as your vision shifted, pupils dilating. You couldn’t stop the whimpers and moans from releasing as you gripped Sebastian’s hair.

“Claim me, Y/n. Mark your alpha,” his lips moved against your ear. You groaned a curse in response.

You didn’t want to claim them. You didn’t want to be trapped with an omega in the slightest. You didn’t even want a normal mate in general. You especially didn’t want to mate with the kings. You are not cut out to be a queen.

“Please don’t,” you breathed.

Your plead caused them to fuck into you harder, your inner walls clenching around them as your mouth hung open. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you grunted.

“Come on, darling. Mark me,” Sebastain groaned. He could feel the warmth in his stomach rising.

“It’s in your blood, Y/n. Do it! Mark your claim,” Saint grinned as his nails pierced your skin.

You really tried to fight off your alpha instincts. It was so hard to ignore. You had to let it go. You had to release the tension.

Sebastian released a high-pitched moan as your fangs sunk into his neck gland.

“Fuck, you’re mine. Now you’re all mine,” he smiled as tears streamed down his face with blood sliding down his neck.

Once the positions were switched, you ended up marking Saint who enthusiastically accepted your claim.

“Mine, mine, mine!”

It was a filthy, sweaty, and hot night as you all fell into a slumber. When you woke up, you felt immediate terror at what you had done. Especially when you felt the marks on your own neck.

“No, no, no,” you hyperventilate. “What have I done?”

One day, you even tried to flee the castle. You were overwhelmed with your new responsibilities, the consequences of your actions.

The knights caught you before you could even make it out the door. They dragged you back to the heat room to wait for the kings to return.

You screamed in terror when you found out you were pregnant. You didn’t want a kid nor did you want the royal heir. You were forced to be queen and forced to bear the responsibility of birthing the child.

[daryltwdixon]

✦ complete ✧ in progress ✭ smut ☆ my faves

✦☆ The Ruins of Us ✦The Promise of Us ✧ The Heart of Us✭

✦ Dominion ✭

One shots

Red Dress ✭

Sucker

The One on the Bike✭

Picture You✭

Worship✭

The Shower ✭

Inexperienced Daryl ✭☆

daryl kisses you in his truck

Daryl Returns

Teach You ✭☆ pt II ✭ pt III ✭ pt IV ✭

Feral ✭

The Farmer's Daughter☆

Your Lips, My Lips ✭

Mini Masterlists

Kinktober ✭

Phoebe Bridgers Inspired

Requests

Angel ✭

✦☆ All That Remains

jealousy, jealousy ✭

Made for this ✭

Creature Comforts

Cowboy Lover

Just Coffee ☆| Part II ✭

The Devil You Know✭

The Hope of it All☆

Something Ours ✭

Lips of an Angel ✭☆

A | 28F | East Coast US | Virgo

I tend to post / reblog explicit writings, so please do not follow or interact if you are a minor. However, I cannot control individual choices, and it is ultimately the responsibility of the reader to determine what content is appropriate for them.

Everything is also on Ao3

if you see me interacting from my main blog,  @plzlou it’s because this is a side blog! There are some features that side blogs don’t have, so I’ll need to switch to my main account for certain actions, especially when it comes to liking posts & following. 

I post about The Walking Dead and The Last of Us. Please expect when you read for there to be canon-type violence (aka walker/infected deaths, gore, smaller character deaths, etc). I will leave warnings for anything outside of the usual realm of the show like s/a, major character deaths, extreme gore. Please read with caution if that is not something you can handle!

All moodboards & banners are made by me. Photos taken from Pinterest. I do not have a beta reader, all writing belongs to me unless specifically mentioned to be inspired by another. I do not consent to any work being copied, translated, or reposted elsewhere.

And lastly, thank you so much for your love & support!! It means so much to me 

[sweetsilver-if]

To Taste Sweet Silver

Play here [Updated 8/10/24]

Word count (w/code): 16.9k

[F.A.Q] [Spotify][Pinterest]

"The silver of the fruit tastes sweeter than the iron of the blood." There is a City in the center of the remaining world, said to house and protect the last gift from the Old Gods before they vanished. Your mother had told you stories of it as a child, before she died. No one is allowed to enter the City of Forgotten Silver without extensive documentation and proof they are worthy. Not everyone is allowed to grace divinity. There is no reason for you, a nobody, to be here but you've managed to worm your way in. You know the consequences if you get caught, and you know to keep your head down as often as you can. The risk to be here is great, for the City is desperate to protect what remains of the past. Everyone who has dared to take the Old God's last gift, a fruit with silver skin, has had their execution made a spectacle. For this fruit is the key to reviving the world to what it used to be. Or so it is believed. It's why those in power will do anything to protect it. You know this, but you have a plan to attempt its theft anyway. For without it, how else will you finally bring this world to its end?

To Taste Sweet Silver is an 18+ Gaslamp Fantasy IF about putting a crumbling world to rest.

✽ Play as a fully customizable MC: gender, sexuality, personality, skills, etc.

✽ Decide how you're going to survive in the City; will you fake an identity and do earnest work, rely on thievery, or freeload off anyone willing to take pity on you

✽ Master magic, hone your physical skills, or expand your worldly knowledge

✽ Discover why the Old Gods abandoned the world in the first place, and learn about the New Gods that have taken their place

✽ Decide your reasons for wanting to end the world. Will you really go through with it?

Caspian Sinclair

The City Mage [M]:

A man who's more important then he lets on. The only reason you know he's a Mage is because you sense it on him. Despite his kind but stoic nature, you hesitate to approach him because if he finds out who you are, he will kill you. If only he wasn't also the holder of key information you need. He never seems opposed to answering your questions or pointing you in the right direction, making him your main source of information about the City of Lost Silver. However, the badge he wears reminds you to still your tongue, and watch your questions.

Whisper

The Jester [NB]:

Xer part of a night show, the sort outlawed in the City due to being propaganda about the Old Gods' departure. When xer not part of the show, xe have a traveling food cart xe only run at night. Although it's best not to draw attention to yourself and get involved with someone like xem, you can't help but wonder what's hiding under the mask. Especially with xer strange charm, odd sense of humor, and ability to show up at the worst of times for you.

Vivienne Silver

The Empress [F/trans]:

The youngest Empress ever crowned, and only due to the tragic assassination of her family. She's an elusive figure, never seen in public, but worshiped all the same. The people whisper her suffering is the reason why the City has seen such prosper in recent years, mythologizing her as a martyr. As an outsider, you have no strong opinion of her, until strange circumstances bring you together. She's exhausted and weary and as willing to bite as she is to be gentle.

Mourning

The New God [M/F/NB]:

Your benefactor and the sole reason you managed to get into the City. They found you in the outskirts one day and handed you a pass, telling you they can help you get what you want. You haven't seen them since. They're elusive and strange, and while they claim they're a God, you're not sure they're something quite so holy.

CW: Gore, violence, torture, cannibalism, death, religious trauma, explicit sexual themes, mtc

Note: This is a side project and won't be updated frequently. My main project is Burning Academia!

[endemise]

✻ DEMO

→ Latest Update: Revised Prologue — 31 January 2025

17+ The Fall of House Black — A gothic, supernatural, mystery interactive fiction story. Lightly inspired by The Fall of the House of Usher and Frankenstein media. (Work in Progress)

Synopsis has mentions of death and suicide. See extended content warnings below.

The fall of House Black was an imminent thing. A name had never been so cursed that all it could do was bring about death.

First, your younger sister in a swimming accident, then your older brother in a case of mistaken identity. As the rest of your family sought to grieve and bring justice to your brother, your older sister was killed in a hunting accident at the end of your father’s bow.

The three of you, mother, father, and child, became inconsolable. Broken beyond repair. Your mother unable to bear the weight of life any longer took her own while your father disappeared, gone into the night. When you remain the sole survivor, you know you must leave, and on the night of your decision, your home goes up in flames with you inside.

Then, you awake, dazed with no recollection of anything, and when you look down at your body, you scream. It is wrong. So wrong.

Play as a reanimated, customizable character.

Learn how to be a person again.

Try to survive in a society that fears the unknown.

Develop relationships. (4 ROs: All gender-selectable + 1 secret RO)

Aid in the investigation of your family’s untimely deaths.

Learn about your family’s curse.

Aesop/Almira Hammond | Detective | 36 Years Old | RO

A is an observant and clever person, stoic in nature. They put their all into their work, striving to find the truth in every case. They take on the case of your family’s sudden deaths despite pushback from others. It was an occurrence of events all too strange, and they are determined to figure it out.

Cyprian/Cecilia Atterton | Writer | 28 Years Old | RO

C is an imaginative and creative person, quiet in nature. They write not only from their own experiences, but the experiences of others as well. They are interviewing people about House Black, intending on writing a book about your family’s ill fate and eventual demise.

Sebastian/Sabina Farwell | Doctor | 34 Years Old | RO

S is an intelligent and kind person, caring in nature. They are a most trusted doctor, hardworking and honest. They were the young doctor that tried to help your father and sister. They helped without question, never calling your family cursed as you so often were.

Elias/Elosia Osborne | Coroner | 30 Years Old | RO

E is an empathetic and hardworking person, cheerful in nature. They put their heart into their work, aiming to bring closure to people as swiftly as possible. They are the one who investigated and confirmed the death of your elder sister. They never could for you though.

Unknown | ??? | ??? | RO

A secret. Who knows when they will appear.

SUBJECT TO CHANGE

Mentions of death, child death, suicide, violence, blood, injury, burning alive, body horror, mutilation, slight gore, amnesia, manipulation, physical assault, murder, alcoholism

asks are welcomed!

DISCLAIMER

this is a demo/work in progress. everything is subject to change until the final version. it is by no means a finished or polished work.

LINKS

✻ demo | same one, just another link

✻ itch.io | my creator page

✻ @ethersic | my main, art, etc. blog

INFO

word count w/o code: 11.5k

made with tweego + vscode + sugarcube

[etherealyoungk]

—⟡ covert desires | kim mingyu

summary:  the mission is simple - infiltrate a high-stakes auction that the top leaders, businessmen, women, and politicians of the world attend every year and steal one of the most highly guarded and hidden-away paintings from the target’s collection. the only downside, you had to work with kim mingyu, whom you absolutely hated. and to make it even worse, you had to pretend to be his wife for this mission to work.

pairing: spy!mingyu x assasin!reader (fem!reader)

themes: spy au, mafia, enemies to lovers, fake marriage, mutual pining, spies, angst, fluff, killing

warnings: suggestive, kissing, use of curse words, weapons, guns, knives, violence, use of drugs/painkillers, blood, gore, killing, death

wordcount: 19.5k

a/n: i had so much fun writing this! thank you so much to @fairyhaos to listening to my random ideas and helping me with the title and just being really helpful, ily. and tysm to @gyuswhore for beta-reading this and giving me valuable feedback, lifesaver honestly. tysm! i'd love to know your thoughts on this ^^

full fic under the cut!

— character guide

seungcheol - underground mafia leader

jeonghan - manipulator, gets things fabricated like documents, ids etc.

joshua - keeps a log on the accounts/transactions and assets

jun - spy

hoshi - spy

wonwoo - in house doctor

woozi - in charge of gadgets and other necessary equipment

the8 - in charge of weapons

mingyu - spy and your partner for the mission

seokmin - gathers informations and intel

seungkwan - negotiator and works behind the scenes

vernon - hacker

dino - spy

you wipe the last of the blood off your hands and carefully move the body, manipulating the crime scene to make it look like it was a suicide. with a carefully crafted suicide scene, the police wouldn’t even blink an eye and just close the case as a suicide, not wanting to bother investigating further. you just had to leave around the right clues and bait them. once they’d find it, they’d conclude the case without thinking any further and your job was done. you were sure no one would even miss the bastard that you had just sent to hell anyways. after scanning the room, you make sure everything is in place before exiting quietly and disappearing into the shadows. 

when you reach home to your apartment, you swiftly change out of you soiled and bloody clothes. that idiot decided to put up a fight, making things harder for himself really. you planned on killing him quietly, but the fight he put up was unnecessary and he wasn’t going to stand a chance against you regardless. you would have finished earlier and your clothes would have been significantly less bloody. sighing, you peel off your clothes and they fall to the floor in a heap as you step into the shower. the hot water offers some sort of relief and relaxation, your muscles relaxing under the hot water. wrapping a towel around yourself, you step out and hear the faint ring of your burner phone fill the room.

“hello?”, you say as you put the phone to your ear.

“did you get the job done?”, the voice on the other side asks.

“yes, you didn’t hire the best for no reason, did you?”, you scoff back, offended he’d even have a sliver of doubt in your skills. 

“good. we have another urgent matter on hand and it has to be discussed in person. you know where to meet me”, the voice adds.

“i swear if it’s another-“

“you’ll love this one, trust me”, the voice says, cutting you short and hanging up as you begin to say something. you curse under your breath; that idiot never had manners. you huff,  throwing the phone on the bed and changing into something comfortable before you crash into bed, too tired to complain or think about anything else. 

you were an assassin or a hired killer you could say. but you liked to call yourself an assassin - because let’s be real, it sounds cooler. you were trained, skilled, and good at what you did – which was killing people, bad people specifically. when you weren'’t out hunting people down, you were working as a barista at a local cafe. it was somewhat therapeutic compared to your other occupation. but you had to if you wanted to survive in this world. if you wanted your life to have some semblance of normalcy. the world was a cruel place and somehow you ended up doing this for a living but hey, at least it paid well.

the next morning you’re sitting in the hall of seungcheol’s fancy office, or what you liked to call the safehouse.

“you’re here! let me tell seungcheol”, dino says upon seeing you, flashing you a friendly smile. you give him a small smile as he retreats, making his way to look for seungcheol.

seungcheol walks in a few moments later, and his presence can be felt in the room immediately. no one messes with him – everyone knew that. he was the most feared man in the underground mafia and a threat to the government as well. his connections and dirt on powerful people ran too deep with secrets only he knew and used as leverage. hell, even the government would hire him to do their dirty work so he was practically untouchable.

“what’s this urgent matter that needs to be discussed in person?”, you ask, once he sits down opposite you.

“no hi?”, he prompts, raising his a brow as he looks at you.

“no thank you for yesterday?”, you prod back, challenging him. you were really the only person seungcheol let speak to him like that. he’d pretty much raised you and he didn’t seem to mind, especially since you did most of his dirty work. 

“we seem to have gotten ourselves another lucrative mission”, he starts off, treading carefuly with his words. “it’s something worth millions if not billions, so this is a really high-stakes operation”, he tells, observing you. “and we’re getting paid handsomely for it and so will you if it goes well”, he completes.

“alright, that seems like a piece of cake. what are we stealing?”, you ask.

“a painting”, he tells, as he takes a sip of his bitter black coffee in front of him.

“it’s going to be displayed in the national museum of culture and arts”, he says as he continues briefing you. “but that’s not all. the annual auction takes place in three weeks. many if not all the influential, powerful people, businessmen and politicians are going to be at this event, so it’s expected that the security is going to be very tight and advanced. they’ll be bidding for art and plenty of other stuff there but not this painting. this painting is special because it’s not for sale, it’s only on display and it’s the first time it’s being shown to the public in twenty years. the mission is to steal this painting, while also making sure no one finds out – so we place a knock-off”. he explains.

“all right, that doesn’t sound too hard”, you say, calculating everything in your mind.

“oh, don’t underestimate this. this painting is going to be highly guarded and anyone can’t just enter the auction either. you need to be specially invited to the auction otherwise you cannot enter, and you can’t go alone, it’ll be suspicious”, he adds.

“what do you mean i can’t go alone? how else am i going to do this?”, you ask, confused.

“mingyu’s going to be your partner for this mission and the only way it’s going to work is that you pretend that you both are a married couple”, seungcheol completes, making you whip your head up. your jaw drops to the floor upon hearing the words that came from seungcheol’s mouth, absolutely appalled.

“did i hear that right? i need to be mingyu’s wife?”, you repeat, leaning forward and seungcheol doesn’t say anything, only looks at you with a knowing smile.

mingyu and you don’t exactly get along together. he was always somehow getting on your nerves and you hated him.

“seungcheol, you know i don’t like him”, you say, annoyed already. “and i work alone”, you add, glaring at him.

“it’s for the mission and we don’t have any other option. everyone else is busy with other missions and mingyu was the only one who’s free at the moment, and i trust him on this one”, seungcheol explains. you can’t really argue with seungcheol because, at the end of the day he was your still your boss and he called the shots.

“i suggest you get friendly with mingyu because we don’t have a lot of time on hand. the auction is in three weeks and you and mingyu need to play a convincing husband and wife role starting today”

“today?”, i repeat. that was really short notice.

“mingyu has it sorted out”, he says, and your burner phone pings. “that must be him”, seungcheols says.

“please try to get along with him”, is the last thing seungcheol tells you before he stands up to leave. he emphasizes his words with the look he gives. it was a ‘don’t mess this up’ look and you sighed. he gives you a small ‘good luck’ before turning around and walking out, getting busy with something else.

you stand up to leave, opening your phone and reading mingyu’s text.

“meet me at the fountain park at 11am”.

you grumble as you make your way to the park and see mingyu sitting on one of the benches. there aren’t many people, but the sun shines warm and the sky is blue - a complete contrast to your mood right now. you’d very much like to walk away but you can’t. you drag you feet and will yourself to walk towards mingyu, who smiles when he spots you. you don’t reciprocate the smile, giving him a stern looking, already annoyed at the sight of him.

"you know, most people don’t scowl when they see a handsome face”, he says when you’re close enough. you roll your eyes and mentally flip him off, crossing your arms across your chest as you glare at him. “handsome my ass”, you mumble under your breath.

“long time no see”, he greets. you don’t sit. “i’ve been busy”, you tell him.

“you look good”, he adds, gesturing for you to sit.

“seungcheol briefed me on the mission, so what’s next”, you ask, getting back on the topic, not wanting to indulge in small talk with mingyu.

“i found us a house to move into until the mission is over and-“,

“wait, why do we have to move in together?”, you ask in horror and he just looks at you like the answer is obvious.

“because we’re husband and wife? and i don’t think i can come by your apartment and suddenly tell all the neighbours that the poor girl they thought was lonely and single is actually married, now can i”, he says.

you scowl again. “they won’t even care!”

“it’ll be a problem if they become suspicious. it’s better to move in elsewhere and you can move back to your apartment when it’s all done and they won’t even blink an eye about what happened. you can also avoid questions about your husband who mysteriously appeared and disappeared”, he explains. “unless you want to explain why you kept such a handsome man a secret and-“

“shut up”, you cut him off and he chuckles.

you weigh out all the options in your head and mingyu’s idea was the best and most promising, even though you didn’t like it very much. you hated the idea in fact. but sometimes desperate times called for desperate measures.

“fine”, you huff, gritting your teeth. “what else?”, you ask.

“jeonghan’s working on getting us the invitation to the auction. we can start by moving in. pack only your essentials. i’ll pick you up by 2 pm tomorrow so you can move your stuff into the new place”, mingyu tells.

you stack the last box with all you stuff and things that you’d need in the new place, dusting your hands on your shorts. if your neighbors asked, you were away, traveling back to meet family who lived in another state. you’d be back soon so you were sure you could get away with that excuse.

mingyu arrives at 2pm on the dot as promised. you start to carry the boxes out. he carries the other two effortlessly and follows behind you. the elevator ride is quiet, with neither of you saying anything. you’re sitting in his car as he drives you to the new house. you look around, all the houses looking more fancy, manicured and elite. that’s when you realize you’re entering the richer part of the neighborhood.

“how’d you manage to get a house here?”, you ask mingyu, knowing the rent or prices would not have been cheap.

“i invested in some land here and once they announced that they’re going to develop this area, the prices skyrocketed and i got rich. i own the house now and i thought it would be nice to finally use it.”, he explains.

“cool”, is all you can say as you look around at all the villas and large houses occupying this space. if anybody lived here, they definitely came from the wealthy and posh side. in hindsight, it was a good cover for you and it would make it easier for you to blend in if you had to pretend to be from a wealthy background.

you finish unloading and unpacking your stuff in the room when mingyu knocks on the door. you both thankfully had separate rooms because there was no way in hell that you were going to share a bed with him. you’d rather sleep on hot coal than do that.

“jeonghan’s finished gathering some documents so i’ll just go over and pick them up. do you wanna come along?”, he asks.

“sure”, you say, because you really didn’t know what you’d do here alone, plus it had been a while since you last saw jeonghan and oh he was a real menace.

“jeonghan!!”, you say upon seeing him, going up to give him a hug. “y/n! it’s been a while huh, you look great”, he says, a small smile on his face.

“that’s not fair, you didn’t give me a hug when you saw me now did you, baby”, mingyu complains.

“what did you just call me?”, you ask, not sure if you’d heard that right.

“baby”, he repeats casually.

“don’t call me that”,

“i have to if we’re going to play a lovely doting husband and wife couple”, he says and you give him a glare, lasers practically shooting out from your eyes.

“we’re not playing husband and wife right now so watch your mouth, mingyu”, you warn and he just shrugs as you fix your attention back on jeonghan.

“it hasn’t even been 24 hours and you guys are already arguing? i just hope you survive the mission and don’t rip each other’s throats by the end of this”, jeonghan says, amused.

“speaking about that, here’s your marriage certificate. i made it so you’ve both been married for a year and a half, less suspicious that way”, jeonghan explains. “oh, and i also sneaked you both an invite to a party hosted by yeonjun. it’ll be a good opportunity to gather connections and intel. it’s tomorrow night”, jeonghan adds as he hands you the invitations.

“damn how’d you manage that?”, you ask. “i have my ways, you should know that by now y/n.  i'm the man who can get away with anything”, he replies giving you a wink. you chuckle at his words. “how could i forget, you’re called a menace for a reason”, you tease, laughing along with him.

“and i’m still working on getting the invite for the auction, it should be done in a few days”. jeonghan later says and you both leave after chatting a bit more.

that night you lay in bed, barely managing to fall sleep. the hours fly by and you check your appearance in the mirror one last time before stepping out of the room. you’d worn a simple black dress and just lightly styled your hair. you didn’t want to go overboard since this wasn’t the actual mission, so you kept it pretty but to a minimum, but still enough to make it look like you were wealthy and could blend into the crowd at tonight’s party.

“are you ready? we’ll be late”, you say, calling out to mingyu who was in his room.

you hear the shuffle of his shoes as you do a quick check of your small handbag – tissues, lip gloss, phone and most importantly, a pocket knife. when you look back up, mingyu is staring at you.

“what? hurry up, we haven’t got all day”, you add, walking to the front as you slip into a pair of matching black heels. you know our cover when we’re out yeah?”, mingyu asks as he comes up to you.

“yup, we just moved in the neighborhood, you’re an ER doctor, and i’m a lovely housewife who spends her time shopping, relaxing and spending your money”, you say with a fake smile.

“but do you even know anything about being a doctor, you better not mess up if someone asks you medical terms and shit”, you say, pointing a finger at him.

“don’t go underestimating my skills y/n, i’ve got it covered”

“you better”, you snap back, walking ahead of him towards the door.

the party is high in security but you make it through without a hassle. you had gone through the files seokmin had sent on the people attending and memorized everyone’s name, face, job, and even what they eat for dinner. you had to know everything in order to blend in. you step out of the car and mingyu offers you his hand to hold onto. you smile and take it because you do have to act. you put on your friendly face and enter the party, your eyes scanning the crowd. you spot a few people you recognise from the files you’d read last night, the connections forming in your head. just then mingyu sees someone and whispers that’ll he’ll be back, parting ways with you and you’re left alone.

you take this chance to mingle with the other women that you spot in a corner – who were all your new neighbors. this was a good time to introduce yourself, so you walk towards them and smile.

“hello!”, you say brightly and they turn around to look at you. one of them seems to recognize you and smiles.

“hi! you’re new to the area, right? i saw you moving in the other say”, she says.

“yes, i just moved here with my husband”, you explain as a waiter comes by, offering you drinks on a shiny tray. you take one and so do they.

“where’s your husband?”, one of them asks.

“oh, he’s just talking so an acquaintance over there”, you say, looking back as you nudge your head in mingyu's direction.

“what does he do?”, another one asks excitedly upon spotting mingyu in the crowd. you already knew what they were thinking at the way they were looking at him.

“he’s a doctor, he works in the ER”, you tell.

“oh you poor thing. he must be working late often”, she adds and just then you feel a hand wrap around your waist and the whiff of cologne in the air.

“hello ladies, i don’t think i’ve introduced myself. i’m mingyu, nice to meet you”, he says and all the ladies smiles, shamelessly checking him out. but like you cared.

“your wife was just telling us that you work at the ER, it must be tiring, coming home late every day. i’d hate if my husband came late every day”, one of the women says in mock pity.

but mingyu only smirks. “i may come home late, but i always make it up to you in bed, don’t i baby”, he says, looking at you and you almost choke on your drink.

you clear your throat, changing the topic, and all the ladies giggle. after you finally manage to separate from them, you walk around, assessing the situation.

“i can see a lot of people from soyeon’s side”, you say and mingyu agrees. ”jihyo’s here too”, he adds. she was the it woman in business right now and she was rising up the ranks quickly. “jihyo is definitely going to be at the auction”, you add. “should i get friendly with her?”, you ask and mingyu thinks for a few seconds before answering.

“be careful, if you approach her suddenly she might be wary”, he says softly. “you’re not drinking?” you ask, noticing how his glass has gone untouched. “gotta drive us back, so no, i won’t be drinking tonight”. of course, you had forgotten about that. at least he had some manners, unlike seungcheol.

after managing to gather enough intel and make some connections, you and mingyu decide to retire for the night. you both walk out hand in hand and just then your stomach growls. you were hungry, you hadn’t eaten anything there, not wanting to get distracted and also maybe drinking that glass of champagne on an empty stomach wasn’t such a good idea.

“hungry? we can grab something on the way”, mingyu prompts.

you see a mcdonalds’ drive-thru on the way back and tell mingyu to stop by there. “you don’t want real food?”, mingyu asks. “what do you mean, this is real food”, you declare.

“do you eat this often?”, he asks.

“that is none of your business, just get me some nuggets, fries, and a mcflurry”, you say.

he doesn’t get anything, saying he’ll make himself something at home and you don’t complain. you offer him a nugget and some fries but he declines, just driving as he tells you to not spill anything as you munch on the nuggets.

“i’m sure i can make better nuggets than that”, mingyu finally speaks.

“good for you mingyu, i don’t care”, you say, plopping the last bite of nugget into your mouth.

“yeah i’m sure you’ll start caring when i make you breakfast tomorrow and then you’ll never want to eat anything else, only something i’ve cooked”, he boasts.

“is that so? you’re going to spoil me, looking forward to it”,you add, going back to your mcflurry.

the next morning, mingyu does in fact get up early and makes breakfast for the both of you. it would be a lie to say that it wasn’t good, it was actually the best thing you had eaten in a while. over the course of the next week and the days building up to the auction, you attend a few more events together, getting to know more people and making connections. you make yourself friendly with the neighboring women and go shopping together. with all the new intel gathered each time, you pass it over to seokmin.

mingyu and you stop by the safehouse again to collect the invitation to the auction that jeonghan finally got and to update seungcheol on the mission’s progress. you both had somewhat managed to get along…well, almost. if mingyu didn’t make some snarky comment or say something to get on your nerves once in a while it would be better, but he should just be grateful he was alive right now. the urge to strangle mingyu was immense.

“what’s the progress?”, seungcheol asks.

“it’s good. we know for a fact that jihyo is attending the auction and maybe some people from soyeon’s team might attend on her behalf”, mingyu tells.

“im glad you guys seem to be getting along”, seungcheol tells, surprised.

“barely, i need to tell him to shut up and not spew stupid stuff, it really gets on my nerves. and please tell him to stop walking around the house shirtless. it’s damaging to my eyes ”, you complain.

“i didn’t even do anything, i’m just looking out for her well-being, she has some really peculiar habits and also it’s hot? and it’s literally my house? i can do whatever i want”, mingyu defends.

“excuse me?”, you cut him

“you heard her mingyu”, seungcheol directs your words to him. and just then seokmin and jeonghan enter.

“here’s the auction invitation, keep it safe”, he says, handing it to mingyu.

“here’s how the painting looks. it’s called the great fields done by the 18th-century artist lily lee. it’s been hidden away from the public eye for twenty eyes and it’s supposed to be one of her best paintings. it’s worth billions from what i know”, seokmin explains as he shows us a picture of the painting. it was pretty indeed but it was weird why it had been hidden away for so long.

“i already have someone working on the knock-off for the painting”, he adds.

“it better be a damn good knock-off”, seungcheol warns, raising his eyebrows.

“it will be. the guy i asked will get it down to every detail and even mimic each brushstroke. the historians wouldn’t even be able to tell a difference”, seokmin assures.

“good. now y/n, i have a small task for you, it would be great if you can complete it by tonight. it’s for a high-priority client and i’ll pay you extra”, seungcheol says.

“sure, what do i need to do?”

and that’s how you were now on the balcony of a 7th-floor apartment, trying to break in by unlocking the window. the guy you had to kill was a traitor. he took money from innocent people and then threatened them. he was getting in the way of business for the client so he had to go…forever. you opened the window and jumped in, landing soundlessly on your feet as you crouched down, scanning the room. you didn’t like to drag things out so you were going to make this quick.

you hear the hiss of a shallow breath and you quickly realize you’re not alone. someone else is here. you turn around and hide in the corner, peeking out and that’s when a man comes lunging at you with a knife. you dodge and grab his arm, twisting it as you push him against the wall, the knife falling from his hands as you bang his head against the wall. he grunts in pain and falls to the floor and you quickly move to locate the target, who’s heard all the commotion and is coming downstairs. he sees you and his eyes widen as he turns around and starts to run back upstairs. you run after him, placing your foot in the door before he can close and lock it. you push the door with all your strength, willing it to open and he stumbles backward. you waste no time in getting out your gun and shooting him in the chest. the silencer on your gun made sure no sound was heard as he fell to the ground with a thud, clutching his chest and gasping for air as blood oozed out of the wound, staining the wooden floor crimson red.

but just then, something hits you on the back of your head with a sudden force and you clutch your head in pain, falling to your knees as you try to look up. you grit your teeth and get up, dodging the other attack but your head is still ringing from the hit. you see how the man grabs the near-empty wine bottle and smashes it against the wall, creating a sharp glass shard, almost like a dagger. you get up as he attacks, swiftly trying to move out of the way. unfortunately, you end up tripping on the carpet that folded over and you miss the way his other hand lunges out, and the sharp glass shard pierces into your skin, just over your waist as it drags along your lower abdomen, digging into your flesh. you hiss in pain and raise your gun, aiming at his leg as you shoot him and he yells out in pain and falls down. after you torture him a little and find intel on him and who sent him before putting a bullet straight through his head.

fifteen minutes later, you kick his body, adjusting the position and plant information in the room and his phone to look like this was done by his employees who were tired of his threats and doing all the dirty work for him. you climb out the window and use the window ledges to climb down. you discard your coat in your bag and cover yourself with another coat, adjusting your outfit before walking out of the alleyway and onto the sidewalk. you walk straight ahead, not looking back. the dull pain of the stab starting to sting as you walk as you clutch your coat tightly around you.

you reach back home, ignoring mingyu in the kitchen as you go straight to your room, the door slamming unintentionally behind you.

“y/n?”, mingyu calls out. you ignore him and go to the bathroom and locking the door, sitting down against the bathtub as you lift your shirt up to access the wound. it was a deep cut no doubt, thankfully no vital organs had been hit. you don’t know if you should say that you were lucky or if the bastard just had terrible aim. but the cut was messy and well bloody.

“are you ignoring me now?”, you hear mingyu shout out. he knocks on the bathroom door.

“y/n what happened?”, he asks, a sudden shift in his tone.

“nothing i’m fine mingyu, i can’t use the bathroom in peace?”, you counter.

“stop lying, i saw the drops of blood trailing to your room. open the door now”, he demands.

you sigh. why did he have to be so aware of his surroundings. talk about occupational hazards.

“i’m fine mingyu, stop overreacting”, you say, not hearing a reply, thinking he must’ve left.

after a minute, you hear the door lock rattle and unlock, mingyu pushing the door open and once his eyes land on you they darken.

“what the fuck, mingyu? i could have been naked, you can’t just barge in like that”, you say, annoyed and shocked.

“i can if it’s an emergency and did you forget i have the keys baby, this is my house so my rules”, he counters as he walks over to you and sees you cover the wound with your hand. not that it helps because your hand is all bloody too.

“shit baby, you’re bleeding bad”, he tells, kneeling down so he could match your height so he can acess the wound, seeing the blood ooze out from the side of your palm as you pressed against the cut, trying to put some pressure on it.

you glare at him at the mention of that stupid nickname. “i told you not to call me that and i don’t need your help”, you grit out, pushing his hand away when he moves to help you.

“you either take my help like a good girl or you can shut up, your choice sweetheart”, he says, staring you down.

and before you can even protest or say anything, he’s lifting you off the edge of the bathtub and sitting you down on the countertop beside the sink.

“are you deaf? i said i can manage on my own, i don’t need your help mingyu”, you say, trying to move but the movement causes pain to shoot up through your left side, making you let out a soft whimper of pain.

mingyu wastes no time in fetching the medical kit and his hand is already moving to lift you shirt so he can see the wound. you side-eye him as you lift the shirt, bunching it at your ribs.

“you’re so annoying”, you mumble as he assesses the wound.

“you should look at yourself in the mirror”, he says, making you lean back a bit so he could see the cut fully. you hiss in pain when the disinfectant comes in contact with your skin, biting your lip as it burns. this was the one thing you could never get used to.

“ow, just make sure there are no tiny glass pieces”, you mumble and he snaps his head up. “glass?”, he asks and your nod confirms his suspicions. he takes his time, making sure no tiny shards of glass are left as he cleans your wound. you close your eyes as he cleans the cut and wipes away all the blood, but your heavy breathing wasn’t helping, making a little blood seep out every time you took a breath in and out.

“relax baby”, he coos, his hands resting on your thighs as he looks at you, standing between your legs as he discards another piece of bloody cotton to the side.

“i would if you just left me alone”, you snap out.

he rolls his eyes. “you’re so stubborn, it’s infuriating”, he says, leaning closer

“i could say the same thing about you, you’re so fucking irritating”, you answer back.

“i really don’t know why you’re acting like an idiot when i’m trying to help you”

“i never asked for your help did i, mingyu?”

“so what? i’m doing a favor and being nice”

“by helping me when i said i didn’t want your help”, you emphasise, as you move up to sit up straighter, not realizing how close you had ended up getting to him.

“just stay still”, he demands and you don’t bother talking back this time as he cleans up the cut.

“whoever did this, i’ll kill him”, he mutters as he wraps a gauze around your waist to cover the cut.

“already did”, you confirm and wince a little as he tightens the gauze.

“there, you’re all set”, he says once he’s done, looking at you, and he’s still so close. your gaze flickers down to his lips before flickering to the side. maybe a part of you hated him because of how attractive you found him…god. you didn’t want to make things unnecessarily complicated. it was easier to hate him than admit he had an effect on you.

you’re walking back home after just killing someone (yet another side assingment seungcheol put you on) when you notice a car following you from behind. shit. did they place someone to guard the house? you had to think quickly and shake off the tail otherwise things would get complicated. but then the car speeds up and honks, the window opening, and to your horror, it’s mingyu. what the hell was he doing here?

“what are you doing here?”, you nearly shout. “were you stalking me?” 

“i’ll explain later, but get in”, mingyu says.

“i can get home myself thank you. i need to stop by somewhere too”, you say, which was a lie. you just didn’t want to listen to him given you weren’t playing house right now.

“it’s going to rain”, he adds, as you start walking and he follows you with the car.

“it’s not going to rain mingyu”, you say, walking ahead, ignoring him.

and not even a minute later, you feel the first few drops of rain fall on you. dammit.

“see, i told you it was going to rain”, he says.

“i have an umbrella, i’ll manage, just go”, you tell, annoyed that he was right.

you pretend to look in your bag because, of course, you don’t have a fucking umbrella. the rain starts to pour down heavier and if you don’t make a choice now, you were going to get drenched.

“i know you don’t have an umbrella, y/n, so stop being stubborn and get in the fucking car”, he yells louder, getting impatient.

you stop and look at him. “did you just yell at me?”, you ask, narrowing your eyes at him.

he rolls his eyes and sighs. “you’re so stubborn god, what are you going to lose by getting in the damn car. you’re already getting soaked,” he adds.

“ask me nicely”, is all you say as you stare back at him, challenging him.

“y/n get in the car because it’s raining”, he says giving you a fake smile too.

“you didn’t say please”, you add and he sighs, gripping the steering wheel harder.

“y/n please get in the car”, he repeats and you shoot him a small satisfied smile as you open the door and get in the car.

“okay now care to explain why you were following me?”, you tell.

“care to explain why you’re so damn stubborn?”, he counters.

“i am not stubborn, stop being an ass and just tell me why you were following me”, you say.

“i’m the ass? like you weren’t acting like one by not getting in the car”, he says making you scoff.

“fuck you, mingyu”, you sneer, looking out the window as the rain poured harder. the rest of the car ride is silent but you’re glad. if you had to talk to him for another minute right now you’d end up strangling him on the spot.

the rest of the few weeks goes by with you going to a few more events to socialize and familiarize yourselves with the environment, the people and also gather valuable information and intel. mingyu and you seem to play the husband-wife role pretty convincingly. you both come back home late that night but you barely manage to sleep. since you were up early, you decide to hit the gym. one of the perks of this house was that it had a fully equipped gym room, courtesy of mingyu of course. 

when you enter the room, you quickly realise you’re not alone and mingyu was there too. great. you were almost going to exit but you catch yourself. you didn’t do anything wrong, so why run? you walk in to see mingyu doing some pull-ups. his back was to you but you’re sure he noticed your presence - of course he did. you watch as he does a few more pull-ups, the muscles on his back and arms flexing with each move.

“stop ogling me”, mingyu’s voice floats in the room, breaking the silence.

“im not ogling you, gross”, you scoff, disgusted. “i thought seungcheol told you to stop walking around shirtless”, you add, giving him a look.

“relax, baby, i’ll put on a shirt later, i know you’re enjoying the view”, he smiles back as he jumps down and turns to face you. asshole.

“yeah, right”

“you were literally ogling me right now”, he deadpans.

“I WAS NOT! stop calling it that. i was just assessing where i need to strike first in order to kill you, you know, for research purposes”, you snap back, only for him to smirk back at you.

“yeah? i’ll choose to believe that little lie for now but i’d like to see you try”, he provokes, walking closer to you.

“oh yeah? i’d love to. the moment this operation is done, i’ll be coming for you, so you better watch your back”, you tell, playing along as you cross your arms across your chest.

“hm, whatever you say, baby”, he says, stepping closer until he’s towering over you. you look up at him and stare back. not that pet name again. you told him countless times not to call you that, it was infuriating, but he just didn’t get it, did he? he needed to be taught a lesson. in a blink of an eye, you grab your knife which you kept concealed and grab mingyu’s arm, swinging him so his back hits the wall with a thud, the cold metal of the knife to his neck.

“if you call me baby one more time, i swear i will actually strangle and kill you”, you threaten, staring right up at mingyu. mingyu’s surprised and amused. it would be a lie to say he didn’t find you hot right now.

“always carry a knife around with you?”, he prompts, raising his eyebrow.

you smile, leaning closer to him as you whisper in his ear. “it’s my favorite one, it’ll slice your neck and you wouldn’t even know it until you’re choking and gasping on the floor”, you tell.

“yeah, baby? i can’t wait to see you try”, he whispers back, his hands grabbing your waist, spinning you, his other hand reaching up to hold both your hands up by the wrist, pinning you to the wall. you try to move but his grip was solid.

“so, how are you going to kill me now?”, he mocks, pushing you against the wall, his body pressing against yours. he looks at you, his nose almost brushing against yours.

“i could maybe snap your neck right now or still slice your neck, your choice”, you say, blinking up at him innocently.

“yeah? care to show me how?”, and so you do, bringing your leg up to knee him in the shin, swiftly wrapping your arm around his shoulder as you kick his feet, making him lose his balance. you push him down and knock him to the ground and he falls on his back. he’s lucky he lands on the foam mattress that was on the side and you waste no time in bending down and straddling him, holding your knife to his neck, and adding a little pressure this time for fun.

“any last words?”, you ask and he just smiles up at you.

“i’ll spare you for now because we have a mission to complete”, you add, getting up as you push off him but he grabs you, flipping you over in the blink of an eye so that he’s hovering over you now.

“i take it you want me to stab you anyway?”, you ask, the knife still strong in your grip.

“why do you hate me so much?”, he asks, looking down at you, his body caging yours.

“you really want to know?”,

“im so curious”, he tells lowly. 

“because you’re so fucking cocky about everything and too full of yourself”, you tell, looking up at him. “and you’re an idiot who only thinks he’s handsome and just everything about you is infuriating”, you spit.

“really? i think you forgot to add the part where you have a small crush on me?”, he adds with a smirk and you’ve had enough. you place your hands on his chest and push him off you, sitting up.

“that’s the biggest lie i’ve ever heard”, you say.

“i just know it baby…oops i mean, y/n”, he says, getting up to fetch his bottle of water as he walks to the side.

“but you did just call me handsome”, he points out as he takes a sip of water.

“i did not”, you grit out. “and i do not have a crush on you. if you were the last man on earth i would gladly die single”, you grit out.

“lies, you spew such lies, y/n”, he says, laughing.

the next morning you see mingyu in the kitchen and he smiles, fucking smiles at you.

“i was expecting you to sneak into my room last night and-“ “slit your throat? oh yeah i was so tempted but i thought that would be too painful”, you tell innocently.

“or you’re just scared to do it”, he says.

“i think you forget i’m a trained assassin. i know more than 20 ways to kill a man so you should be careful. you should start by hoping i didn’t poison the coffee you’re drinking right now”, you say before turning and walking away.

you hear him chuckle but it fades away after a few seconds. “wait…you didn’t really spike my coffee right…y/n…”, mingyu asks and you smirk to yourself, not giving him an answer as you make your way back to your room. 1 for y/n, 0 for mingyu.

things are starting to get serious now. it’s two days before the big event and you have a meeting at the safehouse with seungcheol, dokyeom, dino and vernon, who are all going to help you in pulling this off by working behind the scenes. seokmin told you that he’ll get you the knock-off painting in a van that evening and dino would help assist you while vernon be there to hack the security systems and cameras when needed.

the plan was that you’d leave to the auction and watch around. you’d have to make a few bids too, so you’d blend in and seungcheol had given you the money so you were free to bid on anything you liked. then there was a 45-minute break between and it was in that break that you had to steal the painting without getting caught. dino would be waiting down in a van, pretending he was a driver and he’d take off with the painting. the only thing left was pulling this off. with the level of security that this event was going to have, you needed to do everything right to pull this off. you were excited.

it's finally d-day. you’re getting ready in your room, due to leave in 15 minutes. you spent the entire day figuring out what to wear. it was a posh event, so you had to wear something pretty, something that would make heads turn, something that would make me look like you fit in there - something exquisite. you decided to go buy a dress earlier because you didn’t have anything fancy to wear with you, since you’d left most of those types of dresses back home, only bringing essentials along when you moved in with mingyu for the time being. you ended up buying a pretty sweet and head turning dress, something fancy in your favourite color too. it was a maroon, satin dress, which went all the way down to the floor. there was a slit for the leg that stopped just short of your thigh. the highlight of the dress was the back – it was backless, with a criss-cross strap that had to be tied. the only problem, you couldn’t seem to reach back to tie it tight enough that it wouldn't unravel during the night. 

you wore your heels - white glitter ones to contrast the red dress. you checked your makeup in the mirror one last time and tried to tie the strings on your back again but you couldn’t seem to get the crisscross pattern right and you were struggling to tie it up. just then you hear a knock on your door.

“y/n are you ready? we have to leave in five minutes”, mingyu says from outside.

“okay!”

and five minutes later, you’ve given up, groaning as you bring your arms down, knocking your arm on the table in the process. “ouch”, you say in frustration and mingyu knocks on your door again.

“y/n? are you okay?”, he asks again, opening the door slightly. you get up to open the door and mingyu looks at you. you watch as his eyes rake all over your body as checks you out. you stare back at his face and he’s still staring at you, his eyes moving over every part of your body. you ask him something but he doesn’t reply, still staring, devouring you with his eyes as he takes you in. 

“finished eye fucking me?”, you ask, annoyed, bringing his attention back to you. he looks at you and smirks. “i wasn’t done but i can continue later”, he teases.

“whatever, can you help me tie my dress in the back? i just can’t seem to reach it”, you ask him and he stands up straighter and you realize this wasn’t the sort of question or help he was expecting you to ask.

“sure”, is all he says and you turn around, holding your hair up so mingyu could tie your dress.

“you have to crisscross it and then tie it”, you explain, looking at his reflection in the mirror in front of you.

as he ties your dress, his fingers rub your bare back occasionally, sending sparks all over you body. he pulls back the threads to make them tight. you watch from the mirror as he tries his best to carefully tie it. he looked…so fucking good tonight. the suit was tailor made for him, making him look crisp and sharp. you’d have to painfully admit that he did indeed look hot tonight but you catch yourself and swat those thoughts and any other intruding thoughts away immediately. you’re about to move a bit forward when he pulls back again, securing the knot, and then his eyes find yours in the mirror reflection.

“you look gorgeous”, he whispers against your ear, making a shiver run down your spine.

“i know, thanks for the confirmation though”, you say, not willing to be swayed by his comment and how much he seemed to be affecting you right now.

“let’s go steal a painting”, you say with a smirk.

you drive to the event, and somehow mingyu managed to snag a limo to the event. don’t ask how, it was probably seungcheol’s doing but now you’re driving there. you put your in-ears on for further communication with mingyu and the others on the mission. woozi had designed it so it look like an ear cuff, making it look less suspicious on you. mingyu’s was transparent in the front, so it blended in.

“relax”, mingyu says after a few minutes of silence in the car as he sits opposite you.

“i am relaxed”

“you look tense”

“i’ve stolen plenty of stuff before so this is a piece of cake”, you tell.

“we got this”, he assures.

you reach the venue and get down, mingyu offering you his hand as you step out of the car. you take it and you automatically wrap your arm around his as you both walk in together. you stand behind a few people, all waiting to move inside and everyone is holding the same invitation you are holding. when it’s finally your turn, mingyu shows the person your invites and after scanning it for a few seconds he hands it back to us, telling us to enjoy our time here. you’re handed a number picket from the counter the moment you enter, for you to make bids.

the auction starts in an hour since people are still coming. most of the vvip and vip guests coming later for security reasons. you walk to the hall and scan the crowd for anyone you know or can recognize. mingyu does too. you agree to split up and scan the hall so it would be faster, mingyu going left while you go right. after you’ve confirmed who’s coming and who’s yet to come, cross checking with the guest list that you’ve memorized that jeonghan managed to get his hands on. there were still a few guests and vips left to arrive. all the vvips or vips who did arrive were on the other side of the hall, with higher security. jihyo hadn’t arrived yet and you couldn't see anyone from soyeon’s team either. but you did spot hwasa; she had multiple businesses and was a trendsetter. anything she touched, ate or wore was sold out, she was that good, and everyone loved her. it was going to be interesting to see what she bids for here.

after gathering all the information you needed, you’re turning around when a man bumps into you. 

“oh, im so sorry”, he says, turning around.

“it’s no problem”, you say, putting your hand up. he looks at you again, shamelessly checking you out and you roll your eyes as you turn to walk away again, but he grabs your hand.

“wait, i don’t think i’ve seen you around, are you new here?”, he asks, hopeful, but you had no interest in entertaining him.

“yeah, i just moved here”, you say, quickly, pulling you hand out of his grip. “i have to go”, you add.

“see you at the auction? which number are you, i’ll try to sit at your table”, he asks, getting desperate.

“that’s all right, im fine”, you say again, trying your best to be nice. 

“come on, don’t be shy”, he adds with a chuckle. “girls are usually falling all over me”, he adds, maybe not liking how you were not falling for his tricks.

“can’t let beautiful women like yourself be alone at an event like this, can i? which table will you be seated at? i can show you around if you like”, he asks again and now you’re really starting to get irritated. you would have knocked him out by now if this was any other circumstance but you hold back, not wanting to cause a scene or mess anything up.

you’re about to say something when you feel a warm hand encircle your waist and from the smell of the cologne, you already know who it is – mingyu.

“there you are baby, i was looking for you”, he says sweetly, kissing your cheek as he pulls you closer to him. there’s a hint of possessiveness in his voice as he looks at the man who was talking to you.

“who’s this?”, mingyu asks, looking at you, his grip getting tighter around your waist.

“oh i’m sorry i just bumped into her and was apologizing”, the man fills in.

“i see. next time i suggest you watch where you’re going”, mingyu tells, glaring at the guy as he pulls you away, telling you that he wanted you to meet someone.

as you walk, you notice a few heads turn and people look at you but you just ignore it and walk like you belong there. you hear mingyu faintly curse under his breath.

“what?”, you ask

“you shouldn’t have worn that baby, everyone is staring at you”, he grits out lowly, jealousy evident in his voice.

“excuse me? are you sure you’re not the one staring? it doesn’t matter to me, as long as we steal the painting and get the job done”, you say, lifting your dress up slightly as you walk up the stairs to the auction hall.

“that idiot is following us”, he adds, spotting him from his peripheral vision.

“well, that’s annoying, we don’t need him tailing us. should i knock him out and throw him somewhere?”, you ask as you walk, smiling at a few people who welcome us at the top of the stairs.

“i’d have knocked him out myself if i had to but that’s a risky move for now”, he says. we reach the upper floor and mingyu holds your hand as he leads me to the left side of the hall, where there are fewer people. mingyu’s back faces the people as you look ahead.

“is he still looking at us?”, mingyu asks, his back facing the man who was still following you.

 “yeah but what do we-“, you’re cut off by mingyu’s hand tilting your chin as he leans in to kiss you, his lips pressed against yours. he pulls away ever so slightly as he looks at you.

“mingyu-", he kisses you again, this time moving his lips against yours and your move my lips too, kissing him back. he pulls away a few seconds later.

“what are you doing?”, you finish your sentence, shocked.

“now look, he’ll be trying to find a new target to woo”, he tells and you look, seeing the man already talking to another group of women, hoping to find a different date.

“worked like a charm”, he says, with a satisfied smirk. and that’s when the action of what mingyu just did hits you, but you decide not to say anything, not wanting to yell at him or draw any more attention to yourself. you’d give him hell about this later.

the auction is about to begin and you find a table to the front, and sit down. you mentally make a note of where a few other vips are sitting and scan the crowd. you spot jihyo in the front, surrounded by a few bodyguards who are off to the side.

“good evening ladies and gentlemen! welcome to the annual auction hosted by the national museum of culture and arts. we are pleased to have you all here. we will be starting the auction and the rules are simple – the highest bidder wins, so have fun. we would also like to mention that part of the funds collected from the auction will be put aside to aid in cultural growth and in preserving national treasures and artifacts. we will also be partnering with Vision to offer scholarships to five students. your contributions will be deeply appreciated.", the host welcomes and explains.

"and the most anticipated part of the night, the beautiful painting ‘the great fields of sorrow’  by lily lee will be unveiled to the public after 20 years. you do not want to miss this, it is truly a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and we are so glad you are all here to witness history in the making. now, let us begin”, the host announces, gleefully.

the auction begins and the first few bids go by fast, people bidding left, right, and center. but it’s towards the end that the most valuable artifacts and paintings start coming out. you have your eye on this one painting, you’d seen it in the auction catalog earlier and you were determined to get it. the moment the painting comes up to be bid, you grab the picket from mingyu and raise you hand, making a bid.

“what are you doing?”, mingyu asks.

“bidding?”, you tell like it wasn’t obvious to mingyu right now.

a few more people bid on the painting but you bid again, raising the bid higher and higher each time. but some women keeps bidding along as well and you weren’t going to lose this. you raise you hand, making the bid higher and now it’s just you and the other woman raising hands as you both try to outbid each other.

“what are you doing? drop it”, mingyu says next to you.

“no, that painting’s mine”, you grit out, raising your hand again to raise the bid. anyone could be able to feel the tension in the room right now.

“y/n, we don’t have that much money to spend, are you crazy?”, he asks, turning towards me.

"i don’t care, i want that”, you tell, raising your hand to make another bid, raising the price impossibly high. people who were bored and had no interest in the auction were suddenly watching us carefully, eager to see who would finally win the bid.

the lady falters, wondering if she should raise the bid and no one else raises their hand to make another bid. you smile to yourself.

“going once”, the man says, hoping the lady would change her mind and raise the bid.

“going twice….and sold”, he declares, the wooden hammer hitting the wooden plate and you’re smiling in victory.

“i won”, you tell mingyu.

“yeah and you better be explaining to seungcheol why his assets suddenly depleted” mingyu tells.

“at least seungcheol would let me have it, unlike you, sitting here and complaining, it’s so annoying”, you add, clicking your tongue.

“you’re the annoying one”, he says without missing a beat and you kick his leg from under the table, giving him a fake smile. “shut up and don’t get on my nerves”, you tell through gritted teeth, making a few heads turn. you clear your throat and sip on your champagne, smiling at the few people who turn to look at you.

that was the last bid and the auction had now ended. people start getting up to either grab a drink and talk or to go make arrangements to collect their paintings or artifacts that they just bought. this was indeed a good way you could sneak the real painting out. you quickly intercom with dino and you coordinate with him, vernon listening in too so he’d know which cameras to hack and take down.

“we should go, we have only 45 minutes before the painting is revealed”, you tell, getting up and walking out to the outer hall. there is music playing and someone is singing. the host announces that people can dance if they like and a few people do, couples peppered across the floor as they dance and sway together. you steer right away from the crowd and start moving downstairs when mingyu grabs your hand, blocking your path.

“care to dance?”, he asks.

“no i don’t dance”, you tell but mingyu ignores you and holds your hand as he guides you to the hall where the crowd was, choosing a quiet corner and pulling you closer to him, his hand resting on your waist as his other hand is intertwined in yours.

“mingyu i said i don’t want to dance”, you tell, slightly annoyed.

“i know, but i do”, he says and you find yourself moving closer to him as your rest your other hand on his shoulder, trying not to bump into the person behind you. you both sway to the soft music that plays and mingyu locks eyes with you, a small smile playing on his face and you don't realise how close you've gravitated towards him.

“we’re wasting time, let’s go”, you tell after two minutes.

“a little fun never hurt, you need to learn to let loose a little, sweetheart”, he tells, looking at you and you don’t miss the way his gaze flickers down to your lips.

“but you really should have worn something else”, he whispers near your ear. “i’m starting to get jealous at the way all the other guys are starting at you."

"it's a pretty sweet outfit isn't it”, you say softly and the the corner of his mouth lifts into a faint smile.

“hm let’s go”, he says, pecking your cheek as he intertwines his hand in yours. you walk down together and walk towards the restrooms. when the path looks clear, you take a detour to the staff room, which would give you access to the basement and other private areas of the building. jeonghan had given you copies of the access key too, so you could now slip into any room you liked without having to break any alarms.

you’d already memorized the layout of the room and knew exactly where the safe room would be located.

“you brought a gun right?”, you ask.

“what do you think baby, of course, i did”, he answers raising his brow. it was hidden using a chip that emitted waves and would not be picked up by any electronic scanner, which is how it got sneaked in successfully. another one of woozi’s genius creations. you reach the safe room but there were two guards up ahead.

“vernon, can you hack the walkie-talkies? tell the guards to move to the upper level”, you ask.

“on it”, vernon responds immediately and in two minutes the guards start walking away and turning around the corner.

you run up and unlock the door using the key card, opening the door and quickly shutting it behind you. you unlock another door and finally head inside the safe room, where the painting and other treasures were stored.

the painting is easy to find, it’s kept in a bulletproof glass box but that’s when you realise something is wrong.

the painting is bigger. it’s not the same size seokmin had told you. you panic because this would now hold you back and you had to think on your feet to figure something out quickly.

“what the fuck?”, you tell. “how are we supposed to discreetly steal this huge painting?”, you almost yell at mingyu who’s looking at you, confused as well.

“i don’t know, we just take it and walk out”,

“and let everyone know we stole it, mingyu? that’s just genius. why don’t we just announce it to the whole world then”, you yell back, annoyed.

“i thought seokmin told us it was going to be smaller? this isn’t the same size he mentioned”, you tell, running a hand through your hair.

“i think he forgot to add one digit in the dimensions”, mingyu tells and you mentally face-palm yourself.

“so now what do you want me to do?”

“i don’t know just take it and we place the decoy and leave”

“the decoy isn’t even the same fucking size mingyu”, you yell, getting impatient.

“fuck”, he curses under his breath. “let’s just take the painting and go”,

“how do i just take it, mingyu? do you want me to shove this painting up my ass and leave? how the hell are we going to walk out with it? didn’t you tell dino was waiting down in the van? how can we possibly walk with this huge painting all the way to the basement and give it to dino without anyone seeing us and not put the knock-off.”, you tell, getting more and more impatient with each passing second.

“jesus, y/n im trying to figure it out so please calm down”, mingyu snaps back.

“is everything okay?”, vernon’s voice fills your ear.

“wait guys, seokmin just told me that he has the proper decoy size in the van downstairs”, vernon tells after a few minutes of silence.

“wait what do you mean?”, you ask.

“he just told me saying he put the correct decoy painting size in the van, and that he realized he’d messed up the dimensions and got it remade. he said his printer had ran out of ink and missed printing one digit”, vernon explains calmly.

“then send it in, we have like 20 minutes before the painting gets showcased!”, you yell at vernon.

“dino’s on his way with it, just hold on”, vernon assures, going back to intercom with dino.

meanwhile, you and mingyu try to figure out how to unlock the box. the box had a passcode and three wrong tries and it would alarm the security, so you had to be careful. woozi had given you a decoder which mingyu had hidden outside and you grabbed on the way to the safe room. mingyu attaches the decoder and you watch as the numbers scramble, trying to decode the pin and unlock the box.

“what’s taking so long”, you groan, clicking your tongue.

“y/n calm down. we’re fine”, mingyu says as he locks eyes with you.

“if seokmin hadn’t realized we’d have been fucked over big time mingyu, do you understand? we could have gotten caught. do you understand how big of a fucking problem that could have been? and you’re acting all high and mighty asking me to just take this painting and go like it won’t be so fucking obvious that it’s not the same painting. and dino needs to hurry up because there are only ten minutes left, and we need to take this and transport it all before they come in to take the painting out to display, so we’re short on-", you’re cut off by mingyu’s hands cupping your cheek as you feel his soft lips on yours, again.

“you really need to shut up sometimes”, he mumbles against your lips. maybe it was because you were in the heat of the moment, but you kiss mingyu back, grabbing him by his tie to pull him closer, closing the gap between you both.

“guys?”, vernon’s voice fills my ear through the in the ear but you both ignore him. “dino’s almost there”, he adds but none of you bother to reply, too busy kissing each other.

the safe door opens and closes in silence and dino steps into the room. (it had a anti slam and quiet door so it would be discreet and safe) 

“i hope i’m not interrupting something?”, dino asks, making you break away from the kiss and the look on dino’s face is mischievous.

“n-no"." shit.

"did you get the proper knock off? hurry up we have to be out of here in ten minutes”, you tell, pushing mingyu off you and walking up to the box, which had successfully unlocked.

dino handles the real painting carefully, wearing a pair of cloth gloves before taking out the painting from the box with care and placing it on the wearable rack, and replacing it with the knockoff that he streathly managed to bring here; courtesy to vernon for hacking the camera footage and security walkie talkies. if you were asked to play spot the difference between the real painting and the fake one, you wouldn’t have been able to guess shit, the fake one was just that good. dino quickly covers the real painting in a satin white cloth and you quickly walk out. dino disguised as one of the staff and security members, so it would look like he was just taking the painting you had just bought to your car so you could take it home. thankfully the painting you bid on and bought was around the same size too and you bring it along as you leave. no one gives you any suspicious looks as you leave and you walk out with confidence, your arms locked in mingyu's as you both walk together.

you make it back up to the upper level and back to the hall before you take the elevator to the basement. dino loads the painting into the van and he and vernon take off. mingyu and you bounce as well, getting in the limo and telling your driver to take you back home, making the excuse that you weren't feeling to well when someone approached you, asking why you weren’t staying back to see the painting that was going to be revealed shortly.

as soon as you get in the car, you kick off your heels, relief flooding through your feet as you sit. you let out a big sigh and take the chance to open the bottle of champagne that’s in the car, pouring yourself a glass and mingyu one too, offering him the glass.

“to successfully stealing a painting”, you say, raising the glass to make a toast and he smiles. you down the glass in one shot, the adrenaline still pumping in your veins. placing the glass down, you look at mingyu, who’s still watching you. 

“what?”, you ask mingyu, who looking at you like he wants something.

“nothing, you’re just…gorgeous”, he says.

“you flatter me too much, mingyu”, you say, getting up to move, picking up your dress slightly as you move to sit on his lap, straddling him. his hands find your waist immediately, pulling you closer against him as your hands rest on his shoulders. his hand cups your cheek as he leans forward to kiss you, moving his lips against yours, slow and long, kissing you like he’s been craving this all along. he deepens the kiss, biting your lower lip teasingly, making you let out a soft moan, your mind too fuzzy to care about what you were doing right now.

“fuck, you’ve been wanting this, haven’t you?”, he groans, kissing your jawline.

“i know you wore this dress on purpose baby, to rile me up”, he says and you kiss him in response and he kisses you back, this time with more vigor and passion.

“maybe”, is all you can say as mingyu’s lips are on yours again.

“i’ve been dreaming about this for so long, to kiss you, to have you”, he groans as he kisses your neck, your eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. your hands busy themselves with loosening his tie and undoing the first few buttons of his shirt.

“look at you, i thought you hated me baby”, he mumbles against your neck.

“i still do”, you tell, your voice coming out breathy and soft as he leaves a trail of kisses along your collarbone, his hands roaming your body, his touch sending shivers and sparks throughout your body.

“what if dino tells on us”, you realise, whispering softly as he continues to leave soft kisses on your neck. 

“you’re worried about that baby? worried he’ll run his mouth and tell everyone you were kissing me? the person you claimed you hated?”, he teases, pressing a kiss to the corner of my mouth.

he kisses you again, trailing more kisses to your jawline before his hand reaches over to cup your cheek as he pulls you in, capturing your lips with his again, making butterflies erupt in your stomach. you kiss him back, and somehow you couldn’t seem to get enough, getting dizzy on how he feels and tastes. he was driving you crazy. he pulls you closer against him, his grip on your waist tightening with each kiss and you start to lose track of how long you’ve been at it, making out. thank god for the partition between the driver and you was tinted. the car finally comes to a halt in and mingyu breaks away. “we’re home”.

and just like that, mingyu guides you home and wastes no time in kissing you again once you’re behind closed doors, guiding you to his room while he never breaks away, kissing you breathlessly.

the next morning, you wake up tangled in mingyu’s arms and the events of last night come crashing onto you. you turn around to face mingyu and he lazily pulls you closer to him, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck.

“go back to sleep”, he mumbles and you push away a few stray hairs from his face.

“you’re so lazy”, you say, as you move to get out of his arms, but he tightens his grip, not letting you leave.

“don’t make me slit your throat mingyu, let me go”. you say teasingly, poking his arm and he finally loosens up. just then the doorbell rings. you get up and take a peek, seeing seungkwan standing outside. you open the door but the expression on his face tells you that something is wrong.

“what’s wrong?”, you ask, as he steps in.

“dino- he- the painting…dino is…”, seungkwans stutters out, making no sense.

“what happened?” you ask again, putting your hands on seungkwan’s shoulders to try and calm him down.

“dino, he got intercepted by another gang and they’re holding the painting and dino hostage”, seungkwan spills out.

fuck.

after hearing that you waste no time in going back to the safe house with mingyu.

“how’d they contact you? how did they know we were going to be there”, you ask seungcheol. with him are joshua, vernon, seokmin, and hoshi.

“we’re not sure”, seokmin says.

“but what i’m sure of is either they had a tail on you or you told them our location”, seungcheol says, looking at you straight in the eye.

“what the fuck are you implying?”, mingyu defends immediately.

“no i would never do that seungcheol and you know that”, you tell, staring him down.

“how can you even say that”, mingyu adds.

“because they want you in exchange for returning the painting and dino back safely y/n”, seungcheol tells and you pause, trying to process what he just said.

“what?”, is all you can say after a few seconds of silence.

“that’s what they negotiated with seungkwan”, seungcheol tells. “and if you two had responded to vernon then we could have maybe sorted this out earlier. there was no response from the both of you after last night”, seungcheol adds, looking between you and mingyu. you gulp, hoping he can’t possibly guess what you and mingyu were up to last night.

“here are the terms of negotiation”, seungkwan adds, sliding over a piece of paper to you.

if you want to get back your precious painting and friend, do the following. tell anyone or try to pull anything funny, otherwise the only thing you’ll be getting in return is your friend’s dead limp body and a police raid. so, follow the instructions carefully

1)    we want the girl in exchange for the painting and your friend

2)    come to the abandoned warehouse by the paddy fields tonight at 8:00pm

3)    the girl comes alone and that’s it. once she comes, we’ll have the painting and your friend released.

4)    no guns, or weapons, and don’t try or even think to act smart in any way unless you want to be responsible for your friend’s death.

the letter was signed off with a stamp of the gang seal, which you faintly recognized for some reason.

“i’ll go”, is all you say because it doesn’t look like you have any other option right now. you didn’t care about the painting but you did care about dino and you had to make sure he’d come back safe.

“there’s no way in hell she’s going alone”, mingyu interjects, cleary upset.

“mingyu, stop it”, you yell at him. who was he to tell you what to do?

“mingyu stop putting your emotions into the mission, we have a problem, and i’m going to deal with it accordingly, or else im putting you out”, seungcheol says.

“what is wrong with you? you’re just going to let them have y/n?”, mingyu asks, getting up, frustrated, running a hard through his already messy hair.

after a few more arguments, things start getting heated between seungcheol and mingyu, seokmin pulls him away from the room and you manage to finish the rest of the conversation with seungcheol. back home, mingyu’s still tense and he hits the gym to try and take off some of his anger and frustration.

you don’t know why he was acting like this to be honest. you could manage perfectly well on your own, it wasn’t like you were going to die or anything. he seemed to be making a big deal about this and it was getting on your nerves. you’re in your room and you can hear the sound and impact of mingyu’s punches on the boxing bag through the walls. what the fuck was he so worked up for? you try ignore the sound and get back to getting ready for tonight.

you know they said no weapons but you weren’t going to go in blind. your pants had a secret pocket where you could hide my small knife easily and it was undetectable. you decide to carry a few more, concealing them in secret pockets so no one would even know. you had everything planned and you weren't going to let the person who took dino off so easily. just then you hear mingyu’s footsteps as he leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. you ignore him, getting up and checking the time. you had to leave in five minutes if you were going to make it there in time. you look at mingyu’s who’s studying you closely.

“what mingyu? stop staring it’s annoying”, you tell, breaking the silence, walking towards the door so you can leave, but he blocks your path.

“you’re not fucking going anywhere y/n”, he grits out.

“what the fuck? who are you to tell me what to do? i know what i’m doing okay and you need to chill out”, you say, trying to push past him but he doesn’t let you.

“mingyu move, im getting late”, you say in a stern voice.

“i’m coming with you then”, he hisses, grabbing you as he pushes you against the wall.

“no you’re fucking not, stay out of this mingyu, it’s none of your business”

“it is because it involves you”, he says, without missing a beat, leaning closer.

“mingyu, don’t let what happened last night make you all soft for me okay, whatever happened just happened. don’t try to use that to determine what our relationship is now”, you say, trying to sound stern but your voice falters a bit when his hands dig into your waist tighter. he crashes his lips into yours, and the kiss is hot and heavy and angry. your lips move on their own, kissing him back, grabbing his arms for support.

“just promise me you’ll come back to me…alive”, mingyu mumbles against your lips.

“are you doubting me?", you scoff but he ignores the threat.

“and the first thing you’re going to do when you come back and see me is that you’re going to kiss me”, he demands.

“that’s so cheesy and cliché”, you tell, rolling your eyes.

“i’m not taking no for an answer”

“fine oh my god, you’re so stupid”, you mumble, kissing him one last time as he lets you go.

you reach the abandoned warehouse on time, with two minutes to spare. you look around but see no one around, the place dark and deserted. you decide to wait and stand outside to see if anyone shows up. after two minutes of waiting, you hear a rustle in the grass, standing alert, only to see a stray dog appear, but it had something in its mouth. the dog drops the things it was holding in front of your and runs off without warning. you carefully bend down to pick up the things, seeing a piece of paper and a black face cover that was meant to cover you entire face.

put on the mask on and be a good girl and wait

you crush the paper and scan your surroundings one more time before putting the mask on. after a few seconds, you realize the mask is laced with something, something strong and it’s too late because you’re already getting dizzy. your hand slips down as you fail to remove the mask and your knees give in as you fall to the ground, unconscious.

you wake up with the mask still over your head and groan, shaking your head, trying to get rid of the dizziness that’s was still lingering.

“she’s awake”, you hear someone say, immediately getting alert. 

“call boss”, another voice adds.

you try to move but your hands are bound together tightly with a rope that’s painfully cutting into your wrists. you can faintly make out the light in the room, it must have been dimly lit. you hear a door open and footsteps, as they come closer to you and suddenly, the mask over your face is harshly yanked out. you close your eyes shut at the sudden intrusion of light and look around, trying to gather your surroundings as your eyes adjust to the light. you manage to look up, seeing a figure looming over you. 

“hi there pretty girl, remember me?”, he asks menacingly. you blink your eyes as you scan his face, trying to remember who but you don’t.

“who the fuck are you?”, you lash out.

he clicks his tongue in response. “i’m disappointed, i thought you’d remember me after what you did, that’s a shame. but no worries, we still have time”, he says, one of his men dragging a chair and he takes a seat in front of you, leaning forward to get a better look at you, at your state.

“look at you. you’re supposed to be highly skilled right? but here you are, tied up for me to play with. i’m excited”, he tells laughing, a grin forming on his face.

“fuck off, where’s dino”, you spit out and you see the flash of anger that courses through him.

he grabs your face harshly, making you look at him, his hand gripping your jaw.

“behave or else i’ll get angry and slice up your friend. you don’t want that do you?”, he warns, putting pressure on your jaw as he squeezes your cheeks tighter. you squirm in his grip and he finally lets you go, your head hitting the wall in the process.

“where is he?”, you ask again, breathing hard. “i kept up my end of the deal”, you grit out.

“oh i will tell you where he is, but i just want to have a little fun with you before that happens”, he says, a glint in his eyes. he gets up and walks away, saying something to the other men in the room which you don’t quite catch.

that night, you’re alone, only with one guy, whom you assume was supposed to keep an eye on you. you try wriggle out of the rope, and even though it burns, you brush the pain away as the rope digs into your wrist. you smile to yourself once your wrists are free. people really had to learn how to tie secure knots really. you stealthily get up while the guard is pathetically snoring. you roll your eyes and get up, stretching and grabbing a stone from the floor as you walk towards him. he opens his eyes just as you stand in front of him and he doesn’t get the chance to speak as you crash the stone into his skull and he falls to the ground, unconscious. you knocked him hard enough to knock him out but not kill him. you’re eyes have been trained to see in the dark and you make your way across the room, putting your ear to the door to hear for any voices or signs of life. your hands encloses on the doorknob and you slowly turn it, opening it and peeking out. the coast is clear and you step out and, your footsteps silent as you make your way to the end of the hall. the place abandoned so debris and dust was everywhere. after a few steps you faint voices coming towards you and you still against the wall, peeking your ear out to pick up on the conversation.

“how much do you think seungcheol would pay to have her back? i think he’s her most valuable asset”, the voice says, which you recognise as the boss’s voice. “hm let’s see if he wants the painting or her”, another voice chimes in and you furrow your brows. first of all you didn’t need seungcheol protecting you and secondly you were getting pissed at these thugs. you move your foot and knock into something on the floor. 

“what was that?”, you hear the voice ask. you mentally curse and get ready to strike, coming out of the shadows and landing a kick right in the chest of one of the thugs. he falls to the ground with a grunt and loud thud. 

“oh my, i see you seem to have escaped”, the boss man tells, looking at you, chuckling. 

“where’s dino”, you ask, gripping the broken pipe you picked up on your way.

“I think it would be wise to drop that and not do anything stupid, unless you want your friend chopped up in pieces, i’ll glady do it and you know it”, he says, raisng a brow at you. 

you study his face and you can tell he would. you’d dealt with enough people in the years you’d taken up this job to be able to read people like a book and this guy was not fooling around when he said he would indeed chop up dino. you grit your teeth as you drop the pipe and it rattles as it hits the ground, echoing in the empty hallway.

“good girl”, he tells condescendingly, smirking, satisfied. “now let’s get you back”, he adds, and this time you’re cuffed in chains, but you’d figure a way to get out. 

two days go by and this boss guy is nowhere to be seen. you can tell he’s trying to weaken you by starving you but you could handle this. you’ve been through worse honestly. it’s the third night now and you’re getting impatient and a little tired of this waiting game.

“where the hell is your boss? did i scare him off? ask him to come here right now”, you demand

“he’s busy”, the guard tells, not even bothering to look at you, dismissing you completely.

“busy doing what? chickening out? tell him to come here right now”, you yell and probably because you kept belittling his ‘boss’, you hear him send another man to give the message. and sure enough, a few hours later the boss man comes walking in.

“i hear you were causing a ruckus”, he tells.

“where’s dino”, you demand.

“don’t worry about him. i’d worry about you because”, he says, getting down on one knee to come at eye level with me. “i’m going to take my time killing you slowly”, he says.

“yeah i’d rather enjoy killing you first”, you say.

“you really don’t recognize me, do you? stupid girl”, he spits out.

“uncuff her”, he says, getting up.

“boss but-“

“DO IT”, he shouts, the men cowering and one of them immediately scrambles down to undo the chain on you. as soon as you get free, you leap up, swaying your foot as you kick him down.

“why the fuck should i know who you are”, you say, reaching in your concealed pocket for a knife, but only feeling an empty space instead. there was no knife.

the boss chuckles and looks at you, laughing as he gets up, dusting himself off.

“looking for your precious knives? i thought i said not to bring anything. you thought you could fool me? i think not” he tells, smirking.

“how”, you whisper.

“you’re not the only one who has tricks up their sleeve”, he says in sing song voice, making you narrow your eyes at him.

“i’ve dedicated my whole life to this moment, to seeing you and killing you and you have the audacity to not even remember me”, he sneers, coming closer.

“cloud 9 enterprises, does that name ring a bell?”, he asks, stalking closer to you.

you wrack your brain. cloud 9 enterprises. that name was familiar and that case was famous too. the owner was supposedly making drugs, and disguising them as medication to sell, making people addicted and in plenty of bad ways too. lots of people died, innocent children and adults died because of those drugs he had disguised as a harmless medication. and you remember because you were the one sent to kill him. you look at the man’s face, looking at his features that somehow resemble the man you killed and it hits you.

“you’re his son”, you say.

“bingo”, he says smiling before landing a punch to your gut, making you fall down. “did you know i watched you kill him. i was hiding under his desk as i saw you slit his throat. can you imagine what that does to a child?”, he spits out. “after that day i’ve sworn i would get my revenge and now that i have you, it feels good”, he explains. he kicks you again but you dodge, swinging your leg and tripping him. you kick him again but his men come forward, grabbing you by the arms, holding you back. you thrash in their hold as he gets up. you knee one of the men and get loose but a few more men come forward and hold you down as, pushing you to your knees. he holds his hand out and someone gives him something – a syringe.

“this is a special concoction i made, just for you. i can’t wait to see how long you can last”, he chuckles coming forward and stabbing the syringe in your arm. the stab of the needle is sharp as he pushes the contents of the syringe inside your arm. you thrash even more, angry and they finally let you go. you yell out in frustration and try to land a punch but you miss.

“fuck you, i’ll kill you with my own hands”, you snap out, getting up and looking at him but your vision was playing tricks on you. you shake your head in an attempt to regain yourself and grab a metal stick that was thrown off to the side and jump to hit him, but you miss again. you groan in frustration.

“what did you do”, you shout as you get up, regaining you balance.

“you’ll die a slow painful death, as your organs and body start shutting down. you’ll probably last 36 hours or 48 hours if you manage to pull through”, he tells with a smile, stepping forward and you move to grab his arm, but before you can do anything you feel a sharp piecring pain in your abdomen and he looks at you and smiles as he pushes the knife furthur into you, stabbing you. you whine and yelp as he roughly pulls the knife out.

“how does it feel?”, he asks as you headbut him, not giving up yet. he groans as he pushes you off him, your back hitting the wall as you slump against it. he looks at you angry but chuckles as he looks at your state as he wipes his bloody nose with a cloth. you vaguely hear him say something like “dispose of the body where nobody can find it” and you hear dino’s name too but he’s already out the door.

you try to sit up and stop the bleeding, covering the torn flesh with your palms, and applying pressure to stop the bleeding. you’d managed to tear a part of your long sleeve shirt and use that to tie up the wound, putting the knot tight to somehow slow down the bleeding. you try to move and locate an escape route. there is a window but it’s too high up with no way for you to get to it unless you managed to move the stack of old wooden boxes. but in your state, you don’t think you could.

you don’t know when you fell asleep, it was probably the effect of whatever the drug he had injected you with. you sit awake, pain shooting through your abdomen in the process. the cloth you tied around is now soaked in blood and it’s starting to pool next to you. your hand is heavy as your try to lift it up and tear off your other sleeve to wrap it around the area.

in the far distance, gunshots can be heard and an angry and determined man is making his way into the hideout. “where the hell is she?”, mingyu shouts, the gun digging into the skull of a man who’s on his knees, his hands cuffed behind his back. his henchmen are all knocked out and scattered on the floor.

“she’s probably half dead by now”, he says, smiling, showing no remorse. this riles up mingyu even more and he pulls the man up and smashes him against the wall, his hand closing around his neck.

“what did you do?”, he asks, putting pressure on the man’s neck as dino stands behind him with jun.

he only half laughs as he starts to choke. “go find out yourself”, he mumbles and mingyu throws him to the ground and points his gun at him, shooting him point blank in the head, twice.

“mingyu! seungcheol wanted him alive”, jun rasps out, seeing his limp body.

“he was going to kill him any way i just did him a favor”, mingyu tells, only earning a look of disapproval from jun. “i’ll explain it to him”, mingyu adds.

mingyu searches the entire building, looking for you, until he stumbles across a room that’s been locked from the outside, and something familiar glints in the corner – knives, your knives. mingyu grabs a broken-off stone from the side and uses it to break open the lock, hammering down on it till it breaks. the door swings open and he spots you slumped on the floor in the far corner of the room.

“y/n”, he shouts as he rushes towards you and kneels down in front of you.  “fuck fuck fuck”, he mumbles as he sees the blood pooling on the side.

your body stirs awake again at the familiar scent of cologne and you open your eyes. mingyu? were you hallucinating? was this a side effect of the drug?

“mingyu?”, you ask, not sure if this was real.

“y/n, hey, it’s okay, im here now”, he says hurridely, pulling you onto his lap and you yelp in pain.

“shit sorry, but we need to get you out of here”, he explains.

“what are you doing here?”, you ask stupidly.

“i’m here for you, y/n. you didn’t come back and we got another threat and i knew something was wrong. fuck, i should have come earlier”, he explains.

“w-what about dino?”, you muster out with whatever strength you had.

“he’s here and he’s okay. we have the painting too. the van is down, i just need to get you out”, he says.

he tries to carefully scoop you in his arms but you whimper in pain again.

“i’m sorry but we’re almost there okay”, he assures, carrying you out. the jerks from the way he was running caused pain and you whined as he kept saying we were almost there. you hear dino’s faint voice as he opens the back of the van and mingyu rushes inside, gently laying you down on his lap.

“drive drive go!”, mingyu shouts, getting anxious.

“she’s hurt. badly”, dino adds.

“we should’ve brought wonwoo along, dammit. call him and ask him what to do to stop the bleeding”, mingyu commands.

“he-he injected something in me, some drug. said it would stop my organs and body functions within 36 hours”, you mumble out and mingyu’s face pales.

“how long as it been?”

“i don’t-maybe 24 hours”, you mumblr out, your memory hazy.

“here, wonwoo’s on the line”, dino says, holding out the phone so mingyu can speak on speakerphone.

“wonwoo, she’s bleeding out, she’s already lost a lot of blood, what do i do”, mingyu asks helplessly.

“just apply pressure to the wound and get her here”, he says, stern.

“fuck and he injected something in her, supposed to stop a person’s organs and body functions within 36 hours”, mingyu adds. “you can stop that right”, mingyu asks desperately and the line is silent for a few seconds.

“i don’t know it depends on how long it’s been-“

“24 hours”

“get her here, i’ll see what i can do”, wonwoo says, and the line drops.

he keeps talking to you so you can be conscious but after a ten minutes, you eyes start to close, and your body falters. your head starts to spiral and you get dizzy, seeing two mingyu’s above you.

“why are there two of you”, you ask no one in particular, starting to get delirious.

migyu’s pressure on your wound falters and you shrivel up in pain, the burning pain getting too much.

“it hurts, everything h-hurts”, you cry out softly and mingyu wishes he could do something to help ease the pain.

“i know baby you’re going to be okay, it’s going to be okay”, he says, panic evident in his eyes.

“hey hey y/n, don’t-“ mingyu pleads looking at you.

“mingyu”, dino says but he ignores him.

“y/n look at me”, he pleads, pulling you into him. your grip on his shirt loosens slowly and mingyu notices the way your hand falls down.

“fuck no no no, stay with me baby, i’m right here”, he pleads, almost crying but all you see is black as you lose consciousness.

(you were recovering in mingyu’s house since you couldn’t risk going to the hospital with an unknown drug in your system, it would cause a red siren everywhere and bring unwanted attention)

wonwoo tried his best to help save you but you were still lying unconscious after ten days. most of the drug had been flushed out of your system but it was taking some time for your body to recover from its effects.

“go get some rest mingyu”, wonwoo says as he walks in, seeing mingyu beside your bed.

“i need to be here when she wakes up”, mingyu says, his eyes red and his face tired from the lack of sleep.

“she’ll wake up, right?”, he asks for the tenth time today, hope reflecting in his tired eyes.

“i can’t make promises like that mingyu, it depends on the way her body is recovering”, wonwoo tells.

“this is all seungcheol’s fault”, mingyu declares, suddenly seeing red.

“where the fuck is he, he didn’t even come to see her once.”, mingyu adds, getting up.

“mingyu, you need to calm down.”

mingyu ignores wonwoo and shoves him to the side as he leaves for the safehouse in search of seungcheol.

“WHERE’S SEUNGCHEOL”, mingyu yells as he enters, causing seungkwan and vernon to jump and turn around.

“mingyu-"

“where the fuck is seungcheol?”, mingyu asks again, angry.

mingyu stalks ahead and bursts open the door to seungcheol’s office.

“this is all your fault”, mingyu says as seungcheol stands up from his desk and walks out a few steps before mingyu grabs seungcheol by the collar of his shirt.

“if you hadn’t sent y/n alone like i said, she’d be okay, she’d be okay”, mingyu spits out, seething in anger. “did you even go see her, do you know what he did?”, he adds.

“i know what happened and it’s unfortunate”, is all seungcheol says, making mingyu even more upset. in blinding anger, mingyu brings his hand up and lands a punch to seungcheol.

jeonghan runs in. “what-“, he asks but stops upon seeing the scene in front of him.

“im only letting this off because we got the painting”, seungcheol says, wiping his busted lip.

“fuck you, i bet you don’t even care if she dies”, mingyu spits stepping front again but jeonghan blocks him.

“she’ll live, she’s a fighter”, seungcheol tells before seungkwan comes along and he and jeonghan guide mingyu out.

that night mingyu is back home, laying next to your bed as wonwoo administers another round of IV.

“her wound is healing but slowly. it’s still a good sign that her body is functioning and working. otherwise, she would have gotten another infection if the drug had really affected her”, wonwoo says, hoping to bring some sort of relief to mingyu.

“you really love her don’t you”, wonwoo adds as he observes the way mingyu holds your hand.

“i should’ve insisted she doesn’t go alone, but she said she’d come back”, mingyu says defeated.

“if she doesn’t respond in another week, we’ll have to really do something then”, wonwoo tells, and by the way mingyu’s jaw clenches, he doesn’t like the sound of that.

mingyu stays by your bed that night, falling asleep and holding your hand.

you’re dreaming, someone is chasing you. you’ve been running for so long and you’re getting tired. you don’t even know where you’re running, you’re just running and running, hoping to find something.

mingyu stirs awake when he senses your grip on his hand tightening and he’s super alert.

“y/n?”, he asks softly.

someone is calling out to you. you can’t figure out where it’s coming from but you hear the sweet voice calling out my name again. you run towards the voice.

“y/n”, mingyu calls out again as he looks at you, trying to see if you can hear or understand him.

you’re running and running, trying to follow the voice and you vaguely make out a figure standing in front of you. the man stands out with his arms open as he calls out your name one last time and your eyes flutter open.

mingyu lets out a small gasp.

“mingyu”, you try to say, but no voice follows and you close your eyes again.

mingyu wastes no time in calling wonwoo, telling him the news and soon wonwoo is at the house.

“just keep an eye on her”, wonwoo explains saying he'll be back in the morning for a checkup.

in the morning, you wake up, a bit hazy but conscious. what woke you up was the pain and something cold and when you look down you realize your bandage had bled out, probably from sleeping on your side. you try to sit up but your arms give out, and your eyes close. you hear the faint steps of mingyu walking in and he says your name, rushing up to you. he gently sits down next to you, the bed dipping. 

“you’re awake, you’re awake”, he says, his hands fumlbing for his phone as he dials wonwoo. you slowly manage to turn and face him, blinking up at him in a daze. he looks down and see’s your bandage that’s bled out.

“im just going to change your bandage okay y/n”, he says to you and you weakly nod. he helps you sit up, lifting your shirt up ever so slightly so he can take off the soiled bandage and replace it. he gently cleans the wound with a wet cloth and you slightly hiss at the pain, your hands clawing at the bedsheet. you take a moment to look at mingyu as he carefully tends to my wound. the way his hair falls over his face, the way the light bounces off him, the way his brows are furrowed in concentration, the way his hands are gentle so that he doesn’t hurt you.

“mingyu”, you say softly and he looks up worried and surprised. this is the first time you talked.

“do you want something? water? or are you hungry? i made some rice porridge earlier i can just-“

“thank you”, you weakly say and try to smile at him, and at this, he crumbles. he gently moves his hands to envelope you as he slowly pulls you into him for a hug.

“i thought i’d lost you there”, mingyu admits softly and you can hear the fear in his voice.

“i’m a fighter”, you mumble out and he laughs.

“‘im just glad you’re awake now. i thought- i was really preparing myself for the worst”, he says, pulling away to look at you. his hand cups you cheek, his thumb gently caressing my cheek. you lean into his touch and rest your head on his chest.

over the next few days, mingyu makes sure you’re comfortable and okay. he’s always checking up on you and you start to feel better. you’re able to get up and walk a little and your wound is healing too. you’re in less pain and wonwoo is impressed and satisfied with the way you’ve been healing. 

“where’s dino? i hope he’s okay, i never got to see him afterward”, you say later one night. “do you want me to call them over?”, mingyu asks and you nod eagerly. 

you walk over to mingyu and sit down next to him on the couch, looking up at him as you lean against his arm and suddenly you remember - you owed him a kiss when you came back. you sit up a bit and mingyu seems to have caught you staring.

“what?”, he asks, looking at you lovingly. “did you want something?”, he adds.

you simply move so that you’re straddling his lap and before mingyu can say anything, you’re kissing him. he kisses you back a few seconds later and his hands rest on your waist. he moves his lips against yours and his hand tilts your jaw closer to him. your hands wrap around his neck as you tangle your fingers in his hair and mingyu lets out a soft groan as he pulls away.

“fuck. i missed that. i missed you”, he mumbles against your lips.

“i promised you a kiss when i came back right”. you say and he smiles.

“you remembered”

“a little too late if i have to say”

“i’m glad you’re back baby, i missed you so much”, he says again, leaning forward to kiss you again, chasing after your lips. his lips are soft against yours, but the way he’s kissing you is like he hasn’t seen you in years. he kisses you with yearning and emotion, with a sort of urgency. his hand grips your waist tighter but you let out a small yelp since the pain is still there as the wound was still healing and his grip softens.

“shit sorry”, he says, looking to make sure you was okay, only to kiss him back, wanting to get lost in the feeling of his lips on yours. you’re too busy to notice that wonwoo opened the door and the rest of the boys walked in on you both kissing.

“y/n i got your favorite-“ seungkwan starts but stops dead in his tracks upon catching you both.

you pull away and turn your head around to see seungkwan’s mouth hanging open before he smacks a hand over his mouth in shock. dino just gives you a small shy smile and smiles when you smile back at him. you’re about to move off when mingyu pulls you in for one last kiss, just to tease you as you whack his arm and he pulls away chuckling.

wonwoo looks at us as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “i thought i said no strenuous activities for y/n”, he says, looking straight at mingyu.

“she started it”, mingyu says, throwing you in the fire as he gently slides you off him.

“what no! i–“, you start but falter, the words crumbling.

hoshi is immediately by your side, asking you if you’re okay and what happened before he starts pestering you for more details about how mingyu and you started liking each other because in his knowlege you hated him so now he need to know all the gossip and details.

after a few more months, you’re all healed but wonwoo still makes you do a checkup once every month, to make sure you were healing okay and that there were no leftover effects of the drug in your body.

2 years later

“baby i told you not to wear that fuck”, mingyu groans in your ear as he pulls you into a tiny room to hide from the security guards looking for you both.

“concentrate, we still need to get the gold bars”, you say, adjusting his tie as he pushes you into the wall.

“you look so fucking hot i told you that you’d get in trouble if you wore that”, he says, whispering against your ear.

after you healed and got back in the field, you and mingyu had been on countless missions together. this time you had to steal some gold bars from a corrupt politician, and once again to build connections and friends, you had to pose as a married couple. so here you were.

“my wife likes to be a brat sometimes”, he mumbles before pecking your lips.

“watch it, im not your wife”, you say, poking his arm.

“not yet, but i can change that”, he says, giving you a wink.

you stare up at him tilting your head to the side. “are you proposing to me, mingyu?”, you ask.

“maybe”, he says with a goofy smile as he leans in to close the gap between you with a kiss.

and yes, you did successfully steal the gold bars and you maybe tortured the corrupt politician a little, but everyone needs to have a little fun right?

— taglist

@daisycheols @naaaaafla @slytherinshua @weird-bookworm @idubiluv @qaramu @n4mj00nvq @itsveronicaxxx @joshuaahong @fallingforshua29 @frankenstein852 @lvlystars @fairyhaos @rubywonu @aaniag @junniesoleilkth @m1ngyuc0re @wheeboo @hyunyin @minhui896 @fancypoisonapple @raggedypansexual @k-ajla12 @asyre @ilovesungjun @jyiiscool @tis-niki @foxinnie8 @nobraincellmode @ne0c0r3 @nishloves

[etanow]

MASTER POST

The Experimental Monster Laboratory, or Monster Labs, is a TADC AU where the cast is in the physical world! Sorta..

C&A Research Facilities is one of the cornerstones of the science and medical worlds! They do everything; funding research, manufacturing equipment, and research into the known and unknown in an effort to understand everything. To the public, that is.

They experiment heavily in everything, from hiring literal Gods on earth to manage the more ..sensitive divisions; mixing machine and magic, technology and the supernatural, genetic experimentation, you name it, they’ve probably done it! The world outside may not know anything of the advancements they’re researching but there is little C&A Labs won’t allow in the name of progress in understanding and cataloging everything in their universe. Our story takes place in one of the more private residencies deep in C&A, belonging to Caine; a minor God with mysterious origins, unknown limitations, and boundless enthusiasm for learning everything he can about his little science friends.

╰┈➤ Content

╚═ Unnamed fic (Coming soon...) ╚═ Bubble can cook?? .

╰┈➤ Asks

╚═ Does Pomni act like a zombie? ╚═ Is Zooble's Demon Snake Leg happy? ╚═ Gangle is in a Situation.png ╚═ Gangle's temperament ╚═ Has Ragatha ever shocked anyone? ╚═ Gangle love RAAAH ╚═ Do Caine and Ragatha fight over Pomni? ╚═ Why did Gangle summon a demon? ╚═ Why does Pomni wear a bell collar? ╚═ Kinger's eye ╚═ What if there was a baby crying? ╚═ Death trauma [Gangle and Pomni] ╚═ Kinger has ONE hobby outside of Bugs ╚═ Is Zooble protective of Gangle? ╚═ What happens when you touch Pomni's brain? ╚═ JAX DATED SOMEONE?? ╚═ What does Jax do? .

╰┈➤ References

╚═ Intro Cards ╚═ Height Chart Lineup ╚═ Zooble Demon Snake Leg Intro Card /j ╚═ Queenie ╚═ Gummigoo ╚═ The Sun Room ╚═ Logo .

╰┈➤ Arts

╚═ First ML AU Post ╚═ Second, exploring outfits ╚═ Design sketches part 2 ╚═ Pomni + flower language ╚═ Showtime + Ragapom doodles ╚═ Jax not practicing lab safety ╚═ Abstragedy cuddles ╚═ Raga doodle ╚═ Ragapom doodle ╚═ Jax and Meadowsweet ╚═ Pomni staring out a fake window.png ╚═ [Gives pomni flowers] ╚═ more doodles ig

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╰┈➤ Misc.

╚═ Caine Lemon Rant [Animatic] ╚═ Zodiac signs?? ╚═ Caine gets called a Tumblr Sexyman and cries ╚═ Bubble Looksmaxxing ╚═ Jax wants to take ketamine with you (Romantically) ╚═ Caine eats a lemon [Animatic] ╚═ BUNNYSUITSSS ╚═ Magma doodles ╚═ Magma doodles part 2

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╰┈➤ Pomniverse

╚═ Wonderland and Zombni are friends :D

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╰┈➤ Boundaries / Q&A

╚═ Any story plans? I'm not sure yet, currently writing a fic and several comics on the way.

╚═ Any boundaries? None, so go crazy! I am OK with gore, NSFW, angst, violence, etc, just be sure it is tagged/TW'd appropriately as not everyone is OK with that content. I'd also like to see please LOL

╚═ Can we create fanart/fics/content? Can we dub or fancam? Yes of course!! Please tag me, I'd love to see all of it! I'm tracking the tag #TADC Monster Labs AU for other's content

╚═ Is NSFW allowed? Yes, both art and fic, so long as it's marked appropriately I'd very much love to see!

╚═ Can I ship the characters, self-ships, or OC x Canon? Yes, ship away! Just be aware the only au-canon ships are Caine/Pomni, Ragatha/Pomni, Gangle/Zooble, and PAST Ragatha/Jax.

╚═ Can we make OCs? Go on ahead! Here is a PSD file for the blank template and the PNG can be found here.

╚═ Who are you?

✦✧ Hi I'm Audi! 26, she/they. Full-time office worker, I do art in my free time. ✦ My current interests are TADC, RWBY, Looney Tunes, and Trolls. ✧ I draw using a custom PC, a Huion Kamvas 16 (2.5K), and Adobe Photoshop. Currently learning to use Procreate. ✦ I do not RP and this isn't an ask blog, asks interacting directly with characters will probably not be answered. ✧ Asks are not guaranteed to be answered, sorry if yours isn't but please don't spam/send multiple times! ✦ Commissions and requests are not open at this time, thank you. ✧ My main tumblr is Audi-art. My Twitter is Hammerspaced.

[cheyisagirlkisser]

–FRENZY: SEVIKA.

“𝐃𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭? 𝐁𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐭—𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬, 𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐛 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝.”

🗡 .ᐟ 𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐀 / 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

word count: 9.5k

warnings: fem reader, mild descriptions of gore and violence (vampires, town slaughters and mentions of bodies, feeding, etc). mentions of religion and homophobia. set in 1880s, so mentions of traditional stereotypes are included. mentions of character death and grief. stalking and obsessive behavior on reader's part. toxic dynamics and psychological manipulation. major angst with no comfort. if any of these themes make you uncomfortable, do not read!

sexual warnings: masturbation, breathplay, slight hunter/prey kink and dynamic, manhandling, oral sex + fingering + scissoring, mentions of brothels and "whores", mainly reader receiving and sevika giving. (note that many sexual aspects of this are in a ‘dream’, and aren’t actually happening in sevika’s reality.

prologue here.

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒, 𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃.

“Father forgive me, for I have sinned.” You speak, vocal cords buzzing through your throat and causing an unusual, nervous tilt in your words. Your sweaty hands clasp together, a rosary held tightly between them, and a genuinity in your soul that wants to find itself long-lived. It will not.

“Tell, child.” The priest’s voice is deep, rasped with old age and wrapped around with an accent that informs its listeners of a higher social class. Most priests are. You cannot fully make out the deep valleys underneath his weary eyes, or the length his nose follows to his philtrum. Sight is not necessary in the process, however. The thin screen is purposeful. He faintly nods in encouragement. 

You swallow, throat bobbing with the burden of your thoughts. 

Since you were but a young girl growing up in a rapidly-paced society, you have always been shown the goodness of the churches throughout England. You are merely poor and given a bad hand in life. England is where you were born, and your mind speaks to you that it will be your resting place. Perhaps your husband will start saving up for a headstone that will go unneeded when you pass to a plague, the fate of your flesh to be scorched in a pile of others who met the same fate. The goodness of the churches keeps you hopeful for honor, though. You see to it that you make your last breath a word of prayer. 

With such in mind, you make the visits to St Etheldreda's church. You sit in silence upon a wooden bench in the very front, and you close your eyes. There, your hands join, and you whisper grace underneath your breath. 

Religion is nothing short of everything to your spirit. You pray each night before you rest, and you awake in the morning alone, your husband usually already at his forge, and you pray. You pray upon the stale bread you consume for dinner, grateful for even that. You find the stained-glass designs in the windows of churches to be ingrained into the pink of your brain, and you dream of the staircase to heaven, not made of cobblestone or splintered, rotting wood, but instead a staircase of fine glass.

Today, however, you find yourself confessing. Your words spill from your lips in a rush, your nails digging into your own skin. 

“Father, I must confess that such wicked visions have plagued me.” You speak fast, your body trembling. “I have ensured that within my own soul, I remain as pure as I can be. I never tell a lie. I never commit the grave sin of adultery. I say my prayers daily–I mean every syllable. Why I am here today is because I have been been.seeing things.” 

The priest’s face tightens, and you do not have to make out his eye color to know that the lids so near twitch. In fear or revolution, something you cannot judge him for feeling towards your confession. “As in, evil delusions of sorts?”

“In my dreams, father. I see myself on the streets, like any ordinary day. I smile, and I speak to the shop-keepers. I somehow have the means to purchase fine meats from the slaughterhouse. The day is bright, the sun not yet dipping out of view. However, right before I arrive home, darkness envelops all. The moon is clear, and ‘tis almost beautiful. I am quite confused, but I don’t question. Only a dream, you see. And I look up at the stars, and take steps forward back home, only the air is unscented. And then, just as I open my door, I see them.” 

The priest’s eyes nearly widen and spill onto the floor in front of you. He furrows his brows. “My child, who are ‘they’?”

Your eyes line with moisture, and the rosary in your hands is clutched violently. “I did not understand when I just laid eyes upon them in the dream. Their figure was slim, a male’s, I believe. He was utterly carved in perfection in such a way I’d believe to be God’s. However, I did not approach him. Something in my soul warned otherwise. I just stared in awe, father. He was perfect, and I would believe that such a human would be some sort of prodigy.”

“What is the issue, my child? If he was such a creation of God, why come to me?” The priest inquires, leaning forward. He has taken great interest in your words. 

“I did not approach him. I didn’t even witness his own approach. It was as if he moved with a momentum that I did not even feel the comfort of his soul, even as he stood in front of me. And I feel a great comfort in every human. And..” You trail off, nearly dropping the rosary. “And then he grabbed me, father. He grabbed me and opened his mouth. He bear fangs between snow white teeth. I could not protest before they sank into me. It was a demon!” You sob, your tears sliding down the roundness of your cheeks. 

“Excuse me?!” The priest shouts, the volume causing you to jolt. The rosary clacks onto the ground. You’re a mess of tears and snot, and your mind is pulsing with the memories of the dream whilst the fear of being locked away. Before you can beg for forgiveness, the priest has to calm himself. He sits, letting out a terse sigh. Again, he speaks, his voice hushed, but not meant to calm you. Only to be discreet. 

“My child, you cannot speak to anyone about the things you have dreamt of. Not even your husband. The church will handle this.” He assures you quietly, soaking in the sigh of relief that you exhale from your lungs, as if releasing a worry or burden. 

“Thank you, father. I shall return to my home now.” You say, standing onto your feet. In just seconds, you leave the small, wooden booth and find yourself simply taking in the interior of the church with an awe you never seem to be used to, surely after a thousand visits. Intricate, colorful pieces of glass conjoin to make multiple paintings that surround you. The sapphire lightens in hue when the biggest, bright star beams its love throughout the glass and into the church’s inner chambers. You only stand outside of the booth, taking in the sight once again. Sights so pretty, so overwhelming to the human eye cannot only be of human intent. Sights like these make you want to pray. 

That thought only causes a painful pulse to wrack your brain, however. That thought lets your head fester in disturbance, and you nearly hurl with disgust. All too suddenly have the religious thoughts that your desperate inner faith once dwelled upon cause you so much unease. All too soon do the visions plague your mind. You try to blink it away, and you stare at the stained glass. You love the sight, and yet all your brain makes out is the bloodied red pieces throughout, pieces you once did not notice. It causes sharp pains throughout your eyes to think of anything else in the portrait. You begin to wonder if the red is merely a figment of your imagination, should you be hauled off to the asylum? The dials of time reach hours, at least in your mind. In reality, only 30 seconds are taken from you. You jolt when you feel a hand on your arm, and quickly turn. There, you see your priest’s eyes. 

“Oh, and my child..if you see him outside of these dreams of yours, find me. Do not waste a second, or we will all be in grave danger.” He whispers in your ear, an instruction that is almost sharp to the ears. You nod, mind blackened as the priest turns away, leaving you to stare back up at the window. Not a single splash of red is visible to your eyes, neither the corneas, pupils, or the whites. 

You feel something wicked in your bloodstream, like the eerie tuning of a violin. It builds you up to terror that should not be unleashed. It is something ancient and almost unheard of, and you only wish to stop it. Why are you chosen for the task, however? All this pressure in wait, and all you can do is head home and hope that you are truly dreaming or next up to be thrown into a mental asylum, for that would be a relief over the visions of bloodshed you’ve been picturing. 

Grey-stricken, drab wooden planks outline your home. A humbling sight, but one not uncommon in your majority social class. You are grateful to even have that–others find themselves stuck to the streetways like mice to a rubber trap, sleeping next to the rats who carry all varieties of disease. You find slumber next to your husband, and his patient heat warms the entirety of the bed.

Your husband is the oddity of the century. On the rounder side, his cheeks are soft and blessed. Locks of brown hair just meet the stubble on his jaw, and like all, he is carved in stature. You cannot say he is an attractive man, simply..carved. Perhaps he is carved from the brushes that wetten clay, tracing out imperfections future generations will sell for an annoyingly ridiculous amount of coin. Or maybe even, the man’s pores were once a product of a farmer’s straw inching into a clay not found in the hand’s a professional, but rather the raw, wild kind. Your husband is a soft man, however. Stature does not matter when you can be grateful that he is so respectful. The oddity of a century is a kind man who does not expect more than what he is given. 

However, love does not nuzzle its way between the two of you. You have found a delicate peace with your husband. There will be children, you hope. There will be smiles, conversations, and companionship. That does not equate to the lack of passion you feel when you lay a chaste kiss on the fat of his cheeks. There is no room for complaining when you live in an age in which husbands drop like flies, leaving pitiful widows to raise babies all alone.

You enter your home, and the sight before you is one you will not have the mortal time to process. 

Those soft, round cheeks against the firm pressure of the unpolished wooden floor. There, he lies still. Your eyes widen like saucers, the whites growing shiny with moisture. Blood does not trickle with the signature of gravity, but rather from the quick, brutal pressure of whatever his poor body endured while you were confessing. 

You’d like the reddening floor to blue–the type of blue that lights when the sun casts through the windows of your home, but you know that will not happen. Instead of running outside for help, you step closer. Your husband’s blood pools in a puddle of slow-soaking blood against the volatile wood. Your shoes are coated in the substance, and you drop to your knees, struggling to flip him onto his back.

The stab wounds plastering him aid your nausea, and you nearly double down to the side, retching. Your eyes spill over with salty tears as you stare back at who you hoped to be forever with. Now, what. A lifeless body, and-

And a sight that ceases it all. A horrifying, stomach-wrenching sight, one that should allow you to find the means to rise to your feet and set off for the church in hopes to save your entire town, be a hero for the little English children who should not be buried six feet deep in the dead of wintertime, snow reddened over from two measly piercing on their neck.

There, on your husband’s neck, are two indentations. 

Demons are silent, ghastly creatures. You can’t outrun them unless you know that they are present. You shouldn’t have tried to play hero.

𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐍, 𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃. 𝟏𝟖𝟖𝟑.

A woman of any good morals, Sevika is not. Instead, the woman’s heart oozes with a hatred that could, but doesn’t stem from the roots of religion. She hears what the townspeople, crosses on their necks and a good sense of faith think of the demons she corners–the people find it right to utter what are almost culty, crazed chants out words, drinking from vials that seem to make them maddened with faith. Psalms and gospel measures, things that one can only know from the top of their head because they are all over England.

Sevika’s hatred for vampires is kindred with the religious, however. The only difference is, she cannot find it in her soul to pretend to be morally correct. It is almost always the ones who preach at the altar, spewing out the nature of bigotry and condemning the sinners that they themselves are. Do not make the mistake of assuming, though; Sevika doesn’t have a hatred for the religious. Only the ones who cast judgment upon the undeserving. She has a strangely amusing sense of annoyance for the fact that she does more to keep towns at bay than any of the preachers who shout the term ‘blood sucker’ at the top of their lungs. 

Vampires, demons, monsters, succubus. It’s all the same veneer of diction for Sevika’s brain. The grooves and cogs all tick to the thought of such a greedy, lustful species existing. A particular demon left her mother lifeless in the middle of nowhere like her life meant nothing. Being raised exclusively by her father and watching the man drink himself to death to cope with the gory loss of his wife left a blossoming hatred in Sevika’s soul, a fire that still burns bright. Ever since, Sevika has never had an affinity for the beasts. In fact, she sees it as a pride to have staked the pulse-lacking hearts of so many of them.

Sevika, however, has always had an affinity for women. From an early age, looks of love and a charged curiosity fill her when her gaze meets a gorgeous woman. Her favorites are the ones with the beauty marks dotted on their faces like the top of the letter i, and the ones who tend to run their husbands more than their husbands run them.

Sometimes, shamelessly, Sevika imagines herself in the predicament of becoming a husband. A wife, she is free to roam the option of being. However, a husband is something she can find to be naught in this time. Perhaps a decade or two ago, she shared her previously mentioned hatred with the one that grew its uproots in her from a guilt. A guilt in herself, really. Her father was already a man of poor luck, only what people call “impoverished.” Her old man, when he was still above the six feet mark, was never an understanding one. Should she ever confess her yearning to plant every inch of warmth possessed in her lips onto another woman, she would be the one underground. His death seems to cancel out that guilt, and now it only lies in small increments, small enough that her other hatred, the one that is all too distracting, keeps her from stopping herself when she pictures a strikingly beautiful (and always in the boudoir) woman, and she certainly doesn’t stop herself from the rest of the unholy scenes she creates.

With a soft grunt, her heavy hand makes work of her belt. She does not waste time in undressing down to the fullness of her tan skin, instead opting to impatiently shove the same hand down her pants. She releases steamy huffs, manspread in a brimley cushioned chair. Her thoughts wander to a creation of her own, a mainly faceless girl with freckles plastering soft, velvet-to-the-touch skin. She pictures this woman spread out on the bed and awaiting touch, like she just needs Sevika’s rough, calloused prints over her skin. Sevika’s folds drip as her cunt weeps at her own imagination, and she dips a thick finger into her hole, wishing it instead belonged to this imaginary girl and her perfection.

Never has Sevika been one for patience. With women, she cannot have them, save for the very few harlots that prefer money over the Victorian morale–instead, she’ll soak herself to the brim, like a frothy beer that spills bits of its contents when it is in the hands of a drunken man. 

With vampires, it is no different. Sevika does not care for the time of day with them. She will simply hunt with the sharp end of her hand-held wooden weapon, and find them at their weakest. The vampire industry does not need the smartest of the smart, or the men who will wait ages to stake one beast (though Sevika is a wise soul), for they only need the citizens who understand the vulnerabilities that the townspeople who gather in fear, whispering underneath their breaths about soul-stealing demons in hopes they will not flag themselves to be an appetite. 

The majority of the population trembles in fear, thinking that vampires are too powerful to be stopped. They see a hunter’s duty as merely impossible. That much is fair, Sevika can hand it to them. She has seen a plethora of newbies rip a new one, figuratively and metaphorically, into an inexperienced hunter when they march into a village with gunfire and the deadly wooden weapon. 

A wooden stake is not a vampire’s only weakness, however. That should be a public service announcement.

Vampires are fickle creatures. It is a wonder what entity or higher power stole their spirit, but without it, they contain no empathy. They have no ties to the people, therefore, slaughter with the brinks of emotions and entertainment. Most of all, however, hunger. 

Hunger flows through their veins, and they cannot quench it with the means of a bowl of rice or heavy oatmeal. Instead, their hunger lingers. It takes and takes from both them and the rest of the world. It leaves bodies drained dry of blood, and it leaves the vampires to find themselves caught in an insatiable cycle of hunger. Like the strength of even certain human genes, an inevitable addiction. Sevika knows that there should be pity in her heart for the humans who underwent the process of vampirism, but the space reserved in that organ for any sort of empathy towards such evil creatures has been collecting dust since the start of her life. 

Sevika drawls an exhausted huff, as if aching for something her thick fingers cannot provide for her. Her body slumps deeper into the chair after an anti-climatic climax, and when she closes her eyes, she pictures a grotesque sight: a vampire’s lifeless body, and another stake to go in her growing collection of stakes that had past been used to puncture town-feared monsters. So, what’s the catch? 

It’s your lifeless body that she hopes to find another round of pride in.

Sevika will deny that this is an obsession. She is not obsessed with vampires because hatred does not require obsession. So, what is hatred, if not fueled by the very distinct line between passion and madness? Sevika only sees vampires when she wakes up for breakfast, and in her suppertime routine it is crucial to imagine the way a vampire’s eyes widen with the realization of their impending death.Those sweet 30 seconds of life draining from them like they drain the veins of humans. Damn, didn’t realize vampire hunters are legitimate is what most of them must think.. Sevika often picks apart their thoughts, predicting and guessing based off of the vampire. She attempts to unravel their last concepts of mortality or anything humane before they grow motionless. It does keep her up deep into the night, thinking of what a vampire could possibly think while dying. 

Mortals inevitably die and immortals are promised eternity, right? Whenever vampires are created, the concept is like a gift with a thin, cheap ribbon tying it. It’s not tied tight enough to give you any real struggle opening it. The present inside is more of a horrifying statement, a truth that needs to be read aloud to the entirety of the vampire population.

IMMORTALITY ISN’T PROMISED.

To think that a mere woman (a heavy-built, bison one, though) can drive maple into the frozen heart of the immortal is a horrifying thought. It signifies that mortals are not promised forever, and apparently neither are vampires. Sevika says that she isn’t obsessed with vampires and these complicated thoughts that do not get publicity, but she is as truthful as a hyena–the laugh is what deceives you. Behind an older, finely-aged sarcasm and the exasperated-with-life act, Sevika does care. She hates, and with that, it was truly only a matter of time before she spiraled. 

So, after that mundane masturbation session, Sevika closed her eyes to think of you. 

You have been her latest mission. You are nothing short of purely maddening, and Sevika may find herself losing her patience on this one. You are easily older than many, and you don’t have the same lack of self-awareness many vampires possess. Instead, you flaunt your vulnerabilities in her face like a gotcha. You leave her a trail of dead and injured, and when Sevika tries to track you, she only finds that you’ve created a zig-zag on a map. The very fact that you leave people alive is telling enough. Most vampires are weakened by their hunger, the lack of self control that comes with it. You have been able to mold your hunger into something admittedly existing, but tolerable. Damn you and your old age, is what Sevika finds herself thinking. 

Patience, or her lack thereof, has nothing to do with the hunt. She can wait years for the pleasure of hunting you down and staking your cold heart if she is forced to. It doesn’t matter if she has gone half-mad by the end of it and finds herself in an insane asylum; make no mistake, the long chase will be well worth it. 

Her technique has always remained the same, though tweaked accordingly. With newly-turned, weaker vampires, Sevika sees the missions as nearly pointless. While new vampires are hungry and have little self control (often being the cause of the infamous town or village slaughters), they also see themselves in a higher state than they actually are. Sevika understands more about vampirism than they do, thus leaving them vulnerable. With only a slight mess-up on a newbie’s part, Sevika has impaled them thoroughly. Not much else to say there. 

With mildly aged vampires, a spectrum label that can refer to vampires that had been turned 10 years ago to 200, they can be aggravatingly harder to catch. That is where technique comes into play. Many vampire hunters find themselves in a state of panic, wondering how they can get the upper hand on a vampire that seems to run them in circles.

Well, Sevika has years on her belt, and sticks with what she knows works. Older vampires are a dangerous spectrum–some may find entertainment in the hunt, while others make rare attacks for survival. However, almost always are the attacks fatal. The self control seems to stay limited, and the attacks stay in a small circle. It may be a smaller town or a large city like London, but Sevika can easily predict where they’ll stay. Then, she makes her presence known.

Older vampires are smart enough to keep their eyes out for hunters, but not smart enough to put their pride away and leave. During times like these, the city’s tolls keep track of who enters and leaves. So, Sevika finds herself waiting. Never too long, and her patience stays limited, so she is thankful for that. The vampire she is assigned to will slowly slow down on their attacks to keep attention away from their whereabouts, but that leaves them weakened. Without enough blood, they revert to a lessened self control, and that is what Sevika calls ‘jackpot.’ When the vampire finally caves, and a group of people is left dead in the middle of the street, and a vampire is nearby. A desperate, weakened vampire. One that won’t mind going for the obvious vampire hunter, and that is when Sevika can drive a stake into their heart. Jackpot.

The much older vampires are the ones that Sevika is told to keep cautious for. She previously was never assigned a vampire older than 300 years old. Most hunters aren’t. Vampires that old do not usually show up on the radar, and have an immense amount of self control. Sevika has a begrudging respect for them: the bastards stay out of her way, and they seem to have their own little coven hunters can’t find. It is rare that they ever kill, either. They know just how to drain a human without leaving them completely lifeless, though some may enjoy the act of killing. 

You frustrate Sevika, however. She assumes you to be much older, and has been warned to take caution with you. What she cannot understand is why an older vampire is putting a target on her back by sporadically killing. It makes no sense. It feels like you know better, and yet here Sevika is, losing her mind trying to track you down and starve you out while you last longer than any other vampire she has ever dealt with.

There is a part of her, however, a part deep down within her, that feels something she shouldn’t feel. She cannot figure out why her emotions wish to separate you from the rest of the demons she has seen throughout her life. Just glances of you send her heart racing rapidly for reasons more than just fear. 

Still, Sevika has made a promise to herself that she intends to keep. One that will drive her to extreme lengths to make well on. She will live to see your corpse in a meaningless pile of other vampires’ corpses, lit up with a match and submerged in the orange flames. She will watch your unreal features fade away. And, of course, she will treasure the bloodied stake that will be driven through your heart. 

You cannot comprehend the appeal of love. It seems cruel to your late husband, but even in that medieval town, back when all you had was the church, there was no passion in the love you felt for him. There was only an endearment that died the second you did. Perhaps if you had been killed, truly killed, you would have died caring for him. In heaven, you would have still loved him. Never romantically or sensually, but the love maybe would’ve been there. That ‘what if’ used to keep your mind restless. Your husband, once so lovely, but you were never in love. 

You’ve lived long enough to witness the throes of love, however. It is quite the amusing sight to behold–two lovers holding onto each other, clinging to each other’s gowns as if that will save them from inevitable death. They do not have the choice of forever like you contain. Vampires do not seem to fall in love, and that is the biggest sort of irony in this world. Vampires have the possibility of forever, and mortals, the ones who root for love, bask in it, would kill for it, have such a short-lived timespan. 

Love does not disgust nor upset you. You find it endearing, in an oddly amusing way. Humans put on rose-tinted lenses, and they see their love in a way that others read about it erotic novels, but everyone surrounding them perceives them only to be another couple. Another mediocre, average couple that will be buried together, but not remembered in history as they believe. Not in the way that Shakespearean love will be remembered. 

In all of the centuries you’ve roamed the streets of the world, in your entire timeline of swift endeavors, you have never found yourself urged to feel love. Sexual desire may lay within you; vampires have quite a few natural, human-like urges. Still, you do not have any love-yearning urges. Perhaps it is the hunger, the chase, and the thrilling catch that leaves your stomach feeling full when questioned with the hunger to be kissed with passion and feeling. It’s the years of seeing humans as nothing but prey, and then the years of hiding out, leaving under rare circumstances that cause indifference. You cannot help but wonder if the priests were right. Are you possessed by a creature straight out of hell’s rings? Is that why you have to apply effort to feel empathy that rolls so naturally from the human tongue?

The truth is, you’re tired. You need not to sleep, and your body cannot be drained like a human’s body, not by old age or physical activities. Only the lack of blood can truly wear you out, but you are quite old enough to stay under the radar when it comes to securing a proper source. Older vampires have a tendency to seduce rather than to simply slaughter. They do grow lonely, at least physically, and crave more than cold, meaningless kills. Many of the ancient seduce the people who do not mind being a human blood bag, and their self control limits the threat of death. You’ve had countless blood bags over the years, and you began to grow tired. 

Human life has never been valuable to you, not since the moment your eyes opened to the lack of warmth in your own chest. You don’t think of humans as anything but entertainment at times, and years upon years in hiding has made you restless.

You’ve been watching her for a while now, however. 

You do not love her, and you don’t find much appeal in a mundane, traditional life in which you live out the marital fantasy. It is rare that you obsess on a human, however. In such a bored state, you will take her unintentional bait. It all began just a few months ago when you entered town under the premise that you would only be feeding and exiting once more. 

She was clothed in what the average man would wear–a high-collared shirt paired with a vest not fully buttoned, a jacket tailored just slightly bigger than her frame, and trousers that fell past her ankles. That seemed to confuse you the first time you laid eyes upon her from across the street. It was not typically socially acceptable for a woman to wear masculine attire, so she must have had quite the reputation to have the privilege of dressing as she pleased. Her skin was tanned, and where it was visible marks lay upon it like battle scars. You began to wonder of which battles she had fought. Her hair, dark as oil, was straight and only sought just past her broad shoulders. She had clear muscle on her that most men did not even possess, and that is where your obsession began. 

You have always found entertainment in those who don’t quite make sense, though they’re rare sights. Most women wear petticoats and corsets in this century, and their men are off to work in factories. The rich are above it all, their businesses sky-rocketing in a rapidly-growing England. You’ve seen more interesting centuries, that is for sure. 

All you know is that you must have her. A vampire does not care for the traditional role of femininity and masculinity, so her being a woman means naught. You will have her eventually, and not by any force. Instead, it’ll be madness. Her own obsession. 

You aren’t stupid. You know better than to feed off of humans in such a small area of London. It raises suspicion, and especially when you are not only feeding, but also murdering people when it is simply unnecessary. You have impressive self control, but your hunger seems to precede you just this once. For Sevika, of course. 

Soon did your killing spree begin. You did a bit of dabbling behind the scenes to ensure that your Sevika would be assigned to the East End attacks, where you left an impressive count dead. Then, both of your obsessions had taken their roots, only to grow into what will later fester.

You ask yourself what exactly it is you want from Sevika. What drives you to risk yourself for her? It cannot simply be because she doesn’t wear dresses, and it isn’t just boredom. Truth be told, you think about her often. You picture the brash mannerisms, the way her voice sizzles deep, warm like the ashes at the bottom of a fireplace as they collect over time. You adore her from a distance, staring at her birch lips as they wrap around a cigar. There is no love, but hunger. You wish to puncture the inside of her bottom lip and drink up every bit of red that bleeds. You wouldn’t mind being in her bed, either. You will eventually, if she doesn’t succeed in this technique she has of starving you. 

It is nearly laughable to think about. One human capable of the deaths of countless vampires. You aren’t too concerned, however. You’re too aware of things she isn’t, keeping her on her toes. As you watch from a distance, you can sense her impending impatience. You lead her in a circle like a dog chasing its own tail, and she is running out of places to look. Where you leave a pile of bodies on the rat-stricken streets of London, she rushes to find the “weakened, desperate vampire” behind it all. Instead, she finds that reports of a similar crime occur miles away. 

Perhaps a large role of this fixation is truly instincts. Vampires are above all, the top of the food chain. The need to hunt lives within all living beings, so Sevika may be so vulnerable to be the object of want for someone who could take her life in seconds. Is that what you want, however? It may be something far worse. You want to ruin her, and death would be a mercy. Death would make her out to be a hero, and London would mourn her death with softness in their hearts for the most unfortunate vampire hunter. 

You know that what you want may be more painful, and as much as you’ve evolved from a blood thirsty vampire, those thoughts do not scare you. The thought that you could ruin Sevika’s life, have a hold on her soul to possibly compensate for the loss of your own is what drives you. 

You wait, and you hunt her down. Only, the prize in mind is not a prideful stake or even of your own devices, her blood. You want her. 

What Sevika does not know is that you don’t mind taking more drastic measures–measures involving her. 

It is a day of no particular importance, but night creeps upon Sevika, and the nightfall is a different story. 

Sevika closes the wooden door behind her with an aching creak, and falls upon the bed. She shifts only slightly, tense muscles from a day’s long work of tracking. She cannot find you except for when the moon’s blanket smothers the Earth in its darkness, as she seems to be seeing you in the corners of her bed chambers or upon the window sill, the shine in your eyes being the main giveaway. She was once grateful to have years of skill under her belt. She can sense a demon in their rotten smell, though yours is intoxicatingly alluring. She hasn’t found it in her will to admit that to herself, however. She knows when you lurk, yet she wishes she could be ignorant to your stalking presence, for there is nothing she can do when you paralyze her to her bedframe in a sense of fear. Her stomach wants to hurl up a day’s meal, and goosebumps lay upon her tan skin, even in 70 degree weather and bundled up in wool. There is a strange thrill in your presence that she cannot admit. 

Vampires have been described in numerous ways, assortments of physical attitudes or features. Carmilla is described to seem sickly, avoiding the sun like a Victorian child of her own time. However, many vampires are alluring in their ailments. Sevika used to not see the appeal in her previous victims, for most of her interactions left her bitter in the heart. 

You are breath-takingly beautiful in your state of death, however. Your cheeks may be stricken with artificial blush, but it stands out upon the roundings they contain. Your eyes glaze over when you blink in a sense that sends dread to Sevika’s gut, but arousal through her lower stomach. She can only notice the way the roots of your hair lighten in the moonlight, as you are a creature of the night. Your lips, however, are the most stricken by beauty. Sevika could count every line that creates the plush of them, and she wants to imagine the way it would feel to lose her temperature when yours meets her own, draining her of both blood and heat. 

Sevika’s body still craves slumber, and she weakly dozes off, and she sees you. 

It is in her bedroom still, but the curtains are drawn, as if to keep onlookers from peeking inside. The illusion of intimacy between the two of you that is perverse no matter your attempts. Sevika is sitting in bed, eyes taking in the daylight. Her body is quite restless, so the illusion is lucid, but she still can feel your presence. 

“Come out, I know you’re here.” Sevika orders, though it is an almost desperate calling. Her obsession is a mix of hatred for you, to see you suffer as she impales you, and the need to bury herself within your being and feel the same. 

In her dreams, you feel immune to her years of resentment towards your species. You stand before her, moving to plant yourself upon her wide lap. You are only clothed in what appears to be a thin nightgown, and Sevika cannot see the curves of your body from the loose material. Nonetheless, her mind wanders.

“What do you take me for, demon? You think I am so lost in my virtues that I will bed a monster?” She speaks lowly in your ear. Despite her biting words, her hands are dying to wrap around your waist.

“You seem content with this, unless I am wrong in my educated guesses. Well, tell me how you actually feel. I may be an abomination, but I am not so much of a monster that I would enjoy using force.” You tease, calling out the obvious way even in this dream, Sevika makes no efforts to complete her mission. You let yourself sink into her frame, burying your face into the crook of her neck. You must refrain from sinking your teeth into her skin. You know better than that, though you don’t mind playing these games with her. 

“I don’t know, you tell me.” She retorts, though planting her paws on your hips. Your skin is cold even through your thin gown. She wants to spread her digits and cover more area, but plays an attempt on keeping some dignity. Her next words are a whisper in your ear. “You stalk me like a creep..play these games with me, so obviously seduction, and then expect me to lay down like a common whore. Is that what you take me for? A human blood bag that you can fuck?” 

You laugh, and it sounds like velvet to Sevika’s ears. “No, that is not what I take you for. If I wanted a whore, I’d take it up with the brothels. I want you because I like the chase.”

Sevika scoffs, “the chase? You see what you’re doing in my bedroom with me as anything like your ways of tending to that greedy appetite of yours? That is disgusting.” 

You shrug, burrowing into her skin. “Life imitates, doesn’t it? Plus, chase isn’t exclusive to vampires. Humans love to play chase. I’ve seen men dressed in coats made of animals, laughing with each other as they slaughter deer for sport.” 

“Oh, please! There is a big difference between hunting and vampires brutally killing humans. I’ve seen the aftermath of your own attacks. I shouldn’t even be entertaining you.” 

“Then why are you?”

That is a question that Sevika asks herself, even as she holds you in slumber. Instead of confronting the truth head on, she slots her lips against yours in a heated kiss. Your lips pry open her own and devour her restraint. As your chilling flesh mixes within her warmth, she finds herself grabbing you by the waist and flipping you underneath her. You giggle, and your scent fills her brain. Her gut tells her to pull away and run for her life, but her body is screaming to fill you and let you feed into her fixation. She plants her heavy hips between your legs and grinds, moaning alongside you. Your clothes separate you from being entirely wrapped up in each other. Sevika’s clit only feels the slightest friction from the fabric of her pants shifting, but it evokes a craving for more. 

“You want this, vampire? Fine. I’ll fuck you..” Sevika mutters after breaking away from your lips, leaning down to taste the frigid layer of skin covering your collarbone. 

“What happened to chasing,” you gasp out with a soft, pleased smile across your face. You cup her face as she lavishes attention on the junction between your neck and shoulder, stroking over her warm skin with your thumb. It has been possibly a century since you’ve felt a human’s warmth besides when in the process of feeding off of them. 

“I’m too damn impatient, and I know you only want one thing.” Sevika’s tongue traces a heated line up your neck and back to your lips to shut you up. 

Well, two things. 

You take turns invading each other’s mouths, your tongue swirling over hers and her lips sealing over your bottom, giving it a soft tug. Your hips shift upwards for friction, and Sevika has to pin you down to keep you in place. 

“So squirmish, you know. I didn’t think vampires had such sensitive nerve endings.” Sevika teases, her voice a low rasp in your ear. 

“We’re not numb, Sev.” Your eyes roll, but drift back into an expression of pleasure when Sevika sits up to slip every layer of clothing from her body. 

You take her in all at once. Prideful scars cover her torso, and her nipples stand stiff, perhaps her body in arousal or from the room temperature. Sevika looks like a sculpture animated before your eyes, the outline of her muscles visible as she approaches your body once more. You feel her weight press against yours, and Sevika practically rips your gown off. 

Lips trail down your body, and Sevika’s head is overwhelmed–sensationalized. She worships your cold skin with open-mouthed kisses, her tongue trailing down your stomach. When her lips meet the edge of your cotton panties, two fingers hook underneath the waistband and give a tug. Her eyes glance up towards yours. You nod.

“None of that, baby. C’mon, I know you can’t be that shy if you’ve been stalking me for months. Tell me what you want.” Sevika speaks loud enough so that you can hear her, but the tone is still undeniably intimate. 

“Fuck me.” You moan, running your fingers through her hair. 

“Ordering me around?” Sevika taunts you by slipping your panties down to your knees, but leaves your pussy untouched. 

“I could snap you in half, so yes.” You reply, and the lack of humor in your tone makes Sevika do a double take. 

“Fair..” she admittingly mutters, and soon has your panties tossed in the corner of the dark room. Her mouth trails kisses up your inner thighs, her tongue suddenly sliding up your slit to part your folds. 

Sevika hasn’t had the taste of a woman in a long while; shaky breaths, soft tugs to her hair, and whines remind her of what it feels like to be lost in what she appreciates most. For just a while, she laps up your arousal and buries her mouth between your soft thighs, forgetting about the resentment she typically holds over vampires. 

Sevika’s mouth encloses over your clit and softly sucks at it, making your back rise. Quick, needy licks turn into sensual swirling over your most sensitive spots. Strong, firm arms wrap around your thighs and hold them open as she devours. She slips two fingers into your tight hole, stretching you with motions that make you whine. 

“I need you so fucking bad, I wanna cum.” You plead, bucking up into Sevika’s mouth. The more you squirm, the more intense her actions become, as if to punish you. Your clit is overwhelmed with her doting, and your poor g-spot is being abused by her rough fingers. 

Sevika’s favorite part of touching you is that she doesn’t have to hold back. Years upon years of hunting under her belt. She tracks your species down and revels in the chase. She knows of their strength, and no woman she has ever bent over in a brothel could ever take what you can. She knows that should scare her; she is left vulnerable with your distinction in physical attributes, but her mind is fogging over. Is Sevika, in some twisted way, in the likes of a vampire? Chaining your species and taking pride in the slaughter. The lines between her own mortality and the iciness of your undead skin is blurred. 

In a way, the chase is what unfortunately connects Sevika to you. Courtship culture and the thrill of chasing who you adore has always been prevalent in the era Sevika lives, but is there some darker side to it? Your ultimate goal is not to love Sevika, but to be entertained. Satisfied. 

Sevika is ripped from her thoughts when she feels you pull her face back from between your legs. “I came..You were quite stuck in your own head, didn’t wanna bother you.”

Sevika’s brain fogs over with lust once more as she stares at your naked body, and you let out a surprised yelp as she forces yours legs apart, slotting herself between your legs. You can feel her pussy shift against yours in uncoordinated, needy movements. 

Her hand wraps around your throat, and her breath hits your ear as she grinds. “You get off on this, huh? I could impale you while you cum, and you’d just be another story of mine to brag with.” She whispers, words cruel. They still make you incredibly soaked, though her hand can’t choke you even if she wishes to take the breath from your lungs.

“You wouldn’t..” you mumble back, fingers clutching at the muscle in her arm. You can feel Sevika’s clit prod yours as she moves, and the sloppier both of your pussies grow, the louder the room gets. Both squelching and her ragged breaths envelop everything your sensitive ears pick up.

“You don’t think someone who has most likely slaughtered as many vampires as you’ve met would stake a vampire?” She gets rougher with you as she speaks, her fingers tightening around your throat as her pussy grinds onto yours. 

You place your hands on her tits as she fucks you, giving soft squeezes to enjoy her responsive moans. “Can’t you talk to me in a filthy way, and not like you wish to hunt me?” 

“Vampires appreciate dirty talk. Noted.” Sevika huffs out sarcastically, though her pants betray how caught up in your pussy she truly is. “You want me to tell you how good your pussy feels sliding against mine? Or that I can see the way your thighs shake? You’re more vulnerable than you let on.” 

“Mhmm..” you whine, burying your face into her neck. Sevika gets too caught up in the moment to care about how the action seems. “I don’t want you to stop until I cum for you.”

“Fuck.” Sevika grunts, her pussy moving frantically on yours. “Gonna cum all over this pretty cunt.” 

Both of you cum together with soft moans and short breaths. Your eyes nearly roll at the intense feeling rolling through you like a wave. Sevika doesn’t stop to give you any mercy, making you ride out every moment of intense pleasure. Your releases mix together in the most intimate way. You can feel her breath against your skin as you come down. Her hand loosens, dropping from your throat.

Sevika collapses on top of you breathlessly, not minding as you nuzzle your nose into her neck. The scent of sex is simply background to the sudden whiff of her pulse. You can hear it rush through her veins, and you aren’t feeling quite satisfied. Your lips plant kisses all over her neck, almost as a sort of apology. Sevika huffs out what was meant to be more of a scoff, but becomes something insinuating vulnerability. 

I’m sorry, Sevika. You deserved better than this, you know? You only had a life with dreams like mine. Human feelings. A soul, rather brash, but a soul nonetheless. I’m sorry to take that from you. 

Kisses become one harsh bite into her pulse, and Sevika struggles from above. The strength she previously used to please leaves her body as your teeth impale her. She can’t fight against your strength even if life depends on it. Your lips are desperate and messy, smearing her own crimson across the area of her neck, pulling back to watch as it trickles from two piercings. You lap up at the waterfall and alternate back to draining her body. 

Sevika has to question if death is a merciful cause, specifically in this moment. She spent her entire life focused on a hatred that she pathetically threw away for you. For many, death can be a conclusion of the final act, and a way to leave behind your struggles. In a time where the majority finds themselves at the hands of a large city, surrounded by rules and dead-end jobs, Sevika simply never sees it that way. She has a goal in life. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. The fight is longer in her hands, however. Her life slips second by second, and she finds herself wondering why. Why you’re draining her dry of every pint, when you have such self control to not? Her final thoughts are filled with bile, the ugly head of rage. The very realization that she told herself she’d never trust a cold-blooded demon, and yet, she laid in bed with one like it was nothing. All the while, you mindlessly take the final drops of blood from her body.

Sevika once thought that the act of feeding would be intimate with you. In her recent, previous daydreams, she imagined your kisses over her skin, and the way you would utter filth to her. Now, it feels like a nightmare she cannot escape from. You do not let up, even as she feels the life slipping from her body. You take all, and Sevika’s last will fades as she grows motionless. 

With an abrupt jolt, Sevika’s eyes meet the ceiling. Reality creeps back into her, but she does not feel right in the body or mind. She cannot feel her own soul breathe life into her corpse, like an inanimate puppet. Her mind scours for thoughts, counting her fingers and pinching her arm to ensure her consciousness. Her hand slides up her neck, rubbing over the smooth, vulnerable expanse to check for punctures. Her worries are sated, and relief flows through her veins when she feels nothing. She feels nothing.

Only a dream, Sev. It was only a vivid lucid dream. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real, right?.....Right..?

However, as she reaches for her heart, she feels naught. The place in which Sevika feels the ache of life and the rapid, rabbit thumping of blood is empty. She feels nothing. The realization strikes her down, and relief turns into a deadly mix of dread and panic. 

“You…Where are you?” She calls out from her window, voice raw with a frantic rage. The night, in return, provides a silence. 

“I’m not fucking around, where are you hiding? This isn’t funny. You ruined my life. You know damn well you didn’t have to do that.” She cries out her window, hoping to hear at least a laugh. The stars hide their fires, and they cloak you underneath the shadows of the moon.

In the dead of night, Sevika slumps against the wall of her bedroom. She stares up, hope quickly fading back into a long-lived rage. The revenge that was stirred up within a young girl, a young girl who had to learn the world in the likes of her father, is brought forth once more. 

Sevika will not seek slumber; sleep will elude her entire eternity. Yet, you are brought back to mind. No longer bare in the body and wanting, cheeks flushed and your eyes half-lidded. Not a lifeless corpse up in flames, either. No, she seeks the imagery of a demon, the sights and rage a human cannot process in a lifetime. 

Slumped is her, but the next day will be anew. Death does not change her fickle stance on patience. She does not know where in the world you blend within, nor where to scour for you. She will find you, however. 

𝐄𝐍𝐃.

[justbelievinginmagic]

like a waltz⎯ part 4: piqué.

pairing(s): ateez ot8 x fem!reader; this chapter focuses on all the boys & reader except my beloved matz :(( (their time is coming.) series summary: when 8 mysterious bachelors arrive to town and fall for your charms, will you be able to reach your goal to be prima ballerina or be dragged into a selfish waltz between love and obsession? glimpse: As trouble arises and your patrons spend more time with you, more attention gets locked on you. Their interest is thoroughly piqued by you. warnings/tags: inspired by Ateez’s Ice on my Teeth MV & Teasers, Mafia AU, Ballet AU, early 1900’s AU with some divergences in tech advancements (i.e rule of cool), 3rd person POV, use of YN, mxm, polyteez, MATURE topics, canon typical violence (choking, fighting, punching, etc), canon typical gore, blood, death, guns, explicit language, stalking, alcohol, smoking, bribery, lack of privacy, allusions to exploitation in ballet, implied sexual themes, suggestive themes, kissing, intimacy, angst, fluff, voyeurism sort of, obsession, infatuation, sugar daddy themes, unequal power dynamics, food descriptions, missing people, polyamory, pain, medical drug usage, traumatic injury, injuries, reader discretion advised & 18+ readers only! Let me know if I should tag anything else! word count: 20.4k previous chapter <- -> next chapter series masterlist

piqué ; french pronunciation: [piːk], ‘pricked’… or to stimulate interest or curiosity.

Creeping out of the stage-door hours after a performance was a normal thing for ballerinas. The alley way was something all the girls were familiar with just as they were with the foyer de la danse. Its damp cobblestone, nearby rotting trashcans, and the barely lit path was their red-carpet entrance. They were not allowed the luxury of entering through the grand doors of the opera house with its tall columns, brightly lit lamps, and the many steps towards its shiny, gold-painted extravagance The only days they were allowed to enter through the front doors were when the opera house was closed and they were rehearsing. The petit rats were only welcomed with glamour when the rich weren’t nearby. They had the back-entrance. This was the ugly underbelly of the pretty façade.

Dressed in her pretty coat and her warmest layers, she had said goodbye to San and Wooyoung ages ago. But then, the Madame had spoken to her and a few ballerinas in her office, relaying some notes, insisting on the girls performing the rectifications immediately. So, there they stood in the rehearsal room, satin-ribboned shoes laced up over thick winter stockings and their day-dresses on. The ballerinas repeated their motions: turning in pirouettes, performing jetes, and piquing across the hall. It was only after the city’s clock tolled twelve times that the Madame allowed them to stop with a slam of her cane into the wooden floorboards. Then, after confirming each dancer had paid their weekly bill (YN smiled, wiping sweat from her brow as she was told her patrons paid once more), they were allowed to leave. The other ballerinas had all scurried home by the time she had gathered her bag and coat once more.

It was late into the early hours, past midnight and not yet morning when she finally left the opera house and crept out into the alley.

Pushing the heavy door open with her shoulder, the chill of night soaked into her bones with a whoosh. Shivering a bit, she adjusted her pretty coat closer to her body and prepared herself for the walk home. Her boots click clacked on the icy pavement as she exited the mouth of the alley. Looking this way and that, the streets were abandoned. Seemingly abandoned. Some of the candle-lit lamps even had fizzled out in the evening with no leeries about to relight them. She continued to walk along, humming softly until she heard the noise. Loud panicked whispers. A crackling fire. The crinkling of a tin-barrel. The smell of smoke. Ahead of her, dark smoke was tumbling out of a nearby alleyway, firelight lighting the brick-walls. She paused, her foot-steps slowed.

Click. Clack.

“You fucked up the deal?” It was frightened.

Click, clank.

“I didn’t mean to; I didn’t mean to. Johnny stole some cash from them, and then-“

“I don’t care! We needed this deal – the money, before he arrives – before we all lose –“

There was the squealing of car wheels and the smell of hot gasoline in the air. YN froze, her footsteps stopping. A car door slammed open, and there was a new click-clank of boots. A startled yell, a shuffle of footsteps, voices overlapping; there was a thud of a body hitting the icy ground with a yell. YN held her breath.

“Gentlemen,” the newcomer’s voice was gravely. There were heavy footfalls and a scrambling sound of someone walking backwards. Something hit a tin-can.

“B-B-Boss.”

“Where is it?”

“Oh, about that –“ the other chuckled. 

“My money isn’t no laughing matter.” There was a thud like someone being shoved into a wall violently. The man groaned in pain. “You think I’m someone to be crossed? Where. Is. It?” the intimidating deep voice asked, lowly.

YN swallowed, frozen at the alley way’s entrance just out of view. When would she be able to pass? She needed to get out of here quiet and without being noticed. Or else… she was scared what would happen. This wasn’t the usual gang-dealings. Gangs would fight back, fist with fist. These men were scared.

“We can get it to you- We can- just give me some time, boss!”

“This is the second time,” the graveled voice grumbled; there was a low whistle, sharp and piercing.

And then it was quiet. There wasn’t even pleading, no whimpering.

Silence.

YN’s breath was held as she tentatively peered out from her spot. A sliver of her face was visible against the brickwork wall of the alley way. Smoke hazed the figures, but she could just make out the broad shoulders of the deep-voiced man, cornering another man to the brick wall. The man’s hand scratched at the many-ringed fingers that grasped his throat mercilessly. A gagging sound was heard. Not one of the gang-member’s allies moved to help them. Instead, they were all staring at the automobile.

A truck was reversed into the alley way. Black and large, it shined and flickered in the firelight. Its back-doors pushed open with a click, and men in dark masks tumbled out. Large, intimidating suited figures held bulky guns she had never seen before. YN had seen muskets, shotguns, and even a revolver once. These weren’t that. These were heavy, mechanical, and dangerous-looking. They piled into the alley, the metal of their weapons glinting in the firelight of the makeshift-barrel fire. The frightened figures strewn about the alley way were frozen-still; a few on the ground pleaded, praying. The masked men pointed their weapons at them warningly.

Her heart rate jumped.

This was more than just a gang fight – this seemed methodical. Frightened, her eyes darted to the other side of the alley, her path home just a few steps away. But she’d have to reveal herself… While they were distracted, she’d run. She would. She needed to get out of here quick. Like a mouse, she’d escape when the cats played with their prey.

There was the clink of a car door opening and a metallic thunk of it shutting firmly. A sigh echoed out into the air, disappointed.  

“Please, boss.” The figure held to the wall managed to splutter out.

His captor pushed him up the wall with a violent thud before finally letting go. The man gasped and gaped like a fish as the dark figure took a step backwards to look towards his accomplice. The figure exiting the car didn’t have the dark masks like the others. In this light and smoke, she could only make out the shape of him. Clean cut short hair, the trail of cigarette smoke, the gleam of his teeth. He tossed the cigarette to the icy floor.

Click, clack.

Click, clack.

Click, clack, BANG.

A gunshot went off. His hand was outstretched in a flash; the pistol in his grasp smoking. A man on the ground let out a yelp of pain; his blood splattered against ice and stone. His hand grasped at his leg helplessly in agony.

“Shall we send a message to your pals?” the new man insisted, cocking his red-hot gun again and aiming it at the man his companion had just released from a chokehold.

There was pleading; names babbled over one another until they were unrecognizable. “Sir! Mercy please!”

“I think we should,” the deep-voiced man commented, nearly growling out his words. “We knew you scum thought this was some game. And here you made it all messy.”

His teeth gleamed and glinted with his snarl.

“Let’s make it messy in return.” He finished, nodding at the other.

There was a signal, and the men fired at the others at the two tall figures’ command. Gunfire, loud, fast, and hot, blazed out across the alley way. Her voice escaped her, screaming out. Hiding quickly out of danger, YN jumped back.

“What’s that?” a voice bit out. “You got some dame in this? Find her. Get her!”

They had heard her. Ice flooded her veins. She turned to run, only to run face first into a broad chest. She screeched out again, her hand raising to muffle it. By the looks of his attire, he wasn’t one of the gang members from the alley way. No, this gentleman was dressed nicely in a midnight-black tuxedo with a black cummerbund sash around his waist like he had been at the opera house. His face was firm, almost furrow browed as he righted her with a careful hand on her shoulder. He couldn’t be in this mess; he looked so polished and unaware.

“Mis—” He didn’t get to finish his statement as she interrupted him. Her hands shoved unlady-like against his sturdy chest, wrinkling what had been previously a fine-pressed white button-up.

“We’ve got to get out of here.” She hushed. “Now!”

Her eyes dripped of innocence, of protectiveness. Her fear was palpable. His intense brown orbs met hers and, without hesitation, he nodded. Surprisingly, despite his height and stature, he let her push and pull him away from the alley way and back towards the front of the now-abandoned opera house. She tugged him by the hand up the stairs, so they could stand hidden by the columns. 

Her boots click clacked with each step of the stairs. More gunshots rang out; footsteps followed after them. She stumbled a bit, yelping; the mystery man’s free hand reached out to support her waist before he pulled her into the cover of the tall columns.

She could hear gunfire echo through the street, and she jumped with each bang, bang, bang. The stranger’s hand rose to duck her closer to the column rather than hide against it himself. Curling into herself, into the man’s side, the column, her eyes shut tight. This was a nightmare. The masked figures would surely come after them. They’d pull him away and then her, and what would happen next? She was shaking. There was yelling, shouting. She flinched. A loud whisper.

“Maknae?”

No reply. There was a crunching of snow, the moaning of men in pain. There was a long pause; she didn’t dare open her eyes. And then, there was the sound of footsteps walking away, heaving and thuds of something, and finally the squeal of car wheels going far away from the scene. The smell of gun-smoke and burnt rubber and gardenias (her rescuer’s cologne she realized) was all that was left.

A silence tumbled over the square like the cold water of an ocean’s tide, overwhelming and discombobulating. She stayed frozen for a long until a single finger poked at her shoulder.

“Miss?” he prompted softly; he shook her shoulder firmly then.

His tone sounded nervous, almost afraid. Of course he would be; she was afraid! It was frightening to almost be caught up in trouble. They had been so very close to being looped into a gang fight. She swore she’d never go down that alley or any alley again - ever. Shortcuts home be damned.

“It’s okay. You can open your eyes.” His voice was melodic, soft. Warm in this icy cold.

Her eyes opened tentatively, and she took in the sight of the gentleman in front of her.

He looked down at her with those intense deep-brown eyes, his dark hair mussed over his forehead. She could see his brows furrow at her in concern; his tongue peeked out to swipe over his top lip. His clothes, presumably for the ballet, were wrinkled by her man-handling.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, glancing her over with a quick look.

He didn’t let his gaze linger, but he hadn’t let his hand up from her shoulder either. She swallowed and shook her head as she shifted her shoulders, physically gathering herself as she replied.

“I’m okay, sir. Are you?” she asked politely. Her voice trembled still.

His face smoothed into something she’d almost call relief before he nodded. “I am.” He glanced out at the road. “They’re gone.”

He spoke to reassure her, the tone firm and resolute.

“Do you want to go to the police?” he asked slowly.

He seemed not too disheveled as he took a few steps away from her. His eyes remained on the nearby street, monitoring it. There was no sounds of moaning or pain. What had happened to the gang members? The gun fire was horrible; she hadn’t seen much. Except for red, red, red. No. No! She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want any reason for those men to come find her! They heard her. They had. Her hands rubbed over face; hours old makeup and sweat was sticky against her palms. It felt like blood for a moment.

It sent chills up her spine.

“Miss YN?” her rescuer prompted again, dragging her attention to him.

“No, sorry,” she babbled out. “No.” she confirmed firmly. Her arms wrapped around herself, tugging her coat closer.

“Are you sure?” the man’s brow raised.

“It’s easier to ignore these things,” she muttered out. “Safer. To not get involved.”

The man hummed low in his throat, melodically.

“Thank you,” she said after a moment, trying to shake off her fear. “For shielding me up here. And running away.”

“You warned me. You saved me I guess,” he chuckled. “Thank you.”

She smiled shakily before glancing back at the now-quiet streets. Her hands clutched her coat closer.

“Will you be alright, Miss YN?” he asked.

Her nod was preoccupied.

“I will be,” she told him, glancing up at him. He fit right in with the glamour of the opera house. She wondered why she had never seen him before. He was memorable. His face was handsome; his form strong in a different way to San’s but still imposing.

“I’ll be on my way. It’s late and I don’t want trouble. I’m glad that we are both aliv-okay.” she corrected.

“I understand,” he said. “You don’t want a chaperone?”

She didn’t even know him. She wished Wooyoung or San was here. She shook her head, and she took a step away, fiddling with her coat.

“I’ll be okay. Good night…”

“Jongho,” he answered, even if she wasn’t asking. “My name is Jongho.”

“Jongho,” she repeated. “Thank you again.”

He nodded, bowing at the waist.

“Good night, YN.”

He’d whisper, “stay safe,” but he knew he’d be following after her in just a little while. After all, her designated shadow was busy tonight, too busy taking care of business to watch over her. So, the once-street-mutt Jongho had been sent in his stead to watch over his lady. And Jongho couldn’t help but be curious about her. Even more now that he had held her in his arms and seen the sweetness of her soul in her eyes.

YN was safe in her bed that night when she realized she had never told him her name.

And yet he had said it.

-

Her motions were sloppy. Her pointe was weak. And her mind lost. She plied.

“Are you alright, honey?” San asked.

It was the next night - before showtime. San and Wooyoung somehow weaseled themselves into the boudoir before any other patrons could. Sometimes she wondered how much coin that costed them. The Madame had been strict with no patrons before shows – allowing the fragile privacy to warm up and prepare for the shows. It was so easily broken by the two men, but their eyes were only locked on her. And when she turned away to shimmy into a costume or fix a corset or a loose ribbon, they’d respect her. Glancing aside no matter how much temptation itched at their hands.

Wooyoung had offered once to lace her up, and he was met with a look of sharp disbelief – even if it was shadowed by a sweet blush. He hadn’t asked again, but he looked forward to the day he would be able to lace her up… and unlace her.

Tonight, they stood leaning against the barre as she continued to warm up. But, of course, San had caught her shakiness, her focus weaning.

His hand slide across her waist slowly, thumb caressing up and down.

“I’m okay,” she said honestly, leaning into his support as she lowered her leg off the barre. She flexed her feet and rose up on to a pointe for a moment before sighing out and turning to face the two men.

San’s hand ghosted after her waist, guiding her close as she came to settle between her patrons. She rested her bum on the barre between San and Wooyoung. Her pristine white costume made her look like an angel between two black-suited demons. Wooyoung flicked his cigarette bud into an ash tray he’d stolen taken from the front lobby of the opera house.

“I’m sensing a but,” Wooyoung teased. His fingers trailed lower that they had before, grazing over her the small of her back closer and closer ‘til… San slapped his hand, albeit lightly. She didn’t chuckle at his joke. In fact, it was almost like he didn’t joke at all. He frowned.

“Hm, swanette?” he encouraged again.

“It’s—things have been different around town recently. I just got scared last night,” she admitted, fingers trailing back and forth over the barre pole supporting them. Restlessly. “I think its just shaking me up today.”

“How so?” San asked inquiringly.

“I don’t know. I’ve seen two gun fights in the past month while walking home. That’s not normal. There’s all sorts of kidnappings or disappearances. It’s just,” she shivered, thinking of the fear that had clung to her bones since last night. “Scary.” Her arms wrapped around herself.

Wooyoung frowned, his thumb going to rub at her arm soothingly. He didn’t like her fear. He liked her smiling far more.

“You didn’t go to the police, honey?” San asked, brow pursing. Wooyoung glanced over at San.

“No,” she admitted. “It’s—not my business.” She shook her head a bit, not agreeing completely with her phrasing. “I mean, that’s how it’s always been. Ignore, walk faster, try to get away before being seen. If you mind your business, they’ll mind yours… unless you’re involved. I’m not. Never have been. But… there have never been gun fights. I’ve seen fist fights, even switchblades being pulled.” She shook her head again. “I sound silly. But I know there were gangs around town – I know the familiar faces of troublemakers, their tells – and they’re afraid. And if the monsters are afraid--”

She trailed uncertain. She sighed out again before her hands went to squeeze both of their hands that rested on the barre.

“Sorry, I’m just shaken up, that’s all. I’m spiraling a bit,” she reconciled. “Sorry.”

Wooyoung was first to cut her off. “No, no, pretty girl. Don’t apologize.” He soothed. “We don’t want you scared.”  

“You weren’t hurt,” San clarified. It didn’t even sound like a question but still he said it.

She nodded in agreement. “Nope,” she showed her bare arms and twisted this way and that. As if it’d prove she was unharmed.

“Someone helped me,” she admitted.

San raised his brow at Wooyoung before the shorter began to fuss over her.

“My scared swanette,” Wooyoung pouted, huddling close. He pressed a kiss to her cheek as he wrapped her in his arms. “Shall we walk you home from now?” he murmured. “San and I will be your personal bodyguards.”

“Uh, huh,” she teased lightly. “I’m sure you will.”

They’ve only walked her home on occasion. She knew it was in the opposite direction of the Ateez House. She didn’t expect them to walk her home. She wanted them to.

“Trust me, you’ll never get hurt around me if I walked by your side,” San promised, pressing a kiss to her cheek as well.

“I’ll make the ground you walk and dance sacred.” Wooyoung whispered. “Drench it in holy water for you.”

She laughed at that.

“Stop teasing me,” she giggled. “You’re being mean.”

“We’re not teasing, honey.” San pressed another kiss to her cheek.

“I’m sure.”

“Shall I carry you home instead? Like a damsel.” Wooyoung teased, arms sweeping underneath her legs.

Wooyoung was growing bolder by the day, and it made her cheeks flush. She let out a shriek of laughter, dragging the eyes of the other ballerinas their way. San raised his brow at them. Unbeknownst to YN, San seemed to harden when looking at anyone other than Wooyoung or her. He spun her playfully. Her mind rightfully distracted from her fear finally.

“You’ll never step foot on ground again while I’m around, Miss Swanette.”

-

It was dark in the restaurant’s backroom. Smokey and lowlight with flickering candlelight. The servers, the cooks, everyone had been pushed out, locked out. The long table was bare of any meal. Water in crystal glasses sat in front of each man. At the head of the table, there was a decanter of amber liquid with two empty pristine glasses. It was quiet, so quiet that the squeaking of rats could be heard in the floor board. Nervous eyes looked this way and that; bodies shifted and fidgeted. The door opened, and all eyes were sucked to into their orbit.

Two figures stood side by side. Matching Rolexes glimmered on their wrists as they both adjust their suits. One shoved their gold-lined, midnight-black suit’s sleeves up with little finesse while the other took his time, slowly peeling off his suit jacket before rolling his white button-up sleeves up. Slinging his discarded jacket across one of his broad shoulders, he then adjusted his black tie, a long silver ring encompassed his pointer finger of his dominant hand. It almost looked like a claw. The other rolled his neck, the glimmer of multiple gold and pearl necklaces matching his sneer. 

Tall and taller glanced down the long table. Young and old sat there; most didn’t look like they had much. Fake luxurious hats with feathers, rings that didn’t sparkle quite right, and sweat-stained pinstriped suits. Some did have money. Their fat fingers rubbing their gold necklaces nervously. All of them shifted in their seats as the duo approached. One on each side of the table, they prowled.

“Gentlemen,” the one who spoke out first nearly growled his words in a snarl.

Rather than walk with his chin high like his companion, he tilted his chin to glare down the table. Dark eyes made darker still by anger. There was a laziness in his swagger as he walked behind one row of chairs; a hand trailed over each leathered chair.

“We have some… requests,” the taller one stated, a smile coming to his glimmering mouth.

 -

YN watched as Imara grab Dohyun’s hand. Her words were hushed in the loud boudoir, unreadable. But she could see the panic, the tears twinkling on her lash line.

‘Don’t do this please.’

She could read the pretty dancer’s lips.

The bank owner yanked his arm away, harshly. As if they hadn’t touched Imara’s body up and down like it was his for over a year. He glanced about as he spoke, mouth moving too quick for her to catch any words.

He shook his head again as he turned and left the boudoir.

Imara had to pay for her dues the next day for the first time in over a year.

-

Wooyoung stood by his promise. Each night since, he or San walked YN home, winding through the streets with their fingers interlaced. Most nights it was him. He liked the shared time for just them he said. Sometimes, he grew daring and would wrap his arms around her waist, chin on her shoulder. Like two lovers taking a stroll.

The following nights had been relatively calm; there were no gun fights, no gangsters. In fact, the streets seemed boring. Not a soul was seen around them except for, of course, her loyal following shadow. Not that she’d know. He was like a ghost, sneaking around the corners and alleys to keep them in his sight.

From the darkened corners of the streets, the figure followed after them night after night. His annoyance only growing as Wooyoung’s touches grew bolder in the solitude of night. With no one there, the idea of public decency was lost to the second-youngest. It wasn’t anything explicit. He just was touchy. Touchier than if it were daylight. Holding her closer, his touches longer, longing.

Longingly, he wanted to hold her; he wanted her to curl into his arms. Her shadow-man scowled deeply. Wooyoung truly was a brat he decided. Still, he continued to trail them from far away. But every now and then, Wooyoung would turn and give him a wink over his Swanette’s head. His hand sliding up her back, slow and teasing; his fingers tickled and trailed lower and lower on her waist. He whispered something in her ear, and she giggled.

Wooyoung’s smirk was triumphant as his eyes flickered over to the shadow in the alleyway. Wooyoung was teasing. Teasing both of them.

She’d huddle closer after, and the stalking figure would whisper out a curse. Jealousy itched at his stomach, and he was sure to return home with a scowl. He wasn’t used to not getting what he wanted, and, while he was a gentleman, his thoughts felt not-so gentle. He wanted to hold her. Kiss her. Have her love him. He’d give her anything she wanted. He was already so weak for her, and they hadn’t even met.

He buried himself in the work that was piled on his desk, thanks to Hongjoong. Still, he’d get distracted, imagining fantasies of him and her. He spun a ring on the desk, the ‘S’ emblem on it taunting him.

Would he be able to see her perform soon? Seonghwa and Yeosang had visited. Even Jongho had. Maybe he’d convince Hongjoong to let him go to the foyer de la danse like Wooyoung and San were able to. Why couldn’t he?

The young man knew the answer like a bitter liquor.

Later that evening, Wooyoung and him would meet face-to-face. A smirk on his kiss-swollen lips as he popped his head into the higher-rank’s office.

“Had a nice stroll?”

-

It was a Friday, and Julia with the red hair had been given a private dressing room. That was all anyone could whisper and gossip about.

It wasn’t large. It didn’t even have a mirror or dressing table yet. It was a small closet of a space. But it was hers - exclusively. Her name on a golden plaque had been placed on the door with the title ‘Featured Ballerina’ etched below it. There was space for more.  

The entire ballet troupe knew it had been paid for by her patron and wasn’t a result of any promotion amongst the troupe. She wasn’t prima; there was no way for her to achieve higher with no new show to audition for. It was all an act. It wasn’t talent. It was money and favoritism.

Meanwhile, Imara was despondent, cold as ice to anyone that gave her a pitying look.

Patrons came and went like the seasons – even if one thought they’d last forever, winter always came.

It made talking to either woman difficult. Julia was high on her excitement. The way she walked was like she owned the world. She would run off to her closet the moment she came off stage, even if there was hardly room for two people in the space, let alone warming up or staying warm. But, as YN exited stage left, she and the red head stumbled into one another with a clank.

They both yelped, flinching at the pain that radiated up their shoulders.

“Sorry,” YN apologized before her gaze rose and realized who it was.

“Hey Julia.” Her tone was sharper, less friendly than. Almost icy.

The red-head rubbed her shoulder scowling at the other before her own face dropped into an attitude of sorts.

“YN.”

It wasn’t said fond or with blooming respect like it had been before. Where was the respect that had been trickling down with San and Wooyoung’s support? Was it because Julia was still ever-higher than her? Was it because she had a dressing room now?

Maybe it was because they spotted one another outside of the ballet with their patrons by their side.

“Why did you lie to me?” YN spouted out, brows furrowing.

The other ballerina laughed out, too loud. She was almost heard over the orchestra playing a lofty tune as the White Swan jete’ed about on stage nearby.

“What are you talking about?” the other replied, dramatically hushing her tone.

“You said your patron never invited you out of the ballet.” YN stated. “But I saw you at the tennis match.”

There was a condescending tut that escaped the other, and it made YN’s eyes fall into slits.

“Oh, honey,” it was said cruelly. “You need to catch up. If you want to be like them, not be theirs, you must play like them.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ve gone on plenty of outings with my patron.” She stated, fixing her hair.

“So, you lied,” YN clarified again, simply. What wasn’t clicking? She lied to her.

“I’m not invited; I’m expected,” she said. “I go where I want.”  

Semantics. It made her roll her eyes.

“He pays for you just as mine pay for me,” YN commented. “Why didn’t you just tell me it was normal? I was worried.”

Julia finally sighed out.

“Listen, YN. Liars are the only thing that fill those rich homes. Even your boys.” She bit out. “You better learn the game, how to play it, and how to tell if someone is lying to you if you want to be upper-class so badly, YN. Otherwise, you’ll just keep playing pretend, and nobody wants a pretender.”

Then, without another word, the red head pushed past her with a huff.

-

The game. Julia had called it a game.

YN had always looked at the boudoir as a show. A performance between patron and protégé. Usually explicit. But Julia saw it as a game. What type of game YN wondered?

Was it chess? A game of wits? A game of checkers? A game of hopping to the next best thing?

Wooyoung and San didn’t see her as a game. This she knew in her bones. Their sweet words were too sweet. Their genuine excitement and care were a balm to her. But then, she glanced aside at Imara who was like a lost sock without her patron, use ambiguous and left lonely in the corner of the busied boudoir. She had thought the same thing about her patron.  

Doubt crawled in. Trickled in her veins. Even as the pair of men strode into the boudoir after the show per usual. San fixed his vest, the white button up loosened and less appropriate, but pleasing to the eye. Wooyoung finished his drink, handed to him by the bulkier man obediently as they walked.

“Hello you two,” YN greeted.

“Hi, pretty lady,” Wooyoung replied. “How was your evening? You were lovely as always.”

“It was good.” she said.

Wooyoung presented his cheek to her, expectedly. With their increase in dates and walks home, he’d become openly affectionate now. Not that she fought against it. If she didn’t press a kiss, he’d pout but when she did a pleased hum would reverberate through his chest like a cat’s purr. It made her beam; his happiness became her pleasure.

She pecked his cheek, quick. He grinned and quickly engulfed her in an embrace. His lips danced over her face. Tiny millions of butterfly kisses were pressed over her cheeks, her nose, her forehead. Giggles consumed her; his quirking lips hummed as he worked his way down to her jaw, underneath it, her neck, to her collarbone, before he was pressing fond kisses over her pearl necklace and up the column of her throat. Each one sent a tingle running through her.

“No pain?” San questioned, aware of how easily she bruised and ached.

She shook her head distractedly.

“Only a few more shows left anyways if so.” She commented. He gave her a scolding look. “Training will be less strenuous than performing. Surprisingly.” She chuckled, gasping out as Wooyoung pressed a deep kiss to the spot beneath her jaw. Not quite a hickey but close.

“Good,” the man replied. She needed a break San thought. He saw how her toes were a bright red through her tights.

“It’ll be nice to dance something new soon – but it’s bittersweet.” She just managed to get out.

San hummed out in agreement, pressing his own kiss to her forehead as he wriggled Wooyoung away from his honey to let her begin to dress into every-day clothing once more. She gave him a thankful look as she quickly went to change nearby. Her face was flushed, and her heart raced. How was her hair even more mussed from her bun? He hadn’t even touched it.

“I know,” San replied. “You must be excited?”

She smiled as she shed out of her feathers.

“Closing night is always such an experience,” she taunted.

It was. Full of celebrations, champagne, and influx of patrons spending their last pennies of the season.

“Will you be there?”

“Of course, baby,” Wooyoung cooed from San’s arms. She saw him ghost a kiss across his neck.

“We’ll be there for every closing and opening from now on.”

-

Wooyoung sat by her side, her hand in his as he gestured to the menu about this tea and that americano and this croissant. Their spread was already far more than either of them could finish. Large oozy cookies, steaming croissants with chocolate fillings, savory bite-sized tarts, and a large sandwich Wooyoung had already cut in half. One for him and one for her.

They had begun to have more dates like this; Wooyoung favored more intimate places such as cafes where they could cozy up close and share treats and talk while San liked to show her off at tennis matches and outings of public attention. She had liked it – but she couldn’t help but hear Julia’s voice in the back of her head.

Did she know her patrons?

Wooyoung smiled brightly and talked easily with her now; an air of comfortability was palpable as his fingers played with hers.

“Wooyo,” she prompted tentatively, interrupting his yapping.

“Hm?” he looked up from the menu, his face inquiring. Brows raised, and mouth squeezed shut.

“I have a question.”

“Ask away, swanette.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly before letting go and flexing his arms to resettle his sitting form to look at her more attentively.

“Why is it you introduced yourself as a Jung? And not a Kim?” she asked.

“Force of habit, really,” he admitted. “Hongjoong insists on us sharing his name.” He raised his coffee to his lips, taking a sip.

“Because he helped you when you needed him?” she recalled.

His grin grew wide, amused. “Yeah.” He paused, biting his lip for a moment before he scooted closer. “He took me in basically. Which is why I consider him family, close as thieves just like Yeosangie and Sannie.”

“He’s at Ateez House?” she queried, fingering a cookie. Tearing it up but not really eating as she thought.

How many were at that mansion? Yeosang, San, Wooyoung… Hongjoong and Seonghwa as well?

“There’s a lot of you there.”

He nodded as he picked up one of the crumbs she was making and pressed it to her lips. His fingertips were warm from the hot ceramic of his coffee cup. He smiled fondly as she nibbled at it. Before raising the rest of the crumb to his mouth, licking at the chocolate melting on his fingertips.

She licked her lips as she watched, chocolate fragrant on her tongue.

“There are eight of us,” he told her. “Eight men in one house, you can imagine the chaos.”

He spoke as if they shared an apartment and not a grand ‘haunted’ mansion.

“What does he do?” she mumbled, half focusing on her attempt to solve the mysteries that had plagued Ateez House’s occupants.

“Eh, a lot of things,” he sucked at the crumbs on his thumb before reaching out a wiping a smudge at the corner of her lips. “This and that. Loves art and shows and spectacle. Is a bit of a collector, more than Sannie is – you know, San loves pretty things.”

She already knew where this was going.

“Like me, Wooyoung?” she teased, beating him to his flirt.

“Just like you, Swanette.” He nudged her tea her way, urging her to drink before it went cold. “C’mon, try this too.”

And like that, her mind was sucked into his fancies as he fed her a warm tartlet that tasted richer than any food she had ever had.

-

It was the first night Wooyoung and San would be unable to walk her home. Wooyoung was good at keeping his promise; he walked her home for many many nights. His babbling softened with his sleepiness which was cute. It was worth it to press a kiss to her lips before she went inside, and even more worth it when he caught the shadow of a figure watching them. He’d blow him a kiss – behind her back that is.

She was anxious to walk alone. Her stomach churned at the though. Wooyoung had apologized as they rushed off to something that needed their attention – him and San. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, promising she’d be okay. He’d see her tomorrow. Walk in the light and you’ll be fine, little bird. As if she walked anywhere else anymore – all her shortcuts scared her now.

It was too late to call for a carriage or a buggy to take her home, so it was the only way. Unless she wanted to sleep on the uncomfortable settee in the boudoir (and most likely be kicked out by the janitor early in the morning. She could hear the Madame already. “This isn’t an orphanage, Miss YN.” Despite the selection of orphans that made up their ranks.)

So, YN hugged her jacket around herself and began her trek home.

And it was so peaceful. Not a whisper, not a fight, nothing. The streets were abandoned – even the men who were stumbling home drunk were absent. It was absolutely empty. Except for her.

And her stalker, of course.

-

San was early at the opera house the next day– so early the doors to the boudoir weren’t unlocked yet. Instead, he lingered out front, pacing this way and that.

“Sannie,” she exclaimed at the sight of him.

How did he know she was going to practice early today? The question was quickly forgotten as she hugged him. His arms wrapped around her in a warm bear hug before he pulled back to press a kiss to her nose.

Sweet, that’s what San was.

“What’re you doing here?” she asked, smiling affectionately up at him.

They hadn’t shifted in their embrace; San kept her close to him as he looked down at her. There was clear fondness there. His fingers rubbed up and down her back, over her warm winter coat.

“I wanted to see you,” he admitted. “You look so cute in your coat.”

His words brought a flush to her cheeks. This was what she imagined when she thought of Julia’s words. No way could this be false. He was cooing over her, his touch reverent. It was different.

“I love it,” she replied. “It keeps me warm. Just like you.”

He laughed, warmly. He brought her close to his chest again, hugging her. It was funny. For as much as he claimed Wooyoung was touchy, San loved skinship. He liked to keep her close.

“I got you something,” he whispered after a moment, shifting one arm to reach into his pocket.

“What’s this?”

In his small hand (well, small compared to his broad form) sat a beautiful bracelet, teardrop-cut diamonds were linked together into a delicate yet unbelievably expensive gift.

“For you.”

San smiled like a content cat as he watched her fiddle with the pretty diamond bracelet. His dimples were deep in his cheeks. Her fingers brushed over the jewels admiringly. He loved pretty things and seeing her openly awe made him buzz with excitement. Carefully, he linked the clasp over her wrist and turned her hand over in his, watching the gems glimmer and shimmer in the gas light. He grinned.

“What’s this for?” she asked, brows crinkling curiously.

It wasn’t like Wooyoung’s gift – a month anniversary gift – or even San’s gift of the coat, something she had needed in all honesty. This was sudden. Strange.

His fingers brushed over the jewels before he spoke again.

“I was jealous that Wooyo had this pretty necklace around your throat.”

He leaned forward, fingering the pearls around her throat before tugging experimentally at them like it was a leash. They tightened with the pressure, choking her lightly and forcing her to lean closer to her patron. YN’s breath stolen, not in pain but in a flicker of excitement, surprise, pleasure. Her head tilted back to smile up at him. His fingers tightened around the pearls ever so.

“Oh, honey,” San cooed soft and sweet as he continued to tug her up by the collar of her necklace to capture her lips in a kiss. One kiss that devolved into many as he pushed her up against the door to the boudoir, lifting her lightly into his arms. Pressed against the door, her bejeweled hand tangled in his hair, tugging him ever closer.

They were lucky no one passed by as they devoured one another.

San may have been a gentleman, but his greed and power revealed itself slowly but surely.

-

Another man was missing. He had been a regular in the boudoir. A young man who spent his spare pennies to leer at them. He wasn’t missed by any of the ballerinas, but it was frightening. Too many people were disappearing or getting into trouble.

Her mother and the other ladies at the factory walked together now. To and from work, in case trouble arose. She had even pushed for YN to walk with someone to the Opera House for once.

“Your boy is a good one,” she appraised. “That Wooyoung walks you here every night now. Like a gentleman. Stick around him.”

-

San had invited her out to another tennis match. Wooyoung had been caught up in business (business she still didn’t know of, she lamented as they walked along the cobblestone streets. San had whispered in her ear that it was boring. Wooyoung was unlucky to not be here with her. And he, in turn, was ever lucky.)

She wore his pretty diamond bracelet on her wrist, and, every time he stole a glance, his face curled up into a pleasant happy grin. He looked sweet like a kitten.

His arm wrapped around her waist as they sat and watch Yeosang’s match. Drinking champagne, he’d offer her his flute every so often, and she’d sip away. It was an expensive brand, far more easy to drink than the piss-poor alcohol the ballerinas could afford for their own celebrations away from the leering men of the opera. Drinking the expensive liquor the men offered was never a good idea – it led to worser things.

Yeosang looked as pretty as ever. He reminded her of a ballerino the way he danced about the court.  Somehow both pretty and masculine as his form bent and stretched. Muscles rippled, leaner than San’s but not any less bulging. His arms flexed and she held onto the shared flue of champagne tighter.

San’s fingers stroked over her hip.

“You’re staring, honey,” he teased.

It wasn’t the tone of a jealous lover or a scolding of a respectable man. It was lilting, gentle. Her eyes looked away from Yeosang and rested on her date. He sipped his champagne, lips pursing and brows dancing. San’s lids were heavy as he grinned. Just as cat-like as earlier but more cheshire. Like he knew a secret.

He glanced away from her and looked over the athlete. His gaze mirrored hers, she realized. A fondness… no, an attracted air radiated in his deep brown orbs.

Was he teasing her? Was he genuine?

“Now, you’re staring,” she teased in return.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” he replied coyly. He glanced back at her as he leaned in. “He’s handsome, hm?”

Her cheeks flushed at that and she looked away.

“San!” she exclaimed.

His laughter rumbled in his chest as he held her closer. His lips pressed to her ear intimately. 

“It’s alright, honey. He’s mine. Just as Wooyoung’s mine.” He replied easily. “Just as you are mine.” His lips kissed her skin before he pulled away. Her hand shifted to grasp his in hers. His thumb grazed over her bracelet lovingly.

-

Yeosang greeted them after his victory; the zing of celebratory champagne on his breath stinging her nose as he leaned forward to wrap her into an eager hug. Daring for a second-meeting. It made her worry she had been too obvious with her friendliness, her intrigue… her interest in the athlete. She did like him after all.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he beamed.

The smell of his cologne mingled with his sweat. Masculinity mixed with the soft thyme and tea of his perfume. It made her want to hug him closer. He pulled back, his eyes burning with the same intensity beforehand. A straightforwardness. He wasn’t afraid to meet her gaze. His honeyed eyes were sweet and inquiring. Taking in every feature of her – the dark coat, the pearls, the diamonds. He smiled.

“Hello Yeosang. Congratulations,” she returned.

The man nodded respectfully before he glanced over her shoulder at the tall muscled man, eyeing Yeosang with clear adoration.

“San,” he greeted.

“Yeosangie,” San replied with a fond grin. His cheeks were blushed, maybe from the champagne they shared?

The athlete rolled his eyes lightly, playfully, before he settled his gaze on the lady.

“Did you make any bets?” he asked curiously, leaning into her with intrigue.

Her eyes widened. “Oh, no,” she exclaimed. She hadnt even thought of that; she was a guest after all.

“You know what? Yeosang’s right,” San retorted. His hand squeezed her waist. “Next time, you should bet some coin. We do all the time.”

Her brows crinkled, doubtfully. Not because she doubted Yeosang’s abilities. He was a powerful athlete. But betting… she swallowed a bit. She didn’t have much money to risk in general. She had just gotten used to having extra coins in her coinpurse. Her embarrassment burned at her ears.

“I’m not sure,” she said softly.

Yeosang eyed her before he hummed lightly. His gaze settled back on San, firmly.

“I’ll do it for you,” San said instead, downing the rest of his drink. His eyes reopened from the gulp and he shrugged. “I’ll buy you anything, honey. Everything.”

Yeosang laughed, lips curling. Pleased. He leaned in to whisper close. 

“You’ve got our San, sweetheart. Wrapped around your pretty finger.”

The athlete’s fingers were close by still, and they tickled her fingertips playfully. If he was any bolder, he’d be holding her hand. But instead, like a tease, he pulled back. Licking his lower lip and flashing a charming smile that only a socialite had. Easy and well-practiced.

“I’ll buy you anything, too, baby,” San purred towards Yeosang. He looked at the buff man with a raised brow. He always looked so sharp, in a delicate way despite his rippling muscles.

“I know,” he teased.

Yeosang raised a hand to squeeze the younger’s cheeks fondly. San smiled, pleased, a mirror of the grin he gave her earlier. His cheeks looked plump in the other’s lean long fingers. Yeosang chuckled, squeezing them again before his hand dropped and he turned.

“Come with me,” he nodded over his shoulder. “We can talk in the shade – the weather is horrid.”

He was right; the clouds were whirling and swirling into what was sure to be a downpour soon. They walked further into the tennis court’s shaded areas – the betting shop in the corner with a long line. People, mostly men, were cashing in their rewards. San’s hands went to rest on the small of her back; if she had glanced aside, she’d see he did the same to Yeosang, guiding the pair of them this way and that.

A rush of reporters, dressed for the weather with raincoats and large brimmed hats, flooded towards the winner. Yeosang slung his black tennis racket over his shoulder, smiling and waving at the flashing paparazzi’s cameras. Her eyes shut at the bright lights. San’s hand squeezed her waist and tugged her closer.

“Sir, congratulations!” There were cries of celebration and excitement. “Good show! Good show!”

YN wasn’t used to such fanfare, and it made her fantasize of the flashing lights she was hopeful for. One day… she glanced over at Yeosang. She’d be like him. Successful. In his own right. He grinned politely at a reporter, waving with a tight structured wave.

“Mr. Kim! Is it true you know Kim Yunho?” she heard over the chatter.

Yunho… she had heard that name before. But where? She didn’t have time to think as San guided them throughout the crowd, his hand curling over her hip to keep her closer with the writhing crowd jostling them this way and that.

The athlete didn’t reply, and he let his friend guide him through the swarm until they entered a tented area. Once the tent’s curtains were tied together, Yeosang huffed.

“I despise paparazzi,” he admitted, scuffing his feet against the concrete as he walked.

The space wasn’t special, but it was private. Scattered about were a few folding chairs, a wrought-wire bench, and a grey-green locker. Yeosang went to it, and opened it with ease. Within it wasn’t much. A folded assortment of clothes, a letter plastered to the locker’s interior, an extra racket, and a water jug. He placed his dark racket within and picked up the water jug. Raising the glass jug to his mouth, he took a big gulp. San patted her hip encouragingly as he moved away going to sit on the nearby bench. YN tentatively took a seat in a folding chair.

“Your performances of Swan Lake are coming to an end, are they not?” Yeosang queried.

“Oh, yes. They are; will you be able to attend closing night… or any show anytime soon? I’d love to see you there.” she admitted.

Yeosang’s lips quirked against the water jug’s rim before he pulled it away. Swallowing, he nodded. “I would love to see you once more, Miss YN. In your element.”

“You must encourage him to come backstage,” she turned to San. Less asking and more pressing.

He nodded in agreement. Easily swayed by his lovers, he leaned back in his seat casually.

“Is it like this?” Yeosang asked; a hand went to push back his locks, sweatied and damp.

The sight of his sharp brows quirking in curiosity sent a flare of excitement through her. He was so handsome; she couldn’t help but awe. San chuckled at her ogling.

“It isn’t, Yeo.” San admitted. “The backstage is grand and too open with too many girls running about half-dressed and men staring at them.”

Yeosang’s eyes flickered to him. “Even our girl?”

San glanced at her, head tilting. “Not as of late.”

He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and placed it in between his lips. The look he gave Yeosang confused her – sharp, dark, and biting as he bit down on the cigarette before fiddling with a silver lighter. Yeosang hummed lowly.

“San and Wooyoung are polite,” she said, as if that would help the conversation. As if that was the topic at hand. “They’re the best gentleman in the boudoir. Honest.”

San grinned around his cigarette as he finally lit it. He knew she spoke the truth. She always did around him now. It made him happy to know she was so comfortable around them that she didn’t even notice the glares he sent the way of any man that dared eye her as she switched costumes.

Little did she know what would happen to one if they did. 

He puffed out smoke.

“I’d rather see you outside this boudoir then,” Yeosang commented, closing the locker’s door. “I don’t wish to see you improperly, sweetheart. I wouldn’t put you in that situation.”

“We don’t mean to either,” San coughed out, the smoke scattering about bashfully. He turned to look at her with the gentlest of eyes. “You’re painting me to be a villain, Yeo.”

“No, I know,” she interrupted. “I know San and Woo mean well.”

They had said so since the beginning. Wooyoung claimed he didn’t even know he was playing as potential patron until San said so. And now, well, she felt safe around them. When she was with them, when she was introduced to Yeosang, it made her feel permanent. Not a doll on a music box to show off around the right clientele.

Imara never had this.

“Still,” Yeosang tutted. “I’d hate that. If I had those reporters watching every little move I made back here.” He bared his teeth. “I’m sorry you have to suffer that, sweetheart.”

-

“Do you want diamonds?” San asked.

This was the fifth time he had asked if she wanted some grand gift as they walked home. The umbrella San had kept them mostly dry in the drizzle. YN knew he felt bad about the boudoir. Especially at Yeosang’s commentary.

“No,” she let out a chuckle.

“More pearls?” Not his favorite thing, but they looked pretty around her neck and they were useful.

“No,” she giggled, swinging their conjoined hands.

“Then what, honey?” he whined a bit, sounding childlike as he squeezed onto her hand.

She was surprised this bulky beefy man was acting so openly whiney in public. He didn’t need the illusion of masculinity to cling to; there was an element of strength in him deeper than attitude. Even if he was acting like a child.

“I’m okay,” she said. 

He licked the back of his lips. Doubtful. He frowned before stopping in the streets. The lamplighters were out and about, lighting the last remaining candle lights amongst the new gas-line lamps. He didn’t falter. He didn’t care if they were intimately close. His hand around her wrist as he pulled her close in the wet setting sun.

“What do you truly want, honey?”

What did she truly want? She smiled up at him. All her life she had only wanted and yearned for one thing – til Wooyoung and him and Yeosang all tumbled into her life that is.

“I want to be a ballerina. The ballerina prima,” she told him sincerely. Her hand rose to pat his cheek softly. “You are helping me get it.”

His lips pouted as he looked down at her. He didn’t like that answer. That was a harder request. But he wouldn’t tell her that. Instead, he leaned forward to press a sweet kiss to her lips, so quick one would’ve missed it if it hadn’t tasted of champagne and cigarette smoke. His sweetened coffee cologne wafted over her soothingly like a chaser.

-

“Extra edition!” a newsboy cried out.

YN had been walking towards the newest restaurant that San and Wooyoung insisted on trying. It was expensive. Far too expensive for her, but San insisted per usual and Wooyoung pouted that without her he’d be bored. So, here she was walking the streets towards the richer side of town. The richer side of town where all the newsies made their routes; the rich had money to spare.

“Star tennis player Kim Yeosang associated with Kim Yunho, the man released on 1 million coin for murder in broad-daylight! Shocking details revealed.”

Now, that caught her attention. Her feet slowed until she came to a stop. For once, it felt like the newsies had given just enough information to lure her in. Her coin purse pressed against her thigh was heavy. Heavy enough to spare a few coins to buy the paper.

“I’ll take one, Jack,” she told him, digging into her pocket to hand him the necessary amount.

The younger grinned up at her. “Thank you, Miss YN.” He shuffled the heavy stack around, untying the twine to present the fresh-printed and warm newspaper her way.

She nodded in thanks as she unraveled it and began to read.

-

San and Wooyoung sat in the corner of a restaurant, talking lowly in the shadows as they waited. Only to be interrupted by a newspaper being plopped down on the table. Their eyes shifted from one another to the newspaper. Doubtful, almost darkened looks were engrained in their faces before they glanced upward to see their swanette. Haloed by the light pouring into the café, her arms were crossed; brow raised. Their expressions softened immediately like butter.

“Hello, honey,” San rumbled. He tugged the chair out for her.

“What’s wrong?” Wooyoung added.

They hadnt looked at the paper yet.

“What the fuck is this?” she murmured, taking the seat easily as she shoved the headline their way.

Wooyoung licked his lips at her expletive. She didn’t curse much in the boudoir. Hearing it made his cell burn, biting at his lower lip after a moment. He glanced down at the paper; that hot feeling fizzled at the headline. He sighed, head rolling back, before he glanced San’s way. San’s expression hadn’t shifted; not even a twitch of his brow as he looked over his glasses at his partner.

“It’s a long story,” Wooyoung replied.

“I’ve got time,” she retorted, crossing her arms. “Start with the part where Kim Yunho is living in your mansion. Kim Yunho, the man who shot a near-billionaire, dead, in broad-daylight after a supposed bet gone wrong.”

Her voice raised as she retold what the inky print said. She didn’t look intimidating in their eyes. Especially with her pout. San wanted to kiss it off her. Instead, he offered, “Yunho’s got a complicated past, but he only acted in self-defense.”

“He shot a man in broad daylight. Is Yeosang safe? Are you?” she worried. “Hongjoong?”

Wooyoung scooted close at that, hating the way her voice accelerated. San chuckled lowly, shaking his head.

“Oh, little bird,” Wooyoung hummed, taking her hand. “We are safe. We are safe. You don’t need to worry – is that why you are so upset?”

She frowned at them, her furrowed brow deepening. Wooyoung cooed.

“You are, oh, baby,” he hugged her, nearly joining her on her chair. “You are sweet, YN.”

“I’m worried; you are with a criminal,” she mumbled out, making sure her words were too loud. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Wooyoung stole a kiss. “You really are a doll, an angel. We are okay I promise.”

“You can’t just kiss me and tell me it’s okay. How? How is it okay?”

“Yunho is a free-man,” San reminded. “He didn’t break out of jail; he served his time; he paid his fees; he was let go. But apparently caught the attention of the press while doing so.”

“Poor Yeosang,” YN lamented suddenly. “He hated the paparazzi and now-“ she buried her head into Wooyoung’s shoulder.

The younger cooed. His hand going to pet at her back as he glanced over at San while her back was turned. There was a rustling of the newspaper, the crinkling paper being folded over.

“Yeosang will live. He’s been reported on his entire life. Yunho will not hurt us, promise, honey.” San replied. “You’re working yourself up. I’ll get you tea.”

There was a snapping sound of his fingers. A waiter obediently came. The man whispered his order as Wooyoung murmured to YN.

“It’s alright. It really is. You’ll see.”

San and Wooyoung’s eyes met once more.

They should’ve let Yunho meet her before this all happened; their shared grimaces said so.

-

Not even a day later, there were rumors about town. That night whispers about her patrons were all about the boudoir. The Ateez House truly was haunted some said. It had a killer living there. It made her scoff. There were seven others in that house – how could you build a house to be broken and haunted by one person?

The next day, a man from the newspaper company, the Cromer Chronicle, was missing. He had disappeared in the night without a trace. Or well, there was a trace. A letter saying he was going on vacation for a while. But few believed it.

Gossip roared. What was even more interesting, was that the newspaper headlines the next day were completely free of any mentions of Kim Yeosang or Kim Yunho.

But on her vanity, a letter rested with her name in an elaborate script signed by a certain man. The seal was the same ‘A’ emblem that both San and Wooyoung wore on a gold ring.

Miss YN.

You are cordially invited to join Kim Yeosang at the Ateez House estate for a night of fine dining. Casual attire permitted. I am so excited to see you again – if you will join me!  

Yours,

Kim Yeosang

“Did you place this on the vanity?” she asked the two men who sat side by side on a sofa. Sometimes they looked too close for comfort; tonight was one of those nights. Wooyoung was nearly draped across San’s chest, his head cradled on his muscular shoulder as he stared up at her.

“No, swanette,” Wooyoung claimed. “Our hands are clean in this.”

He raised his hands in surrender, wiggling his fingers playfully at her.

“Yeosangie must’ve liked you,” San added with a smirk.

“You’d know,” Wooyoung muttered; San grasped the other’s hip warningly.

Wooyoung giggled out almost like a hyena, head tilting back in mischief.

“You should’ve seen how he looked at her, Wooyo,” San continued, his gaze flickering towards YN from over his spectacles.

“I know,” the other giggled.

“Will you be there?” she asked tentatively.

Her fingers fiddled with the corner of the thick cardstock Yeosang’s handwriting graced. She was used to their presence. They felt safe to her. They glanced at one another. San’s fingers trailed up and down Wooyoung’s waist. Wooyoung went to interlace their fingers smoothly. Squeezing it once and then twice.

“I’m not sure, honey,” San said. “We have business to attend to this weekend.”

“Sorry, pretty,” Wooyoung pouted at her. “We may see you in passing? If you miss us so much, we can meet you here early the next day. I want to hear all about you and Yeosangie.”

She smiled sweetly at them, flushing at the idea that the pair of them encouraged her to dine and possible flirt with another. It was strange but not… unfavorable. Yeosang was handsome. He was delicate but strong. Eloquent and interesting. Understanding. She liked his company. Despite the company he kept… her mind flickered back to the elephant in the room… or yesterday’s newspaper in the nearby waste basket.

“Is… Yunho –“ she asked, shifting this way and that. San couldn’t help but think she looked so sweet, so innocent, so naïve in her little feather tutu, all virginal white. “Is it safe for me - with Yunho there?”

They didn’t even need to look at one another. Wooyoung’s hand held San’s tighter as he shifted his gaze to simmer on her.

“Yunho would never hurt a lady, honey,” San replied, sincerely and instantaneously.

His hand outstretched for her to take. Which she did. It was San after all. Secure, sweet, strong San. He’s been so straightforward. She trusted him. His fingers caressed over her knuckles, “Especially you.”

“Okay,” she breathed. “I believe you.”

“Yeosang will be excited.” San promised, raising her hand for him to press a kiss to her knuckles. “We can deliver the news to him when we get home.”

He pressed a peck to each knuckle before continuing up her hand to press kisses over his bracelet. He placed a final sweet kiss to her pulse before pulling away, and pulling her towards their embrace. San could hold both of them in his lap after all. Wooyoung slid further down on the settee until his head rested on one of San’s thighs. His lips curled.

“I will send a car for you, swanette. You won’t have to lift a foot,” Wooyoung promised, reaching a hand up to tuck hair aside as she sat on San’s rippling thigh. “Easy-peasy.”

-

It was her first time in an automobile. She had traveled in carriages and open buggies but never something so expensive as a brand-new automobile. Something so polished and metallic and rich. Her excitement was almost like a child’s; her smile was bright at the sight of the car sitting curbside. Its lacquer was a deep-olive color, gleaming in the golden sunlight peeking out of the rain-heavy clouds. The chill that nipped at her heels and the rain that itched at the sky made her thankful that Wooyoung had sent a car for her – even if every single one of her neighbors were being nosey. She could see their faces pressed to their windows with curtains shoved aside haphazardly. No cars came here. And certainly, no car like this.

The driver was tall and handsome, his dark brown hair styled sharply across his forehead. A multi-layered suit with shimmering gold detailing looked expensive on his form, a long-coat making his appearance look clean cut and sleek. Just like the car.

His entrancing eyes were dark, siren-like as they locked onto her form as she hopped gracefully down the icy steps. He felt his breath catch. A mix of excitement and fear tumbled through his stomach. She looked so pretty. Her hair was done nicely and modern. Her day-dress was a pretty (if a bit washed out) green color, complimenting the car’s hue perfectly. The sparkle of her pearls around her throat and her diamond bracelet peeking from beneath the sleeve of the dark fur coat made him smile. His full lips quirked into a smirk of a close-lipped smile.

His eyes haven’t left her form yet. Not even when her mother stepped out to awe at the car and the man waiting for her on the curb.

“Hello, doll.” He greeted her, polite with a deep-voice.

His hand, covered in multiple rings, opened the passenger door for her.

“Hi,” she smiled at him, and he wanted to swoon then and there. But he stayed firm, icy, tall. It wasn’t his turn. He wasn’t even supposed to be here. But he knew the way to her house; he had a car. And he was higher than Wooyoung or San in the hierarchy. He’d do what he wanted to do… as long as the Captain allowed that is.

His eyes didn’t leave her as she entered the automobile, tucking her dresses beneath her lady-like. He closed the door behind her and circled around the car to enter the driver’s seat. He took a shaky breath before entering; he felt like a school boy. When was that a feeling he’s felt recently? (The Ateez House would say every time he whined and pouted at them like a princess.)

The interior of the car smelt expensive, too. The well-taken care of leather, the wiped down metal accessories, everything reeked of rich maintenance. Her eyes ate up the new machine, looking at the gearshift, the polished controls. There was even a record player in the dash.

She never realized how rich they were. It surprised her. He ate up how her eyes widened, and she sat so delicate, hands in her lap as if touching something would bite her. She was so cute. His lips curled into a smirk as he turned the key in the ignition. The car rumbled to life, and she let out a little sound of surprise.

He chuckled low, the sound reverberating around her. She glanced over at her driver. He looked casual in the driver’s seat. One hand was on the wheel; the gleam of an expensive watch shone at her. He was leaning back, his hand cupping the back of her car seat carefully as he began to pull the car away into the street.

He didn’t want to intimidate her. Wooyoung had said she was already so nervous about Yunho. So, he didn’t speak, didn’t tease, didn’t do much except drive. He enjoyed her gaze on him though. He watched her so many times that it made the back of his neck and the tips of his ears burn pleasantly. He tongued at his canines, hiding his smirk. His plush lips pursed instead.

Her awe shifted as he sped up, her eyes flickering to the streets that passed by, faster, faster, faster. Faster than any carriage or bike or trolley. It sent a whirl of excitement in her stomach.

“This is my first time in an automobile,” she admitted into the silence.

“It is?” his voice was deep as honey, and it made her spine tingle.

He glanced over at her. He wanted to show her so many new things. He was glad to have one of her firsts. Wooyoung had stolen so many. Her first date, her first kiss, her first embrace. He’d at least be her first car ride – one of many. He’d take her in any of his cars – if they were in the countryside rather than the city, he’d show her how fast these automobiles can go. He’d impress her. They’d go one day, he imagined. They’d go all sorts of places together. He’d show her the world if she wished it.

She hummed out in agreement, pulling him from his daydream.

“It’s nice,” she complimented, shifting her seat.

A flood of rose-petal aroma consumed him. Her perfumed skin. She put so much care into this; into them. It was intoxicating. His eyes locked on the road, his fingers trembling lightly. He flexed his hand and gripped the leather of the wheel tighter.

“Thank you, darling.”

The car ride was a quick one. Ateez House was on the outskirts of the city but not too far away to be a long journey. Just far enough to be private amongst the trees and rolling hills. It looked more alive than it had ever been in all the years she lived in Cromer. While the estate was sprawling and the mansion itself large and imposing with a complicated layout, it always looked abandoned. But now, there were crystal windows gleaming with light, gardeners trimming bushes, and luxury cars pulling into a nearby car garage. People tended to the large fountain in the center of the roundabout driveway, despite the threatening rain that rumbled in the sky. The mansion’s greyness seemed to fade with the orange-light the windows poured into the evening.

It was a phantom resurrected; the flame of life was burning within the house once more.

Mingi cleared his throat. “Welcome to Ateez House, YN.”

Her eyes were locked on his home; winding over the overlapping rooftops, grazing the glowing windows to see if anyone was looking out at them. Two figures, dark silhouettes at most, stood on the upper floor, one short and the other tall.

Her head tilted in curiosity before they walked off.

“Thank you,” she smiled at him before going to open her door. “And thank you for the drive.”

There was a squeak of leather as he shifted closer suddenly. His arm outstretched over her, bracing over her chest. Her gasp was all the sound that filled the air between them. Her head turned and they were nearly nose-to-nose.

He was so close. The blood-orange of his cologne licked at her senses, mingling with the polished leather so refreshingly. He smelled intoxicating and sharp. His face was only inches away; the fabric of his long-coat brushed against her. His hand closed around the metal handle of the car door, gently nudging hers aside. He laughed out nervously. His eyes were wide and gentle. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he flashed the sweetest grin she had ever seen, all toothy and bright. It sparkled… wait, he had diamonds on his teeth. His canines were adorned with gems that gleamed in the setting sun.

“Let me,” he bumbled out. He opened the door from within, before pulling his arm back. His cheeks were painted a rosy color that only made his flustered appearance look more sweet.

“Thank you,” she said, offering him a grin of her own.

She hoped he wasn’t too surprised by her own initial surprise. He was just trying to be a gentleman she realized. Bowing her head, she quickly ducked out of the car, closing the door behind her with care.

The only thought that filled his brain – besides the intoxicating smell of YN – was ‘damn you for winning, Yunho.’ After a long moment of breathing the remains of her deep into his lungs and watching her form walk towards his house, Mingi restarted the automobile with a rumble to guide it back to their private car garage. 

-

Everything reeked of extravagance. Tall walls with recess ceilings and wainscotting details. Gilded gold and glowing gas-lamps. Italian-Renaissance inspired tiles of saints, angels, and the Heavens were inlayed in the ceiling. The floor was patterned, a rich expensive textile making up the carpet.

There were butlers lining the walls of the foyer; all in matching midnight pin-striped suits. It was almost eerie. They were like statues, repeating over and over and over. Expressionless. Each face was stoney, eyes ahead. It reminded her of when the ballet troupe lined up in their matching leotards and were separated by height; row after row. Slicked back hair, delicate body lines, starving ribs. Identical and indistinguishable until they reached prima title.

None of them acknowledged her except for one, a rogue, that walked up and nodded at her politely.

“Welcome to the mansion, Miss YN. Please, come.” He outstretched his hand to encourage her further into the lavish space.

She curtsied, uncertainly. One of the many ghostly butlers took her coat as she walked down the foyer’s hall. Her kitten heels were soft against the carpet flooring until they rounded a corner. They click-clacked across marble flooring, polished ‘til she could see her reflection.

“Mr. Yeosang has requested a meal to be prepared at the West Wing. Please follow me.” The same butler spoke once more before he turned to lead the way.

Following after him, she was awed by the space. The very place that had been teased and taunted and ghost storied about was a gleaming jewel. As they walked, she realized how each hallway, each living space was opulent. The current path had walls that were painted an ice-cold baby-blue. Yet there were touches of warmth everywhere. Fine art in gold-leafed frames, elaborate trims around columns and the floor were the same shining gold. The art was all heavenly. Literally. Gods, angels, and disciples portrayed in blurred brush strokes, painted with colors that ached of softness. Everything was all gold, fluff, and magnificence.

The ceiling had multiple heavy hanging chandeliers of pure jewels. Diamonds dripped from its wire frame and sparkled in the gas-light. Everywhere was gaslit; she was surprised. No one had notice workers here and yet it was modern. Not a speck of dust or age present anywhere – besides the ancient art she supposed.

She slowed as she passed a large Renaissance-esque painting full of cherubs with feathered wings and glowing haloes. Squinting, she saw one figure wearing a ski mask. Huh? A cat meowed nearby. Her attention was caught, her head turning to the sound.  She stilled as she glanced down a nearby hall, one that seemed darker than the others. Doors lined each wall; all shut except for one at the end of that hall. It was opened just a crack, the siren call of a piano trickled out, and a little cat peered around its corner. The sweet cat was a midnight-black, almost blue-ish in tone; her tail twisted behind her as she meowed out again.

YN’s eyes lit up at the sight; the cat meowed again as it wiggled itself out of the doorway. Its paws and claws clinked against the tile, almost in rhythm with the piano music playing. Large green eyes peered up at her curiously as the cat approached; the collar around its throat was expensive – a leather thing with jewels, pearls, and a large silver bell that jingled out the closer it got.

She meowed at her again.

The piano stopped; the reverb humming out discordantly.

“Z?” a voice called out before a gentle melodic whistle chimed out.

The kitty’s attention was caught again, its ears perking up and meowing as if answering the call of its owner. It began to stroll back where it came from.

“Miss YN,” the butler’s monotonic called out.

Her head snapped towards him, answering his call immediately. She stood from the slight crouch she had taken for the kitten’s approach. Her butler stood some feet away, arms behind his back. She expected a disapproving look, but he provided none.

“Please follow me, Miss. We wouldn’t want you disappearing.”

That was almost worse! It sounded so ominous coming from his stone-faced mouth. She swallowed.

“Sorry,” she apologized before she quickened her pace to catch up to him.

“We wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”

They continued to walk down this hallway and that hallway. Someone could easily get lost here. It was like a grand castle. Finally, after crossing some carpeted stairs, they were in front of a grand hallway of windows. As they passed, she could see a dreary exterior. Rain had begun to pour, fogging the outside in grey. But she could distantly see a maze of hedges, rose bushes, apple trees, and all sorts of gardens awaiting. She awed at the sight as they continued down the carpeted hall to come to a set of dark oak doors.

“One moment, Miss,” the butler warned as he entered the room quickly.

“Boss, er, sir – “

The doors shut behind him before she could hear any more. She was left alone. YN glanced aside at the wall opposite of the windows. There were inlayed gas lamps, glowing a soft yellow. A portrait hung nearby, painted in a similar style as the painting she saw before.

It was of a young man, a handsome one at that. His inky-black hair was slicked back in shiny waves, a singular strand curled over his forehead daintily. He was in all white, soft silken tunic and oversized bowtie of virginal white. Despite the softness of his attire and of the atmosphere surrounding him (he was almost painted with his own divine halo as if he was an apostle), there was sharpness to his midnight-black eyes and the smirk of his mischievous smile. His ears were pierced up and down, pearls and fine metals looping them in sparkles. A twinkle was shining at the corner of his grin as if his teeth gleamed in the heavenly light around him. He was beautiful, but she couldn’t help but feel like his dark eyes were staring her down.

The tall doors opened behind her suddenly. YN turned to see the reveal of a dining hall as luxurious as the rest of the mansion. But the aroma that wafted from its interior was far more intoxicating.

“Enter, Miss YN.” The butler encouraged, beside the door.

He held them open for her as she took a stride inside. Her lips widening into a smile as she prepared to greet Yeosang at the head of the table. But this was no Yeosang she realized as she gazed down the long, lavish table to meet the dark gaze of a stranger.

With a calculated look, he stared at her from the head of a ten-chaired, decadent table of hot food. It was more than she had eaten in months even with San and Wooyoung: sizzling side dishes, steaks covered in thick luscious sauces, cracked fruits that had a sweet nectar gleaming on them, chocolate-oozing pastries. An open bottle of red wine rested in a frosted chest of ice; eight crystal glasses sat upside down. One glass of red wine sat in front of her spot; the other in the grasp of the man’s hand. The ruby liquid gleamed like blood. A sea of lit-candles decorated the spare space of the table; the chandelier above keeping the candles instead of trading them for their gas-lit counterpart. The orange glow illuminated the intimate room in a hazy feel. Smoke trailed out of his mouth in a long plume, perfuming the delicious air with the heady scent of tobacco.

“Hello.”

His voice was a soft drawl. His close-lip smile was the same. Soft, slow, and confident. His eyes were illuminated by the flickering candles, making the darkness there look like a night sky spattered with stars rather than with blood. He tapped his cigarette into a crystal ash tray with his long fingers. Rings after rings curled over his knuckles; some sharp and some with the emblem ‘A’ just like San and Wooyoung shared. He raised the cigarette back to his lips to take another drag into his lungs.

“YN.” The smoke billowed from his lips as he spoke her name tenderly.

She should’ve left then, knowing it was different from what she had agreed to. She should’ve asked him where Yeosang was immediately – and who was he? But she already knew, didn’t she? She had worried about this man since she read the newsprint that bore his name.

She shifted, fingers tugging at her skirt as she heard the heavy wood doors shut behind her. The butler that led her here disappearing, leaving her with him. Her fingers pressed into the door behind her, tentatively. It didn’t budge beneath her. In the shadows of the room, she saw there were men lining the wall. Like ghosts, they didn’t speak or move – they simply stood like gargoyles surrounding a castle. One broke the line to pull out her chair opposite of her dining companion. Her eyes flickered back to the man at the head of the table.

“Hello,” she said instead. “Yunho.”

It wasn’t a stutter, but there was a pause in her words. Yunho’s laughter was almost fond as he chuckled out a plume of smoke before she was urged forward with a flick of his hand. Ashes splattered across the white dining cloth, sizzling burns into the fabric. She sat down in the chair pulled out for her; the servant pushed her in towards the table with a screech of the wooden legs against the wood.

The silverware in front of her was polished, gleaming in the candle-light. A perfectly folded napkin rested on the center of her gold-lined plate. The initial ‘A’ in a circle was embroidered fancifully in shiny black thread on the pristine white fabric.

Her fingers flexed against the wood arm rests of her chair as she looked down the table, over candles, meats, cheese, and vegetables at the intimidating man. He was far away, but perhaps that was the safest option for her.

“I like you already,” he proclaimed, his words solid and confident. His smile simmered.

“Please,” Yunho gestured to the piles of food in front of them with a hand, swinging the cigarette and a trailing path of smoke about. “I’m sure you’re hungry.”

Her stomach felt tight with nerves, but even so it grumbled at the sight before her. Everything smelt so nice and rich and oily. Decadent. She licked her rosy lips, dragging her eyes up to look at him once more.

“Where’s Yeosang?” she asked finally.

He smiled, a peak of glimmering teeth shining in the candlelight. No, it wasn’t his teeth that shined – it was the inlayed diamonds on his canines that twinkled. Just like the driver. Just like the painting.

“He’ll join us,” Yunho reassured. “He’s running late from a previous engagement. I promise.”

Her gaze was doubtful. Why didn’t he just tell the driver to alert her? She could wait. She was used to waiting upon rich men.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“I was curious of you.” He stated as he raised his cigarette to his mouth once more. As he breathed out, he gestured again at the food. “Please help yourself. Wooyoung told me some of your favorites.”

There were her favorites; steaming and hot. Some tartlets from their recent date sat on a pearlescent serving tray. Tempting. Her stomach grumbled. Watching him carefully, she reached out a fork to stab into a piece of meat and plating it.

“I’m just a ballerina,” she claimed, eyes flashing to look at him as she picked up her utensils to cut at the singular item on her plate.

Yunho’s lips quirked up on one side before he glanced aside at a man. He nodded towards her and she couldn’t help but jump as a suited butler approached. Yunho’s gaze took in the small tension that rippled through her.

The butler began to pile up her plate with this and that. Steaming vegetables, savory pastries, fluffy mashed potatoes scented with garlic, sticky soy-sauce braised meats, pasta with a rich cream sauce, seafood with clarified butter. It was more food than she could finish. The amount of food laid out was enough to feed eight men.

“You’ve entranced my brothers for being more than just a dancer,” Yunho commented. “I wanted to see what was so special about their swanette.”

She swallowed, her throat dry. She felt like a trapped bird in a zoo being observed. She tried to imagine the boudoir around her rather than the intimacy of a dining table.

“I’m a good dancer,” she told him boldly. They like bold, an older ballerina’s voice was in her ear once more.

Yunho smiled. “I heard. I apologize for never attending a performance.” He said.

“You’ve been… busy,” she said. But not too bold. Another ballerina warned.

It was a dig, and Yunho knew it. She knew it too with how wide her eyes became. And still, his lips curled into a smile, his eyes simmered.

“Its no wonder Wooyoung took to you,” he breathed.

He raised his glass of wine to his lips and took a long sip. At the mention of Wooyoung, he saw the way the muscles in her face flickered. Lightening. Interesting. Placing the glass down, he leaned forwards, hand resting under his chin as he stared at her, intrigued.

She was intriguing. She had four members of the family wrapped around her little finger and here she was in his sticky webs. Yunho ached to figure her out, dive deeper. The vein in his forehead bulged a bit with his intensity.

His eyes felt magnetic. She had cut up her slice of steak into tiny bites at this point, but all he had done was stare at her. He had not a lick of food on his own plate. It felt more like an interrogation than a meal at this point.

So, she stared back. Her eyes met his, swallowing down her fear. The twisted mangled amalgamation of fear, intrigue, and something else. She was safe, she chanted internally. Wooyoung promised. San promised. He hadn’t done anything to her…yet.

She took in his appearance. While his eyes were a hypnotizing thing, his entire face was like one of a siren’s. Handsome with chiseled features. Sharp cupid’s bowed lips, sharp brows, sharp clean lines of his suit. A pair of glasses were tucked into his pocket… he needed glasses just like her Sannie. Her eyes darted up the line of his throat. His hand rose to bring his cigarette back to his lips. He tilted his head, the midnight-black hair swaying over one eyebrow smartly.

How were all these men so handsome? The driver, her patrons, Yeosang, Yunho. All breathtaking compared to the oil-grubby handed rich men of Cromer. It made her soften just a smidge, guard walls lowering as he breathed out smoke once more. Lips pursing delicately. Cheeks soft, she noticed. It was quiet. The clinking of her utensils against her meal was the only sound in the hall.

“Do you like dancing?” she asked. Dancing was safe. Dancing was all she knew.

“Enough,” he said. “My brothers like it more than myself.”

Brothers he said again. It was strange. Wooyoung spoke of the others as friends, dear ones – explained that the shared last name was something pushed upon them. Yunho embraced it.

“Then, sports?” she countered. “Tennis perhaps?”

Yunho chuckled lowly, and it felt like a tiger’s rumble. “No,” he laughed. “Not particularly – though, I have good hand-eye coordination.”

Her mind flashed to the shooting the newspaper relayed – a fictionalized imagining in her head bloomed. Him and his gun aiming and firing with ease, just like that man in the alley way.

“Oh,” she breathed.

He wondered if she knew how blatant her face revealed things. Her fear, her thoughts, her soul. It was strange though. Yunho didn’t want her frightened.

“I play against Yeosang often,” he clarified.

“Oh,” she repeated, a different tone trickling into her exclamation. Her knife scraped against the plate’s china, screeching out suddenly like a soprano at an opera house. Her gaze turned to it, surprised.

Her meat was completely shredded now. Almost inedible with how much she had sawed into it over and over.

Yunho laughed again, the sound warm and full. “Darling,” he cooed out, soft. “Please relax and eat. I insist. Yeosang won’t mind.”

Yeosang. Of course, that’s why she was prolonging it. Her smile was bashful and Yunho’s eyes swallowed it up just like she bit into a piece of her meal finally.

“Will you not eat?” she asked.

Innocent, sweet. Yunho’s eyes simmered as he reached out to grasp a fruit from an intricately weaved wired basket. He bit into a red apple, sharp and vicious. Juice dripped over his fingers, down his chin. He raised a black napkin to the corner of his lips wiping it away. His eye contact never ceased. Did he just wink?

“How long have you lived in Cromer?” he asked.

“My entire life,” she admitted.

He hummed out. “And the ballet almost as long I suppose?”

“Ballerinas are taught young,” she said.

“The best way to shape someone.” He snubbed his cigarette out in his ash tray.

“I suppose,” she admitted. “But I love dancing. Truly.”

It was spoken sincerely, passionately. He nodded. “It’s been mentioned. They say one can tell by just the way you breath. You are full of it.”

“D-dancing?” she queried.

“Love.” he countered. “Passion.”

Her eyes blinked owlishly. “Oh.”

“Do you love them?” he asked directly. His head tilted curiously.

The topic had shifted in tone dramatically suddenly. Her heart raced to its hummingbird speed once more. Her face blushed. Yunho drank it all in like the wine in his glass.

There was a clambering down the hall way, muffled by the oak doors. Her gaze broken from his, and she looked over her shoulder at the doorway.

“Here he comes now,” Yunho whispered.

As predicted, Yeosang came busting through the doors. His hair askew, his eyes burning with the cruel fury she had only seen on the court. His elegant clothes looked rumpled; the softness of his sweater that cut into a deep v revealed more skin that she had seen of the sportsman yet. A rose was pinned on his chest, gentlemanly, and yet somehow tempting her to stare at his chiseled chest more. A decorative scarf wrapped around his throat, disheveled.

He glared at Yunho with such contempt before it was washed away at the sight of her. He glanced her up and down, quickly as if his lingering gaze would be scolded. Appropriately for such an inappropriate action. His lips parted gently; his rounded face soft with a gentle blush.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he immediately apologized, head bowing.

The long strands of russet-brown hair that framed his face swooped over his cheeks. His hand rose to tuck one strand back. “I was caught up with something unexpectedly.”

With little show, she stood, discarding her utensils to greet him. Her smile was soft, reassuring, genuine. She ducked her own head to catch his gaze – he was still glaring through his lashes at the man at the head of the table she noticed. But when he saw her own face come into view he straightened sweetly, awkwardly. But in such a charming way somehow. Yeosang was so charming even in his anger and discomfort. She didn’t want him to be in discomfort.

“Its alright,” she reassured him.

“We’ve just been chatting,” Yunho chimed from the end of the table. Unhelpfully.

Yeosang adjusted his leather gloves nervously, tugging them off finger by finger.

“I see that.” Yeosang rumbled.

His eyes settled back on her like she was his seas’ moon.

“You look lovely, YN,” he complimented. Her smile lit up the room, he swore.

He licked his lips, deep voice humming out as he looked over the table.

“I-I,” he gestured to the table, the meal he had ordered the chef to prepare, “I have those tarts you liked at the café on Riverfield Street.”

She smiled at him; he was so cute.

“Thank you,” she grinned. “And I saw. They look perfect.”

He breathed out a little, fixing his clothes once he tucked his gloves into his back pocket.

“It’s been perfect,” she tried to reassure him, sensing his anxieties. His blooming nerves. Her hand reached out to squeeze his.

He jolted at her touch, just enough for her to catch it. His ears were red. Yunho’s grin was wide, sparkling.

“Thank you for the invite.”

“Of course, I wanted –” he glanced at Yunho’s leering gaze. “I wanted to get to know you better, sweetheart.”

“And we shall,” Yunho agreed. “Sit, Sangie. Let’s eat.”

A butler appeared to pull out a seat for him. It wasn’t near either of them, in fact. It was the third seat to the left side of the table. Yeosang glanced at the butler silently before pulling out the chair directly beside YN and seating himself.

He was served a selection of the meal, silently. She went to break the silence.

“How are you?” The headline still brandished itself in her mind. His words about paparazzi left a lasting impact.

Yeosang huffed out. “Well,” he replied. “News articles come and go. I’ll remain on top of my game regardless.”

Yunho nodded steadfastly from across the table. “It’ll be nothing by the next game.”

Yeosang offered her a smile. “Thank you for worrying about me. I’ve survived worse.”

She nodded solemnly. “I don’t like it still.” Yunho watched the interaction carefully. His brow quirked.

“How are you liking Cromer?” she asked. She was used to asking men how they enjoyed the show… but that wasn’t an option here when the room lulled into silence.

“It’s different. But I’ve seen places as beautiful as Aurora, as desolate as the Strictlands, and as rural as Paradise. Cromer reminds me of Aurora in a different way.” Yeosang explained. “It feels homely.”

She smiled. “Ateez House is yours, correct?”

“Its in the family,” Yeosang replied.

“What do you think of it?” Yunho queried.

“Its very nice,” she politely said.

Yeosang tilted his head fondly at her. “Meaning?”

Her brows crinkled in surprise. “Its—nice?” she repeated.

“Shall I remind you what San encourages you to do, sweetheart?”

To be honest. How did he know about that? Her neck and ears became a soft pink in the candlelight. Swallowing, she glanced to the side.

“It is genuinely nice – its just… this house has been called haunted my whole life,” she told them. “There are ghost stories linked to this mansion. It’s strange being here and seeing that it is, in fact, not rotting or some supernatural force of nature.”

Yeosang chuckled out, smiling sweet.

“There are stories?” he leaned in. “Do tell!”

“I love a good gruesome story,” Yunho commented.

But for some reason, the way the words lilted in his tone didn’t make her flinch like before… in fact, was he teasing her? Her eyes flickered from Yeosang’s open form to Yunho. His cheek rested on his hand; elbow pressed into the table as he eyed her with Yeosang.

He smirked at her as they met one another’s eyes. He nodded, urging her. And so, YN went into the ghost story she had been told as a little girl, sitting among the tutu’ed training ballerinas while her mother did alterations on the prima’s show-stopping costume.

“The story goes that this house was home to a Captain,” she started, twirling pasta about her fork as she spoke.

Yunho and Yeosang’s eyes locked.

“The Captain was no ordinary captain; he was the fiercest pirate king of all. With his crew, the Black Pirates, they terrorized the seas and reaped countless treasures. When he grew old and hoarding like a dragon, he docked at Cromer under a false name. Ateez House was built upon blood-soaked jewels and coins; they say the pirate captain passed in his vault, hidden deep in the mansion’s basements. His bones are still there, unrested. His ghost terrorizes the house and refuses to let any soul except his pirates’ prowl.” She dramatically told.

Her fingers wiggled sensationally. “Or that the treasure was haunted by those they robbed and killed mercilessly. Their ghosts remain and haunt these halls.” She shrugged her hands landing back in her lap. “The story changes every so often.”

“What a story,” Yunho breathed. “Do you believe it?”

“It’s just a story. Maybe there are some real parts but… ghosts aren’t real. I’m not that silly of a girl.”

“You aren’t,” Yeosang commented immediately.

“But everyone in town knows it, so it sticks,” she told them, reaching out for the glass of wine in front of her and taking a sip.

“Cromer loves its gossip.” Yeosang commented.

“They’re stuck in their ways,” Yunho added.

“What do you think of Cromer?” she redirected to Yunho.

He took a small breath in. His previous grimace faded and his brow crinkled as he looked at her thoughtfully. His lips pressed together before replying.

“At first,” Yunho said, tilting his chin. “I did not like it… but now…”

His gaze felt hot, ever present. There wasn’t a barrier of modesty she often felt with other men. Yeosang’s was intense. San’s was careful, observant. Wooyoung’s eager and challenging. Yunho’s was steadfast. Confident. Even the men in the boudoir knew there were limits. They had their wives. They had their image with the other men within the boudoir itself. Here she felt both hunted and examined. Admired but equal. He was looking at her soul.

“Now, I like it.” Yunho purred. “Very much, darling.”

He placed his silverware down with a clink. He leaned forwards, hands pressing into the table.

“There’s more to you that meets the eye,” Yunho commented. “I see that, so now I will let you speak your mind, truthfully.”

Her heart nearly stopped. Was he going to ask her about her love again? In front of Yeosang?! Her eyes remained on him steadily. Her ears burned.

“You’re frightened of me, yes?” he said.

It was strange to feel relief at the confirmation of something so horrible. Because she was still nervous around him, for his boldness frightened her just as much as his previous actions. Yeosang’s eyes shifted to her, widening as he watched her nod.

“Sweetheart,” he reached out for her hand, petting her phalanges but not grabbing it. He simply wished to reassure her. Just as she had done for him earlier.

“San and Wooyoung said I didn’t have to be,” she replied. She licked her lips.

“Ask me what you want to know.” He stretched back into his chair, neck flexing as he met her gaze.

“Is it true? Should I be frightened?”

“That’s not it,” he laughed a bit, lip curling almost scornfully, scoldingly. He raised a brow, head tilting as if weighing his options. “But no, you don’t need to be frightened. Ask another.”

“I don’t have another question.” She countered, only to state simply and firmly. “You shot a man.”

And he smiled. “I did.” Yunho confirmed.

“On purpose?” she asked.

“Yes, darling.”

Her blood felt cold. She hadn’t met someone like him and it sent her stomach into a cramping mess. Yeosang did take her hand now. Interlacing his fingers softly. He glanced over at his elder as he rose from his chair. Oh, Yunho was tall. Very tall, in fact. With them sitting, he looked giant. His heels thudded against the floor.

“Why?” she asked. Yeosang felt her hand tighten in his grasp.

“He tried to fool me, steal from me,” Yunho stated, walking towards them. “Lied to me. I don’t like being played.”

There wasn’t a moment for the words to sink in for YN. Instead, like a game of tennis, she shot back.

“So, you shot him? Just like that?”

“For your information, yes.”  

“That’s frightening.”

“Yes.” Yunho was beside Yeosang now.

“But!” Yeosang was the next to interrupt. “If you must know… Yunho isn’t some cruel man, sweetheart. It was done in self-defense.”

“Self-defense?” she asked doubtfully. Wooyoung and San said so themselves as well.

The air that Yunho carried seemed to be more than that. He wasn’t exactly proud, but he was at peace with what he did. Yunho’s face pulled into a tight thing as he rested a hand on Yeosang’s shoulder. They both looked at her inquiringly.

“He pulled a blade on Yunho,” Yeosang interjected. His gaze flashed to her. “He has the scars to prove it.”

They had an answer to everything. It was self-defense. Not a thing of violence. Of necessity.

She stared at them

“It wasn’t… he struck first?” she repeated slowly.

They glanced at one another before smiling at her with dual grins. Yunho tapped his fingers on Yeosang’s shoulder before he pulled back. A hand went to his chest, gentlemanly and earnest in nature.

“Yes.” He ensured.

Her eyes flickered to Yeosang. He had been a sensible figure – likeable, nothing formidable. If he trusted him, if her Wooyoung and San did. Yunho spoke with such authority. He valued truth just like San did.

Her defensiveness, something she didn’t even see in her body language, softened. Yunho’s sigh was one of understanding as he walked back to his seat, stealing a glance at her. He smiled again, his teeth gleaming in the cande light.

“YN.” He spoke her name luxuriously. “If there is one thing you should know about me. I don’t do mess.”

He plucked a dessert from his plate, biting into the chocolate with slowness. Calculated. He kept her gaze. It sent a thrill through her; he sent a thrill through her. Swallowing together, the corner of his lip curled. He raised a napkin to his lips, gentlemanly.

He was a gentleman, straightforward and powerful. He had to be telling the truth.

“I’m not a messy man, darling-doll.”

The dinner didn’t last much longer. Yeosang encouraged conversation; Yunho threw in some topics, mostly of things she had mentioned to San and Wooyoung. It struck her then that they shared many stories about her. They must’ve talked about her a lot. It made her cheeks flush as red as the chocolate strawberries Yunho ate.

Their eyes were hot on her; it felt like they were captivated and it made her heart race. Like she was on the stage.

She liked it.

Surprisingly, her two patrons made an appearance at the end of the meal. Wooyoung, of course, was the one to pop his head into the grand dining room.

“Swanette!” he beamed at the sight of her.

Yunho took in how her shoulders softened and her chest heaved at the sight of Wooyoung, at his voice. He smiled, softer and truer than any other smile he shared tonight so far.

Wooyoung was dressed the most casual she had ever seen him. A fashionable patterned white-and-black button-up shirt was barely buttoned, revealing a black ribbed tank-top beneath it. His hair was pushed back casually and messy; a rolled cigarette was behind his ear. His slacks were a deep black, loose and flowy rather than a structured fabric.

“Woo,” she barely got out, her mouth dropping at the sight of him.

He smirked, arms slinking over the chair and over her shoulders.

“Hello hyungs,” he greeted the others, barely glancing at them before ducking his head and pressing a less-than-decent kiss to her mouth. Smothering and all consuming. She squeaked into it. A ringed hand rose to cup her guide her head in the kiss, icy cold against her flushed red cheek.

Yeosang and Yunho chuckled out. The sound was a mixture of fondness and annoyance. Yunho’s brow twitched. Yeosang’s hand held hers tighter… he hadn’t let go, of course. But YN hadn’t noticed the entire dinner and dessert. ‘Til now. Her fingers flexed in his as Wooyoung swiped his tongue across the seam of her lips.

“Alright,” San scolded Wooyoung, his hand going to the back of the shorter’s neck. He nearly pried him off her. “Wooyoung!”

“I missed her,” Wooyoung said simply, flushed face and breathless.

His hot breath fanned over her rosy face; his lips were spicy and left hers burning. Mischief twinkled in his eyes as he stole another kiss from her lips. San pulled him back again with a harsher hand.

It was then she got a glance of her other patron. San had freshly washed hair, the locks combed out and dripping over his forehead. He wore a similar tank top to Wooyoung, but in a white shade. Shockingly, he had a pair of workman’s light-washed blue jeans hugging his thighs. Thick thighs, muscular shoulders, tawny honey skin. It was tantalizing, tempting. But when she looked over his face, her mouth dropped in surprise. A bruise kissed at the corner of his lips; his sweet smile tarnished with a purple-red watercolor splotch.   

She couldn’t help stand immediately, half in the clutches of Wooyoung. Her hand rose to cup San’s cheek.

“Honey!” he exclaimed out in surprise.

He didn’t shift away, actually bending at the knee for her height, but San was certainly surprised. He had taken the lead between them often. YN rarely made the first move with either of her patrons. But what he had mistaken for sexual tension only led to pain. He was shocked when her thumb’s brush against his lips made pain radiate up his face.

“Ow,” he whimpered, frowning. His brow furrowed.

Yeosang laughed nearby. “He forgot he’s hurt,” the athlete commented.

“It’s been a while,” Yunho added, finishing his drink as he watched the interaction play out.

San’s lips pressed together, blinking rapidly before taking in the concern look on her face.

“Oh, honey, I’m okay,” San tried to reassure. His hand rose to cup her hand that was pressed to his jaw, thumb brushing over it soothingly. “It doesn’t even hurt.”

“You just said ow, you liar,” she scolded him, brows furrowing. “What the hell happened?”

“I’m fine,” he swore, tilting his head to press a kiss that stung his mouth to her palm. “Promise.”

“This town is getting more and more dangerous,” she breathed out.

Her thumb brushed over his cheek softly. His pretty face marred. Without his glasses on, she could see how his eyes sparkled in the chandelier’s candlelight. Soft and starry, as if she hung the world.

“You are an angel,” he murmured. “I’m okay. I’ll live.”

“Wooyoung, will you tell me what happened?” she prompted, not moving. Wooyoung pressed to her side made a humming sound.

“The streets are rough around here,” he said. “Someone really ought to fix that.”

Yunho huffed from across the long table.

San smiled at her again, eyes falling into half-moons. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. His lips stung to do so, but she was worth it. “Thank you for worrying.” He told her. His stomach did somersaults at the thought of her jumping to his aid.

“Shall we walk you out, swanette?” Wooyoung directed instead, head tucking over her shoulder to look at the table. “Yunho has a meeting to attend unfortunately.”

Yunho hissed in through his sparkling diamond-inlayed teeth. “Does the—”

San nodded.

He breathed in through his nose before offering YN a simmering smile. Full of warmth. “It was lovely meeting you, Miss YN. I hope to see you very soon.” He bowed politely before with long-legged strides left the room. Wooyoung winked at him as he passed.

“I’ll join you,” Yeosang offered YN. “You must come visit again soon – in the spring, the gardens are beautiful. We could have tea or -”

“Yeosang likes to take long strolls through the gardens – even if it’s raining,” Wooyoung revealed, finally peeling himself off her back to look at the selection of food laid out. He plucked a grape from a platter.

“You gossip like the upper-class now,” Yeosang commented, raising a brow.

Wooyoung laughed brightly at his friend before popping the fruit into his mouth. “Eh, they rub off on you – I had to keep up with you, Sangie.”

Hmm, it was an interesting interaction. Playful but also… strange. She knew their pasts implied they hadn’t always been wealthy… Yeosang had been a protégé tennis player at a young age but how did he meet Wooyoung? Was it all because of Hongjoong?

San’s hands squeezed her waist. When had both of his hands shifted there? “You sleepy, honey?” he asked.

“Too filling of a meal,” Yeosang complained as he rose to his feet.

As if the food was her reason to getting lost in her head.

“It was perfect,” she countered, taking a step back. “Thank you again for the invitation.”

“Thank you for gracing us,” Yeosang replied, offering her his hand. She took it, and he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. A picture of a gentleman. But he was quick to wrap her arm up into his, pulling her into his side now. Surprisingly daring for the Yeosang she knew.

“Shall we?”

Their exit seemed to take forever just as before. Yeosang lead her down hallway after hallway after hallway. It almost felt like they were navigating a maze. San and Wooyoung framed the two in; Wooyoung on her side and San on Yeosang’s.

“How was Yunho?” San prompted, tentatively. “He didn’t scare you?”

“Did he frighten you – when you were alone with him?” Yeosang repeated, arm tightening around her.

“No, no, he wasn’t frightening,” she reassured them. “He was a surprise certainly.”

“Ah, Yunho was sneaky. He doesn’t like the opera, so he found his own way to meet you,” Yeosang sighed. “I feel like he caused the trouble for me on purpose, so I’d run late. You’re popular around here, sweetheart.” He squeezed her arm teasingly.

“Who else here?” she chuckled. Seonghwa? Hongjoong? She hadnt yet to see either of them – like they were ghosts.

“You’d be surprised,” Yeosang commented before leaning in and admitting. “I quite like you, too.”

He made her cheeks burn red, and Wooyoung giggled.

“She likes you too, Sangie,” he crowed out, fingers reaching to tickle her waist. “I’ve seen her blush over San, over you… Do you like Yunho as well?” Wooyoung queried, his words becoming less and less playful. They were almost inquisitive, as if testing the waters instead.

There was a crack as he lit a match across a gold-leafed frame. He placed the cigarette that was behind his ear to his lips and lit it.

“I did,” YN told him, honestly, as they continued through the foyer. Wooyoung chuckled out, smoke puffing out in front of his face in surprise. He wasn’t expecting her to admit it so fast.

“Not like that,” she interrupt his giggles, face burning. “I just—”

Looking down another hall they, she made out Yunho’s form, tall and slim walking down the hall with purpose. His back to her as they turned into the foyer finally.

“He was kind. Even if he was a bit intimidating… he wasn’t cruel or harsh. Just… confident.”

Yeosang smiled close-lipped. Wooyoung blew out his smoke to the side, the plume passing over the butlers’ faces. Not one flinched or coughed.

The smell of expensive tabacoo wafted over her face warmly as Wooyoung walked in front of them to push open the large heavy doors of the mansion.

“So he wasn’t so scary after all?” he teased. “Wait ‘til you meet Hongjoong and Hwa-hyung. They’re properly-”

“Wooyoung, don’t tease her,” Yeosang defended.

The younger raised one of his hands in defense as he held open the door for them. “I’m just saying – she got pass the guard dog.”

“She hasn’t met Jongho yet,” Yeosang giggled lightly. “He’s truly got a bad case of looking gruffer than he is. He’s our baby.”

Jongho. She had only heard that name once, and it was that night. Her ears rang.

“Jongho?” she queried softly.  

He had been at the opera! He was one of their ‘brothers’.

“Or Mingi--Ah, here he is now,” San commented, smiling over at the man standing in front of the green-painted car.

“Hello,” the driver greeted, voice as deep as earlier. His eyes flickered to her arm in Yeosang’s.

Wooyoung smirked at him. “Mingi, I didn’t know you were driving today,” he said.

“I thought you and San were doing business today.”

“It was a fast deal.”

Mingi looked unamused, his siren-eyes looking him and San up and down. “Uh huh.

“You know a Jongho?” she turned to Yeosang as they spoke.

“Jongho is the youngest of us. You’ll meet him soon, sweetheart,” he reassured, squeezing her arm. “He’s busy too often. I think they overwork him; he’s just a boy.”

“He’s only a year younger than us,” Wooyoung commented with a pout.

“He’s a baby,” San agreed offhandedly.

“I think I—"

“Is she going the hell home or not?” Mingi bit out. Before looking bashfully at her. “Sorry, doll,” he apologized for his gruffness. “I’m not used to a dame being around.”

“Its okay,” she mumbled out. Her mind was preoccupied with trying to figure out why Jongho was at the opera… without his supposed family knowing.

Mingi pouted at that. “No, its not.” He admitted. “Don’t take disrespect.”

Her distracted gaze rose and nodded softly, not really processing his words.

Wooyoung tsked out. “Here he goes about respect,” he sighed out. “Hurry up, swanette, or else we will be here for hours.”

There was a rumble of chuckles in the group. Yeosang squeezed her arm once more before pressing close to her ear, cheek to cheek. A whispered “next time it’ll be just you and I, hm?” was hushed into her ear before he unwound himself from her and allowed the others to hover about. “I’ll see you next time, Miss YN.”

San pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he promised. “And again, I promise you, I’m fine.” He pressed another kiss to her hairline before guiding her into Wooyoung’s arms.

He was warm and smelt of smoke. His grin was playful, wolfish as he leaned down and stole her lips into a kiss. He was getting bolder and bolder. His kiss was hot, a lick of his tongue into her mouth this time. She squeaked and he chuckled deeply.

“Mmm,” he moaned as he pulled away just a fraction. Wooyoung smiled as if he was innocent but his teases were devilishly. “Perhaps I should call you little mouse instead of swanette.”

She pushed at his chest, playfully. Wooyoung tugged her closer, grinning. Her face was akin to a rose.

“Let her go, Wooyoung,” Mingi said from the side. His face was sharp as he glared at the other. He didn’t appreciate the teasing. “She must be tired.”

Wooyoung heaved a sigh as if this was the hardest thing to do. He pouted at her before stealing a kiss, pressing a peck to her nose. “Fine,” he relented, unwinding her from his spider web embrace.

“See you soon, pretty. Mingi will make sure you get home safely.”

Mingi nodded steadfast before he offered her his hand.

“Shall we, baby-doll?”

-

Next time, when she woke, it was to a cat’s sandpaper-esque tongue licking her cheek. Little tiny licks with the familiar nuzzle of her wet nose, Z investigated her like any other day. The little more-blue-grey-than-black cat sniffed at her, the talkative pet meowing loudly. Her green eyes blinked slowly at her before she nudged her cheek with her forehead once more.

Her body didn’t burn. It didn’t ache. It didn’t feel like anything. Whatever drugs she was on, they were good. She blinked at the kitten, slow to do anything once more.

She was still in Yeosang’s room. The smell of him was all around her, Jongho’s familiar gardenia aroma mingling in the sheets. YN tried to move. Pushing herself upwards was easier than before but the slightest shift in her legs reminded her of the heavy casts that wrapped her ankles. The pain nothing like before but there was still the zing up her knees that made her pause. Her breath caught as she stared at her limbs before her.

Her reality. Bedbound, grounded. It was a depressing thought. Even more depressing when she realized she wasn’t sure what day it was nor what hour. How many shows had she missed? Did her mother know she wasn’t well? Was she just the same as those folk written about in the papers? Missing and forgotten.

She let out a shuddering breath as she laid back into the fluffy luxurious pillows, contemplating what to do. Should she cry out for them? Hongjoong was the last face she remembered but she didn’t want to see him. Or Seonghwa. Or any of them. Really. Anger burned her throat like the nearby fire place. Z’s whiskers dusted over her arm, nudging at her for attention as she let out another inquisitive meow.

“Leave me alone, Z,” she mumbled into her pillow. The little tongue peaked out to lick her again. “Stop, Z; go away.”

Her tone was raising with her rising grief. That was the only way to describe what she was feeling grief – a mixture of hoping, pleading, that everything had been a dream only to be reawaken to reality. Anger and sorrow clashed like cymbals in her head.

The cat nuzzled her again, and she snapped this time.

“Z, go!” Her hands shifted the quilts aside in a huff, making the little cat hop away, back arched.

“Z, come here,” a voice, melodic as it was masculine, called. The doorway creaked open, the gaslight in the hallway illuminated his figure, bulky in the best way. “Love isn’t in the mood to play.”

She frowned over at him, even if Z hopped off the bed and went towards Jongho eagerly. Her little body pressed against his leg as she passed him, purring softly. He smiled after his kitten before his gaze settled back on his love bed ridden.

“Hi love,” he greeted. “How are you feeling?”

“Angry,” she told him.

“But not in pain,” he smiled.

The youngest crawled up onto the bed, sheets rustling and ruffling as he settled beside her. Jongho wasn’t one to be silenced by a glare or dirty look. He was made for this world – his hyungs’ beloved aegi was used to getting what he wanted. And she was his baby. His love. He wanted her.

She turned her rageful eyes his way. He simply smiled just like the others. “I know,” he hummed. “I tried to warn you.”

He had. He cried to her last night… or a few nights ago? Her anger was quenched by those tears now. Her eyes softened just a smidge, and Jongho took a mile. He pressed his lips to her forehead in a soft kiss. His arms wrapped around her ‘til she was caught in his embrace, warm and coddled.

He indulged in the way she didn’t pull away or yell. He had heard her shouts at Yeosang’s attempts at affection.

“What happened? I remember waking up in pain – why?” she murmured into his chest. Trying to gather information from when she was asleep.

Even now, she felt safe in his embrace. It caused a horrible sinking feeling in her stomach.

He heaved out, her head rising and falling with his chest. “You had an infection – the doctor said it was possible dirt from that alley way. It entered your injury for too long. He fixed it.”

“Is he alive?” she mumbled.

“By Yunho’s grace.”

She felt the ebbing and flowing rage, the despair rush over her again. Almost as if sensing it, Jongho shifted, his chin tilting into his chest to look down at her. He moved to tilt her own chin to meet his gaze. Fiery passion burned there. He liked it better when her passion burned for her dancing… but he supposed it had to go somewhere while she was incapable.

“It’s the way things are,” he told her. “Stop fighting it.”

Stop fighting and give in. Look what fighting did. Just let them control her…

YN scoffed. “I’m not some doll,” she bit back. “Or some—"She wriggled like a worm on a hook. Jongho’s eyes ached, and he reached for her hands. He cupped them in his. His bloodstained ones. How many time had he scrubbed away ichor? Dug it from under his nails? Her hands were dainty.

“It’ll never touch your hands,” he interrupted earnestly. “You’ll never bear it. Our work. Our lifestyles. If that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“I’m bearing it now,” she whispered to him, voice breaking. “I’m afraid of you.”

He frowned, his face firm and thoughtful. He was always thinking her Jongho. He never stopped. His thumbs brushed over her palms, his forehead pressing to hers intimately.

“You tried to leave,” he said. “I didn’t want this. None of us did. If you hadn’t, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“You understand what that means – I’m just something you control like your butlers and your members and your-.”

“No.” Jongho interrupted soft and earnestly.

“You are no pawn, my love. You are our priority… our treasure. Always.”

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Ahhhh I've been waiting for your requests to open, I've been following you since your first Price fic and never had an idea to request until like 2 weeks ago 😫 so, I've been thinking, what about being in a relationship with Keegan but getting separated when ODIN hits the earth and not meeting again until about 5 years later? 👀 Love your writing, hope you have a great day 🩵 :)

For The Weak And Weary

PAIRING: Keegan P. Russ x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: When ODIN struck you had thought he had died, sky alight with fire. It had taken years to accept it, much less live with it. But after Dallas falls, would you get a glimpse of your Lover's phantom again?

WORDCOUNT: 6.2k

WARNINGS: Angst, depressive thoughts, PTSD insinuations, gore, wounds, blood, death, canon-typical violence, (1) suggestive joke, alcohol, hallucinations, fluffy reunion, tears, verbal arguments, etc.

A/N: Just because I'm a sucker for sticking to the game timeline I made it ten years, lol. Enjoy, Anon! Very fun prompt.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You could never make sense of what Keegan went through in 2005 during Operation Sand Viper. It would be pointless to try and wrap your head around it from what little you knew. All that mattered was that when he came back on leave, something in his eyes was…damaged. Hell, he’d only been sixteen—the both of you had known each other since you were kids, you knew when something was wrong.

And this was entirely new to you.

He smiled less and snapped more; got spooked when you dropped something in his family's kitchen like a grenade had gone off. Maybe, you reasoned, he thought one actually had. 

But through it all, you could still see how much he cared about you. When you were old enough you’d both moved into a nice place in the suburbs and started a relationship—a life shared between the two of you. 

You knew he loved you from the way he’d grip you close at night and breathe into your scalp. How when you were sick from the take-out dinner he’d brought home, Keegan would hold back your hair and rub circles into your spine as you threw up. He never shied away from telling you how beautiful you were; prided himself on it. Keegan loved to show you off.

But there were times back then when you wondered if the same Keegan that had been so fulfilled to join Ghosts had died, and, in fact, a phantom was instead puppeting his skin. He was so quiet now.

If you’d known that the world was going to end on July 10th, 2017, you’d have never let him walk out that door angry. You would have grabbed his hand and pressed your lips to his, whispered affirmations into his flesh and sobbed at the cruelty of it all.

“I can’t keep pretending that you’re okay!” You yell, tears in your eyes, at the man standing tense in the kitchen doorway. Blank blue eyes stare lifelessly. “Keegan—this is killing you.” 

It was early morning by then, and the neighborhood was quiet. The house that the both of you had moved into years ago was littered with the remnants of a happy home. Pictures on the walls, dishes in the sink, and freshly baked bread on the counter. All you’d tried to do was give Keegan a hug, slipping your hands around his waist when you’d entered. 

He’d balked back, jerking to the side and nearly elbowed you in the gut before he saw your wide eyes and stopped himself. The way he’d looked at you…how could eyes be so dead?

“You need to talk to someone,” you put your foot down, shaking your head. “I-I don’t know a therapist or…or someone who can get you proper help because I can’t keep acting like I can live like this.” 

Every mission, every time he went away, it always got worse. 

Keegan’s eyes get sharp, hands at his sides clenching. He speaks in a low growl. “I don’t need to talk to a shrink, alright? I’m fine, you just startled me.”

“Bullshit,” your mouth hisses, glaring. “You thought you were back in ‘05.”

The man points at you, strong jaw clenching, “Don’t.”

“Keegan,” you plead, “please, I love you! I don’t care about this, I just want you to be alright. To be able to live your life—”

“What you want is to try and change me!” The black-haired man barks. Your eyes blink in shock. Keegan rarely yelled. “I already told you I was fine, why don’t you get off my back all the time?” His eyes flash, pupils going to slits as his hands shake at his sides. Why did he look scared? Your breath stills, lips slightly open, with tears dripping to the tile. “Fuck, it’s like I can’t come home without you pesterin’ me ‘bout something!” 

A stiff silence falls.

“Kee—” He snaps a hand to his mouth and rubs at his stubble, suddenly unable to look at you.

“...Forget it.” It’s low and shaky how he says it, eyes wide, before he darts into the foyer and slips into his boots. You listen to the sounds of panicked shuffling before the man wrenches open the front door and slams it shut behind him. One of the picture frames falls and hits the ground with a shattering of glass.

You flinch and tense, taking down a terse breath and sniffling tightly. Trying to get your lungs to work properly, your feet take you over to the picture as they feel weak and uneven; a stuttering mess of steps before you bend down. Your fingers bleed as they shift the glass away, taking out the image of you and Keegan on your hike through the mountains. 

Smiling faces mock you, and you break at the bright and open affection Keegan wears as he looks down at you—eyebrows curved up and smirk like a knife to the chest. 

You loved him so much it hurt to breathe when he was away. 

He had needed time, you knew, but what you didn’t know was that time wouldn’t be available. Around noon the world had opened into a ball of fire and death. 27 million dead. Los Angeles, San Diego, Phoenix, Houston, and Miami…all gone…at least, that was what everyone in Dallas was telling you. 

When Keegan had been away taking a walk to calm himself, you’d been home alone. The earth caved, the ground shook; houses burst like balloons. By the time you’d crawled from the rubble of your home, all you had was the picture and the clothes on your back. People were screaming—you were screaming. But you knew that you couldn’t stay here if you wanted to survive. 

And then you’d made it to Dallas by sheer luck and the few tricks Keegan had taught you; had thought that he had died in that first strike by the Federation. You carried that guilt and self-hatred for not holding your tongue for a few more hours. 

So much could have been different in these ten years. Better. You never got over him for even a second. 

But the reality was that you couldn’t think about all of that now, because if you didn’t focus on holding your breath you would be dead in the next three seconds. 

Your hand is anchored to the body of your sniper rifle, finger hovering over the trigger as you hide behind the outcropping of rubble in the decimated cityscape; the air is hot and humid despite the weight of the night. It sticks to your skin in a sheen of violent sweat. Yet it’s still not as potent as the blood. 

Teeth gritted, you hold back whimpers as Federation soldiers stalk the grounds, scores of them—legions. An entire army that had breached the walls and executed everyone insight, soldiers, civilians, if it once moved it didn’t anymore. The burning in your shoulder was agonizing, head smashing itself back to the rubble in an attempt to stifle your own ragged need to scream into the night as layers had peeled back to allow a bullet to pass through. 

In the ten years you’d been here, you’d taken up the mantle of quite the sharpshooter; pulling on Keegan’s lessons when he was on leave and wanted to bring you to the firing range. You had even picked a rifle similar to the one back in your destroyed home—held in a plastic case and treated like royalty by your long-deceased lover. It wasn’t the same, but the jet-black Lynx made you steady like the picture in your breast pocket did. 

A reminder of what was lost and why you had picked the knock-off up in the first place.

Footsteps get closer as the sweep of a flashlight cards above your skull, if possible you go even more still, lips pulled in and heart rampaging. There were barked orders and yelling, but no more screaming. 

How long had you been unconscious after taking that shot to the shoulder? Fear was breeding with horror—was…was everyone dead?

Spanish is loudly called not five feet away, and the flashlight leaves as your breath does. You let off a quiet gasp and suck down air greedily. Eyes flashing from one shadow to another, you look for any opportunity to slip away from the city. In the wind, you could smell fire, and taste it on your tongue as you licked your lips. 

All around you can see the limp shadows of bodies and the apartments, large skyscrapers were on fire deep in their frames. The city was entirely lost.

How the federation got into the walls you would never know, though there was concern about the enemy soldiers rounding up civilians outside the walls and executing them. Maybe one cracked before the bullet entered their skull.

You bite hard into your lip to force back your pain. Trying to shoot a rifle would be useless at this point, you might as well have lost the limb. Slinging the gun’s strap over your head, you look back and forth along your visible perimeter, checking for hostiles as you unsheathe your combat knife and cradle your limp arm to your chest. 

If only Keegan could see you now.

Rounds of gunfire make the air burn with urgency, and you take the time to peek out behind as sweat makes a trail down your dirty face, dripping off of your chin as you breathe like a wheezing dog. Your wound needed tending, and you had the med pack on your vest with the supplies, but you can’t do it here.

Where’s safe? If Dallas has fallen…is there anywhere that’s still standing? A location hits your brain as your gaze darts from one abandoned street to another. You take a deep breath and whine as you force your legs to stand and move quickly, feet shifting as quietly as you’re able to make them. 

“Fort Santa Monica.” Now a stronghold, you’d heard US soldiers here talking about the large presence of military power out in California—numbers so great they rivaled those that had lived in Dallas. 

You stumble over a spasming body and slam your uninjured shoulder into the bulk of the building’s wall, groaning loudly like a wounded boar. 

“Fuck!” If you made it out of the city, that would be where you would have to go; to warn them of what was coming. The Federation had found a way inside the Dallas wall, and that meant if they had enough tenacity, they could do it to them too. 

Everything would be done if another city fell.  

Holding your knife tighter, you push off the wall and grit your teeth harder, mind running on that edge of hysteria and forced calm. It’s in these moments where you have to pull on old memories to keep you going—even if they end up hurting more than the open wounds you carry. 

Keegan had his bad moments, but you always got through them together. Years and years of knowing each other inside and out; memorizing bodies and thoughts like they were second nature. He would want you to keep fighting, tell you to get your ass in gear and go…and you would never let him down. 

You owed him that much even if some days you wanted more than anything to join him. 

Blade in hand, you hear muttered speech from up the alleyway and pause, feet splayed but still swaying as you come to a slow stop. Your ears ring at garbled sentences, foreign words spilling into one another. 

Panting, you listen closely, limbs vibrating. More gunfire echoes over the air, screams and death that get ingrained into your head like a brand into sizzling flesh. Skyscrapers burned and buildings fell with great earthquake booms. Everything is under a sheen of distance.

Get out of the city. Get to Fort Santa Monica.

“Kill who I have to,” you slur out, itching at your neck as you leave a trail of blood behind you. A single pair of footsteps walk quickly forward near your corner and you hold your breath, bringing up your knife as pain pounds in your arm. 

Deep blue eyes sit in the back of your mind, counting you down as they always did.

Keep your arm steady for me, Doll, a phantom tells you. Breathe...

When the first shadow of a Fed soldier graces your eyes, you strike. 

—

It’s roughly nineteen days from Dallas to Santa Monica, and that was if you kept up at a steady walking pace. If the crude sling you’d fashioned from bandages found in your med pack was any indicator, it would be double that. 

On the first day, you had hiked half-dead over the destroyed landscape of what remained of the USA, licking your wounds and counting your losses. You’d had your pick of abandoned houses, taking a red brick one just because it looked nice and you were about to pass out from blood loss. The only reason you’d made it this far was that the bullet had thankfully passed right through you, making sure that if you moved too suddenly no more damage was being done internally. You packed it with a sterile rag.

Sitting in the home, pictures gathering dust on the fireplace mantle, you tipped back a bottle of whisky you’d found in one of the bedrooms, grimacing at the sting. It was better to be drunk for what you were about to do. 

Heating up your combat knife in the fire you had started in the hearth, you watched the metal grow an eye-flinching white as you stared off into nothingness. 

“You remember when you showed me that scar, Keegan?” You always talked to him. Others had given you shit for it, but they knew the purpose. If you didn’t talk to someone, even a ghost, you would give up. 

The guilt was eating you alive, and it would overtake you eventually. Hadn’t in ten years, but it would…you knew it, everyone did. 

Keegan was everything, and nothing looked the same when you lost him.

“The one on your thigh?” Pulling the knife back, you turn to the leaking flesh of your shoulder, gushing blood as black desecrates the sides of your eyes. You’d taken off your vest and shirt. If you tried hard enough you could imagine Keegan standing in the corner, watching. Always watching. “You said you had to dig a bullet out and cauterize the wound—when I asked you said you barely felt it over all the adrenaline.”

The ghost tilts its head, eyes sad and lips pulling taunt. Your lungs take in a shaky inhale and your hand quivers; only you feel how your eyes burn with unshed tears. 

“I never thought about it before,” right as you growl and shove the knife into your skin, you bark out in fear, “But I think you were fucking lying!” 

On day two, you knew you had to avoid the remains of Fort Worth, so you decided to increase your distance and cut that landmark out entirely—too many remnants of Federation. They were everywhere now, and you needed to keep low; get out of Texas. You scavenged properties and took stock. 

Four magazines for your Lynx, a pouch with five protein bars, one bottle of water attached to your belt, and your knife. Normally you’d have a pistol at your thigh, but you’d used it up in the firefight back home. When you’d woken back up, it had been gone.

And, of course, you had the picture. You kissed Keegan’s face and placed it back in your breast pocket, caressing the material softly before clearing your throat and addressing the obvious. 

With what you had getting to California was a pipe dream. 

You’d been on the radio all day, clicking through channels and pleading for anyone alive to reach out. Nothing. Static. 

I’m the only one left. The thought was intoxicating, pounding in your skull like your hangover. Everyone is dead. 

While you had become somewhat of a loner in the last ten years, especially with the few months you’d been by yourself in the beginning, Dallas had given you a chance to build bonds again. Ten years, and in an instant it was all wiped out. 

It rang a devastating bell.

Somehow, you had cheated death where so many others had failed—not only in Texas, but back with ODIN too. You had survived, but somehow Keegan hadn’t. 

Keegan, the one who never spoke about ‘05 and jerked awake from nightmares years later because of it. Keegan, who wanted nothing more than to stay at your side when he was home and keep you on his chest when watching movies. Keegan, the love of your life.

The only love of your life. 

“I really wish you were here,” you mutter, grimacing as your arm gets jostled as you stumble over a piece of rusted metal in the empty street. “Who gave you the right to go away before me, huh? We were supposed to grow old together, Russ. You promised me that.” 

Garbage gets blown over the road when a hot breeze shifts the air, bringing the scent of dirt and the noise of rustling trees. Nature has reclaimed the towns and suburbs—great patches of ivy and long grass that rise to your hips. But the silence was a curse.

The only thing keeping you going is the thought of delivering your warning to Santa Monica, from there…

Your lips thinned. What even was there left? How many times could you go from one place to another, starting over with stories of your past and having to brush the pitying looks off as you fake a smile? 

Shaking your head, you recall memories from the better days as the light gets low in the sky. 

“You’re doin’ too much, Sweet Thing,” Keegan mutters, and you turn from the stove top with a bright smile to face him. 

He had just gotten out of the shower, towel ruffling through his dark hair as he stands in the kitchen entrance and watches you cook for him. The shirt hangs off of his wide shoulders, and gray sweatpants are loose over his formed hips—his strong brow line raises in a casual expression. 

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t like it,” you tease, hearing his low chuckles as you turn back to your pan. “You look good, y’know.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Keegan grunts, smirking, and his feet pad over to you, tossing the towel to the counter as his presence looms over your back. Large hands grab onto your hips and a nose burrows into your hair; inhaling deeply before gradually melting to the curve of your spine. 

You smile and hum, pushing back so you can rest on his chest. A chin sets itself on your head, deep massaging fingers making you pur as they bunch your sleep shorts.

It was late—nearly two in the morning. Keegan had only gotten home a short while ago, but sleep wasn’t going to stop you from spoiling him. A wine bottle was on the island counter, two glasses, and the food was nearly done from what you could scrounge up on short notice.

“...Good to be back,” the man grumbles into you, kissing your head and slowly sweeping his arms around your waist as you sighed softly at the contact. 

Your face gains heat. 

“Well, I’d sure hope so, or else this would be awkward.” You huff to hide the bright smile in your voice. But like a moth to flame, you hear, as well as feel, Keegan chuckle against your spine. His grip squeezes you for a moment. 

“How was it when I was away?” He asks as you move around the contents in the pan, nose brushing your neck as his lips travel to kiss behind your ear. He breathes against the flesh as his low rasp makes you shiver. “Any trouble?”

“Negative, Sergeant,” you raise a brow and smirk over your shoulder at him, seeing his blues spark as he gazes hard into your eyes. A faint twitch to his lips is what you get before his hand captures your cheek; anchoring your face as he descends to connect his mouth to yours.

He sighs into it, arm still around your waist—tight as if you were a pillow. 

“Keep talkin’ like that and we won’t have to wait long for dessert, will we?” 

Days three through seven were uneventful beyond the constant agony of your arm and tired legs, but on day eight amid a waterless walk in the sweltering heat was when the hallucinations began. 

Keegan walks beside you, his footsteps mirroring your own as sweat pools down your forehead and drips off your nose. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at you—he just walks, looking exactly like he did the day he died. 

At first, you’d flinched back and blinked wildly at the sight, panting, but then he’d disappeared and your heart had shattered. It worried you with what you were seeing, but it was also a strange comfort to be able to ramble to…something, even if it wasn’t real. Hungry and with a dry tongue, you were on the verge of calling it quits.

So on day eleven, without a wild animal in sight to give you a proper food source and all the water having to be purified, you started talking to him while licking the inside wrapper of your last protein bar. 

“But I never understood why you hated sleeping in shirts,” you licked your lips to get the remnants of granola off of your flesh, pushing away the greasy sheen from your cheeks. Your arm was burning up—every heartbeat was felt as it moved the skin around red and infected flesh up and down. Puss was leaking out from the crude stitches you had made of embroidery thread from that first house you’d found. 

“And you always kept the room freezing.” Continuing, you drop the wrapper to the ground and then take the meat of your fingers and get what little flavor you can off of them, grunting through realization. “That was a ploy to have me use you for heat, wasn’t it? Jesus.” 

The man in the corner of your vision smirks, tilting his head and chuckling from where he leans against a tree trunk. 

“Yeah, that’s right. Knew it.” Glaring at nothing, you stand from your overturned stump and nearly fall right back over, stomach yelling at you as your vision swirls. 

You dig a hand into your hair and grip at the strands, pulling and groaning. “...God.” 

Keegan comes over and stands above you, your eyes staring down at his feet as you get light-headed. You focus on his shoelaces, counting the Xs and taking down shaky breaths. When you blink like a cat with dirt on its face, the shoes are gone entirely and you stand back up to your full height.

“...Keegan?” You ask after a moment, the words disappearing into the trees, but no one’s around. 

Your sight goes to your wound and your jaw tightens, moments of clarity slipping in as a knife would into your consciousness before the curtain settles once more. 

You bend over and vomit what little nutrients you had, spending day twelve sleeping through a fit of nightmares and fever-induced delirium.

Nothing about the remainder of the time you can recall to memory—bits and pieces always flash through on long nights, but they’re only walking montages. Dragging feet, looking at your hand as if it was a foreign object as you turned it back and forth; everything in a sheen of sickness. Days and days and days. Little food. Less water. 

More than one-thousand miles.

But somehow, the Wall peels out in front of you as you crash through the foliage, your body giving out and collapsing down a large decline. Bouncing and getting jostled by rocks, you come to a stop without the strength to get back up, staring blankly ahead as your head connects with concrete. Your mouth is open in broken inhales, pain not even registering. 

Shouts echo, the pound of rapid feet. 

Green eyes meet yours, a youthful face with a beanie and stubble. He’s saying something to you, glancing over your gear and your obvious near-death situation—his hand jostles the side of your face. But your eyes shift behind him gradually, attention falling to someone more important. 

Before you finally let yourself rest, you stare at the smiling face of your steadfast phantom.

—

The doctors and nurses at Fort Santa Monica were nice, if a bit secretive about the entire operation. Seeing as you weren’t an official soldier, no dog tags or patches—no name in the database—everyone was a bit hesitant to tell you anything. 

Until you said you were from Dallas, of course. 

But no one was eager to rush you in your state, even if the information was dire. You had been hooked up to an IV and bedridden for a week straight; talking to nothing on account of the dehydration and electrolyte imbalances. Some days you spend unconscious. 

But what really pissed you off when you got back into it, was the fact that they had taken your Lynx and your gear—your picture.

You’d almost grappled onto the first nurse you’d seen when you’d woken without it. It was a beacon, your prized possession of damaged corners and taped tears. Water damage that may or may not have been from sobbing fits in the first five years. 

In fact, that was the entire reason you had snuck out so late in the first place. 

Stalking down the hallway in the white shirt and camo pants that had been given to you on the fifth morning you had woken up here, you pad along with no shoes, only plain gray socks. You limp with bandaged flesh all along your healing shoulder and your feet. 

The doctor had explained that you’d entirely skinned the bottoms and your heels were a mess of blisters and open wounds. 

“Take my property,” you grumble under your breath, shuffling along and rubbing at the back of your neck. “What gives them the right?” 

You weren’t going to stop until you found it. 

Reading the name tags on the walls, you silently wonder where they would have taken your stuff as you slip out of the medical ward, listening to the buzzing of the lights and frowning. As you’re limping along the next hallway, a man suddenly turns the corner on nearly silent feet. 

“Woah!” You halt immediately, heart jumping in your chest. A hand catches your shoulder before you run headlong into him. 

Green eyes lock with your own, wide and blinking quickly. Brows furrow and you’re quickly looked over before a slow, teasing remark enters the air, you listen with a growing heat on your neck.

“Y’know, I could have sworn you were supposed to be in bed, Ma’am. I miss something here?” The man who had found you. 

“Wouldn’t know,” you say blandly, blinking up at him and taking a careful step back. This brunette had a casual air to him—still in his gear despite the time. He folds his arms and tilts his head at you, smirking. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

You begin to walk forward, slipping past him and hoping you won’t get snitched on. Except it seems you’ll be having a shadow, as not a few seconds later a smooth chuckle meets your ears and the man walks beside you. 

“I think I’ll be taggin’ along if you don’t mind. Security and all.” He turns to face you, sticking out his opposite hand. “Hesh.”

“That supposed to be some kind of nickname, Kid?” You raise a stiff brow but participate in the handshake nonetheless. His grip is firm but not hard. 

Hesh blinks at you, eyes swimming with amusement before he shrugs in a boyish way and shakes his head with a laugh. “Hell, you remind me of someone, Ma’am.” A moment passes in silence as you study the area. The man huffs, “Where exactly are we off to?” 

“Wonderland,” your lips grumble, tired and wanting to sleep but not until you find your picture. Hesh sighs but you can still hear the hilarity inside of it. 

“Alright then…don’t know if you’re going to be finding a shrinking potion anytime soon, though. We’re in low stock.”

“Very funny,” your eyes send a dry look, but you relent when he prods you with his eyes, taking a corner. “I’m looking for my vest.” Hesh blinks at you in curiosity, letting you elaborate as you motion to your upper shoulder. “My pouch has some of my personal belongings. I don’t like being away from it.” 

“Oh,” the brunette nods a few times, his beanie jerking along. “Yeah, that’s no problem.” A hand is waved and you stare in confusion as he pivots. “C’mon, I’ll get you there.” 

Your eyes burn into his back before you immediately speed after. 

“Why so eager to help?” Hesh smirks at your question. 

“As I see it, if you went over nineteen days of hard hiking just to get to us, you should at least be able to keep your stuff on you, Ma’am.” Your lips flicker in a smile. 

“You’d be the first.” You tell him your name and miss the slight emotion it provokes in his eyes, head lightly pulling to the side but ultimately saying nothing. Hesh shrugs with a grunt, leading you to a meeting room on the opposite side of the building. 

Yelling is on the other side.

“Elias, how long has this been kept from me?!” The voice makes your head perk, evoking something inside of your chest. Hesh seems taken aback too, holding up a hand to you for momentary silence—not that you had to be told. 

“Keegan, I can’t have that happen. She needs to recover and you being there could jeopardize that. We need what she knows about Dallas.” Your body stills to a near-frozen state, and it’s comedic how your entire face falls to a blank slate. Wait a second.

…Keegan?

“She belongs with me—I thought she fucking died and she’s been here for who knows how long?! Why wasn’t I informed?” Rampaging feet suddenly sound off, going to the door at break-neck speed.

“Son, that’s not a good idea. This is what I was worried would happen if you found out.”

“I didn’t exactly ask, did I? As far as I’m concerned, nothing else matters besides getting back to my Girl,” the bark is ferocious and violent, more of an animal’s than a man’s. “Now where the hell did you put her before I tear this damn fort apart and—” You shove at the door before Hesh can grab you, throwing it open and letting it hit the opposite wall with a great boom of wood. 

Your wild eyes instantaneously lock into sharp blues, pulse pounding in your ears. It’s like all the air is taken from your lungs in a great punch. 

Oh, he’s so similar to how you remembered him to be ten years ago. 

Keegan stands only a few feet away, turned in your direction with his eyes so wide and small you might faint. There’s black face paint in his sockets, making the cerulean all the more bright and shocking to the senses. He’s still tall, still built, if only a bit more rugged than when ODIN struck—there are lines on his forehead and his scars are more faded. Small differences in the way he holds himself like the difference between a rabbit and a hare. Keegan’s black locks are shorter now, but still…his.

Lips part in silent shock, an entire halt of your nervous system. 

The entire universe holds its tongue as you two stare at each other; walls and rooms blur into a mess of matter and reality—this couldn’t be real. 

Keegan’s feet shift for a moment as if to steady himself as his fingers twitch. In his hand, he holds your picture, his body covered in gear and weapons. He blinks as you tell yourself he’s a phantom, simply that same ghost come back to haunt you as tears sting the backs of your eyes. But then he speaks, and it’s the same voice you had slowly lost the ability to remember in year three. 

“...Sweetheart?”

His ghost never spoke. His ghost could not imitate the phonics of his speech or the rhythm of his throat. His ghost could not make you recall the memories you’d long since boxed up.

You jerk forward just as he does, bodies colliding into a feral grip of flesh and fabric, hands latching and faces burying. Sobs rip from you as Keegan’s shaky breath echoes right next to your ear—his chest hitching and arms snatching your waist and lifting you up as easily as he always had. He holds you up without any thought of putting you down, legging your legs dangle as Elias slowly exits the room and corrals a highly confused Hesh with him.

The door shuts, but neither of you notices. 

“Keegan—” Your voice is high with emotion, hardly believing what you're seeing—what you’re touching. “Oh, my God.” 

He had been alive all this time? Ten whole years and you’d thought he was dead. But by the way he was barely letting you breathe from in his iron clutch, you imagined Keegan had thought the same about you. It was…incomprehensible. 

“Shh,” he whispers, his shushes cracking and flinching between broken gasps of your name. “Shh.” He sets you down on the floor only to have his firm hands travel to your cheeks, turning your head to each side in a desperate need to understand if you were really there.

Keegan’s eyes are wet, but no tears let themselves fall quite yet. 

“I’m so sorry!” You hiccup and the man kisses your cheeks—your browline and nose. Every piece of you he can as you both stay so intimate you might melt into one another. “I thought you were gone, I-I should have stayed and looked for you, I didn’t—”

“You’re alive?” Keegan’s hands rub across your body, gripping and tugging you closer and closer. “My Girl’s alive?” 

His tears drip to your face as he hovers above you, and you both shake with the weight of years. 

“Me?” Your chuckle through sobs—you want to scream and wail at the same time. Blue eyes flutter and ragged breaths puff on your forehead. “What about you, you asshole?” 

Keegan shakes his head, and you stare deeply into him, hands coming up to cup his cheeks as he sags forward. He had stubble now, spreading out to grate your flesh. 

The man forces a weak huff. 

“Christ,” is all he mutters before he presses his lips to yours in a kiss so unyielding you expect to have your air stolen. Ten years to feel him kissing you again—to feel his warm flesh under your hands and his heart rampage into you. 

You’d do it all over if it still amounted to this.

Your body shivers and you reciprocate with just as much fervor; this emotion of relief is so overwhelming and all-consuming that it makes your head light. You suck down quick breaths between the sensation of your lips meeting, Keegan doing the same. 

Unconsciousness was better than letting him leave again, your lover sharing that sentiment as chests slid against one another. Soft hair slips through your fingers as you grip Keegan’s hair, cascading through locks as he groans into your lips and tries to hide his tears from you. 

He pulls away and immensely shoves his head into your neck. 

“You’re here,” he whispers quickly. A hand quivers at the back of your head as your tears wet his gear. “You’re right here. You came back to me, didn’t you, Doll?” 

You cry, “I’m here, Keegan.” The man sobs when he hears you say his name, his knees giving out as you both fall to the floor and not letting the other move beyond the caress of skin and lips.

“I missed you,” Keegan gasps, “so much. Don’t you understand? I was nothing without you. You took it all from me, everything. Every damn thing.” 

You press kisses to his neck and racing pulse, healing him inside and out without even realizing it; it was only fair, he was doing the same back to you. 

The picture lays long forgotten on the floor.

“Never let me go,” your voice forces out, as he rocks you back and forth like a child. “Never again, Keegan. Please, I love you too much to go through that again.”

“Never,” he immediately promises, pulling back and kissing your lips again—neither can stop themselves from this. Blues eyes blink quickly, cataloging your face and every little blemish he’d have to relearn and study; to find the story behind. Keegan had never been happier. He felt like he might break from it. “Over my dead body, I’m never lettin’ you out of my sight. You’re stuck with me.”

You laugh genuinely for the first time in ten years and say you’d like nothing better as he pulls you back in and plants his mouth to yours in reverent worship. His arms trapping you to him as yours do just the same.

Not to leave again anytime soon. 

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

Jan 14th

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1. Itmf fics where Jin Guangyao is good? Very broad topic, lol, but yeah. Fics where he doesn't murder or backstab, fics where he actually is helpful and smart and a good uncle to Jin Ling. Thank you!

walk away from the sun by KouriArashi (M, 107k, LXC/JGY, LXC & LWJ, WangXian, LWJ & JGY, LXC & NMJ, Canon Divergence, Angst, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Developing Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Politics, supportive brothers, supportive husbands, Canon-Typical Violence, Lan Family Feels, Everybody Lives, Eventual Happy Ending)

The Edge of Night by Hobbsy3 (M, 277k, WangXian, XuanLi, Modern AU, Zombie Apocalypse, Yúnmèng Siblings Dynamics, Accidental Baby Acquisition During a Zombie Apocalypse, Junior Quartet, (except they’re all babies), Angst with a Happy Ending, Minor Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Ensemble Cast, Worst Zombie Fighting Team Ever, Found Family) translations available in multiple languages

❤️ And Time Is But a Paper Moon by sami (M, 138k, WangXian, XiChengQing, Time Travel, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Healing, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, BAMF JYL, Getting Together, And Time is But a Paper Moon [PODFIC] by sami, Winterstar1412, [Podfic] Cold read of And Time Is But A Paper Moon by kisahawklin, multiple translations available) multiple podfics and translations into multiple languages available

somewhere to belong by KouriArashi (T, 62k, 3zun, JGY & NHS, WangXian, JGY & WWX, Canon Divergence, Friendship, Developing Relationship, Families of Choice, Class Issues, Bullying, Light Angst, Politics, Eventual Plot, Happy Ending)

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2. Hi, Itmf fic where instead of characters watching the truth abouth yllz, the whole jianghu is watching uncensored truth about most of cultivators: like assault and imprisonment of lwj mother, rapes by jgs, resentment in nie etc.

Wondered if there is something like this. Thank you!

Song of Joy and Regrets by HelloKitten (Not Rated, 134k, WIP, WangXian, Angst, Self-Harm, Child Abuse, Time Travel Fix-it)

💖 The Path by Seastar98 (Not Rated, 279k, WangXian, CQL Verse, Golden core reveal, Fix-it of sorts, Angst with a happy ending) Song of Joy and Regrets and The Path feature people learning about atrocities committed by other cultivators in addition to facts about Wei Ying's life.

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3. For the next ITMF: fics where WWX suffers chronic pain as a result of the core surgery and/or injuries that never quite healed. (Nothing where resentful energy is the main problem, because it wasn't really.) Modern AUs with some other illness/disability are okay too. Bonus points if he tries to hide it, because ofc he will if he can. Extra bonus points if it includes or is entirely from someone else's POV. Thank you! 🖤🐇 @linderel

How to Treat Your Injured Yiling Laozu by merakily (T, 3k, WangXian, Chronic Pain, Whump, Love Confessions, Literal Sleeping Together, Burial Mounds, Golden Core Reveal, LWJ has a lot of feelings about WWX being in pain, Hurt WWX)

Aftermath by KouriArashi (T, 57k, XuanLi, WangXian, XiYao, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Everybody Lives, Romance, Developing Relationship, Family, Sibling Bonding, Light Angst, Politics, Attempted Sexual Assault) Jiang Yanli notices Wei Ying has chronic pain following his core removal surgery in Aftermath

🔒💙 Holding shreds by barisan (T, 5k, WangXian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, No Sunshot Campaign, Body Swap, Not for sexy shenanigans, Chronic Pain, Hurt WWX, Hurt LWJ, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abusive YZY, Bad Parent YZY, Bad Parent JFM, Good Uncle LQR, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, POV WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jiāng Family Bashing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Getting Together, Smart WWX)

The Core Issue by Hauntcats (T, 21k, WangXian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not JC Friendly, Canon Divergence)

🔒 the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break by RoseThorne (E, 105k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Soulmates, Self-Esteem Issues, Fix-It, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, PTSD, Handfasting, Panic Attacks, Getting Together, First Time, Aftercare, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, /Referenced Torture, Scars, Chronic Pain, Golden Core Reveal, First Time, Switching, sex-related injury, LWJ Stays at the Burial Mounds, LSZ is a Wèi, Good Sibling JC, Dissociation, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Disability, Scheming NHS, Disabled Character)

Ornaments Under the Stars by trippednfell (M, 62k, WangXian, WIP, Modern, Inspired by Hallmark Christmas Movies, the wangxian Hallmark Movie AU no one asked for, plot and title were randomly generated, Kidfic, Disabled Character, debilitating injury as substitute for missing golden core, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note, Angst with a Happy Ending, Guest starring Lan Zhan’s sky blue coat, The Coat deserves its own tag, disordered eating habits - not a major plot point) wy has to use a cane because if a leg injury

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4. Are there any wei Wuxian havin hanahaki Disease for Lan wangji @yuukikonnos-world

Regret Blossoms by piecrust (G, 7k, WangXian, Hanahaki Disease) Wangxian are in mutual hanahaki

not in so many words by jaws_3 (T, 18k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, offshoot of a hanahaki au, somehow without the angst, but WITH the body horror warning that comes with coughing up flowers, Fluff, Getting Together, Mutual Pining)

Slowly Growing On Me by Latios (T, 9k, WangXian, Hanahaki Disease, Allergies, Flowers, Hanahaki AU, LWJ has allergies, Angst with a Happy Ending)

This Lantern Shines For You by apollonie (M, 10k, WangXian, Hanahaki Disease, Angst with a Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Pining WWX, WWX Needs a Hug, LWJ is a Disaster Gay)

Blooming You a Garden Inside Me by xxxMiaHikarixxx (G, 93k, WIP, WangXian, Hanahaki Disease, Angst, Happy Ending, Pain, Canon Divergence, Fix-It of Sorts, Good Sibling JC, One-Sided WWX/WN, POV Multiple, JC and WWX Talk About Feelings, JZX & WWX Friendship, Good Sibling LXC, Eventual ChengQing, Protective LWJ, Dark LWJ, Protective JC, Protective NHS, Scheming NHS, BAMF LWJ)

bloody flowers i made for you. by anxiouswreck0_0 (T, 3k, WangXian, Hanahaki Disease, Angst, Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending)

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5. i was wondering if someone had written a what if wei wuxians parents lived au ? ive seen some fics where he gets taken in by a sect other than the Jiang but what if his parents lived is so interesting to me yk? happy new year btw 🐍🐍🐍 hope its a good year for yall !!

Building a home by R95irth (T, 586k, WCZ/CS, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-it, Angst with a happy ending, Family fluff)

We Meet at the Thousandth Step by Admiranda, Rynne (T, 316k, WangXian, CSSR/WCZ, Canon Divergence, No Sunshot Campaign, CSSR & WCZ Live, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Different First Meeting, Night Hunts, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Plot, Romance, Drama, Fluff, Strangers to married, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Everyone Lives, Developing Relationship, Minor Violence, Case Fic, Mystery, Flirting, WWX’s Canon-Typical Flower Flirting, Arson, There Was Only One Bed, Getting Together, First Kiss, Meeting the Parents, Resolved Sexual Tension, Resolved Romantic Tension, WWX Is a Good Big Brother, New Relationship Bliss, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Blood and Injury, Yiling siblings, Married WangXian, Honeymoon, Wangxian’s Baby Fever)

🔒Wújī by FairyTaleDreams (M, 55k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, WCZ & CSSR Lives, Rouge cultivator WWX)

marital customs by shijieswife (M, 2k, WIP, CSSR/WCZ, WangXian, Canon Divergence, No Sunshot Campaign, CSSR and WCZ Live Meeting the Parents, Protective Parents, Happy Ending, (they get married !!!), Implied Sexual Content)

🧡 Resplendence by FrozenMarVel ( E, 187k, WIP, WangXian, CS Lives, Rouge cultivator WWX, Crossdressing, Canon Divergence, Fix-It of sorts, Fluff, Explicit smut) Wei Ying grows up just with his mom in Resplendence

Cartwheels In Cloud Recesses Series by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 23k, WangXian, CSSR/WCZ, CSSR and WCZ Live, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans)

🔒 the world wags on by justdoityoufucker (orphan_account) (T, 5k, WCZ & WWX, WCZ & LQR, LQR/WCZ, Canon Divergence, Pre-Canon, Not Everyone Dies AU, Not Jiang Clan Friendly, Past Child Abuse, Canon Jiang Family Relationships, Parent-Child Relationship, Pre-Relationship, Not for Madam Yu fans) wcz lives

The Wei of family by HikariNoHimeWriter (E, 46k, WangXian, CSSR/WCZ, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, CSSR and WCZ Live, Rogue Cultivator WWX, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Male omega with vagina, Vaginal Fingering, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Vaginal Sex, First Time, Falling In Love, some violence, Genius WWX, WWX Has ADHD, CSSR Has ADHD, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Eventual Smut, Love Confessions, Mating Bond, WangXian Elope, Kinda, Not JC Friendly, not yzy friendly, Mpreg, Crossdressing)

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6. I'm in the mood for a fic in which A) Wei Ying accidentally kills or hurts Lan Zhan, and then he realizes he's lost the one he loves. There's endless pining and yearning for him, but somehow, Lan Wangji comes back to life in the end, and they have a happy ending. Any type of fic is fine—lengthy or short, it doesn't matter—but no modern AU, please.

B) Sorry, I have another request too: a fic where Wei Ying isn't oblivious to Lan Wangji's one-sided love, set in the CQL verse with a happy ending :) @vintagesoul999

6A)

If I Could Go Back in Time by Runningbarefoot (M, 122k, WangXian, NieLan, Canon Divergence, Role Reversal, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, YL WWX, Eventual Happy Ending, The Twin Jade Brotherhood, Hurt/Comfort, Character Study, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Dynamics, Slow Burn) but I didn't read it whole, but so far it fits

6B)

30 Days of Secret Marriage at Cloud Recesses by starandrea (T, 43k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Bunnies, Gusu Lan Forehead Ribbon, Accidental Marriage, Coming Out, Falling In Love, supportive family, Fluff, Happy Ending, the whole story is happy)

it’s just (aah) a little crush (crush!) by sweetlolixo (T, 9k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Romance, Fluff, Pining LWJ, Humor, Courting Rituals, Teen Wangxian)

Just Say Yes Series by edenwolfie (T/M, 338k, WangXian, Matchmaking, Pining, Getting Together, Canon Divergence, POV Alternating, Fluff, First Kiss, Declarations Of Love, Humor, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Good Uncle LQR, Engagement, Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It)

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7. I just sent a ff for a specific fic about this but I was wondering if there's any other fics with the premise of LWJ drinks tea like it's alcohol? Like, WWX knows when LWJ is annoyed because he just starts drinking cup after cup of tea or eating something specific. Just fics where LWJ has a tell for when he's angry/annoyed/overwhelmed or something if that makes sense? thank you 🌈

~*~

8. Hello!! Im looking for a fic rec similar to At heart by apathyinreverie, its such a great read that has left me wanting for more of wwx happily atticwifing himself

🔒🧡Company by WithBroomBefore (T, 29k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Pre-Relationship, Getting Together, POV LWJ, Fix-It, Pre-Canon, at least to start, WWX goes to Cloud Recesses, But Not In The Usual Way, fear of character death, Everybody Lives, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Light Angst, good teacher LQR, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, brief discussion of past minor character suicide, Kitten, Not YZY Friendly)

🔒Bright Voice Roughly Rendered Softly Silent by Preludian_Staves (T, 26k, WangXian, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Divergence, No Golden Core Transfer, Muteness, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Not JC Friendly, Confessions, Angst, Choking, Red String of Fate, Appearances by Paperman!WWX, Inventor WWX, Good Uncle LQR, WWX goes to Cloud Recesses, Feelings Realization, Caretaking, Supportive Lan Family, Genius WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Protective LWJ, Protective Lan Family, Character Death (not wwx or lwj))

Lay my body down by tawaen (M, 48k, WWX & WQ, WWX & WN, wangxian, WWX & JYL, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Eventual WangXian, No Golden Core Transfer, Not Cultivation World Friendly, Canon-Typical Violence, Not JC Friendly, What if WWX saw the first siege of the burial mounds and said Nope to the war, OCs, OC point-of-view for one chapter for plot reasons)

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9. hi!! this is for the itmf — recently read a small threadfic/hc where wwx was a heavenly demon but supressed in some kind (and also the grandsom of tianlang jun) and i was wondering there werw any canon-era fics where wwx was a demon of some kind, or related to luo binghe, or anything. thanks !

It's Not The Destination (But The People You Save Along The Way) by Arcxus (T, 65k, WIP, WangXian, Fix-It of Sorts, character death is WWX, MXY Lives, God of Death!WWX, WWX is a Little Shit, Mutual Pining, Demon WWX, LWJ humour agenda, Angst, For Want of a Nail, BAMF WWX, Sentient Burial Mounds, Twin Prides of Yunmeng Feels, JC & WWX Reconciliation, Canon Divergence, YLLZ WWX, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, Worldbuilding, Politics, WWX is Good With Children, WWX is a Jiang)

ghosts do not speak of lies and truth by LunaChi_KuroShihone (T, 6k, WangXian, Burial Mounds, Canonical Character Death, Body Horror, Horror, Ghosts, Character Undeath, demon!WWX, Mild Gore, junior trio plus zizhen make an appearance, YLLZ WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Gentle Kissing, Supportive LWJ, Hurt WWX, WWX-centric, Sad WWX, Soft WangXian, Implied Cannibalism)

Hello, Neighbor!!! by Dragon_Scribe (M, 69k, WangXian, LBH/SQQ, MbJ/SQH, Canon Divergence, Demon wwx, Crossover, Found Family, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dimension Travel?, Mystery, Mind Control, Love Confessions, Self-Indulgent) might also work but Wei Ying gets "adopted" by Luo Binghe after being thrown into the Burial Mounds.

~*~

10. Hi lovelies! My first ITMF of 2025 is the trope as old as time - confessions made during a heated argument (extra points for the confessor completely petrified by what they let slip). Wangxian, preferably a one-shot but I'm not picky!

Regrets by antebunny (G, 38k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Canon Divergence, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Time Travel Fix-It, Temporary Character Death, Explicit Descriptions of Love, and other squishy feelings, Angst with a Happy Ending)

~*~

11. Are there any Wangxian fics where Wei Wuxian is in the burial mounds with the Wen remnants and Lan Shah visits him and they get some relationship development but they have an argument about demonic cultivation and then its just so intense they just start kissing and other stuff (plot stuff can happen too, thats just one of the things I want to see😅) If there are, please let me know, please and thank you and have a nice day or night😁 @yasssbassss

Propagate Understanding by draechaeli (E, 175k, WangXian, Not Everyone Dies, Pregnancy Kink, Consensual Non-Consent, Light Bondage, Adoption, Adoption but WWX birthed them all, MXY Lives, MXY has an arc, Original Children Characters, Babies for Everyone, Crossdressing, Temporary Character Death, easy to skip nsfw chapters, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Canon Divergence)

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12. Hi! I'm wondering if you have any fic recs where Lan Zhan was born first, instead of Lan Xichen? I'm in the mood to read about how that may have impacted the story if such a thing exists. Thank you!!

Strong enough to carry him- he ain't heavy, he's my brother. by Starlitverses (Not Rated, 5k, WIP, LXC & LWJ, WangXian, LWJ & NMJ, LXC & NHS & NMJ, Twin Jades of Lan Dynamics, Brotherly Love, LXC Deserves Happiness, Protective LWJ, Age Swap, First jade LWJ, Second Jade LXC, Sect Leader LWJ, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt LWJ, Hurt LXC, LXC & WWX Friendship, Protective Older Brothers, NMJ & LWJ bonding over their little brothers, WangXian learn actual communication, Meddling LXC, you thought older brother LXC was scary? LWJ is worse, Older LWJ, Older WWX, everyone loves and wants to protect LXC, LXC-centric, LWJ will destroy anyone that hurts his brother)

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13. Hello! First time using this, not a specific wangxian fic, but do you have any where the cultivation world assumes wei ying gave birth to A-Yuan? Thank you and ur finders in advance! @knight-cross

Taking Responsibility by deliciousblizzardshark (T, 6k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Getting Together, Trope Subversion/Inversion, Pretend mpreg, Accidental Baby Acquisition, lots of accidental baby acquisition, all of the accidental babies are acquired, Let LWJ have babies, Fluff and Crack)

Wei Wuxian, God of Fertility by tired (T, 19k, WangXian, Family Feels, Crack Treated Seriously, Crack, the juniors get REAL drunk, Gossip, POV Multiple, surprisingly not an mpreg fic, Kissing, Self-Esteem Issues, Discussion of Porn and Sex, Post-Canon, SOFT SOFT SOFT, married wangxian, Fluff and Humor)

🔒 Serendipity b yluckymoonly (T, 6k, WangXian, LSZ/LJY, Post-Canon, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Family Feels, The Juniors and their lack of knowledge of where babies actually come from, Fluff, First time parenting a baby, Mentions of WWX's canon mpreg kink, Adoption, WWX and NHS are BFF, Happy Ending)

chapters 44 and 45 of 🧡 Dispersing Clouds by dreamingofcake (E, 283k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Abusive YZY, Canonical Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Eventual Sex, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm (Background Character), Background Character Deaths, child deaths, Canon JC, Good Uncle LQR, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Cultivation Sect Politics, Homophobia, Heteronormativity, Feelings Realization, WWX is Not Oblivious)

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14. Hi! For the next itmf I’d like to see some dumbass Wei Wuxian! Like don’t get me wrong, I love clever WWX as much as the next person but I’d like to read a fic (crack preferably) where’s he’s just a straight up dumbass, an idiot sandwich

Thank youuuu✨✨

diamonds are wei wuxian’s worst enemy by thefaceofno (T, 5k, WangXian, Modern AU, Miscommunication, Angst with a happy ending)

every time we kiss i swear i could fly by sarahyyy (T, 2k, WangXian, Modern, College/University, Kissing Booths, Misunderstandings, Getting Together, First Kiss, Love Confessions)

🔒 The Swan and the Dumbass by ElDiablito_SF (E, 16k, WangXian, Humor, Crack, Fairy Tale, But also Angst and Tragedy, But not too much tragedy, and it's followed by an entire sexpilogue so you know, tw: angry swans, WWX is a pushy bottom, LJW is a consummate service top, Swan Lake Fusion, Explicit Sexual Content)

a life in your shape by occultings (microcomets) (T, 8k, WangXian, WQ/MM, Modern, College/University, Misunderstandings, Confessions, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, almost 9k of dramatic irony, [PODFIC] a life in your shape by occultings by mistynrisky)

Wild in the Streets by danegen (E, 11k, WangXian, WIP, Modern with Magic, POV LWJ, Switching, Vampires, Set in America, So many pop culture references, Mama Lan and Mama Wei are alive because I say so, no jiangs, Vampire WWX, Supernatural LWJ) I'm not sure if this is your flavor of idiot wei ying😅

come rest your bones next to me by tired (T, 39k, wangxian, hogwarts au, mistaken identity, comedy of errors, magic, animagus, awkward flirting, shenigans, quidditch, injuries, happy ending, getting together)

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15. hello!! hope you are having a wonderful day :) For the next ITMF, are there any good zombie apocalypse fics? sort of like The Edge of Night

❤️ A Corpse Called By Name by jaemyun (Not rated, 60k, wangxian, angst w/ happy ending, zombie apocalypse, zombie WWX, yunmeng trio, A Corpse Called By Name by jaemyun [Podfic] (WIP) by Miss Appellation (Lizeth))

Darkness Before the Dawn by Selenay (E, 64k, WangXian, Zombie Apocalypse, Modern: Still Have Powers, Necromancer WWX, Reunions, toddler A-Yuan, There Was Only One Bed, There are zombies but not graphically horrific zombies, Angst with a Happy Ending, Find a home in the middle of an apocalypse)

🔒 when the sun goes out by travelingneuritis (E, 176k, WangXian, Modern Cultivation, tech cultivation, Necromancy, Angst with a Happy Ending, insecurity around adoption, Dad!WWX, dad!lwj, Grief/Mourning, Mistaken Identity, Mood Whiplash, Body Swap, sex tears!, Falling In Love, Consensual Somnophilia, apocalypse (localized), Smut, unrealistic sexual stamina, Flashbacks, Time Skips, Illustrations)

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16. hiii i recently discovered my undying love for JZX and would like more fics which are centered around him

🧡 Song by WithBroomBefore (T, 41k, Platonic Soulbond, Hurt/comfort, Canon Divergence, No golden core transfer, JC&JZX stay in Xuanwu cave, Fix-it, Temporary character death, [PODFIC] Song by Gwogobo) Jin Zixuan isn't the focus of Song but he plays a major role in it.

Jin Zixuan Does the Time Warp by marigold_sigil (G, 7k, XuanLi, Time Travel, Fix-It, Crack Treated Seriously, Awkward JZX, Good Person JZX, Temporary Character Death, Everybody Lives, JZX & WWX Friendship, Good Sibling JZX, JZX makes friends, Bad Humor, JZ Bashing, JGS Bashing, Qíshān Wēn Sect Bashing, Sect Leader JZX, POV JZX, Canon Relationships, JGY Redemption)

ask until your heart gets it right by Stratisphyre (G, 6k, XuanLi, Implied XiYao, Background WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fluff and Humor, Unreliable Narrator JZX, Minor surprise pairing at the end, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies)

giant mancala by astrolesbian (T, 1k, JC & WWX & JZX, XuanLi, WangXian, JZX POV, Drinking, Bonding)

🔒The Emperor's New Clothes by bonyenne (G, 556, JC & JZX, XuanLi, Modern AU, College/University, Humor, JZX is a good boyfriend, JC is So Done, JZX Tries)

🔒The Throats of Our Wrists Brave Lilies by greyskais (M, 85k, WIP, XuanLi, Canon Divergence, Sunshot Campaign, Male-Female Friendship, Espionage, BAMF JYL, JYL has an Ace Up Her Sleeve, Give MY Friends Agenda, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Injury, Assassination Attempt(s), Family Secrets, JC Needs a Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug) The archive just went down so I can't check if this is more JYL or JZX focused, but it's definitely about the two of them working together and was very highly rec'd to me

❤️🔒 Candy & Conspiracies by Reverie (cl410) (T, 16k, WangXian, JZX & WWX, Jīn Sect WWX, Chaos Gremlin WWX, Fluff and Crack, Humor, Cloud Recesses, Found Family, pure idiocy, And some light murder, the chaotic jin trio we could have had, good madam jin, No Angst, Canon Divergence)

watch what we’ll become by glitteringmoonlight (T, 60k, JZX & WWX, WangXian, Background JZX/JYL, WWX & JZX are married but completely platonically, featuring my let WWX and JZX be bros agenda, slow burn? is it even a slow burn if they confess but can’t be together for Reasons?, Canon Divergence, Fix-It of Sorts, Angst with a Happy Ending, you’ve heard of enemies to friends to lovers, now get ready for enemies to reluctant husbands to begrudging best friends)

🔒 long bygone burdens by humancorn (T, 17k, JYL/JZX, JZX & WWX, Time Travel Fix-It, Time Travelling JZX, Pre-Sunshot Campaign, JZX-centric, JZX Tries, JZX & WWX Friendship, Wife Guy JZX, He’s doing his best ok, Canon Divergence, mentions of corporal punishment)

If It's Me You Need To Turn To, We'll Get By by little-smartass (Linxcat) (G, 19k, JYL/JZX, JZX & JGY, JYL & JGY, Canon Divergence, Mentions of Canonical Abuse, discussions of post-partum depression/similar mental health struggles, JZX loves his wife so much you guys, Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, sickfic that accidentally saves canon, the 3zun relationships are in the second chapter and are minor)

Marital Prospects by Vamillepudding (G, 18k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Everybody Lives, Romantic Comedy, Misunderstandings, LWJ Needs a Hug)

Fowl Play by Alwritey87 (G, 2k, JYL/JZX, JZX & WWX, JC & JZX, JZX & JL & JYL, JC & JL, Everyone Lives, JYL & JZX Live, Awkward JZX, JZX & WWX Friendship, Good Person JZX, JZX Tries, Married JYL/JZX, JL Loves JC, JZX & WWX recreate the scene from the titanic but on a sword, JL & WWX Bonding, WWX makes it to JL 100th day celebration, Happy Ending, JZX's happy family, Ducks save the day, JZX loves his wife)

The Unbearable Pain of Being Seen series by meyari (T, 9k, WangXian, Pre-Relationship, Slice of Life, slice of war, PTSD, Canon Compliant, Sunshot Campaign, the unbearable reality of seeing someone in pain, the unbearable pain of being seen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Grooming, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jin Murder Baby Patrol, Warning: JGS, Not Canon Compliant, Off-screen Rape, Off-Screen Murder, Fluff and Crack, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Murder, Murder Mystery, surprise acceptance)

Brittle Steel Slicing Through by meyari (T, 19k, JYL/JZX, WangXian, Major Character Death, Sunshot Campaign, War, aftermath of war, PTSD, Warning: Jin Guangshan, fuck that guy, murder as a method of problem solving, murder as a flirtation method, learning to communicate for idiots, Time Travel Fix-It, Jin Murder-Babies FTW, Fluff and Crack)

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17. Hii, I hope you're haveing a good day until now!! For the next ITMF, I was wondering if there are any murder mystery( mystery solving in general), case fics and all that shebang but the characters are in highschool! Just has the vibe of the show School Spirits, actually.

(sorry if this is too specific 😭)

🔒 Grandmaster of Demonic Party Games by Trickster_Angel (M, 51k, WangXian, Occult, Ouija, Modern, College, WWX's into the occult and drags his friends along, Paranormal, Fun, Humor, Horror, Sharing a Bed, Pizza, The way to a college student's heart is through food, Slow Burn, Mild Sexual Content, Oblivious, WWn is a moron, Crack, Misunderstandings, Jealousy, Serious Treated Crack, Light Angst, Secrets, some darker elements, Mutual Pining, Emotional Constipation, Morons both of them)

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18. ITMF some good JYL/JZX centric fics ^^

All you need is Love (and 15 years (and MianMian)) by Scrippio (T, 7k, JYL/JZX, JZX & MM & JYL, Modern, school au, (some of it), Fluff, Getting Together)

ask until your heart gets it right by Stratisphyre (G, 6k, XuanLi, Implied XiYao, Background WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fluff and Humor, Unreliable Narrator JZX, Minor surprise pairing at the end, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies)

from the top, this time with personality by thunderwear (G, 17k, JYL/JZX, WangXian, WIP, Time Travel Fix-It, cloud recesses days, JYL stands up for herself, Canon Divergence, Family Feels, love in its many forms)

🔒The Throats of Our Wrists Brave Lilies by greyskais (M, 85k, WIP, XuanLi, Canon Divergence, Sunshot Campaign, Male-Female Friendship, Espionage, BAMF JYL, JYL has an Ace Up Her Sleeve, Give MY Friends Agenda, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Injury, Assassination Attempt(s), Family Secrets, JC Needs a Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug) (link in #16)

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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***