#not saying there’s any one right way 2 depict scars or that this is something anyone needs 2 do bc obviously i will write abt his scars the

[rollercoasterwords]

i know that the scars were largely added by fandom & aren’t even part of r’s actual description etc etc but one thing i would love 2 see more of in depictions of that is like. scars that are not faded & pale & flat…scars that r puffy & raised & dark & red & contort the skin around them & just generally look uglier & more alarming by conventional beauty standards etc. perhaps i am projecting a bit but depending on the severity of a wound scars can take a very long time 2 fade & there’s no guarantee they’ll ever be fully flat & pale, & especially in contexts where r is getting new scars due 2 repeated transformations etc i think it would be cool 2 see more representation of scars in different stages of healing & scars that heal differently

[lisired]

pretty little weapon

pairing: undercover cop!mark x (f) reader

genre/warnings: smut, organized crime, cop x criminal, graphic depictions of blood and violence, mentions of death, smut, choking, oral (f receiving), biting, a pinch of angst, mentions of pregnancy-related death, unprotected sex (dont b silly, wrap ur willy!), vague mentions of sexual assault

summary: A lifetime worth of adversity had brought you to Bloodlust. You joined them to escape your history, but with Mark Lee - an undercover narcotics agent with a secret to keep - comes the threat of being forced to confront your past. Old wounds are opened, but scars heal.

word count: 25.7k (…i have nothing to say for myself.)

a/n: inspired by PLW by leon thomas, bad news by kehlani, and perfect crime by tinashe! bon appetite! I did this on a whim. read this with the 2 baddies styling concept in mind. as always, feedback is appreciated!

You were going to be absolutely livid if Yuta didn’t up your pay.

After a long night of work, you anticipated crawling into your sheets. Then waking up to a large sum of money deposited into your account in the morning as courtesy of your hard work.

That never happened.

“This was not in the job description,” you complained to your boss. Though there was technically never a clock for you to be on, you had already firmly clocked out. And when he invited you on this escapade, you were inclined to deny. But he was nothing if not unrelenting.

Yuta smirked and brushed you off. “You do stone cold murder for a living, baby. This is what you signed yourself up for the moment you killed somebody.”

God, you hated when he was right. Sometimes all you ever wanted to do was argue with whatever he said. Moments like this when he began cutting down on your downtime.

Soaring through flocks of people, you kept very close to Yuta’s side, his arm firm around you. People knew not to mess with him, and thus anyone considered his associate. That was one of the beauties of working for Bloodlust, you supposed. As long as you were loyal and faithful to them, you were guaranteed total protection and discretion against anyone.

The tale of how you secured a job of this nature in the first place was relatively simple. You were scouting the streets as usual, given it was the only home you’d known. Violence was absolutely nothing new to you as you had been in your fair share of street gangs prior to Bloodlust. But one thing led to another and you had blood on your hands in an act of self defense. Specifically the blood of your own fellow gangster.

Just your luck, Yuta witnessed the scene. He was a stranger at the time, some shady man offering help that looked like nothing short of trouble. You found yourself surprised that you even took his deal, but you weren’t left with any alternatives. Going back to the gang was not an option; there was no telling how the leader would respond to the blood of your superior being on your very hands. There was no mercy there.

Yuta vowed to cover for you, but you would perpetually owe him in return. You were expecting something more lewd when he informed you that you would be working for him, though you did nothing of the sort. Yuta took you under his wing and handed you a job as a contract killer.

And the rest was history.

You hurdled closer to his chest, pursuing warmth. Given the hour and the season, the outdoors were becoming frostier. You exhaled and saw your breath condensing in the air.

“Stay put,” Yuta said. As if you would run off anywhere. You were tempted, though you weren’t stupid. And though you would never admit it to his face, you loved the street races.

After you nodded, Yuta parted without having to worm his way through the crowd. They respected him, though most of it was out of pure fear. They made way for him whenever they saw him approaching.

You eyed the roads while you waited. The street races were one of your favorite aspects of the gang. They were orchestrated by Yuta and were a great source of profit overall. But watching them was the part you were fond of.

One of the cars before you caught your eye - a neon green Porsche. You had barely laid a finger on the exterior before you were forcibly knocked backwards, your face slung to the other side.

You held your cheek in your palm, adrenaline pumping through your veins. There was no immediate pain. You didn’t even feel like you were in your body. You could only stumble as you grasped to process what happened.

A visibly upset man - one of the racers - was waving his fist at you, screaming this profanity and that, but from the looks of it you hadn’t left as much as a scratch on his car. And if he thought he was going to intimidate you, he had another thing coming. Brutal adrenaline came over you and you socked him square in the jaw. Harder.

The racer was knocked to the ground by the force. “You’re gonna regret that,” he growled. You merely laughed. It was comical and you almost took pity on him. This guy clearly had no idea what forces were on your side. Not until he noticed Yuta and Johnny beginning to rush in his direction and he bolted.

The gang had very simple rules and even simpler consequences. If you disobeyed, you died. They were so simple that if you violated them, they read it as an act of defiance. The most obvious rule was to respect the high-ranks and their associates. The second was to comply, or your punishment would be fatal.

Another man came to your side and lowered you to the ground for inspection. This one you didn’t recognize at all. “Yo, are you okay?”

“It doesn’t hurt that bad,” you said, moving your fingers from your cheek to your lips. When you glanced down at them, you saw blood.

The stranger handed you a napkin. “Here.”

You took it and wiped your mouth, and thus the blood at the corner of your lips. That was one hell of a punch. Rather than feeling pain, you were in a state of immobilizing shock.

“Thanks, uh…,” you squinted your eyes, running his face through the facial recognition system installed in your memory. But you came short. Which was surprising, because you always remembered the faces of the regulars.

“Mark,” the stranger finished. Then he flashed you a smile. “It’s nothing. You should get that checked out, though. Make sure nothing’s broken or fractured.”

You nodded. As a result of uttering any speech, you noticed that your jaw slightly ached when you spoke. For fuck’s sake. None of this would have happened if you were in your bed.

Then Mark disappeared. And you had no time to think before you heard a piercing noise.

Gunshots rang in the distance and you weren’t at all surprised to see Yuta and Johnny return with sinister looks on their faces. Yuta helped you to your feet and asked, “You good, Scar?”

Scar was the alias you’d been granted after Yuta noticed the scar on your stomach. Rather than finding it odd, he was astonished by it. Which was so utterly Yuta of him. The alias served no other purpose than maintaining your confidentiality, but Yuta always thought it had a nice ring to it.

“Not the first time I’ve been punched. I think I’m gonna be fine,” you assured him. The gods had blessed you with an unholy pain tolerance, which all your tattoos were a testament to. You remembered the matching one you got with Yuta and subconsciously smiled.

Friends like Yuta were, needless to say, rare.

All of the evil melted from Yuta’s face and he chuckled. “You’re a tough woman.”

“You love it.”

“I do.” Yuta curled his arm around you again. You were certain he was going to cuff one of your hands to his arm and never let you out of his sight again. “I was surprised that you didn’t finish that guy then and there. You took a pretty mean punch, babe. Must’ve been too shocked.”

That you were. But he was taking a nice load of bullets to the head before you even got the chance.

After the races were over and the roads were cleared out, you followed Yuta to his car. You suddenly had a thought once you hit the road.

“Yuta, do you know someone named Mark?”

Yuta furrowed his brows. “Nah. Why?”

Your heart sank. “Fuck.”

He glanced at you for a split second before returning his eyes to the road, but asked, “What’s wrong?”

“There was this guy at the race. He helped me and gave me a napkin to wipe the blood off of my face, but I didn’t recognize him. He told me his name was Mark.”

Yuta was alarmed. Just as you expected. It was one thing if you didn’t recognize a person at one of the gang’s events, but not Yuta. He had to ensure the attendee’s identities were closely monitored for everyone’s sake.

“Fucking hell?” Yuta handed you his phone and said, “Call Jaemin for me and tell him to look into the records. Maybe it slipped my mind. Let’s not jump to any conclusions, okay?”

You nodded your head and did as told, pressing his phone to your ear. Jaemin told you that he was AFK but would run a search as soon as he got back to the headquarters. Yuta dropped you off promptly and assured you that he’d call you with an update first thing in the morning.

Which only left you to wait.

In the morning, Yuta called you into his office, and you were immensely surprised to see not only him but Ten and Taeyong waiting for you in the room. Technically, you didn’t work for Bloodlust as a whole. There was a team of hitmen that worked specifically under one high-rank, though you were Yuta’s subordinate. Thus, encounters with other high-ranks were rare. Especially the leader.

Taeyong was the leader and the one at the helm of the entire gang. He inherited the title by succession to the metaphorical throne through descent. Yuta was his right-hand man, though given Taeyong rarely stepped out of the shadows unless absolutely necessary, Yuta being perceived as the leader was a popular misconception to outsiders and law enforcement. Which was completely deliberate. The less law enforcement knew, the better. It also made the task of differentiating interlopers from legitimates much lighter.

Ten was the gang’s personal spy. Their eyes to the other world. Just like any other high-rank, he directly supervised an entire branch of people pertaining to his title. Essentially, he was the leader of a team of criminal agents.

None of that explained why they were here, though.

As it was in your best interest, you greeted the three of them very politely. Though Yuta had a threatening position, you were close enough to be informal. Those freedoms didn’t apply to Ten and the leader. They might have been as good as strangers, but considering their influence in the underworld, they could have ended your life and career in an instant if they so pleased.

Glancing at Yuta, you said, “You called me, Boss?”

Yuta resisted a smirk at your attempts to be formal. You never called him ‘Boss’. “I did. I had Jaemin follow up on the Mark guy. We found something recent about him in our records.”

Ten interjected, “But I had a buy-off of mine’s confirm his real identity. He’s a Lee Minhyung. An undercover narcotics agent once tasked with tracking down a drug empire, and now that he shut them down we believe he’s moved on to attempting to infiltrate our ranks.”

Your blood ran cold. Frozen over in your veins. Forever grateful were you that you were excellent at maintaining your composure. Otherwise you would have panicked.

Taeyong stood at the far end of the pair. You had heard numerous things about him, but you were left gasping for air every time you saw him in person. If looks could kill, you would’ve been six feet under. Taeyong continued, “I’m sure you can guess why this is an urgent problem for us. It is my direct responsibility to protect the identities of those that put their faith in this gang and ensure their confidentiality. Now that we have a cop meddling in our affairs, that complicates things.”

That was to put it simply. The police infiltrating their territory was a direct threat imposed to the future of the empire. The moment the diplomacy was dismantled, so was the entire gang. Bloodlust in itself was intended to be an enigma. The purpose of hiring hitmen and establishing them by individual aliases was to deliberately make it difficult to link crimes to the gang. In return, your genuine identities were concealed. There was too much at stake to remain idle.

You supposed it made sense that Mark was kind to you. That made it easier to gain people’s trust. Though in the underworld, it made you look suspicious. Which led you to another question; if he was benevolent to you, did that mean you were specifically targeted?

You leaned forward in your chair and asked, “What does he know about the gang?”

“That’s where we hit a dead end,” said Ten, frustrated thoroughly. Whatever information they were relaying to you was everything they knew themselves. “Since he engaged with you, we considered that he might have a lead on you. If that’s true, most likely he’ll interact with you again given the opportunity.”

That didn’t alarm you. For most of your life, you’d lived on the edge, and that was especially true when you were a member of those prior street gangs. If your old friends sold you out, you wouldn’t be surprised. Yuta informed you early on that Bloodlust could keep your future under lock and key, though not your past.

But you were very suspicious. They wanted something out of you, that much was clear. Something significant. There was no other reason why the leader himself was before you. Though what?

“With all due respect, I don’t understand my involvement in this.”

Taeyong was straightforward. “We want you to play along.”

You nearly gawked. “Excuse me?”

He wasn’t the least bit bothered by you and continued, “The best way to fight fire is with fire. If Lee Minhyung wants to use you as his means of conveying intel, then let him, but lead him astray while doing so.”

In short, they wanted you to give Mark false information. Which steered far from your line of work. Why they chose you for the job in spite of having people actually equipped for the task was a mystery. Yuta was not kidding when he said that you signed yourself up for additional labor the moment you killed somebody. 

Frowning, you tried to stave them off. “You’re just gonna send a girl with no prior experience into the wild?”

“Must I remind you that we have full access and authority to all of your history stored in our records?” Ten sneered in amusement. “Think of it as a resume. It’s been a few years, but yours was very memorable. This wouldn’t be your first mole job.”

That was true. Anyone recruited to work for the gang was required to give a complete rundown of their history. Even recruits like you that didn’t respond to them directly. They made it very clear that lying would have put you in an early grave; Bloodlust had eyes everywhere.

“And you wouldn’t be uncompensated. I’ll triple your pay,” Yuta added.

That had your undivided attention. “I’m listening.”

Yuta fought a snicker. He expected nothing less. “We know that this isn’t what you usually do, but the job is very simple. It’s expected that he’ll try to extract information from you, so give him the wrong info. At the same time, try to figure out what he knows and what he wants. There’s a motive behind him targeting you and until we can confirm otherwise, we have to assume you’re his prey and he has valuable intel in his possession.”

“Why not just kill him upfront?”

“He might be valuable,” came Ten’s reply. “Whatever he knows, it’s safe to assume that he isn’t the only one.”

“We will be closely monitoring the entire empire for any turncoats, but he’s not alone. He has a partner,” warned Taeyong with a hefty stare. “So you have to be cautious about what you say to him.”

Ten began to get impatient and said, “So, do we have a deal?”

Tapping the arms of the office chair, you pretended to mull the proposition over although you had already made your decision. If their motive in collectively ganging up against you was to make you feel pressured into agreeing, you were almost inclined to decline the offer out of pure spite. But the genuine interest you had in the assignment discouraged you. There was too much at stake to play games.

There’s no good reason to decline, you decided halfway through the offer. Exposing yourself to law enforcement might’ve seemed too risky, but law enforcement potentially exposing you was even riskier. And you were no stranger to games of deception. Devising devious stratagems was one of the first skills you acquired.

You feigned indifference and replied, “Fine. I’ll play make-believe with the boy with a death wish.”

Yuta failed to resist his snicker this time, but it was true. Bloodlust gained its name for a special reason. For over a decade they had climbed their way to the top and were successful because they had no mercy for those that crossed them. You had faith that this was going to end with Mark having a bullet put through his brain.

After all, he wouldn’t be the first. Just another casualty.

Ten smiled, satisfied. His smile was alluring though likely deceptive, although you expected nothing less from the head of Bloodlust’s criminal agents himself. You had a feeling he was the one that suggested cornering you. “Good. You’re probably already aware that I administrate the spy squad. You won’t be working for me per se, but Jaemin and I will serve as your resources.”

Jaemin was another high-rank, the hacker and leader of their general technology team. If you ever thought you had hid a file or record from him; think again. In all your years of working for Yuta, you had never even caught a glimpse of the man’s face in person. He could only be spotted somewhere with a signal yet caved away.

You left that room with a mission. Jaemin had ID’d Mark’s partner and sent you a full report on them. Lee Minhyung, twenty-three, one of the youngest in his division and yet one of the most accomplished. He had spent merely three months undercover to overthrow a drug empire, and now he was scouting the big shots. Lee Jeno, twenty-two, and fresh out of the training program. There wasn’t much on him, obviously, but according to his evaluations, he had ambitions and was following in Mark’s footsteps.

Frankly, you were impressed. The reason neither of them had been detected until now was because they signed up the rightful way. No one suspected anything was amiss because their department created fake ID’s and hid their authentic ones. Nothing that Jaemin couldn’t find, though.

Needless to say, you had your work cut out for you.

The next time you saw Mark Lee was at another street race event. According to Jaemin, Mark and his partner were fresh recruits and had only been present for a few days at best, though he had quickly decided that the races were his favorite hunting grounds.

For a cop, Mark was remarkably easy to spot in a crowd, but he was playing the criminal role well enough. He had red hair that burned brightly and dressed the flashy part. You had yet to see him without a Cuban link.

You approached him and greeted, “‘Sup, Markie.”

Mark raised a brow. “Markie?”

“Do you not like it?” you asked, smiling innocently. You inched in on him, but left a safe distance between you two. The last thing you wanted was to make him uncomfortable by invading his personal space. “How about Marco? Or Markus? Even better - Little Red Riding Hood.”

Mark snickered. “Markie is fine. Thank you, Tony Stark,” he quipped.

“MCU fan?”

“You bet.”

He genuinely piqued your interest at that. Maybe pretending to like him wouldn’t be so hard. You breathed, “I love you already.”

He laughed. Then concern washed over his face. “Hey, your face okay?”

“Yup,” you replied, giving him a thumbs up. “I got it checked out like you said. Nothing broken or fractured. It’s a little sore, but I’ll be good as new in a couple days.”

“You’re a tough cookie,” he complimented.

You chortled. “So I’ve heard.”

With a broad smile, Mark continued, “That was one hell of a punch you landed on that dude, though. Knocked the guy flat on the ground. Where’d you learn how to fight like that?”

Here came the invasiveness. You decided to be as vague as possible about your past - and current - gang affiliations. You shrugged. “The streets. Polished my skills in the fighting ring, though.”

“There’s a fighting ring?”

“Oh, no wonder I’ve never seen you around these parts before. You’re a total newbie,” you laughed, shaking your head.

“It’s only my fourth day out here,” Mark told you. Which was the truth. You were very unsurprised to find he was taken under the drug trafficking operation, which was ran by Jisung. “Yo, I never caught your name.”

You gave Mark your name, although you had a feeling he already knew. Jaemin and Ten were actively working together to uncover everything the unit had on you and the gang.

“I can show you the ropes,” you offered. Given where he stood, you knew those words alone had him hooked on you. It was safe to assume the drug empire was his primary, but offering him the gang’s additional means of money-making on a silver platter would have any officer’s mouth watering. “Take you on a tour. The gang has plenty of places to kill time while simultaneously making hella cash off of them.”

Mark’s eyes gleamed with intrigue. “Smart business. I might just take you up on that.”

“Bloodlust is all about smart business,” you remarked. Then, you began to do some prying of your own. It wasn’t all that risky to give up some of their territory, but everything came with a price. “Say - who did Boss put you under?”

“The Jisung guy. Drugs.” Mark shrugged. “Nothing major. They don’t trust newbies directly with the hardcore shit, and for good reason. But he told me that it’ll pay well, and if I stick around long enough, I can work my way up.”

Of course, it paid very well. No matter how low-ranking the position. They were trafficking illegal drugs and substances. It was one of their most lucrative branches.

You also hadn’t failed to notice how Mark mentioned that if he stayed long enough, he could work his way higher. That was common knowledge, though you doubted he was unaware of how problematic leaving a gang was. He had the prior experience, and even on his last mission he didn’t vacate the syndicate until he successfully seized the ranks. In other words, he wasn’t withdrawing until he had shot the entire gang down by its very heart and core.

Which was the inner circle.

That was a pressing reminder to keep your guard up. Though Mark seemed likable, it was very intentional. You knew he wouldn’t hesitate to persecute you to the highest extent of the law and you would maintain that same lack of mercy.

You played along, bobbing your head. “Met the boss yet?”

Mark shot you a wince. “Not formally. And I’ve heard around that the less I see of Lee Taeyong, the better. What’s up with that?”

“Taeyong likes to deliver his messages up close and personal,” you cautioned. “He only comes out if absolutely necessary. Getting a personal message from the big boss only happens if you’re going around wreaking havoc.”

“No warning?”

You smiled, but the sinister undertone in your voice was very evident, “If he sends anyone else but himself, that is a warning.”

You didn’t feel pressured to make your insinuations very subtle, because you were Mark’s only hope. The gangsters weren’t exactly inviting. They were very cynical, tight-lipped, and kept small circles because another one of the most important rules was confidentiality and they dreaded facing exposure.

For the most part, people who received direct messages from Taeyong didn’t make it out alive. For that reason, you did not underestimate Mark, but you were certain he had underestimated the gang. Even if you hadn’t discovered him yourself, they would have in approximately the same amount of time.

Mark showed no fear and kept the conversation light-hearted, but the glimmer in his eyes suggested he took that as a challenge. “Then, I’ll make sure to be on my best behavior.”

Liar, you scoffed. He was very much going to wreak havoc. He already had.

“You better. I’d hate to see a face like yours gone so soon,” you flirted, to which Mark grinned and cocked an intrigued brow. He was handsome, you had to give him that. Then, you decided to change the topic. “You like cars, Markie?”

He pretended to frown. “Is it obvious?”

“As far as I know, you’ve spent at least half your nights at these races. There has to be a reason,” you said, then resorted back to flirting, “Unless, you just come to look at me all night.”

“You are quite the extravaganza,” Mark played along, matching your energy. Much to your amusement. “I’m more of a bike guy, but I like anything shiny and nice.”

“We’re gonna get along just fine,” you quipped. “Wanna race?”

“For real?”

“For real,” you repeated, smiling. “They start in a little bit. You strike me as the type of guy that likes all things thrill and exhilaration.”

Mark broke into a tiny snicker. “Lucky guess. You any good?”

You shrugged. “Dunno. Guess that’s for you to figure out,” you teased. Then, began to make your escape. Granted, you knew he wouldn’t let you slip away so easily.

Mark, tantalized, trailed behind you. Hopping in a speeding car with someone as good as a stranger seemed rash, but he had a feeling that you knew what you were doing. Absolutely none of this was foreign to you.

Boy with a death wish was an apt description for Mark.

Upon your last-minute entry, you took him to the garage to pick up your ride. To say the least, Mark nearly dropped dead. The sight of your bright red Bugatti Chiron positively made him gape. “Holy shit,” he exhaled.

You giggled. “She’s hot, isn’t she?”

“Like hellfire. Aren’t these like, hella expensive?”

You bobbed your head. “She’s hell to repair. But my baby deserves the best.”

Mark continued to marvel. “Dude, you gotta let me drive one day.”

You laughed, amused, but for a completely different reason. Like hell you would let a cop take your car for a spin. It was outrageous enough that you permitted him to take the passenger seat.

Eventually you both went to line up for the races. Mark was still completely astonished, glancing around your two-seater with total awe and wonder. If you knew that you didn’t have to kill him, you would have found it very cute.

Yuta came by and stuck his head through the window aperture. Which were each rolled down as a safety measure. “You’re racing?”

“Yup,” you sang, smiling wildly. It had been a minute. And you figured that you needed some thrill in your life (unbeknownst to you, Mark was exactly that). “Meet my partner. Mark, meet this guy.”

Yuta rolled his eyes, then droned, “You two have fun.”

“Oh, trust me. Fun is guaranteed with me,” you replied with a wink.

Yuta glanced at Mark and quipped, “Run while you still can.” Then, he ran off.

“You can’t run now,” you said, making eye contact with Mark through the rear-view mirror. “We have a race to win.”

Mark grinned mischievously.

The flagger came into vision, preparing to launch the first race of the evening. You and Mark fastened your seatbelts, then you braced your hand on the steering wheel.

“Ready?” you asked, glancing to your side.

Mark bobbed his head. He seemed relatively relaxed for a first-timer. Honestly, you were beginning to wonder what all he had done in the name of the law. “Born ready.”

You revved the engine, watching the flagger count down with bated breath. Everything felt light. Adrenaline made your blood pump faster, your heart threatening to leap out your chest. This was it. That feeling that made life worth living.

Three, you muttered under your breath. Two, one. You gripped the wheel tighter. Then every nerve in your body chanted, Go, go, go!

And you slammed on the gas, bolting the car forward like lightning.

You sped like the devil. You were going nearly two-hundred miles per hour in a matter of ten seconds. The car roared underneath your fingertips and you knew you were driving a beast, one that had risen from the dead.

“Goddamn,” Mark raised his voice, speaking over the vicious winds that tousled your heads of hair. He was smiling, clinging to his seatbelt for dear life.

You shouted, “Hang on!” And you both accelerated.

You laughed, so carefree. Nothing else mattered when you were on the road and you quickly lost grip of everything that wasn’t the steering wheel clenched firmly between your fist. The road was the only thing capable of holding your attention, and you even occasionally forgot that Mark was beside you until you heard his exhilarated laugh. Every single thought you had left as quickly as it came. Moments were exactly that - moments. No fears, no worries, no nightmares. Just making it across that sweet finish line.

The feeling surging through your veins was inexplicable, but you knew that you weren’t alone in it. Mark could feel it, too. The rush overpowered any sense of threat and adrenaline made you forget what it felt like to breathe. At that moment, it was like breathing on the moon. Almost as if you didn’t need any air.

You wedged past this car and that, until you had made a great distance in front of them all. They were left in the dust.

“You feel that, Markie?” you asked, chest heaving out of pure, unadulterated fever. You could see that typical untamed gleam in his eyes, but heightened.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. And then he began to crack into a fit of hysterical laughter himself. “Yeah. I can feel it.”

The corners of your lips were in an unfaltering curve. “Let’s win this damn thing.”

Mark was grinning from ear to ear. Never had he ever felt so alive.

The climax of the race was your very favorite. Time lost its meaning and speed became inexhaustible. Air became scarce, as if there was no more left on earth. The tension throttled you and swallowed you whole. And heat reduced you to sweat and fighting breaths.

All you had was momentum, but that was of little threat to you. And Mark.

The distance between the car and the finish line decreased more and more and more. There was practically no one around you, but that didn’t ease your resolve. Resting was not an option until victory was yours.

Mark chanted, “Come on, come on.”

He wanted it as badly as you. If not more. There was nothing for him to gain out of this except experience and yet he seemed immensely content with that.

From the moment you crossed the finish line, time became a blur. All you knew was that you had won and you could feel the achievement in your veins. You only noticed that you were panting when you stepped out of the car, and the crowd flocked towards your vehicle.

“So, what do you think?” you asked Mark, sitting on the hood of your car. “Am I any good, Markie?”

Mark wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, then replied through thick breath, “I think you just gave me the time of my life. Thank you.”

You chortled. Damn right. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Someone cleared their throat and you turned to make eye contact with Lee Jeno. He looked directly at you without hiding his scorn when he spoke, “Sorry to interrupt, but Markie has to go now.”

You didn’t break eye contact with the boy, either, retorting, “Tell your dad that you don’t wanna go, Mark.”

Mark stifled a laugh. “I’m sorry, but I have to,” he said and hopped off the hood of your car. “Thank you for tonight, though. I’m holding you to your word from earlier.”

“I’ve never broken a promise,” you said. Then, you waved. “See’ya.”

Mark hugged you briefly, then bid you goodnight and faded in the crowd with his more than obvious partner.

And you went to pay yours a visit.

Given the hour, Ten was not pleased when you barged into his office, but before he could run his mouth, you shushed him with your finger.

Ten mouthed, “Did you just shush me…”

You removed an object out of your pocket and rested the item flat on his desk. It was a tiny, black wiretapping device. Clearly, somebody thought he was slick, though even in your fit of ecstasy, you were not off-guard.

From the expression he sported, Ten was highly amused by the flagrant audacity of this boy. There seemed to be a telepathic communication between you two, but just to be safe, he mouthed, “Play along.”

Ten said your name and began, “You’re late. Did you hear the news?”

You almost rolled your eyes, but very audibly pulled in the opposing chair to give the impression that you were here for a long, scheduled conversation. Then, you blew out a sigh and replied, “Yeah. Yuta told me Taeyong is considering shifting the gang to China. Damn feds too close on our tail.”

“Don’t fret. It’ll be a walk in the park. China makes up our secondary income - the ascendancy we have there is enough to start fresh.”

The little tale made you smirk. Bloodlust hadn’t branched out in China very much yet.

“I know, but Korea is the only home I’ve known,” you groaned.

Ten was very good at playing along with your bullshit and told you, “That was how I felt when I came to Korea from the States. Listen, you’re gonna be homesick as a bitch. But you won’t be alone and that’s what matters.”

If this was a genuine conversation, you would have been touched. “Thanks, Ten.”

Ten drummed his fist against the wall to mimic the sound of someone knocking on a door, then rose and said, “That must be him. Come on.”

The two of you stepped into the corridor. Where, obviously enough, nobody awaited either of you. Ten shut the door and moved a great distance away from his office before he decided you were both in the clear.

As soon as you were in private, both of you began to giggle. Ten quipped, “Sure you don’t wanna work for me?”

You snickered. “I’m more than content with Yuta, thank you.”

“I have to commend you for your performance back there,” Ten told you, sincere. “Most people wouldn’t have even caught that they were bugged. That could’ve been bad. It’s impressive.”

“Likewise,” you replied. It was in your best interest to steer Mark’s team off course, if possible. They’d learn one way or another to mind the business that paid them.

Ten grabbed a tiny stick-like item from his pocket and pressed a red button at the bottom end of the device.

You furrowed your brows. “What’s that?”

“Bug detector. Jaemin made it for me,” he told you. Then, a red light beamed from the device, and Ten scanned you from head to toe. After a brief moment, he said, “You’re in the clear. I’ll take care of the bug. Did you learn anything else tonight?”

You nodded. “He knows Taeyong is the leader. I let him ask most of the questions tonight, but I’ll have my turn later. I’m posing as a friend that’s going to show him around.”

“Take him where you want.” Ten glanced at his watch. “I expect more from you by the end of the week.”

“Yes, sir,” you replied. Obviously, he had somewhere to be. “Goodnight.”

Throughout the week, you and Ten continued to use the wiretapping bug to your advantage. Faking conversations, making up false plans about the future of the gang. It was, more or less, a taunt.

Just as Ten expected of you, you had additional information to deliver by Saturday morning. Mark was no easy task, but where his partner was concerned, you learned things easily. For one, most of your identities were definitely known. Jeno was not sparing with his disdainful glares whenever he came across high-ranks.

Much less you, for that matter. Which made you wonder exactly what role you played in this situation, but that was still inconclusive. You assumed it was because you had direct ties to the second-in-command, but you merely did his bidding. Which had nothing to do with the trafficking of illegal drugs.

And Yuta never let you in on the affairs of the gang. It simply never came up. It was none of your business and you didn’t care. As long as they protected you.

Either they had no clue what they were doing, or they were looking to make a very big bust.

The following Monday, you marched straight into housing clad in dolphin shorts and a white t-shirt and knocked on Mark’s door. Very relentlessly given it was two in the morning.

Mark yelled, “I’m coming!” from somewhere across the apartment. When he opened the door, he squinted, half-awake. But positive that he was dreaming. “How the hell…”

You snickered. “You aren’t very hard to find, Markie. This is where the newbies that don’t have their own place live - I would know. Boss gave me access to the housing info.”

“Stalker,” he snarled insincerely, voice husky. It did something to you, but you would never admit it.

Instead, you rolled your eyes. It was very ironic, all things considered. He was going out of his way to investigate you and your boss’ friends. “Yeah, yeah,” you said, inviting yourself in. “Hurry up and get ready. We’re going to the ring.”

Mark’s eyes widened. “Shit, right now?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Shit. Let me go brush my teeth and change.”

Glancing around the apartment, there was nothing immediately suspicious or out of the ordinary. Just slightly messy. It looked very lived in.

Less than fifteen minutes later, you and Mark were out the door and on the road. The late night and early morning breeze was very comforting. Just traveling lightly on the road while the sun was still down was one of your favorite things to do.

Mark spoke teasingly over the radio, “Do you barge into people’s houses and homes to go fight very often?”

Unabashedly, you giggled. “No, actually. But I am very notorious for walking around like I own the place. You’re lucky enough that I had no choice but to knock.”

“You mean, beat the door in.”

“Did not,” you countered.

“No, you did,” he said. “You probably woke up everybody else on the same floor.”

You smarted and retorted, “Please. They should come watch me kick your ass.”

Mark was very amused by your confidence. “I’m gonna make you eat those words, doll.”

“Hit me with your best shot.”

He took the challenge. “Loser buys breakfast?”

You grinned smugly. “You’re on.”

The road led you to some bar with an enormous flickering neon light that displayed the name of the establishment. Despite the late hour - and how shady the exterior of the building appeared - the parking lot wasn’t empty.

With your finger, you signaled for Mark to follow behind you and entered the bar. Much to Mark’s surprise, your attire fitted right in with the lack of crowd. Most were sweaty and gulping glasses of water at the bar.

Mark cocked a brow and said, “I thought we were going to the ring.”

“We are,” you responded, fighting a smile. The bartender didn’t spare either of you a glimpse when you led him behind the counter and through the double doors.

You were met with a tiny hallway. There was a kitchen door on one end, but you brought him towards the other. It seemed much more exclusive than the others, no double doors or easy access. You placed your finger on the biometric lock and it clicked open.

“Woah,” Mark gasped.

You giggled and went into the empty room with a ring in its center. In contrast to the others, it was dimly lit by beams of neon red lights. There was another bar at one end and chairs and tables arranged elsewhere. “The private fighting room,” you announced. “It’s only used by higher-ups and their associates.”

“I just thought of at least eight Fight Club jokes I could make right now and half of them have something to do with Tyler Durden.”

You shook your head. “You’re insufferable. You’d lose your mind if we owned a movie theater.”

Mark smiled bashfully. “Can I talk about this place?”

You glared. But ultimately couldn’t resist bursting into laughter.

“Come on,” you gestured, stepping inside the ring. And he followed suit.

After you both warmed up, you asked, “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Mark replied without hesitation, eyes burning with sheer confidence. “Gotta warn you, though - I have a blackbelt in taekwondo.”

He wasn’t lying. You remembered seeing something like that in his profile.

“Good for you. I have a blackbelt in kicking Mark Lee’s ass.”

Mark taunted, “I would like to see you try.”

You got into position, holding your arms in a prepared stance. “Don’t go easy on me, Markie. If you couldn’t tell, I like things rough.”

As usual, Mark merely gave you a grin of unadulterated mischief.

The first round played in your favor. It ran more like a practice round if anything - Mark was more focused on becoming accustomed with how you fought than winning. As a result, you knocked him clean out.

Though Mark decided in the next round that he wasn’t playing any games. He had taken mercy upon you before, going easy on you in spite of what you told him, but you knew by now that Mark had a penchant for challenges and loathed losing. You thought that you had him right where you wanted him, but by the end of the match, he had you right where he wanted you.

“I was wrong about you, Markie,” you gasped after tapping out and accepting defeat. “You striked me as a Mama’s boy. The ‘I’d never hit a girl’ type.”

“I love my mama,” Mark grinned. “And of course, I’d never. But you asked for it.”

Mark helped you to your feet and you lightheartedly threatened, “I’m snitching.”

“Whatever you say,” he taunted. “I see why they call you Scar and not Punch.”

In a flash of anger, you lunged at him, but Mark caught you by your wrist promptly. He cocked his head and said smugly, “Cheater. The final round hasn’t started yet.”

The way he stared down your soul unnerved you. It wasn’t typical of you to show fear - and you didn’t - but saying that you were unaffected by his every move would be a blatant lie. Though there was absolutely nothing sinister about Mark. Maybe it wasn’t him that you were scared of. Maybe it was how he made you feel.

That was more dangerous than any threat.

When the next round initiated, you fought like a beast that had emerged right out of hell. There was no way in hell that you would go down without a fight.

This final round was all the more intense. You were convinced that if you had any spectators, they’d be completely exasperated by the suspense. The both of you kept bouncing shy of one another.

It was akin to a seesaw of action. When Mark landed a hit, you landed one harder. When you were above, suddenly Mark knocked you back down again.

“This isn’t over until one of us taps out,” Mark said.

You shrugged. “I can go all night.”

“So can I.”

Neither of you were backing down, that much was clear. It seemed preposterous - getting worked up over an unofficial game - but you were competitive and Mark was ambitious. The most minuscule of things were still another bridge to be crossed to people like you, no matter the size.

You either won or you lost. It was one to one. This was the tiebreaker; the round that made or broke the game. You didn’t mind buying him breakfast, but there was also a part of Mark that was so goddamn insufferable and you would rather not satisfy that insatiable desire of his.

“If you want your victory, come and get it,” you taunted.

“Say less,” Mark said. Then swung.

Courtesy of your agility, you were able to move out of the way. It was better than giving him the opportunity to lay his hands on you, even if you blocked the hit. You learned very quickly that Mark could make you think he was doing one thing and wound up doing another.

You took your chances, not permitting him the chance to realize what you were up to before you danced around his figure and tackled him to the ground.

You straddled him and smirked, pinning his arms firmly above his head. You were very aware of what kind of position you were in, but you weren’t complaining. It felt like you were at your throne at the very top of the world from above Mark.

Mark eyed you down. “Someone’s been doing her homework.”

You clutched even tighter around his wrist the more he spoke. To which Mark grimaced and quipped, “Are you trying to crush my bones or jump them?”

You teased, “Is that what you were dreaming about before I woke you up, Markie?”

“Not quite,” he replied with a chuckle, then switched on a dime. He flipped you over, hovering over you as you lay flat on your back. Instead of pinning your hands above your head like you’d done to him, he went for your throat.

His grip was strong. It wasn’t tight enough to cause you any genuine harm, as if he didn’t intend to hurt you, but you felt as if he could have bruised your throat.

The worst part? You didn’t thoroughly despise the feeling.

Mark leaned directly into your ear, then growled, “Tap out and I’ll let go.”

Resisting, you brought your fingers to his arm, though you swore his grip became firmer the longer you stood your ground. Mark merely stared into your eyes as you began to gasp for air, holding onto breath for dear life.

The way he looked into them, it was almost as if he was searching for something. You supposed Mark wallowed in the look of vulnerability in your eyes, or the life leaving them, but it couldn’t have been as prominent as the bliss etched onto your face. “You’re enjoying this,” he remarked, showing even less mercy with his palms.

When you were on the verge of unconsciousness, you tapped Mark’s arm with your fingers. And only then did his grip loosen.

Mark shook his head when you began to laugh. “You’re fucking crazy.”

Chest heaving, you replied, “I’ve heard that one before. Try harder.”

“You’re a fucking minx,” Mark taunted, voice dropping another octave. “But you know that too - don’t you?”

A provocative smile crept across your face. “I swear I don’t do it on purpose, Markie.”

There was a whirlwind of thoughts rippling around your brain as Mark leaned dangerously close to you. Heat flared through your body in place of your typical cold blood. You seemed to internally debate yourself, but it wasn’t as if you ever had very much of a conscience.

“Do it, Mark. Do it,” you chanted. From the pensive expression he sported, you were confident that half the thoughts in his head were temptingly screaming the same thing.

Mark steered out of his tiny reverie and began, “That guy - Yuta. He’s not your boyfriend?”

You burst into laughter that was on the brink of hysterical. “You’re kidding,” you said. But when Mark showed you no sign of toying, instead stern, you added, “Please. I love Yuta and I’m forever indebted to him, but I’d rather choke on my own blood than date him.”

That was all Mark needed to hear. “Say less.”

In the time that it took for him to close the tiny gap between the two of you, the last of Mark’s reluctance met its end. His mouth crashed against yours in haste, and you moved in a heated sync, swallowing each other’s tongues.

The taste of him drowned out the rest of the world. You forgot that Mark was a predator and you were his prey. You forgot that you were supposed to hunt him down. Each of your limbs tensed tautly with want and your will for pleasure made light work of your senses. You were enthralled by how well of a kisser he was.

Someone you used to know once told you that sex was a tool, love was a poison; combining the two was a one-way ticket to death. All of which slipped your mind completely as you involuntarily began to rasp your hips against his.

Mark grunted so lowly that you were at the brink of succumbing to insanity right then and there.

It was like Mark existed solely to tease the living hell out of you. Being a thorn in your side was what he thrived on. He kept slithering his hand up your thigh, just shy of where you needed him, and you did not miss the smug little grin on his face when you groaned in complaint.

You pulled away from his lips and warned, “Don’t tease me.”

Predictably, Mark was not alarmed. Your threats were of little substance to him. “Dunno, doll. It’s kinda fun to watch you get all worked up.”

Deciding to take matters into your own hands, you grabbed Mark’s wrist and slipped it down your shorts. You made a tiny noise when his fingers brushed over your clothed cunt, then purred, “Feel that, baby? Could be all yours if you stopped playing games.”

And with that, Mark was sold.

The both of you ran suspiciously out of the bar. You willed yourselves not to touch each other in front of anyone’s prying eyes, but the way you rushed out said enough.

You decided on going to Mark’s place. There was nothing to hide at yours because you refused to bring work home with you, but your address was sensitive information. Sleeping with someone never prevented them from betraying you and nor did it invoke an unbendable bond to be broken in the first place.

But the moment you stepped inside Mark’s apartment, it was game over. You couldn’t stay away from one another, stumbling over his belongings as you made out while stripping along the way to his bedroom and leaving a trail of clothes in your wake.

You wondered exactly how long this desire had been pent up. Maybe you suppressed it out of priority for your jobs, but it had expanded into something unignorable now. The tiny sparks became a full-fledged forest fire.

Mark pushed your naked figure against his mattress and gave your now-naked body a once-over. “I never realized how many tattoos you have,” he rasped. 

There was also a huge scar on your stomach. He had caught glimpses of it during your fight, but the full sight made him curious. Alas, now wasn’t the time to ask questions. 

“Mm,” you hummed, stifling a giggle. “If you do a good enough job, I might tell you the stories behind them.”

“Then, I hope you’re ready to talk,” he said confidently.

You arched a brow. “You talk a big game, but aren’t showing me what you’re made of.”

Mark gripped your thighs apart and at the sight of your dripping cunt, he growled, “Just watch. You’re going to be a mess by the time I’m done with you.”

Before you could offer another retort, Mark pushed his head between your legs and began to have at it.

A little sigh eased past your throat when you felt his tongue lap at your folds. His mouth was warm against the flesh, heat spreading in waves throughout your body and core. You willed yourself to keep your reactions to a minimum, not wanting to give Mark the satisfaction of seeing you at your very worst.

Eyeing him from the bed, you basked in the sight of him devouring you like a five-star meal. Your arms were propped by his pillows very comfortably. You watched him swallow you whole, his veins becoming taut as his grip on your upper legs became ruthless and his wavy red hair tickled your plush thighs.

You were in heaven, needlessly to say. Mark sucked at you without a shred of mercy. No matter how much you liked a boy, you never tended to keep your expectations as high as your standards when it came to bedroom performance and going down on you, but Mark was full of surprises. True to his word, you were somewhat certain that at this rate, you would be a mess by the time that he was finished with you.

“Fuck,” you mewled when he started to lick and suck at your clit.

Mark smirked against your folds. He was going to be the death of you.

Each of your attempts to remain quiet were defiled by your more than loud moans, though you couldn’t bring yourself to be bothered. It was as if Mark knew exactly how to push your buttons (and which buttons to press).

Meanwhile, Mark’s mind was ablaze with thoughts of you. The sight of your body would be indefinitely etched behind his eyelids. Your intricate tattoos that told various tales across your perfect skin, and your plush thighs that tensed whenever he brushed your clit.

You could feel your pulse throbbing in your core. Your thighs trembled, your hips involuntarily moving against Mark’s mouth to derive as much pleasure as possible. It seemed desperate, but you were reduced to fire and bones in no time at all. All you knew how to do was ravage everything in your course to feed your flame. And Mark was hellbent on ravaging you.

You clutched Mark’s hair and cried out, “Mark.”

He seemed to rejoice in how utterly responsive  and reactive you’d become, unable to defy your body’s demanding urges. It was impossible. And your reactions only fed him, spurring him on to milk you completely dry.

You swore you felt nothing but sheer thrill. It was comparable to the high you received from racing. The way nothing else mattered, and all your focus was so centered on one particular thing that you couldn’t think of anything else. You were enticed by danger and entrusting Mark with power over your body was a great enough threat.

Mark was way too attracted to everything about you. Tasting you and watching you lose your grip of control on his tongue only amplified that allure with the addition of arousal. To hell with his job if it meant that he could spend one more moment with you in his mouth.

Maybe he was attracted to danger, too. You and danger tended to go hand in hand, but so did danger and his lifestyle. There was a reason why he wasn’t afraid of you.

“Just like that, baby. Oh my god,” you moaned, angling your head back. For the sake of your pride, you tried to desperately cling to whatever remained of your sanity, but Mark was resolved on unraveling you.

Your sounds became louder and Mark discerned that you were on the verge of release. If you hadn’t awakened his neighbors when you gave his door hell earlier, they were certainly now contemplating filing noise complaints.

Mark separated himself from you ever so briefly and growled, “Come on, doll. Do it for me.”

The little pet name never invoked much thought from you. You assumed he wanted compensation for the nickname you’d dropped on him, and thus let it slide. But in that moment, it made you weak - and you loathed pet names.

This was going to bring it home. Every nerve in your body was tense and uptight. Your fingers and toes tingled with the threat of release, heat spasming in your core and the palms of your hands.

You climaxed in a fit of unadulterated pleasure, tightening your grip on Mark’s red locks and convulsing by reflex. You practically curled in on yourself, every bit of you clenching emptily as fervor shot through your body. Mark didn’t grant you the mercy of letting you ease through your climax, unrelenting as he continued to suck and lick at your pussy ruthlessly.

Mark brought you to a second orgasm in half the amount of time it took to achieve the first one, and only then did he crawl away and let you breathe. You heaved shallow breaths, blinking through the rise and fall of your chest. Never had you felt anything so intensely. You were milked completely dry.

Mark didn’t comment, but his words were heavy through the signature glimmer in his eyes. And smile tugging the corners of his lips. “So, am I getting that bedtime story?”

You replied through heavy breaths, “Take your pick.”

He snickered.

Mark licked his lips and thus your arousal from his mouth. You shot up and straddled him, wasting little time in sucking at his neck. Mark shook his head. “Jesus, woman. Do you rest?”

Stifling a laugh, you purred, “I regenerate quickly.”

That didn’t surprise Mark in the slightest. He could have guessed. “Good to know.”

Pressing kisses to his neck, you began to rock against his hips, feeling his hard cock through the confines of his underwear. You anchored yourself on his shoulders and teased, “Shouldn’t we do something about this problem of yours?”

Mark angled his head back. “Fuck, yeah,” he groaned.

You pushed his chest down in a successful attempt to knock him backwards and his back met the mattress. But the kisses never ended, and you found it nearly impossible to tear yourself from his skin. Until you felt him involuntarily thrust against your hips, needy.

“Patience,” you sang. Granted, you didn’t have much of your own, either. The way he brought you to another world and back only moments ago had you desperate to recreate the feeling. 

You lifted your purse off of the nightstand not too out of reach from you and retrieved a condom. For good reason, you figured Mark wouldn’t have any.

Mark cocked a brow. “You keep those on you?”

Of course, you did. You preferred to be safe over sorry. Not to mention that your hookup who shall not be named tended to forget them. Deliberately. You subconsciously smirked. “Mind the business that pays you,” you murmured, dragging his underwear down his ankles. And fitting the condom over the head of his cock.

You and Mark let out a simultaneous noise of bliss as you rolled onto him. His hands found purchase at your hips while yours pressed featherly against his stomach. You took him inch by inch, leisurely making your way down as your cunt opted to easily swallow him whole.

Mark nearly lost his mind being engulfed by your heat. His fingertips dug almost painfully into your waist for mental anchor, supporting himself with all his might. For goodness sake, you were so tight. It didn’t help that you still leaked with arousal from your previous two orgasms, even more sensitive from them. The moment you were snug around his cock, he felt you clench.

“Mm, Mark,” you moaned, rocking against him at your own pace. You took the lead, following your own rhythm and Mark didn’t have it in him to stop you. Hell, not that he wanted to.

This was, for lack of a better word, a very bad idea. But neither of you seemed to care. It felt forbidden - doing as much as even thinking about each other so lecherously, but that was half the fun. Neither of you could restrain the lascivious thoughts that ran rampant through your minds when you caught a glimpse of your naked bodies or heard a lewd noise.

The other half, of course, was the actual fucking.

And when Mark heard you call out his name, it took all his willpower to not finish himself right then and there. Not Markie - Mark. He steered dangerously close to release at the mere sound of your honey-like voice.

Mark found it in himself to tease, “Enjoying yourself up there?”

“Like a queen on her throne,” you retorted.

He certainly made you feel like royalty, that was for sure. You felt worshiped by his tongue. Now, you were at reign over his body. And all Mark could do was lie there and behold you as if you were a royal immortal deity.

There was a moment that passed where he considered throwing it all away for you without a second thought. You were a lethal weapon of temptation; that Mark knew, yet he was disposed to capitulate to you. As if you’d lulled him into a fatal trance with the very grace of your body alone.

Though your every move was unpredictable, Mark didn’t know what to expect when you leaned closely to his neck. But it certainly wasn’t for you to bite at the skin. He let out an embarrassing whine at the feeling of your teeth leaving marks and tiny remnants of you on his throat.

You arched a brow. Then, teased, “Whine for me again, Mark.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

Your lips brushed ever so gently against his and you tauntingly whispered, “Make. Me.”

As aforementioned, Mark was comprised of surprises. His hands rose from your waist to your bouncing tits and he thrusted up, achieving a whimper of surprise from you.

He smirked at the way your face tensed with pleasure and your fingers grasped his biceps for dear life. “Holy fuck,” you cried, clinging to him as if you’d sink into the pits of the earth otherwise. He kept fucking you from below, watching you intently as he admired his handiwork with complacency.

He sneered, “Whine for me again, doll.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you hissed.

Mark snickered. Now where had he heard that before?

The softest of moans parted your lips as Mark fondled with your breast and his hands eventually rose, fingers clawing around your throat. He missed seeing that look in your eyes. The one of air depleting itself from your lungs and the blood circulation ceasing to flow and the pleasure sparkling a tiny gleam.

You satisfied his urges, face blanching the longer he held his grip. And the tighter. Mark very much could have done as he pleased with you, but you knew he’d never let this go too far. Just enough to have you at the verge of blacking out.

Although you were remotely dizzy when he released you from his clutch, you liked it. You never quite noticed it before, but there was a fiery gleam in Mark’s eyes when he choked you. Something sinister. There was an animal in him that had gone dormant for far too long and you’d finally aroused the beast.

And you were the only one to date that had seen it and didn’t flee.

The two of you were dangerously close to climax. With how close in proximity your bodies were - combined by every thrust and grind - there was no way on earth either of you couldn’t tell. You began to rasp your hips against his cock in a vigorously synchronized motion, desperate for the heat of the friction that made you tingle. Piece by piece, you were breaking into rupture.

Mark was no better. Just looking at you had him dangling over the edge. Dangerously. It would only take one little slip before he fell depthlessly into a pit of you that seemingly had no top and no bottom. Just you, only you.

“Let go for me, doll,” Mark ordered softly, trying to coax you into an orgasm. “You’ve been doing so good for me.”

His mouth and hands knew no boundaries when it came to your body. They roamed you, his tongue slithering around your nipple and his hands roughly finding purchase on your ass. You were also very sensitive in areas where your tattoos lived, he learned, and used that knowledge to his advantage. Mark was single-handedly going to destroy you.

“Let go,” he sang again, gentle and tempting.

You began to tighten around him involuntarily. It was coming. “I’m…”

Mark held you firmly. “Cum for me, baby. I’ve got you.”

You saw stars when you came for the third time, orgasm hitting you in full force. It was nothing short of intense. You clamped around Mark, walls tight around him as well as your grip on his biceps. Your thighs shuddered with climax, and a shrill cry erupted from your lips. 

Mark grunted, “Fuck.” The feeling of you pulsing around him undoubtedly sent him down a similar fate. His hands fell to your hips and held them to the point of bruising.

After you rode out the rest of your high, you slacked. You lied against his warm chest, feeling him breathe rapidly as you desperately clung to your own breath.

“Do you feel okay?”

“I feel great,” you heaved. “Do you wanna stop?”

Mark faintly smiled at how much endurance you had. “Nope.”

You rode Mark until sunrise.

When both of you roused again, the clock had already ticked past noon. You made room for another, much lazier round, and settled for brunch instead of breakfast.

Then you split and went your own separate ways. You waltzed straight into Bloodlust’s headquarters. Given you were channeling all of your focus into this Mark mission, your schedule was indefinitely clear of all else. Which left you with leeway to choose someone to vex.

You stepped into Yuta’s office without knocking, yet before you could get a word out, he barked, “Did you come here to tell me that you’re sleeping with the enemy?”

Blinking, you resisted a frown. And said nonchalantly, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Lying to a high-rank. Wrong move. And also impossible to get away with.

Yuta shook his head, scowling. “Jisung said that he saw you both running out of The Lion’s Den. Disorderly. And something told him it wasn’t because of a fight.”

Park Jisung, when I get my hands on you, you bristled inwardly. You never did get along with that boy. On more than one occasion, you had to be separated so that you wouldn’t kill each other.

You rolled your eyes and sat across from your boss. With light humor, you replied, “Please. If anything, I have Mark right where I want him.”

“Don’t walk into a trap,” Yuta warned.

Traps were laid by people like you, not the opposite. You were many things and stupid was not one of them. Just another casualty, you told yourself. That’s all Mark was. You refused to allow him to become anything more. “If you’re done, I have something. Mark thought that I was your girlfriend - what if that’s the connection? He’s using me to get to you.”

“That’s possible,” Yuta sobered. “But he would have to know that you wouldn’t snitch on your lover. I’d kill both you and him with my bare hands.”

“Terrifying,” you deadpanned. “Has Ten or Jaemin been able to get in?”

Yuta gave a shake of his head and drawled, “Nope. They’ve got that unit on lock. Apparently drugs are super sensitive information.”

Blowing out a breath, you turned pensive. They were hiding something, obviously. You were half-tempted to march up to Mark and demand he tell you everything he knew, but it was too risky of a move. Though it wasn’t like he had gotten many leads through you, and there had to be something keeping him joined at your hip.

But what?

At first, you considered that maybe you’d given away more than you realized, yet nothing you told him was incriminating enough to arrest anyone with a drug trafficking charge. Hell, if that was the case, Jisung would have led you all to demise already.

“I can hear your gears turning. Stop thinking,” Yuta quipped, steering you out of your reverie. He could never stay mad at you - or serious - for very long. “Listen, babe. Just keep him at bay. If we make no progress, we’ll bring out the extremes. Everything will be perfectly fine.”

You nodded. “Perfectly fine,” you repeated.

Everything was not perfectly fline.

During the past couple of weeks, things had taken a sharp turn between you and Mark. You intended to leave him for dead after that first hookup, yet the more time you spent together, the more each of you burned with lust.

And so it happened again. And again. And you lost track of how many times you’d slipped away to fuck Mark and suck on his tongue.

Of course, the quality of the sex never declined. You were both pleased and enraged at the fact that Mark had range. Every time you both hooked up, the only thing that stayed consistent was the want that shot through your core. For fuck’s sake, he just had to be a man of variety.

In a nutshell, you were completely fucked.

There was an event at the gang’s casino and you snagged Mark as your date. As if anyone else would risk it. You were the only one crazy enough to personally involve yourself with a cop.

Which, you tried to erase from your memory. There would come a day where he’d try to send you away in cuffs. And you’d have to kill him before he got the chance.

You shivered at the thought.

“You clean up nice,” you commented when you came to pick him up.

Mark was dressed very pleasantly. The red hair was a stark contrast to the fancy black suit and trousers he sported, though given the semi formal occasion, he abandoned the frivolous style and opted for a neater hairdo. You were approximately three seconds away from forgetting about the goddamn casino altogether.

Similarly, you wore a red gown that flowed down your legs, hair styled elegantly and your face beat. Casinos were very much not your scene, and underneath the dress you kept an armed and poised gun resting ungrudgingly inside of the leather holster at your thigh.

“Thank you, m’lady. You’re very beautiful,” Mark replied, taking hold of your fingers and kissing the back of your hand gently.

You grinned. Then began to snicker when you noticed your heels gave you a couple more inches of height on him.

Mark cocked a brow. “What’cha laughing at?”

“Oh, nothing.”

Obviously, Mark didn’t believe you in the slightest. Though he said nothing, instead leading you to the elevator. “I’m driving,” he told you, leaving absolutely no room for argument.

You furrowed your brows when you saw your keys in his palm. “When the hell did you get those?”

Mark grinned smugly and jiggled the keys. “You should pay more attention.”

You were absolutely affronted. There was no way in hell Mark Lee had caught you off-guard. You folded your arms across your chest and Mark snickered, then pressed a little kiss to your neck to placate you.

As you slipped out of the elevator and into the lobby, you quipped, “Make sure to drive the speed limit and not the speedometer limit.”

Mark opened the door for you, yet retaliated, “You’d know a lot about driving over the speed limit, wouldn’t you?”

“Shush,” you mumbled, fighting a smile.

“I believe the correct answer is ‘Thank you, gentleman.’”

You hardly leaned off of your heels when you swayed towards Mark, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips and purring, “Thank you, gentleman.”

Mark clamped his arm around your waist and said, “Much better.”

There was a grand casino connected to the hotel that the gang owned. They never invested in anything unprofitable. The building was sky-scraping and vivid in the dimming indigo night, its gold exterior oriented to attract the attention of men and women of means. Courtesy of the supplementing hotel, it had valet parking.

As expected, the sight was nothing short of breathtaking. A large glimmering chandelier hung at the front entrance. There were even tinier ones the further you voyaged across the long red carpet, hanging on the sunken ceiling. You were surrounded by tall pillars and arrays of staircases and even the air felt different inside the casino. It was more or less a very marvelous labyrinth of money.

Mark whistled. “Snazzy. You know what this reminds me of?”

“What?”

“Vegas, baby. Vegas!”

You narrowed your eyes. You didn’t want to know what his Letterboxd account looked like. Or introduce him to one, for that matter. Leaning into his chest, you asked, “Ever been?”

“Once. It’s very beautiful.” Just like you, he was tempted to add, but he didn’t want to come off cheesy. “I should take you there one day.”

Mark was a little too good at toying with your heart for your liking. Both of you knew very well that a future with you together did not exist.

And yet your mind blinked with images of you and Mark in Las Vegas. Him showing you around the sin city. Wandering the streets in each other’s arms, laughing and marveling at its beauty with heartfelt awe. You saw his dumb face and his stupid smile and knew that you were over. 

After a bit of walking, the two of you finally found yourselves amongst the rest of the gang. The occasion was nothing special; for the most part, they were discussing deals with other groups and further things you didn’t get paid enough to be concerned about. You saw Qian Kun and knew to make a run for it. He saw everything from a business perspective, which was great for the gang - and your paycheck - but agonizingly boring.

And then, you ran into Park Jisung and instantly knew that you should have stayed home.

Sternly, you greeted, “Jisung.”

“You,” Jisung icily greeted, less than pleased to see you.

“I have a name, you know,” you reminded with a scowl.

Jisung didn’t hesitate and shot, “And I’d rather not stain my tongue by saying it.”

“You son of a…”

Mark growled in your ear, “Behave.”

Jisung raised his brow when you switched on a dime and rather quickly composed yourself. Where was this guy when he was having a heated quarrel with you for the umpteenth time? Shutting you up on command? He doubted even Yuta had that kind of power over you.

Worst of all, he didn’t know if that was a blessing or a curse.

“I have to speak with her,” Jisung said, refusing to say your name. Then added, “Alone.”

Mark angled towards you. “Will you be okay?”

Absolutely not. The last time you had a one on one conversation with Jisung, one of you nearly died. It was certainly not a great idea to leave you alone together.

But something told you to nod.

Mark, skeptical, pressed, “You’re going to be good, right?”

“Very classy,” you retorted, despite wanting to be literally anywhere else. You hoped whatever Jisung had to say was of significant value. For him to willingly speak to you, it had to be life-threatening. “I’m going to have a civil conversation with my peer like the two adults that we are.”

“Okay,” Mark replied with scrunched brows, still hesitant. “I’ll be over there with Jeno.”

Throwing both you and your less than lovely coworker another glance, Mark parted and left you to fend for yourself.

As soon as Mark was a safe distance away, Jisung immediately said, “I wouldn’t trust him if I were you.”

Your face immediately puzzled. “What makes you think I trust him?”

Jisung laughed in your face. “Are you for real? For one, you’re fucking. Don’t deny it because I saw you running out of The Lion’s Den, and I know what people who eagerly want to fuck each other look like. I see the way you look at him.”

“Are you worried about me, Jisung?” you quipped. You refused to pay any heed to what he was insinuating. Let alone accept it.

Jisung scoffed, “No. I’m worried about you jeopardizing the future of this gang.”

“That’s rich,” you said, crossing your arms. And trying to identify the cleanest way to insult him. “It wouldn’t be a singlehanded error. You’re literally incriminating us by having him under the drug branch in the first place. You guys let two cops in and didn’t even notice. The only words I should be hearing from you are ‘thank you.’”

“Stop. You’re deflecting, as usual,” he sighed. “Just like the brat mouth you are.”

Instead of giving him a seething response, you gritted your teeth. And bit your tongue. Literally. At some point, you decided he was no longer worth your wasted breath.

Which Jisung noticed and added, “See? I can tell he has a heavy grip on you. This is the first time you’ve ever held your tongue talking to me.”

You had an argument ready to fire, but stopped dead in your tracks when you realized that he was right. Why hadn’t you told Jisung off in vulgar terms yet?

No. It didn’t mean a thing. There was absolutely nothing to it other than you coming to your senses and realizing that bickering with Jisung was - and always had been - utterly pointless. He was obstinate and even after hours of debate, you wouldn’t be anywhere much further than where you started.

Never had you answered to anyone. In spite of working for other people, they knew that you marched to beat of your own drum. There were some traits of yours that were nonnegotiable and they’d either have to accept it or cut you loose.

Ever since you were an infant, you’d carried a reputation. Hell, maybe even before then. You had been called many things in such a short lifetime and an untamable lost cause was likely the least hurtful of them all. Nobody ever believed that anyone as wild as you could be salvaged from the destruction you’d inflicted upon yourself. And hence you began to believe it yourself.

This was the only life that you’d known. It was one where you had no option but to fend for yourself and isolate yourself from the world out of self-preservation. How the hell were you supposed to know how to react to someone sneaking their way inside and making you see life through a different lense?

You had seen so much in your years that you falsely believed that you were numb to fear. But you had never been so scared of something before; change.

You forced yourself to say, “Have a good night, Jisung.” And made a beeline for Mark. The walls of the enormous building were suddenly beginning to close in on you and you felt as if there was no air in a room full of space.

“I need a breather,” you said to Mark, interrupting his conversation.

Mark gave Jeno a glance, then took your fingers in his and asked, “Where to?”

“The rooftop,” you replied lightly, feeling drained and you’d only just got here.

The two of you stopped by the bar and downed a glass of hard liquor before you made your way to the rooftop. There was an elevator with calming music that brought you to the very top of the building.

You decided that you preferred the rooftop as soon as you stepped onto the terrace. It was lit by purple neon lights and void of people, and the air felt fresh and inhalable. Like a breath of fresh air. There were sofas with tiny tables crammed in between scattered about the floor and even further were glass railings that overlooked the entire shining city.

Even at night, the city was never dead, busy with bustling roads and brightly lit structures. You were certain that that was when it came to life.

Mark embraced you in a back hug and you swore time slowed down. But did your heart always beat this fast when he touched you?

“Talk to me,” Mark exhaled, breathing tickling the back of your neck.

You let his touch warm you. It was a great contrast against the chill breeze that swept over the roof at this elevation. “About what?”

“Anything. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

I like you, you said to yourself. And I’m scared because I don’t know what to do.

You shook your head. “How about I kiss you instead?”

“You could have just said that you want to kiss me,” Mark murmured.

Lightheartedly, you admitted, “I want to kiss you so bad, Mark Lee.”

Mark laughed and whirled you around, pinning you against the nearby wall and meeting his lips to yours. It all happened so fast - just like everything else between you two. Everything lasted both for a second and in perpetuity. 

He kissed you until you were stripped bare and empty of every last thought. It felt like magic. How he gained the remedy to instantly put you at ease was a mystery, but you didn’t wonder. You just kept sipping from his poison and inhaling the toxins. There was no hope for you anymore. Mark was withering you away and you were simply letting him.

This was wrong on so many levels and yet you never let that stop you. There were no boundaries.  You both took what you wanted and you took what you needed without giving any fucks about who didn’t like it. Desperately did you want to believe that nothing would come between you two.

You bit Mark’s lip and he groaned, nails digging into your waist. Which then prompted a tiny noise to part from your own lips. You were a parallel set of actions. It was strange; you didn’t fight for superiority, you fought to be even and equal.

There was something different in the kiss after you bit Mark. As if he’d been injected with an animalistic venom. The tempo increased and you fought to keep up with his every move, moaning into his lips as his tongue let loose inside of your mouth. His grip got even tighter, as if he was holding you to keep you to himself and himself only. There was no where else that you would run. As ironic as it was, you felt safest in Mark’s arms. He was the haven you never had.

Then, you heard a noise. You discerned that Mark heard it too, because he pulled away instantly and caged you behind him defensively. And your heart warmed at the gesture, though you needed no savior.

You sighed and pulled your gun from your holster, calling out, “You’ve got until the count of five to come out because if I have to find you my goddamn self, I’ll blow your brains. One. Two. Three…,”

At the third count, Jeno emerged from behind one of the chairs, gun drawn.

You began to snicker and waved him off. “Oh, put that damn thing down. Hit the road, Jack. And don’t let me catch you again.”

Jeno begrudgingly made a move for the door, not failing to cast you an ugly glare before his glance shifted to Mark, who started at his partner bemusedly. He left without a word.

You glanced up at Mark. “Why was your friend spying on us?”

“I was wondering the same thing,” Mark said, tone full of genuine perplexity.

You furrowed your brows. If Jeno was spying on you and Mark without either of your knowledge, what did that mean?

Maybe he didn’t know what was happening between you and Mark.

With a shake of your head, you grabbed Mark’s hand and led him to the glass railing. And he followed you like a moth to light. You propped your arms against the cool glass and called out, “Mark.”

“Hm?” came Mark’s response from right beside you.

You reluctantly tasted the words on your tongue before you asked, “What was your childhood like?”

“I was born under a bridge,” Mark deadpanned. To  which you snorted and nudged his side. “But nah. I didn’t have much growing up. My mom got hooked on drugs real bad and she couldn’t take care of me and my brothers, so we moved in with our aunt. She did the best she could to make ends meet, but you know how that shit works. Whole time, my cousin was on the streets. Made a gang. I followed in his footsteps close enough.”

“What happened for you to wind up here?” you asked, listening with interest.

Mark’s face was impassive. “He’d kill me if he saw me right now.”

As vague as that answer was, you understood perfectly.

There was irony in his story. He was a gang member, then became a cop? Though you were aware that he could have legally lied to you as much as he so pleased, you believed that he was sincere. You learned by now that Mark’s eyes said more than his words ever could.

“What about you?” Mark asked. He wasn’t looking at you, eyes trained to the big city before him, but you knew his ears were ready. “How’d you get here?”

“Fasten your seatbelt,” you joked. Mark had already heard bits and pieces of your life via the stories of some of your tattoos, but this was full screen. “I think I’ve been a demon from hell before I even walked the earth. According to what I’ve heard, my family was against my mother having me. There was a huge stigma that came with having a baby at a young age and without a present father figure. She died during the delivery.”

“I’m sorry,” Mark said sullenly.

You shook your head and continued, “Water under the bridge. It doesn’t get better. I’ve been called a killer since the day I was born. It only made sense that I became one. They said that’s all I was, so I ran and turned to the streets and found a new home. I was in and out of gangs and had several sketchy jobs.”

Mark bobbed his head, listening intently.

“There was one gang I thought I would last in. The one I was in before I joined Bloodlust. I even dated one of the members, but he got violent on me one day. I killed him out of self defense. And I got scared, because I knew I couldn’t come back to the gang after that. The leader would kill me.”

“Is that when you joined Bloodlust?”

You bobbed your head. “Remember when I told you that I’m forever indebted to Yuta? That’s because he saved my life. Took me under his wing and gave me another job and somewhere safe to stay. That’s why we’re so close.”

“Jesus Christ,” Mark said, taking it all in. “You’ve been through hell and back.”

“You’re telling me,” you groaned.

Peace was not a word of any value to you. You’d never known what it felt like. The only thing you knew was survival. It was kill or be killed; hunt or be hunted. Life, in your definition, was a series of bad options and choosing the one that was the least loathsome.

After all, you did what you could to live another day. It was never easy, but you learned everything you knew about survival through those everyday choices. You fought for your life every goddamn day and knew nothing different.

It was a battle of strength that required all of your willpower to not succumb.

You blinked when Mark pulled you into a hug. He enjoyed talking to you. Life as either of you’d known it was a bitch, but getting to know you and all you’d been through brought you closer. And all he wanted to do was hold you underneath the moonlight and ease the pain of your scars.

For the most part, the inner circle knew your history, though not from an emotional perspective. The only people you’d ever given an emotional account to were Yuta and now Mark. Yuta was firm on assuring you that yesterday would no longer matter if you worked for him, but Mark made you feel less alone.

Mark was clawing you out of your armor and defenses. You were stripped bare and vulnerable. There was still so much left unseen and for you to explore in this life.

The two of you chatted the night away below the depthlessly starry sky and above the bustling city. You talked about everything under the sun and moon while being sure to share a kiss or two in between. It made you realize that in such a large world, you and Mark were simply two people with a story to share.

But as the time ticked away, the kisses became more frequent and more passionate. You became less interested in the casino and more enamored with Mark. Somewhere along the line your self-restraint snapped into two, and you found yourselves calling it a night and reserving a room at the hotel.

It wasn’t any less lavish than the casino. Especially not the suite you booked. There was a hot tub in the room and a balcony extended out the side with yet another picturesque view of the city.

Plus, it was a one-bedroom with a single bed.

Mark sat at the edge of the mattress and you wasted no time in straddling his lap and meeting your lips to his. It felt like an adventure. The wild and reckless and lethal type.

You could savor him on you even after. And it was the burning longing to taste Mark again that ultimately brought you three steps forwards and two steps back.

Mark pulled away, guilt-ridden, and reminded, “I’m a cop.”

He didn’t know how he expected you to respond, but you didn’t flinch. Like you already knew and you couldn’t care less. You offhandedly replied, “I know,” and endeavored to kiss him again.

Mark held you in place. His expression turned stern and you blew out an exasperated sigh. You were lightyears away from being ready to have this conversation. “So, you’re sleeping with the enemy.”

“I know. But so are you.”

“I know,” Mark said. Lord, did he know.

“Then,” you began, moving for his neck instead and uttering your words in between tiny pecks and nibbles. “We have nothing to talk about.”

Mark angled your bodies and pinned you down - as if that would stop you - and countered, “We have a lot to talk about.”

Frustrated, you incredulously groaned, “You want to talk about how I’m gonna have to put a round of bullets in your brain in the near future while I’m trying to fuck you?”

Mark scoffed, “You mean, I’m gonna have to hand you in cuffs to the police.”

“I’d like to see you try,” you taunted. It would have been in your best interest to be very careful about what you wished for, though you knew Mark would never. You refused to believe that.

Mark shook his head, laughing. As if he’d read your mind and wholeheartedly agreed that the thought was absurd. “You know I’m crazy about you, right?”

“Prove it.”

Mark leaned down to kiss you for a half of a second, then whispered in your ear, “I will.”

Then, he switched on a dime, and all of the heat and passion of his desire overcame him again.

You were fucking with a Leo; you should have known that you were in for the most wild ride of your life.

Void of patience, Mark clawed at your clothes roughly. You had the whole night, but he stripped you away as if you had only minutes to spare. The whole time, your lips locked in an impassioned kiss as you tried intensely to keep up with the other’s rhythm.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Mark growled. He spoke his mind. It was the first thing he thought every time he laid eyes on you.

The tone of his voice had you seeping with arousal, and to hide your desperation, you flirted, “Fuck me then, handsome.”

Mark grunted. He couldn’t wait anymore. “Do you have a condom?”

“Yes, but I have an IUD,” you added, hoping he’d catch your drift.

Mark blinked in realization. “Fuck. You want me to…”

“Yes,” you groaned, growing more impatient by the minute. “You’re clean, right?”

“Squeaky.”

“Then, hurry up.”

So much for not seeming desperate.

Mark shed his remaining layers of clothing and you licked your lips at the sight of his cock standing at full height against his stomach. Making out with you always got him hard like nothing else on this planet.

You eyed his movements with anticipation. Your body was burning for him to fill the void that he’d created. Like you weren’t complete until he was buried deeply inside you.

Your heart sped as he neared your hole. Mark was nothing if not a tease. He damped himself in your arousal and only pushed in when he heard you whimper, smiling smugly to himself. The first thrust was agonizingly slow. Mark took his sweet time to fit his cock into you, watching your face twist and your breath slow as you took him inch by inch.

There was something about the first thrust that was inexplicably magical to you. Being filled to the hilt with thick heat for the very first time. You held your breath every time.

Then, Mark pulled back out altogether and on cue, you let out an immediate noise of displeasure. “Mark…”

The man in question was firm on reducing you to ash and bones. “Beg,” he growled, leaning low into your ear.

You laughed. As if to tell him he sounded insane. “I don’t beg.”

Mark didn’t blink when he told you, “You do today.” His face was void of all humor and he glanced at you expectantly. He dragged his length on top of your pussy, steering just shy of where you needed him. And it was very intentional.

God, did you try to resist, but Mark had grown familiar with your weaknesses in such a short span of time. Every bone in your body ached for him to fill you. To make you complete once more. It begged to be unabridged and tell him your body’s every secret story. And your pride was a fair compensation.

You stifled a groan and said faintly, “Please.”

“C’mon, doll. You can do better than that,” Mark chided playfully, evidently dissatisfied.

You exhaled a sigh and inhaled your pride. “Please, fuck me, Mark. I can’t wait anymore. I need you.”

Mark teased, “Now, was that so hard?” And before you could provide any commentary, he was burying himself inside you yet again.

It wasn’t very long before you were content again. You let out a sigh of relief when Mark filled you once more, and another when he thrusted out and pushed back inside. His rough hands gripped your hips and he watched the way your cunt swallowed him whole, as if you simply couldn’t get enough of him.

Fuck, you felt like heaven. The way you clamped around him - warm and wet and tight - always set off something animalistic inside of him, but bareback? There was no way in hell he would last.

Mark was only slow to tease you. The moment he exhausted his self-control, he set an uptempo pace. He eyed you like a preying hawk, thinking about how beautiful you were. It was an unshakable thought; you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Eagerly taking his cock like you were made for it or not.

Everything felt so natural with Mark. Nothing was learned nor taught, it was simply second nature for your body to respond to him with ardency and abidance. It came naturally.

“You feel so good,” Mark groaned, giving your thigh a little slap as if to punish you for bringing him to ecstasy. And smirking a little when you let out a tiny cry. “Why do you feel so good?”

You playfully retorted, “‘Cause I’m a goddess.”

Mark nodded. “I believe you.” He brought one of his hands from your hips and ventured your perfect body. Perfect in his eyes. Every spot and curve and scar. And the bruises he’d left, of course. “My Aphrodite.”

You lifted your head a little to clench your teeth into his neck and Mark leaned into you, biting at your shoulder to smother his sounds. Which made you giggle. It always amused you that he was so sensitive to your every touch.

Gosh, you were so goddamn close; skin on skin. Fire wafted over your body, fueled by the flames of his sweltering skin. Sweat beaded at your skin and heat shot through every muscle of your body. The way Mark was pounding into you mercilessly only made you scorch even more. It was impossible to breathe and you loved it. There was no greater feeling than being suffocated by pleasure and arousal.

You locked eyes with Mark and swore you couldn’t feel your pulse. Missionary wasn’t something you did with Mark very often, but you loved to watch his face tense with pleasure. And making prolonged eye contact caused your heart to swell with something unfamiliar. Something vicious and strong that made your entire body ignite with warmth.

The sex was rough and fast, yet intimate. Mark was just the right amount of all three.

Mark loosely gripped your throat and growled, “Tell me you love it.”

You bowed your body into him, moaning, “I love it so much.” 

That was the right answer. Mark continued to love you all over. His body never neglected any part of yours, showering you with warmth and pleasure. Like he had nothing but depthless appreciation for you.

The longer Mark fucked you, the less you could think of anything other than him. You forgot about the huge city right outside the balcony. Everyone and everything else melted away and it was only you and Mark chasing the satisfaction of each other’s bodies and love. 

Love. You were beginning to accept it. There was nowhere to run and no escape; not when Mark was overwhelming you with heated fervor and passion. He was suffocating you with that forbidden four-letter word.

You were beginning to fall in love with Mark.

If love was a poison, you were sipping to your demise and savoring the taste on your tongue. If combining sex with love was a one-way ticket to death, you’d die in Mark’s arms. There was no place else you’d rather be.

“All mine,” Mark growled, pressing kisses down your collarbone and breast to your stomach. All you could feel were tingles that refused to vacate you. They’d found a new home.

Softly, you replied, “All yours.”

There was no arguing with that. The way your body responded to his touch, it was as if you were carefully crafted for Mark and Mark only. Which, the way he fit perfectly inside of you was a testament to.

Mark made you feel rupture and rapture. They were practically indistinguishable. He broke you into a billion tiny pieces that were held together by unfaltering desire.

Just listening to the mess that you’d both created set you ablaze. The wet, resounding clap of Mark slamming his hips into yours as well as your moans and heavy breaths filled the empty air. Your eyes rolled back at the lewd noises. “Mark, Mark,” you cried out his name, sensing you were only moments away from the edge.

Mark knew that you were close without asking and he was trailing right behind you by nearly nothing at all. His pace was vigorous, positively trying to fuck your brains out.

You only got closer and closer. His thrusts felt sharper and the pressure continued to build in your gut at a rate quicker than you could handle and far beyond your control. Any moment now, you would be at your breaking point.

“Don’t pull out,” you demanded, knowing he wasn’t far behind you. It was written all over his face.

Mark grunted at the mere thought of coming inside of you. Needless to say, he had dreamed of letting his release flood you. “Want me to fill you up?”

“Yes,” you moaned, craving him more than anything ever. “Please.”

Mark clamped his fingers around your throat, knowing it would bring you to finish quicker than anything else. “Let go for me, baby,” he said lustfully.

Just like that, you were convulsing with climax. As if he single-handedly controlled every muscle and nerve in your body. The room reeled as you came, voice as loud as it could be with his hand denying you the privilege of breath. Your nails dug harshly into the flesh of his back as your whole body shuddered uncontrollably with release.

You and Mark stared each other in the eyes as you both came. You watched his lips split in a grunt and his orgasm knocked the wind out of him, flaring down his spine. His fingers dug tighter around your throat and his cum filled you all at once. “Take it all,” he ordered, body coming to a halt. “Every last drop.”

Your body obeyed, still eagerly clinging around his cock. It was like you wanted to bleed each other dry. Him of all of his cum and you of your willpower.

Then, you slowly yet steadily both came to a stop. Mark took his precious time to pull out of you, but watched his seed trickle out of your sweet cunt with adoration. His grip around your neck slackened, and you both settled down to finally breathe for what felt like the first time ever.

It wasn’t like you to be so exhausted after a single round, but that night, you were completely spent. You cleaned up a little, then drifted into sleep within the comfort of Mark’s embrace.

Mark held your sleeping figure closely, taking all of your warmth and replacing it with his. I love you, he thought gently. And I’m sorry.

You fell asleep in Mark’s arms, and after a long night of dreaming about him in your sleep, woke up in them, too. And you had the biggest smile on your face when you realized that some time between when you fell asleep and when you woke up, Mark had removed your makeup.

You were beginning to love Mark so much that you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

Last night was mind-blowing. And not only that, it gave you an epiphany. You wanted Mark in your life. You wanted to wake up in his arms and feel his body on yours. You wanted to kiss him while cuddling beneath the moonlight. You wanted to take over the world with him.

But by doing so, you would have broken one of Bloodlust’s most important rules; disobeying direct orders. The cost? Your life.

All of the warmth of loving Mark you felt for him only moments ago suddenly dissipated into cold unadulterated fear.

You stared at his sleeping face and felt a tear slide down your face. I’m sorry.

Mark’s eyes fluttered open. He wiped your tears with his thumb and asked in his gruff morning voice, “Why are you crying?”

You smiled and shook your head. “It’s nothing,” you lied.

Though in reality, you were so overwhelmed. And borderline terrified. The last time you loved someone, they tried to violate you. Not to mention you knew the inner circle would never approve of your relationship with Mark.

If you didn’t kill him, then they would. And then you’d be next.

“Don’t lie to me,” Mark said. He could see that this whole predicament was doing a large number on you. Even the strongest soldiers had their weak points.

You sighed faintly. Then said, “I’ll tell you later.”

Mark’s hand found yours and squeezed it tightly. “Promise?”

“I promise.” You glanced at his neck, and failed to hide your grin of pride as you saw the pattern of marks you’d left there. Little traces of you flooded his whole body. As traces of him did yours. “Mm, did I do that?”

He shifted his glance down and snickered. “You did.”

You hummed. “I didn’t mean to go that far.”

“For some reason, I don’t believe you.”

You gasped in faux offense. Then, broke into a fit of giggles. The sight tugged at Mark’s heartstrings and the corners of his lips.

That smile was what made your heart beat. You brought your lips to Mark’s in a peck. Or three. Insatiably craving more, Mark held your face and kissed you even longer and harder.

One thing led to another. One second your lips were to his and the next he was lazily fucking you into pieces, moans echoing inside the room in between kisses and giggles.

You were so far gone that there was no redemption.

The weeks flew by at the speed of lightning and in no time at all, you were months deep into Mark. He gave you everything that the narcotics unit had on you thus far, and you were pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn’t much at all. They had most of the inner circle identified save for Jaemin (not surprisingly), but the relationships were either vague, inaccurate or a combination thereof.

The only reason Jaemin and Ten hadn’t cracked their unit open yet was because of the tight lock they had on all gang-related cases. And they kept their information on physical files. Granted, it was very scarce.

Begrudgingly, of course, you had to give Jisung credit there. Neither Mark or Jeno had caught a glimpse of those imported drugs before in their lives.

Given that you made no attempts to hide your affection, it was broadly known that there was a bond between both you and Mark. You played it off as baiting him; luring him into your trap in order to milk him for everything he knew. Your emotions were kept under wraps when he was the topic of discussion and you fought smiles whenever you heard someone say Mark’s name. They fell hook, line, and sinker.

“They had a hunch that you were Yuta’s girlfriend,” Mark had told you. Now that he was confidently aware that it wasn’t the case, he found it laughable. “I was supposed to use you to move in proximity with the inner circle. The best way to take down any organization is to remove the heart, but obviously I never got far.”

Apparently, their source of rationale were photographs of you and Yuta together discreetly taken. It was a lie you fed into, providing Mark fake intel to feed his dangerously nosy co-workers. As always, the less law enforcement knew, the better.

Your shoulders shook with laughter. “You used to be such a pain in the ass, y’know? I can’t believe you bugged me.”

Mark furrowed his brows. “Huh?”

“Didn’t you put a bug in my pocket?” you asked, arching your brows. “After the race. You know, when you hugged me?”

“My hands were on your back,” Mark reminded, confused. As were you. “That was probably Jeno. But he hasn’t mentioned anything to me about it. I never bugged you, baby - I genuinely just wanted a hug.”

You barked, “The hell is his problem with me? I mean, for an undercover cop he’s obvious as hell. Why send somebody with no prior experience to the danger zone?”

Mark shrugged. He had very little say on the matter. Not that he fought it, either. “They decided that he was ‘the second-most equipped.’ Verbatim.”

“I can’t imagine why. That night on the rooftop,” you trailed off, shaking your head. “I don’t think he trusts you.”

Mark laughed. That was to put it simply. “Yeah, me neither. I told him I was fooling around with you to gain your trust - and at first, I was. But not anymore.”

That went without saying. But you still retorted, “If you’re fucking with me, Mark, I’ll kill you.”

Mark snorted. “I’m sure.”

He wasn’t afraid of you. Like you were a puppy posing as a wolf waving your paws at him with puppy eyes. Mark, threatened by you? As if. You were his fucking baby.

Long nights of feeding Bloodlust intel on the narcotics unit, then coming home to Mark passed by. You’d eventually given him your address and permitted him to go inside. He quite liked your home. It looked and smelled like you. He never knew what to imagine when it came to the interior of your house, but upon seeing, it made perfect sense.

Pictures of you and your friends scattered around the house. None of you by yourself and none with your family. Little plants growing healthily. You mentioned that they were high-maintenance. Your favorite blankets in a heap on the sofa. And a bookshelf brimming with novels. Mark was pleasantly surprised to learn that you were a major bookworm. And a closeted romantic.

It was close to midnight when you heard someone behind you. Very swiftly, you were endeavoring to arrive safely to the garage where your car waited, though you knew that there was no chance of making it in one piece without confrontation. You turned a corner and patiently drew your gun; it wasn’t very often that you ventured into the night alone past sunset, but you damn sure made certain that your gun was tucked to yourself.

There was a familiar negative energy all around you. It was impossible to ignore - far too suffocating and too distinguishable to be neglected.

Not surprising in the slightest, it was Jeno who rounded the corner. With his usual scowl, and an aimed gun. 

Narrowing your eyes, you snapped, “What do you want?”

Jeno smiled. It was the first time you’d seen his lips form anything other than a crooked frown, but it still exuded that same level of cold grimness. “I think you know what I want.”

You studied Jeno for a moment. For someone who believed you were the second-in-command’s girlfriend, he showed you no fear, grip on his gun firm as he aimed it squarely at your chest. Apparently, you were a woman that was loyal to no one but herself in the eyes of the law. Which made you all the more unpredictable. “I know that you’re not who you say you are,” you began levelly, inching closer. “I know everything there is to know about you, Jeno.”

“Because Mark told you, right?” Jeno snarled. “I know a lot about you, too - like how you’ve been whoring yourself out to Mark because you know that he’s easy. He was ripe for the picking and that’s why they stuck me with him; because they knew he needed grounding.”

That made you bristle with anger, but you kept a lid over your temper and retorted, “That sounds like a nice little fairy tale. Is that what you’re going to tell the big boss?”

Ignoring you, Jeno continued, “The world will know the truth about you and this whole gang. You’re more than the bitch they pay to secretly do their bidding. Before you were Scar, you were a gang-hopper.”

Seething, you lunged at Jeno with the gun. He blocked the attack - courtesy of your blindness from the rage that ran down your spine - and cocked his gun at you.

And then there was a loud, piercing gunshot.

But you were never shot. Jeno’s grip on his gun slackened and fell to the ground with him. He lay there gaping, a hand over his stomach that bled profusely. And glancing not at you; behind you. When you turned around, Mark emerged from the corner around you and stepped out of the shadows to approach you.

“You should be more careful,” Mark chided. “What if it wasn’t me behind you?”

Though you wanted to smile, you couldn’t. There was a tormenting question on your brain. How does Jeno know about my past?

“Mark,” Jeno choked out, nearly coughing up blood. He raised his arm with all of his strength and pointed with a trembling finger. “Mark is…,”

Mark didn’t let him finish, cutting Jeno off with a bullet to the head. Whatever he was going to say died with him.

Rather than feeling relieved, you were unnerved. Mark killed Jeno to protect you. Love made people do crazy things - that you knew better than anyone else, but Mark seemed colder than you’d ever seen him before. He didn’t waver; unhesitating and unremorseful.

As if this wasn’t his first rodeo.

“You never mentioned telling the team about my past.”

Mark cast you a glance. “That’s because I didn’t.”

You narrowed your eyes and whispered, “Then, how did Jeno know?”

Mark caught onto what you were hinting at and his face swiftly softened. There was no way in hell that he would do anything to hurt you. And he needed you to know that. “I never said a word about your past to him, baby. I swear. I don’t know how he found out, but you need to know that I’d never air out any of your business.”

There were other possibilities, too. Your past wasn’t exactly private - that you knew. He could have contacted your old friends, or heard the gossip of the low-ranks. Any of those roads were open, but it meant more if Mark himself exposed you. That was unacceptable.

You blew out a sigh and reminded yourself that Mark had been in gangs before - he most likely had bodies. As always, you were just paranoid. You believed that everyone was out to get you because the people that were meant to embrace you released you into the cold.

Hiding your gun, you pulled Mark into your embrace and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Mark murmured. “Just tell me that you trust me.”

“I trust you,” you told him. No reluctance, no shame. And I love you.

You knew that Mark loved you too. In your heart and bones. He had killed for you.

You called someone to discard Jeno's corpse and went home with Mark. The two of you talked and fell asleep by each other’s side. It was more or less a routine.

But when you woke up, Mark wasn’t there. You called out his name; no response. You looked inside the bathroom and he wasn’t there. The living room, kitchen, and all of his favorite spots inside your house were almost void of life.

Mark wasn’t there and it was downright laughable that that frightened you to your very core, but he never left without telling you. You scanned your memories of last night for any warning and ultimately came short.

It wasn’t the first time that you’d woken up alone, but more often than not, you woke up in each other’s arms. Occasionally, one of you would be in the bathroom or kitchen, but you never left the house without mentioning it the night before or leaving some form of text or note.

Though when you checked your phone, it was empty.

And so, you began to do the one thing you very seldom did; panic. There was no indication that Mark had been forced out of your house, but the depthless list of possibilities unnerved you. You prayed that he was somewhere safe. That at most, maybe he’d simply forgotten. You would have scolded him for getting you wound up over nothing, but at least he would be out of harm’s way.

There was a knock at your front door and hoping it was Mark, you rushed to open it, but you frowned when you were met with the face of a man that you’d never seen before.

The stranger said, “Hi. I’m Huang Renjun and I know you don’t know me, but you’ve got to get the fuck out of here. Right now.”

You blinked. Then, shut the door on him. It was too goddamn early for this foolishness.

Undeterred, Renjun opened the door again and welcomed himself inside. This town wasn’t big enough for two stubborn assholes.

You screeched, “The hell, man?”

Renjun exclaimed, “Do you want to die?”

“I literally do not know who the fuck you are!”

“Yes. I thought I made that very clear,” Renjun hissed, gritting his teeth. “But you do know Alexander Lee.”

In an instant, you were rendered gorgonized like a gargoyle. That name never failed to put you in a borderline unresponsive stupor. Anything regarding Alexander “Lex” Lee plagued your heart and body with crisp fear.

“I don’t want anything that has to do with Lex,” you replied, shaking your head and backing away.

This game of hide-and-seek had kept you on your toes for ages now. You’d spent the last years of your life off the grid to take cover from him and now this? Hell no.

Renjun briefly studied you. For someone rumored to have looked death in the face and blown him a kiss, it was not at all lost on him how terrified you’d suddenly become at the mere mention of Lex’s name. It was a warranted fear - the one that made you tick. “I’m sure. But if you don’t leave this place as soon as possible, he’s going to kill you.”

“And I’m supposed to just trust you?” you whispered, all the bite in your voice demolished by terror.

“Mark sent me.”

You blinked. “What?”

Renjun groaned, though didn’t elaborate. It was no mystery how you and Mark got along. For one, you were both a pain in ass and a thorn in his side. Instead, he drew his phone from his pocket and dialed a number. And put the phone on speaker.

“Do you have her?” came Mark’s voice.

Renjun said exasperatedly, “Let’s try ‘Hello, Renjun.’ Or ‘Hi.’ Most people say that when they pick up the phone, you know.”

“Mark,” you breathed, relieved to hear his voice. He was somewhere out there. But you were hurt that he left you.

Ignoring Renjun, Mark greeted, “Hi, doll.”

Renjun only wished he had time to argue. He would have burned your lover alive for greeting you instead of him, but the clock was ticking. He already had too many irons in the fire. “Hurry up and talk some sense into your girl, Mark. She doesn’t believe me.”

Your girl, he had said. Mark’s girl. For a split second, your heart brimmed with warmth.

Mark began from across the line, “Listen to me, baby. I know this is sudden and I’ll explain everything as soon as I get the chance, but you need to trust me and listen to Renjun. Okay?”

Your heart sank. “What’s going on?”

“No time to explain,” Mark told you curtly. “Just do this for me. Please.”

You blew out a sigh. This was too much too soon. Ultimately, you decided to trust Mark. “Okay.”

Mark blurted, “I love you.”

A pained smile curled your lips. “I love you more.”

“Alright, fun’s over,” Renjun interjected. He would not stick around for your lovey-dovey mess. Especially not when lives were on the line and in jeopardy. “We’ll talk to you later, Mark. You go get dressed and come on.”

Begrudgingly, you did as told, rushing upstairs to throw on an appropriate outfit before you headed back down and got inside a car with a man that you’d known for less than fifteen minutes.

As soon as you were on the road, you reminded yourself that you had no idea what was happening and where you were going, and asked, “Where are we going?”

Renjun replied, “Somewhere safe.”

Vague. You didn’t like that. “Are you a cop?”

“No.”

“Do you work with Mark?”

“Not in the way that you think,” Renjun responded, patiently quickly evaporating into thin air.

You pressed, “Then, in what way?”

Gosh, you were aggravating. In his mind, Renjun was likening you to a child that persistently asked their parents, ‘Are we there yet?’ during long road trips. “Jesus, woman! Would you stop badgering me?”

You narrowed your eyes and faced the window so that you wouldn’t lunge at him. “I just want to know what’s going on. You mention Lex Lee - the man that’s been indirectly making my life hell for the last years of my life - and expect me to not have questions?”

You had him there. Alexander was the devil himself and anyone that had known him for five minutes could most likely back you up. His goons were lightly compensated and offered little leeway, and the worst part was the hierarchy system.

Everyone was inferior to someone save for Lex, and the designated high-ranks were equally crooked. They schemed to get away with stepping out of line directly under his nose, often pinning the blame on low-ranking members to avoid lethal retribution.

That was why you were scared shitless to return that day. Lex and your ex-boyfriend were like brothers. It didn’t matter what you told him happened to you - you’d be lucky if he cared. Let alone believed you.

Renjun heaved a breath. You had a very fair argument. “Lex is looking for you. He’s attacked Bloodlust’s headquarters. That’s why Mark wants me to keep you safe.”

“What?” you shrieked in terror. “I have to go back there!”

Renjun turned onto another street and shook his head, eyeing the roads for Lex’s hounds. “It’s not safe. Do you hear me? It’s not safe. You were scared shitless of anything involving Lex three seconds ago.”

“I don’t care,” you hissed. “This is my battle. I’ll be damned if I let anyone else fight it for me. Yuta saved my life - now it’s my turn.”

Renjun balked, “No, it’s not. I know about Bloodlust. They protect you as long as you do their bidding. So let them do their goddamn job.”

Gritting your teeth, you crossed your arms and stared out the window, watching buildings and signs whirl by in a blur. It was clear that Renjun would not be wooed by you, but you refused to sit and do nothing. Especially when his connection - or Mark’s - to Lex was unknown. There had to be another way.

Recognizing the road you turned onto, you had an idea. It was reckless and extremely dangerous, but you wouldn’t let that deter you. Not when the better half of your life consisted of making life-threatening choices. There was the option to take the hard way or the easy way out.

And you’d be damned if you took the easy way.

Calculating, you counted down the seconds in your head until you could make your move. The moment you were down to one, you moved at the speed of light and swung the car door open, launching yourself out and rolling into an area of enclosed grass.

You grabbed your gun from your purse and aimed squarely at Renjun’s tires, sending him swerving somewhere. He screamed in the distance, “You sick psychopathic bitch!”

I’ve heard that before, too, you thought to yourself with levity. And then, like your life depended on it, you bolted.

Dusting away dirt and twigs, you sprinted and sprinted and sprinted. The street was close to the garages. Obviously, your car wasn’t there, but there were plenty that were.

You bust through the garage and scanned each of the open slots for your unlucky victim. There were several people, most polishing up their cars before tonight’s race. And you swiftly made your pick, not having time to linger.

You snatched one of the racer’s keys and asked breathlessly, “Can I borrow these? Thanks, you’re the best!”

Screams of protest were your less than pleased response, but you had already made a distance on the garage by the time anyone thought to react. The moment you were on a road, you let out a thick, heavy breath.

Forget crazy. You were out of your goddamn mind.

You sped as fast as you could without going over the limit, given you had already committed two crimes in broad daylight. The last thing you needed was a high-speed police chase.

The east side of the headquarters was the closest and you drove like the devil. The closer you neared, the faster your heart echoed in your chest. You hoped Mark wasn’t there, but with his knowledge of Lex, you had aching questions numb you to your love. And you prayed your boss decided to take an off day.

Alas, the building was - metaphorically speaking - ablaze when you arrived there. A grating dissonance of screams and gunshots filled the distant air. Lex had called war on Bloodlust via this ambush, but not knowing who was winning completely unnerved you. 

You got out of the car and approached the building through the rear side. Conveniently, there were emergency exits installed in scatters around the headquarters designed for similar occasions. Discreetly, you entered through one, and steered clear of the noise as you stealthily made your way upstairs. It was in your best interest to remain undetected. For all they knew, you weren’t here. 

Creeping around corners, you held your breath. As if the slightest sound would have you killed on the spot. The loud halls that echoed with gunshots terrified you, but the eerily silent ones were too quiet to be relieving. 

Whirling around the corner, you parted your lips to scream when you bumped into someone, and they clamped their palm over your mouth. “Shut the fuck up,” Jisung growled, looking both ways like a civilian crossing the street. When he deemed the close clear, he released you. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Heaving, you asked, “Have you seen Yuta or Mark?” 

Jisung answered you with complete disinterest and disdain, and said, “Yuta’s been unresponsive. As for loverboy, he’s the reason you’re in this mess.” 

You realized that you’d blown your cover the second you mentioned Mark, but you didn’t care. For the sake of your heart and mind, you needed to trust and believe that he was safe. You wouldn’t know how to go on without him. How to unlearn everything you’d gotten so accustomed to in his presence. 

“What do you mean, unresponsive?” you repeated, lost for words. “And the reason? What the hell are you talking about?” 

Jisung pinched his nose and shook his head. “Forget it. Figure that shit out yourself.” 

He turned around and walked away, Part of you was tempted to scream after him, though the sight of a man emerging from the shadows behind Jisung  - armed with murder on his mind - silenced you. For some reason, everything in your body told you to pick up your gun and shoot. You complied, and shot fire. 

Jisung whirled back around in time to watch the man hit the ground, gone without knowing what hit him. He rooted to the spot, gaze rising to your figure and noticing the gun in your grasp. “Did you just…”

“Save your life?” you finished. “Yeah. You’re welcome.”

Jisung blew out a sigh. He was many things, including your mortal enemy, but he had a moral compass and in that moment he owed you his life. He glanced around once more, then told you, “Mark is a member of The Basilisks.”

You wanted to laugh. “What?”

Jisung made his tone as menacing as possible and added, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. But your loverboy isn’t who you think he is. Jaemin followed up on him today. Mark’s cousin is Alexander Lee and he’s been in that gang since a little after you started working for Yuta.”

Your heart sank. You wanted to deny it with everything you had, but it made sense. How else would Mark know Lex? He even mentioned that his cousin made a gang. Stupid, you told yourself. You’re so fucking stupid. 

God, you wished the ground would swallow you whole. You wanted to isolate yourself from the rest of the world and rot to bones. Mark had gotten under your skin, reduced you to your true, bare self. He had seen all of the good and bad; the beautiful and ugly. You felt comfortable enough to be more vulnerable with him than you ever had anyone else. Was all of that in vain?  

The Basilisk Biker’s. It hurt so goddamn much. You felt so used and betrayed. And empty. Like you had poured your mind, body, heart and soul into loving Mark and had nothing left to spare. 

Maybe you did. 

Jisung saw the sadness in your eyes and felt a pang of something he had never felt for you before. It didn’t feel right. Your eyes always gleamed with fire, but your flame was demolished. He wanted to hug you, but it wasn’t his embrace that you needed at the moment. He doubted you would want it in the first place. 

Instead, he said, “You have to get out of here.”

“I have to find Yuta,” you argued, gritting your teeth. 

“What if he’s safe?”

Without missing a beat, you shot, “What if he’s not?” 

Jisung had argued with you enough in his lifetime to know that you were headstrong and demanded your way. If you wanted something enough, there was absolutely nothing on this earth that could stop you from chasing it. But he also knew that the moment something happened to you once he left you alone, your blood would be on his hands. “I’m going with you.”

You shrugged and replied,  “Suit yourself.” Then, began to make your way up the stairs. The elevators were too risky. 

You fought tears and focused yourself on your boss. You’d be damned if you cried while anyone was watching. You had taken a bullet tougher than this. Toughen up, you hissed inwardly. 

The long staircase had made you realize just how large the headquarters was. In your head, you had always thought of it as a second home. Now, it was being destroyed by your first one. 

When you reached the floor of Yuta’s office, you stepped onto the ground, peeking around and spotting Basilisks. Jisung whispered, “I’ll distract them. You go check his office.” 

You nodded. Jisung did exactly what he said that he would, and you set out for Yuta’s office. Just from standing outside the door, you could tell that it was empty. But you needed to see for yourself. You counted down from three, attempting to soothe your rapidly moving mind, and barged inside. 

The sight unnerved you. Yuta was nowhere to be found, but the room was completely wrecked. Like he was blitzed and fought like hell against his attacker. 

There was little trace of him. No sign of where he was or where he’d gone. Not even traces of blood. Just his belongings toppled over in a heap and his window completely open, curtains blustering. 

“Find something interesting here?”

Fear riveted you in place. You took your time to turn around, met face to face with a man straight out of a nightmare. 

“Lex,” you exhaled thickly, the wind knocked out of you.

Lex smiled wickedly. There was a gun in his hand. “Long time no see, old friend.”

You shook your head viciously and screamed, “Where the hell is my boss?” 

Lex inched closer, closing in on you as if he was going to make you walk off of a plank. You took steps backwards, colliding with Yuta’s desk. “Well, I could tell you, but where’s the fun in that?”

“You son of a bitch,” you hissed.

As if he didn’t hear you, Lex continued, “It wounded me real bad when you left, y’know. Word on the street is that this Yuta fool had you sold in less than a day. Then, I find out you killed Riley,” Lex laughed. “Whew, I was livid!”

“You were going to kill me,” you said, moving around the desk as swiftly as possible. You never wanted to leave. There were people in that gang that you considered family and you missed them everyday of your life. You never wanted to leave them behind. 

“Damn right, I was!” Lex shouted. He didn’t sound angry - he sounded insane. That was arguably worse. “With my bare goddamn hands!”

You shook your head, fighting to remain calm. Lex’s weakness was his anger, but so was yours. If you stayed rational, you had a fighting chance at survival. “I didn’t want to kill Riley. You have to trust me on that, Lex. He was trying to push me into things I wasn’t ready for. I didn’t have a choice.” 

Pretending to care, Lex crooned, “You have a choice now. Come back home. Let’s be a family again. The girls missed you the worst.” 

Or else what? You knew your other unspoken choice was gruesome as they always had been, but you also knew that Lex was full of shit. There was no way in hell that he would let you off that easily. 

Or alive, for that matter. 

You knew what your options were, because you knew Alexander Lee better than anyone else alive. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. A narcissist if you knew one, blind to his flaws. He was manipulative and deceptive, but worst of all, he had not a shred of mercy. 

If anyone was going to take your life from you, it wouldn’t be Lex. You refused to grant him that pleasure. And you knew very well that the only reason you were still alive and breathing was because he wanted to kill you with his own bare hands. Nobody would be given the satisfaction of taking your life if not you.

You shook your head and swore, “Over my dead body.” 

Then, you leapt out of the window.

And crash landed onto the balcony on the floor below you. You struck the deep trenches of your memory, reminding yourself that Yuta once mentioned that he refused to get a balcony like the rest of the members. He claimed that in times of crisis, he wouldn’t regret his decision. And you chose to believe that that was how he escaped. It was a graceless fall. It hurt like a bitch, but what mattered was that you were still alive. Somehow. 

You raced through the floor in case Lex was crazy enough to follow you. 

You ran and you ran and you ran for your life. Your legs ached from all of the reckless stunts you’d pulled today, but you never stopped running. The thoughts seeped into your mind, going miles per minute, trying to outmatch the speed of your feet. You thought of your family and felt pain. You thought of Lex and felt fear. You thought of your old friends and felt regret. You thought of Yuta and felt dread. You thought of Mark and felt stone-cold betrayal.

But you also felt love. Your heart hammered like it was trying to wreck its way through your chest. You wanted some kind of explanation for this, one that would make all of the pain fade, but you knew that there was none. 

How could Mark tell you that he loved you but work aside the same man that made your life a living hell? Your heart was crying blood. It bled and beat for him all at once. 

Adrenaline made you numb to the pain of everything except for your wounded heart. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe there was someone else that would be granted the satisfaction of taking your life. Giving Mark the key to your heart was like handing him a gun and telling him to shoot. Your heart begged for the one person that you were forbidden to have. 

Speak of the devil, they say. And he shall appear. 

Somewhere in the run for your life, you bumped directly into Mark. He looked relieved and displeased to see you all at once. 

Mark grabbed you and whispered, “Baby…”

You swatted his hands away and cried, “Don’t call me that!” 

Mark reached for your hand, squeezing tightly. There was no levity in his tone when he said, “I’m not doing any of this to hurt you. I swear on my life. You just need to trust me.”

“No,” you shouted, fighting like hell to keep your tears at bay. They stung your eyes, but he didn’t deserve to see them fall. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time and expect me to trust you? That’s not how that works, Mark.” 

“I know,” Mark agreed. “And you have every right to be pissed at me for what I’m about to do.” 

Before you had the chance to ask questions, Mark pulled you to his chest and clamped his palm over your mouth, then shouted, “Over here - I’ve got her!” 

Basilisks began to fill your vision. They circled you like a shark to its prey, guns aimed. You noticed familiar faces around you, and you couldn’t blame them for any vengeful feelings they felt for you. Mark shoved you in the middle by yourself, like he was presenting his artwork to them, proud of his product. 

Lex spoke to Mark, but you tuned in and out, their words being reduced to white noise. You felt so much pain and fear that your body began to numb your senses in self-preservation. It was too much to bear. 

This is it, you thought somberly. This is my end. Part of you was satisfied with that. You were so tired. You had worked your whole life and experienced loss to loss with no breaks in between. No breathing room. If you weren’t a sinner, you would have believed that you would finally meet your mother. 

Then again, depending on who you asked, she was a sinner too. 

“Thought you could run from me,” Lex taunted, clearly amused. “I thought you would have learned by now. No one escapes me. No one escapes their fate.” 

He was right. After all, you had nowhere to run this time. Not with over a dozen guns pointed squarely at your head.

All you wanted was for him to make this quick. To put you out of your misery already. Add one more scar to your body in completion. 

Lex tilted his head. “Any last words?”

Without hesitation, you spat, “Fuck you.” 

Lex burst into laughter. Then, much to your surprise, said, “Mark, finish her.”

You stayed still and held your breath, knowing this was the inevitable end. But you couldn’t look at Mark. It would hurt you too much.

Then, The Basilisks switched on a dime and aimed their guns at Lex - including Mark. Stupidly, you stood there blinking. Lisa - one of your old friends - had to pull you out of harm’s way. She whispered, “You’re safe. Everything’s gonna be okay now.” 

Too stunned to speak, you stood gawking. 

Lex blurted, “What the hell do you all think you’re doing?” 

“This has to end, Alexander. And it ends with you,” Mark began, casting his cousin an unsympathetic glance. “For the past decade, you’ve been making everyone here's life a living hell. How much longer did you think we were going to put up with that bullshit?” 

Lex began to stumble backwards, reaching for escape, but one of the Basilisks named Yangyang pushed him back into the circle, then said,  “Woah, woah, woah - where do you think you’re going, big guy?” 

Realizing he was cornered, Lex turned to stare at his cousin in disbelief. “Really? Your own flesh and blood, Mark?” 

Mark let out a remorseless chuckle. “Don’t pretend to have a moral compass now. Here’s the thing, Lex. Everyone here considers each other family and you’ve fucked every last one of us over. You don’t give a flying fuck about blood and flesh; all you care about is power. You like that you can kill whoever - whenever - and our fate lies in your hands.”

“It used to,” Yangyang corrected from the sidelines. “Now, the tables have turned. You get to feel what’s like to be on the other side of torture.” 

Another Basilisk - Seulgi - spoke up from the crowd, voice dripping with the bite of venom, “You pay us less than we’re worth to do your bidding and you let those sons of bitches get away with framing us - but impose the death rule so that we can’t leave. We’re fed the hell up, Lex.”

The death rule was simply that. Nobody was allowed to leave. Your only escape was the dark void of death. It was more or less a pre-prison for gangsters. 

Unless, you ran away. In Basilisk history, you were the only successful runaway. 

You simply watched in amusement, feeling a wound in you healed. Never in a million years would you have imagined a dream like this come true. It was better than anything you’d ever hoped for. It’s over. 

“I don’t do last words,” Mark mocked, cocking his gun. “Goodbye, cousin.” 

The sound of a gunshot resonated throughout the hall, and Alexander dropped to the floor in vanquish. 

“It really is over,” Lisa repeated. Until then, you hadn’t realized that you’d said those words aloud. You were out of your body. 

You grabbed her hand. “Let’s get out of here?”

Lisa cocked a brow. “What about lover boy?” 

You gaped. “You know?”

“Oh, please. Mark tells us a lot about you. He acts like we’ve never met you before. It’s hard to get him to shut up sometimes,” Lisa scoffed. 

Mark talks about me. That made your heart swell with emotion, but you pushed them aside. “I’m still mad at him. Let’s go before he makes me change my mind.” 

Giggling, Lisa told you, “Lead the way.” 

You did as told, leading her outside. For now, you pushed your worries away. They would return, but you were simply glad to connect with an old friend for the meantime. A very special one at that. 

Hand in hand, you brought Lisa to one of the balconies. The wind whipped through her hair as you both faced the city. The memories were a mixture of pained and blissful. They stung your heart, yet filled you with impalpable joy. 

After a moment of silence, Lisa whispered, “You never said goodbye.” 

“I know.” 

She whirled around to face you, a pained expression on her face. “That hurt.” 

“I know,” you said, frowning. “And I’m sorry.” 

Lisa faced the early morning city again. Like looking at you would be her breaking point. “You did what you had to do. I can’t hold that against you. I was just scared that you’d forget me.” 

You called her name austerely and slightly rolled up your shirt, then spoke like you were delivering a speech, “I carry a piece of you with me everyday. Every time I look in the mirror, I think of you. Pain is temporary, but this scar is forever. It is a constant reminder of you and what our friendship means to me. I can’t forget that.” 

Lisa gazed at your scar fondly. She remembered how you got it like it was yesterday. You jumped in front of a bullet to save her life. You were so goddamn stupid, but damn did she love you for it. 

She pulled you into a hug. And you smiled.

“I moved on,” Lisa mentioned once she pulled away. “I found someone.”

Your eyes widened, your smile broadened. “Who is she?”

Lisa smiled involuntarily at the thought of her mystery woman. Once upon a time, she smiled at you like that. “Jennie.”

“No way,” you said, jaw dropping. 

“Yes, way,” Lisa smirked. “Love always finds a way. Sometimes the one meant for you is the person you’d least expect. It’s ironic, isn't it?”

You groaned, “You’re telling me.”

Lisa studied you. Never in a million years would she have imagined that the two of you would be having a conversation like this, but she was content to hear your voice again. At one point, she thought she’d lost you forever. “You love him.” 

It was clear who ‘him’ was. You sighed out, “I do. So much. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Lisa snickered, but suddenly became stern and said, “Mark didn’t do any of this to hurt you. He would never. He was scared half to death when Renjun called and said you’d jumped out of a car to come here. As crazy as that sounds, I’m not surprised. You’re full of crazy.” 

You laughed lightheartedly. “I’ve done worse.”

“I know. Like, jumped in front of a bullet,” Lisa retorted, then continued. “Listen, that boy is head over heels in love with you. I would know. What he did back there wasn’t a part of the initial plan, but he’s in control of this whole scheme and we urged him to do what he thought was best. He knew you would hate him for this, but he wanted to protect you from Lex for good.” 

The tears were coming back and you blinked them away. “Really?”

“It was hard to keep him from socking Lex in the jaw for talking down on you sometimes. He was ready to risk it all for you. That’s how much he loves you. Don’t punish him for that,” Lisa said, smiling ruefully. Then, she presented you with some levity. “Not for too long.”

You laughed like the two old friends you were. You never forgot what those days were like. To be together with people you considered family, you were happy. And now you were no longer forbidden to see each other.

Lisa patted your back. “Go get him.”

“Right now?” you asked, gaping in disbelief. 

“Right now,” she repeated, memories of a morose Mark returning. “Any longer and I think he’ll fling himself off one of these balconies.”

“Oh, brother,” you sighed. “Will you be okay?”

“As long as you don’t leave me for another six years.” 

You smiled and held out your pinky finger for her to intertwine with hers. “I won’t. I promise.” 

Lisa locked pinkies with you. Then, she let you go for the second time and set you free. 

You found Mark somberly glancing into the distance. His mood seemed to instantly lighten when the sound of you slumping beside him steered him from his reverie.

“Hi.”

Mark rubbed his neck. “Hey.” 

“I’m sorry,” you told him apologetically. “I should have trusted you.”

Mark blurted, “What? No. I’m the one that should be sorry. I’ve been keeping secrets from you this whole time. I should have told you.” 

“You’re right,” you replied. You switched on a dime, beginning to knock at his chest fiercely. “What were you thinking?”

He was hardly thinking. It was difficult - he couldn’t function knowing that your life was on the line. You being there meant he had to change his plans entirely because he refused to let anything happen to you. His heart was screaming when Renjun told him about the stunt you’d pulled. Above all else, all he wanted was for you to let him protect you. “I’m sorry, doll. Will a kiss make it better?” 

You paused. Then, sang, “Not sure. Kiss me and find out.”

Mark shook his head in delight. “With pleasure.”

Mark enveloped your lips in a kiss. He kissed you like he’d never get the chance again. As if this was his last day to love and hold you, but also as if he hadn’t felt your touch in years. It was so indescribably passionate. The only way you could explain was that it felt like love. Until you met Mark, you thought that you’d been cursed with the inability to fall for someone else again.

When you’d both had your fill, you pulled away for good and asked, “But I am curious - you’re a cop and a gang member at the same time?”

Mark had been waiting for that one. He cradled you in his arms and replied smoothly, “My job in the gang is to be their eyes in law enforcement. Alongside the biking, we became heavily involved in drug trafficking. It’s my job to steer the police off course and ensure they don’t go looking into The Basilisks.” 

“And that’s how you got here,” you added, the pieces coming together to form one big picture.

“Yup. I was assigned to look into Bloodlust. It’s no secret that this is where you hid and Lex wanted me to use this case to lure you out. At first, I intended to follow orders. But then I fell for you, baby. And I knew that only over my dead body would I let anything happen to you.”

“Romantic,” you purred. Then, you remembered something and your eyes filled with worry. “Have you seen Yuta?”

“He’s fine,” Mark assured. “They all are. They know this building well. That’s their advantage.”

You blew out a sigh of semi-relief. ”We have to come clean.”

Mark blinked. “Now?” 

“Now or never.” 

Mark slipped his fingers through yours and brought you to your feet. “Okay. Let’s tell them.”

You smiled. You didn’t want to hide Mark anymore. You wanted to profess your love for him from the rooftops. And you knew in your heart that he wanted to do the very same. 

That was how you found yourself in Taeyong’s much larger office. Yet again, he stood alongside Yuta and Ten. It was a little frightening, but you wouldn’t let them unnerve you. You were bold in your love.

Lightheartedly, Yuta tried to lighten the mood with levity, “This is the infamous Markie.”

Mark shook his hand. “Dom Toretto.”

You cleared your throat. “Don’t mind him - he watches a lot of movies.” 

Taeyong cut to the chase. “You disobeyed direct orders.” 

You stiffened, knowing he was talking directly to you. You met his gaze and didn’t falter. “Yes.”

“And you were aware that you were disobeying direct orders - and of the punishment that shall follow.”

“That is correct.”

Taeyong arched his brow, amused by your boldness. It took guts to disobey the king of the empire. He sat and reclined in his seat and told you sternly, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill both of you right now.” 

The gun resting patiently on his desk did not go unnoticed by you, but you dug into your heels and held Mark’s arm firmly. You were honest. “I have none. I’ve disobeyed and deceived you while aware of the consequences. I apologize for that, but I won’t apologize for loving him and I won’t let you kill him without killing me first.” 

Ten heaved a breath and took off his glasses, massaging his temple. Then, Yuta leapt up and shouted, “Yes! Run me my money!”

You blinked, only able to watch as Taeyong and Ten exasperatedly drew money from their pockets. Then, it hit you and you shrieked, “You bet money on me?”

“Damn right I did,” Yuta replied, not sparing you a glance as he counted his money. 

Noticing the ridiculously perplexed looks on you and Mark’s faces, Ten explained, “Yuta’s had a sneaking suspicion that you were lying about the severity of your relationship with Mark. Jisung tried to tell us, but Taeyong and I thought he was biased because of how much you argue. Clearly not.” 

Taeyong deadpanned, “Remind me not to make any more deals with either of you where money is concerned.” 

Mark pulled you to his chest, smiling. Some things you just couldn’t hide. His love for you was one of them. “So, we’re off the hook?” 

“I usually don't hesitate to punish people for defiance, but I’ll make an exception just this once,” Taeyong replied, smiling wryly. “I take it that your cousin’s gang is in your hands now. Don’t cause any trouble and you’re fine in my book.”

Mark nodded. He glanced down at you and knew that that wouldn’t be a problem. “Deal.” 

That night, you and Mark danced in each other's arms, refusing to let go. It was like nothing could come in between you. You knew now that your love was worth the battle and the war. Love always finds a way, a dear friend had told you. 

You asked over the music, “Wanna do something really crazy?” 

Mark looked at you, eye’s screaming, “Yes!” He would do anything for you - give you the world if you wanted it. Instead of borderline professing his love for you and telling you things that you already knew, he asked, “Like what?” 

“Let’s go to Vegas.”

Mark chortled. “That is kinda crazy.”

You argued, “Think about it - no one knows us there. It’ll just be me and you in a city full of people. Doesn’t that sound romantic?” 

Mark hushed you and said, “Baby, please. I was already buying the plane tickets.”

You snickered. You knew you had Mark right where you wanted him. And it felt so goddamn good. 

You and Mark stumbled out of the tattoo parlor. Given the long flight, you were utterly spent when you arrived, but the second you recharged you knew exactly what you wanted to do.

Get matching tattoos. 

Initially, you thought it would have been difficult to convince Mark to get a tattoo with you. After all, they were permanent. But he was surprisingly willing and pleased with the results. 

“To a lifetime and a half with you,” Mark told you, mounting the bike you’d left at the curbside of the parlor. You wanted to see how well he could drive one. 

Grabbing the pink helmet he handed you, you beamed. Happiness made your heart beat and your blood circulate. “To a lifetime and a half with my Markie pooh,” you teased. 

Mark rolled his eyes and wrapped your arms around his waist. “Hold on tight.” 

You yelped when the motorbike jerked to life beneath you, and then you were soaring down the roads of Las Vegas, carefree and in love. Nobody could tell you anything when you were with the love of your life.

Love was the greatest weapon of all. 

[eclipseberrycake]

Poly! MoonBerryCake x Reader Pt. 7

AN: The long awaited part 7. Before anyone fears, no this isn't the end of the series don't you worry. I don't have many ideas for the next few parts, but I'm sure I'll think of something or one of you can help!

Also how do we feel about giving Reader a tail? /gen I have a few ideas I've been toying with with reader having a tail, but I don't want to cross the line between too self indulgent and reflecting of my character, rather than trying to be as inclusive as possible.

-> Part One -> Part Two -> Part Three -> Part Four -> Part Five -> Part Six -> Part Six 1/2

Warnings: Depictions of past trauma/ injury, past depictions of being turned into a Twisted/ seeing a loved one as a twisted/ recovering from being a Twisted, mentions of vomit, past depictions of losing a lost one, talk of scars (In a positive light, but just in case!)

☁ The first few nights were hard. So, so incredibly hard. Not by any fault of your own, oh absolutely not, but that didn't make the nights any less taxing or offer them anymore rest.

☁ There were a few times you offered tearfully to sleep in your old room so they could hopefully get some rest, each one shot down with a stern No'. The mere thought of having you out of their line of sight was more than their nerves could take, especially somewhere where they couldn't reach immediately? Hard Pass.

☁ The first night was by far the worst. Cosmo can't say he really remembers recovering from being a twisted, but there was one thing that stuck out for him during the entire process. And that was you. You were there the entire time, gently pressing cool cloths to his forehead, helping him sip water, even keeping saltine crackers on hand in case his temporarily fickle stomach decided that food was somewhat acceptable.

☁ You were the same with Astro and Sprout as well, ensuring the recovery, as awful as it was, was still as seamless as you could make it. If there was one thing he did remember about healing from being a twisted, is that he would never wish it upon another being. Much less you.

☁ The first night you're returned, you're rushed to med-bay as a flurry of commotion happens. Those left behind are eager to see if you've been returned, especially poor Toodles who took your turning hard. She's holding Blu when they rush past, tears in her large eyes, but Rodger is quick to turn her away.

☁ Sprout is already barking orders with Ginger meeting them halfway, first aid kit in hand. They had given you minimal attention in the ride up, but they didn't have the time, space or resources necessary to give you proper medical attention.

☁ It's a flurry of action that follows right after. Astro stays up by your head, wiping the ichor that stained your mouth and clumped your fur. His cheeks are shiny as he does it, shaking his head every now and then before continuing his actions.

☁ Cosmo barely remembers all he did that night, there was so much that needed done. That wound you had received from-...From when you turned into a twisted had never closed, the excess ichor from being a twisted keeping you alive. It was an awful, horrid thought, but not one they could ignore as Cosmo hurriedly worked alongside his cousin to close it. Sprout busied himself with working on the claw marks across your face you had made in your confused state. Every bit he seemed to do made his grimace deepen. He wasn't sure what the other was seeing, but currently wasn't certain he wanted to know during this moment.

☁ Your teeth still remained sharp as you groaned in pain throughout the process, hands reaching back up to swat at the insistent burden yanking on your wounds, only for them to be caught by Shelly, who had followed to offer her help.

☁ She had felt awful about the entire situation, regardless if you would've done it either way. Vee as well, though she stayed further back to avoid getting in the way. Shelly's tougher skin made her more resistant to your claws and slashes, so she was a welcome helper, even if it made the working space a bit more cramped.

☁ Seeing you hurt like that was an awful feeling. Cosmo remembers feeling the bile burn at the back of his throat that night, increasing in every little noise or whimper of pain you made. Even when the worst was handled, he had to step back for a moment, hiding in Astro's chest as Sprout continued wiping away what was left. The same grimace was on his features, one much more intense than what was usually there when he was in doctor mode.

☁ He didn't speak more on it until far after Shelly had taken her leave with a tearful well wishes. Even then, the berry had only dragged a chair closer, hiding his face in his hands. Neither Astro nor himself knew where to go from there, and that just made them feel all the more worse as you seemed to fall into a fitful unconsciousness.

☁ Cosmo wasn't sure if it counted as sleep, honestly, not with how you still shook.

☁ "They have so many scars." Sprout finally spoke up, voice wavering before it cracked as he smoothed back his leaves, letting them fall back into place. "They hide them under their fur. How did-..." Sprout swallowed tightly at this before looking up at them with teary eyes. "How did we miss that?"

☁ Neither waited for a moment further before rounding around the medical bed to wrap their arms around the berry. He was tricky when it came to emotions, especially since this entire thing began, flickering between anger and denial like a coin, to see him break down like that was rare.

☁ "It's easy to miss." Cosmo nearly choked on the words, tears welling in his eyes as he flickered between watching your chest rise and fall to the floor. There was a crack in one of the tiles. You'd want that fixed, so no one tripped. He'd make not of it later. "Their fur covers it-"

☁ "Is that really an excuse?" Sprout cuts back in, his own eyes watching you in the same clinical way Cosmo found himself doing it. "For the others maybe. But us?"

☁ Cosmo couldn't find any rebuttal, swallowing tightly. He knows he himself has spent countless hours with his fingers running along your fur, playing with the stands and drawing shapes against the grain of it. He just never really focused on the skin beneath because he truthfully didn't think too. Looking back, maybe that was on him. He should've done better, done something more-

☁ "I don't think anyone's at fault." Astro's comment cut through the sudden silence. He had been dreadfully silent since getting back from the run so to hear him sound so exhausted was...jarring. He always had a sleepy, tired lilt to his voice, but to hear it like that made Cosmo's tail curl tighter against his back.

☁ Silence fell again before Astro was continuing. "I think, to a degree, it would be...more questionable if they didn't have any. They've been doing this far longer than you, me or even Cosmo's been in the picture. We can't stop them, but we can support them however possible as we have been." Astro swallows for a moment, using a star shard to bring a box of tissues closer. He takes one, wiping under his eye before setting it to the side. "They will always be like this. They'll be our self-sacrificing idiot who doesn't know when to stop, but that's why we fell in love with them. We can't change them and I hope none of us would try. Their scars are part of who they are. We-...I love every part of them, even the parts they may not love as much. Those parts we just have to love a little extra."

☁ The words stand, nearly tangible in the air for a long while. He's right. There are very few times when Astro isn't, but it's a jarring notion to understand what you truly went through. Even Cosmo himself hadn't known how long you and Poppy and Boxten had been doing it since he wasn't even the first returned. No, by the time he had been recovered, Finn, Shrimpo and Rodger had been well acquainted parts of the group and you had become comfortable in your role as a distractor.

☁ He wonders just how much of the burden you've carried silently with you. He's terrified of the answer you'd give if he asked.

☁ "I do...I do love them." Sprout choked, as if that was ever being brought into question. "I just- What if they hurt? What if every time we ask them to distract they're just a constant reminder of every past failure to them? They've done so much for all of us. Who are we to ask anything more?"

☁ "Like Astro said, it's who they are. I think if they truly didn't want to distract, they wouldn't. And I hope they would feel safe enough to come to us if the scars were causing them pain." The first tear falls down Cosmo's cheek, which is quickly wiped with a star shard covered in a tissue. "I mean, for heaven's sake, they turned into a twisted to save Vee on a run to save Shelly. If that's not the most selfless thing I've seen, I don't know what is."

☁ "Truthfully, I think I rather would've dealt with Vee's Twisted then theirs." Astro deadpans only to immediately flush a navy blue as Sprout cackles, Cosmo hiding his own laughs behind a hand. Astro practically swallows his tongue as he's quick to try and amend it with, "Not that I would wish that on any of us!"

☁ Sprout shakes his head as he finally leans back, his own cheeks shiny- which the star shard tries to wipe at only to get swatted at, making Astro pout. Both of Sprout's arms reach around to hook around both Cosmo and Astro as he takes a final deep breath. "We'll talk with them. Maybe now they'll see reason. Because yeah. I'm not dealing with that again."

☁ "They were so scary!" Cosmo whines, leaning on Sprout's shoulder. "But also-...Hear me out-"

☁ "Stoooop." Sprout groans, tipping his head back as Astro nods solemnly. "I'm hearing."

☁ Cosmo laughs at this before you're suddenly jumping up, cheeks puffed and they already know what that entails. Cosmo grabs the nearest trash can while Astro gently pulls back anything that could get in the way while Sprout makes for the nearest medication cabinet.

☁ Cosmo holds the trash can for you as you purge the excess ichor in your body, watching your heaves with a heartbroken glance while Astro rubs your back, even if he himself looks nauseous at the sight and sounds. He's quick to switch with Sprout when he returns, measuring out the stomach medication the berry had grabbed. It had aided the rest of them when it came to rejecting the ichor and they hoped it would with you too.

☁ In the very least, as awful as it was, it was a good sight to see as it meant you were recovering in the very least. Even if your heaves sounded painful and tears tracked down your cheeks. It would a pattern that would continue throughout the night unfortunately, which they would need to stay up to assist you with, but it was a chore they were more than happy to do. You had been the one to sit with each of them throughout the night, making sure they had all the comfort you could offer at the time.

☁ So even as the minutes ticked like hours, they knew it was all worth it. Every trip to empty the trash cash, every startled awakening at the sound of your gags, every wince as you pleaded for mercy. Anything to get you back.

☁ The following days are better. The next morning, right before it could be qualified as noon, you were cognizant enough to recognize where you were, eyes unfocused as you swayed, trying to sit up only for that to be one of the worst ideas you've ever had.

☁ The boyfriend on duty is quick to come to your side, with a hand on your back as soft whispers buzzed in your ear. You curled in on yourself, eyes scrunching shut before a deep breath had you finally stabilizing enough you could blink your eyes. Sprout was right there, offering you a gentle smile as he tried to figure out what exactly you were seeing.

☁ You practically threw yourself at him, pulling him close as tears burned your eyes. You cried into his scarf as his hands slowly curled back around you, squeezing you tightly to his chest as his own shoulders shook. "Oh. bud, I've missed you."

☁ "I'm sorry." You blab. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." You cry, squeezing him tighter when it almost seems like he's going to pull away. You don't remember much about your time as a twisted except for spotting Sprout and smelling the ichor of a non-twisted toon being spilt. You prayed it wasn't you to cause that wound, that there was no wound at all, but subtly looking at his arm quickly dashes that hope.

☁ "No, no, bud you did nothing wrong." This time you allow him to pull away, only for his hands to cup your cheeks. "You're just as perfect as you always are." His green eyes shine with unshed tears, which quickly rectify that by trailing down his freckled cheeks. You sob at the sight, your own hands- with nails longer than you normally keep them- cupping his cheeks.

☁ Sprout crashed his lips against yours in a show of desperation, tears making the kiss taste salty as your shoulders fall in relief. IF he was okay, the others had to be okay, right? They had to be? You didn't hurt them too, did you? You prayed not.

☁ Pulling away, you angled his chin every which way, scanning his face as he gave you a few watery chuckles. "You're okay? All leaves, limbs and seeds?"

☁ Sprout caught your hands, pulling them down so he could look at you, nothing but sweet, adoring love in his eyes. "Leaves, limbs and seeds all attached." He coos, laying his forehead on yours as his shoulders heave with a long heavy sigh. "Oh, bud. You're okay."

☁ "You're not." You frown, feeling the tears threaten to burst out all over again. "I'm-"

☁ "It wasn't you." Sprout interrupts, making you blink. "No, a twisted flutter got me, but you? Even a twisted, you've proven you'll still protect us." His smile is sad, but relieved as you feel your stomach finally settle.

☁ You get a few moments more before the door is being slammed open, but not by another toon. No, it must've been ajar, because who else is waiting there but Blu herself, looking as grumpy as the day she accidentally fell into the snow in Bobette's shop, mewing in long, interrupted yowls as she trotted to the medical bed, jumping up and immediately crawling all over you.

☁ Sprout tried to grab her, but you waved him off, scooping up the baby and letting her place her paw on your cheek. You cooed at her, nuzzling your nose against her cold, wet one. She mewled once more before it delved into a purr, making you snicker. "I know, tell me all about how unfair your dads are."

☁ "Oi!" Sprout immediately called, looking only mildly offended before footsteps had you both looking over at the doorway once more. Cosmo was there, already panting as he leaned his head against the doorway. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, she was sleeping and then suddenly just took off and-" He looked up at that point, only for his mouth to gape open. He stilled for a second as Astro popped his head in, looking at the pastry. "Did you find-"

☁ He too was left slack-jawed before Cosmo was moving and he was following, both wrapping you in tight hugs and a flurry of kisses. It was comforting and perfect, and enough to make you forget about how awful your stomach felt.

☁ They were quick to fill you in on everything that had happened in your absence and, honestly? Hearing Astro talk about having his best friend back made your heart thrum and how happy he seemed, moreso now that he had everyone in his little family back at long last.

☁ While your side still hurt and your muscles still sung from the strain put on them. being wrapped between them felt safe. Safer than you've felt since the moment of pure terror that wracked your entire nervous system the second you knew only one of you would make it to the elevator.

☁ Still, you knew there was something on the horizon. A discussion that needed to be had and it made whatever was left in your gut churn and rot further than it already had.

☁ It didn't come until later that night when you were finally back in your room, eating something soft and easy to digest (My personal fav is oatmeal but I know now everyone can eat that so y'all get to choose <3), chatting with Cosmo when a knock at the door made you look up.

☁ Astro had popped his head in, scanning for your form before immediately relaxing when he spotted you. "Are you okay with a few visitors? Absolutely feel free to say no."

☁ You honestly hadn't expected anyone to visit you, really. Goob and Scraps had both had their own tearful reunions with you, Goob especially, and Poppy and Boxten had visited as well. You weren't overly close with anyone else, but while confused, you nodded.

☁ Astro scanned you for a second, as if to see if you were lying, but when he found nothing he stepped more fully inside. Sprout followed, immediately wounding to your side and pressing a peck to your lips. You smiled at him before looking back over, eyes widening at the two toons standing there.

☁ Shelly looked nervous, but waved even as her smile wavered, her tail giving a small, short little wag. Vee looked miserable if you were honest. You had never seen the main so...upset, making you frown. Was she upset with you? You know you probably shouldn't have pushed her, but you had no other option at the time!

☁ Astro took his own spot beside, across from where Sprout had moved to sit beside Cosmo.

☁ "It's a pleasure to finally meet you." Shelly begins, tapping her fingers together before meeting your eye. "I wanted to thank you personally. And apologize. It was me you were retrieving and-"

☁ "And it wouldn't have happened if I had just picked up the pace." Vee cuts in. She makes it a point not to look at you, making you frown, fingers curling around your blanket. Vee let out a sigh, antennae giving a little spark as she wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm...So, so so-"

☁ "You have nothing to apologize for." You hold up a hand, scrunching your features. "I made my choice. You had nothing to do with what i decided. I promise. i never would've done something if it wasn't something I was sure about doing. There was never a moment I was upset with you, either of you." You're quick to reassure, sending them both a smile. Shelly returns it quickly, but Vee only gives you a glance and you frown.

☁ That was Sprout's best friend. You knew you didn't have to get along with everyone, but you wanted to get along with these two especially.

☁ Shelly seemed relieved at least, which made Astro relax at least a bit, but that wasn't enough for you. "I promise, Vee. If anything I owe you all an apology." You wilted a bit, even if Vee finally looked at you. "My twisted is...not the best, even I could admit that and I should've planned with the twisteds better rather than risk putting you guys in that situation. So for that, I apologize." You continue, continuing even if Vee looks like she's going to cut in. "It's happened, and it's fixed already. We can just blame whoever started the Ichor operation rather than try to keep playing this 'who can blame themself the most' game."

☁ Vee gapes and you smile at her softly, opening your arms. "Hug it out with me? Therefore all is forgiven and we can't blame ourselves anymore." The television looks at you, then at Shelly, then Sprout before her shoulders fall and she's slumping forward. You wrap your arms around her, feeling the chill of her metal plates. Looking over, you make eye contact with Shelly, who smiles sadly at the action. You open one of your arms and the fossil is immediately burrowing into the hug as well with her tail whapping about.

☁ When you separate, they take their leave not soon after, seemingly much lighter than when they came in. But then you're left with the other three. Astro's who's already sitting beside you, but the other two crawl onto the bed so you're all sitting in a circle of types.

☁ Your eyes dart from one to the next to the next before falling to where your knuckles are white around the blanket, having returned to clutching the fabric. You have to actively uncurl your fingers.

☁ You know there's probably tons to discuss, but you don't even know where to start.

☁ So Sprout does. He's never one to beat around the bush, especially looking back to before you all were together, and it's something you greatly admire about the berry.

☁ "We saw the scars." Is all he says, his own eyes remaining downcast as he plays with his scarf. You swallow, debating your options before breathing out, letting down the walls you normally kept up around everyone else.

☁ "Most of them are front the beginning." You admit. "I wasn't a good distractor then. I wasn't even really okay. I did it when we absolutely needed one. We had none of the trinkets we do now and didn't even think about them at the time. So I was an extractor and Cosmo knows that me extracting is like teaching a fish to fly." You spill immediately, thinking back to the lacerations that once marred your skin. "I'm sorry if they bothered you. I tried to keep them as covered up as possible. in case they...upset you all"

☁ "It's not the fact that their there, starlight. Well, I mean, that's kind of part of it, but...Why didn't you tell us?" Astro prods, laying a hand on you knee as another gentle rubs your shoulder. You bristle at the question, rolling your shoulders for a second before responding.

☁ "They aren't number one on my list of discussion topics. I'd rather forget about them personally." Simple as that.

☁ There's silence for a second before Cosmo is raising his hand, pointing to a white line that circles around his forearm. "This is from my time as a twisted. You'd remember best, but my hand was all sorts of messed up, right?"

☁ You nod at this and he points to his eye, with a matching line circling around it, so faint if he wasn't pulling attention to it, most wouldn't notice. "Half my face too, right?"

☁ You nod once more and he mimics the action. "Are you ashamed of my scars?"

☁ "No!" You're quick to bark, immediately ready to quell any worries he has, but Cosmo isn't done, pointing to Sprout- who blinks at the finger like it personally offended him. "What about Sprout? He has his own scars. You ashamed of those?"

☁ "No, Cosmo that's not-"

☁ "Then what about Astro? He's got his fair share too." The pastry points to one of the hands on your knees, which indeed had it's own smattering of scars from his time as a twisted.

☁ "No." You stare him down, gaze hard as he meets your own just as challenging. "Then why does that change for you?" You don't have an immediate answer, and Cosmo pounces on that. "What makes your scars different from ours? Why would we ever be ashamed of your scars, of your journey, when you would never dream of even thinking about that of ours?"

☁ You gape at him, trying to find some sort of defense, but you can't. He seems satisfied at that, but it's not for long as you're speaking once more.

☁ "Mine were self-inflicted." You avoid looking at them, even as your heart practically chokes you. "You never signed up to be a twisted. I willingly trained and worked to become a distractor. These come with the territory."

�� There's silence for a second before Sprout is speaking once more. "Do they hurt?"

☁ You frown at the question, but shake your head. "No. They don't."

☁ Sprout exhales in relief at this before leaning back on his palms. "This isn't meant to make you feel any type of way about them, bud. They're yours and we understand better than most that scars can bring...complicated feelings. There's just...so many. We just want you to care a little more about yourself."

☁ "Seeing you in danger all the time is hard on his heart." Astro gently jokes, even if he gets a light kick in return for the jab. The celestial takes a breath before leaning on your shoulder, one of his hands reaching to hold your own. "We just want you safe, starlight, above all else. The bed's too big for three of us."

☁ You take a breath that quivered in your lungs before nodding slowly. You had expressed to Astro before how terrified you were of your own twisted and never wished to expose it to them, but did so anyway.

☁ You could only imagine the fear they were feeling the entire time, especially on the retrieval.

☁ "I'm sorry. Not for doing what I did, I don't regret and never will." You began, finally looking back up at them. "But I agree. I've been a bit careless. It's a distractor's job to keep the twisteds occupied, but not by being a dumbass. I don't want to give up distracting though." By the end you're practically pleading.

☁ "And we would never ask you too." Sprout gives you a soft smile. "Even if you stress me the fuck out, you enjoy it. Just...maybe keep the distance between you and the twisteds a bit bigger. And keep an escape route open whenever possible. And a bandage on hand. And a can of pop. And-"

☁ You laugh, wiping your tears as you shake your head. "I get it. I'm sorry I scared you all."

☁ "Just remind us to never piss you off." Cosmo shakes his head. "You're scary when angry. Although, watching you protect Sprout like that-"

☁ "We are not having this conversation again!" Sprout immediately shuts down, hitting the pastry in the face with a pillow, quickly getting a swift hit in retaliation. The two tussle for a second, making you give a wet laugh as Astro nuzzles into you. Your finger taps on the back of his hand, silently asking for an explanation.

☁ He hums in acknowledgement at the unasked question, moving to kiss your shoulder. "You're hot in all forms. Cosmo especially likes your protective side."

☁ This makes you bark out a laugh, calling the attention of the other two back to you.

☁ "What are you laughing at?" Sprout grinned, straddling Cosmo who was squirming under the hand on his forehead keeping him pinned down.

☁ "You're all such dorks." You snicker, grinning before holding your hands out to them. "Hugs?"

☁ You're only able to let out a yelp at Sprout turns instead pull you into his chest, the other two also wrapped in the absolute bear hug. It makes your heart thrum happily, especially when Blu manages to pop her head up in a crevice and mew her greetings happily.

☁ So even while the first few nights were hard, as you lay there, wrapped in the embrace of your boys and feeling their laughter once more, you know that tonight won't be nearly as so.

☁ And if absolutely nothing else, that was what made it all worth it.

AN: Guys, remember how I made that joke (It wasn't a joke) about hating that Rodger and taking it out on their Bobette? GUESS WHO'S NOW A MARKETABLE PLUSH >:) Huge huge huge shoutout to @belifbel

RAHH LOOK AT THEM

[runningfrom2am]

requiem // part five

summary: according to coriolanus snow, his best friend had the most beautiful voice in all of panem. she had been training her whole life constantly to get where she was; being up for a residency at the most elite opera house in all of panem. singing was her passion. her true love; and when that got stripped from her in a second, his world became a whole lot quieter. he loathed every minute of it.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.1k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: opera singer!mentor!reader (blink and you'll miss it), she's kind of a prodigy!! p cool imo, mute!reader, bestfriend!coryo, friends to lovers trope ooo, mentions of graphic violence early on (particularly the prologue) but after that it's pretty safe, depictions of ptsd/trauma, mental illness and minor suicidal ideation but at least she's not entirely alone, descriptions of minor medical treatments and use of medication.

a/n: fighting for my LIFE trying to sort out my student loans rn. also i'm sick. butttt i did just finally get my hands on hogwarts legacy so that's eating up all my time. anyway that's a small update on my life.

also, reminder to follow @runningfrom2am-library and turn on my notifications there to join my taglist for this series!!

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist // pinterest board

Walking into the citadel and down some spiral stairs towards Dr. Gaul's infamous lab, you already have your notepad in hand prepared with the proposal you have made for her.

She likes those, right? Coryo wrote her several for the games and she put them to use. This should be no different.

You have a pencil clutched in one hand unless she has questions, which you are sure she will.

Your shoes click down the large hall as you make your way to the reception desk on the left side, manned by security rather than actual receptionists. Dr. Gaul was not your average doctor, after all.

You stop in front of the counter and slide a piece of paper across it to the man sitting there, a determined but kind expression on your face.

He doesn't even look up.

You let out a quiet sigh, rolling your eyes before knocking on the counter and waving a hand at him.

He looks up then, studying you for a moment with eyes lingering on the scar across your throat before recognition flashes in his eyes. "Can we help you with something?" He asks anyway, as if he was expecting an answer even though you both knew you wouldn't be able to give him a verbal one.

You tap the paper you placed on the counter, sliding it forward more toward him and he picks it up.

'I would like to see Dr. Gaul. I have a written proposal for her.'

He reads it, nodding a little to himself before looking up at you again. "She should have a few minutes, she has a meeting at 2, though." He says, and you nod to him in a silent thank you as he buzzes the doors open for you to enter.

Stepping into the lab that hosted incredibly high ceilings, tanks lining the shelves and walls as well as a pit in the floor straight ahead, you swallow as you look around. You had never been in here before, and you weren't sure if you were more creeped out or more in awe of the whole thing.

"If it isn't my favourite songbird." You look up when you hear the familiar voice of the doctor, resisting to roll your eyes at the nickname, despite her claiming that you had been her favourite of the two of you who had earned the name. These days, it never fails to form a pit in your stomach.

You give her a smile and a polite nod as she walks toward you from between some of the tanks, dusting off her red gloves on the somehow pristine white of her lab coat.

"To what do I owe this pleasure, chickadee?"

In response, you hold out the carefully prepared file folder to her, including your proposal and copies of your own medical records from the operations performed after your attack.

She raises her eyebrows in intrigue as she plucks it eagerly from your hands, opening it up.

Dr. Gaul's eyes widen slightly in surprise as she looks over the "title page" of your neatly formatted proposal, looking up at you again.

"Experiment in Language Efficiency on the Human Body: A Proposal." She reads, letting out a slight laugh.

You watch her nervously, hands clutched around your notebook against your chest. You nod in confirmation, wanting her to know you are entirely serious.

She quickly flips through the pages and your medical records, occasionally glancing up at you.

"Well, this seems to be a compelling proposal." She comments, closing the folder. "But no. I will not be turning you into any kind of experiment."

Your brow furrows in slight disappointment, and you flip open your notebook to quickly write something down for her.

'I volunteer.'

She reads the sheet as you turn it around and she shakes her head, a small smile forming on her lips. "I figured as much, but still, it is too dangerous. I do not experiment on humans. Especially Capitol citizens, and especially those as well-loved as you."

The irony of that is palpable, and your jaw tightens as you scribble your thoughts down on the next page. You thought she had done something to Clemensia, but you did not wish to fuel the rumour mill, so you kept that quiet.

'I believe that if anyone is capable it is you, Dr. Gaul.'

"I'm flattered, and I do not doubt that." She chuckles, holding the folder out to you again. "But that does not make it possible, I am afraid."

In response you just point over to the bird cages against the left wall, tilting your head at her.

Jabberjays: Birds of her own creation designed to mimic the human voice.

"You've done your research." Dr. Gaul comments, clearly impressed and pleased that you would bring them up. "You make a valid point, my jabberjays, they... They were certainly a successful experiment of mine. Undeniably relevant to your cause."

She gazes over at the caged birds thoughtfully. "But look at them now. As you point at them." She nods toward them before looking back at you again. "They were only free for so long before they ended up caged again. Useful, for a while, during the war, but their time of pertinence has passed. You know how that feels, don't you?"

The question was cruel, as she was known to be, but that knowledge didn't make it hurt any less. You take a deep breath in and out through your nose, feeling frustrated and defeated all at once as you turn to walk away.

"Ah, wait a moment, chickadee. I'm not finished." She calls after you, voice echoing in the large lab. You pause, turning around to face her again.

"I am having all my precious jabberjays rounded up from the districts and shipped back to me because, despite their redundancy, I am yet to give up on them. I wish to somehow give them a second purpose, maybe make some tweaks to their genetics." She explains, but you are still mostly uninterested and busy drowning in your disappointment. "What I mean, is that I will consider your proposal, depending on how that goes with them in the coming weeks."

Your heart stops and flutters for a moment at the exciting news. You can't help the hopeful smile that grows on your face as you nod eagerly at her.

'Thank you.'

You write quickly before showing her the sheet, pressing your hand to your chest to signal further your gratefulness.

"That is not a yes, mind you. It is very risky, but I will take it into account. I'll do some tests on defective birds and see if there is a way I can help." She warns you, tucking the folder under your arm. "Now, I have a meeting, if you wouldn't mind. I will be in touch with you, little bird."

You nod again, giving her a small wave before turning and walking back the way you came with a giddy smile on your face.

Walking into the now familiar lab, Coriolanus is slightly nervous. As he always is, in the presence of Dr. Gaul. The coldness of the room in both temperature and design makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up, but he's used to the chill he gets when he walks in.

Especially now that he didn't know what she had summoned him for.

His worries are quickly dashed and then tripled walking down the spiral staircase, stopping in his step when he sees you coming up.

"What are you doing here?"

Your best friend's voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you look up, having just finished tucking your notebook into your bag. You had little to no interest in pulling it out again, hoping that your long-lasting friendship would allow you to instead just communicate telepathically and spare you the effort.

You just stare at him, just as surprised to see him, opening your mouth like you're going to say something and you try but you still can't. Shocking.

Instead of coming up with any meaningful response, you do the best you can do, pointing at him and then turning up your palm as if to ask him the same thing.

"Me? Dr. Gaul called for me." Coryo answers, thankfully understanding your wordless question. He was better at that than most. "You too?"

You're about to shake your head and try to explain why you were here, but then you think better of it.

He hates her. Hates her experiments, despite what he did to help her with the games. He'd probably flip if he knew the truth.

You nod instead, glancing back down the stairs.

Coryo sighs a breath of relief. At least he wasn't the only one. At least you might be able to give him some peace of mind. "Is it bad? Is it about the mentorship program? Is it-"

You hold a hand up to stop him from his mini spiral, lifting one finger.

'One question at a time.'

Right.

He had the sound of mind to only ask yes or no questions to get to the bottom of what he wanted to know, but he didn't quite get as far as realizing that all of them at once may not be helpful.

"Sorry, is it bad?" He asks again, and normally he would laugh, but he was too anxious to even see the comedy in it like the two of you normally would.

Unsure what else to do, you shake your head and shrug vaguely. As an extra measure, you hold up your hand and twist your palm.

'So so.' The gesture is meant to signal, considering it was a safe enough answer. Nothing Dr. Gaul could have called him here for could be all good news, after all. You don't think, anyway.

"Okay, okay..." Coryo breaths out, nodding to himself.

Feeling a little guilty you step up to the step he's on, gently patting his shoulder and giving him a small smile.

'You'll be fine.'

He seems to interpret this correctly, giving you a small smile in return and gently resting his hand over your smaller one on his shoulder.

You were meant to be reassuring him, but his touch works miracles to comfort you when you weren't even sure you needed it all that much.

These days though, you would cling to any sense of it you could get. Even the tiniest bits. Sometimes, for a flicker of a second, you didn't feel so alone. Coryo could still hear you.

"Thanks. I'll see you soon? Can I come by later?" He asks and you nod in confirmation, giving his shoulder another gentle squeeze as you take another step up so you're about at eye level with him, leaning back to kiss the side of his head in a small bit of encouragement before waving him on.

Coryo can't help the flush that forms on his cheeks as he nods at you, hesitating for a moment before continuing down the steps and you continue back up.

"Oh, Dr. Gaul?" Coryo says, catching himself before he leaves, and she looks up again from her corner desk stacked with papers, your deep red folder sitting right on top.

She looks up, anticipating his question.

"Did you offer an apprenticeship to Y/N as well? I saw her leaving on my way down." He asks, assuming that she must have extended it to you as well. That was why you were here, right? Both called for the same thing? Though, he didn't understand how that could have been a bad thing as you indicated it kind of was when he stopped you on the stairs.

But he knows you well. Having to settle for an internship under Dr. Gaul was far from what you wanted in life, so he can easily see how you could have seen it that way.

"No." Dr. Gaul answers after a moment, head tilted at him. "She just had a question for me."

Well, so much for your honesty.

You never lied to him. At least, Coryo didn't think you did, but here he was, being confronted with the fact that you had. It doesn't settle well.

He can't resist asking. "What about?"

"That is between the songbird and I, I'm afraid." Dr. Gaul responds with a shrug and a sly, knowing smile- taunting him for something she knew about you that he did not. "If she wished for you to know, she would tell you." She pauses, a feigned guilty smile forming on her red-painted lips at the irony of her words. "Well, you know what I mean."

no taglist this time around!! my fics usually get over a hundred requests to be added to the taglist so instead i made a library! follow me over on @runningfrom2am-library and turn on notifs to get updates when i post new parts!!

[luxheroica]

under your tree (3/3)

Part 3/3 - Ekko, ???, and the tree. An epilogue

Thank you to everyone who has enjoyed along the way, thank you for allowing me to express how much I love these two characters.

Part 1

Part 2

Also on AO3

---

How he drags himself back up after the memorial, Ekko will never quite be sure. 

The Firelights need him. Zaun needs him, now more than ever, and after everything he gave his promise. It’s harder than it ever was before, to get back up and keep at it. His fight was always about making the city better for his people– and now there are so few of them left. 

But he’s damned if he’s going to just give up. 

I’ve never seen you give up on anything, Ekko.

He wanders until he’s at the tree. The leaves are green and vital, the arcane spillover that was slowly poisoning the ancient tree gone with Viktor’s final sacrifice. The Firelights still call it their home– only it is no longer a closely guarded secret. Any who wish to come can, and there they can find a meal and a warm drink and a place to mourn their dead and a warm hand to hold. 

“How did you do it?” he’d asked that other-Vander, on one of his few-and-far-between breaks from building the Z-Drive. “How did you unify Zaun? With all the warring factions and everyone out for themselves…” 

And Vander had smiled and said, “Mostly, some cussed good luck. But I’ll tell you what, it started with building a community right here– and then fighting for it.” 

And Ekko is trying to build a community where he is. Some days it’s harder than others. 

There isn't any space left on the wall to depict those they’ve lost along the way, and he doesn't even know all their faces to draw them anyways. 

He easily finds the drawings that Jinx made, with their neon bright colors standing out from all the rest. He traces the paint with his hands. 

After the battle was over he looked for her. He found Vi instead, broken and grieving. Her reaction told him all he needed to know. 

How many times do I have to lose you? 

He still remembers the time they spent together. Too short, and an eternity all at once. It hadn’t been easy– her pain had come spilling out of her in explosive ways, and his caution had time to rear its ugly head– but in those scant days they had found a kind of equilibrium between them. Working on turning her lab into a flying weapon of war, intertwining their ideas together until at last they had something that might turn the tide of Ambessa’s ambition. In the quiet moments, Ekko dying her hair and Jinx altering his clothes (which didn't always remain on), and kissing her until they were both breathless. 

It reminded him sometimes, of that other Powder in the other universe. Building something together, something that would help the world. 

And now she is dead. 

He traces the lines of her drawing with his fingers. Misses her. 

Then he starts to paint. There is no space on the wall and so he covers the lines of Powder's portrait with Jinx. Changing her hair, updating her eyes, turning her at last into an older version of herself. 

At last his hands are covered in blue paint, but there she is– immortalized on the wall. Another one of his ghosts. 

“You really think I'm dead, huh?” 

Ekko whirls around. The figure coming towards him is wrapped in a cloak. She walks with a limp and her face is scarred. There is still a trace of telltale blue peeking out from underneath her hood. 

“Wha–how–?” 

He stares dumbfounded as she takes down her hood. She is unmistakably Jinx. There is a wide burn scar across half her face, but still she grins and she is as wild and as vital as ever.

“Miss me?” 

Ekko rushes forward. Envelops her in a crushing hug. She nearly buckles under his weight. “Easy there tiger–” she starts to say, and then he kisses her. She relaxes into the kiss. 

Ekko pulls back, not quite sure if she's real… but she is. He cradles her face between his hands. “How are you–?” 

“Alive? Blast knocked me clear,” Jinx explains succinctly. “Then I think one of those hexgate things activated and I got tossed halfway to Kumangra. It’s been a wild ride getting back, believe me.” 

Ekko laughs. It bubbles up out of him, unable to be suppressed. He’s just… happy. “You’ll have to tell me all about it.” 

“Someday, maybe.” And her tone isn’t like he’s ever heard it, not for years. It’s far off and quiet. 

Ekko takes her hand in his. Holds it tight. Holds onto her. 

“Have you told Vi?” he asks. “That you’re alive?” 

She shakes her head. And from the set of her mouth– wistful, resigned– he knows that she doesn’t plan to. 

“Jinx is dead, remember?” she gestures up to the portrait he’s just finished painting for her. “It’s better for her– better for everyone– if she stays that way. If she remembers me as the sister who saved her, maybe she can finally let me go. But, I wanted you to know.”

She turns towards him, and her expression is fond and faraway.  

Ekko understands in that moment that she’s not staying. He twines his fingers tighter with hers, like he might hold her here by the strength of his will alone. But holding onto her is light holding onto an explosion– the tighter you try, the more it will hurt. 

He relaxes his grip, and her fingers slip from his. 

“When am I gonna stop losing you?” 

His voice is choked. 

She smiles, leans forward and kisses the bridge of his nose. “Hey,” she says. “If you keep losing me, I guess that means I always come back, right?” 

He smiles slowly. Her fingers find his and they gently twine together. Not clutching or holding tight just touching. For this moment and this moment alone. 

“Like a lucky penny.” 

She laughs. Looks up, and her face is dappled with golden light. “Or a tree, that just keeps coming back.” 

“Where are you gonna go?” 

She cocks her head. Shrugs her shoulders. He thinks, she has finally shed the weight of everything weighing her down. “No clue. Somewhere far away. Someplace that’s never heard of Piltover or Zaun or any of this.” 

“I want to ask to come with you,” Ekko admits. 

Jinx smiles. She understands him, maybe better than anyone else ever has. “But you won’t. Cause you’re the Boy Savior, and this place needs you.” 

Zaun and Piltover are to be one city. A common enemy has forged them into one being. Sevika apparently got herself a place on the council. He hopes it will stick. But he knows that their problems aren’t so easily solved, and old hatreds have a way of rearing their ugly heads, and without some threat breathing down their necks people will remember the old ways of power and privilege. In the meantime, somebody’s got to be here to build something worth hanging onto. 

“You could do a lot of good here,” Ekko offers. 

Jinx’s answering look is wistful and sad. “I think I would have liked that– just building things with you.” 

Ekko nods. It hurts, right in that place to the left of his ribcage, but it’s a different kind of ache from before. This, he thinks, is more manageable. She laces her fingers between his and kisses him slowly and deliberately and he knows it is goodbye. Ekko savors the taste of her, presses back into her, making sure she won’t forget him. 

Then she pulls away. Untangles their fingers. She takes two steps away and hops off the platform, and Ekko remains at the tree watching her go. She wanders off, still dappled by that sunlight, light as the wind. 

Sometimes taking a leap forward means leaving a few things behind. 

What’s one more goodbye?

He isn’t expecting her to turn back, to look over her shoulder at him. 

“Five years,” Jinx calls. Ekko raises his eyebrows at her. “Give me five years– to get my head on straight, to see the world, to figure out who I’m gonna be next. If you’re here in five years– meet me here.” 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Ekko shouts back. “Shine the place up nicely for you!” 

“You’d better!” 

She throws a peace sign over her eye. Grins. 

And then she is gone. 

Ekko waits for a long time. Leans against the wall and watches the patterns of green-and-gold light from the leaves of the tree. Then at last he looks up at her portrait on the wall and sighs. Smiles.

“Well, time to get to it.” 

---

True to her word, she comes back. True to his word, he is waiting. 

[sonicasura]

Let's be honest with ourselves that Transformers Earthspark has its issues. It isn't uncommon for the series to have a few messy iterations throughout the years. However those at least have something going for them.

Bayverse is a junk pile yet there's a lot of material you can build off on and some pretty interesting concepts. RiD15 is an awful sequel to Prime but does decently well as a standalone although there are much needed changes to be had. Earthspark... Well, it's just there.

I can be lenient with the plot holes and poor pacing as Nickelodeon is notorious for interfering with any show that isn't SpongeBob to the point of cancellation. The issues truly land on the characters themselves. I'm gonna try to simplify it without devolving into a rant like the previous draft.

Edit: Gonna add some further edits as I wrote this in the middle of the night. Plus my simplified version skipped some key details.

Robby. Somehow they made a human character I actually dislike instead of be neutral about. In the official Transformers wiki, he's labeled as a big brother who cares for his siblings but his actions so far say otherwise. Robby literally ran away in the first episode because they moved then decided to try and hide the Terrans from his parents.

Yet he rarely gets enough consequences for his actions. I think we don't just need less Emberstone saves not just because of plot armor but force actual character growth on him. Like a life changing to one of his siblings as consequences for his actions and strained relationship until he gets his head outta his ass.

Edit: Yes, I know Robby is a teenager but that isn't a decent enough excuse for his behavior. Seen the trope about big brothers who do act closed off or at some points rude but they haven't done shit that put their family in serious danger. No, I didn't try to purposely forget the times he was injured badly.

There honestly needs to be less of those and his consequences be adjusted to it affects someone else badly. *

Next issue is lacking confrontation with Optimus choices alongside the obvious misplaced trust in the 13 Primes. Quintus Prime literally emotionally manipulated and scarred Mo through a fake bad ending reality because she doubted herself. No good person would do that, much less an actual ally. Even moreso on a child.

I seen this shit in Trollhunters but at least Jim, the main character, was a teenager. (It still was wrong though.) We also got remember that Liege Maximo and Megatronus/The Fallen are Primes. Yet somehow it is best to trust them.

Don't get me started with some of Optimus' choices when it comes to GHOST. He probably did it to protect his Autobots but what about the Decepticons who are locked away? Why are there so little of his companions with him especially since Bumblebee had fucking went into hiding before the show began.

There needs to be tension between Optimus with his Autobots. Someone is bound to snap and Bumblebee would have the biggest impact. The man clearly isn't okay as he's doing things that even Megatron admits ain't like him.

Mandroid needs to be written differently. He has the making of a sympathetic villain but oh boy. First off it is clear that his depiction is ableist aligned since the reason he doesn't like Cybertronians is because he lost his arm. Major thing to change right there.

Give him a narrative where his interest been genuine but slowly declines as the Autobot/Decepticon war increases the number of destroyed lives. Let him become a victim to this than just 'I lost my arm so death alongside experimentation to all Cybertronians'. Also don't make Mandroid ignore the obvious fact that the Transformers parts he puts into his body is slowly poisoning and instead come up with ways to fight the infection. Kinda like in Ironman 2 where Tony's arc reactor began to do the same thing.

Edit: Mandroid's negative views on Cybertronians are about the war and he's aware of the Energon poisoning. It is just that it is poorly portrayed to the point you rarely see it over his Arachnamechs/his ruined life.

Have the man present various evidence of destruction the war caused by both sides at the Malto children or anonymously spread such info around town to sew discontent with the townsfolk. 'These are the people who you consider heroes. Who you see as family and friends. Or should these tragedies be forgotten?'

Do a Baxter Stockman where you frequently see him try to fix the Energon poisoning than just simple dialogue. Even have testing on organic subjects to see how they react and find ways to counter it. Don't keep these key points as simple dialogue. *

I don't think Karen needs much changes either. 'But her taking over Cybertron doesn't make sense!' It actually does for one reason: hubris. Have you ever seen what happens when you give a control freak power? Their behavior becomes more erratic as they begin to think they deserve more. She is xenophobic in nature so imprisoning Decepticons and ordering around the Autobots is a drug to her.

Karen wants to treat them like slaves so the next step in her mind is Cybertron. Her death is well deserved and well played. Just like Icarus, the bitch flew too close to the sun.

I think the last major issue, other than out of character racist Shockwave, is the Terrans. No offense but they need a bit less screentime so the rest of the cast can shine. We barely see Alex and there's unclarified issues involving Bumblebee with Arcee if he's uncomfortable around her.

I also want their flaws to be at the forefront. Thrash is the only one who gotten such character development from his encounter with Swindle. We need more of that! Like Hashtag's overreliance on the Internet biting her back as she is forced to use real world skills.

Edit: I accidentally put in Terrans when I really meant Twitch. The screentime for everyone needs to be balanced mainly for the Malto family. Alex alongside the three younger Terrans rarely get involved or their characters further build upon. Twitch needs to get benched more.

Also the Dad Number 2 should really be addressed. Wheeljack was clearly uncomfortable when it been brought up. Plus it is way too fast to even consider such ideas unless you plan to have it addressed properly. Like 'Kid. We barely know each other yet somehow I became a father figure in an instant? It's best not to do that until you truly certain "Dad Number 2" doesn't mean harm or feels comfortable with it.' *

Earthspark clearly has potential but these problems need to be handled better. Addong the deleted scenes help add some clarification but canon needs to present it. We are supposed to get a second season so hopefully some of these are addressed.

[cherryys]

I'm crying man atp I wished megumi was stuck in some coma that only wakes up in the last chapter for *mystery* because the more he is in these chapters and any trauma or any emotional moments are just avoided when it comes to megumi I'm just disappointed like why gege

it's funny seeing people go crazy for the hana and megumi moment like he's always been polite to her??? I guess it goes against people's depictions of him being a bitch to women for no particular reason like he can be mean and condescending but for the most part he tries to be polite

hana/megumi would just be another thing to add to my list of complaints surrounding megumi though if they ever have one it would so clearly be about pity and debt considering megumi acts the same before 266 (so much for that clear change and development am I right) it's so odd because megumi acts the same but the story just doesn't truly acknowledge that something really bad happened to him

and people called me crazy when I said his character became stagnant and reverted right back to where we started lol. nothing about him is addressed in any conclusive way—or any of the cast, really, but his is the most obvious because he's been given nothing since the start—and gege silences him in any emotional moment he SHOULD have, literally and figuratively. he never even made him say anything to tsumiki while burying her lmao we have genuinely lost the plot.

the reaction to the megumi & hana conversation was pretty weird because you have one side that thinks this means they're canon (? he literally rejects her in that scene) and the other side that thinks he should've been mean to her or cursed her out or something, when that's never been his character.

people have this misunderstanding that megumi is mean. like, deuteragonist-comepting-with-the-protagonist mean. like talks-shit-about-everyone sort of mean. but he's never been mean or rude to any stranger or his upperclasmen or even gojo. he just expresses annoyance with his extreme personality and over-the-top teasing, but he's never been rude to him. hell, he still speaks in polite speech with honorifics, and he does listen to him intently when gojo's talking seriously to him and respects his advice. Just because he puts on an aloof air about him (which just comes from his social awkwardness) doesn't mean he hates everyone except yuuji or something (which is a sentiment I've seen from the more intense shipping side of the fandom). He felt responsible for what happened with Hana and wanted to take action, which should've been a scene to show his kind nature that he denies he has, but everyone turned it into a sexuality/ship thing, which, tbh, I get why. gege didn't really give Megumi much to discuss about after 268. he took any defining qualities and flattened them for the sake of this cookie cutter ending so there was barely anything anymore to say about his character now, just what he was before or what he could've been. (thanks gege)

I don't think this was any indication that gege was ever gonna make them canon. if he did, he would've made megumi show any sort of interest, but he genuinely felt uncomfortable so I don't think he cares for it either lol (poor hana though he just keeps mistreating her the entire time)

and about your last comment, yeah. just seems they're gonna ignore anything that happened since 212. what the hell did megumi even go through all of this for then lmfao all he got were some cool scars and even those gege forgot to draw which showcases the care and effort put into his character these past 2 years LMAO

[swiss-mrs]

Party Girls

(Word Count: 4.5k)

Ratings: PG-13. Language and Adult Themes. All Characters are 19+.

Reader/OC Description: Reader is/mixed with African American with dark curly hair and brown eyes. Body type/shape is not detailed. No Use of Y/N.

Synopsis: Eddie is talked into going to a party for the first time in almost two years, the first time in forever that he’s not going as a dealer, and upon arrival, he finds this is also the first time he stands out for something other than just rockstar style.

Warnings(?): Mentions/Depictions of Anxiety and Panic Attacks, Mentions of Depression and Self Doubt, Adult Language, Coming to Terms with Growing Up, Race Is a Factor but Is Not Overbearing, No In-Depth Depictions or Mentions Racism or Racist Acts.

This is pretty Eddie focused and doesn't contain too much 'Y/N'. It's written in third person but narrated more from Eddie's POV. Idk if I'm gonna make this into a mini series/ make a part two or just leave it as is. Either way, it comes to a good conclusion.

Preface: Summer of 1986. Eddie is 19, going on 20, and still a high schooler. ‘84 was supposed to be it, one and done, but no. He lived in denial until the day came when all his classmates walked the stage, and he didn’t. He was angry. There is no way this could be happening. Then ‘85 hit. He tried making every deal he could. He’d sell his soul to the devil if it meant he could get out of Hawkins High, but no. ‘86 was going to be his year. This was it, but, again, no. He was left more bruised and scarred than any year prior. One coma later, he was left in a hospital bed with nothing but 2 months of healing and mental degradation.

He was a failure. 1986 was almost over, and here he was in the same position, but worse. He spent the last 6 months of that year locked away in his room, feeling empty. In December of ‘86, Wayne couldn’t take it anymore. He could not and would not allow his nephew to waste away. He would not allow him to give up. He raised him better than that.

With the new year and quite the ‘dad talk’, Eddie decided to make a change. With the help of Wayne and his younger friend Dustin, Eddie’s life course differed for the better. The decision was made that he wouldn’t go back to Hawkins High. Instead, he would start his life as an adult.

He dived into the workforce, working a minimum wage job at a record store. The original thought was to go into a trade, but Dustin, with the backing of Wayne, talked Eddie into continuing his studies and getting his GED. “Maybe the toxic shit environment of high school was never for you.” Dustin would say, and maybe, he was right. Eddie thought he was just one of those who would peak in high school, but in fact, it was just holding him back.

Working in a record store allowed him the necessary time and environment he needed to simultaneously focus on his studies. Reading textbooks was lame, but with soft music playing in the background and the few and far between customers, he could at least focus and actually retain what he learned, for the most part.

He spent many of his shifts over the next 4 months with Dustin and several stack flashcards, and it worked! He had never felt more accomplished in his life. Wayne even went out to a second hand store and found a cap and gown for his boy. With the small group made up of the OG hellfire, a few coworkers, and the old lady who lived a few trailers down and who always brought Wayne and Eddie food when she managed to cook extra portions (always.)

Dustin played the role of announcer, naturally, and, fittingly so, would be the one to hand Eddie the thick certificate paper. Everyone cheered for the young man. Everything was looking up. Finally.

“Come on, man! You have to! It's a celebration!” Eddie shakes his head at his pleading coworker, not sparing him a glance as he continues to search the piles of boxes in the back room.

“Nope.” Eddie replies, popping the ‘p’ in the word.

“Bro.” The taller, dark skinned man starts sternly. “Booze. Good music. LOUD music. Hot chicks. Good vibes. What is there to say no to? Give me one good reason why you can’t go.” He crosses his arms and shifts his weight to one hip.

“Cam. I already gave you my reasoning. I’m not going.” Eddie replies, still rummaging through tapes. “Ah, there you are.” He states, lifting the tape he was searching for out of the box. Eddie starts to head back to the front of house, his coworker following suit.

“I’m not accepting it.-”

“I was actually able to find a copy for you.” Eddie interrupts once reaching his awaiting customer, ignoring his coworker.

The lady looks down at the tape relieved then back up at Eddie with grateful eyes. “You are a lifesaver. I can’t gift my daughter a portable tape player without any tapes,” she laughs slightly. “Thank you so much.” They make their way to the register, all three.

“Not a problem at all.” Eddie replies, ringing her up. “Your daughter has good taste, and I'll do anything to help out a young fellow metal head.” He smiles brightly, taking the money from the lady’s outstretched hand. The pale, redhead rolls her eyes playfully, chuckling.

“Well, I’m not a big fan, but I remember being a rebellious teen once,” she shakes her head, “I figured I may have a better time supporting my daughter, and maybe she’ll stay out of a lot more trouble than I did.” They all share a friendly laugh.

“Well, wish her a happy birthday from us, and hopefully, all goes well.” Eddie smiles nicely. The lady thanks him again, and as soon as the door closes behind her, their original conversation starts back up again.

“Seriously, you can’t possibly be skipping out on me for some movie you are going to see… Alone." Eddie turns towards his coworker with a dramatic scoff, lifting one finger.

"It is not 'some movie'." Eddie states, obnoxiously mocking his coworker's voice with air quotes, "It's Hellraiser. You know I've been waiting for this movie since we saw the trailer for it when we watched Predator for movie night earlier this year."

"Bro. I remember." He started. "I also remember how bad the trailer alone freaked the fuck out of Lex. She was so scared by it that she cringed when you brought it back up on the way out the theater." He shook his head, Eddie chuckling a little at the memory. "Come on, dude-"

"Camden. Listen-" Eddie interrupts.

"No. You, Edward." He grimaces, mockingly. "Listen, you finally got that cert you've worked so hard for. You have a cool job with awesome coworkers." Camden points to himself. "You said it yourself. You are finally happy, ready to finally move forward, and you know what? I think the next step is a girl." He says, raising his dark brows. Eddie rolls his eyes, his body following their direction, turning to walk away from his coworker.

"I don't think so." Eddie calls back, but his coworker doesn't let up, following a few steps behind.

"And why not?!" Eddie turns a corner avoiding his coworker, trying to lose him in the maze of aisles.

"Because!" He throws his hands up.

"Cause what, man? You can’t possibly be chickening out on me, right now.” Cam says, with a smirk. Eddie stops in his tracks, whipping around to point a finger in the taller man’s smug face

“I never chicken out.” Cam smirks, lifting his hands under his arms, flapping his elbows like wings as he bobs his head.

“Ba- ba- bacAWK.” He clucks loudly in Eddie’s face. Eddie rolls his eyes. Cam continues with his chicken impression, getting more and more obnoxious as he closes in on Eddie's face.

“Ooooh my gOD. FINE! Fine!” Eddie yells, raising his hands to push his coworker away. Cam laughs triumphantly, fist pumping the air.

“Ha HAA! Yes!” The taller celebrates, causing another eye roll from Eddie. Eddie turns from his friend and begins to walk away, busying himself with scanning through records, ‘organizing.’ His somber change in attitude, queues up a question. “Come on, man.” Cam starts, genuinely concerned and confused. “What is the big deal? It’s one party. I’ll be there, so will Lex, so will Marcus.” He puts a hand on his friend’s shoulder, finally getting Eddie’s gaze. “You got nothing to worry about. Plus, we’re still young! You gotta at least enjoy some of your time outside of the shop.” He gestures to the store around them. Eddie shakes his head.

“You don’t get it, man. You won’t understand.” He says, walking around Cam, trying to retreat towards the back, but his friend is relentless in his following.

“Well, you gotta help me, man.” He jogs up to cut Eddie off right in front of the door to the back of house. He looks into Eddie’s eyes, trying to convince him to open up. Eddie avoids eye contact but inevitably caves, pushing Cam backward through the swinging door and into the back to ensure privacy. Once in the back, Eddie moves passed Cam and sits on one of few ‘breakroom’ chairs. He sighs and rubs his hands down his face, Cam standing next to him. “What’s up, Ed?”

“It’s just that-... I just-...” Eddie sighs, pausing in search of the right words, “I’m-...” Eddie frowns, a saddened expression painting his features. “Ever since last year, ever since I started over, I just haven’t felt myself?” He pauses, questioning if those words matched, “Or maybe I just haven’t felt the same?.. I don’t know how to describe what it is, but… I just feel… off, like an imposter,... like I can’t be who I once was, you know? ... I really liked who I was, at least I think I do, did?”

Cam sighs, walking over to a stack of folded chairs and picks one up, unfolding it and setting it down next to Eddie, taking a seat. “You know, man? You’ve had a lot of change happen to you recently. I know it’s a touchy subject, and I won’t ever press hard for information you've already set a clear boundary around but just knowing the short version is enough for me to know,” Cam leans forward resting his elbow on his knees, clasping his hands together. “you were stuck, stuck in one place for a long time, so much so that you adapted to it. Life moved on without you for so long, but it’s not going to do that anymore.” He glances over at Eddie who had focused his eyes on the shelving across the room. Cam sighs, “Everything’s changed, so” he pauses, “you feel like you need to change, too.” Eddie looks over at his friend, listening. “You don’t need to completely change who you are,” Cam pokes a finger where Eddie’s heart lays in his chest, “but changing, growing, is just another part of growing up, maturing.” Eddie nods, letting his friend’s words sink in. “You are a great dude, Eds. You’ve grown, and you will continue to grow." Cam places a comforting hand on Eddie’s shoulder, “It’s not a bad thing. You’re still you. I am lucky to know you, all of us are,” he smiles gently, “and I’m sure the person you find to spend the rest of your life with will see what they have and think the same.” Eddie looks down, smiling sheepishly. He nods.

“Thanks, man.”

“I got your back. You’re my brother, man!” Cam boasts, squeezing Eddie’s shoulder a bit. They share a soft laugh.

“Who knew you held such intelligence.” Eddie teased.

“Nah, I just had a good roll.” Cam wiggled his brows and grinned wide, earning an honest laugh from his friend. Eddie stands, Cam following suit. Eddie plops a hand on his coworkers shoulder, gripping it tight and looking him in his eyes.

“You are the best.” Eddie declares proudly, earning a dramatic bow from Cam before they head back out to the floor.

“Boy, I don’t even take this long to get ready!”

“Seriously, dude. Are you takin’ a shit or somethin’? Come on!”

"Eddie! Let's go!" Cam bangs on the bathroom door. Seconds later the door swings open, revealing Eddie. He was dressed in an all black ensemble, a nice button down shirt and a pair of dark black jeans held up by a black leather belt. The only color in his outfit were the dingy white soles of his well loved black converse.

"All right! All right. I'm out!" He yells, holding both hands palms out in defense as he walks passed the trio.

"Ooo, I see you finally listened to me and put something in that hair of yours." A teasing voice called out behind him.

"I'm ignoring you, Lex." Eddie says, as he continues to walk towards the door, grabbing his wallet and old faithful leather jacket from the table at the entrance of the apartment.

"Whaaat, I'm trying to be nice. You look cute." Her warm, deep toned hand reaches to pinch his cheek, but he swats it away the second it comes into contact with his face, gaining a chuckle from the shorter woman.

"Adorable, in fact." Another tease came up.

"Alright, alright. Lex, get in the car. Marcus, don't start shit." Camden interrupts.

"What, I can't get in the car, too?" The tan, curly haired boy responds.

"No, you're waking." Cam shoots at Mark. His mouth drops open as he rolls his eyes, following Lex out the door.

"Ruuuude." Marcus replies, trailing behind a giggling Lex.

Eddie takes one last look at himself in the mirror hanging on the wall in front of him, lost. He even looked different. His hair was longer, bangs grown out. He had a beard growing in, mainly because he couldn't be bothered to shave. It was weird. He looked… healthy, happy even, despite the unsure expression on his face. Since his talk with Camden in the shop yesterday, he couldn't stop analyzing. He rarely ever really looked at himself, let alone really see him, see how he'd changed. Cam was right. He's grown.

A large hand comes down on his back with a smack, snapping Eddie out of his trance with a jump. "You look great, brother." Eddie glances at his friend's reflection. Camden smiles wide, showcasing his perfect, straight teeth, a beautiful contrast to his deep brown skin. The sight of his friend's glowing smile brings a small one to Eddie’s lips. Camden moves behind Eddie, putting both hands on his shoulders. "Let's go knock 'em dead." Eddie nods, accepting his fate, as Cam pushes him out the door.

Just as Cam puts the car in park, Lex and Marcus jump out the backseat, slamming their respective doors shut, and start running to the entrance of the rundown building. "AYO! What did I tell y'all about slamming my goddamn doors! " The eldest yells, halfway out the car. They both throw meaningless 'sorry's behind them back at their driver. He rolls his eyes, he and Eddie closing their doors at the same time. Eddie laughs at the pair's antics. "Dude, not funny! They're gonna break my fucking car one day, and we both know they have about six dollars between the two of them." He glares, but Eddie's grin is unwavering.

The two begin making their way to the old building. Eddie looks up at it, loud music blaring from inside, lights flashing, groups of people huddled outside the building, smoking, drinking, talking, or some combination. Before He can even make it inside the building, Eddie is already getting loads of eyes falling upon him. The rush of getting so much unreadable attention hits him straight in the chest. He starts to unconsciously slow his steps as his chest tightens and it becomes harder to breathe. What the fuck was wrong with him? He used to be able to handle crowds and parties with ease, taking every stare and whisper in pride, but now he's about to go into a full blown panic attack?

"Hey, " Camden stops, turning to Eddie when he notices his friends falling behind, "you alright, bro?" He walks up to him and places a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder. Eddie looks away from the people and the building to stare into his friend's confused and concerned eyes. "Breathe, man." Eddie takes in a deep breath, following Camden's lead, before exhaling it. They repeat this in unison twice more, before Camden pats Eddie's upper arms. "You're gonna be just fine, brother. Like I said, I got you." Camden swings one of his muscular arms over Eddie's shoulders, and they continue walking in together, most eyes leaving Eddie once they see the relaxed yet intimidating form of his friend beside him.

Once inside, Eddie is immediately taken by the sight. The inside of this old building managed to look even bigger despite the sea of dancing bodies. Colorful dancing lights flicker over glistening skin, everyone's tanned and deep skin tones coming together like a painting. He'd never seen anything quite like this. It was almost ethereal. He could feel the positive atmosphere wash over him like a wave over sand. "So," a deep voice starts, yelling over the music, "how you feelin'? You ready to head home?" Eddie whipped his head towards his friend. Cam's face held a knowing smirk. Eddie scoffs, rolling his eyes at his friend.

"I think I'll stay for a bit. Check it out. Give it a chance, you know?" Eddie says, playing coy. It's now Camden's turn to scoff and roll his eyes. Eddie grins mischievously up at his friend. His arm drops from Eddie's shoulders.

"Okay, hot shot. Let's see you walk the walk." He teases, raising a brow and tilting his head toward the crowd. Cam leads the way as Eddie follows behind him.

Mostly everyone in the crowd is way too focused on their dancing, lost in the music, to even notice Eddie and his stark differences, but those who just so happened to open their eyes as he passed through them look at him as if they've seen a ghost, confused and a little weary. Nothing Eddie wasn't used to, but for multiple reasons, it felt different this time. 1) Eddie had never been so unsure of himself, ever. Not even in middle school. Looking back, he may not like what he remembers, but even then, he owned his differences without issue. Now, though, he was not really feeling himself, so these looks seemed to pierce right through him, as if everyone around him could see his vulnerability. 2) These stares he was getting weren't the same, not really. Though he could read unease, it wasn't necessarily judgemental, not for his personal tastes, not for his wild hair, not for his 'reputation.' No, they were cautious for much different reasons, ones he wasn't sure he could fully comprehend.

"There's my favorite, white boy!" Lex, in the middle of a mini clearing she and Marcus made, shouts over the music as she spots Eddie come through the crowd. Eddie grins, running his fingertips down his front, showcasing himself with fake confidence. Lex, as if pulling an invisible rope, gestures for Eddie to get closer to them and complete their friend circle. Eddie shakes his head at her actions with a smile, complying nonetheless. Camden found a dance partner with ease, but Eddie, Lex, and Mark stayed in a trio.

Eddie is, in all honesty, not much of a dancer, never really has been, but that didn't mean he couldn't fake it. He was a musician for God's sake, so he naturally knew how to catch a beat and keep in rhythm. He had to overcome the slight nervousness he still carried, but it didn't take long for the music to take over, especially since Lex was hyping him up. Eventually, his eyes fell closed, and he let go. No cares. No worries. No doubts. He was numb, but free. To Eddie, there was no passage of time. He didn't know how many songs passed, but eventually, an unfamiliar voice brought him back down to earth. "Hey."

Eddie opened his eyes, body still moving to the rhythm of whatever song was playing. It took a second for his eyes to readjust to the brightness of the dancing strobe lights. The first thing he sees is a silhouette, a soft pink light coming from behind the person. He blinked to refocus his sight, looking around and finding he was no longer in his protective friend bubble. His body slowly starts to cease its movements. "Hey!" The voice calls out again, a little louder just to be heard more clearly over the music. Eddie looks back to the person in shock.

"Uh, hi." He replies. The girl standing in front of him was beautiful, to say the least. She had beautiful skin that looked like it had been caressed by the sun. Half of her hair was slicked back into a ponytail, the loose hair boasting its natural curl, big and fluffy, but well defined. Her eyes were lined with black and there were a few gems glued to the tops of her cheekbones, just under her Cleopatra-esq eye lines. The color of her eyes reminded him of the earth's richness, deep and endless. He could have easily gotten lost in them if his eyes didn't continue to wonder. The striking color of her short, strapless party dress brought out the best qualities of her skin tone, and the tights she's wore adorned her legs with detailed lace designs, but the part of her outfit that caught Eddie's eye the most were the black leather boots with yellow stitching on her feet, obviously well-loved. "Nice Docs." He says, pointing at her shoes. When his eyes make their way back to hers, he finds her smiling at him with a spark in her eye.

"Wanna dance?" She asks over the music. Eddie raises his brows at her forwardness.

He blinked a few times, "I, uh, yeah." Her smile brightens as she reaches forward and takes Eddie's hands. He could've sworn he would die on the spot the way this girl was making his heart race.

For the first few seconds, they dance while holding hands, getting into each other's rhythm. Soon thereafter, the girl closes the gap between her and Eddie, guiding his hands to her waist. Eddie wasn't sure if it was showing, but God, was he on fire. He was thankful, for even if it was showing, his newfound partner was quick to close her lovely eyes and get lost in the music. Eddie was trying so hard to keep his mind blank, to stay in that blissful emptiness he'd found, but he couldn't. His eyes were too busy feeding his brain.

He swayed and moved in sync with the girl in front of him, mesmerized by her. She was breathtaking. He wasn't sure she knew how stunning it was to witness her get lost in the moment. He wished he could take this moment and loop it in his brain forever.

At first it seemed like he got what he wanted, because soon enough he was back losing track of time but for a very different reason. He didn't feel numb this time. He felt alive. He felt everything, the blood rushing through his veins, the rapid beating of his heart, the internal push and pull of the air in his lungs. He felt it all, and he burned with desire.

It wasn't lust, at least not completely. He didn't know what, but he knew he desired so much more with this girl. He wanted to know her. He wanted her to know him. He needed to know her. At this point, he was no longer a wall to dance on. They were partners, switching between who would follow and who would lead.

She would sway to one side, and he would follow. He would spin her around and guide her hips to move in sync with his, and she would follow. Their dancing was close and intimate. It erased all thoughts from his brain. His only focus was her.

They danced together for the entire night, not once leaving each other's sight. By now, the crowd had begun to disburse, and the DJ started playing slower, instrumental songs. It became a lot more sensual as the night was dying down.

Eddie couldn't feel his legs. They were aching, and he knew he'd be sore tomorrow, but it didn't matter. His mystery girl had her back pressed into his front, flush against him. His arms were wrapped around her loosely, one hand resting on her hip and the other ghosting the top of her thigh. He wasn't going anywhere, and he'd be damned if he stopped because he was tired.

Her head was leaning back on his shoulder, eyes closed. Eddie's eyes remain open, though half covered with heavy eyelids. The side of his chin and the corner of his lips was against her temple. Each breath he took danced across her forehead.

Even with her back to him, Eddie still found a way to stare at her, taking in every facial feature, the soft curve of her nose bridge that led into a rounded tip, her full, two toned lips. The curls around her neck were damp with sweat and now sticking to her skin. Any time he would think of it, his blood began to run wild at the feeling of her hair against the skin of his now exposed chest. The lights were no longer dancing. They were now on a low, warm setting. Eddie's mind flooded with the idea of laying next to his mystery girl in his room. This is what she would look like illuminated by nothing but the warm, dim light of his bedside table lamp. Maybe they could talk, maybe he'd reread his favorite books to her, maybe they would just lay side by side, and he could admire her beauty while she slept.

His thoughts were cut short by the feeling of her turning around to face him. His hands fell to rest at the small of her back, her hands finding their way to the sides of his neck. He could feel fire where her thumbs caressed his jaw. She pulls him closer so their foreheads rest against one another. "The DJ is trying to kick us out."

He stares at her lips. Her voice cuts through him, like every word she says is for him and him only. "I think he can wait." Eddie replies, this causes the girl to smile. The sight of her warm smile causes a grin to slip onto Eddie's lips. "I don't want to go." He states honestly. She leans back just enough to look him in the eyes. His eyes widened, pleading with her. She pulls his body impossibly closer, their noses nearly touching. Eddie swore he could melt into a puddle on the spot from the wide eyed, innocent look she gave him. He could kiss her.

"What's your name?" She asks, finally, now that the music is no longer deafening.

"Eddie. Eddie Munson." It was a strange feeling every time he had to introduce himself. It happened for the first time with his coworkers. No one in his new circle already knew him by rumors or word of mouth. He could start anew.

"Well, Eddie. Eddie Munson. You are possibly the best dance partner I could've ever asked for." This causes Eddie to smile wide and toothy. "I hope you'll come back around some time." The DJ faces out the music and turns the lights up a little, causing the girl to stop their swaying movements. Eddie would've stayed there in silence, swaying with his mystery girl until the end of time.

She began to lead him to the parking lot, hand in hand. Once completely outside, the lot was less packed than when he and his friends arrived, but there were still plenty of people chatting it up by their cars. He looked out and could see Lex and Cam perched up on the hood of his ride. Lex was staring up at the night sky. Cam was cross armed and people watching.

Once outside, there were a few gazes that would catch him, but then they would go back to talking with their friends. Eddie's full attention was brought back to his girl as he felt her hand slowly slip out of his. He went to grip it, stopping her from slipping away further. He turned to her fully, her doing the same to him. He grabbed her other hand in his, giving her a puppy eyed stare. "Will I see you again?" he asks. She smiles, brightly, her face lighting up. Eddie wouldn't mind if he were to go blind from the glow she was emitting.

"Maybe," she looks down shyly and swings their clasped hands.

"I know this place." He starts, not wanting to let her leave. "My friend Lex showed it to me. Barley's. We should go together sometime. They have the best food." Eddie rambles. The smiling girl nods. "It's on the corner of 112 and 19th Ave. Meet me there tomorrow afternoon?"

"Okay." She beams. Eddie smiles wide. The girl starts to walk backwards and slowly slips out of his hands. "It's a date." She continues to walk backwards a few steps before turning and walking to her car alone. Eddie watches her the entire way, catching her shy glance back at him, until she disappears into her vehicle. A high pitched scream can be heard from behind him, making Eddie jump just before he feels a pat on his back. He turns his head to find Lex jumping up and down clapping and Cam smiling at him.

"My baby has got himself a date!" Lex shouts like a proud mother. Cam laughs.

"Who knew? White boy got game." Cam teases and wiggles his brows. Eddie rolls his eyes, and they all begin waking back to Cam's car.

"Where's Marcus?"

"Passed out, drunk in the back seat." Lex replies, rolling her eyes. She's first to reach the car, getting in quickly to protect her exposed skin from the chilly, night air. Just as Cam opens his door and Eddie reaches for the handle of the passenger door, Cam speaks.

"Soooo," Cam draws out, leaning on the roof of the car, "What's the lucky girl's name?"

Eddie freezes with wide eyes. His hand finds its way to his forehead with a loud smack.

"Your stupid ass didn't ask for her name?!" Lex's voice could be heard coming from inside the car, a bit muffled but still clear as day. Cam shakes his head and chuckles, slipping into the driver's seat.

Eddie groans loudly the entire way into the car, Lex reaching around the seat to hit the back of his head. He slams his door closed behind him and leans forward, smacking his head on the dashboard.

"Bro, I tOLD YOU ABOUT SLAMMING MY DOORS!"

I've posted a "moodboard" of sorts for this fic on my page under #party girls swiss fic. It has a photo of what I imagined the reader as in this fic, soooo if you don't want the illusion broken, don't look LOL

[sapphicslaylist]

[STP] On Borrowed Paths Chapter 9 - Beneath The Brine

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You've been here before. You know what you have to do. Just make it quick, and don't overthink. But trapped beneath the brine, memories begin to distill even further and cut deep into the soul. Phantasmic intervention may not be enough to hold it all back.

(Yep, this chapter is named after The Family Crest song. Namely the ending of it.)

TW:

Continued usage of cannibalistic/vampiric imagery, starvation, significant minor character deaths, fatal poisoning, intensive realistic PTSD episodes, child peril, prisoner of war imagery, active deep scar injury/associated internalized ableism, and metaphoric/allegorical depictions of sexual assault & forced intersex secrecy (Context is a spoiler; tl;dr is reclamation from abuse/forced conformist identity) are all present here. There are also slight allusions to Pristine Cut, but not to spoiler level.

If needed for health, feel free to skip this & the former chapter. The next one will be infinitely lighter now that all major backstories (3, 1, 2 in series chronology) have been addressed.

Thorn did her best to size up these men - carefully. They were an exhausted, bleeding mess, with only one of them spared from the slaughter. Any form of sleaziness they were trying to use right now was to a disadvantage; at least one of their targets was untouchable. And, well, looking Thorn over, they weren’t so sure about the second. Comparatively, a few tiny prickles was worth it when the alternative was a solid rending. So that meant she was exposed. Great.

The key to this interaction was sleight of hand. Nimble hands wove their dark magic - that’s right; nimble. This had been before those deep palm scars had rendered movement and sensation more challenging all the way from fingertips to wrist, and it was a good thing a secondary witness was taking it in so it didn’t have to ache all over again to remember.

“I suppose we should ask the same of you. We’re here for a reason, are we not?”

The bold words left Thorn’s mouth, letting the petals fold and berries stain slightly in her hands. One of the men snickered, drinking straight from the wine bottle. A trickle of viscous, bloody fluid seeped down his chin.

“Princess doesn’t get it yet,” he jeered. “It’s just the way things run around here.”

“Yeah,” a second muttered, wiping a few bloody spatters off their cheek. “They say to catch, and we fetch. Don’t have to make it harder than it needs to be.”

These men absolutely reeked. One of the downsides of Wild Fae genetics was that keen sense of smell around human habitats; they always had that particular stench of sweat; testosterone; estrogen; decay . But these particular captors seemed to have it worse than usual; a fishier smell of vinegar, lye, and other putrid chemicals likely used in distillation. They weren’t good at hiding their intentions, were they?

“You could’ve easily scampered off,” inquired the man with a flick of his cigar, “but both of you are still here. So, tell me, what brings you here? There’s gotta be something you’re after.”

Was it better to be honest? Minus the poison, it could help gauge where they stood. Deflection certainly hadn’t done any good, and asking about the bottle would be a solid way to catch the wrong kind of interest.

“Well… Some better amenities would be nice,” Thorn started, avoiding eye contact. “Perhaps some food, water?”

There was a rattle from the other side of the wall. A cacophony of figures seemed to stir to life at the mere mention of sustenance. Thorn could almost see them through that interwoven sixth sense of the Network; a multitude of frail, clawed hands scraping the air before them; each other; their own arms and severed hands in desperation. The slam of a brutish human arm against the wall interrupted the skeletal trance as it retreated to the hollows of their cells, abandoned once again.

So there were others here. And judging from the ease at which the Network picked up on them, they were dying.

“Thieves don’t get cushy treatment,” the card player snickered. “We get your whole deal - you want to ‘borrow’ this, ‘borrow’ that - next thing, you want to ‘borrow’ the Crown Jewels. Already took care of one Princess, so now you’d better shut your mouth and sit tight. We don’t have to do this whole thing civil-like.”

“I’m sorry, did you actually want to talk or not?” 

The bitter, breathless question slipped out before Thorn could stop herself. Every part of the plan about playing it safe has gone out the window; this was about standing her ground. Already, the fearsome Fae beside her was coiling for another strike. They wouldn’t go for it if they were smart.

The man furthest took another long drag of his cigar. For a moment, his hardened gaze fell upon her, challengingly. Common tactic. Predators in the woods often sized up weaker members in a group. Thorn kept it directly, narrowing it until he finally slapped the broader man harshly on the back.

“Why don’t you shut your gob and pour these ladies a drink?”

 Cigar man must be the leader. The other two were lackeys.

That was about as much thought as they got out before, as expected, these men reached for the bottle and siphoned it into two [likely unsanitized] caps of test tubes. Their residue seemed to already be mixing with what, impossibly, was a less appetizing cannibalistic fare. So much for saving face.

“Oh, that’s not -“

The slender figure in the corner shuffled his deck, squinting. Razor squinted back.

“You’ve been eyeing that bottle an awful lot,” the dealer challenged. “Stuff ain’t cheap.” 

The hunger in the gaze returned. A thick, dazed fear in Thorn ran ragged despite attempts to smooth it back, not even wanting to look over at the sound of small sips and confused trills next to her began. 

Great, so the other Borrower had no issue with vampirism. But then again, that was to be expected with a Fae named “Razor,” wasn’t it?

“Your friend seems to like it just fine,” he added, giving a shrug. “I always figured the lot of you were animals when it came right down to it. And I mean, unless you plan on replacing it-“

“- I would.”

That was an opportunity if she ever saw one. The man squinted at her - as did something… long and blonde curled up around his neck.

By the Wilds, please tell me that’s not a Weasel.

The fun never ended here, did it?

“And how, tell me, would you plan on doing that?” The cold words reeked of anticipation; both man and mongrel seemed ready to pounce. 

“I know what’s in that bottle. You and I both know that. How many of those have you been drinking, and have you actually gained anything from it or not?”

One of the men checked over the label. “Stuff’s too distilled. That’s why we prefer doing it ourselves.” A grin; all teeth. Thorn stood her ground.

“You don’t need our blood for that. You won’t gain anything unless it’s presented to you. But, if you’ll allow me-“

The card dealer turned from his crew towards the heiress. His body language was obnoxiously relaxed. Then, after a moment he turned towards the slinky form on his shoulder. 

“Check her.” 

There was a look of intrigue as the creature - yep, definitely weasel - looked over at its master and gave a nod. Next, there was a twinkle in its eye as the weasel glanced back and gave a wink towards the Heiress. So he was playing both sides for advantage.

Not to be trusted, that one; she knew the moment he slid down to strike. This game of wits was familiar, but low from such a cushy opponent. Weasels were common familiars kept by huntsmen to ravage narrow Borrower tunnels, and the confusing maneuvers of their “war dance” made them harder to evade in the open. But with just as serrated an ally standing a few paces away, this one wouldn’t get far.

…Probably.

This weasel, however, didn’t seem to be coming in for a fight. His headlong stride and clear avoidance of Razor’s path seemed to say it all as he opted for the more vulnerable target. Moreover, it seemed by leaving Razor the space to take her own pickings (she was still fixated on the damn wine), he’d avoided a single scratch.

“I’ll be taking that, thank you.” One of the weasel’s paws shot out, kneeling by Thorn’s own, er… “helping” of the sanguine tonic with a few laps of his tongue. Then, catching her gaze: “What? You certainly weren’t going to be touching it.”

With a huff, the weasel glanced from eager crowd to hesitant Borrower. A few more sips passed in silence as he focused on his target, watching every twitch sadistically. After what seemed an eternity, he pushed over an emptied serving and stepped forward:

“Alright. Toll taken; I’ll talk.”

Immediately, a burst of vines snagged along one forepaw, leaving rigid cuts along his coarse fur. This he merely huffed at, swiping forward with the same paw in lazy ease. The jolt that followed seemed to make his target all too easy as deft claws snared the blooms and clutched them to his chest with a snicker.

Well, shit. There went the only edge she had against these men.

“You’re a jumpy little heiress, aren’t you? Oh, that look of shock on your face is priceless, ” he sneered, pawing a petal jeeringly. “Sweetheart, if you have a weapon, it belongs behind your back.” A paw flicked over the wrapped blooms. What was he doing?!

 “Hmm, not bad craftsmanship. Suppose it’ll have to do for now.”

There was quite an audacity around this one. Right now, he had her cornered, and there was little Thorn could do about it. Avoiding the weasel was one thing, but they were still in the presence of several hungry humans. If only that damn chimera would actually do something other than linger beneath the wooden table - did she actually care enough to intervene?! Clearly, someone who knew the stakes should. Or else maybe it was just that she herself needed to get better at this whole situation.

Someone is going to die here. Please let it not be us.

This all boiled down to how this Opportunist presented himself. And right now, watching him turn and bolt away conspiratorially with the blossoms, it wasn’t looking good.

“Excellent news,” the Opportunist crowed, standing in the center of the table. “She indeed brings magic. And not just any magic; these are a rather special kind of flower. Oh yes! You’ve gotten lucky, boys.” There was a snicker as he looked back over towards the pair of Borrowers, grinning. “Tell me, how long has it been since you’ve had a real high?” 

————

The labyrinth of castle tunnels seemed mostly undisturbed when it came to the lower levels. All fighting came up top, with little support below. The occasional bashed-in weapon or dented gauntlet seemed to glimmer in these empty halls, letting the sounds of footsteps grow on the cobblestone basement below. To the left, the cellar; to the right, an armory. This was the area they should’ve protected to begin with, but what’s done was done. The guards had let it go to waste for a reason as the Princess took neither passage and went straight ahead to greet the abandoned souls within the third corridor.

“Where are you taking us?”

The Princess turned around. It seemed the strange avian was pondering the surroundings worriedly, giving a clack of his beak. Talons clicked unceremoniously on the flooring as he shuffled, uncertain - but it seemed that he was still keeping pace. Hopefully he wasn’t getting cold feet.

“The Bestiary,” the Princess murmured, voice turning more solemn. “There’s someone here who should be able to help.”

There was a click of the lock as the door to the vacant space opened and gave way to the spectacle of remaining chimeras. Many seemed to be recovering from their own specific hunts, gnawing on bones which had been thrown in haphazard to keep the beasts from resisting. Several looked to have been given sedatives to mark them improper watchdogs. Tentatively, the Princess picked up the hem of her dress as she entered. The forms of the remaining creatures awake snapped to attention at the scent of Fae blood, rattling their chains or pawing at kennels as they tried to reach her.

“Hang on, I don’t think this is such a good idea,” Quiet murmured, watching the pack snarling and salivating. “Aren’t they trained to-?”

“Wait, good fellow,” Smitten huffed, putting a stocky paw against his leg. “The Lady has a plan here. We’re just here to run interference if anything goes wrong.”

“How do you know that?”

Smitten chuckled. “I’ve been around a long time, and Wilds’ heirs seldom choose poor company. In order to find Her Divinity this cycle, we have to play her game. That includes trusting her allies and vessels.”

Quiet squinted. “And sic a chimera on her again?”

There was a breath of unease - perhaps offense? - as Smitten squinted back. “Oh… Dear. This really isn’t the time for someone to be catching up on their history lessons. Just watch.”

The Princess waited momentarily for the crowd to settle. Standing in its center, she was safe from most of them as she squinted through the darkness. A single cage had been left unattended in the corner with a large, malnourished creature’s back towards the commotion. A flick of the furry tuft indicated it had heard, but did not wish to interrupt. This was the only chimera who was silent.

A soft whistle swept through the air. Immediately, the gangly beasts retreated. The silent chimera, comparatively, turned their antlered head. The Princess knelt down and patted her knees in indication to approach. The rest clicked into place therein. The relaxed creature obeyed her command, although there was a hesitation in the skittering steps of six legs passing by the others.

Quiet looked over, bemused. “Huh. I didn’t expect them to all just back up like that…”

There was a deep chuckle as Smitten stepped forward. “Have faith in these maidens; they nary leave themselves unarmed by wits. And a damsel of pure heart oft leaves hidden the lengths she’ll go for Justice.” Padding into the room with theatrical banter, the badger settled beside the Princess with a gaze of approval. “Excellent choice. The Old Guard still remembers their allegiance.”

The chimera looked over him and gave a bow of her head. Then, tongue sweeping -

“Gyah! Have mercy; my pelt’s been through enough disheveling today-“

The Princess giggled at the pawing badger, only to squeak in alarm as the creature barreled her over to the stone floor with a flurry of affectionate licks.

“Hey, hey- Den! Get off!” But it seemed her protests and playful wrestling with this animal were only interrupted by the clearing throat of the corvid behind them.

“Princess-“

“Right.” Stumbling to her feet, the Princess held the creature’s cheeks to her face to whisper in close. “We need your help to track a scent. Would you be able to assist?”

Reaching into her pocket, the Princess retrieved a small twig that’d come from her own forest adornments. Den sniffed close, pondering it a moment - her steps took off in the opposite direction from whence they came, leading back around to the other side of the cellar. The door, consequently, was locked - which didn’t help in hearing what sounded like a very tense negotiation between the smaller folk.

“Damnit,” Quiet mumbled under his breath. “I would just slam it in if we weren’t at risk of hurting the Fae.” His blank eyes looked over with a tilt of his head. “Does this open up anywhere else?”

“There’s a trap door by the kitchen that leads down,” the Princess replied. “We’d just have to go back around the dining room, and-“

There was a grimace upon the realization. She’d been hauled off before most of the venoms took effect on the diners, and chances were no one had bothered clearing the area. But it was a risk she had to take; poison or no poison. Besides, the immunity should still be in her favor there.

“We’ll need someone to hold off the guards if they come through in the meantime. Do you think you can do that?”

Quiet nodded. “Show me where and I’ll keep it secure.”

The Princess nudged the chimera towards him. “Take Den with you. She has antivenom; it’ll be safer if anyone comes in with poison.”

“And I’m coming with you,” Smitten echoed as he approached the Princess. “You’ll need someone experienced with handling the castle’s vermin. I have a nagging suspicion someone is here that ought not to be. And I intend to avoid any martyrs.” Several scars glistened along the badger’s rough coat; clearly, he’d seen his fair share of skirmishes. “All set? If so, destiny awaits.”

Quiet winces as he stepped away from the door. The final sound which escaped were raspy chokes from the windows of the old study, and heavy, head-sized thuds against a mahogany table piece.

It seemed, at least, the Fae had won this time around. But how true or not that was, they’d have to see.

——

As Quiet left the adjacent door, heavy breathing filled the castle cellar buried deep below. The remaining shreds of poppy petals laid absent on these thugs’ desk, next to the dead eyes of several voracious men. Looming over, they had been a spectacle; here, paralyzed and choking out, it was almost worse. The Opportunist gave a brief shake of his head, uttering a soft tsk tsk tsk.

“Oh, dear,” he chuckled darkly, scampering over to the face of the card dealer in feigned sympathy. “Well, that’s certainly a high of a lifetime, am I right? To be fair, I might’ve miscalculated a bit; opium does intensify with a bit of drink. I didn’t realize you didn’t know that.” He leaned theatrically against the dying man, placing a claw along their chin with a laugh. “So, you feeling magical now? Or did the cat finally catch your tongue?”

Thorn stared in horror at the state of the room. Bloodied spit had trickled besides their mouths, with only one left to hold on. They deserved this; there was no mistake. But it was still hard to take in the instantaneous effects of her own dark magic. 

A murder, even if justified, was never easy. Especially not the first of several surely yet to come.

The glasses of poppy-speckled wine tipped over, leaving a bloody pool in its trace. Sprays of sanguine fluid flew through the air across from the pair of Borrowers; one flinching, one observing with disturbingly ardent curiosity.

“Hmm… So there are other ways to kill the big ones. I thought I was going to just slice them to pieces.”

Razor’s presence was a grating sound on all things ethical and sane. Even for people this vile, the death they faced was a bit overkill. But a Borrower did not get to choose how they murdered their captors. This was about survival , and no amount of convincing otherwise would change that.

“What did you put in that?” A growl rose in the leader’s throat; the only one who hadn’t fallen for the trap. Without the heavy lacerations from Razor’s assault, he was just as formidable here as had been before - only this time, all the cards were on the table.

“I was merely making sure that you knew this was a trap; sometimes it takes a few expendables to make the point,” the Opportunist chuckled. “Really, when you come right down to it, you should be blaming her and not me-“

“You.”

Hands slammed on the table. It was taking all of Thorn’s current concentration not to fall over, wincing as he geared up for a definitive strike. The air bristled with impact as muscle memory took the place of cognizant thought. She had a weapon. This would just take a quick strike-

Thorn wasn’t quite sure how the palm of his hand met her teeth first. But that certainly seemed to be the case as the man gasped and recoiled, inflicting a bleeding wound across her face with the flick of a nail. But it seemed the immediate backwards slide wasn’t of his own momentum; that chimera was dragging him by one foot with a sharp bite of her own.

“Faster,” Beast growled from behind bared teeth. “Go back to your pack and reconvene before it’s too late; and make it count . I’m putting a lot on the line staying here for prey like you.”

Thorn didn’t need to be told twice. Taking the lead this time, a catlike scurry through the tunnels was all that it took to finally make her way through. A few poppy petals were the final thing left in her place; a warning, perhaps, for whoever recovered the bodies.

These Borrowers were not going down without a fight.

——

And neither was the Princess.

There was no decorum as the darkened room began to filter in with the heavy, putrid air of burning charcoal on hanging sconces. With purple drapes, gold-trimmed carpets, and visages of stained glass across the centuries, the dining room would’ve been an exquisite sight, if it weren’t littered with the spatters of blood - both human and Borrower in the form of sanguinary consumption. Axes and unsheathed weapons laid waste to cavernous, disassembled bodies; some guards, some royalty, some… Familiar.

It was hard to take the sight of the slaughtered king sitting at the head of the table. His mouth still trickled the same elixir that had taken them hostage from its stolen magic. Somewhere, the Princess knew how she was raised wasn’t the pinnacle of loving parentage. The Fae seldom lent out their own magic, and it seemed he intended to keep its existence within these walls like some awful secret. Like a disappointment on an otherwise “normal” child.

A secret kept even from her. For while her powers grew stronger, the more insistent the calls for total obedience. The supernatural, and anything outside of royal protocol, were forbidden. To question for oneself was an act of betrayal.

At least, that was until she met Witch. Two traitorous teenagers joined together by spite and love - ones who paid dearly for the crime of free spirit. She wouldn’t let this end here. It couldn’t.

Now, the only thing left of that rule was a few bloodied bodies. For all intents and purposes, she was free. But that alone was hard to fathom.

“This place is… Unnatural.” 

Smitten pranced onto the table, knocking over a poisoned roll of bread.

“Yes,” the Princess breathed. “It is.”

“So artificial,” he continued, raising his claws in anguish. “So lifeless. Drab scenery like this can really alter the mind, no matter how they dress it up. This is sacrilege. Torment. They kept you here for an awful long time, didn’t they?” His eyes met hers, tilting his head. The Princess bowed her head in a respectful nod.

“They tried to keep me away from the world beyond. Permanently, if they’d won.” A few chipped pieces of oak fell from the table legs. “They didn’t want me to know about any of this. About who I was.”

Smitten sighed, raising his head.

“They ask for the Fae’s assistance, then scorn the child delivered to their doorstep. They decide to keep you locked up here and deny you all information about your birth. How humanity continues to defy all sensibilities.” There was a tone of remorse as he shook his head, sniffing the sulfuric air.

“I wasn’t what they were looking for; I was too curious,” the Princess responded, her voice distant as she scoured the area for anything useful. “They didn’t expect the Fae side to be noticeable enough.”

Smitten scoffed. “And so what? Seems they could use a reminder that caged birds don’t sing.”

“They wanted to keep the dance their own; to bring me up to take over. I suppose I paid the price for disobeying.”

“And mighty good you did; can scarcely imagine an arranged partner bringing you that same joy as your own.” Smitten sighed, jumping off the table to circle back around to her.

“Well, now you’re free from all of that. You took it into your own hands. It’s yours now.” The badger pawed over to a sconce on the wall. “Everything that they kept from you, take it.” With a swipe of one paw, the light evaporated. “Be you Fae or human or in between, you are a force of nature they tried to stifle. Humanity be damned, if they cannot see what you have to offer then we’ll show them, once and for all.”

A swift, angered slash knocked the sconce to the floor. The Princess jumped, and he bowed his head apologetically. 

“Ahem… Getting ahead of myself. We shouldn’t linger too long with your betrothed in chains. Even if they did manage to throw off their captors-“

“Wait. I think we’re being followed,” The Princess whispered. 

“Oh, good,” Smitten grumbled. “This is exactly why you needed accompaniment - you know what to do.” This time, the Princess breathed in deep to attune herself. The heavy stench of copper, metal, rot and gore -

It was unpleasant, yes. But it was another way of getting around this place, long forgotten. No longer having to rely on sight and the swirling torrent of images, the  unwanted presence became clearer.

There was a black feather not unlike Quiet’s trailing from the heavens. The scent of fresh meat hung lucid from the perch of a ravenous creature who had either not noticed, or not cared.

A singular raven stood beside the windowsill, pecking. The scent trails finally aligned as the click of talons settled on the ledge. The turn of his head was almost mechanical.

“Hello there.”

The deep voice sauntered down from the stained glass above as a sizable raven stood stagnant from his perch. The Raven studied both figures for a moment. There was an agitated puff as the black and white familiar stood his ground, eyeing the opponent with heavy suspicion.

“Echo.”

“Servant.” The Echo denied the dignity of a title. “Go crawl back to the Wild where you belong.” A talon dragged along the stone walls. “We don’t have to make this difficult.”

“When he descends, run ,” Smitten whispered. “I’ll hold him off.”

“But-“

“I can handle him. And you have more chivalrous things to attend to than this mere mongrel.”

The silence was deafening. A beak of razor sharp teeth illuminated in the pale moonlight, as though questioning his move. By the time that wings fluttered open and began their descending dive -

-The badger’s coarse body leapt up, catching him midair. There was a shriek of rage as Smitten tussled him to the floor, wincing at the slash of claws that worked its way into an exposed neck.

“Now!”

Smitten’s eyes leapt desperately towards the Princess. There was a pleading glance and nothing more; footsteps found their purchase despite the guilt, knowing for a fact that time was of the essence.

She had to get their first. There was no alternative. There was no telling what could possibly have happened in that basement, but the sound of its progressive assault began to carry from up the steps.

——-

Back at the cages, it seemed that the remaining three Borrowers were left uneasily on standby. “She should’ve been back by now,” Prisoner grumbled, placing a hand to her forehead. “Please tell me she actually dealt with it.”

“She will; I’m sure of it,” Adversary asserted.

Prisoner wasn’t as impressed. “Should we be worried yet?” 

“Why would we? She’s fought off far worse than a couple brutes back home. Probably just making sure the job is done.” There was a flick of agitation as Adversary’s tail traced the metal prison. Her grip still remained firm on Witch’s stirring form, seemingly recovered from the most of the poison’s effects. There was still the weariness as she settled in Adversary’s grasp; the past hour or so had been a confusing, hazy blur, and she twitch of sleep seemed it wouldn’t shake. But during that interval, the words she’d heard were… Interesting.

Keen hearing and a sharp sense of wit picked up the familiar in the midst of the unknown. Somewhere trailing far above the grates, there was that angelic voice that had charmed her from the start - but it was harsher; more determined.

There was a bubbling ache in her chest. Correct; this clearly was the castle. And if this was the cellar… 

Did the Princess even know they were here?

“There you are.” Adversary’s gruff voice echoed out at Thorn’s approach, her own tail raised assertively. “I knew that you could do it. You know how this goes just as well as I -“

Witch’s body stiffened. “She’s hurt.”

Witch wriggled out of Adversary’s grasp, running quadrupedal towards her sister. The weeping wound across the side of one cheek was clear even from here, leaping up with a touch of her own magic.

Any attempt to meet her sister’s gaze was slighted. Numb eyes wandered imaginary lengths as the cut healed unevenly; the remainder tore a scarred gash in its place. The wrap along tender fingers was the only way Witch could tell she’d even noticed.

“… Thank you.”

Some things just wouldn’t heal. It was a lesson they would both have to learn the hard way; blood had been spilled. There was no turning back.

“You kill all of them?” Prisoner turned towards Thorn expectantly. There was only the solemn nod; it seemed the heiress understood this was above emotion. “Good. Then we can finally get out of here.”

“There’s hundreds more Borrowers here in the other room,” Thorn choked. “We shouldn’t just leave them there.”

“We need to make sure we don’t join them,” Prisoner stated plainly. “Going in would stall vital time. And in case you’ve forgotten, we need you to stay alive.” There was a look of cold empathy as she regarded the rising queen. “We can’t save everyone. Do you even have any clue how you’d bust open the locks?”

There was a heavy stomp of a hoof behind her as Adversary cracked her knuckles.

“No. You can’t seriously expect to break each one by hand-“

“Try me. Give me five minutes.”

A lingering scent was beginning to trail in from the top of the corridor; faintly bloodied, but palpable. Witch could smell the distinct cascade of familiar foliage;  giving a small sniff to the air, it seemed to be getting closer. But it was mixed with something else…

There was someone else in the fray. But it seemed between the squabbling, she was the only one who noticed until the steps were near the cellar’s entrance. A chirp of alarm arose; one which only caught Thorn’s attention. But thankfully, a slam against the wall above seemed to be the thing that cued the others in.

“They’re gathering recruits,” Prisoner scoffed. “Their scouts must’ve been out of commission for too long and they’re checking up. Run.”

The final word came out more like a command than an urgency. Razor didn’t budge. Adversary’s gaze lingered from monarch to strategist, unsure whose hand to take.

Thorn’s attention had, much like Witch’s own, drifted above. That desperate child’s voice, now filled with a sense of dignity and rage… It was familiar. But that didn’t mean that staying out in the open was the proper protocol. 

“It’s her,” Witch murmured. “I don’t know how or why-“

There was a sharp bite against the sleeve of her dress. She didn’t have to even look over to tell what that signal meant; Thorn wasn’t about to hear her out on this one.

“We need to get to shelter,” Thorn finally echoed. Her words remained dutiful, albeit stripped of anything but hollow tones. “If there’s time, we can go back. For her; for anyone else. They’re right; we need to get out of here ourselves.”

“She sounds like she’s being followed-“

“That’s my point. We’re not going to be able to fight off armed guards like this. Tunnels; now.”

Prisoner gave Thorn a nod of respect. Finally, it seemed the heiress was taking the proper steps forward. Her hand locked around Razor’s functional wrist, dragging the protesting Borrower towards the tunnel in the corner. This one, however, was more of a semi-dugout corridor than one that lead anywhere. Hopefully Razor behaved, or else they were all in trouble. 

“I can take them! Let me go; I can slice them down just as easily as last time!”

“We need to get out, not start a battle,” Prisoner scolded like a disapproving parent. “If things go south, you know what to do.”

Adversary looked over from Prisoner to Thorn, giving a curt nod. “As much as I’d love to see them bleed this time, it’s not a fair fight. There’s no honor in a place like this.” Instead, her gaze drifted down to her partner; it was obvious that speaking, much less moving was difficult for her other half. This was easily fixed with a brisk snatch around Thorn’s waist, throwing her over one shoulder. “Come on; you need to stay alive if we’re ever going to get that fight. And I am personally looking forward to going down in battle for your ascension.”

“Once we’re safe,” Thorn murmured. “Then I’m yours.”

With the other hand, Adversary ushered Witch to her side. The door opened from above; the descent was silent. Cautiously the three descended down the path towards safety. Witch followed suit, but as Adversary made her way down with Thorn draped over one shoulder, something caught her attention. A flick of an elven ear caught what was footsteps growing closer -

A hand jutted out. Stinking of sweat and bloodied from another skirmish - this wasn’t something she wanted to arise from the shadowy confines of this prison. Instinctively, she dodged and scratched, managing to throw off the felon draped in dark clothing. But as they went in for another attempt to grab the youngest of the group, something sharp hit their back and made them recoil with a yelp.

The flash of a silver blade found its target, and proceeded to retract. There was a kick of scuffed up regal flats in their direction as the assailant stumbled back, chest exposed. And that was when it went straight for the heart. Again and again and again, but missing vitals. A shaky breath seemed to come from the attacker, as though trying to stifle an apology they didn’t deserve.

Despite it all, Witch stopped to watch with a tilt of her head. “Jugular,” she murmured, raising her voice just enough to be audible. As if on command, the blade danced across a bloody throat, finally dropping the choking body to the floor. “Close enough.”

Glancing up like a cornered predator, the attacker glanced up. Blue irises glinted from what little light shone down from above. The shadows could only hold so much; light reflected well off of their own eyes, yet this was different. And even without a proper introduction, even with the jagged edges of a dented helmet concealing the top of her head, the little Fae could tell who she was staring at.

Humans didn’t usually have eyes that shone in the dark. It was definitely her, but something was wrong. She smelled different; reeked of a scent Witch dared not place on a blood-spattered face. But that gaze, oh; it was paralyzing. Longing. Feral.

What was she supposed to say to this? Did the Princess want her back as a partner, a friend? Or perhaps now weak and vulnerable, she intended on holding them hostage as pets now. A chirp of alarm signaled to Witch that regardless, it was time to go. A nod of acknowledgement down on fours was all the speech Witch gave back; she’d seen and known who this was, but lost the ability to trust. 

“Wait-!”

But it was too late for a quick recovery. As the Princess scrambled to Witch’s side, all she caught of the Borrower in her escape was her tail.

Two sets of feral eyes widened in horror. The grip was strong, but tender as the tufted end lashed in protest. Carefully, Witch turned around, claws raised to inflict the first wound in the coming altercation -

But it never came. The Princess looked over towards her with a pleading gaze, and Witch merely shook her head. 

“I’m leaving. You had your chance to make things right.”

A saddened, understanding vow. The Princess allowed the final ligaments of the tail to pass through the space between her fingers. Witch scurried towards the table legs, noticing the resigned status of her companion. And to her back, she also noticed something else.

Despite everything, the Princess deserved a fair fight. And if there were still people there trying to wrangle them back up, it was better to have someone large enough to take them on in their stead.

“Behind you!”

The Princess blinked upon Witch’s warning. Her reflexes were just a bit too slow to do much more than swipe to the side as another dagger lunged towards her side, staggering to the cellar floor on all fours. The threat was close again; this was a chance to lash out. But nevertheless, Witch had to wonder: wouldn’t that just put them all as targets?

“Shit! Damned pests!”

Witch didn’t get a chance to ponder for long. Thick brambles has ensnared the attacker’s hand to their weapon, stabbing deep into an unprotected knee. Looking down, Witch caught the focused gaze of her sister weaving them further along the man’s arm. And then, a glance again for Witch to follow.

“My my, that’s why you need protection,” the Opportunist seemed to have merely spawned in again on cue as the man writhed against his viney entanglements. “Let’s see if you have what it takes to earn my council. So far I’m not impressed.”

Witch could tell that was her cue to leave. Taking her turn to leap headlong off the table, the little Borrower found herself caught alongside her sister as Adversary raced them towards safety. 

It was all up to the Princess now. Hopefully, she was strong enough to take them on.

“Go towards the back,” Adversary instructed, lifting each sibling off her shoulders and shoving them into the crevice. “If they try anything, they’ll have to go through me.” A prideful claw pointed towards her chest, slithering in alongside them. With five borrowers in the narrow space, it was hard to breathe; an anxious, freshly scarred tail flicked against the tougher of the three. Adversary returned it with her own, firm and supportive; and it seemed to be enough to relax Thorn for the present moment.

The Princess hadn’t moved from her spot, goading the new opponent to charge her again. The hesitation to strike back gave the assailant the advantage as she stumbled to her feet, noticing an easier target on the other side of the room. There was a thick slash of a blade as the mercenary turned tail to make her move; grimy fingers just barely missed as sharp metal sunk into their unprotected back. The princess was back up again, and determined to keep these brutes on the back foot.

Clearly, these merchants weren’t expecting a fight with their quarry. Steely thuds hit the doors upstairs as he wheeled around, taken aback - only to find a single child standing before her, the Blade gripped in steady hands. The woman hunkered down, then chuckled dryly.

“Princess,” the woman spat, “I thought you were supposed to be at the altar.”

There was a deep, seething rage that began to brew upon the words in Witch’s heart; of course the Royal heathen got out of things unscathed. And here they were instead, left to nearly… No, it wasn’t even something she wanted to put into thoughts. Moving on, getting away - why was she even here?

Here was the girl that she loved; that deep, sinking cacophony of a four letter word crashing into the past seeing the visage of gore along her face. While taking a stand against this merchant, she could finally pinpoint what was on her face. The stench of the vinery was just as potent on bare cheeks and arms as it mingled with her once sweetened scent.

This was no mere accident. She had become something else. And even meeting eyes with her so desperately, she wanted someone, anyone, to tell her it was something other than a trap.

There was nothing they could do. There was nothing to be done. Trapped between definitive enemy and supposed ally, the only thing left was to watch. 

The fight was fire itself. The blade pulled from the merchant’s pocket was jagged and uneven, maneuvering towards the steadied ground of the Princess. A swift dodge and kick sent the British woman flying backwards, the impact of the wall behind them breaking her skull. There was a notable look of horror even then as she looked back over, giving the Borrowers an apologetic look. The Princess would’ve still been cute if it weren’t for the dribble of Spirits condemning her to consumption.

A backup rogue managed to leap down from the staircase, blade digging into her shoulder. Giving a yelp of pain, the Princess staggered back, wincing.

“You’re going to regret only taking that helmet,” the weasel sighed, leaping from the wall to drape across her shoulders. “Clearly, you need some support. Alright, now follow my lead-“

The very sight of that foul Opportunist said it all, watching all the cunning fade away as she struggled to balance out and wield a weapon. But Witch knew better than to feel sorry for her. “What the hell is she doing? Do beans not train up their royalty? I could take that bastard down with my two hands.”

“She’s fighting more like Fae,” Prisoner commented, “but not well enough. Her knife work is sloppy. She’s not going for vitals.” Then, a little backhandedly: “It’s no wonder the coup succeeded. I doubt that she managed to escape it without help, much less back here.”

“No survivors,” Razor shrugged. “At least, that’s what they thought. I do wonder if she’s missing on purpose? Would make for a more exciting fight.” An eager grin spread across her face. “Maybe she wants help.”

Adversary blocked her way. “Don’t.” 

There was a coarse laugh from her opponent. ���I thought they were joking when they sent out this many reinforcements. But no, they were right; you’re a monster .”

The words were familiar as they hit the younger Borrower’s ears; these were no mere mercenaries. Judging by the way they navigated the halls with haughtily divine grace, they were all Tower’s scouts.

And then it clicked.

That kind of altar. There were no wedding vows to be exchanged; this was a fight for their lives. Whatever rope had tethered them together had strung its cord tightly around the Princess of humans and second-born sister, but if that was by mere association or not Witch could not tell.

The weasel on the Royal’s shoulder was whispering something to her. But what, she couldn’t tell. There was a steadying grip as the Princess tightened the blade, and a twitch of one ear as she swiveled to locate her opponent.

Even under the helmet, Witch could see that spaded tip of an ear nestled beneath. Her blood went cold as the word whistled low like a warning through her brain: 

Fae.

There had been reason that the Princess had found them. There had been reason that her presence felt so strange, yet familiar. If the world ceased to let live what they could not understand, then there would always be those would find them and cherish them for what they were.

“Unconventional to them, perhaps,” Witch echoed out from the open tunnels, “but it takes one to know one. Their excuses are weak. Something nasty finds itself on those stairs, but it isn’t you.”

There was a momentary hesitation as the Princess glanced over. Their eyes met for a moment, both brimming with tears.

It was sometimes said that Scorpion’s Tonic steeled more than just resolve. And right now, looking from the advancing horde of monsters and a girl just trying to survive, there was only one entity who felt particularly stabbable right now.

Unfortunately, the moment’s hesitation had given the enemy the upper hand. Another glancing blow, another advancing foe to deal with. The Princess’s initial target went straight for his quarry as the Borrowers huddled in the corner. There was a single, sweeping blow of cold air as the flickering torchlight swallowed up its hostages in the darkness. The reaching hand had settled its grimy fingers along the peeling sediment of the wall, nails scraping just a few inches away from the Borrowers. But this time, Witch did not permit the hand that tried to sweep her back and stood guard in her stead. Instead, she nuzzled Thorn back a moment, placing gentle clawtips against unwavering fingers.

“No. It’s my turn, sis. You go get the rest of them out; there’s something I need to do first.”

There was a splutter of hesitation from the eldest sister. Witch bared her fangs, flicking her tongue over one of them.

“Please. Let me show you once that I can get us out of here and fix this mess I started.”

The draw of the fingers got nearer. It seemed the only thing stopping Razor’s aid was the proximity of the tightly-packed earth, or else it would’ve been easy. But even still, Witch knew what had to be done. With a broad leap forward, her teeth ensnared against the ragged flesh of the invasive entity. Venom injected into the assailant’s skin. There was a shriek, and a rough grab - and that was all there was to it. In the end, allowing the jagged brambled hands to scoop her up and drag her out was Witch’s alone, giving a short nod as they snapped up their target and retreated.

Every second of being dragged out of that tunnel in reverse had Witch’s heart beating a mile a minute. The foul impact of calloused skin, the stink of human sweat along clammy palms - it would’ve been torture far beyond endurance if not for the knowledge of what was yet to come. But Witch was clever, even then; by the time this villain wrenched her free, she could detect he was not alone.

Human sight was limited in the pitch black corridors. But to Changeling and Borrower, this was perfect. Bite after bite, Witch inflicted newfound venom deep and wriggled free. The form fell dead not long thereafter.

This was a momentary pause; Witch knew she wouldn’t get another chance like this. Ragged claws scrambled across the darkened paths, tail twirling along damaged tulle and silk as she made her ascent from the hem of the Princess’s dress straight into her trembling arms.

“You really came back,” Witch squeaked.

“I wasn’t leaving here without you,” the Princess chuckled, nuzzling her face close to the little Borrower. “We’ll have to be quick. It looks like someone tipped off the guards -“

“- There’s other Borrowers here besides us. Lots of them.”

The startled look in the Princess’s eyes lasted only a minute. Time was of the essence; in and out.

“Take me there.”

Witch nodded. Clambering up to her lover’s shoulders, she shoved the Opportunist to one side and scrambled towards her ear.

“It’s in the study. Door’s locked, but I can get you in.”

The sound of heavy footfalls shook the ground beside the other Borrowers as the Changeling advanced. For a moment, everything appeared to be calmer as the pair of them approached. A small tangle of roots slithered from one side of the door to the other, and with a soft click it opened before them. The stone-cold storage room showed its horrific spectacle bit by bit; first cages, then hands, laden in a spattering of blood. It seemed several of the hostages had chewed off their own limbs to avoid starvation; others to free themselves of thick, binding chains. No amount of protests could hold the heiress back as the sight grew more and more prominent; the creeping tendrils of the Network had slithered on from untrained hands, and wouldn’t stop until it made it to their destination.

One way or another, this ended now.

Walking behind Witch and the Princess, Thorn stepped into the room with a shaky breath. It was too late for most of them - but with luck, there could be a few survivors.

It was time for the lost to be spared the fight. Kneeling down in respect, Thorn placed her hand against the stony foundation once more; properly summoning the Network would be crucial. 

An echoing of solemn voices filled the space around her. The brush of an invisible hand against her cheek. The paths divided to collect more in this ceremony of quick, painless death; a final relieved exhale, and then no more.

The neural webbing slunk into cage after cage of dying form, wrapping the bodies of countless Borrowers in weaving tendrils as final breaths choked out. Their embrace was delicate; a nest of cerebral salvation that brought each one down to their thankful graves. There, they would be safe at last and join the expanses of trees that rooted deep beneath; to soil, to earth once more. And once the path was cleared, they vanished without a trace of their mortal bodies. Humanity would not exploit the dead.

It took a certain kind of emotional control to maintain the crucial role of reaper. This was not something Thorn had much ground on yet. And thus, as the flicker of fading magic dispersed, it seemed that so did the tears.

It was mercy. But why did mercy feel this hard?

“You did the right thing.” Adversary padded up to her side, the click of hooved feet echoing across the floor. “We can’t save all of them. At least this way, they get to die with a bit more dignity.” 

Thorn leaned into the soft grasp of her hand along one shoulder. There was that strong yet gentle press against her chin as Adversary lifted it to her face. “Once we carve our own path down there, you won’t have to worry about making the executive decision. It’ll come naturally, you and me…”

“It’s… Not now.” Thorn’s voice was barely a whisper. “We need to get the survivors out.”

There was a hesitation from the captives as the Changeling Princess approached the cage doors. Many of the remaining Fae backed up and cowered; others snapped aggressively at the bars of cramped cages.

“I’m with you; it’s okay.” The Princess dropped her helmet into her hands and tossed back her hair. Upon the sight of those familiar ears, many of them ceased. Some bowed in respect.

“How are we going to get them out of here?” 

Witch looked over inquisitively as the Princess raised a hand, eliciting a small spark in the palm. One by one the locks glowed with a warmth that melted them clean off, freeing them from the confines.

“I’ll be damned. You actually did it.” Prisoner looked over in calm confusion, watching as they hopped down and dispersed. Some leapt into the overturned helmet in the Princess’s hands to be deposited on the floor. So perhaps there was some sense in rescuing them, after all; Borrowers were safer together than alone, and this would make things simple enough. “Well done. I know which tunnels lead outside of the castle; presuming everyone keeps up, I can take them with me.” Despite her cold demeanor, Thorn could tell there was a spark of pride in those eyes. She’d finally earned this strategist’s favor.

Several borrowers lined up where they’d been signaled. “Aren’t you coming with us?”

“We’ll follow. We’ve already gotten your scent.” Now that the area had been cleared, there was one more thing to do.

Paths cleared as the Borrowers followed Prisoner’s lead; it seemed that in the midst of things, the only one missing was Razor. Most likely she was slinking off for some new unfortunate soul to torment - and thankfully, that didn’t seem to be any of them this time. Perhaps her absence would make the newcomers less wary. Even still, there was an eyeroll from the seasoned captive as she made her way down, watching each and every Borrower trail behind her. The only one who stayed behind to wait was Adversary; always faithful, always prepared to take on a scuffle. But even she knew here and now was not the time as she leaned against the far side of the wall near the tunnel.

“Ready when you are.”

Thorn nodded, slowly approaching. But a raspy cough caught her attention millimeters away from their way out, followed by a chirp of concern. 

That was right. Witch was still with the Princess.

“Witch, come on-“

Her voice was calm yet urgent; they couldn’t linger long. But the flicking of a nervous tail along the royal’s shoulder revealed the cause for stagnant concern.

Heavy lacerations had raked themselves across her back, sides, neck. While the Princess had managed to hold off the onslaught and release the remaining survivors, she has taken a toll indeed; blood trickled from weeping wounds, falling to her knees. There was a yelp of alarm as Witch held on-

Judging by the way she was holding up, she wouldn’t last long with how tremendously she bled out. Even if vitals had been missed, the sheer number of marks told the tale well enough.

“You’d better go,” the Princess coughed. “I’ll… Figure something out.”

By now, the Opportunistic weasel had fled the scene; things were no longer in his favor. Figured.

Witch leapt down from her back. Now that the Princess was hunkered down before them on all fours, she seemed somehow less immense. Her eyes pleaded for them to leave, tears streaking down her cheeks. But it was obvious by the way that she was wounded that  leaving her here was condemning her to die. 

Was that really fair, after everything? Thorn could scarcely imagine leaving a child amidst the decay of dead, poisoned bodies - much less one as young as Witch. There was much more life left in her, and her first fight for autonomy shouldn’t be her last. Witch didn’t move from her spot, either. 

It seemed the choice was made.

So against better judgment, it was Thorn this time who approached their massive ally.

“You’re going to be okay,” the heiress echoed, gulping back the fear. “You deserve so much more than this.” 

At nineteen, the situation was horrific; thirteen was unimaginable. And yet, both she and Witch had undergone it and survived; no, they would survive. And that was the thought that finally shifted her towards scratched palms as soft vines wrapped around them like a bandage.

“We… We’re staying?” Witch chirped back in confusion, but soon noticed how tenderly her former lover was taking things in with an appreciative look towards her sister. “Those wounds are deep; if we stay to heal everything-“

“If we don’t, she’ll die. ” 

Witch jolted, looking over at the Princess with a resigned laugh. “Even now, you manage to hinder things, don’t you?” But it was obvious by the way Witch scuffled over, the sarcasm was full of fondness and fear. It was hard to know where to start.

“It doesn’t need to be all the way,” Thorn instructed. “Just enough to stop the bleeding and wrap things up.” For a Borrower who had little medical powers, Thorn was definitely onto something. “She saved us. Now, it’s our turn.”

Witch let the moment pass with a nod. “Right. Wretches stick together, after all.”

Nervously, Witch extended her hand. Pressing it against the pulse of the Princess’s wrist, she continued once more in switching over her magic.

Bog moss to package the wounds to ease the bleeding; small clumps of aloe smashed and prepared like a paste to smooth over the injuries. There was a hiss of pain as Witch placed the topical ointment on, scurrying around to get the rest. With each one, it seemed the softer vines wrapped around their applicable purchase, be it shoulder or across the neck. Working together, then seemed to be doing just fine.

“Here; take this. It should ease the pain.” Thorn approached the Princess tentatively as she conjured up the proper dosage of petals. After everything that’d occurred, spawning the poppies again left a sickened twinge in her stomach, but carried on regardless. They had just as much ability to help as harm, after all; as was the vine of life and death that strangled them both. Even if humanity had condemned who they could not understand, the Princess still had allies amidst the Fae. She was, after all, one of them. 

“Your best move is to play dead from here. Those should help make that easier. We can’t exactly carry you out-“

It seemed the Princess’s stamina got the message before her mind. A slip of one hand from beneath her and the crouching figure collapsed, eyes closing in dazed exhaustion.

For a moment, both siblings watched uneasily. But the moment was brief. Shakily, Thorn took her sister’s hand and retreated to the darkened corners. 

“You always were soft,” Adversary chuckled. “Come on; let’s get out of here.”

The memory began to dim as somewhere behind the three of them, there was a scream and shatter of glass.

The neck of the chimera, their staunchly standing scapegoat, tugged against an unyielding chain. A scolding yell from her captor, crying out for them to flee. A triad of weasels emerging from the tunnel; the familiar face which stood out between them, growing draped in vines and briars. Clawed hands raked against the Opportunist’s throat. A second, a third -

“Thorn, we have an opening! We need to leave.”

“ They won’t let us. They’ll just keep chasing and chasing until we’re dead-“

All other voices fell to silence. Even knowing that the fight wasn’t alone, the ringing in Thorn’s ears and the focal glint of vision kept her hostage. Biting, clawing, kicking against every foothold - and oh, how the claws lashed out in turn. Shreds of fabric turned mangled in unknown grasps. Forepaws lanced the length of arms and legs in deep, bloody scars. And what’s more, through all the rage and pain even Adversary couldn’t reach her. It was all spent on making sure that Witch didn’t befall the same fate.

They were always going to be gladiators. To this end, at least they got to choose how they died - not stuffed between the cork of a bottle. Surely, anything was better than that. So for everyone’s sake, that’s how she’d carry on - thrashing the creatures who turned their backs to the woods. But soon, even holding onto him was bad enough as another weasel took their turn.

In all technicality, she was right. But trying to take on a triad of mustelids unarmed was a rather foolish miscalculation - Daughter of the Wild or not. Poisonings, mercy kills to the Network - just how many more people needed to die before they got to live? The question spun round and round as feral mortality sprung back to the surface and claimed all sense of self once more. It was just luck that there were two others in this mess with her. Two others, two weasels- their luck could be better.

But it wasn’t until another weasel pried her off that the hopelessness really sunk in. Their grip wasn’t gentle; it was taking all instinct not to cry out as claws gouged into the backs of her hands. With just a few scratches all sensation was lost as a bite to the back of her neck sealed the deal; it was time to take her own advice and “drop dead” for the moment as more and more blood was lost in pools on the floor.

“Okay, that’s enough to prove the point,” the Opportunist scolded. “We need her to stay alive, remember?”

The Opportunist waited beside Thorn almost mockingly as he gave a whistle for the new humans to arrive on the scene. The other two each grabbed a Borrower - this was taunting and unfair. But nevertheless, the lashing of a defeated tail continued as he curled around her, grinning with amusement.

“You’re certainly quite the fighter. Honestly, gave me more of one than I expected -“

His gaze turned towards two looming figures, giving them a nod.

“By the way, no need to thank me for saving your lives. Any other way and they wouldn’t even bother buying you more time in the arena. Now you’ll be just as prepared to take them on as-“

The rest of the damn weasel’s rambling was silent. It seemed exhaustion and blood loss were the culprits this time of a lost and hard-fought battle, only feeling the weight of the mustelid’s teeth carrying her by the collar. The other two creatures followed suit with equally combative hauls, struggling to walk with Adversary’s grip around their neck and Witch’s kicking form. But even this seemed to be a temporary measure. 

It seemed that her mind went next as the world became hazier. Thorn wasn’t entirely sure if she’d seen or imagined a shadowy figure levitating the body of the Princess somewhere above the grate and through the corridors of the castle. But even still, a shakily bleeding hand reached out -

And everything went dark.

…..

…………

……………………

—The next thing she could remember in the midst of it all was the clatter of metal and twist of a tiny, frightened body around her.

Witch.

There was no stopping the inevitable in a new environment stinking of wildlife and bloodlust. Three out of twenty-five Borrowers lined up for the slaughter.

Five or so were auctioned off immediately to bidders in the Black Market. Some were classified as Domestic Fae and would live a somber life in captivity. But at least those ones would likely live. Two who didn’t survive the trip over - tossed out to whatever creature would take them. Those blackened talons now felt distinct as the now-familiar fiend of the raven took every scrap he was offered.

Eighteen Borrowers shoved from travel crates into birdcages- tighter, more compact. Seventeen as one cage tipped itself over and a singular Borrower managed to evade all obstacles and dart out into the night. So there was hope, after all. Another likewise seemed to cross the threshold and make their way to freedom. Despite the upcoming tournaments, spirits grew bolder. 

Naturally, Adversary was the first opponent. It seemed the challenges could be survived as she brushed off the new scrapes proudly upon recapture. The opponent would have to heal up first before taking on another, she’d said. There was time until then.

Sixteen cages, lined up one by one. A variety of chatter from Borrowers; some fearful, others determined. The tales of daring escapes from former households and wild predators filled the gloom with some light, and the time spent didn’t feel nearly as desolate. The brash form of their first champion, Adversary, arrived from the arena and back again to tell the tale each time, with more ideas to share on how to brave the tides.

Others thought they could do it; it’d be easy. But what they seemed to lack was the knowledge that within a single blow, an unseen figure would abscond in the night and lay claim to six of them with no trace but clawed-open cages. Be it some predator or thief, they did not know. But the outlooks for the remaining ten seemed tenser, and sleep did not come easily. For now, they had to keep close watch on their adored ones and pray for a kinder end.

The sparks of hope were dying out.

Ten full birdcages. Nine, then eight as two Borrowers befell a lone chimera upon their escape; the captors had learned to keep it guarded now. Seven, and Adversary’s place at the arena was moved. Clawed hands reached out desperately one last time; vines pulled away at the bitter grip that dared to try. But it seemed that strong as she was, Adversary had her own limits; a final glimpse and a promise of return were all that remained as she, too, vanished without a trace.

With every single snatch, every Borrower dragged off and cage removed, the lights got dimmer and dimmer. No tales filled the halls and stories of escape were a horror story; no one got out of here unaided. No one lived, only died.

This was torture.

Five cages remaining. The classification continued in solemn diligence. A hand snagged on briars as it tried to reach towards the angered, shaken teen within. It bought them time.

Moved to another corner. Forgotten. Alone, clutching at the final remains of a dying society. A stifled breath as Witch buried her face towards the final heart in the area still nearby. Days turned to silence, cradling the thread that untethered.

Three cages. The final shouts of a triumphant Borrower making it out of combat by the skin of their teeth. Moved back to the corner of the room with a final cage as rigid hands yanked another poor soul away.

Two. No one had made it out thus far. Just a hasty, two-man shuffle of blood tests and shunting from one place or another. Fae, or common Borrower; survivor, or cattle. This was how it worked as those hands finally reached out towards them again.

There was no one left except two sisters in a cramped birdcage, knowing what happened next.

One.

The light finally dissipated before the hand could make its way in, releasing the all-familiar sting. Somewhere far above the enclosure, there was that familiar voice echoing empathetically.

“I think that’s enough for tonight.”

The hand that extended in its place was not one of a bloodstained killer, but phantasmic; comforting. Not a moment’s hesitation passed as Thorn took it and allowed it to pull her from the bindings.

Weakened starlight began to fill the open air and sweep through the chilled night. Hushed silence spread as the world, too, faded; only that tender gaze laid upon her as Spectre pulled her upwards. The soft, half-open gaze fell open and closed. Releasing control without the knowledge of what came next would’ve been unthinkable in any context but this.

But now, it was time to let it breathe, and let it go. What had happened, happened. There was no changing that. Yet surrounded on all sides by that flickering gaze, Thorn wasn’t alone anymore.

All the secrets kept from a child too young, all those nights unslept - finally, after years there was someone else who knew. So even when that viscous, bloodied tint came through the piercing darkness of the sky, Thorn merely held her breath and let her ethereal guide take it from there.

The acidic, bitter taste of copper and fermentation choked at her lungs. The sting of alcohol threatened to clog up all senses and render them inert. Yet still clinging on, there was a gentle finger running along the tapestry of latent scars that finally broke it.

I’m not letting go. It’s okay; Breathe.

Thorn took the command and exhaled - deep. The fizzing sensation of potent residue finally let go, allowing her to surface. A gentle hand finally dragged her crawling body onto a small hill next to the tide of wine and released her, gasping.

It felt like getting spat up by an unrelenting monster. There was a shudder as the pool of viscous fluids lapped at the shores, returning to its spot down below with qualm, not quarry. The deadened gaze seemed to threaten to return, to bury it all back in - but something seemed to stop her.

Spectre’s shaky gasp. Her ardent, patient watcher, hovering just a few inches above the nonexistent landscape. It was just this hill, and the sea of bloody wine.

For a moment, no words. Hardly a glance forward. The only sound was the unceremonious drip of rotting fluids along Thorn’s drenched, aching form, begging for some kind of answer.

This time, it seemed the coy ghost was just as lost for words as she. No retorts, no clever comebacks; just an eternity staring deep and mutually horrified. The soft trickle of empathetic tears seemed to cascade gradually, even if no words came out. 

It was enough. It was vindication. The permission had finally been granted to let it all free, and Thorn took it all.

Coarse, ragged screams of rage and torment began and they did not stop. The stream of tears, every hitching, struggling breath; the dizzying sensation of relieved sinuses at the downpour of snot and saliva. There was no longer anyone to pretend to; to save face. It didn’t matter anymore how much ground beneath was dug into, how much strength was lost and gained. It just mattered that she was here, finally safe, with someone old enough to finally understand the depths of what could not be explained.

And then, it stopped.

A warm pang settled deep within an aching throat. The chill along back and spine felt soft, comforting as Thorn let the remaining purge of spit trickle down her chin. There was no honor in any of this - just the steady, finite release of cortisol throughout pleading nerves. Everything felt like it was on fire, chilled, extinguished all at once - but finally, something other than numb. The long-gone spark had begun to return to Thorn’s deadened eyes, letting this dreamscape carry on its brutal mercy.

Spectre’s gaze trailed down once more, still uncertain. A hand reached out, retracted, attempted again. There was no jumpiness left as the heiress stared up long and hard as she finally stumbled to her feet.

“……. I thought I would have more thoughts on how to help once I’d seen it,” Spectre admittedly, embarrassed. “I’m sor-“

No need. The quickened chase of footsteps launched itself into open arms - and this time, they caught her in full. The opaque form of Spectre was no longer intangible; in this lucid, fearful landscape, every silken trace of her hair and gossamer trail of that once-bloodied gown was palpable. Caught in the gentle embrace of possession, she could feel it all.

No wonder Spectre always looked so lost traversing the world outside.

But this wasn’t about her. It seemed for once, it was okay to know that as the phantom nuzzled her chin against ragged, frizzy strands of hair and draped her arms around her. Hand in hand and gazes locked, it seemed natural to take that lean forward in heady momentum -

But the moment stopped just short of Spectre’s lips. The soft brush against the phantom’s hand seemed to cue her in well enough the moment was over, looking over her with almost pleading apology.

“I’m sorry, I… Can’t.” A restless rage seemed to bubble beneath her hollowed form, tail lashing at her side. “Not here. Not now. I don’t -“

“That’s okay.” The hold against her was no less tender. “You know you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Thorn lamented. “It’s just…”

“Too soon. I can see that.”

The sadness seemed to be mutual, even if it seemed despite the empathy the pain was apparent on Spectre’s face. But even still, that willful vulnerability wasn’t cast aside when the other’s desires weren’t met. So perhaps she really was more than just a pretty face to kiss.

“I like your company no matter what form it takes. Take your time to figure it out; that isn’t the reason I’m here. I could tell you needed help.“

“And you needed someone to talk to who understood you. I guess this still serves both of us, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

Talking through it felt better than the act itself. What needed communication broke the silence was understood; it was too early to move on with wounds transcending beyond the surface of skin. It would take time to become independent from Spectre’s tender care; necessary now, but too soon to determine the realness of romantic connection. Not like this.

“Do you still want me to stay?”

A resigned nod met Spectre’s words. Leaning closer once more, a gentle tilt of her head planted a chaste kiss on her forehead instead of on the lips; a reminder that someone else understood. It was okay to breathe it in.

Thorn took every opportunity.

Here they were, two victims of inhumane sights and scars that ran far beyond neural tissue. If it had been possible, this moment could’ve lingered on forever. But as promised, it seemed after checking in Spectre intended for the nightmare to end. The last moments lingered under sanguine starlight and began to fade into nothingness but the dull, healing wound that grew heavier in a dreamless sleep.

[inkblot22]

I've recently had a Thought That Will Not Leave about a reader who was murdered in their world, wound up in TWST, but still bears the scar of their murder if that makes sense? Imagine being interrogated on where you got that wound, or having to hear from Crowley all the time about how he'll send you back home but you KNOW you CAN'T go back because you're Very Very Dead.

Okay, first of all, this is like my favorite thing. I don't know how to explain it, I just love creating death/near death scenarios?

Secondly, this is going to be LONG. Some of our boys are either too dense or too polite to say anything, so the placement of the scar has to change. Sorry about this taking so long, but since a few of them aren't as in-depth as I'd like, there may be a part 2.

TW for MC death, graphic discussion and depictions of violence, murder, scars, poison, knives, guns/bullets, large lizards, mention of drugs, a few tropey moments, the Leech twins and Rook because they freak me out and I know I'm not the only one, and also I get way too into a few of these scenarios.

~HEARTSLAYBUL~

You could still feel the blade burrowed in your throat. It was a sharp pain, something that was metallic on your tongue and forced your eyelids to stutter closed. You woke up here, and it took Ace pointing it out right after winter break for you to notice that you had a mark where the knife pierced you and poked out the other side of your neck. You barely had time to primp, and your collar mostly covered it, so you really had never paid it any mind.

You had to run to the bathroom at your next break, pulling your collar down slightly so you could see it: a thickened strip of skin, paler than the rest of your skintone by so many shades, with a darker echo tracing along the outer rim of the mark. 

Looking at it made you feel sick. You just couldn’t escape your fate at all, could you?

You stopped talking after you’d seen it. Your stomach hurt and your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. You lasted without any big problems until the unbirthday party when Riddle and Trey approached your table, one looking angry and the other looking concerned.

“Hey, Prefect,” Trey’s soft voice and calming smile plucked a chord inside you, something heavy and dull and sorrowful. “Are you doing okay?”

You began to weep. Loudly. You could feel the eyes looking in your direction, but the ones that burned the most were your friends. 

You could feel a steady hand on your arm, leading you up and away from the garden and inside the dorm. You accepted a handkerchief and sloppily wiped your face with it before attempting to speak.

“I’m so sorry-” 

“What the devil is the matter with you?” Riddle snarled. You knew he wasn’t really angry.

Before you could respond, Ace cut in, “If this is about me pointing out your funky scar, then I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to…” He trailed off, eyes flashing down to look at the scar again.

“Yeah.” You mumbled. There was a tense silence before you shifted to lean back in your chair, sighing, “Sorry about making a scene. I got killed.”

“What?” Deuce blurted out.

“Yeah,” you sniffled, “My, uh, my dad. He and I never really got along and we lived together and that just made it worse. He lost it one night, came home high as balls and did me in while I was pretending to be asleep.”

Everyone but Grim looked at you as if you’d sprouted a second head as you spoke. 

You giggled, stifled a second peal of laughter, and sighed again, “You know, after years and years of him threatening to kill me, you think I would have believed him at some point, right?”

“That’s not fucking funny.” Ace said.

“Watch your language!” Riddle barked, “You’re dead in your world.”

“Let’s not state the obvious,” You said, laughing a little before growing overly serious, “I just need to never go back. With the rate Crowley’s going, it’ll never happen, but still… still…”

“We can’t let that happen,” Cater said aloud for you, a winning smile on his face as he tapped his nails on the arm of the chaise lounge he was laid across, “Don’t worry, Prefect… we won’t let that happen.”

~SAVANNACLAW~

You sort of just smelled. It wasn’t necessarily a bad smell, but you smelled like blood, which wasn’t good either. 

You could notice it, faint scent on your clothes, in your sweat. Grim never stopped complaining about it, but you figured it was stronger for him anyways. If a day went by where you didn’t hear him referring to you as “the walking wound” or “blood-bag” after not getting his way, you’d be worried about his wellbeing. But it was just another part of life until Leona’s rude ass had to say something to you about it. 

You and Grim had been tasked with interviewing Leona for something or other, probably something about his brother, but the minute you exhaled to gear up to begin your questions, he interrupted. 

“I know I call you a herbivore, but you don’t need to overcompensate for that by eating so much raw meat. Cut back on the iron.”

“What?”

“You always stink like a fresh kill. It’s distracting.”

“Oh. That’s not because of my diet. Pay attention, I’ve got some questions for you.” You proceeded with your interview, foolishly assuming that Leona would have dropped the matter entirely. 

He did the opposite. You seemed to have forgotten that Leona was a strategic planner, every bit of information turned into a bargaining chip or other method of gaining dirt in trade for gold.

Which is why your hidey-hole in the locker room after a joined PE class was darkened by three shadows.

“They’re changing, Leona. This is not the time.” Jack yanked Leona back by the arm, inciting a staring match.

“Ah, hello, prefect!” Ruggie said, ignoring the scene behind him in favor of sidling next to you on the bench as you tugged on a fresh pair of socks, “Did you hurt yourself during Vargas’ ‘special training’?”

You sighed, “No. He just had me running laps again… like last time.”

Leona broke away from Jack’s hold and sat on your other side. Jack very obviously stifled a noise of disbelief when you looked over at where he was standing.

Your attention was dragged back to Leona when he flicked your ear, “So, why do you smell like blood today?”

“You mean all the time?” You stuffed your sweaty, blood-reeking gym clothes into the plastic bag you used for your clothes during class, “Ruggie, do you mind if I tag along when you wash the rest of your clothes today?”

“Of course not,” He snickered, “You do smell like blood, though.”

“I know.” You buttoned your shirt the rest of the way down and snatched your tie from under Ruggie’s hand, “It’s not my fault I’m dead.”

There was a pause, a little longer than a normal one, before Jack growled out a low, “What are you talking about?”

You shrugged, “My sister-in-law tried to poison my sibling, but, uh… we had traded plates because the food on my original plate was touching. Maybe ten minutes into dinner, I couldn’t breathe and all I could taste was blood? And then I woke up in a coffin. Believe me, though, if I could stop smelling like blood, I would. Isn’t that right, Grimmy-wimmy?”

Grim straightened from his drooling and panting and stomped a back paw, “Shut up! I told you not to call me that, you lowly servant of a blood-blister!”

“See? Not even a human anymore.”

“So is that why you excuse yourself whenever Crowley talks about you going home?” Jack asked.

“Yeah. There’s nothing to go back to. Pretty sure I’m sleeping in a pine box in my world. So I don’t need to go back, and I really don’t need all of you constantly reminding me that I smell."

If you could count Leona’s calculating gaze as admonished, then you would. All of them looked at least a little put off by that. Maybe they'd stop fucking bothering you about it.

~OCTAVINELLE~

One of the first instances where Azul and Jade deemed it safe enough for you to be left alone with Floyd, he immediately closed the distance and pressed his finger against that dot on your forehead.

“What’d you do, Shrimpy? Try to kiss a squid?”

“Why- no, Floyd, that’s not-”

“Looks like it. What kind of squid was it?” He prodded, pinching the skin of your forehead so it would warp the spot. 

“Floyd, stop it. I didn’t try to kiss a squid.”

Azul and Jade walked back in, still mumbling between themselves.

Floyd, unsurprisingly, didn’t let up. He let go of your forehead, only to grab your face with one big hand, “You can’t lie to me, dummy. You even smell like blood-”

You shoved him away with all your strength, “It’s not from a stupid fucking fish, Floyd. My best friend and I were playing with her uncle’s stuff and she found a gun. We didn’t think it was loaded and- and-” You burst into sobs, nearly tearless. “All I can think of is how bad she has to feel!”

“So would you go back if you could, prefect?” Jade asked.

“Fuck no.” You sniffled, “My head’s blown off in my world. There’s nothing for me there.”

"Gee. Sorry, Shrimpy."

~SCARABIA~

Your fingertips were blue-violet. All the time. Beyond that, your skin was always mottled with raspberry-toned splotches, but still, Kalim and Jamil invited you to dinner, along with Grim. 

It was delicious, as always. You carefully watched as Jamil tested the food for poison, then began to eat.

“Prefect, may I ask you a question?” Kalim murmured. His tone felt strange, more demanding than curious. You’d often seen the side of him that was playful and easygoing, but you seldom saw the heir to a powerful family.

You blinked and sat straighter, “Yeah?”

“Are you anemic or is someone poisoning you?”

You faltered for the barest moment, then laughed, “Uh, ha… funny story, actually. I did get poisoned, just not here.”

“Did you drink coconut juice?”

“Oh- no, I didn’t… I couldn’t. My doctor- I was bedridden in a hospital and my doctor was obsessed with saving me, but he also needed something to save. I think it was the sugar packets? Or the teabags, or something. He put something in my food. The last thing I heard was some conjecture about heavy metal poisoning.”

Jamil slowly rose from his seat and grabbed your hand, turning it over in his own, “Well, they were right. Looks like you were fed cadmium and mercury. What a shame.”

“So how do we fix it?” Kalim asked, looking to Jamil.

“I don’t think you can fix death.” Jamil returned to his seat, gray eyes flicking over to yours, “Can we?”

“Yeah. Unfortunately, you can’t fix death. My time has long since passed, too. I’m in dry rot back in my world.” You giggled, “I’m basically a zombie!”

Jamil did not look amused, but you got a chuckle from Kalim.

~POMEFIORE~

Not to say that Rook was a bad person, but you were constantly on edge around him. This wasn’t unusual for a lot of students, but it was special, in your case. 

Rook’s affinity and fondness for the bow reminded you of a lot. It reminded you of the look of glee on the hunter’s face and the panic flooding your veins. Whenever you saw Rook, your adrenaline spiked and you could barely breathe. 

Of course it was just your luck that you ran out of clean clothes and detergent. Vil had this thing against anyone looking disheveled, so last time he caught you in public after you’d had nothing but bad luck and the washer in Ramshackle broke, he made a promise to you. You could use Pomefiore’s amenities and detergents and soaps or whatever so long as it would keep you from looking a mess. 

You cried in front of him that day. He cared more than Crowley. You got lucky, too. They invited you to dinner after your laundry was finished, and you had two mouths to feed, so of course you accepted and dragged Grim along. 

“Would you also mind trying on some clothes while you’re here? I have spare items that I’m looking to get rid of.” Vil asked while you loaded your clothes and a few of Grim’s ribbons in.

“Sure.”

“Well, come along, then. Rook is still working on dinner,” Vil turned on his heel and you trailed behind him, Grim following you.

Vil respectfully waited on the other side of a privacy screen as you tried on a few shirts, exiting in a particular low backed one.

You did a short spin, awkwardly posing, "I haven't seen you wear this one."

Vil didn't say anything. He stood up, walked over, and spun you around so he could look at your back.

You felt his cold fingers trace three lines, heard him take in a sharp breath, and then he shoved you away and turned around.

"I'll ask him to leave you alone. If I had known he had done that to you, then I wouldn't have been inviting you over as often… But he wouldn't have usually done this sort of thing…" He mumbled.

"Vil? What are you talking about?"

"The marks. They're shaped like arrowheads."

"Oh. Good luck. I don't know the guy who did this to me."

"What?"

You shrugged, "I got kidnapped and monologued at like I was in some cheap horror film. I'm not the victor, obviously, since the hunter won."

"So… Those are not from Rook?"

You nodded, "Yeah, they're not."

~IGNIHYDE~

“You have to be cheating- you have to be- NO!” You howled into your headset and slumped in your new chair, “Idiaaaaaa why?

“All you have to do is git gud,” He responded, a laugh in his tone.

“You should go easy on them, big brother.”

“Ortho, you’re not helping. I wanna win because I won, not because Mr. Hothead went easy on me.”

“Heh.” Idia snorted, “Okay, you ready?”

“Yeah!” You and Ortho cheered in unison.

Your birthday, something of which you had never thought you’d see again, had passed with Idia giving you his old gaming setup, including his old PC. He wanted to build a new one, he said. 

You nearly had a meltdown when this happened. Every day, you were faced with your mortality in the form of a large splotch on the left side of your head. Not your face, the whole side of your head. It sort of came down to a point that was peppered across your nose and cheeks, like spray paint in a few shades lighter than your natural tone. 

So, no. You didn’t think you’d have another birthday. But it came, and your two friends were there to spend it with you, albeit virtually in one case. 

Ortho sat next to you, wide chartreuse eyes occasionally flicking to look at you. You were known for your mood swings and pounding migraines ever since you woke up in that coffin with Grim trying to take your clothes. Grim was sith Idia, gorging himself on sweets. You heaved a sigh, but Idia cut off your thoughts.

“So did you think something bad was gonna happen today?”

“What do you mean?” You noticed his avatar dart into a nearby pavilion, “I hate this map.”

“We can change it.” Idia amended, “After this round. When Ortho showed up, you seemed really scared, almost like you were going to cry. Is it because of whatever’s going on with your head?”

“Oh, like the headaches and the big ugly scar? Yeah. I guess it’s because of what happened?”

Idia’s avatar stopped moving and you braced yourself, but the question didn’t come from him. 

“Prefect. What happened before you came here?”

“Oh… I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, really. Got an ax to the skull. I didn’t see who did it, I was facing the other way, talking to some little kid, trying to help him find his parents.” You sighed, “Traumatizing shit, unless it was the kid’s parents who did me in. I won’t get to know.”

You heard Idia whistle and the combat sequence began when you caught his in-game avatar. As he proceeded to beat you down, you heard some machinery within Ortho whir.

“You’re deceased in your own world. This is a second chance for you.”

“Yeah.” You hissed at your low health, then smiled at Ortho, “It really is.”

~DIASOMNIA~

The minute Malleus noticed the mark on your hand, he politely averted his eyes. Lilia and Silver were gently bantering as the two of you read. Sebek demanded to “stand guard,” although considering that he was trying to protect one of the most powerful mages in the world, you couldn’t help but consider him a little wacky. 

Your opinion of Sebek soured further when he strolled up and grabbed your wrist, “What is this?”

“What?”

“These scars. What are they from?”

“Do you know what a komodo dragon is?”

“Yes.” Malleus said, “Do they exist in your world as well?”

You nodded, “I was on a… walk, let’s say. One of them bit me and I bled out.”

“Why wasn’t anyone else there to help you?” Lilia pondered.

You smiled at Silver, face down on the table, then shrugged and turned back to your book.

“Sometimes you have to be alone. I wasn’t careful, and then I died. Simple enough.”

Malleus nodded, “The next time you decide to go for a walk, call upon my name. I will accompany you.”

You smiled wider, “Oh? Thanks, I guess.”

[thekimspoblog]

Friend: been thinking about this (message from earlier today) all day… as someone whose parents didn’t yell and instead opted for passive aggressive, essentially verbally abusive comments and those intense, very obviously displeased looks… it still gets the point across

Me: I mean I definitely borrowed some experiences with my own mom writing this. But I wouldn't say I was going for Kim being verbally abusive. At least she's really trying not to be; like teaching your kid to feel guilt when they've hurt other people isn't PLEASANT but it's kind of something you have to do. Although of course it's a little rich coming from her, but all the more reason she knows the importance of stopping to appreciate when you've fucked up. It's just... she already does this with Jimmy in BCS at points, the primary example being when he REALLY doesn't want to come clean to Irene Landry, but he knows that in addition to feeling like shit himself, Kim will lose all respect for him if he doesn't fix this.

And with Iris it's just... that but a lot more of it all the time. And Iris was a sensitive kid, always wanted mom's approval. She wasn't hard on them when they failed, but she didn't exactly hide when she was pleased, and every deviation from the path was met with a frank no-pressure discussion on how Iris might be making a mistake but ultimately Kim will respect their choice. Again, in a past life George and Howard were here having this same conversation, about how she'd be proud if Iris struck out on their own... but she put ALL THIS WORK into setting up a family business Iris could inherit.

I mean in some ways, the kid raises you. Fille ended up less scarred by the matriarch, simply because she never really gave a shit what Kim thought of her.

But (lightbulb moment) I am absolutely going to have a scene in Kim's living room early in SK, where she has a Joan Crawford movie playing in the background. Little heavy-handed foreshadowing for ya.

Friend: really love me some not-so-subtle foreshadowing, for starters! but I’m curious if there’s a late-night FotD?

Me: I have 2 ideas, one small and one large. The first is Jimmy and Kim sitting the tweens down and lecturing them about pornography. Iris and Fille already for the most part know about the birds and the bees, in that as they grew up the parents just answered any questions honestly. And for the most part, they both want to be the cool parents about this; they don't believe in snooping on your kids' phones. But they still want to emphasize two main things: 1. These are NOT realistic depictions of romance, sexuality, or what a woman should be. 2. Digital security is top priority. The kids aren't stupid, but seriously, no downloading from shady websites, no giving out your passwords, no using the parents' servers AT ALL, and in general don't be yourself online. You're old enough to watch whatever garbage you want; I can't stop you, but DO NOT make it easy for strangers to find you.

The second is much less mundane: Kim is still managing a cattle industry, until animal rights protesters start sabotaging her factories, exposing the brutality, and Kim is forced to investigate. And the twist is no shit Fille was behind it all. This little episode could end one of two ways: either Kim admits that she's been a hypocrite and on the wrong side of this issue, that she needs to find a less bloody source of revenue (although HOW MUCH LESS is a subjective matter). OR! If you want to get a little cartoonish with it, maybe she says she's proud of Fille's gumption... but if she really wants to stop her mother, Kim bids her better luck next time. Next time, maybe she won't get caught.

Friend: two completely opposite sides of the spectrum, I dig it!

I’m more stuck on the second one, like of course Fille’s the one behind the sabotage, but you’d think that Wexler-McGill blood would’ve helped her better carry out her plans. then again, considering the overall luck of both Jimmy and Kim… perhaps not.

Me: I mean she's still a teenager. Even with Iris's help, this is an amateur against a pro.

Besides, say what you will about Kim, but she knows her children.

If anything, the fact that the saboteur used Wexler-McGill's own tactics is what gave it away.

But just the sentiment that she wants her kids to challenge her authority, respects the hell out of it, but that doesn't necessarily mean she's going to change.

She focused most of her energy into raising a fighter with Iris, but she was pleasantly surprised to see that Fille was capable of this. If this was Fille's first serious attempt to rebel, she utterly failed.

Friend: I feel like I can just see the expression on Kim’s face, probably not unlike one she’d flash her darling husband…

I definitely enjoy how Fille is the one to want to refuse the Wexler-McGill way of life

obvious it’s caused a number of problems with Kim, but what do you suppose Jimmy makes of all this? part of me thinks he’s almost excited for her…

Me: In the pit of his gut, Jimmy is genuinely concerned that this lifestyle is pushing his children away. He understands where Fille is coming from, wants to change if it means keeping her around. They both want what's best for the kids, but sometimes this drives a wedge between them, because Kim is consumed in an apocalyptic state of mind, and she's. VERY. PERSUASIVE. She has facts on her side: global warming, the increasing number of droughts, the militarization of the police, the dilution of constitutional rights to the point of meaninglessness. He just nods along, sheepishly conceding points as she fires off all this evidence, and all he has supporting his side is feelings, the argument that "If an 11 year old is threatening to run away THIS FREQUENTLY, maybe we're the problem".

At least for this conflict, he can throw her own talking points back at her: the beef industry contributes tons of methane and CO2, so does she ACTUALLY care about global warming, or is she just trapped in a nihlistic loop where it's okay to speed the process along?

"Come on, Kim. If it were any company besides your own, you'd be monkey-wrenching the slaughterhouses right there with the protesters. You gotta admit Fille's right to call you out on it"

"Of course she's right. But this is bigger than what I'm doing. If she tried to sabotage anyone else's company, she could have gotten seriously hurt if she got caught. These barons don't mess around. Best case scenario, she'd be looking at jail time. So it's a good thing if she practices on me. I don't care if she sees me as the bad guy; I just want her prepared for the worst"

"But a Mom is not supposed to be an obstacle course! A family is supposed to be a safe place to tell the truth; if you start forcing them to conspire against you, what if you succeed? Do you actually want to know what happens next if we encourage this? Because I promise it's not going to sure up our survival like you say you want"

"... Damnit. Okay, it looks like I've been out-voted 3 to 1, so fine. You're in charge of the menu; if you think switching to vegetarian will placate her, I guess that's what we're doing"

He is glad he made these people with her, but the fact is he can see Kim's flaws much more clearly now that he's got two other people to worry about. He feels like he's playing an unwinnable game; he wants to give Fille a normal childhood, but the fact is that was never going to happen, not just because of who Wexler-McGill are, but because normalcy IS disappearing. He's worried that now that they're teenagers, homeschool is blatantly becoming a bootcamp for thieves, but what's the alternative? Send Fille to public school? With the Christian fundamentalist curriculum and the regular shootings?! She wouldn't be safe there either! Nah, he's really worried about Fille, and at least Kim takes his concerns seriously, shares them even: Fille has a gentle soul, and he doesn't want to crush that, but the world is probably going to anyway. She's not scrappy enough to provide for herself, but she's too much of a purist to just accept what her parents are providing for her. Their only consolation is that when they're gone, Iris will be able to look out for her. And even so, they're not so sure.

Kim feels like her own mother was a whetstone she had to sharpen herself against, and sometimes Jimmy has to remind her that that's not normal; he has a similar background, but they shouldn't be TRYING to recreate this dynamic with their own kids. Kim grew up making the best of a bad situation, but that's a far cry from having a GOOD childhood.

Friend: fell asleep. I know the goal is diet narcissist, and I know Kim’s prepping for the worst possible outcome of every situation they encounter… but there isn’t a part of her that wants nothing more than to just be gentle? not like full-on “the kids actually run the house” levels of gentle parenting, but gentle moments in general. I wouldn’t say Kim is an overly warm person, but I wouldn’t say she’s more cold than she is warm, either.

Me: You're right, shouldn't go too extreme in one direction or the other. Work is the main thing that takes her away from her kids, and of course she can be a hardass if they cross her, but I'd say affectionate is still the default with them.

I mean she's gentle even when she's mad at them. Again, time out or even just the classic disappointed look is usually enough to get the point across. And she definitely is transparent with her worries. She hides her thoughts and feelings from everyone else, but her family knows who she really is; the kids understand that she feels like now that they're teenagers, she's in uncharted waters and feels like she's going to get blamed no matter what. And Iris and Fille are a little bit spoiled, they still have those moments of petulant ingratitude all teenagers have. But overall her honesty is rewarded with them stepping up to more responsibility. Even if they fight, it can be done amicably; she just wants them to understand gaining more freedom means more responsibility; that's pretty normal.

Iris KNOWS that they're Kim's pride and joy, and that the tough love is just a part of that. Iris and Kim fight a lot and Iris is definitely more of a daddy's girl, but the respect is clearly there: mother and daughter are just too similar, stubborn and frequently locking horns as a result. Fille's perception of things is that Kim "loves" her, but that love is conditional on her continuing to act like a Wexler-McGill. But Fille is still young and frankly not the best at reading social cues. Kim demonstrates all the time that she just wants Fille to be happy and safe, that she's willing to change course to accommodate Fille's moralizing. I mean Kim just agreed to give up a lucrative steak industry, even though she shares NONE of Fille's vegetarian convictions. She does crap like this all the time, sooner or later Fiille's going to have to stop acting like her parents don't care about her.

I mean you look at Jimmy and Iris spending time together, you can tell how much they love eachother because it's obvious and they have this effervescent way of playing off eachother: they joke around, they hug, they roughhouse. If it's just Kim and Iris hanging out, an observer might think their relationship is cold, but it's really just understated. They can practically read eachother's minds, so they don't really need to talk much. It can look passive aggressive but really they just like giving eachother shit. Mostly you can tell how well Kim and Iris are getting along by how they're dressed. Iris typically dresses more butch/masc than Kim, but in terms of color coordination, the Mini-Me vibes are off the chart sometimes.

When Kim is teaching Iris self-defense, usually she'll give further instruction, constructive criticism: "I can tell you're losing your balance on the follow through with that kick; next time start out with your knees bent lower and keep your weight on your backfoot". But sometimes Kim will just reply with a flat "Good." and a nod. Those are Iris's favorite moments. Kim will barely break from her stern expression, but you can see her smiling with her eyes. She doesn't need to tell Iris she loves them in so many words, because her warmth can be felt; this is her idea of fun. And Iris will smile back, not just happy to have nailed the technique, not just happy to meet their mom's perfectionist standards, but it's this knowing smile they share, that the plan is working, that together they are a force to be reckoned with. Fille doesn't understand the long-game, Jimmy pretends to understand but really he can only see a few steps ahead, but Kim and Iris, they are on the same wavelength, they feel this intergenerational sense of boundless ambition.

Kim and Iris's dynamic is weird because there's clearly the feeling they are both looking into a mirror when they talk to eachother: Kim is painfully self-aware that she's using Iris to get a do-over with her own childhood but as long as Iris is happy why is that so wrong. And when Iris looks at Kim, they do see a hero, a pair of big shoes that Iris would be proud to one day fill. So there is a level of narcissism in their bond, but it's not obsessive, it's just... confident. Once upon a time, Kim carried around a lot of self-loathing, her own childhood trauma making her feel like she wasn't good enough, that anything short of perfection meant she was nobody. But she shed that in 2016, making the choice to let go of the guilt and the shame and love the woman she saw in the mirror each day. If she hadn't done that, she wouldn't have felt her genes were worth passing on. So Kim sees so much of herself in her daughter, sometimes it still terrifies her, but it's also clearly why she needs Iris to grow up loving themselves, trusting their instincts, not feeling like their self-esteem needs to come from anyone else.

She did heap praise more overtly on Iris when she was a small child, cheering excitedly at every little accomplishment, pinning the crayon drawings to the fridge etc. But Iris is old enough now that that kind of parental enthusiasm would be embarrassing if Kim did it in public, and she knows that. It says enough about how much she loves them, that she sets expectations high but not unreasonably high, she encourages them even as she points out how to improve, and when Iris finally succeeds, Kim doesn't need to say anything because that feeling of achievement speaks for itself.

If anything, if Kim said something like "That was great, Iris! That was really good" Iris would just say "I know you're patronizing me; that's not what you say when you're actually impressed. Just tell me what I'm doing wrong so we can move on to the next thing"

And Kim would say "Ok fine, your letter to the president did not need this second paragraph"... assuming they are now doing homework together and not martial arts.

💡 At some point Iris picks up a love for greek philosophers and that becomes something they share together

Kim doesn't scream. She doesn't berate. She doesn't resort to physical discipline. She's never needed to. She can impart so much mom-guilt with just a disappointed look and a few cutting words. A command for obedience disguised as her having "faith that you'll make the right choice". If she really was such a warm and loving person, then why did Iris grow up so afraid of her? Why was everyone so afraid of her? Love was unconditional, but friendship required being able to read her mind.

[lacefuneral]

no one asked but i try to be educational about my experiences with transness when i can, and today i'm thinking abt my top surgery

(surgery description, nipples, me being kind of tmi)

ok so i had a double-incision top surgery, which is the top surgery most frequently depicted in artwork and spoken about.

when i had top surgery i didn't know (or care) about alternative surgeries. i knew about keyhole, which i did not qualify for on account of my massive tits (not a humblebrag)

i did not know about T anchor, which is a surgery that leaves the exact same scars as double incision, plus an additional vertical scar leading from the bottom of the nipple to the scar below it, forming an upside down T shape.

the primary difference, aside from scarring, is that T anchor leaves the nipples intact. the extra incision allows the surgeon to move the nipples to where they should be on the chest without cutting into the stem. meaning, the likelyhood of retaining FULL sensation is greatly increased

whereas with double incision, the nipples have to be cut off of your body, trimmed, and grafted back on in the correct place.

the result is unpredictable, and this is an instance where "your milage may very" is EXTREMELY apt. because some people have full sensation. some people have none. some people have one or both nipples fall off during the healing process (usually as a result of not properly caring for them) - it's um. it's wild. a lot of stuff going on there, with nipple grafts.

because, yeah, you can go to the best surgeon in the world, and that increases your chances of success. but then it also comes down to: how well does your body heal - and - are you putting in the work to make sure that you aren't disturbing the stitches, changing your bandages properly, keeping the incision sites clean, etc. and then the final factor is time.

i had surgery in april of 2016. my nipples survived the ordeal, although they look very different from one another. the right nipple looks like a real nipple, while the left looks more like it was formed from areola tissue. i do not know the story, nor do i want to. (the thought of my surgeon fucking up in the operating room distresses me, so i'd rather not think about it)

i had no sensation in my chest anywhere for at least a year. over time, i gradually gained sensation in different areas. for a long time, the sensation meant for my nipples were somehow misdirected to my surgical scars. i would say that at least some of that feeling remains there now. obviously ask first, but your man may enjoy having his scars rubbed when he's healed up. just a T4T tip from me 2 u.

anyway, the nipples themselves had NO sensation at all. for YEARS. and then (and sorry, this is gross) in 2021, i noticed that my left nipple appeared to have some sort of cyst or zit. now, i have OCD. and more specifically, dermatillomania. so after i dealt with the left side, i looked at the right to see if there was anything similar. i squeezed the nipple in various areas, only to realize that, as i continued, i was in PAIN.

and i was so, so ecstatic about this. because i realized that i could help the nerves wake up by stimulating the area. my right nipple now has full sensation, or something close to that.

my left, though? there's a marked difference. hardly any sensation at all, even in my attempts to "wake it up." so i'm not getting my hopes up about it, especially because it is made from different breast tissue than the right.

but yeah, while sensation isn't 100% where it was prior to surgery, my chest overall does have feeling when i touch it.

and also, despite the left nipple being, in my mind, "pretty much dead", it still reacts to temperature and touch in the way you would expect a nipple to. so it "knows" it's a nipple. and i think that's really weird? cool?

this has been jay's nipple corner

[aalbedo]

injured!tartaglia x reader (part 2)

part two of this

request: Hello I absolutely loved your one shot of Tartaglia helping an injured reader sdjgksjfkf if you don't mind I'd like to request a part 2 where reader asks him the story behind that big scar he pointed out? Maybe reader finds HIM injured and returns the favor and asks about his other scars while they treat his wounds?? Ahaha reader's just like "fuck I can't just leave you here to bleed out but don't you dare think this means I care for you or anything" lmao

format: two-parter (again, read part one first)

ship: tartaglia x reader

tags: fluff, reader is the traveler-ish (a completely separate character from aether and lumine, but still the traveler, does that make sense?), author forgets basic wound care halfway into the fic

warnings: blood, mildly graphic depiction of injury, stitches and needles

words: 3027

notes: hey so uhhhhhhhh i kinda went off the rails with this one, i didn't really follow the prompt in some points since uh... the part about the stories behind the scars... i kinda forgot about that... or like... eh you'll see, anyway, - banner still fucked up it will be fixed i prommy

Despite the high number of hilichurl camps, abyss mages, fatui agents, ruin hunters and ruin guards, Lisha was still one of your favorite places to explore, it was full of treasure chests to open, sweet flowers to pick and ore to mine. Plus, the atmosphere managed to still be peaceful, the open fields where the sun would shine uninterrupted for hours and hours on end were your favorite place to sit down and bask in the sunlight.

Your leg was still recovering from the tough hit you had taken a few weeks prior, which meant that you had to take more breaks while adventuring. Not that you would complain, taking breaks, putting some numbing cream on your wound, eating some reinvigorating food and drinking fresh water was just as satisfying as exploring.

After resting for about half an hour, you decided to get up, careful not to put any pressure on your injured leg. You threw your bag over your shoulder and walked north-west, towards the road to the chasm.

In the distance, you started hearing sounds of fighting, and as you got closer to them, you could see a tall figure fighting not one, but two separate ruin hunters, with a bow. It was too far away to see the person’s face, but you had half an idea of who it could be.

Then, out of nowhere, a bright purple flash, and in less than a second the ruin hunters were both on the ground, completely destroyed. Yep, it’s Tartaglia.

You thought about turning away and changing your direction before he could see you. You had already reluctantly thanked him for helping you that day, as well as paying for your medication out of his own pocket, but you still felt like you owed him a favor that you really did not want to fulfill. He was still the guy that almost destroyed Liyue, and made you fight for your life, despite everything.

Until you saw him fall to his knees, and as he turned to face your direction you could see his chest covered in blood.

You acted on instinct, ignoring your brain telling you to leave him alone, that he could tend to his own wounds, and you sprinted towards him. He may be an asshole, but you just want to avoid him, not leave him to die.

He was resting his back on a wall, head thrown back. Even from far away, you could see that he was breathing heavily. That same backpack you had seen on him the day he helped you was now sitting next to him, his left hand already rummaging through it.

His head shot up, he had definitely heard you coming towards him, his eyes widened as you kneeled down right in front of him and got a better look at his condition. You could see a cut crossing his chest, from his right shoulder to the middle of his torso, right over his heart. His grey coat was soaked in blood, as it pooled on the bend of his hips and slid down to the ground.

“So you do care about me.” he broke the silence, struggling to talk through heavy breaths and groans. He was completely out of breath, covered in blood, definitely in pain, and all he could think about was joking.

“I don’t. Just because I hate you, it doesn’t mean I want to see you dead.” You didn’t have time to get mad at him. “Also - I owe you a favor, I guess.” The only thought in your head was to help him, so you did not think twice before quickly unbuttoning his coat and undercoat and moving them out of the way.

You got a look at his chest and through the blood you could see several other scars, most of them looked years old, a few of them looked pretty large, carving his chest and abdomen. You wondered if his entire body looked like this, and why his face didn’t.

“Like what you see?” he joked again, his voice sounded hoarse, strained, very clearly struggling to talk. You sighed, couldn’t he just shut up for a minute?

You turned to your own bag to pull out anything you might need to help him. Potions, numbing cream and even a stitching kit laid next to you. You had bought the kit after that day, and started learning how to stitch wounds.

“No,” you dismissed him again. He whined quietly, you weren’t sure if it was because of your response or the wound.

All of the sudden, you felt… fear? Fear of what? Him passing out? And anger, at the fact that he wasn’t taking the situation as seriously as you were. He could easily die from this wound and all he was doing was making jokes.

You quickly started cleaning the blood with a cloth in one hand, while holding a bottle of antiseptic potion in your left, ready to pour it on top of the cut. You were being quick, passing your hand over his chest as fast as you could, trying to gather all the blood while avoiding the open skin, but there was so much of it that in mere seconds the cloth was soaked and completely useless.

You looked up at him and he was staring at the ground, his eyes completely unfocused. “Childe,” you called him and he squeezed his eyes closed, “try to stay awake.”

“Easy to say,” he muttered. At least he was awake.

You threw away the bloody cloth, and poured the antiseptic potion directly on his scar with no warning. Despite knowing that you were just helping him, a wave of guilt washed over you as you heard him cry out from the pain and throw his head back, wincing again when he hit the wall.

Half a bottle of potion and another clean cloth drenched in blood later, the wound had completely stopped bleeding, and you finally breathed out all the tension you were holding in your body.

His face, and body, were completely pale from the blood loss. His mouth was agape, eyelids half closed - looking at you, he sighed, barely letting any air out. You glared back, but by the way his head was positioned, you couldn’t help but look at his lips, the way they moved slightly every time he breathed out, they seemed so… soft, sweet. You brushed aside a thought that had snaked into your brain. His mouth curled up and he barked a laugh, but he stopped immediately and groaned again. Had he noticed that you were looking?

“Don’t laugh, it’ll hurt you,” you reminded him as you threw away the second blood drenched cloth.

“Sure,” he replied, voice still strained. “Whatever you say.”

You find a third cloth, the only clean one you had left, used some water from your bottle to make it damp and used it to wash your hands.

“Don’t talk either,” you looked at him as you opened a small glass jar containing numbing cream. “What were you thinking, being here alone and fighting two ruin guards?” He opened his mouth. “Don’t answer, you’ll tell me later.”

“I was just collecting some debts when those two attacked me.” He groaned again.

“I said, don’t talk if it hurts.” You made it clear from your tone that you were annoyed at the way that he was acting.

You dipped a couple of fingers into the cream, and hesitated before placing your bare hand on his chest, carefully placing the cream around the wound, so that he would not feel pain when you would be stitching it closed. As you got a better look at the cut, you noticed how the skin had been basically mangled, it looked like it would not be an easy recovery.

“You look like you know what you’re doing,” he pointed out, before groaning again. You were starting to wish you had taped his mouth with something.

“Because I know what I’m doing, I’m not an idiot. And you’re making me regret helping you, just shut up already.”

“Make me.”

Your hand froze over his skin. You moved your eyes back up to him, trying to decipher his expression. Was that an invitation, or just teasing? He hadn’t even tried to put on a smug face, his expression just looked tired and worn out, which made it even harder to decipher.

The longer you looked at him, the weirder it would get, you would have to do something before it got awkward and that thought from earlier slammed back into your head.

You wanted to wish you had run the other way, but the truth was that you were glad you hadn’t. Maybe it was all of the tension you had accumulated while seeing all that blood flow out of him, maybe it was the heavy lidded look he was giving you, but you placed your clean hand on the side of his face, cupping his cheek. His eyes widened, mouth parted ready to say something, but, before he could, your lips were on his.

The kiss was fast, you pulled back almost immediately and averted his gaze right away. You could feel him staring at you as you put your hand back into the jar and picked up some more cream.

“I didn’t think you would actually-” he didn’t finish the sentence.

You quickly caught a glimpse of his expression before focusing on taking care of the wound. You contained a laugh as you saw him look absolutely dumbfounded and flustered, he had seriously been rendered completely speechless by what could barely be considered a kiss. If he hadn’t lost that much blood that day, his cheeks would definitely be red.

Honestly, you couldn’t believe what had happened either. You couldn’t believe you had even done it. You could’ve just laughed it off and kept medicating him in silence. But you were glad that you didn’t.

Neither of you uttered a word for a while, and even though the atmosphere wasn’t explicitly awkward, you wished he would say something. After a thick layer of numbing cream and several minutes of silence, you finally gathered the courage to look back at him. He was clearly pretending to look away, as if he hadn’t spent the entire time looking at you working.

“Is the pain gone? Can I stitch it now?” Your voice came out unexpectedly soft. You touched the skin around the wound, waiting to get a reaction from him.

His head snapped back to face you, and he nodded. “Can’t feel a thing,” he said as he touched his own chest. “I can stitch it though, if you wa- Ah!” He lifted his right arm, the injured one, and immediately stopped mid-air, “fuck- shit, not this,” he almost yelled.

“You ripped a tendon.” You gently took his right arm, putting it back down for him, and looked at his shoulder. “I’ll stitch it, don’t worry - I’ve learned.”

He didn’t say anything, and you took it as permission. You opened the kit you had bought at Bubu pharmacy weeks prior: recurved needle, thread and tweezers. You could feel Tartaglia’s gaze on you as you struggled passing the thread through the needle, but in the end you managed to do it.

As you hovered over the wound, your gaze fell on a large scar, the one that would normally be visible from over his coat on his neck, and it went down over the left side of his body down until his hip. It looked pretty old, but it was still very visible.

“Can I ask you… how did you get that?”

“Mh?”

You pointed at the scar with your pinkie and slightly traced over it, “this scar, what happened?”

He followed your finger with his gaze, and kept his eyes on the scar even as you moved back to the still open wound. “Oh, that?” You passed the needle through the skin and pulled it out on the other side. “I was 14.”

You saw some blood trickle from the cut as you carefully pulled the thread and passed the needle through one more time. By the way he had spoken, you felt like he was going to continue talking, so you didn’t interrupt.

“Uhm, when I was 14, I-” you heard him pass his tongue over his lips, “the Abyss, you know.” You nodded quietly as you passed the needle through a few more times.

“You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to,” you reassured him, you knew that it was a pretty sensitive topic, or at least you imagined it would be. You stitched a few more loops with ease, getting progressively more comfortable with what you were doing.

“It’s fine, I- I was in-” his voice was starting to shake the slightest bit, but you noticed the change of tone in his voice.

You finally reached the end, and you cut the thread, tying it tightly at the end. You put the needle and the tweezers back into their container.

“I had to fight this… huge- and when-” once you looked up at him, you realized how lost in thought he was, looking at his scar, unable to take his eyes off it, he was probably getting some flashbacks. “I-” his voice cracked, his lower lip trembled ever so slightly, and you could not bear it anymore. Without even thinking about it, you grabbed the side of his face and dragged him in for an actual, proper kiss.

He fell right into it and reciprocated immediately, placing his left hand on the side of your waist. It was sweet, and tender, and you got a better feel of what his lips were like: just as soft as they looked.

You pulled back first once again, and as you got to look at his surprised face, eyebrows raised and everything, your mind started racing. You had just kissed not just a Fatui, not just a Harbinger, but the Harbinger that had tried to kill you, that manipulated you and that nearly destroyed Liyue for the second time. And he was sitting in front of you looking like an idiot.

You couldn’t figure out what you were feeling, but there was something going on deep in your chest, and stomach.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you quickly clarified before he could say anything. “Neither of them do, they were just to shut you up.”

“Were they?” he asked. And just like that, he came full circle back to the false smugness.

You really, really did not want to think about the weird feeling that was growing in your stomach. “Look at what I got from Baizhu.” From your bag, you pulled out a thick strip made out of cotton and a small vial full of Slime concentrate.

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“What do they mean to you?” you bit back, waiting to see if he would face the question himself, or back out like a hypocrite.

“What did you get from Baizhu?”

You both chuckled, and you noticed his bare chest rising and falling back down as he laughed. “He said it’s a new type of bandaging, you use slime concentrate to stick it to the skin.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t love the sound of that, actually.”

“I was skeptical too the first time I tried it, but trust me - it’s much more comfortable.” You heard him sigh in defeat as you already spread some of the slime condensate over the strip, and set down the half empty vial. “It won’t hurt.”

“Do you promise?”

He looked into your eyes with a relaxed expression, you looked right back. “I promise,” you replied with a kind smile, before turning your attention to the strip and stuck it over the wound, carefully placing it so that it would cover the entire cut.

“All done,” you said as you started getting up, but you felt a hand grabbing your arm, another one grabbing the side of your face, and tugging you back down, and before you could realize it your lips were once again on Tartaglia’s.

You couldn’t help but reciprocate the kiss, his lips were still soft, and at that point you felt like you could get used to them. The kiss was exactly as gentle as the one before, you could feel your fluttering in your chest as Tartaglia’s thumb started gently rubbing your cheekbone.

He pulled back first this time, and as you opened your eyes back you could see a wide smile on his face.

“Sending me mixed signals, huh?” you pointed out.

“I told you, I never had anything against you personally,” he said as he put his clothes back on, trying to fix them as much as possible, despite the very clear cut on his chest and the blood covering them completely.

“I’m gonna need some time before I’ll believe that.” You got up and reached down a hand for him to get up. “You’re gonna need to prove it to me.”

He grabbed it with his non-injured hand and stood up beside you. “While you take your time, care to walk me to Bubu pharmacy, so I can buy some of these sticky bandages?” he asked, a wide smile still on his face.

“Sure,” you simply replied, picking up both of your back and tossing them over your shoulder.

You watched him move his injured arm slightly, to figure out how much he could move it. Unsurprisingly, not much.

He hummed. “I’m gonna have to take some time off from duty, hopefully they won’t kill me for it,” he said in a joking manner, but you could sense that he wasn’t kidding about the killing part.

“Well,” as you both started walking back to the harbor, you got an idea, “you could use the time off to show me that you truly don’t hate me.”

“Like what?” You could feel his gaze on you.

“Like, we could go out for dinner,” you suggested, keeping your eyes in front of you. “In a completely neutral way, and then see what happens from there.”

“Sounds good.”

“It’s a plan, then.”

[bonny-kookoo]

Bunny Boy (JJK x Reader)☁️⚠️🔪(💜)🔞 Part 1

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Angst, Yandere!AU, Stalker!AU, questionable romance, smut, Oneshot

Warnings: (oh boy) Stalking, Obsession, Yandere themes, cute Koo but aggressive, he ready to fight, graphic description of violence, blood, very twisted JK, oblivious! Reader, kinda Stockholm-syndrome Reader?, soft romantic lovemaking, body worship, Dom! Jungkook, Sub! Reader, Handjob (fem. receiving), oral (fem. receiving), protected sex because even with your mind scrambled up in a frying pan we still wrap it before tapping it y’all hear me STDs ain’t cute Susan

Summary: It all started with a hello kitty charm.

A/N:(IMPORTANT) I’d like to note here that I do not condone nor romanticize any of the things depicted in this. This is purely fictional, and only to be seen as a work of art, not as a depiction of real life relationships. For short: if he a creep, kick his balls, don’t kiss. Thank you.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part?

Whenever you slept, he had to think of an angel portrayed in an old painting displayed in a museum he'd seen when he had been a kid, years ago. He remembers its features, flawless and so carefully drawn that it edged on perfection. It couldn't have been however, he knew that much. Because the painting wasn't of you.

The sheets had fallen all over the place during the night- you sometimes moved during your period of unconsciousness he'd noticed, which wasn't unusual for you. It had been more often and severe these days however; probably because of the stress you experienced at work nowadays. It was okay though, he though to himself. He'd taken care of that for you, just so you could finally rest in peace again. Just like he'd decided almost a year ago.

"You lost this, I think.." A voice spoke behind you, as you turned around, eyes looking straight at some american writing on a black t-shirt, then a jean-jacket thrown over, until your eyes raised, spotting a silver chain necklace- not one of those large ones guys wore to impress, but a rather delicate looking one. Your eyes found soft looking lips, the upper one smaller than the lower, slightly parted like a doll frozen in time, before you saw a prominent nose, a slight scar on his cheek, and eyes wide open; a dark chocolate brown, reflecting the artificial lights of the grocery store, shining all around you as they tried to advertise several products to the people browsing the isles. His hair was a bit curly, dark and only mildly styled you assumed. He stood way taller than you did, the main reason you had first made eye contact with his chest rather than his face-

He was handsome.

You stuttered a bit as you looked at the hello kitty charm, a simple one you'd hung on your phonecase, for the aesthetic and sole reason that you liked the cat character a lot. "T-Thanks.." You said, and your voice made his eyes widen even further, before he flashed you a bright smile, bunny like teeth giving him a charm that completely contradicted his entire punk-like attire he wore, combat boots stepping back a bit to give you a bit more space, sensing how his close presence made you feel pressured.

What a nice gesture.

"Jungkook." He said, and you nodded, giving him your name as an exchange.

Unknowing where this would lead.

His phone chimed with the familiar tune of his alarm, making him simply tap away at the screen without breaking eye contact with you. This was his favorite moment of the start of his day.

You moved around a bit more, the screen of your phone bright and annoying, just how you intended it to be. He knew that you were quite the sleepyhead, cherishing your dreams and cozy blankets like no other around him he knew. That's why your phone had an extra obnoxious tune to it to wake you up, screen as bright as possible to drown the entire room in its glow, so you had to move around. Your eyes opened slightly, pout ever so endearingly present on your lips as you sat up, raising your arms to stretch them above, making him swallow his saliva as he saw how your shirt raised up, revealing the soft skin of your belly, and the slight peak of your cotton underwear. He loved how you always put comfort over visual appearance- you didn't need fancy clothing to look absolutely divine in his eyes, after all.

He had to remember his task at hand however, grabbing his phone with a bit of hectic, before he dialed a number, waiting until your screen lit up. You instantly took on the call, not looking at who's calling.

Did you know it was him? Or is were you so careless all the time?

"Goo'mornin' Kookie.." You drawled into your phone, and his entire previous thoughts flew out his window, his eyes closing at the sound of your slightly raspy voice, his nerves instantly soothed at the fact that for another day he'd managed to become the first person you would talk to.

"Good morning angel." He said, voice low and smooth, just how you always told him you liked it. He watched as the corners of your lips turned upwards, a smile only dedicated to him, even if he technically wasn't supposed to see it. It made it the more special to see. "Did you sleep well?" He asked, and you nodded. Silly girl he thought. You noticed your mistake before sleepily giggling to yourself, yawning before answering him verbally. He cooed at you internally. You were so cute.

"Hmhm. Had a bad dream though." You said, and his heart clenched at the way your lips lowered a bit with the remembrance of whatever had happened during your slumber. He wished he could invade your very thoughts, keep even your own demons tormenting your precious time of rest at bay, kill them off with a shot straight to their cores, just to have you safe. "but you were there 'n fought the monsters." You said with a smile, and his eyes widened. Maybe he really was invading your thoughts just like you did with his. Was your connection really already that strong? He watched the clock on the very corner of his laptop, keeping an eye on the time. He didn't want you to be late, after all.

"That's right, I'm always keeping you safe." He hummed, and you sleepily replied with a confirmation of his statement. "Now get ready, or you're gonna be late baby." He said, the nicknames still foreign yet oh so sweet on his tongue whenever he said them. He could finally speak them out loud, finally give them to you regularly, and it had been a firework of emotions ever since. He could never get tired of the way it made you squirm, giving him a teaser of what you could look like underneath him, bare and ready for his taking. Just the thought alone made his pants tighten around him, making him force composure down his throat- at least for the moment. "I know you're still in bed. Go and get dressed, don't make your coworkers wait. Love you angel." He said, and waited for you to say the same words to him again, as a form of farewell and confirmation alike.

"Hmhm, love you too, Kook." You said, and disconnected the call, giving him finally freedom to groan out loud, hands scrambling with his pants, fingers working on the button and fly with desperation as he pulled his half hard length out of his underwear, moving his fingers around as his eyes never left your form on his screen, bare legs softly walking up to your dresser. As you discarded your shirt, leaving you bare, his grasp tightened a bit, air coming out in gasps as you stretched yourself so deliciously like a feline did- your back arching enticingly, breasts on full display for him, before you started to bend down, looking for something to cover them, probably.

His mind started to come up with visions of you, arching your back underneath him like that, speared on his cock, mewling alluringly, delicate hands frantically searching for something to hold onto as he would push himself inside you again and again, your name falling from your lips in a manner he couldn't even imagine yet.

Would your voice raise in pitch? Would you only huff, gasping without a tune? Or were you a screamer?

He didn't know yet, but he knew he was close to making these mere dreams a reality with you. He'd finally managed to show you his love for you after all, finally making you see how you belonged to him and him only- you had finally accepted him and your destiny at his side. When he'd first met you, you were so sweet yet so.. dumb. You didn't notice, didn't feel the connection- but he was patient. He was able to wait, to hint you at it the best he could, to softly lead you into his awaiting arms, to serve you and worship you like the goddess you were. You had started to finally connect the obvious strings of fate to him, kissing his lips in such a shy manner that he still felt his veins buzz from the euphoria he'd felt that day.

The day he got kissed by an angel, by his soulmate, his other missing part.

He spied on you as you worked away, busy like a bee, ever so hardworking he thought. You didn't deserve to work at all in his opinion, your hands too delicate to be endangered by maybe scolding yourself on hot water or coffee that you made every day for absolute strangers or regular costumers; yet you were so happy at your job that he had to be gentle at slowly showing you that this wasn't where you were supposed to be. The amount of people looking at you every day made bile rise in his throat, making him feel like vomiting every time he saw the way you smiled at another man.

It was even with woman, he'd noticed recently. He didn't care much about the elderly, but he could sometimes spot girls your age eyeing you down like you were a rare diamond behind glass, admiring you like they shouldn't be allowed to. He understood them to an extend, he'd admit that much; your visuals were magical, absolutely breathtaking, making him almost sympathize with the people being drawn towards you. Your soul was so soft and gentle that people naturally felt comfortable around you- too comfortable, if anyone would ask Jungkook himself for his opinion on that matter.

Just like right now; the guy you once went to school with as he'd found out after photographing his face and running a google search on him, finding his facebook and other social media accounts on his hunt. He hadn't really tried to stay in contact with you after you both graduated, dating girls left and right like he was a 12-year old collecting pokemon cards, posting disgusting things such as post workout pictures, bathing in attention of strangers who'd never really met him. It was disgusting, really; Jungkook himself had given himself away to others before as well, but his counter was standing at a number easily displayed on one hand. With this guy however, that was way more difficult to portray. He'd collected information on his past affairs as well, after all. He wondered what you would say if you knew he even slept with men in his freetime, selling himself like a whore just for animalistic pleasures and his own satisfaction. He almost felt himself gag at the thought of you possibly falling into this man's trap.

Thank the heavens he'd found you first.

He saw how uncomfortable you felt around that guy however, even your naive self sensing something malicious behind his attention seeking behavior towards you. He'd overheard you telling him multiple times how happy you were with Jungkook, yet the guy simple did not take the hint, speaking over your words as if they didn't hold any significance at all, uncaring of how you hated not being taken seriously by others.

How nauseating.

Jungkook looked at the passenger seat next to him, cold eyes gazing at the silvery tape and plastic bag, his glove clothed hands gripping the steering wheel in determination as he turned his face again, patiently waiting as that demon payed for his coffee, finally leaving the cafe after sending you another look. Jungkook cracked his neck. He had to do it.

He was doing it for you.

You'd understand.

Seoul's nights were mostly starless, due to the amounts of artificial lights blending out the galaxies above everyone's head's. It was quite tragic to him, really, because as he watched the colourfully lit up Bridge blend into the distance behind him as he drove further and further away from the city, the nightsky above him got clearer and clearer, as if the earth was revealing itself with every kilometer he brought between himself and the buzzing citylife.

He'd bring you out to a trip far away one day. Maybe camping, you always told him how you found these things quite romantic- roasting marshmallows over a small fire, stargazing, and sleeping in each others arms to converse heat in stuffy sleeping bags. Oh, he loved this already. He'd work a little overtime at his job to get enough money together so he could maybe even rent a small van. Or would his small car suffice for you? Maybe it was better to use the smaller space of his own vehicle- the less space meaning being closer to you, after all.

As he opened his window a bit, he breathed in the almost icy air from the outside, not much sound heard apart from his car's engine and wheels on the road, monotonous sound making him feel less concentrated than he should be. But he knew these roads, thankfully. Luckily for him the air inside his car was waking him up a little bit, as he turned around a corner, Jungkook clicked his tongue in annoyance as he felt something on the backseat of his car tumble down behind the seats. Hopefully the bag didn't rip. He had a spare one with him though.

He was organized, after all.

It was something that you always praised about him, making his chest feel all warm and fuzzy inside. He loved whenever you told him how handsome he was, how you always felt so appreciated whenever he held the door for you or helped you with simply mundane things. He didn't care about anyone else's comments about him; when you were happy with him, he was happy with himself as well. Your opinion of him mattered most- everyone else's only served as a safety cushion if you will.

He knew you would probably feel a bit upset with the tragedy that befell your former classmate- but he was insignificant. He had no good intentions, he knew that much, and now, he'd ridden the world of such a nuisance, cleansing it from another rotting soul. In a way he felt like he'd done a great job, as if he'd done something important. If ghosts existed, Jungkook hoped that this young man's was thankful for finally being freed of it's miserable existence. Even though he have had all the rights to make him suffer, he'd made it quick and simple, keeping things clean and sharply cut.

Pulling on the parking break in his car, he shut down the engine, before he opened his car door, stepping outside and stretching his arms. He'd definitely pulled a muscle carrying this dudes body into his car- the weight much more heavy than he'd initially thought. But that would pass. Maybe it was his punishment for not acting sooner, not getting things done immediately. His dad had always slapped that part of his neck too whenever he messed things up. He still remembered that to this day.

The memory made him shudder.

Sighing, he opened the door to the backseats, part of the plastic-wrapped body falling a bit out, making Jungkook huff a bit in frustration. He pulled on it, assuming it was his head, letting the weight fall down onto the ground, a low thud and a bit of dust covering his black sweatpants and combat boots.

He'd clean them up at home.

Heaving the body onto his back as to not rip the well made covering, he began to collect rocks nearby, stuffing them into the bag carefully, adding weight as much as he could, while still making it possible for him to shove the body over the banisters placed on the edge of the cliffs before finally securing more tape around the bag to make sure the rocks couldn't simply tumble out and leave their destined place inside. Jungkooks gaze was still cold, icy, as he finished his work with an almost bored expression, finally hefting the heavy weight over the metal bars, before he let it fall with a groan on his side, Neck still hurting. He watched as the body hit the water's surface, white splatters shooting in circle formations around the bullet-like hole in the waves before the darkness swallowed it whole, leaving nothing behind but a few air bubbles.

Jungkook took a deep breath, watching for a moment before turning his gaze to the stars above, clouds slowly shielding the nightsky from his vision as if the heavens above closed their eyes- not looking at his actions.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, making him remove his black glove, unlocking it with his fingerprint skillfully, smile already on his lips. 'I'm gonna be done in half an hour. Do you wanna get some late night Ramen with me and eat it at my place?' you wrote, silly emojis making him imagine the pink hue on your cheeks as you wrote these lines to him.

Now that he thought about it, he was quite hungry.

"Jungkookie, here!" You said, waving at him as he spotted you, bunny grin sent your war as he walked over, immediately pulling you into his open arms, his nose nuzzling your neck as if he needed to claim you like an animal. It tickled you a bit and you giggled, making him chuckle as well as he kissed your cheek, before he took your hand into his, walking you to his car as he looked at the plastic bags in your hand.

"Why did you buy them yourself angel? You could've waited and I could've payed." He whined, and you scoffed a bit, blushing at the way he seemed to be pouty over the fact that he couldn't be all gentlemanly like he always said he wanted to. Having told him how it made you feel so special inside whenever he did these things, he made sure to do them for you as much as possible. He shuddered at the fact that you'd once told him that your ex boyfriend never did these things such as holding the door for you or help you grocery shopping. The same night however you thankfully told him that you were still pure; having never been touched intimately before, a piece of information that had made his pants tighten embarrassingly fast, the simple revelation that you were still untainted and his for the taking making him feel starved. Yet he had controlled himself, not wanting to rush things. You were a bit skittish, easily overwhelmed with things, so he knew not to push anything too fast too far.

Loosing you could be fatal for the both of you, after all.

"Ah, but its fine Kookie." You said, thanking him after he'd opened the car door for you, closing it after you had gotten inside the passenger seat after you with a smile. Jungkook really was a special guy; he seemed to cherish the old ways of courting a girl- something that had made him be seen as a 'softie' in your group of friends, the girls constantly making fun of the way he acted around you. It made you feel more and more upset the more time went by; after all you really loved Jungkook and the way he made you feel. You both were happy- why did they need to make fun of that?

"Angel?" He asked, and you snapped your head towards him, humming an answer and proving to him that you weren't paying any attention. His eyebrows furrowed a bit, and for a split second you thought he was mad, but his voice didn't hold any bad feelings at all- only slight concern. "Is everything okay? If you're tired I can drive you home-" He said, stopping at a red light and using that moment to look at you. You didn't look physically sick to him, yet your face told him how something was bothering you inside. He'd studied your features for longer than he'd like to admit, making it impossible for you to hide anything from him at all. "Or is something troubling you?" He said lowly, his eyes suddenly fogging over with a look you could not quite describe.

It made your spine tingle and your skin shudder, however.

"I just.." You said, trying to figure out what to say concerning this topic. Jungkook was emotionally very easily affected, you knew that; something that made it even more difficult to bring that topic up. You didn't want to hurt his pride or his ego concerning his manliness. "The girls at work they uhm.. they were making fun of you a little bit for being so, you know, soft and sweet to me-" you said, making him raise his brows and open his eyes more, his innocent doe-look returning into his face as he looked forwards to continue driving. You immediately raised your voice a bit, hand instinctively touching the one not on the steering wheel as a form of confirmation for your next words. "But I don't think that at all, I think you're really nice, and strong, and you know, manly and all that.." you said, ears slowly turning red as you noticed how that sounded. Jungkook simply smiled, his eyes reflecting the traffic lights like mirrors.

It made him seem almost ethereal to you.

"So you think I'm hot?" He asked, and you sunk down in your seat, fiddling with your fingers as you nodded, making him giggle a bit, and ruffle your hair playfully, before interlacing his fingers with yours, holding them towards his lips to kiss the back of your hand. "Thank you Angel. So that's what you were worried about? That I'd feel hurt by the words of your friends?" He asked, glancing your way for a split second before looking forward again. He wished he could look both ways at the same time; the short image he'd gotten of your form so shy and adorable sitting right next to him looking like a scene out of a movie he'd never stop watching. You nodded again, and he parked in front of your apartment complex, grinning your way as he turned off the engine. "You're so sweet, angel." He said, while you whined, opening the door to escape his laughter-

While failing to wipe your own smile off of your lips, uncaring on how his car had smelled a bit weird.

You were still so oblivious to everything around you.

When he'd left after your last dinner together, you'd again refused to let him drive you to work. You had a split shift during the week, working in the mornings for a few hours before continuing your shift later that evening. It made him feel uneasy knowing that you had to get out of the house so early, and coming home so late at night- yet you still trusted your own driving skills enough to not let him help you with these things. He knew this was okay, but it didn't make the fact less frustrating for him.

He needed to keep your trust. He needed you to be scared of things. He needed to keep you needing him.

The only way to do that would be to show you what could happen when you didn't trust his judgement enough. He knew that you were just so fast at giving away important things such as trust to others; even to yourself. Yet Jungkook knew that he knew better- he knew best what was the best for you.

Even better than yourself.

He knew it would hurt, but you would understand. In the end, he was only showing you what would happen if you didn’t listen, if you didn’t trust him, didn’t do what he said- he needed you to feel your mistake, needed you to get scarred so you would always remember to stay at his side loyal like a dog, never to leave his sight ever again. He thought about this dream like vision, your hand in his, desperately seeking his attention, as his oil stained hands cut through the proper cables underneath your admittedly old car.

He never liked you driving by yourself anyways.

You were still so innocent, so stupidly oblivious to the dirt underneath everyone’s fingernails around you that it made his blood boil. But that was okay. Angels were naive creatures, he knew that. He would teach you how disgusting the world was to untainted beings like you, and afterwards he would keep you safe, keep your hand in his at all times, so no one could ever touch you again and blemish your skin. No one but him was allowed to corrupt you, to feel you, to have you lay in his arms as he filled you up and became one with your physical form at night.

And also;

Who said that you would ever find out that he was at fault?

"The breaks aren't working Jungkook, what am I supposed to do?!" You sobbed through the speaker of his phone, the one which he held calmly in his hand, his own vehicle parked at the sidelines of a road a bit further down your typical route, waiting. "I can't slow down- I'm so scared Jungkook what should I do-!" You whimpered again, and he closed his eyes for a moment, praying to the heavens above that they would forgive him for hurting one of their most precious fallen doves. But it was for the greater good- they'd understand, he was sure of it.

"Don't worry angel, you're gonna be okay-!" He said acting as if he was hurrying as well, even though he was still sitting peacefully inside his car, watching as the sun slowly turned the skies into twilight shades. Quite beautiful, really. "Can you slow down, somehow?!" He said, his voice cracking a bit as he got into his role, your voice telling him that you couldn't- the only way would be to drive into the woods and maybe try and crash the car. "Angel no, there's gotta be another way-" He sobbed, as he suddenly heard the line go silent.

He sniffled a bit, drying his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater, before he turned on his car, his phone showing the location of yours just a few meters away from him.

And there you were.

You car was a wreck, yet it seemed like it took most of the blow- you had actually taken the wood-option, using the bushes, foliage and brushwood as a form of emergency break before hitting a tree, which had split a bit from the impact, mushing your car against it like a piece of gum onto the underside of a shoe.

He carefully got out of his car, walking up to the drivers side, opening the door with a bit of difficulty- but he'd always loved working out, so in the end, his strength succeeded in opening the bent metal. He immediately caught your falling body, his heart breaking at the small cut over your eye, marks on your bare shoulder from where the seatbelt had pulled on your skin too roughly. Your arm looked like it was swollen, your leg bent in a direction it naturally wasn't supposed to as he pulled you out of the wreck, laying you down onto his lap as he sat down on the grassy ground, softly brushing the hairs away that had formed groups of single hairs stuck together by the blood that was already clogging and turning a bit darker. Oh how his soul hurt seeing you like this.

But this had needed to happen.

And as he called the ambulance with his phone, careful to sound as desperate as possible over the line, he failed to notice how your eyes weren't fully closed.

You were still conscious.

[meimi-haneoka]

Akiho Shinomoto - a manifesto of love

Despite becoming one of my favorite characters in the whole Cardcaptor Sakura franchise (and I would’ve never expected to love a new character this much), I realized I’ve never spent a long post for her, like the ones I did for SyaoSaku or for Tomoyo and Syaoran long time ago.

And there’s a lot to say, because Akiho Shinomoto is actually the first character who has introduced the concepts of evil and child abuse in Cardcaptor Sakura.

Something that wasn’t even remotely conceivable until (almost) 5 years ago.

Often considered boring and weak from the CCS fandom, Akiho actually harbors an immense strength inside of her, which goes mostly unnoticed to everyone, in-story friends included. Let’s see why.

Sentenced to death, for lack of magical powers

Once upon a time, a baby girl was born in a clan of powerful magicians, the most ancient of Europe. Clan members seemed happy and curious about the new entry to the family. They had great expectations about what magic she would develop, as everyone else in that family. At the ripe old age of 1 year and a half / 2 years, the baby girl was expected to show some signs of magic, but she had none. But hey, maybe she would become powerful later, let's pat her head and wait patiently. At that time, the Clan still showed some kind of "attention" for her.

But by the time the girl was around 6/7 years old, no fragment of magic appeared in her. Unacceptable. She's the daughter of two top rank magicians, in a clan of magic prodigies. Yet, she showed none of those gifts. They kept comparing her with some boy, living in a far away country, part of another famous magical clan. The girl suddenly held no more interest for her Clan. They actually started seeing her as a stain on their Clan's pride. Suddenly, the focus was all on how they could surpass the other rival clan. The girl was left all alone. A magicless member of the family is a member who doesn't even deserve being talked to. An interrogatory, at most. Who cares if the little girl wants to socialize, if she wants to play, if she's the only young person in that Clan, already without her parents who died so early on? The only thing this girl was good at was reading books, so all that's she's allowed to do. Not even playing with stuffed animals. For some reason, she's allowed to keep only ONE plushie, which is basically everything to her. But books and dolls can't fill that sinkhole she's already feeling at such young age.

Obsessed with this "anomaly", when she was about 2 years old, the Clan had the baby girl examined by a member of a Magic Association in England, known to be the den of shady magicians. A 8/9 year old bored magic genius, named “Yuna D.”, was her examiner. The boy said "She's like a blank book". The girl grew up, and the situation was still the same. The disapproving stares of her relatives cut the little girl’s heart like a sharp knife. They called her “worthless”, “useless”. They even doubted she could really be the daughter of her powerful parents. So what should they have done? Let the little girl live her life like any other regular human being, or taking literally the words of a BORED, EMOTIONALLY UNDEVELOPED CHILD who literally spat out the first thing that came to his mind?

Although the choice should’ve come easily for any normal human being with a functioning brain, they actually went in the other direction, greedy for power. And so, they decided to treat the girl like a tool, using her to store all kinds of magic for them to use. If she couldn’t be of any help to her clan with her capabilities, they would give her a purpose.

On some kind of altar, halfway between a lab rat and the sacrificing ritual of a sect, the most ancient Magicians of Europe together with the Magic Association performed a dangerous magic on her, which afterwards would take its toll even on the casters: they turned her into a magical artifact, capable of engraving in herself all the magical books she would encounter, transforming her de facto into a book herself. As if this wasn’t horrifying enough, this spell will progressively try to crush her soul and conscience, until it gets destroyed completely. So when the artifact will reach its limit, it will be the death of her, as a human being. Only a shell of her will remain. And judging by what was said later on in the story, they actually hope for her to lose her consciousness completely, so they can make use of her more easily.

Afterwards, they burned the book they took the ritual from, so the procedure would remain in their knowledge only. Greedy till the very last drop.

Once their perfect magical tool was achieved, turning a little girl into some sort of artifact, both the Clan and their accomplices couldn't stop bragging about it. The only positive words Akiho has ever received in her life by her people were after she was turned into a tool.

With a newly found purpose for that stain on their clan’s pride, they sent her away into the world to collect all the magic books she could find and write their powers into her, even though she was still just a child. For reasons still unknown, Yuna D., the boy who involuntarily caused this horrible ritual to happen and basically condemned her to death, offers himself to accompany her. The very first decision he took in his own life. That decision will change forever the course of their life, for both of them.

Rising from the ashes, towards a future of hope

Rehashing Akiho’s past is important to understand her personality and behavior fully. CLAMP, in the Clear Card manga, have portrayed the story of her past in a very peculiar way: it starts as any other fairytale, with light tones and cute designs. But as the story progresses, and the horror ensues, the tone of the tale changes, and so the drawing style too. It becomes serious, and “realistic” (ad opposed to the initial cutesy style). What started as a possible generic fairytale, turned into a real nightmare.

On top of being deprived of the love of her parents ever since she was born, because apparently they died right after, Akiho spent her early childhood in complete solitude. Those magicians who were supposed to be her remaining family were too absorbed into their own greed for power, to consider the needs of a baby girl. Not to mention that they had some kind of disgust for her, for being magicless. She was denied attention, cuddles, conversations, play activities, toys. She was denied love and care. All basic things that contribute to shape the personality and psychology of a person. Akiho grew up with the conviction that she wasn’t worth any of that, because no one gave it to her. One of the complaints I have seen the most about her in the fandom, is how she’s always so apologetic, to the point of becoming obnoxious. If you think about it, one of the most prominent characteristics of her personality is how she continuously apologizes to people, thanks them for any smallest thing, and is always, constantly seeking validation. 

But if you stop for a second to think about her past, you’ll realize with dismay that those are none other than symptoms of the abuse she suffered in the past. She was called “good for nothing” and “useless” by her clan and the Magic Association, and those words carved themselves into her heart, forever scarring it. Akiho grew up believing that she was really worthless and good for nothing just because she couldn’t meet the expectations of her clan, and it’s apparent when we see her considering herself “extremely clumsy”, even though we have afterwards seen that she’s perfectly capable of cooking, sewing, even playing sports. She only needs the dedication of someone who would teach her that.

With a disastrous psychological situation like this, one would naturally wonder how this girl didn’t commit anything extreme yet. Completely alone in the world, deemed useless. Unloved.

Books, books were her first lifeline. The fictional, magical, wonderful worlds depicted in those stories saved her sanity, making her dream about a better life, about friendship, about love. They taught her everything. They gave her the hope that those things existed out there, and maybe one day she would be blessed with them too. The fantastical characters kept her company when no one was there for her (yet). And she loves them viscerally for that, to the point of seeing herself mending damaged books in the future, as a possible occupation. Just like they mended her lacerated heart.

The second lifeline was her meeting with Kaito. Uncharacteristically to him, Kaito showed immediately a kind and interested behavior towards her. This was so shocking, so incredible that Akiho’s first reaction to his introduction was to run away. No one ever addressed her with the intention of having a conversation. No one was ever interested in what she was reading. Even just by this you can get a glimpse of how miserable her life had been till then. Full of psychological issues himself, thanks to the human connection Kaito gradually turned his attentions towards Akiho from contrieved mannerism, to genuine and sincere gestures. Akiho can feel that affection, even if her self-criticism always pushes her to believe that she’s nothing more than “job” to him. It’s something small, but what she’s experiencing with Kaito is her everything, and more than she’s ever had.

The third lifeline is Momo: Akiho doesn’t know, nor remotely imagines she’s actually a living magical creature. But she has been her constant presence ever since she was born. Her connection to her is special, and you can see it in their daily (one-sided, for now) interactions. Akiho talks to Momo, she greets her when she comes back home, she constantly carries her around, she thinks about giving her a little dress as a present. Momo is Akiho’s strength. The love this girl pours into what she believes is just a stuffed animal is incredible. It goes to show Akiho’s immense capacity to love something/someone without expecting anything in return, but actually just enjoying the simple presence and courage they give to her. If you think about it, it’s the very opposite of what she experienced with the only human interactions she’s ever had before Kaito came into the picture. Her aptitude to selfless love is also remarked between the lines in chapter 49, when Akiho is telling Sakura about her relationship with Kaito. Despite all the ugliness she went through, she’s still able to find in herself the strength to overcome all of it, and change her life for the better.

This certainly hasn’t been an easy or quick process, because in the flashbacks of her journey with Kaito we always see her with a pensive/serious look. It must have been extremely hard to start trusting others, when she had no one she could count on in her own home.

Akiho’s capacity to love and rise from the ashes of her terrible past has been so contagious, that it has started to affect Kaito too.  As Momo said in chapter 51, once you’re given the reason to change, no person can ever stay the same. This must have been true for Kaito, but certainly for Akiho too.

I’m absolutely positive that Akiho (and possibly, Kaito too) will be the symbol for one of the most important, beautiful messages in the whole Clear Card Arc: even if your life isn’t perfect, even if your past scarred you in multiple ways, there’s always hope. Hope to turn over a new leaf and change yourself for the better too, in the process. Overcome everything that had you stuck in pain and grief. Achieve what you always wished for.

[moxfirefly]

Hi, I love ur blog and the way u write sooo .Can I have a Bloody Kiss, with reader and Raphael, were the reader is a serial killer otta business bc she fell in love with him, tho he never knew that,. And just one day she finds Raph an Mickey fighting against some foot soldiers and at a certain point she notice Mickey is cornerd and she decide to intervein, tho she loses it a bit and end up killing all the soldiers. ( BTW the story ends up well, I mena they accept what she did and have done and Raph actually finds it a turn on? ) ( hope this is not 2 much).

Okay I’m digging this but gonna take a few liberties here and there. Hopefully the few modifications are liked.

TW: Blood, Violence, Fighting, Depictions of death

Rated Explicit (18+)

“If I told her that I loved you

You'd maybe think there's something wrong

I'm not a man of too many faces

The mask I wear is one”

Peace.

That was the main feeling.

Finding peace along the way had not been easy. Often it felt like an impossibly fruitless endeavor. You’d die doing what you did, either get killed by one of your hits or subcomb to ailment along the way.

Being a Murder-for-Hire had its perks as morbid as it sounded. You felt like you were living out that one movie with Natalie Portman. You’d seen it, scoffed at how unrealistic it was, especially the tender parts.

You didn’t know what tender was.

That is until you came across Raphael.

The game changed there, this current lifestyle would simply not suffice. Why did he have to go ahead and show you that there was more to this life? Why did he have to go and show you what lay beneath his rough around the edges persona?

You went M.I.A soon after that. You opted for peace in your soul even if your mind did not inhabit it at times. Life with Raphael had been challenging but there was two things you were certain of, one: you were stupidly enough, two: if anybody were to hurt him in any way there would be so much hell to pay.

So this was retirement, yes?

Well you wished it had remained as so. Unfortunately life has a way of testing one, even the secrets you wish to bury so far beneath that they seem dead just happen to resurrect themselves. It happens one night, without thought, without hesitation.

Raphael and Michelangelo are in trouble. You hear the messages from Donnie’s hub while you’re at the Lair, the fear in Mikey’s voice makes your skin breakout in goosebumps. There was no way Leo and Donnie would make it there on time for backup.

You didn’t hesitate.

You took off.

The docks are scary at night but it doesn’t phase you, your adrenaline is pumping already and the sounds of fighting only make your blood pump faste. You briefly contemplate your choices, what way to go about this that perhaps leaves you hidden.

Then you hear Mikey scream. You can only describe it as autopilot. Your feet moved you, yours hands acted and before you can make sense of whatever it is you saw that triggered this mess, you’re looking at bloodied hands.

In truth, what you had found before you was Mikey out numbered by dozen of Foot soldiers and Raph trying to dispose of two larger mutants. Upon your attack they figured the mission had gone south and bailed much to the chagrin of the Foot. Mikey was barely standing, coughing up blood from the beating he had been trying to withstand for Raphael’s sake. Raph in turn wasn’t look much good either, a bloodshot eye, a limp and so much blood you didn’t know if it belonged to him or the others.

Raph approached slowly, seeing a new hooded figure. Friend or foe? He figured the latter, already making for his sai he only stopped dead in his tracks when you pushed your hood away. The combat knife was covered in blood and chunks of flesh, you were sure the same picture of death was painted on you.

“Y-Y/n?” There was disbelief, questions and even a slight relief to his voice. Mikey’s own shocked gaze landed on you from where he was seated, panting from the fight. Where could you even begin? Would he understand? Would he comprehend your past?

You took a step, caution in your frame as you hoped to approach him and hold him.

Out of his eyesight you saw one of the soldiers stir and slowly rise. He had a perfect shot towards Raphael, he wouldn’t see it coming, much less with his current distraction.

“Raph!” You took off towards him just as the soldier lunged. The clatter of bodies connecting, weapons falling assaulting your ears. You rolled around with the soldier, finding your knife and quickly digging it into the bastards chest. A fatal hit. The killing blow.

But anger shook you, it somehow always found it’s ugly little head when it came to you.

So you stabbed.

And stabbed.

And stabbed.

Until your vision cleared, until the notion of Raphael being gone or Mikey being gone left you. You stood on shakey legs, turning towards Raph who was still frozen on the spot.

It’s for you

“They... I had to, they would’ve killed you both” You looked at your bloodied shoes, crimson staining your jeans and a quiet fear that Raphael would probably not understand this.

You only registered Raph’s large hands on your face because they moved you upwards just as he came down, lips first on yours.

You tasted blood, his for sure because the cut on the inside of his mouth bleed steadily, staining your lips and chin. He kissed you with a fever that only spoke of his own fear that maybe this wouldn’t be happening. If you hadn’t come, if you hadn’t saved him, he wouldn’t be trying to kiss straight into your soul via your mouth.

You felt like your were backwards, coming out into life the wrong way but with Raph, and his impossibly green eyes and scarred lips, there was no reason to linger on it. The past could remain but it didn’t mean it had to breath.

He pulled back, thumb rubbing your chin of spittle and blood. There was no judgement there, concern yes.

That night when everyone was home safe and tended to, you found yourself in his bed hair wet from your shower. “Hey there” Came Raphael’s soft voice from the door, you scanned him. He was freshly showered and bandaged as he entered and sat on the bed. You climbed into his lap, curling yourself around him and the cool of scales around you.

“It’s not me anymore...” Your voice felt small.

“It’s okay baby girl” He held you close.

“I had to... I had to be like that once upon a time, to survive but then I met you and I just wanted to start from zero with you, wanted to make it right this time” You felt your eyes well up with tears but Raphael’s gentle rocking only served to make you sleepy.

For now, sleep prevailed but thankfully against his hard plastron.