#I could wonder if the higher focus on games over books changed how my life might've looked but realistically

[timbrrwolfe]

Alright I'm /pretty/ sure I already talked about part of this on here (unless it's sitting in my drafts which is also very possible) but I figured I may as well expound on what I was alluding to in the tags of this post.

So in 6th grade I had a habit of forgetting my pencil. Because I had a habit of forgetting a lot of things. Because I had undiagnosed adhd. So, when i was in need of a pencil, I'd sometimes have to borrow one from a teacher. And my homeroom teacher had a policy of requiring collateral when borrowing stuff (which like. Fair enough if he's paying out of pocket for stuff). And in one of those instances I used the book I had out from the school library (Goosebumps: Why I'm Afraid of Bees iirc) as collateral. And then promptly forgot to return the pencil. And somewhere in my kid brain which was terrified of getting in trouble for things, I thought something along the lines of "Oh no, now that book is gonna be out forever and I'll have to pay *gasp* a fine or even for the entire book, I can never use the library again." Which was followed up (at some point) by my bad habit of losing my keys leading to someone finding them and using the library card on them to borrow a bunch of stuff they never took back (including, ironically, a goosebumps dvd we already owned and, for some reason, some book on Hitler). So I stopped using the library nearly as much for a while.

Anyway, in 8th grade I got into a situation that was a confused mess. At my lunch table we were doing some banter, and I was just staring to get comfortable in jumping into these situations (because, as it turns out, I also had undiagnosed autism. Which also explains a lot). Unfortunately, in this particular instance, I made a(n admittedly convoluted) jab at someone that essentially boiled down to calling them ugly. Something along the lines of "your face is like a car crash. Horrifying but I can't look away". Except that instead of my intended target, one of the girls at my table thought I was talking about her and started SCREAMING obscenities at me. At which point I just kinda put my head down instead of like. Trying to explain the situation or any other kind of response. So, because there had been enough of a scene made that the rest of the cafeteria went silent, the teachers on duty naturally came over to find out what happened before fists started potentially flying. And so after some discussion in which I did nothing to defend myself, I ended up getting punished. By....being forced to sit on the outer edge of the cafeteria instead of with friends at the table. But the confusion doesn't end there, no no. See, the teacher (who had been a teacher I'd had) had me pick a number between 1 and 10. And I chose 7. So I had to spend 7 days on...The Perimeter. Except that I wasn't...entirely sure whether that 7 days counted the rest of that lunch period or not. And it was a Friday so that completely threw off my understanding of how long my punishment was going to last. As a bonus, it turns out the punishment wasn't much of one. I didn't mind being on my own, and I even got to get up and get my lunch whenever I wanted, instead of waiting until it was my row's turn to get up and get food. So I just...stayed there for the rest of the year for lunch (at least, when I didn't have "lunch detention" for being late. Which was mostly only a punishment because it limited what I was allowed to eat because for some reason they only let lunch detention kids get the daily hoagie option? I dunno, it was a very strange system. Also, I digress).

My point in this whole story is that if I hadn't gotten spooked out of going to the library (both in-school and public) I probably would've read WAY more books sitting on The Perimeter for lunch for however long the rest of the year was. But instead I was mostly reading gaming magazines and game guides. Which, as an aside, I almost got more out of than playing the games themselves, depending on the game and guide in question. Like, Golden Sun was a pair of RPGs and (thanks to the aforementioned undiagnosed adhd) I did not have the attention span to play through them completely. Still haven't. Maybe someday. But I sure did read through the game guide a bunch. And spent a lot of time daydreaming about having different psynergy and using it in my day to day life. Which is why for a long time I considered Golden Sun one of my favorite games only to put 2 + 2 together when I was older and realize that a lot of my enjoyment was just in the daydreaming about it.

[infernalrevenge]

All Dolled Up

Fandom: Resident Evil 8: Village

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Rating: G

Summary: Donna decides to practice talking to Reader, using a mini Reader!

Notes: Resident Evil 8 owns my ass and so do the lords. This is just some bashful Donna, inspired by headcanons by @wallflowerimagines! Check out their stuff, I love how they've characterized the lords and their reactions to crushes and relationships and the like. Here's the original post!

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

And... done!

Donna closed the slot at the back of the doll's head and turned it to face her, noting all the details of her latest creation.

It had a simple uniform on: A white button down under a black vest with coattails, on its left breast was a patch of the Beneviento family crest. It was fitted with matching dark grey pants and even a pair of leather shoes for its porcelain feet.

It looked just like Y/N -- their face, their skin, their hair. It was perfect.

"Looks just like 'em, Donna!" Angie chirped, bounding up from her lap and hanging onto the side of the desk to get a better look.

Everything had to be perfect if she was going to get this plan to work, but this was just part one of... who knows how many steps. She wasn't sure exactly how long this would take, but this first step forward was better than nothing.

She set the doll gently on the desk slumped against a glass, letting out a breath as she willed the implanted Cadou to bring it to life. Angie peeked over and giggled to herself in excitement, hanging from the side to watch it all happen. Maybe when this was all done, she could have a new friend to play with too!

Soon enough, its head twitched up ever so slightly, its shining eyes trying to focus on the woman before them. They attempted to sit up straighter, their movements jerky yet slow as they tested the waters. They waved a hand in greeting, pink painted lips curling into a familiar smile.

"Good evening, Lady Beneviento!" they said, in that enthusiastic tone she knew so well. Y/N's voice wasn't quite as high pitched as the doll's, but the underlying warmth in their speech was still unmistakable.

Donna cleared her throat, giving a nod and a soft "Hello" in return.

Doll-Y/N shakily stood up on their feet, taking a few steps forward to greet the other doll. "Miss Angie, come join me up here!" They extended their hands to her, and she hoisted herself onto the wooden surface with their help. They were just about Angie's height standing up, but was now at eye level with Donna.

"Is there anything I can do for you, my lady?" they addressed the woman.

She knew it was just a title, something servants commonly called those of higher status, and she's heard Y/N say it many times, but she still couldn't help the heat rising to her cheeks at what she wished it implied.

To be someone's. To be Y/N's.

Angie was just about to respond but kept quiet with one turn of Donna's head. She made this doll to practice talking to Y/N -- the real, life-sized version of them. She wanted to spend more time with them and get used to their company. It had been so long since she tried speaking to another human being directly, almost always at a loss for words until Angie would swoop in and say what was on her mind. But she knew that with Y/N, she couldn't hide behind her forever. As much as she loved Angie and what she did for her, she also wanted to be with them as her, as Donna Beneviento. She already knew they cared for Angie like she did, and she wanted to let them know personally -- no barriers, no lies, no dolls -- how she felt.

One day, she would say everything to them. But for now, this doll should suffice.

She and Angie thought that she was used to the company of her Cadou dolls, and since she would like to get used to Y/N, then making a doll of them might help with that. Made sense, right? It wasn't ideal, but it made some sense.

She didn't quite count on how much it would be like them, though. As much as she had control over the doll, she can't control how they were when she wills it to act like them.

"If you... would like..." she started to say, almost uncertain as she glanced over at Angie. She only gave an encouraging nod in response, silently telling Donna to speak up. "You can tell me about how your day went." She did always love hearing them speak.

Doll-Y/N's face lit up, bouncing slightly on the balls of their feet and clasping their small hands behind their back. "Of course, my lady. Well, on my way to the market today, I passed a shop selling all sorts of flowers. I didn't know you could grow sunflowers around the village! Or perhaps the Duke brings them in from somewhere..."

----------

This routine went on for a few days: Donna would greet Doll-Y/N, ask about them, and they would go on about things she might already know -- hobbies they want to take up, their favorite foods and drinks, a show or movie they looked forward to watching (with her and Angie, of course), and so on. The lady would reply with some insight as well, though brief and only softly, so as to not interrupt. The doll's movements also grew smoother and more sure with every interaction, practically having Y/N's own habits and tics down pat whenever they spoke. It felt more and more like she was talking to them, the real Y/N. With every thumbs up Angie gave her after every session, it only emboldened her more. This might just work!

One day, she greeted the doll with a little more enthusiasm than usual. Y/N spent time with her and Angie at the study that evening, with her reading and them arranging some books while Angie talked to them a bit about anything they may have read recently, and new games they could play with the dolls ("And Donna", Angie threw out as a suggestion). If it weren't for her veil, Y/N would've seen how she spent most of the time watching the two people she loved converse so freely with one another, unable to help smiling at them.

Donna came back into her room practically bursting with happiness, a light "Good evening, Y/N!" escaping her as she sat down.

It seemed like Doll-Y/N noticed the positive change, so they brought up something they had in mind. "I'd like to switch things a little, if you don't mind, my lady. How was your day today?" they suggested, stepping closer to her. She suddenly grew a little shy again, hands folded neatly on Angie's lap as she kept her close.

"Oh, it was... wonderful," she replied, a smile curling on her lips.

Doll-Y/N nodded, an encouraging smile on their little face as if to tell her to continue. "I spent some of the day in the garden, watching you work for a while. Um, big you. Then I... spent the rest in the study. Also with... big you. You and Angie talked a lot about books and games." They both made such lovely company, after all. "How about you, Y/N?"

"It went by splendidly! Well, it started off just fine, with my usual chores, but after seeing you in the garden this morning I couldn't help but feel like the day's been brighter ever since," they said, taking another step forward and laying a gentle hand on her shoulder, their beaming smile ever-present.

Oh. Did they just...

She... brightened up their day? Did they really think that? Did the real Y/N think that?

"Really?" she whispered, practically sounding breathless.

"Yes. In fact, your presence alone brings more warmth and radiance than the sun ever could," they continued, their smile turning rather cheeky.

...did they just flirt with her?

Donna could feel herself sinking onto her chair, hands cupping her cheeks as if she needed to hide the raging blush underneath her cowl. Never mind that only Angie and the doll replica was here to witness it. But still! This doll looked so much like her Y/N, looking at her with those bright eyes and that charming smile and sweet look on their face and--

Did she just call them "her Y/N"?

Downstairs, Y/N heard a faint squeal and thud from the other side of the manor, setting down the dish they were washing and hurrying to the lady's room.

They knocked a little frantically, speaking through the door. "Lady Beneviento, is everything alright?"

It was Angie who answered, opening up just a crack so they wouldn't see the situation behind her.

"Hey Y/N! Everything's fine, Donna just, uh, she just dropped something and was caught off-guard is all." She seemed nervous, her eyes shifting a little and barely looking at them.

"Oh, but does Lady Beneviento need help? Did she get hurt or--"

"Nope, no! Don't worry about it, we've got it covered, I promise! Now shoo, off you go!" She waved an arm out to get them to turn around before shutting the door, leaving the somewhat concerned but even more confused servant in the hall.

Donna lifted her head up from her hands, Doll-Y/N now lying lifeless on the wooden floor. Luckily, nothing seemed to have cracked on them when she suddenly relinquished control in her embarrassment. She picked them up and gingerly leaned them against a glass on the working desk, just staring into their eyes as she tried to get her heart beat back to a normal level. Even calling them "hers" in the safety of her own thoughts was enough to fluster the poor woman. If she could see her face right now, it would undoubtedly be as red as a tomato.

Was that something Y/N would even actually say? Was her mind playing tricks on her, her feelings betraying only what she wanted to hear from them? How was she supposed to handle it if they did say that?

"I think that's enough excitement for one day," Angie commented, looking between the mostly frozen Donna and Doll-Y/N. The lady could only nod in agreement.

The next day, Donna stayed in her room, not wishing to be disturbed.

It wasn't unusual for Y/N to not hear much from Lady Beneviento and instead have Angie deliver messages and orders on her behalf, but even her personal mouthpiece seemed to want to avoid them. She just kind of... watched them mindlessly on the couch while they swept the living room. What happened last night?

"Miss Angie, is everything--"

"Please just shut up and clean the carpet."

[sylverstorms]

Donna x Elena ----From Winter to Spring

This is a commission written for the lovely @saltwatereulogies and I cannot thank you enough for all your support! I hope you enjoy the story :)

She doesn’t know how she escaped that nightmarish inferno. How she still draws breath. Why her body keeps running despite its condition and despite the fact that she has lost everything.

The village is gone. Everyone she knew is either dead or a monster. She watched her own father growl like a beast and cleave a woman in half, then soon after wail out her name and succumb to the flames swallowing up the building. There is nothing left. There is nothing left for her.

Why? Elena wonders. A trail of blood marks her path through the snow, towards the unknown. Why still fight?

It will be easier to surrender to the agonizing burns, to the open gashes and wood splinters stuck in her skin. It will be far, far simpler to stop pressuring her rattling lungs to provide oxygen and fall into the snow, instead. It looks… peaceful. Soft. Pure.

It will welcome her to a quiet death, she thinks, so she may join her friends and her father.

Her father. The man who had never reached his hand out to help her when she fell –either on the fields or when she tripped over hardships— yet had always been there in his own stubborn, strict way, telling her to pick herself up.

“I didn’t raise no quitter.”

Ah, is that why.

Perhaps part of her feels it owes it to him to try. She did miraculously survive the fiery wreckage she’d initially thought would be her grave. But… the odds just aren’t with her.

Elena is only human. She’s lost too much blood, been through too much punishment. Her vision is growing blurrier by the second, her legs more sluggish. When she steps on grass instead of snow, she believes her mind is now playing tricks on her, too.

Something smells sweet, like wildflowers.

That is the last thing Elena is aware of, before she drops to her knees and blacks out.

-

-

When she blinks her eyes open, she is… confused.

She never thought heaven nor hell would have a wooden ceiling. She wouldn’t have guessed pain follows one into the afterlife, either, yet there she is, prone and throbbing with every weak breath on a bed too comfortable to be her own.

Unless…

Unless she’s not dead. Unless, against all odds, she survived a second time only to suffer some more. Elena wants to cry. What cruel game is the universe playing with her? The luck she never had in life is suddenly gracing her in extreme bursts now that she doesn’twant it.

“She’s awakeeee!” an overly excited voice exclaims somewhere around the room. Elena is too dizzy to tell.

“Shh.” A second presence makes itself known, calming the first.

“Who…” Who are you, Elena tries to say, but the words never make it past her dry throat.

Heels tap against the floor, until a black-clad figure comes to peer down at her. Elena expected to see the face of her savior, yet all she sees is a ghost, its visage hidden behind a mourning veil. The image is jarring; it sends her heartbeat skyrocketing, which doesn’t help her condition.

Oh, Lord, Oh, Lord what… Elena wants to tell herself she’s dreaming. It isn’t real, none of this is real—

Until a doll jumps into the edge of her bed and says something she doesn’t hear over the sound of her hoarse scream.

The ghost flinches backwards as the world turns dark once more.

-

-

The second time she opens her eyes, hours or days later, the pain has subsided somewhat.

Elena can feel her body, at least. All the wounded parts are carefully wrapped in gauzes and all her burns are covered by a soothing salve. Her lungs no longer hiss when she inhales, so long as she does so slowly, evenly.

That, of course, is not so easy to do when she turns to her left and sees the ghost sitting there, an open book in her lap. The veil is still on, obscuring her features, but Elena takes note of her fingers as they cradle the spine of the tome, long and pale, manicured black.

Appearances aside, there is a certain calm about her that doesn’t feel threatening.

“I… I’m not hallucinating, am I?” she whispers, not trusting her voice to go any higher.

The mystery woman tenses as though her voice has startled her. “…No.” she eventually replies. Her voice is quiet, like the rest of her.

“Did… you save me…?” A single nod is all she gets in return. Her company doesn’t seem very comfortable speaking, but Elena has questions that she needs answered. “Where am I?”

“The Beneviento estate.”

Elena would gasp if she could. I made it that far? And this woman… is she really Donna Beneviento? Her father told her all she needed to know about the four Lords residing at the outskirts of the village. He had also told her to avoid them at all costs.

“Um. I’m Elena—” A cough cuts her off. The sudden motion causes every injury across her body to burn.

“…I know.”

She is too much pain, in that moment, to ask how Donna knows.

-

-

In the following days, Elena comes to accept a few things that would have normally made her question her sanity;

The doll is alive. Her name is Angie and she is Donna’s friend. Donna is the adopted daughter of Mother Miranda, who, upon the former’s request, has given her permission for Elena to remain in the mansion. When she asked what would have happened had she denied, the doll only sing-songed that she doesn’t really want to know.

It still plagues her mind, probably because she has far too much time to think and this is the only thing she can focus on, lest she starts crying over and over again.

When Donna comes to change her bandages, it is a relief.

The woman sits at the edge of her bed, at the absolute maximum distance. Elena slowly brings her body to a semi-reclining position to assist. Angie hops on the bed and pulls the covers to the side… and that is when they arrive to a standstill. Donna doesn’t move, Elena doesn’t know what to do.

“Um. May I?” the veiled woman motions with her –admittedly very elegant— hands. It’s… endearing, how she approaches the subject of touching her.

Elena nods and tries to be a good patient for her. Tries being the key word. When she’s not fighting for her life, she is not nearly as brave in the face of pain. Her teeth are gritted as Donna’s cool hands unwrap the gauzes at her right arm, her eyes closed, breath held.

“…Am I hurting you?” Donna asks, quiet as ever.

“No.” Elena forces herself to exhale. “No, you’re… very gentle.”

Donna nods and continues with the same measured movements. Elena doesn’t want to look at her wounds, afraid of what she’ll find there, so she turns to the veiled visage of her companion. She wishes she could see her face. Wonders what she may look like, what flaw she’s trying to hide.

Until a bandage catches on a particularly bad burn and Elena cries out.

Her whole body jumps—

Donna’s hands fly to her shoulders, keeping her steady with surprising strength, yet she steps away the very next second as though she’s been scorched.

Elena bites her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. There you go, making her uncomfortable…

Angie takes over for a while, also quite precise. Elena peeks down to realize she isn’t in as terrible a condition as she may have imagined. Scars will be left, no doubt, but she will probably heal well enough.

Then the last difficult spot comes up. She knows it when Angie warns: “You need to stay still here.”

“No, no wait!” Elena pleads. “I—I can’t.” I can’t, I can’t deal with this again, not again—

But Donna sits back next to her and her mere presence calms her down. “You are very strong, Elena. This is the last one.” she says.

“Hold me down.” Elena requests.

Donna doesn’t seem to like the idea. Still, she slowly brings her hand back over the uninjured part of Elena’s shoulder. “It’ll be alright.” she whispers.

“On three.” Angie says. “One… Two…”

She pulls the bandage on two and Elena would jump high enough to burst through the ceiling if it wasn’t for Donna. When the agony subsidies she realizes she’s sobbing helplessly, clutching at the dollmaker’s sleeves for dear life.

“Shh, I’m sorry, it’s over now. It’s over.” Donna’s slender fingers comb through her unruly hair.

The brunette closes her eyes and lets her head drop back down into her pillow, but she doesn’t let go of the dollmaker right away. She smells like the flowers outside her house,she thinks.

She feels like a safe space, steady, in a world that’s broken and tilted for Elena.

-

-

Gradually, Donna talks to her more. Gradually, Elena tests her body’s limits until she is strong enough to walk around the house on her own.

Angie is with her, most of the time, but she knows it’s less a security measure and more one for her safety. Her mental connection to Donna is something Elena cannot grasp nor understand, but she tries to.

The first time she manages to get to the living room, Elena stops and stares at the painting of Donna adorning the wall opposite her.

“…is that her?” she asks Angie.

“Of course!” the doll replies excitedly. “I am so proud of that one, the artist did a great job! Mistress Donna looks splendid, but it is me who steals the show!”

Elena can’t look away from the canvas. Why is she so familiar…? “Is that what she looks like?”

“Well, excluding a scar she wishes to hide. Kind of like my face. We match.” Angie answers, giving her version of a grin.

For the rest of the day, Elena sneaks glances at Donna, then the painting. It isn’t proper, she knows, but she’s curious. And… surely, no scar is enough to justify hiding that cute face from the world?

-

-

Weeks pass. Elena has healed well and she owes it all to Donna.

The two of them have grown closer in the time the former’s injuries have forced them together, close enough to have tea in the mornings and brief chats over common interests throughout the day.

When the weather grows a tad warmer, Elena asks the dollmaker to take a stroll with her outside. She sees the decorated graves, of course, but she knows better than to ask. She doesn’t want their time to be poisoned by grief. The scars of losing loved ones run deep, she knows this too well and they never really heal.

The two of them are basking in comfortable silence for a while, until a thought that feels impossible not to be voiced strikes Elena.

“Donna.” she speaks.

“Hm?”

“When I first woke up and I told you my name… you said ‘I know’.”

“…yes.”

“I’m sure we’ve never met before…?” Elena stops and turns to face her companion. Donna mirrors her.

“How certain are you?” she asks. Upon Elena’s obvious confusion, she elaborates; “As a child, I used to visit the village with my father. In one of those visits, some of the kids made fun of my scar. A boy, especially, was saying some very mean things.”

Elena starts to recall one such incident in the blurry images of her childhood.

“You stopped him.” Donna says. Pauses. “…with a punch to the face.”

Elena raises a hand to her mouth, but a quick laugh escapes her anyway. “I did?” A nod. “No way.”

“You did.”

“It couldn’t have been a strong one, though.” Elena giggles.

“I don’t know. Rumor has it he still hasn’t gotten up, to this day…” The little exhale of a chuckle that escapes Donna makes something in Elena bloom and flutter.

She wants nothing more in that moment than to lift the damned veil and see the face of the gentlest, kindest woman she’s ever met.

-

-

The winter eventually gives way to spring. The earth heals from the wounds of the cold like Elena has, under Donna’s care.

She no longer has doubts about what she feels, what she wants. It is only a matter of overcoming her fears and nervousness. Only a matter of finding the right timing and the appropriate setting.

Elena has rehearsed the words she needs to say many times in her dreams and thoughts, yet she finds herself tongue-tied and completely lost on what to do in reality. She has asked Donna to walk with her, taken her to where the waterfall calms into a river… and now struggles to summon her voice.

“What is it, Elena?” Donna, ever the sweetheart, asks. “You know you can tell me anything… right?”

“What if…” she hesitantly begins. “What if I can’t tell you? …can I show you, instead?”

“Of course.”

Elena takes a deep breath and chastises herself to woman up. One little step brings her into Donna’s personal space. Her hand raises to the edge of the veil, blue eyes searching for a sign she should stop. The dollmaker is tense, but she hasn’t made a move to back away, nor lower Elena’s hand.

She trusts her.

And that’s all Elena needs to finally, finally remove the barrier separating them for months. The cute girl she defended as a child is a beautiful woman now, looking back at her with gentle, dark eyes. The jagged scar running down the right side of her face does nothing to retract from that beauty.

“You don’t need that.” she breathes. “You never did.”

Donna glances to the side, a hint of color spreading over her pale cheeks. Elena chases her chin with her fingers, then slowly inches closer, making sure the dollmaker has ample time to decide if she wants this, too.

When their lips meet, color blooms behind her shut eyelids, within her chest. Donna’s mouth is as soft and sweet as her personality, Elena discovers. It is a short, chaste kiss but it is also a promise for many more to come.

It is the gratitude Elena will eternally hold for Donna, who found her at the ending of her life and nursed her back to this,

A new beginning.

[nerdzzone]

Only For A Moment: October + November [part one]

Summary: A series of shorter one shots from Chris and Whitney’s life together throughout the pandemic. Some happy times, some harder times, some fluff and some things a little more sexy - they work through it all as they try to get settled in their new and blossoming relationship.

Chris Evans x OFC

18+

Part of the Once Bitten/More Hearts series

Only For A Moment: September

Note: I was originally going to post this as one longer one shot, but I’ve split it into two. I haven’t finished writing the last part of the series yet and I’ve had a really bad and busy week so I haven’t had much time to work on it. It’s planned out, I just need to write it, but posting November as two parts gives me more time to finish it.

Thank you to everyone who has read and commented on this story. The support has been amazing!

-----

October 2020

"Hey," I greeted Chris as I poked my head around the door of his office. "Are you busy? Can I talk to you for a sec?"

He put down the script he was reading - something for a project he'd be starting as soon as the pandemic allowed - and nodded his head.

"Sure, what's up?"

I moved into the room, feeling strangely nervous about what I was about to ask.

"How would you feel," I started. "About me going to New York for a weekend for work?"

He raised his eyebrows, seemingly surprised by my inquiry and I rushed to assure him a bit more.

"They sent all the protocols that would be followed along with the job offer and it seems like it would be as safe as it possibly could be these days and I would drive up, not fly, so that would cut down on the chance of exposure a bit too," I assured him. "But I know that there's always a risk at the moment and it affects you and Gray too so I won't go if you're at all concerned."

Chris was smiling by the time I finished my long explanation and I felt a glimmer of hope that he wouldn't shoot down the idea immediately. I missed working and while Chris at least had 'A Starting Point' to focus on and various scripts to read through, I'd been completely out of work for months and I was ready to get back into it.

"Whitney, you don't need to convince me," he assured me. "I trust you. If you think it's safe and you want to do it then go for it."

"Okay, thank you," I let out a breath of relief. "I really do want to do it. I miss working."

"I know what you mean," he agreed. "What's the project?"

I couldn't hold back my grin as I answered that question.

"I get to go hang out with your friends," I informed him. "It's a promo shoot for Sebastian and Mackie's new show."

"Aw, man! That's great," Chris laughed. "Would you mind if I tagged along? I won't get in the way, I'll stay out of the photo shoot, but it would be nice to have a change of scenery."

"You wouldn't be allowed to come to the photo shoot at all," I warned him. "That was part of the protocol - no guests - and I don't know how many places are open there right now, there might not be much for you to do."

"I can keep myself entertained," he shrugged before flashing me a smirk. "We can leave Grayson with my mom, it'll be nice to have an adults only weekend."

"That would be nice," I agreed, matching his smirk as I followed his train of thought. We did fairly well making sure we got some quality time together, but we had to be quiet and quick and we always had the threat of Grayson interrupting in the back of our minds. "It's just a one day shoot so we'd have the Sunday together too."

"That's great," Chris grinned. "It'll be nice to get away."

"It will," I agreed, walking around his desk to lean down and capture his lips in a kiss. "Our first romantic getaway."

He slid his arm around my hips to keep me close as he smiled up at me.

"I can't wait."

-

November 2020

Leaving Grayson was harder than I anticipated. Considering I used to leave him with Chris every other week, I thought leaving him for a weekend would be easy, but I was a weepy mess. I held it together in front of Grayson so that he didn't get upset too - even though he was completely unbothered as he skipped off into Lisa's house - but once we got in the car, I let a few tears slip.

Of course, Chris teased me about it, but there was something in the way that he slipped his hand in mine and squeezed it reassuringly that told me he was feeling it too. We’d all adjusted to our new normal and Chris and I had really embraced having Gray by our side all the time so while two days was not a ridiculous amount of time to be apart, it felt like a momentous occasion. However, after giving ourselves a few minutes to wallow in the sadness, we agreed to do our best to push those feelings aside. We deserved a weekend away. No matter how much we loved him, parenting twenty-four/seven for almost ten months was hard work especially while trying to build our new relationship.

By the time we arrived in Manhattan in the early evening, our melancholy mood had shifted. The drive, spent playing silly little car games like ‘I Spy’ and singing cheesy duets, had put us in a wonderful mood and kicked off our weekend nicely. It was a fairly long drive though so I let Chris check in while I scampered off to use the restroom in the lobby. He had the keys by the time I found him again and when we got up the room, I was shocked. It was a fancy hotel - Marvel did tend to be quite generous when it came to accommodations - but it wasn't until we walked into the room that I realized we had the penthouse suite.

"Holy shit," I gasped, looking around at the luxurious space and amazing view out over Central Park. "This has to be a mistake, there's no way Marvel would pay for this!"

"No, they wouldn't," Chris smirked as he dropped our bags and moved over to the bottle of champagne that was already chilling in an ice bucket. "But I would."

"What?" I giggled. "What are you talking about? We already had a reservation booked in my name."

"Yeah, and I upgraded it," he grinned. "I just paid the difference between the room Marvel booked and this one."

He popped the champagne and poured it for us before coming to join me at the window and handing me a glass.

"You didn't have to do that, Chris. This is a pretty nice hotel, I'm sure whatever room they booked would have been fine."

"Oh yeah, it would have been fine," he shrugged. "But fine isn't what I'm aiming for this weekend and since we can't do much outside of this hotel anyway, the least I can do is make sure we have a good room."

I was looking forward to getting back to work, but suddenly I wished that I didn't have to as the idea of a romantic weekend hidden away in our gorgeous suite seemed like the best thing in the world. But, I knew we wouldn't have come without an excuse, so I tried to focus on being grateful for the time that we did have together.

Slipping my arm around his waist and stretching up on my toes, I pulled him in for a kiss, trying to convey my gratitude and excitement for the weekend.

"Well, I can think of several things we can do in this room that will keep us very busy," I teased once our lips parted again. "We better get started now or we might run out of time..."

Chris chuckled as he took a sip of his champagne, but shook his head.

"Not yet, Winnie," he denied me, despite his raspy voice. "Why don't you take that champagne and run yourself a nice bath while I order us some room service?"

I felt a frown slide onto my face and I would have been embarrassed at my childish pout had I not been so confused about him turning me down.

"Why?" I asked. "I would have thought you'd be raring to go now that we can finally enjoy ourselves with no interruptions..."

"I am but I want to enjoy it,” Chris informed me, leaning down to nip at my neck before letting his lips hover next to my ear. "I want you relaxed and well-fed so I can take my time while I make you scream my name over and over and over."

His low voice sent shivers down my spine as his plan for the night sent a wave of arousal through me. My mouth suddenly felt dry and my brain forgot how to make words as I choked out an 'okay' and took myself off to the bathroom to do as he'd instructed.

-

When I wandered out into the living room area of our suite almost forty-five minutes later, I was thoroughly relaxed. Wrapped in a very fluffy white bathrobe that was at least two sizes too big for me, I announced my entrance with a contented sigh. Chris looked up at the sound and let out a laugh.

"What?" I giggled, striking a pose as I had a good idea what he found amusing. "They only had one size."

"You look adorable," he grinned at me. "C'mere, let me top up your drink."

I did as he asked, walking over to where he was sitting and noticed the cart full of food that was next to him. He'd ordered my favourite - mac 'n' cheese - and I felt a rush of love for him when I saw it. A lot of people had teased me over the years, insisting that it was more of a child's dish - something not refined enough for an adult’s palate - but it had always been one of my top choices and I was touched that he'd remembered.

He'd ordered a steak for himself and we both eagerly tucked into our meals, eating until we were almost painfully full and just barely saving enough room for the peanut butter cheesecake that he'd ordered for dessert. That was another favourite of mine and I got a stern warning from Chris - as I moaned through every mouthful - that I needed to control myself until we'd had a chance to digest our large meal. I bit back a smirk, almost tempted to continue my noises of pleasure just to antagonize him, but I reluctantly decided to behave.

After we ate, we curled up on the couch with something meaningless on the TV as we recovered from the large meal. We were half-watching it, half just basking in the contentment of our full stomachs until Chris eventually decided that we'd waited long enough.

My feet were draped over his lap as we lounged and I felt his hands slowly move from lazy stroking the tops of my feet to higher up my ankle. At first, I didn't pay much attention as I mindlessly scrolled through my phone, but as his hand trailed higher up my leg, his intentions became more clear. I fought to keep a straight face as I continued to ignore him even as his hand slid up to my knee. He kept it there for a few moments, rubbing his thumb against my skin, but he quickly lost his patience as I continued playing it cool. Letting out a soft growl, he returned his hands to my feet and with a swift tug, he moved me down the couch.

"Chris!" I giggled as my head slipped from the arm of the couch onto the cushion where my bum had been moments before. "What are you doing?"

"You were ignoring me," he smirked. "So, I took matters into my own hands."

"Maybe I was reading something important," I teased. "You're so rude."

He pulled again, moving my hips up onto his lap.

"I'm rude? We're on a romantic getaway and you're starin’ at your phone."

"Well, maybe you weren't being very interesting."

He chuckled at that, but shook his head.

"You're such a brat," he scolded. "Maybe I should just flip you over and teach you a lesson."

He moved a hand down and pinched my bum to emphasize his point and I gasped as a wave of intrigue flooded through me. Using the back of the couch for leverage, I pulled myself up until I was sitting on his lap, but the positioning was a bit awkward so I shifted and straddled him instead.

"I'm not sure if a spanking from you would be much of a punishment..."

My words made his eyes darken as his hands rubbed up and down my thighs.

"Oh, really?" He questioned and I nodded with a smile. "Well, that is very interesting information to have."

"I'm surprised you haven't brought it up before," I teased. "Since you're such an ass man."

"Shut up," Chris chuckled before forcing me to do so by pressing my lips against his.

It started off as a sweet, playful kiss, but the mood of anticipation between us quickly transitioned it into something more.

His hands moved from my thighs up to my hips as I let mine slide behind him - one rubbing the soft hairs on his neck as the other held the back of his head, keeping it firmly against my own. Our lips parted, letting our tongues bump and glide against each other and I felt a fire started to burn inside of me already.

Our position and the fact that I was wearing nothing, but a bathrobe meant that there was nothing between us other than Chris' jeans. I was pressed bare against him which became apparent when he used his firm grip to pull me even closer towards him. A gasp fell from my lips at the friction the denim caused and Chris pulled back to grin at me.

"Does that feel good?" He pressed my hips forward again as he asked the question and my eyes fluttered shut as I nodded. "Then keep going."

He titled his chin to capture my lips in another kiss as he loosened his grip on me, but his instructions had been clear. Taking matters into my own hands, I started rocking my hips slowly against his enjoying the sparks I felt every time I rubbed against him. I could feel him harden, the bulge underneath me growing bigger with every pass of my hips, and the feeling had me moaning into his mouth. I almost stood up - I almost pulled myself off of his lap and dragged him to the bedroom as my body craved him and wanted him inside me - but I remembered what he'd said. He wanted to wait, to take it slow and savour the experience so, with a smirk to myself, I continued my actions with the knowledge of his growing arousal only adding to my pleasure.

As if Chris could read my mind or feel my misguided sense of control, he tightened his grip again and pressed me even harder against him. I moaned at the sensation, pulling my mouth from his as my head fell backwards. I tried to find something to focus on, something to help me regain a morsel of self-control, but nothing in the room could distract from the pressure that was building quickly as the rough material dragged against my clit. A part of me was embarrassed to be rubbing myself against him like this, but with each thrust of my hips, a much bigger part of me grew too desperate to care.

Taking advantage of my exposed neck, Chris latched his lips onto the skin, nipping and sucking gently before tracing kisses up until his mouth was beside my ear.

"You're almost there, aren't you?" His voice was low and the way my fingers dug into the back of his neck was all the answer I could muster as his hands forced my body to keep up the steady rhythm. "I bet you're almost soakin’ right through my pants. You're so needy. Go on, Winnie, take what you want."

A whimper fell from my lips as his words sent shivers down my spine. My movements, supported by his hands, became even more frantic as I felt my release building to a peak and after a few more shifts against him, I let out a strangled moan as I crashed over the edge.

Chris continued his mumbled words of encouragement as his hands continued to force me to move until I melted against him and let my head flop onto his shoulder. My breath against his neck drew goosebumps up on his skin and I placed a soft kiss on them as I fought to control my breathing.

"How're you feeling?"

I sighed softly in response to Chris' question, fighting to make my brain function enough to form words.

"Wonderful," I purred into his ear after taking a moment to compose myself. "But I'm really dying to have you inside me..."

Without another word, Chris used his grip on my hips to lift me off his lap and onto my feet. My legs felt shaky from the strength of my recent orgasm, but they held me up as I stared down at Chris, a bit stunned by the fast movement. He looked up at me for a brief moment before raising an eyebrow and nodding his head towards our bedroom.

"Do you need me to carry you?" He questioned, his tone laced with sarcasm as he clearly noticed the quiver in my legs. "Or can you walk?"

I giggled and playfully rolled my eyes, but turned towards the bedroom. Trying to regain some semblance of power in the situation, I undid the robe that was still tied around my waist and let it fall to the floor. The action left me completely naked as I walked away and I heard a growl of approval from Chris followed by the sound of him jumping to his feet behind me. I scampered off with him hot on my heels, but he caught me in his grasp when I was a few feet past our bedroom door.

He easily lifted me off the ground and I let out a squeal as he tossed me onto the bed.

"Wow," I giggled as I flopped onto my back, leaning up on my elbows to look at him. "That was a graceful landing, real sexy."

Chris smirked as he pulled his shirt over his head.

"You're always sexy," he insisted, moving to the bed and crawling over me. "I can't get enough of you."

Before I could respond, his mouth was back on mine. I smiled against his lips and took a moment to run my hands over his toned muscles, but quickly moved them down to the belt on his jeans as I was eager to get things moving. Almost immediately, he pulled away with that damn smirk still on his face.

"Not so fast," he warned. "I said we were going to take our time."

"We already did," I whined. "Please, Chris, I want you so bad."

He dipped his head and kissed along my jaw until his lips hovered by my ear.

"And you'll have me," he assured me. "Eventually."

I let out a groan of frustration, but as he trailed his kisses lower until they reached my chest, the groan became one of pleasure. A hand slid up my side until it was level with his head and while his mouth captured one nipple, his fingers pinched the other. I gasped and arched my back up towards him, desperate to be as close to him as possible.

His actions started off soft. His fingers and lips worked in a gentle, almost teasing way that had me almost ready to whine for more, but just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, he increased the pressure. His fingers pinched and tweaked one as he nipped the other and the sensation had my hips pressing up against him almost of their own volition. He chuckled as I lifted a leg to hook it over his hip, pulling him down in an attempt to find any friction as he moved to rest his chin between my breasts.

"You're so impatient," he teased. "I'm not gonna fuck you yet."

His voice was thick and rough from his own aroused state and it only made me more desperate.

"Please, Chris..." I whined. "Why not?"

Chris let his teeth graze against my skin briefly before moving further down my body, my question apparently going unanswered. He kissed his way over my stomach, an affectionate smile appearing on his face as he watched the muscles under his mouth quiver and twitch from his actions. It appeared he was intent on taking his sweet time and I really was about to start begging again when he finally settled between my thighs, pulling my legs to rest over his shoulders.

A snarky comment about him taking so long was on the tip of my tongue, but any attitude I was feeling disappeared as he pressed his tongue against me, licking upwards until he settled against my clit. I couldn't hold back the moans and gasps that poured from my lips from the sensation and for a moment, I worried I was being too loud. However, from the way Chris' fingers dug into my ass to lift me higher against his mouth, he seemed to find it encouraging.

He was focused and determined, his lazy mood from moments earlier seemingly gone and I wasn't complaining as I was already practically dripping on to the bed with need. He knew my body almost better than I did and the way his lips were locked on just the right spot, sucking with just the right pressure was driving me wild.

In a few mere minutes, I was already teetering on the edge, but when I gasped out a warning to Chris, he instantly pulled away.

I lifted my head as I let out a growl and scowled down at him - the cocky smirk on his face only adding to my annoyance.

"What the hell, Chris," I huffed. "Keep going!"

He kissed my thigh as I felt an almost painful ache between my legs.

"Patience, Winnie," he warned me. "You need a lesson in patience."

The overwhelming feeling I felt in response to that comment was frustration, but there was a hint of intrigue as well. I was at his mercy, being teased and toyed with until he decided otherwise and I'd be lying if that knowledge didn't turn me on even more.

"Do you-" I gasped as he blew against the wet place his mouth had been moments before. "Do you want me to beg?"

"It wouldn't hurt," he grinned. "But there is something appealing about the thought of seeing how long I can keep you like this..."

That idea filled me with dread. As enticing as my helplessness in this scenario was, the thought of it lasting more than a few minutes seemed painfully cruel.

"No, please don't," I pleaded. "Please touch me, Chris. Please, please. I need it so bad."

He groaned, letting his forehead rest against my thigh for a moment before looking up to meet my eyes.

"The way you say my name when you're like this drives me crazy."

He moved his hand to flick his thumb over my clit and his name fell from my lips again as a desperate whimper. That seemed to be all he needed to hear as he quickly attached his mouth back to that sweet spot.

Instantly, my hands shot to grip his head as mine fell back against the pillows. He held down my hips that were pushing up towards him, desperate to increase the friction, but it didn't matter. I was so close already, so worked up from his previous actions, that it took no time at all for the pressure he'd built up inside me to boil over as I finally found my release.

As always, he coaxed me through it, only moving back when he was sure my orgasm had faded. By the time it was done, my chest was heaving and Chris dragged himself off the bed, giving me a moment to catch my breath as he rid himself of his jeans and boxers. I smiled at the sight, but I was in a daze. My whole body felt like jelly from the two amazing orgasms I'd just received, but that didn't stop me from the moment of clarity that hit just as he was climbing back over me.

"Wait! Condom."

Chris cursed under his breath before hopping off the bed and quickly rifling through his bag. He found one - which I knew he would as I'd reminded him several times to pack them so we wouldn’t be caught without them in a moment like this - and returned to the bed.

"Hurry," I panted. "I need you."

A quiet growl rumbled from Chris' chest as he quickly tore open the condom wrapper and put it on. I was still sensitive from our previous activities, but as soon as he was on top of me again, I was pressing up towards him. He filled me with an almost insatiable need and it seemed his patience was also thin after being so hard for so long as he slid inside me with impressive speed.

I groaned from the sensation of him filling me so quickly, but any discomfort quickly shifted into pleasure as he rocked his hips against mine. My fingers dug into his shoulders as my legs wrapped around his waist pulling him closer as he quickly established a steady rhythm. As much as he wanted to take his time, his restraint was clearly waning as he kept up a vigorous pace. My over sensitive state and his purposefully angled thrusts, hitting all the right nerves with just the right pressure, had me writing beneath him as I basked in the sensation.

Chris was always rather vocal, but as his moans, grunts and whispers of filthy commentary grew louder and more unrestrained it became clear that he was also edging closer and closer to his peak. His hips snapped with more ferocity and all I could do was hold onto him tightly, giving him all the control and riding the waves of pleasure he was causing.

“I’m close,” he groaned, his voice strained as his breath hit my neck.

Unable to form words, I made a noise that I hoped would convey my agreement and his movements seemed to become even more pointed and more deliberate. With every thrust, he made sure to rub against every sensitive spot inside me and moments later, I felt my release hit me. It felt like every muscle in my body tensed as I quivered and clenched around him, a sound leaving my mouth that was so lustful and unrestrained that I could hardly believe it was coming from me. He gasped out a moan of his own from the sensation of me coming around him and quickened his pace through my orgasm until eventually he stilled, the sound of his pleasure echoing through my ears.

Once we had both recovered, Chris rolled off of me, pulling the condom off and disposing of it in the garbage can next to the bed before he settled on his back, chest heaving from exertion.

I let out a happy sigh as I curled into his side and his arm wrapped around me, pulling me close.

"That was amazing," I smiled, placing a kiss against his chest.

He chuckled, squeezing me even tighter as he answered.

"See? Patience. It makes everything better."

I nipped at the skin underneath my mouth.

"Shut up."

He leaned down to place a kiss on the top of my head and I smiled.

"I love you," he practically whispered in the darkness. "I'm so glad we get this weekend together."

"Me too," I agreed. "I love you too."

He squeezed me closer again as we laid there curled up in each other, basking in our post-orgasmic glow.

No one had ever made me feel the way that Chris did. I’d never felt as safe with anyone, I’d never felt so able to let my guard down, and the physical aspect of our relationship clearly benefited greatly from the closeness that we shared. It was an amazing feeling to know that we were so in tune with each other and that there was so much room to explore the things that made us feel good and, despite being fully satisfied for the time being, I couldn't help but let my mind wander to other things I would be interested in delving into as I drifted off to sleep.

-

November [part two]

Tags:  @maggotzombie @moonlacebeam @mizzzpink @zaylaugh @flowery-mess @flowerjewels @njrronaldo7 @hockeychick10 @partypoison00 @theladybiers @sidepieces @firoozehmoon @patzammit @sparkledfirecracker @mytbel0st @chvntelle-99 @mjey12

[unholyplumpprincess]

Bratty Pup

For @ssadists !

Summary: Reader is being an absolute brat in the ring, resulting in Bloodhound teaching them a lesson. And then reminding them of said lesson later. Namely with their fingers. And a familiar red dildo.

Reblogs > Likes. Please Reblog if you hit like!

Fandom: Apex Legends

Relationship: Bloodhound/Reader

Warnings: NSFT/R18+, Bloodhound has a vulva and uses a strap on, Reader is gender neutral but has top surgery and a vulva, Reader’s parts are described as cock/dick/hole, knotting plus creampies, Bloodhound’s infamous werewolf strap returns, reader is called things like ‘little one’ and ‘pup’, breeding kink, Reader also is mentioned to have nipple piercings

Words: 5.3k

____________

You were a menace, to put it lightly.  

You knew you were one, and yet, somehow, against all odds Bloodhound had still seen something in you. Something worthy to win your affection and attention over. You were glad for it; After all it wasn’t like you hadn’t been pining for them for a while. Even before you competed to enter into the games.  

You suppose something about the mask and mystery had been the peak of it all for most people, but you being a new competitor and them being a seasoned veteran in these blood sports had been intimidating.  

Yet, they’d welcomed you kindly, even explaining to you any questions you’d anxiously had like ship rotations or how the compound worked. Even sillier ones like if the food in the fridge was fair game or if you were about to get a wingman between your eyes the second your fingers tapped a lid.  

You suppose you’d fallen for their kindness first. Out of the ring, that’s all they were. Around the compound they would help prepare meals with  Makoa  in the kitchen, or sometimes you’d catch them sitting on the couch in the loungeroom with Crypto’s cat- Isabella Marie- perched on their lap and purring up a storm. They exuded this kind, soft energy, speaking coolly and calmly. Yet sometimes you’d catch them laugh, feel your heart constrict, and weigh in on those emotions. Wondering if something would become of them.  

Now? Well, you didn’t have to do any wondering at all.  

~Rest under the cut~

Now, you could so much as walk up to them and they would set their book off to the side and extend their arms out to you so you could clamber into their lap, nestled into their arms. Now, you could hook pinkies with them quietly and know they would follow you back to your bedroom. Now, they would cup your face adoringly, even if you couldn’t see past the lenses of their goggles in the ring. Now, you’d wake up to pecks of kisses on your face in the same pattern: Forehead, nose, one on each cheek, and on your chin before finally capturing your lips.  

Now, now when you two were alone, you memorized every shape of their body with your lips.  

You knew you were lucky being able to catch them like you had. Other legends had explained to you that Bloodhound, for at least three seasons, had taken to wearing their gear around the compound. Heavy full gear, mask and all, without wanting to mingle much with anyone. You’d been told that they were still kind, still calm, yet they seemed skittish like a cat. Only taking to talking to their ravens, Arthur and Munnin, whilst dodging everyone else besides the polite head nod of acknowledgement another legend’s way.  

Yet when you’d come, after a few weeks of them seeming to disappear, you’d find them out in the compound elsewhere. With a lower face mask on of some sort, whether just a fashionable fabric piece or something akin to their respirator but looking more...punk-like. Regardless, you’d seen more than you had expected to ever in your life.  

And now, you knew every bit of them as the back of your hand. Every tattoo, every scar, every clouded pattern of vitiligo etched into their flesh. Every piercing, every jump of their cooled skin, every ticklish spot that made them squirm and push at you with laughter buzzing through their veins. Every snarl they’d release if you teased them too much.  

You suppose you were an even bigger menace than you’d thought you might be. You just loved to push their buttons sometimes, just to see their reactions. They were always cool and calm under pressure, so patient. But sometimes...  

Sometimes you liked to see them break.  

Often times it was things like tickling them. Or trying to get their attention when they were reading. Or things like kissing their neck, waiting until you felt the feeling of their fingers flexing on your hips and the low growl in their throat before you’d wiggle yourself out and dart away. That is, if they didn’t catch onto your game quickly and held you in place.  

You liked to see their eyes turn dangerous, to hear them growl and to threaten you lowly. Often times you’d hear a snarl in your ear if you were teasing, their voice lowly murmuring to you, “Careful, little one, you are playing a dangerous game.” As if that wouldn’t just make you soaked and want to play this little game even more.  

Maybe if they stopped having such good reactions you wouldn’t feel the need to do these sorts of things .  

Like now.  

Now, you two were a duo in the blistering heat of King’s Canyon. And well, you’re not exactly behaving yourself. Not like you promised to, anyway.  

Everything Bloodhound has said to you, you’ve had something to say back. They ping a location and gesture with a, “I have chosen our next location for battle.”? You have something to counter it. Whether it’s with telling them you’re going to loot at a nearby location on the way, or that you think your best new location will be juuuuuust fifty meters to the right of where they originally pinged. 

Or if they tell you to heal up, even if it’s just that small amount you have missing from your shields, you’ll sigh dramatically and go, “So bossy today, Hound.” And though they may not reply to you, you can see how their head tips towards you. You can feel their eyes behind their lenses sizing you up, as if trying to be sure this is the game you want to play. Right here. Right now.  

When Bloodhound starts to test their theories, you know it’s working. When you’re talking idly and they tell you to shush just to see if you’ll backtalk when normally you’re a perfectly obedient partner even in the ring. When you whine back at them with a reply insinuating you would NOT shut up, you know their cogs are turning.   

It isn’t until there’s ten squads left and Bloodhound tells you to pick up the pace in your casual walk do you say the final words that finally breaks them.  

“Make me.”  

You can practically hear the string snap between you two. You watch their back for the signs of their shoulders rising, the tightening of their hands on their weapon. You feel utter glee when you hear them take a slow, deep breath and let it out as if trying to compose themself. You near about squirm where you stand as you both take a pause, your boots sinking into the mud of the quiet, chirping swamps around you.  

You really think they’re going to maintain their control, watching them roll their neck and slouch their shoulders as they compose themself. It almost disappoints you, an apology starting to curl in your chest when you start to think maybe they weren’t in the mood.  

But then, they turn right back around, marching towards you and grabbing the back of your shirt to drag you into one of the buildings in the back. The cameras don’t normally lie around the edges of King’s Canyon, no one normally  trudges  the edges around here and the ring doesn’t close on the edges either. The cameras focus on more action filled areas.  

But...the idea of being caught still makes your belly flutter.  

Bloodhound, normally kind and composed, snarls as they push you into the building. Your back hits the corner wall, a giggle bubbling from your throat in delight at their roughness as they stalk closer. Your laughter comes to a halt when their petite, strong frame presses to yours, their thigh shoving its way between yours. One of their gloved hands rests by your body to press to the wall, the other grabbing your jaw roughly.  

They force you to look at them, seeing your reflection in their lenses and seeing your own flushed face is embarrassing. You let out a soft noise, eyes fluttering when your hips roll down against their thigh out of habit. Your cock is engorged by now, pressing against your pants’ zipper line and making you shudder at the sensation.  

“You have been a brat today.” They murmur, their voice even and  inquisitive  almost, as if they’re mocking you in a way. Bloodhound gently tilts your head down, forcing you to follow where they move you and you whimper as they grip your jaw a little harder. “Do you wish for me to make an example of you? Here?” 

You try to nod, but find yourself unable to move. Your throat constricts, the words too embarrassing to admit so all you do is make this soft sound akin to an embarrassed squeak. Something you wish didn’t come out of you- you sounded like a frightened bunny.  

“Your words, little one.” Bloodhound once again repeats, their voice even toned. And it occurs to you why quickly- they're asking your consent. If this is what you were aiming for and wanted. They were always so kind, making sure this was mutually wanted, even if sometimes you wished they didn’t ask and would just rip at your clothes and take what they wanted.  

“Yes! Yes, fuck, Hound- yes. I was trying t-to--” Your voice waivers into a moan when their thigh presses up higher against you, your hips grinding across it like a desperately horny animal. Like a dog, you think, with an embarrassed reflection back on a few nights ago where you wore a collar.  

“Trying to test my patience?” They help you finish, their grip easing on your jaw and leaving pleasant throbbing where they’d gripped. “Trying to get punished in the arena, where you could be caught?” They press to you, watching as you helplessly babble ’yes, yes, yes’ as you rock against their thigh.  

Pathetic.  

“You are now so eager to be obedient, my love, what has changed?” Bloodhound’s voice is a tease, thicker with the respirator on and seeming to give an edge to their voice. Your toes curl in your boots, rocking your hips back and forth across their helpfully supplied thigh. It’s almost too much friction between your pants and the thick fabric of theirs. You let out a  high-pitched  moan, turning your head to the side to expose your neck and hearing them swear under their own breath at the sight of blatant submission.  

When they huff, you hope they’re giving in. Praying they’ll spare you the teasing and the delicious tone of their voice that blesses your ears like liquid sex. You whimper when their hand slides down your body, pressing on your chest to tell you without a word to stay still. Bloodhound carefully moves their leg from where you’re desperately humping, another thing that causes you to whine, but they shush you gently.   

A tug at the fly of your pants and the undoing of your belt makes your insides flutter. Even more when you hear them unstrapping the velcro of their glove, moving to tuck it into their pocket.  

Their bare, cool fingers tug your underwear down with your pants to mid-thigh. You keep your legs spread like they left you, enough for their hand to slide down your lower abdomen, teasing at the mound of your curls before fingers slip down to frame your cock. You gasp sharply, hips pushing forward, but their other, gloved hand keeps rested on your chest to keep you back against the wall.  

“Behave.” They remind you, their voice a low tone that makes you shudder. You immediately stop trying to press, feeling your patience slimming and your hope brightening that maybe, just maybe they’d have mercy on you.  

Bloodhound’s fingers dip into your natural slick, drawing back upwards to your engorged cock. They frame it between two of their fingers, gently jerking as the hand on your chest makes to tuck under your shirt. It travels up, briefly feeling along one of the crescent shaped scars under your chest before gently pressing so they may thumb at your pierced nipple. Your head  thunks  back on the wall at the sensation, your hips naturally humping into their hand desperately with each tug.  

“Fuck- Hound, please, God, please- fingers—in-inside, please, please, please -” You babble mindlessly, wishing so badly you could kiss them. Wishing so much you could cling to them, but you know better, keeping your hands flat to the wall behind you, fingers scrabbling against the wood at the sensations. Reminding you of where you are. That if anyone decided to take a pause in swamps, you could get caught.  

“Inside? So greedy, little one. And to think just moments ago you were being a brat.” They chide you playfully, a cock to their head that reminds you of a dog and makes your heart flutter at the familiarity of it.  

Soon, they move their body to rest more in front of you, pinching and tugging at your nipple as their fingers dip down to curl inside of you. Two fingers press at your hole, easily slipping inside and their palm pressing to your cock.  

Your legs are quaking with the effort to keep yourself up. You already feel so close with their fingers curling and fucking inside of you. It doesn’t help with the sensitivity of your chest. Your body is shaking, aching from standing up as they work their talented fingers into you. To make matters worse they abandon your chest. Sliding their gloved hand down until they can bend their wrist that’s fingering you to make room for their other hand to gently tug your cock with their thumb and index finger. The roughness of their gloves eased by the slick you produce.  

It leaves their hand pressing up against your g-spot perfectly with the angle of their fingers. You can feel your wetness dripping down their hand, vaguely hearing the soft snarls hinting that they’re enjoying the sight. It makes your body feel even warmer with the flush spreading across your chest.  

Their voice finally makes your eyes flutter open to look at them helplessly. You can hear the grin in their tone as they begin, “Are you close, my love?” When you nod helplessly, they make a soft, sympathetic noise at you, rolling your little cock between their fingers gently just to make you sob out. “It is a pity you were such a spoiled brat today.”  

Wait. What?  

Shit- no!  

Your confirmation comes when their hand moves from your cock, their fingers still fucking into you with your slick sloppily dripping down onto their wrist. You whimper out at the loss on your cock, but you could still get off like this- if they weren’t slowing down and only rubbing- COME ON!  

“Aw, you look so pitiful, my love. Perhaps if you had not been such  smá   skítur  you would not be feeling this loss now.” They continue, fake sympathy edging their tone as their talented fingers quirk upwards to still keep you interested, rubbing at your frontal walls. It still makes you twitch, feeling like you’re riding the edge of those desperate waves as tears prick your eyes.  

They continue, “You may choose. You may cum now,” You whimper at the thought, but they continue as if you hadn’t made a sound. “Or you may get properly bred later. When you have surely decided you shall be an obedient pup for me.”   

Oh, that isn’t fair .  

But you manage to, against all odds, sob out, “I want to be good for you!” And near about cry at the loss of their fingers. But when they drag them up to your face and nudge at your lips, you part your lips obediently, suckling and licking their fingers clean with a shy glance at the lenses of their goggles.  

“Good pup.” Bloodhound praises you, and you feel that maybe you did the right thing deciding to wait.  

Even if it’s hell when they help you pull your clothing back on, fixing up their gloves and directing you on where to go again. You’re so engorged and wet that each movement feels like hell. And you know they know, knowing they could just smell you inches away, lingering on their skin.  

Torture for you both.  

--  

You two end up in second place, Lifeline and Mirage take championship. Elliott is as perky as ever about it, happily yelling about celebrating with an afterparty at his bar. He’s so friendly and joyous, talking about free drinks as he throws his arms around you and Ajay’s shoulders, that you have to accept. Even if you’re thinking about how hopeful you are for Bloodhound to finish the job from earlier.  

You can only hope that they won’t take the time to tease you all night at the bar and will drag you off back to one of your rooms and give you what they promised.  

The idea of being dragged off in a hurry makes you squirm. You liked when they were desperate, it happened so few times. Whether it was to see you under them or if they were needy and finally let you touch them for the night. The idea of being on your knees and tasting them makes you squirm in your seat at the bar now. Rubbing your thighs together and slowly exhaling through your nose to try and relax your nerves.  

You hadn’t touched the drink Elliott had given to you. Instead, you were more focused on trying to find Bloodhound. Parties weren’t their scene, but they did enjoy the company, as they had told you. They said they were coming, and in the back of your mind you knew they were here. You just had that feeling around you.  

You knew when you were being watched.  

It sends shivers down your spine pleasantly, feeling all too like you were playing the role of prey. Your eyes scan over the tables, the bar, trying to find the familiar red hair or glasses. But, nothing.  

If they wanted to be found, you would have found them. It was that simple.  

“Ey, buddy! What’s up, don’t like your drink? I can make you something new?” Elliott’s voice snaps you out of your scanning as you turn to your right to see him beaming at you. There’s a tinge of anxiety in his eyes, and you offer a smile back to try and aid in it.  

“No! No, not that at all. I think I actually have a bit of a headache. Do you have anywhere quiet I can be for a little?” You offer, feigning a wince as you press your hand to your temple. Understanding immediately crosses his kind eyes as he scoots out of the booth to allow you to get out.  

“Yeah! Of course, the backroom should be nice and quiet for- for you! There’s some pills under the bar if it gets too unbe — uneb — unber —if it gets too painful.” He manages to get out, beaming all the way through it. You can’t help it, his smiles are too infectious, feeling yourself smiling back and thanking him. Briefly forgetting the whole  reason  you were trying to escape was because you didn’t know where your predator of a spouse was.  

You’re still aching between your legs. The memory had carried with you all day. Even when you changed into more casual clothes of a big hoodie and torn up jeans. You’d considered taking the time to get yourself off, but with your luck, Bloodhound would have known somehow and prolonged touching you.  

You’re mindlessly thinking, unaware of your surroundings as you head to the backroom. It’s a darker room with a few dim red lights keeping it lit up. There’s a couch on either side of the room and a big round table in the center with a few chairs stacked in the corner of the room. There’s another bar in here, but it looks more set up for coffee and snacks than drinking.  

As soon as you cross the  threshold  to get inside, you feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Instantly you feel your hood being snatched, pushing you forward with the sound of the door being shut and locked behind you heard. You yelp in surprise from the push, grabbing onto the table you were thrust towards and feeling a body crowd up behind you.  

“You look frightened, beloved.” Comes Bloodhound’s voice behind you, their voice a low purr. Your shoulders immediately relax, but then they stiffen right back up when a hand reaches around to curl around your throat. They don’t squeeze, just holding you to their smaller body. Their other hand sneaks under your hoodie, wasting no time as they start to undo your pants, pulling them down to mid-thigh roughly. “Were you looking for me?”  

“Y-yes- are you seriously trying to fuck me in the- ah!” Your tease is cut off when they shove your boxers down. Their hands are covered with fingerless leather gloves, making the smooth glide of their cool fingers all the sweeter when their thumb and forefinger gently squeeze your cock. They roll it between their fingers, sliding their palm back on your mound to force the hood to slide back to reveal it in its fullness.  

“You did not seem shy at the implication of such acts in the arena.” They murmur behind you, their chin tucking over your shoulder from the way your back is arched, allowing them to reach. Bloodhound hums as your fingers grip tighter on the table, knowing they’re watching you making it all the worse. Your face burns, your body humming with sensitivity from your delayed orgasm earlier.  

You’re completely soaked, even after the shower you’d had earlier. You feel sticky and messy on their fingers as they jerk you off. The feeling of their other hand squeezing at the sides of your throat lightly in a claiming fashion only leaving you messier. A low whine leaves you, your hips pressing forward and body already shaking.  

“Ah, you do not wish to make too much noise, little one. There are worse things that could happen than to be caught on camera.” They tease you, lips brushing your ear to murmur lowly and you feel heat roll down your spine. Your mind flickers to a shameful fantasy of being on a leash, surrounded by others while Bloodhound praises you-  

Your hips press back into them as a wave of pleasure  signals  you’re already close. You’re vaguely aware that the front of their pants isn’t flat, but rather bulged out slightly with something hard and pliable.  

Your face burns when you realize their intentions weren’t to tease you now and fuck you at home later. They wanted you here, like this.  

Vulnerable.  

Bloodhound’s teeth tease the lobe of your ear with a nip, murmuring quietly to you. “You may cum as many times as you like. You were so good for me. A good dog.” Their voice is hot against your flesh. It’s all too much.  

As soon as your lips part to scream out, their hand on your throat raises quickly to smack over your mouth. They press you back against their body as you cum, your body convulsing and your legs shaking as they gently jerk you through it. Their mouth has gone to your neck instead, kissing and sucking a hickey into your flesh there as they tip your head slightly to the side to have better access.  

You’re dizzy after you cum, your hips fucking against their hand without you even thinking about it. You vaguely are aware of them cooing to you, feeling their hand leaving your oversensitive cock to tug your boxers and jeans down a bit lower. You pathetically whimper behind their hand, but that soon changes when they’re pushing you down onto the table. Your front pressed flat and your ass exposed for them.  

“Color?” Bloodhound murmurs to you, their hand sliding down along your clothing covered back until they reach the swell of your ass. You hear the tell-tale sound of them removing their glove before their cool fingers return to you, cupping your ass but not moving.   

“Green.” You chirp back in a hazy, dreamy tone. You go so far as to shake your ass a little, resulting in them playfully swatting in a manner that doesn’t hurt. You grin faintly, but turn your head and pout before they can start up again. “Can I get a kiss?”  

For a moment, the air shifts from predator and prey to gentle. They laugh softly, the sound warming your heart with the honey tone of their voice. “Yes, my love. But do not distract me any more.” Before they lean over you and to the side where you’ve got your lips pouted and head turned to the side, meeting them in a sloppy, chaste kiss.  

You whine at them for more, but they peck your nose instead. Only allowing you to get a brief glance at them with their lower face mask tugged around their neck, their red lensed glasses resting lower on their nose, and their hair pulled into a fluffy ponytail.  

The air shifts again as they get back into character. You keep yourself flat to the table as they keep a hand to your back to press you there. Their other hand trails down your ass, fitting between your legs and teasing two fingers at your hole. When they easily slip in, they coo at you in a mocking tone, “So eager even now. You are so wet, beloved.”  

You nod immediately, murmuring pleads as they curl and stretch their fingers inside of you. When they fit in three, you’re on your tiptoes, absolutely positive you’re drooling on your hoodie’s arm. You sob out when they twist their fingers, spreading them apart to scissor them into you to make room for a fourth finger. That’s when you make sure to bury your face into your arms, your voice starting to spill out of you without permission.  

“Look at you, you poor thing,” They coo at you again, mock sympathy in their tone as they finger fuck you. “How noisy you are. It is almost as if you wish to be caught.”  

You try to shake your head, resulting in the hand that was resting on your back to curl into your hair. They yank your head back, keeping you from burying into your arms as moans pour from your lips. Your face immediately flushes, both your hands flying to your mouth as your eyes about cross when they pick up the pace.  

You cum again from their fingers alone, your body trembling as you press hard over your mouth to muffle your sobs. Your breathing is heavy through your nose, heard shakily through each exhale. They finally let go of your hair, letting your body go forward so you could bury into your arms again.  

When Bloodhound’s fingers leave you, you hear them unzipping their own pants. You stay perfectly still, hearing the uncap of lubricant and the wet noise of them sliding it onto their cock. You can’t see which one they have strapped on today, but you have a feeling you knew if they had to use four fingers to get you ready. Especially when they take their fingers covered in lube this time to fit inside of you, gently fucking them into you for a few thrusts before pulling away.  

It’s one of their bigger dildos, that much you can feel. The tapered tip tells you it’s one of their werewolf dildos. The knot was as thick as their fist, the rest of the length going from three to about four fingers thick. They let the head press to your hole, their hands grabbing your hips once it presses in and guiding you into taking it.  

Each press is a stretch, but once you’re finally able to take it down to the beginning of the knot, that’s when they start to fuck you. Their hips slam back against you, the knot pressing at your hole but unable to enter without their aid. You’re a mess when they wrap their hand back around your throat, pulling you up to their chest as they fuck up into you with soft growls. You keep one hand over your mouth to try and be quiet, going cross eyed when their other hand reaches down to start jerking you off in time with their thrusts.  

You think you’ve died and gone to Heaven in the form of Bloodhound fucking you. They’re murmuring by your ear in their mother tongue, words you can make out from constantly hearing them being ‘good’ and ‘my love’ and ‘little one’. But soon their voice dies out, more focused on biting and sucking dark bruises along your neck. Going high enough to just under your ear so you couldn’t hide them.  

The wet slapping between you two sounds much louder in this smaller room. The creaking of the table doing no favors to hide your muffled cries. You’re so overstimulated you’d almost forgotten you weren’t in the safety of your own home.  

When Bloodhound finally unlatches from your throat, they’re growling in your ear now. They rarely get filthy except for occasions like this. Murmuring between each thrust, “Do you wish for me to breed you, little pup?” The hand that had been jerking you off comes up, pressing to your lower abdomen and making you dizzy at the idea. “How beautiful you will be swollen with my pups.”  

A  high-pitched  noise leaves you in reply, squirming on their cock as Bloodhound starts to slam a little harder, feeling the knot pressing at you and stretching you. You whimper, shaking your head and crying into your hand, “C-can’t! I can’t- it won’t fit- Hound, please, I’m so close-” You start to sob out, but they shush you.  

“You can take it.” They promise without a second beat, yanking you back against them as they press insistently forward until you start to widen around it. Your free hand scrabbles at the table for purchase. “You  will  take it.”  

And you do, with one more thrust of their hips as the knot pops into you. It’s all too much when their hand returns to your cock, letting you hump pathetically into their palm as you cum this time. Vaguely you’re aware of the feeling of being full too, and you know they had a cum tube attached to this cock but you didn’t think they’d use it.  

When you’re done and properly fucked, you flop belly down onto the table with your knees weak. You’re panting, sweaty, a mess. You can feel them pull out of you, a grunt leaving you when you feel a smaller object being inserted into your hole. Your boxers and pants are pulled up, an affectionate double smack left on your ass that makes you softly laugh.  

“A plug,” Bloodhound speaks as if reading your questioning mind, their hand going under your hoodie to soothingly rub your back in a way that makes you immediately content. “ So  you do not spill a single drop. I am not through with you.”  

You whine a reply, not trusting your voice to speak. You go pliantly as you’re lifted up, tossed over their shoulder like a sack of potatoes and brought to one of the couches. Gently, you’re set in their lap sideways, allowing you to curl your face into their neck and nuzzle there affectionately. You’re vaguely aware of them rubbing your back in circles, tipping their head to press a gentle kiss to  your  forehead.  

“Mmmh- Hound?” You start softly, nosing at their neck affectionately.  

“Yes, my love?”  

“Can I have another kiss now?”  

Bloodhound lets out a whoosh of breathy laughter at that. Watching you adjust to sit up a little before they gently cup your cheek, stroking over your cheekbone as their eyes linger on your lips for just a moment. You can feel their breath fanning across your lips just before they meet in a soft, gentle kiss.  

When they break apart, you whine out, “Another!”  Again,  and again until they’re attacking your face with little pecks all over until you’re squealing with laughter.  

How you loved them.  

[cozy-the-overlord]

Dances and Daggers

Summary:   The Summer Festival is upon Asgard, as is the tradition of the dagger ceremony, where each unmarried gentleman chooses a lady to bestow with the honor of carrying his dagger for the night. As Prince Thor’s betrothed, Teki’s only goal is to accept his dagger with grace and hope that her violent stepfather doesn’t find fault with her in the process. But Prince Thor is unpredictable, and when he ignores his engagement on a whim Teki finds herself in a desperate situation. Luckily, Thor isn’t the only prince in Asgard…

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Chapter 17: The Resolution

Previous Chapter  |  Next Chapter

Word Count: 2,424

Chapter Summary: Now that the truth is out, Teki and Loki navigate their way through the aftermath.

A/N: I can’t believe we’re on the second to last chapter! It blows my mind that this has gone by so quickly-- I feel like I just started posting a few weeks ago. Also, sorry this is going up about an hour later than usual-- my classes got cancelled today, so I decided to sleep in XD

Thanks for reading!

TW: Violence, child abuse

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @moumouton4 @berriemalfoy @whatafuckingdumbass @sophlubbwriting

if you want to be tagged, feel free to just send me an ask/message! :)

Read it on Ao3!

Teki stood in the center of the Throne Room, struggling not to wilt under the scrutiny of over a dozen pairs of eyes. She had always known that someday in the future she’d have to attend the King’s council meetings, but never had she thought that she would ever be the focus. The old men of Odin’s courtroom seemed to glower down at her like she was an insect they had accidentally stepped on as they bickered over what was to be done with her. Luckily, the friendly faces in the crowd were almost enough to drown out the tension.

Loki smiled encouragingly from his place at the base of Odin’s throne, rolling his eyes whenever someone said something particularly hurtful. Frigga too supported her with a warm grin. Even Thor seemed to shoot her a sympathetic glance every now and then.

Still, the council continued arguing.

“The marriage engagement is in writing. We cannot change it—”

“That writing is in blood. Would we have the daughter of a murderer as Queen?”

“We should not hold the girl accountable for the sins of her mother—”

“But what of Asgard’s reputation? What will other realms think when they learn how easy it is to cheat their way into royalty—”

“The circumstances are irrelevant. The agreement was made. To go back on it now would be to sully the word of the king—”

The last few days had been a whirlwind. Teki felt as if she had repeated the same story over and over again at least a thousand times, to a thousand different people. At first, there had been the scramble for evidence, gathering anything and everything that might be used to prove her word—the vials from her mother’s liquor cabinet, the document of dissolution that her father had been forced to write moments before his death, written statements from Völundr and Asta (the real one this time). They had even taken her father’s journal, although that had been returned to her after they decided that the unfinished letter he had written to her mother was all they needed.

But once Áslaug signed a full confession, the focus shifted. Now that she was good and caught, everyone could concentrate on capturing Osvald. He had been gone when Frigga’s guards arrived at their apartment to arrest him and hadn’t been seen since. It seemed he had caught wind that the game was up and made a run for it, a thought which terrified Teki to no end.

“Don’t worry,” Loki assured her one night, in the new rooms in the royal wing that she and Brant now occupied. “They’ll catch him before long.”

Teki only nodded as she stared out into the inky blackness beyond her window, praying to the Norns he was right.

There were also the questions popping up now, everywhere she turned. Was she still engaged to Thor? Did the marriage agreement stand if it was made under false pretenses? No one seemed to know.

Some felt that since Steinn had opposed it, and since Áslaug very clearly did not have Teki’s best interests in mind when she agreed to it, that it should not be allowed to stand. Others were quite adamant that the agreement had been signed and that it must be followed through, for better or for worse.

Of course, nobody had asked Teki what she thought should happen.

Well... that wasn't entirely true. Queen Frigga had approached her the day after her mother was arrested to talk about the whole situation, and while she didn't ask for her opinion either, the topic of her engagement had come up.

"The AllFather is not one to go back on his word," she told her. "I doubt the betrothal will be drastically changed."

Her tone was encouraging, but Teki couldn't bring herself to mirror her optimistic smile. Of course she'd still have to marry Thor. The actions of her mother would have no bearing on something that had been set in stone for nearly her entire life. She knew this. Still, a part of her, the small, hopeful part that had dared to dream of someone else in place of Thor's hand, withered at the return to reality.

The ache in her chest must have been reflected on her face because Frigga frowned. "Is something wrong?"

Teki shook her head, forcing her features back to familiar neutrality. "Of course not, Your Majesty," she said with the same artificial cheeriness. "As always, I will be honored to wed your son."

For a moment, the Queen only studied her, as if searching for something hidden behind her eyes. "Yes," she finally said, voice distant. "My son."

It didn’t even matter anymore. They’d all been going round and round in circles for what seemed like an eternity, and Teki was tired of standing there bearing the brunt of their speculation. She wished they would just sentence her to life with Thor and just end it already. It took everything in her to keep from picking at the sash of her dress in front of everyone.

But then Frigga stood, and the voices fell silent. “If I may, my King?”

Odin nodded at his wife, and Teki couldn’t help but think that he looked as exhausted with this as she was. “Please.”

She stepped forward, addressing the council directly. “If I am correct in understanding, the conflict here surrounds the question of whether Lady Tekla is suited to be Queen in light of what we now know of her mother and stepfather, yes?” A chorus of affirmative hums answered her.

The Queen smiled broadly. “Well, I believe there is a way to honor the agreement without jeopardizing the queenship.” She turned back to Odin with a respectful bow of her head. “My King, you have two sons. If Lady Tekla were to marry Prince Loki instead of Prince Thor, she’d still gain royalty, but not the throne.”

A flurry of whispers broke out across the Throne Room. For a moment, Teki thought she had misheard her. Wait, did she mean…

She whipped to Loki, who was staring at his mother with eyes were so wide they were almost bugging out of his head. When his gaze returned to Teki’s, there was a stunned sort of hope in his smile.

The King cocked his head to the side, seemingly lost in thought. He turned to his son. “Would you be willing to pursue such a course of action, Loki?” he asked.

The prince sprang up. “Yes, I would, my King. That is —” he looked back at Teki nervously. “If Lady Tekla was willing.”

The collective stare of the council flipped back once more to her.

Teki inhaled. “I—I’m willing, sire.”

“Very well.” The King motioned towards Loki, who stepped purposefully off the platform and down to her side. “Prince Loki, you will take the hand of Lady Tekla in marriage. Prince Thor, you are released from your betrothal.” He sighed. “Perhaps now we can finally lay this matter to rest.”

Teki didn’t hear the rest of what he said. Loki lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckle.

“My lady,” he whispered with a breathless smile. She beamed, heart soaring higher than any wings could ever carry her.

…

Going back to their apartment was strange.

It had been decided that Teki and Brant would permanently move into the royal wing of the palace, sharing a suite until Teki married and moved into Loki’s rooms (although Frigga assured her that wouldn’t be for quite some time). Their old apartment was gutted of all items of importance to be transferred to their new rooms, leaving only its skeletal remains when Teki and Loki returned for one last look through.

There were several things Teki wanted to be sure to get. Brant’s reading notes, for one, and his unfinished map of the tunnels of the Nine Realms. She wouldn’t be giving him reading lessons anymore—he had already begun to attend proper class and was doing quite well—but he had confided in her that he still preferred her lessons. The music books gifted to her by the Queen—she was particularly excited about those, because Frigga had ordered a piano constructed just for Teki’s new sitting room.

“I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t ask you first,” she had said, almost apologetically. “I just you’d enjoy being able to play at your own discretion, without having to rely on me.”

Teki could’ve cried.

And then there was a dagger. Teki nearly had a heart attack when she checked under her mattress and found it wasn’t there, only to remember that she had shoved it in her nightstand that time her mother walked into the room.

Loki grinned when she slid it out of its sheath.

“I had wondered what you did with that,” he said. “I never saw it when I would come over.”

She laughed. “Well, I couldn’t exactly hang it from the wall.” Now that she thought of it though, it was probably a blessing that she had been forced to move the dagger to her drawer. As furious as her stepfather had been upon discovering she had taken her father’s journal, it would’ve been infinitely worse if he had realized she was also keeping a weapon under her mattress. The image of Osvald advancing towards her flashed before her eyes, this time waving a blade instead of a leather book. Teki shivered. She sheathed the dagger, placing it in the box with her other items.

They combed the apartment one last time, a cursory look-through to make sure that Teki had gotten everything she wanted to save. There really wasn’t much. It was a bit startling—this place had been her home her entire life, and yet she felt practically nothing upon saying goodbye to it forever. If anything, it was relieving, like coming to the surface to breathe after being underwater for far too long. She was ready to leave this bad dream behind.

Teki only hesitated at the downstairs table, staring at the same chair in which her father died. Loki came besides her, squeezing her hand in comfort.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing. It’s just…” She struggled to find the right words. “I ate here every single day,” she said finally. “My whole life. And I never knew what happened right next to me.” Had her father been watching in frustration from the realm beyond? Had he been begging her to ask questions, to look for him, to discover the truth as she munched on her morning toast?

Tears were pooling in her eyes once more. Teki swallowed shakily. “I should’ve done something sooner,” she whispered. “I never did anything. I just let it all happen.”

“You were a child,” Loki said softly. “What could you have done? You’ve brought justice for your father, and for you. That’s all that matters now.”

She sighed. Maybe he was right. What she did or didn’t do in the past wasn’t important. Now, her father could rest easy knowing his killer would rot in prison, her plans in tatters.

Teki hoisted her box up with one last glance about the room. “I think I’ve got everything,” she said as she headed towards the door. “Thank you for coming with me.”

“It was my pleasure,” he smiled, rushing to hold the door for her. “It seems that—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence.

Osvald barged his way through the doorway like a living battering ram, smacking the prince into the wooden door. Her stepfather didn’t even spare a second glance as Loki crashed to the floor. Teki barely had the chance to scream before his fist caught her in her sternum. The box flew from her hands, contents clattering across the floorboards as she fell backwards.

No sooner had her head hit the ground than Osvald was on top of her, eyes as frenzied as wildfire.

“You thought I’d let it go?” he snarled, holding her down by her shoulders with his forearm as she struggled. “You thought I’d let you fuck everything up?”

She almost didn’t see the glint of the blade in his free hand.

Norns!

Teki jerked just as the knife came down, cold metal grazing her cheek as he buried it into the floor beside her head. She grabbed for the hilt as her stepfather spat curses in her face.

Get it away from him!

He smacked her away, ripping the knife from the floorboards and stabbing towards her again. Teki braced her arms against his wrist, pushing against him with all her might, her eyes tearing up. Come on, please! Still, the tip of the blade inched forward, closer and closer and closer…

Something crashed into the two of them. One moment, her stepfather was on top of her, pinning her to the ground, the next he was on the floor next to her, thrashing wildly as Loki fought to rip the blade from his grasp. Teki rolled to her stomach, trembling as she gasped for air.

“Get help!” Loki yelled at her as the two wrestled on the ground. Osvald landed a kick to his stomach, and he hissed in pain.

Teki struggled to her feet and tried to make a run for the door. Her foot slipped on one of the papers strewn about from the box and she tripped, slamming against the floor.

Behind her, Osvald’s knife clattered to the ground. Still, they struggled.

Her legs were shaking too badly to stand. Teki crawled towards the door across the mess, unable to hear anything else over the pounding of her heart.

Without meaning to, her hand closed around the hilt of her own dagger.

Loki cried out, a short, quick gasp of pain.  Her stepfather’s footsteps vibrated deep in her stomach as he approached.

He yanked her to her feet by her collar and whipped her around, his fingers at her throat, grin wide and demented.

“Now—”

Teki buried the blade in his chest.

For a moment they just stared at it, gasping, the golden hilt crowning the fast-growing stain of crimson across his chest. He glanced up at her, icy eyes having lost their chill. Teki gaped back at him, frozen.

On the other side of the room, Loki pulled himself to his feet, eyes wide.

Her stepfather collapsed, a marionette with its strings cut, his blood splattering across the same floor he had so often beaten her against.

[moondustaeil]

cynosure ⌖ lee jeno

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ✧☾.·:·.cynosure

⠀ ⠀⠀ about

⋅  genre : contract killer/gangster!au : romance, fluff, angst

⋅  characters : Jeno x fem!reader and ot21

⋅ word count : 17k (yes, it’s a lot)

⋅  warning : violence, use of weapons, gambling, kidnapping, betrayal, blackmailing, timeskips, murder, blood, character death, roughly based on bap’s skydive. Don’t read if you’re not ready

⠀ ⠀  ⠀ ⠀

⠀ ⠀⠀ synopsis

⋅  Contact-killer Jeno finds himself lurking between twenty possible perpetrators. One mission-based game with only few chances to save y/n, if it’s not too late that is. Only one gets to be the last man standing, but who will be the lucky cynosure?

suıǝ 

“Lee Jeno”

The voice of unofficial leader Taeyong made Jeno look up from the tiled floor. It was the strictness of the voice that required him to pay attention. “What?” He asked.

“I just did the casting but if you’re uninterested, don’t bother to come. You know what that means, right?” Taeyong asked, his white hair falling in front of his eyes as he tilted his head to the side. Not that Taeyong expected an answer, and not that Jeno was willing to give the answer even if it was expected from him. All twenty-one members were aware of the one unwritten rule, perhaps a little selfish to remember that one but forget the remaining ones. Everyone knew, and yet there was one person who felt like reminding everyone. “More money for the rest” words said by no other than wiseacre Doyoung.

A silent sigh threatened to escape from Jeno’s lips, but the word “money” kept him hostage despite not being interested in a new robbery. “Just give me my task please,” he said while his eyes traveled from Taeyong to the other nineteen people around him: wearing the same black outfits, carrying the same uninterested attitude, and still it was him who got called out. “Easy. You and Yangyang, clean up after the rest leaves.”

“Cleaning up your mess? Am I a trashcan or something?! All I’ve been doing in the past weeks is clean up behind your dirty ass, wiping blood from floors like I’m cleaning snot from a baby’s face” Jeno opened his book of mental complaints, letting them flow out mindlessly. It wasn’t exaggerated as in the past few weeks he had only been paired up with younger members, given the task to make proof disappear as stars disappeared from the night sky. 

“Audition for a different part next time, loverboy” Taeyong shot back upon hearing the complaint about his casting method, his words gaining strength from Donghyuck who was making soppy kissing noises in the background. When was the teasing finally going to stop? Did he prefer scolding instead? Yes, he did. At least scolding wasn't as hard to ignore as bratty behavior. "At least I'm not lonely" Jeno quietly protested despite feeling lonely in the group of twenty other young men, no one seemed to take his side and those who considered taking it were silenced. 

Laughter followed after his words. These were his friends, his enemies hidden behind a tight string that tied them together. This was neo culture technology, and he belonged to the limitless set of demons. 

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

"I'm not from NCT, I'm a part of wayV" Yangyang insisted as he pointlessly raised his finger in the air to prove his point.

Jeno couldn't help but let out an annoyed sigh at the younger boy. After nearly three-quarters of an hour, he was tired of the constant boyish behavior... Little did he know he acted like that too around older members.

"That's the same thing, just not in public. You're even lucky you got in, I bet no one else wanted an annoying orange" Jeno shot back. Pacing back and forth in the dark alley, shadows didn't even follow him as there was no light to give him the double life. "At least I didn't get stuck in a group named dream, with some other teenage kids. Speaking of, when are you going to graduate?"

Jeno swallowed thickly when he heard the question, his focus changing from the annoying boy to the content of the things he said. It was ridiculous to fear a simple graduation while he risked his life at least once a week. No one in the dream team dared to urge a word about graduating, scared it would speed up the process.

Where would he go once he graduated?

Perhaps his rank would be higher as he moved into another unit. Or this was the end of his young life in the environment, or even in the world. Time would give him an answer, though he preferred not knowing the answer to that question.

Dream was a wonderful unit as the name already stated. Wonderful enough to make it sound like they were a clubhouse rather than a gang.

"I don't know" Jeno answered truthfully, his eyes lowering towards the black earpiece in the palm of his hand. With a sigh, his fist clenched around the piece of plastic. "We should focus on the mission now. Even if we're just the blood wipers, I want to know what's going on" he said, moving the earpiece from the palm of his hand into his ear.

Yangyang was quick to follow the lead despite his natural reaction of following his own nature. The millennium kid had made his official debut to the gang in 2019, January to be exact. The training he was required to follow before that date didn't prepare him much for the real job. When he wasn't being annoying, or rather, when he was feeling insecure, he would follow the lead of older members. And apparently, this minute had hit a certain level on his insecurity meter.

Gunshot

The sound seemed to break the talk Jeno and Yangyang had between the two of them but in reality, it was the earpiece that separated their vocal connection momentarily. Nothing but footsteps and some incomprehensible words falling from voices he didn't recognize.

Gunshot

This time things seemed to get more frantic. The quiet footsteps seemed to turn into a nonexistent escape route and he could hear Taeyong yelling something to the rest of the team.

"Take the money"

Protests followed after those words, the same voice from before begging for either his life or the packs of money. But between gangs: there was no such thing as concern for justice, peace, or respect for each other. Humans were no people, they were animals hunting for the prey. 

Gunshot

That was the cue. The third gunshot existed but ended just seconds after its birth. "Go" Jeno announced to Yangyang, pushing the boy out of the alley as he followed behind.

Multitasking between looking around to check surroundings and listening to the other members leaving the site was hard, surely when he had Yangyang to watch over as if he was a toddler from barely two years old.

Time ticked by as the members did their own tasks, as many members left the site: Yangyang and Jeno entered the site, Doyoung and Kun took out their earpieces from their hideout. That's how neo culture technology worked: alone together. Each with an own task, all for one pot of money.

Between the identified color of blood and forgotten bills of green gold. Jeno found himself with one earpiece dangling on his shoulder, replaced by his phone that was currently pressed against his ear.

"I'll be with you soon" he spoke into the phone to break the silence you had offered him. It wasn't an awkward silence until you connected the soppy sounds together with him not saying much, someone else's blood was getting erased from the floor but would drip from his glove-covered fingers instead. "Just be safe, not quick," you said in a soft tone, hushing yourself just in case the walls had ears.

Jeno couldn't help but chuckle softly at your worried nature, totally ignoring Yangyang and the task that he was given. "You know me," he said into the phone, already knowing which answer you would give, and he was waiting for those exact words. Your reply followed not long after, the smile audible as you spoke, "That's why I said it."

"See you soon, y/n"

ıǝʍz

The pearly white silk protected your skin from the fitted sheet that covered the mattress. Smoothly and without friction, your sleepy body turned itself forty-five degrees.

Heaven seemed to live its secret life in your bedroom: no sounds, no such thing as too much or too little. The symbolic golden spoon-fed you and Jeno, in reality, it was made possible with money from robberies and killer contracts.

A soft sniffling sound turned heaven a little bit cold, your eyes opening from your own sounds. Your side felt uncomfortable now that you turned to it but felt the bones through layers of skin, yet, your body had no intention to make you comfortable again.

Next to you was your boyfriend, Lee Jeno, your first and hopefully last. The naturally dark roots fell over his closed eyelids, shielding him away from the miracle of a new day. His broad shoulders half-covered with the sheet, the other half showing up from where the same sheet was crumpled together.

The peaceful feeling made you blink slowly, on the verge of falling back into a light slumber. Until, in the midst of blinking, your eyes noticed the lonely dot on the sheet.

As red as love, shot through the arrow of Cupid.

Sobered up from your drowsy moment, your body untangled itself from Jeno's. Your face hovered close enough to the red dot to see that the dot no longer seemed a dot: whatever it had been before, its wetness had seeped into the sheets overnight to create something that changed the circular form if you looked close enough.

The heap of sheets suddenly felt like a rag covered in blood, and you were in the midst of it. That little dot, that tiny little dot, made you feel even tinier than the few inches it was.

"Lie down, it's cold" Jeno's voice interrupted your silent investigation. A crime scene unfolding as you still had to check whether the blood was from either of you or not, but the map with possible hints was quickly thrown overboard when your boyfriend made his appearance.

Your body was frozen in its position, your lips tightly pursed together which prevented you from giving an answer to your boyfriend. "y/n?" Jeno asked, his eyes finally opening when he realized you weren't lying down with him again. His brown eyes were greeted with your silk-covered back, your shoulders tense enough to make it noticeable. "What's wrong?" Out of worry, he sat up as well, his arm lazily slinging around your shoulder as a sign of comfort.

"Please talk," Jeno said, the hand on your shoulder pushing you into his arms but your muscles wouldn't allow that. It was then that he noticed you were staring at something, his eyes angling themselves the same way as yours in order to see what you were looking at. And that's when he saw it,

the droplet of blood on the Virgin-white sheet.

As used as Jeno was to blood and gore, he found himself staring at the little dry patch for a few seconds. Unlike your mind, his wasn't focused on finding answers to questions, he just stared with a black expression displayed on his face.

"Whose blood is this?" You asked him, your arm pushing his arm as you immediately wanted an answer. Even if it was a lie, an answer was an answer. Jeno licked his lower lip before he separated the upper and lower part to start speaking "It's mine" he uttered out, the two words coming out slow even though he finished speaking after one second.

You looked away from the blood, instead, looking at your boyfriend. A question mark seemed to be written on your face, though, it was only a symbolic sign for your confusion. "Yours?" You asked him, eyes begging for an explanation instead of your words. "Mine. When we were cleaning up the scene I cut myself on a bayonet. I forgot about it and just went to bed"

Jeno's words made you throw off the sheets as fast as possible, not that you wanted to get rid of the little droplet, but if he was telling the truth, you had to clean up the wound for him. "Fuck, Jeno" you whispered in shock as the fitted sheet was now not only white but also had a red gradient in it. The patches were still partially wet, and those that weren't had started to discolor. 

Jeno's eyes didn't follow yours this time, knowing well enough what was going on near the end of the bed. "Let me get everything to clean it up," you said quickly, not waiting for a reply as you got up from the bed and ran around the place to get the first-aid kit.

Minutes after, you found yourself and Jeno sitting on the clean side of the bed. His back pressed against the soft headboard while you sat on top of your pillow, his arm resting in your lap while you took care of the wound. While you cleaned the wound, your tough contract-killer boyfriend had winced due to the stinging of the alcohol in his open gash. He should have been used to it by now, it was something monthly as sometimes they stupidly got hurt during their robberies.

"I should have told you, but you were asleep. And it was past midnight" Jeno tried to explain to you, looking at you rather than the open wound. He wasn't the type to look at it continuously, which probably was surprising seeing his profession. "You should've" you answered to his words, not giving him more attention since you didn't want to mess up and make the cut worse. "I will next time," he told you, but mostly himself. A spoonful of lies that he swallowed down, he wouldn't wake you up in the middle of the night for a stupid cut.

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

Jeno opened his eyes again for what felt like the second time that day, in reality, it was the second time that day. Tiredness had taken over his body after the crime scene cleanup, or two of them as he could suddenly remember how you cleaned the cut this morning.

"y/n?" He asked out loud, scanning his surroundings momentarily but was quick to conclude that you weren't there with him.

As tired as his body was, he sat up and got out of bed. Replacing his lazy sweatpants by the usual black outfit, not forgetting to layer over the bandage on his arm. No one had to know he got hurt, not even Yangyang knew as he had mistaken Jeno's blood for that of the enemy.

He called out your name again as his steps quickened once he was out of the bedroom. Panic spread through his body as he became aware of his hate for you living in your own apartment instead of at his hideout with the others. No one could protect you, apparently not even him when he was around.

"calm down, Jeno" your voice called out from the kitchen, immediately he followed the sound of your voice, and more than that the scent of fresh breakfast. The frown he unknowingly had on his face was replaced with a look of relief. "I'm calm" he answered, steps slowing down until he was able to reach out to you.

His arm wrapped around your waist in an attempt to pull you closer, or an attempt to apologize for not telling you about the wound. "You didn't even say good morning" he complained in a more playful way, needing affection as he did feel a bit down after what happened and the way he was treated by the others. "It wasn't exactly a good one," you said, trying to smile despite your feelings. Was it disappointment? Or were you just worried about him?

"I know, sorry" Jeno mumbled, his head meaning towards your neck before he placed a tiny kiss upon the skin. He could imagine that waking up to heaps of blood wasn't the most pleasant thing, he didn't have to imagine it though as he had gone through it together with you.

Your standard answer laid on the tip of your tongue, it was only a matter of seconds before your lips parted and you let the words escape. "It's fine" were those words, words that you used weekly if not daily. Jeno knew that it wasn't fine, and you knew that Jeno knew. Yet, neither of you protested against those words.

"I love you, you know that right?" Jeno asked you, his lips trailing towards the side of your face. You had a hard time not smiling, but as soon as his lips were placed against the corner of your lips, those corners curved upwards. "I know" you confirmed, your head lightly tilting to enjoy the warmth of his lips against your skin. "I love you too," you said back to him, finally turning your head for a small peck upon each other's lips.

Breakfast took place on the sofa, the two of you sitting intimately close to each other while having some minor talks. Talks about your life rather than his, because he didn't want to put you at a risk by giving you too much information.

"Why don't you live with us..." Jeno started his sentence but never got to finish as you held up your hand and finished it off for him. "It's a lot safer?" You asked, using your index and middle finger as quotation marks.

He nodded as soon as you finished what he started, nervously tugging on his lower lip with his teeth. "It's a lot safer and we would see each other more," he said. You would say yes because you would see him more, but you still said no because it wouldn't he safer at all. Moving in with him would mean that you stood in the midst of chaos, safe, but one mistake and the circle pulled you in as a guest.

"I don't know, I'll think about it," you said with a tiny smile on your lips, which disappeared due to the frozen reaction of your boyfriend. "Please do," he told you, putting down the finished bowl of cereal before he leaned back.

It seemed like he didn't care after that. Though in his mind war was going on: could he manipulate you into living with him? And did he do it for your safety or just because he wanted to be close to you?

ıǝɹp

Jeno [ 9 : 19 am ] : good morning x

The small hand of the clock had moved itself upwards while Jeno waited for a response, he hadn't heard the seconds tick by but was aware of how slow they were passing.

"Why aren't you awake yet?" He asked himself out loud, unaware of the members that were in the same room as him. Though it was Renjun who decided to get up and make his way towards his friend: as quiet and savage as he was, Renjun cared deeply and was ready to fight anyone who hurt his friends.

"What's wrong?" Renjun asked, his eyes on Jeno rather than his phone to give the man his privacy. Jeno's response was silence for a few seconds, but after a short sigh he decided to speak up. "y/n isn't answering my texts. She was busy today so she can't be sleeping" he said, slamming the phone against his free hand in frustration and worry.

Renjun couldn't help but smile to himself at Jeno's contradicting words. "Did you hear what you just said?" He asked, trying not to laugh because it was cringeworthily adorable to see Jeno worrying so much about you. Jeno didn't reply as he didn't see the point, he knew well enough what he said: you were busy so you couldn't be sleeping, which meant something must have happened to you.

In his head he was already imagining how another gang broke into your home and killed you without mercy, yet, he saw your alive form in his imagination.

"y/n is busy, that means she can't reply to you because she's doing other things. You said so yourself" Renjun pointed out, snapping Jeno out of his filthy imagination. Perhaps Renjun was right but that didn't stop Jeno from worrying about you, and yes, he had reasons to worry about you.

In the meantime Chenle had also joined, his read resting on Renjun's shoulder as he was listening to the conversation. "I think Renjun is right about that. y/n is probably busy, you just said that yourself so why are you expecting her to reply?" the youngster inquired. It wasn't a real inquiry as the two other boys were just trying to make Jeno see the context of the situation and the reason why you weren't replying to a simple morning text.

In their eyes, it had been merely one hour that passed by, in Jeno's eyes it was like you hadn't messaged him all week. It couldn't be ignorance, you would never purposely ignore him, not even on your worst day. The image of someone killing you continued to live on his thoughts.

"I bet you're right" Jeno concluded, his phone dropping on the little coffee table in the middle of the living space. His lips carried a fake smile, unable to kill his thoughts despite the tries of his dream team.

Everyone could see the smile was fake. Even Hendery who was on the other side of the room could see the fabricated facial expression. But no one spoke up about it: not even Renjun and Chenle who had been trying to guide him through the thorny path just seconds ago.

The minutes continued to pass by, it seemed like time had no motive to move forward, perhaps it even wanted to move back to another moment in its big fragment album.

When Taeyong walked in, the time had seemingly decided it was time to follow the leader. "I got our next mission" he declared, holding the big white envelope between his index and middle finger like he was proudly showing it off to the twenty guys in the room.

He opened the envelope, handing everyone a little bundle of white papers. The Korean writing on it revealing who they were supposed to kill, whether they had to take money, and if they could elegantly kill the person or if it would be a bloody job.

"We're killing this man for our mission. He's forty-one years old, one of the better people for his age... At least in his job." Taeyong quickly described as his own information sheet was thrown on top of the table, he knew his victims before they were even his. "Just a bullet through his skull, as elegant as possible. Clean up the scene and that's the job" he continued his plan, it became clear this wasn't a twenty-one people job. A maximum of five people could be assigned to this, otherwise, they would become their own victims.

"Price tag is 100.000 for the hit. Divided by the dream team who will do the job. Jaemin will lead the team and cast the others" Taeyong said, giving a bod as a sign that was all they had to do. Though behind the five-person job was a broader network: people who were always waiting somewhere close in case things got a red code, others who stayed at the hideout but listened through their earpiece and updated on possible information as they kept control over the surrounding streets.

Jeno glanced at his bundle of information. His eyes on the little picture of the man he was supposed to kill, unless Jaemin cast him in the cleaning team again, but he wasn't going to let that happen this time. His eyes needed only one scan over the text to get the man's name and situation, not missing how he had a daughter of nine years old and a son who was merely five. Information about a wife or partner wasn't included but guessed the man had no time for love or his children seeing his profession.

"Jeno, can you come with me? I need to speak to you" Taeyong asked seriously, his eyes on Jeno who still seemed caught up in reading the mission. Jeno looked up slowly but his eyes quickly shifted when the youngest, Jisung, snatched the papers out of his hand and threw them on the table. "Go," he said, trying to do his best on impressing the others even if he had been a part of the team for years.

Jeno nodded his head slowly, getting up from his seat and followed Taeyong towards the empty office space. Once both were in, the door was closed and silence filled the space like furniture was supposed to do.

"Something wrong with you?" Taeyong asked, his arms crossed, and yet his posture seemed open enough to trust him. Jeno shook his head at first: not ready to tell him how he was worried about you, and not ready to tell him even more than just that. "Nope" Jeno answered, his casual speech making him lore suspicious. And Taeyong who saw the tiniest details knew Jeno was giving false information.

"I'm just worried about y/n" Jeno admitted, breaking eye contact as he knew Taeyong could look through him. "I knew this would happen, that's why we don't have girlfriends," Taeyong said, though the tone he said it in didn't match the words, it was sounding more caring than the words truly were. "She didn't reply to my text earlier. It's been over an hour, almost two hours, and she still didn't reply" Jeno continued off where he left earlier, leaving Taeyong’s words in the dark.

"And why are you so worried? Usually, you're too busy to even notice she didn't answer." Taeyong stated, his eyes narrowing as he needed Jeno to specifically tell him what was going on behind the scenes. Perhaps he knew what was going on, but preferred to hear it from Jeno's lips instead.

"because someone sent me a picture of her while she was outside."

ɹǝıʌ

"So you're not staying the night?" You asked Jeno just to be sure, but the way he was preparing his gun didn't make it seem like he would stay the night. Your eyes picked up how he shook his head in response, his lips pursed not to spill more secrets about the contract he had signed for tonight. You would be the one killing him if you heard he was going to kill someone who had two young kids and still half of his life to live. You just didn't understand his job, which was the reason talks about that were nonexistent.

You nodded in response to his little signal, your phone clutched in your hand as you tried to hide a bit of the frustration. Fighting about this wasn't common, but arguments were as for him it was just a delete button that he had to press, while you saw it as killing real humans who had something to live for.

"And I'm going out with Dream after that" Jeno said quickly as he looked up at you, hoping that part would make you smile a bit. And to his surprise, that smile appeared on your lips. "Finally some time for yourself" you commented just as he expected you to. For some reason you always liked to see him doing his own things: going out with his friends, exercising because he loved doing so, going outside without a gun hidden behind his zipped up jacket.

You stood up and let out a silent sigh as you stepped towards your boyfriend. Once he was close enough, your arms wrapped around his body from behind, engulfing his body as you wished he would be safe tonight. "Be safe" you whispered, your nose pressed against his shirt to take in his homely scent.

"Always," Jeno said, his hand brushing over yours as they connected on his stomach. He noticed your smaller fingers under his, his hands standing out more due to the veins and the silver ring around his finger. As a promise he would be safe and come back to you, he slipped the thick band from his finger onto yours. "See if as a promise for now," he said, his body turning towards yours to look into your eyes. You looked surprised, still tense but he could also see a bit of relief upon your face. "You should take my necklace as a piece of good luck," you said, your hands reaching behind your neck to unclasp the piece of jewelry. Once you removed it from yourself, you carefully put it on on him.

"I love you" he whispered as he smiled, the relief you had on your face, reflecting onto his as well. He was more worried about you than himself: even if he stood at a bigger risk to get killed in the mission. "I love you too," you said back with a smile, your hands resting behind his neck where you just clasped the necklace.

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your lips, showing you indeed how much he loved you. His arms snaking around your body to hold you close: the fear of losing you still played in the back of his mind even though this time he had managed to hide it well from you.

"I should go now, I still have to get to the hideout and get the others" Jeno whispered against your soft lips, hesitating as he was trying to pull away but the warmth kept his lips glued against yours for a few seconds.

It wasn't him who eventually pulled away as you did, leaving his lips completely after one last peck. "You really should" you whispered as your body separated from his, the lack of warmth making you wrap your arms around yourself. Jeno nodded in agreement, knowing if he didn't leave now, the mission could go horribly wrong even if it was only a few minutes late.

"you don't need to tell me to be safe, I already know," he said with a small smirk on his lips, knowing you wanted to tell him those words once again. You let out a small laugh, your boyfriend knew you a little bit too well. "Still, be safe. And have fun with the boys later" you said, a soft and calm smile on your lips as you tried not to worry too much about your boyfriend... Even if he a part of the best gangs and contract killers, that didn't mean others couldn't make him a victim.

His hand brushed over yours as he walked past you, his presence leaving out of the door as soon as his body did as well.

The fortune-teller in your minds was right, troubles were on the way, even if you hadn't believed now. You would be a believer by the end of the day.

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

Jeno held the old-fashioned glass with liquor in one hand, the ice cubes within it making a slight ringing sound as the glass was moved towards his lips again.

"Does it take that long to clean up?" Renjun asked with a deep sigh as he glanced at the entrance, waiting until the door opened and the two youngest dream members walked in. But nothing seemed to happen, even if they had been waiting for half an hour already. "Jisung might have gone home, he can't drink anyway" Jaemin answered, an oversized wine glass standing in front of him which made the red liquid cover a part of his face.

Jeno didn't answer as he kept on glancing at the bar, his eyes on the man who seemed to sit there and enjoy his drink alone. "who is he?" Jaemin asked curiously as he tried to catch a glimpse of the man's face. Even though Jeno didn't come alone, he stood up, took his glass, and looked apologetically to his friends. "I have to talk to him, we just know each other," he told Jaemin who didn't seem satisfied with the boring answer.

Jeno went over to the bar and placed his glass down, catching the eyes of the man by just his manner of doing so. "Jeno," the man said with a slight smile on his lips, welcoming Jeno to sit next to him and talk for a little while. "Didn't expect to see you here. You dropped out before we knew it" Jeno said soft, his hand resting under his head in an attempt to look more interested than curious about the ex trainee.

"I wanted to make it alone in the world. More money for myself, fewer chances of getting caught." The man said, his wise words leaving an impression on Jeno even though he wasn't planning on leaving NCT just to get more money. "How about you? Are you still part of NCT?" He asked but already guessed the answer as he remembered Jaemin and Renjun from the few times they had seen each other while training.

"I am. I think I found my place there" Jeno answered with a smile, it felt sentimental to smile while thinking about his group of friends even though they were killers and did other things that no one was supposed to do. "You seem like you belong there, NCT is getting big. You deserve to be a part of it" He answered, his hand loving to Jeno's back to give it a little supportive pat.

Jeno's eyes shifted to the entrance as the door opened again, revealing not only Jisung and Chenle but also the other sixteen members. "I should go," he said to the man as he quickly got up, not wanting to be guilty of talking to someone else who did the same as him. He stood up but instead of going to his friends, he first went to the back of the club to try and call you.

His fingers were quick to find your contact within the list as the amount people that he saw outside of his gang were limited as well. The sight of your contact name already made a smile appear on his lips, he was just in love with you.

The beeping tone made him expect that it would last no longer than a few seconds. At this time of the night, you probably weren't asleep yet, in fact, you were probably waiting for his call. It was like a routine built up for nights when he wasn't going to be around you and yet when he wanted to update you.

"y/n?" He asked as he heard his line being connected to yours, the smile on his lips already prepared for what you were about to say. Slowly the corners of his lips tired themselves out when silence was his only reply.

Jeno repeated your name once again, the phone pressed tightly against his ear like that would make him hear the silence better. "Hello? y/n?" He asked, this time louder in case you hadn't realized you were on the phone with him.

Without realizing, he swallowed away the worries that collected in his throat. His heart seemed to beat slightly faster and out of slight panic, his fingertips quickly made an end to the one-way conversation. Yet, he kept the phone in his hand just in case you would call him back right away, or just to call your number again within a short time.

His feet to him back to the bar as he saw his glass still as filled as before, though, not awaiting for him as much as an unfamiliar black envelope did. The young man he had talked with minutes ago was gone as he had never been there, or like he had been replaced by the envelope.

Jeno's hands were curious and grasped the clasp envelope from the bar and between his two fingers, scanning the paper case for a handwritten message or name. Though only the black color greeted him from every angle possible. It didn't take long before the flap was undone from its glue and opened up.

Nervously his hand stuck inside the paper wrapper, gripping onto anything that his fingers could sense. He felt tense as his hand slowly revealed itself again with all of the collected documentation.

A picture was flipped between his fingers, his eyes unprepared for the image that was burned on the retina just seconds later.

"y/n" he whispered quietly as he stared at the picture of you. Jeno's eyes went over every little detail of the picture: your eyes closed but not entirely, your hands that weren't in the picture but from the angle of your arms they weren't really placed comfortably and your knees that were pulled up towards your chest like you were freezing. Something definitely was wrong.

Wildly Jeno began to look around in the club, searching for the culprit as the envelope couldn't have flown itself to here. His eyes began to examine all of the people around: the members who seemed all occupied in their own thing, a small group of girls who were just having a drink, the people on the dance floor acting drunker than they actually were. But where was the barman? Jeno was about to suspect him until he saw the man return with a few bottles of champagne.

The other documents in the envelope were forgotten as he went to his group, more specifically, Taeyong as he would know what to do. The urge to not say anything and go straight to your apartment overpowered him: anyone was a suspect, even his best friends.

Rational thinking didn't seem to pop up into his mind, straight away leaving the place together with the evidence. Even though he came with the others, he was stupid enough to run all the way to your apartment.

His veins were filled with dynamite

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

Steganography

A message within a file, that was what Jeno was staring at. The message had been revealed on the back of your picture, or the picture of you. His eyes scanned each syllable slowly even though, together they would form words that would turn into sentences once they were put together.

Invisible ink. Just those two words didn't sit well with him, and then he wasn't even thinking about the odd fragrance that was now stuck to the picture. Did he ever use invisible ink? No, but he knew people who used it. And those people were a little too close to him.

"It's do or die."

Jeno mumbled as he read out the words, staring at the unfamiliar handwriting until something else caught his eye. In the right corner of the picture was an address written, together with a very specific time. The place he knew all too well: another dark alley between a couple of houses that were open for rent, but no one was willing to live there because it was infamous to be a dealing place or even worse than that.

The words on the back of the picture slowly turned invisible again, so slow that Jeno didn't even notice how they faded before completely disappearing. He didn't need to see them again: it was printed in his mind like the image of his first kiss with you.

He turned his wrist and checked the time, mentally checking if it was close to the time that had been asked of him. "Shit" he silently cursed when he saw that in fact, there were only a few minutes left before he was supposed to be at the given address. Without thinking twice, he bolted from your apartment and started to run the way to the alley, hoping he would get to meet the person who had you captured, but wished it was you who just tried to pull a prank on him together with one of his members.

Though his wish wasn't granted, he didn't need a genie to tell him the wish he made was impossible, he knew it as soon as he stood in the middle of the alley, being over five minutes later than planned. It didn't feel like you could be there, this probably was one of the places you wouldn't even go because you knew what went on once innocent people found themselves in the midst of the gangs.

Silent footsteps made Jeno want to turn around, getting tense at the thought of someone being behind him. His fingertips reached behind his jacket, merely touching the grip of the gun but was interrupted by someone roughly pushing him forward against the brick wall.

Jeno's breathing sped up, perhaps a bit of fear jolted through his body and made his hands tremble so much that the light grip he had on his gun turned into non-existent. Out of habit, his head slightly turned to look behind him but as a result, his head was pushed against the wall roughly.

"where is y/n!" Jeno said loudly, his voice breaking the wince he was about to let out after getting his head bumped against the wall. The sound of a gun cocking made Jeno's eyes get darker, and just like he expected, the cold object was placed against the side of his head in order to keep him still. He was focused on that and that only, wanting to hear every little sound so that he could defend himself when things got out of hand.

Once more his head got pushed against the wall, his forehead falling to the side after it came in painful contact with the stone wall. It was like the world stopped spinning for a while, but once it did, he could hear footsteps running further from him.

His hand instinctively went to his forehead, soothing the possible wound in rough rubs before he turned his body around. Relief washed over him for a mere amount of seconds, until the real realization seemed to hit him: he still didn't have you in his arms, nor did he know who actually led him here. While continuing to rub rough circles over his forehead, his body bent over the lying black envelope. Once again the envelope greeted him without name written on top of it.

His bloody hand was quick to open the new piece of evidence or a new clue towards you, shaking the envelope upside down until its contents fell to the ground. A bundle of A4 papers faced him: more specifically a file that looked similar to how Taeyong received files of those they had to delete off of the world.

The handwritten text over the file screamed out his name before the picture did, the message was clear enough without the picture, and Jeno was willing to comply.

"Kill the informant"

ɟun̤ɟ

The sound suppressor attached to the muzzle of Jeno's pistol faded out most of the noise as a bullet was shot through the informant's skull. Blood spattered against the half-open window but left some small evidence upon Jeno's black coat.

He pulled his gun back as soon as he had reached it a few seconds ago, hiding it behind the long coat that was already in possession of a half confession. His eyes went to the man once more and the heap of files that were waiting on the seat next to him, minus the file Taeyong had taken with him when he left the place a few minutes ago.

A new mission for NCT, perhaps the last one now that Jeno had pressed a delete button in front of the informant's eyes. But he didn't care about that fact: he followed the path of the person who had you and didn't care how different that path was from the path he wanted to follow. Any path where you were on, was the path he would walk on too.

He stepped away from the car and left the place delict, no time for cleaning up messes as Taeyong would have made him do, no one would find out it was him. The man had more enemies than clients, and those clients were left in a dark hole while enemies were on a lovely display. His eyes went from left to right to check the surroundings, walking out in the open street once he saw no one else was around.

His hands were kept in his pocket before it was the two little devils that made people suspect him of unclean actions. He unknowingly wiped the bit of blood in the inside of his pockets, making the little hiding place feel uncomfortably moist and his hands perhaps bloodier than they had been before he put them there.

The walk to the hideout was longer than Taeyong's car ride, of course, as Taeyong drove past the speed limit. Wasn't fast driving a privilege of being a gang member too? Probably not but there was no reason he would keep the speed to its original limit at midnight. If he had known Jeno would be behind him, he would have given the younger member a ride, but that was the secrecy in friendship. No one needed to know Jeno was behind the murder of the informant and no one needed to know that Jeno was on the hunt for you.

"Jeno is back from his girlfriend. Did you get laid again, lucky boy?" Ten teased as soon as he saw who walked inside, it wasn't hard to guess as only one member was missing from the hideout, and as usual, that member was Jeno. Jeno dug his hand deeper into his pocket in an attempt to hide the blood on his hands and sleeves, clenching his fist in anger when Ten started his endless teasing.

No one could do it like Ten, sure Haechan was the biggest brat out of them, but there was no one as manipulatively teasing as Ten. The sweet smile he carried on his lips while he was at it made people want to punch him straight into the face, but it's what the boy did best. "I didn't," he said, holding himself back from saying that he hadn't been around you since you'd been kidnapped, but he wisely shut his mouth before the tea boiled over the pot.

"Admit that you did. You're such a pussy" Ten shot back and rolled his eyes, a laugh escaping from his lips as he seemed to see a flustered look in Jeno's eyes. Protective sub-leader Kun gave Ten a shove against the shoulder in order to stop the Thai man from provoking even more "stop it" he whisper-yelled although it was loud enough for Jeno to catch the words from a distance.

Jeno looked away, missing one last smirk that Ten gave him. He was about to go to the room he had for himself in the hideout, luckily he was the one who didn't have to share a room as his roommates would have easily found out what happened behind their backs.

"Meeting time" Taeyong announced right before Jeno was about to walk away from the others. A fake hum left his lips as Jeno turned around again to face his group. "Can I change first, I've been running from y/n's place to here and I'm sweaty" he said, making up the excuse without thinking twice about the unathletically long coat that covered his body, and the fact that there was no droplet of sweat running down his defined facial features.

"An hour. You all get an hour and now stop complaining" Taeyong answered unexpectedly, making Jeno get away with the lies he told and he wasn't planning on waiting another few seconds so that Taeyong could realize the lies. He went to his room at a fast pace, his hands urging to take off the coat before he even entered his room.

The bedroom door closed behind Jeno, shielding him in his own little cocoon for a maximum of sixty minutes. His mind ran overtime while Jeno tried to empty it from all thoughts: his layers of clothes getting taken off like a book revealing all of its secrets.

The blood-covered coat got its original spot back in his closet but with rolled-up sleeves, and the gun back in his drawer where he would always keep a gun out of safety. Despite it being after midnight, the reflection of the mirror picked up how he changed into a pair of black jeans and a white shirt. So formal for no one and nothing.

He picked up his phone from the bed before sitting on the spot where his phone lied before. His fingerprint unlocked his device so that his eyes didn't have to stare at the picture of you and him for too long, he didn't want to be reminded of the fact that he wasn't able to protect you. Even though he didn't want that, he found himself scrolling through heaps of collected messages to and from you.

Text messages that had been keeping souvenirs alive from even before you disappeared: messages that had been kept into his phone for months, messages that he would read whenever he felt down but couldn't reach out to you. Each time he scrolled past a sugary sweet message, he smiled at the memory of even sweeter memories with you.

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

Jeno brought his hand up to his eyes as soon as the feeling of being awake brought him back to reality. A cold but painful material scraping over his skin as he was in the process of rubbing his eyes, which made him pull away and open his eyes faster than the light allowed him to adjust to the new situation.

He opened the palm of his hand, still a little drowsy from the abrupt awakening, making something fall from his hand and onto his lap.  A silver necklace chain leading the trail to the charm of your necklace and his ring dangling from it as well.

His fingers tightened around the silver, lifting it in the air to examine it. His eyes soon enough fell to the charm that had been yours until you gave it to him as a sign of good luck, he would have smiled at the memory if it weren't for the ring dangling next to it. The same ring he put on your finger just a little over a day ago.

As the band twisted itself around the chain, Jeno's eyes continued following each little movement it created. He could clearly remember the way he slid it onto your finger like he would when he proposed, he could even remember how he said something about a promise.

The tight grip became a clenched fist as realization seemed to spread through his body, eyes never tearing away from the necklace. Looking at it wouldn't give him an answer to the simple question in his mind, but at least he received a hint. The hint that would open a new path towards you: and he was going through every little obstacle to get to you.

His fingertips began to thread around the little chain, consuming it within his first until only the little clasp was left to see. He could feel the charm leaving its print in the palm of his hand due to how hard he was squeezing the material, the pain was nothing compared to anything he had ever felt, but everything was nothing compared to losing you.

"it's one of us," Jeno told himself quietly, knowing very well someone - the culprit - could be listening from outside the door. His footsteps were loud as he approached the door and swung it open rather roughly which made it slam against the plain wall.  The hallway didn't seem as empty as it always had been, perhaps because he knew someone had been in his room the moment he fell asleep.

A hesitant step was made, glancing right, and left to get a better view of the hall. Even though he couldn't see anyone, it was hard to convince himself that no one was here: the others could be in the main space or in their own rooms, perhaps even out of the house. But out or not: it was one of them.

With forty minutes left before the new mission meeting would start, Jeno dashed from his room to the common room, his head wildly spinning from one side to the other to get a glance of those that were in the room. After a brief glance, he had managed to count all twenty people that needed to be there but still, his eyes weren't able to detect the perpetrator.

"Something wrong?" Jaehyun asked, immediately receiving Jeno's eyes on him. Jaehyun looked as confident as usual, especially with the deck of cards in his hands like he was sure that he would win the game already. Around the same table as him sat Taeil, Mark, Hendery, and Doyoung waiting for the cards to be dealt. "You look as if you've been visited by a ghost" Hendery pointed out, laughing at his own words even though they weren't funny. "Grab a drink and join us, we're not playing for money this round" Taeil said after silencing Hendery's loud laughter by just giving him the slightest slap on his thighs.

Without responding, Jeno used his eyes to go over everyone once more before he turned away and went back in the direction of his room. Not one of them looked like they were capable of kidnapping you but at the same time they all looked like suspects in his eyes: the words Hendery said nearly made it sound as if he had been in the room, and Jaehyun's confident glance gave away a little too much pride. Members who hadn't said anything seemed a little too quiet to be innocent.

Jeno reached to his room again and sat back at the same spot where he found himself falling asleep earlier. The piece of jewelry tightly clutched in his hand as his mind was drifting towards you again, the pretty memories overshadowed by the feeling of betrayal. Twenty possibilities but who was the hidden cynosure?

⋅ ⋅ ⋅ (this involves a listing system with flashbacks so don't read if you don't want to)

Taeyong and Ten "It would be better if I was the leader," Ten said to Taeyong, a smirk on his lips as the younger boy provoked even more by sitting on top of the desk. His fingertips lingering over a couple of files that laid around, hoping to get burned before anyone would see them. "I don't think so, you'd kill one of us" Taeyong answered Ten, not caring if the words were straightforward, everyone knew it was the truth. Ten could kill either of them for the leading position, but in reality, all of them would. "At least I wouldn't withhold money as you do, Taeyong"

Taeil "I get the first shot, I'm the oldest" Taeil announced as shots were being poured into the tiny glasses, more than half of it spilling past the mini-glasses but everyone seemed to blind to notice. "So that's one of the benefits of being the oldest?" Xiaojun asked in a rather playful way, though was not prepared to receive the attention of a pair of serious eyes. "If you'd only know my benefits, you'd feel poor."

Johnny, Jaehyun, and Mark "Do you think we should mislead him?" Mark asked with a tiny devilish laugh as he looked at Doyoung in the distance. Jaehyun's half-smirk didn't disappoint, showing off his sweet dimples but the smirk was what made it mischievous "I think we should" he said to Mark but looked at Johnny. Johnny twirled the car keys around his finger while he listened, of course, he was willing to mislead Doyoung, anything so that it wasn't him who had to clean up the blood. "Get out. We're leaving."

Yuta "Do whatever you want, I don't want to be a part of this" Yuta said as he raised his hands, instead of surrender it was a sign of how he wasn't going to participate anymore. The body of a man who wasn't meant to be killed hanging over the table as his last breath had been let out minutes ago. Some furiously began to clean up the mess in order not to get caught, but Yuta only watched as everyone worried. He sat on his knees, picking up some fallen money and shoved them into his pocket behind everyone's back.

Kun and Renjun "Tell my parents that I'm dead," Renjun told Kun, his expression staying blank as he said the words. Kun shook his head almost right away, sighing in disappointment. "Why would I do that?" Kun asked, glancing around the room to see if anyone was around, no one seemed to be around but walls still had ears. "They have been calling me non-stop and they don't need to know I like killing people for a living!" Renjun exclaimed, nearly showing his phone to the older member but stopped himself as he didn't want to give too much private information. "You shouldn't like killing people, Renjun" Kun said, trying to keep his voice down as the light footsteps seemed to come closer to them. "You shouldn't either, yet you did it for fun before joining us, right?"

Doyoung, Jaemin, and Haechan How was it that Taeyong's office was opened in the early hours of the morning? Did he leave it behind like that after he drank too much and forgot about the secrets that he was supposed to keep? "Look at the money" Jaemin whispered as he pulled Haechan inside of the office without hesitation, the pink-haired boy saw no problem in going inside to take the money. "Doyoung?" Haechan asked with a smirk as he saw an older member being nosy, or more than that, taking the bills of money out of the desk drawers. "Aren't you supposed to share with us?" Haechan asked, faking more interest while he looked at Jaemin with a slight smirk. Caught in the act. "Aren't you supposed to be in bed, nosy kids?"

Winwin The gunshot made everyone in the scene look up, but Winwin didn't seem to catch their eyes, his attention was on the prey and the prey only. The young man that was barely older than him limping in any way that was free to go, but a hunter wouldn't let his prey escape, right? Another gunshot filled the silence of the room, blood splashing right before the man's body hit the dirty ground. "Winwin, stop," someone told him, but Winwin had no intention of stopping himself. He went up to his victim, kicking against his body before the third gunshot left its mark on the man's forehead.

Jungwoo and Jisung "How are we supposed to set this up, Jungwoo!" Jisung screamed worriedly as he looked at the scene in front of him. Used bullets covering the floor but no victim in sight, simply because the victim no longer was a victim after he ran from the scene. "I don't know, just make fake blood and tell Taeyong he's been killed!" Jungwoo said, his voice filled with worry but also disappointment in himself. Jisung was about to speak and tell Jungwoo it was an impossible idea, but before he could even start, Jungwoo had already laid a new idea upon the table "we'll just kill someone else"

Lucas and Yangyang "We could easily disappear now" Yangyang whisper-yelled to the other WayV member, the hideout quieter than ever before as they were the ones who stayed there to lead everything and watch over from their position at home. "And what? Let the others get killed in this mission and have no money. The one who survives will hunt us down" Lucas said back, trying to make Yangyang change his mind. Though the youngster was hard to convince when the genius ideas took up a certain amount of space in his brain. "Don't say you don't want to. You kill everyone and I take the money" Yangyang said, licking his lip as if the thought only made him horny. "How about you kill everyone and I take the money" Lucas answered.

Xiaojun and Chenle "Let's burn down these files," Chenle said as he collected all of the papers that he found, all files of people who had already been robbed from their existence in this life. Xiaojun gave Chenle a look and got up from the chair "hang on, I have something else that needs to get burned" he said as he quickly ran to his room, took the object he wanted erased and returned. A couple of minutes later the two of them stood by the fire, watching evidence burn. "So what did you throw in there? Chenle asked, curiosity taking him over. "Invisible ink, needed it once or twice" Xiaojun answered casually.

Hendery Hendery's gun was aimed at Ten, or more specifically at his head like he was about to end the man's career before it even reached its climax. "Do you wanna die?" he asked, his finger on the trigger which made Ten reach his hands up in surrender. The power that Hendery felt made him spin some degrees to end up at another possible victim "do you wanna die, hm?" he asked Mark, a maniacal laugh slipping past his lips as he was unable to hold himself back. Power was a great thing, was it not?

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

"So in front of you, you will be able to see the new mission," Taeyong said as he motioned to the papers in front of every member, laid out unlike usual which made Jeno glance from bundle to bundle just to see if his was any different from the others.

Before falling out of tone, he held up the bundle of papers just like the others. He pretended to be interested in what he was reading, but his eyes not once read the text that was typed down in black syllables. Another sense of his was working hard on its job, despite the fact that it had to be hidden.

Invisible ink. Or at least the scent of invisible ink imprinted on the last page of the little bundle, probably the last page as it drew less attention than on the first one.

Everything Taeyong said went in one ear and came out of the other one, but this time Jeno was smart enough to sometimes reply with a hum, yes or no. From what he understood: there were no people that stayed at the hideout, no one to clean up the mission as it was too serious to waste time or leave members. A lot of money was promised, but only if the mission went exactly like it had been asked of them.

"When is the mission?" He heard Winwin ask Taeyong, the blonde-haired boy already mentally preparing for the fun he would have. Though at this moment it wasn't Winwin that Jeno suspected, suspect number one carried a different name.

Xiao Dejun

Why was Xiaojun his first suspect? Because he had seen Xiaojun burning the bottle of invisible ink together with Chenle. But Chenle didn't matter in the story as he hadn't been the one saying he used the bottle of invisible ink.

Jeno glanced at Xiaojun from time to time, each time his eyes got darker as he felt his heart beating faster. Luckily Xiaojun was too busy with pretending to listen to their leader, pretending, just like he seemed to pretend to be everyone's friend while he was the devil in disguise.

"Tomorrow," Taeyong said shortly, since it was included in the file and Taeyong wasn't the type to waste his time answering stupid questions. "But leave. I don't want to see any of you in this room, I have things to take care of" he said, urging everyone out by using his strict voice.

Without holding himself back, Jeno stood up from the chair and disappeared from the eyes of the others. The file was tightly gripped between his fingers, not noticing how he was crumpling the paper out of anger. Footsteps and voices followed behind him: he could recognize Lucas speaking Chinese to Hendery but had no idea what they were telling each other.

He quickly opened the door to his room, and as fast as possible slammed it shut once he was inside. It was as if outside his room a war was going on: all suspects but no one who dared to admit their deeds, despite doing it for a living pretty much. His mind traveled further, to the point where he started to imagine all twenty members being against him and coming up with the plan to kidnap you. Though, he still had some trust in a few of them… his dream team belonging to those few.

A couple of minutes later, Jeno found himself in his bedroom, reading the message that had been written over the last page of the bundle. It was faint but Jeno could see it clearer than it actually was. The set of numbers was not just a set or a code to decipher, it was a phone number presented to him. It had the same amount of numbers as a phone number and started with the right combination to belong to the country.

Jeno dropped the papers on the bed and frantically began to look for his phone. The sheets on the bed getting messier with each rough roam his hand did around the limited space. "Fuck" he cursed silently as he remembered, and not a second after, fished his phone out of his back pocket.

The faint number had stopped showing itself but Jeno needed no reminder, his memory was still fresh despite the many thoughts ghosting through his mind. His fingertips pressed each digit carefully, almost making sure that there was no chance to make a mistake in the phone number. Lastly, his finger hit the call button before he tightly pressed the phone against his ear.

"…Jeno"

Your voice made Jeno sit up straight even though in nervousness, he stood up from the bed, ready to come and get you wherever you were at this moment. He nearly forgot that you were kidnapped and unable to randomly leave whenever you wanted, even though, it had never been confirmed someone kidnapped you.

"y/n, it's me, Jeno" he whispered into the phone, using his second hand to shield over the phone. One of his feet kept on turning from left to right as the bundle of nerves in his stomach was slowly getting bigger, it was already a good thing it couldn't explode.

He listened to your breathing while you listened to the sound of his voice and cherished it for the shortest seconds in your lifetime. "Jeno, I'm sorry" you whispered silently into the phone, it seemed like you were close to the phone one second but further away from it the next, so, Jeno could guess that you were shaking and unable to control your voice. "Don't be sorry y/n, you're going to be fine. I'm going to come and get you once I figure out where you are" he said to you, trying to calm his voice so that you would calm down as well.

"You have to do something for me. There's a mission" you said to his surprise, another mission, the sound of that only made him more nervous as there were once again chances that he would fail. No one told him what it meant if they failed, but there was that little ugly spark that told him exactly what would happen if he did. "What is it?" he asked, taking a deep breath to prepare himself.

"You have to…." you started but halted before you said anything more, the words getting stuck at the tip of your tongue. You wanted to say them but you could feel the guilt washing over yourself before you were even able to pronounce the name of the person that would be dead within days. "You have to kill Taeyong."

Jeno swallowed thickly when he heard what mission number two would involve. His ears heard it right as the voice in his mind was able to repeat the words over and over again until the name Taeyong would no longer exist in his mind. "Taeyong?" he asked you softly, keeping his voice as quiet as possible just in case someone was listening from the next room or just out the door. Perhaps Taeyong was the kidnapper and just wanted to see who Jeno would choose for at the end of the story.

You let out a soft noise as a sign he was right when he said Taeyong. Jeno knew you were selfless enough to think that they should kill you instead of Taeyong, but also knew you deserved another chance to live which was why you didn't tell him to choose Taeyong.

"Who did this y/n? You have to tell me everything you know" Jeno asked, he had no idea if his previous guesses were genuine. By now, he had already suspected everyone at least once, but he couldn't put the label on when he couldn't even guess properly who was capable of doing something like that. "D-did you hear me wrong?! I said kill Taeyong, not Taeil, not Jaehyun. Between. Between now and tomorrow" your voice stuttered over each word that passed your lips, clearly, this wasn't your original message.

Jeno was quiet for a little while, to let the words sink in, yet, he couldn't help but hear footsteps on your side of the line. The shaky breaths you let out against the phone, making it clear someone was around you, and that someone was monitoring your words. "Between?" he asked silently, praying the speaker wasn't on so that it was only you who heard him instead of one of the twenty possible options he had in his head. "Exactly," you said back to him, almost letting out a sigh of relief when your hint had been successfully delivered to him.

"Listen to me y/n. I will get you out of there, I will do anything to save you" Jeno said in a softer voice, knowing now that the message had been delivered, there wasn't much time left for you to talk to him. He wanted to continue speaking to you for hours, but he was wise enough to know how time was money, and in this case, time was a bigger chance to lose focus and get caught. "Be safe" you whispered soft, tears were streaming down your cheeks as a gun was placed against the side of your head, it cost you a lot to not scream and get killed that second.

"Always" Jeno whispered back into the phone, hearing how you were crying silently from the way you said the words. He wished he could embrace you and tell you that all was over, or better, that all had been a bad dream. Though he could pinch his skin over and over again, and open his eyes in the same dimension. His mouth opened to speak again, but the abrupt beeping tone made him close it again.

Not Taeil, not Jaehyun.

Between.

Suspect count: six

sɥɔǝs

4:59 am

A sleepless night and yet Jeno found himself being filled to the brim with adrenaline and nerves, more than energetic, he was left restless after what happened some hours ago.

Jeno would lie if he said that his mind had ever stopped producing thoughts in the past hours, the thoughts only doubled themselves until he went over every possible suspect and worked out a fitting theory for them. But outside of the possible suspects, there was also the fact he was going to shoot a bullet through the skull of the person that gave him a new chance in life. Lee Taeyong.

He forgot for a moment between his six suspects, there was also the leader he was so fond of, that exact same person that gave him his life here. If he killed Taeyong, what was going to happen to NCT? What would happen to each one of them? They were nothing without Taeyong, despite WayV leader Kun's presence.

His thoughts momentarily got killed when the office door opened and after a second was slammed shut once again. What followed after were Taeyong's footsteps going through the common room and towards the door that led outside, darkness out the hideout made his plan entirely possible right now.

Jeno was silent enough as he followed behind Taeyong, knowing the older male wouldn't have one single idea that someone was keeping up with the pace of his footsteps. The walk outside began to get darker with each step further from the hideout: darker because of what was going to happen but at the end of the tunnel, there was a light that would lead Jeno to find you again.

The thought of finding you seemed to speed up the pace of his footsteps, or perhaps it was because he saw Taeyong sneaking between a small street that had old buildings on either side. The dark figure of Taeyong was still easy for Jeno to recognize, though easy to recognize didn't make him an easy target. Together with Ten, Taeyong was one of the better people in his profession, followed up by Jisung who had the skills but had too much of a soft heart to eliminate people from the earth.

A tiny grin was hidden on Taeyong's lips, his tongue running past his lower lip as the sudden catch and shoot game revolved around him as the head character. How did he figure out Jeno was behind him? Simple. There had been twenty pairs of shoes at the door whilst no one had left the house, and then again, which loser that wanted to play a game like this left the light in the common room on at that hour of the day?

Taeyong's feet quickened once again, the straight street making it easier for him to get lost in the darkness like he was an almost invisible shadow on the cold ground. Not even two meters away was his little game buddy: nearly like they were sitting next to each other in the PC room, two different views in one single game.

Though Jeno was left one step behind as the narrow street no longer seemed to give him little hints on where Taeyong was, absorbed in the darkness which almost made it seem as if he was alone here if it weren't for the strong presence that Taeyong left behind wherever he went.

Jeno quickly moved further into the little path he knew Taeyong followed, a mix of emotions filling his heart but no space to let it out in this narrow place. His fingertips wrapped around the gun that he had been hiding in his coat pocket, and with one little finger flick, the safety barrier was now turned off. His only worry: where was Taeyong?

"What game are we playing, Jeno?"

Two pairs of footsteps came to halt right at the same moment, a crossover making it seem like two cars wanting to go over the intersection at the same time, and neither of them were playing it fair.

Jeno thickly tried to swallow away the bundle of nerves he had, his hands gripping tighter in the pocket of his coat, his index finger on the trigger as still, he was prepared to play the game until he made it to the finish.

"I don't think we're playing here," Jeno said as he slapped away Taeyong's hand that was dangerously close to his shoulder. Though his hand retrieved as soon as a sharp object came in contact with the tender skin, the cold metal only meant one thing: a knife.

Jeno slowly turned his head to the right to see Taeyong standing there, the knife in his hand paying a little bit too much attention to the exposed bit of skin on his collarbone. "That was still tolerable for a first hit, right?" Taeyong asked, the grin on his face never disappearing. Jeno had to keep in a wince: feeling the blood seep from his hand onto the ground, the contrast of the warm blood running over his cold fingers only made his head spin more.  "I don't think you know what tolerable is, how would you know? You kill people for a living" pushed past his lips, mentally hitting himself in the face to keep him from getting distraught by the thought of you or the wound on his hand.

"And you do? If I'm correct you're the one who came with a plan to kill y/n's ex and never told her about that dirty little secret. I bet guilt never tasted as sweet as when the bullet hit his non-existent heart" Taeyong pointed out, his tongue running over his teeth as he was trying to make his words more intense. Now that Taeyong said the words, Jeno felt the bittersweet lies on the tip of his tongue. The only gunshots that were memorable to him, combined with the facial expressions of your ex as soon as he knew his end was near, the way he didn't smile in the end which only brought more peace to Jeno's mind at that time. "I didn't kill him for the laughs, I did it for y/n" he protested before Taeyong could continue to dig into the past, a past where there were more truths than lies, at least that was when Taeyong did the digging. "Ah, I get it. You did it for the money so that you could buy y/n the necklace, paid by the money of her ex… You're right, that's real love"

Jeno's hand moved as he tightly gripped the gun and pulled it from his pocket. "I'm sorry Taeyong, I'm going to eliminate you," he said, his words faster than his actions as his finger managed to quiver over the trigger whilst he brought the gun up towards his leader. A loud laugh left Taeyong's lips, the heel of the knife hitting against the gun as a sign there was no way the gun was going to get unloaded by the end of the little game. "Why is that? Out of all twenty possibilities, you choose me?" he asked a little more seriously than before.

The tip of the knife pushed against Jeno's exposed collarbone, drilling into the skin before the younger male had a chance to stop his leader. "Say it" Taeyong spat out, his eyes getting wider as he saw a wound under the tip of the knife. The cold caress wasn't going to end anytime soon if Jeno kept his lips pursed like that. "I'm going this for y/n," Jeno said, his lips no longer pursed which made a wince leave his lips before he could stop himself. Why did this hurt more than getting shot by the enemy?

"True, I nearly forgot, that makes it tolerable"

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

Unknown [ 9 : 42 pm ] : failed

Jeno's eyes were greeted with the six lettered word on his iPhone display, after exactly fifteen seconds the word said goodbye and faded out on the screen. The tight grip on his phone seemed to fade along with the brightness until the little device made a soft landing on his lap.

He ran his fingertips through his black hair, all possible scenarios colliding in his mind, but there was no conclusion to take at the end of the day.

After the early encounter with Taeyong, his suspect count had gone down to five. There was no way Taeyong could be a suspect: who would ask to get killed by a younger person, especially the leader of the gang. It was like he scribbled over Taeyong's name in his mind and didn't bother looking at the scribbles once more.

Without realizing, his fingertips went up to his neck, ignoring the plaster-covered wound on his collarbone as he delicately touched the necklace around his neck.

His fingertips caressed over the little charm dangling from the silver chain, feeling the initials of your name but also his own name at the back of it. Love gifted to you with money from your ex-boyfriend, he no longer could deny Taeyong was wrong when he said those words earlier.

Next to the chain was the ring he had given you with a promise, his own ring as it didn't feel like you. It felt like his ring, that he simply gave to you together with a promise he couldn't keep. His finger slid between the silver but pulled back before it could steadily test around his finger.

Unknown [ 10 : 08 pm ] : immediately

The phone lit up again as soon as the same number sent another text to Jeno's number. This time Jeno didn't hold the phone in his hand while reading it, from his lap, he had an excellent view over the text even though he didn't want to see it.

Before the standard fifteen seconds were over, his phone's brightness decided to stay together with a new message addressed towards him. This time more than one word, more than just stupid pieces that didn't bring him closer to you.

An address.

Jeno glanced at the time on his phone and let out a sigh as he realized this was the moment he had to choose: D-day which basically was a mission where a lot of money was involved together with the entire team, or saving you from the hands of one of those teammates. How was he even meeting up with one of them when not even in an hour, they had to be at a completely different location for the endgame.

He stood up from the bed and immediately started to collect a heap of objects he could possibly use in this momentum. A gun without silencer as he was done with little games, his phone just in case he would receive more hints than just the address, and of course his usual coat that would somehow have to replace a bulletproof vest.

Cynosure

His footsteps were loud as he ran from his room into the common room, barely put on his combat boots, and with a loud slam left the hideout.

He didn't even notice how his team members had been staring at him as if he was a fool, but no one was willing to help a fool. Though rather than not willing, it was the case of not being able to as Jeno hadn't shared the context with anyone.

The person who knew the most was walking amongst them, and surely that person wasn't lenient enough to help him.

"Where is he going?" Jungwoo asked as he sipped from his late-night coffee, knowing there was not one chance to yawn during the upcoming hours. The sweet taste of sugar in coffee made him blind to the bitter situation his younger member found himself in. A dart was thrown between Jungwoo and Doyoung who was about to reply, hitting the board with a light thud. "Going to y/n, get some dick before we get our victory," Haechan said as a giggle pushed past his lips, eyes never breaking contact with the dart that found itself pinned right in the middle of the board.

"he knows the rule: if he doesn't participate. More money for the rest"

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

The soles of Jeno's shoes seemed to get worn out a lot faster than usual, these days he seemed to live in the black pair of combat boots. But today they felt exceptionally worn out compared to yesterday.

The combat boots helped him to run through narrow streets. Streets he had never seen even though he found his way through them with ease. Both left and right seemed to end up in the same streets if it weren't for the little name tags and numbers upon the brick walls of the building.

His footsteps faded out as he tried to pause his running. His breathing deep even though he wasn't out of breath or tired from running. His eyelids covered his brown eyes as he tried to recall the address in his mind, even though he was sure he knew, he wasn't confident in trusting himself.

Silently and without a word, he repeated the address inwardly. Once. Twice. And when he lost count because he was so focused, he knew he could continue with his mission.

He picked up his pace again, needing only a couple of seconds before he was at his maximum speed once again. His eyes wildly drifting to everything suspicious around him: every little letter on white tags and every number next to a door. Wasting time was something he didn't do when the first few letters didn't match with the address in his head, he no longer would spend time on it.

It was like he was running through a maze where every little path ended up somewhere in the middle of nowhere. His feet were finally starting to get tired and painful from the neverending fight against time and a stranger that actually was his teammate.

Jeno ran past another little path, scanning the surroundings rather than the tag that was right in front of his eyes. As soon as he wanted to look in front of him again to continue, his eyes met the name from up close. Two steps passed the little street, his feet came to an abrupt halt.

This was it.

The tip of his shoe was dragged against the ground whilst taking a step back towards the little street to his left. The big two steps from seconds ago, became small and slow steps to make himself more camouflaged in the darkness.

He turned his body to the street before he was able to take his first step towards the new path. The repetitive setting staring at him as he felt like the main character, especially when his eyes didn't meet with any of the suspects.

"I'm here, what do you want from me!?" Jeno shouted loudly as his first step forward happened right in the middle of his sentence. His eyes didn't see anyone around, yet, he had yelled out to anyone willing to hear him.

This time it wasn't him getting stared at, his eyes moving clockwise around his surroundings. The houses that seemed to be evenly abandoned like the others, the shards of glass lying on the ground between the cobblestones, the bags of trash collected against one home which made the smell less than pleasant.

Why was he alone?

After hesitating due to his thoughts for half a minute, he started the path further into the street. The stench of the bags of filth filling his nostrils more and more with each step that he took.

It was like the odor took over more than half of the thoughts in his mind. The thoughts he had disappearing rather than being replaced by other thoughts.

Your fragrance.

Jeno swallowed away the fictitious thoughts until the odor solemnly remained.

His nose attempted to identify the strange mix of scents unknowingly. His footsteps following the progress by taking tiny steps towards the place where the scent was only getting stronger.

A molecule of your fragrance contested with the unfamiliar but unpleasant odor as he got closer to the bags of trash. The stench seemed to lose its battle as Jeno limited himself to the molecule of you around him.

Other senses helped him to find more particles of you: his hands spread in order to feel something in case you were close, his ears ready to focus on the sound of your voice, his eyes moving from spot to spot.

You were the cynosure.

His vision stopped at a low point that seemed to catch his eye due to the little details that didn't match with similar positions. Between the different colored trash bags, he could see a white piece of fabric sticking out slightly.

Kneeling down, Jeno started to investigate the piece of fabric from up close. Luckily the ground managed to keep him steady upon seeing the little droplet splattered on the white fabric.

The droplet of blood on the Virgin-white piece of clothing.

As used as Jeno was to blood and gore, he found himself staring at the wet patch for a couple of seconds. Fragments of time seemed to travel through his mind, taking him to one specific moment.

The time the two of you woke up together, his blood resting between both of you after he got wounded during one of his tasks.

This time, the blood wasn't his.

His fingertips no longer delicately wanted to touch the piece of evidence. Instead, his hands started to roughly move the trash bags out of the way.

His fingers were hurting from the dirt they pushed aside but it didn't stop him from moving the last few to the middle of the street. For some reason, his eyes hadn't seen the slow reveal that happened with the removal of each bag, perhaps because he feared what hid underneath them.

On the other hand, his eyes had no choice but to watch the result unveiled. A lump of air got trapped in his throat when the sight wasn't what he predicted.

Around him, the world continued to spin and he felt dizzy living in that frame of time. Together with the rest of his body, his skin felt numb to the salty tear that fell from his eyes and onto his cheek.

"y/n" Jeno whispered as his hands roughly grabbed your white-clothed shoulders, shaking them which only gave him a fabricated response.

Seconds silently ticked by as Jeno waited, or hoped for a short response to push itself past your lips. His hands remained upon your shoulders as he waited, the grip tightening with each second that ticked by. "y/n c'mon" he nearly begged, the last bit of hope soon making space for grief.

A loud wail left Jeno's lips as you had no response to give. Your lips parted but not one word escaped from them, yet, Jeno continued to stare at them as if you would move them to speak any second.

"I'm so sorry" Jeno whispered through the sobs that left his lips, making the words incomprehensible as they had to make space for his emotions. His hands were no longer tightly attached to your lifeless body, instead, he found his fingertips trembling inches away from your face. Too scared to caress the face he had kissed hundreds of times.

His head hung low, allowing the tears to fall onto the dry ground. A cough left his lips once he managed to catch a glimpse of the large red spot that coated the upper half of your heavenly-white outfit, under the lace he could see how the elegant prints had been colored in by your blood. Despite dry heaving, he held the coughs quiet, giving his cries the full freedom.

Your fingertips that seemingly were holding onto something non-existent were resting in the middle of your lap, placed like an old doll. Jeno took your hand in his, ignoring the liquid that was no dripping between the connection you two had. He brought your hand up to his face, making it rest against his warm cheek as he continued to free his emotions from their cage.

"y/n" Jeno whispered quietly, your fingertip brushing against his upper lip as he quietly moved your fingertips to place them where he would want to feel your love. The way your thumb would move over his upper lip and slowly run over his cupid's bow in the process. His lip pouted merely, pressing a little piece of affection upon your cold skin. "Sorry for not being able to keep the promise" he whispered to you, swallowing as he felt the silver chain of the necklace nearly burning through the pockets of his pants.

He pulled out the little piece of jewelry, staring at it with hatred in his eyes. How could a stupid piece of jewelry ruin his beautiful moment with you? His view changed as he remembered the ring was his promise to you, held in his hand as it gave him a chance to make a new and lasting promise.

"always" Jeno whispered, remembering quite a few times where he had used the word to indicate that he would be safe, and each of those times always took the second meaning that he would come back to you. He detached the ring from the necklace, holding it between his thumb and index finger. Delicately, he slid the ring back onto your finger, sealing the promise with the gesture.

Tears fell from his eyes, cleaning away bits of your blood away from his cheek. Blood could be washed away, but pain couldn't. Around the heart filled with love, a layer of pain had coated itself.

Always.

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

Unknown [ 10 : 58 pm ]  : game over?

Jeno furiously wiped under his swollen eyes as the brightness made him incompetent to read the message that had been sent to him. Though rather than retrieving his eyesight, he got rid of dried-up tears upon his skin.

His eyes read over the two simple words that formed an unneeded question together. In his eyes, it was obvious that the little game had been played, and he was chosen as a first place in being a loser. His game had cost him more than his life was worth, and no matter what price he paid, there was no second chance in which he could prove he deserved to win.

That's when real life and memories started to collide again in his head, not like they did before by ruining him even more, but by realistically telling him there was a mission to finish. D-day was what they called it, and now he realized why it was named that beforehand.

His exhausted pair of feet continued a further unknown trail once more. Silently, he called himself crazy for doing this after what happened, but it felt like a dedication to you... Even though the knife of hope, had already gone through his heart to tell him off.

A couple of minutes after his watch had announced eleven hours passed noon and one hour before midnight, he found himself in the unknown place. The oversized garage door merely opened, but he still managed to crawl underneath it until it left a little tear in his jeans.

It was still around him, no voices that would usually shout at one another for the next stage to finally start. Jeno looked around, trying to be noiseless as he walked further into the seemingly empty storehouse. It was Yuta's long hair that managed to catch his eyes first, but once he looked past that, he noticed the circle his members were positioned in.

Jeno took an unexpected step towards his members, causing someone to uncover himself from behind the large columns. The stranger wearing a combat helmet together with a completely matched black outfit underneath, yet, the black lettering on the uniform gave away that they were faced with authorities.

Within seconds, a dart was tossed towards the police. Jeno was quick to move due to his reflexes but noticed the person that was meant to get hit, wasn't so lucky. The first gesture set the rest into action as more police members revealed themselves from hidden positions, making eyes of the NCT gang widen at the unannounced reveal of the authority.

Gunshot

Jeno's eyes were quick to follow even if he wasn't able to see the bullet until it had been planted in the enemy's shoulder, yet, he turned back to Chenle and smirked at him as praise. His own gun safely stored the pockets of his outer layer of clothing, his hand already on the trigger for the moment he had to pull it out.

Bullets seemed to fly around everyone, lacing them in a spiderweb that they could hardly escape as every bullet was aimed towards one of them. Though, bullets didn't plant themselves in his skin when he moved around just like everyone else did.

"Taeil!" Jungwoo's voice echoed through the hall as his soft voice was suddenly louder than ever before. The tall boy dragged his older friend towards the nearest wall but was instantly killed by a bullet going through his vital organs. His body falling right over Taeil's as the two first victims were eliminated by the enemy.

Jeno barely heard what was happening over the noises around him, he had heard Jungwoo's cry for Taeil but his eyes hadn't picked up how his clan now existed of fewer people than before. He pulled Jaemin aside roughly, shooting at an officer who immediately landed on the ground seconds after the shot was fired.

Right in the middle of the place, between large columns and higher placed people, Jisung found himself crouching over his best friend Chenle. Tears pooling in his eyes, but before they fell, it was his body that hit the ground.

"Shit, Jisung is down." Jeno heard in the background as he looked towards Renjun who was torn between his two youngest friends or continuing to fight for whatever was left. He was about to move to the center to get to the two boys, but it was Lucas who took over the job. Unfortunately for the team, temporary informant Renjun had lost the battle when his eyes had lost focus of what the mission really was.

Jeno rested his back against the column, his eyes taking a little too long to figure out who was going to be his next target. The role of one of his possible targets had been swapped around, as one second later, a gun was aimed at him. His hands reached up in the air, shakily trying to keep himself steady against the column. "Sorry" he mumbled but his voice easily disappeared between the bullets and shouts of other members. His fingers already went up to his shirt before the bullet was planted on the left side of his body, immediately coating his black clothes with a layer of blood.

A cough left his lips, immediately triggering his gag reflex as a spoonful of blood dangled down his parted lips. He slumped down against the column despite his fingertips trying to scratch the material in order to keep him standing. His head was pounding, between all of the sounds around him, he faintly managed to hear you telling him to be safe.

Always.

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

Monochrome

One shade of black, one tint of white, ten different palettes filled with grey. That was what Jeno's eyes detected when they opened for what seemed like the first time in months. He could only state in front of him, the surroundings not revealing themselves as their dull colors refused to show him what was going on.

An unexpected grunt slipped past his lips when he tried to set his body straight against the cold support in his back. That's when the pain had announced itself and he finally became more aware of the things around him. His hands were coated in blood, as red as love was supposed to represent.

Red was the first real color his eyes saw at that moment, turning the pallette of grey into a never-ending set of colors samples when he looked up from his hand and to the open space around him. His lips held a silent sound of surprise back when the colorized truth came to life.

Exactly nineteen of his teammates on the floor, recognizable by their hair colors, facial features, or body types. A few other bodies scattered around, people who didn't know but were hidden behind protective helmets in order to keep their identity safe. He could see Taeyong lying on the floor, facing him and his eyes were still opened like he was staring into the soul of his younger member.

Jeno licked over his lower lip, unexpectedly drawing in the taste of blood with his actions. His mouth already had an odd taste but knowing the red liquid was covering his tastebuds made him spit it out. The remains ending up right at the corner of his lips, not further than where it had been seconds ago.

"Thought your heart would have been crushed by now," A voice said which made Jeno look up, his eyes weakly scanning the person in front of him even if he could recognize the voice without seeing him. He swallowed thickly, struggling as the metallic taste of blood was pulled further into his body. His lips slowly parted again, some dried blood hidden within the cracks of his lips. Words were mouthed, not spoken as not one sound broke through the momentum.

Instead of speaking, Jeno weakly presented his gun, holding it up a few centimeters as he was too weak to hold it higher. The meaning behind the gesture was unclear, even for himself: did he give himself over to the game, did he want to live in peace and willingly lost because of it?

The older man kneeled in front of him slowly when he saw the gesture Jeno made, seeing it as an offer even though it was a perfect opportunity. Because as the unspoken rule said, who participated got more than the others: and he was the only participant left.

Beneath the black unbuttoned shirt, Jeno could see the bulletproof vest upon his skin. A simple trick that twenty other people had forgotten about despite it being something classic in the world that they lived in.

"any last words?" He asked Jeno, turning the gun around in his hand so that it was aiming at Jeno. Whilst he waited for Jeno to answer the question, his hand helped the gun to find the right angle. Jeno didn't even notice how his hand was lifted up and wrapped around the gun, his index finger resting upon the trigger.

Be safe

"Always" Jeno silently said as his tired eyes stared at the man who once was his friend. Jeno felt a finger over resting over his, immediately feeling the tension if the trigger getting more intense. But gave himself over to the feeling before it even came.

Images of you flashed through Jeno's mind as he tried to find relief in his future, a future he didn't have unless it was with you somewhere in a dream in a dream. Unknowingly his eyes went over the number and name engraved on the gun, yet, in his mind, he read the numbers of your anniversary and your name right next to it.

Gunshot

The cynosure of no eyes was left standing alone between dead bodies, the gun dropping on the ground as he stood up and gracefully walked away from the game he finished playing. Gameover.

960201, Kim Doyoung

Author’s note: 

Helloah, you have reached the end of cynosure! I hope you liked the fic despite the perhaps sad ending (I didn’t cry). I decided to write this in celebration of 5K followers: thank you for 5k, it seriously means a lot to me to know that people like my writing and look forward to reading it!

Anyway. I hope you liked cynosure and if you have any feedback/questions about the fic, I’ll gladly respond  <3

[pentanguine]

Favorite books of 2020

So....about five months ago now, I drafted a list of my favorite books of 2020, and then I, uh, didn’t finish it. It languished in a draft gathering dust and I forgot that it existed.

But now it’s done! It’s hideously late and also out of date, because I’d change many of the rankings now (see below), but I decided to keep them in the original order to reflect how I felt when I actually meant to post this.

Gideon the Ninth- What can I say about this book that hasn’t already been said? It’s like nothing else I’ve read before, in the most unabashed, off-the-walls, grandiose way possible. It’s incredibly complex, well-written, goth, and full of memes. There are, indeed, lesbian necromancers in space.

Harrow the Ninth- I read this 500+ page book in one day and didn’t notice an earthquake while doing so, if you consider that an endorsement. There’s so much going on here it almost feels like it shouldn’t work, and yet it does, brilliantly—it’s so intricately plotted you’ll want to reread it immediately because there’s no way to pick up on everything your first time through.

The Starless Sea- This is just a magical delight of a story, with prose that flows like honey: slow, sweet, and delicious. The story unfolds like a series of wonders nested one inside the other, with each section adding another layer of whimsy and metafiction. It’s half a dream, and half a maze.

Young Miles (The Warrior’s Apprentice/The Vor Game)- The Miles books (the early ones, especially) are wild and unrepentant romps through outer space, and reading them was one of the highlights of 2020 for me. When I finished the Young Miles omnibus, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken such pure delight in a book. Even the heavier, more thoughtful moments were part of a well-told, enjoyable story.

The Stone Sky- Speaking of heavy and thoughtful books…The Broken Earth Trilogy is definitely not a light undertaking, but it’s just a masterpiece of world- and character-building. The Stone Sky is the final installment, and it does not pull a single punch in delivering what the previous books have been building towards.

This Is How You Lose the Time War- I keep instinctively wanting to call this a novel in verse, although I think it’s technically an epistolary novel with prose-poem tendencies. In any case, the writing is lovely—lush, vivid, sensual, romantic. I recommend reading this one with your poetry glasses on.

Cordelia’s Honor (Shards of Honor/Barrayar)- I tried to limit myself to one book per author on this list, but I didn’t succeed here. I loved the Vorkosigan saga too much, and I had to include the omnibus about Miles’s mother, Cordelia, whose life and personality could easily be the focus of another half-dozen volumes. (And if you’re looking for a well-developed m/f romance, you’ve found it here)

An Unkindness of Ghosts- I think this is the book that kicked off my sudden interest in sci-fi last year. It’s dark and beautiful, definitely character-driven, and everyone is truly strange in ways that protagonists rarely get to be. It’s also got one of the loveliest, most satisfying endings I can imagine.  

Code Name Verity- An incredibly intense YA book that delves deep into one of my favorite fictional themes, Morality. It’s a rollicking spy adventure novel that focuses on a close friendship rather than romance (although you can read it as sapphic if you want), with descriptions of flying over England at sunset that made my heart ache.

The Raven Tower- I enjoyed this story for reasons probably particular to me—I like long digressions into abstract questions like “How do we exert power over the world?” and “Where does the meaning of words exist?”, and entire sections of The Raven Tower are devoted to the inner meditations of a very contemplative rock. It’s also a retelling of Hamlet, if that’s more your speed.

Network Effect (and Murderbot novellas)- I’m going to quote my immediately-after-finishing review: “Murderbot always gives me feels. I would love to give a more literary summary, but I’m still overwhelmed by the tentative vulnerability of two bots being best friends and watching TV together after [redacted].” The first Murderbot novel definitely did not disappoint.

The Monster of Elendhaven- Decadent, blood-soaked, and morally depraved, it’s kind of like The Picture of Dorian Gray by way of Hannibal (NBC), with probable influences from a dozen other macabre works and no restraint whatsoever. Reading it felt very self-indulgently delightful.

Before Mars- A deliciously unsettling sci-fi thriller with a refreshingly blunt, unsentimental female protagonist. Also definitely an …interesting book to read at the end of March 2020, but explaining why would definitely be a spoiler. Suffice it to say that the book goes dark places not advertised on the tin, and it made me cry.

Orange World- Karen Russell is one of those writers who make you wonder “how did they come up with this?” Every one of her stories is a totally original marriage between two wildly different concepts (like a Bog Maiden and high school romance, or new motherhood and the devil), and they’re a nice blend of literary and fantasy that I love.

Something That May Shock and Discredit You- It’s so hard to rank this one, because its two primary concerns are Christianity and transness, one of which means very little to me and one of which is breathtakingly important. I couldn’t justify putting it any lower, because it made me feel an ungodly number of feelings, but I couldn’t really justify putting it higher when a solid third of the book went right over my head.

The Ten Thousand Doors of January- A truly wondrous novel, one that fully immerses you in the delight of storytelling and imagination, and the power of escaping to other worlds. It’s very much in the tradition of “books that pay tribute to the love of books,” and an homage to a hundred portal fantasies before it.

Braiding Sweetgrass- I’ve got such a fondness for nature writing that doesn’t even try to be scientifically detached, and instead leaves you with the feeling that the trees and fields around you are bustling with (nonhuman) people.* Kimmerer’s writing is steeped in indigenous ways of knowing, and emphasizes the respect and reciprocity we can hold for the natural world. It’s lovely writing, and I can’t recommend the book highly enough.

Call Down the Hawk- Full of all the ingredients you expect from a Maggie Stiefvater book: fast cars, ancient magic, questions of art and truth, and borderline overuse of the word “cunning.” Every time I read one of her books I want to start taking notes, because she’s got such a signature style that’s both poetic and readable.  

The Unspoken Name- For some reason I wasn’t much into epic fantasy last year, but I’m glad I gave this one a try. I love morally grey characters, of which there are plenty, and the plot took a number of refreshing twists and turns.  

A Memory Called Empire- Not a fast-moving read, but perfect if you like your sci-fi novels poetic, complex, and intellectual. The worldbuilding is incredibly immersive, in a way that reminded me a bit of Ursula K. Le Guin, and I remember this stuck with me for weeks after I finished it.

*Let me be a nerdy weirdo for a second: Most of the time Kimmerer is writing about New England, an area I’m not really familiar with, but “The Sound of Silverbells” is set on a mountain somewhere in the South, and I adored it. Suddenly she was writing about dogwoods and redbuds and poplars, and I was sitting there going “!!! Those are my friends! My friends are in a book!”

Changes I’d make now:

Bump The Starless Sea down a couple pegs, maybe to #6

Swap out Cordelia’s Honor and Young Miles

Bump The Raven Tower way down to #16 and bump A Memory Called Empire a few spots higher, maybe to #17

Braiding Sweetgrass can go up where The Raven Tower was

[sometimesrosy]

I have bouts of unhappiness from time to time, now more frequently than not. For more than a year, I haven’t talked to friends because of COVID and confinement. All of the friends I talk to are online, but there’s no human contact. One of them is spanish, so we never talked any other way. The others are mostly my boyfriend’s friends with whom we talk on discord. I only see my mom, grandma, boyfriend, and my cats. I work at a study center, but now even the kids I talk to through zoom because of a new confinement. I’ve been feeling pretty low and without a drive in life. I stopped reading, I stopped bullet journaling, I stopped writing, I stopped watching movies and tv. Recently I’ve started streaming video games, and honestly it’s the only thing that keeps me doing something outside of work, but I wonder when will I give up on it too. I’d like to blame this on the confinement, but even before we had it, I had already isolated myself from people. It’s really easy to feel lonely, to feel like I can’t connect. I know it’s not depression because I’ve had and I hit rock bottom then, so I know I’m better. I lost friends along my life, but most of it was for the best. I have found a life partner that treats me 100% well and who gave the best kitties I could have ever asked for. I have a mom that does anything and everything for me, a grandma that cooks for me, a house with fast internet. I have a job and students that like me. And yet, sometimes I feel like I’m here doing nothing? As if I have no purpose? I have so many interests it kills me to never be satisfied. I honestly think this is my problem. Anyway, I’m so sorry for the rant. I just felt I needed to let it out somehow. I know tomorrow I’ll wake up fine, but next week I’ll have another day like this. For now, I’m going to bed and cuddle with my boyfriend and kitties. I just wish I could change my perspective these days I’m feeling down. I don’t need to have a purpose, I don’t need to commit to hobbies. I don’t need to expect something of myself when I don’t even know what it is. Thank you for “hearing” me out. Please never delete this blog!

So here’s the thing I want you to remember:

You are living through unprecedented times. The pressures of a global pandemic, national upheaval, cultural revolution and environmental extremes have us ALL on edge.

When you take stock of your life, as you have here, you can see you’re doing pretty well. You have love and family and work and security and safety and the best kitties in the world, right? You KNOW depression and this isn’t it somehow.

And yet, you seem to think that you have to look for *your* problem, the reason why *you* particularly are feeling this way.

Nope. It’s not you. There’s not something wrong with you that isn’t wrong with everyone.

Now, I’m not a therapist, I’m not making a diagnosis here, but before this pandemic thing, there was a lot of upheaval in my life and I worked through it, leaving me in a really good position to ride out this global disaster that I wouldn’t have been in before. I mean it wasn’t good, but it’s like I experienced it before everyone else so am already on the way to healing from it while everyone else is falling into it. So from my experience and the research I have had to do for my own health and well being, what I think you’re experiencing is ANXIETY.

I think that because you told me you stopped doing the things you love, reading, bullet journaling, writing, movies and tv. That happened to me too. I mean aside from hyperfocusing on writing. It was rather stressful to STOP reading for me. And I kept feeling like something was wrong with me, then I discovered that not being able to focus on reading is actually a symptom of anxiety. And it’s common now. The world feels out of control and you feel like you should be doing something to fix it, only you can’t, and focusing on the things that are part of your life feels insufficient. You’re overwhelmed. Actually, there’s probably a bit of depression in there, too.

But I do know that I needed to read and watch COMFORT content. Something I’ve already read, or a literature genre that wraps everything up neatly in the end. For me, Historical Romance, because I need the Happy Ever After and I need the problems to be distant enough from my reality to not affect me. In fact, when I read a book that touches on traumas that are too close to real for me, I get tense and can’t continue. (I had this problem last week with a romance set in the civil war. I just can’t handle fictional racism and brutality in my escapism book when I’m trying to escape IRL racism and brutality. I think it’s because the MC was traumatized by it, where in the other books in the series, the characters were fighting it. Anyway, good books, The Loyal League Books by Alyssa Cole, the last is just hitting some of my triggers.) 

Still, I find myself unable to read science fiction or fantasy. I can ONLY read romance. It’s very weird for me, because I love SFF. But my brain is struggling to handle all the real life chaos, and there’s really no room in it right now to have comprehend the big thoughts and new universes of SFF. So when Bridgertons showed up, which is my perfect genre right now, and which I’ve already READ multiple times, so it isn’t even new material for me, THAT is the kind of thing I can watch. Superhero shows where I already know the characters. Fanfiction where it’s just two characters falling in love over and over again.

I dont’ mean to talk about myself, but as an illustration, I wanted to show you. You are overwhelmed and your brain wants to rest. Video games seems to provide that. Okay! Keep doing that. Just like I finally had to sign up for kindle unlimited so that I could zoom through all the romance books for comfort reading without having to buy new ones all the time.

This is how you are coping.

And if I read your ask right. You’re a teacher. I dont’ know what kind of teacher or if you’re irl or distance teaching, but I do know that the stress of teaching in this pandemic is INCREDIBLE.  Shoot, normal teaching is demanding enough, add the pandemic and OUCH. So I think you should recognize that you are a front line worker in keeping society running. You honestly don’t need to have a higher purpose than that... if you feel like you need to be DOING something important. You already are. 

Everyone can only do what they are capable of. Some people are in politics, some people are developing vaccines, some people are stocking shelves, some people are teaching, some people are raising kids, some people are volunteering. You don’t have to do it all. Find your place in your world and accept that you are contributing.

What you need to do right now is to take care of yourself. You MUST have time to relax. Value your family and boyfriend and kitties, just like you say. Rest, relax. Do NOT burn out. Stay healthy. That is important especially now. Eat right and drink water and sleep enough. 

I think you’re right. It is a matter of your perspective. You’ve forgotten that your life has turned upside down.  You’re expecting activity/energy levels from yourself that you had before the world was a flaming dumpster fire. But so much of your current energy is going to surviving in that flaming dumpster fire. 

EVERYONE is trying to survive right now, even when we have relatively comfortable situations. Recognize that and give yourself a break. 

[delirious-and-slightly-murderous]

For the WIP ask game: please tell us something about Procrastinating Painter and exasperated but horny manager?

Hi Anon!😊 So glad you asked about this one.

So this is, at its core, a character study. 

A little tidbit of information about me: I am a master procrastinator. And not only when it comes to writing but in all aspects of my life too. I am lazy. If I can do it later, I will do it later. And I'll keep pushing it back as much as I can until I can't anymore. Thanks to this I've become a master at finishing projects with very little time and a deadline hanging like a sword of Damocles over my head. I work best under pressure. That's why I sometimes lose interest in my fics so easily. If I don't have a deadline it's very hard for me to get stuff done.

Soooooo, all this to say that one day, while I was despairing over my WIPs I started thinking about the different ways an artist or creator can deal with procrastination. And then, because every idea I get now mostly concerns or can be applied to Berlermo, I said to myself: But what if Andrés was a master procrastinator like me?

And BAM!

This thing was born. (Also I find it kinda ironic and hilarious that a character study in procrastination ended up as a WIP, don't you agree?).

So the basic idea is that Andrés is a moderately known and successful painter. He's not as successful as he could be because he's very particular and picky with his work and who he works for. So he only paints when he wants to and what he wants to. Which would be fine except that he is a procrastinator so his work is scarce.

Enter Martín, who is Andrés' best friend/agent and kinda friend with benefits. He is the one in charge of making sure Andrés gets stuff done even if the man in question does not want to. This means that Martín lives in a constant state of awe at Andrés' genius and talent, and also exasperation because of his laziness and inability to do what he's told. Also he is very much in love with Andrés and hates himself because of it.

So the fic in itself would cover the span of a month while Martín tries to get Andrés to work on an important commision for a famous gallery. From him we would see his struggle with perceived unrequited feelings for a man he feels he cannot fully come to understand. Andrés would procrastinate and we would see all his process and struggle with it. Until a couple days before the exhibition when Martín is about to kill Andrés, his genius strikes and he goes and produces a masterpiece (a masterpiece that may or may not be inspired by Martín).

So mostly it would focus on the art, the feels, the procrastination, and then the mad rush to get things done in time. (And I'd like to think I'd write it with a very oniric feel to it. Oh and also smut, so very like soulful and poetic smut. But well I don't think that's gonna happen.)

(Oh and also a happy ending where they end up confessing their feelings because I'm weak like that😁.)

So here have a snippet:

Martín started pacing and swore as he narrowly avoided walking into a bucket of bright red paint. 

The room was positively tiny and he still couldn't understand why Andrés insisted on spending all his time in it like some kind of recluse. The monastery was big enough to accommodate docens of people at one time but Andrés was happy to cram himself in the tiniest, most uncomfortable room he could find.  

He wondered how Andrés could live like that. The room was cramped, cluttered with books, canvases, sculptures and various bits of artistic trash. It looked like a museum's warehouse, if museums threw invaluable works in a warehouse without thought or care to what became of them. As he walked he deftly avoided discarded pieces of paper, empty paint tubes and old brushes. It was dirty, paint and dust covered every surface. The space not taken up by art supplies was used by a mattress on the ground shoved unceremoniously into a corner, a small coffee table and an enormous oak work table that seemed to be the centerpiece of the place.

Amongst all this chaos there stood Andrés, serene and unperturbed, unaware of his surroundings. With a brush on each hand and one clenched between his teeth. Before him a half painted canvas stretched like a vision of doom. The colors bleak and depressing. A mirage of untold horrors that sucked the life out of the area around it. The air seeming to grow heavier, dense and charged, stilted and dead. 

Martín could feel it in his bones, the emotions Andrés put into his work always expanding and resonating within him, turning him into a vessel for what Andrés couldn't say.

He was choking on an invisible weight and fought against it to unfurl his tongue from the dry cavern of his mouth and produce a sound. He knew the other man wasn't happy and that his intervention would only make things worse. But he had to shatter the looming tension before it swallowed him whole.

"Why don't you find another place. Maybe an apartment closer to the city."

Andrés didn't stop in his work but his shoulders tensed imperceptibly and the fingers of his left hand started drumming against the brush he wasn't currently using. He shook his head softly, his motions fluid and liquid. A delicate movement of silk floating in water.

"I'm not moving in with you Martín."

Martín closed his eyes, the bright hot pang in his heart a familiar caress at this point. He was like an addict, his feelings for Andrés a raging force that ravages his body and leaves him empty and aching. And still he willingly comes back for more, each time climbing higher with the knowledge that when he hits the ground it'll be more violent than before, the pieces impossible to pick up.

"That's not what I'm asking, you know it's not."

Andrés dipped his brush in a mug near his hand, washing out the dark paint, flicking the brush and creating a splatter of black bottomless dots, giving birth to a galaxy in the space that separates them.

"Don't ask things for which you know you won't like the answer."

Andrés' strokes become forceful then, the brush colliding against the canvas in an uncontrolled manner. The anger and frustration behind the movement captures Martín. He feels like a chick standing at the precipice. He can jump and take flight, taste the freedom and exhilaration of the wind rushing through his wings. Closing his eyes and diving not knowing if he's ready to fly the possibility of the deadly agonising crash a dark shadow at his back.

He was saved from having to make the choice by Andrés humming lowly in his throat.

"I love you Martín, but I'm not going to give up my life for you."

That familiar caress is back and the little chick is safely back in it's nest. The precipice dissolving and the unforgivable ground surging up to meet him, ripping him away in a manner more painful than any death. He shrugs, hunching in on himself, knowing the matter is closed and forgotten.

"Pass me my coffee." He demands, plastering a fake plastic smile on his face. While Andrés chooses to ignore the burning heat of things left unsaid that slowly melt the plastic away. Leaving behind a partially uncovered picture of a grotesque truth.

"I'm painting." Came the absent minded reply, the willful ignorance of man with a staggering lucidity of all the consequences of his actions.

Martín got up stretching legs that felt numb, forced to carry the weight of an unfathomable burden. He slowly walked towards Andrés, his steps the slow and lifeless cadence of the condemned, prolonging the inevitable in their approach to the gallows. 

He took his mug and took a long and deep sip of the liquid inside. He became aware of his mistake when Andrés turned to him with a steaming mug in his hand and a confused frown wrinkling his brow. 

Martín immediately opened his mouth, the dark paint water running down his chin like vomit, maring his shirt and staining skin and teeth. In the sickly pale light of the naked bulb, with the shadows under his eyes and the lingering hurt in his being, it made him look like a corpse throwing up thick and rotten blood.

Andrés laughed, the sound had a hysterically joyful quality to it, a discordant note in the gloominess of the room. It immediately invaded them, running through every crevice, every nook and cranny, injecting light and giving back the life that had been sucked out by the oppressing darkness.

The room changed completely, becoming bright and warm without suffering any real physical changes. It was infectious, contaging Martín and changing him from the inside out without his notice.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in a comfortable silence. And the next time Martín stopped for a visit the room felt warm and homely, cosy and welcoming. He also found that the mugs had marker scribbles on them. One read 'Martín' the other 'Paint Water'.

It put a small smile on his face.

Well Anon, it's really shitty right now and needs a lot of polishing and editing, but I hope you enjoy this and that it doesn't disappoint.☺

[gibbering-miasma]

I think I know how Warcraft’s casters work

It started with a simple question.  Why can mages summon water elementals?  It’s a simple question that resulted in me noticing other elements of overlap among the Warcraft casters.  Not only can mages summon elementals, but fire mages and destruction warlocks can appear to be the same class at a first look. (Especially if the person doing the looking isn’t very experienced, we all know you, yes you, can easily tell the difference.  The point is that two classes that seem to predominantly use fire magic are very similar.)  eventually it got to the point where my initial question changed from “why can one class do this thing while another class can’t?” tonly to change again to

 “What really is the difference between the casters of Warcraft?”

I want to be transparent here, I have not read Chronicle yet.  I have the books (thanks again for that, you know who you are) but I wanted to get this theory properly formed first so i don’t spoil my biases.  That leads me to another thing, this is just the theory of a guy who’s spent most of his life on this game who’s noticed a few odd dots and decided to connect them to see what picture they make.  Blizzard can disprove this at any time with a word, because in the end, they’re the creators, and I’m just a fan.  One last thing, I’m certain that there are some examples or details that i’ll get wrong (not playing the most recent expansions will tend to leave a sample size less than optimal) so if there’s an error that I’ve made, call me out on it.  This may be a fan theory, but I want it to make sense.

To answer my previous question (what really makes the difference between Warcraft casters for those of you in the back), I think the primary difference is philosophy, not the type of magic that each class uses.  What I mean by this is the general worldview, character traits, and relationship with magic that each class has.  Obviously there are going to be outliers, mortals tend to mess with the systems like that, but this should be a good place to begin our analysis. When analyzing the casters, we see four main philosophies develop.  I’d argue that those four are the philosophies of the Druid, Mage, Warlock and Shaman.  I’ll include the other classes that I believe to best line up with those philosophies.  I’ll focus on the primary casters of those philosophies, though I’ll use a few examples from the other classes that are philosophically adjacent. 

And just so we’re all on the same page here, I’m assuming that magic is inherently sentient, and the overall type of magic used has no effect on your class.  With all that out of the way, let’s begin.

Druid/Priest/Paladin- Philosophy of Faith.

The druid is the only class that willingly enters a state of unconsciousness and allows their magic to work through them, causing metamorphosis in the process.  The primary tenets of the druidic philosophy are Faith and Dedication.  The druid venerates the Wild much in the same way that a priest or paladin venerates the Light.  What all of this means is that the druid views themselves as inferior to the Wild (or whatever source of magic you prefer).  Power is attained not through study or ambition, but by submission and faith, resulting in power being granted as a boon.  But it’s not all fluffy cats and boomkins for the druid, their submission and faith means that they are not necessarily in control.  We clearly see this to be the case with the druids of the pack (and the same case can be made for the druids of the flame, but I’m unsure on whether ragnaros forced the flame druids to do his bidding or if they were just crazy like that). Spouting character traits with no examples won’t do us any good, so let’s rectify that by taking a look at Tyrande Whisperwind, a great example of the philosophy of faith.  Yes, Tyrande is a priest, not a druid, but remember that the important thing about the classes is their philosophy, not the type of magic that they use.  As a priest, Tyrande answers to the will of Elune, and will prioritize the will of the White Lady over anything else (consider the quote “Only the goddess may forbid me anything” from warcraft 3).  Not only that, but Tyrande also becomes the vessel for a portion of Elune’s power during the Horde’s invasion, showing similarity to the powers that druids receive and use from their Wild Gods.  The similarity between druids and priests could be a reason why those two classes are the major casters in Night elf society following the War of the Ancients.  And before you start denying my claim that priests and druids are basically the same, let me ask you this:  If Elune wanted Tyrande to willingly enter an unconscious state in order to become a more capable vessel of Her power, would Tyrande do it?  I say that she would, because putting aside your own desires, fears and reservations in order to serve your higher power is the definition of dedication, it is the definition of faith, and it is exactly what makes a druid what they are.

Shaman- Philosophy of Synergy

The shaman’s relationship with their magic is exactly that, a relationship.  I get the suspicion that I may have lost a few of you there so I’ll explain.  The druid fully submits in order to gain power, whereas classes like the warlock will just take as they see fit.  The shaman exists between those two extremes, they work alongside the elements and it is through that cooperation that they grow their abilities.  Of course, the shaman also experiences their own fair share of magical difficulties.  They are still drawing their power from sentient beings that may not always want to comply with the shaman’s wishes.  This leaves the shaman with a difficult situation, especially if their magic rebels during a time where the shaman doesn’t have the means to deal with any of that nonsense.  The shaman must cooperate with their magic unless they fall to dark shamanism and force their magic to submit, which is the exact domain of the Warlock.

Warlock/Warrior- Philosophy of Dominion

The warlock does not ask for power, nor does it work alongside their demons for mutual benefit (I mean really, do you think that your minions are there by choice?).  I alluded to the warlock’s modus operandi earlier, and now I get to delve deeper.  The warlock takes power as they see fit, often draining it straight from their enemies.  The warlock will then add that magic into their own reserves, bending the magic to their will and growing in power.  A warlock’s magic can be said to be a part of them in a more literal manner than any of the other four casters.  This habit of taking power from others is actually quite common in the Warcraft universe, (look at all the Blood elves for instance) but i’ll highlight the 3 biggest examples of the warlock philosophy.  Ragnaros the firelord, Garrosh Hellscream and Illidan Stormrage all are well known for having a desire for more power, while also having the ambition and skill to go out and get that power for themselves without having to plead to some other entity for assistance.  Ragnaros consumed prince Thunderan, Garrosh merged with the heart of Y'Shaarj, and Illidan consumed the Skull of Gul’dan, and all three established control over their new power, and not the other way around.  Just as a shaman who forces the elements to work for them isn’t much of a shaman, a warlock who is controlled by their power isn't much of a warlock.   

Mage/Hunter/Rogue/Monk- Philosophy of Discipline

The other casters all have very distinct relationships with their magic.  Warlocks must be constantly in control, druids are always trying to appease, and shamans just want everyone to calm down and talk about their feelings.  And then we have the mage, who doesn’t have much of a relationship at all.  To the mage, magic is a tool, one that should be respected, but a tool nonetheless.  Khadgar used the skull of Gul’dan to close the Dark Portal with no negative side effects.  Whereas Illidan barely has his hands on the thing for a minute before he’s undergoing radical transformations and sprouting new appendages.  When trying to name this section, I had initially selected Mastery as a good means of describing the Mage’s philosophy.  Mastery had made sense to me, the mage is the master of their magic, they display control and authority over their power in a way that is distinct from the warlock, and their utilitarian view towards magic separates them from shamans or druids.  So why the change?  Why does Discipline describe the mage better than Mastery?  Because in a world where dragons rearrange continents, the dead walk, and where tyrants exist around every corner, the mortals of Azeroth need someone to keep a clear head when the demons are dead and their power is being divided among the victors.  The mage is the embodiment of mortal authority in relation to magic, they lock questionable powers away so that those who would misuse that power could do no harm to innocents.  The mage is a Guardian, the kind of person who has no interest in being warped into some sort of magical pawn to a higher power.  They put their trust in their skill with their power, not the overall amount of power that they can wield like how a warlock would.

The Hero Classes

If you’ve been keeping track, you may notice that I haven't included two classes, those being the hero classes.  The reason I haven’t included them yet is because of the fundamental difference between them and the other classes.  A number of people have wondered what exactly makes a hero class, and while I don’t claim to know the exact truth, I think I have an additional pearl to add.  Hero classes are a state of being, whereas the base classes are more like a career.  If you want to understand a hero class, you have to understand what they are, not who they are.  Furthermore, I believe that both the Death Knight and Demon Hunter are adjacent philosophically to two of the other philosophies previously mentioned.  This doesn’t mean that Death Knights are automatically really, really edgy druids, just that they’re an offshoot.

Death Knight-Philosophy of Tyranny

Offshoot of the philosophy of Faith

What, did you think I was kidding about DKs being druids?  Lets step back and ask the fundamental question: what are Death Knights?  Simply put, DKs are dark magic inhabiting and controlling a mortal vessel.  Yes, that does sound like something a warlock would do, but remember that it’s magic controlling a mortal, much like what we see with Druids.  Plus, saying Death Knights are related to Druids has more panache, so i’m going with that one.  To the DK, power is their birthright, and they will take and abuse and consume as they see fit.  Nothing is sacred from their will, not the blood in your veins, nor the flesh on your back, nor the final, cold breath you give before you’re raised as an undead servant.  The DK does not necessarily take to grow their power, they take to fulfill their desires-which is usually to kill a lot of people.

Demon Hunter- Philosophy of Unity

Offshoot of the philosophy of Synergy

Once again, what are DHs?  While DKs are magic possessing and dominating a vessel, the DH is more than that.  They are a combination of mortal soul and demon.  The DH is the product of a perfect union between two distinct soulstuffs.  Now here’s the important thing, I’m trying to distinguish between the Illidari, and the Demon Hunters themselves, which can be hard when you remember that pretty much every Demon Hunter is Illidari.  The reason this separation is so important is that the Illidari with their whole “fight fire with fire, we shall take the demons' own magic and use it against them as our own” is a very warlock-ish thing to do.  But I’ll maintain that the DHs identity points towards being more closely adjacent to the philosophy of Synergy than Dominion.

 So why can mages summon water elementals?  Because mages have power, just like anybody else.  And power itself doesn’t have much significance, what matters is how you use it.  

This has been a somewhat deep dive into the philosophy of Warcraftian magic, with the end goal of gaining a deeper understanding of the various classes, and the characters within the Warcraft universe. 

Thanks for coming to my TED Talk.

[boldly-ho]

Another Life - Chapter 21

Fandom: What We Do in the Shadows 

Pairing: Vladislav x Reader

Series Rating: E

Word Count: 1408 (It’s a shortie.)

Chapter Summary: Vladislav asks reader on a date, and in an almost appropriate way.

A/N: Yes it took us over 40k words to get to him asking her out. Idk why I’m like this, either. As always, this is cross-posted to AO3. (And when I inevitably find typos, I’ll fix them over there.)

A strangled sort of hissing noise pulled your focus from your endlessly scrolling on your phone. You snapped your head up and saw dark robes disappear around a corner. You sat, watching, as Petyr poked his head back around the corner and hissed angrily at you.

“It’s not my fault!” you shot back, leaping off the couch to draw the curtains in the lounge and block out the light from the setting sun, surely the source of his distress. “What are you even doing up so early?”

He shrugged as he entered the now-dark lounge, moving so smoothly you couldn’t be sure he wasn’t gliding.

“Are you ok?”

He nodded once. Thankfully. You shuddered to think what could have happened if he’d come in when the curtains were open.

“Please make sure the sun has set before you start wandering around,” you warned him. “I’m a human. I need the sunlight sometimes.”

~

More women continued to disappear. They disappeared quickly, at a rate of one to two a week. If they were dead, and it was in fact just one killer, that would make this most prolific serial killer New Zealand had ever seen. Maybe even the whole world.

All of the missing women looked like you.

It wouldn’t happen to you though. You didn’t go out to bars anymore. You never went out at night alone. Even after all this had happened, how were these women dumb enough to keep going out?

Victim-blaming.

You knew that’s what you were doing and you knew you were wrong. These women had been taken, probably killed. And you blamed them so that you didn’t have to feel so scared that you could be next.

And so that you didn’t feel guilty.

Not that you had anything to do with the disappearing women.

At least, you were pretty sure you didn’t.

But, being pretty sure wasn’t the same as being entirely sure.

And that difference was enough to make you choke on your guilt.

~

“Y/N?”

You sat up higher in the bathtub, startled by the intrusion. Not that it was an intrusion, really. Whoever it was was still in your bedroom. You couldn’t see them through the small crack in the door, and if you couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see you.

“Hello?” you called back.

“Can I come in?” You recognized the voice as Vladislav’s.

“Um, no?” You sunk back down into the bathtub, causing a bit of water to slosh over the edge of the antiquated claw-foot. There were no bubbles, though, so submerging yourself did little for your modesty.

“Ah.”

‘Ah?’ What did he expect here? You were taking a bath.

You told him as much. “I’m in the bathtub right now.”

“I know.”

“Okay…?”

“May I come in, please?”

A small part of you wanted to tell him to fuck off, but the fact he’d said please took up the larger part of your mind. You’d never heard him say please before. At least, not that you could remember. He might have said it once. He must have. But you certainly couldn’t recall it.

You sighed. “Okay, just hang on a second.”

You leaned forward, water sloshing at the disturbance, and grabbed the end of the shower curtain with your wet fingertips, pulling it around the tub to leave only your head exposed.

You chewed your lower lip nervously. This was dumb; you were overthinking it. After all, Dawn had come into the bathroom to talk while you’d bathed or showered, back when you’d still lived together. Still, this felt different somehow.

Vladislav cleared his throat from behind the door. “Can I come in?”

“Yes!” you replied, before you could change your mind.

He opened the door just wide enough for him to squeeze through, then closed it behind him, keeping the warm air inside and preventing you from freezing. He walked up to the side of the tub, resting his booted foot on the toilet, and leaning forward to rest his forearm on his thigh. In this position, he towered directly over you, and you had to lay back in the tub, looking toward the cracked ceiling, in order to see his face.

With a quick glance down on Vladislav’s part, you felt prompted to tug the shower curtain partially into the tub in order to keep yourself covered. It was both to hide your naked body, and to prevent any more heat from escaping the warm tub. You shivered as chills ran through your body. With Vladislav towering over you, fully clothed, and separated from you only by a shower curtain, you felt exposed.

“What’s up?” It took all your willpower not to visibly cringe. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was wrong with ‘what’s up,’ but you regretted saying it nonetheless.

He seemed to suppress a smile.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

You blinked in surprise. “Nothing?” you asked rather than told him.

The corners of his mouth twitched and you felt butterflies in your stomach. You made sure you maintained a firm grip on the shower curtain.

“Incorrect,” he said.

“Oh?” you asked, fighting back a smile of your own.

“Mhmm,” he nodded.

“Then what is it that I’m doing tomorrow night?” You felt your heart beating faster. Blushing and looking away felt almost appropriate, but you were caught up in his piercing gaze. You didn’t hate it.

“Well, you have two choices,” he told you, now actively smiling. Looking down at you, fangs bared, he looked almost predatory.

You sunk a little lower in the tub, smiling in return. You found yourself quite fond of whatever game the two of you were suddenly playing. “What are my options, then?” Your voice sounded breathier than you were expecting. If you were misreading this situation, you might just drown yourself.

“You could stay home, reading whatever book you’ve recently pilfered from Viago’s bookshelf, all alone, while I go out into town with the guys.”

“That doesn’t sound like much fun for me,” you said, feigning disappointment.

“No?”

You shook your head.

“Good thing you have a second option, then.”

“Which is…?”

“You and I go out and watch the fireworks display over the harbor before going bush walking to a secluded spot I know of to look at the stars.”

Fireworks and stargazing? That sounded incredibly romantic, actually. You wondered just how heightened his vampire hearing was. Could he hear how fast your heart was racing right now?

“That sounds more fun,” you said.

“So what are you doing tomorrow night?” he asked you again.

Fireworks, stargazing, that much was clear. But what was this, really? He’d made a point of saying the first option included his going out with the other guys. So his omission of them from the fireworks and stargazing plan seemed pretty deliberate.

It sounded like a date.

But, hadn’t you overheard him telling Viago and Deacon just the other day that he wasn’t interested in you?

And yet… Fireworks and stargazing… just the two of you…

It had to be a date.

You couldn’t go into this uncertain, though. You had to know for sure. The stress of the next 24 hours would flat out kill you, otherwise.

What are you doing tomorrow night? He was still staring you down, not at all threateningly, but still very seriously, waiting for an answer.

“I’m going on a date,” you told him, trying your best to sound confident. You held your smile, though inside you felt as though you might combust.

Oh, god, if you were wrong…

Thankfully, he grinned and said, “Correct.”

Your smile widened, if that was even possible, and you nearly lost your grip on the shower curtain in your excitement.

“I’ll let you get back to it,” he said, glancing meaningfully to the curtain. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N. Good night.”

As he stood to leave, you stopped him. “Vladislav?” You almost, almost, hated that your voice still sounded so breathy.

“Yes?” He looked so damn pleased with himself.

“Couldn’t this have waited until I was dressed?”

You weren’t sure whether he was just too excited to ask you, or whether he was trying to corner you naked and at your most vulnerable. Surprisingly, neither option really bothered you.

“No. It couldn’t. Good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Vladislav.”

As he closed the door behind him, you dunked your head below the water to let out an elated laugh you hadn’t even known was building up inside you.

[arrogvnces]

     this time around, he knows exactly why he calls mina back. when the weekend is over and life begins anew at st. agathe’s, she reaches out to him once more, hoping this might be the time he’ll reply. and he does. because ever since finding out about henrietta and theodore’s secret engagement, an ugly and unfamiliar feeling’s been festering at the bottom of his stomach. he refused to name it, initially, but he’s tired of lying to himself. sinclair is terribly, and annoyingly, jealous. he’s once again lost to theodore before the game even begun. but this is about more than grades, or accomplishments, or even reputation. he cares about this. he cares about her. likes her, as ren called him out on. and there’s nothing he can do about it, but pretend he’s still as detached and uncompromised as he was at the beginning of the school year. so he says yes to mina, knuckles bruised and lip busted by the time their “friendly” date comes around.

     it’s in the darkness of a small movie theater down at the village, that she tries to hold his hand. they’re the only ones in the room, a showing of a streetcar named desire playing with german subtitles on the screen. twenty minutes in, her fingers gently reach for his own on the armrest, cold and soft to touch. he pulls it away a bit too harshly, startled, instinct taking over. he sees the flash of hurt in her eyes, before she whispers an awkward ‘sorry’ and pretends to focus on the film. if sinclair were honest with himself, he’d describe the next minutes as a desperate attempt at distraction. a selfish and cruel moment in time, where he used mina to wash away the taste of her best friend from his lips. but instead, he’ll try to convince himself he really felt something, in the dark. 

     his kiss is furious from the beginning, leaning over to her velvet seat, one hand at the nape of her neck, while the other rests over the wool tights on her legs. she gasps into his mouth, surprised, before reciprocating in double. it’s messy, and wrong, but he feels the noise in his head mute---finally--- taken over by carnal instincts he’s well too familiar with. his hand skims higher along her legs, lips finding a spot on the crook of her neck that has her nails digging a little harder on his shoulders, as she holds on to him. he doesn’t know how long they play around, like this, tongues and lips locked onto each other, their hands roaming all over. he only feels the growing tightness in his pants, the burn in his lungs, the complete silence in his head. 

     “sinclair, we---” she whispers, as his hand disappears under her skirt, too short for the weather. worn for him. “we can’t do this here.” the film is half-way through, marlon brando’s iconic character showing on the silver screen, his words muted by their labored breathing and the rush in his ears. no one will come by, any time soon. they share a languid kiss, his teeth biting at her lower lip as he pulls back. 

     “i can stop,” he says, low and strained. desperate to change her mind. “or, i can make you come. i’ve been thinking about it, you know.” he licks a path along her jaw with his tongue, as she trembles under him, lips parted open. “the sounds you’d make, with my fingers inside you. if you’d taste salty or sweet, when i’d lick you off of them.” he nibbles at the column of her neck, her expensive perfume filling all of his senses. “if you’d let me fuck this pretty throat of yours, and swallow every last drop.” he whispers all the right words, meant for someone else. 

     “sinclair,” he thinks she says, but it’s a breathy moan that comes out instead. he’s sure he has her, when her hands brace against his chest and push him back towards his seat. he’s startled, the refusal new and bizarre. but he’s never been known to force a yes, lips parting to offer an apology, when it’s her turn to cross the line between their seats. her thighs nestle around his waist, straddling him without hesitation. the brightness of the screen highlights her features. her deep brown eyes are glazed over, her cheeks are colored a cherry red, her full lips puffy as she struggles to catch her breath. even her hair, that’d been carefully combed into a high ponytail, now falls over them as a silk curtain, blocking his view of everything but her. without warning, she moves her hips against his, the pressure pushing his head back against the seat, desire coiling in his lower abdomen. 

     “all those things you said,” she starts, grinding on his lap, leaving a wet spot on his jeans. “let’s do them later. right now---god---right now, i. . .” he hears the hesitation in her voice. girls like mina are afraid to come on too strong, to ask for what they want. to beg for it, even. but he hears her, without her saying it. 

     “turn around,” he orders, nearly reaching his limit. she obeys him promptly, twisting in her own axis until her front’s facing the screen. in one sweep, he pulls at her tights and panties, her bare bottom now facing him as she wiggles out of the fabric. “give me that.” he reaches for her underwear, soaping wet cotton in his hand. folding it into a ball, he reaches around her, tapping at her chin. “open your mouth.” she follows his instructions, lips parting dutifully for him to shove the fabric inside, muffling the sound that attempts to escape her throat. his fingers are nimble as they undo the button of his pants, lifting mina off with one arm around her hips, while the other pushes his jeans off of his own. his member sprawls free from his boxers, purple and red at the tip, an angry vein protuding from the skin. he sinks into her without notice. 

     he’s not even sure if the film is still playing. all he hears is the rumble in his chest, the slap of skin against skin, mina’s cries through the makeshift gag in her mouth. she arches her back against him, his fingers bruising her hips as he helps her up and down. when she’s caught onto her own rhythm, his fingers dip between her thighs, circling and teasing between her folds, as she writhes on top of him. there’s a fire in his the pit of his stomach, deep groans escape him as his mind goes blank, pleasure swarming every inch of his body. he makes the mistake of closing his eyes, imagining it’s someone else on his lap. the hair that caresses his face turns black, the curves under his hands become more pronounced, the moans in his ears sound huskier. but he can’t pretend for long. anger at himself surges forward without warning. he pulls mina fully into his lap, hips slamming into her with twice the strength, setting a pace that can no longer mask her cries of pleasure. when she tightens around him, he pulls out, her cries reverberating around the room as he uses his own hand to finish himself off, white liquid sticking to her lower belly. 

     they stay still for what must be a minute or two, attempting to catch their breaths, remembering where they are. or in his case, who he is. he’s so caught up in trying to get himself together, that he doesn’t immediately hear the door to the theater open. 

     “um, hey, guys...” a meek, teenager voice comes through from behind them, startling them both into action. “you really need to go before my manager comes back.” he rushes out, the door slamming on his way out. the film is no longer playing, having been paused at some point during their activities. 

     “oh my god,” mina whispers, turning to him with laughter in her eyes, before pushing herself up and attempting to find decency again. sinclair does the same. but all the while they make their way out of the movie theater, he can’t help but think she’s the one he should like. someone who doesn’t fight their feelings for him, who doesn’t go cold when their needs are met --- she links her fingers through his --- who doesn’t lie. someone who could make him good. 

     when he returns to the dorm, and sinks into his bed, he knows none of that matter. she’s not the one he’s going to dream of, tonight. 

---

     “. . . which is why, you’re going to need to partner up for his project,” professor kwon announces, to the various complaints across the room. sinclair’s eyes unwillingly glance over to the raven-haired girl two rows down, wondering if she would cheat again, to work with him. “i know, i know. the last one was a bit of disaster, so i’m going to be nicer and let you pick your own group, this time around. just remember, this counts for your final grade. so, pick wisely.” 

     to his left, luna begins standing up, gathering up her books in one arm. sinclair latches onto her wrist.

     “where the hell are you going?” he asks, eyes wide. 

     she frowns at him for a second too long, before plopping back down in her seat with a sigh. “okay, good. i was just testing your loyalty.” at his puzzled look, she rolls her eyes. “i don’t know, you’re acting weird. you don’t talk to me, anymore. i mean, why didn’t you say you went to the movies with mina kang?” 

     “how do you know that?” it’s not a secret, per say. but keeping secrets from luna means keeping even the smallest things in omission. if he tells her about mina, she’ll ask him a hundred questions. and somehow, an hour later, she’ll know about henri. and he gave his word, even if it doesn’t always mean much. 

     “one of simon’s buddies saw you walking out together,” she answers, arms crossed and brow raised. “pretty much everyone is sure you guys are dating. i’d be inclined to believe it, if i didn’t know you don’t date.” 

      “didn’t they think i was dating you?” 

     “are you not?” elijah kwon’s sudden interjection startles them both out of their quiet conversation. their teaches stands in front of their desk, an almost perfect smile on his face, if it wasn’t for the tension in it. he’s not even pretending to look at sinclair, which would be insulting, if he wasn’t amused by his friend’s reddened ears and stuttering words. 

     “um, i mean---” 

     “no way,” sinclair replies, in her stead. “luna is too mature, and grown and womanly for me. i look at her and i’m like ‘god, you’re such a twenty-seven year old’---” she unsurprisingly kicks him under the table, his shin radiating pain and he bites his lower lip to keep a grunt from falling out. elijah chuckles, the tension falling out from his features, genuine joy and relief shining as he drops their project theme on their table, leaving luna with a lingering glance. 

     he turns to her as the same time as she does, the two ready to bicker as is their routine, when another shadow covers the light as it finds their way to the table. they look up to see mina and henri, the blonde with her hands joined behind her back and a shy expression on her features.

     “could we join your group?” she asks, tucking her hair behind one ear. “henri and i could really use the help.” 

[fernysbasement]

On reading Dune not as a hero’s journey

Every time I saw people READ Dune and interpret Paul as very much the hero of the story I worried a little bit, about myself and how much bias I must have poured into my reading to understand this: that Paul is begrudgingly playing his part in a huge conspiracy that he hates, but which he can’t find a good enough way to oppose. 

Whether he is the expected Kwisatz Haderach, “the chosen one” seems a lot less important than what that entails. For himself and the future of humanity.

So, now that I’ve learned a bit about how to make conscious readings of text (and mind you, I’ve learned just a bit... enough to pass a couple exams, I suppose) I found myself in need of tracking the exact bits that informed such a reading. 

And I mean strictly the first book. We go the Barthes way here, no author commentary, no sequels, just the text within the book with only a whiff of the historical context in which it was produced. 

If we take free will to be a core theme and hope for the characters, which can be glimpsed by calling the rebel forces the Fremen, for instance; there’s little in the way of a happy narrative to be found. The Spice Melange, the amazing substance that can grant an extended life, extended consciousness, extended awareness... is coupled with a terrible realization. 

‘ We're trapped here, she agreed.

And she accepted the truth of his words. No pressure of the Bene Gesserit, no trickery or artifice could pry them completely free from Arrakis: the spice was addictive. Her body had known the fact long before her mind awakened to it. ‘

-When Paul finally realizes that he is, more or less, the supreme being that secret organizations had been scheming for generations to conceive, through careful breeding programs and planting of cultural blueprints... that sense of inevitability and entrapment in a net far too grand and systemic only becomes more clear.  

‘ And he thought: I'm a seed.

He suddenly saw how fertile was the ground into which he had fallen, and with this realization, the terrible purpose filled him, creeping through the empty place within, threatening to choke him with grief.

He had seen two main branchings along the way ahead--in one he confronted an evil old Baron and said: "Hello, Grandfather." The thought of that path and what lay along it sickened him.

The other path held long patches of grey obscurity except for peaks of violence. He had seen a warrior religion there, a fire spreading across the universe with the Atreides green and black banner waving at the head of fanatic legions drunk on spice liquor. Gurney Halleck and a few others of his father's men--a pitiful few--were among them, all marked by the hawk symbol from the shrine of his father's skull.

"I can't go that way," he muttered. "That's what the old witches of your schools really want."

"I don't understand you, Paul," his mother said.

He remained silent, thinking like the seed he was, thinking with the race consciousness he had first experienced as terrible purpose. He found that he no longer could hate the Bene Gesserit or the Emperor or even the Harkonnens. 

They were all caught up in the need of their race to renew its scattered inheritance, to cross and mingle and infuse their bloodlines in a great new pooling of genes.And the race knew only one sure way for this--the ancient way, the tried and certain way that rolled over everything in its path: jihad.

Surely, I cannot choose that way, he thought.But he saw again in his mind's eye the shrine of his father's skull and the violence with the green and black banner waving in its midst.‘

-Paul sees this path as the way humanity may remain constant in the universe, a universe it conquers and subdues. But at no point is he pleased by this, at no point does he embrace his place with joy, pride or passion. 

The tone remains as dry as the dessert that surrounds the characters most of the time. 

‘ Paul had sensed the jihad in their words, shrugged off the question with one of his own--learning then that Kaleff, the elder of the two, was ten, and the natural son of Geoff. Orlop, the younger, was eight, the natural son of Jamis. 

It had been a strange day with these two standing guard over him because he asked it, keeping away the curious, allowing him the time to nurse his thoughts and prescient memories, to plan a way to prevent the jihad.’ 

(...)

‘ "Nothing money won't repair, I presume," Paul said.

"Except for the lives, m'Lord," Gurney said, and there was a tone of reproach in his voice as though to say: "When did an Atreides worry first about things when people were at stake?"

But Paul could only focus his attention on the inner eye and the gaps visible to him in the time-wall that still lay across his path. Through each gap the jihad raged away down the corridors of the future.’ 

(...)

‘ Even the faint gaps were closed now. Here was the unborn jihad, he knew. ’

(...)

‘ And Paul saw how futile were any efforts of his to change any smallest bit of this. He had thought to oppose the jihad within himself, but the jihad would be. 

His legions would rage out from Arrakis even without him. They needed only the legend he already had become. He had shown them the way, given them mastery even over the Guild which must have the spice to exist.

A sense of failure pervaded him, and he saw through it that Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen had slipped out of the torn uniform, stripped down to a fighting girdle with a mail core.

This is the climax, Paul thought. From here, the future will open, the clouds part onto a kind of glory. And if I die here, they'll say I sacrificed myself that my spirit might lead them. And if I live, they'll say nothing can oppose Muad'Dib.‘

-Notice that the conjunction there is AND, not BUT. Which can be understood as these results not being quite contrary. 

-Then, after slaying his last enemy, the book ends with these words, shared mostly between Paul and those most close to him, his mother and his concubine: 

‘ "The Fremen are mine," Paul said. "What they receive shall be dispensed by Muad'Dib. It'll begin with Stilgar as Governor on Arrakis, but that can wait."

"And for me?" Jessica asked.

"Is there something you wish?"

"Perhaps Caladan," she said, looking at Gurney. "I'm not certain. I've become too much the Fremen . . . and the Reverend Mother. I need a time of peace and stillness in which to think."

"That you shall have," Paul said, "and anything else that Gurney or I can give you."

Jessica nodded, feeling suddenly old and tired.  She looked at Chani. "And for the royal concubine?"

"No title for me," Chani whispered. "Nothing. I beg of you."

Paul stared down into her eyes, remembering her suddenly as she had stood once with little Leto in her arms, their child now dead in this violence. "I swear to you now," he whispered, "that you'll need no title. That woman over there will be my wife and you but a concubine because this is a political thing and we must weld peace out of this moment, enlist the Great Houses of the Landsraad. We must obey the forms. Yet that princess shall have no more of me than my name. No child of mine nor touch nor softness of glance, nor instant of desire."

"So you say now," Chani said. She glanced across the room at the tail princess.

"Do you know so little of my son?" Jessica whispered. "See that princess standing there, so haughty and confident. They say she has pretensions of a literary nature. Let us hope she finds solace in such things; she'll have little else." A bitter laugh escaped Jessica. "Think on it, Chani: that princess will have the name, yet she'll live as less than a concubine -- never to know a moment of tenderness from the man to whom she's bound. While we, Chani, we who carry the name of concubine -- history will call us wives."

Here I will concede that Jessica’s proclamation seems victorious enough, but I can’t help putting emphasis into the subterfuge and compromises made. Paul has displaced a despot, but not punished him. He’s playing the political game, he hasn’t overthrown the system he despises, simply taken a higher position within it, because that’s the lesser evil as far as he can see, and the path in which at least he remains alive, in accordance to the wishes of his family and those that look up to him. 

So... my reading may not be diamond-solid, of that much I’m aware, but at the very least I’ve shed some light on why I felt the way I did about Paul’s journey not as that of a hero, but of a reluctant monarch. A messiah to those beneath him, but a conscious cog in a machine, in a greater sense. 

Now I wonder which tone will the coming movie display, how will it portray the actions and feelings of the characters involved and the futility of their actions against the grand designs that predict and guide them. The photography seems to be quite grey, and that may prove to be telling.  But there are more than fifty shades of grey.   

[inspired-by-the-music]

Lost In Your Eyes: Heechul x Reader

Genre: high school au;  i’m a believer in fluffy endings, but there are some kind of deep issues explored in this work. namely, beauty standards. 

Word Count: 10k (this is actually my longest drabble!)

Tracklist: “Lost In Your Eyes” by Debbie Gibson & “I Think We’re Alone Now” by Tiffany (bc your girl is 80s pop trash)

Note: y’all why do I have no self control when it comes to Heechul? this was literally just supposed to be a short piece based on a dream I had & it became a novella lol. honestly, I could have kept writing this forever & I could definitely be convinced to revisit this story’s universe!

fyi: to explore the themes of this story, the reader character is of Korean and Hispanic heritage. 

You almost made it through high school without attracting a single boy. While you didn’t rejoice in that fact, you certainly weren’t losing sleep because the high school boys didn’t fawn over your naturally curly hair and eternally bronzed skin. Long ago, you had accepted that you did not fit their standard of beauty; you never would. 

“There are far more important things than boys,” your father said often— whenever he found time to look up from the books that detailed the financial records of the Korean-Mexican restaurant he operated with your mother. 

You believed him just as much as you believed your mother when she patted your shoulder and pressed a kiss to your cheek, saying, “You’re beautiful, baby.” 

And yet, when your father hired him to work as a host and server so you could focus on studying for the upcoming graduation exams, you wondered if he would look at you if you resembled the girl on the cover of the magazine you read while stuffing your mouth full of rice. 

His name was Heechul— or so you gathered from your father’s praises of his salesmanship and the excited chatter of girls who visited the restaurant, clad in tiny shorts and bikini tops, just to get a look at him. 

“Come on now, ladies.” He would wink at the girls when they delayed in placing an order as long as possible in an effort to admire him for as long as possible without having to pay for food they didn’t care to eat. “You’ll order something, won’t you? Every penny you spend here goes toward my dream of buying a new motorcycle. Maybe if you help me enough, I’ll take you for a ride.” 

Heechul’s dream changed every day. Sometimes, he dreamed of buying a new motorcycle, sometimes a new car, sometimes a new guitar or a new drum set (that he would use to write a song especially for whoever bought the most food). The girls never noticed that he never held a dream for long; they were all too happy to be a part of his fantasy of the day. 

You couldn’t blame them for leaning into his every word. Aside from the fact that he was beautiful— his sleek shoulder-length black hair often falling from its ponytail to frame his face— Heechul crafted his sentences carefully. They probably didn’t recognize his wit. How could they even notice it when they were lost in his eyes or enchanted by his smile? 

You could appreciate Heechul’s cleverness at first, though, because you only heard his punchlines while reviewing a practice test or while penning your answers to a magazine quiz to learn which K-Pop idol would totally fall for you. Heechul didn’t look at you, so you couldn’t get lost in his eyes. He didn’t smile at you, and yet you were very much enchanted by him long before he sat in the seat across from you in the corner booth. 

“Hey.” His eyes met yours over the top of the magazine. Tapping his index finger against the cover, he asked, “Is this nonsense really more important than your studies, Y/N?”

Burning with the question, “How does he know my name?” you dropped the magazine onto the table and closed it over your open textbooks. Heechul pointed again to the neon decal advertising, “Want porcelain skin like your crush’s ideal type? Try these 5 tricks!”

“No.” You shook your head. “That’s not important to me at all. I was reading about this.” With your pink highlighter, you circled the text: “How to tell him you’re not interested.” 

Heechul’s face flushed pink when he met your gaze, and once he recognized the teasing smile spreading across your face, he laughed. That high pitched scream of a laugh didn’t seem like it should have come from such a delicately pretty face, but it did; it turned heads, and the stares deepened your own laughter. 

“Careful there,” he warned, expression suddenly grave. “You almost had me convinced that you weren’t interested in my attention.” 

When you shrugged, feigning disinterest, and dropped your gaze back to the magazine as you flipped through its pages, Heechul yelped, “Hey! If you’re going to neglect your studies, at least pay attention to me!”

He snatched your magazine and fanned himself with it so the hair that escaped his ponytail blew in the breeze. He smirked at your glare— apparently of the belief that all attention is good attention— and you realized that Heechul wasn’t talking to you because of any genuine interest. He just couldn’t live knowing that he hadn’t stared into the eyes of every girl who entered the restaurant. 

You had been content with being just another girl who admired Heechul, but you didn’t want to be another girl who inflated his ego. You didn’t want to be another girl who felt special just because he glanced your way. 

Frowning at the realization that you couldn’t like him anymore— and you really enjoyed having such a harmless crush before he ruined it— you asked, “Shouldn’t you be working?”

Heechul retorted, “Shouldn’t you be studying?”

Hoping to drive him away by refusing him any attention you agreed, “You’re right,” before grabbing a pencil and reading through the instructions of the next practice test. 

Heechul groaned at the lack of admiration and jumped out of the booth. “Right. So you don’t get distracted again, young lady—” he couldn’t have been more than a year or two older, so you rolled your eyes at his condescending language— “I’ll be confiscating this.” He flashed his glittering teeth when you watched him tauntingly lift the magazine higher and higher out of your reach. 

“Give that back, Heechul!” You hissed as you stood in your seat to reach for the magazine. It hadn’t cost much, and you weren’t all that interested in it, but that wasn’t the point. 

Who was he to make you feel small— first figuratively with his games and then literally by holding your property over your head? He couldn’t get away with being annoying just because he was gorgeous. 

Except he could. His behavior had probably been excused every day of his life on account of his appearance. And he probably never paused to consider how his actions— how flaunting his good looks— impacted others. 

“Oh, so you do know my name!” Heechul jumped as you tried to grab at the magazine. “It actually sounds better than usual when you say it. Do it again!”

Your fingers caught the cover, but Heechul wouldn’t loosen his grip around the pages, so when you pulled, the staples binding the magazine together snapped. Brightly colored pages depicting celebrities’s faces, detailing fashion advice, and instructing teen girls in the art of appealing to boys scattered across the recently mopped floor. They were ruined. 

Heechul’s wide, guilty eyes met yours briefly before he set to gathering each page while muttering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

You would have accepted his apology if you weren’t crumbling under the stares of the customers, many of whom were young women who hated you for holding Heechul’s attention for a moment when you were clearly so unworthy— so unappreciative. Too embarrassed to speak, you slumped into your seat, crossed your arms over the table, and buried your face in the bend of your elbow. 

“I’m sorry,” Heechul repeated. Had you looked up, you would have seen how delicately he placed the poorly stacked pages on the table’s corner. You would have seen how he leaned forward, his face almost level with yours, to implore you to look at him so all could be forgiven. 

You didn’t look, though, because you didn’t want him to see your face scorched by a crimson blush. “Just throw the pages away, please.” 

“Are you sure?” 

You doubted whether he could see that you nodded into your elbow, but when you looked up minutes later (after the waves of embarrassment subsided) the remnants of the magazine were gone along with every trace of Heechul. 

Of course, you hadn’t been foolish enough to think that you wouldn’t see Heechul again just because he had taken care to avoid your table for the rest of his shift. You knew that it was likely just a matter of time until he spoke to you again, but you hadn’t expected his next correspondence to come so soon through a note that you found on your table. 

After tossing your backpack into the booth, you read what he scrawled onto a sticky note likely grabbed from the host’s booth: “Sorry I ripped your magazine. Here’s a new one. And here’s my number if you want to call/text to cuss me out.” Carefully, you peeled the note off of the magazine and saw that Heechul used a red marker to circle a featured article titled “Five Ways To Say Sorry.”

It was silly: the fact that he had gone so far to apologize for ruining a cheap magazine filled with superficial thoughts you were supposed to hate and the fact that your heart raced just from reading his handwriting.

Unsure of how to reply to your cousin, you tossed your phone down on the table, rubbed the fatigue out of our eyes, and resumed your work. Sometimes, you thought, studying was less stressful than talking to AJ. 

You didn’t think anything about leaving your phone unlocked, screen facing upward, until Heechul settled into the seat across from you and declared, “I see my name!”

Your eyes flicked up to find him scrolling through the texts. When you reached for the phone, knots tying in your stomach as you wondered how much of your cousin’s insanity he had read and taken as truth, he held the phone out of your reach. 

“Apparently—” your face burned as you dared to look into his eyes— “you don’t learn from your mistakes. Does this scene look familiar to you at all?”

“I apologized!” Heechul reminded, and he probably would have clung to your phone longer if your father hadn’t appeared at your side. 

Clearing his throat, your father asked, “What is going on here?” His stern gaze wandered between you and Heechul. 

While you sank because disappointing your father was your deepest fear, Heechul responded promptly. Setting the phone down on the table, Heechul said, “I just came to check on Y/N’s progress. You know, I thought I could offer her some tips because I took the graduation exams just a couple of years ago, but I was never half as smart as she is.”

When Heechul glanced into your eyes, which were narrowed, confused by the sudden flattery, he smiled. “I guess I’m not much of a tutor, then.”

Mouth pressed into a thin line as a wrinkle darkened between his eyebrows, your father suggested, “I suppose that means you should get back to work, then.” It wasn’t a suggestion so much as an order. 

Heechul’s smile faltered. Your heart sank at the thought, and you realized that your heart had been swelling with the growth of his smile. You had been leaning across the table, subconsciously willing yourself closer to him. You were just like everybody else: enchanted by Heechul’s smile. 

Chewing on his lips as if embarrassed by your father’s reprimand, Heechul nodded. He tucked stray strands of hair behind his ears. “Yes, sir.” He dropped your phone— now locked, as evidenced by the darkened screen— atop your book and encouraged, “Keep up the good work,” before setting off to help your mother carry a tray piled high with enchiladas.

Your father then patted your shoulder and, after praising your hard work, reminded, “There are more important things than boys.” The twitch that moved his eyebrow when his icy eyes fell on Heechul from across the room was in stark contrast with his past boasts about the young college student who nearly doubled profits with his charisma. 

Had your father mistaken Heechul’s interest in you too? 

He wouldn’t walk away until you promised, “I know,” and proved your belief by fixing your stare on the math practice sheet when you really just wanted to watch Heechul laugh with your mother. 

Once satisfied that your father wasn’t watching— he was too busy talking to a longtime customer— you unlocked your phone to see that Heechul had sent a text.

Despite your cousin’s professed interest in visiting, you didn’t expect to look up from your studies to find her sitting across from you, smiling broadly as she twisted one of her long blonde curls. 

“AJ!” You would have smiled if your jaw hadn’t gone slack from the surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Okay, so here’s the official answer.” She tapped her French manicured nails on the shine black tabletop as her peach colored lips pulled more tightly into a bright grin. “It’s my spring break, and your mom paid for me to fly out here as a part of your birthday present!”

Your birthday? Surely you hadn’t forgotten.

When you scrambled through strewn papers to find your phone, you blinked at the date. It was your birthday— the one day of the year that was yours— and you hadn’t even realized until after wasting half of it studying in the corner booth of your parents’ restaurant.

“But unofficially,” AJ divulged, “I’m here on my quest for a baby daddy.” 

At that moment, Heechul decided to appear at the table. Wearing his apron and name tag, hair tied back as he held the pen in one hand and notepad in the other, he looked like a model employee except for the devilish smirk twisting the corner of his mouth when he asked, “Who needs a baby daddy?”

Your face flushed crimson, and he laughed when you mumbled, “Damn it, Heechul, why did you have to show up right this second?” Since he called you beautiful, you hadn’t been able to look at him without blushing; this topic deepened your embarrassment. 

Placing both hands on his hips and tilting his head at AJ, he asked, “How much will you pay me— to be your baby daddy?” 

Anyone else in the world would have melted at his wink, but AJ didn’t crack the smallest smile. She didn’t flatter him with the faintest blush. She only shook her head. “Sorry, sir—”

Heechul glared when you giggled at the word ‘sir,’ but he ultimately broke into his own laughter until AJ concluded, “But you don’t have the assets I’m looking for in a baby daddy.” 

As if you had been the one to offend him, Heechul gasped and looked to you for an explanation as he clutched his notepad over his chest. Rolling your eyes at his theatrics and AJ’s ideal type, you started, “She’s into buff—”

“I’ve heard enough!” Heechul decided, waving his hand dismissively as it fell from its place over his heart. “I didn’t come here to get insulted! I came to look at a beautiful girl—” He blew a kiss at you and delighted when you fixed your flustered gaze away from him— “and to take your drink order,” he said to AJ. 

“That won’t be necessary.” AJ laughed at your embarrassment with Heechul. “I was just about to drag Y/N off to the beach if you wanna tag along. Maybe we can talk her into wearing a bikini!”

Heechul’s eyes widened at AJ’s proposition, and you wondered, glaring at her, “How are you going to talk me into wearing something I don’t own?”

“We can go shopping!” AJ suggested enthusiastically. “I saw a cute little boutique on my walk over here! Let’s just swing by on our way to the beach!” Then, as if a lack of funds was the cause of your reluctance, she offered, “I’ll buy the bikini— just consider it a birthday gift from me to you!”

Heechul asked, “It’s your birthday?” and he frowned when you nodded. “Damn! Now I feel really terrible about turning you ladies down. I’m on the clock, ya know?” He gestured sadly to his work attire. 

Noting how your shoulders slumped, weighted by disappointment, AJ tried to make you laugh by joking, “Damn! Now how are we gonna assess your tiddie situation, Heechul?”

Again, as if you had spoken, Heechul scoffed at you. “Wow! I didn’t know you could be so bold!” He caught his tongue with his teeth as he smirked, his dimples deepening. “If you wanted me to take my shirt off, all you had to do was ask.”

Winking, Heechul set his pen and notepad on the table, reached around his back to untie his apron, and he might have reached for the hem of his shirt (as AJ slapped her hands on the table, roaring with laughter, while you concealed your burning face with your hands, peeking at him through your fingers) had your mother not approached the table. 

“Oh, hi, ma’am.” Heechul bowed and donned a smile so sweet it made your teeth hurt. He waved both hands, and your mom mirrored the gesture. 

“Hi, Heechul! And hey, AJ— I’m glad to see you made it here safely!” Your mom’s forever smiling eyes landed on you as she asked AJ, “You’re still walking down to the beach with Y/N, right?”

“Yeah, if I can convince her to walk away from her work for just a few hours!” AJ huffed in exaggerated frustration because she knew that would appeal to your mom, who feared that you didn’t spend enough time doing ‘normal teenager things.’

You mom told you, “You can take a break at least for today.” 

Before you could argue that you weren’t reluctant to leave your work— you were just uncomfortable about having to wear a bikini— your mother set to closing your books and stacking your papers. “You can take the day off too, Heechul, so you can look after these girls. Make sure to have them back at the restaurant by 7 to have cake; you can stay for that, if you want.” 

The beach was less than a mile away from the restaurant, and you had never been in trouble a day in your life, so there was no rational reason for mom to send Heechul to escort you and AJ. Still, you didn’t point that out when Heechul nodded, promising, “I’ll keep them out of trouble, ma’am!”

Nobody could have kept AJ out of trouble, though. As soon as the three of you entered the boutique across the street from the restaurant, she abandoned you and Heechul to strike up a conversation with the boy running the cash register. 

While you rolled your eyes at her nerve, Heechul grabbed you by the hand and pulled you to the rack of bathing suits. “Guess that leaves us to shop alone.” He didn’t seem at all affected by AJ’s misplaced priorities. 

Heechul usually laughed at your blush, but his gaze softened when he noticed that you were staring down at your sandals. “Hey.” He nudged you until you looked up at him, and he smiled— a small closed mouth grin that wasn’t supposed to make your heart thunder— as he released your hand. 

“You don’t have to wear anything you don’t want to wear. See— here’s a modest one.” He plucked from the rack a striped black long sleeved bathing suit top matched with black shorts and held it out for your approval. 

You shook your head, and when Heechul looked at you with gathered eyebrows, you explained, “Horizontal stripes aren’t flattering on me.”

“What—” His tone was harsh until he remembered that he was trying to make your birthday happy. Swallowing his annoyance, Heechul forced a grin, returned the striped bathing suit, and reached for another. This one was a ruffled cotton-candy-pink one piece. 

“Ruffles exaggerate my curves.” You frowned as you picked at your nail beds. 

Heechul groaned, “Y/N, curves are good—” and he bit his tongue only when you cut your eyes at him, cheeks reddening. “Fine.” He slammed the hanger back on the rack and asked, “Where do you get all this stuff, anyway? Is it from those magazines—”

“It’s fashion advice,” you maintained, but Heechul continued to argue. 

“I don’t think it’s good for you to read things that tell you ‘You look bad in this, this, and that.’” 

Had the shop been busier, you might have been embarrassed by his volume. Maybe then, you still would have been too flattered by his rage on your behalf to care who overheard. 

Calmly, you explained, “They don’t just tell me what I look bad in. They also say what’s flattering for my body type.” 

Heechul rolled his eyes as he humored you by asking, “Well, what do the magazines say flatters you?”

You pointed to the polka dotted red one piece. Heechul grabbed it and ushered you into the dressing room in the back of the store. In another attempt to make you laugh, the tried to walk into the dressing room with you. 

He laughed— that high pitched cackle that drew everyone’s attention— as you snatched the bathing suit from his hands and pushed him out of the room, chuckling, “Nice try, Heechul.” 

Even after all his skepticism toward magazine advice, Heechul frowned when you walked out of the dressing room without modeling the bathing suit. 

“Patience, Heechul,” you urged as you rose to your tiptoes to pull the elastic that held his hair back. You had never seen him with his hair down before; he looked more beautiful this way. “You’ll see it at the beach.” 

He grumbled, “Whatever,” while raking his fingers through his hair. He smiled only when you absentmindedly slid his hair tie onto your wrist before skipping to meet AJ at the register. 

“Cute,” AJ cooed when you dropped the bathing suit onto the counter. “Very 1950s chic! Your almost-boyfriend has great taste!” You shoved her as she turned to wiggle her eyebrows and wave at Heechul. 

Heechul’s frown returned when AJ whipped her wallet out to purchase your bathing suit. 

“Hey!” His eyes spat fire. “I wanted to buy that!” Stepping by your side, he had also pulled his wallet from his work pants’ front pocket. He wore an indignant expression that clearly meant, “And I have every right to buy it! I helped her pick it out while you were sidetracked by your baby daddy quest!”

AJ mimicked his face, going so far as to stick her tongue out at him while adopting his whining tone. “Too bad! This was my idea first, so you’ll have to think of some other present for Y/N!”

While the cashier watched their exchange with raised eyebrows, you offered him an apologetic smile and tugged anxiously at one of your twin braids. “Guys, I’ll just buy it myself—”

“No!” Heechul and AJ shouted in unison, causing you and the cashier to jump and raise your hands in surrender. 

Shoving his wallet back into his pocket, Heechul grumbled, “It was AJ’s idea first, so whatever.” 

AJ stood triumphantly, beaming as she counted the money likely given to her by your Mom, and Heechul stood over by the door. He crossed his arms over his chest, lips pressed out into a pout. 

You couldn’t explain that his presence alone was a gift without sounding like a lovesick fool, so you smiled as you walked to his side and said, “We’ll need towels and sunscreen and stuff, right?”

Heechul blinked until he understood that you were offering him another way to financially contribute to the beach trip since, obviously, that was so important to him. He grabbed you around the shoulders and grinned as he instructed, “Wait here.” 

. . .  

“What was the point of buying a bathing suit,” AJ asked as she plopped onto the checkered blanket with you and Heechul, “if you’re just gonna sit here the whole time?”

You tossed a towel at her, kicking with your bare feet to drive her off of the corner of the blanket she was soaking with ocean water. “Why did you drag me to the beach for my birthday if you’re just gonna flirt with every guy on the beach?”

The red patches that rose over AJ’s cheeks were either the beginning stages of a sunburn or her first blush. “Well, forgive me for not wanting to interrupt you and Heechul.” 

At his name, Heechul propped himself up on his elbows and lowered his sunglasses to cock an eyebrow at AJ. “Excuse me? We aren’t doing anything. I am being a remarkably well behaved boy.”

“Right,” AJ said skeptically before rising to her feet and dropping the towel onto the blanket. “Well, I’m gonna go get ice cream. Might swim some more. I’m not sure yet. But you won’t see me again ’til it’s time to walk back to the restaurant.” 

You thought AJ was mad at you until she winked before prancing away. 

So that’s why she had been elusive all day: she didn’t want to be the third wheel. In her mind, this was a date that she had coordinated with your mom’s help. 

Heechul rolled onto his side. “You can go swimming if you want.” Lying like that, with one hand supporting his head and the other resting on his hip, clad only in his black slacks, you couldn’t bear to look at him. You fixed your gaze on the not-too-distant shoreline as he said, “I wouldn’t mind. It’s your birthday, and your cousin is visiting from across the world, so do what’s fun to you.”

It occurred to you that there was an imbalance between you and Heechul. While you had vaguely admitted your attraction to him as some kind of crush similar to one every girl developed when looking at him, he had been open about liking you. Liking someone is different from having a crush. Liking someone is different from thinking they’re pretty. 

The thing was, you did like Heechul. You couldn’t exactly explain why or when it started, but you figured you must have tripped some time during your first conversation. You must have fallen without realizing it until you looked up at him from your place on the ground. 

You hadn’t ever liked somebody before, so you didn’t know how these things worked. You didn’t know what marked the distinction between crush and love, but you knew that you liked Heechul, and you didn’t want to swim because he couldn't walk into the water wearing his work uniform. 

You knew, “I am having fun,” so you told him. 

Heechul didn’t tease you. He simply lowered his sunglasses again to look at you without the barrier— to check your expression for any signs of uncertainty or deceit. He handed the glasses to you, explaining, “You’re squinting. Here.” 

As you slid them onto your face, he crawled in front of you, sat with his back to you, and asked, “Do you know how to braid hair?”

“Yeah,” you answered, “but I don’t have a hair tie.” 

He advised, “Check your wrist,” and you saw that you were wearing one. 

Unable to remember where it came from or how Heechul noticed it, you set to combing through his hair with your fingers. “Do you want, like, a French braid, or—” 

“I don’t care.” Always a little too honest to believe, Heechul explained, “I just want you to touch me, okay? And not in, like, a pervy way, so stop blushing.”

It wasn’t so impressive that Heechul knew that you were blushing without watching your face burn; you were almost always turning red while talking to him. 

“Okay,” you agreed, playing with his hair without pausing for even a moment. Your movements didn’t falter until Heechul leaned back so that his back was flush with your chest. 

“What are you doing?” He whirled around when you pushed him away. His voice had been grating— irritated— until he noticed that the color had drained from your face. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you or—”

Shaking your head, you explained, “My heart is racing. I didn’t want you to feel—”

Heechul gently grabbed your wrist and held your palm flat over his chest— bare and warm from the sun’s rays— so that you could feel it too: the rapid booming of his heart. Somehow, that made it okay. Somehow that made it right: the fact that he felt this way too. 

Once you nodded, Heechul returned to his position with his back against your chest. When you said, “I can’t braid your hair when you’re this close,” he repeated, “I don’t care,” and he reached for his phone. 

So he really did just want to be close to you. 

You sat there for a few minutes, gaze shifting from the clouds overhead to the shoreline to the children building sandcastles to the couples sitting on blankets in positions to yours and Heechul’s. You sat there for a few minutes, stiff and unsure of what you should do, unsure of what you were expected to do, uncomfortably aware of what you wanted to do. 

Finally, you gave in to your desires. You wrapped your arms around Heechul’s waist and hid your burning face in the scalding crook of his neck as you awaited his reaction. 

He gasped at the unexpected affection and dropped his phone. His hair tickled your nose and lips while he asked, “What are you doing?” For once, he was the surprised one. He was the breathless one. 

You replied, “I just want to touch you, okay? And not in a pervy way, so stop blushing.”

“Me?” His voice cracked as his arms grazed over yours. “I don’t blush.”

Hoping to call his bluff, you tried to raise your head, but he held you where you were, saying, “Don’t move. I want to stay like this for a while.”

“But Heechul,” you whined against his skin, “how am I supposed to kiss you from here?”

“Yah!” Heechul jumped out of your embrace and rounded on you again. He leaned forward on his knees, hands pressed down on the blanket on either side of your body, face just inches from yours. He couldn’t truthfully deny that his face was scarlet when he asked, “What’s gotten into you? Your cousin shows up, and suddenly you’re a shameless flirt?”

“Don’t blame AJ.” Somehow emboldened by Heechul’s blush, you accused, “It’s your fault that I’m acting like this.” 

“My fault?” His jaw dropped, and he shook his head. 

You nodded. “Yeah! You’re a terrible influence!”

“I resent that.” His growing smile suggested otherwise. His blush faded as he adapted to the situation; if you wanted to remain dominant, you would have to take action quickly. 

“Besides, Heechul—” you teasingly lowered the sunglasses he gave you so he could see your wink— “hasn’t anybody ever told you that you’re irresistible?”

It was quick— almost too quick for you to appreciate the cherry flavor of his barely chapped lips against yours— over in the blink of an eye, but you would never forget that first dizzying kiss. 

“Ah, damn it.” Heechul huffed when he backed away from you. His hair fell over his face, and he didn’t bother to move it (probably) because it acted as a curtain between his blush and your wide, curious eyes. “I’m supposed to prove myself worthy by waiting for you, and then I got all impatient like an idiot.”

At first, you thought that he was throwing a theatrical fit to lighten the mood— maybe he thought you were overwhelmed by the kiss— but then his shoulders slumped. He didn’t meet your eyes because he was focused on his balled fists. 

You tried to comfort him by acknowledging, “I went out of my way to tempt you,” but that only seemed to make matters worse.

“That’s no excuse. You clearly said that you don’t want to date, and—”

“I’m sorry,” you interrupted, annoyed by his efforts to dampen the moment, “but I didn’t know that sharing one sweet kiss means we have to get married next week.”

Heechul blinked and opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but then he broke into a bashful grin. “Oh. Yeah, maybe I’m overthinking things.” When he moved to sit by your side, he was careful not to brush his hand against yours; evidently, he wasn’t done overthinking. 

A part of you— the part that forced your lips into a heavy frown— wondered how long things would be like this. How long would he, who never hesitated before, fear crossing the boundary you had drawn before trust was (somehow) established?

A part of you— the part that compelled you to toss the sunglasses into the beach tote so you could look at him without the slightest obstruction to your vision— said, “You’re a really nice person.” Then, that part of you said, “You’re a beautiful person, Heechul.”

“Why are you saying that?” He looked at you with an apprehension you recognize from the times you caught your reflection at school. He didn’t believe you. “You can’t say something like that just because I kissed you—”

“I’m not,” you argued, voice sharp as a blade although your heart was flooded with burning compassion. “I’m not trying to— I’m saying that you’re beautiful because you’re not going to kiss me again.” 

Heechul sighed. “I don’t understand. I don’t know why you’re confusing me like this, but—” 

“It’s beautiful that you care so much about waiting for me. It’s beautiful that you’re not pressuring me to just hurry up and date you just because the feelings are there.”

“That’s not beautiful,” Heechul murmured, smoothing the patch of blanket before him. “That’s called not being a total jerk.”

“Well,” you breathed, “I think it’s beautiful that you’re not a total jerk.”

When Heechul swallowed, his eyes still clinging to his mistrust, he seemed to realize that he couldn’t change your mind. Maybe he didn’t want to change your mind. “Okay. I believe that you think I’m beautiful, so I think you should try to believe that I think you’re beautiful.” 

You gasped. When would you get used to the fluttering in your chest those words caused? Did you want it to end so that you could breathe more comfortably? Or did you want the feeling to last forever? 

“What? What’s wrong?” Heechul finally pushed his hair aside so you could watch his face contort as he complained, “Y/N, you make me a little bit crazy. I know there’s a lot going on in your head, and maybe I wouldn’t get it all, but I— try to trust me a little. Please?”

“It’s not an issue of trust,” you claimed, but maybe it was. “It’s just—” adjusting your denim shorts, you worried aloud, “what if you think I’m weird?”

“Who gives a shit what I think?” Heechul apologized when you winced at his tone. “Well, obviously, you care what I think, huh?” He clicked his tongue. “Don’t worry then. I don’t think being weird is bad. I don’t think anything about you is bad.”

“I was just thinking,” you confessed when he linked his pinky with yours, “that I can’t breathe when you call me beautiful. And then I wondered how long I will feel this way. And then I wondered what’s wrong with me.” 

“First of all, there’s nothing wrong with you,” Heechul said matter-of-factly. “It’s okay to be happy when somebody calls you beautiful—”

At the risk of sounding like a fool, you elaborated, “It’s not about being called beautiful. It’s about you calling me beautiful. I don’t want to be one of those girls who only feels special because a boy— even a boy like you— compliments her.” 

Heechul frowned and scratched at the back of his neck. “See, I don’t know what to say about that. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you feeling special because— get this— you are. And if I help you realize it, then, well, I don’t see any harm in that.” As if wounded, he asked, “Why can’t I be one of the things that make you happy? I get why I can’t be everything— I don’t want to be everything— but why can’t I be something?”

You shrugged, unsure of how to process his question (much less answer it), and Heechul started guessing, “Because I’m a boy? Because I like you? Because I’ll kiss you every chance I get? That’s not very fair, if you ask me.” 

“It’s not because you’re a boy or because you like me or because you want to kiss me,” you admitted in a small voice, gathering your legs so you could rest your chin atop your knees. “It’s because— what do I do when you change your mind?”

Your question knocked the breath out of Heechul. He tried to mask his wheeze with a laugh. “Change my mind about what? Liking you? Falling in love with you? Thinking you’re beautiful?” He looked to you, again, for answers. Again, you shrugged, so he reasoned, “Well, Y/N, I’m not gonna lie or sugar coat things. People change, people grow, and sometimes people leave. I’m not going to promise you forever, and you shouldn’t trust anybody who does.” 

Everything he said— you already knew it. Those truths were among the many fears that prevented you from leaping into the unknown with him despite your repressed desires. Hearing them spoken aloud should have stunned you, maybe terrified you, but the words were a comfort. 

Heechul understood; Heechul wouldn’t pretend to hold the authority to silence your concerns forever. Perhaps above all, you appreciated his honesty. 

“I like you now. I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with you now,” he confessed. You knew he wasn’t speaking for a reaction, as he often did, because he wasn’t even looking at you. “Now is all I can give you.”

“Now,” you wanted to say, “is beautiful,” but you couldn’t find your voice, or you couldn’t find the words. 

“But—” he looked at you briefly, stuttered when he found that you had been admiring him, and fixed his gaze up on the sky— “I will always think you’re beautiful. Even if you cut my heart out and stop on it— and I know you would never intentionally hurt me, but come on, that’s one of those things people do— you won’t stop being beautiful. Maybe you don’t know it yet, maybe you never will, but your beauty is one of those few forever things.” 

You said, “I don’t believe in forever,” and Heechul breathed an airy sort of laugh that wasn’t born from amusement. 

“Well, I guess we have more in common than we thought.” He looked at you, took your hand, and said, “I guess when it ends—” he gasped and amended— “ah, I don’t want to think about that, so let’s say if— if it ends, I’ll be able to look back and know that I loved someone truly beautiful.” 

Heechul’s face burned when you said, “I don’t think that’s so important.” Lacing your fingers through his when he tried to pull away, you supposed, “That’s not as important as knowing that you were loved by someone who knows you are truly beautiful.”

Moments passed in silence, with the two of you looking at each other. 

“You need to let go,” Heechul whispered, “because if you don’t, I’m going to kiss you again.” 

“I’m not going to let you go.” 

This time, you crossed the distance and caught his lips with yours. This time, the kiss lasted long enough for you to memorize the feeling of Heechul’s cool breath against your skin, the feeling of his one hand squeezing yours while the other moved to cup your cheek. This time, you knew that you would never catch your breath again, and you didn’t mind.

. . . 

“Nice lipstick, Heechul.” AJ smirked on the walk back to the restaurant. “I’m sure Y/N’s parents are really gonna love how it compliments your complexion.” 

Heechul smiled even as he reached up to wipe at his lips and cheeks. You blushed, realizing that he hadn’t stopped smiling like that since your second kiss. 

AJ squealed, “Ah! He’s so damn happy he got kissed on the beach, he doesn’t care if he gets scolded by the ’rents!”

“The ’rents?” You rolled your eyes at AJ’s vocabulary while straining to remove the red stains from Heechul’s face. “What kind of— Heechul, stop pushing me away!”

“I like my kiss marks!” He shrieked before lifting you off the ground, arms secured around your waist, and peppering your face with light kisses. 

“Children!” AJ playfully scolded, cupping her hands around her mouth like a megaphone. “Behave!”

You couldn’t help but laugh as a sharp breeze blew Heechul’s hair against your face. Cursing, he set you back onto your feet and set to combing through his hair. He was too focused on making his hair presentable to distract you from wiping at his face with a towel from the beach bag. 

“My dad won’t like them,” you reasoned to his childish pout. “You don’t want him to make us break up so soon, do you?”

“Obviously not,” Heechul grumbled as you fished his red button-down shirt out of the bag. 

Tossing the short at him, you ordered, “Put this on, then—”

Smirking, he jested, “That’s not usually how these things go. You’re asking me to put my clothes on?”

“— Nobody is gonna react well if you walk into the restaurant shirtless,” you concluded, gaze stern in response to his perversion. 

AJ observed, wiggling her eyebrows at you, “You don’t seem to mind the sight so much,” and Heechul joined her in laughing at your spreading blush. 

Their laughter didn’t die until the three of you walked into the restaurant and met with your father’s disappointed scowl behind the host’s podium. “Where have you been?”

Although his gaze was fixed solely on you— your breath gasped past your lips and, in your shame, you dropped the bag onto the floor— AJ answered your father as Heechul knelt to stuff the escaped towels back into the bag. “Auntie said that as long as we were back by 7—” 

AJ fell silent as your father eyed her sharply. He turned his attention to Heechul, who stood up straight while holding the bag’s strap. Fearing that your father could somehow see the lipstick stains you had meticulously scrubbed, you shrank. 

“Where have you been, Heechul?” Your father asked. “Weren’t you scheduled to work until closing?”

Shifting from one foot to another, Heechul started, “I—”

You would never hear his response. Your mom walked out of the kitchen carrying a birthday cake and smiled as she asked, “So, kids, how was the beach? Heechul, AJ didn’t act up too badly, did she?” 

Apparently, it didn’t matter much (or at all) to your father that your mom had given the three of you permission— encouragement— to go to the beach. Pinching at the bridge of his nose, he said flatly, “AJ, I’m used to you being a bad influence—” 

Rather than listening to your father’s scolding and crumbling under the weight of his disappointment, AJ rolled her eyes and stormed past you and Heechul, who were frozen stiff, to help your mom set the table. 

“— but Heechul, I expect better from you considering your circumstances. You have a lot to prove.” 

Heechul’s circumstances? 

You glanced at Heechul for some kind of explanation, knowing well that this wasn’t any time to talk, but he had fixed his gaze down at his dull black shoes. The circumstances— whatever they were— must have been dire, judging by the dark maroon that colored Heechul’s entire face. 

“And Y/N—” your father’s stern tone faltered when you looked away from Heechul to meet his stare with tear-filled eyes. Quietly, he asked as if he truly couldn’t understand why you would want to do something fun for your birthday, “You were supposed to be studying— don’t you care about your future at all?”

“Alright!” Your mom slammed the plates down on the table, stormed toward the conflict, and you were thankful that the restaurant closed early; at least nobody else would have to witness your humiliation. “Don’t start saying things like that! Your daughter slaves away in that corner booth every day of every week, and I don’t want her to become one of those zombie kids who don’t know how to crack a smile, so I sent her to the beach with AJ and Heechul because she likes them. She deserves to spend time with people she likes—”

It wasn’t often that your mother lost her temper, but it was never a pretty sight. She was so loud, and your father was so distracted by her wagging finger, that they didn’t notice you slip out the door. 

Nobody would have seen you lower your head as your threw your back against the building’s rough brick exterior had Heechul not followed you outside wearing an expression of genuine concern. 

“Are you okay?” He leaned against the wall too, and reached for your hand that was much colder in the moonlight outside your parents’ restaurant than it had been under the beach’s sun. 

You nodded and wiped at your tears with your available hand. “Yeah. Dad will apologize for being so strict after you and AJ go home. He’ll be proud of me for studying in that corner booth hours before the restaurant opens, and— and—”

“It’s okay to be upset.” Heechul offered, “If it means he’ll apologize sooner, I’ll go home—”

“I don’t want you to go home,” you blurted. Thinking that Heechul would tease you, a hand automatically clamped over your mouth. 

He didn’t laugh at you, though. A kind, gentle sort of smile curved his lips as he agreed, “Okay. I won’t go home then.” You nodded gratefully, and he promised, “I’ll wait out here with you until you’re ready to go back inside.” 

And he waited patiently. 

It turned out that Heechul really did have a motorcycle. On days when the sun shone brightly through the morning clouds, he used it to drive you to school and to pick you up during his break or on his way to start his shift at the restaurant. A far sweeter boyfriend than you dreamed was possible, he always pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and fastened your helmet before every ride. 

On overcast days when rain threatened to fall from gray morning clouds, Heechul drove you to and from school in his car. Although meticulously cleaned and well functioning, the car wasn’t exactly new. 

Upon entering it for the first time, you joked, “So your little sales pitch to the ladies at the restaurant— ya know, ‘buy today’s special, help me earn money, and I’ll drive you around town in a new convertible—’”

Heechul, who had been resisting laughter since you started to mimic his voice, interrupted with a wink. “Those were empty promises, baby. I only ever had eyes for you.” 

“Right. Of course.”

You couldn’t quite understand how Heechul could be so indifferent to all of the girls, many of whom were devastatingly gorgeous, but you believed him when he called those interactions mindless flirting. After all, that was all it had been to those girls— non-committal conversations with one of the prettiest boys they had ever seen. 

Moments passed in relative silence. The only noise was the drumming of Heechul’s fingers against the steering wheel until you asked, “What time do you have to work today?” 

That was how your conversations went when you weren’t busy making fun of each other. Although it didn’t affect him, Heechul would ask about the tests you had scheduled for the day. Although it didn’t affect you, you would ask about his work schedule. It was just nice to express an interest in each other’s day, even if you wouldn’t be there for most of the moments. 

“I’m off today.” 

You gawked at him. “You don’t have to go in at all?” You couldn’t remember the last time Heechul hadn’t worked at the restaurant for at least a few hours. 

“Baby,” Heechul laughed, bringing his eyes away from the road for a split second to look at you. “That’s what it means to be off.”

As always, you rolled your eyes in instances like these when Heechul pretended to be much smarter than you. “Don’t be a butt.” He chuckled at your weak insult. “I’m just surprised that you woke up early to drive me to school when you could have slept in. I can take the bus when you’re unavailable, you know. That’s what I’ve done for years.”

Granted, you embraced Heechul’s role in your morning routine, and your day wouldn’t start nearly as happily without him, but you didn’t want to be selfish with his time. 

“But I’m not unavailable,” Heechul argued, shutting the radio off when a song he didn’t like played through the speakers. “I enjoy our morning chats, so you’ll just have to get used to the passenger seat, alright?”

You adopted the tired tone he usually used when groaning, “Whatever,” before offering your sincere thanks. 

Instantly, he replied, “You’re welcome,” and you smiled because he no longer squirmed when you spoke to him in genuine admiration. 

As he pulled into the parking lot of your school, bringing the car close to the building so you wouldn’t have to walk far in the rain, you looked at him with a pout. 

“Ah damn,” Heechul sighed, working a hand through his hair as he took in your expression. “What do you want?”

“Let’s play hooky!” You suggested just to see how he might react. 

Heechul snorted. “I’m out of school for the summer, so I’m not pulling some delinquent stunt by driving out of this parking lot. He raised an eyebrow at you. “You, however—”

“Come on, Heechul, pretty please?” Bringing your hands together, you poked your bottom lip out. “I’m just a few weeks away from graduating, and I’ve never skipped a single day.” 

“Your father is never going to approve of me if I aid and abet in your first act of truancy, Y/N,” Heechul deadpanned, shaking his head. “I’ve made a lot of progress during the family dinners, and I’m not about to see all my hard work and good manners go to waste just because you look at me like that with your pretty eyes.” 

Your effort to skip school had been half-hearted at best, so you forfeited the fight almost as soon as it started. Zipping your backpack, you huffed, “Fine, fine,” biting back your amusement that, for once, he was being the responsible one. “I’ll see you later.”

“So you’re going to leave without giving me a kiss just because I’m not giving you your way?” 

That hadn’t been your reasoning at all, but when you turned to face him, hand on the door handle, and saw that Heechul’s lips were puckered disappointedly, you shrugged. Your only motive to play along with his narrative was your amusement with Heechul’s frustration. 

“That’s really childish.” Very rich coming from the king of childish behavior.

You shrugged again, and Heechul asked, “Where would we even go if you didn’t go to class?” He carefully phrased the question as a hypothetical, but you understood that he was giving in. 

Settling back into your seat, you chewed on your cheek. Because the rain was falling in full force now— pounding against the roof of Heechul’s car and sliding down the windows— the park, beach, and nearby outdoor shopping center wouldn’t be too fun. What was even open at that hour? 

Remembering that on an earlier car ride, Heechul mentioned that he was renting an apartment just a few miles from your school, you suggested, “Your place?”

“Wow.” Heechul chuckled at your nerve. “There you go again, being all bold like I can resist you.” 

“There you go, being a pervert again,” you squirmed when he smirked at your suggestion. He probably wouldn’t notice the blush rising beneath your makeup, but you turned to face out the window anyway. “It’s not dirty unless you make it dirty, Heechul.” 

“Do you want me to?” He reached across the center console to poke at your ribs like an annoying child. As you reached again for the door handle, he blurted, “Sorry, sorry! I won’t make it dirty if you really want to visit my place.” 

You skeptically narrowed your eyes at him, reluctantly leaning back in your seat. “Promise?” 

Heechul promised, and once you buckled your seatbelt, he drove away. His only condition for allowing you to skip school was that you text your mother to tell her where you were, preparing for the likelihood that the school may call home to report your absence— he didn’t want to worry her. 

“Call me crazy,” he said, “but I feel like your mom will be overjoyed that you’re doing a normal teenager thing for once.” 

“You are crazy,” you teased, giggling when he rolled his eyes, “but not because of that. While Dad has always been worried about me growing into a successful adult, I think Mom has been worried that I was never really a happy kid.” 

Casually, as if the question weren’t deeply personal, he asked, “Were you? Were you a happy kid?”

Why couldn’t you answer straight away?

In all honesty, you couldn’t remember laughing as much in your entire life as you had in the last month with Heechul. You couldn’t remember the last time you looked up from your textbooks before that day he sat across from you and ripped your magazine. 

Maybe it wasn’t so much that you were unhappy before Heechul’s smile became the highlight of your day. Maybe you just hadn’t known before that happiness could be a priority. 

Heechul pulled you out of your thoughts by calling your name as he opened your door. Offering his hand, he wondered, “What are you thinking?”

All you could think was, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” the feeling magnified by his touch, but that hardly seemed like the right thing to say when Heechul led you into his spotless all-white apartment, out of the rain. 

“Doesn’t it stress you out?” You asked as you anxiously eased onto the red couch at his urging. “Living in a place like this, I mean. I would be afraid I would spill something or somehow ruin the pretty white paint.”  

After kicking your shoes off, you pulled your socked feet onto the couch, afraid of soiling the shiny white floor that appeared untrodden. 

Heechul said, laughing at your behavior, “You can’t be afraid of making your mark on the world.”

Taking that as encouragement to follow him into some other room, you leaped off the couch. Heechul almost collided with you when he turned out of the room, clutching a guitar in hand. 

“Wow,” he grinned despite his promise not to make things weird. “If you’re so eager to come into my room, come on ahead.” He pushed the door open, probably expecting you to run, blushing, back into the living room. 

Driven by curiosity and a desire to surprise Heechul, you walked past him into a white bedroom covered with posters, housing guitars— electric and acoustic— and lined with bookshelves. Upon closer inspection, however, you realized that the shelves weren’t filled with books; they were overflowing with alphabetized CDs ranging from all languages, all genres, all decades.

Apparently unable to stand the silence, Heechul remarked, “I just re-organized those. I change it up a lot. This time it’s alphabetical order, but I’ve tried organizing them by genre, release date, language— oh—” 

When you turned to face him, he was sitting with his back against the headboard and blushing. Sometimes, like when he chewed his lips to cope with mild embarrassment, Heechul was adorable. 

“Oops.” He mirrored your smile when you sat on the foot of his bed. “I’m rambling.”

“Did you write me a song?” You folded your hands in your lap as you teased, “You know, like how you used to promise those girls—”

Throwing his head back, Heechul groaned, “This again!” He couldn’t dampen the bright smile that illuminated his face when you giggled at his reaction. “I don’t write songs about other girls! Only about you!”

Assuming that he was joking as usual, you disregarded that remark until he started strumming on the strings and filled the air with his gentle hum. Heechul sang often in the car, and you often complimented his talent, but there was a softer quality in his voice now. 

Why was his voice so different? Was it because you were in his room, whose atmosphere was somehow different— almost forbidden— from his car’s atmosphere? Was it because his voice was accompanied by a dulcet acoustic guitar rather than the full hard rock ensemble he sang along to in the car? 

Maybe Heechul sensed your questions, and maybe he wanted to give you some answers. “I haven’t written the lyrics yet. Or maybe I have, and I’m just too embarrassed to sing them while you’re looking at me like that—” 

Like what? Like there had never been anybody so beautiful in the history of mankind? Like he held your heart in the palm of his hand (and probably didn’t even realize it)? Like you wanted to admire him for the rest of time? 

“— but I kind of thought it would be nice— like something romantic from one of your magazines— to tell you that I love you with a song, but—”

Heechul paused again as if you weren’t leaning in to his every word. His strumming ceased as he looked up from the guitar to gauge your reaction. Once satisfied by your sharp gasp, he continued, “But you know I can’t ever really stick with a plan. I see you, and I get so excited that I can’t just think to myself that I love you. I have to tell you.” 

He set the guitar down on the floor, crawled to your side of the bed. Balancing on his knees and maintaining a small distance between your faces that instantly flooded your senses with memories of your first cherry flavored kiss on the beach, he breathed, “I love you.” 

Then, as if to spare you the burden of having to return the three simple words, Heechul brushed his lips against yours. 

Not too long ago, Heechul would have tried to debate when you breathlessly responded, “I love you too.” He would have said something like “Why are you saying that? You can’t just say that you love me because I said it first.” 

Your feelings must have been obvious from the expression he admired on your face when he broke the kiss; Heechul’s only response was a smile as he pulled your body against his.

. . . 

“He really likes you,” AJ said over the phone when she called to congratulate you on graduating. 

Applying the last touches of your makeup, you agreed. “I know.” 

Your father decided that the best way to celebrate your graduation and acceptance into an online summer college program was to host a small party. Beaming too radiantly at your achievements to cling to his disapproval of your boyfriend, he had said, “You can even invite Heechul!” as if Heechul didn’t work at the restaurant where the party would be hosted. Still, you smiled at your father’s effort to encourage your happiness.

Maybe it was silly to put so much effort into your appearance when Heechul considered you beautiful during all those days when you didn’t bother wearing makeup, but maybe you weren’t dressing up to impress him. Maybe you were trying to demonstrate with your appearance some transformation that occurred over the past few months; after all, your magazines called fashion a form of self-expression. 

AJ teased, her smirk almost audible, “I bet you’re doing that adorable thing where you smile down at the ground, just lost in the thought of him.” 

AJ was right about one thing: you were smiling, but not at the ground. You smiled as you met your bright eyes in the mirror. 

“Of course, I don’t blame you or anything. He really likes you,” she repeated, and you almost wanted to brag that he loves you, but that seemed too special to share over a phone call. That detail needed to be reserved for an in-person conversation (or at least a FaceTime chat).

She continued, “You barged into his bedroom, and nothing scandalous happened? That’s true love.” 

Or maybe, you thought, smile fading, Heechul just didn’t think about you like that. 

It was ironic. AJ (the self-proclaimed wild child always searching for a fling) admired the lack of physical intimacy in your relationship while you (the lifelong good girl who found love without looking)  frowned. 

Why were you upset, though? Did you genuinely crave that kind of connection with Heechul? Wasn’t it enough— more than enough— beautiful— that he loved you? Was this knotting in your stomach just the latest manifestation of your fear that, maybe, his attraction to you was limited? 

You couldn’t understand, and that confusion about your own feelings deepened the frown lines around your cherry red lips. 

Calling your name, AJ asked, “Are you still there?”

“Sorry.” Although nobody was there to see it, you forced a smile as you swept your makeup into a drawer. “I have to go, AJ. All this talking about Heechul has made me lose track of time.” You hoped that by distracting her with a joke at your own expense, she wouldn’t be able to imagine your sudden discomfort. 

Too consumed by your spiraling thoughts on the short walk from your family’s home into the restaurant, you didn’t see him coming until he had you pinned against the cold, hard floor. Before you ever looked at him, you felt Heechul’s heart thundering against your chest. 

He grinned, reaching up to pick pieces of crushed taco shell out of your hair. Apparently in no rush to stand despite the stares and laughter of party guests— comprised mostly of family members and your parents’ friends— Heechul traced the outline of your lips with his thumb. “Hey.” 

“Hey.” You were just about to hiss for him to get off, heat rising to your cheeks at his close proximity, when you made the mistake of looking into his eyes. 

On the bright side, looking at him— loving him— distracted you from the burning embarrassment of having fallen in a restaurant full of people. You probably would have laid there, heart racing, staring at Heechul for hours if he hadn’t suddenly jumped up. 

As if realizing at once that the people closest to you (and your family) were watching, Heechul dropped the tray he had been carrying onto an empty table and offered both hands to help you off of the ground. 

The restaurant wasn’t entirely closed to the public— your father probably determined that he couldn’t afford to miss a day of profit. A table full of girls clad in brightly colored bikini tops giggled when Heechul pulled you past them to the back of the restaurant. 

Stupidly, as if you couldn’t read the sign that marked the ladies’ restroom, you whispered, “Where are we going?”

“You have lettuce and tomato and beef all in your hair,” Heechul explained as he led you into the restroom. He ushered for you to sit atop the bathroom counter. “And that’s my fault, so—”

“You can’t be in here!” As if transforming into your mother, you wagged your finger as you scolded him. “What if somebody—”

“Look at us. Anyone who walks in here and thinks it’s a little suspicious that the waiter and the owners’ daughter are alone in the women’s restroom, they’ll quickly realize that this is some kind of emergency.” Heechul spun you around to face your reflection. Both of you were covered head to toe, as he said, in lettuce, tomato, beef, and whatever else Chef Leeteuk piled onto the tray.

Having only soiled his apron— which, technically, was made to be dirtied— Heechul frowned only when he noticed your frown in the mirror. 

“Hey.” Heechul turned you to face him before he lifted you onto the counter. “I’m sorry.” He ripped a paper towel from its dispenser, ran it under the water faucet, and wiped at some sauce staining your cheek. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.” 

Stirred by the guilt flooding his eyes, you didn’t hesitate to explain, “I’m not hurt. I’m just— I know you probably think this kind of thing is stupid— but I spent a long time getting dressed, and—”

Heechul followed your gaze down to your white dress that had been stained by the food. “Shit. I’m sorry—” He moved to wipe at the stain, but faltered once he realized that it covered the majority of your chest. Tossing the paper towel onto the counter, he repeated, “I’m really sorry. It’s not stupid that you dressed up for your graduation party; it’s stupid that I ran into you with a tray full of tacos. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” you responded to each of Heechul’s apologies, but he didn’t seem to hear you. 

“I know this won’t be nearly as pretty as your dress—” Heechul looked you over again and cast his eyes up to the ceiling as he hissed, “Damn it, you really dressed nice. You still look pretty post-incident, so I know you looked drop dead gorgeous when you walked in. And I barely even got to see it before I tackled you.” 

“Heechul.” To make him hear, you had to hold his face in your hands. His cheeks scalded your palms. “It’s okay. I’m okay. Yeah, this dress is probably ruined—” he groaned— “but it’s not the end of the world. This is one of those one time dresses, anyway. It’s fine. Really,” you said to his skeptical expression, “it’s fine.”

Unconvinced, Heechul shook his head before catching your lips with his. Maybe he thought the sweet act of affection would lessen his guilt. Maybe he wanted to gauge whether you were truly upset by your response to his kiss. 

Maybe he was satisfied by the urgency with which you drew him closer, forgetting (or not caring) that the food still sticking to his apron would further taint your dress. Maybe he was smiling into the kiss until, without warning, your hands gathered the fabric over his chest and shoved him away. 

“What’s wrong?” Heechul asked so often that the words rolled off his tongue without much thought. He gave you that look— brows furrowing and eyes twinkling with curiosity— that always preceded his request for you to trust him with your deepest thoughts. 

“We can’t do this here.” 

“What?” Heechul quirked his head at you, hair falling from his ponytail holder to fall into his eyes. “Kiss?”

You nodded, and he kissed— the frustrating tight-lipped pecks that were ending and beginning again before you could react— your lips again and again until you gathered the strength to push him away. 

“We are in a public restroom, Heechul,” you reminded him between pants, “and we are in my parents’ restaurant, and—” 

“I promise I’m not just being an insatiable pervert.” Heechul retied his ponytail before saying, “I know when you’re embarrassed. You’ve been blushing since those stupid girls laughed at us—”

Us, Heechul said, but they had been laughing at you. Knowing that Heechul wouldn’t want to hear that— explaining that would send him out to their table to harshly deliver a piece of his mind— you bit your tongue. 

“— and I would just rather think that you’re blushing because I kissed you over and over again— not because I ran into you with a tray of tacos like an idiot.” 

Again, like every other day of knowing him, you were struck by the realization, “You’re nice, Heechul.” Sometimes, because he teased you so much, that fact was easy to forget; rediscovering it every day was a joy, though. 

“Only to you,” he conditioned before kissing you. “Oh— like I was trying to say earlier before I got distracted— I know that this isn’t anywhere near being as pretty as your dress—” He frowned, tracing his fingers along the ruined fabric— “but I brought clothes to change into after my shift, before I joined your party. They probably won’t fit you right, but—”

“Heechul,” you wiggled your eyebrows teasingly, “was this all an elaborate scheme to get me out of my clothes?”

Because he was honestly trying to atone for his actions, Heechul wasn’t prepared for your playfulness to strike at that exact moment. His face turned beet red, and he stuttered, “No— I— no—” 

“If you wanted me to take my dress off,” you jumped off of the counter and reached for the zipper, biting back laughter, “all you had to do was ask.” 

Heechul kept his eyes fixed on yours, either trying to call your bluff or daring you to follow through. When you started to tug on the zipper, however, he clapped a hand over his eyes and whined, “We can’t do this here! We’re in a public restroom, and we’re in your parents’ restaurant!”

Once you doubled over laughing, he dropped his hand, wheezing, “Aish, everything’s a joke with you, huh?” 

Thoroughly unashamed— proud, even— you nodded your head. “A funny joke!”

“You win this round, baby,” Heechul warned, “but watch out.” He brushed his lips against your forehead before walking out of the restroom, you assumed, to retrieve the clothes he offered. 

Leaning against a stall door, you passed the time as you always did when Heechul wasn’t by your side: by imagining the next time you would get lost in his eyes.

[islanublar]

CEO'S BLOG

Simon Masrani: Masrani Chief Executive Officer, Simon Masrani, in the JW001 Helicopter overlooking Isla Nublar.

It's been a long time coming but finally I can update my blog. So many of the endeavors we are preparing behind the scenes here at Masrani have now entered new stages of development. This has freed up my schedule to finally fly down to visit Jurassic World and oversee our latest attraction: the Indominus rex.

The last year has been very busy for me so I regrettably haven't been able to oversee the development behind this new dinosaur. However the scientists at Jurassic World are a truly awe-inspiring group of people and have brought us unforgettable experiences since 2005. I'm sure the Indominus will be another worthy addition to our ever-growing prehistoric population on Nublar. I'm also certain that I'll be able to understand how our public will react to the Indominus as I will personally see it for the first time so close to its release. I admit it's been a while since I have had the privilege to experience something like this with fresh eyes. Not long now!

Our investors will want to keep a close eye on our progress over the next six months as we hope the Indominus will prove to be our biggest showstopper to date. As many of you are aware our goals are never finite. Here at Masrani we're always looking to develop the latest concepts to break through potential misconceptions in this ever changing world we live in. So now the time had come to prove just that.

Simon

P.S. I should hopefully have time to personally meet some of you at Jurassic World upon my visit. I'll try my best to experience the park with those we're aiming to educate and entertain. See you very soon!

BLOG ARCHIVE

March:

So the celebrations have settled down here in Shanghai and what a fantastic way to begin the year: Masrani has boosted the funding behind InGen, we’ve got something incredibly exciting happening with Masrani Oil (more news on that soon), and we announced Jurassic World's exciting new attraction -- the Indominus rex.

2015 is already off with a bang!

I will be heading to London this month to attend IventiCon 2015, which promises to show off some big game changers, mainly from the virtual reality crowd. VR has the ability to reinvent our daily lives, when we have the ability to enter 3D worlds, like computer games, the mind opens itself to all sorts of possible futures. For Masrani we’re looking to create the first VR "web structure", a virtual playground that anyone connected to the internet can explore. Imagine your social networking webpage becoming an entire custom built structure someone could walk into, and hang out in. Our minds over at Tatsuo Technology believe we have the ability to make this possible within the next five years.

I envision that Masrani Global will be at the forefront entering this brave new world. We’re already laying out plans to have a VR tour of Jurassic World, for those unable to travel to Isla Nublar. Obviously it will have its limitations, but it would share the wonder of our amazing theme park with those who have yet to experience it.

For those who will be attending IventiCon, Masrani will be situated in the central showroom with some special surprises on hand like our highly anticipated Tanius 7 smart phone from Mascom! We hope to see many faces there.

January:

Welcome to 2015! I hope everyone celebrated the new year with open arms. Here in Shanghai, we are a little over a month away from reigning in the Chinese new year, but it was exciting to finally see the arrival of what will become such a pivotal period in our company's history.

Today at Masrani, we have a fantastic announcement to make. Over the last three years, the brilliant minds at InGen, lead by the great visionary Dr. Henry Wu, have brought us a new attraction for Jurassic World–the likes of which have never been seen before. While I cannot reveal any important information behind its creation at this time, I can reveal the title of our finest endeavor: the Indominus Rex.

The name means fierce and untamable, it is one of fascinating design and a product of our important foray into the future of science. The new attraction is set for a release in mid-June and is the result of three decades of crucial and integral research into genetic technology.

We are all proud of this and cannot express our excitement enough to show you the Indominus in all of its glory.

December:

It's December and we're already at the end of the year. I am extremely proud of everyone at Masrani — 2014 has seen our company rise to new heights. Thank you again to everyone who has made this year possible.

I'd like to take this opportunity to talk about 2015, as next year promises to be our most innovative yet. Our team at Mascom will launch "Ervic", a weather satellite built with a lifespan of 35 years (the longest in history). Thanks to the brilliant minds over at Tatsuo Technology, "Ervic" will redefine the future of the satellite as we know it. Our focus for this project is to limit the amount of objects in orbit around the globe, and work on having self-updating systems that will adapt to shifting technologies back on Earth. Fingers are crossed for "Ervic." #GoodbyeGlinda #HelloErvic

Our scientists at InGen are finalizing their work on a new attraction coming to Jurassic World this June. I would love to share more on this bold step forward in genetics, but here at Masrani we like surprises. For now, I'll just say this: no one has ever seen anything like it, and our investors will see the park advance to even higher levels of profitability over the coming decade.

I'll be spending the Christmas period in Shanghai to oversee the renovation of our corporate offices there — and I may even stay until February 19th to ring in the New Year! A personal curiosity as I've never spent new years in China before. I've heard it’s quite the event.

Merry Christmas and have a Happy New Year!

November:

November is here and it's been another amazing month for Masrani. We left our mark at this years IventiCon with our prototype XL5 wind turbines, which gathered huge media attention pushing the project forward into phase two. Our great minds over at Aerospace Dynamix worked for months on end bringing the project to life. 2016 will be a year for the books!

Working closely with the young minds at Aerospace Dynamix reminded me of how lucky we are finding graduates who surprise us with their visions. Every day I meet young inspiring people who offer up unique ideas they believe will benefit our everyday lives. Those who change my view of our world, and those I see potential in, I note down. Masrani is a company that is changing every day and for myself I look to change my opinions from the moment I wake up, to the moment I sleep. I remember those who leave their mark because I believe that every life-changing idea deserves to have its time in the spot light, and I’d like Masrani to provide that light for them.

...and it doesn’t just end there. Our already established teams break new ground every month bringing fresh concepts to the table. I can’t say too much but one idea has been brewing for a number of years now and recently it’s become a reality. Unfortunately, you’ll have to wait for that one.