#Ring Floodlight Problem

[stewpidcheescatarinabluu]

“Love’s Gonna Get You Killed”

Chapter 6

“Distance + Retaliation”

Synopsis: A wounded mafia heir stumbles into a late-night convenience store, where a quiet clerk patches him up. He walks out—but can’t stop watching her. As danger circles and their worlds quietly collide, one question remains: Can you stay untouched in a life soaked in blood?

Word Count: 2,440

Karina X Male Reader

Suijoon dragged his bloodied leg across the cracked pavement, leaving a smeared trail as the van idled under the moonless sky. His shirt clung to him, soaked with sweat and failure.

The driver lit a cigarette, watching him struggle. “Zero for two,” he muttered, smoke curling from his lips. “Boss’ll be thrilled.”

“Shut the fuck up and drive.”

The silence in the van was thick. The only sound was Suijoon’s labored breathing and the rattle of broken weapons at his feet.

They pulled into the shipyard—the Syndicate’s ghostlike base carved into rusted steel and sea rot. Floodlights hummed to life. Armed men lined the path in silence, eyes tracking Suijoon’s limp like vultures scenting weakness.

Inside, the boss sat beneath a single bulb, suited in black, rings gleaming like threats on his fingers. His chair creaked as he leaned forward.

Suijoon didn’t even get a word out.

The backhand came fast—sharp, practiced. He hit the floor hard, copper in his mouth.

“I said nothing,” the boss growled, low and precise. “Because I’m done hearing excuses.”

Suijoon coughed, spit red on the floor. “Boss, it was a setup. I didn’t expect—”

“You didn’t think. That’s your fucking problem.”

The room stilled.

The boss stood, walking toward him with deliberate steps. “Do you think this is a game? You’re not some street punk throwing punches for pride. You’re wearing my colors. That means when you bleed, it stains me.”

Suijoon looked up, jaw tight. “I’ll fix it.”

The boss crouched, grabbed him by the jaw. “You’re not fixing shit. You’re lucky I haven’t fed you to the harbor yet. Two failures. Two.”

A blade glinted in his hand—not raised, just there, a quiet threat between them.

“You’re becoming a liability,” he whispered. “And you know what we do with those.”

He let go. Suijoon slumped, chest heaving.

“Now get out of my sight. And pray you’re worth more alive tomorrow than you are dead tonight.”

While the scent of gunpowder still lingered in the air and the distant echo of sirens began to creep into the night, you and Karina crouched in the shadows of a narrow alleyway. The glow of a single flickering streetlamp above you cast long silhouettes on the wall. Your back leaned against the cold brick, hand pressed tightly against your side—warm blood slipping through your fingers.

“You good?” you asked, your voice ragged, panting.

Karina looked at you, face pale but steady. “I should be asking that,” she replied, eyes darting to the spreading red on your shirt. “You’re bleeding—Y/N, you’re hit.”

“Yeah,” you managed, smirking despite the pain, “just a scratch.”

She scoffed, trying to stay calm, but you could see her hands trembling as she reached into your coat pocket, pulling out a handkerchief. She pressed it against the wound with shaky but determined pressure.

The truth hadn’t quite settled in her eyes yet. You could see it—the storm building behind her silence. She had questions, hundreds of them, but her lips didn’t move. Not yet. Instead, she stayed beside you, kneeling in the filth of the alley, pressing against the bullet wound of a man she only thought she knew.

The next night, you came by the convenience store again.

Same time. Same door chime. Same quiet “Hey Rina.”

But something had changed.

She didn’t turn around immediately like she usually did. No soft smile. No teasing remark. Just a faint nod over her shoulder as she restocked a shelf of instant noodles. “Hey.”

You tried to pretend it was nothing.

You placed the brown paper bag on the counter like always. Kimbap. Her favorite. You remembered.

“I brought you food again,” you said casually, like your hands hadn’t held a gun last night, like you didn’t have a stitched-up bullet wound under your coat.

She didn’t move from behind the register. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” you said, your voice low, “but I wanted to.”

Her eyes flickered to the bag, then to you. There was something unreadable in them. Not fear exactly—just a distance. Like someone looking at a stranger wearing someone else’s face.

“You didn’t tell me,” she finally said.

You stayed silent.

She looked down at her hands. “I thought you were just… someone who liked midnight snacks. Someone with good taste in tteokbokki and bad jokes.”

“I didn’t want to drag you into my world.”

“But you did,” she said sharply, not angry—just tired. “And now I can’t unsee it.”

Silence settled between you, heavy like the gun you still had holstered under your coat.

You wanted to reach for her. Say something. Anything.

But she stepped back slightly, a subtle shift in weight that said more than words could.

You didn’t push. You just nodded, grabbed the untouched food bag, and turned to leave.

And for the first time in weeks, the door chime behind you didn’t sound like comfort.

It sounded like goodbye.

Monaco. 12:47 AM.

The alley was wet—fresh with blood and rain. Sirens screamed in the distance, but no one dared approach. Not when he was in town.

Two men already lay crumpled on the pavement—one with half a face missing, the other still twitching, as if trying to crawl out of death. A trail of smeared crimson marked his final attempt. He didn’t make it far.

A third man was breathing—barely. Curled behind a dented trash can, knees to chest, his body trembled with each breath. He hadn’t even realized he pissed himself.

Then came the footsteps.

Not rushed. Not heavy.

Measured. Calm. Like death taking its time.

Click. Clack. Click.

The man’s heart pounded so loud he thought it would give him away. He pressed his back tighter against the brick wall, eyes wide, lips quivering in silence.

Then

A voice. Smooth. Low. Cold enough to burn.

“You know what happens to people who flee?”

The words wrapped around his throat tighter than fear.

Silence.

“They perish.”

Another step closer.

“Because people who flee… are cowards.”

A breath hitched. He bit into his knuckle to keep from screaming.

Smoke curled past the edge of the trash can. A faint scent of blood and gunpowder mixed in the air. The air was heavy—wrong—like the alley itself was holding its breath.

Draco’s voice came again—soft, but with enough weight to crush the world.

“I know you’re behind that trash can.”

Silence.

“Right where rats like you belong.”

A pause.

“Let’s make this simple.”

Draco’s boots stopped a few feet away.

“Do you know a gang called ‘Uncharted’?”

The man opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Just the soft click of his tongue failing him.

Then came the final sound.

A single gunshot.

BOOM.

One bullet. Clean through the trash can—and the skull behind it.

The body slumped forward, twitching once before going still. A small pool of blood began to form, stretching out slowly like it wanted to escape but couldn’t.

Draco stepped over it. Unbothered. Untouched.

He lit a cigarette and took one drag, eyes barely flinching in the smoke.

“Cowards don’t speak,” he muttered to no one.

“Only corpses do.”

He walked away, the sound of his boots echoing long after his shadow disappeared

Back at the base, the air was thick with smoke, curling lazily toward the ceiling like ghosts of your thoughts. You lay on the bed, half-dressed, a cigarette between your lips, and melancholic music spilling softly from the speakers—slow, somber, almost too fitting. The kind that echoes in your chest long after the last note fades.

Your eyes were open, unfocused, tracing the cracks in the ceiling you never bothered to fix.

You never expected acceptance.

Not really.

Not with a last name like yours, Not with blood on your hands before you were even old enough to shave, You were born into shadows, and whether it was loyalty or fear, people never truly saw you.

They saw Draco’s heir.

They saw the empire.

They saw the violence, the weight, the name.

But you accepted it—because it came with privilege, with power. And power costs. You knew that. You’ve always known.

Still…

Even her?

Even Karina?

She didn’t flinch the first few times. She smiled, even. Laughed when you brought her snacks. Teased you for your coat. Gave you something you never knew you missed—normalcy. Something soft.

But now?

Now, there’s a distance in her eyes. A hesitation in her voice. Like she’s already writing the ending in her head.

You couldn’t blame her. Who would want to be tangled in this world?

Who would want to love a man who can kill and smile in the same breath?

You inhaled, the tip of your cigarette glowing red in the dark. You watched the smoke drift away, disappearing into nothing.

Just like the idea of her staying.

You told yourself it was fine.

You’ve been alone before.

You’ve lived in silence before.

You’ll do it again.

But the thing about softness is… once you’ve felt it, it hurts more when it’s gone.

And she was the softest thing you’ve ever known.

Nightfall. 3:12 AM. Somewhere in Seoul.

A concrete room dimly lit by a single flickering bulb. Cigarette smoke hung like a veil in the air, curling around the edge of Suijoon’s jaw as he leaned over the table — maps, surveillance photos, red circles scratched in anger around one girl’s face.

Karina Yu.

“Convenience store clerk,” he muttered, tracing her image with a gloved finger. “Works the graveyard shift. No parents. In debt. No one to miss her.”

He looked up at the handful of men standing before him — all in black, armed to the teeth, faces cold, eager. A smaller man handed him a tablet — CCTV footage. Y/N and Karina, smiling, eating tteokbokki. Another angle — Y/N shielding her behind the counter when the gunfire broke loose. Suijoon sneered.

“Draco’s heir… falling for a stray. How poetic,” he said bitterly, snapping the tablet shut. “This girl? She’s not just leverage anymore. She’s the wound. And you don’t beat the heir by going for the head. You beat him by infecting the heart.”

He walked to the weapons rack, grabbing a knife, then a silencer-equipped pistol. He flipped the safety, slow and deliberate.

“We won’t kill her. Not yet,” he said darkly. “We grab her. Make it public. Let the son of Draco come crawling.”

A grunt of agreement echoed around the room.

“But sir…” one man dared to speak. “Didn’t the boss say not to—”

“The boss,” Suijoon interrupted, stepping forward until their foreheads nearly touched, voice low, venomous, “doesn’t have the balls to end this war.”

He stepped back, smile forming like a crack across ice.

“I do.”

He turned to the group. “Gear up. Black vans. No masks. We’re not hiding this. I want him to know.”

He lit another cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his eyes — wild, cruel, desperate to prove something.

“Tonight,” Suijoon said, exhaling smoke like a devil whispering prophecy,

“we cut out his heart.”

Back at the estate, you were still lying on your back, smoke curling lazily into the ceiling, headphones on as melancholic jazz hummed through the room—your only comfort lately. You hadn’t seen Karina in days. Not really. Not like before. Her eyes no longer lingered. Her smile no longer reached you. You couldn’t blame her. Who would want to love the heir of Korea’s most feared mafia?

Suddenly, the door burst open.

“Sir!” Jun-ho shouted, breathless, eyes wide. “We’ve got movement. Four black vans. Same make. Same pattern. They’re circling Gangseo District. Near the convenience store.”

You sat up instantly, gun already in hand. “Karina.”

Jun-ho nodded grimly. “Yes, sir. They’re after her.”

You stormed down the hallway, boots heavy with urgency. Just as you neared the armory entrance—thud.

You bumped shoulders with a tall figure standing in your path.

Killian Draco.

Sharp suit, colder eyes. A calm storm in human skin. He lit a cigarette slowly, took a drag, and exhaled in your face.

“Where do you think you’re going, son?”

“I don’t have time—”

“You make time,” he cut in coldly. “For me.”

Silence swelled.

“Don’t do this,” he continued. “She means nothing. A girl scraping for debt. A pawn they’ll use the second they realize she matters to you. Is that what you want?”

“She’s not a pawn. She’s—”

“She’s a weakness,” Draco interrupted. “And love? Love is an art of vulnerability. Loving means weakness. And I didn’t raise a weak little squirt.”

You glared at him, chest heaving. “You didn’t raise me, you dumbass!”

His eyes narrowed.

“You taught me how to kill, how to gut a man, how to clean up blood without flinching. But you didn’t raise me. You raised a weapon. She’s the only human thing I have left.”

Draco’s jaw clenched. His voice dropped. “You think you’re different from me. You’re not. You carry my blood. You love her now? Good. Watch what happens when they put a gun to her head because of it.”

“I’d rather die trying to save her than live like you—numb and alone.”

He stepped aside slowly, his expression unreadable. “Then go. Save her.”

You moved past him, steps furious—but he called out behind you, voice like frost cutting the air:

“But remember this, son… If she brings war to our house, if your heart turns into our downfall…”

He turned, smoke dancing from his cigarette like a curse.

“Then I’ll end it. Even if that means you.”

You didn’t look back.

You just ran

You ran.

Through alleys slick with rain and streets that smelled like metal and neon. Your breath came in sharp bursts. Your coat, half-soaked, flared behind you like a shadow chasing a ghost.

You turned the corner.

The convenience store.

Lights flickering inside, humming faintly under the pale glow of the streetlamp. But something felt off.

You pushed the door.

Ding. The chime echoed like a scream in an empty church.

No footsteps.

No soft hum of Karina’s voice singing under her breath.

No rustle of snack wrappers or the tap-tap-tap of her scanning items at the counter.

Just silence.

And blood in your throat.

“Karina?” your voice cracked.

Behind the register, taped sloppily onto the plexiglass, was a note. Scribbled in red ink.

You yanked it free.

“Looking for your little night clerk?

Should’ve kept her hidden, heir.

You want her back? Come bleed for her.

— Suijoon.”

Your fists clenched so hard the paper crumpled, veins pulsing like live wires.

And in that moment, everything else — the mafia code, your father’s warnings, the war it might start — it all drowned under one truth:

He took her.

And you’re going to burn the whole fucking world to get her back.

[green-fifteen]

Boomerang

tags: platonic stobin, stobin child, OC, teenager problems idk, not!fic

word count: 795

@stobinmonth prompt: school

I'm thinking about Steve as a middle school teacher only because it's my favorite level to teach. How innocent they are! How evil they can be! And what a nightmare when his own kid shows up in class.

And, okay, Jules would want me to tell you that Steve is NOT her father, he just raised her with her mom and has been there every single day since she was born. It's an IMPORTANT distinction when the man in question is contractually obligated to teach her peers about condoms.

Right after the D.A.R.E. convocation the first week of school (a totally sexless function!), Kelly Nesbit made a button in Home Ec. that read, "JUST SAY YES TO MR. HARRINGTON" with wobbly little hearts in the O's. So you can imagine the kind of thing she is dealing with, here.

She sat her parents down the weekend before 6th grade to let them know the situation.

"Dad, you're not my father."

"I'm not?"

"You're very important to me, but we both agree that I am not related to you."

Robin cut in. "Okay so who am I? By your logic."

"You can be my mother, it's fine. It's on all the paperwork, you enrolled me."

"You do know my signature is on your birth certificate, right?" Steve reminds her.

"Unimportant. I won't be bringing my birth certificate to school and showing it off to my friends. If we're careful, we should be able to pull this off."

Robin and Steve shared a wary glance.

"And what are we pulling off, exactly?"

"Convincing the school that I am not related to a teacher." She gestured at Steve with a offensive amount of dismay. Robin made a mental note to have that 'terrible role model' talk with Erica that she'd been putting off.

Steve was eventually manipulated into agreeing when Jules said something like, "Aunt Nancy was right. She said you'd never agree because you're overly attached to me."

(Which I'm sure you can guess Nancy did not say. Her actual words were like, "If you ask him to pretend he doesn't love you at school, he might actually start crying in the hallways.")

So they don't speak to each other at school outside of 4th period, when Steve is careful to only call on her as much as he would any other student. No one suspects a thing for just over a month, at which point Jules manages to step all over her own careful plan.

It's something like this: it's 4th period. The bell is about to ring and Steve is handing back module one tests from the week before. Jules gets hers and just stares at it for a solid minute. He took off two points for that? FOUR points for THAT? And you see, Julia Buckley is something of a whiz and a perfectionist. A sense of indignation begins to build as she looks over the rest of the marks Steve left on her paper. And sure, she did get some things wrong. But what's the point of your dad being your teacher if he doesn't even let the small stuff slide? It's outrageous.

When she sees the little note at the bottom of the paper, a scribbled nonsensical little Good work, Bluejay! her frustration boils over.

"Dad!"

She yells into the quiet classroom. Everyone turns to look at her and then at Mr. Harrington, who is frozen with his handmade "BEST DAD" mug an inch from his lips. He looks like a raccoon caught in a floodlight.

"Do you think I don't know what peer pressure is? I wrote you a very clear definition. Do you even have a rubric? I want to see it."

Someone laughs or she notices the looks on their faces and realizes she's really done it now. She only has two choices. She can either insist she called the teacher Dad by mistake in the most humiliating way possible and endure the shame of hearing her classmates giggle and spread it all over the school for the rest of the week. Or, she can own up and buy herself a much longer, slower mortification. One that doesn't let up until graduation.

Steve eventually clears his throat. "No rubric-- just the answer sheet, Miss Buckley. If you have a problem with your grade, please see me after class."

And she decides right there, 'Bluejay' in his messy scrawl and 'Miss Buckley' in that strained tone of voice.

"Why bother?" She rolls her eyes and tries to sound casual. "I'll just see you at home."

She doesn't stay to appreciate the wide, surprised look he gives her or the astonished little whispers of her peers. The bell rings like a sign from God and she high-tails it right out of there.

[inyri]

Equivalent Exchange (a SWTOR story): Chapter 41: Good Soldiers Follow Orders

Equivalent Exchange by inyri

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Characters: Female Imperial Agent (Cipher Nine)/Theron Shan Rating: E (this chapter: M. Trigger warning: graphic violence, depictions of torture, body horror.) Summary: If one wishes to gain something, one must offer something of equal value. In spycraft, it’s easy. Applying it to a relationship is another matter entirely. F!Agent/Theron Shan. (Spoilers for Shadow of Revan and Knights of the Fallen Empire/Knights of the Eternal Throne.)

*

Comments are always appreciated! Visit me at:

Archive of Our Own

Fanfiction Dot Net

*

Author’s Note: Please note the trigger warnings. I had to step away from this for a little while (all right, more than a little while). Chapters are consecutive, of course, and as I posted the last one and moved to wrapping up this one I found life imitating art in a very, very uncomfortable way. I don’t talk a lot about my work for many reasons. Normally it’s not very exciting. And then there are the days that stay, the reminders that sometimes the world is deeply, viciously cruel in ways that are hard to process. As part of my work I met two men who were subjected to that cruelty, heard their stories, and helped care for them on their paths back home.

The first iterations of this series of scenes were very different from where we ended up. Nine and her team were far nastier at first, which wasn’t really true to her, and then I tried to make it funny which- well, obviously we can see the problem with that approach. So this is where we ended. It’s still an ugly chapter, but here we are.  

This chapter is dedicated to AD, AH, and all victims of torture. 

Good Soldiers Follow Orders

Theron follows her close as a shadow as they make their way from her ship across the base, dodging carefully around the first watch guards on their patrol routes. A month ago it would have been simple but a month ago they’d been sloppy; since then she’d ordered new watchposts set, new floodlights installed, locked down the turbolift platform to the valley below. There were so many other places to land a ship on Odessen, canyons and clearings and deep, dark forest far beyond the view of the towers, and it would have been far too easy for an infiltrator to sneak in.

Or one might simply use your landing bay. Valkorion’s armor gleams as an arc of light cuts across the path. In through the front door. All comers welcomed. Perhaps Arcann should-

The illusion shatters when she steps through it, the sentence left ominously unfinished. 

Second patrol. Third patrol. Through the external door on the heels of a pair of Sana-Rae’s adepts, weaving through the hall and crammed into the back corners of the lift with an absolutely massive Zabrak with a distinct half-ring of glitterstim around one nostril (she makes a mental note- the cantina’s more than necessary but if they’ve got a spice problem that’s another vulnerability they can’t afford), down the hallways into Science Wing and nearly to the lab- outside door’s open, good, but how’s she going to-

Shit.

She’s six steps ahead of herself in contingency plans as usual, mind racing, but that doesn’t matter worth a damn when she fucks up Step One. Stopping so abruptly he almost runs right into her, she grabs Theron by the wrist and pulls him into the darkest corner of an empty meeting room. His head tilts in silent confusion as she reaches toward the stealth generator clipped to his belt. I thought- he starts to sign, one hand raised. 

Switching, she replies, left-handed; pulling it free, she replaces it with hers. Backup has a shorter clock when the main’s off. If it overloads-

Theron nods. Bad. Right. Where should I stand?

Back- her fingers stutter as she considers (Void, she really isn’t thinking, is she? She needs to be. One mistake and the whole thing comes apart)- back left corner. You’ll have a five-count to get through the door before it closes, then don’t move and-

Don’t say anything. I know. He repeats the sign, an added emphasis. I promised. 

She rubs her forehead, trying and failing to settle the ache building between her eyes. I know. Come on. 

***

The inner laboratory door slides closed with a soft hiss, just muffling Theron’s last few footsteps as he settles carefully into the corner, and she lets her stealth field drop. 

“I got your message.” Nine forces the words out, forces strength into her voice as she sets the lock. She cannot falter, not now. “SCORPIO, give me the holo. Let’s get it opened up.”

“Commander.” Doctor Lokin looks up from across the room, setting a handful of instruments and an empty syringe- not all clean, she notes- neatly into place on a polished metal tray. Beside him, her would-be killer slumps forward against the treatment chair’s restraints, an intravenous catheter in his right arm and his lower body wrapped in a surgical dropcloth, head covered by black fabric and bound around the middle with thick strips of spacer’s tape. “We were just beginning.” 

[ sleepy already, cipher? but we’re only just beginning.

when hunter’s slap hits she startles bolt upright in the chair and then wishes she hadn’t, her ribs shifting beneath the straps like so many shattered potsherds as she grinds her teeth to keep from screaming. she’s screamed so much already and she won’t give him the satisfaction of another, won’t-

hunter gestures- toward the woman, she thinks, it’s getting hard to see now with her face so bruised. let’s wake her up, hm? ah, no- something cold and metallic tightening on her right index finger- the other hand, to start. now the left side, still the index finger, tighter and tighter and oh void it hurts it hurts it hurts she’s got to say something or it-

i’m telling you, she gasps, when those reinforcements get here from- and there’s a sharp snap and she can’t help it and she screams-

keep singing, little bird. I do so hate to have to break your pretty wings.]

Her hand throbs.

“I didn’t tell you to start without me.” Her stomach churns even as she curls her fingers into an easy fist, testing their movement; she couldn’t do that for a month after Corellia so it’s only the memory of pain, isn’t it? “And how long has that tape been on? We need his eyes open, not swollen shut. It’s too fucking tight.”

“If you’re referring to this-” Lokin lifts a pair of bloody-gripped forceps with one finger and a long-suffering look- “your knife tipped his saphenous, and I assumed you would prefer he not hemorrhage before you had the chance to work. I’ve only just run the amytal in, nothing more. But,” he squints at the rings of tape, flips a vibroscalpel from the tray into his palm and before she can even begin to move he slices through the binding neatly, once and then again, “you aren’t wrong. SCORPIO restrained him while I was busy with his leg, but I ought to have-”

SCORPIO turns from the console, shoulders lifting in what might have been a shrug. “My primary directive on Odessen remains operational security, Commander. He cannot share what he cannot see.”

“Yes, but-” 

One of the wall-mounted monitors beeps, shrill and insistent, until Lokin prods it with a gloved finger and it lapses into red-flashing silence. “He’s starting to wake. Shall we?”

Void, she hates interrogations. (She used to be good at them once, when she was younger and followed orders better. She used to be good at them because of course, why waste precious time on subtleties when you can simply pry and bend and break and it all comes out in the end either way- maybe in pieces, yes, but that was just another puzzle to solve if one was clever enough, even if it was messier-

Orders were orders. 

She used to be good at them once. Before Corellia.)

“Is Lana coming? She’s covering for me with Sana-Rae, I think, but-”

She turns too quickly as the door opens behind her and as she spins the room tips sideways and then it starts to spin, too; pausing midstep, she grabs at the nearer benchtop to steady herself, her left hand raised as a counterbalance. Lana clears the doorway in two steps, the worry lines across her forehead deepening. 

“I’ve got you,” Lana murmurs. “We’ve just finished, and I had a feeling you might-” she only wrinkles her nose a little as she glances toward the instrument table- “want my help with this.”

When she nods the world shifts unpleasantly anticlockwise. “Yes. Dialing out blind on his holo’s a losing proposition. With any luck he’ll talk, but I’m not counting on it and we haven’t got the time to wear him down.” Pressing her lips together against a wave of nausea, she inhales. Exhales. Inhales. The spinning slows. 

“Physical methods, then?”

She shakes her head- oh, Force, there it goes again- inhale. Exhale. “Just tell me what you see. I’ve been bled on enough today, and if we push too hard-”

“Does it matter? You can’t possibly intend to let him-” at her gesture Lana lowers her voice, just above a whisper- “walk away from this. An attack, here, on you- there have to be consequences.”

“Do I look like a Jedi to you? You know me better than that.” When she says it Lana snorts and rolls her eyes and to be fair she has a point- of course she has a point- but a misstep now could be the last strand of a rope to hang herself by, the final block knocked loose that brings the whole tower crashing down, and she can afford that far less than to give away a shred of undeserved mercy. “You’re a step ahead of me, that’s all. I need the who before I decide the what.”

Lana sighs. “I know. I only- I defer to you, Commander. It’s your decision.”

“Maybe, or maybe it’s Trant’s. But we won’t know until we know, and-” another warning chime from the monitors; another warning look from Lokin. “We’re running out of time. And when we’ve finished I’ve still got to talk to Koth and Senya, and-”

“Already postponed, and that can wait in any case. There’s nothing to discuss that won’t keep for a day. We’ll call them once we’re in transit,” Lana eyes her up and down, “after another round of kolto.”

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.” Lana’s hand comes to rest beneath her lifted arm; with the world still half-spinning she’d have missed the subtle pulse of energy if Lana hadn’t flinched when their fingertips meet. “Force help me, you’re not - I’ll take it over, Nine. I’ll… I can do it. You should rest.”

“No.” When she shakes her head the room stays level now, at least. It’s something. “No. This is my mess to sort out. Just lock the door.”

***

Five minutes later all she’s got out of him is a slurred sequence of names, ranks, and serial numbers (lying, Lana says each time from her perch behind the chair, though she knew that long before she said it) and the unwavering gut-punch certainty that the man is an SIS agent. With so little actual information to go on and their databases two years out of date- when Theron left he’d downloaded what he could but slicing back into the mainframe to sync them’s a risk none of them are willing to take right now- trying to find a name for her attacker’s useless, with dozens of dossiers a partial match to the same physical parameters: average height, average build, Underlevels accent, Republic emblems tattooed on biceps and back and another handful laser-faded to barely visible outlines. With half the Republic’s infantry dredged up from the Coruscant undercity’s gangs and prisons and half the SIS (and nearly all of SpecOps) poached from the army, she could have shot into the Dealer’s Den or the Red Rancor on a Primesday night and hit five clones of him in a straight line between the door and the bar.

She studies his face from every angle, waiting for a memory to trigger, and- no, still nothing, barely a nod in the corridor or a passing glance in the mess line. Three weeks on Odessen and the man’s practically a ghost, a traceless alias for a name and a ride hitched on a transport from Port Nowhere. Granted, both she and Theron had been off-planet most of that time, but stars, if this one got in so easily how many more could?

That’s a problem for another day. It has to be. 

But for now SCORPIO runs the serials, just for the sake of thoroughness, and- ah. Those faces she knows: Corellia, six years ago; a Coruscanti gala, bloodstains on a black dress; Dromund Kaas, only a month or two before Zakuul. 

She just hadn’t known their real names, then. It wouldn’t have mattered if she had. 

Orders were orders.

“So you’re ten dead men in a trenchcoat, then? And you’re wrong about that last one, by the way. That was probably Cipher Four. I’ve never been to Ord Mantell.” She pushes his commpad away with a scowl. The damned thing’s wiped clean- all the more likely he’d spoken to Trant within the last half-day, then; that was a lesson from Alderaan that only the Director ought to have learned. With enough time they could have recovered it, but they don’t have time. So she turns back to him instead, her thumb and index finger poised on closed eyelids gone puffy from the pressure of the binding. “Last chance to make this easier on yourself. When did you last hear from Marcus Trant?”

“More’n ten. Way more.” His words are less slurred now, the serum finally taking effect, and Lana sits up straighter. “‘nd hells take your easier. You’re gonna kill me anyway, so-” 

Void, why are they always so insistent on dying?

She doubts he can see her, so she just adds a twinge of melodrama to her sigh. “Not necessarily, agent. You tried to murder me. Naturally, I objected-” a little more pressure on his eye, just enough that he starts to shift against the restraining strap- “but if I really wanted you dead I’d have let you use your kill pill instead of wasting perfectly good antitoxin on you. I can be civil if you can.” 

Lana closes her eyes, focused and still.

“To be clear, you’re alive as a means to an end and it’s in your best interest to cooperate. But you and I know how it goes, don’t we?” When she lifts her open hand SCORPIO presses the holotransmitter into her palm. “Good soldiers follow orders. It’s not personal. You were only doing as you’re told.” She leans in closer, knee jostling against his mended leg just a little harder than necessary as the paper drape crinkles, voice lowered in a simulacrum of confidence. “Stars, I remember those days. He sits in his big office and sics you on a target, unclips your leash and you just- well. Ours not to reason why, hm?”

The cuff around his right wrist clinks against the arm of the chair as he makes an obscene gesture. 

Wrong tactic. Well, then.

Her sigh’s loud enough to make him flinch. “And it was all wrong, wasn’t it? All that planning, all that time pacing, writing a five-line message that he never even saw, all for nothing?” His breath stills, his heart rate spikes, and Lokin hooks another syringe to the IV port and slowly pushes the plunger down. “DId you think I wouldn’t see? I’d almost feel sorry for you if it wasn’t so utterly pathetic.”

His head lolls forward against the restraint, a counterpressure against her hand. 

“Oh, no, no.” Shifting, she pushes him back upright with two fingertips in the center of his forehead. “Not yet. Not until-”

“I almost got you.” His mouth contorts- it might have passed for a grin in a darker room, teeth bared, feral-  and something in his voice makes her hair stand on end. She recoils, pulling her hand away from his face even as he pauses. “So fucking close. Just a few more seconds and I’d’ve bled you dry, Cipher, and then I’d-”

(The words barely register; he’s not the first and certainly not the most creative person to threaten her with postmortem indecencies but somehow they always think it’s going to shock her into silence, as though it’s the single most awful thing that could ever happen when she’s lived through far worse horrors and more to the point she wouldn’t even know, she’d be dead).   

“-see enough and you know Shan’d come running- Force, that would’ve been even better, the look on his traitor face even if it was the wrong way round-”

wait. 

WAIT.

no, Trant wouldn’t have- 

When she blinks she sees it all in the span of a millisecond: half a hundred ways it could have gone, half a hundred indignities inflicted, half a hundred times it breaks Theron for just long enough for the blow to fall. Lana must see something else; she makes the smallest little sound, a muffled gasp of disgust covered over by knuckles cracking in clenched-fisted fury and then a snarled Sith curse she doesn’t understand (but Valkorion clearly does- she isn’t wrong, he murmurs) and it brings her back to herself. 

Her comm buzzes; her eyes flick down toward the screen. 

<ask him about belsavis>

Kicking him for breaking comm silence would be counterproductive, she supposes, but what does Belsavis have to do with anything? If Theron knows his name he ought to have just said so, not making her work harder than she already is.

< don’t know him but think I know the unit> <told Marcus it was a bad idea> <don’t think he listened>

That would explain the burned-off tattoos. Stars, has the SIS truly become that desperate? Or was this another Garza project- some experiment likely as not to fail just as Eclipse Squad had, so why waste frontline troops when the Republic had a whole planet full of froth-mouthed maniacs more than happy to keep killing as the cost of their freedom and if things did go bad, well, they were going to die one way or another so what did it matter?   

Then SCORPIO blinks once, head turning toward her comm and then, slower, toward the corner and oh, damn it all-

“Didn’t think the SIS went in for necrophilia,” she says conversationally, covering her mouth over a particularly exaggerated yawn as Lokin barely stifles a snort. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell the Jedi. I am curious, though- did you pick that up on Belsavis, or was that why they locked you up in the first place?”

His teeth clench. 

“Piracy? Hm, no. Some flavor of war crime, I’m sure- oh, I know. Fragged your CO, I’d bet. You’ve got that sort of look.”

“Onomatophobia. Go fuck yourself.”

(She’d come at it all wrong, hadn’t she? 

She’d thought this wasn’t personal because for her it wasn’t. Okay, fine, with Trant maybe it is, now, but this is no old enemy. She only hurt him to start with because he cut her first and deeper and even Theron doesn’t know his name- and stars know his memory’s brilliant, to judge by his stories he remembers everyone he ever worked with and it was far harder for him when they weren’t all just Minder Ten and Fixer Twelve and Watcher Three. The garotte alone might have been sheer bloody-mindedness in a way she wouldn’t have expected from the SIS, but even the Republic for all its supercilious moralizing had its fair share of sadists; Hunter hadn’t truly been one of them but they’d certainly all thought so at the time and still they’d all turned their heads, every single time, even when she’d screamed until her voice gave out.

Of course her control word was in her Republic file. He wasn’t the only one to try to use it, the first ones in earnest and then, when she’d shredded enough of them into bloody little pieces that they realized it didn’t didn’t hold her any more, as a vicious sort of mockery. That worked a bit, she supposes; maybe it always will. Not well enough to save them, of course.

She’d thought it wasn’t personal, that orders were orders and he’d come after Theron because he had to. But stars, she’d been out of the game for five fucking years and he’s practically got her dossier memorized, errors and all, and he’d called Theron a traitor and the first time she really pushes his buttons he-

Oh, this was very personal.)

“No,” she says, and breathes, trying to untie the panic-knot tightening in her chest, “I don’t think I will.” Snatching up a scalpel from the instrument tray as her voice wavers, she presses its tip, just so, beneath his chin. “You thought you were close? Close only counts in horseshoes and heavy ordnance, puppy, and that and a slip of my hand’ll buy you an unmarked grave. And-” he’s trying not to move, trying not to flinch. A single bead of blood wells up beneath the blade and stars, it’d be so easy, just one little movement and stay calm stay calm stay calm- “you still haven’t answered my question. When did you last hear from Marcus Trant?”

Lana exhales as her gaze comes back into focus, lip curling. Whatever she saw, she didn’t like it. “Today. It was today. But beyond that-”

“It’s good enough.” It was never going to be that easy. “SCORPIO, you don’t still have Belsavis census access, do you?” 

A yellow flash, and then- “I am no longer tethered to Ward 23, and what I retained is long out of date. Proximity would be required.”

“Never mind. We’ll move on to the holo, then. Doctor?”

“Ready.” Lokin nods approvingly as she sets the scalpel down. “Retractor?”

“Retractor, please. Left eye.”

One click. Two clicks. Three.  

The ‘pub squirms, fighting the restraining strap in earnest as he tries to blink against the cold metal instrument. “What are you-” his pupil constricts until she shifts the operating light away- “you gonna take my eyes now, Cipher? Keep ‘em in a jar somewhere, or-”

The holo’s scanner locks on as she holds it level with his forced-open eye. “No, thank you.  I never was much for souvenirs.” 

It chimes cheerfully as it comes to life in her hand; she flips idly through the settings. The user ID’s a string of alphanumeric gibberish, the message system’s not set up and the whole thing’s still on factory default but she’d expected all of that. It’s almost certainly a burner. The call log’s intact, though, with four time-stamped entries. One: incoming but barely five seconds long, likely a functionality test. Not useful. Two: outgoing, eighteen days old. Confirmation of arrival? That’s a Coruscanti subnet, but that could be a handler. Three: outgoing, one day old, to the same address as the second- they’d landed back from Nar Shaddaa by then. 

Four: incoming. Coruscant again, but a different address. One minute and six seconds duration. 

Two and a half hours ago. 

He said he’d call it off, Void damn him. If Trant kept his word and she’s wrong, if she burns the last thin strands of the bridge between Theron and everything he ever believed in to ashes and she’s wrong-

(He did say he would call them. Reflected in the freezer’s glass door, Valkorion tilts his head contemplatively. And tell them what?

He said- 

he said-

[-but those last few breaths last longer if you don’t struggle, don’t they? You’ll figure that out soon enough.]

For the first time she can remember there is something like approval in his smile. So you did hear it, he says. But oh, little Cipher, you didn’t listen.)     

She gestures to Lana and Lokin, pointing with two fingers at each one in turn and then the door with a snap of her wrist that sets it throbbing. “All of you but SCORPIO, clear the room. Now.”

Lana blinks but it’s Lokin who speaks first. “Commander, if I may? If you plan to proceed further, the subject may require additional stabilizing mea-”

“Wait outside until I call for you. That’s an order.”

He’s halfway to the door before Lana starts to move from the benchtop and even then she pauses beside her as she passes, one hand on her shoulder and her mouth lowered level with her ear. “You’re not getting Valkorion involved? I know you’d rather not dial out blind, but I thought I felt-”

“I’m not,” she murmurs in reply. “On either count. But if this goes bad I don’t want you in the room when it does.”  

“All right.” The sheer force of disapproval contained in Lana’s sigh might have leveled buildings; it isn’t all right and they both know it but it’s far too late to argue over it now. “Should I go and find Theron, then? I can think of some excuse to keep him with me until you’ve finished.”

They both startle at the sound of SCORPIO’s voice. “Unnecessary. He is-” her heart stops as the droid’s eyes flicker- “secure.”

“We can’t be certain of that. He still doesn’t know, does he? If there’s a second-”

“I see many things that you do not, Lord Beniko.” Five metallic fingers uncurl ceilingward (not toward the corner; her heart stutters, then resumes). “I am perfectly certain.”

Lips pressed together, nostrils flared, Lana grits her teeth against a retort before she simply continues toward the exit. “Then I will wait,” she says, a sparking halo of electricity coiling around her words as the door slides shut behind her, “until I am needed.” 

And then the room is quiet save the beeping monitors, the ‘pub’s ragged breathing and the sharp rattle of his restraints, and Nine glances sidelong at SCORPIO as she settles herself carefully in the blind spot on his right. “Be nice.”

“Error. Program file: nice not found.” 

She must have iterated again; the sarcasm’s new. Rolling her eyes, she glances down at her comm again. 

< Also, you are welcome.>

She flicks an ironic salute toward the droid and that too makes her wrist ache. More time in the tank, then, on the way to Voss. More time lost that she can’t afford and a favor owed that she probably can’t afford either- stars know SCORPIO’s kept secrets for her well enough through the years but she’s no particular fondness for Theron; the last time he’d cracked a joke about needing a processor update she’d signal-locked his implant to play That Slippery Little Hutt Of Mine on repeat for forty-three minutes straight until half his face was twitching and he’d finally apologized- but hopefully that can be negotiated. Ongoing access to the network, maybe. Lana will fuss and she’ll be right, but if that message had gone through unintercepted they all know what it might have meant. It’s a small enough price.

“If you’re done arguing-” the ‘pub’s slurring again. He’s burning through the serum faster than she’s ever seen- “either get this thing off me or-”

If he keeps that up she may as well not bother with the call. She ought to have known better than to think that he’d say much of anything useful but his ranting’s absolutely tedious; they’re going to need to gag him after all, aren’t they? It wasn’t supposed to be that sort of interrogation, but she also hadn’t particularly expected him to- oh, if he calls her that one more time she might just stab him after all. (Like he’s got any room to criticize- all her old sins could overfill an archive but at least she’s not a stars-damned corpsefucker.) “Shh.” When she tilts her head toward it SCORPIO picks up the spacer’s tape and tears a strip from the roll, pressing it firmly over his mouth until th+e noise quiets into muffled incomprehensibility. “That’s quite enough out of you, I think.“

Hm. That brings to mind a better idea, actually. 

“Do we have enough input for a voiceprint? Something like this?” Tapping a brief message into her commpad, she sends it through to SCORPIO. Only a few lines, but if it truly is Trant on the other end of the connection it should be enough to be certain.

It has to be enough.

She doesn’t look toward the corner. She mustn’t look toward the corner. 

“Way more than enough.” It’s near enough a perfect mimic. SCORPIO folds her arms smugly and the ‘pub goes grey. “Prepared for playback.”

“On my signal, then, but give me a twenty second delay on video.” Her fingers twitch despite themselves, tingling at the tips; she forces her breathing into rhythm. (Lana was right. She isn’t fine. 

Lana was always right. But she doesn’t have a choice.) 

Inhale. “And prep the package files for transmission on verbal command. No passcode.” Exhale.

A pause, a flash of scarlet. Inhale. “Yes, Commander.”

Exhale. 

Inhale. She smooths her hair back, adjusts her collar carefully under her chin, slaps both cheeks briskly with closed fingers to bring a little color into them and even that little jolt rattles her brain inside her skull. She considers, briefly, the backs of her eyelids. That seems to help. Exhale. 

The far corner remains quiet. 

She lifts the holo in line with the ‘pub’s eye once more as his pupil shimmers finely from side to side; they’d definitely pushed the dose too high but even so it’s far faster than it ought to be, chasing some other vice out of his system, and the camera struggles, beeping and chirping error after error until finally it locks on. 

Inhale. Exhale. 

She meets SCORPIO’s gaze, scrolls back to the end of the call log, and presses redial. 

Inhale.

“Connecting.” The tinny synthetic voice of the SIS operator sets her nerves on edge. “Connecting.” Come on, pick up-

The channel opens with a click and she nods, lets her breath out into the following silence before the voiceprint begins.

“It’s done. Shan and the Cipher. Wrong way ‘round, but-”

“Well-” the video delay goes both ways but she doesn’t need it, she’s heard Marcus Trant’s voice in so many briefings it’s burned into her brain; the last brittle shard of hope she’d clung to shatters and leaves her with nothing left but rage. How dare he- “it’s about fucking time.”

Oh, she is going to end him.

***

Nine’s body language shifts then, her spine rigid where she’d been starting to hunch forward in fatigue, her hands fisted, fingernails digging hard into her palms. Her stance settles, just a little wider, forward on her toes; her chin lifts. He can’t see her face, still angled toward the prisoner. 

“Send the photo confirmation, then execute extraction- and get your video on. Where are you?” Force, he’s going to throw up. Even when Jonas told him, even after hearing Marcus with his own ears he hadn’t wanted to believe it. He’d called it off. It had to be a mistake- or maybe Nine’s paranoia got the better of her (and he knows why and he doesn’t fault her, she can’t help Valkorion in her head and the poison he’s feeding her day after day after day) and this was just another shadow to peer into. Dragged into the light, it would have been nothing at all. A mistake. A mistake. 

She nods to the droid once again. “ Just a few more seconds. Bad connection but I’ve almost got it.” 

He shudders. The copywork’s uncanny and he knows for sure that’s not all readback. If SCORPIO gets it in her head to playact as one of them, starts giving orders in Lana’s voice or Koth’s or his own? He’s no reason to think she would, but whatever loyalty she seems to owe starts and ends with Nine. They’ve got to talk about it, at least.  

Nine angles away from their prisoner, raises the comm chest-high as the little hologram springs up in the hollow of her hand. He can see her better now, her face blank and beautiful and perfectly, utterly cold, and then she smiles and- 

(He has spent far more time than he’d ever admit to, from Rishi to Ziost to Zakuul to tonight, every hit and hurt and shattered bone and her bloody armor left in a pile again and again on the medbay floor, being scared for Nine. 

This might be the first time he’s honestly been scared of her.)

“Hello, Director,” she says. “We’ve really got to stop meeting like this.”

It’s only a little flinch, but it’s there. “Cipher. Still alive, I see.”

“Commander. You lied to me, Marcus. You know what happens now.”

“I think you’ll find that I didn’t.” 

Every syllable of her laughter’s a rifle shot, clear and piercing. “Yes, yes. You said you’d call, and you did.” By his posture he’s caught and he knows it, back straight, shoulders set. “But you know perfectly well that wasn’t our agreement. To go by the way Theron spoke of you I’d have thought you an honorable man, but-”

Marcus lifts one hand, a futile placation as Nine’s mocking smile fades back into hard-eyed silence. “I really am sorry about Theron, for what little it’s worth. He-”

“You’re sorry?” That wasn’t a laugh, not quite, halfway caught in her broken throat. “You’re certainly about to be, but Theron’s fine. This puppy was just as stupid as the last one- worse, actually, since he got himself caught in the bargain.” She turns her body, lets the camera capture the prisoner behind her straining against the chair straps in wide-eyed muffled fury. “He never got anywhere close to Theron.”

“He knows, then?” (He still can’t see Marcus’ face. He isn’t sure whether he wants to.)

She shrugs, noncommittal. “One thing at a time.” Her free hand gestures vaguely toward the instrument tray. “I’ve been a bit busy, I’m afraid, and now I’ve got all these dossiers to send off-”    

“I’d suggest some time in kolto first. You don’t look at all well, Cipher.”

“Commander.” When she blinks her eyes stay closed half a second too long and she sways back and forth and stars, she needs to sit down before she falls over but she’s too stubborn to let anyone see her hurting. He knows her tells now, though- her jaw clenches, her left hand curls and uncurls. “Five years in carbonite couldn’t kill me. You honestly thought a garotte would be enough?”

“No,” Marcus says softly. “Not really. But we make do with what we have, don’t we?”

“I suppose we do. SCORPIO, transmit file Eclipse . Full recipient list.”

One red flash, two green. “Transmission complete.”

(She really did it. Oh, fuck, she really, actually did it. 

He should never have gone home. He should never have gone-  

It isn’t home. Not any more.) 

Marcus sighs. “Where?”

“Everywhere.” Nine looks up abruptly as one of the monitors sounds yet again; she reaches up and simply shuts it off completely and at this angle he can finally see properly, both of their faces in profile. “Every reputable news service in the Core Worlds and about half of the disreputable ones, so you may want to warn your receptionist. I suspect your switchboard’s about to melt.”

“She’ll handle it, and Eclipse Squad was Elin’s mess. I’m afraid I can’t comment. Now, if we’re finished-”

“We are not. Transmit file Legate. Full list. Call it off. Now.”

One red flash, two green, and Marcus winces, his composure finally breaking. “Are you out of your fucking mind? No one came out of that clean, you least of all.”

“I might be.” A knock at the door- no, it’s there, not here, and a comm chiming. “But Legate died in a warehouse collapse on Quesh, poor thing, though with all those warheads going up at once confirming it was quite impossible. Pity.”

A single vein pulses across his forehead. 

“Call it off.”

Another knock. “Do you think Theron will believe that?”

“He doesn’t need to. He knows about the Castellan restraints- he’s known for years.” She glances, for the smallest fraction of a second, toward his corner. “I think he’ll understand if I blur the truth a little.” 

(He nods before he remembers she can’t see him. Of course he understands. He wishes she hadn’t done it, wishes she hadn’t needed to do any of this, but of course he understands.)

The room goes quiet, the stillness broken only by restraint buckles clinking against the chair frame. 

“Do you think he’ll believe this?” 

The angle of her head’s a wordless question. 

“What wouldn’t you do to bring down an enemy? The head of the SIS, no less.” The framing of the projection changes, the bottom edge of a screen coming into view as he stands up slowly from his desk. Marcus’d always lived at the office, one of so many bad habits he’d passed down to him over all the years they’d worked together (the work always comes first, he’d said. It always will. It will take everything you can give to it and then it will take more and you’ll swear and shout and threaten to quit. And then you won’t, because this is what we were made for. And that is how we win). “It’s everything you ever worked toward. So: a foiled assassination attempt in your own base- how terrible.” He clicks his tongue, a mocking little tsk. “You’d have to retaliate, and who would fault you?”

Nine’s eyes narrow. 

“But if it came out that you set it all up- a few intercepted messages, perhaps, shared by an old friend-”

Her lips draw back from her bared teeth. “Stay away from him.”

“I’m finished,” Marcus says. “I know that. But that doesn’t mean you get to win. Once a iiar, always a liar, Cipher Nine. Who do you think he’ll believe- you? Or me?”

No. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t . Not that it would have made a difference, but Marcus couldn’t have known that- Force, he really is going to throw up.

(When Theron joined the SIS he was seventeen years old and every adult he’d known for more than a galactic standard month had abandoned him, sold him out or simply sold him at the first sign he’d outgrown his usefulness. It took nearly a year on Coruscant, nearly a year of steady paychecks and a bed to sleep in every night, before he owned more clothes than he could fit into a go bag; it took almost two before he stopped apologizing for asking for equipment. But Marcus never gave up on him, even when he fucked up (which back then was more often than not), even when he bristled and snapped like a half-wild animal, even when he wanted to give up on himself. If Master Zho had been the nearest thing he’d known to a father- stars knows it wasn’t Jace, especially not now- Marcus had come close too, once.

Once.)

She takes a deep breath. She’s fading fast, now, hands tremulous even as she’s fighting to keep the holo steady. He can’t just sit here and watch this, he can’t, he can’t-    

“Her,” Theron says, letting the stealth field drop as he takes a step forward and she spins, startled, at the sound of his voice. It comes out as a gasp; he doesn’t even know how long he’s been holding his breath. ”Who do I believe? Her. Always.”

Marcus buckles like he’s been gut-shot, bracing himself against his desk. “You- you said you hadn’t told him yet. You said-”

“I think you’ll find that I didn’t.” Nine smiles, absolutely feral and absolutely beautiful, and he steadies her with one hand at the small of her back. “Though as you can see, I really have been busy.”

The last time he saw that look on his face was the day the blockade went up around Coruscant. “Hello, Theron.”

“Hello, Marcus.”

He sits back into his chair, heavy, elbows resting on the desktop. “This office would have been yours, you know. You were ready for it. But you’re on the wrong side of the war.”

“Which war?” Nine says it at the same time he does and then she dips her head, ever so slightly- you first. “We’re here fighting Zakuul. We’re here fighting Arcann,” he continues, “and we’re finally winning. I know you know that. I know Jace knows that, and I know you’re both still fighting the same fucking war against the Empire that you’ve been fighting since before I was born because for you that’s the only thing that matters. But I’m not.”

“You dare-”

“I made my choice,” he says softly.  “Now you make yours. Are you going to drag the whole SIS down with you?”

Marcus rests his head in his hands. For a moment it’s the day after the Ascendant Spear, the day after Ziost, the day after Tython, the weight of a thousand impossible choices and ten thousand lies pressing down on him, and then he looks up and shakes his head. “No.” He sighs. “No, I’m not. What happens now?”

“Resign,” Nine murmurs. “Retire. Disappear before the Senate comes for you, or let them scapegoat you: I don’t care what you do, but you will call this off. You will do it now, and if I ever have reason to doubt you- if anyone from the Republic so much as breathes harm in Theron’s direction- the Ralltiir file goes public.”

Someone’s pounding on his office door, a woman’s voice shouting something incomprehensible as he reaches out of frame, and then a few moments later a series of four tones in a cadence burned into his own memory- send message; subnet selected; confirm?-

Message sent. 

The holotransmitter in Nine’s hand chimes. 

“Done. Now, if there’s nothing else?”

Nine turns once more (and he turns with her, careful) to put their prisoner back into frame. “What do you want me to do with him? I’d put him back on Belsavis if I was you, but-”

Marcus stands up abruptly, even as he makes a face as she says Belsavis, at the unmistakable sound of a single round of blaster fire and the hiss of a door sliding open. “Elin,” he snaps, “not now -”

“Yes, now.” General Garza’s got a blaster pistol in one hand and a commpad in the other when she crosses into camera view. “I just got a fucking call from the fucking- oh.” She cranes her neck toward the projector. “Well, we can fix that problem, at least-”

The call disconnects abruptly.

Nine sags against him, exhausted. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I know I promised-” 

“Commander.” He’d nearly forgotten SCORPIO was still at the console until she speaks, and he’s never heard that tone from her before; he looks sharply up at her and follows her sightline. The prisoner’s sitting bolt-straight, back rigid, eyes wide, and a high-pitched whine like a drill through durasteel shrills warning from somewhere that isn’t his mouth- “Commander, get down!”

All Theron can do is drop where they’re standing, his body a shield over Nine’s, before there’s an awful wet noise and the smell of blood and something else familiar in his nose, hot and metallic and not his and not hers and even though he knows he shouldn’t he looks up again and oh, fuck-

The lab door slides open and Doctor Lokin comes running into the room, Lana just behind with her lightsaber blazing, and they both stop short at the sight of it, at the ‘pub still strapped into the chair with half his head just gone and at him and Nine on the blood-spattered floor.

“What- who-” Lana covers her mouth with her free hand. “What in the Void happened?”

Nine’s shaking so hard she can barely move; he curls her close against him to keep her upright. “Not me,” she whispers. “Not me.”

[morgandria]

13° today, snow tomorrow. Day three of a migraine. The weather has not improved or stabilized, so neither has my brain. Ho hum. I wonder if I'll get any gap between air-pressure brain problems and fuck-all-this-pollen brain problems. Probably not.

I did get up to some witchery on the full moon, AND I even got to do a bit of moongazing. It shouldn't feel so bloody rare to actually see the moon, but hey. I'll take it when I can get it.

Lots of petitions this time. I like working for other people. I only wish I hadn't had a migraine. I can cast when I do, but pulling myself together into focused intent is harder and then I instantly pay for it afterwards. But needs must, as the devil drives. You always hope when you work through a migraine that it doesn't make the end results too unpredictable. It's like pushing a shopping cart with a wobbly wheel.

Outdoor nocturnal witchcraft is pretty much impossible now. Three streetlights on my corner, and the upstairs neighbour has installed a million motion activated floodlights for her damn ring of cameras. I hate living in paranoid high-security hell. Even the daylight kind depends on whether I feel like being on video. (Spolier: I don't.) I do what I have to when I have to, but I don't really feel encouraged to do more.

I'm debating whether I even want to deal with the backyard this year. Half the yard is now taken up by a tent and a snowblower, we have a dead BBQ to get rid of, and I'm still ridiculously annoyed that they replaced the perfectly nice door to the fence with a ugly fucking sheet of plywood, with no handle. Frankly I don't know if I will spend enough time in our outdoor space to bother decorating it this year.

It's just been a long winter, and it's still going. I haven't even given a thought to Beltane, because the very notion of Summer starting is laughable. There aren't four seasons any more, and it's unpredictable as to which ones you get, both when and for how long. Super frustrating.

Coven is an uncertainty these days. Life is conspiring against most of us being able to gather. I have some sculpting to do, my painting pile seems endless, and I still haven't gotten my new boline out for a bit of carving. Slowly picking away at some beading but it's hard on my eyes.

That's enough. I should stop complaining and take my cranky migrained ass back to bed. No-one stops by my blog to listen to me complain.

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|Ringmaster|• seokjin

Summary • Lured in by the sights and sounds of the most famous circus in town, events take a strange turn once you become part of the show. Genre • Dark yandere||Explicit||Smut - REPOST Pairing • Seokjin x reader TW • Non-con sexual intercourse, kidnapping, manipulation, drugging, bondage, sadistic jin, tickling kink, subtle urophilia, agalmatophilia, perversion, vomit, explicit sexual content, choking, unprotected sex, disassociation, DARK YANDERE, use of needle/drugs, controlling, non-con use of sex toy, non-con touching, non-con roleplay, obsessiveness, physical fight, mentions of trauma and mental health struggles. Word count • 10.2 k

•This is DARK yandere. Please do not read if these things trigger you. I do not condone or support these acts. My writing is purely fictional and does not truly represent any member.  

please don’t copy, steal, plagiarize, re-post, or otherwise use without permission  

The air smelled of stale popcorn, the sights and sounds bringing back a nostalgia you vaguely recollect from when you were younger. You can’t think back on the last time you went to such an event, as deluded as it was. Everything was designed to draw you in, trick you, manipulate and deceive you--yet the ambience of the grounds still drew people in. The main event was up ahead and you felt silly getting excited over something you’ve seen countless times through personal experience and television. As juvenile as it was, you couldn’t help but turn back to your friend with an excited smile.

“So they say this ringmaster is hot. He can be my ringmaster any day,” she comments smugly.

“Oh, shut up!” you tease, smacking your coworker on the arm. She made the offer to bring you to the circus after having received free tickets from a raffle she won at work. “We are here to see the ‘freak show’, not make eyes at the ringmaster.”

“Whatever. You know there is no such thing as a ‘freak’ anyway. Most of these people wear makeup and prosthetics to make them look unique. If you ask me, it’s quite offensive.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s just funny how I get so excited just from the lights and the music. Does that make me weird?”

Your friend simply smiles and shoves you lightly into the tent. There were more people present than you expected and finding a seat was proving to be a problem. By some miraculous chance you spot exactly two seats right near the front row.

“Look, there’s some. Let’s hurry.”

Finally sitting, you take a moment to absorb your surroundings. Children and adults alike are eagerly waiting, the brilliant joy on their faces making you feel less like an oddball. It made sense to feel this way. Though not many people enjoyed the circus, something about the whole style of it incited curiosity. Before you could remove your jacket, the lights began to dim and the music faded. The spotlights dangling from the tent began their infamous swirling as the drums announcing the introduction of the ringmaster began their furious beat. With a sharp tug, the curtains on the left side of the ring opened swiftly, revealing a brightly colored podium with nothing but a black top hat neatly set on top of it.

The audience gasps when the main director was nowhere to be seen, joined by the floodlights that chaotically search around revealing nothing but an empty ring. “That wasn’t expected,” mocks your coworker, but you were way too caught up in the search wondering where the man of the hour had disappeared to.

“Stop ruining this. You’re such a party pooper.”

As your skeptical friend chuckles, your eyes return to the darkness surrounding the stage doing your best to adjust from the bright lights that rove around. And then, without a warning, a soft brush over the shell of your ear makes you turn in suspense.

“Shhh,” comes the sound over the mic, the owner of it still unknown. The audience stills and listens, already intoxicated by the entire show. “If you looked a little closer, you’d see I’m...right...over…here,” As he harshly whispers his last word, you jolt in response, totally confused and unsure about what was happening. Within seconds, the voice near you disappears leaving you a quivering mess.

“What the hell was…”

A sudden click of the lights brings darkness over the ring once again and for a few seconds all that could be heard were the whispers of wonder from the crowd. Then suddenly every single light comes back on revealing the entire ring floor and the mysterious master everyone was looking for.

“Come one! Come all to the greatest, most unique, highly coveted and amazing grand circus you’ll ever see. My name is Jin and I’ll be your ringmaster this evening.”

With a bow, he hops off his podium and swings back behind the curtains effectively triggering the next event to follow.

You watched him the entire night wondering how he managed to get so close to you without you even realizing. He was obviously very good at his job, and from the looks of it, your friend wasn’t lying about his attractiveness. The way he carried himself as he introduced each show, light on his feet, broad shoulders and a smile that could swoon the strongest heart, was quite astounding. You were a bit embarrassed to admit it, but you wouldn’t mind him cracking the whip over your…

“Earth to, ____. Did you hear anything I said?”

“Oh, sorry...no.”

“I told you he was hot. I’ll be back, just gonna grab a drink. Want anything?”

“No thank you.”

As soon as she walks off, you continue to focus on the man commanding the stage. He had an amazingly gorgeous purple jacket that shimmered in the light. It was obvious that every bead and stone sewn into it was done with great care. His black high boots compliment his long legs that are covered by black tights leaving nothing to the imagination. You wonder if maybe he was wearing a cup, the size definitely above average, but this certainly wasn’t a sports game.

Somewhere along the line he exchanged the whip in favor of a cane, and once again your mind began to wander into dangerous territory. The show was amazing to say the least and when it was all set and done, you were a little disappointed. Not wanting to end the night just yet, you find yourself staying behind as the crowd begins to leave.

“Hey, you coming? The bus should be here in twenty minutes.”

“No, you go ahead. I’m just gonna sit here for a minute and take it all in.”

“Oh really? You’ve got money for a cab? You’re a big baller now?”

She was being silly you knew, but it wasn’t a lie. You both chose to take the bus since you didn’t want to park downtown where everyone and their mother would be. Not to mention the ridiculous prices for parking in one of the event lots. As for the money, you weren’t exactly making what you were hoping, and still recovering from paying your mother’s medical expenses, you were trying to be as conservative as possible. Tonight, however, you needed a moment for you, and a few extra bucks weren’t going to matter in the long run.

“Very funny. It’s fine. I’ll be fine. You go on. I’m not looking forward to going over my report tonight, so let me have this.” You gesture a plea and she gives in easily.

“Yeah, yeah. Just watch your back. They might just recruit you to be a part of the freak show.”

“Ha, ha...very funny.” You mock her and wave your hand dismissively. She walks off leaving you alone, the sudden silence filling the room making you feel uncomfortable. It took you a few minutes, but you managed to stand up with a sigh. It was time for you to go. Hoping to catch the fried dough stand before it closes, you pick up your pace a little, your exit just a few feet away.

“Leaving so soon?”

A familiar voice stops you, though now it was less amplified without the microphone. You turn hoping to catch him this time, happy that you were quicker than before.

“Yeah. I’m not exactly a part of the show, though, I think I might fit in with the clowns.”

“Cute and witty. I was right.”

His compliment successfully catches your attention. “You were right?”

“Yes. When I saw you earlier tonight I knew you were unique...special.”

If it were any other man talking to you this way you would have turned and walked away, but the glimmer in his eyes and his flirting tone intrigue you. His looks were also quite captivating. Up close like this, you could see his pretty lips and perfect face. He had broader shoulders than what you remember, but the padding in his jacket made him look even wider.

“Ha, thanks. I’m hardly special. I really enjoyed your show tonight. If anything was special, it was that. I’d forgotten how much I love being captured by the wonder of it all.”

“It’s my pleasure. I’ve dedicated much time to perfecting it all. I’m very particular about how things should look and sound. It’s a hobby.”

“Well, I admire it. Anyway, I should get going if I’m going to finish looking over my report. Once again, thank you.”

“Wait.”

You stand still as Jin walks forward and stands before you. He eyes you quietly and then removes his jacket carefully placing it down on one of the seats. “Please don’t go. I rarely get to speak with one of my guests, and you are particularly beautiful if I do say so myself. Pardon my boldness but, would you like to come again tomorrow night? I can guarantee you the perfect seat with no distraction from the audience. Perhaps you could be part of the show?”

Never before had you been seduced by a man with such polite manners, and even less so, a man that was in charge of a circus. It was quite comical, but the look on his face meant he was very serious about his proposal. It was a strange way to ask someone on a date, but you felt flattered nonetheless. It’s not like you’ve been approached by a ringmaster before.

“Oh, wow. You really don’t have to. I mean...what would I even do? I’ve never done anything in front of an audience before.”

“You don’t have to do much of anything. You can sit in my private booth. It has plenty of curtains to conceal you and then when I call you out, you simply walk down the ramp over there and hold my top hat while I perform a magic trick.”

His explanation seemed easy enough and even though you felt nervous, it was a little hard to say no when he was smiling so beautifully at you.

“Yeah, sure--why not. This would certainly be a stress reliever. Okay, yeah. I’ll be here.”

“Great!”

The next night came quicker than you expected and not wanting to seem like a weirdo, you didn't mention to your coworker that you were going to go back to the very place you both mocked the day before. You didn’t want to admit it, but you felt shy, and knowing that the sexiest man you’ve ever seen was waiting for you made it even more difficult to control your breathing.

The crowd was already building, the atmosphere reminding you of the night before, except this time you would be a willing participant. A little bit confused about where exactly you should be going, your worries were quickly put to rest when a circus member came up to you.

“Hello, you must be our guest for tonight. Jin asked me to take you to his personal seating. Please follow me.”

As the member led you toward the location, you realized you hadn’t even told Jin your name the night before. You found it weird of him not to ask, but then again, the circumstances had been kinda weird.

As soon as you arrive you know it. The tent is beautiful, ornately designed with pretty gems and rhinestones--satin ribbons that were colored completely different than what a circus would be. The curtains were thick and behind them you could vaguely hear Jin’s voice booming during the show. Apparently it already began and you start to worry you may have arrived too late.

“Where do I go? What should I do?”

“Just enter here. Jin will do the rest.”

As vague as it sounded, you simply did as you were asked. Opening the curtains, you walk into a small room noticing the lovely chandelier hanging from the center, and the pink roses in vases on almost every surface. It was like a dreamland. Curious, you walk toward the curtain where you hear Jin’s voice the loudest. Though you want to take a longer look around the pretty space that surrounds you, the temptation to carefully pull back the fabric is too great. The first thing you see is the back of Jin’s form. You are drawn in by his voice and the way he commands the show. With a wave of his wrist, the lights go off and gasps are heard all around.

“Come to me, now.”

You know the command is for you, so you quickly make your way to him as best as you can. The only light guiding you were the tiny string lights on the floor. His hand finds you first and pulls you close enough for only you to hear his words.

“Take off your clothes and put this on.”

Your eyes open wide in shock and for a moment you weren’t sure if you’d heard him correctly. “Take off my clothes?”

“Yes, quickly now. The lights will be on shortly.”

Not wanting the entire whole of the audience to see you naked, and knowing that it was already dark so there was no possibility of him seeing you in your underwear, you do as he says. The fabric he hands you feels slightly heavy but soft. It was clearly a cloak of some kind. Wrapping it around your shoulders, you work to tie the ribbon at your neck, but the feel of a pair of hands at your waist is not something you were expecting.

“Wha--”

“Hush. I’m just helping you be quicker. We have five seconds.”

You could feel his fingers buttoning the front with practiced skill, and just as the lights came on, you slid your arms out of the side openings and stood in awe when the audience came back into view. It was a strange feeling standing there, the shadows cast by the floodlights making it hard for you to distinguish their faces. You felt the vomit begin to build in your throat, but Jin’s hand came to settle on your back, soft circular motions helping ease the sensation.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! Boys and Girls! Tonight I have a lovely assistant to help me with my next trick. Please help me welcome…”

He turns then to glance at you and you blank. What in the hell was he getting at? Suddenly it hits you. Your name...he needed your name. “_____, my name is _____.”

“There you have it folks. Let’s give her a round of applause. Now, please pay close attention because I’m about to do what has never been attempted before. I will make this lovely lady disappear before your very eyes.”

You blink suddenly, panicking and unsure of what was taking place. He never told you about this part. He only mentioned a hat trick. What exactly were you supposed to do in front of all these people? You knew about magic tricks and how a lot of optical illusion was used, but you never practiced anything like this before. You swallow back your fears and try to go along with it. He was the greatest showman you’ve seen, so you simply put your trust in the fact that he knew what he was doing. His movements were hypnotizing, the audience’s attention drowning in the lights and sounds all around. You feel dizzy and it becomes hard to focus on anything he says. Your nerves are on edge and then without warning, a blanket of darkness surrounds you. Your feet lose stability, you feel yourself fall down and then land on a soft surface. What sounds like a trap door shuts above you and then there is silence. Without waiting, you remove the cloth sack that had somehow fallen on you and blow the hair out of your face.

Wherever you were, it was scary. There was barely any visual, just a low glow of light emitting from the corner. You crawl forward attempting to situate yourself and figure out where exactly you were, but metal bars are the first thing your fingers meet. It’s almost impossible to stand, so you hunch over walking the perimeter you were in realizing you were not in just any room. You were inside of a cage and it was no bigger than the size of a small bathroom. You can't make out much, so you use your hands as a guide to touch along every surface hoping that maybe there was a door you were supposed to exit from, but when you finally find it, a padlock prevents such a thing.

You didn’t want to jump to any conclusions or even panic because this must be part of the show and you were sure Jin or someone would come any minute to let you out. As you wait seated in the corner with your knees pulled up to your chest, the sounds above ring on and you can’t help getting more and more tired as you sit in the darkness waiting. It was the only thing you could do since you’d already convinced yourself that maybe they needed to end the show before they could come to you--they all had to be busy doing some part of the show, right?

It was way later, how long you weren’t sure, that a noise at the cage jolts you awake. “Hello! Oh thank God. I’ve been waiting for so lon--”

Jin was at the door, his presence looming due to the shadows that cast off his body and face. “Hey, you did so good, ____. Your name is really pretty. Come.”

He gestures with his hand and for some reason you hesitate a little. This had all gotten to be a bit too much and you had a bone to pick with him for leaving you in that cage for so long. When you reach the door, he puts out his hand and you grab it even though your anger was starting to build by the obvious lack of remorse from him.

“Jin, I don’t appreciate what you did. You changed the whole show and didn’t even warn me. And then...you left me alone in this cage for what seemed like hours. I want to go home.”

While you rant and walk ahead of Jin, you come to the realization that you don’t even know where you are going. This lower level is so dark and Jin’s presence behind you isn’t exactly comforting. He hasn’t said much and you start to feel incredibly uncomfortable by this whole situation.

“But you already are home.”

“Wha--”

You didn’t get the chance to spin around and look at him. The next thing you knew you were struggling in his grip, a cloth over your mouth, and then darkness.

With a dry mouth and sore neck, you rouse to consciousness slowly. As your body begins to awaken, you start to move around, unconsciously stretching your limbs, only to come to the realization that you can’t move your hands. “Wha--”

It doesn’t take long for you to realize you are tied down by your hands and feet. Your head is killing you and you feel like your throat is on fire, but none of that matters--you need to get out of wherever you are.

You begin to scream hoping that someone will hear you. Even though it hurts, you scream and scream, your tears suddenly making themselves present. In a moment of exhaustion, you bow your head to rest when the sound of a door opening sets your nerves on edge.

“My, my...what a loud, pretty mouth you have. I was hoping you’d make this easier. I didn’t use the needle this time. Your pretty skin is too precious to puncture, but I can see you’re not very grateful for my mercy.”

For a second you think you’re hallucinating. The words that are coming out of his mouth seem unreal, and if he weren’t standing right in front of you in his physical form, you would indeed believe you were dreaming. “What do you mean needle--w-what are you saying? What is this?”

“Hush, darling. You’re only going to make your headache worse and strain your throat. I rather like your voice. I was hoping to make you a talking doll. You wouldn’t want me to sew your lips together would you?”

That shut you right up. If there was ever a level of crazy in your opinion, Jin had surpassed it. Suddenly it all made sense, the robe, the blanket, the cage...this had all been planned. You instantly regret ever coming to the show and even thinking you could trust him. The man before you was a psychopath and now you were stuck. You can’t believe that he actually kidnapped you in front of an entire crowd and yet no one was the wiser.

“Good. See how good you are? I actually knew it the moment I saw you sitting up front at my show. I had to go see you right away. You did feel me, didn’t you? I was so close. God, you smelled like heaven. You have the perfect skin and hair...and when you smile...your teeth...ugh...I just love when I don’t have to do reconstruction on teeth. It’s always messier than it needs to be. OH! Before I forget, I have a dress for you.”

“What the fuck! Let me go...please...please let me go!” Whatever he was planning, you didn’t want to be a part of it. The more he spoke, the more you felt your skin crawl. You’ve only ever heard of fucked up shit like this in movies and to be honest you preferred to die instead of doing whatever the fuck it was he wanted to do.

“Hey...I asked you to be quiet.” He comes close when he speaks the word, the remaining rush of air coming from his lips blowing over your face. You want to gag, his nearness enough to make you nauseous. You turn your head away not wanting to look at him- but you can’t keep from crying. This whole thing felt like some sort of twisted joke. Biting your lip, you nod in agreement and it was enough for him to move away from you.

“Good girl. You may want to know that I like to dress up my dolls. It’s my favorite hobby. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I will need to remove your bra and panties and that will cause me to see your...privates. That’s okay, right? I mean, I would never touch you unless you wanted. I always leave it up to my dolls. After all, I need you to be smiley and happy. It’s been a long while since I’ve found another to be mine. My last doll...well...she wasn’t very good to me. After all I did for her--she was so ungrateful. It doesn’t matter now. She’s not around anymore. You have all my attention. So...where should we start?”

He walks forward and you flinch. You couldn’t help it. It was futile to try and hide it knowing that you were already as good as dead. Your chest heaves with the cries you can’t subdue, and there was nothing you could do to stop him since your arms and legs were tied.

“I usually use a knife to start--it helps me get the clothes off faster, but I’ve been a little sloppy at times and ended up ruining my perfect baby’s skin. I’m going to use these scissors instead. You ready?”

As he began to cut away at your clothes, you shut your mind down and pretended none of this was happening, that you weren’t really tied down in some lunatic's basement being stripped of your clothes and dignity. The faster you breathe, the more lightheaded you become. It didn’t take long for you to pass out.

“Aww, what a pity. I would have liked for you to see how pretty your clothes are. Oh well.”

As you lay unconscious, Jin cut away at your clothes. He took his time, eyes roaming over your body as if it were art in a museum. His fingers itch to touch, but he was a gentleman. He swiftly removes your boring clothes and then begins dressing you with the hand made clothes he had pre-made for you. It only took him one look to know exactly what would fit you. The baby pink cloth he chose was perfect against your skin. He knew it would be. There was no need for underwear, not when he could see the peak of your nipples showing through the transparent cloth so perfectly. You really were something to behold. Satisfied with his work, he pulls out his makeup kit and goes to work. This was his favorite part. Everything about you was more than he could ask for. The more he stares at you, and the more makeup he applies, the harder it is for him not to sneak a taste. Tenderly he bends down to kiss your lips and when you sigh he feels his heart constrict.

“So fucking perfect, darling. I’m so sorry, but I couldn’t resist.”

When everything is done, he gets up with a satisfied smile and leaves the room. He knew you’d need to rest before you put on his best show.

Once again you awoke to unfamiliar surroundings and your limbs bound. You were thirstier than you remember and the darkness all around you made you want to sleep more, but you couldn’t. There had to be a way to get out. You begin to struggle against the binds praying that maybe Jin wasn’t so good at tying, but a bright light suddenly pops on beaming right on you. You could barely see anything, the power of the bulb making your headache come back full force. The sound of clapping makes its way to you, and it was obvious it was a recording. What was definitely not a recording was the sound of Jin’s voice over the speakers in the room.

“Gentleman and gentleman!” he giggles. “Tonight we have a special show for you, yes only you because there’s only one of me!” Again he laughs. “Let’s give it up for ____, the prettiest doll you ever did see.”

Again the recorded clapping sounds all around you along with cheers, yet you know there was only one person in the room. Suddenly your arms start to get pulled up, along with your legs. You were being lifted up against your will and though you wanted to fight it, the height you were being taken to seems pretty far from the floor.

From somewhere in the darkness, Jin’s clapping and jeering has you searching. At this point you were beyond exhausted and you weren’t even sure how many hours you’d been trapped. You also felt so unlike yourself. Your body felt heavy and your head was spinning.

“Lovely! Look how pretty you are. Why don’t you give us a turn.”

The ropes holding you rotate your body and then drop your arms a bit forward so that you are bent forward with your hips elevated higher. They begin to tug your limps back and forth making it seem like you are dancing and every tug and pull only makes you feel sicker. Unable to hold back, you vomit all over the floor below you.

“Oh no! OH NO! This won’t do. My darling.”

You feel yourself getting lowered down softly until you’re settled in the pool of your own vomit. The next thing you feel are Jin’s hands lifting you up and carrying you off somewhere. Water droplets fall over your head and you realize you’ve been carried to a shower. It feels amazing and even though Jin removed your clothes, you didn’t care. Even when he begins cleaning your body and shampooing your hair, you just sit on the tiled floor letting him do it. You don’t register how he too was naked and that he was sporting an erection.

He carries you out of the bathroom all wrapped in a towel and sits you on a vanity chair. He brushes your hair and puts lotion over your skin, not once uttering a single word. When he’s all finished, he carries you to his bed and tucks you in. He knew the injection he gave you while you were passed out was too much, but he didn’t want you to wake up while he was still styling you for his show. He should’ve known when it took you much longer than the others to wake up. It was stupid of him to put you through it when you were such a fragile and soft baby. He caresses your face and hair as he lay next to you naked. You were both naked because let’s face it, he was greedy like that. He watches your eyelashes flutter and wonders what in the world you might be dreaming. Hopefully by the morning everything would be better.

Feeling like you’d been hit by a brick wall, you could barely move your arms, the soreness running from your neck down to the tips of your fingers. Your legs hurt as well and your stomach made an unpleasant sound. What the hell was happening? You try to turn but a vice-like grip over your waist keeps you in place. Slowly you turn your head to find that Jin is asleep and is holding you tight. As quietly as you can, you start to remove his hand and slide out of his grip. You make it a few steps before Jin’s voice startles you.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

He spoke sleepily, not even making a move to grab you. It was like he knew you couldn’t go anywhere. That didn’t stop you from trying. Not looking back at him, you scan the room for anything that could help you make an escape. You spot the brush from last night and grab it quickly turning to fight him and then realize how stupid you were being. What could you possibly do with a brush?

This gets Jin’s attention. He sits up, the blanket laying over his hips revealing his upper body and abs. His hair was a shaggy mess and lips swollen from sleep. Were it another time or another Jin, you might say he looked good enough to eat, but this was not a normal man. He was a killer, with weird kinks you didn’t even want to think about. Whatever it was he was doing with you had made him your number one enemy, and there was no way you could see him in any sexual way.

“Come here, darling. What do you plan to do with that brush, hm? Why don’t you come back to bed. You must be so hungry after that wonderful display you put on last night. I must say, the floodlights left little to the imagination with the way your sheer clothes revealed….everything. It’s too bad you got sick. That was my fault. Come to bed, silly. Breakfast should be here any minute.”

His words remind you of the hunger you had suppressed and suddenly your belly starts to rumble. Even though it was tempting, you don’t move. Who knows what else he has up his sleeve.

When Jin senses your hesitance, his annoyance wells up. “I said come here, darling. Don’t make me come get you.”

Your body begins to shake, out of fear or hunger--you’re not sure. When he moves a leg off the bed, you quickly scurry to your side and sit down slowly eyeing him the entire time with the brush in your hand as your defense.

“Good girl. Now, give me the brush. You’ll need your hands for eating.”

“I don’t wan--”

“Brush. Now.”

You hand it hesitantly and then watch as he gets up off the bed and walks to the vanity, placing it down gently. It was so disgusting to see that somehow this little game he was playing was turning him on. He was partially aroused, and remembering your nakedness, you cover up quickly feeling sick to your stomach.

“Darling. I hate to have to do this but, you haven’t proven to me that you’re trustworthy. I already told you about the others and yet you want to test me. I really like you a lot. In fact, probably more than the others. I’ve never laid next to my other girls. You’re the first. That’s why it hurts me to have to tie you up again.”

“NO! Please. I-- I promise you don’t have to. I won’t--I mean..Please...don’t do that I won’t be bad again…”

Opening the drawer in front of him Jin grabs the ropes he used for his extracurricular activities and walks over to you. He hated that his body was making it obvious how much he liked you when he wanted to hold the power over you, but you had control over him--strangely. When he gets to your side of the bed, you are clearly ready to put up a fight and he wasn’t in the mood for it. His hand shoots out to your neck and tightens leaving you in shock.

“Don’t make me hurt you, ____. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. And after last night, with you getting sick from the injection, I wouldn’t want to force you another way. Remember, I’m a gentleman. Now be a good darling and give me your hands. If you’re worried about eating. I’ll feed you.”

You feel his thumb squeeze tighter and though your own hands grip against his in an attempt to escape, he is much stronger. Feeling yourself grow weak, you let your hands fall and give in to his will. Placing them in front of you, Jin quickly ties you up and locks you in place.

“There. You always look so lovely with ropes. This is why I consider you my prettiest doll. I’ve never seen anyone look as good as you do in the clothes I’ve made. It’s like you were made for them. With the ropes on and the makeup...the outfit...gahh…”

His hand slams against the headboard beside your head and he squeezes his thighs together, his free hand pressing down against the erection that’s been annoying him for hours. “Fuck! Do you see what you do to me? You’re my perfect doll. Can’t you see that? You were made for me. I can’t wait to put you in the next outfit I have for you. It comes with ribbons for your pigtails and---”

A knock at the door stops his discourse. He grabs a nearby robe and answers the door. When the food enters the room you almost want to cry. The smell is amazing and for a moment you forget everything else.

“Hungry, darling?”

This time you don’t hold back, nodding desperately wanting him to bring you the food immediately. You’re not sure how many days have gone by with the lack of windows and clocks in this prison you were in. You've been in and out of consciousness so many times, and honestly, your hunger was starting to be the most important thing right now.

“I didn’t know what you would like so I took the liberty of ordering everything. I have a wonderful staff here. They’re paid for their work and their silence. It’s quite amazing actually. I can focus on my career and my hobbies. So, how about some fruit?”

Whatever Jin was saying was not registering. Your eyes were focused on the food and nothing else. When Jin brought up a piece of fruit to your mouth, you took it eagerly, not caring if the juice dripped over your chin. He continued to feed you more and more, occasionally slipping a finger into your mouth hoping your tongue would lick over it. The more he fed you, the harder he got, the robe now rubbing over the tip of his length as he fidgeted in his seat.

“There, what a good darling you are. Feeling better?”

“Water please.”

Jin did not linger, quickly grabbing the glass of water and bringing it to your lips. When you begin to chug he tries to keep up with your demand, but his hand slips and he wets your entire neck and chest. “Shit, I’m sorry, doll. Let me.”

He removes the wet blanket that shields you and you jerk forward not wanting for him to see you, but it was too late. You were nude once again, and this time, Jin makes no attempt to hide the lust in his eyes.

“I don’t think I can wait any longer. I have your new outfit here...in this closet. I won’t put you in my stage room for this because I want this to be...for me...between us--intimate.”

You couldn’t help but to cry again, the sick and twisted games he was playing too much for you to handle. “No...please don’t make me do that. Jin, please let me go. I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I won’t tell anyone I promise. I’ll do anything...I--”

His hand over your mouth silences you. “___. You really like to run your mouth too much and...it’s driving me crazy. Your begging is so pretty, but please shut up. I know what’ll change your mind. Wait here.”

He seems way too happy when he runs to search in the drawer. You start tugging harshly against the ropes not caring that it was pulling against your skin and making it bleed. You’re so focused on it that when Jin comes up and tugs your legs down, you yelp in shock.

“DARLING! Stop or else it’s going to hurt.”

When you look down you see him holding a small object unfamiliar to you. He puts it into his mouth and pulls it out with a smile, satisfied with how his spit coats the surface. Another item calls your attention--lube? While he holds your legs down with one arm and half his body, his other hand works to lube the object and then he spreads your legs. You begin to fidget unsure of what he intends to do.

“LISTEN TO ME!”

His booming voice makes you stop instantly, the viciousness behind it making it clear you should give him your full attention.

“Okay good. Keep your legs still...you don't want that again do you?” He gestures to the needle on the dresser and you freeze.

“I see we speak the same language. Now, because I would never touch a lady without her permission, I’m going to need you to do something for me. Push this inside of you.”

Your mouth drops open the moment you realize what he is asking you to do. He is holding some sort of toy and for whatever sick reason he wants you to put it inside of yourself. Not wanting him to drug you again and even less for him to do it himself, you grab it and slide it in, your tears trailing over your cheeks the entire time.

Jin sits back and watches you, amazed at how much more compliant you’ve become. He was glad because he really did favor you above the others. As soon as it disappears inside of you, he grabs his phone and turns the dial to the lowest setting. Immediately you buck up and he smirks. “Good. Now let’s get you dressed.”

His outfit for you is sweet and simple. It wasn’t a typical doll outfit since it was more lace than cotton. He manages to include ribbons tied at your elbow and knees. The material is so revealing it looks like it belongs in a stripclub. There is an opening at your cunt allowing access to anyone wanting it--mainly him. He manages to tie your hair into pigtails and paint marionette markings on all your joints. The entire process takes him a few hours. While he works on you he plays with the controls on his phone increasing the vibrations inside of you slowly. As much as you try to hold back, a few orgasms rack your body.

When he finishes getting you ready, he stands back admiring his work. Out of all his previous babies, you were the most gorgeous. “You’re perfect, ___. This outfit was made for you. I am confident you’re going to put on an amazing show. This time we will be in here so there is no need to feel nervous. My eyes will be on you and nowhere else. Let’s set you up.”

He somehow managed to tie you to the high posts on the frame of his bed effectively getting you to stand. Everything happened so fast and with the distraction of the looming needle sitting on the dresser and the vibrating toy inside of you, Jin was able to get you to do exactly as he wished. You were splayed out, arms and legs open like a starfish, looking like a lamb ready for the slaughter. His low chuckle made you nauseous, but after your previous display, you didn’t want his hands on you anymore. The way he stood off in the corner of the room sitting back on his velvet chaise brewed a hatred within you that you never experienced before. If this fucker wanted a show, that’s exactly what you would do, but…

Another vibration forces your body to shudder. You can’t close your legs to stave off the stimulation nor can you pull it out. You can see part of your reflection to the right of you in the mirror on the dresser and it’s beyond degrading. The tiny pink string hanging out of you nauseates you, the foreign and unwelcome object making your head spin. If only you could pull it out and focus on that damned needle.

“Look at you. It’s cute--the way you act like you don’t want this. Your body tells me differently, baby. Look at your pretty nipples…so hard and sensitive. Does it hurt you when the lace rubs over them? You want to cum again, don’t you?”

When he goes to turn up the vibrator once again, you scream out. You can’t help it, the overstimulation is too much to bear and if he continues on like this you might pass out from exhaustion. “NO! NO...please no more. I c-can do--I can do it without the toy. P-please take it out. Let me s-show you.”

Your request captures Jin’s interest. Could it be that you were going to do a show for him all on your own? All his other disobedient girls needed motivation and never offered such a gift. He was tempted.

“Is that so? I kind of like you like this all whimpery and messy. Your thighs are so shiny from all the arousal you’re leaking, baby. Don’t you like how good I am to you?”

“I doo, I dooo, b-but...I can be better. I can be a good girl. Let me try. Please.” You hope he takes the bait because frankly, you had no other option. This was going to be the only opportunity as far as you could tell. There was no guarantee he’d let you be with him alone like this again, nor that he’d have a needle full of god knows what to knock you out. You wait and watch the decision playing over his features until another buzz shocks you into another orgasm.

Jin snickers as he watches your body convulse and then fall forward. The only thing sustaining you are the ropes he tied like a professional. It’s pretty amazing how good he’s gotten. The first few girls had successfully gotten free, but they never made it past the main hall. Pathetic little bitches. You, however, were tied up like a perfect little treat, unable to escape and drooling from the amount of orgasms he’s gifted your body. For a moment he enjoys the show, until a drop of blood lands on his sheets.

“Princess!” His voice shocks him, the worry laced within it unlike anything he’s ever felt before. He hops up and over to you, checking every inch of your body. When he finally reaches your face, he sees you’ve bitten your bottom lip hard--probably to keep from screaming out your pleasure. You were such a spirited and stubborn little thing.

“Okay, fine. I never do this, so consider yourself lucky. I’ll let you show me what you can. You need to hydrate first.”

Jin unties you and sets you on the bed where you sit in agony. The temptation to pull out the toy is still there, but now that you were free, you didn’t want to push your luck. He comes back with water and lets you drink. You’re thirstier than you realize, and almost want to sigh in pleasure at the feeling of flowing down your throat.

“There’s a good girl. So, tell me, did you still want this toy inside or not?”’

You almost spit out the water with how fast you answer him, “NO!”

“Have it your way,” Jin chuckles.

You hope he’s giving you the chance to remove it, but you should have known better. Kneeling before you, he opens your legs, letting his fingers slide softly up your thighs. When he reaches your center, he spreads your lips open and wraps the cord over his middle finger and pulls slowly.

The action causes your legs to shake, but you suppress it by pressing down on your knees with your palms. Jins stares up at you taking his sweet time removing the distressing device.

“There.” The popping sound it makes as he pulls it out is embarrassing, and as soon as he’s clear of your legs, you snap them closed and exhale.

Jin stands back and admires your flushed skin, the sweat on your brow, and the wetness coating the vibrator purchased especially for you. It was a pity you didn’t want to play with it anymore. He had so many wonderful plans for it, but at the moment he was more intrigued by whatever show you promised him. He stands back and leans against the dresser, the very same holding the syringe you so desperately want to reach.

Not wasting anymore time, and battling against complete and utter exhaustion, you stand to your feet and put on your best face. Using the frilly attire to your advantage, you run your hand up your thighs, over your belly and over your breasts. You sway your hips side to side slowly, a seductive dance you hope will ensnare him. His eyes are glued to you already, the attention making you feel strangely powerful. Sliding your hands back behind your neck, you feather your hair over your arms and bring one back over your face and onto your lips. Making sure to lock eyes with him, you notice his flicker to your lips where your fingers are currently playing with your tongue, fingertips running gently over it and slowly entering your mouth.

“Enough!” Jin growls, his patience having run its course.

It looks like he’s about to move away from the very place you need him to be and before you can walk over to pin him, he storms towards you. A hand comes to your throat and the force of it forces your feet backward. The edge of the bed meets your calves and now completely out of control, Jin takes over and lifts you onto the bed. There is nothing you can do, not when his hands are rushing to remove every inch of your clothing. He rips at the frilly material as if it were paper and pins your hands above your head with one of his own. He doesn’t bother to take off his robe, his cock already peeking through the opening on the front.

At this point you’re beyond exhausted, the idea of even escaping slowly slipping away. He drags one of his hands up your body, fingernails slowly trailing over your skin and belly. He moves them around lightly, the pads brushing over your flesh in featherlight strokes creating a tickling sensation you can barely endure. You want to cry out, beg him to stop, but your voice is completely gone. You almost start giggling, the soft strokes over your skin assaulting your most sensitive parts. You squeeze your thighs together, the tickling beginning to stir your bladder.

“You think you can go on teasing me like this, princess? I think I’ve been patient enough, don’t you think? How dare you be so fucking sexy? None of my other girls were as perfect as you. I’m sorry for what I’m about to do, but I can’t wait any longer. You do want me, right?”

You close your eyes already knowing what’s coming. His warm breath over your face steals your breath away and you just lay there defeated. You’d fought him all day and there was no fight left in you. He takes your lack of response as permission, and the moment he enters you, he almost cries out in euphoria.

There is no doubt about his size. He’s big and thick. He doesn’t push in aggressively, but takes his time, almost like he wants to enjoy every single second. He kisses over your neck and chin as if the tenderness would make this situation any better. The truth was, you didn’t want him and you didn’t want this. At first you were attracted to him, but now knowing what a crazy animal he is, you have no desire to be near him whatsoever.

With his own hands, he adjusts your body and hips, securing your legs over his waist in order to press himself deeper. Slowly he rolls his hips and settles himself to the hilt. The feeling overwhelms him, the sensation of finally filling you making him dizzy. He doesn’t take advantage of you, no, that wasn’t his style. You obviously wanted him, otherwise why would you have cum so many times, why would you be soaked and dripping just for him right now? You showed him as much when you did your dirty little dance for him. He had to let you know that your little display was unacceptable and that none of his dolls were allowed to be filthy sluts. This was just his way of teaching you that no one else was allowed to enjoy or even delight in the temptation that is you. You’d learn really quickly what it meant to be his, or else.

Though you try to fight the feeling of pleasure slowly rising, it’s next to near impossible. Your body is already extremely sensitive and he knows this, using your momentarily vulnerability to his advantage. He knows exactly what he’s doing. His fingers tug at your nipples, teeth nip over your skin, and fingers stroke over your clit perfectly. Surprisingly he’s more gentle than you expect. Your traitorous body begins to accept the touch, your skin already prickling and orgasm on the verge of assaulting you.

“That’s it my pretty darling. I always knew you’d give yourself to me like this. Are you going to cum all over my dick--make me the happiest man on this earth? I’ve been waiting for so long. Show me how sorry you are for being such a dirty whore.”

His words press upon your neck leaving a permanent mark on you, solidifying his possession. You want to say no--scream at him to get off of you and die, but his fingers work faster, and before you know it, you’re screaming out your orgasm instead. It’s incredibly potent, the last few hours of edging and teasing only serving to shatter you entirely. Before you can come back down to earth, his thrusts become sloppy and desperate, and within seconds, he emptying himself completely, and dropping down to the side of you heaving and huffing.

“Fuck!” He doesn’t remember the last time he came so hard, and the other girls most certainly never got him so worked up. You were more than he ever dreamed he’d have. There was no way he would let you go.

It only takes you a moment to catch your breath before the realization of time slowing down hits you. If not now, then when? While Jin lays back catching his breath, you jolt up off the bed running to the dresser. As soon as the needle is in your hand, you turn to attack and find that he’s already made it halfway off the mattress--one leg on the bed and the other on the floor.

“___, my love. What do you think you’re doing?”

The sound of his voice is like nails on a chalkboard and the fear coursing through you makes you feel slightly weak. You fight the desire to fall to the ground in a pathetic heap, now focused on the adrenaline driving you.

“Fuck you! I won’t be your little puppet anymore you sick fuck!”

You pace carefully, keeping your back close to the exit hoping the door isn’t locked. Jin continues moving off the bed, careful not to make any sudden movements. Your body is on high alert, anything he does or says your complete focus.

“Don’t you fucking move! Don’t you dare. I’m leaving. Let me the fuck out!”

For some reason Jin knows you mean every word, and not wanting you to hurt yourself, he complies, pressing the button by his bedside table. You hear the bolts unlock, the sound music to your ears. You begin to cry knowing the possibility of escape is so close. Your chest rocks with the heaves you can barely contain. You walk backwards, careful not to trip. When your hand comes in contact with the doorknob, you twist it open, needle still in hand and pointed at Jin.

Temporarily distracted with your freedom, you miss it when Jin runs forward to grab you. You scream and fall to the ground with him. Clawing at whatever you can, you press your fingers into his eyes, skin, and face. You don’t know where the needle has gone, the entire scuffle causing it to fall from your hand. Although Jin is strong, at the moment your will to live is stronger. You can feel him struggling to control you and when he tries to pin you down, you almost break down at the possibility of defeat, but the flash of the drug you need to knock this demon down catches your eyes. You reach out successfully grabbing it. It only takes a moment, but you manage to free a bit of your arms and jab the needle right into his neck. Pressing the plunger down, you inject him full of the drug he used on you not days ago. You hope it’ll have the same effect on him as it did you--leave him sick and so out of it he can’t even move.

Jin feels the moment it penetrates his skin and reaches for it with weak hands. Pulling it out, he works to focus his eyes, the surprise written all over his face. “How could you?”

He freezes and then drops right on top of your body heavily. The weight is too much, but with the little strength you have left, you push him off of you, exhaling feebly. There is no doubt of how much you wish to remain on the floor resting, the entire day’s events rendering you a pathetic excuse of a woman, but there is no time for it. Attempting to right yourself, you stand to your feet, eyes never leaving the lifeless body on the floor. You don’t think he’s dead, or at least you don't know, but there was no time to dwell on any of that. You make it to the door you managed to open earlier and walk out into a dimly lit hall. There is no way of knowing what time it is, but based on the food you got earlier, you would say it had to be mid afternoon.

As quiet as a mouse you tiptoe down the long path and end up at a bend that leads you to a large room. The windows seem to be darkened by thick curtains so it makes it hard for you to see where you are going. It’s not like you remember seeing any of this when the entire time you’ve been his captive he had you drugged. Grabbing a throw you see laying over the couch, you wrap it over your body as best as you can. Using your instincts, you walk toward an area you hope might have an exit, and with luck on your side you find an elevator. You call for it, fear curdling in your belly. If someone were to find you now you’d be unable to fight them off. The ding of it’s arrival stops your heart, and when the doors open, you release the breath you were holding, happy that it’s empty.

You choose the first floor and end up coming upon a large kitchen. The silence is eerie and it feels as if someone will pop out on you at any moment. Walking a little further you find a large door and what appears to be your salvation. You unlock the door and turn the knob not expecting the loud sound of a blaring alarm. You don’t wait to see who will show up now that your absence was announced.

You run out into the light of the day, the brightness from the sun above blinding you. None of this stops you, however. You walk into the yard realizing that this part of the house looked completely normal, almost like it was just a normal home in a suburban community. Your body gives you one last boost enabling you to run and unlock the wooden fence at the end of the opening. Just as you walk out you hear someone calling your name, but it was too late. You don’t bother turning back, certain that one of Jin’s staff probably realized you escaped. With freedom literally within your grasp, you manage to walk a few steps before hearing several gasps and then children before falling to the ground with a hard thud.

Sitting at your desk, you watch the cursor mindlessly, your thoughts straying to a memory you’ve been working hard to forget. In a few hours you’d be meeting with your therapist, someone who’s been able to get you through the past four years of life. You can’t help but feel small, especially on a day like today--the anniversary of when it all went down.

“____, you okay?”

You turn to your left to find your friend Taehyung who somehow managed to creep his way into your heart. His sweet demeanor and soft exterior made you think of him as a teddy bear, and that is exactly what he was when he knew you needed a hug.

“Yea. I’m good.” You smile at him to assure him, but the truth is, he had no idea. None of your co-workers did. After everything that happened, it took you a year to even begin a new life. You were so afraid to socialize, and meeting new people had your red flags waving every single time. With time, you slowly learned to let some people in and enter society once again.

The day you escaped, you barely made it a few steps out of Jin’s backyard before collapsing in front of a family who was having a barbecue outside of their garage. They immediately called the police and within hours Jin had been arrested and all of his properties and assets seized. As you lay in the hospital recovering, the district attorney took down the entire circus and interrogated every single person employed by Jin. Most of the workers were clueless, while a handful knew exactly what had been taking place for the last seven years in his godforsaken circus. You were not the first victim, but you had been the last. Although the authorities made it clear to you that your nightmare would be locked up for good, there was always that paranoia deep within--the one that made you look over your shoulder more than normal people, and lock every single door at night. You never opened your windows and you most certainly never went out alone.

“Okay good. Jimin and I were wondering if you wanted to go out with us tonight. He got some tickets to a show.”

It was cute how they always invited you knowing you were a loner, but it always felt like you were always the third wheel. “No, it’s okay. You take your lover to the show without me. I’ll be in the way.”

“Stop that, silly. You’re never in the way. Besides, Jimin got all these free tickets to the traveling circus and we have to get rid of them. Do you know anyone else that might want to come?”

You freeze, chest now constricted and heartbeat racing. It couldn’t be, Jin was put away, his circus was shut down...there was no way he was back…

“What did you s-say…”

[willsonandrena]

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