#disclaimer I heavily used a reference for the fight | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sailorrlino · 2 months

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Rodeo | lmh (m)

𓆩⟡𓆪 Pairing: hitman!Minho x arms dealer! F. reader

𓆩⟡𓆪 Summary: Minho’s relationship with you is like a good weapon - uncomplicated, refined, and trustworthy. He likes it that way. When you appear on his target list, his relationship with you becomes quite the opposite - complicated, rough, and unreliable.

𓆩⟡𓆪 Word Count: 18,249

𓆩⟡𓆪 Genre: Cyberpunk | Smut | Angst | Peers to Something

𓆩⟡𓆪 Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

𓆩⟡𓆪 Warnings: Violence, world building, murder, discussion of murder, depictions of blood and fight sequences, brief mentions of drugs, depictions of wounds and treating them with syringes if you don’t like needles, explicit language, depiction of an anxiety attack, angst and self-doubt, Minho being an idiot, gun fights and scenes with weapons, some vague terms and references specific to the world building, sexually explicit content featuring oral (f. receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, cum eating, bodily fluids, and mentions of spit in several places. I think that covers everything, for the most part.

𓆩⟡𓆪 A/N: This is what happens when writers just write what they're inspired for. After almost two months of being unable to write, I got this random idea and I just went with it and took advantage of the moment and... genuinely had so much fun writing this. It got so much longer and more complex than I meant to, but I hope you enjoy.

𓆩⟡𓆪 A/N 2: This work is heavily inspired by Fallout 4, Blade Runner, Altered Carbon and the lovely song Rodeo by WayV. I imagine Rodeo playing during the shootout scene at the bar. Additionally, a fun fact: I use the nato alphabet to communicate Minho's targets and reader's target in this spells out 'reader' in the nato alphabet :)

𓆩⟡𓆪 Posted: Sunday, March 3 2024

𓆩⟡𓆪 Disclaimer: All members of Stray Kids are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

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Any work is good work.

Minho isn’t so sure that his father would say that as he crouches down next to the body on the living room floor. His thigh muscles protest, aching and tight from hours of sitting crouched across the street in the chill of a high-rise building waiting for his prey to enter this very building.

Neon light bleeds through the foggy window behind him. The room is awash in watery pink as he pulls out his scanner with one hand and leans forward with the other, pressing his gloved fingers to the man's chin to push his head to the side. It rolls easily, giving a fleshy sound that might make someone squeamish as the man’s cheek hits the floor.

Any work is good work, Minho thinks as he scans the man's non-existent pulse with his watch. He sees the blue ring of the biochip flash beneath cooling flesh, his watch flashing green with a soft buzz. The man’s entire life flashes on the screen - full name, date of birth, ID number, blood type, and place of work. Everything about him casts a sickly green glow on Minho’s sharp face.

Tapping a few buttons on the watch face, he waits, holding his wrist near his mouth as the sound of a dial tone chimes once. It’s silent in the apartment, though he can hear the hum of airborne traffic a few blocks off as the roar of adrenaline winds down.

“Receiving,” a male voice answers. Minho doesn’t know who it is - he just knows he’s one of any of the Delegators who work for Collect Co.

“Collection request number alpha-echo-tango-delta complete, served by Collector 102598.”

“Collected alpha-echo-tango-delta confirmed. Please place a beacon before you leave. All credits for this Collection have been transferred to your account. Please wait five to seven business days before funds are available for use. Your next collection is in four hours, seven minutes, and eight United Seconds.”

The line goes dead. The glow of the watch makes him squint before he can lower his brightness, scrolling to his bank account. He sees the credits added with a transaction pending. When he was a kid, the number glowing at the bottom of the screen to indicate his balance might have excited him. Now, it’s just a number on a screen that confirms the power won’t go out at his apartment and that he won’t go hungry.

Minho’s knees crack as he stands. He groans and leans backward, pressing his hands into the small of his back. A series of cracks slither up his spine, making his eyes roll back as he shuts them for a moment and shivers.

He’s so goddamn sore.

Leaving the body on the carpet of the living area, he goes over to pick up the handgun resting on the counter. The energy weapon glows at his touch, syncing with his interface briefly before he holsters it inside his jacket.

While he is technically within the law to eliminate targets for Collect Co., Minho finds that most people find it unsettling when Collectors walk around with weapons. He hasn’t given much thought to what people think about him, but it certainly causes a lot less trouble when he looks like an average businessman going to and from work instead of a licensed killer.

The gun isn’t technically legal, either. He would probably get away with it if a United Enforcer stopped him. The hitmen of the privately funded but government-sanctioned Collect Co., do not technically outrank the government’s militia, but no one with a badge is going to tell a Collector no. Not if they can help it, anyway.

Tossing a beacon on the counter for the cleanup crew to track to the apartment and get rid of the body and clean, Minho heads outside into the rain. He ducks his head down against it, water sliding off the slicker jacket he hugs a little tighter. He feels warmth kick in and his mouth twitches at the sign of the heating system in the body armor on his chest is doing its job. A nifty little upgrade from you, he knows.

At the thought of you, Minho turns north toward the speed train, remembering that he needs an adjustment on his armor that is out of sync with his watch, and JumpPacks. He already used the last one about five hours ago and he feels the numbness of exhaustion buzzing at his edges, a warning sign that if he doesn’t get a jump or sleep he’s going to pass out.

Whichever comes first.

Smears of color splash across the wet sidewalk as he jogs down the steps to the train. It smells wet and foul, making him tuck his chin to his chest as he rushes to the fast-closing door of the train. He steps over the threshold just as the doors clang shut, the hissing of an airlock barely finishing before it launches forward.

He tenses to avoid being pitched forward into one of the standing railings. As the train rocks, the fluorescents above nearly blinding him, he finds a seat toward the back of an empty car. This late at night, there are only two other people in sight, both of them curled heaps of clothes on a seat, fast asleep.

Sleep tugs at him the moment Minho sits down. He has a twenty-minute ride to North Ward Three, dropping his head against the back of the seat and closing his eyes.

The light still hums behind his closed lids, making a splash of colors. There’s no sound save for the whine of the magnetic rail beneath his feet and the occasional mechanical creek as the vehicle sways.

He melts into the seat a little, limbs loose. Fuck he needs a JumpPack. The last forty-eight hours awake are wearing him thin at the edges, stretching him like fabric over a surface far too wide. The forty-eight-hour mark is when he starts to decline, and as soon as he starts to creep toward seventy, he knows it’ll get messy.

Minho is a lot of things, but he is ultimately human. The JumpPack can help him push beyond shaky hands, imagining things that aren’t there and the foggy thinking, but they won’t keep him sharp forever.

As if proving his point, Minho hangs somewhere between awake and asleep, suspended in a dreamy space where he can still feel the rocking of the train but doesn’t feel the ache in his limbs or the pressure growing behind his eyes.

He flinches when the chime echoes above him at the next stop, eyes flying wide for a moment as his gaze sweeps the train car, his hand on the inside of his jacket where he grips the handle of a very nice knife.

No one enters the car. It’s just him and the other two sleeping people - he isn’t sure they’re even alive, really - and he relaxes, cursing at himself. This time when he drifts, he does so with a little more awareness, hand tucked warm against his chest and wrapped firmly around the blade.

It’s a unique little knife, snug in the sheath that’s buckled to the leather harness under his jacket. The handle is firm and made from non-conductive material that fits his exact grip from the meticulous measurements you took of his hand. You crafted the blade from a metal alloy you’d been playing around with and lined it with a highly conductive silver alloy you’d perfected.

When the button on the end of the handle is pressed, 5,000 volts of lethal electricity pulses through the sliver, finishing off a victim if he manages to fuck up a killing blow. It’s saved his life a few times in situations like now when he’s exhausted and his guard is blurry, or when someone has decided to make him the target for robbery.

A lot of your little gadgets have saved his life. You like to remind him every time he visits you. He doesn’t mind, though. You’re an easy enough arms dealer - easier than anyone else in the city, really. You don’t ask the kind of questions that he doesn’t want to answer, and you’re always two steps ahead of him. Even your prices are fair, which he used to find suspicious.

But Changbin and Jisung both swear by your tech and your business, and Minho is just happy that he doesn’t have to worry about you trying to give him a shitty deal or fuck him over.

The Collection industry is made for fucking over. He knows the system can be fucked with, especially the closer to the top you get.

Almost everyone tries to fuck Minho over. More than once he’s shown up as a Collection Request. He doesn’t know if it’s the system trying to clean up after itself or someone pulling strings to get him out of their way. It’s probably both, but every time it happens, he’s managed to evade it.

A Reverse Collection, those in his industry call it. In a way, it’s sort of like a pop quiz. He gets attacked or shot at, and if he wins, he passes the test and reverses the Collection, earning him more time without any coworkers trying to murder him. The Delegators don’t seem to care which Collector murders the other, and he’s never suffered for coming out on top.

Any work is good work.

Minho snorts at the thought, feeling the deep twinge in his extremities as he rouses himself, the train coming to his stop.

Rain sluices the streets in North Ward Three. Here, the streets are busier with an assault of people, smells, and sounds. LED umbrellas float along like jellyfish as people walk from pleasure house to food stand to fight arena. The hologram advertisements and neon signs are louder here, inescapable.

“The United Republic stands for justice, equality, prosperity and freedom, bought by the noble sacrifice of the United Church. Join us today-” Minho presses the ad blocker on his watch.

Immediately the holograms vanish and there’s just the neon watercolor reflecting off the umbrellas as he walks down the stairs of Neon Rodeo, the orange lights making his eyes throb as he reaches the door manned by two guards.

They know him immediately but they scan the biochip in his neck anyway. When they’re pleased, they step aside and the door slides automatically, the base vibrating his ribcage as he steps into the dingy light, hesitating to let his eyes adjust.

True to the name, there is neon fucking everywhere. The servers are dressed in chaps with LED lights and glittering tassels, their cowboy hats flashing smiling faces on top of their head. The neon here is low-grade and covered in layers of dust, giving the air a dusky, burning sort of glow as he walks around tables.

Eyes follow him as he goes. The regulars are familiar with him, tipping their head in greeting though he doesn’t do more than watch them from the corner of his eyes. The servers all slow-smile at him, teeth too white and too glittering. He finds them more unsettling than attractive, and he quickens his step to the unmarked door at the back where Hyunjin sits on a stool.

Hyunjin is perhaps the most unsettling thing in the Neon Rodeo. His eyes are a strange grey, looking at Minho as he approaches. There is a predatory gaze in Hyunjin’s eyes that never fades, a sort of knowing in them that Minho can’t shake. Minho knows Hyunjin is entirely human, but every time he approaches the man, Minho is suddenly unsure.

Nightcrawler.

Minho has heard the whispers about Hyunjin. He believes them, too. Everything about Hyunjin is like a carefully balanced blade, ready to tip in either direction. His senses are honed to perfection and he has a habit of both blending in and standing out depending on his mood.

And he can kill. Minho has seen the lethal man in action a single time when someone tried to push past him into the Builder’s sanctuary. Hyunjin had been so fast that even Minho had a hard time keeping up, struck by how efficiently and quickly the former assassin moved.

Unnatural. Everything about him is uncanny, which is in line with everything Minho has heard about the underground sect of killers. What Minho does is legally sanctioned murder. The Nightcrawlers do something far more sinister, their skills going beyond the natural desire for order in the United Republic.

Agents of disorder and chaos. That’s what some say. Minho isn’t sure where his opinion lands on the spectrum, but he gives them a healthy distance and respect either way.

Even the way Hyunjin sits on the barstool is unnatural, one foot kicked up on the bar between his legs, the other stretched out in front of him as he leans forward, his hand on the front lip of the seat.

“Hello, Cowboy,” Hyunjin greets, voice deep and smooth.

His hair is blonde today, slicked back out of his face, the ends touching his shoulders. He’s dressed in a black button-up with a cow print pattern across the shoulders and white, beaded tassels outlining the pattern. His dark pants are tight and he makes no effort to hide the gun on his waist or the knife handle peeking out the top of his cowboy boot.

“I don’t like when you call me that.”

Hyunjin’s smile makes the hair on Minho’s arms stand on end. “I know, but I like it.”

The guard makes no move to let Minho in and he tries not to show he’s irritated. By the way the grin spreads on Hyunjin’s face, Minho can safely assume he isn’t doing a great job. “Is the Builder in or not?”

“Who is to say?”

“Just tell her I’m here.”

“If she’s in, she already knows.” Hyunjin nods toward an empty stool at the bar. “You can wait, Cowboy.”

Gritting his teeth, Minho turns on his heel to sit on the stool a few feet away. Hyunjin’s uncanny eyes follow him, never leaving him once. Minho ignores him in favor of asking for water at the bar, the headache pressing behind his eyes growing more intense with the loud music and the choking smell of cigars.

When the water comes back, it’s warm without ice. He glares at the bartender who has already moved on to paying customers. The water is tepid and a little sour, making him cringe. He’s pretty sure it came from the faucet, but he sips on it anyway, eying the grimy fingerprints on the glass.

A cowgirl slides up next to him, her pink vest pulled tight across her chest, showing sweat-slick skin. She smells like vanilla, the scent overpowering as she leans in, lacquered lips grinning.

“Don’t,” Minho grunts, sipping the water. “Not interested.”

“But you’re so pretty.”

A severe reprimand dies on his tongue as Hyunjin appears like a wraith, leaning in close to murmur, “Builder is ready for you, Cowboy.”

The cowgirl cowers away from the Nightcrawler, pressing up against the counter and fleeing as soon as he slinks away. If Hyunjin is offended, he doesn’t show it. He slips back onto the stool with that same eager lean, watching Minho through narrowed eyes as the Collector gets up and walks briskly to the now-open door.

Minho doesn’t turn around when the door shuts behind him, immediately cutting off all sound. The door leads to a step of steps, mirrored walls on either side with glowing orange light strips above them. He climbs the stairs as quickly as he can, his head swimming a little as he gets to the top.

The entire second floor is a massive, open-concept workshop. Tables covered with papers and instruments are placed in a chaotic maze, glowing screens with slow-spinning schematics and drawings giving the space a clinical, blue light. Workbenches with user interfaces hum along the corners of the room. Closed metal doors and offices stretch down a hall toward the pack, all under high-tech padlocks and surely protected with some sort of weapon system, if Minho had to guess.

Amid the organized chaos is you. The Builder.

Minho hates calling you that. He thinks it’s a little ridiculous of a title, but it suits you. There is nothing in this room you haven’t built and no weapon on his person that was not carefully crafted by you. He hesitates to watch you, standing at the edge of your luminescent domain as you lean over something, a small welding tool in your hand.

“Do you need a formal invitation, Cowboy?”

He doesn’t mind the name from you. He tells himself that it’s because, despite his predisposition to not liking people, he doesn’t dislike you. You’re easy to deal with, sort of like the weapons you make. You make his life functional and you’re to the point. He admires that, and he’s willing to take a little bit of prodding and joking from you as a trade-off.

Wordlessly, he floats toward you. You don’t look up to greet him, but you kick your foot out and hook the toe of your boot underneath the leg of a stool to pull it out for him to sit on. He can smell a hint of jasmine and amber wafting from where you sit, making him clench his jaw as he fights a shiver.

“I don’t have long,” he says, forgoing the seat. “Just need JumpPacks and wanted to drop off my armor. It’s having trouble connecting with the interface of the watch. I hit it pretty hard last night and I think I damaged the receiver.”

That gets your attention, drawing your sharp gaze up to him. But instead of dropping your eyes to his chest where the flexible armor stretches across his chest, you zero in on Minho’s face.

Your silence is uncomfortable, but he remains unmoving, willing himself to stay in place under your calculating gaze. You lean forward, eyes drinking him in, examining him the way you would a schematic for a weapon or a complicated piece of data.

Minho busies himself with looking at you in return. There’s a crease growing deeper in your brow and your pretty mouth - he doesn’t remember when he started thinking it was pretty - begins to dip, displeased at something you find in his face.

“When is the last time you slept?”

“Are you psychoanalyzing me?” You level a stare at him and he feels his mouth twitch. Minho thinks besides the occasional joke from Jisung - which he defines as Jisung accidentally hurting himself - you might be the only person who makes him want to smile. “Fifty-two hours, eighteen minutes and forty United Seconds.”

“No to the JumpPack,” you say finally. “Sleep.”

“I have another target in three hours, twenty-eight minutes and fifteen United Seconds.”

“Down the hall and second door on the right. Sleep for two hours. It won’t kill you.” He opens his mouth to protest you cut him off, “I’ll be done by the time you’re up. Take off your armor.”

His hands open and close. You’ve never declined a JumpPack before. You’ve definitely never offered sleep before. He stands buoyed by his confusion before he reluctantly sheds the jacket. It crinkles in the silence as he shucks it from his shoulder and neatly folds it, placing it on the stool you had intended for him to sit on.

Next, he sheds the holster, his gun, and a few knives clanking as he does. You seem amused by the amount of weapons he’s managed to shove in the leather straps and he shrugs a little at your arched brow.

Minho’s shirt is more armor than a shirt. It’s made from highly coveted synthetic material with hard but flexible geometric pieces stitched in that sync with his watch to turn on a light energy shield, pulse when there’s an energy weapon aimed at him, and generally keep anyone from being able to stab him. You’ve also added little things like warming sensors and anti-theft.

Delicately, Minho peels off the shirt. He marvels as it moves, surprised at the give and flex of the material every time. He hands it over and you snatch it, tossing it on your work counter as if it’s not the most expensive piece of technology he owns.

Immediately he’s covered in goosebumps. Your studio is bitter cold and you always wear sweaters and jackets with sleeves pulled over your hands. You’re dressed as such now, the too-long sleeves on your arms pooling over your hands as he stands there, trying not to shiver.

You pay no mind to his armor, instead standing up and twisting your mouth in a frown as your gaze skirts his chest and stomach. For a second he feels self-conscious, which he thinks is a little ridiculous as he glances down his chest. He realizes there is bruising blooming across him, spider webbing across to show when the armor unsynced and he took a few hard punches.

Minho holds his breath when you lift your hands, as though you’re going to brush the tips of your fingers over each wound. Your hands are smaller than his and far more delicate, nimble fingers reminding him of artists. His mother was an artist. Her slim hands and careful brushstrokes are one of the few things he remembers about her.

That, and that she chose to leave him.

Minho finds himself so hypnotized by your hands that your voice startles him when you say, “Three hours, twenty-seven minutes and five seconds, Cowboy.”

You drop your hands and step away. He nods and sheds his watch as well, handing it over. “Alright.”

With heavy footsteps, he follows the directions to the appointed room. He’s a little off balance, his hip catching the corner of a table as he goes. He curses loudly, hands shooting to his hip where pain blooms from the jab. Your laughter trills behind him and he scowls over his shoulder at you, but you’re unfolding his armored shirt.

Muttering under his breath, he goes to the hall to the second door on the right. He’s never been in the hall before, but there are several doors lining each side. He carefully tries the handle, glancing up at the ceiling where a camera stares at him.

The handle gives under his hand easily and he swings the door open to what looks like a very small and well-kept medical room. He raises his brows as he steps in and closes the door behind him. There’s no lock on the door, his finger brushing across the handle to find one. He thinks about grabbing the chair tucked into the desk and sticking it under the handle, but the thought evaporates as quickly as it forms.

He’s not in danger here.

Slowly, he trods to the cot. It’s a standard size with a thin mattress and scratchy blankets. Carefully, he sits down and immediately his body sighs. Minho’s eyelids flutter as he sags for a second, shoulders rolling inward as he curves in on himself, exhaustion pressing in.

He needs to take off his boots, but his arms feel heavy. He promises himself that he’ll do it in five more minutes before he gives up and lays down on his side, kicking his feet up boots and all onto the cot. The room is cool so he reaches for the blankets, uncaring that they scrape against his bumps and bruises.

The last fifty-some-odd hours begin to press in on Minho, a physical force that squeezes everything out of him until he’s fading fast into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

A gentle knock pulls Minho from a heavy sleep. He feels the dregs of it like a weighted shadow he can’t shake off, groaning and blinking at the ceiling a few times. His limbs feel heavier than ever and his neck cracks as he rolls it to the side to look at the room he’s in.

He suddenly remembers where he is, flinching a little as he sits up, movements jerky with nervousness. The room is still dark and cool, the itchy blanket falling to the floor as he sits and stares toward the door where there’s another knock.

“Come in,” he rasps, voice deep and rough with sleep.

A crack of light appears in the doorway as you slip in. You’ve got your arms full of stuff, using your elbow to smack the touchpad near the door. Dark orange light fills the room, gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt his vision but bright enough to see that the stuff you’ve brought in is food and several bottles of water and some sort of blue liquid.

Minho eyes all of it warily, straightening as you stand in front of him, holding it out. He doesn’t move to take it and your mouth presses in a flat, firm line. “I know Collectors don’t have to be smart, but I do assume you know how to utilize the main food groups of the pyramid.”

He can smell the jasmine and amber again, soothing. “Why did you bring me food?”

“Because you look like shit, Cowboy. Don’t go losing your mind over a small gesture of goodwill.”

Chagrined, he snatches the items from your hand. He immediately realizes that there are energy bars, protein bars, and packs of gel that will replenish immediate levels of hormones and vitamins. He eyes you curiously as he sets the pile on the bed next to him, ripping a foil back open with his teeth.

You cross the room to lean against the medical table in the corner, crossing your arms over your chest. When he doesn’t eat right away, you raise your brows, waiting. He pops the end of a gel back in his mouth and squeezes, immediately tasting blueberry and lemonade. It’s not half bad, making him hum in fascination.

That gets a grin from you, his mouth twitching at the corner again as he works the gel in his mouth to break it apart.

“Fixed your armor. How hard did you knock the watch?” His guilty expression tells all and you scowl. “It’s made with durast carbonate. It’s pretty shockproof.”

“Didn’t mean to. Some guy’s goons jumped me when I was calling in the Collection. It um… took a bullet.”

“How did they get the jump on you, hmm?” He stares. “Were you tired?”

Instead of answering, he tosses the empty gel back on the bed and picks up a protein bar. He looks at it, squinting his eyes in the dim light. It’s peanut butter flavored, which he enjoys. He rips it open with his teeth and tears into it, realizing just how hungry he is.

Minho has no idea when his last meal was. He thinks you know his line of thinking, but you don’t say anything more. You’ve already gotten your barbs in and you don’t intend to poke until he’s truly annoyed or embarrassed, which he appreciates.

Without another word, you push off the desk and head to the door, slipping back through to leave him alone while he chews absently.

Alone, Minho realizes the importance of accepting food from you without second-guessing it. He slows his chewing, contemplating about that.

Minho’s relationship with you is like a good weapon - uncomplicated, refined, and trustworthy. Your tech has never failed him, you’ve always been reliable for a fast turnaround time or understanding of what he’s asking for, and you’ve never sold information about him.

Ever. He had tried to buy information from you on himself through multiple channels and pseudonyms just to see if you would, but he’d been met with steely silence each time.

He eats with a little more enthusiasm as he realizes he does trust you. You’re as steadfast as the guns you build, and there is a confidence in that that he can at least resonate with.

Examining the contents of the blue liquid, he realizes it’s electrolytes and mineral compounds. As he takes long gulps, he realizes he feels infinitely better already, senses sharp, aches a little less terrible, and his headache is gone entirely. He’s not at a hundred percent, but he’s a hell of a lot better than if he had waited around for his next Collection.

When he finishes, he crumbles the trash together and tosses it into the incinerator. He hears the fire hiss as it destroys the waste and sends the fumes somewhere to be turned into energy.

In the main part of your lab, Minho spots you. He hesitates in the hall for a moment, watching you play with his watch. Movement in the corner of the room makes him tense up, hand going to the knife in his boot. He realizes it’s just Jeongin sliding across the room on a rolling chair, pushing away from his computer to examine what you’re doing.

Minho only relaxes marginally. He’s still getting used to seeing your apprentice in your workspace, and though the youth is excitable and intelligent, Minho refuses to let Jeongin near any of his builds. The trust he’s established with you over the last three years does not extend to apprentices he’s only known for a few months, no matter how much you trust them.

You trust the Nightcrawler too, and Minho cannot fathom why.

As though sensing you on the edge of the room, you turn and look at him over your shoulder. The corner of your mouth lifts up and you beckon him eagerly before hunching over whatever you’re working on again. He strolls over, crossing his arms over his chest to lean against your worktable on the other side of you, eyeing Jeongin on your other side.

“Hello, Collector. How are you today?” Jeongin asks politely, giving Minho a smile that touches his eyes.

Minho says nothing. You elbow him sharply in the ribs and he coughs, clutching his stomach as he mumbles, “Fine, you?”

“Doing great, thanks! This piece of tech is a marvel.”

“My watch?”

It is his watch. A green light flashes on the underside of the face, the bio scanner that connects with the one with his neck to monitor his nervous system. You push the watch toward him and he carefully picks it up, brushing his thumb across the cool, glass screen.

An interface lights up again. He can’t figure out what’s so special until you gesture for him to put it on. It fits nicely, the perfect size. As he slides it into place and looks at the watch face, a diagram of thin body armor comes up, spinning. Except it looks different than the diagram that he’s used to, giving you a questioning look. You point to the corner of the room at a mannequin.

He walks over to it, cocking his head to the side as he stops in front of it. It’s far different from the armored shirt he wears. The contraption is equal parts ribcage and the thorax of a spider. The material looks like leather but feels hard to the touch like metal.

Skirting his fingers to the hem, he bends the bottom of the shirt, watching as it flexes easily. It makes no sense to him how something could be so hard and flex immediately. If he were to guess, whatever the cloth is made from is a newer technology than he has access to. Perhaps more bio-engineered spider web.

Minho’s fingers skirt inside of it, brushing across a strange, prickling fabric. It doesn’t hurt, but he brushes his fingers back and forth, rubbing the material between his fingers. It’s abrasive, but he can’t imagine what it is.

Blue flashes on the diagram on the watch. He pauses and presses his fingers to the needle-thin fabric. The watch flashes again and lines of color light up on the diagram, showing his nervous system in different, complex colors. He raises his brows. It’s far more sophisticated than what he came in with.

“The needles,” he calls, not taking his eyes off the contraption. “Do they connect with me?”

“Yes. When you put it on, it syncs with your biochemistry.” You get up and walk toward him. “You won’t even feel them. They’re the smallest on the market right now, and incredibly accurate. They use them in military armor to report back live health reports and status during enfighting. They’re more accurate than the sensors lined in your last one.”

“What’s the point, though?”

You reach out and tap the watch. He watches curiously as a series of icons pop up, each a different color. “Inside of this,” you instruct, tapping the hard shell, “Is a series of chemical compounds. When you have on the armor underneath your shirt, you can tap to inject what you need. The needles don’t push deep, but they’re high-grade enough to break the barrier needed to disperse the compounds.”

Minho looks up at you, silent. You don’t notice his trepidation, carrying on as you go into salesperson mode, explaining everything. “Blue is elektrolytes,” you instruct, pointing to it. “Green is a chemical compound of cortisol and adrenaline. Yellow is endorphins and an incredibly high-dose painkiller.”

“And purple?”

“Jump,” you deadpan. “But a compounded version Jeongin and I have worked on that lasts longer with less damaging effect. You should be able to sleep easier after using it. And you won’t need several JumpPacks a day to keep going. I can give you refills too, since it’s non-addictive.”

Minho stares. “What?”

“What part didn’t you get?”

“This is for me?” You scowl but he immediately notices the way you divert your eyes. You glance up at the ceiling, shifting from foot to food. “This is worth a million United Credits at least. I can’t afford it.”

“Do you see a price tag?”

“You can’t give me this for free.”

“Of course I can. It’s just a prototype, so if it accidentally malfunctions and sends all injection options to your body at once and kills you, well…” You shrug. “At least you didn’t pay me. Consider yourself a test subject. I’ve never integrated the needle network into armor before. I don’t have the builds the military uses, just intel. I had to do it from scratch, so it might not work. Your current armor doesn’t protect you from plasma. This does.”

Minho doesn’t buy your bullshit for two seconds. He knows you wouldn’t give him this if it would risk killing him. For all your jesting and affectation, Minho has learned how to read you pretty well, and the way you blow him off and scoff tells him everything he needs to know.

It is a favor and a gift, and a new sort of olive branch that he is unsure how to accept or take from you. Taking this gift worth more than his entire salary complicates things.

Did you make this specifically for him? He’s not sure. But the fact that he wants the answer to be yes is worse than anything else he can think of.

Minho has peers. You’re a peer. Always have been. Anything else would complicate the simplicity of the relationship, and Minho immediately steps back and removes the watch. You watch him with razor-sharp intelligence, drinking him in as he holds out the watch to you.

“The one I have is sufficient enough, Builder.”

You snatch the watch from him, pivoting on your heel and walking with a ramrod-straight spine back to the table. For a second he thinks you’re going to kick him out but then you take a breath and melt into a smile, though a little sharp at the edges and not reaching your eyes.

“Fixed the connection. I also reinforced it again. Give me a moment to sync to your old armor.”

Old armor. As if the new one is still his. His stomach flips and he grimaces.

The affectation in your voice makes Minho uncomfortable. He doesn’t move, watching you tap viciously against the screen on your work desk. Jeongin spins a pen in his hand, glancing between the two of you nervously. When he notices Minho glaring at him, he grins awkwardly and pushes his chair behind one of the clear screens, his face distorted by blue lettering and diagram.

Wordlessly, you hand him the watch and turn away when he takes it. You say nothing else, moving on to a different project as Minho delicately picks up the shirt. He slides it over, feeling the warmth seep into his cool skin. He meticulously pulls the hardness with weapons on, followed by his jacket.

Fully dressed, he waits for you to say something. He doesn’t know what he expects - or wants - you to say. But he pauses anyway, eyes on your bent shape. His gaze flits to your hands, delicate fingers typing wildly, tense as you wait for him to leave.

It feels like a stone has sunk to the bottom of Minho’s stomach. He doesn’t move for a few minutes, torn between walking out and preparing for his next Collection and staying to… what? He doesn’t know. He has no idea what to say or do, but he feels the palpable shift in your mood.

So Minho chooses the easiest option. He nods to himself and heads toward the exit. You don’t spare him a second glance but he certainly looks at you out of the corner of his eye. Your jaw is clenched and you tap with a ferocity that thinks might shatter your desktop interface.

As soon as the door opens, Minho is drowning in thumping base and synth again. Hyunjin leans on the stool, this time with his back against the wall and his glittering eyes focused on Minho. Though the former Nightcrawler wasn’t in the room, Minho has a sneaking suspicion that Hyunjin knows everything that happens in the Builder’s workshop.

Hyunjin’s smirk is all-knowing and Minho storms by him, hating him for it.

Rain no longer falls from a dark sky. Opaque, charcoal skies stretch above him, lines of moving air traffic creating layers of latticework. Looking at the watch - which shows his normal armor once more - tells him it's in the early morning hours now.

The streets are not as busy as the night before. There are still glaring advertisements and he spots a group of cloaked United Church members walking around to accept alms and recruit, but the energy is muted outside of the clubs and pleasure houses.

Morning commuters fill the speed train tunnels. United Travel Agents lurk in the crowd, watchful eyes on anyone causing trouble or trying to double up on the scanners as travelers pass through, machines charging their United Credits as they go.

Minho falls into the dull buzz of morning travel. Glancing at his watch, he knows he has enough time to go home and change. He likes to receive his calls while he’s at home anyway. He tries not to replay the last conversation between the two of you. The offer you’d made him. The meaning behind it, whatever it may be.

It’s nearly impossible, but he manages. Especially once he gets into his apartment, sinking into the routine of showering, changing, and sliding back into his clothes like a second skin. As soon as he reties his boots, his watch begins to ring.

“Receiving,” he answers, straightening up.

“Collection echo-tango-foxtrot-bravo has been assigned to Collector 102598. You have five United Hours to complete your Collection.”

“Collection accepted.”

The line goes dead. Minho slides his weapons into their holsters, then pulls on his rain jacket. It always rains in the city, like God is weeping for what he has become.

Any work is good work.

Minho leaves the apartment to take another life.

The water runs red in Minho’s shower. He stares it for a while, hot water rushing down his neck, shoulders and back in rivulets. It turns pink the longer he stares, the wound on his leg bleeding less and less.

The irony is not lost on him that if he had accepted your gift, he might not have taken a gnarly hunting knife to the thigh. He was lucky that it was an energy weapon, the blade cauterizing the wound immediately. He’d had to pick the wound back open to flush out the dead, burned skin and pour burning antiseptic on it.

Shifting, Minho examines the wound. Pain blooms in his thigh as he turns, making him suck in a sharp hiss. The wound is to the bone. He knows he’s lucky it was not a well-made weapon, the ion pulse too weak to sever his limb. Still, it’s a deep wound and it would surely fuck him up if he didn’t have the next twenty-four hours to himself.

If the knife had been one of yours…

A pulse of frustration echoes through him. He presses his closed fist to the old tile of the shower wall, feeling the dissonance between the scalding water and cool tile steady him. His knuckles are sore from the last Collection - which had gone wrong in every way possible - and he’s brutally aware of just how much everything hurts.

Yet the ache isn’t what bothers him. His Collection target getting the jump on him from inside intel isn’t what bothers him. Minho has had that happen enough times that he no longer feels surprised when a Collection knows he’s coming.

What fucking bothers him is the ripple effect of his rejection of your offer made.

Minho shuts off the water and steps out the water carefully. He can barely put weight on the leg, gritting his teeth as he grabs a towel and hobbles out of the bathroom, the steam billowing out into the tiny apartment and dissipating.

Blue neon lights from the shop across the way burn in his window. He hardly needs to turn the lights on in his own home to see in the dark, the ever-present glow of blue guiding the way.

Carefully, he sits on his bed. Another pulse of pain from the wound makes him shiver and take several deep, steadying breaths. He peels back the towel at the waist, revealing a single, thick thigh with a horrible cut right in the meat of it.

“Fuck,” he whispers. Walking around has made it bleed again, scarlet trickling toward the towel.

Trying not to disturb the wound, he reaches for the medical kit under the bed. The metal is cool to the touch as he flips the latches, rummaging around the bandages, antiseptics, and gels until he finds what he’s looking for.

Minho takes the single, long syringe and uncaps it with his teeth, spitting the cap on the floor somewhere. He flicks his hand a few times, holding it up to make sure there are no bubbles in the vial. Holding his wound carefully with one hand and with the syringe in the other, he inserts the needle deep into the flesh, the sting minor compared to the throbbing ache the cut itself emanates.

The compound burns as he injects himself. He clenches his teeth, pushing down on the plunger with steady pressure. He can already feel the numbness spreading in his leg as the local anesthesia takes root. He knows he’ll be itching when it wears off, the tiny nanobots working to stitch the muscle and tissue back together already making his skin crawl.

DeepStitch is an expensive thing to have. He pulls the syringe out carefully, glancing at the medical kit. It only came with one, meaning he was going to have to replace the vile. Medical compounds made for healing abnormal wounds cost a fortune, especially the type with micro-technology to assist the process.

Tossing out the empty syringe, Mingo lays on his bed, uncaring if he’s damp and in a towel. The numbness in his thigh spreads, making him shiver. He tries not to think about the fact that there are thousands of microscopic bots working on internally stitching his muscles an tendons as quickly as they can before the blood in his body deteriorates them.

The medical advancement of this world is beyond Minho, but he’s grateful for it as he drifts in a half-sleep. He finds it harder to sleep after using JumpPacks, his body unable to adjust from the constant state of false energy and adrenaline.

It makes him think about your stupid fucking offer again. A piece of armor that could sync with him and balance his hormones and chemical compounds at the tap of a wrist. Something that high caliber for a low-level contract killer was beyond him.

There was crazy, and then there was that.

Minho wonders if you’ve been charging him fairly, suddenly. He’s always thought the weapons and tech you provide him with were good prices. They were well-made but always within his budget, albeit he stopped looking at what you were billing him a long time ago. Now that he knows you’re willing to offer something that he’d only find on a United Praetor in the military, he wonders if you’ve been cutting him deals.

He’s never asked the others. Changbin and Jisung seem friendly with you, enough to make Minho wary about asking them questions. Though they’re the closest things that Minho has to friends, he doesn’t trust them whenever it comes to you.

Jisung already thinks it’s sweet that Minho is nice to you, and he hates that. Even if it’s true.

Time fades away as Minho circles his conversation with you over and over again. He examines every moment of it. When he can surmise nothing else of the interaction but you offering an olive branch of friendship, something a step beyond peers, he goes back to all of his other interactions.

He remembers almost every one of them.

Minho’s memory is fine-tuned. It has to be in his line of work. But the memories of you are particularly sharp. He’s able to recall the way you always poke fun at him to the exact line of his tolerance, the way you always know how to get in a good jibe without actually pissing him off. The way that you let Jisung and Changbin have it in front of him for his benefit, especially after they’ve irritated him, like you’re giving him a gift or saying I’m on your team.

Thoughts of you ultimately lead to other things like the way your eyes reflect the blue light of your many screens. Or the way you always smell like jasmine and amber. The way you pull your sleeves over your hands in sweater paws because it’s bitter cold in your studio to avoid explosions and corrosion of items. The way the nickname Cowboy runs so smooth off your tongue, making his toes curl.

Minho’s fingers twitch when he thinks about brushing the backs of his knuckles against your soft skin. He’s thought about it before and immediately cringed at the fantasy. Now, between exhaustion clinging to him and the numb limb, he doesn’t jerk away at the idea.

He finally falls asleep thinking of you and what it would be like to accept that olive branch.

The ringing of Minho’s watch wrenches him from sleep. He sits up straight in bed, gasping and hand shooting toward the nightstand where there’s a draw with one of his guns. He realizes that his wrist is vibrating and when he looks at the screen, he sighs with equal parts tension and regret as he realizes it’s work calling.

Fuck. He slept for almost twenty hours straight.

Clearing his throat, he answers. “Receiving.”

“Collection romeo-echo-alpha-delta-echo-romeo has been assigned to Collector 102598. You have five United Hours to complete your Collection.”

Information flashes on Minho’s watch and he feels the world disappear from underneath his feet. Your name, age, permanent place of residency address, and anything the government has both legally and illegally obtained flashes before him. He’s never even seen your full name before and there it is, glowing on his watch as he stares at the information.

It feels obscene to know any of this. He flicks his wrist, turning off the display. He doesn’t want to see any of it, doesn’t want to see when you were born, doesn’t want to see what ward you pay taxes in, doesn’t want to know your criminal history.

Minho’s ears are ringing. The Delegator does not confirm that Minho has heard or received the assigned target for Collection. Minho stares at the wall, his vision blurring at the edges as the name - your name - echoes in his mind over and over again. He hears it at the same rhythm as his pounding heart, pumping blood through his system as his watch flashes a high heart rate warning.

Your name. Your full government name and ID number. He’s only ever known your first name, but you’ve always been Builder to him anyway. Minho can’t remember if he’s ever said your name, and suddenly he wants to. He wants to know what it sounds like shaped by his mouth, what it tastes like on his tongue. Wants to say it so many different ways, laughing, smirking, sighing–

Three years and he can’t believe he’s never so much as said your name, and now that very name is on his list to kill.

Indecision roots his feet to the spot. This isn’t like a Reverse Collection where other hitmen try to kill him and he can get away with killing them instead, clearing his name for a little longer. This is a direct and finite order to eliminate you. There is no alternative to this Collection.

Irreversible.

Running his hands through his hair, he looks around his apartment. It looks unlived-in and completely impersonal. Just like the impersonal way he calls you Builder, as though not using your fucking name makes it more sterile. As if it keeps you further away from earning his trust.

Which you have earned. Implicitly. Minho can think of no one else he would let take care of him. That he would sleep or eat in the presence of. That he trusts not to kill him in his sleep while he’s unarmed.

Now he’s supposed to murder you?

Bile turns in his stomach. He hears the ticking of the clock on the wall. Every second inches closer to the decision he has to make.

Will he or won’t he?

Minho grabs his gun from the nightstand and walks toward the door.

He’s only a few steps toward it when he realizes he’s not dressed or prepared for whatever he is about to do - what is he about to do? He has no idea. All he knows is that he is dazed and his hands are starting to shake and his heart rate is climbing, his watch flashing a warning.

The room begins to tilt as his breathing comes out in haggard breaths. He stumbles a little bit, the blood pumping through him roaring in his ears. He belatedly realizes he’s having a panic attack, blindly trying to get back to his bed where he can sit.

What does one do during a panic attack? He has no idea, he’s never had one. He thinks of the last time he saw someone panic and immediately bends over to put his head between his knees, gulping air through his nose and out through his mouth.

What was it that Jisung said about panic?

It’s hard to remember. He thinks maybe there was counting involved, so he breathes in for seven seconds and then out for seven seconds. Does it again. And again.

Slowly, the world swims back into focus. He can feel the twinge in his thigh as he comes down from the momentary lapse of panic and judgment. When he trusts that he’s not going to vomit on his bare feet, he slowly sits upright, looking around the neon-blue room.

Quiet blankets the apartment. The world outside is faint. He can hear the clock on the wall as the minute hand moves, each marking the passing of a United Second. With a deep breath, he moves.

There are no thoughts as he goes. His mind is a single list of action items, marketing them off as he goes. Get dressed. Check his weapons. Arm himself to the teeth with things you’ve made him. Message Jisung a cryptic, one-word text that only the other Collector will understand. Arm a bomb. Leave.

It’s clinical.

Minho had always understood with absolute clarity the reality of his line of work. He’s always had a failsafe - or a killswitch, so to speak. From the first day of work, Minho’s only purpose was to kill until he died. He was always meant to die. And he tells himself that the single, little safe space he has in the world he started saving for… well. If you ever needed it.

Any work is good work.

Clouds hold in their rain. The night feels ominous. Minho glances up at the choked clouds, wondering what they’re up to. The Ministry of Weather controls the atmosphere in some parts of the city. Minho does not travel in those parts of the city - those assassinations are beyond the abilities of a Collector and reserved for Nightcrawlers.

Paranoia is imminent, but Minho tries not to look over his shoulder every five seconds. The mysterious nature of Collect Co. is still something he doesn’t understand, so it’s difficult to unravel the nature of his assignment. Without a doubt, whoever placed Minho as the Collector knows you supply his weapons.

That simple fact branches out into multiple possibilities. Perhaps the person who wants you gone simply thinks Minho is the best person for the job because he’s in your tentative circle of trust and a familiar enough face to slip through you’re defenses. Or perhaps the problem is him and they know he won’t complete the Collection, earning a job termination and his name showing up on the Collection list.

Either way, it’s on purpose. Of that, he knows for sure.

From his years working for Collect Co., there are only a few things that Minho is sure about. Delegators do exactly what their title suggests - they delegate kills. Callers are a tier above Delegators, calling the shots working the network of requests that come in for contracted kills. Legals do all of the paperwork and research before agreeing to a contract, and at the very top of the chain is the Floorman.

Beyond that, Minho has no concept of the hierarchy or who is hiring Collect Co. for jobs. There are obvious manipulations to the system and it’s impossible to work objectively within a private company that works with but not for the government, and Minho has little doubt that the financial benefactors are who really control assignments.

Which leads him back to the root of the question: why you? Is Minho the problem, or do you have enemies so large that they hold sway in Collect Co. He doesn’t consider that your deeds are nefarious enough to warrant a hit. What you do is illegal but you sell to the military, too.

So it begs the question: is it you or him who they really want gone?

Maybe it’s even a combination.

Still, he attempts not to seem paranoid. It’s easier than it should be, Minho’s mind so singularly focused on getting to you as he takes the train and traves to North Ward Three that he doesn’t have time to look around every corner or see if he’s being followed. There are other ways of keeping tabs on him, anyway.

The rain still holds as Minho gets off the speed train and ducks into the street. He keeps to the sides, activating his ad blocker as he’s immediately slammed by a screaming neon world. His gaze and gait must be sharper than he realizes, because people veer away from him, his energy repelling them.

From the corner of his eye, he notes Watchers - people responsible for keeping an eye on what’s going on in the street for their employer - take note of him. Some melt into the doorway of their workplace, and others call for runners.

Trouble. Minho looks like trouble and he can sense the shift as they catch wind of him.

The Watchers are no threat to him. Their entire purpose is to close the doors and pull back when they catch a sense of danger in the air. They’ll stay out of his way and won’t engage with him unless he threatens their clubs and shops.

Minho has little intention of doing that. He wants to make this as painless as possible.

Neon Rodeo burns like a dying sun. The orange falls over him as he jogs down the steps and lets the guards scan him. If they notice anything is off, they say and do nothing. Neon Rodeo is perhaps the only business without a Watcher, and it’s only because no one would dare interrupt the business with the Nightcrawler inside.

Synth rattles Minho from the ground up as he steps inside. The cowboy hats and their little smiling faces float like phantoms in the night. He only has a singular goal and he looks at no one else as he heads towards the back, sidestepping sweaty bodies and perfumed hair.

It’s full tonight, the weekend crowd packing the bar from corner to corner. It’s no matter. He cuts his way to the back where Hyunjin sits on a stool. Today, Hyunjin’s hair is blood red and his eyes are sharp, unnatural green. For a moment, Minho thinks of a chameleon before Hyunjin kicks a leg out and blocks the hall leading to the door.

“Your patronage has been terminated, Cowboy.”

Minho’s heart flips. Are you that angry with him? He drinks in Hyunjin’s dress and slowly his anxiety turns to understanding. Hyunjin is dressed in all black today. His shirt is armored and in place of pants with tassels are tactical trousers with pockets and weapons strapped to his thighs.

An assessment of the Nightcrawler tells Minho that there are weapons he doesn’t see. There’s a plasma pistol on his hip, a bandolier of small knives strapped across his chest, knives in his boot, and another plasma pistol on this calf.

Hyunjin’s fingers drum against his thigh as he watches Minho with those unsettling eyes. “Want to try, Cowboy?”

“I need to speak with her.”

“No.”

“I’m not-” Minho grits his teeth. “I’m not Collecting.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

Hyunjin knows. He doesn’t know how the Nightcrawler knows you’re a Collection on Minho’s list, but it’s clear in the way Hyunjin leers.

“Look, you can go in with me. Let me get her to safety.”

“And what do you think safety is, Cowboy? Even if you’re not lying, they’ll come after you too.”

“Listne, Nightcrawler-”

Hyunjin grins. It’s unnerving, and there isn’t much that unnerves Minho. “No, you listen. I tolerate you because I am ordered to. Now, I don’t have to. My only orders were to say no and to not harm you.” He leans back and spreads his hands and shrugs. The neon lights catch his blood red hair. “I’m always within my right to make a judgment call.”

“I’d never hurt her.”

“You’re not friends, last I checked.” Hyunjin cocks his head to the side. “You don’t have friends, right? That’s why you reject acts of faith?”

“What do you know of acts of faith, Nightcrawler?”

“You’d be surprised, Collector.”

Hyunjin is unmoving. Minho’s fingers twitch and Hyunjin’s eyes follow the movement. For a second, Minho wonders if he could beat his adversary to the draw. They could do it like an old fashioned movie, the bar the perfect setting for it. Hyunjin is totally unmoving and relaxed, not moving his hand toward his weapons.

He’s that confident in beating me.

United Seconds are ticking by. Every minute Minho doesn’t make his collection is time lost. He licks his lips ready to mount another argument when Hyunjin’s eyes flicker and look over Minho’s shoulders. His eyes narrow a fraction as they dart back to Minho.

“Here’s an act of faith. Let’s see what you do this time.”

The energy in the bar shifts. He feels the tremor go through the air and the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. Minho turns his head to the side, not enough to fully look back over his shoulder but enough to see the group of Collectors disperse in the crowd.

Both, Minho realizes. The Collection had been for them both, and it was a good excuse to get them in the same place. He grits his teeth as he realizes how predictable he is. They might have come even if he didn’t arrive, but they might have sent a smaller force.

Glancing at Hyunjin, Minho watches as the Nightcrawler does nothing. He waits for Minho, raising his brows and smirking.

Act of faith.

Normally, Minho doesn't believe in public acts of violence. Collectors are mostly prohibited from killing in public or endangering the lives of United Republic Citizens unless entirely unavoidable.

Now, though, he causes a scene and pulls his gun, swiveling around and leveling it at the nearest Collector he has a clean line of sight on. He feels the hum of the weapon and the click of the safety as he squeezes the trigger, the pulse of the weapon barely perceptible as it fires.

Plasma weapons are bright when they fire. It’s nearly blinding in the dark as he shoots, screams shattering the bar as the world turns into pops of energy and sizzling air. He ducks down as someone shoots at him, instincts kicking in as he grabs the leg of a table and yanks it toward him.

Behind him, Hyunjin lets out a manic laugh and stands from the stool. He drops a small device next to Minho, drawing his attention for a second. Minho watches as it expands with a shimmer of translucent energy - a shield. He looks at the Nightcrawler who crouches with him, grinning as he peers over the table and shields with his green eyes.

“There are eight. They’re just going to pin us here and shoot at us like fish in a barrel.”

“Is there a way through that door?”

“Sure there is. If they want to melt it down, I’m sure they have plasma blades, judging from the look of their very nice weapons. They can’t blow it without leveling the street.”

“Does she have a way out the back?”

“No, then I would have two doors to watch.”

A spray of metal and plasma ricochets off the shield that has molded to the shape of the table. Hyunjin gestures as if to showcase his point and Minho grits his teeth. Peeking around the table, he can see patrons hiding under tables and covering their heads. Collectors stand spread out, fanning the entrance and blocking the way, but they don’t come any closer.

They want to make the Collection, but they don’t want to face a Collector and a Nightcrawler together.

“Aren’t you some sort of unmatched assassin, Nightcrawler?” Minho asks, checking the mag on his plasma gun. “Can you just take them all out? That should be light work for you.”

“I’m good at not being seen, Cowboy. I’m not inhuman.”

“Oh good, so you’re actually useless when visible?”

Hyunjin’s face darkens. “You’d be surprised how often you don’t see me.”

The threat isn’t lost on Minho but it doesn’t have time to sink into its full effect as bullets rain down on them. They cringe together to ensure they’re behind the shield, which whines under the plasma assault and flickers. Minho thinks it will hold, but it’s only as wide as the table it molds to and the table isn’t very large.

Hyunjin reaches into his pocket and pulls out a grenade. Minho grabs it, looking at him with wild eyes. Hyunjin pulls his hand away. “It’s a flash grenade,” he snaps. “I’m not going to kill everyone.” He pauses and smirks. “I don’t do that anymore.”

“That’s hardly less settling.”

“You know,” Hyunjin muses, pulling the ring from the grenad. Green light pulses on it slowly, counting down until it starts to release blinding white flashes. “One day you and I are going to have a talk about why you think your profession is so much different than mine.”

“One is legal, for starters.”

Hyunjin lobs the grenade. “Right, so what you’re doing right now? This is legal?”

Minho is spared from having to answer as the world explodes in white. He and Hyunjin move at the same time, letting the memory of where the Collectors stand as they close their eyes and shoot. Minho’s shot blind thousands of times and it usually pays off.

It does for the most part now, the pair of them dropping Collectors as they shoot. The white light fades and there’s only a single Collector left standing by the door, his gun aimed at Minho. He swivels to shoot, but a bullet hits the Collector in the shoulder, twisting him backward from impact as he squeezes the trigger of his gun.

The shot catches Minho in the shoulder, knocking him back a step. He curses but keeps his weapon trained on the fallen Collector until he hears high-pitched screaming. It stops his heart, the sound of the Collector’s voice reaching a level of madness that echoes even after he gargles and goes silent.

Minho looks at Hyunjin with an accusatory glare but Hyunjin juts his thumb behind him in answer, pointing to where you stand at the door with a heavy pistol in your and. Minho blinks a few times in surprise.

“I think the nano-tips work, Jeongin.” You glance over your shoulder where the younger boy stands on the stairs behind you, armed to the teeth. “Remind me to write that down.”

Silence stretches in Neon Rodeo, save the soft quivering crying and sparking sign that’s been shot over the bar. From the corner of his eye, Minho sees it flash between Rodeo and Odeo over and over again, bouncing between the two words as the ‘R’ tries to fight for its life.

Then there’s you.

You stare at him with a guarded expression, drinking him in. Your gaze lingers on his arm, reminding him that it does in fact burn where the plasma bullet graze his shoulder. Next to him, Hyunjin shifts. The Nightcrawler barely moves forward, sliding part of his body between Minho and where you stand in the doorway to your studio, Hyunjin’s hand resting on top of his gun.

“You gonna kill me, Cowboy?” Your voice wavers when you ask. By the twitch in your lip, Minho can tell you’re upset that it does.

“No. I want to help.” Hyunjin snorts and Minho is reminded of his earlier question. What do you think safety is? “Consider it an act of faith,” Minho offers and Hyunjin’s snickering turns to curiosity. “I’ve rejected yours in the past. Let me off you the only one I have.”

No one moves. Minho slowly lifts his wrist toward Hyunjin, displaying the information. The Nightcrawler looks it over and raises his brows, looking back at Minho. “What strange turn of events, Minho.”

It’s the first time Hyunjin has ever used his name. He says nothing as the Nightcrawler heads over to you, murmuring quietly. Your face is inscrutable as you nod and look over your shoulder, saying something to Jeongin. He nods fiercely, face set in determination that makes Minho’s mouth twitch a little.

The three of them join Minho wordlessly as he turns on his heels and heads up the stares. Hyunjin’s watch flashes and lets them know that the United Enforcers are three minutes out and they need to get where they’re going.

You take the lead then, hurrying out the door but not out into the street, ducking into a noodle shop three doors down from Neon Rodeo. You shout in United New Mandarin at the woman behind the counter, shocking him - not that Minho knows anything about you at all - and the woman waves you off.

Through the shop and into the stock room you lead everyone, hoping over bags of flower and starch until you reach a table that you climb up on and pull a vent from a ceiling. It’s far too large to be a normal vent, and his questions are answered when he realizes it leads to a small garage that faces the next street over.

Once into the garage, Hyunjin takes the lead out into the street, weapon up. Minho brings up the rear, falling into a defensive unit as you go. Jeongin walks closely behind Hyunjin, his steps a little clumsy but his head on a swivel.

Good, Minho thinks. Jeongin is alert.

“Decided not to kill me?” you whisper as you skirt out into the street and hug the building face.

Minho can barely hear you over the fabric you’ve pulled up over your face. He blinks and thinks to do the same, pulling the hood up on his jacket and sliding up a black gaitor over the lower half of his face.

“I was never going to kill you.”

“Hard to tell with you.”

“I… don’t have an argument.”

And he doesn’t. He realizes that he’s kept you at arm's length despite your best attempts to spark some sort of friendship. What reason could he do that other than sparing himself if he had to kill you one day? It makes the most logical sense.

“I thought we were friends.” That makes him pause. You notice a few steps ahead of him that he’s stopped, looking at you. “We stopped being just business acquaintances over a year ago, Collector. My normal clients don’t get to test my new hardware or request as many JumpPacks as you do on the house.”

“They’re on the house?”

“Of course they are!” you snap at him. “Do you not look at your billing, Collector? How do you know I’m not overcharging you?”

“I stopped looking once I trusted you weren’t robbing me.”

“See, that’s a funny word coming from you. Trust.”

A whistle catches Minho’s attention. You both turn to see that Hyunjin and Jeongin are nearly three-blocks away at the entrance of a nondescript shop. Color floods Minho’s face when he realizes the pair of you had stopped walking to have your argument and he curses himself as you start moving again.

“I do trust you.” You say nothing to his comment. “I’m sorry I didn’t accept the armor.”

“It wasn’t about rejecting the armor, Collector.” The world Collector sounds dirty in your mouth. He suddenly wants to hear you call him Cowboy again. “It was about rejecting me when I thought we were already friends. I was wrong.”

Hyunjin leads them down into an alleyway that is void of anything besides dumpsters and murky puddles. The smell turns Minho’s stomach but he resists the urge to gag as Hyunjin bends down to pull up a sewer grate. He flashes his flashlight inside and nods before jumping down and vanishing. There’s a light splash as he lands and calls up for Jeongin.

Minho crouches close to you as Jeongjin adjusts to follow Hyunjin down.

“You weren’t,” he says as Jeongin jumps. You turn to look at him, confused. “Wrong. You weren’t wrong.”

You look him up and down, hesitating. Hyunjin calls your name and you turn away from Minho, checking your legs and arms to make sure your pockets are zipped. Minho watches as you jump. He realizes his holding his breath until he hears your feet splash.

Quickly, he scrambles to the grate, pulling the top with him. Looking through the hole, he sees the orange light of glowsticks as you and Jeongin crack and shake them, lighting up the tunnel in a very small ring of light. Hyunjin has turned off his flashlight and looks up at Minho, gesturing for him to hurry.

Minho holsters his weapon and jumps down, bending at the knee as he lands to absorb the fall. His boots splash loudly in the tunnel, echoing for a few seconds. His shoulder wound aches as he straightens up. Hyunjin is already lifting Jeongin up to pull the great back over the hole. The scrape of metal on the concrete sounds much louder in the watery tunnel, making Minho cringe.

Looking both ways, he sees the sewer is less of a sewer and more of a tunnel. The cloth pulled over his face does little to keep out the rancid smell, and he winces when he sees fat, black rats scattering on the edges of the orange light.

Something touches his arm and he jerks, hand going to his gun. You lean back and apologize, holding out a glowstick. He relaxes and takes it, fingers brushing yours as he does. He instantly gets a chill down his spine, though his fingers are warm where they brushed yours.

Minho clears his throat and holds the glowstick up, looking around the tunnel. He can hear the faint echoes of dripping water and every movement of the group feels loud in the pressing silence of the dark.

“What is this?” he asks, looking at you.

It’s Hyunjin who answers, “Nightcrawler shit. You’re welcome.”

“Should we expect any of your former coworkers, then?”

“They’re not so bad.” Hyunjin unholsters his weapon as he begins walking south down the tunnel, throwing Minho a sharp grin. “It’s the Darklings I worry about.”

You fall into step behind Hyunjin immediately, ducking your head to murmur something to him as you go. The glow of your light gets farther away as Minho stands staring at Hyunjin, unsure if he’s serious or not.

Jeongin steps up next to Minho. “He was joking about Darklings, right? The People Underneath are a myth?”

“Have you ever heard Hyunjin tell a joke?”

Minho leaves Jeongin thinking about it before the younger rushes to keep up with him, feet splashing wildly.

Whether Hyunjin was joking about the Darklings or not, they don’t run into anything except rats and roaches in the underground tunnels. Minho finds himself itching to ask the Nightcrawler questions and demand where they’re going, but he doesn’t,

An act of faith.

It was an act of faith when Minho showed Hyunjin the safehouse on his watch. It was one of the few things that Minho protected more fiercely than his life, and he was hoping that when Hyunjin saw the coordinates, title of ownership, and Minho’s information, he’d gain a little trust.

Minho had been right. Hyunjin, though still sharp at the edges, has become unnervingly benign with Minho, addressing him by his name. It’s not much to most, but he knows among killers it’s a huge step. One that means a little more trust, if not at least peers.

You remain quiet for the most part. Your eyes stray toward Minho often and when he catches you looking, you don’t look away. Your gaze is hesitant and questioning, as though you’re trying to figure him out like one of the schematics on your screens.

Biting into a protein bar, he quickens his pace to fall into step with you. “What will you do with your lab?”

Your lips twitch. “Chemical fire. There’s a stop-line in the frame of the building so it should be controlled. I promised not to burn down Neon Rodeo when I established my office there.”

“Who owns that place, anyway?”

“Bangchan.” The name sounds familiar. “Reformed Nightcrawler.”

“You keep unusual company.”

“Better than none.”

That gets a little bit of a laugh from him. You smile when he does and he swears it’s brighter than the glowsticks you carry. “I deserved that one. I’m working on it, alright.”

“How do Jisung and Changbin deal with you?”

“The same way I deal with them.” You hum, nodding in understanding. For a few minutes, it’s just wet steps echoing in the tunnels. “What made you decide to come with me? I assume you have your own fallback plans.”

“I do, but I don’t know. I wanted to accept your olive branch.” You look at him. “I wanted to trust you.”

He nods. His gut twists a little at that, both anxious and pleased. He’d been right about offering an act of faith in return for the one he scorned. Now, he just has to keep you alive, which he grows more confident in doing.

“Where are we going?”

He looks up at you. “Hyunjin didn’t tell you?”

“No, just said to trust you.” Minho’s brows shoot up and you snort. “I know. Whatever you showed him convinced him.”

“It’s a safe house on Isla de Suenos.” You look up at him sharply and he gives a soft grin. “My mother belonged to a very well-off family. I’m not supposed to exist, and she had to decide at a young age whether or not I was worth throwing away her family and their power. A single safehouse purchased with offshore accounts and through a network of money-changing and bought secrecy is the only thing she could give me.”

“She didn’t choose you?” He shakes his head. You think about that for a second and he lets the words sink in, waiting for the pity, which he hates. Instead, you hum. “No wonder you don’t choose people either.”

Your candor is a relief. You don’t tell him sorry or try to comfort him. You accept this as a fact of life, a normalcy that a mother would choose wealth and power over a child. “There are no records tying us together, but the title of the house is under what my name would have been if she’d taken me. Lee. My family name would be Lee.”

“What is it now?”

“I don’t have one. My father was servant-class. We don’t have family names.”

“He worked for your mother’s family?” Minho nods. “Lee. I like it. Will you keep it?”

“Maybe. It’s who I have to be, now.”

“No longer the Collector?” He shakes his head. “Good. Perhaps I like you more as just Lee Minho.”

Minho bites back a grin.

By the time they get to the surface again, they’re just outside of the city-proper on the northeast shore. Here, the night is bitter cold as the salty air blasts off the ocean, dark waves rushing and receding against the shoreline.

They take a brief break once their topside, Minho gasping deep breaths of fresh air in as he gulps down water. Now that they can see without the glowsticks, they toss them into the trash and breathe in silence.

Carefully, Minho peers at the wound on his shoulder. It’s caterized from the heat of the plasma, but the burn hurts something vicious. He has no medical supplies on him, and he examines the chawed flesh with mild concern.

Seeing the injury, you get up wordleslly from the rock where you sit and come over. Your hand digs in one of your pockets and you produce a packet of burn gel and antiseptic, wordlessly gesturing to the wound. He nods and you offer a tentative grin before ripping the antiseptic open with your teeth, spitting the crinkling material on the ground.

With steady hands, you squeeze out the translucent gel on the tips of your fingers and peel the damaged parts of Minho’s shirt away from the flesh. He sucks in a breath when you apply the cool gel to the wound, the stinging of the antibiotic catching him off guard. You shoot him an apologetic wince before continuing to press it lightly into the burned flesh.

You smell like jasmine and amber. Minho breathes it in deep, a soothing scent mixed with the salty air of the seat just a few yards away. His eyes flutter shut as your fingers work his shoulder, deft and skilled like an artist.

“My mom liked to paint,” Minho says automatically, unsure where the comment comes from. “That’s one of the few things I know about her. She had artists hands. You have hands like hers. Graceful.”

“Hmm, I wouldn’t say I’m an artist but I do draw designs for weapons a lot.”

“It’s a kind of art.”

“I suppose it is.”

Your closeness makes Minho dizzy. Instead of chasing you away in the past, he lets you linger and spread the burn gel on his shoulder. He doesn’t open his eyes, letting the sound of the ocean and the press of your steady fingers lull him into a moment of relaxation.

He can almost pretend you both haven’t thrown your life away to head to some house he’s never been to with little to no plan but to arrive there alive.

“Does it hurt?” he shakes his head at your question. You voice is soft and raspy, rising the hairs on the back of his neck. You’re so close he can feel the heat radiating from you, making him lean in on instinct, seeking the warmth. “If you let me give you better armor, plasma won’t hurt you.”

Minho’s eyes flutter open. “You brought it with you?”

“Of course I did.” Your face is inches from his, eyelashes fanning your bright, glittering eyes as you look up at him. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Hyunjin’s voice shatters the moment before Minho can respond. “Hello, yes, the child and I are still here.”

“I’m not a child!”

“The child and I need to leave, however. Seungmin and Felix are waiting to escort us. I believe your friend left transportation for you, Minho.”

You whirl around. “You’re leaving? What do you mean you’re leaving?”

“I have some Nightcrawling to do with Bangchan and Seungmin. I’m taking the child to stay with Swan.”

Minho has no idea who Swan is. He sees the uncertainty color your face as you regard your guard - your friend. “You would do that? Take him to stay with her?”

“Of course. Swan likes strays.”

“I am right here,” Jeongin reminds everyone, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I’m not a child.”

Hyunjin grins at him. It’s real and not a leer, something that Minho doesn’t think he’s ever seen. Hyunjin grabs Jeongin by the shoulder, pulling him along before flicking his poison-green eyes toward Minho and you. “Enjoy your evening. I’ll be around, Minho.”

“Wait!” you bolt over to them, catching everyone by surprise as you throw your arms around the two of them and squeeze. The smile on Hyunjin’s face is so soft that Minho has to look away, equal parts something like jealousy and feeling like he’s intruding. “Here.”

You divest several items from your pockets, shoving them into their hands. Medical gels, a few gadgets, and a little Scorpion figurine that you shove into Hyunjin’s hands. He raises a single brow in amusement but you say nothing to the Nightcrawler, rushing back to stand at Minho’s side.

Hyunjin and Jeongin lift their hand in waves to Minho before turning and heading down the beach at a slow pace, their feet sinking into the sand. Cold wind whips at Minho as he stands watching with you silent by his side, waiting.

Without a word, he turns and beckons you, heading up the rocky coast before heading back down precariously to a tiny cove with a boat buoyed between the rocks. It’s hardly a safe-looking boat and he realizes it probably wouldn’t have carried them all, but it’s something.

Minho climbs into the boat carefully before helping you step down into it. The rocking water throws you off balance and he steadies you, hands tight on your waist. You mutter an apology but he doesn’t let go until he’s sure you’re okay, eyes searching.

A moment of tension passes, his fingers pressed into the fabric of your hips, your closeness overpowering the sea air again. You clear your throat and it passes. Minho lets you go as he finds the key and plugs it in to turn on the engine.

You busy yourself with untying ropes, your steps unsteady as the vessel moves unpredictably beneath your feet. Once you manage to get rid of all the lines, he begins to navigate out the cove backward, turning the wheel violently from side to side as he fights the tide.

Thankfully with every swell that pushes the boat into the cove, it drags it back out. It takes about three swells before the craft is pulled into the ocean proper and he throws the throttle in reverse, water rooster tailing for a moment as he does.

You join him at the helm and stand close as he turns it around and drives. Wind rips at his jacket, blowing back the hood. He’s thankful for the face cover fighting the icy wind, squinting as he drives in the late hours of the night across a rippling black ocean.

The water gets rough as he turns to the east, glancing at the coordinates on his watch every once in a while. Your hand shoots out to grab his forearm on a particularly violent dip. He curses, pain radiating from his shoulder as you do. You immediately shout an apology and let go, but Minho snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you tight.

For a second, you stiffen, looking up at him uncertain. He remains steadfast in his hold, willing his heart to slowdown as he drives, determined to keep you from falling off the boat and into the water before you can even make it to the safehouse.

You relax into him after a second, pressing closer and letting him hold on as you go. He relaxes when you accept his help, breathing out a slow breath that he didn’t know he was holding.

It takes almost forty five minutes, but the dark shadow of Isla de Suenos materializes in the night. The city is a spec of light on the misty horizon as the waves begin to slow down until he can let down on the throttle, bringing the boat to a troll instead of a plane.

The collection of islands that surround the massive, man-made mountain in the middle of the seat are all only about seven acres in size and are privately owned. The level of exclusivity is something Minho is incredibly unfamiliar with, and he gets nervous as they approach the barely visible shield surrounding the collection of islands.

“Minho, there’s a-”

“It’ll let us through.” He squeezes your waist on instinct, hoping it’s true. As the boat passes, he holds his breath. He feels the biochip in his neck flicker and then they’re through the shield. The water is falt calm on the other side of the energy wall, tapping gently against the hull. “It’s biometric.”

“And you were sure that was going to work?”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly is not a great attitude in the invention field, Minho.”

It takes a second, but he realizes you’re calling him by his name and not Cowboy. He likes the sound of it on your tongue, though he doesn’t mind the diminutive.

Even in still waters, he doesn’t remove his arm around your waist, the protective instinct still high as he steers the boat according to his watch. Islands with lights hidden behind thick jungle and rockface slide past them.

The beacon on his watch flashes and he turns the boat, trolling to a long, empty dock ahead of them. The island is no different from the rest, covered in sprawling jungle and foliage that look monstrous in the ominous night.

Quickly, you tie off the boat and disembark. Your steps on the dock feel loud in the quiet night, the two of you hurrying along and up the shore until you hit the stone stairway that leads through the trees. Though he isn’t holding you close to him anymore, you still keep yourself pressed close, the back of your hands brushing as you begin the climb up the island.

Minho has no idea what the house looks like. He only knows that it’s coded to his biochip and that it’s always been there if he needs it. He doesn’t know if it’s stocked or if the electricity is on, or if it’s been raided and taken over. He doesn’t even know if there are codes to get access.

It is the most unprepared he has ever been.

A large estate springs up among the trees. The entire building is constructed on a platform with foliage and trees brushing along the foundations. It’s made up of windows and metal framing, the windows dark and hiding whatever exists within.

It is exquisit. Minho has never seen an estate or a luxury home before in person, but he knows that’s what this is. The thought seems a little silly as he leads you toward the modular home, steps quiet as he glances around. He cannot imagine that anyone but he and his could enter the grounds, but he’s still on edge.

At the door, there’s a single bioscanner. He leans his neck toward it, letting it flash over his biochip. The scanner turns green and he hears the hiss of an airlock. Glancing at you and shrugging, he tries the handle and pulls the door open toward him.

Inside, the air is cool. He steps in first, hand on his gun as he looks around the interior. It’s sparkling clean and decorated with dark wood furniture and greenery. He takes a few steps inside, flinching when automatic lights come on and cast a warm, gold glow in the house.

“You’ve been living as a fucking Collector when this existed the entire time?” you deadpan from the door.

No kidding, he thinks, turning to look at the multi-story wonder that is the home. It’s three levels of tropical opulence, making his head spin at all of the possibilities.

“I didn’t know what was here, honestly.” He turns to look at you and nods. You step inside and pull the door shut, tapping the screen beside it. The locks click in place again and with another tap, he sees the windows darken to privacy mode. “I assumed she didn’t leave me something grand.”

“It’s a good start on an apology. She’s still a bitch for leaving you and I think you should let me fight her.”

A ripple of fondness goes through him and he smiles at you, uncontrolled and large. You shoot a shy one back before looking away at the wonder of the home.

Unlike him, you seem to relax immediately, kicking your shoes off to wander around the house. He follows suit after a moment of hesitation, peeling the cover off of his face and kicking of his shoes. He leaves his holster open on his weapons, hands hovering near them as he follows you.

The house is extravagent. Smaller than he originally thought, with only three bedrooms and two bathrooms, but the spaces for each are massive and sprawling with greenery. It feels like the jungle is a part of the house - and he realizes it is, at least in the atrium. There’s a large pool and something that looks like a hot spring behind the house, hidden from the world by think palms and palmetto.

Each room is richly designed and cleaned, as though it has been kept for him all this time. He’ll have to worry about that at some point, unsure who has kept the house in such a presentable state while it’s existed.

After you’ve fed your curiosity, you drift to one of the rooms with a private bathroom. He takes the room across from you, feet dragging as the exhaustion hits him. His limbs feel heavy and peeling off his shirt with the injure arm makes him curse and hiss. He doesn’t bother looking in the mirror, knowing the old bruises from a few days ago are still there.

Steam fills the bathroom. He’s a little put out when he realizes that the stone shower has a wall of glass to reveal the jungle on the other side, but he realizes there’s no one to watch him. He shakes the uneasiness and steps under the scalding water, moaning as he closes his eyes and lets it run down him.

A screen with a dozen or more settings sits in the rockface of the shower, but he doesn’t know how to use them. He hits another button hoping for what is more water pressure and instead gets a heavenly waft of eucalyptus. He leaves the settings alone, settling for tranquility over scrubbing himself.

Minho doesn’t know how long he stays in the shower. His fingers prune and the crust and blood eventually peel away. He spends a short amount of time scrubbing his own skin, eager to get out of the shower and check on you.

Now that he has you, a new sort of stream of conscious has made itself permanent, always wondering where you are and if you’re okay.

Steam clouds the bathroom as he steps out, wrapping a towel around his waist. Water clings to him as he ruffles his wet hair, strolling out into the bedroom. He walks toward the table by the door, rifling through his things looking for medical gel.

A knock draws his attention and you open the door a crack, making a sound of surprise when you don’t expect to see him standing right in front of you. Your eyes dip down to where the towel is on his waist and back up, immediately opting to look at the ceiling.

Minho’s lips pressed into a firm line, trying to eat the smirk threatening to take over.

“Sorry, I assumed you were still in the shower. I - um - brought more gel for your shoulder.”

He steps away from the door, leaving drips of water as he does. “Come on in.”

“Are you sure?”

He shrugs and then winces, the burn pulling taught as he does. You enter immediately, shutting the door behind you and ripping the top off the packet as you do, eyes focused on the wound. You’ve got your fingers slathered in gel and pressing to his shoulder before you realize the forwardness, pausing to glance up at him.

Now, Minho does smirk. “I’m at your mercy.”

“Sorry. I know it’s hurting you and…”

“You don’t want me to hurt,” he fills in, remembering your words from earlier.

You nod and chew your bottom lip as you work. He studies you closely. He doesn’t know if it’s his acceptance that you’re more than just someone he buys weapons from, the exhaustion or the little sliver of feeling he’s always pretended wasn’t there, but Minho suddenly feels a little bolder.

A little braver.

“I never had a chance to thank you.”

“For what?” You throw the antiseptic on the table and rip open the burn gel. “Anything. Everything. I don’t think I’ve ever said thank you.”

“There’s a lot of things you haven’t said.”

“So let me.” You dart a look at him, nervous. When you don’t interrupt he continues, “You were right. We stopped being industry peers a long time ago, and I’ve purposefully ignored multiple favors from you to keep the illusion that simple relationships meant I couldn’t be hurt. Or hurt others.”

“And now?”

“I realize it was silly.”

“Hmm. At least you admit your faults, Cowboy.”

He smiles. You finish applying the gel, but you don’t move away from him. You linger, looking up through silky lashes at him. Your face takes on a dreamy look, mouth parted a little and he feels heat coil in his stomach at that look.

“Why’d you offer me that armor?”

“I was afraid of how often you were working. I knew you were getting hurt and I wanted to help. Why’d you reject it?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

There’s a long pause. Your gaze drops to his mouth. You’re only a few inches away, the ghost of your breath against his neck. “What if I want you to?”

Minho needs no other permission. It’s like a dam giving way, the past few days able to wedge their way in and open him up to let the rawness spill out of him. He surges forward, catching your mouth against his as he does so, hands shooting to your waist.

You don’t push him away. Worse, you melt into him like it’s natural, hands skating up his arms and around the back of his neck to pull him in closer to you. Your mouth is warm and minty and addicting, scattering his thoughts to the stars as your lips move against his.

Heat is trapped between your bodies. He feels like he’s burning up from the inside, squeezing your hips as his tongue brushes against your bottom lip. You open up for him easily, like you were always made to and he groans.

Every time he has ever held back from you fuels him forward. He presses into you, turning you to push you on the mattress. You go willingly, opening your legs to let him slot between them. He leaves over you, mouth hungry. Devouring. Ravenous.

You gasp between kisses, nails grazing down his flexing arms. He wants to fucking drown in you as he bites the edge of your jaw, tasting the soap on your skin. You smell like jasmine and amber, though now he can smell the eucalyptus too, driving him insane.

You.

The one thing he’s let himself trust. The one person he’s let in, even when he didn’t want to admit it. The one person he wants to have more than anything else.

Greedy hands scrape up his chest. Your fingers are warm and searching as he nips the tender flesh of your neck, tongue laving over the bite to soothe it. The sounds dripping from your mouth are so pretty, driving him inside as he traces his desire with tongue and teeth.

The fabric of your shirt scrapes against his skin, itchy and in the way. His hands pull at the hem and he hesitates, looking down at you through a heavy-lidded gaze and panting. You not frantically, hands pulling at his to guide the shirt upwards and off, revealing warm skin.

Minho wants to taste every part of you. You create art with your schematics and your weapons, but you are art. He worships you with tongue and teeth, hands brushing up your stomach to cup your chest. His tongue pulls a languid moan from you as he flicks it over the peak of your nipple.

Fuck.

He’s greedy, sucking gentle on your pert bud, ensuring to scrap his teeth along the sensitive flesh. You writhe underneath him, unable to remain still. His other hand works you too, tweaking your stiff peak as he trails spit-slick kisses across your chest to wrap his lips around that nipple too.

Minho looks up at you through his lashes. You’re a rendering of pleasure, head pressing into the bed, chest pushed up, a sheen of sweat on your collarbones and neck. It drives him wild, cock throbbing heavily as he trails his mouth toward, fingers pulling your pants as he goes.

Your fingers twist in the sheets. Everything he does affects you and he’s drunk on it, heart thudding in his chest as he drops down to his knees. His towel falls and the cool air makes him shiver. He feels the sticky tip of his cock brush against his leg but he ignores the ache between his thighs, fixing his eyes on what’s between yours instead.

Pretty and wet, all for him. For him. He gets to have you. But he doesn’t yet, making you wait and feel the personal hell it’s been for him to pretend he wasn’t yours as he kisses up your thighs, licking warm skin and digging his teeth in.

“Minho,” you half gasp, half wine. He smiles against your knee, giving it a gentle peck. “Please.”

“Yeah?” he switches legs, biting your calf. “Want it that bad?”

“Need it.”

He brings a hand up to your dripping cunt, dragging a curled knuckle through your wetness. You let out a keen and he grins against your leg even more, hypnotized by the way your petty little hole clenches at the contact.

Minho drags it out. Plays with you, dragging that knuckle slow-soft through your folds, avoiding your clit. You let out a sound that’s almost a sob and he chuckles, bringing his hand up to suck at the stickiness on his finger.

“Hmm. Sweet.”

“Bet it’s better from the source,” you shoot back, trying to make a jab and failing with how weak your voice is.

“True,” he agrees, leaning forward.

Your taste blooms on his tongue as he licks up your center, slow and patient. He savors the taste, humming as he does. You buck under his mouth and he grips your thighs, pulling you open. You’re warm and wet and perfect, and he listens to your breath hitch as he licks you slowly, making sure to circle around your clit each time.

One of your hands shoots to his hair. He doesn’t mind as you pull. The sting feels good and spurs him on, eating you out properly. He loves the sounds you make for him, loves the way your thighs twitch as he sucks your click into his mouth, tongue flicking over it.

It’s wet and messy and just the way he likes it, slick dripping down his chin as he presses himself in further, desperate to fuck you into sanity with just his mouth.

He doesn’t have a problem doing it. You buck against his face and he lets you, holding his tongue flat for you to grind against. Your fingers in his hair have him in a vice grip and he moans, a steady stream of mhmmm dripping sweet from his mouth into your heat.

“Fuck,” you gasp. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

“Come on,” he mouths against you. “Take what you want, baby.”

The endearment slips from him more natural than anything he’s ever done. His fingers squeeze your thighs as you undulate against him, his entire attention fixated on you as the begin to shake. Your hand twists in his hair and he groans, equal parts pain and pleasure as you come apart.

He hums in satisfaction, keeping his mouth working on you, drinking you in as you continue to tremble. The power trip that comes with seeing you come is unmatched, lighting a fire in him as he licks you to oversensitivity.

“Minho,” you beg, voice squeaking. He grins, kissing your cunt before he mouths his way back up to you, capturing your mouth with his. You’re eager to taste yourself, tongue licking at him more than anything, smearing your slick on his lips. He feels his eyes roll back. You’re going to kill him. “More.”

Minho would conquer the world and call it yours if you wanted him to. There’s nothing he wouldn’t give you. Pretending otherwise was the great folly of man, he realizes, as he shuffles you up the bed and climbs between your legs, standing up on his knees.

You watch him, pupils blown and fucked out as he heaves. He can hardly catch his breath as he reaches down to take his cock in his hand, pumping leisurely as he watches you. The way you look at him like you’ll consume him whole makes him shiver. He wants you to. Want you to burn him up until there’s nothing left.

Leaning down, he drops his cock out of his hand in favor of sliding a hand between you’re legs. You’re a mess of spit and cum, making the glide easy as he slips a finger into your heat to work you open. Your head falls to the side, giving him access to suck at your jawline as he fucks you open with his finger, adding a second when he knows you can take it.

Your hips roll up to meet his thrusts as he scissors his fingers open, pressing against your warm walls to push the stretch further. You’re putty in his hands but he’s a mess in yours, too. He’s shaking by the time he slips his hand from between your legs to press the crown of his cock at your entrance, hesitating.

Minho looks up at you. He already knows there’s no going back for him, three years of his own stubborn delusions robbing him of what could have been. But he asks, anyway. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve been sure for a long time. It was you who needed convincing.”

“What a stuipd man I am.”

“Yes,” you agree. “But mine.”

That drives him wild. Simple words and yet the very action of you claiming him erodes the last bit of resistance. He pushes into you and goes slow with a considerable amount of effort, shaking and panting as he tries to keep it together.

You’re warm and tight and twitches of pleasure ripple through him from cock to stomach. Minho swears he comes alive for the first time as he seats himself in your cunt to the hilt, barely able to catch his breath as he ducks down to press his mouth against yours.

It’s not delicate, but it isn’t the same ferocity as earlier. It’s something else that lingers between madness and relief. He only begins to move when he feels your hips wiggle. He smiles into the kiss, retracting his hips before surging forward again.

Delirious. That is the only word that comes to mind as he starts to fuck you slow and deep. Your mouths bump together but you’re both breathing raggedly, shaking together. Your hands card through his hair, soothing and soft. His lashes flutter as he drops his head further. You press your lips against his forehead as he picks up the pace, letting your hands worship him as he fucks you.

How could he ever think he was sparing you from him? How could he ever make the mistake that if he kept on the fringes, you wouldn’t leave him ruined like this? It seems unimaginative now. Like something that was always meant to happen.

No wonder Collect Co. knew he would go running to you like a dog when they assigned you to him. Everyone else could admit it except him, an egregious error on his part.

But Minho has you now. Gasping his name and moving in his arms. Rolling your hips to meet his, your cunt clenching on his cock as he fucks you harder. He wants to dig into you and never let go. Wants to sink in to the very core and live there.

“Mine,” you growl as though you can read his thoughts. “Even though you tried not to be. You are mine, Lee Minho.”

When you say his full name like that, voicing the boy who could have been and now who is, he starts to come apart. His pace quickens as he chases your second release, holding you tight to him as he feels you clench longer and longer around him until you’re sobbing his name and spilling down his shaft.

Minho all but growls your name as he comes. Never again will you be Builder. You’re his. First and last name his to say. The acknowledgment almost makes him cry as he slows his thrusts, gasping for air as he tosses his head back, heat escaping between the two of you.

Finally, he stops fucking you, hands linked with yours as he leans up to catch his breath. He’s still seated in you, feeling the cum drip between where your ass is pressed against his thighs. He doesn’t care, feeling the sweat and the water from his shoulder drip down his back.

His arm burns where he’s used it. He’d been unaware of the pain while lost in you, but he feels it now, throbbing. He doesn’t care. He’d do it again a thousand times.

Slowly, he unravels from you. Your hands don’t let him go far, pulling him down next to you to roll toward. He smiles, tired and dreamy at the edges as he lets you. The bed is soft against his balmy skin, the cool air helping calm him down.

Finally, both of you can breathe. He knows that he needs to shower again, but he doesn’t want to get up. He wants to keep you near. Now that he’s all in, he wants to stay all in.

“We should call this place the Jungle Rodeo.” He cracks an eye open at you to realize you’re hiding a grin as you look up at him. “You know, since we can’t go back to Neon Rodeo.”

“What is it with you and rodeos?”

“You find Cowboys at the rodeo.”

“Oh?”

“And you’re here… so… it’s a rodeo.”

He blinks at you. “Your intellect is astounding.”

You laugh and it’s like taking a JumpPack straight to his bloodstream, a rush of energy and euphoria driving him upward and toward you. He smothers you with kisses, driving by the need to taste you again. You let him, giggling.

“What do you say then, hmm?” he growls, nipping your bottom lip. “Want to go for another ride?”

“That joke was terrible.”

“You know what they say. When at the rodeo.”

You laugh again and Minho is a goner once more, just like he was the first day he met you at Neon Rodeo.

TAG LIST:

@stayceebs97 @skzswife @bettybeako

#lee know smut #lee minho x reader #lee minho smut #lino smut #lee minho x you #lee know fic #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfic #lee know fanfic #lee know x reader #lee know x you

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fake-bleach · 3 months

Note

omg omg loved the derek fic so much, i’ll be anxiously waiting for part two ❤️🫶🏻

million dollar man | derek danforth x reader - part 2

thank you so much anon!!! so glad you liked it! :') hope you enjoy this part! <3

word count: 3.5k

warnings/disclaimers: (18+ only!) fem!reader (no use of y/n), one reference to being high, use of pet names (baby, sweetheart, girl, etc), making out/kissing, hickeys on reader, explicit consent, descriptive fingering & oral (f receiving), overstimulation (in a way), filthy dirty talk, praise w/ hardly any degradation, established control by derek, tiny bit angsty, cute fluff w/ a happy ending <3

for the biggest derek fucker i know, @sugarevans: i hope you love it just as much as i loved writing it for you 🤍

ao3 link | masterlist

read part 1 here! a lot of things might not make sense if you haven't :)

You never thought you’d ever be in this position.

Making out with Derek Danforth; hands gripping every inch of your body, high out of your mind, is something most wouldn’t ever imagine doing.

Yet, here you were, doing just that.

And hell, was it better than you ever imagined.

His lips were like fire on yours, burning you up and up the more he hungered for your kiss and touch. He was eager; desperate to taste you and everything you had to offer, something that he’s wanted for as long as he could remember.

Ever since he first saw you, he knew what he wanted, and now that he could finally have it? Nothing was stopping him.

“D-Derek,” You gasped once his lips pulled away from yours, giving you a second to breathe as your back pressed into the luxurious couch, his body on top of you, “You’re okay with this, right?”

You wanted to make sure, despite how eager you were yourself. You couldn’t help but overthink it, fighting between not wanting to give yourself to the selfish man in front of you, and wanting to give yourself up completely.

Now, all of those months convincing yourself that you didn’t want him were for nothing.

And, God, were you fucking okay with that.

He gave you a grin, letting out a small chuckle as he shook his head, almost as if you were crazy for even asking him that. “Been waiting for this forever, baby.. ‘Course I fucking am,” He breathed out, pressing kisses on your lips that slowly began to trail downwards; to your cheek, your jaw, then your neck, sending chills throughout your entire body.

You were sensitive when it came to his touch, and along with his kisses, his wandering hands couldn’t help but feel for every single part of you. One of his forearms held him up, keeping him steady as the other reached for your jaw, lifting your head up so he could have more access to your skin.

You shuddered at the feeling of his soft lips on your neck, forcing a light moan out of your mouth as he started to suck and lick, warning you of a feeling that was all too familiar.

You breathed heavily, letting out a small, “Wait,” as you attempted to relax. “I c-can’t.. go out like that if you.. do that,” You protested, hoping he understood what you meant.

And that, he did.

He pulled away for a split second, eyes looking up at you as he asserted himself confidently, the same Derek you’ve always known. “Yeah, you can, baby. Need to make sure everyone knows you’re mine now. That clear?”

You lick your lips, opening your mouth to protest again, but you don’t get very far. He tuts his tongue, expressing his disapproval as the action forces your mouth shut, “Nuh uh. You’re gonna let me do this, sweetheart. Been waiting too long now,” The hand on your jaw grips it just enough to make you focus on him, “Do I make myself clear?” He says, pausing with each word to enunciate it.

You nod immediately, every ounce of resistance you had in you disappearing as butterflies filled your stomach.

Normally, you’d put up a fight and maybe even walk out of a circumstance like this; But, you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t like this side of him.

The Derek that just takes and takes. Nothing you can say no to, and willingly, you’d allow.

“Need to hear you,” He instructs, voice stern as his eyes lock into yours. Derek may be the type to always want control, but he wouldn’t ever do anything you weren’t completely okay with.

You exhale softly and nod again, complying, “Crystal clear.” Your eyes flicker from his lips, lingering there for a moment before finding his eyes again, “Make me yours.”

The strict expression on his lips immediately shifts into a smirk, those words giving him every ounce of motivation to finish what he started.

He pushes himself up for a second and presses one long kiss to your lips, filthy and passionate as ever, muttering, “That’s my girl,” before finding himself back on your neck, doing exactly what he’s intended to do for months.

With your heavy breaths and gasps of his name filling his ears, he accomplishes the task easily; leaving a trail of hickeys all around your neck and cleavage, hands gripping your tits through your shirt. The swelling of the marks that his lips captivate leave you wanting more.

More than just his lips.

You take the chance to stop him, gently pushing his head away as you whine softly, “Need more, Derek.”

He shushes you, nearly reading your mind as he begins to lower himself, keeping eye contact with you. He lifts your shirt up as he moves, exposing your stomach to press kisses along the skin, until he finally reaches the one spot he’s fantasized about for so long.

The action and the thought of what he might do to you leaves your body shuddering, anticipating his next move. You’d let him do anything he wanted now.

He slowly unbuttons your pants, taking his time as if his eyes were memorizing every second of it. You help him slip them off, lifting your hips so he can easily remove them, the cool air in the room hitting your exposed skin. You feel yourself grow wetter, desperate for him to do something, anything to you.

He takes no time to waste putting your pants aside, kneeling in between your thighs and spreading your legs. His gaze flickers from your face down to your panties, chest moving up and down as he processes the sight in front of him; your darkening eyes, legs wide open for him.

Oh, what a beauty you are.

You await his next move, biting your bottom lip as you feel your core tighten, and he finally moves; taking his hand and sliding his fingers over your clothed cunt just for a second, feeling you for the first time. You shudder, gasping at his touch as your arousal seeps through your panties. You’re growing impatient, squirming with need.

“F-Fuck, Derek, touch me, please,” You whine, hips moving a bit to get any type of friction. He just presses down on your stomach, keeping you still as he tuts. “Shh, baby. Gonna take my fuckin’ time with you. Make you feel real good, yeah?” He states, using his other hand to cup it over your cunt.

It makes you gasp, body shaking from the sudden contact again. You press your lips together, quickly nodding as you accept his terms. You couldn’t possibly say no, anyways.

“Now,” He pauses, “Close that pretty mouth of yours n’ take what I give you,” He mutters sternly, but he isn’t done. “I’m gonna tell you what I’m gonna do to you, and you’re gonna be a good girl for me. Is that right?” He asks, fingers rubbing ever so softly against you.

You nod, shakily agreeing as you hold back from moving, “T-That’s right.”

He grins. “Good. You’re real pretty when you listen to me.”

You breathe shakily, stomach fluttering from his words and watching as he lowers to lay himself directly in between your thighs, hands now gripping them with his head facing you.

“Am I not when I don’t?” You retort, taking your chance to bite back.

He chuckles, “You know you’re more than pretty, baby.. I just like you like this more.”

You wouldn’t expect any less from him and his need for you.. And, if anything? It makes you want to be more like this for him.

“Giving yourself up to me..” He hums, caressing your thigh sensually and slowly, eyes devouring you, “Now, doesn’t that feel so much better?”

Before you can respond, his thumb slides from your inner thigh to slip underneath your panties, feeling for your slick slit as you hiss at the sudden contact, skin to skin. Fuck, he was unpredictable.

You gasp softly, walls involuntarily clenching around nothing. The way he was talking to you.. It was driving you crazy.

“No more talking back, no more excuses.. Now that I got you like this, honey. Just how it should be.. How you’re meant to be.” He continues, making your heart race. You were giving yourself up to him the more he spoke; the more he made you realize just how much you needed him, too.

The powerful, superior version of yourself.. crumbling all by the hands of the man who wants to see you break.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, sweetheart..” He tells you, eyes on your face as his thumb slides through your folds, “’M gonna eat you out and make you cum on my tongue..”

The tip of his thumb sinks inside of you, forcing a moan out of your mouth. You need more, breathing heavily as you process his words, envisioning all the things he’s putting inside of your head.

“And then, I’m gonna do it.. Again, and again, until you can’t anymore.”

His thumb then slips out of you, moving and using his fingers to hook itself at the hem of your panties, pulling them off of you roughly. It’s quick and seamless, leaving you completely exposed for him, legs spread wide enough for him to fix on your glistening core immediately.

His fingers glide in between your throbbing lips, soaked beyond your control as he grunts at the sight and feeling. “Fuck yeah, baby.. So fuckin’ wet, shit.”

He can hardly control himself, slowly inserting two of his thick, long fingers inside of you, the lewd sound coaxing a laugh out of his throat. He pumps his fingers deliberately, eyes indecisive on where to linger; your face or your cunt. He picks the latter, gaze fixed on your walls gripping his digits, memorizing the way you take them, squelching and slick with your arousal.

Your pants drive his movements faster, moaning his name softly as your core tightens each time his fingers slowly begin to fill you to the hilt, knuckle-deep inside of you.

You whine loudly, incoherent noises escaping your lips as you look down at him, squirming. “There we go, baby.. Look at how good you’re takin’ it.. pretty pussy begging for more.” He praises, taking his sweet time to pull his fingers out of you, watching how your hole closes from how empty you are.

Before you can register the feeling, he leans forward, sticking out his tongue to lick a stripe against your folds, the tip of it hitting your swollen clit. It makes your body jolt, the shock of the sensation igniting your nerves. It’s been a long fucking time since you’ve felt this good.

He moans out, breath hitting your cunt as it sends shivers down your spine. “Tastes fuckin’ good, baby.. Gonna fuck you with my tongue now, yeah?” He mutters, words hardly coherent enough for you before he latches his mouth around your clit, sucking it softly.

You cry out at the feeling, involuntarily squirming away as it overwhelms you. He was so fucking quick; desperate and needy. Before you could pull away from him, his arms wrap around your thighs, roughly pulling you close. He traps you with his hold, tongue now exploring your folds and devouring you like a starved man.

“Derek! O-Oh, fuck!” You groan, shutting your eyes tightly as your body overtakes you, short and quick breaths filling his ears. You feel him chuckle, sending small vibrations through your core as he slides his tongue inside of your hole, thrusting it in and out of you. His thumb then moves up to your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles against it, wanting to feel you shake.

And, you do, as your walls clench around his tongue, body writhing hastily, overwhelmed with pleasure and that familiar build growing inside of you. Your hand reaches for his hair, gripping the bleached locks that give you a single ounce of control.

Your grasp allows you to push his face further into your cunt, grinding yourself against his mouth as you chase your high, crying his name out as if it were the only word you knew. Your stomach fills with warmth, breaths quickening as you cum shakily on his tongue without any warning.

You moan out his name one last time, convulsing around him as you increasingly grow sensitive, releasing your grip on his hair. He doesn’t let up though, and your nerves gradually become delicate, forcing a whine out of you; a protest. “N-No.. No more, Derek, fuck, I c-can’t, please.” You stammer out, trying to writhe away from his grasp.

He only takes a second to pull away from you, shaking his head disapprovingly as he pulls you back to him, reestablishing his grasp on your thighs even tighter than before.

He looks up at you, eyes hungry for more, “That was only one, honey. Not enough. C’mon, know you can give me another, yeah.. Just one more..” He encourages you, using one of the hands wrapped around your thigh to give it small rubs, soothing your trembling body.

Your body involuntarily twitches, overstimulated from your first orgasm and the continuous contact on your skin. You just nod at him though, letting out a small “okay” so he can verbally hear it; something you’re starting to know that he likes from you.

He grins up at you, evidently satisfied at your actions. “There we go, you’re getting it now.. Such a good fucking girl.”

His praises cause your face to heat up, his approval of you becoming the one thing you never thought you’d need from him.

Turns out, you’re finding out a lot of things about yourself tonight that you didn’t know.

You take a deep breath in preparation, watching one of his arms unrestrain your thigh, hand moving towards your core. He glances back to your face, then to your pussy, pressing the tip of his index and middle finger to your entrance. You watch his face as he licks his lips, pressing them in slowly, almost excruciatingly slow.

You whine, the force of his fingers making your walls constrict around them, and your heart beats rapidly everywhere. You’re still tight, and he can feel it too.

He lets out a laugh as his eyes flicker to your face to watch it twist, and it feels mean. “You’re still so fucking tight, holy shit,” He chuckles again, fingers pulling out of you to rest against your hole, and shoving it back in deliberately. You cry out his name, incoherent words spilling out of your lips as you squirm away from him again.

He mutters out, “No, no, no, stay here, baby, come on,” and his large arm reaches to grip your waist, pulling you back to him once again. His forearm stays against your stomach now, pinning you into the couch so you can’t possibly move away. “Yeah, yeah, there y’go.” He draws out.

“Just gotta let yourself go, sweetheart.. Don’t fight it, c’mon..”

Your eyes shut tightly, and you listen to him, letting yourself go. The control in your body begins to fade, and he takes it as a sign to continue; fucking his thick fingers back into your cunt with an increasing pace and force.

You feel so full with him, but just as you think that, he adds a third finger, stretching you out further as he quickens his thrusts.

The lewd noises fill the room, your soaked folds flowing onto his hand and growing louder the faster he moves. Your pussy takes his fingers eagerly, engulfing them seamlessly. “Wish you could see what I’m seein’, honey.. Your cunt gripping every inch of my fucking fingers, fuck, so fuckin’ pretty. Doing so good, baby, I know it feels so good, huh?” His words are too much for you, along with his fingers moving so fast from how soaked you were.

They start to pound into that one spot inside of you that has you seeing stars, and you convulse around them, body twitching, but hardly affecting Derek from his harsh grip on you. It keeps you still for him, never stopping his moves as he lets out whispers of encouragement to you, praising you absentmindedly and breathing heavily against your cunt.

“Yeah, yeah, give it to me, baby, cum on my fucking fingers, please.” He whines out, his hips grinding against the couch, almost as if he was getting off to your own pleasure. You shake against him, chest heaving up and down as that heat in your core builds and builds, finally releasing as you climax with his name on your tongue.

You nearly scream it, unable to control yourself as your eyes roll to the back of your head, your walls clenching around his fingers over and over again uncontrollably. He stops his movements now, letting you come down from it slowly, pulling his fingers out of you as you tremble.

As you take deep breaths, heartbeat slowing, you flutter your eyes open to look at Derek, watching as he inserts his fingers in his mouth to taste you. He pulls them out with a pop and moves himself to lay over you, using his clean hand to move your hair out of your face.

He praises you, pressing a small kiss to your forehead with his eyes looking at you with so much pride. “Did so fucking good for me, baby. Knew you could do it, fuck yeah.” He hums, now pressing a kiss to your lips.

You accept it greedily, placing your hands on his chest, wanting to be as close to him as possible. Your feelings for him were overwhelming; one night of pleasure causing you to confront every thought & emotion you’ve ever had of him. And the way he was treating you now? God, it made it even harder for you to feel subtle about it.

And, maybe.. Just maybe.. it was because he was the best fuck you’ve ever had.

But, despite how sensitive you were, you couldn’t help but want more. And besides, you wanted him to feel good too, after bringing you so much satisfaction.

“Thank you, Derek.. B-But, what about you?” You asked shakily, body still trembling from your peak. He shook his head, caressing your face gently as he spoke, “Nah, baby, this was all about you.. It’s always been.. about you. To make you feel good.”

You let out a small laugh and shook your head yourself, in denial of it all. Did he really care for you this much?

Before you can ask him anything, he continues, spilling out every ounce of vulnerability he could allow himself to. “Took my chance after waiting all these months. I couldn’t just let myself be so.. selfish.. Not this one time.. Yeah?” He cocked his head, trying to see if you understood or not. He seemed almost jittery; nervous and anxious to even be telling you this.

You knew he was taking such a big leap to be telling you these things.. To be acting this way.

It didn’t go unnoticed by you at all.

You took the chance to joke with him, trying to ease the tension in the room. “Derek Danforth.. Not.. being selfish? Never thought I’d see the day.” You giggled, hoping he’d take it how you intended it to.

His head lowers to look down at your hands on him for a second, licking his lips as he takes his time to think about what to say to you. He takes a deep breath, looking back up at you as he sighs out.

“I’m trying..” He pauses, inhaling sharply, “Not.. to be.”

Your smile fades from your face, lips parting as you take in his words. It hits you, making you realize just how much he’s trying.

“At least.. Not with you, baby,” He purses his lips, swallowing, “Don’t wanna be selfish with you.. Not.. not anymore.”

You give him a small, gentle smile, nodding slowly in hopes to encourage him. You want him to open up to you; it’s all you’ve ever wanted from him.

“Derek, I..” You start, but he cuts you off.

“I know I.. I’ve been an asshole, to everyone, to you.. But, I don’t wanna be the guy.. That doesn’t deserve you anymore,” He admits quickly, almost wanting to rush it out before he bails out on it.

“I-I.. want to be the guy that does.”

He finally confesses it.. the one thing that’s been holding him down; the one thing that he’s finally managed to realize.

It wasn’t just you that captivated him.

It was the drive to change for you that did.

You let out a relieving breath, shutting your eyes as you press a passionate, genuine kiss on his lips. He takes it gratefully, sighing into your mouth as if the weight of the entire world was lifted off his shoulders.

You pull away from him, grinning as your glazed eyes glimmer at him.

“That’s a start, baby.. You’re already a mile ahead of that.” You tell him, honest and real; vulnerable yourself.

Maybe, Derek Danforth was more than capable of change.

Maybe.. Derek Danforth wasn’t so selfish after all.

Now, it was your chance to find out.

a/n: thank you so much for reading! i loved writing this and i might add onto it when writing for derek again to stay in this little world! :)

feedback & reblogs are always greatly appreciated <3

#derek danforth #derek danforth x reader #derek danforth x you #derek danforth fic #derek danforth smut #derek danforth x reader smut #derek danforth fanfiction #the beekeeper #the beekeeper fanfiction #mike schimdt x reader #peeta mellark x reader #josh hutcherson fanfic #josh hutcherson characters #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson character fic #josh hutcherson x you #fake-bleach #my writing

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simpcityy · 10 months

Text

Location Status: In Danger (Miguel O'Hara x Spider-Person!Reader) *Platonic*

Summary: Father figure Miguel left you alone in your dimension after taking your watch to get it fixed. You assure him everything was going to be okay without a watch but now he wishes he didn't listen to you.

Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel or any of its characters. This is part 2 for Location Status: Unknown (Link Below Warnings)

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Use of (Y/N), Father Figure Miguel, father and daughter fluff?, Miguel cursing in Spanish, Angst, blood. violence, comic villain reference, meltdown...ughhh I think that is all.

Pt.1 Pt.2. Pt.3

┍━━━━━━⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━┑

You woke up with your body feeling all sore. You let out a groan as you tried to get up on your knees only to fall on your back in pain. Breathing heavily, you glanced at your right side of your rib only to see your suit stained in red. Taking in deep breaths, you tried to remember what happened. You were fighting an anomaly in your dimension; things weren’t looking too good, and you got knocked out. Pulling your mask over your nose to breathe in more heavily. The pain was unbearable and not having a way to contact for backup, you had to do this on your own. “Why did the watch malfunction today?” You mutter before crying out in pain as you get up slowly leaning against the wall. Holding your side, you walked around the warehouse, wondering where this villain of another dimension took you. You dragged yourself out into a bigger room before looking around in panic as your spider senses went off.

“Looks like the spider finally woke up” A female voice calls out around the big room.

You tried to locate the voice but it only echos around the empty warehouse, making it hard to pinpoint it. “Show yourself!” You yelled being aware of your surroundings. Finally, you spotted a figure walking out of the shadow. Taking in her appearance, you froze. You quickly composed yourself and scoffed. “Look at that, an inheritor here in my dimension.” Standing up tall, ignoring the fire in your ribs from the wound, “Which one are you? Bora? Verna?” You listed the names before letting out a grunt as she gripped your throat, pushing you up against the wall. The woman chuckles, “I am Verna, and I will make you wish you weren’t my prey” She smirks. “Preying on the young has always been my favorite.” She whispers in your ear as her grip slowly increases, making you gasp for air.

Miguel was in his “cave” monitoring one of the missions he sent Gwen to do with the rest of the group that gave him headaches. He frowns watching them do it recklessly, he glances back at your watch as he was fixing. It’s been a week and he hasn’t gone over to check on you. “Lyla, bring up the cameras of (Y/N) Dimension.” He commands the AI as he keeps working on the watch. Lyla appears on his shoulder “Somethings wrong” She spoke, pulling up the screen. Miguel stops what he was doing and looks at the monitor, but it was pitch black. “Why is it not working?” He frowns, he may not have spider senses, but his father's senses were ringing in his head. “Lyla? Where is my kid?” He looks at the AI. “Hold on, I'm trying to fix this, someone or something did this.” She tries to make it work again. Miguel having no patience asked again “Dónde está mi hijo(a)? Answer me!” He yelled. “Something isn’t right!” Lyla, for once being an AI, had no clue on how to fix this, panicking as well for your well-being. Miguel yells out curses in Spanish before going through the portal to your dimension. He lands inside your place. “Kid?!” He yells going around each room finding it empty. “Esto no es gracioso! Sal ahora” He was hoping you were playing around, ready to see you smile and hear your fits of laughter, but he was met with silence. He runs up to the roof ready to see you there watching the city but is met with an empty roof. His heart started pounding, he pulled at his hair as memories of Gabriella started playing in his mind. He lost her and now you. He yells out to the city, “(Y/N)!”

Verna laughs as she watches you struggle getting up on your knees. She walks over to you as you take deep breaths. Everything hurts, even breathing in and out. You yelled out in pain as Verna’s hand went through your stomach. You whimper in pain; how can she be this strong? How can her hand go through your body with such ease? There were so many questions running through your mind, but one brought you to tears. ‘Is this the end?’ You think to yourself and glare at Verna. “I was hoping for a great battle” She tuts as her hand leaves your stomach. She smirks, as she cleans her hand watching you cry out in pain. “I can’t wait to have your head on my wall like the rest of the spiders.” She walks to you smirking, enjoying the sight of you. You were hurt, bleeding out to death and overall, just broken. She lets out a sigh, “But it’s a shame I can’t yet till they start looking for you.” She sits on top of some boxes looking at you. “We have to gather the herd and then I can strike.” She smirks as your eyes widen hearing her plan. She was going to kill the rest of your spider family. You already lost so much in your life, the thought of losing Gwen, Jess, Hobie, Pav and Miguel. Miguel lost a kid and if anything were to happen to you…he would lose himself slowly. “No, I will not let you hurt them…I won’t let you kill my family!” You yelled. Verna smirks seeing you getting up ignoring the pain throughout your whole body. “My Little Spider, I was wrong about you…you will give me a great battle.” She laughs as you stand in a fighting stance “Come on now, I bet your siblings are much more powerful than you” You taunt watching her smirk turn into a frown. “Usually, I don’t get my hands dirty, but you asked for it!” Verna snapped and ran towards you.

Miguel followed by Jess and Ben started looking around for you. “Lyla Anything?” Miguel looks around the city while the other two went on separate ways to cover more ground. He swings by before landing on the ground seeing a few broken boxes in an alleyway followed by an anomaly laying on the ground in pain. He glares before walking over to them, grabbing them by the collar he slammed them on the wall. “Start talking” he growls. “Give me a break man!” The villain groans and looks at him “first I was fighting this Spider Person and then suddenly another villain came in interrupting our fight. Just great!” They groan in frustration. “Otra persona? Who?!” He yells slamming them again to the wall. “I don’t know!? I think they went by the name Verna?” Miguel drops them down and sends Ben and Jess his location. “Lyla,” He calls out. “On it already! Verna…here it says…oh no…” Lyla stops before she appears in front of him “We need to find them now.” She whispers. Miguel watched in horror, knowing Lyla was not one to lose her cheerful spunk. “(Y/N) is fighting Verna from the inheritors” Miguel stands still, everything around him was toned out, even Lyla calling his name out for him. Inheritors…people who hunt them down. You’re with one of the members, alone and having no way to contact for back up. He starts to breath heavily, was he having a panic attack? “No…no …no!” He yells punching the wall. No, he was having a meltdown. He turns to the anomaly and walks to him, his talons out. The villain quickly backs up “H-hey listen, it wasn’t me okay. I didn’t get the chance to inflict harm on them!” “Miguel!” Lyla gets in front of him only for Miguel to walk past her. Grabbing the villain, he raised his fist only to stop. “I found their location!” She yells trying to get his attention.

”Dónde*?”

┕━━━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━━━┙

Authors note: Thank you guys so much! This series is popular among the rest I have written so far! Thank you so much! I have much more Father Figure Miguel ideas coming up soon on my blog! Change of plans, this series is going to be 3 parts instead of 2. It just means more for you to read! I love you guys for reblogging my works for others to be aware of my works! You are welcome to drop in request as well. Soon I'll be posting the rules for requesting. Thank you for the support! Sorry for any grammar errors. Remember to stay hydrated and to keep on simping! (Simp City Population: 53💕)

Spanish Translation: 1. Dónde está mi hijo(a): Where is my kid or where is my son, with the o being replaced with a it also means Where is my daughter? 2. Esto no es gracioso! Sal ahora: This isn't funny! Come out now! 3. Otra persona?: Another person? 4. Dónde?: Where

#miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara fic #across the spiderverse fic #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara x fem!reader #miguel ohara x platonic reader #father figure miguel ohara

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claymorexpunisher · 5 months

Text

Brats Have More Fun (CH. 3/?) (18+ Fic)

Disclaimer: This is NSFW. If that's not your thing, keep scrolling. I try to tag my work appropriately, so if you choose to click on my work regardless, use your own discretion. Thank you for the love always and enjoy this cheesy porno! 🥂

Pairing(s): Randy Orton/Fem. Reader

Summary: Bratty Reader pokes fun at Randy for referring to himself as "Daddy" on tv. Randy quickly reminds her why he felt confident in doing so.

Tag(s): 18+, unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, primal kink, biting, wrestling, scratching, spanking, sadism/masochism, Daddy kink, Dom/sub dynamic, bratting.

Word Count: 882

Prev. Chapter

“Why would you call yourself Daddy in front of the entire world like that?” I asked Randy, my tone teasing despite the fact that I was eyeing him with poorly concealed desire as I straddled his lap and we began to wrestle on the padded mat.

We had decided to work out at home rather than go to the gym, but eventually we got distracted by, well, each other.

“Are you kinkshaming me?” Randy asked, barely winded as we wriggled around on the ground, something akin to amusement colored his tone as he immediately took control and flipped us over.

I didn’t go down easy, using all of my strength to switch our positions again, but to no avail.

Still, I persisted, letting out frustrated huffs as I willed my core to help me push him off.

“I would never, Randy.” I replied, pointedly not calling him Daddy despite knowing that that was how I should address him when we were in private.

As I saw something shift in his expression, I let out a winded and devilish giggle.

“What’s the matter? Did I do something wrong, Randy?” I asked, my chest heaving as I smirked up at him, our movements now slowing to a halt.

This is usually the moment where I’d be running.

Running from whatever punishment would be in store for me for such a smartassed move,and with Randy’s heavy frame straddling my hips, there was seemingly nowhere to go.

I knew he wanted me to run as I felt his body loosen a bit, giving me the opportunity to actually use my strength and push him off as I finally made a run for it.

“Too slow, Randy!” I taunted, making the mistake of pausing before I made a run for it again.

I let out a squeak as Randy’s strong arms wrapped around my waist and lifted me back into our weight room.

Just as quickly as I had run from him, I was plopped back onto the mat flat on my back.

Wrestling around definitely got our adrenaline pumping and the more we wriggled around, trying to assert our positions, the more aroused we became.

I couldn’t help but roll my hips against Randy’s, moaning softly as my thin leggings allowed me to feel a zing against my clit as it grazed his hardening cock.

My movements were quickly halted and my body and brain turned into mush as Randy’s hand suddenly wrapped around my throat and I heard him growl from deep within his chest before he sank his teeth onto the part of my body where my neck meets my shoulder.

Despite me wanting to put up more of a fight, the sharp sensation of Randy’s teeth sinking into such a vulnerable and sensitive part of my body caused me to immediately go pliant underneath him.

Breathing heavily, our lips met in a sloppy and hungry kiss, Randy’s hand never easing its firm grip on my throat.

“Are you fuckin’ done, you little brat?” Randy murmured, watching my eyelids flutter shut for a moment before my bright, glassy eyes met his. “Hm? Are you ready to stop acting up? Are you gonna address Daddy like you should?”

“Huh?” He taunted as he used his free hand to yank my sports bra up to tweak one of my nipples hard, making my back arch off the mat, my hands obediently resting at my sides even as Randy’s lips closed around one of my sensitive nipples, sharply biting the tender bud before he took it into his mouth again and released it with a soft pop.

“Y-yes, Daddy…” I relented, and I smiled upon hearing him release a pleased chuckle.

The smile gave way to a soft hiss as Randy dragged his blunt nails down my torso, adding to the already intense sensations coursing through my body.

“Are you sure?” Randy purred and I damn near mewled as I felt him release his cock from his sweatpants and he ran the leaking tip along my swollen pussy lips over my leggings.

“Yes, Daddy.” I replied, injecting all of my arousal into my response.

Going off of the primal need surging within us, Randy flipped me over onto my stomach and I instantly lifted my hips so he could remove my leggings.

My hips stayed where they were, elevated and presenting myself to Randy and I let out soft whimpers as he ran his big hands over my thighs and up my body and back again.

My legs shook as I resisted against grinding back into his cock and I could feel my essence making his sudden entrance a smooth one that had us both moaning loudly.

“You can fuck yourself on Daddy’s cock if you promise to be good..” Randy said and I didn’t have to be told twice.

“I promise! Please, I can’t-” I whined.

“Okay, sweetheart. Fuck yourself on Daddy’s cock. Show Daddy how much you want it.” He coaxed.

I gasped as Randy’s palms struck down on my ass cheeks as I fucked back eagerly.

The noises that were coming out of our mouths were unrecognizable and I came with a harsh groan as Randy’s teeth once again sunk into my flesh, this time between my shoulder blade.

Daddy was definitely home…

Next Chapter

#randy orton #randy orton x reader #randy orton x female reader #wwe smut #wrestling smut #wwe fanfic #forgive me if this is subpar #its literally been about a year since ive written for randy lmao #randy orton fanfiction #randy orton fan fiction #wwe one shot #randy orton oneshot

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redstringraven · 1 year

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an excruciatingly long ramble about the '03 turtles and the enneagram 🐢❤ pt2

[ intro + disclaimers post ] [ pt 3 - leo ] [ pt 4 - don ] [ pt 5 - mikey ]

raph, 8 with a 7 wing

intro + why raph

welcome to the first of these giant posts. i’m. not kidding, you’re gonna click ‘read more’ and see why this series is titled “an excruciatingly long ramble”. i’ve done my best to section it off so you might have an easier time finding your place again if you need or want to take breaks. there’s no way i’m going to cover everything there is to talk about, so i might write and link ‘addendums’ to these posts later on as i think of things.

since raph is the first one, his might be a bit longer than the other three because there are a few enneagram terms that i’ll define as we go. you can then take those with you to the upcoming three posts. so please bear with me, grab a snack, a drink, some nice background music, and WE RIDE.

• . • . •

i wanted to start this project with raph because i feel like we start the series at his lowest/unhealthiest point.

only four episodes into the show (meet casey jones, s1ep4) we see him lose control of his temper in a serious way: he attacks mikey. throughout the rest of the episode he's forced to ‘face himself’ in casey and start monitoring his anger.

while we see him continue to grapple with his anger throughout the series, this is his worst moment. he has nowhere to go but up. in contrast, we see leo in probably his healthiest state of mind at the beginning of the series only to be at his worst in the first half of season 4. but back to raph; we'll have time for leo later.

as the series continues, we see glimpses of this temper rear its head again, with some examples being at the end of their encounter with karai in city at war (s2ep16) or during his fight with traximus in the battle nexus (s2ep24). in these instances, we get a close-up shot of his eyes narrowing and, with traximus, the area around them darkening. this was something that was specifically focused on during s1ep4 whenever he began to lose control. the loss of control is still THERE, it’s just less frequent now. he’s growing.

i think it’s also important to highlight that mikey ribs on him during the battle nexus (s2ep25) not unlike how he does in s1ep4, too. sure, they might be in an environment that shields them from danger of serious injuries, but i think it says a LOT that mikey’s comfortable provoking raph to the degree he does. raph’s acted on his apology, has done work, and mikey knows this. he's watched him do it. it's time already to be The Worst™ again.

but enough about why i chose raph to go first; let's cover the basics of an 8.

bare basics of the 8

as stated in the introductory post, the enneagram focuses heavily on the why and the motivation behind your behavior.

8s are one of the three assertive types (along with 3s and 7s), and they’re a part of the gut triad (made of 8s, 9s, and 1s). assertives can be described as moving 'against people'. they respond to stress or difficulty by building up, reinforcing, or inflating their ego; they will expand rather than back down or seek protection. assertive types will often have issues processing their feelings.

the gut triad may also be referred to as the ‘doing’ or the ‘instinct’ triad, as they respond instinctively and tend to be honest and direct in their self expression. i’ve also seen it referred to as the ‘anger’ triad since these types tend to have problems with aggression and repression, and they can carry a great deal of rage. types in the gut triad seek autonomy and are concerned with resistance and control of their environment. an 8 externalizes it. a 9 forgets it. and a 1 internalizes it. there’s a lot more information about the triads out there, but this is what we’ll take with us for now.

an 8’s basic fear is that of being harmed or controlled by others, of violation.

their basic desire is to protect themselves and determine their own course in life.

they believe they’ll be okay so long as they are strong and in control of their situation.

childhood take-aways

at an early age, 8s begin to understand that in order to keep their environments, themselves, and the people they care about from being hurt, they have to have willpower, persistence, and endurance. 8s often “grow up too quickly” and focus on survival issues. they’ve picked up that “might makes right”.

we don’t get to see a lot of the boys’ youth, but we’re given an idea in the first episode, things change (s1ep1), of the perspective they were raised under. i’ll be referring back to that throughout this section of each post. master splinter states:

“your path in life will not be an easy one. the outside world will not be a friendly place for you. you four are different in ways the surface dwellers would never understand. to survive, you must master these skills i teach you: the powers of stealth and secrecy. you must become kage, shadow warriors, and you must never be discovered by the outside world.”

8s ask themselves “how can i--and the few people i care about--survive in a cruel, uncaring world?”. it’s possible that this way of thinking was only solidified by movies they saw growing up, or even witnessing what casey was going through during the lesson (s3ep13). if the outside world isn’t friendly to what it considers ‘normal’, then surely it won’t be kind to what’s different.

8s were often independent, adventuresome, and assertive as children. they'd be found running ahead of the pack. they’re the kid who will stand up to the playground bully without flinching. they might have questioned authority, trusting themselves more than most adults, which lead to being punished frequently.

8s often find themselves in the role of the scapegoat, the “black sheep” or problem child. raph even calls attention to this, himself, in his ‘03 profile: referring to himself as “the angry young man” and “the dark one”.

it's brief, but i think we get a glimpse of this in s2ep23 at the start of the battle nexus arc: master splinter starts to express his disappointment in leo for following him to the nexus, but raph steps in immediately to shoulder the blame. he could have stayed quiet but, no. he’s the ‘problem child’ here. he can take the heat.

raph as an 8

now that we've touched on the basics of an 8, as well as a few things they may have picked up early in life, let's take a look at raph and his 8.

8s can sometimes be nicknamed: ‘the challenger’, ‘the leader’, ‘the protector’, ‘the provider’, ‘the entrepreneur’, ‘the maverick’, or ‘the rock’.

i’ll continue to refer to raph by his numerical type because, while the nicknames that grant a surface idea of their behavior, most users of the enneagram prefer to avoid descriptive labels. one 8 might feel being called ‘the provider’ suits them while another 8 might not see themselves in that label at all. nicknames are quick summaries/general ideas, but it’s good practice to use the number type itself.

an ‘average’ 8, in terms of their mental and spiritual health, tends to be a steamroller rather than a diplomat and have a black and white way of thinking: people are good or bad, an opinion is right or wrong, the answer is yes or no, etc. this isn’t to say raph can’t acknowledge nuance (far from it), but rather that 8s believe not having clarity or absolute certainty about your position and viewpoints represents weakness or--worse--cowardice. the rest of us have opinions, the 8 has facts. they don’t have a lot of patience for indecisive people, and they might use aggression to emotionally protect themselves. many exhibit an abundance of common sense.

8s are extraordinarily tough, physically and mentally. they can absorb a great deal of punishment without batting an eye. raph has a tendency to be the one catching blows for his brothers or guarding them during fights. we can refer back to being the 'problem child' as well; he can handle the heat. he’s an anchor who keeps his brothers grounded when worries spike, and he tends to be blunt, to the point, and possibly the most ‘world-wise’ out of the four.

8s want to be loved but often feel rejected or like misfits, which becomes more evident in their “take it or leave it” attitude as they get older. you can accept them as they are, or you can get out. they attempt to protect themselves by rejecting others first, and they might develop a fear of dependency. the “i don’t need you guys” sort of mentality. during tales of leo (s1ep19), raph even says “who needs you?” to leo before he tells his story.

it likely goes without saying that raph, like many 8s, admires strength. since their basic fear revolves so much around maintaining what power and control they have, 8s are the types of people who can walk into a room and immediately know who holds the most ‘power’. they’ll just as likely be deciding whether or not that power is deserved, and if they’ll be with or against it. it probably took raph like, what, five seconds to realize that one big alien was the head honcho in the big house (s2ep3) and he took them out first excuse he got.

raph wants people to challenge him back; an 8 can quickly lose respect for you if you’re unwilling to stand toe-to-toe with them (even if the 8 disagrees with you, they'll respect that you held your ground). they also want the truth. they don’t want you to ‘protect’ them from unpleasant details or facts. if they don't have all the information--no matter how harsh or unpleasant it may be--they can't control the situation or hope to reach their desired outcome.

let’s elaborate a bit on what the hell a ‘wing’ is. the enneagram is depicted as a wheel--kind of like a clock, if that helps you picture it without a visual aid (albeit i’ll link one here; ignore the arrows for now, we'll return to them).

a type’s wing are the two numbers that neighbor it on the wheel. the wings for an 8 are: 7 and 9. when someone says they’re a type “with a wing”, that means that they feel influenced in some way by that neighboring type. since the enneagram looks at ‘why’ and motives, you might find that the wing you lean toward more might fluctuate or change as you grow and experience life.

i'm confident raph is an 8w7, meaning his enneagram type is an 8 but he takes influence from 7. delightful, then, that mikey’s a 7. i think it’s a nice little way to tie them together when it’s time for Shenanigans™.

8s who have 7 wings are sometimes called ‘the independents’. along with being one of the most energetic and sociable types, people of this subtype tend to be risk-takers, adventurous, and combine the 8’s need for intensity with the 7’s love of anticipation. they’re practical, pragmatic, competitive, and not concerned with pleasing others, but also tend to be lead by their feelings, resulting in them being impatient and impulsive. they might be more confrontational and aggressive and are less likely to back down from a fight than an 8w9.

i remember seeing a link to one of those character… personality across all quizzes type of wikis somewhere and if memory serves raph was listed as an 8w9. i can’t help but wonder if that decision was made because it would give him two types on the instinct/gut triad, verses an 8w7 where his core type is on the instinct/gut triad, but his wing is in the thinking/head triad. we’ll discuss that one more when we get to don and mikey. *murmuring from the audience* yes, mikey is on the thinking/head triad. he’s actually fully on it, wing and all. *more murmuring from the audience* i’ll get to it, i’ll get to it.

but, no, 8s with a 9 wing have an almost deceptively laid back quality to them and are much more willing to be open and affectionate around their loved ones. 8w9s are sometimes nicknamed ‘the bear’ for that reason and, while highly protective and aggressive in being so, i don’t really think of raph when i think of that (you can see where labels might cause a problem). 8w9s are more willing to let their walls down in safe spaces; raph appears guarded and careful just about every time we see him no matter whose company he’s in. his walls only come down in periods of high emotion and, even then, he’s either reluctant to let them show or tries to hide them immediately after the moment passes, even getting angry that they managed to surface at all.

the wing isn't the only other type that influences your core number, though. let's talk about the other two.

stress & security numbers

as i said at the beginning of this post, raph’s is likely going to be the longest because i’ll be introducing various enneagram terms as we go along that you can apply to the other posts going forward. bear with me, please, this information is going to help in the last three sections of the post.

i stated that the enneagram can be compared to varying colors, or even a color wheel. There can be an infinite different types of red, but they are all still expressions of the same base hue. maybe an orange-red, a violet-red, a pale pink, the list goes on. likewise, the enneagram types take influence from the other types, even ones that wouldn’t be considered their wings. these would be their ‘stress’ and ‘security’ numbers.

‘stress’ and ‘security’ are meant to refer to the current mental health level of the individual, with security representing--as you might have guessed--the healthiest state of mind you can be in and stress being the unhealthier side of that. when a type is in an unhealthier state of mind, they begin to adopt the negative traits of their stress number. vise versa, when in a healthier and secure state of mind, they begin to adopt the positive traits of their security number. you may have noticed on the wheel i linked earlier all those arrows in the center. those point to a type's stress and security. let’s start with raph’s stress number.

raph’s stress number is 5. this means that in a stressed or unhealthy state of mind and spirit, raph begins to show the negative behaviors associated with 5s.

(i love looking at raph and don from the enneagram perspective because it’s a common misconception that don and raph are polar opposites. i think their link in their stress and security numbers illustrates that they have a lot more in common than seen on the surface. because raph’s stress number being 5 means that don’s security number is 8. but more on that when we get to don).

in times of high-stress or low-spirits, 8s will become solitary. they’ll minimize their own comfort, take poor care of themselves and may succumb to insomnia or unhealthy diets. they might spend more time brooding or strategizing to size up a situation than they might actively engage with it. they can become extremely cynical and contemptuous of the beliefs and values of others, nihilistic, and have little hope of reconnecting with themselves or those around them.

i'll cover this more in don's post but for some examples: don, being a 5, will often withdraw to his lab and overwork himself (we can see examples of this in s2ep13 return to the underground, or continuing to push himself despite being sick during the second half of season 4).

when it comes to raph, we have a few examples of the 5’s negative traits showing through in periods where he would be unhealthy mentally and spiritually:

when he realizes his temper’s getting out of hand, he’ll isolate himself and “get some air” (some examples, s1ep4, s1ep24)

he’s the most reluctant to talk to leo during tales of leo (s1ep19), and after his story he separates from the group to stand by the window (while not fully leaving the room to isolate, it’s the farthest he’s willing to go from leo's side)

he spends most of the city at war arc (s2ep14-16) retreating from the conflict, where leo is actively engaging with it

in same as it never was (s3ep21), raph has isolated himself from leo and mikey. he expresses contempt toward leo’s decision to leave master splinter behind. he’s the one who calls the situation “hopeless”.

an 8’s security number is a 2. when in a healthier state of mind, they take on the positive traits of a 2; they have the ability to see potential in people and want to help those people recognize resources and strengths they didn’t know they had. a key word for a healthy 8 is “empowerment”. they would agree with the phrase “give a person a fish and they eat for a day; teach them to fish and they can feed themselves for life”.

8s allowing their 2s to surface means learning to open their hearts to others, letting their guard down and expressing the tenderness they’ve so carefully hid away. it’s important to understand that this movement is not accomplished by imitating the qualities of a 2. an 8 must have greater contact with their hearts and grow comfortable with their gentler feelings. they need to stop equating vulnerability to weakness.

i think some good samples of raph’s 2 coming to the surface might be found:

the exchange with mikey as they're cornered by mousers; “well, it’s been fun, guys” “even me?” “especially you, mikey” (s1ep3)

helping leo recover in monster hunter (s1ep20) and forging a new set of swords with him

every fucking time he gasses don up, but for a specific example, return to the underground (s2ep13)

everything with mrs. morrison in touch and go (s3ep8)… just all of it. don’t even look at me.

throughout all hallows thieves (s4ep12) he’s cheery and even a little nostalgic toward halloweens past. we get an earnest, unguarded laugh out of him.

healthy, integrating 8s make outstanding leaders; they’re able to communicate their profound respect and admiration of others, and they better recognize boundaries and limits--especially their own.

HEY, LET'S TALK ABOUT THAT LEADER THING. i'm sure some of you locked onto that when i listed 'the leader' in the nicknames section.

raph’s temperament and unwillingness to let his 2 surface often gets in the way of him taking a leadership position. he once expressed a desire to be the ‘top turtle’ but made the decision to follow leo. at the end of his flashback during tales of leo, we see him eagerly asking leo what he did to stop the alligator and enthusiastically following him back out of the tunnel. not a smidge of negative feedback in sight. i believe he recognizes and respects leo’s ability to lead, be it by strategy or morals, more than gives into his desire to lead. remember that as far as the 2003 series is concerned: leo is the UNOFFICIAL 'leader'; this is a role he naturally steps into, not a responsibility that was directly assigned to him (i think raph might even be the only one who refers to him as 'fearless leader' or a 'leader' at all, but i could be wrong). 8s don’t need to BE the person in control, they just don’t want to be controlled. they will follow other leaders who are decisive and have earned their respect. to anyone who wants to point out that leo and raph still argue a lot, don't forget about what i said in regards to holding your ground with 8s. they may not like it in the moment, but your ability to hold your ground will be recognized. leo more than often holds his ground when raph challenges him.

(when raph and leo butt heads it’s not because they’re at odds with each other because raph wants to lead or because leo doesn’t consider raph capable of leading, it’s because they’re both stubborn fucking idiots who’re thoroughly convinced their way is the right way; for raph admitting he’s wrong is a show of weakness and surrendering control which is a fear for 8s and for leo it’s a kick to his pride and ability to be ‘good’ which is a fear for 1s. simplifying it down to a power struggle between them drives me up a wall, iN THIS ESSAY I WILL--).

while a small example, a moment from the first notes from the underground episode (s1ep13) has always stuck with me when it comes to raph’s potential and ability to lead: he’s not only the one to throw the grapple to get them across the bridge, but when they’re dangling from a stalagmite after the bridge collapses, he’s the one who gathers them together to do ‘crack the whip’. leo actually doesn’t have any dialogue in that whole sequence; raph’s the one who takes charge and gets them safely to the other side.

it’s also interesting that in cases where leo’s not present AND raph’s in the company of someone similar in behavior to him, his 2 seems to come out on its own. when running around alone with casey, raph is the one reining him in. similar case with godman falcon in across the universe (s3ep20). you could use tyler in lone raph and cub (s1ep24) as another example, but i’m not fully counting that as tyler is like. ten. and stinky.

cardinal sins - 8 and lust

here's term that, on the surface, might appear a bit self-explanatory, but it tends to be a bit more nuanced than that. at least as far as the enneagram is concerned.

every type on the enneagram comes with its own ‘cardinal sin’; you might recognize seven of them from the traditional deadly sins. a type’s cardinal sin is less of a ‘sin’ and more of an almost addictive, involuntary and repeated behavior that we can only be free of when we learn to recognize and manage it. learning to manage your type’s cardinal sin is one of the purposes of the enneagram as a tool.

an 8's cardinal sin is ‘lust’. don’t mistake this for lust purely in its sexual definition; this is ‘lust’ as in the drive and need for intensity. 8s want to feel solid and alive; interactions must be intense, play must be intense--there’s something of a daredevil in 8s as they're looking to experience what life has to offer at 110%. it’s ironic that giving into lust is the antithesis of the control raph’s 8 demands he maintains; lust after a person or object is to be under its power, the opposite of what an 8 truly wants.

i’m sure at least some of you are wondering about ‘wrath’. something that might be important to keep in mind, here, is that 8s reach for rage in place of other emotions; not only is rage easy to access, it’s also an intense and overwhelming emotion. we'll talk about this more when we get to leo, but his 1 makes him a member of the 'anger' triad as well. where raph takes any emotion he feels intensely and replaces it with anger, leo will often take his anger and replace it with a less harsh explanation. but again, we'll get to that.

something else i think is interesting to consider are the cardinal sins associated with the other types that 8s are connected to. in raph’s case, it would be his wing, 7, with his stress and security numbers 5 and 2. the other cardinal sins in his main circle would be gluttony, greed, and pride respectively. when it comes to raph, 'gluttony' makes more sense in application than a 9's 'sloth', which contributes to why i disagree with him having a 9 wing.

sooooo, now that we’ve gone over a lot of information about 8s in general and some samplings of where i see an 8 in raph, i wanna look at three specific points in the series to just kinda pick up and turn around in my hands like a little puzzle box. i’m sorry, i know this is long just--AUGH. i could sit here and run characters through an enneagram lens all day, i'm the worst.

city at war

for me, city at war is a fantastic example of an 8 and a 1 colliding. this is also an arc i see discussed frequently, and often those talking about it have an easy time seeing the perspective of one brother but not the other. for complete disclosure, i’ve always been in raph’s court with this one; even as a kid i'm pretty sure i agreed with raph that they should stay out of the fight (but i’m also a 9, and we tend to avoid conflict of any kind however we can).

we’ll be talking about raph’s perspective here, obviously, and we’ll return to this arc in leo’s post to discuss it from his perspective. remember that one of the enneagram's uses as a tool is to grow in compassion for others and allow us to understand why they act and react the way they do.

a big thing to keep in mind when looking at this arc from raph's perspective as an 8 is that we need to look at the last time they dealt with the foot specifically. while there are five episodes between shredder’s supposed death in secret origins' ending (s2ep8) and city at war beginning (s2ep14), it’s important to consider the sheer weight of everything that lead up to this point and the amount of time passed as those events transpired. remember that an 8’s basic desire is to protect themselves--and the people they’ve come to care about--as well as determine their own course in life. the foot completely uprooted all of that for raph.

we’ll say the shredder strikes back (s1ep17) is the starting point. the boys may have faced the shredder for the first time in shredder strikes (s1ep10), but i don’t think they fully understood what the FUCK they were doing. because they’re fifteen year old boys. with weapons. they think they’re invincible. they’re very stupid, and it's a miracle master splinter hasn't developed like six ulcers.

shredder strikes back is a brutal wake up call to the fact that… NO, ACTUALLY, y'all are pretty fragile. this was the closest they’d probably come to having a family member taken from them. like, all things considered, leo should be dead. he was only “returned” to them on the brink of death to rub salt in the wound. and with the 8’s ability to sniff out who has the most power in a room, i doubt this detail was lost on raph. his brother is only still alive because shredder allowed it.

enough time passes for leo to recover, and we’re right back in new york using the fact we’re ‘dead’ to our advantage to take down shredder once and for all. the next three episodes all occur in the same night. but we did it! we’ve defeated shredder--we thought we’d gained control--but, just kidding, dad’s gone and disappeared.

our search for master splinter over the next few hours sends us to space. the next five episodes are desperately trying to get back to earth and their father. the turtles are in space for a few weeks, but only a few hours have passed on earth.

all of secret origins happens in the span of another few hours and ends with the shredder dying once and for all. he's totally dead, you guys. for real this time. no way in hell he survived that. ...foreshadowing is a literary device whe--

for us, that’s eighteen episodes (which if you were watching back in 2003 in the way the episodes were released would have not only been about eighteen weeks minimum, but the waiting period between two seasons as well). as viewers, it feels like a lot of time has passed. because it has. for them? that is a LOT of shit--again--over a relatively short period of time.

for an 8, this has been a ton of shaking around their control over their course in life. it’s been a huge threat to both their own security and that of the few people they hold dear. going from having to avoid their home and hiding away in april’s apartment, to almost losing leo, to almost losing splinter, to being blasted across the galaxy, discovering their ties to the shredder… but now. FINALLY. shredder is dead. they’re free! ...they should be free to once again determine their own course.

i can only imagine raph is eager to find some semblance of control and grounding again. the world has proven itself in many ways to be cruel and uncaring, just like he’d learned to believe. his 5 probably has him in a bit of a choke hold. and now, as the foot and the mob and the dragons are in a turf war, for SOME GODDAMN REASON his brother--who he almost lost--wants to get involved. raph, usually the first into the ring of conflict, slams the brakes on. this isn’t our fight, and we can just let them weaken each other and eat themselves alive. we gain safety by not involving ourselves, we have control again. to throw ourselves into that is risking another loss. returning to the cardinal sins, the 5’s greed/need to protect their resources and their energy, could very much be in full swing here.

8s and 1s are, unfortunately for everyone else involved, both types who unrelentingly believe they’re correct in an argument. and to back down from said argument could mean submitting to a part of their basic fear. raph’s 8 recognizes this as a moment for them to regain control of not only their own lives, but also as an opening to just let potential future enemies use up resources and wear each other out. and leo’s 1, as we’ll get to, refuses to listen to this on the base that it wouldn’t be right to sit back while people are getting hurt because of an imbalance ‘they caused’.

karai showing up in new york to take shredder’s place leading the foot (giving them a leader and direction again would be empowering them) was the final straw for raph. because what does he do? he isolates. fuck this shit: i’m out.

cards on the table? i’m not too keen that the narrative made it seem like leo was ‘right’ and raph was ‘wrong’, especially with casey stating that “the way he was raised, you fix your mistakes”… like… killing the shredder was a mistake. idk. clumsy choice of words on casey's part or mishandled writing, i'm not fond of it. and raph saying he was being an idiot at the end… honey, sweetie, darling, gravy, you were not being a full fledged idiot. you were both right and you were both wrong and you were both idiots; the situation is complicated and they can be both at once ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ gray is a value that exists, and you’re both grounded. equality.

anyway. next topic.

darkness within

this will be shorter than the last one because it’s more of a five minute encounter than a span of three episodes with a history, but i think it’s an interesting thing to look at anyway.

i know that from a meta perspective, raph’s nightmare in darkness within (s3ep14) was more a nod to another incarnation, but the fact his fear of becoming anything remotely like the shredder speaks to how self-aware of his anger he might be at this point in the series (note: this is not me saying ch’rell is also an 8; this is a warped fear that came from raph's subconscious, not a direct ‘prediction’ of things to come).

more in-depth views of the enneagram include the levels of development, which is a scale of one to nine how healthy or unhealthy the type is. at their healthiest, 8s can be described as self-surrendering and heroic. self-reliant and strong. self-confident and leading. but at their unhealthiest? 8s can become ruthless and dictatorial. megalomaniacal and terrorizing. sociopathic and destructive. sounds a lot like our favorite chewed up piece of stale cinnamon gum.

raph is aware that his anger--as well as his need to be strong and in control of his situation--could lead him down an even vaguely similar path. we saw glimpses of that, as i said, as early as episode four of the first season. losing grip and control of his temper and attacking mikey. his worst moment. the foot were barely even part of their lives at that point. that happened during what should have been a mundane little training session between brothers, where there was little to no outside influence. while not the shredder exactly, he is aware he has the potential to become something similar if he allows himself to give in to his anger and fears.

the first half of season four and leo’s… gestures vaguely

i think the last thing i want to talk about is the first half of season four and just generally dealing with leo at HIS worst. specifically cousin sid (s4ep1), i, monster (s4ep5), grudge match (s4ep6), samurai tourist (s4ep13), and scion of the shredder (s4ep15).

in cousin sid raph’s reaction to leo’s shift in attitude is, at first, positive. he goes as far as to jokingly state that karai should stab him more often if it means leo’s going to be less hesitant to fight (think his 7 wing was showing itself in that moment tbh; trying to make a joke out of something he shouldn’t have).

by i, monster, i think he’s started to notice that something’s wrong. he holds the others off as he recognizes that leo's fighting something more than just the rat king.

in grudge match, he starts to confront leo on his shift in attitude only to be interrupted by master splinter. by the time we get to samurai tourist, raph’s had it with this 'new leo'. he goes as far as saying leo's "going mental". mikey shuts this down (and boy, we'll get to that), but it's clear that raph's standing with leo has only gotten more and more tense.

i doubt it was intentional, as the writers focused more on leo’s handling of their final confrontation of the shredder, but… with all due respect to master splinter, i don’t agree with him when he later tells leo that his brothers have healed. i don’t think they’re in the unhealthy zone as deep as leo is, but given raph’s more negative and almost accusatory approach to leo’s state, i can’t help but tilt my head and see his 5’s influence beginning to color his perception. he’s having a hard time connecting. digging his heels in, becoming uncompromising. his 2 is hidden away and preventing him from showing vulnerability or gentleness toward leo's state. an 8’s antagonism can lead to self-sabotage when it comes to relationships, and leo’s reacting differently to raph’s attitude or not reacting at all. leo’s sudden change in attitude paired with any healing raph has left to do has likely raised his walls in a place he thought he was safe in. his 8, which is so focused on protecting himself, no longer feels like it has any control over the situation--he doesn’t know how leo’s going to act, how receptive leo will be to his own behavior, or even what to do to get leo “back”. and, obviously, leo’s worsening state is doing nothing to help any of this. raph's falling toward rejecting leo first so leo doesn’t have the chance to reject him. playing into that fear of dependency by continuing to push leo further away from him before leo has the chance to do the damage himself.

we see in scion of the shredder that he hasn’t completely given up; playing into his 7, mikey makes a coo-coo motion at his head in reference to leo and raph promptly smacks him for it. i think this says a few things: that raph took what mikey said in samurai tourist to heart and, because of that, he’s now at least trying to be more nuanced about leo’s state, verses basically having said the same thing mikey just did two episodes back… even if it might be ‘too late’ for that considering leo’s already had his worst moment and gone to japan.

when we roll around to prodigal son (s4ep16), raph’s likely on a big emotional ride over here. some of this i have to point at rushed writing and also the general vibe of early 2000s media, but some of it can also be directed at raph’s 8. we see him very briefly express “””weakness””” when leo assures him that the rest of the family is okay (he braces his hands on his knees), but upon returning to the reservoir station all the walls are right back up and he just walks right past don, who’s relieved to see him, and, boom, he’s right back on the attack--angry that the foot destroyed their home. defenses up. i’m not relieved, i was never worried, i was never scared, i’m just MAD.

conclusion

as mentioned in part 1, the two books i referenced and heavily pulled from in the more enneagram-focused sections of this project (the parts where the enneagram itself is explained rather than how it applies to the turtles) were:

the wisdom of the enneagram by don richard riso & russ hudson

the road back to you by ian morgan cron & suzanne stabile

gonna be real with you, lads, i have no idea how to properly close this out, i just looked at the page number and word count and muttered to myself "jesus christ; girl, shut up".

as i said at the start of this post, if i have anything to add/more observations regarding raph's 8 in the series i'll link them here as addendums.

for now, we're going to stay in the instinct triad and move over to leo. and from leo, we'll go to don because they both have a foot in the feeling/heart triad.

see you in the next one and, if you read all this, here's a platter of warm cookies of your favorite choice. and your favorite drink to wash it down. you're the realest.

#tmnt 2003 #tmnt 2k3 #tmnt raph #tmnt raphael #tmnt #;hannah's meta #;tmnt #;raphael #;tmnt enneagram #[ MY GOD ]#[ i am so sorry (i'm not) ]

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fandombird123 · 7 months

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My Opinion On Mortal Kombat 12

The good, the bad, and the salty.

Quick disclaimer, I am not at all a professional reviewer, this will not be formatted or written with any sense of professionalism. If you can not handle, openly simping, stupid meme references and jokes, cussing, very strong feminine opinions, or general NRS criticism maybe pass on this one.

First- Spoiler free game play advise:

Kitana's AI in story mode is brain dead, she'll be the easiest fight in the game.

Shao is pretty easy to beat as long as you don't let him hit you.

Hit boxes are wild and (maybe) broken. Basically you're gonna 'miss' a lot of shots you could have sworn you actually hit. Don't be surprised. Just keep attacking and eventually you'll land a hit.

NOW I will be spoiling the story. Sooooo SPOILDERS FROM THIS POINT ON.

The Good:

Kronika wasn't actually part of the story. Not gonna lie, they had me in the first half (I have more to say on this but those belong in the Bad and the Salty list).

Baraka, Bi Han, Reptile, Sareena, and Nitara can get it. Yes I'm being shameless right now. It's my blog.

FEMALE REPTILE! FEMALE REPTILE! (This skin better be available or I will have words)

I don't know if this was intentional, but having Sareena share a voice actress with Sindel was a cute call back to the two being originally played by the same actress during their OG games.

Baraka was really interesting and I hope he come back. He wasn't just some savage monster, he actually had a real personality and goals. It was a great evolution of his MK11 version (but I'll still miss MK11 Baraka). I want to see him progress more and get his own proper story line.

I have opinions about Hanzo in MK12, but I will compliment one thing. His new suit is bad ass. That's the only nice thing I will be saying about this topic.

Bi Han didn't die, I was quite pleasantly surprised.

With the Mortal Kombat competition never happening I believe this means Hydro is canonically alive. So Maybe Hydro in MK13?

Johnny and Kenshi's friendship was wholesome and I loved it. It was really the highlight of the game for me and I'm looking forward to another Johnny/Sonya/Kenshi team up.

The writers actually remembered Johnny's divorce. I'm shook.

Smoke is adorable and got to live through the story. I'm so proud of him and he deserves the world.

Evil Sindel's outfit was 11/10... if only there was a way to unlock it (I'll get to that later)

I like the Special Forces characters, but it was nice to get a short break from them. Gave us some time with other characters. That said I want them in the next game. I'm missing Sonya, Jax, and Kano already.

While I'm not a huge fan of the base skins (they're not bad, just not great) I loved a lot of the alternative skins shown off in the storymode look amazing and I'm hoping they're unlockable.

I was incredibly happy Raiden's old voice actor came back for this game. I'm not sure when he'll get to play Raiden again so it was nice to see him take up the roll one more time.

I liked that you could pick which character you played in the ending.

The Bad:

First thing is first: there are microtransactions. WHY DID I PAY 60 DOLLARS FOR A GAME IF THERE WERE GOING TO BE GOD DAMN MICROTRANSACTIONS?????????? Boon???? Why??? It'd day 1 and there's already god dang microtransactions. Like I guess it's nice that the invasion is available, but charging me 60$ and then asking for more is stupid.

The AI really puts the i in idiot. Basically it's bad. I know I originally mentioned Kitana's AI (since that's who it's the worst with in my opinion) but I also had an issue with Ashrah and Baby Raiden. They will literally walk backwards until they hit the end of the stage, of if they can fly they'll just jump in the air and stay there. Even on the harder difficulties the game felt too easy. I have lost a total of two fights between both the story mode and invasion.

It feels a bit manipulative that the whole 'tournament' that was heavily featured in the trailers only lasted maybe about 1/3 of the actual plot. It was such a nothing plot point, you could probably cut it out and it wouldn't be missed. Yet that was the only real plot point we saw in the trailer.

Jerrod's death is never explained. He was just killed, but apparently by no one of relevance. He just fell and couldn't even get back up.

They REALLY went with Evil Bi Han, which doesn't even make sense. Let me explain, as far as we know Bi Han has no reason to hold the opinions he does. Human opinions don't exist in an echo chamber. His father was against his ideas, his brothers were against his ideas, everyone around him was against his ideas. Where in the hell did this come from???? I would have understood if maybe if Shang Tsung had been slowly manipulating him throughout the game, but Bi Han was already on that 'f#ck them gods' juice since the beginning of the game (which is a mindset I very much indorse). (Okay I just thought about it but what if instead Quan Chi had used Sareena to try and tempt Bi Han over to their side. As in he sends her in infiltrate the Lin Kuei and get close to Bi Han so she can talk him into turning on Liu Kang, but has she spends more time in the Lin Kuei and with Kuai Liang and Bi Han she starts to have a change of heart and kind of has a sort of Mythologies arc where she begins to understand human feelings and gets attached to them. Having her then join the good guys and tries to undo her manipulation on Bi Han. Sorry idea rant. Back to the review.) MY POINT is that as far as we know there is no one who could have influenced Bi Han in this way. It just doesn't make sense why he thinks this. At least with Shang Tsung and Quan Chi it made sense since 1. They were manipulated and 2. Liu Kang actually f#cked them over and they had a valid reason to be mad. Bi Han had no given reason to hate Liu Kang other then he didn't like his clan being under the god's boot (WHICH I MEAN IS KIND OF VALID).

They didn't even have the balls to let Bi Han murder his his own father. "I didn't help save him!" WTF does that mean???? Did Bi Han just wait to long to call 911??? Did Bi Han watch him fall off a cliff? What does that mean?

NRS Writers have yet again created a situation that made me have to sit there and wonder if we were really on the good guys side. There were a few points where the "bad guys" said something that made me pause and be like "wait, let's hear them out". Often times that makes Liu Kang look like kind of a d!ck since he did design this timeline. See this post here for more of my feelings on this. Examples:

Ashrah confronted Nitara and Nitara explained she just wanted to save her people but apparently we're siding with Ashrah, the woman who's magic sword told her to commit murder to "cleanse her soul". Not Nitara, the woman who's people are incredibly ill and at risk of dying (ALSO WHO ASHRAH ADMITTED TO KILLING).

After Sindel tells Rain that he was like a son to her (a relationship we never get to see) Rain made a comment about how Sindel limited him. I actually what to know what he's talking about. He could just be being a salty bitch, but we don't know since this comment is never explained. Plus Sindel in intros has been shown to be rather cruel if she viewed it to be in her benefit, so what Rain was referring to might have happened. She might have nerfed the demi-god if she viewed his as a threat, but we'll never know since this is never explained.

I think Mileena's outfit is too pink. Her color has always kind of been this purplish pink color and I think the color they picked was just too pink and not purple enough. X had this issue too but we're not talking about that one right now.

The whole 2nd half of the plot was honestly a whole mess. It just completely went all bonkers. I don't even have words. It's like they had two different writing teams and switched mid way through the plot with no communication back and fourth. While I'm glad Kronika wasn't back the actual plot twist was somehow worse. It just felt like to much and felt very unsatisfying in the end.

Mileena and Tanya's relationship feels more like Kitana x Jade then Mileena x Tanya. It feel like the writers wanted to do Kitana x Jade but got told no and just wrote Mileena and Tanya in the roles instead.

Hanzo... Now this. I'm not going to repeat myself so to see how I feel about this in context of how it effect Hanzo as a character go here. I will go over some other issues I don't talk about in that post. The fact Kuai Liang's first canonical love interest is Hanzo's dead wife is something so rage inducing I'm not sure how to put it into words. Kuai Liang has never had his own thing, he has his brother's title, his father's powers, he remade his old clan, and now even his wife was another's before she was his. As a long time fan of Kuai Liang the only reasonable response to this I can have is disappointed. I'm just disappointed in NRS's handling of this character and their clumsy recreation of Hanzo rather then just including Hanzo in the game. Even in a new timeline NRS is to scared to try something too new. It's different but not different enough to mean anything. Just an endless circle of the same story they told two timelines ago. I really don't have the words to properly express the storm of unpleasant emotions this plot point causes me. It just sucks.

Sub Zero vs Scorpion has gotten old. This is all.

The Salty:

(This is just things that annoy me personally and I don't really view as actual criticism. Ignore this part if you don't care about mindless ranting)

I don't like this Mileena. She feels nothing like her previous self and I'm just not a fan. There's none of her fun loving, but creepy, personality she had before. I kind of get why but as a hardcore Mileena simp I just don't like the change.

I didn't unlock a single new outfit during storymode and that's very frustrating given the amount of unlockables we got in MK11.

Since when has Bi Han been a blood purest??? That seemed stupid.

I don't like Sindel's story mode outfit. Hers in particular I'm not a fan of.

I hate this version of Ashrah. She seems to self righteous for my liking. Plus her blaming Quan Chi for her sister's deaths when SHE was the one who killed them kind of annoyed me.

Honestly overall 4/10 story wise and maybe I'll post about the invasion later, but I don't know.

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #non fic post #bi han #sub zero #kuai liang #rain #mk rain #mortal kombat 1 spoilers #review post #opinion post #scorpion #sareena #mk sareena

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multifairyus · 1 year

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Brelwyn Story Playlists Volume II: After Dark

Hey! Haven’t heard the Brelwyn Story Playlists Volume I: Rise and Fall, Of Our Own Volition (O3V) and Demonia’s Descent (DD)? Interested in my explicit content disclaimer/behind the scenes for Volume II? Wanna read about my canon BM timeline divergence headcannons that inspired this fanwork?

You’re up to date with all that? You don’t care about any of that and came for the spice? You appreciate the dynamic between Briana and Selwyn and want to see it explored in musical medium? You’re grown and sexy? You like expanding your music taste? You’re a fan of my playlists (@ficnoire2 @poisonousflora @thoughtfulbearpanda @justbrainrot @sweetestblacktea 😘)?

Excellent, then you’re in the right place 💖

*~*~*~*

Start, Stop…

Summary: In which a King and her Kingsmage fight and make up with each other.

Continuity: Directly follows the developments of O3V. Directly proceeds the developments of AEIB. Features a couple tracks from DD and familiar phrases and concepts from O3V.

Genre: Heavy R&B and neo soul, with a hint of pop for emphasis.

Duration: 2 hours, 40 minutes (I’m sorry)

Transition: Exclusively Joel Sunny violin covers. Denotes emotional shifts in relationship status.

Prologue: First five tracks.

Epilogue: Last two tracks.

AO3 Tags: #aged up characters #kiss and make up #but not before they roll in the hay a bit #mature content rating #dream sex if you squint #established couple #for realsies this time #Nickbree/OT3 shippers…are you lost or? #lol but fr no Nick disparaging but it is addressed and resolved sooo #avert your eyes sorry not sorry #if I had a nickel #for every time Beyoncé heralds a fundamental shift in Brelwyn’s relationship in these playlists #I’d have two nickels #which isn’t a lot #but it makes perfect sense that it happened twice #BeeHive 🤝🏾 BreeHive #I swear O3V wasn’t a fakeout #I just forgot I was dealing with two stubborn idiots oml #does their fight in this make sense? #do their canon fights make sense? #sort of and sometimes #but whatever the arguing is foreplay regardless #I do think she won lowkey #Rihanna is not the one or two to play with and neither is Bree #speaking of which #hello there demonia Sel #you’re sounding awfully angsty and sappy in this playlist #wanna play the long game #and let her do what she wants #until she begs you to come out and play? #excellent, good, good…

Spotify

Apple Music

YouTube Playlist

*~*~*~*

…And Everything In Between

Summary: A playlist in which a King and her Kingsmage fight are willing to take turns, as long as it’s with each other.

Continuity: Directly follows the developments of SS. Heavily features an artist from DD in particular.

Genre: Mix of R&B, electropop, and urban contemporary with a pinch of rock and pop for seasoning

Duration: 3 hours, 33 minutes (I am so sorry)

Transition: Power Haus violin song covers denote the start of a “turn” while Joel Sunny violin covers denote the end of a “turn”.

Prologue: First two tracks.

Epilogue: Last four tracks.

AO3 Tags: #aged up characters #explicit content warning #kink #BDSM #switch4switch #power dynamics #edging #erotic asphyxiation #bondage #just because I’d fold like fresh laundry for Sel doesn’t mean Bree would #Selwyn Kane is a slut first #part incubus second #and a dramatic Gemini classics major third #of course he’d sub for Briana #you can read (hear?) it as bratty bottom4service top too ig #Janet and Abel really deserve to be co-curators as much as they feature in this #this curator disavows any and all references to infidelity along with certain honorifics used within tracks #shhh just ignore those lines for immersion’s sake #they are in love, fucking, officially together and trauma bonded #this could have been even more intense believe it or not #even still #if I made the aftercare more than one song each #it would be over the 4 hour mark #the epilogue covers the tonal range in Brelwyn’s sexual dynamic in a nutshell #in case the whole “taking turns” thing flew over your head somehow

Spotify

Apple Music

YouTube Playlist

kthxbai

~ Fairy 💖

#brelwyn #selbree #breesel #legendborn #bloodmarked #the legendborn cycle #selwyn kane #briana matthews #sel x bree #bree x sel #playlist #otp playlist #smut playlist #story playlist #smut #Brelwyn’s tonal range for smut is actually insane and I feel like I covered it all #I’ve done all I can do #and now…I wait #pls tag me in any discussion theories fanart fanfic all of it

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nice-to-meet-you-im-a-crytid · 4 months

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How To Be a Magical Girl (Introduction)

This is an introduction to my original story as the title states. This will not be a comprehensive lore dump just a ramble of what the story is like and the many (many inspirations behind it

Disclaimers: This is a story in EXTREMELY EARLY production, This is mostly for fun and for me as a writer to both build a fanbase around my work and get used to jotting down ideas.

Inspirations: I'm staring with my inspirations for the story since they heavily explain where I was heading for pretty much the rest of the story.

First really big one is the anime Madoka Magica, so there's a lot of cutesy-ness mixed with body horror and some darker themes too in my writing. This also effects my art style quite a bit if you've seen any of my work on my tumblr page. Of course there's the magical girl aspect and an obvious school setting. Speaking of school settings my other inspiration would have to be My Hero Academia. I'm mostly referring to the slice of life/school aspects and the earlier class focused episodes. I think the world building in My Hero is really cool and I think it shows quite a bit in my own world. Also the technical aspects of becoming a hero in the earlier episodes have given me a good idea of how I'd like my own story's made up profession to work on it's own technical scale.

Setting/Plot:

How To Be a Magical Girl is a novel in the works centered around the coming of age stories of a large cast of girls (15-16 yr olds) who go to a magical school and as the title states learn how to be a magical girl both as a job and as people. One really big theme is light academia which includes love of learning, friendship, and overall loving life. Another is also perspective as many of the mini stories are written is different POVs and hopefully if I can get a book or two into the world each one would also be in a different POV. This does lead to a large cast of characters all of which have different backgrounds, cultures, and unique dynamics with each other along with different places in each others stories. This is also one big coming of age story which is very dear to me as I, myself am coming of age as a young author, so this story is a huge reflection on my own experiences. The biggest most prevalent theme besides light academia is trauma and more importantly healing! The main monsters that these magical girls fight in fact come from trauma and each of the girls have their own troubles to work through along the course of the story. The literal setting of the book is of course the school: St. Amia's International School for girls! Pretty much think Hogwarts but made of quartz. Legit though lots inspiration came from European design and architecture (Scottish castles, French Chateaus, etc.) in alignment with the book's theme. Here is link to the Pinterest mood board Worldbuilding: Obviously there is magic in this world. It takes place a couple hundred years into the future, magic is very well integrated into the modern world, i.e it's used as an energy source, magical creatures are common place across the world, it's even a normal and often required course in schools. Magic itself is a learned skill that all people can have the ability to advance in and excel at. My best analogy for it is it's like sports, if you run everyday you gradually get better and you could even make it a profession with enough training. And also like sports there are certain skills and abilities that are better for each one, flexibility and strength are both good for all sports but would be best used and trained in particular ones. This also translates over to types of magic and skills. (These are not the best comprehensive notes of my story's world so I might make an in depth post for the whole thing, tell me in the comments if this gets enough attraction!)

If this post somehow reaches you and maybe you even like it give it a reblog so others can have the chance to find it too in mess of an algorithm. And maybe even leave a comment if you'd like to see more from me!

☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

#original story #notes #story writing #my writing #worldbuilding #Please Tumblr gods have mercy on my post o(TヘTo)#How to be a Magical Girl #light academia #magical girl #urban fantasy

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mephystophyles · 2 years

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"For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made." (Psalm 139:13) "Yet you are he who took me from the womb; you made me trust you at my mother's breasts. On you was I cast from my birth, and from my mother's womb you have been my God." (Psalm 22:9-10) "Did not he who made me in the womb make him? And did not one fashion us in the womb?" (Job 31:15) Also, when Mary visits her pregnant cousin Elizabeth, she says "For behold, when the sound of your greeting came to my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy." (Luke 1:44) These are only a few examples. In Genesis, when God made ADAM, the first man, *his* life began with the breath of God. After that, we see a great deal of examples in the Bible that either outright say or heavily imply that God forms us and knows us IN OUR MOTHER'S WOMB. And just as a disclaimer, I am not disagreeing with your stance on abortion - I am saying your arguments that use Scripture need strengthening, because what you are currently saying is not true. Wishing you a good day, and God bless.

Okay, but literally none of those are about abortion. They're mentioning that babies are developed in the womb.

Exodus 21:22 is, however, a part of the Bible that actually does mention the fetus.

“When people who are fighting injure a pregnant woman so that there is a miscarriage, and yet no further harm follows, the one responsible shall be fined what the woman’s husband demands, paying as much as the judges determine. If any harm follows, then you shall give life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, stripe for stripe.”

This is fascinating because it outlines specific punishments for specific crimes. If a pregnant person is hurt in a struggle and then has a miscarriage, the penalty is a fine, a mere financial payment. But, if there is further harm, likely meaning the person has long-term and serious injuries or even dies, then the culprit could be killed.

Granted, the story has somewhat limited application to the current abortion debate since it deals with accidental and not willful pregnancy termination. Even so, the distinction made between the pregnant person and the fetus is important. The pregnant individual is valued as a person under the convenant; the fetus is valued as property. Its status is certainly inferior to that of the pregnant person.

This passage gives no support to the parity argument that gives equal religious and moral worth to the pregnant person and fetus.

In other words, the life and well-being of the pregnant person, is of much greater significance than those of their unborn child.

Furthermore, an excerpt from Numbers 5:11-31 actually mentions a ritual involving "bitter water" that will induce a miscarriage. This ritual, by the way, was conducted by a priest:

"He shall make the woman drink the bitter water... The priest is to take from her hands the grain offering, wave it before the Lord and bring it to the altar. The priest is then to take a handful of the grain offering as an offering and burn it on the altar; after that, he is to have the woman drink the water. When she is made to drink the water... it will enter her, her abdomen will swell and her womb will miscarry"

In terms of the Bible, other than the bit about life beginning at first breath, that is about it. We can dig away at some other scriptural references to try to justify various positions on this issue, but they’re all somewhat tenuous and none of them make an ironclad argument. It’s not that the Bible demands abortion rights, more that it simply doesn’t have anything pertinent to say about the subject.

Of course, if opponents of abortion were genuinely to live by the commandment that we must never kill, they would oppose wars, the military, the death penalty, and policies that lead directly to poverty, hunger, ill health, and death. To the contrary, the anti-abortion movement has become increasingly politically conservative over the years—it was, for example, one of the bulwarks of the Donald Trump presidency—and tends to be solidly behind the military and an aggressive foreign policy. It’s usually supportive of the death penalty as well. Contradiction and inconsistency. Abortion isn’t murder, murder is murder. Abortion isn’t a holocaust, the Holocaust was a holocaust.

A person's right to choose is a person's right to choose, and it’s downright unbiblical to try to twist scripture to argue against it.

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purity-town · 2 years

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In place of an update this week, I wanted to get out a little something for pride month before June is over! Specific identities are listed below the cut :)

From left to right-

Becca: She’s pansexual! I wanted to give each character a unique way to show their pride colors, so she got some paints -- no real reason for it, other than that I think it’s fun and suits her :) Her current interest of sorts would be the local lihzahrd, but that doesn’t mean she can’t look respectfully at other folks.

Andrew: Andrew is biromantic and sits vaguely-hand-waving somewhere on the ace spectrum, but prefers to take his identity as it manifests in the moment rather than concern himself with specific labelling. His last relationship was more of a queerplatonic partnership in any case! I also like to view Andrew as trans, but as it would have been so many years since he transitioned, I can just as reasonably see him as cis -- I’ve purposely avoided giving pronouns in-comic to Andrew as a child and kept his appearance fairly gender neutral in such appearances, specifically to keep it ambiguous so that both interpretations work.

Chris: Chris is nonbinary! His personal relationship with gender leans more heavily into gender euphoria than dysphoria, where he’s comfortable with a masculine appearance and prefers he/him pronouns, but still likes being pretty and feminine and getting to show that side of him as well. He’s only interested in men, and while the terminology he prefers can vary in gendering depending on the exact scenario, he would still consider himself to be gay and is fine with being called someone’s boyfriend or a “man” in a general sense as long as everyone’s on the same page about how he actually relates to such terms.

Malik: Compared to Chris, I have less to say about Malik, haha. He’s bisexual, leans more towards women, and tends to play into that side of things more. He and Heather the nurse have their whole thing going on currently, though Malik has some history of flirt-etc. with quite a few folks around the region. So he gets a little flag to wave around -- he’s not denying his identity, he’s just not very outward about it.

Alalia: By virtue of being a Dryad -- by nature a creation of Terraria, one who interprets and enacts her will -- Alalia doesn’t really fit into the typical human perceptions of gender and attraction. Dryads don’t have such concepts; Alalia wouldn’t fight against being considered a woman or whatever similar, considering her appearance and the fact that Dryads and Terraria are referred to using feminine terminology, but she doesn’t have a personal stake in the matter and just goes with it for simplicity. Likewise, she’s aro-ace -- she doesn’t tend to form close connections anyways, by virtue of her age and being so fundamentally different than those she meets -- and doesn’t experience attraction in any case. The specific pride flags she’s got in her coloring are agender, aromantic, and asexual.

And there we go! Quick disclaimer of course that anyone can interpret the characters as they appear in PT however they want -- the comic will never really outline things in such clear terms as the above, haha. And I love it when people can have fun and come up with their own ideas based on the stuff I make. This is just how I view the characters and what I have in mind while writing them, and I wanted to do a fun little thing for pride month before it was over to show that! :)

#Purity Town #terraria #not an update

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momobani · 2 years

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THE SECRET TO THE ART OF BEING A NUISANCE

If Your Winter Is Hard - Chapter 3 - 14.1k

medium!minghao x exorcist!reader

SERIES MASTERLIST

Warnings: exorcism(duh!); discussion of ghosts + death, reference to death of family members, light violence/ fighting, mention of guns, mention of grief, mention of suicide, mention of food and alcohol consumption

Sum: you seem to find a new friend whilst an old one won’t leave you alone.

A/N: something a little more slice of life and chilled since I think we had a little too much angst last chapter haha, a little on the longer side again oops. The song rec is ‘I got ya’ by Jung Yong Hwa from the SYHH OST cuz it’s awesome and it’s now on Netflix so you best believe I’m re-watching it.

Point of reference for series: Sell Your Haunted House (and Hotel Del Luna but to a lesser extent, both amazing dramas, go watch).

Disclaimer: lot of creative licence here lol, influenced by and used a lot of ideas from Sell Your Haunted House (e.g the setting, certain plot points and prop ideas) with some adaptation, some general/ stereotypical things about exorcism you can learn from mainstream media, nothing too intricate. [seriously go watch SYHH cuz it’s incredible and underrated af and I just had to pay homage to it somehow, so here’s a whole ass fic inspired by it haha]

You slip in and out of consciousness. A distorted recollection of sounds, movements and sensations overlapping and mismatching the way the wrong puzzle pieces don’t fit together to create the bigger picture. All you know is that you make it home, into your bed and fall asleep heavily, the way gravity takes over a falling object.

Some time in the midst of your sleep, you do wake and crack your eyes open just a smidge, to check that indeed you are still alive. You’re about to drift off again but a purple blob in your peripheral vision makes you do a double take. You edge your head towards it slightly and focus. You find a sleeping lump on the floor beside your bed, the loose bedding from your spare room, covered by your sister’s purple sheets, dragged into yours and him tucked under the duvet, still in his long coat, his boots and yours discarded haphazardly by the door.

Minghao.

You just blink and close your eyes, going back to sleep.

The way your head thumps is worse than a post frat party hangover. You roll over with a grunt and slide to a sitting position, not trusting your body to keep you upright yet. Minghao is gone, the purple bedding folded up neatly and left on top of your empty desk. You wonder briefly if he went home like the first time he slept over, but you hear a loud clang coming from the kitchen.

You shuffle down the hallway, the smells and sounds reach you before you reach the room, the door left open. You see Minghao with his back turned to you as he stands at the stove, a pan on the heat and steaming away.

“You’re awake?” He says, glancing at you over his shoulder. You’re confused, not saying anything but humming in response. “Good, I was starting to get worried. Thought you’d be hungry, you like fried eggs?�� He asks, but it doesn’t matter, he’s made the effort already and you appreciate it, even if this is the second time he’s meddling in your kitchen unprompted.

“Are you going to say something?” He asks, his voice quiet and the sizzling of the pan’s contents almost drowns it out. You want to but your mouth feels dry and heavy, jaw locked. Still, you try.

“Thank you.” You say, throat still raw.

“Not what I meant, but you’re welcome.” He turns off the heat. He starts looking around for something but can’t seem to find it. “Where are your plates?”

“Bottom left.” You instruct. You mean the low cupboard to his left. He bends, scanning for the plates but the light barely reaches there and he struggles to see. He crouches, folding himself up like a little frog about to jump away and finally finds what he’s looking for.

“It’s so damn dark in here, how do you even see.” He mutters. “Seriously, you’re damaging your eyes like this.” He nags. You’re just standing there, looking at him, the way you watch daytime TV without engaging with it.

“It’s light enough.” Then you reach for the cutlery drawer. Minghao has the same idea and your hands land on the handle at the same time, pinkies brushing as you pull at it. You move your hand away, not wanting to draw attention to your bruised and bloody knuckles. You pluck out two forks and let him shut it after you.

The two of you sit at your weathered table with the plate of fried eggs between you. You’d find it odd, being comfortable to have breakfast with someone you’re not close with yet, but you didn’t have the energy to find it awkward, didn’t have the brain power to overanalyse the situation due to the grogginess of your present state.

“You want to talk about it?” He asks after you’ve started to nibble on a piece of egg. You hesitate for a second. Maybe because his tone is soft, gentle almost, as if he’s coaxing a tiny animal out of its cage for the first time. But no, you didn’t. It’s not easy to admit you broke down even if he could see that. So you shake your head. “Okay.”

You eat for a minute. But it’s bugging you.

“What happened after I left?” You inquire after struggling to stop yourself. Minghao chews, as if considering it, then puts his fork down.

“Hmm, there was a tense silence. You sure know how to make an exit.” He says jokingly, but you can tell he’s not making fun of you. “We were debating going after you but Jeonghan said to give you space. So everyone kind of left after that.”

“But you came anyway.” Your words hang in the stuffy air of your basement. “Why?” Minghao shrugs.

“Intuition. I felt like something bad might happen if I didn’t.” He says simply. “I’d remembered that photo of you and your sister at the beach. I saw it when I was here.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“And let you freeze out there by yourself?” He raises his eyebrows at you accusingly. His face softens after a moment. “I mean, you just hired me, what kind of employee would I be if I let my boss die of hypothermia on the first day.”

“I guess.”

You finish the eggs then down some painkillers with a warm glass of water. You’re starting to feel like a person again. Minghao stacks the plate next to the sink and turns to you.

“Listen, I have a class to teach in a bit, but how about after I come pick you up and we go to IKEA?”

You almost sputter with confusion, the water incredibly close to going down the wrong way.

“IKEA? Out of nowhere, why?” You ask.

“No offence but, uh,” he pauses.

“If you start a sentence with ‘no offence’ there’s probably going to be a lot of offence.” You find it in yourself to sass back.

“Okay, fine. Full offence but your kitchen is way too dark, you don’t have enough mugs and that bookcase looks like it’s about to collapse.” He juts his chin toward the bookshelf that takes up the farthest wall of the room, its shelves stuffed to the brim with books bulging to the point of bursting. You lick your lips.

“I’m not offended. It’s pretty constructive criticism. But I’ll decline.”

“What are you going to do instead?” He persists. “Go back to bed?”

“Jeez,” you sigh. When he said it like that, it sounded a little pathetic. “You don’t have to be like that.”

“Like what? I’m just trying to get you to go outside, the fresh air will help.” You watch him for a moment; his face is neutral, as if he’s only speaking factually than persuasively. There’s a part of you that agrees with him and knows he’s right but it’s still annoying.

“Yeah, I’m sure that new furniture smell will work its wonders.” You deadpan at him, voice coloured with sarcasm. “Alright. Let’s go. I like shopping therapy anyway.”

“Good, I’ll see you later.”

You see him out, then shower. The heat of the water cleanses you inside and out, it warmth caressing your skin and you watch as the dried blood from your knuckles slides down the drain. When you get out with the steam following you, you open the tiny cabinet above the sink and something falls out immediately. You pick it up.

A new pack of plasters.

There’s also antiseptic and some bandage dressing.

You feel an overwhelming warmth, unbearable hotness even, and you blame it on how steamy your shower was before leaving the bathroom.

While you wait, you find yourself in the upstairs office, reading through some files on recent cases involving vengeful spirits while a series of worried texts from Seungkwan ping your phone in succession. You text him once to say you’re fine and leave it at that. He doesn’t know much about why you are the way you are with Jeonghan and you’d rather keep it that way.

Minghao offers to drive again and you let him when he guessed you were tired. It was a good call since if you were behind the wheel, you’d have crashed already. All because something is immensely weird about him when he comes back. The car is filled with an incessant noise and it’s starting to drive you crazy: Minghao’s voice.

He talks rapidly, switching from topic to topic as the conversation (you’re not sure you can call it that since you haven’t actually said anything) morphs and grows. It’s an endless monologue and he goes from the weather (“It’s so cold for mid October, it must be one of those climate change effects.”), to the traffic (“I swear this road is never that busy, what is going on today? Just look at that!”), then about his class and how his students are bailing on him (“There’s just less and less and I’m wondering where the hell are they all going?”), circling back to the traffic when a car cuts across your lane (“Motherfucking asshole, you call that driving? Fucking stay in your lane, you piece of shit!”) and by that point you’re for the most part mentally checked out.

It’s like he compiled a lifetime of things to say and decided to unburden them on you all of a sudden. He’s like one of those pro-drivers doped up on caffeine and the nervous shaking starts to kick in except with Minghao it’s just him running his mouth like it’s an Olympic sport.

It’s somewhere at the intersection before the retail park that he realises what he’s doing.

“What the hell is wrong with me? I can’t stop talking, I swear I haven’t talked this much in the past week combined. I have no idea where this is all coming from.”

“You could become one of those Soundcloud rappers. Like Vernon.” You mutter absentmindedly.

You’re waiting at a red light, your car at the front of the line. You watch as it goes from red, to amber to green. Then it hits you.

“Oh my god, it’s the ghost!” You exclaim, your brain finally starting to shift gears. Minghao jumps slightly at your sudden outburst, trying his best to keep the wheel steady. “Of course it is, how could I have not figured it out, yet?” You mentally slap yourself. It made so much sense.

“Don’t scare the driver while the car is in motion!” He grips the steering wheel harder, visibly stressed.“What are you talking about? I’m not possessed anymore.” He pulls the car into a parking spot.

“Sometimes there are side effects, well more like after effects of an exorcism. There’s usually the ghost’s last memory that goes to the exorcist, though occasionally to the medium, and more rarely, there’s certain habits in the ghost’s life that stick to the exorcist or the medium afterward.” You explain, finally getting a word in edgewise. “For example, one time I kept craving chewing gum out of nowhere. Yesterday, I saw the memory but it seems that you picked up how talkative that lady was.”

“Great, that’s just amazing.” Minghao groans, his head banging against the headrest. “Tell me it goes away, I can’t stand it anymore.”

“You’ll be fine, it does go away after a few hours.” You reassure him. “Might have to buy duct tape but it’ll be fine.” You say under your breath as you both get out the car.

It’s drizzling slightly, the skies grey and heavy with the promise of more rain so you walk quickly towards the store. You pass a tiny locksmith shop in the retail park and something makes your feet stop short. You think of the spare key under your camellia pot, considering stopping by but you decide against it. There was nothing wrong with the actual locks, it was just Jeonghan abusing the key’s hiding spot.

Minghao notices you’ve stopped and paces back two steps.

“What is it?”

“Remind me to put the spare key in the bird feed.” You say to him. He looks perplexed but shrugs and you continue walking.

The store is hardly bustling but there’s a number of people around. While you walk around, time just passes by like a breeze. You end up arguing about which bookcase would suit the living room better, and you end up getting a matching set of three; two Billies and a Brimnes since there’s enough space along that wall to line the them up.

Your trolley gets fuller with a set of four tea cups (Färglar), a tea pot at Minghao’s insistence (Hembjuden), and a lamp that materialises while you’re not looking at the trolley (Tårgarp). You start to suspect that Minghao has a hidden agenda and he just subtly wants to redecorate your house.

You were busy looking at a metal lantern for candles. It just seemed like it would fit in with how ancient everything was in your house.

“Oh c’mon, it’s a little tacky, no?” Minghao protests when you add it to the trolley.

“Hey, don’t chat shit about Borbry.” You put your hands on either side of lantern, pretending it has ears. Minghao exhales dramatically.

“Fine, at least get two because one lantern isn’t going to solve the problem.”

You frown but ultimately concede and pull another one off the shelf, then take a good look at what you’ve already compiled and notice a box that says ‘Störtskön’. You look closer and raise your eyebrows.

“Scented tea lights? Really?” You examine the photo of little Bordeaux coloured candles.

“It’s for the vibes.”

“Are you inviting yourself to my house for tea?”

“Maybe.” Minghao evades the question by pushing the trolley and continuing down the aisle. His nonchalance makes you snort with disbelief. Now you were sure he had an agenda; he was just redecorating his new work place. You roll your eyes and follow him.

There’s nothing else you can think of needing to get while you’re there so you line up at the checkout. The cashier is an older lady with shiny white hair and a pair of spectacles. You think the way they perch on the bridge of her nose makes her look like an owl, wise and wide-eyed.

“Hello there, dears. Is that all for you today?” She asks sweetly and you muster up a genuine smile.

“Yes, thank you.” And you let Minghao bag things while you pay.

“That’s a nice ring, sugar, did your husband get it for you?” She asks, nodding her head toward Minghao as you put your card in the machine. You look up in surprise. In your peripheral vision you spy that Minghao’s ring is also on display as deals with the bags.

“Huh-”

“Oh you must be newly weds, look at you two! How lovely! Hey, let me get you two darlings a coupon. It’s so hard for young people these days-”

Minghao starts to open his mouth, obviously to attempt to protest, but you click your tongue quietly and nudge him with your foot. She looks way too happy to believe that and you don’t have the heart to say anything. He stops mid-breath and clamps his lips shut. And you pay and accept the piece of paper with a smile, teeth shiny on display.

“Aww, thank you ma’am, that’s so sweet! You have a good day now. Let’s go, honey.” You start to prod Minghao toward the door.

“All that for a coupon?” Minghao hisses through his teeth as you leave the store, pushing the trolley with your bags and boxed bookcases.

“Oh calm down.”

“You conned an old lady! Why did you do that for?” He asks accusingly. You scoff at the audacity of his question.

“Please, I didn’t con her; she assumed and didn’t give us time to correct her.” You explain. “Besides, she looked happy thinking we were some cute couple. Let her. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” And it stings, the conviction with which you say that. You knew better than anyone else to let people live under their own illusions - after all, those who didn’t believe in ghosts lived happier lives for the most part.

“Whatever. Next time you con someone, count me out, honey.” He huffs as he opens the trunk. His words ring out with an air of annoyance and it peeves you. You load the car and decide to drive on the way back.

The ride is silent.

You’re almost grateful the after effects of the exorcism are wearing off but you’d much preferred it when Minghao couldn’t shut up to this silence. You can hear yourself breathe and whilst usually it wouldn’t bother you, today it did.

“Are you that mad?” You ask him after a while. Minghao is staring out the window. It’s raining heavily now, the drops hitting the glass and sliding down the surface rapidly. He responds to the sound of your voice.

“Wha- No. Of course not, I already forgot about that. I was just thinking.” He says. You feel his eyes on you, inquisitive and quiet. It makes you feel observed. You guess he wants to ask something and you think you can predict what it is. You sigh as you stop at a red light.

“Just ask. I don’t care.” You keep your eyes on the road. Minghao shifts a little, adjusting his seat belt even though it clearly wasn’t bothering him.

“Who is Jeonghan, really? And why do you hate him so much?” His voice is soft and unimposing, and whilst you predicted the subject of the query, you didn’t predict the way he asked. He had asked this morning if you wanted to talk about it, but you’d assumed it was about the running away and going a little crazy, not specifically about him.

Nonetheless, it makes you hesitate since you don’t know where to begin and where to stop about Jeonghan.

“I don’t hate him.” You find yourself pondering the origin and verity of the statement. The light switches to green and you rev the engine.

“You don’t?”

“No. It’s complicated.” And you hate that you sound so vague but there’s no other way to even start trying to explain. Your think your heart starts to twist in your chest but you answer. “Jeonghan was part of our firm. A while ago.” You say carefully. “My aunt had taken him in as an apprentice after my sister introduced him.”

You remember so distinctly meeting him for the first time. His hair was this light brown shade and he wore a thick, black parka, his hands stuffed in its pockets. You were still in high school back then, your sister in college, but you’d been helping in the office for years already.

You were standing on the staircase, looking down at the three of them. Jeonghan noticed you first and sent a smile your way, his eyes crinkling. Somewhere in the back of your mind you wondered, was he going to stick around? It was clear your sister liked him a lot, but it didn’t matter how much you liked or loved someone, they would still leave you.

You’d learned that when your parents had left you to grow up in the office with your grandparents and aunt. You’d wondered if Jeonghan was going to be like your family too that day.

“He and my sister were close. They were dating but they tried not to show it.” You feel the corner of your mouth tug up at the memory. You don’t realise that you’re already parked in front of the house but you stay there, reminiscing.

All those times your sister shooed you out so she could talk on the phone in your shared room, the smile apparent in her voice. The times you caught them looking at each other across the office, something magnetic but secret between them. One time, you even remember Jeonghan trying to wipe what resembled the shade of lip tint your sister wore off his mouth discretely when you entered the kitchen for lunch. They really weren’t as slick as they thought.

“For a while we all worked here. Then my aunt retired and left those two in charge with me as a trainee.” You continue. “After my sister died, he couldn’t bear being in the house. So he left.” Like everyone else, but you don’t say that out loud. You were always the one getting left behind, you were used to it.

You leave out the gruesome details and lore of what lead to your sister’s death, not wanting to scare Minghao away already since he’d only just started working as a medium. If he knew truly how dangerous it was, he’d surely leave too and even if you weren’t attached to him yet, you kind of liked having him around. You did have people around you anyway, but all kept away at an arm’s length. The other guys didn’t know anything so it was easy to keep up the pretence.

The pretence of what? Of not being emotionally scarred and resenting the person who you thought was your brother?

“He’s back though. And he wants to help, why not let him try?” Minghao suggests gently. You know it’s not coming from a bad place but you’re not willing to think about that right now.

“He’ll try anyway, you don’t know him like I do.” You say, referring to Jeonghan’s ability of weaselling his way out of or into anything he set his mind to. “Let’s go, you have shelves to help me assemble.”

You bribe Minghao into helping you by immediately starting to brew some tea, rushing to wash your new pot and mugs. He agrees, giving you a sarcastic salute and a Mickey Mouse ‘Aye, aye, Captain.’ You glare at him and point towards the old bookcase.

“Dismantle that first, matey.” You say. “And be careful, some of those books are older than the house.”

The farthest wall of the living room is the biggest and emptiest out of all of them; the bookcase was the only thing against it beside a large trunk with a multitude of clasps. The connecting wall was the one where the windows were, both aged, large and single paned. One of them had a wide windowsill, wide enough to sit on and sometimes you would with a blanket and a book, watching the shadows of the outside change as the day did from your makeshift reading nook.

Inside the trunk was a collection of supplies that you never bothered to store in a proper cabinet. Mostly supplies from Joshua that you weren’t immediately using; several boxes of salt bullets, a collection of different styled exorcist blades, a couple of spare salt dispensers and a few unused candles.

You pour the tea into the pot, feeling the ghost of giddiness wash over you as you then partition some into two of your new mugs, a duo of pastel turquoise ceramic pieces with those tiny plate thingies. They’re kinda cute, you had to admit.

“Hey, what’s with the book Tetris over here?” Minghao asks suddenly. You look over there and see he’s broken through to the second layer of books on the shelf. You’d put the important exorcist books as a front layer so you could access them quickly. The other stuff behind it was just a miscellaneous bunch of paperbacks that you’d read and forgotten about.

“It’s called conserving space.” You reply. “Tea’s ready.”

“‘Kay.” He says, turning back to trying to take out more books. This layer has the spines turned around for some reason you can’t recall right now but you’re sure there must have been some thought behind it. “Oh my god. What is this?” You hear Minghao’s fake gasp as he plucks one of the paperbacks and holds it up, his lips forming an exaggerated ‘o’.

You zero in on the cover but can’t quite read the letters from the distance. Fortunately Minghao starts to read the title for you.

“‘Alpha’s Tempta-’”

Oh that’s why the spines were turned around.

“Ahhh!” You shriek and make a bee-line for Minghao. He’d managed to unearth your cringey collection of romance novels, if they could even be graced with that title because they were thoughtlessly pumped out by the authors, to hell with artistic integrity. He sees you coming and holds the book above his head so you can’t reach it whilst trying to read the blurb.

“It’s nothing-”

“Nah, it’s definitely something. ‘A steamy supernatural romance set in the city.’” He reads out. “Wow, YN, didn’t think you were into this sort of thing.” He positively giggles as you struggle. The sound would surprise you because it’s the first time you’re hearing it but you’re too busy hopping up and down trying to smack the book out of his hand and the death grip he’s got on it.

“It’s not even mine, it’s my sister’s.” You lie, almost managing to make contact with it.

“Hmm, I don’t believe you, should I go ask her?” He looks around, as if scanning the room for your sister’s ghost.

“Ugh, fine, just put it down.” You start to pant from all the jumping. You needed to work on your cardio.

“Don’t wanna.” He giggles some more, clearly enjoying teasing you. You decide to change tactics. You direct a hand slice at his abdomen and knock the breath out of him. While he’s caught off guard enough and his arms falters, you snatch the book before he recovers.

“Go drink your tea, I’ll deal with the rest.” You huff, your blood rushing around your body. Definitely needed to work on your stamina. Minghao pouts but complies. You shoo him away and get to work.

“So which one is it?” You ask Minghao, quizzing him on the case you were currently looking at. You had two possible identities of the spirit and there were several factors that gave clues as to the conclusion of who it was you were looking for.

You’re sitting behind your desk in the main office area, Minghao taking up Hoshi’s usual spot at the opposite desk. It’s been a few days and you’ve settled into some kind of routine. Minghao teaches his classes and comes in to help you with research and planning for a few hours each day, no particular pattern to his presence but a quick text and the revving of a motorcycle engine a while after. While he’s away you’re working on finishing some filing and writing reports on your previous exorcisms. It was mostly a document editing exercise but it had to be done.

“I think it’s the older one. He seems like he has more reasons to stick around and he lived closer so it’s likely he would go to that station. We still need to see his face to know for sure, but it’s probably him.” Minghao answers, his analysis as accurate as you were expecting.

You were impressed with how well he was adapting to the job, following up leads and logic smoothly. Usually you got some bizarre conspiracy theories from your mediums and whilst it was fun sometimes, you would end up more confused and doubting your own ideas and experience because they presented those slightly skewed points of view. Every once in a while they might even be on to something so you didn’t discourage them from thinking outside the box, but it was kind of nice to work with someone who at least acknowledged that the box existed for a reason.

“That’s what I thought, it’s the more obvious choice but we’ll know for sure when we go check it out later.”

“Isn’t it a little risky though? There’s a lot of trains on that line.”

“We won’t actually go on the tracks, we just need to see the ghost. Judging from the reports, it must be a vengeful spirit so we better be careful. We’ll have to summon him somewhere secluded.” You explain.

“Right, what’s the deal with vengeful spirits anyway? Like I get they’re more dangerous but how?”

“They are more dangerous - their negative energies are stronger than normal spirits who are just lost or don’t know they’re dead yet. They hold strong grudges or stay because they’ve been incredibly wronged and so it translates to them being able to channel those energies better than other ghosts. That means that they can hurt those still living.” You hadn’t worked many vengeful spirit cases in your career but you knew about them since your sister and Jeonghan had while you were a trainee.

“There’s probably another reason why the man became a vengeful spirit. All we know is that his investment went under and he lost everything. Maybe we’re missing something.”

You shake your head.

“He committed suicide, that’s enough to become a vengeful spirit.” You say. “Records show that about 8.5 times out of 10, those who become ghosts after suicide end up as vengeful spirits. You could be right that there’s something in particular related to his investment but we can operate on the basis that it’s because of the nature of his death.”

“Okay, so all we have to do is ID him and then exorcise him.” Minghao stands up, hands on hips, clearly satisfied. “Now let’s go eat, I’m starving, I skipped lunch ‘cause I had a class.”

“Sure, gimme a sec.” you say, packing your bag. You have a salt dispenser, gun, incense and five crystals - a selection of amethyst, calcite, ruby, tourmaline and obsidian. Best to cover as many bases as possible. You also make sure you’ve got your wallet, phone and umbrella, as well as some of those tiny IKEA candles Minghao bought last week. Who knew they’d come in handy.

“Should we take the bike or the car?” Minghao asks as you move to lock up the office. You now held on to Minghao’s spare helmet since you were the only one that used it. You click the lock. It had stopped raining for the day and the air was damp and humid, the atmosphere fresh but still a little wet.

“The subway.” You say and start heading down the street, toward where you could find an entrance to the metro.

You each get a day pass, getting into the first train car that you see. You have no particular plan of where you’re going to eat since you’re focused on why you got in the train in the first place. You wanted to analyse the inside of the car purposefully. It could be a good space for an exorcism, at least that’s what your theory was. You couldn’t be more wrong.

It’s cramped inside, the seats lining up each side only breaking over where the doors were. The space between the two sides was only two metres wide and there was no way you could risk a fight scene in here. One or both of you might end up with a concussion or worse.

So that’s out of the question. Instead you have a good look if you could use the car for a different purpose.

Minghao sits obliviously next to you, checking the map so you know where you can get off. That and probably what restaurants are nearby because you can hear the quiet rumble of his stomach. You feel a little bad you hadn’t gone grocery shopping recently so your fridge was empty. You lived alone so you managed to survive on whatever you found lying around so it didn’t occur to you to buy a lot of food.

You glance at the map too, looking over his shoulder. The next stop was around a park, the police station and some restaurants on the main street. Not bad.

You stand up and take another careful look around the car. You note the positioning of the poles and the overhead railing where handles were dotted around the car for those standing up. You spy two CCTV cameras above the doors at each end connecting the car to the rest of the train. You could work with that.

“What do you want to eat?” Minghao asks suddenly, waiting next to you in front of the sliding doors.

“I’m thinking chicken.” You say, a smirk threatening to appear on your lips as you formulate a plan in your head.

And you do eat chicken. There’s a quant little shop not far from the subway stop with crispy, delicious fried chicken that you imagine could move mountains and stop wars. You order two portions to eat and one to takeaway, Minghao shooting you a questioning glance when you do. You nod a subtle ‘trust me’ at him and sit down in a booth. The mouthwatering smell inside the restaurant is overwhelming and you feel your own stomach starting to growl.

“You know, I was thinking about how vengef-” Minghao starts. You shoot him a warning glare to watch his words.

“Not. In. Public.” You mouth at him. He almost rolls his eyes at you and looks around your table. There’s hardly anyone around in the shop and no one within a few metres of your booth, unlikely to hear your conversation. But you stand by what you said.

“I was thinking you need to train a little. These - clients - are more dangerous, I could teach you a few things too.” You’re taken aback by the suggestion, the offer coming as a surprise in some ways. You hadn’t thought about purposefully practicing your fighting skills with Minghao but it had definitely crossed your mind that you needed to improve, specifically in terms of your fitness.

“Alright, we can do that tomorrow then, we’re expecting Seungkwan and Vernon in the evening for a meeting but there’s time before that.” You agree.

“You can come to the studio, I only have one morning class.” Minghao says.

“We can go to Hoshi’s building; there’s a gym space there and it saves one of us a trip. I was going to ask him for help anyway.”

The chicken is worth every penny and you can’t help but close your eyes as you take a bite, the crunch echoing loudly in the crevices of your head, the intensity of how good the taste is making your brain melt consequently. You definitely chose the right place.

You open your eyes and find Minghao looking at you. He averts his eyes down to his own chicken when you catch him and you get self-conscious. He must have been judging you in that quiet and inconspicuous way of his. You don’t let it bother you though because that chicken deserves the reaction it got. You’ll be coming back for sure.

It’s starting to get dark already by the time you’re out of the restaurant and you take a moment to get your bearings. To your left was the way back to the subway, straight ahead was a main street with shops and to your right was the way to the police station.

You swivel right and walk, expecting Minghao to follow. He does after a heartbeat.

“What’s next?” He asks, his large stride slower than your pace. Damn him and his long legs.

“We’re making a delivery then going to see the ghost.” You say before telling Minghao the rest of the plan in detail.

When you arrive outside the station, you fish out your phone and make a phone call. It rings once, twice and on the third, he picks up.

“Are you at the station? I need a favour and I brought payment.” You say into the phone.

“I’ll be right down.” A voice replies on the other side. You wait for a couple of minutes and hear the entrance doors sliding open.

Wonwoo emerges from the building in a thick jumper, jeans and bomber jacket, the arsenal of action and non-action cops, his lanyard hanging around his turtle neck. He walks down the low steps to where you’re standing.

“Hey, Wonwoo.” You greet, smiling at your friend.

“Hi guys, what’s up?” He smiles back. You hold up the bag containing the box of fried chicken, its powerful aroma no match for the foil it was wrapped up in or the greased up cardboard of the box. Wonwoo’s eyebrows shoot up, his glasses sliding down his nose slightly.

“For you.” You hand it to him. He takes it hesitantly after glancing over each shoulder.

“What’s the occasion?” He adjusts his glasses, pushing them by the bridge with a single finger.

“Just a little gift. I keep my promises.” You shrug innocently.

“Did you break the law again?” Wonwoo asks suddenly alarmed. You hear Minghao choke on air next to you. You scoff.

“Please, I never broke the law. I’m not Jeonghan or my sister.”

“Oh right,” Wonwoo nods, clearly recalling the incident. “That was them. Then what is it?”

“You know how you did that stuff with the museum system, can you do it again?” You ask. “Pretty please?”

“What exactly do you need?”

“I need to locate an immobile train car within half a mile of here and cut CCTV on us.” You pause, thinking. That should do it for now, but you might need more for the actual exorcism.

“Alright, can do. Can’t guarantee it’s going to be that close though. It’s not the full job, is it?” He checks.

“No, just identifying the ghost. Look at you, learning how exorcisms work.” You praise Wonwoo.

“No problem, give me fifteen minutes and I’ll send you a location. After that it’s easy, you just need to give me a serial number and we’ll be good to go.”

True to his word, Wonwoo texts you the location of an out of service train along the tracks a few stops from where you are and instructions on how to get there through different staff entrances. So you and Minghao head to it as the late afternoon gets darker.

Within forty minutes you’re standing in front of the empty train. You’re underground somewhere in the city centre, the tunnels deserted and eerily quiet, you can’t even hear the other trains. You imagine the rush hour that must be starting on the working lines and shudder.

The location, as Wonwoo predicted, was not as close as you’d liked it to have been but it would have to do for now. The reason you needed it closer was primarily because it would be harder to summon the ghost - very often apparitions were tied to one place, and the reports you’d received were close to the chicken shop stop, so it was more likely you’d find your ghost in that area.

“Well this sure isn’t creepy.” Minghao says as you stand outside the train and text Wonwoo that you’d arrived. He tells you how to open the door in front of you and then where to look for the CCTV serial number.

You spend a good few minutes trying to locate the code, several tiny letters and numbers printed on the side of the camera itself. You resort to sitting on Minghao’s shoulders in order to get close enough to the camera to see it since that particular spot has no seat next to it. You’re grateful there’s no one to witness your circus act even though you two will always know it happened. You don’t waste energy on awkwardness though since you’re working.

Wonwoo warned you that it’s possible there are rail line workers in the area and that you should be weary of them in case they do show up nearby.

“I gotta ask, how the hell did you manage the gallery exorcism without Wonwoo’s help?” Minghao asks after a while when you’ve located the serial number and texted it to Wonwoo to work on.

“That’s the funny thing, most exorcisms don’t require this sort of extensive outside help. Very often, depending on the strength of the spirit’s energies, electrical appliances go haywire and malfunction though it’s very hit or miss.” You say as you open up your bag. “This particular time, we checked the gallery thrice over and found that the cameras had a lot of blindspots. They were concentrated at the entrance and exit points and not so much on the actual art. Ironic right? Probably ‘cause it’d be impossible to just carry out most of that art because it’s heavy or there’s security walking around on intervals.”

“Yeah, the security isn’t that great. I was actually half asleep when the ghost possessed me. When I woke up after you exorcised it out of me, I thought I’d had some kind of crazy sleep walking episode or you’d drugged me.” He laughs at the thought. “Turns out it was just a supernatural phenomenon.”

“You’d be surprised how easily explainable some things are if you just open your mind.” You shrug as you pull out the salt dispenser, crystals, candles and incense. Minghao hums in response but doesn’t say anything else whilst he watches you. You remind yourself he’s still new to all this and he’s probably focusing hard in order to learn properly.

First you open the salt and crouch to the floor of the car. You start drawing a circle, your hand steady with well-learned precision and concentration. Without breaking the line, you draw a pentagram all in one fluid motion. Next you place the crystals at each point of the star, making sure that they’re nestled on top of the salt nicely. Then you place a candle in the space between each point within the circle and the pot of incense in the centre of the pentagram.

“So this is what a bat signal for ghosts looks like.” Minghao muses in fascination from his spot on the seats. You smirk at the comparison.

“Sure, let’s call it that.” You agree, pulling out a lighter from your pocket. It has metallic casing with an indented image of a daisy on the body. You flip open the lid and click it to spark the flame. The tiny light appears and you light the candles before the incense and put the lid on it. The faint smoke starts to waft from the pot, carried gently through the air.

“You remember the plan?” You ask Minghao while you wait, legs crossed and gun in hand as you sit across from him.

“Yup, get behind you when the ghost comes. It’s quite simple, y’know.” He answers.

You know it is, for him at least. For you it wasn’t complicated either - all you had to do was isolate the ghost with several bullets and identify the face of the spirit. You found this part of exorcisms a little tedious; usually you treated it as part of one of your scouting missions but lately you were falling into a different work pattern because of working with Minghao.

You remember how you used to go on these missions with your sister instead of her resident mediums, usually freelancers from the Council or she’d take Jeonghan, and you suspected that they treated these times like dates, going ghost hunting, how romantic. You sigh at the thought. There was nothing romantic about the way the lights started flickering.

“Is that supposed to happen?” Minghao asked as he craned his neck around to watch the bulbs switch on and off on the ceiling.

“It can sometimes. The ghosts you’ve seen so far have been a cake walk compared to vengeful spirits.” You tell him, watching the shadows flit across his features as the overhead light changes. It highlights the curve of his jaw, the length of his nose and the height of his cheekbones.

And then you hear the buzzing before the lights above you spark and darkness befalls the car. Minghao flinches, curling in on himself for a split second. You sit still, unbothered. The lights are fried completely, giving out under the meddling energies coming from the ghost. You’re still alone in the car, the door to one end open. The candles are still lit, their flames dancing in the darkness.

Suppose the candlelight could be considered romantic, you think in the back of your mind. Then again, you weren’t sure you wanted to be romantic with coworkers; see how it worked out for your sister. You try to focus again on the task at hand and the darkness you sat in.

Minghao is visibly on edge, his posture stiff and tense, his eyes wide open in anticipation. You’re alert too but you knew it could take a long time so there was no use in working yourself up from now. All this was normal when it came to vengeful spirits; it had been a while but you found yourself almost comfortable because you’d experienced this all before.

It all takes you back, sitting in the dark waiting for a ghost. The last time you’d dealt with a vengeful spirit was last year with Hoshi, whose reaction was so much worse than Minghao’s. When the lights got busted Hoshi was grabbing your arm and starting to hyperventilate. You can’t even imagine if you had to finish one of these with Seokmin, who no doubt would start shrieking his head off after the first flicker.

Something about seeing Minghao being able to withstand whatever he was feeling made you a little proud.

“You want me to hold your hand?” You ask, your mouth moving on its own accord. Not exactly sure where that came from. Minghao frowns when he meets your eyes, unimpressed at the subtle teasing lilt to your tone. “Just kidding.” You raise your hands in defence. As you say that you notice your breath frosting in front of you, the chill in the air becoming apparent as instantly as it happened. That meant the ghost was nearby.

It settles over you, cutting frost, setting off a tsunami of goose bumps on your skin, the exposed areas and everything covered by your warm clothes. It makes you feel palpitating dread, the type that makes you almost choke on the air in your lungs. You knew it was coming but it was still utterly disorientating to suddenly be so uncomfortable and you had to admit, scared.

You spy the fog in the corner of your eye and take two steps forward to actually grab Minghao’s hand and pull him to your side, holding your gun up to your lips as a sign to be quiet. His hand is freezing in yours and you see how he’s paled greatly even in the darkness, the energy draining away from his face. You step up onto the seat behind you and pull him up too.

There’s faint grey smoke floating into the train car, crawling along the floor, the candlelight distorting its colour and battling against its strength, the light there starting to flicker too. The fog gets thicker and it’s finally followed by the apparition itself.

He’s a shadow at first, almost human like as he glides into the space. He’s wearing dark clothes from what you can make out. You’re gripping Minghao’s hand intuitively, trying to ground him as the ghost gets closer. You plant your eyes on where the ghost’s face is and focus. The light just about reaches him, his transparent features becoming clearer by the second.

You recognised him.

It was the man who you’d been talking about in your office, the failed investor who’d ended his own life. He walks in, calmly enough for a vengeful spirit and you must think it’s the lovely scent of the tiny candles that helped subdue him. Once he passes by you, you nudge Minghao toward the exit.

He gets the hint and steps as quietly as possible, crab shuffling to the edge of the seat then down to the floor with you in tow. You raise your gun slowly, stealthily as the ghost has his back to you. He’s moved further past your pentagram setup and so you shoot rapidly, aiming to create a series of walls around the spirit. The ghost stops abruptly as if he noticed something.

The walls materialise as the bullets hit the ground where you aimed, the energy flaring upwards and isolating the ghost. You move quickly, letting go of Minghao’s hand and dropping to the ground, blowing out the candles and incense. You take out a heatproof bag and throw them all in your backpack, grabbing the crystals in one hand and shoving the whole thing back in.

The ghost is thankfully quiet and just looking around himself as if he could see the walls, but his perplexed state is starting to agitate him, the walls barely shimmering there in the dark but their energy must be starting to bother him. He attempts to keep walking but hits a wall, the energy visibly repelling him and he hits at it with a transparent hand.

“Let’s go before the walls dissipate and he gets mad.” You usher Minghao away. He was staring in fascination the whole time, both at you and at the ghost’s mime act. You don’t blame him, the sight must be interesting to those who have never seen anything quite like it but you want to remind him that once those walls fall away, there’s no telling what the ghost might do. Vengeful spirits could control energies better, maybe even purposely and if he perceives you then things could turn sour very quickly.

You start to jog away, back the way you came through the staff routes and back out to where the main part of the station was. Your legs are not used to the running so you’re puffing by the time you stop in front of the other platform.

“You saw him right?” Minghao asks, his voice even despite the running. You felt a pang of jealousy when you see he hadn’t even broken a sweat. Meanwhile you were panting with your tongue all but dangling from your gapping mouth.

“It’s our guy. He was pretty calm for a vengeful spirit, let’s hope he stays that way.” You reply. “Good job not freaking out. We’re done for the day, let’s go back.”

“Actually, I can catch the line here, is it okay if I leave my bike at yours? I’ll be there tomorrow.” You notice Minghao has his hands stuffed in his pockets but you don’t have to imagine he’s probably a little shaken, maybe enough to not want to drive. You nod.

“No problem. Text me when your class if over. We can meet in front of Hoshi’s.” And you part ways, headed in the opposite directions.

You take several steps and something compels you to turn around. You watch as Minghao walks away, shoulders tensed and hands still deep in his pockets, the nonchalance he was attempting to exude not quite intact. You wondered if he was actually scared of the ghost; the energies of this type of spirit could really mess with your head even if you were used to it. If the effect was kinda strong on you, you worried it might have been too strong on Minghao.

“I’m starting… to… regret this.” You just about manage to huff out, completely breathless as you follow Minghao curving around the corner of the block. He’s keeping a steady pace a few feet in front of you, visibly trying hard to slow down so he doesn’t leave you behind.

“We’re almost there, it’s literally been two minutes.” Even though he turns around to make sure you can hear him, his voice is muffled by the pounding in your ears. You were so not built for running. Fighting you could do, but endurance was not your strength.

He’s right though as you make it around the corner and spot Hoshi sitting on the brick fence where you’d left him. He’s got the crutches placed next to him, his braced foot stretched out in front of him. When he sees you, he raises his hands and cheers, as if you’re about to finish a marathon. Unfortunately you do feel as if you’ve been running for that long, the distance around the block short but harrowing.

“Woooo, you can do it!! Keep going!” You hear Hoshi’s woops and yelps and you instinctively speed up, unsure how your body manages it, though you have a suspicion it’s because you feel like sinking into the ground if you have to hear more of Hoshi’s loud encouragements.

You come to a stop in front of where Hoshi’s sitting and you brace your hands on your legs, your head almost hanging. One of Minghao’s hands pats your back lightly.

“Not bad for now. You’ll be better next time.” He says. You think your ears are deceiving you.

“Next time?” You shriek, glaring up at him. “I thought we were just warming up.”

“Nope, you’ve officially joined my exorcist training programme and we’ll start every session with a jog. Congrats, you’re my first student.” He gives you a thumbs up, and you almost swipe at the smugness on his face. You hack up a glob of air and finally straighten up.

“I’m your only student.” You argue as you follow the guys into the building, Hoshi leading the way on his crutches, step-hop and stopping rapidly. He’d definitely mastered this way of walking but it still made you feel a little guilty that he’d ended up hurt. You knew you had to be more careful in this field, particularly because it was so unpredictable. You hoped at least Hoshi was enjoying the time off despite his injury and you hated to disturb him but you needed his help with all the work you had to do tonight.

Inside the gym there was a sparring area lined with blue mats just as you’d remembered seeing when Hoshi enthusiastically gave you a tour of the building when he moved in. There was only one person at this time of the day, minding their own business on one of the treadmills facing the street. They wore a heavy duty headset so you didn’t have to worry about what they might hear.

“I’m going up, you guys carry on, I’ll come back in a while.” Hoshi says vaguely, uncharacteristically so but you nod and join Minghao in doing some stretching.

It strikes you how insanely flexible he is when he extends his long limbs expertly and holds the poses with perfect balance. You on the other hand are keeping up but barely; your lines are crooked and your arms and legs shake ever so slightly, the tremors only just visible to your own eyes since you can feel them first hand.

“Okay, let’s start with some light sparring. Try to attack me.” Minghao stands with his feet shoulder width apart and faces you head on. Your face betrays your confusion. “I doubt that when I’m possessed I get into a perfect defensive position.” He says pointedly.

“Alright, I’ll pretend to exorcise you.” You say. You ready your stance, angling your body and bending slightly in all the correct places, hands raised in front of you. You meet his eyes and try to read the opportune moment to attack.

You’re standing on the balls of your feet, light and mobile. You decide to step forward quickly and aim a low kick to Minghao’s side. He doesn’t quite break eye contact when he uses his arms to throw that oncoming leg down, using the momentum of your swinging leg to knock you off balance. Within the same breath you try to strike an arm at his chest as your body veers to the side of the leg you tried to strike with, but Minghao grabs that arm and pulls you to him, turning you in motion and your back hits his firm chest.

“That was too easy.” You feel his breath at your ear and let out an annoyed hummph when it tickles slightly. “Again.” He says.

You don’t waste a heartbeat before swivelling and striking out a hand slice aimed for his neck but he once again outwits you, twisting that arm before it makes contact and bringing it rest behind your back while he kicks at the back of your thigh with only enough force to bring you to one knee. You use your free leg as support to try and get up, balancing on that leg to stand up as you throw you weight up and towards Minghao. The motion manages to surprise him and you free your arm and therefore your whole body from his grip.

“Better.” He nods in approval from where he’d been forced to step back. “Again.”

And off you go again. There’s kicks, flicks, punches being thrown, Minghao blocking and sending you flying, tossing you as gently as he can as to not hurt you. You start to get into it with every failed attack. It’s true that he can predict your moves before you can formulate them in your head but when your instinct takes over, you start to land some blows.

You end up on the floor several times, the breath knocked out of you and a sheen of sweat building up over your skin. You end up trying to hold Minghao’s limbs in some complicated judo-esque position down on the mats but he manages to always break free and pin you down in almost the exact same way until you sigh in defeat.

At some point you’re rejoined by Hoshi, who finds a cozy spot on some benchpress and sits spectating in fascination as you and Minghao go at each other’s throats. It’s always fun when you’re not the one getting your ass kicked. You barely hear his reactions, the ‘ooh’s and ‘ahh’s just background noise as you huff, puff and grunt while you exchange attacks.

You realise that Minghao is not just good; he’s trained in some John Wick type of shit. The type that makes your muscles ache and your joints creak and your blood rush around your body as you try to fight someone so out of your league.

Just as you think you’re doing better, Minghao has you pinned to the wall, your hands above your head. You hesitate as his eyes bore into yours, the challenge dancing in his irises. The mirth you feel from him, the amusement that coats his features, makes your pulse quicken.

It’s all just a game to him. He’s having fun while you struggle to make progress.

It makes the hairs on your arms stand up - you were determined to beat him, no matter what.

Your legs are free so you attempt a strike but he barely flinches at the weak knee you throw at his side. Your body is too adrenalised at this point to be thinking straight so you do what it tells you to; you throw your head forward with a yell and headbutt Minghao.

It sends Minghao staggering backwards and rubbing at his forehead.

“Owww! That was mean,” He pouts. “And unnecessary.” You barely feel the ache in your own head as you stand grinning, unhinged and victorious.

“But it got the job done.” You counter. If you weren’t this worked up and sore for repeatedly losing, you’re not sure you would have tried to do that move. Your competitive side had lain dormant for so long that you were surprised how quickly it was spurred back into life.

“One more round?” Minghao asks. You were sure that headbutt would have been the end but he surprised you once again. The regular occurrence was starting to confuse you.

“Yeah.” And you rush him without a second thought. You flip each other once, twice and then block whatever blow comes next. You focus on trying to back Minghao into a corner, arms and legs flying.

You succeed when his back hits the wall with a quiet thud and you bring your forearm to trap his neck. You notice how wide his eyes are, an almost innocent shock painting his face as you bring your fist, clutching an invisible exorcist blade, to rest on his chest. You swear you can feel the way Minghao’s heart is pounding but you know yours is going just as crazy. After all that, it was inevitable.

“And stab.” You breathe, the exhaustion finally catching up to you. One corner of Minghao’s mouth arches up, still amused even if he lost.

“And scene.” He brings a lazy hand up to his forehead and fakes a swoon. You hear Hoshi’s round of applause behind you as he cheers excitedly. You let Minghao go, avoiding his eyes for some reason.

“Wow, you guys are so badass!” The compliment makes you smile even if you were ready to collapse. You can’t help but lean against the wall, panting and slide down it.

“Good work. Imagine how much better you’ll be after a few sessions.” Minghao says. His voice is raspy and gruff from all the yelling and grunting. You nod, unable to speak. You needed like a five day nap to recover.

“Hey, you guys?” Hoshi asks from the other end of the gym. “Seokmin wants to know if you want pizza?”

“Are they already here?” You glance at the clock and choke on air. You were supposed to start the meeting in five minutes but you weren’t even at the office yet. “Shit, let’s go.” You make to get up but find Minghao’s extended hand in front of you. You look at his long fingers for a moment, then put your hand in his and let him haul you up.

Hoshi offers Minghao some clothes so you let them go upstairs while you muster the energy to walk up the street back to yours and take a minute long shower and change. The conference room is already buzzing when you leg it up the stairs and find yourself face to face with Hoshi and Minghao as they come in.

You’re rendered speechless when you look at Minghao’s attire.

He’s wearing bright pink leopard print joggers, a purple shirt and a pink cardigan all under his long black coat. You wanted to think it was Hoshi’s work but Hoshi would never have managed to match the colours like that.

“Don’t. I rock this and you know it.” Minghao says to before you’ve even opened your mouth.

“Didn’t say anything.” You shake your head.

In your conference room you find Seungkwan, Vernon and Seokmin sitting around the table, ready to start. The table is already stacked with ten or so massive piles of paperwork; the majority of your office’s contents on display. There was some still in the basement and some more modern cases on the hard drive of your computer, but you had hard copies of those too just in case.

There’s a happy reunion between everyone when Hoshi hobbles in with his crutches and greets everyone loudly. You smile despite the perhaps irreparable damage to your eardrums. Minghao pulls up an extra couple of chairs and you all sit down with you at the head of the table.

Just as you think that everyone is here, you hear the doorbell of the office ring.

“I’ll get it.” Seokmin offers quickly, almost too quickly for your liking but you let him, watching him practically sprint with narrowed eyes.

You hear voices and sigh, steeling yourself for what was coming. He really couldn’t just leave well enough alone could he? You’d told him expressly that you didn’t want his help. Yet when Yoon Jeonghan walks through the door, you feel your blood pressure rise automatically. Behind him however, is someone you weren’t expecting.

“Hey!” Mingyu squeaks cheerfully, waving a large paw at everyone.

“I called Jihoon for some extra help.” Seungkwan explains.

“Yeah, Jihoon said you needed my biceps. So here I am.” Mingyu says, way too enthusiastic for someone who was about to pull extra hours.

Mingyu was from the Council. He ran an office that collected intel on ghost sightings and reports and compiled them in a large database for exorcists to refer to. There were times where you’d visit his office with your sister but he was still new back then so you’d only met a few times.

“Actually we need your brain but your biceps might help too.” You reply. “Nice to see you, Mingyu.” You ignore Jeonghan until he pulls up the chair to your left, while Minghao was sitting to your right. You swivel your neck reluctantly in his direction.

“Why are you even here?” You ask, your voice drowned out by the others’ chatter.

“What? No dramatic blame game today?” He asks nonchalantly, running a hand down the spines of the files in front of him. “As I said, I’m going to help you. It sounds like a big project; are you sure you can handle it, kiddo?” Jeonghan leans back in his chair, relaxed, comfortable even, and it makes you mad. After all this time, now he wants to help? After he declared that he couldn’t stand being in this office without her and left, stopped calling you and basically evaporated? You begged to differ.

“Don’t call me that.” You bite, but your voice is quiet. “What’s in it for you?” You press. You scan his face for any sign of deceit, not that you were sure you could catch it. If you didn’t know him any better, you’d believe he was sincerely trying to offer his expertise, and you only called it that because you knew that he did learn a fair amount courtesy of your family teaching him.

“There’s always something in it for me, according to you, isn’t there?” Jeonghan counters, an edge of disappointment, real or fake you had no idea at this point, to his voice. “Can’t I just do it out of the goodness of my heart?”

You can’t help but snort obnoxiously at his ridiculousness.

“Hell’s more likely to freeze over.” You tell him.

“That could happen.” Jeonghan says, shrugging. “Or you could trust me.” He looks up, meeting you eyes. You don’t look away from his challenge.

You knew what he was doing; deploying that trick where you bat your eyelashes at people and it bends them to your will. The notion of trusting him again made you dizzy. You had trusted him once upon a time, you’d known him as a person who you could rely on, who had your back. But that was then and this is now. It wasn’t going to work on you anymore. You weren’t going to fall for the angel eye trick again.

“Don’t get your hopes up.” You conclude. You rap your knuckles against the table to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, since we’re all here now, we can proceed.” You pick up a marker and turn to moveable whiteboard behind you, the newest addition to your conference room.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to read-” Seungkwan quips up. You give him a stink face glare and he shuts up.

“This is fifty years worth of exorcisms.” You motion towards the piles of files. “Everyone grab a stack. We’re looking for-” you pause for a moment, uncapping your pen.

“Anything on group exorcisms, the cemetery at the building site and anything to do with that Platis company.” Jeonghan cuts in and finishes for you. You purse your lips, a flash of annoyance flaring up in your stomach.

“Yes, and if you find anything-”

“Separate any relevant files over here,” Jeonghan points to a cardboard box on the floor beside the two of you. “Write a summary on a post-it note and leave it on the inside.”

You clench your jaw, looking to find patience. You were going to say that, since you’d left the box there this morning with a purpose.

“Right. Anything else?” You look around. You have quite the company here, seven faces looking back at you.

“Pizza’s coming in an hour.” Seokmin adds.

“Okay, reconvene in an hour. Bon appetite.” You scribble down the list of things in case anyone got amnesia, then clamp a hand over the nearest pile to you and pull the thin folder off the top. Some of them were thin folders with only about ten pages inside whilst others were at least twenty page behemoth reports.

Everyone seems to get lost in the files, the millions of words floating off the pages as you skim and flip pages and double back because you thought you saw something relevant. Usually there was a summary page in the front of the file so you could rule out the group exorcism but it was still important to scan for the location of the cemetery if it was mentioned.

You feel like your vision is slowly blurring as you look at the words, your eyes travelling across the paper quickly. You’re hunched over a file and it mentions something about a wandering spirit that passed by a cemetery. There’s an address which you’re not sure of so you grab a post-it.

“Straighten up, or you’re going to get early on set back problems.” Jeonghan clicks his tongue at you and pokes your arm with the capped end of a ball point pen without looking up from his file. The action throws you off and you’re hit suddenly with a sickening sense of déjà vu.

You’re transported back here five years ago when you were studying for some test. Your sister and Jeonghan were both working on the big table, trapping you and making sure you sat and studied. The textbook in front of you was giving you a headache and you were almost ready to nod off on top of it before your sister extended a hand, the sharp point of the pen poking your arm when she scolded you for your terrible posture.

You look at Jeonghan in the present and he appears much the same except for his hair. The red is captured and pulled back with a hair tie, some loose wisps sticking out. You think about how you also look much the same but are so different, the years of grief and the responsibility weighing your shoulders down.

You turn back to your papers.

The eight of you get through most of the files, the speed of your work much faster than you had predicted. It strikes you that it might have been too fast. It was probably just you being paranoid. Within the hour, almost all the files had been through some inspection. The pile in the box is however rather miserable. That was not a lot of leads.

Seokmin and Mingyu go to the front door to pick up the pizza and soon the table full of paperwork, is full of warm cardboard boxes that reek deliciousness into your conference room.

“Good work everyone, we can stop for today.” You say and gather the remaining files into piles. You and Minghao can look at them some other time.

Once the pizza boxes are opened the chatter crescendos and you feel like you’re drowning in the noise. It’s a miracle everyone had been that quiet while reading.

“Eh, come on, you haven’t got any booze in this house?” Hoshi cries when you tell him that if he wants something, he knows where the convenience store is.

“I’ll go, it’s only around the corner, right?” Minghao volunteers.

“I can take you.” Vernon raises a hand like one of those boy scouts. Also probably the only person who wouldn’t be self-conscious if seen with Minghao right now, leopard print and all.

“Vern, get that one we drank-” Seungkwan calls out with a mouthful of pizza.

“Ginger beer. Got it.” You swear those two are telepathic. Or married. Or both.

They leave and you turn to Jeonghan, who’s putting away his phone into his pocket, looking shifty as usual.

“Take a slice and hit the road.” You tell him. He obediently pulls apart a piece and munches on it, but doesn’t move from the chair.

“Hey, how about some music?” You hear behind you. Hoshi and Seokmin are digging into a pizza, having a cheese slurping contest or something.

“I’ll go get the karaoke machine!” Seungkwan announces. You do a double take.

“We have one of those?” You ask.

“From my car, duh.” He replies.

“Is that something you keep on your person at all times?”

“Just something I have lying around. You never know when you’ll need it.” Your brain lags as you watch him practically skip away to find the item in question.

“I think I’m going to stick around for some tunes.” Jeonghan says, unabashed. You tap your foot angrily under the table, jiggling with annoyance.

“Go. I know Seokmin and Seungkwan are giving you updates, so next time just work at your own office. Now get out.”

“You’re not going to say ‘please, big bro’?” He juts out his bottom lip in a pout, begging to be kicked out.

“I have a lot of other names I could call you right now.” You say between gritted teeth.

“Oh yeah? Like what?” He waits, not bothering to hide the joy it brought him to bug you off his face.

“One that starts with ‘n’ and ends in ‘uisance’.”

Jeonghan chuckles, as if in acknowledgement. He pauses, then:

“I’ve already seen her.”

You’re struck silent.

“If that’s what you’re worried about, then I’ve already seen her.” He repeats. You feel a sprinkle of salt flowing through your veins that she would appear in front of Jeonghan of all people.

“Just leave, I don’t want my sister to become a vengeful spirit because of you.” You sigh, the irritation starting to overflow. Who was he to just invite himself to your house, where he’s no longer welcome and talk to you about your sister when he’s the reason she’s gone?

“She won’t.” Jeonghan says reassuringly, and you almost believe him. The old you might have. “I’ll go later, I’m still hungry. You should eat up too, I could hear your stomach rumbling.” He says and walks away. The guys have taken the boxes and presumably gone downstairs to set up in front of the TV and the couch. You had no idea how you’d allowed what is basically a house party to break out in your house of all places.

You wouldn’t mind the rest of it but Jeonghan’s presence was bothering you. Why was it bothering you so much though? Was it because he’d appeared out of nowhere uninvited? Were you angry at him? Or was it because a minuscule, tiny, microscopic fraction of you had missed him and him being there reminded you of the past, as if you could just walk downstairs and catch him and your sister not so subtly hugging?

You groaned out loud, almost mooing in exasperation and kicked at the chair in front of you. You checked the pile in the cardboard box, glancing at the ten or so files in there, all of them thin and a little hopeless looking. It was better than nothing, you reminded yourself.

Downstairs you heard the music blasting before you’ve even stepped off the staircase, the cacophony of cheers and woops making you shudder; this was them without a drop of alcohol in their systems. It was going to be a long night.

“You should have seen them earlier, Minghao and YN have equal and opposite scary energy; that’s why they work so well together.” Hoshi’s voice carries down the corridor as you near the living room. You stop at the door and see Seokmin, Seungkwan and Hoshi on the couch while Mingyu sits on the carpet in front. The song has just finished and it’s quiet for a moment.

Jeonghan is sitting at the table, ripping apart a pizza slice, piece by piece. It’s the same spot where he used to sit before, adjacent to your sister and opposite you. Was it on purpose or just an old habit? You don’t dwell on it.

“Who’s scary?” You call out, making yourself known as you walk in. The cowards in front of the TV jump at the sound of your voice, yelping like startled puppies. They scramble to laugh it off and you smile at how dorky they all are. You don’t sit at the table but take a spot on the carpet in front of the couch where Mingyu is.

“Oh YN, didn’t you say you were going to show me something the other day?” Seungkwan perks up. You think for a moment, wracking your brain for a recollection of that particular conversation. “Some video?”

Bingo.

“Ah, right. Almost forgot.” You can’t help but start laughing already. You reach forward to grab the laptop that sits under the TV, its space on the shelf below not its usual hiding spot but you’d left it there in a rush. You open the computer and search around for the file name ‘mammoth.mp4’ that you hid deep into your favourites folder then click on the thumbnail.

It’s the video that Wonwoo sent you from the museum exorcism and you thought it was too much of a gem to keep it to yourself; you don’t own diamonds if you don’t want to show them off to the world, right?

You hit the ‘f’ key and make it fullscreen then put the laptop on the coffee table.

Everyone’s so absorbed in the video that you don’t hear when Vernon and Minghao come back. You feel an ominous chill down your spine as you laugh at the screen.

“What are you guys watching?” Vernon suddenly materialises behind you. You glance up and spot Minghao there too.

Shit.

“What? Nothing, porn.” And you scramble to shut the laptop. Minghao is quicker though and grabs your wrist before you stretch all the way toward the table.

“Rewind and turn up the volume.” He says, deadly serious. Mingyu, ever the most helpful person in the universe, taps away and the video restarts, this time louder.

You’re trying to keep your laugh to a minimum while the others holler loudly, feeling a little guilty for airing your new medium out like that but it was just part of the job. Humiliation and danger apparently walked hand in hand (or was it the danger of humiliation?).

Your turn your head and find Minghao’s face inches from yours for the hundredth time today. The laugh dies in your throat and you stare. Minghao’s lips are parted in horror and his eyes are shinning with what seems to be sick fascination and disbelief as he watches the video. Now that you looked, he was pretty handsome.

What?

“Stop it!” You shake your head. You stamp on the thought the way you’d stomp on a cockroach, shocked to realise its existence as it scurries around your brain. You find several pairs of eyes on you. You chuckle awkwardly. “It’s loud, that’s all.” You say. You finally reach over and shut the lid of the laptop. That was bizarre, you must be more tired than you thought if your brain was loose like that.

“I don’t remember that so I’m going to say it never happened. I-it- that wasn’t me.” Minghao clarifies, clearly trying to convince himself.

“Hey, it’s okay, we all have some embarrassing possession stories.” Seokmin says with a smile. “Like back in school, I stole my crush’s ice cream whilst I was possessed. I ended up going to the prom alone.”

“God, Seokmin, that’s so depressing.” Seungkwan says. “Here, sing about it.” He shoves a microphone into Seokmin’s hand.

“Here we go again.” You get up and take a slice of pizza. You weren’t too tired to try and sort through the rest of the files.

“It’s been a long day, you should rest.” Minghao finds you trying to leave the kitchen. You turn around, caught red handed, cheese from the large bite of pizza protruding from your lips.

“I will.” You say but it’s impossible to discern with the way your mouth is stuffed; it just sounds like ‘owow’, and you make your way back to the couch.

With the amount of ballads that are sung that night, it’s a miracle you don’t nod off. It’s mostly because they are counterbalanced with some fast paced and obscenely deafening pop songs that are accompanied by even more outrageous yells and shouts, the alcohol fuelling the volume, it seemed. There are soulful ballads whose singers are worthy of divorcee status, some frenzied and almost high performances, especially Vernon’s solid rap features, and at one point one of Hoshi’s crutches becomes a guitar.

You sit there, amongst the chaos but not really taking it all in. You’d barely had any more food and were still holding the same one beer can that you’d opened like an hour ago. You even caught Minghao cracking a smile or laughing a few times but you were too exhausted and preoccupied to really participate. You’re too aware of Jeonghan still sitting at the table, watching from his spot as the rest of the group has fun, the attentive gaze of a parent over their children.

Your hand brings the beer can up to your lips and you chug the rest of it. You weren’t sure you could handle this. So you stand up just as Seungkwan is preparing his next song.

“I’m going to buy more booze.” You announce as you start to walk away.

“Wait up, I’ll come with.” Minghao unfolds himself from his seat on the floor.

“You don’t have to.” You wave a hand dismissively.

“Trust me, I want to.” He follows you, practically running out. You grab your coats and wallets and leave through the basement entrance door.

The night air feels heavenly on your skin, the freshness enveloping you and giving you energy. You watch as your breath forms clouds in front of you while you walk.

“I didn’t think exorcists partied like that.” Minghao says after a while.

“What, you thought we only went to funerals and sat around waiting for a ghost to pop up?” You stuff your hands in your pockets, imagining one of those arcade Whack-a-Mole games.

“Not really, I’d never thought of exorcists until I met you.”

“You were better off that way.” You sigh. “Then again, you already saw ghosts, so you were halfway there.”

“I’m glad I met you though.” He says earnestly. “It finally all made sense.”

“It must have been a relief to understand what you were seeing.” You thought about it before, how lonely it must have been, how confusing. You knew it was a curse, but amongst those cursed, community made all the difference. Minghao hadn’t had any of that. “You’re part of this now, even if you decide not to work any more, you know we’re all here.”

You reach the convenience store and mindlessly grab alcohol off the shelf and put it in the basket Minghao holds as he trails after you. Shopping with him was starting to become a regular thing, huh? You pay quickly since there’s literally no one else in the shop and leave. After the cashier gives Minghao a look, he tells you that even the cashier changed during the length of your party.

You’re almost back, your feet still somehow carrying you after all the physical torture you put them through today and you find the front doors opening. You’re only about twenty meters away but you stop. You watch as none other than Jeonghan emerges from the office. Finally, he was leaving.

You’re about to start walking but you see her.

The door doesn’t close, your sister’s ghost following him out, and he turns to look at her. The image is like a lightning strike straight to your heart. The breath leaves your body in a crispy fog.

Jeonghan extends a hand to your sister’s face, as if trying to caress her cheek and she tries to lean in to his touch, her eyes closed but she’s transparent, his fingers making contact with the air. Your vision blurs with hot tears, the picture before you becoming distorted.

His hand falls away as do your tears, and you can tell he sighs by the smoky frost before his face. Your sister’s ghost is fading away by the second, her lingering shape evaporating slowly.

You watch as Jeonghan walks away in the opposite direction, realising your fists were clenched as you held a bag of beer in one hand. The tears slide silently down your face, the cold freezing them to your cheeks as they roll on by.

There’s not a coherent thought you can cling on to inside your head, everything suspended in your mind suddenly lost in a void you couldn’t access. It must be shock.

You remember Minghao is behind you as he shuffles a few steps to stand next to you. You look away and swipe at your face quickly. He extends a hand without a word, offering you a pack of tissues.

“You keep seeing me like this, I’m not sure I should let you live.” You say jokingly as you sniffle and accept it. “Thanks.”

A/N: thanks for reading!! feedback is always appreciated <3 also i decided to add an extra projected chapter from the sister’s pov so look forward to that eventually as well

#seventeen #xu minghao #the8 #minghao #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #minghao x reader #the8 x reader #the8 imagines #the8 scenarios #seventeen fics #seventeen angst #momobani.writes

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agentark88 · 1 year

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Think: Chapter Ninety-Three: Doku Kobura: The Cobra of Tartarus

My Hero Academia Fan Fiction by Agent ARK 88

Disclaimer: The following is a work of fan fiction using characters and settings from My Hero Academia/Boku no Hero Academia created by Kohei Horikoshi. I do not claim any ownership of characters present in this piece that are owned and created by Kohei Horikoshi. I do not own My Hero Academia/Boku no Hero Academia.

Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Warnings: This work contains mild language, blood, abuse, death, and violence. If you are easily triggered by violent scenarios, please do not read this chapter. This chapter could be triggering to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.

Please be aware this chapter is in third-person perspective, following my original character, BioVirus, Doku Kobura, who is a villain currently a part of The League of Villains.

Chapter Ninety-Three: Doku Kobura: The Cobra of Tartarus

Kobura stared up at the dismal cell ceiling. His back ached. His head hurt worse. He continued to contemplate his decision to be willingly taken into custody. Toga and Twice were beyond capable of handling themselves, but with The League of Villains moving forward with their well-in-advance plans for villain domination, it was hard not to worry. The Doctor had started yammering on about more advanced Nomus right before Kobura had been imprisoned, which only made Kobura’s stomach twist into knots at the thought of Anna coming face-to-face with one of those monstrosities now that she was back at U.A..

Kobura sighed heavily, his breath echoing back at him. He wished he’d done some more research on Dabi’s whereabouts before he’d been arrested. Doku had the uneasy feeling that he was up to no good, above and beyond what was normal for him. With Anna to look after, any idiotic thing that Dabi was doing was the least of his concerns. Kobura had heard Dabi was working on bringing someone into The Leagues of Villains for better intel, but he knew little beyond that. It made Kobura’s skin crawl not knowing more, not being able to warn Anna about what villainous activities were to come.

Kobura shifted again on his slab that they called a cot. His fingers felt frigid in these conditions, and it was getting harder for him to move. Kobura’s cold-blooded nature did not adjust well to colder climates. The prison barely gave him anything to wear, a thin orange jumpsuit, let alone materials to cover himself with. Villains didn’t exactly get first-class treatment in Tartarus. They’d removed all of his piercings. He ran his tongue over the now empty snakebite holes, wondering if they would close before he’d get out.

Shigaraki should have defeated Gigantomachia by now, based on the rumors, which made Kobura feel a little bit better about his current predicament. Doku’s quirk would have been a detriment to those extended fights. He would have only made Gigantomachia more powerful against Shigaraki. The fact that Shiggy won, meant that going to prison wasn’t a total waste. Word spread quickly, even within these thick walls. The League of Villains went up against the Meta-Liberation Army and kicked their asses. The new name circled Tartarus like a ghost. The Paranormal Liberation Front was what The League had started calling themselves now.

After everything, Doku chose Anna. Kobura would never regret choosing her. His friends understood. You only find true love once in a lifetime. He only hoped his sacrifice gave Anna what she always dreamed of. He would return to her in time. He wouldn’t want to miss seeing her smile again.

The days had blended together. The graying walls of the Tartarus facility didn’t allow for an appropriate count of time. Kobura was a model prisoner in the interim. He kept his head down, stayed out of trouble. He felt that doing his time made up for some of his past villainous deeds, even if it was just in a small way. Being behind bars, taking responsibility for his actions, would put him in a better place with Anna. He’d stay as long as it took in this hellish prison for her. He’d break out if she ever needed him.

Doku’s door beeped, indicating that the lock had released. Kobura sat up in the next breath. There should have been no reason his cell door opened now. They hadn’t requested him to put on a quirk-nullifying mask, nor was it mealtime.

The air left Kobura’s body as his eyes met his father’s single golden iris. Kobura froze. He never thought he would come into direct contact with his father, especially here. The last he knew, his parents were being held at a lesser facility, one for smalltime villains.

“Finally. It’s been ages since I’ve seen my treacherous son. I bet you had hoped I had rotted away in here.” The door slid shut behind Kobura.

“I didn’t know you were—”

Kobura’s words were cut short by his father’s hand snapping out and crushing his neck. A guttural hiss pierced Kobura’s eardrum, and his head slammed against the back wall as his father held him there.

“Of course you didn’t know, you sad excuse for a child. Did you think abandoning us in prison wouldn’t come back to haunt you? I was transferred here weeks ago for bad behavior. Your mother was left to rot in the same facility you left her in.”

Kobura’s white prison-issue shoes slid down the wall, trying to gain some traction. His father had always been taller than him, broader. His speed far surpassed Kobura’s alone. Doku clawed at his dad’s hands, trying to wrench them away from his windpipe.

“I hope you enjoyed your little vacation because your delusions of a life on your own are over. I think you need a reminder of who owns you.”

Kobura’s father put more force into his grip to the point that Doku started seeing spots. Just before Kobura thought he was going to pass out, his father let go, dropping him back down to the concrete. Doku gasped for air, coughing.

“You don’t own me,” Doku bit back through ragged breaths.

Kobura’s father didn’t hesitate to jam his sneaker against his fallen son’s head, holding him down. “I own the air you breathe, you little wretch. I own the mind you think with and the body you so uselessly didn’t use to get me out of this hellhole. Without me, you would never have existed. Without me, you would have amounted to nothing.” Kobura’s father pressed harder onto Doku’s skull.

Doku gritted his teeth, trying his best to keep the pressure off of his head by holding his father’s ankle. There was nothing more for him to say. Doku had left his parents to rot in prison. He was tired of busting them out, only for them to do something heinous again or involve him in something he never wanted to be a part of. The League gave him choices, options. Shigaraki gave him a position, a role within their group. Kobura’s parents never gave him a choice. They never considered his feelings.

“Have nothing more to say, boy? Pitiful.”

Kobura’s father gave Doku a few swift kicks while he was down. All Doku did in his defense was cover his head.

“You were always so weak,” his father spat. His single golden eye widened wickedly, while the grotesqueness of his hollow one seemed to become harder to ignore. “It’s laughable how you thought a little time away from your parents made you all grown up. Did you really think joining that second-rate villain group made you anything?” He kicked Doku again. “You’re not the only one that can make connections, Doku. Never forget that your father was a villain before you took your first breath. I know people, powerful and horrible people. I can find my way into your cell whenever I please. But, that’s not all. Oh, no. I didn’t just learn that you’d been put in Tartarus. I’ve learned everything about you, boy. Things you’ve been doing, people you’ve been seeing, and where you reside. And, I can’t wait until I escape this place to destroy everything you’ve created without us, everyone you thought would keep you safe.”

Kobura’s eyes widened. The fear within him morphed into rage. His skin boiled with anger. His father couldn’t know about Anna. There was no way he could know about her. Doku tried and failed to calm himself. The League of Villains could hold their own against Doku’s father, but he wouldn’t let him lay a hand on Sweet Anna.

Kobura’s father reached down, gripping Kobura by the back of the head and hoisting him up from the ground. His lips came close to Doku’s jugular. His sharp venomous teeth grazed his son’s throat as he spoke again. “I know about the girl.”

Dark spots filled Kobura’s vision. He twisted his body, hooking his legs between his father’s, forcing him to lose his balance. Kobura’s father released Doku to catch himself. It was enough for Kobura to get a swing in. His bare knuckles cracked against his father’s cheek, snapping the older man’s head to the side.

Silence. Dead silence. Kobura’s father twisted his head back toward his son. A grin widened on his unnatural face, his snake-like features stretching to their full capacity.

“I will never let you touch her,” Doku snapped.

“Ah, you poor hopeless soul,” Kobura’s father said. “You won’t be able to do anything to stop me. To think, this all could have been avoided had you just behaved and done what you were told.”

Kobura’s eyes widened. His silent vow to stay put dissolved into dust in a matter of seconds. He swung at his father again with murderous intent. His dad dodged with ease, golden scales shimmering against the low-quality fluorescent lighting.

“I’ll be sure to kill her slowly, watch as she screams for you to come and save her,” Doku’s father taunted. He chuckled. “A little hero student begging for a villain to come rescue her; how tragic does that sound?”

Kobura’s venom roiled in the back of his throat. His teeth ached in his jaw. He swung again, another miss.

“Maybe she won’t even think of you in her last moments. You probably spent all of your freedom obsessing over a star-crossed fantasy. Didn’t you, boy? So predictable.”

Kobura lunged at his father again, but this time he struck back. Kobura staggered, slumping against the far wall.

“I wonder what expression she’ll make when all the blood leaves her body.”

Kobura’s skin itched. His senses overwhelmed him. His father seemed to blur in front of him. Doku bent over, holding his stomach. His muscles stretched and groaned within his toned body. A searing hot ache emerged into his gums.

“You’ll never get the chance to see it,” Kobura hissed out in pain.

“You’re beginning to bore me with your false promises, boy.” Kobura’s father crossed the room, standing above his doubled-over son. “Let’s finish this little reunion with you bloodied and beaten, shall we?”

“I won’t let you hurt her.” Doku’s consciousness flickered in and out. It hurt. His whole body was in horrid agony. But, he couldn’t pass out. He had to fight. If he couldn’t for himself, he’d do it to protect her.

“I’ll carve her heart from her chest and make you watch,” his father threatened. He slowly and deliberately reached for Kobura, relishing in his mental and physical torture. “Once I’ve killed her, you’ll never disobey me again.”

A feral hiss escaped Doku’s throat. A change had set his adolescent body ablaze. He struck, faster than he ever had before, evading his father’s outstretched hand. Doku sprang onto the man. His fangs plunged into his father’s neck. Sharper teeth, like his mother’s for grinding and tearing soft flesh. Blood filled Kobura’s mouth as he bit deeper into his father. Doku jerked his head back, taking a section of his father’s neck with him. Blood sprayed violently onto the graying walls. Surprise filled Doku’s father’s expression. The man’s hand moved up to his throat, now missing a vital portion of it. He choked. Coughed. Once. Twice. Three times. Then, he fell with a heavy thud to the floor of the cell.

Kobura shook in reaction to the impact. He spat out what was in his mouth, vomiting out whatever had managed to make it down his throat. Something had manifested inside him, an unruly beast rearing its ugly head. He’d killed his father, and he’d barely been in control of himself while doing it. Burning tears trailed down his face. He scrambled to the back of the cell, staring at his father’s lifeless body. The smell of death overwhelmed him. Every noise, every scent, and every color had intensified. He killed his father. It had been too easy. All those years of abuse, and he could never overpower him, and yet the old man was now dead before him.

Kobura reached up to his mouth, feeling the extra set of fangs that had formed. He never meant to hurt anyone else. He didn’t want to hurt anyone else. He had no choice. His father would have killed Anna. He would have. As soon as he set foot outside Tartarus, she would have been in danger. She might even be in danger now, if his father wasn’t bluffing about the connections that he had. Kobura had no choice. He had to kill him. There was no choice.

Kobura grabbed his head, hyperventilating.

“What have I done?” he asked. He quivered. A wave of cold washed over him. He clutched his knees to his chest, shaking uncontrollably.

The body was removed from the cell first. Blood stained every corner of the lockup, before anyone had arrived for cleanup. Kobura was too shocked to react to anyone entering. He stared off distantly. Some part of him felt relieved. The other part only felt guilt.

Doku didn’t know how long he sat there in his blood-soaked jumpsuit, minutes, hours, days. Time had become irrelevant, as he stared and stared at the bodiless crime scene in front of him. The pool of blood never seemed to dry no matter how long he stared at it.

The next voice that entered the cell was calling Doku’s name. He looked up, bleary-eyed and exhausted.

“Place the quirk nullifying muzzle on, Doku Kobura. You are being moved immediately,” the speaker announced.

Kobura complied, much like a robot, and he placed the mask over his mouth. As the device engaged, Kobura could feel his newly formed jaw tighten under the pressure. The device no longer fit correctly. Two guards entered the room, cuffing Kobura with a more technologically advanced handcuff, one that probably would set off an alarm should it be removed without the proper digital key, before escorting him out into the hallway.

“You’re being transferred to a different facility,” one of the guards stated dryly.

Kobura had just murdered his father with his own lethal bite, and they were transferring him? Tartarus was the best facility to detain villains like him, but he wasn’t about to argue. He didn’t want to be put back in that cell with the stench of death reeking in every crevice and the blood that never seemed to congeal.

Doku was led through several passageways and security gates, before he was finally put in a transport vehicle. He didn’t understand. None of this made sense. He deserved to be in the most secure penitentiary there was. He belonged in the prison they were removing him from. They should have left the monster in his cage.

“Your father traded some good venom to get the two of you transferred back to your mother’s facility. I may be a corrupt cop, but I keep my damn word. Too bad you killed him. His venom sold for a pretty penny to the villains.”

Kobura raised his head, tilting it to the side as confusion turned to mild understanding. His father intended to bring him back with him. But, why go through all that trouble to beat him? Why taunt Kobura like that if his father wanted to keep them together?

To use me, Kobura thought. Doku’s father intended to use Kobura like he’d done for his entire life. Had his father been able to escape prior, he would have. He did not have the skill to escape technological gates, nor did his father have the resources. He had intended to beat the lesson into Kobura, make him suffer for leaving him locked up for so long. Kobura’s father wanted to become the puppet master of his marionette again, but he failed to calculate how Doku had changed.

He was dead now. His father was dead. His mother was still in prison. Kobura had a chance to be free, a chance to live his life again the way he wanted to. Kobura’s attention slid up to the two men in front of him.

“Why not sell my venom instead? It’s more potent and reactive to the feral part of quirks,” Kobura’s muffled voice came out of the muzzle.

One of the guards raised an eyebrow, looking back at Doku with curiosity. His eyes narrowed, as he looked Kobura up and down.

"Come now. What could I possibly do with my hands cuffed?” Doku asked.

“It’s hard to believe you, kid, especially with all that blood on yuh,” the other man scoffed, watching him in the rearview mirror.

“My father abused me since the day I was born…” Kobura gulped, his fingers tensing. It pained Doku to have lost control like that, even with how horrible his father could be to him. “He threatened someone very dear to me. I had no choice.” Of course, there was a choice. Kobura felt the guilt snake around his heart. He thought he’d gained some self-control with Anna’s affections on the line, but he lost himself in base instinct. His jaw still hurt from the sudden mutation of his quirk. “If I didn’t kill him, I’m almost certain my mother would have. It was only a matter of time,” Doku said coldly, but his chest clenched and ached, thinking about the ordeal. He’d be haunted by his father’s death in the years to come. He was almost certain every night he’d awaken from a new night terror.

The passenger guard looked interested but uncertain in response to Doku’s proposal.

“It would only take a few minutes. No one would ever know that you stopped.” What Kobura needed now was to escape, make certain Sweet Anna was actually safe. There was no point in mourning a man that he himself murdered. What justification would there be to killing him if Anna came to harm regardless? Kobura knew his father enough to know that he would have already sent villains after Anna to make sure Doku would obey him. He would have held it over Doku’s head as a failsafe to ensure his cooperation.

Kobura had done something unforgiveable, but it wasn’t him. It was something else entirely. He’d never felt such power in his veins, such feral instinct. Killing his father was a horrible accident. A mistake needs no ulterior justification. Kobura’s father’s death was not Doku’s fault. It’s what he wanted to believe. He couldn’t live with himself otherwise.

Kobura’s mind continued to contradict itself. Whether or not what he’d done was an accident or pure vengeance, it didn’t change Doku’s original objective: Keep Anna safe. If he focused on his main goal, he wouldn’t have to think about what he’d done. It wouldn’t matter if no harm came to his Sweet Anna.

The car pulled over to the side of the road. The passenger guard opened a secret compartment within the glove box, where he removed some specimen cups. The guard at the wheel kept watch as the other moved to the back, leaving the back door slightly ajar behind him, so he could easily get out. There was a metal grate separating Kobura from the front of the vehicle, but there was now nothing separating him from one of the guards. It would only take a little viral venom to make the man go ballistic.

“Don’t try anything funny. It’s not like you could get very far with those cuffs on and your prison jumpsuit anyway. You know as well as I do that a Pro Hero would be able to capture you and throw you right back in prison should you try to escape,” the guard in front of him stated dryly.

Doku didn’t respond. His eyes scanned over the man for the best place to infect him. His hands were the obvious choice. It would be easy to get saliva on him. Doku would take his chances with the Pro Heroes. Even if the technologically advanced cuffs couldn’t be removed with something on the guards, Kobura could remove them himself with the right digital tools.

The corrupt guard barely looked up at Kobura as he adjusted his position in the back seat. His hands fiddled with the lid of the cup, which surprisingly already had the proper material atop for venom extraction. Doku watched in frustration as the man put on gloves. Kobura would only have a few moments to somehow get the venom on him, but his original plan, to simply get his saliva to drip on the side of the cup, would not work if the guard had gloves on.

Kobura’s jaw ached. His newly grown teeth dug into his sensitive gums. He gulped, but he already felt a significant increase in his saliva and his venom. He was practically drowning in the nullifying mask at this point. His quirk felt like it was burning the inside of his mouth.

The guard grabbed Kobura roughly by his white hair. It had grown a bit longer after having some time within prison walls. He balanced the cup on his lap as he unlatched the device around Kobura’s face. The guard’s expression twisted in disgust as gobs of toxic green venom and drool dripped out of the device. With the device removed, Kobura could finally breathe again, adjust to the weight of his newly formed teeth.

The guard shoved the device onto Kobura’s lap, so he could retrieve the cup to begin the extraction. In an uncivilized manner, he jammed Doku’s face toward the cup, forcing his aching teeth into the material to begin the extraction and treating Kobura no better than a mangy animal. Gobs of green venom spewed into the container without Doku having to do much. It wouldn’t take long to lose his chance to escape.

The cup felt small in Doku’s mouth, so small his bottom teeth nearly grazed the bottom of the cup. His eyes widened in realization. There was a chance to infect the guard after all. With enough pressure, he could probably destroy the receptacle altogether. It shouldn’t be hard with Kobura’s new strength either. The guard pushed harder on the back of his head, nearly making Doku gag, but with the oncoming force, Doku stretched his jaw further, no matter how excruciatingly painful it was. Finally, with a little adjusting and a subtle tilt of his chin forward, Kobura managed to fit his whole mouth around the cup. Without another moment’s hesitation, he bit down as hard as he could. The plastic cup shattered between the guard’s fingers. He yelped, nearly getting his digits bitten along with it, but the guard had enough instincts to pull back.

The venomous green liquid splattered and sprayed in every direction from the force of Kobura’s jaw shutting around the container. Several droplets splashed against the guard’s skin in the driver’s seat and nearly a whole half of a cup splattered across the man’s face in front of Doku. The guard sputtered, attempting fruitlessly to wipe the substance off.

“Dammit! You little snake. You did that on purpose. Can’t trust a damn one of you!” He started screaming out a series of choice words, before he turned for the door behind him, completely forgetting to put the mouth device back on Kobura.

Doku sprang after him. The guard and Doku went tumbling onto the street. Kobura could feel the heat pulsating off of the man’s skin, the sweat already glistening from his pores. Doku’s quirk had somehow entered his bloodstream faster than normal. Perhaps, the guard accidently swallowed some, or, perhaps, Doku’s quirk had changed, advanced. The scuffle wasn’t long, nor was it drawn out. Rage filled the guard’s eyes, and his skin bubbled and transformed with whatever quirk he had been keeping hidden. His rough textured features began to harden, as if the man had some kind of physical shield quirk, but his body was so bloated that he could not get up from his prone position, even in his angered state. Doku wasted no time, searching the man’s pockets to find the key to his cuffs. He dodged the guard’s swiping hands, as he made guttural and unintelligible noises. It didn’t take long for Doku to find the right USB type mechanism that unlocked his cuffs. He escaped them easily by angling his fingers in just the right way with the key. Kobura dropped the cuffs to the ground beside the writhing guard.

The other guard must have been affected by Doku’s viral venom too because no one came out of the escort vehicle. In fact, it sped off with a screech, suggesting a form of road rage had ensued or been forced upon the man with the feral activation of his quirk. Kobura winced as he heard the car crash into the back of another vehicle, but he didn’t look back.

Doku removed the top half of his prison jumper, rolling it down to his hips. He’d rather strut around half naked, than clearly be an escaped convict. He started running. Eerily, the streets were quiet. Japan seemed like some off-kilter ghost town. And, even more strange, there wasn’t a Pro Hero in sight. Usually, this part of the city was crawling with them. Kobura brusquely stepped into an abandoned open shop, grabbing a few items of clothing. His eyebrows furrowed when he didn’t spot a soul in the building itself. There was even a pile of change left on the register counter. He didn’t question his luck further, discarding his bloody clothes for the plain new ones: a light green t-shirt, a pair of baggy dark gray sweat pants, a dark black mask with a cheeky cat mouth, a plain black baseball cap, a pair of black gloves, and a new pair of white sneakers. He left the store, half-expecting for the owner to come running out to stop him, but no one did.

Kobura then started noticing the empty cars near him, the other abandoned buildings. As he jogged down the sidewalk, it became abundantly clear that the whole area had been evacuated. But, it didn’t make sense for an evacuation of this scale to happen so suddenly. He’d never seen something like this in all his years of being a villain.

Kobura continued down the desolate road, listening for voices, until he heard some. A crowd seemed to be moving away from the main center of the city. Kobura sped toward the group, sneaking between alleyways until he was close enough to become a part of them. Doku spent little time blending in, his eyes finally catching sight of a young hero, one that could have been Anna’s age, ushering the crowd forward.

“Keep moving, citizens! You must all evacuate for your own safety!” another hero announced, one only a few years older than the last.

Kobura shifted with the crowd who were going at a rather leisurely pace. Abruptly, some people started looking back. A few citizens even started screaming. Doku turned around, distinctly aware of the heroes at the back moving their attention to their flank as well. A rippling wave of destruction flailed out across the horizon. Panic ensued. Kobura’s eyes only widened. Everything caught in the blast seemed to gray and decay as if Shigaraki was holding it in his bare hands. Shigaraki had actually gone through with it, the doctor’s crazy procedure to enhance him, and it must have worked.

Doku stood amidst the fleeing citizens. He watched as everything in the shockwave’s path crumbled to dust. How much had he missed while he was locked away? How much had changed? He should have been there for them, for him. Shigaraki had given Kobura hope that he could live a life without strings.

Doku took a few retreating steps back, gauging where the destruction might end based on its speed and current radius. The pre-emptive panic was understandable, but it wasn’t necessary. This group of civilians Kobura had blended in with had been moved far enough back to avoid harm. A cloud of dust washed through Doku as the decay halted only a few feet away from him. As the earth settled, Kobura scanned over the damage.

One of the young heroes beside Doku shuddered, rightfully so. The destruction in front of him was probably far beyond anything he’d ever seen. With shaking hands, the boy motioned for Doku to keep moving.

“W-we should get you to safety,” he said, ever the model hero-in-training.

Kobura shook his head. “There’s no safety from this,” he stated bluntly.

A flash of green and an explosion grabbed Doku’s attention next. His eyes followed the new onslaught of color over the gray and dulled landscape. Doku recognized the one youthful hero as Katsuki Bakugo, not so much the other green-haired boy. They must have lost their minds to head into the decay. Shigaraki would wipe the floor with them both, especially after his quirk transformation.

A sparkling young hero followed after them. Doku’s whole body stiffened. His heartbeat sprang to life, and he was running before his feet had even caught up with his mind. Anna was chasing after the two idiots, of course she was.

“Are you crazy?! The Commission and the Pro Heroes want all civilians to evacuate! Don’t head toward that chaos!” the young hero pleaded for Kobura to return.

Doku had no intention of turning back. He knocked off his baseball cap, ripping the stolen mask free from his face. There was no way he’d let Anna rush into danger like that. She had no idea what she was about to face. Shigaraki would kill her without even realizing what he’d done.

Doku tucked his head down, going faster, as fast as he could run. With their quirks in comparison to his, he might not be able to catch her in time, but he had to try. He would lay down his life for her. Whether she wanted him to or not, he would sacrifice his life for hers.

Please, Anna. Please don’t leave me.

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