#or he learns through excruciating slow torture or something

[tennessoui]

Kisses to distract for the playmaker au 🌌

omg from this prompt list, kisses to distract from the au where all the kisses are basically to deceive and to distract???? hell yes!!!

so i couldn't pick which kiss i wanted and then i remembered i made a playmaker post once about how vos is probably sent undercover/ends up at anakin's table and obi-wan freaks out and corners him and they're found and its so suspicious that they would be so close talking in a secret corner that before they're found, vos kisses obi-wan so that people will just think that they're horny only for vos to then die because That's Anakin's Little Mouse

so this is that....except a little different cause obi-wan's daddy issues are Daddying rn

(2.6k) (cw: a nonconsensual kiss. but also. like. murder???)

Obi-Wan can feel his heart beating. It’s so loud in his mind that he can barely hear what Vader is saying, and he’s sitting in the man’s lap, face tucked up beneath his chin.

He can’t remember a time he’s felt more exposed, not even the very first time Vader’s hands had found his waist and pulled him into his lap in front of half his highest ranking men. 

In the intervening weeks, it’s even been—well. It’s become rather…comfortable. If he doesn’t think of all the reasons it isn’t. 

Perched on Anakin’s thighs, one arm wrapped around his shoulders and the other held to his lap, he can press his face up against the man’s hair. He can close his eyes and commit himself wholly to listening to the men and women around him talk. Talk of shipments and delays, money owed, lives taken in payment. Obi-Wan can memorize everything and he can do it from the throne of the very mob his department has tasked him with bringing down. He can memorize it all and spend the moments in between pressing kisses to the tendons of Anakin’s neck, trailing his fingers along the in-seam of his suit pants, rubbing at the mob boss’ shoulder with the palm of his other hand.

Because—because that’s what the mission instructs that he do. He’s supposed to gather intel, gather evidence. And he’s supposed to do it without Anakin realizing that there’s a rat wrapped around his heart. The kisses—the kisses help. Distract him.

And it feels good. To kiss him.

To tease him into fucking him up against the wall the second they get somewhere private. To coax him into such violent need he dismisses his men and has Obi-Wan right where they’re sitting. 

It feels good, to be so desired that it’s uncontrollable. To be so desired that the desire must be dealt with, must be whittled down simply by the act of having. Of taking.

Obi-Wan doesn’t feel guilty about how good it feels. It should feel good to be touched. It should be some sort of bonus to the undercover mission that it is sometimes him whose hands shake with the desire to be on Anakin’s skin. It is not something he needs to feel guilty about.

It is not something his father needs to know about either, the way that the son he raised turns into a slut the moment a criminal gets between his thighs.

And luckily enough, right now, Obi-Wan is the sole decider of what Qui-Gon Jinn gets to know. That’s the nature of being the only rat to have lived this long in the Skywalker mob. That’s the nature of being the only rat. Obi-Wan gets to decide what he tells his team and what he leaves out of their quick and hurried meetings when Obi-Wan’s supposed to be on a run.

But—but he was supposed to be the only rat.

He was not supposed to look across the long table laden with food that Anakin uses for his mob meetings and see a face he recognized. 

Obi-Wan’s head is swimming, and his heart is pounding so loudly in his ears that Anakin must be able to hear it too. That must be why he adjusts his grip on him, dragging him further into his arms as if that will make him feel safer.

All it does is drag the hem of his shorts further up his thigh, exposing the lace end of the stockings he’s wearing. All it does is tug the droopy material of his shirt off his shoulder—revealing the strappy red lace of the bralette beneath.

It has happened before—hell, Obi-Wan has dressed like this in front of these men for the express purpose of this happening, of his outfit revealing what lies beneath while he can feign ignorance. Nothing gets Anakin’s hands on him faster than other men seeing what he thinks is only his.

What is only his.

He came tonight wearing the brightest colors of pretty things he owned in order for this to happen because it has been far too long since Anakin last snapped. He has been far too put together lately, far too...distant.

It makes Obi-Wan’s chest tight with anxiety. He has not yet been able to figure out what attracted the mob boss to him in the first place, and he’s spent the last several days wondering if it’s gone. If he’s about to be tossed to the side, ripped out of Anakin’s bed with the same ease he was granted entry.

Or—maybe worse, what if Anakin has made him as a rat? What if he’s to be killed?

What if his father knows that and he thought to send in Obi-Wan’s replacement before he can die? It would be less suspicious, wouldn’t it? 

No. Obi-Wan is being paranoid. Too paranoid. Even if he were to lose Anakin’s attention, he has the twins wrapped around his thumb. Anakin cannot kill him, his children would not stand for it. 

And—it would give him time to figure out what he did wrong, what made Anakin’s eyes stray. He could be better. Figure out how to do better, be what he needed.

For the sake of the mission.

And…there would be no way for his father to catch wind of the mob realizing there’s a rat before Obi-Wan knows. 

So the fact that Quinlan Vos is sitting close to the foot of the table…that he’s here, in this room, as a ranking member of Anakin’s mob….

That must mean that his father does not trust him to be doing his job. That Obi-Wan’s performance has disappointed him somehow, that he hasn’t been enough. He has not given them the information that they need and so his father has found a replacement.

And now the man who used to help Obi-Wan sort his father’s highlighters by color and size is staring at him from down the table, looking at the lines of his lingerie as he sits on the lap of the most dangerous mob boss in the city.

“Well,” Anakin says, tossing his napkin onto his empty plate. “Let’s break so that they can clean up this mess. And then—to business, men.”

The words are met with the thud and scrape of twenty or thirty chairs pushing back from their seats as the owners vacate them obediently. Obi-Wan, just as obedient, stays still. Anakin’s hand has clasped around the back of his neck, keeping him in position. 

“You’re shaking, little mouse,” the mob boss murmurs.

“It’s cold,” Obi-Wan replies automatically, turning his face into his neck. He presses the faintest of kisses there and thinks about ripping the man’s throat open with his teeth, ending all of his problems now. 

“Aw, baby, but you look so pretty like this,” Anakin says, ghosting his hand up the outside of his thigh and resting it just beneath the hem of his shorts. Then, his tone changes, growing lower, darker. Vader.  “The men couldn’t look away.”

Obi-Wan tries to draw a breath, but it stalls out in his chest. He stills, and then immediately tries to pretend that he hasn’t, that his thoughts have flown to Vos, who had been just as surprised to see him in Anakin’s lap as Obi-Wan had been to see him at Anakin’s table. 

“Hm?” Vader continues, as if Obi-Wan has spoken.

“I didn’t notice,” Obi-Wan finally says, sitting back so he can look fully into Vader’s eyes. “All I was looking at was you.”

They’re different from Anakin’s, Vader’s eyes. He would include this in his reports if he could figure out a way to say it that doesn’t make him sound insane. It’s been a long-held theory, that Anakin Skywalker isn’t always just Anakin Skywalker, but no one’s ever been able to have irrefutable proof.

But looking into Vader’s eyes, Obi-Wan knows. Knows it’s Vader who is looking back. Anakin is a dangerous man all on his own, but Vader…Vader is another beast entirely.

One that Obi-Wan isn’t prepared to deal with right now. Not when he is so on edge. When Vos is here. At Anakin’s restaurant. At his table.

Does Obi-Wan’s father really think he has failed so entirely? Does he really think he needs to be replaced? Needs support?

“I need to stretch my legs,” Obi-Wan says, pushing away from Vader’s chest. “I heard you and Ahsoka talking over it, I know this meeting will be a long one.” “My, what big ears you have, little mouse,” Vader says silkily, even as he drops his hands and leans back in his chair. The dismissal is clear; Obi-Wan is being given what he wants.

He gets several steps away before he looks back at Anakin, hands tightening into fists and releasing. 

The man is watching him go, wine glass raised in front of his lips. He hasn’t closed his legs yet, sprawling out on his chair like it’s a throne.

And Obi-Wan is—torn. He needs to track down Vos. He needs to find a place to talk with him. 

But he needs—he needs to stay here, with Anakin. He needs to turn back around and press himself up against Anakin’s chest once more, spread himself over him and make him feel good. So good that Anakin will not kill him nor tell him to leave and kill him all the same.

The shame and guilt that come on the heels of that thought are strong enough to force him to look away, force him out of the room.

He doesn’t get far.

A hand wraps around his arm and pulls him aside almost as soon as he’s exited the wide main room of the second floor of Anakin’s restaurant.

Obi-Wan makes an automatic, furious sound, but the hold on his arm only tightens as he’s pulled further into a dark and quiet alcove, mostly shielded by a marbled statue.

“What the hell are you doing,” the man who has grabbed Obi-Wan whispers furiously, and Obi-Wan goes almost boneless with relief. Oh, thank God it’s Vos.

“Me? What are you doing—” he turns around to face him fully, as much as the tight space can allow. “Did my father send you?”

In the shadows of the alcove, Obi-Wan can barely see Vos roll his eyes. “Probably in his mind, yeah, he did. I got back from one undercover mission, got sent the contacts for another almost immediately, wound up here, where his precious son’s whor—”

“What does that mean—”

“And he should have, Jesus, Kenobi! They told me you were making nice with the mob, wait until they hear you’re grinding up on Vader during his business meetings, what the fuck—-”

“No!” Obi-Wan doesn’t mean to say it so loudly or so vehemently, but he can’t. Qui-Gon was never supposed to know, no one was supposed to know, and now they will, and maybe his father will pull him off the case, can he do that? Would he try? If he thought Obi-Wan was doing a bad enough job, he would. He would take him away, get Detective Secura to arrest him next time they meet for information, it wouldn’t blow his cover, but it would take him away from—

From Anakin.

Obi-Wan can’t let that happen.

He hears footsteps, pointed and loud, coming down the hallway toward them. The break must nearing over, it’ll be time to get back to the real meat of the meeting, the actual mob business now, and then Obi-Wan won’t see Vos again. No way Anakin would let him spend a moment alone with another man—it would look suspicious anyway, if Ben knew this random mobster. Two rats getting cozy under the same roof, it doesn’t look good.

Anakin can’t know. Obi-Wan can’t lose him. He can’t lose him.

He can’t.

I’m sorry, he thinks and he knows it’s not good enough but the guilt does not drown out the need burning in his chest. The desire that cannot be controlled.

In the next moment, he’s pushing Vos up against the wall of the alcove, forcing him back with a grunt that’s loud enough that the footsteps outside pause.

Turn.

Just as Obi-Wan presses his lips against Vos’, pulling his own shirt down to look dissheveled. Messy. Like someone has been running their hands over his clothes.

“Oh, now that’s something Vader will want to know about,” Ahsoka Tano says. Obi-Wan rips himself away almost as fast as he pushed himself into Vos’ space.

It isn’t an act when he rubs the back of his hand over his lips. He’d kissed Vos mid-word, gotten the man’s spit in his mouth. He doesn’t like the taste, wishes it was Anakin’s.

“Tano,” he says. “Just making friends.”

Tano’s eyebrows fly up further than Obi-Wan’s ever seen them. “You get all your friends killed, Ben?”

Vos moves to stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder, and the guilt and shame slam into Obi-Wan so suddenly that he almost rocks back from the blow. Vos is eight years older than him; was just fresh from the academy when Obi-Wan was still just a kid left to twiddle his thumbs at the police station waiting for his father to take him home. He’d gotten him take-out before. Coffee. Water. Little games to play with.

And Obi-Wan has gotten him killed.

“A little kiss won’t kill me,” Vos says, clapping a hand to Obi-Wan’s shoulder. There’s a note of bravado in his voice.

“Not quickly,” Tano promises. She raises her hand, snaps it when Obi-Wan doesn’t exit as quickly as she wants. “Come on, Benny. Let’s get you back to daddy.”

“Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan says, taking a shaking step forward. All he can think about suddenly is Vos, a decade younger and relegated to a shitty desk in the back of the station first year out of the academy, shoes up on his files, biology flashcards in his hands as he ran Obi-Wan through the questions.

What has he done?

What has he done?

“Please,” he finally says, stumbling out of the alcove, and when his voice wavers, he’s not faking it. What has he done? He has gotten Vos killed—and for what? Why had he kissed him? He could have—he could have talked to him, he could have begged. He could have explained the situation, why did he have to—

Because there is nothing Obi-Wan can say that will make Tano hold her tongue.

And there is nothing Obi-Wan can do to stay Anakin’s hands. He has murdered people for less. Perhaps this time he’ll murder Obi-Wan too, that way Obi-Wan will not have to live too long with the weight of this guilt.

“Ladies first,” Tano says as she opens the door back into the room. It’s buzzing with the sound of other people’s voices, the movement of them as they find their seats once more.

Obi-Wan walks forward and Anakin’s eyes snap to him immediately. They’re dark and narrowed, as if he already knows more than he likes.

The walk has never been longer to get to Anakin’s side once more. 

He’s pulled to stand in between Anakin’s spread thighs, the man’s hands falling to his waist and pulling him in, splaying out across his hips.

“Mm,” the mobster murmurs, and Obi-Wan’s legs are so shaky that he has to clamber up onto his lap just to avoid falling apart then and there. What has he done. What has he done?

“You smell different, baby,” Anakin says. “What have you been doing?” Obi-Wan wonders suddenly, wildly, if he can smell his fear. If he could see it in his eyes as he approached.

“Making friends,” Tano reports as she drops into the chair next to them. “Tongue first.”

Anakin’s hands still and then tighten. When he speaks, his voice is low and deep and all Vader. “Is that right, little mouse?”

And Obi-Wan—there is nothing Obi-Wan can do save for letting the guilt kill him.

So Obi-Wan nods. He nods and raises Vader's chin with his hand, forcing him to look at him. "I told you I was cold," he said as if he'd been so cold he found another man's body to keep him warm in the minutes he was away from Anakin.

Anakin's eyes are like pieces of ice. There's no warmth in them, but there's a glowing light of something that looks a lot like hunger. Fascination.

It's the same way he looked at him when he first saw him. As if he were intrigued.

The expression makes something that has been wound tight these last few weeks dissolve into nothing. Anakin's eyes promise that there will be no more distance between them. That he has not grown so tired of him that he will be discarded with next week's recycling.

And despite the guilt, the worry, the shame that's burning Obi-Wan's insides to ash, that look in Anakin's eyes warms him to the core.

[peachesandmilktea]

Player!Dabi x Player!reader during red light green light and someone tries to get her killed ✌️😩 plsss he'd be sooo mad

Squid Game AU - Player!Dabi x Player!Reader

TW: Dabi is definitely one of the scary players, Yandere Tendencies, Super Protective and Possessive Dabi, Mentions of Torture and Murder.

Squid Game AU Masterlist.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4.

It all goes so fast.

Someone whispers something filthy about you, a word that has you blushing followed by a less than subtle "Die," and then you're tripped and fall right as the robot girl turns around to shoot at the moving players.

There are tears in your eyes when you look at the doll's, deadly cameras in the form of merciless irises looking for any weaknesses to kill, kill and kill. And yet, right before she starts, right before she sees you and pronounces your death sentence, there is the strong back of another player hiding her from view, protecting you in the process.

The bullet doesn't come.

She didn't see you move.

It takes ten long, excruciating seconds of her looking around the field before it's over and Dabi (as you've learned he likes to be called), turns to you, worry in his gaze for the first time since you've met him.

"You okay, princess?"

His hands are soft when he helps you up, movements slow as if he were scared to hurt you, worried that you'd break into pieces under his touch if he dared use just a bit of his usual strength. And maybe his fingers are trembling with fury when they wrap around yours, but still, there is kindness in the gesture, so uncharacteristic of him it all feels unreal.

"Walk," he orders, firm, as he gives a slight push right between your shoulder blades so that you'd cross the line guaranteeing your victory at this deadly game.

You turn to him right when you step on the white paint covering the dirt ground, the soles of your trainers squeaking as you do so.

He's there. Dabi. Blood on his fingers, pure, raw hatred in his gaze, murderous in the way he catches the other player by the collar to pull him closer until their faces are but a mere inches away from each other, until that guy who tripped you can't see anything but the fire burning in your protector's cerulean irises.

The doll turns towards them and they get stuck that way, like a frozen picture taken right before a disaster, the last second of calm before an all-destroying storm.

"Dabi," you call, but your voice is weak and you're not sure he'd pay attention even if he could hear you, not when he's blinded by his rage, not when fury is running through his veins and filling his whole mind faster than any other thought.

And then the robot girl turns back, and he sends the other guy flying over the white line right before he crosses it himself, nonchalant and deadly as he catches him again, by the throat this time.

"No need to thank me, I had to make sure you survived this one," Dabi tells him, the words spilling from his lips poisonous like snake venom.

And when the guy asks why, Dabi simply smiles, a terrifying, violent smirk, and says:

"Because I'll be the one to end you."

No matter how much you plead, no matter how many times you try to soothe him, to drown his fury with sweet words and teary eyes, it happens at night, right after the lights go out.

This time, everything is silent but for the screams, the yelps of pain, the cries and begging of the man who dared lay a hand on you during the game, the horrifying sounds echoing in the otherwise silent dormitory as he breaks again, and again, and again under Dabi's touch.

He knows how to make pain last, you notice. He knows how to make someone wish they'd never been born. He knows how to tear all humanity from a person using only his hands or the dull blade of a rusty knife.

But somehow, rather than his actions, it's his words that send icy, deadly shivers running down your spine as they echo throughout the room for everyone to hear, his voice low, deep and menacing when they slip through his blood-coated lips.

"Never touch what's mine."

———

YES I will write smut for them soon. Idk whether to make it consensual or noncon/dubcon yet, would love to hear your opinion on it, and also if there are any kinks you'd like to see!

Tell me if you liked it ❤️

Join the taglist?

[charmingyong]

The Dangerous Silence of Your Lipstick - Pt.2

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2

Full Title: The Dangerous Silence of Your Lipstick – Part 2

Genre: Taeyong x mafia queen!reader, action, violence, revenge, angst, dash of fluff

Warnings: dark theme, psycho, swearing, kidnapping, knife and firearm usage, gore, deaths, stalking, sip of alcohol, smoking, mention of gambling, suggestive, drugs, bit of unrequited love

Word count: 20k

Plot: You had cut ties with your actress life and were now a cold-blooded mafia leader, one that Taeyong never dreamt of you becoming, for only one motive.

A/N: Darker than part 1; read at your own risk. Quick recap of the main members still with you: Johnny, Kun, Jungwoo, Mark, Renjun, Jeno, Haechan

Tagging: @cosmiclatte28​ @luvjeongjaehyun​

© 2022 charmingyong.

- ❀ -

You walked into the VIP room coldly with your men behind you. Kun pulled your chair out, and you seated yourself across an aging man. The man scoffed upon seeing a woman in front of him. “I don’t like doing business with a woman. But I’ll let it slide.” He clasped his hands on the table and leaned forward, his eyes holding a seductive glint. “I’m intrigued by your red lipstick.”

You stared at the man, holding an intense gaze with him. His last words stirring something inside you, and you began laughing darkly, calming down after a moment and letting a small menacing smirk tug at one end of your lips. You would deal with him later on after the deal was sealed, a taste of his own red lipstick. At that moment, you merely replied with a, “It’s my specialty.”

- ❀ -

Mark leaned against the wall beside a closed door and busied himself on his phone, aiming to collect as many points in the game as he could.

Renjun and Jeno walked up to him. “What’s the news?” Renjun asked.

He paused the game and looked up. “Jungwoo’s teaching Y/N-ssi. Wanna go in and see?”

Jeno shook his head. The thought of his angelic noona learning from someone like Jungwoo unfathomable.

But Renjun was interested. “I’m going in.” He pushed open the door of the dark cellar. A man was bound to the chair with both his hands locked on the table. You stood coldly in front of his terrified face, the wall with various weapons for torturing resting on the shelves behind you.

Jungwoo stood beside the man and yanked his hair, making the man wince in pain. “Torturing is my specialty. And you know how I get into the mood for it?” he asked you.

You crossed your arms in front of your chest, vacantly staring at the enemy’s man. “How?”

A sinister smile appeared on your fanboy’s face. “When I think of all the villains you had to face on TV.” He let go of the hair roughly. “Since he’s an accountant, how about chopping his fingers off?” Jungwoo gestured to the shelves, signaling you to begin.

“No! Please don’t, please!” the man cried.

You didn’t pay him any mind and found a butcher’s knife. “This will do,” you spoke with an icy tone and edged the blade close to his digits.

The man began trembling and tried to free himself of the restraints. “Please, I beg you. Don’t. I’ll do anything you say!”

You paused and stared at him dead in the eye. “Anything?”

He nodded feverishly. “Anything.”

“Bring back the dead.”

He went pale, knowing that it was impossible to. “I-”

Inching closer to his mortified face, your eyes burned from rage and pain. “Bring back everyone I lost because of Lord.”

The look in his eyes was one of resignation. There was nothing he could do to save himself. “I can’t...”

You stood up straight and inspected at the knife. A shine radiated off the sharp blade and you smiled cynically. “I don’t have a choice then.”

Renjun grimly listened to the excruciating cries of the man as he watched his noona chop the fingers off, one by one, painstakingly slow, before ultimately slamming the knife through his heart.

- ❀ -

Kun knocked on the closed doors and heard a soft hum from you. He walked into the study room where you sat in Taeyong’s chair, your legs propped up on the desk as you aimlessly stared at the bookcase that you once thought you’d never go to.

“We’ll need to hire more men,” he stated.

You sighed, well aware of the men lost in the battle with your nemesis. “I trust you to it since you know what to do.”

He nodded. “Okay.” He was about to leave the room until he suddenly remembered something that his former boss mentioned. “And Y/N-ssi?”

“Hm?”

“There’s a safe under the desk. The code is your birth date. Taeyong hyung left something for you.” With that, he departed before you could ask him more about it.

That’s odd, you thought. But it was odder that Taeyong had prepared something for you, as if he knew the day would come when he wouldn’t be by your side. You choked back a quiet sob, the pain returning in your heart and devastating you.

True to his words, there was a small cubic safe locked with your birth date. You opened it wondering what private documents and such would lie there but were surprised when you found it empty.

Empty except for a small coloured print of what looked like a polaroid photo.

You picked it up and the cries that you tried so hard to hold back released, your tears leaving your eye sockets like a flooding dam.

It was a picture of Taeyong taking a selfie by a television screen, paused at a scene in your drama where you smiled lovingly at the camera and Taeyong held his palm up as if he were holding your beautiful face.

- ❀ -

“This was Haechan’s idea, wasn’t it?”

“Why am I always the prime suspect? What about Renjun?”

“Shut up! Doyoung hyung’s right. It was your idea anyway,” Renjun defended as he pulled up to the mansion.

Haechan wasn’t going to admit it out loud even though it was obvious. After the boys were recruited to be your personal assistant, Haechan felt like something was missing in his life. Joining the mafia filled in the gap and reasoned that the skills they’d learn from the underworld would help them protect you from things you’d have to face as an actress. The boys wouldn’t have been too majorly involved as their primary goal was to serve you and would only be away from your side when there would be important missions that required their presence.

“How’s Y/N coping?” Doyoung heard the news of all the deaths, and he barely pushed through when hearing Jaemin’s. You had a soft spot for the boy and he couldn’t even imagine your state after witnessing the death yourself.

“Not good, which is why we brought you here,” Haechan replied.

Doyoung scoffed. “More like kidnapped me.”

The three entered the house and were lucky to have found you passing by the common area. You paused in your tracks when you noticed your former manager standing afar and sending you a warm smile.

You were confused by his presence. “Doyoung, why are you here?”

He walked over to you and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, stroking your head in hopes of soothing you. “I’m here to feed you.” He pulled back to see your eyes becoming glassy.

Doyoung headed inside the kitchen, and you waited at the dining table while staring hard between the two boys. “Who decided to bring him here?” you asked. Renjun and Haechan pointed at one another, making you groan. “Why?”

“You haven’t been eating properly, noona. We had to bring him because we know you love hyung’s food,” Renjun said.

It was true. Doyoung’s food was among your favourites. But even his mouth-watering bowl of your usual favourite kimchi stew when pushed in front of you couldn’t bring out an appetite.

“Y/N, you need to take care of yourself. You can’t be falling sick again,” Doyoung gently urged you as he brought a spoonful to your mouth. But you didn’t budge.

Jungwoo walked in as if a puppy’s nose had followed the savoury smell of delicious food. “Wow, now that’s what I call a meal.”

Haechan rolled his eyes. “Isn’t everything a meal for you?”

He tutted. “But this is something only those with magic hands can make.” Jungwoo plopped down in a chair beside you and asked the older man, “Can I have some?”

Doyoung nodded. “Of course, there’s plenty more.”

“Yes!” Jungwoo picked up a spare spoon and dug into your bowl. He closed his eyes and moaned. “Woah! This is beautiful,” he exclaimed.

You watched cheerful Jungwoo eat up and gave him a weak smile.

With his mouth full he said, “But noona, just learning from us isn’t going to be enough to get your revenge. You need to eat well too, like me.” He met your blank eyes and added, “Taeyong hyung wouldn’t want you not eating well just because you miss him.”

Your heart cracked at the mention of his name, and so you followed his suit, picking up a spoon.

- ❀ -

“You really shouldn’t,” Winwin advised. “At least learn something from what Karina had to do.”

Karina only stared at her manicure in silence, recalling the recent event of where she faked her own death in exchange for her freedom from not just working for Lord but also in case she was under radar. She could tell that Taeyong’s gang was after Lord’s people, having seen the way people slowly disappear. Yet, Lord didn’t care. Lord wasn’t taking any action to fight back for the people he’d lost, reasoning that the ones that were going missing were easily replaceable. All he cared about was that absolutely no one was allowed to touch the former actress because you were his.

Yuta slumped back into his seat, already having expected his friend’s opinion beforehand. He took a long sip of his iced matcha drink. “I’m not scared of anything.”

Winwin sighed and said, “You’ll never know what will happen.” Winwin stood up from his seat and added, “It’s not easier picking a side. Stay freelance. Don’t come to me and say I didn’t warn you.” Winwin gave his best regards to his friend and left the café.

Karina sighed out a long breath and Yuta shifted his eyes onto her. “You know what hurts, Yuta?” She dropped her hand in her lap and fixed her sharp eyes on him. “When feelings get involved knowing that it’s dangerous and that there’s no such thing as happily ever after for us.” At least not for her when ultimately learning of Jaemin’s death from a source. When working for Lord, Karina had to do everything she could to survive, even if that meant hurting the boy she harboured a liking for.

Yuta pondered for a while, wondering if he should take Winwin’s advice after hearing the pain in Karina’s voice. He had only gotten a mere glimpse of you during one of his missions, but it was enough to know that he’d want to work for you for long term. He thought about the recruiting offer Kun made to him recently, which led to him chatting to his friends about it. When working for no one’s side, there was no need to worry about growing a heart or betraying anyone. If he were to pick a side, especially your side, then there was no guarantee what could happen to him especially after what his friends had to say.

Yuta knew working for you was dangerous.

To take a break from his existing dilemma, he decided to spend some alone time at a mall, heading towards the most luxurious end of the establishment. He had the money, being paid handsomely for deadly tasks, but this time he only went there to look around. Window shopping was therapeutic for him and with his pretty face, both male and female employees always gushed over him, making him love the attention.

No one could tell by his innocent face that he was an underworld sniper.

His eyes landed on a sparkling Rolex watch enclosed in the glass display case and asked the female employee with a dashing smile, “Can I try it on?”

She nearly fainted when receiving his attention. “Of course!” She took out the watch and placed it on a velvet tray.

Yuta picked it up and locked it around his wrist, observing its beauty against his skin. He smirked and took it off, setting it back on the tray. “Thanks,” he said and sent a harmless wink her way.

She grinned widely and bowed. “My pleasure.”

Just as Yuta began walking away, he stopped in his tracks when catching sight of the very woman who had plagued his mind.

You leisurely strolled around with your men trailing behind, your arms crossed in front of your chest and eyes aimlessly skimming around the store for any product that caught your attention. While something didn’t, someone did. You halted your steps upon seeing an unknown man staring full-blown at you, making you raise a questioning eyebrow.

Yuta noticed it and grinned with his pearly teeth as he moved towards you.

You turned your head to look at Kun.

“He’s Yuta, one of the men I’ve planned to hire,” he answered to your unspoken question. You nodded in understanding and landed your emotionless gaze back on Yuta.

Yuta stopped in front of you and bowed. “Hello, Y/N-ssi. I’m Nakamoto Yuta, one of the best snipers in the underworld. I’ve thought about the offer and I’d be more than happy to accept it.”

You didn’t involve yourself with the hiring process, and so you weren’t aware of any details regarding the man’s history. You wanted to trust Kun with the decision, and without speaking a single word of acknowledgement, you brushed past Yuta and continued your way around the store, not giving him any more interest.

Flustered by your ice-like demeanour, Yuta regained composure and fixed his attention on Kun. Kun was pleased by the outcome and informed him, “I’ll contact you later.”

-

“He was someone Taeyong hyung wanted to recruit a long time ago, but Yuta never worked exclusively for anyone,” Kun explained during the car ride home. “I’m surprised he took up the offer now.”

You sighed quietly and stayed mute, opting to stare out the window instead of meeting his gaze. You were already sceptical of the man with a dazzling smile. There was no logical reasoning for you to reject him and therefore you hoped that the twisted feeling in your gut was mistaken.

Back at the mansion, your boys were huddled around on the couches in the common area. Haechan was first to notice you come in and stood up, followed by Renjun, Jeno and Jungwoo following suit.

“Any news?” you asked. There was only one thing that you were desperately waiting for.

Renjun shook his head. “No, we haven’t been able to trace Lord’s movement lately.”

Stressed fingers went to rub at the spot of your temple. It was odd that the very villain who wanted you wasn’t currently chasing after you. “What the hell is his plan? We need to wipe more of his men out.” You were thankful for having Kun and Johnny by your side whenever stepping out of the safe zone, shooting any danger down without having to ask you.

Jeno reported, “I have an appointment scheduled for you about that.”

You gave him a nod. “Good. All of you rest now except...” You pointed a finger at Haechan. “You. Follow me.” Without looking at anyone else, you headed straight for the study room.

Puzzled, Haechan obeyed, wondering what you had to say to him privately. In the room, he waited afar by the door as he watched you plop down in your chair and prop your feet on the desk.

“Close the doors and come here,” you told him.

He confusedly blinked at you and acted upon your words, closing the doors completely and made his way over to stop right in front of the desk.

Your eyes narrowed on him and voiced out your thought. “You know you have a strength.”

Haechan scoffed and corrected, “I actually have a lot of strengths.”

Stopping yourself from rolling your eyes, you continued. “You’re good at both keeping secrets and exposing them.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment or-”

“I’m putting you on a secret mission with Jungwoo.” You pressed a finger to your lips and added, “Don’t tell anyone else.”

He furrowed his brows wondering what it could be that it had to be private. “What’s the mission?”

You frowned at how Lord wasn’t enough stress that Yuta had to come into the picture. “Kun hired a sniper, Yuta.”

Haechan slowly nodded. “Okay...” He had heard about him before, being Taeyong hyung’s pick a while ago but never heard Yuta join their group until then.

You looked at him straight in the eye, unwavering. “Give me one reason why I should kill him.”

- ❀ -

Haechan gaped incredulously at Yuta who wore that infuriating sweet smile while standing in front of everyone sitting in the living room. “This is the deadly sniper Taeyong hyung wanted?”

Jungwoo sighed with his arms crossed. “Looks really are deceiving,” he muttered.

“He’s definitely a catch. I mean, no one would suspect him,” Renjun added.

Kun observed you for a reaction, noting how quiet you were during the introduction. You grimly stared at the recruit, finding it absolutely annoying when Yuta made eye contact with you and grinned widely, flashing his sparkling white teeth.

It definitely was annoying that no one would suspect him.

Turning your head towards Jeno, you asked, “When’s the appointment?”

Jeno checked the time on his phone and replied, “In about an hour.”

You nodded in acknowledgement. Soon, you would show Yuta what you really were.

-

Jeno opened your door and held an umbrella over your head, protecting you from the rain that the city was being showered with. You stepped out the car and glazed your eyes over the tall building where your next target was waiting in. Your bodyguards along with Kun, Jeno and Yuta followed behind you.

Strolling through the glass doors into the restaurant, Kun informed the waiter of your arrival. Your eyes scanned around the public seating, finding a few gatherings after lunch hours and one man in a black attire who pretended to read the menu.

The waiter nodded and politely said, “Please follow me.” He guided you to the private rooms and halted by one door. “Your guest is waiting in here,” he smiled.

Returning courtesy to the waiter with a smile, a dark glint apparent in your eyes. “Perfect,” you mumbled.

He opened the door and gestured you in. You found Lord’s chauffeur waiting anxiously and when his landed on you, he stood up instantly and bowed in respect. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N-ssi!”

Not giving him any regards, you coldly sat down in a chair held out by Kun.

Yuta and Jeno stood by the door to ensure no intrusion during your agenda. A chauffeur didn’t have a single protection like the higher ups would, so that shouldn’t be an issue anyway.

“What can I do for you?” the chauffeur asked.

You met the chauffeur’s bright eyes. You thought about how he’d be the one to drive Lord anywhere ordered, whether that’d be to you or from deaths of your loved ones, making you grit your teeth before relaxing slightly. “There’s a game I’ve always wanted to play. Care to join me for some fun?”

Perplexed by the request, he smiled hesitantly. “Um sure. Anything you wish, ma’am. What is the game?”

A devilish smirk curled up on your red lips and replied, “I’m sure you’ve heard of the knife game.”

His smile dropped in the blink of an eye. “Sorry?”

You gave Kun a quick glance and it was the cue for your bodyguards to gather behind the driver. One of them picked up his hand and slammed it down on the table and held it in place, while another made sure to keep the body down in the chair. The chauffeur struggled to break free as he panicked. “Please don’t hurt me!” he cried out.

You laughed quietly. “I’ve always wanted to play this game but never had the chance to. Who knows? I might be good at it or... I might not. We’ll see.” Your palm held open for Kun and he placed a knife in your hold. Without waiting for the driver to spread his fingers apart, you slammed the pointed end of the blade downward on the table, aiming for the space between the thumb and index finger. At the right time, he squeezed his eyes shut and spread the fingers apart, saving himself from the near wound.

You feigned amazement. “Wow, see? I didn’t stab into you.” Yet.

His forehead was sweating from anxiety. “Please, spare me,” he pleaded frantically.

Your knife moved to the next space between his index and middle fingers. “All you have to do is keep that hand open for me.” The knife moved slowly to the next point, and then the next, ultimately reaching the end by the pinky finger. The flow was reversed, and you picked up the pace, going slightly faster and you were amazed at yourself for not making a mistake yet.

Meanwhile, the chauffeur’s body trembled in fear, hyperventilating by your accurate moves. Seeing that it wasn’t going according to your plan, you removed your gaze from the knife and watched his face while making your next move and purposely off course. For the first time, he screamed from the unexpected pain and you looked down.

First mistake.

The knife pierced through his hand, a little off from the middle and blood began pooling around the stab.

The waiter knocked on the door and asked, “Is everything alright?”

You told Jeno to relay a message. “Tell him not to enter if he wants to live.”

Jeno nodded and cracked open the door just wide enough for one eye, speaking in hushed tone. Yuta stood deathly still, witnessing your bloody game with a grim face.

You plucked the knife out in a different angle. “Shove a towel in his mouth,” you ordered.

One of the men shoved a white napkin in, and the driver nearly gagged from the muffled screams. The game resumed and ended after you had made five punctures all in different spots. You gave the blood-stained knife back to Kun and stood up from your seat. A silent signal was exchanged between you and Kun and he understood the assignment. Done with the appointment, you strolled up to the door. Jeno opened it for you to walk out and you did, but not before staring at Yuta. Yuta recognized the look of distrust held in your gaze.

Truthfully, he didn’t know anymore if he made the right mistake of joining your group.

As soon as you stepped out of the threshold, Kun took out his gun and pulled the trigger at the chauffeur’s head. You rolled your eyes for going easy on the chauffeur. If you were back at the mansion, you would have finished him yourself by repeatedly swinging a hammer at his head until his skull and brain were battered.

Out in the public dining area with more tables filled, peaceful and oblivious to the bloody event that took place in the secluded room, you spotted the same man from earlier again, still sitting alone with his eyes glued to his phone except for when trying to steal a peek at you.

You confidently strode up to him, observing the way he shifted anxiously in his seat and avoided your gaze altogether.

“Who are you?” you asked.

The man took a moment before responding to you, acting like he was surprised for you to ask a stranger for their name. “Sorry?”

You didn’t bother repeating and instead asked, “You work for him, don’t you? Lord?”

He laughed a little in a ridiculing manner, doing his best to pretend and not know his boss. “Who’s Lord?”

You could see it clearly that it was a poor act, trying to keep his identity covert, and you were not pleased with it. Your hand reached for the gun tucked along your waistline and pulled it out, pointing at his head.

The room gradually flipped from calm to chaos as customers eventually picked up on the sight of your gun. Relaxed chatters switched to loud gasps and stressed shouting, few screams were let out as they prayed for their lives that you wouldn’t shoot them. Kun and Jeno couldn’t believe what you were doing in front of the public’s eye and tried to calm everyone down that they wouldn’t be harmed as long as they didn’t interfere. Kun instructed the bodyguards to barricade the exit and prevent anyone from escaping in order to keep the matter contained. One customer pulled out his phone in order to snap a picture of you, but Jeno stopped him with a threatening look to no do it.

“What do you do for him?” you asked calmly, not caring about what the innocent souls were about to witness soon.

The man snorted, amused that you were threatening him with a gun that you wouldn’t use in public. At least he thought you wouldn’t. “I’m telling you I don’t work for him,” he stressed.

You changed up your inquiry flow with an easier question. “Why are you following me?”

His teeth clenched and decided to at least answer that. “I’m searching.”

“What are you searching for?”

He crossed his arms cockily and relaxed back against his chair, holding an intense stare with you. His silence meant only one thing: he wasn’t going to tell you.

Having enough of his silence, you pulled the trigger, piercing the bullet through his head as his body fell backward along with the chair. The screams and cries increased, and the manager of the restaurant panicked with sweat running along his forehead. You beckoned him over with your finger and he obeyed with his heart racing in fear.

“Y-yes, m-ma’am?”

“Don’t speak to another soul about this.” Your hand gestured for the frightened souls in the dining area. “Tell everyone this or else I’ll hunt all of you down. I won’t spare a single soul.”

-

Haechan groaned loudly as he tugged at his hair in distress after receiving the news from Jeno through texts. “Noona’s fucking lost it!” he screamed as he paced back and forth. “She’s damn lucky she’s not actively an actress.” It would have been bad if it somehow made it to the news that the country’s sweetheart had shot a citizen to death in a public setting. Your mafia ways helped contain the matter within the walls of the restaurant.

Renjun sighed sadly while leaning against the wall, his head hanging low at what their noona was becoming. “We never do anything in public. Taeyong hyung never wanted an innocent soul to be traumatized.”

Jungwoo lazed on the couch with a Rubik’s cube on hand, calmly twisting the coloured rows in attempts to align the colours up. “Get used to it. It’s only gonna get worse.”

Mark frowned at him from beside. “What do you mean?”

Jungwoo paused from solving the cube and sat up, holding his fingers up to list off the reasons. “First, she was deceived, thinking that she was with Taemin when all along it was Lord and Taemin was dead. Second, Sungchan’s death was the first one she witnessed. Even though he was new, there’s no way she hadn’t developed a soft heart for him when he was with her at all times. Third, Jaemin was shot right in front of her eyes, and we’re talking about one of the boys who’s been by her side the longest. Fourth, Lucas’s death. He was her biggest fanboy and she really adored his cuteness and how he cared for her. And fifth, Taeyong, and we all know the impact his death has on her.”

Johnny nodded slowly and sat up straighter. “Sounds like Y/N’s traumatized and now she’s vicious enough to hurt anyone in her way without a second thought.”

“What if we try to stop her? Taeyong hyung would not be happy if he saw Y/N-ssi like this,” Mark said.

“I don’t know man. Do you think she’ll hurt us if we go against her order?” Johnny wondered.

Renjun shook his head firmly. “Consider ourselves lucky. We’re her family. Haechan is a handful and she hasn’t done anything to him yet.”

“Hey!” Haechan shouted. “I haven’t gone against her for any... thing... well, at least not recently,” he muttered.

Renjun rolled his eyes and continued. “If we were an outsider, then yeah, she wouldn’t hesitate to hurt us if we did the slightest bit wrong.”

- ❀ -

You swirled the wine glass around in circles, intently watching the deep hue of the red wine stick to the walls of the glass before calmly taking a sip of it. Kun stood next to you, waiting for your order along with the rest in the room.

Your grip on the glass tightened as you weren’t pleased with the news of your pre-existing client wanting to negotiate on a deal set forth. You muttered, “He wouldn’t be doing this if it were Taeyong.”

Kun nodded. “Yes, usually he accepts whatever is put on the table.”

You let out a small laugh, knowing that the client was only taking advantage because it was you. A woman. “Then I’ll have to show him who he’s messing with,” you said and stood up from the couch, setting the wine glass down on the coffee table. “Get the weapons ready,” you ordered. “We’re trespassing his property.”

Your boys looked at one another, wary of your intentions. The client lived in a mansion without any security guards. Jeno was the one to speak up and asked, “And do what?”

“We’re terrorizing his family.”

Everyone’s jaw dropped to the floor as you spoke the words calmly without any hesitation. “We don’t do that,” Mark countered weakly. “He only has a wife and two small boys.”

“We never harm the innocent!” Haechan shouted.

You shrugged. “Suit yourself. If no one wants to come with me, I’ll do it myself. Then there’s no guarantee what I’ll do to them.” You walked out the common area to get ready for the night ahead. Yuta had no objections and followed your lead, willing to do anything you wished.  

The remaining stood anxiously, deathly silent with Haechan being the first one to break it as he tugged at his hair in stress. “I fucking wished Taeyong hyung was here to stop her madness!”

Jungwoo scoffed. “Didn’t I tell you it was going to get worse? Anyways, I’m going with noona.”

Mark gritted his teeth and angrily held Jungwoo by the collar. “Have you lost it? This isn’t what we do!”

“Taeyong isn’t our boss anymore,” Jungwoo replied and grabbed Mark’s hands off him.

“Jungwoo’s right,” Kun said, shocking Mark for Taeyong’s right-hand to be saying that. “Y/N’s our boss and we do what she wants.”

Johnny nodded in agreement. “Kun’s always right. I’m with Y/N.”

Mark was shocked by the turn of tables as the three dispersed to prepare themselves for the mission. He sighed heavily and dejectedly muttered, “I guess I’ll go too.”

Haechan incredulously gaped at him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I’ll see to what extent Y/N goes. I hope she won’t actually touch them.”

Renjun and Jeno agreed. “Yeah, let’s hope noona doesn’t have plans to hurt them physically,” Renjun said.

Haechan couldn’t believe the absurd reality. Being the last one remaining to hop on board, he groaned in frustration.

-

The van halted just meters away from the gate of the mansion. You and your boys stepped out and filed around the closed black gates that separated you from the soon to-be hostage’s home. Your black attire was perfect to blend in with the darkness of the night.

Haechan sighed loudly and said to you, “Don’t do something that’ll have us screwed.”

You scoffed at his words while keeping your cold gaze on the warm lighting inside the house. “You think I’m not smart enough after having these sorts of things in my dramas?” Your eyes then shifted to the black gates, pushing it open and walked in as if you owned the plot.

“What’s the plan?” Jeno asked as you all stopped by the front door.

“Hold his family at gunpoint,” you answered softly. Your finger went up to ring the bell and waited patiently. “Make sure to hold him away from them.”

When no one opened the door after a while, Kun mentioned, “There’s a camera in the corner up there.”

You looked up to where he pointed and found one. The client would have seen that it was you and refused to open the door. Guess you would have to go for plan B. “Johnny, Jeno, Yuta. Break the windows.”

They expected that order and went ahead to break entry through the glass, swinging anything they could find at the window: hammer, baseball bat, and even a huge stone from the garden at it. Once making it inside through the opening created, you noticed the area was void of life.

“Go look for them and bring them here,” you commanded.

Just as your boys were about to, your client Kwon emerged from the staircase looking panicked. “Oh, Y/N-ssi, what a surprise,” he greeted anxiously with sweat running along his forehead.

Unamused, you silently signalled your boys to grab him. Johnny was first to act, followed by Mark, dragging Kwon to a chair. Mark pointed his gun at Kwon’s head. “Move and you won’t see what happens to your family.”

Kwon shook in fear. “Please don’t hurt them! I’ll do anything you say.”

“Too late for that,” you told him. “Especially after all the inconvenience.” You turned to your boys. “What are you waiting for? Go look for them.”

-

A woman trembled, holding her two sons close to her as she stared at her husband with teary eyes. The little boys clung onto their mother for dear life with silent rivers flowing down their faces after being demanded to quieten their loud cries, their eyes squeezed shut to avoid glancing at the terrifying guns pointed at them.

You sat at the dining table across from Kwon, staring at him as he rushed to sign the contract frantically, willing to do anything to take his family out of the danger. Once finished, his voice broke when pleading, “Please don’t hurt them.”

Sneering, you told him, “Next time you try to negotiate with me, I’ll make sure they’re cremated.” You stood up and added before walking out of the house, “If you had a connection with Lord, I would have blown this house up.”

- ❀ -

Kun barged into the study where you laid your head down on the desk and arms sprawled around. “Can whatever it is wait?” you mumbled weakly. You were tired and couldn’t care less to keep up with the boring news. Too much happened with no signs of Lord himself showing up in front of you, and you were getting tired of your days fly by without feeling much accomplished in your revenge.

“Y/N-ssi, it’s Lord.”

Your head snapped up to meet his eyes and then at the phone in his grip with his other hand covering the speaker. Kun laid the phone on the desk within your reach and stepped back to give you some room. You thought he was going to leave you alone to talk privately but he stood patiently right in your sight.

And you were thankful for that.

It had been a while since you last came into direct contact with psychopath. Your memories with him had left your body trembling and you wished Taeyong were alive to comfort you like the way he used to.

If only Taeyong were alive...

That snapped you back to your senses and your fists clenched hard at the horrendous killings of your loved ones. Your teeth gritted as you spitted out a greeting of disgust. “Lord. It’s about time I hear from you. I was starting to think you got bored of me.”

You heard Lord laugh darkly. “Darling, I can never get bored of you. Just know that even though I’m not making a move, my men are always keeping an eye on you wherever you are... which is why I called you.”

You knew you were being followed by his men, a proof of it lied in the number of bullets used every time you spotted them, but you couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t making a move for you. Why were they only spying on you? Was Taeyong’s death for nothing? Lord should be happy that Taeyong was gone so that he could have you all for himself. “What is it?”

He hummed and said, “I’ve been busy trying to find an answer, but haven’t had much luck. Clearly, you would know better so that’s why I’m going to ask you-”

Having enough of him beating around the bush, you yelled, “Just get straight to the point!”

“Where is he?”

You blinked in confusion. “What?”

“Where is he?” he repeated calmly.

You always tried to stay composed and in control, but that moment had you completely puzzled and you didn’t bother hiding that in your tone. “Who?”

He huffed out in irritation. “The obvious.”

If he were in front of you, you would have broken his nose. You weren’t going to kill him easily when you craved to torture him. “Care to elaborate? Clearly, we’re not on the same page.”

There was a moment of silence from his side before his tongue clicked and said, “I got my answer.” Without another breath from you, he cut the call.

Lord laughed darkly at the situation, greatly amused by your oblivion. After calming down a little, he spoke to his men filed in front of him in his office. “Y/N doesn’t know.” He recalled the day after the warehouse incident, searching for the only dead body he craved to see but was disappointed when absent. To himself, he whispered, “Where the fuck are you, Taeyong?”

You stared at the blank screen of Kun’s phone in utter shock. “What the fuck is he on?” you mumbled under your breath. “Who the hell is he looking-”

And it struck you.

The only he Lord could be mentioning about.

The new recruit.

Yuta.

He was a new member in your gang and with the bad gut feeling you had for him, it wouldn’t surprise you if Yuta had anything to do with Lord. You cleared your throat and sat up straight in your chair. “Can you leave me alone?” you asked Kun.

“Of course.” He picked up his phone and bowed slightly before leaving the room.

You speed-dialled Haechan, and he answered immediately. “Yes noona?”

“Any news about him?” There was no need to clarify who you were talking about, being the only active mission for him.

“Not yet. I haven’t seen him do anything sus after he joined us.”

You sighed out in annoyance. “Well hurry up and find out. I don’t want him lurking around if he should be dead.”

- ❀ -

Jungwoo yawned and slapped his own cheeks gently, pushing the passenger seat back to recline a little. “If only there was a way to go inside without getting caught...” he muttered sadly while wondering about all the delicious food his stomach could be having if it weren’t for the secret mission.

Meanwhile, Haechan rested his arms on the steering wheel and kept his gaze locked on the path that led to the elegant, Michelin-starred restaurant. “Noona will treat you if we get some info,” he spoke.

Jungwoo huffed in frustration. “What if we never do? We’re literally spying on the guy Taeyong hyung wanted. You think Yuta’s gonna slip up? I doubt it.”

Haechan shushed him loudly. “Stop being so pessimistic! You’re scaring me. Well really, it’s noona I’m scared of. I don’t know what she’s gonna do if we don’t get her answers.”

“You know, we can always play a mind game on Yuta, making him think we know his secret and then he’ll spill everything to us.”

Haechan gave the taller boy a doubtful look. “Really think that’s gonna work?”

Jungwoo shrugged. “Never know until we try.”

The younger one rolled his eyes and focused on the restaurant’s entrance again, sitting up straighter when seeing Yuta exit the establishment alone.

Jungwoo scoffed and crossed his arms. “Whoa, he really came here to eat all by himself. He could have invited me at least.”

Haechan gave him a bored look. “You really think he came here to eat by himself? He would have at least invited noona to a place like this.”

“Why noona?”

“Don’t you ever see the look Yuta has for noona?”

“You mean Yuta likes her? Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent. I’m never wrong in this type of thing.”

“What about noona?”

“Why else are we doing this mission? She wants to kill him. She has no interest in him. I don’t think she ever will for anyone... ever since Taeyong hyung,” Haechan muttered the last part. His eyes reconnected with the restaurant, going wide in shock when seeing a group of men exiting shortly after Yuta’s departure, and in the midst of it was your enemy.

Lord.

“Holy fuck,” Haechan whispered.

Jungwoo struggled to form words with his gaping mouth. “I can’t believe noona was right. But what if it’s a coincidence? Or Yuta went to spy on Lord?”

“I doubt it. If that was the case, Yuta wouldn’t be leaving before Lord. They had to have met up.”

-

While lounging in the common room, you received the call from Jungwoo explaining what they had witnessed, and your grip on the phone tightened as rage seethed in you. You couldn’t believe Yuta had the audacity to work for you while working with your enemy.

“I’m going to fucking kill him!” you screamed, making everyone alarmed by your sudden outburst.

“What happened?” Renjun asked.

You scowled hard at the very image of Yuta’s face appearing in your head. “Wait till the betrayer walks in.”

After a while, Yuta did, walking casually as if he hadn’t done anything wrong. When he was greeted with your furious gaze and wary glances from the rest, he asked, “Is something up?”

You strode up to him, and your hand itched to blow at his clueless face. “How about explaining yourself why you met up with Lord?”

His face paled when seeing your murderous look upon learning of the meet-up. “I can explain.”

“Then please explain. Because if I don’t like it...” Your finger pointed at the spot right in the middle of his forehead. “I’m pulling the trigger here. You’re working here while undercover for him, aren’t you?”

Yuta shook his head while keeping his gaze glued on you. “I’m not working for anyone else except you. I joined here only to work for you.”

“Bullshit. Why were you with Lord just now?”

Yuta dreaded answering that very moment. It was going to change your thoughts on him and he wasn’t ready for that. Not when he was the one responsible for once killing ones in your vicinity. “I once worked with him. Just for one time.”

Just as you had expected, you found your reason to kill him. But what you didn’t expect was the thing said next that had blackness clouding your vision.

“I was assigned to kill Taemin’s manager… and Sungchan.”

Sungchan.

Your personal assistant during your time as an actress. You couldn’t believe the one responsible for his death had been by your side and currently standing right before your eyes. Too zoned out of your surroundings due to sheer shock, you didn’t realize when they’d return and had a punch be thrown at Yuta’s face, causing Yuta to bend over by the blow.

Haechan fumed angrily at Yuta’s face while being held back by Jungwoo by the waist. “You fucking asshole! I’ll kill you with my own hands for killing Sungchan!”

Yuta silently accepted his fate and didn’t fight back. If he had known that contract would have resulted him in the current situation, then he would have never agreed to fulfill Lord’s request in the first place. Being on the rooftop of the building adjacent to your agency’s was when he was blessed by your presence through the lens of his fatal weapon. But a deal was a deal, and he couldn’t go back to Lord for failing his mission when sworn as the best assassinate in the underworld.

“Why did you kill them?” Renjun asked.

Yuta sighed dejectedly. “Lord said Taemin’s manager knew about him and couldn’t keep him alive. And for Sungchan,” he paused while trying to recollect the exact words, “said something like the boy ruined his plan.”

The words stirred something inside Haechan and realization dawned in him, making him quit trashing in Jungwoo’s hold as he stared at Yuta in shock. “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, followed by a much louder scream when pushing Jungwoo off. “Fuck! Don’t you fucking dare tell me that asshole wanted Sungchan gone because of that time noona went to that restaurant with who we thought was Taemin, and Sungchan told me... and then... fuck!” He grabbed a fistful of his hair in his hands while repeatedly cursing under his breath.

Mark tried to calm Haechan down with a gentle pat on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s not your fault. We had to do what we could to keep Y/N-ssi safe no matter what.”

“Yeah but… hold up. Where’s noona?” Haechan asked when trying to locate the very person they were supposed to keep safe at all times.

Confused, the others looked around, wondering when you had quietly sneaked out without anyone’s attention, expect for Kun. Kun noticed the emotionless look on your face during Haechan’s commotion while you walked away from the scene quietly, and he had an idea for what was going to happen next.

“Maybe she left to have some time for herself?” Johnny suggested. It was a big shock that a member currently in your gang turned out to be the killer of your dear one.

Renjun shook his head, images of merciless you rushing in his head. “With the way things have been going lately, I doubt it.”

“Maybe we should look for her,” Jeno added.

Mark nodded. “We should. Just to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself.”

Before the boys could disperse to search for you, Jungwoo spotted you slowly walking back into their sight. “Oh noona!”

But the boys’ relief soon turned to fear when seeing your eyes distant and a lengthy weapon pointing downwards in your hold.

“Uh noona, what are you going to do?” Jeno questioned anxiously.

Your cold gaze focused back to the present moment and fixated on the man responsible for the start of your traumatic events, in particular being the one who had you at first become horrified by the sound of gunshots. Yuta watched you with his heart thumping fast. The moment he dreaded for arrived sooner than he thought.

You lifted the rifle, the same one Taeyong thought you on that very day when your life changed upside down, reminiscing the way Taeyong embraced you to correctly hold the rifle for shot precision and thinking about your love had your grip on the gun tighten murderously.

You were determined to kill Yuta.

“Y/N-ssi, please think before pulling the trigger,” Mark pleaded. The last thing anyone would want was to regret the blood of a corpse tainting the common area.

Your hard glare on Yuta didn’t waver. “Why should I?” Your tone was almost inaudible but everyone in the room heard it.

“Why would Yuta join us if he was going to betray us?”

“Obviously to pass info about noona to that fucking asshole!” Haechan yelled furiously at Mark.

“But what exactly did Yuta tell Lord though?” Johnny asked.

All eyes landed on the one in question, who stayed deadly silent throughout. Yuta heaved out a heavy breath, the time being his one and only moment to clear up the misunderstanding before his death by your hands, and muttered, “You guys can think whatever you want of me. Yes, I did go to Lord but not for the reason you guys think I did. He contacted me again for another task. He doesn’t know that I work for you.” He paused while softly looking into your glare. “He wants me to look for someone.”

Your resolve weakened with the rifle feeling a little heavier than before as you recalled the very words of the man you shot in public after meeting with Lord’s chauffeur, followed by the devil himself. They were all looking for someone... “Who?” You were getting very annoyed with the endless game of determining who the infamous person was that Lord was after.

Yuta pondered for a bit, debating whether to tell you or not, eventually going for the latter. “It’s not confirmed yet.” He wouldn’t want you doubting his words, have you think he was lying and further strengthen your will to kill him.

Your patience was running thin. If one more person was to tell you the exact thing you had heard three times, then you were going to torture them until you’ve wrung out the answer. “Just spit out who!” you yelled in rage.

Yuta flinched at your tone, and his heart ached to not utter the name. The second he did, he knew he’d lose you forever. Scanning his eyes around the room at the members, all of them wore a stressed look as they anxiously waited for the name that had Lord so desperate to get his hands on.

With an exasperated huff, he ripped the name off his lips like a bandaid. “Taeyong.”

- ❀ -

Taeil carefully covered the open wound on Yuta’s left shoulder after pulling out the bullet and stopping the bleeding. “Had it been any lower, it would have been the end of you,” he commented with seriousness.

Mark nodded. “Yo, you’re lucky Y/N-ssi spared you.”

Renjun clicked his tongue. “No, I think she meant to aim his heart but missed.”

Jungwoo shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. The main point is something else other than Yuta getting shot.”

Johnny nodded. “That’s right. That’s far more important than anything else.”

Their eyes landed on Yuta to which he avoided with his gaze fixed to the floor. The image of you shooting him after uttering the name you longed to hear and storming away without a single glance back repeated in Yuta’s mind on an endless loop.

You on the other hand were pacing back and forth in the study room, your hands going through your hair in urgency to find answers. Kun, Haechan and Jeno glanced at each other anxiously while waiting for you to say something.

You hated being conflicted, only ever giving your all to one side of the balance scale. But here you were stuck right in the middle, unsure which direction to head into, which side to weigh more in. You wanted to kill Yuta so bad for causing such pandemonium in your heart. But killing him wouldn’t bring the answers that had your heart and soul so desperate for.

“What the hell do I do?” You shouted more to yourself.

Nervously, Jeno spoke up. “Noona, why don’t you rest?” Jeno hoped you could think things more clearly after some sleep.

Haechan scoffed. “You think she can sleep after hearing that hyung could be alive? But if he’s alive, then why hadn’t he come back to us or even just once contacted us?”

Your fist full of your hair clenched harder at all that you had been through without Taeyong. If only had he been by your side all this time could he have tamed your insanity.

Kun gently wondered aloud, “If Yuta looks for Taeyong for Lord, that’s dangerous since Lord wanted to kill him. We need to keep Yuta by our side.”

Haechan crossed his arms for a simpler solution. “Or just kill him. It’s not like a dead body can search for hyung anyway.”

Jeno tutted in disagreement. “Keeping Yuta is better. You never know. We can use him to our advantage against Lord.”

Your head ached the more your boys shared their opinions. The mess, the internal conflicts all had you blindsided by anger, feeling a hot rage and muttering the thing that you’d never in your right mind would ever dare to utter through gritted teeth. “I’m going to kill Taeyong.”

- ❀ -

The sun blazed down on you while leaning against your van with your arms crossed and your eyes behind your dark shades trailing up and down the tall building. Jungwoo pulled out a pack of cigarette, and tucked one in between his teeth. Flickering the lighter up, he ignited it at its butt and took a long drag in, puffing out white smoke. You plucked it out from his mouth and copied his action without a care. Bewildered, Jungwoo bit back his tongue since it was you. But when Renjun stole it from you for a puff, Jungwoo whined. “Hey! That’s mine.”

Renjun merely brushed him off. “You have more.”

While the three of you stood leaning against the van, the door to it was wide open where Haechan lazed inside with his eyes closed. A bit of smoke hit his noise and he figured what happened, making him exhale loudly. “The stress has gotten to everyone,” he mumbled. Johnny quietly sat in the passenger seat with the window rolled down, on standby mode.

The past few days had been tough on your gang as every moment felt like a ticking bomb for your boys every time you and Yuta were in the same room. Yuta despised the way you treated him, it being better that you’d treat him like an incompetent than hate him like an enemy. One time, Yuta tried to get onto your good side by bringing everyone drinks from your favourite café. For you to take your preferred caramel macchiato, pluck the lid off, and pour it all by his feet while holding a challenging gaze at him had everyone in the room gasp in shock and know that things weren’t going to get better between the two of you.

As if the boys weren’t already stressed of your vicious self recently and the revenge that Yuta had to become an additional stressor, top that off with their former boss’s unknown whereabouts.

Renjun’s eyes fixated at the peak of the building and asked, “What’s your plan, noona?”

You tilted you head while crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Find out when and which casino he goes to.”

Your next prey was a sidekick of Lord’s underboss. He was an interesting one because you had lately made a deal with him despite knowing he was someone of Lord’s yet you purposely hadn’t taken any action to harm him. Why? Because you had a fun idea in mind after learning that he was an avid gambler.

Your gore-filled imagines were interrupted when a soccer ball came rolling in your direction, hitting the front of your heels before bouncing off to a stop. A group of three cheerful little boys were chasing up to it. “Sorry!” one shouted and giggled.

Your short-temper got the best of you and with quick movements, you reached for the back of your waistband, retrieving a pistol out and shooting the ball without hesitation. The silencer muffled the sound of the gunshot, but the sight of the firearm, the ball popping and witnessing their beloved soccer ball deflate in seconds had the kids come to a complete stop along with their giggles, their expressions no longer joyful but rather filled with horror.

Jungwoo stared at you unamused as he expected that from you, Johnny didn’t give much of a reaction except for a tired sigh, shocked Renjun felt absolutely terrible for the children. Haechan shot up from his seat in alert and put the pieces together when seeing the scene in front of his eyes. “Noona, you shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered in disbelief.

“Here,” you spoke loudly enough for the kids to hear. “Take this trash away,” you said as you kicked the deflated rubbish in their direction.

The kids began screaming and crying as they ran away in fear. You didn’t care and harshly told Haechan to move for you to get in.

Jungwoo whispered to Renjun low enough to not let it reach your ears, “Do you think she’ll ever actually kill a child?”

Unbeknownst to your gang as the van prepared to leave, a lone figure covertly stood from afar as his newly dyed hair gently blew with the breeze, broken-hearted at the sight of how you’d become.

- ❀ -

You adored your newly done red manicure, silver rings decorated your fingers and a silver chain braced along your wrist right before the cuff of your white long-sleeved maxi dress. The van pulled to a stop a block before reaching the destination: the casino.

Jeno turned to you from beside and with a nervous heart asked, “Are you sure you still want to do this?”

It was a risky plan where you’d have to leave your boys’ sight in order to accomplish your mission, and that too to kill one of the higher ups under Lord.

You lifted your gaze to take a quick nonchalant glance at him before resuming your admiration for your nails. “Why not?”

“If anything goes wrong…” Jeno trailed off, expecting you to understand what he was hinting at. If anything did go wrong, then your life was dependent on your current enemy closest to you in your gang.

Yuta.

Johnny was covering the ground to avoid any chance of abduction while Yuta covered the higher levels of the casino building by being situated with his bullets ready in an adjacent building. If anything were to happen while you were alone with your prey, then you were relying on Yuta to save your life. At least the nighttime would make it easier for Yuta to save you as it was easier to see the inside of a lit room at night than day.

“Nothing will happen. Just because I had to give up on my acting career doesn’t mean acting died inside me. He won’t suspect me,” you reassured.

Kun opened the door to your side and offered his hand. You took his hand and stepped out carefully, making sure your red high heels wouldn’t be wrecked before it could meet its pre-determined fate.

“How do my lips look?” you asked Kun, already knowing how your red lips looks.

Kun gave you a serious and assured nod. “As dangerous as always.”

A corner of your lips curled up being highly satisfied by his answer. “Perfect.”

Walking through the opened doors of the brightly-lit casino, your eyes were busy scanning for your target, not giving any mind at the numerous bodies everywhere who gambled with their currencies or watched the plays with drinks in hand.

Kun came close to your ear and whispered, “He’s at the far end to your two o’clock.”

You immediately spotted him at one of the tables in midst of a round. Giving Kun a nod, it was time to play your cards and turn your prey’s night upside down. Your heels clicked with confidence as you marched up to the middle-aged man with a couple of young ladies glued to his sides, fake laughing at anything the man had to say. Lavishly radiating beauty and power, you slid to the empty seat beside him. All heads at the table turned your way, stunned to be graced by your presence.

“Oh, Y/N-ssi! What a lovely surprise,” your prey, who went by Choi, greeted you by dismissing the ladies away.

Putting on your best smile, you played along. “Indeed, it is a lovely surprise, especially when you’ve got so many chips in your possession.” You feigned amazement at all the colourful chips that would soon turn into cash. “You know,” you began while shifting your body closer to him, lingering a finger on the back of his hand, making it twitch upon contact. It’s working, you thought. “I’ve always had a thing for you,” you spoke smoothly.

He blinked in surprise and gulped at your comment. “Seriously?”

Nodding, you leaned in close and whispered for only him to hear. “Why don’t we have a night of our own? I have a room booked under my name.”

Right on cue, a staff walked up to you with a bright smile and handed over your key card. “Ma’am, your room is ready,” she informed. You picked it up, knowing Kun had sent her.

Choi couldn’t believe his luck and was overly excited for the sensual night to come. “I’d love to!”

Success! “Follow me then,” you murmured seductively and slid off your seat, treading to the elevator. Choi staggered off his seat and quickly caught up to you. He snaked an arm around your waist, hugging you closer to his belly but you stayed as composed as you could without cringing physically. Only a matter of minutes before his eyes go lifeless, you reminded yourself.

Once the elevator doors shut closed, Choi tried to bring his lips closer to you, but you held a finger up against them to stop him. “We’ll start the fun only in our room,” you instructed softly to which he thankfully obeyed.

Swiping your card to your room, you pushed the door opened which had Choi barging in eagerly. Just as you shut the door behind you, you watched him pull his blazer off, then unbuckle his belt, and then began unbuttoning his shirt. The room was small enough to make Yuta’s job easy if he were to use his bullets. But based on how Choi was desperate to show his vulnerable side, you wouldn’t need Yuta.

Slowly, you amorously walked towards him. Your hands bent to reach for the backside zipper, unzipping it down smoothly. As you approached close to him, your free hand went to trail along his bare chest while the other was still behind you, to what he assumed was you undoing your clothing. Right when you were close enough for him to lean for a kiss on the lips, you brought your hidden weapon out and jammed it hard in his stomach.

His eyes were blown out by the sudden attack, jaw dropped to the floor and no sound came out of him for a moment as he struggled to compose himself. When his eyes dropped to what had pierced into his belly, his hands trembled while attempting to grip your hand in order to weakly pull the knife out of his flesh. But you were stronger and resolute, and twisted it a 360 degree as if drilling a hole in him before pulling it out. Blood splattered and trickled over his skin to pool around his feet. His eyes shut in pain and panted hard before a scream ripped from his mouth when you jabbed the knife in another spot on his belly.

You chuckled darkly at his facial expressions twisting between pain and losing consciousness as blood continuously spilled out of his wounds. Your stained knife was brought up to his face and smeared his blood along his lips. “See? Didn’t we have fun? You got a chance to wear your own lipstick,” you said softly and laughed menacingly when you found that he wasn’t listening, wasn’t with you anymore. With the end of your knife, you pushed his head to make him fall lifeless to the floor.

Bending down, you picked up his abandoned shirt and wiped clean of your knife before fixing it back into your waistband. After fixing yourself, you stepped on him to head out of the room, purposely digging your heel into the open wound, making more blood erupt out of the hole. Every step you took left a little bit of blood until it dried away.

-

“Fucking code red!” Haechan screamed into his phone.

Jeno held his phone away and once Haechan quietened, he asked, “What do you mean?”

“I’m supposed to keep a tab on who’s coming to the casino tonight, and guess what? The underboss is!”

Jeno’s face paled at the possibility of things going downhill, and it might happen sooner than he thought when he suddenly noticed a sleek black car pull up by the entrance of the building and out stepped the underboss named Milan. You had been doing well keeping everything in check and making sure none of the higher ups under Lord knew about your deadly revenge. You knew war was bound to be declared but not when you weren’t prepared for it at the casino.

“Oh shit,” he muttered and cut Haechan’s call, speed dialling Kun right away.

Kun received the news and began panicking. It was only a matter of moments before the underboss would make his way into the casino, and the second Milan couldn’t locate Choi, suspicion was bound to rise.

He couldn’t take the elevator to find you as no one else was allowed to know the room number except for the name on the cardholder. You didn’t have your phone on you, so he couldn’t deliver the news that you had to leave the site before Choi’s death was discovered and you could bid farewell to your safe escape. Fighting against an underboss like Milan’s level wasn’t going to be easy and your gang wasn’t ready for that just yet.

Kun dialled for the only sniper who could give him an answer of your current status.

Yuta pressed the button on his earpiece while keeping his eye glued to the lifeless room. He was only in standby mode until he received the cue from Kun that the operation was over. “Yeah?”

“Yuta, where’s Y/N-ssi?” Kun asked urgently.

The sniper frowned. “She left the room a while ago. Shouldn’t she be down by now?”

Kun kept his eyes locked on the elevators, hoping one of them would miraculously open for you before Milan spotted you. “She’s not here yet.”

Based on Yuta’s calculations, you should have already been on your way out for the van. What happened Y/N, he thought to himself as his heart grew restless.

-

Exhausted, you stepped into the elevator and pressed for the ground floor. The doors closed and began moving with the gravity slowly. Shutting your eyes, you leaned against the side and tilted your head to rest against the wall. Being on one of the top floors meant you couldn’t have reached the ground floor that fast when you heard the elevator opened with a ‘ting.’ Curious, you opened your eyes in time to see a lean man in a dark suit walk in with a sequinned mask covering his entire face, only leaving two tiny holes for vision and hair peeking out.

He pressed the button for the level that was two floors above the ground and stood away from you with hands in his pockets. His blonde hair ran a little long that covered the back of his neck. Being highly suspicious, your hand should have already been reaching for your weapon. But for some reason, the faceless man had you stay defenceless.

When the doors shut and moved down for a bit, the man stepped forward and pulled the brakes, making the elevator stop in its tracks. You glued yourself more to the wall, mentally preparing yourself to throw fists and kicks, but all plans went down the drain when the man ripped his mask off to reveal the face of the one you longed to see, the one you longed to be in the arms of, the one you shed too many tears for, the one who you wished was by your side during your times of insanity, the one you wanted to kill…

“Taeyong…” you breathed out in sheer shock. Was he really there in front of you?

He abandoned his mask on the floor and stepped in front of you with crinkling eyes and a soft smile adorning his face. Without saying a word, he greeted you with his warm hands coming up to caress your face and planted a long kiss on your forehead.

A sudden electrifying warmth spread throughout your body, one you didn’t think your body was capable of feeling with the twisted reality. The nostalgic feeling of his lips on your head brought back a longing for all the precious moments that you had spent with Taeyong in the past. You wanted to ask a thousand questions but your tongue failed to form any words. How was he? Where had he been? What happened that night? Was he really alive? Why hadn’t he contacted you right away?

You lost the warmth when he pulled away and Taeyong sensed your panic. He gave you a reassuring smile while taking off his blazer, draping it around your waist and tying it by the sleeves to cover the splatters of blood of your recent kill. He held your face again and gently spoke, “Listen to me carefully. Once you get off this elevator, hide yourself while looking for Kun and get out of this building. Don’t get caught by Lord’s underboss.”

You missed his voice so much and finally hearing it momentarily brought a sense of tranquility to the calamity in your soul. Your hands reached up to hold his touch on your face. “Please don’t leave me,” you pleaded in a whisper, your eyes burning to break.

It was hard for Taeyong to dare and leave you in your current state, but he had to do it. He leaned his head against yours, keeping his gaze locked on you, and released one hand from you to press the button for the elevator to resume operation. “I promise, you’ll see me again,” he assured, snaking the free arm around your waist to bring you even closer to him, cherishing the moment before the elevator stopped for his floor.

Your hands repositioned to grab fistfuls of his white shirt, determined to not let him go. But your resolve weakened when Taeyong gently uncurled your fists from his shirt to not waste any time for your safe escape. Your sobs were mere seconds away from breaking loose. The doors tinged open and he stepped out. He blocked your way and shook his head when you were desperate to step out with him.

“Remember my words, Y/N,” he murmured.

You kept your eyes locked with his, neither of you moving or saying another word as the elevator parted the two of you. Once he was out of your sight, you crumbled to the floor, releasing all the tears that you suppressed for Taeyong. It only took a few seconds until the elevator reach the ground floor and that was when Taeyong’s words struck you.

When the doors opened, Kun was relieved to finally see you, though worried why you were on the floor with an unknown jacket around your waist, one that didn’t resemble with Choi’s. But it was no time for questioning. He cautiously looked around him and lend a hand out for you. “Y/N-ssi, we need to leave.”

You stared at his hand as Taeyong’s words rang in you.

Hide. Kun. Don’t get caught.

Taking Kun’s hand, you urgently scrambled to your feet and rushed for the exit while Kun kept an eye out for the underboss who was currently on the other side of the casino, unsuspecting of his missing sidekick.

Stepping past the threshold of the casino brought relief and even more when getting back into your van. Jeno stepped on the gas to drive you away from the danger while Kun texted Yuta and Johnny to meet with Haechan, signalling the end of the operation.

- ❀ -

In the pitch of darkness and silence, you laid in bed. In Taeyong’s bed. Every night, ever since the night of bombing where you believed that you had lost him forever, you’d curl up against the sheets, hoping to cling onto any lingering scent of his.

If it weren’t for the jacket that you were currently draped in, then you would have lost the littlest sanity that was left in you. It wasn’t your hallucination, wasn’t your dream. You really did see him, really did feel his lips against your skin, really did feel his bodily warmth.

You’ll see him again, you reminded yourself, it being the only hope to keep yourself moving for the revenge. “But when,” you croaked out weakly. You hoped that the next time you did see him again, you’d get your answers to all your questions.

The silence was broken by the sound of three knocks. When the door opened without a cue of your permission, you figured it was Haechan because the only other person who did that was away.

“Noona?”

Surprisingly, it was Jungwoo.

Heaving out a heavy sigh, you sat up on the bed while your eyes adjusted to the sudden lights that Jungwoo flickered on. He made his way towards you and sat quietly at the foot of your bed, playing with the Rubik cube. His eyes avoided yours and you noticed the fine lines of stress in between his brows.

“What is it?” you asked gently. It amazed you that during your cold-blooded decisions, he always sided with you without questions, but you expected that much for someone with specialty in torturous activities. You had grown a soft spot for him like you did with your boys during your actress life like Haechan.

He looked up to you with gentle eyes and softly asked, “You saw Taeyong hyung, didn’t you?”

When you returned home from the operation, your boys had noticed an unknown jacket wrapped around you but no one dared to utter a word of it. At first, Jungwoo thought it was just a spare jacket to cover the blood stains on your dress and that it would soon be burnt to ashes. But seeing that you still kept the blazer on could only mean one thing.

You only nodded in response. There was nothing else you could tell him of your priceless fleeting moment with Taeyong.

Jungwoo looked away from your gloomy eyes. “Noona, there’s something I want to tell you.” He took a moment to gather his thoughts and illustrate his appreciation for you. “For someone who’s never been exposed to the real underworld, you’re doing really well and I’m proud of you.”

You were stunned by his sudden declaration of gratitude and your ears perked up to sink in the words that you yearned to hear from the beginning of your time.

“Taeyong hyung had never been the kind of mafia leader like you are. Of course, he’d act against anyone who messed with him, but at the end of the day, he still had a soft persona for the innocent. You aren’t like that, but then I don’t think you ever would have become like this if it weren’t for everything you lost.”

He turned back to you with a glimmer twinkling in his eyes. “The way you kept going and never once regretted your actions no matter how cruel they’d be… I really respect you, noona.”

Your eye failed to contain the well as a teardrop slid slowly over your cheek. Your new self was too foreign for you that if anyone had told you that this was your future, you’d scoff at them and think it was absurd. But here you were, villainous, morally grey, all from everything you had to lose. Your passion, freedom and people. Losing it all to Lord.

Hugging your legs to your chest, you dropped your exhausted head onto your bent knees.

Jungwoo suggested, “I think you should take a break. Go visit your grandmother.”

- ❀ -

Turning off the engine of your car, you flipped down the self-mirror to check your state, making sure to look as joyful and presentable to the best of your ability. The last thing you wanted was for your grandmother find out your stress-filled life and have her worry endlessly. You planned to stay at your grandmother’s overnight as a small break from reality.

Getting out of your car, you stretched out your tired limbs, feeling the fatigue already wear off as the warm, sunny weather matched with your projected mood. You always felt serene watching the green leaves rustle gently with the breeze and listening to the birds chirp happily on the roof of the house. A smile stretched its way across your pink-glossed lips, feeling instantly relaxed and grateful for Jungwoo’s recommendation.

Your light footsteps headed for the steps of the house. “Granny!” you called for her excitedly, but your excitement soon died when you noticed a never-seen-before vehicle stationed off to the side of the house.

Your grandmother squeals at the sight of you and rushed to you. “Oh, my angel!” Her laughter usually had you reciprocating it back, but you could only give her a forced smile. “How are you? Has life been treating you well?” she asked.

Without answering her, you questioned, “Granny, who’s bike is that?” Seeing her all cheerful meant she wasn’t held in any danger, or at least you hoped that was the case. And even if she were to own a bike, it should have been something safer like a scooter, not be an expensive sports bike.

She clapped her hands happily as it clicked her. “Ah right! Yongie has been living with me for some time now.”

Taken by surprise, you wondered if your ears were playing a trick on you. “Yongie?”

Your grandmother turned her head and hollered, “Yongie! Come out! Y/N-ah is here!”

Your heart beat faster in anticipation to see the face that you’d been craving to see again, the moment arriving a lot sooner than expected after he promised that you’d see him again. After a brief moment of having your gaze trained on the entrance of the house, the world seemed to have stopped moving when your love stepped out into the sun, wearing his signature dazzling smile that moved your heart.

“Taeyong,” you breathed out in disbelief. Not once had you visited your grandmother since the start of your revenge. If this was where Taeyong had been hiding all this time, then you wanted to smack yourself for not thinking of coming to your safe haven earlier.

Your grandmother cleared her throat when sensing the atmosphere between you two. “I’ll leave you two alone to talk it out.” And right after, she scurried away for the kitchen with a wide grin.

Your eyes never once blinked when fixated on Taeyong as he walked towards you with hands in the pockets of his pants. A thin, white sleeved shirt loosely hugged his frame and his blonde hair was styled down to the side handsomely. He stopped right in front of you and with a heartfelt smile, he muttered, “We meet again.”

-

You sat on the steps, facing the sunlight, while Taeyong laid on the hard floor next to you, arms bent to rest under his head while staring aimlessly at the ceiling.

You broke the silence first and asked, “How did you get out alive?”

Sighing, he recalled the night of the warehouse incident. “I stole the keys to one of the bikes that were there. I made sure to set the bomb off once I was out.”

“You could have given us some hint that you were alive.”

Taeyong hummed. “Yeah, I could have. But it’s better everyone thought I was dead.”

Outraged, you turned to him. “Better thought dead? Do you have any idea what I had to go through without you?” you shouted. If your grandmother heard you, then you were thankful that she didn’t come out asking what was going on.

Exhaling through his nose, he clarified, “It’s better than a slip up. You know Lord is out to kill me.”

Huffing, you commented, “And we already have a slip up.”

“What do you mean?”

Running a hand through your hair, you told him. “Yuta. Know that great assassinate who worked freelance? He’s now in our gang. But he’s the one who killed Sungchan per Lord’s request, and he just received another request from him to look for you.” You turned your body to face him and asked, “What do I do with Yuta?” It was risky keeping him in case Yuta found Taeyong, but being a sniper with skills, it’d be a waste to kill him if Yuta really was on your side.

Taeyong sat up and gave you a half smile. “If you don’t know what to do, leave it for now. At the right time, you’ll know what to do.”

You scrunched your brows. “How can you be so sure?”

His smile stretched wide across his face. “I know what you’ve been up to. Always know that I’m everywhere you go like your shadow.” His smile faltered when recalling the events where you traumatized innocent lives at the restaurant, a family in their home and the childhood of small boys. He never thought his disappearance would cause excessive pain in you to turn malicious, and could only hope that things would get better now that you knew he was alive. But not completely better until Lord was wiped clean from the face of earth.

You scoffed at him. “How is that even possible?”

He picked his smile back up and dropped the secret innocently. “I had Sungchan install a tracking chip in your phone. I’m always keeping an eye on you to make sure you’re safe.”

The only time when Sungchan could have had your phone was during your shooting schedule, which meant that Taeyong had your location all this time. “Woah, I can’t believe I’ve never once spotted you when I can always find Lord’s men stalking me in an instant.” A half laugh parted from you in amazement. “As expected from a mafia boss.”

-

Taeyong kneeled down to arrange the bedding and blankets for bedtime. You stood by the opening of the room, looking between him and your grandmother who was busying herself with last minute cleanup outside before calling it a night.

You headed inside in the room and kneeled down beside him. “So, how did you get Granny to let you stay here? Does she know you’re a…?”

The corner of his lips curled up. “She knows.”

“Really?”

“What do I know?”

“Granny!” You were startled by your grandmother suddenly bursting into the small room.

Taeyong answered, “That I’m a mafia leader.”

Her eyes lit up as she remembered the info. “Ah! Yes yes, I know.”

You arched an eyebrow at her. “And you’re completely fine with that?”

“Of course! Wait till I tell you of my days back when I was a gangster myself.”

You skeptically wondered if your grandmother was under illusion about it. But one glance at Taeyong’s warm smile had you feeling that she was saying the truth. “Are you really being serious, Granny?”

“I am being serious! Ask Yongie yourself! I told him all the stories. People were scared of me every time I was in the neighbourhood,” she proudly mentioned.

Taeyong brought his lips close to your ear and teasingly whispered, “It looks like it runs in the blood.”

“Okay, quit wasting time and go to bed already. Give me good news tomorrow morning,” she winked at you, and shut the door behind her, locking it from the outside.

Her last words threw you off guard. “Wait! What do you mean by that? And why did you lock the door?” you shouted. But all you could hear was her giggling as she scampered away.

Taeyong stifled back his laughter and you gave him a sheepish smile. “Why does she have to be so embarrassing?” you muttered.

Taeyong stood up and walked over to the dresser in the corner of the room. You didn’t mean to stare but you couldn’t keep your eyes off him when he pulled his shirt over his head to fold it away, leaving him shirtless and what he had on his backside exposed.

You gasped at the sight of it, making Taeyong smirk cockily. “Like what you see?” he asked in huskiness.

You mentally smacked yourself back in place before you ended up looking like a total fool. Clearing your throat, you said, “I didn’t know you had a tattoo on your back.”

He turned to you, and this time your eyes widened at the sight of his abs side having more of the tattoo.

Tattoo of a giant dragon in black ink.

Taeyong chuckled at your reaction and walked back to sit in front of you. “Do you like it?” he repeated, leaning close to you while earnestly waiting for your response.

You gulped nervously. How were you going to tell him that it was driving you absolutely crazy? Nodding, you whispered, “I love it.”

With a half-smile, he picked up your hand and guided you to touch along his front-side tattoo. The slight scraping of your nails stirred him hard as desire filled his eyes. Without delay, you latched your lips onto his, hungrily savouring the taste of him. His tongue delved in to explore your mouth while his hands carefully laid you down on the bedding, adjusting the pillow under your head before exploring under your top.

-

Sunlight seeped through the window as you gleefully cuddled against Taeyong in his lap on the floor. His back rested against the wall and his arms kept you as close to his warmth as possible. His lips pressed to your head and you relished in his embrace, until your grandmother suddenly unlocked the door and popped her head in.

“Rise and shine! Oh my God, why are you two fully dressed?” she asked as if greatly disappointed in you.

You stared at her incredulously. “What do you mean why we’re dressed? Are you expecting us to be naked?”

“Yes! How else are you gonna have a baby?”

Your head ached the more your grandmother had to give you second-hand embarrassment. Taeyong did his best to suppress his laughter as his shoulders trembled.

You refuted back, “Well, it’s not like we’re going to stay naked knowing you’ll come in at any second just like now!”

She huffed and ultimately agreed. “Okay okay, but just know that I’m say no to death until I hold your baby.” She walked away and muttered, “You guys are so responsible. Back in my days, we were so reckless.”

Your jaw hung utterly in shock while Taeyong burst out into tears of laughter.

-

Clicking the button to unlock your car, you heaved out a breath, unwilling to depart from your grandmother’s and go back to reality. You turned to Taeyong who still wore a smile but this one didn’t quite reach his eyes. “When will you come back?” you asked with your heart anticipating for a response that would have you look forward to.

He pressed his lips before answering. “Soon.”

Dejected, you pouted slightly. How soon was soon? “You know that Lord knows you’re alive. Are you still going to hide?”

Taeyong nodded. “I’ll attack at the right time.” He reached for your cheek and caressed you tenderly. “I have my eyes on someone right now. Once we remove him from the picture, hell will break loose and you’ll need to be ready for it.”

You weren’t worried about being ready as you were always on lookout for hell. “Who is this person?”

“Milan. Lord’s underboss.”

He was the one you had to hide from at the casino. “That hell might be breaking sooner rather than later, right?” For Milan to put the pieces together and link Choi’s death to you was going to be a no-brainer, and then he would do anything to rid any danger around him even if that meant killing the one his boss wanted alive. Before Milan could get to you, you had to finish him, and when Lord’s own subordinate was out of the picture, there was no knowing what Lord was going to do and that was going to be the real war against Lord.

Nodding, Taeyong pulled you into a hug. He patted your head gently and muttered, “Don’t worry. Like I said, I’ll be your shadow keeping you safe.”

- ❀ -

Milan took a deep breath in with the cigarette held between his index and middle fingers and puffed out a white fog. The cigarette crushed in his hold as rage and fear overwhelmed him. His lawyer stood next to him, giving guidance for his well-being. “Either leave the country or kill her.”

Killing you meant being beheaded by Lord. If anyone were to harm Lord’s precious darling, then they could confidently bid farewell to their lives, even if you were after them in the first place. “Do you think I’ll be spared if I leave the country?” There was no guarantee for his safety after seeking refuge in another country if you were determined to out him.

The lawyer sighed. “Then you know what to do.”

- ❀ -

Walking back into the mansion, you found your boys waiting for your arrival. You made sure to keep a neutral expression to not give away of your recent encounter. Your eyes landed on Yuta who stood stiff and ready for your command. Having him in your gang still brought unbounded stress on you. Blindly trusting him was risky, but Taeyong not telling you to kill him had stopped you from doing so. You knew Taeyong wasn’t going to get caught no matter what. Whether Yuta were to report to Lord or not was what you needed to find out.

Walking up to Yuta, you stopped right in front, shocking him and your boys in the room. It was the first time you had come close to him ever since the beginning of the cold war. Yuta’s mouth hung slightly in surprise as he stared into your icy eyes.

Crossing your arms in front of your chest, you decided on asking the one thing that would finalize your endless internal battle. “About Lord’s request. What are you going to do once you find Taeyong?”

Speechless by the sudden inquiry, Yuta gathered his thoughts, “Lord wanted me to kill him.”

Without waiting for him to make up his mind, with seriousness you ordered, “Then kill Taeyong.”

His eyes widened in pure shock as audible gasps filled the room.

“Noona, are you being serious?” Jungwoo asked.

Without lifting your hard stare on Yuta, you answered, “I’m not playing the slightest bit. It’s my order for you, Yuta. Kill Taeyong once you find him.”

“Having you fucking lost it?” Haechan screamed at you. “I’m going to fucking kill someone.”

You glanced at Haechan. “You can kill him too.” You knew Haechan wouldn’t.

“Y/N-ssi, please think this through. If this is your real order for Yuta, he will get it done,” Kun spoke with urgency noted in his tone.

Though you were calm as you could ever be. “I know, which is why this will be your real order, Yuta.” You locked your gaze back on the infamous assassin. “Kill Taeyong. As per Lord’s request, and as my order.”

-

“What fucking crack are you on?” Haechan stormed right behind you as you headed inside your bedroom. “I thought we all wanted hyung back!” he yelled.

You stuck with you plan in case of unwanted ears dwelling around, it was better to have everyone think the same of your decision than be divided. “When did I say I wanted Taeyong back?” Your tone was low and composed. Your old self would have had your heart threatening to burst out of pounding anxiety at the given order, but your new self was calm as if you knew the outcome already of the plan. It wasn’t just a test to see whose side Yuta was on.

You wanted Yuta to aim his bullet for Taeyong so that you could end him.

- ❀ -

Trees sped by you, but you didn’t pay any mind to them as your thoughts were preoccupied by your plan for the night. Sitting in the passenger seat next to your despised member, you pondered about who the lucky ones were going to be in having their fates meet with your bullets.

Yuta drove with his palms tightly secured to the steering wheel. It was only him and you in the car. Your plan was risky but it had to be done before you’d come face to face with Lord. Unaware of your true intentions for the night, your boys weren’t happy with your decision of going out without more backup for your safety… and in case you killed Yuta on the streets. But no one dared to refute the icy cold look on your face when you swore that you weren’t going to come back alone.

After much time, Yuta asked, “Where exactly are we going?”

Without looking at him, you muttered, “To Milan.”

Yuta’s heart pounded hard in his throat as he swerved the car to the side, stopping it momentarily. He turned his body to face you from his seat. “Why are we not bringing the others? You know Milan would want you dead.”

You shrugged carelessly. “It’ll be obvious we’re out to attack.” Finally giving him a glance, you said, “Don’t worry about me. Let’s see how good you really are at your job.” And whose side he was on.

Milan worked till late nights on the top floor in the company building. It was bound to be difficult to eliminate him when he had security cameras within his office, keeping a tab for the main grounds and the happenings within the building. If you came into sight, your opponent was bound to set off an alarm for his men to get you.

Yuta was at a bind. He could easily finish the task by going in himself and shoot Milan in his office. But that meant leaving you alone and he couldn’t do that no matter what’d you say. As always, your safety came first. “What’s the plan?” he asked after turning off the car ignition a block away from destination to avoid being directly under a camera’s view.

And exactly just what he feared came true. “You go and kill him,” you said.

“What about you?”

You gave him a cold glare. “Like I said before. Don’t worry about me.”

With a heavy sigh, he willed himself to be ready for an unpredictable night.

-

Fixing a black cap on your head and a black face mask to help shield your identity from the lens of a camera, you watched Yuta enter the building from your seat without a hassle just like you had expected. You waited a few minutes, giving him enough time to go up before you’d make your move. After you stepped out the car and shut the door behind you, you looked around your vicinity, keeping check of anything out of place. Spotting nothing, you adjusted your black jacket hugging your frame and strode in confidently.

You passed by the front entrance without a problem. Whether your presence had been detected and triggered a silent bomb you wouldn’t know until you reached the top. Pressing the button for the elevator, the doors opened for you, allowing you to step in and pressed for the bloodthirsty floor.

Just before the doors shut from the dark lobby, a figure suddenly came into your view. Half of his blonde hair was hidden under a black cap like yours, though you could still see the eyes of your lover as he gave you an assured nod and a half smile before disappearing out of your sight.

Huffing out a breath, you could only hope for the night to go your way while keeping Taeyong alive.

The elevator opened upon reaching the end. Walking out, your steps slowed when noticing a number of bloodied bodies who appeared to be Milan’s guards laying sprawled out on the floor. Pulling out your pistol from your waistband, you cautiously made your move for the office’s entrance as your heart suddenly began thumping at the back of your throat.

On your toes, you pushed the glass door slightly ajar, taking note of the lifeless workspace with a few more guards shot down. This was not the plan you laid out for Yuta. Being on Lord’s side wouldn’t need Yuta to shoot down anyone in his way. He could have unsuspectingly entered Milan’s office and shot him down without a sweat. Shooting the bodies down was in your agenda.

Why did Yuta unnecessarily stir up trouble? And worse, where was Yuta and Milan?

Right when you got inside Milan’s empty cabin, your phone buzzed. Keeping your eyes out for any surprises, you answered.

-

“Yuta, I’m gonna fucking kill you once I find you!” you screamed over the phone as you slammed on the accelerator, speeding the car to catch up to your prey along the empty lanes of the dead streets. “Why didn’t you just do as I said?” you breathed heavily in anger.

Yuta sighed as he dropped to the floor, leaning against the barrier that could have had him catch up to Milan if he hadn’t been barricaded in the dark stairwell. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he muttered softly, a hand running through his hair in stress. Never once in his life had he slipped up no matter the mission, and for once he did, all because he wanted to keep you away from harm.

Shooting the men down had more attention drawn to him, making it harder to eliminate Milan. Yuta didn’t mind it if it meant less danger for you if you were to come up the building. But when Milan made his escape by taking the stairs, Yuta didn’t think at the end of the stairs was a locked end.

“I’m gonna deal with you later,” you spitted out before cutting the call. Your eyes fixed on a white car far ahead of you. No matter how much you maxed out on the speedometer, you could merely catch up at the speed of a sloth.

You knew Milan was in the car but you hadn’t expected a second body to be in there as well, making them reach out and pull triggers in your way. Luckily, they missed every time but that didn’t stop them from trying to shoot you.

“How the fuck am I gonna get to them?” You cursed your luck for your flopped plan.

A sudden dim light appeared in the rear-view mirror, making your eyes glance at it and wonder who it could be. The closer it sped in your direction, the quicker you realized that it was your saving grace. The familiar sports bike sped past you smoothly, briefly catching sight of Taeyong meeting your eyes from behind his helmet before speeding for your target.

You watched the scene slowly unfold as Taeyong zoomed past Milan’s car, stopping himself at the perfect distance to prepare his gun as Milan approached him. The car tires screeched to a halt, trying to get away from Taeyong’s aim but failed to when Taeyong shot right at them, causing the car to swerve and tumble onto its top, meeting its end. A few seconds later, you were met with the vehicle blowing up into flames, making you swerve your wheels aside to a stop right before you could enter the pits of the flames.

You closed your eyes, feeling the effects of the adrenaline tone down as the chase came to an end. “Y/N!” You heard Taeyong called out for you as he ripped your door open, feeling his warm hand caress your cheek.

Without lifting your eyelids, you asked, “Who else was in that car?”

“Milan’s lawyer,” Taeyong informed. “We killed two birds with a stone.”

-

Your angry stomps resonated the flooring as you stormed into the house. Kun waited for your return and wondered why you were outraged. “Y/N-ssi, what happened?”

Yuta followed right behind you with his head hung low. Glaring directly at the one responsible for the mess, you yelled, “Ask Yuta yourself.”

Your return was audible from every corner of the mansion and slowly Mark, Renjun, Jeno and Johnny filed in. “What’s wrong, Y/N-ssi?” Mark asked.

Turning to Mark, you told him. “Yuta fucked up, that’s what’s wrong.”

“Can you please explain, noona?” Renjun requested gently.

Taking a deep breath in through your nose, you muttered, “We went out to catch someone and Yuta didn’t follow my order.”

“Who were you catching?”

“Milan.”

Gasps of disbelief filled the room as the boys couldn’t believe that you went after Lord’s underboss without them. “Noona, why didn’t you bring us?” Jeno asked with his forehead lined in stress.

Rolling your eyes, you reassured him, “Milan is dead.”

Johnny gave you a confused look. “Then what went wrong?”

Whether Yuta fucked up on killing Milan wasn’t the reason why you were fuming. You were only upset over the one thing that your plan was based on. If it weren’t for that, you would have somehow brought your boys for backup.

Without you replying, your boys got the answer when the very person that you formed your plan on walked into the room, shocking everyone for the second time, except seeing their Taeyong hyung alive right before their eyes since the bombing had more of a shocking effect than the former news of Milan’s death.

“No way,” Renjun breathed out.

“Boss?” Mark questioned his sight.

It really was Taeyong, back in the very place he used to live in. He gazed at his boys softly.

Wide-eyed, Jeno said, “Whoa, you really are alive.”

“But wait…” Johnny’s eyes wavered between Taeyong and Yuta, ultimately landing on you.

Huffing bitterly, you said, “You guessed it.”

Mark’s hands went to his head as it ached. “Hold up. Someone please break it down for me. Wasn’t Yuta supposed to kill Boss?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Don’t you guys get it? I’ve been trying to find the perfect excuse to kill Yuta.”

Yuta only stared down at the floor, hurt that you doubted his standpoint and put him on a test. When you came back to rescue him after killing Milan, that was when he noticed Taeyong by your side. It was clear based on your nonexistent distance between Taeyong that you never had any intention of killing him, and when you swore that you’d come back home with someone, the plan wasn’t with Yuta but with Taeyong.

Yuta lifted his gaze to glance at your lover that he wished to be, the one he could have been working under had it not been for your takeover. His eyes met with Taeyong’s briefly and wondered how lucky Taeyong was to have your heart. His heart broke at the mere thought that he would never become the one you’d need.

After taking a few deep breaths, you calmly skimmed your eyes around the room, the volume tending to be on the quieter end than usual. “Where’s Jungwoo and Haechan?” you asked.

“They’re probably still in their room. I’ll call them down,” Jeno said. He first dialled Jungwoo but oddly there was no response. He then tried calling Haechan and after a few rings, the call was answered. “Haechan, come down fast. Noona is-” Suddenly, Jeno’s face paled and turned to gape at you.

“What is it?” you asked. When he didn’t reply, you marched up to him and snatched his phone from his grasp. “Haechan, where the fuck are you?” But the voice you heard next was not of Haechan’s.

A dark laughter rang through the phone. “Darling, I’m not Haechan.”

It was Lord.

Your blood ran ice cold as you dreaded for what you already knew was going to come. “What did you do to them?” your voice came a little weak than you hoped for. Your hand trembled at your side, fearing for the worst possible outcome to the night.

Losing another loved one.

“Don’t worry, darling. I’ll guarantee their safe return, not sure if in one piece though,” he chuckled at his own joke. “Only for one thing in return. And I’m sure this time you know exactly what I want.” Without a response from you, he ended the call.

For a moment, the room went death silent, as the rest waited for your next word. You only trembled in fear, panicking like crazy, and worried sick that you were close to losing another loved one to Lord. You let out a bloodcurdling scream as you threw Jeno’s phone across the room, causing it to shatter into pieces. His phone was the least of your concerns.

You dropped to the ground, your hands weaved in your hair as you tugged at it hard till pain shoot from the roots of your scalp. “If he takes one more person out of my life, consider me dead!” you screamed.

Taeyong’s heart ached when seeing your distress. He crouched down beside you and rested his hand on your head gently. “Y/N,” he called for you softly.

“This is my promise that I won’t let him touch any more of my people.” You had already lost so many precious souls in your life that until Lord was dead, you felt like every single one left was a ticking time bomb, when or if they were to die next. Death had merely become a routine in your life and you couldn’t care about anything more than to protect those still left alive.

“Don’t worry,” Taeyong reassured. “I’ll make sure they’ll get out safely.”

Your eyes hardened at his words and you glared at him. “What do you mean you will? You’re not going.”

He blinked at you. “But-”

“If you think you’re stepping out this house, then it better be for my dead body. You’re not going to fake your own death again and you’re not walking to your real one.”

The sudden shift in mood between you and Taeyong had the boys tensed as Taeyong solemnly stared into your unwavering eyes.

“What do you plan to do, Y/N-ssi?” Kun spoke up after much thought.

Your teeth clenched at the thought of having to rely on the one perfect for the job, but he was all that you had left. Standing up and leaving Taeyong, you strolled up to Yuta, surprising everyone.

“Yuta, this is my final mission for you. After this, I’ll let you free from our gang if you want. What do you say? Will you save Jungwoo and Haechan?” you asked. After all that had happened, you needed Yuta to be your only hope and saviour in saving your precious boys from hostage. You would have apologized to him after all that you’d treated him, but you couldn’t show your weak side, certainly not as a mafia leader.

The infectious smile that you had first seen during his introductory blinded over his features and he bowed in appreciation. Nothing else matter to him besides being given a chance to finally get onto your good side. “I promise I’ll put my life on the line and make sure they come back safely,” he vowed cheerfully.

The rest of your boys discreetly glimpsed at their former boss. Taeyong quietly observed the way hope brimmed your eyes when Yuta smiled at you.

-

In a dark room, two chairs were tied back-to-back, with two bodies on either of them, limbs and torsos bound tightly to the chairs by a rope. They hadn’t been beaten too badly, only a few punches thrown at their faces and stomach, forming few black bruises to their skin. A man guarded the room, making sure neither of them came free.

Jungwoo scowled at him and threatened, “Wait till my hands come free. I won’t spare anyone for touching my handsome face.”

Haechan scoffed at the older one without seeing his face. “That’s if they ever do come free, you fool.”

“You’re the real fool. This wouldn’t have happened if we didn’t follow noona.”

“Please! I only suggested and you agreed!”

“Shut up!” The man shouted at the two bickering. “One more word and you’ll get another beating.”

That made the two silent for a moment, not because they were afraid of Lord’s minion, but they didn’t want to waste their energy on less important matters like bickering and instead reserve it for more important ones. There was no doubt that you were going to come and save them, and what had them silently worry was how you were to do so.

-

The van rolled to a stop right before the given address. You observed the brightly lit establishment under the night, a massive palace surrounded by well-maintained greenery and fountains, beams of lights integrated along a path guiding to the entrance where guards stood by the grand double doors.

“What the hell is this place?” you muttered.

Kun said, “This might be where he lives.”

A half laugh parted from your mouth. “It’s gonna be pure hell tonight.” To find Jungwoo and Haechan and then finish Lord wasn’t going to be easy in the gigantic building. “How many men do you think he has in there?” you asked.

Kun could only give you a look of uncertainty.

Smacking your red lips together, you fixed your earpiece in. “Well then, looks like it’ll be me and Yuta,” you said while looking at the sniper who was just as ready as you were with his gun loaded.

“Must you really do this alone, noona?” Renjun asked.

You nodded in confidence. “I’m not risking any of you getting killed in there.”

“But what if something happens to you?” Johnny asked.

“He will never kill me.”

“How are you so sure?”

Pushing back the unpleasant memories that threatened to surface, your intuition spoke, “I just know it.”

-

Jeno and Mark sat at the front in a black car, high on anxiety and tension. Against your order of keeping Taeyong inside the mansion, it was either have the boys take him to you or he’d do so himself, and the latter sounded a lot riskier than the boys sitting at home doing absolutely nothing but worry for the unknown.

“What are you planning to do, hyung?” Jeno asked.

Taeyong gazed ahead at the van situated not too far from view. “Do what I told her I’ll always be.”

-

With oozing charisma, you strolled up to the palace. The guards recognized you and without a word, immediately opened the doors for you. Your hidden earpiece was your only connection to Yuta, giving him orders of where to locate himself just outside the confinements of the palace.

As you reached the foyer, six more men appeared. “Before going beyond this point, we need to search you.”

Dramatically scoffing at him, you asked, “Are you seriously gonna search me? You really think I’d have anything on me to hurt Lord?” You’d bravo yourself for keeping your acting skills alive. The only thing on you was a pistol and you weren’t worried if that got taken away because you had something else up your sleeve.

An order rang through the man’s earpiece and it was loud enough to know that he was being yelled at when his face slightly contorted. “I’m sorry, Y/N-ssi. It won’t be necessary on you.” As expected, you thought smugly. “But Lord is asking for Taeyong’s presence.”

“I want to see my boys first. If anything happened to them, then he can forget about Taeyong,” you warned.

He relayed the message to his boss and eventually nodded much to your relief. “Okay, you can follow me.”

Just as he said it, glass shattered from a nearby window as bullets flew to take down all six of the men without any time lapse. You stood calmly in the midst of the bloodied chaos, impressed by the sniper skills. Yuta hopped in from the destructed opening and grinned at you, holding his gun proudly.

-

“So how long are you gonna stay here? Don’t you wanna eat or sleep?” Jungwoo asked the man holding them captive.

“Nah, he’s Spiderman,” Haechan cracked.

“But Spiderman eats and sleeps,” Jungwoo pouted.

“Really? Let’s find out. Hey man, can you google-”

“Shut up!” He roared. “If you open your mouths again, then I’ll tape them up.”

The door slammed open as Yuta barged in, shooting down the man in one bullet. You entered the room, relieved to see Jungwoo and Haechan not too bad of a condition. “Thank goodness you’re okay,” you muttered out of sheer relief.

“Noona!” Haechan dramatically cried out for you and you lightly smacked his head in return. “Ow!”

“How is it that I can hear you from afar?” you told him while taking out your pistol and aiming it at the ropes. Your bullet pierced through the knots, untying your boys free.

“At least it helped you find us,” he retorted.

“And now I need Jungwoo’s help to get the night going,” you said.

“Let me guess, for my specialty, right? I can’t wait to torture that son of a bitch,” Jungwoo smirked evilly.

-

“Look, over there,” Jungwoo pointed at the set of double doors heavily guarded by four men.

“Lord has to be in there,” Haechan commented.

You nodded, agreeing with them. Already having gone across the entire floor, this was the only one where guards took their stance. “Shoot them after I get in,” you only said before stepping forth for the doors to hell.

Marching up to them, the guards eyed you up and down, one muttering something to his earpiece. “Is Lord in there?” You asked with attitude, but the confidence that you exhibited was nowhere near matching with your quickened heart and sweaty palms. When the guard nodded and stepped aside to let you in, horror began to sink in.

It was time.

The doors were opened for you and you took a bit of time to scan the room. It was his study room but not a simple one like yours. This one was huge, an endless ceiling with chandeliers hanging from above, arched walls decorated in white and gold as endless book collections were embedded in them. In short, you felt like you were in some sort of library in heaven.

Cautiously stepping inside, the doors closed behind you and you stilled for a moment as you heard bodies drop to the floor just as you had expected. You were surprised that no one was in the room when you expected for more men to be with Lord. Guess you wouldn’t be having your bullets be covered in blood.

But where was he?

At the far end of the room sat a gigantic desk where backside of a chair faced you. That was when you noticed pecks of hair sticking out of the headrest.

Your heart rate spiked upon locating your enemy. “Lord,” you greeted, filled with venom.

Your nemesis swirled around and there you see him again after a long time. His lips curled up in amusement, making you feel disgusted. “Darling, what a surprise.” Hopping out of his chair, he rounded the table and sauntered up to you, his eyes locked with a dangerous glint as if he were ready to devour his prey. “And that too alone, just the way I like it,” he whispered the last words, causing a chill to run down your spine.

You held your face from being contorted in fear. “It’s been a while. I’ve been waiting for you.” Nights spent waiting to end him would finally be over. You weren’t leaving the palace until every limb, every bone, every organ of his was dismantled.

His hand lifted to trail a finger along your profile, admiring how beautiful you looked just like when he first laid his eyes on you at the club. Goosebumps raised along your skin and you did your best to show an indifferent facade when you badly wanted to rip his arm off. “I still remember the first time I saw you.” He chuckled lightly and added, “Like it always goes. I get what I want.”

It was time. You raised one hand to touch his cheek, making him swoon over your touch, while your other hand went to the back pocket of your pants, pulling out your hidden weapon. “And I still remember that night when you took me to the restaurant,” you spoke softly with velvet laced in your tone. “Let’s have fun like the way you originally wanted that night,” you smirked darkly. Tightening the grasp of the item in your pocket, you sneakily snaked your hand around to his neck and punctured the needle in.

His brows scrunched ever so slightly, feeling the slightest pinch at something at the base of his neck. You stroked his face softly. “What’s wrong, darling?” You asked seductively, and pushed the contents of the syringe into his system. Pulling it out, you stepped away from him and watched the show begin.

His eyes shook as his head spun subtly. “What did you do?”

A menacing laugh escaped from your lips and showed him the empty syringe. “Nothing really, just doing the same thing you did to me that night, except a higher dose.” You threw your weapon away and walked past defenceless him towards his table. Grabbing the chair, you pushed it hard to roll itself to its owner, making his knees buckle and crash his body into it helplessly. A small table sat at the corner of the room and you took your pistol out, shooting at a leg to come free. It was the best you could use as a rod. Strolling back to your prey, you smirked at the accomplishment of getting one step closer to your ultimate goal. Pressing on your earpiece, you said, “Come in.”

The doors burst open and the first person in was the one who went against your order. Taeyong’s chest heaved up and down when locking his sight on you. The rest of your boys rushed in right behind him.

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed at your lover. “Funny how I expected you’d actually come here.”

Haechan dashed to Lord with a rope and tied him up, not that it was really necessary, while Jungwoo handed you a bar of metal rod that he was able to find right before coming in. “This will be better for you,” Jungwoo said. Yuta stayed on the lookout to make sure no surprises popped up during your last deadly operation.

You chucked away the table piece and gripped tightly onto the heavy rod. Lord’s eyes failed to focus on Taeyong as his breathing deepened. Giving Taeyong one last look where he stayed rooted in place and watched the murderous glint in your eyes, you put your all into swinging the rod at Lord’s head.

- ❀ -

[8 years later]

“Omma, look, it’s Y/N-ssi!” A little girl pointed in your direction and beamed happily.

A curl lifted at the corner of your glossy lips as you lounged on the beach chair, bathing in the sun along the shore of a beach. You lifted your dark shades above your head and fixed your attention on her.

The mother bowed to you in greeting and asked, “Is it okay if she can have your signature? We love re-watching your dramas.”

“Of course,” you smiled.

She handed you a blue colouring marker and opened to a blank page in a book. As you signed your signature with care, the little girl asked, “Will you come back on TV?”

Being an officially retired actress, you had no plans in doing so. But that didn’t mean you’d crush her dreams in case you ever did take up a project. Bending close to her from your seat, you said, “Maybe one day.”

Her mother thanked you profusely at your kind gesture and you smiled warmly at their retreating figures, watching the kid happily skip away on the sands.

A huge smile stretched across Taeyong’s lips as he witnessed the interaction when approaching you. “Looks like you’re back to your old self,” he commented when handing you a pina colada.

Taking a sip of the refreshing combination of citrus and tangy sweetness, you smiled at your lover, and husband, before turning to watch Mark, Renjun, Jeno and Haechan play joyfully in the crystal waters with your seven-year old son.

After the operation was over, Yuta declared resignation from his post in your gang, deciding to go freelance again. More than pleased with his performance in the operation, you developed a trust in him and wished to keep him if he wanted, no longer harbouring ill feelings against him. But he was adamant, not telling you the real reason for his departure with a heavy heart whenever he saw you with Taeyong.

Johnny, Kun and Jungwoo played beach volleyball with a new member of your gang named Jaehyun, hitting it off with staying on your good side when excelling at his tasks with his seducing skills. No matter how great of a seducer Jaehyun was with his opponents, he could never win over you with his playful flirts.

Your heart only belonged to one man.

Taeyong laid down in a chair beside yours. His brown hair with blue streaks ruffled with the warm air. His white shirt lazily hugged his frame and you would be able to see the dragon tattoo faintly through the material if he went in the water. “Would you ever go back to your actress life if things were different?” He asked while keeping his eyelids down, feeling the sun kiss his skin.

If things were different and you hadn’t lost everyone you did or become a mafia leader, then there was a chance you would. But the thrill you’d get as a mafia queen was far greater than the thrill you felt as an actress. Keeping up your angelic image to the public was stressful when having people constantly stalk you, make uncomfortable advances for you, and keep up with rules and proper etiquettes. As a mafia queen in the underworld, you could take revenge on anyone using any means without a worry the consequences. “No, I wouldn’t,” you replied truthfully.

Taeyong propped onto his elbows and watched your son laugh his heart out at something Mark said. “What do you think he’ll become when he grows up?”

You shrugged. “He can be whatever he wants. It’ll be interesting if he becomes an actor or mafia boss. We’ll just have to see.”

He smirked. “Or both. Never know, he can be dangerous.”

Chuckling, you said, “I doubt more dangerous than my lips.”

[cheekygreenty]

Little Witch - Part 13

The Darkling x Reader

This is more of a filler chapter, I wanted to write something where reader is in action🤭

As much as you loved to keep your personal and work life separate, the life at the Little Palace rarely allowed for such things. Rumors spread and tensions rose and much to your dismay the privacy of Aleksander's chambers only reached so far. Everywhere you went eyes followed you with a sense of interest, poking and prodding for the details of why the Deputy General had stayed in the Darkling's quarters, but more importantly why you raced out of there in the dead of the night, slamming every door possible with loud echoing thuds.

You ignored it all, you had work to do. Currently, you stood waiting in the courtyard for your horses, your recruited Grisha in tow. You had asked Fedyor for the best soldiers, ones who could be ruthless and loyal. Two Heartrenderers, an Inferni and the Squaller you now knew as Zoya waited behind you, shivering from a sudden gust of freezing wind.

The weather had gotten brutal over the past few days but this mission couldn't wait. You had gotten intel that somehow a Kerch merchant kidnapped Grisha while they traveled between camps and was keeping them in a home not far from the Palace, waiting to transport them across the Fold and use them as indentures. This angered you beyond means of explanation.

Your stableboy brought out your beautiful chestnut brown Arabian, and you quickly hoisted yourself up. You would all be going on horseback despite the weather, for a carriage would slow you down significantly.

'Zoya, I'll need you upfront with me, if it starts to snow heavily we'll clear the way.' You addressed the Squaller, patiently waiting as she got up on her horse and came to rest beside you, giving you a curt nod.

'Ready?'

You brought your horse into a quick gallop, cringing as the cold whipped past you.

******

Riding a horse was only comfortable for so long before your tailbone began to ache. It had been around an hour, but you were almost there as a small village came into view over the hill. You stopped your horse and put up your hand signaling the rest to stop too.

'We leave our horses just there, where the forest fades-' You pointed over to a place just to your right, where tree coverage would protect your horses from the cold. '-we walk the rest of the way. All intel pointed to the house being secluded, most likely right before the village grows more populated.'

The thing with these missions was there was never an exact location, which frustrated you and from the loud sigh Zoya gave, it frustrated everyone else too. You all slid off your horses and walked them to the forest, tying them securely to trees and beginning the walk, making sure to stay hidden behind the trees.

'What's the plan?' Asked the Inferni.

'I go in first, neutralize any threats I can see. Fedyor, keep to my side but be behind me. The rest of you, your main priority is to look for the Grisha. Don't kill anybody unless I tell you to.' You could see the surprised look on their faces and you knew why.

Even though Aleksander was extremely powerful and immortal, he never walked into a fight first, he was always the one to walk into a clear path, never cleared it himself. You did things differently, liked to be in complete control.

'What did the General say about this?' He spoke again.

You stopped and turned to him.

'If you have any issues with how your superior is commanding the missions, I suggest you turn around and learn how to be a soldier.' You snapped. Aleksander had these people wrapped around his finger. He stared at you with wide eyes and almost immediately his composure dropped, succumbing to your intimidation.

'I don't have time for this nonsense.' You scoffed and walked ahead to where Zoya was searching for the hideout.

'Is it that one?' She pointed to a cabin about with a man guarding the front door. Bingo.

'He's too far, I need to get closer.' Fedyor's raised hands dropped down to his sides. The other Corporalnik nodded in agreement.

You turned away from the group and concentrated on the man, feeling for his pulse and once you gathered the understanding, gently stopped The flow of blood, watching as he fell to the snow-covered ground with a thud.

'Don't take offense, I'm much older' You patted the Heartrenders on the shoulders and ran to the cabin. You saw Zoya let out a strong gust of wind to open the door, almost knocking it off its hinges.

Shouts erupted all around and shots were fired. You bled shadows into the hallway, rendering the Kerch men blind, hoping they wouldn't shoot in the dark. Simultaneously, you slowed the heartbeats you could make out, hoping the shouts died down. With luck on your side, the cabin turned silent and you retreated your shadows.

Three men dressed in fine vests lay slumped on the floor, a pistol or rifle in each hand. Fedyor automatically bent down to take the guns out of their hands and looked around for something to detain them with. You could hear the rest of your crew search the cabin, the loud squeak of the cellar latch opening. You too went to look around, opening all the doors that could open and listening for the beating of one's heart. Nothing.

You grew angry at the possibility of the intel being incorrect. You came to the last door on the far end of the home which was slightly ajar. You could feel a faint pulse and as you opened the door, ready to protect yourself when your eyes caught sight of a purple kefta. A Fabrikator? The figure didn't move from where they were standing. Their hands weren't bound and neither were their legs.

'Are you here with the Second-Army?' Her voice was quiet but steady.

'Yes. Come with me' You moved away from the doorframe and into the hallway once again to let the Grisha through.

'Who are you?'

'Deputy General, now come on we must get going' You heard Zoya indicate from the cellar that they had found the Healer.

She moved away from the wall and walked to you with her head down, showing no indication of being thankful for being saved. Doubt pooled in your stomach but you let it go. You returned to the main room and stared at the three men tied up in the chairs but quickly averted your eyes to Zoya who appeared perplexed and for once, you shared her thoughts. The Inferni walked out with the Healer behind him and what looked like a Squaller to his right but nobody said anything. What is going on?

'Is anybody injured?' You spoke first amongst the crippling silence. Nobody responded. Suddenly out of the corner of your eye you saw the Fabrikator take one of the disposed pistols and point it at you, not hesitating to take shots. You deflected as best you could, protecting the others from the bullets but quickly realized the girl was a Durast and wherever she wanted to shoot, she could definitely make the shot.

You looked around and to your surprise, your Inferni was lying on the ground as the Healer battled Zoya. Fedyor was seemingly pushed up against the wall by the Squaller. What in Saint's name is going on. These are not my Grisha. Your falter caused your shadow shield to break and you felt a cold bullet lodge itself in your thigh where your kefta peeked open.

The pain was too strong, clouding your mind and momentarily prohibiting you from accessing your powers. Saints this hurts.

You reclaimed your mind, letting the merciless Cut wander out to her. The Durast screamed in horror as her hand dropped to the ground. You ignored it, letting your eyes wander to the Squaller and knocking her out with a wind so strong it rattled the cabin. Zoya managed to subdue the Healer, tacking to the ground and holding her hands above her head. You shot out a tendril of onyx shadow and restrained her, relieving Zoya of the uncomfortable position.

You were beyond angry, you were fuming. You harshly grabbed at the Durast, slamming her against the wall by the lapel of her kefta, your thigh screaming in pain. You could feel blood pooling in your riding boots.

'What is this?!' You hissed

'You're not taking us back. You will not force us to be part of that army'

'You would give up the Little Palace for the dirty streets of Ketterdam' The venom rolling off your tongue was almost paralyzing.

'If I am to serve your kind then of course. You're probably stealing my power as we speak' The room stilled and your pain was forgotten. Zoya held her breath, even the Healer's stomach dropped.

Something in you snapped, and with nothing more than a flex of your fingers, the girl's neck snapped, her lifeless body tumbling to the ground. You didn't say another word. Zoya took that as a sign to tell the rogue Grisha they will be tried as traitors, and restrained them both, taking over from you.

Your previous words came back into your mind, Don't kill anybody. You shame Aleksander for merciless killing yet you just did the same. You broke your own rule because somebody offended you. You fool.

You wordlessly limped out of the cabin, completely forgetting the bullet wound on your thigh.

***

The ride back to the Little Palace was torturous. The two traitors had been subdued and riding with the heartrenderes. Your thigh was in excruciating pain and upon entering the gates, you had felt completely numb. As far as you knew, nobody knew you were shot. You had left them to deal with the mess in the cabin, too blinded by anger and arrogance to help and act as the leader. But now, the only thing blinding you was tiredness which you knew wasn't good.

Your horse diligently walked to the courtyard doors but you didn't get off, you couldn't. Your eyes had shut on their own accord. The tiredness washed over you again and your head spun.

You could faintly make out the sound of your name being called by Fedyor asking about the traitors, but you paid him no mind, focusing all your attention on trying not to fall off your horse. Your head bopped, but you fought to stay awake and pass the wave of tiredness so you could walk to the healers unit, but it was relentless.

You felt somebody pull the reigns of your horse and lift the cloak covering your leg, you didn't argue. Then the shouts started. You couldn't hear what they said as your head bopped again, once, twice, then you let go.

****

The immense itching sensation on your thigh was overwhelming. If that wasn't the reason for you waking up, it was the loud argument taking place at the foot of the bed.

You managed to open your eyes to see a Healer working on your leg, looking very focused. She spared you a sweet smile then went right back to work. Oh Saint's this is so itchy. It took everything in you not to itch the bloody wound. Thankfully, the raised voices dragged your attention away.

'We didn't know, she just left!' Fedyor.

'If you'd have gotten here 10 minutes later she would have been dead' Aleksander.

'We thought she wa-'

'I don't care. Leave before I do something I regret' The door opened and shut. You suspected the only people left in the room were you, the Healer and a fuming Aleksander. If he knew you were awake, he showed no indication of it. You didn't need to look at him to know he was brooding. Was he mad that I'm injured or that the mission went sideways?

Your hands clenched as the itching sensation got worse. You hated being healed, it was even worse than being injured.

'If you clench that fist any harder you'll break your knuckles' His voice carried no anger anymore, it was soft but had an edge of plea in it.

You didn't respond. You didn't know what to say. You hadn't seen him since the other night when you confronted him about Alina, and he made no moves to approach you since then.

'I'll give you a written report mission once I'm done here.'

'No need. Zoya took care of it already' As much as you had tried to convince yourself you disliked the beautiful Squaller, she had really come in clutch today. You were thankful.

'Alright, that's all I can do for now. You did lose a lot of blood, so take it easy for the next couple of days.' The young girl got up and left after you muttered a quick thank you.

'Are you ok?'

'We just got ambushed by rogue Grisha who had personal vendettas against me, what do you think' You sat up and rested your head against the headboard, reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand.

'I should've cross-examined the intel. If I knew what they were I would've given you more reinforcements.' He leaned against the wall next to the door, sensing your hostility and keeping his distance

'I didn't need reinforcements. I was just caught off guard is all'

'You killed a-'

'Please, don't say it. , it wasn't my proudest moment.'

'Zoya kept it out of the report. Said she got caught in the cross-fire.'

I love you Zoya.

'Do you want me to leave?' His question made you freeze. On one hand, you were still angry about the other night and the comment he made, but on the other Aleksander always made you feel safe and his presence brought you peace.

'You probably have work to do. I do too anyway' You got up to leave the bed, but he quickly walked over to you, pushing you back down. You grabbed his hands out of reflex.

'Take it easy for the next couple of days. Is that not the advice you got?' He cocked a smile and traced a small pattern on your hand. You stared into his eyes and tried to find a reason to not fold into his embrace, you badly needed a hug, and he gives the best ones.

'Alright, but you can leave' Your answer surprised him, it surprised you too. Apparently subconsciously you still held a grudge against him.

'Y/N, Next time you get hit, please tell someone.' He whispered as he swooped down to kiss the top of your head lovingly, letting his lips linger for a moment. Just as you were about to give in and wrap your arms around him, his warmth left you.

'It won't kill you to take a day off.' He teased as he walked out the door.

I never got that hug.

Part 14

Taglist (tell me if u want to be added to the Little Witch taglist !!)

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @0-artemis @lostysworld @xceafh @fire-in-her-veinz @patdsinner33 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @wizardwheezes @aleksanderwh0r3 @tomhollandisabae @hotleaf-juice @justmesadgirl @exo-1204 @houseofdupree @oberonpascal @eireduchess

Here’s a masterlist where u can find previous parts of Little Witch 🖤

[cdroloisms]

DAY 50 LET’S GO !!

It’s been 50 days since Quackity’s first Lore Stream, and I thought I’d write a little something for the occasion. Our buddy c!dream is not doing well in the prison rn lmao

tw: torture, abuse, injuries, blood, broken bones, manipulation, gaslighting, mental deterioration, trauma, dark content, pandora’s vault/prison arc, c!quackity critical (again, not really, but a Very Dark portrayal of him) 

Quackity’s in the middle of packing up his supplies for the day when he turns over; Dream flinches, automatic, but the winged man doesn’t come closer, hands still busied with rubbing off the blood on Warden’s Will. His good eye narrows, and Dream watches, half-lucid where he’s sprawled out over the obsidian in a puddle of his own blood, breath rattling in his chest and filling the silence with shuddering wheezes.

“It’s day fifty, you know,” he says, turning back towards his sword. Dream mulls the words over as his vision blurs, refocuses, letting them settle as his too-slow head catches up with the meaning. “Of my visits.”

He tries to respond, knows better than to ignore Quackity when he’s speaking, but the words escape his head halfway up his throat and the whole thing comes out as a garbled hum through his lips. Quackity hardly spares him a second glance, sheathing the sword and moving his hand to the axe, pulling it up from the floor and watching as blood drips down the blade onto the handle.

“You know, I said I would come for as long as I fuckin’ needed, and I don’t exactly plan on making myself a liar any time soon,” Quackity’s eye slants towards him, lips pressed together in an irritated frown that Dream recognizes as the one he wears when he’s more bothered than he lets on, “So you gonna talk? Or are we gonna have to go through another fifty?”

Dream keeps his eyes on the other stubbornly, refusing to look away even with the full force of Quackity’s glare directed at him. Hey- what can he say, it’s the end of the day and he’s more than a little delirious from the pain and adrenaline. He’s sure that he’ll regret it come tomorrow, but that’s a problem for future-Dream, not now-Dream. Now-Dream has enough to worry about with trying to stay conscious as it is.

Surprisingly enough, or maybe not surprisingly at all (say what you will about the daily visits and the torture and pain they’ve brought him, but seeing the same person for hours a day every single day does mean that you end up knowing them better than most. He can say a lot about Quackity, most of which involving bloodstained fantasies of revenge and memories of agony and every excruciating moment in between, but in the end he also knows the other man, for better or for worse), Quackity shakes his head, turning back to his work, and laughs. It’s a dry, bitter thing, whatever amusement left within having long cooled and sharpened into something viscous and wanting, but it’s still laughter, the sound so unfamiliar that it makes him physically recoil for a moment before his head catches up.

“You really are a stubborn bastard, aren’t you?” Quackity’s voice dips low in wry humor even as he looks away again, and Dream closes his eyes, lets the world go dark for a blissful second. “Fifty days- I have to say. I’m impressed! It’s really…quite impressive.”

Fifty days- Dream looks up again, head lolling over limply as he tries to look closer. Quackity never brought up the time before, had enjoyed in the psychological side of making him guess how long it’d been, in giving fake times and messing with his head without a clock to keep his head straight. In all honesty, there’s a side of him that’s convinced that he’s lying, but - well - it’s not like it matters, how long it’s been. It’s hardly like there’s a time limit or anything.

“Anyway,” he stands up suddenly, reaching up to stretch his arms, wings spreading to his sides, catching the light of the lava, seeping through the feathers, “We’ll have to cut today short, alright Dream? I have, well you know, arrangements. We’re celebrating.”

“Yeah?” Dream rolls his eyes, words thick in his mouth, and he spits out a mess of blood and other gunk onto the floor beside him, recoiling at the feeling. “Celebrating what?”

“Well, it’s been fifty days, hasn’t it?”

Quackity’s voice has shifted to a slight drawl, almost fond save for the edges, sharpened to a razor point and ready to cut through skin, muscle, bone. It’s a tone that Dream’s become all-too-familiar with, the sort of way Quackity speaks when he’s about to say something that he thinks will make him hurt, when he feels like using his words alone to drive a knife between his ribs and then twist the handle. It’s unassuming, slow, and cruel in every sense of the word, and Dream blinks slowly as he waits for the meaning to register in his pain-addled mind.

Quackity must take his silence for something else, because he laughs again - this one is one that Dream’s familiar with, a hissing, mocking thing that curdles the very air. “Oh- you didn’t think they didn’t know, did you? He turns back towards Dream, moves closer, hair having fallen over his scar and lips twisted in a smile that shows off his glinting golden tooth, “You really- you really fuckin’ thought they didn’t know, prime, this is pathetic Dream, this is a new low even for you.”

Know what- oh.

“Of course they know, Dream,” Quackity kneels in front of him, hand reaching forward to grab him by the jaw, running his thumb back and forth over a fresh cut slashed over his cheekbone and putting enough pressure on it to make it sting, “I told them ages ago - I told you, too, did you seriously fuckin’ forget? Prime- the whole point of you being in this shithole is for the revive book. Once I get it we can finally just kill you and be done with it - of course they know, man! They’re fuckin’ cheering me on.”

Dream watches, waits for the betrayal to come, hot and fast as it always has before. Waits for the rage to come bubbling up, dark and angry, waits for his hands to shake feebly with desperate fantasies of revenge that will probably never make it out of the walls of this obsidian hell. He waits, and waits, and waits, even as Quackity grins and walks to the back of the cell, a triumphant spring to his steps, and disappears in a shattered potion of harming that sends another wave of agony through his broken body.

Nothing comes.

And- it’s almost funny, nearly has him laughing hysterically in the middle of his cell, still spread in a mangled pile of broken bones and limbs twisted unnaturally, drenched in sweat and blood, because - of course, of course now he finally manages to do what he’s been trying for all along, of course now his traitorous, bleeding heart that never failed to bruise and fracture no matter how any layers of netherite he wrapped around himself finally, finally hardens, of course now after fifty fucking days of torture does he finally learn the lessons that he’s been trying to teach all along.

Lesson 27, he remembers himself saying, hands clasped around each other as he paced back and forth on a mountain’s peak, grass crumbling beneath his boots, do not reminisce on what you have lost for it will weigh you down.

It’s been fifty days, and Dream laughs, because after so, so long, he finally has no attachments - and it’s the best feeling in the world.

[johnshelbystoothpick]

'NO MORE HIDING'

[PETER MAXIMOFF X FEM!OC]

WARNINGS — explicit sexual references, strong language

WORD COUNT — 1,608

PROMPT(S) — “just a little more” & “i want everyone to know that you’re mine”

TRANSLATIONS — koroleva; queen

WRITTEN FOR — @lazylangdon’s one shots contest, round four (smut); she is also the one who was kind enough to make the above graphic for me! <3

———

“If we get caught, Maximoff, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Peter quirks his signature grin, all cockiness and bravado with no trace of humility to be seen. If Peter Maximoff is capable of embarrassment, it is not something that has ever been witnessed by another human being. Certainly not by Arcadia, at least, and she is quite literally capable of feeling his emotions - something she ordinarily finds useful, but in such circumstances as these the arousal radiating off of him in waves threatens to submerge her in a sea of eroticism.

“I love it when you’re feisty,” he growls lowly, dipping his head so that silver hair brushes against her sharp cheekbones. It tickles, but the sensation is sensual as opposed to playful which one may consider strange for somebody with as natural an affinity for immaturity as Peter. If Arcadia has learned over the past few months that the Peter Maximoff the world sees is not the whole man but rather a fragment projected.

Her fingers twitch with the need to move and suddenly Arcadia finds herself sympathetic to Peter’s everyday plight because this must be how he feels in any given situation: like things are moving too slowly. Torturously, agonisingly slow.

“I’ve never really understood the whole academic spiel,” Peter says after a lengthy pause, “but damn if thinking so hard doesn’t look hot on you, Brodeur.”

She rolls her eyes, more exasperated than annoyed, and her hands find the collar of his shirt. Yanking him forward with more force than strictly necessary, Arcadia effectively swallows his sharp intake of breath when her lips crash against his own.

It’s messy and without preamble, as is always the case when the two of them can find a spare moment alone away from the prying eyes of telepathic professors and fathers who aren’t yet aware that their adult son is living under the same roof as he is, currently making out with his girlfriend in an abandoned classroom two floors above his bedroom. There is still the raw passion that consumes Arcadia whenever Peter is in her presence, but the tenderness is quashed in favour of the rapid removal of clothing and skin-on-skin contact which drives her dizzy with desire every time.

“Are you done with the whole hate sex act?” Peter questions, one eyebrow raised. He’s obviously amused, almost definitely aroused if his body’s natural reaction is any indication, and looking at Arcadia through pupils blown wide with lust.

She brings a hand up to his cheek, cradles it for a moment, then lightly drags her nails across his cherry red, kiss-swollen lips. “Just a little more,” she whispers, breaths tapering into uneven huffs when she feels Peter’s hands weaving through dark tresses and lightly tugging the strands with just the right amount of pressure that the pain is gratifying. “How am I supposed to be annoyed with you when you make me feel like this?”

“It’s all part of my natural charms,” he claims brazenly, breath hot against the shell of her ear. The phantom sensation of his words across her skin sends a stimulating jolt of pleasure through her entire body. “Now, do you wanna talk or do you wanna make out?”

“God, you are such a boy,” she scoffs, slapping his arm lightly. It may have been effective in conveying her point, but it only makes Peter’s salacious smirk widen as he grabs her wrist and pins it above her head with a victorious expression.

“You love me for it,” he states.

It is not a question, though Arcadia finds herself nodding along nonetheless. “And what if I do? I could show you just how much, if you like…” She bats her eyelids with a faux innocent expression.

Peter groans, the sound deep and guttural. With her unrestrained hand pressed flat against his chest, she can feel the vibration of the sound. “Don’t say shit like that right now,” he warns, “I’ve gotta meet Jubilee for training in fifteen and she’ll never let me live this down.”

Finally, it’s Arcadia’s turn to smirk as she glances down at his hardening erection. “Not my problem, Pietro.”

Something she has come to learn in recent weeks is just how much her boyfriend enjoys being referred to by his given name in any circumstance, but especially when they are alone and domesticated, so to speak. The pressure on her wrist increases for a second before Peter relaxes, exhaling slowly.

“You’re a fucking tease, Arcadia Brodeur.”

“Don’t you forget it.”

He leans forward to capture her lips in a kiss which is so uncharacteristically soft that it takes her by surprise. His tongue moves languidly, glides effortless with hers as though they were destined to come together in some synchronised dance, and a plethora of metaphorical fireworks explode in the small room they are encased in.

“I love you,” he says against her lips, repeating the words a dozen times when his mouth leaves hers to trail wet, open-mouthed kisses across the expanse of the exposed flesh of her neck. His teeth lightly graze her collarbone, then again in the same place with a sharper bite, and Arcadia lets out a sound somewhere between a moan and a shriek at the paroxysms of pleasurable pain it leaves in its wake.

“I love you,” he rasps once more, tongue flicking out to soothe the stinging pain he had caused. Arcadia finds herself missing it, though the expert way that Peter works his tongue against her flesh more than makes up for the loss. “And I want everyone to know that you’re mine.”

He brushes his lips against her palm before finally releasing his hold on her wrist which hangs limply at her side for a moment before both of her arms wrap around his neck, clasped at his nape. The ensuing staring contest is charged with electric energy, the sexual tension so palpable one could almost certainly reach out and touch it.

“I love you too,” she says at long last when the silence has run its course. “I just wish we didn’t continue to hide away like this is something to be ashamed of.”

He cups her cheeks, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the grooves of her cheekbones. “I’m not ashamed of us, koroleva,” he insists firmly, “I just didn’t want to put any strain on our relationship with the whole Daddy Issues thing I’ve got going on here right now.”

“You’re an idiot,” she deadpans, “if you think I wouldn’t want to be here with you every step of the way, Peter. Even if your dad is terrifying…”

“Nah, he’s a softie really,” Peter claims, “otherwise he’d have smothered me in my sleep by now with how annoying I act around him.”

“Just around him?”

Peter mock gasps. “I am hurt, Arcadia. Shocked and hurt.”

“You should get over it pretty fast, Quicksilver,” she teases before unlooping her arms and giving his abs a firm pat. “You’d better go now before Jubilee sends out a search party.”

They both know that she would, so Peter doesn’t object beyond a frustrated sigh.

“Maybe deal with that first, though,” she adds. Her hand reaches out to lightly palm him through his jeans, revelling in the ensuing groan he emits as the heat travels from her cheeks to her clit in a way that causes her knees to quiver. She hooks her thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans to steady herself.

For a moment, neither of them speak. They aren’t confident that they could string together a coherent sentence with their hips grinding together with unadulterated lust; their ragged breaths indiscernible from one another’s so that it seems impossible to know where Peter Maximoff ends and Arcadia Brodeur begins.

“To be continued,” he pants after a minute or so has passed. He takes a step back but doesn’t tear his hooded gaze away from the dishevelled Arcadia. “We’ve got unfinished business here.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Arcadia responds, excitement rushing through her at the thought of continuing their little rendezvous. It’s excruciating to have to wait, but she figures having sex in a classroom with windows overlooking the lake where hoards of people seem to be more often than not probably isn’t the wisest decision, no matter how much she and Peter may enjoy the thrill of sneaking around so carelessly. The soft, red lace of her panties becomes wetter with the thought.

Alas, public makeout sessions are hot in places like the mall or the cinema, not so much at a school.

Pausing just before Peter leaves, she has to ask, “Seriously though; why this room?”

Peter’s smirk returns with a vengeance. It’s unclear whether this is due to whatever answer he may give, or if he’d picked up on the tremor in her voice as she’d asked. “Because Scott and Jean walk past here every day at precisely three pm,” he informs, watching with impish glee as her eyes widen comically, “and would you look at the time. No more hiding, koroleva.”

The clock strikes three hardly a second later and Peter gives a mocking salute before speeding out of the room in the blink of an eye.

“Peter Maximoff, I’m going to fucking kill you!”

Peering through the open doorway, Scott and Jean make no effort to conceal their snickering. “Might want to deal with that hickey first, Cady,” the redhead advises, flouncing away with her boyfriend before Arcadia can formulate a witty retort. She can feel the amusement emanating from the couple as they disappear.

God, she needs to get her own place. And possibly a new boyfriend. First things first: makeup.

[narrators-journal]

Black swan

Oof, I don’t know why, but despite all of my attempts, this part is particularly rough on the writing front. Man, I’ve really, really improved lol.

cw: toys, handcuffs, overstimulation, shoddy writing

Warning: here

Previous part: here

First part: here

The days after your deal with Gogol passed in suspicious comfort. You were happy to get a room instead of your cage, even if you had to share a bed with your captor, which was a bit awkward, but you still didn't trust that you were safe. He locked you in a cage in a basement, chased you down in a sick game of tag, and suddenly he wanted normalcy?  You didn't trust it.

So, you kept yourself on alert, just waiting for some sort of second shoe to drop. Is this some sort of psychological torture? He wants to watch me drive myself insane with fear and anxiety? You pondered as you cut vegetables for dinner one night. Maybe he's being serious. He might just want to have a normal sort of set up between us...or maybe he's planning something a lot worse than just watching me squirm. Your thoughts were interrupted when Gogol, as if summoned by your contemplation, wrapped his arms around you and laid his head on yours,         "You're so cute when you're being a good little Zhena." He purred, watching you cook for a while before he rubbing his hands up and down your sides, slipping them beneath your shirt and making you shudder slightly. Before you knew it, he'd spun you around and smashed his lips into yours, swallowing your squeak in his eagerness to grind his bulge into your thigh. He didn't seem to care if you could properly kiss back, his own kisses were swiftly turning sloppy in his over-excitement.         "H-hey, wait. Why are you so e-eager all of a sudden?!" you asked breathlessly when you finally managed to dislodge his mouth from yours, even though he just moved to your throat.         "Silly Golubka, you should learn when I'm horny," he chuckled into your neck, "I've been acting calm all day, but in reality I've been so riled up at the thought of playing with you~" With that, he caught your mouth in another hungry kiss.        "Well...c-can't it wait until after dinner?" you asked, your voice going up an octave when his gloved hands cupped your ass and kneaded the flesh, giving you your answer without a word. Your cheeks heated up so quickly as the clown coaxed out small moans and whimpers from you with small nips to your sweet spot and the grinding of his erection against you, but just as you were beginning to slip under your own waves of arousal, he pulled away, still keeping a firm hold on your ass, but leaving your hickey covered throat alone to grin at you,        "How about we experiment tonight, Golubka?~" he suggested, his tone implying that he probably didn't plan to try anything he hadn't already tried.        "What if I say no?" you asked, trying to keep your voice from being too breathy and lustful as the clown pouted,        "Well that's no fun, it's nothing you haven't at least dabbled in, I’m sure. I'm not about to let you fuck a dog or something extreme like that." he assured, "I just want to do something a bit more fun than missionary or plain vanilla sex." That made you huff, what he saw as 'vanilla' might not be what you saw as 'vanilla', but he didn't seem to realize that.          "Can I have a way to tell you to stop?" you asked, watching the clown's mismatched gold-and-silver eyes for any lies as he grinned as if he were an angel. Well, demons were technically angels. you reminded yourself, snapping under his nose to bring him back from whatever horny thoughts were making him seem so spacey. "did you hear me?"         "Yes I did! And yes, you can have a safe word," he assured, grinning as he watched you think his request over, your face occasionally darkening in a blush before you finally squeak out some agreement. With that, you were scooped up, thrown over his shoulder despite your arguments that there was still food on the stove and carried off to whatever he had planned. The room he took you to was on the first floor of the home, and locked. That was never good. However, somehow you were still not expecting what you found within. The room was on the smaller end, with a chair or two, a bed, a chest, and some landscape paintings decorating the walls. Without any other context you'd assume this was just some random guest room, but you did know the context, so you didn't exactly trust the unassuming set up. Gogol though, seemed more than pleased to bring you to the room. He tossed you onto the bed, giggling when you bounced on the mattress. In a flash he was on top of you, kissing you again, his hand snaking its way back under your shirt to grope your breasts until you made another slew of lewd noises. Pretty soon you were squirming and hissing from the combination of painful bites and rough groping with softer, arousing kisses and ghostly brushes of fingers on especially sensitive spots. Sadly for you, before you could hold onto him, the clown grabbed your wrists and in one fluid movement cuffed them to the bed.         "What the fuck?" You breathed, angling  your head to look up at the silver cuffs clinking softly when you gave a testing tug,         "We're going to have a nice, fun day of play, Golubka~" the tall, silver haired russian purred, a coy grin on his handsome face. And there it was, the reason for your stomach was twisting in knots like anxious snakes. You didn't need to know him personally to pick up on the sadism he oozed. Noticing your nerves, the clown ran a hand through your (h/l), (h/c) hair soothingly and told you a simple little safe word before heading over to the trunk at the foot of the bed and digging around in it to get some things.   When he returned, he had a blindfold and some other stuff you couldn't quite see from your spot cuffed to the headboard stashed on the floor that he was undoubtedly keeping a surprise for you, and that surprise didn't get any easier to ruin when he covered your eyes, leaving you to only be able to listen to his foot steps, him picking something up, and than feel the wriggling your bottoms down so your already pretty slick entrance was exposed to him. He hummed, rubbing your clit for a short moment to add hormones to the fire, stopping when the lustful heat reached a point that made you squirm and mewl. Than, while you were panting and slightly calming down, you heard a dull buzz, a rather familiar one, and your thoughts were suspicions were confirmed when you felt the vibrating toy being pushed into you. The feeling made you groan, louder when the clown made sure he hit your sweet spot with the filling, stimulating toy. With that, your thoughts of anxiety over him getting too sadistic were washed away in a sea of unyielding lust that was quickly growing. For an excruciating long time, you couldn't get that burning lust sated. Gogol refused to let you orgasm, relishing your moans and whines and small pleas and curses you let out while he fucked you with the vibrator. It was so frustrating, but you didn't want to give him any sort of reason to 'punish' you, you'd had a few dom's like that, using any possible excuse to hike up the cruelty, So, you kept your mouth shut and didn't try to order him around or anything. Instead, you powered through the pleasurable torment. Finally, after hours of orgasm denial, Gogol took the toy out at last. Thankfully, he wasn't so cruel as to leave you simmering in your own excitement, because soon you felt his mouth back on yours, than on your neck, stoking that heat in your stomach again before pushing into you. Whatever thoughts were still lingering were shattered at the feeling of him actually making contact with you, getting that satisfying feeling of feeling him twitch inside like he was that you craved for however long you'd been pulling on your restraints. So, when you, inevitably, got louder, Gogol muffled you with a heated kiss, nibbling at your lip or holding your chin so you couldn't yank away until he let you. Meanwhile, he slowly began to move, ignoring your impatient whines. Even if he was giving you something you wanted, of course he wouldn't give in to the rest of your demands. However, when you finally did manage to pull away from his kisses and breath, that air was pulled away yet again when the clown sped up, beginning to sprinkle in moments of getting rougher or faster, than slowing down to torture you further, until you were finally allowed to orgasm for the first time since the beginning of his sadistic game. However, he didn't stop at your orgasm, only picking up his pace and getting a lot harsher until you were whimpered and tearing up behind the blindfold as pain began sinking in amidst the abundant pleasure, slowly growing until it was starting to override the last bits of your orgasm high. But, Gogol didn't slow down or stop until he orgasmed at long last and was finally sated for the time being. And, to be honest? You hate to say you weren't enough of a masochist for that. So, when you were finally uncuffed and unblindfolded, you were more than a little sensitive and ache-y, but  you blinked and smiled slightly at him, still a bit doped up on euphoria. He just returned the smile and got dressed, letting your eyes readjust to the light before he scooped you up and carried your shaking, over-spent body back to the room he usually shared with you, making sure to shower you with affection and praise as he went to make up for the ordeal he'd put you through with little forewarning.

[bat-connoisseur]

So scattered AU is cool

A small little fic based off of this ask about the Scattered AU! I’d submit this but the askbox is closed (I’d imagine it’s absolute chaos over there) so I’m gonna tentatively tag @hermitcraftheadcanons and hope it’s alright.

Cw// there’s a lot of drowning in this fic. And a good helping of helplessness, too. It’s angst through and though with nothing in the way of fluff. I hope you enjoy!

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It was agony. Bitter choking agony. Every waking moment, and Impulse couldn't sleep, was spent in excruciating pain as his death loop dragged on and on.

Impulsesv drowned

Impulsesv was killed by guardian using magic

Impulsesv drowned

Impulsesv drowned

Impulsesv was killed by guardian using magic

Impulsesv was killed by Elder Guardian using magic

Every time he felt he was making progress, dragging his aching, tired body through the frigid, waterlogged corridors of the ocean monument, every time he thought he could feel the warmth of light on his sun-starved face, every time he caught a glimpse of the surface, of salvation, it would all be whipped out from beneath his feet, as his breath failed, or one of the monument's inhabitants found him. And he'd be back to the start, with nothing but one breath of air in his lungs, and a whole expanse of monument ahead of him, seething and ready to kill him at any cost.

However, He was making progress. Slowly but surely managing to get further and further from his spawn in the middle of the Monument. Learning the corridors, even, on one particularly short life, managing to take out a block in one of the walls. A valuable shortcut through the underwater maze.

Deperatley working to make progress little by little was all he could do to keep himself sane. Clinging onto the hope of escape, the slowly fading images of his friends in his mind. It was all he had. But has the days wore into weeks of the endless torture, he felt the urge to give up growing stronger and stronger. Each respawn replenished him physically, but the constant drowning was maddening. He hadn't slept since he first spawned in this hellish place, and although the respawns kept him going, he was desperate for rest, for a break.

He just had to hope his friends were in a better place then him. Maybe they were looking for him! He knew his constant deaths much be clogging up their communicators. They must know he's in trouble. The world must be big, and there must be hundreds of ocean monuments. They just hadn't found his yet.

That must be it.

Right?

Despite the doubts clawing at his mind, he had to hold onto the desperate hope that he was being looked for as he continued his slow advance through his underwater grave. To loose hope would be to loose everything. He wasn't ready to give up. Not yet. Although the temptation dragged at him with each rush of pain as water filled his lungs, as he coughed and hacked underwater, his body screaming for air but finding only more water, until his vision was plunged into darkness once more. Then back in the dreaded prismarine room. He made a mental note to never look at another prismarine block for as long as he lived, once he got out of here.

… If he got out of here.

The weeks had long since turned to months by the time Impulse finally ran out of hope. He was so tired. Everything hurt all over, even when he wasn't drowning. The constant ache of his lungs made it hard to hold his breath, and he found himself drowning sooner and sooner. It had been months, trapped in the painful monotony of the death loop. He'd given up on the idea he was being looked for, and the life he spent fumbling with his communicator, fingers too numb to do anything besides open it, painted a grim picture. The chat was flooded with his constant death messages, but those of his friends too.

Grian froze to death

Xbcrafted starved to death

Goodtimewithscar fell out of the world

BdoubleO100 fell out of the world

His friends were trapped, just like him. They weren't coming to find him. And he was never getting out. He'd long since established that he couldn't hold his breath long enough to swim out of the monument; he'd found the exit plenty of times. He was all out of hope. He was all out of patience. He could scarcely even remember the faces of his friends, the details fizzling out in his mind as he let his body go limp, and drag in the breath of water it begged for. His eyes were closed, and his body was racked with wild coughs and convulsions as he choked, and his lungs burnt and screamed for air that he knew would never come.

Impulsesv drowned

Impulsesv drowned

Impulsesv drowned

Impulsesv drowned

Impulsesv drowned

When he respawned for the fifth time after giving up, he immediately noticed something was off. He was so used to his tomb that it was easy to feel the difference, even before he dragged open his eyes. The salt water made them sting, but at this point he was used to it. Straining to hold his breath, he looked around the room, eyes fixing on the little hole in the wall.

A pair of mismatched eyes stared back at him.

He felt a burst of sudden joy. It was Etho, come to save him! He hardly even registered the bitterly tired look in the man's eyes, and his lack of equipment as he swam into Impulse's room. Impulse lurched towards him, but his limbs didn't seem to want to coordinate. His arms too tired to do much else but flail. He could already feel his breath failing, and he finally registered the look in Etho's eyes. One of horror, and fear. Impulse couldn't tell if it was for him, or for Etho himself, as the strain on his broken lungs came to a breaking point. Etho reached for him, pulling him into a hug as the bubbles burst from his throat. Impulse would've cried if he could. But underwater, drowning, exhausted, he simply couldn't. Finally, another person, and he was going to die here all the same. He felt Etho's breath run out too, the bubbles tickling the back of his neck, too soft for what they represented.

Impulse went fully limp in Etho's arms as his body finally gave out, and Etho was filled with a horrible feeling deep in his chest. He'd finally found the poor, dammed man, and could do nothing for him. He pushed himself down to the floor of the room as he drowned, straining to live long enough to see Impulse respawn once again, too tired, too drained to even open his eyes. He was the picture of despair, and Etho felt himself sharing in it too, the gravity of Impulse's impossible situation fully hitting him. Watching the death messages stack up in chat was one thing, but seeing the desperation, the loneliness, the dark bags under each eye and too pale pallor of his skin, holding the broken man in his arms as he endured another painful death was another. It was simply a taste of what Impulse had been dealing with for far too long, and it was with deep regret and sadness that Etho finally succame to the ocean, his final thoughts tinged with fear as to what horrors he would see next.

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That’s all! I hope you enjoyed it ;3 It’s pretty grim tbh. But at least Etho will eventally end up somewhere safe! Same can’t really be said for Impulse tho.

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

Soldier, Poet, King

Part 4

[1] [2] [3]

[AO3] [Masterpost]

-/-

Jin Guangyao takes a deep breath in and closes his eyes against the dimmed lights of the comms bay. Nie Mingjue’s neck is tense in his grip, so he squeezes the nape of it gently over and over in something of a massage. It’s not enough, it’s not everything Nie Mingjue needs, but it’s close enough for now and it’s not what’s at the top of either of their priority lists anyway.

Jin Guangyao tips his head to the side enough to give Nie Mingjue more of himself to kiss, spreads his knees further to let Nie Mingjue crowd closer into his space where he’s perched on the edge of a desk (his ass very carefully not on any buttons).

“I have you,” he murmurs into Nie Mingjue’s hair and gets a hardened grip on the tops of his thighs for his efforts. “We’re fine, Mingjue. We’re even less likely to have to go fight a Kaiju now than we were before we closed the Tokyo deal - I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” Nie Mingjue pants against his jaw in between his anxious, dragging kisses. “You know I can’t help it-“

“I know,” Jin Guangyao soothes. Because he does. He’s been in Nie Mingjue’s memories. He’d had to feel Lao Nie’s death just as Nie Mingjue did, back towards the beginning of the war. They’d been Mach 1 pilots, a dream team in the largest, strongest Jaeger that’s ever been made. It had been their downfall, their movements too slow for the small, nimbler Kaiju that had started coming through - the second wave, the Category 2’s. It had been a moment of shit luck against creatures that were clever and had already learned the Jaegers’ weak points.

One moment, Lao Nie had been there in Nie Mingjue’s head, their bodies indistinguishable from each other to their melded minds. The next moment, terror, and regret, and a full-body agony so excruciating Nie Mingjue had very nearly blacked out. And then, horrifyingly, emptiness. Loneliness, in the one place where it should never exist. The torture of piloting such an enormous Jaeger alone, still raw and bleeding with grief. It nearly killed Nie Mingjue. Jin Guangyao has had to feel that sensation too, being so near death but unable and unwilling to give up no matter how wretched his continued existence was.

Jin Guangyao relives it every so often when he dreams of their shared memories, just as he knows Nie Mingjue dreams of Jin Guangyao’s terror when he’d been turned into Kaiju bait by his father for daring to approach him, followed by all the ways he’d been abused before he’d been dumped back on Nie Mingjue’s doorstep after the loss of his father’s version of interest in what he saw as his latest plaything.

Jin Guangyao presses another kiss to Nie Mingjue’s hair, this one hard and matching Nie Mingjue desperation-for-desperation, and for a while he’s allowed to forget the two broken halves of a whole that they make when they Drift. Right now they’re just them, alone together in the beating heart of the insane world they live in, and that’s enough.

Jin Guangyao makes sure Nie Mingjue can both hear and feel how good he makes him feel, and by the time they’re finished Nie Mingjue is steadier in his arms. More present. “What in the world am I going to do with you?” Jin Guangyao whispers against his lover’s sweat-damp temple. “I’m getting fond of you, you know. Like a stray cat that won’t quit bringing me decapitated lizards.”

Nie Mingjue, who of course knows precisely how much Jin Guangyao both loves and worships him, just snorts inelegantly and smears a too-wet kiss to his shoulder. 

“Ew. Off.”

“Listen, about your experiment,” Nie Mingjue starts once he’s leaned back enough to just cage him in with his arms on either side of his hips. “I was reading through your lineup - which pairs are actually viable? Not the ones you’re playing mind games with - which I know you’re doing, you little asshole - but the ones we can actually use. We have to get them training as quickly as possible.”

Jin Guangyao sighs gustily and fusses with his jacket, putting it back to rights after Nie Mingjue’s manhandling of it off his shoulders. “I heard from a little birdie that Jiang Yanli is non-combat, something to do with her physical condition as well as whatever dynamic the Heroes have when they Drift. I want to pair her with Zixuan -“

“I said no mind games!” 

“It’s not! Well. Maybe a little, for Zixuan, it’s no less than he deserves. But no, they really are a viable pair! Zixuan is brash in combat, arrogant! He makes stupid mistakes because he and Zixun egg each other on, and when they come back they’ve already talked each other into thinking they’re hot shit so they refuse to take correction. I know you’ve had enough time to see how Jiang Yanli is by now - she’s a peacemaker. She’s exactly what Zixuan needs to calm him down and make him focus, and without Zixun in his head I know he’ll be good enough to keep her safe. If they Drift, Zixuan can fight, she can support and they’ll both be better for it - it’ll work.”

“That leaves us a Zixun with free time on his hands.” Nie Mingjue sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Do you understand how much I don’t want that?”

“Obviously.” Jin Guangyao gives his partner a derisive look and reaches out to straighten out his rumpled lapels to have an excuse to touch his chest. “Jiang Wanyin could probably whip him into shape quickly enough, but I don’t think either of them will accept a Drift with anyone new. They’ll just have to be on emergency standby when their partners are unavailable.”

“I’m liking this idea less and less as we go. Alright - who else?”

“Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, obviously,” he ticks off next. Nie Mingjue hums and leans in to kiss his forehead a few times as he thinks.

“That leaves Lan Xichen at loose ends, and there’s no way we can waste talent like that. I’ve never seen anything like what they did today. What was it like, sparring against him?”

“With,” Jin Guangyao corrects, feeling a little fuzzy around the edges all the sudden. “With him. Not against. He was..adapting to me as soon as I made a move. He wasn’t trying to overpower me, or win. It was a conversation, and he was letting me lead it.”

Nie Mingjue makes a thoughtful noise against his skin and Jin Guangyao blinks a few times quickly, attempting to gather his thoughts into some shape that isn’t the look in Lan Xichen’s eyes when he’d said, ‘You’ in that tone of voice. Like it was alright if he got distracted during battle so long as it was Jin Guangyao he was thinking of.

Ridiculous.

“Do you want to try Drifting with him?” There’s no judgment in Nie Mingjue’s voice but Jin Guangyao still recoils from it, mentally, as strongly as if he’d been accused of infidelity.

“Absolutely not. I just mean that I think he could Drift with anybody willing to try. He yielded just enough, but no more. He’s like..a blank slate, almost.”

“So..we get three possible extra pairings out of this, in addition to maintaining the usual teams?”

“I think so. If this works, and if we can get the old Jaegers modded with new weapons that suit everyone.”

Nie Mingjue sighs again and kisses the pinch between his brows firmly, a punctuation. Jin Guangyao knows that his partner doesn’t like how many ‘if's' are still present in this whole situation, but it’s a conversation (read: argument) they don’t need to have again. Jin Guangyao returns the affection with a kiss of his own against Nie Mingjue’s chin and locks his legs around the other man’s thighs again, slides his arms around his neck to pull him in close. Jin Guangyao buries himself in Nie Mingjue’s broad chest and lets himself find comfort in it, in him, and the fact that they’re still here. They’ve survived another attack, and they’ll be together for the next, and the next, and hopefully through to the end of this.

One way or another.

-/-

No one puts up a fuss the following day that they’re still doing the trial matches. A Kaiju attack will do that, Lan Xichen supposes, make everyone remember that there are bigger things to worry about than their internal squabbling. It’s as disconcerting as it had been the previous day, though, with their four observers from the dais at the front of the room and an audience that must be at least half the personnel in the shatterdome. And then Jin Guangyao calls on Jiang Yanli to spar against Jin Zixuan and any tentative hope that Lan Xichen might have had for a peaceful few days sans gossip is promptly done away with.

“Absolutely not,” Wei Wuxian bites as soon as Jin Guangyao finishes despite Lan Wangji’s warning hand around his wrist.

“Jie doesn’t spar. Pick someone else,” Jiang Wanyin snaps just as harshly as his brother, and Lan Xichen exhales slowly, closes his eyes. Jin Guangyao seems ridiculously well-informed about their careers - he’d known yesterday that Lan Xichen has never once dropped out of alignment in battle before, after all - but he’s willing to give him the benefit of the doubt that this is something that’s slipped under his radar.

“I know. These matches don’t have to be combat you know,” Jin Guangyao says implacably from his spot between Nie Mingjue and one of the researchers from the day before, Lan Xichen hasn’t gotten a chance to get his name yet. “Will the pilots refuse to attempt it?”

Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian shout, “Yes!”

They’re loud enough that Lan Xichen nearly doesn’t hear Jiang Yanli’s gentle, “No.”

All heads turn to stare at Jiang Yanli looking small where she’s flanked by her brothers who both tower over her - they tower over most people, though, to be fair. Jiang Yanli stands straight under the scrutiny and Lan Xichen smiles softly; many people (her brothers included, somehow) tend to forget that she’s a Jaeger pilot. She’s faced down Kaiju big and strong enough to level entire cities, and she’s done it without hesitation. Lan Xichen knows that physical strength isn’t much of a factor when one’s physical abilities are so enhanced anyway as they are in a Jaeger. It’s more about mental fortitude, and Jiang Yanli has that in spades.

“I won’t refuse,” she clarifies with a soft smile. Lan Xichen glances at Jin Guangyao as Jiang Yanli steps onto the mat but whatever his thoughts might be he’s keeping them tightly locked behind the distantly polite expression that seems to be his default. Lan Xichen knows the bare bones of the history between his friend and Jin Zixuan, so he can only assume that Jin Guangyao does as well, considering he appears to be one of the inner family of Jins. He can’t imagine how this is a good idea.

Still. Lan Xichen supposes that if they are a viable pair then that’s something they’ll have to experiment with at least once, for the sake of everyone’s lives. Lan Xichen focuses on the pair on the mat again and finds himself slightly amused to find that Jin Zixuan is looking particularly constipated, even more so than his usual, as he and Jiang Yanli salute.

“It’s alright, Zixuan,” Jiang Yanli coaxes when Jin Zixuan hesitates, knuckles white around his staff. “Do what you would normally, I can work with it.”

Jin Zixuan takes a visibly deep breath in and seems to steel himself before he spins his staff above his head and brings it back down in a vertical sweep. Jiang Yanli steps out of range, her hands held loosely behind her back and her ever-gentle smile on her lips, just like Lan Wangji taught her (the dodging, not the smiling). Jin Zixuan tries again, following through on the sweep with another one horizontally that she dodges with a little hop. His attempts to land a blow become more and more confident the longer they spar, but he doesn’t manage to connect a single one.

“Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli will attempt a Drift,” Jin Guangyao finally allows when they whirl to a stop pressed back-to-back, Jiang Yanli looking smug and Jin Zixuan utterly bewildered as to how he got there at all. “Lan Xichen, please spar against Qin Su.”

Lan Xichen blinks and frowns a bit in confusion. Qin Su doesn’t seem to feel the same, she’s shrugging out of her jacket and rolling her shoulders in preparation for their bout, but…isn’t Lan Xichen going to Drift with Jin Guangyao?

“Pardon?” he asks. No one else who’s part of a potential match has had to continue to spar to find further partners - why should he, just because he can Drift with anyone? “I was under the impression I would be Drifting with Jin Guangyao.”

Nie Mingjue glares at him, though Lan Xichen is relatively sure that’s just his face (it’s the brows, he’s quickly becoming convinced that they’re permanently stuck in a frown). “Jin Guangyao is not a pilot candidate.”

Jin Guangyao is not…Lan Xichen tamps down his questions and vows instead to ask the man about it himself later when they’re not in front of such a nosy audience. For now, he nods and bows his acknowledgement before he steps forward for his bout with Qin Su. And then Jiang Wanyin. And Jin Zixun. Luo Qingyang. 

“I’ve seen enough,” Nie Mingjue finally stops them when he comes to his fourth draw of the day. “All pilots report to communications after lunch and we’ll get started”

Lan Xichen has more than half a mind to follow Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao as they head for the door, the crowd parting to let them pass, but he’s stopped by the pair of researchers, the ones Jin Guangyao had sort-of-introduced the previous morning.

“Oh. Hello,” he says, mustering up a smile from somewhere beyond his confusion (and perhaps, if he squints, his frustration) with the situation. “I apologize for not introducing myself to you properly yet. I’m Lan Xichen.”

“Nie Huaisang,” the taller of the two says with a slightly shy smile. “And this is Mo Xuanyu. You can Drift with anybody, can’t you?” Lan Xichen blinks a little at the bluntness of the question, but it’s true so far as he’s aware, so he nods after a brief moment.

“For obvious reasons I have not yet tested that theory, but from what I understand of myself and others - yes.”

“Can Mo Xuanyu study your brain?”

“My…brain,” Lan Xichen repeats, amused now. He’s met his fair share of people who don’t get out much - hell, he’s one of them himself - and he supposes he’s dealing with similarly charming, harmless quirks now. “I suppose that would depend on the manner of study Mo Xuanyu hopes to use.”

“Scans,” Mo Xuanyu replies with a wave of his hand. He’s standing on his toes and craning his neck in the direction everyone is currently heading to file out of the room, clearly looking for something or someone. “I swear I won’t cut your head open and look at it for real. Tempting, but against the rules apparently.”

“Yes..well. I would be pleased to help with your research in any way I can after I am released from my obligations to Nie Mingjue.”

“Whenever you’re ready just tell Jin Guangyao,” Nie Huaisang says with a little smile and a flutter of a fan that he pulls out of…well, somewhere anyway. Lan Xichen is assuming one of his sleeves. “He’s da-ge’s right hand but he’s also head of research, he’ll know what we want and bring you to us. Xuanyu, stop trying to creep on Wei Wuxian, let’s go.”

Lan Xichen watches them go with no small amount of amusement. He’s known his fair share of researchers and their ilk in both his personal and professional lives, he knows that some degree of eccentricity is to be expected. And considering the fact that he’s been handed an iron-clad excuse to talk to Jin Guangyao again relatively soon, he’s not going to complain. 

Lunch is a cheerful affair for everyone around them, the mood of the general population high after the successes of the pilot trials and the continued presence of fresh foods from the shipment that had come in the previous day. Lan Xichen eats silently, Lan Wangji equally so at his side - even now some of their uncle’s rules are difficult to shake. He’s too busy thinking to be much for conversation anyway, and he would wager that his fellow pilots are feeling similarly considering none of them are particularly talkative, even Wei Wuxian. Everything they know is about to change, after all. No matter what happens in their Drifts, no matter if they don’t disband their original teams, things are still going to be different. There’s no escaping it.

“Anyone else starting to wish we’d just stayed put in Tokyo?” Jiang Wanyin grumbles and stabs his chopsticks far too viciously into his rice to scoop up a bite that he doesn’t eat. “Wen Ruohan is a power-hungry tyrant but at least he didn’t try to act like we’re better off piloting with these weird blended teams. What should it matter to us if Shanghai doesn’t have enough people to cover their workload?”

“Even so,” Lan Xichen soothes before anyone can say anything that might rile Jiang Wanyin up further. “We are not in Tokyo, and we have to do our best with what we have.” Jiang Wanyin waves a dismissive hand at him but he doesn’t argue - Lan Xichen is glad to at least have been able to assuage his worries that he wouldn’t be Drift compatible with anyone save his siblings. If need be, the two of them could pilot a Jaeger. They won’t become obsolete without their siblings.

It’ll have to be enough.

-/-

“I don’t expect any of you to like this,” Nie Mingjue tells the assembled pilots. They’re a ragtag bunch, tensions high and lines being drawn in the sand whether they acknowledge it or not, but Nie Mingjue trusts that Jin Guangyao knows what he’s doing with this. And it doesn’t change the fact that something has to give - he refuses to let it be the safety of the civilians they protect, so it’ll just have to be his pilots unless and until they manage to recruit more. “I also don’t expect you to force yourselves to do anything that will put your health at risk. We’ve assigned you your new pairs because a Drift is possible, not a guarantee. If it doesn’t work here, it won’t work against a Kaiju, and I won’t force it. Should you have a successful Drift, we’ll move on to Jaeger assignments and you’ll begin training with your new partner immediately. Any questions?”

Nie Mingjue watches them all look at each other, uncertain, and he’s about to move on when Lan Xichen clears his throat carefully. “Chifeng-Zun, may I ask who I will be Drifting with?” he asks, almost painfully politely. It’s been so long since Nie Mingjue has met someone so gentle, he can’t help but wonder (not for the first time) what the hell the man is doing in this war. He’s clearly incredible, it’s not a question of his martial ability, but this much softness feels so out of place in their world that it’s downright jarring.

“I’ll let you decide that amongst yourselves,” Nie Mingjue shrugs. “Besides those who are already assigned, you can choose for yourself since apparently you can work with anyone.”

Lan Xichen blinks at him and Nie Mingjue doesn’t miss the way his eyes flicker over to Jin Guangyao just behind him tapping away on the slow-as-shit system they use for the Mach 1’s. He shifts his weight a bit to block his partner from view and Lan Xichen instantly smiles at him, conciliatory.

“In that case, I will endeavor to decide quickly.”

“In your own time,” Nie Mingjue allows, oddly moved to politeness himself in response to Lan Xichen’s. “We’ll start with Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian. Guangyao?”

“Nearly ready, Mingjue,” Jin Guangyao says distractedly, fingers tapping away in a sharp staccato across the keys. A few moments more and the lights in Bay 6 flicker on, finally, and Nie Mingjue turns with everyone else to look at Immortal Mountain, lone and hulking in the quiet Jaeger bay. He spares a moment to hope that his once-peers are safe wherever they are, and Jin Guangyao reaches out to put a discreet hand on his arm in solidarity.

“As you are all well aware, Immortal Mountain is currently without pilots,” Nie Mingjue says past the usual ache in his throat for what once was. “We’ll use her for the Drift experiments, and we can discuss pilots for her after we’ve finished. Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, get going.”

The two in question salute him and Nie Mingjue crosses over to the main control screen as they head out of the room. There’s some muttering behind him that he doesn’t bother paying attention to as he watches Jin Guangyao finish getting the comms online, only focusing again when Wei Wuxian’s voice crackles through the speakers into the room.

“Alright, we’re locked in and ready to go whenever you are.”

“I’ll monitor your vitals,” Jin Guangyao says into the microphone. “Drift commencing in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.”

Neural interface Drift : Initiated

Nie Mingjue holds his breath for a brief moment as Jin Guangyao begins monitoring the Drift sequence, his eyes locked on the screen to watch for any sign that they need to pull the plug.

“Trade you your next citrus fruit they still won’t figure it out,” Jiang Wanyin mutters from somewhere behind him, and despite Nie Mingjue’s attempt to ignore the others present in favor of focusing on the task at hand, he can’t help but glance at them over his shoulder to find Jiang Wanyin leaned in toward Lan Xichen, who’s smiling gently again and shaking his head.

“You know I do not wager, Wanyin,” Lan Xichen replies. “Though I do disagree with you - I refuse to believe they could enter each other’s very core and not realize their feelings are mutual.”

“Take the bet and we’ll find out. I can’t speak for Lan Wangji obviously but A-Xian is definitely dense enough not to fucking cop on even though -“

“Gentlemen,” Nie Mingjue interrupts, eyes once again fixed on the monitors as the Drifting pilots’ activity begins to spike irregularly. “If you’d like to continue this conversation I would be more than happy to shove you into a Jaeger to talk it out between yourselves in the Drift.”

“Apologies, Chifeng-Zun. This is the culmination of years of frustration for all of us.”

“My condolences.” Nie Mingjue glances down at Jin Guangyao when his partner looks up at him and with his back to the rest of the room he can’t resist the urge to wink at him (they’d been exactly the same, after all). Jin Guangyao smirks and returns to watching the screen.

“It is a memory, Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji’s voice suddenly cuts through the quiet, smooth and strong but slightly fretful at the edges, if he’s learning to read the man correctly. Nie Mingjue feels more than hears movement behind him as the others crowd closer, though there’s still not much to see on the monitor.

“Keep an eye on Wei Wuxian’s heart rate,” Nie Mingjue mutters and leans down so far he’s nearly level with Jin Guangyao where he’s seated at the computer bank.

“Wangji will be able to calm him,” Lan Xichen asserts from just behind his shoulder. “They merely need to settle in.”

“Wei Ying. Focus. You are no longer a child, this is no longer your life. I am here.”

“Told you he was a piece of shit.” Jin Zixun’s mutinous grumbling puts Nie Mingjue’s hackles up instantly - he’s had enough of Jin arrogance and pride to last a lifetime, he’s absolutely fucking sick of them swanning around thinking they can step on everyone around them.

“Insult my brother again and I’ll cut your tongue out for soup,” Jiang Yanli says, cold as ice, and Nie Mingjue turns to blink at her, shocked to the core. She’s standing between Jiang Wanyin and Jin Zixuan, arms crossed over her chest and her expression a controlled sort of livid Nie Mingjue has only ever seen on Jin Guangyao before.

“You can’t -!”

“You heard her, Zixun, shut your mouth,” Jin Zixuan snaps, shocking Nie Mingjue even further. Even Jin Guangyao turns slowly away from his hawk-eyed study of the computer to stare at his brother. Everyone remains frozen in surprise until Luo Qingyang speaks up and breaks the silence. 

“I love family bonding and all, but I think something’s wrong with their Drift.”

“Shit,” Jin Guangyao hisses, whipping back around to the computer and snatching the mic closer to his face. His voice is tightly controlled despite the faint trembling Nie Mingjue can see in his hands as he leans in to tell them, “Manually shutting down Drift sequence.”

“No!” Lan Xichen protests, reaching out as if to grab Jin Guangyao’s wrist. Nie Mingjue stops him in his tracks with a crushing grip around his forearm, but Lan Xichen doesn’t even flinch. “Please - trust Wangji. They’ll be alright, they merely need to adjust. Wangji is not accustomed to Drifting with someone whose memories can interfere with his meditation, but he and Wei Wuxian can do this.”

Nie Mingjue studies Lan Xichen closely through narrowed eyes, hand still clamped around his toned forearm. “Meditation?” Lan Xichen nods once eagerly, his expression earnest. “Explain.”

“Wangji and I - our Drift is a meditation. It is why I am likely to be able to Drift with anyone. We bring very little of ourselves to it, there is no need when we grew up at each other’s sides. Our experiences are already shared, the Drift has been silent since the moment we entered it. Allow him time to adjust to actively sharing Wei Ying’s consciousness.”

“Wei Wuxian is slipping,” Jin Guangyao protests, informing both Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji through the comms system. “Fix it or I will force the Drift to end.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji tries again and even Nie Mingjue isn’t immune to the naked desperation suffusing his voice. “Come back.”

“It’s working,” Qin Su says quietly as they all watch Wei Wuxian’s heart rate begin to slow and both of their brain activity levels balance out. “They’ll be alright.”

Right Hemisphere : calibrated

Left Hemisphere : calibrated

Ready to activate the Jaeger

Pilot to Jaeger connection : complete

Nie Mingjue exhales slowly as the cool, indifferent voice of the AI informs them that the Drift is stable, and everyone save Jin Guangyao turns their attention to the window overlooking Bay 6. Immortal Mountain, freed for this exercise from the supports that typically hold it all upright, takes a step forward and drops into a flawless salute.

“Show-offs,” Jiang Wanyin mutters, but Nie Mingjue doesn’t bother scolding him. He knows affectionate aggression when he hears it.

“Haaa A-Cheng I can just picture your face!” Wei Wuxian crows through the speaker. “Don’t be too jealous, didi, you can always try Drifting with that cute -”

“That’s enough,” Nie Mingjue cuts in before anyone can have an opportunity to burst a blood vessel, either Jiang Wanyin or himself. “Your Drift is a success, get back in here so we can start the next one. Guangyao, start the disconnect.”

Nie Mingjue sighs and rubs at the headache beginning in his temple as Jin Guangyao expertly brings the pilots out of the Drift and back to themselves, Immortal Mountain once again going still and dark out there in the bay. There’s a flurry of activity when Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji rejoin the rest, and Nie Mingjue watches them with his arms crossed over his chest as the pilots (besides Jin Zixun) quietly celebrate and congratulate the pair on their successful experiment.

“Lan Xichen,” he calls, quieting the chatter in the room easily. “Have you decided who you’re going to work with?”

“Ah..No, I haven’t -”

“Time’s up. Jiang Wanyin.”

“Sir?”

“You think I was joking about shoving you two in a Jaeger? Everyone knows I don’t have a sense of humor. Get going.”

Nie Mingjue can feel Jin Guangyao practically vibrating behind him with the desire to point out that yes he absolutely does have a sense of humor, but he wisely says nothing and just busies himself with tapping away at the keyboard, most likely to hide the fact that he’s smirking at Jiang Wanyin and Lan Xichen’s matching stunned expressions at the order. Nie Mingjue doesn’t let himself smirk as well, but it’s wildly tempting.

“Pardon?” Lan Xichen blinks.

“Guangyao - probability that Jiang Wanyin and Lan Xichen will be able to successfully Drift?”

Jin Guangyao finally gives in to the inevitability of having to play his game and stands with a soft sigh that only Nie Mingjue can hear. His partner steps up to his side and mirrors his posture as he tends to do, arms crossed over his chest as he looks at the pilots perched or leaning haphazardly around the space - with the exception of the Lan brothers, who never seem to slouch so much as a centimeter.

“Without adjusting for the fact that Lan Xichen can likely Drift with anyone, roughly 68%. Temperaments are different but not incompatible, fighting styles - same assessment. Past familiarity and missions in which both the Lan and Jiang teams have worked together both contribute favorably. Of course, Lan Xichen’s…particular talent makes most of my calculations irrelevant, as a successful Drift is significantly higher in these circumstances.”

Nie Mingjue just raises his eyebrows at the pair of them and uncrosses one of his arms to gesture towards Immortal Mountain.

“Well? Get going.”

“I don’t mind trying it,” Qin Su speaks up to cut through the tension that mounts when neither man moves. “Our spar was -”

“It’s fine. Let’s go Xichen,” Jiang Wanyin suddenly snaps and turns to stride out of the room without another glance.

“Ah…Yes, alright then,” Lan Xichen says with a tight little smile.

“I like this,” Luo Qingyang pipes up. “This is fun. We were really missing out on some good old fashioned tension that doesn’t have to do with Jin Guangshan making everybody miserable. Don’t you think, Zixuan?”

“Mianmian,” Jin Zixuan pleads, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please-”

Nie Mingjue sighs, rolls his eyes, and turns his back on the group of them again to go back to doing his job, which is absolutely not corralling a pack of professional Jaeger pilots that apparently have nothing better to do than act like toddlers pulling each other’s pigtails.

“We’re ready,” Jiang Wanyin reports after a minute or two, terse and unhappy. “Boot it up.”

Nie Mingjue leans down next to Jin Guangyao again as his partner presses the switch for the mic and leans in.

“Drift commencing in 5, 4, 3, 2…1.”

[imaginesandinserts]

Irreverent Pt. 51 - Eye of a Hurricane

Title: Irreverent Pt. 51 - Eye of a Hurricane

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~3K

Trigger Warning: Torture, Canon Typical Violence

A/N: I’m posting Chapters 51 and 52 at the same time. Make sure you read them in order. And if you haven’t read 50 (posted yesterday) definitely read that first. 

Irreverent Series Masterlist

It's a sluggishly slow progression towards consciousness as you battle a heavy head and dazed mind, both serving only to deter coherent thought. Your awareness is comprised only of sensation – a cold and dark room, hard chair, your mouth was dry. As you attempt to move, you come to realize that your wrists are bound behind your back and your ankles are tied to the legs of a chair, while the same rough material was corded around your torso, keeping you tied and upright in the chair. What should have been a terrifying realization, was dulled by the presence of some drug you'd been injected with. It would account for all of the symptoms you're experiencing, especially how your mouth felt like it could compete with the Sahara for driest places known to man.

Your mind reels, attempting to piece together how you had come to be in your current predicament. You'd been awaiting Easter at your agreed upon spot for your check-in. You'd stood with your back to the wall, aware of your surroundings. It had been a complete ambush, a gun from nowhere pressed to the side of your head, three large men, all armed, as they forced you into an alley way. They'd been able to get the jump on you as you were severely outnumbered. The last thing you can recall with any degree of clarity is the sharp sting of a needle, pressed to the side of your neck. It would explain quite a bit about how you're feeling at the moment.

Blinking slowly, carefully, you allow your sensitive eyes to adjust to the dim yellow lighting of the room. Keeping your head tilted downwards still, you take in the concrete grey flooring and walls. You focus on taking in as much as you can without alerting your captors to the fact that you're awake. That would immediately tip the scales in their favor.

There is a stale smell lingering in the room, as though from a lack of use. Dust is collecting in the crevices. It's not cared for. Likely a spare room or basement. There are no windows as far as you're able to tell. Behind you, there is a clock that ticks, the sound of it echoing loudly in the quiet of the room.

How long had you been there?

Cautiously lifting your head, you appraise the room you're in. There, in front of you about three feet away, is a table with what looked like various weapons on it. From your position, you can make out knives, a baseball bat, what appears to be a taser, and what could be a fire poker.

You had to get out.

Your bindings have no give, you quickly learn. You couldn't wriggle out of them if you tried.

If you move quickly, you could inch your way towards the table. You might be able to bend down and grab one of the knives with your mouth and use it – somehow – to cut the rope or at least loosen it enough to be able to escape. After you've accomplished that, you'd have to get out of wherever you were being held.

Figuring out why you'd been taken in the first place would have to wait.

You clench, tensing your body and using the leverage of your feet pressed to the floor to jump up and forward in the chair, attempting to drag it forward with you, in the direction of the table. It moves about an inch or two.

With a frustrated sigh, you tense once more, preparing to repeat the action. Just as the balls of your feet have pressed into the ground, there's a clicking sound from behind you and you can hear the door opening. You freeze in place. You should've known they were watching.

Heavy footsteps reverberate against the concrete flooring while you refuse to turn around. Let them come and face you themselves.

"Good, you're awake." The deep voice carries with it a shot of dread that you hadn't quite felt yet since you'd awoken. It cuts through the dullness of feeling and thought, jumpstarting the dormant panic into full gear.

A large man with dark hair and crystal light eyes stands before you, blocking your pathway towards the table you had been inching your way towards. He's dressed casually in dark clothing, there's a scar running down his neck. In his hands is a gun, held almost casually, as though it were merely an afterthought. As though he's quite confident in his ability to over power you without it.

You watch apprehensively, body tensed up, as he leans one hip against the table, perching on it lightly. His cold, steely eyes pore into you, running over your body and taking in your state. His gaze feels predatory as it runs over you in the worst of ways, causing a chill to run down your spine. He watches you as though you're prey and he's a hunter – the kind that collects trophies to hang up above the mantle. He lingers on your eyes, and you can tell he's checking to see if you're still drugged or if you were fully capable now.

You remain quiet, waiting for him to speak first, the two of you locked in and staring at one another. You don't know why you're here, why they took you. You surely don't recognize him. Behind him, you can see a dark glass pane that you hadn't noticed before, beyond which you assume his partners wait, watching both you and him.

"I am going to ask you questions," he says evenly, breaking the silence once more, his eyes boring into yours. "Every time you don't answer or you lie to me, you will regret it. Am I clear?" His voice, low and dark, matches the tone of the room. It's not exactly threatening, more clinical in a way. It's like he's playing a part, doing a job. Like you're his last patient of the day and he's eager to get home early and catch the game. You want to say his heart isn't quite in it, but that wasn't right either. It's more so that he has better things to do than waste his time with you, and yet here is.

You don't acknowledge or answer his question asking if you'd understood, and you can tell he doesn't like to be ignored. His brow furrows ever so slightly, nostrils flaring as he mutters low under his breath, turning and placing the gun on the table behind him. He sets it down and then turns back towards you and you can see he'd grabbed something from the table. Brass knuckles by the looks of it, as he slides them on, flexing his large muscular hands as he does. It's meant to intimidate you, scare you. It does its job.

You take a deep breath, still watching him quietly as you mentally reassure yourself that it would all be alright. That Clyde would of course be looking for you. He'd know you were missing when you hadn't been there waiting for him. He would find you and rescue you from whatever this was. Until then, you had only one job: survival. They wouldn't break you.

He strides forward until he's right up against you, his knees brushing against yours. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, feel the coarse denim of his jeans against your bare knees. The dress that you'd been wearing undercover is bunched up underneath your thighs.

You look up at him defiantly as he stands before you in silence, as though still waiting for you to speak. You wouldn't. You needed to know how much they knew first. He asks for your name first and you provide him with the fake name on the ID in your bag. That earns you a quick, sharp jab to the side that has you keeling over and grunting in pain as the hard metal ridges of the brass knuckles connects with your ribcage. You try to absorb the hit, try to remember everything you've learned from sparring with both Derek and Clyde. Try to stifle your pained groan.

You take a breath and look back at him, ignoring the bruised and burning pain in your side. If you're not mistaken, there's a chance he just cracked a rib.

They know who you are.

The realization causes your panicked brain to go into overdrive as you sift through who could possibly want to use you to get to any information. What they would do with it.

He asks next about Project Atlantis. He asks who else has access to the list. Who else is on the list. How to gain access to it.

Every lie you tell, every time you stay silent, he rewards you with another hit. Another part of your body bruised and broken as he goes through a litany of questions, marking you up as he goes. The tears slip unwanted. The cries come out despite any attempt to not give him the satisfaction.

Where the hell was Clyde?!

Each time, you force yourself to look back at him. To let him know that he hasn't beat you. To let him know that it wouldn't be so easy. To challenge him to do worse.

He does.

Your body becomes a work of art, painted with the red of your blood, the deep purple bruising of your skin. The colors meld and blend together with the salt of your tears.

It hurts to breathe. He's bruised a couple of ribs and shallow breaths are all you can manage through the excruciating pain of drawing a single breath in properly. If he doesn't stop soon, you'll start to hyperventilate. You can't do that. You can't let him win that way. You blink through the tears welled up in your eyes. You couldn't stop those if you tried. It hurts. It all hurts too much.

There is no escape from the constant barrage of questions and from the assault that follows. In the back of your mind there lingers a silent, crying hope that Clyde is out there looking for you but that is it. Otherwise it's all you can do to remain present and conscious to resist simply giving him what he wants in exchange for a respite.

After a certain point, the pain wasn't even really pain anymore. It was as though your body knew, that in order to survive, it had to shield you from feeling the full thrust of all that he had inflicted on you. It knew that if you were to stand a chance, you had to not feel it. The numbness settles in through a haze as your mind goes cloudy once more. You're barely meeting his eyes anymore, try as you might. Your body strains and struggles to stay aware. In the brief moments of respite that he offers you, as he changes from the brass knuckles to the poker, you can't even bring it in yourself to fear what's coming next.

Your mind flits to Aaron. The last time you'd seen him, as you kissed him goodbye and walked out to the waiting cab. He wouldn't know to worry. He'd think you were busy with work. He'd think that you'd return his calls soon enough. He'd think you were alright.

Thinking of him and Jack is the only thing that has you even trying to lift your head once more. Keeps you coming back each time. Keeps you looking your captor in the eye.

You had to make it through. You had to keep bouncing back. You had to endure and persist.

For them.

For him.

Not again.

They can't go through that again.

It's that thought that has you lifting your head, meeting those stony grey eyes once more.

*------------*

Emily would want the Birkins.

That was the first coherent thought that came to mind when you'd become conscious once more. He'd stopped once you'd become unresponsive.

Thoughts of escaping had long since abandoned you. It would be pointless. You were entirely unmatched. Even if you could defeat them, you'd first have to stand, and you're not entirely sure that's a feat you're capable of any longer. Keeping your eyes open was far too difficult a task on its own.

Your mind behaves oddly. Thoughts fleetingly temporary and confused as you contend with the notion that you might not escape. That you might die here.

Aaron would have to pick an outfit for the funeral. He'd have to go to your closet and pick out something to wear for you to be buried in.

Jack would need a new suit.

The bike – that should go to John.

The house was Aaron's.

The rest was Jack's.

There was no one else.

Would he get a body? Or would he bury an empty coffin with your name on the headstone?

If he knew what you were thinking – how you were thinking – he'd be furious.

You're next woken with a jolt as two pairs of uncaring and callous hands work together to lift you up. You thrash and scream, your voice horrifically hoarse as you feel them place you down on the table you'd noticed off to the side earlier. Thick, rough, leather restraints bind you down and hold you to the table.

You can't move. Try as you might, you can't get out.

He asks you again, giving you a final chance. Your stomach coils in fear and panic as tears well in your eyes and stream down your cheeks anew.

You beg them to not do this. You beg them to let you go. I have a son, please. I have son! Please let me go. Please don’t –

You know what's coming next.

His frosty, pale eyes are the last thing you see before a coarse rag covers your face. You prepare yourself. Remind yourself that you won't die. Not like this.

You'll be alright. You'll be alright. You'll be al –

The first onslaught of harsh, cold water beating down on your head has the force of a current rippling through your veins.

You can't breathe.

There's a warbled scream that shouts out and it takes you far too long to realize it was your own.

Your heart is beating faster than ever as the unrelenting assault continues. Blood pounding in your head as you thrash about as much as possible.

Frigid water fills your nose, your throat, leaving you gasping for air.

Your fingers claw at the table, catching splinters of wood in the nailbed.

Your head feels full as though it's floating in the ocean during a storm.

Gasping and screaming when you could manage it, lungs drowning underneath the punishing weight as it rained down upon you, your body fighting against the riptide.

It went on and it went on.

Unrelenting.

Neverending.

Right at the precipice – when your screams were silent, your limbs motionless, the cruel waves kept drowning you underneath the tide  – right as you became certain of one thing and one thing only: this was the end. Just as you arrived at that conclusion – it all went away. Dissipated into thin air.

You were floating into a fog, light as could be.

The dulcet tones of singing children at Jack's spring recital, as he waves at you from the stage.

The team at Karaoke night, drunk as can be, singing out of sync.

The rooftop in Ibiza, legs dangling as you sat between John and Julian, a bottle passed between the three of you.

Ricky picking you up at midnight, watching the sun rise over the sea with the boys huddled around you.

Aaron in the kitchen, his beautiful voice humming along to the music.

Aaron on the plane next to you, his hand held tightly in yours.

Aaron peacefully asleep beside you, his chest rising and falling, the richness of his warmth enveloping you entirely.

His face was the last thing you saw.

[sophiamcdougall]

EXPLAINING SANREMO

(PART 1) Last week I was swept away, helpless, by the avalanche that is the Sanremo Song Festival and I am still recovering. For your safety, I’ve tried to keep the insanity contained on my Italian side blog. But I want to try to offer you a rough summary of what I’ve learned. Sanremo inspired the Eurovision Song Contest. Over five nights, 24 acts, each with a brand new song, compete at the Ariston theatre in Sanremo for a tacky little golden lion, and the glory of being the year’s Song for Italy. 2020 marked the 70th Sanremo, so depending on who you ask, it’s a venerable national treasure or it’s stale and embarrassing (Many Italians are sick of it. Or say they are, but see below.) It is also an EPIC STRUGGLE between THE FORCES OF GOOD AND EVIL FOR THE SOUL OF HUMANITY Let’s meet some of the protagonists: 

AKA: host Amadeus, entertainer and comedian Rosario Fiorello, il Bel Paese, and competitor Achille Lauro.

Amadeus got things off to a bad start before the show even began by praising his various female co-hosts - all seasoned TV professionals - for their beauty and their ability to stay “a step behind a man.” Outrage ensues, Amadeus claims he did not mean it like that, but keep this in mind for later. Also competing are Morgan (below, left) and Bugo (below, right.), who are performing a duet.

Going in, the one thing I know about Morgan is that on more than one occasion, he trashtalked my beloved and blameless Fabrizio Moro. So I hate him and want him to suffer. And apparently he has quite the reputation for throwing tantrums, picking on fellow-artists and sabotaging events he’s part of. But hey. He’s supposedly talented and Bugo clearly thinks he deserves another chance.  And we’re off!

Irene Grandi kicks things off with  “Finalmente Io” (“Finally Me”). But I’m starting with her not so much because she’s the first to sing as because I don’t think the song’s  got enough attention -- either for the fact that it bangs or for what it represents in the drama that’s about to unfold.

Finalmente Io is what, in the business, we call foreshadowing.

There’s a magical thing that happens to women with when they turn 40. The  develop Not-Giving-A-Fuck superpowers. The song is basically about that. It’s about freedom, and self-acceptance, and being 100% done with male bullshit. (It's also a bit of an ADHD anthem but let’s leave that aside for now.)  “I’ve lost all my patience, and all my fragility,” she sings. 

And, “If you want sex, let’s do it now. Heeeeeeere.”

Irene is the portent everyone misses, a harbinger of what is to come. 

Think of her as John the Baptist.  Onwards. So the first thing one discovers about the Sanremo Festival is that just because we have to get through 24 “big” acts AND 6 (?) new/junior artists, and they all have to perform multiple times, that doesn’t mean there’s any RUSH. Guest singers wander on and perform a song or ten. There’s comedy. We can stop everything to talk about football.  A lady comes on and talks for a million years about how her granny taught her that True Beauty is Found Within. There are also speeches about important subjects like violence against women. In fact, we are going to talk about that a lot, but also a bunch of competent and experienced female TV personalities are stuck taking turns at playing Amadeus’s Glamorous Assistant of the evening and he can’t shut up about how beautiful they all are while they cringe and lean subtly away from him. So it’s ... slow, and awkward, but within its own cheesy terms, things are normal. Too normal. Enter Achille Lauro. 

Softly, almost whispering, he begins to sing a song called  “Me ne frego”  (”I don’t care” - but with an edge of “fuck you”). This is both an everyday Italian expression and a fascist motto. Well, it was till now. 

A nation is convulsed. Right-wing Italian boomers are screaming because YOU! CAN’T! DO! THAT! AT! SANREMO! THERE! ARE! CHILDREN! WATCHING! Italian Tumblr, which like the rest of Tumblr is feral, thirsty and gay, is screaming for different reasons entirely. 

Achille, you scandalous creature, what have you done? What have you got to say for yourself?

Something strange and magical  has released and it cannot be contained. On with the songs. Good songs, bad songs, blah songs. I like “Tikibombom” by Levante - a love letter to weirdos and rebels, “Rosso di Rabbia” (Rage Red) by Anastasio about being, well, angry but scared you can’t do anything useful with it, and “Eden” by  Rancore, about... the nature of sin?? touching on everything from September 11 to the mafia to Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.   However, this contest is being judged (mostly - it’s complicated) by an industry jury of FOOLS, COWARDS, and TRAITORS who KNOW NOT WHAT THEY DO, so virtually all of the above artists are so far languishing towards the bottom of the provisional rankings. Achille ends up in 17th place and  Rancore at 22.

Truly, the light hath shone in the darkness and the darkness knoweth it not.

LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO RANCORE. 

Rapper down, repeat RAPPER DOWN. SEND HELP.

However, for people who went in implacably biased against Morgan, it’s not all bad news. "Sincero” (Sincere) by Morgan and Bugo is in last place. Whether this is anything to do with the song or because Morgan is a nightmare of a person who has systematically alienated everyone in the Italian music industry except the trusting Bugo ... we can but ponder.  Sanremo grinds on. Days blur into each other and I’m not even going to try to cover events in exact order. Sanremo knows no order. Sanremo is like the universe, linear time is a construct that doesn’t really exist, and chaos happens very, very slowly.  But meanwhile, somewhere on the astral plane:

At least that is what I deduce must have happened.

The competitors and guests look deep within themselves. Do they have what it takes? Are they ready to answer the call? 

Let’s see! It’s Covers Night! Which is also Duets Night!

That’s Elettra Lamborghini (yes, that Lamborghini) and Myss Keta.

 Are they in tune? No. Does it matter? ALSO NO.

Meanwhile ... something strange is brewing between Amadeus and Fiorello...

 But wait, PLOT TWIST.

Enter Roberto Benigni.

The beloved actor and director is the latest avatar of the Dionysian frenzy that has chosen Sanremo 2020 for the place of its birth. He is the One who will unite the electric queer mayhem and the impossible grinding tedium  of Sanremo. In him, the two strains will fuse and become unstoppable. He is going to talk about sex for twenty-six minutes

He reads from the Song of Songs, which ... I knew it was sexy, and all, but is it really like that? Do you ever think about NAKED BODIES? Roberto does. Do you believe in PHYSICAL LOVE? Roberto wishes you would. Anyway, just think of all the sex we could all be having, literally right now, right heeeeere, whether we are  “a woman, and her man. Or a man and his man. Or a woman, and her woman!” He is awful. He is magnificent. He is excruciating. He is spellbinding. We are hanging on his every word and we are considering chewing our own arms off to escape. He proposes an orgy in the orchestra pit. 

Hand on heart, all of that happened. Italian Tumblr, bear witness.

And what of Achille Lauro? He unleashed this madness upon us all,  is he just going to sit back and let everyone else do all the work? Of course not. Achille Lauro came to bring not peace, but a sword, to the world of toxic masculinity and gender in general and his work is not yet done.

”I too was once a little girl,” Achille sings.

Dressed as Bowie-as-Ziggy, Achille duets with Annalisa on “Gli Uomini Non Cambiano” - “Men Don’t Change”. It’s a heartbreaking song by Mia Martini from 1992 about male abuse of women, and not a single word, or a single pronoun has been changed.

However, although he’s the one in the competition, and the one dressed to dazzle, he leaves Annalisa the spotlight. It’s like she’s the tortured protagonist of the song and he’s a voice in her head, a sympathetic spirit who can’t swoop in to rescue her but can quietly affirm that she deserves better than the the hellish treatment she’s singing about. in fact, he pointedly stays a step behind her at all times. And she’s majestic. 

Of course, he’s not fucking DONE

He’s still got to sing “Me Ne Frego” again. Can he top the cape-drop? You be the judge.

So Italian Tumblr,  is now writhing on the carpet,  making a sound only bats can hear, and shitposting itself into delirium, but has it all been ENOUGH?

NO.

Poor Rancore has died again. Toxic masculinity still exists. Amadeus is still pretty gross. Everyone is going to have to GAY HARDER. CAN THEY DO IT? This post is, like Sanremo itself, getting insanely long, so ... STAY TUNED FOR PART TWO, in which Fiorello’s true nature as a chaos being is revealed, Amadeus faces his Calvary, and the gun on the stage goes off.  ----- UPDATE: Part 2 is here

[apexlegendsimagines]

revenant x reader please! and thank you! i love your work!

Thank you so much! I took a bit of creative liberty, so if it's not what you were wanting I will certainly write something else. 

He had searched and hunted every single person responsible for his torturous existence. But when he strayed from the programming, it was far too late. But it didn’t stop him from wanting to know why. He knew he was the Mercenary’s greatest hitman, but why him? He had lived by a solid code. Death comes for everyone. Death came for his targets. He expected death to come for him one day and he couldn’t wait to accept death with open arms. It was apart of life’s plan. It was the only thing that was to be expected in life. Whether be in excruciating pain or sweet bliss, he waited for his time. Only to find out 200 years later that it wouldn’t come. 

But being a Simulacrum with a certain set of skills and a better way to kill, he stormed Hammond. Many people died that day, and the only person left alive? 

He was covered in blood. It ran down his metallic form. He had his hand raised, prepared to end your life. But the stack of papers raised in-front of your face caught his eye. He lowered his hand and snatched the files from your hand and began to tear through the information. 

You had only been with Hammond for a couple of months, but you had learned about the classified experiments Hammond was ordering on people. Your personal beliefs were too great and even though it was a dream job, you couldn’t stand by while they continued to conduct these experiments. This day you decided to try and steal all information you could get your hands on. Perhaps it wouldn’t stop the experiments altogether, but it would slow them down. 

The information that had caught Revenant's eye was information on a certain code that could end him. He tore through the files gathering as much information that was given. But soon his eyes turned to you, they were scattered on the floor as he grabbed you by the front of your shirt and lifted you far from the floor. 

He demanded to know where he could get this code. But you didn’t know. You explained what you were doing, that you didn’t have access to the specifics of this information. But even though he was a simulacrum, you could feel the frustration and pain he emitted from hearing this information. 

Before he could decide to kill you, a thought came to your mind. You offered to be his inside guy. You offered to continue working here so eventually you could gather the information he needed. It wasn’t what you had wanted to do, but standing before you was a living relic of the experiments Hammond had done unethically. You felt the need to do something. 

He took you up on this offer. He dropped you to the ground and as you shifted into a better position, rubbing the areas where it hurt, He kneeled in front of you. He laid out his terms and demanded you agreed. He would be sticking very close to you in the meantime. 

Years have gone by and finally, all of your work has paid off. You tried getting into contact with Revenant, but he had already been with the games for a little over a season. He was a busy man. It dealt with his boredom and thirst for revenge. But as you laid back in your seat at home, you couldn’t help but miss his presence in your home. That faithful day where your paths crossed, he was found in your home. Shrouded in darkness, with his glowing eyes the only telling sign that he was there. He was by far the best of a roommate. But you two had bonded. Somehow. Your hand had wandered to a nearly visible scar just to the side of your chest. You had been frightened of it for a fair amount of time, but now it was the only reminder of the simulacrum. The plan was for someone to find you ‘mortally’ wounded and be the only survivor of that day. It worked. It’s what got you where you were. 

You just sat in silence for a couple of hours. You didn’t turn on the television, you didn’t scroll through social media, you didn’t even want to clean up the living room you were sitting in. You just contemplated. It’s been about a year. Communications between you two were strained, but slowly you broke through. He would, on occasion talk to you about the life he remembered. Basic things, like his morning ritual. How he would shower, dress, and then resume hygiene routines. He wouldn’t ever tell you what had looked like before. It doesn’t matter, he would be dead soon anyway. This comment always made your chest hurt. Despite his nature, he was still a charming man. Over time you did realize what this feeling was, it was the start of love. You liked him. So the more you contemplated your time with him, even without, you began to wonder if you should share the information you had found. The code and where to find it. 

You were conflicted. On one hand, you would live a life alone but still with the false hope of one day the murderous simulacrum returning even a fraction of your feelings. On the other, you would stop being selfish and give the man his sweet release of death but you’d still be alone. Before you knew it, tears were rolling down your cheeks. You didn’t stop them. You didn’t wipe them away. You just touched the scar, waiting for the moment he would inevitably come calling. And you would inevitably give him the information he needed. 

[whumpeeblog]

TW CHILD SLAVERY MENTION OF TORTURE MENTION OF DEATH PAIN WHUMP

“Don’t you touch her.”

S scrambled through the castle halls, K sprinting behind her.

“Come here you little wretch!” He grumbled as he gained on her. Nearly tripping, S rounded the corner into the throne room, where D stood, talking to a neighboring ambassador. In frantic panic, the girl ran to her master.

D’s blue eyes widened as he watched his prisoner throwing herself towards him. Shock struck him when K came trailing behind her.

S ducked behind D, squatting in a fetal position behind his tall legs, afraid to look towards the disaster she knew was on its way.

K slowed to a walk, his sword drawn.

“Come here, girl. I swear when I get my hands on you, your little body will burn with pain.”

D spoke up in order to protect his captive.

“Don’t you touch her.”

D’s deep command stopped K. However, hatred darkened in his eyes as he glared at the figure hiding behind his cousin and friend. He took a step closer, the thump of his boot causing the marred child to flinch in fear.

“K. Don’t. You. Dare. Touch. Her.” D repeated. “Now tell me what’s going on and maybe we can sort this out.” The ambassador beside him watched the scene unfold, the amusement on his face revealing his attempt not to laugh.

This wasn’t the first time this had happened, and D was accustomed to bringing K’s temper down while protecting S.

“She stole several items from me and it’s time the little thief learn to pay. In Galway, thieves lose their hands at best and their lives at worst,” K snarled.

“Put the sword away and I’ll deal with this.”

K placed the blade back in its sheath, yet the child still cowered in fear. She may have escaped K’s wrath, but now she needed to face the decision of her master.

“S,” Damian stated confidently. S scurried around to face Master D, as she called him, dropping to her knees and lowering her head. She knew she would be punished, but a small bit of relief crashed through her, acknowledging that D was usually much more merciful than K and wouldn’t torture her like K would. If K had caught her, he would have skinned her alive, literally. He’d done it to many others, and knew how to keep them alive as long as possible. He was the executioner, after all. He, as well as D, N, and almost every other prominent being in the small kingdom, knew how to push a victim to the brink of death, putting them in the most agonizing pain possible, yet keeping their heart beating.

“Look at me,” D commanded. S’s gaze reluctantly met his eyes, and she trembled. She searched his face for mercy; for any chance that he might not let K torture her.

She knew the rules. If a slave, prisoner, or other commoner was caught stealing from a lord, prince, or other high placed official, the king had the right to do whatever he pleased. This usually included severe torture and beheading. If a commoner was stolen from, they could take that person prisoner or slave, and do what they wished. If they were feeling generous, they could send the criminal to a local sheriff, and they would be given a “kind” death: hanging.

A chilly waterfall of horror flushed through S’s body as she searched her master’s eyes.

“Are these accusations true?” D asked sternly, concern and dominance hinted in his eyes. The girl’s face lowered as she nodded softly. She lifted her gaze, but was unable to read Damian’s face. “And may I ask as to what you stole and why you did?”

“I- it was just some food and a few weathered blankets, Master.”

“And why did you take these things when I provide you with what you need? Are you planning an escape attempt perhaps?” D interrogated the girl. Just as it wasn’t the first time she had stolen, he wouldn’t be surprised if she were plotting to run... again. She had been tormented mercilessly for many of her attempts, although there were several times he had allowed her to get away with it. S trembled and her eyes pleaded desperately for Damian to believe her.

“No, Master! I swear it wasn’t an escape attempt, Sir! Please! I was just hungry and cold...”

D questioned the child further, but he was already aware exactly why she had done it.

“If you were hungry or cold, you could have come to me or N and we would have provided you with warmth and a meal. You know this, so why didn’t you ask?” D raised an eyebrow and lifted his hand to his chin, almost as if he were deeply pondering the situation.

“I- I was afraid to ask, Master. I feared that if I became too much of a burden to you, you would take my head.” Her eyes lowered to stare at the cold, golden floor she kneeled upon. She trembled even more, one of the first signs of the panic attack she could feel rising into her heart. A tear slipped, and landed on the ground like the first raindrop of a terrifying storm.

“So you thought that by stealing from my executioner, you could get away with it. You didn’t think he would notice. After all, the less you eat, the smaller of a burden you are to me, correct?” D questioned. S nodded, still afraid to meet his eyes. “And even if you were caught, you hoped I would put you out of your misery quickly, rather than make you suffer as K here would.” D pitied the slave. She was just a teenager, and a traumatized one at that. He recognized the need to correct her habit, however.

“Let me have her, D,” K cut in. S glared at him, a cocktail of hatred and horror drowning her tears. D put up a hand to stop K as he lunged forward, fangs bared.

“Now,” D shifted his eyes to the girl between him and K, “It seems we have a problem, don’t we?”

“Yes, Master D.”

“Leave us,” D glanced at K and his ambassador. K growled resentfully, but walked toward the door. The ambassador followed, understanding that the meeting would be over for the next few hours.

It was now between the prisoner and her captor. She knew what she deserved, and she grimaced as visions of her possible punishments overcame her.

“Please have mercy, Master,” she pleaded tearfully, whimpering with tiny gasps. Thirty seconds of silence went by as D stared at S, deep in thought.

“Why were you so afraid to ask?”

S spoke up nasally, still trying to hide her sobs.

“If- if I eat too much you’ll kill me.”

D knew better. She was the spitting image of his deceased sister, and his last plan was to execute the child. Of course, if it came to the point where his only option were the sword, he’d do it, but not for a little nourishment. He still tortured her as needed. She wasn’t his sister after all. He often needed to be reminded that she was a slave, a prisoner of war and ally of the enemy.

D didn’t respond to S’s statement, proving in her mind that her fears would soon come to life. He decided that instead of severely punishing her as he had done many times before, he’d use a harmless fear tactic.

“On your feet.” His sunken tone struck fear and earned a flinch from S. She did as was told, and rose, staring up into his icy glare. “Against the wall.” Once again, S responded submissively, walking to face the wall. D sauntered to his throne, prolonging the process in order to teach a lesson of obedience. He reached for a strand of rope which hung on the wall behind the throne, part of a daunting collection of restraints and weapons.

S’s body jolted as she was forcefully shoved into the gold plated wall. Her arms were yanked behind her back. Her wrists over crossed each other, palms out. The rope brushed against soft skin, leaving a burning trail of red rash as it slithered its way around her wrists.

Fingers sliding over S’s shoulder, D turned her body and guided her forward.

Oh God he’s gonna kill me... no. worse. He’s gonna torture me.

Hyperventilation shook S’s frail body, but instead dragging her to one of the torture chambers, D pushed her towards the opposite side of the throne room. The door on that side led to a stone spiral staircase. These stairs went up to a winding maze of hallways with different suites belonging to each individual royal in the small kingdom. Each suite was like an apartment, and contained its own prison cells for the men’s prisoners. Few ever left the private dungeons. To the surprise of the child, however, D didn’t chain her to a wall in his dungeon. He didn’t beat her to a pulp with the agonizing cracks of a nine stranded whip. A harsh necklace of rope wasn't strung around her neck, nor her tendons cut to allow her to choke to death.

Instead he led her in the opposite direction and down the stairs to the section of the castle that was used as a public hangout. The lower floor was set up with a kitchen, living space, dining hall, music and entertainment room, and had a porch leading outside.

D unsheathed a knife. S only knew this thanks to the familiar metallic scrape of the object leaving its home. A shudder wracked through her, and she expected the worst. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she braced herself, but the pain never came. Instead, D’s knife sliced its way through the rope, and the broken bonds fluttered to the floor.

D walked towards the couch, and picked up a heavy wool blanket. He draped it around his terrified slave. Her body shuddered when the scratchy warm fabric danced on her skin, the only touch she was used to being some form of excruciating torture.

“Sit,” D pointed towards the couch. S timidly waddled over. She was still skeptical that he would hurt her, but D was often merciful to her too. There was no real way of knowing whether he would hurt her or not. When he did, she knew he tried to be lenient, and he only punished her when he felt he had to. Now was one of the times that he may have to, she thought.

Frightened eyes examined every detail of her master making his way about the kitchen at the other side of the room. D heated something in a pot on the stove, occasionally glancing over to assure that his prisoner hadn’t made another escape attempt. The figure huddled in the corner of the couch, afraid to move or make a sound. Even under the shadows of the blanket wrapped over her head and body, dark circles of sleep deprivation made themselves visible.

D walked over to the girl, carrying with him a tray of soup, bread, and water. He set it on the coffee table in front of the couch.

“Eat,” he instructed. S didn’t budge. D stared with concern. He cared about her, even if she was his slave. He genuinely didn’t want to hurt her, but she had been his enemy, and a prisoner. Either she was afraid that he poisoned the food, or she was trying to kill herself with starvation.

S cowered away when a steamy spoon of tomato broth met her lips.

“Open.” She did as told, but tears began to fall as she took the liquid in. Whimpers and shivering came with each spoonful.

After several spoonfuls, D seemed to have convinced the child that he hadn’t poisoned her meal. He slowly slid his way up the couch to sit behind her. Drowsiness conquered S’s frail body and she began sleep softly, laying her head across her master’s lap. D combed her brown hair with his fingers, not daring to move. The sedative had finally set in, and he didn’t need to change that.

[bicount-de-lettenhove]

Escaping is Overrated - Part 1

Life on the Continent sucks balls if you're not a Mighty Witcher, and Jaskier learns the hard way just how inhospitable it can be when he finds himself on the run from Nilfgaard.

-----

okay so I'm a big fan of stories where there isn't necessarily a big bad antagonist, but where a character (say, a humble bard) instead ends up suffering because of shitty circumstances. If you are also a fan, please read on for a story which is essentially a list of shittier and shittier circumstances befalling our humble bard. There will eventually be a happy ending!

CWs: graphic torture/gore, fire

Jaskier wakes groggily from a dream, groaning aloud as dim confusion gives way to the stomach-dropping realisation that the previous week has in fact been real. He lies still while a wave of nausea rolls over him, dread and fear - his constant companions - settling into the pit of his stomach. Then he hauls himself upright, though it makes no difference to his view because the cell they’re keeping him in is pitch black, the light of the moon in the small barred window obscured by thick clouds. He’s been drifting in and out of restless sleep for several days and though he can’t remember the precise details of his dream, the ache of disappointment and humiliation he feels now is enough to hazard a guess as to which silver-haired-prick was involved.

He’s been dreaming about Geralt a lot, recently. And not the lust-filled fantasies he’d enjoyed when they were on the path together; his recent dreams don’t take him outside the stone boundary of his cell, and are decidedly less enjoyable. They start well - like a good ballad where our mighty hero comes to rescue his damsel in distress - with shouting and the clashing of weapons - and then suddenly Geralt appears, silhouetted in the doorway of Jaskier’s cell, looking down at him. And then he speaks, his low rumbling voice so familiar and so welcome, and all Jaskier’s pain and fear vanishes because Geralt is right there, and he’s come for him. But then - every time - Geralt mutters something, and he starts to turn away, and when Jaskier realises he’s leaving he starts to panic, trying to push himself up from the floor on his broken hands. He opens the wounds on his back with his straining while he babbles frantic, pathetic apologies and begs the witcher to come back, begs Geralt not to leave him here - and then - an excruciating eternity later - Geralt rounds the corner and he’s gone. The final insult is that the cell door is always open - freedom so tantalisingly close - but Jaskier’s strength is gone and there’s nothing he can do but lie on the hard floor of his cell, humiliated, rejected, and utterly alone. Jaskier isn’t the superstitious type, and he wouldn’t normally read much into dreams, but even he can guess the message in that one: Geralt has gone, he’s not interested. You’ll have to get yourself out of this mess. Jaskier carefully doesn’t analyse the ending of the dream, in which he fails impressively at doing just that.

He drops his head back against the wall, avoiding leaning on the mass of sticky wetness under his shirt that had - yesterday, and before the overzealous application of a bullwhip tied with shards of something sharp - been his shoulders and upper back. Though he hasn’t had the courage to investigate the extent of the damage he can feel that it isn’t good. He’ll have to find some way to cover the open wounds or it’ll get infected and he’ll be no use to anyone. He snorts quietly to himself as he realises how naively optimistic that is. If he was of any use to his captors they would be making an effort to keep him alive. As it is, he hasn’t even been fed. He’s just as useless as a hostage - he thinks - as he is useless as a friend. And - now - useless as a bard. He thinks about his broken hands, resting in his lap, and even though he can’t see the damage in the darkness he can feel it, the thumbs crushed and broken by the slow press of iron and the sickening gap where the smallest finger on his right should be.

He shuts his eyes tight as unwanted memories come flooding back - of the two brutish men holding him down, one leaning so hard on his arm on the table to keep it in place that he feared the bones might break. His desperate peering round the man’s great bulk to see what was going to happen. His frantic writhing and bucking when he saw not the screw but the double blades of shears, his panicked screams, his begging - not his hands - please anything but his hands - he didn’t know anything - he didn’t have any information - please no - his realisation as he felt the cold of the metal around his finger that it didn’t matter what he said, that this was really going to happen. His blind panic continuing despite that. The press of the metal into flesh and the simple physics by which his skin gave way. His howling and crying as the shears crunched sickeningly through the joint. The white hot, throbbing pain that didn’t abate as the man stood up - still holding Jaskier’s finger - and turned to him, waving it like a fat child who’d found a worm. His vomiting down himself, delirious with pain. The man’s lifting his head up by the hair and growling in his ear. One a day until he gives them what they want. Being picked up. Dragged back to his cell. The lock of the door and footsteps walking away, curling into himself, around his broken hands, and sobbing.

Jaskier is roused by the sounds of shouts and running feet. Like the start of a good ballad where our mighty hero comes to rescue his damsel in distress, he thinks, blearily. He stays still as he always does in the dream, waiting for the outline of the witcher to appear in the doorway. It’s light outside this time, he notices absently. That’s a first. There’s still no sign of Geralt, and the shouts are now beginning to resolve themselves into something recognisable: panicked cries of FIRE! Somewhere in the halls, someone is frantically ringing a bell. Suddenly, Jaskier can hear footsteps in the corridor outside and he cries out with the little strength he can muster, praying to all the gods that someone will hear him and unlock the door. The footsteps stop and then with a clang, the bolt flies back and the cell door is opened to reveal a silhouette which is distinctly not Geralt. Jaskier’s soft heart drops minutely before he realises he is still Being Rescued, and falls slightly in love with the bent, scrawny figure in the doorway. But as he opens his mouth to thank the man - a fellow prisoner by the looks of it - he turns on his heel and runs off. Well, thinks Jaskier, maybe not Being Rescued exactly, but still - escaping!

The adrenaline coursing through his veins helps him to his feet, his legs shaking and weak, and he stumbles out of his cell, only to be hit by a man running down the corridor, knocking him back into the wall. Pushing himself upright once more, Jaskier turns to look in the direction from which he’d come. There is, indeed, a fire. The floor is covered with loose rushes like a stable, providing perfect fuel for the fire which is rushing along the stone passage with terrifying speed. Jaskier can feel the heat on his face, even from many paces away, and thick black smoke is licking at the walls and pooling on the ceiling. Panicking, he turns and flees, blindly following the man who’d run into him - a guard by his appearance, but clearly not loyal enough to try and stop escaping prisoners at risk to his own life. He follows him down a labyrinth of passages, the smoke getting thicker and blacker and more choking, Jaskier’s run becoming more of a desperate stumble, until he loses the guard completely. His eyes stream and his throat burns with each gasping breath. Distantly remembering how smoke settles on the roof like water in a pool, he drops to the floor. As he takes grateful gulps of the slightly clearer air, a familiar shape in the corner of his vision catches his eye. To his surprise, Jaskier recognises the curved body of his lute. He remembers this room, when they’d first hauled him here, where they stripped him of his belongings and he’d got a punch in the stomach for his indignant protests. Keeping his head low but rising once more onto his feet, he stumbles towards his lute and pack and hefts them into the crook of his elbows. He knows that from here it can only be a few paces to freedom, but by Melitele’s sacred tits they’re difficult paces. He’s bent double, blind, coughing and retching so hard he can’t catch a breath, his legs threatening to collapse at every step. But then - without warning - he’s outside, in the bright sunlight and the clean, fresh air. Finally then, he does collapse - first to his knees, then folding forward into a very dignified position he thinks of as ‘face down, arse up’. His lute is still pressed tightly to his chest, pack crushed underneath her, and he lies there gratefully, coughing and retching weakly into the grass, for what feels like an eternity. Eventually - though his heart tells him to stay right there and never move again - the small voice of reason in his head wins out and he realises he will have to move, before he’s captured again. He raises his head and sees, to his relief, a nearby path that leads into thick woodland, and he begins to form a plan. Maybe he will be the one to get himself out of this mess after all. First he’ll follow the path, then once he’s far enough into the woods to be hidden he’ll leave it and find somewhere secluded to clean and bandage up his wounds. He’ll rest and regain strength and then he’ll make his way on to rejoin civilization, triumphant and brave and self-sufficient. That’s as far as the plan goes. His thumbs are throbbing with every beat of his heart after his exertion and he pushes down the question of how he’ll ever make money as a bard who can barely play. One problem at a time. He steels himself, then pushes up onto his knees - blinking as he rides out the wave of vertigo - and then to standing, and begins to stumble towards the darkness of the woods.

-------

yikes, sorry Jaskier.

Thanks for reading! 🧡🧡 Chapter 2 is on the way, but if you want more accidental bard whump in the meantime, check out another fic of mine here, in which Jaskier tries to make his way down the mountain after the dragon hunt, gets lost, and proceeds to make all the worst survival decisions.

Also another note: I haven't written the ending of this fic yet, apart from Geralt Helps And Is Sorry TM. If anyone has any suggestions of favourite Geralt-saves-Jaskier tropes please drop me a reply because I have been stuck at the same point for about a week now 🧡

Part 2 is now avaliable!

[writefinch]

The Prince’s Offering, Pt.5 (noncon, bondage)

As the wine girl collected her board and scurried off, Karim continued. "It is good that your house sent you, I think. It is not often that an offering of tribute falls through from the boorishness of the emissary, but it is most sad when such a thing happens. But you, Lord Davai, have been naught but gracious and pleasant in my company."

"I thank you, Sir Karim," said Davai. His throat was dry, absurdly dry considering that his entire body now seemed soaked with sweat, as cold as morning dew on every inch of his skin.

"We will enjoy another few cups together, the serving girls will show you to your rooms—they make delightful pillows, so choose freely amongst them—and once you break fast on the morrow I will bid you goodbye to return to your estate," said Karim. He paused, and his brow furrowed. "There is a trifling matter first, however, and I beg forgiveness for thrusting this upon you. My scribe, Farah, had a query regarding the translations upon the scroll."

Davai stared dumbly at the gauze-clad girl as she sat down next to him and unfurled the parchment. Over her shoulder he could see the continuing scene of degradation on the dais, where the Mughal men were fitting the iron masks back on to their captives. Before affixing them, they scooped up the puddles of bile, slobber, and sperm from beneath the hounds' chins and deposited them on the inside of the masks. Each hound was then encased, coating their faces in slime as well as depositing it in their open mouths.

"Lord Davai?"

He snapped back to attention and nodded. "Yes, please, go on."

"I apologize for my confusion," said Farah, "I am familiar with Mongolian writing but somewhat less so with the Latinate script of these lands. The passages in each language are a fair translation for each other in most cases, but there is one line I fear I have translated incorrectly. Beg pardon, could you tell me what the final line of the passage in Latin reads?"

Davai nodded and took the parchment, feeling the sweat wick away from his fingertips. "'...We offer this to you secured in the blood and honour of each noble line within the Houses of the Amber Plains,' is what it says, girl."

"Oh." She looked concerned, and looked between Davai, Karim, and Thom with worry. "That is what I suspected, but that is not at all what the final line of the passage in Mongolian reads. Perhaps there may have been an error in its composing?"

"Why, what does the Mongolian passage read?" asked Karim, his attention occupied by the final brandy-soaked pear as it slid around the serving plate away from the jabs of his fork.

"It reads, um," Farah cleared her throat, and gestured for Davai to return the parchment. He did so, upon which she turned it over and said, "it reads, 'inquire with the man known as Thom the Brigand for further instruction.'"

Karim looked up. "Hm?"

Davai's head shot around to stare at his companion. "What?"

But Thom the Brigand was not looking at Davai, or Karim, or Farah for that matter. He was staring directly at Justyna. "My instructions are but three words: take the gift."

Karim nodded as Davai stared between the two of them in bewilderment. "I see. Very well then," said the host, and then raised his jewel-encrusted hand in the air.

Davai did not see the two men who seized him from behind.

He shouted and struggled and kicked at his assailants to no avail, two of the guards pinning his arms behind his back as a third one slipped a thick leather strap around his neck, strapping it in place and tightening it until it bit into his skin and pushed on his Adam's apple. He panicked, fearing he would be garroted, but as the pressure let off he realized with a deeper horror that he'd been collared. Cold metal closed around each of his wrists, his arms were bent behind his back and his hands were raised up to his neck, pressing against each other in a deeply uncomfortable reverse-prayer position. His wrist shackles were clipped in place onto a D-ring at the back of his collar, and a long length of twine was wrapped around both of his forearms. His captors tightened the loop, forcing his elbows together behind his back. Excruciating pain shot through him as if his shoulders were ready to pop free of their sockets.

The guards pushed him down to his knees, keeping a firm grip on his collar to discourage further struggles. Still he craned his neck to look at Thom, eyes bulging and teeth gritted, his face a mask of rage.

"Betrayer! Thom, you Janus-faced dog-buggerer, what foul bargain have you made?"

Thom's smirk was stomach-churning. "I have made no bargain that you were not privy to, Young Lord. The Houses of the Amber Plains tasked me to deliver their emissary, gift, and letter of tribute to the Great Empire, and I have done as instructed."

"You were tasked with my safe return!"

Thom burst out laughing. "You fool, you highborn vapourhead, I was tasked with the emissary's safe return."

"That's—"

"You said it yourself!" Thom cut him off. "You recited the very customs of the Mughal rulers before we even caught sight of the keep, and you said aloud the rule of gifts: the gift must be a trifling thing to the Mughals and yet terrifyingly dear to yourself." He pointed to Justyna with malicious glee. "Even you, Davai, are not so soft and sentimental as to think that a peasant girl, no matter how comely her face and how warm her bosoms, holds any value to the Houses of the Amber Plains."

Davai looked at him in stunned silence. Horror did not so much dawn on him as it revealed itself—the outline of wrongness had been clear since he arrived, and he felt as if on the cusp of solving an awful riddle.

"Allow me to present something to you all," said Thom, walking over to the shelves and lectern and picking up the scroll case. He returned to the table, tapped the bottom of the ornate case, reached into the opening, and pulled out a slightly thinner tube that had formed a false wall. He gave the whole case a shake, and removed a second piece of parchment that had been hidden within. "Read this, girl," he said, handing it to Farrah.

She read this much-shorter scroll, her eyes widening as she did. "It reads that the young Lord Davai is to be given to the representative of the Great Empire as a gift, stripped of his titles and claims, to be done with as the Great Emperor wills. It is signed at the base by all the signatories of the first scroll."

Davai shook his head wordlessly, the numbness in his shoulders spreading through his entire body.

"The elder nobles cast lots, and it was your name plucked from the pile," said Thom with mocking melancholy. "I am told your uncle was heartbroken over the matter, but he persisted nonetheless. A true believer in the obligations of the nobility."

Desperate, Davai turned to look up at Karim. "Sir Karim, I beg of you, if you will please only—"

He squealed as a fist crashed into his liver, doubling over and retching from pain, and as he opened his mouth a leather-wrapped ring was forced between his teeth and buckled around the back of his head. As he sobbed and writhed, he knew he had missed his final chance to talk his way out of this nightmare.

"I am deeply sorry, Davai," said Karim with what sounded like genuine regret, "but now that you have forgone your noble title, your penalties for rudeness and impertinence have increased quite massively. That gag is a gift of sorts, for it will prevent you from saying anything you might come to regret in this time of adjustment."

"Hlah!"

"I’m afraid that's what they all say." Karim sighed and shook his head. "Guards, take him to the throne."

The struggling noble was dragged up onto the dais as the eight Mughal men finished dressing themselves and stepped down off of it. As he was pushed towards the tattered chair he saw that many of the rags on the seat of the throne were not rags at all, but restraints and leather straps. He howled in protest, resisting as best he could through pain and misery.

"Stop, stop!" shouted Karim, waving his arms and moving between Davai and the throne. "I have made a mistake, and treated the young lord unfairly. He must be given a chance."

Looking up at him with wide eyes, Davai did not dare to let hope burn within himself but was not so consigned to his fate that he could ignore any such offer. Karim crouched down in front of him and held Davai's chin between thumb and forefinger, stroking his boyishly smooth skin.

"I told you three things, Davai," he said. "The first was that our gift, received from the Houses of the Amber Plains, must become a slave and a serving girl. The second was that it is impossible for any true member of nobility to be enslaved, as their very honour prevents such a thing. The third was that I am a torturer by trade."

Davai swallowed. In front of him, Karim opened his palm to reveal the tiny silver fork he had used to spear fruits. He took the fork in his fingers and slowly brought the points an inch away from Davai's eye, until Davai backed away from sheet instinct.

Karim spoke with the soft intensity of a priest delivering last rites. "If you do not wish the indignity of slavery—and it will be a great indignity, your fate will not be a perfect mirror of the hounds to our sides but by Allah it will rhyme—I will kill you. It will not be an easy death. You are a young man and in good health, for now, and I will draw your death out to a fortnight, perhaps a day or two longer even. Your skin will be flayed, inch by inch, you will learn the terror of cold ice and the agony of the hot iron, I will strip your fingers, toes, ears, eyes and teeth away at a rate just slow enough to allow you to mourn their absence before destroying the next part, your bones will be broken, your tendons split, I will feed you broken glass to see your innards torn apart...

He looked Davai in the eye. "But it will come to an end. You will die as a noble, and though your body will lie in tatters I will not—I cannot—strip the honour from your soul. You will not be reduced to a slave, and you will be free in death and life."

Davai stared back at him, his breathing ragged. He thought of Ihsan, the wine girl, of her drugged haze, her lewdly-pierced nipples, and the gilded cage around her cock. This is what he would become for the rest of his life, a toy for men like Thom.

"I can see you are considering it, so here is my offer: ram your head forward and pierce your eye with this fork," said Karim. "If you do so I will kill you slowly. If you do not, I shall grant you a new life."

The torchlight glared off the tines of the fork, blooming until it took up the full field of his vision. Davai thought of his grandfather, a great warrior, felled not by the arrow that struck him on the field of battle, but by the soured wound a month later. His death had not been a quick or pleasant one, but all who knew him remembered his bravery and honour. He reared his head back and prepared to strike—he would only have to make the choice once—then pushed forward.

He flinched, stopping himself a hair's breadth from the point.

"You've a yellow belly to match your golden hair," mocked Thom, as Davai sagged in his bonds, sobbing helplessly. Karim ran his fingers through the lordling's locks, petting him pityingly, and put away the fork.

A guard took a small hunting knife from a walnut sheath and deftly cut away Davai's dull green tunic, tossing aside the sliced-up rags as he did. Karim bade him to pause as he admired the young lord's bound form.

"No hair to speak of, certainly not overfed, it is not exactly a warrior's physique but there are some thews to be softened.... Small nipples but the herbs will help with that of course, and soften the skin even more, yes, delightful..." He looked at the guard. "Leave the stockings on for now, they're rather fetching. Carry on!"

The final part of the tale is here:

https://writefinch.tumblr.com/post/649562103918837760/the-princes-offering-pt6-end

[charliesradiodemon]

Charlastor Week Day 7: Free Day

(Requested by my raffle winner @sailormovebitch ^.^ I had a lot of fun this this one, I WENT OFF writing this one day and hit 2000 words. I think the overall word count here is 3000?

Well anyway, enjoy my last submission for Charlastor Week! It’s been a great week! <3)

Day 7: Detectives/Serial Killer AU

A lone detective Charlie Magne gazed at the computer monitor with narrowed eyes. It was another murder victim, but the case was so odd it got passed to her desk. She was no stranger to odd murder cases, but this one was too different yet too familiar. “It doesn’t make any sense...”

The door opened to reveal her partner and boyfriend, Alastor. They’d been working together for five years and dating for four. They were the perfect team and a locally famous duo that solved cases that seemed near impossible to figure out. They were known as Pentagram City’s power couple and over their five years of partnership, they’d brought down the biggest scum in town and they were damn proud of it. 

“What doesn’t make sense my dear?” Alastor asked as he walked into the room and placed his steaming mug on his desk.

“Hey Al,” she waved him over to her own desk, still engrossed in the images on her monitor. “Take a look at this.” Charlie scoot her office chair to the side to make room for Alastor, who pulled up a chair beside her. 

Alastor sided up next to his partner and repressed a chuckle when he realized what exactly he was looking at. It was the familiar sight of his latest work. It was about time, it had been well over a week now after all. “The name is familiar. Looks like the abdominal cavity was completely cut open... There are several bruises and cuts all over the limbs and face,” he reached for the mouse and scrolled down, still anticipating what else CSI could have discovered. “The victim was also castrated... Wait, this wouldn’t happen to be the suspected rapist that was acquitted last month, would it?” If he could, Alastor would have applauded his theatrics tenfold. He’d always been a good actor, but it seemed that he was getting better and better at it every day. 

Charlie turned her gaze back to the monitor. “It is. He was found in his home last night. We’re waiting for the autopsy for more information, but CSI didn’t seem too hopeful.” She tsked. Her gaze was once again glued to the screen with a determined but thoughtful look. 

He gazed down at the shorter blonde. She couldn’t see it, but Alastor’s neutral smile grew into a wicked grin. He felt a rush looking through his own handiwork with his girlfriend and partner. She was completely unaware, as it should be. “So what was the odd part about this case?” He asked with an innocently oblivious tone- a complete contrast to his sinister look. 

“There were no signs of another person even being there. No hairs, fingerprints, tools, and with all that blood everywhere... you’d think there’d be bloody footprints all over the place, but no! Whoever did this knew what they were doing. They have got to be very experienced in murder.” Charlie still couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d seen this before, but she’s seen so many cases in her life. She’d have to look back in the archives. 

Alastor hummed in response, trying to keep his giddiness down. He loved watching her get so close to his cases. ‘You’re much too perceptive my dear.’ Despite her innocent and naive exterior, Charlie wasn’t stupid. She was so damn good at her job that she had very nearly made Alastor sweat with her perceptive mind on more than one occasion. It was simply exhilarating and he couldn’t help but be drawn to her for it. And not to mention how good of a person she was. To Alastor, Charlie was everything good on this cesspool called Earth and he so desperately wanted to preserve it.   

The little detective was on the nose this time. He was a very experienced murderer, though he wasn’t an aimless one. No, he did exactly what he needed to in order to right the wrongs of the world. He needed to punish those who escaped justice thanks to the flawed justice system. He needed to avenge those who have been hurt by monsters, just as his mother had been. He’d seen what the scum of the Earth could do and he needed to purge them for the greater good. Now that he had Charlie, he had something to protect- something to fight for. 

Alastor changed the subject, hoping to get his dearest from thinking too hard about the perpetrator. “How do you know the murder was done in the victim’s home? It could have been done elsewhere.”  

She scrolled to a specific picture of a bloodied chair. She pointed to the floor between the legs of the bloodied chair and glanced up at her partner. “Yeah, but if you look at the floor, there’s a bunch of scuff marks on the wood directly under the victim’s feet. It must have been from the victim’s shoes kicking and digging into the wood while he was being tortured.” Sure enough, there were scuff marks that were only exemplified by the blood that seeped into the fine lines of the scarred wood. 

Alastor chuckled, thoroughly impressed. Since becoming a detective he managed to learn from his mistakes and grew from them. Charlie only sped up the learning process and he was forever grateful for the opportunity to learn from her. “That’s my gal, always so perceptive and quick like a rabbit. Now drink your coffee dear.” He handed her the mug and kissed her temple before getting up from his seat.

Charlie giggled and took the warm mug and watched him walk back to his desk. “Hey we’re at work! What if someone sees?” She glanced around the room’s fully transparent office. She could see several officers and clerks thankfully minding their own business. 

Alastor chuckled and looked over his shoulder as he organized the papers on his desk. “Oh I’m sorry detective Magne, are you embarrassed to be seen with me?” 

She scoffed and walked past him. “I love you, but you’re an ass sometimes. I just hope my dad didn’t see that, he’d explode seeing fraternization going on in his office.” she joked, earning her a lighthearted chuckle from her partner and boyfriend. 

This had been their everyday life for the past four years. Years of teasing, dates and intimacy made Charlie wonder if it was time for them to take their relationship to the next level. They’ve been dating for four years now and they were hardly strangers to each other’s homes, so maybe it was time for them to move in together? She’d have to ask him later when they weren’t working. Talking about moving in together was hardly appropriate in the middle of a murder investigation. 

“Yes, well it wouldn’t be the first time would it?” he smirked, remembering the time the police chief caught the two of them holding hands under the meeting table. The two of them got quite the earful from Lucifer Magne. Had they been caught doing anything else, they could only imagine the dire consequences.

Charlie’s face lit up like a police siren. “Shhh! Dad still hasn’t let me down about it.” Alastor only replied with a hum and an amused chuckle before continuing his task, just waiting for Charlie to announce that they were going to review the crime scene themselves. He’d remind her, but wasn’t in a hurry, He had fruitful work to complete at the station, unlike the lost cause he’d created. 

“Oh right, we need to head down to the crime scene and check it out,” Charlie abruptly spoke, standing up. She set some papers aside in attempt to organize her messy desk space where there was, in fact, no organization in the slightest. Alastor swore he’d clean it up himself sometime, but Charlie was heavily against it. 

After a couple of hearty gulps, Charlie placed the empty mug on the end of her desk and shrugged her coat on. “Come on, Al let’s get to work.”

Arriving at the scene, the place was still taped off and the police were still around to ward off curious eyes. The duo didn’t even need to flash their credentials and were let in immediately. It was a perk that Alastor enjoyed in his years as her partner. It was nice working with a familiar face like the police chief’s daughter. There were simple yet useful perks that really helped them save time as well as grant them access to certain resources. 

They approached the house and suddenly Alastor became fully aware of his heartbeat. His heart began to race upon re-entering the home of his latest kill. It still smelled of the blood that he caked the floors and walls with. 

The smaller detective stood in front of a particularly bloodied wall. “Looks like our perp is a fan of slasher films.” she commented without much thought behind it. Who would have suspected the bloodied wall anyway? There were no visible clues.

Alastor nodded and pretended to study the wall for anything suspicious. Being the only person in the room that knew why that particular wall remained bloodied excited him. He felt giddy like a child with a secret that was near unbearable to hold any longer. This wall wasn’t just an ordinary bloody wall made by a blind lust for blood. No, what laid beneath the blood and gore were symbols- summoning symbols that promised a soul for a summoned creature’s participation in his gruesome murders. With the offering of his victim, Alastor managed to summon several hellish tentacles to effectively beat, lacerate and castrate his unsuspecting victim. The torture was slow and excruciating, but the tentacles from Hell were efficient and didn’t require Alastor to get his own hands dirty. All he had to do was slice into his victim deep enough to draw enough blood for the symbols and then hide the bloodied symbols with more blood.

“I wonder...” he said, attempting to look lost in thought. After another moment he turned his head to a lone, empty bloodied chair in the center of the living room. As Charlie had pointed out, the scuffs on the floor were superficial, but easily noticeable if one was looking for them. He’d have to take note of his minute mistake for his next target. 

He hadn’t noticed that Charlie had left until she came back through the front door. “Have you gotten any statements from the neighbors? Surely they must have heard something.” He asked, though he already knew the answer. He gagged the man before summoning help and from there his anguished screams were muffled by a tentacle stuffed down the man’s throat. He still remembered how the man struggled to breathe, only able to take momentary breaths to prolong his suffering. 

Charlie looked down at her notepad with a frown. “Yeah, looks like no one heard anything.” Alastor nearly cracked into a wide grin at the look of frustration on his lovely girlfriend’s face. She was an excellent detective who’d been at it for a few more years than he, so seeing her get stumped at anything was certainly entertaining. Especially when it was his murders that she couldn’t pin.

Alastor took great care to make sure each of his murders were difficult to track and pin to one individual. Each crime scene was wildly different thanks to his methods and his connections to the other side. Several of those murders were pinned to different guilty individuals as well. Thanks to his excellent framing job, he and Charlie quickly rose to fame for putting truly despicable people in the slammer. They may have been innocent of murder, but they were still criminals walkng freely on the Earth. Thanks to his position, his summons and Charlie backing him up, Alastor truly felt like he was making a difference in the world.

Once he murdered a child abuser and framed the abuser’s wife, who was his partner in the neglect and abuse. The children they abused even testified against her in court despite having no information on their father’s murder. Another time he murdered several business men who happened to be partnered with each other and were stealing money from their employees. By the end of it, the last remaining businessman was sentenced to life for the murders of his fellow partners. 

But not all of his murders were solved cases. Many of his murders remain open in vain. This new case would end just the same. He hated to do it though. Seeing Charlie so upset when there was nothing to go off on was never pleasant. But it had to be done as there was no one to pin the case on. 

He and Charlie had headed several of his own cases and never had she suspected him in the slightest. And when he’d successfully pinned his deeds on another, his dear Charlie would figure it out herself and feel great about putting the scum behind bars. He loved how happy she was when taking horrible people off the streets. 

She truly was the purest thing on Earth and he would kill any and all who would dare harm her. He had done so already, he wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. 

Mirroring Charlie’s frustrated expression without dropping his slight neutral smile, he looked down at Charlie’s notes. “Impossible, the houses are nearly touching.”

Charlie sighed and looked around the crime scene. “Well I guess it’s possible because no one knew anything. We can look into them further because right now they’re all suspects at this point. Did you find anything here?” 

Alastor thought for a moment. Maybe he could pin this murder on someone after all. His dear Charlie seemed to need a pick-me-up, if he looked into his victim’s neighbors, maybe he could find another local scumbag. Then he could plant some evidence for his love to find. “Nothing you haven’t already pointed out to me this morning I’m afraid.” he wasn’t lying. As graphic as the crime scene was, it was a relatively simple scene. It was just how he planned it.

The blonde woman snapped her notebook shut and stuffed it in her pocket. “Okay, well I don’t think there’s much else for us then, let’s head back.” she said as she started back toward their car out front.

Without much effort, Alastor caught up to his partner and sighed. “Not too much hope for the case here is there?” 

Charlie got in the passenger’s seat and shook her head. “Nope. This is probably gonna be our third unsolved case in a row.” she sighed and sunk into her seat and coat. Seeing her like this pained him. The last thing Alastor wanted to do was upset Charlie. He’d have to look into those neighbors quickly, or find an easier target to frame a future murder on. 

Despite Charlie’s feelings on the matter, Alastor pulled out of the scene of the crime feeling satisfied. He placed his hand in his sulking partner’s hand and squeezed. “Don’t worry love. We can’t be expected to catch them all.”

The rest of the day was uneventful as Charlie attempted to solve the hopeless case. No progress would be made until Alastor found someone to frame so he went straight to work on his own investigation. 

It was getting late and Alastor decided it was time to call it for the night. 

“I’ll bring you home.” Alastor insisted as he gathered his few belongings from his desk. Charlie would always walk to work in the morning and before she met Alastor, she’d walk home at night by herself. Alastor had been bringing her home nearly every day for the past five years now.

Charlie’s thoughts about moving in together returned once she got into Alastor’s car. She thought about what she would say and how she would bring it up to him. “Hey Al?” She started, grabbing the hand that wasn’t on the steering wheel. 

“Yes darling?” He asked. Charlie paused, thinking about her next words carefully. But before she could say anything, she suddenly got cold feet. 

“Actually can you drop me off at the corner? I need to pick up some stuff for home.” She blurted, trying her best to sound natural. Charlie felt like bashing her head against the dashboard. 

“Why don’t we go together? I’ll bring you straight home after.” 

“Nah it’s fine Al. I need to keep moving, you know how I am.” she squeezed his hand back reassuringly. 

“Are you sure?”

“Very,” she brought his hand up to her lips and kissed his bare knuckles, sending shivers up Alastor’s spine. “Don’t worry, I can handle myself.” 

It was hard to argue with her. She was a fairly capable fighter, but Alastor couldn’t help his concern. “I know.” He replied with a worrisome sigh. 

When Alastor pulled up next to the corner Charlie requested to be dropped off at, a familiar figure caught his attention. ‘It couldn’t be.’ He thought. 

He reached over and kissed Charlie on the lips. “Be careful okay?” He pressed his forehead to her’s as he spoke. 

With a slight blush on her face, Charlie smiled. “Yeah, you too. See you tomorrow.” 

“See you tomorrow.” he brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. 

Charlie chuckled. “You miss me already?”

“I miss you every second you’re out of sight.” 

Charlie scoffed at his cheesy line and kissed his cheek. “Oh shhhh, you cheeseball. I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you!” She shut the door and already made her trek into the corner store. 

Alastor watched her up until she disappeared into the store and drove off, keeping his eyes peeled. ‘I bet your blood’s boiling now that you saw that.’ It was the perfect night to take down the individual that seemed to be stalking Charlie. With an angry stalker, they were more likely to act irrationally and make mistakes. 

He pulled into an alley parking lot and began his hunt. He backtracked back to the convenience store on foot, securing disposable gloves on his hands. 

Once he was closer, he spotted Charlie leaving the store and heading in the direction of her home a few blocks away. That’s when he noticed the tall figure trailing about a hundred feet behind her. 

‘You’ve finally come out you scum.’

Alastor scouted up ahead, looking for a vantage point. Luckily there were several run down areas quiet and secluded enough to execute his plan. 

He quickly removed his glove and bit his finger. He whipped out a notepad from his pocket and began drawing symbols with his own blood. “I want that creep apprehended. Alive but unconscious. I offer his soul and my blood for this deed.”

Shortly after, he watched as a tentacle emerged from behind the man, smacking the stalker on the back of the head and knocking him out instantly. Another portal opened below the falling figure and he immediately dropped in front of Alastor. His grin widened in amusement. 

He quickly hoisted the man over his shoulder and jumped into the portal the tentacles left open for him. They were always eager to help as much as they could. After all, he fed them with entertainment and the lives of the criminals he cleansed from the world. It was a symbiotic relationship akin to caring for and keeping a pet.

He discovered this magical ability when his mother was murdered half a decade ago. When he had to clean out her home of her personal belongings, he found a notebook full of scribbles and hastily written descriptions of supernatural things. Alastor wasn’t sure when or how his mother got her hands on this knowledge, but he decided it was worth his time to study his mother’s notes. 

In the couple of months it took to decipher the notes he eventually figured it out. It shocked him that the deciphered ritual worked and when he summoned a tentacle to do his bidding, he knew exactly what to do. By then he’d already killed a few times before, but it always came with a risk. Now that he had this ability, his secret life of murder only became easier. 

The night he figured it all out, he tested his new abilities on his guilty father. He’d gotten away with too much over his lifetime and Alastor was a witness to it all. All the abuse his mother suffered at his hand and the possibility that he had in fact murdered his own wife was too much to go unpunished. Alastor raged when he found out that his father was no longer a suspect to his mother’s murder. The justice system failed his mother, but Alastor made sure that he wouldn’t. 

Now, he could get his jobs done faster with his contract-bound friends. That meant he could remove more scum from the planet and keep the love of his life safe. 

Tonight, he was killing two birds with one stone. He’d noticed a shadowy figure hanging around Charlie’s neighborhood for a while now. Alastor played the waiting game to flush out the creep and he finally had him. Now he could rest easy knowing that Charlie was safe. All he had to do now was take out the trash.

He tossed the man in the trunk and drove off into the night. “One less piece of trash off the street...” he chuckled lowly. He just couldn’t wait to sacrifice this scum to his friends.