#if you are going to join a criminal gang | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lisired · 1 month

Text

pretty little weapon

pairing: undercover cop!mark x (f) reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

That never happened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the rest was history.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The stranger handed you a napkin. “Here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Friends like Yuta were, needless to say, rare.

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

“You love it.”

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

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

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

“Yuta, do you know someone named Mark?”

Yuta furrowed his brows. “Nah. Why?”

Your heart sank. “Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

Which only left you to wait.

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

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

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

None of that explained why they were here, though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nearly gawked. “Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not just kill him upfront?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mark raised a brow. “Markie?”

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

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

“MCU fan?”

“You bet.”

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

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

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

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

You chortled. “So I’ve heard.”

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

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

“There’s a fighting ring?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which was the inner circle.

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

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

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

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

“No warning?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He pretended to frown. “Is it obvious?”

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

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

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

“For real?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You giggled. “She’s hot, isn’t she?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mark grinned mischievously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mark chanted, “Come on, come on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you went to pay yours a visit.

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

Ten mouthed, “Did you just shush me…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mm-hm.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You mean, beat the door in.”

“Did not,” you countered.

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

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

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

“Hit me with your best shot.”

He took the challenge. “Loser buys breakfast?”

You grinned smugly. “You’re on.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Woah,” Mark gasped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was more dangerous than any threat.

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

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

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

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

You shrugged. “I can go all night.”

“So can I.”

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

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

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

“Say less,” Mark said. Then swung.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And with that, Mark was sold.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He snickered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

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

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

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

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

“Shut the fuck up,” you hissed.

Mark snickered. Now where had he heard that before?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you feel okay?”

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

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

You rode Mark until sunrise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But what?

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

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

You nodded. “Perfectly fine,” you repeated.

Everything was not perfectly fline.

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

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

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

In a nutshell, you were completely fucked.

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

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

You shivered at the thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, nothing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shush,” you mumbled, fighting a smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

“Vegas, baby. Vegas!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sternly, you greeted, “Jisung.”

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

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

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

“You son of a…”

Mark growled in your ear, “Behave.”

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

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

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

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

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

But something told you to nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As vague as that answer was, you understood perfectly.

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” Mark said sullenly.

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

Mark bobbed his head, listening intently.

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

“Is that when you joined Bloodlust?”

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

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

“You’re telling me,” you groaned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know. But so are you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Prove it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Squeaky.”

“Then, hurry up.”

So much for not seeming desperate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were beginning to fall in love with Mark.

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

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

Softly, you replied, “All yours.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were so far gone that there was no redemption.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mark furrowed his brows. “Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mark snorted. “I’m sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then there was a loud, piercing gunshot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if this wasn’t his first rodeo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Though when you checked your phone, it was empty.

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

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

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

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

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

You screeched, “The hell, man?”

Renjun exclaimed, “Do you want to die?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mark sent me.”

You blinked. “What?”

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

“Do you have her?” came Mark’s voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart sank. “What’s going on?”

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

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

Mark blurted, “I love you.”

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

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

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

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

Renjun replied, “Somewhere safe.”

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

“No.”

“Do you work with Mark?”

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

You pressed, “Then, in what way?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Forget crazy. You were out of your goddamn mind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wanted to laugh. “What?”

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

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

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

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

Maybe you did.

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

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

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

“What if he’s safe?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Find something interesting here?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You son of a bitch,” you hissed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or alive, for that matter.

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

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

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

Then, you leapt out of the window.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mark grabbed you and whispered, “Baby…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lex tilted his head. “Any last words?”

Without hesitation, you spat, “Fuck you.”

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

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

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

Too stunned to speak, you stood gawking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gaped. “You know?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

She pulled you into a hug. And you smiled.

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

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

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

“No way,” you said, jaw dropping.

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

You groaned, “You’re telling me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lisa patted your back. “Go get him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

Mark rubbed his neck. “Hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mark blinked. “Now?”

“Now or never.”

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

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

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

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

Mark shook his hand. “Dom Toretto.”

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

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

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

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

“That is correct.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s go to Vegas.”

Mark chortled. “That is kinda crazy.”

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

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

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

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

Get matching tattoos.

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

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

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

Mark rolled his eyes and wrapped your arms around his waist. “Hold on tight.”

You yelped when the motorbike jerked to life beneath you, and then you were soaring down the roads of Las Vegas, carefree and in love. Nobody could tell you anything when you were with the love of your life.

Love was the greatest weapon of all.

#mark smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #nct smut #mark lee x reader #nct imagines #mark lee imagines #mark lee smut #nct x reader #nct #nct scenarios

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ddarker-dreams · 6 months

Text

Golden Girl.

Gojo Satoru x F Reader x Geto Suguru.

Warnings: The psychological damage inflicted from Gojo Satoru's presence, canon-typical violence, Gojo and Geto are both kinda questionable in their own ways. Word count: 16k.

-Index-

April 1st, 2005.

8:02 a.m.

You don’t get it.

This campus is huge. Unbelievably so. If someone said you’d waltzed into the Imperial Palace, you’d believe them, and not just because you’re gullible. Although, that’d certainly play a significant role.

Your suspicions strengthen after you walk over the third arched bridge. That’s an arched bridge too far. No school can have this many fancy-looking bridges, the schools back home are practically held together by chewed pieces of gum and scotch tape. Your jetlagged brain combs through the whirlwind you’ve endured in the past few hours. Did you give the wrong address to the taxi driver back at the airport?

He did look confused, but you hadn’t given it much thought then.

You go as still as a statue.

… What if this is the Imperial Palace? If that’s the case, you’re definitely trespassing, right?

How do you explain that to any guards that might happen by? You can envision the headlines now — Foreigner Extradited for Trespassing, Sentenced to Life, No Chance at Parole. All those hours you spent working on your student visa would be for nothing! And you’d be in prison, which is a bummer, because you’re not rich enough to weasel out of the criminal justice system.

You’ll have to join a prison gang, there’s no way around it. Would they let a fourteen-year-old in? In the event they don’t, you could always form one yourself. Leadership’s never been your thing, but it beats—

“Hey there,” a feminine voice calls out. “You lost?”

You whip your head around to the sound’s source. Instead of seeing an intimidating guard ready to haul you off, there’s a girl about your age. She has brunette hair styled in a bob, a beauty mark beneath her left eye, and an unlit cigarette hanging from her lips.

Unless the Emperor is issuing major budget cuts, this can’t be a guard.

You consider her uniform. The high collar, sheer tights, long sleeves, and brown shoes match yours, but the skirt’s different. Yours flares out and cuts off right above your knees. This minor discrepancy makes you wonder if you’re breaking the dress code on your first day. You push the concern aside for future you to deal with.

“That obvious, huh?” You laugh.

“Just a bit.”

She introduces herself as Ieiri Shoko, a first-year student like yourself. You respond in kind, offering up your own name and grade. It’s a relief to know you won’t be arrested or wandering this complex for an eternity. She walks by you and turns on her heel, tilting her head.

“Gonna come with?”

You nod and happily fall into step beside her. She doesn’t seem to be in a rush, not that you mind. It gives you time to admire the idyllic scenery around each turn. There are lush green forests, gardens, and more traditional buildings than you can count. The only detail you find odd is how empty the area is. Besides Ieiri, there isn’t a soul to be found.

“Ieiri-san, is today a holiday by any chance?”

“Just Shoko’s fine,” she says, feeling around her various pockets. “And I don’t think so. Why? Too quiet?”

“It’s almost like a ghost town.”

Shoko smiles. “Enjoy the quiet while you can.”

Well, that’s a bit ominous, but you’ve yet to meet anyone in the jujutsu world who is 100% normal. You think it might be an unspoken requirement at this point.

Shoko gives up on whatever she was searching for — a lighter, if you had to guess — and tucks the cigarette away. This reinforces your theory that those involved with jujutsu have one quirk at the bare minimum. By that logic, you must have some peculiar quirk of your own. Recalling your earlier Imperial Palace debacle, you realize it might be more than one…

“Oh, by the way. All our classes got canceled,” Shoko says.

You blink.

“On… the first day…?”

“Yeah. Something about a last-minute meeting,” she stretches her arms above her head and yawns. “I’m heading back to the dorms for a nap. I think yours is near mine, there are boxes with your name on them in the hallway.”

What a relief! There had been no word on the packages full of your personal belongings you shipped here ahead of time. The hellscape that is checked baggage had no bearing on you. Immensely pleased with this revelation, you set aside the urge to explore and accompany Shoko to where you’ll be living for the foreseeable future.

In keeping with the spirit of the rest of the school grounds, your room is spacious.

Shoko left you to your own devices. You can faintly discern her presence in the room beside yours, laying down as she said she would. You thought you’d want to do the same, but something about the crisp morning air sliced through your exhaustion. You’ll ride the high and crash later.

Adventure awaits — the exploration of the unknown, the sharpening of a faint, hazy image.

You’re back outside again. It’s amazing how, no matter where you are, you can feel the wind in your hair and the sun on your cheeks. This serves as a grounding reminder that you’re real. Reality and the ambiguous nature of jujutsu are often at odds with one other, fighting to occupy the same space. Each side spins a convincing speech about why you should give it credence while discounting the other.

Unlike a politician’s diatribe, there’s no changing the channel or turning down the volume. This invisible and perennial battle won’t ever gain total victory or retreat. There’s bound to be collateral, such is the nature of war. For some, it’s their life in a literal sense, for you, it’s sanity. Coherence. The incorrigible truth that two plus two equals four.

See, young kids aren’t given enough credit. They’re always watching, learning, and absorbing. They get the basic idea that two plus two equals four before they even know what numbers are. For instance, as a baby, you cry and writhe until your needs are met. There’s a framework. An adult in the vicinity plus wailing equals getting fed. Then later, it gets more complex. Not eating your vegetables plus getting mouthy equals timeout. So on and so forth.

You accrue this network of information that makes life navigable.

Then, while visiting some distant relative in the hospital, a massive hole gets blown into this previously steady network. Such was your experience.

Something strange sat atop the IV in the small, cramped hospital room. The adults exchanged well wishes for the man surrounded by beeping equipment and blinking screens. Everyone present focused on this man, except you. You observed this thing, about the size of a sparrow, that flitted to and fro. Whatever it was, it had too many eyes. Each rolled in a different direction, like a bowling ball that couldn’t stop spinning.

Eventually, a long yet thin appendage emerged from the unidentifiable creature. You stood petrified as it entered the man’s ear canal and sipped. The man groaned, beeps increased, and numbers flew high. It sipped harder. His screams grew louder. Everything got chaotic. People in white and blue entered the room. You heard words like ‘cardiac arrest’ and ‘defibrillation.’ Your parents dragged you away.

The creature continued to sip.

On the car ride home, you asked why no one stopped it. The creature plus its sipping equaled the man’s horrible pain. That’s what you figured, anyway. They asked for clarification. What creature? Where had it been? What did it look like? Since young kids are smarter than they’re given credit for, you recognized the tone that was directed toward you. Disbelief, but in a nice, adult way.

If you insisted on the creature’s existence, they grew worried. When you told your friends — who in turn, told their parents — their worry grew. If every drawing you scribbled tried to depict the creature’s likeness, their worry overflowed. You overheard words like ‘traumatic experience’ and ‘coping.’

So, you stopped mentioning it. This stopped the concerned murmurings you’d overhear. You tried really hard to believe what they said about nightmares and mean imaginary friends. This worked well enough until you noticed similar creatures everywhere. On the playground, bus, graveyards, and abandoned houses. They weren’t all the size of a sparrow either. Some were tiny enough to be mistaken for gnats. Others were huge and salivated large pools against the ground.

It was around this time that you developed a second shadow. A spinning golden ring that could fit in the palm of your hand followed you everywhere. No one else could see it, but unlike the creatures, this ring didn’t scare you. Just the opposite, in fact. You considered it a guardian angel.

If the gnats got too close, it’d slice through them.

When the huge, drooling ones reached out their mangled hand, it’d cut through their wrists.

Later on, you’d learn this ‘guardian angel’ was called a ‘cursed technique.’

Smiling, you descend a flight of stairs. From today onward, you’ll be surrounded by people who don’t discount the equation you spent your early years erasing. They’ll be around your age too! You already like Shoko, she’s pretty and has a calming presence. You wonder what the others in your class will be like. How many will there be? Twenty? Your social studies class topped out at thirty-four.

You hope you can befriend everyone.

The gears turning in your head grind to a halt upon noticing the view. Maybe it’s how the morning sun casts a soft glow upon the verdure, or maybe you’re just easily impressed. Whatever the case, the sight stokes awe inside you. Trees line both sides of the gravel path ahead, their canopies inclining as if leaning down to hear a whisper. Smudges of green streak through the air, accepting any destiny the wind bestows.

What an image, straight from the pages of a fairytale book!

You fish out your new phone, a hot pink Razr V3, recalling its camera feature. Even if the photograph isn’t award-winning, you want to preserve this moment.

You can’t explain it. This intuition isn’t rational, it doesn’t adhere to that ever so reliable two plus two. It transcends. The fall of a domino, a flap of a butterfly wing. Seemingly unrelated yet intimately interwoven by invisible lines.

Whether preordained or the consequence of chain reactions you’d have to trace since birth to understand, what happens next stains you its color. The soul grasps what logic dismisses. And right now, your soul says this moment in time and space should never be forgotten.

As for why, your soul suggests you uncover that for yourself.

Alas, you can’t actually stop time. Perception and reality don’t always agree. While it felt like everything came to a grinding halt, the wheels never stopped turning.

And so the powerful gust soaring from your right punches the air from your lungs.

Gritting your teeth, you dig your heels into the ground. The sheer force pushes you back some inches. Next comes a hail of debris. Chunks of soil, sediment, and splintered wood descend. Recognizing this threat, your mind yells at your body to move. Those earthly implements are soaring faster than a bullet. However, the baleful gale restricts precise movement. You’re nothing but a bag of flesh and viscera to the indifferent swell. It’ll send you tumbling the instant your feet lift off the ground.

Dodging isn’t an option.

Those rocks… your cursed technique could dice them up, but then you’d get pelted with shrapnel rather than stone.

Which is the better outcome? A body littered with numerous holes or a few craters?

Your arms fly up to protect your major organs. You’ll endure what you can.

Except, instead of enduring an onslaught, nothing happens. Nothing hurts, rips, or gets torn to shreds.

The wind hasn’t stopped, but it no longer touches you. You jump back, out of the line of impact. The debris parts like the Red Sea and grants you safe passage. From this vantage point, you’re a witness rather than an unwitting participant. The unrelenting force rages on. You gape at the path of destruction it’s left behind, indiscriminately swallowing trees, foliage, and the ground. It looks like a meteor surged in a straight line through the forest.

No matter what you’d chosen to do, if it weren’t for that abrupt opening, you would’ve died.

Heart thumping wildly, you snap your head toward the direction this miniature storm originated from. Was it a curse? If it is, then you’re hopelessly outclassed.

No, that doesn’t seem right, you think. You’re familiar with how it feels when a curse is nearby. Should it be close to your power level, it’s like getting splashed with frigid water. For curses above your abilities, that sensation gets amplified. It’s as if you’ve been plunged into the Arctic Ocean. Right now, you’re not experiencing either of those sensory nightmares.

A silhouette walks through the dusty haze that destructive force left behind.

“Whoops,” the person within says, “That was close.”

You run over, swatting the dust lingering in the air. Anyone close to that force could’ve gotten severely injured. Concern seeps into your being as the figure emerges.

“Are you okay?!”

The first thing you notice is a head of white hair. Next is this person’s height, you have to crane your neck to meet his eyes. Eyes that were, for some reason, covered by circular sunglasses. There’s a sideways grin on his face, the absolute last expression you were expecting. From his uniform, you guess he’s a student like yourself. His most prominent feature isn’t anything visible. It’s the sheer aura he exudes, you’ve never experienced anything similar. There’s no hostility, but it’s intense.

You inhale shakily.

“Never better. You?”

He sounds chipper.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, giving yourself a once-over.

You pinch your eyebrows together while assessing your condition. The white-haired figure notices this and asks, “Ya sure? Nothing hit you, right?”

“That’s the weird thing, though,” you frown. “I should be covered in dust, but there’s not a single speck.”

His grin widens, like he’s in on some joke you aren’t. This plucks a cord of irritation within you. Narrowing your eyes, you take a step back. You focus on the cursed energy engulfing him, then compare it to residuals left behind by the force. The residuals in the path it carved out are too faint to properly discern. All you have implicating his involvement is a hunch.

You remember how the gust itself felt, though. The ferocity that had every nerve in your body ringing funeral bells.

Your eyes flit between the gaping maw and the sunglass-wearing stranger.

“Want a hint?” He asks. You don’t miss the teasing lilt in his voice.

“You caused that surge,” you deadpan.

“Close enough, I’ll give half credit. Next question! What stopped you from getting buried in layers of dust?”

You have no reason to play along, yet scampering off feels like you’d be conceding something. The competitive nature boiling in your blood refuses to admit defeat. Especially after he subjected you to that terror, without even apologizing! It’s the least he could do. What an inconsiderate jerk. You’ll knock him down from that high horse if it’s the last thing you do.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you consider the information you have to work with. Whatever he did had to involve his cursed technique. Did he apply a shield to you? It’s the most obvious answer, but that doesn’t explain everything. A shield would lessen the damage, not negate it entirely.

How did he pull that off…?

As you’re piecing this puzzle together, someone in the distance yells, “Satoru!” drawing out each syllable. The person before you winces but doesn’t lose his boyish smile. You sense another presence heading this way. After you turn around to face this new addition, two large hands settle on your shoulders from behind. You bristle and try shaking them off, but this weirdo doesn’t let go.

An older man with a severe expression stands atop the staircase. His uniform is pitch black, denoting a different status than a student, if you were to guess.

“One hour,” he huffs out, “One hour, I ask for you to sit still and behave. And what do I come back to? An entire tunnel running through the school grounds?”

“It was for good reason, sensei,” this ‘Satoru’ insists. He squeezes your shoulders. “[First] here mistook a bug for a curse and yelped, ‘Kya, there’s a curse!’ I, being the good samaritan I am, dispatched the threat with what I thought to be an appropriate amount of force at the time.”

You make a face. “Eh?”

“Huh?” Yaga must find this explanation as convincing as you do. His countenance filters through multiple emotions. Confusion, frustration, disbelief, and then, finally, exhaustion. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You couldn’t come up with anything better than that?”

“I didn’t come up with anything! Tell him, [First]! Are you going to abandon your savior when he needs you most?”

Yaga turns his attention to you, pity evident in his eyes.

“Satoru did… sort of protect me from something… in a way?” You mumble.

Satoru’s fingers twitch when you speak his recently learned name.

Yaga sighs. “We’ll discuss this later, Satoru.”

And with that, the first teacher you’ve met walks away, shaking his head. His demeanor reminds you of a disappointed parent. Suddenly cognizant of the unwelcome contact on your body, you jerk your shoulders forward. This time, he releases you. You get the sense he could’ve easily held on if he wanted to.

“Man, you suck at lying,” Satoru whines.

“Me? What sort of cover story was that? If you ever become a defense attorney, your clients are screwed.”

He throws his arms behind his head and grins. “You gotta admit, the impression was solid.”

“That was the most egregious part!”

“I thought it was a nice touch.”

You roll your eyes. Before this back-and-forth drags on, there’s a specific detail that’s nagging at you.

“By the way, how do you know my name—”

“Suguru, how long are you gonna sit back and watch? Voyeurism is frowned upon, y’know,” he cuts you off mid-sentence.

Your eyes practically bulge out of their sockets at his not-so-subtle implication. Thrown back into a weirded-out limbo, you start slinking off. Forget trying to understand how he knows your name despite never telling him. These are the types your parents warned you about, you need to flee! Hormonal high school boys should be sectioned off until they’re no longer threats to society. Nuclear warfare pales in comparison.

“She’ll never want to come near you again if you keep saying things like that.”

Another student calmly strides out from behind a nearby tree. You squint, ensuring this isn’t an illusion. How long has this guy been here? Why couldn’t you sense his presence? Especially when he’s been so close, just a few measly feet back. The black-haired addition gives you a closed-mouth smile. Similar to Satoru, he’s rather tall. You’ll need a neck massage from all this looking up.

“Geto Suguru. It’s nice to meet you,” Geto greets.

You introduce yourself as well.

“It’s your first day here, correct? How are you finding everything? Have any questions?”

“None that I can think of, but thank you! It’s been uneventful, up to a certain point.”

Satoru yawns obnoxiously loud, interrupting your exchange. “Look what you did, Suguru. She’s all prim and proper now. I might fall asleep.”

You shoot him a scathing look but bite your tongue.

“What? No need to hold back. Say whatever you want, I can take it,” he asserts, tilting his head enough for his sunglasses to slide down. Two pools of frosty blues bore through you. You freeze up at the sight. Snowy eyelashes, glittering, gemstone-like eyes, why would he ever hide them? You’ve never seen such a bewitching color.

He strikes like a serpent at the opening you’ve given him.

“All this staring’s gonna make me shy. You can take a picture, if you want. I don’t mind.”

Any spell you were under withers and dies.

“Actually, I was just thinking that you remind me of a celebrity,” you say.

Satoru preens, interpreting your words as a compliment. Before his ego inflates enough for him to float away, however, you give him a smug smile of your own.

“Ever heard of Sanrio’s Cinnamoroll? You two could be twins! It’s adorable.”

His shoulders droop and Suguru chuckles, the sound coming out muffled from behind his hand. You spin around, content, humming to yourself as you walk up the stairs. You block out whatever Satoru shouts in retaliation. His words go in one ear and out the other. Something tells you this is the best strategy for dealing with him.

So far, you’ve met three classmates, and that was enough to exhaust you thoroughly.

You wonder what everyone else is like.

Later that evening, Shoko explains it’s just you four in your class.

You finish chewing your takeout, swallow, and then reply, “Eh? Seriously? But this place is crazy big.”

“Not many folks can use jujutsu,” Shoko says. She picks a mushroom up with her chopsticks and places it in your container. “Four students is a high amount, all things considered.”

You plop the mushroom into your mouth. Savory flavors coat your tongue, warming your heart and your soul. Delicious food is the antidote to all woes. Presently, your biggest woe happens to have white hair, unfairly pretty eyes, and a knack for getting under your skin. Recalling your previous encounter makes you grimace.

“Hey, Shoko. Would I get in trouble for spraying Satoru with water?”

Instead of responding, she stares at you, blinking owlishly.

“What’s up?”

“Haven’t heard any student but Geto call Gojo by his first name,” she explains. “We’ve only been here a few days though, so who knows.”

You tilt your head. “Who is Gojo?”

“Satoru. Gojo Satoru’s his full name.”

“... Ah.”

You swipe a pillow from Shoko’s bed and slam it into your face.

“I’ve been calling him by his first name?!” You whisper yell, heat rushing to your cheeks.

That’s far too intimate. This is awful, a tragedy, the end of your life that had just begun!

Shoko rubs your back reassuringly as you process the harrowing information.

This has been the first proper school day.

Teachers have come and gone depending on the class. You and Geto have been taking notes, Shoko’s fallen asleep, and Gojo occasionally throws a wadded-up note at the three of you. Shoko’s collection piles up on her desk, Geto throws his away after reading them, and you chuck yours back at Gojo when the teacher isn’t looking.

He catches it with a grin each time, as if you’re playing a friendly game of baseball.

This guy really irks you.

When it’s time to eat lunch, he’s the first to get up.

“What does everyone want from the vending machine?” Gojo asks while clapping, earning your attention. “It’s on me.”

Suguru requests Coca-Cola and Shoko, newly awake, says Oi Ocha.

“I’m okay, but thank you,” is your response.

Gojo swaggers over and you immediately regret sounding so polite.

“First you don’t open my notes and now you won’t accept my generosity? Is this what it’s like to get bullied?”

“I think bullying is typically worse than that,” you respond. His deep frown, although likely an act, still tugs on your heartstrings. Empathy is truly a double-edged sword. “... Georgia canned coffee, please.”

Gojo points a finger at you. “Aha! I knew it! Something about you struck me as a caffeine addict.”

(You throw a pen at him, which he easily sidesteps).

“Does the resident sugar addict have any room to talk?” Geto hums.

“Plenty. When you eat sweets, it’s to enjoy the flavor. In other words, an experience! When you drink coffee, though, you’re only torturing yourself to keep your eyes open.”

“Some people like coffee’s flavor,” Shoko chimes in. She rests her chin on her fist. “You would if it was sickeningly sweet.”

You take in the sight of your classmates bickering. It stirs a warm, pleasant feeling in your chest, like walking outside on the first day of spring. Such a simple exchange instills a sense of normalcy, no matter how fleeting. Gojo’s larger-than-life personality, Geto’s sneaky ways of goading him on, and Shoko’s occasional wry comment; you sear it into your memory.

There’s no real weight to the jabs everyone flings around, it’s like water off a duck’s back.

“You’ll meet lots of interesting folks, I’m sure,” your jujutsu mentor, Ishimoto Akane, had told you. “Make the most of each day. Forgetting to live is the worst injustice you can commit toward yourself.”

Smiling, you retrieve your pen/ammunition, intent on hitting Gojo with it eventually.

Drizzle and heat olive oil in a pan. Add grape tomatoes, seasoning, and minced garlic. Stir occasionally until the grape tomatoes break down.

A mouthwatering scent fills the dormitory’s kitchen. The clock reads 10:04 p.m, indicating how late this dinner is. You keep an eye on your pan as different shades of red smear together, forming the basis for your sauce. Content to leave it unsupervised for a spell, you walk to the drawer silverware is kept in.

The plates are up in an overhead cupboard. You stand on your tiptoes, straining your arm to grab a plate that has no business being up so high.

“Need help?”

You could recognize that voice in your sleep. Or, to be more specific, your nightmares.

“I’ve got it,” you insist.

“Yes, obviously, my sincerest apologies,” Gojo's cadence shifts to a somber, apologetic tone. “Please proceed.”

You stretch your body to its limits, the muscles in your arm crying out for reprieve. Your fingertips brush over the plate’s outer rim. Mistaking this for victory, you pull it out at an awkward angle. The porcelain comes tumbling down to its imminent demise. Out of instinct, you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for impact.

In the moments that follow, you hear nothing shatter.

Confused, you reopen your eyes to see Gojo Satoru holding the still-intact plate.

You stare at him.

He stares at you (from behind his sunglasses, despite the sun not being out).

Remembering your manners, you say, “Thank you.”

Gojo hums. The low note injects dread throughout your system, as you can guess how the melody will continue. You reach for the troublesome plate. In accordance with your premonition, he takes sadistic glee in raising it high above your head. It stays up there as if it were a full moon.

You take a deep, deep breath.

“Gojo-san, can I have that back?”

“Say ‘Pretty please, Satoru,’ and I’ll think about it.”

“...”

He stares at you.

You stare at him.

“From this day forward, you cannot have any more of my cooking,” you announce as if you were a politician making a new law known.

In what’s an exceedingly rare occurrence, Gojo doesn’t have an immediate retort. You may be unable to see his eyes, but you can tell his expression fell at your proclamation by the muscles in his face.

“Wait, really?”

“Really.”

“Really really?”

“Really really.”

Gojo silently hands over the plate with a bow.

“For you, madam.”

His melancholic act is so convincing and disproportionate to the situation that you can’t hold back your laughter. Gojo’s true strength is his ability to annoy and endear in the same breath. For this reason, your irritation toward his antics never lasts long. You’re sure he’s aware of this and uses it to his advantage. So long as it remains innocuous, you’ll play along.

“Start helping by chopping that basil and I’ll reconsider your verdict.”

Gojo gives a hearty salute.

“Yes ma’am!”

Geto plucks the manilla folder you’re holding and says your name. Perplexed, you glance at him.

“This isn’t worth rereading a fourth time,” he explains. “It won’t be anything near as dangerous as it’s been made out to be.”

He closes it and slides it across the table. You watch through heavy eyelids, blinking off sleep’s seductive whisper. The contents within — census data, maps, photographs — each piece of information refuses to absorb into your weary brain. You’re amazed you had the cogency to slap some proper loungewear on and stumble to the dormitory’s shared living space.

“S’gotta be somewhat important, though, if we got woken up at three in the morning over it.”

Geto laughs airily at that. “You’d be surprised.”

“What do you mean?”

“He means that anything involving the Zenins gets a fast track to becoming everyone’s problem,” Gojo adds from the doorway.

You turn your head in the direction of his hoarse voice. He didn’t bother to fix his bedhead or put on anything half-decent. He’s wearing a gray v-neck and slacks, unlike Geto, who at least put on a pair of jeans. His trademark sunglasses sit ajar on his nose.

Despite yourself, your heart skips a beat. He’s kinda cute.

Gojo gives you a lazy wave and grin. “Wow, you’re actually awake. I thought we’d have to drag you out of bed.”

“In the spirit of maintaining harmony, I’m going to ignore that comment,” you grumble, getting up from the floor to sit on the couch. Gojo sits to your left, slouches into the armrest, and throws his legs on the table. What terrible posture. “Going back to what you said — who are the Zenins? Are they important or something?”

Gojo furrows his eyebrows.

Geto blinks.

You glance between the two of them, feeling increasingly out of the loop. “W-What?”

Gojo, being the fiend that he is, breaks out into unapologetic laughter. You gape at him, your cheeks going from cold to scorching. Geto shakes his head in disapproval over Gojo’s behavior. Still, a small smile works onto his face, further exacerbating your embarrassment. Gojo loudly poking fun at you is one thing, but you’re used to Geto having your back Or at least abstaining from either side.

Vexed, you shoot up, ready to storm off, but Gojo’s hand encircles your wrist.

“My bad, my bad,” he manages through the occasional chuckle. “Come back. We’ll explain it to you.”

You grumble beneath your breath yet ultimately acquiesce.

Gojo peers at you from above his sunglasses. “Ever heard of the Big Three Sorcerer Families?”

You shoot him an unimpressed look. “Would we be having this conversation if I had?”

“Man, that must be nice. I almost feel bad ruining your innocence like this,” Gojo sighs, ever the melodramatic performer. “Hm… let’s see… think of them as the lame, jujutsu versions of Zapdos, Articuno, and Moltres.”

Sitting patiently, you wait for him to elaborate.

He doesn’t.

“Geto-kun, care to translate?”

“With pleasure. So, since cursed techniques are inherited, families often want them passed on from one generation to the next. The Big Three come from bloodlines that hold some of the strongest techniques. As you can imagine, this has granted them lots of influence and power over the centuries. How they leverage these advantages, well…”

Geto trails off and clears his throat.

“—They use it to advance their own agendas and snuff out any meaningful change,” Gojo finishes for him.

You nod.

“Okay, I think I get it! So they’re like jujutsu lobbyists?”

Gojo bursts into another fit of laughter. “I like that! Yeah, let’s call them that. Most of those geezers aren’t even jujutsu sorcerers themselves. They just sit around in the dark and scheme. It’s pathetic.”

Gojo doesn’t care about mincing words. He’s the type to call it as he sees it, for better or for worse. Rarely do you sense such acrimony festering beneath the surface of his remarks. This matter is different. He’s smiling, but there’s a tense underpinning to how he sets his jaw.

“Wait, okay, so, there’s the Zenins, but… who are the other two?” You ask.

“The Kamo and Gojo families,” Geto answers.

Gojo, gojo… that name sounds awfully familiar, doesn’t it?

This reveal doesn’t knock the breath from your lungs. You’ve been able to guess for some time now that Gojo came from money. How much exactly, you weren’t sure, but his designer clothes raised your estimates high. Your rich kid radar is as accurate as ever.

You point an accusatory finger toward the white-haired male beside you. “We have a double agent in our midst, Geto-kun.”

“It would appear so. How should we proceed?”

You stride over to Geto’s side, creating the appropriate distance between you and the traitor.

“Imprisonment without trial,” you declare, much to Gojo’s chagrin. “Solitary confinement too. Cosplaying as the working class is a federal offense.”

“Hah? What sort of kangaroo court is this?” Gojo complains. He removes his legs from the table and sits properly, then crosses his arms over his chest. Continuing your charade, you pay him no mind. Instead, you stand on your tiptoes, cup your hands, and whisper into Geto’s ear:

“The convict is disparaging our blameless judicial system. Shall we add ten years of hard labor?”

A malevolent gleam passes over Geto’s eyes.

“Let’s make it twenty,” he whispers back. You nod. Great minds think alike.

You return your attention to the couch, intending to update Gojo’s sentence, only to find he isn’t there. Yours and Geto’s deliberation couldn’t have lasted more than five seconds! Where did your prisoner run off to? His presence vanished as well, leaving not a single trace. It should unnerve you how in control he is of every aspect of his being. Maybe it would’ve had you not known him personally.

Warm breath fans against your ear from behind. “I’m taking this corrupt official hostage.”

With that, your legs give out faster than your brain can register. Your equilibrium is thrown into chaos as two arms lift you. The abruptness of it all has your limbs flailing for purchase and a squeak escaping your lips. Gojo takes care to ensure you don’t fall or harm yourself, but he doesn’t bother hiding his sadistic glee. You’re held bridal style against his firm chest.

Trying to wriggle loose is a meaningless endeavor. Accepting your fate, you go limp, but not without requesting assistance.

“Geto, are you really going to abandon me to the machinations of this criminal?”

Geto walks over, consideration etched into his countenance, stoking hope of rescue in your chest. He reaches for you. It’s almost imperceptible, but Gojo’s grip tightens ever so slightly. However, his hand doesn’t pry you from the jaws of the beast. He just pulls down your shirt, which has risen to reveal a sliver of your stomach.

Wow, what a gentleman.

“Did you ever consider that I might be a double agent?” Geto challenges, relishing in your visible frustration as much as Gojo. Such is the plight of those who wear their heart on their sleeve.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve learned my lesson alright,” you retort. The foreboding nature of your words isn’t lost on them. They await your next move, which you swiftly deliver. “Gojo-san, let me down. If you don’t, I will bite you.”

You can feel how he beams down at you. “Oh, I never would’ve guessed that’s what you’re into— ah, Suguru, a little help here…?”

Geto assesses the situation. After thinking it over, he helps steady you, then uses his newfound leverage to pull you free. He takes great care in putting you down, holding you steady until your feet are firmly on the floor. Your balance rushes to restore itself. In the meantime, Gojo clicks his tongue, processing the weight of Geto’s betrayal.

You give Geto a thumbs up. “Good work. No one ever sees a triple agent coming.”

“It was a split-second decision,” Gojo dismisses with a wave. His impassive expression morphs into a knowing smirk, like he just had a seismic revelation. “Ah, I get it.”

“You do?” Geto hums.

“He does?” You ask.

“Yes and yes. Suguru, you were holding out to see if she’d use her cursed technique, right?”

Geto doesn’t respond immediately, indicating Gojo’s theory holds some merit. Gojo stuffs his hands into his pockets and slinks back to the couch. His gait radiates smugness, although you can’t imagine why. Is that supposed to be a ‘gotcha!’ moment?

“I’ll admit, I am curious,” is what Geto settles on saying, his smile apologetic. Or it’s meant to come off as such.

“Why didn’t you say so sooner? It’s not like it’s a big secret or anything.”

Geto and Gojo exchange looks.

“You should be careful who you go about revealing information like that to,” Gojo warns. You’re not used to hearing this serious timbre in his voice. “Some cards should remain close to your chest.”

Even if he’s being sincere, you can’t help but feel patronized. You’ll be the first to admit it — certain nuances of jujutsu society are lost on you. Akane wasn’t the type to care for such details. She said worrying about all that bureaucracy would age you prematurely. You half agree with her. Certainly, you shouldn’t let that influence you in the areas it matters most, like combat. However, while you’re in Japan, you’re under their regulations. It wouldn’t be wise to forget that.

You purse your lips. “Obviously, yeah. I’m not going to go blabbering it off everywhere. But, I mean, you two are my friends. This’ll be our first time on the field together. Knowing what cards you have to deal with seems useful to me.”

Gojo turns his head to the side and a few seconds pass.

“Friends, huh?” Geto finally murmurs, testing the word on his tongue. His next smile reaches his eyes. “Who would’ve thought a little sincerity is all it takes to get you flustered?”

Gojo snaps his head back at Geto’s taunt. “Sorry, what was that? Aren’t you the one who—”

You clap to redirect their attention.

“Hey, hey, cut it out already. We’re going to be together for the next few days, right? Let’s all get along.”

“You just care about going back to sleep,” Gojo accuses.

“Yes. Exactly. That is all I care about right now. So, if it’s all the same to you, I’m headed to bed.”

You don’t wait for their response. As stealthily as you can, you sneak through the hallways, careful to avoid creaky floorboards. Upon returning to your room, you kick your house slippers off. The digital alarm clock on your nightstand says 3:53 p.m. Those two kept you up far later than necessary! If this assignment isn’t a big deal like Geto claims, you wish he would’ve said so sooner.

There’s always the option of sleeping during the car ride, but if there’s anything you know about Gojo, it’s that everything in his vicinity can be subjected to torment. You wouldn’t put it past him to draw on your face or blare the horn once you finally nod off.

Your head hits the pillow and you pray for rest to take you soon.

Meanwhile, back in the shared living space, Gojo stares at the spot you once occupied.

“Satoru.”

“Hm?”

“I think I get it now.”

“That so?” Gojo runs a hand through his hair. “As long as you don’t get it too much.”

Geto chuckles. After a pause, he muses, “Neither of us would be very good for her.”

“You gonna let someone else scoop her up?”

“Are you?”

“They can try,” Gojo smiles. There’s no kindness behind it.

Although this conversation could last well into the morning, in an unspoken understanding, they leave it at that.

“Emerge from the darkness, blacker than darkness. Purify that which is impure.”

Ink blots descend from above as if the sky were weeping. The viscous teardrops curve downward, creating a dome that swallows the surrounding area. Geto and Suguru have gone ahead, leaving you to carry out basic protocol. You jog to catch up with them. Geto slows down enough to make rejoining them easier, unlike Gojo, who carries on.

“So, this is the stomping grounds of the mean ol’ curse that sent Kenji Zenin packing?” Gojo hums.

“He sustained some serious injuries,” you remind him. Gojo just shrugs. “A fractured sternum and twelve broken ribs… that’s not exactly a walk in the park.”

“A Grade One sorcerer getting whooped that bad by a Grade Two curse? Probably deserved it.”

You sigh, recognizing that Gojo won’t empathize no matter what you say.

The three of you were driven from Tokyo Jujutsu High to Kaizu for this assignment. According to Geto, the information you received likely exaggerated the curse’s capabilities as a way for Kenji Zenin to save face. It looks better for him if the higher-ups deem the threat he faced severe enough to ship off two of the school’s most promising students to handle it. Regarding your inclusion, Gojo so kindly said,

“You’re like the little garnish on top of the entrée.”

You can’t find the energy to get upset if he’s right.

There’s no denying the immense gap in your abilities compared to theirs. You could feel it in the air the instant you met Gojo. For Geto, all it took was hearing a description of his cursed technique. The potential for storing and controlling curses at will is beyond your comprehension. There are so many applications, and so many advantages… you’re utterly outclassed.

Should this demotivate you? Perhaps. You’ll never be as strong as them, it’s delusional to think otherwise. An individual’s proficiency with jujutsu is almost determined at birth. That doesn’t mean it’s static, it just means you have to find ways to excel with what you’re given. Envy is a waste of time. You want to learn from them and hone your abilities. For this reason, you’ve avoided an inferiority complex.

What could be better than learning from the best?

The atmosphere inside the curtain is dingy. It’s like a dark filter glazed over your eyes, maiming any bright or vibrant colors.

Grass crunches beneath your feet despite summer’s abundant rainfall. Nature itself flees the scene, retreating into the woods surrounding this derelict nursery. The briefing you were given went over the business’ murky past. In the seventies, there was an unprecedented boom in births around this area. Working parents needed proper childcare until their children were old enough to attend school. What few facilities existed nearby found themselves overwhelmed. Then an older, childless couple, Mikami and Fujikawa Tetsuo, purchased a plot of land outside the town with their retirement money. They cited the picturesque scenery as their reason for choosing this location, believing that the unpolluted air would be good for the children.

The nursery was built and opened. For years, parents entrusted their little ones with the tight-knit staff headed by the Tetsuo’s. Nothing of note occurred until early in the eighties. On March 24th, 1982, a child was hospitalized after crying ceaselessly for three hours straight. The mother reported that when she picked her daughter up from the daycare, her daughter had been unusually distraught. She didn’t think much of it at first. Toddlers are known for being emotional. However, as time went by and her screams became hoarse, she felt something was terribly wrong. The little girl was given mild sedatives and IV fluids as her body began to suffer from dehydration.

The next day, all seventeen children at the daycare suffered the same mysterious ailment.

Each child underwent tests ranging from bloodwork to brain MRIs to determine what the inexplicable cause of this nightmare could be. Professionals in every area, ranging from renowned neurologists to child psychiatrists flew in from around the world. Naturally, an investigation was opened into the nursery and its owners. No formal charges were made against Mikami and Fujikawa, since no evidence of foul play could be found. Regardless, the community ostracized them and any employees present during the incident.

Tragically, none of the eighteen children recovered. From the instant their sedatives wore off until they were administered again, they’d screech, thrash, and display aggressive behavior toward nurses and family members alike. Parents were faced with the impossible decision of keeping their child ‘alive’ through life support, holding out for a cure that may never come, or granting them a peaceful yet permanent rest.

Only one family kept their child on life support. He remained in a vegetative state and died from complications related to an infection two months later. The seventeen other families, who had grown close through the harrowing ordeal, turned the machines keeping their little ones alive at the same time.

This report might be one of the worst things you’ve read.

Scanning the area, you note faint residuals of cursed energy throughout the decrepit playground. The swings, slide, and both sides of the seesaw contain trace amounts. Did curses form as a consequence of what happened here, or did a curse initiate the disaster? It may not matter now, but all those families never receiving proper closure makes your chest feel tight.

Painfully so.

Considering the officials never found physical evidence, you believe a curse was the cause. What were the victims supposed to do? What could they do? Non-sorcerers can’t perceive curses, much less defend themselves. They have to be chewed, swallowed, and digested.

You kneel at the playground’s edge, inspecting the planks of rotten and peeling wood. It must’ve been assembled by hand. Each piece was planned, cut, and dutifully laid down. All to hold the wood chips that’d protect the kids as they ran, laughed, and played. This place should’ve been a fond memory for them to recall throughout their life.

Instead, it’s the reason they’d never got to have one.

“The cursed energy is concentrated in the nursery room itself,” Gojo determines.

You follow his line of sight and squint. You could tell the building was submerged in cursed energy, but you couldn’t pinpoint an exact location.

“It’s moving in the same pattern, like a grid,” Geto says. Another observation you couldn’t make. “Starting in the top left corner, ending in the bottom right, then starting the process all over again.”

Standing up, you dust the dirt off your skirt. “Why would a curse do that?”

From a tactical standpoint, moving predictably is reckless. Any combatants could use the knowledge to their advantage. Curses have some degree of self-preservation, hence why they don’t waltz everywhere without a care in the world. They’re intelligent enough to avoid spots that sorcerers frequent. Fly heads are the lone exception, but that’s because they lack the intellect necessary to care for their survival.

A curse capable of inflicting such serious wounds on a Grade One sorcerer can’t be that weak.

Gojo exchanges glances with Geto, a semblance of understanding connecting them. You’ve witnessed this wordless exchange before. No matter how much they bicker over conflicting values or petty non-issues, they maintain the ability to synchronize their thoughts and actions.

“What is it?” You snap. As soon as the acrid words leave your mouth, you regret it, although they don’t react. Taking a deep breath, you try again. “Communication is important for these missions, guys. Keep me in the loop… please?”

Geto parts his lips, but Gojo cuts him off. “There are eighteen cribs inside. The curse is fixing the blankets in each one.”

You shiver.

“... Oh.”

“How do you want to go about this, Satoru?” Geto asks. “It can’t be as simple as walking in and exorcising it.”

“Why not? Its cursed energy is consistent with what you’d expect of a Second Grade. We both know this job’s smoke and mirrors, anyway. Let’s wrap it up already and head home.”

“Isn’t it strange the curse hasn’t been drawn out, despite a curtain being cast?” You point out.

For the first time since exiting the car, Gojo looks at you. You stare back at the two black circles that obscure his omnipotent eyes. Something’s been off ever since you embarked on this mission. It’s like an itch you can’t scratch, as its location shifts elsewhere whenever you try. His words have had an edge to them when directed at you. You’re used to his lackluster manners, but this is different.

This cuts and it cuts deep.

Are you that incompetent to him…?

Gojo redirects his gaze toward the ramshackle building.

“I’m getting this over with,” he says. Simply, decisively. Leaving no room for argument.

Leaving no room for you.

Massive tendrils of cursed energy coil around him, flowing unimpeded like water through a rushing brook. You step back solely from reflex. Anticipation thrums through the air and ignites every nerve in your body. You’re left wide-eyed and breathless as it gathers and grows, its potency hundreds of times greater than anything you’ve been able to achieve. It feels as though minutes have dragged by, reacquainting you with the surreal sensation you underwent upon meeting Gojo Satoru that fateful day.

“Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue.”

Up until this point in your life, you thought you knew destruction. What hubris, what naivety. Gunfire, grenades, tanks, bombs, missiles; they are nothing but ants before the looming skyscraper that is Gojo Satoru.

This is destruction in its raw, purest form.

This is what it means to be the strongest.

… Somehow, you feel lesser than that ant.

A speck of dust would be a more fitting description.

You expect total disintegration when you reopen your eyes. You aren’t disappointed.

Concrete, wood, glass, steel, plastic, stone, and fabric alike were eviscerated. The ground where the nursery once stood is gone. A bygone era wrought with tragedy. The force behind this apex of energy blasted the wood partition around the playground, leaving nothing but a shadow to signify it ever existed.

Gojo lowers his hand and turns away from the wreckage.

“Don’t you think you went a bit overboard, Satoru?” Geto’s tone reminds you of the many scoldings Yaga has given the white-haired menace.

“Just wanted to ensure the threat was dealt with, so Kenji can sleep through the night without wetting himself,” Gojo replies, smirking. “Alrighty then, who wants to sightsee—”

“Naptime… naptime…” A garbled voice intones from the aftermath of Gojo’s attack.

The deformed curse lifts itself like a marionette fastened to invisible strings. It’s tall, with an emaciated build and haggard skin. Long clumps of thick hair emerge from its scalp, greasy and matted. Each feeble step it takes is accompanied by a snapping sound, as if its joints are begging for collapse. The humanoid shape disturbs you most of all. Cracked lips, bloodied eye sockets, chunks of deathly pale skin sloughing off brittle bones; this curse looks more like a corpse than anything else.

Most damning, however, is the sheer power it’s radiating.

“Do… they… slumber…?” It croaks.

Suguru assumes an offensive position, but Gojo puts an arm out, stopping him.

“Something’s off,” Gojo warns. If you thought he sounded serious before, that doesn’t compare to his timbre now. “Don’t attack it.”

The curse’s legs give out. That doesn’t stop it from crawling on. Lanky fingers claw at the rubble, searching desperately.

Geto summons a handful of curses in its radius. He keeps them on standby while the three of you track every movement, every ebb and flow of cursed energy. The curse grabs and cradles the sediment in its crooked hands, then rocks the amalgamation as if it were a baby.

“Did you hit it?” You whisper, knowing fully well the question is pointless. You don’t care. You need any semblance of control possible when confronted with the terrifying unknown.

“I did. The impact inflicted zero damage,” Gojo removes his sunglasses and tucks them away.

“A special condition, then?” Geto proposes. “One that makes it impervious to all harm until…”

You hear a sniffle.

Then a whimper.

And a gurgle.

“Hush, hush, hush, hush, hush, hush, hush—”

The curse repeats this mantra with increasing aggravation until its shrill voice is all you can hear. The cursed energy that enveloped it seconds prior flows out in multiple directions, like a heart pumping blood to the rest of the body. The energy is absorbed. Not a meager trace remains, every drop was sucked dry by multiple sources.

All is still.

All is silent.

A bloodcurdling wail reverberates throughout the curtain.

Eighteen appendages propel out of the curse in the middle, puncturing it from the inside out as if the limp mass was a cocoon.

There’s no need for deliberation.

The three of you scatter in different directions.

“Cursed Technique: Ophanim.”

Two glowing, golden rings the size of wheels manifest by your side. The outside surface is adorned with closed eyes, each arranged individually on top of the other rather than in pairs. The two rings work in tandem to slice through the appendage barreling toward you. You recall them to your side, running at a breakneck speed to avoid the five fleshy appendages still seeking your demise.

Gojo and Geto are in a similar predicament. Running, leaping, and dodging the seismic attacks that leave massive craters in its wake. A single hit from that would crush your body in an instant. Then there’s the disorienting wailing, originating from multiple locations throughout the curtain’s interior. You can’t pinpoint where the sounds are coming from.

Adrenaline pumps through your veins, oxygen rushes with each sharp inhale, and your muscles strain to keep up with the demands you make of them.

The sixth appendage, which your cursed technique cut through, lurches from above. Whole and better than ever. Unlike before, its momentum is lightning-fast. The change is so instantaneous that you have no time to respond accordingly. Death’s harbinger looms, engulfing your existence in its hungry shadow. Instead of slicing it off at the wrist, you propel your rings up, accelerating their spin at the cost of speed. Flesh and cartilage rips above you in the shape of a thin slit.

The appendage plummets down.

Through the ringing in your ears, you hear voices yelling out your name.

An unpleasant, viscous substance coats you from head to toe.

You grimace and wipe off what you can. Geto’s curses managed to cut the appendage off at the joint, preventing it from rising and trying to crush you again. Your rings barely managed to carve a hole big enough to span the width of your body. That doesn’t mean you’re safe just yet — the five remaining appendages that have you as their target are seconds away. Unlike the one you just faced, their speed is manageable.

The more damage inflicted, the faster they are after healing, you think. This must be why Gojo and Geto are dodging instead of going on the offense.

However, since you remained still to avoid getting crushed by what your rings hadn’t cut through, the other five appendages are inbound. They’ve fanned out, blocking any angle you’d use to dodge.

You dismiss your cursed technique.

What can be done here? This curse is easily a Grade One. The centermost part is invulnerable and the eighteen limbs growing off it speed up when damaged. Summoning more rings so you can escape this attack means the next will come swifter, building and building to unimaginable speeds. You know your limits. The second healed limb was a hair below the fastest you’ve ever run.

Gojo and Geto could handle the levels above that. Maybe there’s a limit to how many times the limbs can regenerate, reaching that could exorcise the curse. No curse is truly invincible, even if it seems like it in the moment. You must be the reason why they haven’t commenced a counterattack. They knew anything above a second regeneration would do you in.

Is that really the only way?

Something wet drips on your head.

You use what little time you have to glance up.

Suspended midair is a small outline, made visible by the viscera that spurted from your cursed technique’s earlier attack. Sluggishly, you blink, wiping the blood from your eyes to ensure you aren’t hallucinating. The outline’s edges wriggle and squirm. You realize that it’s doing so in time with the incessant wailing.

“What do you think you’re doing, spacing out in the middle of a fight?”

Gojo must’ve warped in front of you.

You recognize the hand motion he’s making, and cry out, “Don’t! That’ll only make it—”

“I know, I know,” Gojo launches a devastating blow that obliterates the five incoming appendages, reducing them to pitiful scraps. “I didn’t just run a marathon for you to give up and become a pancake.”

“I didn’t give up,” you snap back.

He glances over his shoulder and grins. “Good. Cause we need to hose you off as soon as possible.”

You let out a noise in between a laugh and a cry. How can he crack jokes under these dire circumstances?

“Gojo—”

“Ah ah ah,” The menace cuts you off, “Satoru. Call me anything else and I’m leaving you to handle this on your own.”

While speaking his untimely quips, he continuously forms and releases his Cursed Technique Lapse, Blue. This forces the broken appendages into a cycle of stitching themselves together only to get destroyed again. It stuns you, how he can casually hold a conversation while performing a technique that’d use all your cursed energy to execute once. Never mind countless times in rapid succession.

“Satoru,” you try again, to which he hums, “This… thing above me, do you think it’s…?”

“The weak spot for this Ju-On ripoff? Yeah. Just noticed that. Suguru’s curses are self-destructing near them, so their invisibility’s useless.”

The six appendages that tracked Satoru join the fray, granting Geto additional space to maneuver unhindered. Floating blobs covered in the innards of curses appear one by one like macabre lanterns in the night sky. You can’t stop yourself from admiring how effortless they make it look. It was all you could do to avoid the curses’ attacks, that required every ounce of your cognition. Meanwhile, they pieced together the curses’ gimmick and started countermeasures.

“Anything broken?” Satoru asks.

“Just a few sprains.”

“Great. Now, I’m about to ask for a lot, but it’s nothing I don’t think you can’t handle.”

You exhale shakily.

“There’s another application of your cursed technique, right?”

How does he know that?

You’ll worry about this oddity later.

“There is, but,” you stare down at your blood-soaked hands, “Why are you asking?”

Satoru takes a moment to consider his response. The gory splatters are reforming faster and faster, you’ve lost count of how many blasts he’s used to cut them down. It’s almost imperceptible, but you can tell he can’t keep this up forever. Each subsequent use of Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue requires more energy than the last. If he’s a sliver off in his calculations, then the appendages will heal instantaneously and skewer your body faster than death can claim you.

Geto leaps down from a hovering curse.

“There are seventeen sources, just like you said,” he huffs, wiping the perspiration trickling down his temple. “Each one is visible now.”

Seventeen sources?

“This eyesore’s a distraction. Those screaming curses — they’re the real target here,” Satoru says.

You consider the curse a few feet above your head. “So we should attack them, right?”

Geto shakes his head. “We tried that. They didn’t sustain any damage.”

“Seriously?”

“This is just a theory, but,” Satoru takes a deep breath, “Seventeen of the eighteen victims from this place had their life support pulled simultaneously, right?”

Huh. So he did read the briefing after all.

This conjecture prickles at your skin like tiny needles. The screaming, the small stature these curses have, every detail comes crashing down at once. Maggots writhing beneath your skin would be more pleasant.

It isn’t them, you tell yourself, because you have to. It’s an echo. The curse they left behind.

You steeple your fingers. Cursed energy thrums around and through you, reverberating in your bones, and crackling throughout your soul. Simultaneously. That’s the key here. These curses can pull off their various immunities by using conditions to their advantage.

The two warding off the original curses’ attacks before you are strong, yes, but this niche fits you well.

If you’re able to perform it properly, that is.

You accept every drop of cursed energy your body can handle. Once you’re filled to the brim, it’s expelled, rushing through the air like geysers.

“Cursed Technique: Null.”

Your ability is versatile if not simple.

You can call forth golden rings that perpetually spin clockwise. Their size, speed, and sharpness are determined by you. At this point in your training, you can maintain two of these rings without sacrificing speed or sharpness. Should you bring out any more, they will dull and slow down for each addition made. Two could slash through steel, four could cut the same slab halfway, six would make a sizable dent, eight would leave a scratch; so on and so forth.

There’s an additional application beyond this.

Cursed Technique: Null — the pinnacle of the innate ability you inherited, Ophanim.

The sorcerer creates three rings around any object or organism. One spins around the target horizontally. The other two slant left and right respectively, all spinning counterclockwise. The closed eyes adorning the ring’s outside fly open. Unblinking, hypervigilant. If what they’re enclosed around is significantly weaker than the sorcerer, it can halt the movements of whatever or whoever is within.

Your record is halting thirty mice for a total of two minutes and four seconds.

Afterward, you can either dispel the rings or pull them toward the epicenter. The rings then slash through the target like a fruit slicer.

You see the seventeen silhouettes emphasized with blood.

As you will it, three golden rings surround each one. The cursed energy swaddling them hisses and resists your designs. Their wailing crescendos, culminating at an ear-piercing pitch. The fussing stops abruptly as the eyes on each ring open wide. Seventeen different targets, fifty-one rings… it is draining cursed energy from you fast.

Four seconds. This is as long as you trust the halt to work.

That leaves the issue of cutting through them.

These aren’t the used soda cans you’ve practiced on. They are curses, Semi-Grade One if you were to guess. You’re a Grade Three sorcerer. The chasm here won’t be bridged by a miracle, you’ll have to risk catapulting across and plummeting to your demise. Satoru’s likely unaware of your technique’s specifics, as even you required trial and error to determine this much. You never found documentation on Ophanim. Every unraveled facet is owed to you.

These fifty-one rings are too dull. They won’t make so much as an indent.

What you need here is a binding vow. Your own strength isn’t enough. Risk, danger, and death breathing down your neck; these are the ingredients you require. There’s a chance it won’t work and you’re condemning yourself to an early grave. If you don’t try, though, you don’t know how long Satoru and Geto can keep those appendages down.

Time to leap across.

For every second I don’t exorcise these curses, ten of my bones will break, you think. Should I reach ten seconds, my heart will stop.

Cursed energy surges through you. It finds the prospect of your end tantalizing, but without providing itself, won’t have the opportunity to claim you.

One.

(The rings gain immeasurable speed).

Two.

(It hurts, but the curses will hurt too).

Three.

(Simultaneous incisions are made through seventeen curses).

The wailing stops.

…

So does your breathing.

August 15th, 2005. Grade One Curse ‘The Caretaker’ and Semi-Grade One Curses ‘Little Ones’ were exorcised at 9:34 p.m. in Kaizu.

Hospital rooms aren’t renowned for their interior design.

Flimsy pillows, scratchy gowns, thin blankets, bright yellow lights, ghostly white walls, it’s an affront to the eyes. You almost want to continue resting if that’s all you’ll get to look at. Considering how stiff your neck is and how your limbs feel heavier than a grand piano, you assume you’ve done enough sleeping.

You prop yourself up as much as you can. This slight shift makes your body complain, nice and loud.

Footsteps rush over to your bed. You hear your name spoken, intermixed with a relieved sigh.

“You don’t stay knocked down for long, do you?” Geto muses. His smile is gentle and his eyes crinkle in delight. “Welcome back. How do you feel?”

“Like I got run over by a train,” you rasp.

You’re in desperate need of some vocal warmups.

Geto grabs a water bottle from the windowsill and hands it over. While you gulp the heavenly elixir down, he continues speaking.

“You weren’t out for long — two days. Well, two and a half days. It’s noon now.”

You relax after hearing this. Geto knew how to assuage any worries you might have before you dared to voice them. Everyone has their own way of bringing kindness into the world, this happens to be his.

“Seriously? I was expecting you to say it’s the year 2010 or something. No flying cars yet?”

“None that I’ve seen,” Geto’s laugh sounds light and airy. “Shoko’s reversed cursed technique is truly a marvel. It accelerated your healing, but I imagine the pain will linger a while longer.”

You’ll have to cook Shoko one of her favorite dishes when you get back. You don’t want to think about how long it would’ve taken for you to heal naturally, much less if it’d heal right. Bones are finicky like that. You imagine yours weren’t happy at how you offered them up on a silver platter.

She spared your family so much pain. You’ll forever be indebted to her for that.

Glancing around, you notice three mismatched chairs surrounding your bed. Geto follows your line of sight.

“Shoko and I finally chased Satoru out about an hour ago. He’s lived in this room since you were admitted. Didn’t sleep a wink either,” Geto gives you an expression you can’t quite place. “Around the forty-two-hour mark, he started making strange suggestions.”

Heaviness seeps into the air, thick and palpable, like a noxious gas.

“What kind of suggestions?”

“Suggestions like killing the higher-ups, for starters.”

Your thudding heart leaps to your throat. “... Huh?”

“It’s not anything he hasn’t said in jest before. This time, however,” Geto fixates his attention on the intravenous line threaded into your arm. You can feel the weight of his stare. “He wasn’t joking.”

It feels like you’re in one of those dreams that mimics reality so well, the line separating the two becomes increasingly distorted. You entertain the theory briefly. A single sweep of the room dispels the illusion. The loose thread on Geto’s shoulder, the sounds of carts rolling down the long hospital corridors, the lemon-tinged scent from cleaning supplies; could a dream be this detailed?

You don’t think so.

Sensing your haziness, he clarifies, “I talked him out of it by speaking in your stead. I assumed you wouldn’t want that.”

“What… what do the higher-ups have to do with anything…?”

How do they factor into the two plus two equals four equation?

Geto pulls a chair over to your bedside, sits, and contemplates. Such a grave visage doesn’t belong on a fifteen-year-old’s face. It reminds you of a father preparing to explain why he and their mother are getting a divorce to their children.

He weighs his next words on a scale only he’s privy to.

“Satoru had a gut feeling that there was more to the Kaizu mission. He must not have wanted you to have that in the back of your mind out on the field, since all it takes is one mistake to—”

He cuts himself off. His complexion takes a pallid shade.

You give him a gentle smile. Geto is more considerate than you initially gave him credit for. Ignoring the dull ache, you lean forward, placing your hand over his.

“It’s okay. You can keep going.”

The tips of his ears turn red.

He blinks rapidly, clears his throat, and then soldiers on. “R-Right. Well, you saw how he acted. With his Six Eyes, he spotted the remains of another sorcerer when he looked at the nursery. The briefing conveniently omitted the fact that Kenji wasn’t alone. This confirmed Satoru’s suspicions. He wanted to wrap things up fast to get you out of there, but… that curse proved challenging.”

“I’m getting this over with.”

Ah. So that’s why he came off that way, you think. Still… couldn’t there have been a better way? Why is blocking people out his go-to?

“We believe the Zenins — those in Kenji’s immediate circle, to be specific — hoped that you’d be… killed, to emphasize how formidable the threat he faced was. Since this job was assigned through the school, some of the higher-ups must’ve known and granted their blessing.”

“... Oh.”

The room’s air conditioning whirrs to life, billowing the beige curtains draped over the closed window. Outside, a cicada crawls over the glass pane. It pauses to recite its buzzing melody. Since it’s summer, you can expect to see and hear these insects until autumn’s chill sweeps away the heat.

You hope Satoru witnessed a similarly trivial scene while sitting in this room.

It’s important to remember just because you feel stuck, the world won’t stop spinning onward.

“Would it be okay if I called you Suguru?”

He nods without hesitation.

“Suguru, earlier you said that you changed Satoru’s mind by voicing my perspective since I couldn’t,” you start, your cadence gentle. You handpick each word with great care. “Does this mean that, personally, you agreed with him?”

His countenance is like that of a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. This look doesn’t overstay its welcome. Once he assesses you, from your open posture to your soft stare, he’s back to his usual self.

“Busted, huh? And here I thought you’d be too groggy to pick up on anything incriminating.”

“A corrupt official such as myself must remain vigilant,” you reply with a cheeky grin. Then, you reorient yourself to communicate what’s been gnawing at you properly. “There’s a lot I don’t know about these ‘higher-ups’ or ‘Zenins,’ that you keep referring to. What little I do know doesn’t paint them in a favorable light. For all I know, they could be irredeemable in every sense of the word. But…”

“... Even though this is a selfish wish, I’m making it anyway. Say they do have to go. That it’s 100% certain they’re just that bad. I don’t want you or Satoru to be the ones to carry it out. Intentionally killing someone… could there be anything worse than that? Doesn’t a part of yourself die with them?”

A lump grows in your throat. You force it down.

“So, thank you for stopping him and yourself. Sorcerers are meant to fight curses, right? Protect those who can’t protect themselves. That sort of stuff.”

Suguru squeezes your hand gently, as if you were made of porcelain.

It stops you from shattering.

After a few minutes, your erratic breathing settles. He whispers your name like he’s making a promise.

“You’re right,” he says, a newfound resolve built into the very fabric of those two words. “Protecting the weak is what matters most. Tossing everything into disarray would threaten that. It’s easier to fix what’s broken than to demolish and rebuild from scratch.”

… Is that what you meant?

Exhaustion clouds your senses. You must’ve burnt through your scarce reserves of energy. You can vaguely discern Suguru running the pad of his thumb over your hand, before detaching himself. He readjusts your pillow so it supports your head better. After murmuring your gratitude, you sink into sleep’s warm embrace.

Right as you’re traipsing the fine line between wakefulness and the unconscious, there’s a light sensation of something brushing your hair back.

This unknown doesn’t inspire fear or outrage.

Instead, it lulls you further into the recesses of peace.

You’re discharged from the hospital later that day.

An auxiliary manager from Tokyo Jujutsu High drives you back. You spend the car ride staring out the passenger side window, taking in the bustle of busy citizens and dazzling lights. It never fails to amaze you how people wordlessly maneuver around each other to maintain the flow of traffic. It’s a tempo that can’t be instructed, rather, one must adapt in real time without a conductor.

Can non-sorcerers truly be considered weak?

The description torments you as if it were a thorn in your side.

Your fingers drum over the dashboard.

What does it mean to be strong, anyway?

The next time you activate your cursed technique, you can summon and maintain four rings without sacrificing sharpness or speed.

For the past few days, you’ve been playing around with different formations. Four rings orbiting your body provide considerable defense from projectiles and close combat. Then, if you let two out, you gain the means to attack. Lastly, ditching defense to pour everything into offense is a viable option as well. Your biggest obstacle is how mentally taxing it is to track and manipulate four rings at once.

It requires great concentration. This isn’t an issue if you’re alone, but you doubt that curses will play nice and let you stand perfectly still.

You flip your My Melody notebook to the next page and scribble down,

Two rings uptime — twelve hours.Four rings uptime — one hour. Four rings uptime w/ distractions — ten minutes. Maximum distance — one hundred meters. Maximum rings at once — sixty. Uptime on maximum rings — five seconds.

Thinking back to The Caretaker, you twist your lips.

If you’d been sent on that mission by yourself, would this have been enough to win the fight? You’re alive because you were with Satoru and Suguru. There’s no denying the infallible truth. You can’t always rely on reports to accurately grade a curse. There’s also the chance once certain conditions are met, the curse can gain strength throughout the fight, and—

“Cute handwriting.”

“Eek!”

Hugging your notebook to your chest, you jump back, indignation rushing through you like molten magma. Who snuck up on you? How did they do it? You can ascertain the presence of others in your vicinity well. You know when Shoko’s sneaking out through her window at night, if Suguru’s about to enter the room, or when Utahime is seconds away from busting into the classroom to lecture Satoru about levitating her lunch onto the roof again.

Squinting, you assess the assailant. Pearly white hair, round sunglasses, a lean and towering figure…

“Satoru? You’re back?”

According to Shoko, Satoru was called to Kyoto for business relating to the Big Three not long after they returned from the hospital. It’d been two weeks since then. You’ve gotten so used to having him around, that his absence felt pronounced. Shoko mainly lamented that her ‘walking free meal ticket’ was gone whereas Utahime rejoiced. You’ve never seen your upperclassman so ecstatic.

Her hopes and dreams will be dashed come morning.

“Just got in, yeah. Why? Oh! I know! You must’ve missed me terribly. Here, here. It’s alright. C’mere and tell me all about it— oof!”

There is a barrier that separates Satoru from everyone and everything.

‘Infinity,’ he calls it. The ability to slow down encroaching mass to such a degree that it appears as if it stopped. He can keep it activated for long lengths of time. One day, he intends to reach a level where he’ll never have to turn it off. Anyone else who proposed a goal like that would either be conceited or delusional. The amount of cursed energy necessary to pull that off is immeasurable.

Satoru isn’t just anyone, though.

So when he sets an impossible goal, it enters the realm of feasibility.

His infinity is active once you leap toward him, lasting up until the very last millisecond. When you breach the threshold that denies access to anyone else, it recedes, rushing away to accommodate your presence. Infinity remains present, molding itself around your shape. The top of your head, the slope of your shoulders, down to your soles; for a fleeting moment in time, infinity chooses you over Satoru’s parameters.

Your cheek hits his chest. He has to steady you so you don’t go tumbling back. While he does this, you snake your arms around him, squeezing him tight. In doing so, yet another anomaly occurs.

You’ve rendered Gojo Satoru speechless.

When you pull back, you notice his sunglasses are crooked. You straighten them out for him and nod in approval. Smiling ear to ear, you chirp,

“Welcome home, Satoru!”

He scratches the back of his neck, uncharacteristically quiet.

“... Isn’t this a school, though?” He finally manages to get out.

“Pfft, I didn’t think you were the type to get hung up on details like that,” you laugh. “Home’s anywhere you want it to be. For me, that’s here.”

You gesture to the surrounding area. Tall trees sway per the wind’s wishes, their green leaves painted blue and silver by the night sky. The moon overhead serves as your silent witness. No matter where you are, it will find and pursue you to the ends of the earth. Crickets chirp, cicadas buzz, and frogs croak by ponds rippling with their young. The night air is damp, but the coolness granted by the sun’s absence makes it tolerable.

“Honestly, I don’t know what to make of you sometimes,” Satoru tries painting a veneer of nonchalance over his words, but you can see through the cracks. You’re getting better at doing that. “Suguru said you were as peppy as ever; I didn’t believe him. They checked for brain damage, right? How many fingers am I holding up?”

(He holds up two).

“Ten,” you reply without missing a beat.

“Funny girl.”

“I learned from the best.”

You both silently size one another up. Or, in Satoru’s case, down, because he’s freakishly tall. You’re the first to break the supposed standoff. Laughter rings through the air, just yours at first, but it’s soon joined by his. The two of you stand in the middle of a forest at midnight cackling like a bunch of witches before a sabbath.

You feel absurd and giddy in a way that only comes from being around Satoru.

Some point after the laughter dies off, you can feel Satoru’s eyes scanning over every dip and curve of your being.

After reaching some conclusion, his shoulders droop. The dopey grin on his face shifts into something more neutral, more reserved. His hands find their way into his pockets. He kicks a pebble into the woods, and you both listen to it tumbling downhill until the sound fades away. The thickets shift from wildlife’s constant antics, accommodating what little fauna lives inside Tengen’s barrier.

“I’m not going to take back what I said, because I meant it,” Satoru asserts. He doesn’t have to elaborate — you know what he’s referring to. “Had you… had that mission gone as they intended, I wouldn’t have hesitated.”

An owl hoots on a distant tree branch.

Chills nibble all over your skin like little bug bites. You hug yourself to stave the sensation off.

“Even if you knew that isn’t what I’d want?”

“Even then.”

“So, you’re admitting it’d be for your sake?”

“Most things are.”

“I don’t buy that,” you frown. “You’re kinder than you realize.”

His eyebrows pinch together and his rosy lips part. It takes him a moment to dislodge the words stuck in his throat.

“... Not many people would agree,” he smiles thinly.

“Fine, just me then, since that’s easier to prove,” you hold up a single finger and raise another for each subsequent point. “One, you always leave my favorite coffee cans where you know I’ll find them. Two, whenever we’re facing a curse, you step in front to guard me. Three, if I look all sad and homesick, you make stupid jokes to take my mind off things. And four, there’s what happened in Kaizu. You—”

“I told you to use a technique you weren’t ready for.”

You blink.

He tucks his sunglasses away, removing yet another barrier. His crystalline eyes shimmer beneath the moon’s glow.

“How much do you know about your mentor’s history?”

Ah, yes, your mentor — Ishimoto Akane.

She stands at 5’8, boasts piercing green eyes, short, tousled black hair, and a tattoo of a thorny rose that envelops her entire left arm. When it came to reading the room, no one could fail as spectacularly as her. She never minced words, found basic tasks boring, and doted over her iguana named Wormwood like he was the second coming of Christ. When she wasn’t pampering Wormwood, she could be found in her very disorganized garage, tinkering with cars or motorcycles. Her neighbors filed numerous sound complaints thanks to her speakers blasting disco at unholy hours. Somehow, she never got caught.

For lack of a better word, your jujutsu mentor is eccentric.

Most notably, she saved you and your parent’s lives from a curse when you were six. You’ve been joined by the hip ever since.

As for her history…

“Um, well, I know that she’s from Omachi. She moved out of Japan in her late teens because ‘jujutsu sorcerers are an absolute drag,’ or something like that.”

“That’s a start,” Gojo hums. “Let me fill in the blanks. The Ishimoto family goes back a ways. They might not be as influential as the Big Three, but their connections are nothing to scoff at. They’re like little leeches, sustaining themselves off others. Arranged marriages are their whole thing. Akane was set to marry some third son of a Zenin bigwig. She dipped on the day of the wedding.”

That sounds like your mentor alright.

“Personally, I find that hilarious. Her family and the Zenins aren’t of the same opinion. They essentially disowned her. Anyway! Fast forward a few years. Rumors spread that the infamous Akane is popping up in Tokyo every now and then, with some kid by her side. Ring any bells?”

You point to yourself and he nods.

She took you on training trips under the guise of an ‘exchange student program’ in the summer, which your parents considered to be an excellent opportunity. You felt bad for deceiving them, but explaining the whole ‘fighting invisible monster things with emotion magic’ would’ve made for a rough conversation.

“It wasn’t until a couple of months back that I ran into her. I came right out and asked what I’d been curious about — why did she come back? She just shrugged and said she was done being a teacher. That answer didn’t satisfy me. She’s stubborn, I’ll give her that. I’m far worse though,” he boasts, fully looking and sounding the part. “In return for picking up her tab at an izakaya, she fessed up the truth.”

He steeples his fingers together, pantomiming a hand motion you’re intimately familiar with.

“Cursed Technique: Null, the advanced application of Ophanim. Akane’s convinced an ability like that, at its full potential, would be crazy strong.”

She never said anything like that to me, you think.

You shake your head. This isn’t the most pressing matter now.

“Satoru, what are you getting at here?”

“That you shouldn’t think I’m kind. I wanted to judge your technique’s potential for myself, so I had you take on more than you could handle.”

“You wouldn’t have let me die, though.”

He chuckles mirthlessly. “And what a hero I am for that.”

You purse your lips. You’ve never seen Satoru be this hard on himself. His cadence is the same — lighthearted, easygoing — but there’s an underlying acrimony to it. His smile doesn’t reach his brilliant eyes. He comes across as a spirit mimicking another’s likeness. This should unnerve you, maybe it will upon further reflection.

Right now, however, you just want him to get across that you aren’t upset. What’s done is done.

“It’s—”

Satoru puts a hand up, stopping you prematurely. “Oh no you don’t. Don’t forgive me, not yet, anyway. You need to get better at looking out for yourself. You’re nice to a fault.”

You glare at him halfheartedly. “What’s so wrong with being nice?”

“Living in a world like this, where there are people like me.”

“A world full of Gojo Satoru’s… that is a terrifying thought,” you murmur. His lips twitch upward, but he catches himself. “Bleh, what is it with you people and rejecting basic human decency! Akane was the same way. I’m fed up with it!”

You storm toward him, your eyes narrow and jaw set tight.

“I’m going to be who I want to be and that’s that. Maybe I’m naïve—”

“—Oh, it isn’t a maybe, you definitely are—”

You hush him by placing your finger to his lips, much to his surprise, if his wide eyes are of any indication.

“—But you don’t get to tell me how to act or think or feel. That’s my business. I forgive you, alright? Now cut it out with the brooding. Let’s be real here. Doing that’s for you, not for me.”

There’s an intensity to his stare you’ve never experienced prior. It makes your head feel light and hazy. Remembering yourself, you pull your hand back, heat rushing to your face. You may have gotten carried away. He isn’t wrong about you exercising more vigilance, but something about him critiquing a core aspect of your identity stings. The description ‘oversensitive’ can join the same limbo your ‘nice to a fault’ and ‘naïve’ proclivities hang out in.

Finding your current predicament too overwhelming, you break eye contact.

“Alright, alright, I get it, quit scowling. Remind me never to piss you off again, it’s scary,” he sounds more like himself, much to your relief. “I thought of a happy medium, just for you.”

Satoru compromising? Did you die during that fight after all? You never thought you’d see the day. Shoko isn’t going to believe you.

“And that happy medium is…?”

His dumb grin makes a triumphant return. He knows he’s got your attention, no matter how cool you try to play it.

“Keep being your sweet little self. If anyone tries taking advantage of that quality, and I mean anyone, come tell Suguru or myself. We’ll take care of it.”

What is he, a member of the mob?!

Whatever, it’s a step in the right direction. You think. Maybe.

“I’m not a snitch,” you huff.

“Fine, I’ll use my own discretion then.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re gonna have to get used to it.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “How do you figure?”

“Call it intuition,” he hums, smoothly sliding his sunglasses back into place. It makes you angry how cool he looks while doing so. “Or, better yet, love at first sight. Yeah. Let’s go with that, actually.”

Wait, what?

Your heart thunders against your ribcage and you gape at him like a fish.

“You…! Y-You can’t just say something like that!”

“But I did.”

“Ugh, I’ve had enough. I’m headed to bed. Go find somebody else to mess with.”

Satoru pauses, considering the words you’ve spoken without any real bite. Then he smiles. Not in the cocky, arrogant manner he’s infamous for either. The curvature is gentle. Almost sentimental. It takes you aback and makes you wonder if your eyes are malfunctioning.

“I can’t,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It has to be you.”

It has to be you, it has to be you, it has to be you…

These five damning words loop in your head like a mantra. Who gave him the right to sound so sincere?

“Sleep well. You get all grumpy if you don’t. Having one Utahime around is more than enough, I don’t need you getting on my case too.”

Satoru turns around, pulling one hand out from his pocket to wave halfheartedly. You observe his retreating figure before snapping out of your daze. He drops a cryptic line like that and dares to casually waltz away, whistling while he does so! The nerve! The audacity! The whistling is off-pitch too! Jujutsu Tech seriously needs to consider adding music theory to the curriculum.

You jog to catch up with him and his stupidly long legs.

“Hey, Satoru!” You call out.

He stops and looks at you from over his shoulder.

“If you’re gonna watch out for me, I plan to return the favor,” you say, your tone leaving no room to argue. “You hear me?”

He waits until he’s facing forward again to respond. For this reason, you can’t see his expression. All you can make out is the outline of him giving a thumbs up, the edges of his skin swathed in silvery moonlight.

“Mhm. Loud and clear.”

December 23rd, 2017.

8:02 p.m.

You assess the man in front of you.

Pearly white hair, bandages wrapped around his eyes, a lean and towering figure… it’s Satoru, alright. There’s no mistaking his remarkable cursed energy. You could sense it — sense him — even in your deepest sleep. Amongst those at Jujutsu Tech, you’re the only one who can tell when he’s about to warp out of thin air. It’s become a running joke of sorts. Gojo Satoru has the Six Eyes and you possess a sixth sense for him.

Or so you thought.

“Are you hearing yourself?”

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “Loud and clear, yeah.”

“This isn’t funny, Satoru!”

“I’m not laughing, am I?”

“No, but,” you inhale shakily, wisely taking a second to tame your tongue. “You’re not taking this seriously— not taking me seriously.”

He frowns. You come close to regretting your words, falling just a few inches short. Arguments aren’t your forte. Determining when to surrender ground, bolster your defenses, or charge into enemy territory; this is a skill that requires practice. Especially when facing Satoru. You don’t want to consider him an opponent, but that’s what he feels like right now. An imposing wall blocking you from the road you have to take.

You regret turning up the duplex’s heat. Chilly as it is outside in the throes of winter, the air in this room has become scorching.

“Is that genuinely what you think?”

And there it is. He already knows the answer, as do you. He simply wants you to have your confession on record.

You grab the water bottle you left on the kitchen countertop, drinking enough to help ease the lump in your throat. This isn’t the time to cry. Not yet. Not before anything major occurs. The crisis hasn’t taken the stage, Christmas Eve holds that honor. Illogical as it may be, you don’t think you’ve earned the emotional release crying brings. That should remain a consolation prize to you in the future.

The you who will witness the horrors Geto Suguru plans to orchestrate.

The you who will learn how this decade-long saga ends.

Can the human heart endure anguish worse than this?

Tomorrow, this question will receive an answer, whether you want it or not.

“... It isn’t.”

“Good,” he says, somehow soft and firm. He opens up his arms. “C’mere.”

You’re sinking into him before he finishes the word. He secures you against his chest and the two of you tangle together like you’d unravel should you part. Satoru rests his chin on the crown of your head, mindlessly tracing patterns into your back. Or so you think, until you recognize the distinct grooves and curves of the characters which form Gojo.

He engraves it into you over and over again as if casting a spell.

This action must soothe him. You count each thump of his heart, noting how it settles into a steadier rhythm as the seconds tick by. The world’s strongest sorcerer is made of flesh and blood just like you are. It’s easy to forget that those you love and admire are mortal, regardless of how well they hide it. Those close to godhood must act the part, lest their audience murmur in suspicion.

“I don’t think I could do it, Toru.”

He doesn’t need to ask what you mean.

“Intentionally killing someone… could there be anything worse than that?”

No, you desperately scream to your younger self, as if there were any way to make her hear you. There really isn’t.

“I know.”

“... Could you?”

Satoru’s muscles stiffen. From this alone, you can glean his answer. From your lack of prodding, he must piece this together too. Talkative as you both are, it’s in these pockets of total silence that your communication shines best. Everything from the subtle hitching of breath to the twitch of one another’s lips reveals streams of information to sift through.

You can tell he doesn’t want to let you go, but you manage to wriggle out of his vice-like grip, creating a few inches of distance.

Reaching up, you undo the bandages around his eyes. He leans down to aid you in your task. Once the last strip comes off, you fold the linen neatly and put it aside. Satoru’s pretty eyes follow your every movement. When your attention returns to him, it’s impossible to overlook how hard he’s straining to fight back a smile.

He quickly abandons the farce.

Large hands seek out yours. Subconsciously, you meet him halfway, automatically drawn to him as if you were both different ends of a magnet. His slender fingers interlace with yours. His countenance radiates such fondness, such unfiltered reverence, that you find yourself getting embarrassed.

“W-What?” You choke out.

“Just thinking about how I’m the luckiest guy alive, is all,” he hums. His grin widens at how his unabashed compliments fluster you. Shame isn’t in his lexicon. “You went from looking like you wanted to bite my head off to doting on me.”

You roll your eyes yet chuckle nonetheless. He visibly perks up at the sound. He must’ve made you laugh thousands of times over the years, but he still treats each instance as if he’d experienced the most delightful composition.

He whispers your name.

“You trust me, right?”

“Of course.”

“Then do this for me, baby.”

“But…” you trail off, unable and perhaps unwilling to reinforce your argument, “Everyone is going to be risking their lives. Nanamin, Ijichi, ours and Iori’s students; even Shoko’s going out on the field. How am I supposed to sit still knowing that?”

“You don’t have to sit still, my little energizer bunny.”

The deadpan look he receives has him (wisely) reconsidering his word choice.

“I’m not asking because I don’t trust you, I’m asking because there’s no one I trust more,” Satoru tries again. You bite your lower lip. It’s unfair how much his rare glimpses of sincerity move you.

“And this is all based on a hunch?”

“Mhm.”

Satoru lifts your left hand. He caresses your skin, his smile softening into something tender. An expression that’s exclusively for you.

“Historically, my hunches are rather reliable.”

You can’t argue with the truth.

Suguru appears to have some unknown design for Okkotsu Yuta, who is to remain at Jujutsu Tech during the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons. The special-grade curse Orimoto Rika poses too many risks for him to be on the battlefield alongside allies. Since everyone down to the Ainu society is being called upon to deal with this threat, you’ve been awaiting your assignment. There’s no way they wouldn’t utilize every resource available.

Satoru ruined this assumption.

He personally requested that you remain on standby at the school.

He didn’t even tell you this himself. You found out from Maki of all people, who earlier asked why you were stuck ‘babysitting the exchange student.’ You were confused. This made her confused. Then you both remembered the menace that is Gojo Satoru and everything started adding up.

His explanation upon answering the phone?

“Oh, I was just getting around to telling you about that!”

Needless to say, you didn’t share his enthusiasm.

“Alright,” you sigh. “I’ll keep an eye on Yuta until everything is finished.”

Content, he squeezes your hand. As he does so, the gemstone on your ring finger catches the light, mesmerizing you both.

You close your eyes and smile.

‘Call it intuition,’ huh?

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #reader insert #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #golden girl #my stuff

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honey-milk-depresso · 3 months

Note

hello love, i adore your work.

could i get something with the batboys with a spider woman reader?

💜💜

I’m making them spiderperson cuz gotta stay GN for everyone to self insert themselves 🩷

BUT YEAHHDHWIAHFOAJDKSJX MORE BATFAM REQUESTS >:)))

Requests open until 1 Feb (GMT 8+)! Please read the rules on my pinned post (provided the navi post link to go to rules). Thank you!🩷🩷

***S/o is above 18, which means characters below are also aged up!

Batbros with a Spider-S/o

Dick Grayson

He loves you! You manoeuvre in the air and swing about just like him! Just that you got webs, cool!

Definitely joins you in hanging upside down, also loving to compete with you (lovingly) to see who can jump the farthest, or who can do the most bomb-tastic somersault with you and you guys have so much fun during patrol it’s not even patrol anymore.

Beating bad guys in the most dramatic, acrobatic way possible is definitely something Bruce and the rest of the brothers all sigh collectively because you two can be pretty chaotic.

But whatever, you two have so much fun jumping around.

Has taken you out on dates as Nightwing and your spider-sona, because even people around the city thinks you two are a match made in heaven. I imagined a pizza guy giving them a box and saying for them to have fun while swinging around with Dick and having pizza in between your teeth while you race to see who can reach the far end of a street whilst swinging and stunting about.

Overall, you two make a loveable couple of acrobats. <3

Jason Todd

He thought you were annoying at first, but even he can’t deny you make his day (most of the time).

He feels a bit irritated yet amused whenever you hang upside down and playfully greet him or joke with him while on patrol, sometimes in secret which scares the shit out of him when you pop out of no where and he starts cussing before letting out a long, exasperated sigh when he looks at you laughing to yourself. Damn spider…

But even so, he can’t help but dote on you, even if you can be an annoying ball of energy sometimes. He just can’t help but let you jump around him with your spiderwebs all over the house when you try to take something from afar, using the webs to pull it towards you. Although… you are a bit bashful and guilty for keeping his tidy room messy with webs everywhere that you help clean up which he appreciates.

On patrols, you’re usually faster than him and sometimes he complains so you just shut him up by scooping him in his arms and holding him by the waist with one hand before web-slinging your way to the location where the criminal gang is as he huffed. From afar at times, it looks like a grown ass man being baby carried or held like a big dog by some spider person across the high buildings, which he gets a little flustered over.

Regardless, Jason still loves you. Just don’t shoot the webs everywhere- <3

Tim Drake

He’s fascinated by you, how your webs work and how you can stick on walls with just your fingertips.

Tim might ask a lot of questions about your anatomy and what your spider body can do which sometimes annoy you but he’s just so curious he can’t help it. Genuinely.

Another one who you scare the shit out of with you surprising him by hanging upside down and popping your head down to face his out of no where, but he’s not like Jason who reacts very… dramatically, he’ll just recover from shock to contort into a pout and maybe gently flick your forehead to tell you to knock it off, although he knows you won’t.

Might be a sap for that upside down kiss where you kiss him upside down and all because of course he would be-

Tim loves asking you to use your web fluid for practically everything now. “Hey, s/o? Could you use your web fluid to stick this circuit board in here?” “S/o could you grab the remote with your web? Pleaseeeee?” “S/o, I kinda need your web fluid to close up the hole in my pants-” sometimes you gotta tell him that’s not gonna work sometimes, and those pants will look weird if you do that-

Overall, Tim loves his whacky, loveable spider s/o. <3

Damian Wayne

Also like Jason, he found you annoying. But this guy is hard in denial before he admits he even likes you.

Damian, at first, keep scowling at how annoying you can be with your web-slinging for fun and not for patrol, and getting web strings all over his suit after patrol from an intense fight against the criminal gang you two were assigned to take down. Now, he still scowls but with a blush and his heart skipping a beat because he can’t deny how cute you are even if you’re an annoying lil shi- (or maybe you ain’t little but you get the point).

Damian will tolerate you swinging about, although he isn’t scared when you hang upside down to spook him a bit because you literally can’t, his god-like sense of instincts would immediately pick up on you without even needing to turn to face you. Sometimes you joke with him that he has spidey-senses to which he rolls his eyes casually.

He won’t say it out loud, but he thinks you’re a pretty impressive fighter and you kinda remind him of Dick but you’re still unique. He just make sure your web fluids don’t go all over the place that you make a mess of the evidence for the police.

Overall, a tsundere for his spider s/o. <3

Reblogs help! ^^

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ja3hwa · 7 months

Text

♡ 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟐 : 𝐕𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐦/𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 - 𝐊.𝐇𝐉 ♡

Eyes On Me

【sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs】 : Biker Gang Leader, doesn't like sharing unless it's to do with his best friend.

『ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ』 : 740

-> ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Suggestive. Angst. Biker/Criminal Au.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Biker!Hongjoong x Aristocrat!Reader

[ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs] : Mention of criminal activity. Shitty family. Father issues. Possessive tendencies. Lots of teasing. Swearing. Pet names. Ass grabbing. Mention of sex. Mention of masturbation. Dry humping. Slight clit play. Biting. Marking.

Masterlist | Navigation | Kinktober List

You were a sunshine. A light in most people's lives and an innocent little ball of happiness. No one could ever except you getting mixed up with the infamous biker gang, Ateez. Especially getting caught up with the ruthless leader. And yet, how come you are sitting sweetly on his couch in his office while he finishes off a phone call he had to answer just moments after your mouth was prettily wrapped around his cock. To say he was annoyed would be an understatement but alas he needed to answer the call or he knew Seonghwa would bark at him for missing yet another important call with a business client all because he was too busy with you...

His little plaything. His secret doll.

You both knew the match was unlikely and that most people, especially your family, would disapprove of the relationship. But neither of you cared. In fact, it thrilled you to know the idea of your father being broken over the fact that his useless waste of space of a daughter was sleeping with the enemy. Loud music suddenly pooled into the quiet office as one of Hongjoong’s men came raring in, wanting his boss's attention.

“Sir, I…” His words caught in his throat when he noticed was not only interrupted his boss on a phone call but there was a very pretty woman in nothing but one of Hongjoong’s shirts, sitting so patiently on the couch in the corner of the room. You gave the young boy a smirk, his face already turning a bright shade of pink.

“What?” Your lover's voice grew rougher, almost possessive as he disapproves of the way the younger male was eye fucking your form. You quickly caught Hongjoong’s eyes, and your mind sparked an idea. You were going to give this other man a show. So you stood up without a second thought, letting the shirt ride up slightly, so he could get a good view of your black lace panties. Your legs were on complete display for both men, hearing a low growl rumble from the big biker boss.

You sidestepped so you could move behind the office desk where your beefy lover boy was standing but instead of walking the short way, you purposely walked in front of the younger male, letting your hips brush passed him gently, almost enough to make him stiffen. “S-Seonghwa is…uh, h-here…” The young one stutters, feeling your body against his growing erection.

You finally make your way to the other side of the desk, bringing your hands to your lover's chest. Hongjoongs hands snaked against your waist the moment he felt your leg step in between his, touching his cock with your thigh. There is a smirk painting your features, making Hongjoong know exactly what game you are playing. So, without a second thought, Joong’s hands grip a handful of your ass, squeezing your cheeks in front of the poor boy. You moaned, not holding back from your little show, and Hongjoong was eating all of it up.

“Tell him to wait outside, unless he wants to witness me fucking my darling princess stupid.” His voice echoed in the room, making your glossed eyes, scan his face with anticipation. You had always wanted Seonghwa to join you or even just watch from afar. The idea of him sitting in the corner of the room pumping his cock while watching Hongjoong rail you on his desk, it sends a chill down your spine.

The young boy ran so quickly out of the room it almost made you laugh, but you didn’t have time for that as Joong pushed you onto the desk, pushing all the papers and important files onto the floor letting your back hit the table with a huff. Hongjoong’s lips latched onto your neck, grinding his hips on yours. His rough jeans felt so delicious against your clit as your choked-up moans catch your throat, then your eyes suddenly catch a tall, beefy glass of walking sin, standing in the door frame with crossed arms and a smirk.

“Look what we have here.” Seonghwa’s voice sent a tingle through your body as your eyes locked on his. Hongjoong’s bites got harsh, making your moans grow loud, and the only thing coming to mind was that tonight was going to be fun.

- ♥︎

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writers-potion · 25 days

Note

heyo got any tips on writing gangs?

Writing Gangsters

Organized Crime vs. Gangs

Although the terms are used interchangeably, there's a difference between organized criminal networks and gangs.

Organized crimes have focuses on material gain and therefore has a more hierarchical leadership structure.

The activities of gangs are usually more fragmented, opportunistic and based on individual contacts, more entangled with the personal lives of its members.

Of course, if a street gang become powerful enough, large enough and resourceful enough, it comes a full-blown criminal organization.

Background: Time, Place, Economic Condition

Research into the characteristics of the time and place where your gang is.

Oftentimes, gangs form when the economic conditions of a country/region is down. People, especially those who are marginalized, are disillusioned which can lead them to make desperate choices.

It's important to note that many gangs are formed initally to serve as the "police" in a neighborhood where no police would enter because (for some reason) they feel as if there's nothing they can do.

Gangs may start with a "good" reason, but it just so happens that eventually they become the very thing they sought to get rid of.

Compelling Character Motivation

With the socio-geographical context as backdrop, give your characters a clear reason why they would join and stay in a gang.

A young teen may join a gang out of pure whim, maybe for money, but eventually it's going to have to be more than that.

Idolization - an older sibling is in the gang

Inclusion - connection with others is so wanted due to a lack of it in a dysfunctional family

Stability - feeling secure in a neighborhood where gangs seems like a viable option; if a gang is already terrorizing the area, joining it may seem like a way to protect one's family

Financial security - jobs may seem out of reach; it si high risk and high rewards but your character may be that desperate

Ambition/thirst for power/revenge

+ Yes, someone may join the gang because they don't want to work a regular job and want quick money, but I wouldn't say they are lazy. From what I understand, gangs require work...

A developmental Model of Gang Membership (use for character arc):

Research:

National Gang Center FAQ: https://nationalgangcenter.ojp.gov/about/faq#0-0

Gang Life Insider Article: https://amuedge.com/the-various-dangers-of-gang-life-an-insiders-perspective/

NY Gang Slag: https://nypost.com/2012/10/28/a-to-z-deadly-slang-by-gangs-of-new-york/

Gangster Short Stories you can Read Online

‘Johnny Mnemonic’ by William Gibson

‘Vice Grip’ by Matthew A. Goodwin

‘Dolan’s Cadillac’ by Stephen King

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tragedybunny · 7 months

Text

Dance With Me Under the Diamonds, See Me Like Breath in the Cold - Astarion x F!Reader

I've been waiting to write this for some time. I'm absolutely thrilled with it and I hope you think it's beautiful.

Reader and Astarion have come a long way since that meeting on the beach. They've made it all the way to their wedding.

“Where in the hells is Gale?” Astarion fusses while fidgeting with the brocade crimson overcoat he’s wearing. “That man is always late.”

“He’ll be here Love,” you give him a small kiss on his cheek and take his hand, trying your best to keep things calm. "He's not even actually late yet."

“Still haven’t found patience to be a virtue I see,” Shadowheart strolls over to the two of you where you wait under an arbor of night-blooming jasmine, her arm hooked in Lae’zel’s.

“Would you expect any different,” Lae’zel adds a wide smile to her words, an attempt to make it clear she’s joking. The Githyanki has certainly seen her share of change since you met her, really hadn’t you all though?

“While I’m glad you two have finally developed a sense of humor, I’d rather not be the subject of it.” You can feel his agitation rising and it’s your turn to silently plead with the universe for Gale to hurry up.

“Perhaps he’s nervous,” Lae’zel turns to her partner, pretending Astarion isn’t right there fuming.

“I am not!” Before he gets any more worked up, they both pull the pair of you into a sudden embrace, leaving Astarion stuttering and you trying not to giggle at his expense.

“Congratulations you two, we’ll go mingle and pray for Gale’s safety if he’s any later,” The two of them join arms again and make their way back over to the crowd greeting an enthusiastic Mol and her gang of children that’s expanded beyond just the original tieflings. They’re becoming quite the criminal enterprise. There are so many people here, lives you’ve both touched. Originally you’d planned to just stay at your little house for the event, but when more requests to attend kept coming, you had to choose somewhere else. Duke Ravenguard had graciously offered you private use of Bloomridge Park.

“You are nervous, aren’t you,” you whisper mischievously and watch him try to hide it.

“Of course not, I managed to convince you to come this far, now it’s all formality,” your heart skips a beat when he smiles, the tips of fangs peeking out from under his lip. Smiles like that were all too rare when you first met him.

“I don’t recall needing much convincing.” Truthfully, you don’t remember what had brought the subject up, but Astarion had reminded you that it wasn’t a point, legally speaking, as neither of you technically existed.

“It doesn’t have to be in an official record anywhere, it’s just a promise we would make to one another. And we do know the perfect Cleric for a nighttime ceremony.” The way he’d just stood there for a moment you thought you'd said something wrong. Perhaps it was bringing up a Cleric and making it a sworn oath, he didn’t exactly have any love for religion. But then he was dropping to his knees, taking your hands in his, and begging you to be his wife. It was appropriately dramatic for him. And now, here you were, gathered with friends and found family, waiting on a late wizard.

“Brother!” Beside you, Astarion braces and a pale figure collides with him, embracing him tightly

“Hello Dal,” he gingerly returns her hug, as you notice Aurelia remaining a respectful distance behind them. “It’s good to see the both of you too,” he nods in Aurelia’s direction. His relationship with his “siblings” is complicated, but the horror they shared bonds them, and some of them have tried to make a family out of what is left to them. Dalyria seems to be the most persistent, she even had the two of you come visit their home in the Underdark.

“I’m so happy for you Astarion,” she finally releases him but leaves a hand on his arm fondly. “You’ll have to come visit again. I’ll even make Petras promise to behave.”

There’s turmoil in him only you can see, he would love to forget about anything that reminds him of Cazador, but the sisterly love Dal tries to give him is something he’s missed in his life. “At least it will be safer for him that way.”

“Stop,” she smiles and gives him a peck on the cheek. “We’ll talk more later.” As she walks away, Aurelia gives a stiff wave.

“His time is up, he's de-” A flash of light interrupts and when it fades two figures are standing amongst the crowd, a wizard you know well and one you briefly met.

“Sorry for the wait,” Gale begins awkwardly, trying to ignore Astarion’s considerable glare, “we were occupied in a bit of an undertaking…”

“But I am sure you will find the reasons most acceptable,” Elminster takes over, giving your floundering friend a reprieve.

Another flash of light as two more figures appear and you can't believe your eyes. Your heart leaps and you shout inadvertently. "Karlach! Wyll!" Without a second thought, you launch yourself at both of them, Astarion following along more reservedly.

"Steady on there, Soldier," Karlach pulls you into a smothering hug.

"How," you ask, smoothing the cream lace of your dress as she lets you go, still stunned she's outside Avernus without exploding.

"Wizards," Wyll smiles, glancing at Gale and Elminster. "We had to find a way back, there's no way we'd miss this."

"It won't hold forever, but we think we've got a way I can come back for visits. Until we get something permanent. Good news is Zariel's seemed distracted by something lately."

"I suppose overall this is an appropriate excuse for being late," Astarion finally relents.

"Aww, come on Fangs, don't be sour, it's your wedding." Karlach has a wicked gleam in her eye.

"Do not," but it's too late, the tiefling picks him up in a crushing hug. "I missed you too Karlach."

Tears suddenly start to form in your eyes, seeing them all together again, it was something you feared might never be. Wyll gives Asatrion a less brutal greeting and you turn to Elminster. "Thank you. You will stay right," it's the least you can do.

"Gale has assured me there are to be many culinary delights after, and of course, I've never seen a vampire spawn get married. So I believe I shall."

"Ah. I see Father made it," Wyll waves to Duke Ravengaurd who had been waiting a respectful distance away. "Best go see him, we'll catch up more after."

"You both better save a dance for me," Karlach calls over her shoulder, taking his arm, and kissing his temple.

"Tell me you have them," Astarion has fixed his attention back on Gale, and you rush to his side before he can begin another tirade.

"Worried I would eat them?" Gale has recovered himself from Astarion’s initial onslaught and is smiling brightly.

"Yes," your beloved is still in no mood for jokes.

"Honestly Astarion," you give him a look.

"Ugh, fine, I'll calm down. Once he hands them over." You're lost as to what Gale has that's so important considering the occasion.

"Never change my friend," he laughs and pulls a small box from a pocket on his robes and opens it gently. Inside there are two gold rings with small red stones set in them, you can feel the hum of magic in them.

“Sending Stones?” You glance at Astarion as he takes the box from Gale.

For a moment he seems almost shy about it. “I thought it would be nice if we were always able to speak to each other, no matter what. I know it’s not feasible to never be separated.” The two of you had spent almost every moment of the last couple of years in each other’s presence, but as Astarion continued to heal, he seemed more comfortable with time spent apart.

“You’re adorable, you know that,” your lips brush the tip of his nose, the gift is an incredibly sweet sentiment, and you’re so proud of how far he’s come.

Under the right circumstances, vampires actually can blush. “I..” he starts, sounding like he’s going to grouse about something, probably being called adorable in front of everyone, but stops. “I don’t know if I’ll ever understand why you think that my Love, after everything I’ve done.”

You reach up to brush his cheek and run a finger through his curls. “That wasn’t who you really are.”

“I take it, we're ready.” Isobel joins you under the arbor, eyes already fixed on the moon above, and you both nod in response. “Then let us begin,” her voice carries to the crowd and silence falls. “We come here, under Our Lady’s Light, to bless this couple and sanctify their bond.”

You honestly don’t remember many of Isobel’s words after that as Astarion takes your hand and you get lost in his soft, crimson eyes. Maybe it’s a bit terrible of you to ask Selune’s blessing and then not pay attention, but you think she can understand. “The rings,” Isobel prompts and Astarion retrieves them from his pocket, opening them so the Cleric can bless them. “May the Moonmaiden’s light ever guide your hearts toward each other.” A nearly imperceptible mote of silver light seems to land on them and lends the jewels in them an unearthly glow.

Astarion tenderly picks one up as you proffer your finger. Isobel had agreed to let you both speak your own vows, as long as they didn’t directly offend any of Selune’s teachings. You’d reassured Astarion every step of the way that you didn’t need it to be a sworn oath in front of clergy, but he’d oddly insisted, saying he wanted to swear himself to you to the fullest. “As long as it’s Isobel though, she’s the only trustworthy one.” Shadowheart was still figuring out how much religion she wanted in her life, though it seemed Selune was patient as she continued to have a Cleric's gifts.

The ring slips on your finger perfectly and your heart stutters, your vision getting watery again. You do the same for him in turn and you both entwine your hands, speaking in unison. “Unto thee, I vow, mine heart and home, mine life and love, for now, and all seasons. Let me never from thy side be parted, and unto thee, no evil do. Until, at last, my life shall leave me, this my beloved, is my pledge to you. So I do swear.”

“And so sworn before our Lady, I do pronounce thee wed.” The crowd behind you applauds, and you can barely see Astarion through the tears.

Lae’zel and Karlach are shouting raucously, “Kiss! Kiss!”

You start to lean forward and notice his eyes are just as wet as yours. “Hells, why did I agree to do this in public,” he laughs, dabbing his cheeks with the cuff of his sleeve.

“You couldn’t miss being the center of attention,” your laugh is lost in a happy sob. “Damn it, kiss me before I pass out or something.”

Softly, he pulls you in, lips finding yours. The chaste peck turns deeper, giving the crowd what they want judging by the noise. But then something unexpected happens, there’s the tinkle of mischievous laughter, as though a woman stands near to you. A voice that’s both honey-sweet but radiating power whispers in your ear, “congratulations my dear child,” and you feel a surge of fae-touched magic, reminding you of that day you took a different oath.

The kiss breaks and Astarion is staring at you, surprise clearing away his tears. “I know you.”

Everything goes numb in the rush of terror that follows, he’d learned some of who you were before the Nautiloid, but there was much still to tell. “Astarion I’m so-”

A slender finger is pressed to your lips. “Hush Love, tomorrow. And it changes nothing, I still love you with all my unbeating heart. Now let’s indulge everyone since they came all this way to celebrate us.”

The night is full of feasting, drinking, song, and dancing. The two of you mingle with old friends and those whom you met only briefly, the scents of a delectable feast wafting through the air. When the music starts, you share a waltz under the night sky, Astarion holding you close and whispering in your ear, “love you Sunlight.”

True to her word, Karlach insists on a dance with both of you, surprising you with her talent for it. “I’ve been teaching her,” Wyll looks over at her and Astarion lovingly from where he’s dancing with you. “Once you find a safe place to rest, Avernus can be a bit boring.”

You stumble across Lae’zel, angrily giving gold to Mol and her crew. “She lost a bet,” Mol says proudly.

“Oh really, and what sort of scam bet did you get her to agree to, my favorite tiny criminal” Astarion asks fondly. Mol comes to visit you sometimes and you’ve decided you’d rather not know what he’s been teaching her.

“She thought you might light on fire as soon as it got religious,” Mol laughs and scampers off.

Astarion pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’ve seen me in temples before.”

“Chk, but never swearing an oath.”

“She has a point,” you nudge him playfully.

“Oh you are going to pay for that later,” he leans in to nip at your neck, causing you to shiver.

Dawn nears much too soon and you can see some of his happiness evaporating. There still was no solution you’d found to let him live in the light. “We should go,” you whisper in his ear, “what’s a wedding without the wedding bed?” Ever so lightly, you let your tongue brush against his ear, a spot of divine torment for him you’ve found, and listen as he gasps softly.

“Indeed my Love,” his mood revives and the two of you make your good-byes, your friends having promised to clean up the aftermath of the night. A young woman you think you recognize passes you an open bottle of wine on the way out of the park, “a gift from summer’s best,” she says and it fills you with a strange sensation for a moment before Astarion’s mouth is on yours again.

Your house isn’t far from Bloomridge and the two of you stroll the streets in a blissful, dreamy state, wrapped in each other’s arms, sharing drinks from the wine that tastes of sweet berries and summer rains. Lights dance in the morning mists and everything feels transcendtly perfect as you ascend the steps to your home. Astarion pins against your front door, kissing you hungrily and letting his hands wander your body. “My wife,” he breathes against your skin as his lips travel down your neck.

Heat sparks inside you, ravenous for him. “My husband,” you sigh, lost in your love for him.

#astarion x tav #Astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x f!reader #astarion x f!tav #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #my fanfic #my writing #x reader

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1800jjbarnes · 7 months

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◇ 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟐 : 𝐕𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐦/𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 - 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 ◇

Eyes On Me

【Synopsis】 : Biker Gang Leader doesn't like sharing unless it's to do with his best friend.

『W.C』 : 740

-> Genre: Suggestive. Angst. Biker/Criminal Au.

Pairing: Biker!Steve x Aristocrat!Reader

[Warnings] : Mention of criminal activity. Shitty family. Father issues. Possessive tendencies. Lots of teasing. Swearing. Pet names. Ass grabbing. Mention of sex. Mention of masturbation. Dry humping. Slight clit play. Biting. Marking.

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You were a sunshine. A light in most people's lives and an innocent little ball of happiness. No one could ever except you getting mixed up with the infamous biker gang of Brooklyn. Especially getting caught up with the ruthless leader. And yet, how come you are sitting sweetly on his couch in his office while he finishes off a phone call he had to answer just moments after your mouth was prettily wrapped around his cock. To say he was annoyed would be an understatement but alas he needed to answer the call or he knew Bucky, his right hand man would bark at him for missing yet another important call with a business client all because he was too busy with you...

His little plaything. His secret doll.

You both knew the match was unlikely and that most people, especially your family, would disapprove of the relationship. But neither of you cared. In fact, it thrilled you to know the idea of your father being broken over the fact that his useless waste of space of a daughter was sleeping with the enemy. Loud music suddenly pooled into the quiet office as one of Steve's men came raring in, wanting his boss's attention.

“Sir, I…” His words caught in his throat when he noticed was not only interrupted his boss on a phone call but there was a very pretty woman in nothing but one of Steve's shirts, sitting so patiently on the couch in the corner of the room. You gave the young boy a smirk, his face already turning a bright shade of pink.

“What?” Your lover's voice grew rougher, almost possessive as he disapproves of the way the younger male was eye fucking your form. You quickly caught Steve's eyes, and your mind sparked an idea. You were going to give this other man a show. So you stood up without a second thought, letting the shirt ride up slightly, so he could get a good view of your black lace panties. Your legs were on complete display for both men, hearing a low growl rumble from the big biker boss.

You sidestepped so you could move behind the office desk where your beefy lover boy was standing but instead of walking the short way, you purposely walked in front of the younger male, letting your hips brush passed him gently, almost enough to make him stiffen. “B-Barnes is…uh, h-here…” The young one stutters, feeling your body against his growing erection.

You finally make your way to the other side of the desk, bringing your hands to your lover's chest. Steve's hands snaked against your waist the moment he felt your leg step in between his, touching his cock with your thigh. There is a smirk painting your features, making Steve know exactly what game you are playing. So, without a second thought, Stevie's hands grip a handful of your ass, squeezing your cheeks in front of the poor boy. You moaned, not holding back from your little show, and Steve was eating all of it up.

“Tell him to wait outside, unless he wants to witness me fucking my darling princess stupid.” His voice echoed in the room, making your glossed eyes, scan his face with anticipation. You had always wanted Bucky to join you or even just watch from afar. The idea of him sitting in the corner of the room pumping his cock while watching Steve rail you on his desk, it sends a chill down your spine.

The young boy ran so quickly out of the room it almost made you laugh, but you didn’t have time for that as Steve pushed you onto the desk, pushing all the papers and important files onto the floor letting your back hit the table with a huff. Steve's lips latched onto your neck, grinding his hips on yours. His rough jeans felt so delicious against your clit as your choked-up moans catch your throat, then your eyes suddenly catch a tall, beefy glass of walking sin, standing in the door frame with crossed arms and a smirk.

“Look what we have here.” Bucky's voice sent a tingle through your body as your eyes locked on his. Steve's bites got harsh, making your moans grow loud, and the only thing coming to mind was that tonight was going to be fun.

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skylarsblue · 16 days

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★RDR2 Incorrect Quotes★

(If you see duplicates from my COD version of these? Shh, no you didn't) ��Border made by @fairytopea★

Ms.Grimshaw What are you doing, you oaf? Young!Arthur, staring at Y/N: They’re pretty. Ms.Grimshaw …and you’re ugly, now get back to work.

- (Pre-joining the gang) Abigail, trying to get paid: What’s your favorite color, John? John: Blue. No, green. Abigail: Awesome! I love learning about you. John: I fucked up, it’s yellow.

- Arthur, cutting a huge knot out of John’s hair: I fucked up, we gotta go bald. *head locks him still* Young!John, flailing violently: WAAAAAHHHH-

Seán: Psst, Lenny, ay mate, wake up! Lenny: Huh- Wh-what? What is it? Seán: I heard something outside the tent. Lenny: What? Seán: Like a woman crying in the distance, but I couldn’t hear her footsteps. Lenny: Okay?? What do you want me to do? Seán: Come look with me! Lenny: Hell no! Seán: Why not? Lenny: I got too much melanin and too much sense for that white people shit. You wanna let demons get you, be my guest, leave me out of it.

- (John HAD to have SOMETHING that captivated her, for humor’s sake? We’ll say he had jokes)

Abigail: You have to find my darling husband, I’m so worried about him. Arthur: Seriously, what do you see in that guy? Abigail: He makes me laugh.

- Micha: I've got the urge to say something. Arthur: And what's that? Micha: The N-Word- Arthur: WHOA-

- Bill: But seriously, is it your whole emo thing that she’s into or what? John: …yeah, long flowing straight hair, very emo.

- Karen: This- Hmm. Tilly: Be nice. Karen: I’m findin’ it. Mary-Beth: …it takes you that long to find- Karen: It does, it does.

- (O’Driscoll troubles) Kieran: Arthur we’re going to get murdered. We’re going to get murdered by a man who can’t tie a fucking bow tie. Arthur: At least he won’t torture us, can’t tie a rope either.

- John: Ugh, you know they’re gonna make us do one of those tacky family happiness photos that comes in the restaurants shitty frame. Tilly: Why are you so fucking negative all the time? John: Wh- uh- I just- Arthur: *slowly sucks tea through straw*

- Seán: Someone just said; “You’re a criminal!” Seán: *handkerchief on, gun in one hand, bag of money in the other* Seán: Well I’ll tell ya what, Sherlock Holmes. You are unbelievable.

- The Gang: Arthur is dying and Micha is a rat! Dutch, dancing with money: *insert that audio that goes “I don’t give a fuck cause I’m a ✨millionaire✨, I do what I want, middle finger in the air!”*

- John, drunk: You think the wind is ever tryna tell us something and we don’t know how to hear it anymore? Charles, loading up a drunk Arthur into a wagon: I just want you to stop saying odd shit.

- Abigail: If we lose, I’m gonna cut the judge. John: Wh- you brought your switchblade?? Abigail: Mhm. John: But they patted us down on the way in, where did you hide i- ohhhhhhh.

- Arthur: …you ever wish you could just, turn into a bird and fly away from everything? Charles: I think we need to get you to a therapist for depression. John: I’d wanna be a wolf. Charles: And we should get you psych evaluation for Autism.

- Sheriff: You seem like a reasonable and good natured person. Arthur: *looks around* And you look like you need glasses.

- Abigail: What would your father say?! Jack: Uhhh “I’ll fix it!” And then make it worse until luck comes around and makes it work, and then act like that was the plan the whole time? Abigail: …that’s my bad, I should’ve used a different phrase to express my disappointment.

- (I dunno why but John being super mean to some people is so fucking funny to me. I don't hate Bill, but bullying him is fun)

Bill: You enjoyin’ the wife everyone else paid to have? John: You mean the woman I never had to pay for? The woman who liked me so much, she didn’t ask for any money to sleep with me? In fact; she liked me so much, she married me? The woman who makes me a warm dinner and kisses me everyday? Mother of my child? John: I am enjoyin’ yeah. What about you, Bill? Bill: John: You enjoyin’ your lonely life, you unlovable sorry sack of shit? You enjoyin’ having to pay for someone to pretend they like you? Cause they never actually do. They hate you actually, like me. I hate you. Eat shit and die, Bill.

- Arthur: …him? Really? Mary-Beth Don’t be mean! Arthur: He looks like a rescue dog, Mary-Beth. Mary-Beth: I know, I like that! Arthur: ….you like that?? Mary-Beth: His pathetic wet eyes and general wimpy stature have captivated me. Arthur: *sigh* Whatever makes you happy.

- Bill: At the end of the day, Arthur. I am a MAN. Arthur: A MAN WHO’S GAY. You like fellers GETTHATTHROUGHYOURHEAD!

- Dutch: I have a plan. Hosea: You haven’t planned shit. Dutch: I’ve planned it.

- Hosea: Arthur! What on earth are you doing?! Young!Arthur: Getting rid of this demon. Young!John: *screeching and trying to get out of Arthur’s grip* Hosea: And why do you plan to get rid of him? Arthur: Because, Hosea! He woke me up by leaning over me and whispering, “I know what death feels like, it’s cold. Have you felt death?” Arthur: HE’S CLEARLY EVIL, HOSEA Hosea: That’s just how children are, Arthur. Dutch: He’s right son, put the boy down. Dutch, leaning and whispering to Hosea: But maybe we should buy a Bible just in case. Hosea: And a cross.

- (Modern au and suicide joke)

John: It’s not a phase! It’s a lifestyle, you just wouldn’t get it! Arthur: You think I didn’t go through the “I can’t tell if I want to kill myself or everyone around me” phase? Come on. John: What? I don’t wanna kill myself at all. Arthur: … John: … John: Should I- should we go talk to Hose- Arthur: We should forget this conversation happened. Take this Nirvana CD and keep your mouth shut.

- Abigail: …John. John: Yes, my angel? Abigail: You forgot something. John: No I didn’t! I took the list with me, checked it three times, even crossed things off when I put it in the cart! See, look. Apples, frozen hamhocks, cranberry juice- Abigail: John. You took Jack with you. John: Abigail: John: Abigail: John: SHIT I LEFT HIM BY THE PASTA SECTION Abigail: STOP STANDING THERE AND GO GET HIM!

- Jack: Pa, how did you get mom to marry you? John: Well son, I- John: John: I have no idea. Jack: Should I ask mom? John: I’ll be honest, I don’t think she knows the answer either.

- Charles: You did good back there. Arthur: Oh? Heh, nah, you did all the fancy stuff. I just helped. Charles: Don’t undersell yourself, Arthur. I wouldn’t be complimenting you for no reason. Arthur: Oh yeah? And here I thought you were just trying to fluff up my ego. Charles: Wouldn’t hurt to do when you work so hard, no? Arthur: Now you’re just being’ sweet- John: Can y’all wait til we’re done before you start your spiritual dick sucking? Arthur: Can you repent to the lord fast enough to save your soul in the time it’ll take me to throw you into the damn ocean, Marston?!

- Arthur: Do you even have a brain? John: Do you even have someone that loves you? Arthur: John: John: I heard it that time, I’m sorry. Arthur: This is what Abigail hears sometimes, just so you know. John: I heard it that time, I got it. I- I’ll just- Arthur: Whiskey, full bottle. The nice kind. John: Apology alcohol, got it.

NPC: My husband’s parents are so crazy. In-laws always are, huh? Abigail: Well, uh-

*John being an orphan* *John’s adoptive dads being criminals, one particularly off his rocker*

Abigail: ….aha, yeah;;

- Abigail: John Marston, you useless, foolish, stupid man! Bill: To hell with John! Abigail, suddenly with a very large gun: NO ONE INSULTS MY HUSBAND.

- Arthur, holding up a proper painting he actually put time and effort into: Could a depressed person make this? Charles: The painting: *a wolf in the rain laying it’s head over the body of a deer shot with an arrow* Charles: I’m, in fact, more convinced you have depression now. Arthur: …yeah this wasn’t the best evidence for my argument, huh? Charles: No. Not at all.

- John: What are you talking about? That’s completely normal, it’s like having opinions. just cause it doesn’t happen to you doesn’t mean- Tilly: No, John! No. It’s not normal to have that reaction to the sound of hearing metal on metal. John: No look, uh- Arthur! Arthur come here! Arthur: What now? John: What happens when you hear metal on metal? Like, a can bein’ rubbed with a knife. Arthur: Ugh, I hate that sound. It makes my damn skin crawl, like I got beetles underneath. Makes me wanna skin myself to get’em out. John: Right! See, Tilly? It’s not just me! Tilly: ????

Charles: …and you never got them evaluated? Hosea: In hindsight, an autistic diagnosis probably would’ve made more things make sense. But, what can ya do.

- Arthur after a dog didn’t positively react to him: Maybe this is my final straw. Charles: No. Arthur: It might be. Charles: It’s one dog. There are twenty that you stopped to pet along the way here, plenty more for you to pet after this. Arthur: You don’t understand, this is devastatin’. Charles: Arthur, please- Arthur: Utterly devastatin’, Charles.

- Arthur, tipsy: Just cause you’re gorgeous don’t mean I’ma do whatever you say. Charles: Drink the water, Arthur. Arthur: *grabs the glass* Yes, sir.

- (Got a Y/N one, also, modern Au)

Arthur: That’s the Aberdeen farm. Y/N: …what’s wrong with it? Arthur: What’cha mean? Y/N: The vibes, they’re off. Arthur: …the…vibes? Y/N: The energy, Mister Morgan. The vibe of the place. They’re off, they’re weird, wack even. I sense insidious and wretched wavelengths wafting from the aura of that property. Arthur: I see…well, to answer your question, it’s cause they are weird. And I ain’t even confirmed why cause I don’t really wanna know. Y/N: I see you can also sense the vibes are rank. Arthur: …sure, whatever that means.

- Micha: Well I think- Y/N: Well I’m certain no one fucking asked, Micha! Not a single damn person asked what the hell you thought, ever! In fact, I’m pretty sure you don’t think. I’m pretty sure your skull fills with all the bullshit in your organs, and it just spills out your mouth! Micha: Micha: I- Y/N: Shut up, Micha!

- Arthur, after Albert explains some super dangerous plan in order to get wild animals near him to photograph: You’re stupid, I like that in a man.

- Y/N: Bye Arthur, bye Karen, bye Hosea, bye Arthur. Sadie: You said ‘bye Arthur’ twice. Y/N: I like Arthur.

- NPC: Lovebirds, eh? Sadie: Arthur: Sadie: I’d rather eat a poison ivy plant with Holly Berries for dressing. *looks at Arthur* No offense. Arthur: No no, none taken. All things considered, I’d rather dive into a pit of tar and then drag myself face first through a plain of rotten chitlins. Sadie: Completely fair!

- Bill: I need you to realize you ain’t in charge here. Y/N: I need you to realize I don’t give a shit.

- Arthur: Hey Charles, uh, I got an Uhm…a spiritual question. Charles: Any particular reason you chose to ask me? Arthur: Uh well- I didn’t mean for it to be like that- I just- Charles: *sigh* What is it? Arthur: Do you know what it means when an elk stands up on its back legs? Charles: That means- Charles: WE SHOULD LEAVE, we need to leave, that’s what that means!

- Jack: …why are your boobs so big? Charles: They’re not boobs. Jack: Do you have to wear a brasier? Charles: *sigh* Arthur: He asked me the same thing a couple weeks ago, don’t think to hard bout it.

(Story spoilers!!) Y/N: I'm sorry, let me get this straight. Y/N: You picked up that man when he was a destitute child, grieving and starving. Taught him almost everything he knows. Y/N: Then, you did that with, what? Three others? In similar circumstances? Y/N: Created a sense of family and community, a strong bond between so many misfortuned people. With your trustworthy long term friend by your side. Y/N: And then. Y/N: One RAT. WHO IS OPENLY ANTAGONISTIC AND REEKS OF SUSPICION AS MUCH AS HE DOES HORSE SHIT, SOMEHOW CONVINCES YOU TO GO OFF YOUR ROCKER AND HARM YOUR GANG?! Y/N: Explain! Dutch: Dutch: Dutch: He praised me- Y/N: YOUR PRAISE KINK GOT YOU TO AIM A GUN AT YOUR SONS????

- Arthur: Naaah they’re an angel. Lenny: They punched Bill in the face. Seán: They told Strauss he was a waste of human material, in his own language, which they’re not fluent in. Mary-Beth: They framed Micha for a crime and got him put in prison again. Arthur: Like I said, an angel!

- John: Woman. (Translation: Darling.) Abigail: Moron. (Translation: Lovebug.)

Arthur: You tellin’ me they’re being affectionate right now? Jack: Can’t’cha read subtext, Uncle Arthur? Arthur: ???

(Insert Alcohol is truth serum reference)

Drunk Bill: Not to be gay, but you’re gorgeous bro. Kieran, afraid: You don’t have to be gay to appreciate a man’s beauty. Absolutely shit-faced Bill: Nah, like I’d fuck you, bro. Kieran, terrified: Okay, never mind!

- (How I imagine their first couple years together went)

Dutch: Dutch: Dutch: Dutch: How do you feel about me? Hosea, naked & beside him: ….we’re sharin’ a bedroll, Dutch. Dutch: Yes, but what are we, Hosea? Hosea: ….we’re both naked, alone, in a tent, Dutch. Dutch: That doesn’t answer my question. Hosea:

- (This one's sad, not funny, sorry-) John: You’re such a hypocrite, why is it that anything I do that you’ve done before that you get so bent outta shape?! Arthur: Because I’ve done it before you, John. John: So why do you think it’s fair to tell me not to?! Most people are proud when their younger brother ends up like’em. You don’t want anyone like you, is that it? Arthur: John: John: …oh. Arthur: Now that you got my point, will you take my god damn advice without a big fuss…please.

- John: She drives me insane! She somehow managed to make me the angriest I’ve ever been almost daily. NPC: Then leave her. John: The fu- no. What? She’s the wind beneath my wings, my darling wife, my beautiful angel. How the hell could you even think to suggest such a thing? NPC: But- John: Get outta my sight, you fuckin’ disgrace.

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cheemscakecat · 4 months

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Bucket Scene Analysis pt. 1

So I’m revisiting the Bucket Scene from Expiration Date, and I noticed some things. Spy’s feelings got really hurt, but the other Mercenaries didn’t mean to seriously upset him. Let’s go over their POV first.

Engineer and Medic are doing more experiments on the teleporter, so they aren’t present for the bucket scene. They’ll be trying to figure out a way to stop the tumors for the next three days instead of accepting the team’s deaths.

Soldier is too dumb to understand what’s going on, and Pyro presumably isn’t aware enough of his surroundings.

Demoman comes from a family with really disturbing traditions; they let him live as an orphan and only revealed themselves after he killed his adoptive family in an explosion… Because he was showing his skill. He’s actually expected to lose his sight entirely like his parents. Out of anybody there who knows what’s happening, he’s the most unbothered by them dying because of that twisted heritage.

Sniper calls his parents every week, and I’m sure he’s told them/about to tell them what’s happening. But he also has a plan to kill everyone he meets, so even if he is bothered by the fact that he’ll die, he’s not going to make the others privy.

Heavy has been responsible for his three sisters and his mother since he was a child. Around them, he’d be a bit more open and accept their hand on his shoulder.. But not Spy. Around co-workers, Heavy’d rather think on what’s happening and be left to those thoughts. Besides that, he already provided a secluded cabin in Siberia for his family to keep them safe, so if he dies at work he’ll be at peace knowing they’re ok.

I very much get the vibe that Spy never puts his hand on the others like this, and that’s why Heavy hit him with that Side-eye Claire face.

Now Scout? He’s an interesting case because he’s about to humiliate Spy with the fake cards, but in terms of them dying in three days:

“Ve have three days to live!”

It’s subtle, but he looks like he might cry. Not in front of them, but still. And that tracks, because he and Spy are the most sensitive members of the team. You can look at Spy’s reaction behind Medic, and it becomes more obvious.

But Jeremy wasn’t raised by Spy.

He was raised by his mother [who’s doing her best] and seven older brothers who are terrible role models. I have no doubt that his brothers were involved in petty street crime and gangs when they were younger, even if some came to their senses as adults. And gangs are not well known for emotional stability.

Scout grew up around seven guys that wanted to be “hard” and ignored their emotional needs/daddy issues… As the youngest and the most sensitive one. I imagine that crying and showing that something is getting to you was met with mockery. And being labeled a weakling. So Scout did his best to stop showing that “weakness”.

Now he’s graduated from the criminal fights his brothers used to get into, and joined a group of mercenaries. Since he looked up to his brothers and grew up imbedded in their worldview, he seeks approval from the other Mercenaries in the same way. That’s why he chooses to mock Spy instead of asking for the last wishes. It makes him look unbothered and he can call Spy the weak one instead of being cruelly labeled himself.

But RED team doesn’t operate like Scout’s siblings or a gang. They’re all individuals that specialize in a certain area of mercenary work, who could leave for a different team or independent work if they weren’t happy on the team. [Provided they don’t release any information that the Administrator wants hidden, or rebel against her.]

So when Scout pranks Spy, they aren’t seeing his as a weakling; it’s not even crossing their minds. They’re smiling because Scout seems happy despite impending doom. And why shouldn’t they be glad that he’s having a good time of it? Beats being dejected and since he’s the youngest, they’re more worried about his well-being.

What’s interesting is that Heavy seems to sense that Spy is upset, because his smile noticeably fades when he looks up. But I still don’t think he realizes how much this prank and the teams’ indifference hurt Spy.

#character analysis #tf2 #dadspy

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kokoch4n3l · 2 months

Text

˗ˏˋ stay in my memories ࿐ྂ “‘cause it’s still on my clothes, everything that I own and it makes me feel like dying”

summary: It's been about 10 years since you last saw him. since any of you last saw him. but tonight as you're back from the after-party of Mitsuya's show you walked, Mikey shows up at your apartment. drunk.

notes: based on memories by conan grey. lowkey a self-insert lol. please read the warnings before you read !!

warnings: mentions of past violence, mentions of past sexual relations, toxic relationships, body image issues, oc is skinny!, mentioned/implied eating issues/disorders(ARFID), mentioned and talk of weight issues, alcohol use, weapons(guns), intoxication, Mikey being the bitchass ex that comes back when you're finally healed, insensitive!mikey, not edited

pairing: bonten!mikey x model!oc

word count: 2787

Her back hits the elevator wall as it moves up stories. It’d take a while for her to get to her floor. It was right underneath the penthouse after all. She worked hard for the money so she deserved to live in a nice place like a luxury high-rise building. The penthouse was unoccupied at the time she moved in and the owner had even given her the offer of it but it was huge. The place would go to waste as she lived alone, no longer rooming with Tachibana Hinata who had moved back in with her younger brother. She sighs and stares up the ceiling of the elevator and sighs tiredly. Her body ached but not as much as her feet did in the heels she was wearing. “Fuck” she mumbles and pulls them off her feet

She rolls her ankles as she stands back up straight, holding her heels in one hand. After an obnoxiously long elevator right, she finally reaches her apartment. Typing in the code, she enters and leaves her heels on the rack and locks the door. Her apartment is empty just like it should be. She had gotten used to being alone after middle school ended and everyone was too busy with their lives. It was middle school when Tokyo Manji Gang had disbanded and although she wasn’t a part of the gang(for very obvious reasons), it felt like the world was ending. But that wasn’t the end, a meteorite had crashed down on her when Sano ‘Mikey’ Manjiro cruelly broke her heart a week after the captains buried the time capsule. She never saw him again after that. She didn’t want to. She even declined Kawargi Senju’s request to join Brahman just so she didn’t have to see Mikey. She didn’t care that all of Mikey’s old friends were trying to bring him back or whatever that meant. It wasn’t her problem. Mikey broke her heart and very clearly stated he didn’t want anything to do with her so she wasn’t about to be hard to get rid of. “In today’s news, Japan’s most wanted gang, Bonten, has been—”

She tunes out the news and switches to another channel playing reruns of Naruto. She gets up and heads over to the large floor-to-ceiling windows and draws the curtains open, revealing the vast view of Tokyo in front of her. Another tired sigh leaves her. She’s still in that mini dress Mitsuya made for her for the after-party. Mitsuya held a fashion show for his new line. Many famous people attended and many famous people walked the runway, including her. It was about 5 years ago that Mitsuya had encouraged her to start modelling along with Hakkai. Now both of them were pretty famous. Her life was going pretty well. She had a steady stream of money coming in, multiple brand deals coming her way and she no longer felt like actual shit. So when Mitsuya asked her to be in his show she agreed right away. The show was a success and things were going really well till the end of the after-party when she overheard Mistuya talking to Draken about Mikey not having shown up. They invited Mikey.

Sano fucking Manjiro was a wanted criminal at a high-profile fashion show.

Not to mention that they didn’t even tell her that her ex was invited.

Sure it had been 10 years and even if she was over it, she’d rather not face him again. It was stupid to her that Mistuya had even wanted to invite Mikey especially since put them all in 2-3 day-long comas 9 years ago. But boys were stupid and they always forgave each other even after the biggest of problems. Her and Mikey’s past relationship was probably just a second thought so she didn’t blame him too much and got over it fast(but that didn’t mean she wasn’t pissed). She ended up leaving the after party a bit earlier which is how she ended up back at her apartment. It’s lonely but thankfully not cold. She should probably take her makeup off or maybe eat something but the kitchen seems to far and the view in front of her— even though she’s seen it a hundred times— was too pretty to look away from. She rests her forehead against the cold glass and sighs, her warm breath creating condensation on the glass.

BANG BANG BANG

She groans internally. Whoever was the door might as well be kicking it down with how loud and hard they’re knocking on it. She pushes herself off the glass and starts to walk toward her door, passing by the few frames of pictures from her childhood.

Pictures of Emma and Baji. Pictures of Mikey. It had taken her a while to get over him but it had been 10 years and it no longer hurt to look at the pictures. She hadn’t put up the ones with just him and her in them but the group ones instead. She looks through the peephole first and sees no one. She furrows her brows and without thinking opens the door. She takes a few steps back as someone stumbles in. She doesn’t see their face at first. She’s greeted with the strong scent of alcohol and a mop of white hair. “What the—”

Her door is slammed shut and the intruder looks up. Her heart stops. Well not really but it felt like it. There, barged into her apartment was Sano fucking Manjiro. “Hey baby”

Her heart drops. “Mikey…”

“Uh-huh, it’s me” He brushes past her and walks further into her apartment like he owned the place “Nice place”

She bites harshly at her bottom lip to stop herself from cursing this guy out(which she was going to do until she saw the gun tucked into the back of his pants). “What are you doing here?” She asks, hesitantly following behind him

Mikey heads over to her kitchen and opens her fridge, rummaging through it the same way he would when they were together all these years ago. She watches in silence but also looks around for her phone to either call the police or maybe Draken to come help. “Mistuya invited me to his show… Lost track of time and couldn’t make it” He says and pulls out a bottle of Korean alcohol, peach flavoured Soju

She runs her fingers through her hair. “And what does that have to do with me?” She asks as Mikey slams her fridge door shut and takes a seat on the tiled floor while she stands before him

He unscrews the metal cap and carelessly throws it at her the same way he would when they would go through her dad’s alcohol collection and secretly drink from it when they were together. “Since I missed the show, thought I’d come see the star” Mikey takes a swing and his eyes scan her up and down “Mistuya made that dress f’you, yeah?”

Her heart is beating fast and so hard it’s hurting her ribs. The dress was short. Longer from the back, covering her butt at least but shorter at the front, showing off her long legs as Mitsuya said. It hugged her form with the corset styled lacing at the back of the dress. “Yeah he did…”

There is a moment of silence between them. She needs him to leave. It was so stupid that Mikey was back. Even worse that this guy was cosplaying as Izana. His haired bleached platinum and cut short. He even had that stupid Hanafuda tattoo on the back of his neck. She feels angry but before she could say another, Mikey speaks first “you gained weight… You look good”

She instantly feels sick. “Shut up”

Mikey smirks as he takes a swing from the glass green coloured bottle. “Is that still a sore topic for you? I thought that now that you’re a model you—”

“Please just shut up” She pleads

She’d rather not hear this again. Not after so many years. She used to have a problem with eating. It’s not that she had an issue with how she looked or something like that, she had an issue with food in general. “You’ve got food in your fridge though. You’re eating well” Mikey murmurs, his hand reaching up to hold her thigh “not sickly skinn—”

“Mikey” She mutters clenching her fists “stop it”

Mikey just smiles and it infuriates her. How dare he come back after 10 years and do this? Say this? “Can you leave?”

“No”

“What do you mean, no?”

Mikey is still smiling like nothing is wrong. Through the dim lighting she sees his dark circles and unnecessarily pale skin. He looks like death. “Come sit”

He doesn’t give her much of a choice when he pulls her down. Her knees make contact with the tilted floor making a thud sound and she hisses in pain. Mikey puts the bottle of Soju down next to him and coos gently, putting his hands on her knees and rubs them to ease the sudden pain. “Sorry about that, got carried away” he murmurs, voice all sweet

Now that she’s this close she can smell the alcohol on his and his cologne. Her head spins as Mikey adjusts her position with ease, letting her legs drape over his lap. “You need to leave” She tells him, watching him pick up the Soju again and drink from it, keeping his free hand on her quickly bruising knees, rubbing them

“I don’t think so” Mikey says with a shrug “and it doesn’t look like you want me to leave”

She doesn’t think she’s ever met someone more delusional than him. “No. Actually I want you to leave. You baradged into my house. Get. Out”

“Is that how you treat all your ex-lovers?” Mikey questions, a playful smile on his lips “oh wait, last I heard little miss model has been single since we broke up. Don’t you wanna get back together? Don’t you miss me—”

“Nope”

“You answered pretty fast so I’m guessing that’s a yes”

She pulls her legs away from his lap and scoots back to create some distance between them. Mikey’s eyes darken as she moves away, looking a mixture of disappointed and some other emotion. “I need you to leave” She says more sternly this time

Mikey just takes another swing of the bottle, giving her the same look as he would when they were younger when he wasn’t in the mood to listen. He was a criminal. A ruthless gangleader who had the country under his boot but here he was drinking her soju on her kitchen floor acting the same way he did when he was 14. “Mikey—”

“Manjiro… You called me Manjiro” He cuts her off it makes her mad

“No, Mikey” She says, trying to make her voice as stern as possible

Mikey raises his brow. “No?” he repeats

“No.”

They both stare at each other for a moment. “Why not?” Mikey asks, his blunt nails taping against the glass of the now half empty bottle in his hand “It’s been 10 years, has anything really changed?”

His eyes are glossy red and pale cheeks a bit flushed. She surprised he isn’t drunk yet. Perhaps he built up his tolerence over the years. She shifts, sitting in a side saddle position on the floor so she didn’t put any more pressure on her still aching knees. “It’s been 10 years” She repeats narrowing her eyes at him “You can’t just come back out of nowhere and expect me to welcome you back with open arms… I’ve made something of myself. You can’t come back out of nowhere and ruin it for me”

She feels so angry. He wasn’t allowed to do this. “Please don’t ruin this for me”

Mikey doesn’t say anything for a moment. He’s just staring at her like he’s oblivious to what she’s saying, like he doesn’t understand what she means. Mikey just takes another gulp of the peach soju and her eye twitches. “You had to show up today to ruin things” She says with anger “I wanted to put you in the past ‘cause what you did traumtized me but you’re not letting me do that!”

Mikey is staring at her like a lost puppy, sipping at the soju like it’s water. “I’ve moved on but you’re back here sitting in my fucking kitchen not listening to a word I’m saying”

It was like talking to a damn wall. Mikey wasn’t listening and going off on a rant would just be her wasting her breath. “Drink” Mikey holds out the bottle to her

She’s angry. So fucking angry but the bottle was her own, bought with her own money when she went to Korea a week ago for a photoshoot so she takes it from him and takes a large gulp. It was bitter for some reason. She can taste cigarettes on the rim which was probably from Mikey and it pissed her off even more. Hours pass and it’s soon 1 am. “Mikey I can’t say goodbye if you stay here the whole night” She tells him

They’re still on her kitchen floor and now on their 3rd bottle. She watches Mikey about to light a cigarette but she slaps the stick out of his hand. “No smoking in my house” she hisses

Mikey frowns but shrugs, stuffing his lighter back into his pocket. “But I don’t wanna leave” he murmurs, reaching out to hold her waist, dragging her closer to him with ease across the tiled floor “I want you back”

Her now completely bruised knees make contact with his the side of his thigh and she puts her hands on his biceps in a poor attempt to either pull away or push back from him. Mikey squeezes her waist for a moment then slides his hands lower to her hips then her bare thighs, squeezing her there. “You know you were pretty when we were younger but you’re even prettier now” He says with a sigh “you look so pretty with the weight gain—”

She digs her nails into his clothed biceps. “I don’t want to talk about that”

Mikey cocks his head to the side. “But ‘m complimenting you”

“I don’t like these kinds of compliments”

“You’re a model” He murmurs, his hands sliding back up to her waist and squeezing again “you shouldn’t have become one if you didn’t like people talking about your body”

“No one talks about my body the way you do” She says with a frown “I don’t like how you do it”

Mikey chuckles lowly. The same condescending way when he dumped her 10 years ago. “That’s not a nice thing to say to the guy that’s trying to woo you back”

“You’re not being nice in the first place. You fucking bardged in” she digs her nails more into his clothed skin but he doesn’t flinch “I promise Mikey, the ending between us will always be the same. There’s no good reason in make believing that we could ever exist again”

Mikey still doesn’t seem to hear her. He simply lets go of her waist and slides away from her. When she thinks he was getting up to leave, he surprises her by laying his head on her bare thighs instead. This was infuriating. “Mikey have you dated anyone since then?”

“Yeah” he says, grabbing one of her hands to put it in his hair “But none of them were pretty like you. No one’s pretty like you…”

She doesn’t say anything. “You don’t wanna get back together but can’t we be friends? I missed you” Mikey says, his voice barely above a whisper this time

He sounds sad but she won’t give in. This wasn’t fair. “I can’t be your friend or your lover” Her voice is a mere whisper this time “I can’t Manjiro”

Not with what he did now— it would be detrimental for her career if the public found out she was friends with Sano Manjiro, the man reining terror of Japan and the surrounding countries little by little— not with how he broke up with her, not with how he talked to her, not with the constant uncertainty of if he’d leave her once again. She wouldn’t put herself through that again. “Manjiro I can’t be the reason we hold back each other from falling in love”

She feels something wet on her thighs.

Mikey— Manjiro is crying.

She sighs. She might as well let him stay for as long as it takes.

Just till he pulls himself together.

And hopefully, till then, she doesn’t give in.

#tokyo revengers #mikey sano #mikey x reader #sano mikey manjiro #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers fandom #sano manjiro #tokyo revengers x reader

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helsensm · 4 months

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Watching your AU with the deceased Kung Lao (wonderful but sad AU 🥺)

I can't stop thinking about how sorry I am for Kung Jin. Yes, I certainly feel sorry for Raiden, who lost a friend, and Liu Kang, who lost a friend for the SECOND TIME.

But I can't stop thinking that Lao's younger cousin will feel the pain of losing a family member. In Mortal Kombat X, we were well made to understand that Jin cherished Lao very much and even went to Hell to save him (which I consider a very selfless and brave act). And this is despite the fact that the family turned away from Lao, and there is no guarantee that he will be able to be saved...

In this timeline, I think Jin is still a child or a teenager. I think he has a very strong and friendly relationship with Lao and the news of his death will be difficult.

It's so insulting that in the last timeline and in this one (according to this AU), the poor boy goes through such a traumatic experience

Your AU is beautiful in that it really makes me think about what might be going on in it! I hope you will continue to develop this idea, because it is wonderful. And you are beautiful! And your work!🥺💖💖💖

pre mk1, they haven't seen each other in a while, Kung Lao picked up Jin from school and they are going to train at Madam Bo’s 😊

I'm with you on this pookie, amen to every word. 😔 Jin is slowly becoming one of my favorites, and now that you mentioned (i.e. I’ve been thinking about this for weeks), I’m wondering, what he’ll do after Lao’s death... No idea, what NRS are planning for our Shaolin punk in this timeline, but let me overthink that ONE mention of him we got so far (leaving out the cameo in Armageddon chapter) for this au. XD

They ARE very close, though they don’t visit each other often. Jin adores his older cousin and he’s looking up to him, of course it feeds Lao’s ego, ahahh.

After the mk1 story, Lao will follow Kenshi’s advice to quash Jin’s interest in criminal world, checking on him when he can. Unfortunately, it won’t be enough, and as the time goes (it has been several years between the mk1 story and Lao’s death), Jin will eventually find some trouble for himself. He is still too young for traveling and becoming a freelancer thief like in mkx, but he might join the local gang, or something like that.

When Kung Lao dies, Jin’s grief will manifest in a form of respecting his cousin’s words. He’ll leave his criminal life behind and will go to the Wu Shi Academy. I really like how proudly he calls himself a Shaolin monk in mkx intros, so I want him to choose this way. And I think Jin’s presence and willingness to follow in the footsteps of Lao will help Raiden with his grieving too.

<<< prev | next >>>

#oh no I forgot the print on Lao's hoodie #it's supposed to say “MAYONNAISE ON AN ESCALATOR”#oops Kung Lao's dead again au #my asks #my art #kung lao #kung jin #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat x #mk1 #mkx #helsensm art

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megamindsecretlair · 3 months

Text

Camp Wanderlust, Part 1

Pairing: Camp Counselor!Franklin Saint x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, one use of n-word, kissing, mentions of female and male anatomy. FLUFF.

Summary: Welcome to Camp Wanderlust! We're so glad you're here! Inner city kids have been granted the opportunity to spend their summer here, getting introduced to a new world. You and Franklin are camp counselors who can't seem to stop ogling each other.

Word Count: 6,966k

Part 2

A/N: I have no clue where this idea came from but I couldn't stop thinking about college Franklin and how adorable he is! I miss him! So enjoy this new mini-series. I'm also zooted so all mistakes are on me. Please, please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! I can't get better if I don't get feedback!

Taglist: @planetblaque @notapradagurl7 @miyuhpapayuh @henneseyhoe @mybonafidefeelings @blackerthings @wide-nose-and-wonderful @halfofmysoulsblog @sevikasblackgf @slippinninque @nerdieforpedro @bratzmaraj @browngirldominion @thecookiebratz @we-outsiiiide @kindofaintrovert @theunsweetenedtruth @theyscreamsannii

The cool cotton shirt was already starting to stick to your skin. You fanned yourself, wondering if you had enough time to make it back to the cabin before the bus got here. You couldn’t find your scrunchie and your braids were starting to itch as sweat threaded around the parts.

Girls stood to your left, guys stood to your right, all nervous and full of energy. Orientation started three days ago as everyone met each other, went over rules and regulations, and then had real fun later that night as flasks and mini bottles of booze were passed around.

The owners of the camp were a silly white couple who just loved to help inner city kids. They stood off to the side from the group of counselors looking like concerned citizens complaining about a large group of Black folk for no reason. They were nice and all, but funny how their compassion only extended to the kids. Every counselor here came from colleges all around Southern California. Not one street kid.

You had never been to camp though and you had to admit, this was a nice way to show inner city kids that there was more to life than weed and going to jail. You switched your weight to your other hip, looking behind you for the hundredth time.

“You lookin’ for your boyfriend?” Dana, your bunk mate, nudged you with her elbow. She was a really pretty, dark-skinned woman with good hair. Her afro was fluffed out and shining in the morning sun.

“What are you talking about?” You asked.

“Franklin,” she said, drawing his name out in a song.

You giggled and shook your head, nervously looking around to make sure no one heard her. Despite what she kept insisting, you were not going to throw yourself at Franklin Saint. Your eyes sought him out but if you looked any longer, it would be too obvious. You snatched your eyes away from your right side and looked at Dana.

“No,” you said. “Not happening.”

Once everyone found out that nearly everyone was single, the energy shifted in the room. People started eyeing each other in a new light. Now hookups were dancing through people’s eyes, eyes drooping below the chaste limit, seeking out the most pleasurable mate for your time at camp.

Where else were you going to find people who got you? Certainly not at your respective schools where it felt criminal to be seen consorting with your fellow Negro. If two gathered in a space, it was a warning. If three or more joined, suddenly you were a gang and there were board meetings and secret handshakes banning that sort of thing.

No, here, you were surrounded by woods and a lake. Here the predominant color was as brown as the earth and just as beautiful. Here, anything could happen. So people began pairing off and gossiping. Laying claim on the curve of a hip or soft shoulders to lay on, or perhaps the way a smile made your insides flutter.

Looking over the men, there were certainly some fine specimens. Some tall and broad, skinny and lanky, rounded and thick as molasses. But there was only one for you. He was so dreamy.

His dark skin soaked up the sun. Such a cute, kind of shy smile. But his eyes were low and mischievous. Like he had a secret in them about you. He had worn blue jeans and a striped green shirt, the collars popped open.

When your eyes landed on him, you were ready to drool and fall all over yourself. You had never felt that way about anyone. No one in your neighborhood, no one in your schools, and definitely no one at your college.

And it seemed like he saw all of this float through your brain as he locked his eyes on you and smiled, dipping his chin a bit. You gave him a small smile, in shaking fear that he could see the lust on you, and you turned away from him.

You were not the only one to notice him. Snippets of their conversation had floated to you about the cute boy on the left. No, the far left. Girl, the one who look like my next boyfriend!

You were not going to compete for no man. But your eyes floated to the other men, some who looked your way with genuine interest in your curvy body, and they just weren’t doing it for you. They didn’t set your palms sweating or chest heaving or pussy throbbing. Well, there were maybe one or two you wouldn’t mind entertaining the next four weeks. Let someone else have that man.

Except he had made his way to you. He had introduced himself, voice low and full of dark promises. He had made you laugh and roll your eyes, twist your hair, and find ways to touch him. You had talked all night, completely ignoring everyone else who pointed and gossiped and wondered about you two.

A bus horn honked twice and you flinched as your thoughts snapped back to reality. You did not need flashbacks of that night, finding out everything you could about each other. Bus after bus pulled into the turnabout to offload a flood of preteens. They brought a jittery nervous air to the balmy June day that were directly at odds.

Your eyes scanned the kids as they clutched their little sleeping bags, pillows, and backpacks too heavy for them. They weren’t quite that loud yet. The extroverts had already found each other, forming up groups and surpassing that line between the “popular kids” and the “weird” ones. You weren’t sure who was in your group yet, but you hoped they weren’t little shits.

The owners of the camp, Mr. and Mrs. Coleman but you can call us Doug and Anne, erupted into excited giggles and clapped their hands. Some of the counselors began hiding smirks and smiles and giving each other the Look.

“Welcome to Camp Wanderlust!” Anne yelled in the too quiet air. Nature hadn’t been encroached upon today and was taking its time waking up. The arrival of kids to run across the ground or play in its leaves were a new addition and nature needed a minute.

Anne rushed forward and waved. “We are so excited that you’re here. How excited are you?” Anne continued.

The popular kids cheered and threw their hands in the air while the shy ones stood there staring straight ahead like zombies. Maybe they just weren’t morning kids. Because you sure as shit wasn’t a morning person.

Anne began to list off some welcome bullshit about learning and having fun and going swimming, supervised of course. About making lifelong friends because you could keep in touch with letters. Building bonds and telling some good stories while you’re at it.

She talked about how the cabins were divided. For their safety, girls and boys are in completely separate cabins and lights out at 10pm sharp. No one was allowed outside at night without a chaperone. They were free to go to the bathroom but it was straight back to bed.

She told them the names of each cabin and the cabin badges were important to remember. Doug came forward with a clipboard and started to rabble off badges, cabin numbers, and their assigned counselors.

In unison, you all waved to the kids with bright smiles and held up mini signs you made yourself yesterday. It stated your name. Three guesses on who your partner was. Doug then rattled off names and numbers. Kids began to separate and walk toward you.

A line of girls formed in front of you, bright eyed and cute in their little pigtails and afros and braids. Some looked so painfully shy, you vowed to make sure they felt included and had fun. You thrived in college but you were a shy girl just like them. It cropped up from time to time, but you felt more yourself now than you ever did as a kid.

Doug finished and everyone had their group. The counselors began fanning out to gain some distance and introduce themselves without yelling over a nearby group. You stayed put, not wanting to walk unnecessarily in this heat.

You had been lined up in numerical order, so Franklin was on the opposite end from you. He faced you and you swore you saw him smile at you before turning to his group of Cabin 5 boys. You turned to your own Cabin 5 girls and gave them your name, making them say theirs and their favorite color.

You talked some more, trying to find areas of interest where they might all intersect. You doubted you could get total consensus, but it never truly hurt to be optimistic. You took your group of ten to the Raven badge house and let them decide how to pick beds. You weren’t going to help with that. You watched as they worked to decide which bed would be theirs. The assertive ones announced which ones they wanted and if no one objected, then that was fine. The shyer girls took their time trying to be polite and give up whichever one they wanted. The whole process was over pretty quickly and you were back outside, giving them a tour and dodging other groups.

Your eyes immediately found Franklin coming out of the cabin next door. He moved between shadow and sun as he left the cover of the cabin. He lit up, that sun hitting him all over his gorgeous body. He wore khaki shorts and a blue shirt with Camp Wanderlust written across the back. You wore a similar shirt and let yourself picture being snuggled up with him.

You shook your head and faced your group, leading them out and around Camp. You showed them the shower and bathrooms, mess hall, activity tunnel which was the bridge to the rest of the camp. You showed them the Traveler bridge which took them to the lake and boat house, and finally to Curiosity Hill which led to the woods. The hill was a long slope that led to the woods proper full of bugs and small animals.

You looked at your watch, making good time. You faced your group and started answering questions so they could get to know you. They called you pretty and asked which school you went to, your favorite color, and the like.

“I bet ya’ll hungry, huh?” You asked.

“Yeah!” They all said, loudly. You giggled and waved for them to follow you to the mess hall. Groups were following behind you, following the unspoken signal for lunch. You made them line up, grab a tray, and move down the line.

You told them where to sit and told them to get to know one another. You grabbed your tray and went to sit at the counselor’s table.

Dana was already there digging into her tray all neat and polite. She smiled when you sat down and you breathed a sigh of relief. You were out of the hot ass sun, finally had some water, and could eat. Why did you agree to this again?

“You know your boyfriend been checking you out all morning,” she said.

“Shut up with that,” you said and began eating.

“He has! Sharonda said he told Jason that you were fine as hell,” she said.

“And how did Sharonda hear that?” You asked.

“Supposedly, Keisha and Jason are a thing which is a little funny because Jamika said the same thing. But Keisha and Sharonda are bunk mates,” she said.

You shook your head. “Oh, you stay ear-hustling,” you said.

“I like information. I don’t care how I get it,” she said.

“Okay, so then who you got around here?” You asked.

“I’m still looking. They ain’t that fine compared to Mr. Saint,” Dana said.

“Ya’ll talkin’ about her boyfriend?” Jamika asked, coming up behind you. She dropped her tray onto the table and then scooted onto the bench. “I swear them girls already getting on my nerves. They gave me the bad little mu’fuckas,” she complained.

“Where are ya’ll getting this boyfriend from and why are ya’ll all in my business?” You asked.

“So there’s business to be had,” Jamika said and looked at Dana. “Told ya.”

Jamika sucked her teeth and sighed dramatically. She dug in her pocket and pulled out a dollar bill and handed it to Jamika.

“Ya’ll betting?” You demanded.

“I told her there was something between ya’ll. Ya’ll must’ve met before today or something because ya’ll literally can’t keep your eyes off of each other.”

“I said that ya’ll ain’t even had an opportunity to do anything or spend time together,” Dana said.

“Ya’ll are so foul!” You could only shake your head at the two girls who instantly clicked with you. Both were similar to each other, favoring each other’s tone and speaking in nearly the same mannerisms. They had never met and yet bonded like sisters. Somehow you got scooped up between them and you were so grateful.

“When he lookin’ that hard? There’s always something there,” Jamika said.

“What ya’ll betting on anyway?” You asked.

“We can’t tell you that. We can’t interfere,” Jamika said.

“Is everyone in on it?” You asked.

“Everybody but you,” Dana said, cackling loud and hi-fiving Jamika.

You shook your head, looking over to your cabin kids. They were actually talking which was a good sign but a few were still too quiet. Jamika sighed loudly as she did the same. There were two girls fussing at each other.

“Ain’t you gonna help?” Dana asked.

“Uh-uh, I wanna see who wins,” Jamika said, a little smirk on her lips.

On the opposite side of you, you felt a tug on your braid. You turned, ready to be mad when you saw Franklin’s wide grin and his pretty eyes. The heat died down in your chest as you sighed.

“Boy, you was finna get hurt,” you said.

“I ain’t scared of you,” he said. He scooted onto the bench with you, making you scoot over since you were on the end. Dana and Jamika threw knowing glances at each other.

“What are you doing, Franklin?” You asked.

“Came to see you. Ain’t had a chance all day,” he said.

You rolled your eyes, dabbing your lips with your napkin. Franklin straddled the bench, smiling at you. Just staring and smiling like he could do that all day long. It unnerved you when you looked at each other like this. But you watched him right back.

“Why are you really here?” You asked.

“We’re sitting next to each other at the bonfire right?” He asked.

“You pulled my hair just to ask me that?” You meant to sound playful and teasing, but your voice was quieter than that. Filled with some other emotion like expecting a different answer. As if hair-pulling was acceptable in a different context.

He seemed to see your thoughts and he smiled. “Just say I get to sit next to you,” he said. He leaned over and took one of your chips. You popped his hand and he yelped, rubbing his hand.

“I don’t play about my food,” you said. He laughed and shook his head, diving in for another one. You tried to pop his hand again but he kept moving it just before contact.

He gave you another panty-melting smile. “You are so pretty, did you know?” Franklin asked.

You rolled your eyes. He got on your nerves already and you had only known him four days. “I can’t control where you sit, but I wouldn’t mind it next to me,” you said.

Franklin knocked on the bench with a wide grin. He turned to Dana and Jamika. “Ladies,” he said.

He stood up and walked back to his table where the guys whooped and hollered from where they were sitting. You had a flashback to middle school, the same age as these kids, and you felt sick. You hated when so much attention was on you and now all of the counselors were gossiping about your so-called relationship with Franklin.

“Fuck, where do I get one of him?” Jamika asked.

“Right, like where his brother at?” Dana echoed. You all watched Franklin’s retreat and him talking to his buddies.

The rest of lunch was uneventful as you spoke about your groups and how you hoped the first activity went well. You cleaned up after yourselves and began to lead your groups out of the mess hall and across the land towards the activity side. There was an obstacle course set up with things to make these kids stretch their legs and build some friendships.

You walked alongside Franklin and he nudged you with his elbow. You nudged him back. You had family, you were no pushover. You lightly pushed each other all the way down to the course. You were not setting a good example for the kids.

At the course, Anne and Doug greeted everyone and told everyone about the course. She announced prizes at the end of each activity and at the month to the team with the highest scores. Anne and Doug would score the kids with input from their counselors. So it was all about playing fair and working with each other to win.

One of the counselors, Jason, showed how hard it was to get through the course alone. He was playacting for the kids. Jason was as tall as a tree with rich ebony skin and thick muscles. Basketball guy definitely. He was built for speed and agility but he struggled.

He returned to his group and Doug and Anne stated that they went in cabin order. Being last in line, you told the girls that they’d have a chance to search for weaknesses. They loved that idea and got a lot more interested in the rules. First, the cabin mates would introduce themselves to each other.

The girls turned completely shy, backing away from the boys. The boys returned in kind, eyeing each other with slightly nauseous faces.

“Come on guys, what do you say?” Franklin encouraged.

Reluctantly, a boy stepped forward and held out his hand. One of your girls did the same and they introduced themselves. You looked at Franklin. “Did you teach them that?” You asked.

“They were nervous about being here. I gave them some tips,” he said. He slanted his eyes towards you with a smirk.

You watched as the kids opened up and started talking. Anne and Doug got the course going with kids going through it and working off the food they ate. When everyone was done, prizes were handed out. That earned them a few hours to relax in the rec room. The counselors were free to rotate shifts and watch the kids.

It wasn’t your shift yet so you went to hang out with Dana and Jamika back in the cabins. The heat was killing you and you needed to cool off somewhere. You immediately searched for a scrunchie to get the fresh braids off of your neck.

“So we just not gon’ talk about Franklin asking our girl out?” Jamika asked.

You laughed with your friends up to the cabin while you dodged their questions about you and Franklin. Nerves bubbled in your gut thinking about the boy with the cute smile. You couldn’t describe this feeling between you but you knew that you wanted to explore it. If only you could do it in peace.

You stared up at the stars as you sat on your log. Anne and Doug were really going all out for the experience. These kids were in for a better treat than you ever got. You didn’t have fancy white people paying for your camp stay so they could pat themselves on the back. Selective performism wasn’t around when you were growing up.

The stars twinkled overhead, spattering the sky with little dots of light. There were more stars than you had ever seen in your life. Too much pollution where you lived and went to school.

You sat around the campfire with half of the larger group. Anne was with your group, asking the kids about what they thought of the camp so far. Some were excited and they went around in a circle saying what they liked about it.

You were among the first to get there. By the time Cabin 5 boys made it down, Cabin 2’s counselor was already sitting next to you.

“No!” Franklin said when he approached. “Aye, switch places with me,” he asked.

The girl, Michella, rolled her eyes and stood up with a smirk. She hi-fived her counterpart. He smirked at the two of you. Ugh. This was so fucking childish.

Anne missed all of it as she focused on getting her free feedback. Franklin was overwhelming. He wasn’t a big man, but he felt big. He felt larger than anyone else there. He leaned over with his elbows on his knees and listened to every kid speaking.

Every now and then, your knee would brush his. You didn’t know if he was doing it on purpose but it only made you ache and shiver. When he stretched, you couldn’t help ogling him. Those skinny but powerful arms. The groans he made when he went a little too far.

You licked your lips and hung your head. It wasn’t normal to be this attracted to someone, right? You wanted to snuggle into him and never leave. He could be annoying, but there were times where he seemed to be undressing you with his eyes.

While Anne was distracted, Franklin turned his eyes to you. “Meet me later?” He asked.

“Where? Lights out at 11 or didn’t you hear?” You asked.

“Break the rules with me, c’mon. They know we gon’ break ‘em,” he said.

You shook your head, fighting down little deranged bubbles of laughter. He wasn’t being intentionally funny, but you weren’t used to such persistence. You had your fair share of men interested in you. But it was hard trying to find worthy Black men among the sea of white people.

“I wanna see you, alone,” he said.

You tuned back into Anne who was giving some background on the camp and why it was named Camp Wanderlust.

“You know everyone is talkin’ about us and taking bets,” you said.

“So? I’m trynna bet on us too,” he said.

You shook your head. “I’ll think about it,” you said. You weren’t a goody-two-shoes but you were just as excited as the kids at being here at camp. Your mother never wanted you to go, hiding behind excuses like she thought you would be boy crazy after. Which was ridiculous. You were already married to Marcus Murray. You just knew he was going to be your husband forever. Until he moved away in second grade and you never heard from him again. You didn’t want anything to jeopardize you being here. Not even for the likes of Franklin Saint.

He smiled at you and turned to Anne.

“Of course, that’s nothing compared to…” Anne looked around her dramatically. “No, I can’t say his name. Anyone who says it gets taken in the night!”

You shared the Look with Michella and shook your head. You didn’t know who Anne thought she was fooling with this routine, but you supposed that it wouldn’t be a proper bonfire without scary stories.

You stood up with Franklin and went over to the cooler. You opened it, grabbing bags of marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers. Franklin helped you, somehow managing to reach across you for everything. His arm grazed your tummy and you sighed. You tilted your head at him.

“Will you stop?” You asked.

“What?” He asked, innocent as a button. You were not fooled. He smiled at you, tilting his head back in response.

“You keep…you know,” you said.

“Tell me,” he said and stepped closer to you.

“Oh, you get on my nerves,” you said. You smiled at him.

“Meet me at Traveler,” he said.

You shook your head as you brought back the supplies towards the group. You began passing the bags around, picking up sticks that you had collected earlier. Anne continued her tale of the leader of the lost kids.

You were pretty sure she was talking about an evil Peter Pan but the kids didn’t seem to mind. Some were really engrossed in the story, looking over their shoulders towards the pitch black night.

She spun the tale of kids who got lost wandering in the dark by themselves. Snatching up anyone who calls them by name. She wasn’t going to say it for their safety. They absolutely must not go looking for his name on the plank where people had been signing their names for years. One signature is not like the rest and they must never seek it out.

The kids promised but you already saw some sneaky faces. Faces that screamed trouble. You fought a smile.

You took turns, trying to keep up the legend of this mysterious leader. No one knew who it was, it could be anyone out there. They could be right over someone’s shoulder and you wouldn’t know.

A few girls squealed. The boys were trying to seem cool, but you saw their eyes darting around as well. You munched on smores as tales were told and laughs were shared. The entire time, you were in sync with Franklin. If he moved, you moved. If he shifted, you did so as well. It was maddening.

The kids were dismissed to their cabins to unwind for an hour before bed. You walked your cabin back, Franklin walking beside you. He asked you about what you were studying. You told him your favorite subject and your face practically lit up talking about it.

You asked him what he was into. He said business. “Business! Why?” You asked.

He shrugged. “I got a mind for numbers. I can do something with that,” he said.

You really needed to get control of your dirty mind. When he said that, your mind instantly went to his lips. The moon poked through the trees and you were able to see him glow faintly silver. You licked your own, wondering what his lips would taste like. What his hands would feel like on you.

You dragged your gaze ahead of you. The overhead camp lights shone a giant spotlight on you and your group. You walked to each respective bunk and bid farewell to the kids. You crossed paths with Franklin once more as you walked to the counselor cabin.

Franklin’s hand brushed against yours. Your fingers tingled. As if it could already feel his hands tangling with yours. “Tonight?” Franklin asked.

“I’ll think about it!” You said and shook your head.

“You’re breaking my heart,” he said.

“Shut up!” You giggled. You went to your cabin, flopping onto your bed with a soft sigh. You brought the pillow to your face and squealed, questioning the butterflies in your stomach. You weren’t a teenager but, fuck, you felt like you were back in high school. Possibly earlier. Back to middle school where you couldn’t stop thinking about Chris Johnson and how sweet he was.

“Ugh, ya’ll need to go on and make it official. I need to win some real money around here,” Dana said. She emerged from the closet on her side.

These cabins were much smaller, big enough for two people and set up like a dorm room. You didn’t have that much money for school, it all went to books and classes. You weren’t able to stay on campus and you took the bus to and from the bastard.

“Stop,” you groaned.

“I don’t know why you leavin’ that man hanging like that,” she said. She was already dressed in her pj’s: sweats and a tank top. Your pjs were similar but you still weren’t sure if you were going to meet Franklin later or not.

It made you delirious to think about it. Sneaking off in the night. Wings took flight in your stomach. You flipped onto your back and placed your hands against your tummy. You had to see what he wanted, right?

It wasn’t to talk. You knew that much. He could be a gentleman all he wanted, but you weren’t that oblivious. You saw the way he looked at you or the way he found little ways to bother you. It was so childish but it grew on you as you formed an instant connection.

“I’m not trying to,” you told Dana.

“Look, we only here for four weeks. May as well have some fun and have something to tell your future grandkids,” she said.

You laughed and leaned onto your elbow to face her. “Why would I tell my grandkids I had something with some random boy at camp?”

“Because grandmas are always talkin’ out the side of they neck. I wanna be like my Grandma Sadie. She told us all kinds of things when my parents weren’t around,” she said.

“That’s why you’re so wholesome now,” you told her.

You talked and joked while Dana spread the latest camp gossip. You weren’t the only subject of people’s comments. People were already finding themselves tangled up with each other. Try as you might, you couldn’t get Jamika to see what a fuck nigga Jason was. She lost her collective marbles with him.

As it got later, your nerves got the best of you. You were hovering outside of the door, peeking out to see the distant house where Anne and Doug went to bed. There were still lights on in the house. Across from the house, there were similar bunks with the camp staff. Kitchen, groundskeeper, the like. Other volunteers who agreed to help watch the kids.

Your foot tapped against the wooden floor, your Converse beating a steady rhythm. Dana had explicitly told you to go while she drifted off to sleep. You took a deep breath and left the cabin. Your curiosity was going to eat you alive.

You scurried across the open courtyard heading toward Traveler bridge. The bridge itself crossed a small creek on a curve. You stopped at the entrance, under the light. You waited there, the chilly night and insects chirping making the woods seem creepier. Like Jason was going to pop out at any moment and go on a murdering spree. You should have brought a jacket. You rubbed your bare arms, feet shifting back and forth as you looked around you for any sign of Franklin. He wouldn’t tell you to meet him and then just not show up right?

“Hey, it’s Franklin,” Franklin whispered, making enough noise to let you hear him approach. You turned to face him, smiling softly at him.

“I’m glad you came. Took forever for my bunk mate to fall asleep,” he said.

He held out his hand and you took it, going over the bridge with him. There was a stretch of woods here, the trees loomed over you. Gnarled branches twisted and arched overhead, blocking out bits of the artificial light.

You reached the edge of the woods, where the trees broke up and allowed for a wider entrance towards the lake and the water supplies and equipment. Franklin stopped you from heading towards the dock.

He paused while the moon hit you two perfectly. You saw his face and how nervous he seemed. Franklin? Nervous?

“You’re so beautiful,” he said.

“You’re pretty cute too,” you said with a smile. He moved his hands to your hips, fingers sliding down your sides to loop his fingers through your belt loops. He pushed you backwards until your back gently hit a tree wide enough to accommodate you.

Franklin stared into your eyes. “I ain’t the only one feeling this, am I?” He asked.

He threaded his hand through your left one, watching as the pale light played over your combined hands. You swore your hand was electric from touching him. Little zips of energy flowed between you. Your body was learning him. Learning how he moved and spoke, resonated with his energy to match.

“No. Is it crazy?” You asked.

“Absolutely crazy. I like talkin’ to you,” he said.

He leaned down but didn’t kiss you. His lips hovered just there, just out of reach. He was so tall and broad, your hands came around his shoulders. You couldn’t stop grasping him. Your body heated up from the inside out. Your mouth dried feeling him beneath your fingers.

He let you explore his body. You were too shy to go further, to truly explore him. His hands stayed respectfully on your hips.

“I want to know everything,” he said.

You giggled. “We’d be here all night,” you said.

“Shit, I can lose some sleep,” he said.

You shook your head. “Are we going down to the dock or not?” You had did this yesterday too. Sneaking out while everyone was supposed to be sleep. You were sure that other couples were doing the same thing. Finding hidden spots that no one would stumble across at this time of night.

“I just wanted to look at you,” he said. He smiled and you couldn’t help smiling back. He didn’t even have to say anything and he had your lips curling, your tongue sliding across your teeth, and your cheeks hurting from smiling so hard.

You were lost in the world of Franklin and you didn’t mind. You would gladly stay in his orbit if he kept looking at you like that. Like he wanted to spend the rest of his life by your side, listening to you speak.

He finally moved away, allowing oxygen to flow to your brain once more. You shook off his subtle clean scent. He tugged you by the hand towards the dock. Your shoes clanged against the loose boards. It was a wonder the damn thing didn’t collapse by now.

Franklin let you sit down first. You took off your shoes and socks, dangling them over the dock. The water was a little out of reach. Only your toes graced the surface of the icy water. Franklin joined you, taking off his own shoes and socks. He sat back a little, his legs a bit longer than yours.

He sat close, close enough for you to feel every rise and fall of his chest. His shoulders grazed against yours and you had to sit on your hands to keep from reaching out and touching him like you owned him.

You spent an hour or so there, talking and learning about his aunt and uncle. His momma working for a piece of shit real estate agent. How he wanted to find a good paying job where his mom could retire and he could take care of her.

You didn’t bother asking about his dad. From the way he spoke about his mom, it was clear he wasn’t in the picture. You told him about your family, your schoolwork, and how hard it was to always be on stage while at school.

You bonded about how students and teachers alike didn’t know what to make of you. They didn’t know what kind of Negro you were. The loud type? The ignorant type? The quiet, good ones that they were comfortable reaching for your hair or asking intrusive questions? It felt good to bond with someone over these things.

Franklin was able to stay on campus but he hardly spent time in his rooms. He could be found in the library somewhere, doing his work like a true little nerd.

“You won’t hold it against me, will you?” He asked.

He sounded so adorable when he asked you that you shook your head. You leaned back, resting on your hands, as you looked at the stars above you. They were breathtaking. The air was clearer. You wished you could afford this much land. That you could have a place to yourself where no one else was allowed.

A private lake where you could do anything you wanted. You could swim naked for all you wanted and no one would be around to stop you. Perhaps not such a big land though. You wouldn’t know what to do if a psycho killer came crashing out of the woods.

“Nah, you good,” you said. He matched your stance, looking skyward. He then turned his head. You turned to look at him as well, not realizing just how close you were. His eyes dipped towards your lips.

You licked them absently and his eyes tracked the movement. You found yourself leaning forward, closing the distance towards those lips of his. They looked so big and juicy and were probably warm.

He rested his head against yours, smiling against your lips. “Let me kiss you,” he said.

It wasn’t a question but you smiled and nodded. He crossed that final distance, that tiny gap keeping you apart, He sighed against your lips. His big, warm hand reached up to cup your neck.

His fingers feathered across your pulse points. You felt your heartbeat there, beating wildly against his fingers. His lips were even more heavenly. His other hand cupped the other side of your neck. His long fingers slid through your braids.

You were lightheaded. Dizzy with pleasure as your lips tingled against his. Shivers ran down your spine. Your hands rested on his forearms, holding onto each other as you gave in to this thing between you. This all consuming thing that made you push forward, press against him, trying to get closer than what you already were.

Your harsh breaths seemed to echo in the still night. The sounds of the woods were muted here, lending itself to a type of quiet that you never experienced. There was always a plane or helicopter overhead. Some type of siren or dog barking.

It was hard as hell to go to sleep in a place so quiet. It was eerie. You kept expecting to hear a gunshot disguised as a firework. Here, there were just your loud and racing thoughts picturing this exact moment.

Franklin’s tongue danced with yours. Sweeping across your lips and diving back into your mouth to taste more of you. His breath was faintly minty. Even after dinner and the smores.

Your pussy throbbed. Beating in time with your wild heartbeat. You felt him everywhere. All over your skin. Every kiss had an answering call in your tummy. Every squeeze around your neck you felt down to your toes.

You reluctantly drew away at the same time, panting and turning drunk eyes on each other. “I’ve been dreamin’ about that,” he said. His head rested against your once more. You huffed, breathing each other in.

“Same here. I felt like that should've helped dull this,” you said.

After your taste, you wanted more. You wanted to keep going. You wanted him to lay you down and unzip your shorts. Or makeout with you while his hands explored under your shirt. To rub your aching nipples that were straining beneath your bra for any type of stimulation.

“Ain’t gon’ happen,” he said. He pecked your lips. But a quick peck turned into two and then three until you were moving into his lap. You straddled him and kissed under the stars. It was just you and him.

Him gripping your thighs and squeezing them for dear life. You running your hands around his back. Your lips crashing against each other over and over, like waves crashing against a shore. You felt weightless in his arms. He hadn’t looked all that sturdy under that skinny frame, but he handled you with ease.

He squeezed your ass and you groaned, couldn’t help yourself from grinding on his crotch. He was thick, warm, and solid under you. He was pressing against your core but there wasn’t enough friction.

You found a natural break again, opening your eyes to look at him and smile. It still was nowhere near enough but it would have to be. You had already been out too late. You were going to be so tired in the morning.

“We should get back,” he whispered.

You licked your swollen lips and nodded. Fuck, you wanted to keep going. Wanted to know how far he would push you.

“Will you meet me tomorrow too?” He asked.

You bit your lip but nodded. “I’ll meet you tomorrow, too,” you said. The other counselors be damned. It wasn’t like they weren’t around, confessing their own feelings. Or already hooking up. Clothes flying in the heat of the moment.

“Let me walk you to your cabin,” he said.

His hands slowly slid from your hips to your sides to help you maneuver off of him. You stood and he stood up after, taking your hand and walking with you back to your cabin. His cabin was further down and you thanked him for the sweet gesture.

He tapped his cheek for a kiss. Your cheeks hurt from trying to hide another smile. He got on your damn nerves. You pecked his cheek, your lips lingering for a fraction too long. “Good night, Franklin,” you said.

“Good night,” he said. Your name fell from his lips softly, sacredly.

You gave a small wave and went inside, closing the door and resting your back against it. You were still so lightheaded. Drunk on his kisses and needing more. Dana was still fast asleep so you changed and slipped into bed as quiet as you could.

You didn’t know how you were going to sleep tonight but you hoped that Franklin would dream of you too.

There's always more Franklin to explore: The Secret Franklin Saint Files | Part 2

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