𝖕𝖔𝖔𝖗 𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖗

                   “yes,  easier  to  step  on.  it’s  easier  to  do  that  right?  isn’t  that  what  people  like  you  do,  prey  on  those  who  are  easier  to  manipulate.”  he  would  give  anything  to  really  know  what  goes  on  inside  katherine’s  head.  he’s  got  it  so  engrained  into  his  head  that  she’s  just  around  to  play  mind  games  with  him,  he  always  assumes  that’s  why  she  attaches  like  a  magnet  towards  him.  because  damon  just  offers  her  attitude  and  no  leeway,  and  maybe  he  offers  her  attitude  as  well  but  he’s  the  one  giving  her  an  inch.  

              “which  is  why  i  have  no  idea  why  it  isn’t  damon  your  pestering.”  they  share  more  similarities  than  he  and  her,  their  threats  of  harming  someone  because  they  get  their  feelings  hurt  rings  very  familiar  to  something  damon  would  do.  his  heart  is  broken,  yet  he  has  no  intent  on  killing  elena  even  in  the  midst  of  battling  vampirism  that’s  sole  meaning  is  to  kill.  his  goodwill  even  overpowers  that.  “but  please.  do  go  ahead  and  kill  me.  i'd  thank  you  from  the  after  life.”  he  retaliates  her  threat  with  relentless  sass,  he’s  irritable  and  not  in  the  mood  to  care  about  her  heartless  tendencies.  “it’s  funny  you  think  i  care.  you  don’t  have  to  kill  elena,  she’s  already  dead  to  me.”  there’s  no  bluff  in  the  way  he  says  it,  or  in  his  emerald  eyes  as  pools  of  bright  green  meet  her  dark  ones.  of  course  she  has  to  get  so  close  to  him.  “i  guess  now  there  would  be  just  you,  katherine.  but  there’s  a  divide  between  us.”  just  like  he  doesn’t  understand  her  intentions  of  wanting  to  be  around  him,  she  doesn’t  understand  why  he  doesn’t  want  to  be  around  her.  “if  you’ve  read  my  journal  then  you  should  understand  why  there’s  division  between  us?  you’re  smart--  you  should  be  able  to  read  in  between  the  lines.  if  we  were  together,  it  would  just  be  you  thrilling  off  killing  and  me  angry  every  two  seconds  that  you  did.  i  wouldn’t  really  be  a  fun  companion  for  you.”  he’s  still  being  smart  with  her,  but  it’s  not  like  it  isn’t  true  as  well.  he  can’t  love  her  because  his  noble  personality  isn’t  attracted  to  her  cunning  nature–  but  repulsed.  “we’d  be  divorced  in  three  days.”  voice  sarcastically  becoming  more  chipper,  smiling  briefly  before  it  drops  back  into  the  frown  as  amusement  is  short  lived.

𝓼𝓽𝓾𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓼 𝓯𝓵𝓾𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻, blinking rapidly at stefan as if she had no idea what he meant. "playing the victim again, stefan? because, as far as i can see, there are two predators sitting in this room right now." if he wanted to judge her, then she wouldn't pull punches, either. he was this... complex thing, eternally fighting against his baser nature. katherine didn't find it admirable so much as she found his resilience, his need to be more than monster, terribly intriguing. the man that had once, in his ignorance, called her angel in the past, was also capable of deep destruction. it was only unfortunate that he would take things so far as to hate himself, when she loved him so dearly, and would rather see him alive and fulfilled.

"but i know you hate talking about that other you, the ripper-- it's funny that you can seek redemption but the moment i ask for a little forgiveness, i get nothing."

so what if she embraced her nature and didn't apologize for it? no, she did not have stefan's open empathy for other humans; that simply didn't serve her purpose. what she did have was a singular need to get stefan to understand that she desired his forgiveness; forgiveness for having ever hurt him, for not loving him in the right way-- and, yes, even someone as corrupted as katherine pierce yearned to figure out how to love stefan salvatore in the right way.

pale, delicate-looking hand flies up to wrap around stefan's throat in a menacing fist. eyes flood a deadly black, in a vampire's dark lust; pretty lips pulling back in a snarl, revealing perfect white fangs. thumb idly traces the spot where jugular veins travel the length of his neck, hungry and wanting. yet, stefan was the only one to ever make katherine feel something more than basic lust and hunger. "kill you?" muses as if the thought passes her mind in great consideration. in reality, she had been afforded many separate occassions to kill him; she was older, stronger, and her reputation terrified all sorts of creatures. "no. if you ever go to the afterlife, then i'd go with you." a promise meant so dearly, eyes softening back to that familiar sensuous brown, fangs disappearing for a grim smile upon her lips.

head tilts off to one side as she slowly releases his throat, not because she wants to, but because there was no use in reliving old patterns. she would state her love for him, he would claim to hate her, and then violence would ensue. just this once, she would hold off her true nature just to hear why he rejected her so. --it was true that her killing wouldn't stop, but would he rather fall in love with another ridiculous human who wouldn't love him nearly as passionately as she did?

                      “i  admit…  that  a  few  things  were  going  through  my  head  when  i  saw  her.  i  saw  her  and  then  of  course  i  immediately  saw  you.  i  wanted  to  know  if  it  was  you.”  for  both  reasons:  to  keep  her  away  from  causing  any  conflict  if  it  was  and  because  he  was  intrigued…   he  knows  there  was  a  part  deep  down  that  was  simply  intrigued.  “but  she  wasn’t.”  yet  he  should’ve  turned  away  once  he  got  the  information  he  wanted.  but  then  he  ended  up  falling  in  love  with  her,  because  she  was  some  nicer  version  of  katherine.  elena  had  traits  he  wished  he  could  find  in  katherine,  until  she  turned  out  differently.  this  is  where  he  goes  silent  and  keeps  these  things  to  himself,  because  knowing  katherine  she  might  take  it  to  offense  and  flip  out  on  him  if  he  blurted  the  latter.  which  is  more  chaos  he  doesn’t  want  to  chance  right  now.  

                   visage  turns  back  in  katherine’s  direction,  her  hand  on  his  cheek  does  both  burning  and  bringing  him  comfort  because  he’s  so  lonely  and  desperate  to  feel  something  other  than  void.  but  it  burns  because  it’s  her  palm  touching  his  skin.  he  doesn’t  even  try  to  defend  elena,  he  doesn’t  care  enough  about  defending  her  anymore.  he  silently  might  even  agree  with  katherine  for  once.  “am  i  the  one  you  really  picked  or  am  i  just  the  easier  one  to  step  on  because  i’m  ‘so  caring’.”  saying  it  with  self  hatred  for  being  so  tirelessly  labeled  as  the  caring  one,  bright  greens  pierce  through   her  doe  ones  then  he’s  glancing  away  again  the  same  time  she’s  pulling  away.  this  is  what  he  doesn’t  find  in  katherine,  he  doesn’t  like  the  way  he  finds  something  unpredictable  in  her  gaze.  like  she’s  always  up  to  something  no  good.  “something  about  damon  always  terrorizing  my  life.  but  it’s  not  just  damon  though–”  his  voice  grows  angrier,  fingers  clenching  tight  around  the  glass  after  it’s  given  to  him,  if  he  holds  it  any  tighter  the  glass  will  break.  

           “i  saw  it  coming  the  moment  he  came  and  intervened.  he  could  intervene  all  he  want  but  why  should  i  have  to  worry  so  much  someone  was  going  to  trade  me  off  for  him?  i  was  worried  she  would  eventually  would.  and  this  is  what  i’m  talking  about.  i  shouldn’t  have  to  worry.  if  it  were  the  other  way  around… you,  elena  or  anyone  else–  had  this  other  cunning  sister,  i  wouldn’t  let  that  stand  in  my  way.  ever.  no  one  else  could  come  in  between  my  love  for  someone,  but  there  is  no  one  like  that.  everyone  is  so  quick  to  fall  for  someone  else–  or  someone’s  brother.”  he  dryly  laughs  in  disbelief,  before  shaking  his  head  at  how  ill  it  makes  him,  a  never  ending  competition  with  his  brother.  it’s  not  even  a  stranger,  but  his  brother.   “and  he  has  already  ruined  me.  but  what  do  you  care,  katherine?  i  should  just  save  it  and  go  write  all  of  this  in  my  diary.”  he  sarcastically  answers,  slinging  the  glass  into  the  fireplace,  the  sound  of  it  shattering  mirrors  the  growing  anger  in  his  heart  before  walking  away  to  sit  on  the  couch.  

"𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓸 𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓹 𝓸𝓷?" admittedly, katherine has stepped on her fair share of victims. she would spin any lie, sink nails and teeth into any sumptuous prey, just to gain all she could out of some collateral damage. the vampire in her found it to be fun within the chaos at times. though, how could she explain that stefan made her curious for humanity, for real love? every attempt to get him to understand was met with cold disbelief. nonetheless, what stefan had become now? wasn't something that anyone could necessarily just step on. "stefan, we both know that isn't true," honeyed tones were still laced with a particular venom, seeping with potential disaster. what she wasn't saying was this: we both know what you're really capable of. and she doesn't call him the ripper because that's some extreme part of him kept under heavy lock and key. the duality of vampire-- it was such a heavy thing, teetering between insanity and humanity, control and all-consuming bloodlust.

The source of his anger was unclear within his own self. Though in his typical day to day life he was uptight, he rarely snarled and showed his teeth to anyone who didn’t deserve it. How pathetic was it that he wanted to see her friends? So purposeless was the act but something about Rowan made him want to be shown off, in the most desperately pathetic way. It was immature and he could acknowledge that, perhaps something that came along with dating someone so much younger than he was. Did he view their relationship as immature? Sometimes, in a fleeting moment of thought. Was it truly a relationship with the secrecy they maintained?  That was debatable, but Ace would never allow himself to waste his time on a venture that wasn’t worth it. Rowan was worth it. The quickies in closets, the petty drama, the heart-wrenching realizations that maybe one day this wasn’t going to work. She was worth it all and then some, yet he still remained stoic when it came to interaction with her. Never allowing her to look inside him beyond a glance through a fogged window. Perhaps that contributed to the immaturities in their relationship, his emotional handicap that would always keep her at an arm’s length. 

The post-sex clarity made him clear his throat. Daddy. His shoulders hunched, a lack of comfortability flooding his body upon her shameful words passing her lips. He knew he shouldn’t have said it. The word sounding poisonous on her sugary sweet tongue, the image of her father.. his boss entering his mind. “Crystal, Ms. Deiana.” Ace says compliantly. His tone is professional, the same he uses whenever her father observes their interactions. It feels wrong in his mouth at the moment while he can still taste her saliva on his tongue, but it was meant to feel wrong. Nothing about this was morally right and the last thing he needs is for her to act out like the brat he knows she can be. After all, her tendencies to do so had lead them into this closet in the first place. He shouldn’t have expected resolution. Pleasuring her was only a bandaid on a bigger issue that he didn’t care to delve into that very moment. Veiny hands readjust his sport coat and then find his pockets, posture erecting itself as if their conversation was nothing beyond a rich, mob princess conversing with her bodyguard. It’s familiar, yet torturously foreign. “I’ll wait for you in the car.”

That was all he intended to do. He’d caused enough chaos for the night, whether that be between himself and Rowan, or her and her friends, or worse. Ace slipped through the crowded club once more, keys to his Benz in hand as he steps outside. He makes a mental note to turn on Ro’s seat warmer, the cold winter air that nips at his exposed skin reminding him the leather will be less than flattering on her exposed flesh due to her club attire. Blue eyes fixated on his pale skin running red due to the chill. He tries to focus on something else, something other than Rowan but it proves to be useless as his steps draw nearer to his vehicle. Just a few more steps, a couple more feet. That was all he had to do to end the night. But things with Ace were never that seamless. 

“Deiana’s father buy you that Benz? Or did she do it herself considering you’re her bitch?” Ace doesn’t want to turn around for he knows the source of the chirping. Rowan will be out here any second, he tells himself. As if that’ll stop him from getting violent. But nothing, not even her has ever stopped him from being violent. His freshly polished dress shoes pivot in the parking lot gravel, the voice drawing closer as Brian begins to quip again. “I thought you two were long gone but me and my boys are happy to see your still here after that cheap fuckin’ shot you took.”

Ace wastes no time stepping up to Brian, nose red and swollen. His eyes are already beginning to blacken, a tell tale sign that Ace had in fact broken his nose. It was satisfying knowing that not only had he caused him pain for touching his girl but threatened him enough that he had to bring back up. “If I were you, I’d ask one of your buddies here for a tampon. It helps stop the nose bleed. One of these pussies should be able to help you out.” Ace spits, no hesitance. He doesn’t look like much. His frame slender, muscles hidden in his suit coat. But his height is threatening within itself as he hovers above, hand itching at the gun in his pocket. 

And then Rowan approaches, causing his amused demeanor to flip into a protective one as she tugs on him. He drowns out Brian’s chatter as he looks down at Rowan, holding out the keys to her. “Get in the car, Rowan. Now.” He knows she will protest. Knows she’s stronger willed than to sit idly by while he fights and unfair fight. She’d never let him get hurt and he’s grateful for that but in this moment, his adrenaline takes the wheel. His voice is now low, speaking through viscous, gritted teeth at her. “Get in the fucking car. Now is not the time to show me you’re tough. Go, now. Don’t get out of the car for any reason. Call Iggy if anything goes wrong, do not call your father. Go, Rowan. Now.”

He won’t throw a punch until she’s gone. So Ace waits, impatiently. With expectant eyes glued to him. 

"𝓷𝓸, 𝓷𝓸," repeats breathlessly as she shakes her head. there is honest fear in the lovely warm chestnut of her eyes. if only ace would just trust her, as she was damn near obligated in trusting him with her life, and on the infrequent occasion, her heart. she was not afraid of violence, however. she was but a mere child upon witnessing her first murder, and it seemed almost a deiana family rite of passage to be able to cope with the blood, the conquering, and to be able to revel in the downfall of their many enemies. but this... this was not such a moment. this was not a moment for flexing power or being easily provoked. rowan would have never stepped in without logical reasion; surely her beloved wouldn't dismiss her warnings so coldly? she swipes the keys away, if only to quickly pocket them, before her tiny digits are back to curling into ace's jacket. "i'll get in the car, but come with me. come with me or i'll tell my father about what we did here tonight-" the threat is firm; now he would be forced to take her seriously.

"i'm tired of this shit," snaps brian, footsteps sharply striding for them. "you're both fuckin' pathetic." as if on cue, the other two goons had circled around the couple to trap them in with nowhere left to run. it was too late to walk away or get ace out of a potential firefight. rowan knew attempting to talk them out of this wouldn't help a single one see reason; brian experienced the life of having monsters in his bloodline as well. that meant that backing down would be foreign to him, and he would try every which way to hurt ace in order to appease his formerly bruised ego. carefully, rowan fixed her expression into one of indifference as she mentally contemplated the old ways of self-defense that had been taught to her at a young age. she had always needed to be ready and willing to get out of a tough situation should her bodyguard fail to be there, and truthfully, she didn't expect ace to handle all three opponents with ease.

but as they closed in, the aggression was so swift that rowan felt an immediate rush in her veins. sweet, sweet adrenaline whilst in the eye of danger-- addictively humming beneath her creamy skin. big brown irises watched with full engagement as ace tore through them, both sides swinging and grunting and spilling blood, and rowan's jaw fell slack in awe for but a moment-- before hard, rippling hands grabbed her by the waist. some random goon swept up her featherlight weight with great ease, slamming her down into cold concrete, causing the most fragile of cries to peel from kiss-bruised petals. hands were on her, and then limbs made of raw muscle, a male figure that was not ace-- and her younger self would've screamed, but she has been in such positions before-- before ace, before her father hired her best protector and most passionate lover all in one. though he was still caught up with the other two, and rowan wasn't going to cry out to him for help. no, all deianas were ready to die, should the moment eventually come. nevertheless, rowan balls up a fist and swings, connects with a strong jaw, and she kicks and she squirms in violent retaliation. muscle-memory of former training rising to the surface-- until a powerful fist wraps around her throat, the man intent on strangling her before ace intervenes.

the shots rang out thunderously. she swore her heart stopped a moment, and then quivered as two more shots followed the first. rowan coughed a bit, but that was nothing to her as she slowly sat up, blinking owlishly at her lover standing so menacingly -- like a god -- after he'd robbed three men of their lives. adrenaline still wildly pumping, she can hardly decide what to do next. waits for ace to come and help her, doe eyes sweeping over the corpses, and the blood, so much blood. should she be proud of this victory? or scared of what might come next? within seconds, they're in the warmth of the benz, and rowan scans over the sight of her reddened knuckles. those small, marred fingers slowly dancing across the air to subsequently land upon ace's thigh as he drove. "are you hurt...?"