iii. jack does not let you walk around the world untouched. it is not enough that he keeps you. that he feeds from you, that you know you belong to him. no- the world must know, too. he leaves his scent along your skin in papyrus, pressed into every place that matter.

"i won't stop you from leaving", he mutters to you one day, and you shudder. "i just wonder what the other wolves will think when they smell me on you"

you do not leave.

iv. jack sleeps like gravity—pressed to you, unmoving, inevitable. his arm drapes over your waist, fingers idly stroking the hollow of your throat, tracing the rhythm of your breath. he doesn't lull you, doesn't need to, or frankly want to. the silence is as warm as it could possibly be, thick, filled only with the steady rise and fall of your body against his own. his nose lingers in your hair, breath slow, savoring the scent—coconut, mango, vanilla. soft things, things that don’t burn. things he can stand. you shift slightly, and he exhales—not in protest, not in demand. just a slow, quiet thing. a sigh against your skin.

he sleeps like this. always.

iv. ii. -> jack doesn’t like most scents. strong ones make his skull ache, make something inside him recoil. lavender stings. mint is sharp. floral perfumes cling to the air too long, cloying, bitter at the edges. but then— you find the one. the first time you used it, he lingered closer to the vanilla. nose tucked into your hair, breath deep, slow, thoughtful, curious about the mango. he didn’t pull away. didn’t grimace like he does with the others. just breathed you in. now, when you wash your hair, you feel the way his grip softens at night, how he exhales against your skin—like something settled, something content. his nose presses into your hair as he drifts, fingers at your throat, stroking absent patterns against warm skin. you keep using it.

v. he delights in the tremor that runs through you at his touch— the way your soul seems to lurch as if startled from prayer. jack does not just wish to claim you; he desires to hollow you out and fill you with nothing but him, until your trembling ceases, not from fear, but from devotion. it is not love he seeks—it is need, an aching, all-consuming dependence, the way a drowning man needs air, the way sinners beg for absolution. there is power in that.

no harm will befall you—no blade, no beast, no vengeful hand—save for the ruin he carves himself.

"the world cannot have you." "and you can?" he smiles, slow and wolfish, baring something closer to teeth than affection. "of course. who else would know how to break you so gently?"

vi. jack is not a creature of petty jealousy, but of sequestration, and there is a difference. he does not rage, does not ask, and he does not accuse. but he sees. oh, he sees. a glance that lingers too long. a voice too honeyed, too bold. a hand that dares hover in your space. and later—when the world has gone quiet, when you are his again— he will remind you. his hands will trace the places that matter: your waist, your throat, the curve of your hip– not to punish. no, not that. to mark. to press his truth into your skin like ink into vellum.

"did they touch you?" "did they think they could take what is mine?" it is not anger. not quite. it is certainty. jack does not fear losing you. he only fears the mess he will have to make proving that you were never anyone else’s to begin with.

vii. the wolf is particular about his meals—irony at its finest. he does not simply consume whatever organ he can pry from a body; he has his preferences. kidneys are his staple—nutrient-rich, compact, easy to claim. but intestines? god forbid. he would rather starve than suffer the slick, rubbery indignity of gut-meat. something about the texture revolts him, a bodily rejection so visceral it makes his stomach turn. you find it amusing. monstrous, to be sure, but amusing nonetheless:

"you’re a literatim monster," you say, watching as he grimaces at the sinewy coil of flesh in his grasp. his mask is lifted just enough to reveal the sharp cut of his mouth, a slice of shadowed expression beneath the darkness of his hood. he levels you with a look, flat and unimpressed. then, with the deliberate slowness of someone indulging a particularly stupid argument, he says; "and? even wolves won’t eat spoiled carrion."

viii. jack does not fear pain. he has been carved open, stitched shut, unmade and remade. fire does not scare him because it harms—it scares him because it cleanses. he loathes candles. the flicker, the scent, the raw reminder that flame was once used to purge unholy things- to ritualize. he watches matches burn down to your skin, eyes dark, as if something buried in his marrow remembers being hunted by torchlight.

once, you held your hand above a lighter—just to test the heat. his hand had closed over yours before you could blink.

"don’t," he murmured, quieter than you’ve ever heard him. not a threat. not a warning. just something dangerously close to pleading. you do not touch it again.

ix. jack collects things from you. it is instinct, not sentiment—at least, that’s what you tell yourself. but still, he keeps them:

a hair tie, forgotten on the edge of the sink.

a loose thread from your sweater, wrapped between his fingers absentmindedly.

they do not belong in his pockets, but they end up there anyway. you find them in odd places—the windowsill, the nightstand, tucked beneath the curve of his mask where he presses his face against you at night.

"what are you doing with those?" you ask him once, and he does not answer; just twirls the thread around his finger, pulls it tight until the skin blanches pale, and lets it go.

x. jack likes it when you speak. he does not ask you to talk, but when you do, he listens. the shift is subtle—a quiet, instinctive thing. shoulders uncoil, breath steadies, the weight he carries settling just a little lighter. your voice anchors him, keeps him from drifting too far into the abyss clawing at his ribs.

"keep talking." "about what?" "anything."

so you do. halfhearted musings, lines plucked from dog-eared pages, idle talk of rain on the windowpane; and you pretend not to notice the way he exhales, how he sinks into the sound like it’s something that keeps him tethered.

x.ii. alternatively, jack is not a man of conversation. he will almost never engage first; but when you speak, he, again, listens. you tell him about a book you read. about a movie you half-remember. about a stray thought that slipped into your mind while staring at the ceiling. and even though he does not reply, days later, you find proof that he was listening. -> a book left at your nightstand—the same one you mentioned in passing. -> a piece of fabric, soft, in the color you once said you liked. -> a place, once empty, now filled.

he does not speak his affections, but they inevitably settle in the spaces between you, waiting for you to find them.

xi. possession is not always teeth, nor torn flesh. sometimes, it is the quiet return of what was never his.

a bracelet, long vanished, placed soft upon your pillow—your name, worn down against the silver

a book, barely a thought, waiting at the table’s edge—pages bent, a thumbprint smudged into the margin, proof of something unread but held.

a ring—not stolen, but found—turned over in his fingers, the metal catching dull light. held, as if some part of him still recalls the shape of offering.

"you keep bringing me things." "you keep losing them, lamb." no further explanation. no excuse, no reason, just the weight of his gaze and the silence between. but there are things you have not lost. things jack still brings:

a feather, left where your fingers will find it, sleek and dark.

a bullet casing, nestled in the curve of your palm, warmed by the heat of his pockets.

a coin, foreign and old, stamped with a face neither of you recognize.

when you were younger you had a love hate relationship with her tendency to become so completely fixated on something. staying up for hours at night thinking about their next score, holding a grudge for years against anyone who got piss drunk and pissed off vander in the bar, planning and fidgeting over the perfect way to ask you out for weeks before you finally took the step yourself.

even if it got her into danger, got her and her siblings into a temporary struggle that made your heart stall with the thought of nearly losing them, you always reminded her that you thought her fixation on things was cute, and a useful tool about half of the time.

(you even said that the trait reminded you of powder, always blabbering to you for as long as she could talk about her new ideas for gadgets and bombs. the girl was overjoyed in sharing something in common with her big sister, immediately climbing on her back to ramble about something new.)

but then you actually you lost her. you lost all of them. and you wished you had told her that that insecurity she had, all the insecurities she had, were stupid and inconsequential to how perfect you thought she was.

but maybe you’ll get the chance to tell her (and tell jinx that yeah, you were right, i did start seeing ghosts too) because a scarily realistic replica of your ex is standing in front of you and before you can shoo it away she’s hugging you so tight you think your ribs will break.

you follow as ekko gives her the tour of the firelights base, admiring each and every way she’s changed. she’s taller, obviously stronger, wearing a prison uniform that you don’t if you’re allowed to say looks good on her and a red jacket she stole from some guy because of course she did. you stifle a laugh as she tells the story and she smiles at you, indiscreetly wrapping your hand in hers.

it’s obvious by the look on his face ekko is so going to tease you about this later, but you don’t get a chance to care when she turns to you and ask where she and her enforcer friend can sleep. and janna knows you want to offer for her to sleep with you, but it’s been years and you don’t want to make her uncomfortable so you lead her and caitlyn to the newbie dorms.

but it seems like you’ve forgotten just how damn stubborn she is, because not even half an hour later a loud banging at your draws you from your bed, her flushed and nervous face shocking you into silence.

she asks to come in, but with her it’s always more like a demand then a question. you try to ignore the burning feeling of her eyes trained on you as you lead her to your bed, rolling your eyes as she aggressively flops back onto it.

“holy fuck, i haven’t been on something this soft in years. i think i’m gonna fall asleep right now.”

“i wouldn’t be mad if you did.” well, you’d be a little upset. you have so much to talk to her about everything, anything that’s happened since she disappeared. granted a lot of it was bad but there were still a few things you think would cheer her up. she’d already told you enthusiastic she was to eat jerichos again, just wait till she found out that-

you must of zoned out for a minute because you’re shocked back to reality by soft lips pressed to yours, vi’s bandaged hand cupping your cheek like you’ll fade into dust if she lets go. you mentally kick yourself in the head for not responding quicker when she pulls away and looks at you with that sad puppy look she gets.

“i, i’m sorry. it’s just, you were staring at me for a while! and it’s been so long since i’ve seen you and i don’t even know what we are or if we’re still girlfriends but you’re even more beautiful than the last time i saw you-“

you cup both of her cheeks in your hands,(maybe a little too hard) give her a second to back away if she wants, and pull her back in. her arms wrap around your waist and she lets out a whimper when your hand travels to the back of her neck to pull her closer and closer-

and now it’s around one hour? maybe two? it’s a while later, and as her hand travels back into you for the fourth time, yeah, you’re starting to remember how obsessive she could be.

“vi, baby - oh my gods, y’know you can slow down!” your voice pitches when her fingers, her beautiful long and big fingers push up against that spot inside you, her other hand keeping your hips down when you involuntarily raise them off the sheets.

“don’t think i can, princess.” she groans into your breast as she sucks another path of bruises down your chest, slate eyes amused at how your hands grip the bed like it stole from you, how your mouth opens so cutely before you bite your lips to hold back your sounds.

her mouth finally closes around your clit and the increased sensitivity from your past orgasms combined with the almost growling sound she makes when she tastes you sends you right over the edge, thighs clamping around her head as she carries you through it.

the rubbing of her rough hands over your thighs and her gentle words of praise merry drag you into the beginnings of a soft slumber.

until you can feel the damn brute lift your legs onto her shoulders and stick her tongue inside you, laughing at your shocked squeal and resumed grip on her hair.

“besides, we’ve gotta make up for lost time, don’t we?”

but she had to admit that while being respectful she noticed things that made her eager to nudge you a bit. you were always a strong willed person who gave her a run for her money when it came to being stubborn, but behind closed doors she notice just how obedient you could be.

a lazy murmur of asking for a drink the next time you grabbed one was met with her hand filled with a glass of water before she could blink. a casual reminder not to forget your jacket in the morning and wrapping the fabric around your shoulders leads to a far off look in your eyes that she just can’t ignore.

your first time together she’s oh so sweet and gentle, asking repeatedly if you’re sure you want to go through with it while she’s leaving trails of kisses up and down your body. but she can see how your anxiety deflates, how pliant your body becomes as she moves and guides different parts of you to her will.

and then with a desperate voice you beg her, give her the permission to do whatever she wants with you, that you’re literally aching for it. and how could she say no to that?

she’s on cloud nine and she’s dragging you up with her as she manipulates your body using her hands and words. a simple command to take off your clothes and lay down for her has you laid out on the bed willing and waiting for her.

you follow her instructions so smoothly it almost seems like you were made to do it, made specially to be obedient to her. a weird thrill goes down her spine at the thought and the same happens to you when she voices it, giving you endless praise about how well you follow her instructions.

“cmon, do one more for me, okay?”

her eyes nearly roll back into her skull at the sound of your whine mixed with the sound of her fingers thrusting into your cunt, the squelching and sloshing after multiple orgasms she’s ripped out of you sending her brain into a frenzy.

“v-vi, please, violet, wan’ it, need you-“

she pushes her lips into yours to capture more of your moans while she groans into your mouth and speeds up her fingers, putting her all into giving you yet another orgasm. she feels your legs twitching against hers, your hands grasping and shaking against her back. right when she feels you about to trip over she pulls back and looks into your eyes to burn the look of you into her brain.

“cum for me, cum for me right now pretty girl,”

she barely finishes her sentence when your clamping down on her and moaning like she’s tearing your soul from your body. she has to muffle her own sounds against your neck when she realizes you’re squirting against her hand and soaking the bed underneath.

once you both catch your breaths she finally loves her body from slouching into yours to flopping onto the bed next to you. you gently kick her when she sticks the fingers that were inside you into her mouth with a comical groan, laughing as you fake being upset at her crudeness.

“gods, you’re such a pervert.”

“says the one whose shown me how obedient she is. you think if i ask to go again you’ll let me?”

“…for my own sanity i’m not going to answer that.”

vi chuckles. she can’t wait to see just how pliant for her she can make you.

you’re jerked from sleep by a loud pounding behind your door.

blood turning to ice, a trickle of fear runs down your spine as your heartbeat picks up. the banging begins again, a loud rapping so violent you imagine the wood of your door bending from its force. you slide out of bed as quietly as you can; avoiding the weak, creaking spots on your floor.

you pick up the bat placed next to the threshold of your front door, fingers sliding up the handle as you inch towards the door knob. there are another three booming knocks that make you jump back with a small ‘eep!’ before gaining up the courage to rip the door open. other hand reaching to grip the bat handle, you raise it above your head, prepared to strike.

you don’t.

violet wobbles in your doorframe, a sly smile creeping on her lips when she sees your vicious state. “hey, sweetheart,” she croons, stumbling to the side and barely catching herself on the trim of your entryway.

great. she’s belligerent.

“vi,” you say her name like a statement, “what are you doing here?”

you met vi months ago, amidst the beginning of her winning streak in the pit. she spotted you on the dancefloor adjacent to the bar she frequented after her fights. she’d approached you with one thing in mind. the sex was amazing, passionate and fiery, it would have been perfect if she didn’t keep calling you by someone else's name.

“‘cmon, sweetie, don’ be like that,” she slurs, “i missed you.” you roll your eyes, but can’t help the fond smile that responds to her words. you'd kept seeing her after that first night despite every red flag, showing up at her matches just so that she could find you again. you cherished every drunken night with her.

you knew what you were doing was going to get you hurt in the end, but you supposed you just didn't care. and it wasn’t just the sex, there was something else about her that you couldn’t ignore.

among the moments of intense lust, you saw her for what she truly was. lonely. broken, sad. kind.

rubbing at your forehead, you sigh, then step aside so that she can make her way into your apartment. “i thought you said we couldn’t see each other anymore.” you tell her, manipulating your voice into a teasing lilt, but silently begging her to say what you wanted to hear. she slips past you and inside your home like she has dozens of times before.

“you know that was bullshit,” she laughs drunkenly, “i can’t stay away from you.” she says it matter-a-factly, like it is something well-known and studied. you scoff, disbelief sinking into your gut.

some nights when you ended up together, long after you first entangled, instead of sex, you would listen to her drunken rambling. while you attempted to feed her grilled cheese sandwiches and water to soak up the alcohol in her stomach, she would reveal things to you that stunned you into silence.

her father, her sister, mylo and claggor. silco, the lanes, her time in stillwater, she told you all of it. when her name — caitlyn’s name — first tumbled out of her mouth, you nearly vomited. that is what she had been calling you the first few times you hooked up. “caitlyn,” she’d whisper it into your collarbone, murmur it against your breast.

you couldn’t see her for a couple weeks after that revelation, avoiding the bar, the pit, wallowing in your self-pity. it didn’t last long. she’d shown up, much like this, begging for you to tell her what she’d done wrong. tears streaming down her cheeks as she sunk to her knees in front of you.

you just couldn’t abandon her after that night, no matter what she did. it didn’t matter anymore what she’d call you or what she wanted from you, the empathy you had for this suffering person overtook any self-preserving thoughts you had.

she was going to break your heart. you accepted it.

vi flops onto your beaten couch, laying her arms along the cushions and tipping her head back until she’s staring at your ceiling. the last time she was here it was more than three weeks ago, the longest you’d gone without her since you met her. she’d told you that she couldn’t see you any longer; your time with her was up.

you guessed it had something to do with how close you two had gotten, emotionally. not only were you discovering every way to make each other shiver in bed, you were also exploring each other's deepest thoughts and highest dreams.

your heart races in your chest as you settle yourself next to her on the couch. she lazily turns her head to set her eyes on you, the glimmering gray of her irises makes every emotion for her you’ve tried to dissolve come flooding back. “you’re so pretty,” she whispers.

you immediately feel sick, wondering if she’s having another hallucination of caitlyn. how had you gotten into this mess, fallen so deeply into the chasm that is violet’s grasp? you turn your head away from her, resting your cheek on your shoulder while you contemplate your next move.

she says your name, your name, with such clarity it shocks you. you whip your head back around to see her leaning forward, looking at you with a sobriety you haven’t seen from her before. then she kisses you.

you melt into it, allowing her to pull you against her, on top of her lap and into her arms. you sigh, it feels like coming home. she’s gentle with you, cradling and stroking your neck and arms. you sag into her.

her pouty lips are soft and warm, her tongue swipes along your bottom lip and a shudder runs down your back. when you open your mouth for her, it’s heaven.

it’s retribution.

you pull back, stumbling over your feet as you remove yourself from her lap. her chest is heaving, and you catch yourself watching her ab muscles clench with every breath. you scrub your forehead.

“this is wrong,” you say.

“what?” she scoffs a laugh, “baby—”

“this is wrong and you know it.” your voice cracks, the emotion you’ve been shoving down all these months finally coming back to suffocate you. “you’re in love with her.”

violet flinches.

“you’re in love with her, not me, and i—” a sob leaves your throat, “i’m falling in love with you and i can’t keep sacrificing myself for-for this.” you gesture between the two of you. “it’s not enough.”

“you—” vi starts, standing to meet you, “you—i can’t lose you, too.” you can see her own tears forming in her eyes. “please. i can’t.” the desperation in her voice is unparalleled, you've never heard her so emotional.

the dam breaks. you fall into her arms, wrapping yourself around her neck as you cry into each other’s shoulders. you both crumple to the floor, she is gripping you like you’re her salvation. neither of you say anything.

time passes and she falls asleep in your hold; you eventually heave her onto the couch. tucking her in with a spare pillow and blanket, you watch for a few silent moments as she peacefully breathes in her sleep.

a thought crosses your mind, maybe you could lay down next to her for the night, but you shake it away with surprising willpower. leaning above her, you press a longing kiss against her temple and squeeze your eyes shut. a murmur leaves her lips, it sounds a lot like your name.

when violet wakes her head is pounding in retaliation for how much she drank the previous night. a groan leaves her lips and her eyes flutter open as memories come streaming back to her. she gasps, sitting up too quickly. ignoring the way her stomach turns, she glances around your empty apartment.

she finds you sleeping in your room, curled up in bed, snoozing quietly. her heart clenches. she knows that you deserve better than what she's been giving you, she knows how much damage your heart has taken the last few months. she’s like a parasite, draining you of all the affection she needs and in return inflicting you with the illness that comes with caring for her.

but she can’t make herself stay away.

she knows why, too. she just doesn't have the strength to admit it.

instead, she leans above you, pressing a longing kiss against your temple and taking a shuddering breath. she pulls away and watches as a murmur leaves your lips, her name.

she wipes the crippling onslaught of tears off her cheeks as she approaches your front door. muffling the sounds of her cries with a tight hand over her mouth, she leaves, gently shutting the door behind her.