Chapter 1: “Fuck 12!”

Foster blew out a cloud of smoke, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. She was more upset over the fact that she could have been caught then over one of her closest friends being arrested. Of course, that’s how it worked between Scout, Foster, and Mileena. The three were inseperable but looked out for themselves and families all the same. If one of them fucked up, that was their responsibility. 

Although, for this, ratting out another gang for breaking the law was dishonorable and something she would never forget. 

She’d have their heads for attracting attention to the Romero Crime Family, one of the five crime families under the Italian Mafia located in New York City and the family that her father, Wolf Matteo Romero, was Don of. “That set up was a pussy move, just wait till’ my papa’ gets a sniff of this.” She threw her blunt to the ground, smooshing it against the pavement with the soles of her shoe.  "My father won’t be too thrilled either, the Mendoza Cartel has been lying low and now we’re back in the public eye. Remind me never to bring Scout with us on another deal again, she’s too clumsy and careless.“ A sour look overcame Mileena’s face as she looked off into the distance, deep in thought. 

Not only was Foster the daughter of a Don, but Mileena the daughter of the infamous drug cartel gangster, Jesus Valentino Mendoza.  The two mobster kids looked off towards their school as the bell rang for the duration of five seconds. The building looked like any old high that you could find throughout New York, but it was different from the rest apart from having a uniform policy. 

It educated the most dangerous criminals of our time. 

Or well, their children. 

a criminal’s kiss character page 


Elrond: I have recieved word from your sister, she wishes you to vist her soon. On another note, it would seem strange that I have received a messenger from the woodland realm bearing wine as gratitude for the gifts and lost artifact I have supposedly sent them.

You had inherited his gift of foresight and a penchant for saying whatever that comes to mind. You were his youngest child and most favourite, though he may never admit to it. You had exeeded the expectations of many, even that of your grandmother, forming your own kingsguard that sometimes served as a scout party and fostering lasting friendships with the Kingdoms of Men. While Arwen is fair and beautiful, you radiate a different kind of beauty, one that would stop a man in his tracks, disarm him with a gaze.

You lifted your gaze from the book you were reading to see the troubled look on your father.

Y/N: How… thoughtful of them?

You answered unsurely to the odd tone he took with the question before returning your attention to your book. It was given from Arwen as the two of you often exchanged books to read so you may discuss about it when you see each other.

Elrond: Y/N, I had not sent any gifts to the young King. Is there something you are unwilling to tell your ada, my daughter? I would not be angry at you for it.

Y/N: … We encounted a troll hoard during out scout, I found something that belonged to Mirkwood, I simply returned it.

Your Lord father sat by your side, plucking the book away from your hands. He held your hands in his, for a moment remembering the tiny life that held the small of his pinky with her whole hand.

Knowing that this day would eventually come and how much you have grown from the small bundle in his arms. But who would have thought, his youngest being the first to be taken away? He waited for you to say something more but when none came, he continued further.

Elrond: … nothing else? For instance, would you ride out immediately to Mirkwood to see him if I gave you my blessing?

Elrond didn’t need an answer for the light shone brighter in your eyes than ever before, gave him the answer he needed.

There Is Fire In Your Blood (the wolves will always call you back)

She’s twelve years old when it happens.

She’s on a camping trip with her girl scout troop that her latest foster family insisted she join, when she hears a noise outside of her tent and she creeps out. Twelve years old with no fight or flight response, she wanders into the woods by the camp fire.

(Wolves aren’t supposed to have red eyes.)

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