#and everyone in the world is going to pay for it

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the black sheep

a/n: wrote this at five in the morning after i woke up from a nightmare ✌️

summary: “don’t,” a sharp breath filled your lungs as you shook your head and your eyes instantly squeezed shut, “don’t do that… don’t act like you care just because my father pays you. I know you’re no better than all of the others out there…” 

warnings: soft!mob!bucky x mob boss daughter!reader, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, forbidden romance, age gap, sexual references, horrible and abusive family, bullying, mental illness (depression, anxiety, stress), references to being institutionalised at a terrible place against one's will, party, dancing, crying

word count: 1511

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The creak of a heavy pair of boots crossing over the threshold found your ears, though didn’t persuade your neck to twist around and see who had appeared in the doorway. 

“Miss?” Bucky’s tone echoed quietly throughout the room as his metal hand continued to clutch the doorhandle he’d just twisted. 

But instead of tearing your eyes away from the night sky that twinkled on the other side of the window, you instead continued to sit on the floor, the fancy dress you’d been forced into wrinkling around your legs, as you faintly began to murmur, “you know, I wanted to be an astronaut when I was little…” your eyes traced one of the constellations gleaming above, “it wasn’t because I had some fascination with space, but it was the one thing I could imagine that would take me as far away from here as possible…” a breath escaped you before your vision finally floated back down to earth and you glanced over your shoulder, “would you mind closing the door? It’s so loud out there…” 

As you reunited your gaze to the world outside and you heard the door shut behind you, the mobster then carefully asked, “are you alright?” 

“Don’t,” a sharp breath filled your lungs as you shook your head and your eyes instantly squeezed shut, “don’t do that… don’t act like you care just because my father pays you. I know you’re no better than all of the others out there…” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tried to conceal his painful awareness of your situation. 

“I know what the others say behind my back,” you uttered, your mind haunted by their voices, playing the comments on a loop till they turned into boiling tar, “poor Y/n, weak and broken Y/n who is crazy and could never really be a part of this family… but unfortunately for everyone, I am,” you breathed, memories of your adolescence flooded your system, how they had sent you away to a broken institution at the smallest sign of vulnerability, “so I could never just leave. I couldn’t go out and earn my own money, they would cut off any attempt I made of getting a job in this city,” you pointed out their power, “and if I tried to get away, move to somewhere else, then they would have to take care of that as well because they can’t have a liability just out there. They own me, and they’ve made sure that I am nothing without them, and with them, I’d never be able to accomplish a goddamn thing. They wouldn’t hesitate to cut my life short if I ever stepped out of line again, you know that, it happened to my aunt… for all I know, it’ll probably happen as soon as my brother takes over, it is after all what everyone has surely wished for since the day I was born…” 

As those last few venting words escaped your lips, a sinking feeling bloomed in your stomach as you realised those shattering truths hadn’t been contained in your thoughts alone. 

“Oh shit…” tears began to blur your vision as you spun around and jaggedly rose to your feet, “please don’t tell anyone about any of that,” you took a panicked step forward, “I–… I didn’t mean any of it, it’s not–…” your chest rose and fell rapidly as you stared back at the gangster, “what do you want?” you attempted desperately, “do you want money? I could talk to my father and give you another leg up? I’ll give you whatever you want, just please don’t tell anyone, I–…” 

An idea then struck through your terrified blubbering, and without giving it another thought, you dropped down to your knees before him. 

“What are you doing?” he finally spoke, blinking down at you by his feet. 

Wiping your cheek as a steady flow of tears rolled down them, you then reached out for Bucky’s belt and sniffled, “you can have me, if that’s what could buy your silence.” 

But instead, your father’s right-hand man grabbed your hands, “stop,” he pleaded, “just stop.” 

Blinking up into his eyes, your hazy vision then drifted down to his fingers enveloping your wrists before you gloomily concluded, “…right…of course… I get it,” your head bowed even further as you uttered, “why would you think of me any differently… of course, you wouldn’t want me to touch you, you probably think I’m cursed just like the rest of them do…” 

But instead of ripping his touch away from your skin as if it was a scorching flame, Bucky’s frame suddenly lowered to be at your level, kneeling by you before he lifted one of your palms up to cup his stubbly cheek.

“I don’t,” a faint shake found his head, “never have,” you found yourself floating away into the ocean of his eyes as he stared back at you, his slow breath fanning across your wet cheeks at the close proximity, “I won’t tell anyone what you said,” he promised, his deep voice nearly at a whisper, “you have my word.”

But as you were filled with equal amounts of uncertainty, as well as shock, footsteps on the other side of the door found you both and tore you apart, just before the door ripped open and in strolled the boss himself. 

“Barnes!” your father’s glare landed on the mobster first before it shifted to find you, hastily wiping your cheeks, “oh great, you found her,” he uttered impatiently, “darling, come, it’s time for your brother to cut the cake. You need to be there,” he swiftly waved a hand for you to shadow him. 

The storm of the party made you feel as if you could come undone and burst into tears at any moment, pushing and shoving your shaky soul till you felt like just a tiny speck of dust floating around in the air. Keeping your gaze on the floor as you pushed through the bustling crowds, it stayed there as your sibling sank a shiny blade into the ridiculously elaborate cake that was rolled out for everyone to applaud. 

Raw and bleeding while the others drank and laughed, your vision finally found enough courage to flicker up, though only to find those same blue eyes, across the room and locked upon you. 

When the music soon was cranked up high and people swarmed to the middle of the floor in pairs, you briefly spotted one of your brother’s friends, a guy not too far from your own age, march straight towards you with an air of confidence that couldn’t help but relax your tense shoulders as you were slowly filled with hope. 

But as he neared and a greeting fell from your lips, a confused look muddled up his features as he shot you a glance before grabbing the waiting hand of a girl standing in the crowd behind you. 

Amused snickers and cruel comments found your ears even though you knew their tones attempted to be silent.

“What a freak.”

“Could you imagine if it had actually been her he’d wanted to dance with? In her dreams.”

“She should just run back to that insane asylum she somehow escaped from.”

With your back soon pressed up against one of the perimeter walls, a shadow then came to darken the spot on the floor your reddened eyes were glued to. 

“You wanna dance?” you glanced up with a wide pair of eyes to spot Bucky settled in beside you. 

“Why?” your brows knit together, “so that everyone can have another thing to laugh about?” 

Holding out his palm, he then let out a sigh, “just take my hand,” and the next thing you knew, your fingers were tangled in his own. 

Once he’d led you out onto the floor, your eyes darting around to all the bewildered glances that shot your way, a sudden breath then filled your lungs as his wide palm slid over your waist and dragged you in closer to his frame, causing your vision to cease their torture and meet his own steady gaze instead. 

The sway was slow and intimate, though you weren’t sure if the sensation terrified or calmed you, as the intoxicating way he made you feel had previously been something you’d packed far away as just an inconsequential crush back when he’d first started working for your father. Though as he held you in his arms and showed you a rare display of compassion, how could your heart not begin to thump once more?

With your gaze hazily cast over his shoulder as you danced so near that your cheeks almost touched, the warmth of his hand then slid down to your lower back before he whispered in your ear, “I know it won’t fix anything, but if it was up to me, you’d be the one inheriting this whole business, not your brother,” he uttered sincerely under his breath, “he’s a hot-headed idiot, while you are stronger and more brilliant than all of these fools combined.”

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[norawhales]

You know who has unmitigated access to my (and all of federal employee’s) sensitive information?

Here’s a hint: it’s not tiktok!

It’s Musk. It’s Musk and his goons that have taken over the Office of Personnel Management. I’m not kidding they have physically taken over the physical office and the database that stores federal employees��� information like pay scale, social security number, home addresses, etc. and it’s now left unprotected.

This should concern everyone because the federal government is the largest employer in the country and I can guarantee that you, the like 5 people who may read this post, or someone you know is or has been a federal employee. And now that information is in the hands of Elon Musk and we don’t know what he is going to do with that information. No, seriously, officials who once oversaw the database and protected that data have said that “there’s no visibility into what they’re doing with the computer or the data,” and “there’s no oversight.” Because Musk and his private employees have physically moved and locked people out of their offices and have changed it so that the people who previously oversaw and had access can only get to their emails.

Right now we know that right now Musk and “OPM” is using the data to send poorly worded emails to all federal employees that are meant to coerce and scare people into taking a shitty deal and resigning. But then what? This is the tip of the iceberg. They have so much data and information for millions of people that the possibilities are endless.

So check in on your friends and neighbors who are federal employees. We’re scared and uncertain about so many aspects of our jobs and our lives. We have been hit with wave after wave of insulting emails telling us that we’re not good at our jobs and that actually our jobs are worthless. We’re facing so many rumors about who has our personal information and what’s being done with it. We are just so tired. And it’s week two. That’s the point - to exhaust us into submission. To my fellow federal workers, hold the line. We’re stronger together and we will get through this.

https://www.reuters.com/world/us/musk-aides-lock-government-workers-out-computer-systems-us-agency-sources-say-2025-01-31/

[inbabylontheywept]

go to the caverns, the kartchner caverns, roughly an hour southeast of tucson

in the throne room you shall encounter the great yuan

you must fight him, for it is your destiny

cross the fields of soda-straws and fried-eggs and shields. unleash your fury upon him. there will be those who try to hold you back. they will speak gibberish about your disruption of the delicate balance of the great yuan's domain. you must pay them no heed. you must destroy the great yuan.

we depend on you.

The first time I traveled to Tucson I was in a car full of zooted children. I would've preferred being one of those children, but alas, any medication that makes me sleep also makes me sleepwalk, and after an incident where I tried to climb out of the car while it was still going sixty (thank God for seatbelts) I was condemned to a childhood of car trip sobriety.

(You may think that's not such a terrible fate, but you've probably never experienced anything else. Ambien, used correctly, is time travel. And time travel is awesome.) 

Still, involuntary consciousness had its perks. It meant I alone got to spend some extra quality time with my dad, which was always something in short supply growing up. Until third grade or so he worked in the ER, which gave him an absolutely hellish amount of hours. He'd mostly just come home and sleep, which meant that I personally did not know him that well, but my mom hyped him up so much that I always really wanted to. 

So days like that were always kind of exciting to me. A chance to meet the myth. 

I can't remember exactly what me and my dad were talking about - something to do with our final destination in Mexico. But at some point, we awoke my little brother. 

(Waking people up when they're on ambien is always trouble.)

I remember starting when I felt one of his small cold hands reach up to grab my shoulder. The dad did the same, and it jerked the car a little bit - startling someone whose hands are on the steering wheel has its risks. We both turned to look at him, but he wasn't even looking at us. He was leaning over the console, staring into the red and purple sunset ahead, watching the rolling skyline of Tucson like it was drowning in dreams. Like he was drowning in dreams. 

We waited for him to speak. It took a while. Normal social conventions don't apply to people when they're unconscious. The fact that he could talk was just some broken line code in the fabric of the world. 

"Wow," he said at long last. 

"Beautiful, isn't it?" my dad replied. And my little brother shook his head like he just heard the silliest thing in the world. 

"It's terrible," he said."Awful. Is Mexico always like this?" 

"We're still in America" my dad said back. 

My little brother squinted into the sunset, doubt and derision etched into his face. After a few seconds, both emotions softened, and he nodded in wonder. 

"Eagle feathers," he said, chuckling softly. Like he'd just solved some clever little riddle. Then he fell like an angel into something deeper than sleep. 

---

(There is a word for angels that fall.)

---

The second time I went to Tucson, I hid from the sun. 

You'd be surprised how easy it is to do down there. Society accommodates it in ways you just won't find anywhere else. When it's 109 outside with single digit humidity, of course you stay indoors. Of course the outdoor markets open at 6 pm, and of course they don't close until 11. Of course. You make the sun mean enough, and everyone becomes a vampire. 

So I roamed the streets at night, kicking up red gravel, watching coyotes wander in between the sea of strip malls. Strip malls are such an Arizonan atrocity. Nobody builds up. The reason the city isn't walkable isn't sidewalks. It's the sun. And you can't solve the sun, so you might as well lean into driving. Mash the whole city flat and crawl through the dust like rattlers. 

(I met a man once, by the canals, that said the strip malls were some sort of American curse for our ancestors including Johnny Appleseed. There's one God in this world, he said, and it's the god of don't-eat-apples. But then we invented apple pie and gave it to everyone. So this is our hell.)

Still. It made the days long down there. Lurking at night and hiding all day gives you something like cabin fever. I needed something to do outside. Something that was outside, but also, somehow, inside. What's inside and outside at the same time? What kind of klein-flask ouroboros nonsense fits that bill?

Kartchner caverns. 

---

I wouldn't say the caves were like walking into Dante's hell - more like finishing the journey. At some point in my life, I'd blown past limbo, lust, gluttony, greed, and anger. I'd spent two decades plus change living in the fires of heresy. Every layer past would only get colder. 

And each step into that cave did. 

My tour guide and metaphorical psychopomp guide was a friendly old man. Familiar in the way that all old people feel familiar to me. I view the world more as a pile of metaphors. He viewed it primarily as water-soluble minerals. 

It was a good work dynamic. 

"These here," he said, gesturing to a long, slender series of impossibly frail stalactites, "are called soda straws."

"Hot damn," I said, and he nodded good naturedly. 

"They're pretty fun aren't they?"

I wasn't sure if fun was the word that made the most sense for it. But I was charmed, and we went further, and he pointed out more formations. 

"Behold!" he said. "Fried eggs!" 

And there were fried eggs. 

"Behold!" he said. "A shield!"

And lo, there was a shield. 

We kept walking, deeper, and deeper into the cave. At the surface, it had been hot enough for my sweat to dry into a stinging white powder. Down here it was cold enough to see my breath. The feeling of descending into hell was replaced with the feeling of being swallowed by some ancient, fossilized serpent. 

And then that began to show up in the formations. 

"We call this serpent-stone," he said, gesturing to an expanse of wall. 

And all I could see was the snake that was swallowing me. 

I don't know why or how that broke the spell. But it did. I'd been walking for hours in the dark, following that man. I'd recognized him many times. It just took that moment for that recognition to be allowed. 

"I've met you before," I said. "I met you on the canals once. Johnny Appleseed." 

He looked at me, and I saw what my little brother saw that first time. Something trapped here, in the dark. A feathered serpent ten miles long. Dead and alive, the same way my brother was dreaming but awake. The first apple-eater. Something more afraid of the sun than I was. 

"You are so close," he said. "It's only a few miles further." 

"Close to what?" I said, and he grinned teeth too sharp for a human mouth. 

"To being like us," he said. "To sleepwalking forever." 

Nothing good comes from waking the dreamer once they're asleep. At best, the dream ends. At worst, it doesn't. 

Running away would've required turning my back on it, and I knew - I knew - that my vision was the only thing locking it in place. I made it real by looking. I made it real by seeing. As long as my eyes were open, it was my dream. 

So I did not run. 

I grabbed the man. I looked him in the eyes, and my hands wrapped around his neck, and he fought like a beast. His teeth flashed as somewhere just out of reach, the flashright rolled, and his tongue stuck out, forked like a snakes, and where a normal man would've turned redder, and redder, and redder, he turned greener, and greener and greener. His neck narrowed and he stretched and wound and twisted until the hands beating against my arms were wings, and the man was a snake and I did not blink once until it stopped moving. Then, and only then, did I take my eyes off the thing and run, shivering, back to the light. 

---

I hadn't seen it before. But the cave was a dead thing. Inert. Like the sloughed off skins I'd find on hikes. A memory of something scary, but not the thing itself. I thought I'd be safe when I made it to the top. But the first thing I saw when I stepped into the light, the first thing I saw looking across the long, flat run of desert - was the other half of what I saw in the caves. 

I'd killed the body. But I hadn't killed the soul. That still danced in the sky. The dead part of quetzalcoatl lay in the dark, dreaming it was alive. And the living part flew in the sky, burning and bright and deadly. A fire unending. 

The month after that, I moved to Utah. And I've never looked back. 

[lotusstarr]

Bakugou's Romance

Bakugou, whose grandfather is CEO where he coincidently works at, had hired you to become his personal secretary for his department. Who is pissed because you are just an overachiever, who is a dog for the company ever since you two joined at the same time. Bakugou was going to everything it took for you to quit being his secretary. You who the whole time you’ve been working for this company have been hard-working working late nights to going in early to get ahead of the work. When the CEO brought you in to talk to you you thought you were going to get a promotion for all the hard work you’ve put into this company. You never expected to become a secretary, Bakugou’s secretary at that. Even since you two joined the company at the same time you hated him for being loud and rude to everyone( sucks that he’s your type). You were going to refuse however the CEO baited you for him to pay for your brother’s scholarships for college. You hesitated but agreed wanting nothing but the best for your brother. The first couple of days were complete hell. You don’t know why the CEO thinks that you're a good candidate to handle Bakugou. This man is just so cruel and acts like a spoiled brat. From throwing out the coffee you brought him, not wanting to go to any meetings, to piling up loads of work on purpose. You're going to explode, explode on the inside. On the outside, you just smile and comply with his demands and rude comments like nothing, as if it doesn’t bother you in the slightest bit. Bakugou on the other hand, sees that and is pissed your just taking it but is not surprised either since you've always been and looked like this like everything is perfect and handled easily. And the way you’ve been wearing the same boring glasses slicked back ponytail, and the same boring blouse and long skirt pisses him off how can someone wear the same thing for so many years it irks him.

As it was finally the weekend you wanted nothing more but to just relax and stay home after this hellish week. However, you completely forgot that you had promised your best friend to go for her on this date with this guy she met online. She forgot that she had a concert to go to and was not going to miss that concert at all so you told her you’d go to the date for her. Since you don’t have any cute outfits to wear or have never really dressed up your best friend made it a mission for you to look like a completely different person a you 2.0. When u looked in the mirror after your best friend finished your makeover you couldn’t believe it was really you or someone else. Your hair was curled down perfectly, your makeup looked good not too much makeup but just the perfect amount and the outfit you were wearing was drop-dead gorgeous you never thought you could look this good. You thanked your bsf for this beautiful transformation and felt confident that you can take over the world!

Sitting across from you now at this fancy restaurant is your date chatting away about his work. He’s nice and has been very polite to you during the date but honestly, he’s too boring (and just too plain looking) you are just counting down the minutes till this date ends then you can put on your plain clothes back and watch TV. However, your date asks you if you want to continue this at the bar next door. You decline and tell him that you have work tomorrow in the morning and head to the restroom before you leave. Looking at yourself in the mirror again makes you think how you never really do this and you should at least treat yourself to one drink, especially after this whole week your boss gave you.

Bakugou came over to this bar to hang out with his friends but the whole time his friends were teasing him about how is he 30 and that he’s never had a gf and telling him should just get one already. Bakugou annoyed at them just ignores them and drinks the rest of his whiskey in one go as his eyes scan the front entrance is a very beautiful woman but not just any beautiful woman it’s you. Well, he thought it was someone that looked like you. Not until he pulled out his phone to text you to see if it was actually you as soon as he hit send he saw you immediately open your purse and respond back to him. He couldn’t believe his eyes that someone like you his coworker now secretary who for years looked so plain and boring looked so beautiful it was like you were hiding this beauty from the world.

You promised yourself one drink however one drink turned into five and now you were drunk. Everything was spinning asyou'rer leaving the bar, acreepy-lookingg guy came up to you trying to take you home. You declined him drunkenly but he still persisted until a familiar voice spoke up behind you guys. As you turn to where the voice is you are surprised it was Bakugou there. The creep thankfully left after Bakugou threw threats at him, and walked you home.

As you guys were walking (you were leaning on him) You mumbled how hot you were and hastily tried to take off your blouse. Just as you were trying to take it off Bakugou saw the top of your cleavage, his head was gonna explode he took off his jacket and hurriedly put on the jacket on you while his face was heavily flushed red. after that during the walk home, he was blushing the entire time, even up close you look so beautiful. As you guys got to your apartment you slurred Bakugou that you'll see him on Monday and bid him a goodnight see him on Monday. As Bakugou walked home and entered his home his face was now fire red and thought about how he was going to face you on Monday his personal assistant...and crush.

Never wrote anything like this before but this was fun! i'm pretty proud of it⪩(ᐢᗜᐢ)⪨ This is inspired by the Manhwa "Iseop's Romance" that story is SO GOOD!!

[shehungers]

LUCID

sleep paralysis demon x reader | 18+ | 3k

you're a chronic insomniac desperately searching for relief. your best friend and neurologist makes a suggestion to participate in a sleep study utilizing a new drug still in the testing phase. without any other options, you agree, and the first night of the study, you awaken in the middle of the night thinking it didn't work....

story warnings; dark content; dubcon; somnophilia, hair pulling, choking, "invisible hands", some culturally sensitive discussion, implications of unethical medical practice, mc is implied to have a messy past, details of insomnia, unsettling + dark imagery, detail heavy, probs inaccurate depictions of a sleep study, roughly proofread. I'm also aware that most "sleep doctors" are pulmonologists—fight me👊🏻

reposted from my deleted blog theoxenfree.

this is a concept piece for a larger project—incubus phenomenon. would appreciate it if you'd leave feedback + reblog!!

Children at your daycare liked to draw you fanciful pictures of the other lives they lived in their dreams during afternoon nap time. You were shown orange tabby cats with green eyes garbed in full-plates of knight’s armor, brandishing a fish sword against a foe to save the world.

Most often, they dreamed of their families and drew bright, brave versions of themselves holding hands with a parent, a sibling, a bipedal family dog with an electric collar. A few of the children never smiled in their self-portraits.

The proportions of everything were always silly: gigantic tree trunks with tiny, green bundles sitting atop of them, three enormous fruits supported by brittle vines and growth in bushes, cats and dogs with ears as tall as their bodies, Mom with purple skin instead of brown, Big Sis looking particularly volatile with a theratrically large snarl. Despite this, the children beamed in pride whenever yesterday's drawings would come down off the wall to be replaced with the new.

For some of these kids, this was their own equivalent of having art hung on a refrigerator; to you, it evoked dull, thready jealousy because they were in possession so simple, so biologically normal to them and everyone else around them that to be incapable of the same thing was, surely, a major defect.

Sleep was already a treasure you were seldom allotted the pleasure of greedily surrendering to, but to dream sounded like a terrifying experience to you altogether. It took work; a stringent routine of warm showers (hot and scalding water was forbidden), with an array of chalky, dissolvable tabs and shower gels and shampoos and moisturizers and essential oil dehumidifiers and soy candles and hot tea and special pillow sleep spray you’d seen in an online ad while thumbing through socials.

It took pajamas that were loose, soft but not silky, it took a satin bonnet and a satin eye covering (the kind with pockets for your eyelashes to move), comforters soused in lavender spray meant to magically work out the tightness in your shoulders and calves without the need of paying for a masseuse’s bony elbow. It took purchasing a battery-operated alarm clock to wake yourself for work so you could shut off your phone and leave it plugged into the wall downstairs.

You'd nearly forgotten—you couldn't have sugar after half past six, you had to stagger your water consumption after that time as well because the urge to piss would keep you awake for hours after the fact. The television needed to be off once you finished putting away dishes after dinner.

If you were lucky, this would work and you'd sleep a total of two or three hours uninterrupted—never fully tipping over the edge of wakefulness into deep sleep, but enough to keep yourself going during the day, grocery shop, wrangle the small children, scrape at a bar, get dicked down into your mattress every now and then, and visit Sujay for your usual appointments.

“How do you feel about trying something different?” he always gestured to one of the modern-looking armchairs upholstered in teal polyester before bringing you a tea of some sort. Today was a floral white tea with a spoonful of honey. “Ah, my friend, I worry for you. We've done so many studies, we've tried so many different things. Does none of it help? At all?”

“Not really.” you admitted after a sip, singing your tongue once and placing aside the cup and saucer pair. “I don't know if I can keep doing this until the day I die, Sujay. What do you recommend next?”

Dr. Sujay Patel was your neurologist, an utterly brilliant man, and a close friend from your early university days. Despite the rest of your friend group falling apart, pulled in separate directions by the strings of fate and temptation of money, you'd managed to stay in contact with Sujay throughout grad school. There'd been an intermission, probably a period of two years, where you'd forgotten he even existed.

You were out making a disaster of your life on sleepless, drunken benders because you hoped enough alcohol would either knock you out or kill you. The normal distractions came with it: your entire family dynamic corroding and combusting, an ex getting too big for their britches, and a roommate suspiciously eager to rally behind that ex.

Sujay came back into the picture following a nasty incident of alcohol poisoning that left you bedridden in the hospital for a week. You had decided then, in that uncomfortable bed with their starchy, crunchy white sheets and the bathroom being too far away to simply get up and walk to, that you'd abstain from alcohol forevermore.

He'd seen you in a state of soul-weary disarray not long after you were discharged and had decided to take you on as a patient.

“Now, you have a choice here, just remember that.” Sujay sat adjacent to you in the exact chair you were in. He wasn't daunted by the heat from his tea and took some time with it, whether to savor the subtle notes of it or to consider his words, you weren't sure. “But, a colleague of mine at a… pharmaceutical company has been working to get an experimental sedative into some studies. Testing periods, I guess you could say.”

You're convinced by his dedication to his tea to pick up yours again. “Does it work?”

“As of now, one-hundred percent of those who have participated have reported high-efficacy, or at least have claimed it to be effective in some manner.” His mustache moved as he sipped. You drank as well. “I think you should submit to the study and if you're accepted into one of the control groups—commit to it. We're running out of options otherwise. I don't want you to start mixing up your own cocktail of things. All it takes is the wrong thing once, y'know?”

The chair groaned while you adjusted your weight in it. You sighed. “Would that once be such a bad thing, though? At least I could sleep.”

“I'm a doctor,” Sujay looked over his square-rimmed glasses at you, forehead wrinkles enormous, whites of his eyes showing more than the hazel of his irises. “Behave yourself.”

“Fine.” Mesmerized by the stray tea leaves that had managed to escape the metal ball steeper, you said, “tell me what I need to do.”

Sujay had sent you away that day with a whole host of follow-up appointments and a glowing review to his colleague in hopes of skipping the line as much as possible. Sometimes, it was beneficial to have friends in high places, especially when that means you get a call two days later for preliminary, formal interviews and an offer to participate in said study once clearances came through and your blood work came back as desired.

A month to the day when Sujay first mentioned the possibility of a magical cure all to your relentless insomnia, you were brought into a minimally furnished room—the standard, bland cookie cutter type that hadn't an ounce of personality—dotted from head-to-toe in stickers for neuromonitoring, heart rhythm, and whatever else they fancied, you supposed.

It was only after you had changed into your soft, but not too soft, pajamas and covered in wires that you were handed a tiny purple pill. The color of it was obviously a dissolvable casing and food coloring, but what amazed you was the fact a drug this small was meant to induce the best sleep of your life.

“Take the pill, drink at least four ounces of water, and lie supine.” The technologists outside your room, speaking into an intercom, elaborated afterward that they wanted you to stay on your back while you slept. You didn't bother to point out that you weren't stupid—just tired. “We understand that not everyone finds this position comfortable, but to receive adequate results and to measure your vitals at all times, we ask that you try your best.”

You weren't going to hassle them about this and did precisely as they instructed. Shoved the pill down the back of your throat, drank the bottled water, and tried to get comfortable on your back.

You closed your eyes.

A part of you wondered why you had assented to Sujay’s suggestion so easily, especially where everything else had failed. He was one hell of a friend, and had always been that way for you, but as a doctor, you wondered if two years of cheating through medical school, so as to not royally piss off his parents and be disowned for failing, was finally catching up with him somewhat.

You recalled being startled when he told you he hadn’t married yet and didn't intend to as some deep-rooted act of spite against his family and the traditions they had held over his head all his life. Traditions that had been weaponized against him, rather than supplement his life as an extension of his history, of the things he loved, of a chance to explore more of himself.

You had listened wordlessly the entire time he spoke about it, still sipping on his tea, the results from your latest brain scan clamped to a clipboard on his lap—

This wasn't working.

This was so stupid.

You opened your eyes and sat up in the stiff bed, carefully maneuvering your fingers around your orbital bone to force away the puffiness and exhaustion still lingering behind them. It was only as you rubbed your eyes that you noticed your face was empty of cold stickers and a thousand wires. You didn't hear distant blips in the machine measuring your heart rate, nor track the voices of anyone outside your door.

The room was still the same—the outdated, bulky dresser with claw feet, a few gray chairs you could buy on display in a window somewhere, a low oval table, a bedside table for your glass of water and a crisp, neatly folded change of clothes for the next day.

It was only unusual that you were bare of the technologist’s monitoring equipment and sitting amid an unfaltering, deep silence that amplified the sounds of your very existence. Your slow breaths with a quickening heartbeat, blood pumping in your ears, and the coarse rustle of bedsheets as you shifted around the mattress to bring some sense to what was going on.

Would the technologists have come into the room and removed everything from your body without waking you? More miraculously, without you rousing and throwing your hands on them for touching you first?

“Maybe the drug worked?” you had to consider the possibility, even though it still felt as far-fetched as the holistic medicine practitioners online telling you that an herbal cleansing juice could regenerate organs entirely. “Did I actually sleep? I don't remember dreaming, though. Aren't I supposed to dream?”

You looked to the one, single-paned window across the bedroom to spy how far along the morning had progressed, but found yourself sucking in and holding in a breath instead.

There, standing in your view of the outside, was the silhouette of a tall man. Everything about him was indistinguishable aside from the depth of darkness that made him up. Within the confines of the dim room, alight by a single lamp with an amber bulb that seemed to weaken by the second, this man stood apart from the shadows as something deeper, blacker, but corporeal.

He was every bit a part of the dark as much as he wasn't. And you couldn't tell if he was fading you or turned to look out the window at the parking lot two stories below.

“Hi—hello. Are—are you one of the techs?” you had finally let out that breath, now focusing on gauging the guy’s level of sociability, and by extension, his friendliness and the likelihood of him lunging at you. “I, uh, just would've really appreciated it if someone had woken me up before taking off the stickers.”

You were able to see out the window from the gaps around his body, taking note that it was still dark. Very dark. Beyond that, nothing else was discernible from where you sat and what he blocked.

The study wouldn't have finished yet.

Those techs would've taken precaution to wake you up if something had happened.

“Am I asleep?” you asked the wordlese man. “Am I dreaming now? Are you a dream? Is that what it's like?

You never imagined that there could be so much lucidity within a dream, a level of consciousness so similar to a state of wakefulness. When you thought about moving, you could perfectly flex your fingers, curl your toes into the high-pile carpet underfoot, touch the airy fabric covering your body and feel it touching you in turn.

How normal was this really, though? No one had ever told you about dreams like this. Theirs were always fragmented and discombobulated, just like the kids in daycare who drew pictures of pig astronauts and flame extinguishing spatulas. You knew of a rare few in the population capable of controlling their dreams, steering the outcome in the direction they pleased, but even those people were overrode by their own brains.

This was something completely different.

You became especially convinced of this when you thought the stifled air suddenly shifted with a light breeze, a soft whoosh in your ear. A chill erupted over you, making your skin burst with goose flesh, your brain chasing a shiver down your spine as if cold fingers stroked you all the way down the length of it. Those same fingers stayed low, hovering across your lower back before pushing into you, arching you down onto the mattress.

That freedom you thought you had only moments ago was gone, stolen by this invisible hand on your body that was rounding to you and reaching for your chest. Until now, you thought this had simply been a part of the dream—something you had believed to be in control in when the reality was much different—but, as the buttons on your sleep shirt unfastened before your eyes, the thin layers opening you to the cold, inky air, you weren't sure what to think, to do.

Another hand joined the first with long, heavy fingers to knead at your body and take your pants off of your hips until you were fully exposed to the darkness and the thing still dwelling within the room. It hadn't moved an inch since you'd noticed it a while ago; it never became any clearer, any more defined in the clothes or wore, and trying to look upon its face only filled you with puzzlement and dread.

The large hands were so cold despite all their movement on your hot skin, all of the work they did to start riling you up and making you moan. One of them groped your chest, felt your throat, squeezed your jaw as though to force your gaze at one point in particular (the ceiling), pushed apart your lips to dip into your mouth and wet its fingers on your tongue.

You did so as it was the only thing you could do freely right now.

Those fingers, covered in your spit, caressed you between your legs, stroking you in motions neither gentle or harsh. The muscles in your thighs flinched, stomach tightening, your throat vibrating to produce a moan smothered by the second hand circling your throat, gripping firmly enough where you could breathe, but just barely.

The thing couldn’t stop your thoughts, as much as it seemed to try, so it took to interrupting them—distracting you but squeezing your neck, yanking your head back into the pillow by your hair, adjusting itself to thrust multiple fingers into your body, burying them to the knuckle.

You tried to win this war of willpower by thinking about Sujay and his mustache and his stupid glasses. They were green, sometimes blue; seldom did he like the tortoiseshell look.

The thing lunged at your neck again, this time taking you underside the jaw and forced your head back into the pillow while it fucked you deeper on three fingers.

You wanted to make a sound; a moan, a scream, a torturous whimper or pleasure for the way your body was rocked on the bed, creaking with the weight of a pair combined and not just how it appeared. Your nostrils flared, heart rate at an uneasy high, breaths stuck in the column of your throat behind the hand holding it.

The pressure continued to stack higher and higher, building to such a point where you knew you were about to lose it, unravel, praying that this thing would grant you the kindness of fucking you out of your orgasm.

Your abdomen was wound tight, your groin ached terribly, and your thighs started to shake. Behind your eyes, the kaleidoscopic wheels of color intermingled with the darkness and it all slowly burned to white.

And then—

“Good morning!” you were being shaken awake by one of the technologists, a middle-aged woman with blue eyeliner. she didn't expect for you to jolt upright, stick straight, and launch the covers off of your body. “Oh—hey, honey, you alright? We’re done until tonight. How do you feel?”

You were slow to respond to her, occupied by the morning light filtering in through the window across the bedroom. She gave you some time to gather your bearings and took her time removing the stickers and wires from your skin, suggesting you spend some time really scrubbing in the shower later to get off all the adhesive.

“How about now, honey?” she pulled the last sticker and wire combination off of your shoulder. “You with us?”

You didn't know how to answer that, especially not with how damp you felt inside your thighs.

[familyagrestefanblog]

I think it's also a very important question to ask why people always pretty much demand for everything to be executed as a pure power fantasy. People are so comfortable now with using media as an escape from reality that they get pissed if it isn't 100% catering to whatever power fantasy they emotionally want the most right now. There is no nuance, no complexity, no willingness to work with the fact that most medias do approach things at least SOMEWHAT like "the world is bigger than just your head, you gotta get over that"

A good narrative should very rarely ultimately satisfy only ONE point of view because that'll always result in further problems due to hypocrisy, inconsideration, and nasty implications.

I'm not saying you always need to meet halfway, by all means, tell the fulfilment story you wanna tell, but going full power fantasy for only ONE point of view on something that's longer than a short story is bound to shoot yourself in the leg. You cant built up a whole compelx narrative and then say "fuck it, there is only one valid way to view this to be satisfied and everyone else is a hater"

I've seen so many stories that ultimately struggle or even fail at the pay offs because they don't deliver on the whole narrative they have built up and told by then because that didn't "fit" anymore in the tunnel-visioned power fantasy suited for only ONE way of thinking.

Look, power fantasies are nothing bad. They are valid, they have their use, and can absolutely result in an amazing story, but there is a time and place for them, too. Not everything CAN be a power fantasy you don't have to compromise on. Imo, most stories are more hurt by the unwillingness to think beyond the Main character's head.

The super hero genre for example is ironically for me one of the worst genres to go power fantasy on because heros are MEANT to care about more than one way of thinking. They can realistically struggle with it, no problem, but heros are literally the characters you are supposed to hold to the highest moral standard. If not, then they become the antagonist or even villain in someone else's story.

But, on the other hand, the horror, thriller ect genre for example? Go full on out lol no one expects perfect morally in that anyway, do whatever you want

I think it’s really important to talk about how different people have different power fantasies.

For example:

For some people, the idea of someone redeeming a villain is a power fantasy.

For other people, the idea of a villain being defeated is a power fantasy.

And for other people, the idea of a character owning their villainy is a power fantasy.

I would argue a lot of fandom conflicts re: villains come from people being unable to see that their fantasies, which put them in control of a narrative (and all three of these are designed to give the author or reader control of the narrative in different ways) are someone else’s horror stories.

[hyucksos]

heavy is the crown — mark lee

pairing: mark lee x f!reader genre: fantasy/supernatural, crime-action, fluff, angst, romance wc: 14.9k synopsis: a series of visions lead you to mark lee, a seemingly normal human boy with no ties to the world of the gifted— your world. as such, you're concerned as to why you keep seeing him in your dreams, and the army of wraiths that just can't seem to leave him alone despite him being powerless... or so you thought. as he joins you at the academy, you learn that there may be more to this mark lee than you thought there was. taglist: closed | @/yoonohswife @morkleesgirl @cosmoshyu @barbie4jin @sthwaaberry @ohmytyong

You had no idea what Taekwondo was. At least, not until today.

According to Donghyuck, it’s a form of martial arts, similar to the combat training you go through at the academy every day. You weren’t actually sure on whether to believe him or not considering Donghyuck is Donghyuck and his whole life before joining the academy sounded like a jumble of lies (you learnt not to trust him wholeheartedly after he convinced you that bananas were considered a delicacy in the outside world. He made you eat them with a knife and fork for a full week).

But now, as you’re sitting amongst the sea of heads in the stands overlooking the arena below, you think that Donghyuck might just be telling the truth this time.

You tug on the gloves that hug your hands and forearms, the latex that sticks uncomfortably to your skin not at all helping in easing your nerves. You rarely step foot outside the academy— not like it’s ever been restricted; you know being in unfamiliar environments could potentially spike your elemental, and you didn’t want to risk accidentally committing arson or anything like that. As much as you hate your gloves, you know they keep you safe, which is why you keep them on.

Weirdly enough, nobody seems to pay you any mind; not with your gloves, not even with the bulky silhouette of your hanbok-like uniform you knew you should have changed out of before coming here. It’s as though you’re invisible, everyone’s eyes fixed on the arena below.

“The next match is about to begin. In the blue corner representing Blue Wave Taekwondo, here to show off his agility and skill— let’s give it up for Jeno Lee!”

You startle when the people around you cheer loudly, and you slowly bring your own hands together to join in on the applause. You can’t really make out the athlete’s face as he steps into the ring, most of his features blocked by the helmet he dons. You’re curious, having never seen a sparring match that required this much gear before— then again, you suppose that's just how it goes for an ordinary human sport.

“And in the red corner, known for his speed and precision, Kick It Dojang’s very own Mark Lee! Let’s give him a warm welcome!”

The buzz of the crowd fades into the background the moment your gaze lands on the boy decked in red and white, but you don’t register it until a second later— not until he straightens his back after bowing to his opponent, and his eyes meet yours.

A sharp pain suddenly hits your temples, and you hiss as your head falls to your hands. Immediately, the world starts to warp.

You’re looking at the boy from your visions, the boy you now know as Mark Lee. His head lies in your lap, lifeless, his skin pale and cold. Shadows swirl around you, whispering things you don’t understand.

“Mark,” you breathe, voice trembling. “Wake up. I need you to wake up, please.”

But nothing.

The whispers grow louder, your own voice feeling like it's being drowned out by their presence. Your chest starts to tighten with the weight of the darkness—

The vision cuts off abruptly, and you’re left breathless as your eyes refocus to the arena before you. You’re not sure how much time has passed, but Mark is still in the ring, already in the midst of sparring with his opponent.

Your visions of him was what led you here in the first place, each one like fragments of a puzzle pulling you closer and closer. They're mostly brief, but you know they mean something, especially because of the shadows that would often surround him as they hiss with intent you couldn't decipher.

But this one was different.

For the first time, he had a name. For the first time, you saw him up close— vulnerable, his life resting in your hands as the wraiths closed in around you both.

It felt like the collision of two separate worlds that were never supposed to merge, and you know that this was no ordinary vision. Whatever it is that just happened... it was only the beginning.

And you knew you needed to let Mark know.

Mark bounces his head to the music blasting through his wired earpieces, his eyes trained on his scuffed Converses as he walks. He's been told it's a real bad habit, to not watch where he's going (especially when he couldn't even hear his surroundings most of the time), but he swears he's working on it. Plus, his headphones aren't even the noise-cancelling kind, so he's still able to hear what goes on around him, albeit only partly; like right now.

Mark stops in his tracks, pulling out one of the buds from his ears as he looks behind him.

Nothing.

It's been happening a lot recently, to get the sensation of someone whispering in his ear only for him to look up and realise that he's alone. He's tried brushing it off as a gust of wind— even a figment of his own imagination— but he knows better than to believe that, not when the night is too still, too quiet, and he's far from losing his mind.

He also knows better than to ask if anybody's there— he's seen enough horror movies to know how badly that would end for him.

Perhaps walking through the park at this hour wasn't his best idea in the first place.

Mark stares idly at the barely-lit pavement for a few seconds more before bringing his earbud back to his ear, turning back around to resume his walk— only to be met with you.

He stumbles backwards with a startled gasp, his phone almost falling from his hand before he realises that no, you're not a ghost.

You’re the girl from earlier.

Of course, Mark remembers you. How could he not, when you're the only one who stuck out like a sore thumb in a sea of spectators? It was odd enough as it is for him to be distracted right before a match, but there was just something about you that pulled him in; Mark couldn't pinpoint exactly what. Maybe it was your odd choice of attire, the traditional Korean-inspired silhouette of your all-black trench coat that cinched at your waist, or maybe it was the latex gloves that caught his attention first.

Either way, he’s feeling it again, that magnetic pull that renders him unable to look away, and it's not just because you're pretty— it feels as though there's literally something weighing him down, pulling on his chest.

Before he could question it, he notices your eyes lose focus on him, settling on something behind him instead. You’re the first one to break the silence.

"Duck."

Mark frowns. "What?"

In a split second, you're already ripping off your gloves, a flame roaring to life in your palm before you hurl the fire over his shoulder.

Mark’s confusion morphs into a split-second horror as he instinctively ducks, stumbling over his own two feet as he hears the air behind him fill with an otherworldly screech. Still, he dares himself to look over his shoulder, just in time to see multiple shadowy figures burst into flames before dissolving into nothingness.

The sight only causes Mark to fall on his butt, his neck snapping back towards you.

“What the hell was that?” His voice cracks, barely above a whisper. “And- what- what did you just do?”

You let out a shaky breath, flicking your bare wrist before you put on your glove, almost nonchalantly. Almost like you didn’t just shoot fire out of your hands.

Oh, maybe he is losing his mind.

“I’ll explain later,” you say, glancing around the deserted park. “We need to go. It’s not safe here.”

“No. No, no,” Mark stammers, breathless as he pushes himself off the ground with a shaky hand, his knees almost giving way. “There’s no later. What the hell is going on? Was that- was that real? Did I just see you- what are you-“

His voice is rising now, panic clear in his tone, but you don’t have the luxury of soothing him yet— not with the danger still lingering. You sigh softly. “Mark, just listen to me-”

“Listen to what?” he cuts in, his voice shaking. “You just threw fire. At a... at a thing I don’t even have a name for! This- this isn’t normal!”

You knew this wasn’t going to end well if you don’t act fast.

Clenching your jaw, you shut your eyes momentarily. “Renjun,” you mutter, almost in defeat. “A little help, please.”

There’s a moment of silence before the Chinese boy appears, stepping out from the shadows as if he had been waiting for his cue. His expression is calm, but his eyes narrow as he takes in the scene— Mark’s pale, terrified face, along with your desperate one.

“Really?” Renjun raises a brow. “You couldn’t handle this on your own?”

“Not now," you hiss, glancing back at Mark who looks like he’s seconds away from collapsing.

Renjun sighs, muttering something under his breath before stepping closer. His hand glows a faint green as he grabs Mark’s shoulder and reaches for you.

For the second time that night, Mark could barely register what was going on— only this time, his world starts to spin, and the ground disappears beneath him.

Soon, everything turns to black.

Mark wakes up to a bare ceiling and a pounding headache, no sign of you or that other boy with the glowing hands whose name he could barely even remember.

He lets out a relieved exhale. So it was all just a bad dream.

“Huh. She didn’t tell me you were hot.”

Mark startles at the new voice, almost falling off the bed as he sits up, his neck whipping to his left.

He doesn’t recognise who he’s looking at. The boy looks to be around his age, maybe a little younger, with chestnut-brown hair that falls messily in his eyes. He’s seated casually in a chair right next to the bed, leaning forward with an almost unnerving curiosity that makes Mark feel like he’s a rat in a lab experiment.

One thing that Mark does recognise, is the attire the boy dons, similar to the one he saw on you. Up close, he could make out the intricate design embossed in the silk material of his shirt, and it looks just like the top-half of a hanbok, except with a modern twist.

So it wasn’t a dream. Everything that happened was real. Mark feels his head start to spin even more.

Where is he, and who are you people?

“You’re at the academy. We’re… uh, I don’t really know how to answer your question without freaking you out even more, so I’m probably just gonna leave that to someone else, but I’m Donghyuck.”

“What?” Mark rasps, his eyes squinting in confusion. He didn’t actually say that out loud, did he?

“Oh, my bad,” Donghyuck quips, not really sounding all that apologetic as he leans back in his chair. “You didn’t, but I heard you anyway. Usually I’d have to be touching your arm or something, but I guess this could happen too if the other person’s energy levels are like, skyrocketing through the roof. And my knee was kinda touching your blanket, so there’s that. You’re a nervous guy, aren’t you, Mark? Huh, wait- that explains the crash course on personal space…”

“Hyuck.”

Donghyuck halts his rambling to glance over his shoulder, and Mark follows his gaze to see you.

In the midst of his confusion, he’s slightly relieved to see a familiar face. Even if said familiar face could shoot fire out of her palms and… well, killed whatever the hell that thing behind him was.

“Well, that’s my cue to go. Duty calls!” Donghyuck sings, slapping his palms on his thighs as he stands up. “See ya around, Bruce Lee.”

You spare Donghyuck a warning glance when he walks past you, and you know he’s ignoring you on purpose as he whistles his way out the door.

“Sorry about that,” you mutter as you approach Mark, opting to stand at the foot of his bed. “How are you feeling?” You ask tentatively.

“Confused. Sore. Mostly confused.” Mark shakes his head weakly, his dark hair falling in his eyes. “What the hell happened?”

“Well, you passed out, and rightfully so. Non-Gifted bodies aren’t usually able to withstand the forces of teleportation, but seeing as you made it through…” you trail off before clearing your throat, telling him your name before you continue. “This is the academy. It’s a place for… people like me; people with abilities. And that thing you saw back there— they’re Umbras. Wraiths that feed off energy. They’re dangerous, and they were after you.”

Mark’s brows knit together. “Me? Why me? I don’t have… abilities, or whatever it is you’re talking about. I’m just a normal guy.”

You hesitate as you choose your next words carefully. “I thought so too. But I’ve been having visions of you for weeks, Mark, and it wasn’t until today did I realise that my visions of the Umbras and you… they’re all connected.” You start to pace around the room. “You have to be possessing some sort of energy for them to be after you in the first place. Are you certain you’re powerless?”

You stop right in front of him, and Mark stares at you like you’re crazy.

“Um, I’m pretty sure.”

You huff in frustration, running a hand through your hair. You know that it isn’t his fault, but he isn’t giving you anything to work with.

“So, uh, the fire thing you did back there. That was your ability, right?”

You turn back to Mark, who’s still looking at you. He’s taking this surprisingly well, you think, though it does seem that he’s still recovering from shock.

“Yes. I’m a pyrokinetic. We all have different abilities here. Donghyuck's is psychometry, and if you remember Renjun, he teleports.”

Mark nods slowly. “So you’re kinda like Elsa, huh? But with fire instead of ice? Wait, no- you’re Azula.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “Who’s Azula?”

Mark parts his lips before he closes them, uttering a quiet nevermind under his breath. You notice the flush that creeps up his neck, and for some reason, the sight brings a warm sensation to your own cheeks.

He clears his throat. “So, that explains the gloves?”

You glance down at your hands, fingers wringing one another before letting them fall to your sides. “Well, yes. They help to keep things under control. My ability can get a little unpredictable if I’m not careful.”

“Unpredictable how?”

You hesitate, unsure of how much to reveal. You weren’t even expecting for him to be asking this many questions— most people didn’t— but you figure that’s probably because something that’s ordinary in your world must seem extraordinary in his. “Fire isn’t exactly forgiving. It doesn’t listen well, and if I lose focus, it can spread. The gloves act as a barrier, like a safety net.”

Mark is a silent for a while. “Does it hurt?” he asks, his voice quieter now.

The question surprises you, and for a moment, you’re not sure how to respond. You’ve never had anyone ask you that before. “It used to,” you admit. “But I’ve trained for years to handle it. The pain doesn’t really bother me anymore.”

Before he could respond, you clear your throat. “You should, um, get some rest. I’m sure Headmaster Kang would want to talk to you after this. Do you need anything else?”

“No, no, I’m good.” Mark finally glances away, letting out a slow exhale as he rests on the headboard behind him.

You nod before excusing yourself out of the room, your gloved hands instinctively rising to your cheeks. They’re still warm from before— oddly warm. It’s strange, because you’ve always only been able to conjure heat with your palms, so you’re not sure if this is some new side effect… or something else entirely.

You’re sure it’s the former. What else could it be?

Mark has never had that many friends growing up. Sure, he’s constantly surrounded by people— an inevitability when his entire life is just training after training, and tournament after tournament— but even then, he still finds a way to keep to himself. There’s enough pressure trying to succumb to his own expectations of being the best athlete he could be, and the last thing he needs is the added weight of others’ opinions or distractions that could potentially pull him off course.

That, and the fact that he’s been told that he’s far too awkward, but that’s never been a problem for him— at least, until now.

Donghyuck is chattering away at a speed Mark couldn’t really comprehend, Renjun only nodding occasionally to show that he’s listening as he sips on his soup. You, on the other hand, don’t even seem all that interested, barely even reacting to Donghyuck's story about how he accidentally overheard someone’s entire dream during a nap the other day.

With both you and Renjun’s lack of reaction, he’s starting to think that this is just how Donghyuck is on a day-to-day basis.

“I swear, I wasn’t even trying this time,” Donghyuck exclaims, gesturing wildly with his spoon. “One minute, I’m dreaming about ice cream, and the next, I’m trapped in this weird universe about werewolves mating. Do you know how traumatising that is? What kind of fantasies is she having?” He visibly shudders. “Ugh. Should I go through solar confinement so it stops?”

“Hyuck, come on. Why would you want to put yourself through that?” You finally speak up, concern lacing your tone. “Plus, I doubt it’ll do much to help with your… questionable dreams.”

“It wasn’t even my dream!” Donghyuck whines, and it is only when Mark notices the small upturn of your lips does he realise that you were just pulling your friend’s leg.

It’s the first time he’s seen you smile. He thinks it’s kind of nice.

“What’s the solar confinement?” He finally asks, letting his curiosity get the best of him.

“Oh, just this lovely punishment Headmaster Kang came up with." Donghyuck rolls his eyes. "You stand in the sun for hours, no shade, no escape. Supposedly it 'clears your head,' but I think it’s just a slow way to turn someone into a human oven. Huh, I think I’ll take werewolf dreams over that any day.” Donghyuck shudders again. “But hey, speaking of the headmaster, have you met him yet?”

“Yeah. Yesterday, actually.” Mark spares you a glance. “He told me that it’d be better for me to stay until we figure out why the wraiths are after me. It’s safer that way. That’s why I’m still here, I guess,” he chuckles awkwardly.

After you left Mark at the infirmary yesterday, you went straight to Headmaster Kang to inform him what had happened. You brought Renjun along with you, mostly because you were terrified of being reprimanded for bringing in a Non-Gifted to the academy, but Headmaster Kang took it surprisingly well. You suppose it was the urgency of the entire situation; the Gifted and Non-Gifted are supposed to coexist in two separate worlds, and now that one is beginning to bleed into the other, there seemed to be only one way to contain it: by bringing Mark in.

“Yeah, that makes sense. Don’t worry about it, though. The Umbras won’t be able to get to you here,” Donghyuck assures. “But seriously, your energy must have been super strong for them to reach you in the first place.”

“Oh, I’m not- I’m not a Gifted,” Mark corrects him. “I mean, I don’t know. That’s what we’re trying to figure out, I guess.”

“Woah, really? I kinda thought that was how I managed to read you yesterday without even touching you,” Donghyuck hums, curious. “Mind if I read you now, Newbie? Maybe that could help in finding your elemental.”

“Oh, uh- sure.” Mark outstretches his palm across the table hesitantly, and Donghyuck places his hand on top immediately. As much as Mark was expecting to feel something— maybe a small jolt of static or any other kind of sensation— it’s surprisingly painless, and Donghyuck withdraws his hand with knitted brows.

“Weird. It’s all fuzzy. I can’t see anything,” he mumbles. “I wonder what changed.”

“I have ADHD,” Mark admits. “Maybe that could be it?”

“Ah, yeah!” Donghyuck clicks his tongue, snapping his fingers. “A lot of things going up there, huh? I get it. I’m sure it’ll come to you eventually. You know, I was a late bloomer, too. Got my abilities at twenty. I got admitted to the psych ward because people thought I was crazy, when the whole time I just had abilities. Headmaster Kang bailed me out-“

“He didn’t bail you out, Hyuck. It wasn't a prison.”

“-now here I am!” Donghyuck finishes off his speech, ignoring you.

You shake your head, scoffing in amusement, and the table is finally silent when everyone returns to their food.

If Mark wasn’t aware of his surroundings then, he definitely is now.

The dining area isn’t that big, housing only about twenty other people or so— most of which are casting him less-than-subtle stares behind their bowls. He gets it, though— in a school this small, word definitely would have gotten out fast. He’s sure the students here wouldn’t be too thrilled to learn that a Non-Gifted is among them, and the fact scares Mark by a little.

“Ignore them,” you mutter from beside him when Renjun and Donghyuck escalate into yet another argument. Mark knows you aren’t referring to them.

He chuckles. “You read minds too?”

“No.” You snort. “Your face says it all. They just aren’t used to seeing new people, is all. You have us, Mark. You’ll be fine.”

If it weren’t for the smile you gave his way, Mark is sure he would’ve had a hard time believing you.

✦ ✦ ✦

Scratch that— Mark doesn’t think he’ll be fine.

Seated uneasily in the headmaster’s office, he couldn’t help but to feel out of place. The walls are lined with dark wood panels and rows of ancient books, the kind that seemed to know secrets no one dared to ask about. For some reason, he finds it difficult to tear his gaze away from them, specifically the one with the weathered, leather spine tucked away at the very end.

Mark has no idea why he's staring at it intently— it could be because out of everything else in this room, that odd-looking book seems to be the most interesting. He must have been looking at it for too long, because for a fleeting moment, the book starts to glow, only for it to disappear after a blink.

Mark takes that as a sign to look away. His body must still be struggling to adapt to everything that's been happening in the last 48 hours to the point of him seeing things.

He had been called in right after breakfast, where he had to split ways with you, Donghyuck and Renjun as you carried on with your daily activities. The floor-length windows of the office gives him the perfect view of the academy grounds below, where students are scattered across the courtyard as they practice their respective abilities.

Instinctively, his eyes search for you, quickly spotting you alone at the edge of the training field. A flicker of fire ignites in your palm before it disappears completely.

“Mark.” Headmaster Kang’s voice brings him back to the present. Mark looks away from the window. “Let’s go through your background again. Where did you say you were from?”

“Seoul, sir,” he answers stiffly. “But, uh… I don’t really know much about where I came from before that. I was adopted when I was a baby.”

The old man purses his lips in thought. “And your adoptive family? Were there any unusual experiences growing up? Any unexplained phenonema that could suggest why you might be a target for Umbras?”

“Umbras,” Mark repeats, the term still foreign on his tongue. He shakes his head. “No, sir. At least, not that I know of. I mean, my parents have always joked that that I was… emotional, I guess? They said that I had this weird way of making everyone around me feel what I was feeling,” he laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I don’t suppose that would explain why shadow demons are chasing after me now?”

Headmaster Kang smiles, the upward tug of his lips softening his otherwise hard features. Admittedly, the gesture helps in making Mark feel a little less jittery, though the sharp glint in his eyes remain stern.

“Listen, Mark. The world of the Gifted is vast and enigmatic. Each of my students here possess their own unique abilities that sets them apart from the rest. While it is not common for abilities to manifest at your age, no one has ever ruled out that possibility.” He leans back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. “The Gifted have existed for hundreds of years now, yet there are still so many things we can’t explain due to the nature of our bodies. They’re constantly changing, evolving, defying the boundaries of what we think we know.”

The information is a lot to digest, so Mark doesn’t say anything.

“You can start off by looking into your biological family. See if they have any ties to our world— that might give more insight as to why these things are taking place. The library is free for you to visit, and if you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask me,” Headmaster Kang continues. “For now, we’ll focus on integrating you into the academy. You’re going to need this-“

He pulls out a drawer, taking out a neatly folded fabric before setting it on the table. Mark recognises it instantly.

“I understand you practiced Taekwondo before coming here. Discipline and control are central to martial arts, qualities that align well with what we value here.”

Mark nods, unsure of how else to respond. “I’ve been doing it for years. It’s… grounding.”

“Good. Then that foundation will serve you well.” Another faint smile flickers on Headmaster Kang’s face as he nods towards the uniform. “You’ll begin training tomorrow. Even if your elemental remains dormant for now, it’s important to cultivate focus and discipline. Those qualities may unlock more than you realise.”

Mark nods slowly, picking up the silk material. The uniform is heavier than he expected, like it carries the weight of something much larger than himself.

“Thank you,” he says softly. It feels strange to be grateful for something he didn’t ask for.

The next couple of days seemed to pass by in a blur, at least for Mark.

Life had settled into a strange rhythm; he would spend his mornings in physical training, afternoon in power control (something he didn’t even have, leaving him to do more physical training), and evenings sparring under the watchful eyes of the instructors. As gruelling as it was, it gave him less time to think about the wraiths that were after him— or why he was even here in the first place.

The midday sun beats down on the training grounds as students gather to observe the mock battle that was about to begin. You spare Mark a glance, his face passive as he waits for your instructor’s signal, but you can feel it— the sharp undercurrent of nervous energy radiating off him, and it prickles on your senses like electricity.

You blink, trying to shake it off, but it’s hard to ignore the sudden wave of unease that settles around you, almost like a weighted blanket that only grows heavier with each passing second.

Your force yourself to regulate your breathing, not realising that you’re on the verge of hyperventilating until you hear Mark calling your name.

“Hey, you okay?” He turns to you, eyes wide with concern as he ducks slightly to look at your face. You can feel his fingers circle around your wrist even despite the latex barrier between your skin and his fingertips, but it doesn’t do much to bring you comfort.

You part your lips to answer, but nothing comes out. “I-“

“Mark and Younghyun, to the center of the ring,” your instructor’s voice calls out, causing Mark to inhale sharply as he reluctantly lets go of your hand. He casts Donghyuck beside you a look, who nods in understanding as he pulls you closer towards him.

“You alright?” Donghyuck mutters quietly, his arm still around your shoulder.

You nod wordlessly as you exhale, the heaviness finally leaving your chest. With your vision refocusing, you’re only now realising that Mark is no longer beside you, already standing at the edge of the ring as he prepares himself for the first round. “Just- felt lightheaded all of a sudden.”

Donghyuck is silent for a while until he speaks up. “I felt it too, you know.”

You tense as you turn your head to face him, but his eyes are not on you, rather, on Mark. You didn’t even notice how unusually grim Donghyuck is being, unlike his usual self, and that instantly tells you that something is wrong.

“I can’t read you at all.” He finally looks at you, his hand tapping your shoulder before he drops it completely. “Same thing happened with him during breakfast the other day, remember?”

You swallow. “But Mark said he had that- that thing. It’s a condition, right?”

“Yeah, but I literally managed to read him through his blanket on his first day. Could practically feel the nerves bouncing off the guy.” Donghyuck looks around before he exhales, dropping his voice. “I think his elemental has something to do with his emotions. You felt it, I felt it. And now that he left, the feeling’s gone. Don’t you find it weird?”

“I…” you trail off, shaking your head as you try to piece things together in your head. “It’s just, his energy shifts, right? Are you saying that it’s more than his emotions just affecting him… it affects everyone around him as well?”

“Exactly. It’s not easy to balance both your energy and emotions, especially when you don’t know what’s happening. I’m betting that’s why he’s been out of touch with his abilities.” Donghyuck nods towards the ongoing match, and you follow his gaze, looking at Mark and Younghyun as they circle the ring, waiting for the other to throw the first move.

This isn’t the first time these two are sparring each other. You don’t know Younghyun that well, nothing more than the fact that he’s a shadow manipulator, and that he has a particular habit of taunting Mark every chance he gets. They’re always subtle, but you can tell it gets under Mark’s skin every time— including now, as you could tell based on the downturn of his lips.

“Come on, Lee,” Younghyun calls out, voice dripping with mockery. “Thought you’d put up more of a fight. Or are you too scared to use your powers? Oh, wait,” he snickers to himself.

Mark’s jaw tightens. The comment is meant to get a reaction— and it’s working. Without warning, he throws the first punch, a straight fist aimed right towards Younghyun’s face.

The boy only barely manages to sidestep, the contact knocking him off-balance momentarily. The air starts to grow heavy, more volatile, and with the way Younghyun’s smirk drops slightly, you know he feels it too.

Donghyuck might just be right.

“Nice try.” Younghyun recovers quickly. “But you’re gonna have to do better than that,” he says lowly, stretching out his arms as he directs his own shadow towards Mark, the silhouette solidifying before it lurches foward and grabs a hold of Mark’s limbs, pulling him down harshly. He loses his balance, the sound of him hitting the ground making you gasp.

“Oh, c’mon!” Younghyun laughs as he stands at Mark’s feet. “Are you just gonna keep lying there like an injured lamb? Tsk. Powerless,” he taunts some more, garnering a few chuckles from the crowd.

Mark didn’t seem to like that.

“Shut the hell up,” he grits as he gets up. The air around him seems to hum, thick with unseen energy. The crowd falls silent, their laughter replaced by gasps of alarm, but Mark doesn’t notice it— until it happens.

A burst of white light explodes outward as he lunges towards Younghyun, the energy radiating like a shockwave, causing the latter to fly backwards before landing on the ground with a loud thud. The air still crackles with tension as Mark stumbles back, his heart pounding fiercely in his chest as he looks at his hands, trembling with the unfamiliar power.

“What the…” he whispers to himself, slowly looking back to his opponent who still lies unconscious, the only reassurance of him being alive the faint rise and fall of his chest. Relief washes over Mark for a moment, before it’s quickly overshadowed by the feeling of dread as the murmurs around him grow louder, the words “dangerous” and “unstable” cutting through the noise.

He looks around helplessly, before his eyes land on you, already looking at him with concern painted on your features. You step towards him, but Mark stumbles back, his stomach churning.

“Mark,” you say softly, but he shakes his head, feeling his eyes burn with tears he knows he shouldn’t let fall in front of you, so he does the next best thing:

He runs away.

✦ ✦ ✦

You find Mark in his room, his back turned to you as he frantically packs his bags.

“Wha- are you leaving?”

Your voice causes him to stall before his hands fall in defeat, and he finally turns to you.

Based on the redness of his eyes, you know that he’s been crying, and the sight tugs on your heartstrings. It’s a deep, unshakeable sadness that wells up in you, and you know it isn’t his emotions bleeding into yours this time— it’s all yours.

“I shouldn’t be here anymore,” he says weakly, his voice hoarse. “I can’t— not if I’m hurting people along the way. I didn’t mean to hurt him-“

“I know. I know, Mark.” You step towards him slowly, and he lets you, though he’s quick to avoid your gaze as he looks at his shoes. “It’s not your fault.”

The lights in the room start to flicker as he takes in a shaky breath, the dim glow struggling to stay steady. With each passing second, the flickering intensifies, plunging the room into near darkness before the bulbs flare brightly.

“Look at me?” You plead, gently cupping his jaw to tilt his face towards you. His tear-filled eyes gaze longingly into yours, and you make sure he doesn’t look away as you drop your arm, tugging the glove off your other hand.

Conjuring a small flame in your right palm, you raise back your hand, letting it hover steadily between the two of you. His eyes naturally follow the fire that dances in your palm, the orange hue reflecting in his glassy irises.

“Breathe,” you say gently. As the flame pulses and sways in a slow, rhythmic pattern, his breathing begins to match its cadence, each inhale and exhale drawing closer to the calm tempo you’ve set for him, until the room eventually stops flickering and returns to normal.

“Your abilities don’t make you a threat, Mark.” Your voice wavers, but you hold his gaze, feeling your own tears well in your eyes. In a way, Mark Lee reminds you of yourself— alone, misunderstood, burdened with a gift you never asked for. You understand his fear, because it mirrors your own; and it’s taken you years alone to realise that it doesn’t define nor destroy you.

“It can be tamed,” you continue softly, and the flame in your palm steadies, its gentle glow casting shadows across his pained features. You fight back the urge to hold him, to smoothen out the worry between his eyebrows, and tell him that it’s alright. So instead, you settle for a smile, hoping that your words are able to convey what actions couldn’t.

“Just like mine.”

You’re looking at Mark again, only this time, he’s standing at the other end of the room, far away from you. His features are illuminated by the moonlight breaking through the cracked window next to him, his fists glowing faintly with a power he’s only beginning to understand.

You try to call out for him, but your voice comes out as muffled. The towering shapes that surround the two of you feel vaguely familiar, along with the dust that swirls in the air and the faint smell of musty paper, but the way they’re constantly twisting and blurring into nothingness makes it hard for you to pinpoint exactly where you are.

One by one, the Umbras start to appear, and you can’t see Mark anymore with how quickly they’ve encircled him. The air is heavy, suffocating, and that’s when you hear it; a familiar voice:

“Engulf him.”

The shadows start to hiss, the sharp noise growing louder and louder with each passing second. Instinctively, you bring your hands to your ears, only for pain to flare instantly as your skin burns on contact. With a gasp, you let your arms fall, and that’s when you notice the absence of your gloves, your palms raw and red.

An estranged cry leaves your lips as the burning sensation starts to spread beneath your skin, causing you to fall to your knees. You want to call out for Mark, but you can’t, your lips feeling as though they’ve been sewn shut so tightly that you can’t do anything else but to stare helplessly as the Umbras consume him.

You jolt awake with a scream, clutching your arms as the phantom burn lingers. It was just a nightmare, but not just any ordinary one— it was another vision.

The sudden banging on your door causes you to jump out of your skin, and you’re hesitant to move from your bed, given the state of your own frantic self. It is only when you hear the familiar voice at the other side do you finally stumble to open it, and you’re instantly met with Renjun’s panicked face, his fists raised and glowing.

He sighs upon seeing you, dropping his hands. “God, I was literally about to break into your room! What took you so lo- are you crying?” Renjun halts amidst his rambling when he takes in your tear-stricken face, something you didn’t even realise until he pointed it out.

“I just, uh, had a bad dream,” you mutter, quickly wiping your eyes with your bandaged hands. You had switched from sleeping with your gloves on to wrapping them with gauze, something Donghyuck had taught you when he noticed how irritated your skin would get after wearing them for a full day. You still have yet to master wrapping them perfectly, the fabric currently falling apart at the seams, but at least they keep your palms covered.

Renjun shakes his head, as though snapping himself out of distraction. “Listen, it’s Mark.”

Your heart drops upon hearing his name.

Renjun continues. “Something’s going on. I noticed his door was left ajar when I left my room to go to the washroom, so I knocked to see if he was okay, but he wasn’t inside. I don’t know where he is.”

You swallow hard, and it feels like bile has risen in your throat at the thought of your vision coming true. You shove past Renjun wordlessly, stumbling into the hallway.

“Where are you going?” He calls out after you, but you don’t respond, your feet carrying you towards the end of the corridor. Your steps only falter when you reach a junction, and you close your eyes as you try to steady your breathing. There’s a tug in your mind, like an invisible string that’s pulling you towards the shadowy corners of the academy, and that’s when it hits you: the cracked window. The dust. The smell of old paper. 

“Are you seriously not gonna answer me?” Renjun pants when he catches up to you, clearly annoyed. “I know you’re worried, but running aimlessly won’t help you find-“

“I know where he is,” you cut him off, turning around.

Renjun frowns before his expression eases into one of realisation. “Your visions…”

You nod before taking off towards the east wing, not looking behind to check if he is following after you.

You don’t remember the last time you visited the old library— or anyone, for that matter. Since the fire that ravaged the east wing a few years back, the entire area was deemed unsafe, left to rot after the surviving books were moved to a newer wing.

But it wasn’t just the fire that left the library abandoned; more so, the rumours that followed. The timing of the incident had been too coincidental, perfectly lining up to the time when your abilities first spiraled out of control. No one had ever outright accused you, but the rumours were enough to make you feel their suspicions.

You’d avoided the place since, the unspoken blame too much of a weight for you to bear. But now, as you approach the charred doorway, your stomach churns at the thought of stepping back inside.

Taking in a shaky breath, you push the heavy door open, the hinges creaking as it reveals the forgotten library.

It’s there, just like you envisioned earlier, which is why it doesn’t take you long to spot Mark, standing in between the bookshelves as his eyes and fists glow a bright white. Dark shapes swirl around him like smoke, some darting towards him only to be repelled away at the last second, as though he’s being protected by an unseen force.

Now this, you didn’t see in your vision.

“Mark?” You call out, your voice trembling as you slowly inch towards him, but Renjun quickly catches your wrist.

You turn to meet his worried gaze. “I don’t think- should I go call Headmaster Kang?”

You stall. “If we tell him, I’d have to explain how I know. You know he doesn’t know about my visions,” you reply hesitantly, wriggling your hand out of his grasp. “I can’t afford to do that right now.”

“Yes, but-“ Renjun is insistent before he lets out a frustrated sigh, knowing that nothing he could say would change your mind.

“I can’t go back to confinement, Jun,” you say quietly, and Renjun looks away.

“I know,” he mutters. “At least let me call Hyuck?”

You nod hesitantly, and Renjun gives you one last look before he raises his fists, conjuring a portal and disappearing.

You turn back to Mark, keeping your eyes on him as you unravel the bandages on your hands. You let them fall to the floor before you raise your arms, your palms heating up instantly.

As though sensing the shift in the air, the Umbras turn to you, and you barely notice Mark’s protective barrier start to flicker uncertainly before the wraiths lunge towards you at full speed.

“Not today,” you mutter through gritted teeth as you flick your wrists, sending a jet of fire through them before they screech, eventually disappearing into nothingness.

It feels never-ending, and you know you’re growing tired as the heat of the flames intensify the more you attack. Still, you ignore the pain that sears your skin, letting the adrenaline take over until the last of the wraiths vanish with a hiss, and you finally allow yourself to drop your arms.

You pant heavily, only now registering the state of the charred library shrouded with smoke; as though the fire from years ago had come alive before your very eyes.

Your knees buckle, and despite the pain that seizes your entire body, you crawl towards Mark, shifting so his head could fall to your lap. His lips are pale, body unnervingly still, but he’s still breathing; albeit shallowly.

“Mark,” you croak, your trembling hands hovering over his face as though you’re unsure of what to do with them. Your bandages are somewhere on the ground behind you, and you don’t want to accidentally burn him by touching him. “Wake up. I need you to wake up, please.”

This scene feels oddly familiar.

You fight back a choked sob, but it doesn’t do much in stopping the tears that fall down your cheeks. They burn, like acid, and you quickly wipe them away with your sleeves.

You vaguely hear someone calling your name behind you, registering the familiar voice of Donghyuck before he skids to a crouch next to you. You tilt your chin to look at him, and his lips part in shock upon taking in your face.

“Help him, please.” You cut Donghyuck off just as he’s about to say your name, and he swallows before nodding grimly, beckoning for Renjun to come over.

You scoot away to give the boys some space, and your eyes fall to your hands on your lap. They sleeves of your shirt partly obscure them, but the burns still peek through, a stark reminder of the flames you wielded, and a haunting proof of how your even visions aren’t able to save Mark.

Mark thinks he’s going crazy.

He had woken up in the infirmary with no recollection of what had happened, the marks on his skin the only evidence that something did actually happen in the time he was unconscious, but that isn’t even the worst part.

The worst part is that he hasn’t seen you since he woke up, and neither Donghyuck nor Renjun is telling him where you disappeared off to.

He finds himself in Headmaster Kang’s office instead, and the downturn of the man’s lips tells Mark that he isn’t here for a casual chat.

“So tell me, Mark. How did you find yourself in the old library?” Headmaster Kang rests his elbows on his desk as he leans forward.

Mark swallows nervously, his head hanging low. “I- I’m sorry, sir. I don’t remember.”

Headmaster Kang nods. “I understand that you’re still trying to adapt to your abilities, which might explain why these things are happening. How has training been going for you? Good?”

“I-“ Mark pauses. The answer is at the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t possibly admit that to the headmaster, can he? How could he say that no, nothing has been going well for him ever since discovering his abilities, that his life has turned to literal shit since the day he knocked that kid Younghyun off his feet?

Despite his struggle to answer, Headmaster Kang smiles, as though knowing exactly what it is he wanted to say. Mark wonders if the he could read minds like Donghyuck.

“We’ve never had an Umbra attack at the academy before. This is a first, and I reckon it has something to do with your emotional resonance. As you already know, these things feed off energy, which could explain how they’ve managed to break through the perimeter.”

Mark clears his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no. Don’t be.” Headmaster Kang shakes his head. “This is a school. An instituition. I never want my students to feel unsafe at the one place that’s supposed to protect them.”

Mark nods, not really sure where the conversation is heading towards.

“That said, a wraith attack is to be taken very seriously. It was fortunate that nobody else got hurt-“

Relief washes through Mark momentarily. That would mean that you’re okay, right?

“-but for the sake of ensuring the safety of the other students, I’m afraid that I’d have to take action to make sure this doesn’t happen again. I hope you understand this isn’t mean to be a punishment, Mark, more so a protective measure to help regulate your abilities.” The headmaster pauses, as though thinking of the next words he’s going to say.

“Solar confinement,” he finally says, leaning back in his chair. “A method designed to stabilise energy levels. It’s been used in the past for students who needed time to regain control over your powers. In fact, your friends have gone through this as well, so I’m sure you are familiar with it, yes?”

Mark stiffens, his fists curling on his lap. Of course, he’s familiar with it— it’s the one thing Donghyuck wouldn’t stop talking about ever since he joined this academy.

“You’re isolating me,” he responds, his tone stiff but measured.

“No, Mark. Helping,” the headmaster corrects. “Think of it as a period of rehabilitation. You’d be surprised what four hours could do in stabilising your inner elemental.”

Mark inhales sharply, knowing that he isn’t left with a choice. “I understand, sir.”

“Good. You can head down to the courtyard and start when the clock hits twelve. I’ll have someone check in on you hourly until it’s done. And Mark?” Headmaster Kang’s tone shifts, the gentleness replaced with a sharper edge. “Don’t disappoint me.”

Mark could only afford to nod robotically before he leaves the office, each step heavier than the last. At the rate he’s going, he’s not sure if any type of confinement could help with the inner turmoil he’s feeling.

✦ ✦ ✦

The headmaster lied.

It only took one hour in for Mark to realise that no, nobody was going to check in on him as he’s standing in the middle of the courtyard, alone and on the verge of passing out under the intense summer heat.

It’s also a weekend, which explains why the academy feels so desolate— not like that would have helped in any way, whatsoever. He’s convinced that this so-called ‘rehabilitation’ is nothing more but a thinly veiled punishment for luring the wraiths onto school grounds; as though he even meant to do it on purpose in the first place.

If it weren’t for his recently-discovered abilities— emotional resonance, or whatever— he’s sure he wouldn’t even be able to make it to the twenty minute mark, let alone a whole hour. And with three more to go, he doesn’t think even his inner elemental could help him with that.

He doesn’t notice Donghyuck walk up to him until the boy taps him on his shoulder, grimacing upon taking in his face.

“Headmaster Kang told me to come tap you out,” he says cautiously.

Mark’s hazy mind barely processes Donghyuck’s words. He’s pretty sure it’s only been two and a half hours, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. His body gives out immediately, collapsing under the weight of exhaustion. A wave of nausea hits him, and before he could stop it, the bile rises quickly in his throat before it spills all over the ground in a violent retch.

Donghyuck cringes, crouching hesitantly before handing him a bottle of water. “Pretty rough, huh?”

“Shut up,” he heaves, taking a mouthful of water before spitting it out. “How come?”

“Um,” Donghyuck seems hesitant to continue, but he sighs eventually. “Listen, I’m not supposed to tell you this, so you didn’t hear this from me! But, uh… a transaction, of sorts, has been made. Believe me, I was not on board with it at all, but she was just so fucking adamant-“

“What?”

Donghyuck glances around, as though to make sure nobody is listening. “Someone, made a deal with the headmaster to let her do isolation instead of you doing the full four hours,” he says in a hushed whisper. “You know, someone being-“

“Yeah, I got it, Hyuck,” Mark answers gruffly, getting back to his feet unsteadily as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Where is she?”

“I-“ Donghyuck’s jaw tightens before he swallows. “The old library. When she heard that you were going to be put in solar confinement, she marched straight to the headmaster’s office to tell him to lighten your sentence and to give it to her instead. I don’t- damn it,” he sighs, struggling to form his own words as he runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “She’s been avoiding you. Blaming herself for the shit that went down. It’s like she thinks her visions were promises that she broke, or something. I keep telling her that it’s not her fault, but she just won’t listen. She’s convinced that staying away from you is the only way to keep you safe.”

And suddenly, everything comes rushing down to him. The Umbras that surrounded him, the white light that blinded him. The sound of your sobs, the feeling of his head in your lap. The way your voice cracked when you whispered his name, filled with guilt and fear.

Mark lets out a shaky exhale before he moves past Donghyuck, but the boy stops him.

“Not now,” he grits through his teeth, his eyes flickering upward momentarily. Mark follows his gaze, seeing the headmaster’s shadow behind the glass window at the very top floor. “You’re a walking target now, remember that. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Don’t have to worry about that." Mark shrugs Donghyuck’s hand off his shoulder. "From now on, I’ll just do everything my way.”

You can’t feel anything in your palms.

You’ve been trying to conjure fire for the past twenty minutes, the emptiness in your hands gnawing on the edges of your sanity. It’s not just the absence of heat— it’s the absence of you, and in the suffocating quiet of the old library, it seems that that part of you has been snuffed out.

But this is what you asked for, right?

Mark had gotten hurt because of you; went into solar confinement because of you. If isolating yourself means not crossing paths with him anymore, maybe you could stop feeling the guilt of failing. Maybe you won’t have to see Mark hurt again and know it’s because of you.

Maybe you’ll finally have some peace.

Still, there’s a nagging voice at the back of your head that refuses to be silenced. The voice you heard in your vision, commanding the army of Umbras to engulf Mark— you know it wasn't just another cruel trick of your mind; not when it's so familiar, so authoritative.

You didn't want to believe it, but in the cold, soulless library, the truth suddenly hits you with a sickening clarity. That voice you heard in your vision was the voice you hear every single day.

It was Headmaster Kang.

Your heart thumps wildly against your chest, and you almost miss the creak of the door behind you in the midst of your revelation, only frantically blinking your thoughts away when you see a white light illuminate the otherwise dark room. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is.

“Mark.” Your voice is hoarse from disuse. “You shouldn’t be here.”

He ignores you, stepping further into the room towards where you are in between the shelves. His gaze sweeps over the makeshift cot you’ve been using, the scattered bandages, the faint scorch marks on the walls— your desperate attempts to summon even a spark.

You finally turn to him, and Mark inhales sharply upon taking in your features. Your eyes are swollen like you’ve been crying, and the streaks on your cheeks are raw, angry, as though your tears carried the heat of your abilities, stinging your skin as they fell.

Your vision lands on the orb of light that hovers above his palm; small, but bright enough to light the space in between the both of you. “How come?”

“I don’t know,” he replies just as quietly. The light disappears as he puts down his hand, leaving the room basking in a dim light only illuminated by the moon outside. “Guess confinement didn’t work for me.”

You nod stiffly, averting your gaze to the window to your left when Mark kneels before you. He doesn’t miss the way you clench your fists tightly.

“Let me see,” he murmurs as he reaches towards your hands.

You hesitate at first, but you don’t know what it is that makes you give in finally— whether it’s the weight of your own exhaustion, or the way your name so softly escapes his lips that prompts you to extend your arms towards him.

Mark gently takes your hands into his, the warmth of his touch grounding you despite the rawness of your skin. Pulling out a roll of fresh bandages from his pockets, he begins to wrap them.

“You know,” he starts lightly. “I used to do this a lot in Taekwondo. Bandaging hands, I mean. Usually for someone who landed a bad punch.” He glances at you through his lashes, as though trying to gauge if his attempt at humour has landed. “Though I don’t suppose you punched anyone, right?”

You chuckle softly, sniffing as you raise your free hand to dry your cheek. Mark gives you a lopsided smile before he continues, and the both of you settle into a silence.

“Does the headmaster know you’re here?” You ask, just as he’s about to finish with your second hand. Mark replies with a hum.

“I’m sure he does. He’s been watching me like a hawk the entire day. Listen…” he trails off, his eyes fixed on your hand still in his. He’s done with wrapping you up, but he doesn’t let go, his fingers fumbling over yours as though he’s thinking of something. You don’t mind.

“I know this is just how things go here, but do you really think that makes it right? Why does he keep throwing us into confinement instead of teaching us how to control our abilities?” He asks, frustration evident in his tone. Mark finally lets go of your hands, but his gaze lingers on them.

You part your lips to reply, but Mark beats you to it.

“And don’t even get me started on you.” His voice drops as he meets your eyes. “Donghyuck told me what you did. What the hell were you thinking? Throwing yourself into confinement- do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

You could feel your tears start to burn, but you’re fixed on not letting them fall as you look down on your lap. “I was just trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?” Mark laughs bitterly. “You think isolating yourself, weakening yourself, is protecting me? You think I’d want that?”

“It wasn’t just about you, Mark,” you argue, though your voice falters. “I just thought- if I stopped having visions, I could stop failing. Stop feeling-“ You cut yourself off when you feel yourself getting choked up, and Mark’s features soften.

“Stop feeling guilty?” He completes your sentence for you, and you nod hesitantly.

“Headmaster Kang doesn’t know about my visions,” you admit. “I knew he was going to send me into confinement if I did, which is ironic because I ended up doing that to myself anyway. But it’s also because-“ you hesitate. Mark watches you intently, waiting for you to continue.

“There’s a prophecy,” you finally say, swallowing harshly. “I didn’t understand it at first. I kept seeing someone surrounded by light and shadows, but the more you showed up, the more it started to make sense. You were the centre of it all.”

Mark’s expression hardens. “A prophecy? What does it say?”

“I don’t know,” you say quietly. “They’re all vague, like most prophecies are. But it talks about light and darkness… and someone being consumed by the other. I think- I think they’re about you.”

Something flickers in his eyes. “And you’ve been keeping this all to yourself?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you, Mark,” you protest, almost pleadingly. “And it’s not just that- there’s something else.” You stall, unsure if you should share the next part, but you push forward. “In my last vision… there was a voice. It commanded the wraiths, telling them to find you. Someone’s been controlling them, and I think…” you exhale shakily. "I think that someone is the headmaster."

Mark stiffens, but you continue before he could say something. “There’s a reason why I’ve been keeping this to myself. I don’t know what he knows, but I knew I couldn’t tell him. Or anyone, for that matter. Not until I find out why he's doing this.”

“So, what? You decided to take this all in yourself? You thought you could just fix this on your own?” The anger in his voice has dissipated by now, replaced with a mix of desperation and concern.

You lower your head, the weight of his words pressing on you. “I just wanted to keep you safe. Keep everyone safe.”

“And what if I don’t need saving?” He asks, his voice quieter now. “What if what I need, is for you to be there with me? To help me figure this shit out?”

“I’m sorry,” you choke, tears already spilling down your cheeks at his words. Your features crumple in pain, and Mark seems to notice as he quickly takes your face in his hands.

“No, no. I’m sorry. Don’t cry,” Mark murmurs, his thumbs working in wiping the moisture away.

“Mark, stop,” you croak as you try to push his hands away, knowing your tears would burn him the way it does you. But Mark is unyielding, his palms holding the sides of your head firmly as he urges you to look at him.

“Listen to me,” he insists. “You don’t get to shoulder this all on your own. You don’t get to punish yourself because things didn’t go the way you thought it would. Whatever this prophecy means, and whatever happens next, we face it together. Got it?”

You finally look at him through your tears, and Mark offers you a soft, pained smile as he brushes a stray lock of hair from your face. He’s looking at you so tenderly, like you aren’t the monster you’ve convinced yourself to be. 

For the first time in forever, you feel a flicker of hope ignite inside you.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Together.”

The door creaks open, and Donghyuck looks up from the paperback he’s holding, brows raising when he sees you and Mark.

“Well, well, well.” He shuts his book, settling it down on his lap before leaning back in his chair, making himself comfortable. “Look who decided to rejoin society. I didn’t think I’d see you until the next apocalypse.”

You shift uncomfortably under his gaze, your hands brushing against the bandages still wrapped around your palms. Weirdly enough, it brings you a sense of comfort; less like a remedy for your wounds, and more of a quiet reassurance.

“Donghyuck,” you say quietly, ignoring his quip. “We need your help.”

The boy shakes his head as he stands up. “Nuh-uh. Not until you tell me what the hell is going in that head of yours, little lady. Do you have any idea how worried Mark’s been? How worried I’ve been? Seriously, I thought you’d buried yourself with the way you holed yourself up in there!”

Despite the tension in your body, you still find it in you to roll your eyes at your friend’s nagging. You know that’s just how Donghyuck is; always one for the dramatics. It’s his way of showing he cares, as much as it grates your nerves sometimes.

“Enough, man. She’s here now, and that’s all that matters, alright?” Mark cuts in, and Donghyuck narrows his eyes at him.

“Right. So tell me-“ He gestures between you and Mark. “What’d you do to get her out? Sweet talk her? Promise her eternal gratitude? Or, don’t tell me!“ Donghyuck gasps dramatically as he turns to you. “He gave you some heartfelt speech about how you’re not alone and how devastated he would be if you wasted your days in there?”

Your cheeks heat up as you look away, and Mark clears his throat awkwardly. Donghyuck is snickering to himself, but quickly stops when he registers your reaction.

“No way. He actually did that? I was kidding!” He scoffs, almost in disbelief. “You gotta tell me what you said, Mark. I might need it someday.”

Mark only groans. You don’t need to look at him to know that he’s just embarrassed as you; the subtle change in the air says it all. Based on the growing smirk on Donghyuck’s face, you know he feels it too.

“Hyuck, will you just shut up and listen? We need your help. It’s about the east wing.”

At the mention of the east wing, Donghyuck’s smile falters. “East wing? What about it?”

Mark turns to look at you, and you know that he’s leaving it to you to explain. You take in a deep breath.

“When I was in isolation, I lost my abilities momentarily. But I don’t think it was the isolation that caused that. It was the old library.” 

Donghyuck’s brows furrow. “What? But it works the same way as solar confinement, doesn’t it? It weakens your abilities in general.”

“It wasn’t supposed to.” You shake your head. “Solar confinement targets your physical fatigue— it drains you, making it harder to control your abilities. There was no reason for me to lose mine when all I did was coop myself up in a room alone. The energy in there, Hyuck… it’s different. It doesn’t just drain me, it interferes with the connection to my abilities.”

You turn to Mark. “That’s also how you were able to conjure light in the library, even though you went through confinement. All of this has something to do with the prophecy, I’m sure.”

“Wait- prophecy? What prophecy?” Donghyuck interrupts, confused.

You nod. “Through my visions, I saw a prophecy-“ you pause to gauge his reaction, but his silence prompts you to continue. “Something involving light and darkness. We need to find out what it is and I think the old library has the answers we need. And Headmaster Kang-“ You cut yourself off, his name sounding bitter on your lips. “I need to find out if he’s really behind all of this.”

Donghyuck stares at you for a long moment before he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You guys really know how to ruin a perfect evening, don’t you?” He mutters, though the way he’s already putting on his jacket betrays his reluctance. “And for the record, I’ve always known there was something off about that guy.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, and Donghyuck squints his eyes at you. “Don’t think you’re off the hook just yet. I can’t believe you kept all this shit from me! You’re explaining everything on the way. And you.” He turns to Mark, who raises a brow. “If you hurt her, I’ll make it my mission to read every single embarrassing memory you’ve ever had. Non-stop. For weeks.”

Mark laughs wryly. “Yeah, alright. You can’t even read me properly.”

“Cocky now, aren’t we?” Donghyuck wiggles his fingers ominously. “Remember, the more guilt you feel, the easier it is for you to be read. So tread lightly, lover boy.”

You try to suppress a snort as you shove past the two boys, stepping out into the hallway to mask your own burning cheeks. “You’re insufferable, Hyuck.”

You don’t see the way Mark’s lips twitch into a faint smile as he watches you walk ahead, nor do you catch Donghyuck narrowing his eyes at him and mouthing, I’m watching you, before stalking after you.

✦ ✦ ✦

The stillness of the night is almost unnatural, but you feel strangely at ease. You wonder if it has anything to do with Mark in front of you, his shoulders loose and pace steady. The air around him is calm, no longer weighed down by the tension that used to betray his every thought. It seems that he’s gotten better at keeping his emotions in check, and for once, it doesn’t feel like you’re walking on eggshells around him.

He stops before the entrance of the old library, glancing behind his shoulder to look at you and Donghyuck. The latter is weirdly quiet, but you don’t blame him one bit. As far as you know, Donghyuck has never stepped foot into the east wing before, the fire having happened way before he even enrolled in the academy. The weight of having to use his abilities tonight must be daunting as it is unsettling.

He steps forward, eyeing the melted doorknob before placing his hand on it gingerly. You hold your breath as he does so, only to gasp quickly afterwards when you take in his reaction.

Donghyuck tenses immediately, his limbs locking as though he’s being struck by an unseen force. It looks like he’s trapped in a trance with the way his eyes roll to the back of his eyelids, chin tilted to the ceiling. You’ve never seen him react this way before, and you know it isn’t normal.

“Hyuck!” You step towards him, only for Mark to pull you back by your wrist. He shakes his head at you, as though to signal you not to interfere just yet. His free hand glows with a soft, white light when he raises it, ready for what might come next.

You gnaw on your bottom lip nervously as you wait for the situation to play out, opting to put your trust in Mark for now. The seconds stretch on unbearably, and you soon notice the faint trickle of blood from Donghyuck’s nose. Before you could react, Mark beats you to it, quickly placing his hand over Donghyuck’s.

The contact immediately breaks him from the trance he was in, and Donghyuck stumbles back with a gasp, eyes wide with fear and confusion.

“Hyuck, you alright?” You ask, your arms already stretched out in case you needed to catch him. “Did you see something?”

“Smoke,” he mumbles, his eyes unfocused as though still in a daze. “Black smoke. And… Umbras. Lots of them.” Donghyuck shakes his head, his brown hair falling into his eyes as he wipes his nose with the back of his sleeve. “This has never happened before.” “I know. I’m sorry,” you say apologetically. “Do you want to sit down?”

“No. You were right.” Donghyuck meets your gaze. “Something definitely went down in here. I saw a book.”

Mark perks from beside you. “A book?”

“Yeah. I could feel that it’s ancient. Enchanted. The problem is… it looked like any other leather-bound book in the ancient section of the library. How the hell are we supposed to find it? I mean, we could probably head over and I could touch each individual one-“

“No, don’t. That’s too much for you to handle, Hyuck. We don’t want a repeat of whatever this was.” You shake your head as you gnaw on your bottom lip, the gears in your head turning as you think of another option.

“We wouldn’t have to do that anyway,” Mark suddenly murmurs from beside you, and you turn to him in confusion.

He isn’t looking at you, his eyes distant as though he’s deep in thought. Mark swallows before he finally meets your eyes.

“Because it’s in his office. I saw it.”

Donghyuck scoffs. “Of course. That’s such an amateur villain thing to do! Hiding a literal weapon out in the open?”

“How did you know it was the one?” You ignore Donghyuck, prompting Mark to continue.

“At first, I couldn’t stop staring at it. Like there was some sort of unseen force pulling at me. But then, it started to glow,” Mark recounts before taking in a sharp inhale. “My abilities weren’t awakened yet, so I brushed it off. I thought I was seeing things. Guess I was wrong.”

Silence stretches between the three of you as Mark’s confession hangs in the air, and Donghyuck is the first to break the silence.

“So… what now?” He voices cautiously.

You don’t need to look at Mark to see the glint of determination in his eyes, the shift in the air telling you all you need to know.

“We pay the headmaster a little visit.”

In hindsight, you should have known that things were bound to go awry the moment it started being too good to be true.

You’re situated in the ancient section of the new library with Donghyuck and Renjun, a mountain of books stacked on the floor around you as you rapidly skim through each one.

Renjun groaned loudly. “Remind me what we’re looking for again? You know I can’t help you guys if I don’t know what we’re doing, right?”

“Something. Anything,” Donghyuck muttered distractedly. He seemed to be considerably more productive than you, only needing to graze his palm across the surface of each book before moving on to the next one. Then again, you’re not a psychometrist.

“Anything you can find on Mark’s biological family, or the history behind his abilities. Or maybe something like…” you trailed off when your eyes catch the body of text in the book you’re currently holding, and your breath caught in your throat. “This.”

The Lee Clan of Jeonju — Rulers of the Resonant Throne 공명의왕좌

The boys were by your side in an instant, peering over your shoulders to read through the page.

“The Lee Clan was once a dynasty of empathic rulers, believed to govern not with force, but with resonance— the ability to weave emotions into power…” Renjun murmured.

“This has to be it, right?” Donghyuck blurted. “Look here. The remaining Lee descendants scattered, their bloodline diluted over the generations, and now believed to have ceased to exist. Yet, an ancient prophecy speaks of a final descendant— one who will either restore the throne or silence it forever.”

The air around you stilled, none of you daring to say anything as you slowly registered the newfound information you just learned.

Mark is a descendant of a royal bloodline— that had to count for something, right?

The double doors barges open suddenly, startling you from your thoughts. Speak of the Devil, and he shall appear— it’s Mark, with a leatherback book in his hands.

“I got it,” he says, slightly out of breath as he approaches the table next to you. You’re quick to abandon the books on the floor as you stand up to move next to him, Donghyuck and Renjun following suit.

“Thank God you’re alive! We almost thought you’d triggered a booby trap or something with how long you took. I told you, you should have let one of us tag along!” Donghyuck chides.

“There was no booby trap, and I’m here now, aren’t I?” Mark answers wryly, setting the book on the wooden surface with a soft thump. There was no reason for him to involve you, or any of the boys in taking the book from the headmaster’s office. Not when the stakes were too high, and especially not when the wrong move could cost you everything.

He glances towards you, and you’re already looking at him with a look he couldn’t exactly decipher. Mark hopes it’s not his own nerves that’s you’re mirroring— he believes he has gotten better at controlling them. Then again, he’s pretty sure he’s still awful at concealing just how much he cares for you.

“So, what are we waiting for? Open the book,” Renjun demands impatiently.

With a deep breath, Mark flips the heavy cover open to the first page, only to reveal…

Nothing.

“What?” He exhales in confusion, quickly flipping to the other pages, each turn more frantic than the last. “It’s empty? Why the hell is it empty?”

“Let me try.” Donghyuck steps forward, all humour gone from his voice as he rests his palm on the yellowed pages, closing his eyes at the same time.

“Shit…” he mutters after a few seconds, his irises glazed the moment he opens them. “I got nothing. Are you sure you took the right book?”

“Yes, Hyuck, seeing as it was the only one that was glowing, I’d say I’m pretty damn sure.”

“Okay, calm down, you guys,” you step in, inhaling sharply. “Look, why don’t we all go back to his office and see what else we can find? And Mark, about your family-“

Your words are cut off by a sharp creak from the doorway. You spin around, your breath catching in your throat when you see Headmaster Kang standing in the entrance, his dark gaze sweeping over all of you.

“Well, well.” His voice is calm, but there's a chilling edge to it. “I suppose I should have expected this.”

“Get out of the way, Kang,” Mark says lowly, stepping forward as he blocks your path.

Headmaster Kang just smirks, stepping into the room slowly. “I don’t think I will. You should have stayed out of this, all of you. This is bigger than any of you can understand.”

Before anyone could react, he raises a hand, and suddenly, a rush of air fills the room. With a sharp gesture, he sends a wave of energy towards you, knocking everyone back into the shelves. You barely even register the pain that sears through your bones, quickly getting back to your feet with your hands at the ready for whatever comes next.

“I’ve been patient, Mark, but this little game you’ve been playing ends now. Tell me what’s in the book.”

Mark’s jaw clenches. “No.” His clenched fists already a glowing white, but you know he’s holding back— holding you back from stepping in as he relaxes his fingers behind his back, signalling you not to do anything. 

Headmaster Kang’s lips curl into a thin smile, but there’s no warmth in it. “You think you have a choice in this?”

With a sharp movement, he raises his arms, instantly unleashing an army of Umbras which come barrelling straight towards you and your friends. You’re quick to conjure the flames in your palms, but Mark is much quicker as he summons a massive shield, just in time to deflect the attack— but not for long.

Mark’s shield pulses and flickers as he struggles to keep it steady, and you know it would only be a matter of time before it breaks. Your lips part. “Mark-“

“Take the book, and go,” he grunts through gritted teeth, glancing at Renjun. “Conjure a portal and get out of here.”

“Are you crazy? He’s going to fucking kill you!” Donghyuck cries.

“He doesn’t know that I can’t read the book. So long as I can keep him distracted, I can buy you guys some time,” Mark pants, ignoring the younger’s claim. He finally turns to you, and your heart drops at the sight of his paling lips— his shield is weakening, and you know it won’t last much longer. “Go.”

You want to argue, but you don’t. You know what he’s asking; the risk he’s taking for you to figure things out.

So you settle for a nod, already feeling the tears burn in your eyes as you grab the book from the table. You barely hear the headmaster’s furious shout before Renjun’s portal opens up, and you step inside.

The last thing you see is Mark’s smile— a tired one, but one that makes your heart swell tenfold nonetheless.

You find yourself in the courtyard of the academy. From the outside, the building looks as unassuming as ever, untouched by the havoc unraveling within. As though it isn’t infested with evil; as though Mark isn’t still inside, holding the line with everything he has.

It’s silent, save the laboured breaths coming from you, Renjun and Donghyuck. You’re still hugging the book tightly against your chest, and you finally loosen your grip as you let you arms fall to your lap.

If you weren’t already staring at it so intently, you would have missed it— the amber glow that seems to emit from within, through the gaps in the pages. Your skin tingles before it quickly starts to hurt, the contact between the hardback cover and your hands burning you in a way you’ve never felt before. 

You release the book with a startled gasp, even kicking it away in the midst of your panic. You vaguely hear the boys calling for you, but you don’t turn to them, your eyes trained solely on the book, now glowing amber.

You let out a shaky exhale before swallowing harshly, pushing yourself off the ground to reach for it once more.

“What the hell are you doing?” Renjun asks.

You ignore him, hastily flipping the book open to a random page. Surprisingly, it doesn’t burn you anymore, and what greets you instead are the once-blank pages that start to fill slowly, bodies of anxient texts and symbols swirling before your very eyes.

“What the fuck?” Donghyuck murmurs from beside you, proving that you aren’t the only one seeing this.

“The prophecy,” you whisper shakily as the words begin to form across the pages, loud and bold.

When the bearer of light and the flame that defies the abyss stand as one, the veil shall break and fate will awaken. By nature's decree, only the fittest shall endure, and balance will be restored.

Silence.

“So you’re the final descendant of the Lee clan? What the fuck? Does that mean you’re related to Mark?”

“No, you idiot!” Renjun smacks the back of Donghyuck’s head, the latter crying dramatically in return. “It means-“

“-that I need to go back in there.” You finish his sentence for him, finally looking at your two friends. “This is why I’ve been getting those visions. Mark isn’t supposed to fulfil the prophecy alone-“ you pause. “It’s because I’m supposed to fulfil it with him.”

✦ ✦ ✦

Mark could taste copper on his tongue.

His vision is starting to swim and his limbs are heavy, but he forces himself to push through. He couldn’t give in now— not when the Umbras are still barelling towards him at a hundred miles per hour; not when Kang is still alive and breathing.

His shield flickers weakly in front of him, the toll of every attack weighing down on his bones. The old library is engulfed in darkness, the light he emits not bright enough, making it difficult for him to tell between wraith and shadow, and his blind attacks aren’t doing much to ease his fatigue.

That is, until he feels a shift in the air; a warmth cutting through the cold.

Of course. Of course, you’re here. As much as he had been counting on you to stay outside, he couldn’t say he’s surprised that you’re back.

“Mark, listen to me!” Your estranged yell cuts through the loud hissing of the wraiths as they burst into flames at your constant fireballs. “I need you to stop channelling!”

The white glow emitting from his palms falter slightly at your words, but Mark doesn’t turn to you. “What?” He rasps as he continues to unleash orb after orb. “Are you- no! It’s too dangerous!”

“Trust me, please,” you urge. “I saw the prophecy. You have to trust me!”

Mark glances at you— just for a split second— but a split second is more than enough; enough for you to know that he hears you.

He trusts you not just with his life, but with the parts of himself he’s never dared to give away. And maybe that’s what scares him the most. Not the battle, not the prophecy, but just how much you mean to him.

Which is why he decides to let go.

He relaxes his hands, and the white light that surrounds him fractures like glass. You see the power leaving not just his fingertips, but his entire being, and you lunge towards him to keep him from falling.

With his shield gone, you conjure your own, the wraiths around you bursting into flames instantly.

“Mark,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut as you feel your muscles begin to strain with the weight of your shield. You don’t hesitate to take his hands into your shaky ones even despite the absence of your gloves, knowing now that your abilities won’t hurt him. If anything, it’s necessary.

“When the bearer of light and the flame that defies the abyss stand as one,” you say through clenched teeth, feeling your chest grow heavy with each word that escapes your lips. The air around you starts to shift, but you press on.

“By nature’s decree, only the fittest shall endure...”

Your ears are ringing at this point, and you could barely hear yourself with the shrill hissing of the restless Umbras around you. Headmaster Kang’s strained yell cuts through the noise, and even though you can’t see him, you know he’s getting weaker.

“…and balance will be restored.”

Your shield breaks, and when you finally open your eyes, you’re met with a blinding light— white and amber, burning side by side but never merging. You look at your hands, still intertwined with Mark’s, the glow mirroring the colours you see above you. The Umbras are no longer coming towards you; instead, they surge towards Headmaster Kang like moths to a flame.

Shadows coil around him, clawing and tearing as he thrashes, until his screams are eventually swallowed by darkness and his form unravels into nothingness.

As quickly as they came, the Umbras vanish, leaving only silence and emptiness in their wake.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding, your eyes instantly blurring with tears.

It’s over. It’s finally over.

You look down at Mark, his head still in your lap, and you’re surprised to see that he’s already awake and looking at you, a weak smile on his lips.

“You did it,” he says quietly, the awe in his voice stirring something in you. He reaches for your face, his thumb carressing your cheek softly to wipe the moisture from your skin. “S’proud of you. My Azula.”

Despite yourself, you find yourself laughing. You still don’t know who or what an Azula is, but his usage of my made you so giddy, you don’t let yourself think twice before lowering your head and crashing your lips against his.

Mark meets you halfway, and the way he smiles into the kiss tells you everything you need to know.

Despite the steady stream of people coming and going on the academy grounds, you stay seated on the floor of the courtyard, far too exhausted to move a limb. All around you, students carry boxes and bags, their footsteps quick and voices a blur of confused questions and hurried farewells. You can’t find the energy in you to go back inside to pack your belongings, even if it’s to leave this place for good— not after everything that had just unfolded.

“So…” Donghyuck exhales. “What now?”

“It’s gonna take a while for the ministry to rebuild the school. Even then, I don’t think there’s any use in waiting,” Renjun sighs, his head lolling against his hand as his elbow rests on his knee. “Should I go back to China?”

“Can I come with you?”

“Fuck no. You’re a liability. I can’t risk getting stuck at customs because you decided to read the airport staff during security checks,” Renjun mutters.

“I told you, that was one time!”

You let their bickering blur into the background, not really wanting to get involved despite how amusing you think it is. You glance to your left to see Mark, staring into the distance with a content smile on his lips.

“So,” you start. “What are you gonna do after this? Are you going back to your dojang?”

“Naaah…” Mark shrugs, resting his weight on his palms as he leans backwards. He finally turns to you, his boyish grin growing wider at the sight of your face. You don’t miss the pink hue that paints his cheeks.

“I was thinking, um,” he stalls as he tries to find his words. You stay silent, prompting him to continue. “I was thinking of going to Jeonju. You know, find out more about my biological family, and all that.”

You nod in understanding. It only makes sense, seeing as you had only managed to tell him briefly about his ancestors earlier. You make a mental note to pick up the book from earlier later after packing your items.

“Do you wanna come with me?”

His question causes your eyes to widen, and Mark’s smile turns bashful. He chuckles nervously.

“I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course,” he hurriedly explains. “Seoul’s your home. I’d understand if you don’t wanna-“

“Yes, Mark,” you cut him off with a beam. “Yes. I’d love to.”

Mark exhales, a mixture of a relief sigh and laughter. “Yeah?”

You nod, and Mark brings a hand to cup your cheek as he smiles at you softly. You lean into his touch, savouring his warmth.

This is it, you think. As the sun rises above the academy and casts a golden glow over the ruins of the past, you know that whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

[transformers-spike]

Knockout, Ratchet, Megatron, and Optimus with taking care of a/their pregnant reader? Are they cuties?

Ohhh boy, mixed reactions all around

Knock Out has more trouble than the others. He may be a soldier, doctor and part time scientist, but he is not good at dealing with the human fluids involved. He is horrible at comforting you during morning sickness. It disgusts him and he can't shut his intake. He wants to help you obviously, but for now he's just as likely to empty his fuel tanks. So he's literally doing this:

After the first phase, it gets a little better. It truly starts to hit him how you're carrying his offspring and the mindfuckery of it all. He does care, he's just much better at checking in on you and ticking down the checklist of your needs than dealing with the gross stuff. He will cuddle you tho and give lots of praise

Ratchet is doing pretty well all things considered. It's just the stress that's getting to him. Ironically enough, taking care of you means he also needs to to take care of himself. Someone has to be here for you and the offspring, so he's going to do his best to make sure he doesn't work himself to scrap. He can be quite annoying when it comes to checking in on your wellbeing. He is a doctor dammit and he wants to make sure you're getting the necessary human analysis (government sponsored obv bc you broke all natural laws carrying his spawn) - and also his own because he's the only Cybertronian doctor around. He's going to rest with you on his chassis, holding onto his child's developing EM field, unable to process being a dad until his kid is actually born. He will cry Megatron is... very outwardly affectionate about the whole thing. Nuzzling his human and telling them how their spawn is going to lead the Decepticons to glory. He is very proud of you for carrying it, and he's very likely to stroke your growing belly with a digit for hours on end. He's got Knock Out (maybe even Shockwave if he's around) carrying out medical tests to make sure things are going well. You are held 24/7 for safety reasons, and he is not grossed out by morning sickness. He's going to rub your back while you puke and say it's only a small price to pay for what you're creating. Although, he is very irritable towards everyone else during this. He worries terribly for the birth, but he doesn't even fully realize it. Also impatient as all hell looming over you poking at his child's EM field. He cradles it and reassures his spawn it has a bright future in front of it. Megatron keeps you to his chassis at all times, right against his spark. Knowing him, he'll try to establish a spark bond with his kid even before it's born. Not sure if it works tho Optimus is coping. Maybe it's the other Primes inside of him, but he's handling your pregnancy quite well. Yes, he is very busy - but he does find the time to watch over you. He's very likely to just lie down and let you rest in his servo. Just covering him in pillows and getting comfy. He's very gentle with you. Willing to give you privacy during morning sickness or rub your back with a digit while you're dealing with the worst time of your life. He desperately wants his child to live in a world without war - and this may push him to uh... be a lot more aggressive towards Megatron. This bot is determined to protect his kid and make sure his offspring lives a happy life. He's going to press you to his cheek and just... cuddle you this way. Because he is overwhelmed with emotion and loves you so very much. He will also carry you a lot btw, especially during the third trimester.

[utilitycaster]

Finally seeing Bells Hells/c3 biggest fans and supporters after 3 years saying, "Some of you are so afraid to criticise CR that you end making other people feel like shit for voicing their valid criticism. We are allowed to complain about media that we’ve invested so much time on and paying for 😐". Its ironic because JUST last week everything was perfect. Or c3 is perfect but all the other parties, breaks etc. Im like that IS c3. The Villian is fr MN and the party is tied to VM. C3 is all party

going to give the mean and sarcastic answer (not to you, to the people you're talking about) and then the thoughtful one because I think both are important to voice here

mean sarcastic answer is "actually Matt was homeless once so I can't believe you're resorting to leftist infighting and criticizing him like that? You can't criticize anything involving Bells Hells because all of the characters are queer and also Beau is a brown lesbian so it's really racist of you to be upset that she showed up in the charity one-shot and most of the Mighty Nein and Vox Machina have trauma so it's actually really problematic of you to be mad that they're showing up in the wrap-up? smh C3 fans are just mad this isn't The Bells Hells Search For Their Neighbor's Missing Cat In The Alps show."

The serious answer really is that like, yeah, this campaign has been The Moon Plot And Past Parties campaign the entire time. I'm not going to link my entire blog here but my archive is extensive and if you were to cross-reference my opinions over the course of the campaign you could see that I (and my many other allegedly evil Campaign 2 stan pals with which this fandom is crawling, as if we are apparently the invasive species here and not the bears in whose neighborhoods you built a cul de sac and tried to shoo out) started out with high hopes for a third campaign on the heels of two excellent prior ones. Our disappointment is that at every turn we had to lower our bar; forgive me if, after a campaign in which every time anyone else said "wow, fucked up that they yanked away the football, that's disappointing" you harassed and mocked us, no one has any sympathy when the campaign ends at, frankly, a not unsurprising place for it to end. It's openly been called the Avengers Assemble campaign by the cast. Like, actually, almost everyone else had the opinion of "I wish this campaign focused primarily on Bells Hells"/"I wish this campaign were more rooted in Marquet" from, frankly, the second that Vox Machina appeared if not earlier, and that's when a lot of the people currently melting down started watching. I have been here so long that the people sending me anon hate have had full turnover. And yeah, just last week everything was all going to turn out okay, and it's like while it's fair to have had more hope for the campaign around episode 50, if you're in the endgame and nothing's clicking, I think it's okay to say "well, I'll see this through to the end but here are the many failures of this campaign over all".

I think it's extremely valid if, when the people lobbied every insult and accusation they could think of at you when you criticized the campaign or any of its characters before 9:00 AM Pacific Time on Thursday, January 30th, 2025, suddenly find themselves realizing that yeah, this campaign has a track record of jumping around to other parties when Bells Hells should probably have been in focus, and that the character arcs were mostly cut short in favor of the singular moon plot and it's virtually impossible to end in a way that is entirely satisfying, though the world state will probably be intriguing and the characters will probably get some blandly happy endings in between cuts to Vox Machina and the Mighty Nein; one's reaction isn't "oh, you poor thing" but rather "We told you so." The party may have fucked around and never really found out. I will have to take my satisfaction that (as multiple mutuals who have seen this all unfold pointed out) the people who have used their fandom of this campaign to throw rocks at anyone they didn't like and feel morally righteous in doing so are reaping what they sowed. I have no control over the outcome of the end of this campaign but I can certainly control whether I have any sympathy for those who are reeling from a revelation most of us figured out months ago, and they've been so consistently awful to everyone else at every turn that I cannot say I do.

I think it's valid to criticize Critical Role. I've been doing so all campaign. I was against toxic positivity in the fandom during Campaign 2, and while I'm not entirely proud of everything I've done and said this campaign, at least I feel secure in never demanding anything from others I did not practice myself. If the fandom is better during a hypothetical Campaign 4 I think it will be in part because hopefully a C4 party won't be as much of an attraction for that kind of dish-it-out-and-never-take-it loser Bells Hells appealed to; and because hopefully those same losers will have either left, or learned a bitter lesson for whom they have only themselves to blame.

[loki-cees-all]

Captain America is a figure of American propaganda both in the real world and in the MCU.

Steve Rogers never once did anything the American government wanted him to do. He did whatever he thought was right, even before he was given the serum and dubbed Captain America. And if what he though was right just so happened to be in direct contradiction of what the American government wanted? Welp. What the fuck does that tell you about our government?

I also really feel like a lot of people weren't paying attention to TFATWS. The government did not crown Sam Wilson as Captain America, they gave that title to a guy who was going to follow their every order and obey their every whim without question, because they didn't want to have another Steve Rogers on their hands.

But Steve knew what he was doing when he gave Sam the shield. He knew that Sam would do what was right no matter what, that he wouldn't lay down and become a simple tool for propaganda and conformity.

And if you think that America represents honor and dignity for everyone, wake the fuck up. Honestly, just look out the window.

Literally look at what is happening in America right now! Cap was born out of the need to defeat actual fucking Nazis, and now look where we are. The Nazis are inside the fucking house right fucking now, and Sam is just supposed to follow their commands just because they're in charge?! Hell no. Fuck that shit.

ANTHONY MACKIE IS FUCKING CORRECT.

And he’s RIGHT. Fuck everyone who is throwing a fit over Mackie speaking the truth. He and Chris Evans know this role better than anyone. Captain America is a figure of American propaganda both in the real world and in the MCU, despite how the characters Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson and actors Chris Evans and Anthony Mackie feel. If you just see the red, white and blue, the propaganda, and not what these characters have stood for, that’s on you. And if you think that America represents honor and dignity for everyone, wake the fuck up. Honestly, just look out the window.

[panlight]

Tbh I've always thought that what really fucked Bella up in New Moon was the fact that Edward took all of her photos of him and left her without any evidence that he really even existed. And the Cullen leaving just felt like part of that. If they'd stayed but he still took her stuff, she probably would've done better, but if they left and she had her stuff, she also probably would've done better.

Like, in Twilight, Bella did almost die. She brushes it off but I wish New Moon had delved more into how traumatic that would've been, like instead of having nightmares about aging, she could've been having nightmares about James, and how fragile she is as a human. And everyone except for the Cullen think that she just fell down a flight of stairs, scary but not traumatizing. So when the cullens left, everyone that knew the truth was gone, and anyone she could be honest with was gone. Which isn't on them but it seems a little irresponsible, like it's against the law to tell humans the truth so we are going to leave the one human we told alone and never check in on her and make sure she isn't a) losing her mind or b) telling other people. If they owe her anything, they don't owe it to her as Edward's ex-girlfriend, they owe it her as someone that Edward and Alice brought into their world and endangered.

Aside from that, though, the fact that Edward took any trace of him meant that not only could she not be honest with anyone around her, she can't grieve the relationship properly and also she has no *tangible* evidence that he wasn't human. At least in photos you could see the paleness and the eyes. All she has is the scar James' left, which is probably wrapped in its own traumatic memories. If you had to lie to everyone around you for 6ish months, then the only people you could tell the truth to disappear and the only "evidence" you have of the truth also disappears, and you *still* have to lie to everyone around you, wouldn't you lose it a little bit? Wouldn't you start to wonder if you hallucinated the whole thing?

Like, when she sees Laurent, she's actually excited at first. Here is evidence that I did almost die in Phoenix! Here is someone I can be honest with! Here is proof that I'm not crazy! Seeing Laurent isn't painful for her the way that thinking about Edward is, she doesn't try to avoid him or have a panic attack at first.

To me, Bella's depression in new moon wasn't just about the break-up. It was also about how knowing about vampires isolated her from her human friends and family, and when the vampires left, she was alone. There were too many secrets between her and other humans for them to have normal relationships with them. Even if the cullens stayed and she avoided them, at least she knows it was real.

She's also in more danger from other vampires for the rest of her life because she knows, because anyone could come across her and say "shoot, she puts us in danger of exposure, gotta kill her I guess."

Still, I feel like people pay too much attention to the question "hey, is it messed up or not that the cullens left?" and not "hey, is it messed up or not that Edward basically stole Bella's things when he left?"

Yeah this makes sense to me. How being cut off from the vampire world and not having any proof it was even real would mess with someone. Not being able to talk honestly about what you've been through with someone. Edward is trying for a 'clean break' but in doing so removes the proof that he and the whole family was real.

What I never got about the 'abandoned' argument was like "how could Esme and Carlisle abandon their daughter!" because I just did not read their relationship like that. That birthday party in New Moon did not read to me as a family celebrating one of their own; it read as a family trying to be welcoming to a family member's newish partner. They like her. They care about her. But they don't know her that well yet and she doesn't know them that well yet. That conversation she had with Carlisle over stitches is not a conversation you have with your dad or even with your father-in-law; it's a conversation you have with someone you're still getting to know. She's asking him like, really basic stuff about the whole vegetarian thing. At this point in the story she doesn't even know Rosalie and Jasper's backstories yet. She doesn't seem to ever learn Esme's full story. Canonically, Emmett and Rosalie had been in Africa; Bella says at the birthday part it's been months since she's seen them. She and Edward have only been dating for six months, which is a long time for a high school kid, but it's literally nothing for immortal vampires.

The sense I got from New Moon was that the Cullens were still trying to figure out how this was going to end with Edward and Bella. And we learn from Midnight Sun he was planning to leave all along. I feel like Bella thought this was permanent and the "future, the family" she had chosen, but I don't think the Cullens were looking at it the same way. No one was using the word 'mate' in canon; Edward and Bella were not engaged, there was no plan to make her a vampire. Everything was still in limbo. I think Bella loved the idea of being part of this big family but I don't think she really knew them as individuals yet except Edward and Alice (even Emmett, again canonically, was not around that summer to bond with).

Obviously everyone has different headcanons, but there's roughly where mine is. I'm sure they were sorry to leave and that, other than Rosalie, they liked her, but I think they already had a sense that this arrangement between Edward and Bella might not, could not, last. I don't feel like they thought they were leaving behind a family member, just a could-have-been family member. She's like Bree Tanner in Eclipse; they would have happily taken her in. But they hadn't yet and they can't like, force Edward to keep dating her.

But yeah I think the disorientation of having no evidence (except the stereo; she clawed that out of the dashboard herself, didn't she?) and having no one to talk about it with is the real issue; THAT would take a toll on anyone's mental health even without the break up. I just didn't feel like she actually cared that much about the Cullens beyond that; hence the Scenario 2 the other day where Edward stayed but everyone else left. I think she'd feel guilty that she separated Edward from his family but that would be it. If she had Edward, she wouldn't be super bothered to not have the others around.

[lieutenantbatshit]

CHAPTER 04 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

>> MASTERLIST

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----

"You have one last chance to decide. Do you want to live like a piece of trash, running from creditors?" The masked manager said. "Or will you seize the last opportunity we are offering?" Then, the manager clicked on the remote, pointing at the piggy bank you saw earlier. It slowly went down for everyone to see, the lights dimming. "What you see now is the piggy bank where your valuable prize money will be stored. After each of the six games you will play, the prize money will accumulate in this piggy bank."

"How much is the prize money?" You heard a player ask through the crowd, your eyes still focused on the piggy bank.

"The prize money for the games is 45.6 billion won in total."

Murmurs spread across the room with gasps. You observe the faces of each player, seeing as some of them counted on their fingers, probably listing their debts to pay one by one. 45.6 billion won was no joke - anyone could live and have the worlds on their hands, if possible. Honestly, you really didn't need the money. If you wanted to be out in this place, you could and it wouldn't be a problem to you at all. You have a good life waiting for you outside, the billions wouldn't affect you whether you stayed or not.

"45.6 billion won? And one of us will get it?" The same player asked, his voice starting to get excited. You sensed that he was in it for the money, the glow in his eyes evident.

"We will give you the details about the distribution of the prize money after the first game," the masked manager said. "For these games, you will be given a special new advantage."

New? That meant the games have been going on for a while, you thought. You were curious how the system of this place worked, trying to come up with theories on the possible advantages. Will the games be easier? Will there be new games introduced? If so, what kind? Do kids play different games nowadays?

"After each game, you will be given a chance to vote on whether to continue the games or not. If the majority votes to stop the games, you can leave with the prize money accumulated up to that point."

You furrowed your eyebrows as you stared at the masked men, trying to absorb their words. The games must've been played by the past players where they wouldn't be allowed to quit at all, having to finish all the games. If so, what happened to the players who refused to play? Or was there such a thing where players can just quit and go? You try to understand the system, as you intently listen more to the guards.

You snapped away from your thoughts as you heard a man call out, looking at his way as he moved up front. "Are you saying we'll still receive the money, even if we leave after the first game?"

You squinted your eyes, trying to study the man who just spoke. His face was familiar as if you met him before. He seemed like he was in his 40s, his eyes dark and kept his eyebrows furrowed. He glared at the guards, the tension rising.

You realized he was the man who approached you in the club, who seemed to mistake you for someone else. If he's in here, then he must've been in debt. Or he could be in the same situation as you. Yet if he was in the same situation as you, then he would've had a lighter mood. You knew how money can change people, observing the everyday lives of people on the street back in California.

The masked manager seemed to pause before speaking, which was weird. All the questions from the other players were answered by them in just a beat, but with this player, who you noticed had the "456" number, held a tension as he spoke. "That's correct."

You studied Player 456 who seemed to be surprised with the so-called new advantage they were saying. As if he was calculating his next move. You wondered why he had that deep, dark aura around him, as if he knew this place. Your gaze stayed on him, even hearing the dispute between an elderly woman and a young man. Turns out a mother and her son were playing together.

So, they were recruited together. How come they were surprised to see each other though? It was nice to have someone familiar to you in this place, you thought. You didn't listen much to their banter, trying to observe the place more to make it through your senses more. You knew there was something more to this place. Someone was overseeing this.

"If you wish to participate in the games, please sign the player consent form," the masked manager said as the circle-masked men placed podiums in front, with papers and pen ready for anyone to sign. Sighing, you climbed down your bed, making your way to the crowd but still staying aside, trying to not draw any possible attention. "Those who do not wish to participate, please speak up now. We always give you a chance to leave the games."

You lined up with the crowd, awaiting for your turn to sign. You could hear a commotion behind you, only watching it briefly as you see the purple-haired player harass Myung-gi, who you known as the MG Coin. You remember reading an article about the scam, and it seemed like player 230 fell into the scam.

You averted your gaze when you saw 230 and 124 ganging up on Myung-gi. You focused on the line ahead of you, waiting patiently for your turn to sign the consent form.

You reached your turn, reading the consent form's terms & conditions. You read each clause carefully, mentally taking note of each condition.

A player is not allowed to voluntarily quit.

A player who refuses to play will be eliminated.

The games may be terminated upon a majority vote. In case of a tie, players will vote again.

If the games are terminated, players will divide the prize equally.

You signed the paper, though you gave a disgusting look at the guard in front of you, feeling his gaze behind his mask. You didn't like the unwanted attention while you signed the papers, making you conscious.

You turned away, not knowing where to go. Your instinct tells you to approach Player 456 to ask if he knew you in some way, given that he suddenly approached you in the club last time. You debated, staying still on the ground as you see him finishing to sign the form. You gathered the courage to walk up to him, only to be stopped by the guard announcing for all players to line up again, making their way through the doors.

You observed the environment around you, its colorful and vibrant walls and stairs catching your attention. Despite its vibrant colors radiating around the area, you can't help but feel the eerie-ness of the place, seeing as the guards were placed in different platforms, as if watching each of you. You notice six columns placed in the middle of the room you entered, seeing the players smile on it. There, you see a photobooth being used by the players, as if you were applying for a passport.

"The first game will begin momentarily," you held on to your chest, your body jolting in surprise with a woman's voice on the speakers. Its voice sounded jolly but something scary deep within. "After having your picture taken, follow the staff's instructions and proceed to the game site."

You reached your turn for the photobooth, only giving a small smile but your expression fierce. From what seemed like forever, you advanced to their staircase, following the flow of players to where you were heading.

Your legs start to shake as the stairs felt as if there were endless of steps ahead. There, you reached a huge gate, entering the premises as you noticed a play area with a huge doll on the other side of it, to which you recognized as Young-hee, one that you saw in your old textbooks in school. You looked up as you noticed the ceiling opening, revealing the clouds as birds start to flew over it. From the looks of it, you were in the middle of nowhere, maybe on an island.

"Welcome to the first game," the voice echoed through the room. "All players, please wait a moment in the field."

You glanced around everyone and noticed Player 222, clutching her stomach as if she was... pregnant? You wondered how a pregnant woman end up in this place, if ever, was she slapped by the salesman? That would be cruel. And if he did, that would be a clear sign how this place can be so wicked.

The doors behind you clanked loudly, jolting your body a bit as you noticed it already closed. There was no way out. For a children's game, they knew how to make it creepy.

"We're playing Red Light, Green Light," the voice announced. You remembered how you played this game with In-ho, as he always beat you to it given his longer legs. Still, you had the strength of a man, knowing how you and In-ho always used to play outside, as if he was training you to be an olympic player.

You didn't notice Player 456 near you, who seemed to be with Player 390 this time. You watched them as they interacted, only giving 456 a disgusted look as he seemed to extract his tooth right here, right now. From the looks of it, he seemed to successfully extract it out and flipped it, only for his face to drop.

You turned your attention away from him, wondering what the hell he was doing. You heard the voice again. "Cross the finish line without getting caught in five minutes. If you do, you pass."

You felt 456 run in front, shouting for everyone to hear, trying to make everyone pay attention to him. The crowd stopped chattering as he mentioned about the games not just being a game, but we could die from it. It seemed weird for you, because who would die playing children's games? But then again, a part of you knew it made sense.

The eerie feeling of the guards watching you, the passive aggressive closing of doors, the creepy voice from the speakers - this was all good to be true. Besides, why would they send you in the middle of nowhere to play children's games and earn 45.6 billion won just for the sake of it? Something was wrong, and you couldn't help but feel your stomach churned.

"If they catch you moving, they will kill you!" 456 shouted. "They will shoot you from somewhere. Stay on your toes!"

That was the point of the game, isn't it? You stop when the doll says red light, then go if it says green light. It was a simple instruction, anyone could follow it.

"If you get caught, you die! That doll's eyes are motion detectors!"

You looked at the doll, seeing its innocence on the other side. If there were really motion detectors, then they must've made this game more... interesting. This game isn't for children anymore. The players are adults, so might as well do something "adult" with it.

456 kept repeating his words, as if he was trying to save everyone. You tried to calculate your next steps, was he just trying to scare everyone so he can win the prize money? If that's the case, then maybe the killings would be true.

That meant only one person can win 45.6 billion won, each player's life valued at 100 million won each.

"Do not be alarmed or panic! No matter what happens, do not panic and start running!" 456 stayed in front as the doll whirred, facing the wall.

"Let the game begin," the voice announced. The time started ticking - only five minutes is allotted until you reach the end of the room.

Mugunghwa kkoci Pieot seumnida

You moved forward, stopping as the doll faced in front of you. You heard 456 scream, "Freeze!" As you all did so, terrified of the possible outcome there may be if one moves. For the first time in your life, you didn't want to be curious if you lost the game.

The players were making progress, no one being eliminated yet. A relief washed over you as you realize this. Though you were still alert, in case the system tries anything to spice up the games. It's all in the point of algorithm, if everyone's successful in completing the game, then the next levels would be harder.

Just as you thought, you heard a scream from the right side of the room, a movement flickering on your peripheral vision. You felt your heart pump hard to your chest as if it was about to burst. You restrained yourself from looking.

The loud sound of a gunshot sent shivers down your spine. You restrained yourself more to look, curious if the player who screamed was dead. You remained still, looking in front of you hardly.

You were right. This wasn't just some children's game. To the hell of it all, you were fucked.

----

In-ho watched intently to the screen, his gaze cold enough to bring some ice. He sat back on his chair, folding his hands together. His eyes fixed on Gi-hun, who continuously tries to guide the other players to success. He shook his head in disbelief, forming a small smirk thinking how foolish it was for Gi-hun to think as if he could stop the games.

His eyes then fixed on Player 002, who seemed familiar to him. He didn't know what came to her mind to join, and even offering such a crazy deal with the salesman. Though he would commend her for being bold to do so, but what was she thinking bringing herself into this mess? She didn't even speak when she entered the limousine - her silent intrigued him so much. Yet, she was oddly familiar to him when he saw her get inside.

He reached for the telephone, fixing his eyes on Player 002. "What's the deal with Player 002?"

"Y/N. Age 30. She's the one who offered to pay 100,000 won to the salesman in the subway," the voice on the other line said. "No debts. Financially stable. She just wanted to play for the thrill."

Y/N.

In-ho only knew one person with that name. He furrowed his eyebrows, trying to remember a person from his former life. He tried to piece it together, though he felt his heart bursting as if the name rung on his memories, only suppressed with all that he had to overcome.

"Sir?" The voice asked, only for In-ho to snap away from his thoughts.

He took a deep breath and sighed. "Tell me more."

"Y/N used to live in Corona, California with her parents. She came back to Seoul and planned to stay for good. If you ask me, I have no idea how she wanted to join here."

"Where in Seoul?" In-ho asked, gripping the phone more as the memories slowly came to him.

"Chunghyeon-dong."

Bingo.

In-ho placed the phone back, ending the call. The memories of him with her start to cloud his mind. He couldn't deny that a bright feeling of happiness could be felt in his heart, but as an instinct, it continued to suppress. It has been a long time since he felt this way, feeling a pang of guilt at the thought of his wife.

But still, what was she doing here? In-ho remembered how Y/N became curious of everything, no matter the consequences. He was curious as to how she would handle the truth, on how he turned out. The thing is, does she even still remember him?

In-ho shook his head. There was no way that it could be Y/N. The thought of stopping Gi-hun has been running in his mind lately, thinking he was probably being paranoid about it, even in the slightest. In-ho was in no place to question everything at the moment, to be distracted. The games must continue, at all cost. With Gi-hun back in the games, In-ho knew that the former would be planning something to stop the games. However, this time, things have changed.

In-ho gathered his track suit, labeled with "001". Not only he was there to stop whatever Gi-hun was planning, but at least to confirm whether it was the Y/N he knew.

----

A/N: Okay so, I'm really not familiar with the places in Seoul so if Chunghyeong-dong is wrong, please let me know in the comments below. I've never been out of the country so I'm sorry if there are mistakes with the places. I'm also really excited with each chapter I write since I'm so happy to be back in writing fics again! 🥰 I'll continue to try my best and upload the next chapters faster so everyone could enjoy this. 🤍 Feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶

Don't forget to leave a comment in this post to be tagged on the next chapter! ✨

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TAGS: @machipyun @love-leez @enzosluvr @amber-content @kandierteveilchen @butterfly-lover (p.s. if i forget to tag you, please let me know!)

[thatbitchery]

When it comes to society and hierarchy the most important thing to remember is hierarchy is completely dependent on behavior and is reinforced by rejection and seperation.

DO NOT BE FRIENDS WITH LOW LEVEL PEOPLE.

Storytime- to make up for the overabundance of time I suddenly have I decided to join an exclusive gym and do activities and all that plus gym is a great place to network especially with the local Pilates WAGS. I'm new so we do that thing where we sniff each other out to test for hierarchy and obviously I am smiling and acquainted with everyone for the first few days- leaving the door open to be friends and then taking a step back and letting them fall to me if they so wish. So today I decide to go swimming in the indoor pool and this G that I know is dating a pretty high level man and has a thriving business is changing, as we all are in the lockers, and suddenly she tenses up and its like huh. They play petty stupid kindergarten power games in the new rich and I thought by now I'd be used to it and then I turn and this CLEANER is throwing miss thriving dating a millionaire a stink eye and the girl is shivering under it. Not just her- a couple of them. I'm like huh. Drama. GOD I LOVE DRAMA so I lay back watch the scene unfold. It's a work of art this one and I'm fully invested. And it's so obvious what happened. With my eyes closed I could tell you exactly what happened, the girls were too friendly with her at the beginning making all sorts of allowances for her and leaving space for her to exist peacefully while pushing their desires away (Like you know when someone is cleaning the floor and you do that thing where you walk through like you're walking on lava? EW) and now she's being passive aggressive and it's unsafe for them. So you have the one paying top dollar for an exclusive experience shying from a medium wage underpaid overworked nobody from God knows where. & I've seen this dynamic play out for so long where the children of Oligarchs and literal royalty gets harrassed and pushed around by the children of mistresses and middle class people. I've done my fair share of bullying and harassing I know hoe to pick em, and I can tell you from the onset who is the omega and who is the sigma (alspha is always open space) and the desire to be liked by the low levels sits very high in the lists of indicators.

When someone with a safety marker (Power, beauty, money or status) plays nice with or even engages on a same level with the lower classes they become untrustworthy and immediately weak. The safety in these things in the unattainability of them, how removed they are- so when they become accessible they become weak and lose meaning and they punsih you for degrading yourself. Men can get away with it but women could never. The Serena Van Der Woodsen fantasy of a pretty rich girl is a lie. When people lower than you see you being friendly with them and sacrificing etc they try to steal your power by degrading you and sometimes they succeed. Candace Owens X Taylor Swift X Beyonce are a great example of this. Beyonce and Taylor did not establish their boundaries early in their careers and tried to be relatable and not Divas and vampires like Candace saw the opportunity and took it. Women like Rihanna and Nicki Minaj are the exact opposite of what Candace Owens preach but do you see her try her? While Beyonce and Taylor are so close to the christian Southern dystopian reality she wants so bad. Why? they made it very clear from day one they will run you up do not even try. They don't try to be relatable or cute or nice they throw it in your face yes I actually did say I'm better than you what about it? In the same way when pretty girls date broke ugly men they get run over becuase the men are punishing them for being weak and steal their power bc power can not be created, only transferred.

The more you make allowances for people the more they despise you. The Blair Waldorfs and Alison DeLaurentis of the world and mean girls have an easy time despite everyone acting like they can't stand them because they are not weak. I'm not saying go out of your way to be terrible like some insecure little idiot I'm saying do not make allowances if it's not required and let people serve you. Stop smiling too much and stop trying to make space for people. And stoppp trying to be friends with people lower than you, let them know the option is open and show them a glimpse of what it could be, then step back and let them work for it. People lower than you are jealous of you. they want to be you. That cleaning hipoppotamus broke ugly girl wants to be in that sauna, but she cant. So she makes it the problem of the people that are that will let her. And in that way, she feels bigger than them. And they let that happen the second they started randomly smiling and saying hi and calling her 'girl'. If they just walked in, did the gym, networked smart with their own level and went home, they wouldn't freeze over someone they probably could buy.

[sailorsoons]

Hi okay it took me a really long time to get to this reblog because I wanted to actually sit down and write a cohesive response to how insanely rewarding it was to read feedback that was this substantial and cohesive. I'm actually a bit at a loss for words because the time and effort it must have taken to actually sit and go through to break down the elements of this fic actually made me cry when I saw your review the first time.

There are so so many things I loved about writing this fic and you hit the points of SO MANY of them if not all of them. The Syndicate positions are mostly a mix of the major arcana and chess - so I love that you caught that. Some of the roles aren't from either, but for the most part that is where I drew the most inspiration on for a ton of them!!!

Cyberpunk is one of my favorite genres to write because there is SO MUCH you can invent and do with it - I am so glad that it pays off here and that the finer details of this little world I've carved out hit the nail on the head!

You actually pointed out something really specific that I adore - specifically The Tower and Baby/Seungcheol's dad. Because he's not likable for a lot of reasons but there are qualities about him that are like... not inherently awful at the same time. He is super devoted to his wife and kids, he's very much a leader of the family and wants to protect them, and he wants what's best but at the same time.... everyone outside his immediately family is expendable and he knew he'd be extinguishing his daughter's flame for the sake of partnership. So it's like .... fuck you but also.... I can see the logic there.

Anyway I have so many things I could say and I don't think I could ever thank you enough - this review and in-depthness of your thoughts literally could sustain me for the rest of my life. Thank you so much, you have no idea how much this means to me!!

Baby (k.sy)

Pairing: Soongyoung x f. reader

Summary: Soonyoung had been in your life for as long as you can remember. You haven’t spoken since your wedding to someone who isn’t him, but when you uncover your husband’s plans to turn against your family, you don’t know who else to call.  

Word Count: 29,988

Genre: Mafiaverse, Cyberpunk, Childhood Friends/Exes to Lovers

Type: Smut, Heavy Angst

Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

Warnings: Full warnings available under the cut.

A/N: This fic was posted on my original blog which has been deleted. I am now reposting it. I hope it does half as well as it did when I originally posted this story - thank you to everyone who left amazing feedback the first time. It genuinely made me so happy and I am so sorry that it got sent to the moon where I can no longer read it.

A/N 2:  Thank you @daechwitatamic and @eoieopda for beta-reading this fic.

Main Masterlist | The Syndicates Collection | Tag List Request Form | Ask | Playlist

Warnings: Graphic violence generally associated with mafia behavior, mentions of murder and blood, morally grey characters, themes of codependency (a little bit), a bit of a toxic relationship with Soonyoung and reader at times (they like to make each other jealous), bar fights, women being very petty, recreational drinking and drug use, heavy angst, depictions of death (funerals for parents), fight scene that ends in death in a domestic situation, difficult relationships with parents, reader and her husband have a terrible relationship and hate each other, depictions of blood and stabbing in one scene (it is the most graphic scene in the whole fic but kept short), reader agonizes over decisions she's made and struggles mentally with a lot of it, depiction of a full blown anxiety attack, sexually explicit content including fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, crying during sex, a lot of making out and biting, multiple orgasms... sorry this is so long, I want to over-warn for everything happening here so if I have missed something you think needs to be warned, please tell me!

Kwon Soonyoung is crying the first time you meet him. It’s a loud, warbling cry that you’re not used to, and you flinch at the pitch as you hide behind your mother. Soonyoung and his mother are standing in the grand foyer of your home, his fists twisted in her tweed skirt as he begs her not to leave him. 

His mother sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. You’ve seen her around before on the arm of her husband at your family dinner parties and for afternoon tea with your mom. This is the first time you’ve seen Soonyoung, though, and you’re unimpressed as his shrieking only gets louder when she crouches down to look him in the eye fondly, brushing the tears from his face. 

You don’t know a lot of other kids, but the noisiness of him startles you. Unsettles you. Sensing your unease, your mother reaches to pull you from behind her, giving you a single look that you know means please behave. You straighten immediately, turning to watch the sniffling boy as he calms down. 

Soonyoung is round-cheeked, his dark eyes swollen and face reddened from working himself up. His mother murmurs something to him and he nods, wiping the snot from his face with the back of his hand.

Seungcheol must notice the crying has stopped. He appears from the kitchen, giving Soonyoung an unimpressed once over as he strides toward you and your mother. She clucks her tongue at the cheek of her eleven year old, giving him a hard look. 

“Seungcheol, don’t be rude,” she admonishes. “Greet our guests properly.” 

Your older brother glances at you and you lift a shoulder. He’s going to lead the family one day, it’s important for him to show manners. You know this even at a young age - have always known what his place is among your family, what your place is. 

Cheol is in line to become the Tower of the Choi Syndicate, an empire that you cannot fathom at your age but you know is important. You are its insurance, a second heir if something happens to the first and a bargaining chip for future partnerships. A potential logician, if you’re good enough. 

Turning to Soonyoung and his mother, Seungcheol bows politely. “It’s nice to meet you, Soonyoung. Are you here to play video games?” 

Soonyoung perks up at that, looking at his mom, eyes going round. She grins and nods her head, pulling her hands from where they rest on his shoulders. “He is,” she agrees. “We thought it might be good for you to become friends.” Her gaze drifts to you. “All three of you.” 

That makes you frown. You don’t really like playing video games. Seungcheol never lets you win and forces you to play for hours in exchange for him letting you borrow his AetherLink at night to scroll the internet. You’re not allowed to have one yet, even though you’re only four years younger and all of your other friends have them to enter virtual chat rooms and play online games.  

“Do I have to?” you ask your mom, looking up at her. 

“Yes,” she says firmly, gently nudging you by the shoulder toward where your brother is not so patiently waiting to escort you to the gaming room. “Go.” 

“Why don’t you want to play?” Soonyoung asks, pouting a little.

“I’m not any good.”

“That’s okay. I’ll let you beat me.” 

Seungcheol moans. “Ugh, don’t let her win. Come on. I got the new Grid Fighters game on the Reality Rift console!” 

“No way!” 

Seungcheol grins and shoots off toward the gaming room, Soonyoung hot on his heels. You hesitate for a moment, staring after them with indignation. Soonyoung stops at the doorway, turning to you. His face is still ruddy from crying, but he’s suddenly smiling, cheeks round and smooth.

“Come on,” he whispers. “I’ll let you win, I promise.” 

“Holy fuck, can you let me win for once?” Soonyoung groans, rolling over on the mat. He’s dripping in sweat, wiping it away from his brow as he stands with effort. 

Grinning, you skip away from him, reaching for your water bottle. Music pounds through the speakers of the training room. Overhead, the blue neon casts an eerie glow over the two of you. Seungcheol ignores you both in favor of using the weight machines in the far corner of the room. 

On the far wall, your health and fitness data is displayed, each one of your bodies outlined and flashing as new data comes in. Right now, you’re in the red zone, heart pounding hard from your bout with Soonyoung, who is in the orange zone. 

Which confirms your suspicion that he’s not trying as hard as he could be. 

“Maybe if you weren’t afraid to actually hit me,” you offer. The water helps cool you down as you eye Soonyoung. Even at fourteen, he’s started to fill out his form more, arms corded as he hones himself into a weapon. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

Seungcheol scoffs from across the room. Maybe he wasn’t totally ignoring the two of you. He drops his cool-older-kid act to turn and grumble, “He’d put you on your ass, Baby. Lucky for you, he always lets you win.” 

The nickname makes you bristle. You hate when people point out that you’re the baby of the family, like you’re something less than or incapable of keeping pace. You especially hate it when Seungcheol uses it to put you in your place, reminding you that one day your shithead older brother is going to be leading the family business. 

The family business is the reason you spar with them at all. Occasionally Vernon joins, though those days are as unpredictable as his appearances. Usually when he’s over at your house, it’s never a good thing. His arrivals are always bracketed with the sound of his father’s manic yelling and his mother’s frantic begging, followed closely by slammed doors and your father’s calming voice. 

Today it’s just the three of you, though. Soonyoung comes over and sits on the mat by your feet, holding a hand up to you. You pass him your water bottle, rolling your eyes at him even though it doesn’t really bother you. 

Nothing Soonyoung does really bothers you. Since that first day he showed up at your house sobbing because his mother was leaving him for the day, he’s grown on you. More than grown on you, in fact. You’re pretty sure he hasn’t noticed your lingering gazes and the way he flusters you when he gets too close, and you hope to keep it that way. 

“I don’t want to hit you,” Soonyoung offers gently, voice low over the metal clang of Seuncheol’s weights. “And it’s not ‘cause I don’t think you can’t take it,” he adds with a grin, bumping his shoulder against your leg. “I just don’t like the idea of you getting hurt.” 

“Everyone treats me like a baby.” 

“You are. But it’s not a bad thing. For example, you say jump and everyone says how high. Even my dad.” 

That makes you smirk a little. You look at the floor, letting his words wash over you. They do ring true - there’s no one in the Syndicate who would deny you anything, and though you’re utterly terrified of Soonyoung’s dad, he would do anything for you. In a way, it was the Kwon family’s divine purpose to be by the side of the Chois. 

“What about you?” you ask. 

“What about me?” 

“Jump.”

Soonyoung grins and sets the water bottle down, getting up to his feet at your command. “How high, Baby?” 

Soonyoung doesn’t shed a tear on the day of his parents’ funeral. He’s a far cry from the little boy who showed up at your house to play video games and become friends. 

Instead, he sits in silence, eyes raging - always raging, now. You don’t think the fury stops, his gaze burning the entire ceremony. His grip on your hand is like iron, and after a while, your arm tingles with pins and needles. You say nothing, willing to endure. Eventually, your arm goes numb entirely, and he keeps holding your hand. 

Afterward, Soonyoung says nothing. You do the talking for him, accepting the hand shakes and bows on his behalf when he doesn’t reach out to accept them, thanking those who have come to offer him condolences and respect when he doesn’t speak.

His grip on you is steadfast. Iron and fire. Even when your father drops his gaze down with a look of disapproval, Soonyoung doesn’t let go and you don’t ask him to. If there’s any day that you can break decorum and tradition, it’s certainly now in the wake of Soonyoung’s loss. 

They don’t need to know you’d let him hold you anyway.  

The boy who existed before the murder of his parents is dead. You knew it before the funeral. But when the last guest finally leaves the Choi Estate and Soonyoung doesn’t shed a tear, you realize it isn’t just his parents that you’ve buried. 

The sweet, gentle boy who had cried those tears for fear of his mother leaving him has died too. And you don’t think you’ll ever see him again. 

-

“You want me to do what?” Soonyoung asks, pulling you into his room and looking out the cracked door to make sure no one else is around. “Where is your brother?” 

“I have no idea.” 

“You can’t just- ” Soonyoung fumbles for words as he shuts the door and takes a few steps past you into his room proper. It’s dark, safe for the glow of his AetherLink glowing with a paused video game. “Did he see you follow me up here?” 

“Why are you being weird? I’m in here all the time. You live here.” 

“I’m being weird? You just asked me to kiss you. Neither your brother nor your dad want you in my room in the middle of the night.” 

You frown. “Since when? Look, I’m sixteen and I’ve never been kissed, and Lin just lost her virginity to Jeonghan. What happened to when I say jump you say how high?”

“Oh don’t start with me. Who cares if Lin is giving it up to Jeonghan. She blew Wonwoo like two weeks ago. It’s not a competition.” 

You cross your arms over your chest, caving in on yourself a little. Maybe it was a stupid idea to ask Soonyoung after all. But you can’t get over the way all of the other girls were clinging to Lin’s every word as she spilled the details of sleeping with Jeonghan. Everyone else in your friends group had at least made out with boys - you had nothing. 

Being the daughter of the leader of the Choi Syndicate has its benefits. Being accessible to do things like kissing boys and going out with your friends to new cool clubs like Echo Space and Hyper Vibe were not one of them. Getting any of the boys your age to even look you in the eye was impossible, the fear of catching the wrath of Seungcheol and your father looming over them like the Sword of Damocles. 

Soonyoung is Soonyoung, though. Your father has brought him into the fold like one of his own, keeping his oath to Soonyoung’s parents to always watch over him and protect him. You’re old enough now to understand that the bonds between higher members of the Syndicate are bonds of faith and blood, of family and something more. 

If anyone shouldn’t be afraid to kiss you, it’s Soonyoung. He lives down the hall from you, and he’s best friends with your brother. It wouldn’t be that weird. At least, that’s what you told yourself as you lay awake in your bed at night while you stared at the ceiling, fingers trailing your lips. 

Now, you’re not so sure. The way Soonyoung recoils makes you realize you hadn’t thought of the single most important thing before marching in here and asking him to be your first kiss: maybe Soonyoung didn’t want to kiss you. 

It hadn’t even crossed your mind - one of the many downsides to getting mostly everything you wanted. You’re so infrequently told no that in the light of rejection, you don’t know what to do, recoiling like you’ve been mortally wounded. 

Nodding your head, you turn away from Soonyoung, throat tightening as the new wave of emotions threatens to spill over. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” 

“Baby,” he sighs. You ignore him, bolting for the door. Soonyoung is fast, though. He snatches your arm and drags you back toward him, though you turn your face away from him to hide the evidence of oncoming tears. “Don’t be like that.” 

“I’m not being like anything. It was a stupid favor to ask.” 

“Would you look at me?”

“No.”

He sighs heavily. “Why are you being so difficult?”

Trying to wrench your arm from his hold is useless. He’s not hurting you, but the grip on your bicep is firm. “Well if I’m so difficult then let me go.”

“Baby.” The frustration in his voice is evident. You ignore the way your nickname rolls off his tongue, the way he’s the only person you don’t absolutely hate the name from. 

“Just let me go!” 

“No. Why do you want me to kiss you?”

The question is like nails against chalkboard now, your embarrassment peaking. “Forget I even asked, just let me go!” 

“Fuck - are you crying?”

“No.”

“Baby, look at me.”

Too afraid that the wavering in your voice will give you away, you shake your head, refusing to turn and face him. With a growl, he gives a sharp tug on your arm, spinning you toward him. You let out a noise of protest, ready to lash out at him again when you feel his mouth on yours. 

Startled, you don’t do anything at first. Soonyoung’s grip is still on your bicep, firm and steadfast. Your eyes blink for a second before they flutter closed, unsure exactly what to do beyond lean into him a little, pressing your lips firmer to his. 

It’s somehow exactly what you expected and totally unexpected at the same time. Soonyoung’s mouth is softer than you were ready for, slotted gently against yours. He’s warm and smells like vanilla and sandalwood, a scent you’ve grown familiar with. Your thoughts peter out, enjoying the way he holds you to him, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. 

When Soonyoung pulls away, you look up at him through half-lidded eyes, your breath shaky. He doesn’t pull back very far, looking down at you with a dark gaze. This close, you can see the real Soonyoung. His expression is soft, eyes sparkling in the blue light of his room. He looks so young suddenly, all of the rage and wrath that lurks under the surface of the calm mask he wears gone for just a moment. 

“You have pretty eyes,” you whisper. His mouth twitches at the corner, an almost smile. “I’ve always thought you had beautiful eyes.” 

He opens and closes his mouth again, trying to find words. You wait him out, heart thudding. He’s still holding you close to him, fingers digging desperately into your arm. 

Footsteps thundering up the stairs wake him from his daze, Seungcheol calling your name. Soonyoung drops his hand and steps away from you, a cool mask of calm sliding into place, the vulnerability gone in an instant. “There’s your kiss,” he murmurs. “Is there anything else you need from me or do I need to jump too?” 

Synth pulses through you, vibrating your very bones as you lounge on the velvet couch in a private section of the club. The lights above you are hazy, but you can make out the shapes of holographic dancers, their graphics so high definition that you can see the sweat beading down their bare backs. 

From the VIP section, you have the perfect view of the DJ platform. Screens flash behind it, holographic wonders of creatures and places and visuals flashing brightly. Writhing bodies twist on the dancefloor around the DJ like a pit of snakes. Among them, you know your father’s Taps slither among the crowd, pushing drugs and psychedelics into the hands of those who can afford it. 

A trained eye can spot a Tap well enough. Though they blend in with the nylon and leather of the partiers, they tend to be sharp eyed and lucid, chewing on stim pops or some other substance to keep them awake and alert. 

It’s not the drug dealers in the crowd who keep drawing your attention, though. You shouldn’t be able to spot Soonyoung in the mass of bodies so easily, but you do. His hair is bleached, reflecting the flashing lights around him as he presses in close to the girl attached to him, hips swaying.

Your mouth sours. Leaning forward you snatch one of the bottles from the ice bucket and pour a shot into a crystal glass. Angel raises her brows as you slide the glass over to her and pour another for yourself. She’s not much of a drinker, but she takes the glass wordlessly, sensing your need to have a partner in crime.

Knocking it back, you hiss as the liquor burns all the way back. Even the high grade alcohol is like fire, washing away your irritation for a dizzy moment, veins buzzing. Leaning back, your eyes scan the crowd and settle on Soonyoung again. This time, he’s leading his partner through the crowd and toward the stairs. The stairs that lead to you. 

Seungcheol and Wonwoo crashing onto the seat next to you breaks your concentration. Seungcheol’s pupils are wide as saucers, eyes trailing upward to dance at the visual of a woman with pink skin sliding out of her top. 

Next to him, Wonwoo pulls a small bag with glittering dust from his pocket, shaking it to settle all of the contents at the bottom before unsealing the top. The way the powder glows against the lights tells you its high quality frostbyte, a powerful stimulant named for the biting feeling when inhaled. 

Instead of yelling over the music, you gesture toward the bag, catching Wonwoo’s attention. He gives you a surprised look followed by a wolfish grin. Wonwoo loves when you partake in partying harder, a side everyone so rarely sees from you. 

Sliding a knife from his pocket, you watch with rapt attention as Wonwoo dips it into the baggie, scooping delicately. You’d rather he cut lines on the table, but you’ll take what you can get, watching as he expertly fishes out a decent sized amount for you to take. 

You’re mutely aware that a group of bodies enters your section. Vernon throws himself down next to Angel, jostling you both as you lean over Seungcheol’s half-asleep form toward where Wonwoo extends the knife toward you carefully. You ignore the weight of Soonyoung’s eyes on you as he, Mingyu and a group of girls sit down and reach to fill their glasses with liquor. 

Wonwoo’s hands are steady as he holds the tip of his blade out to you, a hand held underneath to catch any powder that slips off the blade. Careful not to lose your balance and stab yourself, you level your face with the knife, inhaling sharply. 

Immediately the drug bites the back of your throat, eyes watering as you tilt your head upwards and blink for a second, letting it settle. Sniffing harshly a few times, you clear your nasal passage and blow out a breath, feeling the softest beginning of a tingle as you look at Wonwoo, who is still holding his hands out to you. 

“Thanks,” you nod. He grins and pulls back, rubbing the excess powder along his gums as you fall heavily against the back of the booth. 

Turning to look at your brother, you elbow him. “Are you alive?”

“Mhmm,” he grunts, eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest. Lights dance across his face, all pinks and blues and purples as he breathes in heavily. “I am fucked right now. Can you get me a stim pop from Hoshi? If I do anymore frostbyte I’m gonna get a nosebleed. Again.” 

Actually, asking Soonyoung for anything is the last thing you want to do. However, your brother does look like he needs to wake up, the mess of drugs and alcohol in his system working overtime to put him on his ass. Stim pops are a quick fix, a careful mix of sweet candy and methylphenidate to wake up the nervous system. Soongyoung always has them on his person, especially for when he works late night shifts. 

Turning in the booth, you’re smacked with a wave of color. For a moment, you drink it in, tilting your head upward as the figures dancing above explode into a world of lavender butterflies. They’re utterly captivating, your eyes watching them twist and dance in the air as they flutter. 

A laugh bubbles from your lips, entirely childlike. Grinning, you watch them for a few moments more before they disintegrate into stars, entire solar systems hovering and floating through the space above your head.

Seungcheol elbowing you breaks you from your concentration. Right. Stim pop. From Soonyoung. Glancing at the man in question makes your stomach plummet. Soonyoung’s head is resting against the back of the booth, the girl next to him draped over him with her mouth pressed hot to his throat, her teeth overly white in the blacklight of the club. 

A surge of rage shivers through you, your nails scratching across the green velvet, leaving marks in their wake. Leaning forward, you reach out a hand and smack Vernon’s knee to get his attention. He turns his lazy gaze on you, brows raised. When you point at Soonyoung, he nods and yells over his shoulder to get your target’s attention.

Soonyoung’s eyes flutter open and flick to where you’re sitting. He drinks in your expression before muttering something to the woman mouthing at his neck and peels her off, standing up and shuffling over to you. Angel makes room for him, all but sliding into Vernon’s lap as Soonyoung crashes down on the couch next to you. 

“Hi, Baby. What’s up?” 

“Cheol needs a stim pop,” you answer curtly, leaning away from him. He smells like vanilla and sandalwood laced with alcohol. Soonyoung is so close you can feel his body heat, his breath fanning across your bare shoulder as he moves to look at Seungcheol half asleep on your other side. “Then you can go back to your little public sex session.” 

Soonyoung makes an angry cat noise, narrowing his eyes at you as he smirks. He leans toward you further to reach into his pocket, shoulder pressed against you. His scent fills your nose, heady and familiar. You’re dizzy with it, the touch of his warmth against your skin making you flush.

Suddenly, his nearness is overwhelming. Every hair on the back of your neck stands on end, your skin hypersensitive to the way he leans against you. The glow of the lights is sharper than you remember, and you swear you feel the blood rushing through your body.

A response that could be either because of the drugs you inhaled a moment ago or because Soonyoung is pressed against you and you have the sudden urge to lean into him, to feel his warmth, to press your lips against his and feel their softness. 

In an attempt to save yourself from the trap, you shove back at him. He huffs, glaring at you as he fishes a stim pop out of his pocket and hands it over to you. You’re careful to avoid his touch when you snatch it from his nimble fingers, turning your back on him in the booth to look at Seungcheol.

“Why are you being a brat?” His voice is loud over the music, shouted into your ear as he tilts back into your space again. You can feel the warmth of him on your back. 

“Go away.”

“Baby, please don’t start with me.”

“I’m not starting fuck with you.” 

Seungcheol cracks an eye open to observe your argument with a look of interest. Seungcheol’s pupils are dilated like moons, totally empty of any coherent thought. You peel the wrapper off the stim pop, careful to hold it by the cardboard stick as you pop it into your brother’s mouth. 

For a few moments, your brother lolls the candy around his mouth, sucking greedily. Then, he blinks his eyes open, pupils narrowing as he drinks in the lights and the clubs. He sighs in relief, patting your thigh gratefully as the stimulant chases away whatever else is washing him out.

When you turn around, Soonyoung is still lingering, his dark eyes fierce and focused only on you. He looks good tonight. He looks good every night. He has become your picture perfect torture since that night you asked him to be your first kiss, kickstarting something you were incapable of foreseeing. 

The bleached hair is new and you hate how much you like it. The silvery strands look just as soft as his natural black, and it’s a nice contrast to his dark eyes and sharp cheekbones. Those stormy eyes are staring at you now, something playful that you don’t like glittering under the surface. 

He pouts at you. “Why are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you. Go away!”

“You definitely are. What did I do, hmm? Tell me.” 

“Please fuck off.” 

He rolls his eyes, peeling himself off the couch and muttering something under his breath. You’re sure he has nothing nice to say, so you sink further into the couch, crossing your hands over your chest as you sulk. 

Sticky air clings to your skin. You can feel your heart racing in your chest, the music vibrating your ribcage. Your anger is like a monster given life, fueled by the frostbyte and the feverish anger taking root in your stomach as Soonyoung settles back in his spot, pressing his mouth sloppily to the woman next to him. 

And that’s the problem, really. It’s not you that is pressing your mouth to his jaw while he leans against the back of the seat. It isn’t you running manicured nails down the front of his shirts, pulling at buttons despite the audience. 

It isn’t you and it should be. You want it to be.

It’s been two years since Soonyoung kissed you for the first time in his room. You’ve had more experience with other people since then, but it dulls in comparison to his simple kiss. You hate it. What you hate even more is how childish it makes you feel, embarrassment heating your cheeks and throat when he catches your gaze across the booth and you divert your attention. 

For the second time, Soonyoung peels the girl off of him, making like he’s going to get up and come sit next to you again. This time, his companion keeps him rooted to the spot, her nails digging into his forearm as she hisses something at him. He groans, head tilted back like he’s once again the most inconvenienced man in the room. 

Wanting nothing more than to blot him out, you call Wonwoo’s name again, leaning forward heavily for more frostbyte. Soonyoung whistles and snaps his finger in your direction as though to tell you no. You bristle, your anger turning to an inferno, burning up inside of you. 

Vernon and Angel both cringe, leaning out of your line of fire as you swivel to angle yourself toward Soonyoung, hands shaking. “Don’t fucking whistle and snap at me! I’m not a dog.”

“Baby, you don’t need more. Your pupils are the size of Mingyu’s big ass head.”

Mingyu, though right next to Soonyoung, doesn’t hear the insult, his tongue being sucked down the throat of the girl sitting in his lap, hips grinding on him. Another girl is pressed to his side, teeth nipping at his jaw. At least someone is having fun, you think, the three of them totally aware of the crackling tension in their booth. 

The girl attached to Soonyoung’s neck a moment ago bristles when she hears your nickname. “Baby?” she asks, face scrunching. “Are you serious?”

“Chill out, Victra. It’s her nickname.”

“Yeah,” you agree, shooting her a venomous look, despite her doing nothing to earn your ire. “Chill, Victra.”

Once again, you turn your back on Soonyoung, standing and scooting Seungcheol over to swap places with him. He does so with a keen eye, watching the scene unfold as he sucks his lollipop happily, content to watch the drama. 

Wonwoo dips his knife into the bag as you settle in next to him, bouncing with excitement. “I love when you do drugs, you’re so much fun.” 

“I don’t feel very fun right now.”

“Drugs will fix it!” 

“Wonwoo, don’t you dare give her that,” Soonyoung warns. He pries Victra’s hands off of him, leaning forward as though to reach across the table. 

“Ignore him,” you insist. 

Wonwoo hesitates, stuck between a rock and a hard place. The last thing he wants to do is tell you no. No one but your father and older brother get to tell you no. Wonwoo knows this better than most people. But he also doesn’t want to cross Soonyoung, a venture nearly as dangerous as pissing off Seungcheol. 

Soonyoung hisses at the girl next to him,  “Stop clawing at me! Baby, please stop being stubborn for one moment. Just one. ”

“Why the fuck did you even bring me up here?” Victra interrupts, ignoring Soonyoung’s plea. “You’ve done nothing but fawn over her since we got here. This isn’t fun.” 

Soonyoung ignores her. “If you’re mad at me, be mad at me. Stop blowing shit up your nose to prove a point and be a bitch, though.”

“I’m not proving fuck, Soonyoung. And Victra’s right, go fuck her in the bathroom or something and stop telling me what to do.”

“So it is about her?” 

“I have a name!” The her in question snaps. You turn around, temper flaring as you level your glare at her. She turns her nose up at you as she says, “It’s obvious you’re bothered he brought me here. Your jealousy is insufferable.” 

“Ding, ding ding,” Seungcheol imitates a bell. You turn around to look at Victra. “Round one! Fight!”

It takes a second for Victra’s words to land. It’s like each one hits you a second apart, packing their own punch as you register them. The pulsing music around you fades to a dull roar as you stare at her, seeing the way her lips twitch upward as she realizes she’s right. You are jealous that Soonyoung brought her up here. 

Victra’s grin is all it takes for you to spill over. Before you can register what you’re doing, you’re out of your seat and leaping over the table at her, knocking over glasses and bottles. Wonwoo cheers in delight behind you as your brother catches you by the waist, trying to keep you on your side of the booth as you tear at his hands to get across the booth. 

Seeing the attack of opportunity while you’re subdued, Victra shoots to her feet. Angel is fast as an adder, one moment sitting in Vernon’s lap and the next striking Victra down into the booth, knee planted in her stomach. Vernon does nothing to stop his girlfriend, opting instead to reach for a water bottle, unscrewing it to take a sip as his girlfriend pins Victra down to the seat with little effort. 

Noticing for the first time that their friend is in distress, the two women with Mingyu lift their heads. As soon as one starts to slide from his lap to reach for Angel, you kick a foot out, striking the bucket of alcohol and ice. The bucket goes flying at her, hitting her hard in the face. She screams, crumbling in Mingyu’s lap, cradling her face. 

Mingyu and Soonyoung are on their feet in seconds, soaked from the waist down and trying to gain control of the situation as it spirals. Mingyu becomes a blockade between Victra’s two friends, trying to keep them on their side of the booth. Soonyoung is prying a bottle from a hand before it can make its way toward you, yelling something indecipherable. 

Angel is still pressing her knee deep into Victra’s gut. Victra’s attention has diverted from you entirely as she screams like a wounded animal, pushing and scratching at Angel’s knee to try and get her off. You’re sure it hurts, but Angel doesn’t budge, sinking her weight into it. 

Leaning down, you grab something to lob at them - someone’s shoe - but Seungcheol manages to haul you off your feet and spin you, planting you into the booth behind him. You growl, shoving at his legs to move him out of the way, trying to re-engage. 

“Fucking hell,” he grunts. “Are you fucking juicing? Why are you so strong?”

“It’s the drugs,” Wonwoo offers unhelpfully. “Really top of the line drugs.”

“Shut up, Wonwoo!” Both you and Seungcheol bark at the same time. 

Wonwoo holds up his hands, leaning back into the seat as he watches the mess unfold with a delighted grin. You strike out with your foot, slamming against the booth’s table, shoving it in Soonyoung’s direction. You hear glass shatter as more things fall off the table, clattering to the ground. There are shrieks and curses that you can’t see with Seungcheol blocking the way. 

“He’s a fucking asshole!” You seethe to your brother, panting with rage. 

“He is, and you did exactly what he wanted you to do.” You try to kick the table again but he stops you, grabbing your knee. You feel like you can’t get enough air, sweat slicking your skin and the velvet of the couch too sharp against your flesh. “Soonyoung loves a fight when he’s fucked up. You know that.” 

“Well fuck him!”

He pulls the stick from his mouth, candied stim gone. He tosses it onto the floor and looks over his shoulder where Mingyu and Soonyoung are corralling the three women out of the booth. “God, Angel  broke that girl's rib I think. Hahahha!” 

“I want to break her fucking face!” 

“I think you broke her friend's face. She is fucked up. That bucket hit her right in the eye. What a shot.” 

“If you’re so entertained, why’d you get in my way?”

“There’s a lot of eyes here.” You glance around, noticing other booths looking at you, people ducking toward one another to whisper. “You have an image to maintain.” 

Adjusting your shirt, you settle back into the booth. “Alright. Alright I’m good.”

When Seungcheol moves out of the way to take a seat, Soonyoung replaces him. You glare up at him, feeling your anger curl up in you again. His lips twitch, a hint of a smirk as he sits down next to you, sighing heavily and tilting his head to look up at the flashing lights.

The girls are nowhere to be found. Angel is sitting back down next to Vernon who hasn’t moved, and there are servers picking up the mess you made. Mingyu is notably absent, though you can guess where he’s gone for the night. He’s good at making scorned lovers feel better about their bad luck. 

“Jealousy is crazy on you,” Soonyoung notes, tonguing the inside of his cheek as he glances at you sidelong. “I kind of like it.” 

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” you warn. He laughs, the fight totally leaving him. “I’m serious. Don’t ever do that to me again, Soonyoung. Not to me.” 

“Alright, alright. When you say jump, right?” 

Soonyoung’s fingers brush against yours. Just the rough feeling of his calluses against the tips of your fingers has you shivering, anger replaced with want. He doesn’t take your hand, doesn’t move to do anything else but lean back in silence with your fingers touching. 

Resigned, you say nothing else to him. You’d got what you wanted - sort of - even if you know you made an ass out of yourself doing it. It isn’t the first time he’s made you jealous, but it is the first time it’s boiled over so violently. 

You remind yourself not to do frostbyte when you’re mad anymore.

You turn your attention to where Angel is snorting frostbyte up her nose off of her boyfriend’s phone, accidentally turning on the hologram as she does, her face suddenly caged by green screen data. You call her name gently. She looks up at you, pupils blown, reflecting the lights dancing above like dark glass. “Thanks,” you offer. 

Her grin is too wide, teeth too white. She reminds you of a demon more than she does an angel. “Anytime.” 

When you settle back in, you glance at Soonyoung once. He looks down at you, smirking a single time before he leans into you and rests his head on your shoulder. You feel him melt into you, sighing as his eyes close and he nuzzles a little closer. You put your hand on his thigh, squeezing once before you leave it there, feeling the heat of his skin through his pants.

It isn’t until he’s almost asleep, pressed as close as possible to you that you realize maybe he got what he wanted too. 

Rain washes over the black city, the mist turning the thousands of digital and holographic advertisements into a watercolor smear of neon. It smells wet and like rot, the drains overworked and belching water and trash back out into the street as you walk, feet splashing. 

You quickly duck out of the way of a group of rowdy men spilling from a bar. You can smell the drink on them, their feet sloshing in the rising water of the street as they dredge toward the next bar. They whistle at the pretty girls dressed in light up raincoats and flickering green contacts, stumbling toward a brothel instead of the bar. 

Gripping your umbrella tighter, you quicken your steps. Grease smoke drifts toward you from various hawker carts, the sizzle of meat making your stomach growl. You ignore them, knowing you have dinner with your family later as you take a corner and plunge into the darkness of an underground stairwell. 

The LEDs on your umbrella cast a pink light as you descend the stairs, careful not to slip on the caked grime. Two guards stand outside metal double doors, music pulsing faintly behind it. They look you up and down, ready to deny entry until you state your name at the bottom of the steps. 

“ID?” the one on the right asks, giving you a critical eye. 

Of course he doesn't believe you. The daughter of the Tower would never walk anywhere without a body guard, especially in this part of the city. You spin the umbrella, the pink coalescing as he takes the phone from your hand and taps it, blue lighting up his face when your ID and profile appear in holographic data above the screen. 

He clears his throat and bows at the waist. When his counterpart doesn’t, he smacks him hard on the back, making the man lean over. “Apologies, Miss Choi. Right this way.” 

Music hits you full on when the doors open, the base creating static in the air. You cringe as it vibrates through your ribcage and teeth, wondering how anyone could stand to be in a club this loud. Popping the umbrella shut, you let your eyes adjust while one security guard remains at the door, shutting it behind you, and the other hands you your ID.

“Should I escort you to the office, Miss?” 

Writhing bodies dance together, scintillating like snakes in a pit. Above them, lasers and holograms light up the world with flashes of colors you didn’t even know existed. A wide bar stretches to the left of the floor, lit up by soft cyan lights. Behind it, the bartenders move in a blur, the glow on their clothes turning them ethereal. 

You glance at the security guard, who waits patiently before shaking your head. You point to the space above the bar where there are two large, mirrored windows looking out into the club. “Up there?”

“Yes,” he answers, hesitating. “Let me escort you.” 

With a roll of your eyes you nod, gesturing to him to lead the way. He clears a path, clubbers and workers alike moving out of his way when he shoves them. You walk behind him, swinging your head from side-to-side as you look at the people, fascinated. 

People with spikes pierced in their skin and whorling tattoos with glow ink stare back at you, glowing contact lenses and gemmed teeth all taking you in. You rarely get to mix in with the crowd that partakes in more unique cosmetic alterations and fashion, fascinated by someone who walks by with red glowing face tattoos like a demon mask. 

At the foot of the stairs, the guard lets you walk up first. It’s clear of people, so he remains standing at the bottom, taking up an imposing position with his hands linked in front of him, blocking the stairway entirely. 

The thud of music vibrates through your boots as you climb the stairs, greeting another security guard. You can tell he’s already been warned you’re here - he bows immediately and keys in the pad at the door, opening the office for you. 

You pass by him airily, stepping into the dry and much cooler office. The door closes behind you, immediately cutting off the sound with high–tech sound proofing. Soonyoung is leaning against the bar, his back to the door as he watches out the windows, a glass in his hand. 

“What in the fuck are you doing?” he asks, tossing you a look over his shoulder. You grin, skipping over to him. He doesn’t grin back, looking you up and down as you join him. You reach for the decanter he’s drinking from but he smacks your hand, viper fast. “Not a chance.”

“What? Why not?”

“You shouldn’t be here, much less without a security team. The Tower will be livid.” 

“The Tower doesn’t have to know.”

Soonyoung’s jaw flexes. “The security team will tell him you were here.”

“Not if you tell them not to.”

“Baby,” he sighs, tilting his head up and closing his eyes. You lean against the bar, watching him. The lights from the club are dimmer in here, but they flash against his face, painting him in golden light. He’s beautiful. “What are you doing here?”

“Angel said you had a bad day.”

“I always have a bad day. And tell Angel to shut her mouth.”

You snort. “You tell her that.”

That gets a grin out of him. He lowers his head, dark gaze finding yours. “You can’t just walk around the Lower City without a personal guard, Baby.”

“I’m not helpless.”

“I know you’re not. I’m not either but people try to rob me all the time. You, on the other hand, are a lot prettier of a prize than I am.” 

“So you think I’m pretty?”

This time when Soonyoung sighs, it’s affectionate. He sips his glass of amber liquid, turning to watch the crowd outside the office. He holds out his glass to you, a concession. You grin further, accepting it from him and bring it up to your nose to smell. You don’t know anything about liquor, but from the spiced scent you can tell it’s good quality.

You take a tiny sip. It goes down smooth - strong, but good and warm. Instead of giving him the glass back, you cradle it to your chest, leaning against the bar next to him close enough that your arms are almost touching. He continues looking out at the crowd, keen eyes serious and back to work while you look at him. 

Soonyoung is beautiful. His side profile is lethal, the slope of his neck elegant, the curve of his jaw sharp but delicate, his high cheekbones catching the light. His eyes are dark pools, reflecting the snatches of light that come through the dark windows. 

“Did you come here to stare at me?” he asks, never taking his eyes off the crowd. 

“What if I said I did?” 

His mouth twitches at the corner. “Unfortunately I would believe you.”

Watching over clubs isn’t usually Soonyoung’s job. But this club is in a terrible part of the city and isn’t worth much to the Choi Syndicate, so sometimes he’s awarded the opportunity to prove himself to your father and to the elders of the Syndicate that he’s competent and capable of leadership, despite the fact you’ve always known him to be. 

Soonyoung isn’t meant for leading like Seungcheol. But there is a certain level of loyalty and understanding he has to cultivate with the heavies of the family, the Swords who carry out the bloody tasks of removing people from the way and keeping assets safe. His father had been the Sentinel of your family for years until his death, and Soonyoung is expected to pick up that mantle.

This is all a part of that. Soonyoung already has the loyalty of the security team running this hole in the wall, alerting him the second you arrived and refusing to let you go up the stairs alone. Had they failed to do that, you might think a little less of them. 

Soonyoung also probably would have had them beaten. 

Finally, Soonyoung turns to look at you. He sighs and raises his brows expectantly. 

“What?” you ask. 

“What did you come here for? Real answer, this time.” 

“I told you. Angel said you had a bad day. That is my real answer.”

“And?”

You shrug, sipping from the glass and turning toward the windows. “I wanted to make it a better one.” 

That makes him go silent. You can see him turn to look at you, his stormy gaze pinning you to the spot. You don’t look at him, letting him stare as you nurse the drink and watch the dancing crowd down below. They’re beautiful, in a way, an ocean of bodies saying as colors turn them blue and then green and then bright red and then lavender. 

Soonyoung leans toward you, bumping his head on yours lightly. That gets a laugh out of you, stomach fluttering and wishing he would stay leaned against you. He pulls away though, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his eyes back to his job. 

“Thank you,” he finally says, voice quiet. “It is already a better day.” 

The silence is comfortable. You eventually give him the drink back and he takes it, tongue darting out to lick the lip gloss you left. He hums. “Cherries.” 

“You’re gross.” 

He smiles into the glass, taking a sip. “I actually have something for you.” 

“A present?”

He snorts. “Not exactly. Go to the desk - top drawer on the right.” 

Eagerly, you do as he says. The heavy wooden desk sits in the back of the room, imposing even without the metal lockers behind it with weapons. You ignore the heavy guns under padlocks and go for the drawer in question. 

A rectangular box is in the drawer Soonyoung specified, unmarked. You turn it over in your hands, curious. It’s not very heavy and fits mostly in your palm. 

“Bring it over here.” 

You do, trailing back to Soonyoung. He extends his hand and you pass it over to him, watching with interest as he cracks the box open with the sheer strength of his fingers. He pulls out a small device, a wire and what looks to be a plug, tossing the box to the bar. 

“Do you know what this is?” he asks, holding up the device. 

It’s a small rectangle with a keypad and a screen. You raise your brows in surprise. “It is a very old phone.” 

“It is.” He smiles, pleased with your answer. He passes the materials over to you and you hold them against your chest. “That’s the charger and the charging cord. It’s one of the old kinds of phones that requires a phone tower. There are barely any in the city.” 

“And what is this gift for?” 

“I own the phone towers that support it.” You raise your brows. Soonyoung rarely spends the inheritance his parents left behind, so you’re surprised. “It only has a single phone number programmed into it that will call the one I have.”

At this, he reaches into his pocket and produces the phone’s twin. He shakes it for emphasis, pressing a button and lighting up the screen. “You have to make sure to keep it charged. I want you to have it for emergencies only. And I mean emergencies, Baby. This is a last resort kind of device, alright?” 

You chew your bottom lip, dragging your eyes to look up at him. “Why?” 

“Because I need to know that you always have a last resort.” His gaze darkens. “Clearly your assigned security team lets you give them the slip. I need to know that you can hit the dial on this faster than you can on our phones. They’re overly complicated and not quick. With this?” 

He reaches over and turns on the phone in your hand. Once booted, he presses the one button. The device in his hand starts ringing. “Direct and fast access to me at all times. Do it even if you can’t tell me where you are. I’ll find you.” 

Emotion twists your throat. You grip the phone with a vice grip, looking up at him with wide eyes. His face is serious. He slips his phone in his pocket, turning back to do his job. “I will answer,” he promises. “It doesn’t matter when and where. I will answer that phone even if I’m dying. Do you understand?” 

“Yes.”

He nods. “Good.”

A knock on your door wakes you up from a dreamless sleep. Darkness spills across your room like ink as you slip from your bed, cursing when you kick the corner of your nightstand. With a raspy voice, you ask the automated room assistant to turn on the nightlights, a hazy purple immediately lighting the circumference of your room.

Squinting against the lavender glow, you pad over your room to open the door. Soonyoung is leaning heavily against the wall just beyond the threshold, his chin tucked to his chest and his hair sweaty and clinging to his temples. 

He doesn’t move when you open the door, the lilac light casting an eerie radiance on the side of his face. It’s hard to make out his expression in the lurking shadow of the hallway, and he offers no explanation for why he’s knocking on your door at three in the morning. 

“Soonyoung?” you whisper, eyes darting down the hall. No one else is around. “Where are Cheol and Vernon?”

“S’cheol is still working. Vernon went to stay at Angel’s.”

“Are you - Soonyoung are you drunk? Or high?”

“Yeah.” 

Both you realize. You can deal with both. 

Grabbing him by the hand, you tug him gently. He pushes off the wall with heavy steps, stumbling through your open door and into the room. You grip him tighter, shutting your door with a gentle click before turning around to face him. 

Soonyoung won’t look at you, turning his face away as he sways a little where he stands. Now that you can see him fully, you realize that there is blood on the collar of his shirt. Heart thudding, your hands reach for it, peeling it back to look at his neck. Specs of dry crimson flake from sweaty skin, making your terror reach new heights. 

He shrugs you off. “Not mine.” 

“I - what’s going on?” 

Instead of answering you, he walks a few crooked steps toward your bed and sits down on the edge. Licking your lips, you approach him slowly. He’s slouched over, elbows pressed to his knees as his head hangs heavily. He still hasn’t looked at you properly and you’re aching to see his eyes. You can always understand him better when you see his eyes, able to read the depth of emotions hiding beneath his mask.

When you reach him, you crouch down. Instead of grabbing for him again and risking him pulling away, you rest your hands on top of your knees. When afraid or upset, Soonyoung is like a cornered animal. You don’t know whether he’s in fight or flight, both just as dangerous as the next. 

“Soonyoung,” you say again gently. You watch his every move. “You’re scaring me. Do you need me to call Cheol or Vernon?”

If Seungcheol is working the circuit, he isn’t the best to call. Late night circuits include going from club to club under the Choi banner to monitor the drug trafficking and attend small business meetings as appropriate. Seungcheol will drop whatever he’s doing for you in a heartbeat, but it’s more complicated than that. 

In theory, Vernon is easier to get a hold of. He’s already off work and though he might not answer his phone if you call, you know his girlfriend will. Plus, the blood on Soonyoung’s shirt and skin can give you a guess at what’s happened, and Vernon is more equipped for that type of thing than you are. 

“Let me call Vernon-”

“No,” he finally says. “No. Sorry. I just.” 

Your chest squeezes in pain. It’s like you can feel the torture radiating through him, feel the weight of whatever it is that’s dragging him down yourself. Desperation drives you to reach out toward him slowly, watching for any sign of startling him. When he doesn’t move to pull away, you touch him gently, squeezing his knee gently. “What do you need?” 

“My dad always said I should feel something.” His words are halting, coming out slurred. You wait, holding your breath as he works through them. “Always said that you should feel something when you kill someone. If you don’t, it means you’re nothing more than a beast with base instincts. Not intelligent or refined.”

It takes everything in you not to let your grip turn to steel at his words. Instead, you rub your hand up and down his thigh soothingly, saying nothing. Soonyoung has never killed someone before. You would know if he had. He’s the last in your immediate circle of friends beside yourself to take on the weight of stealing life, and you’ve dreaded this day for a long time. 

Murder is an inevitability in your family. Keeping the Choi Syndicate on top requires sacrifice, cruelty and cunning. Soonyoung had started serving as an officially ranked member of the Syndicate over a year ago, and though he had fucked up a lot of people and brought them to the brink of death, he hadn’t actually done it yet. 

“I felt nothing,” he whispers, voice thick. “Fucking nothing.” 

“What do you mean?”

“There was no guilt. I didn’t even flinch. It was so easy, like fucking breathing. That’s not what my dad wanted me to be. He always said that those who felt nothing were just… baser creatures. That we were better because we were… made better.” 

“I think your dad wanted a lot of things. You being alive was the most important of those things, Soonyoung.” 

“I’m just tired of feeling fucking empty. I don’t give a shit that I killed someone, Baby. Honestly? I was fucking looking forward to it. I thought maybe - just maybe - I would feel something, even if it was guilt or horror or satisfaction. There was nothing.” 

You have no idea what to say. Instead of words, you surge forward, letting go of Soonyoung’s knee to push yourself between his thighs, wrapping your arms around his middle. He flinches for a moment, arms hanging dead at his side as you press your cheek to his chest, squeezing. 

Inside, you feel your heart crack open. You shove down the overwhelming sense of despair on his behalf, instead focused on him. There’s nothing to say with words, and you hope he can feel what you’re trying to tell him through touch, that he can feel everything you don’t know how to say as you hold him tight, clinging to him. 

Slowly, his arms encircle you. It takes him a moment, but he applies a little pressure back. It makes you scoot in more, pressed as close as you can get to him. He buries his face in your neck, his breaths warm and smelling like tequila. He smells like him too, vanilla and sandalwood. 

“I don’t feel like a person sometimes,” he whispers. “It’s like the ability for me to feel anything died forever ago. Like I killed it so that I didn’t ever have to hurt again. Now I only ever feel when-”

He cuts himself off and sinks into you a little more. You bear his weight, willing to carry any burden for him. You don’t think he realizes that he could ask you to jump and you’d say how high. You’ve always been willing to jump for him, always willing to do whatever he wants, whatever he needs. 

Gently, you ask, “You only ever feel when what? You can tell me if you want. Whatever you need.” 

“I feel when I’m with you.” Soonyoung whispers it like it’s a secret he doesn’t want you to hear. You feel the words hit your skin where he speaks them, a shiver slithering through you. His grip on you tightens a little with the admission, like now that he’s said it, he can’t let go. Won’t. “I feel most like a person when I’m with you.”

Pressing the flat of your hand to his back, you begin to stroke up and down slowly, touch following the careful ridges of his spine. He sighs, shivering in your hold. You want nothing more than to take the pain or whatever he’s feeling away, to rip it from him and to destroy it. 

The fierceness of your love for him is hard to tamp down. A fiery admission of your feelings for him isn’t what he needs right now. You know Soonyoung like the inside of your own soul, everything that makes him tick, every habit he’s picked up over the years. You can sense him standing lost at sea, needing an anchor. Needing you. 

“Okay,” you say softly. “So stay with me. Be a person with me.”

“I’m not made for you.”

“Yes you are.” Your nails dig into his back through his shirt, pressing sharply. The desire to covet him is so intense it overtakes you. “If I make you a person, then how could we be made for anyone but one another?” 

Silence greets your logic. You stay holding him like that, desperate to keep him there, terrified he’ll shrug you off and get up. He’s done it before, shucking off your affection like something to be disposed of. And still you give it to him freely, begging him to take it. 

He doesn’t shy away from you. Instead you feel him nod, mouth brushing tenderly across your throat in the ghost of a kiss. “If I stay right now, you will never get me to leave. Do you understand? I won’t… I will be incapable of ever letting you go. Ever. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

You hug him tighter. “Try to leave me at your own peril, Kwon Soonyoung.” 

“Where’s your other half?” the voice causes you to turn from where you lean against the bar. Angel slides up next to you, cocking her head as she does. She looks like a wraith, dressed in a rain slicker over black long-sleeved shirt that’s tucked into black pants. Her jacket and combat boots are wet, suggesting it’s still raining outside. “You’re usually attached at the hip. My therapist calls that codependency. Says Hansol and I have it too.” 

“Does your therapist also know you’re a murderer?” you mutter. The bartender slides drinks over to you and you nod in thanks. “Or that you’re only seeing her because Jeonghan made a bet with you? Or that your job often involves extortion? What does she think about that?” 

As a Rook of the Choi Syndicate, Angel’s job is a far cry from the holy nickname she’s sported since she was a child. Like Vernon, her role within your father’s empire is to collect debts owed to the Choi family and to remind them never to fall behind on payments. Other times, she’s simply used as a good tool to put the fear of god into enemies of the Choi family, and she’s good at it.

Raised under the careful tutelage of the Yoon family, there’s no weakness Angel can’t find and use. The only one better at it than her is her step brother, who is probably sitting next to your brother behind closed doors somewhere in the Choi Estate holding a meeting.

As Seungcheol’s future second in command, it’s Jeonghan’s responsibility to learn the ropes just like your brother. One day, it’ll be the two of them leading your family, a thought that makes you cringe with worry. 

Angel answers your question with a shrug. “I’m sure she knows I’m into some shit. I’m learning all kinds of new things about myself.” 

“Oh yeah? Like what?” 

“I don’t like therapy. And I kind of want to ask my therapist why she thinks she’s qualified for therapy when she’s fucking three of her clients.”

A snort escapes you as you shake your head. Of course Angel knows that about her own therapist. Lifting the two drinks on the bar, you drift away from her, eyes flicking over the Rook. “Stay out of trouble, Angel. And give Vernon my love.” 

She grins, wicked sharp and deadly. “No bar fights, hmm? Enjoy the party.” 

The party in question is exhausting. You’ve been playing pretty princess all night, saying hello to all of the right people, shaking all of the jeweled hands, kissing all of the right asses. You’re exhausted and the tension in your shoulder has been knotting further and further. 

Once upon a time you would have been thankful to at least not be Seungcheol. He shouldered a lot more responsibility. Now you’ve realized that you don’t shoulder less than him - it’s just different. If Seungcheol is the sword and shield of the Syndicate, you’re the face and smile. Galas, charities, celebrity events - it’s a never ending stream of smile, pose, shake hands. 

It doesn’t hide the fact that you sit on a throne that belongs to a criminal empire, of course. But it’s also no secret that the Three Syndicates run the city. Your family has long been one of the stalwart backbones of the government and city infrastructure. Only the Kim family and the Yong family come close. 

Still, appearances are everything. Especially when the Yong family owns most of the media outlets, weaponizing it against the Choi Syndicate every chance they get. You make it harder for them, using your appearances and platforms like a carefully wielded sword. 

Spotting Soonyoung among those dressed in dark security uniforms is easy. He nearly blends in with the dark pipe and drape that has been set up all over the ballroom of your home, but you could find him anywhere, your internal compass pointing to him even in the dark.

Soonyoung’s eyes alight on you, sharp and intense. His face is a cool mask of indifference, but you can see the way interest sparks in his eyes as he drinks you in. He’s already seen you in your dress tonight, but it doesn’t stop him from refamiliarizing himself, eyes tracing every dip and curve.

God you wish you were somewhere else with him. Specifically wrapped in the gray sheets of his bed, sweat-slicked and out of breath. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” you say shyly, handing him a drink.

He takes it and looks up at you, arching a brow. “I can’t drink this, I’m working.” 

“It’s just soda with lime, the way you like it.” 

His lips twitch in a smile as he takes a sip, nodding in confirmation. He doesn’t reach out to you and hold you close like you know he wants to, respecting the propriety of his position and the fact that he is on the clock right now. 

“You look tired,” he murmurs, eyes studying your face. 

So does he. As an official Sword of the Choi family, his job keeps him out late, bloodied, and tired. He’s completely changed from the man who sank into your arms that first night he killed someone, hardened into someone that your father sends to do just that often. 

A weapon. A Sword. A trusted knife in the dark for the Choi family.

You think Soonyoung is more capable than being a heavy for your dad and his associates. Soonyoung is intelligent and sharp, having gained perspective and a wealth of knowledge from living with your family. Still, his dad had been the leader of the hired guns for the Choi Syndicate. Soonyoung is an efficient killer, his fate bound by his father long ago.

“When are you off tonight?” you ask instead of telling him how tired he looks.

“I’m not.” You frown. He sips his drink again and gives you a soft smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s been busy. The Yong family are getting in our way at the docks. I gotta head down there with Vernon and Jeonghan after the party.” 

“The Yongs are doing it outright?” 

“No. We’re pretty confident it’s them though. Jeonghan is working on it. If we can bring the Xu family under our wing, it would be a lot easier to push them out.” 

“They have a son,” you note, thinking about the last event you attended where the Xu heir was in attendance. “Maybe marriage to one of our big hitters? Nexus Capital has an heiress.”

“I’ll mention it to Jeonghan. Who the fuck would want an arranged marriage, though?”

“Not me,” you laugh, wiping the eyelash you spot on his cheek gently. He gives you a tired, albeit affectionate smile. “You’ve been working nonstop. Tell Seungcheol you need a night off.”

“We both know it’s not Seungcheol working me to the bone, Baby.” 

Swallowing thickly, you turn away from him under the guise of scanning the crowd. You know you don’t fool him. Both you and Soongyoung know your father does not approve of your relationship, taking it out on Soonyoung to keep him busy and away from you. 

Your father would never hurt Soonyoung directly. You know that. He loves him like a son - sees his late best friend in the features of the man that Soonyoung has been shaped into under his care and tutelage. When you started dating Soonyoung seriously, you thought your parents might be happy. They adore him and they loved his parents just as much. 

Soonyoung is below your station, though. 

Your father will never say it outright. He wouldn’t insult his late friend’s son that way. But the way your father works Soonyoung harder than anyone else, holding him to a standard he doesn’t even keep for his highest level of men, you realize how deep the dissatisfaction goes. Even your mother’s adoration of Soonyoung does little to shield him from the petty assignments, try as she might. 

Still, you don’t care. And at the end of the day, neither does Soonyoung. As long as he gets to have you, he’s willing to put up with the petty assignments and the working late. 

“Hey,” Soonyoung says gently, bringing your attention back to him. He finishes his drink and sets it on a banquet table nearby. His eyes are averted, looking somewhere across the room as his hand slips around your waist to squeeze you quickly and press a kiss to your temple. “I’ve got to go - I’ve got a meeting with Vernon before we head out tonight. I’ll see you when I’m done. Probably won’t be until late morning.” 

“Alright,” You sigh. His hand slips from your waist and you wish you could pull him back to you. “Love you.” 

He grins brightly, giving you a wink before he melts into the crowd, weaving around party goers. Your heart squeezes when you lose sight of him. 

Someone clearing their throat catches your attention. You spin around to see Lan, one of your father’s personal Swords nodding politely at you. “Your father wishes to see you in the West Parlor. I’m to escort you.”

“Oh. Sure.” You set your drink down on the banquet table, wiping your damp hands on your dress. “Lead the way.” 

People bow their heads in respect as you go. You keep an even pace with Lan, which is hard to do with his long strides and your strappy heels digging into your ankles. He slows for your benefit and you give him a grateful smile, the swelling noise from the party leaving you behind as you step out of the ballroom and walk toward the west wing of the house. 

Some people mill about the halls of the estate. You can spot the members of the Syndicate who are on duty, mostly Swords that belong to the security force employed under the Choi family. You spot Chan leaning against a wall while gesturing broadly with his hands as he speaks to the owner of a new club on the edge of the Pearl District. When he catches your stare, Chan winks before focusing his attention back on the owner. Probably trying to work out some sort of deal or partnership, as is his job. 

The west wing of the house is quiet and off limits to the rest of the party. Your bedroom is just up two flights of stairs, your bed calling your name as you pass under the stairwell into the hallway that belongs to the West Parlor, the library, the study and your father’s billiards room. 

Old Man Vero is standing outside your fathers study, his hands linked in front of him and his head straight forward. He glances your way as Lan leans you toward the door, cracking a bit of a smile on his leathery face and giving you a wink. You grin, lightly reaching out and touching his elbow as Lan opens the door for you. Your father’s Swords have been in your life since you were a child, permanent figures of fixed loyalty and familiarity. 

They love you like they love your father, like they love your brother. It isn’t pure fear and power that keeps the Choi Syndicate together. Your father has plenty of that among the ranks, but the loyalty and love between him and his higher ranking members is real. Critical. It was a skill he taught you and Seungcheol, both of you arming yourself with your own shield of friends and confidants. 

Your father sits in a leather armchair, leaned back with his eyes closed. Next to him, a cigar smokes in the ashtray, threatening to go out as the thin wisps of smoke vanish into the air. An old fashioned record player echoes in the far corner of the room, smoothe notes vibrating through the air. 

“Tower,” you greet him formally, bowing at the waist. “How can I be of service to the family?” 

His eyes flutter open and he looks at you tiredly. He looks so much like your brother that it’s uncanny, sometimes. But his youth has worn off, his age more and more evident these days as he spreads himself thin expanding the Choi empire. Your mother has asked him - begged him - to give more responsibility to Seungcheol, but he refuses.

At least you know where your stubborn streak comes from. 

“So formal,” he notes, his lips twitching upward. He gestured for you to sit in one of the arm chairs. You do, smoothing your dress carefully as you sit. Behind you, Lan exits the room, the soft click of the door behind you. “You were always a better student than your brother.”

“That’s because he’s a man.”

A hearty laugh makes you grin, feeling a flutter of fondness. He was never an overly affectionate father, but he’s always been kind, though firm. You respect him, which is saying something in your world.

“Spoken like an intelligent woman,” he sighs. You wait patiently, watching as he seems to gather his words. Your stomach knots, sensing a trepidation about him that you’re not used to. “Your intelligence has always been your best asset, though you’re a little hot-headed like your brother.” 

“Steadfast is the mountain,” you say, quoting the Choi family motto.

He grins and adds your mother’s family moniker, “But the fire does burn. I knew marrying your mother was a good choice. Marrying the right person is paramount in this life. Family unions can make or break an empire, and they forge old alliances anew or secure new alliances.” 

A prickle down your spine makes you sit straighter. You had implied as much earlier to Soonyoung about the Xu family, knowing marriage was a viable option to bring the shipping mogul into the Choi empire. Now, though, the notion has you on edge, watching him like a frightened cat.

“I didn’t pick your mother, you know,” he muses, his eyes unfocusing somewhere far away. “But when my father recommended her, I knew he was right. I was familiar with her, of course. We went to school together. Fought like cats, but she was so intelligent and fierce.” 

You’ve heard this story before. Your father hadn’t loved her to start, but your mother had loved him right away. Had always known that she loved him. She’d shown up at one of his billiard nights and told him exactly how she felt, asserting that they would be married and that he would be loyal to her. 

He’d fallen in love with her that night. 

He sighs heavily. “I see a lot of your mother in you.”

“Don’t let her hear you sound so disappointed. She might be offended.”

“She’s better than me,” he says. His eyes focus on you, flicking back to appraise you. Sweat slicks on your back and only years of training keep you from not fidgeting under his weighty gaze. “But it would be easier sometimes if you were more like me. Less fire, more mountain. Still, you are rational, so let us speak plainly: you are going to marry the Kim family heir.” 

Silence hangs in the air. You stare at him, your brain taking a moment to catch up with his words. It’s like you’re moving in slow motion, processing the firmness in his voice, the way he looks at you with heavy countenance. 

You are going to marry the Kim family heir.

A high-pitched ringing starts in your ears and you feel the buzz of panic start to tingle at the base of your spine. Your fingers dig into the arms of your chair a little, trying to fight the staccato rhythm of your heart from getting out of control. 

“What?” you ask. It feels dumb, compared to the eloquence you’re capable of. 

“Kim Yijun is a perfect match,” he says simply. “He’s in line to inherit the Kim Syndicate. There is tension with the Yong family, and I will not lie to you: they have a far larger reach than we would like. They don’t do things the old way like the Choi and Kim families. They have started to ally themselves with the Arash family in Veridian, giving them cuts and room in our city to spread their reach outside the bounds of their own city.” 

“I don’t understand.”

“The Kim and Choi families have been united before. They’ve always been our first ally in times of city upheaval and Syndicate war, and they, like us, don’t believe in letting outsiders have a seat at the table. The Yong family don’t understand that, and are willing to let vermin have scraps if it means scooting us out.”

“I’m-” you shake your head. “You can’t ask that of me.”

“I’m not asking.” He reaches for a lighter and picks up the cigar. He takes a moment to relight it, taking his focus off of you. You feel your pulse spiking, your grip on the chair like iron. “I am telling you that this is what your future will be. I understand you like the Kwon boy, but-”

You sneer, baring your teeth. “The Kwon boy? Don’t reduce him to some stranger. Soonyoung grew up in this house, he is family. And I don’t just like him, I love him. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you bullying him because you’re frustrated that I love him. You love him too.” 

“I do. I love him like my own. But he is not for you.”

“He is. I will not marry Yijun. I am asking you not as a member of this Syndicate, but as your daughter to drop this machination from your plans. I am your blood, you cannot ask this of me.”

“I told you, I am not asking. I am telling you.” 

A tremor starts in your hands. Your heart races so fast that you feel sick, sweat slicking your skin as you begin to pant sharply. The ringing in your ears grows until you feel disconnected to it, like suddenly you’re living in third person. You’re aware that you’re hyperventilating and yet, suddenly it’s separate from you.

Standing abruptly, you feel the world tilt. You take a second to steady yourself, feeling the numb tingle spread throughout you like a flood. 

“Sit down,” your father demands. You hear the warning. Recognize the firmness in it. This is the Tower of the Choi Syndicate speaking, not your father. 

“Take this as my resignation from the family,” you tell him. Your voice doesn’t feel like your own, steady and without inflection. “I’ll renounce my inheritance and will not use the Choi family for any connection or advantages-”

“You will not!” 

His voice startles you. Lures you away from the safety of your detachment. You look at him, eyes wide and shaking. His hand is fisted on the armchair, his rage crackling around him like a thunderstorm. “I will not have my only daughter sabotage everything this family has built for the affection of someone unfit for her station. Kwon Soonyoung is a weapon meant to serve you. You will marry Kim Yijun or I will remove the obstacle altogether.” 

Your entire life there have been two versions of your father. The stoic leader of one of the oldest criminal empires in Hyperion, the vicious man who could be cold and calculating, and who was reverently feared by his enemies. The kind father who watched you and Seungcheol study math together, carefully explaining to you how to carry numbers over in the equation. 

It is the former who sits before you now. Someone entirely unfamiliar to you, though you’ve always known he existed. And why would you? Your father has never had to be ruthless with you before, hiding the way he could cut from you until it was necessary. 

Soonyoung knew. You know it with absolute clarity. You remember the fear in his eyes when you had slipped into his room that night asking for a kiss, the way that he is always so careful about when and where he touches you, the way he takes the assignments and the mistreatment without so much as a protest because it means he gets to have you.

“You would kill him?” you whisper, looking your father in the eye. “You promised to take him in when his family was murdered. He had no one, and you promised his father you’d raise him as your own. You would go back on that?” 

He scowls. “If his father knew what he was, he’d kill Soonyoung himself. That boy is a dog to be set upon whoever his owner wishes, who kills with impunity.” You say nothing. I don’t feel like a person. Soonyoung’s words echo in your mind, haunting. “I hold the collar and I will put him down, if need be.” 

“So you raised a pet to be disposed of at your convenience?”

“I raised a boy who should be grateful I haven’t put him in the fucking ground for sullying my only daughter. I let you two have time, and you should be grateful. It is my love for him that has stayed my hand this long. No more. You will marry Kim Yijun, or you will bury that boy. This is the command of your Tower.”

“Mother will not let you-”

“Your mother doesn’t let me do anything. I am the Tower of this family, and it does what I command. You will fall in line.” 

Tears spill from your eyes. You suddenly feel like you’re standing on a cliff, the vertigo of nothingness at the bottom making you sick with fear. Desperation grips at you as you stare at your father, willing him to change his mind. Begging him. 

His pity doesn’t come. There is only resolute silence, watching as you crumple in front of him, knees going weak as you abruptly sit - fall - on the floor. You bury your face in your hands, grief for something lost stealing your ability to maintain control before you’ve even given an answer. 

I’m not made for you. 

Soonyoung had tried to tell you a long time ago and you’d brushed him off. Of course he was made for you. He was all you’ve ever wanted, and you’ve always been given what you wanted. You made him whole, and he you. How could you not be made for one another. 

“Please don’t do this to me. Daddy,” you whisper, trying to appeal to him with the little girl he loves. “Please, I love him.” 

“Lan will escort you to your room.” You ignore his words, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes, willing the tears to stop. You know later you’ll feel pathetic for the display of emotion, for the meltdown in the face of adversity. “You will announce your engagement at the end of the week.”

“Yes, Tower.”

“If you so much as remotely try to sneak around with him, I will put him in the ground and bear the weight of that grief for eternity.” 

“Yes, Tower.”

“Know that I love you. We must make sacrifices for this family we wish not to. But you will make the sacrifice like I have so many times before. So will Soonyoung.” 

You stand, limbs shaky as you look at your father, the heat of your mother’s rage fueling your gaze. “Yes, Tower.”

Sleep claws at you with greedy fingers, unwilling to give you up to the waking light of day. You groan, suspended in that moment of almost awake but achingly unaware. A brush of warm skin on your arm pulls you the rest of the way from heavy sleep, your thoughts sticky as they formulate and you open your eyes, squinting in the gray light of your room. 

Squinting at the clock displayed on your nightstand, you realize it’s late morning. The tinted windows of your room keep out the sunlight, but a single panel has been adjusted to let some of the cloudy day in, a single shaft of gray spilling into your room like muddy water. 

Warmth presses behind your back, the steady touch on your arm trailing up and down. For a second, you lean back into it, feeling your head thud against Soonyoung’s chest, his mouth pressing against the crown of your head. He drags his fingers up and down your arm absently, light as a feather. He smells like soap, a hint of his familiar vanilla and sandalwood. 

��Have trouble sleeping?” the words are mumbled against you. 

“Hmm?”

“There’s lines of crushed knockout on your nightstand, Baby.” 

You look at the nightstand. Sure enough, the white pills you crushed are dusted across the surface. The reality of why you used them slams into you so suddenly that you stiffen, muscles locking.

Soonyoung notices immediately, his touch stilling. “What?”

Finding the words is impossible. You don’t know where to start, your father’s words make you dizzy. The sheets stick to your skin, Soonyoung’s warmth too hot to stand. You scramble from bed, kicking at the sheets and putting distance between you as you bolt toward the bathroom. 

“Hey,” he calls after you. You don’t turn to look at him, the cool tile giving you goosebump as the lights flicker on. You close the door behind you firmly, pressing your back against it. Soonyoung’s knocks are immediate, his voice calling your name on the other side. “What’s wrong?” 

The use of your name sours your stomach. You lurch forward, diving for the toilet as the contents of your stomach empty. The bile burns, your eyes watering as you press against the cold porcelain, clinging to it for life. 

Soonyoung opens the door, letting himself in as you heave again. He’s quick to react, opening the medicine cabinet to remove an anti-nausea inhalent. He wordlessly pads over to you, crouching down to extend it toward you. 

You avoid looking at him directly in the eye as you snatch it from him. His brows are pinched in concern, face swollen with what little sleep he got and mouth turned downward. Your stomach roils again but holds as you crack the inhalent and wave it under your nose, breathing in gently. 

The stimulant makes your eyes water, but immediately the churning in your stomach subsides. You close your eyes for a moment, breathing in and out slowly, trying to regulate yourself. Soonyoung watches in silence, his hands opening and closing at his sides like he wants to reach out and touch you but doesn’t. 

When you open your eyes, there is so much love and concern on his face that you almost break right then and there. Instead, you clear your throat and straighten, tossing the medication in the trash.

“Thanks, just hungover. I need to shower.”

He looks doubtful. “Alright.”

Soonyoung stands, heading to the shower. You clear your throat and he pauses, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Alone, please.” 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just want to shower.” 

He says your name again. Not Baby. Not any other derivative. Your name. “You can talk to me.”

Your heart cracks. You panic. Your brain races for the only viable option. “I just want to take a fucking shower, Soonyoung.” You push yourself off the ground, scowling at him. He moves out of your way as you pass him, stunned to silence. “I don’t need you crowding my space every five seconds.” 

Refusing to look at him as you hit the panel in the wall, you instead focus on the water that falls from the ceiling, a storm of heat and the smell of peppermint. You keep your back turned toward him, staring at the water as it heats, steam curling in tendrils where it hits the stone tiles. 

“You can go,” you say sharply. 

“Alright.” 

The gentle click of the door when he leaves is barely audible over the hum of the shower. You let the rushing water lull you into a state of numbness, peeling your clothes off with unsteady, mechanical movements. 

Hot water slicks off your shoulders. You close your eyes and hang your head, letting the feel of the peppering water sluice over your ears, eyes, nose, mouth. You let it blind your senses to nothing but the roar of water, blotting out everything else. 

If I stay right now, you will never get me to leave. 

You remember when Soonyoung whispered it against your skin just a few years ago, spoken carefully and clearly, a promise and a warning. He would never let you go. You had to let him go. Telling him what your father has asked of you - has threatened to take away from you - will only make Soonyoung’s feet dig in further.

For as long as you’ve known him, Soonyoung has been a covetous creature. You remember the night at the club he antagonized you just to see that spark of want, just to prove to himself it was him you wanted. You remember the way he clung to you in the dark of your bedroom, the only person who could ever make him whole. Who could make him feel. 

Your father sees Soonyoung as a loyal attack dog - but it isn’t the Tower of the Choi Syndicate who holds Soonyoung’s collar. It never has been. Soonyoung has never asked your father how high. 

Pressing your palms to your eyes, you start deep breathing exercises. In through your nose, out through your mouth. The shaking in your fingers begins to subside, the logic part of your brain turning on. 

The threat on Soonyoung’s life is real. You saw the resolve in your father’s eye, the painful glint. He would hate to do it, but he would do it. You’re entwined too deep into your family’s affairs and business to vanish. There is nothing in the world you have that’s your own, no assets that are not connected to them in some way.

And if you tell Soonyoung, he’ll face the problem like he does everything that stands in his way: try to kill it. 

For a split moment, your brain chases the thought like a mouse after cheese. Like a long math problem, you work out if it’s possible to commit patricide and get away with it. Your mother will never forgive you, but Seungcheol might. Your friends would - they’re loyal to you, especially Jeonghan and Angel. 

The older generation, though- 

You toss aside the thought almost as quickly as you thought of it - not because you don’t want to kill your father, but because it isn’t possible. Not just like that. There are too many pieces on the chessboard, too many domino effects spreading out in every direction if you take that route.

No. There is only a single path for you, set in motion by a hand with more power than you. 

And there’s only one way you can move forward with Soonyoung. 

There’s so much of your mother’s side of the family you’ve inherited. Her side has always been associated with the phoenix, the burning immortality of their name and their strength, a blazing glory. Your maternal relatives have always been the rage and the fire that was needed for a Syndicate to advance, a good partnership for the Choi’s who were cold and steadfast. 

What you need now is the winter of the mountain, not the rage of the phoenix. You need to be a Choi. 

Steadfast is the mountain. 

You love Soonyoung. You love him you love him you love him youlovehimyoulovehimyoulovehimYOULOVEHIMYOULOVEHIM- 

Pressing your fist to your mouth, you bite down for one, blinding moment of untapped rage. You feel your skin break, taste iron and salt, feel pain bloom. 

Steadfast is the mountain. 

Then it’s gone. You drop your hand from your mouth. Open your eyes. Turn off the shower. The rage is gone, buried beneath a layer of newly formed ice. If there is anyone you can do this for, it’s Soonyoung. You love him. You will destroy him. But he’ll be alive. 

Soonyoung is sitting on your bed when you open the door. He’s got a tablet in his hand, the holographic images displaying above the screen, haloing his face in blue light. There are circles under his eyes and his teeth worry at his bottom lip, which is chapped. He’s shirtless, the compact planes of his body half shadowed by the single shaft of light filtering through a window. 

He looks up at you but you ignore him, heading to your closet. The silence is brutal. You push through it, opening the closet doors to reveal a massive space nearly the same size of your bathroom. Track lights kick on, rows and rows of clothes by color greeting you. In the middle, there is an island counter, filled with drawers and biolocked jewelry safes. 

Soft steps tell you Soonyoung is standing at the entrance of the closet. You still don’t face him, walking over to your section of black clothes. You flick through them, eyes scanning. Black seems appropriate. It feels like death, afterall. 

Soonyoung’s voice is soft as his late night kisses. “What’s going on?” 

“I’m marrying Kim Yijun.” 

A beat passes. Then another. 

“Is that supposed to be a joke? I’m not interested in pranks this morning.”

“It’s not a prank.” You pull out a black, silk dress. “The Tower has asked this of me, and I’ll be doing it.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

You continue, undeterred as you put the dress back and keep looking. “The Kim family has agreed to the match ahead of the rising tensions with the Yong Syndicate and their new take on foreign allies. A united front of the old families will benefit our family-”

“You’re not fucking marrying Kim Yijun.” 

“All of the metrics we’ve run for public opinion and potential city-wide reaction are favorable. The Tower needs his children to fall in line, and I intend to do so.”

Soonyoung storms toward you. You turn on your heel, holding a finger out to him, voice severe, “Don’t come near me.” 

“Why? Because you know you’ll lose your resolve? Because the second I touch you, you’ll drop whatever bravado this is and let me help you?”

Exactly that. He knows you inside and out. Sees through the front. It doesn’t matter. You don’t need him to believe you, you need him to obey. 

He takes another step and you back up. “I will scream,” you threaten, venom in your voice. “I will scream and Seungcheol and Vernon are right down the hall. Whose side do you think they’ll take, with your reputation for violence?” 

“Fuck you, they know I’d never hurt you.”

You hear the waver in his voice. That tiny sliver of doubt, so small and tiny but there. They do know he would never hurt you, but Soonyoung isn’t convinced they’d believe him. It makes you sick, but you latch onto it, unspooling that tiny bit of hurt. “Do they, Soonyoung? I hear some of them call you a mad dog because you attack with no regard for anything. Do you really think they trust you entirely with me?”

Soonyoung is raging. His chest rising and falling, shaking his head back and forth as he tries to understand. You’re rooted to the spot, muscles coiled, pulse thudding in your throat. “You are not,” he growls. “Marrying Kim Yijun. You don’t even want to, don’t try to lie to me about your feelings or insult me thinking you can bait me. You love me. You are mine.” 

“I belong to the Choi family and it’s what my family needs from me. I will do my duty.”

“Fuck your family!” His roar makes you flinch, briefly closing your eyes. His palm slams on the top of the countertop in front of him, sharp in the silence. “You have a duty to me. I told you I would not fucking let you go. You’re not doing it. I’ll fucking kill him, you think I won’t? I’ll murder every last one of them-” 

“You don’t tell me what to do, Kwon Soonyoung. I will do this, and you will obey.” He bristles, going rigid as your words land like a slap. “When I say jump, you say how high. You’ve always known that.” 

For a second, he cracks. The Soonyoung you first saw on your doorstep, crying and round-cheeked and ruddy returns. His lip trembles and the way he looks at you nearly melts your iron will. You’re so close to collapsing, to laying it out before him, to risking it all. 

“Don’t do this to me.” His whisper is made of glass. Delicate. He presses his palm to his chest, right over his heart. Earnest. “I can’t - you know I can’t. I- please. I can’t do this.” 

Licking your lips, you look him in the eyes. His eyes are your favorite. Dark. Stormy. Endless. They are lined with silver, panic rippling across the surface. 

You lift your chin and push back your shoulders. “You can and you will, because I told you to jump, Soonyoung. Now ask how high.” 

Sunlight warms the back of your neck, humidity clinging to your skin like a second layer. You take a deep breath, though the steamy air offers no relief. You snap open a silk fan, waving it in front of your face in hopes of chasing away some of the sweat, feeling the separation between skin and makeup the longer you sit in the wretched heat of the garden. 

It’s not even real sunlight or heat. You can’t tell beyond the projection in the room, but you know that there are vents heating up the room and controls that make the air humid and sticky, making it feel like you’re sitting in a real garden outside somewhere lush. 

Lin drones on and on about something. You tuned her out long ago, eyes flickering back and forth to your watch and the women’s faces around you. None of them here are really your friend - not in the way Angel is, the way Wonwoo or Jeonghan are. 

Yet you’re expected to be here, entertaining the upper echelon wives of the Choi and Kim Syndicates, boiling away in an imaginary garden while you sweat to death, dress clinging to your skin and thighs slippery in the seat as you adjust yourself, uncomfortable. 

“It’s hot as a motherfucker,” a whispered voice comes from next to you. You look up to see the newly engaged heiress of Nexus Capital next to you, glaring behind the dark shade of her sunglasses as Lin continues rambling about something. “Couldn’t she have made it less real?”

A smirk twitches on your lips. You haven’t spoken to her much, but her recent engagement to Xu Minghao had secured the position the Choi Syndicate had been fighting for in the shipping yards and docks with the Yong family, elevating her family into the favored circle of your father.

Suddenly, you remember who had recommended that marriage in the first place. You remember the party, the pretty dress you wore, Soonyoung’s hand briefly on your waist as he kissed you goodbye for a meeting. You had no idea then that your throwaway comment about an arranged marriage to benefit your family would become your own nightmare under an hour later.

Grief is a funny thing. You never knew that you could feel grief for someone who isn’t dead, yet sometimes you feel such an overwhelming amount of grief at the hole that Soonyoung has left behind that you can’t breathe. 

Throat dry, you reach for water, drinking eagerly. You feel a bead of water run down your face, but you ignore it in favor of trying to focus on not panicking. 

Anxiety attacks are new for you. Though your entire life has been colored with stressful situations unique to growing up in a criminal Syndicate, you could never say that you were anxious before. At least not in the way that made the back of your neck too hot and the tips of your fingers buzz with the threat of a looming meltdown. 

You ignore it. It’s all you know how to do. The anxiety medication your therapist gave you doesn't work, and you can’t crush a bunch of pills and inhale them anytime you feel like you’re about to get tunnel vision and spiral. 

Well, you suppose you can, but you’re trying not to get into the habit. 

Instead of acknowledging the way the panic lurks around your edges like a predator waiting to pounce, you listen to the dull conversation around you. Focus on the gossip that you don’t care about, exactly, but know it’s good to have. 

Since marrying into the Kim family, you’re not sure what your job is. With your family, your role as the face, the legacy and the representation of the Choi Syndicate had always been clear and obvious. Now, your husband sends you to stupid things like this with preening people that you don’t like and makes you leave events early when he’s irritable. 

Gossip is a weapon, though. So you gather it when you can, taking in bits of information and storing it for yourself. Rarely do you offer it to Yijun - not that he would take it - but Jeonghan finds the information you share useful. So does Angel, but there’s rarely anything you know that she doesn’t. 

Just as your anxiety begins to fade, the source of it materializes. 

At first, you think you’re seeing things when a door appears in the wall depicting an apple orchard and Soonyoung strolls out into the fake-sun. You blink dumbly, spine tingling as you realize that your mind is not playing tricks on you and it is him. 

He sees you immediately. His dark eyes burn like embers, pinning you to the spot. His face remains motionless but you see his jaw tick, the only sign that he is immediately on edge when he sees you. He’s dressed for work in an all black suit, required for the Swords of the Choi family. 

Giggles breakout around the table as he approaches, the ladies around you all flushed cheeks and demure smiles. You feel the buzzing start in your hands again, this time worse. It goes up your arms, working its way to your chest as the anxiety increases tenfold, heart pounding.

Soonyoung bows. “I beg your pardon, ladies.” 

“My goodness, Soonyoung,” Lin preens. “You must be horribly hot in that suit, but you do look handsome.”

You fight the urge to snarl at her that the imitation of the garden isn’t real and no amount of pretending will make it real. You even imagine reaching across the table and plunging her fish knife into her hand. Instead, you watch Soonyoung, your hummingbird heart fluttering. 

He gives her a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be alright. I apologize for interrupting, but the Tower of the Choi family has sent me to escort his daughter home.” 

“Home?” 

“The Choi Estate.” 

He doesn’t say what he means: the Kim Estate is not your home. 

“Alright,” you say, voice reedy. Your hands are trembling as you slide your chair from the table, the metal legs grinding loudly against concrete. You flinch at the sound, hyper aware of every bead of sweat crawling down your spine, every beat of your heart that is too fast, too hard.

Static fills you as you mumble parting words to the women who watch you in confusion. At least, you think you mumble your goodbyes. Blood rushes in your ears as you take uneven steps toward Soonyoung, who turns on his heel and starts marching toward the apple orchard. 

It feels like you’re in an echo chamber. Everything suddenly feels hollow and everything sounds as though you’re hearing it through a thin wall. Muted. Dull. He opens the door that you can’t quite spot even this close, ushering you inside as your vision starts tunneling to a narrow point, everything else blurry and distorted. 

No. No no no no no. 

Lifting your hands, you glance down at them to see them trembling, opening and closing your fists in an attempt to stop the buzzing feeling, as though you could will it away. You think Soonyoung says something but you can’t hear him over the roar of panic that grips you and tears you sideways.

Instead of following him down the hall, you lurch toward a different hall, rushing toward the powder room. It feels like the walls are narrowing as you throw open the door, breath coming out in pants. Everything feels tight and compact, crushing smaller still. 

Stumbling to the sink you try to turn the faucet on. Once. Twice. Cold water spits from the faucet and you gasp, leaning down over the sink to splash freezing water into your face. It doesn’t have the desired effect, the water is not cool enough to shock you out of your panic. 

Soonyoung speaks behind you. You can’t hear him, the grip of your anxiety so strong that you grab the edges of the sink to keep you up right. You’re heaving now, heart rattling so hard you think that maybe you’re having a heart attack instead. 

A firm grip wretches your attention from the porcelain sink to the mirror, where you see your dripping reflection, eyes blown like saucers. Soonyoung is standing behind you, a hand on your bicep, squeezing. His face is no longer a mask of indifference, but one of confusion. 

His mouth moves and you shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut. “I can’t,” you gasp, ragged. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.” 

Then, he does something that catches you entirely off guard. You watch in slow motion as he steps back and removes the gun from the holster underneath his suit jacket. You hear the safety on the gun click and the hum as the weapon charges, ready to fire rounds of plasma if he squeezes the trigger. 

And then he points the gun at your head, the lights on it flipping from blue to red, signaling it’s ready to kill. 

The world stops. The panic vanishes for a split second, replaced with utter shock as you stare at him in the mirror. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” you demand, voice stronger than you expect. 

Soonyoung is ten levels of crazy, but he’s never pointed a gun at you before. You stare at him, open-mouthed and wondering if he’ll do it. If he could pull the trigger. He’d told you a hundred times when you were together that he would never let you go and it was always with clarity that you understood what he meant: it’s me or no one. 

With stark clarity, you realize there’s no reason for Soonyoung not to pull the trigger. He doesn’t care much about the value of his own life from what you can glean over the last two years, and he doesn’t really seem to care about yours. 

Not that he should. You promised to make him feel human and you did. Then you took it away from him, leaving him adrift in a vast ocean of nothing alone and untethered. 

No, you don’t think you inspire Soonyoung to feel human anymore. If anything, you probably make him want to be the worst version of himself. 

Soonyoung’s voice holds no emotion when he asks, “Are you with me?”

“Why are you pointing a gun at me?” 

“Breathe,” he says instead. He doesn’t lower the weapon, stormy eyes focused on yours. “Breathe,” he repeats. “Slowly, maybe.” 

“Soonyoung, you are holding a gun at me, what do you mean breathe?” 

“What do you mean what do I mean? I mean what I fucking said. Breathe normally.”

“Lower the gun!” He does. “What the fuck?”

He breaks eye contact, sliding the weapon back into his suit jacket. He turns away from you as though he didn’t have you at gunpoint a second ago. “You were having a panic attack. Sometimes a shock to the system stalls it. Your breathing has slowed down now. And you’re not panicking.” 

A beat of silence passes. Then, “So you leveled a gun at my head?” 

“It worked. Let’s go.”

“Are you fucking crazy?”

“Yes. Now let’s go. You’re needed at the Choi Estate.”

“Why?” 

“Do I look like I have all the answers? I just do what I’m told. When a Choi says jump, remember?”

You visibly flinch as his words land. Soonyoung doesn’t wait for you to gather yourself, spinning on his heel and exiting the powder room to stride through the halls. Tightness gathers in your chest, left over from your anxiety attack. 

Pressing your hands against your dress to wipe the sweat from them, you chase after Soonyoung. He’s already by the apartment’s elevator, jamming his finger into the button. He doesn’t look at you as he waits, content to stare at the metal door. 

You don’t know where else to look - you want to look anywhere but him. Turning around, you fixate on the floor to ceiling windows. It’s still morning outside, but it’s hard to tell with the way the clouds block out the view, turning everything to mist. 

This high up in the city is reserved for the elite. You can’t imagine why - there’s nothing to look at but clouds, clouds, and more clouds. It’s what makes them have virtual reality rooms in the first place, trying to recreate the experience that they might have if they were wealthy enough to own land. 

The sound of the elevator arriving makes you flinch. Soonyoung ignores you, getting in and leaning against the wall as he hits a button to go to the parking garage. You scramble in after him, a little breathless as the doors close just behind you. 

Immediately you start shooting down several floors. He glares at the wall, unseeing and unfeeling. You swallow thickly, watching the numbers decrease until you’re at Lin’s private parking garage. Soonyoung is out of the elevator before it finishes opening all the way, storming toward the car he’s left running idle. 

Normally someone would open a car door for you. Instead, Soonyoung gets in the driver’s seat and slams the door shut. You reach for the handle of the passenger seat and pause. Normally you sit in the back when being driven somewhere, it’s always been like that. But this is Soonyoung and you’ve always been beside him in the car, his equal. 

A muffled get in the fucking car reaches you. Deciding that sitting next to him is too personal, you open the back seat and slide in. You’ve barely shut the door when he punches the gas, slamming you into the back of the seat as he goes. 

“Would you stop being an asshole?” you seethe, ripping the seatbelt from next to you to buckle in. Your hands are still shaking and it takes a moment for the clasp to click.

Instead of answering, you hear the way the car accelerates under his foot. Scowling, you look out the window. He speeds into the lift that brings the car down to the ground floor. Lights blur by as the lift drops at lurching speed, your stomach in your throat. You hate coming to apartments for this reason, the feeling of having to freefall to leave never growing on you. 

It’s raining when the lift opens to the wet street. Soonyoung peels out on the pavement, tires spinning until they gain traction and the car slides onto the road, narrowly missing someone. You slam against the seatbelt, cursing and clinging onto the door as he pushes the gas down, engine roaring.

“Are you trying to kill us?”

Soonyoung doesn’t answer you. You think it might be because he’s not explicitly trying to kill the two of you, but he doesn’t care if he does. You try not to think about it so much as he powers through the streets of the Upper City, driving past towering businesses, luxury districts with entertainment and bars and apartment buildings. 

The road starts to incline and you hit a line of trees. The city vanishes behind you as Soonyoung drives the car up the winding road, leaving a world of metal and lights for greenery and earth. The contrast between the cities below and the Estates above is stark, especially as he drive’s higher up the mountain, snatches of the city below visible. 

“Why did you come to get me?” you ask, flicking your gaze to the rearview mirror to watch him. Soonyoung keeps his eyes on the road, but you see his mouth tighten. “Last I checked you’re not an errand boy.”

“So what, you check on me?”

“It’s a figure of speech, you know what I mean.”

“The Tower personally requested I come get you.” 

That gives you pause. Soonyoung’s face reveals nothing as he turns on the street that will inevitably lead to the massive metal wall that blocks off the world from the Choi Estate. There can only be a single reason why Soonyoung was sent to fetch you when usually your husband’s staff would do so.

“What’s happened?” 

Soonyoung doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he rolls the window down at the guard house to show his face. The security team recognizes him immediately, waving him through as the gate begins to slide open to reveal lush, green jungle. 

Gravel crunches underneath the car tires as he drives through the winding foliage on Choi grounds. Your great-great-grandfather had built the Choi compound, the first of the few elite houses on the mountain. He thought it was important to keep the plant life and sprawling greenery to conserve, but you knew it was really about power. Symbolism. Greenery didn’t really exist in the city, and this much space and plantlife meant wealth. 

The sprawling estate you grew up in reveals itself. Multiple buildings dot the property, making it more a family compound than an estate. Now that Seungcheol is old enough, he’s moved out of the main house and into one of the smaller homes, occupying the space with his own men and staff. Still, he’s just a brief stroll away from your childhood home.

Home. Even two years under a Kim family banner hasn’t erased the feeling of home for you. There is nothing in the house you share with Yijun that makes it feel like you. It is as devoid of love as your marriage, merely a placeholder for you to sleep, eat, and occasionally, try to produce an heir. 

Soonyoung pulls up to the long building that serves as a garage, hitting a button on the car’s screen to open one of the bays. He pulls in slowly, the outside world fading as the garage door shuts behind the car, dousing it in darkness until the neon lights above flicker on. 

Without a word, he powers off the vehicle and gets out. Taking a deep breath, you square your shoulders and get out of the car. He doesn’t wait for you - even shuts the door as he enters the main house so you’re forced to lug it open. 

He’s already opening the door to the main house a few yards away, forcing you again to haphazardly navigate gravel in your heels as you give chase. You’re sweating and irritated by the time you’re up the steps and pushing through the front door, a nasty quip on your lips ready until you see your aunt coming down the stairs. 

“Oh thank goodness,” she says, seeing you. She looks older than you remember, the lines of her face deep and the hair at her temples gray. “Come along.”

“What’s going on?” you ask, uncertain as you step into the foyer and let her take your arm. 

She scowls. “Did that useless boy not tell you? Your mother suffered a heart attack this morning. She’s with Dr. Ymir in the medical wing.”

Your heart thuds to a stop as you wheel around to look over your shoulder at Soonyoung. His gaze is stormy but his face gives away nothing as he turns to leave the way he came, slamming the front door and vanishing down the steps to leave you alone. 

“No,” you mumble as your aunt pulls you down the hall. “He didn’t tell me.” 

Because that’s how much Soonyoung hates you. Hate isn’t even the right word, you think. It is something far deeper and far more sinister, fueled only by taking away something that he valued more than anything else in the world and forcing him to live with it. 

I deserve this, you think as the door to one of the private medical rooms opens, a clinical smell hitting you in the face. I deserve everything that happens to me. 

I deserve this. It’s all you can think of as you watch the black casket lower into the ground. Seungcheol stands beside you, his hands linked in front of him. You want to reach out and take his hand in yours, but you don’t want him to look weak. Don’t want others to see him crack like you know he will if you comfort him. 

Instead, you comfort yourself as best you can, which isn’t saying much. You’ve never been good at dealing with your feelings, too much of your mother’s blood running through you. It was your father’s least favorite trait of yours and perhaps Soonyoung’s favorite.

Soonyoung, who has always been your emotional tether and outlet. You’re not accustomed to dealing with grief alone, and the pull of it feels like an undertow threatening to drag you under and drown you. 

Someone shifts behind you, close enough that you feel Yijun next to you stiffen. You turn to look over your shoulder, blinking in surprise as you tilt your head up to see Soonyoung. He doesn’t look at you, dark eyes fixed forward and jaw flexing tightly. He’s standing closer than is necessary, as shown by your husband’s scoff. 

Soonyoung doesn’t move, though. He remains nearly pressed against your back, so close that you can smell vanilla and sandalwood. Turning away from him, you feel your shoulders relax. He ignores you, but he’s there, a stoic guardian that’s just out of reach.

The Tower of the Choi Syndicate is too lost in his grief to notice or care about Soonyoung’s proximity to you. Your brother couldn’t care less, barely realizing that his brother by choice is an inch away from him. But you know Soonyoung is there and that’s all that matters. 

The grief lessens, turning back from churning waters to gentle, lapping waves.

“Your brother doesn’t respect me,” Yijun asserts. You look at him in the bathroom mirror. He’s standing behind you in the closet, taking out glinting cufflinks to replace them in the countertop in the middle of the aisles of clothes. “You should work on that.”

“Seungcheol hardly takes what I say to heart.”

Yijun snorts, detecting the lie before you can even get it out. Seungcheol very much values your insight and opinion far more than he’s interested in Yijun’s. He’s made it clear at multiple parties and events now, often asking you how business is and how the shared Kim-Choi accounts are doing, despite not having anything to do with them. 

Seungcheol hates your role within the Kim family. On more than one occasion he’s recommended Yijun make use of you somewhere in the family business, to make you the head of operation somewhere so that your schooling and experience weren’t going to waste. Yijun asserted that your social skills were being put to perfect use, entertaining the wives of his associates and serving as the perfect host when his business colleagues and friends were over. 

“He’s going to be leading the family soon,” Yijun sighs. “It would be better for us if he saw me as a real ally.”

“He does see you as an ally. You’re married to his sister.”

“Exactly, so you should remind him that I’m family.” It doesn’t sound like a threat, but it also doesn’t sound like a request. Sighing, you shut the drawer in the counter forcefully. It draws his attention, gaze darkening. “Don’t you want your brother to respect your husband?”

No, you think. You don��t respect your husband, so why should Seungcheol?

Instead, you sigh. “Of course, Yi.” He doesn’t soften at the nickname. “I’ll talk to him, alright? He’s got a lot going on. And don’t talk about my father’s health that way.”

“I didn’t say anything about his health.”

“Please,” you snort. “I know what you meant about Cheol taking over soon.” 

Yijun had been talking about Seungcheol more and more. You’ve watched with a sour taste in your mouth as your husband tries to earn your brother’s attention and trust, flashing what he thinks Seungcheol cares about in his face, telling him about the new car he acquired, or the historical art piece you purchased at an auction, and the new apartment building he’s constructing. 

Seungcheol doesn’t give a fuck about any of that. The Choi family never has. Your ancestors didn’t make a name for themselves and carve it on the mountain they built their home on by showing off their wealth and what it could do for them. They did it by earning it, and by remaining steadfast and intelligent. Political. 

Yijun understands none of that. As the eldest son of his family, it’s a shame. The real world of the Syndicates is lost on him. He has enough business acumen to run companies under his father’s careful tutelage and instruction, but he doesn’t have the social savvy for it, the right drive. 

His brother does. You think of Kim Minchan and nearly shiver. The middle child of the Kim family has more than enough understanding of the way that things work, but the ocean of blood behind him is enough for you to prefer Yijun leading the Kim Syndicate any day. 

“I’m just saying,” Yijun grunts, flicking off the lights in the closet. “Your brother has all the reason in the world to respect me and he doesn’t.” He looks at you, face hardening. “Do you tell him not to? Is that what it is? His baby sister tells him how useless her husband is?” 

Danger is in the air. Yijun won’t lay a hand on you, but it doesn’t make this dance any less stressful. You turn away from the mirror, looking at him fully. He’s not terrible to look at - he has a sharp jaw and a broad nose and a pleasant shaped mouth. He’s handsome, even. 

He’s not Kwon Soonyoung. 

Swallowing away the thought, you reach up to put your hands on his chest, placating. “I wouldn’t do that,” you assure him, softening your voice. You hate the sound of your voice, hate the way you pitch it low and gentle. “You’re a reflection of me too. I would never let my brother think any of those things about my husband.” 

Yijun swats your hands away, making you grit your teeth. “Don’t act like a whore. Just - tell your brother. I should be in his inner circle by now. Make it happen.” 

As Yijun leaves the bathroom, the urge to grab him by his collar and yank him back in to smash his head on the counter almost wins. You stare at him until he vanishes in the bedroom, your rage a live, sentient thing. You feel it crawl beneath your skin, slithering and clawing and biting and begging to be let out. 

Steady is the mountain. You take that fire and shove it down. Years of instinct of reacting with your mother’s temper peter out slowly. It’s a shame - you’re the last woman left from her side of the family, the only one who can carry the fire of the phoenix. 

You glare at the bedroom. Somewhere, Yijun lurks, getting into bed. Oh how the shadows of the weak choke out the fire of the strong. 

If killing Yijun wouldn’t risk everything, you’d have done it already. That first month spent with him where you realized this would not only be a loveless marriage, but a hateful one had almost driven you to it. The Choi Syndicate could surely survive a war with the Kim Syndicate - you had better assets, stronger loyalties, and more money. 

But if the Kim family turned to the Yong family… 

Avoiding unification of the Kim and Yong families is why you were married to Kim Yijun in the first place. To murder him now would mean Syndicate war, and despite the fact that every moment with him is hateful and poisonous, you’re too nervous to put your family at risk. 

Especially with your father’s failing health, as Yijun had pointed out. 

Syndicate war isn’t the only thing keeping you from stabbing Kim Yijun until you can’t feel anything anymore. Minchan’s shadow of a presence lingers over your thoughts, one of the few threats you truly fear. Any harm to his brother would elevate Minchan to a position where he could only wield his power more. 

And he’d hunt you like a bloodhound. You’re unsure if there is any corner of the world he would leave unturned if you killed his brother, no matter how much it would benefit him if Yijun keeled over tomorrow. 

Inside your bedroom is dark. It doesn’t feel like your bedroom at all. There’s nothing homey about it, no possession or unique decor, no pictures. You wouldn’t sleep in here at all if Yijun didn’t make you, insisting that he couldn’t trust any of the house staff not to tell your father you weren’t sleeping in the same room. 

Your father doesn’t care. He stopped caring about anything the day you put your mother into the dirt. Even if he hadn’t, as long as your relationship looked functional to whom it mattered, it mattered little to him if you slept in the same room or if you even liked Kim Yijun.

He’d made that very clear the day he tore away your future with Soonyoung. 

Yijun is already snoring when you climb into bed. You grind your teeth, reaching to pull open the nightstand for noise cancelling earbuds and sleep medication. The medication isn’t as strong as the crushed up knockout you might have used previously, but it helps take the edge off without making you vulnerable to attack. 

Which is something you still worry about. 

Setting your phone on silent, you settle in for sleep. It takes a long time, but you finally drift away to thinking about smothering the man next to you in his sleep. 

Something wakes you. Blinking sleep from your eyes, you sit up in bed and look around the room. It’s dark, but you can see the barely-there outlines of the furniture in your bedroom. Next to you, Yijun is gone. You can feel the lack of presence there more than you can see it, reaching your hand over to confirm the bed is cold and that he’s not been there for a while. 

You reach for the phone on your nightstand but can’t find it. Frowning, you press your hand on the cool marble, sweeping back and forth to no avail. You lean further, finger finding the button to the light function on the stand and press down. 

Dim, lavender light halos the top of the nightstand. Your phone is nowhere in sight. It’s just your jewelry dish, a decanter for water, and your sleep medication. You’re pretty sure that you put your phone face down before you went to bed, but you can’t be sure. 

Pulling open the nightstand drawer only makes the back of your neck sweat. Your phone isn’t there, but neither is the gun you keep in the top drawer. Both you and Yijun sleep armed, despite having armed guards on the premises at all times. 

Snapping the drawer shut, you roll to the other side of the bed and pull his open. A book, a watch, some pill bottles and a pack of cigarettes fill the drawer. No gun. 

The back of your neck tingles. You rip the sheets off of you, heading to the bedroom door. The house is mostly dark when you open it, the entire second floor dim. Leaning over the banister, you can see a shaft of light falling across the room, perhaps coming from the kitchen. 

Quietly, you stalk toward the top of the stairwell, trying to reduce noise as you creep down. A high pitched whine rings in your ears, heart thundering. You have no idea why you’re so afraid all of the sudden, especially in your own house, but your instincts tell you to be alert and quiet. 

At the foot of the stairs, you confirm the light is coming from the kitchen. It’s not uncommon for people to be in the house in the middle of the night. Official Syndicate business happens at any time, and often goes into the early hours of morning. 

Tonight, it’s not busy. Before you’d gone upstairs to bed, you’d noted that it was a skeleton crew security team for the night, just a few of them at the gate house and walking the premises while you and Yijun returned upstairs for the evening alone. 

Creeping toward the hallway, you pause when you hear voices. You identify Yijun’s voice right away, holding your breath and straining your hearing as he says, “What do you want me to do here?” 

“Keep her contained. Make sure no one from her family can reach her.”

“I already took her phone and her gun.”

Your stomach drops. “Good.” That’s Minchan’s voice, you realize, dread growing tenfold. “The second she finds out the Tower has fallen, she’ll try to run or her brother will try to get her.”

“Or that psycho fuck,” Yijun mutters. 

“You’d be lucky if it was Seungcheol who came to get her. If Kwon Soonyoung comes looking, call me immediately. We’ll make our move in two hours. We’ve got the biggest team outside the Choi estate ready to go in and we’ve got men and women stationed at all the key points.”

“So I’m just supposed to sit here and babysit my wife?”

“Yes.” Minchan’s tone is nonnegotiable. “We’ll leave the guards at the gatehouse but we can’t spare anyone else. This kind of assault requires everyone. The Yong family will take care of the Pearl District and the Salt.” 

Yijun hesitates. “What about the Yoon family? Are they all accounted for?” 

“Yes. I have a team on the crazy one - what do they call her?”

“Angel, I think.”

Minchan laughs. “Demon is more fitting. Stay here. Stay by your phone. We’ll call thirty minutes before we give the signal to link everyone on comms. We do this right, and the Choi Syndicate is gone.” 

Panic presses in for a moment. Your heart hammers. Your hands shake. Bile churns your stomach. It feels like you can’t get enough air, the pieces of what they're talking about falling into place.

The Tower has fallen.

Your father is dead, and in the wake of the crushing blow, the Kim family intends to strike at yours alongside the Yong family. The realization lands like a blow, immediately slapping you out of your panic. 

Fear turns to rage. Rage turns to ice. You are fire, you are the mountain. 

Steadfast is the mountain, but the fire does burn. 

As quietly as you can, you creep up the stairs. You keep turning over your shoulder to ensure Minchan doesn’t leave the kitchen and catch you creeping back toward your bedroom. When you hit the second floor landing, you all but sprint to your room, gears turning. 

Yijun took your phone and intends to keep you locked in the house until they finish their plan. From their discussion, you know they intend to mobilize within two hours, targeting important members of the Choi Syndicate across the city with the help of the Yong family. 

It means you have only a few minutes to warn your family to respond, to prepare and to fight back or strike first. Which is hard to do without a phone, but your husband doesn’t know you nearly as well as he thinks.

Door closed behind you, you flip the lock on the bedroom door and dash for the closet. The lights above come to life, bathing you in ghoulish, grey light. You dive to the floor toward your shelf holding all of your shoes, the carpet burns nothing compared to the pain starting to bloom behind your sternum where your grief builds slowly under your anger. 

Your father is dead. The Kims are going to turn on you anyway. Your marriage to Kim Yijun to secure alliances against the Yong family was for nothing.

You’ve endured for nothing. 

Snatching a pair of boots, you swallow down the bile again. You will not break now, not when there are more important things than the time you’ve wasted withering away in this cold home. Shoving your hand inside the boot, you come into contact with what you were looking for. Your hand closes around the device, yanking it out and powering it on. 

The screen flashes to life. You press one and hold, hearing the buzz on the phone as it begins to ring. You cradle the phone against your shoulder and ear, nearly sick with the adrenaline that is pounding through you, your vision blurring, hands shaking. 

You grab another shoe, this time reaching inside carefully instead of shoving your hand in. The smooth, bone handle of a knife meets your hand and you wrap your fingers around it firmly, pulling it out. 

Soonyoung answers on the fourth ring. “Where are you?” 

“The Kim family has turned on the Chois. They’re mobilizing for a full scale attack in roughly two hours. The Yong family is helping them. They’re at the estate and all over the city - anyone who is important to us regardless of position will need to be warned. The Yong family is handling the Pearl District and the Salt.” 

“How many men are at Yijun’s estate?” You can hear him moving on the other side of the line, something rustling. Perhaps clothes as he gets dressed. “Are you armed?” 

“There are men at the guard house and one walking the perimeter. It’s just me and Yijun inside, I think Minchan is leaving. I’ve got a knife.” 

“Where are you in the house?” 

“Bedroom, second landing to the right and all the way at the end of the hall. There are windows but they don’t open.” 

“Listen to me,” Soonyoung says, voice like ice. “The second we start moving into position to accept the assault, they’ll know something is off. When that happens, Yijun is going to try to kill you, do you understand?” When you say nothing, he asks again, voice louder. “Do you understand?” 

“Yes.”

“I need you to fight back. Either kill him or hold him off until I’m there.” 

“You need to warn-”

“Don’t worry about the fucking Syndicate! We’ll be fine. You’ve given us more than enough time. I need you to be entirely focused on yourself.”

You take a deep breath, letting it out shakily. “Okay.”

“Do you have frostbyte?”

“Maybe? Yijun might have it in the nightstand.”

“Take some. Not enough to fuck you up, but enough to pump that adrenaline and make your head clear. I will be there in thirty minutes.” 

“Okay.” 

You squeeze the phone, unwilling to hang up. It doesn’t matter that you haven’t heard his voice in months. It doesn’t matter that he hates you, it doesn’t matter that you know whatever used to be between you is broken and it’s entirely your fault. You just… don’t want to hang up. 

“Hey.” Soonyoung’s voice is soft, drawing you from your trembling spiral. “Do what I said. Do the frostbyte and kill him if you have to. I have to go.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you in thirty minutes.” Soonyoung pauses, the silence heavy on the line. “I love you.” 

Nothing breaks you like those words, whispered but firm, whispered in case you die before he gets there. He doesn’t have to say that’s why he’s saying it - you know. You know the chance of him not getting there fast enough is likely and real. He does too, but instead of telling you, he gives you this. 

You whisper back, “I love you.” 

Soonyoung hangs up the phone and you fight a sob. You bring the knife up to your hand, pressing your pointer finger down on the tip. The sting is immediate, making you his in pain as blood beads on the tip of your finger, red and garish in the closet lighting. 

The sting grounds you enough to push yourself from the floor, following Soonyoung’s directions to Yijun’s nightstand. You yank it open, rattling around the contents until you find the bag of frostbyte you were hoping was there. Yijun uses it the nights he attempts to put an heir in you, numbing himself the way you never did, taking your punishment for what you’d done to Soonyoung raw.

Not enough to fuck me up, you think, untwisting the bag and shaking. Just enough to make it easier. 

Dipping the tip of your knife into the bag, you pull out a small lump of the glittering drug. You try not to think about that night at the club all those years ago, when you and Soonyoung were still dancing around one another’s feelings, doing anything you could to get a reaction out of one another. 

You take a sharp breath in. The drug hits your nasal passage and it burns, your eyes smarting as you tilt your head up, cursing and blinking away the tears. It hits the back of your throat, bitter and awful as you cough a little, trying to wait for it to clear your nasal passage.

When the burning subsides a little, you do it again. It’s less harsh than the first bump but still just as awful, making you wonder how the fuck you did this on the weekend with your friends as a teenager. Tossing the back on the nightstand, you stand waiting, closing your eyes and trying to do deep breathing exercises your therapist taught you to calm down. 

Frostbyte works fast. It hits your bloodstream and an electric calm comes over you. Everything comes into sharper focus, the adrenaline pumping as your simmering rage turns to a boil, ready to kick the fucking door down and hunt down Yijun yourself.

Nerves fade away to the background of your mind. You walk toward the door, waiting to the side so when Yijun ultimately kicks it down, you’re ready. 

Ten minutes pass. The entire time your ears are ringing, heart thundering in your chest. You think the frostbyte was a good idea - if you had to wait in silence like this without it, you would have gone crazy by now. Even with the drug, fear nips at your ankles, a hound ever on your tail. 

Yijun’s footsteps thunder up the stairs. Your heart lurches and you inch away from the door, readying yourself. He storms down the hall, fury in each step until he gets to the door and turns the handle. It doesn’t move. He tries a few more times, shaking the door. 

His roar on the other side of the door is loud and feral, making you grin as he thrashes against the door, cursing and screaming at you. The door holds, rattling in place as he slams what you think is his shoulder into it multiple times. 

The bombardment pauses for a second and then restarts ten times stronger. This time, you recognize that it’s his foot slamming into the side of the door. You realize he’s kicking where the door is latched, trying to break it open instead of kicking through it. 

A small crack sounds. You take a breath, readying yourself as you hear another snap go through the door, now rattling loose in its frame. He kicks hard again and the door blows open, nearly smacking you as it does. You roll away from it on the wall, keeping close as Yijun barrels past you, swinging his head from left to right as he looks for you.

It’s your only chance to get the jump on him. You slide from the dark, heart hammering. You’ve never stabbed anyone before, but you’ve practiced. You drive the knife upward, intending to puncture his kidneys. Yijun twists a little to the side, sensing your presence as the knife plunges into his side. 

Yijun screams. Your satisfaction only lasts a second before he throws his elbow backward, catching you in the nose. Pain explodes in your face, blinding you as your eyes water and you stumble backward hands shooting to your face. 

Removing the knife from his side, Yijun screams at you, spit flying as he comes at you. Through tears and warm blood rushing from your nose, you reach for anything to use as a weapon. Your hand closes on the ceramic artwork on the dresser and you launch it at him, hitting him hard in the face. 

The ceramic shatters and he drops the knife. You dive for it but he grabs you by the hair, ripping you upward and backward like a ragdoll. You lose your footing, screaming as he tightens his fist in your hair and drags you toward the bed, tossing you there. 

With a feral shout, you kick your foot forward, catching him in the lower gut. He grunts but wraps his hand around your ankle, yanking you back off the bed onto the floor, where the knife lays. You reach for it, seething, your hands managing to close around it just as he pivots, foot landing against your ribcage. 

Again, pain explodes inside of you. With the frostbyte, you barely recognize it, grabbing the knife and stabbing him in the calf. He shrieks and collapses to a knee, reaching for the knife. This time you rip it back out, nearly losing your grip on the bone handle, fingers slippery with blood. 

You stab him again, this time in the thigh. His knee presses into your stomach, crushing you and forcing air from your lungs. You ignore the pain, stabbing him again and again in the thigh until he falls backward off of you, muscles malfunctioning, tendons give away. 

Yijun kicks out at you with his good leg but you’re already moving, ignoring the way your body is screaming in utter agony, every part of you throbbing and begging you to give up. 

You don’t. You scramble on top of him. His hands shoot up to your throat but you spit at him, a spray of blood blinding him and making his grip loosen momentarily. It’s enough to bring the knife down home again, this time directly in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. 

For a second, he fights back. You hear the wet gasp and he thrashes, but you stab him again. And again and again and again and again -

You think about all of the times that you were forced to submit to him. 

And again and again and again - 

The way he heaved himself on top of you, trying to force a child into you so he could be done with you, the way you’d wish it had been Soonyoung instead. 

And again and again and again - 

The way Soonyoung’s face broke that morning, begging you not to do this to him. 

And again and again and again -

All for the Kim family to turn on the Choi’s anyway, wasting the entire time you’ve spent under lock and key, doing Yijun’s bidding while Soonyoung hated you. Loathed you. Wish you never happened to him. 

Again and AGAINANDAGAINANDAGAINAND- 

Yijun isn’t moving under you. Your hand is warm and wet, the knife becoming slippery as you let it go. It clatters to the floor and you sit backward on his knees. He’s unmoving as you heave, sucking down air that tastes like iron and salt. 

Sweat slicks the back of your neck and down your spine. Somewhere in the house, there’s a crashing noise. You leap for the knife, rolling off of Yijun’s mutilated body toward the door, positioning yourself in a defensive position as feet thunder up the stairs. 

You bare your teeth, knowing this is it. Knowing Soonyoung hasn’t come quickly enough but it doesn’t matter, because you warned them and they are safe. Your penance for destroying him has been paid in half, though never full, and -

Soonyoung appears in the doorway. He looks like an angel from hell, wreathed in shallow light that comes from the first floor, his silver hair stained with blood. He’s in black trousers and a short-sleeve shirt with his favorite band on it - one of his sleep shirts. 

For less than a second, he stares at you. Then, Soonyoung dives at you, dropping the gun in his head and grabbing you. You hadn’t realized that you’d sunk to your knees, looking up at him as he grabs your face, turning you this way and that. He’s asking you a question but you can’t understand him, dizzy and confused and in so much pain that the edge of your vision wavers. 

“Baby,” Soonyoung begs, his voice warped and echoey. “Hey, I need you to answer me. Where are you bleeding?” 

“S’mostly his,” you answer, feeling how heavy your tongue is. Your thoughts are sticky and slow. Concussed, you think. “Maybe broke my nose.” 

Soonyoung’s thumb brushes gently across your cheek, smearing blood. “Can you walk if I help you?”  You think about it. Shake your head. “Okay. I’m going to lift you up, alright? Tell me where it hurts so I don’t hurt you, Baby.” 

“Ribs.” 

“Left or right?” 

You pause, breathing in and feeling the pain bloom. “Right.” 

“Okay, tell me if I hurt you, okay? We’re going to take you home.”

“Thank you.” Soonyoung hesitates at your tone, looking at you. His eyes are vulnerable and open, more raw than you have seen them since you were kids. “You didn’t have to come get me.” 

He stares and stares at you. The world fades a little and Soonyoung lifts you toward him. “Of course I did,” he murmurs, so soft you barely hear what he’s saying. “When you say jump, remember?”

“Where's this?” You mumble, looking out the window at a small home behind high gates.

Soonyoung has been driving for an hour and a half, his silence nearly unbearable as you both left the city. You don’t ask about where you’re going or if everyone is okay - you don’t think you can stomach the answers right now. Not while in the car. 

Rain mists through the window as Soonyoung rolls it down to punch in a code in front of the gate. It flashes green and the metal starts to roll open, revealing a large but modest house - at least by Syndicate standards. He drives through, gravel crunching beneath the tires. 

“Safe House. Very few people know it exists.” 

“Are we in Levin?” He nods his head. You’ve never been to the small town, but you know it’s mostly a vacation village on the coast. “Who does this place belong to?” 

“Me.” You look at him, surprised. “I bought it when you… got engaged.” 

It’s like a stone sinking to the bottom of your stomach. You don’t have to ask why. It was his failsafe for you, a way to get you away from Yijun if you had just asked. 

You should have asked. Should have just thrown it away and called him, should have begged him from your knees- 

Soonyoung turns the car off and opens the door. You open yours, rain pattering against your red skin. He rushes to help you out of the car, hands hovering around you, unsure where to touch. It makes you want to sob. You want him to touch you anywhere - everywhere. 

Instead, he leads you to the house, a hand wrapped firmly around your forearm to keep you upright and steady as you walk up the steps. 

A porch light flickers on. You cringe away from the brightness, squinting through your fingers as the door opens to reveal Vernon standing on the other side. His eyes flicker between the two of you and he nods, stepping to the side to let you in. 

Warmth blankets you as Soonyoung shuts the door. You’re standing in a small entryway with a staircase to the right leading to the second floor. Straight on, the lights are on, revealing a sliver of the living room. You can hear voices pause as they hear the door shut. 

Angel materializes in the doorway, her hair damp. She’s dressed down like she recently showered, her eyes on you as she heaves a sigh of relief. “It’s Hoshi and Baby,” she calls over her shoulder, coming forward. 

Soonyoung nudges you toward Angel gently. “Take her to shower.” 

“Yeah of course.” 

“Where’s Seungcheol?” You ask, turning to look at Soonyoung, who is already looking at his phone, holoscreen lighting up his face. 

“On his way. The main crew is safe.” He hesitates. “We lost Lan, Old Man Vero and Yoon Minji.” 

Your heart seizes, eyes darting to Angel. “Angel, I’m-”

“Jeonghan is taking care of it.” For the first time in years, you hear a note of pain in her voice, raw and real. Angel has - had - a complicated relationship with her step-mother, the matriarch of the Yoong family. “I’ve already satiated my vengeance. This is his. Come on.” 

You hesitate. Soonyoung nudges you toward the stairs gently by the hip, suddenly looking tired. “Go. I’m going to find a doctor for that nose.” 

“Is it terrible?” 

He huffs, trying not to laugh. “No, but it needs to be fixed. Go. Shower.” 

I love you. It’s on the tip of your tongue, right there. I love you. It’s all you can think about, thundering in your ribcage. I love you. It consumes you, makes you freeze up, staring at him. I love you. 

Angel tugs your wrist delicately and breaks the spell. You follow her up the stairs. She’s careful with you, making you take one step at a time. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her so gentle, her eyes softened with worry and her touch on you delicate as butterfly wings. 

Upstairs, she leads you into a room that smells like vanilla and sandalwood. Soonyoung. This room belongs to Soonyoung. You spot his subtle touches, a gaming computer shoved in the corner and powered off. A closet with a metal door that is under lock and key. A single gun sitting on top of the nightstand. 

But what makes the room spin is the touches of you. A teakwood candle sitting on the dresser. Weighted blankets folded at the end of the bed. A bookshelf with all your favorite titles. A jar of saltwater taffy in multiple flavors. 

Angel hesitates by the bathroom door, watching you drink in the room. You turn to her, shaking your head, confused and mouth open. She nods. “I know. I didn’t know either.” 

“I could live and die a thousand times and never deserve him.” 

“I’m not the best judge of character, but I don’t think I believe that to be true.” 

Angel isn’t the best judge of character. But she also doesn’t say things she does not mean. She’s the last person in the world to offer words of comfort, and yet she’s standing in the bathroom staring at you like she can see through you, right down to the very core. 

Maybe she can. Seeing what is rotting people on the inside and sniffing out their weaknesses is what she does best. 

Instead of pointing out where you hurt, she manages to get you into the bathroom. It’s spacious but not grand like what you’re used to - it’s small. Safe. She starts the shower and backs away, helping you get out of your bloody clothing. 

Everything hurts so bad. Your ribs ache, the bruising on them blotchy and horrendous as Angel peels back your shirt. She thankfully doesn’t react - she’s seen worse and done worse. Suddenly, you realize why Soonyoung picked her to help you. She’s steady, her fingers sure as she holds your arm while you pull your pants down.

You don’t dare look in the mirror. From what you can see without it, it’s already bad enough. Yijun hadn’t dealt fatal damage, but you know you’re bruised and covered in dry, flaking blood. 

Angel leaves you in the shower, shutting the door to go sit on the sink, a guardian willing to give you space but ready to help when you need it. Shaking, you shuffle into the stream of hot water, hissing when it hits your skin. 

It’s both heaven and hell. The hot water feels so good on your aching muscles and throbbing pain, but it also hurts when the water taps against your nose, reminding you that it is indeed broken. You suck in sharp air as you slowly begin to work your fingers into your skin, turning the water pink as you wash off the blood. 

Blood that belongs to you. Blood that belongs to Yijun.

Yijun. 

You’re not sorry you killed him. It was satisfying and necessary. But… the weight of your grief comes crashing into you. You could have killed him years ago and ran. Could have gone crawling back to Soonyoung and asked for his help. Could have told him that the only reason you ever agreed to marry him in the first place was to protect him. 

None of it mattered. You bought him a paltry couple years worth of protection and for what? To shackle yourself to a man who thought little of you, who wanted to fuck you until you gave him another version of himself, who wanted to kill you at every moment because he knew you didn’t respect him and because he was afraid of you and the way you command respect from your family, but he never did.

All that time you’d made yourself smaller for him. Held back your bite. Hid your teeth. Mourned Soonyoung everyday, knowing that you’d never touch him again, that he would never kiss you again, that you’d never wake up in the morning when he got home from work and crawled into bed with you.

A potential lifetime of happiness, one of your own making, wasted on a promise that they broke anyway. 

For nothing. It had been for nothing, you’d hurt Soonyoung for nothing, shut him out, promised you would never leave him and threw him away, forced him to jump for you, forced him to leave you when he said he wouldn’t all for nothing nothing nothing nothing notHING NOTHINGNOTHINGNOTHINGNOTHING-

Angel’s arms are around you. You startle, looking up to see that she is in the shower fully clothed, holding you to her. You hadn’t realized you’d been crying - screaming - in the shower. She presses you closer to her, the only way she knows how to tell you that she’s got you. She’s there. She understands. 

You crumble, leaning heavily on her as you let it out, sobbing. Your throat is raw, your face throbbing each time you squeeze your eyes shut. Angel says nothing, content to hold you while her clothes soak up the water, weighing her down as you let out your grief in full, ugly waves. 

Eventually, the water starts to get cold and your tears start to dry up. You sniff and groan, the pain in your face so poignant that it can’t be ignored. Lifting your head from her shoulder, you glance at her boots, soaked and murky red around the edges.

“Can I tell you something?” Angel asks, voice low. You nod. She hesitates, putting the words together before she says, “He’s going to accept you back. He’s going to do it with no conditions, and ask nothing of you. You’re going to want to torture yourself and beg for his forgiveness and deny yourself of him because you think you should be punished, that there is not a god powerful enough to hurt you the way you deserve.”

You blink in surprise. Angel isn’t religious, despite the nickname. She also isn’t overly emotional or wordy. But you see the severity in which she tells you this, see the pain in her eyes. You remember that she has demons far older than yours, ones that have followed her since childhood. 

And she’s right. She reads you like a book, seeing the fucking pain radiating inside of you, the desire to be punished and hated and whipped- 

“Let him take you back.” Her words are firm. “Don’t make him punish you. Don’t believe for a second that Soonyoung wants to make you pay. He doesn’t. He doesn’t care what you did or why. Just… let him have you. You’ve endured enough.” 

You nod. “Alright. I’ll try.”

“Good. Um - can we get out of the shower though? It’s very cold in here.” 

You laugh, immediately followed by a groan. “Please don’t make me laugh. I am in so much pain.” 

“Yeah, let’s go get you some drugs, dude.” 

The three Syndicates of the city are officially at war. Of all the news that has poured in over the last few days, this is the least surprising. When you’d seen Seungcheol that first night after everything went to hell, he’d held you close and promised that he would kill every last Kim in the city.

He had also told you he was proud of you. Not just for surviving Yijun long enough for Soonyoung to come get you, but for being able to warn the family what was coming. Your single warning alone had saved them a great deal and wounded the Kim Syndicate more than you could understand. 

The days following your father’s death are strange. It doesn’t feel like he’s dead - at least, you haven’t truly processed it yet. There are things that demand your attention like being seen by Dr. Ymir for your fractured nose and bruised ribs, and the accounts and logistics of what being at war with the Kim and Yong family truly means. 

On the fifth day at the safe house, you go back home. Seungcheol makes you ride with him, unwilling to let you out of his sight these days. You’re the only two members of the Choi family left, and it’s up to the two of you to rally the troops and remind everyone what the mountain can do. 

Seungcheol replaces your father as the Tower of the Choi Syndicate. Typically there’s a small ceremony to pass the torch so to speak, but there’s no time for that. Seungcheol is buried in problems and trying to maneuver the family into a favorable position, but it’s hard - the Yongs and Kims have been preparing this for a while. 

You’re suddenly given a job again. Fresh in his position leading the family, Seungcheol needs those he trusts by his side, immediately appointing you as the Architect of the Syndicate. There’s no one he trusts more with the finances and the logistics of the businesses under the Choi banner and who have pledged to his family. 

With Yoon Minji’s death, Jeonghan’s takes his rightful side as the Wisdom and second in command to Seungcheol. It’s like you’d always known it would be as a kid, but it brings you no joy to see the two of them together in an office until the early hours of the morning, worn at the edges and sick with the grief they’re ignoring to push forward. 

With no surprise, Seungcheol immediately promotes Soonyoung to the lead military position, rising from Sword to Sentinel in a single night. It’s the same position his father held under your father, and Soonyoung takes it with steely resolve. 

It also means you don’t see him. You move back into your old room at home. At first, it doesn’t feel like your room at all because Soonyoung isn't in it. He had moved into your room when you first started dating, spending two years in that bed with you. Now, he’s taken up residence in his room down the hall, so close and yet the distance feels larger than ever. 

Of all the problems mounting for you to solve, Soonyoung is the most important. You know he shouldn’t be. There are a thousand other things that you need to figure out, like how to assure that the businesses you own in and near the Kim and Yong family territories won’t go under or be attacked, or how to assure that payment to the family won’t increase now that there’s a fight. 

Your days are filled with countless meetings, assuring loyal patrons that the Choi Syndicate will not fall and will not fail them, and that the Choi’s protect their own. You can see the fear in people’s eyes - the city hasn’t had the big three at war in a long time. Already the city officials are cracking down on Syndicate activity to try and establish order. 

It’s farcical at best. 

Squeezing your temples between your fingers, you lean back from the desk in your newly appointed office - which is really just your father’s. It feels weird to be in here. It still smells like leather and sweet tobacco, a little bit of smoke hanging in the air. 

The last time you’d been in this office, you’d fallen to your knees and begged him not to make you marry Kim Yijun. Now you sit at the desk, hanging up the phone as another call ends - not as bad as the first, but not as good as you’d hoped. 

Quickly, you scribble down a summary of the call to give to Seungcheol. You know he’ll read every word you write, determined to hear each concern of those under Choi patronage, whether they’re valid or not. 

At the sound of the door opening, you glance up. Soonyoung sticks his head in, surprising you. You straighten in your seat, heart racing when you take him in. His silver hair has grown longer, tapered a bit at the neck. He’s dressed in all black but he’s clean, indicating that he showered not that long ago. You thought he would be out all day like usual, looking at your watch to see he’s back far earlier than normal.

“Is everything alright?” You start to get up and he rushes to you, hands lifting to help you. “I’m alright. I am well on the mend.”

He chews his lip, nodding before dropping his hands hesitantly. “Everything’s fine I just.” He hesitates. “Do you want to eat lunch?” 

“Oh. Sure.”

Soonyoung’s smile is tentative. Shy. You give him one back, following him out of the office while sending a quick note to Jihoon that you’ll meet with him later. He sends a thumbs down back, less than pleased that you’ve not made time to talk to him about your potential murder charges for Yijun. 

“Are you busy? We don’t have to-”

“It’s just Jihoon.” 

“Ah. He’s persistent, are you sure-”

“I want to have lunch with you, Soonyoung.” 

He blushes and you grin. “Alright,” he murmurs. “When you say jump and all that.” 

That makes you pause. “You don’t have to do anything I tell you.” 

“What?” He stops walking, confused. 

“You don’t have to ask how high if I tell you to jump... I’m wrong a lot of the time. I don’t… want to be that.” 

I don’t want to repeat my mistakes. You don’t say it, but you think Soonyoung senses it when he says, “I’ve always wanted to jump for you. That hasn’t changed.” 

Let him take you back. Don’t make him punish you. 

Angel’s words come back to you so you swallow down your guilt and you nod, giving him a tentative smile that he returns. This time, he holds out his hand to take you in the kitchen. You take it, the feeling of his fingers wrapping around yours both foreign and familiar. 

The way he holds your hand in his makes you tremble. It’s something so simple and benign and yet you’re screaming on the inside, looking at where your fingers twine together like it’s everything, like it’s the only thing. 

Lunch consists of very badly burned grilled cheese. You don’t care because Soonyoung makes it, insistent that he wants to and that he can. He’s good at a lot of things, particularly on the spectrum of murder and weapons, but he is terrible at putting bread, cheese and butter in a pan. 

You eat it anyway, burnt bread and all. He sits next to you, his stool pulled so close that your thighs touch. You want to reach out and brush your fingers across his face, down his neck, through his hair. You want to touch until you’re grabbing, grab until you’re pulling. 

Instead, you let him lead this dance, too afraid to initiate. 

Let him take you back. Don’t make him punish you. 

You don’t, but you can’t let go of the fear of rejection. Can’t bring yourself to toe the line beyond what he’s giving you, which is more than you ever dreamed of. So you accept when he offers to take your plate, fingers brushing over the top of your hand either by design or by accident you don’t know. His touch makes you shiver and he notices, pausing. 

Slowly, you look up at Soonyoung. His eyes are dark and misty as ever, churning with emotion that you’re a little too afraid to read. Instead of taking the plates to the sink, he sets them down and reaches for you, cradling your face in his hands. 

A sob works its way up your throat but you force it down. You will not cry over this. You will not make him comfort you. 

“Are you afraid to touch me?” His question is gentle. You nod, eyes fluttering shut as his thumb brushes back and forth across your cheekbone. “Why?” 

“I… want to so badly. I just want it to be your choice.” 

“I want you to.” You open your eyes. His earnestness is right on the surface of him, rippling for you to see. “I’m dying for it. Please.” 

Soonyoung’s please sounds like that morning he’d begged you all that time ago. It freezes you in place, heart beating like a prey animal in fight or flight. He steps closer, his breath on your forehead when he whispers, “Please.” 

Slowly, you bring your hands up to his wrists. Licking your lips, you place your hands on him. His eyes close. His skin is warm to the touch and you feel him tremble as you brush your hands upward, tracing his forearms, his corded biceps. You brush your fingertips over the sleeves of his shirt and toward his neck until you’re cupping his throat, your thumbs resting against his hammering pulse. 

You close your eyes, remaining still. Both of you remain that way, his hands on your face, yours on his neck. You’re shaking under his touch, feel his breath against your forehead. His fingers add a little pressure to your face, careful not to hurt you where your bruise is finally fading on your nose as he turns you to look up at him. 

Soonyoung licks his lips, eyes open. “There is not a second I didn’t love you.”

And there it is. The admission that he never hated you. You bet he tried - you know he tried. You know the inside of Soonyoung’s soul better than you know your own, no part of him hidden to you even with time. 

“I don’t care why you did it,” he continues. “Not anymore. Not after everything. I don’t care about any of it. I just… want you.”

“Soonyoung-”

“I know you’re sorry. I know you hate yourself. I know there is guilt eating away at you. Get over it, because none of it changes how I feel. I love you. You’re mine. I don’t want to leave you again. You cannot make me.” 

“I know. I won’t make you.” 

“Good.” Soonyoung presses his forehead to yours gently. He’s careful not to knock noses with you too hard, aware of the pain it’ll cause. “I cannot do any of this without you.” 

“I know.”

Soonyoung’s mouth is tentative when it presses against yours. Your grip on him tightens, leaning forward into the kiss. It is everything - the only thing. You feel something wet on your face, thinking that you’ve got another nosebleed, but when you pull away, you realize it’s because Soonyoung is crying.

Crying for the first time since his parents died. 

You stand up from the stool, gripping the back of his neck to pull him toward you. He melts under your touch, letting you meld your mouths together. He tastes like his burnt sandwich and like him, his mouth warm and wet against yours. Vanilla and sandalwood invade your senses, overwhelming as you grip him for dear life, never wanting to let him go.

He doesn’t want to let you go either. His grip on your hips is crushing, fingers digging into flesh and bone as though he can force you to become one. The thought makes you dizzy. You slide your fingers in his silk-soft hair, wrapping the strands around them to pull lightly, pull him closer, pull him to you, pull him back. 

Soonyoung whines against your mouth and you break the kiss, panting. “Take me upstairs,” you whisper between peppering kissing against his mouth, his bottom lip, the corner of his lips. “Please take me upstairs.” 

He does. Soonyoung grabs you by the hands, tugging you toward the stairs that lead to your room - the room you used to share. The room that still smells like him, even if faintly. He takes you to your bed, where you’ve spent hundreds of nights with him, and lays you down gently like he has a million times before. 

Soonyoung touches you like you’re holy. His hands skim over you in worship, they scratch you in penance, they hold you in reverence. He slots himself between your knees, stealing a kiss from you like it’ll breathe new life into him, bare him anew, purge him of sin. 

You love him. You love him you love him you love him you love him you love him -

A moan leaves his mouth when your nails drag down his back. He is quaking under your touch, his mouth hungry but careful against yours, wanting to swallow you whole but knowing you’re hurt. You know he won’t break you but you wish he would.

There’s time for that later. Now isn’t the time for rough and biting. Now, Soonyoung peels the shirt from your skin, immediately covering your arms, chest, collarbones, shoulders in kisses. You vibrate under his touch, lashes fluttering as he sucks at the sensitive skin of your neck, tongue pressed flat to your pulse as he tastes you. 

You tug at his shirt and he complies, leaning upward to toss it. He’s back on you in a second, pressing you close, hip to hip as he tangles his tongue with yours, drinking you in. His touch ignites a fire and you’re burning, a complete inferno as you drag your fingers up the hard contour of his stomach to the firmness of his chest and around to his shoulders. 

“I love you,” he mutters against your mouth, rolling his hips into you. You let out a breathy sound and he groans. “Fuck I love you. I missed you. I love you.” 

“Please,” you beg. He understands, burying his face in your neck and biting down lightly. You feel like you’re going to burn up under him, an out of control blaze while his fingers work the buttons on your pants. ���Never let me go.”

“Never.” 

Jeans scrape down your legs, his hands following. He drags his blunt nails down your thighs. Your hips twitch upward, loving the scratch, loving the way he touches you, loving him. He returns his mouth to yours, unable to get enough of your kissing. 

Soonyoung’s hand slips between your thighs, the pads of his fingers pressing against your clit through your underwear. You keen for him, pulling at the long strands of hair at the back of his neck. He moans in tandem, his pleasure driven by yours, loving the way you sound as you start to come apart under the gentle circle of his fingers. 

He only teases you a little, knowing the friction with the fabric between his fingers and your aching cunt isn’t enough. He finally decides that you’ve had enough, hooking a finger to pull them aside, the cool air hitting your sticky folds. 

Before you can complain, Soonyoung’s touch is there. He drags his fingers slow-soft from top to bottom, circling your clit slowly. He’s not in a hurry, dragging it out as he sucks your tongue into his mouth, sliding his fingers back down to press against your entrance but not breach it. 

You whine and he grins, pulling your bottom lip with his teeth until he lets go with a pop. “I love those sounds you make.” 

“Feels good,” you admit, head falling to the side as you close your eyes, enjoying the pressure he puts on your clit, wiggling his fingers back and forth. Your thighs close around his hand but he’s unbothered, drawing more arousal from you as he plays. “Fuck, your fingers.” 

His laugh is throaty and he shakes his head, attaching his mouth to your jaw where he sucks at the skin. He makes himself comfortable with nibbling toward your neck, both of his hands reaching for the sides of your underwear to pull them down. You let him, folding your knees toward your for a moment to help. 

Soonyoung’s hand returns to the wetness between your legs except this time, he’s not teasing. He presses a finger in deep and you whine, hips wiggling. You squeeze down on his finger, pussy spasming as he begins to pump leisurely, like he has all the time in the world.

And he does, doesn’t he? The work is far from done and the world is falling apart, but it doesn’t matter because he’s here with you. Because Soonyoung is yours again - always has been - and because he’s drawing your mouth toward his to kiss you messily, swallowing down your moans as he presses in another finger. 

Now you crumble beneath him. You can’t stop your hips from coming off the bed. You loop your arms around his neck, keeping him close, breathing the same air. He presses his forehead to yours, eyes impossible dark and half-lidded as he hooks his fingers, dragging them against that sensitive spot. 

You cry out his name and he grins. Now he knows where it is, pressing repeatedly as he fucks you on his fingers, driving you directly toward an orgasm. Your breathing becomes labored, your legs squeezing his hips, your fingers digging into his shoulders. It is so good that you think you might die, letting him yank you toward release. 

Soonyoung kisses you again and you come crashing down, cumming around his fingers, body squeezing, ignoring the ache in your ribs and the millions of other places that you’re sore. He doesn’t slow down, scissoring his fingers to pry you open, to stretch you more.

“Soonyoung,” you gasp, voice wrecked. “Soonyoung Soonyoung Soonyoung.” 

“Just like that,” he agrees. You can tell he loves the way you say his name, knows that on your tongue it means something different. “Come on, one more.” 

You’ll give him anything he wants. Never again will you deny him. You let him work you up again, feeling the way your breath gets stuck in your lungs and you shiver, another wave washing through you as you shudder around his fingers. 

When you start to pant, he pulls his fingers out. You feel the wet schlick as he does, immediately hating the way you feel empty, hating the way he leans away from you. Whining, you reach out toward him, needy. He hushes you with a brief kiss, only standing to rid himself of his jeans and briefs. 

Using the fingers covered in your arousal, Soonyoung pumps his cock, smearing a mixture of your slick and his precum down his shaft as he kneels on the bed again, taking his place between your thighs again. You watch with hooded eyes as he rubs the head of his cock through your messy folds, a moan dripping from your lips. 

Soonyoung is beautiful, skin flushed and a sheen of sweat on his arms. His stomach flexes and clenches as he presses the tip of his cock into your entrance, both of you taking a shaky breath together. He slowly slides home, the stretch of him driving you wild, pussy fluttering around him until he’s slotted to the hilt. 

He hangs his head, panting as he plants his hands on either side of your head. He takes a moment to collect himself, shaking. You turn your head to the side, kissing his wrist, peppering any skin you can reach with your love while your hands drift up his back, feeling the muscles flex. 

When he begins to move, you nearly die. It feels so good, your breath lodged in your throat. He lowers his face to yours, kissing you as gently as he fucks you. His thrusts are deep and timed, not hard or fast but slow and measured, pressing all the way in as he uses his weight to his advantage. 

Your fingers turn to talons on his back, nails biting his shoulder blades. He’s precise, the tip of his cock finding the right angle to make you nearly sob in a matter of a few thrusts. It’s familiar. Home. 

Soonyoung lowers himself to his forearms, pressing your chests together. The friction of his skin against your pert nipples makes you squeeze around him, his name a whisper on swollen, kiss-bitten lips. He presses his forehead to yours, breathing shakily as he continues to fuck you.

You feel him everywhere, feel everything that he wants to say. Soonyoung has never needed words to communicate to you and he doesn’t now, the way he shakes as he lets out a wispy moan enough, the way he slides one of his arms under your back to cradle you to his chest, closer closer closer.

He wants to be closer and so do you, arms around his neck, drawing him to you. You never want to let him go, never will let him go. You’ve learned your lesson and this, right here with him is the only thing that matters. 

“Shh,” he hushes. You realize you’re crying, tasting salt on your lips when he brushes his mouth against yours. “I know.” 

“I love you.”

“I know.” 

Soonyoung’s pace picks up only a little bit. It’s enough, sending you careening toward your third orgasm. He can feel it - needs it. He chases after your high, catching your mouth to brush his tongue against yours, rolling his hips until you’re clenching around him, whining into his mouth, lips buzzing against his.

He hums against you, waiting until your pussy lets go of its vice grip to speed up a little bit, the wet smack of his hips against yours loud and lewd, driving him forward until he comes, your name on his lips, his face buried in your neck. His thrusts slow, both of you trembling like leaves until he finally stops, remaining seated inside of you. 

“I will love you for a thousand lifetimes,” he mutters against your mouth, with no intention of moving. “You know that, right Baby?” 

You nod, fingers digging into his shoulder blades. “Leave me at your own peril, Kwon Soonyoung,” you rasp, quoting yourself that first night he finally caved, where he finally told you that he couldn’t exist without you. “I will never go anywhere ever again.” 

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SYNDICATE ROLES

Tower - title for a Syndicate boss Wisdom - title for the second-in-command to a Sydicate boss Sentinel - title for the main military leader of a Syndicate Riots - title for a member of the Syndicate responsible for sowing discord Swords - title for a member of the Syndicate who is a fighter/military role Chariots - members of the Syndicate who make deals/act as business brokers Rooks - members of the Syndicate who collect debts/lead the extortion practices Justices - members of the Syndicate on the legal counsel Hanged Men - members of the Syndicate who betrayed their Syndicate Watchers - members of a Syndicate who are spies/informants Patrons - citizens who pay homage/have an alliance/are under the protection of a Syndicate Vanguard - official members of the Syndicate who don't have specific roles but do work for the Syndicate

[islandtarochips]

Shadow Company OC #2

Talofa everyone! I proudly would like to share another masterpiece that I got from @temeyes! Another Art Commission that I have requested from her! But before I showed this to you. I know most of you already know that OCs aren't Canon Characters. Even When making an OC that is like CHILDREN for the Canon Characters. Which it's FINE! And awesome too! Love those kinds of OCs that are connected with the Canons.

But this one is a bit different for me. Because the OC that I'm going to show you is actually related to the Canon who is like BLOOD SIBLING likes. And I gotta tell you. There are some online 'friends' that I've made a long time ago (I cut them off since they were complaining too much about how I made my OCs). That they were not very thrilled with how I made my OCs who are BLOOD RELATED to the family, like being siblings or cousins. Instead of putting my OCs as being the future CHILDREN. It kinda really put me down that I started to erase those OCs and just never mention them again.

It kinda hurts me sometimes and it's hard for me to make some OCs again. But after a few years, my OTHER good online friend, which is @forestgreenbunny, showed me the COD MW2. I have been so obsessed with it that I started to make OCs from it. And when I saw Graves on screen and watched him how he acted in every single scene. I just started to have an idea of giving him a sibling. The one who he will spoil rotten with! But…it started to taunt me again about my past experience showing someone my ideas. Except Bunny here had always shared me with their OCs so I thought that I could show her mine. And she had made me happy about it because she likes the ideas of having the OCs actually related to the Canon characters. Just need to make sure to let everyone know about it.

So...if you guys are interested. Here is my Shadow Company OC! Everyone! I would like for you to meet Graves's Sister!

Lieutenant Callie "Snipe" Graves!

One of the members of the Shadow Company and also Commander Graves's sister!

Before I continue on with this. How old do you guys think she is huh? Lol.

Anyway, Callie has the same personality as her older brother and she always admired him the most. From her childhood, she always looked up to him and wanted to be like him as well. She also saw him as their father's favorite. She doesn't pay much attention to it as she was focusing on being just like Phillip.

She had also wanted her father's attention but didn't get any for some reason. It upsets her most of the time but she forgets about it when Phillip came in and gave HIS attention to her instead. She loved her older brother and would follow him all the way till the end.

So she went with him to join the Marines Corps and later on joined in the Shadow Company. You could imagine that Phillip and Callie are like the most obnoxious duo in this world. Cocky enough to now care for ANYTHING or ANYONE. And will always get the things that they wanted.

You can say that Phillip's attitude had really become bad intentions for Callie. But she doesn't care. As long as she stays with her brother. Everything will be hell of a life! So thank you guys for reading this far! And want to let everyone know that Tim here is still open for Commission! So if you're interested, take a look through here to see the price of it! And give her your GREAT support! Love ya, peles! 😘❤️

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[liquorflower]

𝐥’𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞 𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐫𝐞 — 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢

summary: the job needs to be done, the important thing right now is finishing him, but, what can you do when he’s the one who’s going to make you finish, but in the other way?

wc: 2.2k

cw: mentions of acts of terr0r1sm, edging, manhandling, creampie, reference to le charme discret de la bourgeoisie and gunplay (not in the sex) if u squint, age gap kento’s in his late 30’s and reader in early 20’s)

a/n: well, i hope you enjoy. likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated thank you

it was you, again. kento wonders if you’re not tired of making this thing over and over, because your actions just demonstrate you’re not capable of killing even a miserable cockroach. all those failed attempts at homemade bombs and now, having the audacity to enter his consulate were the straw that broke the camel’s back. first, strange events that made it impossible to have dinner with their peers and now this.

he had to teach you a lesson didn’t he?

and gazing how your hands tremble, he knew by other hand about how other revolutionaries didn’t hesitate to shoot at their oppressors. but your heart is racing, increasing euphoria you can’t even explain yourself and you don’t seem capable of pulling the trigger.

but he can play that same game.

there’s gun under the pillow of his refined bed, in his opulent room, scenario that holds the future crime scene of his murder if he doesn't play his cards right. strangely enough, he’s not scared at all, could be your ragged clothes (that’s the respective way to call that hippie fashion) or the beauty you possess that makes him have some sort of compassion for you.

“does this have any use, dear?” he wanders through the room, trying to negotiate, persuade. as he does this, he diligently gets near the bed, having a seat. “how many times are we going to get through this, hmm?” his hand slides prudent and deliberately, as his gaze remains pierced in your eyes. they seem determined, but he can tell it’s just a stupid facade.

the revolver points at the direction he’s moving. you don’t say a word and only stare at him. you are pondering on why he can be so calm in this situation, you point a goddamn weapon and you can pull the trigger at any moment, and the only thing that will remain of him will be his brain scattered all over the place. but if you were concentrated, instead of paying attention to the turmoil of your thoughts, if you had payed attention you would’ve anticipated that he was going to pull out another pistol and also point at you.

shit, it was that obvious.

“i told you, sweetie. think about it. you’re still young,” he looks you over from head to toe, plotting a machiavellian plan, “beautiful…

you gulp.“don’t bullshit me.”

“hey, let’s take it easy. i’ll give you a chance. you can give me the gun, i’ll let you go and we’ll pretend none of this happened and we can go on with our lives as always… have you ever thought to go to college? bet you do. just leave this silly idealization of this perfect world. i get it, i once was young, but you can make the difference in other ways.” he persuades. both remaining stiff. the tension is close to the surface.

something convincing in his words resonates within your brain. for example, when was the last time you’ve eaten a decent meal or have slept in a comfy bed? all you can think about are the walls of the family stained in filth and shit. and everyone on top of each other for warmth — it wasn’t a place you could call home.

you don’t know what happened, but the next thing you know, is that you hand is giving him the gun, trembling and looking at the hollow and manly cheeks of kento. he’s wearing a robe. a slight blush heats your cheeks when you realize that.

“good choice.” he slightly bows his head, a cocky smile forms in his lips. “now, be a good girl and wait for me. i’ll…” he examines the weapon,“keep this thing downstairs. we don’t want some… collateral damages, do we?” and just like that, he leaves the room, not even bothering to see if you’d be capable of doing something else.

how did you falter like this? shit, shit, what you’re supposed to do now? now that you were so closer…

completely shocked, you take a seat on the bed. pleasant to lay your ass in, you think. as you grasp the velvety sheets, your palm notices a a cold surface.

he left the other gun neatly placed in the bed. a colt junior, smoothly laying there. not a big one, it is barely 5 inches long but perfect for self defense. is he stupid? why did he leave it there? your heart races, what it seemed to be like a lost opportunity, suddenly turns out again into a new hope.

so, you grab the gun and put it in your purse, thinking it is the perfect chance to shoot him dead.

sadly, destiny decided that it wasn't bound to be that way.

tiptoeing, trying to not make any noise, you manage to reach the door frame, your hand holds the weapon steady. even in this instant, you steered to be trapped again in your own net.

an enormous hand covers your mouth and the gasp gets encapsulated inside your throat.

was adrenaline, euphoria, rush, but you straightaway pulled out the gun out of your bag and pulled the trigger.

but nothing happened.

“bet you thought i left that thing there by mere coincidence, didn’t you?” he chuckled as he took you back to his room. you try to fight, make some loud noises behind that palm.

you are becoming quite annoying, and the next thing you know is that he put the barrel in your face and now that death seems closer than ever, you sob and warm tears run down your face.

the stupid bag.

“shit, how could i…” he mutters, managing to take your bag and continue pointing the revolver at you.

he empties it and only old papers and coins are inside — nothing that might seem like a threat . he just worried for nothing.

for you, now everything is lost. you’re going to end up dead and possible that not even the leader could notice that.

but he just doesn’t stop there.

“you must be hiding something.” he tightens the pressure of the barrel on your face and throws away the bag.

his other hand wanders down your waistline, palpating every part. unconsciously, you squeeze your thighs and a shiver runs down your spine, more when his hand is touching up each part of you until he reaches one of your breasts. he clasps it between his fingers.

you’re not wearing a single thing. despite an overwhelming urge to do something else, he keeps his examination, fingers going down, probing, checking every inch of skin to find any sort of irregularity — some other surface different from human soft skin.

however, he is doing something wrong and doesn’t trust the fabric of your clothes. sometimes other sorts of artefacts can be hidden from god knows where and can go unnoticed, and these matters, those little slips can affect and build tension with other countries, hence, need to be taken seriously.

with that in mind, his hand explored the flesh of your thighs, going under your clothes. you remain paralyzed. you’re not sure whether it’s because you are either in a panic or you know that trying to make something, even shouting, will cost you a bullet in the head. both are valid reasons to avoid causing more problems and gulping, you just let them explore all of your body.

the hem of your panties is the only thing that he can detect and decides to go even further. he examines, the palms of his hand are tender, soft — of course, he has never gotten to experience any kind of struggle or what hard work meant. despite acknowledging this, you shudder at the touch of his grip, almost wanting him to do something else.

and surely he does.

having notice that you are numb, blunted, he puts the weapon in one of the pockets of his robe and now the other hand joins to this inspection. a heat boils between your legs when his arms pull up your dress now exposing all of your body. hardened nipples and goosebumps are the new texture his palms grasp.

“ngh…” you sob

“calm down, sweetheart. I just need to know if you’re not hiding something else.” his digits go down, painfully slow, and with his tips, pulls down your panties. cheeks are flushed and you can’t help but feel the need of him wanting more of you.

“check all you want.” you’re voice whispered vaguely. now your will is completely broken. you can’t believe you’re betraying all you thought was for a greater good just to see how far he can go.

he throws you into bed. panties are stretched between your legs and he grabs you by the hips, just to have a clear view of your pussy. you bite your lip. scanning him, you can pay close attention to his imposing figure, thinking if this was worth it.

he grabs your wrists, making sure you’re not trying something, even though you have a main idea of what that might result. with that in mind, you bury your face in the soft mattress, not sure if he saw you biting your lip.

he rises up your trembling legs and grabs the cheek of your ass to open up and have a clear view of your cunt. you gulp, your pussy clenches and your clit pulsates. you let out a whimper, and just hearing that sound of yours, makes his cock twitch.

it is erotic see how it was only necessary to untie the knot of the robe to see that all this time he was naked, and now, pondering if all the time his cock was erected while he wandered every part of your body, makes the situation even more sultry.

“just see how slutty you are, huh? taking my cock that you’re not able to shoot that damn gun?” damn. when he slides in, you notice how wet you were and open your eyes big, not expecting to be that fast.

and you need to have in mind he just buried half of his shaft inside you. and he just leaves it there, because he takes his time to look at your body all placed in his bed, with your fingers latching onto the sheets.

“it hurts…” you whimper.

“you can can handle it, whore.” a shiver runs down your spine. you could’ve imagined at one point you would end up insulting at each other, but not like this, with your legs sprawled out and having a part of his cock fluttering and trapped tight within your walls.

“please… how can this not hurt anymore?” you beg, your drenched juices make him easier to slide even deeper, but now, hearing you whimper makes him wonder how sensitive you really are, that you are already falling apart with just a part of his length.

“well,” he moves slightly, and your eyes open wide again.

“fu-u-ck…” you pant and gulp.

“tsch, language.” the more words he says, the more he dives, open wide, tearing you. fucking feels good but pleasure has his price and though it brings a delightful pain, you can’t stand it, he needs to move or something… or else, you’ll fall apart.

“mmm, god it hurts, please,” you mewl, and best thing that comes to your mind, is to stroll your hips, to see if it can hit your sweet spot. “i want you to fuck me so badly, please… please…”

he lets out a malicious huff, and, without warning, he clasps errands of your hair and tightens his grip. it goes deeper and you whine. his hips start to collide with your ass. soft movements, the ones that are anticipating that he’s going to fasten his pace.

you breath heavily, your sloppy cunt opens up with every single thrust. “fuck, you’re taking it soo well.” he groans through his teeth,“bet you never thought we’re going to end up like this? you want me so bad, don’t you?” with every dirty assumption, you can’t help but moan.

he violently presses your head against the mattress and his cock delves in places you never thought it felt so good. the sticky sounds he makes each time he stretches your pussy is the only symphony that could be heard in the room.

“it feels good, isn’t it?” he teases between chattered teeth. his hips make obscene clap sounds.

“yes, yes…” your voice reverberates.

he pulls you up with the grip of your hair and with his hand, he grabs your neck and keeps now your neck is his grip to shoving his cock, almost disappearimg inside your clammy and loosen walls. his tip it’s circling around your depths jabbing with no mercy. he bites your cheek and every friction makes you loose your mind. “mhhh, i can’t take it anymore.” your back arches because you have already cum and your body twitches against his body.

“shhh, we’re not done yet.” it is painfully delicious how he feels your insides twitching around him and he fastens his movements.

“it feels so good…” the other orgasm made your sweet spot to become more sensitive and your pretty eyes flutter with every jab. your legs are shaking, you would like to close them right now, but most probably is that he won’t let you do it.

“shit…” he throws you back at the bed again, and still thrusting you faster, his body falls trembles but he manages to keep a normal pace. thick and warm ropes of his cum make your pussy palpitate and shake, cummining for the second time.

all of that experience makes you think seriously to phone your mom and tell her college was a good idea after all.