#crimes and drugs being my go to genre lol

[pulquedeguayaba]

Got reminded of my Letterboxd recap for 2023 and yeah makes sense

[interlunium-opus]

►DANCING WITH THE DEVIL #004: Prelude [Sunghoon.]

Abstract: Eight years have passed since you betrayed Park Sunghoon, leaving his fate shrouded in uncertainty. You thought you'd left that world behind, but the serial killings in the capital city —which bore a haunting resemblance to that in your past—pulled you right back into the shadows you once escaped. What began as a quest to prove your worth soon unraveled into something far more sinister: a labyrinthine network of power, deceit, and danger hidden beneath a veneer of opulence.Now, amidst the grandeur of a castle steeped in blood-soaked tradition, you find yourself, once again, entangled with Sunghoon—a ghost from your past whose motives remain as inscrutable as ever. The stakes are now higher, the games deadlier, and survival feels like chasing a mirage. As you navigate a web of twisted rituals and deadly alliances, the tension between you and Sunghoon ignites once again.But this time, the game is different. With whispers of betrayal and lingering wounds threatening to consume you both, you must decide if trust is a risk worth taking—because in doing so, you are not just exposing the truths they've hidden, but also the feelings you’ve fought so hard to suppress and bury.

Parts ‣ #001 | ‣ #002 | ‣ #003 | ‣ #004: Prelude | ‣#004: Finale

Genre: vampire!sunghoon | horror | thriller | fantasy | romance (or is it? 😋)||| wc: ~31.7k

Featuring: Anton from Riize. [ PSA! ] There's also a Jaeyun here -- this is actually Enhypen Jake lol. Soz, no one fits the role that Jaeyun has in here better than Dark Blood Jake so I plead you guys to just go along and imagine that the Jake in Part 1-3 and Jaeyun in this Part are two different people ((who happen to look alike)) HAHAH

Warnings: blood; violence; injuries (some are self-inflicted); suggestiveness (some are forced); mentions of crimes (missing persons, murder, serial killings); manipulation; toxicity; trauma.

A/N: A re-upload since my initial one got comm-labeled 💀

© 2024 interlunium-opus. All rights reserved. Do not plagiarize, post or translate anywhere.

— i

You have never for once thought you were safe from his clutches—not after he vanished; not after you’ve moved to the Big City and left it all behind; and not even after 8 full years had passed without any hint of him and his kind terrorising your life.

But 8 years was indeed a long time—long enough to make you almost want to believe that it was all just a fever dream especially when your traumatic memories have now been reduced to dubious patchwork of images in your mind. 

Until, that is, the odd happenings cropping up around the city in recent months began to bear an eerie resemblance to those from 8 years ago.

“You sure about this?” Anton’s voice cut through your thoughts as the van pulled to a stop near an abandoned alley. Your colleague’s expression was tight, his concern unmistakable. You didn’t look up, eyes fixed on the heatmap glowing on your laptop screen—a web of red nodes clustering around several locations with grey nodes showing your predicted ones.

You’d spent months perfecting this quantitative model and simulation, and this little incursion into the field was a risk you were willing to take to prove it worked, “this district is the next likeliest place. Just a glimmer of evidence from here can really set the whole ‘drug epidemic’ story down the drain.”

“I didn’t mean the location,” Anton sighed, “I meant about you being the bait. You don’t have to take things this far. What if, like they say the serial killings are just the product of yet another drug epidemic? It checks out—youth, homeless, poor, dubious backgro—"

“Then I’ll come out of this little project unscathed,” you cut him, “and you can say ‘I told you so.”

“And if you’re right?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. If you were right and it wasn’t just a drug epidemic, then it is indeed something far worse. Something beyond the comprehension of mere mortals. Something you’d hoped never to face again for it was the very reason that had once brought you so close to death.

"then I get to say I told you so," you replied, forcing a grin that didn't quite reach your eyes. You, of all people, knew if what you suspected was indeed true and something goes wrong tonight then you might not actually make it out alive.

Steeling yourself, you stepped out of the van, pulling your coat tighter against the night’s chill. With a final glance at Anton and the rest of the unofficial team, you gave a curt nod—a silent signal that the plan was in motion.

Truthfully, you’d never planned to get involved in this case—or any case for that matter. You were just a data analyst, seconded to the Ministry of Justice to modernize their outdated systems. It was supposed to be a safe, back-office job. But fate had other plans.

When the first odd killings started cropping up, you’d recognized the signs immediately. The patterns were unmistakable—just like the ones from eight years ago. Still, you stayed quiet, trusting the experts to handle it. This was the capital city, after all—surely, the investigators here wouldn’t fall victim to the same manipulation and incompetence as your small town had before.

But you were wrong.

Just like how authorities back then easily latched onto a convenient red herring, the Criminal Investigations Department here, dismissed the deaths as nothing more than a string of drug-related incident. And that was when you decided to take matters into your own hands. The sloppy slashing on the victims’ necks to hide bite marks, the feral attacks perfectly timed with rising homelessness and drug abuse—it was all too deliberate. Someone was definitely orchestrating this. Someone who knew how to exploit public sentiment and navigate around the intricacies of public policies to mask their crimes.

The Criminal Investigations Department didn’t believe you of course. You could have all the data in the world and use the most expensive software to churn your model and still all they see is just another desk jockey—naive, out of touch, and blind to the so-called realities of the field.

And so, here you were, about to test your model in this so-called field that they held in such high regard.

You stepped deeper into the alley. All sounds from faraway city had disappeared by then—filling the empty maze with eerie silence. Shadows stretched and folded over you, growing heavier with every step. Then, behind you, the faint echo of footsteps began.

You tightened your grip on the dagger hidden in your sleeve.

Making yourself the bait tonight was a calculated risk, just like every other part of your plan. If the pattern in your simulation was correct—and that the culprit were really bloodsuckers—the scent of fresh blood would draw them straight to you.

So with swift resolute movements you quickly pricked your finger against the blade, just enough for a bead of crimson to well up. The shift was immediate. The air grew heavy, the faint echo of footsteps reached your ears, and the lights above flickered, one by one.

Anxiety clawed at the edges of your resolve, threatening to boil over. But you pushed it down—there was no room for error or stalling. You had to keep moving, to reach the junction as planned. The junction wasn't just any random spot; it had been chosen carefully. Its CCTV placements made it ideal for monitoring, and your team was supposed to be stationed at key points, ready to act if anything went wrong. Timing was everything because if you didn’t make it before someone—or something—caught you, the entire operation could fall apart.

Except when you reached the junction and rounded the corner, you didn't see any signals from your team. You looked at the other end, also none. Fuck, you thought, the dread coiling tight in your chest. If your backup wasn’t here, then you might really be alone—in the middle of a potential serial killer’s or bloodsucker hunting ground.

But there was no time or room for fear. So with sharp fluid movements, you pulled the gun from your holster, cocking it in one swift motion as you turned sharply, ready to fire at whatever might be following you. Except, there was nothing. Only an alley stretching out, empty and undisturbed.

A shaky exhale escaped your lips. Maybe it had been your own footsteps echoing after all. You cast a quick glance over your shoulder, scanning every shadow one last time before reaching for your phone. Your fingers hovered over the screen, ready to fire off a message to the team demanding their whereabouts.

Then suddenly, there was a blur of movements but just as you looked up, a gloved hand clamped your mouth, yanking you backward, causing you to drop your gun. You kicked, twisting violently in his grasp, but it was like trying to break free from iron. Another hand gripped your waist, lifting you off the ground before slamming you into a cold brick wall.

The next thing you knew the attacker pressed his forearm hard against your throat, cutting off your air and blurring your visions. Panic clawed at your chest as you thrashed harder, but even through the haze, you saw his eyes—glowing faintly in the darkness, flickering like embers of a dying fire.

For a split second, something passed through them. Recognition? Realization?

Whatever it was, you didn't spend any longer to ponder about it. Instead, you seized the moment of his momentary lapse, jabbing the dagger you concealed up until now, into his hand. He hissed, the sound unnatural and guttural, releasing you just enough for you to stumble free.

But then you saw it as you looked up: the way the wound on his hand was already healing, the flesh stitching itself together before your very eyes.

Not human.

You were correct, after all.

Then a sudden bloodcurdling scream tore through the alley, sharp and bone-chilling. Your head whipped toward the sound, the shock of it stealing your focus for a single, crucial moment. When you turned back, the assailant was already sprinting into the shadows, his pace unnaturally swift.

Cursing under your breath, you bolted after him, refusing to lose sight. But no matter how hard you pushed, he was faster—inhumanly fast in fact. He darted around a corner, but when you reached it, it was a dead-end and he was gone, leaving nothing but silence in his wake.

"What?" you muttered, bewildered, your breathing ragged as your eyes darted around, scanning the area for any hidden doors or passages. There were none.

Your phone suddenly buzzed; it was Anton. When you answered, his voice spilled out, panicked and strained—a contrast to his usual soft-spoken calm, “y/n! Please tell me you’re okay. Please tell me you’re—”

“Anton, I’m fine,” you cut him off, your voice tight.

“Fuck.” Anton cursed—a rare slip. “One of the agents found a body. Said it was bloodless. I thought- I-”

“Where?” you demanded sharply. "Okay, I'll see you there."

You spun on your heels, already halfway to bolting, when an odd crunch under your shoe froze you in place. The sound echoed unnaturally in the suffocating silence of the alley, sharp and out of place. It was something metallic that glinted faintly in the dim light.

Slowly, cautiously, you bent down and picked it up.

It was a brooch, heavy and ornate, its craftsmanship disturbingly perfect.

Your fingers traced the coat of arms etched into the metal: a spiked crown loomed at the top, flanked by a raven and a wolf poised like sentinels. Between them rested a shield, and at its very center, encased in intricate filigree, was a ruby—a dark, smoldering gem that glowed faintly as though alive. It pulsed, dim and irregular, like the heartbeat of something ancient and unspeakable. Beneath the crest, the words were etched in a precise, unnerving script:

"In shadows, we endure. In blood, we rise."

Your breath caught, your chest tightening with a visceral, unnameable dread. The ruby seemed to grow warmer against your skin, the faint light flickering as if responding to the fear blooming inside you.

That was when it hit you.

You’d seen this crest before. The realization struck like a blow, dredging up something long buried—a truth you had fought to forget.

No. It couldn’t be. Your mind grasped for another explanation, anything but the one clawing its way to the surface. But the brooch felt heavier in your palm, its ruby pulsing faintly, as if mocking your denial.

A rush of memories broke through the floodgates, sharp and disjointed flashes that cut through your resolve: bloodied lips, the metallic taste of iron, a pained gaze—and the weight of betrayal pressing into your chest.

“Sunghoon,” you whispered, the name falling from your lips like a curse.

— ii

“Told you it would work,” you nudged Anton as you headed towards the meeting room where you were supposed to meet the Detective Chief Inspector.

“It made a ‘work’ out of you too,” Anton replied begrudgingly, clicking his tongue as his eyes trace the bruise on your neck and the cuts on your hand.

“I’d say it’s worth it,” you shrugged, looking awfully calm and happy for someone who had a brush with death just last night.

True, you got berated by your boss for acting recklessly on your own and putting your life in line but it was all worth it, you thought. Afterall not only did you manage to put a question mark on the current narrative but in doing so, you have also forced the Criminal Investigations Department to take you and your work seriously. After months of being treated lightly and as a joke, you couldn’t help but feel triumphant to see the Detective Chief Superintendent personally walking to your office this morning — requesting assistance on how his department can utilise the model you had built.

“Well let’s hope the Detective they send for me this time isn’t another boomer or misogynist as the rest of the lot has been,” Anton handed you the photocopies he had made, wishing you luck as he held the door of the meeting room open for you. You quickly set up the meeting room, turning on your laptop while setting the copies and relevant files neatly in the middle of the table.

You hadn’t slept all night but this was the most energised you have felt in months. In fact, so absorbed you were, you didn’t notice the figure at first. Your focus was on the documents, your pen tapping lightly against the table as you scanned line after line of text.

It wasn’t until the faintest flicker of movement passed beyond the glass walls of the meeting room that you looked up. At first, it was just a shadow—a fleeting outline that barely registered. Then, step by step, it came into focus.

Broad shoulders and a rigid stance that carried an effortless authority. Thick raven-black hair that caught the light like polished obsidian. Pale skin that seemed almost luminous under the sterile lights.

Your pen stilled in your hands, fingers unconsciously tightening around it as the door clicked open.

The scent hit you first—woodsy and citrusy. That cologne. The one you knew too well. It swept over you with a cruel familiarity, twisting your stomach as memories clawed at the edges of your mind, sharp and unwelcome.

You didn’t need to see his face to know.

And yet, when he stepped inside, bowing slightly—polite in a way that felt almost mocking—it still made your breath catch. By the time he straightened, your heart had already plummeted.

“Park Sunghoon,” you croaked, almost reflexively, your voice barely above a whisper. The name tasted bitter on your tongue, dredged up from a place you had tried to bury.

His gaze sharpened, dark eyes sweeping over you with clinical precision before his lips curved into a slow, deliberate smirk. His hand moved smoothly, locking the door behind him with a soft click that echoed far too loudly in the confined space.

“I don’t think we need introductions, then?” he drawled, his voice low and silken, every word laced with amusement.

Your hand moved instinctively to your back pocket, fingers fumbling for the dagger you always carried.

“Looking for this?" he asked nonchalantly as he pulled something out from his coat. It was a dagger – your dagger from last night. Before you could react, he flicked his wrist, sending it spinning through the air. It landed with a sharp thud, piercing through the stack of files in front of you. The deliberate impact echoed through the room, loud and accusatory.

“Don’t bother,” he said, his tone dismissive but firm. “You know you can’t kill me.”

You swallowed thickly, but forced your lips to curl into a dry, humorless smile. “Killing me here, in a glass-walled meeting room?” you asked, leaning casually back against the table as if you weren’t seconds from bolting. “That’d be messy, don’t you think? Hundreds of employees just outside. You’d need a whole army of PR vampires—or whatever you guys have—to cover it up.”

His smirk was slow, deliberate, like he enjoyed your attempt at bravado. “Even if my fury for you ran that deep,” he said, his voice a low purr, “I wouldn’t be that stupid.”

“Then why are you here?” you asked, your voice sharpening as you straightened, your fingers subtly curling into fists at your sides.

“Because someone has been causing havoc,” he said, his voice dropping to something colder. “And it turns out that someone is you. No surprise there—you’ve always been a thorn.”

You scoffed, “for a thorn you sure are taking your time eliminating me. Lingering feelings?”

His lips curved into another smirk, this one sharper, more dangerous. “You tell me,” he said, gesturing lazily toward your pocket. “You could’ve handed my crest over to the investigators. Why didn’t you?”

Your breath caught, realization dawning. He was right. The crest you’d kept instead of handing over to the Criminal Investigations Department—why hadn’t you? You’d lied to them, and for what?

“That’s not—”

“I’m not interested to hear your excuses actually,” Sunghoon interrupted smoothly, “let me just say if I want to kill you, I would have—be it yesterday or before. I’m letting you live because I need something from you. Your expertise.”

He fished out a file from his briefcase and slid it across the table towards you, “I’ve heard of the model you built. I think it’s brilliant.” His tone was casual, almost complimentary, but his eyes gleamed with something colder. “I have some additional data. It will definitely enhance your model. There is however a catch—whatever you find goes back to me. Not to your boss, not to the department. Just me.”

Your eyes flitted suspiciously from the file to him, “why would I do that? For all I know you’re just trying to mess the investigations up.”

“I mean you guys are already fumbling the investigations as it is," he scoffed. "Look. You, of all people, know that the authorities are powerless against my kind. If they meddle further, they’ll just get caught in the crossfire and make a bigger mess. Deadlier mess.”

“How do I know that you’re not behind it all?” you shot back, the accusation sharp. “It all clicks. You being here. You meddling in the investigations.”

His patience visibly thinned, his expression hardening. “If you hadn’t been messing around last night, that poor woman wouldn’t have been preyed upon,” he said, his tone like a blade. “Do you see it now? the implications of your tampering—of any human tampering?”

Your breath hitched as the weight of his words sank in: it was your fault. Your little game at baiting the undead last nigth had apparently led to the death of an innocent, “I wasn’t—”

“Save your guilt,” he snapped, his voice slicing through your stammered excuse. “I don’t have time for it. What I need is for your department to stop trampling through this mess so I can finish the job.”

You glared at him, still reeling. “Why do you need my model then? Don’t vampires have… superpowers or something? Shouldn’t you be able to track them down faster?”

His expression darkened, and for the first time, you saw something close to frustration in his eyes. “If it were that simple, you wouldn't even need to construct a quantitative model out of it.” he muttered. “Look, our worlds are not that different. We are scattered and fragmented but the more powerful you are, the more you blend in. The ones you have here is not like the usual. This is a network, vast and insidious, weaving itself into your world so deeply that even I can’t see where it begins or ends. They’re embedded in your systems. In your policies. This is why I can’t just go to someone or outsource it to a company to ask them to aid me in this—you never know who’s with who anymore, mortal or not.”

“And yet you trust me?”

“Trust? that’s rich coming from you,” he scoffed, his eyes narrowing with thinly veiled derision, as though he’d accidentally stepped on something unpleasant. “No I don’t trust you and I don’t need to. I need you to be useful, to be good. That’s your only insurance right now.”

“Actually you know what? you don’t have a choice,” he said, his voice unnervingly calm, as though he had already decided the conversation was over. “You can either help me clean up the mess you’ve started, or watch it spiral into something far beyond your control.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. The door clicked softly behind him as he left, leaving the faint echo of his words and the sharp scent of him—woodsy and citrusy, painfully familiar—lingering in the room.

It struck you then—how much he had changed. He was the same physically, but something about him felt far more oppressive now, his presence pressing down like a shadow too large to escape. His broad shoulders carried a weight that seemed heavier than before, not burdened, but deliberate—like the world bent itself to him, not the other way around. There was also a quiet gravity to his presence now, like a storm that hadn’t yet decided when to break.

In fact, even the smallest movements felt so charged and calculated. The tilt of his head, slight but purposeful, carried an air of disdain that cut deeper than any raised voice. His gaze was no less piercing than you remembered, but where it once burned with an intensity that sought to subdue, now it chilled—deliberate and calculating.

Now that you think about, he might not even be a storm looking for release—he was a tempest waiting to destroy.

You staggered backward, the sharp edges of the table behind you digging painfully into your spine, grounding you as the realization settled like a stone in your chest. Time hadn’t softened him; it had stripped him bare, refined him into something terrifying. He wasn’t just dangerous—he was inevitable.

— iii

You couldn’t decide who was more foolish at this point—yourself, for agreeing to work with Sunghoon despite the nightmare he’d put you through eight years ago, or Sunghoon, for still not carrying out whatever vengeance he had surely plotted for you during all that time. While you should be grateful for the latter, you can never put the thought aside–not with Sunghoon at least.

“If you’re done, email it to me immediately,” Sunghoon muttered without looking up, his eyes glued to the screen of his iPad.

As unbelievable as it sound, this had become your normal 5-9 now, churning additional data from Sunghoon and refine your code—all the while he lounge at your office, waiting for you to finish like a headmaster. Or a vulture.

You tore your gaze from him, frowning at the heatmap on your laptop. You’d expected his “additional data” to sharpen your model, maybe even tie up some loose ends. Instead, the trends you’d been working on became a tangled mess—sporadic points, clusters dissolving into chaos. “It’s messier now, thanks to your data,” you grumbled, sneaking a suspicious glance his way. “You’re not just feeding me duds to throw me off, are you?”

Without a word, Sunghoon rose from the couch and strolled over. It took everything in you not to flinch as your fight-or-flight instincts are still hardwired to react whenever he was near.

Oblivious to your unease, he leaned down to take the mouse from your hand, his cold presence making you shift uncomfortably in your chair. The cursor hovered over a dense cluster of points as he swiped through something on his iPad. “Actually, it’s perfect. Send this over.”

“This is perfect?” you scoffed in disbelief before you found your eyes involuntarily shifting to his iPad screen nearby where rows of profiles stared back at you—some with ominous red slashes across their faces.

“They’re people I’ve exterminated,” he said flatly as if reading your mind before you could form the question.

“I wasn—" your mouth went dry. “Exterminated?”

“Don’t worry,” he said nonchalantly as he snatched the iPad back. “They’re not human.”

You hit send just as he moved toward the door, speaking into his phone. “I think there are some new leads. Yes, I’ll take the car.”

“Hey—” you called out, hoping to pry more, but he was already out of your office. You lingered for a moment, the uneasy silence filling the space he left behind. Though you hated dwelling on him, you couldn’t help but feel that there was something different about Sunghoon—something colder, more detached, even by his standards. He felt hollow—as if this was just a shell of the man who had haunted you eight years ago.

But then again, did it really matter, you shrugged the thought off, at least he hadn’t killed you yet.

You grabbed your coat and followed him, catching up just as he reached a sleek black Benz idling at the curb. “If this is related to the case, I should go too,” you said firmly. “We’re working together, after all.”

He stopped mid-step, turning to face you. For a moment, the barest flicker of amusement crossed his face, gone so quickly you almost doubted it had been there.

“Working together?” he repeated, his tone laced with derision. “Look, this isn’t a partnership,” he said, his voice cool and detached. “You’re not my equal. You’re a tool—a useful one, for now—but a tool all the same. Don’t get confused.”

You bristled, heat rising to your cheeks. “You—”

But before you could finish, he slipped into the car and shut the door in your face.

“—prick,” you muttered under your breath.

That should have been your cue to drop it. To turn back and call it a day. But that would be very unlike of you.

Undeterred, or challenged rather, you quickly flagged a cab nearby, sliding into the backseat. “Follow that car,” you instructed, your voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through you. “But keep some distance. He has eyes at the back of his head...” your voice trailed, grimacing at the memory of Sunghoon and his arrogance. Probably the only thing unchanged, you thought as you sink back into the seat.

The drive began uneventfully, Sunghoon’s car weaving through familiar streets of the central business district—all skyscrapers and corporate logos. You watched intently, expecting him to stop near one of the clusters your heatmap had predicted. But then he took an unexpected turn—away from downtown and into unfamiliar territory.

“Where’s he going?” you mumbled, staring out the window. Instead of decaying alleyways or abandoned districts—the usual spots you were tracking—the car rolled through rows of pristine streets where luxury cars were neatly parked outside glittering buildings. This wasn’t the kind of place you would associate with the victims of the recent serial killings—or with him, in fact. With the 1%, celebrities and socialites perhaps, but not him.

“Your guy just got out,” the driver called, jolting you from your thoughts.

Sure enough, Sunghoon had exited the car. But it wasn’t the Sunghoon you’d followed all evening. He was wearing a tailored tuxedo now, his raven hair swept back in a way that made him look effortlessly polished, like he belonged on the cover of a magazine. While others flashed passes to the doorman to gain entry into the towering, shard-like skyscraper, Sunghoon merely nodded—and the door opened for him, as if the place were his.

You stared, dumbfounded. A party? A date? You thought for a split second, even considering turning the car back around. Perhaps, he really wasn’t pursuing any leads tonight and you’re just being a nosy stalker.

“Miss, I’m not your personal chauffeur so if you can get off now—”

“You know what, I’ll pay you extra,” you said, handing the driver a wad of cash. “Wait for me here—I just need to confirm some things.”

“I’m not—” he started, but his protest died the moment you waved another wad of cash. He sighed, exasperated. “Fine. Ten minutes.”

“Deal,” you muttered, slipping out of the car and immediately regretting it. Clad in your office attire, you stuck out like a sore thumb as elegantly dressed guests brushed past you, the scent of expensive perfume lingering in the air.

The towering skyscraper ahead loomed like a beacon of opulence and exclusivity, its glass facade reflecting the city lights in dazzling patterns. The entrance buzzed with high society chatter—sweeping gowns, tailored suits, and muted conversations that felt worlds apart from your reality. Whoever was hosting this wasn’t just powerful—they were untouchable.

You tried to blend in, keeping your head low as you slipped into the flow of guests. But before you reached the doors, a burly security guard stepped into your path.

“Pass?”

“I—uh,” you stammered, scrambling for an excuse. “I’m with Park Sunghoon,” you lied, willing your voice to sound composed. “I’m his personal assistant,” you added, forcing yourself not to gag, “and he left his phone so I’m here to deliver it back to him.”

The guard’s suspicion was immediate. He squinted at you, then glanced at his colleague. “Wait here,” he said curtly, retreating to his desk and picking up the phone. As he made the call, his shifting expressions told you everything you needed to know—your story wasn’t holding up.

Before you could quietly slip away however, you felt the sudden grip of two guards seizing your arms from behind.

“Lord Park says he doesn’t know you,” the first guard returned, his smug expression practically oozing satisfaction. “Nor does he have a personal assistant. He has also requested that we report you to the nearest station for attempted trespassing. If you’ll follow—”

His voice faded into the background as panic set in. Your mind raced, adrenaline surging as you desperately tried to think of a way out. Perhaps show my work ID, you thought, but that won’t be ethical. Perhaps give them a kick, you pondered, come on, what’s a kick going to do against 2 buff guards.

“y/n?”

The voice cut through the noise like a lifeline, warm and familiar, yet so painfully out of place in a setting like this.

You turned sharply, and your breath caught.

There, standing in front of you, was someone you barely recognized.

“Sunoo?” you blurted, blinking as if your brain needed time to process what you were seeing.

Gone were the oversized hoodies and worn-out sneakers. The Sunoo before you now was practically dripping in luxury—a designer suit tailored to perfection, sleek leather loafers, and a watch you were pretty sure cost more than your apartment. His hair was immaculately styled, his face radiating the kind of confidence and wealth that turned heads.

“It is you!” he exclaimed, a broad grin splitting his face, softening his features to the Sunoo you remembered from eight years ago. Your best friend, Kim Sunoo.

You wanted to revel in the reunion, to cling to the warmth of familiarity, but the weight of the moment sank into you like a stone. Slowly, it dawned on you how ominous it all was—how Sunghoon and Sunoo could now be tied so closely. You remembered the tension between them eight years ago all too well, the lengths you went to keep them apart. The bargain you had struck with Sunghoon just so he’d leave him alone.

And yet, here they were, looking as though they were cut from the same cloth.

“Let her go. She’s with me,” Sunoo snapped at the guards, his grin vanishing in an instant, replaced by an expression of sharp disdain. The shift was jarring, his tone unrecognizable—cutting, cold, and entirely unlike him.

— iv

“Wine?”

Sunoo gestured at the uniformed staff pushing a gleaming silver cart toward you. The plates were stacked high with decadent hors d'oeuvres, and some accompanying bottles of wines that looked like it cost three times more than your monthly rent.

You shook your head, watching as Sunoo casually reached for his third glass. “You used to hated drinking,” you muttered.

“Well, the world I live in now is different—" he smirked, “—so are my tastes."

Before you could respond, Sunoo grabbed you by the side of your arms, swivelling you toward the floor-to-ceiling window which overlooked the grand hall below. "Take a good look, y/n. This is the upper echeleons of society."

Your gaze fell on the scene below: a vast, glittering ballroom with a massive crystal chandelier casting golden light over an impeccably dressed crowd. Designer gowns swept the marble floor, and tuxedos gleamed under the light. Waiters glided like shadows, balancing trays of champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres.

“What is this place?” you asked, dragging your eyes back to him.

“It’s the Charity Gala of the year,” Sunoo said, his voice filled with a casual air you didn’t quite believe. “Officially, it’s a fundraiser for disaster relief in Southeast Asia. Unofficially—” he took a deliberate sip from his glass, his fourth, though he still seemed unbelievably sober, “—it’s a playground for the 1%. A chance to flaunt their wealth, rub shoulders with the powerful, and make backroom deals over overpriced wine.” He raised his glass in mock celebration. “Welcome to their world, y/n. The air up here is great.”

Your stomach twisted as you tried to reconcile this version of Sunoo with the one you’d once known. But before you could dwell on it, your wandering gaze caught something that made your blood run cold.

Park Sunghoon.

He was in the center of the ballroom, effortlessly commanding attention without seeking it. His raven-black hair was swept back, his tailored suit flawless, and a glass of wine rested lightly in his hand. But it wasn’t his appearance that made you freeze—it was the way he seemed to own the room, as though every person there unconsciously revolved around him. He moved through the crowd with an ease that was almost unsettling, exchanging words with men in expensive suits and women draped in jewels.

This wasn’t the Sunghoon you remembered. Back then, he was distant, deliberately anti-social, and disdainful of any social niceties when in a crowd. Now, he was polished, poised, and completely in his element—like a diplomat or a politician.

And yet, what truly froze you wasn’t his transformation. It was his gaze—for when he looked up, his eyes found yours in chilling precision. As if he knew you were there; as if he knew you had been staring.

Shit, you drew back instinctively, trying to stay away from his line of sight.

“y/n?” Sunoo’s voice jolted you out of your spiralling thoughts. “You said you were here because of someone is it?”

You forced a laugh, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, someone I know left some stuff with me, so I was going to return it. But, apparently, I needed a pass.”

“Who is it? I’ll help you find them,” Sunoo offered, clearly oblivious to the tension rolling off you.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you said quickly, waving him off. “I just got a text—they said they don’t need it anymore. I’ll just head out—”

“Go back? Are you kidding me?” Sunoo interrupted, his hand gripping yours as he started to drag you across the room. “Come on, y/n. There’s no way I’m letting you miss this opportunity. You’re practically at the nexus of power and privilege. Everyone who is anyone is in here. I’ll introduce you to some top brass. Permanent secretaries, directors—you name it. I’m pretty sure they’d love to meet someone as sharp as you. You deserve to climb the ladder faster.”

“Sunoo, I—just give me a minute,” you stammered, trying to stall.

But Sunoo was already weaving you through the glittering crowd, his excitement palpable as he introduced you to people whose names blurred together in your head. Your nerves prickled with every passing moment, the hum of conversations swelling louder, pressing in on you. Then, one of them—an ex-politician—broke through your haze.

“Oh! You said you’re from the Ministry of Justice? Then you must know—” His words trailed off as his gaze shifted, scanning the room.

When he turned back, the crowd parted just enough to reveal Sunghoon, standing tall and composed, clinking his glass with a man who radiated power and authority.

Your heart plummeted and instinctively you shrank back, hoping the dim lighting would shield you. But then Sunoo's grip tightened around your hand, a sudden and unwelcome anchor.

“Sunoo, just let go—” you wrenched your hand away, perhaps a little too roughly, for he looked at you all confused as if you had struck him. "Sorry," you stammered, your voice low and frantic, “—bathroom.” Before he could even say anything, you had already turned on your heel, letting yourself get swallowed by the crowd. Except instead of reprieve, the air grew heavier with every step, the clinking of glasses and muted laughter morphing into a sinister undercurrent. The wine in their hands seemed darker, richer, almost like blood under the golden lights.

Finally, you found a door and without even sparing another second, you slipped out, closing the door behind you. You pressed your back against the cool surface of the door, exhaling shakily as you fought to steady yourself. The chill of the corridor was a stark contrast to the stifling opulence you’d just escaped, yet the unease clung to you like a second skin. Even here, away from the crowd, you couldn’t shake the feeling that unseen eyes were still watching, waiting.

“Thought I smelled something that didn’t belong—"

You froze, turning to find yourself surrounded by a group of men—three to be exact. At first glance, they looked as though they had stepped off the cover of a glossy magazine, all chiseled features and effortless grace. But there was something off about them. Their beauty was uncanny, a little too perfect, too symmetrical—like sculptures that had come to life but had missed the soul that should have animated them.

Yet, it wasn’t their appearance that sent shivers racing down your spine—it was the way they moved. They encircled you with slow, deliberate steps, each movement fluid, almost predatory, like Hyenas.

Your pulse quickened as the weight of their gazes bore down on you.

“Yeah, this one probably weaseled her way in,” the other one murmured, giving you a once-over that made your skin crawl, “journalist? fangirl?”

“Maybe it’s one of those waitresses again,” the other one scoffed, “remember how someone stole a dress and paraded around as a socialite during last year’s gala?”

“Ah- right,” the first one drew closer, “well, guess what? We are feeling very generous tonight and would like to give you a personal private tour. How's that?”

You evaded his hand just as he was about to wrap it over your shoulder, only to bump into the other who had closed in from the other side, his hand seizing yours like talons, “she’s warm.”

You yanked your arm free, retreating instinctively, only to collide with the cold, unyielding wall behind you.

“Actually, the wines weren’t cutting it,” the third one said, turning to his companions, who exchanged knowing grins, as though sharing a thought without needing words, “—but you,” he continued, his gaze snapping back to you with an intensity that made your skin crawl, “might just do.”

“You guys are messing with the wrong person,” you spat, feigning confidence despite the tremor in your voice. “I’m with Park—Lord Park, and he won’t take too kindly to a bunch of lower beings harassing his guest.”

“Oh, Lord Park,” the first one sneered, leaning in closer, his breath cold against your ear. “Pretty sure he wouldn’t notice if one of his toys went missing.”

Laughter rippled between them, dark and taunting, and your stomach churned.

“You guys better piss off before—before I—” you broke off, your fumbling hands grazed something cool and solid behind you—a decorative vase perched precariously on a ledge. Without hesitation, you grabbed it and hurled it to the floor. The porcelain shattered with a deafening crash, the sound ricocheting through the corridor like a gunshot.

The distraction worked and the men recoiled for a split second—just enough for you to twist free and bolt.

You didn’t think. You didn’t look back. You just ran, your heels clicking frantically against the marble floor, heart pounding in rhythm with your steps. Their shouts grew fainter as you darted through the twisting hallways, rounding the corner when—slam.

You barrelled straight into something—or rather, someone.

The impact sent you stumbling back, but a strong hand shot out, steadying you with an iron grip. Dread pooled in your stomach as your gaze lifted, meeting a pair of dark piercing eyes.

It wasn’t one of them.

It was Sunghoon.

And frankly, you didn't know which one was worse.

He glanced past you to the commotion down the hall, then back to your flushed, panicked face. His eyes meeting yours in such inscrutable and cold way that it was entirely possible to you that he had sent those three men down your way.

“Lord Park,” one of the men murmured, their voices dropping into something that sounded both reverent and fearful. The shift in their demeanor was immediate. The playfulness vanished, replaced by something closer to submission. They exchanged glances, their earlier bravado crumbling under the weight of his command.

“Didn’t she say she is with me?” Sunghoon’s voice was quiet but lethal, each word laced with venom. His tone was flat, almost disinterested, but the menace beneath it was unmistakable, “and you guys still had the audacity to mess with what’s mine?”

The words hit you like a cold wind, cutting through your defenses. You didn’t flinch outwardly, but inside, you recoiled—the weight of his casual claim felt heavier than it had any right to be. While the possessiveness in his tone unsettled you, what struck harder was the irony: how the very lie you’d spun to escape trouble was now your lifeline. Worse still, it was being wielded by the one who was being taken advantage of.

“Of course not,” one of them stammered, his words spilling out in a frantic rush.

“We’d never dare,” another muttered, bowing his head slightly as if the act alone might spare him from further scrutiny.

The three men backed away, their movements stiff and deliberate, muttering apologies that barely reached the air before they vanished into the shadows.

The hallway emptied as quickly as it had filled, leaving only you and Sunghoon behind. But as the men disappeared into the shadows, the oppressive weight of their presence was replaced by something just as stifling—Sunghoon’s gaze, dark and commanding, boring into you like a spotlight, leaving no room for escape.

You instinctively tried to yank your arm free from his grasp, but his grip was vice-like—firm and unrelenting. “Let go,” you demanded, your voice steady.

“You’re the one who said you’re with me, aren’t you?” he countered, his brow lifting in mocking amusement. “Let’s go then.”

“Sunghoon—” you began to protest, but his hold tightened as he dragged you down the corridor. His pace was deliberate, each step unhurried, but there was no mistaking the force in his pull. Before you could fully processed it, the elevator doors slid shut behind you, sealing the two of you in a tense, suffocating silence.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he said flatly, his tone devoid of emotion, the words hitting like a slap. “You don’t belong here.”

Your chest tightened, the sting of his words sharp and deliberate. “Thank you for stating the obvious,” you shot back sharply. “You, on the other hand, look like you belong. Almost didn’t recognize you with all the mushy act. Maturing at last? Bit late for your age, don’t you think?”

His brow arched, the faintest flicker of amusement crossing his face. “Careful,” he said, his voice deceptively calm, “with that much interest, I might start thinking you missed me.”

The elevator dinged, and you expected him to release you. Instead, his grip only tightened as he pulled you across the lobby.

“Sunghoon—where are we—” you protested, your voice rising, drawing the attention of a few onlookers. “Sunghoon, let me go—let me—”

“You brought this on yourself, y/n,” he interrupted, his voice cutting clean through your panic. The dread hit you fully as you saw his Benz from earlier pull up to the curb. “You need to be taught a hard lesson—” he said, his tone dark, ominous, his grip tightening with every resistance from you, “—then maybe next time, you’ll think twice before running your mouth so carelessly.”

With unsettling ease, he opened the car door, shoving you unceremoniously into the backseat. You barely had time to twist toward the exit before he stepped into the doorway, his frame filling the space, blocking any chance of escape. Before you could shove him away, his hand moved as if he’d anticipated it—catching yours mid-motion with startling precision. The swiftness of it stole your breath, his grip unrelenting as it pinned your arm in place. The harder you tried to pull free, the more his hold seemed to tighten—like a quicksand—rendering you completely immobile with an ease that sent a cold shiver racing down your spine.

“Take her home,” Sunghoon ordered towards his driver curtly, his voice sharp and devoid of patience, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I can go home on my own,” you snapped.

“I’m sure you can,” he replied, his tone calm but razor-sharp. “But you won’t. Not after the havoc you wreaked earlier, with people you shouldn’t have.”

“But they—”

“—won’t let you go that easily. That's for certain.” he finished for you, his voice dropping low, slicing through your protest. His grip on your arm tightened one last time before he threw it back, the motion sending you off balance, your palms hitting the seat behind you to steady yourself.

Leaning into the open doorway, his eyes pinned you in place, his voice quiet but venomous. “He’ll take you home,” he muttered darkly, “or you’ll just never see home ever again.”

And with that, he slammed the door shut before walking back to the tower, the sound reverberating like the final nail in a coffin. No chance to argue. No chance to escape.

— v

Things settled back into a strained rhythm after that evening at the Charity Gala, though Sunghoon had stopped lingering. He would appear occasionally, dropping off new data without a word, then vanish as swiftly as he came. You told yourself it was better this way. His presence was, afterall, suffocating—a storm cloud hovering just out of reach. But no matter how hard you tried to bury the thoughts, the elephant in the room loomed larger with every passing moment of silence: Why had he let you live this long?

You knew Sunghoon hadn’t forgiven your betrayal. And yet, here you were—alive, breathing, and watching the shadows too closely because of him. Perhaps this was his punishment for you—making the guilt gnaw you from inside and driving you to the brink of insanity.

Then, one day, an invitation came out of nowhere.

The oxblood-coloured envelope was thick and weighty, its golden wax seal embossed with an unfamiliar crest that glinted under the light like a silent threat. You stared at it for a long moment before picking it up, turning it over in your hands.

“Wait—” Anton’s voice broke through your thoughts as he leaned over your desk, wide-eyed. “Is that—?”

“What?” you asked warily, still staring at the envelope as if it might bite.

“Noctis Imperium,” Anton breathed, his tone reverent.

You frowned. “Noctis what now?”

Anton looked at you like you’d just admitted you didn’t know how to breathe. “Noctis Imperium. It’s an exclusive retreat for the 1% — total luxury and opulence somewhere in the Montes Obscuri—you know the mountain range you can’t even find on google map? Point is, It’s completely exclusive. Totally off the grid. No cameras, no leaks, no nothing. Just power brokers, decision-makers, and untouchables all in one place.”

“Sounds pretentious,” you scoffed, breaking the seal.

He leaned closer, lowering his voice as if the walls might be listening. “People call it a modern-day Bohemian Grove but... darker. Rumor has it that the deals made there don’t just change industries—they change entire nations.”

You shook your head dismissively as you pulled out the invitation. The embossed gold lettering shimmered faintly in the light:

To Our Chosen Few, The Noctis Imperium convenes soon, A place where maps end and silence consumes. Beneath the shadow of the Blood Moon, shapers and wielders come forge their runes. This is not a request, nor a courtesy—it is an acknowledgment of your place among those who command the currents of power. Your passage has been arranged. You will be expected.

“I’m a data analyst, not a billionaire,” you muttered, “perhaps they mailed it to the wrong room- ah—" your fingers brushed a small note tucked inside which read ‘From: Sunoo.’ “Well, perks of having connections, right?”

“Who cares?” Anton said, waving it off. “If I were you, I’d go. Network the hell out of it. Who knows? You might end up running this whole city someday.”

“To be honest, I’d probably die before I even get promoted,” you deadpanned, “My Reaper is just around the corner anyway—" you muttered nonchalantly. It was a casual claim, thrown carelessly into the air in reference to Sunghoon, but one that would echo with far more weight than you could possibly realize at that point in time.

The day passed in a blur, yet the envelope lingered in the recesses of your mind, a nagging presence you couldn’t quite shake. It resurfaced sharply at the end of the day, your steps faltering when the security guard stopped you just as you were about to leave the office.

“Madam, sorry to bother you, but did you receive your invitation?”

“Excuse me?”

“The red envelope, ma’am. There were only two sent to this building—one for you and one for the gentleman. I was told that it is very important that you receive and read it.”

“Yes. I got—" you halted, “—wait, the gentleman? Which one?”

The guard nodded. “The one who’s been visiting you. Mr. Park, I believe.”

Your stomach twisted. Sunghoon.

You mumbled a distracted thanks.

Of course, he is also invited.

The thought continued to gnaw at you afterwards, echoing in your mind as you climbed into the waiting cab. Your invitation had came from Sunoo but now that you knew Sunghoon, too, had been invited reframed everything. It meant that the Noctis Imperium wasn’t just any retreat of shallow opulence. In fact, the words in the letter, which you have dismissed as being far too pretentious and unnecessarily cryptic, now carried a weight that felt unnervingly and ominously real.

Had he always been part of this? Your mind flashed to him at the party, the ease with which he’d navigated the room, the smiles, the warmth—a performance so seamless it made your skin crawl. He very much look like he belonged.

You sank into the back of the cab, pulling out your laptop and flipping it open. You couldn’t shake the unease now that you look at the simulation your model had churned. The data—the tangled mess of trends and points you’d been staring at for weeks—felt like it was hiding something, just out of reach.

Sunghoon’s words from weeks ago echoed faintly in your mind: “They’re embedded in your systems. In your policies.”

“What if it’s a team effort?” you murmured to yourself as you pull up your coding window, inserting several data and refining the code to allow for some different sets of filtering. This time,  one layer of noise dropped. Another filter, another layer gone.

Slowly, patterns emerged where there had been none. The suspects—every single one—had histories that aligned: mental institutionalization, retrenchment, depression diagnoses. All of which conveniently could serve as motives behind drug abuse and the sudden violence as a byproduct of such addiction. The victims on the other hand were from the bottom rung of society – the homeless, the poor, the invisible – people whose deaths wouldn’t have made dent and wouldn’t have been fought for.

If it is a team effort and that they’re embedded in every sector, you pondered toggling with the filters, then the demand and supply can be carefully managed.

Eight years ago, a similar pattern emerged in your little town—but it was confined to a pureblood and a couple of strays.  But this? This was larger. It was a system beneath the system. An empire operating in shadows. Or perhaps, you thought, it's a collusion of system that straddle both worlds.

You sunk back into your seat, your head spinning as you realised the gravity of the situation if indeed true. Outside, the city blurred past, its twinkling lights reflected across glass and metal surfaces like fleeting stars. The golden seal of the invitation caught your eye where it lay in your bag, gleaming faintly. As if it was beckoning you.

You hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. In another life—one with stability, comfort, and certainty—you might have left that envelope unopened, dismissed it as someone else’s game. But that wasn’t your life, was it? Not anymore.

Not since Sunghoon's returned at least. For since his reappearance, your days had become a delicate balancing act, every step more precarious than the last, every shadow in corner felt more ominous by the passing day. With your data pointing toward something vast and insidious, the invitation felt less like a trap and more like an opportunity. Reckless? Yes. But what choice did you have? This was a chance to get closer to the truth, to the root of the tangled chaos that had consumed your life.

The seal gleamed as the cab pulled at a traffic stop—a quiet and unyielding challenge.

Your resolve solidified in that moment.

By the time the cab pulled up to your apartment, you had already submitted your leave request: two weeks, no questions asked. Moving on autopilot, you packed a small bag—your laptop, backups of the data, and whatever else you thought you might need.

You didn’t know if you were walking into a trap or uncovering the truth. But either way, you were determined to find out. You were, afterall, already walking a tightrope as it is.

— vi

True enough, the farther the drive went, the more foreboding the journey became. An hour and a half in, the landscape had transformed into an endless expanse of towering ancient trees. The sun, so bright when you’d left the city, was nowhere to be found—as though you’d been transported into a realm of perpetual darkness.

You glanced at your phone, hoping in vain that you'd a get a signal. Nothing. Nada. But then it wasn't like the signal would have helped, Google Maps showed you that your destination is buried in middle of an unbroken expanse of green—no landmarks, no markings, not even a hint of civilization.

Anton wasn’t exaggerating, you thought, unease coiling tighter in your chest. It's one thing for the retreat to be shrouded in so much secrecy; but another for it to actually be able to evade global mapping systems entirely.

“We’re here, Madam,” the driver announced as the car turned into a gated lawn. Through the dense canopy of ancient trees, you caught glimpses of something massive looming in the distance. Its spires pierced the sky, clawing out from the forested expanse like talons.

“A manor?”

“A castle, Madam,” the driver corrected, the car’s tires crunching over the gravel path. “One of the few left. Very highly protected.”

The path wound sharply uphill, twisting like a serpent as it climbed higher into the forested slope. Ancient wrought-iron torches lined the way, their uneven intervals casting flickering pools of golden light that danced across the shadows of the towering trees. With each turn, more of the castle came into view, unraveling piece by piece. Its gothic silhouette loomed larger with every moment, the sheer size of it making the air seem heavier, as though the structure itself demanded reverence. "I can see why," you sighed, in complete awe.

By the time the car reached the final bend, the forest opened up completely, revealing the castle in all its glory. Perched atop the hill like a sentinel, its massive stone walls seemed to rise endlessly into the sky, adorned with spires and arches that looked almost alive in their intricacy. The grandeur of it was otherworldly, a masterpiece of both architecture and menace.

By the time the car slowed to a stop before the entrance, the sun had fully set—its descent perfectly timed, as if orchestrated to embody the very essence of the Noctis Imperium which aptly translated as 'The Empire of Shadows'. You checked back the agenda and true enough, every events were set to start once the sun sets.

“Madam y/n,” a pair of what looked like a maid and a butler, judging from the uniform, greeted you. “Please come with us, we have been assigned to you. We shall show you around and show you to your suite.”

As you followed the maid, you swallowed thickly, your steps faltering at the sight before you. The castle loomed larger up close, its presence more imposing and ominous than you had imagined. Crimson light seeped through the towering windows, bathing the weathered stone in an eerie glow, as though the building itself pulsed with a forbidden life force. At the grand entrance, blood-red flowers coiled up the walls, their tendrils creeping toward the arched doorway like veins, giving the unsettling impression that the castle was bleeding from within. The effect was grotesque yet mesmerizing, made even more chilling by the gargoyles crouched on the jagged edges of the roof, their wretched expressions seemingly serve as a warning.

As you ventured deeper into the castle, the emptiness and stillness seemed to press heavier around you, yet the unsettling sensation of being watched clung to you like a second skin. Faces in oil paintings—pale, sharp-featured men and women—appeared to shift in the corner of your vision, their painted eyes tracking your every move with unnerving precision. Shadows lingered in the corners, seeming to stir with faint, unnatural movement, and more than once, you swore you heard footsteps trailing behind you. But each time you turned, you found nothing but darkness pooling at your heels.

“Madam y/n,” the maid interrupted your thoughts as they stopped at the farthest corner of the fifth floor, “this will be your suite.”

She pushed open the massive double doors, revealing a room so grand it could have swallowed your entire apartment twice over. The space was opulent yet cold—ancient but well-kept. Rich, crimson drapes framed the tall windows, shielding the suite from whatever darkness lurked outside. The bed was enormous, its carved wooden posts supporting a canopy of deep velvet that seemed to absorb all light. The furniture—ornate dressers, armchairs, and a writing desk—looked like it had been plucked straight from a century long past.

Despite the beauty and grandiosity, the room was no less comforting than the dark corridors outside as it felt both untouched and meticulously staged—like a theater set waiting for its players to arrive.

“Madam,” the maid’s voice drew your attention. She moved to a dresser near the far wall and opened its doors, revealing a collection that left your mouth slightly agape. “These are from Mr. Kim Sunoo,” she explained, gesturing gracefully at the contents. “He has prepared a selection of designers for you to choose from. One for each evening.”

Designer gowns of every color and cut hung delicately, their fabrics shimmering faintly in the dim light. Silks, chiffons, and velvets, all rich and lush, stitched with gold and silver threads. Each one looked painstakingly curated, designed to command attention. A far cry from the practical wardrobe you were used to.

Far from being delighted and spoiled for choice however – the uneasiness you feel only grew. This did not felt like hospitality.

It felt like preparation.

— vii

You stood hestiantly in front of the Hall of Ascendancy—the weight of the decision pressing down on you. You had considered skipping tonight’s welcome dinner altogether—after all, unlike everyone, you weren’t exactly here to mingle and shake hands with elites. But, given the circumstances, skipping would only attract unwanted attention and you weren’t about to make waves before you had a clearer understanding of what you were truly stepping into.

You stared at your reflection in a nearby polished surface, taking in the sleek black suede long-sleeved gown you had chosen for tonight. Its asymmetrical cut was understated but elegant—one shoulder covered, the other left bare, the smooth fabric dipping to reveal your collarbone. The golden phoenix embellishments—one over the shoulder and the other delicately positioned just above the curve of your chest following the neckline—shimmered faintly under the low light, resting on the rich fabric as if they were alive. It was a dress that does not scream for attention, but one that still whispered sophistication.

Just as you stood there, caught between hesitation and obligation, a butler appeared at your side, pushing a cart laden with Venetian masks. He glanced at you briefly, his expression polite but unreadable. “It’s tradition Madam,” he said, his voice smooth and practiced, beckoning you to pick any one of the masks. “Everyone is supposed to be equals once inside. The masks ensure that no one stands above the others, no titles, no status. Simply anonymity.”

Guests ahead of you eagerly snatched the most ornate masks—studded with jewels, embroidered in gold filigree, some even fashioned with feathers that curved skyward. You, by contrast, reached for the most unassuming one: a black Colombina Venetian mask with faded bronze detailing. It blended into the shadows, almost disappearing entirely. Just as you preferred.

As you step into the Hall of Ascendancy, the irony of its name strikes you almost as sharply as the chilling ambiance. The term, which typically conjures visions of rising to heights of glory and light, is subverted here into something far more sinister. Instead of ascending into brilliance, the hall seems to draw all who enter into a descent into shadow.

Above, towering Gothic arches stretch upward, but rather than reaching a grand zenith, they dissolve into darkness, the ceiling lost to an enveloping blackness. This architectural feat creates the disquieting illusion of an upside-down ascendancy, as if the very structure aims to pull the heavens down into the abyss.

The hall is dimly lit by countless candles clustered along its length, their glow insufficient to penetrate the upper shadows but adequate to cast a ghostly light on the faces of the masked guests. Each mask, elaborately crafted and grotesquely beautiful, appears almost spectral under the flickering candlelight. The play of light and shadows however twisted their features, turning what might be considered majestic into something distinctly macabre.

In this realm of reversed ascendancy, the guests move like phantoms against a backdrop of dark stone and darker shadows, their whispers echoing off the walls as if sharing secrets with the ancient stones. Their movement—gliding soundlessly in pairs, every step perfectly in rhythm with the eerie strains of the orchestra—makes your skin crawl.

They were too graceful. Too perfect.

You tried not to stare, reminding yourself that some among them might be bloodsuckers. But that was precisely the most unsettling part—you wouldn't know who. Everyone was perfectly hidden behind elaborate gowns and crisp suits, their expressions meticulously concealed behind eerie Venetian masks.

“y/n!”

The voice was familiar, bright—an anchor in this dizzying sea of masked spectre.

Sunoo.

You spotted him, his pale skin glimmering under the faint light, the grin behind his own half mask unmistakeable. He waved enthusiastically, threading through the crowd as though they weren’t even there. You lifted your hand, returning his wave, moving instinctively toward him.

But then—

The music swelled, deep and rhythmic, and soon the crowd, too, shifted. Pairs began to form, bodies turning in fluid precision. The crowd twisted and folded in on itself, the movements impossibly synchronized, cutting through the hall like tides.

Sunoo’s figure vanished, swallowed by the waves dancing guests.

“Sunoo?” you called, your voice dissolving into the music. You pushed forward but the crowd grew tighter. Dark gowns spun like shadows, masks turned toward you in quick, darting glances—just enough to unnerve you, just enough to make you feel watched. You tried to move away but like tidal wave, the dancing guests surged and swirled around you as if all conspiring to keep you tethered where you were.

Then—

A hand seized yours.

Before you could react, you were pulled sharply into the crowd, your body spun until you collided with someone—chest to chest. An arm snaked around your waist, strong and unyielding, holding you in place as the waltz swept you into its current.

“I’m sorry, I’m not—”

The words died in your throat. You recognized this grip—talon-like and suffocating, an iron cage clasping your ribs. The broad shoulders pressing against you and the sharp jawline cutting like stone beneath the Golden of the Colombina Venetian mask, were unmistakably familiar. And those eyes—the penetrating, intense gaze that seemed to probe the depths of your mind—left no room for doubt.

Park Sunghoon.

Of course, it was him. It was always him, you thought bitterly.

“Of course, it’s you,” you muttered, vivid memories starting to surge to the forefront of your mind—that of eight years ago during the Winter Ball when his grip had been just as unforgiving, his presence just as inescapable, and the proximity just as suffocating. It felt as though no time had passed at all.

His head tilted menacingly, the golden venetian mask he wore catching the flicker of candlelight. “—likewise, it is always you,” he murmured, his voice was quiet but edged with something darker.

The room, the people, the music—all of it faded to nothing. It was just you and him again, caught in a silent war that neither of you dared name. The waltz pulled you into its current, and Sunghoon led you with an ease that only reminded you how effortlessly he always took control.

“I told you to stay away,” he said softly, though there was no kindness in the words—just quiet steel.

“And I told you I don’t take orders,” you shot back, forcing steadiness into your voice despite the way his presence pressed against you, suffocating and all-encompassing. His proximity, the unyielding strength in his hold, stirred memories you had buried too deep to ignore. “Besides, I didn’t come here uninvited.”

“You let yourself be invited into a lion’s den,” he scoffed, the sound barely audible above the swell of violins.

“I trumped the rat maze you set for me eight years ago, didn’t I?" you retorted, "clearly, survival is my forte.”

His fingers curled tighter around your waist, vice-like against your ribs. Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you who led this dance. “Take your penchant for mind games elsewhere, y/n. This isn’t a playpen—it’s a gladiator ring.”

“You should be the one taking your mind games elsewhere, Sunghoon. I know your game, so if you’re thinking of orchestrating everything around me just to play the savior—don’t bother,” you hissed. “Just come as you are. If you’re here for vengeance, then do it. Stop being cold one second and trying to save me the next.”

The music swelled again, a crescendo that made the floor seem to tremble beneath your feet. His fingers dug into your side—almost punishing—as though your words struck deeper than you expect it would.

As the piece surged toward its thunderous finale, Sunghoon’s hand shifted, guiding you into a sharp turn. But as you spun, the momentum of the movement carried you further than intended—too far for his grasp to reclaim you. The music fractured into a new, chaotic melody, the dancers around you shifting like tides in time with the change.

Before you could regain your balance, another hand caught yours, pulling you into the rhythm of the new dance. The hold was gentler this time, firm but reassuring, a stark contrast to the suffocating grip you’d just escaped. The voice that followed cut through the stifling tension, light and teasing.

“Sorry about that. You looked like you needed rescuing.”

You turned sharply, blinking up at the man who’d swept you to the edge of the room. He was slightly shorter than Sunghoon, his build lean and lithe. Where Sunghoon exuded impenetrable strength, this man moved with a kind of devil-may-care ease as though he thrived on chaos without ever letting it touch him. His blonde hair fell in deliberate disarray, a tousled mess that only added to the impression that nothing in this world—rules, expectations, or danger—could weigh him down.

His half-jester mask concealed the upper half of his face, but the smirk pulling at his lips was impossible to miss. It was wide, sharp, and full of boyish charm, a grin that danced the line between amusement and provocation. The silver lip ring he wore at the centre of his lower lip only enhanced the air of mischief he seemed to carry effortlessly.

“Jaeyun,” he introduced, his voice smooth but carrying the kind of playfulness that made you wonder if he ever took anything seriously. Spinning you out of the crowd with a dancer’s grace, he watched you closely, the weight of his gaze hidden beneath the mask, yet still palpable. His grip was steady but not imposing, the veins on his hands prominent, betraying a strength that seemed out of place with his disarming demeanor.

“I haven’t seen you around before,” he continued smoothly, his tone casual but edged with intrigue. There was something both playful and calculated about him, as though every word he spoke carried a double meaning.

“That is probably because I’m not part of the 1%. Just someone invited out of favour,” you shrugged and eased up, thinking how anywhere was better than being near Sunghoon and right now in this man’s arms, you felt oddly at ease.

His golden brow arched beneath the mask, a playful smirk curling his lips. “No one here gets invited without a reason, my lady. You’re meant to be here.”

“Trust me,” you said drily, “I’m no one important, so you’ve picked the wrong girl to waltz with. I can’t help you worm your way to any position.”

He chuckled, “well, that makes two of us. I’m no one important either. Just a nepo baby bouncing between industries like a particularly well-dressed pinball.”

The laugh that escaped you was unguarded, the first real one that night.

“I don’t think I can last much longer tonight,” you admitted quietly, glancing back at the sea of masked faces and swirling gowns. “Do you think there’s a way to sneak out of here?”

He chuckled, as though he’d been waiting for you to ask. “Skipping the speech? Bold choice. I approve.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “Don’t let a maid or butler catch you—they’ll just escort you back in. But I know a way. I’ll help you escape to your chamber.”

You hesitated, glancing back at the dark swirl of dancers in the center of the room. Somewhere in that tide of velvet and masks, you knew Sunghoon was watching.

“Lead the way,” you muttered, straightening your mask and steeling yourself against the lingering shiver of Sunghoon’s presence.

Jaeyun offered his arm with a wink. “Smart choice. Follow me.”

He led you deftly through the swirling mass of dancers, weaving in and out of the crowd as though he’d done this a hundred times before. You kept your hand in his, letting him pull you along, grateful for the escape—even if part of you couldn’t shake the feeling that this castle had eyes everywhere.

The towering figures in elaborate cloaks and Venetian masks seemed to loom larger as you passed, their heads turning ever so slightly in your direction, as though they knew your intentions. You forced yourself to look ahead, Jaeyun’s golden hair your only anchor amidst the sea of elaborate gowns and flickering shadows.

At last, he pushed open a discreet side door, ushering you into a narrow, dimly lit corridor. The muffled strains of the orchestra faded slightly, replaced by the faint hum of silence. The walls here were stone, the flickering sconces spaced farther apart, casting deep pools of darkness.

“There,” he said, finally letting go of your hand and gesturing down the hall. “This leads back toward the guest wings. No one’ll bother you this way—no guards, no butlers.”

You glanced at him warily, still catching your breath. “And how do you know all of this?”

Jaeyun flashed that mischievous smile, but there was something in his eyes—a flicker of something too knowing. “I have my ways,” he teased, tapping the edge of his mask. “I’m a bit of an expert at slipping out unnoticed.”

You folded your arms, trying to read him. He didn’t feel like the others—those unsettling, predatory guests whose masked faces all seemed to tilt as you passed. Compared to Sunghoon’s towering, fortress-like presence, Jaeyun was the opposite—light, sharp, and unpredictable. If Sunghoon was a storm, heavy with inevitability, Jaeyun was the wind, playful and untethered, ready to shift direction at any moment.

“You’re not leading me into another lion’s den, are you?” you asked flatly. Trust is afterall not something you hand out very freely.

He chuckled. “No lions here. Maybe a few rats, but you’ll be fine.” He tilted his head toward the hallway. “Go on, I’ll keep watch to make sure no one follows.”

You hesitated, searching his expression one last time, but his grin was steady, his posture relaxed—like someone who lived for mischief but wasn’t cruel enough to throw you into a pit for fun.

“Fine,” you muttered. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, stepping back into the shadows near the door. “And don’t get lost—these halls have a habit of playing tricks. It's not called the Corridors of Treachery for nothing.”

You shot him one last glance before hurrying down the corridor, the faint sound of your heels against the stone floor echoing back at you. The hallway stretched longer than you’d expected, the shadows creeping in at the edges of your vision, distorting the path. Doors lined the hallway on either side, their carved handles gleaming faintly in the dim light, inviting and forbidding all at once.

You reached for the nearest door, desperate to find a way back to your chambers. It creaked open slowly, revealing a narrow staircase spiraling downward into darkness. Nope, you thought as you closed the door and opened the one next to it.

This time, the door opened to a vast, empty dining hall, its long table draped in crimson cloth, the chairs eerily vacant as though waiting for unseen occupants. The chandeliers above swayed slightly, though no wind stirred the air. You slammed the door shut, your breath catching, the eerie stillness pressing against your chest.

Your heart raced as you tried another handle, and another, each opening up to various types of rooms but not to the North Wing. You reached the end of the corridor, desperation creeping into your movements. But when the door opened, your stomach twisted. The staircase from the first door now stood before you again.

No, that's not possible. You turned sharply, your gaze darting down the corridor. You were certain the staircase had been at the other end of the hall, far from here. Yet here it was, unmoved, defying logic.

Shaking your head, you pushed the thought aside and moved to the next door, your steps hurried. The knob twisted reluctantly under your grip, creaking open to reveal something entirely different. The air shifted, heavier now, the dim light casting elongated shadows across the floor. The scent of dust and aged paper filled your senses.

“A library?” you murmured, the word barely audible as your curiosity overrode caution. Towering bookshelves rose around you, their rows packed with cracked leather bindings. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint creak of wood beneath your steps. You ventured further in, but a sudden sound stopped you cold—footsteps. Voices.

“I swear I saw someone—” a maid’s voice, soft but tense, carried through the corridor outside.

“No one would be stupid enough to use this corridor,” an older, irritated butler replied. “Still, we’ll get in trouble if someone’s unaccounted for in the Hall. You check the doors on that side. I’ll take this one—”

Panic shot through you as Jaeyun’s warning echoed in your mind: Don’t let them catch you. They’ll just drag you back. Before you could think, you had already shut the door behind you, bolting it as quietly as possible. The prospect of locking yourself in an unfamiliar room was unsettling, but the thought of being dragged back into the Hall was enough to root you in place.

Stepping back into the dim room, your fingers brushed against a nearby oil lamp. You hesitated only for a moment before taking it, the soft glow pushing back the shadows around you. A new thought flickered in your mind: perhaps this was exactly where you needed to be because if there were any place to find answers, it would be in a library.

And so you turned to the towering shelves, your eyes already skimming the spines of the books. Most of the books were likely ancient with their cracked spines etched with unfamiliar symbols and faded runes.

And then, something caught your attention.

There, in the middle of the farthest shelf, tucked between larger tomes, was a book entitled The Annals of Kings. Its spine was cracked with age, the title barely visible in faded gold lettering. Perhaps this can tell me more about the owner of the castle, you thought, carefully taking it out and flipping open the cover. At first, the book seemed to be a meticulously detailed chronicle of royal bloodlines—family trees stretching back to eras long forgotten, with unfamiliar crests and names etched in bold, precise script. "Weird," you find yourself whispering as one particular page had burnt marks precisely over some members of the House. As you flipped further, your breath hitch when your eyes read the word 'Purebloods' in the 3rd chapter. You remembered Sunghoon had once talked about a 'Pureblood' to refer to one of them.

You read on, setting the book down on a nearby table:

In the earliest epochs of human civilization, the Purebloods did not linger in the shadows—they ruled openly, their supernatural gifts woven seamlessly into the fabric of leadership. To mortals, their superhuman abilities appeared as divine providence, unparalleled intelligence, or sheer physical prowess. Kingdoms flourished under their command, their strength ensuring stability and their cunning guiding progress. Mortals, though inferior, were the lifeblood of the empire in every sense—figuratively and literally. They served not only as a source of sustenance but as indispensable tools in the expansion and maintenance of vampiric rule. By draining mortals to the brink of death, Purebloods could create Strays: undead beings stripped of humanity and intelligence, reduced to feral creatures driven solely by hunger and instinct. These mindless abominations, incapable of fear or betrayal, became perfect instruments of war. By contrast, Spoilbloods were created with precision and strategic intent. Only mortals of exceptional strength, intellect, or loyalty were chosen—sifted from the mortals and meticulously groomed. The transformation involved an agonizing process: near-fatal blood loss followed by the infusion of Pureblood blood. The result was a new kin—impure yet indispensable. Retaining their human intellect and experience, Spoilbloods became tethered to their Pureblood creators through an unbreakable bond. They served as advisors, enforcers, and agents, wielding their knowledge of mortal affairs to further their master’s dominion. Their dual nature made them invaluable, bridging the gap between humanity and the Purebloods’ reign, and solidifying the Purebloods’ control over mortal realms. But as the empire grew, so too did ambition and recklessness. The turning of mortals, once deliberate and controlled, became indiscriminate. Strays, bred in overwhelming numbers, escaped their creators’ control, wreaking havoc even within vampiric strongholds. Spoilbloods, no longer chosen for their value, were created in excess, leading to insubordination and infighting. The tools that had forged an empire became the seeds of its collapse. Strays, unleashed without thought, ravaged lands indiscriminately. Spoilbloods, embittered by their tainted status, turned on their masters, allying with mortals or seeking power for themselves. And mortals, emboldened by the chaos, rose in rebellion, wielding fire and steel against their oppressors. What followed was the Great Sundering—a cataclysmic collapse of the Shadow Reign. Purebloods who had once ruled openly were forced to retreat into obscurity, their ambitions tempered by the need for secrecy. Now, the Purebloods operate from the shadows, manipulating mortals and maintaining their dominion through whispers and unseen influence. Yet the lessons of the past remain unlearned, for ambition stirs once more. The tools that once brought empires to ruin may yet be repurposed in the pursuit of a legacy reborn—

The sound of a doorknob turning shattered your concentration, your heart nearly leaping out of your ribcage. “See? It’s locked—” the butler’s voice, the one from earlier, filtered through, sharp with irritation. “No one is here. Let’s go now before we’re the ones getting searched for.”

You exhaled shakily, bracing yourself against the table as your pulse thundered in your ears. I need to go. Quickly, you shut the book, its weight feeling heavier now, as though it carried more than history—something darker, something alive. You wanted to read more, to uncover the truths buried in its pages, but lingering wasn’t an option. And carrying a book about vampire history through this castle felt like begging for trouble.

Your gaze fell to your gown, and in a moment of desperation, you slipped the book into the narrow space between your corset and dress. The edges dug into your ribs uncomfortably, but it would have to do.

Unbolting the door with painstaking caution, you cracked it open just enough to peek into the hallway. Clear. You slipped into the corridor, moving as quickly as you dared. One door, then another—each led to rooms you’d already seen, as though the corridor itself conspired against you, bending and twisting your sense of direction.

"I swear if—" you groaned in frustation as you twisted the doorknob next to the lopsided sconce, half expecting it to open into a room you had seen but this time, as if the corridor has had enough of torturing you, it opened to the North Wing, the one you had passed through to get to your room.

Relief surged through you, propelling your legs forward. You darted down the hall, your steps unsteady, nearly stumbling as your door came into view. Throwing yourself inside, you slammed it shut, bolting it with trembling hands. Leaning heavily against the door, your chest heaved, each gasp scraping against the pressure of the book pressed tightly to your ribs, making every breath feel like a chore.

With a frustrated sigh, you reached for the zipper of your gown, tugging it down just enough to free the stolen volume. The moment felt almost triumphant—until—

“Fuck—what the heck, Park Sunghoon?!”

Your own voice rang out, sharp and panicked, as you froze.

There he was. Sitting on your bed like he owned it, leaning back lazily with his arms sprawled behind him. His hands pressed into the mattress to prop himself up, his posture infuriatingly casual, like he’d been waiting for hours. One leg stretched out, the other bent loosely at the knee.

His golden Venetian mask sat perched atop his head, as though he’d lazily shoved it out of the way. The ornate design, with its sharp angles and eerie elegance, looked less menacing up there—but you’d almost prefer it over his uncovered face. At least the mask didn’t smirk. That infuriating curve of his lips, brimming with amusement, made you want to throw something at him. But more annoying than that was his gaze: how it lingered—too long—on your corseted torso where the gown had slipped slightly from your shoulders. Your cheeks flamed, flustered, as you hastily tugged your dress back together, zipping it up in one swift, jerky motion. You clutched the fabric tightly over your chest, as though it could shield you from the weight of his gaze.

“Calm down,” he drawled, his voice low and almost teasing. “You had a corset on. It’s not like you were only in your br—”

“Shut it," you snapped.

Sunghoon’s smirk deepened, but the amusement in his expression gave way to something sharper as his eyes dropped to the book still clutched in your hands.

“Instead of worrying about your dignity,” he said, his tone suddenly edged with steel, “you might want to worry about the implication of stealing that.”

“It’s just a book,” you muttered, though you knew better.

He tilted his head, the casual air around him darkening. “Just a book? That’s a very important book, and people would kill to lay their hands on it—humans especially. And if the nonhumans find out that a human had stolen it…” He let the words hang, the unspoken consequence thickening the silence.

You swallowed hard, suspicion flaring despite his warning. “perhaps you’re just saying that to stop me from learning what’s inside.”

He rose fluidly from the bed, moving closer with that same languid grace that unnerved you, “Actually, you know what..." his voice was calm, almost mocking, as he advanced toward you. He didn’t stop, his deliberate steps forcing you to retreat until your back hit the door, "Go ahead. Read it from cover to cover. Then maybe you’ll finally understand how foolish you had been to throw yourself here—and perhaps…”

His tone sharpened as his hand slid up the curve of your waist, his fingers curling against your ribs with a vicelike grip. The pressure pinned you harder against the door, leaving no room to escape. You had almost forgotten how paralyzing his beauty could be up close—how each sharp line of his face seemed crafted with unnerving precision. But it wasn’t just his features; it was his gaze.

There, in the scant inches between you, his eyes burned with an intensity that made you hold your breath. It wasn’t the probing look you’d grown used to, the one that seemed to sift through your thoughts for answers. No, this was something else. This gaze demanded. It didn’t seek to uncover the depth of your mind; it sought to make you reveal it willingly.

And then, fleeting but unmistakable, you caught the way his eyes flitted downward—down to your lips—before returning to your eyes. It was brief, the kind of glance you could almost convince yourself didn’t happen, but the air between you felt thicker for it, alive with unspoken tension.

“—learn a thing or two about not trusting anyone here,” he finished, his voice like the brush of a blade against your throat.

The door clicked open softly behind you, and his hand released you just as suddenly as it had held you. Before you could process the shift, something cold pressed into your palm. It was your dagger—the one he impaled on your stacks of files with just weeks ago.

“I’d keep that knife on me at all times if I were you,” he murmured, breath ghosting your ear. “And maybe sleep with one eye open. You’ve made quite the impression tonight—and I’m not just talking about me.”

It was only then did you notice the small charm dangling from the hilt of your dagger—a ruby crest, unmistakably his. It swayed gently, a silent signature that felt more mocking than reassuring. The crimson gem glinted wickedly in the dim light, its gleam as taunting and inescapable as the smirk that now lingered, unbidden, in your thoughts.

— viii

The second night reconvened in an entirely different space. Unlike the grandeur of the Hall of Ascendancy, tonight’s venue stretched seamlessly into a vast conservatory. But this wasn’t just any conservatory—it was a towering mansion of glass and steel, an architectural marvel that seemed almost alive under the full moon, which hung high above.

The guests were already assembled by the time you arrived, their attire more elaborate than ever. Velvet gowns flowed like liquid shadows, and cloaks billowed with every calculated step. Masks adorned with jewels, feathers, and gilded filigree glinted in the broken light, their ornate designs blurring the line between beauty and monstrosity.

But tonight, something felt different.

Their movements, slower and more deliberate, carried an unsettling weight. The laughter that echoed through the towering space was sharper, colder, its brittle edges slicing through the charged silence.

They no longer looked like nobles. Their presence felt predatory, their glances sharp and calculating, their steps echoing with a primal rhythm. After what you’d learned yesterday, you no longer saw them as elegant courtiers.

Your burgundy gown did little to comfort you, its sheer cape trailing behind as you moved through the crowd. The beads shimmered under the moonlight like droplets of blood, an omen you couldn’t ignore. The dagger in your garter weighed heavier than ever, its promise sharp against your thigh.

At the far end of the room, the soft murmur of voices fell silent when the host stepped onto a raised platform, his usual playful energy somewhat tempered by the atmosphere. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” the host spread his arms wide in a gesture of welcome. “Or perhaps I should say hunters and prey.”

A ripple of laughter moved through the crowd, low and knowing.

“As per tradition, tonight we hunt. We test not just our skill but our resolve,” he continued, his tone light but his words laden with a weight that made your stomach churn. “Our prey tonight will be scattered across the grounds. Cunning and elusive, just as they always have been. You know the rules. The one with the highest count by sunrise… wins.”

The crowd stirred, their masked faces tilting in eerie anticipation.

“Hunting?” you whispered, dread curling through you – dread that no one seems to share. “Of course,” you thought to yourself, “it’s normal rich people bloodsport. Deplorable.”

“Word of advice?”

You jumped, surprised, spinning to face the owner of the voice. It was Jaeyun. Despite wearing an ominous half Plague Doctor mask this time, you could easily recognise those piercing in the middle of his lips and the playful voice. He leaned closer, whispering,  “—don’t think of just sitting around and laying low.”

Your brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“This is more than just your usual ‘rich-people bloodsport’. The real prize lay beyond rabbits, bison, herrons-” Jaeyun said smoothly, a casual drawl lacing his words.

You shook your head, disbelieving, “forget it. I’m not interested in getting first place in killing innocent animals.”

“Trust me, it’s not just about coming up at the top,” he muttered ominously before his lips widened into the usual playful grin. “That aside…” he beckoned subtly, nudging you to glance toward the far end of the room, “I can never tell if you two are lovers or enemies, but there’s something there. He’s been staring for ages.”

You turned, following his line of sight, and felt your pulse stutter.

Sunghoon.

He stood at the far side of the glasshouse, his tall figure cutting through the crowd like a shadow. But even the mask couldn’t conceal the intensity of his stare—sharp, piercing, locked directly onto you.

You tore your gaze away, the weight of it lingering far too heavily on your shoulders.

“Careful,” Jaeyun murmured, his grin turning faintly wolfish, “you might end up being the one he hunts tonight instead of a bison.”

Before you could respond, a bell rang and darkness consumed the glasshouse. “You have until sun down,” you hear the host announce, amusement evident, “eternal glory awaits those who makes it. Happy hunting.”

There was something ominous about the way he emphasizes the words but before you could process them further, you feel a hand on yours, soft but insistent. “Madam, it’s me,” you recognised the voice, it was one of those maids who served you breakfast this morning, “please follow me. I am to take you to your respective position.”

Before you could resist, she slipped a blindfold over your eyes and led you outside. The cold night air bit at your skin, your pulse quickening with every step. When the blindfold came off, you were near a shed, and  a shotgun was thrusted into your hands.

The bell tolled again, its echo swallowed by the night, and almost immediately, gunshots rang out, shattering the stillness. Manic laughter followed—sharp, jagged, and unhinged, like a predator’s glee.

You’d always been competitive, but killing innocent animals had never been your sport. As the Maid stepped away, a thought struck you. Without hesitation, you grabbed her arm, realizing you could easily disguise yourself—especially since the mask you wore among the guests would conceal your identity.

“Trade clothes with me," you said urgently, "please. It's a bit too heavy for hunting, don't you think?" you lied.

The maid looked hesitant at first but eventually agreed after you promised her some reward as long as she finds you afterward. You two ducked inside the shed and traded clothes.

The maid's uniform was simple and nondescript, just a black velvet dress that hugged the figure modestly with its high neckline framed by delicate white lace and long sleeves that gathered slightly at the shoulders with a matching lace at the cuffs. It was the perfect attire for hiding in plain sight. Or running, should you need to.

You muttered a thanks as she took her leave but just as you were buttoning yours, you heard noises—footsteps, closer now, and the sharp bark of a laugh that set your teeth on edge. You froze, your breath caught in your throat, as you crept toward the narrow window.

Outside, in the clearing beyond, stood the tall man whose obnoxious laugh had always filled the hall whenever you guys gather. His mask hung crooked on his face, barely concealing the manic grin beneath it. He cocked his rifle toward the shadows, his movements deliberate, his laughter trailing like the howl of a wolf on the hunt. Then he fired indiscriminately.

A rabbit fell first, its small body tumbling lifelessly into the frost-tipped grass. Then an eagle, a deer—anything that dared move. He chuckled to himself, carelessly slinging the dead rabbit over his shoulder as another figure emerged from the shadows.

“You’re hoarding everything,” the newcomer whined. He wore a double-faced mask—one side smiling, the other weeping—and his movements were unnervingly fluid, almost inhuman. “You’ve really got to leave some for us poor uncivilized folk. It’s not like we can afford to go hunting every week.”

The tall man turned with an arrogant shrug, his grin widening. “Well, some people are just meant to stay at the top.”

Before he could say more, the masked figure vanished—gone, like smoke dissipating into the night.

And then he was behind him.

You barely suppressed a gasp as the double-faced figure reappeared, silent and sudden, sinking his fangs deep into the tall man’s neck. There wasn’t even time for a scream—just a gurgled choke as the man’s body went limp, his rifle falling uselessly to the ground. The tall man’s once boisterous laughter was silenced forever.

You staggered back, horror twisting in your gut, bile rising in your throat. The realization hit you like ice—this wasn’t just a hunt. It was a literal bloodsport and you were part of the pecking order, a prey for a specific kind of predator.

You had to flee now.

Your pulse thundered in your ears as you darted out of the shed, the shadows of the garden swallowing you whole. Thorny rose bushes clawed at your skirt as you weaved through the rows, their petals dark as ink beneath the full moon. Then you heard it—a low, muffled protest. A man’s voice, weak and disbelieving. You froze, crouching behind the tangled branches, peering through a narrow clearing.

“You bastard—” the man on the ground croaked as he laid in a pool of his own blood. The bile rose in your throat as his voice cracked with desperate rage, “—they were right, you shouldn’t have lived.”

Another man suddenly stepped into the frame with unhurried ease, exuding an air of cold authority. Then with utter ruthlessness, brought his shoe down onto the bleeding man's face, tilting it toward your direction. The lifeless eyes locked onto yours, wide and unblinking, fangs bared in a final expression of fury—frozen in death.

“Why do you have to bleed that much?” the man above him muttered, his tone detached and annoyed. “It’s getting all over my trousers.”

Your breath caught. You knew that voice. That smooth, unbothered and utterly unforgiving voice.

Park Sunghoon.

He stood over the lifeless body, unnervingly casual, shaking his shoes to remove the last traces of blood, as though he’d swatted a fly instead of taken a life.

Your chest tightened. You should have known—he was a vampire after all which means he must have also been taking part in this brutal, predatory game. But seeing it like this, the casual ruthlessness in his every move, made the realization cut deeper than you’d ever prepared for.

Then, his head snapped up.

Fuck, you thought as you drew back instinctively, he knew.

You stifled a gasp, turning on your heel to bolt the other way—only to collide with something solid. Someone.

Sunghoon.

Before you could react, his fingers wrapped around your wrist, effortlessly stilling the blade you had instinctively raised between you. But it wasn’t the pain in your wrist that made your blood ran cold. It was the expression in his eyes. Cold. Calculating. It occured to you that if he could kill his own kind so easily and so remorselessly – killing you would be child’s play especially given the bad blood between you too.

“I should have known—" you said scornfully. Each word spitted out like venom, “you’re just like them.”

“I never said I was any different,” he replied smoothly, his brows arching with disinterested amusement, as though your accusation was a mild inconvenience. “Your words imply you thought otherwise though. I’m touched. But game’s over y/n, let’s stop beating around the—”

Before he could continue, the sharp twang of a bowstring shattered the silence. An arrow sliced through the air, embedding itself in the stone fountain between you with a thud.

“Not the most gentlemanly, is it?”

Both of you turned sharply.

Jaeyun stood at the edge of the clearing, a bow in hand, a smirk painted across his face. His plague doctor mask gleam rather luminously in the moonlight. “Attacking a lone woman? That’s very low of you, Lord Park. But then again, the bar has been in hell when it comes to you—"

Another arrow zipped through the air but Sunghoon caught it mid-flight, snapping the shaft with an almost irritated flick of his wrist. Before he could react further, however, Jaeyun fired again. This time, the arrow struck true, embedding itself into Sunghoon’s upper arm. While pulling his bowstring taut for another hit, Jaeyun tilted his head sharply in your direction, the motion clear and deliberate: run.

You didn’t need to be told twice. You bolted toward the castle, your dagger still clutched tightly in your hand. Behind you, the sound of movement—fast, deliberate, and unnervingly close—cut through the night, followed by the sharp crack of something violent. But you didn’t look back.

You tore through the rose garden, through the labyrinth of shadowed corridors, until the heavy castle doors loomed before you. They slammed shut behind you with a deafening boom, the echo resounding like a gunshot in the empty hall. Only then did you pause, chest heaving, your pulse a frantic rhythm beneath your skin.

As you force yourself to make your way through the series of hallways, dread rose with every step when you realised you had stepped into the Corridors of Treachery—its narrow, winding passages and endless series of identical doors looming ominously before you.

“Fuck,” you muttered defeatedly as you tried door after door, only to find yourself circling back to the same rooms you had already seen. It was as though the castle itself conspired to trap you within its labyrinth.

At this rate, he’d find you.

Then finally, one door opened to a different room. Relief surged through you—until you saw where you’d ended up. The library.

You groaned in frustration, about to turn back but then realised that perhaps this was exactly where you should be. You quickly shut the door behind you as you recalled the host mentioning how tonight's event was tradition. If it was tradition, then there had to be something written about it.

Grabbing the nearest lamp, you scanned the shelves for books that details about traditions or perhaps rituals, reading the titles aloud in a voice that is barely above a whisper: "The Blood Wars. The Vitae Manifesto. Of Reigns and Conquests. The Obsidian Testament. The Silent Prophecy—"

You froze. Backtracking, your fingers traced over one title. The Obsidian Testament.

“This—” you murmured, cutting yourself off as you freed the book from its resting place. You remembered a reference to this particular book yesterday, though the page had been burnt—intentionally, it seemed, as though someone had tried to erase all traces of its existence.

The words from The Annals of Kings surfaced in your mind like a whisper from the grave:  “The Obsidian Testament is no book—it is a hunger that feeds. Blood begets blood, and its truths are carved in the ruin of those who sought them.”

The Obsidian Testament felt heavier than you expected, its weight solid and unyielding, as if the book itself resisted being opened. The leather cover, cracked and brittle with age, was uneven beneath your fingertips. At first, you thought it was some widespread leather cracks, but no—there was something more deliberate about it. The surface felt etched, uneven ridges forming patterns you couldn’t quite discern under the flickering lamplight. But there was no time to linger.

Hurriedly, you flipped through the first few pages, your breath quickening as you searched for any explanation for the night’s macabre events but the first few pages only offered you macabre drawings of human, sigils and strange incantations.

There must be something, you thought desperately as you turned the brittle pages. The parchment crackled under your touch, the oppressive silence pressing in around you. Then, finally, something legible:

The Pureblood lineage, though unparalleled in strength, is not immune to the decay that plagues all empires. Bloodlines can weaken. Houses can fall.  To maintain the purity and continuation of our kind, vigilance is required. The survival of the Pureblood lineage is not merely a matter of existence but the continuation of perfection itself. The weak may breed indiscriminately, but the strong—the Purebloods—must refine and preserve their population with precision.

“Sounds like something straight out of a supremacist manifesto,” you murmured, but your words faltered as your eyes fell to the next few lines:

—what remains hidden knowledge, however, is that the act of turning a mortal into a Spoilblood, while widely practiced, harbors a purpose far greater than is openly acknowledged. The Reaping—is a truth reserved for the most exalted among us, a secret rite that transcends the mundane utility of turning. It is the keystone of power, a ritual that restores the Pureblood’s supremacy, binding mortality to perfection beneath the crimson glow of a blood moon. If, during a blood moon, a pureblood binds their hundredth Spoilblood, renewal grants power anew—

Just then you thought you saw movements outside the window. You peered through an opening, seeing three figures striding toward the castle, weapons glinting in the moonlight—a bat, a sickle, a scythe. The air grew heavy with the unmistakable promise of bloodshed.

You shoved the book back onto the shelf, your pulse hammering against your chest. Keeping to the shadows, you slipped back into the hall, trying every door possible. At last, one opened to a new hallway, but as you moved to leave, muffled cries stopped you.

“I’ll give you my wealth—my land—please!” The man’s voice was frantic, his words tumbling over each other in desperation. Looming over him were the 3 masked men from earlier, their choice of masks as macabre as the weapon in their hands

“Well, look who it is—the Actor,” the one in the Bauta Venetian mask said ,as he pushed the pleading man’s mask aside to reveal his face.

“Too bad,” sneered the one with the Baphomet mask, squatting beside him. “We’ve got too many pretty faces already. Shall we feast instead?”

“Sounds good to me. All that caviar and wine probably makes his blood taste divine.” The one in the clown mask pressed the edge of his scythe against the man’s neck. “Besides, he’s not good enough for the Reaping—not enough wealth and influence.”

The man’s protests fell on deaf ears, dissolving into guttural choking as the three figures descended upon him in a brutal, efficient frenzy. You turned away, bile rising in your throat, the wet, tearing sounds behind you digging into your mind like jagged glass.

Desperate to focus elsewhere, your gaze landed on the nearest window. The silver glow of the full moon spilled through it, freezing you in place as fragments of memory jolted through your mind, unbidden and sharp. Words from The Obsidian Testament rang like a broken radio—disjointed, warped. "When the full moon wanes, the blood moon will rise, and with it, chaos shall reign." The line clung to your thoughts, twisting with Anton’s offhand remark just a week ago: "There’s a Blood Moon this month," he’d said casually, as if it were a trivial astrological event.

The realisation struck you like a lightning bolt. Tonight's bloodsport wasn't simply for entertainment nor indulgence. It was preparation—an offering—for something far more insidious.

This wasn't just a game.

This was the prelude to a Reaping.

You needed to move—fast. The sickening sounds of their feeding still echoed down the corridor, making your skin crawl. Keeping low, you slipped past the door left ajar earlier and darted into the dimly lit hall, your footsteps light and deliberate. Ahead, a smaller door leading to the servants’ passage came into view.

You shoved it open, slipping through and climbing the spiral staircase two steps at a time, your breath quick and shallow. Then you heard it—the clatter of heavy footsteps below, sharp and deliberate. Looking down, your eyes locked with one of the men from earlier—the one in the Bauta mask. He stood at the base of the stairs, his head tilted, his expression unreadable beneath the eerie mask.

“Thought I sensed a weasel snooping around,” he called mockingly, his tone dripping with sinister amusement. “You’re mine, then.”

Panic surged. Fuck. You slammed the door shut behind you, twisting the lock just as he reached it, sprinting into what looked like a gallery of a statues. But everywhere you looked there were no exit in sight, just statues looming in eerie stillness, their solemn faces twisted as though mourning what was to come.

Behind you, the door crashed open, and his relentless footsteps followed, their sound reverberating through the empty space.

Desperation clawed at you as you slid behind one of the statues, your chest heaving, eyes darting around for an exit. Still none in sight. Your grip tightened around the dagger in your hand, its cool weight grounding you. The heart, you thought as your mind raced back to everything you’d read about vampires yesterday. That was their weak point.

But as your gaze flicked between the trembling dagger in your hand and the figure still prowling the gallery, searching for you, doubt seeped in like an unwelcome shadow. His towering build, his inhuman speed, his strength—there was no way you could overpower him.

Your eyes darted back to the blade, the calculated risk forming in your mind the only option left. Steeling yourself, you drew the blade across your thigh, wincing as the sharp pain flared and blood welled up in angry streaks which summoned him almost immediately. “Gotcha—" he sneered, as he closed the distance in one smooth unsettling motion, his grin stretching unnaturally wide, fangs bared in predatory triumph.

You let him topple you, his weight crashing down with bruising force. As you’d anticipated, his head dipped straight to your thigh, drawn to the fresh cut rather than your neck. His grip tightened, his breath sharp and ragged against your skin.

It was the opening you needed.

With a surge of determination, you drove the blade into his chest from his back, straight into his heart. A guttural hiss tore from his throat as his body convulsed, staggering back violently. Blood soaked his shirt as he clawed at the weapon embedded in his chest. He ripped it free with a snarl, flinging it aside like it was nothing more than an inconvenience. “You filthy wench,” he spat venomously, trying in vain to stem the flow of blood.

You didn’t wait. Scrambling to your feet, you grabbed the dagger he had thrown near you and darted back out to where you came from, sprinting into the corridor at the other end instead which led to a hallway lined with mirrors, their warped reflections casting eerie, shifting shadows. You sprinted aimlessly, your only thought to escape. But just as the end of the hallway came into view, something heavy wrenched you backward with inhuman strength. A hand clamped over your mouth, muffling your terrified cry. It can’t end like this, your mind screamed, desperation clawing at the edges of your sanity but no matter how hard you thrashed, it was futile and the next thing you knew, you were hurled into a small, confined space with the sound of the door clicking shut behind you sealing your fate.

Your back slammed against what felt like a cupboard, the hard surface digging painfully into your spine. The body pinning you in place was unyielding—a solid wall of muscle that absorbed your frantic shoves and kicks without faltering.

“Calm down, calm—” a familiar voice whispered, but with adrenaline fuelling your struggle, terror overrode recognition.

“y/n, calm the fuck down—it’s me, Sunghoon.”

Your movements stilled instantly, your chest heaving with ragged breaths. He flipped a hidden switch near the door, his face was set in frustration, though there was no malice in his eyes, “if you don’t stop struggling, they will find you—“

You looked at him, confused but suspicious. This was, afterall, still Sunghoon—a Pureblood who had killed another of his own tonight, and possibly Jaeyun as well. You were naturally next.

“Look,” he hissed, his tone edged with exasperation. “If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already. I’ve had plenty of opportunities, remember?” His voice shifted then, quieter, almost coaxing. “I’m going to uncover your mouth, but only if you promise to stop fighting me—at least while we’re in here.”

Your heart pounded, your instincts screaming to resist, but grudgingly, you nodded. If he wanted you dead, he wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of dragging you here.

His hand dropped from your mouth, but before you could fully process what was happening, his arm moved behind you, sliding firmly along the curve of your back. With unsettling ease, he lifted you and settled you on top of the cupboard—the motion fluid and controlled, as though you weighed nothing.

Suddenly, he bit into his wrist, the blood welling instantly. “Sunghoon—what the hell—”

He didn’t answer. Instead, in one fluid movement, he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming as he positioned himself intimately between your legs, his hand sliding up your thigh with deliberate intent, the fabric of your dress gathering beneath his fingers.

“Hey—” you stammered, heat flushing your cheeks as you instinctively tried to stop him. But the protest died in your throat when you saw what he was doing—his bloodied wrist pressed against your wound, his movements steady, precise. The smear of crimson over your skin was deliberate, purposeful, and the air between you seemed to thrum with unspoken tension.

“This will mask the scent,” he murmured, his voice low and almost detached, though his eyes flickered briefly to meet yours. You were just about to ease up when without warning, his other hand had slid up your waist, his fingers splaying possessively over your lower back. Before you could reach, he pulled you flush against him with unsettling ease.

“Sunghoon, st—"

“We’re running out of time,” he cut you off, his tone sharp but tinged with something unfamiliar—urgency, almost pleading—something you’d never imagined him capable of. “You just have to trust me on this.”

But before you could even respond, Sunghoon had slammed his lips against yours. They were soft—unexpectedly so—but his movements were anything but. Fierce and unrelenting, the kiss carried a desperation that felt almost feral, as though the very act was a lifeline he was determined to seize.

You struggled against the onslaught, your hands pushing at his chest, but his grip over your waist tightened, anchoring you to him like a shield. Then the door burst open and his intent—his strategy—became clear to you. His body shifted instantly, fully shielding yours from view as his hand hooked firmly under your thigh, steadying you and sealing the ruse with unnerving precision.

Reluctantly, you played along, your hands faltering as his weight pressed against you, quashing any remaining space between your bodies. Your dress shifted dangerously high as his body leaned into yours, the act deliberate and unyielding. While every instinct screamed at you to shove him away, you forced yourself to stay still, to let the illusion hold—for now.

But then you felt his lips adeptly part yours—deepening the kiss in a way you were never prepared—stealing every breath and muffling every protests. The hard planes of his chest pressed against yours, the beat of his heart—or the echo of yours, you couldn't tell—pulsating in tandem with your own. The dresser creaked in protest, the faint sound barely registering above the storm of your senses.

Time itself seemed to bend, stretching each second unbearably long. Every sensation overwhelmed you—the heat radiating from his closeness, the weight of his touch, the faint creak of the dresser beneath you. It all blurred together, threatening to drown you in its intensity. But then his wandering hands jolted you out of the haze, yanking you sharply back into the present. In a swift, instinctive motion, you wrenched yourself from his embrace. "St-stop..." your breath coming in short, uneven gasps, "—they're... already gone."

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you struggled to steady your racing pulse. The stinging sensation on your lips serving as a persistent reminder of the scorching passion that had nearly consumed you. His kiss, like a brand, had left its mark.

Sunghoon stilled, his chest rising and falling, though you knew better—vampires didn’t tire. His jaw tensed, the sharp line of his profile shadowed as he turned slightly away.

“Right. Of course,” he muttered, his voice quieter than usual, as if trying to gather himself. His usual calm façade was intact, but you noticed the faintest flicker—a barely-there crack in his composure, “—it worked. That’s all that matters.”

You exhaled shakily, unable to look at him, your own pulse thrumming wildly against your ribs. “So, what now?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended as you tried to compose yourself, “we can’t just make out everytime there’s footsteps.”

He nodded absently, but midway, his brows arched as if you’d said something illuminating. “Actually, that’s a great idea. Come with me—”

“No—” You dug your heels in as he gripped your wrist—not roughly, but with enough firmness to tell you resistance was pointless. You give in, reluctantly letting let him pull you along, his pace deliberate but measured, as if he were navigating a trap you couldn’t yet see. Through a discreet side passage—a door you hadn’t noticed earlier—he led you to an ornate chamber, hidden away from the guest suites. The heavy door creaked open, revealing a room so grand it felt frozen in time: dark velvet drapery pooling on the floor, an unlit fireplace, and a sprawling canopy bed swathed in deep red fabric.

“This is your idea of a safe haven? Your room?” you scoffed as Sunghoon bolted the door shut behind him. With swift movements, he shrugged off his cloak and undid his buttons, feeling hot – though whether it was from all the running or memories from the earlier kiss, only he knew.

You backed away instinctively, unsettled by his casual ease, his shirt hanging open just enough to reveal glimpses of his sculpted chest, the memory of his touch still fresh, an unwelcome echo that made your skin prickle.

“Sunghoon, what are you doing? You’re not suggesting-“

“—unless you want to—” he smirked, tousling his well-kept hair with a deliberate flick. “Relax. I’m joking. Ease up.”

He leaned casually against the edge of the bed, his smirk deepening. “This really is the safest place. Firstly, it’s my room. Secondly, after seeing the way we ‘made out’ in that closet, naturally, they’d assume we’d escalate things here. You know… where we’d be up all night, tangled in—”

“Right! I get it-“ you interjected, cheeks blazing, “still though – this is your room. I’m supposed to let myself be locked with you for the whole night? This evening is as much of a bloodsport to you as it is to them.”

He sighed, “look, if trust is too much to ask, I’ll ask for your clear-headed logic then y/n. If I wanted you dead, you’d already be. But tonight, I’ve been saving you instead.”

“That’s the suspicious part, why did you save me then?”

The air was heavy. The silence felt like it dragged on for too long.

“I know what Noctis Imperium really is Sunghoon so if you want my trust then you must answer me honestly,” you tone was firm.

Sunghoon tilted his head lazily, his lips curving ever so faintly, “Oh? Do you now?”

You ignored the sardonic edge in his tone and pressed on. “It’s a Reaping, isn’t it?” the word dropped like a blade between you, heavy and damning. “The bloodsport? That’s just the opening act. It weeds out the unworthy—leaves only the best standing. The strongest. The smartest. The richest. And they’re the ones who get turned. It’s systematic.”

His gaze sharpened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“This event coincides with a blood moon which is due sometime this month—that’s very specific. If you guys wanted bloodsport, it didn’t even have to align,” you continued, stepping closer, “and clearly it isn’t just about sick entertainment is it? It’s about expansion—physically and financially.”

Your hands balled into fists at your sides as you turned to meet his gaze, your voice daring and unyielding. “If you want me to trust you tonight, then tell me—why are you here? For a Reaping as well?”

For the first time, something flickered in his expression. A fleeting shadow of recognition—or understanding—but it vanished as quickly as it came. His smirk didn’t return, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low, measured, “sounds like you have done your homework-“

“That’s not an answer,” you cut off.

“Fine. If it will get you to shut up tonight, I’ll entertain you,” he plopped himself on the bed, hands braced behind him, “I had my suspicions about this... place,” he admitted, his tone calm but laced with something heavier, darker. “But a Reaping? That’s far-fetched. The Reaping is after all shunned and is not widespread knowledge,” he continued, his voice dropping lower, “it’s forbidden—archaic. Lost and buried for a reason.”

“Apparently not,” you shot back, “because I read a book on it in the library so you being here can either mean you’re part of this ring or someone is.”

“You’re smart enough to find this place and unearth a rather dark history and practice by my kind—” he spoke with a quiet, almost resigned tone, “but can't see just how absurd it'd be for me to play detective with you and ask you to run your simulation for me if all I wanted was to attend a ritual I am supposedly to have been part of?”

For a moment, your gaze faltered—not out of fear, but something closer to embarrassment. “Then why are you here?” you demanded, suspicion still sharp in your voice. His explanation didn’t erase your doubts—not yet.

“I’m kind of like you,” his voice is calm, “except I’m not just playing detective. I’m here to root out the deviants  among us. I don’t just cover foul plays up – I follow the trail and remove the troublemakers.”

You stared into his gaze a little longer, letting the silence simmer, trying to search if there is any faltering – if he was lying. But it is hard to tell with him.

“Not the answer you’re looking for?” he raised his brows – challenging and proud, “that’s entirely your fault for jumping into conclusions when it comes to me.”

“Well it’s not like you were the most forthcoming anyway,” you grumbled back, “you keep people in the dark and then say cryptic shit. You brought it unto yourself.”

He shrugged, “if you say so. The point is, if what you say is true then the odds are stacked against us.”

“us?” you echoed, incredulous, “Just a few days ago, you said I was nothing more than a tool. What’s changed? Can’t survive on your fangs alone?”

He scoffed, his smirk sharpening. “If it helps you sleep at night, then let’s just say it makes the two of us.” He leaned back slightly, his gaze steady and unreadable. “Now, can you set your blade down and ease up?”

You hesitated, the weight of his words settling heavily. Finally, you let out a sharp breath. “Fine. For now. But don’t mistake this for trust.”

His smirk deepened faintly, though his gaze remained steady. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

— ix

They said the third night was set to be a respite. But by now, you knew better. You knew their sick way of twisting words.

As you stood outside the Hall of Reckoning, your fists clenched tightly at your sides, the full weight of the night before bore down on you. The bloodsport, the laughter, the violence—it wasn’t chaos. It wasn’t chance. It was a gladiator ring.

The realization sat heavy in your chest, making it hard to breathe. You had no illusions about the outcome: the deck was stacked, and you were playing with cards designed to fail. But it was too late to run. Far too late.

“What about the masks?” you asked as you approached the butler usually manning the mask cart.

“No longer needed, Madam,” he replied smoothly, pushing the door open.

The Hall of Reckoning. At first glance, the name seemed almost merciful—a place where justice might be sought, where those who endured could demand retribution for their suffering.

But the irony revealed itself immediately. For the mortals, there could be no reckoning. Survival in the bloodsport had made them complicit in its savagery, their hands stained with the violence they had been forced to commit. This hall, for all its grandeur, wasn’t a sanctuary. It was a monument to their sins.

Every detail in the room seemed to echo that truth. Murals stretched across the vaulted ceiling, vivid and grotesque in their depiction of Dante’s seven circles of hell. Around the room, statues stood like solemn judges—angels with shattered wings, warriors frozen mid-fall, veiled damsels cloaked in grief. Their hollow eyes seemed to follow every movement, bearing silent witness to the carnage both endured and inflicted.

This wasn’t a Hall of Reckoning meant to absolve. It was designed to haunt.

The proof lay in the faces of the remaining guests. Unlike before, only a quarter of them had made it here, their masks removed for the first time. It was painfully clear now who among them were human for trepidation clung to their pale, drawn faces, their hollow gazes—stark contrast to the air of haughtiness and confidence that most displayed during the first day.

And then, there were the vampires. At least by the looks of it for their beauty was unparalleled, ethereal almost, as if they’d been carved from marble to perfection. But that perfection was unnerving, cold, their smiles charming yet faintly menacing in certain light. They moved with an unnatural grace, each step calculated and precise. Their eyes, ageless and predatory, gleamed like polished glass, betraying nothing but an unwavering hunger that lingered beneath their elegant façades.

Together, the humans and vampires painted a stark contrast: the fragility of mortality set against the eerie permanence of the immortal.

You were still absorbing the scene when a hand grasped yours, the touch firm yet deliberate, calculated.

Startled, you turned sharply, only to find yourself face-to-face with a man bowing slightly as he pressed a light kiss to your knuckles. “My Lady,” he murmured, his voice smooth and infuriatingly charming.  He straightened, and the wide playful grin that stretched across his face was unmistakable. The glint of a lip ring under the soft glow of the chandeliers sealed his identity.

“Jaeyun,” you muttered, his name slipping out like a reflex.

Unmasked, his face was even more disarming than you’d imagined. His features were sharp—his cheekbones high and his jawline so clean it seemed almost sculpted. Yet there was a boyishness to him, a devil-may-care charm that softened the harsh lines, making him look approachable in a way that felt both alluring and dangerous.

That grin of his was impossible to ignore. His lips, fuller and more expressive than you remembered, curled just slightly as if he were privy to a joke no one else was in on. The lip ring only added to his allure, a small but significant detail that gave him an edge, an irreverent flair.

He tilted his head, his golden hair catching the faint light, and for a moment, he seemed to drink in your surprise. His gaze was playful, mischievous, daring you to react. Where Sunghoon exuded stormy gravitas, with every movement deliberate and weighted, Jaeyun felt like a gust of wind—unpredictable, fleeting, and impossible to pin down.

Before you could react, you felt another presence—familiar, cold, and steady. A hand slid to the small of your back then over your waist, firm and commanding as it pulled you away from Jaeyun.

“You’ve had enough of his company,” Sunghoon said, his voice cutting through the din with icy precision. His tone was low but laced with a chill that sent a ripple through the air, “he’s just a vermin.”

Jaeyun’s grin widened, deliberately slow, as he released you, his movements deliberate and mocking. “Ah, or so I hear about last night,” he replied smoothly. His lip curled in amusement as his eyes flicked between you and Sunghoon. “Apologies. Just a formality, of course. I’d never dare touch what you’ve claimed, Lord Park.”

Your breath caught, mortified. You knew exactly what Jaeyun was implying.

“No, we’re not— we didn’t—" you tried to clarify, but Sunghoon’s grip tightened, cutting off your words as he turned you sharply, his hand firm on your waist as he steered you away.

“Excuse you,” you exclaimed, stumbling slightly as he wheeled you toward the table. His jaw was set, a shadow of something unreadable flashing in his eyes. Without a word, he pulled out a chair and practically pushed you into it, his actions possessive and territorial.

He snatched the plaque bearing Jaeyun’s name from the table and thrust it at a passing butler. “Find this bastard another seat,” he ordered coldly.

Before the butler could even take a step, Sunghoon dropped into the chair beside you—Jaeyun’s chair. His hand rested lightly on the table, fingers drumming in a rhythm that felt calculated, as though he was staking his claim with every deliberate tap.

“Just because you two have some bad blood doesn’t mean I should be the collateral damage,” you huffed, crossing your arms in defiance. “At least you didn’t kill him.”

“I should have,” Sunghoon’s gaze remained fixed on Jaeyun, his expression darkening. “You should stop letting him talk to you,” he said, his tone sharp. “He’s poison wrapped in silk. It doesn’t matter how harmless he seems—he’ll ruin you just the same.”

“And you’re not?” you shot back, your voice low but challenging. “Sunghoon, you’re just as suspicious as everyone else.”

His head snapped toward you, the storm in his gaze faltering. For a brief moment, something softer flickered across his features—something almost tender. His shoulders eased as he seemed to struggle for words.

“It’s not—” he began, his voice quieter, but his unfinished sentence hung in the air, swallowed by the sudden shift in the room.

“Welcome,” the host’s voice rang out, smooth and practiced, drawing all attention to the front of the room. He stepped forward, his grin too wide to be sincere. “After all the fun yesterday,” he drawled, his words dripping with theatrical flair, “tonight will just be purely a celebration. Unending feast and fireworks.”

The room shifted uneasily, the faint clink of glassware underscoring the uncomfortable silence.

“As I’ve reassured you all—what happened last night is not your fault,” the host continued, his grin widening to something almost maniacal. His gaze swept over the room like a predator scanning for weakness.

The words hung in the air, their implication sinking in like lead. The humans, especially, seemed to shrink into their seats, their faces pale and drawn, haunted by memories of the previous night.

“Greed,” the host continued, his voice both rich and biting, “is a poisonous thing. And with stakes so high, we understand when one must act… out of self-preservation.”

Your breath caught at his choice of words. Slowly, your gaze swept the hall, catching subtle tremors in the crowd—the twitch of a hand, the widening of eyes before they schooled back into forced calm. A woman in crimson sat frozen, her glass of wine untouched. Nearby, a man swallowed hard, his fingers gripping his fork like a lifeline. It struck you then: these people must have seen—or done—unspeakable things last night. Survival had come at a cost, and their faces betrayed that cost in every taut line and shadowed expression.

“Rest assured,” the host added, his tone lightening into something almost whimsical, yet no less sinister. “Our discretion is ironclad. Whatever happens here… stays here.”

The words slithered through the air like smoke, a chill rippling in their wake. It was meant to be reassurance but you knew better—it was a warning, one that is thinly veiled in polished charm.

For a moment, the room remained frozen, the silence taut with unspoken apprehension. Then, the faint clink of glassware broke the stillness—a subtle signal that sent ripples through the crowd. The guests shifted in their seats, some reaching hesitantly for their utensils, others masking their unease behind stiff smiles and murmured conversation.

You glanced down at the table before you as the quiet ceremony of dining began. The elaborate spread was a grotesque spectacle, the kind of decadence that bordered on parody. Platters overflowed with fleshy cuts of meat, dripping in dark wine sauces that shimmered like blood under the chandeliers. Fruits glistened like polished jewels, their vibrant colors almost too vivid to be real. Desserts spun from delicate sugar glimmered with an unnatural brilliance.

The clinking of forks and knives against fine china grated against your nerves. It wasn’t the sound of sustenance—it was a performance, a ritual of excess that felt grotesque in its mockery. You shifted uneasily in your seat, unable to quell the nausea roiling in your stomach. This wasn’t a feast for survivors. It was a celebration for predators.

“y/n,” Sunghoon’s voice cut through the oppressive din, low and quiet, his breath ghosting against your ear, “meet me in the library once the firework starts.”

You turned, but he was already gone, leaving behind only the faint scent of his cologne—a mix of wood and bergamot that lingered in the air, equal parts hypnotizing and suffocating.

Time dragged after that, the air in the hall thick with unspoken tension. Each moment stretched unbearably as the chatter around you ebbed and flowed, the underlying unease never quite dissipating. When the first explosion of light burst across the night sky, you slipped away unnoticed, your footsteps soft amidst the murmurs of awe and raised glasses.

The Corridors of Treachery felt colder, quieter as you made your way to the library. Once, these endless stretches of identical doors and twisting hallways had felt alive—ever-shifting, as though the castle itself sought to mislead and ensnare. But now, their tricks no longer held sway over you. After several visits, you had unraveled their secrets, piecing together the intricate design that made chaos into order.

The corridor was more than a labyrinth; they were a calculated test. A clever combination of architectural illusion, psychological distortion, and mathematical precision, that tests not just one’s preserverance—but also the mind. The patterns embedded in the walls required focus to decipher: sconces positioned slightly off-center, cracks in the stone tiles forming faint lines that pointed toward the correct path, even the rhythmic shifts in echo that whispered of direction. It wasn’t enough to simply try door after door—one needed intellect and restraint to navigate the maze. If approached in a state of heightened fear, the corridors became a prison. Anxiety clouded judgment, turned every door into a dead end, and every turn into an endless loop. But you’d learned to steady yourself, to let logic and observation guide your steps rather than emotion.

Now, your movements were purposeful, almost effortless. Three lefts, a right, pause at the second door. The sequence was etched into your mind, the once-treacherous maze reduced to a solvable equation. Without hesitation, you pushed open the heavy library door.

The room stretched before you, towering shelves disappearing into the shadows. The faint scent of aged parchment and leather hung in the air as you lit your oil lamp, its flickering glow barely cutting through the darkness.

Sunghoon, however, wasn’t there.

Figures, you sighed, trailing your fingers along the shelves, half out of habit, half out of frustration. Why did he even—

A sudden gust of wind swept through the room, sharp and biting. The lamp hissed and went dark, plunging you into thick silence. You stilled, your heart leaping into your throat as darkness swallowed you whole.

Moonlight spilled through the tall, arched windows, faint and ethereal. The shadows danced in its glow, painting the room in shifting silver and gray. You fumbled for the small flint striker embedder near the base of the oil lamp, about to twist it when a glimmer among the books caught your eye—faint but unmistakable.

You stilled, the lamp momentarily forgotten as you stepped closer towards the book in the shelf. It wasn’t just the sheen of the leather—it was something deliberate, something hidden. Your fingers brushed the spine, its texture rough and cold. It was The Obsidian Testament—the one you picked out yesterday—but beneath the gilded letters were faint Latin scrawls, curling like veins across the surface like an incantation. You didn’t remember them being there yesterday.

You pulled the book free, its weight heavier than it should have been, like it carried more than just words within its pages.

As you turned it over in your hands, you can feel the roughness in the surface— something you noticed yesterday but didn’t press on. It didn't feel like wear and tear. It was faintly raised but textured in a way that felt deliberate, though the design was invisible to the naked eye. You held it closer to the window, letting the silver light of the moon spill across its surface.

And then you saw it.

Slowly, like ink blooming through parchment, a faint, silvery glow materialised. Ominously scrawled in faint, curling script were words you could barely decipher:"The blood of the pure seals the bond. The moon bears witness."

Beneath it, a coat of arms emerged—hidden from sight, lying dormant until called forth by the moonlight. A spiked crown sat atop the shield, flanked by a raven and a wolf poised as sentinels. Intricate designs framed the emblem, with the motto etched beneath it: "In shadows, we endure. In blood, we rise."

Your blood turned cold. You knew that coat of arms.

“Sunghoon,” you whispered, the realization hitting you like a thunderclap. It was his crest—the same one he often wore on his lapel.

“Took you long enough,” a low voice drawled, making you jump. You whirled, your heart pounding as a figure emerged from the shadows near the door. For a moment, you thought it was Sunghoon but as he stepped into the faint glow of moonlight, the features were unmistakably Jaeyun’s.

“What do you mean?” you demanded, taking a step back toward the table. Unease curled in your chest.

He scoffed, looking mildly offended as he stepped closer. The way the moonlight caught his face accentuated the sharpness of his grin—mischievous, yes, but laced with something colder. “Why do you look so scared of me now? Sunghoon should be the one you’re wary of. Ah, of course, he did save you, didn’t he?”

Before you could react, he vanished—only to reappear beside you, one hand braced against the table as he leaned down, head tilted coyly. Another vampire, you thought.

“Ever considered that saving you serves him more than it serves you? Perhaps he might even be saving you for himself.”

You stiffened, refusing to let his words take root. “And what about you? You’ve been dropping crumbs here and there for me—” you countered sharply. “Nothing is ever free—not from the likes of you.”

Jaeyun’s lips quirked, amused. “You sound just like one of us, y/n. You would make a great addition,” he drawled. “I’m helping because well, you’re not my enemy and I hate inflicting collateral damage.”

“And your enemy is?”

“Sunghoon. Or rather, royal purebloods like him. Someone who has a legacy to reclaim,” he said with a singsong edge. “They represent the dark ages—the rigid hierarchy of power that exalted purity above all else, splintering us with its toxic elitism.”

“Are you not a pureblood?”

“No. I’m a halfblood—borne out of a Pureblood and a Spoilblood.” His tone turned casual, but there was a slight edge to it. “Practically blasphemy to those supremacists. Think of it like a noble bedding their servant.”

The admission hung in the air, bitter and heavy. But you knew better than to simply lap up his words, ��and yet you’re here? Toasting and laughing as if you belong.”

His grin faltered just slightly, a flicker of something darker flashing across his face before he masked it with his usual nonchalance. “I’m here because time has changed. We, here, are no longer bound by such hierarchical concept of power—”

He unfurled his hand, and another book materialised. You recognised it immediately—The Annals of Kings, the book you’d pocketed the other day, “—but nothing stays buried forever. Blood, as they say, runs thicker than water.”

Your frown deepened as you stepped closer, your eyes scanning the page he’d flipped open. It was the family tree—the same one you’d seen before, with several members’ pictures burnt out, their identities erased.

“The Annals of Kings usually purges the disgraced from history,” Jaeyun said, his tone casual but laced with intrigue.

Your gaze drifted lower, catching on a footnote you hadn’t noticed before. It detailed how, after the kingdom fell, forbidden books like the Obsidian Testament were uncovered and destroyed. But one line stopped you cold: “Rumor has it the royal bloodline survived through a single son, then eight years old, whose charred remains were never found.”

Your eyes shifted to the Obsidian Testament on the table, the coat of arms seem to glow brighter, its presence now feeling impossibly heavy.

“Who do you think that son grew up to be?” Jaeyun asked softly, his voice a dark thread weaving through your spiralling thoughts.

Your throat tightened. His words gnawed at you, each syllable fitting too neatly into the doubts you were already trying to suppress about Sunghoon. But Jaeyun wasn’t someone you could trust—not completely. His grin felt like a trap disguised as an invitation. Trying to seem unfazed, you retorted, “And your point is?”

“That you should know your enemies,” he said, stepping closer, his presence suffocating. “The Reaping holds immense significance for someone like him—symbolically and physically.” His lips curled into a bitter smile. “The current shadow reign is fracturing, and if someone like him—a figure with such legacy—steps forward to challenge it, everything could come crashing down."

“He is, after all—” Jaeyun suddenly appeared behind you, his long fingers curling around both of your arms like claws. He turned you sharply toward the window, forcing you to look outside.

Below, the rose garden was alive with movements, figures clashing in a violent blur. Your breath hitched as a body crumpled near the fountain, blood pooling beneath it. Then, through the shifting shadows, Sunghoon stepped into view, his chest heaving, a bloodied sword in hand. His expression was cold, detached, as he surveyed the carnage.

“—notorious for being bloodthirsty,” Jaeyun finished, his tone dripping with venom.

“You're not su—” you called out but when you turned, he was already gone, leaving only the echo of his words in your ears.

Before you could process his disappearance, the sharp sound of steel meeting steel cut through the air, pulling your attention sharply back to the garden.

You turned toward the window again, just in time to see Sunghoon locked in battle once more. Two shadows darted around him, their movements impossibly fast—blurs of black against the silver glow of the moonlight. The figures clashed violently, steel colliding in bursts of sparks, the muted sounds barely audible beneath the distant roar of fireworks.

Your breath caught as Sunghoon dodged a strike aimed at his head, his blade moving in a deadly rhythm to fend off one blow after another. The attackers worked in tandem, circling him like wolves hunting their prey.

Almost without realizing it, you followed their movements from one window to the next, each fleeting glimpse quickening your pulse. When you reached the outer hallway near the armory, the scene came into sharp focus.

Sunghoon stood at the center of the rose garden, near the weeping angel statue. The moonlight bathed the scene in stark clarity, illuminating his form as he fended off the taller of the two attackers. The man’s strikes were heavy and relentless, forcing Sunghoon back with every blow.

Then, with a sharp pivot, Sunghoon turned the tide. His blade cleanly plunging into his chest with brutal precision. Blood sprayed across the weeping angel grotesquely as the figure crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

But the danger wasn’t over.

The second attacker appeared from the shadows behind him, silent and deadly, a spear poised to strike.

Given everything you’d pieced together about him—his secrets, his lies, his family—you probably should have let nature run its course. Let him get attacked. Let him fall. Let him bleed.

But you didn’t and apparently, your body had a life of its own as your hands moved before your could catch up, grabbing a bow that had been left discarded near the windowsill. The wood felt foreign and unwieldy in your grip, but you didn’t care. Your fingers fumbled, pulling the string taut, the arrow trembling as you tried to steady your aim.

You weren’t a good shot. You knew that. The arrow might not even strike the man. But it didn’t need to. All it had to do was distract him.

You exhaled sharply, releasing the arrow. It cut through the air, a streak of silver in the darkness. The attacker flinched as the arrow grazed his arm, his blade faltering mid-swing. It was enough.

Sunghoon spun with brutal precision, his sword arcing upward in a deadly sweep. The man barely had time to react before the blade found its mark, cutting him down. His body hit the ground with a sickening thud, blood pooling around him as the garden fell silent once more.

For a moment, Sunghoon stood motionless, the tip of his blade resting in the dirt, as if even he needed a reprieve. Then you saw it—a dark patch blooming on his coat, stark against the pale moonlight. Blood.

Your breath hitched. You couldn’t tell why your chest tightened at the sight, but it did.

He staggered, using his sword for support, his breaths coming in shallow, ragged gasps. But before you could call out to him, he vanished—a blur dissolving into the shadowy expanse of the garden below.

“Sunghoon!” you called after him, but the only response was the distant crackle of fading fireworks. Darting from one window to the next, you searched desperately, peering into the garden for any sign of him.

But all you found was stillness.

The gardens were littered with lifeless bodies, their forms grotesque and twisted. Some had fangs bared, their features frozen in feral rage. Others had begun to disintegrate—their flesh sloughing off in patches, bones crumbling into soil as though the earth itself were reclaiming them. That was apparently how vampires die, you realized with a shudder: reverting to their original forms, their unnatural beauty undone, and their once-mighty presence reduced to the frailty of dust and decay.

But more than the remains, it was Sunghoon’s vanishing that disturbed you the most. As you lingered by the window, the night only grew quieter. The shadows betrayed nothing, and the garden below remained hauntingly still.

He won’t die easily, you reassured yourself as you hesitantly step away from the window, eyes still flicking toward the darkened garden as you made your way back to your room, each step heavier than the last. You pushed your door absentmindedly, mind lost in thoughts, why do you care so much, you thought bitterly, trying to distract yourself, he’s not your ally. He is a lying, manipulative-

Except there he was—the very man who haunted your mind—sitting at the foot of your bed.

Battered, bruised, and bloodied, Sunghoon looked nothing like the composed predator you’d grown accustomed to. His back rested against the mattress, his head tilted back in exhaustion, eyes half-lidded as if he barely registered your presence. Blood stained his shirt, his once-pristine collar torn and soaked through. The dark fabric clung to his skin, emphasizing the sharp lines of his frame and the sheer vulnerability of his state.

“Sunghoon…” you whispered, unsure whether it was relief or fear tightening your throat.

He didn’t respond immediately, his breathing shallow and uneven. For a fleeting moment, the vulnerability of the scene struck you—this wasn’t the stoic, untouchable figure you’d grown used to. He looked... mortal.

His head shifted slightly, but his gaze didn’t meet yours. “I’m fine,” he muttered hoarsely, frustration lacing his voice. “Just… give me a moment.”

You stepped closer, your body moving before your mind could catch up. Despite everything—the lies, the doubts, the warning signs—you knelt in front of him, hands trembling. “You’re bleeding out, you’re not fine,” you said sharply.

Your eyes dropped to the dark patch spreading across his lower abdomen, fresh blood seeping through the fabric. Panic licked at the edges of your mind as you remembered how his wounds used to heal instantly. “Why isn’t it healing?” you asked, horrified.

“Too much damage for an old body, I guess,” he quipped weakly, a sardonic smile tugging at his lips before he winced.

“But you’re a pureblood,” you blurted – reminded suddenly of what Jaeyun had said earlier, how the Reaping was significant for someone like Sunghoon, not just symbolically but physically. “Never mind,” you said quickly, hoisting his arm over your shoulders. “We need to stop the bleeding. Can you get up?”

“You know,” he rasped, leaning heavily against you, “if you leave me here, I could just… die. Problem solved.”

“Not funny,” you gritted out, half-dragging him to the bed. “Besides, too late for that. I’m already in this gladiator ring. You’d just be replaced by someone worse.”

“You’re adapting well,” he drawled, though his voice was strained.

“And you’re not,” you shot back, grimacing as his head thudded lightly against the wooden frame. His sharp intake of breath made your guilt flare. “Sorry,” you muttered, adjusting him with more care, “I’m not used to you being this… human. Stay here, I’ll be back.”

You returned moments later with a first-aid kit. His face was slick with sweat, but his eyes—sharp and calculating—followed your every movement. He leaned back against the headboard, his posture deceptively casual despite the bruises and blood staining his shirt. One leg stretched out along the mattress, while the other was bent at the knee, his foot tucked close to his thigh.

You settled beside his bent leg, placing the kit near his outstretched one for easy access. Shrugging off your sheer cape to free your arms, the fabric pooled beside you, leaving you in the midnight-black velvet dress beneath. The low sweetheart neckline felt far too revealing for your comfort, but practicality took precedence. Ignoring the unease prickling at the back of your mind, you focused on sorting through the kit’s contents with swift precision.

“Baring your shoulders in front of a wounded vampire,” Sunghoon murmured, his lips curving into a faint smirk despite the exhaustion that lined his features. His gaze flicked briefly to your now-bared shoulders. “Reckless.”

“If you had no self-control, like eight years ago, you’d have flung yourself at me cape and all,” you grumbled disinterestedly while tearing open a sterile pad. You didn’t miss the slight twitch of his brow at your words.

“This is going to sound crude,” you continued, gesturing at the blood-soaked fabric covering his lower abdomen, “but you need to take that off.”

He smirked, the expression so maddeningly coy that you were this close to hurling the entire first-aid kit at his face. Only the sight of his injuries stopped you.

“Gladly,” he drawled, his tone light and infuriating, “but I’m far too weak right now. You’ll have to do the honors.”

You scowled. “I know you’re not that weak.”

He leaned back, the movement drawing his bent leg closer to you, his gaze never leaving yours, “your choice.”

Cursing under your breath, you leaned closer and began unbuttoning his shirt. The fabric peeled away, revealing the deep, angry wound slashing across his abdomen. Blood seeped sluggishly, staining his pale skin—but it wasn’t just the injury that caught your attention. Beneath the torn fabric, the sharp lines of his torso stood out, his muscles tense under the faint light.

It was jarring how even battered and shirtless, his broad shoulders and tall frame made him seem larger than life. His physique, though marred by the fresh wounds, seemed to amplify his imposing aura, each flex of muscle a stark reminder of the strength he carried even in his weakest moments. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus on the gash instead of the sheer dominance his form exuded.

“Hold still,” you muttered, pressing an alcohol-soaked pad against the gash.

He hissed, his knuckles going white as he gripped the sheets. “You could be gentler.”

“Enjoy it,” you said with mock cheer, pressing harder. “Your super-healing isn’t working, so welcome to our reality.”

His exhale was sharp, almost a laugh, though it sounded more like a groan. “Why did they attack you?” you asked, focused on cleaning the wound.

“There’s always a bounty on the head of a pureblood,” he replied dismissively, his tone brushing off the question.

“Especially a pureblood with a reigning ancestry?” you pressed though his expression didn’t shift.

“Does knowing that I have links to old royalty suddenly make me attractive?” he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“You tell me,” you retorted, dabbing the edges of the wound clean before reaching for the gauze. “Apparently the Reaping originated from your family. You knew all about it.”

“I love how distrustful you are of me,” he muttered, his voice laced with dry amusement, “and yet here you are—patching me up, looking rather vulnerable yourself.” His gaze dripped briefly down to your body, as if trying to unsettle you. “I wear my crest openly, y/n. If I wanted to hide my ancestry, I wouldn’t flaunt it, would I? And besides—” a sardonic smirk tugged at his lips, “—if I’d completed my first Reaping ages ago, I wouldn’t be in this pathetic state, relying on a mere mortal to save me.”

“You’re a walking contradiction do you know that?” you muttered, eyes focused on cleaning the remaining dark blood on his gash. “Let’s say you do hate your background that much then why wear the crest around like a badge of honor?”

Sunghoon didn’t hesitate, his voice calm but carrying an edge of practicality. “Because in places like these,” he gestured subtly, “ancestry and purity of blood can mean everything. That crest opens doors that would otherwise be slammed shut. It’s a key, y/n and one I’ve learned to wield to my advantage.”

“You always talk as if you’re not one of them.”

He scoffed weakly, “I’ve killed some of them and they tried to kill me as well—does that look like we are of the same camp?”

Your hands stilled, your gaze lifting to meet his. It was infuriating how his answers were always so maddeningly straightforward—delivered with an air of certainty that made your doubts feel baseless. It wasn’t just irritating—it made you feel stupid, even guilty. Like your suspicions were nothing more than the product of paranoia, blinding you to truths that should be obvious.

“You said you haven’t completed even your first cycle of Reaping—why?”

He leaned back, a sardonic smirk tugging at his lips. “While we’re at it, why don’t you ask how many people I’ve bedded over the centuries I’ve lived?” His voice was laced with mockery, his gaze unrelenting. “You don’t get to ask all the questions, y/n. It takes two to tango.”

Your brows furrowed as you pressed an adhesive bandage over the wound on his abdomen. “Fine. Then you can ask me questions, though I doubt there’s anything interesting you don’t already know.”

His smirk faded, replaced by a sharper edge as his eyes narrowed. “Why did you save me back there?”

You stilled, realizing too late that maybe you shouldn’t have egged him on. His gaze pinned you, waiting for an answer you weren’t sure how to give.

Avoiding his piercing eyes, you grabbed an antiseptic wipe and turned your attention to the shallow cut on his bicep. “Hold still,” you muttered, focusing on dabbing at the wound.

His muscles tensed slightly under your touch. “If you want honesty from me,” he murmured, his tone low and firm, “you’ll need to give me just as much honesty.”

You pressed the pad harder than necessary, drawing a sharp inhale from him. “To make us even,” you answered steadily. “You saved me twice. Now it’s repaid.”

He scoffed, “Of course.”

You shifted closer, careful not to lean too far into his space, though the proximity was unavoidable. Your hands moved to tend to the faint bruises along his jaw, the sharp lines of his face brushing against your fingertips. His skin was cool beneath your touch, but the air between you felt heavy, charged.

Your knees brushed his as you adjusted your position, the small contact enough to make you hyper-aware of how close the two of you were. His shirtless torso, marred by bruises and blood, felt more imposing than vulnerable this close.

You feigned nonchalance, focusing intently on the bruises instead of the weight of his gaze burning into you. The room didn’t help—the soft crackle of the fireplace was casting flickering light across his face, deepening the shadows under his sharp cheekbones and making the moment feel stiflingly intimate.

“You’re awfully quiet suddenly,” he mocked, his tone low and taunting. “Also, why are you avoiding my gaze? You’re not suddenly shy are you? After taking off my—ugh—” He winced as you pressed the antiseptic harder than necessary onto the cut along his cheekbone.

“Isn't it my turn now?” you shot back, your voice sharp and unwavering. “You haven’t answered my question earlier—why haven’t you completed the Reaping?”

He sighed. "Because it’s barbaric,” he said evenly, though a flicker of something darker seeped into his tone. “If you believe a vampire can ever have a moral standing, this would be the closest thing I have to it.”

He paused, his voice dipping lower, laced with bitterness that seemed to surface despite his best efforts, “tying someone to your power for eternity? That’s not dominance—that’s desperation. It’s a legacy I’ve spent centuries trying to outrun—the dark history of which I constantly had to carry over my shoulders, sins of which are thrusted upon me as though I am to pay their penance.”

His tone softened, almost imperceptibly, as he continued. “That’s probably why I’ve allied myself with the Council of Elders for a long time. It started as an act to prove to the world that I am not like what my blood dictates—” his voice dipped, quieter now, as if he was speaking more to himself than to you, “—but now it just feels like a duty. A duty to clean the world after the seeds of chaos that my ancestors have planted—“

Your gaze flicked to his, caught off guard by the quiet rawness in his tone. His eyes were elsewhere, focused on the flickering shadows dancing along the walls—perhaps trying to distract himself, perhaps lost in a memory. The sincerity in his words was equal parts fascinating and infuriating. Infuriating because they felt genuine. Too genuine for someone like him. It’s as if being reduced to this state—a state just a fraction closer to that of a mere mortal—extinguish the cryptic layers he had always put up.

But of course, such a rare moment didn’t last long. His gaze returned to yours, and so did the familiar smirk—lazy, detached and maddening. “Besides, I’ve never seen the need for renewal,” he added lightly, brushing the weight of his previous words aside, “longevity is getting boring anyway. Unless, of course, you’re offering yourself up to be mine. That might make eternity interesting again.”

He leaned forward slightly, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “We could spend centuries being at each other’s throats. Literally.”

“I’d poison my blood first then we both can go down together,” you rolled your eyes, moving on to the huge cut on his eyebrows.

“Just like how you poisoned me 8 years ago?” he said suddenly.

That was it. The elephant in the room. Finally out in the open.

Your hand stilled, a physical testament to the guilt you’d carried for years. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, but his stare was inescapable—heavy, suffocating, like it had the weight to crush you on the spot. “I guess the grudge is still there, alright,” you said, your tone brittle with feigned nonchalance, desperate to temper the tension building between you. The isolation, the proximity—it was all suddenly too much. “Then why haven’t you carried out your vengeance?”

“I asked first,” he retorted sharply. Beneath the edge of his voice, though, there was something fragile, almost pleading. “Why did you poison me?”

You hesitated, the truth clawing at the back of your throat. “Because we’re not meant to be,” you finally said, after some hesitation, surprised at yourself for the honesty and depth that you yourself never dared to confront. “We’re too dangerous for each other. Too toxic. It was the only way to break it.”

Sunghoon scoffed, his hand shooting out to capture yours. His grip was firm, startlingly so, yet it lacked malice—gentle in a way that forced your gaze to his. His eyes were unguarded, piercing, the storm within them quieting into something raw and vulnerable.

“Did you ever love me?” he murmured, his voice cracking faintly under the weight of the words.

You froze. The question hit you like a tidal wave, its weight settling deep in your chest. His gaze softened, achingly so, as if the silence cut.

“Did you?” he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it held a sharp edge, as though the answer could either mend or shatter him.

The guilt clawed at you, deeper than ever, threatening to crack the mask you wore. “Hardly matters anymore, does it?” you shot back, your voice wavering despite your best effort. “I ended it in the worst way possible.”

His grip over yours tightened ever so slightly, his jaw clenching as frustration flickered across his face. Slowly, deliberately, he shifted. Rising halfway, he leaned forward, his shadow devouring the faint light as his frame loomed impossibly large over you. The bed dipped under his weight, tilting you toward him as if even the mattress was conspiring to close the gap.

And suddenly, he was too close—towering over you like a shadow you couldn’t escape. You instinctively leaned back, but his free hand braced against the bed beside you, a silent, immovable barrier that kept you locked in place.

You swallowed thickly, realising how utterly compromising the moment was. His sheer size, the commanding breadth of his shoulders, the dominance in the way he loomed over you, left no room for doubt: he could crush you if he wanted to. The sharp lines of his torso, from the broad planes of his chest to the rigid definition of his abdomen, were marked by bruises and wounds that should have humanized him, softened the edge of his dominance—but they didn’t. Even in his weakened state, he radiated sheer power, every ripple of muscle a quiet, unspoken warning that he could break you, overwhelm you, overpower you, without much effort. His grip on you wrist wasn’t painful, but it thrummed with latent power, the kind that made you all too aware of the control he wasn’t even exerting yet.

You hated how easily he made you feel so small. Yet, despite the tightness in your chest and the way his gaze bore into yours with a storm of unspoken emotions, you refused to flinch. Refused to show that he has an effect on you. You knew him—getting you flustered and yield had always been something he thrived on and now, in a set-up that is meant to amplify it, you refused to give him that satisfaction.

“My turn,” you murmured, the words cutting through the silence like a thread pulled too tight. “Did you?” the question wasn’t a slip—it was purposeful, a strike meant to turn the tables.

Except, the joke was probably on you because instead of a response, something in him snapped. His grip on your wrist tightened almost too punishingly and his other hand shot to your jaw, holding you still as his lips crashed against yours.

Your body tensed at the unexpected contact, but his arm had slithered around your back—locking you in place like a steel band—fingers digging into your ribs as if tethering you in place—closer, ever closer—leaving no room to move, no air to breathe, only the suffocating weight of his presence pressing down on you. The curve of his palm seemed to mold perfectly to your body, a gesture that felt both infuriatingly possessive and unnervingly intimate. His hand, a possessive vice around your nape, tilted your head, allowing him to plunder your mouth with a punishing intensity, his lips slotting against yours with a brutal, consuming force.

You hands clawed at his shoulders, frantically trying to push him off, to break free, but every resistance seemed to ignite a darker hunger within him. With a grunt, he crushed you against him, making you feel every plane and contour of his chest and muscles, the searing heat of his skin branding yours, the unyielding planes of his chest pressing into you, heavy and demanding. Before you could catch your breath, he pressed forward with a brutal force, throwing off your balance and sending you crashing down onto the sheets—his lips never leaving yours as if it was his very lifeline. The world around you spun and you struggled to regain your bearings, but he was relentless, his lips moving with ever greater fervour, forcing your lips apart, his tongue invading your mouth with a forceful, dominant stroke.

The weight of his body pinned you down, heavy and unyielding, his bare skin hot against yours—suffocating and intoxicating all at once. Your breath was coming up in ragged gasps as you struggled against the tide of sensations that threatened to drown you. Like sandcastles against the tide, your resistance crumbled under the unrelenting force of his lips and touch. Your hands, grasping for purchase, clung to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you struggled to anchor yourself, as his tongue plundered your mouth with renewed vigor, claiming every inch, demanding your surrender, refusing to accept anything less.

As you softened under him, his hands glided along your sides, caressing every curve and dip with purposeful precision, setting every nerve alight, while making you feel every plane and contour of his chest and muscles. His taut muscles rippled beneath your touch, a testament to his restrained power. Lost in the tempest of sensations, you barely noticed his his hand creeping higher up your thigh, bunching your dress dangerously high. It was only then did you realised just how far things had escalated. Jerking back to reality, you wedged a hand against his chest, breaking the kiss, and grabbed for his wandering hand, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

But like a raging inferno, Sunghoon was unstoppable, his lips now trailing a scorching path down your neck, leaving a wake of fiery, open-mouthed kisses that seared your skin. "Sunghoon, stop," you gasped, panic lacing your voice as his hand pried yours away and pinned it painfully against the bed. You were utterly powerless then, your movements and strength futile against his onslaught.  For a terrifying moment, you thought he might sink his fangs into your neck, draining you of your lifesource, but instead, he continued to ravage you with his lips and hands—leaving marks and that burned and bruised. It was quickly dawning on you just how far gone Sunghoon was and the prospect of where it was heading terrified you more than getting bitten was. “Sunghoon, please—"  you begged, your voice breaking, and that seemed to have to snap him back to reality for his movements stilled, face hovering inches from yours. The look in his eyes was wild and uncertain, as if he was struggling to reign himself in from crossing a dangerous line.

"I- I’m sorry," he muttered, voice low and hoarse, tinged with something that almost sounded like guilt. He moved off you in one fluid motion, retreating like a shadow, his usual composure slowly slipping back into place. "I shouldn’t have—" He ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. "— just stay here for the night, okay? It’s safer. I’ll stay watch outside."

You remained frozen, your breathing uneven, your heart pounding in the deafening silence he left behind. The door clicked shut, but the echoes of his presence lingered, searing into you like a brand. Your bruised lips throbbed, the faint crescent-shaped imprints of his nails burned on your skin, and your neck felt alive with the memory of where his lips had lingered. Every mark he left wasn’t just a reminder of him—it was a reminder of what lay beneath the surface: a beast, barely leashed.

And yet, it wasn’t his loss of control that haunted you most. It was the way, in the charged stillness of the moment, you hadn’t fought him. You hadn’t turned away. Some part of you had yielded—not out of weakness, but out of something more dangerous.

The truth gripped you now, unrelenting: it wasn’t just Sunghoon you didn’t trust.

It was yourself.

— x

As foretold, the sun set the following day beneath a blood moon, casting an eerie reddish glow over the fourth evening, which was to be held in the Hall of Glory. As if mirroring your impending doom, the castle had been unnaturally still all day. The familiar footsteps of maids in the hall and the muted clink of silverware being set had disappeared, replaced by an oppressive, almost reverent silence. No maids brought breakfast to your door. No butlers appeared with fresh linens.

The absence wasn’t coincidence—it was tradition. You’d overheard whispers in the days before, half-muttered exchanges between the staff about “the sacred day” when they were to leave the castle as it would be reserved only for the “worthy.” You hadn’t understood the gravity of those words then, but now, under the ominous glow of the blood moon and the oppressive stillness of the castle’s grandeur, it felt like a prelude to slaughter. As if you’d stepped willingly into a gilded abattoir.

Unlike the vast, awe-inspiring spaces of the previous halls, the Hall of Glory was smaller, darker, and far more intimate, as though it were designed to suffocate rather than inspire. Towering columns stood sentinel around the circular chamber, their presence oppressive and unyielding. Between them loomed statues of tragedy: alabaster angels with torn wings, warriors collapsing under unseen burdens, veiled women weeping into gilded boxes clutched reverently in their hands. Each figure radiated its own unique agony, frozen mid-suffering, their despair immortalized in marble—a chilling homage to the 'glory' promised by the hall’s name.

At the center rose a massive stained-glass window, its grotesque designs seeming to shift under scrutiny. The blood moon’s crimson light spilled through, bleeding into the chamber and fracturing into jagged patterns across the polished floor, pooling like spilled wine—or something darker.

Then, as though drawn by the room’s gravity, the host appeared at the grand doorway, his jubilance a stark contrast to the oppressive room. “Welcome, my survivors!” he proclaimed, arms flung wide. “The best part of our tradition has finally arrived! As you can see, the hall is surrounded by statues. If they seem to call to you, perhaps they are. In fact,” he paused for emphasis, “at their base, you’ll find your names, and in their hands lie a gilded box where your prize awaits.”

You followed the rest as they hesitantly approached the statues. Yours, a marble depiction of a woman being hauled away by a man, felt like a cruel joke. A mocking reflection of your predicament, carved in cold, unfeeling stone. Your jaw tightened as you pried open the gilded box at its base, the air in the hall suddenly feeling heavier. Inside lay two pieces of burgundy parchment.

Suppressing the uneasy churn in your stomach, you picked up the closer parchment, revealing a name etched in elegant script: “Jaeyun.”

Nearby, a man’s voice rose, sharp with indignation. “A name?! What the hell are we supposed to do with a name?!”

The host’s laugh cut through the hall like a razor, too bright, too sharp, ricocheting off the oppressive walls. “Of course they’re names,” he drawled, his grin widening to something feral. “They’re the ones who will grant you eternal glory.”

The words settled over you like a vice, their meaning sinking deeper with each passing second. If this was the Reaping, then... The thought trailed off, unfinished but heavy, tugging your gaze upward instinctively where your eyes lock with Jaeyun who was perched casually at the triforium near the stained glass, as if he’d been waiting for you to look. Jaeyun leaned against the edge, his grin splitting his face like a sinister mask, hand lifting in a greeting in an almost maddeningly casual way like a predator toying with its prey. Mocking you without a word.

“—The Reaper," you finished your thought aloud, the title slipping from your lips as if it had been lurking there all along, waiting to be named.

Your throat tightened, but your hands remained steady as you reached for the second parchment. When you flipped it, the name seemed to glare back at you, heavier, crueler. You whispered it aloud, the word sharp on your tongue: “Sunghoon.”

Your gaze darted across the room, where Sunghoon stood at the opposite triforium from Jaeyun. His eyes found yours instantly, dark and inscrutable. No surprise. No panic. Not even a flicker of emotion. Just that infuriatingly calm, unbothered facade that made your skin crawl. Jaeyun’s taunting words from the library echoed in your mind: What if he’s saving you for himself?

“I can see some victors are rather popular this evening,” the host chimed, his clapping hands slicing through the suffocating tension. His smile stretched wider, dripping with theatrical delight. “But fret not! As tradition dictates, the popular ones will be granted five minutes with each of their suitors in this hall—for one final waltz. Serenade them, threaten them, confess your undying love—whatever suits your fancy. But remember—at the end, only one name must be chosen.”

A man nearby let out a hysterical laugh, his voice cracking as it spiralled into something desperate. “You’re insane—this is insane! I’m not doing this!” His words barely finished before he bolted for the door.

Not that he made it far.

In a blur of motion, one of the vampires materialized before him. The creature’s clawed hand plunged into his chest with a sickening crunch, emerging a moment later clutching his pulsating heart. The man crumpled, lifeless, as a fresh scream tore through the air from the woman beside you.

“And that,” the host exclaimed, his voice still so bright and cheerful, “is what becomes of the ungrateful.” He gestured theatrically to the room, as if he’d just delivered a perfectly rehearsed line in a play. “Come now, victors. Look alive. You’ve earned this. Eternal glory is yours to claim.”

Without waiting for a response, the orchestra struck a jarring chord, the music swelling into something both grand and ominous. Above, the vampires descended from their balconies like a wave of predators, their movements too fast to track. They poured into the hall with eerie precision, seizing their chosen humans without ceremony. The room erupted into chaos—screams, cries, and the sound of shattering glass blending into a cacophony that seemed to mock the elegant setting.

“And now the Waltz commences,” the host declared, his voice ringing with perverse joy.

You barely had time to react before strong hands wrapped around your waist, spinning you with a force that nearly knocked you off balance. “Jaeyun,” you said bitterly, as he grabbed your hand, the other already planted possessively on your waist.

“I told you so,” he drawled, his voice smooth but tinged with mockery. “Your savior is your undoing.”

“And you’re not?” you shot back, trying to pull away, but his grip only tightened as he began to move, forcing you into the dance. His movements were elegant yet aggressive, dragging you along like a puppet on strings.

“Can’t you see?  I’m the one saving you from him,” he scoffed, exasperated, “don’t tell me his sob story about the his family's sins and the Council of Elders is all it took to sway you—" he clicked his tongue as he spun you around before pulling you back against him, “Can’t you see the double entrende here? he’s not working under the Council of Elders to promote good. It’s completely self-serving – it grants him what is essentially a license to kill vampires. Less powerful purebloods mean fewer threats. It’s all about power, darling.”

You faltered for a moment, his words digging under your skin. “Even if that’s true,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, “I’m still being passed from one wolf to another. You’re not exactly an ideal choice either…”

He spun you away from the center, the shadows engulfing you both, “tell you what, after this charade, they’ll give you a chance to escape through the Maze outside the castle. People would run aimlessly through the maze, thinking that it will eventually get them somewhere but it wont. The secret lies in the statues. Their hands are always pointing at the right way.”

You stared at him, trying to see past those unfathomable eyes. “Why are you telling me this? Why help me?”

He murmured, his lips ghosting dangerously close to your ear, “because we have the same goal, albeit in different forms, which is survival. And Sunghoon is the only one staying in our way. He’s playing the long game y/n. Look at him. Look at how he watches you—like a chess piece he hasn’t figured out how to move yet. You think he saved you? Sunghoon doesn’t save people. He removes and collects them, like a relic. That’s how it is with the royal Purebloods—it's always all about control and servitude. He’ll never let anyone be his equal.”

“Still, even if I choose you. It won’t guarantee my safety,” you said adamantly, “you could still end up reaping me.”

“And what for?” he said matter-of-factly, “My mother was reaped and I became a ‘tainted’ child in a world that worships purity. Can you see now? why I hate collateral damage?"

He paused, his gaze piercing. “And frankly, with what I hear about you and him… the Reaping might just be his way to stake his claim on you you—to make you his in every sense. Among other things.” His lips twisted into a bitter smirk. “Trust me, you’ll wish he’d killed you instead.”

You wanted to open your mouth, say something defiant, but nothing came. He pressed on, “I know you’re smart and rational so think of me as the lesser evil. I, at least, have no motive to want to reap you specifically and if you choose me at the end—I’ll really let you go because then I know that we are of the same understanding.”

Suddenly you feel his hand creep higher over your back, like a vine reclaiming its hold. His face was inches from yours, and for a fleeting moment, the interplay of shadow and light caught you off guard. Jaeyun’s usual devil-may-care grin—mischievous, boyish—seemed to warp under the flickering half-light. The shadows deepened the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the tilt of his lips more predator than prankster, as though the ease in his expression was a veneer stretched over something far more calculated. The light, faint and fleeting, only accentuated the unsettling duality—a face that could charm or terrify, depending on how you looked at it.

“If you choose Sunghoon however” his voice dipped lower, his head tilting so his breath brushed against your ear, “I’ll take it that you’re no different from him. And trust me—I won’t even let you get past any statues in the maze.”

You barely had the time to process the onslaught of words—teetering confusingly between helpful and threatening—when his hand cupped your face. Gentle yet deliberate, he tipped your chin ever so slightly toward him before pressing his lips languidly on your cheek—the kiss too slow, too deliberate to be mistaken for tenderness. No, it was a warning—a searing brand meant to remind you of the stakes.

He was like a thorny vine—subtle, insidious. The more you moved, the more you were pricked, and if you stayed still, it would creep over you, wrapping tighter until it claimed you entirely.

The heat lingered long after he pulled away, your skin prickling as though it carried the weight of his words. He loosened his grip just enough to spin you away, the force dismissive yet laced with an unsettling possessiveness.

The force sent you stumbling, disoriented, until strong arms caught you mid-motion, halting your fall. You looked up, your breath hitching as Sunghoon’s dark gaze locked onto yours. His presence was grounding, anchoring you in the chaos—but it was suffocating too, a storm restrained just beneath the surface, its weight pressing down on you.

“You look like you had an enjoyable time with the loach,” Sunghoon muttered, bitterness lacing every syllable. His grip tightened slightly on your waist, dragging you closer as the music swelled around you.

“And you look like you’re exactly where you should be,” you shot back, trying to twist out of his grip, “—the Reaping’s poster child. Is that why you saved me so far?” you pressed on, unable to conceal your own bitterness, “because you’re actually saving me for this.”

His grip tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you tethered to him. “Would you rather there only be a single name?” he asked coldly, his tone as biting as the frigid air between you. “His?”

“At least he’s honest, Sunghoon,” you snapped, your voice cracking under the weight of your frustration. “At least I know where I stand with him. You—” your hand pressed against his chest, a futile attempt to create space as he guided you into a sharp turn. “You twist everything until I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

“You don’t know what’s real?” His laugh was bitter, humorless, as he spun you again, this time keeping you so close you could feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours. “You poisoned me, y/n. You ran from me. You were the one who destroyed what was real.”

The pang of guilt that surged through you was like a knife, but you refused to let it show. “Oh, I see,” you said, mockery dripping from every word. “Killing two birds with one stone, are we? Reclaim your glory and punish me in one fell swoop. Immortality, bound to you for eternity—that’s the perfect revenge for me, isn’t it? You’ve outdone yourself, Park Sunghoon.”

His jaw tightened, his calm facade cracking just slightly. “You think this is about power?” he asked quietly, his voice simmering with frustration. “I’ve lived for centuries and gone through several wars. If I cared about reclaiming anything, I would have done it long ago.”

“So this is about us, is it?” you pressed, your voice trembling with both anger and something rawer. “Punishing me for what I did eight years ago? You knew the Reaping would break me irreparably more than killing me ever could. That’s why you kept me alive—so you could tether me to you, curse me with eternity, all under your control.”

 “You think I want you bound to me just to feed some twisted sense of power?” he scoffed, the bitterness in his tone cutting sharper than any blade. “God, y/n, this isn’t about control.”

“Then what is it about?” you demanded. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks a hell of a lot like revenge. A power play.”

His jaw clenched, the restraint in his expression cracking further as he took another step toward you. “You think I want revenge? That I want to punish you?” he snapped, his voice rising. “Can’t you see that it’s you that I want?” his voice cracking, “I can’t afford to lose you. Not to him, not to anyone. I’d tear this place apart before I let him have you.”

“I am not yours,” you said bitterly, the words like venom on your tongue. “And you don’t get to play saviour by making me your captive.”

“Captive?” he echoed, the hint of hurt in his voice was subtle but evident. “Sure. Paint me as the villain then—that’s easier, isn’t it? Easier than admitting you’re the one who’s afraid.”

“Afraid?” you scoffed, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you. “Of you?”

“No,” he said sharply, his gaze piercing through you. “Afraid of what you feel. Of what you felt back then, and what you still feel now.”

You flinched as if his words had physically struck you, the momentary crack in your resolve giving him an opening. He stepped closer, his movements calculated as he swept you into a slow, deliberate turn, each step forcing you to follow, leaving you breathless and off balance. “Because if you were really sure,” he murmured, his voice dropping dangerously low, “you wouldn’t need to convince yourself I’m the villain. You wouldn’t be standing here, accusing me of using you, when the truth is you’re just looking for a reason to run.”

Your laugh was hollow, brittle. “You think I’d run from you?”

“I think you’ve been running since the moment we met,” he said simply, his voice cutting through your bravado like a blade. “And I think you’ll keep running until you admit why you poisoned me in the first place.”

He spun you again, his movements sharp and unrelenting, before pulling you back into him, his voice soft but no less cutting. “You knew what we were, what we could’ve been—and you destroyed it. You burned it all to the ground before it could burn you.”

Your fingers curled against his shoulder, nails lightly digging into the fabric, your voice cracking as you hissed, “What you felt for me is not love, Sunghoon. It’s control wrapped in obsession; possession, dressed up as affection.”

He swallowed thickly, and for a moment, you couldn’t tell why—was it because he had called you out, or because your words had cut too deep? The silence between you seemed to stretch, taut and unyielding. His jaw tightened, his gaze darkening, and when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, sharper, cutting through the air like frost.

“Maybe it is,” he murmured, each word deliberate, his brows furrowing as a glint flashed in his eyes—something cold, something you’d never seen before. “Maybe that’s all I am now.” The faint curve of his lips followed, but it wasn’t a smile—it was bitterness made flesh, a weapon unsheathed.

“Fine, y/n.” His voice dropped lower, darker, as though he were sealing a pact. “I’ll be the villain you so desperately need me to be.”

Before you could respond, he stepped closer, manoeuvring you sharply across the hall. The motion was unrelenting, his grip tightening with a force that felt like it could crush you if he chose. His movements were forceful, almost punishing, the elegance of the waltz tainted by the sheer rawness of his frustration.

“I’ll selfishly take back what you tore from me—what you tore from us—eight years ago,” he continued, his voice low and cutting, each word laced with an accusation that burned. His fingers moved with a slithery precision, curling with just enough force to press you against him, like a marionette in his grasp. His arm, firm and unrelenting, coiled around you like a serpent, each step tethering you closer, suffocating you with its possessiveness.

The curve of his palm seemed to mold perfectly to your body, a gesture that felt both possessive and unnervingly intimate. When he spun you, his hand didn’t falter—it followed the contours of your frame, reclaiming its position with a fluidity that felt inevitable, like gravity itself had shifted in his favour. His grip tightened subtly, fingers splaying just enough to press into the delicate fabric of your gown, branding you in a way that felt both commanding and terrifyingly intimate.

“You tore us apart,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something darker, heavier, as though he was drawing from a well of buried pain. His face hovered inches from yours, his breath searing against your skin. “This time, I’ll make sure you can’t end anything. Because if I can’t have you, no one can.”

The finality in his words hit you like a physical blow, leaving you frozen as he guided you through another step, his movements precise yet devoid of tenderness. The music surged around you, its crescendo mimicking the storm of emotions churning in the air.

And then, as the final note reverberated through the hall, Sunghoon stepped back. His retreat was slow, deliberate, each step like a crumbling facade. His dark eyes burned with an intensity you’d never seen before, emotions swirling just beneath the surface—anger, pain, longing, and something far darker. You couldn’t bring yourself to move, trapped in the gravity of what had just passed between you.

“Now, now,” the host’s voice shattered the silence like breaking glass, his cheerful tone jarring against the tension that lingered in the air. “You know the rules,” he announced, his grin sharp. “Burn the name of the rejected and put the chosen name in the gilded chest.”

Your gaze dropped to the two burgundy parchments in your hand. Slowly, deliberately, you picked up the one with Jaeyun’s name, placing it inside the chest that was meant for the chosen one. The soft click of the lid sealed your choice, a decision made for all to see.

Your gaze instinctively sought Sunghoon in the crowd. His eyes locked with yours for a fleeting second, and in that moment, something flickered across his face—fury, yes, but beneath it, a flash of raw hurt that cut deeper than any words. Then he turned sharply, vanishing into the sea of bodies.

What he didn’t see, what no one would ever see, was how you never burnt the name you rejected—Sunghoon's. You couldn’t.

Instead you folded the parchment with painstaking care, tucking it into the lining of your dress, just over your heart. As though it carried every unspoken word between you.

As if it meant more than you dared to admit.

A/N: No this isn't the end HAHAHAHA told you it was a 40k work so it's actually supposed to be longer but bloody hell apparently tumblr has a 1000 blocks per post limit and it exceeded. So I gotta chop it here. See you in the next one ((i might post it immediately after, or space it out hohoh so let me know what you think about this one)) !

Taglist: @axartia | @my5colours | @elinushka-ka | @nowjillsandwich | @leaderwon | @moniqueovermoney | @ashrocker123 | @seungkwan-s | @hydroyaksha | @ikayyyyyy | @capri-cuntz| @asyleums | @lovialy | @nikikookie | @lunateez | @reithecat | @hocestmundi | tagging those who have explicitly wanted to be tagged eheh apologies if I missed some out :(

[hollyhomburg]

Prey Animals (2)

—  Pairing: Yoongi x Jin, Yoongi x reader, Bts x reader

—  Genre: Omegaverse, Mafia au, Polyamory au, Found family, Suspense, Eventual Smut, Enemies to friends to lovers, Angst with a happy ending, Hurt and Comfort,

—  Summary: In a world where Beta's are rare, valuable, and often have more than one pack; Beta Min Yoongi does everything he can to keep his mafia heritage a secret from his primary pack. Little does he know he's not the only one who's living a double life.

—  Words: 8.6k

—  Warnings: funerals, referenced violence, threats of violence, organized crime, manipulation, angst, hurt/comfort,

—  Check in at the end for my notes on this chapter! —

While Betas are valued for their level heads, they are also valued primarily as secret keepers.

Yoongi is probably the best secret keeper in the whole state, maybe the whole country even. Yoongi keeps his family’s secret so well that he doesn’t even let himself think it most days.

It only bothers him when he remembers. Yoongi does not like remembering where he came from, he does not like remembering his blood family. Not his found family, not the pack. I get that it’s confusing, but ‘blood family’ couldn’t be more accurate when it comes to talking about the people that Yoongi is genetically related too.

They’re the ones that painted Yoongi’s hands with blood when he was barely old enough to drive a car, who taught him how to kill and get away with it. But getting away with murder is child’s play to the largest organized crime family in the continental united states.  

Alphas, Betas and Omegas. In the family- everyone has their place. Everyone has their spot in the hierarchy. As a beta, Yoongi won’t be expected to pop out heirs like an omega- or cultivate the family business like an alpha. He won’t be expected to mate because betas don’t mate the same way that alphas and omega’s do.

Beta mating bites are too strong- people say. They make you go crazy, it’s not worth the risk. People have died from them.

There’s only one person that Yoongi would ever want to give his mating bit too anyway and he’d never risk it. Not when Namjoon is right there- ready and wailing to carry Seokjin’s soul the day they met. They’ll wait a few years for propriety’s sake. But Yoongi has always known that he’d never know what it feels like to be mated to someone else.

Never. 

Being a beta born into a mafia family is both a blessing and a curse. On one hand- Yoongi is `-expected to have little to no involvement in most of the violence. Tradition orders that the betas shouldn’t sully their hands with blood, drugs, and gunpowder. 

Their job is much much more important than that.

~-~

(6 years later, 120 days before, Yoongi)

Like with most good tragedies, this story starts with a death and a secret. I’ll leave it up to you to decide which is which.

For Yoongi, coming back to the family feels like walking into a nightmare.

Despite his derision and hate for where he came from, Yoongi’s always been able to wear the mask. He finds himself putting it on to a snug fit the day of the funeral. He got into the hotel late last night and the tiredness weighs on him as does the unanswered text messages from his pack. The tiredness drags him down down down, past his grief and past his hopes for a future that involves any sort of permanent happiness as he stares out the window of the car, spotted with dark beads of rain.

His phone dings.

Jinnie (12:34): Hey! Could you let me know that you got in safe? Joonie’s going a little crazy lol.

He can still smell Jin faintly on him from their last hug at the train station only 18 hours ago. All he has to do is close his eyes to feel like he’s standing right next to him. The memory is both painful and sweet. Yoongi doesn’t have the heart to wash away the pack’s scents quiet yet.

He doesn’t know the next time he’ll have Jin’s scent on him. He should savor it while he can.

Yoongi knows better than to hope that this will be just a brief diversion. He can’t lie to Jin or tell him the truth, so he opts to say nothing instead. To leave the texts un-answered, read receipts off. Maybe he’ll answer tonight- when he’s gauged the situation and how risky it might be.

Yoongi already misses the pack, feels their absence from his side like a physical wound. He doesn’t know how other beta’s do it; every time he turns, he expects to see one of them. Body already screaming in a touch starved language of humming skin and aching muscles. Had it been just yesterday morning that he’d woken up in Tae’s arms with Jungkook nuzzling into the small of his back? Is he only 24 hours removed from it? Why does it already feel a lifetime away?

Yoongi can’t believe that it’s over, can’t respond to the text, can’t resist making any message sound like goodbye. Can’t accept that for all intents and purposes, they’ve already said goodbye.  

There’s a very good chance that none of them, Jin nor Namjoon or any of the 4 other members of his pack will ever see him again.

For what it’s worth, Yoongi didn’t want to go.

He’d paused at a hotel to drop his bags off this morning, but the lady at the front already knew him by name and had a reservation ready for him before he’d spoken two sentences for her. The calling card on the bed paired with an Armani suit had let Yoongi know that one house was already hoping to earn his favor.

His Korean is rusty- but not rusty enough that he can’t read the neat lettering.

The Choi family cordially invites you to dine with them next Saturday. Please take this gift as a gesture of our good will and enduring friendship.

He’d tossed the card back onto the bed and sighed. They couldn’t have waited one day before trying to court him?

The suit is stuffy, but it compliments his mask well enough to be necessary as he makes his way up the steps of the cathedral. He can walk like one of them and talk like one of them and can wear their consumes. But it will never fit right. The sneer on his face or the emptiness in his eyes is just an act. The guards at the front do not stop and ask him who he is. Anyone who’s anyone knows Yoongi’s face.

Arguably- he’s the most important alive person alive at the funeral. 

He’s given a wide birth. Those who know who he is hide their whispers and shock behind velvet gloved hands and the curl of their teeth.

The closer he gets the more he feels his persona drape over him like a shroud. He knows how his eyes look when he tilts his face downwards and lifts his lip in a soundless snarl. He knows how to look like a threat and act like they expect. Yoongi is a god among men, Yoongi will offer them no salvation or chance at hope. Just like with God; if they want something from him, they’ll have to earn it through devotion.

And even then, he might not give in.

He lets his angry scent roll off of him in waves- a warning before he wades through the sea of people. A hundred or maybe two all in black. His scent is Oceanic and briny, the sea of people part around him giving him a wide berth. Yoongi has always smelled like sea salt when angry. The sweet chocolate of his scent going bitter and yucky. They expect it from him. Betas have more important things to do than attend funerals, more important things to grieve than family members. Betas belong to no one and everyone.

Not all of the hatred or derision is faked. Yoongi does not like these people.

He hasn’t thrown up because of a dead body in years, but the matching caskets almost do it to him. Their cold faces, the sallow almost grey black tint to their skin. Powdered and dotted with morticians puddy to turn their cheeks less hollow. The makeup powdery but very opaque. They turn his stomach as he pays his respects. No one bothers to approach him until he’s stopped kneeling. He lingers, unwilling to surrender himself up to the dogs quiet yet.

The Don of the family and his beta are smaller in death. His salt and pepper hair falls flat, his dark suit baggy. The beta’s long grey hair is braided over her shoulder the same way she wore it when she was living. They are two sides of the same coin. The leading and legal bodies of the family, now resting peacefully.

There is no one kneeling besides Yoongi to pay his respects. Not yet.

They wait for only a heartbeat before they descend.

He gets more than a few tearful hugs and reunions. Yoongi loses track of how many people drag him in for a hug or kiss his forehead, bending low to rub their noses against his knuckles as is tradition. Some of them look vaguely familiar, some of them look vaguely like him, round faces and small lips, hawklike eyes that glimmer with more familiarity and less fear. The aunties and the omega’s have their faces covered in dark veils. Red lipstick hidden behind gauzy silk.

“Cousin!” Someone calls above the others. Yoongi turns slow like it’s barely worth his effort to greet this person and yet he finds himself smiling when he sees who it is. The mask cracking.  

Jongho is less chubby than the last time that Yoongi saw him. Less of a little kid with the habit of following the older cousins around and more of a young man. A young alpha judging from the strong woodsy scent that clings to him. During their teenage years, he’d made a habit of trailing after Yoongi like a little duckling because Yoongi was the only one who didn’t tell him to get lost (or worse).

At least before he’d been sent away. It’s good to see him, to see a kind smile on his face, the warmth and curiosity in his brown eyes- lighter than the usual deep brown of the family.

“Your hair is so long!” is the first thing he says, but after some coughing behind him, and the appearance of his father, a stout well-groomed man with eyes that can never quite hold their viciousness, Jongho falls into a deep bow.

“The Choi family hopes that you’ve enjoyed your gifts, Beta-sshi.” Yoongi sets a hand on his shoulder, drawing him up. Jongho seems to remember himself, looking away, failing to meet Yoongi’s eyes.

“Don’t you want to see how well your gift fits?” It’s too hard for Yoongi to resist indulging his young cousin. He reminds him so terribly of Jungkook. At the prodding Jongho prattles on, hands skimming up and down the sleeves and appreciating the fine silk of Yoongi’s suit. Going on about FIT and how he’s been promised a semester or two there, after things have calmed down.

After things have been decided.

Yoongi isn’t surprised that these tid bits are met with a glower from Choi senior. A constant shadow to their conversation. Fashion isn’t a major becoming of any would be leader- better business or international relations. Choi seniors glare is so disapproving that Yoongi almost want to snap at him.

Let the pup have his fun.

Yoongi likes him- but just like with all his family members Yoongi cannot trust Jongho on principle. But it’s hard not to want to know him. This cousin who was once a chubby haired youth is now a strong alpha, teenaged, barely 20. Yoongi congratulates him on presenting as an alpha (as is expected, condolences would have been offered if he presented as an omega. Yoongi hates it.)

Eyeing him up and down, Yoongi admits that they might have been rivals in another life. They’re close enough in age, but Jongho still wears the bright eyes of a child eager to please.

Jongho is not the eldest alpha in his family, but he is one of several elder siblings and cousins in the Choi family (the moniker he greeted Yoongi by was just that- a name to call him. They’re not related by any blood that Yoongi is aware of). Yoongi’s not surprised that Choi senior seems to have selected him to meet Yoongi first. He’s the Choi families obvious choice for Don. He’s by far the most measured of his siblings, the most controlled and the most intelligent.

Last time Yoongi saw the eldest Choi son, Geumjae was trying to rip his throat out. Yoongi has no idea if he’s still alive.

It’s clear Choi senior hasn’t forgotten this show of impropriety. Clapping Yoongi on the back so hard his knees start to buckle. “He’s scored in the upper percentile for college entrance exams, and he has excellent extra-carriculars. He did student government and student counsel at his private school and-” Yoongi cringes, but nods along. He can’t expect every family not to treat this funeral like a job interview even if it is a little grating.

And Yoongi is the first to admit that leading the family is a job that requires more than brute force.

Yoongi passes along his thanks and holds out his arms for them to see the fit. “My mother picked out the color, she-” his eyes flicker up to Yoongi’s face, and Yoongi sees a bit of hesitancy there.

Jongho’s father claps him on the back again and derails the conversation, “He’s a good alpha, always knows when to listen to his elders.” Yoongi resists the temptation to roll his eyes at the obvious ass kissing.

The Choi’s let him go but not before getting an official acceptance of the dinner invitation extended to him. Yoongi wades through the crowd, searching aimlessly. There are hundreds if not thousands of people packed tight to pay their respects. Reporters and camera’s too- because not all of the families’ businesses are illegitimate.

All members of the family have pinned roses to their lapels as a sign of respect so it’s easy to pick them out of the crowd. White for the omegas and red for the alphas. The omega youth who hands them out at the front desk eyes Yoongi upset, unsure which to give him, hand shaking as he flutters between white and red. 

“It’s fine really- I’ll just take a white one-”

“I’ve got you.”

A woman steps up to him from the crowd gathered, the only one brave enough to disturb his peace. Yoongi isn’t immediately able to place her Family name or her face. She plucks a red lily from a nearby bouquet and tucks it into his breast pocket. Smoothing out the fabric after she’s done. Fussing with it. The delicate flower drops rusty red pollen onto Yoongi’s suitcoat.

Alphas don’t fuss, but she is one- judging by her scent and the red rose pinned to her own suitcoat. Female alphas don’t always dress like men, but this one does. Her tapered slacks, charcoal suitcoat, and dark blouse ripple like water when she moves. She smiles up at him delicately. Her smile is well trained and gives nothing away. It is neither genuine nor fake. “We didn’t think you’d be coming until later.” 

“Neither did I.” Yoongi admits carefully. But why should he hide it. He doesn’t want to be here, and they all know it.

There is nothing in her eyes- nothing at all that tells Yoongi what kind of mask she might be wearing. She’s got long hair, silver, dyed from the roots that poke out from the perfect middle part. it doesn’t take Yoongi any time to place her scent- it’s so strong.

Peppermint- it almost has a numbing effect on his nostrils. An artificial edge that cuts the sweetness and makes it more alpha. It takes him second of searching her face before he recognizes the tuck of her chin. 

“Moon Byulyi.”

She smiles tensely, dropping into Korean out of formality. “It’s been a while Beta-sshi.”

Moonbyul is someone he remembers well. From a shared childhood spent running around in too tight tiny stuffy suit jackets at formal occasions like easter and Christmas. Playing underneath tables for hide and seek and tag. Moonbyul was one of the few pups that was brave enough to talk to him. That wasn’t cautioned against being his friend or overly encouraged to gain his favor by the power-hungry parents. Yoongi would never have called them friends back then- because you aren’t friends with people outside of your house- not without it being risky. But a certain kind of knowing respect hovers on the edge of her smile.

Even as a pup, he’d been infamous. In the cathedral, people whisper, pointing him out in the crowd to their companions. Red lips hidden behind velvet gloved hands. He’s allowed to cause a commotion- there is no one left to tell them off for their blatant disrespect of the dead. No one left to remind them of tradition.

Yoongi lets them stare.

Just like with Jongho, Moonbyul was sent away before presentation. Many families choose to send their children away from the mafia life after elementary school. Before their scents start to lean either sweet or musky. Before anything starts to hint at if they’ll be an alpha or omega.

Those formative years can be a little bit dicey, with everyone’s scent and hormones changing every few days. New instincts provoking fights and spats with anyone who comes too close. Presentation provides Improper and dangerous volatility in a family like theirs. It’s better to whisk the next generation away for a private and more dedicated education.

Alphas are taught to fight and kill and bleed; omega’s are taught to simper and preen and scheme. They’re educated just like the rest of the population, sure, but the family requires a more thorough sort of learning.

Yoongi hardly remembers when his older left. He only remembers when Geumjae had come back smelling like smoke and fire and rage.

Scents are as individual as a fingerprint. Omega’s and Alpha’s don’t get theirs until they go into their first heat or rut but Beta’s scents present immediately upon birth. The other sub genders smell uniform in a soft milky pup scent. A smell ingrained into people’s brains and instincts that nudges the impulse protect and provide and nourish.

Yoongi had started to smell like chocolate on the third day after he was born.

There are boarding schools and private little compounds that the family keeps where unpresented pups can have a more dedicated education away from the prying eyes. Yoongi hasn’t seen Moonbyul since just after she turned 13.an early age for presentation by any standard. Although the year’s stretch between them she’s still the same. The mischievous lilt to her words is subdued here. She looks more serious; she looks as tired and as anxious as they all feel.

 That much he can tell is not faked.

She should be more careful to hide her emotions. She’s a head of house after all.

They are no longer children chasing after brightly colored eggs and wishing for sweets. To show any weakness is dangerous for her and her pack. One of them hovers on the edge of her elbow, smaller and shorter but no less bright eyed than Moonbyul herself. She’s an omega from her garb, her dress is long, flowy, and black. Her hair is cut to her chin, atypical for an omega. She knows better than to speak here. Moonbyul stands almost infront of her, tall, nearly posturing.

She doesn’t need to bother, there is only one person in this room that Yoongi’s even a little bit afraid of.

“Have you seen my brother?” She makes a noise, glancing behind him.

Yoongi tries to turn before Geumjae can get too close, but he’s too late. 

There are crow’s feet beginning to pull at the corners of his eyes. That’s the first thing that Yoongi notices, and the fact that he’s armed despite given the clear orders not to be. The lines of his harness visible just under his well-tailored suit. He registers only that before the broad-shouldered man pulls him in and Yoongi’s nostrils fill to the brim with the scent of burning things. Not the smell of cooking or firewood- but the smell that buildings get when they burn, acrid and metallic.

Geumjae must be nearly 33 now, but the stressors and finer points of ageing seem to have spared him for now as he pulls back and gives Yoongi a beaming smile, bright eyes calculating. Aware that the rest of the family is casting glances at the two of them many more times than is socially acceptable.

His brother looks exactly like he did the last time Yoongi saw him, taller than Yoongi and meatier. Wide shoulders and a tapered waist that says alpha. But their faces could be identical if it wasn’t for the scar crossing his eye and his mouth perpetually twisted into something like a snarl. They look similar enough that they’ve been mistaken for twins before.

He pulls Yoongi close with a hard hand at his neck digging into his scent gland and Yoongi resists the urge to flinch. Geumjae forces them to embrace, the picture of brotherly affection and comfort as he presses Yoongi’s face into his shoulder. Mouth pressed to ear hidden in Yoongi’s hairline so that no one can hear what he has to say or read his lips.

There are no hello’s, no farce, just straight to business. The lily remains between them- crushed by the sudden hug. All beauty here is short lived.

“I hope you’re not planning to change anything Yoonie.” Geumjae says the childish nickname with a sickly-sweet lilt to it. “It’s been so long since we’ve all seen you that you’re practically an outsider. There’s a lot you don’t understand. You should let your older brother teach you how things work again.” 

Yoongi can’t pull away or else risk making a scene. No matter how much his burning scent is sticking in his nose and making him want to gag. Geumjae’s expensive suit reeks of rich cologne, at odds with his scent. Geumjae smells and acts like wildfires and burning houses; destructive and unpredictable.

Geumjae knows of Yoongi’s only weak spot. 

His arms around Yoongi’s body remain ridged and vicelike, hand threading through the back of his hair in a clutch that is much more intimate than is necessary. Geumjae has always been stronger than Yoongi- has always been the alpha. Yoongi pushes against his chest, but Geumjae holds firm.

“All this talk has me thinking- if you died, I guess we’d have to invite your little pack, right? The pictures I’ve seen of them look so delicate and unprepared. Your pack omega seems like the type I’d love to sink my teeth into.”

Yoongi’s blood goes cold, and he starts to push- visibly at Geumjae’s chest. Recoiling from his touch and from what he insinuates. He doesn’t stop there

“I wonder why you didn’t bring them. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were afraid of us getting our hands on them.” He pulls back, smiling. It’s not friendly- more of a bearing of teeth. Geumjae must have had implants put in because his canines seem sharper than should be normal.

“But luckily, I know we’ll never have to find out.”

These threats are not hollow. Yoongi knows better. Yoongi does his best to school his face into a somber frown. Nodding like Geumjae has just said some words of wisdom. He’s not really agreeing- all of this, every inch between their bodies and the lack thereof- is done for the presentation of it all.

His choice is the furthest thing from his mind. Every moment all he can feel is wrong wrong wrong. Wrong to be here- wrong to be away from the pack- has Jungkook had a seizure yet? Is Jin worrying after his unanswered text? What song is Hoseok listening to over the radio? How did Namjoon’s surgery go- the one that he was worried about and felt underprepared for. What about Tae and his book? How did it end. How how how? How can he keep his brother away from them?

The phone in his pocket burns. And he knows the texts from the pack will go unanswered. Yoongi will be too afraid to reply.

Yoongi casts a look at the ceiling. The rosette windows in the vaulted ceiling shine in all their colors, but they offer no word of God.

(Yoongi knows better. God only listens when you speak through sin.)

~-~

(5 Years ago, Yoongi and Seokjin)

The thing about working with someone is that you spend a lot of time together.  It’s kind of hard not to grow attached, kind of hard not to be friends.

Over the next three weeks before his birthday, Seokjin spends a total of 126 hours with Min Yoongi. He comes to learn that he likes the cinnamon coffee cake over the plain ones, that he likes vanilla latte’s over matcha- that he thinks it tastes like dirt.

They become friends quicker than Jin expected, quicker than he necessarily wants- seeing as Jin’s kind of shit at keeping them- and hasn’t made a single friend in the last 3 years that he hasn’t lost. What’s the point of picking up something only to lose it later?

Seokjin doesn’t want to be Yoongi’s friend, but it happens that way anyways.

Seokjin resists the urge to watch Yoongi, waiting for him to take a sip of coffee (black, americano- but with a secret spoonful of matcha, the color of it disguised by the extra dark roast) Seokjin waits, watching his prank play out in his peripheral vision. Tensing every time Yoongi gets even a little close to where it’s cooling. Yes, almost, there-

“Uhm? Excuse me?”

Seokjin almost flinches at the customer, tapping his hands on the countertop impatiently- but not impatiently enough. A businessman, alpha, pale gray suit baggy at the waits. A faint blush on his cheeks. “What can I get for you?”

“Your number would be good to start,”

“Uhm” Seokjin barely resists the urge to cringe and hide behind his notepad. He’s not on the market- but he’s not off it either. Seokjin does not respond, just waits until the uncomfortable silence festers long enough, for the alpha to just reply to his order.

Seokjin is very very picky. Picker than he should be maybe- as an omega of his standing.

Yoongi notices, bypassing His (sabotaged) coffee, polishing the chrome of one of the espresso machines glassy. He waits until the alpha is gone, the door to the coffee shop tinkling closed before he asks.

Yoongi is always doing that. Waiting until they’re alone to speak. Seokjin wonders if it’s a habit or a beta trait.

 “What’s with you today? Usually, you’d have a line or something.”

Seokjin’s mouth quirks beyond his control. “What was it that I said last week?”

“Treating omegas that way you do won’t make your father love you?”

“Your knot is not big enough to act like that.”

They double over into laughter, and the skim of Yoongi’s hand up his back as he passes behind to put in another tray of muffins (mass market, made from mixing oil and water into bags of grey brown mix) in the oven is so tender, so thought out that Seokjin almost melts.

“You should put more chocolate in them” he says, and Yoongi pauses, hums thoughtfully and reaches past him to get the chocolate chips, adding another quarter cup to the batter. Yoongi is always making the chocolate muffins- mostly because Seokjin is always eating them.

The café is full of the smell of melting chocolate, and it’s not just from the muffins. But from Yoongi too. Yoongi’s scent is so pleasant, Seokjin catches himself raising his nose to catch it on the air when the other isn’t looking.

“But seriously. You always have a reply, what’s up?” Yoongi doesn’t look at him when he says it, instead directing his attention to mixing in the chocolate chips into the batter. He’s not very good at it, gets a bit of glossy brown on the countertop. Seokjin doesn’t have it in himself to complain. Seokjin knows he’s trying to make Seokjin feel more comfortable, more open by not looking at him.

Any other person doing that would make Seokjin feel manipulated or backed into a corner. But it’s different with Yoongi.

The two of them linger there, looking out the wide windows. The rain that falls that casts the streetlights all drippy. The cloudy sky up above offers no shooting stars or wishes, not even the moon put there like a single burning wick of a candle. Nothing in the sky, no burning, no joy, only wet.

“Today’s my birthday.” Seokjin finally admits, voice soft and quiet. It won’t be his birthday for much longer, the clock already reads 11:32. They’ve got less than a half hour left. And Seokjin did not cry today- his only goal. Not presents or blowing out candles and love. None of it.

He’s tried of crying. Tired of being alone too.

“Fuck” Yoongi stops stirring the metal bowl, setting it down softly before he leans against the counter. “Why didn’t you tell me, would have gotten you something or some shit-”

Seokjin hums, stirring his coffee hard, turning the wooden rod through the crust of extra sugar at the bottom. Seokjin always likes things extra sweet and extra warm; he wonders how long it will take Yoongi to realize there’s a reason for that. That he’s trying to fill a family sized hole in himself that the wind whistles through. Like a ripped sail on a ship.

When Seokjin looks over Yoongi looks if not genuinely upset then a little devastated. It shocks Seokjin enough that he stands up a little straighter, color to his cheeks that has nothing to do with the stoplight outside as it goes from yellow to red.

The muffins ding, and they’re ready, piping hot, the chocolate all melty at the top like Seokjin likes. “Hang on I know they’ve got- here.”

Yoongi leans over, he’s got a lighter, and Seokjin isn’t sure what for. It’s white, has initials on it. There is a crappy pink birthday candle sticking out of the muffin. It’s too early to take the muffins out of the tray and it’s melting onto the countertop. But when Yoongi says, “Make a wish,” Seokjin closes his eyes and blows.

He’s not really sure what he wishes for, but when he opens his eyes, Yoongi is smiling.

They share half of it each, and Seokjin feels so warm he has to take off his sweater. Yoongi licks the chocolate from his fingers. Seokjin watches and looks away. Nervous.

They play Seokjin’s favorite music while they mop the floors, and Yoongi does his best impression of that one alpha rapper than everyone likes.

“You like seriously like music, right?” Seokjin says, sitting on the countertop and swinging his feet because there’s no one here and it’s almost 2 am. They pretty regularly only have one or two customers that come in mid-week. Why their boss insists on keeping the shop open and two of them there at this hour- Seokjin has no idea.  

“Yeah, I’ve got like, 6,000 songs on my phone.” Seokjin scoffs, endeared. Yoongi is exactly the kind of person to brag about something like that. Seokjin’s feet hit swish back and forth.

“You better not have given iTunes all that money.”

Yoongi grins, tipping an imaginary hat. “Nah- it’s a pirates life for me.” Yoongi continues to sweep at the floor while Seokjin watches. “You’re like, really bossy for an omega. Thought they were all supposed to be like, docile?” Yoongi moves onto mopping the entry way and Seokjin switches to the booth seat so that they don’t have to shout to keep talking.

Seokjin snorts. Instead of parrying Yoongi’s words, Seokjin settles into the booth, pulling his knees to his chest until he can feel the pleather through the hole in his shoe. “You go to school for it? The music?”

“No, I ugh-” Seokjin watches Yoongi brace himself for disappointment or judgment. “I didn’t go to college.”

Seokjin’s fingers stop their drumming. “Good, it’s a waste of time.” Betas don’t really need to go to college to be successful, the same way that alpha’s don’t need to dress or preen or maintain themselves to gain respect. Seokjin skirts by, doing the bare minimum for an omega. It would be different if he were female. If his reproductive organs had presented him as anything other than male at birth. Men are alphas until proven otherwise and women are omegas until they decide different. It’s only his rotten luck that his presentation came with a heat and not a rut.

“What you’d go for then?” Yoongi asks, shifting uneasily from foot to foot.

“Psychology.”

“Why don’t you do that then?”

Seokjin shrugs, “can’t get a job that pays more than this without my masters, can’t pay for my master’s without this job but-” It’s Seokjin’s turn to brace himself. “It’s so so expensive, and my student loans are already a lot-”

“Nah I get it; your family wouldn’t like help you or something? You seem like a good kid; do they know that?”

“I am older than you.” Seokjin scoffs, reminding him. “And besides, what family?”

They haven’t gotten to the dead parent’s thing yet, but they will one day. Yoongi looks up and stops his mopping. The water drips onto the dirty linoleum. Instead of contesting with Yoongi’s bereft look Seokjin replies quick. It’s still his birthday for another 10 or so minutes. And he’d rather not talk about his parents.

“Did your family like not approve of you doing music or did they want you to be a doctor or something?”

Beta’s usually become doctors, or CEO’s or managers or anything. Seokjin can already tell that their boss likes Yoongi more than him. There’s a sour lilt to his voice, a pout there. Seokjin bets Yoongi gets paid more than him.

That’s okay, Seokjin’s instincts tell him. He needs it to eat more- his legs are so skinny.

But instead of saying what Seokjin expects, Yoongi just looks back at him, his dark eyes mirroring his misery. He scoffs parroting Seokjin’s words back to him.

“What family?”

Seokjin is a lone omega, a dangerous thing to be in the city these days- or at least that’s what the news has him and everyone else believing. Enough omega’s go missing that it makes the news. Picked up off of street corners or otherwise, they just vanish. The only thing that keeps Seokjin from being one of them is luck and the fact that he’s taller than most omega’s and broad enough to pass for a scrawny alpha.

Yoongi turns away from their mutual grief, stilling when he see’s what’s outside.  

“It’s snowing.”

 It’s early for November but neither of them says it, they move, abandoning their posts for a second to go out and watch the gentle flakes flickering down.

“First snow!” Seokjin says, and Yoongi grins. The snow is brief, melts the second it hits the concrete. But it’s a good thing, because it means that neither Seokjin nor Yoongi has to walk home in the rain.

When they return inside, Yoongi takes a sip of his coffee and makes a face. Seokjin laughs so hard that he has to clutch at his stomach.

It’s an even better birthday when they have to depart for their respective apartments for the day and Yoongi hands over his flannel and says that he won’t take no for an answer. At least he’s wearing a long sleeve unlike Seokjin. It settles Seokjin’s instincts so well that he sways. His fingers quickly making sweater paws on account of how long the sleeves are.

“Like this one a lot, whenever you wear it.” Yoongi’s hands linger on the flannel. Seokjin’s wrist. He does up the button. Seokjin lets him.

“You can keep it, as a birthday present.”

Seokjin huffs, shakes his head, “I said I like it when you wear it, giving it away defeats the purpose.”

Yoongi’s hands go tight in the fabric and then relax, and his voice takes on a husky quality. Breath billowing out in the cold. They’re standing close enough that all Seokjin can smell is chocolate.

“Then you can bring it back to me when you get tired of it.”

The first night shift ends and the second begins, Seokjin and Yoongi go their separate ways. Seokjin walks past the same alpha’s from the night before that and the night before that. And like usual Seokjin tenses, readying himself to be catcalled. His fingers tangling in the arms of Yoongi’s sweatshirt as he braces himself for it.

But it doesn’t come, it’s like the alphas take one whiff of Yoongi’s scent on the air and their eyes slide over Seokjin as he scurries past.

Seokjin pauses at the end of the block, at the edge where streetlight becomes shadow, and looks back.

~-~

It doesn’t take long for the two of them to put two and two together (no- not like that, although that takes predictably less time too).

The alphas Seokjin passes on his way home from the coffee shop never bother him as much when he’s wearing something of Yoongi’s. The beta’s scent clings to his clothing like an invisible shield- keeping Seokjin from harm. Seokjin mentions it offhand once and from then on Yoongi makes sure he’s got something, his gloves, his hat, his jacket, everything. Just so that Seokjin gets home safe.

It doesn’t mean anything at first, that Seokjin is under Yoongi’s protection- but after a few weeks that starts to mean a whole lot more.

Seokjin has never believed that betas are particularly special. He attributes most of societies reverence to just foolish mythos and childlike mystery. But even he has to admit that It’s almost spooky the way that the alpha’s unwanted attraction and attention slides over him like he’s slippery, like he’s a mirage, a specter- but only if he’s wearing Yoongi’s scent.

Seokjin always draws attention- for the way his shoulders swivel and the pretty omegan curve to his hips and face. He's pretty, he's always been pretty. He was glad of it as a teenager and in college. An apex predator for his beauty alone.

But all the prettiest flowers have poison hidden at the root.

That prettiness felt more like a threat the older he got, and now when he walks home from his closing shift at the café it’s always on the edge of his mind. Seokjin is lucky but plenty of omegas aren’t. He's been followed home before. He lives in the bad part of town. Yoongi does too- but living in a bad part of town means something different when you're an omega. 

They share things, like mittens and hats and button-down coats, not because they’re the same size but because Yoongi is…soft. Yoongi is fond of Seokjin, and he shows it in the way he talks, the way he’s always touching Seokjin on the elbow or the shoulders. They’re careful. And if Yoongi where an alpha- Seokjin would hate it. If Yoongi where anyone else- he’d hate it.  

Yoongi never mentions any friends or lovers, there are no other scents but his that cling to his clothing. After a while Seokjin doesn’t ask. It’s so not cool to ask after the affairs of a beta, you have to be nonchalant.

They go through most of November and the start of December like that, dancing around each other, each shift ends with one of Yoongi’s sweatshirts or coats or scarves folded there on the countertop, covered with coffee rings and crumbs from chocolate cupcakes- waiting for him.

Over time, Seokjin gets used to Yoongi's quirks. Like how he always makes Seokjin drink's with too much sugar and is always ducking back into the office at the coffee shop whenever the phone rings. So much so that Jin starts to associate the sound with his new co-worker. His new co-worker who makes him laugh and feel like he's 14 not 24. His new co-worker whose also his friend and asks Seokjin to come with him to see the tree lighting in the center of town. They pack in like sardines and go, see each other the next day and it’s not boring. Yoongi doesn’t get bored of Seokjin. He doesn’t.

He makes Jin feel like it's not too late for him just by looking at him and saying. "Smart kid like you, though you'd be out of this city by now." 

"I am older than you, you know." 

"Still a kid- you've got chubby cheeks." A pinch to them that has Jin’s face warming. A flush that could melt any spring.

With Yoongi’s scent on him, Jin isn't as much of a target for harassment. It irks him- that a beta is worth their respect but an omega isn’t. All it takes is just Yoongi's pheromones to settle the thugs and gang members he passes on street corners and make him invisible.

Seokjin wants to be invisible most of the time- mostly on social media which he keeps relatively blank. He's worried about what his old friends might think of his lack of social life, the lack of likes on his selfies that he always deletes after an hour anyways. He's scared of his aunts and uncles calling and asking how he's doing and has he found a job yet? Is he really applying himself as hard as he can? How could a cushy college in America not set him up for success? 

Yoongi makes Seokjin feel the opposite of invisible. Yoongi makes Seokjin feel... special in a way he’s always craved. Chosen. When he gives him his jacket, when he bumps their shoulders on the cold nights. Stands closer so that some of his warmth gets shared by Jin. "It's cold," he says, voice a low gravel. A true gentleman, his thick jean jacket held out.

"But you'll be cold on your walk home too." 

"Doesn't matter, I'd rather the warmth went to you." 

Yoongi gives him his flannel, his hat, his everything just so that Seokjin can feel a little bit safer on his walk home. How many layers of fabric and viscera separates Jin’s heart from Yoongi’s scent? How many?

And then Seokjin’s twice yearly heat hits, and he doesn’t see Yoongi for nearly 5 days.

He wakes up one morning in early December and it feels like someone’s holding him under warm water. An ache in his chest that’s so visceral he checks his ribs for wounds. But the wanting is there, ever present, a phantom limb.

Heats are just another vestigial trait left over from shapeshifting times. No one can shift anymore- but the more animal side like the scents and heats and secondary genders still remain. Seokjin usually doesn’t go into heat until the spring as is usual for most omegas. Something in his body must have confused Yoongi’s warmth for the change of the seasons.

Seokjin’s heats have always been brutal.  

A fever is pretty typical as far as heats go. He’s got some cramping along with the mess and honey sweetness between his legs that goes untended too and under enjoyed. Unlike the bone deep exhaustion that has him wanting to swath his body in soft blankets and nest the day away

And do little else but fuck and breed, but Seokjin’s so annoyed by that he hardly touches himself.

Breeding season is a fire that never ends. A particular sexual hunger that cannot be sated by Seokjin’s hands alone. Beyond the violent need for sexual attention, he finds himself reaching out for hands that aren’t there, nosing at his sheets for a scent he finds in mittens and an old flannel. His dreams are a tangle of slick, pleasure, chocolate muffins and big hands.

On the second day he thinks to check his phone and finds a text from an unknown number.

Unknown (12:28): Please make sure you eat something.

A pause then, where sweat beads on Seokjin’s forehead and he whimpers out through the next wave of wanting. Omega cock hard and straining against the nest, loose with Yoongi’s things dotted along the barrier. Smelling like chocolate.

Seokjin bites them just to taste, blunt omega teeth sinking into the fabric. Hungry and Helpless.

Unknown (12:28): Let me know if you need anything.

It’s too much to offer for strangers and too much to offer for just friends. Seokjin resists the urge to call and talk to him, but just barely. Probably sparing himself from some helpless begging and friendship ending embarrassment.

It feels like someone’s scraping out the inside of his uterus with rusty tongs. Going through a heat without a partner feels like being touch starved only worse- like he actually is wasting away because there isn’t anyone holding him. If people could starve from lack of love Seokjin would. His heat is mistimed, too early, most of the time Jin takes a suppressant to make sure it doesn’t come.

Jin tries to ignore what it means at first. Unable to meet Yoongi’s gaze when he sees him after. How do you explain to a beta that being around them, feeling safe with them, was enough to make your heat come early? It doesn’t help that he’s unable to return his clothes like usual- due to the slick-soaked state they'd been in. Much to his pink-cheeked shame.

Jin’s a little thinner, a little gaunter because eating during a heat is always a little hard- when the wanting strikes so completely that other needs are pushed out. Yoongi cooks him up a whole tray of chocolate muffins and makes him sit through the whole of his shift on his first day back. Sets his jacket over Jin’s shoulders when he nods off in one of the booths around midnight and lets him sleep until a half hour before their manager is supposed to show up.

Seokjin is already awake when he comes close. Jin has his eyes closed; head tipped against the vinyl back of one of the booth seats. Resting his eyes. “No one’s taken care of me in a long time you know.” When his eyelashes flutter open, Yoongi is looking at him. There’s no one in the coffee shop on account of how early it is, the clock in the corner is red, flashes that it’s close to three am.

“No one’s looked after me in a long time either.”

Seokjin’s eyelashes flutter against his cheek. “I could do it.”

Yoongi just huffs and hands him a cup of coffee. It’s made just the way that Seokjin likes it. Jin takes a sip of it and hums, licking his lips. Yoongi watches. Eyes flickering down and then to Seokjin’s eyes.  

“We’ll see about that.” 

And then Seokjin’s basement apartment floods and half his stuff gets ruined and Yoongi offers his couch and shit- the rest is basically history.

Christmas passes and they cut off a branch from a tree at the park and stick it in the only empty corner of the apartment, hanging pilfered and stolen ornaments from the shop on the branches. And they get each other necessities like socks and a new pair of shoes for Jin with their limited extra funds.

But things are easier now that there’s just one apartment. And they won’t have to stress for long because both of them get raises before valentine’s day. Yoongi will hardly let Seokjin sleep on the couch for weeks at a time and his bed was big enough for the two of them. 

It was winter they could save on heating if they just got a little closer. A little snuggling never hurts anyone right? Seokjin doesn't need to ask if Yoongi's lonely- if he's got someone. Yoongi defies what Seokjin knows of most betas; usually elusive and unwieldy, uncommitted and cold. If Omegas are like moon's and alphas are like sun's then beta's are like comets, coming into orbit every now and then. 

But Yoongi is not a cold icy rock that throws Seokjin the barest hint of affection. On the contrary, Yoongi's always so warm. 

“Last snow.” Yoongi says, standing outside of the coffee shop wearing Seokjin’s sweater- so big on him that it falls to his mid-thigh. Yoongi’s legs aren’t so skinny anymore. His kiss tastes like the cold, cold lips and warm big hands, and Seokjin wonders how he ever worried. How fate ever let him wonder when there was this waiting for him.

There are 6 other people waiting for Seokjin, he just has to be patient.

There is something about a pair of arms that you know are meant to hold you and keep you safe. Something unnamable that blocks out all reason and fear and leaves only hope. Seokjin feels it the second he sinks into Yoongi’s strong arms and feels that heat, the heat of belonging. Maybe it’s strange that he’s older. Maybe it’s strange that Seokjin wants him and not the countless other knot-head alphas society says an omega should end up with. Beta’s and omega’s are not supposed to be enough for each other.

By the time he’s saved enough for a deposit for a new apartment Seokjin never wants to leave and Yoongi would never make him. Now Seokjin grabs Yoongi’s flannels not out of pure safety but because he likes having the beta’s scent close. It's like sea salt and chocolate. It conjures up warm nights around a bonfire at the beach with s’mores.

They do that on the weekends, a low-cost date night because they can’t afford anything better but it’s better than any fancy dinner at Nobu or the steakhouse. Just because it’s them. And Seokjin makes Yoongi perfect little sandwiches of love and marshmallow, and Jin eats only the chocolate out of them cuz really- that’s his favorite part.

They’re a pack even if it’s just the two of them. Seokjin tells himself he can be happy with just this even though every day on his walk home he wonders if Yoongi will still be at their apartment, always worried that today is the day that Yoongi’s just- gone. It makes his face when he opens the door, the shy smile and the open arms- that much more delicious to behold.   

There are horror stories of that happening everywhere- My beta was fine until he wasn't. My beta left our pack on a random afternoon- said he had a job lined up across the country. I came home and my beta had another alpha in our bed, and I couldn't even be angry- that's just how betas are after all. Do you ever think it's fucked up? How they don't have to be faithful to one pack.

You can't be angry. Betas are biologically designed that way. Just be happy you're in his roster.

Beta's always stray. Seokjin knows that and accepts it as a fact before Yoongi's even officially his boyfriend. It's not like Seokjin's not allowed to date other people either, it's socially acceptable for an omega- with a beta or not- to look for an alpha. But Seokjin doesn't date. He doesn't date anyone once he and Yoongi become a pack. It would feel weird, to bring someone into their orbit. 

It doesn’t escape him that Yoongi puts their next apartment in Seokjin’s name the first time they decide to move- just in case he needs it. Yoongi wouldn’t be so unkind as to leave Seokjin without making sure he has a roof over his head. Seokjin looks for the hints of others. Other scents on Yoongi's clothes, and any suspicious absence. But there's nothing, nothing that hints that Yoongi's got someone else.  

Omega's are biologically inclined to seek out alpha's. Especially omega's in their prime like Seokjin. Seokjin never thought he’d be the one to change first, to want more first.

But then he meets Namjoon in a Laundromat of all places. (Really?Who meets their soulmate in a fucking laundromat?)

(Previous Chapter)

~-~

(Read the first Version of this story Here)

Notes:

- Ahhh the little pre-section in this chapter. Definitely one of the ones that I thought about cutting out of the story especially because it has so many like- references to Namjoon and he isn’t a character we’ve been introduced too yet.

- I just realized that I use the word ‘court’ to try and describe what the Choi family was trying to do to Yoongi. And you know that’s not exactly what they were trying to do to him like- they where certainly not trying to entice him to be a part of their pack- but it’s close enough!

- It’s important to me that you know the specific smell I’m referring to, the scent Geumjae has is the smell that housefires have. I saw my grandparents’ house burn down to the ground once, fire smells different when it’s memories that’s burning.

- Originally when I was first writing bily- I just looked up the name of Yoongi’s brother and was like- ‘woo there we go’ and thought nothing of it but going forward with this version I want to be clear that I think of him as more of August d- this version of Geumjae is identical to Yoongi besides the scar! If it were ever made into a movie I think Yoongi and Geumjae should be played by the same actor and edited parent trap style.

- (SPOILER) you’ll notice at the very end of Yoongi’s section where he’s wondering what the pack is doing at that moment- he doesn’t mention or wonder about jimin. That is because Jimin is actually directly above him in the cathedral with a gun trained on Geumjae but! You’d never know that unless you had already finished the story! Just a little tidbit that only makes sense if you look at everything closely.

- Did you notice the hyyh reference? Yoongi’s lighter?

- I just realized that Yoongi parrots Seokjin’s words when he’s talking to the m/c from this chapter to chapter 12 the “I could do it” I could love you, I could be your person! Ah the beauty of unintentional parallels (my brain is like a record skipping. The same wishes and dreams on repeat where I write out the same tenderness again and again, hoping that something will stick, like flesh made flame, like sugar made sweet and friendship bracelet made bond).

[mylovejimimi]

The Kims, your breeding problem | SJ & NJ TWO SHOT PT. 1.5

— PAIRING: mafiaboss!seokjin x mafiaboss!namjoon x mafiaprincess!reader — GENRE: smut +18. minors dni — WARNINGS: omg none? sorry i didn't include much smut in this one, i didn't have much inspiration so i just made this to add a little context and to move the plot forwards. — SUMMARY: Desperate to save your empire and your name, you walk into the lion's den with a plan. Turns out those two lions had a plan of their own, and now you're the piece of meat they had been so starved for. — WORDS: 6k >>> You can read part 1 here <<< Soooooo it's been a while lol I have so many things to do omg but i'm happy i can give you something, even if is a little lame like this continuation lmao I swear to bring you something much better in the next one, pls forgive my dry mind and busy life, ilyyyy Please remember you can send me a tip by buying me a ko-fi if you like my works, it will meant the world to me ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ And as always, i look forward your thoughts on this. Enjoy !

Namjoon had picked an interest in you since he started in the whole crime business thing. You were big in that circle, more for yourself than for your family’s history. News always carried your name around, and then, one day, he had the luck to run into you in one party.

Back then, he was an orphaned eighteen years old whose only chance at life was to be a construction worker or a bouncer at a club, given his prominent height and overall bigger frame. Somehow, he ended up being a bodyguard at the service of some minor drug lord that loomed the outskirts of Seoul; he saw all kind of illegalities at work but could be proud of having never participate in any of them. However, any little remaining morals he had were thrown out of the window the day his boss was invited to a big party – the party your father was hosting.

The opulence of your mansion left his jaw on the floor. There weren’t that many people, but the power and easiness all of them exuded left him green with envy: no one there knew what was to have bellyaches because of how hungry you were to get sick for eating moldy food from the trash and having no hospital that would treat you, to fight to death with people that wanted to rob you or take advantage of you. None of them had lived a single tragedy, none of them even had to worry for breaking the law to survive and the possibility of prison time because all those people were over the law. It angered him; that party got him so furious to the point that he almost resolved to get out of that business, out of that circle of rich people, and start over as a fisherman in the sea or something like that. Or just go and jump under a train.

Just when he was about to turn around and leave, he saw you. There you were, appearing in a cinematic sequence: strutting down the staircase in your flowy, red dress, while all eyes were on you. You were in the spotlight, as always; shining more than any of the dresses and expensive jewelry being worn there. You had all the power in the world and you knew it, of course; he could see it in your prepotent smile, your ruthless eyes, your arrogant vibe. Only nineteen years old, but you showed so much promise and hunger for more – didn’t even hope for more, you just naturally expected it, felt entitled to more.

You were also very beautiful physically – he felt attracted to you like everyone else, after all –, but the poise and status you had entranced Namjoon beyond words. He decided he was going to be just like you, or even better. He was going to have all the power in the world. He was going to have you.

Seokjin, on the other hand, had always been lurking around you. Waiting. Plotting. Achieving.

In the beginning, he was the good guy. He was a nice kid, introverted yet polite and pretty smart. His family had served yours since your grandfather began his incursions into morally questioning matters. He was born into the same opulence you were, but it wasn’t his. He had traveled with you, and get to know many places far away, but as a servant. He had dinner every night on the same table as you, but he was the one picking up the rests of food you threw on the floor maliciously.

Each and every time he had to clean after you, carry your things around and put up with your whims and spoiled bitch tantrums. Insults, degrading words, and even objects were shoot his way by you any time of the day for any random reason. No other family member of his was treated as poorly as him, and no one knew why you picked on him. But he put up with all of it from birth until he turned fifteen.

Seokjin was a nice kid, but he always had a short temper, and each time it was more and more difficult to contain himself around you and your shit attitude. He tried, tried, tried but one awful day, you were in a bad humor and went to punch your favorite sandbag – him – who was in a worse humor.

That one time, you were both teens and full of hormones, each one dealing with their own teenage problems. You hated all you had to do to be better than your brother, please your parents and gain a second of their precious attention; Seokjin hated you and how he was chained to you to be your slave for God knows how long. You made his life miserable, always reminding him how worthless and stupid he was, how useless for society he was since he was so damn poor and dumb. You had said to him once – after sniffing a little crush on you from his part – that you could never give him a chance no matter how hot he gets because he would always be the same pathetic, useless bastard good for nothing but cleaning her shit; and that was exactly what he was remembering while washing your dishes when you came running to him at the scream of ‘you piece of shit!’. A crystal glass flew your way, followed by a plate, another glass and a ‘shut the fuck up for once, stupid bitch!’

After the big scandal you made in front of everybody – your parents, his parents and other employees of the mansion – your father gave Seokjin’s father an ultimatum: the violent little shit that almost hurt their precious girl gets lost before morning or all of them lose their jobs and get wiped out the face of the planet. Needless to say, within an hour, Seokjin was chased out of the residential neighborhood by your father’s thugs.

He wasn’t homeless for long; knowing the people in the business, he was linked by somebody to the same druglord that, years later, employed Namjoon. The old criminal took a liking in him when he saw his thirst for blood, his recklessness, his egocentrism; Seokjin was afraid of nothing now that he decided he wanted revenge and nothing else. So, he learned the ways, the ins and outs, and soon enough he befriended Namjoon, forming an alliance with him to overthrow the old drug master and start their own illegal enterprise.

Years working, years scheming, both with very different motivations but the same target: you.

…

Stirring up from sleep, you were disoriented for a good amount of time. You opened your eyes and set them on the ceiling but didn’t move, feeling soreness taking over your body from your feet to the last hair of your head. When you tried to move your arms and couldn’t was when you remembered where you were, and realized that your hands were tied again. You groaned.

As you were thinking what to do next, a snore interrupted your train of thought. At your right, Namjoon slept soundly on his back, snoring from time to time. At your left, Seokjin slept on his side with a frown on his pretty features – and both assholes had their sweats on and let you stark naked. Was it that they trust you enough to sleep with you or they were just dumb? Though, you were tied up, really sore, naked, and unarmed, so you weren’t exactly a threat.

Moving as little as you were capable while depleted of energy and having your hands literally tied, you sat yourself against the headboard and waited until the men woke up.

Did they really mean it when they said they wanted to make you pregnant? Had they read your mind? Because that was exactly what you had in mind.

After years watching your father wreak havoc everywhere he went, you realized his method wasn’t the most efficient always. Murdering the enemy to take their place? That’s how you conquered kingdoms in the Medieval Era, but not in the modern day; not when your enemy was as elusive and as informed as you. The many ‘surprise attacks’ your father orchestrated failed miserably, resulting in many of his men killed and his enemies to declare revenge against him. That was how your family was losing all its former power and glory, how you were losing money and influence. But you were smarted than that.

“Look who just woke up.” Seokjin groaned once he heard your voice, hosting a frown even before opening his eyes fully. “Prince Charming, the father of my child.”

“You’re fucking insane” the man muttered, sitting on the bed and looking at you in disbelief. “Aren’t you even the littlest bit worried about being held captive and forced to give birth? I can’t fucking believe you.”

“I told you there was no one like me.” You grinned proudly at him. “Besides, you’re hot enough to not ruin my good genes, so maybe I’ll give you a chance for the sake of my linage.” You expected him to tell you to shut up or something along the lines but it was radio silent. You saw Seokjin’s face transform in a second; his previous grimace turned in a stoic seriousness and he looked at you dead in the eye, with the coldest stare anyone has ever directed your way. His reaction did spark a little worry in you.

“What did you just say?” he asked in a mutter while taking hold of your arm, gripping it hard.

“Hey, this isn’t –”

“What did you just say – give me a chance?” he repeated with the same neutral tone through clenched teeth.

“Okay, chill, I’ll resist and kick and scream or whatever, no need to –” He interrupted you by pulling you close to his face, which sported a lethal scowl. His clutch on your arm tightened to the point you were sure it would bruise, but you were pretty shocked by the change in his whole persona to react accordingly.

“You don’t know who I am? You still don’t know who the fuck I am?”

“A fucking Kim? I don’t know what you want me to say, dude.”

“Fucking bitch! After all you fucking did to me!” the man yelled on your face, now shaking you aggressively. You refrained yourself from yelping and showing signs of fear, but the reality was that, this time, he was genuinely scaring you. What was he on? You hadn’t known him personally until that night. What could you had possibly done to him?

Namjoon woke up from all the scandal his brother was making; however, instead of being surprised and maybe even stop him, he just sat there rubbing his eyes, watching the scene unfold with a frown. Immutable, he saw how Seokjin left your arm alone and went for your hair, using it as leverage to make you stand on your knees when he stood up from the bed.

“I’m Kim Seokjin, that name doesn’t ring a bell?” The sting on your scalp made you groan but that wasn’t the answer Seokjin was looking for. “Answer me!” he demanded. Disoriented, you shook your head no, making him scoff. “Of course, it doesn’t. You made my life a fucking nightmare but you didn’t even bother to remember my name.”

“Man, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about –” And it was the truth. You didn’t have a clue of what he was accusing you of. You were far from an angel, that’s for sure; you had made many people suffer and turned many lives into a living hell, but Seokjin’s? You would remember fucking up his life. You would definitely remember a man like him.

“It’s so cruel that you don’t remember him, baby” Namjoon added calmly while lounging there on the bed, watching you like he was on the beach just admiring the waves of the sea –so unfazed by his brother’s outburst. It can’t be that serious, you thought. “He was that kid with glasses that worked in your house. You know, the one you kept fucking over? Your pet or whatever.” Your clueless face was the last straw for Seokjin, who threw you onto the bed with force. You grumbled when all your weight fell on your hands at your back but none of them cared. Your scalp still burned from Seokjin’s strong hold.

“I’ll make you remember me, stupid bitch” he promised through clenched teeth as his hands tugged brutishly the waistband of his sweatpants. Maybe it was the good shaking Seokjin gave you and the following toss, maybe it was the insult, but suddenly a light bulb went on in your head and you recalled who the man had been in your life.

“Wait, you’re that whiny bitch that almost kill me.” The older Kim clenched his jaw and pulled your body by the legs to his own standing in the side of the bed. You scoffed, putting all pieces together at last. “That’s the reason why I’m here? Seriously? It’s been more than ten years already, man, just get over it.” Now that you knew what was going on, it didn’t even surprise you when he took hold of your face abruptly. It was always so funny to you just how men would turn into villains because a girl was mean to them when they were twelve. “Wait, wait, let me be the bigger person here: I’m sorry, okay? I had always been a spoiled bitch and all that, but who could have taught me manners in that house? I was raised by literal criminals.”

“I couldn’t care less for your fucking reasons; you were more than a bitch back then and are a nuisance in the present. I should have busted your head open that night.” Albeit his menacing words, you didn’t perceive the threatening energy they should deliver. If anything, Seokjin seemed annoyed by his revenge. Reasonable, you thought, he had stretched it this long it, it’s no longer fun.

“Well, as I said before, just kill me now and finish with your fourteen or fifteen-years-old vendetta.”

“I promised Namjoon he would have you.” Still immobilized by Seokjin’s hand, you looked at the mentioned man by the corner of your eye; he gave you a wink and a smirk. That… you didn’t mind that. “And, as I said before, killing you would be the easy way out. You have to go through what I did and pay with your body.” A spark warmed your insides when his unoccupied hand cupped your breast – however, you still had a deal to seal.

“As tempting as a life being your sex slave sounds, I have other plans.” Disregarding you completely, the older brother started kneading your breasts with both hands. Namjoon joined him taking you by the armpits and yanking you up the mattress into a sitting position against his chest. “You said I was a nuisance, why?” A miscommunication happened between the brothers, because, while Seokjin remained silent with the intention of ignoring you so you would eventually shut up and know your place, Namjoon, who liked you, spoke up.

“You’re too strong. Your pussy has some kind of magic that makes men be loyal to death to you. The most powerful won’t let go.”

“Goddamn, Namjoon. Why are you telling her that?”

“She’s not going anywhere, hyung, this information is useless now. Besides, I’m wifing her and it isn’t nice to hide things from my spouse, don’t you think, baby?” You turned your head to give him a tight smile. It was dangerous to trust any of them, but there was at least one snake in that snakes’ pit that wasn’t going to bit you that hard – or even bite you at all, if you were nice enough to it.

“The fuck are you saying, Namjoon? This is not a damn rom-com.” Seokjin looked way too annoyed at his brother’s excuses, and you thought that maybe it was more personal than it seemed, and maybe your hypothetical wedlock had something to do with it – though, it would be illogical to you if a man like Seokjin felt anything but bitterness.

“And so what? My life is not all about crime and money, I want a family too, man.” His brother scoffed and rolled his eyes. Namjoon wasn’t someone that took offense in things that easily; however, he lived for irritating his hyung. “Sorry not everybody is as miserable and unlovable as you. I’m actually a pretty decent guy.”

“What a load of crap.” Seokjin let go of your body and stood up. “You turned me off with all that bullshit. So whatever, I don’t feel like using this bitch now.” Expecting him to turn around and leave the room, you were surprised when he went to the mini bar in the room, poured himself a drink and sat on the sofa in front of the bed.

“What, you’re going to watch us?”

“What else is there to do? I’m not leaving you with this simp. He is likely to let you go with a kiss on the forehead. Fucking cuck.”

“Well, this bitch doesn’t feel like being used now.” You looked briefly to the man behind you, to see if he was on your side even the slightest. He was not.

“You really think you’re calling the shots here, dear?” Seokjin clicked his tongue in disappointment. “We have a lot of training to do with you. Hoseok! Jungkook!” he shouted. In an instant, two men dressed in black entered the room solemnly; not a single emotion on their faces when they saw your naked body. “You will give all of us a show now. Learn that I decide what you do and who watches you doing it.”

When Namjoon secured his strong arm around your waist and descended a hand on your folds, you knew there wasn’t a way out but obeying that bitter asshole.

…

It was very difficult to find someone in the circle Namjoon moved in. He had already experienced three attempts of murder with beautiful women as bait, and an endless number of pseudo-dates with gold diggers. He wasn’t romantic per se, but he did yearn for an authentic, loving relationship, and a big family as a result – and you, that didn’t need his money because you had much more than him nor could kill him while being their hostage, were the very possible solution to his problem.

Namjoon’s desire to have a family wasn’t always as evident as in that point of his life, when he got all the financial power and influence he once dreamed of. Although life was great and all for him, he realized a feeling of hollowness that no amount of money, designer clothes or prostitutes could fill, or even conceal. Not anymore, at least.

He was smart enough to trace that desire back to his lack of a family since birth, and even admitted to himself that he needed tight bonds in the present as much as he had needed them when he was three or fifteen years old. It was not easy, however, to open himself completely to meet someone for an authentic, loving relationship. How to let himself be loved if no one had ever loved him? As uncomfortable as the feeling was, he needed to feel loved. He needed to be cared for. He needed to be important and special to someone for who he was as Namjoon the person, not as Kim Namjoon, Mafia’s Grim Reaper. Plus, he loved Seokjin as a real brother would, but he couldn’t rely entirely on his only friend for the rest of his existence; that man had a life of his own, after all.

Luring you into their mansion, then, was hitting the jackpot for him; even after all those years since he first saw you, he still had the hots for you. Having you under their thumb gave them absolute power over your fortune and business, and gave him the possibility to have a somehow okay relationship with a woman he felt attracted to and who had the same ideals as him. Killing two birds with one stone, right? And he was so sure he knew enough about women to know how to manipulate you so you would love him. It was brilliant, in his humble opinion.

Although, there was one potential problem that became more evident day by day: Seokjin. The man acted all mighty and unbothered, but after all those years working together, Namjoon knew better; he wanted to have you just as much as him, and not in a reversed-roles-revenge situation – which wouldn’t be so bad, if he wasn’t in a permanent childlike tantrum state. They had shared before, they could do it again, but as long as Seokjin denied his attraction to you and disguised it as a physical retribution for all you did to him, he would just be a pain in the ass for you and Namjoon.

…

“You know, when you said I was being held captive, I really thought it was just a figure of speech. Didn’t even cross my mind that you would actually keep me in this room like I’m an animal in a cage.” Exiting the bathroom in a white bathrobe, not at all like the ones in your home, you looked at Namjoon with a frown and crossed arms. He just stared at you innocently while sitting on the bed and folding your clothes.

“Sorry, princess, orders from above. Seokjin is in a power trip since you came so he thinks of you as his prisoner.”

“Aren’t you on his same level? Why are you letting him do as he pleases?” The man’s response was a nonchalant shrug. You cursed under your breath, decided to not lash out on Namjoon because he could be the only way out for you – and you really needed to be out of that room or you would actually go insane. You were sure it had been weeks already. “And what are you doing here, anyways? It’s been days and you keep coming and acting like my maid.”

“I like the domestic roleplaying.”

“So, it isn’t only that Seokjin doesn’t want me out but you also keep me here to play house?” Putting the last of the shirts he bought for you on the pile of clothes he also bought for you, he grinned and made an affirmative sound. “Is it that difficult to find a real girlfriend?” In your head, you meant it in a mocking way, but out loud it ended up sounding like a genuine question.

“You know it is, baby” Namjoon replied matter-of-factly. “You can’t tell me that all men around you are fit for a serious relationship.”

“Why would I want a serious relationship? I was loved enough as a kid, I don’t need that fairytale bullshit.”

“Good for you but some of us didn’t run that luck of having love or a family in our lives.”

“So I have to believe that, because you didn’t have parents, you come and act as if we’re a couple to feel like you’re actually wanted by somebody.”

“Oh no, I am really wanted by lots of people, but what I want is to feel loved by a person I consider my equal.” You snorted. It was the most ridiculous thing you heard a man say.

“Haven’t you tried therapy?”

“Not my thing.”

“Who says I love you, anyways?”

“You will love me. On your own or by Stockholm Syndrome.” You chuckled sardonically at that.

“You know what? You’re right. It’s either falling in love with you or with the viper that is your brother.” Loving them or not was the least of your concerns; first and foremost, you had to look after your enterprises and striking a formal relationship with the Kims was the least risky way. The family business was a kingdom torn apart that could not stand a chance if being put up against the Kim’s mafia.

“You know he is not actually my brother, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“It wouldn’t be illegal to marry us.”

“You really care for legality at this point?” He shrugged once again. “And you think I would marry you?” He got uncharacteristically serious in an instant.

“Look, I’ll be straight with you: I want a family because I didn’t have one. I want a wife and children and all that. It won’t work with just any woman but it could work out with you.”

“Why me?”

“Unlike my brother, I don’t underestimate you at all. I know you’re pretty smart and I know you figured out by now that an arrangement between you and a Kim will be only beneficial for your decaying family.” So, Namjoon was the brain there. You were mildly impressed.

“And for you and your unstable connections, since I’m such a hindrance for both of you and your affairs with powerful people.” He smirked at you and your sharpness. Not a single thing escaped you and he really liked that. “As strong as you appear, not many people trust two nobodies, huh?” Now you were talking. Namjoon clicked his tongue and gave you a real smile.

“You don’t have to say it like that, baby, it hurts my ego.” You shrugged.

“I see which one of you two has the balls.” When he chuckled, you noticed his dimples for the first time. Was it the domestic ambience and the casual sweats-and-shirt attire what made him much more attractive then than when you first met him? Whatever it was, you wanted him to start negotiating or just leave you alone – small talk and thinking about his hotness would not help you get out.

To your dismay, he put his big hands on each side of your hips and pulled you to him until you stood between his open legs, looking up at you with his head tilted and wide eyes. It was so intimate you almost gagged.

“Women like you get on my nerves, but” the man said lowly, holding your gaze. “I really like you, Y/N.”

“That’s my pussy magic.”

“Yes, but I also like you whole, not just when I fuck you.” His thumbs caressed your hips over the robe while he talked, and, for a moment, it felt real; like you had a bond with Namjoon, like he truly meant what he said. Nevertheless, you knew you were just hallucinating as a byproduct of the confinement and Namjoon being somehow nice – and he was taking advantage of that to make you slip, you could tell. Would he succeed? You didn’t think so; it's been days interacting with no one but the Kims, but the only person you knew you could trust was yourself.

“Listen, I understand you’re too deep into this marriage fantasy shit of yours but cut the bullshit, you don’t really know me, bud.” You crossed your arms and looked away in indifference, but by your peripheral view you saw him biting his lip slightly. Was he trying to seduce you now?

“May I get to really know you, then?” His eyes never strayed from yours, barely blinked even, as he leaned his head on your stomach. It wasn’t surprising that a man like Namjoon was so well-versed in being enchanting women; he had such acting skills that he looked genuine in his actions. Like he was really into you. Like he actually wanted you.

“No, you may not. And get out of my space, you creep.” Tittering, he let you push him away from your body. “And stop giggling at everything, it doesn’t make you look friendlier.”

What would he gain from making you trust him, though? It was true that you had more influence than them, and they killing you would not change that. Their best shot was to join forces with you to gain the favor of anyone, but it was vital you showed that you endorsed them. Then, what was he trying with you? You had no idea.

Namjoon got up from the bed slowly, his frame towering over yours and making you look and feel tiny (which your personal trainer could testify you definitively weren’t). A sudden tension raised between you two. His energy shift was accompanied with a hand stroking the side of your neck and a sleazy smirk. By now you got familiar with his changes in behavior, and oh, you were in for a very eventful night.

Sleeping with Kim Namjoon was just as enjoyable as you expected, if not more. The man wasn’t just about his pleasure, no; it seemed he also got off from giving you pleasure, as much as he could for as long as he felt like. Like in that moment, when he caressed your lower lip with his thumb as his lips descended on yours – both his hands also descending on your body. It made you so mad that his sensuous movements stirred some intense heat in your core. From the way your body reacted to him, you were sure he pulled a Pavlov on you.

“I’m telling you, sweetheart, you will love me.” In a swift motion, his strong arms hooked under your thighs and he picked you up roughly like you weighted nothing, walking towards the nearest wall to slam you against it. You yelped and cursed at him. Namjoon just laughed. “Are you sure you don’t love me already?” Your poorly tied bathrobe opened and exposed your naked form to the man’s eyes, who always enjoyed the sight and didn’t miss the chance to thrust up his clothed crotch into your bare pussy.

“Fuck you, asshole” you gasped, but didn’t fight him when he buried his head on your cleavage, making a path of kisses towards your left breast.

Namjoon took your nipple between his lips, sucking lightly and stimulating it with kitten-licks, but before a single moan left your mouth, the door was whipped open and Seokjin strutted into the room. If he was the least surprised from finding his brother feasting on your chest, he didn’t show it; he just looked at you smugly. He seemed in a much better mood than the last time you saw him:.

>> The last time he went to your room he was in a rage fit. You didn’t know but that day he tried bribing a congressman that was close to your father, who refused to switch sides and go against your family – the tenth failed attempt of turning people against you in the week. He was really mad and so he went to your room to fuck you and rough as punishment for existing and to let out off steam – which resulted counterproductive, because one, you actually enjoyed the whole thing, and two, as soon as he came, you started nagging at him to let you out of captivity. It was his last straw that day; with only his briefs on, he stomped out slamming the door behind him. Then, it was only Namjoon visiting you daily.

“I have great news for all of us” Seokjin began, standing less than a meter away from his brother and you. Uncomfortably close. “Please, carry on and don’t mind me, just listen.” The younger man ignored his brother completely, focused on sucking a hickey on the tender flesh of your breast. Closing your eyes at the pleasing sensation, you weren’t able to see Seokjin arch an eyebrow and take your jaw harshly, so you would actually pay attention to him. The biggest of smiles adorned his face when your eyes opened. “Your brother gave up, so daddy is planning on giving everything to you.”

“What?!” you gasped when Namjoon bit your nipple hard, jerking away from the other man’s grasp. Goosebumps raised on your arms from the stimulation – but as the information of your family sank in, your heart raced faster.

“Well, I assisted him to give up on life with a bullet to the head and convinced your father with a punch on the nose, but now everything is lawfully yours, and so lawfully mine too” he added with a proud tilt in his voice. Taking everything from your family was all he had wanted for many, many years; taking revenge on you was on a close second place, and killing your father would’ve been the cherry on top – however, that would only make you a more insufferable bitch than you were already.

Getting rid of your useless brother, though, was favorable for them and a way to get on your good side.

Your response was to throw your head back, groaning as Namjoon rutted his growing bulge roughly against your now leaking core. Having your legs spread and perched on the man’s hips made your folds part and expose your clit to the harsh friction of his sweats whenever he moved, and to the air when he withdrew. His wet tongue ran up your chest to your throat once more and nibbled his way to the tender spot under your ear to abuse the flesh there. You squealed high-pitched, chills running all over your body and ending up on your pussy. Pants filled the room and Seokjin was completely forgotten, as Namjoon increased the speed of his shallow thrusts and grinded hard to make you whimper; which the older man didn’t like.

Taking hold of your hair from the roots, he pulled back and turned you to face him.

“I did this for you, bitch, can you show a little gratitude?” he grunted through clenched teeth. You just looked at him through heavy lidded eyes, conscious of what he was saying but deciding to disregard him and his alleged altruism in favor of focusing in Namjoon taking his cock out and rubbing its head on your folds. Once again, Seokjin was left out of the bubble of intimacy Namjoon and you had inadvertently built.

How could you keep disregarding him as if he was a mere dirty rag? Hadn’t you learned to respect him in the slightest in all that time?

Seokjin wasn’t as dumb as everybody thought – he realized instantly what were the emotions that invaded him in that moment. Anger – and envy and jealousy. His masochistic side had taken over his whole self and made him want the very same woman que hated the most. What was it with needing to posses the one person you despised and who despised you back? He would never know and he didn’t want to. All he knew was that it was impossible to keep denying how his carnal desires had evolved into something more.

“I’m talking to you!” he yelled before taking your arm and yanking you with such force that you fell from Namjoon’s arms straight to the floor at Seokjin’s feet. Then, he took you by the hair, pulling you up to land on the bed, tightening more and more his grip on your scalp. Bewildered by the sudden violence, you could only look at him and notice his very read face and how the vein in his neck was about to explode. “Look at me when I talk to you, you stupid useless whore!”

“Seokjin, fuck! Calm the fuck down, man!” Even Namjoon was taken aback by the vicious reaction and didn’t know what to do. His brother had a really bad temper, yes, but since when he let himself go so wildly around you?

“All I have done since you came and you keep being a fucking bitch to me like you had always been, shit!” Seokjin kept yelling on your face until Namjoon pulled him away. Your scalp burned like never before.

You couldn’t discern what was really happening: they tussled, yelled at each other things you couldn’t understand and Namjoon even grabbed his brother by the collar of his shirt menacingly. And then a blow, and another, and another, and another, and blood. Soon enough, the cockfight grabbed the attention of the men that guarded the room and a sea of thugs dressed in black barged into the room to put the brothers apart.

And you?

You feigned fear and walked backwards, away from the fight, until you reached the door. And then you ran.

[poshpunkqueen]

I've been listening to Taylor Swift since the debut. I'm not one of those listeners that believe Taylor is a Princess, wholly innocent, 24/7 victim but at the same time I don't believe she's a Villain. She's made mistakes.

I'm not one of those listeners that has the time and immoral capacity to sit on the Internet to committ Cyber crimes nor am I willing to put my health on the line to see her live. There should be boundaries.

The transfer from Teenhood to Adulthood for Taylor...I could tell ..she's still unravelling. Its okay to be in your 30s and still finding yourself. Hopefully there is an expiry date.

I'm not trying to be funny but I believe Taylor needs therapy. There are some unresolved things: fame, dealing with the industry and the media has definitely affected her. I don't think she's quite shake off alot stuff. It's passivity with a cupcake appearance of happiness.

Her patterns and methodology when it comes to music....mmmh the adults are taking a step back and analysing 😄. Writing those songs and knowing the effects will eventually become a "Here we go again" Moment. Everyone will move on and she will remain.Therapy is needed.The pride comes before the fall.

I say this because when Tortured Poets Project was announced I was unsure about it. I've never been unsure about a Taylor album. But then again I'm aware of the Taylor Formula. Not sure if she can carry this formula into her 40s and 50s 😄 but we will see. But I listen for listening sake..I'm listening to everyone this year.

TTPD Album: I had to stop half way because its the typical Taylor album...same note 🙆🏻‍♂️ same storyline... lol no doubt she's a good songwriter. Not sure how to feel about missiles being sent to someone who struggled or struggling with Depression. NOPE.

Emotional cheating is interesting lol We had this before 👀. Alcoholism and the talks about drugs is interesting too. Blurring the lines between two men. One you barely bedded to be in this deep. This seems like a tactic for writing material. Calculated PR stunts. I said this last year...she knows what she's doing...she dated him purposely ...she knew what to expect and Matty knew what to expect ...I'm disappointed in Matty selling out ...and acting out for attention..he needs to grow up too....he knows better. He made the whole band look bad...(I'm George fan btw)

Meathead guys years ago like Travis Kelce were saying they wanted to date Taylor for fame and songs. Sadly I'm starting to see it. Travis is a big time user. However we live and learn 😆

Idk I don't get it. If people pay attention to her lyrics not just on this album but previous albums, she tells on herself alot lol. We will have this again 2026.

Being Human isn't without flaws and wrong paths but it seems people only see it with Taylor Swift. .they don't see it with others 🫡 Others would would be stamped with cancellation. The Devil.

Taylor is in her 30s and I hope she figures out what she wants personally and professionally. It doesn't make sense moving from person to person then writing these songs. This is why therapy is important.

A few weeks ago, we heard Beyoncé album and I'm not the biggest Bey fan but we heard her different layers vocally and with the blending of genres. While I'm aware Taylor isn't a vocalist...I want to hear her do other genres.

Honestly I liked Midnights and reputation better.

Here are the songs I might listen to again:

✨️ Fortnight

✨️TTPD

✨️Down Bad

✨️So Long London

✨️The Prophecy

✨️Robin

⛔️Florida...but it's meh...Florence was downplayed...similar to Snow on the Beach with Lana.

The other songs were...okay....

I support Joe. I don't think Joe deserves this...I'm not gonna defend wrong actions even if I like your songs...

TBH EVENTUALLY I WILL STOP LISTENING TO TAYLOR BECAUSE I'VE GONE BACK DEEP INTO ROCK AND OLD SKOOL MUSIC

[meganmk28]

Were you named after anyone? My middle name is after my Mom... 😊

Are you a health freak? I take care of my health... but I'm not a freak. You'd think I would be since my Mom is a nurse.

Okay, what about a clean freak? If you consider keeping your house clean, then yeah.

Do you smoke? Ish, no.

List 3 turn offs. Blonde hair, Lying, disrespectful to their parents.

Favorite car? Chevy Camaro

Favorite genre? Country... Yee-Haw

Have you ever tried drugs? No. Drugs ruin lives.

When did you stop believing in Santa? Wait... what? He's not real??

Favorite TV show? Friends, FBI, Anything criminal... ID Channel.

Name something you can't stand. Greedy people,Liars, child predators, animal abusers. Cheaters.

Are you able to go to Target to only get what you need? Never. I feel like Target takes advantage of my weakness to spend money.

What's a talent you have? The claw machine... I stay winning.

Have you ever cheated? No. I would never hurt someone like that. I'd rather take the pain than cause it. Stay faithful or stay single.

If money was not an issue, where would you move to? Nova Scotia. I love the East coast & the ocean.

How many siblings do you have? 1 sister.

Do you drink alcohol? Nah... I don't have a taste for it.

Hottest person in the world? Me of course... lol, jk. Keith Urban.

Do you hold grudges? I wouldn't say grudges, but if you fkd me over & hurt me beyond repair, then I won't forget or forgive.

Dream job? I always wanted to be a Detective. Helping solve crimes & writing the end to someone's story is something I've always dreamed of. For now CSI is just as good.

Favorite movie? Beauty & The Beast.

Do you like surprises? Uhm, no. I have enough anxiety. Lol.

Where would or did you get married? I don't believe in marriage.

How do you feel about tattoos? They are a story for many... I personally wouldn't get one. However I think they are very sexy. Especially neck tatts.

Can you swim? Absolutely. My mom always said I was a fish. I spent all my summer days in the pool or lake. Growing up on a lake, you kinda learn that early.

List 3 things that are a turn on. Blue eyes are my weakness, humor & being a foodie. Lol.

Ever been to jail? Uhm, everyday... but not for myself.

Favorite holiday? Christmas. There is something so magical about it. The feeling, the smell, the comfort. It's so perfect.

Favorite season? Fall & Winter.

Favorite sport? I love all sports. Football is my main though.

Favorite color? Any shade of purple... pastels.

Favorite song of all time? Angel - Aerosmith.

[morphogenetic]

Mediaposting 2023, #35: Banana Fish (anime)

[said while vibrating very quickly and typing out like 20 different bullet points] i like this series a normal amount

okay so. non-spoiler thoughts:

step 1 YOU SHOULD READ/WATCH THIS. it does have content warnings for literally everything you can possibly think of as needing a common content warning (drug abuse, sexual assault, racism, and thats absolutely just the tip of the iceberg) but my fucking god. no wonder it's been such an influential piece of media on literally every jp anime/manga crime story (especially the BL ones) written since

for a series that is literally one of the early genesis points of BL as a genre i was ABSOLUTELY expecting more actual BL than was in this LOL. not that i'm really upset, bc honestly i really like the way that ash and eiji's relationship is written in a shoujo-y "they obviously care about each other a lot but it's not going to be outright romance" kind of way. bc like, honestly? that makes it way more emotionally satisfying (and devastating). i think it would actually make less sense if anything more happened In the story (though more happening in the epilogue wouldnt hurt LOL)

how the FUCK was this published in a shoujo magazine

the time period change to modern day from the mid-80's has both helped and hindered this series bc like. on one hand. much easier to do everything with a phone. also the update to shorter's character design was excellent,10/10 no notes. on the other hand. the Everything About It makes it so obvious that it was written to be a product of its time.

speaking of ^ ash turning from A Guy Who Knows How To Use A Computer into a hacking genius is so. why. i mean you can update it for sure but Why Like This

god i wish this had more room to breathe sometimes bc the exposition goes WILDLY fast sometimes. why did they try and do 19 volumes in 24 episodes. the 39 episodes that the director wanted would have been so nice to have

that said: the emotional moments that i actually give a shit about and that make up the core of the weight of the story are given what they deserve. at least up to volume 5 they are. gestures at ep 9? and 22 with a pained smile

i literally could write an essay about why it works so well as a spin on the american-style gangster story even while it definitely has flaws. and how its influenced so many fucking things. my god.

it has flaws for SURE but the rest is so good that i don't care. which is rare for me (gestures at nirvanai/neo twewy being other examples)

spoiler thoughts under the cut (like full-very-ending-of-series spoilers) but YEAH UH I LIKE THIS THING CAN YOU TELL BY HOW MUCH I WROTE ABOUT IT.

it does kind of annoy me that literally all of the canon-MLM (probably gay but you know) guys are horrible people lol. like wow love how the gay predator stereotype is on full display here. feeeeels baaaaad. i know i know asheiji homoeroticism i am ON THAT TRAIN

however yut-lung being feminine out of a wish to carry on his dead mom's legacy is kind of a slay. ive seen people go "ugh it sucks that one of the villains is a feminine man' but while he is definitely not a good person hes one of the less terrible villains, just like. as a person. hes also a teenager in shitty circumstances just with way more power and sway

here's the part where I admit that I was spoiled on the ending so it didn't hit as hard for me OOPS. however. the anime DOES leave it open-ended and it fucking irritates me that anime-only people are like "boo i hate the ending bc ash dies!!!" when it is LITERALLY AMBIGUOUS. i have heard that the manga is less ambiguous about it but :') oh well. anime-onlys what are you doing

speaking of ^ i actually like the ending. like i think a lot of people who absolutely hate it must not have a lot of familiarity with gangster movies as a genre bc it is a genre convention that the Main Gangster dies in the end. granted this was a hayes code thing which the manga definitely did not have to do LOL but its definitely supposed to feel unfair bc ash's damn LIFE is unfair.

however i'm glad the anime makes the ending ambiguous bc that feels like a more fitting end. like ash's life was always in limbo, considering what he was doing, so making his life in limbo at the end too? Good. Yes. Do That

the fucking. everything with shorter and the sa-yo-na-ra bit. i die. that shit is so emotionally painful

i know this sounds weird but i kind of wish they dragged out the "what the hell does banana fish mean" thing a LIIIITTLE longer but by that i mean like, halfway point of the series. like they could have used a little more time to figure out what it is. also that would have let shorter live a little longer ay lmao that said this criticism also almost definitely applies to the manga soooo. you know

[sky-casino]

stranger danger: drug lord!kuroo x detective!alisa (kurolisa)

drug lord!kuroo x detective!alisa

genres: fluff, angst, some police/detective stuff (suspense, action), sprinkle of smut word count: 7,300+ a/n: i believe it’s my first time to write something with suspense and action in it omg? so this is quite new for me lol 😅 😂 hope you like it!

alisa haiba is a detective who belongs to a small team tasked to apprehend kuroo tetsurou, the city’s rumored most notorious drug lord.

they need a cold hard proof to arrest him. he has to be caught red-handed. they’ve been investigating and watching him for almost half a year now. they so badly want to put a tracker in his cars but they can’t do it without warrant, and they don’t have enough basis to get one. they’ve tried wiretapping him but it yielded nothing. so all they could do is watch him.

as much as they hate to admit it, he’s really good at hiding his crimes and leading a seemingly normal life.

this seemingly normal life consists of working as an owner of multiple properties rented by companies, bar-hopping and partying hard almost every night, going to the gym, watching and participating in drag races, and being with a different girl every week. he’s your typical hot and rich guy who every girl thirsts for.

except alisa. all she wants is to arrest him and end his drug business, which is the main contributor in the city’s increase of drug use.

it comes to a point wherein alisa volunteers to go undercover herself in order to get close to kuroo and become a part of his circle. she believes that watching from afar is not enough, she needs to go to him.

her team was surprised with her idea, but they’re open to it. however, one of them, osamu, is against this.

alisa explains her plan: she’ll jumpstart the operation at night. she’ll go to the bar where kuroo will be. attract his attention, engage in conversation, and get to know him so that she’ll be his girl of the week or so. she’ll keep the act until he likes and trusts her enough to take her home to his penthouse, even better if he also takes her to his office because that’s where documents pertaining to his drug deals would most likely be located.

as her final argument to get her team’s approval, alisa states the obvious fact that she’s the only female in the team, so she has to be (and is only) the one to do this.

she also mentions how they already know kuroo’s ideal girl, given how much time they invested in watching him and his daily life. getting his attention will be a piece of cake, maintaining it will be a bit more difficult, but ultimately, the goal is to obtain cold hard proof.

osamu is silent for a moment, but given that everyone else has already agreed and alisa very much wants to do this, he relents.

the night of the start of the undercover mission has arrived. a few days ago, the team leader assigned osamu as alisa’s back-up and main point of contact as she goes undercover for the entirety of the operation, since the rest of the small team have other cases to work on.

alisa, clad in a short golden sparkly dress, comes out of her bedroom. osamu is in awe as he has never seen alisa dress like this, not even during their police academy days wherein they studied and graduated together.

“ugh, this is a bit uncomfortable. but i guess i’ll get used to it.”

osamu stammers as he replies, “y-yeah, you will. don’t worry about it.”

“thanks, samu. this dress is the least of my worries. i need kuroo and i to be friends by the end of the night. no matter what.”

one of their teammates has been keeping an eye on kuroo for the whole day and informed them which night club kuroo was heading to.

alisa and osamu drove to said club. before alisa alights the car, osamu reminds her to call him if anything remotely dangerous happens.

alisa enters the crowded and loud club and easily spots kuroo in the VIP section. she walks to the bartender nearest to kuroo to order a drink. as she waits for her order, alisa is unaware that she already caught the guy’s attention, with kuroo staring at her.

“is it your first time here?” kuroo says as he slides next to her at the bar. alisa didn’t expect to catch his eye this quickly. she congratulates herself in her mind, realizing that knowing kuroo’s ideal type after watching him for months is now paying off.

“uhm, yes! you’re right. it’s my first time here. how did you know?” alisa replies, speaking in a more girly tone.

“because this is my favorite club and i’m here almost every night, and it’s my first time to see your gorgeous face here, so i was guessing that you must be new. glad i was right.” kuroo says in a sultry voice with a smirk.

your drink arrives and kuroo tells the bartender, who he seems to be friends with, that he’s paying for your drink.

you thank kuroo and that’s where it all begins. he leaves the other girls he was originally with and focuses on talking to alisa.

“i’m kuroo tetsuro, by the way.” he says as he offers a handshake.

“i’m ali.” alisa smiles and takes the handshake. however, kuroo takes her by surprise as he kisses her hand instead. alisa giggles at this as she thought it’s the reaction kuroo would want.

“what do you do, ali? did you just move here recently and is now a new resident?”

“i’ve always been from tokyo, just not this part of the city. i work as an english teacher.”

“nice, i hope you can teach me one day.” kuroo flirts, earning a chuckle from alisa.

“how about you? you look affluent.”

“oh, not really. i’m just the owner of this building and few of the other buildings in this part of the city.”

“wow. that must be nice. so you just get to go in here anytime for free?”

“i guess so” kuroo smirks before downing a shot of tequila.

they’ve been talking for an hour now. it was nearing 2am and kuroo asks alisa if she wants to go to a hotel with him. alisa is taken aback, she didn’t expect kuroo to want to sleep with her already since it’s just their first meeting.

kuroo senses her hesitation and quickly takes the invitation back, “oh, no problem if you don’t want. it’s fine. i understand.”

alisa, scared that she might lose kuroo’s interest and attention, played hard to get and improvised a response, “it’s not that i don’t want. it’s just that, i wish i could spend more time and know more about you first.” alisa uses the ever-reliable puppy-eyes technique, and it seems to work.

“you want to go on a date?” kuroo asks excitingly

“yep! is that okay with y-”

“sure! i would love that. i don’t wanna scare a lovely girl like you.”

alisa giggles and flirts back, “thanks, kuroo. that’s gentlemanly of you, i guess?”

the two exchange numbers and scheduled a date two days from now.

by the time alisa and kuroo part ways, alisa was extremely emotionally drained. she never liked bad boys who are overly confident and flirty so she always avoided them.

but everything went well and she squealed in excitement before heading to osamu who was waiting outside the car.

first day of the mission: success.

their second encounter takes up the whole day. after having breakfast together at a famous brunch place that kuroo chose for them, they go to see a movie. after they get lunch at a restaurant overlooking the city, kuroo takes alisa to his favorite indoor archery facility to show off how good of an archer he is and also to teach alisa how to do it properly. alisa knew about this hobby of his because of their investigations, but she didn’t expect that he would bring her there and teach her. they ended their date with a dinner in his yacht.

“how was it? did you have fun? i hope you enjoyed.” kuroo said with a smile and a hint of nervousness, which alisa found endearing. she caught herself as soon as she realized that, though.

“yes! didn’t know archery could be so fun and quite easy. i think i just found a new hobby.”

“that’s great to hear, ali. i really prepared for this date, y'know?” he said with a smirk, all nervousness gone with alisa’s positive response.

“and i appreciate it, kuroo. thank you.”

“so, today i’ve showed you some of the things i enjoy because you said you wanted to get to know me better. now, it’s your turn.”

“huh?” alisa stops from eating, confused.

“i mean, i want to you to show me your hobbies, the things you enjoy. i want to try doing them with you for our next date.”

“oh, that’s what you mean.” alisa chuckles. “is he actually serious about getting to know me? but wanting to do my hobbies with me is kinda sweet, tho.” she thought to herself before clearing her throat.

“what makes you think there’ll be a next date?” alisa teases as she goes back to her food.

kuroo goes silent for a tad bit too long and alisa looks at him, amused at his face that reminds her of the surprised pikachu face meme.

“i’m just kidding! sure, i’ll plan the next date. brace yourself, kuroo.”

“oh, i will.”

the next day at the police station, alisa spends much of her morning scouring the internet for activities that couples usually enjoy. she’s having a hard time selecting which ones to do with kuroo and at the back of her mind, alisa is getting a bit sad as she realizes how non-existent her love life has been since she entered the police academy. the moment she got admitted to the school, she told herself to focus on studying and career. no boyfriends. and now she feels like she’s paying the price because how could she have no idea of dating activities at all?

“why don’t you just actually do something that you enjoy?” her boss suggests. alisa looks at him, puzzled.

“even though you’re a workaholic, you do have actual hobbies, right?”

“hmm… i love baking on the weekends where i still have energy left.”

“there you go. go bake some stuff with him or something.” he says before his attention is called by a more important matter.

and with that, alisa signs her and kuroo up for a baking class she found online.

the day of the class comes and alisa is inexplicably antsy as she waits for kuroo outside the building. she’s feeling excited, nervous, and anxious all at the same time and she doesn’t know why.

kuroo calls out to her with a wide smile and for some reason, she suddenly feels at ease.

after the teacher introduces herself and informs the class that they will be baking salted caramel cheesecake together with their partner, kuroo whispers to alisa, “i’m scared that i might fuck this up and you won’t get to enjoy this date.”

“what?”

“i’ve never baked anything in my entire life, ali.” kuroo says in an exasperated tone and a slight pout.

“aww, that’s okay!” alisa laughs as she comforts him. that’s why we have the teacher. she’ll explain the steps and we just have to listen and follow.“

the class takes up the entire afternoon and in that entire time, alisa finds herself genuinely enjoying the activity and kuroo’s presence. she loves how funny he is and it also amuses her to watch a muscular man bake clumsily.

after the cake is ready to eat, kuroo gets a chunk of it and feeds it to alisa. alisa does the same to him and they’re both in awe of how delicious their cake is, especially kuroo. "damn, we made this? i helped in making this fucking delicious cake???”

“yes, kuroo, you did.”

“your smile is as sweet as this cake, ali.”

“shut up.”

just like this, kuroo and alisa spends the next six months dating, alternating which one of them would plan the date. and with every encounter, the more they spend time together and unravel each other’s layers, the more alisa enjoys kuroo’s company.

osamu, despite being told that he doesn’t need to watch and follow alisa anymore as her back-up, watches from afar, and he doesn’t like what he’s seeing. whenever he gets the chance, he always reminds alisa that this is a mission and what kind of man kuroo is. alisa replies with irritation, reminding him that she’s the one who came up with this plan.

another thing that’s been bothering alisa is that she has been trying to avoid sleeping with kuroo as much as she can, but she’s getting the impression that kuroo is starting to get a tiny bit frustrated. he’s been very understanding and patient all this time, but alisa remembers that a man has carnal needs and these needs have to be addressed. then she realizes that she has been feeling these needs lately as well. unbeknownst to anyone, even to kuroo himself, is that he has ignited a fire in her that has been dormant for a while now. she just feels different, lusty, when she’s with him.

and so to keep this whole thing going and to also satisfy each other, she finally obliges. she opens her legs to get him to open up and tell her his secrets.

eventually, kuroo invites alisa to move in to his home, which alisa considers as a milestone for her mission. she has now gained a significant amount of kuroo’s trust.

upon her arrival with her things, kuroo explains that he lives alone and just gets some cleaners to keep the place pristine every other day. as for his family, his parents have passed and he’s an only child. the real estate business he has now is an inheritance. alisa knows all of these already though, but gotta keep the act and pretend that it’s her first time to hear all of it.

days of living with kuroo go by and there are some days wherein alisa can’t help but enjoy the bliss of being with kuroo. there’s just something about the guy. he’s very charming and he makes her happy. but still, she wouldn’t admit it to anyone, not even to her teammates and osamu, and especially kuroo, but she’s nervous about this whole living together thing. she’s aware that this is her plan from the very start, but it still feels surreal to be in a seemingly committed relationship with the man you’re trying to put behind bars. lately, she’s been feeling a bit guilty about what she’s doing to kuroo. but then she repeats what osamu told her like a mantra, “this is a mission, we have a goal, kuroo is a bad guy.”

while kuroo sleeps one afternoon, alisa sneaks into his work room and tries to find any evidence that could help their mission to arrest him, but found nothing.

it’s always been like this recently. all her attempts to uncover a possible evidence from all around his house leads to failure. his phone has no password so she’s able to open it, which excited her at first. but alas, nothing suspicious is in the phone at all. alisa deduces that kuroo has a separate phone for his drug operations, which is expected. but she can’t find another phone nor has she ever seen kuroo using one.

during their team meeting a few days later, they expressed their frustration with the slow progress. seeing alisa disheartened by the poor team morale, the boss assured her that it’s not her fault. he’s a patient man and so he tells alisa to continue her cover in the meantime.

after the meeting, alisa is about to drive to her own apartment to get some more personal stuff to bring to kuroo’s place. but osamu volunteers to drive for her.

osamu has been very quiet and serious the entire trip. alisa notices but dismisses it as osamu being his usual quiet self.

upon arriving at her place, she goes straight to her room to get some clothes and other sanitary items.

“do you want to get dinner?” she asks as she goes out of the room

“you should abort this mission.” osamu said, looking down at the floor.

“samu, you know i can’t do that. this is my mission. i started it-”

“it’s dangerous!” this time, osamu looks her in the eye.

“he’s not dangerous when he’s with me.” alisa says in a soft voice.

“exactly. you’re getting too comfortable with him.” samu could no longer hide the pain in his eyes so he looks away and stands up from the chair. he’s in pain and he’s frustrated that alisa doesn’t understand that the danger he’s warning her about is not the usual life-or-death danger they deal with in their job. it’s the kind of danger where one falls for a person they’re not supposed to fall for.

“i know you’re just worried about me, samu. and i’m truly grateful. but no matter what you say, i will continue. i will see this through to the end. boss gave his approval earlier, you were there.”

osamu is unresponsive as he contemplates whether this is finally the time to tell alisa of his true feelings. maybe if he confesses that he’s worried about her not as a colleague or a friend but as a man who deeply loves her, she would be more understanding and change her mind. but he knows that’s impossible. he’s known all this time that alisa only sees him as a friend, as her best friend, to be precise. he’s aware of this and has been in the process of painfully accepting it.

“fine. just call me if you need anything.” osamu says before leaving, not sparing her a glance.

the next morning, with her revived determination from her boss’ approval and to prove osamu that she can do this, alisa is sharper than ever. she pretends to be asleep as kuroo wakes up at 6am, giving her a morning kiss. kuroo then washes his face and leaves the room.

just last night, kuroo told her that he’s only available in the afternoon today if ever she wants to go out. alisa asked where he’ll be in the morning and kuroo replied that he’ll go to the gym. kuroo does go to the gym regularly, but he’s been complaining about his painful hips just the other day, so his response was already suspicious for alisa. and so she decided to spy on him more closely this morning to see where he will be actually going.

she secretly follows him out of the room and she’s surprised that he goes straight to his work room instead of the kitchen to have breakfast.

she peers into the room and sees him crouch down to the lowest drawer under his desk. he stays there for a while and with the desk blocking her view, alisa is frustrated as she can’t see what exactly he’s doing. it’s been almost a minute when he stands back up and he’s holding a blue notebook that alisa has never seen before. he flips the first few pages and after landing on the one he’s looking for, he then turns to the bookshelf right behind him and pulls out a thick old-looking book. he opens it and retrieves a hidden phone. “so that’s where he’s hiding it.” alisa thinks to herself.

kuroo dials the number written on the notebook and after only one ring, the other person answers and kuroo only says “today, 9am” before hanging up. he doesn’t return the phone to its place and instead puts it in his brief case. seems like he will be using and taking the phone out of the house for the day.

afterwards, he bends down to the bottom drawer to return the blue notebook. when alisa sees that he’s about to exit the room, she quietly runs back to their bedroom.

after having a quick breakfast, kuroo enters the bathroom in their shared room to take a shower. alisa sprints to the work room to check the bottom drawer, but nothing is in it, just like the last time she checked it. she remembers that kuroo had it open for quite a long time earlier, so there must be a hidden compartment in it. she uses a pen to lift the corners and after pulling up the wooden panel,  she sees the blue notebook. she quickly scans it to find a list of names, aliases, email addresses, contact numbers, and incomplete addresses. some of the names are familiar to alisa. that’s when she realizes that the names are those of drug pushers that her team is looking into as well. she instantly concludes that kuroo supplies to these elusive pushers and this list is one of the cold hard proofs to solidify his arrest. she also recalls a time wherein kuroo and her were talking about work and he mentioned how he’s scared of storing important or sensitive information digitally, as it might get hacked or lost in one way or another. alisa connects that statement to the fact that he has a physical list of the drug pushers’ contact details. kuroo doesn’t want these details to leak, so he’s keeping the perhaps only copy of it.

she intends to take a photo of every page but she’s scared that kuroo would find her missing from their bed. she quickly returns the notebook to where it was and runs fast to their room, jumping on the bed and pulling the blanket to cover her entirely. she quickly sends a short message to her team’s group chat instructing them to follow kuroo after he leaves the house. osamu, as her only back-up, replies quickly. with the rest of the team soon after.

she hears kuroo get out of the bathroom and quickly hides her phone under her pillow. kuroo then gently slides down her blanket to pepper her face with kisses. strangely, alisa feels a pang in her chest and a sting in her nose. this might just be the last time she feels those kisses. she disregards all of these feelings, though. the finish line is near now.

she eagerly awaits to hear the car engine go off and leave before she heads back to the work room. she finally retrieves the notebook and quickly goes to her own car. she calls her team and asks where kuroo is so she can follow him as well. all of this taking place and she’s still in pajamas.

eventually, alisa and the team concludes that the location where kuroo is heading is the place of his new building’s ongoing construction. that’s why his movements and destinations haven’t been suspicious, he’s blending his professional facade with his criminal life.

alisa parks her car far from where kuroo stopped his so he wouldn’t see her. she prefers to run to her team’s nearby van but she’s afraid that kuroo might see her and ruin the entire operation. instead, she takes her phone and binoculars and carefully got out of her car to go to a spot to hide while also watch kuroo talking to a man around the same age, looking like the usual businessman with his suit and tie.

they only talked for a short while until kuroo signals for a construction worker to approach them. the worker pushes a cart of around ten large sacks of cement. the businessman makes a small cut on top of the sack, feeling some of the powder in his hands and then smelling it. holy shit. some of the “cement” in this construction is actually drugs. with the businessman satisfied, he retrieved a couple of brief cases from his van. kuroo opened them and it’s visible to alisa and her team that it’s tons of cash.

for some reason, alisa felt like crying. this is it. the moment of cold hard proof they’ve been waiting for. but she’s not entirely happy. she has seen kuroo be a sweet, loving, and caring boyfriend for her all this time. this is the first time she actually sees him do something wrong. the rose-tinted glasses finally break, as it should. or to be more precise, these glasses should have never existed in the first place.

after kuroo secures the cases of cash and places them in his car, the sirens from all around start to blast and alisa’s team gets out of the van, pointing their guns at kuroo, his client, and the construction worker. the worker tries to run but was shot in the leg. with the sound of the gun shot, kuroo and his client know they cannot escape this.

alisa suddenly feels unwell, still sitting on the ground and just staring at it. osamu runs to her to comfort her.

alisa urges herself to look at kuroo with handcuffs, getting into the police car.

“don’t worry, he didn’t see you.” osamu tells her.

“there’s another evidence that i need to submit.”

“another?”

osamu helps alisa up and she musters all her strength to walk to her car to retrieve the notebook. “this is kuroo’s list of clients. all their contact details are in there. he hid it so well i wouldn’t have found it if i didn’t observe him this morning.”

“got that. boss is so happy and proud of you. all of us are, alisa. you did an outstanding job.”

alisa just gave a hesitant smile in response.

“my girlfriend… can i see her, please? i need to talk to her. please.” kuroo pleads to alisa’s boss in the interrogation room. it’s the first thing he ever said since his apprehension.

“we reached out to her right away after your arrest. she doesn’t want to see you.” the boss lies.

kuroo is astounded, but he can’t say that it’s unexpected. of course, his beloved ali is shocked and disappointed in him.

all of this unfolds right before alisa’s eyes as she’s in the other side of the interrogation room. osamu told her to just rest, but she refused. as she has said before, she needs to see this through.

kuroo is informed that his case won’t even go to trial because he’s caught in the act of hiding and selling drugs and getting paid for it, and also because of his possession and creation of the address book of drug pushers. he’ll have to serve seven years.

“fine. arrest me or whatever. i don’t care. i deserve it anyway.” he said weakly with a fake smile.

the boss leaves the room to get some papers and kuroo is left alone, with alisa watching him closely.

at this moment, kuroo’s eyes widened as if he realizes something.

the boss comes back with the papers and before he could tell kuroo the next steps, kuroo interrupted him.

“you mentioned about the address book, is it the blue notebook?”

“yes”

“how did you find it? where? when? i still used it just a couple of hours ago.”

the boss, alisa, and osamu are surprised by his questions.

“we found it in your house”

“who found it?”

with each question, kuroo sounds and looks colder

“us, of course”

“you found it too quickly. no one else knows where it was. no one. only me in this entire world. and if you rummaged through my house, my alarms would’ve set off and i’ll be notified in my phone. but i know there was no notification up to the moment you ambushed us. unless you found it in the past twenty minutes, which i know is impossible.” kuroo scoffed at the last statement, as if mocking the boss and the entire police force.

alisa’s boss is taken aback and he doesn’t get the chance to respond as kuroo continues.

“d…don’t tell me…” he covers his face with cuffed hands as he tries to stop his body from shaking, voice trembling.

alisa realizes what’s going on, and tears fell as she keeps her eyes on kuroo.

“if my alarms didn’t go off and you found the notebook this quickly, then the one who found it knew where it was and was inside the house.” kuroo says, showing his face once again.

“don’t tell me that my…. girlfriend is the one who found it, and she submitted it very quickly because she’s actually one of you.”

the boss just looked at him with a poker face, not willing to reveal anything. but his silence itself already did.

kuroo slowly turns his head to the one-way mirror, sensing that alisa might be there.

alisa could no longer hold back her sobs as she sees kuroo’s betrayed face filled with shock, hurt, and anger. she quickly gets out of the room with osamu following her.

“alisa-” “he knows, samu. he knows! but i guess i don’t have to be surprised, he’s actually one of the smartest guys i’ve known, after all.” alisa tries to laugh away her tears. “he feels betrayed. he knows i betrayed him-”

“no, alisa.” osamu replies firmly. “he can think whatever the fuck he wants, but just know that that’s not what you did. you didn’t betray him. it was your job to go undercover and find evidence so we can finally put him in jail. and you’ve done that. you should be happy, you should be proud of yourself. don’t shed tears for that guy.”

alisa is astounded to hear osamu talk like this, he’s full of rage and she’s a bit scared. she calms down and nods her head with a smile. osamu’s stern face is replaced with a smile as he wipes her tears before embracing her. he doesn’t tell alisa but the truth is he’s furious about the fact that a criminal like kuroo is the reason for her tears and that he’s the one she ends up loving.

their boss gets out of the room and tells alisa that kuroo is demanding to speak with her, but he assures her that she absolutely doesn’t have to do it.

after contemplating for a moment, alisa tells her superior, “it’s okay. i’ll talk to him. this will be the last time.”

“alisa, no-” osamu attempts to discourage her.

“samu, i’ll be fine.” she says with a genuine smile that puts his heart at ease.

alisa takes a few minutes to wash her face and put on some make-up in hopes of hiding the fact that she just cried.

when she’s ready, she stands before the door and composes herself before entering. kuroo is stunned to see her in her work uniform, complete with her ID and badge.

“i’m not obliged to speak with you. but i’m here and you can only tell me five things or ask me five questions.”

“fine. five questions, then.” he waits for alisa to say anything but she just looks at him with her poker face.

“who are you?” “alisa haiba, a detective here in the tokyo police station.”

“this might be obvious already, but i just want to confirm my suspicions.” kuroo scoffs. “did you go undercover and seduce me to get whatever evidence or information you needed to arrest me?”

“yes.”

“so it was all planned out from the moment i saw you at the club that night?”

“yes.”

“were you spying on me this morning that’s why you knew where the blue notebook was hidden, then you also instructed your colleagues to follow me?”

“yes.”

“was any of it real?”

there’s a pause before alisa replies, “i don’t understand your question. was any of what real?”

“you know exactly what i’m talking about, ali.” kuroo says with so much pain in his voice, slamming the table with his fists, knuckles turning white, restraining himself from shouting at her.

“sorry, my bad, you’re not my ali. you’re detective alisa haiba from the police station. got it.” kuroo laughs sarcastically to mask all the pain. he looks at her as he waits for her response.

“i’m gonna ask again, was any of it real?” he emphasizes each word.

“no… none of it was real, kuroo tetsurou. goodbye.” alisa says monotonously before standing up and leaving.

seven years later, alisa, now thirty-three, is preparing breakfast and she knows exactly what day it is: the day of kuroo’s release from prison.

she never spoke to him again since their short conversation on the day of his arrest years ago. she gave kuroo a chance to ask her his most burning questions, and she answered them as honestly as she could. she thought that might be enough for him.

that’s why she’s so shocked to see him outside her door in the morning.

“k-”

“hey.” kuroo greets her with a somber smile and an awkward wave.

“what are you doing here?” alisa asks cautiously, unknowingly gripping the doorknob tight.

“would you believe it if i said i wanted you to be the first person i meet after i get back my freedom?”

“there goes his usual charming smirk.” alisa thinks.

“would i believe that? no. get on with it, kuroo. why are you here?”

kuroo sighs, “it’s the truth, ali. don’t be so wary, please? i’m not angry at you or anything. i promise.” he puts up his hand, swearing that he’s telling the truth.

alisa knows that besides hiding his crimes, kuroo is an overall honest person. and in the worst case scenario where he attempts to hurt her,  she can defend herself anyway.

“come in.” alisa says and kuroo slowly enters.

“how did you know where i live?”

“uhh…” kuroo can’t form his response properly as his attention is captivated by the modern minimalist interiors of alisa’s apartment. “i asked my lawyer to look it up a few weeks ago.”

“have you eaten? i have extra french toasts here.”

“it’s okay. i’m still full from my last prison breakfast.” he smiles, earning a laugh from alisa.

“my lawyer also told me that,” kuroo says carefully. “you resigned from the police force seven years ago, a few months after my arrest.” he sits across alisa at the dining table. he stares at her as she plays with her food, waiting for her reaction and response.

alisa’s smile from seconds ago slowly disappeared. kuroo knows that he has now entered a sensitive topic.

“yep, that’s right.”

“may i know why?”

“it was exhausting.” alisa’s eyes still fixed on her tattered toast. “and i realized i wanted to try another path.”

“which is?”

“i have a small bakery now. just online though, no physical store yet.”

“wow, that’s nice.” kuroo replies, looking back at the tons of baking materials he noticed earlier.

alisa stands up and goes to the sink.

it’s been two minutes and no one is speaking. the tension and silence become increasingly suffocating. kuroo gazes at alisa’s body as she washes the dishes, with her back facing him. she feels his intense gaze but can’t do or say anything about it.

kuroo stands up and slowly approaches her. alisa feels his presence creeping up behind her.

when kuroo delicately slides his hands on her arms, alisa feels the chills but fights against it by turning around abruptly.

“what do you really want, kuroo? why are you here?” she asks breathily with wide eyes, demanding the absolute truth with her face just a few inches from his.

“don’t be scared, ali. i told you i’m not angry. it’s the truth.” kuroo speaks in a low voice, making him more irresistible than he usually is.

“just answer me.” alisa says in an exasperated tone.

“you’ve been a naughty girl, ali.”

“what?”

“i’ve always told you the truth. i hid my crimes yes, but i’ve always been honest with you. always. you know that. but all you’ve been doing recently is lie to me.” kuroo says in almost a whisper, with his hand creeping up to alisa’s throat to choke her mildly.

“i don’t understand-” alisa says, struggling a bit. she’s not in pain, but all of this feels foreign to her. kuroo has never been this dangerous to her.

“see? you’re lying again. fine. i’ll tell you your lies. do you remember my last question from seven years ago?”

alisa doesn’t reply.

“i asked you if any of what we had was real. do you remember?”

“yes”

“you said, quote unquote, ‘no. none of it was real, kuroo tetsurou. goodbye’. correct?”

“yes”

“those words never left my mind, you know? i kept hearing it in the seven years i was locked up. but i knew you were lying. did you really expect me to believe that? i’m not stupid nor naive, ali. i saw your face and your eyes and despite all the make-up you were wearing, i knew you were crying before we talked. your long pauses in between. you saying that you didn’t understand my question. all of those just to mask the truth and lie to me.” kuroo says with his choking hand getting progressively tighter.

alisa doesn’t know what to reply and tears fell from her eyes.

“and just now you lied again, huh? resigning from the police force because you wanted to be a fucking baker?”

“that’s not exactly unbelievable-” alisa tries to defend herself

“you left the force four months after i got arrested. and you want me to think that my arrest had nothing to do with your resignation? give me a break, ali. tell me the truth!” it’s now kuroo’s turn to demand honesty.

he’s getting impatient and so when alisa doesn’t say anything, he slams her down to the dining table and kisses her hard. he kisses her lips, her face, her neck, her collarbone, and her chest after he rips her shirt apart. he kisses her everywhere. and when alisa doesn’t fight back and kisses him in return, he fucks her then and there.

their synchronized moans the moment he enters her are so loud it feels like it’s reverberating throughout the apartment.

alisa is feeling seven years worth of kuroo’s libido as he hadn’t fucked during that time. she honestly thought that she would never feel him inside of her again since he got arrested. so having him in her now feels so unbelievable she doesn’t want to let him go ever again. she clenches around his hard cock the entire time, making kuroo hiss and grunt.

“can i come in you?”

alisa’s heart swells as she finds it endearing that despite all the animosity kuroo has for her, he’s still polite about this.

“yes. i have pills-”

alisa can’t even finish her statement as kuroo comes in her, urging her to come as well.

as they both ride out their orgasm, kuroo whispers in her ear breathily, “this is the last time you’ll ever see me, alisa haiba.”

“what?”

“i’m leaving in one week. gonna move to the States. leaving everything and everyone here behind. including you.”

alisa, feeling devastated, watches his face as he starts to separate from her. she doesn’t speak as she examines kuroo dressing up. he has made up his mind, and so this is the last time she’ll see him. ever. she wants to appeal his decision, tell him, “but you said you’re not angry with me, so why?”, but she knows that would be futile. and in the back of her mind, she thinks that maybe she deserves this.

kuroo doesn’t spare her a glance, not even when he leaves. “guess it’s my turn to say goodbye. take care of yourself, ali.” he says before opening the door, back facing her.

the silence after the door closes is the worst silence alisa has ever heard and experienced. it feels heavy, empty, and her sobs consume her soon after.

alisa can’t sleep that midnight, her head filled with kuroo and his last words to her.

then her phone suddenly rings and an unknown number is plastered on her screen.

she hesitates picking it up but her time as a detective taught her to stay alert for any danger or important information. the person on the other line probably needs help or will inform her about something important.

“hello?” she inquires, but she’s met with silence from the other end of the line.

“hello? who’s thi-”

“i’m supposed to hate you, y'know?” kuroo blurts out and alisa immediately feels the familiar pain and tightness in her chest, urging her to sit up from her bed.

“kuroo… where are you? are you okay?”

“i’m supposed to despise you for deceiving me, for causing my downfall, for lying to me, but i can’t. i just can’t bring myself to hate you, ali.” kuroo sounds like he’s about to cry, while alisa already is. she tries to do so quietly so kuroo wouldn’t hear, but she’s tired of pretenses and decided to let out her sobs wholeheartedly.

“i thought i meant it when i told you earlier that i’m leaving you behind. but i realized that it just felt so wrong.”

“kuroo-”

“run away with me, ali.” now it’s kuroo’s turn to be met with silence.

“please? run away with me. let’s start anew. no more deceptions, just love, newfound trust, and honesty. i’ll take care of you and i promise i’ll never commit crimes again.”

alisa stops crying as she’s too astounded with what she’s hearing.

“i know that all of this is shocking to hear. but i mean every word, ali. you’ve already hurt me, but here i am, still begging you to be with me. if that’s not pure love and honesty, i don’t fucking know what is.” kuroo says with exasperation in his voice.

alisa is still silent, so he continues, “you don’t have to answer right now. i can delay the scheduled flight for you… if you decide to go with me. so don’t worry about that. just please, think about it carefully. hmm? okay?”

“y-yes. alright. thank you, kuroo. i’ll think about it. good night.”

with that, alisa abandons any attempt to sleep as she lists all the pros and cons of running away with kuroo.

it’s been five days since kuroo’s midnight call to alisa and his scheduled flight is in two days. and yet he hasn’t heard from her ever since.

pacing around in his apartment with phone in hand, kuroo is extremely antsy as he contemplates on whether to call her again or not. he gave her time to think, but he needs to know her answer already.

he’s dialing her number when his doorbell rings.

he opens his door and finds alisa there, smiling shyly as she’s surrounded with several large suitcases.

for the first time since their call, he relaxes and heaves a sigh of relief before hugging alisa tightly.

“you cunning woman, why didn’t you at least give me a call or a text? i’ve been panicking.”

“because i wanted to surprise you? but i guess five days of radio silence was too much, indeed. i just had to make sure everything on my end is okay before i leave.” she caresses his head on her shoulder.

“well, is everything okay now?” kuroo lets go of the embrace to look at her

“yup, i packed only the things that i absolutely needed and wanted to take with me. as for the rest of my things, i left them as is in my apartment and i asked my landlord to buy or sell them. he’ll send me the money once he has it. i also met with my closest friends and family to say goodbye.”

“your friends and family… did they agree with your decision?” kuroo asks cautiously, afraid of her response

“of course not all of them did. but i told them that you’ve already served your time and for that, you deserve a second chance. i also told them how much you love me.” alisa says the last part with a sweet smile.

“thank you, ali. you won’t regret this.”

“i know, i trust you.”

[generous1ty]

I just found this account and the way you decorated your account is just perfectly splendid, it reminds me of a dreamy kind 90's anime game in a good way if that makes sense :)

So, back to my request;

Fuyuhiko, Mikan and Mahiru with a s/o who passes out due to period pain, in front of them.

Like, who would notice they were in pain sooner? Who would froze and panic? Who would try to help right away?

(This happened to me ones and since I had heavy periods too, I needed to go hospital and to say the least, it sucked. I needed to take norethisterone for 2 weeks after hospital. )

sexily beatboxes to gain reads/follows

anyway, hey anno!! :)) my account theme is now edgy red with emo diluc, however. i was very flattered by your compliment when my account was still a pretty purple with sparkles :') thank you for saying it's like a 90's anime game that is such a high compliment and i loved it (and still love it) a lot thank you <3

other than that, here is your request, anon from months ago! hope that you're doing well after that trip- sounds pretty scary, actually..

lots of love to you. :) <3

Fuyuhiko, Mikan, and Mahiro with an S/O who passes out due to menstrual pains

genre: fluff/misc.

warnings: AFAB!reader (gender neutral pronouns used), period stuff (cramps, blood, etc.) swearing, post-killing game (SDR2 spoilers), relapsing trauma from all three of them (killing games lol), clingy Fuyuhiko 🕺🕺🕺, panic attacks + medication (Tsumiki M.), i use the word "drugs" but it's just another synonym for medication, just a bunch of anxiety. seriously. and obviously, you being in a lot of pain. and also me writing too much, as per usual.

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu

Fuyuhiko is probably the most panicked out of the three listed .

i know he's the son of a mafia boss and he's probably got a criminal record, but just because he does crimes and stuff doesn't mean he knows what the heck is going on-

kidding.

Although Fuyuhiko is fully prepared for the time of the month where you seem to be in the most pain, he never expected you to actually pass out-- no, he never thought it was even possible to.

so while he's out buying whatever you need and whatever you're craving at the moment, you're at his house on his luxury couch, under a luxury blanket with a microwaveable pillow on your abdomen, laying on a luxury pillow, in immense pain.

Fuyuhiko comes home with the bags of products on his arms and his face immediately contorts to worry when he sees you under so much agony

he's the quickest to rush over and hold you in pure panic.

"shi-- ff-- god! hey- hey look at me! are you alright? what's wrong?!"

you can't speak because of the pain, and he's not sure what to do-

and then you actually faint.

and it feels like his whole world falls apart when he thinks the worst had just happened in front of him.

he gets you into a car and the car is speeding through the streets.

he is the quickest to rush over and the quickest to get you to a hospital.

even if it wasn't life threatening, and even if it was (or is), he still wants it checked out and he still wants a professional to properly make sure you're okay.

you have to stay in the hospital for a while, and Fuyuhiko is adamant on staying by your side.

"you're gonna get a ticket for speeding down the road so fast. your parking sucked, too." you're grinning at him.

"...shut up and rest."

after you're finally discharged from the hospital, Fuyuhiko is a lot more anxious when the time of the month rolls around.

you have to constantly reassure him that it won't happen again, especially after the medication you were prescribed.

that doesn't stop him from worrying, though. even after the whole world was cleaned up, and after surviving a killing game with half of his sanity still in tact, that doesn't mean the trauma of losing those closest to you will disappear.

he grows a little scared time to time when he notices how fast a month passes by, but gets relieved to see that you're doing just fine.

Peko helps him out with his anxiety when he's away from you cause of work, and you always send him pictures and messages to reassure him you're okay.

he's just a lil puppy. just a lil guy. a lil guy with trauma. it's ok. he's ok.

and you'll both be okay together.

Mikan Tsumiki

so. i know, you know, we all know, that since Mikan is the Ultimate Nurse, that she would be great at taking care of you during your menstrual cycle.

she knows you bleed heavily, and that sometimes your cramps render you powerless at times, but she didn't expect for them to get so bad you'd faint-

she's by your side, gently caressing your hand (they're a little sweaty from her anxiety and constant worrying), as she eases the pain little by little.

she's done all she can; you're under a heated blanket with room temperature water, she's given you on-the-shelf painkillers, and massaged your abdomen with natural oils to try and get rid of the cramps-

she wants to avoid prescribing any off-the-shelf medication if you're not comfortable with it or if it's just a one-time thing and it'll pass

but she's really tempted to rush over to the hospital she works at and bring something she's prescribed last-minute to you after you've fallen asleep.

i mean, that would have been what had happened if you had just fallen asleep-

she definitely noticed you sweating a lot more than before, and you looked very, very pale. you'd yawned at least once in the duration she had been taking care of you, and your pulse had been stalling when she held your hand.

she honestly should have expected you to faint. the signs were so clear but-

you fainted.

your breathing was so heavy and shallow that she just blanked. and couldn't think of anything at the exact moment.

terrible habit for a nurse. but she's working to curb it. (woo!!! go Mikan!!!!! muah)

she immediately calls for an ambulance and paramedics get to the door and she's in tears and short of breath from her panic attack. she's so relieved that you both live so close to the hospital so that it didn't take long for people to show up.

after the paramedics take you into their car, she goes over to the bathroom cabinets to take her meds and rushes over to the hospital the quickest she can so she'll be able to treat you as well.

of course, since she just got done with a panic attack, and there are obvious tear stains down her face, and that you're her lover, the other employees at the hospital don't agree with her treating you in the state that she's in.

and it takes a while for her to agree, but she's convinced when a doctor tells her that she'll be too busy with the prescription to properly take care of you afterwards.

so you're both in the hospital she works at, and she's almost in tears again seeing you conscious after an hour or so.

"don't cry, little crybaby." you smile a little, it's hard to contain the smile from infecting your words.

"i--i'm sorry...!"

"no need to apologize, silly. are you okay? did you take your meds? i don't want you worrying too much even though i'm in this state," you laugh.

"i'm fine-- i'm fine..!" she's crying again after you're playfully joking with her.

the aftermath of the hospital visit is a lot calmer than before.

after being prescribed stronger drugs for your cramps, Tsumiki is doing a lot better during the weeks when you're at your weakest.

at least you won't pass out anymore. that's the good thing, because she'd rather you be conscious than unconscious.

unless you were in really bad pain. then of course she wouldn't want you conscious to experience that .

Mikan trusts in the medicines you're prescribed with, and she trusts herself and she trusts you trusting her. so, she feels alright now.

although, she still feels anxious time to time. nothing can stop that dreading feeling in her stomach when she notices how fast the days pass.

but she's fine, because she knows you'll be fine. and she'll take care of you through it every step of the way.

Mahiru Koizumi

aah. actually. Mahiru is so sweet and lovely i'm actually in love with her 😳👉👈

anyway .

Mahiru really takes care of you during your preiods; there's a cold towel in her hands and she's wiping down your body as it sweats from the heating pad on your abdomen and the apparent pain you're in.

Mahiru is used to you feeling this way during your menstrual cycles. but just because she's used to it, doesn't make the suffocating feeling in her chest disappear.

she dabs the cold cloth on your neck, then your forehead, and she gives you a small kiss for comfort as you squeeze her hand.

Mahiru saw you fainting as a possibility, but she would have rather thought otherwise than to think the worst.

after all, you're strong; you're sturdy. you've gone through this before, and you might be able to push past this, too. right?

she believed so. she hoped so.

Mahiru is talking to you all the while you're laying in bed, trying to keep the pain from distracting you from her words.

her voice is soothing you, and you feel a little calmer with her by your side this time, too. her warm hand in comparison to yours, and the cold cloth on your cold, yet somehow burning, skin.

"...so after we were done taking pictures, me and Hiyoko parted ways and..."

she notices you coming in and out of it, and before you say anything after she trailed off, she helps you sit up in bed.

she's concerned, and you can tell on her face that she's not happy with this development.

"we should go to the hospital. you look absolutely horrendous right now."

you know she's joking, but you can tell the severity of your condition in her voice as well.

so she helps you get into the car and you both drive to the nearest hospital. Mahiru's not trying to rush because she doesn't want to get pulled over (or a ticket), but her hands are clamming up in response to her unparalleled anxiety and the worry in her throat.

and you both walk to the front desk together, and she has a hand around your waist, then you completely black out after she's in the middle of her sentence of checking you into a room.

and, oh god, she feels faint. she feels like puking, her stomach is twisting and she wish it weren't so she could help you up.

but seeing another body so cold and frightened and bare again. it has her frozen and the front desk worker calls for staff to come and pick you up.

Mahiru is visibly shaking and a few of the staff try to calm her down, saying that you'd be fine and safe in the ER

and so, after treatment and diagnosis and a few hours of being by your side with you still unconscious, Mahiru is almost breaking down when you wake up.

"oh god, i ache all over..."

"yeah-- you-" she's trying to get a coherent sentence out despite her breathing, "you practically threw yourself at the floor..!"

you can tell she's trying to make light of the situation so it doesn't get too dark, but it doesn't stop her from crying in relief.

you give her a small kiss, and she kisses back in the moment. just glad to have you back.

after you're discharged from the hospital, Mahiru is adamant on having you take your medication and it being on schedule, on time.

if you faint on her again, she might die...

so she does all she can to make sure it doesn't happen again. everything within her power.

and she hangs up a little picture you took in her room of you two walking out of the hospital; her almost in tears and you smiling, laughing playfully with her.

she's just happy it wasn't anything immediately endangering to you. she's glad you're still here. she's glad it's you.

[oneoftheprettynerds]

Don’t Let Me Down: Dark!Steve x Reader (Mob AU)

Chapter 6 in the Lipstick and Crayons Series.

Chapter 5: In The Name Of Love 

Main Masterlist

A/N: Hi guys, thank you for being so patient with me! I have been editing this chapter a lot lol so i hope things make sense and there isn’t any plothole. Lmk your thoughts! Also I won’t update until August cause I have a very important exam in August and I’ll be giving up my phone soon. Hope this chapter was worth the wait, I’ve been so tired. Yesterday I passed out for a few hours while studying lol. Nevertheless, happy reading!  

Warning: Non-Con, Sickening Threats, Drugs, Mob Themes, Violence, Death, Manipulation, a mild mental breakdown, Cheap Tricks.

Genres + Characters: Mob AU, Single Parents AU, Steve Rogers x Reader.

Summary: Steve can’t ever repay you for what you did. After meeting you, Steve believes his broken family is the missing piece in the puzzle of your own wrecked one. Indebting the crime lord to you has been the biggest mistake of your life, cause now you can’t get rid of him, no matter what. Loyalty and favours go a long way in the mob.

Word count: 6K [whew]

Chapter 6: Don’t let Me Down

Dozing off while you were kidnapped and in unchartered territory wasn’t smart, but your day had been long and fatigue had worn you out. Was it even the same day anymore?

The window behind you that provided you with light some mere hours ago was covered with thick translucent glass; that’s where your neck’s flexibility ended. The soft glow of the filtered light was no clue; the beam’s luminosity could very well be that of an early morning or of a setting sun.

Your shoulders were stiff, lower back ached the worst it had in years and wrist and ankles were raw, bruising. It reminded you of the time you had tried to go to the gym to shed the pregnancy weight, and how badly that failed. Your trainer was kind enough to go easy on you, keeping in mind your hearty toddler and hectic job. It was funny how in moments of demise, one remembers the small things, one they believed to be insignificant, their failures.

Your thoughts went to Grace and your parents next, the little sparkle in all of their eyes whenever they got a gift they had been eyeing for too long or when feasting on sugar. You sometimes believed that your dad and Grace purely bonded over their joy for cupcakes and desserts. Of course, that wasn’t true, that was the cherry on top reason for her to be his little princess like once you had been.

  While thinking about all of this, you did wonder if you would see your parents again. Given, you did worry about seeing Grace and her future but that was all you fretted about the past few days. If something happened to you, at least she’d be in the more than capable hands of your parents. Maybe it’d be for the best, they would nurture her far better than you could even dream of; a tear escaped at that reflection. You had to place your trust in the universe, it owed you at least Grace’s security for all that you’ve both went through.

Another area of your brain focused on one more concern; what about you and your parents? As much as you were a mom, you were also a kid who possibly might not be able to take care of her fragile, old parents either. They had the enthusiasm and the strength but they also needed you. What about that?

Wow, dark gloomy places can really be depressing.

Your dismal train of thoughts was interrupted by the grating sound of the metal door opening and you realized the room was more like a cell because metals bars were present in the place of one of the walls.

“I see you’ve woken up, sweetie.” The man from earlier, gigantic, burly and tattooed came inside and switched on the light. Your eyes ached as they uncomfortably adjusted to the brightness, a headache striking through your skull.

Surprisingly enough he waited, till you were done evaluating your now bright surroundings and done struggling. Not that you struggled much, you knew better than to anger the man whose mercy you were at. Look what happened with Steve.

“You ain’t a talker, I see. Well, good for me.” He let out a hefty snicker and continued, ���The main rule here is don’t piss me off. My hospitality can and will get worse. Understood?”

You slightly nodded, your neck straining and stinging at the awfully easy task. Your mouth wasn’t gagged but it wasn’t hydrated either to answer this man. Besides you really didn’t trust yourself fully to not lash out at him. He was robbing you of your future, depriving you of your child’s future.

“I’m going to remove the restraints and you are allowed fifteen minutes in the bathroom. My man will give you the privacy but the door won’t be locked, so don’t try anything. Then I’ll feed you something and we’ll talk. This much sound good?” You nodded again and let him untie you; your eyes downcast the entire time, showing you weren’t stupid enough to pull anything.

His hands uncuffed yours and then he removed the rope tying your torso to the chair while you complied and sat still. He really went above and beyond to ensure your captivity, leaving room for no errors. His hands did wander but not quite far enough to warrant a reaction, but just enough to alarm you.

He patted your shoulders and you got up while he pounded the door twice. It opened and three men stood outside. He pointed to the door and tilted his head to the side, his eyebrows urging you to go.

You went outside as one soldier marched away, as if to be your tour guide, while the other two stood guard. Your legs wobbled with each stride as you struggled to catch up, limbs aching after hours of inactivity. Trying to keep track of the dingy hallways and the turns you took was a task you failed miserably at, your mind foggy, frame weary and soul spent. Your legs struggled to carry you even to the bathroom but you reached there somehow and collapsed inside on the toilet seat, your bruises from the restraints burning.

A sob threated to escape. Your reflection in the mirror was tainted and timorous, but over-all tired. Within hours of captivity, your face lost all its glow and your body all its strength. There was no way you’d be able to overpower even a single man here, much less the entire army of his with whatever strength they had in numbers.

You sighed and splashed your face as you tried to wash away the horrors with the grime.    

"What about the call?”

“It couldn’t be traced. He was prepared.” Sam answered as he watched a fuming Steve. They had been at it for hours but without any clues. They had scoured Rumlow’s properties in the city, checked out each abandoned building and tried to hunt ‘The Vices’ scoundrels but each was in vain.

The man that snuck to Grace’s bedroom to capture the picture also evaded the cameras perfectly by sheer coincidence, nothing more than a black mass showing itself. Those were personal to him and it sucked that when he let his team take charge of the cameras, nothing came out of it.

It made no sense, even his allies got to know about you last week at Sarah’s party and even on assuming news spread from there, your abduction was far too planned and strategic. Your kidnappers almost knew your schedule as good as Steve: your work offs, day-care time, Grace’s bed time. They were even able to evade Steve’s man that periodically checked on you back then. Last time Steve checked, Rumlow didn’t even have the resources for this, far less for it to come to a point to trick Steve’s men.

Now that he had collected some records about it, he noticed that Rumlow had been buying new properties left and right. He wasn’t supposed to start the territory war, the claim for it should have taken at least a few more years according to Steve’s calculations. His growth and empire, although still less than Steve’s, was developing exponentially, almost as if he had stumbled upon some unknown treasure that funded him.

Hard questions then started hitting him; and although they were brutal, they made a lot of sense. Rumlow had a new associate.

“I’m thinking we might have a mole. Or maybe Rumlow has a new investor because look at the price of these properties.” Steve tapped the various documents lying messily on his table. “His trust fund wasn’t this well-off. We need to find his new ally. Look into it. Check our assets too, don’t leave the possibility of a mole compromising us. And get Tony on the line for whatever intel he needed to verify. I need something before the day ends. Clear?”

The men around him nodded and as soon as Bucky gave specific instructions to each, they marched off. Steve looked through the files of Rumlow’s activities to see if he missed something, to get any hint of his new partner. He did have some new recruits from his trusted allies’ legions but maybe he didn’t delve deeper enough in their backgrounds.

Bucky called Stark but reached his assistant who promised a callback as soon as possible while Sam tried to track the location again and make something out of the photo of you they had gotten. He was hoping to track the next time he called, which was scheduled tomorrow.

The boys were as busy as bees and efficient to get you back, you were as good as family. Steve huffed and got frustrated at his slip up, he needed to wind-up this foe, once and for all and bring you safely to his manor where you belonged, his little family as safe as protected as it could be. Grace might not notice your absence for a few hours but then what?

You finished eating the sandwich the man had provided you, with hands still cuffed but this time in front of you. You hadn’t eaten anything even hours before your abduction, trying to get ahead of schedule just to get the errands done with.

You were the tiniest bit grateful to at least get a trickle of your strength back. He was patient and you were surprised by his calm demeanor; maybe it came easy to him because he had the advantage against Steve in whatever he was plotting.

You finished the entire bottle of water and looked at him as he put his phone down and faced you.

“Let’s start darling.” He was awfully jolly and you were annoyed beyond measure but you didn’t let it show. “I’m Brock Rumlow, your man’s worst enemy, leader of ‘The Vices’.”

It didn’t take too good a memory to remember the name of the crew that killed almost hundreds. A montage of the people that died, the children whose corpses laid on the muddy ground and the creeps that tried to abduct Sarah, endangering you and Grace in the process played in your mind. This man in front of you was a monster, ready to light the world on fire just to set off some rockets for his own entertainment; ready to drown the entire world just to enjoy the luxury of a cruise. Terror flashed in your eyes and this bastard seemed to relish in it.

“We go way back but not as buddies as you’d have already guessed. I need something that the bastard is too stubborn to hand me and that’s why you are my leverage.”

The story was short and vague but it had everything you needed to know. These idiots thought that Steve would submit and surrender just to save you? They didn’t realize you were easily replaceable and their plan would be in vain. You have known Steve, for what, just over a month now? You held no significance to him except for being a sort-of a plaything for him for a few weeks at max. Did they just spot you together and assume you were a couple?  

Your mind made theories while your eyes followed every one of his moves. He picked up his phone again and still caught you off-guard, “Look into the camera, sweetheart.” Your eyebrows furrowed and he snapped a photo, your eyes blinking away the sting due to the flash. “His demands.” He shrugged. “I need to send him proof of you being okay and unharmed every day until Monday. So, you are unscathed.” He paused and thought. “Well, for now.” He shrugged and your eyes widened at the implication. You deciphered two things. Firstly, Steve had agreed to some sort of a deal to save you.  And secondly, it was confirmed that he was not going to hold up his end of the deal on keeping you unhurt.  

Your subconsciousness broke your vow of silence as you whispered in surprise more than wonder, “What is that supposed to mean?” You didn’t know why you were so astonished; you were already accepting of the possibility of not making out alive but the way he said it made you queasy. Maybe he was going to kill you anyways for revenge, or to send a message. Or some other greater ploy.

“Sad to be the bearer of bad news, but you won’t make it out of here breathing, darling. A pretty face gone to waste, such a shame.”

“You’ll never get through to Steve then.” You stupidly enough played his card back at him, trying to convince even yourself that Steve did care about you and for once that might save you. The bastard smirked at you, taking your words as a light teasing and whipped out a cigarette with a lighter, smoking right in your face.

You looked down as a tear escaped, your mind numb as you registered your subtle pathetic pleading. Not so accepting of death now, are we? Well, who could blame you? You were only human. And survival is the most basic instinct of all.

A stream of tears slid down following the traitor, your nose scrunching, not at the burn due to the joint, but at the realization of not even getting to say goodbye to Grace.

“Aww,” the fiend mocked, “I really did want to keep you, alive and as my personal slut, as a reminder to that bastard that lost and what a fine asset, I must say.” He eyed your cleavage. “But I have to hold up my end of the deal, sweet-cheeks, and I promised your sexy body in a bag.”

You felt naked under his lewd gaze, mind speculating on who hated Steve so much that they wanted you dead? You were just an unsuspecting lady and in a matter of weeks, someone had marketed you as an important person in the Rogers’ household. And this false information now promised you your demise, literally, in an attempt to retaliate to Steve, who you don’t know why still bothered with you. But you were glad he did, the fact that he coming for you, even though he might prove to be late, was the only solace you could find in this dingy cell of yours. It was unexpected of him, but somewhere deep within you, you were glad he was willing to take the extra leap.

Rumlow left you alone to attend a phone-call and you wallowed in self-pity meanwhile. At least, whoever hated Steve and somewhat, loathed you, didn’t despise either of your kids.

Steve strode into Tony’s office, hoping that Tony calling him all the way out from his headquarters to Stark industries across the city bridge better be worth the time he was losing. Tony had called Steve back himself an hour later to invite over the next day, promising intel he couldn’t discuss over the phone. Irritated at the lack of clues he was able to collect in regards to your abduction, he agreed in a heartbeat, though slightly disappointed to wait an entire day.

Steve was ready to give a whooping thirty percent of his territory up for you initially when he got the call for specifications, but the motherfucker demanded sixty-five percent. If the deal would be conducted fairly, he would even be ready for that, yes, you were that precious and he was a man of his word, but his team and his intellect both knew that Rumlow would play a trick. Or he would go through the deal and then attempt an assassination on him, continue the enmity.

Because Rumlow and him despised each other so much, that words couldn’t explain the rivalry. They had been in the same premises only thrice till now, no party hosted them together anymore. One celebration had ended with a fist fight that sent Rumlow to the ER with broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder and a shattered jaw. Another had ended with Rumlow killing his own ex-spy, aka Steve’s late wife in front of everyone and then grazing even Steve’s chest with the same gun.

    Needlessly to say, they both hated each other’s guts. It was like they came out of the womb as enemies.

Steve broke out of his pondering when Jarvis greeted him and stepped into Stark’s lab on the sixty-ninth floor. Sometimes, he felt Stark was a child trapped in a man’s body, which, of course, wasn’t true given how much of a prodigy he was, how his genius was known overseas.

He found Tony examining a small black device, barely visible to the naked eye, more like a piece of tape and also drinking brandy out of his favourite glass, one that hardly left his table to even get washed. He began pouring some for his blonde friend on spotting him but Steve shook his head. No matter how appealing alcohol seemed right now, he needed a clear head to get you back home.

“This shit better be good, Tony.” He came to stand beside his tech-savvy friend, who juggled and caught the device in his fist and then opened one of his hologram screens. “It is.”

“You must have come to some conclusions about the entire ordeal by now, Cap. Tell me.” Tony sipped his brandy while Steve grew exasperated, probably due to the lack of liquor, Tony concluded.

“Fuck you if you brought me here to play games, Tony. I have so much shit to fig-” Steve was getting impatient with each second that went by and left him uninformed. He needed to know you were safe and get you home; because he knew Rumlow was a man-whore and it wouldn’t be long before he tried something if he hadn’t already. And Tony’s games didn’t help.

“That’s mean, Cap. You are busy being a hotheaded piece of shit to your best friend and here I’ve already done the entire work for you.” Tony said, remembering to curse him back, and entirely unfazed by his fuming best friend.

“What? I swear if this is-”

“I don’t joke, you should know that, Capsicle.” Joke. “And I will tell you everything I’ve figured out but first I want you to tell me your deductions. Entertain me, I want to know how good you are at this, it’s been a while since the last time I got to see you in action.”

Steve felt relief and annoyance all at once. He wasn’t even sure since when his emotional range had gotten so vast, that he felt respite and anticipation for whatever data Tony had, anxiety and apprehension thinking of you, wrath and pure rage for that son-of-a-bitch, a little anger for Tony too for drawing this out, his pal really needed to learn how to read a room. Or at the very least, his friend. He was sure though; it was after he’d met you. Beautiful and charismatic you. Oh, how he missed you. Rot in hell, Rumlow.

Steve’s jaw ticked and tensed but he complied, the sooner he danced for Tony, the faster he’d get what his friend had brought him out here for.

“I know Rumlow has a new investor, who helps from the sidelines though. And I’m also eighty percent sure, I have a mole, or more than one of them. Maybe I didn’t check properly after those four at the carnival. I don’t know how else they got a whiff of her because only you and Pepper had met her prior to the party and I know it’s not you guys. I completely trust Wanda too so-”

Tony clapped Steve’s back to stop him from rambling and grinned, rapt by his analysis of the situation. “Impressive. Now take a look at this.” He gestured to the screen still floating there as a video began to play, a video of the penthouse that he had visited with you weeks ago.

Tony poured the glass Steve had earlier refused and handed him, “You are going to need this.”

It was day two or three of your captivity. You didn’t know exactly but you realized the passage of one night after you had woken up and talked to your captor.

You didn’t really want to sleep and be vulnerable at the claws of the men here but your barely-fed self had no choice but to conserve whatever left up energy you had through slumber. That didn’t mean you were rewarded uninterrupted snooze time, nope. Your creative as fuck mind chose to show you exactly what you suppressed while awake, a mosaic of memories of your kid.

You remembered her first steps at your parent’s house in the living room towards her Pops, the time she’d snuck up on you in the garden, her footsteps light and soft; her first nightmare and how tight she clutched you, the first time she spelled her name. You didn’t even remember your life before Grace, fuck her piece of shit biological father. It was you and her against the world.

When you had somehow gotten through the night, your day was ‘graced’ by Rumlow’s presence. The man was repulsive and a total creep, his lewd comments never stopped. Neither did his wandering hands when he untied you himself twice both the days. You slept on the chair the first night and when you woke up, he was in the room, watching like a hawk.

Rumlow generally didn’t stay to check on captives personally but you were an exception. Keeping you in sights made him grin every time; you were a trophy of his dominance over Rogers. A pleasant reminder that he had already won the ensuing battle. With the territory came the allies, as everyone favored the strong, and soon he’d set out to achieve the kingpin title that Steve was too much of a pussy to.

“There you go, sweetheart.” His terms of endearment made you heave on the inside but you didn’t react much externally, remembering his one rule of not angering him. You shook your free hands as he untied your torso, his hands playing with the clasp of your bra through your shirt after. He slid his hands up to your shoulders, dangerously close to your neck and whispered, “Twenty minutes today. Shower if you want.”

You pranced out of your chair after that and his snicker reached you, bouncing off the dingy walls of the room that held you captive. Even prisons were better than them. You made the mistake of looking back at him because you found him palming himself and winking at you.

You’d have to look for bleach for your eyes.

This was the fourth time you were in this rest room and every time, you wanted to smash the mirror, take a piece of glass and slit Rumlow’s throat. You would have been worried about your thought process if you weren’t practically in the jaws of death.

You had already killed a man, why not kill another?

Unfortunately for you, your plan had too many flaws. The sound of the mirror breaking would reach outside and his men would restrain you in an instant. The low-pressure shower and the taps won’t be able to mask the noise. And even if, by some miracle, you’d be able to do that, you would go out on a limb and say that overpowering three of his men that stood in the path that led to him was unachievable for you. Besides surviving for your kid was more important to you than revenge.

You sighed and got frustrated at the fallings of your plotting, you needed something, anything that would amount to hope in your brain. Screw your rational brain for the lack of optimism.  

This bathroom was your safe space here, you refused to show emotions in front of the men but here, you allowed your thoughts to wander, even if only for a few minutes. Here, you mourned everything you were going to lose and everything you had already lost.

You sobbed and closed your eyes as your mind kept reflecting the agony you were in, as if you were trapped in a kaleidoscope, with the jewels replaced by horrors you couldn’t fathom.  

You didn’t even get to say goodbye to Grace. You didn’t know that that morning would be the last time you’d get to see her off to school. That her lunchbox would be the last time you’d cook for her. That New Year would be the last time you’d get to celebrate something with your parents. You’d miss out on her growing up; that there was a possibility she’d be orphaned. You’d miss out on experiences that were destined to be yours, well were yours until Steve had ruined it all. Brock was your personal Grim Reaper here though, and you had never hated anyone as much as you did him for robbing you of your life, not even Steve.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to shout and wrangle your abductor with your bare hands. It was because of his insolent existence, his delirious need for greed that dug your grave as a normal human. It was the realization that men like him, men like Steve, killed more than a couple hundred people, even thousands with no second thought for their lives.

And even though they were alike in their torment and ambition, you hated yourself for preferring Steve over Rumlow. Maybe it had something to do with Rumlow promising you your death on a silver platter. In case of Steve, you were destined to be just another notch on his bedpost, but with Rumlow, you were fated to be one of his prized executions.

You washed your face and shook you head, wiping your tears. You still had the generous time Brock had given you but you decided against showering, you didn’t want to undress anywhere in this building, the comfort of your unclean clothes was far greater than what a shower would have provided. Maybe, he’d be repelled by you, the dirt and grime. You grimaced as you recalled him calling you attractive like this. You hoped he hadn’t meant it, that some odor would repel him.

The man led you back to the cell, and you could see the disappointment by the lack of hygiene in your captor’s eyes. He smirked in your face though a moment late, seeming to take this as a challenge. You trembled being within arm’s length of him but by the grace of God, his phone rung, a generic ringtone interrupting the looming silence before your impending doom.

He pointed his index up, as if asking for a moment and fetched his phone. Still wary of him, you scrutinized his movements closely, the name on the screen sending you reeling back. He rolled his eyes reading the name and stormed out, likely predicting a longer conversation than he had wanted.

For the first time here, you were without bounds and free to move but you couldn’t get out of the heavy metal door anyway. Besides, you were a bit preoccupied with what realization just hit you.  

“See that?” Tony knew Steve missed what he was pointing out, because to him it was just two ladies gossiping, getting drunk on Chardonnay. Because that was what he himself saw on first glance, nothing out of the ordinary, just his fiancée and her Maid of Honor.

Steve shook his head, looking quizzically, his nose scrunched and his face was in an adorable frown. Tony was impressed that Steve didn’t whine again, instead waited patiently for an explanation. The crotchety Capsicle was now a tolerant dad, oh how the times change.

“This,” Tony opened his fist to show the black gadget he was playing with earlier, “is a high-tech bug. I mean it, really impressive nano-technology. But no one could one-up The Tony Stark.” He scoffed. “I found six of these, one in each of my main properties. This video right here, it shows how and when they were planted.”

He replayed the video with 150x zoom on the flower vase. The men saw as clear as day, when the blonde woman lifted it to admire the pattern and adhered a very minute, small black rectangle akin to what Tony showed earlier, disguised very well in the pattern. It was no thicker than a sticker or a piece of paper and yet it had transmitting capability far impressive than a lot, Tony told.

Steve absorbed each statement spoken to him, eyes bouncing between the documents on the glass table, the screen and his genius as fuck friend, Anthony Stark.

“So you mean to say-”

Rumlow didn’t come back for the rest of the night and for that you were grateful; you had a lot of thoughts to string together.

“Sharon Carter has changed allies. She wins the psycho ex contest.”

If you were not mistaken, and you knew you weren’t, Sharon’s name had flashed across Rumlow’s phone earlier. And you knew of only one Sharon, the one you met at Sarah’s party. You had no doubt assuming her to be involves, there were few with the name and in the same ‘business’. It made no sense, why would she betray Steve just to help a lowlife like Rumlow rule the city? You thought she loved him? Was it aversion you mistook for allurement?

You didn’t sleep that night, pacing around the room coming up with reasons, involuntarily trying to defend the blonde woman you had met only once. This right here was your problem, Your stupid heart of gold. This is why you saved Sarah, gave Steve the benefit of the doubt, and now were mentally defending a woman who had brought you to ruins. If the guards outside heard your pacing and murmurs, they didn’t disturb.

You didn’t even realize how the nighttime had morphed into the dawn, the evanescent glow of the stars turning into the glimmering orange light that intruded the cell through the thick glass. At some point, you had sat down, your head in your hands.

You prayed to God that if Steve really wanted to save you, he’d see right through this traitor amongst his allies. That he’d use that smart, conniving brain of his to do at least something right by you. You were miserable coming to terms with all this, and even though you hated it with every bone in your body, the truth was it had come down to you placing your hope in Steve. Only he could help you find your way to your daughter.  

The clank of the heavy door brought you out of your contemplation, hands wiping any wet residue on your face. Your head was pounding, questions clawing at your throat just threatening to spill themselves about how and why to the man in front of you.

And so, just when the bastard was about to delve in his tormenting mind plays, you impulsively yet idiotically interrupted him.

“You know, I could hear you stomping-”

“Sharon is behind this?! Why would she even-” A hollow snivel interrupted you, just like you had Rumlow. You were afraid that he might be angered but you were still dumbfounded by the revelation. Why would she even want that?

“Nosy little bitch, aren’t you?” In contrast to his crude words, he was actually amused. More so entertained than actually mad. Maybe he was just being kind for your last days; well as kind as this mobster could possibly be.

“Yes, Sharon arranged the entire deal. You’d be surprised at how much intel that minx had and even more so at the price she was willing to pay to get rid of you.” He elaborated.

“That makes no sense. Was she always a rival in disguise? And why would she go after me? We have only met once! Sharon had-” Your brain to mouth filter had just disappeared. You, in your sane mind, would never mouth off to your dangerous captor like this, as if he was your friend with all the answers. But all your wit had away and disappeared with your time in solitary, hungry and introspecting.

It was almost some reward for the bad things you went through in span of last seventy-two hours that your abductor found you amusing and your musings hilarious and chose to answer, relishing in the horror that struck across your face at each revelation like some cruel sadist.

“Wow, you are oblivious as fuck, darling.” He sniggered and then resumed with a smirk, “Aw come on, you had to be blind to not see how desperate she is for Rogers’ cock. She wanted a family with him, house full of shitty kids. Looks like that cunt didn’t tell you they were exes.”

“Then why betray him? And where do I come in this? Me and Steve weren’t even exactly friends!”

Did you offend her somehow at the party? Was that why she wanted you dead as side task?

“Well, she viewed you as a threat, silly girl.” He shrugged, marveling at your turmoil while you were literally losing your mind, you were going to die because of a ridiculous crush. “She is a silent partner; we had a one-time deal to screw both you and Rogers over. I get the expensive land and a shit-load of money to dispose you off while she gets to pick Rogers’ pieces up after your loss and weave her way back into that household. I’d say she is at a loss because of the pathetic goals she wants to achieve, but it is what it is. A cock-drunk slut is what she is.”

He concluded and smoked a cigarette, not bothering to tie you up even after realizing that you’d been unrestrained the entire time. It was fun watching you get aggravates; people with expressive faces were few and far between in this trade full of disguised immoral humans.

Fucking jealousy got you into this mess. You’d have been more than happy to let Steve go, even though he never was yours to begin with. At least he succeeded in his task of advertising you as his. Well, good for him.

A simple conversation could have avoided this. If only you had gotten a chance to prove you absolutely hated the man. Was it even rational for her to reach out and talk? You didn’t even know each other!

Well exactly! How was she so bold in assuming you were dating Steve? Bitch should have used her ‘shitload of money’ for confirming that.

You would have been concerned by your cursing but you allowed yourself a pass days before fucking dying. You deserved a happy future with your kid; you deserved to witness her first day of elementary, even college, her first boyfriend, or girlfriend whatever; her first heartbreak and walk her down the aisle decades from now! The universe owed you that much, and you were only settling. You had deserved to watch her grow, shine. Witness all her seconds, and thirds and everything she’d go through. And now, because of one blond bitch and one misunderstanding, you’ve been stripped of that.

You collapsed on the chair as you veiled your face in your hands, not wanting the man to see you cry, after you had shown days of resilience; not wanting him to witness your acceptance of the future you’d lost.

Rumlow left the room to attend a call once again and didn’t come back for quite a while but you couldn’t care less. Your heart burned and throat hiccupped as your vision remained blurred for hours. You knew you didn’t have much time left, neither to plot nor on Earth.

You cried without restraint, your screeches echoing off the walls and back again into your own ears. You just wanted to hug your little girl one last time, clutch her as tightly as she did when she had her first nightmare. That’s all you wanted your last wish to be.

But you came to the terms with the fact that you won’t get to do that. You knew your life wasn’t that generous, and you’d have to make-do with memories of her; you just hoped you’d live on in her memories after this.

The only question that remained in your mind, after hours and hours of incessant crying was, were you willing to go down without a fight? After all, you had to buy Steve some time.  

[izzythehutt]

How did you get into Breaking Bad? Lol it just doesn't seem like your type of show, like at all

Kind of embarrassing but also hilarious, in a private conversation about Cobra Kai @gorevidalscaligula compared Walt and Jesse's relationship to Johnny and Kreese ("It's the prestige show version!") and I was intrigued enough by that idea I decided to give it a shot. I also had been wanting to watch Better Call Saul for awhile, which had a premise that appealed more to me on its face, but it seemed to me like you really needed to watch Breaking Bad first to get the whole concept of the show (which, having almost finished BrBa, I believe is true but I also think I'm probably going miss Walt and Jesse for the first six seasons until they finally show up.)

I think it's interesting it doesn't seem like my type of show, because it's...very consistent with my taste. I don't know how I come off on this blog, I guess I use tumblr for a lot of low pop art shit-posting, elaborate meta and pimping out my high concept Harry Potter fanfic, but I went to film school and I'm a screenwriter, I do have an appreciation for what passes for "sophisticated" in television terms, lol. Noir, westerns and crime drama are all genres I like because they deal with good and evil in clear-cut ways that many straight modern dramas don't. A well-acted character study that's actually about something (as in, is making a point about the human experience as opposed to just being shiny nihilism) is my exact cup of tea.

I also kind of can't imagine disliking BrBa once you start watching it. I know taste is taste, but some things are just objectively excellent.

In every respect—writing, directing, cinematography, production design, acting—Breaking Bad is a technical and artistic masterpiece. Me joking about stanning Walt aside, it is also probably the best portrayal of moral devolution and the dangers of consequentialism in TV I've ever seen. I know "Bravo Vince!" is a meme but it's also merited, damnit.

What kept me from watching it when it was initially on was probably my age (those were my college years and the dark premise was not interesting to me) and that I refused on principle to watch any shows about drugs in those days. I DO NOT FIND DRUGS INTERESTING, and there was a spate of prestige shows about white collar crime ten years ago that just.....annoyed me. Luckily BrBa isn't really about drugs so it is interesting.

Plus, I can never say no to a complex, dysfunctional (pseudo) father/son relationship!

[g0ldengubler]

chapter 6~life is a “high” way

(*i do not own this gif*)

A/N: this chapter is honestly one of personal favs because we get to see more of spencer feeling more confident in himself in a way while still being him and it’s just aaaaa :’) tomorrow you will get chapter 7 but then after that, expect chapters to come out a bit slower, including requests (which i am working on currently and thank you so much for sending them my way!). lots of my focus needs to be on my personal life but writing helps me get through all of that hell, so i’m in a very wishy washy position lol. thank you so much for the love on nauseous i love uuuuuu

Category: fluff w smut at the end

CW: road head, d/s dynamic, daddy kink

Word Count: 3282

before you read | last chapter | next chapter (coming soon!*)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spencer parks in front of your apartment building and stays in his seat as you get out. You both had decided that packing up right away and not going to lunch was better. That way, you can learn more about each other on the way there. You couldn't wait to get inside that smarty-pants brain of his and find out what's really going on in there.

You shut the car door and start walking, but stop when you don't hear his footsteps behind you. When you walk back to the car, you see Spencer sticking his battery in the cigarette lighter to charge.

"You're more than welcome to come in, y'know." You chuckled.

Spencer looks up at you, licking his lips as he moves some of his hair behind his ear. "It's ok, I don't want to bother."

"You won't be a bother. I've been to yours, now you can come into mine."

"Oh, so that's how that works huh? You have to go into the guys apartment before the guy goes to yours?" Spencer said sarcastically.

"You know what I mean!" You pull open the car and grab his hand, "C'mon, Spence. You'll be fine!"

He giggles under his breath and comes out of the car. After locking it, the two of you head inside and up the elevator to the 4th floor. Once at your door, you unlock it and open up to 4 paws jumping onto you. You hear Spencer gasp in surprise and giggle at his reaction, making it seem like you were giggling at your two buddies. Sitting on your old couch was your next door neighbor, Seth, who was watching Pose on the tv.

"Thank you again for watching the boys while I was gone. I really owe you big time for doing this." you say as you get up from the floor.

Seth gets off of the couch and walks up to you to give you a hug. "Anytime! If anything, they can stay at my place when you go on a case-" He stops and looks over at Spencer, standing awkwardly by the door still and letting the dogs sniff him, "Although, it seems like this new case was a success."

"Shut up, Seth!" You giggle, lightly slapping him on the arm. Realizing you forgot your manners, you quickly try to take it back. "Seth, meet Dr.Spencer Reid. Doc, meet my neighbor, Seth."

Seth reached his hand out to shake, but Spencer politely denies. "Sorry, I-I don't shake hands. It's actually been proven that it's safer to kiss." You catch Seth's eyes looking him up and down. "Seth stop teasing him like that!" You laugh. Spencer wasn't into guys, but somehow Seth looking at him made you a little jealous. You're not even dating the man, y/n shut up, you think to yourself.

"You and I will talk later." He says.

"Oh, Spence! These are my babies. The scottie is Benedict and the husky is Draco."

The room went silent for a moment, Spencer trying to hold in a chuckle. "Yes, I did name them after Benedict Cumberbatch and Draco Malfoy. I've had them picked out since I was a teenager, don't judge."

"Oh c'mon hun," said Seth, "it's adorable that you named them the way you did."

"It is," Spencer spoke, "I didn't depict you as a nerd."

"Oh my god, you kidding? She's probably the biggest nerd I've ever met with all her Sherlock and other crime shows, Harry Potter, Doctor Wh-"

"Ok, I think he gets it Seth!" You cut him off. That was enough embarrassment for today.

"I will say, Benedict or Tom Felton could always come my way."

You slap him on the arm again laughing. You look back at Spencer, who was awkwardly chuckling along with. You then announce that you were going to get in the shower. "Seth, can you take them for a few more nights? We're going up to my dad's cabin back home for the weekend. Also, when I get out and do my makeup, you promised me that you would tell me how your date went last night with 'Mr.Perfect' as you said it."

"Bitch I have ALLLLLL the tea that I'm not missing on spilling!"

"Good. Now you two get along. And Spence," He looks up at you, his hazel eyes looking into you...

"Don't miss me too much, hm?"

Then you walked into your bathroom, trying to wrap your brain on the fact that you just said that to him.

                           ~Spencer's POV~ I can't believe she said that.

She left me here a little turned on. I could start feeling my pants getting tight and had to put my bag over myself as I sat on the couch so then I wouldn't embarrass myself in front of Seth. I looked around her apartment to distract myself of thoughts of being in the shower with her. She had a very interesting aesthetic. Walls white with old picture frames that had beautifully taken old photos in them. The lamps that were in the living room looked like they were from the 70's, old gold coating chipped off at some parts of the stand. While there was a vintage look to her place, it was also very modern at the same time, a minimalistic look took over her kitchen. She had a fake vine hanging from the wall behind her tv, some of it covering her maroon record player. In some ways, our aesthetics were similar. If she had a bookcase in here, I'd feel like I was at my place.

Seth and I began to get to know each other. I came to find out that Seth worked as a bartender at a club, and he enjoyed taking photos for his social media. "I would love to be a photographer," he said, "but right now it's just a hobby that I do mostly during the colder months." He says cold, cloudy days (especially if it's raining) were the best times to take photos, in his opinion.

"So," he says, "you work with y/n at the BAU?"

"Yeah, we've really become good friends in the past 9 days. It's like we've known each other for years. Plus, she's great out on the field. She's definitely someone myself and the rest of the team will never take for granted."

"Thank god," Seth said as I heard the water turn off, "She told me that it was her dream to be a part of the BAU. She would never stop talking about it when she was in college."

"Hm, she never mentioned that to me."

"Well, let her tell you on your way to the cabin. She'll love it."

After a little bit more conversation, y/n came back to the living room. Her hair was damp, not fully wet but not dry either. She had thrown on a white turtle neck shirt with a brown sweater vest over it. She matched it with darker brown corduroy pants, cuffing the bottoms. In her hands was what looked like to be her makeup bag. She sat down in front of the mirror that was in the corner on the left side of the tv (when you look at the tv), beginning the process.

Seth and y/n talk about his date from last night and got pretty detailed about it. He talked about how the man took him to a gay bar that was a few blocks from here, and how they danced and drank the night away. "Oh and then get this," says Seth, "we're pretty drunk at this point, right? Well at one point, the local queen that performed came up to me and tried to flirt and shit, thinking she was all that and a bag of lashes, and he saw how uncomfortable I was and stood up for me. And let me tell you, he was REA-DY to throw hands!"

"Stooooop he's literally a keeper!" y/n says.

Once she was done with her makeup, she gets up and goes back to her room, coming back out with her luggage. She goes over to the door to grab a pair of Vans and comes back to tell Seth and her children goodbye.

"I'll be back in a few days. Thanks again, Seth. I really-"

"Owe me one, I know I know!" Seth cuts her off, "Now go have some fun and relax, you need to after working so damn hard for this job!" He turns to me and waves. "And it was very nice meeting you, Doctor."

"It was nice to meet you, too! But please, you can just call me Spencer."

Seth smiles as we walk out the door. What this trip will bring? For once, I'm letting fate take the lead instead of science.

~Y'N's POV~ It had been about a few hours of being on the road. At this point, you were somewhere in Pennsylvania, but not sure if you were close enough to Philly to grab a cheesesteak. You think back to the start of the drive. You suggested that you'd be the dj because your library on spotify had a full range of genres with some songs you had no clue were in there. "It'd be a fun little journey!" You told Spencer. And that it was, a journey.

You ended up driving right by a dispensary before even leaving DC. Garcia told you that that's where she gets her stuff, but knowing that bringing a lot of weed across the country wouldn't be a fun trip, you two decided to go with the original plan and just wait till you get to Michigan.

You could tell Spencer was getting a kick out of your music library. While majority of the songs he didn't know, he was still being goofy and jamming out along with you, trying to match the same energy you were having. The songs that talked about sex, drugs, and/or alcohol surprised him every time, his jaw dropping or his eyes bulging out of his head as he listened to the lyrics. You couldn't help yourself but laugh at his reactions, which would make him laugh along with you.

You two weren't alone, however. You were pretty much sucking down on the carts you still had, although you both made a deal that whoever was driving could only get a little high if they wanted to, drinking plenty of water and eating snacks to sober you up a bit if needed.

Driving through Pennsylvania, you look out the window and onto the scenery around you. You weren't paying attention, however, because you couldn't stop the dirty thoughts that intruded your mind. You couldn't help to think about giving him head, since you hadn't done it yet because both times he gave you all the pleasure. You couldn't wait to get to the cabin and go straight to your knees for him. Suddenly, you tried to get them out of your head. 'You're getting way too excited, y/n. STOP IT!' you thought to yourself.

You decided to just feel everything around you, taking a few more hits from your pen before taking it in. Nineteen by Movements was playing; it was like you could feel the song itself and everything about it as you looked up at the very tall street lamps passing by. Nothing felt better than this moment. Just you and Spencer out on the open road. It felt like nothing could stop you two. You felt free, but you also felt safe and complete, something you haven't felt in a long time.

At one point, you couldn't take it anymore. It was 2:30am and Spencer was still driving. He told you to get some sleep but you weren't sleepy or tired at all. You tried to feel free but when you did, you thought of Spencer, which led to dirty thoughts. It was like you couldn't escape it, and every time the thoughts came, you couldn't help but secretly rub your thighs together for some kind of friction.

As you tried to get the thoughts out of your head, you look over to see a nice little surprise. The passing lights outside helping you see, you noticed the bulge in Spencer's pants. How in the hell would he be getting hard now of all times? Were dirty thoughts intruding his mind, too? Seeing that made you even more wet than you already were. This was your chance.

You look out to the open road in front of you, and gently graced your fingers across his bulge. You look out the corner of your eye...nothing. Not even a flinch. 'Playing hard to get, hm?' You thought to yourself. So you did it again, which made him shift in his seat a little, still pretending he didn't notice anything. Finally, with some kind of courage that you never knew you had, you grabbed his cock through his pants and slowly started to stroke it. His eyes came out of his head, letting out a small gasp.

"You know I'm driving, right?" He asked, "We could crash if I'm paying attention more to this and not on the road."

You give him a smirk, "It's almost 3am," you begin to say, but then you notice that you're the only car on the road, "and no one else is on the road right now."

You start to undo his belt with your one hand. "You pleasured me twice already," you continue, your hand successfully undoing the belt and undoing the zipper on his pants, reaching inside to pull out his already, fully hard cock, "I need to show my thanks somehow, don't I?"

Spencer shifts in his seat, keeping his eyes out on the road. You were kind of hoping he was looking for somewhere to pull over, but you wouldn't mind doing it as he drove. "You...you already did...b-by inviting me to your dad's cabin."

You stopped stroking and he almost let out a whimper. "I saw that bulge in your pants just a few minutes ago, are you suuuurree you don't want to...daddy?"

Just hearing the word 'daddy' made him grab your hair tightly. You smiled as you shifted your position in your seat to go down on him. When you were ready, Spencer stopped at a red light and pulled your face close to his, lips almost ghosting each other.

"You better make daddy feel good then, since you're being such a fucking brat right now." He whispered as you continued to slowly stroke him again.

You couldn't even react to what he said because once the light turned green, he guided your head down to his cock before letting the tightness on your head go and letting his hand rest on top. You decided to egg on your bratty-ness by teasing the tip, giving him kitty licks at first and then slowly just running your tongue in it, licking up the pre cum.

Spencer tightens his grip again, making you whimper. "I'm not sure doing that is a good idea, angel. Do you want to get punished once we're there?"

You shook your head no, but the thought of him punishing you made you feel yourself drip between your thighs.

Spencer moves his grip from your hair and slaps your ass with a huge SMACK, which made you moan loudly.  "You have to use your words, angel. Unless you want to be a little slut tonight."

You look up at him to see his eyes were still on the road. You smirk as you pump him a few times before taking his head in your mouth. You bob up and down slowly, hearing him grunt and curse under his breath. You step it up by going down a little lower, each time going back up and then going lower until you had all of him in your mouth. You stayed like that for a few moments, gagging on it.

"Oh fuuuck that's it...that's it baby, take my cock in your mouth, just like that." He says before pulling you off to let you breathe. He's quiet for a moment before he says, "Now I'm going to guide you, angel. You're gonna make daddy feel more good than he already was, got it?"

"Yes, daddy." you answer, knowing that he wanted to hear you say again.

He pushes your head back on his cock, moving you head faster than before. He couldn't get enough it, making you gag every so often and pulling you back up. Spencer's cock twitched in your mouth and you knew he was close. He controls your head faster, his rhythm getting sloppy.

"You want me to cum in that pretty mouth of yours, angel? You want daddy's cum?" He growled, trying not to thrust into your mouth as he continues to drive.

"Mhmm!" You moan, which almost made him go over the edge.

"Keep doing that for daddy, moan for me. God, I bet you just love having my cock in your mouth, but I'm sure you're just desperate for my cum."

You moan again. That you were. You wanted his cum so bad in your mouth so you could taste him; taste how good you made him feel.

"Don't...fuck...don't stop doing that, angel...that's it...fuck I'm gonna cum..."

And with that, you feel his cum shoot inside your mouth, letting out moans and cursing. You slowly continued to suck him, getting every last drop. When you did, you move up to face Spencer as he pulled over, showing his cum in your mouth at first and then closing your mouth to swallow and open back up to show him it was gone. The look in his eyes told you that that was the hottest thing he's ever seen.

Spencer pulls you in surprisingly and attacks your lips with his, as if he was hungry for them. He was almost eating your face but you didn't care, you kissed him back and let your tongues play with one another. You both pull away after a bit and he just looks into your eyes. You look into his hazel eyes and felt complete.

"Now, will you stop being a brat and get some sleep?" He asks.

You giggle as you quickly look at the time in the car radio. "It's 3:15," you said, "it's my turn to drive."

"But now you're all tired from pleasing daddy," he jokes, "so you get some sleep, and I'll drive. I really don't mind it. Honest."

"Are you sure?"

Spencer nods his head. You decided to give in and get comfy in your seat.

"Goodnight, Spence." You say as you move the top part of the seat all the way back. You grabbed your traveling pillow and placed it on top of your right arm, laying your head as you turned your body to face away from him.

"Goodnight, angel."

[catchmewiddershins]

ahh ok ok, it's good !! i'm only halfway thru but mAN, i'm hooked HAHA, and abt the type, mmm i don't really have a preference tbh, i just take a look at the blurb and if it's interesting to me, then i send a message to my mom n she decided whether to buy it or not

as for recs, i've only gotten into reading recently, but i have a few that i've been wanting to read

- agatha christie seems to be pretty popular, and i think she writes on horror, so i'll look into that

- there's also this guy, anthony horowitz, and i'm very interested in reading a book of his, the word is murder (it's out of stock on our local bookstore, so i'm just waiting on it)

- one of us is lying and one of us is next is popular with my friends and classmates, so i'm interested in it as well

but do you have any book recs? i'd like to get more into it, but i haven't been able to find a lot of good ones ; i dont mind the genre, i just get at what seems interesting to me, so feel free to drop your favorites :D

HMMMM IMMA CHECK THAT ONE OUT :DD

ok so what you got sounds good I'll give you some basic recs because I want to explore the genre a bit more myself lol (my sister also really wants to read One of us is Lying lol)

Classics (not old but like... famous):

- an Inspector Calls - a play that's quite famous, it's a script so it's all dialogue and the story is revealed through an interrogation it's a classic for a reason :) - An inspector comes to the house of a rich family in the (oh dear) like mid 1800s? Anyway he claims that they are all guilty of driving a working class woman to suicide and the whole story is slowly revealed it's so GOOD

- Oedipus Rex - ok this is an old classic but :)))) what can I say - it's another play and it's good! Technically it's a tragedy but the plot of the tragedy is Oedipus trying to solve a mystery - chances are you know the ending but that's the point, knowing the ending creates tension as he tries to figure it out and you wonder when the ball is going to drop

- Sherlock Holmes - I... I haven't actually read these but one of my best friends has and she KEEPS bugging me to read them so it's on the list because it's a classic and also my bestie likes them

- Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde - Pretty short! And so so good! You probably recognise the story and it has it's fame for a reason... t's written from the POV of this Judge? I think? I can't remember his career, anyway he becomes involved in these murders and he decides to find out who's doing it and then track the perpetrator down and it's also sci-fi and psychological I believe anyway definite recommendation

Lower level (so like ages 11 - 15? I mean that's the age I was when I read them so):

- The Mysterious Benedict Society series - honestly? I want to reread these because a television adaption is coming out and I'm mad about some of the cuts they made - it's about a group of children recruited to stop someone from brainwashing the world

- the Lady Grace mysteries - definitely around the 11/12 age when I read these so they're quite an easy read but what can I say I still like them and easy reads are good and fun - it's set in the late 1500s and the main character is Grace, goddaughter to Queen Elizabeth the first, and she becomes a private detective for the Queen for various murders happening around court while outwitting the official (male) detective who thinks that her observations are worth pretty much nothing - she also has to keep it a secret from the other Maids of Honour (like ladies in waiting but... nobles)

- Orphan Monster Spy - ok I loved this when I read it at... 13/14/15? Anyway it's about a Jewish girl in WW2 who goes undercover at a school for nazi's children to gather information it is very good

- The murder most unladylike series - OK this I read at 10/11/12 as well but just because books are for younger audiences doesn't mean they aren't gripping and they're often more creative! My sister is reading this atm and she loves it ehe - it's two girls at a boarding school that start solving mysteries together

Higher Level (so like... 15/16/17? When I read or have been recommended and all that jazz):

- Oryx and Crake - This is written by Margaret Atwood which means it's good. The woman is a legend! Handmaid's Tale COULD be considered thriller or smth like it's sci-fi but like... cmon so that's another rec by her. My English teacher and my mum keep recommending me this but I haven't started it yet... general consensus is it's good though!

- Jane Harper - She's an author who's mysteries are apparently pretty good? I have one and they all seem to be popular sooooo a recommendation :)

- The Declaration + sequels - These are written by Gemma Malley and ALL I CAN REMEMBER ABOUT HOW GOOD THEY ARE is that when I was taking my GCSE mocks (I was 15 half of us were 16) we had to do revision in an exam hall and um anyway I read this book and the Resistance instead and did not do any revision I was hooked - not really a mystery or crime technically I don't think but definitely that vibe - Basically it's a future world where children just aren't a thing? The government has designed drugs for longevity and kids born outside of the law become 'surplus' and are all housed together but this girl meets a boy from outside (I cannot for the life of me remember if they get together or not) and they escape and go to investigate the government and where these drugs are coming from

I'll add more if I read them... IDEA! This list will have a tag (#wid's book recs! and #wid's mystery recs!) so I'll add recs to it when I get them so it'll be constantly evolving and I'll do the same for other genres at some point! I had a few more that I wanted to add but I forgot and the cat is being clingy

[ggukcangetit]

Dreamcatchers 6

Pairing: jungkook x oc

Summary: DI Jeon didn’t need a new partner. Unfortunately, his superiors felt otherwise; especially considering the extremely high-profile murder that had just taken place in the port city. Recent transfer, DI Choi Yuri finds herself confronted with a new cityscape, unfamiliar people, a hostile partner, and a homicide that is certain to bring back unpleasant memories.  

Genre/AU: fluff/action/mystery | detective! au | police!jungkook, police!oc

Word Count: 5.2k

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: mentions of violence, alcohol, blood, drugs, death. basically stuff you’d associate with a murder mystery/crime drama.

Chapters 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 

A/N:  it’s been a while since i posted and even longer since i updated this fic but its still here and so am i! lol. updates are not gonna be very frequent but i have a list of works in progress that i plan to finish so there will be something or the other being posted at the most random moments.

also, reminding everyone that this story features a named oc because i’m still very unfamiliar with writing second person reader inserts. i’m not aiming for strict accuracy in this story, and all criminal investigation/forensics knowledge i have has been gathered by watching crime drama/procedural dramas! my knowledge of geography is also not totally accurate so apologies for that. once again, one thing right by @hobios​ prompted me to write a police inspector! jungkook story. would highly recommend reading that because it’s probably one of my most favorite pieces of writing!

21st December

"Is this how you conduct a sample analysis?! Where did you even train? I've half a mind to report you and get you kicked out!!"

Yuri stopped at her desk, surprised to hear Seulgi's yelling so loudly that she could be heard all the way from the floor above. She was usually extremely calm and even-tempered, but the past couple of days had seen her irritable, snappy, and downright furious.

"Dr. Ahn sounds really angry," whispered Jisoo, clutching a file close to her chest. "I've never heard her yell at anybody before. I hope she's okay."

"I'm sure everything's fine," said Jeon, walking over to his desk and dropping a bunch of files on it. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

Yuri raised an eyebrow at him, but complied nonetheless. They walked outside, standing near a clump of trees outside of earshot of anyone in the station.

"Guess who I've just brought in on suspicion of murder for the 2nd Nov case?" he asked, lowering his voice.

"No!" gasped Yuri. "Minhyuk?"

"Yep. He's been in the country for a while now. Fancy giving me a hand with the interview?"

"Me? I mean," she bit her lip. "I wasn't part of the original investigation."

"I know, but in light of what you've found out and the fact that you're now my partner, Goh thinks it's okay."

"You told Goh?!"

"I had to. I can't restart the investigation without his permission."

Jeon stared at her for a few moments, trying to gauge her reaction. "So, what do you say?"

"Alright. Let's nail this bastard."

Ahreum was late. She had a meeting with one of her professors to decide on which medical stream she'd specialize in. Despite using forensics as an excuse to distract Seulgi, she was seriously considering it now. Deciding to pursue medicine had been a drastic career switch for Ahreum, and a lot of people had questioned her decision relentlessly. But if there was something she had learnt in the years following her parents' divorce, it was patience and the ability to block out irrelevant conversations. Namjoon had always been immersed in his studies, barely affected by the bitterness existing between their parents. Ahreum, barely in high school, felt lost and helpless during those times. After the divorce, things had become less tumultuous and she was able to see her parents as individual entities. That was when she realized that her father was never going to like any of her decisions, no matter how hard she tried to please him, and her mother preferred to stay aloof at the best of times. Ahreum learnt pretty early in life, that she needed to be there for herself. She loved her brother and parents, though the latter a lot less than the former. Her decision to study English Literature and Creative Writing had been a spur of the moment one - dictated more by the fact that her high school boyfriend was going to study at a major Arts university. She didn't really regret any of her decisions. Her degree had led her to finding a hobby she adored - photography. And having a freelance job meant that she could stay with Namjoon - who earned a significantly larger amount than her - and move whenever he needed to move as well. This was also how she had met Taehyung 3 years ago - a happy coincidence of events when she had been taking pictures outside the museum at Seoul. They had started talking about art and photography, eventually realizing that they lived in the same part of the city. In addition to Yuri, she also considered Taehyung to be her best friend. She had seen him during one of his lowest moments when Seokjin had left home; and then some time later when he had found Seokjin living in the town Ahreum and Namjoon had recently shifted to, she had stayed by him as he grappled with his anger and frustration towards his older brother until an eventual reconciliation.

But at this moment, she was beginning to lose patience with him. Five minutes before she was about to leave for her meeting, she received a bunch of frantic texts from him.

8.25 am

T: ahreum?? are u up??

T: jimins still in custody

T: im so worried

8.26 am

T: u there?

T: i want to visit him...

T: will u come with me?

8.27 am

T: hey

T: ???

T: i didnt sleep much so i dont wanna drive there

8.28 am

T: are u sleeping?

T: ???

He knew she had a meeting today. He knew how important the meeting was for her. She had spoken about it many times. Not for the first time, Ahreum wondered whether Taehyung cared about her beyond what directly concerned him. If it wasn't somehow relevant to him, he never seemed to remember much. It was a careless apathy that had hurt her during the beginning of their friendship, but she had accepted it as a part of him.

Her meeting was at 9 am and she usually needed 20 minutes to get there on her bike. She closed her eyes and mentally rehearsed the points she was going to bring up during her meeting. Her phone pinged once more, breaking her concentration.

8.30 am

T: hey

T: can u pick me up?

She frowned and shot a quick text before pocketing her phone and strapping on her helmet.

A: sorry have a meeting... talk later

As Ahreum sped through the narrow lanes, she was convinced that there was no way she was going to talk to Taehyung today. He would have to manage on his own for once.

Yuri and Jeon sat across from a very nervous Park Minhyuk, his bloodshot eyes indicating that he had been brought in after a rough night.

"Good morning." Jeon began the interview, his notes stacked neatly in front of him. "You were very hard to get a hold of, Mr. Park. Specifically because your company categorically states that you've been out of the country for business."

"I-" His face was white as a sheet.

"When we called your office, we were told that you are often out of the country on business trips. Short trips," Jeon flipped through his notes. "A fortnight, 20 days at max. Your secretary was very obliging - he told us that you traveled on October 12th and returned on October 27th. Then left the country again on November 1st and returned on November 16th. Another trip between November 22nd and December 6th. And finally, one more on December 10th from which you still haven't returned."

"Your phone records are very interesting, Mr. Park," said Yuri, joining in. "I'm DI Choi, by the way, and I will be assisting DI Jeon as his partner on the case. Now -" she opened the file in front of her and took out a particular page - "is this your cell phone number?"

"Yes, but-"

"Our Telecomms division looked over recent activity over the last 3-4 months. While your office confirms that you have been on multiple trips out of the country from October onwards, your phone has been operating in Korea for almost two months. Can you tell us why?"

Minhyuk remained silent, his hands clenched on the table.

"Do you recognize this?" Yuri placed a plastic bag on the table and moved it towards him.

The remaining color drained from Minhyuk's face as he stared at the ring inside the plastic bag.

"Let me help you out, Mr. Park," she continued. "This is an heirloom from your mother's side of the family. There was three such rings - one buried with your mother, one on your brother's finger, and one found at the scene of Son Eunbi's murder. Can you tell us how your ring found its way to a murder scene?"

"I didn't kill her!" Minhyuk looked like he was going to pass out. Jeon poured some water into a glass and passed it to him.

"She was dead when I got there!" he said after gulping down the water. His hands were shaking by this point.

"If she was dead when you got there, why didn't you call the police?"

"I..."

Faced with a possible murder charge, Minhyuk looked frightened but not nearly as forthcoming with an alibi as one would have hoped.

"Mr. Park," Yuri spoke after a period of silence. "Did you know that Ms. Son had a three year old daughter named Gina?"

Minhyuk gulped, his eyes breaking contact with hers. He removed his hands from where they had been clenched on the table, choosing to hide them in his lap.

"Are you Gina's father?" she continued. Minhyuk head shot up at her question.

"H-how did-"

"When did you find out?" she asked.

Minhyuk sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I guess there's no point in denying it since you know everything." He reached out and finished the remaining water in the glass. "In October, after I came back from a trip, I happened to meet her by chance and Gina was with her. It was odd, the way that she tried to avoid talking to me. And the fact that Gina also had clear grey eyes."

For the first time since the interview started, Yuri realised the resemblance between the Park brothers was limited but striking. Their eyes were the exact same shade of grey - while Jimin looked cold and unwelcoming, Minhyuk's glasses did well to give him a warmer appearance.

"I asked her why she hadn't contacted me when she got pregnant. Or in the three years since Gina was born."

"What did she say?" asked Yuri, softly.

"She was scared that I wouldn't believe her." Tears had started to roll down his cheeks. "I loved her... so much. And then she just disappeared one day. I tried so hard to find her but..."

Jeon poured another glass of water for him.

"I told her how happy I was to hear about Gina. That I wanted us to be a proper family. I was willing to do whatever was necessary if that's what she wanted as well. I think she was beginning to warm up to the idea. I even told my father to postpone my next trip so that I could spend a little more time with both of them. But-"

"But?"

Minhyuk stared at his hands, looking tired and dejected. "He - uh, he wasn't happy when he heard about Gina. My father has very particular expectations."

"What did he say to you? Did he threaten you, Mr. Park?"

Minhyuk let out a soft chuckle. "My father doesn't threaten. He suggests."

"And what did he suggest you do about Gina and Eunbi?" asked Jeon.

"That I stay away from them. For the sake of my inheritance."

"And did you?"

"I was planning to... I-I was meant to travel the next day and I thought I would go and see her once more before I left. But when I got there..."

Minhyuk covered his face with his hands, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself.

"What happened when you got there, Mr. Park?"

"She was lying there... in a pool of blood. Gina was asleep in the back. I-I didn't kill her. You have to believe me."

Yuri and Jeon exchanged a quick look as Minhyuk protested his innocence. They were aware that the homeless man had killed Son Eunbi. The DNA found at the crime scene confirmed the fact that he had stabbed her. But they needed Minhyuk to give them as much information as possible.

"I'm afraid we do not conduct our investigations based on belief, Mr. Park," continued Yuri, shuffling her notes meaningfully. "You still haven't provided us with an alibi for that night. Strange thing - the Park family seem to have a particular aversion towards providing alibis. Your brother was also extremely resistant when we spoke to him."

"You spoke to Jimin? What for?" Minhyuk's expression had changed completely. He looked strangely alert.

"I guess you aren't aware that Jimin was arrested for the murder of Kang Eunwoo on December 15th." Jeon spoke deliberately, hoping to elicit a reaction. And he was successful.

"What?! That's impossible! There's no way he could've done that!"

"Why are you so certain of that?"

"Because he was with me on December 15th!"

"I'm sorry but we can't take you at your word. You can't even provide a proper alibi for yourself on the night of Son Eunbi's murder. How can we be sure that the two of you aren't just covering up for each other?"

It was then that Minhyuk realised that he would need to come clean. There was no way to save Jimin without telling them the entire story.

"Fine," he sighed. "I'll tell you everything."

"Everything?"

"Yes. If it can help Jimin, I'm willing to risk my father finding out."

Yuri glanced at Jeon who gave her an almost imperceptible nod.

"Go on."

"After I saw Eunbi... lying there, I couldn't leave Gina. No matter what my father had said, I couldn't leave my daughter in such a situation. So I... took her away with me."

"Where is Gina now, Mr. Park?" Yuri asked, frowning.

"She's safe."

"Where is she?" asked Jeon, sharply.

"In Busan. I have an apartment there and she's been with me since that day."

"Why didn't you tell the police that you had her? Why does your company believe that you are abroad on a business trip?"

Minhyuk rubbed his eyes tiredly and drank some more water. "I couldn't let my father find out. Jimin and I have an apartment in Busan that we bought under a different name. It was a place our father couldn't find us. Gina's been staying there with me since 2nd November."

"Are you sure your father thinks you're abroad? It doesn't seem like something easy to cover up."

"Jimin helped with that," said Minhyuk, leaning back into the cold metal chair. "He told father that I had run away because he hadn't been understanding of my situation with Gina and Eunbi. Jimin's good at convincing people - it's a talent he's barely ever put to good use."

"So Jimin knew that you were hiding in a secret apartment with your recently discovered daughter?"

"Yes, he did. I have an alibi for 2nd November. I was in a meeting till 9 pm and then stopped for drinks at a nearby fried chicken place till 11 pm. I was a bit tipsy after that, which is why I decided to visit Eunbi and Gina. After taking Gina away from there, I went to Jimin's place, got the keys to the apartment and drove straight there. I think I reached around 2 am."

Yuri jotted down all this information, making a note to check on every new detail that had been mentioned.

"What about December 15th? You said Jimin was with you. Why?" asked Jeon, folding his arms across his chest.

"We meet once a week to make sure everything is going okay," said Minhyuk, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. "Sundays are usually the best days for that."

"Where did you meet?"

"At the local ice-cream shop," Minhyuk frowned, trying to remember something. "You know the one near the end of town?"

"The Dairy Berry? Yes, I know which one you're talking about." Jeon gave Yuri a brief nod to confirm that this was a legitimate spot and not something Minhyuk was making up on the spot.

"Gina loves sweet things and I thought it would be easier to take her with me the same day I met Jimin. I think we were there till 10 pm. After that, I dropped Jimin at a bar and drove back home."

"Which bar was this?" asked Yuri.

"Sunset."

"And you drove straight home after that?"

"You can check the dash cam on my car and the security tapes at my apartment building, if you want."

"We definitely will, Mr. Park," said Jeon, surveying him carefully. "In the meantime, you will be in custody until we have verified each and every single thing you just told us. So I suggest you keep yourself hydrated."

Yuri could feel a pair of eyes on her as she spoke to Jisoo and Suho.

"We need to verify everything that Park Minhyuk told us. But there's a lot of ground to cover and we've lost quite a bit of time since the murder of Son Eunbi. So I suggest you recruit some uniformed officers as well." Jisoo jotted down the locations and the times they needed to verify, and nodded to Suho to indicate she had forwarded the details to him. "We need to get the information as soon as possible."

"Will do," said Suho, giving her a reassuring nod.

Yuri waited for them to leave before walking over to the person who had been watching her for a while.

"Did you want to talk about something?" she asked Seulgi.

"I-" Seulgi tugged at her sleek, high ponytail, looking oddly hesitant. She seemed in a better mood than earlier in the morning when she had almost scared one of the interns into leaving the country. "Do you have a minute?"

"Yeah- " Yuri checked the clock on her phone - "just a minute though. I'm waiting for Jeon to get a warrant from Goh."

"Did he-? I mean, Jimin, uh... have you...? You know-" It was strange to see her grappling for words. "Are you certain he's done it?"

Yuri stared at her for a second. This wasn't what she had been expecting Seulgi to talk about. The doctor's relationship with Jimin was even more puzzling than she had originally perceived it.

"We're looking into it right now." She paused, trying to gauge Seulgi's reaction. "But you already know about the blood sample match - that, in itself, is pretty damaging."

"Y-yeah, I know."

Before Yuri could say anything more, Jeon came out of the Chief Inspector's office. "We've got a warrant to search Minhyuk's apartment. Let's go."

Glancing one more time at Seulgi's ashen face, Yuri put on her coat and scarf and followed Jeon out the exit.

Once inside Jeon's car, Yuri debated whether or not she should attempt to engage him in conversation. Her decision was made for her when he drove onto the main road, and lowered the volume of the police scanner.

"What was Seulgi saying?" he asked, his eyes focused on the road.

"Just where we were in the investigation."

"I see."

Yuri fiddled with the button on her coat, itching to say more.

"What's the deal with her and Jimin?" she finally asked.

"I- what do you mean?" Jeon raised his eyebrow and gave her the most puzzled expression he could muster while trying to stay focused on the crazy traffic.

"Their relationship is... weird. He keeps flirting with her, and she is on the verge of ripping his guts out at every given moment. But just now, she seemed almost worried about him."

"I don't really know... they've never really seen eye-to-eye on much." Jeon checked the rear view mirror to make sure he was clear before deftly changing lanes. "Jimin has always been the person who tries his utmost to push everyone's buttons. And Seulgi... well, she has a lot of buttons."

Yuri snorted loudly. "That tells me nothing and everything at the same time. You really have a way with words, Jeon."

He smirked at this, his eyes never leaving the road. "So does that mean you trust me now?"

"No." She looked at him and caught the way his face fell slightly at her response. "But who knows what the future holds..."

The smirk was back.

Ahreum had a terrible headache. She usually didn't get many headaches. So on the rare occasion that she did, it put her in a really terrible mood. The only person who knew how to handle this situation properly was Namjoon. He knew that she needed silence, dim lighting, green tea, fresh bread, and absolutely no unexpected company.

So when Ahreum got home after her grueling 3 hour long meeting, hoping to relax and recuperate, she wasn't too pleased to find Taehyung sitting in her living room, playing a very loud game on his tablet.

"You're back!" he yelled, once she slammed the door to make her presence felt. "I've been waiting for hours. How was your meeting?"

"'S okay," she replied, shortly. Taking off her coat, she opened the middle cabinet in the kitchen and searched for the green tea.

"Great! So do you wanna go and visit Jimin now?"

"No."

"What? Why not? You don't have anything else to do right now. Just come with me. Please!" He had walked into the kitchen and was standing in front of her with a pout on his lips.

As endearing as she always found his antics, Ahreum was at breaking point. She placed the cup on the counter with a loud clink, and turned to face him.

"Because I don't have time to follow you on your every whim, Taehyung. Because I have a life of my own. Because I am studying medicine, which, if you aren't aware, is a very taxing occupation." She paused for a breath, as his mouth fell open in shock. "Because I am not your babysitter. Or your handler. Or your caretaker. And I'm tired of being responsible for you. You're a grown ass adult and it's about time you acted like one."

"Ahreum, I'm-" His eyes were wide and worried, and she felt a tiny sliver of remorse. "I don't think you're my babysitter or handler or whatever. You're my best friend."

"I thought so too. In fact," she said, looking away from him. "I thought we were, or we could be, more."

"W-what? Ahreum?" Taehyung sounded so lost and confused that she was tempted to console him.

She walked to the front door and held it open for him. "I think you should leave now. I'm tired, I have a headache, and I don't want to be around anyone right now."

"Wait! What did you mean by that?" he asked, hesitantly standing at the entrance.

"I'm tired, Taehyung. I don't have the energy to explain everything to you. Now, please," she began closing the door slowly. "I want to rest."

"It's clear!" The uniformed officer confirmed to them, before opening the door further.

"Okay, let's see whether little Gina is here," instructed Jeon, his face drawn into a frown.

Yuri nodded and walked into the room on the left of the large living area. It was a study of sorts, with a large wooden desk, a swiveling chair, and shelves upon shelves of books. She quickly checked to see if there was anyone in the room before shouting "clear!". There was another door connecting to a smaller room, it's walls bathed in bright sunlight and smelling of soft lavender. This was clearly some sort of guest room, judging by the inconsistent decor theme. The furniture looked sleek and modern, but the sheets on the bed were soft and pastel colored. A bunch of soft toys stood leaning against the flat screen tv, and Yuri realised that this was probably the room that had been hastily fixed up for a small child's unexpected stay. And sure enough, soft strands of brown hair peaked through the large covers on the bed.

She walked over to the bed slowly, not wanting to startle the child. Yuri barely managed to stifle a gasp as she looked into the child's clear grey eyes - the same color as both Park Minhyuk and Park Jimin.

"Hello," she said, softly. "Are you Gina?"

The little girl nodded, bringing the covers closer towards her.

"I'm a police officer. I help catch bad people." She didn't respond, staring at her with wide eyes.

"Do you want to go to your dad, Gina?" She nodded vigorously, sitting up at the mention of her father. "Okay, we will. But first, tell me, are you okay? Do you feel pain anywhere?"

The little girl shook her head.

"Are you sleepy?"

Again, she shook her head.

"Are you hungry?"

Slowly, she nodded her head.

"Okay, we'll go and see your dad, and also get you something to eat. Is that okay with you?"

"Yes."

"Wonderful."

It was just after 2 pm and Yuri felt completely drained. After they had found Gina, she had insisted on returning to the station to ask Jimin about his alibi for the night of Kang Eunwoo's murder. From what she had understood, he had refused to provide an alibi to protect his brother and keep him out of the police's radar until the situation with Gina worked out. Even though she still couldn't get herself to consider him a pleasant person, his desire to protect his brother had humanized him a great deal in her eyes.

Sure enough, once he was made aware that Minhyuk had come forward and spoken about his daughter and the events of the past month and a half, Jimin looked much less hostile than before.

"I was at Sunset from around 10.30 pm to closing time - which is 2 am," he said, sighing tiredly and rubbing his face with his hands. "You can confirm with them."

While Minhyuk and Jimin's alibis were verified, Yuri received a text from Namjoon, asking her and Jeon to meet him at Seokjin's bakery. It was barely a 2 minute drive there, so Jeon suggested they get lunch over there and make it before Goh finished compiling the list of paperwork for them to finish.

The smell of freshly baked milk bread wafted out of the kitchen, adding another layer of warmth to Seokjin's cozy shop. The man in question picked up the large tray filled with various different confections, and brought it over to the table by the window.

"Peach danish and americano for Namjoon, chocolate fudge brownie and vanilla bean ice cream for Jeongguk, and a snow croissant and hot chocolate for Yuri." He placed everything on the table, before grabbing his lukewarm cup of tea and sitting down with them.

"So you finally find the child, then?" asked Seokjin, sipping the tea. He made a face at the odd taste that tea acquires when it's between comfortingly steamy and soothingly chilled.

"Yeah we did," Yuri replied, when her partner remained silent. "Goh is dealing with Minhyuk and the custody charges. It's no longer in our jurisdiction."

"Namjoon, how's grad school treating you?" Seokjin diverted the conversation, realising that his friend wasn't ready to talk about the case at that moment. "How much longer do you have?"

"A few more months and I should be done." Namjoon wiped the pastry flakes from the corner of his mouth and nearly tipped over his americano in the process. Yuri chuckled at this, suddenly remembering those random moments in high school where Namjoon was a lot thinner and less confident, but still had a propensity for knocking things over.

"Remind me why you're putting yourself through this?" Seokjin broke off a piece of the peach danish and popped it into his mouth.

"The last time I tried to explain that, you spaced out and created a new pastry recipe for your menu. As much as I like helping your business flourish, I'm gonna preserve my energy and only talk about things when necessary."

Seokjin chuckled and picked up a spoon from the dispenser. "Jeongguk, can I get a bit of ice cream from you?" There was no response, and looking at him for confirmation Seokjin's eyebrows shot up in alarm.

"Okay okay, I won't eat any of your ice cream. You don't have to tear up about it!"

Yuri and Namjoon turned towards him as well, not sure what to do when they saw tears slowly sliding down Jeongguk's cheeks.

"Are you okay? What's wrong?" asked Namjoon, patting his shoulder softly.

They sat in silence, as Jeongguk sobbed softly and wiped his face with his coat sleeve. He turned towards Yuri, his eyes glazed with tears but holding a soft radiance unlike what she was used to.

"Thank you."

Yuri felt her face heat up suddenly. This wasn't what she had been expecting. The soft sincerity in his voice startled her. It was nothing like the person she had met only a week ago. She looked away abruptly and nodded her head.

"There's nothing to thank me for. This is our job."

Jeongguk smiled and resumed eating the disgustingly sweet dessert combination in front of him. He nudged Seokjin to take some ice cream like he had originally intended. There was silence once more, but this time, it was very different.

Back at the station, Yuri finished the paperwork for the day. There was a lot to complete, and since they had stopped at Seokjin's for a break, they had lost some time as well. Goh had been very clear about completing all the paperwork for social services to take over the case from them now that Gina had been found.

It was barely even 5 pm but Yuri felt a large yawn coming on for the third time in the past few minutes. She wasn't sure how long she would be able to carry on without getting proper sleep at night. At this rate, she would eventually burn out. There was only so much coffee could do for her.

A light tap brought her attention to another person standing in her cubicle. She looked up to see Jeon holding two steaming cups of ramen, tilting his head slightly to confirm whether it was okay for him to sit down.

"Did you need anything?" she asked, after moving her slightly. He placed the ramen on her desk and pulled up his own chair and sat down.

"I've got a peace offering," he gestured to the ramen. "I wanted to apologize properly for being an absolute dickhead to you. I-" He hesitated, looking down at his hands that lay clenched on his lap - "I don't really have an excuse for my behavior but I had a lot on my mind. Particularly about finding the little girl. And, well... you really don't know what solving this case means to me."

Once again, Yuri wasn't sure how to react. She felt embarrassed that he was thanking her for doing her job - something that he did as well. While she appreciated his apology, his entire being remained confusing to her.

"Don't worry about it," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "And thanks for the ramen; food is always appreciated."

Thankfully, her computer ping-ed with a new email before the atmosphere could get any more awkward.

"Okay, we've confirmed Minhyuk's alibi's for 2nd November and 15th December. He wasn't involved in either murder. Jimin was with Minhyuk till 10.15 pm on 15th December - his car's dash cam confirms that he dropped Jimin off at Sunset bar around that time."

"Fantastic! And what about the CCTV footage at Sunset? Does it confirm Jimin's story? He said he was there till 2 am."

"Hang on, I'm opening the report. Th-" she stopped abruptly, frowning at the screen.

"What?" asked Jeon, looking over her shoulder to read the email.

"CCTV footage does not place Jimin at Sunset from 10.15 pm till closing time at 2 in the morning. He doesn't have an alibi for Eunwoo's murder."

She turned to look at him, an odd sense of foreboding hitting her as she realized that they would have to charge Jimin for murder by the next evening. He held her gaze, his dark eyes reflecting a similar shadow of doubt.

please reblog and leave a comment if you liked this part! thank you! 😊 

[gild-and-fire]

Okay so I gotta ask - I can see you’re watching QotS and I’ve always been curious about it. Would you recommend??

I was so excited to receive your ask, Lauren! Thank you so much for sending it (and humoring me)--especially since I could talk about QOTS all day, but try to restrain myself bc I don’t want to be annoying lol. But unfortunately I have allowed myself to be unhinged and thus wrote a 700 word answer :) If you don’t feel like reading the whole thing lol I will refer you to @riosnecktattoo​’s ask which helped me to decide to watch QOTS. But here’s my spoiler-free, long post for why I love Queen of the South!

General

WOC as lead: I am obsessed with complex, badass, relatable women as leads, and i literally go FERAL when woc are leads. QOTS has two woc as leads and both are incredible actresses playing layered characters (Teresa and Camila).

For Camila, she leaves her husband and daughter to follow her ambitions and grow her business (not a spoiler). I think it’s very interesting how the show builds tension between Camila and her daughter due to this choice, and I enjoy that the show doesn’t answer but explores the “can women have it all” aspect and how she’s underestimated in the cartel business bc she's a woman and has to work harder to get where she is. 

For Teresa, I love her fortitude and moral compass, and like Beth, she’s definitely a badass. She is luckily a little bit more sensible/experienced than Beth when it comes to crime lol and actually has long standing success as the Queen of the South (duh, Audrey).

Worldbuilding: If the premise (mexican drug cartels) is interesting to you, then you’ll enjoy how they’ve built the gritty underworld of cartels and all the ruthless players from Texas to Columbia. Also, QOTS includes fantastic moments with magical realism which is such a neat genre overall and it really adds to the richness of the story. One of my favorite parts

Jeresa

It’s the parallels, it’s the trust, it’s the friendship and the way they sacrifice for the other person and save each other over and over again. 

Tropes: I especially love how James is framed as a “bad guy” (assassin in a cartel lol) and Teresa is the “good guy” (victim of cartel violence and thus against it,) but that over the course of the 3 seasons, they grow in different ways because of the other person. I think a lot about the fact that in their line of work it really does pay to be selfish/look out for yourself, and that both of them are very logical and realistic people. And yet! They both actively choose to protect and make sacrifices for the other person. makes me cry every time :,)

James is hot: James is fucking hot in that white henley and Lauren, I swear to god if this other gifset of James in his signature aviators doesn’t convince you, then I might throw this blog away

GG/BRIO

I want to contextualize this show by comparing it to good girls 

Consistency & Parallels: GG does this really well, but QOTS does it even better because there are plots and people from literally the first episode that come full circle and make a difference many episodes/seasons later. It’s clear that the writers really care about and have thought deeply about the development of their characters and plots. True for GG, but a little less so (looking @ you cancer lie and buddy the dog)

Violence: Okay you know how Rio just brings out the gun once in a while as foreplay? And like we have “seen” only one death in the entire series so far? In QOTS, it is impossible to watch a scene without two guns and a corpse lying around somewhere. If we’re lucky, maybe we won’t see a decapitated head being kicked around like a soccer ball more than once. I think if you can stomach the first two episodes, you’re fine.

OTP: brio’s UST is off the charts and im not sure i will EVER find a show that can match it, but jeresa is just so real. Ofc the cartel stuff can feel a little contrived sometimes, but their friendship and relationship is so healthy (given their circumstances), and it really is true love. For gg, I'm in the camp that they don’t actually love each other.  Side note: James is a main character with his own plots that intertwine with Teresa’s, which means we see him more than Rio’s 2min of him per episode. I know. It is truly a gift.

tl;dr QOTS is so good that I am incapable of acting like a normal human being and would like to scream about my love for this show. And if you decide not to watch this show, at least look at some gifsets of James. 

[keplercryptids]

nonfiction LGBTQ+ books i read this year

i read a lot this year, and a good chunk of it was LGBTQ+ nonfiction. so i thought it might be nice to list what i read. as a note, many of these books deal with LGBTQ history in the United States. too often, mainstream US-centric LGBTQ texts focus on white middle-class cisgender folks, though I’ve done my best to balance that as much as possible with other perspectives. (that being said, if you got ‘em, i would LOVE book recommendations that tackle worldwide/non-white LGBTQ issues!)

Accessibility notes: Given the nature of the genre, there’s a lot of intense discussion re: homophobia and transphobia. Basically every book listed covers those things to some extent, and I’ve specified where there’s additional potentially triggering content. (If you have specific questions about triggers, please let me know!) also, some of these books are on the academic side. I’ve done my best to note when a book was very academic or when I found it to be more readable. (full disclosure on that note: I’m a college grad and voracious reader without any reading-specific learning disabilities, so my opinion may be different than yours!) as a final note, I was able to access most of these as e-books/audiobooks through my local library. I live in a major metropolitan area, if that gives you any idea of how easy it’ll be for you to find these books. I’ve noted when a book was more difficult to get my hands on.

History

Gay New York: Gender, Urban Culture, and the Making of the Gay Male World 1890-1940 by George Chauncey. As the title suggests, this book focuses on gay male communities in NYC pre-World War 2. Even with that limited scope, this is an important read to better understand gay male history in the early 20th century. Gay communities thrived in the early 1900s and this snapshot of that is really wonderful. This is definitely more of an academic read, but I highly recommend it. while it definitely focuses on white middle-class gay men, there was more discussion of poor and/or gay men of color than i had actually expected, so that’s nice. (CW for rape and sexual assault, homophobic violence and medicalization of homosexuality.)

Queering the Color Line: Race and the Invention of Homosexuality in American Culture by Siobhan B. Somerville. Finally, a book about queer history that actually talks about black people! I was expecting more of a history book, whereas this was more of a critique of specific novels, plays and movies of the early 1900s and was way more focused than i was expecting. don’t get me wrong, I majored in English lit so i’m super into that kind of analysis as well, it just wasn’t as far-reaching as I would have liked. Also, it’s very academic. (Only the print version was available at my library.) (CW for racism, mentions of slavery.)

Transgender History by Susan Striker. This book describes itself as an “approachable introductory text” to transgender history in the US, which I agree with. It’s a pretty short read given the enormity of the topic, so it doesn’t go into much detail about specific groups or events, but imo it’s a good introduction. Especially interesting to me was the information about where and when TERF ideology began. Academic but on the easier-to-read side. (CW for transphobia, gross TERF rhetoric, brief mentions of the AIDS crisis, police violence.)

Gay Revolution by Lillian Faderman. okay so, I gave this 1 star. it’s probably a good book if you know absolutely nothing about US LGBTQ history and want an intro, but a review on goodreads said that it should be called Gay Assimilation instead and i completely agree. Faderman focuses on white middle-to-upper class gay and lesbian assimilationists, often at the expense of radical queer and trans people of color. The latter is hardly mentioned at all, which is ridiculous given trans folks’ contributions to the LGBTQ movement. When radical people ARE mentioned, it’s often in a disparaging way, or in a way that positions the radicals as too extreme. Faderman constantly repeats the refrain that the fight for LGBT rights was “just like what black people did for their rights” without any addendum about why that is...not a good take. There’s no meaningful discussion of race, class or intersectionality. She lauds Obama as a hero for the gays and there’s a ton (I mean a TON) of content about how military acceptance + gay marriage = we won, or whatever. anyway, i wasn’t a fan, although many of the events and organizations discussed in this book are important to know just from a factual basis. (CW for all the stuff I mentioned, plus police violence, medicalization of homosexuality. it’s also fucking LONG so i recommend the audiobook, lol.)

Queer (In)Justice: The Criminalization of LGBT People in the United States by Joey L. Mogul,  Andrea J. Ritchie, and Kay Whitlock. This is “a searing examination of queer experiences--as ‘suspects,’ defendants, prisoners, and survivors of crime.” A frequently upsetting but super important read about how LGBTQ identities have been policed in the past, and currently are policed today. i wish there was more focus on trans folks, but other than that it’s a solid read. (CW for all the things you’d expect a book about policing and imprisoning LGBTQ folks to include: police and institutionalized violence, sexual assault, transphobia, homophobia.)

Stonewall by Martin Duberman. This book follows the lives and activism of six LGBTQ folks before, during and after the Stonewall riots. Note: Stonewall itself is only discussed in one chapter about 2/3 of the way through, the rest of the book dedicated to the six individuals’ lives and activism up to and after that point. It’s a history book with a strong narrative focus that I found to be a fairly accessible read. (CW for minors engaging in sex work and sexual predation by adults, sexual and domestic violence, police violence, drug and alcohol abuse, mentions of suicide.)

And the Band Played On: Politics, People, and the AIDS Epidemic by Randy Shilts. This is a HEAVY but really important read about the AIDS epidemic in the US, tracking the disease and the political/cultural response from about 1980-1985. It’s journalistic nonfiction, so although it’s a very long book I found it easier to read than more academic-y books. the only thing i really disliked was how the book demonized “Patient Zero” in quite unfair ways, but it was originally published in ‘87 so that explains part of it. I want to stress again that it’s heavy, as you’d expect a book about thousands of deaths to be. (CW: oh boy where to start. Graphic descriptions of disease/death, graphic descriptions of sex, medical neglect, republican nonsense.)

Memoirs, essays, etc

Persistence: All Ways Butch and Femme edited by Ivan E. Coyote. i felt mixed about this one! i appreciated the different perspectives regarding gender and desire, especially since this anthology contains a lot of essays by people who came of age in the 60s-80s (so there’s a historical bent too). but some of the essays feel dated, at best, and offensive at worst. there was more than one instance of TERF-y ideology thrown in. probably 1/4 of the essays were really really great, and i’d still recommend reading it in order to form your own opinions--also, imo it’s useful to see where TERF ideology comes from. this book was harder to find, and i had to order a print version through interlibrary loan. (CW for a few TERFy essays. i read this earlier in the year so it’s possible i’m forgetting some other triggers, sorry!)

Gender Outlaws: The Next Generation by (editors) Kate Bornstein and S. Bear Bergman. Serving as a follow-up of sorts to Bornstein’s Gender Outlaw, this is a collection of narratives by transgender and gender-nonconforming folks. While not “history” in a technical sense, many of the writers are 30+ and give a wide array of LGBTQ+ experiences, past and present, that are important. I didn’t agree with every single viewpoint, of course, duh! But some of the essays were really powerful and overall it’s a good read. (CW for one essay about eating disorders, some outdated language/reclaimed slurs as to be expected--language is one of the main themes of the collection actually so the “outdatedness” is important.)

S/He by Minnie Bruce Pratt. A memoir published in 1995, focusing on Minnie’s life, marriage, gender identity, eventual coming out and relationship with Leslie Feinberg. i really enjoyed this one. it was beautifully written. there are many erotic elements to this memoir so keep that in mind. also was a little harder to get, and i had to order a print version via interlibrary loan. (i read this awhile ago and can’t remember specific triggers, sorry! if anyone knows of some, please let me know.)

I’m Afraid of Men by Vivek Shraya. A memoir by a trans woman ruminating on masculinity. it’s beautiful and very short (truly more of a longform essay), so it’s a good one if you don’t have the attention span/time for longer books. (CW for sexism, harassment, transphobia.)

Zami: A New Spelling of My Name by Audre Lorde. god, this memoir is gorgeous and is one of my favorite books of the year. it chronicles Audre’s childhood in Harlem and her coming-of-age in the 1950s as a lesbian. ultimately, this is a book about love and that resonates throughout every page. idk can you tell i loved this book so much??? (CW for child abuse, sexual assault, a friend’s suicide, racism.)

We Have Always Been Here: A Queer Muslim Memoir by Samra Habib. suuuuch a good book! Samra writes about her life as she and her family arrive in Canada as refugees from Pakistan in her early childhood, onto her life today as a queer Muslim woman of color, photographer and activist. beautifully written and just such an important perspective. Only the print version was available at my library. (CW for child sexual assault, a suicide attempt and suicidal ideation, non-graphic mentions of domestic violence, racism and sexism.)

Gender Queer: A Memoir by Maia Kababe. this is a beautifully illustrated graphic novel memoir about the author’s journey of discovering eir identity as queer. i related to a lot of it, which was great on a personal level, but i also think it could be a great educational tool for those wanting to know more about gender queerness (especially for those who prefer graphic novels!) (CW for gender dysphoria, descriptions of gynecological exams, imagery of blood and a couple pages depicting being impaled, some nudity, vomit.)