#i need them to hate each other and love each other and be each other's everything

[cheetabites]

☆彡 cinnamon pt 2 ˳༄꠶

character: kang dae-ho (player 388)

˳༄꠶ summary: five sfw and nsfw general headcannons for dae-ho

sfw headcannons

★ he’s a man that knows how to dress himself well. in korea, the importance on appearance is a reinforced by society so lots of people dress good, but i’m telling you that he knows how to keep up appearances - even if his clothes remain casual, all his outfits look good on him; he mainly wears black high waisted dress pants w/ wide pant legs paired with a loose fitting shirt & a cardigan or an oversized hoodie w/ cargo pants

★ he has a sad playlist that he jams out to regularly; even if nothing bad happened. he could be doing the most mundane task - like walking down the streets of korea - and one of the most heartbreaking songs would be blasting out of his earphones

★ he hates needles, and i mean he hates them. sure, he got a tattoo, but if he has to do anything like getting his blood drawn he’ll bolt it out of there - unless you’re there and you hold his hand

★ he’s one of those people that keeps all their app tabs open on their phone. and probably barely has any storage space because of the amount of pictures he has of you and other things; he doesn’t want to delete them because he thinks he’ll forget the moment

★ he’s big on physical touch. there isn’t a moment where he can go on without holding your hand or wrapping his arms around your shoulders from behind. it’s also normal for him to place tiny kisses on your face whenever the opportunity arises

nsfw headcannons

★ loves to tell you how beautiful you are when you please each other. your hair could be messy and sticking to your face, or you’re sweating profusely, but it doesn’t matter. he never wants to think your any less than beautiful

★ he really likes when you ride him; especially when he’s just laying flat - no hands on you or anything - on the bed and you lay your palms flat on his shoulders for support

★ the idea of you just using him for pleasure really gets him off - like if you were stressed and needed to blow of steam so you decide to pin him down and be a little bit mean and condescending while you please him; he usually cries when you guys fuck like that, but it’s always out of pleasure

★ he wouldn’t want to have sex anywhere besides the bedroom. i feel like both of you tried it once in a more public place - like maybe one of your guys’ cars or in a hotel room - but it turned him off so bad that you both agreed to not try that again

★ he’s all for waking you up by eating you out (consensual somnophilia); hearing you gasp as you awake and having you card your fingers through his hair to tug on it, it’s one of the best sights he’d ever witnessed. he usually does this on the days he has to work cause he loves riling you up, but he always makes sure to clean you up before he leaves

the end! i hope you enjoyed <3!

© cheetabites. don’t translate, claim or repost my works on any platform. jan 3 2025.

[chillonthewhitesaviourshit]

This is a fiery hot take that no one will agree with but after 10 years working in the development sector in Africa; we need a break. Enough “caring” please. The help and the core problems the help is supposed to be addressing seem to come hand in hand; reinforcing each other’s presence. Africa is poor so she needs help. Africa is exploited so she is poor. No chicken and no egg just an endless cycle of well paid aid workers, NGO CEOs, handwringing talking points, blame, and data sets that insist we can evidence based our way out of a situation that just won’t change. So I suggest 100 years of benign neglect from the rest of the world. Hating Africans lead to terrible things but honestly loving us and caring about us hasn’t really done anything to change those outcomes. So instead- leave us alone. Take nothing from us and loan nothing to us. Do not use us as your go to examples of the worst situations. Find another way to guilt your children into eating all their dinner. Stop praying for us. Don’t think of our children. Stop sending flour, stop sending bibles, stop sending teachers, stop sending your old clothes and shoes, stop sending your pollution, stop pushing policy, and stop sending weapons. No aid, no trade, no contact. Leave us alone. For 100 years. Will it be chaotic? The current situation is chaotic. You are absolved of guilt. Whatever happens it will be Africans doing it to other Africans and that isn’t really news you have ever cared about without a white saviour role to play. Don’t worry about it. At least this way we can figure out how to feed, educate, heal, and sustain ourselves without aid. We literally have all the resources we need in Africa we just need them to be managed for the good of the majority of Africans. 100 years of solitude is a strong start. I believe in us. What will the world do without our labour and resources for 100 years? It’s “just” Africa. I’m sure they’ll survive.

"why should I care about Africa"---> lives in a country that's upheld by the current and past exploitation and destabilization of Africa

[dontbesoweirdkira]

I just imagined if batchild who favored Tim being Bruce bio-child. Damian so jealous and angry because his blood sibling chose Drake over him? This is too personal. Poor Tim will not have peace. I can imagine Damian trying to prove himself to his little sibling.

But the question is, does Damian even really give a flying fuck about this kid? Or does he just hate Tim and wants to destroy any ounce of happiness this boy has? Questions. Questions. Questions. lol.

Idk I love Damian being a little shit,,, he's something a little silly

Yes, Damian will terrorize Tim over this. He has such bad emotional regulation and he doesn't fully understand why he's so angry. He doesn't particularly like children and all their crying and babbling..they're stupid and useless...

But it peeves him so much seeing Tim take on such a prominent older brother role in their life. Tim is tainting the kid, he's not teaching them properly. A child should be held this way, it should be taught this, you need to do this. That is what his mother did to ensure his proper development so it must be right!

I can just imagine Damian cringing at all the baby talk and stupid games Tim plays with them. At first he's such a hate watcher of them. He'll be in the corner of the room, glaring daggers into them. "hmph they're perfect for each other. Dumb and even dumber. Guess which is which..." He snickers in his mind

Then he resorts to insulting Tim and micro-managing him. His baby siblings doesn't need to play with rattles, they need to be doing more intensive activities....Ughh.. They're being so stunned right now.

Then...slowly when no one is watching, he might speak to it. He doesn't get down on the floor with his sibling, he's just looking down at 'em and low-key shit talking. They piss him off so much but still he's at a lost for why?? Why does he seem to care about them and their upbringing so much when he hates them?

It isn't until Tim leaves for a mission or something when Damian *attempts* to hold and play with batchild. The child just looked so pitiful that he felt compelled to entertain them. Batchild starts to unexpectedly grow on him...eventually he starts kind of...loving them...? He feels warm when they smile at him...and an intense passion to protect them...

He's shy about it but Damian is obsessed with that damn baby. He won't try to draw attention to it but that is his baby now.

He can't help but to feel so possessive over them too, he'll cross his arms and huff when someone picks them up...he's stealing them back after five minutess...

But here's where the issue arises, Damian finally is feeling super close with batchild and has created this secret bond that no one else understands. He's done this oath with them in a pillow fort and everything, he's confidently believes that he's the new favorite sibling.

"Okay, Now we will drink this grape juice as we are solidified as true bloods of the Wayne bloodline..."

*intense babbles and clapping*

"Yes, our superior lineage is something to celebrate."

But then Tim comes back and batchild completely forgets about Damian and rushes to Tim. Even refusing to be held by Damian later on. His heart is crushed and to him this is the ultimate betrayal.

If Tim didn't have peace before, he really won't have it now. Like Damian wants to duel over this, it's that serious to him.

The pure venom that Damian spews is so fucked up that I cannot even repeat it. Like Tim is worried for his safety at this point.

Damien would definitely steal batchild out of their crib at night and take them into one of the unused rooms in another wing of the manor. It's fully decorated with tons of things batchild loves, all necessities...even has tons of snacks and a fridge with goodies. Damian is fully prepared to be the sole provider for this baby. lmaoo. He's hiding this kid out there for a good couple of hours before everyone realizes where the two of them are.

Damian is fighting hard to keep from them taking batchild...but is defeated when batchild sees Tim and goes

"Timmy!!" and tries running to him. It's so hilarious. Damian is at his wits end. He's never going to stop though until he's number one. Even if "Timmy" has to go.

Dami is the most un-serious-serious person on the planet.

[eeboyysworld]

“ Do you think you’ll kill for me one day? “

“Yes, of course i will my darling..”

Gi-hun!X Male!reader X In-ho!

Genre: Smut

Warnings?: Blood(Ofc its squid game), Blindfolds, reader is restrained, Dacryphilia , Degradation, Double penetrating from both ends,sexual voyeurism, ( guard being a pervert ) Bottom reader!

Player 001 and Player 456,Both mysterious in their own ways,you couldn’t tell if they loved each other or hated each other..And somehow, you managed to get yourself in the middle of them..literally.

You couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at you the same way they did, and no matter how many times you ignored it, the itch never went away.Their eyes forever stamped onto your skin. It was confusing..did you like it..or did you not?.It didn’t matter, in the end you were always seeking their approval. And they gave you it.

The bathroom you stood in was rather clean, probably because it’s only used once a year and by minimum people.The two men practically dragged you with them, Gi-hun murmuring “need to discuss the next game.” Not finding the need to leave, you let yourself get dragged into, realistically, the best night since you got into this shit-hole.

Understandably you were very awkward, especially in this position. The rope ached your wrists, leaving a red mark behind, the musk of blood and sweat inhabited your senses, a black void covered your sight, leaving you ultimately defenceless.Shivering as a rough hand grabbed your chin, a finger soothing your blood dried cheek.

“Look at you..being so obedient for us.” The mellow voice cooed at sight of you,” If only you could see how desperate you are.”

Biting your lip,as it drew blood, you couldn’t respond even if you wanted to.”-Ah ..stop teasing the poor thing.” Gi-hun, your saviour, the one who picked you up on the first game introduced to you and the many others, you owe him your life.And he knew that, although he didn’t want your life, just your body, and who were you to deny such a person like him.

Warm arms picked you up and perched you onto a lap, tight hands embracing you.Heart pounding with excitement, grounding down into the lap beneath you, his hips shuddering, suddenly he gripped your hips, stopping your movements. Tsking , “ You don’t get to decide when to move.-“Nipping at your neck, leaving kisses,he continues.” Only we get to decide your every step.”

Short breaths left you, red faced as they continue to bather you with dirty words and affection.Confusion was written all over your face, lips stuck in a pout.

Gi-hun’s sharp teeth sank into the crane of your neck, licking over the marks he left.Behind you, In-ho continued to grind into you, moving your hips along with his pace.They’re scents made you dizzy, pleasure and irritation flowed inside you,mewling from the amount of attention you received and the little attention for your own release.

“We have to hurry, before we get caught.” You had gotten used to the torment you got from them ,that it surprised you when a pair of cold hands yanked the green joggers down, a gasp left your chapped lips, the pre-cum stained the boxers you worn, leaving the tip cold.

“Come here baby-“ although your sights were removed from you , you stood up ,legs wobbly clinging onto the man you called your saviour. He kissed with passion and love, completely different from the man behind you, who was shoving his pants off, cock sprung and aching for touch.

Removing you from the other , he spat right onto your hole , sliding a finger up and down before shoving it in you without warning. “Mmgh-“ hiding into the crook of gi-hun’s neck, biting down on the sweater he wore, drool labouring down the fabric

“Already undone by just a finger-“ picking up the pace , “-Pathetic slut.” another was added and it continued until you were ready for him. By the time the prep was done , you were a wreck, back arched and tears stained the cloth, spit connecting with whatever you could latch on to hide the mewls you couldn’t hold in.

Being thrown into the stoic man’s lap yet again , his hands guided you down onto his length, giving a second to adjust before he lifted you up, leaving the tip to almost slip out, and then slammed right down again. Head thrown back as he continued to plung in and out , wet noises engulfed the bathroom, leaving whoever was out there to wonder.

Without time to recover, another hand yanked your head down, mouth gapped open allowed the other man ,who was watching before deciding to give in.” I hope you forgive me after this..” you had no clue what he meant, until a few moments passed before something was shoved into your warm mouth, his nails digging into your [h/c] locks, rocking you back and forth to meet in-ho’s harsh thrusts.

Whatever sense you had left was all gone out the window , you didn’t care if someone were to walk in and catch you guys , your cock needed touch, aching and red,and the two didn’t care for your needs.

Part of you wanted to get mad at them for it, but the other obeyed, leaving your tip over flowing with pre-cum.

Spit dripped down onto the floor , the moans leaving you too fast to comprehend the squeaky entrance door opening slightly.

Slaps echoed the room leaving no trace for anything else to be heard. Frankly, the guard hadn’t had a clue on what was happening, why were you guys taking so long. He wasn’t gonna find out , if it wasn’t for the rectangle head to appear, he wouldn’t have.But he was just a lousy triangle.

After being in there for one second, he knew what was happening in that stall. He should be putting his gun up, telling you guys that wasn’t allowed, atleast make himself known.But no, it was like he was in a trance, probably form the lack of attention he didn’t get lately, this damn job didn’t give him time to get laid .

Sneaking as quiet as he can, peeking through the hole, eyes wide at the sight that he interrupted. He landed on you , all messy hair and cock left unattended,oh how he would love to grant you some sweet release. He didn’t know your name, he might as well call you slut,after all that’s what he sees, just a whore allowing himself to be used like a cock sleeve.

Without batting a breathe , he slipped past his briefs and palmed his hard on, biting his lip to refrain himself.

You three were completely unaware of the audience you received, too lost in the temporary bliss.

They were close, you can tell with the way they became sloppy, clenching down onto the length nestled in you to help him finish. Sucking a little hard and repeatedly swallowing. “ You really know -mmh..know -how to drive a man crazy don’t you sweetheart.”

You could come without anyone touching you with their words, you were about to ,until a hand gripped your base with force. Immediately whining and writhing in their grip. How mean.

Without much warning , besides the shuddering of their hips, gi-hun pulled out before slamming back in before he painted you with his cum.The wet warmness from both men made you shiver. Your gummy walls coated white, marking you as theirs.

One last passionate kiss and lingering touches from the both of them and you guys were out of there, ready to take on whatever came your way (literally).

Only problem was, you didn’t have your release. That had you tossing and turning the whole night.

Maybe the guard from earlier would help you.. afterall you weren’t picky.

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

AN: ain’t alor of squid game and male readers 😔 so here you go‼️ sorry if it’s bad 🙏

Ps Let me know if I should make more

[starkwlkr]

girl, so confusing | f1

an: this is SADLY the last part :( don’t worry, i do plan on writing more fics for the f1 dilf!! here’s your long awaited reveal on the baby daddy lol made this one extra long for y’all <3 enjoy!!

part 1 part 2

faceclaim gisele bündchen

liked by ynstyle, goss1pformulas and others

f1gossiproom could mark webber be the father? recently former red bull and williams drivers, mark and y/n have been spending time together. the pair were spotted having dinner several times and a source confirmed that webber attended y/n’s daughter’s recital! they were once again spotted out in australia spending time in bondi beach with y/n’s daughter (not pictured to protect her privacy) they were soon joined by friends and webber’s family. a source, who wishes to remain anonymous, saw them and said y/n’s daughter, gemma, and mark were bonding as if they were dad and daughter 👀 he even calls her ‘gem’ and ‘gemmy’! what do you think? is mark webber the real father? we certainly think so!

formulaho3 how about just leave them alone?

roscoesno1fan mark looks like a total dilf in that pic so yes

oscarspastry what if the real father is the friends we made along the way?

webberxvettel i need to know the truth before i die

hamiltonsmerecedes not f1 twitter trying to cancel y/n for getting with their faves 😭

lnwhores i stand by my cancelled wife

myhonestbitchface and when y/n reveals that sebastian is the bd then what 🤨 i feel it in my gut 👀 that german bitch is the bd

blackwidowswife bitch you’re just hungry

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THE PADDOCK SESSIONS has posted a new YouTube video!

Italics = voiceover by y/n

“Hello!” Y/n’s daughter, Gemma, opened the door to Dan. She knew that he was going to film an interview with her mother about her racing career. She watched as Dan’s camera man waved to her. She assumed they had already started filming.

“Gemma hates and loves when I’m away. She stays with her grandparents when I have to leave or if her dad is not busy then they’ll be together. I think she loves it because her dad lets her have ice cream before bed. I’m more of a strict parent between me and him.”

Photos of little Gemma appear on screen. The young girl was picture with her mother on her first birthday, then with Mark and family members then Sebastian and Jenson.

Dan entered Y/n’s London home with Gemma by his side. He spotted Y/n making tea. “Got here just in time.” He laughed as he joined the former driver in the kitchen.

“I hope the flight here wasn’t too bad.” Y/n passed a mug over to Dan.

“Slept my way through it,” before Dan could take a sip from his tea, he noticed the mug that he was given. It had ‘best dad ever’ sloppily written in paint. “Cute.” He held the mug up and smiled.

“Yeah, Gemma made it for her dad last year for Father’s Day.” Y/n smiled proudly at her daughter’s creation.

That’s when Gemma joined the conversation. “But I couldn’t give it to him on actual Father’s Day! He was away racing and couldn’t be here so I had to give it to him later.” She explained.

After the pair finished their tea, they walked together to Y/n’s small garden. There she had a little seating area where the rest of the interview would take place.

“Lovely garden.” Dan commented.

“Thank you, although I won’t take all the credit. Sebastian comes to help, Gemma kind of bosses him around telling him where each flower looks best.” Y/n laughed, setting her mug on the glass table.

“Dad loves the flowers I picked out for the garden.” Gemma pointed out as she joined them outside. As Dan started the interview, Gemma kept playing outside with her toys.

More images of a young Y/n flashed on screen. She was driving for Williams at the time, they were her first ever team.

“Williams was my first home. They were nice to me, but they put so much pressure on me to perform, like every race had to be perfect. And when it wasn’t, you could feel the disappointment, like a weight hanging in the air. I’d go back to my hotel room at night, and it was just me and the silence.”

The video showed a clip of young Y/n in the Williams garage getting ready for her debut race. She noticed the camera then smiled and waved. The video then cuts to from a happy, full of life Y/n to a gloomy, quiet Y/n sitting alone in her garage.

“I didn’t have friends in the paddock back then. Everyone was focused on their own thing, and the people around me—the trainers, the engineers—they all kept their distance. One of my trainers actually told me, ‘I’m not here to be your friend; I’m here to work.’ And that’s when I realized I was completely on my own."

Y/n then looked over her shoulder and saw Gemma using a teddy bear that her father had bought the girl for her birthday last year in Germany. The former driver smiled at the memory of her little family spending a special day together.

Back to the interview, Y/n then talked to Dan about her divorce. It was a dark time for her. She had been young when she said ‘I Do’ to a man she thought was the love of her life. At the time of her marriage, her husband was six years older. She was nineteen at the time, about to turn twenty.

Several headlines from the day her marriage was announced appeared on screen.

“Barely an Adult, Already a Wife: Y/N Marries Six Years Her Senior”

“Y/N’s Whirlwind Marriage: Chasing Love, Not Podiums?”

“Teenage Racer’s Rush to the Altar: Desperate for Love or Just Immature?”

“Is Y/N Looking for Validation in All the Wrong Places?”

“‘She’ll Marry Anyone’: Critics Slam Y/N’s Hasty Decision at Just 19”

"They painted me as some kind of desperate girl who couldn’t handle being alone. The truth was, I was 19, scared, and in love—or at least I thought I was. But that didn’t matter to them. They just wanted to sell papers."

Dan then spoke. “What led to the divorce?”

Y/n sighed deeply. Only a few people knew the real reason. “It’s . . . a complicated thing to talk about. I mean, when you’re nineteen and in love, or what you think is love, you don’t always see the red flags. At the time, I thought I’d found someone who believed in me, who would support me no matter what. But as time went on, I realized that wasn’t the case."

A picture of Y/n getting ready by herself on her wedding day appears on screen. Her family were not present as her husband at the time wanted it to be only them. She smiled brightly at the camera as her photo was taken. The image fades then clips of Y/n racing in the early 2000s play.

“He wanted a family. Kids, a house, the whole thing. And there’s nothing wrong with that, but he wanted it then, right when my career was just beginning. He gave me an ultimatum—racing or him."

Dan lightly gasped at her words. “Oh . . .”

“I chose racing. How could I not? It was everything I’d worked for, everything I’d dreamed of. But he didn’t take it well. He made me feel like I was selfish, like I was throwing away a chance at a ‘real’ life."

Several more images of Y/n and her then husband flash on screen. There’s no photos of him attending races, mostly because he thought racing was dumb and didn’t like loud crowds.

“He didn’t trust me. Whenever I was away at races, he’d insist I call him every single day, sometimes multiple times. If I missed a call because I was in a meeting or debrief, he’d accuse me of . . . things. Things that weren’t true. I couldn’t even have a normal conversation with my trainer or my team principal without worrying about how he’d react."

"There were times I wanted to visit my family, to go home and just breathe. But he’d make me feel so guilty for even thinking about it, like I was abandoning him. So I stopped trying."

The screen cuts back to Y/N on the sofa. Her hands are clasped tightly now, her voice calm but with an undercurrent of emotion.

“And then the divorce was final and for a moment I was happy until he went to the media spreading all sorts of lies.” Y/n added.

Several more magazine headlines appear on screen.

“The Truth About Y/N: Ex-Husband Reveals Why Their Marriage Failed”

“‘She Wanted the World to Love Her, Not Me’: Y/N’s Ex Speaks Out”

“‘All She Cared About Was Fame’: Y/N’s Ex-Husband Speaks Out About Their Divorce”

Then the screen cuts to clips of Y/n’s ex husband being interviewed about their marriage.

“I sacrificed so much to support her career, but she couldn’t give me the one thing I wanted: a family. She was too busy chasing the cameras and the glory.”

“It was rough. Instead of being asked about racing, I was asked about my failed marriage.” Y/n recalled all the times during interviews when her ex-husband’s name was mentioned. “I just wanted to go home a cry, but I had a job to do. But of course the attention I was getting got me fired.”

“How were you told you were no longe driving for Williams?” Dan asked.

“Would you believe it if I said it was a ten second phone call from Claire Williams?” Y/n laughed. “Claire and I were never enemies. A few days after I got her call, she had dinner in my house and explained to me that she didn’t want to be the one to call me, but she was pressured to. Apparently the Williams team thought it was best for her to tell me in a phone call because they thought it would be ‘easier’ if the news came from her, since she’s a woman. They thought it would hurt less coming from her. Can you believe that?"

Dan noticed how Y/n laughed at the mention of the famous ten second phone call.

“It was definitely ridiculous of them. But they didn’t understand how humiliating it was either way. But Claire . . . I could tell she hated it. She ended the call so quickly because she didn’t want to do it. She didn’t want me to be dropped from the team."

A photo showed of Claire Williams talking to Y/n before a race. At the time, Y/n didn’t know it, but Claire was her only friend.

“I don’t blame her for how it happened. She was caught in the middle of a decision that wasn’t hers to make. And honestly, her coming to my house afterward to explain—that meant something. It didn’t fix anything, but it showed she cared." Y/n finished drinking her tea then resumed speaking. “That ten-second call changed everything for me. But at least I know it wasn’t Claire’s choice. It was just . . . Williams being Williams."

“After everything that happened with Williams, you had every reason to step away from the sport. But instead, you joined McLaren. Looking back now, would you say that was the decision that changed everything for the better?" Dan questioned. He watched as her face softened. She truly adored her time with mclaren.

Y/n nodded. “Joining McLaren felt like a fresh start, like a second chance to prove what I was capable of. At Williams, I was just surviving. But at McLaren, I got to thrive."

Clips of Y/n during her time with the mclaren team played. Her smile was genuine and she looked happier than ever.

“I wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep racing. I didn’t know if I could trust another team. But McLaren . . . they believed in me in a way no one else had."

"It wasn’t just about the racing, though. McLaren gave me a second chance, not just at my career, but at myself. It reminded me why I fell in love with this sport in the first place."

“And then came those three idiots.” Y/n laughed when she remembered becoming friends with Mark, Jenson and Sebastian. Her cheeks tinting slightly, but her smile stays steady.

“But with that friendship came negative comments. I remember reading articles calling you horrible names just for having friendships with them.” Dan commented.

“Those negative comments still come my way even after many years,” Y/n added. “I stayed away from social media for that same reason until recently.”

“But with sharing your life on social media also came questions about your daughters life as well.”

Y/n knew it was something that was going to come up in the interview. Dan didn’t want to ask, but Y/n wanted to share. Gemma’s father and her had discussed it before and they both agreed to the interview.

“Yeah, the whole ‘who’s the father?’ thing has taken over every social media app i have. I can’t avoid it, especially when people constantly message me about it.” Y/n spoke. “Jenson thinks it’s hilarious.”

“Jenson?” Dan questioned.

“Yeah, he sent me a meme about it comparing us to Mamma Mia. I sent it to Sebastian and he sent it to Mark.”

The remainder of the interview, Y/n talked about her family she shared with the man who endlessly supported through everything. Every time she talked about him, she smiled brightly. It was clear that she loved him and their daughter more than anything.

As the video came to an end, Gemma was seen running towards someone who was out of frame. “Dad’s home!” Gemma jumped into his arms and hugged him.

“I thought you were flying in next week.” Y/n stood up to hug him.

“I come here to surprise you and Gem and this is how I’m treated?” He placed a kiss on Y/n’s temple, still holding onto Gemma. “Sorry, I definitely interrupted you two, haven’t I?”

“It’s alright, Jenson. We were just wrapping things up.”

INSTAGRAM

liked by landonorris, wagstyle and others

f1gossip after finally revealing the identity of her daughter’s father, y/n and her daughter gemma were seen together in a beach in california 👀 jenson button also lives in california so we’re thinking the button family is spending some time together.

vettelsbees GIRL SEB WAS SPOTTED AT LAX

hamiltonsmercedes AND MARK

nicorosbergisadiva WHAT IS GOING ONNNN

landonorris hey i know her

ferraridepressionclub ARIANA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HEREEE

webbertears what do you know you gremlin

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“Can I have money for ice cream?” Gemma ran up to her parents, Mark and Sebastian. The former drivers were all enjoying the sunshine of California, an idea that came from Gemma. She had been the one to call Mark and Sebastian to join her and her parents. They agreed even if they cancelled their plans with friends. They would literally do anything for the young girl.

Without hesitation, all the men took out their wallets and took out money for the girl. Their actions caused both Gemma and Y/n to laugh.

“Okay, thank you.” She gladly took the money from each of them.

“I’ll go with you, Gemmy,” Mark said as he got up from his spot and took Gemma’s hand in his. Together they walked to the ice cream stand.

“Has Claire called you?” Sebastian wondered. Ever since the interview was posted, the Williams team had posted several posts of Y/n when she was driving for them. They were finally acknowledging her wins and podiums. And of course they received some criticism from fans.

“She messaged me letting me know she watched the interview. She’s happy I did it.” Y/n replied.

“We all are. You should’ve done the interview years ago.” Jenson said.

Y/n only nodded and turned her attention to Mark and Gemma. The girl had always been close to both the German and Australian drivers, how couldn’t she when they had been in her mothers life and now they were in hers.

“Gemma asked if she could go to a race, but she wants you all to be there.” Y/n spoke up. Gemma desperately wanted the three men to join her. Y/n knew they would all say yes immediately.

“Did she say which one?” Sebastian asked.

“She said she wants to go to each of your home races.” Y/n grinned as Jenson immediately said he was in. Sebastian laughed then nodded. Of course they would join Gemma, the girl had them all wrapped around her finger.

“And will you be attending too?” Jenson winked at her. “We could do a repeat of what happened after Australia.”

“Funny, I was about to suggest the same thing but it happened in Canada.” Sebastian teased.

“Well weren’t you a busy woman.” Jenson smirked. “And Mark?”

Y/n kept quiet, innocently sipping her lemonade. After setting her drink down, the former drivers waited for her answer. “If you must know . . . We were in Vegas.”

Jenson groaned. “I was thinking Monaco.”

“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, baby.”

[romantic-misty]

about this kind of posts... I finally have to say smth because I'm annoyed both ways:

(sorry OP, I don't wanna offend you - I wanna offend some sort of ppl)

you shouldn't tell people your (actually human's) basic needs, if you need to beg for bare minimum it's not your fault they don't show effort nor even ask anything because it doesn't cross their mind to do simplest things somehow, they're just egoistic non caring assholes and you repeating yourself won't help much

some ppl can't truly guess some stuff which means they also can not question you on the matter they have no idea about so sure! speak your mind - tell 'em what you like and hopefully they will understand and remember - nobody is a telepath and you should inform others about your thoughts from time to time instead of forcing them to always jump around you or else "they don't give a fuck about you" or smth as it's probably untrue

just because EVERYONE doesn't mean you also have to be like this - if someone is manipulating/forcing you to do things you don't wanna because it's "normal" - believe me, it's not and even if - you have a right to be "weird" so different

not everyone has to say YES forever to something, people have moods and change their mind, remember to explain or at least tell someone you aren't in the mood or changed your mind but also don't forget asking each other if someone is into smth at the current moment unless otherwise specified like "you always can hug me unless I tell you to stop" and such, mistakes and accidental crossing boundaries happen but most important thing are good intention and a lot of discussing, don't break someone's trust constantly proving it wasn't a one time thing

if you weren't assertive enough and someone took advantage of you - don't blame yourself for not saying NO (especially if they were constantly making you feel unsafe to actually stop them or brainwashed you into thinking you want this etc.) - they should check if you're fine with smth and not use the fact you froze and was unsure or didn't have time to set certain boundaries, topis should also continue after certain actions and you can go back to it anytime! no matter what others say - it's never too much for the right person <3

you doing something you hate or what even traumatises you to meet someone's needs because it's compromise... no, it's not - if you're not enough for someone doesn't mean smth is wrong with you - it's probably not a match and that is ok! you will be loved elsewhere by being yourself, if someone cares more about their needs than hurting you with them then they're not a good person (yes, it's mostly about sexual needs) - and no, cheating isn't a proof you didn't give them enough, they can always leave but they're cowards and want to have both :)

if you sh or have depression - don't assume no one gives a shit about you just because they don't question you when you say "I'm fine" - harsh truth - even tho I totally understand why you say that phrase still nobody has to do anything besides accepting it - they might feel like you don't wanna talk about it as it's either personal or you don't trust them enough and maybe just prefer to take your mind out of this as topic is triggering so they won't risk making you feel even worse, say the truth or tell them why you don't wanna talk about certain things because lying to people might make them truly believe you, they have their own issues too they can be occupied with, they can be simply tired and even feel hurt that you don't want to open up to them or show their respect in this way and let you have space - you don't know what's in their mind so if you assume smth about them then think how they feel when you decide to hide the truth from them - as I said, you still have reasons and maybe right to but it doesn't make them immediately evil for not doing more/what you want without you actually TELLING them, I know it's hard and scary and some don't even deserve to know but there are those who truly love you and will understand and will help/support you - you're not a burden! I am aware you don't wanna worry anyone but you can as it's part of being a friend/partner/family and if someone acts like an ass towards you by calling you an attention seeker - they are the problem, not you

silent treatment is manipulation and if you try to show you being offended by that instead of trying to talk things through first you are not good, sorry not sorry

balance is everything but ppl don't wanna meet half way EVER so...

your needs motherfucker do you speak them

[nosyp]

Hii could we pls get a smut w player 120 x f!reader where were basically a very open n kinda cocky talkative person who tried to be all confident around the games but once stuff gets spicy w Hyun-ju we become quiet n get knocked down a few pegs by her? Pls n thank u!!

Oh yesss absolutely anon!!! I chose to do her before she fully transitioned soo...

Also this turned out more rougher than i thought it would

Title = The Games We Play

Warnings = smut🔞 (MDNI), pegging, semi-hate sex(?), degradation, cum eating, rough sex

Summary = You, all confident and cocky, messes up during a team challenge with Hyun-ju (Player 120), frustrating her. Despite attempting to apologize, Hyun-ju stays angry, leading to a shift in their dynamic that turns intense.

Word count = 2.8k

You had always prided yourself on being the life of the room. Even in a place like this, full of death and violence, you stood out. Everyone else was quiet, brooding, or sizing each other up, but you? You were a force. A smile always on your lips, a quip always at the ready. The players here seemed to appreciate the distraction, and you loved that you could be the one to make them forget, even if only for a moment, that they were all fighting for their lives.

Don’t get it wrong though, you weren’t anything like that… ‘Thanos’ guy. You didn’t have sick thoughts, try to hurt anyone or get high. The only reason you had ended up here was the generational debt. Your grandpa was a great man, but he was the reason your whole family’s financial situation went up in flames. He wasn’t thinking straight one day, and he gambled loads of money away, even money he didn’t have. And that debt slowly passed down to you. 

Even then, you had quite the bright nature. People didn’t always resonate with you but you, the ever so sweet person, didn’t treat them any different. Your grandpa managed to decrease the debt into only 73 million won and your parents shortened it into 44 million won. The debt was still a hefty amount, it would probably take you your entire life or even more to earn that from your present job. 

Well, that was what you thought until some guy invited you to work at his company and earn loads doing minimum work. The work, the offer in general, felt very creepy to you but you were so desperate to find any sort of reprieve, so you accepted. And now you’re here.

“Aaaa… C’mon, Hyun-ju, you really think I’m gonna let you get away with that?” You teased, leaning back against the wall with a wink, your voice light and teasing as you crossed your arms. “You’ve got to do better than that if you want to win this.”

Hyun-ju, ever the stoic person, only shot you a sharp look in response, but you didn’t mind. You were used to people underestimating you. The confidence you carried was all the armor you needed, and so far, it had worked. But even you couldn’t help but feel the slight shift in the air whenever she was near. There was something... magnetic about her, something that kept you on your toes. Still, you weren't one to let that show. You grinned again, keeping your tone light.

“You know, I’m starting to think you’ve got a thing for me, huh?” You nudged her playfully, voice dripping with confidence as you gave her a look. “Is that why you’re always so intense around me?”

Her eyes flickered briefly, the faintest hint of something in her gaze that you couldn’t place. But before you could tease her further, the moment shifted. You saw her hand reach out, just barely grazing your arm, but it felt different, heavier. More intentional. You glanced at her, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

“Careful, Hyun-ju,” you warned with a teasing chuckle, trying to keep the atmosphere light. “Don’t go falling for me now. I don’t think I’m your type.”

You and Player 120 had decided to go together for the six-legged foot race, and to say you were excited would be an understatement. You were in your element. Cocky, confident, and ready to win. Hyun-ju, however, was a different story. The whole race was supposed to be a breeze, or so you thought. But apparently, your enthusiasm wasn’t enough to make up for the fact that you kept tripping over your own feet and other’s feet.

"Watch where you’re going!" Player 120 snapped as you stumbled for the third time in a single minute. You shot her an apologetic grin, but the frustration in her eyes was hard to ignore. She was always calm, collected, and precise, but today... today, she was starting to unravel.

"Hey, I’m doing my best!" you laughed, brushing it off, but it was getting more difficult to maintain that confident facade. Hyun-ju’s grip on the rope was tight, and her steps were firm. She was dragging you along, keeping you upright as you tried to match her pace, but you were definitely slowing her down.

The more you messed up, the more you could see her temper rising. She kept pulling you back into place with sharp, quick movements, her body rigid with irritation. Each time you missed a step or stumbled, you could feel the tension in her hands grow.

You finally reached a point where you almost collapsed into her after tripping yet again, your legs tangling in the rope. Player 120 hissed under her breath, frustration evident in the way she jerked you back upright. "Come on!" she growled, not bothering to hide the anger creeping into her tone. "Stop messing around. We’re losing!"

You could feel the heat of her annoyance radiating through the rope connecting you two. She was trying her best to stay patient, but the way her brows furrowed and her sharp movements made it clear, this was not what she signed up for.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop smiling, despite your constant failures. It was a little funny to you, the way Hyun-ju was getting more and more upset. You could feel her body growing tenser, her pace quickening as she pushed harder, but it only made you feel more careless.

"Hyun-ju, relax, we’ve still got this!" you chirped, but she wasn’t having it.

"Not when you keep messing up every other step!" Her voice was low and tense, the frustration bubbling up to the surface. "Stop trying to make it look easy and focus!"

The mood shifted dramatically, and you could tell Player 120 was barely holding it together. Her teeth gritted in frustration, she tugged on the rope with one firm motion, forcing you to focus. You could see her pushing herself past the point of patience, and that made you swallow your usual cocky remarks. Maybe you’d pushed her too far.

You both hit the final stretch of the race, and with one final, forceful push, Player 120 sprinted ahead. You tried to catch up, but your clumsy movements were no match for her efficiency. You stumbled to the finish line, barely keeping your balance. Player 120 crossed it first, without even looking back. You were sure she didn’t even notice the way her breath came out in sharp gasps, her temper barely in check.

She turned to face you, her eyes narrowing as she exhaled sharply. "Maybe next time you’ll actually try to keep up," she muttered under her breath, her gaze cold and irritated. The playful tone you’d expected from her wasn’t there anymore. She was mad, and it showed.

You could feel the shift in the air between you two, and for the first time, you weren’t sure what to say. Your usual facade faltered as you stood there, caught in the aftermath of your own carelessness.

“Sorry…” You muttered, but it barely seemed to cut through the thick tension. You were silent as you tried to gather yourself. Hyun-ju didn’t seem to hear you, her attention already elsewhere, her gaze focused on the others around the room.

It was clear… you’d pushed her too far, and she wasn’t in the mood for any more of your usual antics. For once, the cocky confidence you usually wore like armor was nowhere to be found.

You stood there, watching as Player 120 walked away, her back rigid and her posture sharp with anger. She was still fuming, and you couldn’t help but feel the weight of the silence between you. The confident, cocky attitude you usually had started to slip away, replaced by the realization that you’d pushed her too far this time. You had messed up, and now, you needed to fix it.

"Hey, Hyun-ju..." you started, taking a hesitant step toward her. "I’m really sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to mess everything up back there. I’ll try harder next time, I swear."

You watched her shoulders stiffen even more at your words, and when she finally turned to face you, there was nothing but coldness in her eyes. The warmth that usually radiated from her was gone, replaced by a distant, almost irritated expression.

She didn’t respond right away, her lips pressed into a thin line as she crossed her arms over her chest. The silence hung between you two, heavier than any of the games you’d played so far.

"I told you to focus," she said, her voice flat, lacking any of the warmth it usually held when she spoke to you. There was no sign of the playful teasing she’d shown before, only a hint of bitterness in her tone. "You didn’t listen. You kept messing up, and it’s frustrating. I don’t want to keep carrying you through this."

Her words stung more than you expected. You could feel the weight of her disappointment, and it settled deep in your chest. This wasn’t just about the game anymore. She was angry, and it wasn’t something that could be fixed with a quick apology.

"Hyun-ju, I—I get it. I really do," you said, taking another step closer, your tone softer. "I’m sorry for letting you down. But you know I didn’t mean to mess things up on purpose, right?"

She looked at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable, and for a brief second, you thought she might soften. But the longer you stood there, the more it became clear that she wasn’t ready to forgive you.

She shook her head, a sigh escaping her lips. "I don’t want your apologies," she muttered, her eyes avoiding yours now, a mix of frustration and exhaustion in her gaze. "I’m not asking you to be perfect, but at least try to take things seriously. We’re in this together, but it’s hard to feel like we’re on the same team when you keep acting like this."

The silence stretched between you as you stood there, unsure of what to say next. Hyun-ju was clearly still upset, but you couldn't just let her walk away like that. You stepped forward, your breath catching in your throat as you noticed the way her back tensed even more with each step she took. You felt an urge to close the gap, to do something—anything—that would get her to soften.

"Hyun-ju..." you called out once more, your voice low, though there was a definite tremor to it. This time, you didn’t wait for her to turn. You caught up with her and grabbed her arm gently, not enough to stop her, but enough to pull her attention back to you. "I’m really sorry. I don’t want you to hate me."

She didn’t say anything at first, and for a moment, you thought you might’ve pushed her too far, but then, she turned her head slightly, her eyes flashing with a mixture of annoyance and something else you couldn’t quite place. You didn’t pull away; you knew she was still mad, but you also knew you couldn’t let this go unresolved.

Her gaze softened, just a little, and when she spoke, her voice was quieter, more intense than it had been before. “You want to make it up to me?”

You nodded quickly, almost desperate. "I’ll do anything. Just… tell me what you need from me."

There was a heavy pause before she spoke again, her tone thick with something you hadn’t heard from her before. "You keep messing up in all the wrong ways, but maybe... I can show you how to make it up. If you’re willing to listen." Her voice dropped lower, and her eyes darkened as she stepped closer, invading your personal space. “But this time… no more mistakes. Understood?”

Your breath hitched in your throat, and the intensity in her gaze was almost overwhelming. You could feel your pulse racing as you tried to keep your composure, but the air between you had shifted again. The playful teasing was gone, this was something else, something heavier, charged with frustration, desire, and maybe even a hint of something darker that you hadn’t anticipated.

You swallowed, your body reacting despite your thoughts. “Understood.”\

Her lips curled into a smirk, and before you could react, her hand was on your chest, pushing you backward gently, but forcefully, toward the wall behind you. The playful, calculated control she usually had was gone, replaced by something far more intense. And this time, it was clear. She was the one in control, no more funny business.

You hadn’t even had time to comprehend what had happened until you found yourself completely undressed in front of her. Your clothes were torn off by her strong hands and tossed to the side. 

You let out whimpers as your skin got more and more revealed to the cold air, making goosebumps appear on your skin. 

“Not as loud as before huh…” she mutters under her breath, still loud enough for you to hear though.

Without warning, she pulled out her cock from her pants, letting you admire it. She wasn’t the biggest, but it was pretty big. You had no idea how it was going to fit but you were too far gone to go back. 

“W-wait! I-I need uh… to prepare…” you say, causing her to halt.

She let out a sharp sigh, before turning to you. “Go do that then. Quickly.” she ordered.

Not knowing what to do, you hesitantly trailed your hands down… to your folds and started rubbing it. You were so unbelievably wet from the situation, it was visible to both you and her. Quickly, you rubbed your hand up and down your folds, letting your fingers get covered in your wetness.

“Mm–mmh…” you moan. 

Your breath became erratic, each inhale trembling as you desperately tried to steady yourself. The rapid rise and fall of your chest felt out of control, and no matter how hard you tried, the rush of the pleasure kept pushing the air in and out faster. You could feel your heart racing, thumping in your chest, matching the frantic pace of your breath.

“Keep going… you’re doing great…” she says, hand lightly pumping her cock.

Her words echoed in your mind, stirring something deep within you that you tried to ignore. The intensity in her voice, the way she spoke so calmly, as if she had already won… it affected you more than you were willing to admit. The annoyance bubbling in your chest only made the situation worse. But deep down, you knew. She had you. Every word she said was a step closer to making you forget your own thoughts, your own will.

Not long after, you surrendered to the pleasure, releasing fluids all over your fingers. 

“Good… Now clean yourself up,” she says, holding your wrist and bringing your hand in front of your face. Without hesitation, you licked your own fingers, cleaning it. “Good… you’re so obedient now y’know…”

“U-ugh… whatever,” you spat, hitting her with sass.

“Still got some energy in you? I’m gonna fuck that out of you.” she says, her words hitting you like a truck.

—

You couldn't even remember how long it had been. Time had blurred in a haze of pleasure and exhaustion. Each wave of sensation crashed over you, the moments stretching and distorting into something that felt almost unreal. Her hands, relentless, drawing out orgasms you never imagined you could feel so deeply.

The number of times you'd reached that peak was impossible to count. Every time you thought you might finally break, she pushed you further. Your body trembled, weak from the constant overstimulation, but she showed no signs of stopping. The intensity of it all was overwhelming, and despite your fatigue, there was a part of you that couldn’t help but crave more.

It was a strange kind of torment. Your body aching, yet your mind racing with the need for more, for her to continue. It was a mix of pleasure, exhaustion, and surrender. Every touch, every movement, drew you deeper into the overwhelming abyss, until you weren’t sure where you ended and she began.

“A-ahh! Ng-ngghh!” you whimper, not being able to mutter a single normal word.

“Tell me you love this.” she demands.

“I- Ahh! I- I- “ you mutter, quickly being interrupted by her thrusts. Your mind could barely even think, you didn’t know how you were able to respond to her at all.

“Hmm? What was it?” she asks.

“I- I-... I love this!!” you squeal, letting out yet another orgasm before you knew it.

Then she followed, cumming inside you before collapsing beside you.

[puckinghischier]

Hiiii happy new year! I absolutely adore your quinnxreader fics! I loved the one about his brothers asking her questions and calling her all the time because they love her so much! Would you consider writing more about that?

Maybe about their dynamic in person, meeting over Christmas or summer or something!??

Have a great day!

oh listen when the four of you are together for long periods of time? you’re convinced you and quinn will never have to have kids, because you’re gonna be parenting jack and luke for the rest of your lives.

like meeting at the lake house over the summer. even if ellen and jim are there with everyone, luke and jack still bug you with any and every question they have.

“y/n! what should i eat for lunch?”

“y/n! where’s the remote?”

“y/n! have you seen my swimming trunks?”

every time you take a breath, one of them is yelling for you for help, or advice, or nothing at all. jack is a regular at shouting your name from wherever he is in the house just to show you some video on his phone, or ask you how to spell a word for a text he’s sending.

quinn and ellen have both scolded them numerous times to leave you alone and quit treating you like a maid, but you don’t tell them you secretly love it. you hate that they’re acting like toddlers that can’t fend for themselves, but you love the comfort level they have with you to do it all.

and it’s not like they don’t return the favor.

you always manage to get a summer cold when you come to the lake house. you don’t know if it’s the water mixed with the chilly nights or the fact you’re always on the go and never resting, but you somehow always get a case of the sniffles for a few days each summer.

whenever it happens, jack and luke dote on you like you’re bedridden. constantly bringing you snacks and meds and juice. asking if you need anything, watching movies with you and quinn while all four of you cuddle on the couch.

ellen never fails to snap a picture of the occasion, all of her kids (you included) safe and sound under one roof, a rare occurrence in her world.

now, you have your own moments visiting the two youngest brothers, missing them just as badly as they miss you sometimes. when quinn is away on a particularly long road trip and jack and luke have a few home games, you’re booking a flight and off to see them.

you can always see how excited they are to have you at their games, making sure you have the best seats and even buying you a custom split hughes sweater, so you never have to choose one over the other.

they tell all of their teammates you’re coming and gesture to you throughout the whole game, making sure you saw that save, or watched them score a goal.

you go out with them after games and send quinn lots of pictures of his drunk, idiot brothers singing karaoke and displaying terrible dance moves.

quinn loves seeing you have the friendship with his brothers that you do, but he always reminds them to keep you safe, his protective side coming out, even though he knows they would never let anything happen.

still, it doesn’t keep them from finding sunglasses from god knows where, drunkenly waltzing you out of bar on either side of you, gesturing for people to move out of the way like they’re your bodyguards. every move you make, they’re sending (blurry) pictures of you safely outside the bar, getting into the uber, getting out of the uber, walking into their apartment building, in the elevator, unlocking their door, walking through their door, walking to the guest room, and one final shot of you in bed with the covers pulled up to your chin, to the groupchat you’re in with them and your boyfriend.

and once the apartment is quiet and their voices are reduced to light snores, you sneak into their rooms and take pictures of them, too, feeling just as much of a responsibility to keep them safe and cared for.

christmases? now those are an event, truly.

luke and jack are on you for months to help them pick out the perfect gift for quinn and ellen, claiming you know gifts way better than they do. you even fly out to jersey for a couple days in the middle of december, finding a stretch where they have a couple home games.

you take them out shopping, coaching and making sure they don’t pick out some random scarf for their mom or striped tie for quinn and jim. they take you to do all the touristy christmas things around the city (even if you’ve done it a million times before) and make fun of how you still can’t skate, even after all the years of being with quinn.

when you all finally make it back to michigan for the big family christmas, quinn steals you away for some one on one time, of course, but it’s never long lived. one of the two man-children, as quinn so affectionately calls them, comes barging in your room eventually, flopping down onto the bed right in-between you and quinn. and once one is in there, the other gets jealous and fights his way into the dog pile happening.

“can you two go annoy mom and dad or something? you just had her for four days, it’s my turn,” quinn huffs, your quiet bubble now burst.

“well, mom and dad told us to come annoy you guys, they have to wrap presents,” luke pouts to quinn, causing him to roll his eyes and accept his fate.

christmas morning with them is always your favorite, though.

jack and luke are always so high energy, wanting everyone to open their presents from them first so they can see the reactions.

they’re just like little kids, almost blurting out what it is as the person is opening it. they always tell ellen and quinn and jim you helped them, not wanting to take all the credit for themselves. but when it comes to their gifts to you? you start to think their claims that they’re terrible at gift giving is just a rouse to get you to visit them each year, because they never fail to give you the most heartfelt gifts.

like this christmas, they had gone in together on paying an artist to paint a collage of your favorite pictures of you and quinn together, the canvasses each in the shape of yours and quinn’s initials. you had noticed the canvas shaped like a plus sign in-between the two letters is blank, not knowing why they would leave such a large section bare.

when you look up to ask them, you notice they’re standing on either side of you, gesturing you to stand up. quinn is nowhere to be found, looking around for him as you stand and follow their lead to the back door of the large house.

when they open the door you’re met with the michigan snow, falling perfectly onto a beautifully decorated archway that you hadn’t noticed the night before. you noticed the poinsettias forming a walkway to the arch, finding quinn standing there under the perfectly hung mistletoe, waiting for you.

jack and luke walk push you on, staying behind in the warmth of the house.

you walk down the snow covered path, focusing on not falling the whole way.

once you reach the end of the path, quinn grabs your hand and plants you right in front of him.

he launches into a speech about how much he loves you, and how much he loves watching you with his family, how easily you’ve become a part of it, intertwined so deeply into his soul he couldn’t let you go, even if he wanted to, before dropping down on one knee, asking you to spend the rest of your life trusting him and loving him.

you immediately tell him yes, launching your body to his once he stands, tears streaming down your frozen face. right as you go to share a kiss to seal the intimate moment, you’re broken apart by the woops and hollers of none other than jack and luke, turning your head to see them barreling down the walkway towards you two.

“oh my god! we’re getting a sister! she’s actually gonna be ours now!” jack screams, crushing you two in a bear hug that would give quinn a run for his money.

“now quinn can’t use the excuse she’s his anymore, because now she’s ours. she’s gonna be a hughes! no more stingy quinn!” luke follows up, another weight added onto the already crushing hug.

“oh god, i didn’t think this through,” quinn groans, not enjoying his brothers’ newfound claim on you.

you giggle, encased in all the hughes love.

“also, we helped plan this, don’t let him hog all the credit, here. we planned our gift so it’d be the perfect segway into the proposal!” luke rushes out, too excited to keep it in any longer.

“the blank canvas is for engagement pictures!” jack confirms, beaming from ear to ear.

they finally release you and quinn from their clutches.

“okay, you guys have had your moment, now go back inside. she might getting ready to be your sister-in-law,” quinn emphasizes the last two words, “but she’s my fiancé, so we’ve earned some alone time.”

the two brothers huff and pout as they walk off, grumbling about how they can’t wait until you’re a hughes so he can’t claim you’re just his.

before you allow yourself the time with quinn, you run after your two best friends, tackling them in their own bear hug, despite how much larger they are than you.

“thank you guys. for this, for accepting me into your family, for sharing quinn with me,” you giggle at their scoff and luke’s mumble of ‘more like we share you with him’ before continuing. “i love you two. i’ll always be your big sister, yeah? as long as you’re always my two obnoxious little brothers.”

they squeeze you back so tightly you can’t breathe, telling you again how much they can’t wait for you to officially be part of their family.

quinn watches you with them, his own heart warmed despite the snow falling, wondering how in the world he got so lucky with such an amazing family, and now an even more amazing woman to bring into it.

[bbokicidal]

where has the time gone? | [SKZ]

genre: angst pairing: skz ot8 x reader warnings: major character death in every scenario <- read at your own discretion

may flowers grow in the saddest parts of you.

1 year, 2 months, 14 days.

"Happy Valentine's Day." Chris coos as his hands gently tighten around the bouquet pressed into his chest. There's a soft silence that falls between the two of you and he can't help but smile, knowing it's unavoidable when he's at a loss for words - and he's the only one who can speak. "I brought you these. I remembered they were your favorite," the plastic crinkles under his fingertips, slowly moving to kneel down and hand the bouquet over. The damp grass of the early morning stains his jeans and yet he can't bring himself to care when the feeling is nothing compared to the overwhelming cold of not being able to hold you in his arms. His breathing is stuttered, shaky and warm as it leaves his lips. A hand places gently atop the heavy stone in front of him; Your name engraved with your birth - and death - date. Already over a year ago... "I wish you were here with me."

1 year, 27 days.

Minho's lip curls into his teeth and he bites down. He was grateful your mother let him in here whenever he needed it; Showing up with no warning only to be let in with warm hugs and soft welcomes, whispers that he could stay as long as he wanted. Your childhood bedroom was so... inexplicably you. Books, games, an old television, and lots of old knick knacks like a doll here and there or a blanket now stained with wear and tear. He knows your mother wouldn't mind if he touched things, moved stuff around or maybe even cleaned it up a little. But he wanted to leave it the way it was when you last touched everything. He felt that if he disturbed the peace the room brought him, your spirit would be gone for good. The closest he came was letting his back rest against your bedpost as he sat on the ground and took it all in, eyes swelling with tears. He knew he needed to stop coming here, stop disturbing your family with his presence, but he didn't want to let go.

1 year.

Changbin's hands wrap tight around the balcony railing. The metal was stained with the cold and it bit at his palms and fingertips, gnawing at him to let go. Though truth be told it didn't bother him at all - He was too busy overlooking the city lights surrounding his hotel room. He knew he'd be here a year ago today; But he was supposed to be here with you. On your anniversary together, celebrating and drinking wine, eating chocolates, tangling your limbs together in the bed and enjoying each other's presence in the city of love. But because he was stupid and offered to take you out for drinks later in the evening, a year ago today, you weren't here. The memory of the driver, intoxicated and bleary, ramming into the front of the company car makes his hands tighten around the railing in anger. Who was he to take you from him? What made him hate his life so much that he had to take another's instead? Changbin seethes on the instead, jaw clenched and tears pouring down soft cheeks usually filled with small smiles. He lets out a breath; slow, tired, pissed. But he knows that you would want him to enjoy his time in Paris even if he'd gone with the others because you weren't around anymore - so he'll do his best to relax and have fun while he can. Even if the overwhelming guilt is forever lingering.

10 months, 19 days.

"It hasn't even been a year and you're asking me to get over it." Hyunjin sobs as he pushes his palms into his eyes, fingers curled tight into fists and body wracking with his cries. "I can't just forget about them! I don't know what you - expect from me!" He can feel someone's arms wrap around him from his right and he knows immediately that it's Felix, curling up close to him and pressing his cheek into Hyunjin's shoulder with a frown. He knew Hyunjin was more angry than anything about your passing - knew that he wasn't ready to quit mourning just yet. But he couldn't keep letting it show during interviews, on stage, or during other performances. Hyunjin cried when he realized you weren't backstage to cheer him on at concerts, or had angry outbursts when anyone would talk about you and joke about things you use to say or do because he thought of it as them slandering your name even if it was a simple discussion. He couldn't stand people laughing at the memory of you because what was there to laugh at? You were dead. And with your passing, a part of him that was lighter, giggly and... happy - disappeared as well.

not yet corpses; still, we rot.

8 months, 4 days.

Jisung sits with his head down on the desk, arms thrown over the back of his head and fingers grasping hard at his hoodie sleeves. The song that plays over the studio speakers is one he had produced almost a year ago now; a softer melody, something close to "13" - a song you loved more than any of the songs that came out on their albums. He never told you - he never got the chance to - but he'd been making the song for you. Back then when you'd heard it there were no lyrics - just a sweet instrumental that made you feel like you should be dancing in a ballroom to the music, or like you belonged in a romance movie with the song playing in the background. But now... Now, he'd integrated the words he'd meant to say to you all along.

"If everything around seems dark, look again, you may be the light. (-Rumi)"

3 months, 5 days, 13 hours.

Felix's head felt heavy. Clouded. Dull. Broken. How long had he been on hiatus, now...? How long would it continue? Was he letting his fans down? Oh, right now he.. truthfully couldn't be bothered to care. As much as he adored them, everyone, he felt like he had to put himself first - even if it meant disappearing from the Earth for a few months so he could grieve the loss of his favorite person in the world. He'd returned home only a few days after it had happened, giving the boys little time to see him before he left for Australia to be away from the scene of the crime. He knew it was a freak accident, knew it never should have happened, but he also knew that if he had been two steps closer, an arm's length away - you might still be with him right now. Everything would be okay. You'd be back in the dorms cuddling or baking together, smacking each other with flour and making a mess so big even Seungmin couldn't fathom it. Or maybe, if he'd been too close to you in that moment, both of you would be gone. He shouldn't be thinking it, but... maybe that would have been better than living in a world without you.

27 days.

Seungmin wasn't sure how to feel. He was one of the group members known for being quiet, minding his own business and being a bit stoic compared to the others. But this behavior was... new. The way his jaw clenched at every mention of your name, or the way his body tensed and his hands curled into fists when he saw pictures of you. He felt an overwhelming frustration each time someone brought you up in conversation, feeling as though speaking about it would make him relive the memory of seeing the moment your body collapsed into nothing. Seungmin hated everyone who spoke about you even if it was in a positive light because he didn't want them to keep bringing you up - every mention of your name made his heart tighten in his chest until it felt like he was suffocating. And it pained him even more that people thought he wasn't grieving. Because he wasn't openly crying in public or speaking about you to the masses of media. He saw the way people spoke about him online, calling him a liar, a fake; Saying his love for you was never real. So in dealing with all of his emotions, Seungmin went home every night and laid in his bed, face buried down into his pillow. He let it build up, let the tears finally flow from his eyes, and screamed into the memory foam so loud that Felix could hear it from the next room over while gaming. He'd sob into the pillow until his throat was raw, curling up around himself and pulling his blanket over his head. People were talking about you, and now about him, too. And he didn't know how to handle it.

16 hours.

Jeongin sat in silence, but his head screamed every fews seconds for him to do something. There, on the couch in his dorm, Jeongin sat stiff with his hands digging into his knees as Chan sat nearby - rubbing gently over his back and quietly talking about how they could make arrangements, celebrate your life even if you were gone; But Jeongin heard none of it. His ears were ringing; a constant, nonstop screech that pained him to sit through, all while his thoughts were whirling around in his head like a raging dust storm that clouded all other thoughts of peace and contentedness. Get up. Go to them. Go to the hospital. Go identify them even if it's not your place. Get up. Go to the hospital. Get up. Get up. Go to them. Go to them. Go. Anywhere. Away. Go away. Go away.

He choked, and Chan stopped talking. He watched as Jeongin's eyes finally welled with tears. It was one of the only times Chan had seen Jeongin so emotional with tears pooling down his face in heavy streams of grief, his chest jerking with every breath until he was breaking down in his Hyung's arms and allowing himself to be held. Even if he went to you, you wouldn't be there. You wouldn't be smiling at him, greeting him with sparkling eyes. He would never see you again. He would never hear your voice again. And how was he supposed to live with that?

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @jabmastersurpriseee @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek

[daechwitatamicrecs]

okay let me tell you (collective) all the things i love about this fic: (read more for spoilers)

the world / the cyberpunk of it all / the background of the Syndicate and the many ways the setting affects the story and the characters - it all spiderwebs out and touches everything and it is done SO masterfully. your characters are who they are because of the world that shaped them and you see the potential for them to be somebody else, somebody softer, but that's not the hand they were dealt. also the little futuristic touches were so subtle but made this SO visceral and immersive, reading this fic is like a whole experience that i can picture and feel like i'm walking through

the way you use bracketing and call-backs, the way everything is cyclical and comes back later, but when it comes back it's turned sideways........ insane work. INSANE work inside that brain. i think the most obvious example of this is the jump / how high refrain but there are SEVERAL MORE through here that i yelled about in the doc and they are all!!! so!!!!

This big brother Seungcheol makes me INSANE he's such a minor character throughout this but every time he shows up it's like !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THERE HE IS and you can see the beginnings of a very Zaddy character and i am readyyyyyyyyyyy for his installment!!!!

the bracketing of funerals (his to hers) and the difference in those scenes but also they way they are a pillar for each other and how even though he "hates" her (we know the truth kwon soonyoung) he's still gonna hold her up

WORD CHOICE, BITCH. specifically the "not to ME" and "i NEED you to fight back" BOTH SO SO SO SO DELIBERATE AND THEY DO SOOOOOOOOOOO MUCH WITH ONE LITTLE WORD IT CHANGES THE WHOOOOOOLE MESSAGE IF YOU'RE PAYING ATTENTION like?????????

"Do it even if you can’t tell me where you are. I’ll find you." - i can't believe you did this to me. to me, personally.

the recurring themes of the two sides of her family are masterclass. that's all.

the way you write people experiencing and moving through emotions is so well done. like. rereading the breakup scene, they both go through the rise and ebb of explosion to honest emotion to resolve but they do it in different ways and you feel both and RAHH. it is SO well done.

the scene of her panic attack? miss hali he is BONKERS???? WHO DOES THAT???? idc if it worked he could have done a million things and THAT was his choice???? lmfaoooo WILD. ABSOLUTELY WILD.

EVERY SINGLE THING that happens from when she wakes up and her shit is gone. EVERY single thing. the way hoshi responds. you know he fucking flew there, didn't even change out of his pajamas lol. the fight scene was everything. the bracketing again and how her thoughts spiral the same way as to when it was "i love him" and later when she's in the shower thinking of how she hurt him for nothing.

ANGEL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! get you a friend who will break a strangers ribs for flirting with your man and get in a shower with their shoes on just because SOMEONE needs to hold you!!!!

THE SOFTNESS OF THE ENDDDDD :( :( :( :( i love them so much :( :( :(

i genuinely cant wait for the rest of these and i will harass you until have them OKAY BYE

Baby | ksy (m)

Pairing: Soongyoung x f. reader

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

Word Count: 29,988

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

Type: Smut, Heavy Angst

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

Warnings: Full warnings available under the cut.

❀ A/N: This fic is a part of my newly announced Syndicates Collection. I want to emphasize that in this fic, everyone is associated with criminal behavior and deeply ingrained in a Syndicate culture in which illegal activity, violence and drug use is the norm. If you cannot handle that - especially because I make no attempt to moralize their behavior - this isn’t the fic for you. Additionally, there are violent scenes. It is a violent story. That’s okay if this isn’t for you, just skip this one. 

❀ A/N 2:  i love jo and jade the end <- left by @daechwitatamic while beta reading but also thank you @eoieopda for beta reading - also dropping this a day early because it’s @eoieopda’s birthday and I love them very big. HBD shrimpie.  

❀ Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All members of Seventeen are faces and name claims for stories. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. Seventeen members are not Seventeen culturally, intellectually, physically, or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not any good.”

“That’s okay. I’ll let you beat me.” 

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

“No way!” 

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everyone treats me like a baby.” 

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

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

“What about you?” you ask. 

“What about me?” 

“Jump.”

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

“I have no idea.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you look at me?”

“No.”

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

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

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

“Just let me go!” 

“No. Why do you want me to kiss you?”

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

“Fuck - are you crying?”

“No.”

“Baby, look at me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Baby. What’s up?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go away.”

“Baby, please don’t start with me.”

“I’m not starting fuck with you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not mad at you. Go away!”

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

“Please fuck off.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Baby, you don’t need more. Your pupils are the size of Mingyu’s big ass head.”

Mingyu, though right next to Soonyoung, doesn’t hear the insult, his tongue being sucked down the throat of the girl sitting in his lap, hips grinding on him. Another girl is pressed to his side, teeth nipping at his jaw. At least someone is having fun, you think, the three of them totally aware of the crackling tension in their booth. 

The girl attached to Soonyoung’s neck a moment ago bristles when she hears your nickname. “Baby?” she asks, face scrunching. “Are you serious?”

“Chill out, Victra. It’s her nickname.”

“Yeah,” you agree, shooting her a venomous look, despite her doing nothing to earn your ire. “Chill, Victra.”

Once again, you turn your back on Soonyoung, standing and scooting Seungcheol over to swap places with him. He does so with a keen eye, watching the scene unfold as he sucks his lollipop happily, content to watch the drama. 

Wonwoo dips his knife into the bag as you settle in next to him, bouncing with excitement. “I love when you do drugs, you’re so much fun.” 

“I don’t feel very fun right now.”

“Drugs will fix it!” 

“Wonwoo, don’t you dare give her that,” Soonyoung warns. He pries Victra’s hands off of him, leaning forward as though to reach across the table. 

“Ignore him,” you insist. 

Wonwoo hesitates, stuck between a rock and a hard place. The last thing he wants to do is tell you no. No one but your father and older brother get to tell you no. Wonwoo knows this better than most people. But he also doesn’t want to cross Soonyoung, a venture nearly as dangerous as pissing off Seungcheol. 

Soonyoung hisses at the girl next to him,  “Stop clawing at me! Baby, please stop being stubborn for one moment. Just one. ”

“Why the fuck did you even bring me up here?” Victra interrupts, ignoring Soonyoung’s plea. “You’ve done nothing but fawn over her since we got here. This isn’t fun.” 

Soonyoung ignores her. “If you’re mad at me, be mad at me. Stop blowing shit up your nose to prove a point and be a bitch, though.”

“I’m not proving fuck, Soonyoung. And Victra’s right, go fuck her in the bathroom or something and stop telling me what to do.”

“So it is about her?” 

“I have a name!” The her in question snaps. You turn around, temper flaring as you level your glare at her. She turns her nose up at you as she says, “It’s obvious you’re bothered he brought me here. Your jealousy is insufferable.” 

“Ding, ding ding,” Seungcheol imitates a bell. You turn around to look at Victra. “Round one! Fight!”

It takes a second for Victra’s words to land. It’s like each one hits you a second apart, packing their own punch as you register them. The pulsing music around you fades to a dull roar as you stare at her, seeing the way her lips twitch upward as she realizes she’s right. You are jealous that Soonyoung brought her up here. 

Victra’s grin is all it takes for you to spill over. Before you can register what you’re doing, you’re out of your seat and leaping over the table at her, knocking over glasses and bottles. Wonwoo cheers in delight behind you as your brother catches you by the waist, trying to keep you on your side of the booth as you tear at his hands to get across the booth. 

Seeing the attack of opportunity while you’re subdued, Victra shoots to her feet. Angel is fast as an adder, one moment sitting in Vernon’s lap and the next striking Victra down into the booth, knee planted in her stomach. Vernon does nothing to stop his girlfriend, opting instead to reach for a water bottle, unscrewing it to take a sip as his girlfriend pins Victra down to the seat with little effort. 

Noticing for the first time that their friend is in distress, the two women with Mingyu lift their heads. As soon as one starts to slide from his lap to reach for Angel, you kick a foot out, striking the bucket of alcohol and ice. The bucket goes flying at her, hitting her hard in the face. She screams, crumbling in Mingyu’s lap, cradling her face. 

Mingyu and Soonyoung are on their feet in seconds, soaked from the waist down and trying to gain control of the situation as it spirals. Mingyu becomes a blockade between Victra’s two friends, trying to keep them on their side of the booth. Soonyoung is prying a bottle from a hand before it can make its way toward you, yelling something indecipherable. 

Angel is still pressing her knee deep into Victra’s gut. Victra’s attention has diverted from you entirely as she screams like a wounded animal, pushing and scratching at Angel’s knee to try and get her off. You’re sure it hurts, but Angel doesn’t budge, sinking her weight into it. 

Leaning down, you grab something to lob at them - someone’s shoe - but Seungcheol manages to haul you off your feet and spin you, planting you into the booth behind him. You growl, shoving at his legs to move him out of the way, trying to re-engage. 

“Fucking hell,” he grunts. “Are you fucking juicing? Why are you so strong?”

“It’s the drugs,” Wonwoo offers unhelpfully. “Really top of the line drugs.”

“Shut up, Wonwoo!” Both you and Seungcheol bark at the same time. 

Wonwoo holds up his hands, leaning back into the seat as he watches the mess unfold with a delighted grin. You strike out with your foot, slamming against the booth’s table, shoving it in Soonyoung’s direction. You hear glass shatter as more things fall off the table, clattering to the ground. There are shrieks and curses that you can’t see with Seungcheol blocking the way. 

“He’s a fucking asshole!” You seethe to your brother, panting with rage. 

“He is, and you did exactly what he wanted you to do.” You try to kick the table again but he stops you, grabbing your knee. You feel like you can’t get enough air, sweat slicking your skin and the velvet of the couch too sharp against your flesh. “Soonyoung loves a fight when he’s fucked up. You know that.” 

“Well fuck him!”

He pulls the stick from his mouth, candied stim gone. He tosses it onto the floor and looks over his shoulder where Mingyu and Soonyoung are corralling the three women out of the booth. “God, Angel  broke that girl's rib I think. Hahahha!” 

“I want to break her fucking face!” 

“I think you broke her friend's face. She is fucked up. That bucket hit her right in the eye. What a shot.” 

“If you’re so entertained, why’d you get in my way?”

“There’s a lot of eyes here.” You glance around, noticing other booths looking at you, people ducking toward one another to whisper. “You have an image to maintain.” 

Adjusting your shirt, you settle back into the booth. “Alright. Alright I’m good.”

When Seungcheol moves out of the way to take a seat, Soonyoung replaces him. You glare up at him, feeling your anger curl up in you again. His lips twitch, a hint of a smirk as he sits down next to you, sighing heavily and tilting his head to look up at the flashing lights.

The girls are nowhere to be found. Angel is sitting back down next to Vernon who hasn’t moved, and there are servers picking up the mess you made. Mingyu is notably absent, though you can guess where he’s gone for the night. He’s good at making scorned lovers feel better about their bad luck. 

“Jealousy is crazy on you,” Soonyoung notes, tonguing the inside of his cheek as he glances at you sidelong. “I kind of like it.” 

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” you warn. He laughs, the fight totally leaving him. “I’m serious. Don’t ever do that to me again, Soonyoung. Not to me.” 

“Alright, alright. When you say jump, right?” 

Soonyoung’s fingers brush against yours. Just the rough feeling of his calluses against the tips of your fingers has you shivering, anger replaced with want. He doesn’t take your hand, doesn’t move to do anything else but lean back in silence with your fingers touching. 

Resigned, you say nothing else to him. You’d got what you wanted - sort of - even if you know you made an ass out of yourself doing it. It isn’t the first time he’s made you jealous, but it is the first time it’s boiled over so violently. 

You remind yourself not to do frostbyte when you’re mad anymore.

You turn your attention to where Angel is snorting frostbyte up her nose off of her boyfriend’s phone, accidentally turning on the hologram as she does, her face suddenly caged by green screen data. You call her name gently. She looks up at you, pupils blown, reflecting the lights dancing above like dark glass. “Thanks,” you offer. 

Her grin is too wide, teeth too white. She reminds you of a demon more than she does an angel. “Anytime.” 

When you settle back in, you glance at Soonyoung once. He looks down at you, smirking a single time before he leans into you and rests his head on your shoulder. You feel him melt into you, sighing as his eyes close and he nuzzles a little closer. You put your hand on his thigh, squeezing once before you leave it there, feeling the heat of his skin through his pants.

It isn’t until he’s almost asleep, pressed as close as possible to you that you realize maybe he got what he wanted too. 

-

Rain washes over the black city, the mist turning the thousands of digital and holographic advertisements into a watercolor smear of neon. It smells wet and like rot, the drains overworked and belching water and trash back out into the street as you walk, feet splashing. 

You quickly duck out of the way of a group of rowdy men spilling from a bar. You can smell the drink on them, their feet sloshing in the rising water of the street as they dredge toward the next bar. They whistle at the pretty girls dressed in light up raincoats and flickering green contacts, stumbling toward a brothel instead of the bar. 

Gripping your umbrella tighter, you quicken your steps. Grease smoke drifts toward you from various hawker carts, the sizzle of meat making your stomach growl. You ignore them, knowing you have dinner with your family later as you take a corner and plunge into the darkness of an underground stairwell. 

The LEDs on your umbrella cast a pink light as you descend the stairs, careful not to slip on the caked grime. Two guards stand outside metal double doors, music pulsing faintly behind it. They look you up and down, ready to deny entry until you state your name at the bottom of the steps. 

“ID?” the one on the right asks, giving you a critical eye. 

Of course he doesn't believe you. The daughter of the Tower would never walk anywhere without a body guard, especially in this part of the city. You spin the umbrella, the pink coalescing as he takes the phone from your hand and taps it, blue lighting up his face when your ID and profile appear in holographic data above the screen. 

He clears his throat and bows at the waist. When his counterpart doesn’t, he smacks him hard on the back, making the man lean over. “Apologies, Miss Choi. Right this way.” 

Music hits you full on when the doors open, the base creating static in the air. You cringe as it vibrates through your ribcage and teeth, wondering how anyone could stand to be in a club this loud. Popping the umbrella shut, you let your eyes adjust while one security guard remains at the door, shutting it behind you, and the other hands you your ID.

“Should I escort you to the office, Miss?” 

Writhing bodies dance together, scintillating like snakes in a pit. Above them, lasers and holograms light up the world with flashes of colors you didn’t even know existed. A wide bar stretches to the left of the floor, lit up by soft cyan lights. Behind it, the bartenders move in a blur, the glow on their clothes turning them ethereal. 

You glance at the security guard, who waits patiently before shaking your head. You point to the space above the bar where there are two large, mirrored windows looking out into the club. “Up there?”

“Yes,” he answers, hesitating. “Let me escort you.” 

With a roll of your eyes you nod, gesturing to him to lead the way. He clears a path, clubbers and workers alike moving out of his way when he shoves them. You walk behind him, swinging your head from side-to-side as you look at the people, fascinated. 

People with spikes pierced in their skin and whorling tattoos with glow ink stare back at you, glowing contact lenses and gemmed teeth all taking you in. You rarely get to mix in with the crowd that partakes in more unique cosmetic alterations and fashion, fascinated by someone who walks by with red glowing face tattoos like a demon mask. 

At the foot of the stairs, the guard lets you walk up first. It’s clear of people, so he remains standing at the bottom, taking up an imposing position with his hands linked in front of him, blocking the stairway entirely. 

The thud of music vibrates through your boots as you climb the stairs, greeting another security guard. You can tell he’s already been warned you’re here - he bows immediately and keys in the pad at the door, opening the office for you. 

You pass by him airily, stepping into the dry and much cooler office. The door closes behind you, immediately cutting off the sound with high–tech sound proofing. Soonyoung is leaning against the bar, his back to the door as he watches out the windows, a glass in his hand. 

“What in the fuck are you doing?” he asks, tossing you a look over his shoulder. You grin, skipping over to him. He doesn’t grin back, looking you up and down as you join him. You reach for the decanter he’s drinking from but he smacks your hand, viper fast. “Not a chance.”

“What? Why not?”

“You shouldn’t be here, much less without a security team. The Tower will be livid.” 

“The Tower doesn’t have to know.”

Soonyoung’s jaw flexes. “The security team will tell him you were here.”

“Not if you tell them not to.”

“Baby,” he sighs, tilting his head up and closing his eyes. You lean against the bar, watching him. The lights from the club are dimmer in here, but they flash against his face, painting him in golden light. He’s beautiful. “What are you doing here?”

“Angel said you had a bad day.”

“I always have a bad day. And tell Angel to shut her mouth.”

You snort. “You tell her that.”

That gets a grin out of him. He lowers his head, dark gaze finding yours. “You can’t just walk around the Lower City without a personal guard, Baby.”

“I’m not helpless.”

“I know you’re not. I’m not either but people try to rob me all the time. You, on the other hand, are a lot prettier of a prize than I am.” 

“So you think I’m pretty?”

This time when Soonyoung sighs, it’s affectionate. He sips his glass of amber liquid, turning to watch the crowd outside the office. He holds out his glass to you, a concession. You grin further, accepting it from him and bring it up to your nose to smell. You don’t know anything about liquor, but from the spiced scent you can tell it’s good quality.

You take a tiny sip. It goes down smooth - strong, but good and warm. Instead of giving him the glass back, you cradle it to your chest, leaning against the bar next to him close enough that your arms are almost touching. He continues looking out at the crowd, keen eyes serious and back to work while you look at him. 

Soonyoung is beautiful. His side profile is lethal, the slope of his neck elegant, the curve of his jaw sharp but delicate, his high cheekbones catching the light. His eyes are dark pools, reflecting the snatches of light that come through the dark windows. 

“Did you come here to stare at me?” he asks, never taking his eyes off the crowd. 

“What if I said I did?” 

His mouth twitches at the corner. “Unfortunately I would believe you.”

Watching over clubs isn’t usually Soonyoung’s job. But this club is in a terrible part of the city and isn’t worth much to the Choi Syndicate, so sometimes he’s awarded the opportunity to prove himself to your father and to the elders of the Syndicate that he’s competent and capable of leadership, despite the fact you’ve always known him to be. 

Soonyoung isn’t meant for leading like Seungcheol. But there is a certain level of loyalty and understanding he has to cultivate with the heavies of the family, the Swords who carry out the bloody tasks of removing people from the way and keeping assets safe. His father had been the Sentinel of your family for years until his death, and Soonyoung is expected to pick up that mantle.

This is all a part of that. Soonyoung already has the loyalty of the security team running this hole in the wall, alerting him the second you arrived and refusing to let you go up the stairs alone. Had they failed to do that, you might think a little less of them. 

Soonyoung also probably would have had them beaten. 

Finally, Soonyoung turns to look at you. He sighs and raises his brows expectantly. 

“What?” you ask. 

“What did you come here for? Real answer, this time.” 

“I told you. Angel said you had a bad day. That is my real answer.”

“And?”

You shrug, sipping from the glass and turning toward the windows. “I wanted to make it a better one.” 

That makes him go silent. You can see him turn to look at you, his stormy gaze pinning you to the spot. You don’t look at him, letting him stare as you nurse the drink and watch the dancing crowd down below. They’re beautiful, in a way, an ocean of bodies saying as colors turn them blue and then green and then bright red and then lavender. 

Soonyoung leans toward you, bumping his head on yours lightly. That gets a laugh out of you, stomach fluttering and wishing he would stay leaned against you. He pulls away though, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his eyes back to his job. 

“Thank you,” he finally says, voice quiet. “It is already a better day.” 

The silence is comfortable. You eventually give him the drink back and he takes it, tongue darting out to lick the lip gloss you left. He hums. “Cherries.” 

“You’re gross.” 

He smiles into the glass, taking a sip. “I actually have something for you.” 

“A present?”

He snorts. “Not exactly. Go to the desk - top drawer on the right.” 

Eagerly, you do as he says. The heavy wooden desk sits in the back of the room, imposing even without the metal lockers behind it with weapons. You ignore the heavy guns under padlocks and go for the drawer in question. 

A rectangular box is in the drawer Soonyoung specified, unmarked. You turn it over in your hands, curious. It’s not very heavy and fits mostly in your palm. 

“Bring it over here.” 

You do, trailing back to Soonyoung. He extends his hand and you pass it over to him, watching with interest as he cracks the box open with the sheer strength of his fingers. He pulls out a small device, a wire and what looks to be a plug, tossing the box to the bar. 

“Do you know what this is?” he asks, holding up the device. 

It’s a small rectangle with a keypad and a screen. You raise your brows in surprise. “It is a very old phone.” 

“It is.” He smiles, pleased with your answer. He passes the materials over to you and you hold them against your chest. “That’s the charger and the charging cord. It’s one of the old kinds of phones that requires a phone tower. There are barely any in the city.” 

“And what is this gift for?” 

“I own the phone towers that support it.” You raise your brows. Soonyoung rarely spends the inheritance his parents left behind, so you’re surprised. “It only has a single phone number programmed into it that will call the one I have.”

At this, he reaches into his pocket and produces the phone’s twin. He shakes it for emphasis, pressing a button and lighting up the screen. “You have to make sure to keep it charged. I want you to have it for emergencies only. And I mean emergencies, Baby. This is a last resort kind of device, alright?” 

You chew your bottom lip, dragging your eyes to look up at him. “Why?” 

“Because I need to know that you always have a last resort.” His gaze darkens. “Clearly your assigned security team lets you give them the slip. I need to know that you can hit the dial on this faster than you can on our phones. They’re overly complicated and not quick. With this?” 

He reaches over and turns on the phone in your hand. Once booted, he presses the one button. The device in his hand starts ringing. “Direct and fast access to me at all times. Do it even if you can’t tell me where you are. I’ll find you.” 

Emotion twists your throat. You grip the phone with a vice grip, looking up at him with wide eyes. His face is serious. He slips his phone in his pocket, turning back to do his job. “I will answer,” he promises. “It doesn’t matter when and where. I will answer that phone even if I’m dying. Do you understand?” 

“Yes.”

He nods. “Good.”

-

A knock on your door wakes you up from a dreamless sleep. Darkness spills across your room like ink as you slip from your bed, cursing when you kick the corner of your nightstand. With a raspy voice, you ask the automated room assistant to turn on the nightlights, a hazy purple immediately lighting the circumference of your room.

Squinting against the lavender glow, you pad over your room to open the door. Soonyoung is leaning heavily against the wall just beyond the threshold, his chin tucked to his chest and his hair sweaty and clinging to his temples. 

He doesn’t move when you open the door, the lilac light casting an eerie radiance on the side of his face. It’s hard to make out his expression in the lurking shadow of the hallway, and he offers no explanation for why he’s knocking on your door at three in the morning. 

“Soonyoung?” you whisper, eyes darting down the hall. No one else is around. “Where are Cheol and Vernon?”

“S’cheol is still working. Vernon went to stay at Angel’s.”

“Are you - Soonyoung are you drunk? Or high?”

“Yeah.” 

Both you realize. You can deal with both. 

Grabbing him by the hand, you tug him gently. He pushes off the wall with heavy steps, stumbling through your open door and into the room. You grip him tighter, shutting your door with a gentle click before turning around to face him. 

Soonyoung won’t look at you, turning his face away as he sways a little where he stands. Now that you can see him fully, you realize that there is blood on the collar of his shirt. Heart thudding, your hands reach for it, peeling it back to look at his neck. Specs of dry crimson flake from sweaty skin, making your terror reach new heights. 

He shrugs you off. “Not mine.” 

“I - what’s going on?” 

Instead of answering you, he walks a few crooked steps toward your bed and sits down on the edge. Licking your lips, you approach him slowly. He’s slouched over, elbows pressed to his knees as his head hangs heavily. He still hasn’t looked at you properly and you’re aching to see his eyes. You can always understand him better when you see his eyes, able to read the depth of emotions hiding beneath his mask.

When you reach him, you crouch down. Instead of grabbing for him again and risking him pulling away, you rest your hands on top of your knees. When afraid or upset, Soonyoung is like a cornered animal. You don’t know whether he’s in fight or flight, both just as dangerous as the next. 

“Soonyoung,” you say again gently. You watch his every move. “You’re scaring me. Do you need me to call Cheol or Vernon?”

If Seungcheol is working the circuit, he isn’t the best to call. Late night circuits include going from club to club under the Choi banner to monitor the drug trafficking and attend small business meetings as appropriate. Seungcheol will drop whatever he’s doing for you in a heartbeat, but it’s more complicated than that. 

In theory, Vernon is easier to get a hold of. He’s already off work and though he might not answer his phone if you call, you know his girlfriend will. Plus, the blood on Soonyoung’s shirt and skin can give you a guess at what’s happened, and Vernon is more equipped for that type of thing than you are. 

“Let me call Vernon-”

“No,” he finally says. “No. Sorry. I just.”��

Your chest squeezes in pain. It’s like you can feel the torture radiating through him, feel the weight of whatever it is that’s dragging him down yourself. Desperation drives you to reach out toward him slowly, watching for any sign of startling him. When he doesn’t move to pull away, you touch him gently, squeezing his knee gently. “What do you need?” 

“My dad always said I should feel something.” His words are halting, coming out slurred. You wait, holding your breath as he works through them. “Always said that you should feel something when you kill someone. If you don’t, it means you’re nothing more than a beast with base instincts. Not intelligent or refined.”

It takes everything in you not to let your grip turn to steel at his words. Instead, you rub your hand up and down his thigh soothingly, saying nothing. Soonyoung has never killed someone before. You would know if he had. He’s the last in your immediate circle of friends beside yourself to take on the weight of stealing life, and you’ve dreaded this day for a long time. 

Murder is an inevitability in your family. Keeping the Choi Syndicate on top requires sacrifice, cruelty and cunning. Soonyoung had started serving as an officially ranked member of the Syndicate over a year ago, and though he had fucked up a lot of people and brought them to the brink of death, he hadn’t actually done it yet. 

“I felt nothing,” he whispers, voice thick. “Fucking nothing.” 

“What do you mean?”

“There was no guilt. I didn’t even flinch. It was so easy, like fucking breathing. That’s not what my dad wanted me to be. He always said that those who felt nothing were just… baser creatures. That we were better because we were… made better.” 

“I think your dad wanted a lot of things. You being alive was the most important of those things, Soonyoung.” 

“I’m just tired of feeling fucking empty. I don’t give a shit that I killed someone, Baby. Honestly? I was fucking looking forward to it. I thought maybe - just maybe - I would feel something, even if it was guilt or horror or satisfaction. There was nothing.” 

You have no idea what to say. Instead of words, you surge forward, letting go of Soonyoung’s knee to push yourself between his thighs, wrapping your arms around his middle. He flinches for a moment, arms hanging dead at his side as you press your cheek to his chest, squeezing. 

Inside, you feel your heart crack open. You shove down the overwhelming sense of despair on his behalf, instead focused on him. There’s nothing to say with words, and you hope he can feel what you’re trying to tell him through touch, that he can feel everything you don’t know how to say as you hold him tight, clinging to him. 

Slowly, his arms encircle you. It takes him a moment, but he applies a little pressure back. It makes you scoot in more, pressed as close as you can get to him. He buries his face in your neck, his breaths warm and smelling like tequila. He smells like him too, vanilla and sandalwood. 

“I don’t feel like a person sometimes,” he whispers. “It’s like the ability for me to feel anything died forever ago. Like I killed it so that I didn’t ever have to hurt again. Now I only ever feel when-”

He cuts himself off and sinks into you a little more. You bear his weight, willing to carry any burden for him. You don’t think he realizes that he could ask you to jump and you’d say how high. You’ve always been willing to jump for him, always willing to do whatever he wants, whatever he needs. 

Gently, you ask, “You only ever feel when what? You can tell me if you want. Whatever you need.” 

“I feel when I’m with you.” Soonyoung whispers it like it’s a secret he doesn’t want you to hear. You feel the words hit your skin where he speaks them, a shiver slithering through you. His grip on you tightens a little with the admission, like now that he’s said it, he can’t let go. Won’t. “I feel most like a person when I’m with you.”

Pressing the flat of your hand to his back, you begin to stroke up and down slowly, touch following the careful ridges of his spine. He sighs, shivering in your hold. You want nothing more than to take the pain or whatever he’s feeling away, to rip it from him and to destroy it. 

The fierceness of your love for him is hard to tamp down. A fiery admission of your feelings for him isn’t what he needs right now. You know Soonyoung like the inside of your own soul, everything that makes him tick, every habit he’s picked up over the years. You can sense him standing lost at sea, needing an anchor. Needing you. 

“Okay,” you say softly. “So stay with me. Be a person with me.”

“I’m not made for you.”

“Yes you are.” Your nails dig into his back through his shirt, pressing sharply. The desire to covet him is so intense it overtakes you. “If I make you a person, then how could we be made for anyone but one another?” 

Silence greets your logic. You stay holding him like that, desperate to keep him there, terrified he’ll shrug you off and get up. He’s done it before, shucking off your affection like something to be disposed of. And still you give it to him freely, begging him to take it. 

He doesn’t shy away from you. Instead you feel him nod, mouth brushing tenderly across your throat in the ghost of a kiss. “If I stay right now, you will never get me to leave. Do you understand? I won’t… I will be incapable of ever letting you go. Ever. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

You hug him tighter. “Try to leave me at your own peril, Kwon Soonyoung.” 

-

“Where’s your other half?” the voice causes you to turn from where you lean against the bar. Angel slides up next to you, cocking her head as she does. She looks like a wraith, dressed in a rain slicker over black long-sleeved shirt that’s tucked into black pants. Her jacket and combat boots are wet, suggesting it’s still raining outside. “You’re usually attached at the hip. My therapist calls that codependency. Says Hansol and I have it too.” 

“Does your therapist also know you’re a murderer?” you mutter. The bartender slides drinks over to you and you nod in thanks. “Or that you’re only seeing her because Jeonghan made a bet with you? Or that your job often involves extortion? What does she think about that?” 

As a Rook of the Choi Syndicate, Angel’s job is a far cry from the holy nickname she’s sported since she was a child. Like Vernon, her role within your father’s empire is to collect debts owed to the Choi family and to remind them never to fall behind on payments. Other times, she’s simply used as a good tool to put the fear of god into enemies of the Choi family, and she’s good at it.

Raised under the careful tutelage of the Yoon family, there’s no weakness Angel can’t find and use. The only one better at it than her is her step brother, who is probably sitting next to your brother behind closed doors somewhere in the Choi Estate holding a meeting.

As Seungcheol’s future second in command, it’s Jeonghan’s responsibility to learn the ropes just like your brother. One day, it’ll be the two of them leading your family, a thought that makes you cringe with worry. 

Angel answers your question with a shrug. “I’m sure she knows I’m into some shit. I’m learning all kinds of new things about myself.” 

“Oh yeah? Like what?” 

“I don’t like therapy. And I kind of want to ask my therapist why she thinks she’s qualified for therapy when she’s fucking three of her clients.”

A snort escapes you as you shake your head. Of course Angel knows that about her own therapist. Lifting the two drinks on the bar, you drift away from her, eyes flicking over the Rook. “Stay out of trouble, Angel. And give Vernon my love.” 

She grins, wicked sharp and deadly. “No bar fights, hmm? Enjoy the party.” 

The party in question is exhausting. You’ve been playing pretty princess all night, saying hello to all of the right people, shaking all of the jeweled hands, kissing all of the right asses. You’re exhausted and the tension in your shoulder has been knotting further and further. 

Once upon a time you would have been thankful to at least not be Seungcheol. He shouldered a lot more responsibility. Now you’ve realized that you don’t shoulder less than him - it’s just different. If Seungcheol is the sword and shield of the Syndicate, you’re the face and smile. Galas, charities, celebrity events - it’s a never ending stream of smile, pose, shake hands. 

It doesn’t hide the fact that you sit on a throne that belongs to a criminal empire, of course. But it’s also no secret that the Three Syndicates run the city. Your family has long been one of the stalwart backbones of the government and city infrastructure. Only the Kim family and the Yong family come close. 

Still, appearances are everything. Especially when the Yong family owns most of the media outlets, weaponizing it against the Choi Syndicate every chance they get. You make it harder for them, using your appearances and platforms like a carefully wielded sword. 

Spotting Soonyoung among those dressed in dark security uniforms is easy. He nearly blends in with the dark pipe and drape that has been set up all over the ballroom of your home, but you could find him anywhere, your internal compass pointing to him even in the dark.

Soonyoung’s eyes alight on you, sharp and intense. His face is a cool mask of indifference, but you can see the way interest sparks in his eyes as he drinks you in. He’s already seen you in your dress tonight, but it doesn’t stop him from refamiliarizing himself, eyes tracing every dip and curve.

God you wish you were somewhere else with him. Specifically wrapped in the gray sheets of his bed, sweat-slicked and out of breath. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” you say shyly, handing him a drink.

He takes it and looks up at you, arching a brow. “I can’t drink this, I’m working.” 

“It’s just soda with lime, the way you like it.” 

His lips twitch in a smile as he takes a sip, nodding in confirmation. He doesn’t reach out to you and hold you close like you know he wants to, respecting the propriety of his position and the fact that he is on the clock right now. 

“You look tired,” he murmurs, eyes studying your face. 

So does he. As an official Sword of the Choi family, his job keeps him out late, bloodied, and tired. He’s completely changed from the man who sank into your arms that first night he killed someone, hardened into someone that your father sends to do just that often. 

A weapon. A Sword. A trusted knife in the dark for the Choi family.

You think Soonyoung is more capable than being a heavy for your dad and his associates. Soonyoung is intelligent and sharp, having gained perspective and a wealth of knowledge from living with your family. Still, his dad had been the leader of the hired guns for the Choi Syndicate. Soonyoung is an efficient killer, his fate bound by his father long ago.

“When are you off tonight?” you ask instead of telling him how tired he looks.

“I’m not.” You frown. He sips his drink again and gives you a soft smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s been busy. The Yong family are getting in our way at the docks. I gotta head down there with Vernon and Jeonghan after the party.” 

“The Yongs are doing it outright?” 

“No. We’re pretty confident it’s them though. Jeonghan is working on it. If we can bring the Xu family under our wing, it would be a lot easier to push them out.” 

“They have a son,” you note, thinking about the last event you attended where the Xu heir was in attendance. “Maybe marriage to one of our big hitters? Nexus Capital has an heiress.”

“I’ll mention it to Jeonghan. Who the fuck would want an arranged marriage, though?”

“Not me,” you laugh, wiping the eyelash you spot on his cheek gently. He gives you a tired, albeit affectionate smile. “You’ve been working nonstop. Tell Seungcheol you need a night off.”

“We both know it’s not Seungcheol working me to the bone, Baby.” 

Swallowing thickly, you turn away from him under the guise of scanning the crowd. You know you don’t fool him. Both you and Soongyoung know your father does not approve of your relationship, taking it out on Soonyoung to keep him busy and away from you. 

Your father would never hurt Soonyoung directly. You know that. He loves him like a son - sees his late best friend in the features of the man that Soonyoung has been shaped into under his care and tutelage. When you started dating Soonyoung seriously, you thought your parents might be happy. They adore him and they loved his parents just as much. 

Soonyoung is below your station, though. 

Your father will never say it outright. He wouldn’t insult his late friend’s son that way. But the way your father works Soonyoung harder than anyone else, holding him to a standard he doesn’t even keep for his highest level of men, you realize how deep the dissatisfaction goes. Even your mother’s adoration of Soonyoung does little to shield him from the petty assignments, try as she might. 

Still, you don’t care. And at the end of the day, neither does Soonyoung. As long as he gets to have you, he’s willing to put up with the petty assignments and the working late. 

“Hey,” Soonyoung says gently, bringing your attention back to him. He finishes his drink and sets it on a banquet table nearby. His eyes are averted, looking somewhere across the room as his hand slips around your waist to squeeze you quickly and press a kiss to your temple. “I’ve got to go - I’ve got a meeting with Vernon before we head out tonight. I’ll see you when I’m done. Probably won’t be until late morning.” 

“Alright,” You sigh. His hand slips from your waist and you wish you could pull him back to you. “Love you.” 

He grins brightly, giving you a wink before he melts into the crowd, weaving around party goers. Your heart squeezes when you lose sight of him. 

Someone clearing their throat catches your attention. You spin around to see Lan, one of your father’s personal Swords nodding politely at you. “Your father wishes to see you in the West Parlor. I’m to escort you.”

“Oh. Sure.” You set your drink down on the banquet table, wiping your damp hands on your dress. “Lead the way.” 

People bow their heads in respect as you go. You keep an even pace with Lan, which is hard to do with his long strides and your strappy heels digging into your ankles. He slows for your benefit and you give him a grateful smile, the swelling noise from the party leaving you behind as you step out of the ballroom and walk toward the west wing of the house. 

Some people mill about the halls of the estate. You can spot the members of the Syndicate who are on duty, mostly Swords that belong to the security force employed under the Choi family. You spot Chan leaning against a wall while gesturing broadly with his hands as he speaks to the owner of a new club on the edge of the Pearl District. When he catches your stare, Chan winks before focusing his attention back on the owner. Probably trying to work out some sort of deal or partnership, as is his job. 

The west wing of the house is quiet and off limits to the rest of the party. Your bedroom is just up two flights of stairs, your bed calling your name as you pass under the stairwell into the hallway that belongs to the West Parlor, the library, the study and your father’s billiards room. 

Old Man Vero is standing outside your fathers study, his hands linked in front of him and his head straight forward. He glances your way as Lan leans you toward the door, cracking a bit of a smile on his leathery face and giving you a wink. You grin, lightly reaching out and touching his elbow as Lan opens the door for you. Your father’s Swords have been in your life since you were a child, permanent figures of fixed loyalty and familiarity. 

They love you like they love your father, like they love your brother. It isn’t pure fear and power that keeps the Choi Syndicate together. Your father has plenty of that among the ranks, but the loyalty and love between him and his higher ranking members is real. Critical. It was a skill he taught you and Seungcheol, both of you arming yourself with your own shield of friends and confidants. 

Your father sits in a leather armchair, leaned back with his eyes closed. Next to him, a cigar smokes in the ashtray, threatening to go out as the thin wisps of smoke vanish into the air. An old fashioned record player echoes in the far corner of the room, smoothe notes vibrating through the air. 

“Tower,” you greet him formally, bowing at the waist. “How can I be of service to the family?” 

His eyes flutter open and he looks at you tiredly. He looks so much like your brother that it’s uncanny, sometimes. But his youth has worn off, his age more and more evident these days as he spreads himself thin expanding the Choi empire. Your mother has asked him - begged him - to give more responsibility to Seungcheol, but he refuses.

At least you know where your stubborn streak comes from. 

“So formal,” he notes, his lips twitching upward. He gestured for you to sit in one of the arm chairs. You do, smoothing your dress carefully as you sit. Behind you, Lan exits the room, the soft click of the door behind you. “You were always a better student than your brother.”

“That’s because he’s a man.”

A hearty laugh makes you grin, feeling a flutter of fondness. He was never an overly affectionate father, but he’s always been kind, though firm. You respect him, which is saying something in your world.

“Spoken like an intelligent woman,” he sighs. You wait patiently, watching as he seems to gather his words. Your stomach knots, sensing a trepidation about him that you’re not used to. “Your intelligence has always been your best asset, though you’re a little hot-headed like your brother.” 

“Steadfast is the mountain,” you say, quoting the Choi family motto.

He grins and adds your mother’s family moniker, “But the fire does burn. I knew marrying your mother was a good choice. Marrying the right person is paramount in this life. Family unions can make or break an empire, and they forge old alliances anew or secure new alliances.” 

A prickle down your spine makes you sit straighter. You had implied as much earlier to Soonyoung about the Xu family, knowing marriage was a viable option to bring the shipping mogul into the Choi empire. Now, though, the notion has you on edge, watching him like a frightened cat.

“I didn’t pick your mother, you know,” he muses, his eyes unfocusing somewhere far away. “But when my father recommended her, I knew he was right. I was familiar with her, of course. We went to school together. Fought like cats, but she was so intelligent and fierce.” 

You’ve heard this story before. Your father hadn’t loved her to start, but your mother had loved him right away. Had always known that she loved him. She’d shown up at one of his billiard nights and told him exactly how she felt, asserting that they would be married and that he would be loyal to her. 

He’d fallen in love with her that night. 

He sighs heavily. “I see a lot of your mother in you.”

“Don’t let her hear you sound so disappointed. She might be offended.”

“She’s better than me,” he says. His eyes focus on you, flicking back to appraise you. Sweat slicks on your back and only years of training keep you from not fidgeting under his weighty gaze. “But it would be easier sometimes if you were more like me. Less fire, more mountain. Still, you are rational, so let us speak plainly: you are going to marry the Kim family heir.” 

Silence hangs in the air. You stare at him, your brain taking a moment to catch up with his words. It’s like you’re moving in slow motion, processing the firmness in his voice, the way he looks at you with heavy countenance. 

You are going to marry the Kim family heir.

A high-pitched ringing starts in your ears and you feel the buzz of panic start to tingle at the base of your spine. Your fingers dig into the arms of your chair a little, trying to fight the staccato rhythm of your heart from getting out of control. 

“What?” you ask. It feels dumb, compared to the eloquence you’re capable of. 

“Kim Yijun is a perfect match,” he says simply. “He’s in line to inherit the Kim Syndicate. There is tension with the Yong family, and I will not lie to you: they have a far larger reach than we would like. They don’t do things the old way like the Choi and Kim families. They have started to ally themselves with the Arash family in Veridian, giving them cuts and room in our city to spread their reach outside the bounds of their own city.” 

“I don’t understand.”

“The Kim and Choi families have been united before. They’ve always been our first ally in times of city upheaval and Syndicate war, and they, like us, don’t believe in letting outsiders have a seat at the table. The Yong family don’t understand that, and are willing to let vermin have scraps if it means scooting us out.”

“I’m-” you shake your head. “You can’t ask that of me.”

“I’m not asking.” He reaches for a lighter and picks up the cigar. He takes a moment to relight it, taking his focus off of you. You feel your pulse spiking, your grip on the chair like iron. “I am telling you that this is what your future will be. I understand you like the Kwon boy, but-”

You sneer, baring your teeth. “The Kwon boy? Don’t reduce him to some stranger. Soonyoung grew up in this house, he is family. And I don’t just like him, I love him. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you bullying him because you’re frustrated that I love him. You love him too.” 

“I do. I love him like my own. But he is not for you.”

“He is. I will not marry Yijun. I am asking you not as a member of this Syndicate, but as your daughter to drop this machination from your plans. I am your blood, you cannot ask this of me.”

“I told you, I am not asking. I am telling you.” 

A tremor starts in your hands. Your heart races so fast that you feel sick, sweat slicking your skin as you begin to pant sharply. The ringing in your ears grows until you feel disconnected to it, like suddenly you’re living in third person. You’re aware that you’re hyperventilating and yet, suddenly it’s separate from you.

Standing abruptly, you feel the world tilt. You take a second to steady yourself, feeling the numb tingle spread throughout you like a flood. 

“Sit down,” your father demands. You hear the warning. Recognize the firmness in it. This is the Tower of the Choi Syndicate speaking, not your father. 

“Take this as my resignation from the family,” you tell him. Your voice doesn’t feel like your own, steady and without inflection. “I’ll renounce my inheritance and will not use the Choi family for any connection or advantages-”

“You will not!” 

His voice startles you. Lures you away from the safety of your detachment. You look at him, eyes wide and shaking. His hand is fisted on the armchair, his rage crackling around him like a thunderstorm. “I will not have my only daughter sabotage everything this family has built for the affection of someone unfit for her station. Kwon Soonyoung is a weapon meant to serve you. You will marry Kim Yijun or I will remove the obstacle altogether.” 

Your entire life there have been two versions of your father. The stoic leader of one of the oldest criminal empires in Hyperion, the vicious man who could be cold and calculating, and who was reverently feared by his enemies. The kind father who watched you and Seungcheol study math together, carefully explaining to you how to carry numbers over in the equation. 

It is the former who sits before you now. Someone entirely unfamiliar to you, though you’ve always known he existed. And why would you? Your father has never had to be ruthless with you before, hiding the way he could cut from you until it was necessary. 

Soonyoung knew. You know it with absolute clarity. You remember the fear in his eyes when you had slipped into his room that night asking for a kiss, the way that he is always so careful about when and where he touches you, the way he takes the assignments and the mistreatment without so much as a protest because it means he gets to have you.

“You would kill him?” you whisper, looking your father in the eye. “You promised to take him in when his family was murdered. He had no one, and you promised his father you’d raise him as your own. You would go back on that?” 

He scowls. “If his father knew what he was, he’d kill Soonyoung himself. That boy is a dog to be set upon whoever his owner wishes, who kills with impunity.” You say nothing. I don’t feel like a person. Soonyoung’s words echo in your mind, haunting. “I hold the collar and I will put him down, if need be.” 

“So you raised a pet to be disposed of at your convenience?”

“I raised a boy who should be grateful I haven’t put him in the fucking ground for sullying my only daughter. I let you two have time, and you should be grateful. It is my love for him that has stayed my hand this long. No more. You will marry Kim Yijun, or you will bury that boy. This is the command of your Tower.”

“Mother will not let you-”

“Your mother doesn’t let me do anything. I am the Tower of this family, and it does what I command. You will fall in line.” 

Tears spill from your eyes. You suddenly feel like you’re standing on a cliff, the vertigo of nothingness at the bottom making you sick with fear. Desperation grips at you as you stare at your father, willing him to change his mind. Begging him. 

His pity doesn’t come. There is only resolute silence, watching as you crumple in front of him, knees going weak as you abruptly sit - fall - on the floor. You bury your face in your hands, grief for something lost stealing your ability to maintain control before you’ve even given an answer. 

I’m not made for you. 

Soonyoung had tried to tell you a long time ago and you’d brushed him off. Of course he was made for you. He was all you’ve ever wanted, and you’ve always been given what you wanted. You made him whole, and he you. How could you not be made for one another. 

“Please don’t do this to me. Daddy,” you whisper, trying to appeal to him with the little girl he loves. “Please, I love him.” 

“Lan will escort you to your room.” You ignore his words, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes, willing the tears to stop. You know later you’ll feel pathetic for the display of emotion, for the meltdown in the face of adversity. “You will announce your engagement at the end of the week.”

“Yes, Tower.”

“If you so much as remotely try to sneak around with him, I will put him in the ground and bear the weight of that grief for eternity.” 

“Yes, Tower.”

“Know that I love you. We must make sacrifices for this family we wish not to. But you will make the sacrifice like I have so many times before. So will Soonyoung.” 

You stand, limbs shaky as you look at your father, the heat of your mother’s rage fueling your gaze. “Yes, Tower.”

-

Sleep claws at you with greedy fingers, unwilling to give you up to the waking light of day. You groan, suspended in that moment of almost awake but achingly unaware. A brush of warm skin on your arm pulls you the rest of the way from heavy sleep, your thoughts sticky as they formulate and you open your eyes, squinting in the gray light of your room. 

Squinting at the clock displayed on your nightstand, you realize it’s late morning. The tinted windows of your room keep out the sunlight, but a single panel has been adjusted to let some of the cloudy day in, a single shaft of gray spilling into your room like muddy water. 

Warmth presses behind your back, the steady touch on your arm trailing up and down. For a second, you lean back into it, feeling your head thud against Soonyoung’s chest, his mouth pressing against the crown of your head. He drags his fingers up and down your arm absently, light as a feather. He smells like soap, a hint of his familiar vanilla and sandalwood. 

“Have trouble sleeping?” the words are mumbled against you. 

“Hmm?”

“There’s lines of crushed knockout on your nightstand, Baby.” 

You look at the nightstand. Sure enough, the white pills you crushed are dusted across the surface. The reality of why you used them slams into you so suddenly that you stiffen, muscles locking.

Soonyoung notices immediately, his touch stilling. “What?”

Finding the words is impossible. You don’t know where to start, your father’s words make you dizzy. The sheets stick to your skin, Soonyoung’s warmth too hot to stand. You scramble from bed, kicking at the sheets and putting distance between you as you bolt toward the bathroom. 

“Hey,” he calls after you. You don’t turn to look at him, the cool tile giving you goosebump as the lights flicker on. You close the door behind you firmly, pressing your back against it. Soonyoung’s knocks are immediate, his voice calling your name on the other side. “What’s wrong?” 

The use of your name sours your stomach. You lurch forward, diving for the toilet as the contents of your stomach empty. The bile burns, your eyes watering as you press against the cold porcelain, clinging to it for life. 

Soonyoung opens the door, letting himself in as you heave again. He’s quick to react, opening the medicine cabinet to remove an anti-nausea inhalent. He wordlessly pads over to you, crouching down to extend it toward you. 

You avoid looking at him directly in the eye as you snatch it from him. His brows are pinched in concern, face swollen with what little sleep he got and mouth turned downward. Your stomach roils again but holds as you crack the inhalent and wave it under your nose, breathing in gently. 

The stimulant makes your eyes water, but immediately the churning in your stomach subsides. You close your eyes for a moment, breathing in and out slowly, trying to regulate yourself. Soonyoung watches in silence, his hands opening and closing at his sides like he wants to reach out and touch you but doesn’t. 

When you open your eyes, there is so much love and concern on his face that you almost break right then and there. Instead, you clear your throat and straighten, tossing the medication in the trash.

“Thanks, just hungover. I need to shower.”

He looks doubtful. “Alright.”

Soonyoung stands, heading to the shower. You clear your throat and he pauses, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Alone, please.” 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just want to shower.” 

He says your name again. Not Baby. Not any other derivative. Your name. “You can talk to me.”

Your heart cracks. You panic. Your brain races for the only viable option. “I just want to take a fucking shower, Soonyoung.” You push yourself off the ground, scowling at him. He moves out of your way as you pass him, stunned to silence. “I don’t need you crowding my space every five seconds.” 

Refusing to look at him as you hit the panel in the wall, you instead focus on the water that falls from the ceiling, a storm of heat and the smell of peppermint. You keep your back turned toward him, staring at the water as it heats, steam curling in tendrils where it hits the stone tiles. 

“You can go,” you say sharply. 

“Alright.” 

The gentle click of the door when he leaves is barely audible over the hum of the shower. You let the rushing water lull you into a state of numbness, peeling your clothes off with unsteady, mechanical movements. 

Hot water slicks off your shoulders. You close your eyes and hang your head, letting the feel of the peppering water sluice over your ears, eyes, nose, mouth. You let it blind your senses to nothing but the roar of water, blotting out everything else. 

If I stay right now, you will never get me to leave. 

You remember when Soonyoung whispered it against your skin just a few years ago, spoken carefully and clearly, a promise and a warning. He would never let you go. You had to let him go. Telling him what your father has asked of you - has threatened to take away from you - will only make Soonyoung’s feet dig in further.

For as long as you’ve known him, Soonyoung has been a covetous creature. You remember the night at the club he antagonized you just to see that spark of want, just to prove to himself it was him you wanted. You remember the way he clung to you in the dark of your bedroom, the only person who could ever make him whole. Who could make him feel. 

Your father sees Soonyoung as a loyal attack dog - but it isn’t the Tower of the Choi Syndicate who holds Soonyoung’s collar. It never has been. Soonyoung has never asked your father how high. 

Pressing your palms to your eyes, you start deep breathing exercises. In through your nose, out through your mouth. The shaking in your fingers begins to subside, the logic part of your brain turning on. 

The threat on Soonyoung’s life is real. You saw the resolve in your father’s eye, the painful glint. He would hate to do it, but he would do it. You’re entwined too deep into your family’s affairs and business to vanish. There is nothing in the world you have that’s your own, no assets that are not connected to them in some way.

And if you tell Soonyoung, he’ll face the problem like he does everything that stands in his way: try to kill it. 

For a split moment, your brain chases the thought like a mouse after cheese. Like a long math problem, you work out if it’s possible to commit patricide and get away with it. Your mother will never forgive you, but Seungcheol might. Your friends would - they’re loyal to you, especially Jeonghan and Angel. 

The older generation, though- 

You toss aside the thought almost as quickly as you thought of it - not because you don’t want to kill your father, but because it isn’t possible. Not just like that. There are too many pieces on the chessboard, too many domino effects spreading out in every direction if you take that route.

No. There is only a single path for you, set in motion by a hand with more power than you. 

And there’s only one way you can move forward with Soonyoung. 

There’s so much of your mother’s side of the family you’ve inherited. Her side has always been associated with the phoenix, the burning immortality of their name and their strength, a blazing glory. Your maternal relatives have always been the rage and the fire that was needed for a Syndicate to advance, a good partnership for the Choi’s who were cold and steadfast. 

What you need now is the winter of the mountain, not the rage of the phoenix. You need to be a Choi. 

Steadfast is the mountain. 

You love Soonyoung. You love him you love him you love him youlovehimyoulovehimyoulovehimYOULOVEHIMYOULOVEHIM- 

Pressing your fist to your mouth, you bite down for one, blinding moment of untapped rage. You feel your skin break, taste iron and salt, feel pain bloom. 

Steadfast is the mountain. 

Then it’s gone. You drop your hand from your mouth. Open your eyes. Turn off the shower. The rage is gone, buried beneath a layer of newly formed ice. If there is anyone you can do this for, it’s Soonyoung. You love him. You will destroy him. But he’ll be alive. 

Soonyoung is sitting on your bed when you open the door. He’s got a tablet in his hand, the holographic images displaying above the screen, haloing his face in blue light. There are circles under his eyes and his teeth worry at his bottom lip, which is chapped. He’s shirtless, the compact planes of his body half shadowed by the single shaft of light filtering through a window. 

He looks up at you but you ignore him, heading to your closet. The silence is brutal. You push through it, opening the closet doors to reveal a massive space nearly the same size of your bathroom. Track lights kick on, rows and rows of clothes by color greeting you. In the middle, there is an island counter, filled with drawers and biolocked jewelry safes. 

Soft steps tell you Soonyoung is standing at the entrance of the closet. You still don’t face him, walking over to your section of black clothes. You flick through them, eyes scanning. Black seems appropriate. It feels like death, afterall. 

Soonyoung’s voice is soft as his late night kisses. “What’s going on?” 

“I’m marrying Kim Yijun.” 

A beat passes. Then another. 

“Is that supposed to be a joke? I’m not interested in pranks this morning.”

“It’s not a prank.” You pull out a black, silk dress. “The Tower has asked this of me, and I’ll be doing it.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

You continue, undeterred as you put the dress back and keep looking. “The Kim family has agreed to the match ahead of the rising tensions with the Yong Syndicate and their new take on foreign allies. A united front of the old families will benefit our family-”

“You’re not fucking marrying Kim Yijun.” 

“All of the metrics we’ve run for public opinion and potential city-wide reaction are favorable. The Tower needs his children to fall in line, and I intend to do so.”

Soonyoung storms toward you. You turn on your heel, holding a finger out to him, voice severe, “Don’t come near me.” 

“Why? Because you know you’ll lose your resolve? Because the second I touch you, you’ll drop whatever bravado this is and let me help you?”

Exactly that. He knows you inside and out. Sees through the front. It doesn’t matter. You don’t need him to believe you, you need him to obey. 

He takes another step and you back up. “I will scream,” you threaten, venom in your voice. “I will scream and Seungcheol and Vernon are right down the hall. Whose side do you think they’ll take, with your reputation for violence?” 

“Fuck you, they know I’d never hurt you.”

You hear the waver in his voice. That tiny sliver of doubt, so small and tiny but there. They do know he would never hurt you, but Soonyoung isn’t convinced they’d believe him. It makes you sick, but you latch onto it, unspooling that tiny bit of hurt. “Do they, Soonyoung? I hear some of them call you a mad dog because you attack with no regard for anything. Do you really think they trust you entirely with me?”

Soonyoung is raging. His chest rising and falling, shaking his head back and forth as he tries to understand. You’re rooted to the spot, muscles coiled, pulse thudding in your throat. “You are not,” he growls. “Marrying Kim Yijun. You don’t even want to, don’t try to lie to me about your feelings or insult me thinking you can bait me. You love me. You are mine.” 

“I belong to the Choi family and it’s what my family needs from me. I will do my duty.”

“Fuck your family!” His roar makes you flinch, briefly closing your eyes. His palm slams on the top of the countertop in front of him, sharp in the silence. “You have a duty to me. I told you I would not fucking let you go. You’re not doing it. I’ll fucking kill him, you think I won’t? I’ll murder every last one of them-” 

“You don’t tell me what to do, Kwon Soonyoung. I will do this, and you will obey.” He bristles, going rigid as your words land like a slap. “When I say jump, you say how high. You’ve always known that.” 

For a second, he cracks. The Soonyoung you first saw on your doorstep, crying and round-cheeked and ruddy returns. His lip trembles and the way he looks at you nearly melts your iron will. You’re so close to collapsing, to laying it out before him, to risking it all. 

“Don’t do this to me.” His whisper is made of glass. Delicate. He presses his palm to his chest, right over his heart. Earnest. “I can’t - you know I can’t. I- please. I can’t do this.” 

Licking your lips, you look him in the eyes. His eyes are your favorite. Dark. Stormy. Endless. They are lined with silver, panic rippling across the surface. 

You lift your chin and push back your shoulders. “You can and you will, because I told you to jump, Soonyoung. Now ask how high.” 

-

Sunlight warms the back of your neck, humidity clinging to your skin like a second layer. You take a deep breath, though the steamy air offers no relief. You snap open a silk fan, waving it in front of your face in hopes of chasing away some of the sweat, feeling the separation between skin and makeup the longer you sit in the wretched heat of the garden. 

It’s not even real sunlight or heat. You can’t tell beyond the projection in the room, but you know that there are vents heating up the room and controls that make the air humid and sticky, making it feel like you’re sitting in a real garden outside somewhere lush. 

Lin drones on and on about something. You tuned her out long ago, eyes flickering back and forth to your watch and the women’s faces around you. None of them here are really your friend - not in the way Angel is, the way Wonwoo or Jeonghan are. 

Yet you’re expected to be here, entertaining the upper echelon wives of the Choi and Kim Syndicates, boiling away in an imaginary garden while you sweat to death, dress clinging to your skin and thighs slippery in the seat as you adjust yourself, uncomfortable. 

“It’s hot as a motherfucker,” a whispered voice comes from next to you. You look up to see the newly engaged heiress of Nexus Capital next to you, glaring behind the dark shade of her sunglasses as Lin continues rambling about something. “Couldn’t she have made it less real?”

A smirk twitches on your lips. You haven’t spoken to her much, but her recent engagement to Xu Minghao had secured the position the Choi Syndicate had been fighting for in the shipping yards and docks with the Yong family, elevating her family into the favored circle of your father.

Suddenly, you remember who had recommended that marriage in the first place. You remember the party, the pretty dress you wore, Soonyoung’s hand briefly on your waist as he kissed you goodbye for a meeting. You had no idea then that your throwaway comment about an arranged marriage to benefit your family would become your own nightmare under an hour later.

Grief is a funny thing. You never knew that you could feel grief for someone who isn’t dead, yet sometimes you feel such an overwhelming amount of grief at the hole that Soonyoung has left behind that you can’t breathe. 

Throat dry, you reach for water, drinking eagerly. You feel a bead of water run down your face, but you ignore it in favor of trying to focus on not panicking. 

Anxiety attacks are new for you. Though your entire life has been colored with stressful situations unique to growing up in a criminal Syndicate, you could never say that you were anxious before. At least not in the way that made the back of your neck too hot and the tips of your fingers buzz with the threat of a looming meltdown. 

You ignore it. It’s all you know how to do. The anxiety medication your therapist gave you doesn't work, and you can’t crush a bunch of pills and inhale them anytime you feel like you’re about to get tunnel vision and spiral. 

Well, you suppose you can, but you’re trying not to get into the habit. 

Instead of acknowledging the way the panic lurks around your edges like a predator waiting to pounce, you listen to the dull conversation around you. Focus on the gossip that you don’t care about, exactly, but know it’s good to have. 

Since marrying into the Kim family, you’re not sure what your job is. With your family, your role as the face, the legacy and the representation of the Choi Syndicate had always been clear and obvious. Now, your husband sends you to stupid things like this with preening people that you don’t like and makes you leave events early when he’s irritable. 

Gossip is a weapon, though. So you gather it when you can, taking in bits of information and storing it for yourself. Rarely do you offer it to Yijun - not that he would take it - but Jeonghan finds the information you share useful. So does Angel, but there’s rarely anything you know that she doesn’t. 

Just as your anxiety begins to fade, the source of it materializes. 

At first, you think you’re seeing things when a door appears in the wall depicting an apple orchard and Soonyoung strolls out into the fake-sun. You blink dumbly, spine tingling as you realize that your mind is not playing tricks on you and it is him. 

He sees you immediately. His dark eyes burn like embers, pinning you to the spot. His face remains motionless but you see his jaw tick, the only sign that he is immediately on edge when he sees you. He’s dressed for work in an all black suit, required for the Swords of the Choi family. 

Giggles breakout around the table as he approaches, the ladies around you all flushed cheeks and demure smiles. You feel the buzzing start in your hands again, this time worse. It goes up your arms, working its way to your chest as the anxiety increases tenfold, heart pounding.

Soonyoung bows. “I beg your pardon, ladies.” 

“My goodness, Soonyoung,” Lin preens. “You must be horribly hot in that suit, but you do look handsome.”

You fight the urge to snarl at her that the imitation of the garden isn’t real and no amount of pretending will make it real. You even imagine reaching across the table and plunging her fish knife into her hand. Instead, you watch Soonyoung, your hummingbird heart fluttering. 

He gives her a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be alright. I apologize for interrupting, but the Tower of the Choi family has sent me to escort his daughter home.” 

“Home?” 

“The Choi Estate.” 

He doesn’t say what he means: the Kim Estate is not your home. 

“Alright,” you say, voice reedy. Your hands are trembling as you slide your chair from the table, the metal legs grinding loudly against concrete. You flinch at the sound, hyper aware of every bead of sweat crawling down your spine, every beat of your heart that is too fast, too hard.

Static fills you as you mumble parting words to the women who watch you in confusion. At least, you think you mumble your goodbyes. Blood rushes in your ears as you take uneven steps toward Soonyoung, who turns on his heel and starts marching toward the apple orchard. 

It feels like you’re in an echo chamber. Everything suddenly feels hollow and everything sounds as though you’re hearing it through a thin wall. Muted. Dull. He opens the door that you can’t quite spot even this close, ushering you inside as your vision starts tunneling to a narrow point, everything else blurry and distorted. 

No. No no no no no. 

Lifting your hands, you glance down at them to see them trembling, opening and closing your fists in an attempt to stop the buzzing feeling, as though you could will it away. You think Soonyoung says something but you can’t hear him over the roar of panic that grips you and tears you sideways.

Instead of following him down the hall, you lurch toward a different hall, rushing toward the powder room. It feels like the walls are narrowing as you throw open the door, breath coming out in pants. Everything feels tight and compact, crushing smaller still. 

Stumbling to the sink you try to turn the faucet on. Once. Twice. Cold water spits from the faucet and you gasp, leaning down over the sink to splash freezing water into your face. It doesn’t have the desired effect, the water is not cool enough to shock you out of your panic. 

Soonyoung speaks behind you. You can’t hear him, the grip of your anxiety so strong that you grab the edges of the sink to keep you up right. You’re heaving now, heart rattling so hard you think that maybe you’re having a heart attack instead. 

A firm grip wretches your attention from the porcelain sink to the mirror, where you see your dripping reflection, eyes blown like saucers. Soonyoung is standing behind you, a hand on your bicep, squeezing. His face is no longer a mask of indifference, but one of confusion. 

His mouth moves and you shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut. “I can’t,” you gasp, ragged. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.” 

Then, he does something that catches you entirely off guard. You watch in slow motion as he steps back and removes the gun from the holster underneath his suit jacket. You hear the safety on the gun click and the hum as the weapon charges, ready to fire rounds of plasma if he squeezes the trigger. 

And then he points the gun at your head, the lights on it flipping from blue to red, signaling it’s ready to kill. 

The world stops. The panic vanishes for a split second, replaced with utter shock as you stare at him in the mirror. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” you demand, voice stronger than you expect. 

Soonyoung is ten levels of crazy, but he’s never pointed a gun at you before. You stare at him, open-mouthed and wondering if he’ll do it. If he could pull the trigger. He’d told you a hundred times when you were together that he would never let you go and it was always with clarity that you understood what he meant: it’s me or no one. 

With stark clarity, you realize there’s no reason for Soonyoung not to pull the trigger. He doesn’t care much about the value of his own life from what you can glean over the last two years, and he doesn’t really seem to care about yours. 

Not that he should. You promised to make him feel human and you did. Then you took it away from him, leaving him adrift in a vast ocean of nothing alone and untethered. 

No, you don’t think you inspire Soonyoung to feel human anymore. If anything, you probably make him want to be the worst version of himself. 

Soonyoung’s voice holds no emotion when he asks, “Are you with me?”

“Why are you pointing a gun at me?” 

“Breathe,” he says instead. He doesn’t lower the weapon, stormy eyes focused on yours. “Breathe,” he repeats. “Slowly, maybe.” 

“Soonyoung, you are holding a gun at me, what do you mean breathe?” 

“What do you mean what do I mean? I mean what I fucking said. Breathe normally.”

“Lower the gun!” He does. “What the fuck?”

He breaks eye contact, sliding the weapon back into his suit jacket. He turns away from you as though he didn’t have you at gunpoint a second ago. “You were having a panic attack. Sometimes a shock to the system stalls it. Your breathing has slowed down now. And you’re not panicking.” 

A beat of silence passes. Then, “So you leveled a gun at my head?” 

“It worked. Let’s go.”

“Are you fucking crazy?”

“Yes. Now let’s go. You’re needed at the Choi Estate.”

“Why?” 

“Do I look like I have all the answers? I just do what I’m told. When a Choi says jump, remember?”

You visibly flinch as his words land. Soonyoung doesn’t wait for you to gather yourself, spinning on his heel and exiting the powder room to stride through the halls. Tightness gathers in your chest, left over from your anxiety attack. 

Pressing your hands against your dress to wipe the sweat from them, you chase after Soonyoung. He’s already by the apartment’s elevator, jamming his finger into the button. He doesn’t look at you as he waits, content to stare at the metal door. 

You don’t know where else to look - you want to look anywhere but him. Turning around, you fixate on the floor to ceiling windows. It’s still morning outside, but it’s hard to tell with the way the clouds block out the view, turning everything to mist. 

This high up in the city is reserved for the elite. You can’t imagine why - there’s nothing to look at but clouds, clouds, and more clouds. It’s what makes them have virtual reality rooms in the first place, trying to recreate the experience that they might have if they were wealthy enough to own land. 

The sound of the elevator arriving makes you flinch. Soonyoung ignores you, getting in and leaning against the wall as he hits a button to go to the parking garage. You scramble in after him, a little breathless as the doors close just behind you. 

Immediately you start shooting down several floors. He glares at the wall, unseeing and unfeeling. You swallow thickly, watching the numbers decrease until you’re at Lin’s private parking garage. Soonyoung is out of the elevator before it finishes opening all the way, storming toward the car he’s left running idle. 

Normally someone would open a car door for you. Instead, Soonyoung gets in the driver’s seat and slams the door shut. You reach for the handle of the passenger seat and pause. Normally you sit in the back when being driven somewhere, it’s always been like that. But this is Soonyoung and you’ve always been beside him in the car, his equal. 

A muffled get in the fucking car reaches you. Deciding that sitting next to him is too personal, you open the back seat and slide in. You’ve barely shut the door when he punches the gas, slamming you into the back of the seat as he goes. 

“Would you stop being an asshole?” you seethe, ripping the seatbelt from next to you to buckle in. Your hands are still shaking and it takes a moment for the clasp to click.

Instead of answering, you hear the way the car accelerates under his foot. Scowling, you look out the window. He speeds into the lift that brings the car down to the ground floor. Lights blur by as the lift drops at lurching speed, your stomach in your throat. You hate coming to apartments for this reason, the feeling of having to freefall to leave never growing on you. 

It’s raining when the lift opens to the wet street. Soonyoung peels out on the pavement, tires spinning until they gain traction and the car slides onto the road, narrowly missing someone. You slam against the seatbelt, cursing and clinging onto the door as he pushes the gas down, engine roaring.

“Are you trying to kill us?”

Soonyoung doesn’t answer you. You think it might be because he’s not explicitly trying to kill the two of you, but he doesn’t care if he does. You try not to think about it so much as he powers through the streets of the Upper City, driving past towering businesses, luxury districts with entertainment and bars and apartment buildings. 

The road starts to incline and you hit a line of trees. The city vanishes behind you as Soonyoung drives the car up the winding road, leaving a world of metal and lights for greenery and earth. The contrast between the cities below and the Estates above is stark, especially as he drive’s higher up the mountain, snatches of the city below visible. 

“Why did you come to get me?” you ask, flicking your gaze to the rearview mirror to watch him. Soonyoung keeps his eyes on the road, but you see his mouth tighten. “Last I checked you’re not an errand boy.”

“So what, you check on me?”

“It’s a figure of speech, you know what I mean.”

“The Tower personally requested I come get you.” 

That gives you pause. Soonyoung’s face reveals nothing as he turns on the street that will inevitably lead to the massive metal wall that blocks off the world from the Choi Estate. There can only be a single reason why Soonyoung was sent to fetch you when usually your husband’s staff would do so.

“What’s happened?” 

Soonyoung doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he rolls the window down at the guard house to show his face. The security team recognizes him immediately, waving him through as the gate begins to slide open to reveal lush, green jungle. 

Gravel crunches underneath the car tires as he drives through the winding foliage on Choi grounds. Your great-great-grandfather had built the Choi compound, the first of the few elite houses on the mountain. He thought it was important to keep the plant life and sprawling greenery to conserve, but you knew it was really about power. Symbolism. Greenery didn’t really exist in the city, and this much space and plantlife meant wealth. 

The sprawling estate you grew up in reveals itself. Multiple buildings dot the property, making it more a family compound than an estate. Now that Seungcheol is old enough, he’s moved out of the main house and into one of the smaller homes, occupying the space with his own men and staff. Still, he’s just a brief stroll away from your childhood home.

Home. Even two years under a Kim family banner hasn’t erased the feeling of home for you. There is nothing in the house you share with Yijun that makes it feel like you. It is as devoid of love as your marriage, merely a placeholder for you to sleep, eat, and occasionally, try to produce an heir. 

Soonyoung pulls up to the long building that serves as a garage, hitting a button on the car’s screen to open one of the bays. He pulls in slowly, the outside world fading as the garage door shuts behind the car, dousing it in darkness until the neon lights above flicker on. 

Without a word, he powers off the vehicle and gets out. Taking a deep breath, you square your shoulders and get out of the car. He doesn’t wait for you - even shuts the door as he enters the main house so you’re forced to lug it open. 

He’s already opening the door to the main house a few yards away, forcing you again to haphazardly navigate gravel in your heels as you give chase. You’re sweating and irritated by the time you’re up the steps and pushing through the front door, a nasty quip on your lips ready until you see your aunt coming down the stairs. 

“Oh thank goodness,” she says, seeing you. She looks older than you remember, the lines of her face deep and the hair at her temples gray. “Come along.”

“What’s going on?” you ask, uncertain as you step into the foyer and let her take your arm. 

She scowls. “Did that useless boy not tell you? Your mother suffered a heart attack this morning. She’s with Dr. Ymir in the medical wing.”

Your heart thuds to a stop as you wheel around to look over your shoulder at Soonyoung. His gaze is stormy but his face gives away nothing as he turns to leave the way he came, slamming the front door and vanishing down the steps to leave you alone. 

“No,” you mumble as your aunt pulls you down the hall. “He didn’t tell me.” 

Because that’s how much Soonyoung hates you. Hate isn’t even the right word, you think. It is something far deeper and far more sinister, fueled only by taking away something that he valued more than anything else in the world and forcing him to live with it. 

I deserve this, you think as the door to one of the private medical rooms opens, a clinical smell hitting you in the face. I deserve everything that happens to me. 

-

I deserve this. It’s all you can think of as you watch the black casket lower into the ground. Seungcheol stands beside you, his hands linked in front of him. You want to reach out and take his hand in yours, but you don’t want him to look weak. Don’t want others to see him crack like you know he will if you comfort him. 

Instead, you comfort yourself as best you can, which isn’t saying much. You’ve never been good at dealing with your feelings, too much of your mother’s blood running through you. It was your father’s least favorite trait of yours and perhaps Soonyoung’s favorite.

Soonyoung, who has always been your emotional tether and outlet. You’re not accustomed to dealing with grief alone, and the pull of it feels like an undertow threatening to drag you under and drown you. 

Someone shifts behind you, close enough that you feel Yijun next to you stiffen. You turn to look over your shoulder, blinking in surprise as you tilt your head up to see Soonyoung. He doesn’t look at you, dark eyes fixed forward and jaw flexing tightly. He’s standing closer than is necessary, as shown by your husband’s scoff. 

Soonyoung doesn’t move, though. He remains nearly pressed against your back, so close that you can smell vanilla and sandalwood. Turning away from him, you feel your shoulders relax. He ignores you, but he’s there, a stoic guardian that’s just out of reach.

The Tower of the Choi Syndicate is too lost in his grief to notice or care about Soonyoung’s proximity to you. Your brother couldn’t care less, barely realizing that his brother by choice is an inch away from him. But you know Soonyoung is there and that’s all that matters. 

The grief lessens, turning back from churning waters to gentle, lapping waves.

-

“Your brother doesn’t respect me,” Yijun asserts. You look at him in the bathroom mirror. He’s standing behind you in the closet, taking out glinting cufflinks to replace them in the countertop in the middle of the aisles of clothes. “You should work on that.”

“Seungcheol hardly takes what I say to heart.”

Yijun snorts, detecting the lie before you can even get it out. Seungcheol very much values your insight and opinion far more than he’s interested in Yijun’s. He’s made it clear at multiple parties and events now, often asking you how business is and how the shared Kim-Choi accounts are doing, despite not having anything to do with them. 

Seungcheol hates your role within the Kim family. On more than one occasion he’s recommended Yijun make use of you somewhere in the family business, to make you the head of operation somewhere so that your schooling and experience weren’t going to waste. Yijun asserted that your social skills were being put to perfect use, entertaining the wives of his associates and serving as the perfect host when his business colleagues and friends were over. 

“He’s going to be leading the family soon,” Yijun sighs. “It would be better for us if he saw me as a real ally.”

“He does see you as an ally. You’re married to his sister.”

“Exactly, so you should remind him that I’m family.” It doesn’t sound like a threat, but it also doesn’t sound like a request. Sighing, you shut the drawer in the counter forcefully. It draws his attention, gaze darkening. “Don’t you want your brother to respect your husband?”

No, you think. You don’t respect your husband, so why should Seungcheol?

Instead, you sigh. “Of course, Yi.” He doesn’t soften at the nickname. “I’ll talk to him, alright? He’s got a lot going on. And don’t talk about my father’s health that way.”

“I didn’t say anything about his health.”

“Please,” you snort. “I know what you meant about Cheol taking over soon.” 

Yijun had been talking about Seungcheol more and more. You’ve watched with a sour taste in your mouth as your husband tries to earn your brother’s attention and trust, flashing what he thinks Seungcheol cares about in his face, telling him about the new car he acquired, or the historical art piece you purchased at an auction, and the new apartment building he’s constructing. 

Seungcheol doesn’t give a fuck about any of that. The Choi family never has. Your ancestors didn’t make a name for themselves and carve it on the mountain they built their home on by showing off their wealth and what it could do for them. They did it by earning it, and by remaining steadfast and intelligent. Political. 

Yijun understands none of that. As the eldest son of his family, it’s a shame. The real world of the Syndicates is lost on him. He has enough business acumen to run companies under his father’s careful tutelage and instruction, but he doesn’t have the social savvy for it, the right drive. 

His brother does. You think of Kim Minchan and nearly shiver. The middle child of the Kim family has more than enough understanding of the way that things work, but the ocean of blood behind him is enough for you to prefer Yijun leading the Kim Syndicate any day. 

“I’m just saying,” Yijun grunts, flicking off the lights in the closet. “Your brother has all the reason in the world to respect me and he doesn’t.” He looks at you, face hardening. “Do you tell him not to? Is that what it is? His baby sister tells him how useless her husband is?” 

Danger is in the air. Yijun won’t lay a hand on you, but it doesn’t make this dance any less stressful. You turn away from the mirror, looking at him fully. He’s not terrible to look at - he has a sharp jaw and a broad nose and a pleasant shaped mouth. He’s handsome, even. 

He’s not Kwon Soonyoung. 

Swallowing away the thought, you reach up to put your hands on his chest, placating. “I wouldn’t do that,” you assure him, softening your voice. You hate the sound of your voice, hate the way you pitch it low and gentle. “You’re a reflection of me too. I would never let my brother think any of those things about my husband.” 

Yijun swats your hands away, making you grit your teeth. “Don’t act like a whore. Just - tell your brother. I should be in his inner circle by now. Make it happen.” 

As Yijun leaves the bathroom, the urge to grab him by his collar and yank him back in to smash his head on the counter almost wins. You stare at him until he vanishes in the bedroom, your rage a live, sentient thing. You feel it crawl beneath your skin, slithering and clawing and biting and begging to be let out. 

Steady is the mountain. You take that fire and shove it down. Years of instinct of reacting with your mother’s temper peter out slowly. It’s a shame - you’re the last woman left from her side of the family, the only one who can carry the fire of the phoenix. 

You glare at the bedroom. Somewhere, Yijun lurks, getting into bed. Oh how the shadows of the weak choke out the fire of the strong. 

If killing Yijun wouldn’t risk everything, you’d have done it already. That first month spent with him where you realized this would not only be a loveless marriage, but a hateful one had almost driven you to it. The Choi Syndicate could surely survive a war with the Kim Syndicate - you had better assets, stronger loyalties, and more money. 

But if the Kim family turned to the Yong family… 

Avoiding unification of the Kim and Yong families is why you were married to Kim Yijun in the first place. To murder him now would mean Syndicate war, and despite the fact that every moment with him is hateful and poisonous, you’re too nervous to put your family at risk. 

Especially with your father’s failing health, as Yijun had pointed out. 

Syndicate war isn’t the only thing keeping you from stabbing Kim Yijun until you can’t feel anything anymore. Minchan’s shadow of a presence lingers over your thoughts, one of the few threats you truly fear. Any harm to his brother would elevate Minchan to a position where he could only wield his power more. 

And he’d hunt you like a bloodhound. You’re unsure if there is any corner of the world he would leave unturned if you killed his brother, no matter how much it would benefit him if Yijun keeled over tomorrow. 

Inside your bedroom is dark. It doesn’t feel like your bedroom at all. There’s nothing homey about it, no possession or unique decor, no pictures. You wouldn’t sleep in here at all if Yijun didn’t make you, insisting that he couldn’t trust any of the house staff not to tell your father you weren’t sleeping in the same room. 

Your father doesn’t care. He stopped caring about anything the day you put your mother into the dirt. Even if he hadn’t, as long as your relationship looked functional to whom it mattered, it mattered little to him if you slept in the same room or if you even liked Kim Yijun.

He’d made that very clear the day he tore away your future with Soonyoung. 

Yijun is already snoring when you climb into bed. You grind your teeth, reaching to pull open the nightstand for noise cancelling earbuds and sleep medication. The medication isn’t as strong as the crushed up knockout you might have used previously, but it helps take the edge off without making you vulnerable to attack. 

Which is something you still worry about. 

Setting your phone on silent, you settle in for sleep. It takes a long time, but you finally drift away to thinking about smothering the man next to you in his sleep. 

-

Something wakes you. Blinking sleep from your eyes, you sit up in bed and look around the room. It’s dark, but you can see the barely-there outlines of the furniture in your bedroom. Next to you, Yijun is gone. You can feel the lack of presence there more than you can see it, reaching your hand over to confirm the bed is cold and that he’s not been there for a while. 

You reach for the phone on your nightstand but can’t find it. Frowning, you press your hand on the cool marble, sweeping back and forth to no avail. You lean further, finger finding the button to the light function on the stand and press down. 

Dim, lavender light halos the top of the nightstand. Your phone is nowhere in sight. It’s just your jewelry dish, a decanter for water, and your sleep medication. You’re pretty sure that you put your phone face down before you went to bed, but you can’t be sure. 

Pulling open the nightstand drawer only makes the back of your neck sweat. Your phone isn’t there, but neither is the gun you keep in the top drawer. Both you and Yijun sleep armed, despite having armed guards on the premises at all times. 

Snapping the drawer shut, you roll to the other side of the bed and pull his open. A book, a watch, some pill bottles and a pack of cigarettes fill the drawer. No gun. 

The back of your neck tingles. You rip the sheets off of you, heading to the bedroom door. The house is mostly dark when you open it, the entire second floor dim. Leaning over the banister, you can see a shaft of light falling across the room, perhaps coming from the kitchen. 

Quietly, you stalk toward the top of the stairwell, trying to reduce noise as you creep down. A high pitched whine rings in your ears, heart thundering. You have no idea why you’re so afraid all of the sudden, especially in your own house, but your instincts tell you to be alert and quiet. 

At the foot of the stairs, you confirm the light is coming from the kitchen. It’s not uncommon for people to be in the house in the middle of the night. Official Syndicate business happens at any time, and often goes into the early hours of morning. 

Tonight, it’s not busy. Before you’d gone upstairs to bed, you’d noted that it was a skeleton crew security team for the night, just a few of them at the gate house and walking the premises while you and Yijun returned upstairs for the evening alone. 

Creeping toward the hallway, you pause when you hear voices. You identify Yijun’s voice right away, holding your breath and straining your hearing as he says, “What do you want me to do here?” 

“Keep her contained. Make sure no one from her family can reach her.”

“I already took her phone and her gun.”

Your stomach drops. “Good.” That’s Minchan’s voice, you realize, dread growing tenfold. “The second she finds out the Tower has fallen, she’ll try to run or her brother will try to get her.”

“Or that psycho fuck,” Yijun mutters. 

“You’d be lucky if it was Seungcheol who came to get her. If Kwon Soonyoung comes looking, call me immediately. We’ll make our move in two hours. We’ve got the biggest team outside the Choi estate ready to go in and we’ve got men and women stationed at all the key points.”

“So I’m just supposed to sit here and babysit my wife?”

“Yes.” Minchan’s tone is nonnegotiable. “We’ll leave the guards at the gatehouse but we can’t spare anyone else. This kind of assault requires everyone. The Yong family will take care of the Pearl District and the Salt.” 

Yijun hesitates. “What about the Yoon family? Are they all accounted for?” 

“Yes. I have a team on the crazy one - what do they call her?”

“Angel, I think.”

Minchan laughs. “Demon is more fitting. Stay here. Stay by your phone. We’ll call thirty minutes before we give the signal to link everyone on comms. We do this right, and the Choi Syndicate is gone.” 

Panic presses in for a moment. Your heart hammers. Your hands shake. Bile churns your stomach. It feels like you can’t get enough air, the pieces of what they're talking about falling into place.

The Tower has fallen.

Your father is dead, and in the wake of the crushing blow, the Kim family intends to strike at yours alongside the Yong family. The realization lands like a blow, immediately slapping you out of your panic. 

Fear turns to rage. Rage turns to ice. You are fire, you are the mountain. 

Steadfast is the mountain, but the fire does burn. 

As quietly as you can, you creep up the stairs. You keep turning over your shoulder to ensure Minchan doesn’t leave the kitchen and catch you creeping back toward your bedroom. When you hit the second floor landing, you all but sprint to your room, gears turning. 

Yijun took your phone and intends to keep you locked in the house until they finish their plan. From their discussion, you know they intend to mobilize within two hours, targeting important members of the Choi Syndicate across the city with the help of the Yong family. 

It means you have only a few minutes to warn your family to respond, to prepare and to fight back or strike first. Which is hard to do without a phone, but your husband doesn’t know you nearly as well as he thinks.

Door closed behind you, you flip the lock on the bedroom door and dash for the closet. The lights above come to life, bathing you in ghoulish, grey light. You dive to the floor toward your shelf holding all of your shoes, the carpet burns nothing compared to the pain starting to bloom behind your sternum where your grief builds slowly under your anger. 

Your father is dead. The Kims are going to turn on you anyway. Your marriage to Kim Yijun to secure alliances against the Yong family was for nothing.

You’ve endured for nothing. 

Snatching a pair of boots, you swallow down the bile again. You will not break now, not when there are more important things than the time you’ve wasted withering away in this cold home. Shoving your hand inside the boot, you come into contact with what you were looking for. Your hand closes around the device, yanking it out and powering it on. 

The screen flashes to life. You press one and hold, hearing the buzz on the phone as it begins to ring. You cradle the phone against your shoulder and ear, nearly sick with the adrenaline that is pounding through you, your vision blurring, hands shaking. 

You grab another shoe, this time reaching inside carefully instead of shoving your hand in. The smooth, bone handle of a knife meets your hand and you wrap your fingers around it firmly, pulling it out. 

Soonyoung answers on the fourth ring. “Where are you?” 

“The Kim family has turned on the Chois. They’re mobilizing for a full scale attack in roughly two hours. The Yong family is helping them. They’re at the estate and all over the city - anyone who is important to us regardless of position will need to be warned. The Yong family is handling the Pearl District and the Salt.” 

“How many men are at Yijun’s estate?” You can hear him moving on the other side of the line, something rustling. Perhaps clothes as he gets dressed. “Are you armed?” 

“There are men at the guard house and one walking the perimeter. It’s just me and Yijun inside, I think Minchan is leaving. I’ve got a knife.” 

“Where are you in the house?” 

“Bedroom, second landing to the right and all the way at the end of the hall. There are windows but they don’t open.” 

“Listen to me,” Soonyoung says, voice like ice. “The second we start moving into position to accept the assault, they’ll know something is off. When that happens, Yijun is going to try to kill you, do you understand?” When you say nothing, he asks again, voice louder. “Do you understand?” 

“Yes.”

“I need you to fight back. Either kill him or hold him off until I’m there.” 

“You need to warn-”

“Don’t worry about the fucking Syndicate! We’ll be fine. You’ve given us more than enough time. I need you to be entirely focused on yourself.”

You take a deep breath, letting it out shakily. “Okay.”

“Do you have frostbyte?”

“Maybe? Yijun might have it in the nightstand.”

“Take some. Not enough to fuck you up, but enough to pump that adrenaline and make your head clear. I will be there in thirty minutes.” 

“Okay.” 

You squeeze the phone, unwilling to hang up. It doesn’t matter that you haven’t heard his voice in months. It doesn’t matter that he hates you, it doesn’t matter that you know whatever used to be between you is broken and it’s entirely your fault. You just… don’t want to hang up. 

“Hey.” Soonyoung’s voice is soft, drawing you from your trembling spiral. “Do what I said. Do the frostbyte and kill him if you have to. I have to go.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you in thirty minutes.” Soonyoung pauses, the silence heavy on the line. “I love you.” 

Nothing breaks you like those words, whispered but firm, whispered in case you die before he gets there. He doesn’t have to say that’s why he’s saying it - you know. You know the chance of him not getting there fast enough is likely and real. He does too, but instead of telling you, he gives you this. 

You whisper back, “I love you.” 

Soonyoung hangs up the phone and you fight a sob. You bring the knife up to your hand, pressing your pointer finger down on the tip. The sting is immediate, making you his in pain as blood beads on the tip of your finger, red and garish in the closet lighting. 

The sting grounds you enough to push yourself from the floor, following Soonyoung’s directions to Yijun’s nightstand. You yank it open, rattling around the contents until you find the bag of frostbyte you were hoping was there. Yijun uses it the nights he attempts to put an heir in you, numbing himself the way you never did, taking your punishment for what you’d done to Soonyoung raw.

Not enough to fuck me up, you think, untwisting the bag and shaking. Just enough to make it easier. 

Dipping the tip of your knife into the bag, you pull out a small lump of the glittering drug. You try not to think about that night at the club all those years ago, when you and Soonyoung were still dancing around one another’s feelings, doing anything you could to get a reaction out of one another. 

You take a sharp breath in. The drug hits your nasal passage and it burns, your eyes smarting as you tilt your head up, cursing and blinking away the tears. It hits the back of your throat, bitter and awful as you cough a little, trying to wait for it to clear your nasal passage.

When the burning subsides a little, you do it again. It’s less harsh than the first bump but still just as awful, making you wonder how the fuck you did this on the weekend with your friends as a teenager. Tossing the back on the nightstand, you stand waiting, closing your eyes and trying to do deep breathing exercises your therapist taught you to calm down. 

Frostbyte works fast. It hits your bloodstream and an electric calm comes over you. Everything comes into sharper focus, the adrenaline pumping as your simmering rage turns to a boil, ready to kick the fucking door down and hunt down Yijun yourself.

Nerves fade away to the background of your mind. You walk toward the door, waiting to the side so when Yijun ultimately kicks it down, you’re ready. 

Ten minutes pass. The entire time your ears are ringing, heart thundering in your chest. You think the frostbyte was a good idea - if you had to wait in silence like this without it, you would have gone crazy by now. Even with the drug, fear nips at your ankles, a hound ever on your tail. 

Yijun’s footsteps thunder up the stairs. Your heart lurches and you inch away from the door, readying yourself. He storms down the hall, fury in each step until he gets to the door and turns the handle. It doesn’t move. He tries a few more times, shaking the door. 

His roar on the other side of the door is loud and feral, making you grin as he thrashes against the door, cursing and screaming at you. The door holds, rattling in place as he slams what you think is his shoulder into it multiple times. 

The bombardment pauses for a second and then restarts ten times stronger. This time, you recognize that it’s his foot slamming into the side of the door. You realize he’s kicking where the door is latched, trying to break it open instead of kicking through it. 

A small crack sounds. You take a breath, readying yourself as you hear another snap go through the door, now rattling loose in its frame. He kicks hard again and the door blows open, nearly smacking you as it does. You roll away from it on the wall, keeping close as Yijun barrels past you, swinging his head from left to right as he looks for you.

It’s your only chance to get the jump on him. You slide from the dark, heart hammering. You’ve never stabbed anyone before, but you’ve practiced. You drive the knife upward, intending to puncture his kidneys. Yijun twists a little to the side, sensing your presence as the knife plunges into his side. 

Yijun screams. Your satisfaction only lasts a second before he throws his elbow backward, catching you in the nose. Pain explodes in your face, blinding you as your eyes water and you stumble backward hands shooting to your face. 

Removing the knife from his side, Yijun screams at you, spit flying as he comes at you. Through tears and warm blood rushing from your nose, you reach for anything to use as a weapon. Your hand closes on the ceramic artwork on the dresser and you launch it at him, hitting him hard in the face. 

The ceramic shatters and he drops the knife. You dive for it but he grabs you by the hair, ripping you upward and backward like a ragdoll. You lose your footing, screaming as he tightens his fist in your hair and drags you toward the bed, tossing you there. 

With a feral shout, you kick your foot forward, catching him in the lower gut. He grunts but wraps his hand around your ankle, yanking you back off the bed onto the floor, where the knife lays. You reach for it, seething, your hands managing to close around it just as he pivots, foot landing against your ribcage. 

Again, pain explodes inside of you. With the frostbyte, you barely recognize it, grabbing the knife and stabbing him in the calf. He shrieks and collapses to a knee, reaching for the knife. This time you rip it back out, nearly losing your grip on the bone handle, fingers slippery with blood. 

You stab him again, this time in the thigh. His knee presses into your stomach, crushing you and forcing air from your lungs. You ignore the pain, stabbing him again and again in the thigh until he falls backward off of you, muscles malfunctioning, tendons give away. 

Yijun kicks out at you with his good leg but you’re already moving, ignoring the way your body is screaming in utter agony, every part of you throbbing and begging you to give up. 

You don’t. You scramble on top of him. His hands shoot up to your throat but you spit at him, a spray of blood blinding him and making his grip loosen momentarily. It’s enough to bring the knife down home again, this time directly in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. 

For a second, he fights back. You hear the wet gasp and he thrashes, but you stab him again. And again and again and again and again -

You think about all of the times that you were forced to submit to him. 

And again and again and again - 

The way he heaved himself on top of you, trying to force a child into you so he could be done with you, the way you’d wish it had been Soonyoung instead. 

And again and again and again - 

The way Soonyoung’s face broke that morning, begging you not to do this to him. 

And again and again and again -

All for the Kim family to turn on the Choi’s anyway, wasting the entire time you’ve spent under lock and key, doing Yijun’s bidding while Soonyoung hated you. Loathed you. Wish you never happened to him. 

Again and AGAINANDAGAINANDAGAINAND- 

Yijun isn’t moving under you. Your hand is warm and wet, the knife becoming slippery as you let it go. It clatters to the floor and you sit backward on his knees. He’s unmoving as you heave, sucking down air that tastes like iron and salt. 

Sweat slicks the back of your neck and down your spine. Somewhere in the house, there’s a crashing noise. You leap for the knife, rolling off of Yijun’s mutilated body toward the door, positioning yourself in a defensive position as feet thunder up the stairs. 

You bare your teeth, knowing this is it. Knowing Soonyoung hasn’t come quickly enough but it doesn’t matter, because you warned them and they are safe. Your penance for destroying him has been paid in half, though never full, and -

Soonyoung appears in the doorway. He looks like an angel from hell, wreathed in shallow light that comes from the first floor, his silver hair stained with blood. He’s in black trousers and a short-sleeve shirt with his favorite band on it - one of his sleep shirts. 

For less than a second, he stares at you. Then, Soonyoung dives at you, dropping the gun in his head and grabbing you. You hadn’t realized that you’d sunk to your knees, looking up at him as he grabs your face, turning you this way and that. He’s asking you a question but you can’t understand him, dizzy and confused and in so much pain that the edge of your vision wavers. 

“Baby,” Soonyoung begs, his voice warped and echoey. “Hey, I need you to answer me. Where are you bleeding?” 

“S’mostly his,” you answer, feeling how heavy your tongue is. Your thoughts are sticky and slow. Concussed, you think. “Maybe broke my nose.” 

Soonyoung’s thumb brushes gently across your cheek, smearing blood. “Can you walk if I help you?”  You think about it. Shake your head. “Okay. I’m going to lift you up, alright? Tell me where it hurts so I don’t hurt you, Baby.” 

“Ribs.” 

“Left or right?” 

You pause, breathing in and feeling the pain bloom. “Right.” 

“Okay, tell me if I hurt you, okay? We’re going to take you home.”

“Thank you.” Soonyoung hesitates at your tone, looking at you. His eyes are vulnerable and open, more raw than you have seen them since you were kids. “You didn’t have to come get me.” 

He stares and stares at you. The world fades a little and Soonyoung lifts you toward him. “Of course I did,” he murmurs, so soft you barely hear what he’s saying. “When you say jump, remember?”

-

“Where's this?” You mumble, looking out the window at a small home behind high gates.

Soonyoung has been driving for an hour and a half, his silence nearly unbearable as you both left the city. You don’t ask about where you’re going or if everyone is okay - you don’t think you can stomach the answers right now. Not while in the car. 

Rain mists through the window as Soonyoung rolls it down to punch in a code in front of the gate. It flashes green and the metal starts to roll open, revealing a large but modest house - at least by Syndicate standards. He drives through, gravel crunching beneath the tires. 

“Safe House. Very few people know it exists.” 

“Are we in Levin?” He nods his head. You’ve never been to the small town, but you know it’s mostly a vacation village on the coast. “Who does this place belong to?” 

“Me.” You look at him, surprised. “I bought it when you… got engaged.” 

It’s like a stone sinking to the bottom of your stomach. You don’t have to ask why. It was his failsafe for you, a way to get you away from Yijun if you had just asked. 

You should have asked. Should have just thrown it away and called him, should have begged him from your knees- 

Soonyoung turns the car off and opens the door. You open yours, rain pattering against your red skin. He rushes to help you out of the car, hands hovering around you, unsure where to touch. It makes you want to sob. You want him to touch you anywhere - everywhere. 

Instead, he leads you to the house, a hand wrapped firmly around your forearm to keep you upright and steady as you walk up the steps. 

A porch light flickers on. You cringe away from the brightness, squinting through your fingers as the door opens to reveal Vernon standing on the other side. His eyes flicker between the two of you and he nods, stepping to the side to let you in. 

Warmth blankets you as Soonyoung shuts the door. You’re standing in a small entryway with a staircase to the right leading to the second floor. Straight on, the lights are on, revealing a sliver of the living room. You can hear voices pause as they hear the door shut. 

Angel materializes in the doorway, her hair damp. She’s dressed down like she recently showered, her eyes on you as she heaves a sigh of relief. “It’s Hoshi and Baby,” she calls over her shoulder, coming forward. 

Soonyoung nudges you toward Angel gently. “Take her to shower.” 

“Yeah of course.” 

“Where’s Seungcheol?” You ask, turning to look at Soonyoung, who is already looking at his phone, holoscreen lighting up his face. 

“On his way. The main crew is safe.” He hesitates. “We lost Lan, Old Man Vero and Yoon Minji.” 

Your heart seizes, eyes darting to Angel. “Angel, I’m-”

“Jeonghan is taking care of it.” For the first time in years, you hear a note of pain in her voice, raw and real. Angel has - had - a complicated relationship with her step-mother, the matriarch of the Yoong family. “I’ve already satiated my vengeance. This is his. Come on.” 

You hesitate. Soonyoung nudges you toward the stairs gently by the hip, suddenly looking tired. “Go. I’m going to find a doctor for that nose.” 

“Is it terrible?” 

He huffs, trying not to laugh. “No, but it needs to be fixed. Go. Shower.” 

I love you. It’s on the tip of your tongue, right there. I love you. It’s all you can think about, thundering in your ribcage. I love you. It consumes you, makes you freeze up, staring at him. I love you. 

Angel tugs your wrist delicately and breaks the spell. You follow her up the stairs. She’s careful with you, making you take one step at a time. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her so gentle, her eyes softened with worry and her touch on you delicate as butterfly wings. 

Upstairs, she leads you into a room that smells like vanilla and sandalwood. Soonyoung. This room belongs to Soonyoung. You spot his subtle touches, a gaming computer shoved in the corner and powered off. A closet with a metal door that is under lock and key. A single gun sitting on top of the nightstand. 

But what makes the room spin is the touches of you. A teakwood candle sitting on the dresser. Weighted blankets folded at the end of the bed. A bookshelf with all your favorite titles. A jar of saltwater taffy in multiple flavors. 

Angel hesitates by the bathroom door, watching you drink in the room. You turn to her, shaking your head, confused and mouth open. She nods. “I know. I didn’t know either.” 

“I could live and die a thousand times and never deserve him.” 

“I’m not the best judge of character, but I don’t think I believe that to be true.” 

Angel isn’t the best judge of character. But she also doesn’t say things she does not mean. She’s the last person in the world to offer words of comfort, and yet she’s standing in the bathroom staring at you like she can see through you, right down to the very core. 

Maybe she can. Seeing what is rotting people on the inside and sniffing out their weaknesses is what she does best. 

Instead of pointing out where you hurt, she manages to get you into the bathroom. It’s spacious but not grand like what you’re used to - it’s small. Safe. She starts the shower and backs away, helping you get out of your bloody clothing. 

Everything hurts so bad. Your ribs ache, the bruising on them blotchy and horrendous as Angel peels back your shirt. She thankfully doesn’t react - she’s seen worse and done worse. Suddenly, you realize why Soonyoung picked her to help you. She’s steady, her fingers sure as she holds your arm while you pull your pants down.

You don’t dare look in the mirror. From what you can see without it, it’s already bad enough. Yijun hadn’t dealt fatal damage, but you know you’re bruised and covered in dry, flaking blood. 

Angel leaves you in the shower, shutting the door to go sit on the sink, a guardian willing to give you space but ready to help when you need it. Shaking, you shuffle into the stream of hot water, hissing when it hits your skin. 

It’s both heaven and hell. The hot water feels so good on your aching muscles and throbbing pain, but it also hurts when the water taps against your nose, reminding you that it is indeed broken. You suck in sharp air as you slowly begin to work your fingers into your skin, turning the water pink as you wash off the blood. 

Blood that belongs to you. Blood that belongs to Yijun.

Yijun. 

You’re not sorry you killed him. It was satisfying and necessary. But… the weight of your grief comes crashing into you. You could have killed him years ago and ran. Could have gone crawling back to Soonyoung and asked for his help. Could have told him that the only reason you ever agreed to marry him in the first place was to protect him. 

None of it mattered. You bought him a paltry couple years worth of protection and for what? To shackle yourself to a man who thought little of you, who wanted to fuck you until you gave him another version of himself, who wanted to kill you at every moment because he knew you didn’t respect him and because he was afraid of you and the way you command respect from your family, but he never did.

All that time you’d made yourself smaller for him. Held back your bite. Hid your teeth. Mourned Soonyoung everyday, knowing that you’d never touch him again, that he would never kiss you again, that you’d never wake up in the morning when he got home from work and crawled into bed with you.

A potential lifetime of happiness, one of your own making, wasted on a promise that they broke anyway. 

For nothing. It had been for nothing, you’d hurt Soonyoung for nothing, shut him out, promised you would never leave him and threw him away, forced him to jump for you, forced him to leave you when he said he wouldn’t all for nothing nothing nothing nothing notHING NOTHINGNOTHINGNOTHINGNOTHING-

Angel’s arms are around you. You startle, looking up to see that she is in the shower fully clothed, holding you to her. You hadn’t realized you’d been crying - screaming - in the shower. She presses you closer to her, the only way she knows how to tell you that she’s got you. She’s there. She understands. 

You crumble, leaning heavily on her as you let it out, sobbing. Your throat is raw, your face throbbing each time you squeeze your eyes shut. Angel says nothing, content to hold you while her clothes soak up the water, weighing her down as you let out your grief in full, ugly waves. 

Eventually, the water starts to get cold and your tears start to dry up. You sniff and groan, the pain in your face so poignant that it can’t be ignored. Lifting your head from her shoulder, you glance at her boots, soaked and murky red around the edges.

“Can I tell you something?” Angel asks, voice low. You nod. She hesitates, putting the words together before she says, “He’s going to accept you back. He’s going to do it with no conditions, and ask nothing of you. You’re going to want to torture yourself and beg for his forgiveness and deny yourself of him because you think you should be punished, that there is not a god powerful enough to hurt you the way you deserve.”

You blink in surprise. Angel isn’t religious, despite the nickname. She also isn’t overly emotional or wordy. But you see the severity in which she tells you this, see the pain in her eyes. You remember that she has demons far older than yours, ones that have followed her since childhood. 

And she’s right. She reads you like a book, seeing the fucking pain radiating inside of you, the desire to be punished and hated and whipped- 

“Let him take you back.” Her words are firm. “Don’t make him punish you. Don’t believe for a second that Soonyoung wants to make you pay. He doesn’t. He doesn’t care what you did or why. Just… let him have you. You’ve endured enough.” 

You nod. “Alright. I’ll try.”

“Good. Um - can we get out of the shower though? It’s very cold in here.” 

You laugh, immediately followed by a groan. “Please don’t make me laugh. I am in so much pain.” 

“Yeah, let’s go get you some drugs, dude.” 

-

The three Syndicates of the city are officially at war. Of all the news that has poured in over the last few days, this is the least surprising. When you’d seen Seungcheol that first night after everything went to hell, he’d held you close and promised that he would kill every last Kim in the city.

He had also told you he was proud of you. Not just for surviving Yijun long enough for Soonyoung to come get you, but for being able to warn the family what was coming. Your single warning alone had saved them a great deal and wounded the Kim Syndicate more than you could understand. 

The days following your father’s death are strange. It doesn’t feel like he’s dead - at least, you haven’t truly processed it yet. There are things that demand your attention like being seen by Dr. Ymir for your fractured nose and bruised ribs, and the accounts and logistics of what being at war with the Kim and Yong family truly means. 

On the fifth day at the safe house, you go back home. Seungcheol makes you ride with him, unwilling to let you out of his sight these days. You’re the only two members of the Choi family left, and it’s up to the two of you to rally the troops and remind everyone what the mountain can do. 

Seungcheol replaces your father as the Tower of the Choi Syndicate. Typically there’s a small ceremony to pass the torch so to speak, but there’s no time for that. Seungcheol is buried in problems and trying to maneuver the family into a favorable position, but it’s hard - the Yongs and Kims have been preparing this for a while. 

You’re suddenly given a job again. Fresh in his position leading the family, Seungcheol needs those he trusts by his side, immediately appointing you as the Architect of the Syndicate. There’s no one he trusts more with the finances and the logistics of the businesses under the Choi banner and who have pledged to his family. 

With Yoon Minji’s death, Jeonghan’s takes his rightful side as the Wisdom and second in command to Seungcheol. It’s like you’d always known it would be as a kid, but it brings you no joy to see the two of them together in an office until the early hours of the morning, worn at the edges and sick with the grief they’re ignoring to push forward. 

With no surprise, Seungcheol immediately promotes Soonyoung to the lead military position, rising from Sword to Sentinel in a single night. It’s the same position his father held under your father, and Soonyoung takes it with steely resolve. 

It also means you don’t see him. You move back into your old room at home. At first, it doesn’t feel like your room at all because Soonyoung isn't in it. He had moved into your room when you first started dating, spending two years in that bed with you. Now, he’s taken up residence in his room down the hall, so close and yet the distance feels larger than ever. 

Of all the problems mounting for you to solve, Soonyoung is the most important. You know he shouldn’t be. There are a thousand other things that you need to figure out, like how to assure that the businesses you own in and near the Kim and Yong family territories won’t go under or be attacked, or how to assure that payment to the family won’t increase now that there’s a fight. 

Your days are filled with countless meetings, assuring loyal patrons that the Choi Syndicate will not fall and will not fail them, and that the Choi’s protect their own. You can see the fear in people’s eyes - the city hasn’t had the big three at war in a long time. Already the city officials are cracking down on Syndicate activity to try and establish order. 

It’s farcical at best. 

Squeezing your temples between your fingers, you lean back from the desk in your newly appointed office - which is really just your father’s. It feels weird to be in here. It still smells like leather and sweet tobacco, a little bit of smoke hanging in the air. 

The last time you’d been in this office, you’d fallen to your knees and begged him not to make you marry Kim Yijun. Now you sit at the desk, hanging up the phone as another call ends - not as bad as the first, but not as good as you’d hoped. 

Quickly, you scribble down a summary of the call to give to Seungcheol. You know he’ll read every word you write, determined to hear each concern of those under Choi patronage, whether they’re valid or not. 

At the sound of the door opening, you glance up. Soonyoung sticks his head in, surprising you. You straighten in your seat, heart racing when you take him in. His silver hair has grown longer, tapered a bit at the neck. He’s dressed in all black but he’s clean, indicating that he showered not that long ago. You thought he would be out all day like usual, looking at your watch to see he’s back far earlier than normal.

“Is everything alright?” You start to get up and he rushes to you, hands lifting to help you. “I’m alright. I am well on the mend.”

He chews his lip, nodding before dropping his hands hesitantly. “Everything’s fine I just.” He hesitates. “Do you want to eat lunch?” 

“Oh. Sure.”

Soonyoung’s smile is tentative. Shy. You give him one back, following him out of the office while sending a quick note to Jihoon that you’ll meet with him later. He sends a thumbs down back, less than pleased that you’ve not made time to talk to him about your potential murder charges for Yijun. 

“Are you busy? We don’t have to-”

“It’s just Jihoon.” 

“Ah. He’s persistent, are you sure-”

“I want to have lunch with you, Soonyoung.” 

He blushes and you grin. “Alright,” he murmurs. “When you say jump and all that.” 

That makes you pause. “You don’t have to do anything I tell you.” 

“What?” He stops walking, confused. 

“You don’t have to ask how high if I tell you to jump... I’m wrong a lot of the time. I don’t… want to be that.” 

I don’t want to repeat my mistakes. You don’t say it, but you think Soonyoung senses it when he says, “I’ve always wanted to jump for you. That hasn’t changed.” 

Let him take you back. Don’t make him punish you. 

Angel’s words come back to you so you swallow down your guilt and you nod, giving him a tentative smile that he returns. This time, he holds out his hand to take you in the kitchen. You take it, the feeling of his fingers wrapping around yours both foreign and familiar. 

The way he holds your hand in his makes you tremble. It’s something so simple and benign and yet you’re screaming on the inside, looking at where your fingers twine together like it’s everything, like it’s the only thing. 

Lunch consists of very badly burned grilled cheese. You don’t care because Soonyoung makes it, insistent that he wants to and that he can. He’s good at a lot of things, particularly on the spectrum of murder and weapons, but he is terrible at putting bread, cheese and butter in a pan. 

You eat it anyway, burnt bread and all. He sits next to you, his stool pulled so close that your thighs touch. You want to reach out and brush your fingers across his face, down his neck, through his hair. You want to touch until you’re grabbing, grab until you’re pulling. 

Instead, you let him lead this dance, too afraid to initiate. 

Let him take you back. Don’t make him punish you. 

You don’t, but you can’t let go of the fear of rejection. Can’t bring yourself to toe the line beyond what he’s giving you, which is more than you ever dreamed of. So you accept when he offers to take your plate, fingers brushing over the top of your hand either by design or by accident you don’t know. His touch makes you shiver and he notices, pausing. 

Slowly, you look up at Soonyoung. His eyes are dark and misty as ever, churning with emotion that you’re a little too afraid to read. Instead of taking the plates to the sink, he sets them down and reaches for you, cradling your face in his hands. 

A sob works its way up your throat but you force it down. You will not cry over this. You will not make him comfort you. 

“Are you afraid to touch me?” His question is gentle. You nod, eyes fluttering shut as his thumb brushes back and forth across your cheekbone. “Why?” 

“I… want to so badly. I just want it to be your choice.” 

“I want you to.” You open your eyes. His earnestness is right on the surface of him, rippling for you to see. “I’m dying for it. Please.” 

Soonyoung’s please sounds like that morning he’d begged you all that time ago. It freezes you in place, heart beating like a prey animal in fight or flight. He steps closer, his breath on your forehead when he whispers, “Please.” 

Slowly, you bring your hands up to his wrists. Licking your lips, you place your hands on him. His eyes close. His skin is warm to the touch and you feel him tremble as you brush your hands upward, tracing his forearms, his corded biceps. You brush your fingertips over the sleeves of his shirt and toward his neck until you’re cupping his throat, your thumbs resting against his hammering pulse. 

You close your eyes, remaining still. Both of you remain that way, his hands on your face, yours on his neck. You’re shaking under his touch, feel his breath against your forehead. His fingers add a little pressure to your face, careful not to hurt you where your bruise is finally fading on your nose as he turns you to look up at him. 

Soonyoung licks his lips, eyes open. “There is not a second I didn’t love you.”

And there it is. The admission that he never hated you. You bet he tried - you know he tried. You know the inside of Soonyoung’s soul better than you know your own, no part of him hidden to you even with time. 

“I don’t care why you did it,” he continues. “Not anymore. Not after everything. I don’t care about any of it. I just… want you.”

“Soonyoung-”

“I know you’re sorry. I know you hate yourself. I know there is guilt eating away at you. Get over it, because none of it changes how I feel. I love you. You’re mine. I don’t want to leave you again. You cannot make me.” 

“I know. I won’t make you.” 

“Good.” Soonyoung presses his forehead to yours gently. He’s careful not to knock noses with you too hard, aware of the pain it’ll cause. “I cannot do any of this without you.” 

“I know.”

Soonyoung’s mouth is tentative when it presses against yours. Your grip on him tightens, leaning forward into the kiss. It is everything - the only thing. You feel something wet on your face, thinking that you’ve got another nosebleed, but when you pull away, you realize it’s because Soonyoung is crying.

Crying for the first time since his parents died. 

You stand up from the stool, gripping the back of his neck to pull him toward you. He melts under your touch, letting you meld your mouths together. He tastes like his burnt sandwich and like him, his mouth warm and wet against yours. Vanilla and sandalwood invade your senses, overwhelming as you grip him for dear life, never wanting to let him go.

He doesn’t want to let you go either. His grip on your hips is crushing, fingers digging into flesh and bone as though he can force you to become one. The thought makes you dizzy. You slide your fingers in his silk-soft hair, wrapping the strands around them to pull lightly, pull him closer, pull him to you, pull him back. 

Soonyoung whines against your mouth and you break the kiss, panting. “Take me upstairs,” you whisper between peppering kissing against his mouth, his bottom lip, the corner of his lips. “Please take me upstairs.” 

He does. Soonyoung grabs you by the hands, tugging you toward the stairs that lead to your room - the room you used to share. The room that still smells like him, even if faintly. He takes you to your bed, where you’ve spent hundreds of nights with him, and lays you down gently like he has a million times before. 

Soonyoung touches you like you’re holy. His hands skim over you in worship, they scratch you in penance, they hold you in reverence. He slots himself between your knees, stealing a kiss from you like it’ll breathe new life into him, bare him anew, purge him of sin. 

You love him. You love him you love him you love him you love him you love him -

A moan leaves his mouth when your nails drag down his back. He is quaking under your touch, his mouth hungry but careful against yours, wanting to swallow you whole but knowing you’re hurt. You know he won’t break you but you wish he would.

There’s time for that later. Now isn’t the time for rough and biting. Now, Soonyoung peels the shirt from your skin, immediately covering your arms, chest, collarbones, shoulders in kisses. You vibrate under his touch, lashes fluttering as he sucks at the sensitive skin of your neck, tongue pressed flat to your pulse as he tastes you. 

You tug at his shirt and he complies, leaning upward to toss it. He’s back on you in a second, pressing you close, hip to hip as he tangles his tongue with yours, drinking you in. His touch ignites a fire and you’re burning, a complete inferno as you drag your fingers up the hard contour of his stomach to the firmness of his chest and around to his shoulders. 

“I love you,” he mutters against your mouth, rolling his hips into you. You let out a breathy sound and he groans. “Fuck I love you. I missed you. I love you.” 

“Please,” you beg. He understands, burying his face in your neck and biting down lightly. You feel like you’re going to burn up under him, an out of control blaze while his fingers work the buttons on your pants. “Never let me go.”

“Never.” 

Jeans scrape down your legs, his hands following. He drags his blunt nails down your thighs. Your hips twitch upward, loving the scratch, loving the way he touches you, loving him. He returns his mouth to yours, unable to get enough of your kissing. 

Soonyoung’s hand slips between your thighs, the pads of his fingers pressing against your clit through your underwear. You keen for him, pulling at the long strands of hair at the back of his neck. He moans in tandem, his pleasure driven by yours, loving the way you sound as you start to come apart under the gentle circle of his fingers. 

He only teases you a little, knowing the friction with the fabric between his fingers and your aching cunt isn’t enough. He finally decides that you’ve had enough, hooking a finger to pull them aside, the cool air hitting your sticky folds. 

Before you can complain, Soonyoung’s touch is there. He drags his fingers slow-soft from top to bottom, circling your clit slowly. He’s not in a hurry, dragging it out as he sucks your tongue into his mouth, sliding his fingers back down to press against your entrance but not breach it. 

You whine and he grins, pulling your bottom lip with his teeth until he lets go with a pop. “I love those sounds you make.” 

“Feels good,” you admit, head falling to the side as you close your eyes, enjoying the pressure he puts on your clit, wiggling his fingers back and forth. Your thighs close around his hand but he’s unbothered, drawing more arousal from you as he plays. “Fuck, your fingers.” 

His laugh is throaty and he shakes his head, attaching his mouth to your jaw where he sucks at the skin. He makes himself comfortable with nibbling toward your neck, both of his hands reaching for the sides of your underwear to pull them down. You let him, folding your knees toward your for a moment to help. 

Soonyoung’s hand returns to the wetness between your legs except this time, he’s not teasing. He presses a finger in deep and you whine, hips wiggling. You squeeze down on his finger, pussy spasming as he begins to pump leisurely, like he has all the time in the world.

And he does, doesn’t he? The work is far from done and the world is falling apart, but it doesn’t matter because he’s here with you. Because Soonyoung is yours again - always has been - and because he’s drawing your mouth toward his to kiss you messily, swallowing down your moans as he presses in another finger. 

Now you crumble beneath him. You can’t stop your hips from coming off the bed. You loop your arms around his neck, keeping him close, breathing the same air. He presses his forehead to yours, eyes impossible dark and half-lidded as he hooks his fingers, dragging them against that sensitive spot. 

You cry out his name and he grins. Now he knows where it is, pressing repeatedly as he fucks you on his fingers, driving you directly toward an orgasm. Your breathing becomes labored, your legs squeezing his hips, your fingers digging into his shoulders. It is so good that you think you might die, letting him yank you toward release. 

Soonyoung kisses you again and you come crashing down, cumming around his fingers, body squeezing, ignoring the ache in your ribs and the millions of other places that you’re sore. He doesn’t slow down, scissoring his fingers to pry you open, to stretch you more.

“Soonyoung,” you gasp, voice wrecked. “Soonyoung Soonyoung Soonyoung.” 

“Just like that,” he agrees. You can tell he loves the way you say his name, knows that on your tongue it means something different. “Come on, one more.” 

You’ll give him anything he wants. Never again will you deny him. You let him work you up again, feeling the way your breath gets stuck in your lungs and you shiver, another wave washing through you as you shudder around his fingers. 

When you start to pant, he pulls his fingers out. You feel the wet schlick as he does, immediately hating the way you feel empty, hating the way he leans away from you. Whining, you reach out toward him, needy. He hushes you with a brief kiss, only standing to rid himself of his jeans and briefs. 

Using the fingers covered in your arousal, Soonyoung pumps his cock, smearing a mixture of your slick and his precum down his shaft as he kneels on the bed again, taking his place between your thighs again. You watch with hooded eyes as he rubs the head of his cock through your messy folds, a moan dripping from your lips. 

Soonyoung is beautiful, skin flushed and a sheen of sweat on his arms. His stomach flexes and clenches as he presses the tip of his cock into your entrance, both of you taking a shaky breath together. He slowly slides home, the stretch of him driving you wild, pussy fluttering around him until he’s slotted to the hilt. 

He hangs his head, panting as he plants his hands on either side of your head. He takes a moment to collect himself, shaking. You turn your head to the side, kissing his wrist, peppering any skin you can reach with your love while your hands drift up his back, feeling the muscles flex. 

When he begins to move, you nearly die. It feels so good, your breath lodged in your throat. He lowers his face to yours, kissing you as gently as he fucks you. His thrusts are deep and timed, not hard or fast but slow and measured, pressing all the way in as he uses his weight to his advantage. 

Your fingers turn to talons on his back, nails biting his shoulder blades. He’s precise, the tip of his cock finding the right angle to make you nearly sob in a matter of a few thrusts. It’s familiar. Home. 

Soonyoung lowers himself to his forearms, pressing your chests together. The friction of his skin against your pert nipples makes you squeeze around him, his name a whisper on swollen, kiss-bitten lips. He presses his forehead to yours, breathing shakily as he continues to fuck you.

You feel him everywhere, feel everything that he wants to say. Soonyoung has never needed words to communicate to you and he doesn’t now, the way he shakes as he lets out a wispy moan enough, the way he slides one of his arms under your back to cradle you to his chest, closer closer closer.

He wants to be closer and so do you, arms around his neck, drawing him to you. You never want to let him go, never will let him go. You’ve learned your lesson and this, right here with him is the only thing that matters. 

“Shh,” he hushes. You realize you’re crying, tasting salt on your lips when he brushes his mouth against yours. “I know.” 

“I love you.”

“I know.” 

Soonyoung’s pace picks up only a little bit. It’s enough, sending you careening toward your third orgasm. He can feel it - needs it. He chases after your high, catching your mouth to brush his tongue against yours, rolling his hips until you’re clenching around him, whining into his mouth, lips buzzing against his.

He hums against you, waiting until your pussy lets go of its vice grip to speed up a little bit, the wet smack of his hips against yours loud and lewd, driving him forward until he comes, your name on his lips, his face buried in your neck. His thrusts slow, both of you trembling like leaves until he finally stops, remaining seated inside of you. 

“I will love you for a thousand lifetimes,” he mutters against your mouth, with no intention of moving. “You know that, right Baby?” 

You nod, fingers digging into his shoulder blades. “Leave me at your own peril, Kwon Soonyoung,” you rasp, quoting yourself that first night he finally caved, where he finally told you that he couldn’t exist without you. “I will never go anywhere ever again.” 

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SYNDICATE ROLES

Tower - title for a Syndicate boss Wisdom - title for the second-in-command to a Sydicate boss Sentinel - title for the main military leader of a Syndicate Riots - title for a member of the Syndicate responsible for sowing discord Swords - title for a member of the Syndicate who is a fighter/military role Chariots - members of the Syndicate who make deals/act as business brokers Rooks - members of the Syndicate who collect debts/lead the extortion practices Justices - members of the Syndicate on the legal counsel Hanged Men - members of the Syndicate who betrayed their Syndicate Watchers - members of a Syndicate who are spies/informants Patrons - citizens who pay homage/have an alliance/are under the protection of a Syndicate Vanguard - official members of the Syndicate who don't have specific roles but do work for the Syndicate

[rosemariiaa]

02 sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇs, ғɪʀsᴛ ᴄʀᴜsʜᴇs

𐙚—pairing: Paige x Azzi

𐙚—rosie’s note:i have nothing to say but enjoy this long and sad ass flashback and yeah..pls don’t humor me! live reacts are very much wanted and needed!! also wanted to say tysmmm for 700+ followers, i love evb soo much and ty for being here! happy reading lovelies 💌

𐙚—links: rosie’s bookshelf, series masterlist , prologue

𐙚—themes: au (time travel), angst, fluff (if you squint), hurt/comfort, mentions of depression

𐙚—taglist: @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @makethemhoesmad @imaginespazzi @sierrale8ne @bueckersbitch @xxloveralways14 @kmoneymartini @lupinqs @pboogerswbb @pbaz7 @guesswhoitsn @patri-ots87 @ashortyluvsports @absolutelydreadful @pazzilover101

enjoy!!!

Storrs, Connecticut 2021

It started a few weeks after Azzi and Paige made their “agreement”. That’s what Azzi called it in her head—a way to convince herself it was something mutual, something they both wanted. In reality, it was her idea. She was the one who said, “We can’t keep doing this,” and Paige had gone along with it, like she always did.

Azzi thought it would be better this way, safer. If they stayed just friends, they couldn’t hurt each other. But watching Paige move on, watching her live out this version of their lives that Azzi thought she wanted—God, it was killing her.

The first time Paige mentioned Leana, Azzi didn’t think much of it. Paige always had a way of making friends quickly, effortlessly. But then Leana started showing up, a lot. At the end of practice. At team dinners. At their apartment.

Paige introduced her to the team a few days after their conversation, her arm slung around Leana’s shoulders like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t the same way she used to hold Azzi. And Leana? She was perfect. Nice. Pretty. Confident in a way that made Azzi’s stomach churn with jealousy? No, Azzi never really got jealous when Paige would be with other girls. Especially because they would only last a day or a few hours, but Leana would not stop showing up.

So, it was definitely not jealousy. Hatred.

Azzi hated her. She hated how she laughed at Paige’s jokes, how she touched Paige’s arm all the time like it was it was gonna grow legs and run away if she didn’t, how Paige seemed to shine a little brighter whenever Leana was around.

She hated how much she wanted Leana to be awful. Selfish. Mean. Anything that would give Paige a reason to leave her, to come back to Azzi. So Azzi could hold her and comfort her, the way she always used to. But that wasn’t going to happen. Leana wasn’t a bad person, and Paige didn’t need Azzi anymore.

Fuck. What did I do?

Azzi tried to convince herself she was fine. That she didn’t care. That this was what she wanted. Right?

But then, tonight, she saw them in the dining hall. Paige was leaning against the table, laughing at something Leana had said, her head tilted back, blonde waves brushing her back. She looked happy. Free.

And then Paige’s hand went to the small of Leana’s back.

Azzi froze.

Her breath caught in her chest, her heart pounding in her ears. That was her spot. Paige used to do that to her all the time—those small, familiar touches that felt like secrets only they shared. And now Paige was doing it to someone else.

She would never do that to Azzi again.

The realization hit her like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, she thought she might be sick. She thought her heart had already broken, but somehow, it found a new way to break.

Because even though Azzi was the one who asked for this—even though she was the one who insisted they be just friends—watching Paige with someone else made her realize just how wrong she’d been.

She turned away before they could see her, her fists clenched at her sides as she hurried out of the dining hall. Her vision blurred, hot tears slipping down her cheeks before she could stop them.

This was what she wanted.

This was what she’d asked for.

So why did it feel like this?

Azzi wiped at her face, angry at herself for crying. She couldn’t help but think about the agreement again, how it all started.

She could still see Paige’s expression that night, the way her brows furrowed, her lips pulling into a small frown as she listened to Azzi stumble through her words.

few weeks earlier..

Paige sat down beside her, resting her elbows on her knees. “We need to talk.”

Azzi’s shoulders tensed, but she closed her laptop and turned to face Paige. “About what?”

“About why you’ve been avoiding me,” Paige said bluntly.

Azzi’s lips parted, but she hesitated. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”

“Az,” Paige said softly, giving her a pointed look.

Azzi sighed, leaning back against the couch. “I just… I needed space. To figure things out.”

“Figure what out?” Paige asked, her voice steady but laced with concern.

Azzi stared at her hands, fidgeting with the hem of her sweatshirt. “Paige, I can’t keep doing this. We said we’d be friends, and then I end up in your room, in your bed… It’s confusing.”

Paige leaned closer, her brows furrowed. “You just wanted to sleep and it’s not confusing to me. I know how I feel about you, Az.”

Azzi shook her head quickly, cutting her off. “That’s the problem. I don’t think I know how to stop letting this happen. And I don’t trust myself not to hurt you or get hurt again.”

Paige’s jaw tightened, her voice dropping. “So, what? You’re scared, so you’re just gonna shut me out? We’ve been through too much for that.”

“I’m not shutting you out,” Azzi said, her voice rising slightly. “I’m trying to protect us. You and me. If we keep crossing these lines, it’s only gonna end the same way it did before.”

Paige exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down her face. “You’re making this harder than it has to be. I get it, Az. I do. But I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I don’t want more.”

Azzi’s eyes softened, but she looked away. “And what happens when it gets messy again, Paige? What happens when we mess this up? I can’t lose you completely.”

Paige’s voice was quiet but firm. “You’re not gonna lose me.”

Azzi didn’t respond, her silence weighing heavy in the room.

Paige hesitated before speaking again. “So, what does this mean? Do I still get my goodnight kiss, or is that part of the deal over too?”

Azzi’s eyes shot to Paige, her cheeks flushing. “Paige…”

“What?” Paige said, trying to keep her tone light despite the tension. “I’m just asking.”

Azzi sighed, her lips curving into a reluctant smile. “Yes, you still get your goodnight kiss. But just… don’t make it a thing, okay?”

Paige grinned. “No promises.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered as she stood up. “I’m going to bed.”

“Hold up,” Paige said, standing too. She leaned down slightly, her voice soft. “Goodnight, Az.”

Azzi hesitated, then stepped closer, pressing a quick kiss to both of Paige’s cheeks. “Goodnight, Paige.”

As she walked away, Paige watched her go, her heart heavy but hopeful. This wasn’t what she wanted, not entirely. But it was something. And for now, that was enough.

present day

Azzi knew she was fucked the moment she made the decision. She knew she was fucked when Paige agreed. She knew she was fucked when she realized Paige could talk to, kiss, and hold any girl she wanted now.

Because they were just friends.

And Azzi was completely, utterly fucked.

—

The past weeks have been hell. It was like she was going through the stages of “grief” or whatever. That’s how Azzi thought of it, at least. How else could she explain the sinking pit in her chest every time Paige and Leana walked into a room together? Or the way her throat tightened when she saw Paige’s hand on Leana’s ass or her arm thrown over Leana’s shoulder, her smile too wide, her laugh too loud? Seems fake to me. She thought.

The team noticed it, of course. How could they not?

Azzi’s energy had shifted. She was way quieter, more withdrawn during practice. When Leana was around, her answers became clipped, her eyes glued to the floor like she couldn’t bear to look at anyone. It didn’t help that Leana fit in so well. The team adored her.

KK had asked her once, “Az, you good?” when they were running laps.

“I’m fine,” she’d lied, her voice sharp enough to end the conversation. But KK’s look lingered, filled with concern Azzi refused to acknowledge.

She wasn’t fine. Not even close.

First stage: Denial

Azzi told herself this was temporary. It had to be.

Paige didn’t really like Leana, not like that. It was just something new, something casual to pass the time. Paige didn’t do relationships, not seriously, and this one wouldn’t last either.

Azzi clung to that thought like a lifeline.

But then Paige started bringing Leana to team dinners. She started showing up with her at practice, standing too close, laughing too hard. And when Azzi saw them together, her chest tightened like someone was physically squeezing the air out of her lungs.

One night, she sat on the couch in Caroline’s apartment, her hands gripping a throw pillow as if she could crush the ache out of her chest.

“I keep telling myself it’s nothing,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “That she’ll get bored and come back. But what if she doesn’t, Carol? What if—” Her voice cracked, and the words wouldn’t come.

Caroline pulled her into a hug, her voice soft and steady. “I’m sorry, Az. I know this sucks. But you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

Azzi didn’t reply. Because what was she supposed to say? That she didn’t know how to stop?

Second stage: Anger

The denial didn’t last. It couldn’t—not when Paige started bringing Leana to their apartment.

Azzi walked in one day after practice to find Leana sitting on the couch, Paige sprawled next to her, both of them laughing at something on Leana’s phone. Paige looked up, her face lighting up when she saw Azzi.

“Oh hey, Az. You hungry? We’re ordering sushi.”

We. Azzi hated the word.

She dropped her bag by the door, her jaw tight as she muttered, “I’m good,” before disappearing into her room.

That night, she slammed her bedroom door harder than necessary, her chest heaving with an anger she couldn’t contain.

Paige was supposed to be hers. She didn’t care how selfish it sounded—she didn’t want to share Paige with anyone else. Especially not Leana.

Third stage: Bargaining

Azzi started picking apart every moment she’d shared with Paige, searching for something she could’ve done differently.

Maybe if she hadn’t been so stubborn about staying “just friends.” Maybe if she’d let herself fall the way she wanted to—completely, unapologetically. Maybe Paige would’ve stayed.

She confided in Caroline again one night, her voice barely above a whisper as she lay curled up on the couch.

“What if I just tell her?” she asked, her hands twisting the hem of her hoodie. “What if I tell her I messed up, that I want her back?”

Caroline gave her a look that was equal parts sympathy and concern. “Az, you’re the one who pushed her away. Do you think telling her now is going to change anything? She’s with Leana.”

Azzi’s stomach sank at the words, but she couldn’t let go of the thought. What if Paige still loved her? What if there was a chance, no matter how small?

When Caroline finally left, Azzi retreated to her bedroom, unable to escape the weight of her emotions. Her eyes landed on the photo frame on her nightstand—the picture of her and Paige after their U16 gold medal win. Paige’s smile in the photo was the kind that made Azzi’s chest ache, bright and unguarded, as if she’d never known heartbreak.

It had become a nightly ritual, one that Azzi couldn’t bring herself to stop. She picked up the frame, her fingers trembling as she brushed over the glass. “I’m sorry, P,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away.”

She pressed her lips to the corner of Paige’s smile in the photo, just like she used to do before bed. It was their tradition—their goodnight kiss. Only now, it was one-sided. A ghost of a memory that haunted her.

“Goodnight,” she murmured, her lips still resting against the glass. “Sweet dreams, P.”

Azzi set the frame back down and collapsed onto her bed, clutching the pillow to her chest. Maybe if I hadn’t been scared. Maybe if I just told her now…

Her mind raced with impossible scenarios, rewinding and replaying their history, searching for the moment she could fix, the word she could take back, the step she could retrace.

But in the end, she was left clutching nothing but a pillow and a memory, her tears soaking into the fabric.

Fourth stage: Depression

The hope didn’t last.

It was gone the night Azzi walked into the gym to find Paige and Leana standing by the bleachers. Paige’s hand was on Leana’s waist, positioning her towards the basket, Azzi felt her heart crack open all over again.

She barely made it through practice, her movements sluggish, her mind a blur. By the time she got home, she was shaking, tears streaming down her face as she stumbled into her bedroom.

Caroline found her an hour later, curled up on the floor, her chest heaving with silent sobs.

“I can’t do this,” Azzi whispered, her voice broken. “I can’t—she’s everywhere, Care. And I can’t—” She gasped for air, her words dissolving into another sob.

Caroline sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Az, you don’t have to go through this alone. I’m here, okay? Whatever you need.”

Azzi nodded, but the ache in her chest didn’t fade.

She thought about their first kiss. On the dock, at the lake house of Azzi’s grandparents, the way Paige’s lips had been so soft, so sure.

Would Paige still think about it?

Would she remember the way they’d laughed afterward, giddy and breathless, as if the world had suddenly cracked open and spilled all its light into their lives?

Azzi closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks.

Will I still cross your mind in a year, Paige? she wondered, her heart aching. Will you miss us, even for a second?

Because Azzi did. She missed Paige every day, every second of every day. She missed the way they fit together, like two halves of a whole, and the way Paige used to make her feel seen, like she was the only person in the world who mattered.

I miss you, she thought, her chest heaving with the weight of it. I miss us.

But Paige was with Leana now, and Azzi was just a ghost in her life—a shadow of what they used to be.

And no matter how much she wanted to believe otherwise, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Paige had already moved on.

Stage 5: Acceptance? No. The lack of Acceptance

No matter how hard she tried, Azzi couldn’t let go.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the way Paige used to look at her, like she was the only person in the room. She couldn’t stop replaying their last kiss in her mind—the warmth of Paige’s lips, the way she’d whispered, “Just friends,” like it was a promise they could keep.

But they couldn’t.

And Azzi couldn’t accept it. She couldn’t accept that Paige was gone, that she’d moved on, that the life they’d imagined together was slipping further out of reach with every passing day.

She wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything that might ease the crushing weight on her chest. But all she could do was sit in her room, staring at the wall, as the realization settled in:

She wasn’t grieving Paige. She was grieving herself—the part of her that had believed in them, the part of her that had loved Paige so fiercely it burned.

And now, all she had left were the ashes.

—

Paige didn’t like Leana.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She liked her well enough to talk to her, to hang out with her when the apartment felt too quiet, too empty, too suffocating without Azzi. But when it came to everything else—when it came to the little things—Paige didn’t like her at all.

She didn’t like that Leana couldn’t cook. It wasn’t like Azzi was an all-star chef or anything—Azzi could barely cook either—but it was different. It was Azzi. At least Azzi could make scrambled eggs. And those nasty green smoothies she used to force Paige to drink after workouts? Yeah, Paige hated them, but she never really hated them because they were from Azzi.

Leana couldn’t even make toast without burning it.

Paige didn’t like how Leana was so touchy-feely all the time. It was suffocating. She hated how Leana’s hands always found her waist or her shoulders, how her arms would wrap around Paige’s neck, clinging like a vine. Paige was supposed to be the clingy one. She was the one who used to jump into Azzi’s arms after practice, planting kisses all over her face or pulling her into hugs just because she felt like it.

And Azzi? She didn’t need to be all over Paige all the time. Sometimes, Azzi would just sit next to her, quiet and comfortable, letting Paige know she was there without saying a word. Paige loved that. She loved being in Azzi’s presence. It was Azzi, after all. Who wouldn’t want to just exist beside her?

But with Leana? God, sometimes Paige wanted to yell, “Can you just get the fuck away from me already?”

Leana’s hair? Always slick, stick-straight, and perfect. Paige hated it. She missed Azzi’s hair—how she’d wear it in curls or braids, switching it up depending on her mood. Paige loved running her hands through Azzi’s curls, loved how soft they felt and how they smelled like flowers.

Leana always smelled like strawberries. Safe to say Paige never had an appetite for them anymore.

She didn’t like the way Leana chewed her food, loud and careless, or the way she slurped her drinks like she grew up with no one teaching her manners. Azzi chewed her food so pretty—if chewing could even be called pretty—with that bright, wide smile she always had when Paige surprised her with ice cream sundaes every Friday night.

Leana always wanted to eat out, and not even at good places. She was obsessed with Jimmy John’s. Paige was too, but only when she went with Azzi every other week after games. Paige couldn’t stand it. She missed how Azzi would insist they eat at home, complaining about how Paige didn’t eat healthy enough.

And God, Paige hated the way Leana fucked. She hated the way her tongue moved on her breasts, her stomach, and just her body. The way her small, slender fingers never hit the right spot, the way her kisses felt too wet, too desperate, too wrong. Leana always tasted like candy, but Paige didn’t even like that anymore. She liked when Azzi tasted like candy.

Because it was Azzi.

Leana was all wrong—her touch, her smell, her laugh, her everything. Paige didn’t like anything about her, not really. And the more she tried to forget Azzi with Leana, the more it became painfully clear.

She didn’t want Leana. She never did.

She wanted Azzi.

But Azzi didn’t want her, not like that. Not anymore. And Paige couldn’t admit it out loud, but she knew the truth.

She was in a tangled mess she doesn’t think she can cut herself out of.

The worst part was Paige only really showed Leana affection when other people were around—when the team was watching, or worse, when Paige knew Azzi was somewhere nearby. It was all for show. A charade. She wanted to convince everyone, herself included, that she was fine. That she didn’t think about Azzi day and night. That she didn’t spend every waking moment wishing things were different.

She faked a laugh at Leana’s terrible jokes, forcing herself to look interested, to act like she wasn’t distracted by the mere thought of Azzi. But she was. She always was.

Every time Leana touched her, Paige’s mind wandered to Azzi’s touch instead. Every time Leana spoke, Paige thought about Azzi’s voice, the way it softened whenever she called Paige’s name. Every time Leana kissed her, Paige found herself comparing it to Azzi’s kisses—how they tasted sweeter, felt deeper, left her breathless in ways Leana never could.

It didn’t matter how much Paige pretended. She wasn’t fooling anyone. Certainly not Azzi. Certainly not herself.

She was a fucked fool.

Present day (au)

The night was colder than Paige expected. The sharp winter air bit at her cheeks as she adjusted the duffel bag slung over her shoulder, glancing over at Azzi walking beside her. Her girlfriend’s hands were stuffed deep into her coat pockets, her brow furrowed in curiosity.

“You really aren’t gonna tell me where we’re going?” Azzi asked, her voice soft but laced with amusement.

Paige smirked, shaking her head. “Nope. You gotta trust me, princess.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, though the nickname softened her expression. “Last time you said that, we ended up at that hole-in-the-wall pizza spot where you made me eat that ‘experimental’ pineapple jalapeño pizza.”

Paige held her hand to her chest, feigning offense. “Okay, first of all, that pizza was fire, and you know it.”

Azzi gave her a side-eye, her lips twitching upward despite herself. “It made me throw up on your shoes but okay! Just hurry it’s cold.”

Paige rolled her eyes and grinned, nodding toward the gym as it came into view. Its towering doors stood shut, the building silent under the faint glow of campus lights.

Azzi frowned, glancing between Paige and the gym. “Uh, you do know the gym is closed, right?”

Paige pulled a key from her pocket, holding it up with a mischievous grin. “Not for me, it’s not. Perks of being a super senior and coach’s favorite.”

Azzi followed her inside, the smell of the gym familiar but the sight in front of her unexpected. The center court lights glowed softly, illuminating a small setup Paige had prepared: a picnic blanket, a thermos of hot cocoa, a container of chocolate-covered strawberries, and a jar of Nutella sitting neatly on top.

Azzi’s jaw dropped slightly. “Wait—is that Nutella and strawberries? Wow Paige, you really thought this through.”

Paige shrugged, trying to play it cool but clearly pleased with herself. “You’re the one who put me onto it. Said they’re ‘life-changing’ or whatever. Figured I’d return the favor.”

Azzi laughed, kneeling down on the blanket and picking up the jar of Nutella. “I didn’t just say they’re life-changing. I said they’re essential. There’s a difference.”

Paige chuckled, setting her duffel bag near the bleachers before grabbing a basketball. “Yeah, yeah. Now let’s see if you still got that jumper.”

For the next hour, they played like they were kids again—shooting around, teasing each other, laughing until their stomachs hurt. Paige couldn’t help but steal glances at Azzi, marveling at how at ease she looked, her usual focus replaced with unfiltered joy.

When they finally settled back on the blanket, Azzi leaned into Paige’s side, her head resting on her shoulder. She dipped a strawberry into the Nutella and popped it into her mouth, sighing contentedly.

“This is perfect,” Azzi said softly.

Paige smiled, her fingers tracing small circles on Azzi’s thigh. “Yeah. I figured we could use something like this. It’s been…a lot lately.”

Azzi tilted her head to look up at Paige, her brow creasing slightly. “What do you mean? You’ve been killing it this year, P.”

Paige hesitated, her fingers stilling. “Yeah, but…it’s weird, you know? Knowing this is my last year here. I’m really gonna miss this place.”

Azzi’s smile faltered, and she sat up a little straighter. “You don’t have to think about that yet, though.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking. “What about you? You’ve been quiet about what you’re gonna do. Are you staying another year or declaring?”

Azzi blinked, caught off guard. “I—” She stopped, her gaze dropping to the blanket. “I haven’t decided yet.”“I don’t know. It’s a big decision, and I don’t want to rush it. But…sometimes I think staying wouldn’t be so bad.”

Paige reached out, gently turning Azzi’s face toward her. “Hey,” she said softly. “We’ll figure it out, no matter what. You staying or going doesn’t change us, Az.”

Azzi’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, her eyes shining with uncertainty. “It’s just…a lot to think about.”

Paige’s expression softened, and she leaned in to press a kiss to Azzi’s temple. “I get it. Take your time. You don’t have to decide tonight.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the gym’s stillness wrapping around them like a blanket. Finally, Paige broke the quiet, a playful grin tugging at her lips.

“So,” she said, glancing down at Azzi. “Am I still get my goodnight kiss tonight, or what?”

Azzi laughed, rolling her eyes. “You’re ridiculous, you ask this everytime” she teased, but her cheeks flushed pink.

Paige tilted her head, her grin widening. “That’s not a no.”

Azzi sighed dramatically, leaning forward to press a soft, lingering kiss to Paige’s lips. When she pulled back, Paige was grinning like she’d won a championship.

“See?” Paige said, leaning back against the blanket. “This is why I’m gonna miss UConn. Nobody does goodnight kisses like you.”

Azzi laughed, shaking her head. “You’re lucky you’re cute, because you’re so corny.”

Paige chuckled, pulling Azzi closer. For the first time in a while, she let herself just be present—with Azzi, with this moment, with this version of her senior year.

—

The gym was almost empty now, the faint echo of their laughter still hanging in the air. Paige knelt beside her duffel bag, tossing in her shoes and a few loose pieces of tape she’d peeled off her wrists. Azzi was a few feet away, waiting patiently for paige to finish.

The night had been everything Paige hoped for—light, easy, and full of the kind of love that made her forget, even for a moment, about everything weighing her down.

Azzi turned to Paige, her brown eyes sparkling even under the harsh fluorescent lights. “You okay?” she asked, tilting her head.

Paige zipped up her bag and stood, throwing it over her shoulder. “Yeah, I’m good,” she said with a small smile.

Azzi didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push. Instead, she nodded toward the doors. “Come on, let’s get home, KK is blowing up my phone.”

They walked side by side, their footsteps echoing off the walls as they made their way to the exit. Paige glanced over at Azzi, watching the way her ponytail swayed with each step, the way she hummed softly under her breath. She was so beautiful, so effortlessly radiant, and Paige felt her chest tighten at the thought of everything she was keeping from her.

As they stepped outside, the cold air hit them immediately, their breath visible in the chilly night. Paige unlocked the car with a press of a button, and Azzi walked ahead, tossing her bag into the backseat before climbing in. Paige lingered for a moment, staring up at the stars as if they might hold the answers she was looking for.

“Paige?” Azzi called softly from inside the car.

Paige snapped out of her thoughts and climbed in, shutting the door behind her. The heater kicked on as she started the engine, and for a moment, they just sat there, the quiet hum of the car filling the space between them.

Paige had one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on her thigh. Azzi sat in the passenger seat, her head turned slightly toward Paige as if she was studying her. The hum of the engine and the faint sound of the radio filled the space between them, but Paige’s thoughts were so loud they might as well have been screaming.

She’d done her best to stay in the moment tonight—to soak in Azzi’s laugh, her smile, the way her nose scrunched whenever Paige teased her. But as they neared campus, the weight in Paige’s chest grew heavier.

It wasn’t just about what she’d gotten a second chance at; it was what she’d lost the first time around.

Azzi broke the silence first. “Hey, you wanna just crash in my room tonight?” Her voice was soft, almost hypnotizing.

Paige glanced at her briefly before returning her eyes to the road. “Yeah,” she said, her voice just as quiet. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Azzi smiled, reaching out to give Paige’s arm a squeeze before settling back into her seat.

For the rest of the drive, Paige’s thoughts spiraled.

What if she could fix things?

The question had been haunting her since the moment she woke up in this second chance of a life. She could do so much—change so much—but every action had consequences. Good ones, bad ones. Ones she couldn’t even begin to predict.

Her grip on the steering wheel tightened.

And then there was the truth. The one thing she knew she could never fix, never change. The one thing that had already shattered Azzi once before.

Paige swallowed hard, her jaw clenching. She couldn’t think about that now. Not tonight. She needed to focus on the present—on Azzi, on the way her voice softened whenever she said Paige’s name, on the way her fingers always found Paige’s whenever they were walking side by side. Just focus on Azzi, just focus on pretending.

But was she really pretending? No. No, she wasn’t.

Paige knew she loved Azzi. Everyone did. She loved her so much it felt like it was tearing her apart from the inside out. She loved her enough to want to protect her, even if it meant keeping this secret. She loved her enough to die for her.

But loving her didn’t make what she was doing any less wrong.

By the time they reached Azzi’s dorm, Paige felt like she could barely breathe. Azzi didn’t seem to notice; she was already climbing out of the car, waiting for Paige to grab her things before leading the way inside.

When they reached Azzi’s room, Paige hesitated in the doorway, her duffel bag slung over her shoulder. Azzi turned to her, frowning slightly.

“You good?” she asked.

Paige forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah. Just tired, that’s all.”

Azzi’s frown deepened, but she didn’t press. Instead, she grabbed Paige’s hand and pulled her inside.

They moved through their usual routine with ease—Azzi handing Paige a pair of sweats, Paige tossing her hoodie onto the back of a chair, both of them brushing their teeth side by side in the small bathroom. But as they finally settled into Azzi’s bed, the silence between them felt heavier than before.

Paige lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling while Azzi curled up beside her, her head resting on Paige’s shoulder.

“You’ve been quiet,” Azzi murmured, her voice barely audible in the darkness.

Paige exhaled slowly, her fingers brushing through Azzi’s hair. “Just…thinking.”

“About what?”

Paige hesitated. She could feel the words bubbling up in her throat, threatening to spill out. But she couldn’t say them. Not now. Maybe not ever.

“Everything,” she said instead.

Azzi shifted, propping herself up on one elbow to look at Paige. “Hey,” she said softly, her fingers brushing against Paige’s cheek. “Whatever it is, you can talk to me. You know that, right?”

Paige closed her eyes, the weight in her chest almost unbearable. “I know,” she whispered.

Azzi’s thumb traced slow circles on Paige’s cheek. “You’re scaring me, P. What’s going on?”

Paige opened her eyes, her gaze locking with Azzi’s. And for a moment, she thought about telling her—about laying it all out there, no matter the consequences. But the thought of the look on Azzi’s face, the hurt in her eyes, stopped her cold.

“I’m just…I’m scared too,” Paige admitted, her voice trembling.

Azzi frowned, leaning closer. “Scared of what?”

Paige swallowed hard, her fingers tightening in Azzi’s hair. “Of losing this. Of messing it all up again.”

Azzi’s expression softened, and she leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Paige’s forehead. “You’re not gonna lose me, Paige. Not now, not ever.”

Paige closed her eyes, a single tear slipping down her cheek. “I hope you’re right,” she whispered. Oh, hope, hope was a beautiful thing.

Azzi pulled her closer, wrapping her arms around Paige as if she could hold her together. Paige buried her face in Azzi’s neck, her heart pounding in her chest.

She wanted to believe her. God, she wanted to believe her.

But deep down, she knew that as long as she kept this secret, the clock was ticking.

And she was terrified of what would happen when it finally ran out.

——

𐙚— rosie’s note: so how do we feel? do we love rosie ?? 😊

[ahhnini]

general headcanons with sevika! (relationship ver.)

a/n - this is taken place post arcane canon!

warnings - angst, men and minors dni, strap use, thigh riding, I am aware this is lowkey kinda ass I wrote this in a yearning frenzy at 3 am last night.

sfw

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ I imagine she smells woody, almost piney with a hint of that sweet pinecone scent. it’s subtle, and it doesn’t overwhelm your senses. only when you’re cuddling her can you smell it. and she smells like home.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ surprisingly a homebody. when she walks down the streets of the undercity she gets flashbacks to harsher memories, so she prefers to stay home with you and make new, better ones.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ however, she feels conflicted. zaun is her home, where she grew up in, so sometimes she forces herself to walk along the alleys where she’s seen so much blood been shed. it’s her home.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ she rants to you about the council members, telling you how pretentious they are and how she hates working with them. you listen, pouting at her frustrations.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ since she works at piltover now, she sees vi sometimes, and her heart clenches because she resembles jinx. you’ve made a small tribute to her, as well as isha in your shared home.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ she is so protective of you. always an arm wrapped around your shoulder or waist when you two go out. she doesn’t let you out of her sight.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ she’s so so so pouty!! :( when you visit her in her councilor’s office sometimes, you see her pouting over her desk looking at the cases. and it’s so adorable. she also pouts when she sleeps!!

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ speaking of sleep, she’s a soft snorer, but heavy sleeper! you two could literally be living next to a train station and she would not move at all. however, if you move, then she’s gonna wake up right away.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ lowkey an insomniac. the only way for her to get comfortable is to have you by her side.

nsfw

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ okay, we all saw and heard how sevika literally GROWLED when cait bit her hand…and I have a LOT of thoughts about that…

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ LOVES when you challenge her in bed. brat tamer to the max!!

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ her fav position is where you’re sat on her lap, she’s manspreading, and she watches you ride her thigh :3

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ she would snake her metal arm around your back, the coolness of the material making you shiver. her other hand would gently caress your face, her soft touches making you feel loved.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ she lovesss seeing you beg for your orgasm, she loves having that sense of control over you. even when you did nothing wrong, she’d still make you beg to cum.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ this is so obvious; her strap game is insane. she’d manhandle you so easily on the bed, pushing your face down on the pillow, pushing into you inch by inch, bending down to whisper in your ears.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ she’s relentless with you, pounding into you fast and hard, bottoming out each thrust. but if she knows you’ve had a rough day, she’ll be gentle towards you. kissing down your body, moving her hips slowly.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ gives the sweetest aftercare. she runs a bath for the both of you, carrying you with her muscular arms into the tub. she sits behind you, massaging your body and scrubbing you down, eyes full of love.

PLSS I NEED THIS MIDDLE AGED WOMAN SO FUCKING BAD

[gyaruhana]

Omg can we get some more player 120 (Cho Hyun-ju) sfw n nsfw headcanons where shes protective n dominant? Pls n thank uu I loved ur last work w her🩷

Cho Hyun-ju/Player 120 - Headcannons (sfw + nsfw)

Synopsis: more Hyun-ju headcannons !

A/N: ask and i shall serve !!

Warnings: smut content

SFW:

➠ i'm immediately jumping into the scene in the last episode where she was locked in bc holy moly she was so hot.. ➠ wouldn't let you go with her unless you were well-trained with a gun and able to handle it ➠ even then she's always keeping you close behind her ➠ When she's not shooting at the guards, she's looking at you to make sure you're doing okay ➠ if you run out of ammo, she doesn't hesitate to give you one of her magazines ➠ If you end up panicking she's immediately there to distract you from the gunshots and reassuring you that everything is fine and you'll both be okay ➠ and you both will be because she refuses to die or to let you die ➠ not when you both had already made plans for Thailand after you get out of here ➠ On a lighter note !! ➠ most doting girl ever ➠ does give you some of her food sometimes if you're feeling hungry ➠ If someone insults you, she's instantly at your side to defend you ➠ she HATES people thinking they can treat you badly ➠ do play with her hair she loves it sm ➠ expect her to hold your hand a lot because she's not afraid of PDA ➠ late night talks after lights out which sometimes just turns into staring into each others eyes ➠ so many quiet "I love you"'s whispered during those talks too ➠ likes when you cup her face in your hands honestly ➠ you guys are always talking about WHEN you make it out of this place and never if ➠ so so many plans for Thailand ➠ After the death of Young-mi, she definitely needed your comfort and got so much more protective of you ➠ if you go to the bathrooms, she's right there behind you ➠ you're basically never alone during the games ➠ Absolutely fights for you ➠ Overall, so protective of you and not afraid to put someone in their place if they disrespect you

"I have a few nice places to live in Thailand saved on my phone. I can show you them when we get out," you speak from your bed as you turn to face her. She smiles slightly at your words and nods her head. You both had been planning for Thailand since forever and now the dream seemed so much closer with the money you could take home. Even if some people died, neither of you would be next. Not as long as you were there to protect each other and survive this hellish place together. "I'd like that,"

NSFW:

➠ Again, she's gentle. ➠ not a big fan of having public sex so she often takes you to the bathroom with her if you guys are in the mood ➠ most skillfull pussy eater icl ➠ she knows exactly how to make you feel good ➠ gentle and meaningful kisses that convey so much love ➠ she's just a gentle cutie ➠ always whispering praises to you ➠ baby, my girl, sweetheart - literally every sweet pet name in the book ➠ refuses to be rough with you because she wants to help you relax and be calm from the stress of the games and the death ➠ always kisses you after making you cum on her fingers ➠ which happens quite quickly honestly.. ➠ she's just a little too good at fingering you.. ➠ she's practically memorized every part of you though that's why ➠ encourages volume and expressing how you feel ➠ she bases her pace on your facial expressions because she's ridiculously observant ➠ Overall, gentle girlfriend who knows how to please you<3

"You're close, yeah?" She says quietly as she looks up at you, her fingers continuing to thrust in and out of you quickly. The two of you didn't have a lot of time as the guard waiting just outside the bathroom likely wouldn't let you stay for long. That's why she was so quick with her fingers. The last thing she'd want is for you to be left without a release. "Go ahead. Cum on my fingers, my love,"

[world-of-wales]

LAURA WARSHAUER SHARED SNIPPETS FROM HER TIME AT ST ANDREW'S WATCHING WILL & CAT FALL IN LOVE ♡

Laura Warshauer had a front row seat as a result of her close friendship with the pair. Whether it was William helping to carry her luggage, Kate comforting her on a night out, or just having a quiet drink in a cosy corner of a pub together, those memories live on.

Her interactions with them are something few can share – teaching Kate how to play the guitar, William buying her first ever Jack Daniel’s and Coke, eating takeaway food together or laughing and joking during road trips.

Speaking about her time at uni she said :

‘I graduated from school a year early and then spent what would have been my senior year at high school in St Andrews. It was a beautiful moment in time.

I wound up getting a front row seat to the very beginning of what would become one of the greatest and most iconic love stories of our time. It’s great to see Will and Kate, the same people they were then, on the world stage.’

Talking about their form life, she recalls that she'd her mother’s lasagne recipe and her aunt’s toffee – for William and some of his friends as well as chatting with him during meal times in the ‘Harry Potter-style’ dining hall.

William & Laura sitting together for the art history 02 class photo (fun fact william changed his course like 2 weeks later to geography)

She said:

‘Will lived down the hall with two of his friends from Eton. Kate lived on the floor below.

‘I met them the same week they met each other. I was struck by how normal Will was. You could talk about anything – the most mundane things.

'Coming back from a trip home to New Jersey with my big luggage, Will would grab my bag and take it inside the dorm.

‘We were all just trying to find our way. Even if you’d been at a boarding school like Eton, people were still in a new environment.’

‘I remember I made dinner for everyone on my birthday in December and Will brought me a gift – a stuffed animal from Tesco.

It’s a seal with a blue backpack with stars on it. It’s in a place where I can see it every day and I’m like, “How cool”. It’s adorable.’

Laura said Kate and William had instant chemistry and fell for each other months before the 2002 fashion show where Will saw Kate modelling and described her as ‘hot’ :

‘We went to a party at a castle. It was a Harry Potter theme and they did an auction for charity where people were bidding to win a date. Will bid £200 to win a date with Kate.’

This is the Glamis Castle Birthday party from 01 where Catherine was pictured with Olivia Bleasdale

While Ms Warshauer doesn’t know what they eventually did for their date, she remembered Kate’s reaction was effortlessly cool – showing she was unfazed by titles and comfortable around him.

She spoke about Kate extricating William from an uncomfortable encounter:

‘It was early on when Will and Kate were getting to know each other. This girl was talking to Will, and he was being polite, but it was obvious he needed a way out .

‘All of a sudden Kate walks up from across the room, puts her arms around him and enables him to turn to this other girl and be like “I’m sorry, I have a girlfriend”.

‘And then he turned to Kate and silently mouthed the words “Thank you”. I remember thinking at that moment that no one but Kate could have done that.

‘They had just met each other but it was clear they had a connection.’

Speaking about her friendship with The Princess of Wales she said :

‘Kate saw that I was upset one night while we were out. I was walking ahead so people couldn’t see that I was upset and she came up and put her arm around me and said “I hate seeing people I care about upset”. You remember these moments.’

A photograph of Kate and Laura taken in the town’s camera shop in 2001 shows their friendship. A trip taken to find equipment for Laura's CBS audition tape filming:

‘As you know, Kate loves photography, she loved it then. Even in her dorm room I remember the beautiful photos.

‘She and I went to the camera shop together to get everything we needed and then she filmed the audition for me.’

Laura had shared a photo on social media of herself and Kate – taken at a 19th birthday party during their time in St Andrews – in a show of support for the Princess following her treatment for cancer.

This party seems to be Oliver Baker's birthday. He's one of W&C's close friends and one of George's godparents.

Speaking about it she said:

‘The interest is even greater now than it was the first time.’

Reminiscing about the party where the photo was taken, she remembers that she had just been to Paris to visit her sister who was studying there. The outfit she has on in the snap is one she bought during that French adventure.

Even that trip to Paris had started with another cherished moment with WillCat. She said:

‘Kate and I were supposed to ride a taxi to the airport together but then Will gave her a ride so I got in on it. I love how he offered her a ride and that’s how I got to go.

‘It was so cool to arrive in Paris and be like, “So guess who gave me a ride to the airport?”

‘The radio was on and Will was like, “Laura, you can sing with the radio”. It was just like popular music. It was sweet that he made that reference to me as a singer.’

[agnireed]

Rainfall

summary 🏹 you've convinced yourself daryl hates you and that only increases when you have to go on a run together

word count 🏹 9.8k

warnings 🏹 large age gap, daryl and reader are embarrassingly bad at feelings, slow burn, slightly ooc side characters (maggie and beth)

thank you to @sparklytyphoondaze for the suggested prompt!

You had almost started to think you were going crazy right alongside the state of the world. 

There wasn’t any other person, before or after that fall, that could bring you to the level of confusion and anger that Daryl Dixon managed to without fail every time you were forced to speak to each other. It was made even worse by the fact you had no idea what about you got him so upset.

You contributed to the group whenever you were needed and then some, you had never once insulted him or even sent a mean look his way unprompted and there was certainly no stand out event that had seared this bitterness into his mind. 

It seemed like he just hated you for no reason at all and this drove you insane in a way that you wish it didn’t. You didn’t necessarily fall under the belief that everybody had to like you but it really rubbed you the wrong way that somebody had decided they didn’t just because of the way you were.

At first you had figured it had to do with your young age but he didn’t sneer at Beth the same way he did with you and nobody else seemed to agree with your assumption whenever you pried them for any known information. 

You certainly had too much time on your hands these days at the prison because you had gone full blown investigator mode to try and figure out what you had been doing so wrong.

Maybe you reminded him of somebody from his past that he had a hard time with or possibly he found annoyance in the fact you managed to carry your love for all things pink and cute over into the apocalypse with you. You felt ridiculous for actually taking this to heart and you frowned at yourself in the mirror when you pulled a particularly beige tank top over your head instead of your typical blush colored ones. 

Daryl wasn’t going out of his way to be mean to you or specifically targeting you when he didn’t have to but a slightly annoyed glance from the man was enough to rattle you for the rest of the day, for reasons you didn’t really understand.

You prided yourself on being pretty tough and there was a lot you could handle before you even felt a twinge of upset but not when it came to the stoney archer. 

He was easy enough to ignore but that was full blown impossible whenever it came to Rick allowing you to do anything the other group members did. He would scoff angrily under his breath and storm off when you were assigned to go on a run and you’d see them having heated discussions whenever you were put on gate duty for long shifts. 

It was clear to you that he didn’t find you capable of helping out and although he never outwardly said it you knew that he felt uneasy trusting the lives of the others in your hands, marking you as a liability even though you’d never so much as tripped on a run let alone endangered people you considered family. 

“Am I really that bad?” You would have felt ridiculous for being so whiny but you knew Beth and Maggie were used to you coming into a cell with this exact tone by now. You had seen the look they shared when you flopped down onto the bed with a groan and now your eyebrows furrowed as you sat back up to face them. “What was that look?”

The younger of the sisters fell silent and she looked almost like she was holding in a laugh as she watched the side of Maggie’s face and waited for her to say whatever it was they were silently communicating. 

“Nothing honey it’s just…” Her familiar light twang was doing very little to soothe your worry and annoyance and you leaned in closer as she took a second to pause and stifle a building laugh. “Are you wearing brown?”

You froze as you processed her words before glancing down at the shirt you had thrown on today and groaning at the same time Beth was finally letting out an actual laugh. The sight of you in anything this shade was certainly unfamiliar and clearly a big enough deal that it was all they could focus on right now, ignoring your question you had originally asked in favor of making fun of you. 

“I don’t think his issue with you is you being girly.” Beth had a voice that couldn’t sound anything but sweet even if she tried so you took her statement as genuine reassurance even if she was still attempting to tease you. 

The pair had long been subjected to your ramblings about the older man and every little biting remark or disinterested stare he sent your way and they were just as stumped as you. Although they provided no solution for your issue it was still comforting to know you weren’t making it up and other people had noticed his distaste for you.

You sulked back to your own cell only an hour or two after joining the sisters and listening to them ramble about their own problems and thoughts, commonly occurring sessions where you could all get some things off your chest. It was a nice dynamic and you often felt touched by how easily they had brought you into the fold of their sisterly bond. 

Everybody in the group felt the same to you, love and trust apparent between each of you and then all together as a whole. There is nothing you wouldn’t do for the people inside these walls and you felt no doubt in them doing whatever it would take for you in return if and when you needed it. 

There was only one exception to this feeling and you were growing more and more frustrated by his refusal to bond with you, even if it was surface level.

You didn’t think Daryl would leave you without water if you were dying of thirst but you figured if it was in a high tree he might just tell you it wasn’t worth the effort.

Your theory was most likely going to be tested in some shape because Rick was approaching you the next day to tell you in the most stern voice he could muster that you would be going on a run. You could tell from the look in his eye that he was telling you this way because a certain somebody would be tagging along but you expected that it was just going to be the two of you on your own.

“Ain’t happening.” Daryl seemed just as dejected as you did at the news but Rick had apparently given him alot less time to be upset about it considering the words flying from his mouth when he saw you and your leader approaching him on his bike, already loaded up and at the gate ready to go. 

You sighed at the realization you were a surprise guest, annoyance in your gut knowing this would only further his hatred towards you.

“Who would you prefer?” Rick was spitting back at him in a half whisper like it would save you from being able to hear. You were even more hurt at the way he phrased it, clearly letting you in on the fact they had had this conversation before. “The cars can’t get through, not on that route.”

“I can ride a bike.” You weren’t sure why you had tried to help out with the slightly useless piece of information, knowing neither of them would ever let you go by yourself on a run let alone with Daryl’s bike. If either of them seemed surprised by the fact then they didn’t show it but his sneer turned to you faster than you could retract your suggestion. 

“Like hell you will.” He said it so harshly that you were almost taken back by it. He was never kind to you but it certainly hadn’t gotten to this point in quite some time and your eyes flashed with surprise as you took a few steps backwards so you were further behind Rick.

He watched you for a breath or two after that and you almost thought you saw regret passing over his face even though it was gone as quickly as it came once he faced Rick again. You were pushing yourself further back with another sigh so they could quickly have their biting conversation and get it over with. 

You’d already done the checklist in your head and realized there truly was nobody else who could both be on the back of his bike and also perform well in a run and it was only a matter of time before he understood that too. He was an asshole but he wasn’t unreasonable and you knew he wouldn’t completely abandon a run just because he didn’t want you coming along.

Your theory proved correct because soon enough you were settling yourself on the seat behind him and smiling tightly at Rick when he placed a hand on your arm, silently wishing you good luck with a firm nod.

You did your best to ignore his grumbles for you to hold on and luckily you had grown up on a bike and weren’t saying that for no reason so it was easy enough to sit still and not disturb him. There was a deeper bratty part of you that wanted to softly rock side to side just enough to get his attention and annoy him but you decided against it.

If he was going to dislike you then you wanted it to be a complete reflection of his poor character and nothing to do with you.

He was surprisingly docile for most of the long ride and even let you take a break on the side of the road midway through so you could both stretch your legs and avoid cramping up by the time you got there and actually had to be on high alert. 

“It’s a nice bike.” You felt stupid for speaking as soon as you heard the sound of your own voice and saw his head snapping up to look at you.

He was crouching down near it like he was investigating an issue but you knew he was just pretending to be busy to avoid the awkward silence or having to talk to you, two things that were currently happening thanks to your lack of impulse control.

“Sorry.” You were sighing and awkwardly looking away from him, taking a few steps closer to the tree line because how uneasy his strong gaze was making you feel. A rush of embarrassment overtook you and you strangely felt like you were going to tear up for some reason, pushing some loose rocks with your foot and glancing down the road. 

“S’all good.” He was finally responding and your eyes widened in surprise, glad to see he had looked away again just in time and didn’t see your reaction. “Was my brothers.”

“I remember.” Your voice was soft because you had actually known where the bike came from just from hearing him mention it a handful of times and you also knew enough to know why he tensed at the reminder that you had actually met his brother.

Daryl hadn’t been as docile then in his anger both towards you and everybody else and it felt like you got left behind with Merle on that rooftop when he decided to let down some of his walls and start trusting people. You weren’t a part of that equation which confused you even more now that you started to recall the earliest days of your meeting.

You had been pretty much the sole target of Merle’s disgusting rants about the women in the camp, making comments in passing about the others but really locking in on you whenever you were in his line of sight. He switched between degrading you and your ability to keep up with him and the men with you to just as quickly cat calling you and encouraging you to join him in camp.

There was a quickly built resentment towards him and his brother but the latter faded when you would catch Daryl defending you when he assumed you were out of earshot, at least the best he could without enraging his brother. 

He would tell him to leave you alone when he noticed his brother's hazy eyes zoning in on you like he wanted to approach or make a quick comment about how you were too young for him to be perving on you. All mild attempts to derail Merle’s small attention span but you appreciated the effort considering it was much more than the other men around camp would do and they didn’t have a reason to be cautious of the wild man like Daryl did.

That had all changed when Rick showed up and you felt a surge of hope as soon as you heard him addressing the group for the first time, solid and sturdy in his words even when he was allowing Shane to still bark the orders and have control.

You knew from the first day that you finally had somebody to take lead over your dire situation and you knew men like Merle Dixon would never bother you again.

No part of you thought Daryl was similar to his brother in any way but you still felt the same hurt regardless if it was intentional from his end. 

“C’mon.” He wasn’t giving you a response to what you had said and you were glad he hadn’t, much preferring the loud hum of the bike to help quiet your endless thoughts. 

This time he didn’t completely tense up when you were circling your hands around his waist and you were weirdly finding some comfort knowing he was with you when you thought back on those days at the quarry. Was there a different world where Daryl didn’t dislike you and kept up the protective streak he’d shown back then or was that sincerely a complete one off?

You wondered if it would be weird to ask him directly about what you had done to upset him, both bringing it to reality for the first time and also exposing yourself for caring way more than you should about what he thought.

It might have been an age thing that led you to not only not wanting to disappoint him but you found yourself actively wanting to impress him and catch his attention. Even an interested gaze rather than an annoyed one would probably make your day at this point and you found yourself ridiculous for the tenth time since you left the prison just a few hours ago.

There was the same urge in you when it came to Rick and Hershel, even Glenn occasionally although you looked towards him more as a brother while the latter two reminded you of that fatherly connection you’d always seeked out.

You felt warmed whenever Hershel checked in on you and softly told you to take better care of your health and you’d do just about anything Rick asked of you as long as it meant he was proud of you and felt you were a good addition to the group.

Your nose scrunched up at the thought of thinking towards Daryl in any type of fatherly way and you quickly scratched that idea off your endless boards of guesses.

Luckily he was pulling to a stop before you could jot down anything else in your mental notebook and you glanced around your surroundings for just a second before you were bracing your hands on his shoulders and swinging your leg over his bike, landing flat on your feet with a little groan.

The muscles in your thighs were tight from the stretch and constant tensing to brace yourself around turns and debris in the road and you imagine he was feeling a similar pain judging by the face he made when he roughly kicked the stand down to steady the bike.

You silently watched him as he covered it in light shrubbery, opting to stay out of his way and let him do whatever it was he felt like he needed. It was always simpler to wait for him to tell you what to do instead of doing it on your own and dealing with him getting angry and correcting you. 

He whistled lowly and started to walk away from you and you took the wordless cue easily, following behind with a hand on your knife holster and your eyes sharp to your surroundings. 

There was no amount of huffing and puffing from him that would make you think you were a liability out in nature. You didn’t have as quick of reflexes as he did and there was no way you’d ever catch up in terms of survival skills but you were good at handling yourself and extremely light on your feet.

Luckily there was a lack of complaints from him today as the two of you approached the small strip mall quietly and fast, half crouched in a way that made your knees ache as you followed behind him. 

He stopped too abruptly behind an abandoned car for you to notice and you bumped into his back, immediteyly reaching out in an attempt to steady him and he turned his head to glare at you over his shoulder. The walker growls in the distant stopped you from verbally apologizing but you hoped he could see it in your eyes.

That must have annoyed him enough that he decided you shouldn’t be behind him and out of sight, shaking your hands off of him before taking a few low steps back and nudging you forward.

You sighed at his clear lack of forgiveness but focused on the task at hand and made sure the area was clear before moving forward and finally reaching the buildings. You could see one of the windows were busted as you pushed yourself against the wall and you glanced at him once he reached you.

He was as close to you as he ever probably had been and you took a few seconds to watch the way his built chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths, shoulders pressed to yours and face blank as he glanced at you.

“Walkers.” You more mouthed the words than actually spoke and his gaze dropped to your lips.

You felt incredibly stupid and thrown off when you felt a heat rising to your cheeks at the action. You knew he was simply trying to read you lips and not looking at you for any other reason but your brain apparently decided today that you enjoyed the idea of him looking at you like that. 

It was probably the worst possible moment to be hit with the fact that you wanted him to think about you in that way, your entire body freezing up when you pieced together why exactly you yearned for his approval. It certainly wasnt fatherly at all because you apparently had a crush on Daryl Dixon.

“What the hell are you doing?” His raspy voice hissing at you defiantelty wasnt helping you in your moment of understanding but your eyes widened realizing he had been trying to tell you something while you were frozen. “C’mon girl, move.”

You were quick to nod your head to show him you processed the demand and then he was gone, turning the corner and pushing his way into the building. He must have had a good idea of how many walkers were inside and you werent sure if that was something he had figured out silently or if that was another piece of dialogue you had msised in your dilemma.

He didnt seem at all bothered while taking the three still up and walking around out and you watched him silently, not daring to get in the way when he was swinging his crossbow around and taking off heads. He was still breathing heavily when he turned to check on your whereabouts and this time you could see some anger beneath the exhaustion. 

The flush still on your cheeks was now being partnered with a heat in your gut and you realized just how fucked you actually were.

When had this happened and why did it take you so long to realize what this actually was? How did you manage to delude yourself into thinking it was normal that you were hanging off his every word and going over your small interactions dozens of times.

You’d even thrown on this hideously colored shirt thinking he might like it better than your normal wardrobe and you’d actually been upset when he hadn’t glanced twice at it earlier.

He was furrowing his eyebrows and you assumed he was half a second before asking you what the hell you were staring at but he didnt get a chance considering his eyes were darting over your shoulder with a look of panic that let you know exactly what he saw.

You didn’t even hear the growl of the walker behind you before you were gripping the handle of your knife and attempting to spin around but it was already too late and it was taking you to the ground so hard your head smacked against the old wood and your knife was being thrown somewhere too far for you to reach.

“Daryl.” Your voice was a high pitched screech as you desperately shot one hand out to attempt to grip anything that would allow you to kill the raging walker while your other one was pressed tightly around its shoulder to try and keep its clamping jaw away from your face.

It was so close you could hear the moisture in its mouth and feel its breath on your cheek, a whimper leaving you as you felt its hands on your body trying to find any soft bit of flesh to grip its claw into. 

The walker was falling limb ontop of you and although only a few seconds had passed since youd fallen, it felt like an hour of struggling with its strength and your entire life flashing before your eyes. You’d been in close call situations before but never something like this and you knew you would’ve been dead if Daryl hadn’t been here or even in the same room.

You were breathing heavily and shame hit you at the same time a heavy sob did, fully processing what almost just happened because you hadnt been paying attention to your surroundings. 

“Fuck.” Your voice was pained with a groan as you tried to life the waker off of you but it was large in size, possibly taller than Daryl and without a doubt heavier. It was lifted off of you as soon as you started to struggle and you were only half surprised to see his face looking down at you as he easily removed it.

For once he didn’t look cold or emotionless as he looked at you, a similar panic on his face as he crouched down beside you and scanned over your neck and face for any sign of a bite. 

You were about to reassure him that you hadn’t been bit but he was cutting you off by pushing your shirt halfway up your stomach, revealing so much bare skin that you felt almost shy even though you knew he was just checking you for scratches once he realized where the walker had its hands.

He didn’t dare touch your exposed stomach but his gaze was heated as he looked around your heaving ribs, pausing when he saw small pink marks on your waist.

“It’s okay right?” You sounded panicked as you sat up slightly to inspect it with him, your hand smoothing over the discoloration and feeling only a bit relieved when you didnt feel any signs of it being indented. “He just grabbed me tightly but he didn’t scratch.”

“Let’s go.” His voice was low and cold and he was standing halfway before gripping your forearm and tugging you up with him, starting to drag you towards the door.

You were frowning and shaking your head, looking back at your abandoned knife on the floor and placing a hand on the doorframe to stop him from pulling you. You knew he still easily could have removed you if he wanted but you both understood there was no way to get back on a motorcycle with an unwillingly particpant. 

It wasn’t as simple as throwing you in a car and shutting the door and your other hand came up to grab his wrist.

“We can’t leave.” Your voice was more pleading than argumentative, wanting him to see you were still willing and eager to follow his directions if it meant staying. “We haven’t even looked around yet. Theyre counting on us.”

“Nah. I’ll circle back tomorrow with Maggie.” He was steely in his answer and didn’t even seem to process what you were trying to tell him. He had clearly made up his mind and your eyes were desperate as you stared at him.

“I’m sorry for not paying attention.” It was your second time apologizing for something that wasn’t your fault and this seem to strike a particular nerve with him because he was fully turning towards you and letting go of your arm so he could point at you angrily. 

“You almost died, we’re leaving.” He was making a move for the door again and a wave of panic went through you, halfway thinking he might leave you there if you didn’t join him. He was leaving no room for argument and the look he gave you when you grabbed his shoulder made ice shoot through your veins.

He didn’t seem to understand why you couldn’t bare just leaving and going back to the prison empty handed. Did he not realize that there was nothing you feared more than disappointing your group members, not even a walker practically breathing down your throat could rattle you the way that could. 

His shoulders lost some of the tension when he saw the look on your face and you suddenly wanted to shout at him and ask him what his problem was, demand he tell you why he had been so endlessly cruel to you for so long. 

But now you were wondering if he actually had been or if you were simply throwing an internal fit because he didn’t give you an overt amount of attention, doubting your own reality now that you had fully accepted that you might have a stupid crush on the older man.

You had fresh tears joining your dried streaks now, cutting through the dirt on your face almost comically and he was biting the inside of his cheek like he couldn’t figure out how to comfort you right now or atleast make you stop crying.

Finally he was sighing and nodding his head so quick you almost missed it, pushing past you so he could venture further into the shop and silently let you know that you were getting what you wanted and continuing the run.

You made sure to push down any thoughts of him for the rest of the trip so you could focus on getting what you needed without endangering yourself again and you actually managed to get quite a big chunk of the stuff on the necessity list, even grabbing some extra fun things for Carl and a top you thought Beth might like. 

An hour or so had passed when Daryl made his way back to you and you could feel him watching you as you rifled through the clothing rack, not turning to face him and instead letting him approach you for once. 

“Suits you.” His light tone shocked you enough that you let go of the pink sleeve you were inspecting on the hanger. You had expected him to make a snide comment about you wasting time looking at clothes instead of finding something useful but apparently he had run out of the energy to argue with you.

“Because its childish?” You had humor in your voice with your response but it wasnt genuine, more so trying to deliver the punch line before he could. 

“Nah, just suits you.” He didn’t play into your accidental bait and you narrowed your eyes at him before sighing and pulling the pink sweater off the rack, dusting it off before dragging it over your head and the brown shirt you were wearing.

You figured you looked a bit puffy with the double layering and it was far too hot for the thick fabric but you held your hands out like you were presenting the outfit to him and although he didnt laugh, you thought you heard him lightly scoff at your display.

 

You finished stuffing your gifts for the others into your already full bag before joining him as he moved further into the large building, side by side as you followed the range of his flashlight with your eyes. 

“Why’re you wearing that shit anways?” He surpised you by still trying to make conversation and you starting to wonder if he had been the one to hit his head earlier, glancing at him just to find he was already watching you from the corner of his eye.

At first you thought he meant the sweater but you realized he meant your original outfit, heat once again rising to your cheeks when you pieced together that he had actually noticed your change in color scheme. 

You weren’t exactly sure how to explain that you had done it to appear more mature for him without making a complete fool of yourself so you opted for shrugging your shoulders and remaining silent, letting him figure it out for himself like you so often had to.

“Someone say something to you?” He paused in his stride and you turned back to look at him in confusion, furthering when you saw the twitch in his jaw and that same cold look in his eyes. This time it didn’t seem directed at you but that didn’t help you figure out the situation in the slightest. 

“Like what?” Your voice was still soft and almost a whisper, like you were guiding to him towards actually giving you an answer to something for once. Your head slightly titled and the movement made him take another step back for some reason, almost like he was afraid of you. “Like how I dress like a toddler? Or maybe something about being a walking signal for walkers?”

It almost took him a few seconds into your sentences to realize you were repeating back to him things he had said before, quick comments made in fits of anger that he clearly hadn’t thought you’d take to heart let alone remember word for word. You scoffed at his taken back reaction and nodded your head bitterly, tightening your grip on your backpack strap and moving towards the exit.

If he was bothered by you leaving him behind in the dark building then he didn’t show it on his face but you felt regret for doing it as soon as you were outside by yourself, standing next to his bike impatiently and waiting for him to join you. 

Thunder cracked in the distance as soon as his foot hit the dirt and both of you paused to look at eachother, dread growing in you knowing what he was thinking before he even had to say it.

You were groaning loudly and lugging your stuff back inside, bumping his shoulder on your way in. You both knew you wouldn’t be able to ride home that long with a storm coming so you had no choice but to spend the night in the same building you had nearly died in a few hours prior with a man who wanted nothing to do with you.

He was outside for atleast thirty minutes and you figured he was hiding his bike somewhere more secure or possibly checking the perimeter now that you were going to be letting your guards down a bit to get some rest.

You could hear rain drops hitting the windows before he came back inside and although they were light, you knew he must be getting damp out there. You sighed as you made your way to the clothing racks to find him something to dry to wear, telling yourself you were only doing the kind gesture because you were restless.

“Y/N?” His voice was loud and panicked when he closed the door behind him, not seeing you anywhere near the entrance and finding your bag left behind on the floor. “Damn it.”

Your eyes rolled when he initally called your name and you almost planned to ignore him but you still couldn’t find it in yourself to be unnecessarily rude so you gathered the clothes and headed back towards the front.

His body relaxed slightly when he saw you coming out of the dark but he froze again when his gaze dropped down to the fabric in your hands, watching you as you got so close your boots touched before you were pushing it against his wet chest and raising an eyebrow.

“You’ll catch a cold playing in the rain like that.” You let your tone be slightly mocking but it was lighthearted enough that he wouldn’t bother taking offense at you making fun of him for staying outside. He mumbled a thank you but didn’t stop staring down at you.

You wondered if he was slightly flattered by you doing such a domestic act for him or if he didn’t care at all, deciding on the former so you could let yourself have atleast one small win after such a rough day. You cleared your throat before turning around and allowing him some privacy while changing. 

Picking up on him moving a few more feet away, you entire body was still flushing when you heard the telltale signs of him changing clothes. 

There was a large part of you that tried to squeeze your eyes closed and think of something totally unrelated but the smaller portion won by a landslide and you let yourself think about what he might look like without clothes on. 

You were no stranger to the sight of his arms, large and rippling with muscle everytime he drew his crossbow or swung his knife. You knew he was older and more mature than boys you had been with before the fall, most likely with hair trailing down his stomach where they had been smooth and rounder around the sections of his ribs.

Your fidgeting was extremely apparent to anybody in the room and you were unlucky enough that it was just the two of you.

In no time Daryl was mumbling that you were good to turn around and moving to start a small enough fire that it wouldn’t reach the high ceiling and could be ventilated through the broken windows. You ignored the sight of his messy and damp hair falling into his eyes and especially forgot about how much your chest heaved at the way he looked in the clothes you’d picked for him.

It wasn’t much different from what he would usually wear, you had made sure of that so he wouldn’t reject your gesture but you simply found it notable that it was something you had picked for him. 

A few more hours were passing of you sitting in silence and listening to the rain outside for any sign of it stopping, grateful when he finally sighed and pulled out the little food you had packed, seemingly accepting your fate of staying overnight. 

The sun had long set by the time he was clearing his throat like he was going to finally say something and your eyes met his across the fire, holding the gaze tightly so he didn’t change his mind.

“Sorry about before.” He shocked you even more with the words coming from his mouth and your eyebrows raised, your arms wrapped around your knees where you’d been resting your head before he spoke. 

You weren’t sure what exactly he was trying to apologize for, the list of possible offenses longer than you think he even realized. You imagined it was between trying to make you abandon the run and you bringing up what he had said about the way you dressed, maybe a mix of both so he could kill two awkward birds with one big hesitant stone like apology. 

“It’s all good.” You were shrugging and you wondered if he at all cared that you had lost your usual friendly tone in favor of mimicking his cold and emotionless one. “Kinda my fault anyways, always trying to get your attention.”

You don’t know why you said it and you were even more confused why you didn’t immediately want to take it back. Maybe saying it out loud could make you feel better but you imagined you’d be wishing you saved it for a kinder audience like Maggie and Beth whenever he responded to you. 

Braving a look in his direction, you softly laughed seeing the confusion on his face. He almost looked a bit hurt and guarded like he thought you might be making fun of him which you didn’t fully understand why he would go to that conclusion.

“You don’t have to pretend you didn’t notice Daryl.” You were smiling softly now and although you were mostly baiting him, the pink on your cheeks was still very much real.

Truthfully, you hadn’t assumed that he had caught onto your crush on him because you barely had until now and Daryl didn’t seem to be the type of man that went around guessing when people liked him. 

Infact he seemed the most thrown off guard you’d ever seen him when he realized what you were trying to say and the red on his cheeks was almost enough to rival yours. You coughed just to fill the silence when you accepted he wasn’t planning to respond to you and you tried to ignore the deafening sounds of his shifting in place. 

The two of you stayed silent until the fire started to die out and by then you were laying on your back, staring up on the ceiling and bringing you could feel to rain falling down on you. It was heavy by now and you figured the storm was directly above you at this point, almost thankful for the thunder and lightning as it masked the sounds of Daryl’s light breathing.

He was laying down too and despite him being on the other side of the fire, it still managed to feel strangely intimate. 

It was likely that he was closer lying in the cell next to yours on the nights he decided it was better than the perch but now there was no stone wall between you and you could see the outline of his face whenever you turned your head to see if he had fallen asleep yet. 

The darkness was making it hard to see from that distance but the light of the fire was just visible enough for you to catch the fact he was glancing over at you too and you quickly looked away. You were firm in your stare at the ceiling now and you hoped the feeling of his eyes on you still was just your imagination. 

“I like the pink.” His voice was breaking through the silence but not loud enough to be completely jarring, low and whispered like he didn’t want to disturb you with the confession. Maybe he didn’t want you to hear him at all. “Meant it, it suits you.”

“You don’t think I look ridiculous?” You were teasing him now and it was obvious, your voice light and gentle again. 

“Nah, never did. Just an asshole.” His flat voice made you snort a laugh and you could have sworn you heard him chuckling in return. You stayed quiet for a bit longer and tried to find a way to not place meaning behind what he was telling you. 

It could be as simple as him not wanting any bad blood between the two of you considering you had to live together for most likely the rest of your lives, regardless if that was days or years. Or maybe he had felt bad about hurting your feelings because Daryl certainly wasn’t cruel for no reason and you knew he had a better heart than most, even if it took seeing you reduced to tears to finally apologize.

“I almost died today.” Your voice was still soft but for different reasons now and you turned to look at him again, wincing when you noticed he’d gone rigid. He was resting his head on one of his arms and the other was palm down on his stomach, moving lightly with every breath he took. “After all this time I think I forgot that I could. Maybe it’s good to get a reminder.”

He didn’t say anything for a while again and you almost wanted to sigh even though you just knew it was in his nature to not speak much. You actually liked that about him on any other day, he was easy to read when he wanted to be and he wore his emotions on his sleeve if you paid enough attention which apparently you did. 

“Not gonna let that happen.” Sometimes he said things that made you wish he wouldn’t speak because you werent sure how you were supposed to take him saying something like that. You had practically spelled out the fact you liked him a few hours ago and now he was declaring to personally keep you alive. 

“You cant know that.” You had decided to sit up before you finished speaking, wanting to feel more in control of the conversation even if it meant being able to see him more clearly now that you could easily see him over the fire. 

“Be alot easier if you stayed at the damn prison.” He sounded annoyed again but you could tell it wasn’t actually directed at you in a meaningful way. 

“Is that why you keep telling Rick I shouldn’t go on runs?” You hadnt even realized you came to that conclusion until you were asking it and you suddenly felt very stupid for thinking that he had been doubting your survival skills all this time. Although it wasnt solely your fault because you wouldve agreed alot easier to stay back if you knew he was simply worried about you. “Why didnt you tell me that?”

He scoffed like your question was ridiculous and now it was your turn to be annoyed with him. You were standing from your spot on the floor and moving over to him, sitting beside where he was still laying flat. This was probably the closest youd ever been to him intentionally not to mention this most likely being your longest conversation to date but he was finally giving you some answers now. 

“Wouldn’t matter anyways now would it. Too damn stubborn.” He sounded completely bored by your conversation and your mouth dropped at him vaguely confirming that he had been trying to keep you back to protect you. 

“I thought you hated me.” You practically squeaked it out and suddenly he seemed alot more alert, turning his head to look at you fully and clearly trying not to pay attention to how close you were sitting. 

You were on your knees next to him and your hands slapped down onto your thighs dramatically with an almost manic laugh as your entire point of view shifted. 

“Why would I hate you?” He asked it like the thought genuinely hadnt crossed his mind and you could have screamed in frustration. 

“Then why-” You thought of all of his heated glances and the way he avoided touch from you specifically, teasing remarks about the smallest details of how you dressed and now the added fact that he hadn’t wanted you to face the dangers of going on runs especially ones he wasn’t going on. “Oh my god, you have a crush on me.”

You should have felt ridiculous for the way you were practically gleaming with realization as you pointed at him like you had cracked open a decade long cold case. He raised an eyebrow at you and your theatrics before he was scoffing and looking back up at the roof like the conversation wasn’t making his heart race. 

“Ain’t got a crush.” He felt almost shy saying the word and thankfully you were close enough to see the way his flush had returned tenfold and the fidgeting of his hands against the vest he’d thrown back over the shirt you picked for him.

“But you like me?” You were overdoing it now but you felt almost drunk with giddiness now that you knew he hadn’t been icing you out all along. Daryl was simply just shy and clearly terrible at showcasing when he had feelings for somebody but you almost couldn’t blame him considering you’d nearly died seconds after realizing it for yourself. “You think I’m totally cute.”

Now you were really pushing it and he brought his gaze back to you just to make sure you could see the exasperation in his expression although now you were so high on the accidental confession you were tricking yourself into thinking he looked fondly amused.

“I’ve spent all this time thinking you hated me, why didn’t you just-” You were just starting to question his lack of forwardness but you silently answered it for yourself before you even finished. “Oh.”

You’d somehow manage to forget that there was easily twenty years between you and Daryl, if not more than that (you didn’t think now was a good time to ask him exactly how old he was). He looked almost sheepish now that you seemed to recall this obvious fact and you could tell he had thought about it alot more than you had.

A quietness took over the room again and you halfway noted that it sounded like the rain had finally started to slow to a stop. You were shifting in place and adjusting yourself in a way that you could more comfortably lean forward to practically force him to look at you.

“I don’t think it matters.” You were whispering now like somebody was going to overhear you and now his glare actually had some real heat behind it.

“Like hell it don’t.” He sounded frustrated that you were even talking about it let alone attempting to pretend it wasn’t an issue.

Now you were truly curious how long he had been thinking about this and it suddenly made alot more sense to you why he constantly seemed to be avoiding you. Not out of anger towards you but possibly towards the fact there was no world in which he could be with you in that way.

“I wouldn’t tell anybody.” You immediately regretting saying it as soon as you saw the way he froze up, the words being whispered into the air painting a much different tone than you had originally intended. 

It made it sound like it was some dirty secret you would need to keep due to how wrong it was but you had meant it genuinely, wanting him to know you’d be okay with taking your time letting the others know until it was something even worth noting. 

Now you truly felt like you’d gone crazy because what were you even talking about here? Did he have real feelings for you or was it just basic lust for a younger girl wandering around in pink tanktops, did it even matter regardless considering how disgusted he seemed now?

He was sitting up with a grunt and rising to his feet, giving you one last glare before he was storming outside with a mumble about needing a smoke. You stayed there on the floor staring at where his body had just been and a wave of shame washed over you.

You tried to calm yourself by thinking that you could fix it once he came back inside and relaxed a little, giving you a second to explain what you meant and what you had been thinking. You didn’t want him to see you as some stupid little girl that couldn’t keep her mouth shut. 

Daryl took this plan and crushed it considering he didn’t ever come back in and you laid there staring at the body of the walker who had almost killed you earlier, watching it until you managed to fade off into a nearly restless sleep while he sat outside and counted down the minutes until you could leave.

----

The next morning couldn’t have been more awkward if you tried.

You’d practically thrown yourself outside when you had waken up and didn’t see him still, stumbling onto the dirt with your eyes wide with panic. You looked towards the bush where his bike had been and felt your throat tighten at the realization he had actually left you there.

Then you heard shuffling behind you and whipped around to see him watching you from the treeline, half concerned and half blank like he couldn’t decide which side of him to show you now. 

Your half awake brain slowly remembered that he had moved his bike before the storm last night and you could tell by the line of something furry over his shoulder that he had been out hunting before you started to head home. 

You could guess by where the sun sat in the sky that he had actually let you sleep in a bit and suddenly you were itching to get back to the prison, hand to your forehead as you made your way back in silently to gather your stuff and head back out. 

You felt embarrassed that he had seen you so distressed over the thought of being left alone but you figured you were way past the point of return with the amount of humiliating things that had happened in the last 24 hours so it didn’t really matter. 

There was no overestimating how bad it felt to climb onto the back of his bike and wrap your arms around him for endless hours while also knowing he most likely wanted to be as far away from you as possible right now.

The sight of the prison would normally leave a slight distaste in your mouth but right now it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen and it only got better when you saw a familiar head of blonde hair near the gates, clearly hearing the sounds of the bike and waiting for your arrival.

You felt a rush of emotion seeing your friend and you were rushing off the bike before he even had time to steady himself, meeting her halfway in a hug and trying to ignore how weird your reaction seemed to anybody else. You had only been gone a night but it felt like an entire year had passed in that building. 

She was quick to make small talk as you headed in together and you were grateful for the distraction, glancing behind your shoulder back at him only to look away quickly when you found him already looking. 

It wasn’t until you were hidden behind the walls of your cell that you let the frown take over your expression and Beth faltered in her ramblings, watching your shoulders slump as you threw your bag carelessly in the corner. 

“Oh honey. I know that expression.” You hadn’t even realized Maggie was standing in the entryway of your cell until you heard her warm voice full of concern and pity. Beth sent her a curious glance and she sighed softly. “She’s heartbroken.”

“You told him?” Beth gasped the words loudly and both you and Maggie rushed to shush her, your hands covering her mouth while her sister moved fully into the cell like the sheet covering the doorway behind her would at all mask the sound of your gossip.

“You knew?” You were already frustrated and it was obvious in your tone, looking between the two of them with an accusatory glare that they matched with confusion. “You both knew this entire time?”

“You didn’t?” Maggie seemed genuinely perplexed by what you were saying and you suddenly were hit with how crazy you must have sounded.

You had spend the better part of the last few months ranting to them about every little interaction with the man and it was apparently clear to everybody but yourself and Daryl that you had feelings for him. 

There was a brief silence before you were delving into what had happened and doing your best to not leave out any details so you could get their opinions and advice on where to go from here. Beth cringed when you got to the part about not telling anybody and Maggie rolled her eyes when you mentioned Daryl had slept outside to avoid having to talk to you again.

“Is it really that bad?” Beth seemed almost bashful to ask the question and you both knew what she was talking about. 

You weren’t really sure how to answer her because although young, you were still very much an adult and capable of making your own decisions but you also wouldn’t be able to fully blame somebody who found you and Daryl together to be distasteful. Beth was still a few years younger than you and you had a hard time picturing her with anybody that age when she was closer to you and Maggie’s maturity.

“You’re a grown woman Y/N.” Maggie seemed to have come to a similar conclusion as you had or maybe she just wanted to encourage her friend towards something she knew would make her happy. “Least he could do is talk to you.”

That seemed to light a new found fire in you and after a few more words of encouragement you were storming off to go and find Daryl.

It took a fair bit of time to track him down but eventually you were led back to the maintenance room in the newly cleared portion of the prison, heart beating faster as you walked through the dimly lit hallways. You felt relieved when you could hear his voice coming from one of the rooms but then annoyance surge through you again.

“I’m a grown ass woman.” You were sure you looked ridiculous as you pushed through the door and looked at him angrily, pointing a finger in his direction and feeling slightly smug when you saw how caught off guard he looked for once. 

Then his eyes were trailing behind you and for a second you were reminded of the way he had looked before the walker attacked, spinning around just to see Rick and Glenn staring at you like you had grown two heads. Theyd never seen you so amped up before and the latter looked like he almost wanted to laugh. 

You were sure Maggie had filled him in to some extent about your situation with Daryl and your neck felt hot with embarrassment, something that was happening far too often for your liking.

“Sorry.” You felt sheepish as you glanced at Rick who looked half disapproving and half amused. “Can I talk to Daryl?”

Now he had something else passing over his face but you weren’t really sure what to make of it, even more confused when they locked eyes over your shoulder before Rick was raising an eyebrow and giving a slow nod. He barely looked at you as they left and you couldn’t tell if that made you feel better or worse. 

You were turning back towards the source of your anger but now all of your fight had been lost and all you could do was sigh as you looked at him.

“Can you atleast talk to me?” You found yourself simply repeating exactly what Maggie had told you and you felt prematurely defeated when you saw the closed off look in his eye.

“Ain’t nothing to talk about.” He was quick to dismiss you completely and you were thankful you were standing between him and the door because it looked like he was seconds from running away just to avoid you again. 

“There is Daryl and you know there is.” You didn’t care that you sounded desperate as you called his name and his eyes bore harder into yours when he heard it falling from your lips, only watching you as you took a few steps closer to him. “What’s so wrong about you liking me?”

He wasn’t going to say it, place a name to exactly what the problem would be because he knew you were already aware. You could tell he was growing frustrated that you kept pushing him about it especially when he clearly had done a good job at ignoring it although that included making you feel like shit.

“Liking eachother.” You changed your wording around to make sure you included yourself this time, wanting to remind him the feeling was mutual. 

You weren’t sure if it had the affect you wanted but you were taking a few more hesitant steps forward like you were approaching a wild animal, stopping when you were close enough to be able to put your hand on his chest.

It was the first time you were touching him like that without needing a real reason to and he seemed more affected than you’d seen him be yet, breath noticeably shorting as his eyes started to frantically dart around your face.

You wished so desperately you were able to read his mind and question what it was that was holding him back so much, especially when you were out of sight from everybody else and the judgement they possibly could cast onto you.

 

Apparently you weren’t subtle and the look Rick had given him earlier almost seemed like he had been as aware of your situation as Maggie was and there was no public outcry, no pulling you away and scolding you for having your hand on his chest and your eyes moving from his lips to his eyes. 

For a second it felt like the volume had been turned off in the room until he was finally moving his gaze down too and suddenly it all came rushing back, able to hear your own heartbeat mixing with his and the pace of his breathing slowing down. 

It wasn’t until he kissed you that the sound died out again, filled in by the rush in your heart and raindrops in the distance.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

To Those Who Wait

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, virginity loss, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are tired of being the safe one so you decide to pay for some excitement.

Characters: escort!Ransom Drysdale, Curtis Everett

Note: this is intended as a one shot but you also know I'm easy to influence.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Tony loves himself. Take care. 💖

“Happy birthday!” Vivica shoves the plastic teeth of the dollar store tiara into your hair. 

You try not to glower as the rest of the table roars with laughter. It’s a happy night. You can’t spoil it just because you hate gimmicks. They mean well, you’re just a downer. Like always. 

You force a smile, “thanks, guys.” 

“Don’t thank us, it’s your night,” Jerrod chirps. “Which means you drink for free!” 

Big whoop. You barely drink. You’ll have one or two for the occasion but you don’t like the way it makes your stomach feel. Ugh, stop being such a tight ass. It’s about you but it isn’t. They went to all this trouble planning the night. For you. Your friends. You can at least be thankful for them. 

Yeah, you have friends but how much do they really know you? For as long as you’ve known them, they should know that this isn’t you. They are the ones that want to go out, that want to drink, that want to wade into the unpredictability of the general public. That’s not you. 

“So, what are we having?” Mila asks. 

“Hm, I don’t know. You know I’m not picky.” It all just tastes like alcohol. 

“Ooh, cucumber gimlet. That sounds nice,” Jerrod says. 

“Oh, it really does,” Vivica agrees. 

“I’m going to try the gummy bear. I’m in the mood for something sweet,” Mila says. 

“Sure, I’ll try that,” you shrug. 

Jerrod flags down a server and puts in the order. As he does, Vivica stirs around under the table. Mila claps as she reveals the gift bag from beneath. 

“My favourite part,” Mila wiggles with excitement. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to--” 

“It’s only one part of our gift,” Jerrod laughs knowingly. 

You give him a wary look. You don’t like his tone. You accept the gift bag and look inside. You can’t tell what it is. You pull out the tissue paper and a small box wiggles inside. Slowly, you slip it out and just as quickly shove it back in. 

“That’s it. You wanna do it just like that,” Jerrod guffaws. 

Your mouth drops open as you look around the table. The bright pink dildo has your cheeks on fire. You can’t believe they’d bring that out in public. 

“What is wrong with you guys?” 

“Oh, come on, everyone can use a good six inches or so,” Jerrod snickers. “That’s our backup gift. Our real gift is somewhere around here.” 

“Huh?” You peek around the bar. “Like a scavenger hunt?” 

“Oh, it’s a hunt,” Vivica juts out her chin. “You set the target and we’ll take him down for you.” 

“What?” You scoff. 

“Come on, honey, you’re thirty. You need to get one last hurrah in,” Jerrod insists. “When it’s my turn, I want three beefy boys. One in each flavour, blond, brunette, and even a redhead.” 

“I’ll have the same,” Mila smirks. 

You’re embarrassed. Uncertain two. You can’t tell if they’re mocking you. Out of the four of you, you’ve always been the boring one. The sober one. All these years, and you were the one saving them from regrettable drunken mistakes and making sure they don’t leave the bar with creeps. It wouldn’t be hard for them to guess, would it? 

“Don’t worry, we’ll be your wingmen. Wingwomen. Wingfriends!” Vivica says. “How about him?” She points as the server lays out the drinks. “He’s cute. Oh, look at his eyes.” 

“Wow,” Mila preens. “A bad boy. That would be adorable.” 

You want to disappear. You want to dissolve into the cushioned bench. Become a part of it. Life as a piece of a furniture must surely be nicer. 

“And his friends, not bad, huh?” 

You’re speechless. It’s a joke. Even if they don’t mean it as one, it is. All these years and you’ve never been the one approached first. You’re the straggler. You get the odd one out and they get stuck with you. Maybe, all this time, your friends had been too self-absorbed or too drunk to notice that. 

You don’t mean to be bitter. You shouldn’t be. It isn’t their fault you’re so lame. That you’ve gone another year without a single thing to be proud of. Without any change. 

“Right, well, they look busy.” 

“Booooo,” Vivica hovers her glass in front of her mouth. “Who wants to break the ice?” 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Mila stands. 

“Wait.” You blurt out but she ignores you. 

Some birthday. You get to spend it awkwardly making small talk with another disinterested stranger. You try not to show your discomfort. You grab the skewer with gummy bears impaled on it and stir the vibrant red drink. You sip through the thin straw. It makes your cheek pinch painfully. The sugar will do worse to your stomach than the vodka. 

You keep your head down as Mila’s fluttery giggle wafts over. Vivica giggles as she watches and Jerrod cranes to see. You stare at the table and distance yourself from the moment, detaching from your body as the bar hazes around you. 

“Hey, you guys, come on,” Mila calls over, “lots of room.” 

Her waving hand brings you back to the present. Vivica nudges you with her elbow as Jerrod jumps up. He grabs Mila’s drink and you shuffle along behind them. The group of men sit at one of the tall tables. They rearrange themselves and you stand back as the others claim their seats. 

You climb up on the last, balancing your drink and the gift bag, unable to bring yourself to look at the men on either side of you. You fixate on your drink and taste it again, even as the sickly flavour curdles in your mouth. Your friends introduce themselves and you choke on your name before Mila says it for you. 

The men take their turns. Your eyes dart around evasively. A sweltering heat forms a sheen across your face. The one with the frosted tips and glasses is Jensen, the broader brunette in the button-up and blazer is Nick, the biggest with his bushy beard is Sy, and the last one, beside you, with the buzz cut, is Curtis. 

“Nice crown,” Jensen says. “Happy birthday.” 

“Oh, uh, yeah,” you reach up and take of the tiara. “Thanks.” 

“You from here or visiting?” Jerrod asks the men. 

“We work at Stacks.” 

“Programmers?” Vivica snorts. “You might know my ex. Two of them actually.” 

They laugh. You don’t know what’s funny. This is weird. You hate that invisible barrier between you and them, that makes you feel like you’re on a completely different planet. You don’t get this part of the script. The prologue is as far as you ever get. 

“How old are you?” Curtis’ deep timbre startles you as it rolls beneath the chatter of the others. You shift in your seat and twist the glass around. 

“Thirty,” you pick up the Tiara, the 3 and 0 nearly hidden by the feathers. 

“Ah, the big one,” he comments. 

“Yeah, just another year,” you put the plastic crown down. 

“What do you do?” 

You sniff and tap your fingers on the cup. You lift it and drain the last of the fruity juice and stringent vodka. “You don’t have to do this.” 

“Do what?” He asks. 

“My friends are just being goofy. You don’t have to act like you’re into me.” 

“Well, I’m not much of an actor. Never was into theatre,” he says. “I wouldn’t know, would I? Just trying to get to know you, figure that out.” 

“Really,” you give him a sideways look. “Ah,” you hiss in false disappointment, “hate to break the seal but I gotta go the ladies. Excuse me.” 

“Right,” he accepts dully. “How about I get you a refill, for your birthday?” 

“You don’t have to but if you really want to, I could use a ginger ale. Thanks.” You accept as you climb off the stool. 

You cross the bar and stop just at the threshold of the hallway that reads Girls and Boys above. You glance back. Mila has her charming smile on, Vivica is leaning into Sy, and Jerrod and Nick are watching something on his phone. Why can’t you be normal, like them? 

You flinch as you catch Curtis’ eye. His eyes flick to you as he talks to the server. You quickly spin away. You’ll wait until the third round when they’re too tipsy to care. Then you’ll make your exit. 

🍹

The hotel clerk hands you the key card. You don’t make eye contact. If you do, she might see right through you. You shove it in your pocket before the tremour is noticeable. You hurry away to the elevator and tap the button three times. 

You’re not impatient because your eager. You just want to get this over with. Finally. It only took you thirty years. 

The doors open and you step in, relieved that no one else gets on with you. When you’re shut in, you shudder. You’re disgusted. With this. With yourself. But you’re tired. You just want to pull of the bandage. You want to know what all the fuss is about so you can say you’re not missing out on anything. 

Ever since your birthday, since that pathetic deja vu of going home alone, of your friends stealing the attention on what the claim was your night, you haven’t been able to stop those thought. You’re pathetic. A loser. No wonder it’s hasn’t happened yet. Who would want to touch you? They barely want to talk to you. They wouldn’t if you weren’t a leech on your friends’ ankles. 

The doors open and jar you. You stagger then march out. You slide the card out and check the room number again. Your hands shake so bad it takes you five tries to get the green light. 

Inside the room, the nausea swells in your stomach. Your teeth chatter. You go into the bathroom and put the bag on the counter. You dig out the anti-nausea medicine and read the insert; take one or two. Do not take with alcohol. 

You pop the pink pill in your mouth and swallow. You look at your reflection. You look as scared as you feel. No time to waste, you’ve done enough of that. 

You start with the shower. You wash every crook and crevice. You check your legs and under your arms. You only shaved yesterday night but you don’t need any pricklies. And your pelvis. You did a decent enough job trimming that down. 

You get out and moisturise. You don’t want to smell. For once in your life, you don’t want to feel repugnant. You’re not some romantic. You thought of buying lingerie but that only seemed sadder. So you put on a pair of grey jersey pajamas, just a tank top and shorts. 

You don’t want to look like this is a big deal. That you tried too hard. You do your hair and a little bit of makeup. Too much would just get messy anyway. Deodorant, perfume, and mouthwash. You’re as fresh as can be. 

And anxious! 

You take out the box of condoms. You don’t think the pills are working. You want to vomit, even though you haven’t eaten. You grab your phone and check the messages. Shoot, it’s a lot later than you thought. 

‘Cashapp?’ 

Fuck, you forgot. You quickly flip over to your menu and sign in. You send the money and your chest drops. This is it. That’s a hefty wad of cash. You hope it’s worth it. 

You reply to the text; ‘sent’ then the room number. There. Done deal. It’s going to happen. Then you can say, yeah, did it, no big deal. 

You go into the suite and put your phone on the night table. You sit on the bed for a whole second before you bounce off. No, you can’t stay there. No, no, no. You pace and wring your hands as you wait. 

The knock trips you up. You turn to stare at the door and like a horror movie, your eyes widen and your ears ring. He’s here. 

You near the door and stop to look through the key hole. There’s a trickle of relief. He looks like the pictures her sent. That’s good. 

You open the door a crack and look out. He looks annoyed as he checks his watch then tugs on the lapels of his jacket. It looks like a designer; the lining has little emblems on it. He says your name, “that’s you, right?” 

“Hugh? Right?” You blink and he nods as he cheek ticks, “er, come in.” 

You pull back the door and press yourself to the wall. He struts in and clicks his tongue in his cheek. He examines the room as he shrugs out of his jacket and slings it over the small bench against the wall. You close the door and he whistles. You face him as he tilts his head, looking you up and down. 

“Smells good in here,” he grins and smooths his tidy hair. 

Despite who and what he is, he’s handsome. Well, that probably helps. It’s why you paid half your savings for one night. You sway slightly then swallow down the despair. You’re doing it. You’re really going to do it. 

A fucking prostitute. That’s as good as you can do. 

“How about some music,” he approaches the speaker under the television, “think these things have bluetooth now.” 

“Sure,” you croak, watching him as you cross your arms. It’s not too late. No, you don’t think you’ll get a refund now. 

He takes out his phone and swipes around. He holds a button on the sound bar and it chimes. Soft R&B drawls from the speaker. You bite your thumb as you stare at him. 

“So...” he looks at you. 

You nod and clear your throat. You don’t know what to do. You don’t think the whole foreplay thing is going to happen. 

He drags his hands down his cream sweater. He doesn’t really dress like an escort. Or maybe you just put too much trust in movies. He lifts the hem as you stay as you are. Your feet are glued to the floor. 

He strips off the sweater and reveals a muscled torso and a thicket of dark hair across his chest. You don’t expect it as he sports a clean shave on his jaw. You clamp down on your arms as you keep them folded across your chest. 

“Like what you see?” He winks and bites his lips. 

He’s good. You almost believe him. If you weren’t missing a chunk from your bank account, you might. 

“Come on, baby, why don’t you get some wine going,” he purrs. 

A distraction. Thank god. You go to the bar fridge and take out one of the mini bottles of white wine. You peel off the foil over the cap but can’t break the seal. You struggle, trying to hide your effort, but sense him coming close. 

“I just need to find some glass,” you say. 

He chuckles and takes the bottle. His blue eyes devour you as he cracks the seal and flicks the cap away. He drinks directly from the bottle and smirks. 

“No need. Go on,” he offers it up. 

Your lips twitch and you take the bottle. You drink, nearly gagging. You swallow and hand it back. He swigs as he watches you. 

He is so good looking. You wonder how he even got into this. He’s built like a god. No, a gladiator. You’re such a frigging dweeb. 

“Hey, you don’t gotta be uptight,” he gives the wine back to you, “relax, enjoy the wine. You paid for the night. No hurry.” 

You nod and drink again. It goes down easier. You return the bottle to him and he strides to the bed. He sits and pats the other side of the mattress.  

“Come here, sweetheart.” 

You quiver and lock your arms straight. You are conscious of every single part of you as you near him. You sit stiffly and stare ahead. The music drones as he gulps again. He bends forward to set the empty bottle on the floor. 

You wince as he drapes his arm over your shoulders. He traces the strap of your tank top and pulls you against him. You shiver as he brushes up your neck. 

“This your first time?” 

You twitch then make yourself nod. You wait for him to laugh. He doesn’t. 

“Well, let’s go slow, then.” 

“No,” you erupt. “I mean--” you grip your knees and steady yourself. “I want to just do it. Get it over with.” You grit your teeth and force a breath out your nose. “There’s condoms in the bathroom.” 

Now he laughs. “Huh, you know what you want.” 

You don’t reply. You can’t. That was the last of your courage or whatever you want to call it. 

He goes into the bathroom and you list as he opens the box. He emerges and examines the square wrapper. It looks even smaller in his large hand. He rests his other on the top of his pants. 

“How do you want it?” He asks. 

You stare at him. How do you want it? You don’t know. You raise your brows helplessly. 

“Wanna get naked?” He suggests. 

You look at the bed. You blink long and hard. Your head feels fuzzy. Must be the wine. 

“Right,” he sighs and undoes his zipper. You peek up long enough to see the top of his boxers. You back away and crawl up the bed. 

You face away from him as you strip off your shirt, then your shorts. You jitter as you lay down flat like a plank. You stare at the ceiling as the wrapper crinkles. He groans as he comes closer to the bed. 

“I like these ones,” he puts a knee on the bed. 

Your breath is like thunder. You feel like your suffocating. He touches your leg and you squeak. 

“Gonna have to open up, baby,” he pets your knee. 

You let him drag your legs apart. You can’t do it yourself. You wipe your face with a shaky hand. 

“Don’t worry, I got you.” 

Your eyes snap to him as something clicks. He holds a small bottle with a black label. He squirts the clear oil onto his fingers then reaches between your legs. You return your gaze to the ceiling before he makes contact. 

He rubs the cool lube between your folds. Your thighs quake as he glides up and down. Over and over until the moisture is more than just from the bottle. 

He tickles your entrance and you tense. He rasps as he circles around, “relax.” He pokes a finger into you and you clench. He wiggles it and hushes you as you whimper. “Look, you’re not gonna like it if you don’t chill.” 

He sinks his finger further in then pulls it out again. You blow your breath out and suck it back in as he dips inside once more. You clasp the duvet beneath you as he fingers you rhythmically. Your pussy trembles around him. 

“That’s it, baby,” he pushes a second finger into you. “You wanna be ready, huh? I mean... it’s your first time, you gotta be ready.” 

The comment is like a slap across the face. Still, you can’t focus on his words. Your eyes feel fuzzy and your body is alight with a spectrum of tingles. 

He rocks his hand and you lift your pelvis slightly. He presses his thumb against your clit and you gasp. The mix of pressure and motion is intense. You’re not completely clueless. That toy your friends gave you isn’t the only one you have, you just never used one inside of you. 

You push your head down into the pillows and moan. He hums in approval and brushes his other hand up your stomach. He rolls his thumb around your nipple. 

“Yeah, like that, relax,” he pushes deeper and you whine, little pouts coming as you dig your heels into the mattress. “Oh, my god, baby, you’re going to cum, aren’t you?” 

You squeal as you spasm. It’s not your first orgasm but it’s the best one you’ve ever had. It’s wild how different it is with someone, anyone, else. You shake as your voice unfurl and your cunt squelches around his fingers. He cooes at you as he eases you through your climax. 

“Was that so bad?” He wiggles his fingers before he pulls them free. “Huh? Think you liked that.” He gets up on his knees and moves between your legs. He strokes his dick, swollen inside the rubber sheath. “Think you’ll like this a whole lot better.” 

You lift your head dozily and stare at him. He’s big. Long and thick. That dildo was probably smaller than him and you left it in the package. 

He moves closer and you let out a surprised chitter. He caresses your thigh and hushes you as he grips your hip. He pumps himself with his other hand and angles his tip along your lips. 

“You said you wanted to get it done,” he pushes his blunt tip along your entrance. “Don’t hold your breath, baby.” 

He pushes into you and you cry put. Oh. That’s not good. The blinding pain ripples through you. This is different too. Not like his fingers. He’s... 

“Too big,” you rasp. “Please-- ah, ah, ah.” 

“Come on, baby, you can take it,” he growls as he inches into you. “Once it’s in, it’ll feel better.” He impales you down to his base and snarls as he leans his head back. He rolls his shoulders and shudders. “Fuck, it’s been a while since I had a virgin cunt.” 

Flames of humiliation lick at you. This man who fucks for a living is taking your virginity like it’s a prize. Another deposit in the bank. Why did you do this? 

“Hugh,” you eke out his name and reach down, pressing your fingertips to his stomach. “I don’t want--” 

He thrusts and you shriek. Your lips form and O as your head falls back down. You whimper as your body shakes uncontrollably. Your fingers furl into fists and your toes curl. 

“Baby, you said you wanted this. You paid for it,” he grabs your wrists and moves your hands above your head, locking them there as he holds himself above you. “Ah, fuck.” He rams into you again and your tears spill over. “Ah, ah, ah,” he continues to thrust, “you are fucking tight. Ah.” 

He closes his eyes as his nostrils flair and he groans, “the way you’re squeezing me--” 

“Please,” you snivel and he snaps his pelvis into yours. You push your legs wider, trying to ease the pressure. “Ow. You’re hurt—ing me.” 

“Argh, yes, oh,” he ruts into you harder and harder. 

The springs of the bed bounce you against him as his pace turns furious. He puffs like an animal as his eyes blare down at you. You writhe and sob, your face wet with horror and humiliation. Your flesh claps together slickly as he raises himself only to drop down with all his weight. Again and again and again. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Baby, you hear that. Your first time and you got about to blow,” he sneers. “Tell me you want me to cum.” 

You gurgle helplessly and he slams into you, “tell me.” 

“Please--” You squeal. “Please just cum. Just...” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he grunts as he batters you. 

“Please cum--” 

He bucks wildly and lets out a bellowing roar. He pushes his head up and drones through his climax as he fucks you into the bed. You close your eyes and turn your head away. He slows as your heart pounds in your temples and your skin scalds. What did you do? 

He lets go of your wrists and pulls out of you all at once. He leaves you splayed on the bed. His footfalls slap away to the bathroom and the faucet runs. You don’t dare move, hoping that if you don’t, this will all just turn out to be a nightmare. 

🛏️

You touch your wrist and rip your hand away as if you’ve been burned. The bruises are tender. All of you is, but especially... that part of you. 

You have a pillow under you as you sit on your couch. You can barely put your weight on your pelvis. Each time a pang strikes, you remember that horrible mistake. Now you can really say that it isn’t all it’s made out to be. It’s not worth it. 

You lean on the armrest and stare at the television. You don’t see the faces or hear the words. Like the rest of the world, it’s now a fog. Like that night. The box for the pills said not to mix with alcohol. 

You lean your head in your hand. You don’t want to think about it. That’s worse than what happened. The memory. That never ends. 

Your phone buzzes. You ignore it. Vivica called several times. Jerrod once, and all Mila sent was some Tiktok you don’t care about. 

The table continues to vibrate. It agitates you. You get up and stumble. You cup between your legs. You wear only a sleep shirt. You don’t want anything to chafe. You grab your phone and check the ID. Who the heck? 

You answer, “hello?” 

“Hi, is this...” the timbre asks. Do you know them. 

“Uh, yeah, is this the pharmacy?” 

There’s a silence, “uh, no, it’s Curtis.” 

“Curtis,” you repeat. 

“From the bar?” He says uncertainly. 

You already know that. You just don’t believe it. You frown. 

“How did you get my number?” 

“Your friend. Viv. Sorry, I... I guess I shoulda asked you but you left so early.” 

“Why?” You ask then cringe at your own stupidity. 

“Why... because... I want to ask you out. I’m not good at beating around the bush, you know, but you don’t really give a guy a chance.” 

“Asking me out?” 

“Trying.” 

You’re quiet again. It’s like sledge hammer shattering your reality. A couple days ago, you’d be giddy. Not it’s ironic. After what you did. Another laugh in the face. 

“So, did I... just embarrass myself here or...” he huffs. You feel bad. 

You never gave him a chance. You never gave yourself a chance. And now you spoiled it all. You can’t bring yourself to take out your self-hatred on him again. You can humour him for one date. Then you can say, at least, that you’ve done that too. 

“Um, alright,” you agree, wishing it was happier, wishing that it could be different. You’ll have to figure out how to let him down easy. Although Mila says ghosting is even easier. “Sure.” 

“Sure,” he echoes you. “Don’t sound so excited.” 

“Ha, sorry,” you turn and rub your neck. “Yes. Let me know what works for you.” 

“I can do that,” he sounds relieved. “I’ll text you in a minute.” 

“Alright,” you hold back a scoff. “Thanks for calling, Curtis.” 

“No, thank you.” 

He hangs up and you turn the phone to silent. Your eyes sting as you lay it face down on the table and walk away. Things could have been so much different if you weren’t so damn stupid. He’ll figure that out and maybe you won’t have to be the one to break it off.